#I’d give him glasses too if I think he’d wear them but fuck no he would not. he’d suffer through being BLIND just to not look like a nerd

[leafiion]

geara I have feelings for you. most of them are incomprehensible though

[calaisreno]

Couple

865 words / Prompt: Imperfect

“We’re not—” John begins, but realises the futility of saying it again. 

“You’re a lucky man.” Hopkins winks at him. “I’d make a play for him myself, but he’s obviously taken.”

He watches her walk away while he stands at the bar, waiting for another pint. She’s just the kind of woman he once would have hit on. A fun flirtation. 

Now he doesn’t have the energy. And he’s wondering when that happened.

Sherlock is watching him. 

He should be used to it by now. People always assume they’re a couple, and really, he doesn’t mind so much. He’s stopped saying he’s not gay because it’s misleading, and he would rather be honest. But it’s nobody’s fucking business who he is.

Sherlock must know. God, they’ve known each other for years, lived together for months now, since he and Rosie moved back. They’re practically co-parenting, and often exchange the same weary look that only the parents of a toddler can wear. 

But Sherlock looks sad, he thinks. If John is honest with himself, he’s a bit worried that Sherlock is tired of the John-and-Rosie show, the trail of destruction Rosie leaves everywhere she toddles. The cases always used to bring them together, and now, even if they have a babysitter, John’s often too exhausted to go out with him. 

Even this, a night out with the Yarders, Rosie at home with Mrs Hudson, is less fun than John had hoped. Sherlock doesn’t care for pub nights, but he tags along because John presses him to be more social. 

He moves towards Sherlock, who’s sitting on the periphery of the noisy group. People don’t socialise with him much. Even the women who look at him with appreciation give up after a brief exchange. Sherlock can manage social occasions when necessary, but he’s clearly wishing he were somewhere else.

He slides into the seat opposite. “I’m glad you came.” 

“Why?” Sherlock gives him a sharp look. “So I could watch Lestrade’s team get pissed?”

“No, I’m glad because… I like being with you.”

Sherlock’s eyebrows rise. He gives an amused huff. “You live with me.”

“Yeah, I do. But at home there’s always some mess to clean up or Rosie to deal with. I’m sorry, I know this isn’t your favourite thing.”

“I don’t mind.” His mouth curves into a smile. “I like being with you, too.” 

John nods, takes a swallow of beer. “Stella was just making the usual assumption. We look like a couple. And I was wondering, are we?”

“Are we a couple?” Sherlock’s face does something complicated: surprise, discomfort, and then careful indifference. “People are idiots.”

“I don’t care about people. I care about you. Does it bother you?”

“Why would it bother me?”

“Because you don’t… I know you care about me and Rosie, but you don’t do…” The word is on the tip of John’s tongue, but he’s looking into Sherlock’s eyes, feeling completely obvious.

“Romance,” Sherlock says. “It’s a medieval construct, John, an idealisation of a reality that is often messy and contentious. People fall in love and marry; they run headlong into disappointment and divorce. I abhor the idea that we must put on blinders and pretend everything is perfect. It’s not, and never has been.”

John feels his heart sink a bit. “Yeah, you’re right.” He touches the side of his pint glass, watches the condensation run down. 

He’s thinking about his own failed marriage. He’d loved the idea of Mary, an escape from the past, the possibility of a future with a person who loved him. He’d built an idealised life in his head, and it hadn’t taken long for him to realise how mistaken he’d been. The night Mary died, he’d planned to talk with her, tell her what he’d realised about himself. He didn’t know where that would take them, but it had to be said. He’d only delayed because of Sherlock’s text.

“Love,” Sherlock continues, “has nothing to do with romance. It’s not perfect. It’s a decision, one we keep making because it’s important.”

Their eyes meet. John is looking up into Sherlock’s face, remembering when he said, we might all just be human. “Important. To you?”

“Yes.”

The group is suddenly louder, laughing and jeering at some remark. No one is looking at him and Sherlock. 

Those grey eyes are still gazing at him.

“Love is important, John. I know I don’t often express sentiment, but I do feel it. I do love you.”

At the look on John’s face, Sherlock’s smile turns to something sadder. 

“I adore you and Rosie, and I love the messiness of living with you. I don’t want a perfect life. I want you. I want us.”

“So, you’re saying… you want us... to be a couple?”

“We already are, John. What that means is up to us. Do you want more than what we have?”

“God, yes.” The words are out of his mouth before he thinks them. “I do. Want you. If you…?”

“Yes.” Sherlock is smiling now, a full, bright smile that practically lights up the room. 

John leans closer. “I love you too, Sherlock.” 

The kiss is messy and imperfect. And glorious. Nobody’s watching.

[entitled-fangirl]

If you had to only write for Cregan of Aemond again who would it be?

Oooooo good question!!!

There’s definitely pros and cons to both

Their time in the show so far:

Aemond’s character is already wayyyy more fleshed out in the show, and kind of gives you a blueprint of how he would react to things/ his actions.

Cregan literally had five minutes. Now, was it my favorite five minutes of the show? Duh. But we’re taking one conversation (and a little bit of what we know happens later), along with all the information we know from the Stark family two centuries later. Like, literally look at Tom Taylor’s Cregan and tell me you don’t see Eddard and hear Jon. Not as much background to use as a blueprint for things.

Now, as characters?

Aemond is literally so mean. But, knowing his background, he literally gives you that feeling of “I can fix him,” because he’s putting on a facade. He actually needs someone to fix him, cause his mom isn’t doing shit. She literally waved the white flag on him and gave up on him. You can see that there’s a softness to him and there are actually people that bring that out in him. However, he manipulates easily and is easily manipulated. That boy just deserves a fucking hug, good god. I think a girl could bring out his soft side due to his mommy issues, but it’s definitely giving a grumpy x sunshine trope always. And he’d be way too controlling, and to really write the character, you have to display that in some form, even if it’s minuscule. Wives don’t want to be moms to their husbands too, so he’s definitely toxic in that way.

Now my babygirl Cregan. In one word? Gruff. He’s definitely gruff. He’s a firm believer in traditions, and honestly, on first impressions, he’s probably sexist. He was probably raised to treat women like glass, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t change his mind about certain women as he goes- he obviously has great respect for Rhaenyra. But he’d treat a wife like a literal porcelain doll. He is such a gentleman that sometimes it’s a curse on him. I can see him being really fucking protective though. He seems like he’d succeed everywhere the Starks in GoT failed. He’s a really really firm leader, and an incredible fucking swordsman (I didn’t make that up, that’s canon). But, he’s a bitch for tradition, and everybody’s gotta respect that about him.

My personal opinion:

I think both are incredible characters, and I EAT up every second they have on screen. I enjoy writing for both of them, as they are played by their actors so well, that I can literally see the characters doing things as I write them. If the girl runs away, I literally go “how would he react to that?” Aemond’s fucking furious. Cregan is worried. That’s how easily believed the actors display their characters. I don’t have to guess.

But after a long winded answer that you probably didn’t ask to get, I’d say Cregan.

When in doubt, Cregan is the softer man (believe it or not) and I love writing men who LOVE THEIR WIVES!!! I think we need more of that comforting feeling. A dark fanfic is fun sometimes, but I want to feel deep emotions when I’m reading. I wanna feel the love. Especially when the character wouldn’t be afraid to show their love. Aemond definitely wouldn’t show it, whereas Cregan wears it on his sleeve proudly, like every other northerner displays their emotions. Cregan definitely isn’t going to be toxic and would always hear somebody out. I think that’s important.

So, Cregan. Def Cregan.

[radskull-69]

here’s chapter one so far!

Chapter one

Rain poured down harsh enough to make anyone’s umbrella crush under each droplets weight, the pittar patter louder then the radios shitty songs the man sitting in the red car was trying his best to listen to.

One was his name, or ‘Number One’, as the lab would call him. But it didn’t matter either way. A stressed man he was, it was easily seen in his whitening black hair despite him only being in his early fourties’. His skin olive skin stained with bandages cuts and bruises that ached whenever he shifted

The cars air conditioning did little to warm him up in the chilly night hours, neither did his long black coat and sweater. Nothing seemed to make him comfortable with tonight, not this music, this weather.. ugh.

“Damn weather men, never reliable.. what happened to my perfect sunny day??”

The man huffed out, trying to turn the radios dial up higher though it was already maxed out. Didn’t stop him though, wishing to have something to drown out the awkward silence of the cramped car.

“I told you it’d rain tonight, just be thankful we have a car with a roof this time.” A snippy and raspy voice rang out from the passenger seat beside One, his partner in crime and pain in the ass, Number Two.

Two was a royal cunt, at least to One. Red tinted glasses that made it near impossible to see his eyes underneath, black hair slicked back and a scowl painting his pale features as he sat there with one leg over the other snd his arms crossed.

And wearing that stupid sweater vest and dumbass neck scarf, if they weren’t on a mission right now he’d wring his neck with it. Maybe later tonight..

“Shut your trap, can’t hear my damn music..” One snapped with a glare before looking out the window, squinting his one eye to the apartment complex they were currently parked across the street of.

“You and your music- at least putting something good on. Every time you drive it’s pop music, what happened to the classics??” Two retaliated by reaching over to change the radios channel, ignoring the scorching look One threw his way before slapping his hands away sharply

“Bugger off! My car my rules, maybe if you didn’t keep crashing every good car the boss gives us I’d let you drive.” Every car their boss has given them for the purpose of using for their missions one of the other three have crashed, and One would be dammed if they let him crash his baby too. This red beauty was a deluxe! 

“I’m starting to think those glasses don’t do shit for your eyes.” One murmured to himself, turning away From two and placing his hands on the steering wheel. He kept his eye peeled for any sign of activity, drumming his fingers on the wheels worn leather as he fidgeted.

“Not my fault I nobody else on the road and drive over five! Tch, whatever. You got any update from those two idiots yet?” Two huffed and turned away also, not to keep his own eye out but to not look at One and fall into the strong urge to slam his head into the horns wheel. Again.

“No. I’m sure they’re fine though, probably… Four will keep a good eye on Three. I trust him” despite his confident words One wasn’t too sure, his two other teammates currently in that shady apartment building to retrieve a man the boss wanted them to take without witnesses.

Only problem was… one of those two other teammates weren’t good at being stealthy.. 

Three was a valued member of their team, a short woman with quick hands and a bright mind. Able to make weapons out of anything and everything, good in combat too. She was a shit stirrer though and half the time she was the reason missions were fucked over

The only reason One let her take the lead in this mission was because Four was with her, their muscle of the group.

He was… nice. Enough. He often joined in on One’s torment with Two and Three but he didn’t really do anything bad just watch, he didn’t say a word and One can’t remember what his voice used to sound like before he got half his face blown off. Luckily he patched himself up that it was only a minor injury.

At least.. he thinks so, hard to tell since Four is always wearing that black face mask. Along with that leather apron, stripped shirts, black gloves and bow tie. What a outfit..

But Four kept Three in check, those Two were close. And even if Four was more of a follower then a leader but he knew when to put his foot down when called to it, so that was a small comfort for One.

“Bet you ten bucks Three’s gonna blow this building up.” Two quips, saying anything to fill the silence and not be as bored as a rock.

“Make it twenty that she jumped out of… that window” One points to the middle window on the highest floor that wasn’t the roof, playing into the bet though he wishes neither scenario would happen. Blowing up the building would not be ideal… nor would Three killing herself. Again..

That old machine back at base could only bring them back so many times.

“Bet.” Two shot One a cocky smirk, so sure of himself that he’d win this bet like he’s won so many other things in their first few years of working together. One didn’t like thinking back on that.

One caught himself smiling back at Two and replaced it with his usual frown as he huffed and turned away, getting a cigarette out of his jackets pocket and lighting it with his red steel lighter. Taking a long puff he didn’t bother winding down the window, he didn’t wish to make it colder than it already was. And he was hoping he could make it harder to breathe for two. Call him petty.

Right on cue the ground shook with a deafening ‘BANG!’ Both One’s and Two’s heads snapping over to the building to see said small woman jumping out of the building through the very same window One had placed his bet on, shards flying everywhere behind her.

Even from here they could see the grin she had on her face as she jumped down, her red eyepatch tight on her damaged eye as she fell at a rapid pace towards the pavement 

Aaaaaaand hit the ground with a splat, the two men looked unamused from their seat. Without turning to Two One lifted up his palm and gestured for Two to pay up, he grumbled and dug in his pockets before slapping the bill in his hand

Number Four walked out of the buildings front door with a man thrown over his shoulder, closing the door behind him respectfully and passing Three’s mangled up body a glance before continuing on to cross the road to get to the car.

Just as Four opened the back seat and climbed in, making the car tilt for a moment thanks to his weight, did the building suddenly explode from the inside. The once dark and rainy city bursting with light that rivalled the sun, One hissed and covered his eye with his hand

One tried not to think of the people currently in that building, taking another drag of his cigarette…

“So, who wins the bet then?” Piped up Two, leaning back in his chair as he watched the brick building go up in flames, man he wished he had brought some popcorn over. He rolled his head to look over to One, raising a brow when he refused to answer

“We can split it..” he sighed and slapped ten dollars into Two’s hand, ignoring his grin in favour of looking over his shoulder to where Four was sitting. There target was knocked out cold sitting beside him, Four was putting his seatbelt on for him before looking over to One when he noticed him staring

“The fuck happened in there? I thought we agreed on stealth. Not fireworks with a show!” He grit his teeth and gave Four a unhappy frown, there goes his faith in his most trusted member of this freak show…

Four didn’t answer, of course he didn’t, all he did was shrug and look outside his window to watch the droplets slide down his glass. As if One wasn’t currently giving him a glare that could set another building on fire on its own

One turned back to his wheel and spat out his cigarette into the tin on the dashboard, it was all crushed up thanks to him biting down on it. Glancing up at the blazed building one last time he pulled out of his parking and drove down the road to head back ‘home’.

He was really gonna give it to Three for ruining another mission, ugh, at least they got their desired man this time…

~~~~

Please give me feed back on my writing! It’s been a while since I’ve written anything and I wanna know if I’ve introduced the characters well enough, obviously I’m not been halfway done for this chapter but give me notes please!

[fullofgutsndopamine]

part of the FITPS verse

more here

tw: cursing, some fluff, some angst if you squint,

note: reader is they/them, however, one mention of hasan referring to you as “my girl”

“hasan.” you huff out, “what part of ‘be quiet’ do you not understand?”

hasan looks the part of santa.

he wears a crooked santa hat on top of an old baseball cap with his hockey teams old logo across the middle, faded with age, a smirk on his face.

“princess,” he drawls out, “are you doubting my abilities?”

you roll your eyes, “I am when you’re so fucking loud. you’re gonna wake Amelie and the whole town up.”

now it’s his turn to roll his eyes, “she’s a heavy sleeper, she’s fine.”

there’s some weight to that, but he doesn’t elaborate and you don’t ask him to.

“We have to hurry.” you remind him.

your mind runs through the list; presents to put out, the reindeer mix hasan worked on to sprinkle in the backyard, “to keep the magic alive,” he say, but figured that sounds dumb so finished with, “or whatever”

“what’s the rush?” he asks, bht oneys, comes to your side with the small plastic bag filled with presents for Amelie.

they aren’t much, a mix of homemade (a new stuffed rabbit, since the one she’s had since she was born, a gift from hasan, is basically just a piece of cloth she’s carrying around now, pressed against him at grocery stores and at the shop with the little rabbit)

you remember the nights he stayed up, glasses on the crook of his nose, his grease stained fingers working expertly on old cloth, stuffing the little bear.

“moneys tight,” he’d shake his head as he said it, red faced, as if this is something he’s embarrassed about, something that’s kept him up, “but i don’t need her to know that.”

the packages are wrapped in old wrapping paper, scraps, old newspaper he tooo from the shop to wrap them up in-

you offered money, gift wrap, the works but he’s roll his eyes every time, “now,” he’d drawl out slowly, “what kind of boyfriend would i be if i took money from my girl?” and he’d pull you in close by your waist and kiss you, hard, on the lips.

hasan gets on his knees, gently, slowly, and one by one, sets the wrapped presents under the tree as you do the same, your own bag, a little smaller, with from santa on a gift for Amelie, a love with your name on the other; desperately trying to ignore the thump thump your heart makes when you think too hard on it-

“what’s the rush?” he asks, and you whip your head around to remind him that the rush is Amelie walking downstairs any second, and how desperately you want him to get some good sleep-

instead, his hands go for your wrist, and before you know it, your flipped around, on your back, your head under the tree as you stare up at the lights, twinkling, some faded or half out, but the blues and the greens stare back at you, making you have to squint-

“use to do this all the time when i was little,” hasan speaks, his voice barely above a whisper, the way it always does when he’s about to talk about the before, usually reserved for late at night, gasping awake from a nightmare or wide awake, fighting off sleep:

“Ma use to work a lot y’know, after everything with my Dad-“

he rolls his eyes, not indulging that part, though it’s not necessary, you know the odds and ends, the sad parts-

“So, to entertain myself, i’d lay under the tree. watch the lights, like watching a show, yknow?”

he reaches out and touches the tip of a red light, “these were my favorite, when they were behind the blues.”

and out of instinct you do the same, reaching for the lights under the tree, on your back-

you can’t help it, as you curl into his side, your head on his shoulder as his fingers run up and down your back, his eyes fixed on the lights.

finally, he breaks the silence first: “thought we had to rush.”

his voice is low, teasing but you snort as you hold the side of his face, “quiet, you.”

you laugh, giving him a kiss on the lips as you watch the lights with him

[dontfeeltoohot]

Here is a tiny 1.1k introduction of my bodyguard au. Eddie Munson, one of Hollywood’s hottest actors, is also the poster child for bad decisions and evading his team. Enter Steve Harrington, the only bodyguard that can seem to keep up with him. I hope you enjoy! 

(Eventually it will be steddie, but currently....not so much.)

X X X 

If Munson tries anything today, Steve swears he’s going to manhandle the guy back to his apartment and tie him to a damn chair. The bodyguard doesn’t have the patience, not when his head feels like it’s going to split open and the world around him feels far off and disorienting. He’s walking around The Grove with the actor and Chrissy Cunningham; one of the man’s friends he actually enjoys, while they attempt to find a present for another person's birthday, maybe Zendaya? He can’t quite remember. 

The thing is, Steve doesn’t need to worry about actual threats, at least, mostly. Sure the pair of friends both have millions of fans, some of which are bound to get overly excited and rush up to them, but he’s been hired as the long haired man’s bodyguard for one reason specifically- himself. 

Eddie Munson is one of Hollywood’s most unpredictable ‘bad boys’ as of late. He’s known to steal, take drugs, party, and put himself and others in danger. He’s gained the reputation of being a flight risk, and knows how to lose every bodyguard he’s had in a matter of seconds- until Steve. 

Steve’s good at reading people, good at knowing their next moves, recognizing body language, knowing places they go and where exits are. He might only be 30, but he’s one of the best bodyguards hireable. And now, as of one month ago, he’s Munson’s. 

The kid; twenty eight but still a kid through his actions, is definitely Steve’s most demanding client. He’s used to random requests from other clients he’s had, but not used to being woken up at three am just to get coffee and stand by a door while Munson shoves his tongue down yet another random Hollywood elite’s throat. It’s exhausting but rewarding, especially in moments like these, when Munson’s actually being calm and acting like a normal human, just out with his best friend laughing at a random joke while a few people take photos of them from across the walkways. 

“Mmm, let’s try there, shall we?” Munson gestures to the large Coach store. 

Raising an eyebrow, Steve follows. The actor doesn’t wear Coach, probably would rather drop dead than be seen in it. His muddled brain reminds him then that they’re looking for a present, not just for People’s #5 sexiest man in Hollywood. 

A crowd is huddling near the entrance, and as Steve passes them, the sound of the voices grates against his ears, making him wince. The one upside of the store is that it’s quiet and the lights are low. If only Munson could take a hint and follow the volume. 

“Do you think she’d want that new perfume? The one Scarlett’s been endorsing?” Munson asks his friend. 

“Probably not, I’d do a purse. I still can’t believe you haven’t gotten anything when her party is in three hours,” Chrissy rolls her eyes and Steve smirks. 

Right there with you, Chrissy. 

“Yeah, well, I was kind of…indisposed last night,” the curly haired man smirks, rings glinting against the sheen of a glass cabinet with scarves in it. 

Steve grimaces as he remembers having to listen to the loud moans coming from both Munson and Harry fucking Styles last night, and the way; after all was said and done and Munson was walking out with dark bruises on his neck and a different shirt on, that he’d looked at Steve with a wolffish grin and said ‘god British men give the best fucks.’ 

“With who?” 

“I don’t kiss and tell Chris.” 

Both she and Steve snort at the same time. 

“Did I ask, Harrington?” 

Steve straightens and rolls his eyes, temple throbbing. He feels achy now, too, he’s realizing, and his throat’s sore. Sniffling, the bodyguard crosses his arms and huffs. 

“Nope. But you did scream ‘Harry’ loudly, multiple times last night, and I think I deserve to make a noise for having to endure it.” 

Chrissy’s eyes go wide, but the kid just shrugs it off as if it’s no big deal. Little shit. Even he knows Harry Styles is a big ass deal. As the two talk, Steve rubs his face and lets his shoulders sag, trying to focus on anything but how he feels. He hopes one of the two will want coffee soon, maybe he can down a shot of espresso. 

By the time Munson has a gift and they’re back in the large black SUV heading towards the man's apartment, he’s still espresso-less and can’t decide if he wants to tell him to shut up or just push him out of the car all together. Chrissy, for her part, keeps shooting him glances, which means she’s noticed he’s not entirely on his game like always. At least the actor hadn’t noticed.  Cat and Mouse isn’t something he wants to play today. 

“I’m going to head out,” Chrissy announces once they get out of the car. “I have to go change, but I’ll see you there lovebug,” she kisses Eddie’s cheek. “Feel better Steve!” 

Face growing warm, Steve shifts awkwardly, always having hated being called out. He can physically feel Eddie turn to look at him, can feel eyes boring into the back of his head as they walk through the front doors of the complex. 

“What does she mean to feel better? You’re fine,” Eddie’s tone is uninterested, like he’s asking just out of pure manners. If Steve didn’t know the guy's uncle, he’d refuse to believe he even knew what manners were. 

“I’m fine. Don’t know what she meant,” Steve grinds out, jaw clenched. 

“Well you have fun doing whatever while I get ready. Might need you to help me with my leather pants though,” Munson winks, making Steve choke on his spit and cough, though it takes a moment to make it stop. 

“If you are sick, don’t cough all over everything, I have so much shit coming up, I can’t afford to get the plague from you.” 

The scoff Eddie throws towards him is enough to make the ex jock feel annoyed. Yeah, he might feel sick, but no way in hell will Eddie know that. 

“Of course your highness, I forgot that lowly peasants like me mean nothing to you.” 

“Damn right Harrington. You could be half dead, I don’t care. You’re employed by me, so if I need you to do something, you do it. Plague or not. Maybe wear a mask though.” 

By the time Munson goes to his room, Steve sighs and sits on the large leather couch, wondering if the actor keeps Motrin anywhere. He’s going to need it with how he’s feeling, if he intends to get through the night. Fuck. 

TBC? 

[a-writing-otter]

Zu’zu wrinkles his nose in an effort to make the itch at the end of it go away without smearing the paint. He’d spent a solid hour putting together these theatrics and like hell was a stray tickle of his skin going to ruin it.

“A cat?” A voice comes derisively from his elbow. Zu’zu looks up and over and rolls his eyes at Y’shtola who is hiding a barely amused expression while she carefully sips at a glass of water from Zu’zu’s kitchen.

“Yes, a cat. And not just any cat—“

“Yeah, yeah, from that horrible cat musical you made all of us watch. I didn’t think you’d actually dress up as one of them.”

Zu’zu spins in place, using his hands to fluff the fur of his collar as his fake tail swishes behind him.

“You’re just put out that I look fantastic. Besides, what are you supposed to be?”

Y’shtola is in a long black dress of skirts upon skirts of different lengths and layers. It all comes to an off-the-shoulder spread covered in white fur with a clasp about the neck. The feathers from her ears and the staff in her hand are very mystical and he gets the words half-formed before Y’shtola cuts across him.

“I’m a sorcerer.”

“Yes. Yes, sorcerer. And you call me dramatic.”

“I don’t have cat ears.” She reaches a hand up to pluck at one of them before Zu’zu frowns and takes a great step away from her, batting her hands away.

“Don’t fuck with them, I spent a solid fifteen minutes getting them into place.”

Y’shtola doesn’t bother to hide her laughter this time.

“Did you rope G’raha into this?”

And no sooner does she ask than the man himself comes slinking down the stairs. If the tail could move, Zu’zu would have no doubt it would be between his legs.

“And what are you wearing?” Y’shtola asks, somehow more baffled by G’raha’s display.

“It’s a cat,” G’raha hopes to defend, scrunching his nose to likely fight off a similar itch.

“And not just any cat,” Zu’zu cuts across, darting to G’raha’s side to spread his hands in front of them, wiggling his fingers as he spreads them apart.

“The Magical Mr. Mistoffelees.”

“A magic cat?”

“The one, the only!” Zu’zu links their arms together and beams down at G’raha who seems to warm slightly at Zu’zu’s enthusiasm.

“He insisted that they’re boyfriends—“

“They are!”

“—and yet watching the whole show, I failed to see it.”

“It’s subtext,” Zu’zu dismisses. “Sure Rum Tum Tugger is a cad and a flirt, but he always comes home to Mistoffelees.”

“Should I worry about you running around like an unfixed tom cat?” G’raha teases, putting a hand over Zu’zu’s.

“As if I’d have eyes for anyone else.”

“Well,” Y’shtola begins, pulling them out of their moment before it gets too sappy sweet, “you two are certainly going to be over-dressed.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure.” Zu’zu releases G’raha so he can fuss with his makeup in the hall mirror once more. “You don’t even know what Urianger is going as and what he dragged Thancred into.”

“Urianger convinced Thancred to dress up?” Y’shtola can hardly believe the words she says. “I thought only Rhyne could do that.”

Zu’zu shrugs.

“He seemed pretty content to go along with Urianger’s schemes and god knows that he’s more into Halloween than anyone would believe.”

“Almost gives you a run for your money,” G’raha notes, pulling slightly on Zu’zu’s tail and earning a hiss as he swats his hand away too.

“No one performs Halloween like I perform Halloween.” He gestures to himself and turns yet again like either Y’shtola or G’raha could miss what he’s wearing.

“See, you’re so certain, but you’ve never spent a Halloween with Krile.”

Zu’zu pauses for a second and raises an eyebrow at his boyfriend.

“What do you mean?”

G’raha lets out a wistful sigh, arms across his chest as he leans into the wall.

“She used to go all out for Halloween when we were in college together. The whole student floor would be covered in spiders and cobwebs and skeletons. She instituted a yearly trick-or-treat for the building, convinced the other floors to get into competitions to decorate doors and halls, not to mention the first Halloween party she threw when she had her own apartment…”

Zu’zu knew that there was a lot to expect from Krile, they were going to her Halloween party after all, but he’d expected low lights and some kitschy decor, but the way G’raha goes on…

“What is she going as? A witch?”

G’raha shakes his head. “Likely something complicated and only she understands from a book she’s read. She went as a necromancer from a series she read last year—black wig, bone corset, bone rosary, the whole macabre experience.”

Zu’zu’s frown deepens and he folds his arms across his chest.

“You should have said something! I would have picked something better!”

“Better than musical theatre cats?” Y’shtola asks only to be ignored.

“Zu’zu,” G’raha coos, coming close with his hands on top of Zu’zu’s and a cajoling smile. “She’s over the top, but this is the kind of thing people will recognize and fawn over. No one knows what it is. Everyone know Cats, even if only because you’re the one who showed it to them. They’re going to love us.”

And Zu’zu huffs, the spectacle made even more amusing by the way his tail swishes in the whole kitty getup.

“You’re saying that to placate me.”

“Is it working?” G’raha asks as he reaches up, holding the back of Zu’zu’s neck as he pulls slightly at the few hairs that are escaping the wig cap.

Zu’zu’s lips crack into a smile and he rolls his eyes even as he leans into G’raha’s touch.

“Yeah. Yeah, it is.” Zu’zu’s heart skips a beat when he’s treated to the full force of G’raha’s smile, barely resisting the urge to lean in and kiss him (the makeup at least had to last until they got to the party).

“Are you two finished?” Y’shtola looks up from her phone.

Zu’zu huffs and goes for his keys and wallet on the hook before turning off the lights to the hall.

“You’re just anxious to go and see if Zero is there.”

“Perchance I’d like to see our friends and not listen to you two moon over one another the whole night,” Y’shtola shoots back, completely ignoring Zu’zu’s bait.

“It’s the risk you run coming to the apartment and catching a ride with us.”

Zu’zu grins and even G’raha shrugs as he steps out into the cool night air and to Zu’zu’s beat up four-door.

“Duly noted,” Y’shtola remarks as Zu’zu locks the door. “Next time I’ll just walk.”

[dameronscopilot]

'Twas the Night

Santiago "Pope" Garcia x f!reader

Summary: Any time that you find yourself assigned to a mission with Santiago Garcia and his crew, he never fails to get under your skin. But when the boys leave you to your own devices one frigid Christmas Eve, your burning tension might just finally reach the end of its rope.

Word Count: 2.6k

Rating: 18+ EXPLICIT

Content: NSFW, smut, enemies to lovers, unprotected p in v, choking, spit kink, rough sex, thigh riding, switch vibes, santiago garcia's shitty ass knees, Delta Force!Santiago

‘Twas the night before Christmas, and you were fucking stirring alright—visions of strangling Santiago Garcia dancing in your head. 

Prompt: Trying to stay warm

DECK THE HALLS MASTERLIST

“Fuck you, Garcia,” you grumble, halfheartedly kicking an empty bottle of beer in Santiago’s direction, watching the light from the fire reflect off of the glass as it rolls to a stop against the toe of his boot.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” he quips, taking one last swig from the remaining dregs at the bottom of his own bottle before tossing it aside. 

It’s way too goddamn fucking cold for this. 

It’s Christmas Eve, and you’re two weeks into a mission you’ve been assigned to with Santiago and his crew. It’s not the first time that you’ve worked with them, and while you get on just fine with Ben, Frankie, and Will, Santiago is an entirely different story. Perhaps it’s the sheer fact that you technically outrank him by a hair, though you still let him take the lead in the field time and time again without complaint, but the man is always looking to pick a fight with you. 

You let your gaze fall to the lopsided, makeshift Christmas tree sitting on the ground beside you—Benny had tied together several branches from a pine tree earlier and decorated it with aluminum shapes that he’d cut out from a can with his pocket knife. Frankie spent an hour grumbling over how he’d pilfered his last can of Coke to do so, but he’d still shuffled over later, rolling his eyes as he added a piece of paper folded into the shape of a star to the top of it. Will had hastily pulled a red bandana out of his backpack, topping off the display with the closest thing you’d get to a tree skirt out here.

Following an early morning of recon, the three of them turned in for a surprisingly early night, somehow trusting that the magic of Christmas would help you to abstain from the urge to tackle Santiago into the fire pit. 

Returning your attention back to the annoyance in question, you bite back, “You couldn’t handle me.”

Without giving him the chance to respond, you abruptly stand up, brushing off your pants and heading for your tent. 

Though you’re hesitant to lose any clothing, sleeping in your dense outer layers is less than desirable, so you strip down to the thermal clothing that you’re wearing over your underwear, quickly diving under the covers. However, as you begin to rub your forearms to stave off the chill, you hear the distinct sound of crunching leaves underfoot, followed by an insistent tapping against the outside of your tent.

“You still awake?” Santi asks.

Groaning, you respond, “I guess I am.”

He tugs the zipper open wide enough to pop his head inside, eyes meeting yours in the dull glow cast by the battery-operated lantern sitting beside you. 

“Frankie’s snoring,” he supplies by way of explanation for his uninvited intrusion.

“I could have been naked,” you deadpan. 

Santi’s fingers pause on their journey to pull the zipper lower, and he raises an eyebrow. “You’re naked under there?”

“I can’t tell if you’re stupid, or if you think I’m stupid,” you grumble, burrowing down further into your sleeping bag.

“Benny sleeps naked when he’s not sharing a tent,” Santi shrugs, stepping inside. 

You don’t bother inquiring how or why he knows that. “Well, I’d rather not freeze to death. Where the hell’s your sleeping bag?”

Scratching the back of his head, a sheepish expression crosses his face. “I think Frankie must have grabbed it in his sleep, because he’s got a death grip on it right now.”

‘Twas the night before Christmas, and you were fucking stirring alright—visions of strangling Santiago Garcia dancing in your head. 

If only because trekking back down the mountains you hiked in through with Santiago’s frozen body in a duffel bag would be a complete and utter hindrance, you growl as you fight with the zipper of your sleeping bag, gesturing toward the small sliver of space you’ve made for him with a dramatic flourish of your hand.

Santi climbs in beside you after kicking off his shoes and shrugging off his jacket, and you will yourself to ignore the way your traitorous heart skips a beat at his close proximity, the heat of his breath skimming across the bridge of your nose. Because for as much as Santiago drives you up a wall, you’re undeniably attracted to the man, which only further stokes the flames of your perpetual annoyance with him. 

His hair tickles your forehead as he settles his head down on the other side of your pillow, and you’re unfortunately reminded of the way your eyes had immediately clocked the new gray strands that had sprouted up amongst his curls when you arrived at the mission briefing.  

In an attempt to stamp down whatever nonsense is flooding through your brain, likely thanks to your half-frozen state, you mutter, “Isn’t sleeping out here in the cold, on the ground, bad for your shitty ass knees?”

He’s so close you can feel the rumbling of his chest as he chuckles, “You’d be surprised by what I can handle.”

Your face burns at the implication, a stark contrast to the chill running through the rest of your body, and you make a noncommittal noise in return. 

After a few moments of silence punctuated only by the sounds of your shivering body rustling against the sleeping bag, Santi helpfully supplies, “You’re freezing.”

“They weren’t kidding when they said you specialize in observational skills, Garcia,” you snap with a roll of your eyes, though it’s not nearly as condescending as you mean for it to sound thanks to the way your teeth are violently chattering. 

“Come closer,” Santi beckons, lifting an arm up. 

“Was getting into my sleeping bag not enough for you?” you retort, studiously trying to ignore the way your limbs long for his body heat. 

Running his other hand over his chin, Santi grouses, “You love being a fucking brat.”

Before you can think twice about what you’re doing, you reach out, firmly grasping the collar of his shirt. Noses brushing, you hiss, “Say it again, Santiago.”

He tilts his head slightly, a lazy grin spreading across mouth, and his lips ghost over yours as he murmurs, “You’re. A Fucking. Brat.”

Looking back, most of your contentious interactions and arguments with Santiago over the years have oozed with sexual tension. Enough, in fact, that you’re well aware the boys have had an ongoing bet for how long it’ll finally take the two of you to fuck it out. And that alone has been reason enough for you to stubbornly ignore the hot, simmering feeling in your gut whenever he’s near. 

But now? Now, you suddenly decide that you simply don’t care. And perhaps it’s because the warm caress of his breath against your cheek is like a siren song to your cold and weary bones. Or maybe you just want to see if the sheer arrogance of his suggestive comments is all talk.

Maybe you’re just fucking lonely. 

Regardless of what sends your walls of resistance crumbling down, Santiago must feel it as well, because the moment your tense body relaxes into the press of his limbs against yours, all bets are fucking off. 

He cups the back of your head and kisses you hard.

Your lips meet much like the way the two of you toss words back and forth—it’s combative and heated. It’s relentless. It’s hungry. 

It’s far easier than you thought it would be. 

It’s a goddamn relief.

Santiago’s mouth moves against yours like he wants to consume you, teeth earnestly nipping at your bottom lip and tongue assertively tangling with yours. The smell from the fire lingers heavily on him, mixed with undertones of a scent that’s distinctly him. It throws you off guard, the way it invades your senses.

As your mouths continue to slide together, you find that you’re plastered against Santiago’s solid frame, and one of his hands slides down your side, stopping to curl around your hip. Both of you shift at the same time, and his thigh slides between your legs. At the feeling of him pressed against your hot center, you can’t help the small gasp that escapes your lips, your body instinctively arching into the pleasurable touch.

An appreciative sound leaves Santi’s throat, and he tightens his grip on your hip, leaning in to whisper in your ear, “Go ahead.”

Far beyond the pretense of petulant remarks for the sake of animosity, the only thing that leaves your mouth is a brazen moan as you allow yourself to grind down on Santiago’s muscled thigh. Even through the layers of clothing between you, your cunt throbs at the rough drag across your folds, sliding in the wet pool of arousal soaking your underwear.

“Fuck,” Santiago grunts as you roll your hips into him, chasing the embers flaring brightly in your abdomen. 

He slides a hand up your shirt, and goosebumps spread across your skin at the feeling of his cool hands caressing your breasts. Still kissing you deeply, he strokes at one of your peaked nipples, pinching down just hard enough to make you moan into his mouth. At that, a trembling wave of pleasure washes over you, and Santi’s hand cups your ass as you ride out your orgasm on his thigh. 

Still far too eager for more, you reach into Santi’s pants, anticipation dancing up your spine when you wrap your hands around his thick cock. He groans, rutting into your touch, and you begin to stroke his shaft. 

“Wanna fuck you,” Santi breaths out, hands skating across your waistband.

Far more concerned about things other than preserving your body heat inside of the sleeping bag, you flip it open, and your arms and legs are a messy tangle of limbs as you nearly tear each other’s clothes off, lips meeting needily in between each and every discarded article tossed to the wayside. 

Santiago’s hands begin to roam across your naked body, though he eventually stops, placing a finger beneath your chin and tipping it upward. His tone is even when he says, “Get on your hands and knees.”

And so you fall into line for him, planting yourself firmly on the ground as Santiago lines himself up behind you. You have half a mind to nudge the pillow backward in his direction, well aware of the state of his knees, but something about his complete and utter disregard for them has you dripping shamelessly as he slides a finger through your folds. If he wants to struggle through the pain for the sake of pounding into you right here on the cold, hard ground, so be it. You’ll milk his cock for all it’s worth in return for his trouble.

You hear Santi spit into his hand, followed by the slick sounds of skin on skin as he fists his cock before notching the head against your fluttering entrance. Impatient, you begin to push backward, keening at the feeling of his shaft slowly slipping inside of you. And clearly he’s well aware of what you want, because he’s hardly halfway into your channel when he roughly snaps  his hips against your ass, burying himself inside of you to the hilt.

“Fuck, Santi,” you cry out, belatedly clapping a hand to your mouth when you remember the three other people sleeping in the tents beside yours.

“You like that?” he asks, fingers digging tightly into your hips as he begins to pump his length in and out of you. 

You collapse forward slightly at the feeling of your tight channel spreading and contracting for his fat cock with each thrust, savoring the scorching feeling of pleasure tearing through your body. 

“Harder,” you pant out.

Santi obliges without question, balls smacking your ass as he ravages your hole with fervor, wet trails of arousal dripping down the backs of your legs. He grunts, hands grasping your backside as he roughly plunges inside of you, and after a particularly deep thrust where his cock slams against your cervix, your legs collapse.

He continues fucking you into the ground as you lie flat beneath him, your body quivering with the tremors of pleasure wracking through it. A hand grasps your throat, squeezing, and Santi doesn’t miss the way your walls needily clench down on his cock as he begins to choke you. But then you feel him shift, and with a hand still wrapped around your neck, he pushes your jaw upward, tilting your head directly backward to see him looking down at you.

“Open,” he says evenly as he continues to drive his shaft into you.

Your lips part for him, and Santiago leans down to spit into your mouth. You swallow his saliva, and he kisses you bruisingly in return. Arching your ass upward to meet him, Santi continues on with his punishing thrusts with his hand at your throat until the coil inside of you snaps once more, leaving you to gush on his cock with an orgasm that leaves the edges of your vision tinged in white. 

Despite the fact that your limbs feel boneless at this point, you force yourself upward, back onto your knees, crying out at the feeling of Santi’s cock hitting you deep as you meet a particularly hard thrust. But rather than let him finish like this, you pull away, inciting a look of confusion across his face for but a moment until you push Santiago down onto his back and climb on top of him.

Santi’s eyes fall shut and his jaw goes slack as you straddle his lap, sinking back down onto his leaking, throbbing cock. You start off slow, setting an easy rhythm as you lift yourself up and down, and appreciative groans leave his lips as he watches you ride his shaft with a hooded gaze. But as you begin to pick up your pace, his hips cant upward as he ruts up into you, fingers tightly gripping your thighs. 

And you know how badly he wants to come. You can feel it in the way his muscles begin to tighten underneath of you, the way his blunt fingernails are digging into your skin. But first—

You reach down, grasping Santiago’s shoulders to haul him halfway up, and one of his arms shoots out behind him for balance. Smiling, you run a hand through his graying curls, and he tries to chase your lips for a kiss, but you tighten your grip, tugging roughly on his hair and tilting his head backward slightly.

And oh, he knows what you’re about to do. You can see it in the way his lust-blown pupils widen even further, the way he bites down on his lower lip. 

He knows exactly what you’re going to do, but there’s a sparkle of defiance in his eyes as he makes no move to comply, awaiting your reaction. In turn, you pull his hair even harder, and he groans, cock twitching inside of you as he finally parts his lips. 

And the moment you spit into Santiago’s mouth, both of his hands find your hips once again, wrapping around you with an iron grip and lifting you just enough to jackhammer his cock into your cunt at a dizzying, unforgiving pace. As he swallows, he captures your mouth in a feverish, sloppy kiss, both of you moaning into it when his hips begin to stutter. 

Santiago rises, pushing you onto your back once more and quickly pulling his shaft out of you. Wrapping a hand around his cock, he strokes it rapidly until hot, thick ropes of cum spurt across your breasts. 

He collapses beside you on top of the sleeping bag, only to roll sideways a moment later, rooting around for the pack of tissues he'd seen lying nearby.

As you grab them out of his hands, he opens his mouth to speak, but you immediately interrupt, “Don’t say it.”

Looking far too boyishly handsome for a man that just spat in your mouth and came all over your tits, he grins, “Merry Christmas.”

—

Comments, reblogs, and/or asks are always appreciated!

» OSCAR ISAAC MASTERLIST » SANTIAGO GARCIA MASTERLIST

[phoenixyfriend]

Fake Sith TCW Trio

I have another fucked up time-travel AU! Who’s surprised? (Nobody.)

So like. Have you guys read that one fic where Luke and his students go back in time and pretend to be Sith Lords and are super hammy about it? (Sith Lord Swell by AMournfulHowlInTheNight)

This AU has contributions by @atagotiak, @the-lunar-system, @purronronner, @gelpenss, @creepingthroughthistidalwave, and @thisarenotarealblog.

I want TCW trio (plus Rex and Cody) to go back to several years pre-TPM and, since the Council DEFINITELY won't believe them about the Sith being back... they'll force the issue.

Anakin is weirdly excited about things and building up their backstory.

Anakin: Okay so I can definitely be a Maul type, with the unhinged ranting and manic laughter, Obi-Wan can be the whole Refined Rich Guy type like Dooku, where you can't even tell he's evil until he starts talking about getting out the eyeball scoops, maybe toss in a bit of mad science stuff? Ahsoka could play up like Ventress OR, oh oh, she can be the Light Side Child we need to PROTECT who's publicly begging us to return to the Light after our big dramatic Falls where we murdered like eighty people to save her, and-- Obi-Wan: Why are you never this enthusiastic about actual undercover missions. Ahsoka: Did you just have all this ready to go, or...? Anakin: WE COULD GET YELLOW CONTACT LENSES FOR ME.

Obi-Wan: How's my evil laugh?

Anakin going “Okay.. so if any of us need to murder someone to sell the bit it should be me, I think I could handle it the best. Why? No reason.”

Obi-Wan: I'm not sure a complete Fall could come from protecting Ahsoka, really-- Anakin: No, no, it could.

Obi-Wan: Surely you’d hold back because you realize neither of us want that for you. Anakin: Uh. Sure. Definitely.

Obi-Wan points out that none of them can channel the dark side to Prove they're Sith and Anakin just goes "Okay, give me like two seconds to stew in my negativity and--right, you can stop staring in horror, please."

Anakin rambles on that they can TOTALLY make the galaxy a better place while playing at being Sith! He's got a whole LIST of slave empires to "take over" and disassemble!

Anakin has a whole excited spiel about how EVIL soldiers and assistants are minions, in this case partly because Cody and Rex are too good at what they do to be mooks. Cody could pull off evil minion very well. Facial scar? Looks good in black? Quietly competent and sarcastic?

He also pushes for Obi-Wan to lounge in a fancy throne with a glass of wine while Anakin stalks the shadows and Ahsoka hangs out on the window ledge. The disaster lineage is dramatic, okay, Anakin’s just leaning into it, he’d appreciate it if everyone stopped looking at him like that.

Qui-Gon, surprisingly, ends up a skeptic about all of this. Everyone is freaking out about the Sith and he’s like “y’know I’m not even sure they’re darksiders.”

Some Jedi, possibly Qui-Gon for his conspiracy board, gets in a real risky situation and one of the Fake Sith saves them, but also panics and kinda drops character for a bit.

Jedi: You saved me! Why’d you do that? Anakin: I uh... just wanted the pleasure of killing you myself?

"You saved me. Why?" "Mmmm. Jedi." [walks away]

Qui-Gon: [trying to figure out what is up with these people semi-competently (from his perspective) pretending to be Sith] Dooku: [trying to protect Qui-Gon from Sith influence]

The gang is the most successful at pretending to be Sith to Dooku. Sure, they’re not gonna punish him for something he hasn’t done, but it’s not hard to act menacing and angry around him.

(They really do have so much fun irritating the heck out of Dooku. He hasn’t Fallen yet, but they want to keep an eye out.)

At some point, future Obi-Wan definitely drops that little tidbit of "What, you didn't think the Banites were the only Sith running around did you? You... didn't even know about the Banites. How... disappointing."

They REGULARLY use Ahsoka as an excuse to be marginally less terrible. They claim that if Ahsoka pouts, they stop. ‘Soka also uses them as an excuse for why she’s a lil feral. (To be fair, that one is accurate. She was already a lil feral before but it’s not like they did anything to stop it.) Ahsoka gets her "breaking into people's offices" jollies by bugging Nute Gunray's office.

The Jedi keep trying to Rescue Ahsoka.

Rex and Cody end up in real beskar, there's a whole Thing with Mandalore and Jango and Satine.

Obi-Wan is CONSISTENTLY worried about Anakin Falling for real, which... hey, at least he knows to be worried about Anakin Falling. Step up from canon, really.

Anakin is WAY too into killing the Hutts but like. It does... technically sell the bit.

Obi-Wan: Sure, I’m not sad that they’re dead, especially because we’re not connected to the Republic, so we don’t need to worry about starting a war and all that. But. Anakin is disturbingly cheerful about this. Rex: Wasn't he a Hutt slave? Obi-Wan: Well yes, but-- Rex: I'd kill Nala Se if I could get away with it.

Cody and Rex are very supportive of Anakin's murderous intentions.

Obi-Wan does understand anger, even killing someone in anger. Like Maul (the first time at least) and D’nar and a few others. All the same, like... y’know. The level of bloodthirst from the others is a little off-putting.

At one point, Anakin accidentally addresses young Obi-Wan by name, despite never having met before, and to cover it up, he... panic-flirts. He panics, and so he flirts, with young Obi-Wan.

(He will later blame this on old Obi-Wan, because he had to pick up the habit of flirting with the enemy from somewhere.)

Anakin vaguely implies that he's a wee bit obsessed with young Obi, and that the padawan should "get used to being the target of a dark-sider's interests," because he’s scrambling for Ominous Shit and, well, future Obi-Wan was pretty frequently a fixation point for darksiders, right?

The second he gets out, he just starts screaming into a bucket while Rex pats him on the back.

For the next however many terrible months, possibly years, he has to keep up the act while having an ongoing meltdown about how That's My Dad As A Twenty-Something.

(It doesn't help that young Obi-Wan reflexively flirted back.)

Old Obi-Wan, meanwhile, is just very "you dug this hole yourself, padawan."

There is an argument at the beginning about Obi-Wan’s outfit. If he’s gonna be a Sith, he can’t just go around in beige, but he’s like “I like this and it’s comfy.” Sure, he’s changed clothes for undercover stuff, but that’s always been temporary, y’know? He likes his beige.

We have a number of options.

My first instinct? Beige linen three piece suit, like a southern lawyer. "Now I may just be a simple Outer Rim force adept--"

And, of course, you can TOTALLY make the beige sinister: he’s impersonating a Jedi! Jedi impersonation would also explain why nobody has a red saber.

“Sure is good that the Jedi don’t seem to realize most of the galaxy doesn’t know red sabers are different and bad.” “Shhhh, stop poking holes in our story where a Jedi might overhear.”

Like.... if you do enough doublethink, it works! How would a Sith hide? In plain sight. Also, it’s a GREAT way (if they were actually assholes) to try to slander the Jedi name.

(Anakin and Ahsoka still think he could stand to put a little more effort in. Add a splash of color, for pity's sake!)

Though tbh part of me is like “What if Old Obi wore, like... a split skirt suit...” Victorian womenswear inspired because he misses his robes, but he has to look Professional, and like he's MOCKING Jedi instead of BEING one, so he wears a vintage-y split skirt thing over his leggings. Ends up looking a lot like what Ventress had for a while, but Beige. I also keep wanting to put him regency menswear.

Anyway. Obi-Wan’s wardrobe aside...

Anakin builds up his Tatoo accent again. It helps him with the (mostly true) "slavery helped me fall" backstory.

Either Cody or Rex offhandedly mentions being made to serve them (the Fake Sith) and now the Jedi are somewhat concerned about brainwashing. Are these Mandos the victims here?

“No like. Literally made for this. In a lab.” This is even more horrifying. So...

On the one hand good! The Jedi should be scared about Sith! On the other hand... it makes the Jedi more determined to stop them, specifically. They keep on getting in the way, just, all the time, and they’re not investigating the actual Sith problem, which is decidedly not great since the Team doesn’t actually know who’s a real Sith right now, except Maul, and who even knows where that guy is.

Obi-Wan, at some point: Do you think we've succeeded at this ruse... a little TOO well? Anakin: I don't follow. Obi-Wan, gesturing at the truly obnoxious amount of wealth they've collected, including "trophies" of their kills: Really? Because I'm a little worried! Anakin, planning out a battle to take on Nar Shadda: ...I'm not.

"How many people do we realistically we need to take over Hutt Space? Apparently... five."

(Mostly because Anakin is ridiculously op.)

ANAKIN AND YOUNG OBI GET KIDNAPPED BY PIRATES TOGETHER. It's tradition.

Anakin: Okay, so, I need to get really angry about something to pass as a Sith... time to think about my WIFE and how I'll NEVER SEE HER AGAIN.

Since Anakin’s life never goes as planned... this does not work. Instead of getting properly angry, he makes himself sad. There are tears. There is wailing. There’s a distraught rant or two. Young Obi ends up awkwardly trying to comfort him.

“Oh no, this… Sith?? Is crying on me. What do I do???”

Later on, when the Council wants intel: "So... one of the Sith cried on me about his wife. I think she's dead? He wasn't very clear about it but it, uh... it sounded like it might have contributed to his Fall. Also the relationship was a little unhealthy? He basically worshiped the ground she walked on and kept ranting about how he would have given her the galaxy on a platinum platter of she'd only asked, but that might be new and inspired by the Dark."

One of the random Jedi is REALLY good at detecting the truth Through The Force, and asks Anakin how he Fell...

Anakin just. Tells the Tuskens story.

They don't get pinged as lying, but oh boy does old Obi have a LOT of questions for Anakin once they're in private.

There are other things happening to help sell the ruse. Some of them are necessary! Some of them are... not.

Obi-Wan: What's the best way to show we're rich and kind of evil, but like... classy about it? Anakin, immediately: I sit on the floor next to the throne, leaning against it, and you call me pet names while stroking my hair, and then when you need something killed I get to do it for you and then I go back to the floor and you thank me for the directed violence, and then you go back to Negotiations with criminals while I’m sitting there covered in blood. Obi-Wan: ...is there something you want to TELL us, or...?

"You're all going to get a glimpse of something normally kept hidden about me." "Anakin, you don't have to do that." "No, I'm gonna."

(Anakin has decided hes going to peel his kink tomato to sell this ruse, and the others are slightly uncomfortable with that.)

Anakin: Okay, I cannot keep flirting with you. Young Obi: Wait, what? But that's the best part of any time we run into you! Anakin: You look WAY too much like my Master did when I met him. Obi: O...kay? If someone looked like my master when HE was young, I'd-- Anakin: My Sith Master half-raised me. He's basically my dad. Obi: ... Anakin: What's that look for? Obi: I mean, you spend a lot of time lounging at his feet, and, like, given how much you hate slavery, I... kind of assumed it was a kink thing? Anakin, brightly: Oh no, I just have a LOT of trauma. And neuroses. Snips says they’re neuroses.

Young Obi is a little upset because he was actually getting REALLY into Flirting With The Enemy and was hoping it would go somewhere. He mopes to Qui-Gon about it. Qui-Gon isn't sure whether to be proud about Obi breaking rules, or worried over Obi-Wan falling for a Fake Sith.

(As Tia put it: "You enjoy making young Obi-Wan have a completely unrequited crush on Anakin, don’t you?")

Fortunately, one of those attractive Young Mando boys very kindly helped him tape up his ribs this one time, and has thus caught his eye...

I feel like having Cody date Young Obi would court an entirely different kind of (internet) drama because clone ages, but whatever.

Also please imagine an element of "so I'm dating the genetic identical of my boss... who's dating the man I'm a genetic identical of..."

(It's probably not actually Jangobi but man would that be funny and also stupid.)

Somehow Young Obi figures out that the "Sith Master" is a future him before he realizes that they're not actually dark. In his defense, Anakin was pretty convincing. Especially with the wife rant. It makes HIM more obsessed with Anakin, in a reversal of the implied earlier dynamic, which is all kinds of weird. Less romantic but like. Still weird.

"Future Me Scares Me" with Extra stupid. "Future Me Annoys Me." "Future Me acts like grandmaster Dooku, but more sass." "Future Me raised a really hot evil guy that refuses to bang Present Me." "Future Me might be a Sith, but I'm getting more and more convinced he's just fucking with us all." "Future Me is really rocking that beard, and I can't BELIEVE we figured out a way around the babyface."

"I’m kinda concerned about the whole evil thing, but I’m also glad that I know I’ll stay hot as I get older."

Quinlan approves of the priorities.

Also a lot of interactions with older Obi are very Anakin: [does/says something deeply unhinged] Obi-Wan: So, do you want to…. Talk about that? Maybe? Anakin: What’s there to talk about?? I’m fine, everything’s fine! Anyways how about those plans for tracking down Maul?

Anakin later, like way after the ruse is lifted, just blankly tells everyone that he did Fall, once, and Older Obi made him get therapy about it after the truth came out between the two of them a few months into the Fake Sith thing.

Where'd they find a therapist? I'm sure there's one SOMEWHERE around. Denon and Herdessa are close enough, and they've done enough "your criminal empire now belongs to me" that they can pay well. They make sure to find one that takes confidentiality real seriously.

It's all very "we need some more time to unpack all that."

Therapy helps get Anakin to figure out Sheev’s whole deal. They don't necessarily figure out he’s a Sith from it, but they figure out he’s sketchy and they need to look into that more. Obi-Wan probably already thought he was sketchy, but the whole active gaslighting campaign was a little surprising. They realize that he kinda benefited a lot from a lot of Sith plots and they still probably don’t think he’s a Sith but Obi-Wan is definitely starting to think he’s working with one.

"Okay, we're already bugging Gunray, should we bug Palpatine just to be safe?"

They get away with a lot of slicing because Anakin is a technical genius from twenty years in the future.

The reasons they're so good at Taking Over Hutt Space: 1. They know parts of the future. 2. They have superpowers and FAR less reason to not use them, now that their actions aren't going to reflect on the Republic. 3. They have Cody and Rex, who are two of the greatest military minds in the galaxy, and know EXACTLY how to wage a war that covers a solid third of the galaxy, starting from a position of relative weakness. 4. Anakin's charisma is scary high, and his knowledge of slave culture means they gain a lot of trust from the people they free, and they just... keep acquiring volunteers for the army they didn't plan to have. Obi-Wan doesn't know what to do. He thinks they might have started a cult?

In his defense, Dooku sort of started a cult, and Komari got kidnapped by a cult, brainwashed into joining it properly, and then took it over as head figure of said cult. It's practically tradition!

Comics Vader is the central figure of like three different cults, it was really just inevitable.

Anakin: Aw, don't worry master, it's not a cult, it's a revolution! Ahsoka: They're worshiping him, though. Anakin: ...it's still a revolution! Just... with some misunderstandings.

Also, if they got wind of people trying to keep people from being able to leave and other culty stuff like that, they’d probably put a stop to it pretty damn quick.

Names! Time for names. As per usual, it's easiest to keep track of Obi-Wan's alternate Older Self by just calling him Ben.

Darth Ben.

Ahsoka: You should be Darth Boring. Obi-Wan: I can still make you run laps, you know.

Anakin: The Force is telling me to call myself Darth Vader. Obi-Wan: ...why? Anakin: I dunno, but it sounds cool, I'll run with it.

Someone: Ben has all the answers; we shouldn’t question him, ever. Ben: One time I lost a planet, and a five-year-old found it for me.

More options: Going with the "evil word with the prefix 'in' chopped off" that we get with Sidious and Vader: Darth Surrectus (as in insurrection) Just random Latin words: Darth Temporus (time) Darth Commenticius (fake)

Anyway, back to Nonsense:

Maul goes after young Obi early, because the Fake Sith are really invested in this one random Padawan (Sidious is saying he might be a cousin of the false Sith Master? They do look similar enough) so someone needs to investigate. Naturally, Anakin shows up with some wild screeching to fight Maul, and when someone questions why he got involved it gets very "Kenobi is MINE!" and like. Okay. So.

Anakin means it in a very Sith "to toy with" and "to torture" way, or the ‘my chosen opponent!’ way, just the same kind of Obsession as Maul had with Obi-Wan in the original timeline. Unfortunately, Anakin’s a weird-ass person who flirts with Young Obi against his own better judgement, so there's some awkward "Like... your boyfriend?" from young Obi. Anakin just screeches in SOME emotion that nobody wants to interpret, and couldn't even if they wanted to, and starts whacking away at Maul again.

(Anakin hasn't explained the "you look exactly like my dad, sorry, it's just too weird" thing yet, and he is HAVING MANY REGRETS.)

There's definitely at least one instance where a person asks Anakin if he's planning on dating That One Jedi Twink, or at least banging out the tension. At that point in time, Anakin doesn't actually know who the fuck they're talking about, because "Obi-Wan + Twink = Does Not Compute" for dear, dense Ani, and instead he just ends up ranting about how he is LOYAL TO THE MEMORY OF HIS LATE WIFE, how DARE anyone so much as INSINUATE that he would TARNISH HER PERFECT MEMORY and UNWAVERING KINDNESS and WHOLESOME BEING, and the person who asked doesn't end up lightsabered but they do end up with a LOT to tell whoever they're reporting to.

Young Obi-Wan definitely hears Anakin mutter the phrase “something to discuss with my therapist later” a few times, and he’s a little bewildered because darksiders definitely don’t seem like the type of people to go to therapy. They’re the type of people to need therapy, sure, but not the type to go to therapy.

I think it would be very fun for Young Obi to continue sighing over Anakin (who's pretending to be fine with it and even flirting back because he's in too deep to stop and hasn't worked up the courage to explain the elephant in the room) while Anakin is covered in grease and infodumping while having a slightly manic hyperfocus on engine repairs while the two of them Somehow got stranded together in the middle of bumfuck nowhere (it's Plagueis's doing, he finds the interactions between THESE two in particular to be the most informative regarding the fake Sith).

Anakin, at some point while stranded with young Obi-Wan, and having actually started unpacking some stuff in therapy, though he’s def still got a ways to go: I’m pretty sure Ben cares about me. He acts like he cares, like he’ll do stuff like put extra blankets in my quarters in the spaceship because I get cold real easily or track down those droid parts I need for a project and he always has my back in a fight but y’know it’d be nice to hear him say he loves me once in a while. Especially because we kinda had a rough start and idk I don’t think he wanted me around at first.

And uh. Obi-Wan definitely relates to that a bit too much, y’know?

I want to say that Young Obi ends up mentioning All That to one of the clones or Ahsoka later, because they seem probably invested in Anakin's well-being, even if Ben is, well, a Sith, so Obi-Wan's a little worried the man's affection really is fake, but at least Ahsoka...

(Ironic, given what Anakin's actual eventual Sith would-be-Master was like.)

Young Obi mentions Anakin’s most recent rant to Ahsoka, and she just goes "Wait, is that why Skyguy likes to sit by the throne and get called pet names?" "Uh... I don't... know... but it sounds like all of you have a LOT to unpack there, Miss Apprentice."

Later on: "Master Kenobi, you need to tell Skyguy you love him 'cause apparently he's been having a lot of emotions about you not telling him you care and he's been talking to mini-you about it whenever they get stuck together and--"

Young Obi-Wan is just constantly the "Now we don't have time to unpack all of that" John Mulaney gif. Anakin in particular is a mess, and young Obi-Wan slowly goes from "I want to date that" to "I want to study that" about him.

Obi-Wan gets stuck somewhere with Ben, tries to small talk, gets on the topic of Vader, and spills the drama. He gets an awkward “Thank you for bringing that to my attention.”

It’s followed by a fairly frustrated “I try, but Anakin refuses to communicate his needs to me, and it feels like I’m always falling short.”

At least one member of the group is in therapy, probably all of them, but they’re still using young Obi as a sounding board for all this stuff. On the bright side, this is probably good for impressing the importance of good communication on Obi-Wan.

Good for Obi-Wan! And... whatever Padawan he eventually has.

As for baby Anakin, who is approximately age four, I want to go with "Anakin decides to be his own uncle, and Shmi just rolls with it because fuck it, she’s not a slave anymore, and a Fake Sith is a solid defense against anyone trying to re-enslave them."

[This is a backstory I've had them use before (see here and here).]

Seeing Big Ani and Little Ani in the same space might be what finally pings the "oh shit, that's future me" thing for Obi-Wan... you know, if he’s ever allowed close enough to see Little Ani in the first place.

Little Ani stays with the fake-Sith and is sorta jointly trained by all of them, and young Obi-Wan teaches little 'Soka at the Temple. Ani and 'Soka still end up friends somehow, but it is fairly different.

Every time little Ani addresses Old Obi as "Dad," it's just like ten kinds of awkward. The one time someone tried to explain that Ben wasn't his new dad, Shmi glared them down. She is of the opinion that, all the gods be damned, Ani deserves to refer to the most mature man in his life, who raised another him in another timeline already, as a father.

Ani doesn't NEED a father, Shmi herself is more than enough, but he does deserve to have this if he wants it.

An alternative conclusion to the time travel is uh. So the Mandalorians are genetically identical (give or take a hair gene) and really resemble Jango Fett, though whether anyone notices that is up in the air. Then the three ‘Sith’ (two fake Sith and their morality chain tag-along) have three younger, identical copies show up….

It could be really weird cloning shenanigans. Now, it makes no sense that they’d make clones, and stagger their production like that, and leave them as babies on various planets for Jedi to find. IDK what reasons Obi-Wan would come up with for that, but it’s a fun little detour before he gets to time travel.

There's a really painful moment (for the audience, who know about canon Vader) where someone tries to convince Ahsoka to leave the Sith and she's just like "no way, they'd never hurt me!” Then she clarifies that “someone has to keep them from doing stupid Sith shit whenever they get bored, you know?"

A bunch of Jedi probably think she’s delusional, but the few that have seen her get into trouble that is legitimately too much for her, which isn't often, have then seen Anakin show up like the devil himself to save her, and it's like. Oh. This is why she isn't scared of them hurting her.

We’ve discussed how Anakin does get concerningly in character with the fake Sith thing. However, Anakin and Ahsoka are, just once in a while, surprised by how Ben gets sometimes when playing the bad guy.

After all, he stabbed a dude with a fork and threatened to eat him during his time as Hardeen…

He has the same dramatic streak as all the rest of the lineage. He can be vindictive and creepy and scary as fuck.

HOWEVER:

Obi-Wan: I know I'm supposed to be playing at evil right now, but how do we feel about me making that evil a little... fruity? Ahsoka: Fruity, master? Anakin, who knows where this is going: [buries face in hands] Obi-Wan: You know, the... [limp wrist] Ahsoka: ... Obi-Wan: I mean, I'm already bisexual and well-groomed, I can play it up.

What’s the point of being evil if you can’t be flamboyant?

Anyway, I had to put in a lot of thought for what to do with Rex and Cody, because there's a solid place for them in terms of strategy, but it doesn't do much to give them independent narrative arcs, and 'young Obi-Wan has a crush' isn't much of an arc, you know?

So, basic info first: Cody, Rex, and Anakin all hold the rank of General in this AU because, like... who else is gonna. Ahsoka remains a commander because everyone declares her Baby, and also to keep up the "I'm a morality chain" ruse.

Cody maintains a very stern and unyielding public persona, but the second they're behind closed doors, he's roughhousing with his little brother.

Rex has some fun pretending to be a sadist whenever he and Anakin have to team up, because hamming it up as an evil bastard in front of Jedi is actually really fun... but usually, he's a competent fucking professional.

Because here's the thing: someone has to be.

They both kind of hate the army they've gotten, because these people don't even have proper trigger discipline, let alone any actual discipline.

This army? Tragic. They hate it. Give them the clones.

They have to be drill sergeants for months before they have anything worth sending onto the field.

I think that might be how/when they end up reaching out to Jango. Like, the first inroad is absolutely "we're your clones from the future and you were a Shit Dad so you owe us," but then they actually talk him around into letting the Fake Sith hire him. He brings along all the Mandalorians he can get to answer his calls, and on suggestion from Those Mando Twins, joins the army Ben doesn't even want.

Darth Boring doesn't want an army! Unfortunately, Cody thinks that's stupid as hell, and is overruling Ben so they can actually work on this 'cleaning up the galaxy of slavery' thing with actual resources.

Cody and Rex are super competent, and it shows in their horrified disdain for the state of their troops.

Rex: Fucking natborns. Anyone who isn't in the know: What's a natborn? Rex: [leaves without answering] People: WHAT'S A NATBORN???

(I'm assuming that the word smush is harder to parse in Basic.)

I think young Obi-Wan's new crush on Cody should also be unrequited. Cody's just like... bemused. Very "Okay, then, that sure is an Affection you've decided on."

Cody and Anakin both: Sorry, it’d just be too weird. Obi-Wan: Why would it be too weird? Cody and Anakin: Reasons.

Rex has to deal with the "whyyyyy" from both his brother and his (former?) General.

Young Obi-Wan just likes cute boys that fight good! Is that so wrong???

Ahsoka: So since we're not officially Jedi anymore-- Obi-Wan: We're still Je-- Ahsoka: Can we date? Can I date now? I want to date someone before we go back to the Code. It's a classic life experience for most teenage girls, and I want to Have That Experience before we're back at the Temple. Obi-Wan: You're not... you can date, Ahsoka, that's not actually banned by the Code. I mean, you'd have to keep it casual, but-- Ahsoka: I CAN DATE!!!

(Great priorities, Ahsoka.)

An idea I'm toying with is that one of the clones ends up Legally Engaged to Satine for political reasons, and young Obi-Wan is just like ???? because not only can he not date the hot boys, but one of said hot boys has become Mr. Steal Yo Girl.

Young Obi-Wan is suffering, and Quinlan is the worst friend ever because Quinlan is laughing at him.

There is obviously the question of

"How would Satine ever end up agreeing to that, given what their public personas are like and all that? She puts duty ahead of personal feelings but all indications are that it’s a terrible decision both ways." (as stated by Tia)

Which, yes, I forgot to actually say that I was imagining Jango had declared "those twins" his heirs after telling people they were his younger* cousins. Because reasons.

* Jango is about 27 when they land in the past, and I’m going to say the accelerated aging ended after hitting physically twenty because no, I don’t want to deal with that. As far as anyone knows, Cody and Rex are about five years younger than Jango. They’re less than year apart, which isn’t very visible, and most people assume they’re identical twins (except Rex’s hair), and that Cody just looks slightly older because of the scar.

Darth Boring had convinced Satine that the way to keeping Mandalore peaceful was to work with Jango (because Darth Boring, which is not his actual title but it is what Ahsoka insists on calling him in private, has a vested interest in keeping Mandalore and all interested parties calm), and he... maybe accidentally set up a political marriage between her and one of the clones.

It wasn't on purpose! Satine never married in his timeline, okay, he didn't expect her to ever get married here, either! He didn't even suggest it! This just happened!

(I want to say that Cody would be more competent at having a political marriage? But IDK.)

Do I do the Satine thing? It has potential, but also it's a bit of a cop-out. Do I have Cody be a diplomatic representative for their pseudo-Sith empire? He could be, but I think he'd hate it. Do I have Rex date one the Chaos Entities (Anakin or Ahsoka), or is that too repetitive with my other works? THERE'S JUST TOO MUCH GOING ON.

Part of me wants Quinlan to get a crush on Cody, and the crush gets bigger specifically in response to the fact that Cody refuses to take him seriously and/or just doesn't give him the time of day.

Based on their one interaction in TCW, they probably let get along ok. Cody maybe likes him back, buuuuuuut internally he's just a little "you were tolerable at almost-forty; early twenties you is obnoxious."

Just imagine the absolutely puppyish attempts at gaining approval and Impressing The Hot Mando General. Quinlan keeps having vague daydreams of seducing someone to the side of the Light. He really leans into the bodice ripper fantasies of saving someone evil with the power of love! (And also the power of really good sex.)

Bant looks at Quin and Obi and wants to throw them both into the nearest pond because they're idiots, but on this topic they are the same flavor of idiot. She considers calling up Reeft and Garen to help her knock some sense into them.

Quinlan: Can I volunteer to go undercover to the Sith? The Council: No. Quinlan: ...what if I-- The Council: No.

Tholme tries to get Qui-Gon to commiserate over their Padawans getting obsessed with Hot Sith Boys, but Qui-Gon just finds the whole thing funny. He knows from the chats he has with Ben that Anakin feels so completely, utterly, incredibly awkward about all of this.

(Ben continues to hold to "Anakin brought this on himself.")

(Ben also “kidnaps” Qui-Gon a lot.)

Also, hey, at least Quinlan isn’t actually into hot Sith boys! He’s into hot Sith minions which is... probably a step up. At least Cody’s not a Sith himself!

It's a step in some direction but Tholme has no idea which one.

(Quinlan sees Cody in dress uniform once and just keeps the mental image for Ages. It’s in his dreams. Sometimes said dreams overflow to Tholme via Force Mind Magic and Quinlan wakes up to someone smacking his face with a pillow.)

Arguably, Quin's also a lot more romantic about his crush than Obi-Wan is, in this case. Quinlan: I want to save him... Obi-Wan: Hey, hey, cute boy. Look at me. Let’s bang.

Cody: There are currently two future Jedi generals having some form of absurd romantic fixation in my direction. I don't know how to feel about this. Rex: Bed them. Cody: ...I'm not saying that's not eventually an option, but one of them is the younger Kenobi, and I'm not sure I'm comfortable with that. Rex: Pat him on the head like a tooka and then bed his friend, it'll be funny.

I think the Quinlan thing and also general exasperation of leading an absolutely useless army can function pretty solidly as the basis for Cody, but I have another idea for Rex now.

Komari is currently brainwashed in a cult, yes? So.

I keep bouncing around back and forth on what to do with Rex, but part of me suddenly really likes the idea of, after Team Fake Sith finds and dissolves the cult (as one does), and takes Komari into custody (because she's dangerous and deeply unwell), Rex kind of ends up her touchstone to being a decent person. He’s not a morality chain, and it’s not really a redeemed-through-love thing, just This Is A Solid Dude who doesn't pity her or thinks she's irredeemable (however you choose to define such a thing), but actually relates to the kind of conditions living like that can involve, and just kind of...

I don’t know. I think Rex's arc in this AU could be very heavily grounded in something to the effect of "You're not the worst darksider I've met. You're not the only person who was in a cult. You're not even the only former Jedi I know that's committed awful, horrible crimes. My question is just this: What are you going to do moving forward?"

Later Anakin: Wait, who do we know that was in a cult? Rex: What did you think Kamino was?

(Rex isn't as chill as he'd like her to think, but he's trying, and she's fairly reliant on the Force to understand emotions, and is currently in nullifying cuffs, so he can bluff.)

Komari needs someone solid and dependable to rely on for at least conversation, and I think Rex needs to feel needed.

I’m not sure if it’d be romance or friendship, but I think there's a solid basis to work with, potentially.

Per Tia:

One thing about Rex and shipping is like. If you want to do Rexwalker again that's fine, but if you're worried about repetitiveness but still want to like. Ship him in a non-political-convenience way. Rexsoka here actually would be different than your other stuff.

I'm trying to figure out if I can make it work because Ahsoka thematically fits very much into a little sister shaped hole here? She feels younger than in other works, despite not actually being younger than she is in, say, Commander Buir. In those other fics, she has some time alone to function and prove herself independently of Anakin and Obi-Wan.

I usually pluck Ahsoka out at sixteen if I'm pulling her from TCW, so she's got most of her competence but hasn't gotten quite all the trauma yet. Commander Buir, in particular, also has baby-shaped Anakin for contrast.

That said, I can see a decent source of narrative conflict in her wanting to experiment with romance and all that, and Anakin trying to tell her she's too young.

A year into this whole time-travel mess, she wants to give the dating thing a shot, and it spirals into "You were only two years older than me when you got married!"

I think I could build a plot out of Ahsoka wanting to do these things, and Anakin as an audience insert not quite processing that she's old enough to make these decisions. If she's choosing to date Rex, whose age works out as being close to hers when one takes into account Kamino fuckery, and whom she trusts absolutely, it’s arguably extra weird for Anakin to be upset with it.

"Senator Amidala was five years older than you, and you married her when you were nineteen and had only really known her for a week! I can go on a date with a guy we both know is one of the most trustworthy people alive if I want, Skyguy!"

I can definitely see Ahsoka getting annoyed with Anakin being overbearing and controlling at some point before that unrelated to romance, too. It’s not exactly a new fault of his.

My god, just imagine someone snidely asking Anakin "where's your little shadow?" and Anakin, being Himself and also a Fake Sith, has an emotional breakdown about how Ahsoka yelled at him for micromanaging her and not trusting her to make her own decisions in life and so she got herself a multi-month solo mission from Ben that Anakin isn't allowed to know any details about, and--

It's another one of those "oh, you have PROBLEMS problems with your mental health" incidents for the Jedi to add to the file, because Anakin having emotionally charged rants about his issues at seemingly terrible times is how they get a lot of information.

Some of the rants are planned.

Many of them, actually.

They want the Jedi to know these things.

Just, well. Anakin.

He really is a little Like That.

On that note, I'm low-key imagining that Anakin gets put on mood stabilizers by the therapist in this context, and he's doing good! He's handling his issues! He's--been captured with Obi-Wan the Younger again and his medication was confiscated.

Anakin is... not great. He's a little out of practice managing his unmedicated self, and when adding withdrawal symptoms onto that... poor Anakin.

(Poor Obi-Wan.)

I think it would be best if Anakin makes a bunch of ominous blustery comments at their captors about how they won't like what's coming to them if they take his belongings (AKA the fanny pack that has his backup pills), and then Obi-Wan just gets to watch Anakin get more and more erratic, because like. Yes, Anakin is using the Force to compensate, but unfortunately he's mostly cut off, and the stress of the situation is pushing him away from depression and into the beginnings of a manic episode.

Anakin is aware of his issues to the point where he's mostly managing, and he keeps asking Obi-Wan "would it make sense for me to [slightly deranged, very impulsive action]," and Obi-Wan realizes he's being the morality sounding board for the Hot Sith because ??? reasons?????

Eventually, Anakin does flop back in bed and dramatically throws his arm over his eyes, and says he needs his meds back, he's absolutely going to lose it, and Obi-Wan tentatively asks what kind of medication. There are levels to worry about. Mild allergy medication is one thing, but heart medication that needs to be taken every four hours is another, you know? He wants to know how much panic is appropriate.

Anakin lets him know that it's Psychiatric In Nature. Obi-Wan suddenly realizes that he really, really, really doesn't want to know what a properly erratic, unmedicated Anakin is like.

(An unmedicated Anakin really isn't nearly as bad as Obi-Wan fears. Anakin's been dealing with this for a while, and knows what his issues are and some of how to deal with them. He'd need to be running on no sleep and higher levels of stress, or to have been drugged with something meant to increase his aggression, to really lose his shit and do something worthy of Vader. RotS levels of stress and sleep deprivation is required to pull RotS levels of manic paranoid delusion.)

Tia asked:

How long does it take the Jedi in general to catch on to how like. They have opportunities. But these Sith never seem to harm any Jedi. And it’s not just like, the past timeline parts of the disaster lineage. They probably get opportunities to hurt other Jedi. Ones that are less skilled at saber work. And more importantly ones that they don’t seem weirdly interested in."

I'm not sure, really. The Jedi don't spend as much time in the Outer Rim as they could, and that's where the Team operates, so actually running into them by accident is unlikely for anyone other than Shadows.

Fortunately, it's really easy to toy with Shadows with the excuse of "I want to see how long it takes before you Fall with us."

I do want like... okay. Here’s the mental image:

Qui-Gon calls them out on being Fake Sith pretty quickly, so Ben just sort of eyes him, dramatically, and orders out "Leave us" to all non-team people. The threat of torture is implied but not stated. He gestures with wine to keep in character. He definitely makes sure Young Obi-Wan is ushered out, so it's just five time travelers, Qui-Gon Jinn, and Ahsoka's immortal force birb.

"...so, what's the reason for the farce, Obi-Wan?" "How in all the hells did you figure it out so quickly?"

(Qui-Gon cheated a bit. He could feel the broken training bond that was never properly severed due to Traumatic Death Of A Master on Ben's end)

Ben didn't realize he'd feel it! Young Obi-Wan can't feel his older self or a training bond with Anakin or Ahsoka, so why could Qui-Gon?

IDK if there would be anything on the level of crying and hugging it out, but I think it would be very funny if, every time young Obi and Anakin are getting captured by pirates or something, Ben and Qui-Gon are just having a nice afternoon tea and checking their watches to see if their respective walking bundles of neuroses are done with their adventure yet.

The Council is So Done, because Qui-Gon continues to insist that they're Not That Bad, but every time anyone other than Qui-Gon brings up the friendship, Ben laughs and makes a comment about how absolutely gullible Master Jinn is.

Obi-Wan is skeptical of his own experiences with Anakin, at least, if only because he's skeptical about Anakin's everything.

"I don't know if Vader is telling me the truth. I don't know if he's telling himself the truth. I don't think he's a great source of information even when he thinks he's being honest."

Anakin could tell Obi-Wan the full and complete truth, and Obi-Wan would worriedly put a hand to his forehead and start doing tests for hallucinations and paranoid delusions. In his defense, this is a very reasonable assumption to make with an individual like Anakin. It's just also not accurate, this time. I don’t know if Anakin hallucinates in canon without a weird inciting incident like Force Nonsense or getting drugged by the enemy, but paranoid delusion is pretty much all of RotS.

"I’m your time-traveling padawan who’s pretending to be a Sith to catch some other Sith who’re going to start a galactic civil war and those Mandalorians you like are from a clone army based on a template of Jango Fett made to serve the Jedi (because that’s totally something he’d sign up for), and one of the Sith is your grandmaster but he doesn’t seem to have fallen yet, it’s probably fine," is hard to believe.

Honestly, even if he seemed stable before saying that, which he doesn’t, it’s all real far fetched. There's a lot going on and Obi-Wan wouldn't even begin to believe it without evidence.

I've had it in my head that he and Bant and Quinlan have been gossiping about the mess for months if not years about these idiots, and at one point it became common knowledge that Ben was a Kenobi, and Bant convinced them (since the two were among the most likely in the entire Order to encounter the Fake Sith) to get a DNA sample, probably hair or blood since that's easiest so they can figure out HOW these two are related, if they are, and then there's a whole big thing.

Bant: No, no, this must be contaminated, it's coming up as Obi-Wan! Are you sure you didn't accidentally grab some of your own hairs? I know it's a little long for most of your hair, but the braid-- Quinlan: Wait, they keep claiming stuff about cloning, right? Maybe someone's a clone? Check for artificial telomeres! Bant: ...okay, so, there aren't any artificial telomeres, but the ones from apparently-Ben are... a lot shorter... um... I don't know what to do with this. It's like I have two samples from the same person, twenty years apart. Quinlan: Obi-Wan, what's that face? Why are you-- Obi-Wan: Vader told me he was a time-traveler. I thought it was the fever talking, but...

That’s how he finds out that Ben is future-him before finding out about how he’s not evil!

"Master Jinn... I think... I think the Sith controlling the Outer Rim is me from the future." "Oh, you finally figured it out?" "I AM HAVING A CRISIS HERE."

Obi-Wan, after a few hours of dazed realization, runs screaming to Quinlan and Bant like 'GUYS GUYS THIS EXPLAINS WHY VADER KEPT SAYING IT WAS WEIRD AND THAT I LOOK LIKE HIS MASTER AND THAT IT WOULD BE LIKE DATING HIS DAD.'

You know, the important stuff.

I think Qui-Gon tells him that Ben isn't evil because, like, That Sure Is A Crisis Obi-Wan's Having. He could hold off for shits and giggles, sure, but Obi-Wan’s on the edge of something Really Concerning, mentally. Best help calm him down on at least one or two things.

Obi-Wan’s maybe still a little skeptical until he confronts them over it. Because their Sith act was real good and also like. Maybe Qui-Gon just wants to believe the best of his Padawan, y’know?

Quinlan runs into Ben before Obi-Wan does, after this whole mess, and gets to observe as money changes hands and people act like sore winners about bets made for When Does Obi-Wan Figure It Out.

Anakin was saying 'soon' because he really didn't think the fever-fueled rant would be discounted as easily as it was.

Cody was of the opinion that it would take at least a few more years since they're actually pretty damn good at this whole schtick.

Quinlan: Wow, he's... going to be really disappointed that you have such a low opinion of his intelligence. Cody, gesturing at Ben: Experience. Darth Ben: ಠ_ಠ

Cody just rattles off some of the Extremely Stupid Shit that Ben's done in their time working together.

Rex cheerily offers up "You didn't even realize General Skywalker was married, sir! And they weren't subtle!" "I knew they were together, I just didn--" "Everyone knew they were together, sir. Everyone."

(Rex had the lowest opinion of their deductive capabilities. He claims it would have taken until Baby Ahsoka showed up at the Jedi Temple.)

-Once Obi-Wan accepts that they're decent people after all- Obi-Wan: Wow, Anakin, you're real good at acting unhinged! Anakin: Haha. Yeah. Thanks?

[yourmidnightlover]

letting go

summary - when spencer comes back from prison, there’s no doubt he’s changed, especially in the bedroom. 

warnings - cat-calling, inmates describing gross sex things, soft dom!spence, fem!reader, unprotected sex, creampie, oral (female receiving), hair pulling, fingering, aftercare, bit of subspace, fluff. *let me know if i missed anything*

wc - 3,758

masterlist

-----------------------------

spencer had been gone for almost three months. in prison. he was in prison for three months. in hell for 84 days.

you had visited him as much as you could, remembering the times he would be bruised and beaten each time you would visit him. some days his bruises would be even worse than the previous time.

on your visits, the men in the back would holler and cat-call you. you didn’t mind, as long as you were able to see spencer. but spencer did mind. he minded that those criminals were thinking things about you that only he, as your boyfriend, should be thinking. 

but he couldn’t do anything about it. 

the few times he tried, he only got beat worse. he wanted to defend you, to let you know that he could protect your image, but inside of that prison he couldn’t. he had no power. he had no control. 

you told him it was okay.

“i can handle a few whistles, spence,” you reached your hand across the table to gently stroke his knuckles. “it’s alright,” you tried to ease the obvious tension in his body.

“no. it’s not alright,” he softly argued. “you don’t even want to know what they’re thinking about right now,” he turned his eyes to the table, avoiding your gaze entirely. 

“i don’t need to know. i just need to talk to you,” you whispered softly. “i just need you to know how much i love you.”

“i love you, y/n,” he finally met your eyes, a small smile playing on his lips. 

when he would go back to his cell, or to eat lunch he would overhear people talking about you. talking about the things they would do to you. the things they were thinking about you.

“she’s got a fine ass, too. i would slam it so fucking hard, shit,” a large man groaned, recalling the image of you walking out of the building.

“i’d make dr. fbi watch while i did it, too. i don’t know how he got a bitch that looks like that,” another one replied.

he could only try to tune it out. most of the time it wouldn’t work. he would be doomed to the psychological torture of hearing them mention the crude things about you, unable to do anything about it.

so anytime you came to visit, he would have to mentally prepare himself for the worst. he wanted to see you, he truly did, but them saying those things about you made him want to restrict you from seeing him as a whole. but he loved you too much for that, and as selfish as it was, he needed to see you.

he needed your light heart. he needed your kind spirit. he needed your lifted energy. he just needed you. and if he had to do that while taking a bit of the names and annoyances, he would.

and you knew he hated it. so every time you visited him after the first time you would wear sweatpants and a hoodie or anything that would hide your figure. you wouldn’t wear makeup, you would try to look as unappealing as you could, just to try and make spencer more comfortable. 

but it didn’t necessarily work.

the first time you ever visited him, you wore your normal work outfit. a charcoal gray skirt, a matching gray blazer, white button up blouse, and black heels. that was probably the worst it was for spencer. you heard them hollering from behind the glass, trying to get your attention. you played it off cool in front of spencer, in spite of feeling slightly uncomfortable. 

he knew it made you uneasy, but you kept up your spirit for him.

the last time you had to visit was to tell spencer he was finally coming home. he thought it was just another visit, but he was also in  private meeting room waiting to see you. 

you could wear your normal work outfit to visit him again. 

you walked through the door, a small smile on your face. your eyes began watering from the thought of actually being able to touch him again, to feel his arms around you. to feel his lips against yours.

“you’re coming home now, spencer,” you felt the tear leave your eye, now rolling down your cheek.

his face changed as he came to the realization that he was no longer trapped in that hell hole. his eyes went wide, watering just like yours had as he walked quickly over to you, enveloping you inside of his arms completely. 

the first hug he’s had since he got transferred to the prison. he was glad it was with you. 

his arms went around your waist as yours were over his shoulders, his face nuzzled in your neck, his sniffles muffled by your skin. 

he relished in the smell of your shampoo, the feeling of your soft skin against his, the warmth of your body he’d missed for so long. he relished in your presence.

he pulled back long enough to press a firm kiss to your lips, his hands trailing up to cup your face softly. your hands held his arms right where they were, not wanting to let him out of your reach again. 

“i love you,” he said once he left your lips long enough.

“i love you,” you returned. 

the sweet paradise didn’t last for long because there was still the matter with cat. spencer was troubled with what was going on with his mom. stressed from the realization that he might lose her forever. he leaned on you even more during that time, needing your strength to help guide him through the hurt. you were more than happy to oblige. 

once you had all found his mom, safe and sound, spencer was finally able to relax a bit. you both had decided to have a night in, just the two of you.

you turned on some soft music, and began making dinner together. you hadn’t had a moment to actually breath for so long, let alone spend quality time together in your shared apartment. 

making dinner with him was mostly just you doing all of the work. it’s not that he didn’t want to help, he really did. he’s just not the best in the kitchen. besides, you’d rather have his moral support than him to help. 

so as you hovered over the stove, stirring the sauce the pasta was just poured into, he wrapped his arms around your waist, nuzzling his head into your shoulder and placing soft, gentle kisses. you turned around into his embrace, placing a kiss to his lips in return. 

“it’s almost ready, bubs,” you said with a smile. 

“smells fantastic,” he complimented. “but i’m also in the mood for something else right now,” he said with a mischievous grin.

“oh? and what is that?” you countered, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“i think you know what that is, darling,” he said, pressing a kiss to your jawline with a little nibble. 

“how about we save that for after dinner, yea? i don’t want it to get cold and i’m hungry right now,” you shrugged, releasing him from your grip and turning around completely. 

“well that doesn’t mean i don’t get to hold you while you finish up,” he argued, wrapping his arms around your waist again and resting his chin on your shoulder. 

“okay, well you do that, sir,” you laughed, stirring the pasta once more. “actually, can you hand me the plates, please?”

“of course,” he complied, handing you the plates that were on the already set table. “here you are.”

you both ate relatively quickly, you weren’t lying when you said you were hungry. after cleaning up a bit, which was spencer’s job since you cooked, you had both settled on the couch and were cuddling while watching a rerun episode of doctor who. 

he was laying his head on your chest, his arms wrapped around your body protectively as you stroked his hair softly.

then, he ran his hands underneath your shirt slowly, stroking the soft skin on your waist. his hands gradually went higher and higher on your stomach until the were right underneath your boobs.

“spencer?” you giggled. 

“hmm?”  he mumbled, lifting the shirt to reveal your stomach and lightly kissing it all over. 

“are you okay?” you asked, looking down at the man who was practically worshiping your body. 

“hmm, i’m perfect,” he hummed against your body. he let his hands go higher on your body, grasping your breasts through your bra. you let out a breathy exhale from his touch.

his lips traveled to replace his hands as they traveled to your back, looking up at you for permission before he unclasped your bra. you nodded eagerly.

“i need words, princess,” he ordered, his voice deeper than previous. 

“yes, please,” you squirmed, feeling the wetness pooling at your core as he undid your bra, revealing your chest to him as he threw it somewhere in the room. 

when his lips finally wrapped around one of your breasts, his hand went to the other one, playing with it gently. his tongue toyed with your nipple, his teeth gently grazing it occasionally.

“oh my god,” you breathed out heavily, your hips bucking up towards him for any friction. 

he brought his knee up to your core, giving you the perfect amount of pressure you needed. your hips ground against his knee quickly, begging for any kind of release you could get. his mouth switched breasts when he felt the other one was neglected. when he could tell you were getting close he snapped his knee away from your body, a low groan leaving your mouth.

“patience, princess,” he laughed against you, his mouth coming up to kiss yours fervently. “you’ll take what i give you, alright?” you nodded. “words,” he brought his hand up to wrap around your throat gently, not applying any pressure.

“yes, sir,” you moaned at this new found assertiveness. 

it wasn’t that he was never ‘in charge’ in the bedroom. it normally just took a while for him to get there. besides, he had also told you before how he kind of liked it when you were in control of him. you liked it either way, as long as you were with spencer you loved it. 

“i want you to go to the bedroom for me. you should be undressed by the time i go in there. no touching yourself. got it?” he asked, his hand moving from your neck to your chin, pressing it between his fingers.

“i’ve got it, sir,” you nodded eagerly as he allowed you to get up and make your way to the bedroom. you followed ever instruction he had given you, finding it even harder to not touch yourself while you waited for him. you sat in the center of the bed on your knees, facing the door.

after a few minutes you finally heard footsteps outside of the door. when he entered, he looked at you with such loving, caring eyes you weren’t sure what you had done to deserve him.

“princess,” spencer greeted you, “if you’re not comfortable with doing this you don’t have to act like it for me,” he said in his normal sweet tone as he sat beside you on the corner of the bed, his arm tracing down yours softly. “i need you to be totally and completely sure that you’re okay with this.”

“i am, spence,” you assured him. “i promise. if i don’t like anything i’ll say red like we normally do. i remember the stop light system,” you finished, leaning more into his touch.

“alright, i was just checking,” he leaned in, placing his free hand on the side of your face to bring you in for a tender kiss. “i love you.”

“i love you.”

“alright, princess,” he switched his normal tone into one of dominance. “ready?”

“yes, sir. i’m ready,” you agreed, clenching your thighs together to find any source of relief.

“good girl,” he leaned in, placing another kiss on your lips. when your hands went to wrap around his neck and in his hair he grabbed them in his own. “no. good girls ask for permission.”

“i-i’m sorry, sir,” you apologized. “i just-you’re so...” you trailed off.

“maybe i need to restrain these since you clearly have no control of them,” he wondered, moving to hold both of them in one of his hands.

“n-no sir, please. i’ll be good now. i promise,” you pleaded, trying to convince him otherwise.

“i don’t think so. sit against the bed frame,” he ordered as he moved to the closet to grab two ropes for your wrists. “now, maybe next time you’ll have half a mind to ask permission before touching me,” he began wrapping your wrists securely in the ropes.

“yes, sir,” you nodded sadly, your eyes reaching the bedspread.

“are these tight enough?” he asked as he pulled on one of the ropes.

“yes, sir. they’re tight enough,” you pouted.

“hey, princess,” spencer pulled his hand to your cheek, his thumb gently grazing your cheekbone as you nuzzled into his touch. “this is because you need to learn, alright? it won’t be forever.”

“alright, sir,” you smiled as he placed his lips to yours one more time.

“you’re my girl, right?” he asked as his hand began trailing down your naked body, tracing every curve you have.

“yes, sir,” you breathed out, goosebumps forming from his touch.

“mmm, you’re so beautiful,” he hummed as his hands traced from your hips down to your center, purposely missing the one place you craved his touch.

“please, sir,” you closed your eyes, hoping to feel his hand giving you some kind of relief.

“what did we talk about patience earlier?” he said as he moved his position on the bed.

“i-i take what you g-give me,” you recalled from your earlier conversation.

“so you’ll take what i give you now,” he said as he trailed kissed across your thighs in an upward direction. “i can’t even tell you how much i missed your pretty pussy. how often i thought about it late at night when i was alone,” he growled into your body. “i thought about,” he moved his hand to trail right above your clit, going all around it but never making any contact, making you squirm even more, “how responsive you are. i thought about how good you taste on my tongue,” he said as he trailed his tongue right over your entrance, a low groan leaving your mouth. “thought about that noise.”

“oh, god,” you mumbled as his tongue continued to move at your entrance, occasionally going in and out, eventually his tongue making its way to your clit and flicking it gently. “shit, yes,” your hips were nearly grinding against his face, your arms yanking at the bedframe.

the way he would groan into your pussy, just turned on from all the noises that emitted from your body was enough to send you over the edge as his tongue continued it’s attack on your clit. the only thing is, you needed permission.

“please, please, please, sir,” you begged.

“please what, princess?” he asked, his fingers taking his tongues place and continuing to move.

“please can i cum? p-pleaseeee?” you pleaded, tears pricking your eyes.

“cum for me,” he ordered. “show me how pretty you are when you cum,” he said as his lips connected with your pussy once more, finally sending you over the edge.

“fuck! yesss! oh my god,” you cried out as he worked you through the high.

the only thing is, he didn’t stop once you came down. he kept on going. he moved his fingers to your center and slowly pushed them inside of you, moving them rapidly in motion with his tongue on your clit. his fingers accompanied with his tongue and the way he moaned against your body was quick to bring you right back to that edge, you found yourself falling over it very quickly.

“oh my- please! can i cum? i’m so so close please?!” you begged once more.

“go ahead, princess,” he mumbled quietly against you.

you came with a string of ‘thank you’s’ as your hands pulled against the restraints violently.

“yesss, oh my god!” you yelled as you came down from your high once more.

“good girl, you’re doing so good for me,” spencer praised as his hands trailed up to your breasts, gently massaging them.

“mm, thank you, sir,” you relished in his touch.

“i’ve missed you so much, waiting to taste you like that again...” he trailed off. “waiting to be inside you again. to feel you cum all over my dick, god i miss that,” he growled.

“me too, sir. please,” you huffed out, squirming as he trailed kisses up your torso. “i-i want to feel you, please,” you pulled against the ropes. 

“does my princess want to touch me?” he teased, trailing his hand down the side of your face.

“yes, sir. please!” 

“since you’ve been so good, i’ll allow it,” he complied, finally undoing the restraints. you held your arms against your side as he massaged them, trying to bring the feeling back. “alright, princess. you can touch me now.”

“thank you, sir,” you said as you brought your hands to the back of his neck, pulling him closer to you so you could kiss him. 

“on your knees,” you immediately rolled over to your knees, your ass waving in the air waiting for spencer. “good girl,” he chuckled, his hand tracing the curve of your ass before giving it a squeeze. 

before you knew it, spencer was pushing himself into you. it had been so long since you’d been with him, it felt like the first time you had been together. subtle whimpers left your mouth as he was fully sheathed inside of you.

“fuck, i missed your tight pussy,” he growled, his words causing more wetness to pool where the both of you met. 

“it-it’s too big, sir,” you cried as he pulled back out slowly, only to push himself inside once more. “ah!” 

“take it, sweet girl. i know you can take it,” he bent down to moan into your ear as he slowly thrusted into you again. “uh... just like that, princess. just like that,” he groaned. his hands found your hips, guiding them onto his cock even with his thrusts inside of you. 

“oh my god,” you huffed as your face began to turn into the bed, the pillows and sheets muffling your sounds. “fe-feels so full.”

“you’ve got it, sweet girl. be my strong girl, alright,” he said, noticing the way your head nodded in the pillows. he trailed his hand up your back and grasped your hair, pulling your body up to meet his. “words, princess.”

“yes, sir. i-i’m so s-sorry,” you stuttered out, your head leaning back on his shoulder as his hand trailed down the front of your body. his thrusts only sped up the longer he stayed inside you. “oh, yes, yes, please!” you begged, not sure what for.

“what is it? huh?” he moaned in your ear. “want me to cum inside of you? or do you want to cum all over my dick? which is it?”

“bo-both, sir. please!” you confirmed as he quickly pulled out of you just to flip the both of you over so he was on top of you.

his hand found its way to the crest at the center of your body, doing rapid yet gentle strokes to get you just where you needed to be. before you knew it, your third orgasm of the night had come and gone. your arms went around his waist and neck, trying to pull him impossibly closer to you. the warmth and pulsing of your pussy helped pull spencer over the edge soon after you, his release inside of you being something you didn’t know you missed so much. 

“fuck, you’re such a good girl for me,” he groaned as he fucked his own release back into you. “so good, y/n. you’re so amazing,” he praised, pulling out of you as you whimpered from the overstimulation

“spencer?” you asked, feeling a bit hazy. 

“yes, princess?” he asked as he rubbed gentle circles on your hips.

“mmm, i love you,” you smiled dizzily.

spencer noticed that look. the glazed over eyes, the way your smile seemed slightly faded. he knew exactly what to do for that, too. 

“i love you too, sweet girl,” he smiled, placing a kiss to your forehead. “why don’t we get you cleaned up, yea?” spencer’s hand found your hair, gently running his fingers through it.

“shower with me?” you asked, your hands trailing his jawline ever-so-softly, barely ghosting over his skin.

“of course, y/n,” he agreed, getting up so he could guide you to the bathroom. 

he gently sat you down on the toilet as he started the bath just how you liked it. he made sure to add lavender epsom salts to soothe your muscles, which were more than likely sore from the night’s activities. he added a few essential oils which were good for anxiety, worry, and body aches just to be sure. 

“alright, sweet girl. ready for the bath?” he looked over his shoulder to find you practically on top of him.

“yes, sir,” you nodded. 

spencer sat behind you as you leaned onto his chest, his arms wrapping around your waist as his palms rested against your stomach. you interlaced your fingers with his on your stomach as your head tilted to lay onto his shoulder. 

“i missed you, spencer,” you broke the comfortable silence. “a lot.”

“i missed you too, y/n,” he replied, placing a gentle kiss to your temple. 

“can i ask something?”

“anything.”

“what was that tonight?” you asked. “i loved it, don’t get me wrong. it was amazing. it’s just... you normally aren’t like that.”

“well,” he sighed. “i guess it’s because every time you would visit, the other inmates would say things. like... really bad things about you,” he felt tears welling in his eyes from the memories. “and while i was in there, i couldn’t do anything about it. so i guess i was just a bit pent up from the frustration, is all,” he shrugged.

“i’m sorry, spence. but,” you turned to look him in the eyes. “you’re not there anymore. no matter where your mind might take you, you’re here. you’re back with me,” you wiped the tears that he didn’t even know fell as he mirrored that of yours.

“i’m so happy to be back,” he pressed your foreheads together, not breaking the eye contact. 

“i’m never letting you go again.”

[nephilim-tears]

APRIL SHOWERS

ADRIAN CHASE X READER 

Warnings: F! Reader. Fingering.

↳ SMUT Fic ::  Here is short warm up fic I wrote inspired by the gifs and crappy weather instead of  doing the things I'm supposed to be doing. 

Browse my catalog? 

You are responsible for the content you consume, as always read with care.

A trail of steam followed him out of the bathroom into the bedroom. He expected to see her tucked safely and securely under the blankets where he left her but all that remained was an empty bed. He was extra quiet not to wake her up too; it wasn’t like her to be up early. The last place he thought he’d find her was standing on the balcony in his button-down black shirt. Her sleepy aesthetic was long gone, washed away by the early April rain that drenched her from head to toe. 

Adrian cautiously approached her keeping his footsteps light not wanting to disturb what seemed to be a private moment between her and the world. He took a seat on the wooden floor a few feet from her, staring at her staring at the city.

His eyes followed the outline of her bare legs watching the droplets slide off the smooth skin. The drenched fabric clung to her body doing little to nothing to hide her nipples pebbling in the cold. 

“Are you gonna kiss me goodbye or just sit there till you’re late?”

“I like the view plus I'm already late,” He wipes the lens of his prescription glasses ridding it of the fog then added, “They should invent little windshield wipers for my glasses.” 

 “I don’t think you’re supposed to wear them in the rain like that. Why don’t you ask Kevin to pick up a shift for you?”

Adrian narrowed his eyes at her, “I don’t trust guys named Kevin.” And he wasn't joking, he really didn’t trust guys named Kevin for whatever reason, no matter who the Kevin was. Everyone around him simply accepted it as a fact of life. 

“What about sick days?” she turned around and faced him fully offering her best pout. 

Between picking up extra shifts at work and vigilante duties, they hardly spent any time together for the past two weeks. How could he deny her something as simple as his company? The pitter-patter against the floor did not drive a hard bargain; track through the cold Washington grime all day alone in wet shoes or go back to bed and be warmed by his sweetheart? That’s a no-brainer. 

It was apparent he wasn’t planning on going to work judging by his comfortable man-spreading posture slumped against the rails of the balcony. If he decided to go now, his uniform would take ages to dry. Even so, he continued to banter with her as if he needed convincing, “I’ve given you all my sick days, those fuckers will be calling me to clock in after I’m dead.” 

“You look good wet,” The thought left his mouth before his brain could process it, “Like a mermaid. That makes me a perverted fisherman I think.” 

That’s not the strangest thing he’s ever said to her, “I’d totally let you fuck if I was a mermaid.” 

“How would that even work if you were a mermaid? You wouldn’t have a—”

Not giving him the opportunity to pounder mermaid physiology, she got on all fours crawling towards him till her nose bumped his, “Wouldn’t have a what Adrian?” 

“Wouldn’t have this…” He whispered pulling her back flush against his chest, spreading her legs open as he ran his hands up and down her inner thighs. 

“We should take this inside I don’t want you to get sick.”

Shrugging his shoulders, he responded, “I don’t mind, if you’re here I’m here. I heal freakishly fast anyways.” 

“You’re so pussy whipped.“

A smirk graced his lips as he leaned in closer near the shell of her ear and whispered, “Who wouldn’t be it's a pretty pussy.” Taking advantage of the proximity of his mouth, she tilted her head till she captured his lips in a sweet kiss. 

Adrian moaned into the kiss brushing the pads of his fingers against her outer folds occasionally sliding it towards her clit but never making contact with the bundle of nerves. The lack of panties was unsurprising to him. She hardly wore any at home. 

“Adri please…” Her voice met his ear in a low whimper as her chest heaved in anticipation. 

Never one to deny her anything she asked of him, he spread her pussy apart as wide as he’s able to with the wide span of his slender fingers, his thumb and middle finger kept her labia fully exposed while he petted her clit with his pointer finger. 

Adrian made no effort to further stimulate her, instead, he let the beads of cold droplets do the work, enjoying the way she jerked forward in response to the cold rain hitting the sensitive flesh. 

He tucked his head into her shoulder, eyes peering down at her body watching her exposed folds glisten and pulsate at the slightest contact of the slow and agonizing rain drumming on. 

“How long are you going to keep me like this?” She grunted in frustration. 

He peels the shirt off her shoulder scrunching it at her elbows watching the icy water dangle off the peak of her nipples with intensity, “Until I don’t feel like it.”

[getouswh0re]

Howdy!! Could I request Yandere Gojo and Geto from jjk, with a special-grade sorcerer reader? Ty in advance, I really like your writing!✨

an; thank you for the love ˊᗜˋ💕 here are some drabbles for them separately, hope you liked it :3

warnings; yandere, gore, blood, unhealthy relationships, obsessive behaviour. do not condone such actions in real life, and please kindly read at your own discretion.

THE night was quiet, almost serene, totally at odds with the glowering menace in Geto’s eyes. Gone was the subtle gentleness in those inky slits you had grown to adore; in its place, inscrutable darkness bore holes into the back of your skull as you shuddered beneath the curse user’s glare.

It was still Geto in the flesh: the same face, unique hairstyle and robes he’d wear just like any other day. Yet it was no longer the special-grade sorcerer whom you once knew and loved. You never knew what caused such a drastic change in him; all you wished for, was for the old Geto to return, hoping that all of this was none other than another nightmare.

“Suguru? W-What are you doing at my door? It’s already late, you should be taking some rest ...” A hint of dismay — maybe sadness, ghosted his expression when the raven picked up the quivers in your tone. Nonetheless, a gentle smile adorns his face, emerging from the shadows to reveal himself as the raven explained himself.

“Why? Can’t I come and visit you?” He cocked his head, a playful smirk evident. Geto never ceased to make your heart flutter; perhaps it was his flirtatious nature and mellow personality that drew you towards him, but even after being one of his closest friends for a long time, at times you felt like you couldn’t understand him at all, with this being one of the occurrences.

You chortled, about to invite the raven into your apartment when warning bells started to ring incessantly in your head, warning you that there was something awry about him once you caught a glimpse at his clothes imbrued with crimson splatters.

“Sugu ... what is that on your clothes?”

“Oh this? Satoru splashed me with red paint, it’s not much of a big deal.” You knew he was lying, instantly picking up the revolting metallic stench from the stains. Dread filled your mind while you staggered back, keeping a distance from the male who gave you a perplexed look in return.

“You and I know a smell like this isn’t red paint ...” Trying to be as calm as you could, you retracted a step backwards with every stride Geto took. “Be honest with me. What on earth have you done?”

“Sharp as ever, y/n.” A condescending look took over as Geto finally revealed his true colours. “The world needs to change. All these monkeys are the reasons why curses exist. They can’t even control their cursed energy properly, and we sorcerers have to battle with death every time a curse poses as a threat to them. Their ignorance is revolting in its core, and I believe to make the world a better place, it would be better off to remove all of them out of sight. Don’t you agree —“

“What the fuck are you thinking?” Unable to withhold your seething rage, you snapped at the curse user. “This isn’t what sorcerers should do! What you are doing is of no difference from a brutal murderer Geto! I can’t fucking believe you!”

“How can you think of me like they y/n? That hurts my heart you know.”

Before you could even scream, he was already inches away, blood-stained hands caressing your cheeks tenderly as if you were made of fragile glass. “I just want to make life easier, there’s no need for us to put our lives at stake every time we exorcise curses. Right? We could be enjoying peaceful days together, free from the dangers of this world ...”

“Stop! Your delusions are sick, this isn’t you at all Geto! I don’t know what is wrong with your brain, but it’s never too late to turn back —“

Suddenly, your vision darkened — your consciousness sinking into a bottomless void as the raven carried you in a bridal style, the two of you vanishing into the tenebrosity of the night.

“And I thought you were the only one who’d understand me ... love.” He shook his head in disapproval, but the disappointment in his eyes were eventually replaced with glee as Geto stared at your limp figurine in his arms.

“But don’t worry, what needs to be done will be done. For our sake, for our future together.”

EVERYTHING would always be uglier up close.

At first glance, one might find Gojo Satoru a perfect man: with talent, looks and wealth all in one package. Men envy the greatest sorcerer of all time, and women grovel at his feet, desperate for a sprinkle of the man’s attention. Despite living the life everyone dreams to be in, the heir of the Gojo clan couldn’t care less about how the world spins around his axis. For the sorcerer has his eyes set on something much more worthy of his time and effort. 

He is a man of determination, willing to achieve his goals with whatever means possible — even resorting to dirtying his own hands. It is such an irony that underneath the charming façade, such a disgusting soul exists.

“For the last time Satoru, I am not interested in dating anybody.” Heaving an exasperated sigh, you politely shoved the lavish presents piling up at your front door back into the man’s arms. 

“I feel really flattered that you have feelings for me, I truly do. But I’m sure you know as sorcerers, we fight with death every day. If there is any regret that I’d dread to have ... it would be to leave everything I love behind. And I would rather die alone than leave my partner suffering on their own.” 

“That’s what I love about you y/n.” 

A loving sigh slipping from his tongue, Gojo took a step forward, cupping your face with utter delicacy. Yet you felt more than revolted by his sudden intimacy, struggling to writhe away from his tightening grip.

“You are always so kind, so considerate ... something I cannot find in anyone else other than you. But think about it sweetheart! You and I are both special-grade sorcerers, but I can protect you from the curses — at the same time giving you the moon and stars. We could move in together, you wouldn’t even need to work anymore. Why make your life harder when I could simply provide for you? Seriously —” 

“S-Satoru, I hate to tell you this but you’re pushing the boundaries right now.” Trying to reason with the sorcerer, you spoke with a harsher tone, praying that Gojo would get the hint and respect your choices. “You’re out of your mind! And why would you force 

Nonetheless, your words fell on deaf ears. 

“Now this is not how you should react when someone offers you their heart and soul.” The light in his cerulean eyes darkened, cyan hues glimmering beneath the penumbra of nightfall. “And I know you are a smart young woman, so you’d come to realise what is in your best interest. I really don’t want to do this to you y/n; but if you are trying to push me away from your life again, I would have to keep you to my side — the hard way.” 

With that, he pulled down his blindfold.

You were aware of how dangerous Infinite Void was; still, experiencing it first-hand was one hell of a terrifying experience. Fleeting images flashed across your vision as if all of this was in fastforward motion, depicting your fate in the past along with future. As certain blurred vestiges showed up, your heart sank in indescribable despair; moments of you and none other than Gojo were portrayed — blood splattered across the labyrinth of streets in Tokyo, your trembling hands intertwined with his, platinum bands wrapped around both of your ring fingers, adorable kids that were exact replicas of both of you. At this point, you could feel the will to fight back dwindling to fickle embers. 

No matter what you did, Gojo would always find his way back to you.

Even if he had to tear the world apart with his hands. 

[hoodiewithhorns]

━ using your safe word scenarios ★

characters : hajime iwaizumi, tetsuro kuroo, keiji akaashi.

there will be a part 2 & 3 coming soon!

edit : p.2 is out <3

m.sterlist + requests box

▲ cw : not proof read, angst, use of safeword, “red” used as the safeword, clit spanking, mean!doms, hurt/comfort, established relationship, forced orgasm, jealousy, oral m! receiving, facefucking, foreplay f! receiving, degradation, slight punishment if you squint, aftercare/reassurance , all characters are 18+, MDNI ▼

Kuroo

- you weren’t necessarily in a good mood to be fucked roughly by him

- you just wanted some soft passionate sex with kuroo

- You assumed he’d figure out what you wanted due to him knowing you better than yourself.

- But you were wrong..very wrong.

-Not wanting to disappoint your boyfriend you played along.

- biggest mistake.

〜 ☆

you bobbed your head on his cock while he groaned at the slow pace. you were taking your time today since you weren’t in the best mood to be shoving him down your throat. you thought he take this as a sign of you wanting things slow soft and sweet, instead he took this as a sign of you being bratty, a brat who deserves punishment in his eyes.

“you little brat.” he forcefully shoved his cock down your throat. You gagged in response feeling your eyes become glossy, tears promising to spill at any given minute, looking up at him with pleading eyes hoping he’d show some form of mercy. but of course, he didn’t. tightening the grip on your hair he moved you back and forth on his cock causing you to gag and your breathing becoming heavy.

you heart ached in your chest as you tried to push him off, but to no avail. a dark chuckle leaving his throat as he watched you struggle, a sight he would commonly enjoy. “such a bad girl today huh? maybe i should go find another goodgirl. one that’ll actually listen.” you tried to shake your head as fat tears streamed down your face, the thought of him replacing you being one your biggest fears. did he mean that? just cause you weren’t in a good mood he was gonna replace you? you thought to yourself noticing the grip he had on you loosened a little. you could move away now and so you did. pulling away from his cock trying to catch your breath only causing him to get angrier. “why are you being so bad today? why cant you be a goodgirl and-“

“Red!” you choked out a sob as more tears fell from your face staining the bed sheets beneath you. sitting up, your palms resting on your thighs as you sobbed. the room went silent with the only sound present being your soft cries alongside with your occasional sniffles. confused he lifted your chin up, you pathetically looked up at him like a helpless little puppy. he finally understood what was wrong, mumbling a few curses as he got closer to you, sitting you on his lap as you cried into his chest.

“easy now baby. i’m so sorry...” he whispered thanking whatever was above that he hadn’t lost you, feeling horrible for not picking up the obvious signs you weren’t in the mood for any of this.

“d-do you really wanna l-leave me?” your voice was hoarse from one getting your throat fucked and two crying. hugging you tighter and feeling nothing but regret. each cry you let out tugged at his heartstrings. he never wanted this how could he have been so blind? you were his little baby he wanted to protect every chance he got. now you were here. sobbing into his chest all because he didn’t realize you weren’t in the right mood today. 

“never prettygirl. i’d be devastated without you in my life... I didn’t mean that I promise.” he pulled you away from his chest to face you. kissing the few tears you had left on you. even with tears pampered all over your face, to him you still managed to be pretty. even if it hurt him since he was the reason for all this, you could tell he was on the brink of tears too. he couldn’t imagine a life without you without his precious girlfriend in his life he’d be a train wreck.

“i-i...i just wanted us to go nice and gentle tonight..i didn’t have a good day today..but i didn’t want you to be mad since you like it when its rough so..”

he let out a chuckle at your last sentence causing you to look at him in confusion. “yeah being rough is nice and all but its only nice when you’re in the right mindset for it. you should’ve told me you weren’t feeling it tonight baby. If you wanna get fucked nice and gently by me you should’ve just said so my love.” he says planting a kiss on your forehead.

you smiled, reverting back to your previously cheery self making kuroo more than happy. he rested his head on top your shoulder “if you want, we can try again baby. this time i’ll give it to you nice and sweet..you’d like that wouldn’t you my pretty baby?” he whispers into your ear planting kisses down your neck as you let out a whimper feeling him smirk against your neck.

“mm-mhm please tetsu...”

he wastes no time wrapping his arms around your waist as your cunt feels him hardening again. “whatever my baby wants who am i to deny?”

akaashi

- the thought of using your safeword never occurred to you when you were with akaashi

- in fact he suggested it just in case things took a turn you didn’t like

- tonight was different though you were his innocent girlfriend who just wanted to treat him the way he treats you so lovingly

- wearing nothing but his shirt accompanied by a cute pair of panties feeling confident about your plan to please your boyfriend.

- though it doesn’t go according to plan,

you saw him sitting on the bed reading a novel still in his formal clothing. You were feeling particularly needy tonight learning a few new things you read from the internet a week ago on how to please your boyfriend sexually. you did however feel a bundle of nerves fill you up, but you just assumed it was because this was something you’ve never done before to anyone.

akaashi was not only your first, but he was your first boyfriend your first everything when it came to romance. now, putting all your insecurities aside, you were going to try out what you learned tonight on your beloved boyfriend!

 walking towards him, you crawled on top of his lap, arms wrapped around his neck to pull him in for a sweet kiss. he smirked setting his book down on the nightstand while taking his glasses off as well.

“Can I help you pretty girl?” he questioned placing his hands on your hips. “oh nothing...i just want you tonight..is that okay?” you asked, your innocent voice making akaashi smile. you were just so cute and pure in his eyes. you jump in excitement ready to initiate your plan to please your boyfriend. you started kissing him slowly yet passionately, grinding your wet cunt against his slowly hardening cock through his pants.

he opened his eyes to clearly understand what you were doing. to his shock what he assumed was correct. His innocent girlfriend who had no knowledge on how to please her boyfriend grinding up against him. maybe you were just being extra needy? he told himself. not longer after he snapped back to reality as he felt you pull away from him only to kiss down his jaw leaving a trail of soft kisses.

His cheeks becoming red as your soft lips traced down to unbutton his shirt. “so handsome..” You said kissing his chest as you went down to his abdomen. he would be lying if he said he wasn’t enjoying this, but.... Your not gonna do what he thinks you are right?? his own girlfriend who was too shy who cried at the first attempt to sucking him off?? no he must be getting ahead of himself.

looking down once more to check up on you, he finds you unbuckling his pants letting his cock spring free. his mouth agape seeing your head already lick his precum nice and clean, pumping him a few times to get all his precum out. he shudders as your wet tongue touches his cock, giving him kitten licks here and there. taking a deep breath, shoving him down your throat all in one go, a small gag escaping from you, squeezing your eyes tightly trying your best not to cry.

humming, you bobbing back and forth making him grunt at the waves of pleasure you were giving him. Still, he felt uneasy. who taught you this?? he was always the one guiding you, teaching you how to do things yet here you were sucking him down your pretty little throat. head thrown back his groans mixed with his thoughts, he kept overthinking the reasons as to how you picked up on this.

did Bokuto teach you?? you two always got along so well..sometimes leaving akaashi to third wheel, but why was he thinking about that now??

 “shit..” he grunted as he felt his high approaching. He tried to pull your head back so he wouldn’t end up cumming in your mouth, but you stayed on his cock till he came.

smiling at him, you licked your lips, swallowing his cum. leaving him surprised at everything you’ve just done. you’ve never did any of this nor tried to. It hurt the first time you tried to give him head now here you are taking him down your throat? He couldn’t believe it.

he wanted to get to the bottomed of this quickly.

“dirty girl.” he spits out flipping you to the other side of the bed, pushing your head down to the pillow putting your ass up with your cunt in full display for him. you winced at the sudden aggressive force.

“who taught you all those things you little slut?”hooking his finger onto your soaked panties to push them aside, he shoved two fingers deep inside of your dripping hole making you whimper at the painful stretch, not giving you enough time to adjust as he pumped into you.

“k-keiji w-wait!!” you whined screwing your eyes shut to fight back your tears, while he started pumping his fingers at an inhuman pace, he hovered over you, your back to his chest while his head rested on your shoulder.

“i asked you a question, so I expect an answer.” his voice was cold and stern without a sound of love or worry. the stretch of his fingers were painful especially with how he was practically scissoring you open. your eyes rolled at to the back of your head feeling your climax approaching, but it hurt so much you weren’t used to such a rough pace.

akaashi always took his time with you. Going slow and easy, praising you, calling you his angel or goodgirl for taking him in so well. but now he was none of these things.this felt like a completely different person to what you were use to.

“mm’ n-no one! keiji- p-please s-slow down it hurts!!” you sobbed only making him click his tongue at you, your heart sank feeling foggy and uneasy.“you probably like that it hurts huh? you’re dripping around my fingers you filthy slut.” he never used a tone as harsh as this before. never calling you names or degrading you in general. the pain in your chest overlapping the pleasure as more tears fall.

“n-no not a s-slut!! p-please stop! it hurts please keiji please-“ you begged feeling your stomach tighten as he kept fingering you till you screamed, squirting all over the bed sheets. “dirty slut.” He pulled out abruptly from you causing you to choke out another sob. your body trembling at this point as you pant out in desperation to form words scared of what he might do next. “N-no more please I’ll be good i p-promise just please..” you begged him once again, hoping he’d notice the pain you were in...he didn’t.

“no. sluts like you don’t get to make decisions like that.” He was about to pull your shirt off until you screamed and kicked  “red! red! r-red!!” he moved away only to watch you curl in on yourself, hugging your knees for comfort, refusing to look him in the eyes. “baby..?” he said softly trying to move you to face him to his horror you flinched shrinking in on yourself.

“keiji... why were you s-so...mean to me i only wanted to make you feel good..you always make me feel good so why did you..” immediately, he scooped you into his arms rocking you back and forth as if you were a toddler. you cuddled up against his chest as he felt your tears fall on his chest.he didn’t mind of course. “shh its okay..its okay..” the voice he commonly spoke to you coming back, soft, reassuring, just how you liked it.

“baby..im sorry i.. I didn’t mean to be so mean..i just got scared you were maybe..well someone might’ve been teaching you these things..” you froze pulling away to look at him.

“w-what? I didn’t learn that from anyone..id never let anyone teach me or touch me but you keiji! i just..read some stuff about it online...and I wanted to test it out..” you admitted through sniffles still rubbing your tears away. He sighed as he hugged you again running his fingers through your hair. 

all you wanted was to please your boyfriend from just that, his heart skipped a beat at how sweet you were being, but the feeling was overshadowed by  feeling so stupid for letting his insecurities take the best of him.

“I’m sorry baby.. I promise to never speak to you like that ever again..you’re my sweet girl and I love you so so much.. you were just trying to do something nice for me..thank you i appreciate it my love..it felt really nice you did good.” He cupped your face in his hands, peppering soft kisses around your face.

he smiled as you giggled at the ticklish feeling, sighing in relief.

“ i love you, my sweetgirl. ”

Iwaizumi

- he got home pissed off since he saw you chatting and giggling with mattsun. 

- he needed to blow off some steam

- he didn’t mean to be so mean he really didn’t

-he was usually a soft dom but today..he was everything but soft to you.

“ filthy fucking whore. what were you doing talking to mattsun huh?” his thrusts were sharp, painful, not being prepped well enough by him making the stretch of his cock burn through your gummy walls. feeling the air in your lungs start to leave you slowly as tears streamed down your face at iwaizumis cold , heartless, tone. there was not a single trace of him, not a sign of his love. you weren't trying to make him jealous, you just spend sometime to get to know mattsun just a little more since he was friends with your boyfriend never expecting him to react like this. 

snapping back to your current situation, you arched your back letting out a loud cry as he slapped your puffy clit. “didn’t i ask you a fucking question? or did your dumb slutty brain already get fucked out of you huh?” he wrapped his hands around your throat thrusting harder and deeper in you. 

his tip painfully hitting your cervix with each thrust making you cry at the pain. you tried pushing him off with the little strength you had in you, sobbing out an apology making him roll his eyes. 

“tch, what? you think a little apology is gonna change the fact you were all “buddy buddy” with mattsun? did you forget who fucking owns you little slut?” landing another harsh slap at your clit causing you cry in discomfort. everything around you made you feel light as if you were gonna pass out from the cruel words iwaizumi spoke to you. feeling helpless as there was no sign of your once loving boyfriend. 

“maybe i should’ve invited him over, let him have a turn at ruining your slutty little cunt.”

Finally, having enough you cried out “r-red..” it was soft, gentle, easily could’ve been unheard if it wasn’t for how closely iwaizumi payed attention to you. he halted his thrusts pulling out of you completely, eyes draining of all lust and jealousy converting to concern mixed with regret. he rushed to put back his boxers on, cuddling you against his chest. 

you didn’t push him away, no you could never. he was the man you loved and treasured more than anything. you were hurt obviously, but still wanted to seek his comfort.

“i-i dont like m-mattsun haji..i only like you..only you..” your voice sounding broken. he let out a deep sigh pulling you closer to kiss your head. 

“i know baby i know... i was just jealous..you get along so well with mattsun i..went too far on you..i’m sorry you didn’t deserve that baby” his voice sounding faint but full of comfort.

“i just wanted to get t-to know him...i didn’t mean to make you mad haji..”

“i know baby shhh its okay now..i’m not mad anymore.”he cooed kissing you softly. you nodded letting your last set of tears fall onto his chest. 

slowly shutting your eyes and falling asleep in the warmth of his chest.

him on the other hand was completely mortified at your sobbing accompanied with your sniffles it echoed through his ears replaying like a broken record each time the memory got to you saying your safeword. 

“r-red..”

he never thought he’d reach that point for you to have to tell him that. he let out a few tears that night hating himself for hurting you. you forgave that very second he apologized but him on the other hand? he didn't..no he couldn’t.

let’s just say, he didn't get much sleep that weekend. 

akaashis is long asf (im sorry i just love him sm) and iwaiuzmis is short but i love these boys sm.  

i still am taking requests all links are above and down here. remember to drink water. oh and heres the m.sterlist  in case you missed it <3♡

[blitheringmcgonagall]

A mix of 31 prompts and microfic prompts…

@jilytoberfest

Prompts 1 & 2

Prompt #3: fire and #4: “I know, but I wanted to”

Sirius Black heaved an irritated sigh.

“For Merlin’s sake, I’m surrounded by incompetent fools!” he muttered to himself.

“Ha! If you think you can undo Prongs’ idiocy when it comes to anything remotely related to Lily Evans - good luck with that!” Peter snorted, downing a contraband lurid cocktail that Mary had concocted. It was supposed to look like a mint milkshake - it reminded Sirius of swamp water - vague rotten egg smell and pond scum colour. It was wonderfully lethal.

“I swear to Circe, if they haven’t gotten their shit together by May, I shall be forced to stage an intervention!” Sirius said, folding his arms.

“Oh? And what kind of intervention would that be?” Remus asked, leaning into him and giving his shoulder a gentle push.

Remus was a bit drunk and much more generous than usual with physical affection, which Sirius deeply appreciated.

“A successful one,” he said in a lofty tone, resting his head against Remus’ own.

“Can’t wait,” Remus hummed.

***

James sat slumped in his seat, hand holding up his head, watching the dancing couples, eyes following a particular fellow Gryffindor - vivid green eyes, cheeky grin, cobalt blue dress twirling.

“She’s never going to go out with you.”

He turned his head slowly.

“Snivellus,” he sighed deeply. “What can I do for you?”

“There’s no point sitting there staring at her like a creep! She hates you.”

He hesitated. Had he actually been staring at her like some weirdo?

Looking up he saw Sirius reaching for his wand, Remus glaring at Snape and Peter’s eyes twitching nervously towards the professors’ table. The problem with friends who happened to have Furry Little Problems or furry alternative selves was that their hearing was too sharp. Minerva McGonagall was looking over at him too, wearing a sour expression, although she couldn’t possibly have heard the conversation?

“Apologies to Evans if I was making her uncomfortable,” he said.

“You don’t care how she feels, you just want to force her to go out with you, you disgust me! You disgust her!”

Sirius Black was on his feet and Remus Lupin had his wand out and McGonagall’s lips were a stern line as she dropped her napkin (was anyone else able to convey such disappointment and authority in such a tiny gesture?)

“For fuck’s sake, shut- “ he growled, feeling his shoulders tense, fingers finding his wand. In another lifetime, say this time last year, he’d have hexed Snape already.

Just then he caught Lily’s eye. She was looking at the with concern, her smile gone and replaced by drawn brows and pursed lips. Poor Evans, imagine having to deal with two stupid, selfish wankers like them…

He breathed out slowly, forcing his shoulders down and placing his hands in the air, a placating gesture.

“Look, Snape, you’re probably right - I’d say I do disgust her. I have no intention of asking her out, alright?”

One side of Snape’s top lip lifted in disgust, but he clearly wasn’t expecting that answer and couldn’t find anything to say. He stood there awkwardly for a moment.

“Can i interest you in a snack? Beetroot crisps? Twice fried chips?” he said.

Snape glared at him suspiciously.

“A glass of butterbeer?”

The thin boy squinted at him. James smiled, all laid back innocence.

“Wondering why I’m offering? I know, but I wanted to.”

“Fuck you, Potter!” he spat out, turning around and marching off in the direction of the Slytherin tables.

“Prick,” James said to himself, knocking back an entire glass of firewhisky.

“Alright Mr Potter?”

McGonagall was looking at him with an unreadable expression. It was difficult to answer when his eyes were watering from the strong alcohol.

“Right as rain. Fit as a charmed fiddle,” he coughed.

“Water, was it?” She asked, sniffing in the direction of the empty bottle.

“Something like that… a liquid, anyhow,” he said, with a sheepish grin as he ruffled his hair.

***

“Oh gods,” groaned Remus, face palming. “I can’t listen to this, it’s too painful.”

“Prongs is a useless liar when he’s drunk,” Peter noted helpfully.

“He’s an out and out idiot at the best of times,” Sirius said, wisely downing the remainder of his drink.

“Bit harsh, Padfoot,” Remus sounded amused.

“No, that’s it. I’ve told him time and time again. I’m not idly standing by while he makes a balls of everything. Tonight takes the biscuit.”

They watched as James moved towards McGonagall, who was muttering under her breath in response to his ineptitude.

“Care to dance, Professor?” they heard Prongs say.

“Smooth,” Peter said.

“Foolish,” Remus said.

McGonagall’s left eyebrow raised. Prongs swayed.

“Perhaps another time, Mr Potter,” she said, not unkindly, patting his shoulder in what could only be described as a consoling manner.

“Right. Another time. When I’m less drunk.”

“Precisely, next year’s Hallowe’en Ball, perhaps.”

James’ mouth gaped.

“Right. Spiffing. Merlin!”

“Holy shit!” Peter squealed.

Sirius was inclined to agree with him.

***

On the first of May, Sirius Black walked into Dumbledore’s office, unannounced.

“Professor, we have a problem,” he said, without preamble, sitting himself down opposite the headmaster’s desk and placing his right foot on his left thigh.

“Good evening, er, Mr Black. How kind of you to call in for a… chat. A problem, you say? May I be of assistance?” Dumbledore asked, periwinkle eyes curious as he reached over for the sweets. “Lemon sherbet?”

Sirius Black shook his head.

“A problem. Of the very irritating, long-standing variety. And I know how to fix it!”

[capseycartwright]

"I am fed up with half-measures. I deserve better." (Got huge buddie and malex vibes from this one 👀)

ao3 link

The last thing Eddie expected to find at his door was Buck, of all people – not because Buck was an unusual fixture in his home; no, because Buck was supposed to be on a date.

Eddie had been trying his best for weeks now, to be the dutiful best friend, and support Buck’s relationship with Taylor – regardless of how much he wished Buck wasn’t dating anyone else – and it was hard. It was hard, and so Eddie was halfway through a tub of his favourite flavour of ice-cream (the excessively expensive one Buck had introduced him to, the one Eddie only bought when he knew Christopher wasn’t home). He’d also cracked open a bottle of wine Hen and Karen had given him as a thank you for babysitting Denny, one Saturday afternoon (he’d made a mental note to thank Karen – the woman had good taste in wine) and so Eddie was well settled in for an evening of feeling sorry for himself while Christopher was at a sleepover party.

Until – well, Buck decided to bang his door in.

Tucking his ice-cream into the crook of his arm, Eddie raised an eyebrow. “You have a key,” he reminded, looking a frazzled Buck up and down. He was clearly dressed for a date – wearing that blue striped shirt that made Eddie’s mouth water, a neat jacket over the top – but he was also clearly not on said date.

“I have had the worst day,” Buck declared dramatically, kicking his sneakers off in the hallway, brow furrowing as he noticed the bottle of wine on the table. “Do you have company?” he asked, clearly confused – Ana was long gone, to be fair, their relationship having ended weeks previously.

Eddie swallowed, glancing down at his very sad outfit of a pair of raggedy old sweatpants, and a grubby sweatshirt that had definitely seen better days – Eddie wasn’t a sentimental man, really, but Christopher always called it Eddie’s cuddliest sweatshirt, so Eddie didn’t have the heart to throw it out.

“No,” he reassured. “I don’t.”

“Wine, though?”

“Are you questioning my methods of self-care?” Eddie retorted. “I like wine, sue me.”

“All wine tastes the same,” Buck sighed, throwing himself on the couch, reaching for the bottle.

“You can have a glass,” Eddie intervened. “But I will kick you out of my house if you drink directly from that bottle, Buck. I’d like to pretend I have some level of class,” he sighed, padding into the kitchen and grabbing another wine glass – a set Abuela had bought him, when he’d moved to LA. “So,” he said, setting the glass down on the coffee table, pausing to take a scoop of his slowly melting ice-cream before he continued. “Are you going to tell me what’s wrong, or are we going to play charades?”

Buck rolled his eyes, but took the wine glass, all the same, pouring himself a generous measure. He took a swig, before he spoke, raising an eyebrow. “Did you pick this out?” he questioned, no doubt thinking back to the evening where Eddie had been in charge of getting wine for their family dinner and had accidentally bought cooking wine. It was an easy mistake to have made, if you asked Eddie.

Eddie shook his head. “Present from Karen and Hen,” he clarified. “Stop deflecting.”

“I broke up with Taylor,” and oh, if Eddie hadn’t been waiting to hear those words for so long.

“I’m sorry,” Eddie tried, because he couldn’t look that happy about it, could he? It would give the game away – and in so many ways, Eddie was convinced his feelings were obvious, that he’d given the game away a long time ago, but Buck had never mentioned it.

“I’m not,” Buck looked furious, again. “I – we had this nice date planned, right? We made sure to pick a night where we were both off, where she doesn’t need to be in work early tomorrow, and I’m off, so we could get breakfast, too – really spend some time together,” he explained. “And I got to the restaurant and I waited, and I waited, and I waited for a fucking hour, Eddie, and nothing – no text, no call from her. I was sitting there, spiralling, wondering if she was – if she was dead, or something. Right? So, after an hour, I decided I was going to pass by the news station, and see what was happening, and do you know what she said?”

Eddie shook his head.

“That she’d told her intern to call me and cancel our date, because a story came up,” Buck practically spat. “I mean, is she serious? And like – I love that she has a career she loves, because she gets how I feel about being a firefighter, but she does this all the time and I just never feel like I’m even getting close to the top of her priority list. So, I – I asked her, if I was ever going to be something she prioritised over work, and she said no.”

Eddie winced. “She was honest, at least,” he tried.

“Totally,” Buck agreed. “And I appreciate the honesty – really – and it’s not like it ended on bad terms. We just didn’t want the same thing out of a relationship, and I’m not going to resent her for it. But – fuck, this is nice wine by the way – I am fed up with half-measures, Eddie,” he sighed, slumping back on the couch. “I deserve better.”

Eddie swallowed thickly. Buck did deserve better – and Eddie wasn’t going to sit here and pretend as though he was better, as though he knew he could be boyfriend of the year and give Buck everything he needed. But – Eddie loved him, and surely, surely that had to be enough? It had to be enough to love someone so much it felt like your love for them was etched into the very bones of who you were? Eddie so badly wanted to be enough.

“I wouldn’t,” Eddie said quietly, suddenly conscious of the melting ice-cream he was still gripping tightly. It had cost eleven dollars, he reminded – he should probably put it back in the freezer.

Buck looked at him, utterly confused. “What?”

“I wouldn’t love you in half-measures,” Eddie wasn’t sure where he was finding the bravery, to finally say it, to tell Buck how he felt, but somehow, somewhere, he’d found a bravery he wasn’t sure he’d ever had before. He had thought he’d be spending the rest of his life trundling along, desperately in love with a best friend who didn’t love him back. Eddie had accepted it, almost – because having Buck as a friend was better than not having Buck at all.

Buck’s cheeks were flushed, his eyes wide, and excited. “How would you love me, Eddie?” he asked, his voice soft, and trembling – the only giveaway that he felt as nervous as Eddie did, there and then, dangling on the precipice of something new, and wonderful.

“Forever,” Eddie said. “I’d love you forever, Buck.”

(And when Buck kissed him – he tasted like wine, and Eddie knew he tasted like wine, and Buck’s shirt was soft, under tentative fingertips as Eddie reached out to hold him the way he’d so desperately wanted to for so long, and –

Well, it felt like the beginning of forever.)

send me a prompt from this list

[nightowlwriting]

summary: steve is acting weird. avoiding you, being snippy and mean, leaving the room when you enter. all you want is your boyfriend back, but all he wants is to pretend you don't exist. when he's almost hurt on a mission, you do what you're made to do.

word count: 11k

reader specifics: no race/gender/sexuality/body type mentioned, no pronouns for reader used, powered!reader, insecure!reader

warnings: steve is mean to the reader in the beginning, heavy angst, hurt/comfort, canon-level violence, brief ptsd symptoms, slight description of blood, brief mention of racism in the '30s & '40s

brief mentions of: reader's parents being toxic, homelessness, past accidents, ableism in the past & present

note: this one hurt me lmfao. idk why this went the way it did but i'm not mad at it // also i am a queer, trans, disabled american. i have fundamental disagreements with things that marvel/the mcu as it stands for and some of the more nuanced things that you might not notice unless you're looking for it. this will take place in my writing because i cannot separate myself from the lens in which i consume/create content.

title credit: lil nas x

mobile masterlist - request - support my work? - ao3

Falling in love with Steve Rogers went against every instinct you had. You knew that he was going to hurt you from the first moment your lips touched his. Sure - he’s clever, righteous, courteous… You can’t forget he’s also drop-dead gorgeous because every trashy gossip magazine in a three-state radius of New York doesn’t let you forget. Neither does the sight of him waking up in your bed every morning. (Well, actually, maybe that would remind you if he was still fucking doing that.)

But lately, you’ve had to rely on the fucking tabloids to catch a glimpse of your super-hero boyfriend. The university class you had picked up on a whim at the end of the summer - Life & Times of the ‘30s and ‘40s - avoids any mention of Steve Rogers and the Howling Commandos. Not that your classmates do because, Christ on a bike, those magazines manage to catch pictures of you and Steve in moments that you don’t even remember. Plus, you’re an Avenger too. It’s bound to catch some attention when you waltz into a college classroom.

You’re sure if you were an undergrad trying to fill a gen-ed requirement and were sitting next to someone who could kill you without blinking but also dating Captain Rogers you’d be a little distracted too. You try not to blame your classmates too much, but they do make it hard to concentrate with their -really dating Captain America?- and -wonder if I could get an autograph- whispers. None of that matters because you’re learning, really studying, in between missions and missing Steve and believing that maybe the gossip reporters are right.

Maybe he’s forgotten about you.

You grit your teeth and push the thought away. It does you no good right now, while you’re training with Peter. He’s working his way up to bona fide missions and, because you’re the only one on the team who has experience with real-life teenagers outside of saving their lives, it’s up to you to get him to the level that he needs to be. Plus, the mission where he’s going to get his gills wet is just you, Tony, Steve, Nat, and Bucky. You’d much rather be the one to train him because you won’t traumatize him.

Right now, though, you’re just kicking his ass to try and get rid of some of the tension in your body. You feel a little bad about it, but when you started as his mentor you told him point-blank that you’d never go easy on him. That meant if you were having a bad day he either needed to up his game or he’d have a bad day too. It appears he’s taken that to heart as he struggles to dodge the hits you’re throwing his way. He lunges out of the way when you try to land a right hook but practically walks into the leg sweep that sends him crashing to the ground.

“Awe,” Peter groans, letting his guard down. You take the momentary lapse of focus to grab him by the collar of the hoodie he’s wearing and haul him to his feet, jerking one fist back to cold-clock him but he beats you to it. You hear the sound of your nose cracking before you feel it but then the pain rushes you all at once. You’ve had worse but coming from Peter, the move surprises you. You don’t yell out but he does when you push him away from you and call the fight off. Peter practically yelps your name, hands up by his head as he watches you bend at the waist, both hands over where your nose is absolutely gushing blood. “I am so sorry, I just reacted-!”

“It’s fine, Pete,” You shake your head and stand straight again, the blood beginning to leak through your fingers, “Just go get me a towel, okay?” Peter practically trips over his feet to get something for your nose and as you track him on his way into the locker rooms, you see Steve, Bucky, and Nat. The latter are looking your way, eyebrows raised like they’re asking you if you’re okay. Steve hasn’t even broken stride in his conversation so you wave them off with a bloody hand. Peter’s back in a flash, pressing a wet towel into your grasp and snapping you out of your self-pity party. “It was a good hit,” You compliment as you wipe your face off, “I just wasn’t expecting it. Prob’ly wouldn't have landed it if I had.”

He wrings his hands, shifting from foot to foot. “I’m sorry-”

“It’s a good thing, Peter, means you’re getting better.” You deadpan, checking to see if your nose has stopped bleeding yet, “I don’t think you actually broke it, but I’ll go down to medical to check later.” You do your best to clean up your hands with the wet towel, but it’s so soaked with your blood that it mostly just smears it around. You grimace and shake your head. “Well, I should go now before our sparring match ends up looking like I murdered you.”

“I’ll go with,” He offers, “I’m the one who broke your nose.” You let Peter walk you down to medical even though you were originally going to refuse. Perhaps petty, but it was the way that Steve didn’t even look your way as you left that made you let the teenager walk you the two floors to where you’d be able to clean yourself up. He hums in the elevator and you know that he wants to ask you something - it’s the way he holds his mouth when he’s prying for information or keeping a secret that tips you off. Finally, just before the elevator opens, you sigh and turn to him.

“What, Peter?” He grins but then it falls when he has to skitter after you down the hall. Maybe that’s why it falls - the question he asks next nearly sends you to your ass.

“Is everything okay with you and Captain Rogers?” He easily catches up to you when you stop in your tracks, ignoring that you’re still bleeding a little bit down your face and you might be dripping blood everywhere from where it’s run down your arms.

“What?” You do your best to look confused like everything is fine, but Peter is perceptive. He may fumble around and be pretty awkward, but those are really just teenager things that he’ll hopefully outgrow. You should have known that when someone caught onto how bad things are on your end, it would be Peter. (You wonder if Nat or Bucky has brought it up with Steve, considering he’s spent more time with them in the past week than he’s seen you in the past month.) “We’re fine.” Your words are stilted as you begin walking to the medical wing much faster than before.

“I just thought I’d ask, well, because I’ve sort of noticed… Something just seems off, you know? Like, you two used to spend a lot of time together, and maybe it’s the recon mission coming up, but I was just thinking that you two really barely look at each other even when you’re in the same -”

“Peter!” You say his name much louder than either of you expected and both of you jump. “Peter,” You say softer, looking at the glass door to the medical wing instead of him, “Just leave it, okay? It’s nothing you have to worry about, kid.” Peter ducks around to open the door, forcing you to look at him. “He’s just focused on his stuff and I’m focused on getting you whipped into shape for this mission. We only have two days.” Once you’re inside and surrounded by the medical crew Tony keeps on staff, he thankfully drops it. You love Peter, you do, but it’s a lot like having a little brother. You can only love them so much before you want to fucking strangle them. Eventually, as the doctor checks to make sure he hasn’t broken your nose, you have to order him away to go study or something. “I’ll join you later,” You promise him as the doctor prods at your tender flesh, “I have an essay due soon.”

That’s another thing that’s been bugging you that Peter surely picked up on. Nearly everybody knew you were taking a course at the local community college, but nobody knew what it was about. You’d wanted to keep it a secret until you told Steve, but the day you had registered he’d flown out for a two-week mission without telling you or saying goodbye. After that, you decided it didn’t really matter if anyone knew what class you were taking, and keeping it a secret sort of spiraled from there. If they wanted to know they could look it up. Maybe it was petty, but you just wanted the class to be over and done with so you could forget that you really only picked it up so you relate to your boyfriend more.

If you can even call Steve your boyfriend anymore. You’re not so sure where you stand and, honestly, you’re really close to giving up on the relationship as a whole but you can’t do that. Before you were dating, you were friends, and Steve… He never gave up on you. Not once. How could you repay him by giving up on your relationship? The one that you thought was The One? Even if it hurts, even if you’re unsure more than sure these days, how could you? Somewhere, though, you know you deserve better. You don’t deserve the sinking, dark feeling that lingers in your gut for most of your days now or the way that you second-guess every move you make - even in the field. It’s dangerous but you can’t do anything to fix it.

You’re too scared. You know that eventually, it will happen, he’ll break up with you, but you’d like to put that day off for as long as possible. To relish in the love he once had for you, how pure and powerful it was. You’re sure that you’ll never experience anything like that again.

Hell, you might never fall in love again.

Those thoughts don’t do anything to help you, though, so you try not to have them. You get clearance from the doctor and get cleaned up as much as you can without taking a full body shower. The idea to go back to your room and take one crosses your mind but you know that Steve’s probably done training, probably heading back for his own shower, and you don’t want to open that can of worms. Instead, you go to the common room and drop into the couch between Peter and Tony. They’re talking about something something science something something, but you pull your stack of books and notebooks out from the shelf underneath the coffee table and continue outlining your essay from where you left off. The assignment was focused on how the end of WW1 changed American life and then how life changed leading up to and during WW2 but that had hit a little too close to home for you, so you’re writing about the racial tension and overall racism of the times. Tony and Peter keep talking over your back and then you hear footsteps heading toward the common room.

You barely look up when they enter - Nat and Bucky - because it’s fine. It’s normal. They’re just two of Steve’s best friends, that’s all, nothing to be jumpy about. You don’t even register that emotional pain that hits when you realize that, yeah, you’re not one of his best friends anymore. You doubt you’re even considered a friend in his book.

You groan and lean back into the couch, bringing your study materials with you. Peter glances over, skimming over your page and a half of shorthand, and gags. “Jesus, can you write like a normal person?”

“Oh, sorry,” You say lazily, not looking up as you continue to scribble in your incomprehensible code, “I do forget that some of us had privacy at home.” You lift your lips just a little bit to let Peter know you’re kidding, looking up at him through your lashes as you slouch next to him. He looks red in the face. “Besides, once you have to start doing mission reports you’ll be begging me to learn my shorthand and use my stenography machine.”

“I keep telling you that I can update that ol’ thing,” Tony draws your attention. For the first time, you realize that Nat and Bucky are on the loveseat looking at you expectantly. Steve is standing in the corner over their shoulder reading a book from the bookshelf in front of him. His back is tense and he looks like he’s not reading, just listening. You force your eyes back to Tony on your right and shake your head.

“No, because then you’d know my shorthand and it makes me too happy to see you spend hours trying to decipher it.” His eyes wander to your essay again, trying to find any patterns that he can use to figure out what the hell you’re writing on anything ever. He’s opening his mouth to make a smart-ass remark that will no doubt lift some of the weight off of your shoulders when another voice speaks up.

“Wow,” Steve doesn’t even look at you even as he says your name sardonically, “Way to be a team player.” Your mind comes to a screeching halt, trying to figure out what the fuck he’s playing at. Even Bucky and Nat look surprised at the cold way he spoke to you, Tony and Peter both gasping from your side. You can’t say anything, throat tight and burning with tears as you stare at your boyfriend with raised eyebrows. What do you say to that? How do you respond? You know it wasn’t a joke because he’s not laughing, not smiling, not even looking up from that fucking book in his hands. You can’t tell if you’re more hurt or embarrassed, but either way, you don’t want to stick around for someone to get the nerve to say something.

Instead of replying, you slam your textbooks shut and bundle everything into your arms. You doubt Steve even notices that you’re making such a hasty retreat but if he does, he doesn’t say a fucking thing. You feel like you’re in high school - practically running through an empty hallway with your notebooks and textbooks pressed to your chest, trying not to cry. It’s ridiculous. You’re a trained assassin, you’re an Avenger, you are strong and powerful and yet… And yet. You’ve given so much of your heart and soul to Steve Rogers that he can knock you down eight pegs without even trying. Without even looking at you. You can’t wait to go on this fucking recon mission, where you can put all of your focus on making sure Peter is doing okay and gathering the intel. Where you can stop thinking about how easily Steve Rogers seems to be pushing you to the side.

You spend the next two days writing your essay, ignoring almost everyone, and working on your essay. On the day of the recon mission, you’re running out the door for your eight a.m lecture, printed essay in hand, and reminding Tony that he promised to pick you up on campus after class for the mission.

You’re lucky that you went, too. You hadn’t counted on the professor making everyone stand up and tell the class the subject of their essays - didn’t realize that it would be twenty-five percent of the grade on the paper. You’ll never understand college professors and the weird shit they do, but the class is informative and entertaining. He goes around the room, starting on the opposite side of you, so you’ll be last. Great.

Several students did their papers on the propaganda of the time, one student was brave and did her essay on the ethical dilemma of the super-soldier serum and eugenics, and most of the other students focused on pop culture and how it changed. When your professor looks at you it’s almost like he’s expecting you to have done nothing but fawn over Steve and Bucky, considering you know them personally. He looks surprised when you clear your throat, stand and say: “I focused on the casual and institutional racism that faced non-white Americans at the time.” You almost preen when he looks impressed and then the shame fills you. It’s just… You want Steve to be proud of you. You want him to congratulate you on going back to school, even if it’s just for one class. You want him to be happy and surprised that he was the inspiration for taking the class.

Though, lately, the class has been more for you than for him. You like learning new things, pushing the boundaries of assignments, making people uncomfortable with the truth of the times you’re studying as told to you by two people who lived it. It’s nice. Normal.

Everyone needs a little bit of normal.

But, honestly, normal is fucking boring. By the time your class is over and you’re handing in your essay it’s like ants are crawling over your skin. A combination of nerves from the upcoming mission, a head full of fog from whatever is happening with Steve, and a little bit of fear at the thought of taking Peter into the field has you bolting for the door the moment your essay is taken from you. You’d worn your tac-suit underneath a pair of baggy sweats and a loose hoodie, so you don’t even bother slowing down as you head toward the car that Tony has waiting for you. He’s in the front seat, grinning at you from underneath his aviators and Peter is driving.

You slip into the backseat without thinking or looking at who’s there, tossing your bag in the back and peeling your hoodie off. “God, Tone, we’re goin’ to die before we even get to the mission with Petey driving.” You toss your hoodie back to join your bag and finally see who’s sitting next to you.

Of course, it’s Steve. He’s looking at you - but not really. He’s looking through you, like he can’t stand that you’re both crammed in the backseat of Tony’s electric car. His gaze catches you and holds you in place. Everything around you goes cold and fuzzy, making you miss Peter’s indignant complaining that he has his license so he should be able to drive… And then Steve scoffs and looks out his window, ignoring you. It stings but you have a job to do. You make some witty retort back to Peter, but it falls flat as you struggle out of your sweats. This is what life is, you think. Relationships aren’t meant to be forever - you learned that at a young age.

Until your accident at fifteen, you had watched your parents run out of helium, their relationship expanding and cooling in arguments, in days spent not talking, in trips to your grandparents without the other, in passive-aggressive computer searches for divorce attorneys left open for anyone to see. Then, after you were trapped between those machines - after you spent hour after agonizing hour with electricity pressing between your atoms, being torn apart and rebuilt as a young god - after that day you watched them expand against each other before the neutron core of their relationship collapsed on itself and the resulting supernova sent you to the streets. But then Fury found you. Then Tony, then Nat, then Steve.

Your parents exploded out from each other and the shockwaves ruined your life. At least now, your relationship with Steve is ending silently. There’s no explosion, no collapse, no rapid expansion to take over your cosmos. Your relationship with Steve is simply approaching the event horizon, where it will hang in the air until one of you takes the final step and you both become frozen, two collapsing objects on opposite sides of the universe. Maybe that’s what you already are. You feel so far away from him in the back of Tony’s car - like he’s eons and light-years away from you - and you feel so cold. Frozen, down to the bone. It makes you stiff in your replies to Tony and Peter, slow on the uptake when the car pulls up to the quinjet, nearing stasis and unable to respond when Nat asks if you’re okay.

Finally, you turn to look at her, nodding. “Fine,” You clear your throat, “Been a rough day.” You do your best to smile at her, but your face feels heavy. Your chest feels cold and tight, making you worry about your performance on the upcoming mission. When Peter shakes his head next to you, discreetly telling Nat not to press, you’re focused on Steve and the electricity humming in the most base part of your body.

He scoffs and rolls his eyes. You turn away and force yourself to smile, throwing a weak and numb arm over Peter’s shoulders. “Are you ready for this, Pete?” You jostle him back and forth, leading him toward the sitting area behind the cockpit. “Gonna get your ass kicked?”

“Please,” He shoves you off, nervously laughing, “Not with the skills you’ve taught me.” He mimics throwing webs, making hissing noises under his breath, and you bark out a laugh, shaking your head.

“You’re payin’ my medical bills when I have to save your ass, Spidey.” You shake your head and strap in next to the wall, Peter taking the seat to your right. Tony, from the aisle across from you, points a thick finger your way.

“You don’t pay medical bills anymore,” He waggles his finger, “So you’ll just have to make him do your homework for a week.”

“Mister Stark!”

“He’ll have to earn shorthand to do your essays,” Nat chimes in from between Bucky and Steve, who are both doing their best to not look at you - or anyone really. “You willing to share that with him?”

You lean back in your seat and jab at Peter with your elbow. “Hell no, so I guess Spider-Boy better do his best.” The arachnid in question grumbles, crossing his arms and slouching in his seat.

“No pressure, right?” He complains, “Not like I’m already nervous or anything.”

“You’ll do fine, kid,” Bucky pipes up, drawing your eyes back to Steve, “It’s goin’ to be a cakewalk.”

“Don’t jinx it, Barnes,” You warn half-heartedly, tucking in on yourself, “We need this to be easy.” From the look on his face - everyone’s face, really - you know that they heard you loud and clear when you were really saying I need this to be easy.

After an uneasy laugh from Bucky, a claustrophobic silence settles over you all as the jet begins to take off. You’re in for an hour ride and plan to spend it going over battle plans with Peter when harsh whispering catches your ear. It’s Bucky and Steve nearly crushing Nat between them until she gets up and sits across from Peter, rolling her eyes. Still, you try your best to run him through the actions you both had planned - the names, the setups you needed to execute them, everything. If something happens to Peter, you’ll never forgive yourself.

And then, cutting through your soft promptings to Peter and his equally soft replies, Bucky’s voice. “Leave it, Steve. Until after this mission.” Even Tony looks up from his tablet, curiosity piqued. Their faces are both red, set hard and angry at each other and your stomach drops. What the hell is going on that Steve ‘Till The End Of The Line Rogers is fighting with Bucky You And Me, Pal Barnes? You must shift, or lean too far into Steve’s eyesight, because for the first time in what feels like years he is looking directly at you - and seeing you, too. It makes your pulse jump and, almost instinctively, you want to reach out and ground yourself on the rubber of the seat underneath you.

You don’t get the chance, though, because Steve speaks. “No, why should I? This is clearly affecting the team.” He’s still looking - glaring - at you like you’ve done something wrong. “What’s the point of waiting? I’ve been waiting to talk about this.”

“Bo, I don’t think this is the time,” Bucky looks over his shoulder at you, then, and you know what’s coming. You know that it’s time, that Steve is about to break up with you in front of your teammates. Your friends. Your family. You steel yourself for the anguish you’re about to feel and then jerk your chin out, hardening your resolve.

“Buck, it’s fine. If Steve wants to address something, he can.”

Natasha says your name, a low warning over the hum of the quinjet. “I think he should wait.”

“Well, I’m not goin’ to wait!” Steve unbuckles himself and stands, “I have tried waiting, and look at where that has gotten me.” He puts his hands on his hips and puffs out a breath. You unbuckle and stand, too, unsure of where this is going. “You need to,” He holds one hand out, pointing at you while his voice shakes. You notice his hand is shaking, too, but fractionally. If you didn’t know Steve as well as you do you may have never noticed it. “You need to get it together.”

“I need to get it together?” You question, eyebrows nearly hitting the ceiling with how fast they shoot up. You’re not totally sure you’ve heard him right because what do you have to get together? The broken shards of your relationship? The information and research for your final paper? The awful way you’ve let yourself be treated for what seems like forever?

“You heard me,” Steve says, at the same time Bucky leans his head back and groans deep in his chest. “What? Someone had to say it.”

“We should wait for this,” Nat speaks up again, but lifelessly. She knows now that you and Steve are both on the warpath, neither of you are going to stop. (That’s also why the two of you work together as a couple so well. Very rarely are you both so worked up about something that you can’t back down, so the other is always there to meet you halfway and get you back to earth.)

“No, no, no,” You say, near hysterically, “No, he wants to do this now? Before a mission? Instead of the fuckin’ weeks we had to hash whatever crawled up his ass and died out? Be my guest. He’s already dragged everyone into this by treating me like a pariah.” You’re not sneering, but your teeth are gritted so tightly together you can hear them scraping and feel a tension headache beginning to bloom in your temples. Bucky looks… Almost incredulous at your statement. Like putting the blame on Steve is a dick move or something.

“Oh, so I’m the bad guy here?” Steve is curling his lip, glaring at you. There’s something behind his eyes, but he’s buried it so deep that you can’t reach it and figure out what it is. “I’m the bad guy, right. Right, right, right.” He scoffs, shakes his head, and then he’s running his fingers through his hair like he really can’t believe what you’re saying to him.

“Well, what else am I supposed to think?” You throw your hands out to the side and let them slap back down on your thighs. “You ignore me, you make me feel like shit, you talk down to me like I’m some insignificant foot soldier. How else am I supposed to take that, Steve?”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe ask me what’s wrong? Maybe ask me why I’m acting like this, instead of ignoring all of your problems like a child?” He mirrors your moments, but the sound his hands make when they hit the outside of his suit is more powerful than yours. Fueled by anger, you think. Anger and whatever the hell was in the serum Erskine pumped into Steve.

“Ask you?” You repeat, near-hysterical, “Ask you? Oh yeah, let me get right on that. Hey, Mister Rogers? Mister Captain America? Mister Ignores-His-Partner-For-God-Knows-Why? Hey, just why are you doin’ that?” You’re surprised that you’ve said something so snotty, but you don’t back down. (Steve looks surprised, too, and Bucky has stood up next to his friend like he’s about to start berating you as well. At least he looks more cautious about it, like he’s not totally sure that this fight should be happening.)

The more surprising part of your fight is how fast it’s shut down. Tony and Nat stand at the same time and exchange a glance like they’ve surprised each other. “That’s enough,” Tony starts.

Nat cuts him off. “I don’t care if you fight this one out instead of talking, but if you do it before this recon mission you two are going to blow it. Do you understand me?” She looks dangerous, the sharp edge of a knife spiraling through the air. You force yourself to look away from her, from Tony, from Bucky, from Steve. She’s right. You know she’s right - especially on this mission. Peter is there, going to be in real danger even though there’s not supposed to be one Hydra agent in a four-mile radius. You have to clear your mind and focus on protecting him.

Steve seems to think the same thing because he stands down. When you watch him collapse in on himself, Bucky’s arms around his shoulders, into the little quinjet seats your everything aches. Heart, lungs, eyes - everything. Even though you don’t know what’s going on, what could have possibly happened to make your relationship sink this quickly and out of the blue, you still love him. He’s still The One for you. You still want to be the one to comfort him and make him feel whole when he’s struggling.

But you can’t. You can’t and it kills you.

The heat of battle makes a lot of things fade into the background. Important things like why the fuck are there Hydra agents here? and Steve is going to break up with you when you get back on the jet and Tony swore on the fucking limited edition AC/DC vintage tour poster he has in his office that this would be an easy in/easy out information mission. None of that matters, though, because you’re in deep shit. There are seventeen of them, all primed to the teeth with weapons made to take your team down permanently.

You’re practically glued to Peter, calling out commands and plans for him to initiate. It’s when all of your plans fall through that you take a hit from a heavy fist on purpose, hitting the ground hard. “Plan F, Spidey, Plan F!” You cover the instruction with a groan and then you’re back on your feet, working your way toward him.

“Plan F?” Tony says, somewhere above you in his suit. Your comms crackle ominously as another heat-seeking grenade is launched, interfering with the radio waves your tech relies on. You don’t worry about it, because you know Tony is on it. He’s your eyes in the sky.

Peter is the one who answers his question, watching your close hand-to-hand tilt out of your favor briefly. “Plan Fuck It, Mister Stark.” He grunts as he webs up a Hydra agent, jerking him away from where he was about to slip a knife up and under Natasha’s kevlar. You finally drop the guy in front of you, ignoring Steve’s disappointed Language! and toss one of your knives toward Nat for her to use. Tony is still laughing in your ear, wheezing as he drops down and snags the rifle from one of the snipers and then takes back off.

What your little protégé failed to mention about Plan F is that it’s not just chaos, but controlled chaos. You let loose, letting a soft current cover every inch of your skin as Peter switches to his conductive webbing and takes special care to not web any of his allies. Except for you - if you’re in the way and he catches you in a web it doesn’t matter because you’re you, alive with electricity that drops the men that get caught in the web, too. You rip out of the webs and turn the current off when one of your teammates gets too close.

More Hydra agents are pouring out of the woods, topping out their numbers around twenty-five. That’s twenty-five too many in your opinion, especially when you can see Peter getting tired, his anxiety spiking, his moves having more and more hesitation behind them. You need to get this over with quickly, but you don’t have the options to do that. Steve, Bucky, and Nat are really the heavy-hitters - you, Pete, and Tony are the only ones without serums despite all of your individual abilities. Desperately you reach out for a web that’s still connected to Peter’s arms, pulling him out of the way of a baton that’s about to come down on the back of his neck.

The baton the agent is wielding glints in the coming dusk, freezing you as Peter scrambles past you with a quick apology. You’ve seen that before - seen it, felt it, know it like the back of your hand. There’s no way that you could ever forget that weapon. The man stumbles when his hit doesn’t connect but then rights himself and searches for a new target.

A long, black baton that splits into two prongs at the end is heavy in his hand. Electricity crackles between the bulbs at the end, flashing in the setting sun and your memories. The man only has one, but if it was hooked up to a machine, spinning. If there were four, five, six. If you were pinned between them, screaming in the pain as they rewrote your DNA… You’ve only felt it once, but you’ll never forget it.

And now, you’ll taste it again. On purpose this time. The man holding the stun baton is going for Steve’s back - his strong back, the one that protects people, the one that holds the weight of the world, the one that lays in your bed, the one you see whipping out of rooms as you’re entering just so that he doesn’t have to look at you - and you can’t let that happen. It only takes ten amps to kill a regular human, but you know those things are cranked up to twenty minimum. You don’t want to see how many amps of current it will take to stop Steve’s heart. You’re between the baton and Steve before you can think about what you’re doing or what comes next, the hard bulbs settling unyielding into your side and cranking out maximum power for maximum damage as soon as the current is connected and able to flow from one bulb to the other.

The pain hits you and your throat catches on it. It burns through your body, setting everything on fire - your chest hurts as your heart protests the electrons and then your powers kick in, sweeping them into your very atoms and cells. You’re a live wire now, ears humming and body thrumming with power you’ve only dreamed of. It hurts, and it burns, and you feel tears rising in your eyes because you’re back there - back begging for death or for life or for God and god at the same time - but then it’s over. The man sees that you’re not seizing up, not dropping dead in front of him, and he takes three steps back.

It’s not far enough.

You’ve only felt like this once before - right after you were unhooked from the machine that changed your life and brought you to your new family. You remember how you looked when you were put in front of a mirror with all of the pent up electricity circling your body - how your eyes were filled to the brim and dripping with bright and blue electricity, the way it was jumping across your body, how you didn’t need to breathe because your body was fully saturated with pure, unadulterated power. You wonder if you look like that now and assume you do because you can see the bright blue reflecting in the terrified eyes of the Hydra agent.

Your suit, unlike everyone else’s, is not grounded. It’s metal, metal, metal. You’re made to conduct, born for it, and the earth beneath you comes alive with bright white as you release all of the energy, the power, surges down and out. You’re practiced. You can reach out and feel the synapses and neurons of every human being in the clearing, know exactly where your teammates are standing, and know exactly how to target everything but them and the pitiful amount of electricity their brains carry. You grin, something truly feral and unhinged, and you can see the fear in the Hydra agent. Then, you let go.

You know that everyone is going to be pissed. (Maybe not everyone.) You’re not built for this, not made to take down nearly twenty fucking people at once. As you let go, you feel what they feel. The seizing muscles, the stopping of their hearts, the inside of their bodies crisping against their bones. At that moment, that delicious moment, you see the universe.

You become God. You become everything - your mother and your father and God and god and anyone else who’s watching your life from the ether. You become the judge, jury, and executioner of souls that you don’t know from Adam. You become lightning, and thunder, and exposed nerves of the cosmos at the same time. The world bends to your will and you relish in it, taking that power in your fist and wielding it to protect the man you’ll love for the rest of your life and the family that you’ve made. You will stop at nothing to end this, even if it means turning yourself inside out to do it.

You damn near do turn yourself inside out too, but that doesn’t matter, does it? The blood spilling from your ears, nose, and eyes feels like heaven. It’s hot, and thick, and it’s proof of the power that your body holds. You’re a temple and a sanctuary, a war-room and a bunker, a field of flowers and a sun-dry desert. It does not matter if Steve doesn’t love you at that moment, because you are love and hate wrapped into one package. You are everything and nothing, spread thin at the beginning and the end of time.

And then none of that is true. You are just… You. Standing in a clearing, surrounded by twenty-something dead Hydra agents and your terrified, terrified family. It hurts to breathe and you can taste blood in your mouth, but that’s an afterthought. Steve is still standing behind you, but he is alive. That is what matters.

This is what love is, you think.

Pain and pleasure.

Even if he leaves you, you will always love him.

Pain and pleasure.

You’re weak at the knees when he finally turns to see you - and you’re a sight. Struggling to stand, fingertips blackened with soot but not burnt, blood pouring from your nose, ears, eyes… You look like death, but you feel like life. Someone says something behind you - Peter, maybe? Or maybe Tony, in your comms? - but you don’t hear it. Everything tunnels out, your weak knees finally collapsing as you keel backward.

Steve bears down upon you almost immediately. You’re halfway to unconsciousness when he wraps you up in his arms, keeping you from falling in with the pile of bodies around you. He’s saying your name, harsh and soft and then in a voice like he’s ordering you to wake up. You loll about as he drops you down onto a patch of clear grass, hands searching your body for wounds. When he skims over your side, where the baton has burnt through your suit and your flesh, you surge back toward being able to have cohesive thoughts. The pain brings you back, hands wrapping around Steve’s arm and calling out his name. “Steve! Fuck, that hurts!”

“Honey,” He breathes, “Fuck, we have to get you back to the jet.” His jaw ticks, hair dirty and loose from its normal style. “Why’d you do that?” Steve doesn’t wait for an answer from you, ordering Peter to web something up to carry you over your protests.

“I’m fine,” You argue, only slurring slightly, “I feel fine.” But you’re going to let Nat and Bucky load you up on the webbed stretcher anyway because it’s the first time Steve has cared for you in a long time. You want to relish in this moment, the way that he didn't say your name but called you honey.

Well, and because Natasha slides a thumb across her neck over Steve’s shoulder in a silent threat.

You groan when Bucky accidentally grabs your calf where there is an absolutely awful stab wound, but you wave off his apology. “How could you have known?” To be honest, you hadn’t even known it was there until his Vibranium hand was slipping against it and sending shockwaves of pain through you. Peter is next to you the whole time that you’re being carried back to the jet - Tony staying back to begin scanning the bodies of the Hydra agents for the information you need and any other information they may be carrying. The poor kid is nearly at a breakdown, so you reach out to him and shake his arm when his fingers twine with yours. “Chill out, kid, I don’t know how you got it into your head that this is your fault, but it sure isn’t.” He sniffles, but hands back with Steve as Bucky and Nat get you situated in the small medical room of the jet. They transfer you and then make to leave, only Bucky hesitating near the door.

“Stevie’s goin’ to be here soon and… I don’t know what made you do what you did but you have’t explain it to him. He’s bendin’ over backwards to figure it out, and we don’t have’a clue. Came out’a nowhere.” He looks at you for another moment before shaking his head and stepping out of the room. Your head is spinning, partially from what Bucky just said and partially from the pain and stimulus of electricity. You wait there, then, because this is it. This is the event horizon. You wait there, eyes closed, until you hear footsteps approach the med room, and then the door slowly opens. Steve says your name, holding all the finality and weight of an atomic bomb. You don’t open your eyes until he swings a chair next to the stretcher and lays a hand on your calf.

“You don’t have to do this,” You finally say, pushing yourself up onto your elbows to watch him. “I know that you don’t want to.” Steve only scoffs and begins to wash the stab wound using a packet of soap and a water bottle. You say his name twice before he looks at you, something between hate and hurt curdling into a glaze over his eyes that stops you in your tracks.

“Just let me do this. It is the least that you can do.” His words are painful and stilted, like it’s taking force to push them past his teeth. You lay back down and close your eyes, content to just feel the pain of Steve beginning to stitch you up and then dress the wound before you feel the pain of Steve leaving you like you knew he always would. (Falling in love with Steve Rogers went against every instinct you had. You knew that he was going to hurt you from the first moment your lips touched his.)

When he’s done he sits back and puts his elbows on his knees, head in his hands. He heaves a heavy sigh and then shakes it off, “I’ll dress your burn, and then we’ll talk.” And normally, yes, you would agree but this is too important. You want to get it over with so you can lick your wounds metaphorically and dress them literally - and then you want to go home, you want to pack your bags, and you want to disappear and remake your life somewhere else.

Some far-off place where everyone you know won’t take one look at your face and know that you’re still painfully, deeply in love with Steve Rogers, end of your semester be damned. Family you’ve made be damned. You can’t sit around and be in love with him like a neon sign on a dark highway while it’s painfully clear that he hasn’t had a sign on his highway in a long time.

So instead of agreeing, you swing your legs over the stretcher and swallow your flinch when the burn pulls tight. Steve opens his mouth to argue but you give him a tight-lipped shake of your head and his jaw snaps shut. “No,” You say, voice not giving in to the emotion swirling in your chest. “I have let this go on long enough.”

It’s the wrong thing to say because Steve fucking scoffs again and looks away from you. “One day was long enough.” He says, cutting straight to your core. Okay, ouch. You take a deep breath and shake your head to try and bite back the tears that are inevitably rising in your eyes. If one day was long enough for him to realize he doesn’t want to be with you, why did he let it go on for nearly a full year? Why did he spend so long leading you on, pulling you by a thread before garroting your heart with it? What was the point?

“If you want to leave me, just say that,” You reply harshly, standing and wobbling away from him. He just watches you go, watches the way you struggle past the lead weights your muscles have become, the way you’re starting to feel the stab wound on your leg, the way the skin on your burn is beginning to blister and only just now losing its heat. He just watches you, where the Steve that loved you once upon a time might have helped. You turn your back on him, hands on your hips so that you can hide the way that you’re crying and your hands are shaking.

“If I want to leave you? If?” He says. You hear the scrape of his chair as he stands, “I think after what you’ve done, it’s not an if, sweetheart.” The way he says it tastes like iron. Steve never calls you sweetheart like he never calls you by your name. It’s always honey, lover, dovie. You don’t turn to face him because you’re struggling to keep yourself above water. “I spent so long thinkin’, wonderin’, askin’ myself - God damnit, will you look at me?” You turn slowly, not because you’ve never heard Steve speak like that but because his voice is desperate and raw. When you turn, you’re not sure what to expect. Maybe him, standing in front of you, broad-shouldered and disappointed like in those PSA’s he had to film once. Maybe he’d be angry, hands clenched at his sides and eyes narrowed like he gets in meetings when he doesn’t agree with something but he’s out-voted. But you never expect to see him crying, lip wobbling, folded in on himself like a young boy instead of the strong, invincible man you’ve come to love.

He looks so different.

It hits you, then, that you’re not looking at Steve Rogers. Not really. He's not Steve Rogers, not Captain America, not even Captain Rogers. You see him as he was - before America spat it’s untruths all over him and injected him with a serum that changed who he was, is, will be. He’s not the able-bodied man that you know, not strong and unreachable, not the heartthrob that overshadows the team during press events. He’s not America’s Darling, not really. Not where it counts.

You’re looking at Stevie Rogers. Stevie Rogers who, for all intents and purposes, was supposed to die before he made it out of toddlerhood or soon thereafter. Stevie Rogers who the doctors said wasn’t supposed to survive. Stevie Rogers who grew up sickly, rattling painful breaths and never playing ball with the neighborhood boys. Who couldn’t walk until middle school when he got his braces off. Who never had a partner because Bucky, strong and handsome and tall Bucky, was always deemed the better option. Who believed in his country so much that he tried to sneak into the second world war, subjected himself to a painful medical procedure so that he could change his very DNA to be what the world wanted him to be.

Captain Steve Rogers. Captain America. Strong, blond, patriotic, resilient.

You’re sure that if men don’t want to go to therapy now, in the modern age, they certainly didn’t want to go in the ‘40s. So where did that leave Steve, your Steve, standing in front of you and looking small, and broken, and sad, and alone? Did they expect him to take his new, taller, working body and run with it? Did they not think about how he would lose a part of himself in the process? How did they expect him to go from disabled to abled without some disconnect?

You think about the You That You Were Before and the You That You Are Now, and how you lost a part of yourself when the accident gave you your powers and how you’d lose yourself if someone figured out a way to take them away. You Before formed your identity around being normal - living in a shitty home with shitty parents, sure, but normal - and You Now form your identity around your powers, your team, your job, your love. If you lost those things, what did you have left? Who would you be?

When Steve lost his identity and became everything that America wanted everyone to think that America was, what did he have left? Sure, he could tell himself that he represents America - strong and patriotic and just - but it must have conflicted with everything he knew about himself before that. You know that disabled people now know that American society is unjust, unfit for them with abled people not willing to make room to allow them to thrive. You can only imagine what it was really like for Steve in the ‘20s and ‘30s and ‘40s. What he had to do just to survive. (Medical experimentation, you remind yourself. Did they know it wouldn’t kill him? Did they know his body wouldn’t rip itself apart with the new sinewy muscle they were packing on? Did they care? Or was he just a body they saw as broken? A project to fix? To turn him into something more like them and call it patriotism?)

You shake your head at him, still filled with despair, and try to figure out what he’s talking about. “Stevie,” You start, pet name easily replacing what you had been calling him because it’s not fair to shoe-horn him into a body that doesn’t feel like his own. You wonder if he still expects the bone-grinding pain that he used to tell you would happen when it rains. He raises a hand, a strong and family hand, shaking his head.

“I just need to know why I wasn’t enough for you,” Steve looks sad, slouching in on himself like he’s expecting to get his ass handed to him in another alleyway and hope Bucky is there to save him. “I need to know why you wouldn’t just break up with me if you wanted to see other people so badly.” You suck in a shocked breath because, okay, that’s not what you were expecting. Between that and the paradigm shift you’ve had on how Steve must view his identity, body, and self, you’re stunned. Steve continues like he doesn’t even register that you look shocked and pale and now you’re crying because he thinks you’re cheating on him? “And I get it. I get it. You have no idea how much I understand. If I were you, I wouldn’t want me either, okay?”

You cut him off there because what the actual God damn fuck is he talking about? “No, Stevie, I’m not cheating on you.” You shake your head again and this, your statement, lights a fire in him. He still looks like Stevie rather than Steve, but there’s anger there. You imagine that’s what it might have looked like moments before he got himself in trouble back before he was serumed. “I’m not.”

“Oh, yeah?” He challenges, jaw ticking and chin jerking up, “Oh, yeah? You can’t lie to me. I know, okay? The act is up, it’s over, I know, okay? You can stop pretending.”

“Steve, I do not fucking know what you’re talking about but I”m not cheating on you!” You raise your voice, not really angry but more out of necessity. You need to get it out of his head that he is anything less than everything you want - that you could possibly love anyone more than you love him.

“I wanted to clarify something for you,” Steve says like he’s reading an old script from when he was just a beefy, red/white/blue stage prop for the American military, “I am excited to meet with you, but there are some rules. Do not talk about Captain Steve Rogers. I don’t want to hear about him,” As he continues to recite something that has clearly hurt him, you go lax. You know exactly what’s happened - your fists unclench, your jaw drops a little bit, and it feels like someone has gutted you, “I think it is wise to keep work and pleasure separate, and it’s a rule I will enforce heavily. I look forward to seeing you again.” He’s sneering at the end, tears falling down his ruddy cheeks.

“Steve,” You try again, but he cuts you off.

“Am I just work for you?” His voice is shaking more than you thought possible, and so are his hands. You’ve never seen Steve so off-kilter, so thrown, and it breaks your heart that yes, technically, you’re the cause of this. Before this, before this horrible misunderstanding, your relationship with Steve was the paragon of trust so neither of you cared if the other read emails or texts. You remember the email - the email from your fucking college professor - because it had made you so angry that he’d referred to your relationship with Steve as something as simple and base as just pleasure - like you could even put words to the galaxy of a relationship you had with Steve - that you’d gone to the gym to work off some of that irritation. You hadn’t wanted to take it out on anyone accidentally. When you came back from the gym, Steve was gone on that two-week mission that he’d left on without saying goodbye.

Oh, God. You feel sick to your stomach as the paradigm of the way that Steve’s been treating you shifts violently to the left. You have to physically hold yourself up and try to speak past the lump in your throat. Steve looks… Brokenly smug. Like he knows he’s right, but he’d rather gnaw his own legs off than be right.

“No,” You croak, “No, Steve, you’ve got it all wrong.” You want to reach for him, but it feels like the room is closing in on you. You’re second-guessing everything now - especially what you’ve just said. How many people said the exact same thing to him pre-serum because they said something meant for Bucky to him? How many times did he hear that when he was getting a new diagnosis, hoping for the best? How many times had his own mother said it to him when he told her something someone had said, fresh-faced and not yet used to the way that abled people sometimes treated disabled people? You think you might be sick. “That email was from my professor, Steve. I’m not cheating on you, I’d never.” He laughs darkly and sits back down in his chair, head in his hands again. You try to gather the strength to move toward him when you see his shoulders shaking, a telltale sign that he’s crying.

“A professor,” He says with a watery laugh, “Right.”

Finally, you realize that he needs you, needs to know you love him, that you’d do anything for him. You can iron out the kinks later - figure out why he didn’t want to come to talk to you past the original hurt, why he treated you so coldly, why he didn’t trust that you wouldn’t do this to him - but now, you need to show him that you’re here. That you choose him. That you’ll always choose him.

You make your way to him and set a shaking hand on his shoulder. For a brief second you think he’s going to shake you off but then Steve’s hand shoots up and latches onto where your hand is resting, dipping his head to press against your arm. “Stevie, please,” You say, unsure of what you’re asking him to do, “I picked up a class, just one, and it’s… I picked it up for you, it’s about the ‘30s and ‘40s and…” He looks up at you and he looks so broken - face ruddy and wet with tears, lip wobbling, chest heaving as he tries to not sob. His brows are knit and he looks confused, “I just wanted to be able to understand you better. You had to leave so much of yourself at the door when you joined the Avengers, had to leave so much of yourself in the ice… In Erskine’s lab… Stevie, I just wanted you to be able to be you when you’re with me. I wanted to know the you that you were before you became Captain America.” Your voice is shaking, knees knocking together, and honestly? You feel like you might blackout.

“What?” He rasps, “What?”

“He sent that email because too many kids signed up for his class thinking that they’d be able to look at pictures of you and Buck for a semester. Emailed me directly because he knows we’re…” You choke on your words, shaking your head because you’re not even sure there’s a we anymore, “Because he knows I’m on the team. Didn’t want me walking in and making his class about just a few years in the ‘30s and ‘40s rather than the culture of the time.” You don’t know how else to explain it to him, but Steve isn’t saying anything - practically isn’t moving or breathing- so you continue to try and explain what’s really happening as best as you can, “And - and that email made me so angry because he singled me out, didn’t email anyone else about it, and I left to try and work some of that out; I didn’t want to take it out on you, or let it spoil - let it spoil… But when I came back from the gym, you were gone. You were gone for two weeks and I didn’t know why.” You’re crying harder now and pretty sure that within the next sixty seconds you’re going to collapse if you don’t sit down.

Steve shakes his head, still looking like he doesn’t understand. “What?” He says for a third time, “A class? A college class?”

“I just wanted to feel closer to you,” You confess, “Just wanted to understand a fraction of your life without making you do the heavy liftin’ and teachin’ me. Shouldn’t have’t do that,” You’re sobbing, barely biting out your words as you realize that something you’ve done to strengthen your relationship with Steve has destroyed it, “Shouldn’t have to explain a whole different time just to feel loved, Stevie. Should be able to be with someone who understands without you havin’ to explain.” You’re not sure you can say Peggy’s name out loud, and you hope he understands what you’re saying without making you actually say it, “Should’a been able to have love with someone who knew, and I know I’m nothin’ compared to what you should’a had, but I want to be. I want to be in the same ballpark instead’a watchin’ from the stands.” You wipe your face with your free hand and look away from Steve when he stands in front of you. You don’t want to see the look on his face - what he’s thinking about what you’ve said.

He says your name and you glance at him, but his expression stops him in your tracks. Where Steve looked broken and hurt and fuming with anger to hide the anguish, now he looks stricken. You shake your head, “No, no. I didn’t say that to make you feel guilty-”

“You think that I care about whether or not you can understand the ‘40s?” He cuts you off, hands moving to curl around your biceps, “You think that I care whether or not you can relate to a time in history when you weren’t even thought of?”

“Of course I love you. I love you more than anything in this world, but you shouldn’t have to not care, Steve,” You argue, shaking your head, “That’s what I’m trying to say. You should be with someone who understands without explanation. I just wanted to give that to you - didn’t know that this would happen.”

“I should be with someone who loves me,” He argues back, “If you love me, that’s all that matters. My past be damned.”

“But your past is you!” You try to pull away from Steve, but he anchors you there. You’re dizzy from being so close to him after this long, but also because of how many different twists this situation has taken. You can barely keep up with how bad your communication with Steve has become - barely keep up with how you need to fix it, or how to fix it. “Your past is you,” You repeat when you realize that Steve isn’t going to let you go. “And you shouldn’t have to give that up so that someone will love you.”

“But you love me,” He says desperately, ducking his head so that he’s nearly nose to nose with you, “You love me, right?”

“More than anything,” You say, closing your eyes and relishing in the feeling of being so close to Steve, “I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone. I don’t care about what anyone else thinks, or anyone else. I’ll even stop goin’ to class if you want me to - Steve, I just can’t do this anymore. Can’t do this thing where you don’t talk to me about what’s botherin’ you.” You’re choking up, barely whispering, but you know he hears you. YOu can feel his warm breath on your face, “Nearly fuckin’ killed me.”

“I thought it was goin’ to be easier,” He breathes, nose bumping yours, “When you eventually decided to leave me for him. Thought I was savin’ myself some trouble.” You can practically taste his tears as they fall again, “Buck and Nat tried to tell me that you weren’t - that you wouldn’t - but I just couldn’t believe them.”

When you open your eyes, his are closed. This close to him you can see the soft freckles that are blooming over his eyelids, his soft eyelashes kissing his cheekbones. You can feel him breathing, feel him nearly pressed against you in a way that feels hauntingly nostalgic and terrifyingly fleeting; like you’ll be able to feel his warmth for years to come, but he’s about to disappear. “That’s okay,” You finally whisper, “It’s okay that you didn’t believe them. That you thought what you thought. It’s okay.” He shakes his head against yours, opening his mouth to protest, but you refuse to let him feel guilty about feeling this way - you have plenty of time to sit him down and talk to him candidly about the way he acted because of these feelings, anyway. “If I would have been in your place I’m not sure I would have believed them.”

“I treated you so badly…” He shifts and wraps his arms around you. It’s almost immediate - you relax into his arms and wind yours around his waist, keeping him pulled against you as he presses his face into your neck and you press your cheek against his chest. “So awfully.”

“We’ll talk about that, okay? But later. Right now you just need to know that I love you, Steve. I love you more than I can tell you - more than I can express.” You want to kiss him, but you can’t. Can’t kiss him, you need to wait for him to kiss you, for him to close that gap and show you that he still loves you like you love him. “We’ll have to have a talk, a long and hard conversation about this, Stevie, but for now… For now, I’m just content to be with you, okay? MIssed you so much.”

He sighs, nose pressing against yours again. “Missed you too, dovie. Missed you more than I can even say,” His voice breaks as his lips brush yours. Your relationship is not without its flaws and problems - Steve’s actions when he thought you were cheating on him are proof of that and, well, the fact that you didn’t realize what was happening, why it was happening, or a large part of your boyfriend’s psychological makeup having an impact on your relationship while it went unknown by you… There is a lot of work for the two of you to do, a lot of work to do, a lot of communication to be done… But you’d do it all for Steve, over and over again.

When he presses forward and presses his lips gently to yours, you know that he’ll do it all for you, over and over again, too.