#angst snippets

[bookished]

( a collection of POST-KISS DISASTER – “we shouldn’t have done that” (aka: one of them pulls away, and it hurts) dialogue prompts. adjust phrasing as necessary.) feel free to make edits to better suit your muse, but please don’t edit or add on to the original post <3 if you like, please consider supporting me through tips.

“we said we’d never cross that line.”  “yeah, well. we did.”  “…do you regret it?”  “do you?”

“it didn’t mean anything, right?”  “right.”  “...then why are you looking at me like that?”

“it was just adrenaline. heat of the moment.”  “keep telling yourself that.”

“i’m sorry. i didn’t mean to—”  “yes, you did.”  “...and that’s what makes it worse.”

“forget it happened.”  “how?”  “just do it.”  “i can’t.”

“we can’t do this.”  “why not?”  “because i know how this ends. and i don’t survive it.”

“don’t kiss me again unless you mean it.”  “…i meant it the first time.”

“you kissed me like you’ve wanted to for years.”  “don’t read into it.”  “too late.”

“if you didn’t want this, why did you kiss me back?”  “…because i’m weak. and you make it impossible to think straight.”

“say it meant nothing.”  “…i can’t.”

[unforgivenn]

HIDE AND SEEK

The night crept in with a cloak of chilling silence, broken only by the distant howl of the wind.

Whumper stood amidst the gnarled trees, a figure shrouded in darkness. He moved with calculated grace, each step a predator's silent stalk.

Whumpee cowered in the corner of the neglected cabin, the wood groaning in protest against the weight of its own decay. Fear coiled around Whumpee's heart like a serpent, its icy grip tightening with every ragged breath.

The door creaked open, hinges protesting the intrusion. Whumpee's gaze darted towards the entrance, trembling with a mixture of dread and desperate hope for help.

Whumper's silhouette loomed in the doorway, a specter of nightmares giving form. His presence suffocated the air, tainting it with the stench of fear.

"Come," Whumper's voice slithered into the room, a serpent's hiss laced with promises of pain. "It's time to play." He said in a sing-song voice as if it was nothing but a mere child's play

Whumpee's heart hammered in his chest, a primal rhythm of terror. He knew escape was futile, trapped in the web of Whumper's twisted game. He slapped a hand to his mouth, trying not to make any noise and drown out his pathetic sobs.

Whumpee could hear whumper's steps coming closer to them as he shut his eyes tight wishing that the walls would somehow swallow him whole. It would be much better than what whumper would have in store for him.

He knew he never should have ran. He should have been good. Now he's going to get himself hurt all over again.

Whumper suddenly jumped up behind whumpee grinning at how the other flinched violently, his eyes widening in terror, to afraid to look at the sadist behind him.

Whumper grabbed whumpee's shirt lifting him up in the air. A task much easier than thought.

"Found you"

[cactikoi]

@th0rnback Aauhhhhh I felt so inspired by the little excerpt you wrote about my drawing I decided to finish it!! Thank you for inspiring me!

[mythboundcal]

When the Ice Answers Yuri on Ice Fanfic by MythboundCal

The music begins. But Yuri doesn’t hear it.

He hears breath. His own—ragged, sharp, then steady. Like wind through glass.

He steps onto the ice like it’s a love letter. As if saying it without words might make it true. That he’s strong. That he’s worthy. That he wants this.

The first glide is everything. It’s not movement. It’s memory.

And just like that— The letter becomes a vow.

He thinks of late nights and early mornings. Of Victor’s hand on his back. Of the sound his blades make when he finally lets go.

The rink becomes a galaxy. The spotlight, his moonlight. And overhead, the flashing of cameras Spirals into stars.

He gives himself to the moment. Every stumble, every sweat-stained failure, Every heartbreak etched into his spine— He offers it all to the ice.

And the ice? The ice answers.

By the final spin, he’s not skating anymore. He’s flying. Not to escape. But to arrive.

When he stops, there’s silence.

And then— Applause.

But none of that matters. Because now he knows:

He was never performing. He was becoming.

[dahlia-tourism-board]

Wrote this fluff out of spite, since the fandom likes to keep reminding me that Gavin will outlive the DAMN crew:

Gavin and Freelancer always knew kids were off the table. No big decision, it just wasn't for them.

But when Huxley and Damien finally get through the adoption process and introduce a shy but sweet little girl to 'Uncle Gavin'...well, Gavin feels that tug at his heart much more than he expected.

When Lasko and Dear bring home baby twins, Uncle Gavin feels that heart-tug again as they learn to walk, and start walking towards him.

His found family is expanding, growing, and he's so honored to be a part of it. He and Freelancer gush and coo over their niblings, and love them more than anything.

The Crew all stay in Dahlia. It's their home, it's their family. As they age, Gavin and the kids all help out in caring for them. One by one, Gavin says goodbye to his original found family. Eventually, he says goodbye to the love of his life.

But he's never alone. Uncle Gavin is always surrounded by his friends' children. And they live on through them.

Huxley and Damien's daughter has drive, ambition, and the kindest heart. Lasko and Dear's twins have soft voices, generous souls, and a surprisingly subtle mischievous streak.

Eventually, these kids all find partners, friends, and families of their own. And every time, he is introduced as 'Uncle Gavin'.

He's a fixture in all their lives throughout the generations. As people come into the fold, they explain to newcomers that Uncle Gavin always has been and always will be there.

And more often than not, he'll catch glimpses of his first family. Someone will have Damien's laugh or Freelancer's wit, Huxley's empathy or Lasko's intuition, or Dear's sense of humor.

He misses his first found family, his partner, and will for as long as he exists. But surrounded by the legacy of the love they all shared, Uncle Gavin knows that they will always be with him.

[illbegottenfaith]

Masterlist

all works are theodore nott x fem!reader

au's

older brother!theo 💙

politician's son!theo

drabbles

the one where theo asks you out to a wedding (fluff)💙⚡️(Part 1)

the one where you make theo cry (fluff, comedy) 💘⚡️

the one where you scold theo for dozing off (fluff, established r/ship, eepy theo) ⚡️

love me like a child (angst, first person reader)

the one where theo gets glasses (fluff, established r/ship)⚡️

✌️

fics

ferrari

"Please don't tell me you're giving me the car. Respect for other people's property is the only thing stopping me from driving this off a cliff."

"I'm not giving it to you," he said, as your fingers curled uncertainly around the metal. You relaxed.

"I'm teaching you how to drive it."

You laughed. Then stopped laughing.

“You’re serious?”

You were glad it was the middle of the night with nobody around, because you were gaping at him rather unbecomingly.

"Dr - drive this? Are you crazy?"

"I'm picking up a pattern here. I'm starting to think you have a very low bar for insanity."

as part of a social visit, you spend a fortnight at an English politician's estate with his god-awful son (politician's son!theo x american socialite!reader, enemies to lovers, forced proximity)

that one girl from summer camp

"Zabini," you said, much more impatiently, taking a step towards him. He let out a strangled sort of sound and stepped back.

"No. I already told Theo I want no part in this - this game of yours."

You scoffed. Someone had to have given him a heads up. "Was it Draco? Was he the one who told you?" That slimy eyesore of a snitch.

"It doesn't matter," Blaise was saying, more preoccupied with finding a way out now that you were drawing closer, closing in on him. "I want nothing to do with it. This is between you and Theo."

You laughed weakly.

"Honestly, Blaise. I just want to have a little chat with you! There's nothing wrong with that. Why are you - where are you going? Why are you walking away from me? Blaise? Why are you run - Zabini! Stop running! TELL ME WHO THEO'S TAKING TO THE - "

you drive yourself up the wall trying to figure out who your best friend is taking to your year's farewell dinner (fluff, friends to lovers, jealous!reader ft. the Slytherin boys)

Icarus Spell 💙

Theo squinted, trying to make out the silhouettes of his roommates. “Why are you all listening to me sleep?”

"Kind of hard not to," came Enzo's peeved disembodied voice from somewhere in the shadows. Theo sighed.

"Well," he said wearily, massaging his stiff neck, "what was I saying?"

Mattheo cracked an eye open. "I wasn't listening so much as trying to get you to shut up."

"Oh."

"I had a pillow ready."

"I bet."

"To smother you."

"Yeah, I get it." Theo grumbled, pushing back his covers. “Go back to sleep. All of you.”

theo doesn't realise you're what he's been dreaming about. Or, keeping him up, to be more accurate (fluff, friends to lovers)

do you exist? or have I made you up? 💙

Your chest tightened.

“Where are you going?” you asked drowsily, too sleep-addled to have the sense to disguise your suspicion.

Theo wasn't looking at you. He was staring out into the too-bright wasteland of what was left of the night's storm, beneath clouded skies.

"...out. Just stepping out for a quick smoke."

"In that jacket?"

He finally deigned to look your way.

"It's cold out."

You sat up slowly, looking at him through the half-dark. The silence between you wasn’t angry. You wished it were. But it was full. Heavy. Knowing.

Theo moved through his room slowly, occasionally adding to his unassumingly deep pockets. You watched him blearily. Miserably. It made sense, after all. Running away was the best thing Theo could do for himself and his family. You should have seen this coming. Maybe you did see it coming. Gut feeling, and all that. You wanted to sulk, even if it was just so that he would have to stay to cheer you up. You wanted to yell at him, berate him for leaving you.

years after theo, now presumed dead, walked out of you life, you see him once again on your television screen (angst, soft!theo, a little fluff)

BAD REVIEWS

Before you could continue your protests, he took your hand and kissed your knuckles in full view of half of your year, completely unbothered.

“Your stuff’s in the boot. Packed it this morning.”

Your mouth dropped open. How did he manage to get into the girls' dormitories?

“You what—?”

“There’s snacks,” he continued, unrepentant. “I even charmed the glove compartment to keep your disgusting fizzy drinks cold." Traces of the Theo you knew started resurfacing. He sounded pretty damn proud of himself. "You’re welcome.”

“You’re mental.”

“And you’re exhausted.” He leaned closer, lowering his voice. “Come on, Y/N. You can revise in bed with me and a view of the sea. There’s a fireplace. I booked the biggest suite they had.”

He pressed a chaste kiss to your palm. Your face burned.

"Please? For me?"

You should’ve walked away. You meant to walk away.

But he had that look again - the one he used to reel you in after every fight. The one you couldn't bear to tell off. That soft-eyed, unwittingly innocent look like he wasn't even capable of doing anything wrong, let alone on purpose. Behind him, the sunlight hit the car just right, glinting off the chrome like some surreal, too-good-to-be-true movie scene.

It was stupid. And ridiculous. And maybe that was the point.

you've heard more than your fair share of bad reviews about theo nott. that doesn't stop you from becoming the newest addition (lovebombing, possessive!theo, angst)

world-endingly, soul-crushingly awful ⚡️

Theo thought for a moment, then shrugged.

“Dunno. Something like…you’ll be the only ever one none before you ever were. I knew you before I knew the kind of person I wanted to be. And it's a sad thing to see your favourite person leave.”

Silence.

Ivy blinked. Mattheo’s mouth fell open slightly.

“...what the fuck, mate,” Mattheo breathed.

theo doesn't realise this is NOT how best friends normally feel (bsf!theo, oblivious theo, comedy)

new girl*

Theo wasn’t the type to notice things like that - things like the flush creeping down your neck, the slow rise and fall of your chest, the way your lips parted slightly as you sighed, exasperated by the heat. But his gaze lingered anyway.

You looked up yourself, and almost immediately your eyes found Theo's. You returned his stare with a steely look of your own. You quirked up an eyebrow. He refused to look away, unabashed. For some reason, he couldn't find it in himself to feel embarrassed over having been caught staring.

He hadn’t meant to look, and he certainly hadn’t meant to wonder. But the thought burrowed deep in his mind before he could stop it.

How far down does that flush go?

theo doesn't have a crush. he merely likes the way you blush (fwb!theo, slightly suggestive content, tw reckless driving)

stutter 💙⚡️

"You look - " he started, then faltered.

Shit.

"Y-you l - l -"

Silence.

"Oh, my god," you murmured, slow and smug, realisation dawning on your face. A wicked smile unfurled across your face. He wasn’t getting out of this alive, was he?

"Do you not know how to talk?" you demanded, eyes glittering with suppressed mirth. "Is this your first day on planet Earth?"

Theo clenched his jaw, crossing his arms in a futile attempt to feign indifference. "Shut up."

something about you and your features reawakens theo's stutter (fluff, comedy, banter)

stuck with you

You can practically see him puffing out his chest on the showier tricks he does with laser-focused concentration. It makes you want to laugh, his almost childish need to be impressive. To impress others. To impress you.

But, for reasons that eluded you, you were impressed. Not once had Theo ever let you down. It was as though he was incapable of it. You didn't exactly rely on him, but when he was around, his deep, self-assured voice was guaranteed to soothe your frazzled nerves. Even now, when all you wanted to do was bitch and moan about how you were never going to see the light of day again, he somehow managed to distract you, amuse you. Theo always knew how to turn a bad situation around and, well, to someone as catastrophic as you, what could sound more appealing?

you get stuck in the Room of Requirement with a not-so-distant acquaintance and realise there's no where else you'd rather be (mutual pining, fluff, happy ending)

kiss me better, love 💘💙⚡️

“You never mean to, but here we are.” You cross your arms. “Third time in two weeks, Theo. This is getting ridiculous. Should I hire a nurse for our dates? A medic? Do you need to start taking my clothes off under medical supervision? Is that what we've come to?"

Theo glares at you (or the shadowy figure he was mostly sure was you), trying to pull his attention away from the stinging pain. “Oh, don’t start - ”

“You don’t think before you do things.”

Theo groans. “I think plenty.”

“No, you rush plenty. Really, it’s a miracle you still have all your limbs -”

He rolls his eyes. “Oh, here we go.”

as the two of you stumble into bed after a Valentine's dinner date, theo realises it's not fair how much he loves you (fluff, bickering as foreplay)

you must have just read it in my eyes💘

Without looking back, you reached behind and wordlessly pulled Theo along so he wouldn’t lag behind, all while your conversation with Ivy continued unbroken and unfettered.

It was such a small thing. Thoughtless, instinctive. You hadn’t even glanced at him.

But Theo had looked at you, and for some reason, he couldn’t look away.

over the years, Theo realises just how much you mean to him, bit by bit (fluff)

for the rose and the pearl 💙 (Part 2)

For a moment, you let yourself sink into it.

For a moment, it’s easy to forget.

But then the thought creeps in—quiet, insidious.

I’m not that girl.

attending Mattheo's wedding with Theo makes you realise you're not the girl he could truly build a happy life with (angst)

saboteur (Part 3)

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

You made a half-hearted attempt to raise your hackles as he took a slow step closer. Fighting was all you ever did with Theo, even at times when you weren’t sure if you really did want to fight with him, like now.

“Bathing,” you said flatly.

He raised his eyebrows, his lips twitching into something wry and unimpressed. “Clearly.”

From the right, a cheeky giggle floated through the warm, sticky air from the mermaid portrait. You flushed, crossing your arms over your chest as you sank a little deeper into the water.

“Go away, Nott.”

your self-sabotaging tendencies can keep theo away for only so long (hurt/comfort, angst)

sweet?! (Part 2)

"In short," Theo continued, as if you hadn't spoken, "you want me to treat her like I do you."

He tilted his head.

"Why is that? Do you feel...betrothed to me? Or, perhaps, you consider me your boyfriend? Since we're being honest, and all."

you may not be the one dating theodore nott but you'd be damned if you let anyone think of him as sweet (fluff, slight angst, unacknowledged pining)

unadulterated loathing (Part 1) ⚡️

"She's doing this to me and she's doing it on purpose."

Mattheo had creased his forehead.

"Like a...like a hex?"

"No," Theo had said, distractedly scratching the hive that had appeared on the back of his hand. "It's worse than a hex. My pulse is rushing, my head is reeling, my face is flushing..."

"...oh," Mattheo had said, realisation dawning upon him. "I get it. It's lo-"

"That's it, Mattheo." Theo had interjected. "You're absolutely right."

"I am?"

"Yes, exactly. Loathing is what this is. Loathing." He had swivelled around, hatefully fixing his gaze on where you were laughing over some undoubtedly inane subject matter over butterbeer with your friends. "Unadulterated loathing."

yours and theo's feelings for each other evoke a deeply visceral physical reaction in both of you, for which there can be only one explanation (enemies to lovers, banter, mentions of injury)

for cryin' out loud! (miniseries) (ongoing)

...and a bruise underneath* (Part 2) ⚡️

His eyebrows disappeared into his hair.

"Didn't want me to get mad?" Theo echoed incredulously. "Honestly, L/N," he said sharply, looking more than a little peeved, "what did you think I was going to do?"

"I don't know," you wailed, closer to tears than ever, "break up with me?"

Theo opened his mouth to respond before closing it again. He furrowed his brow, mouthing indecipherable half-words as if trying very hard to wrap his head around what you were saying.

you can't help becoming distant as your relationship with theo starts feeling like an open wound (angst, happy ending, comfort)

walking away with your kiss on my cheek... (Part 1) ⚡️

"So...two weeks."

"Mhm." You weren't the type of couple to explicitly express affection, especially of the vulnerable kind. You'd miss him, of course, even if you didn't say it. Would he miss you? You shook your head internally. No, you decided, you wouldn't ask. You'd only seem clingy and that wasn't the kind of couple you were. "Be good, have fun."

He adjusted the strap of his duffle bag. You fixed the collar of his jacket. You wondered if he'd tell you about Katherine before he left. From somewhere else in the Great Hall, one of his friends called him over. He pressed a final chaste kiss to your cheek. You watched him walk away with a hollow sort of feeling in your stomach. Merlin forbid you express any kind of attachment to your boyfriend.

He glanced back at you one last time, fidgeting with the strap of his bag, and just like that, he was gone.

Gone.

He didn't say a word about Katherine.

your relationship with theo starts to sour as you begin to suspect him of keeping secrets from you (angst, miscommunication, established relationship)

in sweetness 💙⚡️

"I'm fine, really," he had repeated, as he dragged your hand down to his chest, eyes lidded. "I'll sleep it off."

You had pressed your lips into a thin line, highly conflicted over how much you wanted to argue with a clearly sick patient. Your other hand had drifted to his scalp as you had distractedly started raking your fingers through his hair. Theo's lips had parted as he sighed in relief, melting further into his pillow.

"Just...just stay. For a while." His eyes had been fully closed by then. "I get the worst dreams when I'm sick."

You had run your thumb along your clasped hands. "What do you dream about?"

Theo had paused. "Terrible things," he had said after a moment, in a pleasant, light voice, as if you were merely discussing the weather. "Terrible things that I can't change."

He had no idea.

visiting theo's childhood home grants you a deeper understanding of his inner workings (angst, happy ending, friends to lovers)

merry christmas, please don't call ❄️

"I just - I just feel like lately...all we do is fight." You hated how small your voice sounded. You flinched as the memory of your last fight insistently pressed on barely-healed wounds. I don't hate you, you had said. I don't - I could never. No. I could never hate you, Theo. Over and over, you had repeated it like a mantra. What had you done all that for? Why did you care so much?

"Tough luck, Y/N," Theo said, his voice bouncing off the marble walls. "This is what couples do. They fight."

You drew your knees to your chest, trying to regulate your breathing. This wasn't happening. This couldn't be happening. "I'm sick of it, Theo. I really am. Aren't you sick of it?"

one year on, you look back on the fight that ended yours and theo's relationship (angst, no happy ending)

can I take your order? ❄️🎂

Ivy paid, and the two of you found a table in the middle of the shop to wait at. You couldn't stop kicking yourself over the interaction. That was twice you'd made a fool of yourself in front of him now. Once your drinks were ready, Ivy fetched them. When she handed you yours, you turned the cup around in your hand. It felt like any other drink. You turned it a little more and your heart skipped a beat. There was your name scrawled in black ink, and at the end was a slightly untidy, yet unmistakable, heart.

"Aww," Ivy crooned, peeking over, "he likes you."

"Shut up," you mumbled, trying to hide your burning face. Still, when she wasn't looking, you ran a thumb over his writing, memorising every careless flick of his marker.

you get off on the wrong foot with the new barista at your hometown's coffee shop, but even your off-putting behaviour isn't enough to deter him (coffee shop au, fluff, one-sided reluctant acquaintances to lovers)

maybe stay here forever ❄️ 💙

"Don't," you whined, dragging his hand back to where it was a moment ago. "Let Enzo do it. We don't get to see enough of each other as it is."

Theo sighed. "So you're just never going to let me leave?"

"I can't help it," you said, "I like the way you speak. I love hearing you talk." You rested your forehead against his, your eyes fluttering close. "Promise you'll never quit talking to me."

"Done," he murmured against your lips, a hand sliding to the small of your back.

the holidays have you feeling sentimental over yours and theo's relationship (established relationship, domestic bliss, descriptions of grief and anxiety, angst)

spend your cookie dough dough dough ❄️⚡️

"Right," Theo said tersely, once he had planted you firmly back inside the tower, with a look that told you he thought you were being absolutely ridiculous, "I'll just give this to my other girlfriend, then."

"Theo -"

"No, no, I get it. Maybe I've misunderstood our relationship. I'll just shower all my love and affection on some other girl."

You frowned at him impatiently. "Don't sulk, Teddy. I love it, really, I do - "

"Then what's the problem? It's my money to spend as I see fit, Y/N. Maybe - maybe - it's a little pricey, but so what? A guy can't spoil his girl for the holidays?"

you have a hard time being spoiled by your boyfriend, even if it's the holidays (established relationship, fluff, gift-giving (theo's version))

handwritten (miniseries) (ongoing)

Look, he was the one who showed up at the window on his broom, drunk out of his mind.

Drunk??

I know! What was he thinking, risking his neck all the way up there at the Ravenclaw dorms?? It was like he didn't even notice too. I thought I was hallucinating at first, but then I opened the window and nope, that was him, and then I screamed and he nearly fell off his broom so I hauled him inside. He practically faceplanted on the floor. I was terrified - I thought he was poisoned or something, but then I tried to prop him up and he had this dopey look on his face and he reeked of firewhiskey. Ugh, it was so annoying. I don’t want to talk about it.

You know what he said to me? After all that?

I thought you didn’t want to talk about this?

Uh-oh.

Uh-oh?

Uh-oh. Like a goddamn Looney Tunes character.

yours and theo’s story as told through notes passed in class (estranged friends to lovers, newstudent!theo, fluff, slight angst) Part 1 | Part 2

symphonia ix 💙

"What are you doing here?" Theo asked conversationally, keeping his tone light, as if he found strange girls fully-clothed in bathtubs every day. You continued staring at the tiled wall in front of you. You felt rather than heard him crouch closer to you and tentatively hold your wrist, preparing to sling your arm over his neck.

“Let’s get you out of there, hmm?”

You twisted your wrist out of his grip and you felt him retreat minutely. “Get away from me,” you rasped, your voice brittle with disuse.

Theo was no longer able to disguise his stricken tone. "Tesoro, please. You'll feel better once you're dry and warm-"

theo helps you recover from a terrible case of burnout at his family’s lakehouse (brother's bsf!theo, hurt/comfort, descriptions of burnout, self-loathing)

lucky (miniseries) (finished)

“But - why? How? If anything, I’d say you hated me.”

Your lips parted as your brow furrowed. “What gave you that idea?”

“What gave me the - I don’t know, all the scowling? The glaring? The snide remarks? The bodily harm?”

You flushed at the memory of the Potions storeroom incident. You could kind of see his point. “That was one time.”

“You owe me new pants, by the way. New pants and a new di-"

a tussle over a vial of Felix Felicis proves to be strangely enlightening (academic rivals, enemies to lovers, slight angst/yearning) Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

2001*

“Or maybe it’s something else entirely. Perhaps you like having me run after you. Is that where you get off, hmm? The thrill of the chase? Being a tease?”

“I am not a -“ you began hotly, before you caught the mischievous twinkle in his eye. You rolled your eyes. “You’re too cocky for your own good,” you muttered. 

“I thought you like me cocky,” he teased.

theo doesn’t understand what’s holding you back from taking things further (fluff, softcore smut)

bad day ⚡️💙

“Hey, doll.” His nose nudged yours and you finally relented, wrapping an arm around his neck as he kissed you. His face felt cool against your warm forehead, and he smelt pleasantly of some non-descript yet refreshing soap. 

“My neck is killing me,” you mumbled against his lips as you broke apart. Theo leaned back to get a better look at your wan face, distractedly running a hand down your spine.

a visit from your boyfriend perks you up even on the most frustrating of days (established relationship, fluff, comfort)

❄️ - xmas fics 💘 - valentines fics 🎂 - birthday fic! 💙 - author's favourites ⚡️ - top fics

[mediumgayitalian]

He doesn’t realise how odd it is for the infirmary door to be closed until it is shoved open, wooden frame crashing into the wall, making everyone inside jump to high heaven. Will stumbles in after it, and the sight of him makes startled shrieks and grumbles stop in all mouths; his eyes are red-rimmed and bruised with sleeplessness, staring cloudy and vacantly ahead. He walks like he’s unfamiliar with the shape of the ground, steps clumsy and hesitant, hands picking at bare legs. His faded, oversized camp shirt falls all the way down to his thighs.

He looks sick.

He makes his plucking way to the nurses station, oblivious to or uncaring of the eyes on him. When he finally makes it to the door his hands shake too badly to unlatch it, and he tries for minutes before giving up, hoisting himself up on the counter and stepping over piles of paperwork, half-balanced on the spinning chair. He is barefoot.

“What’re you looking for? Austin is the first brave enough to speak, taking a half-step closer. “...Will?”

“Where the hell are the scissors,” Will mutters. He rifles through folders, opens and slams drawers shut. “I need the — scissors.”

“Second drawer down from the right,” says Kayla quietly.

The second drawer creaks, badly, tiny wheels wailing on their tracks as Will yanks it open, shoves it shut. He half-jumps half-falls off the chair, blades clutched in his fist, and shifts over to the back wall, squaring in front of the mirror.

In quick, thoughtless action, he lobs off the tangled ponytail low at the base of his skull. At the back, near the window, Lacy from Cabin 12 inhales like she’s been stabbed.

In the stunned, heavy silence of patients and healers and people in the wrong place at the wrong time, Will methodically pulls straight coils of hair, snipping them an inch from the root. He takes no care to line up the strands, no care to feather the edges. The office scissors are so dull that in some sections he has to saw through, hairs snapping like guitar strings. In minutes both hands are clenched full of dull gold, wiry snippets dusting his neck and shoulders. He drops them in a wastebasket at they flutter like leaves around the rim.

“Thanks,” he says, belatedly, dropping the scissors back on the counter. He turns without looking to the doorway by the shelves of salves, slipping quickly down the Big House hallway.

Austin is the first of them to move, too, darting past cots heavy with gaping campers He turns to Chiron.

“Should I follow him?” he asks, hesitating by the shadows.

For a moment there is nothing. The Chiron sighs, heavy and long, and puts his head in his hands.

“You can most certainly try,” he says, tired and muffled. “But it is the great failure of my life that Will Solace has spent more time in this building than I have in centuries. You wouldn’t find him with Ariadne’s string.”

[yellowwwcrayon]

There's just something so oddly special about this Deadpool and this Wolverine together. I don't think the Logan in any of the other prior films would have liked Wade this much (well, maybe old man him from that Logan movie) or would have bothered to stay and meet Wade's little dysfunctional family. They're both worn down, exhausted outcasts when they meet here. But the thing I love the most about their dynamic in the movie is that there's no judgment coming from Wade. He just accepts how messed up Logan is and finds this hairy murderous man with anger issues and sexy abs super neat, and I think there's a huge comfort in that. Logan doesn't have to pretend to be some great hero and no one is there to express disappointment when he fails or starts chugging rubbing alcohol because he's a raging alcoholic. He doesn’t need a savior, he just needs a fugly guy in a red suit that can’t die cheering him on from the sidelines and inappropriately groping him at inconvenient times. Some of my mutuals ship Spideypool, but I never got into it (no offense). Peter is too moral to ever make things between them work in my head. The constant judgment from everyone probably doesn't help, either. Don’t get me wrong, Logan has morals, obviously, but he's not above killing and doing bad shit. And I personally prefer older bottoms.

tldr - THEY MATCH EACH OTHER'S FREAK and I find that incredibly sexy ;)

[save-the-villainous-cat]

Angst Villain x civilian where the villain cheats on civilian with hero

“If it is of any comfort, it didn’t mean that much to me." The villain cocked their head, as if they were thinking about something intensively - which they weren't. They looked at the civilian, but failed to conjure any pity.

Their partner, well, probably ex-partner now, looked at them with wide eyes and tears rolling down their cheeks.

"I-" The civilian's hands were shaking, their face contorted in pain. "What did I- what did I do wrong?"

Their voice was shaking.

"Nothing."

"I..." The civilian took in a deep breath. "Oh god..."

They gasped for air desperately but the villain couldn't help but think about the hero in their bed, moaning lovingly. It was true that the civilian hadn't done anything wrong. They were quite good company to keep around. They were tidy (which was very important to the villain), they were nice, avoided conflict, didn't ask too many questions. The perfect kind of person to keep around, someone who wasn't getting involved in the villain's business.

But when it came to pure desire, the hero was simply more tempting. It was about power.

The civilian wasn't a challenge in bed.

The hero on the other hand...

"Oh god...I can't-" The civilian gasped for air over and over again, coming very close to mimicking a panic attack.

"I can move out if you want, or you do. Whatever you like."

"I wanted to marry you, I - I love you, I..." The villain raised a lazy brow.

"We can still get married if you want to, but I'd like to screw the hero every now and then," the villain said. The civilian turned away, but the villain could obviously tell that they were crying harder now. They would have never brought this up, but unfortunately, the villain had gotten a bit lazy and the civilian had found out about the affair.

It wasn't the end of the world, but the villain had planned to keep the civilian around for a little longer. More than once, they had thought about proposing to the civilian out of pure necessity, but the amount of work linked to that, had spoiled the idea quickly.

"You don't have to decide now," the villain clarified. "It's an option, that's all."

The civilian's back was still turned towards them.

"I had so many plans for us," they whispered, almost mumbled the words. "What did I do wrong, why are you doing this to me...?"

The villain rolled their eyes.

"Like I said, it didn't mean that much to me. They're attractive. They showed up at my work. We fucked on the desk and started to meet regularly." A lot of lies. Technically, they had been flirting with each other for the last year. "Work" meant their usual nightly activities. The thing with the desk was true, though.

The civilian turned around, eyes bloodshot.

"Did they force you? Because they're the hero?" The villain pursed their lips. Interesting. It was probably pretty easy to turn themselves into a victim in this situation (the civilian was by no means rational right now), but they had already admitted that they wanted to meet the hero in the future, so keeping up with that lie was going to be exhausting.

"No," the villain said. "Their ass just looked great that night."

"I don't understand, I thought you loved me?! We've been together for three years..." The civilian wiped away their tears but new tears followed and followed.

"...I like your company, yes."

"That's it?"

Once again, the villain cocked their head, staring at the civilian.

"Come on. A hero. The hero. Who can say no to that? It's a sexual thing. Has absolutely nothing to do with you. You're great." They shrugged. "Stay here. Get some sleep. We can talk about the rest tomorrow."

The civilian stood there, didn't dare to move.

"My love, you must be exhausted."

The civilian took in a deep breath. They nodded.

"There we go," the villain said softly. "You look lovely right now, by the way."

It wasn't that the villain liked being cruel - they just couldn't help it.

[hotpinkboots]

This little snippet is based off of my real life reaction of this part in the game, and as soon as I said it I thought "hey that's a good thing to write"

"Ugh...I hate myself."

She gagged.

You blinked, brows furrowing. You'd never felt so taken aback- she hated herself? Was that a spur of the moment statement, or was she serious? You responded without thinking.

"But I love you."

You sounded heartbroken.

Ena's blurred eyes managed to briefly focus. She felt sick and dizzy- the ground seemed to be shifting under her, her hearing was fuzzy. She couldn't verbally respond without possibly collapsing.

But she heard you.

[fistfuloflightning]

Shen Qingqiu had not expected this mission to be overly hard, even with Qi-shijie breathing down his neck and his shizun’s expectations hanging over his head like a sword. In fact it was intended to be simple reconnaissance for information. But the moment they stepped into the thriving black market in Hongmen City, he felt unease. He pulled the veil of his weimao closer around him, and Qi Qingqi did the same next to him as they pushed through the crowd of similarly masked patrons to find a suitable place to observe. It was tradition to go about hidden for auctions such as this, and Shen Qingqiu was grateful for the anonymity it provided.

The auction house was large and near gaudy in its ornamentation. It was like it was painting a target on itself. Hiding in plain sight, as it were. Because on the surface it offered stolen artifacts and scrolls of forbidden techniques and cultivation tools only for those with money and the ruthlessness to use it. But beneath the veneer ran the true lifeblood of the auction house.

Cauldron trafficking.

Cang Qiong had received rumors and reports as far back as a year prior of vanishings and the selling of humans, and only now had they been able to pinpoint a location. Shen Qingqiu wondered at the incompetence, considering how the auction house was hiding in plain sight.

Sitting at a third story railing and looking down at the center stage, Shen Qingqiu let his senses wander. From the waiter placing tea at their table, to a trio of black-veiled scholars conversing two pillars over, to the low rumble of talk beneath the chime and clatter of anticipation. And when the last of the items were sold off and the presenter beckoned forward a young woman bound in chains, Shen Qingqiu knew the only way he could remain impartial was to turn his attention resolutely away from the stage below.

But he could not block the words, of humans being sold off like chattel. He knew what it felt like to stand beneath cruel evaluating eyes, to know your life meant little to the rest of the world and that your death would be just as unremarkable.

He downed near an entire pot of tea before he could force himself to look back down.

The next exhibit. A young man, high qi levels, only two former owners, lightly used.

Lightly used. His hand tightened into a bloodless fist, hidden by his sleeves. He was no longer a slave, he reminded himself, all of his former owners were dead. He was here for the express purpose of destroying this kind of slavery. Like all the cauldrons shown before, the current exhibit had been stripped nearly naked to show off his physical features. Young, slender, with soft brown hair that had been left unattended and lay limp down his back. Something about the young man’s defeated posture dredged up memories for Shen Qingqiu and he looked away. “Surely this is enough to report back,” he hissed to his senior sister, who had been observing the people around them.

“We must wait until the end. And I need to figure out at least two of the major buyers. Xian Xu Peak would be able to trace the buyers and discover just how far the trafficking ring extended.

Below them, the cauldron was forced to walk about. His posture was that of a long-term slave beaten into submission, but the way his gaze flicked up spoke of defiance. For a fraction of a second, those eyes met his—a clear honey-brown that haunted his memories even now.

Shen Yuan.

He nearly jerked up out of his seat. But only the fear of his presence blowing their cover kept him in place. If he revealed their identities now, Shen Yuan would be whisked away and he would never find him again.

After he’d killed Wu Yanzi, he’d relied on the connections he made while under the cultivator’s ‘tutelage’, and the brothel workers he’d begged food scraps from, while Wu Yanzi had wasted their precious coin on pleasure, had welcomed him. One such brothel had been home to a courtesan and her son, with whom Shen Jiu had grown attached. He hadn’t stayed there long, long enough to fall for a sharp tongue and pretty eyes.

He had given him the same promise Qi’ge had. And had failed him in the same way, returning too late to the brothel to free him from the contract he shared with his mother, because his mother was dead and Shen Yuan already sold off.

And now Shen Qingqiu knew where he was all these years. Being forced to dual cultivate and give up his own qi to others far more greedy and undeserving. He felt violently ill.

He couldn’t bid. He would not descend the levels of those around them… and he had no money. But that didn’t stop him from reaching into a sleeve to feel for his purse.

“Something caught your eye?” Qi Qingqi’s disgust was palpable. He knew she believed the rumors about him, about the brothels and the bought favors.

Only for him to come back to himself in time to see Shen Yuan dragged off the platform – auctioned off quickly, he realized with cold dread, but who had bought him? Using the weimao as a shield, Shen Qingqiu scanned those around them. But none looked to have made any sign.

“I—I must go.” Before it was too late. Qi Qingqi hissed after him, but he was deaf and blind to her fury. He no longer cared if he blew their cover, Qi-shijie would do her job without him no matter what. No, the only thing he cared about was finding Shen Yuan and fulfilling that broken promise.

also on ao3

[moonydanny]

Okay, this is NOT really a spec fic, 'cause we know Buck is at the stadium where the helicopters land and I have no idea how that could fit here, but after watching the episode and Buck screaming in the promo, this just came out. It's rough but whatever, I'm still reeling from the episode, and I'm gonna post it before I lose my nerve and the self-consciousness kicks back in hehe. Obvs SPOILERS and [redacted] MCD ahead.

It's on AO3 now, too.

"Army is on my tail, I don't know if I can—"

"Tommy, you listen to me," Evan's voice sounds hard and determined, even through the radio. "You can do this. I know you can."

Tommy takes a deep breath. He knew the moment he told Evan and Athena he'd help that he was risking more than his job again. But he hadn't hesitated. The 118—Evan needed his help, and he was going to do his best, even if it killed him.

"All right," he says, eying the ice bag on the seat next to him. "I'm heading your way now. But it has to be fast, we won't have a lot of time."

"We'll be ready," comes Athena's voice. "We're almost at the helipad."

Suddenly, there's another voice coming out of the radio.

"Pilot Kinard, this is Colonel Hartman. I hope you know this is not going to end well for you."

"I understand, sir," his voice is steady as he flies the chopper as fast as he can. He doesn't wait to for a response, there's no point. He changes the frequency to the one Evan and Athena are using.

"We see you, Tommy," Evan says.

"I think you're about to have company, too. And I don't mean me," he jokes, not sure the line is going to land as he hopes. They're all too tense to be glib, but Tommy can't help it. Joking to diffuse the tension has always been a go-to of his.

"We know," Athena chimes. "It was too good to hope they didn't follow us."

Tommy sees their figures grow bigger as he approaches the helipad. He gets in position and starts the landing. The two black choppers he had behind him get in position too, hovering in the air bracketing the roof. So I can't take off again, figures, he thinks. As the chopper touches down, before he can fully turn off the engine, he sees Buck running towards him.

He grabs the ice bag with the antiviral and gets out of the chopper with just enough time to brace himself before Evan is crashing into him. Tommy closes his eyes in relief and automatically wraps his arms around him as he feels Evan do the same around his shoulders, squeezing him tight. As the rotor blades keep slowing down, he hears Evan's voice softly next to his ear.

"Oh, my god. Oh, my God. You did it. Tommy, you did it."

"I did it," Tommy sighs. He loosens his arms to take a step back, even though it's the last thing he wants to do right now, but they still have to take the antiviral to the lab and there's no time to lose. "Evan, you have to go now."

Evan eyes are wide, and Tommy can see a dozen emotions fliting in them. He nods, unblinking, holding Tommy's gaze.

"I got it," Athena says from just a couple of steps behind Evan. Tommy didn't notice her reaching them, but he takes his eyes away from Evan's for a second and hands the bag to her.

"Thank you, Tommy." Her voice is tight with emotion. "We'll get you out of any trouble you get into, I promise," she says with a nod of her head. Tommy nods back and turns his gaze back to Evan, who hasn't let him go and has his hands on Tommy's shoulders still.

"Let's go, Buck."

"Right behind you," he says, but doesn't move. "Tommy—"

For the first time since he took off on the stolen chopper, he hears Evan's voice crack. He sees the fear in his eyes, and Tommy's heart clenches painfully.

"I know, Evan," he says, squeezing his hand that is still holding on to Evan's side. "We'll talk when it's all over. But you gotta go."

Evan starts shaking his head even before Tommy is done talking. His eyes turn glassy and the setting sun behind him makes the tears forming in Evan eyes shine in a way that pierces right through Tommy's heart.

"No. I don't know what's gonna happen, and I can't go without telling you this."

"Evan—"

"I love you, Tommy."

Tommy's heart stops for a second, the air completely knocked out of him by Evan's words. But before he can react or say anything back, Evan keeps going, urgency lacing his voice.

"A-And I'm not saying it just because the world is falling apart around us right now. This is not me being impulsive. This is me, terrified but clear-headed, telling you that I love you, Tommy. I love you so much. I've been in love with you since before we broke up, I was in love with you when we hooked up, and I'm still so fucking in love with you now. I was just too dumb to say it back then. And we will talk after all this is over, but I don't want to go another second without you knowing that I love you."

Tommy blinks back the tears that are burning in his own eyes now. He knows there's no time right now for him to tell Evan all that he wants to say. They have no time for him to apologize, for him to tell Evan that he's so, so sorry for hurting him, for running at the slightest sign of trouble, for letting his insecurities win time and time again. There's no time to tell him that he's been miserable without him, that Evan is it for him and that terrifies him. There's no time. So he just says:

"I love you, too." He closes the distance between them to press his forehead against Evan's and closes his eyes, letting out a shuddering breath. "I love you so much, sweetheart."

Their exchange didn't last more than half a minute, but it feels monumental. He feels more than hears Evan's soft gasp, his hands tightening their grip on Tommy's shoulders for a second. Then, their bubble is burst by the sound of people coming out of the elevator at the far end of the roof. They both turn to look and see army soldiers striding towards Athena and them.

With a last squeeze of his hand, he shoves Evan a little towards where Athena is having a standoff with who he guesses is the Colonel.

"Go save your family, baby. We'll talk later," he says. Evan looks back at him and nods as he starts jogging away from him.

"I'll keep you posted," Evan shouts as he runs.

Tommy stays where he is next to the chopper, watching as Athena and Buck are led to the elevator by a couple of soldiers and the Colonel turns and strides towards him.

Please, God, let them get to everyone in time, he prays to a god he doesn't really believe in. The Colonel reaches him, a scowl so deep on his face that Tommy wonders if his eyebrows hurt from pulling together so tightly.

"Pilot Kinard, I'm not even going to bother explaining right now the amount of trouble you have gotten yourself into with this stunt," he begins, his voice hard and sharp. "You're going to follow our helicopters to where you can land, and you will await further instructions. Am I clear?"

"Yes, sir."

With that, the Colonel turns back towards the elevator. "Now, Kinard!"

Tommy gets back on his chopper, and as he takes her up into the air again, he sees the last rays of the sunset sinking in the horizon. As he follows the other chopper, with the second one on his tail, he turns into the radio frequency he knows they're using to communicate with dispatch. He keeps an ear on it the whole time, but nothing major happens beyond updates on the antiviral's ETA.

They soon get to the stadium they're apparently using to land, and ash he touches down, he hears Athena's voice on the radio saying they've arrived at the lab. He hurries out of the chopper and sprints to the tent they have set up at the edge of the field. A soldier from one of the choppers shouts at him to stay put, but he ignores him. He needs to hear what's going on. When he reaches the tent, the soldier who ran after him grabs him by the arm and turn him around.

"Please, I just need to listen. I'm not going anywhere," he pleads. Tommy was no idea what his face must be doing, but the soldier lets go of his arm. He turns around and listens.

"I'm going back in," he hears Evan say.

"Absolutely not," says another voice. But Evan must have made a run for it, because there's chaos on the radio for a few seconds.

"Dispatch, we need the antiviral now," he hears Ravi say, his voice filled with panic. "Bobby's been infected, too."

Tommy's stomach drops. There's only one vial; there's no way it will be enough for both Howie and Bobby.

Another voice comes on, telling them they need to prioritize Bobby, since he's only started to show symptoms and Chim is already a lost cause. The callousness of the voice makes a cold type of fury course through Tommy's veins. There's some more commotion that Tommy can't quite follow. He hears something about Athena gearing up and getting the antiviral to Bobby, more back and forth on who should get it administered. Eventually the chatter quiets down. But the more time that passes, the more scared Tommy gets. Where's Evan? Has he reached the 118? Is he wearing PPE? Where's Athena? Tommy is desperate for answers, but there's nothing he can do.

Until there's a voice coming from the radio again.

"Firefighter down, I repeat, Firefighter down!"

Hen's voice is unlike Tommy has ever heard it. Rough and filled with agony.

Oh, God. Howie...

"Hen! Is it Chim? What happened?" Evan sounds panicked now.

"No, it—It's Bobby," she rasps. He just collapsed, we can't get a pulse."

No.

Tommy's heart stops.

"No, no— HEN! YOU HAVE TO GET HIM BACK!" Evan screams.

"He's gone, Buck," Ravi says, with an emptiness in his voice Tommy has never heard in the young man's voice, usually so full of life.

Tommy thinks he hears Hen let out a sob, he hears Ravi say something about Howie, but every sound disappears from his consciousness as he hears Evan, his Evan, let out a scream so full of pain and despair that Tommy knows will hunt his nightmares for the rest of his life.

Tagging @qwordavoider, my love, because she inspires me and makes me brave 💗💗

[unforgivenn]

Villain hummed softly, his eyes fixeted on the glinting blade in his hand, as if it were an ancient artifact. With a deliberate slowness, he lifted his head just enough to catch the gaze of the hero, whose face had dropped in despair.

A small, twisted smile crept across the villain's lips as he wiped a trickle of blood from the knife's edge. "Every scream," he began, his voice a chilling whisper that sent shivers down the hero's spine. The hero flinched at the sudden sound, their fear palpable in the air.

"Every tear." Villain continued, closing the distance between him and hero where they were tied up, helpless and at their mercy.

"Every single ounce of pain you endure" He put force into his words, suddenly gripping hero's jaw, forcing them to meet his gaze. The hero's frozen pale face bore with bruises, cuts and dried tears of previous tortures they endured from villain's hands.

"All of it that you endure" Villain murmured, his voice low and menacing. He leaned in closer, his breath hot against the hero's ear, ensuring that every word he said cut through the silence like a blade.

"Only brings me closer to my ultimate victory"

[uniquethingtastemaker]

This is a snippet from Riddle’s “Dreaming of You” fanfic:

“Ewwwww, no! Really?! Right in front of my salad?!” Ace cries.

Riddle turns to him with a judgemental look.

“That’s not a salad. I’m allowing you to eat my tart!” he declares.

You lean in, soothing him. “It’s ok. Ace is red-green colorblind.”

“I didn’t realize it also came with symptoms of being unable to identify foods. It’s ok. I will accommodate his disability,” your boyfriend states before turning to the freshman. “Ace, you’re eating a tart, not a salad.”

“I…” the card soldier sighs before accepting his fate. “Thank you, Riddle.”

(This fanfic is hilarious. It also is pretty spicy. Look forward to it. Also, there’s a lot of screaming in the second dream. Riddle’s loud. Everything ends in an exclamation point and idk how to feel about it lol. Let me know what u guys think or looking forward too. Again, I love comments so tell me ur thoughts. I tend to respond so it might give u an incentive lol)

[cryborgmechs]

panic

[the-broken-pen]

Hey hey

Could you perhaps write a snippet where the building hero is in, gets bombed? Its bombed as an assassination attempt to get them, however the people in that building die and hero, succumbed to their injuries couldn't save everyone of them. At last they watched the last ambulance left without them, even as they called for help

Villians villa is just few kilometres away

Thankfu hero's legs aren't broken

They begin walking

The problem? Vil is way to composed and prim and perfect to let all of hero's blood get on their expensive carpets and fabrics. They could even be mad at the hero for reddening their porch if they hero stood their asking for bandages. What now? And the fight the two had yesterday that ended with "never see me again" and "don't ever talk to me"s.....vil was stopping hero from attending the event the building....

Will vil help them? They can just ask for bandages and leave.

What hero doesn't know: vil would literally destroy the world for hero, and there's no way in hell are they leaving hero on their doorstep.

(Anon you were cooking with this ask, thank you!)

The hero realized the building was going to explode a split second before it did, which wasn’t enough time to do anything other than brace.

They tensed, and there was a horrible screeching of metal and brick, followed by a deafening silence that covered them more completely than the rubble did.

The hero coughed once, weakly, pain rocketing through their chest, and shoved a piece of concrete off themself.

From somewhere else in the building, a soft, terrified wail began, broken around desperate sobs.

The hero coughed again, hand rising to their ribs. They didn’t have the energy to be surprised when their fingers came back coated in blood and dust. They grimaced at it, struggling to their feet–

And oh, god. That hurt.

The hero had a surgery once, the kind that resulted in bandages and a care regime and a set of stitches, and when they had woken up in the recovery unit, it had felt sort of like this. A moment of loopy half-awareness, and then a pain that had knocked the breath out of them, hands clenching into the sheets as a nurse tried to figure out if they needed more medication. 

This was worse. Their vision swam, and they blinked it back with a hiss.

Because someone, somewhere in the wreckage, was crying. And if one person was crying, it meant there was someone who survived. Which meant it was likely there were other survivors–ones too hurt to make any noise, ones knocked unconscious, ones still too shocked to do anything other than lay there–and it was the hero’s job to find them.

It took them far too long to locate the source of the crying. Longer to dig them out, vision going white as the person slammed into the hero’s chest in some facsimile of a terrified hug.

“You’re okay,” they managed, voice like gravel. “It’s okay. I’m going to get you out, and you’re going to be just fine. Were you with anyone?”

And then again, and again, and again.

The hero panted, hands on their knees as their body fought them in an attempt to just collapse onto the concrete below. They just–they just needed a minute. Just one, maybe, and then they could–

This time, the hero wasn’t even aware of it before it happened.

The remains of the building shook, then disintegrated into itself in a plume of dust and rock. The hero shielded their eyes with one hand, blinking against the onslaught.

What little air they had managed to get stuttered out of their lungs in something close to a sob. They had done this enough times to know there wasn’t anyone in that building left alive. 

They sagged down against the nearest thing–more rubble, maybe? They didn’t know–and this time when they rested a hand on their side, there was a considerably larger amount of blood.

“That’s…not great,” they said, and their fingers blurred in front of them slightly. There was an ambulance right there. Just a couple feet away. They had already helped most of the survivors, so maybe it would be okay for the hero to–

A paramedic rounded the back of the ambulance, and the hero lifted a hand, reaching–

“Please, wait, I think–I think,” it hurt coming out of their mouth, “help. Please I need–” they trailed off as the paramedic took the step up into the ambulance.

And closed the door behind them.

The hero wasn’t even that surprised when the ambulance began to drive away.

“Help,” they finished weakly, then sucked a breath in through their nose.

They were supposed to be good at this kind of thing. Surviving, no, thriving in catastrophe. A pillar of light. The one with the plan. 

The kind of being that didn’t beg for help on the ground.

The hero wasn’t entirely sure how they managed to get themselves back to standing. It was as easy as that–one moment they were on the ground, gravel embedded in their knees, and the next they were up and shaking but they were up.

“If I stay here, I’ll die,” they murmured. They had hoped maybe the threat would keep their legs from buckling again. It didn’t.

They weren’t near any place that could be trusted. There wasn’t a safe clinic for heroes on this side of the city, and even if there was, the hero wouldn’t trust them. Couldn’t afford to.

But as for near…the hero swallowed the nausea as it rose in their throat. There was one place they could go. One person they could go to.

Four miles. They could do four. There was no other option.

Where the hero had had some blurry recollection, or at least, a good guess of how they got to standing, they had absolutely no clue how they made it onto the villain’s porch. They managed a blink, retching slightly as they stared at the villain’s wavering door, then had to freeze just to bite down the pain that had come from the gagging.

They tried to knock and ended up collapsing against the villain’s door, knees giving out entirely as their fingers scrabbled for purchase and left behind smeared bloody marks on the wood.

They weren’t entirely sure how that happened either, or how long it took the villain to answer the door. Just that it hurt—so, so much, it hurt so–and that they managed to shove themself back into some semblance of standing right before the villain pulled the door open.

The villain’s face did a sort of spasming thing as soon as they saw the hero, jaw dropping slightly in what the hero could only really read as shock.

There was a very considerable amount of blood on the door. They were cold.

“I–” the hero tried, but they weren’t really sure where they had been going with that sentence, and after yesterday and the screaming and the fight the villain probably didn’t want to see them at all, didn’t want to ever see their face again, so–their mind blanked. “I got blood on your door.”

They tried to gesture towards it, but that hurt, so their hand simply twitched slightly from where it hung by their side.

They glanced down at their feet, because they didn’t want to see what the villain’s face was doing, especially if what it was doing was anything resembling anger.

“Oh.” There was blood at the hero’s feet. “And on your porch, too, I guess.”

They looked up at the villain, but they were still staring at them, brow furrowed, hand clenching on the doorframe.

“I’m sorry.”

There was a very faint quiver of tears when they said it, and the hero knew better than to hope the villain didn’t catch it. 

Were they saying sorry for the porch or the door or yesterday–

“Holy shit,” the villain finally breathed, and it sounded like it had been punched out of them. The hero froze, panic rising in their chest.

“I’m sorry,” the hero blurted out, stammering. “I’m–I’m so sorry, I’ll go, just–could I maybe have some bandages? Just–just one, maybe, please? I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” they said uselessly, head swimming. They couldn’t even remember what they were doing here. The villain was perfect in every sense of the word, stoic and proper and collected in a way the hero would never be; a marble statue brought to life. The idea of them letting the hero–the personification of a train wreck in motion–in to bleed all over the villain’s soft carpet and nice shoes and cause irreparable damage to their very expensive house was almost laughable. 

If they had had the breath to laugh.

More of the hero’s blood dripped onto the slats of the porch, and they stepped back. “I’m sorry–”

The villain reached for them, and the hero flinched, taking it for the dismissal it was–

The hero blinked, and it stuck for a moment too long as the world tilted, and when they pried their eyes open again the villain was staring at them with something the hero was too out of it with pain and possibly delirium to identify. Their gaze drifted back to the blood smeared on the door, and the villain’s grip tightened on the hero’s bicep–when had they grabbed the hero’s bicep?–until the hero’s gaze returned to theirs.

The villain said something, but there was a roaring that had started up in the hero’s ears. They seemed to take the uncomprehending blink the hero gave them in return for an answer anyways, and guided them down until they were both sitting on the cool wood. A tug, and the hero was resting against their own propped up knees, villain’s hand still firm on their arm.

“How much blood did you lose?”

It was like screaming underwater, the hero reasoned. Or through a mirror. But they heard it nonetheless, and that was their villain, and even in hatred and war they would always answer them.

“Was ‘supposed to be counting?” If they had any more energy–or maybe slightly more blood–in their body, the slur to their own words would have been concerning.

The villain’s lips pursed into a thin line, and the hero felt them begin to run an assessing hand over their injuries, cataloguing them, brow furrowing further with every second.

“M’sorry,” they managed, tongue thick. The villain didn’t pause.

“For what?”

“Bleeding on your door,” they managed. The villain stopped them from raising their head from their knees. “And your–porch.”

“I don’t give a shit about either of those things,” the villain said, simply, easily. Like it was nothing. Like they didn’t feel the weight of it as they threw it into the air.

The villain sat back on their heels, clearly having learned what they wanted from the hero’s injuries.

When the hero didn’t immediately look at them, the villain grabbed their chin, gently turning it until the hero faced them.

“How far did you walk,” they said slowly, and the hero had never been more grateful for anything in their life.

“Four miles,” the hero said, and they couldn’t hear their own voice above the roaring, but the villain obviously could from the way their eyes darkened.

The hero wanted no part in making the villain angry again–I never want to see you again, do you hear me? If you ever try to talk to me again I will kill the both of us, I promise you that–, but when they attempted to push themselves up to leave, the only thing they managed was a piteous whine and a stab of pain so intense they forgot to breathe.

“Idiot,” the villain hissed. But oddly, the hero didn’t sense any anger coming from the villain.

They blinked–too long, again–and found themselves in the villain’s arms as they walked through the house. Their head lolled back onto the villain’s shoulder, and the villain glanced down as if–to make sure the hero was okay. That they were conscious, and breathing.

Oh.

Oh.

The villain wasn’t angry.

They were afraid. For the hero.

Which didn’t make any sense, because–

I never want to see you again–

“You’re mad at me,” the hero reasoned, and it came out half strangled and petulant. The villain looked down at them, and the hero caught the tiniest flinch in their jaw.

“I’m not mad at you.”

“That’s not what you said yesterday,” the hero whispered, and the villain flinched.

“I wanted to stop this from happening.” The villain settled them onto a bathroom counter, lights flickering on as the hero leaned back against the mirror. Blood began to dry, sticky, between their fingers.

The hero’s mouth went dry, and it caught in their throat when they tried to swallow it.

“You could have just left me there.” Their voice only shook a little bit, but the villain’s head still snapped up from where they had been digging through a drawer.

“What?”

“On the porch,” the hero clarified, clearing their throat. The lump didn’t go away, and they had begun shaking at some point, and they couldn’t stop. “If you didn’t want to deal with me you could have just left me there–”

The villain’s face had darkened into something the hero almost didn’t recognize. 

“I would burn the world for you, and you think I would leave you to die on my porch?”

“You said you didn’t want this to happen.”

“No, that’s not–” the villain rubbed a hand over their brow, and the hero winced at the blood it left behind. “No. No, that’s not what I meant. I was trying to keep you from going to that stupid event and getting hurt. I knew it was going to blow.”

“I would have gone anyway.”

The villain stilled. “I thought maybe if you never wanted to see me again, and you knew I was there…”

“I would,” the hero repeated. “Have gone anyway.”

The hero watched as the villain’s face rippled through a dozen emotions, settling onto something unidentifiable.

“Why?”

“Because you were there,” the hero said easily, shrugging one shoulder. Because when it came to the villain, it really was that easy. They could scream, and shout, and hold a knife to the hero’s throat, and the hero would still follow them into hell. That was their villain.

The villain looked like the hero had stabbed them, face draining of color. Their fingers went white around the edge of the counter, as if it was the only thing keeping them upright.

“What,” the villain’s voice was hoarse.

“I went because I was hoping you would be there,” the hero said honestly

“Stop,” the villain raised a hand between them, a shield, voice breaking. They sucked in a breath, then another, like they were trying to keep themself from breaking down onto the tile.

“You would have gone to the event no matter what, just to see me,” the villain said slowly, and the hero nodded

“Yes.”

“Even though I screamed at you?”

“Yes.”

“And told you I hated you.”

“Villain, please–”

“Now you know,” the villain interrupted, voice incredibly soft. “Why I would have never left you on that porch.”

The hero forgot to breathe for a moment, tongue going numb in their mouth. The villain couldn’t mean–

They blinked for a moment too long, and then the villain was standing between the hero’s knees, hand on their chest.

“You love me,” the hero said a moment later.

“Ruinously,” the villain agreed.

“So you–”

“I was trying to save your life,” the villain’s hands were gentle as they began to patch up the hero’s side. “And now I’m saving your life in a new and unanticipated way. But there is nothing you could ever do to stop me from saving your life.”

The hero’s heart clenched. 

“Really?”

The villain caught their chin, eyes boring into the hero’s. They brushed a piece of hair off the side of the hero’s face.

“Really.”

The hero sighed, and the villain caught them as they slumped.

“I thought you hated me,” the hero said, and they hated how raw they sounded. The villain made a choked little noise.

“I’m so sorry.”

The hero sniffed.

“Don’t do it again.”

The villain simply hummed, and smoothed the ends of a bandage down against the hero’s abdomen. The hero could feel their hands shaking.

You scared me.

A second later, their hands settled on either side of the hero’s head, and the villain rested their face into the hero’s hair. They pressed a kiss to the hero’s temple, tension easing from their shoulders.

I’m sorry.

The hero clutched the front of the villain’s shirt between their hands, drawing them closer. The villain went willingly, loose limbed with affection and the rapid draining of terror from their system.

“I would have never left you on that porch.”

The hero had never believed anyone more.