#mentions of death

[wolfbluebird]

When Roses Wilt

Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader - Hanahaki disease

Word count: 1.2k

Summary: Natasha starts showing symptoms of a serious illness, but she hides it from everyone, including the person who loves her most.

(Men and minors DNI)

It starts quietly, like most tragedies do.

A cough, here and there. Nothing you wouldn’t chalk up to dry air or post-mission dust. Natasha waves it off without a second thought, with that closed-lip smile that says, Don’t ask. You’ve learnt to read her, over the years—it’s part of being her best friend. Her confidante. The only one she lets close.

Still, you notice the way she hesitates in the mornings now, hand resting against her ribs like they’re bruised from the inside out. You catch her spitting something into a napkin once—pink, almost translucent. You think it’s a blood clot. It’s not.

She starts chewing gum. Always peppermint. You don’t question it at first. Maybe it’s a new habit. But then you see her throw away a tissue when she thinks you’re not looking, and for the briefest moment, something delicate flutters inside it. Pale, like her skin’s been lately.

A flower petal.

The first time you say something, she brushes it off with a smirk and a shoulder nudge.

“What, you think I’ve got a mystery lung disease now?”

“No,” you say, lips tight. “I think you’re hiding something from me.”

She looks away. Laughs, empty. “You worry too much.”

You don’t press. That’s your first mistake.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆

The weeks pass. The symptoms grow louder.

She starts missing training. She never used to. Even when she broke her ankle on that mission in Morocco, she still showed up to spar. But now, she begs off with quiet excuses—headache, tired, long night. She’s pale. The bags under her eyes look like bruises. Her voice is hoarse half the time, and when she laughs, she winces, like it hurts.

You hear the coughing through her door at night. Choking, retching sounds, like her lungs are drowning. Sometimes you think about knocking. But something stops you. Maybe fear. Maybe cowardice.

One morning, you walk into her kitchen and find a vase full of roses. They’re wilting at the edges, their stems heavy. You blink.

“Where’d these come from?”

She looks at them like she doesn’t know either. “No idea. Must’ve… shown up.”

She looks like a corpse wrapped in silk. Elegant in pain. Quiet in suffering. Always composed, always deflecting.

You ask if she’s been to medbay. She lies. “Routine check-up. Just allergies.”

But you start seeing blood. On her pillowcase. In her toothbrush cup. Smudged on her shirt collar. You find another petal once—this one dark red, almost bruised—curled beneath the bathroom sink like it’s hiding, too.

Your instincts scream at you. You know what this is. But denial is a seductive thing, and you’ve always been good at ignoring what hurts.

Until you can’t.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆

She stops talking as much. Withdraws. It’s like watching someone slowly disappear, one atom at a time. Her eyes go dull. She doesn’t meet your gaze anymore. She avoids your touch, your jokes, even your concern.

You try to sit with her one night, to get through to her.

“Natasha. Something’s wrong.”

She doesn’t answer. Just stares out the window, her breath fogging up the glass. Her shoulders tremble, just once.

“Talk to me,” you plead.

“I can’t.”

She says it so softly you almost don’t hear it. Her hands are clenched into fists on her lap, knuckles white.

You think, for a split second, that she’s going to break. That she’ll tell you everything and let you hold her like she needs to be held.

But then she straightens, forces a tired smile, and whispers, “It’s nothing.”

You believe her. Or at least—you pretend to. Because you don’t want to admit the truth that’s blossoming right in front of you.

That the woman you love is dying for it.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆

It happens on a Tuesday.

You were supposed to be in the field, a quick recon op in Brooklyn. But something gnawed at you the whole drive over—this awful, twisting sense of dread crawling under your skin.

So you bailed.

You don’t even knock when you reach her flat. The door’s ajar. That’s your first warning.

Inside, the air smells wrong—copper and roses. You feel it in your teeth.

Then you see her.

Crumpled on the hardwood, barely breathing, one hand clutching at her chest like she’s trying to hold herself together.

There’s blood everywhere. It streaks her lips, her shirt, the floor. Around her lie dozens of petals—some delicate and pink, others blackened and rotting. A few whole roses have burst from her throat, crushed where she fell, their stems jagged and green.

You drop to your knees beside her, already sobbing.

“Natasha—fuck, Nat—”

She’s conscious. Barely. Her eyes flutter open, unfocused. She tries to speak and chokes on a petal instead. You turn her head gently, helping her spit it out. Her mouth tastes of iron and death.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” you cry, voice shaking. “You’re dying, Natasha—why wouldn’t you let me help?”

Her fingers curl around your sleeve weakly.

“I didn’t want to… burden you,” she gasps.

“Burden me?!” Your voice breaks. “You think I wouldn’t care?”

She smiles faintly. “I knew you cared.”

“Then why?”

She closes her eyes. “Because you never saw it. You never looked at me like… like I mattered that much.”

You collapse against her, tears dripping onto her collarbone.

“I do. I always did. I just… I didn’t think I deserved you.”

Her breathing stutters. Another cough wracks her whole body, and you hear something crack—maybe a rib, maybe your heart. She spits up another rose. The petals stick to her lips. Her eyes go glassy.

“I love you,” you whisper.

“Too late,” she breathes. “But… thank you.”

And then the light leaves her.

No dramatic gasp. No slow fade.

Just a soft, awful silence.

You scream.

You don’t remember much after that.

Only that her blood never quite washes off your hands.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆

They let you bury her your way.

A private ceremony. Closed casket. You line it with roses—red, white, and black. You leave one on her pillow every night for a month after.

You sleep with her necklace under your pillow. The one she always wore—a silver pendant shaped like a spider. It smells like peppermint and blood.

You stop taking missions. You stop answering calls.

You exist. Barely.

But the grief clings to you. It chokes you the way the flowers choked her. Not with petals, but with guilt.

You tell yourself you’ll never forget the way she looked at you. Or the sound of her last breath. Or how her fingers twitched, trying to hold on, even when her lungs had turned into a garden she couldn’t escape.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆

You keep one petal in your jacket pocket. A dried thing. Fragile. Like memory.

Some nights, you dream of her. Not the bloody ending. No. You dream of her laugh. Her smirk. The way she used to lean on doorframes and watch you like you were her favourite movie.

In those dreams, she never coughs.

She just says your name, like it means everything.

You say hers back.

And when you wake, heart pounding, you whisper the words you didn’t say soon enough:

“I loved you.”

Still do.

Always will.

Masterlist

[uwukillmenowowo]

Hello sorry if this is a bad time but I have a request, I saw that you write for Cookie run Kingdom and I was wondering if you could write a new where the reader is Elder Faerie Cookie's child, you can choose if their biological or not, but the reader is also the reincarnation of someone the beast cookies cared about, I just thought that dynamic would be interesting, but if you're not comfortable with writing this that's completely alright and I wish you a good morning/afternoon or goodnight😊.

YO- I'M NOT EVEN KIDDING I HAD AN IDEA SIMILAR TO THIS-

You have a good day/night too!

( >︠ ω ︡<)/

Curiosity

[PLATONIC]

(Parent! Elder Fairie Cookie X Reader X Parental! Beast Cookies)

(Slight White Lily X Reader)

Notes:

Reader will be Non-binary

The story will start with how you met the beast cookies

Then it will show how they created their parental bond with Elder Fairie

For the Beasts, I made up new names for their past selves before they became corrupted.

Reader was one of the most optimistic [Flavor] cookies one would meet.

The kind to give out flowers to make cookies' day better, presenting a beautiful frosty white smile to every cookie they walked by.

Practically every cookie that passed by them was filled with joy.

Oh shit I think this is my longest post-

..... I think I forgot something here but I can't remember what it is...

It started.... one too many eons ago. During times when they weren't who they used to be.

Warning! Mentions of Death!

{Third POV}

~~~~~

[Reader] wowed at the structure before them. The library that was said to be built was finally finished. They walked into the library and awed at all the books there. However, the building was empty.

"Good afternoon young one." The young cookie flinched and turned around, to see a cookie with blue eyes and golden brown dough. But what caught the attention of the young cookie was the beautiful gem that was displayed on his collar. "H-Hello" [Reader] answered nervously. "Did you come for a specific book?" The older cookie asked. To that, [Reader] nodded.

"Excellent! What kind?" He asked. [Reader] chuckled and rubbed their arm. "Uhhh... The-Thea-tri-cal." [Reader] answered with hesitation, due to them being young and unknowledgeable. "Do you mean Theatrical? Ones about shows and plays?" The blue eyed cookie asked with a smile. [Reader] nodded excitedly, explaining that they've heard some other cookies talking about it and was curious.

"That would be this way." The librarian started to lead the way towards the children's section, searching for the "puppet shows" books. "So, what's your name little cookie? Shouldn't you be with your parents?" [Reader] laughed as they found a book they liked. "My name is [Reader] Cookie. You can call me [Reader]. Dad crumbled and mom followed after. How about you, mister?" The little cookie answered as if it was a normal thing to say aloud.

The librarian gasped and held their hand to their mouth before taking in a deep breath and sat beside [Reader]. "Oh My Witches... My name is Blueberry Milk Cookie. Feel free to call me Blueberry Milk." [Reader] smiled and nodded before they started to read. blueberry Milk Cookie gave a sad look towards [Reader]. 'They're... all alone' He thought as he turned his gaze to the book that [Reader] was holding. "How old are you? You seem to understand this book really well." He asked.

"Hmm? Oh, I'm six." It was like a punch to the gut to Blueberry Milk Cookie. "[Reader], if you need anything, you can come to me okay?" The librarian offered, wanting to help the child before him. "Okay." [Reader] responded. [Reader] and Blueberry Milk spent hours together, until [Reader] decided to leave.

After leaving the Library, [Reader] started running, only to bump into multiple cookies. "Oh- Sorry about-" "Watch it, Kid!" The young cookie went wide eyed as the older cookies glared at them. "I-I didn't mean to- I was just- AHH!" The younger cookie screamed as the older cookies grabbed them by their shirt collar.

"What's going on here?" The older cookies let go of [Reader], causing them to fall on their butt as they watched the exchange. "Strawberry Sugar Cookie!" They exclaimed happily. [Reader] scooted back in worry. After all, all they saw was pink. The owner of that pink wore a crown as well, as if they were the current King or Queen of the kingdom.

"Oh my! Who is this?" [Reader] yelped as they were suddenly picked up by the cookie they were just worried about. Pink robes, wings and a halo, but like with Blueberry Milk Cookie, what drawn [Reader] to this cookie, was the heart shaped gem that was in the crown the the cookie who picked them up. "Oh goodness! You're hurt, worry not, I have a friend who will fix your dough!" They smiled before suddenly taking flight.

"WAAHHH!" [Reader] screamed and tightly held onto the pink robed cookie. "Is everything alright?" Strawberry Sugar asked. [Reader] just shrugged and looked down, only to regret it and unconsciously nuzzle into the crook of her neck in fear. "Oh dear, not a fan of heights? What's your name?" [Reader] told her their name and Strawberry Sugar responded happily. "Well it's nice to meet you [Reader]! My name is Strawberry Sugar Cookie." [Reader] almost felt that Strawberry Sugar's happiness was infectious and smiled.

After a joyful conversation to take [Reader]'s mind off the height they were flying at, they reached a temple. A temple so grand that [Reader] has never seen anything like it. But something else, was that there was an enormous line. "So many people!" [Reader] stood close to Strawberry Sugar.

1: To not get lost

2: Everyone was too loud and [Reader] didn't like it

3: WHERE EVEN WERE THEY???

[Reader] followed Strawberry Sugar as they practically cut through the line. Of course, other people objected and tried to cut as well but the guards blocked them. Some guards tried to "protect" Strawberry Sugar by grabbing [Reader] away from them. But after Strawberry Sugar explained that you two went to visit "Her" together, they let you go.

You walked up stairs and stairs, passing halls, and beautiful depictions along stained glass. "So... Who is Her?" The small cookie asked with a tilt of their head. "Oh? I haven't told you? We're gonna fix that little wounds of yours little one. The one going to do that~" With a dramatic pause, Strawberry Sugar pulled a curtain, revealing a figure dressed in white. "Is Wheat Flour Cookie!"

"Strawberry Sugar... What have I told you about our volume in my temple?" Strawberry Sugar flinched and pouted, taking a few steps back. You awed at the white dressed cookie that was sitting before you. "G-Good afternoon Ma'am." [Reader] responded politely with a bow.

Strawberry Sugar and Wheat Flour talked about why her and [Reader] were here. Soon after, Strawberry Sugar left [Reader] alone with the healer.

"So... Enlighten me, what happened young cookie?"

{Second POV}

~~~~~

You kneeled and sat on your knees just like Wheat Flour Cookie. "Umm..." You hesitated, not knowing where to start. "How about we start from the beginning. What did you do today?" You hummed as you started recalling your day. The cookies talking about that play, meeting Blueberry Milk Cookie, reading, running into two older male cookies and getting threatened, meeting Strawberry Sugar Cookie, flying to the temple, and then right now.

Wheat Flour nodded and took your small dough hands into her own before giving some advice. Telling you to simply ignore those who wish harm upon you and that you should continue to find joy and hope in your life. Suddenly, with a white and golden glow, all the wounds you previously had were healed.

You were in awe and Wheat Flour told you to sit beside her as she tended to other cookies. You just nodded and sat beside her. Those next few hours were spent helping Wheat Flour with the other cookies.

You had fun and when you left you saw Strawberry Sugar Cookie just laying down, sleeping. You were in shock. 'Did she wait for me?' You thought and smiled before gently shaking her awake. "Oh... all done?" She asked as she rubbed her eyes. You nodded and she smiled. "Good. A little birdie told me that you met Blueberry Milk Cookie before this. Is that right?" You nodded and her eyes sparkled. "Wonderful! You know, Him, me and Wheat Flour are really good friends."

You wowed. They were friends? You had no clue. "Would you like to meet the other two?" She asked with a tilt of her head. You nodded eagerly. The cookies you've met so far were some of the nicest people you've met. You were.... happy.

Strawberry Sugar pulled you close to her before jumping and flying off one of the many cliffs. You screamed again, but instead of fear, it was in excitement. Strawberry Sugar would do cool flips and tricks with you tightly holding on. It was so much fun, just flying above Crispia.

"And here!" Strawberry Sugar said as you two landed. "It's so hot!" You sweatdropped and fanned yourself with your hand. "Ahah~! Yeah- Crushed Spice Cookie and Sea Salt Cookie like warm areas." You hummed at the explanation and you kicked your feet in the sand, not used to being so close to the water. "Heheh~ Do you like the sand?" Strawberry Sugar asked as she followed behind you.

You nodded, digging your feet into the sand before the waves suddenly washed onto the shore, splashing onto your clothes and your dough. You flinched and accidentally fell into the water and Strawberry Sugar laughed before helping you up. "Oh dear! how clumsy!" She picked you up and dusted the sand off your clothes. You chuckled as she pat you head and started leading you towards somewhere.

"So... Salt and Spice? What are they like?" You asked. Strawberry Sugar hummed in thought. "Crushed Spice is... really competitive. And Sea Salt is pretty... reserved?" Strawberry Sugar shrugged. "I haven't seen them in a while so I can't remember at the top of my head."

After a few more minutes of walking you found yourself in front of a nice house. Strawberry Sugar, noticing the look you were giving, said, "It's bigger on the inside. They both don't like cramped spaces." You asked if they lived together and she nodded, saying how those two acted like brothers.

Strawberry Sugar barged in and you followed. You felt bad for entering uninvited but it is what it is. You continued to follow Strawberry Sugar since you didn't want to get lost. Once she stopped walking, you looked in front to see two cookies with... really funny bedheads. You can't really blame them though, you left Wheat Flour's temple at dusk and Strawberry Sugar and you decided to fly the whole night. So when you got there it was only dawn.

The red one looked angry while the lavender one just looked extremely tired. The more angry one, you guess was Crushed Spice. He just walked up to Strawberry Sugar before grabbing her by her collar and dragging her. Strawberry Sugar tried protesting but then just crossed her arms and pouted.

You didn't know how to feel since you were just left alone with Sea Salt Cookie. It was silent as you two just stood there. until Sea Salt asked if you wanted a snack. You nodded and walked with the lavender cookie into the kitchen. He asked what kind of snack you wanted and you said you were fine with anything since you were a guest.

He just nodded before pouring you a bowl of cereal. You took it, thanked him and sat at the table to eat. It was comfortable silence for you two... Until you heard screaming and shouting from Strawberry Sugar and Crushed Spice. You gave a worried looked to Sea Salt but he just chuckled and told you that it's fine and that they do that all the time. You just nodded slowly, eating you food but stopping halfway once you saw Strawberry Sugar seemingly running for her dough from a flaring Crushed Spice.

As much as you were worried, you found it extremely fun.

Ever since those two days, you've been... seeing them more often.

Blueberry Milk Cookie would sit beside you when you visited the library and read to you

Strawberry Sugar Cookie would practically fly you anywhere you wanted

Wheat Flour Cookie would send you letters with different incenses... Sometimes even first aid kits...

Crushed Spice Cookie is technically your babysitter whenever Strawberry Sugar can't. At first you thought he doesn't like you but he's really soft with you... Even though he makes you do exercises with him...

Finally, Sea Salt Cookie. He's pretty chill. You two would just take naps most of the time. His room is just the right temperature to sleep forever.

The five of them acted like the parents you never had. It made you happy.

Everything went well...

Until it didn't...

That fated day their souls turned black.

You went to visit Wheat Flour Cookie because it was the anniversary you met everyone. You already gave your gifts to the others, Wheat Flour waas last because you knew how busy she was.

Now normally you'd wait in line with everyone else but today since you were just going to go in and out, you decided to use your "VIP Card" that she gave you. But others got pissed. They were jealous and confused. Why would you, a small cookie that looked like the happiest cookie they could be, want to go see Wheat Flour Cookie?

No cookie acted until a middle aged cookie did. They ran out of line and grabbed you by the shoulder. "Hey! What do you think you're doing?!" You just blinked twice and gave them a smile, holding up the gift you were going to give. "I'm going to give this to Wheat Flour Cookie." The smile you gave just pissed them off as they asked why you weren't going o line up. You told them the reason, that you wouldn't take a long time and that you had a VIP card.

The cookie just stared down at the card before smirking. "Say.. Can I.. Borrow that for a bit?" You were about to lend it but you remembered what Wheat Flour said. "Sorry. I would but Wheat Flour said that this was only mine. It has my name." You flipped the card, showing your name. "[Reader] Cookie..." The cookie before you glared at the card before looking back at the line. "Can I... come with you then?"

You didn't see a problem with that so you nodded. Other cookies who saw the exchange, started to run out of the line to talk with you. Until a massive group started to run over to you so that they could talk to Wheat Flour cookie before everyone else. You held the gift close to your chest and sucked in your breath as the other cookies started yelling excuses, causing the guard cookies to have trouble keeping people in line.

"My family is sick!"

"My family is poor!"

"My daughter-"

"My Son-"

"My Father-"

"My Mother-"

"My Brother-"

"My Sister-"

"Aunt!"

"Uncle!"

The excuses kept coming as you tried to get away. No cookie admitted that they wanted everything for themselves. You didn't know how to answer any of it. You didn't have the power to choose one over the other. Until finally, a cookie, desperate enough, grabbed the sword off one of the guard cookies and stabbed you from behind.

You screamed in pain, dropping the gift you brought and coughed. Chaos erupted after that. Cookies started attacking each other left and right. One of the guard cookies, picked you up before running to where Wheat Flour was.

"MY LADY!" They yelled, barging through the door. Wheat Flour, who was just waiting for the next cookie to come in, was in complete shock as she saw you looking pale and panting heavily. "W-What happened?!" She asked as the guard placed you before her. "A fight broke out in front of the temple." They explained, saluting. Wheat Flour, using her magic to look at what was happening was in shock. This has never happened before.

"Call the others. I cannot handle this myself, considering the amount of Cookies there are." The guard nodded and left, leaving you in the arms of Wheat Flour. She tried her best to heal you but it was barely effective. The wound was too deep and you lost too much. Wheat Flour started panicking. She gently patted your cheeks, trying to get you to stay awake but it wasn't working.

"No- no no no no no-! Come now- Don't- Don't do this to me-" Wheat Flour panted as tears reached her eyes. In that very moment, the others came in. "Wheat Flour! What's going ooAAAAAHHHh!" Strawberry Sugar Cookie screamed as she saw the state you were in. She raced over to where you were, already bursting into tears. "What happened?!? Who did this!!?" Strawberry Sugar took you into her arms, holding you tight, trying to see if you were still breathing.

Desperate banging and screaming could be heard on the other side of the temple doors. "We'll keep the cookies at bay! Take care of [Reader]!" Crushed Spice Cookie snarled as Blueberry Milk and Sea Salt followed.

Wheat Flour and Strawberry Sugar tried to use their magic to heal you but it barely worked. Strawberry Sugar started to hyperventilate as Wheat Flour's hand started shaking. They both saw your breathing get slower and slower until it became nonexistent... and finally... they snapped.

Outside, Blueberry Milk, Crushed Spice, and Sea Salt tried their best to not hurt any of the other cookies. But it all went out the window when they heard Strawberry Sugar's scream. They've never heard her scream like that before. But what shocked them was that she flew up, just above the temple, and used her magic to blast the cookies away, killing them.

Cookies who saw that started running off. But they weren't able to get far because Wheat Flour was there to stop them. Both girls made cookies crumble and the others didn't know what to do... When they caught sight of the temple, they caught a clear sight of your crumbled body, clearly unmoving. Blueberry Milk covered his mouth while Sea Salt gasped as his legs shook. Crushed Spice gritted his teether before all he saw was blood red. He grabbed the sword he once used against enemies and used it against his fellow cookies.

That one, anger-filled strike, caused one of Wheat Flour's mountains to split in two. With that, Blueberry Milk and Sea Salt followed, using their own powers to use against the other cookies.

After all the cookies have crumbled, the gang became enraged. They were blinded by their hatred and grief that they went all around Crispia, crumbling any cookie they saw. This went on for years...

Until the Witches caught notice. they sealed the enraged Cookies in the remote continent of Beast Yeast. Before they saw your crumbled body. They felt it all. The pain and regret you held in your heart. You were too young to experience all that.

The Witches decided to place your soul in a newly baked body before they placed you before the Fairie Kingdom. Elder Fairie cookie found and he received a prophecy from the Witches.

The Witches explained how they entrusted some of the Beast's powers to the child so that the beasts cannot reclaim their full power because they know that the Beasts wouldn't harm the child. Elder Fairie understood and took in the child as his own. Not only so that the child could help quell the beasts from destroying the Fairie Kingdom but so that he could help the child control their powers when they're older.

Years passed and [Reader] was now a teenager [Even though they're like- Hundreds of years old by now]. They were doing their daily chores. When suddenly, he saw Silverbell cookie with someone they've never seen before. She had white hair and a floral green dress. "Ah! Your Highness! What timing." You nodded. "Silverbell Cookie. Who is this?" You asked as you fixed your clothes. "Oh, this is White Lily Cookie. She saved me while I was wounded."

You gave a sympathetic gaze to Silverbell and you bowed your head to White Lily. "Oh goodness! Thank you for helping him. Silverbell Cookie can be very... frail." You chuckled as Silverbell gave you a pout.

"Oh! You must be Elder Fairie Cookie that I've been hearing about then? You're much younger than I expected." White Lily gave you a smile and you laughed bashfully. "Ahahah! Actually no! That's my father. My name is [Reader] Cookie." White Lily gasped and rubbed the back of her neck, apologizing. You told her that everything was fine and you offered to introduce her to your father. She accepted happily and you dismissed Silverbell before leading her through the kingdom.

Seeing White Lily's awestruck gaze, you found yourself staring at her a little too long that you tripped over your feet. "Oh goodness! Here, let me help you." You felt your dough heat up as you took her hand and stood up. "Thank you..." You replied bashfully before continuing to lead her through the Kingdom. For some reason... Her smile reminded you of someone. You... can't remember where though.

When you introduced her to Elder Fairie, he was shocked. A cookie from a different continent... here? Interacting with his child- UUHHH- WHAT'S WITH THAT SMILE YOU'RE GIVING HER???

Elder Fairie looked between you two but kept his calm. You told him everything that Silverbell told you and Elder Fairie nodded. He just asked you to tour her around and you walked away with her happily.

'My child- With a girl???' Elder Fairie looked looked around desperately trying to find an excuse as to pry you away from White Lily. 'They're too young still! I never even let them out of the kingdom! Suddenly there's a girl they look fond of???' Elder Fairie went to his chambers to think.

Meanwhile, you were showing White Lily every crevice of the kingdom, loving how fascinated she was with everything you showed her. But then you shivered 'Why do I feel like I'm going to get punished for some reason..?' you thought in confusion before shaking it off, turning your attention back to White Lily.

"AAAGH! The seal is cracking!!"

"Your Majesty! Are you hurt?!"

"No, I'm unharmed! [Reader], are you alright?"

"I'm okay..."

The seal... you've heard about it from your father. You were told that ancient beings laid dormant in the silver tree. Beings that turned to beasts and wrecked havoc in the olden days. Your father told you how each beast had a soul jam. however, once the beasts were trapped, their soul jam was lost and given to other cookies. One of them being White Lily Cookie. You were worried for her safety but if she holds ancient powers then your fears are quelled.

"And evil will that has focused all its rage on breaking free from confinement. It must have angered the Beasts greatly now that each Soul Jam has found its rightful owner. Yes... they sensed that unless they escape now... they might never be granted another chance in the future. All their might now serves one single purpose- destroying the hated seal."

"Everyone, we must stand our ground. Our place now is by the Guardian of the Seal!" White Lily claimed as she stood beside you. "We shall protect His Majesty or crumble! For if the Guardian falls, there is no way to stop the Beasts from escaping." You helped White Lily motivate the other guards as you all raced to the silver tree. To see a major split.

"The seal has already split so wide..." White Lily gasped. You took her hand into yours. Telling her that it was all going to be okay, then gave her a reassuring nod. She smiled and then raised her staff. "Everyone, fight with me!"

Shadowy beings crawled out of the seal as cookies started fighting. White Lily started charging a powerful attack as someone started to protect the spellcaster. Which just so happened to be you.

"𝚃𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎… 𝚃𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚟𝚘𝚒𝚌𝚎…"

You gasped as a voice suddenly played through you head. "Hello..?" You whispered as you continued to protect White Lily.

"𝙳𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚕 𝚖𝚎…… [𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛]..?"

You tensed up. as the voice said your name. "How do you know me..?" You bit the inside of your cheek but before the voice answered, White Lily's attack hit. Blocking the beasts and preventing the voice from talking with you.

You furrowed your brows, your curiosity is now peaked and you wanted to know how the voice knew you.

However, we all know the saying,

"Curiosity Killed the Cat"

Okay- I'm tired now-

Like for a part 2

( ─ . ─ )✌

Goodnight

[itsreallynotriri]

Mom and Dad.

While Regulus is at work, Y/N brings Harry to his parents' grave.

[Regulus Black x Fem Potter!reader]

word count: 558 words.

warnings: Angst, mentions of death

note: This is the fourth chapter of my Potter-Black series but Regulus is hardly mentioned. This is because the chapter is focused on Harry, Y/N, Lily, and James.

-

The morning was crisp, the air carrying the scent of damp earth as Y/N wrapped Harry’s scarf snugly around his small frame. The autumn leaves crunched beneath their feet as they walked up the familiar path leading to the graveyard in Godric’s Hollow.

Regulus was at the Ministry, drowning in paperwork, leaving Y/N with the quiet decision to visit her brother alone—well, almost alone.

Harry, bundled up in his coat and mittens, clutched her hand tightly. “Mama,” he asked, his voice soft, “why are we here?”

Y/N knelt beside him, brushing a few stray leaves from his curls. “We’re visiting your parents, love.”

Harry’s brow furrowed slightly, his young mind trying to piece it together. “My real mummy and daddy?”

Y/N swallowed past the lump in her throat and nodded. “Yes. Your Mama Lily and Daddy James.”

Harry’s grip on her hand tightened as he looked around. “But I never met them,” he whispered.

Y/N gave him a sad smile. “No, sweetheart. You were just a baby.” She cupped his cheek gently. “But they loved you so much.”

Hand in hand, they walked through the graveyard, past old, weathered headstones, until they reached the one she knew by heart.

Y/N let out a slow breath, kneeling before the headstone. Harry hesitated before mirroring her, his tiny fingers tracing the carved letters of their names.

“James Potter…” he murmured, then looked up at Y/N. “That’s my name too, right?”

She smiled softly. “Yes, love. Harry James Potter. Your daddy wanted you to have his name.”

Harry was quiet for a moment, then looked back at the grave. “Do you think he’d like me?” he asked hesitantly. “Daddy James?”

Y/N’s heart clenched, and she pulled him into a hug. “Oh, Harry,” she whispered, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “He would have adored you. You’re just like him—kind, brave, full of mischief.” She chuckled softly, stroking his messy black hair. “And you have your mama’s heart. So full of love.”

Harry’s little arms wrapped around her neck. “I wish I could meet them.”

Y/N closed her eyes against the sting of tears. “I know, sweetheart. Me too.”

For a long moment, they sat in silence, Y/N’s arms wrapped protectively around the little boy she had sworn to raise, to love, to keep safe.

After a while, Harry shifted in her embrace. “Do you think they can see me?”

Y/N let out a soft breath, glancing up at the sky. “I do,” she said firmly. “I think they watch over you every single day.”

Harry thought about that, then looked back at the grave. After a moment, he reached into his coat pocket and pulled something out.

A small, slightly battered toy stag.

His favorite.

Carefully, he placed it at the base of the headstone, patting it gently.

“You can have Prongsie,” he whispered. “I think you’d like him.”

Y/N had to bite her lip to keep herself from crying.

As the wind rustled through the trees, Harry turned back to her and asked, “Can we come back again?”

Y/N smiled, cupping his face. “Of course, love. As many times as you want.”

She took his hand once more, pressing one last kiss to the headstone before leading him away.

As they left, the autumn wind carried the sound of distant laughter, like a whisper of the past. And for the first time in a long time, Y/N swore she could feel her brother’s presence—warm, watching, proud.

-

previous chapter <- -> next chapter

[aealzx]

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The excursion in the Batcave hadn't set Danny’s recovery back as much as he'd thought it would, which he was grateful for. He’d missed dinner that day, having slept through it after they had given him additional medication to keep his fever under control. But the next morning he'd still been able to join a few people for breakfast, even if it was a little later than most. It was also a little quieter than usual, with the heavy topic from the previous afternoon weighing on people’s minds.

“...Are you sure you’re still feeling better?” Jazz asked, noting how Danny was absently nibbling on the toast he had with a light cream cheese forgotten on the side.

“Hm?” Danny voiced, twitching his head to look at her before fully registering what she’d asked. “Yeah, I’m okay,” he assured, giving her a brief smile. She didn’t seem convinced though, so he gave her a little more. “I’m just lost in thought, Jazz. Yesterday was… a lot.”

“You mean the part about Raven saying you were probably murdered?” Jason asked, strangely having stayed at the manor that night and stuck around that morning. Cass had ended up starting a hushed conversation that he had adopted these kids as his responsibility since they had shown up closest to his usual patrol grounds, but he wouldn’t comment on it.

“Yeah… Yeah that’s probably the big thing,” Danny agreed with a grimace. Man this guy was blunt. But, also maybe the best one to be commenting about something like this. There were a lot less people around too, maybe it was safe for him to satiate his earlier curiosity. “...I guess out of everyone here you’d … probably understand the most?” Wait, Danielle had said Jason had died before, but she hadn’t said it was murder. “U’unless it was something else that…” Okay this was a lot more awkward than he thought it would be.

“...No, you’re right. I was… murdered,” Jason confirmed, toying with his own cereal for a moment. “But it wasn’t anything crazy magical like you. Just a crowbar and bomb. That and we all know the guy that did it. Piece of shit.”

“Oh…,” Danny responded quietly, thankful that Jazz was decidedly staying quiet and allowing them to converse. “I don’t… Hm… I’m not sure which one I’d prefer honestly,” he admitted with a weak chuckle. “I mean, electrocution is no fun, hurts like a bitch, but… But at least it wasn’t drawn out.”

“...That’s a fair point,” Jason agreed, “I imagine it’s not the part that’s got you so distracted though.”

“...... No… It’s not,” Danny confirmed, lowering his toast as his brows pressed together in smothered guilt. “I…” It was hard to say it aloud, but of anyone he felt like Jason wouldn’t judge him for his thoughts. “S’she said that someone who was there would’ve had to have had the desire to s’sacrifice me or whatever. A’and at the moment I was more angry that she would imply that Clockwork had lied to me, that I - that something had happened that took away my ability to choose. But also… I don’t like what it implies about…”

Jason was quiet as he listened patiently for Danny to voice his thoughts, the words confirming ideas he’d had as well as keying him in on what was bothering Danny. But when he fell quiet before being able to finish voicing his concern Jason filled in what he could guess the worry was. “About who was there with you…?” he half asked, half stated.

Danny flinched when that fact was put in the open, but now that it was it made it easier to add details. “...Sam and Tucker were the only ones there with me.”

“Oh!” Jazz suddenly burst, raising her hands in realization and reaching over to grab Danny, “Oh my gosh! I’m so sorry, we forgot to tell you!”

“What? What!?” Danny sputtered, startled by his sister’s outburst.

“Sam asked Raven about that last night before they left. She was worried that her and Tucker being there could have been seen as them trying to murder you, but Raven said they couldn’t have just been present, they would have had to know about the sacrifice being a payment for the ritual kind of thing and clearly had the intention to kill you,” Jazz rambled quickly. “Sorry! I didn’t think that was what had you so distracted. We were going to tell you last night when you woke up, but you slept through the night.”

Danny had to stare at Jazz in silence while that whirlwind of facts got smashed into his brain. So they had already cleared up that Sam and Tucker hadn’t accidentally murdered him, but forgot to tell him? Well, it was only a few hours later, so maybe he shouldn’t be upset. At least it clarified for certain that his friends hadn’t secretly wanted to kill him. But then it brought him back to the major question that had yet to be answered. “Then who did?!”

That one Jazz didn’t have an answer to, and reluctantly let Danny go to helplessly raise her hands in a shrug. “I don’t know? Maybe no one did? I mean- Mom and Dad couldn’t possibly have accidentally done magic, right?” she attempted with a weak laugh, betraying her own discomfort with the idea that their parents had accidentally done something more dangerous than they’d ever thought.

“No, I think they did,” Danny countered easily, a little miffed.

Jason raised a brow after that, curious what else Danny had realized. “Care to elaborate?” he asked, half because he wanted the answer and half to give Jazz a chance to process what Danny had said.

Danny did not actually want to elaborate, he didn’t want to pull up memories of that afternoon again. But he did realize it was important, and therefore forced himself to answer. “The portal… After drawing that diagram out yesterday, and remembering some things, I realized Raven… might have some merit to what she’s saying,” he admitted, pouting a bit reluctantly since he’d been so ready to discredit her before. “The portal didn’t turn on when I went inside it. It was when I put my-... put my hand on the wall. There was a switch that I knocked, and I realized… it was located at one of the concentration points I drew on the diagram. So I probably completed the circuit by accident, and made it so the stupid ritual thing was complete,” he explained, absently raising his left hand as he recalled the memory.

“...Oh….,” Jason grunted, having not expected that. So this kid’s parents probably really had accidentally mixed science with magic, and Danny had ended up half killed because of it. But despite that, Jason was curious. “Okay… so maybe someone did want to kill you, maybe they actually didn’t. It really sounds like happenstance from what I’ve heard. Does it matter if someone wanted to kill you?” He already knew the answer, but he was curious if Danny would surprise him and actually admit it didn’t matter.

“Of course it matters!” Danny sputtered, bringing a fist to the table. “I want to punch them in the face for ruining my life for the past two years! Do you know how hard it is to get into NASA? I just wanted to be an astronaut and go to space - the literal coolest thing ever to exist - but now my grades are shit and I’m barely passing highschool because of all these ghosts and people think I’m stupid because of it!”

Jason couldn’t help it. After staring at Danny with slightly wide eyes in shock at the outburst, Jason couldn’t help the laugh that escaped him. Though part of it was because Tim had just walked into the dining room and nearly dropped his plate of breakfast and cup of juice after also being startled at Danny’s outburst. Danny was about to get cross with Jason for laughing, but only spared him the lecture when he also noticed Tim there.

“Oh- Sorry- I didn’t mean to startle you,” Danny apologized quickly.

Tim just sighed, grateful only a little of the juice had spilled onto the floor. “It’s fine, just give me your napkin,” he directed, setting his breakfast on the table and reaching out for the requested object. Once he had it, wiping up the spilled juice was a quick task, and he was sinking into the chair next to Danny with another sigh. “You’re not stupid, by the way. If you really need the academic records for the job you want, just test out. I’m sure you’ll be fine, and get flying colors. I can get you a study packet if you want,” he commented casually, taking a large bite out of a sausage.

Not only was the comment unexpected, but it also sounded like a flat out lie from someone who had no idea what it was like to struggle at school. “...Yeah, sure. I’ll get right on that,” Danny scoffed sarcastically, going back to nibble on his toast.

“Danny…,” Jazz hushed gently, sympathetic and immediately ready to comfort him.

“I’m serious,” Tim enforced before she could say more. “Well, I dunno how you are with english or something like that, but you’ve got great math and science aptitude.”

Danny just stared at Tim incredulously, not buying it.

So Tim threw a hand in the air and rolled his eyes. “You just recreated a complex concept schematic from memory within a 90 to 95% accuracy range on the measurements and functions, while high on morphine and fever,” he pointed out. “Also, if you’re any good at being a vigilante like everyone has been implying, you’ve got to have great problem solving skills. And that’s hard to teach.”

Danny was now openly staring in surprise, because he hadn’t realized he’d done anything that Tim said. At least, not when phrased in that manner. It wasn’t like he could discredit Tim’s words either, they had all been there as he’d drawn the schematic. “I…” He should probably say something, but he couldn’t think of a single response other than to stare blankly in surprise at the table in front of him.

It caused Tim to sigh again, slumping into his hand and rubbing his brow. “Honestly, if there’s anything you’re dumb in it’s self awareness. I’d switch out a dozen of the interns in engineering for you in a heartbeat.”

Okay, so maybe Tim wasn’t actually pulling his leg, or trying to prank him. If Danny’s cheeks weren’t already red from illness they would definitely be from embarrassment as he shyly sank down in his chair.

Jason laughing that hard wasn’t helping either.

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Okay I'm gonna fully admit this chapter was unplanned and full of stuff I actually didn't think I'd get to include 'cause I just could not figure out how to naturally include them in conversation in the previous chapter or any future scenes I could think of at the moment. But then I started working on this next chapter and within the first paragraph was like '......oh..... oh it all fits rather nicely right here actually. |DDD'

So that was fun XD

And then this took awhile to actually post because I hyper fixated and wrote about 11,000 words for this fic of just scattered, disconnected scenes for future chapters all the way to about the end @ v @ I'm excited.

In other topics, I had a request/question if Conner Kent would show up, and I wouldn't mind giving him a cameo, but I am very confused about what his personality is like. 8'DD Can someone info dump on me about him and his relationship with other characters? There's one that had a black t shirt with the superman symbol and he's like this angsty angry guy that I honestly don't find all that interesting and would be hard to write. But then there's this flashy leather jacket flirty boy with a different flavor of angst and fun that I find a little more interesting. But I'm curious what the DPxDC fandom seems to favor more. Are Conner and Clark dad and son relationship? Does Conner get along with Jon? He's friends with Bart, Tim and Cassie yeah? Feel free to link me to google docs, or recommend movies or comics to me |D This boy is a little harder for me to figure out than the other characters.

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Tag list: @galaxy-sharks-and-bottled-ships, @starscreamlover, @nerdynonnativenarnian, @dragongoblet, @megacharizardx99

@bellathecatastrophe, @cj-ghostemoji-destielpie, @asexual-insomniac, @wolfeyedwitch, @tkiesai, 

@fanaroff, @raven1508, @nebulainajar, @serasvictoria02, @oliocelottafanfics,

@honeysuckletook, @omniithe-deer, @wolf-under-the-stars, @gingernutcalo, @that-random-fangirl,

@op-sys-chaos, @kirasigncomics, @ehobep, @paranoid-ira

[edwardhartenjoyer]

Would You Love Me Enough To Kill

As the date of your curse taking over you draws closer, but you can't help but think of the grim outcomes that await you. Being taken in by Darkwick to be experimented on, or even hurting someone you love. You think of something, and you know it's unfair to ask for it, but, well, if there's anyone you trust to do this for you, it's your boyfriend. You just hope he'll be willing to help with your last wish, if it comes to it...

Featuring: Tohma | Taiga | Jiro

Warnings: angst, mentions of death

Tohma Ishibashi - You chewed your lip nervously as you made your way down to the vaults of Frostheim in search of your boyfriend. You could have texted him to come meet you, but you wanted the extra time to think on what you were about to ask him for.

When you reached the vault and peered inside, you saw he was there, his back turned to you. You didn't have to do this, you could just turn around and go home and never bring this up.

"Are you going to come in, my dear, or just keep staring at me?" Tohma called, not even sparing a glance your way. Damn he was too good at knowing everything.

You slowly entered the room as he finally turned to look at you. He must have read the expression on your face as he stepped over to you and offered up himself for a hug. You gladly took the offer and wrapped your arms around him.

"Care to tell me what's wrong?" He asked gently.

"I've been thinking a lot about my curse and what it could mean for me if it takes over. I know everyone is still looking for the cure, but I want to ask you for a favor. One final thing you can do for me if the curse takes over me."

"What would that be?"

"Kill me. Don't let me become a monster." You couldn't meet his gaze, and his silence after your admission seemed to stretch out. Just as you were starting to panic, he tightened his grip on you.

"If that is your request, then I shall fulfill it. But know that I will never let it come to that."

Taiga Hoshibami - You hesitated outside the door to Taiga's bedroom. This wasn't your usual, is he going to try shooting me, hesitation. This one was because you had a serious question you needed to ask him, and you were nervous about how to go about it.

Finally, you raised your fist and knocked on the door. "Taiga, it's me. I'm coming in, ok?" You called, giving it a moment before slipping into the room.

Once you entered, you were greeted by the sight of your boyfriend lying on his back on his bed, his head hanging off as he looked at you.

"Hey Kitty Cat, what brings you by."

"Tai? Can I ask you a serious question?" You asked, walking over to sit on the edge of his bed, not daring to look at him.

You hear him snort out a laugh "The fuck you need my permission for?"

"I've been thinking about my curse and how we're down to two months left and no sign of a cure. I don't want to become a monester." You took a shakey breath. The bed shifted as Taiga moved, but you stared at the floor, not wanting to look at him until you were done. "If, if we can't find a cure, can you promise me something?" You whispered. He was silent, so you carried on. "Kill me, don't let me hurt anyone. Don't let me be a monster."

A hand grabbed you by under the chin and turned your head, making you lock your gaze with Taiga's, his face suddenly right next to yours.

"Fuck you on about Kitty Cat, you ain't turning into a monster, not if I have a say in it."

"Just...humor me, please. Maybe it's the least likely outcome. Maybe it doesn't happen, but I just.. I need to know i won't hurt anyone or become an experiment for Darkwick.. Please.." You pleaded.

He narrowed his gaze as he studdied your face. "I promise Kitty. But I ain't gonna have to....not this time.."

Jiro Kirisaki - You nervously paced the floor of your room. Jiro was coming over any minute, and you were trying to work up the nerve to ask him what had been on your mind. You'd been doing a lot of thinking lately, and the grim prospects of your potential future freeightened you. You knew it would be unfair and horrible, but you also knew you didn't want to risk hurting others. Risk becoming that which you feared the most. If you were destined to die, you wanted to go on your own terms.

When Jiro finally arrived in your room, he could tell immediately that something was wrong. Your eyes were red from tears and it was clear you'd been trying to cope with panic.

"Are you alright?" He asked immediately, concerned over your health and worried you asked him to come over because you were too unwell to make the walk to Mortkranken yourself.

"I'm okay, but I have something I need to ask you, a final favour if it comes to it." You explained, and he nodded.

"What do you need?"

You took a deep breath to calm your nerves. "I've been thinking a lot about my curse and how I have so little time left. I don't want to become a monster, I don't want to hurt anyone. I also don't want to become some experiment for Darkwick. If, if it comes to that, and there's no cure and I start to turn...kill me. I know it's so unfair to ask you but you're the person I trust the most and I-"

"Okay." He agreed. "If that's what you want, I can do that for you." He pulled you into his arms, and tried to understand why it felt like his heart was breaking at your words. He wouldn't let it come to that, he'd make sure he and Yuri found you a cure.

[kira-loves0905]

"I never loved you on accident."

it's the way his hands caressed your face, wiping your building tears as you kneeled before him. the weapon discarded from your hands as it instead grip his wrists. your voice echoing a desperate wail for him to stay. in the place now devoid from wanderers, your cries were loud and clear.

"most accidents are undesirable happenings– and that is far from what I feel about you."

he manages to focus your attention back on him. the shaky digits gently nudging your cheek, pulling you closer by the chin.

"look at me," Zayne says softly, "I'm here. you'll be okay."

such lies.

you see the way his skin crawls with ice. his stuttering breath right by your face— letting you feel the wisps of cold that was slowly consuming him whole.

"Zayne-"

"I'll find you." he cuts you off, not unkind. but rather to distract himself of the pain he never wants you to see. "and when I do, I swear this won't happen again."

he gnaws his lip as he saw more salt drip down your face. it dampens his fingers like a warm bathe to his heart, a burning fire that aches to heal any part of him that hurts.

"I'm sorry." he tries to pull away his numb hands, the curse now up to his wrists. but as always, you were a stubborn one. still leaning to his touch as if it doesn't make you instinctively flinch away from its temperature.

it was too late for him to pull back now, his frosted fingers stuck to your skin like glue. the sheer cold altering your tears to the beautiful patterns of snow.

"...Zayne..?"

you dared to look up at his face, heart coming to a stop. now frozen by time, in front of you was the man who only wanted to love. to yearn for your presence. to be with you as much as timed allowed.

yet here he is, by the curse he was forever doomed to have— stripping you away from him again and again.

maybe if you cried harder, the ice encasing him whole will melt away from your desperate love.

[fizzyapplecandy]

Ateez as Supernatural Tropes

Other members

The one with the white feather

Angel Hongjoong x detective reader

Genres and warnings: angel Hongjoong, detective reader, crime scenes, blood, guns mentioned, minors dni, angst, mentions of death, somewhat happy ending, strangers to maybe lovers, mature language (if i missed something, feel free to correct me)

Word count: 3.2k

A single white feather changes the course of your life.

"Good morning detective."

"Morning Yeosang, how's it going?"

"As you can see." The forensic inspector gestured around him. "It's been a messy day."

You scanned the area around Yeosang, noting how bloody it was. The person who died in the early morning hours was doomed from the second that the sharp knife touched her throat.

"I see... Do we have any details?"

"I've already spoken to the other detectives, we found her ID in her wallet. There doesn't appear to be anything stolen."

You hummed, nodding along to his story when you noticed something not far away from the woman's body.

A feather. One single white feather was next to her. Immaculate, despite the blood surrounding it.

"And what is that?"

Yeosang followed where you were pointing, shrugging his shoulders.

"It was there when we got here. It doesn't appear to have anything to do with the case. I mean, it's just a feather, I'm not sure what bird it's from, but it was just... There."

"You don't plan on picking it up?" You questioned, and Yeosang almost seemed offended.

"Hey, I thought we were past you doubting my skills. The feather isn't relevant, Y/N, but I'll pick it up. Don't worry."

Maybe he was right. You were known as the strict one in your department, but there was no need to doubt him. He's proven himself many times before, and you'd be devastated if your friendship took a blow because of work.

Just as you were about to respond, a flash of white somewhere behind him made you stop. It was fleeting, almost non-existent, but you saw it. Yeosang noticed your silence, trying to get your attention. You shook your head, gathering yourself again.

"Sorry, what? I don't know what's going on, this is just not my morning."

"Hey, I get it. Come, the others want to give you the details. I've got to finish up here."

.

.

"I swear to God, if this case beats my ass I'm quitting."

"We both know you won't do that."

Namjoon, the head detective of your department commented off handedly, sipping on his lukewarm coffee.

"Yeah, I know I won't, but I'm just saying."

"You've said it many times before, and here we are. We both know you love this job more than anything."

You sighed, finishing the last sentence on your report.

The murder case from two days ago was in full investigation, but you didn't have a single clue about what happened. The crime scene was basically spotless, if you count out the amount of blood.

One thing that kept you awake at night was the singular feather found next to the body. It was unusual, and you pestered Yeosang to test it.

No dna was found, it was from an unfamiliar species, and there was nothing tying it to the woman.

Your fellow detectives, as well as Namjoon, told you it was pointless to dwell on it, but you couldn't stop.

The other thing on your mind was the figure that appeared fleetingly in front of you. Yeosang told you it was your lack of sleep that jumbled your mind, but you knew what you saw.

Well, you didn't exactly, but there was something.

"Okay, I'm done. I need to get out of this office before I fall asleep on my desk. Again."

The head detective chuckled, shooing you away.

"Off you go. I need my best employee to be well rested. Lots of bad guys to catch."

"You're funny, you know? Bye now."

Waving to the other officers still in the office, you made your way outside to your car.

With a heavy sigh, you turned on the engine and made your way home. You lived in a small house in the outskirts of town, and you loved it.

There was no noise, no neighbours, no distractions. It was pure heaven for you, but the road towards your house was a little creepy. You had to get past a wooded area, and sometimes the paranoia from your job got to you.

Tonight was one of those nights, where everything seemed suspicious to you. Fortunately, there was no traffic, and you were almost out of the woods when you noticed him.

There, in the middle of the road, stood a man dressed in white. He wasn't moving, no. He was staring straight at your car.

"Come on now, move along." You whispered, tightening your grip on the steering wheel.

The man gave no sign of moving, staying rooted in his spot.

"Oh for the love of... Hey! Move it!" You yelled out of your window, but to no avail. Your car came to a stop, almost too close to the person.

Now you got a better look at him, and he was surprisingly handsome. His hair was blonde, almost white, and his clothes were pristine.

"Are you deaf? You have to get off the street."

The man's expression changed from stoic to amazed in a second. He opened his mouth, and his voice was as angelic as his face.

"You... You can see me? You can really see me?"

"Of course? You're standing in the middle of the road! Everybody can see you!"

He shook his head, quickly approaching your side. You instinctively reached for the gun in your holster, but he only gripped the glass of the window, his smile never faltering.

"I knew you noticed me back then! Oh wow... You really are special."

"What the hell? Okay, either you move or I get out of the car and make you."

At this point you were bluffing a bit, hoping the stranger would just go his way. The situation was getting too weird, even for a crime investigator like you.

As if he realised he was doing something wrong, the man panicked, mouth going slack.

"Oh no. No, no, no."

Sensing his distress, you tried going at him with a softer approach.

"Hey, are you okay?"

"No, no. I gotta go. It was so lovely meeting you finally, and I'm sorry you won't remember me."

Your confused expression made him even more sad.

"What?"

"Goodbye, Y/N."

"Wait, how do you know my-"

In a flash, the man was gone, and you were in a daze. After shaking your head, it was like everything went back to normal.

Funny, you could have sworn you just talked to somebody.

Oh well, maybe the stress was finally getting to you.

"I need a drink. Or maybe six."

.

.

There was this creepy feeling following you the whole next day. As if you were meant to remember something, but you just couldn't. The case you were working on wasn't making it any easier.

"This is starting to become ridiculous." You muttered, sifting through the papers.

"No leads?" San, a fellow detective, asked while passing you a cup of hot coffee.

"None. It's like someone put her there and just vanished."

San sighed, looking over your shoulder at the documents. There was Yeosang's forensic report, which gave you the cause of death, but other than that, nothing.

"The motherfucker is skilled. Maybe he's done this before?" He asked, making you wonder as well.

Suddenly, as if you were possessed, you reached for a pen and found a piece of paper at the bottom of the pile.

There, you circled one word.

"Brother?" San questioned, his eyebrows scrunching up.

"Yeah?" You replied, almost in a daze.

Then, it came to you.

"Her brother! Of course! Their grandfather died recently, and the family business was inherited by her."

"But wasn't he at a hotel or something? We have the receptionist's statement."

You let out a forced laugh, glancing up at San.

"The man is known for bribing people, you don't think he could have done it to that poor man working minimum wage as well?"

"Good thinking. Want to pay him a visit?"

Standing up and gathering your things, you smiled at San.

"Hell yes."

"Let me go get my things."

Before he walked out, he stopped at the doorway.

"Hey, Y/N? How did you know?"

"What?" You asked, confused.

"Well, you just... Went for it? Was it a feeling?"

You stood there, now realizing what happened in the last few minutes.

"I don't... I don't know, to be honest."

San nodded, shrugging his shoulders.

"Oh well... You have killer intuition."

.

.

"I knew you'd get it."

"Did you now?" You chuckled, clinking your glass against Yeosang's.

"Of course! You're the best detective I've ever met! And I'm not biased because you're my friend, I'm just stating the facts."

There were moments in life where you were thankful to have Yeosang as your friend, and this was one of them.

You successfully closed the case after confronting the victim's brother. The receptionist was easy to crack, and everything went smoothly afterwards. There was just one thing bugging you.

"It's a shame we don't know anything about the feather."

"What feather?"

Your hand stopped midway while lifting your drink, and you looked at Yeosang wide-eyed. His expression was the epitome of confusion.

"What do you mean 'what feather'? The one we found, completely unrelated to the case?"

"Y/N, I'm sorry, but there was nothing except for blood. You were there, you know that."

Silence fell over you, and your brain couldn't accept what he was saying. Was he messing with you?

Sensing your unease, he reached over to place your glass back on the table.

"Maybe you've had too much whiskey."

"This is my second glass."

"Yeah, well, maybe you're just too tired. Why don't I take you home now?"

You nodded, seemingly in a daze again. Yeosang led you out the bar and into his car, helping you buckle up. The ride home was quiet, with him trying to take your mind off the last conversation.

"And here we are. Get some sleep, okay? We'll talk tomorrow."

"Yeah... Yeah, I'll do that. Thank you, Sangie."

Without a second thought, you reached over to place a kiss on his cheek, exiting the car afterwards.

The image of the feather flashed in your mind again, and you couldn't stop thinking about it. You didn't even notice yourself unlocking your door and taking off your shoes.

Maybe you'd have been in a daze until you reached your bedroom, if it weren't for the fact that a man was standing in your living room.

"You're home!"

"What the hell?!"

Reaching for your waist, you pulled out your little handgun and pointed it at the stranger. His eyes widened, hands immediately going in the air.

"Hey now, why would you do that? I know you don't remember me, but there's no need to get so violent."

Your hands started shaking. Where have you seen him before? He was so eerily familiar.

That's when you noticed the white feathers scattered around the floor.

The same as the one heavy on your mind.

"Who are you? How did you get inside?" You asked, taking a few steps forward. The man still hasn't moved, but he now put his hands down.

"I'm Hongjoong. You don't know me as well as I know you, but I've been around for some time."

"Okay, Hongjoong. How exactly do you know me?"

He smiled. "Easy, I'm your guardian angel. I mean, I'm an angel, period, but I've come to like you a bit too much."

You gasped. "Are you on drugs? You definitely are, there's no way a sane person would say these things!"

"You don't believe me? Fine, I expected it."

Without another word, Hongjoong turned his back to you and spread out his arms.

That's when a pair of snow white wings sprang from his shoulders, knocking over a lamp on your coffee table.

"See? Don't they look cool?"

There wasn't one single credible explanation for what you were seeing, so you just... Sat down on the floor. Your gun was still clutched tightly in your hands, not yet ready to let your guard down. Hongjoong's eyes widened, a panicked expression taking over.

"Oh heavens! Are you okay? I can help you if you let me."

"N-No, no. Just... Stay where you are."

He surprisingly listened to you, staying rooted in his spot. His wings were still present, the white feathers shining in the dim light of your living room lamp.

"So... Angel?" You asked, knowing how ridiculous it sounded.

"Yep. I'm not really your guardian, but I took it upon myself to watch over you."

"Why is that?"

He sighed, sitting down on the floor a few feet from you.

"Well... I was once present to guide an unfortunate person to heaven. I saw you then, and I don't know... We can sense when people are in trouble, and you seem like a magnet for it. Part of the job, I suppose."

"Tell me about it." You huffed.

"After bumping into you again a second time, I decided to linger around. Why do you think you feel so safe when going home? I calm you down."

Your eyebrows scrunched up, wondering what we meant. It came to you then. Sometimes when you drive home, you feel like someone wrapped a blanket around your shoulders. It's fleeting, but it calms your nerves.

"That's you? I thought I was imagining it."

"All me." Hongjoong smiled, shrugging his shoulders.

"But why are you here? Last time... Wait."

You realized then. "I saw you! On the road! It was you!"

"Yes, it was. I had to erase it from your memory, it's forbidden for angels to show themselves around humans."

"What about now? You're still here, I'm looking at you."

He smiled, albeit a bit sad.

"I know that as well. I thought it wouldn't come to this, but... Once you see my feather, your fate has been sealed."

It's when you realize what he meant that it really hit you.

"I'm going to die, aren't I?"

Hongjoong only nodded. Silence overcame you again.

There was an angel in your house, telling you your death was close. This wasn't the evening you wanted to have, not in the slightest.

"So, how's that going to go? Are you here to, I don't know, help me?" You asked finally, looking straight into his eyes.

"I can't tell you that, but I promise I'll be there. I'm not planning on leaving you hanging. Besides, it will be nice to have a friend to teach you the ropes once you get here. Sorry, that might have been a bit insensitive."

"You think? Holy hell, I can't believe this."

You placed the gun back into your holster, standing up and walking into your kitchen. Hongjoong trailed after you, eager to have your attention.

"It's nice where I'm from, you know? I have a lot of friends, you'll get along just fine. And we've already decided what your job will be. Let me tell you, they don't let just anybody rank this high from the start."

"Will you please stop talking about my death like it's nothing?! I'm trying so hard not to have a breakdown right now, but you're not helping!" You yelled finally, your emotions taking over.

Hongjoong nodded, looking sad again. It kind of made you feel bad. He was clearly here to help you, and yeah it sucked to hear those things from him, but at least you won't be alone.

You knew your job came with a lot of risk, and that you'd end up hurt in action. It never occurred to you that you might... Die.

"I'm sorry, Hongjoong. I know you mean well, but it's a lot to take. I'm basically going to live the rest of however long my life is in fear. You really can't tell me when it will happen?"

He shook his head, taking a seat on a stool by the kitchen island.

"No, I'm not allowed. The only thing I can say... And I'm doing this because I really like you, is that you will die doing what you love, all the while protecting important people in your life. It's just who you are."

Well, that kind of made you a bit more relaxed. At least you know it is work related. That kind of made sense.

"And you'll be there?"

"Of course. I won't let you do this alone. You may not know me that well, yet, but I do know you."

You snorted a laugh, busying yourself with making some tea for the both of you. Do angels even drink tea?

"Oh really? What's my favourite colour?"

"Easy, red. You mostly wear black, but the few pieces you wear out are always red. Your nails are red, when you take the time to paint them."

You huffed. "Okay, that wasn't a tough question. Hmm... What's my least favourite movie and why?"

He stayed silent for a moment, and you thought you won, but he surprised you again.

"Twilight. The second one especially. You watch it when you want to laugh, because you always make fun of the acting. And you find it really cringe. However, you watch it when you feel down. It gives you a reason to laugh."

"Hongjoong..."

You handed him a cup, and when he reached over to take it, your fingers brushed. The touch was brief, but it sent a shock through your whole body. It was like a sting, but a pleasant one. He smiled afterwards, nodding like it confirmed something he thought about.

"What was that?" You whispered, too stunned to speak.

"Something... Magical. I know you felt it, you wouldn't be looking like that if you didn't. But that's not something you have to worry about now. Do you have any more questions? I'll try to answer them if I can."

It dawned on you suddenly.

"Oh God! Yeosang! I don't talk to my parents, I didn't even think about them, but him! He'll be devastated."

"He'll be fine. Believe me. He'll be sad, but somebody will be his shoulder to cry on. Maybe you even know it yourself." A knowing smile formed on his face, and you nodded enthusiastically.

"San? Oh my... Does it take me dying for them to finally confess to each other? A bunch of whimps."

Hongjoong chuckled, and you couldn't help but laugh along with him.

"At least something good will come from it."

He stopped, standing up to approach you.

"Y/N... I'm really sorry for barging in on you like this. It wasn't my intention. I just... You were always so close, but so far away at the same time. Don't hold it against me."

You looked at him, noting how sincere he sounded. It was like it pained him to be away from you, but it didn't make it easier that you had to die soon.

"I... I can't really think right now, I'm still in shock, but... It will be nice to have someone next to me. You know, once I pass. Maybe you're just the thing I needed."

His hand was on the island, and you couldn't help but reach for it again. Your fingers touched, the sparks going up your arm. Neither of you moved, and you just let the feeling sink in.

"It's... Strange. How I don't feel as scared as I thought I would."

"I'm here. I'm here to make it all easier. I will be next to you, as long as you let me."

Your eyes met again, and this time you smiled, the unease gone.

"I think I'll keep you for a while."

.

.

[a-998h]

could you do platonic yandere alastor x teen reader who is his daughter (they’re both in hell) :D

TRIGGER WARNING: mention of death, World War One, and trauma!

So, let's set the scene of your life. I know Alastor is Aroace. So, during the "Roaring Twenties" the French Quater of New Orleans was a low rent neighborhood that was home to a bohemian community of artists and writers and the working class.

So you grew up in this neighborhood and had as much of a normal life you could after World War One. Though when your remaining parent died either from the poor working conditions, Spanish Flu, or something else.

Now, you were alone on the streets of New Orleans. The loneliness was driving you mad and unless you wanted to get a job there was nothing you could do.

Well, in walks Alastor. He was looking for his new victim when he saw you. If you were to ask him then or now he would say that what drew him to you was your cheerful demeanor in the face of your circumstances and your smarts.

He went to whatever guardian you have to talk about adopting you. This adoption was private and now you have a radio host/ serial killer dad.

He has been through a lot and he attempts to make up for his trauma by giving you a happy childhood. He managed to do that, while keeping you away from all his serial killing.

Cut to him in Hell and at the hotel. He was thinking about you up in Heaven without him. Behind his smile he keeps thinking of the perfect little girl he left behind.

"Everyone, please say hello to our new guest!" Charlie announces.

Alastor walks down and sees a female demon that has a familiar air about him. You're there for a week before you both realize your relationship.

Uses his powers and status as an Overlord to scare other sinners away from you

Respects that you're a teenager but you still have a curfew

Introduces you to Rosie and Cannibal Town

Gives you a curfew

Keeps you in the 1920s in terms of clothing and hairstyles

Wonders what you did to wind up in Hell

Keeps inside the hotel or with Rosie when he's not there

Still does your hair for you

He tells you about the extermination

Scares away any boy who wants to date you

Or he kills them, either way you aren't dating anyone

He hates technology from after his death, so you can't have any either

He's OK with the other guesses being around you, mostly Husk and Niffty

Keeps you far away from Lucifer when he comes to visit

Uses his shadows to watch you if you're by yourself

Keeps you in the dark about the Exterminations for as long as he can

If he doesn't kill someone who wants to date you then he'll just be the most extra southern dad to annoy them into giving up

Gives you the illusion of freedom

When in public anywhere else but Cannibal Town, he will make you hold his hand and keep pace with him

Makes sure you call him call him "Papa"

Scares you about the world outside Cannibal Town and the hotel so you'll stay near him

[pokemon-ash-aus]

Dead AU ask caus ima suck for ash being a pokemon:

his body was found after a year, right? that means if decay works similar to our world, only bones would remain. How did they identify the body? dental records?

I think it works differently, Only because there isn't small decay eating bugs.

We can say that Weedle and Caterpie are the main culprits, but considering the area was filled with Spearow, we can assume that the bug population was greatly reduced.

Ash did not bury his and Pikachu's body, so, that does leave a few options. Mummification is out due to area being filled with moisture.

A normal decay without any outside help (ie caskets and all) takes about 10 days tops. Considering Ash and Pikachu's body was left in the open, the bug populace was reduced to nill, he would have been subjected to more underground pokemon.

Rattata are more than likely to feast on his corpse whereas the Sandshrews would aim for Pikachu. The infestation of Spearow and the mass exodus of many of em due to Pikachu's lightning powered thunder shock would likely lead all the pokemon to the bird pokemon. Smaller game equals easier meat.

This is on a long winded rant to say that Ash and Pikachu's body would have likely decayed within 2 weeks. A little longer than the average 10 days!

As for identification - it was a Molar test where they had /presumed/ it was Ash! Why do i say presume?

Ash was 10 years old at the start of his journey and subsequent end of life, He has NO dental records as of this age due to not needing crowns, fillings etc. Especially since he still at his baby teeth stage.

Typically speaking, Baby teeth start to shed between the ages of 8-12 years old, prominent ones, such as the canine teeth, take a while longer compared to the others.

Ash still had all his teeth, so we can presume either a) his baby teeth never fell out, or b) Most of his teeth had already prematurely fell out and he had his adult teeth at this point.

I'm more inclined to the thought of baby teeth never having fallen out, leading to the inability to have any records!

Technically speaking, the only thing police would be able to find out, is that the body had been there for close to a year already.

You know what's odd though? That the victim had a Pokemon right next to him.

A Pikachu

Looking into records of any trainers with Pikachu narrows it down greatly. And suddenly, they come across the record of Ash Ketchum, the only Pallet town trainer (a direct correlation of why he was in the viridian forest) with a Pikachu as a /starter/

So clearly, the body MUST be him. He even started as a trainer this year!

And thus, they believe that someone else stole Ash's identity since their are records of monsy being used, Pokemon being caught etc.

Except that's very clearly not the case, when Ash Ketchum -living breathing and looks EXACTLY like his trainer photo- conducts an interview with confusion.

"I've been traveling with freinds this entire time, why do people think I'm dead?"

And his Pikachu is right there on his shoulder- far too smart for a pikachu- looking on in the same amount of confusion.

The call is off, the grave stays with the body of the unknown trainer, and they never buff out the name Ketchum.

His name was Ash Ketchum

[iviorienne]

MY DOTING HUSBAND.

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝙰𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛 𝚡 𝚎𝚡 𝚆𝚒𝚏𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛.

๑ | sʏɴᴏᴘsɪs : ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ᴀʟᴀsᴛᴏʀ's ғᴏʀᴍᴇʀ ᴡɪғᴇ ғᴏᴜɴᴅ ᴏᴜᴛ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ʜɪs sᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇ ʜᴀʙɪᴛs ᴀɴᴅ ɴɪɢʜᴛʟʏ ᴀᴄᴛɪᴠɪᴛɪᴇs, sʜᴇ ᴡᴀs ɴᴏᴛ ʜᴀᴘᴘʏ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ɪᴛ.

๑ | ᴛᴡ : ᴀɴɢsᴛ, ʟᴏᴛs ᴏғ sᴡᴇᴀʀɪɴ, ɢʀᴀᴍᴍᴀᴛɪᴄᴀʟ ᴇʀʀᴏʀs, ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴs ᴏғ ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ, ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴs ᴏғ ʙʟᴏᴏᴅ, ɢᴏʀᴇ.

๑ | ᴀᴜ : ɪ'ᴠᴇ ʙᴇᴇɴ ᴛʀʏɴᴀ ғɪɴᴅ ғᴏʀ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴀʟᴀsᴛᴏʀ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ᴀɴɢsᴛ ʙᴜᴛ ɪ ᴄᴏᴜʟᴅɴ'ᴛ ғɪɴᴅ ᴏɴᴇ, sᴏ ᴡʜʏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴍᴀᴋᴇ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴏғ ᴛʜɪs? ʜᴇʜᴇʜᴇʜᴇʜ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏ'ᴀʟʟ ʟɪᴋᴇᴅ ɪᴛ! ~

Part one | Part two | Part three | Part four

You're a happily married woman with a doting, caring, faithful husband. Your man was everything you could ask for, you both shared a small but comfortable house. Life was full of ecstasy, just you and your loving husband..what could you ask for more? Life was perfect and what more could ever ruin this perfect life?nothing can ruin this life..right?

It was suppose to be another same night, where you cook dinner for you and your husband while you wait for him to come home. That is until, you heard a loud thud behind the basements door. Your husband warned you few times to never as in never in all circumstances go in behind those doors. You never knew what was in there or whatever the thing is going on there to make your loving husband enough to be so cautious of you going in there. Your husband was a honest man, but sometimes his weird obsession of keeping you away from the basement made you doubt him.

But since you're a good obedient little wife of his, you decided to ignore the strange sounds thinking that I was just another pesky rats causing ruckus.

But that is until you heard a muffled scream, you froze.

Does rats suppose to sound like a man crying? Wailing?

You gulped, you took a deep breath as you tried to ignore the sounds coming from your basement. But it was getting hard not too when the thrashing started to get.. Violent.

Fuck it. You abruptly stand up from the kitchen seat as you grabbed the knife just beside the cutting board as you slowly approached the basement door, clutching the knife to your chest as you held out your hand to grab the doorknow with a shaking hand and pounding heart.

Surely it's not what you think it's in there right? Alastor was not that kind of man.. Right?

Doubts about your husband increase as you shook your head and opened the basement door, rotten flesh and the metallic scent immediately greeted your nostrils. The scent was to much to handle that you had to step back and closed the door for a moment to catch your breath.

Just what was in there? Finally feeling ready enough to handle the scent, you opened the door once again before taking slow steps down the stairs. There nothing could be seen there apart from darkness and the scent of rotting flesh gets stronger and the sound of muffled crying and chains rattling got louder as you finally made it down.

You ran your hands to the wall finding the familiar switch for the light, once finding it, you took a deep breath mentally preparing yourself for the sight you're about to see as you switch the light on.

As the yellow-ish light spread around the room, you felt like the air knocked out of your lungs as you choked out a cry, feeling your knees giving up on you.

You stumbled on your steps as you dropped the knife, your hands flying to your mouth as you dropped to the floor, staring wide eye at the sight in front of you.

You muffled out a cry as the dying man eyes landed on you, he was tied into the wall with his hand on the air. The man tried running to you as he cried. Your eyes wandered more around the basement to see not one one, but three bodies stacked around the corner with intestines inside the jars. You tried to swallow down your vomit as you scurried towards the man.

" dear Lord.. " you gasped as you removed the gag from his mouth as the man coughs. He was all bloodied, missing an eye and a chopped leg, you wonder how is this man still alive with how much blood he lost.. And how long has he been here.

" i-.. Are you-.. " you weren't sure what to ask first, your far too shakened about this relevation.

The man raises its head as it cried.

" please please - PLEASE! get me out of here! I beg of you! " he cried, turmoil swirls to your stomach as your breath becomes ragged from panick-

" i- dont- I don't know how- where's the key?! " you asked as you frankly started searching around him, tears were already spilling to your beautiful E/C eyes.

" that- sick man s-stuck it in.. I-in that heart on the table! " the man coughed.

"Please I beg of you! H-hurry! "

You felt your soul left your body at the mention of where the key was, you slowly looked behind you to see the bloodied heart of a human on the.. Plate.. What.

Now that the sight finally downing into you, there were plates and utensils on the table and a half eaten liver too. Your heart aches as more realization hits you. Your husband was not only a murderer.. But also a cannibal.

You shook your head as you hurried your way to the heart shaking the feeling of disgust and vomit as your searched for the key inside. Why would he even stuck the key here?.. Perhaps.. Doe he know that you would disobey him soon? Whatever, you and the man need to get out of this place soon. You can't even bring yourself to call this home anymore.

Once you finally found the key, you wasted no more time snatching it in and ran back to the man, your now bloodied hand was shaking as you tried to unlock his cuffs.

" i-its ok now.. I got you.. O-once we get out for here i-ill call the cops. " you panted as you finally unlocked the last cuffs. The man fell on the floor as he cried "thank you's to you"

" there's no more time for this we have to- " a hand landed on your shoulder. You and the man froze in fear.

You stared at the man in front of you, seeing him gone quiet with a fearful look on his face tells you everything.

" darling.. " your breath caught on your throat as you felt your husband breath on your neck. The grip he hand on your shoulder tightened making you whimper.

" I thought I made myself clear about this. " you gasped as you felt something pierced behind you.

You coughed as you dropped on your knees as you held your side to see blood.. Your blood.

Your breath was shaky as you slowly turned to the man you shared your vows with, shared your bed with, shared your everything with, gave your love and everything.

More tears trailed on your eyes as he kneeled down to you cupping your cheeks, you leaned away from him as you scurried away as you whimpered. But he grabbed your jaw as his chocolate brown eyes.. Oh those eyes you once loved getting lost at.

" you should have listed to me, doe. " his eyes softened as you cried.

" it wouldn't have to be this way if you just stayed as a obedient little wife you are. "

He then cupped your cheek with his thumb wipped the tears off of your eyes smearing your blood on you.

You gasped for air as you started to see black dots in your vision as you clutched your side before your vision finally darkened , your husband sinister smile was the last thing you saw as you closed your eyes.

" I'll see you soon, my little doe. " and that was the last thing you heard as your body went numb.

Alastor craddled your now lifeless body as a year escaped his eyes, his victim was already crawling away but he could care less about that now. For now, he have to be by his beautiful wife like a doting husband he is.

Alastor kiss your cold forehead and went to your lips and gave it a one last kiss.

" I promise I'll come for you, my darling doe.. I ought to find you in every part of the afterlife.. I would tear down the heaven and hell just to find you again, just wait for me, mon chérie. "

Such a doting husband he is indeed.

[wolfbluebird]

Woven in Shadows

(Natasha x Fem!Reader)

Word count: 7.4k

Warnings: Fluff, angst.

Summary: You and Natasha face one of the most challenging problems you’ve ever faced.

(Men and minors dni)

There was something unbearably soft about the mornings. Not the ones Natasha spent alone—those were brittle, mechanical things, shaped by years of training and habit, stitched together from silence, cold air, and muscle memory. But the mornings with you—those were entirely different. When the light crept through the curtains in slow, golden ribbons and the outside world seemed to hold its breath, just for a little while longer. When she woke up to the warmth of you beside her, your body pressed sleep-heavy against hers, your fingers still loosely twined with hers beneath the sheets like you’d found her in your dreams and refused to let go. Those mornings made her feel like someone else. Not a spy. Not a weapon. Not the Black Widow. Just a woman in love. And even though the thought should’ve terrified her, it never did. Not when you were here. Not when you rolled closer in your sleep and she got to bury her face in the nape of your neck, breathing you in like you were the only thing tethering her to the earth.

She still didn’t know how she’d let this happen—this, being completely, irreversibly undone by you. There wasn’t a classified file for this kind of vulnerability. No protocol for the way her chest felt too small every time she looked at you, like her ribs couldn’t possibly contain everything you made her feel. She had been trained to resist pain, to live through anything. But this tenderness, this ache of being so in love with you she forgot how to move some mornings—this disarmed her. And God, did it silence her. Natasha didn’t talk much in moments like these, didn’t need to. She said everything in the way her hand traced absent, reverent lines over your skin. The slow drag of her fingers from your hip to your shoulder. The way her lips hovered at the back of your neck like they were always on the edge of a kiss. Like she was afraid if she pressed too hard, you might vanish. She didn’t know how to stop touching you. Didn’t want to.

She used to wake up alone, heart already on guard, the weight of survival pressed into her spine. But now? Now she woke up and found you. You, warm and safe, your body curved unconsciously into hers like you trusted her, like you knew she’d never let anything happen to you—and that wrecked her. Natasha Romanoff, feared and forged in red rooms and bloodshed, brought to her knees by the sound of your breath, the rise and fall of your chest. And she was so careful with you. With how she held you. With how she whispered things into your hair that she could never say when the sun was fully up. “I’ve got you,” she murmured, soft and certain, or “You don’t have to get up yet.” And sometimes, on the mornings where her guard had worn all the way down, when her heart felt too full and her voice too raw, she’d say the one thing that scared her most: “I don’t know who I’d be without you.”

No one else saw this version of her. She didn’t let them. Not Clint. Not Steve. Not anyone. The Black Widow persona was untouchable, crafted from silence and skill and every kind of armour imaginable. But that version of her couldn’t survive in this bed. Not when you made a quiet, contented noise and instinctively reached for her in your sleep. Not when she let you find her hand and hold it, even in dreams. You made her human. You made her soft. And somehow that softness never felt like weakness. It felt like freedom. Like truth. She didn’t always know how to explain what you meant to her—not in words. But in how she stayed, how she curled into you, how she didn’t flinch away from the light anymore. That was how you’d know. You had to know.

✯¸.•´*¨`*•✿ ✿•*`¨*`•.¸✯

It still amazed her, sometimes, that someone like you had chosen someone like her. You, with your heart that didn’t seem to understand limits. You could walk into a room and feel what people needed—not in a manipulative way, not in a tactical way, but with an instinct born of genuine care. It was your power, yes—your hands could draw pain out of a body like pulling darkness from water, glowing faintly as you did it, warm light bleeding from your skin like it came straight from your soul. But it was more than that. Your gift wasn’t just what you could do. It was who you were. Kind, open, stubborn in the way that only people who believe in goodness can be. You had an Avenger’s badge and the kind of battlefield composure that came from training, but underneath all of it, you were still the person who stopped mid-mission to help an injured civilian limp to safety. Still the one who knelt beside dying strangers and stayed with them, whispering to ease the fear from their eyes, even when you couldn’t save them. You always tried. Always cared. Natasha had never seen anything like it.

She didn’t know how you carried all that empathy and still stood tall. It exhausted her just watching. The way you walked through a world so broken and chose to meet it with tenderness. You let people lean on you, cry into your shoulder, call you in the middle of the night when the nightmares came back. You showed up every time. You didn’t know how not to. And Natasha… she could only marvel at it. She had learned to keep the world at arm’s length. To compartmentalise. You didn’t. You let it all in. You felt for people. Fought for them. Loved them, even when they didn’t deserve it. She knew that your powers took something from you each time—when you used too much of yourself, you went quiet, your hands shook, your skin paled like you were fading out. And still, you kept giving. Still, you kept healing. It made her ache in ways she didn’t have language for. Because she wanted to protect you from everything. From pain. From the weight of your own compassion. From the world, even when you kept throwing yourself at it with open arms.

Natasha loved you because you were good. Not in the naive, fairytale way. You weren’t innocent. You’d seen horror. Fought your way through fire and loss like the rest of them. But you’d come out the other side still soft. Still kind. You reminded her what they were fighting for. Who she wanted to be. You didn’t demand her vulnerability, you just made space for it. She found herself telling you things she’d buried years ago, not because you asked, but because you listened. Because you looked at her like she was worth knowing. Worth saving. She didn’t know how to live like you did, so open and endlessly willing, but she was learning. Watching you, she was learning. And God, it made her fall harder every single day.

Some days, when you came home from a mission, eyes tired and knuckles scraped, you’d smile at her like she was the only thing you needed. And Natasha would feel this wild, unsteady rush of love—because even when the world had taken the best of you, you still had more to give. You’d let her help you wash the blood from your hands. Let her sit behind you, arms around your waist, forehead pressed between your shoulder blades as you rested. She never told you that sometimes, when you weren’t looking, she’d stare at your hands like they were holy. How could something so small hold so much power? So much goodness? You didn’t even see it, half the time. You just did what you did because it felt right. But Natasha saw. Every time. And she loved you all the more for it.

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The compound was already humming with motion when you stepped into the prep bay—voices on comms, boots against metal, the low thrum of the Quinjet coming online through the wall. Stark’s voice was floating in from the main hangar, barking half-joking orders to Steve, while Sam checked loadouts and Wanda flicked her fingers through a tablet in that absent way she had when her mind was already on the battlefield. And in the middle of it all, like a constant, steady presence—you found her. Natasha. Already half-geared up, black suit zipped halfway, her hair pulled back in that braid she did when she didn’t want to be fussed with. You spotted her from across the room and something in you loosened, even now. Even with the heaviness of what you were about to walk into hanging thick in the air. Even with the weight of your role clawing its way up your spine.

She saw you at the same time, and her mouth pulled into that slight, private smile that only ever seemed to exist for you. Not the smirk she wore on missions, not the wry edge she gave the team when they were pissing her off—just something small and soft and real. She reached for you without words, and you came. You always did. You took up the space beside her like it had always been yours. Without asking, your hands moved to help her secure the fastenings on her belt, checking the placement of her weapons, adjusting the straps of her harness. The gesture was almost ceremonial now—neither of you needed help. But you liked the ritual of it. The closeness. She let you fuss over her with a patience she didn’t have for anyone else, arms lifting, body shifting easily under your touch. You slid a spare clip into one of her thigh holsters and murmured, “You’re light on reloads.” She huffed. “You always say that.” But she let you add one more anyway.

When she turned to do the same for you, her hands were slower. Not out of uncertainty—she knew your gear as well as her own by now—but out of that same quiet reverence she always had when she touched you. Like this might be the last time. Her fingers brushed over the clasps on your chest plate, checking for alignment, then lingered just a second too long on your ribs. She didn’t say anything, but you felt it in the way her hand stayed there, steady and warm. Like she was grounding herself. You leaned into it briefly, just enough for your shoulders to touch, and she finally exhaled. “You okay?” you asked quietly, not pushing, just checking. She didn’t look at you at first. Just nodded once. “Yeah. Just… don’t like going in separate teams.” You gave her a wry smile. “I’m a big girl, Nat. I’ll be fine.” But her eyes flicked to yours and something sharp lived there, something she hadn’t named yet. “I know. Doesn’t mean I like it.”

She helped you with your arm guards next, fingers sliding under the straps to check for movement. “Too tight?” she asked. You shook your head, and she sealed the Velcro down, knuckles brushing your wrist. Then, with a glance around to make sure no one was paying attention, she dipped her head and pressed a kiss to the corner of your jaw. Not quite on your mouth, not quite chaste. Just there. Like a touchstone. You let your eyes flutter shut for a heartbeat, memorising it. The shape of her lips. The way the scent of her clung faintly to her suit. The weight of being loved in a place built for war. “I love you.” she whispered. You caught her hand before she pulled away. “I love you too” And for a second, the whole room faded. Just her and you and this fragile, fleeting moment of peace before the storm.

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The Quinjet vibrated steadily beneath your boots, its engines thrumming like a distant heartbeat as it cut through the clouds, high above whatever chaos waited down below. You sat shoulder to shoulder on the bench lining the left side of the cabin, suited up, armed, ready—but folded into each other like none of that mattered right now. The others were scattered around the jet, all of them locked in their own versions of pre-mission focus: Steve reviewing blueprints, Sam checking over drone feeds, Wanda with her eyes closed and headphones in, already half in her own head. But you and Natasha? You were wrapped in your own little world.

Your head rested against her shoulder, heavy with that special kind of tired that only came from battle-readiness—the coiled tension that came from waiting, listening, knowing something was coming but not yet knowing what. Natasha didn’t speak. She rarely did on these rides. But she leaned into you like it was second nature, like her body had been carved to fit yours. One of her hands was loose in yours, fingers curled together in a familiar, easy knot. The other rested on your thigh, thumb stroking in slow, absent circles through the fabric of your tactical trousers. Her touch wasn’t firm, wasn’t possessive—it was grounding. Casual. Loving. Like she didn’t even think about it anymore. Just needed you there, needed that point of contact. And God, you loved her for it.

You turned her hand over in your lap, your fingers tracing the knuckles, the grooves of her scars, the curve of her palm. You ran your thumb over the rings she wore—thin, simple bands of silver and black, nothing flashy, but each one chosen, each one meaningful in its own quiet way. She didn’t wear them for decoration. She wore them like armour. Like memory. Like truth. You twisted one gently around her finger and she glanced down, the edge of a smile tugging at her mouth. “You always do this before a mission,” she murmured, voice low, not quite teasing. “I like your hands,” you said simply, still tracing the ridges of one of the bands. “You never used to wear jewellery, you know.” “I didn’t have anyone to show off for,” she replied, just as quietly. And then: “You ruined me.”

You huffed a soft laugh and bumped your head a little more snugly against her shoulder. She turned slightly to press her cheek to your hair. Just for a moment. Just enough to let you feel the weight of her affection settle in your chest like a second heartbeat. She smelled like leather and metal and something warmer—something distinctly her. “You nervous?” she asked eventually, her thumb pausing mid-stroke on your thigh. You shook your head. “Not when I’m with you.” And you meant it. Not because you were invincible together—God knew that wasn’t true—but because when she was close, the fear didn’t get to take the lead. You could breathe. You could be.

The Quinjet hit a pocket of turbulence, just enough to jostle you both slightly, and without thinking, Natasha tightened her grip on your thigh. Not hard. Just protective. You glanced up at her and found her already looking down at you. Her green eyes, usually so sharp and unreadable, were soft now, filled with something you didn’t have to name. “After this mission,” she said quietly, “we’re taking three days off. No comms. No training. Just you and me.” You smiled, letting your fingers slide between hers again. “Deal.” Then you kissed the edge of her shoulder plate and tucked yourself in a little closer, not caring who saw. This was yours. She was yours. And for now—for this moment—you were safe in each other’s hands

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The Quinjet doors split open to a city swallowed by smoke and fire.

The sky was already red when you touched down—thick clouds of dust rising where Hydra planes strafed across rooftops, shattering glass and chewing through concrete like it was paper. You could barely hear yourself think through the sheer noise of it. Sirens wailed through the chaos. Civilians screamed as they fled down fractured roads, dodging gunfire and falling debris, clutching children, ducking into alleyways, praying for shelter that no longer existed. The city felt alive, but in that sick, devouring way—like it was breaking apart beneath your boots, and if you stood still too long, it might swallow you whole.

Natasha was at your back the second you stepped off the ramp, the rest of the team peeling away into smaller units. Steve was already barking orders through comms—split the grid, cover more ground, keep civilian casualties to a minimum. Stark’s repulsors screamed overhead as he launched toward a collapsing tower, and Wanda vanished in a blur of red as she took off down a side street with Sam, her voice steady as she counted threats aloud. You stayed with Natasha. That wasn’t even a decision. That was instinct. The two of you moved as one, weapons drawn, feet finding rhythm through the cracked asphalt and shattered glass.

“North side’s overrun,” came Sam’s voice in your ear, static-laced but clear. “Three Hydra dropships just touched down outside the stadium. I count at least twenty armed on the ground.”

“I’ve got civilians pinned in the metro station,” Wanda followed, her tone tight. “Sending coordinates. Need backup.”

“We’ve got east,” Natasha said immediately, already vaulting a low wall beside a flaming SUV, her gun raised, eyes scanning. You followed, weaving between rubble and smoke, your body moving before thought could catch up. The heat from the fires made your skin feel slick inside your suit, sweat already trickling beneath your collar. The air was thick—ash, gunpowder, the acrid tang of scorched metal—and somewhere in the distance, something boomed, a building toppling in on itself like a dying animal.

Hydra soldiers swarmed the streets in organised packs, tactical and relentless. Their weapons weren’t standard-issue anymore—tech-enhanced, Stark-like, buzzing with stolen energy. One of them rounded a corner and Natasha dropped him with a clean double-tap to the chest. Another came at her from the left and you threw up a burst of your power—a shockwave of light and kinetic force that sent him flying backwards into a parked car, the metal crumpling like tin under his body. She didn’t flinch. Just nodded once and kept moving. You kept pace beside her, your breathing sharp, adrenaline lacing your limbs with that cold, vibrating edge.

“We’ve got movement by the old post office,” you said into comms, spotting a cluster of black-clad operatives using an overturned bus for cover. “Looks like a command team.”

“Take them down,” Steve ordered. “Clear a path. Every inch we push forward is one they lose.”

Copy. Easy. You and Natasha exchanged a glance, no words needed, and split like a pincer—her circling wide, drawing fire, you going high through the wreckage of a half-demolished café. You moved like a shadow, quick and quiet, your boots barely making a sound as you reached the upper floor and targeted the enemy cluster below. Natasha’s voice came sharp through your ear: “Three on the left. One’s got a launcher. He’s mine.” You dropped down behind the others just as she said it, landing hard, sending a surge of power into the ground that knocked two of them off balance. Natasha swept in from the other side, lethal and silent, her widow’s bites crackling as she struck.

It took less than forty seconds. Four down. Breathing heavy. No injuries. You exhaled shakily and reached out without thinking. She caught your wrist before you even finished the motion, steadying you, anchoring you. Her eyes swept your face quickly, checking. You nodded once. Still good. Still together.

Then the comms sparked again—Steve, urgent. “Heads up. They’re not just here for chaos. Hydra’s after something. Possibly someone. Stay alert. Watch each other’s backs.” Natasha gave your hand a final squeeze. “Let’s go find out what they want.” And with that, you ran.

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You were headed toward the next comm drop—half a mile east, near what used to be a bank tower—when you saw them. A surge of people breaking away from the chaos, not toward safety, but downward. Into the subway station. Dozens of them. Men, women, kids clutched in trembling arms. Faces smeared with soot, tear tracks cutting through the grime. People moving on fear and adrenaline alone. You spotted the old iron staircase before Natasha did, half-buried behind the remains of a toppled delivery van, the station sign scorched black, barely readable. But there it was. The underground entrance gaping like a throat.

You grabbed her arm without thinking, the instinct too fast to question. “There,” you said. She followed your gaze instantly, eyes narrowing. And then she saw them too—silhouettes flooding down the stairs, some stumbling, others carrying the injured. No guards. No order. Just raw, unfiltered panic. “Shit,” Natasha breathed. “If they’re hiding down there…” She didn’t finish. She didn’t need to. You both knew exactly what could go wrong.

There was no time to clear it with the others. No time to ask for backup. You both moved. You broke off from the street without hesitation, her hand brushing your back as she followed you through the wreckage, ducking low under a collapsed awning and hopping the railing to the stairwell. The air grew heavier with every step down. Cooler, but laced with the metallic sting of stress-sweat and electrical burn. Somewhere below, the flicker of backup generators cast uneven shadows across the cracked tile walls. The fluorescent lights lining the platform ceiling were failing in bursts—flickering, buzzing, casting everything in an unsteady white-blue glow.

You hit the bottom of the stairs and heard the murmurs immediately. Shuffling feet. The low, anxious voices of those trying not to cry, not to panic. Dozens of civilians gathered near the far edge of the platform—some pressed back against the walls, some huddled by broken benches, others frozen in place near the train tunnel entrance. The emergency lights strobed against their faces. Their eyes widened when they saw you and Natasha. One kid stepped behind his mother. Another tugged at someone’s sleeve and pointed. You didn’t look like rescuers—you looked like more trouble. But then you holstered your weapon. Natasha did the same. And slowly, the fear in their eyes turned into something else. Hope. Or maybe just the dim shape of it.

You and Natasha moved like you were wired together, no words needed, just motion and breath and instinct honed by too many missions where hesitation cost lives. She stayed close—shoulder to shoulder with you as you stepped onto the platform, scanning the crowd like she could catalogue fear by the way it clung to people’s skin. You saw the way her eyes shifted over every face, not searching for threats this time, but for injuries. For weakness. For someone about to collapse under the weight of it all. You watched her soften in real time, the Black Widow melting away piece by piece, until only Natasha remained—quiet, fierce, steady.

You crouched beside an elderly man slumped against a pillar, his lips pale, fingers trembling. “Sir, can you hear me?” you asked gently, already checking for blood, pulse, coherence. Natasha was at your back, her hand pressed lightly against your spine for a breath—grounding you, letting you know she was there—before she peeled away to kneel beside a woman holding a baby wrapped in a soot-streaked jacket. “How long have you been down here?” she asked softly, almost tenderly, her voice a careful thing. The woman didn’t answer, just clutched the child tighter and nodded toward the far tunnel. More down there. Others. Her eyes said what her mouth couldn’t.

The air was thicker down here—stagnant, warm, laced with fear and oil and whatever was burning in the electrical room two levels above. The lights overhead crackled every few seconds, casting everything in stuttering shadows. Every time it went dark, the crowd held their breath. Every time the light returned, someone sobbed in relief. You reached out and steadied a teenager trying to haul her injured brother up from where he’d collapsed. “We’re going to get you out,” you told her. It wasn’t a promise. It was a decision.

Natasha’s hand brushed yours as she passed you a med pack from her belt. You took it without looking, already pressing gauze to a bleeding shoulder, your knees soaked in someone else’s blood. “We’ve got to organise this,” she murmured close to your ear, voice low, clipped. “Triage first. Get the kids into one group. Anyone walking goes with them. We keep the others here until we know it’s clear above.”

You nodded, your free hand already motioning to the small, trembling clusters around you. “They’ll listen to you better than me,” you said, and it was true. Natasha’s voice carried. Not because it was loud, but because it was anchored. She could still a room with a glance. She could make the end of the world sound manageable. She stood tall, shoulders squared, her braid falling loose over her shoulder. “Everyone who can walk,” she called out, loud enough to cut through the murmur of fear, “start gathering by the west stairs. Parents, hold your kids. We’re going to move, but not yet. You’re not alone. You’re safe with us.”

A pause. Then, slowly, people began to move.

It wasn’t a wave. It wasn’t sudden. But they trusted her. Trusted you. And sometimes that was enough to start.

You and Natasha stayed in motion, side by side, touching shoulders, exchanging glances that spoke volumes. You could feel the weight settling in the base of your throat—the sheer number of lives pressing in around you, fragile and scared and clinging to whatever threads of hope they could find. Natasha didn’t flinch. Didn’t waver. But when her hand caught yours in a quick, silent squeeze between moving bodies, you felt the tremor in it.

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It happened fast.

One moment, people were starting to calm—fragile and frayed but clinging to the safety you and Natasha offered like a life raft. Parents gathered their children. The injured were laid out in a loose triage area near the back wall. Natasha had even gotten a small group seated and breathing together, grounding them with that quiet authority of hers, voice low and steady like she was narrating calm into their bones. You had just finished checking the pulse of a boy in his twenties—dislocated shoulder, bleeding from the head, but still alert—when the scream came.

Then another.

And another.

The crowd twisted, rising in a panic all at once like a wave crashing backward. Eyes wide. Feet scrambling. People shoved past each other, frantic, clawing to get away from the stairwell they’d just been told led to safety. A mother tripped, nearly crushed beneath a swarm of bodies before you lunged to haul her back up, pressing her behind you. “What is it?” you called, voice lost in the rising chaos.

Then you heard it.

The metallic clatter of boots on concrete. Not just one pair—dozens. Heavy, synchronised, tactical. And voices—barking orders in harsh, clipped tones through filtered masks.

Hydra. They were forcing them back down.

Natasha was already moving, already raising her gun, her jaw clenched so tight it looked carved in stone. “They’re driving them in like cattle,” she snapped, stepping into position at your side as civilians poured around you, stumbling, shrieking, desperate to get away from whatever was above. “They know we’re here. They want hostages. Or a trap.”

The subway platform filled with noise—panic, echoing off the tiles, ricocheting in every direction. Someone screamed that they saw guns. Someone else yelled about smoke. You reached out to grab a child nearly crushed between fleeing legs, pulling her tight against your side as her father came skidding in after her, shouting her name.

The air felt tighter now. Compressed. Like something wrong was crawling down your throat. The flickering lights above strobed faster, casting Natasha’s silhouette in bursts—her stance sharp, her shoulders squared, one foot already braced forward. Her expression had changed. No softness now. Only fire. Only fury.

“They’re close,” you said, eyes locked on the stairwell where shadows started spilling in—a flicker of black uniforms, the glint of weaponry. “We don’t have much time.”

Natasha turned her head slightly, just enough for you to see the barest crack in her mask—not fear, but something worse. Calculation. She was already counting bodies. Counting civilians. Counting how many bullets she had left and how much time you’d need to get them out.

“We hold the line,” she said. You nodded. And then the shadows started to move.

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The first wave of Hydra soldiers hit hard—but they weren’t prepared for you and Natasha at your full fury. You moved like a mirrored pair, a machine of muscle and instinct and precision born of too many missions side by side. Natasha ducked beneath a wild swing, drove her knee into a man’s gut, then spun and shot another square between the eyes without even blinking. You launched yourself at the group surging toward the civilians, slamming one into the tiled wall hard enough to crack it. His helmet clattered to the floor. You didn’t let him breathe again.

Gunfire cracked like thunder in the narrow space, echoing off tile and metal. Sparks flew. Someone screamed. Natasha covered a mother shielding her children, her body between them and the fight as she snapped off two perfect headshots and then dropped to a crouch to reload. You slammed your palm into the underside of a soldier’s chin, following it with a knee to the groin and a vicious elbow to the throat. He went down like a sack of bones. Another took his place almost instantly. It didn’t matter. You were faster.

The bodies started to pile. But it wasn’t enough. The ground began to tremble.

At first, you thought it was just the chaos—the pounding boots, the concussive blasts. But then it became unmistakable. The air shifted. The lights flickered. A low, mechanical rumble crawled up the tracks like a storm coming alive.

The rails were vibrating.

The unmanned subway carriage was coming.

You didn’t know if Hydra had triggered it as a failsafe or if it was some malfunction spiralling into hell, but you felt it—through your boots, up your spine, in your skull. And you weren’t done yet. You couldn’t be.

Only one soldier left now. The others were dead, bleeding into the concrete, twitching where they fell. Natasha had pulled back toward the crowd, ordering people into lines, shouting for them to move fast but stay low. Her eyes found you once, sharp and burning, but she didn’t call out. She trusted you. Trusted you to end it.

You squared off with the last man.

He was taller, heavier. Stronger than the others. Smarter, maybe—he hadn’t rushed you like they did. He was tactical. And relentless. He struck with full-body weight, trying to overwhelm, trying to drive you back. Blow after blow, your arms jarred from blocking, your ribs aching from a glancing hit. But you didn’t stop. You didn’t yield.

The tunnel roared louder. Your fight dragged toward the platform edge.

You could feel it—every inch of ground behind your heels disappearing. Every step he took forcing you closer to the drop. The empty tunnel gaped behind you, a black void shuddering with oncoming force. You could hear it now—screeching metal wheels, the high-pitched scream of a speeding train screaming down the tracks with no brake, no driver, no goddamn mercy.

Natasha shouted your name—but you couldn’t look. You were too close to the edge. And he knew it. He grinned behind the mask. You didn’t flinch.

The kick landed with the force of a battering ram—steel-toed boot slamming into your stomach so hard you saw stars in the tunnel lights. Your breath exploded out of you in one ragged gasp, your vision narrowing to a pinprick of white pain. Every nerve in your body lit up with fire, but you gritted your teeth and refused to let go. Fingers clamped around the soldier’s leg, digging in through fabric and muscle, anchoring you both to the edge of the tracks.

He struggled—big, brutal, certain that the fight was his—but your desperation lent you strength you didn’t know you had. You heaved with every ounce of will, dragging his weight forward. The rails groaned beneath his boots as he teetered, arms windmilling for balance. Your own boots scraped against the edge of the platform, toes curling over the lip as you fought the pull of gravity and the promise of oblivion below.

Behind you, the tunnel yawned wide and pure black, broken only by the harsh white slash of the oncoming carriage lights. They grew brighter with terrifying speed, reflecting off your sweat-slicked skin and the soldier’s gleaming helmet. In that moment, sound dropped away—no train screams, no crushing echoes—only the single, hammering beat of your own heart. You tightened your grip, muscles tearing, and launched your final surge.

And then there was only light. The carriage tore through the spot where you’d stood, its metal side a blur of bone-shaking speed. You and the soldier vanished into that unstoppable force, leaving nothing but a whisper of displaced air and a spine-tingling silence that rolled up the tunnel walls like a wave.

Natasha’s world shattered in a heartbeat. The seconds stretched unbearably long as she stood frozen at the platform’s edge, the echo of that unrelenting metal thunder fading into a hollow silence that screamed louder than any gunshot. Her breath caught, tight and ragged, like it had been crushed beneath an invisible weight. Her chest heaved violently, trembling with the sudden onslaught of panic and despair.

Her knees nearly buckled, but she forced herself upright, gripping the cold railing as if it could anchor her shattered soul. The gun in her hand slipped from her fingers and clattered to the floor, the sound a cruel punctuation to the chaos swirling inside her. Her eyes were wide, wild—dilated with shock and disbelief, searching the darkness as if somehow willing you back from the void.

Then it broke through—the raw, guttural scream tearing from deep inside her throat, a sound so desperate and broken it wasn’t human. It was a sobbed wail, a furious cry against the cruel, unbearable truth that you were gone. She dropped her head forward, hair tumbling like a dark curtain to hide the tear tracks streaking her face. Her hands trembled uncontrollably, fists clenching and unclenching as though trying to squeeze the pain back inside.

Memories flooded her mind in jagged shards—your laugh, the softness of your touch, the way you’d looked at her just moments ago with that fierce, unwavering kindness. Each memory stabbed sharper than the last, twisting inside her like a knife. The silence around her was suffocating, filled only with the sound of her ragged breaths and the distant chaos of the battle still raging.

She staggered back from the edge, collapsing onto the cold tile floor, curling into herself as if to hold in the agony threatening to swallow her whole. Tears spilled freely now, hot and relentless, as if mourning the loss not just of you—but of every future they’d dared to imagine.

Natasha Romanoff—the Black Widow, the woman who had faced death more times than she could count—was utterly broken. And in that moment, all that fierce strength turned inward, burning like a wildfire of grief and rage that promised this loss would haunt her forever.

Steve’s boots pounded urgently down the stairs, Wanda right behind him, their faces taut with alarm as they burst into the subway station. The chaos around them seemed to dim, the noise of panic and battle fading into a sharp, focused silence the moment they spotted Natasha. She was slumped near the platform’s edge, eyes wide and haunted, trembling like a ghost trapped in a nightmare.

Wanda reached out first, her voice gentle but firm. “Natasha, come with us. We need to get you out of here.” But Natasha shook her head violently, every movement sharp with desperation. Her voice cracked, raw and frantic. “No. No, she’s still there. I know it. If I track the carriage, I’ll find her. She has to be okay.”

Steve stepped closer, his hand on Natasha’s shoulder, steadying her as she swayed. “Nat, you’re not thinking straight. We don’t know what happened down there.” But she pulled away, eyes wild, refusing to be consoled. The determination in her gaze was fierce—terrifying.

Wanda’s hand glowed softly, a gentle light reaching out to calm the storm inside Natasha, but Natasha flinched, stubborn and broken. “I’m not leaving,” she whispered fiercely, her voice cracking under the weight of the impossible hope she clung to. “She���s alive. She has to be.”

They exchanged a look—Steve’s calm, grounded; Wanda’s filled with quiet sorrow—before gently, carefully, they began to pull Natasha away from the platform’s edge, away from the darkness where you’d vanished. But even as they moved her, Natasha’s eyes stayed fixed on the tunnel’s depths, searching for a sign, a miracle, anything to hold onto.

Steve and Wanda moved with quiet urgency, guiding Natasha away from the platform’s edge and back toward the stairwell. Her legs were unsteady beneath her, each step a battle against the weight pressing down on her chest—a crushing grief she refused to let go of. The fire and chaos of the city had begun to dim as the last Hydra forces were driven back, their ruthless storm finally broken.

Outside, the city was scarred but still breathing. Streets littered with debris, smoke curling upward into a heavy sky streaked with fading orange light. Civilians—shaken, some with tears still wet on their faces—huddled in small groups, guarded now by Avengers moving methodically to restore order and safety. The roar of battle had faded into a tense silence, broken only by distant sirens and the occasional crackle of radio chatter.

Natasha stood apart from it all, eyes vacant, the firelight catching on the tears she refused to wipe away. The victory felt hollow—like a hollow shell where joy should be. The weight of what she’d lost settled deep inside her like an unhealing wound. Part of her soul was shattered, scattered somewhere in that dark tunnel beneath the city, lost to the unstoppable carriage and the cruel mercilessness of fate.

She moved slowly, mechanically, as if she were a ghost drifting through the ruin of a world she no longer recognized. The smiles, the relieved embraces around her—all felt distant, unreachable. Wanda approached carefully, her voice soft, almost a whisper. “Natasha…”

But Natasha only shook her head, eyes locked on the smouldering horizon. “No,” she murmured, voice raw and brittle, “No part of me is okay.”

And in that silence, heavy and unyielding, it was clear: something vital had been ripped from her forever. The Black Widow, the woman who had fought so fiercely against the darkness, was broken in a way no mission, no fight, could ever fix.

✯¸.•´*¨`*•✿ ✿•*`¨*`•.¸✯

The quinjet hummed steadily as it soared away from the ruined city, slicing through thick clouds stained orange by distant fires. Inside, the hum was almost deafening in its normalcy, a cruel contrast to the chaos left behind. Natasha sat rigidly, her eyes fixed on the dark window, watching the blur of clouds and fading light, but her mind was miles away—tangled in the empty space beside her.

Her hand moved almost instinctively, reaching out for the familiar warmth that had been there just hours before. Her fingers brushed against cold, empty leather—the seat you had occupied on this flight. The sharp absence of your presence hit her like a physical blow. She curled her hand into a fist, struggling to hold back the sudden, raw ache inside her chest.

She missed the way your head had rested lightly on her shoulder, the soft weight grounding her in a world that often felt too sharp, too dangerous. She missed the gentle pressure of your hand in hers, your fingers weaving between hers, mindlessly playing with the many rings that adorned her fingers—tiny distractions that somehow made everything seem okay.

Now, her rings felt heavier, colder, stripped of the subtle warmth your touch had always brought. The silence between her and the empty seat was a cruel reminder of everything lost—every soft glance, every whispered word, every quiet moment of comfort she had taken for granted.

Natasha’s jaw tightened, a bitter knot settling deep in her throat. The mission was over, the threat vanquished—but the battle inside her raged on. And in the stillness of that quinjet cabin, with only the steady drone of engines to fill the void, she was left facing the vast, aching emptiness that your absence had carved into her world.

✯¸.•´*¨`*•✿ ✿•*`¨*`•.¸✯

The funeral was held in a quiet chapel nestled near the Avengers Tower, its stone walls heavy with centuries of solemn prayers and whispered farewells. Outside, the world moved on unaware, but inside, time itself seemed to slow, caught in the suffocating grip of grief. Soft, muted voices mingled with the occasional stifled sob, the air thick with the scent of lilies and worn leather hymnals. The gathered Avengers stood like shadows, their faces grave, each bearing the weight of a loss too profound for words.

At the front, beneath the altar, stood the casket—immaculate, polished to a high sheen, yet heartbreakingly empty. The lid was closed as if to honour a presence that had never been returned. It was a painful symbol, a cruel gesture to contain a void that no wood or metal could ever fill. The absence of a body made the grief all the more intangible, a ghostly wound that refused to heal.

Natasha stood close, her posture rigid but trembling beneath the surface. Her eyes were glassy, swollen from nights spent crying herself awake, red-rimmed and raw as if the pain had scraped away the moisture altogether. Every breath was shallow, uneven, a ragged attempt to hold herself together. Her hands clenched the front of her coat, knuckles white, as though grasping for something to keep her tethered to this cruel reality.

She thought of you—the light in her life that now flickered out too soon. In the endless corridors of her mind, she pictured a different future, one where the two of you stood together in front of friends and family. She’d imagined delicate white dresses flowing softly around you both, the warmth of your hands entwined tightly as you declared your love before the world. That vision had been her sanctuary, a place where hope still bloomed despite the darkness.

But now, that sanctuary was shattered. The altar was empty, and so was the space beside her heart. The echo of that absence reverberated in every corner of the chapel, a haunting silence that swallowed the whispered prayers and the gentle hymns. Natasha’s breath hitched, breaking through the stillness with a raw, ragged sob that tore from deep inside her chest—a sound so broken it seemed to fracture the very air.

Around her, the Avengers formed a protective circle, their presence both a balm and a reminder of the family they still had. Wanda’s hands found hers, warm and steady, fingers lacing tightly with a desperate tenderness that spoke of shared sorrow. Steve stood silently nearby, one hand resting lightly but firmly on Natasha’s back, offering strength without words, a steadfast anchor amid the storm of her grief. Bruce’s usually reserved demeanor softened, his eyes shadowed with empathy as he gave her the space to unravel without judgment.

No one dared speak of the body lost to the dark, the relentless subway tunnel that had swallowed you whole. The unanswered questions, the what-ifs and might-have-beens, lingered like ghosts around the room, pressing down on every heart. The empty casket was both a tribute and a torment, a physical reminder of the absence that could never be filled.

Natasha’s sobs grew louder, jagged and desperate, tearing through the chapel like a storm breaking loose. The Black Widow, the woman known for her unbreakable will and icy composure, was stripped bare—left vulnerable and shattered by a loss too vast to comprehend. Her soul felt torn, a piece forever missing, leaving a hollow ache that no victory, no mission, no promise could ever mend.

As the ceremony drew on, the faces of her friends blurred through her tears, their quiet support a fragile lifeline. But beneath it all, Natasha knew the truth she dared not say aloud: a part of her had been lost that day in the tunnel, taken with you in a way that would haunt her forever. The future she once dreamed of had been extinguished, leaving only the cold, painful present—and the unbearable weight of an empty altar.

❁ ≖≖✿❁ ≖≖✿❁ ≖≖✿❁ ≖≖ ❁

A/N: Haven’t been posting for a few days because I’ve been writing this beauty, hope you all like it… and I’m sorry 😔. But I hoped you enjoyed reading it xx

Ps. I’m not paying for anyone’s therapy after this xx

[Masterlist]

[itsreallynotriri]

Hi, dear! I'm sorry if you don't write character death, I read your 'rules and disclaimers' and I didn't see death at either yes or no so this is just me shooting my shot and ask you if you would write an Regulus x reader where, preferably the reader, dies, and Regulus goes through grief? Again, I'm sorry if this made you feel uncomfy, I absolutly love your writing. All the love <3

Where you are

Regulus knew he wouldn’t survive, but he didn’t mind. Death meant seeing you again.

pairings: Regulus Black x Dead!Fem!Reader

word count: 4.6K

warnings: Angst, mentions death, torture, drowning, implied depression. Read on your own accord

note: I usually write fluff rather than death, so this is definitely outside my comfort zone, but in a way I enjoy. To answer your question, I see death as a natural part of angst, so no need to apologize. Again, PLEASE READ ON YOUR OWN ACCOUNT. I changed the way I post my stories. Do you think it looks good? Yes or no?

more here: masterlist, Regulus masterlist

requested by anon.

Regulus Black sat before your grave, his back hunched, his once-impeccable robes now wrinkled and dusted with dirt. His hair, usually neat, hung in unruly strands around his pale face. He hadn't left since your funeral, unable to tear himself away from the cold stone that bore your name. The world had moved on, but he had not. He could not.

The sickness had taken you swiftly, cruelly. One moment, you were laughing with him, teasing him about his brooding nature, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. The next, you were weak, burning with fever, and he was powerless to stop it. Even the best healers could not save you. And now, Regulus was left in a world that no longer made sense, with only memories to replay over and over again in his mind.

He closed his eyes, and for a moment, he was back in the candlelit glow of your shared bedroom, your laughter ringing in his ears. "Regulus, you're staring again," you'd tease, poking his chest as he smirked down at you. "Can you blame me?" he'd reply, pulling you into his arms. But when he opened his eyes, he was alone. Always alone.

The two of you had been caught outside during the season’s first snowfall. You had thrown your head back, eyes wide with delight as you stuck your tongue out to catch the falling flakes. Regulus had only watched, mesmerized. "You look ridiculous," he muttered, but his lips twitched in amusement.

You grinned, tugging on his scarf to pull him closer. "Admit it, you love it."

"I love you," he corrected softly. And as the snow fell around you both, he sealed his words with a kiss, his hands cupping your chilled cheeks.

Regulus lay beside you in bed, staring at the ceiling, while your fingers lazily traced patterns along his arm. "If you could be anywhere, doing anything, where would you be?" you asked.

He turned his head to look at you. "Here. With you."

You rolled your eyes. "That’s a cop-out answer."

He smirked. "It’s the truth."

You huffed, but he could see the warmth in your eyes, the way your lips curled slightly at the edges. You leaned over, pressing a kiss to his forehead. "You’re such a sap, Regulus Black."

One evening, long after the world had fallen asleep, you had pulled him to his feet in the sitting room. A record played in the background, its melody soft and crackling with age.

"I don’t dance," he had grumbled.

"Then stand there and let me dance with you," you countered, resting your head against his chest as you swayed gently. Slowly, hesitantly, he moved with you, his arms wrapping around your waist. The world outside did not exist in that moment—only the two of you did.

Regulus had never felt fear like this before. Not in battle, not in the presence of the Dark Lord. Nothing compared to the helplessness that gripped him as he knelt beside you, his hands trembling as they brushed against your fevered skin.

"Love, please," he whispered, his voice raw. "Stay with me. Just a little longer."

You offered him a weak smile, your fingers curling around his wrist. "Reg… don’t look at me like that."

"Like what?" he choked out.

"Like you already think I’m gone."

His throat tightened. He wanted to argue, wanted to tell you that you weren’t allowed to leave him. But even as he held your hand tightly in his own, he could feel you slipping away.

"I don’t know how to live without you," he admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

You exhaled softly, the weight of exhaustion evident in your features. "You don’t have to. Just… just promise me you’ll keep living. Even when it’s hard."

Regulus swallowed past the lump in his throat. "I can’t."

You gave his hand a faint squeeze. "You can. You’re stronger than you think."

But he wasn’t. He was weak without you. And when your eyes finally fluttered shut, and your grip on his hand loosened, something inside him shattered beyond repair.

Days turned to weeks. Regulus stopped attending Death Eater meetings. The Dark Lord sent summons, but he ignored them. Nothing mattered anymore. He barely ate, barely slept. It was as if he had died with you; only his body remained, trapped in this hollow existence.

The Dark Lord’s patience began to wane. He could not tolerate insubordination, not even from the Black heir. At the next gathering, Regulus's absence did not go unnoticed.

"Where is Regulus?" Voldemort’s voice cut through the room, cold and sharp.

Silence.

Lucius Malfoy cleared his throat, exchanging a glance with the others. "He has… not been well, my Lord."

Voldemort’s expression remained unreadable. "Not well? Or unwilling?"

A heavy tension filled the chamber, the air thick with unspoken fear. Then, with a slow, deliberate nod, he turned his gaze to Narcissa Malfoy.

"Go to him," he commanded. "Remind him where his loyalties lie. And if he refuses to remember… persuade him."

Bellatrix Lestrange let out a sharp laugh, the kind that sent a chill down the spine. "Oh, dearest cousin has lost his spirit?" she cooed, her dark eyes glittering with amusement. "Mourning a little lost love? How... pathetic."

Narcissa shot her sister a warning look before bowing her head to the Dark Lord. "I will see to it, my Lord."

Bellatrix sneered. "And if he does not listen?"

"Then we ensure he does," Voldemort replied simply, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Narcissa arrived at Grimmauld Place within the hour, her expression composed but laced with concern. She knew grief. She knew how it twisted inside a person, warping their reality, making the rest of the world fade to nothing. But she also knew the cost of disobedience.

She found Regulus where she expected—by your grave. His head was bowed, his fingers tracing the etched letters of your name. He did not look up as she approached, did not acknowledge her presence.

"Regulus," she said softly, kneeling beside him. "You have to come inside. You’ll make yourself ill."

He did not move.

She reached out, placing a gentle hand on his arm. "She wouldn't want this for you. She loved you, Regulus. You think she would want you wasting away like this?"

His voice, when he finally spoke, was hoarse from disuse. "Don’t. You don’t understand, Cissy."

"I do understand," she countered, squeezing his arm. "But I also understand that the Dark Lord does not tolerate weakness. He sent me here to remind you of that."

Regulus exhaled sharply, finally lifting his gaze to her. His eyes were hollow, void of the sharp intellect that had once defined him. "Let him kill me, then. It would be easier."

Narcissa’s stomach clenched at his words, but before she could respond, the fireplace in the house roared to life, signaling another arrival.

Bellatrix.

She strode into the clearing like a phantom of death, her wand twirling between her fingers as she observed the pathetic sight before her.

"Look at you," she taunted, tilting her head. "The great Regulus Black, reduced to nothing more than a lovesick fool." She sighed, shaking her head dramatically. "What a waste."

Regulus did not react, not even as she stepped closer. Bellatrix crouched before him, her dark curls falling over her shoulder as she studied him with twisted fascination.

"You think grieving makes you noble?" she whispered mockingly. "It makes you weak. She’s gone. Dead. Nothing you do will bring her back."

Regulus's jaw clenched, his hands curling into fists. "Shut up."

Bellatrix grinned. "There’s fire in you still. Good. You’ll need it when the Dark Lord decides you are no longer worth keeping."

Narcissa rose to her feet, stepping between them. "That’s enough, Bella."

Bellatrix huffed, rolling her eyes. "Enough? Oh, dearest sister, our cousin here needs a lesson in duty."

Regulus finally looked up, his gaze meeting Bellatrix's with something dangerous simmering beneath the emptiness. "My duty?" he echoed. "Tell me, Bella—what would you do if it were Rodolphus? If he was the one buried here?"

For the first time, Bellatrix faltered. It was brief, barely noticeable, but it was there, a flicker of something human beneath her insanity.

She scoffed, straightening up, mask falling back into place. "That’s the difference between us, dear cousin. I would not be weak enough to let love ruin me."

Regulus gave a hollow laugh, shaking his head. "Then I pity you."

Bellatrix’s eyes darkened, but before she could retort, Narcissa stepped forward, voice firm. "That’s enough. We came here for one reason."

She turned to Regulus, her expression softening. "Come back, Regulus. At least pretend, for your sake. If you keep ignoring the Dark Lord’s summons, it will not be my voice or Bella’s he sends next."

Regulus looked at her for a long moment before exhaling, the weight of his grief pressing down on him. "Fine," he murmured. "I’ll come."

Bellatrix smirked. "Smart boy."

But as Regulus stood, casting one last glance at your grave, he knew the truth.

He would never truly return. Because a part of him had died with you, and no amount of pretending could change that.

A few days later, the night was thick with smoke, the air filled with the distant echoes of screams and the crackling of fire. The raid was nothing new, another display of the Dark Lord’s power, another night of violence. Regulus moved through the wreckage like a specter, his wand gripped tightly in his fingers, his expression empty.

The mission had been simple: take down those who resisted, leave an example behind. It should have been nothing more than another task to complete. And yet, something in Regulus had cracked.

His wand was raised, the curse spilling from his lips before he had even registered the words.

“Crucio.”

The man collapsed instantly, his back arching off the ground as if an invisible force had seized his spine and twisted it. A raw, guttural scream tore from his throat, his fingers clawing desperately at the dirt, nails breaking as he convulsed. His legs jerked uncontrollably, his body writhing like a trapped insect beneath a magnifying glass, unable to escape the unbearable fire coursing through his veins.

Regulus didn’t blink. Didn’t waver. His arm remained steady, his grip on his wand firm. The screaming filled his ears, louder than the roaring flames consuming the house behind them, louder than the shouted orders of other Death Eaters in the distance. It should have been enough. But it wasn’t.

“Crucio.”

Another wave of agony slammed into the man’s already broken body. He choked on his breath, gasping as though drowning, his limbs seizing up before thrashing violently against the cobbled ground. His skin was slick with sweat, his face contorted into something beyond recognition—beyond human. A broken animal, screaming for mercy that would never come.

Regulus’s heart pounded against his ribs, his fingers twitching as he tightened his hold on his wand. The pain in the man’s eyes—it reflected something back at him. Something raw. Something that made his own grief flare like an open wound. He wanted to stop feeling nothing. He wanted to make the world feel what he did.

“Good,” a voice purred from behind him.

Bellatrix.

Her presence slithered through the smoke like a serpent, her dark eyes gleaming with sadistic delight as she watched him work. She stepped closer, her breath warm against his ear. “Again.”

Regulus hesitated for only a second before his grip tightened once more. The man on the ground barely had the strength to whimper, his body twitching, his consciousness fraying at the edges. His breaths came in wet, strangled gasps, his eyes rolling back in his head. He was close to the edge, teetering between agony and oblivion.

Bellatrix chuckled, her voice dripping with approval. “Yes, dear cousin, let him suffer. Make him beg.”

Regulus’s expression was unreadable, his heart hammering. He lifted his wand once more, ready to cast again, to drag the man deeper into suffering. To let the pain swallow them both whole.

And yet, as he stared down at the broken body beneath him, something twisted in his chest. The man’s face was a mess of blood, sweat, and agony. His fingers twitched, his body barely responding to the torture anymore. He was nothing but a shell now.

Regulus took a slow breath and lowered his wand.

Bellatrix’s smile faltered, her excitement giving way to scrutiny. “Why did you stop?”

Regulus didn’t answer. He turned away from the broken man at his feet and walked past her, his expression void of anything. Bellatrix watched him go, amusement flickering in her gaze.

“Oh, cousin,” she whispered, laughter dancing on her lips. “The Dark Lord will be so pleased.”

Regulus didn’t react. He just kept walking, the man’s screams still ringing in his ears, merging with the ghosts of the past he could never escape.

Another raid. Another night drenched in screams and the scent of burning wood. The world around Regulus was a blur of fire and shadows, but none of it truly touched him. He moved as if in a trance, detached from the chaos that once might have rattled him. Nothing mattered anymore.

The target of their raid had been reduced to a heap of trembling limbs, barely clinging to consciousness. A once-proud wizard, now on his knees in the mud, his body wrecked with exhaustion and pain. Regulus stood over him, wand still raised, breath slow and measured. He didn’t even remember how long he had been casting.

Death Eaters gathered in a loose circle around them, the flickering firelight illuminating their masks, their dark robes shifting like shadows. Some watched in silence, arms crossed, their expressions hidden but their satisfaction clear. Others smirked, whispering amongst themselves, reveling in the spectacle. This was entertainment. A lesson. A show of power.

“Crucio.”

A gurgled scream ripped from the man’s throat, his head snapping back as another wave of unimaginable pain consumed him. He twitched and writhed, his fingers digging into the dirt as if the earth itself could save him. But there was no salvation. No mercy.

Bellatrix’s laughter echoed through the ruined village, a sweet and cruel melody that slithered into Regulus’s ears. She stood nearby, watching him with an indulgent sort of pleasure.

“That’s it, darling,” she cooed, stepping closer. “Feel it. Let it consume you.”

Regulus tightened his grip on his wand, watching the way the man’s body spasmed, his eyes rolling back, his screams hoarse and broken. He should have stopped. This should have sickened him. But all he felt was the void.

“Again,” Bellatrix urged, voice thick with delight.

Regulus obeyed. The curse tore from his lips once more, and the man shrieked, though his body was barely responding now. He was slipping, teetering on the edge of death, barely holding onto life by the frayed strings of his shattered nerves.

Bellatrix stepped around Regulus, her movements slow, predatory. She knelt beside the broken man, running a gloved finger through the blood seeping into the mud.

“See how beautiful suffering can be?” she murmured, her gaze flicking up to meet Regulus’s. “You understand it now, don’t you?”

From the corner of his eye, Regulus saw some of the Death Eaters nodding approvingly, their postures relaxed, satisfied. Others murmured to one another, their voices thick with amusement, speaking as if this were nothing more than a game.

Regulus didn’t answer. His wand was still raised, his heart hammering beneath his ribs. He wasn’t sure if it was from exhilaration or sickness. He wasn’t sure if he cared.

Bellatrix smirked, her dark eyes dancing with a manic sort of glee.

“The Dark Lord will be pleased,” she said, almost sing-song. “You’re finally becoming who you were meant to be.”

Regulus swallowed hard, his fingers tingling from the magic coursing through him. His chest felt hollow, his veins filled with ice. He didn’t look at the man he had broken. He didn’t want to.

Instead, he turned away, stepping over the crumpled body as if it were nothing more than debris in his path.

Bellatrix followed him, still smiling, still watching.

The Death Eaters parted as he passed, some murmuring words of approval, others giving him silent nods of respect. This was his place now. This was who they believed he was becoming.

But Regulus felt nothing. Nothing at all.

The first time Regulus killed someone after your death, it wasn’t intentional. At least, not in the beginning.

The raid had gone as all the others did, rushed movements, shouts, spells flying through the air like lightning, the scent of burning wood and flesh thickening the night. Regulus had been moving on instinct, his mind caught somewhere between the present and the past, the ghosts of his memories keeping him at a cruel distance from reality. He barely registered the man he had cornered, barely recognized the wand shaking in the desperate grip of someone who had already lost.

It should have been over quickly. Stun him. Leave him. Move on. But something snapped.

The man had looked up at him, eyes wide, pleading, and there was something—something in his expression.

It was the way his lips parted, the way his chest heaved, the way his entire body braced for the worst but still hoped, still begged for mercy. It was the same way you had looked at Regulus once. The same way you had reached for him in your final moments, fingers weak, trembling, before they had gone cold against his skin.

His wand moved before he could think.

“Crucio.”

The man screamed.

Regulus had cast the curse before, had heard the sound of agony a hundred times over. But this was different. This wasn’t calculated. This wasn’t controlled. It was raw, vicious, and desperate. He poured everything into it—his grief, his rage, his emptiness. He watched as the man writhed beneath the force of his magic, body twisting unnaturally, breath choking in his throat as his screams turned ragged.

And Regulus didn’t stop.

He barely noticed when the others fell silent around him, when the fight moved on, when the only sound left in the alley was the crackling fire and the wet gasps of a dying man. His hand was shaking, grip tight around his wand as though it were the only thing tethering him to the world.

The man stopped moving. His chest barely rose. His fingers twitched, his mouth opened, whether to speak or to breathe, Regulus would never know. Because, in that next instant, the last thread of life snapped, and he was gone.

Regulus stared down at him, at the way the light had left his eyes, at the way his body had gone slack in the dirt, at the way his blood soaked into the ground as if the earth itself was eager to erase his existence.

He waited for the guilt. He waited for the satisfaction. He waited for anything at all.

But there was nothing. No regret. No triumph. No relief.

Just emptiness.

A void where something should have been.

And as the night stretched on, as the echoes of death faded into the wind, Regulus realized that maybe, just maybe, there was nothing left of him to save.

Regulus hadn’t looked at himself in weeks. Maybe months. There was no need. He already knew what he would see—someone who wasn’t really alive anymore. A hollowed-out thing, a ghost wrapped in skin.

But tonight, something had drawn his eyes to the mirror.

It was accidental. He had stumbled into the Black family bathroom after another sleepless night, reaching for the basin to splash water on his face. But then his gaze flickered up, and there he was.

He froze.

The man staring back wasn’t him. He looked sickly, his once-pale skin now ashen, stretched thin over his sharp cheekbones. The deep shadows beneath his eyes made them look sunken, like the empty sockets of a corpse. His lips were chapped, bloodied in places where he had bitten them raw without realizing it. His dark curls, once so carefully combed, were a tangled, matted mess.

His mother would have been horrified. His father, disgusted. He might have cared once.

Regulus gripped the edge of the sink, his knuckles turning white. He wasn’t sure how long he stood there, staring, unable to look away. A thought flickered through his mind—how much he looked like you in the last days before you died. How the sickness had drained the life from your body, how your eyes had dulled, how you had wasted away until there was nothing left but a fragile shadow of the person you once were.

You were dead.

And he was still here. Why?

Something cracked inside him, something he had been holding together for too long. His breath hitched, his vision blurred, and suddenly he was moving, his hand lashing out before he could stop himself.

The mirror shattered.

The pieces clattered to the floor, sharp fragments catching the dim candlelight, scattering across the black-and-white tiles. He stared down at them, his chest rising and falling with uneven breaths, his fingers shaking. Blood dripped from his knuckles where the glass had sliced him, but he barely felt the pain.

It was quiet now.

Too quiet.

His reflection was gone. No more proof that he was still here, that he was still breathing when you weren’t.

He slumped to the floor, his back against the sink, staring blankly at the broken shards surrounding him. It felt fitting. Like his body had finally caught up with the state of his soul.

He wasn’t sure how long he had sat there. Minutes. Hours. Maybe forever. The thought of moving, of getting up and continuing like nothing had happened, felt impossible. The weight in his chest, the crushing emptiness inside him, was too much.

And for the first time, he didn’t want to fight it.

The thought came slowly, creeping in like a whisper in the back of his mind, curling around him like smoke.

It would be easier. To just… stop.

To close his eyes and never open them again. To let go.

He wasn’t scared. He had nothing left to be afraid of. No one left to disappoint.

You were waiting for him. Somewhere out there, beyond all of this, you were waiting.

Regulus let his head fall back against the cabinet, his bloodied hand going limp at his side. He exhaled slowly, almost peacefully.

Maybe it was time to go home. Go back home to you.

The cave was silent, save for the rhythmic lapping of the dark lake against the stone. The air was damp, thick with the scent of decay, of something ancient and long-forgotten. Regulus stood at the water’s edge, his wand raised, the golden locket heavy in his trembling hand.

This was it. His final act of defiance.

He had spent so long lost in grief, spiraling deeper into the abyss of the Dark Lord’s service, hollowed out by your absence. He had tried to fill that void with cruelty, with violence, with mindless obedience. But none of it had numbed the agony of losing you. And now, he stood here, at the edge of his own demise, finally understanding what you would have wanted for him.

He wasn’t meant to be this. He wasn’t meant to be a monster.

“Kreacher,” he whispered. The elf trembled beside him, eyes wide with terror. “Take this. Go. Destroy it.” He forced the locket into Kreacher’s small hands, curling the elf’s fingers around it.

“But Master Regulus—” Kreacher’s voice cracked.

“Please,” Regulus breathed, kneeling before the only soul who had remained loyal to him. “You must live. You must finish what I started.”

Tears burned his eyes as he thought of you, of the way you would have scolded him for throwing his life away, for giving up. But this wasn’t giving up, was it? This was finally doing something right.

Kreacher vanished with a crack.

And then, the water stirred.

Cold fingers clawed at the air, skeletal hands breaking through the surface. The Inferi moved unnaturally, jerking toward him with silent, gaping mouths. He lifted his wand, but he already knew—there was no escaping this.

His body screamed to fight, to run, but Regulus let himself sink to his knees. A hand gripped his wrist, another clawed at his shoulder, and suddenly he was being pulled under, the icy water swallowing him whole.

Darkness wrapped around him, numbing his limbs, slowing his heart. He exhaled a shuddering breath, bubbles escaping his lips as the last remnants of air left his lungs. He didn’t fight. He didn’t thrash. He simply closed his eyes and let the memory of you carry him away.

Your laughter. Your warmth. The way you whispered his name like it was something sacred.

He saw you waiting for him in the depths, reaching out, just as you had before you were taken from him. And as the abyss claimed him, for the first time since your death, he felt peace.

Your name was the last thing that left his lips before the darkness took him forever.

When Regulus opened his eyes, he was somewhere else. The cold was gone, the suffocating weight of water no longer pressing against his lungs. Instead, there was light—soft, warm, golden light. The kind he had only seen in dreams.

And then he saw you.

You stood before him, untouched by time, just as he remembered you—beautiful, radiant, alive. His breath hitched, his chest tightening as he stumbled forward, almost afraid that if he touched you, you would disappear.

But you didn’t.

The moment his arms wrapped around you, the dam inside him shattered. A sob ripped from his throat, raw and broken, and he clung to you as if he were drowning all over again. His fingers dug into you, desperate, needing to make sure this was real, that you were real.

“I’m so sorry,” he choked out, burying his face in your shoulder. “I’m so—so sorry.”

Your hands came up, running through his dark hair, soothing, grounding. “Shh, Regulus,” you murmured. “It’s over. You’re safe now.”

But he wasn’t sure he deserved to be. He had done terrible things. He had let grief consume him, let it turn him into something unrecognizable. He had been lost for so long.

Yet, in your arms, he finally felt found.

You pulled back just enough to cup his face, wiping away his tears with your thumbs. “You did the right thing,” you whispered. “You’re here now. With me.”

Regulus let out another broken sob, pressing his forehead against yours. For the first time in what felt like eternity, the void inside him wasn’t empty anymore. He was home.

With you.

[too-much-tma-stuff]

Origin Story

@silvershadowspark requested: GIW captures Danny, he destroys the base and escapes, but they hurt him enough that the only way for him to survive is to overshadow someone (a Bat who stumbles into the remains of the destroyed base)?

---------

At first Danny had kept his senses, he had begged, and bargained, and cried, he had tuned out the pain and waited for rescue, but none had come. He tried to escape himself but it never worked and the pain was always worse afterwards. It shouldn't have been a surprise to anyone when he chose to fight, and yet somehow it was.

His core cracked like a nuclear blast, the energy that escaped enough to practically vaporize the two standing over him at the time, sending the lab into careening shambles and freeing him from the table he was strapped too, not by breaking the scraps, but by turning the table itself into rubble.

More rushed in, with weapons, and goggles, and so much white. He couldn't stand the white anymore, good thing it was relatively easy to turn it all red. The shouting turned into screaming and he couldn't stand either, the noise vibrated on every raw nerve and the exposed parts of his very soul no longer protected by the shell of his core. He didn't stop until there was silence.

Fire flickered around the building, casting beautiful orange and yellow light, the white was coated red now and it was quiet. The crackling roar of the fire wasn't to loud, lost of the base had been stone after all. Danny drifted to the only section of the roof he hadn't torn down an collapsed, laying on his back and staring at the sky.

The stars... he hadn't seen the stars in so long. There was some smog, but he could see the brightest stars at least. Here under the stars, with the crackling of flames the only sound he could feel the edges of his ghost form starting to lose their form and melt. That was alright, this wasn't a bad place to die, and at least then the pain would end.

It wasn't to be then, because just as he was drifting he heard another sound, another voice. He was barely more then a shadow but he snapped to awareness anyway. Could they really not even let him die in peace!? He rolled over with a ghostly groan and lifted off the ground. He needed to stop the sound so he could go back to dying alone.

He found the person, they weren't wearing white, the black and red was much more soothing on his tired eyes, but they were still talking. Danny reached out, intending to slide his hand into their chest through their back and pull out their heart before they knew what was happening, but that wasn't how things went.

Instead, he blinked, his vision was different. He could still feel the pain but it was dulled, and deeper, bellow something else. He lifted a hand to his chest and took a deep breath, how long had it been since he had breathed?

"...- Do you read? Red Robin come in, are you there?" A voice in his ear was still talking. Who was Red Robin? who was this voice, it wasn't who had been talking before.

He lifted his hand to his ear, his limbs felt like they were weighed down with led. He pressed the button on the com on auto-pilot.

"Sorry, I read. I don't know what happened here but I don't think there will be any survivors. It's some sort of lab and it looks like something broke out, not in." The voice wasn't his either, but it felt good to speak and be listened to.

Danny tilted his stolen head back towards the sky and a grin spread across his face. He had been ready to die on that rooftop, but now he wouldn't. He didn't want to die. He hadn't gotten this far by being willing to give up and he sure as hell wasn't now.

He knew this body had a soul, a strong one too, he could feel it fighting against his control in a way trapped souls usually didn't but he shoved it back down. Distantly he could feel their panic at being controlled but it blended in with his own suffering, and he couldn't bring himself to care.

After all, he had access to a body, and a mind, a mind with all sorts of useful information, a very smart mind that could be used for all sorts of things, and a long, long list of places to hide, and enemies.

Danny needed to hide, for now at least, so that he could heal. He wasn't quite sure what he would do once that had happened either. But he knew that he was never ever going to let a human touch him again, and he would do whatever he needed to to ensure his own survival.

"Affirmative, we'll send back up in case it's still in the area," the clipped voice said through the coms.

"Don't bother. I already found him," Danny hummed before pulling the tracker out of his ear and dropping it. It was a good thing he could still fly while possessing a body. He ripped out the other trackers he could find as he flew. It was time to find a place to hide, and maybe, just maybe, a bit of revenge. On the GIW of course, and on those who should have stopped them but didn't.

[bigassmoonchild]

Tags

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader

Word Count: 2.6k

Summary: He's gone. He's gone and all he's left you with is this god damned pup, but god forbid you're allowed more than a month of peace. You never wanted to see this.

Content Tags: Mentions of Death, Pregnancy, The 141 Being A Pack, Angst, Hurt/No Comfort, Hurt/Some Comfort, Mentions of Violence, Medical Inaccuracies, Fear, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha! Ghost, No Use of Y/N

A/N: I'm having some problems finding accounts asking to be tagged. Please make sure you've got the right settings! As always, content under the cut and requests are open!

P.S: Keep sending in asks! I'm checking throughout the week!!

Part 1 | Previous, Next | Headcannons, Masterlist

A knock on your door brought you out of your stupor. You'd been half asleep, having finally been able to get some rest after throwing up half of your dinner from the night before.

It was barely 5, so theoretically no one should really be bothering you. Gaz had your squadron to do some combat situations, and he knew exactly what to do with them. They were especially feisty.

When you'd opened it, you weren't entirely sure what to expect. Maybe Simon? Or Soap, or Price? Maybe Gaz?

Definitely not the officer standing at your door, holding a few items. Neither of you spoke for a few moments, just staring at one another. He didn't seem to expect you, and you were just scared. You felt your heart sinking into your stomach.

He spoke your name to you and you nodded, feeling like you were staring through him. "I'm so sorry," and from there you didn't remember anything. Just a few words, the handing over of the few items of his they recovered before another apology.

You closed the door, staring at the dog tags sitting in your hands. You read his name, written on the dirty tag. When you took it into the bathroom and washed it, you felt the metal warm up like you'd just taken it off of Simon.

Waking up the next morning left you feeling hungover. Head throbbing, mouth dry and just feeling sick overall. You weren't sure of anything over the next few days, moving like you were a puppet being controlled.

There weren't any tears, there wasn't anything. You didn't feel anything. You avoided the pack- his pack. Staying away from the main areas they'd go, you found yourself staying within the medical areas, your office and your room. You ignored everyone outside of your squad.

So when there was a knock on the door, you hadn't thought twice of calling the person in. You and Sadie, one of the two Omegas you were training, had been talking and slowly becoming what you almost considered a friend.

"You can't keep hiding from us," Price said to you and you froze. Your chest seized, eyes shutting harshly. You didn't want to even think. "You've got his dog tags on," he whispered, rounding your desk and standing beside you.

It took a few weeks, but you had eventually cleared Price to walk without assistance. And he was abusing his ability to slowly get back to normal.

A sob tore through your chest and you felt everything hit you. Anger, for Simon doing this to you. Sadness, how you realized all you had left was the pup. You didn't want to believe he was gone, but he was. The tags around your neck proved it.

Price pulled you in close, resting his head atop yours as you wailed. You could feel the tears and snot, maybe drool coating his shirt as you grasped onto him. Hoping that he would be able to fix everything. He was the pack Alpha, he was supposed to know what to do.

Rocking you a little, just slightly side to side, he hummed against you. Allowing you to cry everything out, feeling as you slowly grew limp. The wails turned to sobs, sobs turned to hiccups before it was just shaky breaths. All you could think the entire time was 'he's actually gone'.

Pulling your face away from his chest, he gave you a small smile. "He's only assumed KIA," he whispered and you blinked at him. "We never got a body," he told you. You tugged your head free of him, could feel your eyelashes sticking uncomfortably together.

"He might not be dead?"

"Don't get your hopes up, kid," he gave you a little pat on the head. "Don't allow yourself to wallow in pity, let us take some of the pain off of you. We lost a packmate, just as you lost a mate," he whispered and let himself out.

All you could do was sit in your office, blinking slowly and feeling nothing at all. You didn't think it was possible to feel nothing after losing someone, but the little hope Price had given you felt like nothing at all.

They couldn't recover his dog tags without a body, could they?

As time wore on, and they were slowly losing hope on finding Simon, you eventually broke the news. You'd called the pack into Price's office, feeling it was best to break it there. Somewhere he could control reactions as best as possible.

When Gaz finally entered, closing the door behind him you looked at the three around you. You breathed deeply, completely unsure how to go about any of this.

"I'm pregnant," well, that's how you broke it to them. It wasn't how you were expecting it, but that's how it happened. None of them said anything, they all just stared at you.

Soap was the first to respond, pulling you into him and pressing his head against your abdomen. "Really?" He'd whispered and you nodded, wrapping your arms around him as best you could.

You all stayed quiet, it felt like you were both grieving the loss of Simon but hoping the best for the pup you were going to be responsible for.

And they made sure to help. Price would help you during the nights when you felt the worst. The loneliest. He had claimed to be responsible, 'I'm the pack leader after all'.

Gaz dragged you out of your nest, forcing you to go for walks with him or eat with everyone else in the mess hall. He would come by every so often, just to check up on you or interact with you. 'Givin' you a little bit less monotony, huh?' You enjoyed when he came by, it made you a little less lonely.

Even with everything that everyone did, Soap seemed to grow the closest with you. He'd insisted on joining you when you'd gone to the doctor to be able to get vitamins and other medications. He insisted on making sure you didn't have to be alone in the mornings after Price had left to deal with Captain stuff, helping you through the sickness.

You just wanted Simon. As much as you appreciated everything they were doing, they weren't Simon. You had been able to get into his room one night, after the fourth week of him being missing. It took you this long before you could get yourself to enter his room.

When you did, you had to choke back tears. His scent wafted over you, just slightly becoming stale but still there. His bed was made, pristine as ever, and you found yourself building a nest slowly.

In his closet, you'd buried yourself in layers of his blankets and clothes. Shirts and hoodies, some left unwashed being the closest you could get to his fresh scent.

All you wanted was to be alone. For once, you didn't want anyone near you, you didn't want to talk to anyone. Being snappier to people seemed like the way to get them to leave you alone. Stay colder with people.

No different than Simon, you figured. Not too much different than how he would perform, if it had been you. How similar to him were you becoming? Pushing people away, going through shit on your own? Not talking?

So you filled your time with work. You didn't give yourself much time to sleep, barely enough time to eat and take care of yourself. You didn't want to think, and you didn't allow Gaz to pull you away. No matter how hard he tried.

A few days latter, you'd been working on helping one of the recruits patch up a simple wound in the medical center. Your squad had finally graduated to helping there, and so you'd been using them to help. When you'd cleaned your hands of the blood that caught on them, you saw Price standing by the front desk.

Venturing over to him, checking in with some of your squad to make sure they were alright, you found him looking through papers. Files. You recognized one of the names, Sadie.

"What's that?"

"Is there anyone you recommend for a reconnaissance mission, Doc?"

Once more, you were sitting on the chopper. Soap had to sit this out, as his stitches still hadn't quite healed up from the emergency surgery. So there was one more spot open for you to join, and you had opted for Prices choice of your squad.

Sadie 'Trip' Thomason. She had been lovingly given the callsign Trip because of her first attempt at running a course. She ate complete shit, and continued to somehow trip every single course. Even ones that were on level ground.

You loved the kid, but she was a klutz. So you joined on the mission, nor wanting her to be alone for her first one. She wasn't much different from you.

As the chopper landed, you were surprised by the fact you weren't taking fire. They had decided to use a shit ton of people for this mission, so whoever they were rescuing was important. Yourself, Trip, and another squad leader and one of their people had joined.

Enough medics to perform a surgery.

You and Trip stayed behind, prepping an area for emergency medical attention. It was mostly because you were pregnant, but you were one of the most skilled medics they'd had.

"Hey Doc, you wanna know something?" Gaz called through the coms. You hummed in response, moving quickly through the chopper. "My boyfriend left me because I was too mysterious. Or did he?" You snorted at that, feeling your chest tighten just a little.

You knew of Simons whole dark and dad joke schtick. You never really got to hear it, but he sometimes said them to you. During lunches and dinners with you. Before everything fucked up.

"Did the lieutenant rub off on you, Gaz?" You'd asked back and he made a little jab at you, snickering about how dirty it sounded. God, you'd hit him if you could.

Trip had nudged you, wiggling her eyebrows at you at that.

"You and the lieutenant have something going on, then?" You rolled your eyes, trying to bite back the tears that were trying to force themselves from your eyes.

Looking over at her, you gave a little smile. "He's my mate," she gave a little gasp, nudging you even more. You shook your head. "He's assumed KIA, though," you whispered, glancing out to the dark tree line. You were wondering who it was that took this much manpower to bring home.

There wasn't a shot in hell you were going to get your hopes up and think it was Simon. No chance. In the time you'd been thinking, Trip had finished off prepping for quick medical attention and you'd come back to.

You started to prep for possible surgery when gunshots began echoing around you. "Prep the chopper for liftoff!" Gaz shouted through the coms and you checked the pilot to make sure he'd heard but watched as he began pressing buttons.

The ground quaked under you as it began preparing to lift, your supplies starting to shake and nearly fly off. Trip fell trying to save items and you had to shout at her to leave them over the chopper blades.

"But we need them!" You shook your head, gesturing around you.

"We're about to take off, we have enough backup supplies to replace them! It'll take too long to collect them, they're not too sanitary anymore!" You shouted back, grabbing her vest and strapping her in to the helicopter. "Do not fall!" You shouted, tugging on the rope keeping her set.

She nodded and began to try and reset the area, only bringing out the items that could be held down or were heavy enough to hold themselves down. Glancing out, you could see figured running towards the chopper, one thrashing around.

"We've got a feral Alpha, Doc! We need to sedate him!" You watched as four people dragged the Alpha closer, hear the snarls he was letting out. Leather. Tobacco, heavy musk and sweat. Your heart started pounding harder and harder, vision tunneling.

Shaking your head, you stumbled back into the chopper. "You can't sedate a feral Alpha," you whispered into the coms, watching as the man you called your Mate tried to fight off the men dragging him onto the chopper.

They'd found rope and tied his arms together. All you could do was stare, see the man you loved brought down into ferality. It was different than a feral rut, the amount of androstenone filling him was lethal. His body was in a state of fight or flight, so there was no chance it could turn into a rut.

He was fighting.

With one step forward he snarled at you, eyes blown black from his pupils. His scent was different, just barely, but you couldn't work on him in this condition. You could feel yourself panicking, staring at Simon but not quite Simon. Gaz came around, tugging you away from the man lying tied on the floor of the chopper.

"Talk me through it," he whispered. "Why's he feral?" You blinked up at Gaz, swallowing as your mind reeled.

Looking to the side, you could see Trip sneaking glances at you. "Androstenone," you whispered. "He's got too much of it in him, but he's in fight or flight so instead of being in a feral rut, he's just feral," you whispered.

"And how do we help him?"

"I don't know," you whispered.

Back on base, Price had found you. You didn't even want to look at him, not with how he'd lied about what the mission was. It wasn't just a reconnaissance mission, you were quite literally sent to rescue your mate.

He was put in a high secure containment cell. He was literally knocked out to be checked out, a few different medics and highly esteemed surgeons being called in to do emergency surgeries. Emergency blood transfusions. It seemed like everyone on base was trying to help, offering their blood to the man.

All you could do was sit in his room, playing with the dog tags that you'd put around your neck some months ago. Between the time they'd rescued Simon from the time your test had been, it was around two months.

God, you were two months along with his pup and he didn't even know it. Would he recognize you? Your scent? Or had it changed with the new hormones that had flooded your body.

You were terrified, wanting nothing more than to have Simon in your nest, hold him close and never let him leave again. But that's not how the real world worked and you had to get back to work.

The next few days you were extremely distracted. "I asked for more pain meds," one of the patients told you.

"No, you didn't," you said and they looked at you lost. You blinked slowly, trying to process what they'd actually said. Can I get more pain meds? "Sorry," you whispered and turned around, calling for one of your trainees and having them give him for pain meds.

It continued like that for a while. You answered phone calls from people just asking some basic questions about whether they should or should not come in to the center for. Sometimes you'd hung up on people instead of putting them on hold, sometimes you just said words that combined and had to repeat yourself three times.

There was a sudden influx of people for a short while, and each of them had been clawed or bitten by something. Someone?

It took a little while, but Price had eventually found you. "Lot of people being attacked, huh?" You blinked at him.

"What's happening?"

"They're trying to figure out how to bring Simon out of the feral mindset he's in," he whispered, looking away. You looked at him, not being able to say anything. "We need your help,"

Next

Taglist:

@sae1kie @shinebright2000 @zechie-spams @itsmadamehydra @smiley-roos @enrapturedbythemoon @stargatenovus @cowboydisaster @404lunar @josieguts @actorryswife @the-queen-of-england183 @littlelovebug98 @cringeycookies @averytiredfanfictionwriter

[harmonyrae]

Power Couple

CHAPTER 14 - Right Here

I’d like to apologize for this chapter, it’s gonna hurt. Like angst doesn't even begin to describe this. Also, this is completely my own head cannon & is ABSOLUTELY NOT lore accurate (as far as we know).

Photo: From Pinterest, all credit to original poster NSFW: Mentions/Depictions of violence, PTSD, torture, death

Your armchair is not as comfortable as you remember. You sit with your knees curled up to your chest. Your hoodie pulled down over your knees, your arms hugging your legs. You rest your chin on your knee, trying to organize your thoughts. You try to imagine you are so small that no one will know you’re even there. 

The lights are dimmed, you can barely see Sylus sprawled out on the floor of the cage. You remember the night you first brought Sylus here. You were so confident, how did you end up here again? 

You replay that night in your head. His voice echoing in your ear. You stare blankly at his unconscious form, digging your fingernails into your palms willing yourself not to cry.

"I’d hate to disappoint you Miss Hunter."

But he did.

"But her mind… that’s what is most fascinating. It’s brilliant, calculated, and somewhat haunting."

And now it’s haunted by him. His voice. His touch. His empty promises.

"Seems like everything about you is special, kitten."

You were a means to an end. A tool to be used and tossed aside. Nothing special.

A soft groan brings you back to the present. You see Sylus roll away from you and onto his side. His back muscles tensing as he tries to ground himself. He reaches a hand up to the side of his neck. He lets out a soft grunt as his fingers trace the sensitive flesh where the needle deposited the heavy drug. He sits up and scans the room, his eyes straining against the darkness.

You hold your breath. You know he can crush the doors of the cage and simply walk out. But this is the only place you could think of bringing him. You could at least lock him in the lower levels of your tower long enough to evacuate everyone else if it came to that. You take a deep breath before using your phone to turn up the lights. Sylus’ eyes snap to yours in an instant. He was usually hard to read, his emotions hidden behind a wall. But when you look at him, you can see he is raw and broken. 

You pull your hoodie up to release your legs, you shiver as the cold air hits your bare skin. You stand and slowly make your way closer to the cage. The room is eerily quiet, the soft pitter patter of your bare feet on the linoleum echoing through the room. As you approach the cage, Sylus shifts to face you. He makes no attempt to stand up. He draws one leg up and props his arm on his knee. 

“There’s a shirt on the chair.” Your voice is void of emotion. You barely recognize it.

Sylus glances over to the chair to see the sweater you brought for him to put on. He returns his gaze to you. His eyes have glazed over, if it wasn’t for his ragged breathing you’d think he was perfectly calm. He tilts his head as he looks you over. From your head to your toes, it doesn’t feel sensual this time, he’s sizing you up. Trying to determine your motives.

“Why?” 

One word. That’s all he says. The base in his voice is amplified, the simple question rings in your ear. You straighten up, your eyes narrow and you cross your arms. You’re the motherfucking leader of Himitsu, time to act like it.

“That is the question of the hour, isn’t it Oni?”

At the mention of his code name, his eyes close. He drops his head. He sighs deeply before looking up to you once more.

“Did the kid tell you before you killed him or did you dig that up on your own?” His words cut through you like a razor.

“Have you heard of a hacker who goes by the name of Macintosh?” Sylus nods. “He’s on my payroll. Took him less than 24 hours to narrow it down once he had the burner.” 

His jaw clenches. He brings a hand to the back of his neck, his eyes finally dropping to the floor.

“Bit of advice. Tossing a burner off the pier is not the most effective disposal method.” Sylus chuckles. 

“And what would you suggest then, kitten?” 

That’s when you lose it. 

“Don’t fucking call me that. I’m not your goddamn kitten. But I am, apparently, your plaything, right? Distract me, fool me, fuck me. Was that your plan? So you could stroll into my territory and do as you please? Attack my clients? Destroy Himitsu?”

Sylus jumps to his feet and stalks over towards. He tries to grab you through the bars, but you’ve moved far enough back. He uses his evol to pull you forward. Before you reach the bars your gun is in your hand. Your body slams against the bars, you look up to see the barrel of your gun resting at the center of Sylus’ forehead. He doesn’t back away or try to pry the gun out of your hand. He rests his head against the barrel and holds your upper arms tightly against the bars. 

“Do you really think I fucked you as a distraction?” 

You can’t stop your bottom lip from quivering. The tears you’ve held back threaten to fall once more. You take a deep breath and try to force a smile.

“I wouldn’t be surprised at this point. You’ve lied about everything else.” 

“I’ve never lied about how I feel about you. I can’t.” 

“But you did lie.” Sylus finally reaches a hand up to your face, holding your chin steady. His thumb slowly brushes against your jaw.

“I’m sorry.” 

You break away from him. He doesn’t try to pull you back. You drop your gun on the table next to your armchair. Your fingers rake through your hair as you try to calm down. When you turn back to Sylus, he has an arm propped above his head leaning against the bars of the cage. His other hand extended through the bars to you.

“Please let me tell you why. Why Ridgeway and why I couldn’t tell you.”

You stare at him. His bare chest and strong arms make you ache for him. Your body craves him and it hurts to resist. Your heart hammers in your chest. Should you give him the chance? Your mind drifts to earlier that morning. Sitting in the tub, your body pressed against his, his voice in your ear, that heartbreaking tone as he tells you about your shared Aether fragments.

"You wished we could be free. And I made you a promise, that I would find a way for you to be free."

Your heart wanted nothing more than to reach out to him. To hold him close. You see his arm drop and retreat back into the cage, his head pressing against the bar. You take a cautious step forward. His eyes flutter up to meet yours. You wrap your arms around yourself.

“Why?” 

“Ridgeway has a brother. Goes by Sinclair. He’s a member of the board for a medical tech company. I needed information on Sinclair and I was hoping Ridgeway had records that could lead me to whatever hole he has crawled into.”

“Why are you hunting Sinclair? And how does burning down Ridgeway Liquors help you with that? And why couldn’t you have just talked to me about this?” 

“I needed to send a message to Sinclair. His family will suffer if he crosses a line. I couldn’t tell you… I couldn’t…” He struggles to form the words, he starts to tap his head on the bars. Slowly building the intensity until his forehead is red.

You close the distance and grab onto his hand that has reached up to hold onto a bar. He stops and looks down at you. His eyes are hazy, a tear finally falls.

“I couldn’t risk them finding you.”

You blink rapidly, trying to process what he could mean. 

“Sinclair was one of the doctors that worked on us. He’s looking for you.” 

Your eyes widen and you shake your head.

“I made a promise to you. I promised I’d find a way for you to be free. And I found a way. As long as I knew you were safe, I could deal with what they did to me. But when I heard he was leaving to look for you, I couldn’t let that happen. You’ve kept your identity hidden, it’s bought you time. But if he finds out, he’ll come for you. You being unaware kept you safe, at least that's what I convinced myself.” 

“What do they want with me?”

“You’re an energy source. The most pure and regenerative source ever discovered.”

“Is it the Aether core? What about you?”

“The Aether core amplifies your evol, changes it. Possibly adding to it if you’re unlucky. They used me for… honestly, I don’t know how long. But my energy isn’t enough it seems.”

“Is Sinclair working alone or…” 

“The group he runs, their slogan is A New Kind of Energy for a Brighter Tomorrow - safe to say he most likely has a small army hunting us.”

“I thought I knew every major corporation in the Zone.”

“It’s not in the Zone. It’s in Linkon. But they have their people everywhere.”

“What’s the name?”

“Ever.”

Your heart skips a beat. The name feels burned into your memory. But something Sylus said before is the only thing you can think of. You are afraid to ask, but it’s tearing you up inside.

“You said you could deal with what they did to you… What did they do?” 

Sylus drops his gaze to your hand, still wrapped around his hand on the bar. You see his eyes dim, as if he has retreated into his mind. You squeeze his hand, reassuring him.

“After I helped you escape, they punished me. More experiments, more surgeries. As I became more powerful they put more security measures in place. I can’t access all of my power. They called it a 'bio-metric inhibitor'. All I remember is I couldn’t get out of bed for weeks. Eventually they installed a patch over my eye so I couldn’t control anyone. My cell was the energy conduit they used to…”

He looked up at you now, the pain in his eyes so great you could hardly breathe. You hadn’t noticed you had started crying. He brings his arm down to reach through the bars and brush the tears away. You lean into his touch.

“I’ll stop.”

“No. Sylus. Please tell me.” He takes a deep breath before looking down to stare at his feet.

“The regenerative part… when they drain the energy… it… it kills you.” A sob escapes your throat. Sylus doesn’t look up.

“When they first tested their theory… they chose you. No matter how much I begged and fought, they took you away. And when you came back, you had no idea who I was. After that, I spent every day, every hour, every minute working on a plan for you to escape. A month later, I succeeded. You were free. I don’t know how long it was before they needed another energy transference but when they strapped me down I found myself hoping to forget. To forget losing you. But then I woke up. And I remembered everything. My first surgery when they cut into my eye, the first time I saw you, the first time we touched, the first time we kissed, the first time we made love, every time there was pain in your eyes, the fear in them when I put you on the shuttle…”

His grip on the bars was weakening, his body shaking as he spoke. You were frozen, listening to what he went through, for you. Your heart ached. But nothing could have prepared you for what he said next.

“And I remembered how it felt to die. Pain so intense I wanted to tear myself in half. Blinding heat then complete stillness then everything was cold. So fucking cold. And dark. It was completely dark, no light anywhere, I searched for days but it was just dark. I found myself wishing for pain and then I’d feel it, like a knife in my chest, my heart started again. I opened my eyes and I was back. I don’t remember how many times I died. I stopped counting. But every time I woke up I would look for you. Wishing that my previous life was a dream and you were still there with me. And every time I would see your empty room and… and I…” 

His voice finally broke. His grip on the bars faltered and he sank to the floor. He pulled his legs up to his chest, for the first time he looked small. You ran to the door of the cage and pressed your thumb to the lock. The door swung open and you rushed inside, crashing down next to Sylus, your arms wrapping around him. You pull his head to your chest and run your fingers through his silver hair. His body was shaking and he didn’t dare touch you. He wouldn’t even look at you. Desperate to bring him back to you, you start placing gentle kisses to his shoulders and up to his neck. You see his eyes close and you move to sit behind him, your legs on either side of his torso. Your arms pull him back towards you. You caress his chest and place kisses on his back.

You sit like that for what feels like hours until one of his hands reaches up to take yours. He strokes your palm slowly. 

“Y/N…?” 

“I’m here. I’m right here.” 

Tag List (comment if you wanna be added!): @trishiepo0 @not-so-quite-human @kitsunetori @babyx91 @libriomancer

[pokemon-ash-aus]

So, Mimikyu AU. Assuming movie 1 happened in that AU with no major divergence from canon, I can imagine Mewtwo being both saddened at finding out the fate of such a relentlessly-bright soul that was such a help to him, but also having a major element of "I had a feeling something like this would eventually happen" just because of what had already happened to the boy right in front of him.

Does that seem accurate?

Bold of you to not assume Mewtwo would finally cry.

The boy who, unintentionally, taught him how to treat life and the lives of others, was suddenly dead and gone.

And the last time that happened- well, the boy may not remember it, but Mewtwo does.

When he falls to his knees, Mewtwo is only mimicking Pikachu's bowed look from before.

The tears that fall down his face are foreign, he didn't think he could ever do this in a way everyone else has around him.

That night, Mewtwo cries, hoping in some deluded sense, that his tears alone would be enough to bring the boy back.

It doesn't, and a part of his emotions seals itself off.

It'll be the first and last time.