#id forgotten what that felt like outside me dreams

[nikothebookdragon]

fuck, bears in trees were right. i stayed for tea and you know what? it did do wonders for me. and my friends? they do keep me safe.

[cavaree]

ducks || j.wooyoung

pairings: wooyoung x gn!reader

word count: 631

genre: fluff

warnings: illegal activity ?

a/n: it's been a while, but i'm back!! this drabble took a different turn than what i expected, but that's okay. i hope you guys like it <3

technically, you knew you weren’t supposed to.

it was most probably against the law. and if it wasn’t, a park ranger was still going to wring you out the second they saw what you and your boyfriend were doing.

when you opened the door to a very excited looking wooyoung the last thing you had expected to see, was him holding was an ice cream tub full of bread. never in a million years would you have thought his voice would get as squeaky as it does whenever you guys play “scream in silence” over bread, of all things.

he had grabbed you by your face, promptly pressed his lips against yours in greeting, and had attempted to pull you outside in nothing but your thin pyjamas. you were confused to say the least.

“what on earth is up with you?” you had asked, baffled over his behaviour.

“come on! we gotta go!” he had whined, following you into your house.

“go where? at least let me change, woo.”

he had groaned, shaking the ice cream tub in his hands in frustration. “hurry, hurry, hurry! you have five minutes!”

you had given him a look, but alas, you couldn’t resist. after changing into something more presentable, you had come out of your room to see wooyoung impatiently pacing. his eyes had lit up once he had spotted you and he had immediately made grabby hands.

“can you at least tell me where you’re dragging me off to?” you had asked once you made it out of the house, slipping your hand into his warm one.

“we’re going to see the ducks!”

and here you two were.

sitting on a small mound of grass, watching the sun slowly set across the lake, with a dozen or so ducks going at it at your feet.

“you know we’re not supposed to feed them, right?” you point to the red sign, which very clearly said “DO NOT FEED THE DUCKS.”

“pshh,” wooyoung said, tossing a piece of bread at an adorable baby duck. “the ranger’s never gonna know.”

you decide to let him live his dreams and lean in closer to his side. you take a breath, savouring this moment; the distant sounds of children playing at the park, the rustle of feathers and the occasional quack.

“where’d you get all this bread by the way?” you ask after wooyoung had fed the ducks most of the tub.

he seemed to pause. “i stole it.”

silence.

“what?” you ask incredulously. “you... stole bread?”

he makes a noncommittal sound and shrugs his shoulders.

you blink up at him, processing this information.

“ow!” he exclaims once you smack him in the shoulder.

“what do you mean you stole the bread, wooyoung!?”

he scrambles up from the ground, backing away from your tense body. “calm down! i stole it from seonghwa!”

you pause. seonghwa. you racked your brain, trying to place a name to a face. ah! seonghwa as in wooyoung’sunfortunate roommate. you felt bad for the poor man.

you sigh, gesturing for him to come sit back down. “and you- you didn’t have any of your own bread?”

“well i did! but seonghwa told me off this morning cause he found my socks in the dishwasher, and i wanted to spite him.”

“you’re insane. you might as well not go home.”

just at that moment, his phone rang.

wooyoung, who seemingly didn’t care that he was about to get pounded the second he walked back into his dorm, picked the phone up with no regard to the caller id.

you anxiously watch him, ducks long forgotten.

“WOOYOUNG! WHEN I GET MY HANDS ON-”

you wince. oh he was in for it.

[teletraan-meets-jarvis]

hello ma'am id like to request a captain rex x f! or gn! reader,, maybe he's promised to take reader out on a date after he returns from a mission and when he does he asks you out and stuff bksbegksgjsn hope that provides inspiration

Ooooh I love this idea and it really did spark something in my brain so thanks for that!! :D. So happy to be writing again. See below for some happiness and fluff!

Date Night With The Captain

AO3 Link

Pairing: Rex x gn!Reader

Summary: You and Rex have been pining over each other for a while now, thankfully your good friends in the Elite Guard intervene to help speed things up.

Warnings: General Audience. Don't think there is any. One bit of swearing.

Word Count: 1.5k

It was another warm, smoggy day on Coruscant. The hatch door to the landing bay of the Republic Military HQ was open, allowing whatever small breeze the planet had to offer through. The top of your Republic issued jumpsuit was tied around your waist, letting the trousers hang loosely around your lower half, in attempt to keep yourself cool. You had the radio on as you worked beneath a red A-Wing, your mind on autopilot as you rewired, cut and welded through the repairs. Casually rolling back and forth on your dolly, humming along to the newest song the radio had to offer.

Given your work as a mechanic for the Republic since the start of the war, you’d gotten to know a lot of the clones from various battalions. You always had fun working on the ships for the Wolfpack as they were natural pilots who took a real appreciation in your work. In return, you made sure to always touch up the artwork of the two buckets and General Plo’s face for them on each ship, as you knew how much it meant to the men. Other battalions, while lovely, really did love to make your job difficult. Aka, the 501st. The clones weren’t too bad when it came to flying, it was more the involvement of General Skywalker which usually meant most of your ships didn’t even make it back, and the few that did were in a questionable state. Captain Rex always had the job of checking the ships back in to you due to Skywalker’s fear of facing your wrath for another ship mishap.

Captain Rex... you felt your mind drift to think of the clone you’d been getting close with over the past few years. He was easy company. A strong, friendly presence that was always welcome in your repair bay. He’d usually stick around for longer then he should, relaying their latest mission as he nursed a cup of caff while you worked away. You’d developed quite a crush on the Captain as time went on, how could you not? His buzz cut blonde hair, his caring nature, and that handsome face which despite being a clone, had something unique about it that made you smile every time he looked at you.

Yep, you were crushing bad on the Captain. But it wasn’t entirely one-sided. Just before he departed for his last mission, you think he was attempting to ask you out on a date before his comm went off and pulled him away and back to the war. You’d been running that interaction through your brain ever since he left, trying to guess how he would’ve liked to finish his sentence.

You let out a sigh at the thought. A person could dream right. You were suddenly pulled out of your thoughts when someone yanked your dolly from out under the ship, taking you with it. You were presented with a helmet-less, Commander Fox who’s curly hair was hanging just above his eyebrows. He didn’t say anything as he shoved a cup of caff in your direction.

You got yourself up from laying on your back and gratefully accepted the caffeine “Cheers, Fox”

“You need to take a break every so often” he stated while sipping at his own beverage.

“Rich coming from you” you winked at him, “Let me guess, Stone forced you to take a break by sending you to bring me a drink and make me take a break”

“Pretty much”

“Classic” you enjoyed the comfortable silence which fell between you both. Despite his overly stressed exterior, Fox was one of your closest friends. He and the other Elite Guard Commanders always made sure to check in and look after you and you did the same for them.

After a few minutes, he spoke again “Oh, Thorn needs your advice on something. He asked you to meet him in the mess hall”

“Dating drama again?” You questioned with a chuckle.

“Most likely” Fox replied with a roll of his eyes.

You bid Fox a farewell and set off to find Thorn. The military base very much stuck to a black and grey colour scheme so it was near impossible to distinguish one hallway from another if you didn’t know you way around by memory. Your jumpsuit made some swooshing noises as your legs skimmed past one another while you walked. Tools and bolts rattled in your pocket as you went. A contrast to the quiet you found in the hallways this evening.

Eventually you spotted Thorn standing outside the mess hall where he waved you inside and disappeared into the room.

You eventually caught up and walked in and the sight you were met with took your breath away. The lights in the hall were dimmed and there was a single table set up. A few candles lit up the centre and there were two portions of standard mess food waiting on either side in their signature metal trays. Standing next to the table was an awkward looking Captain Rex, his armour still dirty from battle. He had his helmet off, letting you see the flush of pink on his cheeks as he rubbed a hand down the back of his neck.

Thorn was practically bouncing with excitement as he pushed you forward into the room. “Well you kids have fun, don’t do anything I wouldn’t dooo!” He shouted as he ran out the door, closing it behind him.

You and Rex stood there for a moment, taking each other in. He looked quite vulnerable in that moment, waiting to see your reaction.

“Hey Captain, glad to see you’re back safe and sound” you said with a smile as you walked towards him. “What’s all this?”

“Well, I uh, I’ve been meaning to take you out for a while now, but things kept getting in the way. I know it’s not Coruscant’s finest dining experience-“

“It’s perfect” you cut him off, smile beaming on your face as you realised everything you’d been dreaming about these past months was true. “How’d you manage to pull this one off?”

“It was Thorn’s idea to be fair, he managed to get Fox on board to give us access to the mess hall after hours.” You chuckled at his words, of course they were meddling. Not that you minded of course, you knew exactly what you signed up for when it came to being friends with the Coruscant Elite Guard.

“You hungry?” Rex asked, much more relaxed now he had your approval on his surprise.

“Absolutely starving” you replied as you took your seat opposite the handsome Captain.

The pair of you chatted away as you ate the standard food that the base pumped out on the regular. Rex filled you in on his latest battles and 501st drama. He mentioned that it was only him from his battalion who had returned, and he was only back for a couple of days with the General to give a briefing to the Council before heading back out again. Which explained why Fives, Kix and Jesse hadn’t come storming into the repair bay to say hello to you.

You relayed what you and the guard had been up to, the pranks that Stone and Thorn had been playing on poor Fox, any fun stories about Palpatine that Fox had bitched about to you all.

Everything came so naturally with Rex; you spoke for what neither of your realised was hours. The candles burning slowly down until they were nearly running out of wax. You didn’t realise how much you’d missed his presence until right now.

Seeing an opportunity, you took his hand in yours on the table. Running your thumb over the hardened skin on his knuckles. “This has been probably the best evening I’ve had in a long time” you admitted, blushing.

“You and me both. But it’s not quite over yet” you cocked your head at the trooper in front of you as he hit something on his comm link and suddenly some slow jazz song started playing through the room’s speakers. Rex stood up and offered you a hand to join him. You nearly swooned at the entire thing. You’d never experienced romance like this. How did you get so lucky that he’d chosen you for all of this?

You took his outstretched hand as he led you to a slightly more open portion of the hall. You wrapped your arms around his neck, he was about to put his on your hips but paused and quickly asked for permission with a quiet “May I?” before he did so. It surely was not possible for a living being to be this adorable, handsome, perfect. Right?

The pair of you began to sway casually to the song that was playing. “So how did I do?” He asked with a small smirk on his lips.

“Honestly Captain, you couldn’t have done anything better. This is perfect” you smiled up at him. Your eyes met his fiery amber ones, filled with such warmth and content. You couldn’t wait any longer, you leaned up and placed your lips on his in a soft, first kiss. Both your movements were slow against one another, enjoying the languid pace set by the dancing and music, letting it guide your kiss.

You pulled away and met his eyes again. Yep you were falling for this man. Badly. But from the looks of it, he wasn’t too far behind you.

The pair of you danced the night away, the war forgotten for that one evening.

Back to Masterlist

[cainightfics]

what countries have you visited? which countries would you like to visit and why?

thanks for the ask! this is an interesting question lol

so basically ive been poor pretty much my whole life, and ive only ever been able to travel when part of it was funded by an outside source. so far, ive been to america, mexico, and a few different countries in europe. ill give you a #hashtag storytime about the europe trip tho.

ok so. in 2017 i was sent by my school district, along with a couple of other kids (i was in highschool at the time) to attend the 100 year anniversary of the battle of vimy ridge in france. if you don't know your WW1 history, basically this battle was a massive fight between the canadian army and the german army over this big hill in france called vimy ridge, which the german army had captured. the battle is considered a big deal in WW1 military history because the canadian army did some crazy tactical stuff to beat the germans and return the area to the french. this is what the ridge looks like (this isnt important lol its just for context):

anyways. so out of like thousands of applicants, me and a couple of other kids were selected to represent canada at this big 100 year memorial ceremony. flights, hotels, food stipend all paid for. i got picked because my french was pretty good (we're required to do 10 years of french class in canadian public school), and because i also knew some german.

so we get to france and go to the ceremony. it was a pretty big deal, i shook hands with prime minister trudeau, met prince harry, etc. i don't really care about any of that and if you ask me the royal family should be abolished and/or guillotined but whatever. in fact i did not care about literally any of this because when i signed up to go in the first place, i had any one goal in mind: to go to as many european countries as i could using the travel stipend the government gave me.

the ceremony ends and most of the schools im with are planning on heading back to canada the next morning. NOT ME LOL. i was a teenager with a passport and i had big plans. i had 500 euros, a eurail pass, and a dream.

over the next week or so, i (and two other people with me who i didnt really know) basically rode the trains/busses around central europe. we went to the netherlands, all around france, denmark, and germany. i stayed up for 72 hours straight at one point because i was so determined to experience as much as possible. this answer is already getting super long so ill just tell you some highlights of this trip:

at a burger king in munich i got scammed by a guy named salvatore who pretended to be a security guard and demanded a 2 euro "tip" for opening the door. salvatore if youre out there i havent forgotten and you WILL be dealt with if i ever see you again

i milked a cow at a dairy farm outside brussels. in exchange, the farm owners gave me a huge block of cheese. on the flight back to canada, i was told my cheese would be confiscated at the airport, because it wasnt in a checked bag. but i was like "well wtf im not just throwing out this wheel of cheese" so i ate the WHOLE THING in the last hour of the flight. it was at least three pounds of aged cheddar. id never felt so sick before

i had the best ramen of my life in an alleyway in paris. i have no idea if this was even a legit restaurant (it was literally just an alleyway and some guy cooking on a bunch of hotplates) but for some reason i ate there anyway. idk if i was tripping from lack of sleep at this point or what but the taste was literally heavenly

i managed to get into a techno club in frankfurt and then also talked my way into hanging out in the DJ booth for a good part of the night. heres a pic (i blocked out ppls faces for privacy, im the short dark haired one on the left):

anyways, that was teenage me's trip to europe. i had 500 euros to get me through a week and somehow managed to only spend 150 because i slept on the train, showered at public pools and rec centres, and ate nothing besides coffee and street food.

the last trip i went on was to las vegas in 2019, where i ended up joining this half naked furry stripper (?) in his street routine. we did some sort of dom/sub situation where i pretended to throw him around, choke him out, laugh at him while he pole danced, and force him to be my human chair. i made $50 in 2 minutes in tips from the crowd doing this btw and i was wearing like a hoodie and jeans just walking back to my hotel from dinner lmfao. idek i always just end up getting into these fucking random situations whenever i go anywhere lmfao 🤣🤣 i have whatever the opposite of social anxiety is

ANYWAYS enough of my stories.... as for where i would LIKE to travel?? hmm... probably asia? id like to see the chinese countryside, singapore, japan, korea, vietnam, thailand, etc. i do face this sort of ethical dilemma tho where a lot of travel that westerners do seems very exploitative and sort of like neo-imperialism, you know? plus with covid and climate change idk how i feel about international flights at the moment. but in an ideal world, id definitely like to check out asia

thanks again for the ask!

[21ate]

drawing tablet ramble

its always been a dream of ours to own a drawing tablet with a screen. when we were younger, we thought having such was just too much of a luxury and it would never happen. id just have to get good without it. ill be the best artist WITHOUT a fancy tablet!

i did get better at drawing, its only natural too with all the free time i used to have. i even got some recognition for my art in various fandoms. drawing was fun and validating and i could do it any time i wanted. but ive since moved out, gotten a job, and living at a different pace than before, with stressors that are new to me outside of my rather emotionally unhealthy home life with our grandparents

now, drawing doesnt feel as intimate, as enjoyable or as satisfying. it just feels like a chore. in order to even start drawing i have to make sure im sitting directly in front of my computer screen, with my legs tucked under me, a blanket on top, tablet in lap, my keyboard pulled close. then i got to find something to watch or listen to, which is hard because it cant be too interesting that ill get distracted, but also not so boring that i cant find my drawing flow. after all that i can draw...but it still doesnt feel right when i put my pen down, staring up at the screen for the line i made. it hasnt felt right for a long time.

with my old tablet broken, ive finally concluded that its just not fun anymore using the type of tablet ive had for almost 10 years (god im old.) i feel like its holding me back from really being able to dive into a piece beyond a shitty sketch or two. i feel out of touch with what im creating and it makes me feel like a fraud, or like ive forgotten how to draw...even when i KNOW thats not true at all. im just out of practice, but its excruciatingly hard to even WANT to practice. i feel more inclined to draw on cheap lined paper than i do on clip studio paint. to me thats perfectly illustrates the point im at.

its time i upgrade to something more practical, more hands on, tactile - and easy to use, not just at my desk but anywhere (within a ten foot radius of my computer). i want to be able to SEE where im drawing and not just rely on my monitor and a bit of intuition.

ive had this blind spot for 20 years and i am over it. its time to do away with the old and do something brand new!

[thoughtsonhurtandcomfort]

Safe Haven, part 1

(this is the continuation of 12C!)

12C: Part 1 |  Part 2 |  Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 |  Part 6 |   Part 7 |   Part 8 |   Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 |

Tag List: @deluxewhump @whumpinggrounds @yet-another-heathen   @its-mysweetlittlesecret-blog  @killtheprotagonist @kixngiggles

Content Warnings:  immortal whumpee, lady whumpee, references to captivity and lab whump, malnutrition, dehydration, exhaustion, escape, caretaking, implied trauma, implied nudity

Author’s Notes: I really really hope you guys enjoy this one...I hope it’s as cathartic to read as it was to write. :)

I decided to start this next bit under a new title. The parts for the last one were getting excessive, and also this way even if my plans for the rest of it don’t work out, 12C is a complete thought.

As for the ‘escape plan’, I had more details of it in my mind but as I was writing it they felt...boring? So I cut the crap and kept it simple. Just trust that there was a plan and I’m just not a good enough writer to make it interesting. Besides, I wanted to get to the cute shit. :))

----

“You’re sure you know the plan?”

“Yes.”

“And...you’re sure you’re strong enough?”

“...I have to be.”

“That isn’t a yes.”

A huff lacking any real frustration. “Yes, Liv.”

“Okay. Two nights from now. Hang in there.”

----

The wheels of Liv’s cart are loud as they roll down the empty hallway, muffling out her sneakered footsteps. The sound also muffles her half-full water bottle falling from one of the shelves with a smack, and even if it weren’t for the cart, she’s got her headphones on, music turned up loud.

Liv comes to a stop at the door to the storage room. It’s unlocked, like always. She holds the door open with one hand and pushes her cart in halfway with the other. It’s then that she ‘notices’ her bottle down the hall, several yards away. Frustrated, she leaves the cart where it is and trudges to go pick it up.

When she returns, she only spends a couple of minutes in the storage room, restocking a few cleaning supplies so she won’t have to tomorrow. As she leaves the room and continues down the hall, she gives no indication that her cart has suddenly become heavier.

She gets into the elevator and heads upstairs to finish her final tasks of the night. This includes disposing of the garbage and hazardous waste she’s gathered throughout the night, putting utensils in a machine to be sanitized, and dumping linens from a hamper down a chute into a laundry room.

“Curl up tight,” she whispers as she tips the hamper. There’s a soft thud as more than just sheets and towels slide down the chute.

Liv finishes putting her things away, puts the papers from her clipboard in a file folder outside her manager’s door, uses the bathroom, and finally clocks out and heads to the parking garage. Calm, collected, seemingly lost in her music.

Heart pounding. Thoughts racing. Hopeful and terrified.

Her old but beloved little car sits alone on this floor of the dimly lit concrete garage. She throws her things into the passenger side before sitting heavily with a sigh in the driver’s seat. After a moment she turns on the car and begins the winding path up towards the exit.

As she rounds a bend she slows down a little...and remains slow for several moments until she hears her back door open and shut and a rustling as someone lies across the seat and burrows under a waiting blanket. She picks up her speed again, rolling down her window so she can swipe her ID card to get out.

Liv drives into the dark of night. It’s just past two in the morning, the roads empty, the traffic lights in town all blinking yellow. From the back seat she can hear weak, muffled breaths. When she looks at her rearview mirror, she can just make out the bundled heap trembling by the light of street lamps.

She waits until she’s a couple miles beyond the facility’s property before speaking, her voice hoarse from how dry her throat is.

“You okay back there?”

“...not sure,” comes Emmeline’s answer, fear and exhaustion palpable in her voice. “Do you think they saw anything?”

“If we did everything right, no...but I guess we’ll find out.”

Liv puts on an air of confident nonchalance that is so far from how she feels, but it’s for Emmeline’s sake. The risks have become so much more than a slap on the wrist. If they’re caught Liv will be fired and almost certainly arrested for theft of company ‘property’. But Emmeline...not only will she have to go back there, but she’ll be kept under such tight lock and key that any second chance of escape would be impossible, and Liv would no longer be there to even try.

This was their one shot, and all Liv can do is try to keep her panic at bay and hope they didn’t screw it up.

And take care of Emmeline, she thinks, glancing again at the mirror.

The drive home takes its predictable twenty minutes, give or take a few. Liv pulls into her spot beside a nondescript brick apartment building and shuts off her car. She closes her eyes and gives herself a moment to breathe and pull her thoughts together.

It’s quiet from the back.

“Are you awake?”

“Mmhmm…”

That translates to barely.

“Not much further...then you can rest…”

The weight of that statement is too much for Liv’s tired mind to truly process, but it still briefly occurs to her just how big it is, just what it means. For the first time in months, Emmeline can finally, truly rest.

She goes to the back seat and helps Emmeline to her feet. Emmeline remains resolutely wrapped from neck to ankles in the blanket. Despite it being the old, scratchy one Liv keeps in her car in case of emergency, to Emmeline it’s so much more than she’s been allowed.

Standing there barefoot in the parking lot, Emmeline slowly looks up at Liv, strands of limp, messy hair hanging around her face. The single light on the side of the building illuminates her drawn face and although she’s weak, malnourished, exhausted...there is a grateful reverence in her eyes that no matter what happens, Liv will never forget.

Liv swallows and pushes down the lump in her throat. “Come on,” she whispers, putting her arm around Emmeline’s blanket-clad shoulders and guiding her towards the door.

----

Her apartment is tidier than usual; Liv made sure of that, even though she’s pretty sure Emmeline won’t care. Considering where she has spent the last several months, a jail cell would seem like an upgrade. But if Liv is anything, she’s self-conscious.

Emmeline looks around, blinking blearily after having barely made it up the single flight of stairs. She’s swaying on her feet and Liv ushers her to sit on the couch before she passes out right there in the middle of the living room.

Liv is running on adrenaline and fumes at this point. It’s all too surreal, like an out of body experience. Even after long hours spent thinking and planning, she never expected to get this far. But now Emmeline is here, in her apartment, sitting on her couch. Existing outside of the lab, real and tangible.

And she needs you. Get it together.

“I know you probably want to sleep,” Liv begins. Emmeline is still looking around the room like she can’t quite believe it either. “But you haven’t eaten, so...I want to get something in you first, if that’s okay?”

“Okay,” Emmeline whispers.

Liv moves slowly to the kitchen and busies herself with preparing something light and easy: canned soup, crackers, a mug of herbal tea with honey. Like in the car, she allows herself a moment to take a few deep breaths and will her hands to stop shaking before she picks up the plastic tray and carries the food back into the living room.

Emmeline hasn’t moved an inch, not even to relax back against the couch cushions. It isn’t quite what Liv expected...but then, what did she expect? For everything to be better the moment they got here? It isn’t all going to be okay overnight, she realizes. Give her time.

“Here…” Liv sets the tray on the coffee table and sits at the edge of the couch, leaving a few inches between them, not wanting to crowd Emmeline. “Um - chicken noodle soup. Saltines. Chamomile vanilla tea.”

Emmeline blinks slowly at the items before her. “I’m not dreaming. Right?”

“I hope not. Eating canned soup in my apartment isn’t a very exciting dream.”

A faint smile appears on Emmeline’s face. “To me it is…”

Liv holds the bowl of soup while Emmeline eats small spoonfuls of it and nibbles on crackers. She only eats about half before moving on to the tea, cupping the warm mug in her hands and humming with pleasure when she takes the first sip.

“Could I - “ Emmeline begins, but stops abruptly, ducking her head and taking another sip.

“Could you…?”

“Take a shower?” she asks almost inaudibly.

“Of course you can,” Liv answers automatically. “You can have whatever you need.”

Emmeline hesitates, still so frail and uncertain. “Just that is enough...thank you…”

Strengthened by her meal, Emmeline is able to make her own way to the bathroom. Beneath the blanket she is wearing a pair of nurse’s scrubs, stolen from the laundry room at the lab just in case a glimpse of her was caught on camera, though Liv meticulously designed their plan to avoid that. She sheds the clothes and Liv bundles them and the blanket into a plastic bag to discard tomorrow.

Emmeline disappears into the bathroom and a minute later the water comes on.

Liv is left sitting on the couch, finally alone with her fears and doubts.

I can’t believe I did that…

If we get caught we’re so fucked…

Does she even want to be here?

What the hell do I do now?

She grabs the tray of dishes and hurries to the kitchen, where she actually washes them instead of pushing it off to tomorrow, just to distract herself. When that task is done too soon, she goes to change into pajamas and find something for Emmeline to wear.

She’s unfolding and refolding the clothes for the third time when the water shuts off. Just as Liv is standing to bring her the clothes, the sound of the shower curtain moving aside is followed by a cry and a loud thud.

Liv darts to the bathroom, everything else forgotten. She enters without knocking, her heart in her throat.

Emmeline is sprawled on her side on the floor, grimacing. One leg is hooked over the edge of the tub and it quickly becomes apparent that she slipped.

Not attacked. Not passed out or dead. She just fell. It’s okay. It’s okay.

At the sound of Liv entering the room, she rolls onto her back with a groan, revealing a bruise on her hip that slowly starts to heal as soon as the pressure is removed from it.

“Ow…”

“Shit...I forgot to put the bath mat in,” Liv mutters, embarrassed. No wonder Emmeline slipped. She crouches beside her and offers her arms for Emmeline to hold onto.

“Not your fault,” Emmeline answers quietly as she slowly gets to her feet. “I got dizzy…”

The moment Emmeline is standing she sways into Liv, leaning heavily against her before her legs can give out again. Liv freezes, acutely aware of the pressure of Emmeline’s body draped against hers, soft and clean, so weary, so in need of comfort.

All of those evenings Liv spent watching her suffer, wishing she could hold her, touch her gently, stroke her hair...now she has the chance, not a camera or another soul in sight, and she can’t move, can barely think. Not when Emmeline has her head tucked against Liv’s shoulder, breathing soft breaths against her neck.

Liv reaches blindly to her side until she finds a towel hanging on a hook beside the shower. She puts enough space between them to wrap it around Emmeline’s shivering form but remains close enough to steady her. By now Emmeline looks like she might fall asleep where she stands.

“Sorry,” Emmeline whispers, her drooping gaze fixed on Liv’s shirt. “I got you wet…”

“Shh. Don’t worry about it,” Liv answers quietly. “Come on…”

She guides her the final few feet into the bedroom and helps her into soft cotton pajama pants and a t-shirt. Then she pulls back the covers - freshly washed sheets on a freshly made bed, another thing she made sure of - and motions for Emmeline to get in.

“A bed?” Emmeline breathes. She runs her fingers over the sheet with a look of wonder.

“Mmhmm,” Liv affirms, lips pressed together. She’s afraid if she opens her mouth to speak she might cry from the sudden well of emotion at finally being able to give this to Emmeline, this comfort and safety she so deserves.

Emmeline slowly lies down on the bed, letting out a long sigh of relief when her head comes to rest on the plush pillow. Liv pulls the covers over her and tucks them around her snugly. She barely resists planting a soft kiss to Emmeline’s damp hair. Barely.

“Goodnight,” she whispers.

Emmeline is already fast asleep.

[neonponders]

I started writing this very niche au ages ago that @booksfoxesandcoffee and @demogirlfriend tinkered with lol​ it’s not quite what I wanted, but at least it’s done ~

Based on my post for This Steve with This Billy:

vampire/musician!Steve and mobster!Billy.

TW for briefly mentioned drugs and all manner of vampire things.

💋 💋 💋 💋 💋 💋 💋

If Billy were being honest with himself, it wasn’t the man’s looks that hooked him. The way a superior dancer stands out in the ensemble, it was the musician’s energy that made Billy’s eyes keep finding him.

Every business that opened his his territory went through Billy’s strict legislature. And the whole city was his to play king.

He didn’t consider himself a strict businessman, but he did attend the new club with regularity to make sure they had what they needed to succeed. If they couldn’t succeed, then they’d have to rebuild elsewhere.

They did succeed. Because they had Steve Harrington.

On paper, he was lead guitarist. An instrumentalist. Vocalist if necessary. Billy Hargrove knew he shined in neon stage lighting and his special trick was swinging the instrument around his body so the guitar switched sides halfway through a song or riff, proving ambidextrous dexterity.

Billy knew Harrington was hard to get ahold of. So far, he’d hosted every member of the band and every guest musician at his VIP table. Harrington always had reasons for leaving directly after a show, which surprised Billy. The man’s band mates clearly revolved around him, looked to him for timing cues, and Billy even had the unique experience of seeing the man smack a drink out of the bassist’s hand because the guy could barely stand.

There was a personality there, and Billy wanted to see it up close. Taste it.

Somehow, Harrington had even avoided being invited to Billy’s table during the mid-show break. Always conveniently disappearing until the second he needed to be on stage.

Until now.

Billy’s guards stood up when Harrington approached with someone held firmly by the scruff of his shirt and jacket. Billy waved them aside, and the musician dumped the guy into Billy’s booth. Some heads turned in their direction, curious for drama but not for long. Anyone who hung around Billy, hungering for his attention, knew to be careful about annoying him.

“Is this one of yours?” Harrington prompted.

“Why would he be?” Billy inquired with a lethargic blink.

“I thought your sort had more class than distributing roofies.”

Billy’s pleased, large feline demeanor sloughed off as he turned his head to the man in his booth. Billy didn’t bother negating Harrington’s accusations. Anybody with sense knew who he was. The only thing that bothered Billy at the moment was the use of some nobody to get the musician’s attention.

“You’re right. He isn’t.”

Just like that, the guards lifted the sorry soul out of his booth and began ushering him out of the club. He made a weak attempt at promising an ability to make Billy money, but the latter wasn’t interested in a business centered around dangerous sex. Billy considered himself a purveyor of the opposite; of passion, and real passion only came when all parties were conscious for it.

“Steve.”

The musician paused to look back at him, already on his way back to the greenroom or wherever he hid in between performances.

“Sit with me.”

Steve’s gaze flicked down to the now available seat next to Billy. “No, thanks.”

As if he could - 

He did.

Steve walked away from the table. Billy saw the more discretely dressed guards loitering in the crowd turn and begin to approach Harrington...before distinctly letting him pass.

It was not a regular day that Billy Hargrove’s employees feared someone else more than him.

He pressed his back into the booth, and one of the women sitting along the back of the booth leaned down to hear him. “I want his file.”

“Yes, sir,” she purred. It took no time at all for her to return to his table with Harrington’s business papers. Typical tax form, resume, no cover letter but instead a CD with his music samples.

“What about his background?”

Her nails raked through her long, black hair. She played the part of groupie very well. “We don’t have anything yet.”

Billy found that hard to believe. “He’s worked here for weeks.”

She shrugged a bare, shimmering shoulder. “He hides very well. We’ll have something soon.”

Not soon enough.

Billy took to wandering his club instead of sitting. Why they didn’t just haul the musician into Billy’s office for questioning…no sensible person detonates a bomb without knowing the area is clear. They didn’t know enough about Steve. Whether he belonged to a family scouting the borough before encroaching on Billy’s property.

Would it be their fault for sending in a mole without honoring the proper channels? Yes.

Would it be Billy’s fault for starting an underground war for harming Steve first? Also yes.

So he watched. So he waited. And he began to enjoy this game he and Steve had developed. Because Steve wasn’t as oblivious. He looked pretty—the kind of pretty that some mistake as dumb��but Steve had proven in many, subtle ways just how observant he could be.

The way he managed his band members’ alcohol or obvious drug addictions.

The second time he hauled some petty dealer over to Billy’s booth.

When he flipped Billy off as he walked away after Billy tested, “I noticed you like brunettes.”

“No, you haven’t.”

Steve watched Billy. And Billy watched Steve. At least, Billy suspected. Billy hoped.

The confirmation arrived in the humid alleyway behind his club. He was already itching for a fight. For the last two weeks, a new asshole had been loitering around and inside his business. No one had yet been able to catch him doing anything—until Billy followed him out of the wrong exit. Nobody could use service doors at the back of the building; it was both a safety hazard for civilians to be in the way of delivery trucks, and any squeals about people coming and going from there would have the police riding Billy’s tail.

Then the bastard had the audacity to take two girls who were definitely sporting fake id’s outside.

He slammed the service door against the brick exterior to get their attention. All three of them were huddled and necking between two garbage bins. A real class act.

“Jail bait bimbos, get inside. This asshole can lock himself in a concrete box without your…help.”

The distinct memory of Steve delivering roofy dealers to him flashed in his brain at the sight of the blissed out girls using the alley walls to stay upright. The memory flew out into the main street at the glistening darkness on both of their necks, dripping into their low cut shirts.

In the window of Billy’s surprise, the guy attacked. Slammed Billy right against the other side of the alley, knocking the air out of him—

Billy’s brain couldn’t keep up. But his eyes could.

A large hand gripped the gelled hair and wrenched the guy’s head so far back that Billy heard a threatening pop.

Billy had never stood next to Steve before. He stood just a little taller than Billy—both smaller than the impressive figure he’d watched so many times on stage, but also bigger because he’d never been this close…

Billy was officially having trouble breathing as he watched the man’s wide eyes darting around his sockets despite his broken neck and the disgusting angle of his windpipe.

“This spot’s taken. Tell your hovel to skip town. You won’t get a fourth chance.”

Fourth?

Billy’s eyes stuck on the bloody, long teeth in the man’s gullet before Steve shoved him down the alley. The man landed several yards away—no ordinary shove—but he hauled ass to his feet, head lolling on his shoulders with more sickening crackles.

Billy remained stationary as Steve fixed the shirts and jackets falling on the girls’ shoulders went to hail a cab. One of them recovered faster than the other, and hauled her friend into the vehicle. By this time, Billy managed to say, “What will they do with those stained shirts?”

Steve looked at him, suddenly looking remarkably…normal. Even startled, like he’d forgotten Billy was there. He didn’t hold Billy’s gaze, instead looking a bit downward—

“What will you do about yours?”

Billy frowned, blinking twice before he looked down at himself. It took him a moment to see the difference in his dark blue button-up. But he glistened like the girls did. Slowly, his mind caught up and realized how warm the side of his neck felt, and how gross. Wet. Dry. Sticky. Crusting.

“How did I not even notice?”

Like a dream clinging onto his waking consciousness, the blurry numbness subsided, and Billy realized his throat really fucking hurt.

Steve’s gaze dropped even further, tilting away from Billy as he pointed at the doors. “Go and clean yourself up. Go home.”

Leave it to Billy Hargrove’s pride to stack his spine back together. He stepped off the alley wall and into Steve’s space.

“Don’t—” he turned his face further to the side.

“Explain,” Billy ordered, even as Steve’s hand lifted to cover his mouth.

Steve shook his head a little. “I don’t have to,” he muffled and lifted weary eyes. “Clean yourself up.”

The answers were right there. Yet it seemed…stupid to say any of it out loud. How many movies? Book? Shows?

Instead he said, “Show me.”

Steve’s jaw clenched. “You don’t play with bears like this.”

Billy laughed. He laughed Steve all the way out of the alleyway. Billy only regretted this when the next evening, the secretaries of the business ran through the week’s itinerary. Steve wasn’t scheduled.

A long week progressed of Billy thinking over that night. How the hell a guardian angel with teeth and no wings lived his nights in Billy’s cage and Billy had just…taunted him into slipping right out of the bars.

When another week presented itself with still no sight of his musician, Billy knew he would have more than one inconvenience on his plate. His customers liked Steve. Statistically, the club was fit to bursting since a third more clientele showed up for the band’s gigs. Steve made the barkeeps laugh in between numbers. Billy had always thought he used the alcohol in the greenroom instead of taking up the bars’ time.

Instead he dropped rats right into the king’s lap. Creatures Billy never would have seen unless Steve made them visible.

“Schedule Steve’s group on Sunday.”

His secretary frowned at him. “Am I missing something? We’re off on Sundays.”

“He knows that. Just use whatever number he gave you.”

Billy waited behind the club. Perhaps he should have arranged a specific meeting time instead of just the vague Sunday, but…Steve was punctual to his usual call time. Billy heard his footsteps the same moment the lighter in his hands crackled softly under his cigarette.

Steve approached with his hands in his jean pockets. Then he entered the harsh lighting of the motion-detected beams above the doors. “You don’t look good.”

Because he didn’t. Steve made tired look good but he had met the line between tired and haggard. His lips were chapped and the lights above him put his eye sockets into harsh contrast. Billy missed the lush face he watched bathed in neon stage lights.

Steve only met Billy’s gaze briefly before looking back down the alley. “Haven’t been to the grocery store lately.”

“By ‘groceries,’ do you mean my place?”

“And if I do, then what?”

Billy smirked as easily as blinking. “I don’t recall firing you. You didn’t have to run—”

“Yes, I did. Dipshit.”

Billy moved his tongue over his teeth while he grinned. “Why didn’t you finish what he started? Three easy meals right there.”

“And swell up like a mosquito? Gross.”

Smoke sputtered out of his mouth. “You’re not what I expected. In any regard. It’s a wonder my employees haven’t been inspired by your recklessness. Or my letting you get away with it.”

“There’s no letting anything happen. We’re not all teeth. There’s nothing you could do if we don’t want it to happen. It’s the same on your side for humans.”

Billy’s next exhalation seeped out of his mouth. Slow. “Are you taking your time? Circling a stronger prey?” He tapped the ash off his cigarette, and watched Steve’s irises flick to the movement. “Most people come to me for my looks, money, or power. Is it the same for you?”

“No.”

That might’ve caught Billy off guard, if he didn’t feel gently nailed in place by Steve’s eyes lifting to his own. It was Billy’s turn to look down—down at the fingers grazing Billy’s hand as Steve reached for the cigarette. Took it.

“You’re easy prey because you’re already dying. You smoke a pack of these a day. The rest of the criminal cityscape would celebrate your funeral. A wolf’s goal is to eat. Not bragging rights—well. For the smart ones. We go for what’s easy.”

Glass-blue eyes wandered Steve’s face as he took a long inhalation. “I’ve never been called ‘easy’ in my entire life.”

Steve shrugged and—politely—aimed his lips to the side. Billy wondered how much he’d mind if Steve’s smoke graced his skin. “What can I say? We hunt the same way lions, tigers, and bears to. We go for what’s attainable with minimum effort.”

“You’re lazy.”

That overarching fringe bobbed over his head. Of course Steve had taken the time to style his hair. “Yeah. Pretty much.”

Billy took his cigarette back with a huff. “I’ll decide later how insulted I should be. Until then, you’re the one looking like easy pickings.”

“You haven’t thrown anyone out of your place lately.”

That took an extra minute for Billy to process. “You…huh.”

Steve’s head moved with his eyes rolling onto him. “You don’t really think people in this city leave any bar without a fight, do you? I’ve had plenty of dinners on your tab.”

“Well, don’t let me stop you.”

Steve’s mouth lifted slightly in a skeptical grimace. “What’s the catch?”

Billy took his time with the last drag and stepped on the filter on his way to minimize the distance between them. “Explain to me why some pervert bites me and I’m fighting a hard on for two weeks?”

A rigid second passed, and then Steve crumbled into laughter. He laughed like a kid. A really cute little shit.

As Steve recovered, he heaved, “I’ve never heard anyone complain about the bite boners.”

Billy followed him as he reclined against the alley wall. “How about, instead of avoiding what’s really at play here, you admit to wanting to bite me. You’re usually on top of the rats that enter my business. But not that night.”

Steve stood on his own feet, making Billy feel the one inch he had on him. “And what if I did? What if it wasn’t your smell that made me crave, but jealousy?”

His musician’s bravado flickered when Billy’s tongue traced the edge of his bottom lip. “How do I smell?”

“Like smoked peaches.”

Steve was proving an annoying skill at making Billy dumbfounded. “What?”

He giggled anew. “Are you the type to fuck without kissing?”

Billy absorbed that and returned, “You like to kiss after blowjobs, don’t you?”

Steve wagged his head, so his words drifted back and forth over Billy’s mouth. “Yeah? So what?”

Billy inhaled deeply to make a show of sighing like humoring Steve’s romantic ethics was tiring him out—

Steve’s hands cradled his head with care, the soft sound of Billy’s hair scrunching underneath his fingers filling his ears as Steve licked inside Billy’s mouth. The latter’s jaw went slack, letting Steve in and meeting his tongue to taste him right back. Apart from the smoke, Steve tasted mutely sweet. The way a clean mouth does; the way a man should taste. Billy had always thought the way a person tasted was a uniquely intimate thing. Like a special piece of DNA could only be read with the tongue.

Steve’s tongue retreated so he could fully kiss Billy’s lips. When the lazy, soft pecks seemed to be Steve’s only intent, Billy gripped his shirtfront, the only warning he got before Billy licked the seam of his lips, wanting more. Wanting what they started.

“Mhm…is everything…a power trip with you?” Steve mumbled, but his breath shuddered when Billy pressed his hard groin against Steve’s pelvis.

“Bite me and fuck me—”

The lights went out, because they were tucked far enough behind a garbage bin for the motion detectors to not see them. Steve’s attention moved between these details and he uttered, “Next to the trash?”

Billy growled, “Ughh,” and hauled Steve off the brick and into his off-day business. “I should’ve guessed you were high maintenance.”

But right inside the doors, Billy tapped in the access code to a private elevator. “Where are we going?”

“Top floor penthouse.”

Steve snorted. “You’re like my cockatoo bragging about the highest swing.”

“You have a bird?”

“Yes, I have a bird! A little asshole named, Orchid. He whistles to all of my songs.”

“You’re the strangest excuse for a vampire I’ve ever seen.”

“And you are easy. Thanks for showing me the key to your house.”

Billy looked at him and met a toothy smirk. “Pisces, huh?”

The elevator dinged and Billy was too deep to back out now. He couldn’t tell which of them was the hunter, but he was ready to share a hell of a meal.

[prurientpuddlejumper]

Hopelessness of Wanting [Part 2]

<- Part 1 | Part 3 ->

Frederick Chilton x Reader

Continuation of an angsty dark fic request. 

Warnings: suicidal thoughts/attempt (I made myself real sad with this one so be warned if you’re vulnerable to negative thinking), NSFW, smut (gender-neutral), unhealthy relationship, depression, neurodivergent reader. Melancholy rambling. 

3,200 words

“Don’t worry about what Dr. Chilton thinks,” Nurse Clerval advised as soon as he was out of earshot. “He’s an asshole.”

“Yeah, but”—you tugged the hem of your scrubs—“He’s right. I keep messing up. I think he hates me.” You stopped there, too ashamed to admit you were the biggest fuck-up on the entire staff, new or not, or that you could tell Dr. Chilton regretted his decision to hire you.

“And the rest of us hate him. Just keep doing your job, learn the ropes—he’ll back off.”

You nodded silently and continued your rounds, delivering meds and checking in on patients. Amy had to be restrained again when she wouldn’t stop biting. Julianne seemed more confused lately, though you hadn’t known any of them long enough to tell what was normal.

Clerval’s words hung over you. It didn’t seem right that everyone hated Dr. Chilton. He was a little brusque, yes, but intelligent. Wickedly sarcastic. Posturing and puffing himself up whenever people he admired came to visit the hospital, and he wanted badly to impress them. Lonely.

Your cheeks heated at the thought of those intense bursts of green under his brow—the first thing you noticed when he conducted your interview. His eyes almost matched the light green scrubs you wore at the hospital you trained in, though the uniform here was white (as if leaning into the One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest vibe.)

But what drew you in wasn’t that his eyes were beautiful—though they were—it was the way they made contact with yours. Staring you down with fake confidence, as if he were forcing it. That stare must have been off-putting to most people, but it made your spirit leap with that particular spark of connection one only feels when finding a kindred spirit.

“Hey! Still sulking? Hurry it up,” Clerval called, jolting you to attention. You trotted after.

It was nice having a mentor on the staff, but at the same time, it just felt like having another person to eventually disappoint.

“Here! What’s next?” you beamed.

***

Dr. Chilton didn’t back off over the next few weeks as Nurse Clerval suggested. The more you thought you were getting the hang of routines at the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane, the more mistakes you seemed to make, and the harder its administrator came down on you. And the more the handsome, scarred Dr. Chilton hated you, the more nervous mistakes you made.

In nursing school, you aced everything technical. Every written test. Every memorized statistic, sterilization procedure, medication instruction, and anatomy diagram. But when it came to interacting with patients and families—being compassionate yet professional—nothing came naturally. As a child, you learned how to fake eye contact by staring at the bridge of someone’s nose. How to smile bright and encourage others so they don’t reject you. So they don’t see you as cold or weird. But sometimes, you felt like an alien just parroting human behavior.

The guy you had been dating when you started working at the BSHCI said something similar to you when he broke it off. That you were “unavailable” and never understood what he needed.

There was a reason your first choice job was at a hospital where the only patients were mentally ill murderers.

Dr. Frederick Chilton was the same way. Just better at hiding it, or braver about not caring when his mannerisms rubbed people the wrong way. He didn’t fall apart like you did. He was… incredible. As soon as you met him, you knew you wanted the job. His smile was forced but friendly that first day, and you went home dreaming about getting to know him better.

But as soon as you were hired, the friendliness went out of his eyes. On your very first day, you passed him in the hall and smiled. He frowned and informed you that you were five minutes late clocking in. Everything—every forgotten ID card and typo on a patient file—was proof to Dr. Chilton that you were incompetent.

Worthless.

He even pointed it out when you couldn’t stand up for yourself and let Nurse Clerval defend you.

Pathetic.

Why did you ever think someone like him might like you?

He wasn’t an asshole. The constant reprimanding and disciplinary write-ups were no more than you deserved. It just hurt coming from someone you admired and wished things could be different with.

God, you wished just once he would smile at you again. Tell you that you did a good job.

Your fist hovered over the dark mahogany of the carved doors to Dr. Chilton’s office, poised to knock. To tender your resignation. You hadn’t seen the extravagant interior of his office since your interview, but you could imagine him in there: laying back on the leather couch sipping a Scotch, surrounded by tall shelves of medical books and sculpted wall molding. The air filled with the library smell of old paper.

In your imagination, his cold green eyes would soften, and he would ask why you were leaving. Apologize for being so hard on you. The Chilton in your mind clasped your hand, and you both blushed, wondering if the gesture was merely a show of professional support, or if it held a deeper meaning. He clasped tighter instead of dropping your hand, knowing— understanding—the heat behind your gaze.

A dull thud came from inside the office, followed by footsteps and a muttering voice, muffled through the door. The footsteps started heading your way, and you walked briskly down the hall toward the exit, not looking back when a moment later, the mahogany doors creaked open.

Coward.

There was no point quitting, anyway. You would never find another hospital job as slow-paced, where you rarely had to speak with outsiders—only the regular long-term patient-inmates, and a small staff of orderlies, guards, nurses, and psychiatrists.

Sometimes you thought you should quit nursing altogether, but then what would you do? Flip burgers? You’d be bad at that, too. There was nothing you wouldn’t be a failure at.

A fog hovered over you, creeping its tendrils into every thought, turning every tiny setback into the end of the world, and making every success unimportant. Leaving BSHCI wouldn’t make it better. Nothing would make it better. You were the fuck-up. Anywhere you went, the problem would always be you.

Every smile you gave was forced, but you kept smiling as if everything was normal. So long as nobody could see you drowning, it wasn’t real. There was still hope that you could get your shit together, and no one would be the wiser that you were actually a disgusting piece of human trash. So long as you could smile like you were fine, you weren’t a complete failure.

But the more you pretended to be upbeat—pretended to be someone likable—the more you were certain your coworkers didn’t like you. They must have been sick of covering for you by now.

A week later, the nurse you were replacing grunted, “Finally,” as you sprinted through the door three minutes after your shift started. That one unremarkable interaction was the final proof of a theory you had been nursing for a long time:

Everyone’s lives would be easier without you.

That was the final conclusion, the final, creeping thought the suffocating fog wormed into your head. The crescendo of a distorted symphony that had been subtly building to this from the beginning.

You couldn’t force yourself to smile anymore.

***

You didn’t have authorized access to the medication supply room, but you swiped a key from Dr. Tenley’s office. For a secure facility, the doctors of the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane were lax about locking their own offices. She would notice it was missing by Monday morning, and there would be serious repercussions for stealing it, but you weren’t concerned. You wouldn’t be around to face them.

With the high-potency drugs available in a hospital and a working knowledge of pharmacology, ending a life could be quick and relatively painless.

The key clicked in the door. You glanced up and down the hallway to make sure no one was coming. But the coast was clear.

A halfhearted breath puffed from your nose. Part of you wanted to find it funny how easy this was, but you just couldn’t bring yourself to laugh.

You stealthily opened the windowless metal door, stepped inside, and shut and locked it behind you without making a sound. Once inside the small room, you let out a silent sigh of relief (or despair). Only a handful of people had a key, so you were unlikely to be interrupted, especially at night with only a skeleton staff on duty.

There were three rows of tall storage shelves crammed into the walk-in closet with clean tile in the few places wall was exposed. The whir of a climate-control system drowned out the pulse in your ears as you scanned for the drugs you were looking for.

You found them faster than expected. They could have at least been hidden. The universe could have put a few more obstacles in your path, but instead, the universe was giving you a big fat sign it wanted you dead.

You picked up the packaging. Turned it over in your hand.

Just a handful of these, and all the problems you cause would be over. No more reprimands. No more disappointing everyone you meet. No more wrenching in your gut every time Dr. Chilton looks at you with contempt when you long to see a smile. No more trying so hard every minute of every day.

It wasn’t like too many people would be sad you were gone anyway. Most of them will be relieved.

Your eyes stung.

Wasn’t someone going to walk in and stop you?

Your lip trembled. Why would anyone want to stop you?

Tears rolled down your face as the reality of your plan set in. Survival instinct kicked and clawed at the cloying fog of twisted logic that promised you would be helping everyone if you stopped existing, but it was losing the battle.

And then you heard someone call your name.

You sniffed and looked up. No… not someone calling your name. Moaning it. You crept to the last row of shelves at the back and gasped—Dr. Chilton had his laptop tucked onto a shelf and was watching a clip of security feed on loop. His red, glistening erection thick in his hand as he masturbated, whimpering your name over and over.

You watched silently—he was so engrossed he didn’t notice your shadow falling over the aisle. It was only when the package of drugs slipped from your hand and clattered on the floor that he jumped with a shriek, covering himself, though his massive erection was still conspicuous in his pants. His eyes bugged out at you, face red with embarrassment—but then they quickly narrowed to anger.

“What are you doing in here? You are not authorized to be in this room,” he barked.

All you could think about was what you heard—the name gasping from his lips. It overpowered every other thought. “Were you… imagining me?”

His nostrils flared. He hastily shut the laptop which was looping security footage of you outside his office door.

Then he laughed—forced and cruel. “What I imagine is not your concern. Do not read into it. I have never shown you special treatment, have I? Do you think that I could have feelings for an incompetent nurse?”

“I know that!” Your lip trembled again now that the briefest spark of hope you had was shattered. Of course he didn’t like you. He was just a pervert who jacked off to all the nurses. “Don’t you think I know that I’m worthless? You’ve made it abundantly clear.”

Fresh tears rolled down your cheeks, and Chilton’s eyes softened, as if for the first time realizing that all his attempts to hurt you had succeeded. You were hurt. And he did not enjoy it as much as he thought.

“You are not worthless,” he said quietly. Then his eyes flicked down to the floor, at the medication you dropped. He picked it up, read what it was. His expression fell. “What were you doing in here, nurse?” he swallowed.

“Nothing. I just… needed something for a patient.”

“Lie,” he said.

You looked away. Everything was numb. It barely even occurred to you that someone stopped you after all. A handsome, awkward, cruel doctor you admired was in the same room with you and had said his first kind words since the day you met.

He took a slow step toward you. Then another. His hand—slender and surprisingly large—pressed your arm in an attempt at a comforting gesture. An alien parroting human behavior.

“You are not worthless. I assure you, none of your mistakes have been grievous. You are certainly not the least competent of my staff. Far from it. So don’t…” He swallowed. “…Do not do anything rash.”

“Sure,” you scoffed. “Then why am I the one you’re always reprimanding? The one always being called to your office?” You knew what he thought of you; he was just trying to talk you down.

“That…” he began in a broken voice, “That must be painfully obvious now.”

Your eyes peeled away from the floor and found his face, and the storm of emotions flashing over it. Shame. Trepidation. A faint light of hope.

“You like me?” Your voice sounded far away. The analytical part of your brain was whirring away above the swamp of depression bogging you down with lies that nobody could like you. But it made sense. As the words spilled from your mouth, it was like a veil lifted.

Pulling pigtails. He was pulling your pigtails because he liked you. A middle-aged psychiatrist ought to have more emotional maturity handling a crush than a third-grader, but there was a reason he worked at a hospital where the only patients were mentally ill murderers. There was a reason his staff hated him. Why he was lonely, and why you desperately wanted to be the one to fill the empty space by his side.

Frederick Chilton was a lot like you.

You could understand each other and be less alone in this world, together.

***

His eyes were closed and he was muttering something self-flagellating and vaguely apologetic when the kinetic sense of you moving closer caused Frederick Chilton to look up.

No longer out at arm’s distance, you were within each other’s breathing space. And now, he was genuinely terrified—terrified you were going to return his feelings. Of the joy it might bring crashing down on him like an airplane. He read something he never expected to see in your body language, and it shook him deeper than being walked in on with his cock in his hands.

You should have reported him for ethics violations.

If you made the case to the hospital board that he created a hostile work environment because he wanted you sexually, he would lose his job and do everybody a favor.

But this—the intention in your body—this was the farthest thing from what he deserved. You confirmed his fear when your soft, perfect lips melded against his. Yet, as always when he knew a thing was wrong, he did not push you away. Did nothing to stop you. He let you deepen the kiss slowly, and you were warm, the taste of you sweeter than he imagined in all his lonely nights of fantasizing.

His cock twitched, your closeness awakening his urges again. He moaned as your lips parted, his lips parting with them, and your tongue gently probed inside. You were tentative at first, investigating only the nearest reaches of his inner lips, and then his hand spasmed on your arm, and with a low growl, he pulled your closer—then you became ravenous. All the turbulent emotions churning within you broke free in that kiss. You sobbed into his mouth, your tongue, hot and fervent, explored and assaulted the depths of him, your hands weaving into the hair behind his neck, and he could taste your salt. It was all his tongue could do to keep up—to let himself be consumed.

Dear god, if only that passion would have ended him then and there. The moment your lips met his in an unexpected act of reciprocation was the fulfillment of every want, every tattered and twisted hope—the highest delight a man such as him could achieve. And he knew—rightly so—that all that could follow was suffering of his own design.

Dear god, let me die before I see this in ruins. Let me die with my happiness.

***

The sex wasn’t all that good. But then again, you had gone into that supply closet intending to never come out, so overall, being fucked by the man you had been pining for was a positive turn of events.

It wasn’t how you’d imagined your first time with Dr. Chilton, pressed against a cold tile wall. A hungry kiss led to his clothed erection pushing against your thigh, led to you unbuckling his belt.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” he whispered hoarsely, nervous eyes darkened with lust—and you nodded, sliding down your scrub pants, which stuck on your sneakers, hobbling your ankles. He was in too much of a rush to let you take them off—he only opened up his slacks and pulled his cock out of the fly of his briefs. And then he was thrusting into you from behind—frantic, desperate. Your ankles being bound only added to the thrill of him being in control. Dr. Chilton wanted you after all—fantasized about you—and now he was taking you, and all you had to do was surrender to his desire.

His breathy moans rose with each snap of his hips, his hands traveling up your chest under your shirt, fingers curling around your neck, possessing you. Touching every inch of skin he could get his hands on. And that noise that saved your life, your name on his lips, he chanted in your ear.

He was fast—hips racing as if this were his only chance, and if he waited, you would disappear—and he finished fast. You didn’t spend long with your face pressed to the cold tile when his moans broke into a shattered scream, and his head slumped, sweaty, against your back.

Then he turned you around to face him and got on his knees. Heedless of his own mess that he’d left sticky and bitter inside you, he pumped his fingers into you and sucked like he was fulfilling a duty. Clinical about the task, and efficient. It didn’t take him long to bring your arousal to a climax in his mouth.

After, he was quiet. When you had cleaned up, he looked at you like you were a mistake… only you weren’t certain what kind of mistake. If you reached out to reassure him, would he jerk away and tell you to never speak of this again?

“Was it… all you expected?” you asked robotically. Your arm crossed your body, hugging yourself.

And then he kissed you again, softly. He ran his fingers over your hair and pulled back just far enough to study your face. His eyes were wet, clouded with a million thoughts and regrets you would only learn about later.

“You are perfect,” he whispered.

• ● • ━━━━━─ ••●•• ─━━━━━ • ● •

Since I went some places this chapter... Please don’t bottle up your feelings if they’re telling you horrible things about yourself. They aren’t true, I promise. You matter. ❤️

Call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline: 1-800-273-8255

Online chat: https://suicidepreventionlifeline.org/chat/

Help via Text: https://www.crisistextline.org/ (Text HOME to 741741)

List of additional resources: https://www.healthline.com/health/mental-health/suicide-resource-guide 

Tags:

@beccabarba​ / @itsjustmyfantasyroom / @thatesqcrush / @dianilaws / @permanentlydizzy / @mrsrafaelbarba / @madamsnape921 / @astrangegirlsmind / @neely1177 / @onerestein / @dreamlover31 / @stormtrooperofficerbrowneyes / @barbasimp / @storiesofsvu / @welcometothemxdhouse / @feedthemadness-sweetie / @law-nerd105 / @amelia-song-pond / @michael-rooker / @xecq 

[pink-imagines]

the necklace

request: could you write something about hawks having to leave the reader because his work was putting them in danger. i'm in the mood for angst, i'm sorry!! 😣

a/n: hope this was enough angst for you!! i really need to make this into a series cuz i have the perfect idea for it!!!!!

warnings: angst, kidnapping, break up

masterlist

requesting rules

When Keigo said that his line of work could get dangerous you never thought much of it. You knew in your heart that even if something did happen it wouldn’t be hard for Keigo to come an save you. You couldn’t even see yourself in such a dangerous situation, surely it wouldn’t happen. Of course you were wrong, it was just your luck. 

A simple wednesday afternoon turned into the most horrible experience of your life. You were just walking home from getting groceries, seeing as Keigo was finally coming home after a long mission you wanted to make him something special. It was getting dark, so you didn’t see much, and your headphones were playing loud music, so you couldn’t hear much either. How could you sense that someone was sneaking up on you? As soon as you turned a corner they ambushed you and sedated you to stop you from drawing attention to them by screaming. 

Keigo had gotten home early and waited for you on the couch and when you hadn’t come home for a while he started getting worried. The fact that you weren’t answering your phone only worried him even more. When your caller ID popped up on his screen he was skeptical at first, but still answered. “We got your partner, Hawks.”, a taunting voice answered, “If I were you I’d hurry up and get to the location we’re gonna send you if you want her to still be around.” “Keigo...”, he could hear you crying in the background. “How do I know this isn’t a trick?”, Keigo asked carefully. They hung up and wouldn’t answer him when he tried calling back. Eventually he was sent a video of you being tazed, followed by a location. Even if it was real or not, he couldn’t risk it. Your life was on the line afterall. Don’t tell anyone what you’re seeing, or it’ll only get worse for her. They sent as a final message.

You were thrown in some sort of cell, with you ankles chained so that you couldn’t walk very far. You could walk up to the bars that encased your only exit, but that was as far as you could go. The concrete cell was small but somehow felt immensely big, the only thing you could do was crawl up against a corner and hope for someone, Keigo, to come.

As soon as Keigo reached the premises he took up his phone and sent a text to his agency with his location and a warning that he might need back up.

You woke up to the sound of a fight, people groaning in pain and the sound of skin hitting skin. With a hand over your mouth you tried your best to keep quiet, you didn’t know if what was happening outside your cell was good or bad so you had to be on the safe side. Even so, a quiver escaped yourlips as you heard a body fall to the floor. “Y/N?”, it was Keigo’s voice. “Keigo?”, you whimpered and crawled over to the bars, using them to get to your feet, “Is that you?” “I’m here, don’t worry.”, he said softly as if he hadn’t just knocked about five guys unconcious, “I’ll get you out of there, okay? Just hold on.”

You couldn’t really remember the rest, but you hadn’t blacked out. Here and there you’d get a faint memory of running through a few corridors and seeing other heroes from Keigo’s enemy. Most of your memories were blurry and you can only clearly remember waking up at the hospital. You didn’t have any serious injuries but when you looked beside you to see Keigo, sitting on a chair with his head in his hands, it almost seemed like you were on the brink of death. “Keigo..?”, you managed to croak out. He looked up at you for only a second before standing up and walking to the door, but it only took a second to see the tears in his eyes. “I’ll go get you some water.”, he muttered before leaving you alone in the room. You listened as his steps grew more distant and so did his bond with you. This wasn’t something that either of you could recover from. Even though both of you knew that it wasn’t the other persons fault, that didn’t stop you from losing hope in the normal relationship you’d dreamed of together.  Keigo came back only minutes later with a bottle of water for you, which you took and let out a quiet “thank you”.  “I’ll get my stuff out of your apartment as soon as I can.”, he said bluntly, the emotion that he showed before was now completely gone. “What are you trying to say?”, you looked up at him with furrowed eyebrows. “If I’m putting you in danger by being with you then I have to take responsibility and distance myself. I can’t let something like this happen again.”, he explained, “So it’s better if we go seperate ways...” “But it wasn’t your fault! I was being careless and didn’t pay attention!”, you tried to explain but Keigo had already put up an emotional wall between you. “It doesn’t matter if you were careless. If you had been careless without me being here then this still wouldn’t have happened.”, he raised his voice, “I’m putting you in danger by just loving you!” You felt a tear roll down your cheek and on instinct Keigo tried to reach out and gently wipe it away, but he stopped himself. “Fine.”, you sighed and tried to keep your composure, “Go get your stuff... but let me have my last goodbye when I’m not in the hospital, please.” Keigo nodded before hesitantly walking out of the room.

It didn’t take long before you got out of the hospital and just a few days later Keigo showed up to get his stuff, which you had already packed up in boxes. It wasn’t much, seeing as he didn’t have much, but it felt like it took forever to remove every single trace of him in your apartment. “Thanks for packing up my stuff...”, he muttered as he took one of the boxes in his arms. “... no problem.”, you nodded and went back to sitting on the couch. You tried not to pay attention to him while he was carrying all the boxes down the apartment complex one by one, but that’d be impossible to do. TV was a good distraction, but it didn’t always work- especially not when he said your name. “Hey, Y/N.”, he said which made you turn around. “Yeah?” “Keep this.”, he held out his hand, closed into a fist, and expected you to hold out your hand flat under his. You held out your palm and let him drop a golden necklace onto it. It was a necklace that he usually wore, that meant a lot to him, and it had tiny, golden, wings hanging from the chain. “Why?”, you looked up at him as tears started to speck your eyes, “Don’t you understand that I’ll never be able to stop thinking about you if I keep this? I cleaned out the entire apartment just so that I don’t have to see something that reminds me of you. Why would you give this to me?” “Just let me have one last reason to come see you.”, he uttered huskily, “When I feel like the time is right... I just want one last chance to see you, please.” In a storm of sudden anger you tightly gripped the necklace in a fist and then threw it to the side, not caring where it landed and not caring about the fact that Keigo flinched when you did so. “You’re the one leaving me!”, you shouted, “This was your decision and now you want a way out?! If you’re leaving, then you’re leaving! You don’t get a second chance, not after this!” Yes, it was harsch but they were your true feelings. Maybe you could’ve uttered them in a better way, but everything surrounding you was just too much. “Goodbye then...”, you muttered. “... bye.”, he answered and took the last box with him. The necklace was forgotten on the floor, underneath your favorite armchair, as you curled up in the corner of the couch and cried.

Months went by and you barely left the apartment, only for groceries and sometimes your friends would even help you with that. From time to time one of your friends would stay over, since the fear of being kidnapped still crept up on your spine. It was hard being alone when you used to always have someone sleeping next to you. After a few months of this behaviour your friends got you out of your apartment, sick of your sulking. They understood that you needed time, but you also needed to learn to have fun again before you forgot completely. At first it was simple things; going to a café, taking a walk in a park or sometimes go to a bar. After almost a year they started setting you up on blind dates. They were nice people, but none of them caught your eye. But the point wasn’t for you to find a new lover, it was for you to be able to function normally again. The day came when you had finally finished your studies, university was now behind you and you didn’t have to work a million jobs to pay off your tuition. So you decided that an entire make over was due. You moved around the furniture in your apartment, sorted out your closet and took out the things that you didn’t want or never wore anymore. While you were vacuuming you heard something going up the pipe that definitely shouldn’t have. You had been looking for your lost ring recently and, thinking it was the ring, you opened the vacuum and took out the bag. Even if you really didn’t want to, you opened up the bag and looked through it and something golden caught your eye. You pulled out Keigo’s golden necklace by the pair of wings hanging from the chain. It must’ve been thrown around the other times you were cleaning, since it wasn’t under your armchair anymore. A part of you wanted to throw it back in the bag and never think of it again. The other part of you took over, held it in your hands, and tightly hugged it against your chest. Of course you still missed him, the best years of your life were spent with him, how could you not? With a bit of hesitation you walked to the nearest mirror and carefully put it on. It was the easiest way to make sure you had it with you, in case you met him. Once you gave it to him, this could be over but you weren’t ready to say goodbye just yet. You knew that this would have to be a long journey.

-

permanent taglist: @theoceanphoenixhasrisen | @raven-r0ses | @darkbeautyswife | @sondering-thoughts | @gowoneandonlyone | @bnhabadass | @queenblackcat | @jayetheanimefreek101 | @witchy-anna | @cutest-celestial-princess | @missymysa | @karebear5118 | @weebartistinc | @crystal-lilac |

if you want to see this as a series then please let me know!!

[13thbaronzemo]

THE EMPEROR'S NEW CLOTHES: PART 3

Baron Helmut Zemo/F!Reader

Rated E (Explicit)

You are the Sokovian custodian of Castle Zemo, which now belongs to the dissolved nation’s neighbors, and the baron himself has ordered you to come on vacation with him in Ibiza.

Disclaimer: This is the continuation of a fanfic written before FatWS: Ep4 aired and set up after his separation from the protagonists and while on the run from the law.

'Castle Zemo has been here since before you arrived and it will still be here when you return,' Ms. Helena assured you. Unlike yourself, the castle didn't go missing for five years. After five years of mourning, you had been the first person she witnessed return from the ether. As far as she was concerned, you were the only ghost to ever haunt those halls. She saw, through your empty eyes, how impermanent life is. They were the same eyes she saw the first time you stepped foot into the barony after losing your whole world along with your hometown of Novi Grad.

'You can't waste your youth between these old walls,' she sighed. You realized, taking a look at your back at your life, that she was right. You've been displaced in time, both mourning and being mourned, and chose to become one with history instead of living in the present. 'Now, go! Get some fresh air, dance, get some sun, fall in love, get your heart broken! Live!' Ms. Helena, ready to return from retirement just so you could take a vacation, sent you home to pack your bags. 'Just remember to send me a postcard.'

You'd almost forgotten all about it, excited and exhausted as you were after the flight, but a rack full of them reminded you of your promise. Ibiza Airport offered tourists a taste of the island right after they stepped off the plane, so there were gift shops filled with mementos of times you had yet to live. You spent your own money in one of them. You were saving up the euros he slipped under your door and that you hadn't already use to pay for the car, train, and plane that got you here in the first place.

Not feeling ready to step outside into the world and the setting Mediterranean sun just yet, you took a seat in a little coffee shop that overlooked the bus stop and wrote to Mrs. Helena.

After you finished your drink, paid for it, and tipped the waitress, you took another peek at the envelope and the absurd amount of money still left inside. He gave you more banknotes than information about his whereabouts. You understood why he couldn't, being a wanted man and all, but you wished you knew as much about him as he seemed to know about you. All you could be sure of was that he wanted you here, in Ibiza, where he would be for the next 10 days. And while you had dreamed about him greeting for you here at Arrivals, with a flower bouquet and a sun-kissed face, as you sleept on the plane, you knew better than to hope. After all, it was the possibility of getting lost among all the tourists visiting the island that gave you the nerve to travel here. But, if you were to be honest with yourself, the smaller possibility of being accosted by him for the third time was what made you take time off from work.

As you boarded the bus that would take you to your cheap - well, cheap for the likes of a baron - hotel, you took one last lingering look at the Arrivals entrance.

The sun was sinking into the sea when you got off the bus, so you stood there and stared. You’ve never seen the sea and it seemed like a lifetime since you’ve felt the sun on your skin. The sea breeze must’ve frozen you in place because a family of five knocked you over and walked all over you. The father apologized for childrens' crimes in a language you recognized as Italian. You reassured him that you were fine in a mix of English and Spanish, the two languages you’ve been speaking to the airport staff and vendors since you landed. After shaking off the embarrassment and dusting off your jean shorts, you started moving again, dragging the small and swiveling trolley behind you. You had packed every piece of summer clothing you owned and there was still room left. That’s where you put the magnets and Mrs. Helena’s postcard.

Inside the hotel lobby, you could get stomped on if you were to stop and stare at another shiny thing again. It was crowded, but that is exactly what you wanted, wasn’t it? To go  unnoticed? When the Italian father waved at you, hoarding his children into the elevator, you knew that you had already made an impression.

“How may I help-”

“Here’s my ID” you interrupted the receptionist. “I made a reservation via phone in that name just yesterday.”

You knew you were being rude, but you needed to get out of those clothes you’ve been sweating in since you left home. The last thing you wanted was to waste time spelling out your name.

“Of course,” she smiled. It was the same smile you’d put on during visiting hours. It was gone the moment she took a gander at your ID. “Excuse me.” She grabbed the phone off the desk and turned her back to you. Now, that was rude. Your Catalan wasn’t as good as your Spanish, but you did overhear the words ‘girl’ and ‘here’. “I'm sorry, Miss. There seems to be a problem with your reservation, but don’t worry, we'll sort it out soon.” Then, handing you back the ID card, she turned towards the sitting area and invited you to take a seat.

You swallowed a groan and put on your customer service smile before thanking her. After all, whatever mix-up may have occurred, it couldn’t have been her fault. Hell, it might’ve been your fault. It was closing in on a week since you had a good night’s sleep. On the bright side, you had some time to stare at everything shiny while you waited. You’ve never been to a place that glowed as brightly as Ibiza. Everything from the sun, to the sea at dawn, to the light fixtures in the hotel lobby, everything that glittered was gold.

When you looked back at the receptionist’s desk, you saw her looking back, but she wasn’t the only one. A man, no older than yourself, followed her line of sight and found you. From his black suit and hat and his white gloves and shirt, you could see that he was a chauffeur. What you couldn’t see was what he handed over to the receptionist. Stepping towards you, a smile spread across his face. As for yourself, you shrunk back into your seat.

“Good evening, Miss,” he spoke, his English spiced by a Spanish accent. “I’ve been sent to collect your luggage.”

“By whom?” You asked as if you haven’t already pieced the disparate pieces of the puzzle together.

“By his lordship,” he whispered before grabbing your bags. “He is waiting for you in the car. Follow me, please.”

Looking back at the receptionist one last time, you pulled the purse off his arm and slid it onto your shoulder. “I can carry this myself, thank you.”

“Apologies, Miss,” he bowed his head and followed you out the front door.

“Which car?” You asked once the both of you were outside.

“Follow me,” he whispered and walked ahead of you. When he walked out of the parking lot, you wondered if you should’ve believed a total stranger in the first place, but then he said: “The limousine.”

Sure enough, on the other side of the street, there was a black car and its shadow: a limousine.

“Just a moment, Miss,” he rolled your trolley suitcase to the trunk.

You slowly approached the side of it, the blackened windows preventing your eye from penetrating inside. Before you even reached the passenger door, it popped open. Taking a step back, you forced your spooked heart to settle. When the chauffeur finally made it back beside you, you were too startled to say anything about the seemingly faulty door.

“Forgive me, milord,” he bowed, backing away from the now fully opened door that was obscuring who he was talking to. “I shouldn’t have kept the young miss waiting. Please,” he waved you closer to the car.

As you approached it apprehensively, you heard a voice you had come to terms with never hearing again: “Good evening, my dear,” he removed a pair of purple sunglasses as he beckoned you inside with the same dark and deep eyes you were ready to miss for the rest of your life.

The interior was almost as bright as the lobby you left, white like marble and illuminated by a golden glow. One side had an entire cream couch just for the two of you while the other had a bar filled with crystal glassware and bottles bearing labels you don’t recognize. Yet it was him that you were most blinded by Baron Helmut Zemo. He wore a jacket that seemed the summer version of his fur coat and the button-up underneath was the same royal purple as his forsaken mask. As you took his hand and a seat next to him, you saw that the sun had managed to kiss his face, if only a little. Then, while you were lost in his eyes, he brought you back by bringing the back of your hand to his lips:

“How was your flight?”

“How did you-”

“How did I know you came here via plane? I didn’t, but it is the most popular way,” he smirked. “I did, however, know that you have a room here. Well, had.”

“I didn’t even get to…” you started, as he stroked your knuckles with his thumb, little circles to calm you down. “And the receptionist, she…”

“You’ll forgive her for not spoiling the surprise, won’t you?” Then, seemingly out of the salty Mediterranean air, he brought before you a bouquet of red roses. “Welcome to Ibiza.”

The drive to his villa was spent sipping the champagne he popped in his fingers and spilled all over his hand, giggles bubbling out of you as he offered you a crystal flute. With your heavy head on his shoulder and his arm around yours, you listened to his voice rather than his words. He talked about the sun that had just been swallowed by the sea, about how it gave life to everything on the island.

"Ibiza also has a nightlife, as I'm sure you've heard," he spoke into your scalp while his nose was in your hair. "I could tell you all about it, but I'd you live it for yourself. Tonight."

You were content floating in the foam inside your flute, getting drunk on his cologne and falling asleep to the soothing sound of his voice. "Is this a dream? Am I dreaming right now?"

"No, my dear," he rose from his seat when the ride was over. "And I have to wake you up now. We've arrived."

The night had already taken over the island by the time you got out of the limousine, but the horizon was as bright as ever. Stars, ships, and city lights which way you turned your head. And, when he led you inside, your eyes hurt from the brilliance of the interior. Everything was light and soft, nothing like the dark and chilly castle. There was life within these walls, potted plants, and music in the air.

"The bedrooms are on the second floor." He offered you his arm to take as he lifted your trolley in the other. "You can freshen up while I prepare something for you to eat. Are you hungry?"

"No, I had something to eat on the flight."

"A light snack then," he decided.

There were two bedrooms and two bathrooms on the second floor. He made it clear that you can choose to sleep in your bed instead of insisting on sharing one with him. You walked into the room that had his smell lingering in the air and, under his hungry eyes, into his trap. But you didn't mind being his prey. You even expected him to bite down on the fading teeth marks he left under your right ear. But he backed away while handing you your luggage.

After a shower that soothed your very soul, it was time for a change of clothes. You only had one dress that you hoped was fancy enough for a baron. It wasn't made out of any expensive material, but it did compliment your curves. As you walked down the stairs in your heels, you hoped you wouldn't embarrass yourself and fall like you did the last time.

As if summoned by the sound of your clicking shoes, he appeared at the bottom of the stairs. "A vision," he bellowed, eyes wide and arms spread wider. "You are a vision, my dear."

"I bet you say that to all the girls you bring back here," you blushed.

"No vision as lovely has ever stepped foot in this villa, I assure you," he offered you his arm to take again as he guided you to the kitchen.

"Or is that what you say to them?" You jabbed his side, hoping the joke would land. "Thank you for flattering me, but can you be brutally honest and tell me if this dress fits the occasion or not?"

"While it's a perfect fit, it is far too elegant for a nightclub," he sat you down on a stool before the bouquet of roses he'd placed in a glass vase and served you a china cup of cherry blossom tea. "If you'd like, we can go shopping for something more appropriate tomorrow. My treat."

He didn't let you protest, or dig up the envelope of banknotes from your purse. Instead, he insisted on keeping your mouth busy by feeding you himself because you two had a long night ahead.'

Between cheeses and grapes, he treated you to Turkish delights. The pleasure he took in watching you eat from his hand emboldened you enough to wipe the white powder off of the tip of his fingers using your tongue. The hunger in his eyes only grew when he slowly slipped one of them between your lips and you sucked it in. If it were up to you, the two of you'd be rushing upstairs into your shared bedroom and not come out until the sun does. However, when his phone started vibrating on the tabletop, both of you jumped.

"The chauffeur is here," he cleared his voice as he checked his phone. "Come, my dear." The baron had to clean your mess and his, the powder and your lipstick, with a tissue, before he could help you off the stool.

Before your mind could catch up with you, before you could ask why he sent the chauffeur away when he knew the two of you would be needing him tonight, you were already in the driveway admiring a purple convertible. It was a jewel on the road, the city lights and the night sky reflecting off of its polish finish, and you got to 'feel the sea breeze,' as the baron had ordered you to.

"Let your hair down and enjoy the wind whipping through it," he whispered. "The night is ours."

The night had barely begun to take over, yet you already felt like you conquered it. When you arrived in the island's paradise, the nightclub known as Eden, you knew that you made it to the top of the world. The guard let you pass as soon as they spotted you on the baron's arm and a second one guided you to the much less crowded and far more quiet VIP area. The speakers hummed through the walls that were drenched in blue and red lights and the dance floor was covered with bodies coming together in communion. It was a nightly ritual you can't remember the last time you participated in, but you recall it never attending one of this magnitude.

"Luciano," the baron called out over the beat.

"Baron," a man, dressed in black that seemed to blend into the shadows stood up from the table the bodyguard had led you to. "You're looking as alive as you sounded on the phone," he coughed in Spanish, putting out his cigarette to shake the baron's hand. "I can't say the same for myself." He was tall, taller than your Lord, and the darkness the strobe lights couldn't illuminate added his shadow to the height.

He chose to ignore your Spanish greeting as if you were just another in a long line of girls that had been brought before him. But that didn't stop the baron from introducing you as an 'hermosa visión'. The compliment made you smile just as wide the second time. And, after you were invited to sit across from this Luciano, he made a remark that you barely registered, distracted as you were by the sound of your Lord ordering drinks in Catalan.

"You're Sokovian like my Heidi, yes?"

You shook your head and said in Spanish: "Excuse me?"

"Heidi!"

A woman, sitting by herself on a black velvet stool, twisted her torso before turning off her phone. You were surprised to have missed her because, as soon as she stood up, she stood out with her dress as white as her skin and as bright as her blond hair.

"Good evening," the baron bowed his head slightly as she stepped closer to the couch.

"Heidi, this is the baron I told you about," Luciano gestured grandly towards your side of the couch.

"Baron Helmut Zemo?" She blinked, stars in her eyes the color of the strobe lights. "We thought you were dead or locked up or-" she stuttered in Sokovian as she sat down and leaned over the glass table.

"What is my silly girl saying, Baron? I could never learn the language."

"Papi," she spun around to face him. "You didn't tell me it was Baron Zemo we were hosting tonight."

"I wanted to surprise you, baby," he tucked her long blond hair behind her ear. "I know how much you've missed speaking in your mother tongue. Look, he even brought you a play mate."

When you were pointed out, you pushed your hair out of your face and waved. When he saw your stilted movements and your strained smile, the baron brought your shaking hand to his lips. He knew you had been placed in an awkward position, but he calmed you with a few circles drawn with his thumb on the back of your hand. He then made the introduction himself, releasing your hand so that you can shake Heidi's. Her smile was sincere, so yours grew at the sight of it.

"Why don't you girls go onto the dance floor?" Luciano leaned back. "The baron and I have business to discuss."

"Come on," Heidi dragged you up by the hand that was still in hers. "Business bores me."

"What was that, baby?"

"I said you're boring, Papi," she answered a laughing Luciano in Spanish.

As for yourself, you looked back at the baron who reassured you by squeezing your other hand: "I'll be right here, my dear. Now, go! Have fun! That's an order!"

You tried obeying his order, you did, but it took Heidi dragging you to the bar and buying the two of you drinks to relax your muscles and settle your nerves. She was brazen, sure. But she was also sweet. The smile that stretched her face also lit it up. She was another shiny thing you were drawn to on this island and she just so happened to be Sokovian. Three drinks in, she was already teaching you Catalan and a couple of her signature dance moves. You talked about Castle Zemo and the tourists who had thought you all the other languages. Soon enough you were grinding against each in the flurry of giggles. The music was just as addicting as the alcohol and it made you even more uninhibited. When she asked about the baron's performance in the bedroom, you answered so fast, your head started spinning. The best you've ever had. You asked about her relationship with Luciano and she wasn't ashamed to admit to her sugar baby status.

"Ladies, mind if I cut in?"

As if he could hear his name being whispered across the crowded dance floor and over the thrumming beat, the baron appeared beside you.

“Milord,” you blinked up at him, a sobering sight for drunk eyes.

“Hello, milord,” she wrapped her arms around you, not ready to let him have you back just yet. “Do you dance as well as you fuck?”

“Heidi,” you gasped, but soon you dissolved into giggles. You even wrapped your arms around her middle. “Stop it!”

“I’m afraid I’m not nearly as good of a dancer,” he smirked, seemingly unshaken by her slurred words. “Heidi, Luciano has asked to see you in what I believed he called his private booth. He tried calling you, but-”

“He wants to play,” she whispered in your ear. “I have to go, but I’ll see you soon, okay?” Then she kissed you on each cheek, each of them as sloppy and glossy. “Milord,” she attempted to make a curtsy but would’ve fallen over if you hadn’t caught her and sent her on her way.

In a sea of sweaty party people, you could only see him. The alcohol made everything glow brighter, including your baron. Like a moth who doesn’t know any better, you knocked your chest against his in an attempt to get closer.

“Are you having fun, my dear?” He steadied you with his hands, sliding them down your spine and stopping at the small of your back.

“Yes,” you smoothed his shoulder pads with your palms, enjoying the sensation of the fabric against your fingers. “But I thought you brought me here to dance.”

“For where I was standing, I could see the two of you were dancing,” he chuckled. “Were my eyes deceiving me?”

“You’re the one I wanted to dance with,” you slurred, emboldened by the liquor flowing freely through your veins. With your arms wrapped around his neck, you dragged him down and dipped your tongue into the shell of his ear. “Heidi’s pretty and all, but she’s not you.”

“My Lady,” he hissed, holding you so close he might’ve crushed you if he applied force. “What do you think you’re doing?”

With the beat of the music under your feet and his rumbling chest against your breasts, you swayed to the music in your heart. Your breaths were in each other’s ears, your lips against the shell of his and his under your lobe, in the same spot he left his stamp the last time the two of you were entangled.

“My Lord, what are you doing? You’ve barely touched me,” you gasped, grinding against him when you felt his teeth tease your sensitive skin. “You’ve barely spent time with me,” you moaned, moving your hands up and down his arms and feeling his muscles flex beneath your fingertips. “Why bring me here at all?”

“You needed this,” he grunted, his groin growing between your bodies. “You’ve been living among dead things for too long. You needed to be among the living again.” After licking the wound his teeth reopened, his mouth moved from underneath your ear to murmur: “And you needed me.” The hands slid down the small of your back to cup your ass cheeks and press your pelvis up against his. “You need me right now, don’t you?”

“I do,” you sighed, sinking your nails into his shoulders for stability. “I need you.” He had shoved his knee between your legs and your body compiled: you were now rubbing your bare cunt against his clothed thigh. If he hadn’t figured out that you left the villa pantyless yet, he knew now. “You ruined me for every other man.”

His hands smoothed your dress again, but this time they climbed up your spine. When they arrived at the back of your head, one got tangled in your hair while the other went right through. Yanking your head back, he exposed your throat to his teeth and your eyes to his hunger. The baron was starving.

While nobody else around you could hear it over the music, he must’ve tasted your moans under the teeth he was dragging up your throat. When his mouth made it to your chin, he chuckled: “What a spoiled little girl you are! Haven’t I given you enough? What is it that you want now? Me? Right here, right now?” Nipping the thin skin under your chin, he continued. “You could wrap those legs around me and I could slip my cock right into your sopping cunt. Yes, I know you’re not wearing any panties.” Releasing his grip on your air, he cupped your cheeks to keep your eyes on him instead. “Or do you want to be fucked in a bathroom stall like the dirty little girl you are?”

“Please,” you begged him, but you couldn’t even begin to articulate. Your body, hot and loose because of the liquor, was more coherent. Your thighs tightened around his own and your spine arched like a bow. “Oh, please.”

The baron bunched up your skirt in between your bodies with one hand while the other wound up around your throat, still tender from his teeth. “Please who?” He pressed you for an answer as he pressed his thumb against your slick and swollen clitoris.

“Please, m-milord,” you whined. “The bathroom. Take me to the bathroom.”

The walk to the men’s bathroom was a blur, but you didn’t need your eyes to find your destination. The baron’s hand was secure on your side, guiding you through the gaggle of dancers and hiding you from prying eyes. The bathroom was more light with more blue than red and the stall was more spacious than what you were used to. You initially imagined you must be out in the open, my when he turned the handle, it made a clicking noise, the sound of secrecy.

When he turned towards you, his eyes were wild in the blue neon lights and his hands were claws as he cornered you to capture your tender thighs. “You dirty girl,” he chuckled, as dark as his blown-out eyes. Then, as he lifted your feet off the tile floor and drove you up the wall of the stall, he snarled: “You couldn’t wait until we were back at the villa, could you? You had to have my cock right here, right now, didn’t you?”

You tried to get a hold of the tile wall, but failed and sunk your nails into his scalp instead. “Milord,” you called to him as you were climbing to the ceiling without your consent. “Milord, I’m gonna fall.”

Your Lord sat you atop of his shoulders, one thigh on each side of his face. “I won’t allow it,” he growled before his head disappeared under your skirt. “I’ve waited long enough for you to come to me, and I’m not letting you go now.”

He was right: you weren’t falling, you were flying. The swirling of his tongue around your cunt’s engorged numb was making your head spin and his five o'clock shadow scratching your inner thighs were stimulating every sinus. And you were sure that every ear inside the men’s bathroom could hear, but you didn’t stop yourself from screaming out for him.

When he slowed down his assault on your cunt, it was only to speak to it. “I missed this. I missed the sweet noises you make. I missed my sweet girl,” he licked up your labia, taking his time to taste it. “And I missed my sweet pussy.”

“Oh, God,” you called to the ceiling and the skies.

“No, not God,” he spat between your folds before sliding a finger between them. “I’m no God. No god is making you feel this way.” He pushed the protruding digit deeper before pulling it out again. “It’s a man.” Then, he pushed and pulled at a punishing pace, his mouth circling your clitoris again. “It’s me. Now, come on my tongue. Come on, come on my tongue like the dirty girl that you are.”

Baron Zemo had given out an order and you, his loyal servant, obeyed. Squeezing your thighs down on the sides of his head, you rode his face to the finish. You pulled at his hair and pushed his head down all at the same time. Everything was too much, but never enough. It was a sobering experience that made the alcohol in your veins dissipate. Still, as he slid you down the wall of the stall, you were drunk on the dopamine released by your orgasm.

“Just as obedient as I remember you to be. And twice as sweet,” he licked his lips as he whipped your face with his thumbs tenderly. His face shone with your juices, his chin being especially shiny. “Would you like a taste?”

You nodded, not feeling prepared to practice speaking just yet. He held up your head with a hand at the back of your throat while he brought the finger that burrowed inside you up to your bottom lip. You tasted the tip at first under his spreading smirk, but as soon as you took him in, he parted his lips and started panting. And his breathing got louder the more of him you sucked inside. When you took all of him, the entire finger up to the knuckle, and began bobbing your head, he gritted his teeth and groaned.

“Do you still want my cock, dirty girl?”

Pulling back from his finger with a pop, you bit your bottom lip. “Yes, milord.”

“Would you bow before me to get to it?”

“Yes, milord,” you smiled stupidly, drunk on the dopamine.

By the time he took himself out of his trousers, you were on your knees saying your pleas. You missed the taste of him as much as he claimed to miss your cunt. You stuck out your tongue and tasted his precum that was already pouring out. When the tip met with your mouth, you locked your lips around it and moaned. This caused him to call to the ceiling:

He grunted, grabbing you by the hair and yanking you off of him. “I want to paint those pretty little lips myself.”

You moaned aloud at that, eyes glazed over and mind muddled him. His touch, taste, and smell were taking over you again and all you could do was beg him for more, more, more. “Please, please, please,” you breathed as he slid his hand up and down his shaft and snarled, his teeth bared. “Please, please, please.”

He growled and the grip in your hair tightened. “That’s a good girl,” he managed to get out before spilling in your open mouth. “That’s my good girl.”

Once the steam started, he couldn’t stop himself. If you could’ve, you wouldn’t have stopped him either. The tangy taste of him transported you back to the first time he pushed you down into this position. He had a mask on then, but now his face was wearing his emotions. He was in pain, the pleasurable kind. His eyebrows were knitted together and his hair was falling on his forehead. While you were the one serving him, the one swallowing his come and cleaning his cock with your tongue, you felt powerful. And, as he called you his baroness and said you never looked more beautiful than you did in that moment, you knew that you would never feel this powerful again.

“Occupied,” he slammed the door in another man’s nose.

A voice swore in English from the other side. “What, man? The whole damn bathroom?”

Yes, the whole bathroom. Baron Zemo was standing at the entrance to the men’s bathroom to keep out men as you freshened up. You were starting to sober up, splashing water across your face to whip away your runny make-up.

“You remain a vision, my dear,” he held out his arm when you were done.

“Now I'm sure that’s what you say to all the girls,” you said, too satiated and exhausted to even think about the implications of your statement.

“There’s nothing more beautiful in this world than a woman in the afterglow,” he whispered, a wide smirk shadowing his lips before he swung the door open. “It’s all yours, my friend.”

“I almost pissed myself, man! Not cool!”

You smothered your laughter into his shoulder while he walked you back to the VIP lounge. “You think they noticed how long we’ve been gone?” You squeezed his arm with both hands. Your flushed and bare face must’ve been enough to give away the game anyway, so you didn’t know why you bothered to hide from Heidi.

“They’ve been gone for just as long,” he winked. “He called her into his booth, remember?”

The reunion with your Sokovian sister revealed that she at some point also had to remove her make-up. She invited you to sit next to her and immediately asked about the intimate details. You amused her but refused to drink any more alcohol. You asked for water instead.

While the two of you were swooning over the sex you just had, the men in question had yet to sit down. They had their backs turned to you and their glasses full. However, they never got to finish their drinks.

“Baby, it’s time to say goodbye to your new friend.” He didn’t even look at you as he said all this, focusing his narrow gaze on the other man instead. “The baron was just leaving.”

Heidi’s pitch was higher when she spoke Spanish, so she almost squeaked out: “Papi, make him stay.”

“I’m afraid it’s getting late,” the baron began apologizing. “It’s been a long day and we’re still suffering from jet lag.” He looked at you. That was your cue.

“Yes,” you yawned. “I’m sorry, Heidi. You know how far away Sokovia used to be, right?”

“Well, if you have to go, then you have to promise you’ll be back tomorrow. Papi, make him promise to bring her back tomorrow.”

Her Papi took one look at his baby’s pleading eyes, then another at the baron’s poker face, then sighed. “Very well. Baron, we’ll finish our talk tomorrow night.”

While Luciano looked more than eager to escort you out himself, he had to wait for Heidi to hug you tightly as she typed her number into your phone. She only let you go after kissing you good night.

“I didn’t even have to lie,” you yawed as he draped his suit jacket over your shoulders. “I so, so sleepy.”

“Which one wore you out, the flight or I?”

“Both,” you tucked your head under his chin.

Either the sea breeze had turned into a chill, or your tired body was cooling down. Whichever one it was, the chauffeur covered the convertible at the baron’s demand. It was either his warm chest that put you to sleep or the purring engine. Whichever one it was, you woke up to Baron Zemo caring you up the stairs like a groom would his bride.

“Hush now, my dear,” he shushed you. “Get some sleep. We have a full day ahead of us.”

[passable-talent]

Hi yes so I just finished the anakin punk au and it was uh perfect? And you should 100% please write more in that au it doesn’t even have to be in some coherent storyline, just more punk anakin please I am hooked

say no more my dear

I write this. and I think to myself “punks. they like weed. they drink. I should talk about that.”

and then I don’t. because I have a,,, responsibility to promote good health I guess?

don’t do drugs kids. most of them arent worth it i promise

and yes just like i mentioned wattpad in the last one tumblr is coming up on this one we’re breaking the FUCKING fourth wall

part one here

You passed out on his shoulder, exactly as he predicted, at about 2:00 AM.

He didn’t notice for a few minutes, and once he had, he had to make a very hard decision. 

He knew you were leaving in the morning, you had other places to be. And he had to get home, Cliegg was going to be pissed he’d been out this late as it was. But- just like you, he never wanted the night to end.

At 2:15, he shimmied out from under you, finding your room key quickly. Once he’d slipped it into his pocket, he picked you up, carrying you all the way back to your room. The door seemed to scream as it opened, but none of the girls were awake. He laid you onto the only empty bed, leaving your room key on the dresser, and kneeled at your beside, for just a moment. 

A night he wasn’t going to forget. One he wasn’t willing to leave behind. 

He found the notepad left by the hotel for guests and its nearby pen, scribbling his phone number onto it before smacking it onto your room key so that he knew you’d see it. 

He wasn’t taking any chances. He did everything he could to make sure that you were safe, that you’d sleep soundly, that he’d see you again. It was a bit of a walk back to where he’d left his car, at the venue, but it was worth it- he shrugged his jacket up around his neck against the cold and kept going, remembering how it’d felt to hold you. 

But, in all of his kindness, he had made one mistake. You didn’t get to say goodbye. 

You woke up in the hotel room the next morning, for a moment thinking that maybe you’d dreamed the whole thing. But then you realized you still had your shoes on, and you were laying on top of the sheets, why the hell would I do that, and you phone hadn’t been plugged in, and- 

And there was a phone number on the dresser. 

You weren’t really ‘dating’- you shouldn’t call it that. If you were going to call it that, then there would inevitably be a post on someone’s tumblr that you had a boyfriend, and who was he, where was he from, yada yada... that damn website already had half the internet convinced you were dating Padme, you didn’t want to add any more fuel to the fire. 

So no, you weren’t dating. But you were texting every day. You learned so much about him, about how he was raised by his mom and worked at her friend Watto’s auto shop, about his step-brother and future step-sister-in-law, how his mom died when he was nineteen, about how he’d tried to move to California with his friend Obi-Wan a few years ago, but it fell through. In return, you told him about your life- living in the outskirts of San Francisco, being pushed into ballet lessons as a kid (as he said- ‘that’s why you look weightless on stage!’), being cut out from your family for quitting college to pursue music. 

You texted every day and every night, sent him videos from gigs, and he sent dumb little snapchats from underneath whatever car he was working on. You expected that to be it, probably for a long time- neither of you had the money nor the time to see each other more often. So you held onto the connection you had, the night you’d spent together. 

And you thought that’d be it. But- the universe has a funny way of surprising you. 

Your record label was based in LA, so you lived in Salta Ana, about thirty miles away, where the real estate was way cheaper. The band lived together, close as four friends could be, so they knew all about how you’d fallen for Anakin. Ahsoka would notice you glued to your phone, and ask snarkily “texting skyguy?” to which you always scolded her that his name was Skywalker. 

Living so close to LA made it easy to do gigs at any venue that would take you- bars, clubs, a particularly anarchist biker hall. A bar- such was the case for tonight. 

Like usual with a gig like this, Aayla had taken to instagram and called any fan in the area, so the bar was mostly filled with people who knew the music, but there were regulars, too. People who couldn’t be damned to listen to the lyrics, and just let the atmosphere move them. 

The setlist changed, when you were at a place like this. You didn’t necessarily rely on the hundred voice chorus that you loved so much, and so couldn’t include some of those songs. Your music strayed a little more to the rock end of the spectrum, when you played in places like this. With that high energy came faster music, more running around the stage, more movement, but you weren’t tired, when the set ended at 11:25. You were more energized than usual, in fact.

“Pads, I’ve never heard you solo like that!” You said, a bright smile on your face as you pushed out of the employee entrance of the bar. She gave you thanks, but not a moment later stopped dead, not saying a word, staring at you. You paused, looking at her, then Ahsoka and Aayla, who’d both stopped, too. 

“What?” Ahsoka and Aayla, though, were looking at something past you, which made you realize that Padme was, too. You turned, and leaning against the wall was- was Anakin. 

“Oh my god,” you said under your breath, dropping into a run toward him immediately. “Anakin!” He shoved himself off of the wall, letting you run into his arms, and just held you. You pulled away to look at him, amazed that after months, here he was, right in front of you, real. 

“What are you doing here?” you asked, bewildered, surprised, ecstatic. 

“Visiting Obi-Wan,” he said, and he lifted his hand to your face, giving you a good look at that tattoo you hadn’t quite forgotten, dark lines reaching from his elbow to his palm. 

“And you,” he added. You couldn’t help it- you hadn’t seen him in so long, you couldn’t help the way you leaned into it when he pulled you into a kiss, and this time you weren’t exhausted, and you could let yourself feel it, you could pay attention to his chapped lips and the way he slid them over yours, still soft, even after waiting in the cold. You never wanted to leave this moment, like so many of the others that you spent with him, his hands on your face keeping away the January air. 

“Yeah, I’m heading home,” Ahsoka said, making you break the kiss. “Coming, or not?” You looked back at her with a bit of a glare, letting Anakin’s hands fall to your neck. 

“You guys go ahead,” you said, checking your jacket pocket for the essentials- wallet, phone, house keys. “I think I have a tradition to uphold.” 

The bar you’d played at tonight was a bit far away from the place you wanted to take Anakin, but you didn’t mind the walk, since it was with him. You’d been texting every day, and yet it felt different, there was so much more to talk about now. 

Apparently, Anakin hadn’t seen Obi-Wan since he’d left to move to LA, so it was a visit to an old friend as much as it was an excuse to see you again. 

“So you’re staying with him?” You asked, leading him by the arm down the street. 

“Yeah,” he said, hooking his elbow into yours, which let him keep his hands in his pockets. “He’s got an apartment in east LA, it’s got a nice couch.”

“East LA, not bad. What’s he do?” 

“He’s a talent manager, actually. Went to business school and everything.” Anakin paused, suppressing a chuckle. “He told me that he’d love to represent you, if you didn’t already have someone.” 

“Sadly, we do,” you said, playful, “but I’ll keep him in mind.” 

You’d pretend it was the winter chill that brought the flush to your cheeks- he’d told his friend about you. That had to mean you were important to him, right?

“Where are we heading, anyway?” He asked, and you, luckily, could channel your inner dramatic and turn toward the doorway you’d been heading toward all along. 

“Right here,” you said, and you took him inside. 

This was your recording studio- it was always open, so that any artist could stop in and get out whatever creativity they had. You showed your ID card to the lobby clerk, who approved it and called the elevator. Anakin followed your lead until the door closed, and just like you had on the night you met him, you pressed the button for the highest floor. 

“This is one of the buildings for our record company,” you said, the elevator so familiar. 

“Which would explain why he let you in,” Anakin said, a slight teasing tone to his voice. All you could do was chuckle, waiting for the elevator to reach the top floor.

From there, you lead him to a glass door, and swiped your ID card through a reader near its frame so you could step outside. 

“This is the rooftop set,” you said, gesturing to the wide space, “It’s where we film a lot of music videos.” This close to the door, it was hard to see over the side of the building, and so you took Anakin’s hand.

“The city lights keep us from stargazing,” you said with a smile, and brought him to the guardrail at the edge of the roof. “So I thought I’d show you the city’s version of the night sky.” Looking out across the city, there were a thousand orange sparkles, windows illuminated in buildings stretching as far as the eye could see. Criss-crossed between them were lines of red and white, LA traffic clogging the city streets even so late at night. 

No matter how many times you came up here, you’d never get tired of the view. Fifty-five stories up, there were other buildings that dwarfed this tower, but the west was free of them, so your view to the horizon was clear, even in the LA overcast. 

“Wow,” he said, looking out over it all beside you. “I’ve never- I don’t think I’ve ever been up this high.” You fixed him with a surprised expression, leaning your elbows down onto the banister. 

“No? Really?”

“I didn’t grow up in a city, like you,” he said, settling in beside you, his arm pressed to yours. You let your head rest onto his shoulder, remembering the night you met. 

“I’m glad you came out to LA,” you said, “though I’m hoping you’ll stay a while. I  want to go on an actual date with you.” You heard him exhale.

“You don’t call this a date?” he asked, and you lifted your head, looking at him, the lights of the city giving his face the slightest, golden glow. 

“Well, I mean-” If this was a date, then so had been the one after the show, back in October. Which meant this was your second date, and you’d technically been ‘dating’ this whole time, which kinda made him your- boyfriend? 

“Is it?” Anakin slipped his hand into yours, lacing your fingers together.

“This is better than any dinner and movie we could’ve gone to, I think.” He turned over your hand, tracing his first finger over the skyline tattoo that bisected your forearm. “Especially since it seems like this means a lot to you.” You couldn’t believe he’d noticed that tattoo- it meant he really was paying attention to you. 

“Yeah,” you said with a smile, lifting your arm up, his hand still held in yours, aligning the tattoo with the skyline you were looking at. “I got this done after we did our first video.” Silently, he examined the ink and compared it to the sky, seeing what you meant. 

“That’s really cool,” he said, bringing your hand back down, since his fingers were getting cold in the wind, and he had to assume yours were too. 

“How long are you going to be in town?” You asked, resting your temple down onto his shoulder again. 

“A week, or so. Watto says he needs me to work on a mustang that we’re getting- I think Cliegg told him to say that since he doesn’t want me in the city.” 

“Well, I don’t want to undermine your dad,” you said, “But I wouldn’t complain if you stayed here a lot longer than that.” You ran your thumb over the back of his hand. “It’s really nice to actually have you with me, and not over the phone.” Anakin turned to kiss the top of your head.

“Tell me about it. It’s worse for me, I promise- I listen to your music all the time, and it just makes me want to see you.” 

“Sometimes I forget that you were once just a fan,” you said with a laugh, “listening to our music.” 

“The luckiest one in the world,” Anakin added, and you almost wondered how you’d ever lived without him. 

You let a moment pass, in silence. 

“I’m twenty five,” you started, wondering if you had the courage to finish, “do you think I’m too young to be in love?” Anakin didn’t respond, at first. He turned to you, lifting his furthest hand to your face, making you look up at him. You could never get over those blue eyes- you’d forgotten how intense they were. 

“I guess it depends on the guy,” Anakin said, his teeth quickly catching his lower lip. “Do you think you are?” You reached up past his arm to his face, your first finger tracing his eyebrow before your palm came to rest on the ridge of his cheekbone.

“No,” you said, and you rushed forward to meet his lips. 

-🦌 Roe

[riceccakes]

for @savethewaffle (we won’t talk about the prompt you sent me in my inbox😅)

-

She planned everything, down to the pencil she would use to write notes during the orientation. It was the only way Adora could maintain her stress, the only way to ease her anxiety, and while it helped, the pit in her stomach only grew heavier as she neared the university.

No amount of mechanical pencils could calm her down now.

She studied the orientation agenda, prepared her answers for all the “Get To Know You” questions, Adora even knew what she would order in the university cafeteria. So, how could she have forgotten to look at the school map?

After stepping foot on the campus center, Adora looked left and right, noting the millions of signs saying all the same things: “This way.” This way to what? How could there be so many arrows? Which signs was she supposed to follow? How was everyone else not as stressed as she was?

Adora checked the time, orientation check in would start soon. Coming early was out of habit, needing to maintain her schedule and follow her checklist bullet point for bullet point. Now, it was a blessing because the extra time would be used understanding where the hell she was going.

Her heart rate was increasing, if she didn’t move, Adora knew she would explode. She let her feet guide her, walking down the concrete path until it rounded a corner. Ahead of her were a group of girls. Their relaxed expressions and comfortable laughter let Adora know these girls were older than her. She looked at the time again, she wanted to be one of the first people on the check in line; she needed to know where to go.

Mustering up all the courage in her system, Adora walked up to the girls just as they finished laughing again. Each one of them turned their heads towards her, a silence fell over them.

“Um, hi, I’m Adora,” she began, losing focus as she eyed one of the girl’s biceps, “do any of you know where to go for orientation?”

They exchanged looks, a particularly mischievous smile grew on the girl in the center. She was much shorter than her friends. Adora’s breath caught in her throat, did all girls have smiles that pretty? She saw the girl’s tail waving behind her.

“Yeah, Huntara, she needs her Orientation ID number, right?”

“You’re absolutely right, Catra, that’s all she’ll need.”

Orientation ID number? Did Adora miss an email? How could Adora have forgotten so much? She didn’t know her Orientation ID number, she didn’t even know she had one.

“Oh, I, uh,” Adora felt her tongue dry up. Catra draped a piece of her hair behind her shoulder, how could something so simple be so beautiful? “I don’t, um, I don’t think I know my Orientation ID number? I must have missed something or It....”

Huntara and Catra bursted into another fit of laughter while their other friend rolled her eyes.

“I’m sorry about them, they always mess with the freshmen on Orientation day.”

“Oh, you’re no fun, Scorpia,” Catra stepped forward, putting a hand on Adora’s wrist. She whispered, “I would’ve kept this up if that weren’t the cutest reaction from a freshman we’ve seen.”

Catra’s hand left her skin but her tail wrapped around her fingers for just a second before she stood again with her friends, “If you go through these doors, follow the hallway all the way down and take a right, you’ll see a table with a big Orientation sign, check in there.”

Adora stood there for a second, staring at this group of girls, at their smiles (warm, strong, alluring), at their eyes (friendly, powerful, mysterious), at their demeanors (welcoming, dashing, confident, self-assured, Catra, Catra, Catra). Suddenly, Adora realized her mouth was hanging open.

Catra laughed again, her head falling back. Adora didn’t even know she walked closer to them until she felt Catra’s touch again, blessing her shoulder, “Go on, dummy. I’m sure we’ll see each other again.” Adora felt her squeeze her shoulder lightly, why did her arm feel like jelly now?

Had Adora completely lost her mind? Before she could even say goodbye, the outside campus turned into concrete walls covered by posters and sign up sheets and Adora desperately wanted to get one final look at Catra. She looked down at her feet, they were clumsily moving, one in front of the other, following the directions Catra gave her. 

Catra; The velvet sound of her voice echoed in Adora’s mind, the way Catra’s head fell back when she was laughing played over and over. The universe must’ve loved Catra, as it had sent a perfect gust of wind to blow through her cascading hair. The tingling sensation in her arm hadn’t gone away, but what even was this tingling sensation? 

“Your name?”

“Huh?” Adora looked down at the table in front of her, Adora looked at the woman sitting with a clipboard and glasses resting on her nose. “Oh, sorry, uh, I’m Adora,” the woman continued to stare at her and Adora’s felt her tongue dry up, “Grayskull. Adora Grayskul?”

The woman checked her in, gave her a name tag, and a university tote bag before sending her through the double doors on the left. Adora found an empty table and started looking through the tote bag. Some pens, a pair of university sunglasses, and the upcoming semester’s directory. Adora had to do a double take, wholeheartedly believing Catra was on the cover in a cheerleader’s uniform. Upon second glance, the girl looked nothing like Catra.

What was going on? Why couldn’t she think straight, why could Adora only think of Catra?

And why did Adora keep breaking her pencil lead? All during the orientation, Adora would be ready to write down whatever the speaker said but slowly found her mind wandering back to the little fang that hung outside Catra’s mouth when she wasn’t smiling or laughing or doing anything for the matter. She thought about her jelly arm, how even after Catra’s been gone, the lingering sense of her touch etched itself into her skin. How could one encounter, especially as short as theirs, short circuit Adora’s brain? 

The pit in her stomach was no longer from anxiety but rather, the pit in her stomach grew out of aching to be near Catra again. Just thinking of Catra’s tail lingering on her fingertips, of her soft hands on Adora’s skin, of the way her eyes captivated Adora beyond compare; it made the pit heavier and heavier and Adora couldn’t bear to carry the weight, so why couldn’t she stop thinking? She imagined getting to be the one whose hand touched Catra, watch her fingers gently flow through her hair and twirl a piece in hopeless spirals until it fell out of her hand. Could she hug Catra? Just a quick embrace? Could she bury her head in the crook of Catra’s neck and take a deep breath of her scent she wished she knew? (All three girls smelled wonderful, as much as Adora didn’t want to admit she had been taking deeper breaths the closer she was to them.) Could she hold Catra’s hand, let their fingers intertwine, have Catra show her around campus and bring them to the back corner of the library where no one could see them and push her up against the books and-- 

What was Adora doing? Half the orientation had gone by and all she had written down was the date and a few scattered lines from when her pencil point broke. This needed to stop, but how? Perhaps, seeing Catra again would help. Maybe it would stop her brain from grinding its gears and she could get her final taste and then get a grip. Even if just to see her for a moment, in passing, in a glance; her daydreams were too much for her to handle. 

Paranoia wasn’t the right word, was Adora having delusions? Some sort of foolish fantasy that made her think Catra was around every corner, behind every open book, sitting in every chair of the classrooms they visited on the campus tour? Her heart rushed everytime she thought she saw Catra, any time she thought she heard that angelic laugh, and everytime she learned it wasn’t that godforsaken girl, her heart twitched and panged and fingers desperately wanted to find the girl for just one touch; couldn’t they make it even?

She wasn’t even sure how she answered the small group questions, she couldn’t even remember the other students’ names. She wished she could, it felt incredibly rude not to, but Adora was far too occupied with how Catra would look next to her in pictures. Too much, Adora thought, too fast, let’s scratch that. Instead, she thought of Catra in front of a camera, that smize being the perfect picture to capture, how that one look could say the million words Adora needed to clear in her head. None of her thoughts formed sentences, everything was hazy, she was too entranced with Catra’s whole entire being to even try and sort out what was going on.

It had been a few hours since she ate breakfast, maybe all she needed was food. She was thankful for the lunch time, grabbing every boxed lunch that looked good to her and found a seat in the corner. It faced away from the general crowd, her mind needed to rest, it needed to refuel; eating the Italian sandwich, chicken nuggets, burger, slice of pizza, cookies, chips, salad, grapes, and four juice boxes would help, right? It would be enough food to last her the rest of the day, through the night, hopefully through the rest of her existence because if this didn’t stop her from thinking about how beautiful Catra was, nothing would.

“Hey, Adora.”

Mid bite on her burger, Adora stopped and looked up. She blinked and blinked and blinked until Catra’s eyebrows furrowed and her face frowned. Was it really her, was she not dreaming? 

“How do you....”

Catra’s head twitched in confusion, “You told me earlier? And,” she pointed to the nametag on her shirt and Adora thought she would pass out right there. “Okay, dummy, why don’t we put this down,” Catra said, taking Adora’s arms and helped place the burger back down on its tin foil and taking a seat next to her. “Do you always eat this much?”

“I,” Adora just finished the third juice box, how was her throat dry? “I’m just hungry.”

Catra snorted, crossing her arms, “Clearly.”

Adora stared at her, her memories hadn’t done justice. Did she even actually look at Catra the first time they met or did Catra just get more beautiful in the few hours they were apart? Adora couldn’t breathe, her face felt hot, her hands were clammy, hell, even in her tee shirt and leggings, Adora felt like she was in a sauna with no way out. Catra stayed with her arms crossed, surveying the cafeteria around her, effortlessly looking like she had walked out of a fashion magazine. Was she even real? No one else in the cafe joined them, and Catra and her friends looked like Greek goddesses, could she be dreaming? What if she was still in bed, curled up in a little ball, drooling on her pillow while her mind decided to be a big asshole and make her think her cause of death would be heart failure from meeting the prettiest girl on Etheria.

What a jerk her brain would be.

But, another student passed the table, saying hi to Catra before walking out the door. Catra only waved, bringing her eyes back to Adora and smiling, “You gonna keep staring? Maybe I should charge you if you’re gonna stare at me like that.”

“What? I,” Adora tried to break the eye contact but she was drawn in, far too deep to return to reality. 

Catra exuded confidence, like she didn’t give a single fuck about what anyone would think of her. In that moment, Adora decided this was why she was fawning over the girl. Adora had never been the confident type, she never walked into a room like she owned it. It was something she’d wanted since she was a little girl, to be looked at and think, “She knows what she’s doing.” It was why she planned for hours, days, weeks for this Orientation that would only last a couple more hours and still, she failed at following through with her hopes. Catra wouldn’t have, Adora thought, Catra couldn’t.

Catra laughed, leaning forward and pulling her phone from her back pocket. She cleared her throat, placing her hand out. Adora stared at it and almost gave Catra her own hand but was thankfully stopped when Catra passed her phone over. Adora found hers and put it in Catra’s hand, watched as she typed and snickered and took a picture of herself before giving it back. She looked at her own phone and gestured to use it, Adora shook her head and wiped her hands, putting in her contact info. 

She passed the phone across the table, Catra frowned and Adora thought she was about to die and that wasn’t what Catra had wanted.

“No picture?”

“Oh! I, well,” Adora tried to push a piece of hair behind her ear but there was no such piece to do so; her ponytail was perfectly kept and there were no loose strands. What was she doing? She looked like a complete fool in front of Etheria’s most beautiful person, what kind of first impression was that? Adora gulped, wishing she could start this day over and prepare herself to be an idiot. “I’m not the best with photos.”

Catra waved her off, pointing her phone towards Adora. She scooted some of the food further up the table and leaned back, smiling as she brought her phone back down. She showed Adora the picture, it was awful and embarrassing and Adora wished she could erase it but Catra’s smile was bigger than she’d seen it earlier and it was everything Adora had wanted to see for hours.

“Gosh, you’re such a dork,” Catra laughed, locking her phone. “Good for pictures, though.” She got up, pushed in her chair, leaned over and placed her hand on the side of Adora’s chair, “Text me, okay? I’ll give you the real tour of campus, I’ll even pay for lunch.”

As Catra turned around to leave, her tail lingered on Adora’s hands in her lap before she disappeared through the doors and out of the building. Adora stared at the doorway, suddenly understanding why honeydew and mint would be her new favorite scent.

Catra was beautiful, Catra was breathtaking, Catra was everything Adora wanted and fuck, did she want to kiss her.

[jelreth]

Disc Hot-Take Masterpost, January 20 2021

Princeboo and I took the time to analyze what we felt certain Minecraft discs represented. Here’s everything we got through; My contributions are in normal text form, theirs are italicized and in quotations! Note that we do mention Dream SMP characters at times, so if you dislike the Dream SMP for any reason, please feel free to enjoy the analysis without the characters attached!

STAL

stal feels like a scammer trying to get you to pick a card in a jazz club, only to find out that you’d be a much more powerful ally than foe, so he takes you out to see his friends, who are all birds of various sizes

BLOCKS

blocks definitely feels like a good ole’ carnival. you’re walking between the colors and the sounds and the world feels shifty and you look beside you and see your best friends. you go home and sleep and feel amazing because you know it was real.

MELLOHI

“I've always loved mellohi, but it scares me. I dont get why, but it's death. it's fear. it's the slow, haunting calls of a ghost. it's panic.”

mellohi feels like if there was an old castle, long forgotten by the living and haunted by a dead knight. that disc tells a nice story i think

but yeah i agree its pretty creepy and id take off running if i heard it playing irl

“mellohi reminds me of the mansions. I remember years ago I'd play mellohi in a creative world on top of a mansion I had found. I never got why.

mellohi does remind me of a protector. maybe one that fell from grace. it also reminds me of a puppeteer, it's purple and worry and the feeling of not being in control. it brings death.”

your last thing about the puppeteer is why i think it’s so fitting that on the SMP Dream has it. he’s the puppeteer, trying to stay in power with what little leverage he has.

CAT

i also think about how Cat sounds a lot. it sounds like old memories and new adventures, someone who loves helping people and who loves doing things that benefit everyone. so isn’t it lovely that Ranboo has Cat?

CHIRP (PRINCEBOO’S)

“ooo yes!! to me chirp sounds like a struggling woman who's dealing with the loss of her child due to starvation or malnourishment by living in memories. the beginning of the song is a blurry memory, with the occasional clear note as if an outside force is trying to help her out of the state shes in.

they fail, and she dies. she goes up into the sky, into the stars.

what's your chirp? :]<”

CHIRP (MINE)

oh that’s certainly one of the best takes i’ve seen!

i’m partial to eat being about a woman stranded at sea, with only the stars for comfort. she loses concept of time. she drifts ashore, and eventually doesn’t feel like surviving anymore.

it seems like both of our takes deal with stars, death, and partially starvation

WAIT (MINE)

i think wait sounds like, well, waiting. 

it sounds like going to a village every day. it sounds like making friends, and exploring and traveling the world, and eventually settling down. 

Wait sounds like promising yourself the most exciting life possible, but settling for comfort. It sounds like hoping that one day you’ll be something greater, but never taking initiative.

WAIT (PRINCEBOO’S)

“it does, it does! but it also reminds me of focusing. it reminds me of working on something, but enjoying it.

@princeboo thank you for your contributions! i’ll update the post with any future contributions! :D

[jbbarnesnnoble]

The Dance

Summary:  Steve returns to the past to live out his life with Peggy, only to learn a lesson in moving on

Features/Warnings: Mild angst, fluff

Pairing: Steve Rogers/Reader; Peggy Carter/Daniel Sousa; background Wanda Maximoff/Sharon Carter

Notes: I started writing this in March. It’s finally done. There is a little twist in this that I couldn’t resist. 

Word Count: 4384

The autumn breeze swirled around the group gathered by the platform. You shared a look with Bucky as Steve stepped to the platform. Steve had become one of your best friends in the years since the Avengers brought you in, to the point that you had followed him in his quest to save Bucky. The two of you had been tiptoeing around something more. He had dated Sharon Carter briefly, which had fizzled out quickly because the chemistry wasn’t there. Not with Steve.  You knew it would be only a few moments before Steve returned but you couldn’t help but feel like things were fundamentally changing. Bucky had a look of guilt on his face as you glanced at him when Steve vanished. 

Bucky hadn’t felt anxiety in this way in years. It wasn’t the kind of anxiety he associated with the trauma he’d experienced. No. This was the kind of anxiety he had when Steve’s ma died. The worry he’d had about what would happen to his best friend. He knew Steve had no intention of returning, that he planned to find Peggy. Bucky had tried to talk him out of it. Peggy had gotten married, had kids, with someone who wasn’t Steve. He didn’t think it was right to disrupt that. 

He looked at you. Your lower lip caught between your teeth as you stared at the platform, your hands running up your crossed arms. Your foot was tapping out an unsteady rhythm. He watched you for a moment longer as the realization set in. He looked away. He knew Steve had been interested in you. It was something they had talked about in the time between Shuri removing the triggers and the arrival of Thanos before the Snap. He hadn’t been surprised when he found out Steve hadn’t made a move in the five years since the Snap. And now he never would. ‘Steve is an idiot if he can’t see that she loves him,’ Bucky thought to himself.

When Steve didn’t appear right away, Sam and Bruce were concerned. Bucky glanced toward the bench, but no one was there. You felt tears welling. It wasn’t hurt that he wasn’t back. Bucky’s slumped shoulders told you he’d known. It was the fact that Steve hadn’t trusted you enough to tell you what he was doing. 

You and Steve were complicated. You’d given him your heart long before you realized it. Falling for Steve Rogers was easy. You weren’t sure getting over him would be, even if you’d never been together. You’d always put the focus on work first, dreams of a relationship second. And the past five years had been a focus on work, on finding normal again in a not so normal world. You wondered, for a moment, if he would have come back if you had only had the guts to tell him how you felt.

You thought about your grandmother in that moment, wishing desperately that she was there. She and your grandfather had adopted your mother when she was a teenager, their older children long since grown. You played with the locket around your neck. She had left it to you when she passed, a gift from your grandfather to her when they had found out they were expecting their first child. She always had the best advice, and she was why you had joined SHIELD, joined the Avengers. 

“He’s not coming back, is he?” you asked Bucky, trying to keep the tears at bay.

“I’m sorry,” he said. 

“Yeah, I’m sure,” you said, a bite to your tone. You sighed before apologizing. 

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

Steve glanced around. New York. December 1948. As the suit retracted to reveal his civilian clothing, he set off to find Peggy. He wasn’t sure what he could say to her that wouldn’t sound crazy. He was walking past the phone company when he bumped into a man. 

“Sorry,” Steve said, moving to continue on his way. He wasn’t sure where to go first, where to even begin looking. He had to go about this carefully. He was presumed dead. Appearing out of nowhere was bound to raise suspicion, and there was only so much he could say. Guilt weighed on him about how much he couldn’t say, how much he had to sit back and let happen, lest he change the outcome. 

“Captain Rogers?” the man asked. Steve froze. 

“I think you’re mistaken. Captain Rogers died in the war,” Steve said. The man’s eyes narrowed. He felt like there was something off about the man who looked like one of America’s most well-known heroes. 

“I’m going to need you to come with me,” he said. Steve made a split-second decision and was surprised when the man dodged his punch and managed to get the upper hand. He was led through what looked like a phone company and into a room that was emblazoned with S.H.I.E.L.D. 

“No one says a word to Carter or Sousa about whose look-a-like we have here, got it?” Agent Thompson said after securing Steve in the interrogation room. He was the head of the New York division of S.H.I.E.L.D. After everything that had happened the past few years, he owed Peggy and Daniel this, making sure that whatever this was, whoever this was, wasn’t about to disrupt their lives. 

“You sure that’s a good idea?” someone asked him. Jack glared at the agent, before heading back to the interrogation room. He paced the hall outside the room, formulating his game plan. He knew he had to proceed with caution. How was it possible that Steve Rogers or at least a very convincing look-a-like was there, looking older, but very much like the missing man? Jack frowned at the thought that the man was telling the truth, that he just happened to look like Rogers. That was a mess he didn’t want to deal with. 

Steve took in the room around him. It was a standard interrogation room. If he wanted to, he could get out, but that would risk confirming what the agent suspected. He wasn’t willing to have that conversation with someone who wasn’t Peggy. The door opened and the agent entered, sitting down across from Steve.

“Who are you?” Agent Thompson asked.

“None of your business,” Steve replied, glaring at the man. 

“It is my business. You show up in New York, looking like Captain America? What’s more, you appeared out of thin air. What I don’t understand is how the ID we found in your wallet says it was issued in 2023. Or how it has a Stark Industries logo on it,” he said. Steve frowned. He had forgotten he’d had his ID for the compound in his wallet, that he’d had his wallet on him at all. Agent Thompson stared him down.

“What do you want me to say here?” Steve asked. He knew he was backed into a corner. He tried to come up with a plausible reason for it.

“You can start with who you are,” Thompson said. Steve sighed, unaware of the man stepping into the room behind the glass, a frown on his face.

“You know the answer to that,” Steve said. Jack slammed his hand down on the table. 

“I know that you have an ID claiming to be Steve Rogers from the year 2023. Forgive me if that seems a little unbelievable. So who are you really? Why are you here?” Jack asked. Steve sighed. He knew there was no way out of this, no way of convincing this man of his identity. 

“My name is Steven Grant Rogers. I was born July 4, 1918. I’m here because it’s where I belong,” Steve said, not breaking eye contact with the other man. 

Daniel Sousa had arrived at S.H.I.E.L.D’s New York division to go over a report with Jack.

“Oh, he’s uh, he’s in the middle of an interrogation,” another agent said when Daniel asked where Jack was. He frowned. Daniel had been unaware of any ongoing cases that would require an interrogation. With Peggy out on leave, an area S.H.I.E.L.D was ahead of the curve on, Daniel had taken up her responsibilities in the field, keeping her in the loop when he was called away from home. 

“Who’s he interrogating?” Daniel asked. The agent shared a look with another agent. 

“It might be better if we show you,” the agent replied, knowing there was no way he could prevent Sousa from finding out. The agent led him to the interrogation room, opening the door to the observation room. Daniel froze when he saw an older version of Steve Rogers on the other side of the glass. It wasn’t possible. 

Jack emerged a short while later. Daniel met him in the hall and directed him toward his office. When the door was shut, Daniel looked at Jack expectantly. Jack ran a hand through his hair.

“I know what it looks like,” Jack said. 

“It looks like you have Captain America locked up in an interrogation room,” Daniel said. 

“I didn’t get much out of him. We found an ID with his name on it, dated 2023. The only question he answered was about his name. He said he’s here because it’s where he belongs. He wants to see Peggy,” Jack said. He braced himself for any reaction, unsure of how Sousa would react.

“Then let him. She can handle it. If it is him, maybe she’ll get to have closure. If it isn’t, well, you’re familiar with her punch,” Daniel teased. Jack shook his head.

“Peggy can’t know. Daniel be reasonable. She’s due any time now,” Jack said. 

“I don’t think that’s your concern, Thompson. I know my wife. If we keep this from her, she’ll be furious,” Daniel said. Outside the office, he could hear the arrival of Peggy and he sighed. She never was good about taking a break and letting others handle things. It was one of the things he loved about her. It was also one of the things that had been driving him up the wall as her due date neared. The door to Thompson’s office opened and there she stood, arms crossed with a look of annoyance.

“Howard called,” she said simply. Jack bit back a curse. He knew he shouldn’t have informed Stark of the man locked up in interrogation. He had done so as a courtesy, given the fact that it was Stark’s name emblazoned on the ID card.

“Peggy, I can explain,” Jack said. She raised an eyebrow.

“Please do. I would love to hear about why you didn’t think to inform me of who you have in the interrogation room,” she replied. Peggy and Daniel had returned to New York shortly after learning about her pregnancy. Their support system was there. As it was, S.H.I.E.L.D required a fair bit of travel. 

“I was walking in when I heard something down an alley. He appeared out of nowhere wearing some strange suit that morphed into the clothes he’s wearing. I followed him until he was out front and escorted him in,” Jack explained. 

“You realize how ridiculous that sounds,” Peggy said.

“I know. I know. It’s why I didn’t want to tell you until I figured this out. Steve Rogers died. Whatever that thing is, it’s not Rogers. You can’t go in there, Carter,” Jack said. Daniel shot him a look and a wave of regret washed over him. He knew he shouldn’t have said that. Telling Margaret Carter she couldn’t do something would only drive her to do that very thing. She turned on her heel and headed toward the interrogation room, the two men trailing behind her, protesting what she was about to do. Before she opened the door, she turned to look at them.

“I’m the only one in this building who can determine if he is who he says he is. If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen,” she said, before heading in. 

She wasn’t sure what she expected. He looked just as handsome as he had before that fateful mission. His hair was longer, he looked slightly older, like he’d seen more things that haunted him. When he looked at her, she felt a pang in her heart. She loved Daniel wholeheartedly, but there would always be part of her that loved the man in front of her, or at least, the man whatever was in front of her was pretending to be. 

“Peggy,” he said, his voice barely more than a whisper as he took in the sight of her. His eyes moved from her face down to the obvious bump. His breathing hitched momentarily. He felt a pang in his chest as he saw the ring. She was married. She was married and having a child. She wore a locket that looked familiar, but he couldn’t place it. 

“I don’t know who you think you are. Masquerading as Steve Rogers,” she said, her tone even.

“It’s me. Peggy, it’s me,” he said.

“How? Steve Rogers died during the war,” she said, her arms crossed. 

“I...I can’t tell you how,” he said. She frowned. She needed answers. She needed to know. Her head and her heart were engaged in battle. She had mourned his loss. She had moved forward. Now there he seemed to be, and the progress she had made, the stability and happiness she had found in life after Steve Rogers was threatening to unravel. 

“What’s something only Steve would know?” she asked. 

“Fondue...when I went...when I went to save Bucky and the 107th...I thought fondue meant that you and Howard had been together...intimately,” he said, his cheeks tinge pink. Even after the years spent in the 21st century, the memory was still enough to make him feel a little embarrassed. Peggy uncrossed her arms at that. It wasn’t something that was in the books, but it still wasn’t enough for her.

“When you were on that mission, what was the last thing you promised me?” she asked. He smiled at her, though it held an air of sadness.

“A dance. I promised you a dance. 8PM at the Stork Club,” he said. Her eyes widened. It was him. She felt happiness, sadness, anger, and a host of other emotions at once. 

“It really is you,” she said, shock resonating through her. Though part of her heart would always be his, she wasn’t in love with him, not anymore. Daniel was her husband, the man she had fallen for. 

“And you...you’re married now,” he said. She gave him a small smile. 

“Yes. He’s a good man. An honorable man. We met working for the S.S.R after the war,” she explained. Steve nodded. As she spoke, he saw the happiness she had, the pure joy when she told him about some of the things that had happened since the end of the war. He started to doubt that going back and staying back was the right idea. 

“Steve? How did you end up here?” she asked him. He sighed.

“I can’t tell you much. It has too much potential to cause a ripple effect,” he said.

“Are you saying what I think you are?” she asked.

“Depends on what you think that is. It’s dangerous and unstable at best,” he said.

“Time travel...but if that’s the case...you’re still alive...out there somewhere. Where did they find the plane?” she asked. He shook his head. He knew he couldn’t tell her. 

“Just...let history happen. It doesn’t matter when they found me. Only that they did. I was selfish coming here. Lost in what could have been instead of what was in front of me,” he said, his voice trailing off. He thought of you. He had avoided his feelings for you, hung up on the past, on Peggy, on the life he believed he had been owed. Now that it was in front of him, he knew. His place wasn’t in the past. It was in the present, with you. With Bucky. With Sam. With the family that had been pieced together to save the world. 

He stayed long enough to be snuck out of the building and to the Sousa home for dinner. The air was light. Daniel, as it turned out, had been a soldier Steve had rescued in ‘43 when he liberated the prisoners of war. 

“I have some paperwork to finish up. I’ll be quick,” Daniel said, standing and placing a kiss on his wife’s cheek after they finished dinner and retired to the sitting room. Peggy had put a record on. The music played as Steve and Peggy sat looking at one another. Neither seemed to want to move, knowing it would be the last time they saw one another, that this time, they were having their chance to say goodbye, to find closure. 

“When are you going back?” she asked him. 

“As soon as I leave here,” he said. A moment passed between them, not a word said as they took it in, committing it to memory. 

“You owe me a dance,” she reminded him. Steve smiled a little. Closure, this was closure. And so they danced. His hand on her waist, one of her hands in his. He saw Daniel standing in the archway, a small nod sent his way by the other man. The song ended sooner than Steve liked. 

“You’ll find your happiness, I know it,” Peggy said as they moved apart. 

“I think I already did. She...she’s incredible and I’ve ignored my feelings for too long,” Steve said.

“Tell her how you feel, Steve. Before it’s too late. A lifetime of dances is in front of you. Don’t make her wait any longer than you have,” she told him. Daniel returned to the room a few minutes later, the trio sitting and talking a while more. 

Steve walked out the door feeling closure in a way he hadn’t after Peggy’s death. He thought of you. He often did. The two of you were close. Then Thanos happened and time travel became more than an abstract idea. He thought the past was what he had wanted. But it was clear more than ever that it wasn’t. 

When he reappeared, it had only been ten minutes in the present. Bucky pulled Steve in for a hug, surprised that he had returned. Sam lightheartedly punched his shoulder while Bruce asked what had happened.

“I got caught up with some things and missed the time. It got a little messy back there,” Steve said, not wanting to admit what happened. It was for him and him alone. 

You looked at Steve, a knowing expression on your face. You had an idea of what had happened. What confused you was why he would come back, if he’d gone back to be with her. You were surprised when Steve swept you up into a hug before kissing you.

“What’s that for?” you asked him when he pulled away from you. He smiled as he stepped back, his eyes meeting yours.

“I missed you,” he said. You laughed.

“You were gone for ten minutes. And that still doesn’t explain why you kissed me,” you told him. He shook his head.

“Doesn’t mean I can’t miss you. Going back...going back made me think. I don’t want to miss my chance with you. I don’t want to be too late. I don’t want to miss the dance,” he said. You and Steve had a weird tension between you. It had been a thing for a while. You’d thought, once upon a time, that he was going to ask you out. But he never did. 

“Alright, slow down there Garth Brooks. Are you alright, Steve?” you asked, concerned about how he was acting. You didn’t think there was something physically wrong. But whatever had happened, seemed to be weighing on him. The Steve you knew didn’t just go around kissing people because he missed them. That would be weird. The mental image drew a slight smile to your lips before you refocused. 

“I will be,” he said with a nod. 

“We’re talking about that kiss later. Don’t think I’m letting that go,” you told him as Bucky and Sam made their way back over to the two of you. You hadn’t noticed the two of them had walked away with Bruce, giving you and Steve privacy to talk. 

“So, dinner? Barton said something about pizza,” Sam said. You laughed a little.

“Pizza fixes everything,” you replied. You couldn’t get your mind off Steve and how he was acting. He was lost in his thoughts, something you weren’t used to seeing from him. You wondered where he was in his head. What remained of the team had gathered for dinner. 

Sharon and Wanda were cuddled up on a loveseat. Both women had been Snapped away. They had been together only a few months when it happened. You were happy for them. Your cousin deserved happiness, and happiness was what she had found with Wanda. You touched your locket, thinking of the photo it held, of your grandparents on their wedding day. Steve didn’t know who your grandmother was, only that your mother had been adopted by her parents later in their lives. 

“Hey, do you know where that book Aunt Peggy left you is? Was it at the compound?” Sharon asked you. Steve looked between the two of you with confusion. Bucky raised an eyebrow at the comment while Sam chuckled to himself as he took a sip of his drink. This was going to be interesting. Sam was one of the few who knew that Peggy was your grandmother, which was why Steve’s interest in you amused him to no end. Peggy may not have been related to you by blood, but you were Peggy Carter’s granddaughter.

“You think I’d keep that at the compound? Mom has it. I trust keeping it with my folks more than keeping it at a military installation, thanks,” you replied. 

“Aunt Peggy? You’re related to Peggy?” Steve asked. You rubbed the back of your neck.

“It’s never come up? Though, I thought you would have clued in when I was at the funeral,” you said, eyebrow raised. Steve’s cheeks tinged pink.

“Oh my god. You...you thought I was there as a supportive friend,” you said.

“And as an agent who worked with her. I remember you said you learned a lot of what you know from her,” Steve said quietly. You tried to keep your laughter in. You thought it had been obvious, especially with how close you were to Sharon. 

“Natasha figured it out within a week of knowing me, without looking at my file, though that information was redacted,” you explained. You wore a sad smile as you thought of Natasha. She had been one of your closest friends. 

“I wonder if Cap’s just wired to fall for Carter women,” Natasha said. You looked at her with confusion as the two of you sparred.

“What?” you asked. You had never divulged that information to anyone, including Nat. You knew it wasn’t on your file either. You had wanted to make it based on your merit, not for being Peggy Carter’s granddaughter, something Fury had honored. 

“I figured it out the first week we met. Your locket for one. In old photos of her, she wears it. You have some of her mannerisms too. You may not be related to her by blood, but there is no denying you’re her granddaughter. And there’s no denying Steve Rogers can’t escape his attraction to women in the Carter family tree,” she teased. You felt your cheeks warm. You wouldn’t deny that you had been jealous of the attraction Steve had to your cousin. 

“Shut up,” you had said, throwing a half-hearted punch. 

“Why didn’t you just tell me?” Steve asked. You shrugged.

“I always wanted to make a name for myself, without being in her shadow. And I have,” you said. 

Later in the evening, after everyone had split off to do their own thing, you found yourself sitting outside with Steve. A comfortable silence filled the space between the two of you. 

“So you went back and saw her,” you said, a small smile on your face. Steve nodded.

“I thought I wanted what I left in the past. I couldn’t have been more wrong. What I want is here. In the present. With you. I loved her, but that’s it. I loved her. I’ve spent more time here, in the present, with you, with our friends, than I did with her. I was lost in my nostalgia for another time that I let myself believe that was where I belonged,” he said. You nodded. It made sense to you. You knew he had struggled at times. The world was a vastly different place than when he had gone into the ice. 

“Did you get your dance?” you asked him. He frowned.

“What?” he asked. 

“Grandma...Peggy. She told me about you when I was growing up. She’d watch me sometimes. And she’d tell me about you. When I got older, she told me the real story about what happened that day,” you explained. 

“She talked sense into me,” he said. You smiled at that.

“Sounds like her alright,” you said. The two of you sat talking for a while, laying it all on the table. Your fears. Your feelings. Your hopes for the future. 

A year later found your friends gathered at the lakeside. You had invited a few close family, and that was enough. Your locket fell nicely with the dress you had chosen. A ceremony filled with laughter and tears as you and Steve became husband and wife. 

“May I have this dance?” Steve asked after the two of you were introduced at the reception. You grinned at him.

“For you? You can have this dance and every one to come,” you said, pulling him into a kiss as friends and family whistled and clapped. 

This was a dance worth waiting for, Steve thought as he spun you around before pulling you close again, a content smile on his face. 

[ridiculousn3sswrites]

Weak Heart

*Tom Hiddleston x Reader

*Request from Wattpad: “Can I request a song fic for Tom Hiddleston. The song is weak heart by zara larsson”

*Warnings: Kinda unhealthy relationship, vague references to sex and alcohol. Let me know if I missed anything.

*A/N: As we all know I’m terrible at doing requests in a decent time frame. This request was from back in June (I think?) but I had fun writing it (and listening to the song while I was working). Happy Holidays everyone!

Song || My Ko-Fi

**********

Early morning / Someone's calling / Who could this be? / Reach my phone and / Your name showing / On my caller ID / I decline / then change my mind / and call you back up

When you first met Tom, the first thing you noticed about him was his charm. Well, the second thing. Of course you saw how attractive he was, and when you found out just how nice he was on top of that? He got ten times more attractive. You met him on set - it was your first leading role and he was an absolute dream to work with. He could tell you were a little nervous and was willing to do anything to help you put forth your best performance.

Late nights working with him, shooting scenes and running lines, dinners and drinks shared, they all added up to the biggest crush on someone that you saw as so incredibly out of your league. On wrap day, you decided to just go for it. You, of course, ran all the information by your friends before coming to this decision, not wanting to risk an awkward press junket. Once you got the go ahead that it seemed like he was into you, you went ahead and asked him on a date.

There were a few months that things had to go long distance, but knowing that you’d be reunited soon made it worth it. Both of you would fly out to visit the other for a few days at a time, and you could say that you were legitimately happy with the new relationship. It worked until it didn’t.

Once the press junket was done and each of you started working on your own projects, it was just incredibly difficult to find time for each other. The week or so every month shrunk to a few days at a time, then to one day, and then to nothing for a couple months. You knew it would be difficult - you were both fairly sought after, especially after your movie together - but you didn’t realize it would be like this. The promises you made at the beginning to call every day, video chat every weekend, text throughout the day seemed less and less feasible, and they didn’t even happen all that often. You weren’t yourself, and the people around you started to notice. You spent your days looking at your phone, waiting to see if he’d sent you a text, or maybe even tried to call you. It took nearly a year of this going on for you to finally end things when the two of you happened to be in New York for your own interviews.

It had been nearly a year after your whole situation ended, but you still missed him dearly. There were no ill feelings towards him. It wasn’t like the two of you ended on terrible terms; it was a simple case of right person, wrong time. The memories of the good times were still there, but there just weren’t enough to override the months of loneliness and hurt you went through.

You didn’t know what time it was when your phone blared on the bedside table, but you knew it had to be early from the darkness still outside. You blindly grabbed for your phone, trying to make yourself the slightest bit aware. When you checked just who was calling you at this ungodly hour, you nearly dropped your phone. Hiddleston.

You immediately declined the call, trying to calm your racing heart. It took a few seconds before you changed your mind, calling back. He picked up before you could even have the chance to steady your nerves.

“Hey,” he said. It’d been a while since you heard his voice like this. Sure, you saw his interviews every now and then, but this was different. Like it was just for you.

“Hey.” You didn’t know what else you could say. What do you say to the person you were still in love with, even though you ended things a year ago? What are you even supposed to do?

“I’m sorry, I forgot about the time difference. What time is it for you?” Tom asked. You could tell he was trying to do small talk, to get past the initial awkwardness.

“It’s five in the morning, Tom. Are you in London?”

“Yeah, I’m sorry about that.” It was something that happened a fair bit when the two of you were dating. Tom would forget that there were a full eight hours between the two of you, calling at odd hours in the morning until the two of you found a time that really worked. “Have you talked to your agent lately?”

“Not since yesterday, no. What have you heard?”

“I’m going to be starting work on a project soon, and they asked if I had any people in mind to be my costar. I could only think of you.” There was something else, a deeper meaning behind his words. Maybe you were overthinking it, but you swore there was the slightest bit of longing there. Why would he recommend you for a role when there was bound to be an awkwardness between you? Did he miss you like you missed him? “I understand if you don’t want to work with me, but please read the script at least. I think you’ll like it.”

And there was the charm that made you fall for him. “Yeah, I’ll read it. I can be professional.”

“Great.”

“Yeah.”

“Oh, uh, (y/n)? I’m really glad you didn’t block me.” You wouldn’t admit it, but you were too. The two of you didn’t have anything else to talk about, so the call ended fairly soon after that. You couldn’t convince yourself to just go back to sleep. Your mind was racing and you couldn’t convince your body to just lay still. Now that you knew you should be expecting a call from your agent in the next few hours, there was no way you could relax. So instead you were pacing your living room, Netflix playing on your tv just to provide some background noise. What would you do when you saw him again?

You come over / I say slow now / This can't go on / Grab a chair, please / Sit right there it's / Time we had a talk

The second you walked in to the table read, you spotted him. It would’ve been hard to miss him, chatting with some others, that heart-melting smile bright on his face. You didn’t know what to do. There was the part of you that wanted to go up to him, just go back to the time when things were good, act like nothing happened over the past couple of years. But then there was the part of you that was stuck on the times you spent waiting by the phone, the moments you wanted him there for you, all the times he just wasn’t. It wasn’t his fault, with both of you having busy schedules and then the time difference between you.

You found your way over to the refreshments, sipping on some water as you watched the room. There were some others you recognized from your projects over the years, but no one you could easily mesh with to distract you until the table read started. Just as you were going to attempt to join some conversation, you saw the moment Tom realized you were there. He did a double take before quickly excusing himself from his conversation, quickly crossing the room to be by your side.

“(Y/n), it’s been a while,” he told you, a shy little smile gracing his lips.

“Yeah, it has been,” you said. “How have you been?”

Catching up was easy. You had forgotten just how easy it was to be with him, how easy it was to talk to him and just be yourself. The two of you talked until it was time for the table read to start, and once the table read was over, Tom invited you to grab some dinner. You knew you shouldn’t say yes, but the little hopeful look he had was too much. You sent your manager a text, letting them know they wouldn’t have to send a car for you.

It was too easy to fall back into step with Tom. You tried to remember what it was like when the two of you were apart, busy with your own schedules and lives, but when he was here next to you, it was so easy to forget. You could see things going back to the way they were with the little things - running lines together, getting lunch or dinner with one another, not even mentioning the time you nodded off in his trailer and woke up to him skimming through his script, sneaking looks at you like a schoolkid with a crush - and you needed to sort things out before they got out of hand.

“Are you kidding me? It’s a suicide mission!” You yelled at him, stepping just a smidge too far into his personal space.

“It’s what needs to be done. You know we have to do whatever it takes,” he said calmly, looking down at you. You could feel your body burning at the gaze, but he what he was saying was pure insanity. Almost automatically, you brought your hand up to smack him, but he easily caught your wrist, turning it and forcing your arm down.

“You can’t do this,” you choked out as he pulled you closer.

“Say what you actually mean.”

“You can’t do this to me. If you die-”

“Then I’ll just have to not die.” He said it like it was so easy. Before you could say anything, he pulled you in, kissing you soundly, passionately. When he pulled back, he gave you a knowing smile. “It’ll be easy, especially with you watching my back.”

“And cut! That was great guys,” the director said, pulling you out of the scene. You and Tom looked over at him, still standing way too close than you should have once the shot ended. “We should probably do another take or two just in case, but I want you guys to keep that energy. Take twenty minutes then come back.”

“Thank you!” You and Tom said at the same time, finally putting some distance between the two of you. As soon as you were far enough off set, you pulled Tom to the side. You tried not to notice how right your hand felt in his, dropping it quickly.

“Are you okay?” Tom asked as soon as you were somewhat secluded from the rest of the crew.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Listen, I think we should talk about whatever’s going on here,” you huffed, looking away. You didn’t know how you were supposed to actually have this conversation with him when you were struggling to even look at him after bringing it up. “Just… come with my to my apartment after shoot. We shouldn’t have this conversation on set.”

“Yes, of course.” It was almost amazing how fast Tom got serious. You only needed to finish these last few takes and then you’d be free to have this conversation. If only you could figure out what you wanted to say.

The apartment you’d been renting for the shoot was cold and empty when you got back, Tom following close behind. You made a beeline for the kitchen, putting your bag down on the counter as you went to grab something to drink. Tom stood awkwardly, watching as you went about your little routine. “Uh, well, feel free to sit wherever. Do you want something to drink?”

“No, thank you,” Tom said as he took a seat at the breakfast bar. You stayed on the opposite end of the counter, needing the distance between the two of you. “What did you want to talk about?”

“Forgive me if I’m the only one seeing it, but have you noticed something happening here? Like, how it was before we got together last time?” You asked, not daring to look at him. Maybe you were just reading too much into it, and he was just being the polite person he was known to be. Maybe you’d just forgotten that was how he was with everyone.

“(Y/n), darling, could you look at me?” His soothing voice drew your eyes up to his. “I didn’t want to come on too strong, but working with you again was just an excuse to be near you. Of course I think you’re perfect for the role, and I love working with you, but I missed you and I didn’t know how to get you back in my life. I’ve missed you more than you could know.”

You looked back at the counter, your heart pounding. You must have heard him wrong. There was no way he wanted you back. Every bit of pain you felt when the two of you were together - or, more accurately, apart - came rushing back. “We can’t do this again.”

You heard Tom move, probably getting off of the stool. Before you knew it, you felt one of his hands on your shoulder as the other one tilted your chin up. Your breath hitched at his proximity, reminding you of the scene earlier. “And why not?”

“Not when we both get so busy and we can’t even properly be together. We both have careers, we live on opposite ends of the world,” you said. He hushed you, gently enough that you weren’t annoyed by it like you would’ve been otherwise.

“We can figure it out this time, get it right,” he reassured you. “I don’t want to lose you again.”

You let yourself relax in his hold, and Tom took the moment to search your face before leaning in slowly, still giving you enough time to push him away or move. The kiss was different from the ones you shared on set, actual emotion poured into this one. It was more than your characters sharing a heat-filled moment before a dangerous mission, it was just you and Tom. Tom kissed you softly, but that didn’t mean there was any less passion behind it.

When you woke the next morning, Tom’s arm was a solid weight around your waist, holding you close to his bare chest. The memories of the previous night flooded back. There wasn’t much talking once he kissed you, but there was touching. Soft, gentle touches like both of you were worried of scaring the other away. Light kisses pressed to bared skin, not wanting to leave any marks for the makeup team to deal with the next day. There would be time for pure lust later, the two of you only concerned with reacquainting yourselves with one another. Tom stirred beside you, pressing lazy kisses to your shoulder as you melted into his touch. You could worry about the consequences later.

So I'mma keep singing this sad song / It never felt better to be wrong

It was easy to slip back into the way things had been at the beginning of your relationship the first time around. You didn’t want to tell anyone you were together again - knowing how the rumor mill ran wild, and that was without the tabloids being involved - but it was almost embarrassing how obvious it was. If one of you had a scene and the other didn’t, the other could always be found nearby, watching with a fond smile. The chemistry you had in scenes together was insane, enough so that your director commented on it. Everything just seemed to fall into place.

When you weren’t needed on set, the two of you spent the night together at one of your apartments. You fell into an easy routine: cooking dinner with each other when you weren’t exhausted (getting takeout when you were), watching something together or running lines before you had to head to bed, cuddling until you fell asleep. It was more domestic than when you dated before, and it just felt right. You knew your time like this was limited, but you couldn’t help to try to forget it. You just wanted to enjoy it while you could.

Before you knew it, wrap day was here. You were immensely proud of the work you and everyone else had done for the movie, but you couldn’t help to worry about what exactly this meant for your rekindled relationship. Even as you finished the last scene and everyone applauded for the end of the shoot, the thought was still at the back of your mind. You were supposed to be overjoyed, glad for the chance to have even a short break, but you couldn’t get too lost in the moment. You smiled and chatted with the rest of the lingering cast and crew before they had to start cleaning up, trying to ignore the slight feeling of dread you had. Apparently you hadn’t done a good job at it, especially when Tom pulled you aside after you got invited to drinks with the rest of the cast. 

“Are you okay, darling?” Tom asked, searching for something in your look. “You did fantastic, but are you okay?”

“Yeah, of course. I’m just kinda sad we’re actually done.” You looked away, worried he’d be able to tell somehow.

“That’s not entirely true, now is it?”

You sighed. Of course he could tell. “I mean, you’re going back to London now, aren’t you?”

“Darling, you don’t have to worry about that. We said we’d figure it out the right way this time, didn’t we?”

“Yeah, but we haven’t even really talked about what we mean by that.”

“How about after drinks with the rest, we get food and go back to my apartment to talk through it? And we still have the rest of the week before you go back to LA, right?”

“Right.” You didn’t know how exactly you guys were supposed to talk through it - you thought you had done a pretty good job at that the first time around - but you were willing to believe he had the answers. He had to have the answers this time.

Yeah, I've a weak heart, baby, I've a weak heart

You had to admit, there were times when you wondered why you were going through this yet again. Though this time was significantly better than the last, there were still times when you needed Tom there and he just couldn’t be there. Even though the two of you tried making trips to see each other, your work schedules and just life in general got in the way of spending any significant periods of time together. Phone and video calls became the most frequent form of communication, with most calls happening first thing in the morning for you, the middle of the afternoon for Tom. Just the fact that you guys talked every day made it seem worthwhile to hold onto.

“Darling, you sound like you’re still asleep,” Tom joked as you groaned, covering your eyes with your arm.

“That’s because I kinda am. I’m not supposed to go back for filming for another couple days,” you told him. “Waking up this early is actual hell, I don’t know how you do it.”

“I’ve gotten used to it, though it is harder to leave when you’re sleeping next to me.” You couldn’t tell if he was teasing or not, but you knew he did linger a little longer when you were visiting one another. “How’s the show been going?”

Though you normally didn’t take part in pilot season, a show writer had come to your agent with a chance that you couldn’t pass up. You’d worked with them a couple times when you were just starting out, and now they wanted you to star in a new drama. You talked about it with Tom a few times, not wanting to really say anything until you knew if the show got picked up by a network or not. “It’s definitely going. I really like the people I’m working with, I think you’d get along with a few of them.”

“Is that so?” Tom seemed slightly distracted, but as far as you knew, he wasn’t supposed to be doing anything today. You could hear sounds of the city around him, like he was taking a walk or something.

“What are you up to? You seem kinda… I don’t know.”

“I’m sorry, darling. Just give me a few minutes and you’ll have my full attention, I promise.” You held in the sigh that you wanted to give so bad, a little annoyed that the half hour you normally spent on the phone during the day was being interrupted.

“Alright. Do you want me to keep talking or do you want to tell me about the project you just signed on to?”

“Tell me more about your show, I want to hear your voice. I’ve missed it.”

“We talked yesterday.” You couldn’t help but smile even as you teased Tom. He was so sweet without even really intending to be. The moments that made you melt were always just Tom being honest. It was insane what that man did to you.

“Indulge me, please sweetheart?” You couldn’t say no to him.

As you were in the middle of telling a story from the first table read when you heard knocking at your door. You groaned as you finally got out of bed, making Tom laugh. You told him to wait for a second as you put your phone down on the counter, going to answer the door. You were glad you put down your phone, because the second you opened the door, you knew you would have dropped it. “Tom?”

“I was going to use the spare key, but I didn’t want to worry you by just coming in,” Tom explained, hanging up the call on his end. Just as he put his phone in his pocket, you launched yourself forward to hug him. He laughed as he held you close.

“Please tell me I’m not dreaming.”

“I’m here, darling. I’ll be here for at least a couple months before my next project starts.” You pressed your face into the crook of his neck, trying to ground yourself in the reality that he was here. You knew he wouldn’t be here for as long as you’d like, but he was here now, and you wanted to savor the time you had with him. Even if things weren’t the way you imagined, the way you would’ve preferred, he was here now, and that was enough. You could ignore the ache in your heart when he was gone, the nights spent alone, everything, if it meant you could have moments like this.

**********

Permanent Tag List: @treatallwithkindness, @laic2299

[thran-duils]

Sex and Candy

Title: Sex and Candy Summary: Fem!Reader x AU!Dean (S15), Fem!Reader x AU!Castiel. Based on the alternate universe presented to us in Season 15 with the trust fund versions of Dean and Sam. The reader is married to Dean but is forced to face Castiel again, a past flame from her time at the hunter academy. After a fight with Dean, she finds herself asking Castiel to join her at a hotel, unable to let go of the past. Words: 3,818 Warnings (for the fic in entirety): Angst, infidelity, smut Author’s Note: This was purposely left the way it was for you guys to make your own conclusions about what happens! ;)

Masterpost (mobile)

I smell sex and candy here, mmm Who's that lounging in my chair? Mmm Who's that casting devious stares in my direction? Momma this surely is a dream, yeah Yeah, momma this surely is a dream, dig it --Marcy’s Playground, Sex & Candy

Dean’s hand was at your lower back, guiding you through the door. Headquarters were fairly quiet, which was out of the ordinary. Many of the hunters in the area were not around having been dealt with an influx of monsters somehow escaping purgatory. Word was it had something to do with two rogue hunters who had messed around with some extremely powerful supernatural artifact and it had caused a rift in between the two worlds. You detested hunters who had not been given formal training through the academy and kept within the reins of John, your father in law’s, circle. They made your jobs all the more difficult more often than not.

The two of you stepped into the elevator, nodding in greeting at the guard standing nearby.

Once the doors closed, Dean told you, “Dad’s in a bad mood.”

“Oh?” you asked, barely feigning a tone of interest. You adjusted the silver Tiffany’s bracelet on your wrist, thinking to yourself that this was not news; John was usually not in a good mood. He was overbearing to say the least. It had taken everything in Dean to tell him he wanted to move out of the house with you. Luckily for you, John had a soft spot for you due to your hunting skills and had not put up much of a fuss. You had held back a scowl though when he had chirped that at least Dean had a homemaker to take care of him. You did not have to clean up after him, thankfully, considering the staff at your home. You loved Dean, there was no doubt, but his less desirable traits – being dependent and needing to be coddled at times – left you with a sour taste in your mouth more and more often.

Pulling at his collar to straighten it out, Dean sighed, “Yes. Apparently, he’s found out who the hunters are and wants to do something about them.” Your gaze slid to him and by the look on your face, Dean held up his hands, his gold cuff links catching the light. “Sammy refused.”

“Sam always refuses things like this.” Sighing, your fingers dug into your clutch. “He has got to stop punishing you sometime for moving out. He needs to start doing some of the dirty work.”

“I hardly think searching them out to ask them what the heck went wrong is dirty work, Y/N.”

The elevator door opened, and you closed your mouth, not wanting to continue this discussion outside the privacy of it.

You cut in front of Dean, your annoyance apparent. You heard him sigh heavily behind you, but you did not care, making your way down the hall towards John’s office.

Knowing better than to just enter, you knocked on the door and heard John beckon you in. Swinging the door open, you felt Dean at your back as you entered the room.

John was sitting behind his intricately carved desk that he had had imported in. Papers were stacked neatly, him working on one thing at a time. He was adamant about keeping his desk clean and to do so, he would not be rushed. One of the other board members for the academy, Arthur, was sitting opposite John.

Taking his glasses off, John moved to put his pen back in its holder. He gestured at the empty chair beside you, and you sat, keeping your back straight. Arthur was watching you out of the corner of his eye and you stiffened even further. He had been particularly hard on you as one of your mentors in school and you had not forgotten.

“You look upset, Y/N,” John commented.

You waved him off and said, “I am just impatient about learning who caused this latest mishap. And what is going to be done about it.”

“Impatience has always been a fault of yours,” Arthur commented, and you bit back a comment as John continued, “Well, it turns out it was two of the academy’s.”

“Are you joking?” Dean blurted from behind you where he was standing.

John shot him a look and Dean closed his mouth. “That is not something I would joke about, Dean. It was a major, major bungle. Yes, it was two that should know better, but I am not surprised at the same time. Novak and Crowley.”

His eyes were on you as he revealed this and unable to stop yourself, you closed your eyes, letting out a small sigh. Of course, it was. And no wonder Sam would turn this down as he knew yours and Castiel’s history; anything to put Dean and you in an uncomfortable position.

A small smirk on his lips, John told you specifically, “I thought it would be best to send you. And of course, Dean would go as well. You two are partners.”

“Naturally,” you responded tightly.

This was the last thing you wanted to do with your time. Being in Castiel’s presence never ended up being dressed in the past. Circumstances were different now and you were going to have to try to break that trend. You were already on edge and this was not going to help you to keep your composure seeing the smug look on his face.

<> <> <>

“Why am I not surprised they would be in a place like this?” Dean asked as the two of you ascended the short staircase to the bar.

It was a rowdy place, placed in an urban center.

“They are the dive bar type,” you told him, speaking louder as the swell of the music met you at the door. You held out your ID for the bouncer and he quickly waved you through, not even bothering to look at Dean’s considering he saw what your last name was already. Winchester got you into many places and underground establishments without the bat of an eye.

It did not take you long to locate them inside. They were waiting to play the next game of pool; Castiel was leaning back in his chair, legs propped up on the table, drink in hand. Crowley was next to him, dressed in crisp black as usual. Castiel’s hair was loose, his beard growing to a 5 o’clock shadow.

Crowley spotted you and Dean first. He nudged Castiel and said something to him as the two of you approached the table. Castiel turned his head and a smirk grew on his face seeing you, chuckling as he looked back down at his drink. He brought the pint to his lips and took a long swig.

“We need to talk,” you told them over the music, standing beside Castiel, glaring down at the pair of them.

“John Winchester sent his lap dogs instead of coming himself?” Crowley asked, giving you a scornful look.

Your mouth fell open slightly and before you could retort something nasty, Dean stepped forward. “It would be appreciated if the two of you could cooperate. It would make things so much easier. It’s not just my father; it’s the whole board.”

Castiel cleared his throat, moving to drop his feet off the table. “I suppose we are about to get our asses handed to us based on the demeanor here.”

“You’re damn right,” you spat.

“Oh, language,” Dean told you over his shoulder and you did not miss the smirk on both Castiel and Crowley’s faces. “No need to stoop to their level, Y/N.”

Castiel gestured across the table. “Sit.”

Dean looked apprehensive about sitting on the chair, no doubt worrying about his pressed slacks. You on the other hand, did not care in the slightest. You sat down, placing your wallet on the table between you and Dean. Castiel’s eyes were following your movements and you shot him a vexed look and clenched your jaw when he winked in return. It went missed by Dean as usual, him being too absorbed in keeping himself clean.

“So, what does the old man want to say?” Crowley asked, swirling the whiskey in his glass slowly. He was not going to let his disdain for John go.

Clearing his throat, Dean said ignoring the jab – or perhaps it went over his head, which was more likely –, “He wants to know what happened, why it happened, and how you propose to fix it.”

“Well, that is a lot of information and could take some time –”

“Give us the short version,” you snapped, interrupting him.

Crowley cocked his head, drawling, “You’re as charming as ever, Y/N.” You said nothing in response. “Fine. We were trying to send a monster back to purgatory –”

“What?” Dean demanded at the same time you blurted, “Why?”

“Well, if you would let me explain myself,” Crowley said tightly, narrowing his eyes. “We wanted to see if it could be done. Why continue wasting resources killing the monsters when we could just open a rift and send them to purgatory?”

“And you decided to do this without, I don’t know, discussing this with anyone else? Or asking for help?” you asked.

“Didn’t think any of you tight asses would be up to it.”

“And for good reason!”

Holding his hand up at you, Crowley said, “That is exactly why we didn’t ask for help. We researched it on our own, found the artifact we needed, and preformed the ritual ourselves. It did not go as we planned but we did do it. We opened a rift. Now, if we could perfect it –”

Dean cut in, holding up his hand, “Yeah, that’s not going to be happening. The Board wants you to turn over whatever artifact you used so we can keep it hidden to prevent this from happening again."

Crowley and Castiel exchanged a quick look, an entire conversation happening in a matter of moments between the two of them.

“And if we don’t hand it over?” Castiel questioned, coyly.

You exhaled impatiently as Dean scoffed, “You can’t be serious to want to defy the Board.”

“If we give it up to them, they’ll never pursue the idea.”

“That’s not entirely true.”

“But they’ll take our hard work and claim the credit for themselves if it ends up being perfected.”

“That’s the point of the Board and the academy. It is to keep all of our collective research in one centralized place so everyone has access to it.”

Crowley cut into their conversation angrily, “That is exactly why I hated attending that bloody academy. The stuffed up, old pricks—” Dean flinched at the insult. “--there want to keep everything to themselves while the rest of us do the groundwork for them.” Castiel nodded in agreement, taking a drink of his beer.

Dean looked at you for support and you leaned forward, catching both of the men’s attention across the table. “Look. You know there’s two ways this is playing out. You agree to hand it over or we go back and tell the Board they’ve got two hunters they need to get information out of.”

“You mean, you two won’t be the ones shaking us down?” Castiel quipped, a playful glint in his eyes.

You were tired of him flirting, pushing your buttons that he knew how to press all too well.

Annoyed, you retorted, “They’re not sending Dean and I to get our hands dirty by forcing information out of you two. We are here as liaisons.”

“No. No, I suppose they wouldn’t be sending the pair of you,” Crowley said. “You haven’t done hard work in years. That’s for the grunts, isn’t it?”

You had had enough. Pushing the chair back with a loud squeak, you stood up quickly, grabbing your wallet. “I’m finished with this conversation. Dean, if you would like to continue trying to reason with these idiots, I’ll be in the car.”

It annoyed you even further to see Dean quickly get up to follow you. Part of you hoped he would have had the backbone to continue trying to coerce them, but then again, he seemed to always be following your lead.

“No, I see a lost cause when I see one,” Dean said, standing close to you.

You tore your eyes away from him to look at Crowley and Castiel once more. Castiel was taking a swig, his eyes running up your body and you had the urge to smack the glass out of his hands, spilling the contents all over him. You gave a disgusted scoff before turning and storming away from the table. Hearing Crowley crow after you to have a good night made your blood boil even more.

<> <> <>

Dean walked out of the bathroom in your bedroom in the suite, robe wrapped tightly around him. He was brushing his teeth while searching for his slippers. He found them and disappeared back into the bathroom. He had not wanted to go back home tonight, opting to pay for a luxurious room for the two of you to lounge in. You were not relaxing though, still infuriated with the salacious way Castiel had kept looking at you. It had set you aflame to feel those same lustful feelings when you had seen him. The man rubbed you completely the wrong way and yet, you still yearned to turn those feelings of annoyance into passion.

“Well, we tried,” Dean told you, emerging once more.

Rolling your eyes, you said, “Not hard enough. They should not feel the right to refuse a request like this.”

“I don’t know what you thought we could do more.”

He was so ready to give up. Dean typically gave up at the first signs of difficulty and passed the buck to someone else to handle. You had been okay enough with it at first with your brazen personality you had no problem picking up tough situations and making sure they got solved. But tonight, after seeing Castiel, the stress and annoyance was boiling over.

“Are you fucking serious, Dean?” You demanded. His mouth fell open at your cursing and you said, “Oh, come off it! Are you serious? We could have done it ourselves. We could have brought them in. You know I would have been able to get them in cuffs myself.”

“Y/N, that would not have worked. Two on two? And you would have caused a scene in the bar. There’s no reason to get police involved.”

Snapping, you shouted, “Dean, can you just for once do…” You caught yourself, closing your eyes. You had been about to lose your temper and say something you were going to regret. Breathing deeply, you tried to push the anger back below the surface. You needed air; you needed some release. Turning and snatching your purse, you searched for your shoes. “Never mind.”

“Can I do what?” Dean pressed when he recovered from your outburst as you made to go grab your jacket.

“It’s not worth it,” you dismissed him.

Dean stepped closer, concern laced in his features. “Apparently it is if you’re this upset.”

“This is what I’m talking about,” you said exasperated, gesturing at him. “You should be mad at me for being mad at you and yelling.”

“Why would I do that?”

Letting out a small growl, you turned and stormed towards the door.

“Where are you going?” He called after you, worried.

“Out!”

‘It’s late, Y/N!”

“Don’t wait up for me then.”

<> <> <>

Lying on the bed naked, you waited, flipping through your phone. You had gone down the street, paying for a room at a far less extravagant hotel in cash. No paper trail was going to be left for John to find.

When you heard the key at the door – you had asked the front desk to hold one for pick up – you lowered your phone. The door opened and Castiel walked in.

“Jesus, Y/N,” he snapped seeing you and rushing to close the door and lock it behind him.

You ignored his outburst, leaning over and placing your phone on the bedside table. “Figured you would have slowed down on the drinking after seeing me. I like being right.”

“History does have a way of informing my decisions,” Castiel replied, taking a few steps further into the room. He was looking at your bare skin, eyes lingering. You made a hum of approval, lying back on the bed, legs crossed, giving a shielded view of your pussy. Castiel tore his eyes away and asked, “Is this a trap?”

Smiling coyly, you asked, “Do you want to risk the opportunity to find out?”

“I suppose not.” He removed his jacket, tossing it on the chair next to the desk. His fingers hooked into the hem of his shirt and he pulled it over his head. He was not going to waste time giving you the opportunity to change your mind about all this.

“Come here,” you ordered him, sitting up and getting onto your knees at the edge of the bed.

You undid his belt and his pants, allowing him to shimmy to let them fall to the ground. His boxers went next and he pushed you back onto the bed, crawling on top of you.

“You got a condom?” he breathed into your ear, letting out a low groan when your hand found his cock.

Stroking, you whispered back, “No.”

“No?”

“Did I stutter? You’re safe, right?”

“That’s romantic—” Castiel started to say but your hand cupped his balls and he groaned again. “Yes. Yes. I got tested a couple weeks ago, actually.”

“How fortuitous,” you answered, stroking him again. You were rewarded with a throaty chuckle from him and his lips landing on yours. He drug his lips across yours, relishing in the taste.

Castiel growled, losing patience. He pushed your hand away and lined himself up with your entrance. He slid in, slamming his mouth to yours as you opened up for him. His composure was slipping feeling your tightness around him as he began thrusting in and out. You knew he was not this crazy for anyone else. You kissed him back with fervor, falling into the familiar rhythm; you had not felt him like this in over a year. The last had been shortly after you and Dean had gotten married and you had held out for this long by avoiding him up until tonight.

“I missed you,” you gasped, dragging your lips along his jaw before coming back to nip at his lip.

His tongue slipped past your lips and you moved to wrap your arms around his neck as he continued to steadily move in and out, you dripping around him.

You pushed him away and he looked at you momentarily confused. You began to shift position, and he followed your motion, pulling out to let you guide him. Climbing on top of him, you slid down his length. You rode him, each dive pushing him deeper until he bottomed out. Increasing your speed, your hands planted on his chest, moans leaving your throat. Praises fell from Castiel, his fingers digging into your sides.

“You look so fucking sexy, baby,” he grunted, his eyes following your tits bouncing.

You were close and you let go of him to put your hands on the headboard. Gripping tightly, you used it as leverage to quicken your pace, crying out as his cock brushed your core.

“Cum for me,” Castiel said. “Come on, baby, I wanna feel it.”

You cried out, losing your rhythm. Castiel took the opportunity to hold you in place tighter, continuing to plummet into you as you saw stars. You barely registered feeling Castiel fill you up, his fingers bruising with his grip.

Collapsing on the bed next to him, you breathed deeply, trying to calm yourself.

Silence fell between the two of you, both staring at the ceiling. It was becoming too much, being this close to him. You had messed up yet again. You knew the moment John told you who you were going to go after that you would, but you had tried so desperately to lie to yourself about the inevitable outcome. You needed some space or something to drink to make yourself relax.

Clearing your throat, you asked, “You want a drink? I bought a bottle.” You swung your legs over the side of the bed and got out, walking over to the mini fridge. You pulled out the bottle of whiskey, placing it on the counter to be able to reach over and grab two of the Styrofoam provided cups. He had not answered but you were pouring him one all the same.

You tossed a look over your shoulder at Castiel. He was propped up on his elbow, looking at you with longing.

“What?” you asked lightly, although your heart was pounding. You knew that look.

“I still love you, you know.”

The admission made you falter, as you put the cap back on the bottle. Recovering, you quickly screwed the lid back on and put the bottle back in the fridge, grabbing one of the cans of pop to split it between the cups. You tossed the can into the recycling bin.

“I’m fully aware, Cas,” you finally said shortly.

You heard him chuckle behind you. “You were always terrible with affection, Y/N.”

Now you turned to him, shooting him a glare. “Like you’re the poster child for it.”

“Touché.”

Swallowing sharply, you threw your hand out. “I don’t know what you want me to say, Cas.”

“You almost told me earlier. You said you missed me.”

“Well… I do.”

Castiel sighed, “But you can’t just come out and say it.”

Scoffing, you said, “Cas, I’m married.” It was his turn to scoff, and he swept his arm around at the messed-up sheets and the scene between you. “You know what I mean.”

“No. I don’t. Explain yourself.”

“I love Dean,” you snapped, and his mouth formed a tight line. You knew he hated hearing that, despite the fact it was the truth.

“You can love more than one person at a time, Y/N.”

Shaking your head, you told him defiantly, “No. No I can’t. Not for my own sanity.”

“You reached out to me. You cut me out and then the moment you saw me again, all that resolve you tried to have disappeared almost instantly. You know there’s a reason for that.”

Opening your mouth, you closed it again, at loss for words. He was staring at you expectantly, waiting for an answer.

He was right and it cut deep knowing he was right. You had feelings for them both and it was for different reasons. Dean would never be Cas and Cas would never be Dean. Why could you not have them both? It was not possible, but you wanted it. So badly.

Raising your gaze again, you met his burning stare. “Fine,” you whispered. “Fine, Castiel. I do love you too.”

“Then do something about it.”

~~~

CASTIEL FOREVER TAGS: @willowing-love @perseusandmedusa @greenappleeyes @afanofmanystuffs @earthtokace @shikaros-blog @marisayouass @splendidcas