#but in my memory he would start arguments out of nowhere and blow up over the smallest and strangest things

[bill-gates-hate-blog]

i feel like i'm in a weird spot as someone who actually, definitely received abuse from someone who has NPD, but still has some kind of empathy for him, hopes he can get better. But also, it was having that same empathy that made it easy to excuse his harm of me and deepened the trauma bond.

Like i obviously don't think NPD is Selfish Piece of Shit disorder. But he definitely acted like a jackass to me in ways that had lasting consequences. I can very clearly see the path that his low-self-esteem-driven logic takes that makes treating me that way, in his mind. "okay." Especially presently.

I think a lot of victims of this sort of abuse have to believe that the person who abused them is an irredeemable monster, because otherwise they might end up going back to them. It's better for their own mental health in the long run, even if it isn't based in reality. I don't think it's maximally empathetic, but these are people that need to put themselves first. I can tell that my own desire to see him get better, acknowledge the harm that he's done, and make an attempt to rebuild this into a healthy friendship is a) part of the trauma bond and b) is actively hindering my recovery.

I think there may be a slight over-correction, is what I'm saying. There's a lot of unjustified hatred of people with NPD, but there's also victims of abuse that are desperately trying to make sense of what happened to them. Is complicated. There's not going to be a clean cut solution to any of it.

[bi-bard]

Taylor Swift Songs That Would Describe a Relationship with Joel Miller - Joel Miller Imagine [HBO's The Last of Us]

Title: Taylor Swift Songs That Would Describe a Relationship with Joel Miller

Pairing: Joel Miller X Reader

Word Count: 2,441 words

Warning(s): fear of commitment, argument, mention of fight

Author's Note: I'm think there's a pattern of me using "cowboy like me" for stories involving Pedro Pascal characters.

Also, just a quick reminder that I write for a gender-neutral reader, so no matter the plot line, anyone can enjoy this.

**Not intentionally written in chronological order**

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Daylight

I don't wanna look at anything else now that I saw you I don't wanna think of anything else now that I thought of you I've been sleeping so long in a twenty-year dark night And now I see daylight, I only see daylight

It had all been a bit of a blur.

One moment, I was walking with Joel. We were talking about the jobs we had been assigned. Relaxed and calm and as close to normal as we could get in the current world.

The next moment, my memories get lost in a huge jumble of yelling and fighting and fear. It was all such a mess. A terrifying mess.

My next clear moment was dragging Joel down the road with me. I didn't stop moving until we had gotten inside and the door was locked.

"I'm so sorry," I mumbled as Joel sat at my dining table.

It had been my fault. At least, partially.

It was all a long and very messy story.

Joel knew the whole thing. I think that's why he was so fast to entertain the whole fight.

Not that I ever wanted him involved. In all honesty, my life would have been so much easier without ever thinking about any of my life before the outbreak... as backwards as that sounds.

"Not your fault," he muttered, looking down at his knuckles.

"Except it is," I moved to sit in the chair next to him. "This wouldn't have happened if you never met me or if I just kept my fucking mouth shut. Now, you're hurt and fuck knows what we're gonna have to deal with now. Shit, I should've been smarter about this-"

"Stop it," he cut me off. "You did nothing wrong. Your ex having his head stuck up his ass is nowhere near your fault."

I let out a sigh as my eyes closed. I shook my head before pushing myself up. I grabbed my little first-aid kit and made my way back to the table.

I grabbed his hand.

"Why'd you do that," I asked. "Nothing good can come from shit like that."

"I doubt he would've let me walk away without getting a few blows in."

I did my best to clean the small cuts along his hand.

He didn't speak up again until I was wrapping the bandage around his hand.

"Y'know...," he started and trailed off. I looked back at him. "Never mind. It's nothing."

"Tell me," I pushed.

Maybe some part of me knew what he was going to say. Maybe I was desperate to hear it out loud. I would like to think that this is why I pushed him to say it out loud.

He let out a small sigh as he seemingly weighed the consequences of his actions.

"There's something else," I continued as I placed his bandaged hand on the table. "You just told me. Why did you do it?"

"Because I love you," he admitted.

I had to bite my lip to keep my smile from getting obnoxiously big.

We had been together for a while now. We had gotten through many days in the hell that was the modern world today. But in all that time, those words hadn't found a place in our lives.

I felt like a teenager again for a few moments.

"Did you get stuck like that-"

I reached forward and smacked his arm in response. He grinned at me.

"I love you too," I said after a pause.

He looked down at the table to hide his smile.

I reached over and placed my hand on his.

For just a moment, it felt like real peace was more than just a far-off dream.

The Way I Loved You

Breaking down and coming undone It's a roller coaster kind of rush And I never knew I could feel that much And that's the way I loved you

It was all such a mess of a situation.

I had never planned on interacting with Joel again after we had separated. I knew that it would've been unrealistic to try to never see him again, but I could always turn the other way and leave.

Now, I was being forced into a situation where the only person I could interact with was Joel.

It was like the universe was attempting to play some stupid practical joke on me and I was failing to see the punchline.

I followed Joel and Ellie back to Joel's place. The only thing we could do at the time was wait for the time to pass.

I dropped my bag on the floor next to the couch before plopping on the seat that pretty much used to be designated as mine. I tried to keep an eye on Ellie without making it seem like I was staring. She went to sit by the window while Joel sat right next to me.

"Kid," I spoke up. She looked at me. "You should get some rest now. You aren't gonna get much of it later."

"Where," she asked.

I pointed behind me. "Mattress in the back."

"She's not sleeping on my bed," Joel interjected.

"I don't wanna sleep on his bed," she replied, crossing her arms over her chest. "He probably stinks."

I rolled my eyes before grabbing the spare blanket and throwing it to her. "To prevent the spread of germs... and protect against the smell. Now go."

She walked into the back without another word.

I sighed and relaxed into the couch.

"You should take your own advice," Joel muttered after a minute or two. I shook my head. "I'm serious, (Y/n)."

"I am just fine," I looked at him. "Never needed much sleep to function anyway."

He ran his hand over his face. "Always so damn stubborn."

"Can we not start this," I asked. "We've got enough to worry about without biting each other's heads off."

He sighed and looked away.

"You used to appreciate my stubbornness, anyway," I added.

I heard him chuckle. I felt a small grin pulling at the corner of my lips.

"You think we can do this?"

"Don't know," he shrugged. "I doubt we have much of a choice. Just gotta be ready to go."

I nodded. "You're scared, aren't you?"

"Scared? No. Annoyed."

"It's okay if you are," I said. "That's not a bad thing. It's just human."

He looked over at me. "Don't assume that you know how my mind works."

"For fuck's sake," I mumbled. It was my turn to run my hand over my face. "I just asked if we could avoid doing this. I was trying to comfort you. Be helpful. You have no reason to snap at me like that."

"No reason?"

"Yeah, no reason."

"What about you leaving?"

My jaw clenched. "You told me to go."

"You made no attempt to stay."

"I made an attempt every fucking day," I snapped before quickly lowering my voice, glancing back to make sure Ellie wasn't shifting around. "I fucking loved you, Joel. I fought to hold onto you with everything I had. You got scared and threw me out. After everything you promised me, after everything we did."

He didn't reply as I deflated into the couch cushion.

"Don't try to claim that I didn't try to hold on. I still feel like I'm clinging onto any part of you that I can find."

I looked out the window to the sun. I wanted to focus on anything else.

I missed him. God knows that I had missed Joel. Every day. Waking up without him was awful. Having to turn around and walk away because it was all I could do to keep myself from crumbling was hell. I just wanted what we had back.

"(Y/n)," he muttered.

I closed my eyes for a moment, not turning my head.

I felt the couch shift as he moved.

His hand touched my leg. "Please, look at me."

I turned my head back to him.

There was a pause.

One where we were sitting in silence, watching each other's reactions.

Joel seemed to hesitate for a moment before he leaned forward.

I froze for a moment as he kissed me. It was such a soft moment, yet it completely overwhelmed me. I had missed him so much that it hurt. That wasn't new. I had known about that pain for a long time now.

But what I didn't know was the way that the pain could be numbed. It was like a warmth spread through my chest, pushing away any pain, even if it was just for a little while.

I slowly kissed him back, feeling muscle memory take over as my hands reached out to touch his sides. Too long. It had been far too long since I experienced something as monumental as this moment.

I leaned back slowly, only moving far enough away to speak, "I love you."

He paused for a moment. I watched his eyes scan every part of my face. I couldn't tell if he was trying to see if I was lying or if he was trying to confirm that I wasn't some illusion his mind had created.

"I love you too," he muttered after a bit. I smiled at him.

His forehead rested against mine. We just sat there for a little while.

Through all of the chaos and the bullshit, I knew that I would always want him.

I just needed to keep a hold of him.

cowboy like me

And the skeletons in both our closets Plotted hard to fuck this up And the old men that I've swindled Really did believe I was the one And the ladies lunching have their stories about When you passed through town But that was all before I locked it down

Neither one of us planned to have that conversation that night.

It was late. Really late.

It was one of the first times that I had stayed with him for the night.

It was nice. Being around him usually was. But no matter how nice it was, I could not get myself to fall asleep.

It wasn't a new thing for me to not feel comfortable falling asleep. I didn't expect lying next to Joel to change that.

I let out a sigh as I rolled over.

My head ended up on Joel's chest as I let one of my arms fall over his torso. I didn't even realize that I had brushed a scar until he flinched. I pulled my hand away, moving my head so I could look at him.

"You okay," I asked.

"Yeah," he muttered.

"Did I hit a fresh wound or something?"

"No," he shook his head. "You just have cold hands."

"Never bothered you before."

He chuckled.

I sat up and looked at him. "Are you sure that you're okay?"

He sighed. "(Y/n)..."

"I'm just worried about you."

He didn't respond.

He made no effort to stop me as I reached forward and moved the blanket off of him. I furrowed my eyebrows at him as I tried to figure out what I had bothered.

It took me a second, but I eventually moved my hand to lightly touch a scar on his side. He tensed.

"Sorry," I muttered. I pulled my hand away. "What... What's it from?"

I felt like I was watching the scales tip in his mind. Pros and cons changing the balance.

"I'll... I'll tell you my story if you tell me yours," I offered.

He reached out and touched my leg. I placed my hand on his.

"Deal?"

He nodded. "Deal."

I grinned and shifted to get comfortable.

That's when I first found out about Sarah. He told me everything about the day of the outbreak. The panic and the crash and the soldier. I held his hand through all of it. I felt a need to commit every sentence he spoke to memory. I needed to know this all because that was the only way I would be able to properly help him.

"Your turn," he muttered after a moment of silence.

I blinked at him a few times before slowly nodding. "Right."

I took a deep breath. I felt him tapping his fingers against my hand.

"You... are not gonna like this sentence," I started. His eyebrows furrowed. "Technically... I am... married."

"What-"

"Let me get through the story first," I stopped him. "It was a while ago now. I... I was convinced that we were in love. The day that the outbreak happened, we had been inside all day. Our neighbor had broken in... he was infected. I just remember the angry look on his face. It made me sick.

"My husband and I took off. We drove for a while. I can barely remember where we were even trying to get to. I just remember ditching the car in the traffic and taking off on foot.

"We... We got cornered by one of the infected. There was this hole in the ceiling of this building. He climbed up first and I couldn't get up there and instead of helping me up... he thanked me for saving him and took off."

There was a pause between us.

"He sounds like an ass," Joel commented. I chuckled. "How did you get out?"

"I found this old bat. A solid one. I had never fought anything, really. I yelled when I hit the thing over the head. Screamed. I kept thinking about how that person had a family and friends and how many of them could be dead. After that, I hid away until I could safely get to a QZ."

Joel nodded. "Did you ever find out what happened to your husband?"

I shook my head. "And I don't want to. I hate to wish death on someone, but... he kinda did that to me... to my face, so... I hope he got his ass kicked."

"So, you're only married..."

"Because the government's been a little too busy to figure out divorce court right now," I shrugged. "And I have no desire to track the bastard down again."

"Good," he mumbled.

I furrowed my eyebrows.

"If you stuck with that guy, then we would've never happened," he explained.

"I see."

Joel pushed himself to sit up.

"I'm sorry that I didn't tell you any of this before," I said.

"Can't say that I'm too upset," he replied.

He slowly leaned over and pressed his lips to mine. I slowly kissed him back, grinning against his lips.

Maybe, just maybe, there was something that I could let myself hold onto in this shitty world.

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

Navigation Guide

What I Write For

Some Original Characters

[abyssofsydney]

Scrolling through social media this morning I came across a post in one of my support groups made by a mom that instantly took me back.

She wrote about how her family consisted of narcissists and how recently her father had bought her teenage daughter a car and it has been brought to her attention that he was keeping tabs on the granddaughters whereabouts (suggested via airtag tracker on the car) which he justified doing so as "he owned the car".

There was much more to the story and the mom was very concerned for her daughters wellbeing and simply in shock that her father could do such a thing.

I read through the post once and had to read through it again, the more I read the more memories and emotions come flooding back.

I remember being that scared teenager driving home from school being followed by an unknown car, usually an older male. I remember turning down side roads and going way out of my way just to loose him, only to finally make it home and have that same car sitting across the street.

I remember the feelings of constantly being watched and always looking over my shoulder. I remember never feeling safe.

I remember the police lights flashing in the darkness of my cars mirror's while my friends and I are being questioned about what I was doing that night, who purchased my car, and who my mom was hanging out with while we weren't home.

I remember the nightmares every night of people peeping in my bedroom windows and trying to break in... just to wake up and look out my windows to see unmarked cars watching my house day and night.

I remember being pulled out of class my junior year by police officers to interrogate me about who my mom was currently dating.

I remember when my mom and I called the county and state police just to try and get the harassment to stop, to no avail.

I remember being run out of the only place I had ever called home, by people who were supposed to protect me and make me feel safe.

My father and his small town connections wreaked havoc on my life during my final two years of high school. Well he has always wreaked havoc, and he usually has minions to assist and do the dirty work, because that would require audacity to do himself. After his and my moms divorce my sophomore year, he constantly tried to control every aspect of our lives. Brainwashing my little sister to think that my mom was a drug addict, persuaded her to tell my mom she didn't want to live with her anymore, as he was trying to "protect her" by moving her out of state to live with him and his new girlfriend (whom actually was a drug addict). He then left my mother and I with a house that he refused to sign over or sell, therefore went into foreclosure because Mom was unable to refinance after he left and could no longer afford the monthly payment with only one full time income. My Mom and I were literally days away from being evicted from my childhood home and no one in the family cared at all that we were about to be homeless. My father and sister had actually ghosted us at this time. To be honest I really don't remember most of the reasoning behind why the arguments happened, all I know is that it was always the same pattern. lies, broken promises, overstepping boundaries, confrontation, blow up, silence, silence, and more silence.

During those two years of high school, and for many in my early twenties, it was common to go months, if not years without talking to my Dad. It was only until he starting dating this awesome lady who had a huge heart and family as a prerogative that he started to try and have a relationship and somewhat what to be my Dad.

These two years he lived out of state with my sister and had almost zero contact with me. He told everyone who would listen that I was a bad kid who was always into trouble and going nowhere with my life.

Occasionally I would want to go visit my sister, and I knew the only way to do that was to reach back out and apologize and say whatever to make him happy so that I had the privilege to drive the 9 hours to visit with my sister. Usually these "good periods" with my Dad were not long, weeks, maybe a couple months, and something would happen and the cycle would repeat.

lies, broken promises, overstepping boundaries, confrontation, blow up, silence, silence, and more silence.

I had a really nice car in high school, thanks, to my aunt and uncle. They made an agreement with me where they financed and I made the payments.

Almost immediately, the car and how I came about it, Dad had spun it into a thousand different lies, depending on who you asked, all of which made me look bad.

He was bitter that I had gotten a sports car on my own when he had only weeks prior took away an old pickup truck that he had given to me at 16. Again, I never remember what specifically triggered the agreement, but this one specifically I remember blowing up at him for something (maybe secretly getting married? still not totally sure) and then we didn't talk. Next thing I know my Grandpa walks into the house after school one day and he said, "I need the keys to your truck, your dad called and told me to come pick it up". I cleaned my stuff out and gave him the keys. A week later I saw his friend driving it around town and heard that Dad made him a "great deal!".

After this happened I cut contact for months, as did my mom for how he left us for homelessness over silly signing a piece of paper. He then became thirsty for control over us as he no longer had access to our lives. He then decided to recruit his friend from high school who was now a detective with our local police department. I used to get followed by marked and unmarked cars around town and home from school constantly. We always had cars parked across the street staring at us, and then when you would approach they would turn their lights on and drive off. One time I got pulled out of class to go to the principals office where they put me alone in a room with two officers who interrogated me about what I do after school, the locations and people I hang out with, as well as where my mom goes outside of work, and who she was dating. I worked at a local restaurant and they would sit in the parking lot and either watch me get into my car after my shift and follow me home, or be parked waiting across the street when I got home.

He used to tell me he had friends in the CIA and they were trained to sneak into peoples houses without you knowing it while you're sleeping. He then would call me a few days later and ask if I noticed a picture was crooked something was moved, because so-and-so had been in my room and did it without me knowing. Now that I am older I realize that probability of that is very low, however, it still gives me the creeps to think about.

Going back to the social media post that stirred these memories all up... I commented on it telling her she's a good strong mama for being concerned and trying to do what's best for her daughter. I also gave a smidge of my backstory with my Dad and this woman was so kind that she felt bad for me! It was not my intention at all, I was only trying to reassure her that she is taking the right steps as someone who has gone through similar. The responses I received to my comment made me step back and really think about what I had endured with him those last two years of high school...

Especially as at this time of my life I was already dealing with so much. I spent everyday after school in the PEDS floor of the hospital spending time with my cousin, who was only one month older than me and we grew up side by side. Down the hall was one of my dearest friends since 8th grade (and future prom date). They were both dying of cancer, Kallie from a brain tumor, and Spencer from testicular cancer that had spread. I was so young, dealing with so much as it was, all I wanted was a Dad I could count on. Not one that harassed me and had strangers follow me. Looking back I truly do feel bad for my younger self. I don't know how a father could be so cruel to one daughter and then treat the other like a princess...

My parents always seem to find it appropriate at present day to tell me about how I was such an angry teenager. But they always fail to remember the circumstances that I had to grow up and live in.

[william-t-sickofyourshit]

Things were escalating. Trying to explain things to one another only led to saying some hurtful words, and got them both upset. William was deeply hurt that the memory he held so dearly to his heart wasn’t just as important for Sebastian. But that was not justifying him bringing up Sebastian’s ex-boyfriend, so honestly William only made things worse now. He was very emotional though, and wasn’t thinking clearly, so he didn’t get to bite his tongue when those words were leaving him. The situation blew up out of control, even though the beginning of this whole argument was actually fairly innocent. But those two idiots took it all very emotionally, and were only digging this grave deeper. They rarely argued, but when they did… oh boy.

William listened with dropped jaw as Sebastian retorted. Yes, he was making memories with Claude back then, because William rejected him first, and he was trying to get over it. Ohhhh God, so now it was his fault? William was only getting more and more railed up. “You can’t hold this against me.” William huffed. “I rejected you because you surprised me. You just… you kissed me out of nowhere, and I am a catholic priest. Of course my first instinct was to reject it, but that didn’t mean… that I felt nothing.” He explained, his face getting red. And slowly, even though his emotional state, he was started to see, a little bit, that it was a difficult time for both of them. Because Sebastian said that it was all very complicated for him to deal with, and William himself felt just the same. So… he supposed he could understand. It was a weird time, they were both trying to deal with their feelings. So… blaming each other right now was pointless really. But… they were already in the middle of an argument, and admitting he was wrong for blowing this out of proportion would not be easy for William now.

He furrowed his brow, looked all grumpy, arms crossed over his chest in defence. He really didn’t know what else to say. They both said some hurtful words, and in all honestly neither of them was right or wrong here. William was starting to see it right now. And he was starting to understand that this innocent topic of their first duet only caused some unresolved feelings to resurface. It was just a trigger, and real issue ran deeper.

“I was trying to get over you too.” William grunted eventually. “I was confused about my own feelings, and my sexual orientation. I was trying to make sense of it all, and… seeing you with someone else was very difficult. Because you showed me interest first, and then you left me with all the confusion it caused, and you went to be with someone else. So… it was hard for me too.” The more William spoke, the less his voice was sounding angry. Now he just sounded sad. “And… when we played this duet together, it was the moment when I felt that somewhere deep inside we understand each other after all. It gave me hope in this complicated situation. That’s why it was such an important moment for me. And… I guess that’s why it got me so upset to hear that you don’t remember it as clearly.” William explained eventually, shrugging a little. He felt bad for causing this argument, but at the same time he wanted Sebastian to understand where it all came from.

For I have sinned...

The principal cleared his throat, eyes scanning the notes that he had wrote down before this meeting. It already lasted an hour, and the teachers gathered in the faculty room were becoming restless and bored. But indeed there were some things to discuss, with the concert that the senior class was supposed to perform at the end of the semester, and with recent staff changes. 

William glanced down at his watch, sighing softly. His class was starting in 15 minutes, so at least, whether the meeting will be done soon or not, he will get to excuse himself. He looked out of the window, his mind wandering. Principal’s voice turned into white noise in the background. It was a pleasant day, late summer. But William was looking forward to a slightly cooler weather. Wearing all black could really be bothersome at times. 

“And lastly, I am pleased to announce that we have finally found replacement for the violin teacher. Dear Mr Tanaka, may he rest in peace, was with us for so many years that I’ve been concerned we won’t be able to find someone as good as to fill this position.” the principal spoke. “But Mr… Michaelis, was highly recommended to me, and he indeed has impressive references. He will be starting this week, so please welcome him warmly once he will arrive. Ah yes… about that. He will arrive today at noon, I need someone to pick him up from the train station and bring over for the tour around the school. Any volunteers?” 

William was barely listening, and definitely not paying much attention. He glanced at his watch again, and saw that it was time to leave, as his class was about to start. He raised his hand to excuse himself, and little did he know, he just volunteered.

“Father William! Excellent!” the principal exclaimed. “Just don’t be late, the train arrives at noon.”

“Train…?” William questioned, raising his brow. He had a feeling he was missing something…

***

Right after the meeting, William had to run for the class, so he had little time to clarify what exactly he had volunteered for. He was a piano teacher in this Music Academy, but also he served as a priest in local church. Well respected, and rather liked. So when he later found out it was about the new violin teacher, he didn’t refuse. Who, other than himself, would be a better choice to introduce a newcome to their community?

So even though he raised his hand by accident, he accepted this fate.

After classes, at noon, William took a taxi and drove to the train station, to pick up their new teacher. Wearing black trousers, and a black shirt with a thin tie, was absolutely dreadful in this weather, so William quickly found shelter under the roof of the station platform, that provided some shade.

The train had just arrived. William had no idea how Mr Michaelis looked like, but he figured he will just look for someone carrying a violin case with them. 

He was in for a bit surprise.

@crazyvik97

[crazyk-imagine]

It’s Time

Pairings: Fred Weasley/ Plus size reader (platonic), George Weasley/ Plus size reader (can be read as a non-platonic relationship) 

Characters: Fred Weasley, George Weasley, Plus size reader, Ginny Weasley, Molly Weasley, Hermione Granger, Harry Potter, Ron Weasley

Warnings: The second half is a bit sad not gonna lie, fluff, minor angst, references to a certain twin’s death

Word Count: 1,446

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“It’s time to get up,” two annoying voices say out of nowhere. 

You reach over towards the nightstand and grab your wand, holding it in front of where you believed the two to be. You were close, only off by an inch... or five.

“Why are you disturbing me and my precious sleep,” you mutter, hardly aware of what you’re saying. 

“But it’s Christmas,” twin one says. 

“The best time of year,” the other finishes. 

You roll onto your back and open your eyes, staring up at the ceiling. “If I get up and get ready to go downstairs, will you two leave?” 

“Maybe,” George says, extending the ‘A’. 

“Or we could stay and help you,” Fred wiggles his eyebrow. 

“I am this close,” you pinch your fingers together, “to casting a spell on you and turning you into a skinless toad.” 

“Your fingers are touching,” Fred points out. 

“Which one?” George asks. 

“That’s exactly my point, Red thing 1 and that goes for either one of you.” 

“I think it’s best we stay here,” Fred starts. 

“To make sure you don’t fall or trip,” George finishes. 

“You two get out now and I won’t tell my favorite Weasley.” 

“Me,” the two say and glance at one another. “You?” 

“It’s clearly me she’s talking about,” Fred says. 

“I don’t think so. She’s clearly talking about me,” George adds. 

The two break into a minor argument which then turns into a physical fight, mainly some rolling on the ground and light punching. 

“Alright, that it’s.” You wave your wand and force the two apart then open the door. 

“Okay. We hear you,” Fred says with his arms up in a defensive manner. “We’re leaving, waiting for you downstairs to open presents.” 

You narrow your eyes at the two. “If something blows up in my face and stains anything whether it be my skin or clothes, Molly will be on you faster than you can get out the door.” 

The two scoff. 

“Words hurt,” Fred places a hand over his heart. 

“Bye you two,” you offer a mock wave and close the door with your wand. 

-

Once your dressed and ready you head downstairs to see all the Weasley’s, adopted and biological children aka Harry and Hermione gathered together in the living room. 

You look for a spot to sit and get pulled down beside Red thing 1 and 2. “Oh good and I was just waiting to see you two again.” 

Fred smiles, “of course you were.” 

George scoots closer to you. “Any woman would. We’re simply irresistible.” 

“More like unbearable.” 

“Alright, now children, that’s enough out of you three,” Molly interrupts the three of you. “It’s a joyous and memorable time. No more fighting from you three.” 

“But were not-” you try to explain. 

“No more. Here,” she hands you three a gift. 

“Open these and enjoy. I expect you three to behave.” 

“Of course, mother,” Fred replies. 

“Scouts honor,” George gives a two-finger solute. 

“Neither of you were in the boy scouts. That’s a muggle thing. Who taught you that?” 

“Harry,” the two answer you. 

“I think he explained it to you once you heard the quote but okay. We’ll go with that.” 

“Alright, you heard our mother, let’s open our gifts and make some memories,” George diverts your attention away from them. 

“Open yours first.” 

“Why? You don’t trust us,” Fred asks. 

“Oh, I believe we’ll be making memories but I think there the kinds I don’t want to create.” 

“Just open it already,” Ginny shouts from across the room. 

“Do you want to open my gift?” 

“No.” 

“That’s what I thought.” 

She sticks her tongue out at you. 

You do the same to her. “I swear-” you begin to say. 

“Open it!” Fred, George, Ginny, Ron, and Hermione shout. 

“Alright, alright,” you mumble. You open unwrap the box, setting the wrapping paper off to the side, pull the lid off, lean back, and close your eyes, releasing a high pitch squeal. 

You open your eyes to find fireworks forming into your first name initial before turning into the phrase “Merry Christmas”. A wide smile takes control of your lips before you even realize it. 

You look down and find a poorly knitted scarf and you understand now that the fireworks were to distract you from your physical gift. 

You pull it out to find some pieces of yarn sticking out as if either one of the twins lost and stitch and didn’t know how to fix it. The ends had some type of charring to it, as if they set the ends on fire in order to give it that frayed effect. The colors didn’t seem like they’d typically go together but you loved it. 

“Aww you guys are the sweetest!” You gush and throw your arms over their shoulders pulling them closer. 

“We know it’s not the best,” George says. 

“But we tried,” Fred adds. 

“I know and honestly, I don’t care. It’s perfect, it’s the best thing I’ve gotten handmade by a friend in a long time. It’s to see how much you both tried and that’s what makes it extra special just like you two,” you say, pinching their cheeks. 

They shove your hand away and rub the spot, giving everyone a dramatic show of how much pain they’re in and Merlin knows how long they’ll be sore. 

You roll your eyes and wrap the scarf around your neck, showing it off with pride. 

“That’s got to be the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen.” 

“Shut up, Ginny! It’s beautiful!” You shout. 

“You need to get your eyes checked.” 

“I’m not afraid to harm you little girl.” 

“Elders are supposed to protect the young, not harm them.” 

“Yeah, well you young kids are also supposed to respect your elders and I’m getting a lot of sass.” 

“If you saw what I saw you’d be the same way.” 

“Ginny!” Molly shouts your name once she sees you chasing her youngest child. 

“I’m only showing how much I care for your dearest, dearest daughter Molly,” you smile, holding Ginny in a headlock. 

Molly raises a brow and places her hands on her hips. 

You let go of the young girl. “Alright, alright.” You sit beside Red thing 1 and 2 once more. 

“You really like it?” George asks with slight fear and concern in his tone. 

“Of course, I do. You two made it.” 

-

“You’re still wearing it?” George asks while restocking the shelves. 

“Obviously, you two made it. I love it. It's what I plan on giving to my grandchildren after telling them all of the stories I have about the two of you.” 

“I bet they’d love to hear them. I can see it now. The young ones running in here, their parents right behind them, and then the weird old lady following behind them.” 

You punch his shoulder. 

“Ow! Blimey, you’ve still got some strength left in you. You should wear a warning sign.” 

“Oh, shut up, Red thing 1.” 

“I thought I was 2?” 

“I always switched it up on you two but clearly neither one of you caught.” 

“Clearly.” He clears his throat. “So, what brings you hear today?” 

“I wanted to give you this.” You pull out a thin box from your bag, holding it out for him to take. 

He takes it with a raised brow. 

“It’s nothing bad. C’mon open it.” 

He opens it to find a scarf, a hand knitted scarf by you. It has the same colors and frayed ends... only this time it’s done the correct way. 

He pulls it out of the box and examines it, one of the ends catch his eye and he examines it closer to find ‘F/ G’ side by side. He has a sad and happy smile on his face as he remembers the Christmas morning you got your scarf. 

Your voice brings him back. “I’d been planning on making you both one but with everything that was going on at Hogwarts I never had the time and then... things happened, and I came up with this.” 

George wraps the scarf around his neck. “I love it,” he hugs you. “Thank you,” he mumbles into your hair. 

The two of you bask in each other embraces, thinking about Fred and wondering what it would have been like if things had gone a different way. 

“I’m glad we still do this,” George admits. 

“Do what?” you ask. 

“Spend Christmas together.” 

“Of course, we would. I’d never miss spending the holiday with a Weasley.” 

“You mean your favorite?” 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” 

“I’m gonna pretend you didn’t say that.” 

“Okay.” 

“Merry Christmas, my darling.” 

“Merry Christmas, Red thing 2.”  

[taechaos]

Web of Lies

from Textbook Love drabble series

pairing: bully!Jungkook x nerdy!fem!Reader

genre: drabble, smut, college au

synopsis: Soyeon is honest, Taehyung is using his last breaths to tell you the truth, and Jungkook is lying. It seems that everything you know boils down to Jungkook lying.

warnings: angst, panic attack, dry humping, the TINIEST bit of fluff

word count: 4.3k

Obstacles are inevitable in relationships; there’s always something that must go wrong. They can come in the form of arguments, disagreements, actions, or people like Taehyung. One physical obstacle that always knows when Jungkook is with you.

A few days after the fight between the two close friends, Taehyung’s nose somewhat healed and Jungkook doesn’t shy away from you as frequently. What’s the point when the people he tried to hide you from found out about his relationship with you anyway? The only reason he doesn’t approach you every time he sees you is because: 1. He doesn’t enjoy being clingy; that would mean he likes being around you all the time which he refuses to admit. 2. You would probably get tired of him and stop loving him. 3. He kissed your friend who always sits next to you outside.

Now that he’s taking most of his opportunities to talk to you, and maybe kiss you, Taehyung is growing restless. Every time Jungkook is with you, so is Taehyung. Some. Fucking. How.

To name one of the busts: when Jungkook was kissing you in the university’s hallway two days ago, Taehyung popped in out of nowhere and shouted, “Get a room, you sluts!” It made for a good laugh between the students, especially when Jungkook ran after him out of the building. 

Another time is when Jungkook was watching you work in the yard and Taehyung joined you two to ask about that “one hot friend of yours”. You ended up telling him about Soyeon and Minnie while Jungkook glared at Taehyung that conveyed a clear message: Don’t. So, he didn’t. It didn’t have anything to do with getting elbowed when you weren’t looking.

It was because that would ruin the fun, and he has a sense of purpose while roaming the entire campus to make his fourth bust of the week. He’s searched the hot and empty spots, but he just can’t find the passionate couple anywhere. If he can’t keep disrupting their displays of affection, how will Jungkook get annoyed enough to spill the truth to you? You deserve that much, and if you still accept him, then Taehyung’s out of the picture.

Why can’t Jungkook see that?

For starters, one of the reasons is Jungkook is distracted and growing very irritated by the heavy stare he feels digging into his skin. Who the fuck is watching him? He thought it would be nice to keep you company in the main campus library by controlling your hand under the table over his clothed erection while you skim through your textbook for a light revision, but a pair of eyes behind a bookshelf won’t stop glaring into his soul through thick frames that he can’t see. 

He blows out a breath and screws his eyes shut. His jaw clenches and you immediately catch on, worriedly asking, “What’s wrong?”

“Someone’s fucking watching me and I can’t get off,” he grits. Your cheeks heat and grow crimson when you glance down at your occupied hand, palmed by his bigger one in a tight grip. 

“I’m so sorry,” you whisper, “we can go to my dorm, if you’d like? Whatever you want.” In an act of comfort, you stupidly start caressing his length until he stands up. 

“Gotta confront the fucker.” 

Right when he raises his foot to take a step in the direction that his senses lead him to, Taehyung joins in on the mission. “Who are we confronting?” he asks casually with an arm over Soyeon’s shoulder, who is trying to suppress a grimace at the intervention. Jungkook glances at him and then your friend before sucking his teeth and rolling his eyes.

You grin brightly at the greeting and explain, “Someone's watching him. He’s going to find the stalker.”

“Might’ve been me, oops,” Taehyung raises his brows guiltily before slumping on a wooden chair adjacent to you, looking around the spacious area that makes him feel too loud. When he notices Soyeon still standing, he tells her, “come, sit,” and pats the seat next to him. She does so timidly. “Isn’t it so wonderful—”

“Why are you here?” Jungkook interrupts, but Taehyung continues, “—that we’re forming a friend group of our own? We’re all so familiar with each other.”

“Oh, Soyeon hasn’t met Jungkook yet.”

Taehyung narrows his eyes at you with a scrunch of his nose. “Sure about that?” Jungkook strides behind his chair and starts massaging his shoulders; a very harsh massage that has him holding back a wince. “Oh, Kook, that’s a bit rough. Tell me, is he like this in bed too?”

You gape at him in surprise, bashful because your lover doesn’t kiss and tell, and he doesn’t look too happy about it either.

“Tae…” Jungkook snarls.

“Well, is he, Soyeon?”

The library’s silence graces your table as everyone falls quiet, if you don’t count Taehyung’s groans at Jungkook’s bruising hold that is. Soyeon’s jaw drops and her eyes widen at the sudden switch in your gaze, searching for answers from her. “That’s not funny, Taehyung,” she breaks the silence with her blunt statement.

“Don’t mind him, baby, he has brain damage,” Jungkook spits and brings a hand up to Taehyung’s hair to yank it back. “I’m going to fucking kill you,” he whispers in his ear.

Your features begin to soften from its hard expression until Taehyung smiles wickedly at you. “Oh yeah, it wasn’t sex, was it? It was a tongue battle-” His voice cuts off the moment Jungkook starts choking him with his elbow, and his gags fall on deaf ears. Soyeon tries to push him off, but you’re just blank because Jungkook isn’t denying it; it was as if he was expecting it, trying to stop him all along. 

The sudden interest in your friend, the constant interruptions, the hits…

“Soyeon?” you call quietly with welling up tears. “Did you kiss him?”

Your best friend doesn’t lie, and apparently neither does Taehyung. Does Jungkook lie? You’re conflicted between living in bliss, ignoring the dying man in front of you because your boyfriend might have kissed Soyeon, and facing reality by asking the hard questions.

Her hands are still tugging on his shirt to save Taehyung, but her persistence weakens when she looks at you: guilty and… exposed? “I didn’t know it was him,” she confesses. It is indirect, and doesn’t reveal much except that she kissed the one man she wasn’t supposed to. 

“When?”

“The party,” Taehyung wheezes as he struggles against Jungkook’s arm, his nails drawing blood on his skin. His face is red from the lack of oxygen but he isn’t worried about dying.

“Oh, he put you up to this, didn’t he?” Jungkook speaks through clenched teeth to Soyeon. “They’re setting me up, and who the fuck is watching me?!” 

You stand up slowly and close your textbook with a soft thud, packing your materials so graciously. Your hands are shaking, but the tears blurring your vision don’t matter to you. Soyeon is honest, Taehyung is using his last breaths to tell you the truth, and Jungkook is lying. You sling your bag over your shoulder and trudge to the exit, counting your steps to calm down. You ignore Jungkook asking you where you’re going, Taehyung gasping for breath, and Soyeon telling him to leave you alone. It’s all muffled and you’re too sad to care.

It’s a case of he said she said, but your heart is siding with your friends with how painfully it pounds against your chest. Your trust in Jungkook couldn’t have been that fragile, could it? Why did it break with one sentence? 

Heavy footfalls follow you beyond the exit, but you’re too distracted by trying to move your legs steadily to notice. It isn’t important enough to distract you from someone calling your name though, or the light weight of a gentle hand on your shoulder. “Hm?” you say without looking up, frozen in your steps.

“A-Are you okay?” A smooth voice asks.

“I’m a bit sad,” your voice cracks and wavers from holding back a meltdown, “hurt.” You want to recognize the blurred image of the man standing next to you, so you blink and a tear sheds from each eye. “I told you to never talk to me again, Jimin.” You feel overwhelmed, and yet the memory of the blackmail has little impact on your mess of emotions, but it doesn't help you feel better either.

“Sorry,” he breathes, “I still don’t understand why, but you can do the talking for me. Wh-what happened?”

“Why do you ask? So you can use that against me too?” you scoff through the lump in your throat. Confusion washes his soft features, so you add, “maybe another handjob for it?” You shrug off his hand and continue your walk of shame. 

“I-I’ve never used anything against you, what are you talking about?” He’s chasing after you and it’s a bit of help in swaying your thoughts in a different direction, and your emotions towards anger and disbelief instead.

“Does a video ring a bell? The one you threatened to leak if I didn’t touch your…” You groan to yourself and quicken your pace towards your dorm. Maybe you could mope comfortably in there without the annoying presence of an arch enemy, who is feeding you more lies than you’re capable of consuming in one day. 

“What? I never— Listen, I deleted that video the second I received it. Whoever told you that was lying, please!”

It seems that everything you know boils down to Jungkook lying. His love was a lie too, apparently. Maybe the Jungkook you know is just one big fat lie who can’t seem to tell you the truth in any moment you’ve been with him. How many times do you need to hear from others and yourself that Jungkook is lying?

“I know,” you whimper and run off.

Once Taehyung catches his breath after coughing for a minute straight with a fresh bruise blossoming on his neck, he interrupts the hushed argument between Jungkook and Soyeon by asking, “Where’d she go?”

“I don’t know, but you’re going straight to hell once I fucking kill you for good,” Jungkook fumes with flushed cheeks. 

“If you die by murder, you go straight to Heaven. How do you not know this?” His voice is low from the assault and his throat aches, but he still attempts to lighten the mood. 

“I swear to fucking God, Taehyung—” Jungkook stops his threat when he sees Soyeon sneakily walking away. “Where the fuck are you going?”

“Air,” Soyeon vaguely answers.

“Bullshit.” Jungkook tries to go after her, wanting to be the first to find your dorm so she doesn't say more about that night, but Taehyung holds onto his wrist to stop him. 

“She needs time—”

“Fuck off.”

When Jungkook begins to walk off after yanking off his hand, Taehyung immediately searches around the room and takes out a pen from a cup on the reception desk before jumping Jungkook from behind just as he was about to leave. They struggle against each other and start rolling around, but Taehyung is driven by adrenaline as he grounds himself on top of him. He holds him down with his legs and uncaps the pen to start writing on his forehead.

“What the fuck are you doing?!” Everyone in the library peeks at the commotion due to Jungkook’s loud yell, but neither of them pay mind as he tries to move away from the pen.

“See if she takes you seriously with dick written on your forehead,” Taehyung chuckles before sprinting off with him hot on his tail. Jungkook is stronger, but Taehyung is much faster as he loses him pretty quickly by hiding in an occupied lecture hall. The professor looks at him questioningly but he thinks fast and breathlessly asks the students, “Is Jeon Jungkook here? The headmaster is looking for him.” Some people search for him, but when no one makes a peep, he escapes the room and Jungkook’s wrath.

Now to go to your dorm before Jungkook scrubs off the ink…

“I didn’t know his name,” Soyeon murmurs while fidgeting with her fingers. When she came in the room, you were muffling your sobs with your pillow and all she saw was your jerking shoulders. She tried to comfort you, to hug you, but you weren’t exactly being friendly, and the setting is pretty much the same except she’s sitting on your bed while you still cry. “I asked people what he looked like, but it was just a description of every guy in the room. He wasn’t around for them to point at, and so I thought maybe he didn’t come. Then this guy kisses me on this couch, feels guilty about it, and tells me his name. I-I didn’t know it was Jungkook. He left for you anyway…”

Her attempt at consolation is fruitless because it only makes you cry harder. She rubs your back soothingly before standing up. “I’ll check up on you later. Let me know if you need anything, okay?” You nod against your stained pillow. 

The moment she opens the door, Taehyung’s fist misses her head by an inch. “Oops,” he says before gently pushing her aside by her shoulder and entering. His eyes fall on your fetal position first thing and he pouts at you. “Aw, baby—”

“She doesn’t want to talk right now.”

“I’m good company,” he dismisses her with a flick of his wrist, “you can go.”

She rolls her eyes before shutting the door, and it’s only you and him now. Your hiccups fill the room as he sadly watches you, a quiet sigh leaving his mouth. “I tried to tell you. Well, I tried to get him to tell you.”

“Y-You said,” you snivel against the sheet, “th-that he was whipped for me.”

I said that to get you to open up. Even in his head it sounds cruel, so he rethinks his response with a grimace. “Jungkook told me he liked you.” Maybe shifting the blame wasn’t exactly much better, especially since he told him that after the claim, but you have enough on your plate.

“H-He told me he loved me,” you hiccup, releasing your death grip on the poor pillow. It’s a mask rather than a silencer now. Taehyung widens his eyes to himself and purses his lips. He takes Soyeon’s former seat and turns you on your back. His heart sinks a little when he sees your face: red nose, heavy lids, bloodshot eyes and quivering lips with messy hair. You look really pretty to him right now. “He lies so much. H-He even made me give Jimin a handjob.”

“Made you?” he repeats with his thumb drawing circular patterns on your collarbone. 

You nod. “It’s a long story, and I don’t want to talk about it. It was horrible.”

His brows furrow at your tone. “That’s so fucked up... Man, you need to avoid him.”

“Jimin?”

“Jungkook. That’s too twisted, even for him. You’re an angel…” his palm reaches for your cheek and his thumb continues its soothing motions. “You didn’t deserve it.”

“Thank you,” you mouth and fresh tears brim as you try to swallow. It feels like you’re sick all over again, except there’s no misunderstanding to clear this time. He wipes a stray teardrop and smiles down at you; it’s a relaxing gesture. You close your eyes and hold onto his wrist, snuggling into his warm hand.

“I sound really cheesy, don’t I?” he chuckles. “Can’t lie, wish I had someone call me an angel after I caught my ex cheating on me.”

An involuntary giggle erupts from your mouth at his joke. “You’re an angel, Taehyung. An angel in disguise.” You peek at him before fluttering your eyes shut again. A pursed smile graces his lips, and he’s convinced he isn’t interested in you romantically, that it was just an invisible force drawing him closer to you, that he wasn’t the one aiming for your lips until a pound on the door resounds in the room.

You flinch away from his hand and he pulls back instantly; both of your heads shoot to the source of the noise. 

“Open up!” Jungkook yells and continues fisting the door. “Open the fucking door!” Taehyung holds a finger against his lips, signalling you to stay silent until he leaves. “I want to talk. Open the door… please.” Neither of you say anything.

“Fine,” he agrees, “don’t talk. I’ll talk, but at least give me a sign that you’re here.” Before Taehyung can stop you, you rush to the door and knock once. You hear him slide down the door, presumably leaning his back against it and sitting on the floor. “Okay. I’m sor— They were lying—” you slam your fist against the door in denial. “Okay! But they weren’t telling the whole truth back there. I was um… on drugs. I was really fucking high, okay?”

“Yet your high-self still managed to yell at me! Clearly you weren’t high out of your mind,” you snap menacingly. He flinches at your sudden shut-down; he’s never heard you yell at him before, nor has he ever been the victim of your anger. It makes his heart drop.

“That was like, three hours after I got high! I was practically sober, plus, you weren’t talking to me that day!”

“I had lost my voice! I didn’t want you to get sick—"

“I DIDN’T FUCKING KNOW THAT!” 

He gulps at your silence and inhales a deep breath to calm down. He hears you sniffle on the other side. “I-I didn’t know that. You wouldn’t kiss me, wouldn’t talk to me, and I didn’t know why. I thought you stopped loving me and… that really upset me.” He sighs to himself because he’s never opened up so honestly and it’s difficult, but he doesn’t exactly have a choice. It just feels so embarrassing.

Taehyung opens the window of your dorm and climbs out. You don’t see or hear it happen, too invested in your argument to even remember his existence. “Do you remember what I told you the night we did it for the first time?”

His face scrunches as he tries to replay the events beside the sex. The corner of his lip tugs upwards when he recalls you calling him a slut, but he’s still clueless as to why you’re bringing it up. You don’t leave him in the dark for long. “I told you I wouldn’t forgive you a second time.” He gnaws on his lip as his palms feel clammy with nervous sweat. 

“W-We weren’t dating then,” he tries to justify. “I didn’t need forgiveness then. You’re so unfair!” He stands up and knocks with his fist again. “Let’s talk it out face to face, I’ll explain everything. You’re putting me at a disadvantage! Don’t you want clarity? Don’t you want this to work out?!” He starts chanting your name when you don’t answer. “I will break down this fucking door if you don’t open it,” he doesn’t sound nearly as intimidating as he usually does when threatening; he sounds more like he’s a second away from breaking down himself. “No, no… please. I-I’ll kiss another girl if you break up with me! You don’t want that, right? So just open the door.” 

His tough façade crumbles the longer you ignore him, and he can’t believe the heavy weight he feels all over his body wants to leave in the form of tears. It stings in his eyes but he doesn’t dare let them fall. “You’re so fucking cruel!” He twists the door handle violently; desperately. A dry sob escapes him as he kicks the door one last time. “Oh God, oh God…” he tries to breathe but it doesn’t enter his lungs. It’s like being choked with a noose as he gasps and a tear runs down his cheek. His wheezes become so loud that you start hearing them and grow concerned.

You consider the possibility that it’s one of his tactics, trying to manipulate you, but you open the door anyway. It’s a slight crack and you barely get a look at him before he pushes it open completely and forces his way in. He sits on your bed and his shoulders hunch, breaths still shallow. “I didn’t mean it. I don’t like her, never did, I only— I was mad, and I couldn’t go through with it, and I’ve never shown you affection b-because I’ve only ever received it from you—” you hush his rambling with a hug, but he continues with his head against your stomach anyway, “I’ve never been in a relationship and I’m a fucking mess and I understand why you wouldn’t want to be with me, but please don’t leave me. I’ll do my homework, I’ll stop being mean, I won’t even talk if you don’t want me to, but please don’t stop talking to me.”

“Jungkook…” you trail in shock. “I’m here. Take a deep breath.” When he tries, it’s so shaky that it makes you tear up for the umpteenth time. You’re a mess with him. “In and out, love, in and out.” You would do it with him like an instructor, but it’s not possible when he’s squeezing your waist so tightly. It takes a few minutes for him to relax his grip and he looks up at you pitifully. “It’s okay,” you assure and pet his hair, “you’re okay.”

“I’m sorry. I love you.”

“I love you more.”

“I love you most,” he exhales. “I mean… I realized that night, that I only want to be with…”

“I get it,” you whisper to comfort him, knowing he has struggles with expressing himself, but he doesn’t stop. He wants to get it off his chest, and he quietly tells you, “I kissed another girl when I wanted to make you jealous, and then another to forget. I don’t want to do that, I mean I only want to kiss… you.”

You initiate it first by leaning down to peck his lips, and you don’t pull away too far. You peck him again, and then start kissing him. He’s never been this slow with you before, but the panic attack must have drained him. It’s the way that he doesn’t immediately turn it heated with the intent of taking it to the third base that warms your heart. He’s hesitant and taking his time, mindful of your reactions because you’re in control for once. You’re aware of how vulnerable he is being with you, and he conveys that with the gentle press of his lips. 

He whimpers into the kiss, and it’s so quiet and mournful that you lean back but he chases after you. He doesn’t want to stop like you’d assumed, so you place your knees on either side of him and hover over his thighs. Even his hands are hesitant as he lightly sits you down on his lap by pulling your waist. You smile against him and with his submission, you swipe your tongue across his lip. He opens for you. You roll your tongue around his, and he eventually begins to suck on yours. There’s a pit in your stomach that confuses you; is it arousal? Flattery? You feel so special because you know he hasn’t been like this with anyone else; so powerless and passive.

It’s passionate. You inch your body a little closer to him and he grunts when you brush against his crotch before settling down. This isn’t about sexual needs, and you don’t treat it as such but your body has a mind of its own with its constant shuffling that turns him on. He doesn’t want to feel that way, but his hips have a subtle way of thrusting beneath you. His hums rumble and you kiss him harder, losing all your senses except for the warmth of his skin. You don’t notice him controlling the movement of your hips because he’s taking it slow, and you don’t need to know why he’s quietly moaning into you.

At least no one’s watching him now. 

You pull back in surprise when he groans loudly, and you know he’s back to himself as his actions grow rough. You’re practically jumping when he grinds on you with his spit all over your mouth because of his explorative tongue. From past experience, you’ve figured out that Jungkook is more honest when he’s in the heat of the moment, so you inquire against his lips, “Why did you lie to me about Jimin?”

“That fucking freak,” he growls, “I needed a reason to get you to hate him. He didn’t stop you when it happened, did he?” 

Still manipulative. “Will you do the same with Taehyung?”

“No, I,” his thrusts slow down, “I’m gonna, err…” He looks at you for help.

“You’re gonna be a good boy and talk things out with him, right?”

“Right,” he breathes, “talk.” He slams his lips against yours again, and it’s not long before he sighs at his climax with your cooperation. There’s a small patch growing on his pants through his underwear, and he cusses when he notices it. He pecks you one last time before hugging you and laying on the bed, cuddling you like a blanket. “Do you forgive me?” 

You rest your head on his chest and feel his pulse to contemplate. He brings a hand up to your hair and starts running his fingers through it, unbothered by your lack of answer. “I’ll make it up to you,” he says. “Do you…” he clears his throat, “do you maybe want to have dinner with me?”

“Like a date?” you tease with a grin.

“Yes.”

“There’s my answer,” you lift your head to wink up at him. “But if you test me again, I’ll break your heart just as you did mine. Don’t worry though,” you whisper, “I’ll never leave you.”

[lokust]

A God doesn’t Giggle

LMAO HEY I’M BACK.

I was rather inactive for a few days because I had a violent allergic reaction to 75mgs of a new medication, but I’m better now!

(Also, I don’t ever post any stories, but I wrote this one knowing I was gonna post it so I was rather nervous. My apologies if it seems forced or too short. I felt the pressure with this one.)

————————-

The question Mobius often asked himself was ‘How does one deal with the God of Mischief?’.

But the question he had asked himself earlier was ‘Oh shit, how do I deal with the God of Mischief when I’ve made him so genuinely upset that he won’t even cause any mischief?’.

Loki was incredibly upset, with Mobius specifically. For once in his life, Loki was genuine, he was honest… and Mobius brushed him off, accusing him of lying and throwing him in a loop where he was reminded over and over again that he was worthless and undeserving of love.

Mobius had done everything he could think of to cheer Loki up; from telling him the exact opposite of what Sif had told him to searching through his fondest memories and putting him in each and every happy memory he could simulate. None of it was enough, and Loki was still hurt.

“Come on, Mobius”, he said to himself, still searching through Loki’s memories and flipping through all of his files, “If you had just listened to him for once…”. He had left Loki in a simulation of a memory where Frigga had taught him his favorite spells and tricks, hoping it would be enough to at least get a smile from the God.

He had been watching the best memories of Loki’s life for what felt like hours, but he was willing to watch for 48 hours more if it meant finding a solution to the pain he’d caused. He clicked and forwarded through some memory Loki had with Thor back on Asgard.

He had almost disregarded it entirely, but something about the tone in Loki’s voice caught his attention. It was a nervous tone, yet somehow… playful? Mobius couldn’t quite describe.

“Thor… Thor, get away from me. Okay. I am much too old for these antics now”.

Mobius watched intently, observing the interaction between the two as closely as he could manage.

“Oh come on, little brother! It’s never failed to get you out of these moods before!”

Yes. Yes, this is what Mobius needed. This was the solution.

Suddenly a shrill screech filled the small room as Thor had seemingly attacked his brother.

Mobius sighed in disappointment, “Well, that blows. I can’t wrestle him back to happiness”.

He got ready to start searching again, until the loud laughter of two Gods filled the room instead.

Mobius watched as Loki writhed in his brother’s arms, laughing unwillingly as he tried to escape the hands that clawed at his sides and ribs while Thor simply laughed at the sounds he was producing from his brother.

Mobius’s eyes lit up, finally shutting it down and turning to walk out of the room, “Damn it, Thor, you’re a genius”.

—

——

Loki sat on his bed beside his mother, sulking as he listened to her explain her magic to him.

The fireworks. She was teaching him how to make the fireworks, just in the palm of his hand. It was his favorite trick to do, and his favorite one to watch her do as well.

He’d been there with her for hours, relearning all of her favorite spells, but he couldn’t stop the thought in the back of his mind, reminding him she’d be gone and he’d be indirectly at fault.

He wanted to cry, and he could have, but suddenly, she was gone, and a golden doorway opened up to the left of him as Mobius stepped into the memory.

“Alright, Loki, I’ve got two things to say to you”.

Loki rolled his eyes with a scoff, “Grand, but I’ve got nothing to say to you, Mobius. Couldn’t you have just left me here with my mother?”. The trickster crossed his arms against his chest, looking away from Mobius with a scowl.

The blond just sighed, “Alright, I deserve that, I really do, but just hear me out, alright?”, he said, approaching the taller man carefully.

“I’m sorry, Loki. Alright? I am truly, horribly sorry. I should’ve believed you. I should’ve listened to you, and I definitely shouldn’t have thrown you back in that loop with Lady Sif. You didn’t deserve that, and I, Mobius M. Mobius, am sorry”, he spoke genuinely, carefully placing a hand on Loki’s shoulder as he sat beside him.

Loki furrowed his eyebrows, glancing at Mobius from the corner of his eye, “I thought you had two things to say- Wait a moment… Mobius M. Mobius? Is your name Mobius Mobius Mobius?”

The agent sighed, “That’s not the point, and I do have one other thing to say, alright?”

Loki gave a simple nod, a silent signal to continue, but he didn’t like the smile that was slowly growing on Mobius’s face.

“I didn’t know you were ticklish”.

Loki’s eyes widened as he pulled away from Mobius, standing up and crossing the room immediately, “I… I’m not. That’s ridiculous. I never have been”.

Mobius just smiled, “Wrong”.

The God grumbled at the agent, “Alright fine. I grew out of it”.

The shorter man looked like he was having a field day, “Wrong again”, he said, standing up to approach his friend.

Loki scowled at him, “Mobius, this collar may keep me from using my powers, but it won’t keep me from biting all of your fingers off if you get any closer to me”.

The agent hissed as he looked down at his hand, “Ouch, that one really does sound painful, but how about this, alright? You stop sulking around like an angry little dog, and maybe I won’t tickle you, deal?”

The God backed away as Mobius came closer and closer to him, but suddenly he found himself backed into a wall with Mobius so close he was practically pinned in place. He huffed at his blond friend, but simply stayed silent.

Mobius shrugged, “Alright, fine… but you asked for this”.

Suddenly, Mobius had Loki’s arms pinned above his head, the taller of the two struggling in place as Mobius fought to get both of his wrists in one hand.

“Why are you fighting it so hard? I thought you said you weren’t ticklish?”, he gasped suddenly as if he was shocked, “Did you… Did you lie to me, Loki? I can’t believe you’d do such a thing”.

Oh, if looks could kill, Mobius would’ve certainly been a goner, but the faint blush on Loki’s face certainly overpowered any threat behind the scowl.

Loki’s breath hitched as he eyed the hand that now rested on his side, but he looked back at Mobius immediately, unwilling to show any sign of anticipation or nervousness. The agent was looking at him as intently as possible, his mind set on finding even a hint of happiness in Loki’s expression.

“Alright, I’m tired of you sulking around like this, and even more so, I’m tired of seeing you in pain because of my mistakes”, suddenly, Mobius’s hand came to life at Loki’s side, clawing and scratching up and down to really test the God’s sensitivity.

Loki threw his head back against the wall,

“G-Goddamnit Mobius! Quihihit ihihihit!”, he bit his lip through his laughter in hopes to suppress it, but Mobius moved his hand up higher, spidering now at Loki’s ribs. That action produced something that was definitely not a squeal, thank you very much.

“You suhuhuhuck! Lehehet me gohohohoho!”, he spat, thrashing side to side as he tried to get away from his friend, but his mind was too boggled and he was split between fighting against it and just letting it happen.

Not that he enjoyed it or that he was having fun, no definitely not. That’s ridiculous.

It had just… been so long since he was able to laugh like that. Yeah. That’s all.

He was ashamed to admit the noises coming from him most definitely qualified as giggles, so he wouldn’t be admitting it, but that’s most certainly what they were.

“Aw, cute. That’s something I didn’t expect to hear from a God, but giggles are cute so who am I to judge?”, Mobius teased, alternating between spidering at Loki’s sides and digging into his ribs while the trickster tried to sink to the floor with no luck.

His eyes widened at Mobius’s words, “I- I do nohohot gihihiggle, you ahahass! Now stahahahap!”

Mobius just hummed, “Mmm… No, I don’t think I will. You very obviously lied about not being ticklish, but you look pretty happy right now, so I’ll keep this up for a while”.

Gods don’t whine, except for when they do, and that’s exactly what Loki did as Mobius’s skittering fingertips slipped to the back of his rib cage.

Loki squealed and suddenly tugged at his arms as hard as he could manage, shocking Mobius enough to slip away from him, but when he started to run, he realized there wasn’t much of anywhere to go.

Mobius knew Loki had nowhere to go, so he stayed in place, watching Loki search frantically for a place to run or hide before he gave in and rolled onto his bed, moving to sit on his knees and eye Mobius warily.

“Oh look at you”, Mobius said, approaching the God slowly, “You really got nowhere to go now”.

Loki put his hands up in front of himself as Mobius came closer and closer, “Now- Now, hang on, Mobius. Wait just a moment, can’t we talk about this like adults?”

Mobius hummed in thought, sitting himself on the edge of the mattress, “I don’t really think it’s necessary. The whole point is to get you smiling again, so what’s the point of talking?”

Loki racked his brain for any argument he could make and came up mostly blank, “Can’t you tell a joke or something?”

Mobius shook his head, “No fun in that, but this”, he said, suddenly tackling Loki into the mattress, just to pin him down and straddle his hips, “this is fun, wouldn’t you agree?”.

Loki shook his head frantically, tugging at his arms as they were pinned beneath Mobius’s knees.

Mobius unbuttoned the few bottom buttons of Loki’s white shirt, slipping his hands underneath the fabric and causing the God to nearly scream through his gritted teeth.

“MOBIUS- MOBIUS NO! Get out!”.

Mobius was taken aback for a moment but he couldn’t stop himself from laughing at the dramatic reaction, “Worse on the bare skin, huh?”, he chuckled, drumming his fingers against Loki’s hips.

Loki held his breath as he threw his head back against his mattress, grumbling empty threats through his teeth and kicking out behind Mobius.

“I was doing this mainly to cheer you up, but this is entertaining”, he teased, tracing his fingertips up to Loki’s sides to spider and scratch at them as gently as he could manage.

Loki squealed as he drummed his feet on the mattress and tugged at his hands, “Mohohobius nohoho! Nohohoho quit ihihihit! You’re ahahahawful!”, he spat insults at his friend as he thrashed and squirmed beneath him, the ticklish sensation teasing his nerves maddeningly.

Mobius just smiled before clawing his way to Loki’s ribs, scratching in and out and side to side before spidering and thumbing between the bones, attempting to decide which got the best reaction.

“NO! Nonono, not thahahahat!”, the trickster’s laughter got higher in pitch and increased drastically in volume with the tickling in the spaces between his ribs, and Mobius noticed the tears beginning to pool in his eyes.

He didn’t want to kill Loki, so he went back to the scratching, “You didn’t just lie about being a little sensitive. You, my friend, are desperately fucking ticklish”.

Loki shook his head, but he was struggling to form words. The longer Mobius tickled, the worse it felt, “Stahahahahap, I cahahahan’t! I can’t, Mohohohobius. MOHOHOHOBIUS NOHOHOHO!”

Mobius stopped suddenly when his hands touched the center of Loki’s abdomen, watching the God do everything he could to sit up and get away from his captor, but he just couldn’t do it.

“Ohoh, bad spot, huh?”, Mobius teased, using his fingers to trace teasingly around the bare skin of Loki’s stomach.

“Mobius, please, don’t do this to me. Let me go, and I promise I won’t be upset anymore, okay? Just please… don’t”, Loki was ashamed of himself and his over dramatic reactions, but if there was one thing he couldn’t handle, it was being tickled there.

Mobius cooed sympathetically, “Aww, too ticklish?”, he asked as if he was considering letting Loki go, “Man… that sucks doesn’t it?”

Loki’s eyes widened and he went to protest, but he didn’t have a chance as Mobius’s fingertips skittered mercilessly around his belly.

He squealed and screamed and tried to buck Mobius off of him, but he was stuck, “PLEHEHEHEHEASE STOHOHOHOHOP! STOP IHIHIHIT!”

Mobius smiled down at him, using all ten of his fingers to vibrate his hands in the very center of the God’s abdomen.

“NOHOHOHOHOHO, SHIHIHIHIHIT! MOBIUHUHUS!”, he drummed his feet against the mattress, looking down at Mobius’s hands as his tormentor stopped for just a moment.

“I got a question”, Mobius said, using just one finger to trace around the tense muscles of his friend’s abdomen, circling dangerously close to the little divot in the center of his stomach.

Loki looked back and forth from Mobius’s hand to the smug grin on his face as he tried to collect himself and rid himself of any residual giggles, “Then ask it”.

Mobius hummed, “I’m getting there”, he remarked, “How ticklish do you think you are riiight… here”, he asked, teasing and circling the rim of Loki’s bellybutton.

Loki squirmed and whined pitifully as anticipatory giggles poured from his lips, “Dohohon’t. Don’t do thahahahat. Please, plehehehease”,

With his free hand, Mobius tickled up and down Loki’s side, pinching at the fleshy area, “Aww, I like that you said please”, he teased as Loki tried to roll to one side to protect the one that Mobius was tickling, “But… Im gonna do it anyway”.

Mobius dipped his finger in his ticklish friend’s bellybutton, wiggling at the base and walls of the little divot while he tickled around his belly and sides with his other hand.

“NO- NOHOHOHOHO! I CAN’T TAHAHAKE IT!”, he squirmed and kicked as Mobius tickled him mercilessly, one hand scratching relentlessly at the spaces between his ribs before he finally had some mercy on him and started tickling around his belly again instead of in his bellybutton.

Loki snorted, but he was too weak to fight and too lost to be embarrassed about it. His nerve endings felt like they were on fire and it was the only thing he could think about as those pesky tears finally fell.

Mobius had mercy on him, ceasing his tickling and allowing Loki to calm down, “Alright, let me try one more thing, and I’ll quit, okay?”, he asked gently, a fond smile playing at his lips as the trickster tried to hide his red face in his shoulder.

“Just do it”, he breathed out heavily, trying to prepare himself for whatever Mobius was going to do.

Slowly and carefully, Mobius moved his knees off of Loki’s hands to reposition himself and sit lower on his his friend’s thighs. He unbuttoned just a few more buttons on Loki’s shirt and pushed it up as high as he could manage.

Carefully, Mobius laced his fingers with Loki’s to hold his hands in place. The God panted in an attempt to gather himself when he tensed his muscles once more, recognizing Mobius’s actions immediately as the blond leaned down so his face was just above Loki’s abdomen.

Loki shook his head, “Oh for fuck’s sake, Mobius, why?”

Mobius just shrugged, “I just wanna know how you’ll react”.

Loki didn’t even try to deny it, “Visciously”.

Mobius hummed, “Alright, then I’ll just hold you tighter”, he said teasingly, suddenly taking a deep breath.

Loki braced himself, shaking already as a nervous smile played at his lips.

Mobius put his lips right over his friend’s bellybutton and blew as hard as he could.

Loki squealed and snorted and squirmed as the first raspberry rippled across his abdomen torturously before Mobius blew one after the other all over his tummy,

“NOHOHOHOHO! NONONOHOHOHO! PLEHEHEHEASE! Plehehease, please, Mobius- NOHOHOHOHOHO!”, the small breaks he got in between each raspberry were just long enough to drive him crazy while Mobius breathed in to blow another.

The agent lifted his head once more, breathing in as deeply as possible before blowing the longest, most ticklish raspberry he could manage right over Loki’s bellybutton. He couldn’t take it anymore, his brain was fuzzy and his lungs were burning, “MERCY! MEHEHERCY!”

Mobius stopped immediately, sitting up and letting Loki breathe, “Alright, calm down. I’m done now”, he soothed , moving off of his legs to allow Loki to curl up on his side and wrap his arms around himself.

Loki’s body shook with leftover giggles as he tried to rub away the ghost tickles around his abdomen and wipe away the tears on his cheeks.

Mobius smiled at him, patting his back lovingly, “You happy now, big guy?”.

Loki glared at him, but nodded nonetheless, eliciting a small chuckle from Mobius.

“Good, good. I’m pretty happy too. Hearing the God of Mischief snort and giggle is a great serotonin booster”, he teased, nodding approvingly and giving him a thumbs up.

Loki huffed as he felt his cheeks heat up, “I do not giggle, Mobius”.

Mobius rolled his eyes, “Then what were you doing while you were pretending to try to get away?”.

Loki sat up, his eyes widening in shock, “I was not pretending!”, he scowled, pushing Mobius back a little before crossing his arms over his chest.

“Sure you weren’t, and you definitely don’t giggle, and you’re certainly not pouting right now.”, he said, sarcasm just dripping from his tone.

Loki looked at him, his expression softening as he thought about how much Mobius must have cared about his happiness to have went through the trouble to make him laugh like that.

“I uh… Thank you, Mobius”, he whispered, looking down at his lap as he spoke, “for caring”.

Mobius huffed out a small laugh, “Don’t thank me, big guy. You deserve it”.

Loki smiled, leaning against his friend’s chest and allowing himself to relax as Mobius wrapped an arm around him. Both of them smiled, trying not to look at each other for the sake of their own shyness.

It was quiet. It was peaceful. They were happy…. but who would the God of Mischief be without causing a little trouble?

“So… your full name is Mobius Mobius Mobius?”

Mobius tightened his arm around Loki with an impatient sigh, “Don’t make me pin you down again”.

—

——

The next few days passed full of smiles and jokes, and plenty of passing pokes and tickles to Loki’s sides and belly.

Loki knew now that Mobius cared, and he knew that Mobius was sorry, and that was all he could ask for.

And if pretending to be upset or just being ridiculously stubborn became a part of Loki’s daily routine, who was anyone to complain about it?

Certainly not Mobius, but he was always there to take care of Loki’s moods.

[mrslilyrogers]

All I have to do is Dream Part 2

Pairing: Steve x Reader, Telepath! Reader (X-men reader)

Summary: It’s been five years since the snap. You and Steve are stuck at an impasse. You want a family, he doesn’t. He says he’s moved on but has he really? With your doubts growing, you consider risking his trust and use your powers on him to get your answers once and for all.

Author’s note: I don’t know if I’ve mentioned it before but reader here has studied at the Xavier Institute so she’s basically part of the X-men. You don’t have to read the comics or watch their movies, it is just part of her background. This is based on Endgame and would follow its progression. If you want to be tagged, please send an ask!! Thank you all for reading!!! 

Part 1 

Steve’s jaw twitched, his throat muscles working, eyes never leaving the photo on his phone. He pursed his lips and let out a huge exhale, running a hand on his face. What the hell had you done?

Nat didn’t question when he came back to the compound late last night nor when he didn’t show up the morning after, only learning from F.R.I.D.A.Y, he was up earlier than his usual and left. He came back a few hours ago, sweaty and gruff, immediately rushing to lock himself up at the gym. Wallowing there until now. 

She had known Steve long enough to know he was blowing off steam. She knew better than to pry, letting him keep to himself until he was ready to talk, and Steve was glad for it. Glad he still had one friend who cared. 

What the hell had you done? 

—————————-

You jolted from the bed, Steve’s eyes drilling holes in your direction from where he sat stiffly beside you, his mouth pressed into a thin disapproving line. If only looks could kill. You had never seen him so angry in your life. His breath coming in rapid pants, his fists clenched tight at his sides, the muscles around his neck and arms bulging. You felt naked under his gaze, bared to the soul with nowhere to hide. Ironic when just a few moments ago, you had breached into his mind, violating his privacy to the utmost. 

“Y/N,” he said, deathly low and lethal, a warning. 

“Steve, I’m sorry I didn’t know--” you scrambled to your feet, panic rising up to your throat, cheeks wet with tears. 

“Bullshit!” He roared, not letting you finish, shooting up to his feet like the soldier he was. His tightly coiled temper finally unleashed. “You went inside my head! Don’t you fucking give me any excuses!”

In his anger, he threw the analog clock from his bedside table to the floor, breaking it into tiny pieces instantly, the sound of it cracking and your crying the only things filling the air. You didn’t recognize the sobs coming from you, not even knowing if it was from what you’ve just discovered or the way he looked at you now. As if he didn’t know you, as if he could never trust you again. 

“I’m sorry,” was all you said. And you were. In every sense of the word. Sorry for yourself, sorry for what you’ve learned, sorry for what you’ve done. 

“How could you do this to me?” Steve asked, disbelieving. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. It’s just… I overheard you at grief counseling--”

“You what?” He hissed, eyes incredulous and accusing. “Are you fucking spying on me now?” he pointed his finger at you, circling the bed to stand in front of you, his steps quick and long. He looked like he did on missions. One purpose, ready to attack. It was a miracle he kept his fists at his sides instead of shaking you. 

“NO! No, I was waiting outside and I heard what you said, and it’s made me think…” 

“No, you didn’t think! I told you time and time again, I love you. What more do you fucking need?” His voice grew even louder, exasperation and impatience seeping out of him as if he had been putting up with you for so long.

What more do you need? What more do you need?

“The truth, Steve! I just wanted to know the truth!” You answered back, voice rising in return. The whole time you thought you were only being paranoid, insecure, blaming it on yourself when you weren’t wrong all along. He still wanted her. Yearned for her. 

“And are you happy now? You happy that you’ve forced it out of me?” Steve’s tone turned mocking, his eyes hard and jaw tensed. No denial, no guilt. He baited you and if he had enough presence of mind, he wouldn’t have said that, wouldn’t have deliberately gone out of his way to cut you deep. But right at this moment, all he saw was red. He wanted to hurt you, to punch, to scream. His hands shook, in the need to destroy something, to fight someone. Fists bringing out what he couldn’t put forth into words. He knew he had to leave. 

You flinched from his words as if you’ve been physically slapped. Eyes full of hurt, you were speechless, immobilized to the spot, no other choice but to take it all in and watch him as he bristled past you, heading to the direction of your shared closet, grabbing his duffel bag and stuffing it with whatever he could get his hands on. 

“Wait, where are you going?” your voice was small, hands shaking while you clutched the end of your shirt. 

“I can’t even look at you right now,” 

“So is this it? Is that all you have to say?” You pleaded, a part of you still hoping he’d deny everything you saw. That it was just all it ever was, a dream. A fantasy from another life. That it didn’t mean anything. That he’d pick you, the one who was here, someone he could actually build a future with. Over a dead woman, a woman who belonged to another decade, another lifetime. 

“Since you’re so good at getting into people’s minds, why don’t you tell me?” He taunted, turning his back to you, roughly shoving his toiletries in his bag.

“That’s not fair, Steve!” 

“Fair? You want to talk about being fair when you broke my trust! You promised, Y/N. Does that only mean something when it’s convenient to you?” He turned around this time, nostrils flaring, finger pointing offensively at you again. You were so close to him now, could practically feel the heat radiating off his body. And you were scared. You were scared to lose him. Because you knew whatever happened tonight couldn’t be reversed. The things he said, the things you did, there was no going around it anymore. 

“Do you want me to say I don’t love Peggy anymore, is that it? Is that what you wanna hear? Because I can’t. I still love her!” His voice boomed around you, shaking you to your core. Fresh, hot tears trailed down your cheeks. You were helpless. Broken. 

As soon as the words left him, he knew he’d regret it. At the way you looked, so small and vulnerable, hugging your arms to your chest, his eyes softened,  “Y/N…” he moved towards you, hands out to comfort you but you backed away. 

Shaking your head vehemently, you took another step back. You didn’t want his touch, didn’t want him near you. 

“No, no. Don’t.” you stayed a hand up to stop him. “It’s alright. You’re right,” 

“Y/N, that’s not--” 

“I think you should leave.” you pointed to the bag already in his hand. Your resolve, sure and strong. 

“Y/N, I didn’t--” he tried again, shaking his head. How could he take those words back? Did he not mean them too? God help him but he loved them both. 

“Steve, please stop. Just stop. Don’t make this any harder than it already is,” you pleaded, not knowing what else he wanted from you. You gave him an out; clear and easy. Wasn’t that enough? Did he have to hurt you even more?

“I shouldn’t have said those things,” He let out on a sigh, shaking his head. “But sweetheart, please don’t look at me like that,” You looked like a terrified deer, ready to run at the first sign of danger and he couldn’t bear that it was directed at him. He could handle your tenacity, your fire, anything else but the defeated look on your face. It made his heart ache.

He tried again, speaking gently, “Y/N, if you want me to leave for the night, I will. I think you might be right, we need some space after this, clear our heads,” 

This time, he went near you and you let him, you let his hands hold your arms like he’s done in past arguments. You let him look you straight in the eye like he’s done so many times before. You let him say his piece, already knowing where it was headed like the back of your hand. You operated like this. Clockwork. When one pushed, the other shoved. 

One last time. 

“But promise me you’ll be here in the morning to talk. You went inside my head, Y/N, but I wanna work through this. I love you,” he said it like he meant it, his heart on his sleeve but you weren’t so sure you believed him anymore. 

“You know I love you, right?” He asked just like the last time. Clockwork. 

No. I don’t. 

You nodded your head. 

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

He tossed and turned that night, the look of hurt on your face scarred in his memory. He knew he shouldn’t have left, knew he should’ve fought to stay.

It was true that he was furious but any animosity he felt immediately simmered after the mention of Peggy. He was way out of line. He wanted to apologize, to pull you into his arms and kiss away the bitter words he spoke but he was still so shaken about what you had done, what you had seen, and so he figured he should let it rest first, giving you both time and space to calm down. Everything looked better in the morning, right? 

But your face came unbidden in his mind, he could still remember the exact moment you closed yourself off to him, your eyes hauntingly empty and hollow, shoulders hunched, arms instinctively wrapped to yourself. So small and vulnerable. 

He should’ve stayed, dammit! 

He let out a grunt as he stared up at the ceiling. He still couldn’t believe you used your abilities on him, couldn’t believe you’d go so far when you’d never ever shied away from asking him anything. Heck, you’d basically proposed to him with all your nagging of starting a family.

Why did you have to see that?

He hissed and shook his head, guilt gnawing in his stomach. Your power was able to force out his deepest dreams and desires. But was that the whole truth? If he hadn’t woken up and you’d stuck a little longer then you would’ve known just how scared and confused he was. What you saw was the Steve who still clung to the past, the part of him that wanted to go back, yearned to go back because it was safer, it was where he truly belonged. 

But then again, he wasn’t that same man anymore, was he? Not fully anyway. In more ways than one, he had moved on. For the past couple of years, he did, in fact, envision a future with you. He was going to propose until the snap happened and then, everything changed. He saw his friends, his family, gone to dust. He could still hear Bucky’s echoing words, calling out to him. All those lost souls vanished as if they never existed while he stood, helpless and useless. Why spare him again? Why did he have to go through it all again? Didn’t he have enough pain and loss in one lifetime? 

And so he started thinking of the past. The good ol’ days, if you could even really call it that. It started out as a tiny flicker of curiosity. You both had just found a new apartment in New York, it wasn’t all that hard with the sudden vacancies. You were standing in the middle of the room, hands on your hips while he sat at the edge of the bed his head bowed, elbows resting on his knees. 

“Steve, we need to start thinking of the future. I know it’s hard but they’re not coming back and we can’t keep doing what we’re doing. We can get away from all this, you know, start a new life. Don’t you want that too?”

He swallowed a lump in his throat. He wanted to fight, to try again and again until he got everyone back. He was grieving, angry, and above all, guilty. Why couldn���t he do what he was made for in the first place? How did he let all of this happen? And why, for god’s sake, why did he have to survive while the others vanished?

But you were right. Of course, you were right. The ever practical and optimistic you. He looked at you with tired eyes, not wanting to argue, and nodded his head. He still had you, that was a win. For every shitty thing that happened since, at least you were alive and he wouldn’t trade that for the world but some jaded, cynical part of him questioned how long that would last. The universe clearly had a bone to pick with him and it was only a matter of time before you were taken from him too and that scared the living shit out of him.  

And so he had started to wonder what if?

What if he never had to wake up from the ice? What if he never had to crash the plane in the first place? What if he was where he was really supposed to be? 

All those questions drifted down into one person, the one that got away. Peggy.  She was his link to the past, everything that was sweet and wonderful. The dance he missed, the future he wanted when everything settled down into peace after the war. Peace. As ironic as that sounded, she reminded him of peace. The little dream he had in the back of his head whenever he infiltrated a nazi base camp. Every mission, every fight, he would think one more of this and the war would be over, one more and I get back to her. Peace. 

He craved for that peace so much, he didn’t even realize what he had been doing. He lived in that dream, longing for the time he could never get back. All the while you were hurting, so desperately trying to cling on to him while he slipped into himself. You needed him but he continued to chase the life he lost, for all his talk of moving on. He didn’t even realize how his fear of losing you has led him down to the very verge of it and now, he was anxious and afraid. So so afraid. You wouldn’t leave him, would you? God, he’d do anything, drop everything, to follow you.

That realization just made his head spin, was he really willing to let everything go just like that? Of course, he was. There was no question about it. Nothing else mattered if it meant losing you. It was a damned shame he only realized that now. 

We can work through this, he thought to himself. He couldn’t let you go, wouldn’t let you go. It didn’t even matter what you had done anymore, not right now, not when all he wanted was for you to know everything, that above all, he was choosing you. He loves you. 

I’ll make this work. We’ll make this work. 

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

He stared at his friend’s face, her red hair already outgrowing the blonde curls that framed her frowning face. She couldn’t believe it. Hell, even he didn’t believe it. How could you? 

--

Before the sun had even risen, he was already up, tying his shoelaces with his jittery hands. He had never been so nervous in his life. Not even when he had to crash his own plane, with that came a sense of doom and certainty but this? This was torture. This was hell. 

What was he going to say? How was he going to explain himself? What could he do to make you stay?

What you had done the night before, invading his most private thoughts, had been pushed to the side. In his heart, he had already forgiven you, understood why you had to do what you did. He knew you, the kind of person you were and you would never have done it had you not thought it was necessary. And with everything that he’s done and what you heard, could he really judge you for it? 

He rushed into the apartment, his heart already heavy. He couldn’t find it in himself to wait until you woke up and instead gave a tentative, “Y/N?” as he poked his head into the bedroom door, the sight of it knocking the air right out of him. 

No, no, no, no, no. 

The neatly made up bed greeted him, curtains drawn back to illuminate the empty room. His heart dropped to his stomach, “No, no, no, no, no,” 

“Y/N?” he shouted into the room, somehow hoping he was mistaken, that you were still here, that you’d show up. 

Did you really leave him? Could you really have done that?

He ran to the bathroom, calling out to you, but it was the same as he had left it. Except all of your stuff was gone. Your toiletries by the sink, all the little hair ties you kept lying around. Gone. 

How could you do this to him? How could you leave without saying goodbye? 

All the clothes he had always folded for you after you tossed them in the closet weren’t there anymore. Any trace of you was now gone. He let out a curse, his cold hand fumbling for his phone in his pocket. No messages, no calls.

“Come on, pick up,” He prayed into the phone. Please, please, please. When the monotonous operator answered, he let out a shout,

“Fuck!” 

Throwing his phone unto the bed, he realized even the clock he had thrown in his temper had been cleaned away, a letter laid down on where it was supposed to be. 

He picked it up quickly, his breathing rapid at the two simple words scrawled in your distinct handwriting. 

I’m sorry. 

Crumbling the paper in his fist, he shakily put it to his pale lips. Breathe...

What were you thinking? You couldn’t have even left a number to contact you? How was he supposed to find you now? He felt himself grow weak in the knees. He knew the type of training you had with the X-men, if you didn’t want to found, you wouldn’t. 

Had he lost you forever? 

Hands shaking at the thought, he ran. Ran to get away from his emotions. Lost, angry and hurt. What the hell had you done? 

What the hell had you done?

--

Natasha let out an exhale, bringing him out of his reverie. The look of hurt still evident on her face, she couldn’t believe you’d just leave without saying goodbye.

“If there’s one thing I know is that she loves you. You need to fix this, Steve,” 

Before he could even reply, the front gate’s access flashed before her. Mindlessly swiping it, they both turned to the monitor, their minds still preoccupied on where you could be. The man standing outside, waving his arms about looked eerily familiar but that couldn’t be...

Scott Lang?

Oh god, what now?

[moxfirefly]

Okay okay okay I have something. You are so good at writing tmnt so here it goes. What about... Make up sex? ;) I imagine how there has been a huge fight with their girl. So much so that the turtles thought it would lead to breakup. But the SO returns and it ultimately leads to some angsty action. Of course you can imagine it however you want too! Make up your own reasons if need be!!

As somebody who breathes angst this is truly fun. You didn’t specify a turt lad so I hope you don’t mind me choosing and going from there. Just cause I’m intrigued ima go with my orange boi.

TW: Angst/Feels/Arguments

Rated Explicit (18+ only)

His hands hurt so much. When you ball your fists for too long the tendons tend to protest, the digging of nails into palms stings.

Mikey doesn’t like how loud his head feels right now. He sits against the wall closest to his tv, your scent is surrounding him and it only serves to make him more frustrated and gutted. The two of you have never gone past discussion into full blow arguing. He doesn’t like to fight with you, he does enough fighting on a nightly bases anyways.

But you got stubborn and he got selfish. Voices got raised, things were said and each one got hurt. He knows he can’t keep you glued to his shell forever, he’s had to learn the hard way, that there’s a life above that you inhabit and people around he’ll never truly meet. He knows every detail about your home life, knows your mother’s maiden name, how your aunt likes to get drunk at the family reunions and spill gossip. He knows your childhood home’s street name, the first guy you kissed, the first girl you kissed. Every aspect of your life you have told him in confidence, in laughter, in tears.

But Mikey is never gonna be part of it. He can’t really meet your dad and have that ‘if you break her heart I’ll break your legs’ talk. He won’t bond with your mom over their mutual love of cooking and secretly become her confidant. Knowing all these people but never truly knowing them is something he accepts.

It’s you leaving for three months back home. Three months away from him, three months where you’ll be surrounded by nostalgia you miss and love. Where your family will ask about ‘any boyfriends?’ and you’ll have to fake laugh your way through it. Three months of you being amongst people you constantly miss.

Surrounded by normalcy.

And Mikey wanted to be happy for you, he wanted to say fuck it and face time you every morning and night, watch you be happy to be in your hometown and maybe even get a virtual tour of it...

But that little dark part in his brain calls him a freak and reminds him constantly that you’ll get tired of surrounding yourself in craziness, monsters, end of the world scenarios etc. It just can’t seem to allow him to be happy for you. So the entire thing had ended in a fight, where dumb regretful things had been spat and you had marched off pissed and he had remained here equally pissed.

His brothers think he doesn’t get mad, they think he holds himself together through sheer ignorant bliss but it’s never been the case. Cause you’ve seen fire in his pretty blue eyes, you’ve seen those same very pretty blue eyes turn red with tear, you’ve seen so much of what he hides behind his laughter.

And fuck, three months of you away?!

Mikey pushes his knees up against his chest and sighs. His phone hasn’t made a noise despite his efforts to try and call you after he has calmed down. He debated going to your house and apologizing or at least going for a more calmer approach in expressing why this had left him so triggered. He wants to make sure this hasn’t pushed you both to your end, another nagging little thought that hasn’t quite shut its mouth.

Had this been the end? Had you walked out in a fury of frustration and decided this is it? Would you seize all communication and just erase the memories of him and your time together?

He’s hurting himself, he’s also getting angrier. This is stupid, he’s been stupid and immature and so are you for walking off!

It’s two hours before he decides to get up and toss his phone and try to consume his surrounding in order to relax. Mind over matter and all it’s wonderful bullshit. He doesn’t want to leave his room cause he knows the others must’ve heard.

He’s four hours deep into a shooting game when Raph pokes his head in with some food. He doesn’t look up, cause he knows Raph wants to be a good big brother and talk to him but he doesn’t want to when he’s one unfortunate mishandling away from crying. He lets him sit with him, watch him play and run a little bit of commentary that actually makes him smile just a teeny bit.

Even when Raph gets up and runs a large mitt over his head and tells him ‘broads are just emotional, she’ll come around’ he tries his best to not let his eyes betray him. Even when Raph gives the top of his head a kiss and pats his shell, he tries his best to keep it together.

It’s around 4am when he decides to look for his phone, chucked somewhere near his bed and maybe not broken. He finds it under his bed, screen a little cracked and one text message reading ‘r u awake?’ By you, it was sent twenty minutes ago and somewhere between debating calling or texting he hears the curtain in his room move.

You’re there.

Face two parts unreadable and a good topping of frustrated. Your face is bare, a mixture of sleepwear and winter clothing that clearly shows you had tried to sleep it off but couldn’t. “I just saw this... sorry” Mikey wonders if that sorry is related to the unread text or more so this mess. You look away, the energy around you can be felt. That upset way you bite the inside of your lip, how you cross your arms and run through every possible way of starting your side of things to say.

“Why are you really mad about me going back home?” You can’t meet his gaze and Mikey is thankful because he feels an oncoming headache. “I dunno man...” He sets his phone on his makeshift night table and runs his hands through his face, mask being taken off with the motion.

“That’s not an answer, you’re mad about something and I want to know” This time you do look and Mikey’s playing with the shoe string on one of the sneakers that hangs from the bunk bed. He chooses to stay quiet because if he does say something, what are the chances that you’ll understand?

“Mike, talk to me” He huffs a bitter laugh, ‘Mike’ is the he’s in trouble name. But he feels more obstinate than ever because why talk?

He shoves his hands in his pockets and looks down at his feet. “I didn’t come back in the freezing cold to actually work through this if you aren’t going to throw me a bone at least-” Your tone is a mix of exasperation and sadness. “You go back and you forget about me” Mikey cuts through.

You furrow your brows at his statement. “What?” You take a few steps but he side steps you and that somehow cuts you. “You go back home and you realize it’s better to be in a normal environment that isn’t New York, in the sewers, with me-“ He motions to all of him. “And all the crazy shit we do” He glares, not necessarily at you but more so at all of this, the current state of affairs.

Running a frustrated hand through your hair you try to settle your thoughts. “You can’t jump to a conclusion like that and you know it, I’m not skulking off back home and ghosting you! And frankly it fucking hurts you think of me like that” You reach for him because Mikey can’t be still for five seconds if his life depended on it, but he grabs your hands and refuses to let you lull him with your touch. “It’s not a conclusion it’s a friggin possibility! Do you see us actually being endgame in all this shit!” He grips your wrists, you want to get through to him but he’s lost in that terrible negative mindset.

“We both aren’t mind readers! But trust me that leaving you is nowhere on my list of achievements” You manage out of his grip and grasp his face. “You are being unfair and stubborn as fuck but I love you okay?” Your voice sounds almost angry, angry at the very idea of living in a world where you and him don’t coexist together.

“I can’t even marry you! I can’t even knock you up!” Another bitter laugh escapes him, he knows your parents would die for some grandkids. Why is he so different, why does he have to be so fucking different he wonders bitterly.

“I don’t care, I don’t fucking care about a piece of paper or screaming babies, I care about you and I want you and I’m fucking happy with you stop sabotaging it” You press your hands to his hard plastron and scowl. “Stop lying to me then! Don’t pity lie at me when I know you want all that shit” He frowns, eyes watery and not caring if he wakes everybody up in the Lair.

Mikey’s ready for the rant of a life time but then you have to go and kiss him.

Kiss him hard, kiss him with rage bubbling on the skin of your lips. He can taste your words, taste every way you would’ve shut down his words with basic truth and facts. You pull away, forehead still pressed to his and you mutter against his lips. “You’re so fucking insufferable, shut up and listen to me” Your eyes are watery as is, hands at his neck to keep him at eye level.

“I love you, I love you so fucking much” You take a shuttering inhale, fingers skimming up towards his cheeks. Mikey can only watch you, take in every detail he’s been obsessed with for so long. You’re so beautiful to him, even when your angry crying, yelling at him to open his eyes. You’re warm and real in front of him, against his body. You watch his eyes go from that calm before the storm into the aftermath.

He’s so real to you, so lovely and he doesn’t seem to understand it.

There’s a pause. A mere ten second reprieve where only silence and breathing remain. Mikey feels your hands slowly slide down his body, nails scratching his sides. You keep your eyes on him, a hand slides into his shorts, index finger mapping out the slit that encompasses his most intimate part. Mikey shudders, sensitivity racking his body at your touch. He walks you up against a wall, a hand on your neck and another finding it’s way into your own pants.

He teases you, just as you tease him. Knees buckle when he pushes your lips apart and feels your moistening folds. There’s already a bump where your touching him and the way he’s tensing gives way to how he’s trying to hold himself in. “Come on, come on” You weren’t aware just how hard you’ve been breathing till you speak. Mikey’s mouths falls open, eyes closing as he drops down into your warm awaiting hand. You stroke him, teasing the flesh of his head just to make him buck and recapture your lips. His own finger finds its way in you, stretching and making your breath hitch.

The only reason you both pull away is to tear at one another’s clothes, an easy accomplishment when Mikey’s got just his shorts. He isn’t soft with your clothing either, yanking and nearly tearing, his on his knees pulling off your underwear. Your scent hits him and he’s gone, trapped in all that is you. He inhales sharply as he gets back on his feet, arms hooking under your thighs as he picks you up.

You both land on the bed, a huff escaping you and a grunt when Mikey feels you push him so you can straddle him. You don’t quite finesse this, it’s not your usual seductive ways that leave him a mess. It’s rough, there’s still frustration lingering in the air and Mikey’s okay with it because he knows he might go to rough if he runs the show.

So you do.

Sinking down on his hard cock with a long guttural moan. Mikey digs his fingers onto the plush skin of your bottom, just enough to make you sit on his cock and relish it. Eyes closed he just basks, the tightness, the wetness, the warmth. His eyes flutter open when he feels your palms on his plastron, firm and with purpose. His hands know already, they go up and rest on your waist and he swallows a churr when your hips begin to move fast and hard.

That rhythmic slapping of flesh, your rear hitting his lap on each thrust down. Mikey can’t stop churring, eyes on your own or slipping down to your beautiful breasts bouncing. You notice and lean forward, he buries his face between him, arm going around your waist as he lifts his hips to help you cross that line. The sweat of your skin is on the top of his tongue as he sucks a bruise onto your breast, you’re tightening up so much, cussing and begging for him.

You both can’t stop moaning, once you’re cummin and Mikey follows closely behind. He holds you close to him as you ride out the sensations, tightly secured against his strong body, held and loved. You’re a broken record of ‘I love you’s and so is he, filling you up and up.

Collapsed on top of him, chest heaving, you still feel the strength in his arms as he hugs you to him. You bury your face on his neck, body shaking with sobs as he whispers he’s sorry over and over as he kisses your shoulder, neck and head.

You say it too, against his skin.

Where you wish you could stay everyday.

[tennessoui]

There's something about seeing a civilized, prim and proper man like Obi turning into a touch-starved feral mess that is just *chef kiss* The other Jedi are shocked and don't know what to do. Anakin has a snuggly shadow who follows him everywhere bc he KNOWS if Anakin leaves his sight, he will lose him (eg after their blow up fight). And Obi forgetting the code and himself and everything except Anakin...why must you hurt me so good?

yes!!!! i imagine that obi-wan does not let him out of his sight for any period of time

anyway this is a bit short and a little more feral and violent than the other one but here is feral!obi-wan where he was anakin's master before.

(1.6k)

This can’t be his master, is the first thought that filters through the white noise in Anakin’s mind.

His master, before he’d been taken from him, had been the primmest, cleanest, most civilized person Anakin had ever met in his entire life. He’d been meticulously groomed, always. Anakin doesn’t remember ever seeing even a speck of dirt on his master’s pristine robes.

He’d looked perfect even the night he’d disappeared. He’d looked untouchable and perfect even during their argument. Anakin’s face had been flushed, his eyes wide and wet, his hair a mess. Obi-Wan had been perfectly put-together, voice sharp and ice cold in his reprimand of his apparently atrocious behavior.

Anakin doesn’t even remember what the argument had been about. He’d been fifteen years old. He’d have argued with the Force itself given half the chance and a direction to shout at.

The important thing is he’d been stupid enough to block their bond, stupid enough to leave their rooms for a walk without telling his master where he was going. And his master must have thought he’d be stupid enough to leave the safety of the building on a war-torn planet too, because Obi-Wan had gone out looking for him. He’d passed right by his hiding place. Anakin hadn’t said a thing, just watched his master go, too angry and hurt to think of the dangers that lurked outside the door.

In his mind, there was nothing that his master couldn’t handle, couldn’t defeat.

That was the last time Anakin had ever seen Obi-Wan Kenobi; the last time, actually, that anyone had.

It’s been seven years.

And now there’s someone on the floor in front of him, crouched over a body of one of the pirates who had been drinking in the main room the other night.

When Anakin and Ahsoka shut off the power to the facility in a bid to open the door to Master Windu’s cell, they hadn’t taken into account that there may be other people in other cells.

And now they’re standing in the main hall, lightsabers drawn, pirates stunned and groaning and tied up around them, and there’s someone crouched in the middle of the room, a dead body beneath him and golden eyes roving around looking for the next target.

And there’s something in Anakin that pounds at the cage of himself, that looks at this dirty, bloody, ungroomed, feral person, and thinks, That’s my master. That’s Obi-Wan Kenobi. That’s him I have finally found him.

But this. This can’t be his master.

His master would never snap a man’s neck with his hands. He’d never make those sounds with his throat, he’d never crouch that low to the ground, and he’d never have gold eyes.

But.

But there’s something in his force signature that feels so familiar. And it makes Anakin stumble forward, closer to the man--to Obi-Wan--before he even realizes what he’s doing.

“Skywalker, don’t!” Windu snaps, with what sounds like fear in his voice. But Anakin can’t stop, won’t stop until he knows for sure that this is or isn’t his missing master.

The man on the ground growls at him as he approaches, eyes narrowed into golden slits. Anakin halts his progress a few steps away when the man shifts his weight, as if getting ready to pounce.

“Obi-Wan,” Anakin whispers, voice breaking in the middle of the second syllable. Ahsoka draws in a sharp breath from behind him. She knows what this means to him. Everyone probably does. “Obi-Wan, it’s me.”

When the man looks up at him and snarls without a glint of recognition in his golden eyes, Anakin feels his legs give out and his own force signature explode outward in pain and guilt and anguish because if this is not Obi-Wan, then his master is still out there somewhere. And if this is Obi-Wan, then...then he doesn’t remember him. Anakin.

The man goes dangerously still when Anakin’s mind brushes his own, and he tilts his head to the side as he stares at him with an unreadable expression.

“Anakin!” Ahsoka yelps, darting forward to help her master up.

But before she can get close enough to touch him, the world spins and Anakin finds himself on the ground completely, with the man’s form hunched over his and one long-nailed hand pressed into the skin of his throat.

The snarls are infinitely louder when they’re right next to his ear.

“Stay back!” Anakin shouts over the noise to Ahsoka and Windu, both who have moved forward immediately. Ahsoka takes another step forward anyway, and the snarls turn downright vicious.

Anakin could try to get out of the man’s hold, but not without hurting him. And if this is Obi-Wan Kenobi, then he’s been hurt enough already.

“Ahsoka, stay back,” he says again in his firm Master voice. “I have this handled.”

Looking rebellious, Ahsoka steps back to her original place.

The threat taken care of, the man on top of Anakin turns his full attention to him again.

Anakin feels like he’s been stabbed with a lightsaber when he sees the familiar mole on the man’s forehead. “Master,” he breathes. “Master.”

Obi-Wan growls something out, and bumps their heads together.

Anakin blinks in confusion and shakes his head. Obi-Wan growls that same roughened word again, and then again even louder, and then Anakin starts to weep.

Ani.

He’s saying Ani.

“Yeah,” Anakin whispers back. “Yeah, I’m--I’m Ani. I’m. I’m your Ani.”

Obi-Wan sniffs at his cheek and then licks the tear away, making a distressed sound in the back of his throat. “Ani,” he rumbles. “No. Won’t. Won’t Ani.”

Anakin doesn’t know what that means, so instead of answering verbally, he reaches out with the Force and touches their minds together again. It’s easy to enter Obi-Wan’s mind. His master’s impeccable shields are nowhere to be found.

Instead, there is only darkness and a landscape of pain. Anakin is vaguely aware that he’s crying harder now, that he’s sobbing, but in Obi-Wan's mind all of Anakin’s worst nightmares about what happened to his master prove true.

Obi-Wan reaches back clumsily but with great enthusiasm, and Anakin tries to stuff away his own feelings of pain and guilt and enfuse his thoughts with all the happiness and affection and love his master has ever made him feel.

On top of him, Obi-Wan whimpers high in his throat and presses forward, impossibly closer. Anakin raises his hand to stroke at the muscle of Obi-Wan’s bare bicep, sending him soothing comfort. Obi-Wan latches on and pulls Anakin back into his mind.

Their old training bond, never severed, roars into life and it feels so good, the perfect mix of pain and pleasure and aching relief that Anakin forgets where he is for several moments.

Obi-Wan is back. Obi-Wan is back.

Footsteps approach from behind them and Anakin snaps back into his own head as Obi-Wan snarls dangerously at the intruder, tensing his body as if preparing for a fight. “Won’t Ani,” his master growls, words hardly distinguishable.

“Anakin,” and it’s Windu. “Is that--are you--” “He is, it’s him,” Anakin replies, not taking his eyes off of Obi-Wan. “I felt...Master, I felt his memories in his mind. They’re...unfocused and old, but. The pirates, they--”

They had wanted Anakin, the people who took Obi-Wan. They had wanted to sell him, thinking they could fetch a high price for a Jedi padawan. When they got Obi-Wan instead, they’d hurt him in an attempt to get him to tell them where he was.

Obi-Wan hadn’t. Obi-Wan hadn’t once, not in seven years.

Anakin can feel tears dripping down his face, and Obi-Wan breaks off his staring contest with Mace to coo at him in distress.

“Master Windu won’t hurt me,” he tells Obi-Wan. “It’s alright. We’ll be alright.”

He desperately tries to believe it, even as the words leave his mouth.

When Windu steps closer, Obi-Wan snaps at him.

“Master,” Anakin says softly, touching the side of Obi-Wan’s face with his hand. “Obi-Wan.”

His master swings his attention down to him immediately, and Anakin uses their bond to slip a Force suggestion into his mind. Sleep.

Obi-Wan obviously doesn’t want to, but his golden eyes drift halfway shut anyway. Sleep, Anakin insists, rubbing his thumb over his cheek.

It only takes one more command for Obi-Wan to collapse on top of him, unconscious.

“Get him onto the ship,” Anakin says in a no-nonsense tone as he slips out from underneath the body of his master and stands, looking dispassionately at the dead pirate next to them. “And prepare for take off, Ahsoka.”

Master Windu looks at him silently.

“Please,” Anakin tries. “I don’t know how long he’ll be under, but we need to get him back to the Temple.”

“And what will you be doing?” Windu asks.

Anakin’s jaw clenches and unclenches. He wishes Windu had not been the one captured. It makes what he will do next infinitely harder. “Please, master. I just. I just need a moment to myself. I--” he doesn’t have to fake the way his voice gives out, nor the way his hand shakes when he reaches up to wipe away his tears. “Please.”

Master Windu’s stern face caves in with compassion, and he nods once. “Ahsoka,” he tells Anakin’s padawan, “help me with Knight Kenobi.”

Together, they levitate the unconscious form of Anakin’s master out of the main hall.

As soon as the doors close behind them, Anakin uses the Force to hold them tightly shut.

He turns to face the pirates, the ones who had hurt his master, held him against his will, and broken his mind.

It’s the easiest thing in the entire galaxy to flick his lightsaber on.

“Please,” he smiles. “Do not scream.”

[shurisneakers]

shut in [5]

Summary: When your high profile mission goes terribly wrong, you’re forced to hide in a safehouse with a man you’ve never met before. With seemingly nowhere else to go, you’re forced to work together to figure out who is trying to have you assassinated before it’s too late. (Sam Wilson x Reader, Hitman AU)

Warnings: cursing, threats, implied ptsd, violence

Word count: 2.9k

A/N: sam wilson nation how are we feeling after that trailer. only about a month to go for my two dumbasses to get the recognition they deserve!!

i also appreciate feedback so if you would like to, please consider dropping me an ask or comment ly guys!! also if you want to be on the taglist, it’s mentioned at the bottom of the chapter.

here’s my ko-fi if you’d like to support my writing <333

Previous Part || Shut In Masterlist

“Where are they?”

“We don’t know, boss.”

Their eyes glossed over with rising anger, masking its earlier aloofness.

“I’m going to need more than ‘I don’t know’.” Their voice was acidic, dripping with faux politeness. A bad sign.

“Police say they pulled off the highway at one point and then they lost track of them because there were no cameras.” The agent looked at his partner who only nodded in confirmation.

“They could have ditched the car before going on foot,” the partner suggested rather unhelpfully,  “We have no idea where they could be”

They were silent, mouth pressed in a hard line, leaving everyone in silence.

“Have I told you about the time my dad hired someone to fix the sink here?” they finally asked, looking away from the agents. “Some drunk fuck got in a fistfight and absolutely decimated the thing. Dad got someone to fix the hole in the wall and the fitting.”

They turned away, facing the wall.

“He did an alright job, that guy. Fixed up the place, installed a new sink. But there was a problem that he said he’d be able to fix only the next day, something about water dripping through an unsealed pipe.”

The agents just sat there on their chairs, feet cold. They knew where the story was going. It was a myth at their organisation, a cautionary tale to everyone who joined.

“My dad, he agreed. Said ‘Yeah sure, come back tomorrow’. Guy packed up his bag and was on his way out when my dad called him back. Asked him to hold out his hand for the money and then he just,” they paused, “cut one of his fingers clean off. Told him that he’d get his payment and his finger when the job was done.”

“I loved my father,” They skipped a beat before whipping their head around to look at the two agents. “But he was a coward. I would have shot him in the head.”

The agents looked paler than what they were a few seconds ago.

“If I tell you to do something, either do it perfectly or don’t do it all because the next time you’re here and those two are still alive,” they sneered, lunging forward to grab one of their collars, “I’ll blow your fucking brains out. Do we have an understanding?”

“Yes boss,” the partner was barely audible, speaking for the one who was breathing heavily, looking like he was on the verge of passing out.

“Go on then.” They smiled, letting go of the agent’s collar as he stayed frozen in his place. They dusted their hands off before straightening up. “Don’t return without good news.”

The frustration of not knowing something was not one you were used to.

You were used to knowing. The satisfaction of a puzzle. The ease of a predictable pattern.

So when this mystery wasn’t getting solved within twenty minutes, it was starting to affect you. You spent hours staring at the ceiling, replaying every detail for months leading up to the case. Every client you shook hands with. Every coworker you greeted with a nod. Every vile sicko you had killed.

And yet, no matter how much you thought and rethought and rethought again, it simply didn’t make sense. There was a piece missing. A hidden variable.

Sam helped wherever he could. He offered up arguments and rebuttals. If you had a theory, he’d find the flaw or the lack of proof. He was keeping it reasonable. Only snorted when you suggested that maybe the president was involved in a large scale extermination of underground mafias. A absurd theory that had no roots in reality.

“You could point out any official on the damn senate and they would have some connection to our gang that you can dig up with one Red Bull and twenty minutes on the internet,” he had said. “It’s too much of a liability if we get caught. They’ll just get exposed for all the nasty shit they’ve been hiding under the carpet.”

You knew this, of course, and it didn’t help to be reminded of it again because it also meant that one more theory was ruled out. And with each theory ruled out, the further away you were from your answer.

It was frustrating.

Sam was in front of the TV, lounging on the couch with the copy of Pride and Prejudice in his hands. You were working on plausible solutions, drawing up flow charts to see what could be connected.

If Pierce wasn’t the common link then it had to be something else. You couldn’t proceed with the other spies theory because no one else immediately sprung to mind. There was one... but you decided against writing it.

If Ransone was telling the truth, and there was no way of knowing he was, Sam and you were unrelated and his being there was coincidental. You just had to rely on the employee-employer relationship you shared, if you could even call it that.

“Fuck,” you cursed loudly, tearing up the piece of paper and crumpling it. You groaned, holding your head in your hands. Your eyes were burning from straining it for too long and your shoulders were in pain from slumping over the table all day. 

You took a deep breath, shaking your head before instinctively reaching for another sheet. Your hand came up short so you fumbled around the table blindly, trying to grab at a piece of paper without spending the extra effort of searching.

“You’re not getting another sheet,” Sam’s voice came from above you. “You’re going to watch some shitty movie, eat some soup and relax for today.”

“Give it back, Wilson,” you muttered, reaching out your hand.

“No. You can use your unhealthy coping mechanism when I’m not around to see it. Half of this is my mess too and I’m not going to watch you have a breakdown over it.”

He was going to be annoyingly persistent; somehow he had exhibited that magnificently over the last few days. You knew better than to argue with him over something that he had made his mind up about by now.

“I don’t want to watch a movie.” You let your head fall onto the table, wishing that the cool wood would do something for the headache you felt coming.

You heard him set the paper back down, not saying a word. Your head was throbbing and all you wanted was the frustration to ease. It was killing you.

“Come on. We’re going outside.” That piqued your interest. Sam had never invited you anywhere before.

“Where?”

“Y’know; the outside. I know you haven’t seen it in a while but see if these words jog your memory. Sun. Grass. Win-”

“I know what the outdoors is, Wilson.” You smiled against the table, not giving him the satisfaction of seeing it. “I’m asking where exactly we’re going.”

“You’ll see. Put some shoes on.”

By the time you looked up he was already walking away from the table, leaving you to follow.

You sighed. He sounded too determined and you didn’t have many other options.

Pushing your chair away from the table, you went to go put on your shoes. __

“If in care you were planning to, I’m just going to tell you right now that you can’t kill me.”

The both of you had been wandering along the path for a while. When you met him by the backdoor, he had a bag with him filled with who knows what.

He declined to tell you what was in it either, despite you asking thrice.

“Calm down, Keanu Reeves. That’s not what I was going to do.” Sam gave a short laugh.

“I’m serious. I know karate.”

“So do I.”

“Krav Maga.”

He hummed in agreement. 

“Kickboxing.”

“Now you’re just insulting me. That’s level one.”

The path was littered with tree roots that stuck out of the soil, stray branches and leaves that crunched satisfactorily under your feet. One second of distraction and you were sure you’d fall flat to the ground. 

You both continued for a few more minutes before he finally came to a stop.

It didn't look very different from the rest of the woods until something caught your eye. In front of you, one of the trees stood out. The bark had large concentric circles, resembling a large dart board. A few indentations were already made in it; clearly it was being used for practice regularly.

“Here you go,” he spoke from beside you, handing you a tomahawk. “Go ahead, throw it at it.”

You looked at the tiny axe in his hand.

“Think of it as adult darts,” he encouraged, “Here, I’ll throw the first one.”

He extended his arm in front of him, pulling his wrist back before effortlessly throwing it at his makeshift board. It was two circles away from the bullseye he had carved out. It must have taken a while to make.

“This doesn’t look very safe,” you commented as he picked up another one, launching it at the tree. You followed its trajectory, watching it embed itself into the bark closer to the centre than the previous turn.

“That’s what makes it fun.” This man had no regard for safety protocols. Given, these were things that came with the job but it didn’t mean you did it in your free time. “It helps, just try.”

“Why are you doing this?” you asked curiously, trying to assess his reaction. Pulling you out of the house for a bar game wasn’t exactly the type of thing people generally did for you.

“Because I wanted to.” He shrugged, not giving you any further explanation. “Try one.”

“Okay.” You followed his example, watching as it glided smoothly before landing close to his initial throw.

“Nice shot.”

A smile made its way to your face automatically as he handed you another one. You repeated your action, an unusual sense of pride establishing itself in you when it came closer to the middle.

“Now what?”

“Now we collect and do the whole thing again till you feel better,” Sam replied, making his way towards the tree and plucking the small axes out easily. His back muscles tightened against the material of his shirt in the process. It wasn’t a bad sight at all. “Endorphins and all that.

“Is this where you keep disappearing to?” you inquired, taking two of them from him when he returned.

“Sometimes.” He took aim before throwing it at the board. “There’s a few things you can do around here.”

“Your coping mechanism is extreme sports without proper guidelines.”

“You gotta do what you gotta do.” Sam took a step to the side, giving you space to take your turn.

“Have you always been this wise, or?” you teased, concentrating on the circles in front of you. Your shot came pretty close. 

When you didn’t receive a reply, you glanced at him through your peripheral vision. He wasn’t moving, a thousand yard stare in his eyes.

“Hit it.”

“I can’t.” His fists were bleeding through the bandages wound around them. He could feel the tear in his skin, the burn of flesh against sweat soaked clothes.

“I said, hit it,” Emil commanded once more. Sam could feel his chest rising and falling steadily from beside him, his putrid breath making him want to vomit.

“I can’t.” He could barely stand up. Exhaustion seeped through every muscle in his body.

“You’re weak,” his trainer spat. “Nothing but a fucking child.”

“He’ll die.” Sam looks down at the boy, bloody and mangled on the floor. He had passed out ages ago but that did nothing to stop them from forcing Sam to continue relentlessly.

“It doesn’t deserve mercy. You hear that Wilson?” He leered right into his ear. “Do you fucking hear that?”

Sam flinched, nodding his head. The saltiness of his sweat was fresh on his tongue, burning where it dripped onto his busted lip from his forehead.

“So fucking finish it.” He knew that if he didn’t listen this time, there would be consequences. He didn’t want to find out what it was because he had no doubt it would pain a hell of a lot more than bruised knuckles.

“No,” he whispered, eyes wandering over the body on the floor. “I won’t.”

“What’d you say?” Emil straightened up, taking a step towards him.

“I said no.” Sam turned around on his heel. He could barely stand straight but the spite running through his veins was driving him, giving him enough energy to not collapse right there on the spot.

“He said no,” his trainer repeated, leaning away from Sam. “He said no.”

He turned to look at Ransone. Sam had forgotten he was there in the darkness of the room, observing the fight for the past two hours.

“He said no.” He started chuckling. His chuckles soon gave way to hideous laughter. Stomach clutching, tear inducing laughter.

Before Sam could even realise the change in attitude, Emil’s entire demeanour shifted. He stepped forward, forcefully gripping Sam’s neck. He shoved him backward until his back was pressed against the wall, no doubt bruising his spine further than what it was.

“Say that again, you fucking idiot,” he growled. But Sam couldn’t say anything. He could barely breathe. He was terrified, but determined not to let it show on his face. “When I say something, you better fucking listen.”

His trainer observed his expression for a few more seconds. Sam didn’t open his mouth.

His trainer finally loosened his grip, letting go of his neck.

Sam’s knees nearly buckled but he kept his balance, coughs racking through his body. He felt lightheaded, swollen eyes watching Emil walk towards the body on the floor. The only friend he had.

“Maybe this oughta teach you a lesson.” Emil flashed a quick smirk at Sam before raising his fist above Riley’s face.

Within a split second a guttural cry escaped his throat as he launched himself at the much larger trainer, taking him by surprise. The pure rage he was feeling had him seeing only red, the adrenaline steering his body on autopilot.  

With their position suddenly switched, Sam found himself on top of Emil, bloody fists beating down on his face without a break. The pain didn’t even matter anymore.

“Fuck you,” he screamed, not giving him even a second to defend himself. “Fuck you, you fucking dickhead.”

When he could feel his trainer raising his arm to grab from behind, he took a pause from pummelling his face to grab his arm, twisting sharply it till he heard a crack. The roar escaping Emil’s throat didn’t dissuade him from finishing what he started, returning to landing a punch wherever he could.

He didn’t even know how long had passed before his body was being pulled away, kicking and cursing.

“You see how good it feels Wilson? You feel that relief?” Ransone held him tightly as he squirmed furiously trying to get back to beating the shit out of that asshole on the ground. “Next time you’re angry, remember that’s the only way to feel good. If you’re in pain, you cause pain.”

Sam’s flailing was reducing as the adrenaline wore off. The exhaustion was beginning to take hold of his body as he looked at the onslaught of blood splatter everywhere, two bodies side by side on the ground. He did this to both of them.

“Violence is your only friend. Don’t you ever forget that.”

Ransone let go of him. His feet gave out beneath him, chest rising and falling heavily. His shoulders ached as he dragged his body towards Riley, praying to every force in the universe that he wasn’t dead.

He was still breathing. Sam nearly cried out of relief, collapsing next to him. Ready to defend him if Emil woke up.

“Next time you want to let out some anger, come find me,” Ransone called out. “I’ll find you your next victim.”

“You okay?” You waved your hand in front of his face. “Earth to Wilson.”

It seemed to work as he snapped back, blinking rapidly.

“You zoned out a little there. Everything alright?” you asked. He looked at you blankly for a second before realising what you asked.

“Yeah.” He gave you a half smile. “Yeah, I’m good. You done with your turn?”

The light that was there behind his eyes a few minutes ago had dimmed considerably. He looked weary. You recognised what had happened, what he was probably thinking of. You didn’t bring it up, not risking the chance of him reliving it.

“Kinda.” You pointed towards the target where a tomahawk was sticking out of the centre.

“Damn,” he whistled, resting his hands on his waist. “Best of three?”

“Didn’t know it was a competition.” You went to collect it. It was harder to pull out than you thought. You wondered how many times Sam had practiced it to make it look so effortless.

“Only if you want it to be.”

“Nah.” You walked towards him, handing two of them back to him. “Maybe next time.”

“Next time, huh.” He tested his throw before letting go of the handle. Bullseye. “I’m going to hold you to that.”

You only smiled.

Next part

[alldayangst]

a free world? (Harry Styles)

All my fics are PoC/LGBTQ+ friendly.  Trigger warning/warnings for divorce, kids witnessing unhealthy marriages/divorce. Inspired by Godspeed by Frank Ocean.

“This court thereby grants the plaintiff a divorce. Please wait ninety days for the divorce to be finalised.” The judge bangs their gavel. “This court is adjourned.”

Harry remembers these words like it was yesterday. They sounded nothing like the ‘with the power vested in me’ speech the minister gave five years ago, so he wondered why you were smiling. The whispers you exchange with your attorney were nowhere near as heartfelt as yours and his ‘I love you’s’ and ‘I do’s’ . He looked at you while you look at your lawyer like he just saved your life. Harry wonders if that was the way you truly felt all along. 

One thing that never failed to complicate things was the fact that you and Harry had children; children you adored unconditionally. You adopted Heidi and Eden when the love between you and Harry was just too strong not to share, and you remember the ear splitting sobs Harry screeched out for their sake when you decided separating was the best option for you both.

“This is all my fucking fault.” Harry sat on the steps like a child on punishment. You towered over him like a parent in despair. Where did it all go wrong? Snot, sweat and tears. The human body had a funny way of showing pain. “No, nothing’s your fault.” You remembered these words like it was yesterday. They sounded everything like the ‘I think we should end this’ speech you have him three days prior, so you knew exactly why he was crying. His red, runny nose and frantic head shaking was as close as you could get to reliving the undying heartache of yours and Harry’s ‘I fucking hate myself’s’ after arguments and ‘I’m not happy anymore’s’. He looked at you like you could save his life. You wondered if that was truly the way he felt all along. “Why bring a child into our home if I can’t provide the life I promised them?” Harry continued to weep, defeated, as you cradled his head in your arms, resting yours against his. 

No love lost.

“The kids know you love them, even if you don’t love me. Being happy and divorced aren’t mutually exclusive.”

Harry snorted and shook his head in your hands when you mentioned the word ‘divorce’, and by that, you could tell that he wasn’t ready to finish something that he started. But you were. “There will be mountains you won’t move, Harry.”

Fast forward to after you were granted the divorce, you’d been slow to move on; choosing to stay ‘two hearts, one home’ with Harry for the sake of your children. 

You didn't want to leave, you’d rather slow down. You wouldn’t be able to stand the idea of your children’s last idea of their parents together being animosity in bedroom corridors. 

“The table is prepared for you.” Harry noticed you all fidgety, finicky with your ring, pulling it off to the fingertip and rubbing it over your knuckle like this was all some sort of game.

You ate your food over a quiet table. You liked a quiet table now. It was better than the subtle shots and low blows you and Harry threw at each other seven months ago. Perhaps you didn’t know then what was to come.

“Y/N said they found a home not too far out of London.” Heidi dropped this bomb out of nowhere, then proceeded to eat her food, neglecting the fallout. Your children had taken to calling you by your first name because that’s what Harry had reduced you to, you were no longer ‘baby’, ‘honey’ or ‘lovie.’

You hear the clank of cutlery as Harry dropped his knife and fork and abandons his meal.

“Is this true?” he questions, eyes gawking in a line of sight straight at you. Once upon a time, you’d claim Harry could see right through you, into you - but after a few mean words and closed door rows, his vision doesn’t work as well.

“It’s true.” You breathe in uneasily.

“Can we talk in the bedroom?” Harry wiped his face on the cloth and you followed his lead on what you’re sure is to be an adventure upstairs.

“You’re moving? You’re moving without me?”

“Harry, I think you’re confused. You signed up for a life without me once you chose not to contest the divorce.”

“So, what, you wanted me to contest the divorce?” Now Harry is confused. His eyebrows are scrunched up together, and his face is in a kind of puzzle where if you didn’t know him, you’d probably think he was angry. And maybe you were onto something when you called yourselves ‘soulmates’, because Harry knew you know him better than anyone else - you’d had a power where you could see right through him, into him - and your 20/20 vision never failed you.

You’d hate to admit your ego was bruised when Harry didn’t contest the divorce. In a way, it made things peaceful - your house, your alimony and your kids didn't have to be split right in the middle, but nothing would compensate for yours and Harry’s broken bond. That little part of your heart that wanted Harry to contest the divorce didn’t do it out of a love for conflict, but to know you were something to fight for. Why didn’t Harry fight for you? You’d fought for much lesser things. You looked down at the rug beneath you, unable to come to terms with the shame and hurt that you felt you could spontaneously combust under. “I guess some strange part of my mind wanted you to fight for me, thought it would make me feel worthy, like you still loved me.”

“You’re fucking crazy.” Harry lifts up your head and kisses the tears beginning to for under your eyes. “Because I do love you.”

You hum in satisfaction because you think this moment is over. Harry has other plans.

He kisses all over your face. Your nose. “I love you.” Your eyelids. “I love you.” You feel your cheeks begin to get wetter, Harry is crying too. Your chin. “I love you.” Your neck. He’s muffled as he smooches and speaks in intervals. “I didn’t contest because I thought this would make you happy. I just want you to be happy.” Maybe this is how Harry felt all along. Harry grabs a handful of your backside. “And one day this is going to be over. And I’m gonna wake up and we’ll laugh because it’s a bad dream.” Harry goes to pick you up, and that’s when you decide you’ve both gone far enough. Love isn’t about pushing hate in the other direction. “Harry, we have children downstairs, we have children downstairs, we have children downstairs.”

Two days later, you were sat next to Eden in the living room, unaware that Harry had chosen to dwell on your encounter the other night. It’d been a habit of his, he’d refused to relent on sweet, simple words, subtle signs, he’d never let things go. Harry and Heidi were washing dishes in the open kitchen adjacent to you with Harry sneakily stealing a glance from you every other second, resulting in some haphazardly washed pots and one broken plate.

The china dispersed itself across the ground. You and Eden looked up from your laptop while Harry and Heidi stared at the broken plate on the floor like it would mend itself that way. “Fuck, Daddy!” Heidi blurted out. Harry looked at her and then looked at you guiltily, hoping you didn’t think it was him that had taught your daughter that language. “Don’t say ‘fuck’, sweetheart.” It obviously was. “Can you help Daddy get the broom?” Heidi zoomed off in search for the broom while Harry thoughtlessly kicked shards of broken china around in attempt to pack the mess together. He wanted you to think he was a good Dad. You knew he was a good dad. But Harry was jonesing for your approval as if it would reverse the divorce papers in the mailman’s hands or stop you from separating your heart and your home.

“Y/N, where is Essex?” Eden looked at you curiously while Harry listened tentatively at the message of your hometown. “It’s where I come from and it’s where you and me are gonna live.” You tap Eden on the knee.

“I can’t find the broom.”

“Harry, you better go help her.” You said.

“Eden, go help your sister.” He tells your son.

Heidi said that you’d be living not too far from London but Harry never thought you’d end up back in Essex. You rarely mentioned your birthplace, and your distinct Essex accent got drowned in loud, screaming concert crowds and lost in London after years of residing with Harry. You’d worn your hometown on your sleeve only a handful of times. Harry vividly remembers Niall expressing doubt with you during drinking games to which you’d responded: “Please, I’m from Essex!”, and it made Harry ponder on whether you were going back there to drink the memory of him away or out of genuine fondness for the place. So Harry doesn’t think and walks over to you, faces inches apart and says, “You look down on where you came from, sometimes. But you have this place to call home. Always.” And you look into his green eyes that remind you so much of emeralds and pretty forests and remember that they are the only place that you’ll truly call home. You feel your heart racing and the clock ticking and his eyes boring into yours in search for an answer, and unsure what to say, you’re relieved for the first time in your life that your children are not around. “I need to go help them find the broom.”

Three months later, a paper comes through right on time. For you, not for Harry. But for Eden and for Heidi who sat in the back of your car ready to live in a town they’ve never been to and their parents never mentioned. 

Harry knew this day was about to come, because the letter that came for you a few days prior features your birth name, your full birth name. No Styles, no marriage title, no hint to the fact that you even knew Harry at all apart from the address. The address that was now his, and solely his. Harry starts to feel like a little kid again, and wants to cry on the steps and have you cradle him again even if it’s the last time you touch him. “I will always love you how I do, Harry. I vowed that. This love will keep us through the blinding of the eyes. I’ll love you to the day that I die.” And with that, Harry engulfs you. Because that paper that came right on time meant that your divorce was final and this wasn’t a sick dream he could shake himself from. “I’m wishing you godspeed, glory.” And that’s how you really felt all along. Harry holds your hand with his free one and you let him remove your ring from your finger. He’s crying now. It’s too late. You rub along his back and pat it, and maybe that’s his signal to let go, but he doesn’t. 

He can’t believe you’re going back. He can’t believe the town you disowned is your better option over him. You look back at it like it saved your life. “I’ll let go of my claim on you, it’s a free world.” But he hugs tighter.

Taglist: @swiftingday

Credit for the gif goes to: /hampsteadharry​

Masterlist

Upcoming Works

[writing-the-end]

LoL Chapter 55- Hell’s Chosen

Masterpost

A Wizard Hermits tale (AU, designs, ideas belongs to @theguardiansofredland)

The hermits discover a dark past to their paladin knight, does this change their perspective of him, or will it save their unlikely ally? 

Warning: Some description of wounds (i think)

________________________________

All eyes were on Wels. Very few had a look of knowledge. TFC, for one. But Tango’s visible confusion gives way to a much softer, quieter version of the hellfire wizard. “Helsknight? You mean the marauder from years ago? But he died.” 

“You’re right, he did. And I killed him. I buried him so deep inside me, and vowed to do whatever I could to be a better man. When Helsknight died, Welsknight was born.” Wels’s fingers are tight in the bloodstained fabric, knuckles turned white as he’s forced to relive, to speak of his dark past. 

“No no no no. You’re joking, right?” Doc shakes his head. Even he feared Hell’s chosen knight. Wels can’t possibly be that same person. Wels, a quiet, collected paladin with the heart of gold and courage of a lion. “I mean...no one ever told the story of Helsknight with a tail.” 

“Less limbs to get cut off if it’s protected by armor.” Wels points out, flicking the lionesque tail. “You want proof? What was the last time anyone ever saw Helsknight?”

Doc cocks an eyebrow, then waves his hand. “Hels and his band of bad guys attacked one of Ventus’s- the God of Judgement- temples. But the attempt was failed, and Helsknight himself was left behind as he bled out...from his neck…”

The entire group stares as the scar that Wels reveals, running from his collar to his clavicle. TFC doesn’t stare like the others. He’s known all of this the whole time. Tango shakes his head. “But you’re nothing like Helsknight. He murdered and killed for fun, to cause chaos and bring hell onto Lairyon. Wels, you’re…” 

“A changed man. Just like Apatia can be- if you give him the chance. Like the woman who healed me did, like X and TFC. Tango, if you don’t let Apatia give his chance to change and rectify what he can, then you can’t let me be any different. You can’t be a hypocrite and pick and choose.” From between Wels and Tango, Apatia groans. The blood has stopped, Ren’s work healing leaving a sloppy open wound behind. 

Apatia was pale, paler than he already was. Almost the same color as Grian, as the latter continues to recuperate from the torture he faced. But unlike Grian’s shallow, soft breaths, Apatia’s runs ragged and harsh. His jaws are clenched, fighting off the pain. With the remaining bandages and healing salve, Wels wraps up the stump of Apatia’s tail fin. 

Tango and Doc are still quiet, trying to comprehend the news that’s been delivered to them. It all makes sense, but their eads still struggle to put the two completely different personas together. As if they’re different people all together. 

Everyone knows who Helsknight is- was. He appeared as if from nowhere, like a demon spawned straight from hell. And immediately, he began reeking havoc. His band of villains attacked and raided. They were more than just some lowly bandits, or even a mafia. Helsknight was a villain, killing without mercy, without remorse, and without discretion. It wasn’t until their botched attack on that temple that ended the reign of terror that Hell’s chosen knight left on Lairyon. Just as quickly as Helsknight appeared, he faded into nightmares and horror story. Kids were told to watch out for the knight with one eye, because he’d pluck out their own to replace his. 

But Welsknight? He’s calm and collected, if a bit snarky. Even when battling even the husks, he always hesitates to strike a killing blow if there’s a potential to save the life instead. Wels is jovial, and a great baker, and tells great stories. Sure, he’s a great knight, but Tango once saw Wels cry over a dead fish he found at the beach. He’s a paladin, not a barbarian. 

Helsknight supposedly died years ago. Welsknight joined the hermits a few years back. Though there’s a span of time in between the day Lairyon celebrated the defeat of Hels and Wels following TFC back to Eremita, it begins to all make sense. There's a reason why Wels never talks about his past. Never visits home. Never explains how he got many of his scars.

Like puzzle pieces, it all falls together and paints a picture. Doc’s jaw clenches. As much as he hates to say it, or even think it, Wels is right. If a monster like Hels can become the man before Doc today, then maybe, just maybe , theres hope for Apatia. 

So long as he lives. The hermits are so focused on Apatia, their argument on whether he should live or die, no one notices Grian rouse from the darkness that still grips him. No one noticed the sky open up, both in Grian’s eyes and the sky beyond the windows. No one notices him weakly clamber out of bed, nearly falling flat on his face, and walking over to join them in the group. 

“What are we on about?” Even when he speaks up, the other hermits are so used to his voice that it hardly registers. 

“Welsknight was once helsknight, and whether we should save Apatia’s life or not.” Tango shrugs, his red eyes glaring down at Apatia with distaste. He still hates the man, but at the same time… they’re supposed to be the heroes. 

“As your resident healer, I think we should. But...I’m not sure why he’s here in the first place.” Ren looks up, realizing who is speaking, and scoops Grian into his arms. His tail wags loud and heavy, banging against the other hermits with every oscillation. 

“Welcome back to the land of the living, my dude!” Ren only sets Grian down when TFC reminds him that Grian is still working towards regaining his life, his color. He’s still slightly unsaturated, his skin missing the tint of pink, the red of his robest boarding the color of dried blood. Ren sets Grian back on the bed, trying to force the angel to rest. But now that Grian’s awake, he’s ready to cause trouble and start his day- even though he has no clue what time it is. 

“What’s going on? I...I don’t remember much. When did you guys save me? Why is Apatia here? How did you find me?” The questions fall like rain in a storm, impossible for the hermits to catch every last drop. 

It’s TFC that manages to slow the downpour. “Hold on, hold on Grian. Why don’t we start from the beginning? We’ll fill you in on everything, in time.”

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

All the hermits, once again under the safe canopy of the massive oak tree in their guild hall. Grian is wrapped in a warm, soft blanket- knitted by Stress- and a mug of warm apple cider rests in between his pale hands. “I can’t believe you guys came for me.” 

“Of course we were gonna save you, Grian.” Scar practically laughs at the mere idea of leaving him behind. But for Grian, who’s been kicked out of so many guilds for his troublemaking, it really shows how much they care. 

A rumble of agreements follow, and after a few more minutes of quiet comforting, it’s Grian himself that changes the subject. “Dolios is getting more powerful by the minute. I could feel all the energy flowing through those leylines, into him and that monster, Eurynomos. We can’t delay this any longer. Dolios has to go down.” 

“But we don’t even know how. We can destroy as many crystals as we want, but he’ll just keep making more. He has more power than a bunch of lowly mercenaries. He even beat Apatia, one of his own Councilmembers. One of the strongest guildmasters in all of Lairyon.” BDubs points out. Everyone goes silent as they remember the man in their infirmary. The stranger- he’s not a hermit, yet he’s among them. 

Grian looks up, pale face and hollowed eyes alarming for the hermits. He hardly looks to be among the living, but less like a dead man walking like he was before. “Xisuma, your brother mentioned something about the ancient ones. DO you think there could be a clue for us there? In the past?” 

X sighs, leaning back in his chair as he considers the question. “If the answer to ending Dolios’s dark reign truly lies in the past, then we’d have better luck finding the answer ourselves. Thousands of years, eroded by time, by kingdoms and cultures rising and falling, not to mention the disappearance of the ancient ones. There’s a reason ancient magic is dead- because none of the books teaching it survived.” 

“There’s one person we know who has studied the ancient ones for years.” Joe’s voice cuts through the crowd, looking around. Every other hermit is lost and confused, but Joe can see the mixed emotions raging in Xisuma’s eyes. “Besides Ex can take care of the island, of Apatia while we’re searching.” 

“Ex chose to leave Eremita. Why in gods’s names would he want to come back, to help us?” X growls. 

“Because he’s your brother. He helped us save Doc. He’s been helping us, helping all of Lairyon- in his own weird, Ex way. He’s not the villain here, he’s your brother.” 

X clenches his jaw. The scar over his eye burns at the memory of their fight. The words he said to his brother, and the worst responded in kind. Xisuma still received letters from Ex, but he only opened them when Cleo’s cider had clouded his better judgement. And he never responded. 

But he also remembers the moment, after years estranged, he laid eyes upon his twin brother, crammed into the bookstore he was running. The moment of relief, of happiness to see Ex alive and well. Their identical faces, like mirror images of one another. His hair pure white, like the bright sun in the sky. Even now Xisuma remembers how often he’d complain he could always find Ex hairs on his clothes. 

And that Ex helped them save Doc. All these years fighting, Xisuma can’t believe he’s going to be the one to concede defeat. But for the fate of Lairyon, he guesses he has to. He pulls off his mask, turning it over in his hands, running a thumb over the scratched out symbol. He swallows his pride, and stands. “I’ll get the letter to Phoebe. What’s one more stranger to the island?”

[mythicandco]

I have 1% Battery Left And I’m Wasting it on This

A.K.A. Philip B. Wittebane (in which the “B” stands for “Belos”)

Warning: More than 90% of this is pure headcanoning and theorizing, based on the evidence that’s arisen and the ideas of many other members of the fandom. This theory has been circling the Owl House fandom for months, I DID NOT ORIGINALLY CREATE IT. Brooke and North are from this and so is some of the story, but the majority of the details are the work of my own convoluted brain. This was kinda disproved by Yesterday’s Lie but I want to post it before my computer dies. Anyways, I hope you enjoy this summarized monstrosity… 

Everything is once again below the cut

Philip stumbles into the Boiling Isles by complete accident while on a hike through the woods, tripping into a rift in the fabric of space-time created by Titan’s blood interacting with other various magical substances. He doesn’t realize he’s in another realm until he actually stops to look around, and is startled to come face-to-face with a trio of witches. 

The first witch, Brooke, is taller than their companions, with a big ol’ witchy hat and a pair of grey, tasseled earrings. North, only slightly shorter than Brooke, has a similar hat along with a matching cloak and blonde, curled hair. Her face is covered in scars. The last witch is Kirani, who ends up being a minor character but eh.

The trio is here to collect Titan’s blood for Brooke’s experiments with magic. They believe that by using their knowledge of potions, they can create an elixir of some form to allow witches to perform magic without the use of glyphs. The exact recipe is a work in progress, but they know that Titan’s blood will be a key ingredient. 

When the group first encounters Philip, they are startled by his small, round ears. The bemused human assures them he means no harm and eventually they decide that even if he does want to hurt them, he doesn’t have access to the magical knowledge to do so. This is further proven when a dragon nearly eats Philip (more on that later). They take him to their village to help him find a way home and survive until then. 

Over the next five or so years the group spends a lot of time together, Philip begins writing a journal, and North, Brooke and Philip form a friendship, often going on adventures together with the help of their palismans. North even trusts Philip enough to let him use her staff for transportation until he eventually gets the chance to carve his own. During this time Philip also learns a lot about glyph magic and the creatures of the Boiling Isles, and is surprised at how naturally it comes for him to draw the glyphs from memory and get them right. 

At one point Philip and the others travel to the Knee to retrieve some Titan’s blood from Eclipse Lake. Brooke stays behind to start collecting the other, more local ingredients to their spell, and North is forced to stay behind due to injuries sustained after fighting off a swarm of small, dragon-like creatures.

The expedition is a disaster, and after mistaking fool’s blood for Titan’s blood, Philip is the only one who makes it out alive following the cave-in. Philip is horrified at this turn of events but simultaneously relieved that Brooke and North didn’t accompany him on this particular mission. He comes back with the Titan’s blood, but not the rest of the group, and has to explain what happened. 

The village begins spreading rumors that he killed them to take the blood for himself, or that he is too incompetent to continue leading these expeditions. Brooke and North also get a share of the blame, being the ones who brought the human to their village in the first place. Brooke retreats to their study for a few weeks, taking the Titan’s blood with them. 

Things get even worse after the Titan’s blood excursion and the neighboring witch tribes hear about the dangerous human who supposedly kills witches and other creatures in cold blood for his own gain. (Rumors are nasty things, slightly more terrifying the longer they’re out there.) Philip finds it almost ironic that in this world of freaks and monsters, he’s the target of the torches and pitchforks. 

While out trading at a small market shared by a couple of the tribes, North is confronted by the leader of another clan and accused of betraying her kind. Things escalate quickly and she barely gets out without things coming to blows. 

Philip starts worrying that he is becoming a burden and a danger to the others, not because he actually wants to hurt them, but because they will get in trouble for sheltering him. He offers to help out Brooke with the portal, which is nearly finished. While they are distracted, he pockets some of the Titan’s blood and some other magical supplies from when Brooke was experimenting with improving a witch’s ability to perform magic. 

Philip uses the potion on himself, but because he is human, not a witch or demon, and isn’t connected to the Titan, he can only use magic by taking it from another source. He starts off using various plants and the horns and tusks of the creatures the village usually uses for jewelry or tosses aside after, I dunno, making a pie with it or something, and practices using spell circles in secret, making sure he can defend himself and the others should the need arise. 

Soon he discovers that he needs more and more magic to stay powerful - to stay stable - and slips up in front of Brooke, losing control for less than a moment before using a spare flower he’d been keeping in his back pocket as a gift for North.

Brooke, understandably, is freaked out by what the fuck just happened and Philip begs for them to keep it a secret. He admits that he stole some of Brooke’s concoctions so that he could protect himself from the witches of the other tribes, and that he needs a reliable source of energy to continue using magic. Brooke argues that what he’s doing is dangerous and unnatural, and that a human shouldn’t be able to use magic the way he does. 

Philip is furious, yelling at Brooke for hogging all of the magic for themselves. He says that where he comes from, witches were supposed to be burned at the stake or drowned. Brooke, horrified, backs away. Philip realizes he’s gone too far and flees back to the home he and the witches constructed when he first arrived in the Boiling Isles. 

His state continues to worsen, and eventually he is driven to snap his own palisman in order to consume its essence. With horrified awe, Philip discovers palismen hold far more magical energy than the little table scraps he’d been collecting before. He is able to briefly rejoin the rest of the tribe, but Brooke doesn’t speak to him and he keeps thinking about his broken palisman.

A few days later Brooke finally finishes the portal and gives Philip the key. The human doesn’t get the chance to test out the door before one of the rival tribes attacks the village out of nowhere and Philip joins in defending the people he’s spent years with. North is stunned that he can weave magic without the use of glyphs, but she doesn’t have the time to consult Brooke on where the human gained this new ability. 

At some point Philip corners the leader of the rival clan and nearly kills her, running out of magic just before the final blow is dealt. He reaches for the nearest source of power - North’s palisman - and snaps it in half. 

For a few moments, North and Brooke process what just happened amidst the chaos. Then the fighting stops and everyone watches as Philip finishes consuming the palisman’s essence. 

Philip looks up with glowing eyes and pauses, confused at everyone’s expressions. The fighting picks back up, this time directed at him, and someone throws a spear straight through his chest. It goes in one side and comes out the other, but the human(?) remains unharmed. The witches and demons start freaking the fuck out, because wouldn’t you in this situation? 

Finally registering what he’s done, a horrified Philip backs away and makes a break for the trees. He never sees Brooke or North again. 

In a clearing in the woods, Philip summons the door to the Human Realm but doesn’t have the courage to step through. He realizes that he is no better than the other monsters of the Demon Realm. He’d probably be shunned if he went home. Would anyone even recognize what he’d become? He once again briefly loses control of himself before giving up and throwing the key to the portal into the trees as hard as he can, before disappearing into the foliage himself.

North burns everything Philip touched, his books, home, everything in her fit of anger over the loss of her palisman and one of her best friends (or maybe something more). She is furious with Brooke for not telling her about him sooner and the two witches engage in an argument. Afterwards, Brooke discovers the journal Philip was going to donate to the market library, the one with all of his recorded notes and diagrams about the fantastical horror of the Demon Realm, and instead of burning it, donates it in their lost friend’s name.

A few centuries go by and Philip Wittebane’s name is practically lost to time, save for the journal that still resides in the almost-constantly growing library in what is now Bonesborough. 

A powerful, controlling figure arises, claiming he alone can communicate with the Titan, and that the wild magic used by witches is wrong. Emperor Belos unites the witches of the Boiling Isles under the Coven system, ascending the throne and becoming the most powerful being (both physically and politically) on the Boiling Isles. 

The rest, as they say, is history.

[how-masterful]

Remastered

Dhawan!master x reader

Chapter 3.5: New Earth- The Aftermath

Attention! This is a sequel to my original remaster of new earth which you can find HERE!

Summary: The sick are healed. The Sisters of Plenitude are taken in for their crimes. But the master still has one very important person he needs by his side, and an enemy that refuses to die. Also known as “new earth part two- will he catch you if you fall?”.

Notes: somebody Seriously needs to teach me what ‘short means’... because this mini offshoot fic designed to answer the burning fainting question ended up almost as long as the original! once again, dedicated to the glorious living legend known as @plethora-of-imagines​ 👑 feedback is forever appreciated- I hope you all enjoy! 

"And now, Cassandra, it's time to deal with you."

The Master turned towards the woman standing behind him, head over his shoulder. He stood from his crouched position, shoes squeaking on the vinyl hospital floor, shoulders for once relaxed from their taught squared position they'd sat within most of the day. The ward was silent, the glass panelling thankfully one way as the shimmering perspex gave vision to the NNYPD, the New Earth establishment escorting the sisters from the premises. 

The Master scowled at the thought of any sort of authority, shoving his hands into the seemingly bottomless pockets of his purple tweed jacket.

The day had been long enough without yet another arrest on his record.

"Oh, can't you just leave me alone?" Cassandra sighed at the man before you.

"Look at the day we've had! Woohoo, we saved the filthy lab rats, exposed those flea ridden nurses, all had a head full of big face and none of us are dead. Can't we just leave it be, darling?"

The Master shook his head.

"You and I are not exactly exemplary individuals in the eyes of intergalactic law, Cassandra-" the Master spoke, stepping closer towards you. Cassandra folded her arms, avoiding his gaze.

"And this hospital is crawling with officers who would love nothing more than to hand us over to the Judoon and ship us off to the closest Gulag they can find. And I've been in a Gulag on the first earth, so go knows how rough they'd treat you here"

"Then let me go!" Cassandra exclaimed, throwing her hands up at the man.

" Let's part on solid terms, shake hands and promise to never see each other again."

The Master chuckled, causing Cassandra to pause. You looked the timelord up and down, jaw clenched as he rocked on his heels. The last human pursed her lips, confusion rife within her as she fought to keep her composure. She needed answers, as per usual with the Master. The man confused her and slightly excited her to no possible end. But now was not the time for biting tongues and daydreaming.

"And what are you giggling about?"

The timelord quipped his laughter, head tilting towards you as he scratched at the stubble of his beard. He pondered for a moment, pushing back his hair as Cassandra waited for a response.

"It's funny. If this was any other day, any other planet- any other me really, i'd say yes."

The Master slowly began to walk across the empty ward, a languid step in his stride as he started to circle around the woman at his side. Each step was rhythmic, slow and calculated. Cassandra, for the first time in a very long time, felt a chill crawl up your spine. 

"I'd say sure, go ahead. Go wild.  Lets drive off into the sunset with a guilt free conscience and a fabulous story to tell the grandkids, or whatever Poor soul we decide to brag to next time."

His pacing was beginning to make Cassandra uncomfortable. She could feel herself shrinking in with her shoulders, the Masters demeanour growing darker by the second, his smile sick and domineering and his voice dangerously calm. It felt as if you were being circled by a predator, a feral cat waiting in the bushes to strike on the wounded gazelle. 

"But you still have something of mine, Cassandra. Something I most definitely won't be leaving without."

The Master paused, leering towards the frozen woman stood within his prowl. He narrowed his eyes, the silence practically perilous. Cassandra held her breath.

"Leave her body, Cassandra."

His voice was low and quiet, but each word screamed with murderous rage.

"Give my Y/N back to me."

Cassandra knew deep down she wouldn't be able to keep your body. You'd be an enjoyable yet unobtainable fling for a rollicking fun afternoon, like most of the plethora of pretty faces in her incredibly long life. And she also knew the Master would facilitate any method he could for your return.

After all, she'd been inside his head. It was hardly a secret to her now.

But leaving your body would leave her with nothing. Nowhere to go. The effects of the psychograft would enable her to hop from form to form, but in the air she'd be dead in a minute flat.

Cassandra could feel tears welling in your eyes.

"But… I don't want to die!"

The Master knew the feeling all too well. He was hardly a stranger to the theft of a body, the memory of Tremas of Traken vivid in his personality history. He'd enjoyed that stolen face for a long while. A memory: a memento of how he'd once again bested the universe.

But even that didn't make him feel pity for her. He was too focused on his own problem. The Master smirked, casually shrugging his shoulders.

"Nobody does. But that doesn't stop the universe arranging death for us all. It just depends on how smart enough you are to beat it."

Cassandra looked up at the Master with utter bafflement, opening her mouth to construct even a semblance of an argument against the Master.

"Oh, my Mistress!"

A sound the Master and Cassandra hadn't heard in a long time. One in a name, one in opportunity.

The half life boy Chip scurried out of the dark tunnel towards intensive care and into the blinding white of the ward. Scratches and scrapes littered the scrawls already etched into his ghastly white skin, his eyes alit with adoration as he locked eyes with your body.

"Oh Chip, my darling boy you survived!"

Chip preened under your praise, the Master's hand begrudgingly falling to his hip. He decided he seemingly had a problem with gatecrashers during his most pivotal moments.

The half life nodded, baring his palms towards you.

"For you, my Mistress. I kept myself safe for you!"

Cassandra paused, a plan forming rapidly within your brain as she traced her fingertip over the scribbles on Chip's open palms. 

"A body, minus some scrapes, kept safe… For me."

The Master pivoted towards Cassandra, watching the woman intently as she booped the end of her servants nose. Chip giggled, his Mistress following as the timelord stepped forward.

"Cassandra-"

"I worship my Mistress, I'd do anything for my Mistress."

With a confident grin, Cassandra turned to the Master. She gave a smug wink in his direction, pursing her lips to blow him a sarcastic kiss. The Master growled.

"How's this for smart?" Cassandra purred, before ejecting herself from your body towards her willing volunteer.

The piercing shrill returned to your ears, the white sheen of the ward drowning in the sudden pull of the dark. Like a cloth ripped from its tabletop the world fell from under your feet, the mountainous pressure on your skull dissolving into a numb puddle of nothingness. You felt your joints collapse into jelly, the support snatched from within your core as your senses and control of your body finally returned to your mind.

Your knees buckled under the ricocheting weight, the ground preparing to collide with your body.

But the Master got there first.

His left arm flung around your torso, his right palm moving to grasp the back of your head as the oxygen found its way back into your lungs. A gasp escaped you, gravity an enemy the Master refused to let you succumb to. 

In almost an instant the world came back into a hazing view, your lashes blinking weakly against your cheeks as his fingers snaked into your hair. The outline of the Master found its way into recognition, the fuzzy edges of your vision dissipating as he stared down at you with parted lips. He held you almost as if in a dance, your form dipped in a perfect flourishing bow.

"Master" you panted, gazing up at the man before you in amazement. The Time lord smiled, almost ready to let you stand on your own until your feet slipped from under you. However the Master refused to let you move, pulling you up to press tight against his chest as your fingers scrabbled to clutch onto the collar of his jacket.

Your eyes met, a silence falling between you as you caught your breath. Only this silence was caring, an easy sense of comfort between you. The Master's hand cradled the side of your cheek, eyes engulfing every detail of your face. The look in his eyes said everything the silence could and more- He would never let you fall. 

"Easy pet, i've got you."

You didn't doubt him for a second. A stray hair fell onto your face, the Masters fingers pushing it back behind your ear.

"How's your head, love?"

You smirked, pulling his face closer to your own by his jacket.

"I've not heard you complaining yet."

The Master laughed, a genuine smile spreading up his cheeks as you grinned from ear to ear.

"Good girl, there she is. My Y/N."

The distance between your faces disappeared in seconds, the Masters lips connecting with your own as your fingertips walked to cup the back of your Time lords neck. You hummed into the sweet taste of the Masters mouth, the kiss daring to say the words the Master would never give you the satisfaction of hearing. 

'I missed you' permeated his tongue, your mouth teasing his patience as you parted. But the stolen peck you shared afterwards certainly made up for the damage. You returned to the comforting silence, noses lightly bumping as you sent him a doting smile.

"Someone’s feeling sentimental." You teased, biting your lip. The Master tilted his head.

"You're making a habit out of falling for me, love."

“Careful Master, anyone would think you were fond of a human.”

“And we certainly wouldn't want that, would we doll?”

The blush filled giggle escaped you before you could stop it. The Master seemed awfully proud.

“Are you about done?”

Your heads suddenly whipped in the direction of the noise. Strong hands tightened their grip on your torso, the Masters glare narrowing to a steely gaze as the awakened Cassandra's words echoed your own. Chip stood with his hands perched gently on his waist, hip jutted out to the side as he stared you down with complete disdain. You frowned in return, joining the three man standoff as you inched closer to the Masters side. He seemed comforted by the move, hands working their way to position themselves protectively on your back.

“You need to stop this, Cassandra” you said, hand poised upon the Master's chest. His hearts rumbled like thunder under your palm.

“You’ve lived far too long. Life isn't meant to be so artificially stretched and preserved.”

“Neither were my forehead wrinkles darling, but several thousand facelifts later I certainly proved them wrong.”

The Master twitched with suppressed rage. His patience for her condescension was wearing dangerously thin- especially now he had you, the real you, back safe within his arms.

Cassandra smiled triumphantly, flourishing her hands out to the side as if presenting her brand new form. You felt pity in your stomach for poor Chip, the sentiment unable to extend towards the new inhabitant of his body. The satisfaction radiated from Cassandra's stance in droves.

“But now i have a new body! Smart enough to cheat death, smart enough to get out of this wretched hospital and back into the free world, a new woman! You both tried, Master- but neither you nor the doctor could kill me. You’re not the only ones able to keep going, you timelords- and now i feel better than ever, and positively NOTHING can stand in my-”

You watched on in confused shock as the strength in Chips knees vanished, the boy's body twitching and writhing as Cassandra collapsed under her own weight. A scrape and doodle covered hand flung to her chest, blue lips agape in a silent horror as the only noises that escaped were the desperate cracks in her throat. The Masters face was stern, expression unremorseful as Cassandra's chest began to heave. The woman's eyes met your own, and you knew the terror inside her was ripping her to shreds.

“What… i don’t understand… Master-”

“Smart enough to cheat death, are you Cassandra?”

Coldness burned throughout the Masters tone, his hold upon you unrelenting as you watched the cowering woman struggle for breath. You turned to the Master for answers, confusion rife as you scrabbled to figure out what was going on. His thumb softly caressed over your back, gaze unmoving from Cassandra's plight. Then you suddenly realised.

“You were so caught up in your own ego you forgot the limitations of your new body. Chip is a half life. And with the trauma you put him through, he wasn't going to last long.”

“No-”

“You deciding to leave Y/N and enter his body was too much of a shock for his system to handle.”

The Master flicked his wrist up to your eye line, curving his wrist to read the golden clock face that sat upon his wrist.

“I’d say you’ve got around two minutes before his heart stops completely. And you’re too weak to leave him now.”

“How.. what’s happening…”

“You’re past your expiration date.”

You nodded at the Master, his hand returning to rest upon your back as you stared down at Chip’s suffering body. You matched the Master’s narrow glare, a twisted sense of satisfaction within your gut.

“You’re dying, Cassandra. In two minutes you’re going to die.”

“No… no I can't… please, help me…”

The Master gave no reply. You didn't feel the need to dignify her one either. With a gentle push the Master guided you to leave, spinning on your heels as your hand carefully wound its way around his bicep like a cobra. Cassandra let out a panicked whimper, the sound a distant echo and the Master leant into your cheek. A small peck found its way to your temple, mocking bubbling under the surface of his lips as the choked cries of the last human melted into the garish white walls of the new earth hospital ward. The last thing Cassandra ever saw was the distant vanishing of her most resented shock of purple tweed, a strangled beg for mercy the last words ever spoken by the woman who lived far too long. 

The walk back to the TARDIS felt solemn. Death was familiar, a sight you encountered every day. But this felt different. A new breed of melancholy sat inside your chest. Cassandra had been so desperate to be loved, to live forever and never grow old or die. But you just turned your back on her as she died alone in a crime scene of her own design, taking the half life with her. You couldn't imagine how it felt to die with somebody else inside your head. You thought you were going to die earlier, when she’d first stepped inside your head. But you knew the man beside you would never let you die.

The Masters thumb cupped your chin, turning your face to meet his curious eyes. You were standing outside the doors of the TARDIS. You must have zoned out.

“I can hear the cogs turning, love. Talk to Master.”

You let out a sigh, falling into the Masters arms. He held you tight to his chest, enveloping you in an embrace that would be offered to no other being in the universe. 

“I missed you. That’s all.” you offered, resting your head upon the timelords shoulder.

“Never let anyone do that to you ever again. And that goes for kissing you and body snatching.”

The Master cupped your chin with his hand now, thumb brushing over your bottom lip as he sent you an endearing smile. But his eyes shone with mischief.

“Wouldn't dream of it, darling!” he clamoured, voice thick with the poshest, most refined accent he could muster.

Your elbow swiftly found its way to the Master’s rib, his barking laugh still audible as the TARDIS doors slammed shut on New New York.

[pink-flame]

Scoot Over

This is for @chickwiththepurpleguitar who deserves all the good things but all I can provide at the moment is a little Sunset Curve sickfic. We needed something vaccine related but I couldn't bring myself to make it real world 2020/2021 so this is what we get. I hope this makes you feel a little better, my friend! (There's Luke/Bobby if you squint because Lilly's fics have done that to me within a very specific context but you absolutely don't have to read it that way)

It had been a particularly bad flu season and in an effort to keep the school from having to shut down like the neighboring school distract had, the principal had organized a clinic at the school giving out the flu shot.

Which according to Alex was a good thing since none of them wanted to end up stuck inside their houses, feeling like crap for two weeks.

Only Luke’s argument was that any reason to close school was a good one and if he had to be miserable for two weeks he would just as soon it be at home with his guitar rather than the usual misery of attending classes.

None of the guys had dignified that point of view with a response though and given the fact that he was still on thin ice with his parents after his latest blow up with his mom, he accepted his fate more or less without protest when she handed him the signed permission slip.

They were scheduling the shots by last name so Alex, Luke and Reggie all got theirs on Wednesday while Bobby would have to wait until Friday. So the majority of Sunset Curve got their flu shots on the same day and that was fine until they were gathered in Bobby’s garage for rehearsal that night and Luke started feeling...off.

He didn’t say anything at first, never one to be the reason a band practice was cut short, but the longer it went on the harder time he was having acting like everything was normal.

His arm ached where he had been injected and every time he strummed his guitar the ache spread all the way down to his fingertips. He was also just tired. The kind of tired that usually only came the morning after they snuck out to play a club at 2am, crawling out of bed to go to school only a few hours after finally tumbling into it. He had already missed his cue to come in during the bridge of Bright three times and he could see the looks his friends were exchanging out of the corner of his eye like there was something wrong with him but there wasn’t he was fine...only maybe he wasn’t.

Because his head hurt and his arm hurt and he was so damn tired.

So against all previous precedent Luke didn’t argue when Bobby said it was time to call it a day, just propped his guitar up and then dropped heavily onto the couch.

“You ok, man?” Reggie asked, concern clear in his voice.

Luke sighed. There was no denying it at this point. He felt like crap.

“I think that shot gave me the flu.”

“You can’t get the flu from the flu shot,” Alex corrected.

“I think he just means it made him feel bad,” Reggie countered helpfully.

“Well, I just think we should be scientifically accurate,” Alex said firmly. “That’s step one.”

Luke reached up to rub at his aching forehead and hoped they would tire themselves out soon so it would be a little quieter. He was the type who usually never met a silence he didn’t feel the need to fill but in that moment he was dying for a little peace.

Maybe a nap.

“Ok, you two, chill,” Bobby stepped forward to take charge. “You stay there, I’m going to go get you some Tylenol.”

Luke tried not to let Bobby mother him too often, even though it seemed to be Bobby’s natural state and even though if he was being honest Luke kind of loved it. But he was too tired to pretend he didn’t want to be fussed over so he merely nodded and then tipped his head back and closed his eyes.

It felt like only a few seconds later that Bobby was shaking his shoulder to get his attention, Luke forcing himself to raise his head sluggishly. Bobby handed him two pills and a bottle of water and stared down at him expectantly until Luke mustered the energy to swallow them, immediately tossing the bottle of water off to the side and letting his head flop back against the couch.

“You’re going to wake up with a messed up neck,” Bobby said disapprovingly though Luke didn’t bother opening his eyes to check his expression.

“Don’t care,” Luke managed to grunt out stubbornly.

“Maybe you should just go home,” Reggie suggested.

“Yeah, Luke, you don’t look comfortable,” Alex added.

And Luke knew that what they were saying was logical but that didn’t mean he was ready to hear it. Would he be more physically comfortable at home in his bed? Probably. But mentally there was nowhere he felt more comfortable than here, in their studio with his boys, even their nagging giving him a warm and fuzzy feeling in the pit of his stomach. Not that he was about to tell them that.

“Nah, I’m good here,” Luke said flatly.

“Oh scoot over,” Bobby sighed plopping down beside Luke and nudging him over slightly, careful to avoid his sore arm as their sides pressed up against each other.

Bobby reached up to guide Luke’s head down to rest on his shoulder, and yeah, Luke grumbled a little, but he went willingly enough, wiggling his head slightly until it slotted perfectly against the soft spot between his friend’s neck and shoulder.

“I want to cuddle too!” Reggie insisted immediately, his weight dropping onto the couch and jostling Luke a little prompting a groan to escape his lips.

“You’re not even sick,” Alex reminded him as Reggie laid down with his head in Luke’s lap.

“I got my shot today too,” Reggie argued, his voice indicating just how pleased he was to be part of the growing pile of bodies on the couch.

“That doesn’t mean...ok, whatever,” Alex gave up quickly. “Watch out.”

Then Alex was squeezing into the last bit of couch real estate left, pulling Reggie’s feet up to rest across his legs.

Luke smiled contentedly, hoping he was subtle about it but not really caring that much,  and let his eyes slide shut again.

His arm hurt and his head hurt and everything kind of hurt but Bobby had brought his arm up to slot behind Luke’s shoulders and Reggie was snuggling happily into his lap and Alex was muttering about the misconceptions about vaccines and it was good.

After a day or so Luke felt so much better it was like his reaction was a distant memory. He couldn’t wait to show up for Saturday rehearsal until he showed up to find Reggie and Alex lingering around in the garage and Bobby nowhere to be seen. It wasn’t like Bobby to be late to rehearsal, especially when his commute was about five steps, so Luke instantly spun on his heels and headed for the main house at a quick pace, Reggie and Alex trailing after him.

They hovered just in front of the porch, looking up at the window they knew led to Bobby’s room, though it gave them no clues about their friend’s whereabouts.

Luke stride forward and gripped the porch railing, prepared to hoist himself up to the roof.

“Whoa, whoa, what are you doing?” Alex demanded, reaching out to grab his arm and halt his progress.

“Climbing in his window,” Luke explained like it was the most natural thing in the world. “He could be dead!”

“There’s a simpler solution,” Alex rolled his eyes.

“Ooh, ooh we could throw rocks in a pattern, like Morse code!”

Alex and Luke both shot Reggie a slightly judgemental look for that suggestion.

“Or we could just knock like normal people,” Alex sighed, jogging forward to do just that probably afraid to give his friends time to do anything else dumb.

He knocked and nothing happened for just long enough for Luke to be ready to go back to his original plan when the door creaked open and Bobby’s form appeared, slouching and wrapped in a blanket.

“Hey, man, did you just wake up?” Alex asked with concern.

“Yeah,” Bobby croaked. “I think that shot hit me hard yesterday too.”

“They hit you?” Reggie asked in horror. “They were pretty gentle with me.”

Alex rolled his eyes and Bobby sighed but Luke only chuckled and stepped forward to wrap an arm around Bobby’s shoulders and lead him back into the house.

“Come on, I’m going to get you some Tylenol.”

And if they all ended up in yet another cuddle pile in Bobby’s bed, overcrowded and jostling yet cozy...none of them were complaining.