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#lavendercitizen's writing
lavendercitizen · 29 days ago
-ˋˏ 𝐁𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐲 𝐁𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐬 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ˎˊ-
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sub!Bucky wakes up with his head between your thighs and can't stop himself from touching you
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lavendercitizen · a month ago
-`✴ 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐬 ✴´-
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𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐬 ➛
𝐒𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐑𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬
𝐁𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐲 𝐁𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐬
𝐀𝐧𝐝𝐲 𝐁𝐚𝐫𝐛𝐞𝐫
𝐑𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐦 𝐃𝐫𝐲𝐬𝐝𝐚𝐥𝐞
𝐉𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐉𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐧
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lavendercitizen · a month ago
-ˋˏ 𝐎𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐬 ˎˊ-
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lavendercitizen · a month ago
-ˋˏ 𝐉𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐉𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐧 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ˎˊ-
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Summary: After long day you want nothing more than to slip into the comfort of your bed, but when you return home you have a nagging feeling that something is wrong.
Warnings: Dark/yandere fic, mention of stalking, angst; hurt/comfort.
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lavendercitizen · a month ago
-ˋˏ 𝐑𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐦 𝐃𝐫𝐲𝐬𝐝𝐚𝐥𝐞 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ˎˊ-
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Summary: Everything hurts but you allow Ransom to take care of you.
Warnings: Just fluff& emotions✨
Pretty boy
Summary: Ransom looks simply ravishing from your place at the dining table, and you are not one for self-restraint. Not when it comes to him.
Warning: Kissing, sexual themes! Minors dni.
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lavendercitizen · a month ago
-ˋˏ 𝐀𝐧𝐝𝐲 𝐁𝐚𝐫𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ˎˊ-
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Facade - coming soon
Summary: After he looses his wife and son, Andy pretends like he is absolutely fine when, really, he is not.
Warnings: hurt/comfort, alcohol, talk about death and mental health.
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lavendercitizen · a month ago
-ˋˏ 𝐒𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐑𝐨𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ˎˊ-
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Summary: You've gotten so used to Steve's closeness, when you should be fighting him with tooth and nail. Not anymore.
Warnings: Dark/yandere fic, angst; guilt, mentions of kidnapping, implication of death, hypothermia.
Despair [sequel to Blizzard]
Summary: After your little stunt Steve is nursing you back to health. What will happen now?
Warnings: Mention of death, Dark/yandere fic, angst, hurt/comfort(?), cursing, discussion of stockholm syndrome.
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lavendercitizen · a month ago
I'm redoing my masterlist(s) rn because I have a gif limit of 10 images and have way more character categories coming so I'm making a main masterlist that has links to each individual masterlist!
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lavendercitizen · a month ago
-ˋˏ 𝐑𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐬ˎˊ-
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✧─── ・ 。゚✮: *.✧.* :✮゚。・ ───✧
Welcome to my page, the name's Rae and I post my writing here!
This includes fanfiction for Chris Evans' characters and Sebastian Stan's characters. I might expand my range one day as I am a fan of quite a lot of media (LoTR, Marvel duh, Star Wars, D:BH, SPN, GoT, Peaky Blinders, TWD, and a lot more, not widely popular movies/shows- I won't list everything here.)
I am a hobby writer, trying to improve my work and in the meanwhile I'll share my results. I appreciate constructive criticism and thoughts, but I won't tolerate flat out hate. I do this for fun & the community is lovely, so this is a way for me to de-stress.
Any questions? Send me an ask :) Or you just want to talk? send an ask😗😎💗 Seriously tho feel free to just rant :')
DNI if you're a minor, I venture into dark topics on here and I do write/reblog/ talk about smut, of course everything is tagged accordingly, but I do not want anyone under 18 being on here. It is for your safety as well as mine, so please respect that!
I do not tolerate racism, sexism, homophobia, transphobia and any kind of bigotry.
Do not repost or translate my work anywhere.
(the dividers I use are made by @firefly-graphics )
✧─── ・ 。゚✮: *.✧.* :✮゚。・ ───✧
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lavendercitizen · a month ago
Pairing: Soft!Dark!Nomad!Steve Rogers x reader
Summary: After your little stunt Steve is nursing you back to health. What will happen now?
Word count: 2,830
Warnings: Mention of death, yandere/dark fic, hurt/comfort(?), cursing, discussion of stockholm syndrome.
A/N: This is part 2 of Blizzard, I put it as a series in my masterlist, but I don't know if I'll write any more parts to this. Considering I love this AU, I'm sure I'll write more things similar to this though.
I did research hypothermia a little, still this is probably not accurate. Anyways Idk why I find this topic so interesting, but I really tried to describe the conflict of dealing with this.. extreme 'love'
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"Maybe in another life, Stevie."
Her words ring in his ears, he can't stop himself from choking out a sob. This isn't happening. This can't be happening.
But it is, and you're not really looking at him anymore, eyes drooping closed and before your hands can slip away from his hands he holds onto them.
"No... No. Nononono-"
A loud cry breaks the silence. Steve Rogers is kneeling in the snow, little flakes falling all around him, his face morphed into one of incredulity.
He had fought a lot of battles throughout his life, he went through hell and back whilst fighting for Bucky, but this? You tore a hole into the captain's heart.
Something snaps in him. Without even checking for a pulse or leaning in to try and hear if you're still breathing, he picks your cold body up, and unwilling to waste another second he runs off; back to your shared cabin. He's not going to let you go.
As careful as he can, he carries you home, making sure not to press any of your limbs. Your face is red and even with all this happening, you look peaceful. Like you've accepted your fate. Steve's jaw clenches hard. Hasn't he been good to you? And what about you, he remembers your touch and your gentle smiles. It took you a while, of course, but eventually you warmed up to him. He knew you would, after all Steve loved you like you were the most precious thing to ever exist.
So why did you run, why put yourself in danger in the freezing temperature— did you want to die? He doesn't understand, doesn't want to know, because the answer scares him.
It feels like hours have passed when he finally sees the cedar logs of the wooden cabin. He kicks the door open, carefully squeezing the both of you through the entrance, and makes a beeline for the bed.
Only now does it occur to him to check for a pulse. Steve almost cries again when he feels it, weak and slow, but it's there. Your clothes are completely wet, even though you have protective wear on, specifically made for this kind of weather, you've been outside for too long. With each thing he rips off of you a splat sound fills the cabin. He doesn't care that your stuff is dripping all over the floor— all he cares about right now is you.
There's another two blankets in the closet next to the door of your bedroom, and he briskly pulls those out too, carefully placing them over you.
Stripping himself down to his boxers he tenderly pulls your motionless form under the covers and right into his arms, holding you tightly to him after he adjusts the blankets so the both of you are practically sealed. Only the top of your head and your face peek out.
As the sun sets, all Steve is able to concentrate on is you. Not once do his thoughts stray. It's a nightmare.
The crackling fire is the only thing he would leave your side for, needing to make sure that the house is heated up. It gives him time to think. He's angry, partly at you and partly at himself.
Why did you do it?
He ponders about what he'd say when you wake up, and even more about your reaction. It was written all over your face, the resignation, as he had urged you to look at him, and that had terrified him.
Periodically he checks your pulse and your breathing, relieved when he notices both return to a somewhat normal state after excruciating hours of wait.
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The first thing you wake up to is the intense feeling of debilitation. It's like you were run over by a car several times. Where are you?
The urge to fall back asleep again is strong. However, you can sense someone's arms around you, panicking slightly, you look up.
The memories flash in front of you, and you have to close your eyes as your head starts to throb painfully. Oh god what have you done? Fuck, this is so bad. You hadn't wanted what happened to happen, didn't mean to go so far. In the spur of the moment, as the cold air pinched your face, and you were alone—finally alone, away from his ever-looming presence, your mind was on autopilot. Suddenly getting out of here had been your only resolve, not actually thinking about the distance you'd have to conquer, and the way the storm would impede you. But as your bones and muscles felt like they were turning to stone, and your breathing had slowed, you knew this was the most stupid thing you could've possibly done. You believed you were done for, and in a way it was easy, just accepting that this was your fate.
Almost peaceful— you remember the quiet, the snow like a blanket, and there was that feeling again. The guilt that was always lurking just behind the surface, it had gripped your heart so many times and in the worst moments too. As you were growing sleepier, the fight had left you completely, and that feeling had vanished, like ashes in the wind. You even got to see him in what you supposed to be your end. The absolute disbelief, and shattered look on his face was reassuring, as horrible as that sounds, it had felt freeing then.
However, what you didn't expect was that he would manage to save you. It hadn't even been an option in your mind, you thought you'd die there, and Steve would just have to accept that. It was his fault after all...right?
You're not so sure that he would agree with your sentiment at all. Fear begins to flare up in you.
Now you were scared. What will happen to you? You were alive and well— kind of an overstatement, but you were alive. Not dead. You doubt that if there is a heaven Steve would be pressed against you now.
Before your brain could start and compute images of you, chained in a basement, beaten black and blue, you draw his attention to you by reaching up, or trying to (your fingers feel weird and tingly), and press both hands on either side of his face, just like you did then. Maybe you want to know if this is real, if he is real. It feels pretty real, the sensation of his beard against your fingertips makes you realize you are very much here right now, this is not a dream— because if it is then it would be a very realistic dream.
And it snaps Steve out of his dazed state. You're awake. Then it really hits him; you are awake and looking at him. He wants to ask you so many things, wants to shout at you, show you what he felt, but all he can do is stare.
"Steve?" you say his name reluctantly. Why is he not reacting? The awareness that he might snap at you, or worse is still there, but oddly enough you are unfazed by it.
He reaches a hand out, carefully placing it on your cheek as if you'd break under his touch.
His blue eyes shimmer with tears, and he frowns at you, seemingly lost in thought.
"Steve," you call out his name more urgently, as much as your weak body allows you to. First, he sniffles a little, looking like a hurt puppy. His brows furrow, the corners of his mouth turn down. Then the tears slip down his angelic visage, and he progresses from sniveling to crying. Quiet sobs wreck his body.
Before you can do, or say, anything, he hunches over, presses his face against your chest and his arms tighten to a point it hurts around you.
Your tired mind can barely keep up with what's happening. His blond mop of hair is unruly, which is what you choose to focus on in that moment, perhaps to try and soothe yourself with the distraction. Carding your tired fingers through his hair, you attempt to achieve some semblance to what it usually looks like.
At some point you must've fallen asleep, because when you open your eyes again Steve is gone, and you feel strangely upset about it. It's not long though before he returns, a mug of tea in his hand, fresh clothes on and his hair is combed into place.
Wordlessly he sets it down, seating himself on the edge of the bed with an unreadable expression and reaches out with his hand.
You flinch, it's just a second, but he saw it. His hand halts, right in front of the top of your head and his face falls.
How are you supposed to handle this?
Acting on your intuition, you take his hand in yours and press it against your forehead.
For some reason you feel the need to apologize, though if it's because you flinched or because you almost managed to die, you don't know.
Steve draws his hand back. Finally, the moment you've been anxiously anticipating arrives.
"Why did you do it?"
"No. Tell me why. Did you want to die? What were you thinking!? Wasn't I enough?" he hisses, then his tone turns cold, "I thought you loved me, but it seems like I was wrong."
"Steve-" he doesn't let you speak though.
"Was all of it fake. Every kiss, every smile and when you looked at me like that- was- is...
Did you even mean any of it?"
It's a lot and his shouting certainly doesn't help you while you're trying to form your thoughts.
"I- I did. I mean, it was real. I just... I don't know why I did it, okay?"
That's a lie, and you know it. But you don't wish to talk about the basis of all of this, the reason you're here. Steve is possessive, obsessive and controlling. Yeah, you got used to it— what else were you supposed to do? With no way out and no one else but him as company, constantly pushing his affection onto you.
How can you know if you genuinely feel what you do for him.
"Bullshit," he spits out. His eyes search yours intently, searching for answers.
With a stressed exhale you whisper, "Okay. You're right, I know why, but don't pretend like you don't."
Steve looks almost offended. This must be the most direct and honest answer you've given him since he first took you.
"No, I don't know why," he replies angrily, growing more impatient.
This is going to take some time, you already know it, so you try and sit up with the little strength you have. Steve is by your side instantly, helping you with one arm under your legs and the other behind your back. Even now as this conversation occurs, he does his best to be as tender as possible. It makes you want to cry as the confusion creeps up in you.
"Steve, you took me from my life-"
"And what kind of life was that?" he interjects. Asshole.
Shooting him a furious look, you fire back, "It was my life. Doesn't matter how bad it was, it was mine, and I was free to do what I pleased."
"You can do what you want here too! Just ask me, and I'll give you everything you need," he proclaims with furrowed brows, not seeing how this was relevant.
"So would you let me go if I asked you to?"
"No- you know that's not what I meant," Steve murmurs darkly.
How can he not see it? This was wrong— so incredibly wrong. But who were you fooling. You should've known that you never had or will have a say in this, whatever this is.
Motioning for the tea, you think about how you can save yourself from this strained conversation. Nothing you say will change him, and honestly you are just so goddamn tired; you don't have enough energy for this.
Steve hands you the warm mug, brushing his fingers over yours for a moment as if to reassure himself that you're still here before pulling back. The silence is just plain awkward, tension lingers between you. On one hand the hulking blond wants to satisfy your every whim, but he wouldn't couldn't let you go, and that's final.
You are his and you need to see that.
"It doesn't matter then—" you cut yourself off, lifting one hand to motion back and forth with your index finger between yourself and him, "This conversation. Doesn't matter 'cause you're not letting me make my own choices, meaning I'll never be free. Not really..."
Steve is starting to get really ticked off, you can tell with the way his eyes seem to darken, his jaw clenches hard and you almost regret what you just said, but it's important to you that he knows. It's all out in the open now. You will never leave, that much is obvious, so you resolve yourself to be straight up with him.
Not that you weren't before, but his love silenced you in quiet ways. Complaints began to die in your throat. A stern look here, a tight squeeze there, and soon you had begun to prefer being obedient with him.
"I'm being open with you right now, Steve."
Blue eyes snap to yours, at first perplexed, then hesitant, and you try to smile, show him that you really meant that, though it must look more like a grimace. What else is there left to do. The struggle is evident on his face. Could you possibly get through to him?
"Steve..." the way you whisper his name with so much emotion behind it pains him, all this, it harrows him. Never did he want it to be like this, he planned all that there was to consider, but he didn't think you would haunt him like this.
When he started working on fixing up the rusty cabin, all he could think of was you, his fantasies were running wild; Your head lying in his lap, that gentle smile of yours mirroring his, your hands ghosting up his left arm until you would be able to reach his rosy face. He knew you would be happy, even if it would take some time, knew your beautiful heart would reach the broken parts of his weary, cold one.
And now you're here. It had become everything Steve Rogers ever wanted, slowly but steadily.
And then you ran.
Almost died, turned his dream upside down— how could you do this to him?
"Please you have to try and understand where I'm coming from," you murmur with a frown, as if you weren't so sure of your statement. In reality, you don't know if arguing is a smart move, if you'd ever be able to see a flicker of realization run across his mesmerizing face. "It hurts me Steve, I- I want you, wanna be with you," if it weren't for his enhanced hearing, he wouldn't have been able to decipher your quiet confession, "but it's not right."
His blue eyes shine, you can't discern what it means. He seems to be mulling over all that has been said, his lips purse, like usual whenever he's deep in thought, you muse with something akin to fondness, and then try to shake it off once you recognize it. You flex your fingers nervously around the handle of the ceramic mug, your mind and heart are at war.
When you look up again, his gaze is fixated on you. You realize he has decided on something.
A decision to help you is what it is; the result of his mental debate. You said you want to be with him, said you meant all of it, that it was real. He just has to give you a little push, show you that this life can be heaven, more so than he thought it had already been for you, and then you'll see how right this he is for you.
The hair on the back of your neck stands on end, and you feel paralyzed. Steve is smiling at you, softly, but you don't miss the predatory glint in his eyes, and you just want to run, want to get out. In the heat of the moment you blurt out the first thing that your brain can come up with.
"My tea is cold."
He chuckles, gets closer from where he's seated on the edge of the bed, and gently pries the mug out of your hands.
It's supposed to be a warning, though it sounds more like a plea, and you know you're losing. You never stood a chance, not against his wicked idea of love.
"It's okay sweetheart, I'm here now. Never gonna let you go, baby. Know you didn't mean to run, you love me, right?"
At least you tried, didn't you?
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lavendercitizen · 2 months ago
𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐲 𝐛𝐨𝐲
Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x reader
Word count: 910
Summary: Ransom looks simply ravishing from your place at the dining table, and you are not one for self-restraint. Not when it comes to him.
Warning: Kissing, light sexual themes: 18+! Minors dni.
A/N: Idk what exactly it is, but this gif make me go feral. Just imagine getting all hot and bothered while Ransom is reading something, so you come up to him, take the mug out of his hand and kiss him till he needs to pull away for oxygen.😏 yes. very much yes.
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Mondays were always lonely days for Ransom. With you having a job and him living of his dad's money, not bothering to stoop to the lowly task of working, he was bound to be alone for a good part of the day.
Did he understand why you were so keen on your job, when he told you several times that he could take care of you? No, not at all. You'd never have to lift another finger again and yet—
"No, Ransom. You know this is important to me," you explained to him while putting the finishing touches on your hair and makeup.
A long whine dragged itself out of the sulking man next to you. He really didn't get it, because Ransom would never even think of defending this proud need to have a job. Yeah, he definitely couldn't care less. But you and Ransom come from very different backgrounds, and it showed.
What if money would be tight one day, what if something would happen— No. That's why you leave every day (except for the weekend), to make sure you had a backup, a source of income, something to fall back on, just in case.
Eventually his whining stopped, he knew he couldn't convince you, not when you were so hellbent on keeping that damn job that had you trudging back home so tired and spent most days.
Ransom learned to cherish the mornings especially. Sometimes it was like you didn't recognize him when he was right there making you pancakes for breakfast (one of the few things he can actually make without burning the house down) and blabbering about something he had seen on the news.
You thank him for breakfast and finish quietly, observing him: his stupidly handsome appearance, the way his light blue sweater covers his hand halfway, and his ruffled brown hair. It makes you want to do things you can't even begin to describe. So far he hasn't noticed your radio silence, and you gladly take that as an advantage.
With a few strides you reach your goal—him—gently tugging the mug out of his big hands, silencing his protests easily as you run your fingers through his silky hair.
Cerulean eyes look up at you, curious as to what you're doing. You haven't said a word yet. Standing next to his sitting form, you decide to free him from his anticipation. The hands in his hair turns into a fist, lightly grabbing the brown strands, tugging his head back a bit so he tilts it, your other hand comes up to his cheek, and with that you lean forward clashing your lips against his. Ransom groans into the kiss while you were moving to straddle his lap.
"Pretty boy," you whisper breathlessly in between kisses; he quirks an eyebrow at that, one of his typical smug smirks makes its way onto his face.
All you do is smile back. His teasing might work on everybody else, but not you, and in a way it intrigued him as much as it irritated him. Every time he thought he knew all that there is to know about you, he found out something new, adding to the mystery that is you. So as you're here, straddling him, admiring the view and not bothering to hide the possessiveness that tinged your voice and glazes over your eyes, Ransom can't help but stare at you.
Leaning forward, your fingers dig into his broad shoulders, as you murmur, "Cat got your tongue, baby?", proceeding to trail kisses along his strong jaw, nipping just once or twice. You want to frame this moment, keep it with you forever— because, god, he looks like a painting, like a work of art under your searching fingers. His brow is furrowed; with concentration? With lust? It fuels something deep inside you, makes you feel powerful, and you love it.
Then, you decide, you want to hear him. With a smug smile adorning your lips you grind down on him. He bites into the soft flesh of his lower lip.
No, that won't do.
You grind down once more, tilting his head in your direction with your hand lightly gripping his chin, gaining your own pleasure, and you can't contain the little "Oh" that leaves your mouth.
His reaction is instant; a beautiful low moan escapes him, and it's like music to your ears. Fuck, you can't keep him at distance anymore. Hungrily your lips press against his, licking his lower lip for access, which he grants you without hesitation. His large hands press against your shoulder blades, trying to push you as close as possible to his awaiting body.
In between kisses you coo words of praise, and Ransom is positive his brain is short-circuiting. Your hands are running through his brown strands, nail are scraping at his scalp, and you're pressed so close to him, it's like the two of you are melting together.
Eventually, you pull away, admiring your work. Your boyfriend is absolutely flushed, his hair is even messier than before (thanks to you) and, well, his pants are quiet strained— his bulge undeniable.
Your urge is satisfied, mission completed you could say, and you get off him. Checking the mirror once more, you fix your hair, before you leave. Throwing one last glance at Ransom, whose right hand is gripping the arm of the sofa so hard, his knuckles are turning white, you bid him a devilish goodbye, knowing that you were in for it.
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lavendercitizen · 2 months ago
Pairing: Soft!Dark!Nomad!Steve Rogers x reader
Summary: You've gotten so used to Steve's closeness, when you should be fighting him with tooth and nail. Not anymore.
Word count: 1,404
Warnings: Dark/yandere fic, angst: guilt, mention of kidnapping, implication of death, hypothermia.
A/N: Finally, my first Stevie fic😁 and ofc it's angsty on another level... yeah ngl this is dramatic af, sorry not sorry🤷🏼‍♀️ apparently I like breaking my own heart.
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The cold snow is whipping past you, burning your cheeks, and you don't know if you can take another step anymore, surprising yourself every time you manage just one more. Fear is a great motivator. And that's something you did not want to find out, but here you are.
You will yourself not to cry, unsure of how bad it would hurt if the tears would freeze on your face.
Is he still on your tail?
It's been a while since you last heard his shouts and screams; Never have you heard desperation, perhaps fear and a hint of anger, like this. Not once have you felt terror like this, as well as hopelessness and guilt.
And even if it hurt so bad hearing Steve's anguished cries, even if it made you want to turn right around and run into his warm arms, you remind yourself why that is exactly what you're not going to do with a shake of your head.
Days had turned into months in the little cabin, and you knew— knew that when the feeling of being torn, the shame that came with every touch, every scrape of his lips on your skin, against your mouth, dissipated more and more, that you had let yourself get swallowed by his darkness.
It was like waking up from a dream. You saw him talking to you, his smile so natural, something you wouldn't think twice about admiring then, as if this was normal, but you weren't listening. How could you have allowed yourself to let him mold you like he did. Every little touch, every smile and laugh— how could you.
You let yourself sink into his advances more and more, completely forgetting about escaping and working towards your freedom.
It disgusts you, looking back at it, but you get why you did it. Never have you felt such affection and love from anyone. The attention he gave you was exhilarating and made it easy to shove down the conflict that arose inside you every time. It wasn't right though, it was a sick and twisted love. But it was easy to believe that it was real.
Steve was like a man possessed. Even when you accepted his touch, pushing back less and less— you couldn't pretend like you did not see the dangerous glint, hidden behind his gentle loving eyes.
In another life, you think, we could've been something.
Your body feels like it's on fire and plunged in ice-cold water at the same time. With each minute more, your movement becomes less. It was pretty stupid, running away from him during this weather, and you curse yourself for your terrible timing. This was the one chance you had—Steve trusted you after all this time together, believing you wouldn't run anymore—and now you lost that chance to an emotional outburst. Just great.
How much longer can you go? At this point you're just walking, holding your arms tightly to yourself. Not even the protective jacket you are wearing is helping much. Fear begins to form in the pit of your stomach.
Please. Please- not after I've gotten this far.
Steve had told you once that the next town isn't even that distant from the little cabin the two of you were holed up in, when you worried about food supplies. That was when you were still actively pushing him away, and the mention of civilization had made you light up like a Christmas tree. Obviously he had not been very pleased at your eagerness to leave and quickly shut you down with a reminder that even if you would somehow leave there was no way you'd find the town before he'd find you.
Yeah, that had wiped the spark right out of your eyes. You remember how you ignored him for the rest of the day after that, and he felt terrible.
God, isn't that confusing?
In one moment he would angrily tell you that there was no escape and in the next he would be at your side, an unspoken apology on his lips, with furrowed brows and sad eyes.
No more though, it doesn't matter anymore.
You hope.
But as your small steps slow down even more, and you feel the trembling in your hands starting to ease, your hope dwindles. Even your breathing—shaky a moment ago—is now steady, because it's slowing down. Hypothermia, you muse.
Funny how quick a dream can vanish. Moments ago you were still fantasizing about your arrival in town. Quickly you realize that there would be no arrival.
You can't take it anymore— so tired. You're so tired and exhaustion sweeps over you faster than anticipated. Maybe that's okay. Because even if you would be able to reach the town, that's the first place Steve will go to, and then it would only be a matter of time before he finds you. Even if somehow you manage to get a car, a rental or something (though you doubt that's a thing in a small-town in the middle of nowhere), how far would you get?
So maybe this is the only way. With a small huff you sink down against a big pine tree. The cold instantly seeps into your legs, the only part of your body that wasn't completely numb, and your breath hitches at the feeling.
It's for the better, you try and console yourself in what you know are going to be your last coherent moments. Small is what you'd use to describe yourself right now. Small and abandoned, and all alone.
Regret sinks its claws into you. Would you really rather die than spend another minute in your little bubble of a life with Steve? It's too late now, you can't allow yourself to even think about it.
Painful tears fill your eyes, instantly burning your skin with the unfamiliar warmth, but you can't bring yourself to care. If anything they bring a little bit of feeling back into your frozen body. Then it hurts less and less. Darkness creeps into the edges of your vision, and you close your eyes, ready to fall asleep one last time.
Everything stops; at least it feels like it. The raging snow becomes insignificant, the cold trivial, but your body seems to respond. A flicker of recognition lights in you.
"Steve?" you croak quietly. You hear your name again this time a little closer, and maybe it was some sort of survival instinct, but then you cry out his name with all that you have left, and by some miracle he hears you over the roaring storm.
Even more tears spill out, you don't know if you're relieved or if this is the worst mistake of your life, but you don't get the chance to ponder on it, because the next thing you know Steve Rogers fills up your vision. Hands are on you, you think he might be attempting to warm your much smaller ones, but you can't be sure— you feel nothing.
"(Y/N), oh my god-
Doll, listen to me, you need to stay awake, you hear me? Goddamnit I can't lose you, baby, please- just please look at me."
The corners of your mouth twitch slightly. If you'd tell your younger self that this would one day be a situation she'd find herself in, she probably would laugh in disbelief.
"(Y/N)," he says your name again.
Ah, yes, he is still here, you're still here too. With a quiet huff you force yourself to look at him— your Stevie, kneeling in front of you, and for the first time you notice the tears slipping down his beautiful face. Oh, Steve.
This is it, you really believe it, you do.
Now, as your resting against the rough bark of the pine tree behind you, and the snow is quietly falling, having eased up, Steve is lightly shaking in front of you with distress, and you're ready to say goodbye. Your hands come up to his face, you press your fingers on either side against his beard. You don't feel them, but that's okay. The darkness is consuming you faster and faster; there's not much time left.
Steve Rogers has torn you from your life, taken you to be a part of his own little world, and now he's watching you slip away. His cries are like a knife into your cold heart, but it's too late now.
"Maybe in another life, Stevie."
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lavendercitizen · 7 days ago
.•˚✧ 𝐍𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐠𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 ✧˚•.
Tumblr media
𝐑𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐬 (soon)
𝐌𝐲 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬:
These are the most common tags I use to organize this blog a bit. They are pretty modified so you either have to go from one of my new posts and click on the tag you're interested in there, or copy 'em from here and put it in the searchbar💗
lavendercitizen's writing <- all my works&writing
-ˋˏ ✧ +.*.。𝖗𝖆𝖊'𝖘 𝖆𝖊𝖘𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖙𝖎𝖈。.*.+ ✧  ˎˊ-
my blog aesthetic
ˏ⭒𝓻𝓪𝓮'𝓼 𝓽𝓱𝓸𝓾𝓰𝓱𝓽𝓼⭒ˎ
I just ramble like a mad person under this tag💀
⁺˚*・༓ ☾ 𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓲𝓷𝓰 ☽ ༓・*˚⁺
I rb my fellow writer's works and leave my thoughts& appreciation!
Anything 18+/ smut /nsfw will have this tag whether that might be my own work or someone's fic I reblogged! Read the warnings carefully, and do not interact if you're a minor. Regardless of that my blog is not for minors. If you are under 18 do not interact. You will be blocked.
⭑*•⊱•̩̩͙•rae answers••̩̩͙⊰•*⭑
When I respond to your ask, I will always have it tagged like this (and if you're someone who interacts frequently, or assigns themself an emoji I'll add that ofc🥳) I am also open to character nonnies!
⋆ ˚。⋆୨୧˚𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐬˚୨୧⋆。˚ ⋆
What it says lol, I reply with a reblog and tag it with that :)
Literally just textposts!
Spreading love/self-care posts/reminders
I reblog little space stuff (posts, graphics, fanfics). If this is something you don't like just filter both of these tags but don't send me hate about it.
Some more self-explanatory tags:
✧─── ・ 。゚✮: *.✧.* :✮゚。・ ───✧
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hevans-angel · 8 days ago
Okay, so like. I got an idea for this blog, since I haven't been writing as much as I've wanted to. I also wanted to spice this blog up, interact more you know? I've seen a lot of people doing themed days, and I kind of want to do that! It would probably only be 3 or 4 rather than all 7 days, since work really wears me out.
For themes I've been considering: Sub!Steve (maybe other sub!characters too, not sure yet,) Retirement Plan (my series that I kinda abandoned but want to get back to,) a new series that I won't name yet because it's a surprise 👀 and that's it so far. If you have any other theme ideas that you think match the vibes of this blog, let me know!
For these themed days, I'd be writing headcanons and drabbles based around these themes! It's sort of a way to help motivate me to help finish these requests that I have, ngl 😅🤷🏻‍♀️ anyway, what do we think? Are we into it or nah?
Tagging some mutuals but don't feel obligated to reply! @aubreeskailynn @honeyloverogers @strawbeariefaerie @trashywritestrash @lavendercitizen (and anyone else that sees this!)
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buckysbrattybug · 16 days ago
i got tagged by the lovely @5littleassbutts,, so here’s my answers hehe
1. why did you choose your URL?
because i’m a brat who adores bucky barnes😚
2. any side blogs?
@justasillybabie is for little stuff, reblogging loads of pointless shit i like, and just generally being a mess😌
3. how long have you been on tumblr?
on and off since probably about 2016??? but i haven’t ever posted until this year
4. do you have a queue tag?
no! i should probably make one though😳
5. why did you start your blog in the first place?
because i love writing and i wanted somewhere to share my progress! and you lovely people all interact with me and i couldn’t be more grateful🥰
6. why did you choose your icon?
because,,, sebastian??? the buzz cut gives me big mob!bucky vibes i can’t take it😫
7. why did you choose your header?
because pink is my fav and i wanted it to be my theme,,, also it’s rlly pretty
8. what’s your post with the most notes?
i think it’s chapter one of their angel! i thought it was totally going to flop but i was pleasantly surprised hehe 🙃
9. how many mutuals do you have?
21 at the moment!! and they’re all amazing😚
10. how many followers do you have?
365! i appreciate all of u who followed me sm
11. how many people do you follow?
12. have you ever made a shitpost?
not that i remember actually😳
13. how often do you use tumblr each day?
i’m here all the fucking time😭 if i have wifi u can pretty much guarantee i’m here
14. did you have a fight/argument with another blog once?
i don’t think so! i generally like to stay out of arguments and whatnot, all they do is make me wanna cry🤣
15. how do you feel about “you need to reblog this” posts?
16. do you like tag games?
17. do you like ask games?
yup! they’re literally my fav ask me all the questions
18. which of your mutuals do you think is tumblr famous?
@navybrat817 i’m not gonna lie i did shit myself a little bit when you followed me back😭😭
19. do you have a crush on a mutual?
shh🤫 can’t be out here revealing secrets like that!
20. no pressure tags: @buckyshattergirl @bucks-bunny @lavendercitizen @lokiscollar @elijahs-wife @mianorth <33
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