otp to end all otps

you won’t ever be alone (wait for me to come home)

five times they are not okay. five times they say they are. once they might be. ao3.


It’s been three weeks since she died—since he killed her. It’s a little less since he saved her. Not him, exactly, but the scientists and doctors he dug up through his Hydra connections (and now he owes a lot of dangerous people a lot of money).

She wakes screaming. He holds her against his chest as she shakes, and knows that this is his fault.

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  He likes to watch her embroider, although if you asked him, he couldn’t quite tell you why. Perhaps it is because of the way her hands move sure and graceful on the fabric, holding the needle as if it were an extension of her own fingers. She can stitch without looking down at the fabric, hold a conversation, look at something with tenderness and care in her eyes – he has seen her. And yet she is always aware of the fabric in her hands.

  He likes to watch her embroider because she does it so well, or so he tells himself. It is always a pleasure to watch an expert work. And yet, even if he told you that, he would be aware in the back of his own mind that it was a lie, of sorts – perhaps the real reason he likes to watch her embroider is because she is the one doing it.

Stitches In Time - Suppi-Chan