#the only thing keeping me going is knowing I’ll be able to move out latter this ear

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

Jace teaching his wife how to fight. Maybe he gets a bit too rough or talks bad to you but apologize

This one made me want to pull my hair so many times, so please don't be too hard on the sword-using moments. Why did I do this to myself?

my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time

—

‘’I don’t want to sit back and do nothing, I want to be at the frontlines and fight for our Queen. If Baela and Rhaena can do it, I can too,’’ you told Jacaerys as you were watching him take off his sword and belt, done with his day. ‘’The Queen said herself that I’m one of the greatest dragon riders. Another dragon could be helpful. I want to fight beside you.’’ 

‘’Are you sure?’’ Jacaerys shifted his gaze to you, sitting on your bed. ‘’I’m not saying that because I don’t want you to fight. I would be proud to have you fight beside me. I just want to make sure you know what you're getting yourself into.’’ He removed his cape and unbuckled his jacket, sore underneath from his training. 

You were aware of the dangers of battle, but you were tired of feeling useless. You didn't want to be known as the wife of the Queen’s heir, the one who stayed behind and watched. You wanted to be remembered as a woman who fought and won battles, and helped win the war.

‘’This is what I want, Jace.’’ 

Rhaenyra was on board with you fighting for her claim. On one condition: that you learned how to use a weapon. You couldn’t go into battle with only your dragon to defend yourself and no combat abilities. Being a good dragon rider was great, but you needed to be able to hold a sword…or even a crossbow. 

It was usually Daemon who was in charge of training, but he was away looking for dragonseeds, so Jacaerys volunteered. The latter was supposed to join Daemon on his quest, and bailed at the last minute and sent Baela in replacement. 

You and Jacaerys worked hours together on your sword fighting. He was gentle in his teaching of the basics, but didn't go too easy on you. In the heat of battle, your opponents won’t spare you. It’s a thing Ser Harwin told him when he was little. 

‘’You don't want to leave your upper body open to attacks. You want to keep your arms closer to your body,” he advised, his voice gentle yet firm. ‘’You want to relax your shoulders too. You’ll get hurt if you’re too stiff.’’ 

Jacaerys poked you in the side and a startled giggle escaped you at the unexpected poke, but you quickly regained your focus, nodding earnestly. 

‘’Got it.’’ 

You tried to relax, taking a deep breath. Holding a sword was not easy. It required a lot of control and precision. 

Jacaerys continued drilling the basics with you, very patiently explaining things. And showing you again when you asked. 

‘’Today we’ll work on disarming your opponent,’’ he announced, spinning his sword with ease. ‘’It sounds difficult, but this is one of the first moves that I learned.’’ 

You nodded, and watched intently, trying to absorb every detail as Jacaerys was demonstrating the technique. 

Then, it was your turn to try and disarm him. You stepped forward, your movements light and steady, determined to match his skill although he had years of practice. But no matter how hard you tried, Jacaerys seemed to anticipate your every move, effortlessly blocking each attempt.

‘’Disarming your opponent is not necessary in a battle,’’ Jacaerys explained over the clanging of swords, feeling your frustration. ‘’It’s mostly used during tourney duels, but if you’re ever cornered in a one on one, it can buy you some time.’’ 

The force of his last swing sent you flat on your ass. ‘’It’s looking like I won’t be buying myself much time…’’ you sighed, looking down at the sand on your clothes in disappointment.  

‘’Don’t think like that,’’ Jacaerys said, regretting going too hard on you. ‘’My fault entirely. I’m sorry. I just…I want you to be safe and ready when you’re out there. Alone.’’ The thought of you being cornered and unable to defend yourself haunted him. ‘’I’ll go easier,’’ he promised as he reached out for your hand, helping you up. 

With renewed determination, you made another attempt, and to your astonishment, you succeeded. Jacaerys's weapon clattered a few paces away, rendering both of you momentarily speechless.

He congratulated you and picked his sword back up. ‘’I knew you could do it, my love.’’ 

‘’Do I get a reward?’’ you asked, tipping your chin up. 

Jacaerys pursed his lips, thinking, then leaned down for a kiss — or what you thought was a kiss. Before your lips could touch, he seized the opportunity to disarm you effortlessly in a swift motion. Your sword slipped from your grasp, leaving you momentarily stunned. 

Pulling back, Jacaerys flashed a playful glint in his eyes as he aimed his sword at you. ‘’First rule of battle strategy, don't ever let your opponent distract you.’’

—

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[makeste]

Plus One For All

so guys. can we talk about how there’s somebody chilling out inside of Katsuki’s mind who’s not supposed to be there.

hello there Mister All Might Vestige sir. you should not exist, just FYI. you’re not some Nighteye-type plot hallucination. because if you were, you would not be appearing here as Cloud Might, a version of yourself whom Katsuki has never met and has no frame of reference for. ergo he did not imagine you. ergo you are, in fact, real.

which means Katsuki has One For All.

because that’s the only way he could have a Vestige -- which is indisputably what this is -- inside of him. he has OFA. so. where did he get it. how does he have it. and why is it only making its presence known now.

let’s discuss.

okay so I’m going to try and lay this all out as clearly as possible while also attempting to be as succinct as I can. but knowing me, I’m probably going to wind up sacrificing the latter in pursuit of the former. I’ll do my best though. here goes.

1. Heroes Rising is canon.

which is a fact we’ve recently been reminded of not once, but twice -- first with the appearance of Katsuma and Mahoro in chapter 405, and then in chapter 406 with the “Bakugou no Kacchan” callback. the timing of this almost certainly isn’t coincidental. Horikoshi wants this to be fresh in our minds.

mind you, it is extremely unusual for movies, even technically!canon ones, to actually be relevant to the plot. but BnHA may be one of the few exceptions. we’ve already seen movie 1 impact the series both with Star & Stripe’s backstory, and with Deku’s new gauntlets. so there’s precedent, and it’s something I am paying very close attention to.

2. Deku giving OFA to Bakugou is canon.

just in case anyone here hasn’t yet seen or been spoiled for Heroes Rising, that is in fact what happens in that film! so yeah, that certainly seems like an extremely relevant detail right about now.

3. we never found out why and how Deku got OFA back at the end of the movie.

okay so I was looking for a clip to link before we discuss this next part, but I unfortunately couldn’t find one that hadn’t been edited to avoid copyright issues, so you’ll just have to make do with this.

skip ahead to about 7:10 for the relevant part. for the purposes of this theory, we’re just going to ignore everything All Might says here, because tbh he has no fucking clue what’s actually going on and is just guessing wildly lol. however, I do want you to take note of one thing which will be important later. and that’s the fact that, when OFA “returns” to Deku’s body, it’s only his body which starts glowing, and notably not Kacchan’s. the latter just keeps lying there unglowingly. nothing to indicate any kind of transfer is actually happening between him and Deku, in other words.

moving on.

4. OFA and AFO are probably the same quirk.

as summarized here and here. which is relevant because if they are the same quirk, or close to it, then OFA can most likely do anything AFO can do. so file that away for later.

5. AFO was able to split his quirk and give it to Tomura while still keeping a piece of it for himself.

what’s more, he was able to do the same with Garaki/Ujiko’s quirk, and presumably other quirks as well. while it’s possible that this quirk duplication has nothing to do with AFO and is simply something Garaki was able to figure out using ~*~Science~*~, I think it’s more likely that the two of them used AFO’s quirk in some way to accomplish this feat. particularly since Tomura not only received AFO, but a bunch of its stored up quirkdata as well, such as the information stored in Ragdoll’s stolen Search quirk.

6. OFA responds to Deku’s feelings and desires.

or at least this is the case according to Banjou in chapter 213. recall this interesting conversation on how Deku first activated Blackwhip.

he was thinking that he wanted to capture Monoma, and so OFA obediently activated his “capture Monoma” quirk. despite him being unaware he even had said quirk. it responded to his need, even though he wasn’t consciously trying to activate anything.

now then, let’s revisit that scene in Heroes Rising one more time.

7. during the climax of Heroes Rising, Deku was NOT thinking, “I need to give OFA to Kacchan.”

here’s the scene one more time for reference. this time you’re gonna want to skip to about 3:57.

here’s where we are going to get extremely technical, because this scene right here is the key to everything. Deku’s lines in this scene are, and I quote: “a way we can protect [everyone]... there’s just one way...!” but he very notably does not specify exactly what that “one way” is.

until we get to this scene a minute or so later, which spells it out for us very clearly.

two One For Alls. as in, “with two One For Alls, we could win this battle and save everyone.”

that’s what he was thinking at the moment of the “transfer.” NOT, “give OFA to Kacchan.” but, “we need two One For Alls.”

which, I think, may have made all the difference.

8. OFA created a copy of itself to share with Kacchan, so that both of them could have OFA and use the two OFAs to defeat Nine.

let’s recap. OFA is AFO. AFO can clone itself. so it stands to reason that OFA can presumably clone itself as well. and that’s exactly what Deku wanted to do. make a second One For All.

he didn’t know that he could do that. but as previously established in the Blackwhip incident, OFA is more than capable of making its own executive decisions in key moments just like this in order to help him out.

which would mean that what we saw at the end of Heroes Rising was not OFA being transferred from Bakugou back over to Deku. it was actually just Deku’s OFA briefly self-activating (possibly in response to his delirious apology to All Might -- kind of a “no worries bro, you’ve still got your quirk actually, so go back to sleep and stop stressing over it” type of thing). and Kacchan’s OFA doing... absolutely nothing. it didn’t actually transfer back into Deku. it didn’t actually go anywhere.

let me repeat that: it didn’t actually go anywhere.

in other words, Kacchan still has OFA. and has had it ever since Heroes Rising. he just didn’t realize it. and neither did anybody else.

9. Kacchan’s OFA went dormant once Nine was defeated.

okay, so. remember all of this exposition from chapter 304?

basically, if someone who already has a quirk receives OFA, using it will slowly destroy their body until it kills them. the Vestiges learned this from All Might while he was researching the past generations of OFA in chapter 241, incidentally. Heroes Rising takes place right around this same time (immediately following MVA if I recall). so by the time the film’s climax rolled around, the Vestiges would have known that giving OFA to Kacchan could have devastating consequences down the line if they did not take action immediately after the fight.

so they did.

once Nine was defeated, the Vestiges shut the whole thing down. the crisis was averted, and they no longer had need of a second OFA. they have this boy who is way too similar to Deku in terms of his willingness to put himself in harm’s way in order to achieve his goals. and they absolutely do not want any harm befalling this boy. more on that momentarily.

so they go dark. and they even seal his memory so that he’s no longer aware of even having the quirk. they are essentially in sleep mode. and if circumstances hadn’t eventually become desperate enough to force their hand, they might have remained inactive for the rest of Katsuki’s life.

now, you might be wondering to yourself, “why is OFA willing to go to such unusual lengths in order to protect Katsuki?” and well, the answer to that is pretty simple.

10. Kacchan does not have the same version of OFA as Deku.

Deku is ninth gen. Katsuki, however, is tenth gen. which means that his version of OFA has one additional Vestige. a Vestige whose presence immediately explains why OFA is so goddamn determined to protect him at all costs.

:’)

long story short, while Deku’s version of OFA has proven itself all too willing to enable him in his increasingly suicidal mission, Katsuki’s version of OFA is very much a different story, on account of it being under the management of what I’m guessing is the most willful Vestige ever to exist. and said management being just the slightest bit unhinged when it comes to Katsuki’s safety in particular. seriously, you can’t tell me this is not exactly how a Deku!Vestige would behave. “oh hell no. no OFA for you!! and no memories either, because you can’t be trusted, goddammit. we never should have done this. what the hell were we thinking. if anything happens to him I will kill everyone in this room and then myself.”

so yeah. dormant.

right up until they literally couldn’t afford to be anymore.

11. OFA can self-activate in moments of crisis to protect its user.

Sports Festival. chapter 33. Deku vs. Shinsou.

aw yeah. it’s all coming together.

12. OFA reactivated itself in order to save Katsuki’s life.

I would now like to briefly draw your attention to this scene from chapter 405, in which Edgeshot explains how Katsuki was finally saved. please note my man is very clear that he did not restart Katsuki’s heart himself. he was basically just performing quirk CPR up until Katsuki’s own quirk returned him to life apropros of nothing.

“what brought you back... was the power you’ve honed.”

except... that should have been impossible. because Katsuki was dead. meaning he should not have been able to activate his quirk on his own, on account of the whole “being dead” thing.

however, if he by chance had a quirk with just enough of a mind of its own to activate in critical situations in order to help its user. situations like being forced under mind control. or, perhaps, being stabbed through the heart. well then. that would certainly go a long way towards explaining all of this.

and oh hey, when exactly was it that we saw this guy, again?

oh? it happened at the exact moment when his heart was stabbed through? you don’t say. well that certainly is interesting.

in summary:

Deku cloned his quirk in Heroes Rising and gave Kacchan a copy of OFA. owing to the hyperprotective Deku!Vestige inside Kacchan’s copy of OFA, it shut itself down once Nine was defeated, and all of Katsuki’s memories of having OFA were deliberately wiped, or sealed away. OFA itself remained inactive until TomurAFO stabbed Katsuki through the heart, at which point OFA was forced to reactivate itself to save his life. which it did, by forcibly restarting his heart.

that’s it. no idea how close to the money any of this is, but I think it would explain most of the lingering mysteries and questions about what exactly is going on with Katsuki. and I’ll throw in one last observation as well -- Katsuki has a nine in his name (BaKUgou), but not a ten. which I know sort of contradicts what I was saying earlier about him being the tenth gen, lol. but he both is and isn’t. if Deku split his quirk, Kacchan would in theory receive everything that’s currently in Deku’s quirk right now, and that includes Deku’s own power that he’s been adding to the mix. so he’d still have the Deku!Vestige. but he’s also still ninth gen, because he and Deku are sharing that distinction now. or at least I think the argument could be made at any rate.

so yeah. I’ve been obsessing over all of this for the past few days lol. what do you guys think?

[dethtallica]

HI AGAIN😍 Could you do Jason/Dave where Jason’s a megadeth groupie n Dave takes him backstage?? I love you btw pls never die🗣️

so sorry for the wait, also this was not proof read because i’m lazy so… hopefully there’s no bad errors.

LUCKY

1987

CW - teasing, riding, idk it’s pretty vanilla … but moves fast ;)

Dave’s had a bit of a crush on Jason. 

And, who can blame him? Jason was perfectly sculpted, like he was a marble statue. Perfect curves. Perfect face. An angel on earth. His smile expertly crafted by a god. 

It started when Flotsam opened for Megadeth just a few months ago. The two had talked about bands they enjoy, new albums and beer while smoking a hearty amount of weed. Jason’s weed was the good kind, the kind that made Dave’s mind  go fuzzy while thinking of all the ways he could make Jason blush like a tomato. Dave can recall how his eyes seemed to always land places they shouldn’t when he looked back as Jason. Or how Jason didn’t seem to mind. 

Ever since that night, he’s been keeping a close eye on Jason. Jase, as he’d call him. 

Jase wasn’t busy for the next couple weeks, lucky Dave. Their lead vocalist was apparently real sick and wouldn’t be able to perform for a while. With too much time on his hands, Jason spent it by practicing his bass and calling Dave. Jason’s pretty sure Dave’s got feelings for him, so hearing Dave get flustered over the phone was pretty entertaining for the brunette. And, as it turns out, Megadeth was going on another tour as Jason would find out on one of their calls. Not a very big tour, but Dave’s got an idea nonetheless. 

“I want you to come with.” Dave confessed over the phone. 

“…Come with? On the tour? For what?”

There was really no reason for Jason to go. He would just be tagging along, doing nothing but watching. And, Megadeth was great and all, but he wasn’t a diehard fan. But when he looks around his room, seeing the baggies of weed on the floor and the stray CD cases, he remembers how lonely he’s been these past couple of days. 

“I just want you there, okay? Do you wanna go or not?” Dave replies. There’s no true annoyance within him, but he makes it known he doesn’t want to debate forever.

Jason sighs. 

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll come with. Put on some good shows for me, and I’ll pay you back.” 

He doesn’t specify what he’s gonna pay Dave back with. Weed? Beer? A blowie? Dave doesn’t ask, though he hopes for the latter. ‘Cause Jason’s got nice lips. Jason has nice everything, actually. Nice face, chest, hair, attitude, hands, legs, ass… Yeah. Dave’s screwed. At least he got Jason to agree to be a groupie.

“Don’t you worry about that. We’ll give you a damn good time.” Dave affirms. Jason can hear his smile through the phone. 

Jason smiles back, and hangs up. 

                  ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Dave’s more than right. Megadeth puts on a damn good show. Everyone played in perfect tandem with each other, every note and chord coming together to make flawless songs sound even better live. Jason even started to think like a fan did. He started thinking to himself things like “Wow, he looks even better up close!” Or “Damn, he looks hot as fuck like this!”

He really was like a groupie. 

It didn’t take long for him to not only fall for Megadeth’s whole discography, but Dave himself. Sure, he’d found himself intrigued by Dave after the first Megadeth show he’d seen. Spending more time with him and getting to see that sweet smile, though? It had his heart clenching. He was no different from Dave, finding himself absolutely smitten with the ginger. 

Dave was lucky he was pretty. And talented. Pretty and talented. But Dave could have any gay guy or straight girl he wanted, and he chose Jason, so perhaps Jason was the lucky one. Getting Dave Mustaine to fall in love with you was no easy task; the bassist wasn’t sure how he’d done it, but wasn’t complaining. And when Dave’s shredding, trying to focus, and still makes time to look Jason in the eyes while he’s in the crowd, he knows Dave really is in love with him. 

They meet eyes multiple times. There’s something in those hazel eyes of Dave’s that seems to be more than just focus or love. It takes a few moments to realize it’s lust. Jason almost doesn’t believe it, but it’s hard to deny when Dave’s shooting him intense looks every 10 seconds with a dark look in his eyes. Jason grips the railing harder. It’s their last song. The bassist knows Dave will go straight to him after they finish the melody, which happens to be Jason’s current favorite from Megadeth— Peace Sells. 

The ripping ending chords ring out, and cheers erupt from fans in the crowd. Jason finds himself smiling and cheering as well. Dave says his thanks to the crowd before the band makes a swift exit. 

Jason knows exactly where Dave wants him to go. 

The crowd starts to dissipate. Jason’s heart thumps in his chest, excitedly pushing through the crowd so he can greet and congratulate Dave and the band  on their amazing show. That boy was hyper, and it showed. Curly brown hair bounced as he ran while pushing through the crowd. Since he was close to the front, it didn’t take long for him to finally get to the stage. The closing music boomed through the speakers as Jason searched for the ginger.

A tap on his shoulder signaled that Dave had found him first. The bassist whipped around, startled, but immediately relaxed when he realized it was Dave. A small smile played on his thin lips, and his grey eyes stare into his hazel ones. Dave’s obviously sweaty and tired from the show, but that won’t stop him from doing what he does later. 

“You scared me, Dave.” 

“Did I, now?”

Jason smiles harder. Dave’s voice did that to him. 

“Yeah. Good show, by the way.”

Dave smirks. He’s got a cocky look on that smug face of his, ‘cause he knows he can give Jason an even better show backstage. If he’ll let him, that is. It shouldn’t be too hard to get into Jason’s pants. Dave can sense Jason likes Dave more than he lets on, and won’t have any more of that. The ginger wants to see Jason head over heels for him— not acting nonchalant. 

“Just good?” Dave asks.

“Pretty good.” 

“Just pretty good?”

“Alright, alright. It was an amazing show. That what you wanted to hear?” 

Dave laughs. 

“That’s what I wanted to hear. Now get your ass backstage, groupie.”

Did Dave just really refer to him as groupie? Jason feels his cheeks flush a light pink at the comment. He isn’t sure if it’s from being a little offended, or if it’s from embarrassment. He has a name. Dave just wanted to tease him. Wanted to see that flustered look on his face before he snatched his hand and dragged him into a dressing room. 

Slamming the door, Dave’s eyes lock onto Jason’s. The bassist is understandably a bit confused and flustered. The broken fan in the corner spews a cranky, winded noise in a strange rhythm as the two share a quick moment of silence. Dave’s the first to speak up, noticing how Jason can’t tell if his body wants to tense or relax when Dave moves closer to him. 

“You have no idea how hard you were making it for me to focus.”

The guitarist has a lower voice than he did outside. Jason already knows the lust from earlier is seeping into his words. Like it never left. Because it didn’t— how were you supposed to keep it chill when you had the prettiest boy in the scene staring at you with stars in his eyes? Jason looked nothing short of beautiful and sweet. Dave wanted nothing more than to see him absolutely ruined. To see spit dribbling from his mouth and onto his white shirt. To see his cock hard and needy, all for Dave.

He couldn’t help the twitch in his pants thinking about what he wanted to do to Jase. 

Everything was moving so fast. One moment ago, Dave was playing guitar for hundreds of fans. Now, he was straining himself trying not to pounce on the bassist in front of him. He felt like a starved man looking at that sexy bastard and his pink, shy face. Surely he must know how hungry Dave’s been for him, right? Surely he knows. There’s no possible way for Jason to be oblivious to the fact that Dave would pay his life savings to get a piece of that ass. And yet here Jason is, saying he didn’t know. 

“I didn’t mean to make you lose focus.. I didn’t know.” 

Dave draws closer, the space between them becoming more and more blurred. 

“You sure, Jase? You seem like the type to tease.”

Dave lifts up Jason’s chin with his hand, boring his gaze into the other. Jason didn’t look away. He stared right back. The tension in the air rises, getting thicker. Jason feels his heart rate pick up and his cheeks start to warm. He hopes to god that things will go the way he thinks they’ll go. 

Jason’s lucky. 

Dave smashes his lips into the other’s. Jason doesn’t push back or fight it, just lets Dave take over and kiss him like a starved teenager. It gets messy; even a little painful, with how their teeth are clashing together accidentally. It’s uncoordinated and disorganized, but fuck if they both didn’t love it. Dave’s lips are all over that boy’s mouth, practically eating his face as they fall backwards on to the couch behind them, not missing a beat. 

To say Dave was good at making out was an understatement. If you liked it rough and dirty, you’d like it with Dave. Jason didn’t just like it rough. He loved it. He loved the way those pink lips smeared across his own. The way his teeth got in the way and his tongue slipped inside without a warning. Everything was a perfect concoction, ready to explode. Jason’s already twitching and getting stiff in his tight blue jeans as they clumsily make out. 

Spit threatens to dribble down Jason’s lip as his feels a warm hand on his thigh. He squirms, feeling Dave pull back for a moment and smirk against him. Jason’s chest rises and falls quickly and desperately. Dave’s got him wrapped around his finger, and he thought he would be the one in charge. The guitarist’s hand on Jason’s thigh squeezes lightly. His thumb makes small movements up and down his clothed leg, as if he were petting him, and deepens the kiss yet again. 

Jason whines, bucking his hips into nothing. Tight jeans once flat now have a noticeable, warm bulge, thanks to the brunette’s erection. Dave’s excited to give Jase what he wants; and he’s equally excited to give himself what he needs. The ginger’s also already worked up a full boner and can’t help keeping it away from Jason much longer. So, he pulls back, spit dripping from the guitarist’s lips, and looks at Jason with deep hunger in his eyes. 

“I’ve waited so long for this..” Dave rasps, his hands coming to undo his own belt. 

His fingers make fast work of the belt, which hits the ground with a clank. Jason’s leaned back on the beat up couch, watching in awe as Dave undresses himself hastily. It’s obvious to Jason that he’s needy and wants to waste no time at all, but he can’t say much. He’s just as desperate for the warmth and pleasure Dave’s gonna give them. And as Dave finishes removing his shirt, Jason feels his needs increase tenfold. The ginger smirks at the quiet whine that leaves Jason’s lips. 

“Don’t worry, baby, I’ll make you feel real good soon.” Dave promised. 

“Please…” Was all Jason could croak out. 

Dave was left in only his boxers. A prominent tent proudly stands in his plaid underwear, showing off how much he could really grow. Jason stares. His staring doesn’t last. Dave’s already closing the distance between them again, this time, his clothed cock an inch away from the bassist’s. Jason’s breath catches in his throat and he attempts to push their cocks together, but Dave is quick to shove him back. Jason whines again, this time sounding more needy and defeated. 

“No. If you really wanna feel my dick against you, you’re gonna have to beg. Or I’ll just jack off in front of ya and make you watch.”

“B-but-“

“I don’t wanna hear your voice if you aren’t begging.” 

The brunette knows he’s serious. Jason’s got pride, but it fades away when he’s submissive like this. Jason isn’t usually put into submission this easily— but Dave is hot as hell and he wants to let him take over and make him feel good. His last bit of dignity is thrown away when he looks up at Dave with those big gray puppy eyes and starts to beg. 

“…Please.” Jason whimpers. 

“Please what?”

“Please.. fuck, please, Dave, please, let me rub against you, need it… need it so bad…”

Dave smirks. 

“Yeah? Is that right? Fine then. Go ahead, make yourself feel good.”

Jason wastes no time shoving Dave closer to meet cocks. His tip meets the other’s tip, earning a mutual groan from them both. They hump into each other, hips thrusting, and it doesn’t take long for Dave to get tired of Jason’s jeans. The friction of the rough fabric is nice, but when his cock is so tucked away, he can’t help but want more than what he’s offered. Pleasure rushes through them both for a short amount of time before Dave is nearly ripping Jason’s jeans off and tossing them to the ground before forcing both of their cocks out of their boxers. 

“Dave….”

Jason’s hand shakily creeps up to their two warm erections and presses them together with a smooth motion. Dave hisses, the palm and length of Jason sending a ripple of pleasure through him. A trembling exhale leaves Jason’s mouth and he begins jerking them off together. It starts slow, Jason taking his time getting the rhythm nice and steady. He might’ve mentally compared himself to a drummer keeping tempo like a dork if he wasn’t groaning and tensing from the feeling of jerking off his friend against him. 

Moans intertwine with moans and sweat starts to bead on their foreheads. Dave’s letting Jason work their pulsing erections together while also fucking into his palm. It’s about now when Dave realizes he didn’t lock the door— only slammed it shut when he was ready to drain Jason dry. This doesn’t stop him, though, as he lets his vocal cords only ring out in sweet moans instead of words telling Jason there’s a chance they might get caught. The thought surprisingly excites the ginger and he speeds up his hips, making Jason follow suit.

Jason’s free hand grips the back pillow of the couch, fingers digging deep, feeling pure bliss. Sure, he’s frotted with other guys before, but being with Dave makes it all the better. And Dave’s got an impressive length and girth, so rubbing against that feels like heaven. Jason thinks maybe he really could just die and ascend from how horny and pleasured he’s feeling, but all the sudden, Dave abruptly removes his dick from Jason. Jason cries out confused words, saying No, no, please— until Dave cuts him off. 

“Shhh, shh, stop your whining, just hold on. Lemme give you something better.” Dave coos. 

Jason watches as Dave reaches behind himself and pulls out a plug. Confused, he looks at the metallic plug, then back at Dave. The plug is covered in slick lube, like a whole bottle has been poured on it. Dave tilts his head, smiles, and tosses the plug. Jason can’t believe what he’s seeing. 

“Did- did you really.. fuck, there’s no way..” Jason sputters. 

“Sure did, honey. I kept it in me the whole show.”

Jason’s mouth goes dry. He really kept that inside him? The whole time? In front of all those people? There’s no way. There’s no possible way, Jason thinks, but when Dave hovers over him, sticky lube from his hole dribbling onto Jason’s cock, he has to suspend his disbelief. The bassist isn’t really sure this is happening; this has to be some sort of wet dream. Dave Mustaine, yes, The Dave Mustaine, is ready to ride him into next week after keeping a plug inside of him for hours and preparing himself just for Jason. Fuck. Fuck, that’s really hot. 

“I….” Jason gulps. 

“Gonna keep staring, or should I put it in?”

“Please, god, put it in.”

And so he does. 

Dave carefully sinks onto Jason, wincing. His trusty plug kept him nice and stretched, but Jason’s got a big cock. Slowly but surely, he takes Jason to the hilt, and bottoms out. They both pant, chests heaving, and Jason gets zero warning before Dave lifts himself almost completely off before slamming back down and creating a brutal pace. The bassist arches his back and groans loudly. Warm, slick walls clench on to his dick as Dave shudders. Dave’s ass turns Jason into an absolute wreck within 10 seconds. 

“Dave, Dave, fuck, fuck!” He cries out. His hands find Dave’s shoulders and push downwards, helping Dave grind Jason’s tip against his prostate. 

Dave snickers, watching Jason fall apart in no time. Through his quiet giggles of amusement, his own sounds of pleasure began to seep through as Jason tries to aim for his prostate. He just barely nudges it a few times, which gets a particularly high pitched sound out of the guitarist. Dave finds Jason’s attempt at pleasuring him cute. Already trying to make Dave feel good, just like the good boy he is. Jason’s always been a sweet boy. Dave’s giggles die down and he softly smiles at the boy beneath him before readjusting. When Jason thrusts up into him now, he finds that special spot and hits it straight on. Dave stutters, a louder groan leaving his mouth, and Jason makes it a personal challenge to hit that spot with every thrust. 

The brunette’s dick rubbing against that bundle of nerve in Dave has him reeling, body trembling and thighs spasming. The big, bad Mustaine is nearly drooling over another guy’s dick inside of him. It should be embarrassing, because it’s wrong, Dave knows, but he can’t help himself. He can’t help his hips coming up and down, riding Jason like a damn horse. Dave mentally thanks himself for keeping the plug in. As much as he would love to feel those thick fingers prodding inside of him, he doesn’t think he would’ve been patient enough for prep. And, the occasional pleasure of the egg-shaped object was nice, even if it was embarrassing. 

But nothing compares to the feeling of Jason inside him. He didn’t think it would make him feel so euphoric, having the boy rut in him. Jason’s obviously feeling it too with how he’s moaning like a girl in a porn film. Long eyelashes on Jason’s pretty face flutter as he sweats and grinds. They’ve both had their way with plenty of girls before, but nothing is quite like having sex with the other. Nothing really compares to Dave’s soft, tight walls or Jason’s embarrassingly hot length. 

They’re both thankful they’ve got a piece of each other. Jason’s hands slowly move from Dave’s shoulders to claw at his back, making Dave moan a winded whimper from the back of his throat. His cock is hard and leaking, twitching as he slips up and down Jason’s erection. The sound of the room is disgustingly erotic from the combined noises of the two whimpering and moaning along with the slick noises of Dave’s hole moving against Jason— it turns Dave on so much that he bites his lip, screws his eyes closed, and before he knows it, cum is spurting out of his cock, all over Jason. 

The bassist nearly screams from the way Dave clenches around him when he cums, and immediately follows after him. Warm semen fills the ginger to the brim. The sticky substance squirts against Dave’s prostate, making him clench even harder, and Jason thinks his dick might break off from how hard he’s being squeezed. Nonetheless, it furthers both of their orgasms and brings them to even higher highs. 

After a few seconds, Dave collapses on top of Jason, cock still in his hole. His chest heaves as he tries to catch his breath. He forgot about the loud booming music outside and the awkward noise of the fan, and he realizes he’s slowly being brought back into reality. Dizzy, Jason’s trembling hand slithers up to Dave’s hair and gives it a soft ruffle. 

“Please don’t let this be a one time thing.”

[thesullenprincess]

Any other writers out there struggle with going back to writing that one fic they haven’t finished yet because they’ve come up with a new idea and WANT to write about THAT instead??

I want to expand on my newest fic ‘Coming Home’ vs working on the first fic that I still haven’t finished but keep telling myself I’ll get around to it… Sigh.

Anyway here’s an excerpt of that said heartache.

“Please, touch me,” Mitsuri begged without embarrassment, unwilling to break eye contact so that he understood she was ready and willing.

Obanai wasted no more time in trying to talk himself out of anything anymore. He did as he was told, starting with her right breast. Since his hand was already mostly grabbing it, he just slightly adjusted his fingers so they were evenly splayed over the whole mound. Even so, he couldn’t get his whole hand around the entirety of her, and he didn’t know whether he should feel incredibly embarrassed, or incredibly turned on.

Growing up, Obanai was fully aware how much smaller he was compared to other men his age, something that had gotten under his skin frequently, but no more so than the time he’d been promoted to Hashira and gotten a first look at Tengen and Gyōmei. The latter especially was a towering mountain of a man, twice the size of Obanai, but was someone the Serpent Pillar quickly came to count on, trust, and respect due to the man’s commendable power and relaxed, silent nature. Tengen, on the other hand, was a different story. Unlike the Stone Pillar, Uzui Tengen was boisterous, self-assured, and—to hear him describe himself—a “Flamboyant God of Festivals”. It had taken Obanai a good long while to see beyond Tengen’s cocky attitude and need to make everything about himself but eventually, Obanai also came to rely on the the Sound Pillar, seeing him not only as a worthy ally and dependable on the battle field, but also a decent man of morals when it came to destroying demons and helping others.

In the earlier days, however, Obanai would often feel dwarfed, emasculated, compared to them. It didn’t help matters too that out of all the Hashira, he was closest in height to Muichirō, a 14 year old boy, and Shinobu, a woman. But he reasoned being locked up for over have his life, subjugated with endless torture and trauma, and not eating most days stunted many things about him. There was no changing that and he eventually made peace with that part of himself.

But now, staring at his hand that didn’t quite fit over Mitsuri’s right breast, Obanai was starting to question if everything about himself would not be enough for her, be quite right for her. What if she thought he was too small, too thin? Would he be able to perform well enough to satisfy her, or would she find the whole experience underwhelming, leaving her feeling starved and empty at the end?

She whimpered, drawing his attention from her chest to her face. “S-Sorry. I don’t know what I’m doing,” he blushed, about to pull his hand away completely if Mitsuri’s inhuman strength hadn’t prevented him from doing so. She squeezed his hand over her breast.

“You’re fine! I-I just…like it done harder.” Mitsuri shyly smiled while Obanai struggled to contain himself. If he was this flustered with some light groping there was no telling how he’d fare when he finally got to have all of her.

He took in a deep breath through his mouth and out his nose, allowing his fingers to close around her harder. “Mitsuri…” he murmured in adoration, watching intently as her face came to life. Her mouth opened, and he took the opportunity to kiss her, sticking his tongue inside as he did so.

At the same time, his hand was moving like it knew what it was doing. Her back arched in appreciation against his hand and he felt her nipple harden under his palm. Obanai relished at how soft yet firm she was. The clothing separating him from her skin was a nuisance but that did not diminish the feeling of her. He’d never felt anything like it.

“More,” she mewled against his lips when they broke their kiss, “touch me more.”

“Where?” he panted.

Mitsuri stared into his eyes, loving the way they’d darkened with his desire. Desire FOR HER. “Here,” she whispered, continuing to watch him even as he pulled back slightly and she opened her legs wider. Her heart thrummed wildly when those eccentric eyes of his followed her movements and widened in surprise. Her skirt was pushed up around her hips, giving Obanai an unobstructed view of all of her.

[plushieclan]

Prologue part 2

TW: Injury, implied death.

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Night yawned, picking herself up from her nest. She slept beneath a Twoleg porch with her guardian, a grouchy old cat named Rime.

“Let’s get a move on before Snotlout starts bothering us.” Rime barked, referring to the kittypet that lived in the house above.

“But I wanted to sleep in!” Night whined.

“You sound like a kittypet. Come on, let’s hunt.”

As they stepped through the Twoleg place, Night had an idea. “Can we hunt on the other side of the Thunderpath today?”

Rime grunted. “Do you think you’ll find them this time?”

Night sighed. “I really hope so.”

It wasn’t always just Rime and Night. Once, she was known as Nightkit— a cat born of the clans in the wilderness beyond the Twoleg place. Night was only just a moon old when her clan was attacked, and everyone slaughtered within it. Sometimes, she wanted to go back to her old territory, but there seemed to be new residents. A clan she didn’t recognize prowled in their old hunting grounds. She was always chased off before she could make her way to their old camp.

Night knew that after all this time— half a year, as Rime called it— the likelihood of her parents still being alive was slim. Still, she held onto hope that someday, she could rejoin her family in whatever form they existed in.

“If you join those there feral cats, I won’t be coming with.” Rime said sadly. “My old bones wouldn’t be able to live there in those meadows. I won’t be able to support myself on those slim pickings.”

Night nodded. “I know, Rime. I know there isn’t a high chance of anyone in my old clan still being alive. I’ll probably stay with you until you keel over— but that’ll probably be a long time away!”

Rime swat at the young cat’s head playfully. “Stop flattering me, Night.”

They didn’t end up crossing the Thunderpath— Night figured that was for the best anyways. As much as she hoped to find her family again, she knew she’d probably be chased away again.

They spent the latter half of the day chasing away the cold by hiding under their porch. The Twoleg nests provided a lot of heat, which was needed for the chillier days. Night found herself drifting to sleep once more.

When she awoke, it was to the smell of smoke. The porch was saturated with it— the Twoleg nest must be on fire!

Night ran out from beneath the porch frantically, hacking out a lung from the smoke. She couldn’t see Rime anywhere. Where was he?!

“Rime!” she yowled, looking for any trace of the old tom. Twoleg monsters swarmed the nest, and Twolegs raced around. One spotted her, approaching.

She hissed, running away. She’d find Rime later. First, she needed to get to safety! She realized the only place that was safe would be the other side of the Thunderpath.

Taking a deep breath (before coughing up a storm), she ran across. She hasn’t properly looked both ways, but she was desperate!

She heard the sound of a deafening bellow, causing her to jump. A monster was barreling towards her!

She bolted, but it was not fast enough. She felt unimaginable pain as she flew to the side of the Thunderpath. Her eyes fluttered as she coughed weakly. Was this how it ended?

The last thing she saw before she faded into unconsciousness was a group of cats, faintly in the distance.

—

Night found herself curled up in a warm nursery, wedged between a little black cat and a large gray cat. It was a dream she had often; it was her mother and sister. She didn’t remember their faces, only their scent and the way they felt that fateful night.

As always, though she wanted to stay in the warmth, she untucked herself from the cocoon and waddled out of the nursery. She was a very big kit by this point— nearly one whole moon, and exploring was on her mind. Leafpelt was so strict, always keeping her in the nursery. Well not tonight!

She crouched down as to not be seen by the other warriors. As sneaky as possible. She made it all the way to the warriors den before someone saw her.

“Now, what are you doing?”

A white molly stood before her.

Blazestar!

Little Nightkit stammered, facing her leader.

“Um… I wanted to explore.”

Blazestar chuckled. “How very brave of you. I remember when Puddlesplash and Swanjaw were still kits. They did the same thing.”

Nightkit gasped. “Really?”

Swanjaw and Puddlesplash were Blazestar’s own children. She’d seen Swanjaw duck in to tend to his three kits, who were much bigger than her.

“They’re just like me? So I could become a great warrior someday?” Nightkit said.

Blazestar smiled at her. “Of course.”

Night wanted to savor this moment. Surrounded by the happiness and tight-knit life of her clan. However, she knew what would come next.

She heard yowling at the center of camp. Blazestar looked over. Her face was as horrified as Night remembered.

“Oh, is someone playing? I want to play to!” Nightkit yipped, waddling towards the noise.

Blazestar stopped her. “How about we play a special leader game?”

“Ooo, I want to play that instead!” she said.

Blazestar lifted her by her scruff and dropped her higher up the hill. “It’s called Grangeclan run. Run through the gap in the bushes and keep going until you reach Grangeclan camp. Whoever gets there first wins! I’ll give you a head start.”

She stammered. “But… I don’t want to run so far.”

Nightkit looked back at Blazestar when an unfamiliar cat pounced on her. Blazestar yowled, throwing them off. “Nightkit, run!”

She sprinted as fast as she could, following her leader’s commands. Fear quickened her steps. Did Blazestar know the clan would be wiped out? She wondered about it many times over.

As she ran, she cried out, “Leafpelt! Mommy! Where are you?!” But Night always knew things ended the same. Leafpelt was always gone, and she was always running.

—

“You’ve inhaled a lot of smoke, huh. And survived a monster hit— I wonder who you are, little cat.

Night slowly opened her eyes to see what looked something like a small cave. Two toms sat at the entrance— one was a gruff, black tom with a large scar on his muzzle and the other was a calico with a white back half— though neither was looking at her. She didn’t think they knew she was awake.

“What are we looking at here, Rainfeather?” The black tom asked.

“Well, she seems to be around six or seven moons, I’d reckon. It’s old enough. Besides… she was saying Starleaf’s old name. I think it’s her.” The other tom, presumably Rainfeather responded.

The black tom sighed. “After all this time… she was right. Nightkit…”

He turned, and she pretended to be asleep. She wasn’t even sure why. He padded over to where Night lay. He pressed himself next to her.

“Do you even remember me, Nightkit? You were so young when everything happened. Please, wake up. Your mother and I miss you so much.”

He was her father?

She knew that her father used to see her in the nursery every day. His name was Darkheart, she thought. She couldn’t remember his face, but if it was true… she’d be so happy.

She pretended to wake up. “Darkheart?” she said. “Are you really my father?”

He looked overjoyed. “Yes, Nightkit. It’s me. Darkheart. I’m so glad you’re awake,” He barked to Rainfeather. “Get Starleaf. Quickly!”

He turned back to her. “Are you ok? Does anything hurt?”

She thought about it. Her throat was still sore and scratchy from the fire, and she could feel a dull pain in her leg. “My throat hurts. My leg, not as much.”

“The poppy seeds are working then.” He sighed. “I’m so glad you’re alright.”

A gray molly entered the den, her purple eyes shining. “Oh, Nightkit! You’re alright!”

She joined Night’s other side. Her scent was just as she remembered from that night as a kit. It was really her— Leafpelt!

“Leafpelt, mom, it’s really you!” she cried.

She nuzzled Night. “It’s Starleaf now. And your father is leader— Darkstar is his new name.”

“That means— you rebuilt the clan?” she asked.

“Yes. With help from my former kin in the Wanderers. We’ve done a good job of creating this new clan. It’s called Crystalclan. When you’re well enough, I’ll show you around.”

She felt at peace. Somehow, the impossible happened. But someone was missing.

“Where’s Ravenkit?” she asked.

Darkstar sighed. “With Starclan, now.”

Her heart dropped. It hurt, but part of her knew. She just didn’t want to accept it.

“Please focus on healing for now. We’re just so happy we got you back. Don’t worry about anything else.” Starleaf rested her muzzle on Night’s head. “I’m sure Ravenkit will visit you in your dreams.”

—

It took Night a few days to heal enough. She wasn’t perfect yet— her throat still required a lot of honey and poppy seeds to feel normal— but she could walk without pain. Starleaf had shown her around the camp.

It was a small sandstone cave, with a stream rushing through the center. On the higher side was the nursery, where a queen was currently grooming her kits’ wild fur, and the elder’s den. It was empty for now, but Starleaf said that some of the older warriors would be retiring there soon.

On the lower side, the cleric den was a large outcropping of the cave. An open section allowed for a patch of grass, where Rainfeather grew important herbs that couldn’t be found with foraging. Two extra caves acted as the recovery den where she slept and Rainfeather’s den, where he also kept his herb stocks. The warrior’s den was also on this side— a stout log dragged into the cave lined with nests. At the very center of the lower half was the crystal rock, which towered above everything else.

Darkstar was stood upon the rock. Night wondered what was going on.

She touched noses with Leopardcloud, filled with excitement. A warrior apprentice… it was something that seemed impossible just a few days ago. Nightpaw was practically bouncing. A new dawn awaited her, she just knew it!

[leejenowrld]

i really wanna know how they would decorate their house when they move in together hehehe!!

also, imo i would say i prefer jeno’s pov > alternative side of the fic bc i feel like the latter would change my (and probably others) view of the current loving jeno we have 😣 but its really up to you as i’m sure you have many great ideas <33

omg i love this!!! it’s gonna be long and filled with descriptions and some cute behind the scenes facts so stay tuned!!!! you will fall for yn and jeno even harder ugh

(also i might make a jeno pov but show some unwritten/unseen scenes that can make me explore a different side to his character, maybe his conflicted side idk i wanna do smth fun hehe)

ok so some fun facts, jeno basically built this house for her when they grew older 😭 i’m talking like 24-27. seeing as though he has a strong background in architecture and engineering, he knows about all this stuff and idk he just had a lot of input in the building of the house and he designed everything. it’s so sweet :( jeno worked his ass off in so many jobs at one time just to be able to do this

yn had no clue this was happening. it was genuinely a surprise and he had it hidden for so many years, imagine the reaction when she found out?? safe to say she was crying to him all night long in their new and beautiful room in their new house 😭 they both work incredibly hard, have good jobs and worked their asses off in education and their grown up jobs so it’s safe to say they deserve and have earned this luxurious house. also since yn didn’t know about it, jeno did design the layout and most of the interior, he knows what his girl likes :) he designed it for her, her style and her color schemes, his style is different but he honestly didn’t care. he wanted to do this for her, he’s so endlessly in love with her and just wanted to do this for the love of his life :( he wanted to build her a home that she loved and that they could grow up in its so fucking cute

let me start off with they’re rich rich like they’re both hard working so i imagine their house to reflect that

ok ramble after. the house 🖤🖤

i’ll start off with their shared bedroom.

it’s very minimalist, very blue color scheme that they both vibe with. this is really the only room that doesn't scream 'girly' because it's also his room and idk i just think it makes sense to have their shared master bedroom like this

they have a very luxurious en suite

they have the best view, jeno knows that yn is a sucker for views and pretty scenes so you’ll see that around their house. the neighbourhood they’re in is filled with nature and pretty sights

they tend to people watch from their view in their shared bedroom and it’s so mf cute. yn will be standing in front of the window and jeno will come up behind her, back hug, so close to her (kinda same vibe as the ending of mfal) and he will kiss her cheek so softly and whisper sweet things into her ear 🥹

they also have those windows that people from outside can’t look into so you bet jeno has her pushed up against the windows screaming his name more times than none ;)

yns ‘girly room’

he built yn her dream room 🥹 it’s a girly and pink room, she’s just a girl. it has all her cute skincare and her vanity and her makeup like you might not think it but she loves this type of stuff!! she’s a whore for it, her and retail therapy go hand in hand and jeno knows that and made sure to give her a room that it just her, a room where she can wind down in. he put the most effort and thought into this room, he wanted it to be perfect for her. it also has her book shelf!! and her cute reading sofa. it’s her safe haven. it’s a good place for her to chill in when she needs to get away and when she feels anxiety and that’s exactly why jeno made it for her :(

it’s kinda a private room for yn lol like she likes to keep it away and keep it to herself because it’s just the biggest gift jeno has ever given her (the entire house is duh)

but she loves to chill with jeno in here 🥹 they’ve had their softest sex moments in here

as well as their rough sex!! hell yeah. this is the room where yn keeps her lingerie lmao

the kitchen

i’m not completely satisfied with the photos i found but oh well, just the vibe is that it’s very girly lmao. keep in mind jeno designed this, he did it for his girl ❤️ he truly doesn’t give a shit like he put what she wanted above his own needs, he thrives off that shit, he loves giving her love and just giving. he is so in love i can’t express it enough

yn can’t cook for shit so he is always here making her meals and food :( he will always ask her what she wants for dinner, he will always make what she wants above what he wants

imagine him as a dad cooking for his family, making the pancakes in the morning 🥺

imagine how much sex has happened in this room… fucking insane

living room

one of my faves, it just screams home. i don’t have much to say to say about this room, just enjoy the pics 🫶

just imagine the fluffiest and biggest and comfiest sofa, the cuddling and sex that happens on there 🥺

the movie nights man!!! they invite all their friends too it’s the cutest shit ever

the garden

so girly

so many flowers

it’s just beautiful

so many butterflies come in aswell 🥹

jenos camera roll is just filled with photos of yn in this garden like he’s obbessed

[shipskicksandgiggles]

41. "Hey." "Again?"

I kinda wanna see Steve/Eddie ONLY BECAUSE even if I know NOTHING about them you've gotten me to like em

Their my blorbos in law if u will and I wanna see what u do with em

ajhsjhs hello so sorry this took so long, rough semester and all that, but here we are now so that has to count for something, right?

anyways, here you are my friend

Fighting to Come Home, also on ao3

Steve didn’t want to go home. 

It was worth noting that the current reason he didn’t want to go home wasn’t the usual reason he didn’t want to go home. 

His usual reason was that he hated going home to a big empty house. It was too quiet, too lonely. 

The truth was the house hadn’t been quiet or lonely in months. Since the end of the world and their subsequent saving of it, the whole party was constantly in and out. Robin and Eddie both practically lived with him now, and he wouldn’t have it any other way. 

The latter boy however was the current reason he didn’t want to go home. Not that Eddie had done anything wrong, he really hadn’t, but he tended to hover. 

And the kids said Steve had the mother hen personality. 

Steve sat in his car for a minute longer than he typically would after he pulled into the driveway and prepared himself. Finally he got out, collected the groceries from the backseat, and made his way towards the door. 

He unlocked the door quietly, hoping Eddie was upstairs listening to one of his tapes or messing around with Robin, the two of them loud enough to mask the sound of his entry. 

No one met him at the door, so it seemed he got his wish. 

Nonetheless, he moved quietly through the house, closing the door behind him softly and depositing the grocery bags as silently as he could on the counter before putting them away. 

The one thing he hadn’t counted on was that, when he wanted to, Eddie could be quiet himself. So quiet in fact that he was often able to move through the house without so much as a floorboard creaking. 

“Steven.”

Steve flinched and turned to face him. Eddie’s eyes widened when he saw his face. 

“Hi.”

“Again?”

“It’s not so bad, you should see the other guys.”

Eddie ignored him, crossing the kitchen in a flash and cradling his face in his hands. “Oh, Christ Stevie. What happened?”

He traced over the cuts that had split open when he got hit. Steve winced. There were going to be bruises later, probably some pretty nasty ones too.

“I’ll go get the first aid kit,” Eddie sighed. “You better come up with a pretty damn good excuse for this before I get back from the bathroom.”

Steve sighed and put away the last of the groceries. He knew no excuse he could come up with would be enough. 

When Eddie returned, he set the kit on the kitchen table and pulled out two chairs, one for himself and one for Steve. He pointed to the one closest to Steve. “Sit.”

He sat. 

Eddie moved his chair closer to him and popped open the kit. He pulled out the disinfectant, band-aids, and a salve. 

It scared Steve when Eddie was quiet. Eddie quiet meant he was planning something. Putting thought into his words.

Steve didn’t dare break the silence. He let Eddie work, even doing his best to keep his grunts of pain to a minimum. 

“Stop.”

“Stop what?”

“Stop fucking protecting me from whatever the fuck you’re feeling right now,” Eddie nearly snarled. Then, when Steve flinched, he softened. “I’m sorry, I know you probably don’t want to talk about it, but you’re allowed to have feelings, Stevie.”

“I know,” Steve said quietly. “Please don’t be mad at me.”

“I’m not mad, Steve. I would never be mad at you for coming home looking like someone confused your face for a punching bag.”

He swabbed antiseptic over a particularly nasty cut on his cheekbone, and Steve hissed. 

“What the hell happened to you, pretty boy? I thought you were just going to the grocery store?”

“I was. Couple of guys staked out my car in the parking lot.”

~~~

“Can I help you?” Steve asked as he approached his car. 

“Don’t think so,” one of the men said. 

“Any reason you’re standing in front of my car then?” he tried again, shifting all the grocery bags to one arm so he could open the trunk. 

“Maybe you can help us actually,” the other guy said, kicking off the driver’s side door. “You’re Steve Harrington, right?”

“Sure am.”

“Up in the beautiful castle of a house in Loch Nora?”

“It’s just a house, man.” He closed the trunk to find the man closer than he expected. Still, he didn’t step back.

“Rumor has it you’re using that house to shelter criminals.”

“I have people staying with me because their houses got destroyed in the earthquakes. No criminals though.”

“Liar.” The guy shoved Steve back. “You know who we’re talking about.”

“Won’t know until you tell me,” Steve pointed out, just to be annoying. He knew what they meant, he always did when people approached him in public. 

“We all know you’ve got the Freak stashed up there,” the first man said.

“Sitting high and mighty on that hill when he should be rotting in hell,” the other volleyed.

“I think you’re mistaken, gentlemen,” Steve said. “No freaks to be found in my house. Just good old upstanding citizens.”

“You used to be a good guy, man. The cops would probably look the other way,” he continued as if Steve hadn’t spoken, “if you just took care of Munson the way he needs to be.”

Steve did take care of Eddie. He made sure he took his meds and changed his bandages, ate a balanced diet, and went to physical therapy. 

“Look, clearly this isn’t going the way any of us want,” Steve sighed. “Just get out of my way and mind your own business.”

“Not until that murderer is dead or behind bars.”

“Last warning.” Steve shifted, prepared for a fight. “Get out of my way.”

They seemed to consider him for a moment, and Steve had a split second hope they would let him leave. 

“Well, in that case,” one of them said, striding towards Steve, “might as well send him home with a taste of what Munson will get.”

~~~

“Steve…”

“Don’t.”

“You shouldn’t have to-”

“I don’t care, Eddie. It’s not like I swung first.”

“You didn’t have to swing at all.”

“You and I both know that’s not true.”

Eddie stared at him for a moment before he dropped the cotton swab he was using to clear up the last of the blood. 

“You really believe that.”

It wasn’t a question. Eddie wasn’t asking. He knew. 

“I’d tell you to stop, but I know you won’t.” He carried on, picking up a bandage for one of the nastier cuts. “I just really wish you wouldn’t. I’m not worth this.”

“You are though,” Steve said, making a face. It hurt, but he didn’t wince. “If you weren’t worth it, I wouldn’t have carried you out of the Upside Down. I wouldn’t let you stay here, wouldn’t have helped stitch you up when you insisted on no hospitals. You are worth it.”

“What, just because I gave the kids a place to be themselves? Because I saved Dustin’s life?”

“Because you’re my friend, Eddie.” Steve grabbed his wrists and forced him to look at him. “I know it’s shocking, but it’s true. I’d do the same thing for the kids, for Robin, hell I’ve even gone to bat for Nancy and Johnathan. You’re not an exception.”

“I can fight my own battles.”

“You can. Doesn’t mean you have to.”

There was a pause where Eddie just stared at him. Finally- “Can I finish patching you up, please?”

He released his wrists. “Yeah, sure.”

Eddie put the last of the bandages on in silence, refusing to speak until he was done. 

At last, he put everything back and closed up the first aid kit, setting it off to the side while he checked Steve over one last time. 

Steve let himself be moved around, complacent in Eddie’s fussing. It wasn’t until Eddie held his face for a few beats too long that he said something. 

“You don’t have to worry about me, I’m good as new thanks to you.”

Eddie smiled softly. “Sure you are. I just don’t know why I feel like I’m missing something.”

“Well, if it helps, I don’t have a concussion this time. I would know if I did. It’s all superficial bruising.”

“Big word, Steve-o, you sure you don’t have another head injury?”

“Positive.”

He still didn’t let go. 

“Short of kissing it better, I think you’ve done all you can, Eds.”

“Can I?”

“Can you what?”

“Kiss it better.”

Looking into his eyes, he could tell Eddie was serious, but there was something else there too. Something sweet, tender. It made his chest hurt. 

“Sure.”

He closed his eyes, not wanting to look any deeper into Eddie’s expression, so how could he have possibly seen it coming when Eddie pressed their mouths together softly.

“Thank you,” Eddie whispered when he pulled away. “Thank you for looking out for me. Thank you for caring. And I’m sorry if that crossed a line, but-”

Steve covered his mouth before he could finish his sentence. “You didn’t cross a line, but for Christ’s sake, I got punched in the face for you. Make it count for something, huh?”

Eddie nodded, still not able to speak. Steve removed his hand once he was sure he understood. 

“Good. Now, where were we?”

Their next kiss was less soft and more full of feeling, which almost made getting into another fight worth it. 

Thank goodness he had the courage to come home.

[the-bar-sinister]

Lucifer Was an Angel As Well (14252 words) by thesavagesabretooth

Additional Tags: Ambiguous Relationships, Dubious Morality, Post-Canon, Inappropriate Behavior, vera has a crush on the man who almost killed her, Extremely toxic, Vera Misham-centric, Kristoph Gavin-centric, not ship not not ship but a secret third thing Miles Edgeworth has been looking out for Vera Misham since her father's death, but he's not the one she considers her guardian angel. The letters had started almost immediately after the devil was locked away from the sunlight, and she keeps them hidden from everyone despite their influence on her.

Meanwhile in jail, Kristoph tries to weave another spell, and regain some measure of control. Will he be able to secure a deal that allows him his freedom, or anything like it? And what will happen if he does.

-

August 26, 2028– 10:15 am

Vera was almost done with her shopping and packing for police academy. There wasn't much left to do, and a hum of excitement ran through her body, not only the thrill of her new future.

There were also the letters she'd received back from her guardian angel.

…it pains me to see the wrinkles and smeared ink on your letter– does the thought of me make you cry so much? Or is it really the thought of my absence that upsets you? 

If it's the latter, I have news that might excite you. Chief Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth will be contacting you very soon to ask you a question that may alter both of our fates…

Vera felt lighter than air as she folded her new wardrobe neatly upon the bed. She still had some shops to visit, some supplies still left to find, but she was nearly ready to face the Police Academy with all the strength she’d worked for these past few years.

The letter still lay open behind her against her desk, a source of strength and joy that she found herself returning to again and again as she bustled about her apartment. The news within, the amazing and unbelievable news, warmed her the way the last letter had left her cold.

Kristoph Gavin may escape the hangman's noose– the opportunity she’d been hoping for to save her guardian angel…

According to my sources I need three people to speak on my behalf if prosecutor Edgeworth is going to strike a deal. One I already have. The others are yours and Miss Trucy Wright's. Perhaps you could quietly put in a good word on my behalf?

Vera Misham’s heart fluttered in her chest as she once more turned back to the letter. With a word, she held his life in her delicate, paint-stained fingers. Mr. Edgeworth wanted to know if she forgave Kristoph for what he’d done…if she’d endorse his salvation.

He didn’t–couldn’t– know just how desperately she wanted to give it. And with Mr. Edgeworth’s offer, she no longer needed to throw herself into a drastic measure to save him from the gallows.

The small and fragile smile never left her face as she held the letter to her breast, inhaling its gentle perfume .

“I’ll tell him yes…” she whispered in reply to the written word.

And just like the devil had promised him in his letter, Mr. Edgeworth had sent her a message letting her know that he had a serious matter to discuss, and if it would be alright for him to visit this morning.

She’d responded in the affirmative, busying herself happily with preparing her bags for the big move to the barracks. 

She’d written a reply to her guardian angel and already mailed it out before Edgeworth would ever have the chance to see it. A promise that she’d put in a good word…that, if Mr. Edgeworth’s kindness allowed, she would see him soon.

All that remained of the visible evidence was the letter she held to her chest and refused to hide until it was necessary. 

Of course, it shortly became necessary when– right on time as always– Mr. Edgeworth knocked on the door of her home.

Vera quickly hurried to her drafting table, flipping open the drawer and hiding the letter under its false bottom with the rest.

After carefully closing it, she hurried over to the door and opened it with a bow of her head.

“...Mr. Edgeworth. Thank you for meeting me here, I’ve been busy packing..”

He smiled pleasantly at her, and even performed a little bow. 

"I'm very aware, Vera, thank you for lending me your time. I know you're in the middle of a lot right now, and I hate to put more on your plate. Hopefully, this will be a simple matter."

He stepped inside, letting the door close behind him.

Vera raised her freshly painted nails to her lips as she let him inside. 

“Can I make you some tea, or do you think you won’t have time…?” 

"Things are busy at the office right now, admittedly, but I always have time for tea with you, if you've got time to spare from your packing."

He shrugged off his outer coat and hung it on the peg by her doorway, following her toward the kitchen area.

Vera smiled timidly his way with a nod as she bustled along to start the water “Busy at the office huh? Is it with whatever you need to talk to me about?” 

"That's part of it, yes," he nodded. "We're in the middle of doing a lot of restructuring in the department. – is there anything I can help with, or shall I stay out of your way?"

Vera leaned on the counter as the flame flickered to life under her teapot. 

“Just make yourself comfortable…the water’s got to heat before I can do much of anything.”

She put her fingers to her lips again “I heard a little about that from Mr. Wright the last time we spoke..that there were changes happening in the justice system.” 

Edgeworth arranged himself elegantly in one of her kitchen chairs at her insistence and nodded. "Mr. Wright is correct. It's a big job, but it has to be done."

Vera thought carefully, disguising it as her usual quiet and hesitant affect. The restructuring of the justice system..; the changing of the very way they treated suspects and prisoners..this was what Kristoph had meant in the letter.

“I think that’s really admirable, sir.” She put her fingers to her lips, before they shifted to wind through the ribbon-wound braid over her shoulder. “The justice system has…has its flaws, we saw some of that in my trial, didn’t we?” 

"I suppose we did, yes," Edgeworth nodded, leaning on her table. He seemed hesitant, and a little defferent to her today. "But thankfully we managed to get to the right place in the end, despite mistakes and assumptions."

“Despite mistakes and assumptions…” she trailed off. “Part of why I want to become a detective, Mr. Edgeworth, is to try and help with that. By being one of the people with their hands on the evidence itself…” 

"I look forward to having you on our investigative team, Vera, truly," he nodded. "Your skills, I know, will be incredibly valuable on the side of the law. Especially once we've finished refining how the law is applied."

Vera smiled a little wider, a rare thing that only flitted on her face for a moment before she twisted her braid around her fingers again.

“I’ll be doing my best, I promise. Maybe I can help— help change the law for the better.” 

"Perhaps.Actually– the application of the law is the reason I've come to talk to you today."

The water heated behind her, she could hear the faint burbling of it inside her old and battered kettle as she fussed her fingers through the ribbon of her braid.

“I’m happy to talk about it, Mr. Edgeworth…what is it?” 

"I'm afraid it's not a very pleasant subject. So I'll approach it delicately. Are you familiar with Prosecutor Simon Blackquill?" Edgeworth laid his hands on the table, one over the other as he leaned toward her.

Vera nodded quietly. “Yes sir, I know him. I followed Mr. Justice’s cases on TV. He’s the former death row inmate who was prosecuting for a while while serving his sentence. There was that whole thing with the Cosmos case, too.” 

"He was," Edgeworth nodded seriously. "He was prosecuting cases for me as part of a larger investigation that I hoped would exonerate him for a crime he didn't commit– and that is fortunately what happened. However, my actions with that regard have set a… precedent."

The chief prosecutor spoke carefully, and precisely as he described the situation. As if he were in court in a delicate situation, or a tight corner.

“That someone could be allowed to prosecute from within prison, if they prove to be trustworthy enough?” Vera asked. “or even be exonerated, or pardoned if the situation allows? Just like Simon Blackquill?”

She kept her voice quiet and even, tensing her fingers around her braid. She didn’t want Mr. Edgeworth to think she was getting excited…to think she knew. Her letters had to remain secret, her thoughts on her guardian angel had to remain her own little secret.

He wouldn’t approve.

"Precisely," he agreed, nodding. "And someone that I consider a dear friend, whose judgment I once trusted implicitly, and still put good stock in, has asked me to consider another case for such a situation. A prisoner has requested to be allowed to work with the prosecutorial department. A matter on which I am seeking your opinion."

From the way Edgeworth's stormy grey eyes caught hers, she could tell he was wondering if she would guess what he had to say next, or if he would take her off guard.

Vera’s heart fluttered in her chest, but…she’d always had a good control of her emotions. Her quiet, placid expression never left her face as she tilted her head to the side.

“If you’re coming to me…” she started carefully “then it has to be about that case, yes? Mr. Kristoph Gavin?” 

Edgeworth closed his eyes briefly behind his little glasses, and he could see his hands tense on the table. When he spoke again, his tone carried little urgencies in it– sure to be attempts at reassurances, so that Vera would not recoil in horror.

"Indeed, it is the very same. I will tell you now, that I am very hesitant to even consider the idea. Blackquill, we had good evidence that the conviction was wrongful. You and I both sit here knowing that Kristoph Gavin's conviction was not. The man is a killer, and I do not trust him. But I have set the precedent, and I must give the matter due and honest consideration."

Vera opened her mouth to reply, only to be startled by the shrill whistle of the teapot. She jumped, her hand to her chest before she wheeled around and began setting up Mr. Edgeworth’s tea and her own.

In turning her back to him, she allowed herself the frail and tentative smile that had been threatening to bloom.

“Your friend thinks that he’d make a good candidate for the precedent you’ve set?” she asked quietly. 

"She has made the case to me, yes," he said delicately. "She was very compelling, admittedly, but I am extremely hesitant. After all, we've seen that Mr. Gavin can be both dangerously forward planning, and alarmingly physically violent."

Vera watched the water pour into one cup after the other, before adding the small metal strainers with her loose leaf tea packed within to each and clipping it to the side.

But he’s so much more than just the darkness. A devil is an angel too, after all. Where he could be physically violent, he could be tender, like when he taught me how to paint my nails. His forward planning could both be dangerous, and helpful…his advice sound.I wouldn’t have gotten this far out of the shell my father kept me in if it weren’t for his encouragement.“That’s true…” Vera murmured quietly. “But I wonder if it’s really true…his violence, or how much of it was circumstance.” 

Edgeworth looked up curiously, and there was a small, sad smile on his face. "That's very compassionate of you, Vera. I need you to know I am very much not pushing you to agree to this. And rest assured your opinion isn't the only one that I'll be considering. I had him speak with a psychologist, trying to ascertain the answer to the very question you mention."

“And what did the psychologist say?” She asked curiously, placing the mug down in front of him with the faintest smile. 

"She worked up a psychological profile of him that went on for ten pages," he drawled. "The short version of it is that she thinks he's stable, and that circumstances that drove him to kill are, in her words 'unlikely to be repeated'. She believes him to be largely self-interested, and that despite his confidence, he wouldn't attempt another murder now that he's been caught. Additionally she– like Lana, my friend– brought up the idea of justice being done by him being given the opportunity to do good in the world rather than evil."

 Vera sat down opposite him, looking up at him with her dark and serious stare.

“I think I agree with that, Mr. Edgeworth. From what I know of Mr. Gavin…that sounds like him.” Her hands folded around her mug, rubbing the ceramic with the edge of her thumb as she nodded once. “I think he’s not likely to kill again…and I support the chance to let him do some good in the world…though there’s on-one thing…” 

Edgeworth raised his eyebrows, and leaned toward her. "I'm listening, Vera."

She rubbed her thumb nervously over the hand painted mug’s surface

“If it works out– and he prosecutes for you. If I don’t fail in my time at the Academy…I want you to assign me to him. “ She hesitated before she added– “so I can keep an eye on him.” 

Miles Edgeworth looked at her in sheer disbelief, his eyes wide and his glasses slipping down his nose. "Vera, I– that's certainly a request I did not expect. I can see why you'd want to keep an eye on him, but wouldn't you prefer I assign some– mm, more heavy handed watchdog to the man? Should any of this even take place."

Vera watched every expression flicker over Edgeworth's face. Perhaps he was thinking about what had happened with Simon Blackquill's 'watch dog'

Vera sipped her tea quietly before she worked up an answer. 

“I’m not as weak as I was two years ago…and I don’t think a heavy handed touch would help with Mr. Gavin, anyway.” She looked into the darkened liquid in her cup, and the ripples that flowed as she placed it down again. “I trust myself to keep him in line, and I don’t think I’d be happy if someone else were to watch him on my behalf.”

Miles Edgeworth wrapped his fingers around his cup of tea and took a sip. He made a wildly incorrect guess.

"You think it would be… useful… to remind him constantly of his sins."

It was a useful lapse of logic for her, at the very least. Better than the unpalatable truth that the devil still held a hold on her heart. She smiled faintly with a nod. 

“Potentially, yes. It could be a reminder…I could be the angel on his shoulder.” 

Yes, the devil certainly had a hold on her heart– maybe his methods had even rubbed off on her. It was a bit manipulative to allow Mr. Edgeworth his misapprehension. But if she didn't… would she get what she wanted?

"The angel on his shoulder," Miles repeated, considering. "I suppose that you could be. If this were to move forward. You said that you'd support the idea if I were to allow this condition– shall I assume that if I do not, then you would revoke your consent?"

“I would have to strongly consider it,” she murmured. “but I want him to have the chance to make up for everything he did.” 

I want him to be free…I want to see him again. 

"As if such a thing could be possible," Edegworth sighed. "Vera, I will consider your request, but I don't know if I can guarantee it. If nothing else, there will have to be someone else assigned to him while you're in the academy. I'll be asking Trucy Wright her opinion next. if, for some reason, she should give her support…"

“Then Mr. Gavin will be given his chance at rehabilitation?” Vera couldn’t help but lean over the table, even if she stifled the hope before it became audible. 

He set his jaw, and wove his fingers together. 

"So far, as well as Lana Skye's endorsement, my court psychologist, Athena Cykes has given her own firm endorsement. You have given me a hesitant one. In light of this, should Ms. Wright give me her own firm endorsement, I may be forced to allow the precedent to hold. If she's more hesitant, I may return to confer with both of you on the subject. Vera– if you want to shut this down, all you need to do is give me a firm 'no' and it will be spoken of no more."

Vera grabbed her mug with a quiet smile.

“I want this to happen, Mr. Edgeworth. ...I just want to be a part of it. Like I said…” She brushed her finger over the mug. “...Please tell me what Trucy says.” 

August 27, 2028– 4:00 pm

It turned out that Vera didn't need to ask Mr. Edgeworth to relay Trucy's reply to her, because the next day, Trucy contacted herself and asked if she could come over and talk about 'Mr. Edegworth's question'.

Vera replied– after putting away her half packed suitcase and the partially complete attempt at a painting on her drafting table– telling Trucy that she could come over whenever she wanted.

So Trucy had already been told. Meaning the votes that will determine Kristoph Gavin’s future were cast.

When Trucy came in that afternoon and hung her hat and her magician's cloak up, Vera could see the dark circles under her eyes, even though she smiled widely.

"Long time no see, Vera!"

Vera smiled at her faintly as she gestured for her to come inside. Her own eyes had dark circles, as they often did, for for once her and her eternally peppy friend seemed to match.

She could guess exactly why…

“Long time no see, Trucy.” she murmured happily. “I’ve missed you..” 

Trucy grabbed her into a little hug. "Aw… I missed you too. I know you've been pretty busy, like Pearl, huh?"

Vera squeezed her tight with a quiet laugh. “Yeah…the police academy’s got us both running around getting ready. I still wish I took a little time to visit anyway, though.” 

"It's okay. I've been busy training up my new assistants, too. Seems like everybody's busy, busy busy." Trucy chuckled and shook her head as they parted.

Vera nodded, brushing her hair over her ear…she hadn’t had the time to put it into the braid just yet today, and it hung in curls over her shoulders. 

“The world’s changing and we’re changing with it…” She gave Trucy a smile. “...it’s not always a bad thing.”

"Sounds like someone's excited for the big day." Trucy smiled, and wandered into the room toward the kitchen. "You must be mostly packed, huh?"

Vera followed closely behind. “Mostly…I need to do another shopping trip for some essentials, mostly. But other than that it’s just the last suitcase…can I get you something to drink?” 

"Sure," Trucy chirped. "Whatever you're having– I don't want to trouble you." 

The magician leaned on Vera's counter and gazed thoughtfully up at her ceiling.

Vera thought for a moment before she got out some iced tea from inside her fridge, bustling around the kitchen as she worked to get Trucy a glass.

“You’re never trouble, Trucy…you’re one of my friends…” Something precious to her, given her late start and withdrawn personality. 

"You're too sweet, V." Trucy smiled, looking at her over her shoulder. "I'm really glad we're friends. Are you doing okay?"

“I’m glad too, Trucy...” Vera turned with a nervous nod of her head. “Yeah…I mean, I’ve had a lot to think about, admittedly. Are you doing okay?”

She offered her a glass of iced tea, ice clacking against the glass’ sides. 

Trucy took the glass and raised it in salute to her. "Me? Oh yeah, doing just fine you know?"

Vera raised her own glass. “Even with Mr. Edgeworth’s question?” 

"Oh sure!" she said, taking a sip of the tea. "Kind of wild though, you know? Not exactly what I expected from my afternoon!"

Vera blinked a bit at her, before she took a sip of tea as well. “Not what I expected from my afternoon either when Mr. Edgeworth spoke to me…I..ah…I gave the idea my approval.” 

The ice cubes in Trucy's glass clinked as she jolted. "You did, huh?"

She nodded slowly as she stared into her glass. 

“Yes. I did. I know Mr. Edgeworth wasn’t…happy…to hear it. And I know he killed my father, but I wanted to …” She trailed off before she spoke back up and continued “I wanted to give him the chance to do some good.” 

Trucy looked at her out of the corner of her eye, without turning her head toward her. "What about you, Vera? I mean, you're the one he tried to kill, right?"

Vera looked at Trucy with a tilt of her head. “And he almost did, yes.”

She had thought about it, the feeling of the poison in her veins, the pulse of agony before she’d fallen into the seemingly endless darkness– the fact that death was hidden in her two favorite things in the world…

Her magic charm, and her favorite stamp of Trucy’s father and his troupe.

She knew Edgeworth, Trucy, Phoenix– they all would have wanted her to hate him for it. 

She couldn’t help but think it was almost mercy. 

She’d been, at that point, condemned to a life of being nothing but a printer of copies. Too scared to leave the house, ever deeper in criminal corruption without even understanding what it was she was doing.

She was glad he failed, and glad she survived. But she could see the logic she knew their surely had to be in the seemingly cruel and heartless action of the devil himself.

“But I-..in trying to poison me, it allowed me to meet all of you and to find a foothold in a life I was never meant to have.” 

"Well, I guess, but it's not like he meant to do that, right?" She cocked her head at her again, looking at her with her deep, penetrative gaze. "Do you know why he did it?"

Vera’s heart skipped a beat, and her fingers tightened on her glass. “Not 100% for certain, but I have my guesses…strong guesses based on his behavior towards me since I’d met him.” 

"Can I ask?" Trucy brushed her hair out of her face. "Cause.. that's kind of my hesitation, you know? I know he killed my dad and all, but…"

“But there was a circumstance?” Vera asked a little faster than she knew was ‘acceptable’.

She bit her lip and her manicured nails tapped against the side of her glass. 

“...I think he did it as a twisted way of trying to save me, Trucy.” She looked down into the glass “My life was hopeless when I met him. I was too scared to leave the house, and instead of…of ever doing anything to help me overcome it or even just protecting me as I tried, my father saw my talent for art and turned me into a production mill for forged art. My life was that rotting old house, my father, and my criminal talent.”

Vera frowned thoughtfully. “Papa was a demon who played the ‘kindly old man’ role to perfection. Mr. Gavin…he was kind to me from the moment I met him. I think in his own mind, letting me pass into the next life was the only way I could have been free. That’s why he chose something so quick, if not painless.” 

Trucy's fingers tightened on her glass, and she nervously chewed the knuckle of her free hand.

"Trying to protect you, huh? From your rotten papa…."

Vera’s smile turned tentative on her face as she nodded. 

“Yes…trying to protect me from my rotten papa…and trying to help me escape the filthy prison I’d grown used to.” She brought her thumb up to her lips, nervously nibbling just under where her nail ended, against the fingertip. “like a guar…guardian angel. So…so I’m willing to give him a chance, provided I can watch over him. It…it sounds like you heard something similar?”

Trucy put her hand down, and bit her lip, looking away. "Something like that, I guess. At least I think I understand a little more. I wanted to know if you'd be upset, you know? And also if, well, he just tried to kill you cause he was completely bad."

Vera shook her head. 

“...I’m not upset. I’ve actually asked if I can be assigned to him once I graduate…” She chewed her fingertip quietly as she murmured ‘...that makes sense…but no, I think he had a reasoning.” 

Trucy shifted where she was standing and turned to face Vera more fully now.

"You asked to be assigned to him, huh/"

Vera nodded, keeping her expression still and placid as she could. “Yes, I did. Mr. Edgeworth seemed unhappy, but I insisted.” 

"I can see why Mr. Edgeworth wouldn't be too happy," Trucy said. She took another long sip of her iced tea. "But if that's your ambition, then Trucy Wright will support you all the way, got it?"

Vera looked up at her in surprise 

“Trucy…thank you. ..you really are one of the best friends I’ve ever made.” She smiled widely. Cautiously, she reached her hand out towards her. “Whatever your ambition is, you’ll have my support too. Okay? And if you need someone to talk to about…all this…” 

Trucy smiled back, and clasped her hand. "You too, okay? A magician is great at keeping secrets, you know. So you can tell me anything you don't want to tell anybody else."

Vera nodded seriously. 

“You’ll be a confidant.” she murmured softly, and her eyes briefly glanced towards her desk “...sworn to secrecy.”

"Magician's honor. And I trust you to keep my secrets too."

Vera laughed into her shaking hand “I’m no magician…but I can promise you that I can keep a secret. I won’t tell a soul anything you ask me not to.” 

Trucy put her finger to her lips and nodded. "I trust you, Vera! So that makes us confidants."

Vera nodded. 

“Confidants, Trucy Wright.” She looked down into her glass before she looked up with a genuine smile “I’ve been keeping correspondence with Mr. Gavin since his imprisonment.” 

Trucy's hand flew to cover her mouth as she gasped. Her look was shocked– but not necessarily judgemental.

"Oh my goodness, you have?"“Please don’t tell anyone…” Vera’s fingers tightened on her glass. “but he sent me the first letter only a few months after I woke up from my coma. Ever since then we’ve been writing back and forth…he’s given me advice, and I’ve kept him company through the…the written word.” 

"Oh wow…" she chewed on her knuckle. "Right after… I guess it would be easy to send you letters, huh, since you live alone?"

Trucy glanced away thoughtfully.

“Exactly… and something grew out of that. A correspondence, back and forth." She looked up at Trucy, her expression making it clear something was on her mind “...thoughts?” 

She bit her lip, looking uncomfortable. "Just that if he ever sent me any letters around that time.. I don't know that I would have received them."

Vera nodded slowly, brushing her hair over her ear with a sad half frown. “...Because you live with your father, who…who was very unhappy with Mr. Gavin.” 

Trucy nodded along with her. "Yeah, um. Mr. Gavin and my daddy were very…. close. I think it hurt daddy a lot when it turned out he did what he did, and he got put in prison."

“I understand…I think Mr. Gavin hurt a lot of people that day. Mr. Wright most of all, perhaps.” Vera sank into her chair. “And Mr. Wright isn’t a man who forgives easy.” 

She followed Vera over and put her arms around her from behind the chair. "He's super not. Daddy's amazing and loving and cool and courageous– but he doesn't forgive people easily at all. So. If Mr. Gavin ever sent me any letters, I didn't get them. But it sounds like you've had quite the correspondence."

“Sorry you didn’t get any, Trucy. …I can ask him if he ever sent you any, if…if you want me to.” She bit her lip “..I have over five hundred letters in my drafting table…if you want to see some of them.” 

Trucy's hand flew to her mouth again. "500– in two years? That's so many…. wow. You guys must have shared a lot by now. Um… honestly, I'm curious, but I think it would feel too rude to snoop on your private letters."

Vera relaxed a little bit, leaning back into Trucy with a little smile. “That's fair. We’ve shared a lot…twice a week like clockwork. He’s the one who suggested I try and become a forensic scientist after I lost my inspiration for art.” 

"He is, huh? Well, you seem pretty excited for it." Trucy leaned down close toward her, unconcerned with personal space as the magician usually was.

A while back, Vera had been nervous about it. She was unused to others, especially so close to her personal space. The attempted kidnapping, her father, they all lead to a certain wariness over her personal space.

But the more she got to know Trucy Wright, the less nervous she got. She had to admit it was a comfort by this point– a sign of friendship and care.

“Of course I am…when he brought up the idea I got excited…more excited than I’d felt in months. My eyes and hands are good for more than just forgeries, after all..”

"It's true. You can do whatever you want to do with your talent, not just what–" Trucy faulted and fell silent for a moment, and Vera felt her fingers tighten on her, "well, what other people expect you to do with it, you know? You don't have any duty to just keep doing what you were raised to."

Vera looked up at her, tilting her head back with a concerned furrow of her brow. Trucy Wright– the magician scion to the Gramarye legacy, her old idols from the only show she’d ever seen, certainly knew about the weight of talent, and the path of expectations.

She’d followed every trial obsessively, tracked every revelation and twist during that tumultuous year in the Wright Anything Agency’s life. She knew the cursed and bloody Gramarye legacy weighed heavy on Trucy’s shoulders…after all…

She’d written part of it with her forger’s hands.

If anyone aside from Mr. Gavin understood her, it was Trucy. And she understood her.

“Nobody’s beholden to what they’re raised to be. Even if it’s hard to break away from it.” ” she quietly agreed. She reached up and put her hand against the side of her face with a sad smile “...Thank you Trucy. I know you understand that as well as I should.” 

"Yeah," Trucy nodded, leaning her cheek against Vera's hand. "It can be hard to break away from, but you're not beholden to it. It's all up to your own choice. And it sounds like… somebody's helped you make a good one for yourself."

Vera nodded, her thin fingers brushed against Trucy’s face with smooth and manicured nails.

“Someone has, and…and I’m embracing the path I chose with the push I needed.” she smiled at her, the implicit continuation on the tip of her tongue. ‘And you can too’. 

[newleaf92]

Open Ended--Prologue

I’m not sure how I got myself into this situation. Everything had been fine, or at least, things seemed to be. Strange to think that all could change within the blink of an eye. I guess the best thing one can do when they find themselves in situations like this is to keep doing their best. It may not look the prettiest or the cleanest, but, it’s theirs. Maybe that’s all one needs to channel something within them in order to discover something new and quite possibly exciting.

I don’t suppose you’ve ever found yourself in a new situation? Of course you have. How silly of me to presume otherwise. Maybe I should phrase it in a different light. Maybe then you might be able to grasp this peculiar predicament. Imagine that you’re going about your normal day with your normal routine—you might even plan for a few random moments to happen. Everything is going on as it should, and you are content in what the world looks like. A blink is all it takes for everything to change. Your world is turned upside down, and everything once considered familiar is now unfamiliar. You have absolutely nothing to cling to as you scramble to find some sort of footing for yourself. Every second now feels like an hour as you’re trying to make sense of what is now around you. This is the biggest change to ever happen in your life, and you have no idea what your next move should be.

That is as close as I can come to telling you what happened to me. Does anything sound familiar to you? Do you know of anyone who might have gone through a situation like this? Maybe you do, or maybe you don’t. It doesn’t really matter at this point anyways. I’ve been lucky enough to adapt and find this new life at least somewhat appealing. This reality I’ve found myself in is the one I have to live with, and I’ve chosen to make it my own. Who knows what might come along next? It’s actually exciting in its own way as I think on it. My new normal is now expecting the unexpected. It’s taking life on in the front row and bracing myself against the winds that threaten to upend me.

I wish I could tell you what comes next, but my world is a bit unpredictable at the moment. The only way we can do that is taking it one step at a time. Who knows what’s waiting around the next corner. I’ll be the first to admit that it can be scary at times, not knowing what your next move will be. Sometimes you won’t even know until you’re forced to make one, but that’s okay. Those last second, going with your gut decisions can sometimes be the best ones you ever made, though sometimes they may not end up the best. However, if the latter should happen, you have the ability to brush yourself off and continue—if you so choose to keep trying. If it helps, I most certainly believe in you. I just needed to tell you that in case no one else has. No one was there to tell me when my world was flipped upside down, and I’d hate it if that happened to you. So, I’ll be there believing in you every step of the way, and you might even be able to hear me cheering for you.

Listen, I’ve stood still for too long. It’s time for me to turn the page on my own story and figure out where this is going to lead me. You might see me again in the near future, or it may take awhile. Sometimes these paths can be a bit tricky. Either way, I’m glad we were able to have this interaction. It’s to be able to talk to someone for a change. It can get a lonely at times, but that’s why I treasure each encounter I have—this one, I believe, will always be one of my favorites. Why? Because you chose to stay and listen. Thank you for that, and I’ll be more than happy to return the favor when the opportunity arises.

[thedragoraclan]

[Gen1, Part1] That’s a lot of fish!

This series is officially underway and I’m quite excited. I debated for a bit about whether I wanted to do a true Rags to Riches challenge or an easier version (aka with a starter house.) This is simply because I’ve always have money issues IRL and they’re super stressful.

I play games to escape stress, but I thought about it and came to the conclusion that I can live out my dreams through them. I may not be able to get rid of my money issues IRL, but I can help them to overcome their own!

Also, I’d like to mention that I couldn’t remember which neighborhood had all of the collectibles. I chose wrong and had to travel to the other neighborhood to start collecting haha I also immediately regretted choosing Oasis over Willow.

The latter is just so much prettier and, in my opinion, has better resources.

It takes a while for collectibles to start spawning in, so I decided it was best to start fishing. Normally, my sims don’t really catch anything at the start and Raelin was no different.

At least, she wasn’t at first. It didn’t take long at all before she was fishing up the entire river! I’ve never had a sim catch this many fish at one time when they have no fishing skill.

I was seriously impressed! And she seems quite proud of herself, as well haha

Once the collectibles started to spawn, I sent her off to gather as many as she could.

My casual playthrough quickly turned to one of horror, though…

At first, I figured they were just broken CC hairs because I haven’t played in ages, but now I’m beginning to think that they are only broken because I uninstalled all packs except for the base game.

You don’t make much money off photography, especially when you’re just using the cell phone, but it’s a fun hobby. I enjoy taking pictures of the world because it truly is beautiful! Plus, it’s not like they sell for 0.

I’m not sure why, but sims just don’t tend to grill in my games. I’ve watched loads of playthroughs where they go to the park and sims will grill food so they can eat for free. That never happens for me which is super frustrating for this kind of challenge.

Hot dogs are the cheapest at just 13 simoleons, so she’s gonna be eating a lot of that for a while haha

One thing I really miss are whims. I know there’s the wants and fears system, which I did turn on once I remembered to, but it’s not the same. The fears are super annoying, in my opinion, and they can really mess with a sim’s mood.

When I finally did turn it back on, her first want was to play chess because she was at the park. An easy one to accomplish.

Many naps and an uncomfortable bench later…

I wanted to head to Willow Creek because I was already tired of Oasis lol Honestly, I debated for a moment whether or not I wanted to stay exclusively inside of the world I had chosen but I figured that would get annoying down the road.

Snapped some pics, of course.

I have also decided that I’m going to have a “portrait” aka a selfie of each heir to keep on the wall. Not sure how well this will go. Perhaps I’ll have each heir take the photos when they move out, hmm…

Thanks for reading and I’ll see you in the next one o/

[laurasimonsdaughter]

“I was wondering when you’d show up,” the exorcist said with a shake of her head. (She personally preferred the term incorporeal entities removal specialist, but it was impossible to advertise with.) “It was common knowledge your place was infested by the time you bought it.”

“Haunted,” the tired young man corrected. “I have ghosts, not bedbugs.”

“Good thing too,” she winked. “I wouldn’t know how to get rid of the latter for you.” She gave him a reassuring nod. “But your problem I can solve. Give my team twenty-four hours, or twelve if you’re willing to wait until the next full moon, and we’ll have your house cleansed top to bottom. Tell you what. If it turns out there’s more than four in there, I’ll give you the bulk discount too.”

“There’s six,” the young man replied. “But I do not want the whole house cleansed. I only want you to remove three of them.”

The medium-turned-businesswoman looked up from the form she had wanted to hand him. “Excuse me?”

“I don’t want the whole house cleansed, I don’t want it to be spiritually uninhabitable.”

“You-” She gaped. “Why on earth wouldn’t you want to sweep the hole house?”

Even through the fatigue on his face the young man looked indignant. “Because there’s kids in there!”

Her lips moved silently around unspoken words. “There’s…”

“Kids in there!” he repeated. “Children! Three of them. Two little ones and their older sibling, I think. They haven’t talked to me yet.”

“Sir, you’re talking about ghosts,” she emphasized.

“I’m talking about children,” he said stubbornly. “And I’m not throwing them out. They’re more scared of the others than I am!” He shook his head. “No, the wailing one in the attic and the two who keep scratching at the windows and leaving wet footprints on the carpet definitely need to go, there’s no reasoning with them. But the kids stay. If you can’t guarantee their safety during your procedure I will find someone else to help me.”

Never in her twelve years on the job— “Well,” she said hesitantly, looking at her potential client rather more nervously than before. “I suppose I could call in a colleague to...I presume some sort of personalized ward would do it.” She crossed her arms. “But this is highly irregular! It means a custom job. I won’t be able to give you a reliable estimate of the price, and it’s certainly going to cost you!”

The young man smiled the smile of a man who had very recently bought a twice cursed, triple haunted house both willingly and gladly. “We all live under the spectre of capitalism,” he said wryly. He dragged the form towards him and began to fill in his address. “The kids stay. Whatever the costs.”

[twisted-wonderland-shenanigans]

For the twst monster au if Yuu is a woman how would the staff and students first react to periods? (Also I love your writing and I hope you have a wonderful day.)

WARNING: Menstrual cycle discussion, blood mention, female!Yuu

Awww thank you! I'm glad I can keep entertaining everyone with my writing, and I hope you’re having a wonderful day too! QvQ

In a way I actually answered this question in this post with an AFAB Yuu, though I hadn’t done much in regards for those who have extremely painful cycles compared to others…which, by the way, cycles really shouldn’t be painful to the point of not being able to function at all. It’s best to talk to a specialized doctor about this, because there are ways to make it more bearable! Please make sure you’re taking care of yourselves. ;;3;;

So this will be a situation involving a fem!MC with a particularly bad cycle not that I’m projecting my own experiences here, no sir-e Bob! Under a read more just in case!

////

No matter how much fanfiction Yuu read, no one ever said that being transported to another world would be all sunshine and rainbows. Even less so when she found out she was literally the only human known in Twisted Wonderland’s existence—a fact that put an uncomfortable amount of attention on her as she tried her best to adjust to the strange world filled with magic and humanoid monsters alike. Thankfully—despite the rough start where Yuu got dragged into a mess caused by two of the monster students and their new chimera companion—she was grateful to have found a new friendship with Ace and Deuce (even after the latter finally started to relax after realizing she was a girl). It made things feel less…stressful, knowing she had friends she could talk to even as Jack and several other first year students joined their rag-tag group. She began to relax more…

And perhaps that’s why she found herself awake at 3:00 am, the growing discomfort in her lower back growing more and more intense. ‘Crap,’ she thought, carefully sliding out of bed to avoid disturbing Grim and making her way to the bathroom.

//

Grim grumbled sleepily as he woke up, wondering why he felt so cold before realizing that Yuu wasn’t next to him. “Mmrgh…Yuu, hurry up,” he mumbled, head drooping as he crawled his way deeper into the sheets where there was still some warmth. “’m cold…”

Thump!

“Fygah!?” he yelped, scrambling around before managing to poke his head out from beneath the covers. “What was that?”

In the bathroom across the hall, he could faintly hear sharp, quiet gasps of pain and whimpers.

“Yuu?” he called out, moving to climb out of bed…and pausing when he caught something in the glow of his ear flames: a small, dark stain that looked almost black against the white sheets. Worried by the strangely familiar smell, he climbed out of bed and made his way over to investigate the noise. He didn’t recognize the sounds, yet he recognized Yuu’s voice immediately. As he got closer, however, a new smell hit his nose that set his fur on edge. It was heavy, the sharp tang of copper making his nose twitch as dread filled him:

Blood.

“Yuu!!” he cried out loudly, bursting into the bathroom and rushing over to the collapsed human. “Yuu! What’s wrong?! What’s going on!?”

Her face was contorted in pain as she writhed on the ground, Yuu hissing and gasping as she clutched her gut. Tears streaming down her face, she could barely focus on Grim’s face as she said, “It…it hurts…it hurts!”

“D-Don’t worry, Yuu! I-I’ll go get help!” he told her, paws scrabbling at the wooden floorboards as he bolted for the phone Crowley had given them the other day. “Don’t you die on me!!”

//

Brr-brr-brr!!

Ace groaned as he buried his head under the pillow, trying to block out the noise and the bright light of his phone as it rang incessantly nearby. It wasn’t until it began ringing again that he reluctantly reached out and—dragging it under the pillow with him—held it up to his ear and mumbled a tired, “What do you want…?”

“ACE!!!! YUU’S DYING!!!!!!”

“Gyah!!”

THWUMP!!

“Ow!” Ace groaned, the sheer volume of Grim’s voice on the other end startling him enough to fall out of bed. His roommates—including Deuce—were awakened and complaining as he straightened up and said, “Grim? What the hell, dude, it’s almost four in the morning!”

“Ace! You and Deuce gotta get over here right now! Yuu’s in the bathroom in a lot of pain, and I smell blood! Lots of blood!!” Grim said, sounding panicked. “Hurry!!!”

“Wait, hold on! What do you mean Yuu’s hurt?” he asked, scrambling to his feet. “And what do you mean you smell blood?!”

“Ace? What’s going on with Yuu??” Deuce asked, getting to his hooves as quick as possible. “Is she okay!?”

“Hurry!!” Grim yowled before the line dropped.

“We gotta move!!” Ace said, immediately grabbing his clothes and throwing them on before bolting out of the room. “Hurry up, Deuce!”

“Hang on, Yuu! We’re coming!”

//

By the time they managed to get there, Yuu was now sitting on the floor with her back to the wall for support. Her face showed her exhaustion, Grim and the ghosts looking anxious and worried as she focused on breathing. “Yuu! What’s wrong? Where are you hurt?!” Deuce asked, a large first aid kit strapped to his back like saddle bags.

“Grim said you were bleeding,” Ace added, kneeling to get a closer look at her. The stench of blood was so thick that it set his fight or flight instincts into overdrive, yet he couldn’t see any obvious signs of injury. “Are you okay? Do we need to call a hospital?”

Yuu stared at them with tired eyes, the surprise on her face tinged with what looked like guilt as she shook her head. “No…no, I don’t need to go to the hospital,” she told them. “It’s not that serious. Do…you by chance, have any aspirin or something like that in those bags?”

“Apirin…? Uh…y-yeah, but…but what about the blood we’re smelling?” Deuce asked, one of his forehooves tapping the wooden floorboards anxiously before he stopped it. “No one bleeds that much unless they’re injured!”

At that her face flushed a deep red as her arms clutched at her middle again. “Well…not exactly,” she uttered quietly. “It’s…my monthly…”

“Monthly?” Ace repeated with a frown. “Monthly what?”

“…cycle…my monthly cycle…”

In that moment it finally clicked, Ace’s long rabbit ears immediately pulling back as he said, “Oh…oh! Jeez, is that all it was?”

“Eh?” Deuce uttered. “What’s going on?”

“Seriously, Deuce? I would’ve thought you’d have paid attention in biology class or something…anyway, are you sure you’re okay, Yuu?” Though his tone had been teasing at first, Ace’s concern was clear as day as he looked her in the eye. “Female monster cycles don’t normally smell this blood heavy.”

“I’m fine. This happens every month,” Yuu explained, reaching up to the sink and pulling herself—rather shakily—to her feet. “I’m lucky on the days when it doesn’t start and wake me up at three in the morning, let alone allows me to function properly on the first day or two.” With a tired sigh, she uttered, “I really didn’t think I’d be having this conversation with you guys though…”

“Yeah, well, Grim thought you were dying and called us,” Ace said. In a serious tone, however, he said, “You’ve got that medical exam with the researchers tomorrow, right?”

“Yeah…?”

“I think you need to talk to them about this.”

“Ace, it’s fine-”

“Once in a while is one thing, but if this keeps happening every month to the point you’re barely able to do anything, isn’t it better to try and find a way to mitigate it rather than suffer through it?”

“He’s right, you know,” one of the ghosts said, sounding concerned. “When we were still alive, we had to take care of ourselves whenever we were hurt or sick. This cycle of yours doesn’t sound normal.”

“At least talk to them about it,” another ghost said gently. “You nearly scared the life back into us earlier!”

“Yeah. You’re our pal, and we’d hate to see you suffering,” the last ghost said.

“Fynaa…I still don’t know what’s going on, but you scared me, Yuu!” Grim scolded, though it was hard to not see the tears in his eyes as he stared up at her. “I thought you were dying…”

“Yuu…we really just want what’s best for you,” Deuce said. “Not just because you’re the only human, but because we care about you as our friend. So please…don’t just ignore it if you’re hurting. Okay…?”

For a long time, Yuu was silent, staring at everyone one by one…before slowly nodding. “…okay,” she said, tears forming in her eyes even as she smiled. “I’ll talk to them about it.”

“Good. Now…mind if we spend the night here? I’m too tired to run back to the dorm,” Ace grumbled with a sigh. “I think that’s enough chaos for one day.”

SLAM!!!

“Where is she?!” Crowley’s voice shrieked from the main entrance. “Is Yuu alright?!”

“…Grim…did you call the headmaster too?” Deuce muttered.

“…I panicked, okay!? I didn’t know who to call!”

////

And so, while we end on a comical note of Crowley freaking out over the research institutions, I’ve said it time and time again that these researchers will absolutely make sure that any concerns Yuu has will be addressed. After all, if they can find some way to enhance their quality of life, then that makes things all the better in the end!

It helps that, in this case, they literally get free health care as the only living human in Twisted Wonderland. Lucky! >:V

[bluehairedboyhcs]

ALL RIGHT BOYS HERE IT IS! I’m writing a smut and I’ve made my mind up IMO it’s suuuucks but I’m still publishing it I’m basically edging you guys with the Idea of a smut at this point so I’m just gonna post it. But in the mean time, Sally Smut Headcannons. My comfort zone 😭

⚠️ CW : mentions of bondage, Sadism, breeding, and public sex if you squint.

⚠️ MINORS DNI ⚠️



SAL FISHER SMUT HCS

All characters are over 18– takes place during the college chapter of the game.

-Very kinky

- Most of your friends think that Sal is like the most vanilla guy out there but that’s just because he hides it well.

- Larry doesn’t even know

- “Sal if you had to pick a kink when kink would you be into”

- “Uhhh, I don’t really have a kink dude. I guess like holding they’re hands above their head so they can’t move them? Is that bondage?”

- They just laughed at him.

- Little do they know about his breeding kink, the fact that he’s a master at tying you up with ropes, and his public sex kink, but it’s okay they don’t need to know about that.

- Very vocal (dirty talk)

- He’s picked up on the fact that when he says something to you that gets you going you’ll squeeze down on him.

- He loves that shit.

- One time he was fingering you after finishing in you already to prepare you for another round

- Oh also he loves to overstimulate you ;)

- “God you look so pretty with all of my cum dripping out of you like this baby.”

- When you let out a whimper and clenched on his fingers it was already over for you.

- “Awe do you like when I talk to you like the little slut you are baby?”

- “Yes! Please keep going!”

- Sal was already hard again and it had only been like 3 minutes if that shows you how much he gets off on teasing you with his words

- “Alright my love, but don’t whine when I don’t go easy on you”

- He kissed your temple and got straight to work.

-Overstimulation

- circling back to overstimulation,

- he’s rlly into it.

- like a lot.

-loves to see you squirm under him.

———————————————————

— You’ve already came three times within 30 minutes. Sally was still hovering over you with those dark eyes and shit eating grin.

—“Come on baby, just one more time for me”

—Whines bubbled up from your throat.

—“Sal! P-please I can’t take another one”

—Sal just laughed and slowed both his fingers that were inside you and his thumb on your clit. He leaned closer to you to whisper in your ear.

—“Shh. I know it’s hard baby, but I believe in you. Just one more time then I’ll fuck you like you want me too okay?”

———————————————————

-According to Sal the best feeling in the world is being able to feel you getting close followed by you clenching rhythmically around him (whether that be his fingers or his dick) when you cum.

-knows that you will be super wet and tight after multiple orgasms so that’s how he justifies himself when you ask why he does it.

-“just so I know your completely ready… No other reason..”

-In reality is more of a soft sadism thing then anything else but is way too ashamed to admit it.

———————————————————

-Breeding Kink Breeding Kink Bree-

-yeah he’s got a breeding kink

-says things like:

-“fuuuck yes, you feel so good around me. Keep squeezing on me like that so I can put a baby in you.”

-“Awe baby, your so whiney. Do you need me to pump you full of my cum? Is that it?”

-“God babe, keep bouncing just like that. Keep it in when I cum though. Need to get you knocked up remember?”

-DOES NOT want kids atm so you use protection whether that be condoms or birth control (he prefers the latter but never pressures you into using it)

-HOWEVER he definitely wouldn’t mind a mini you running around the house.

-just isn’t very realistic with the two of you having collage student income.

———————————————————

-Quickies

-like I said earlier he isn’t open about his kinks or even his sex life

-when living with three other people that can get difficult

-when the others are home he has to keep the volume down so he covers your mouth and tried his hardest to stay quiet himself

-but that’s not really his style

-will literally drag you out to the shed to fuck you as loud as he wants

-Neil keeps a bed in there for when he pulls all nighters researching

-but god, if he knew all of the stains that were on that thing…

-(the shed is secretly his favorite place to fuck now)

- he’ll never admit it tho.

———————————————————

-Rope master

-saw shibari porn one time and decided it was definitely for him

-he can’t help it, you just look so cute tied up for him

-uses the fanciest ropes money can buy in your favorite color

-doesn’t suspend you in the air or anything like that

-mostly because he can’t afford a rig

-but he does tie you so you can’t cover yourself with your hands or move

-uses it for two very different scenarios

-Overstimulation:

-“Awe baby. Does it feel like it’s too much? Such a shame you can’t do anything but take it, huh?”

-and underestimation

-“Do you need more baby? What, it’s not enough? To bad you can’t grind against me. Don’t worry we’ve got all night.”

———————————————————

-Sadist

-rlly sadistic tbh

-Sal is the one you’d least expect to be too

-he just loves to see you whining helpless

-no matter how much he teases you or talks down to you he always makes sure you know the safe word and that you can use it whenever you need to and everything will immediately stop.

-he will always take care of you and put your thoughts feelings before his pleasure

—————-

Alrighty hope you guys enjoyed this! I rlly miss writing for Sally face and I figured I owe you guys a smut fic at this point so please let me know what you think of it! 💙💙

[yandere-sins]

can i have a yandere gojo who impregnates reader, y/n manages to run away, moves out to another country and after a year and a half, gojo, who sort of came to his senses, founds y/n and wants y/n back? only for his yandere traits to come back again out of fear that he'll lose y/n and the baby for good?

also, thank you so much for your hard work!

Thanks for the request!

»»———————— ♡ ————————«« 

♡ There probably are only a few people in the world able to understand a maniacal mind like Gojo’s. The amount of willpower and discipline to overcome an obsession like he had for you borders on the opposite end of the psychopath as he was when you were still with him. The time it took for him to forget your perfume, to not stalk random people that had your hair color, to exit a store when a song began to play that you would hum from time to time. That time was nothing more than divine punishment, it seemed; otherwise, it would be hard to explain. His heart and body could understand you were gone, but his mind just couldn’t let go of your image. Gojo would see you in the corners of his eyes, hear your laugh when a group of people passed him, and sleep in your apartment just to get the last bit of comfort that you left. For a long time, he believed you’d be back, but even he had to realize you wouldn’t at some point or another.

♡ Imagine the surprise when he did actually see you, passing by the storefront of a 7-Eleven while he was reading magazines inside. Imagine his eyes following you, thinking how odd it was that you’d be back after he managed to forget you. The magazine slowly slipping from his hand and falling to the floor as he storms out of the store, trying to find you in the masses of people. Every alleyway could be your hideout and every store a place for you to avoid him, but he just knows. He knows you’re returning to your apartment that holds all the stuff that you left behind. Why else would you be back? Surely not for him.

♡ Gojo can’t stop his heart from racing as he watches you enter the apartment from across the street. Nothing changed. Not the passcode at the door, not you, not his love. The latter is beginning to rip at his heart, making him want to scream as the waves of suppressed pain return, the pain that you put him through. Yet, one thing is different. You’re not alone, judging by the stroller you are parking in the hallway of your apartment building. Gojo can tell by the little baby hands gripping tightly into your shirt, less white hair than his, but a remarkably fair color peeking over your shoulder, and the rocking motion you’re making that you were extremely busy the last few months. That’s probably the reason you never contacted him, right?

♡ Admittedly, he’s a bit impatient as he rings the doorbell, standing right before your door waiting. Over and over, his fingers pushes into the button, the sound overshadowed by his own thoughts. “I’m coming, I’m coming!” you yell, and for the first time in what feels like an eternity, he hears your voice. It echoes through his body, his thoughts shifting to the feeling of your voice dripping over every fiber of his being. Gojo shudders as he waits for you to open, impatient, barely holding back from bursting down the door. He has questions. Oh, so many questions, and he steps aside from the peephole, waiting for you to open the damn door before he loses it.

♡ Your reaction time is still bad, or maybe his is just too good. Gojo’s had always been better. That’s why he got a hold of you first. With his hand covering your mouth, his foot in the gap of the door before you can smack it in his face, and a warning, “Ah-ah-ah,” from his curled up lips, he steps inside, pressing you to the wall. His hand only disappears from your mouth so he can replace it with his lips, the taste of your tongue still as exquisite and desperately wanted by him as he remembers, when you two suddenly get interrupted by a fussy baby asking for attention. His head turns towards the living room as he puts his hand back in place to keep you from alerting anyone, and your eyes follow, your whole body growing tense as Gojo’s grin widens.

♡ He lets go of you - a great price to pay, but his curiosity wins. But no matter how much you claw at him, try to hold him back, and plead with Gojo, he doesn’t stop, only pushing you aside with the tiniest bit of effort, walking right over to the child sitting on your bed. Picking it up, you can only stare in horror as Gojo holds your kid, their resemblance almost terrifying, and Gojo calmly soothes the fussy baby as if he never hurt a fly in his life. Rocking it and talking nonsense, you only grow more and more scared of what he will do, knowing his true nature a bit too well to trust him with your baby. But he’s nothing close to the monster you experienced in your past. Even your child seems perfectly fine, slowly falling asleep in the arms of the beast. You try once again, try to get closer to save your baby, at least if you already cannot protect yourself from Gojo, but he presses the little one closer to his chest, leaning forward as if to spite you. There’s still a smile playing on his lips, but you’re not someone he can fool with the mask he put on. Under his blindfold, his eyes are probably those of the psycho you remembered. “I never knew you wanted a family,” he muses, and you can’t help but feel disgusted. “Not with you,” you hiss back, and Gojo straightens his back, sighing as he looks down on the kid in his arms. “Too bad,” he fakes pity. “When you know what’s good for you, then I am sure you remember where to find me. I’ll be taking my child.”

♡ Before you can protest or even reach out to your baby, Gojo is gone. He knows as well as you do that you can’t abandon your own kid. It was the leverage he always needed against you, that lacked in the past. This time, you’d have to return to him, the exact opposite from what you did one and a half years ago, and there was no way you’d be able to leave as long as he had this power over you. Gojo sat down with that little clone of his, waiting for you to return to the hell, confident that with this responsibility, you two simply were bound to be together forever. His child was just one more person he could never let go of; that much was evident by the beautiful, shining blue eyes coming directly from him.

[ithinkilikeit-reactions]

The Boyz “You watch them jerk off”

The Boyz Masterlist                                  Group Masterlist

Ask:  It's a kinky one, but how about The Boyz reacting to the reader watching them jerking off/playing with sex toys? 💓💓

A/N: This is.... really dirty. My mind really took over on this one. So this is your warning.

Sangyeon: 

He was loving this, the look on your face, the way your eyes alternated between his face and hand on his cock. He couldn’t help himself but chuckle. “Look at you, you look like an eager puppy.” 

You pouted, you just wanted to touch him so bad. Sangyeon could see that, the eagerness in your eyes as you watched him and well, he was feeling generous. “Come here.” He said, using his free hand to gesture for you to come near. You abided and got closer, not touching him just yet but had a feeling you knew what was coming. After all, you had behaved yourself. 

“You’ve been good, so I’ll let you finish me off.” His voice was serious, watching as your hand carefully trailed up his bare thigh. Your fingers wrapped around his cock gently and you made sure to look at him. Afterall, eye contact was essential to him. 

Jacob: 

Jacob only really did this when he was incredibly needy, otherwise you were there to satsify his needs. Which was why you didn’t think twice when you entered his room, but why you were so surprised to see his cock in his hands. Sweat dripping down his chest, frustrations from practice really having got to him.

“Oh shit.” He cursed, noticing you walk into the room but also not being able to stop his hand from moving. He was just so close, he couldn’t bring himself to stop. “Don’t stop on my account.” You said softly, dropping to your knees in front of him. “Were you that needy?” You asked him, stroking his thighs as he started jerking himself off even harder. Jacon let out a whine, one he himself would consider pathetic, one that you would say was beautiful. 

“Fuck- when you look at me like that- I.” He choked out, throwing his head back as he felt himself cum, splaying over his stomach as he moaned out. “I’ll take that as a compliment.” You smiled, standing up and kissing him on the forehead. You were about to walk away, when he pulled you back. 

“You’re funny if you think I’m done after that.” 

Younghoon: 

It was cute, how unsure he was at this moment. Gently stroking himself as you watched. For Younghoon being so big, he looked so small and shy in this moment it just turned you on more. 

“Come on, don’t get shy on me.” You told him, sitting at the edge of the bed. Younghoon’s eyes locked on yours, only mustering a whimper before he looked away again. Jerking off when he was alone was one thing, but jerking off in front of you... he was so turned on that he was embarrassed of it. He felt pathetic and that made him even closer to cumming. 

“You’re close aren’t you?” You asked, creeping closer to him and drawing your hand from his ankle to up to his thigh. The closer you got to his length, the harsher his whimpers got and the more his hips bucked. “Oh yeah, you definitely are.” His hand slowed down and you ran your pointer finger over the underside of his cock. 

“Please finish me off, I can’t take this.” 

Hyunjae/Jaehyun:

Jaehyun looked at you with hazy eyes, hand lazily stroking his cock as your own hands did a number on yourself. Yes, this is exactly what he wanted when he suggested mutual masturbation. Especially with the way your eyes scanned his body, it made him cocky. 

He continued to stroke his cock, a little faster now and watched as your pace faltered. “Keep up.” He said, voice not giving in once even despite the pleasure he was feeling. You couldn’t help but whimper and shut your eyes, feeling close yourself as your hands worked over your core. “Look at me.” Jaehyun’s voice was commanding and you couldn’t help but listen. 

Your eyes went directly to his hand, wishing it was on you rather than pleasuring himself. He could tell that you needed him, which made this all the more fun for him. Jaehyun leaned over to you, placing his face close to yours. 

“If you’re good and cum with me, I might help you out later.” 

Juyeon: 

He wasn’t particularly shy, especially not about this. Juyeon didn’t even flinch when you entered the room while he had his fist around his cock. No, he more gave you a look that told you to either leave or sit and watch and well, you obviously chose the latter. 

Listening to his moans and watching the veins in his arms get more prominent, you were getting needy yourself. Especially as he locked eyes with you, practically smiling as he did so. You were having a hard time just sitting and watching, fiddling with your hands before dropping down to your knees in front of him. 

“You want to take over? Don’t like watching?” He asked as your hand reached out for his length. You nodded and he sighed, allowing you to take over. Hissing as your hand wrapped around his. He teased you, now you were going to do the same. Or so you thought, until he grabbed your wrist and made you look him the eyes.

“I let you take over, doesn’t mean you can tease.” 

Kevin: 

Kevin was quite insecure when it came to you watching him. It was one thing for you and him to have sex together but another if you just wanted to watch him. But he pushed that aside, because he wanted to please you and well he didn’t regret it. 

“You look so good.” You praised, as he pressed his back to your chest. Your hands were running over chest, shoulders and stroking his face, but not where he needed you. “I bet you’d feel better than I look.” Kevin retorted, hoping his taunts would get you to touch him instead. You laughed a little watching as he picked up the pace. 

“Hmm, nice try.” You said softly in his ear, dragging your nails over his chest lightly as you did so. Getting a moan in response as watched his hand pump even harder. Why this was so hot to him, he had no idea.

“You’re evil.” 

New/Chanhee: 

 Chanhee thrived off of attention like this, there was just something about being the center of attention and well, he knew he looked good. Especially with the way your eyes followed his hands every move. 

He looked so incredibly good but sounded even better, God you could watch him touching himself forever. But you wanted to touch him so bad, you couldn’t help but reach out for his cock. Only for him to pull away and tut at you. 

“I told you not to touch.” Chanhee said and sat back down. You just wanted to make him cum, you just wanted to hear his pretty sounds and you wanted to be the reason for them. “Please.” You pleaded and he shook his head, stroking his cock slowly, teasingly. 

“If you would’ve asked first... maybe. But now, no.” 

Q/Changmin: 

In this moment you were wondering why you had agreed, letting him tie you up so that you wouldn’t be tempted to touch. Yet here you were, still tempted to touch as your fingers fidgeted behind your back and well Changmin could tell. He could tell and he was enjoying it.

“You don’t like just watching, not being able to touch me huh?” His words were strained, jerking himself off quickly as you sat in front of him. You shook your head in response and he couldn’t help but laugh. “I’m enjoying this though, you look so needy.” He said between moans, knowing just what effect he had on you right now. 

“I’m so close to cumming.” Changmin said and watched you squirm at his words. You just wanted to touch him so bad, you wanted him to touch you so bad. You felt like you were losing and he was just so amused. 

“Watching you like this just turns me on more. It’s fun to see you struggle like this.” 

Haknyeon: 

He was trying to get caught, it was something he was into that you still needed to discover and boy did you discover it. Seeing him sitting on the edge of the bed jerking himself off, simply nodding a head in your direction with a smile. It caught you off guard but you, adjusted quickly and sat next to him on the bed. 

His hand didn’t slow down as you wrapped your arms around him from behind. “You wanted me to watch didn’t you?” You asked, running your hands over his stomach and listening to him his. You kissed over his shoulders too, moving your lips up and by his ear to kiss his sweet spot. “Mhmm.” He responded to your question, finger tips swiping over his slit and making himself moan. 

“Hmm, maybe you should make yourself cum then, if you wanted to get caught so badly.” You mumbled into his neck, watching his pace pick up and hearing his sounds get louder. God, this was so hot and the fact that he liked being watched like this. 

“I’m so fucking close.” 

Sunwoo: 

When you told him you wanted to watch him, he felt himself get shy. But he would’ve been lying if he said he didn’t like the thought. Especially because Sunwoo loved your eyes so much. Particularly now, that you were on your knees in front of him and looking at him like that. 

He was so hard and turned on he was almost angry, stroking his cock and letting out grunts as he did so. You dragged your tongue over your lips and blinked at him again, eyes locking with his making his hips buck. “You knew what you were doing when you asked this.” He moaned, leaning down to kiss you quickly and not taking his hand off of his cock. 

You watched his hand and licked your lips again, the action not being unnoticed by Sunwoo. He was trained on your facial expressions as you watched him and the fact that you were so turned on watching him, made the tension is stomach get even more intense. 

“Fuck, you like  to watch as much as you like to swallow. Open your mouth.” 

Eric: 

He didn’t understand, he would much rather have you touch him or just have sex with you in general. Eric didn’t understand the appeal, but he tried it because you asked. He didn’t understand the appeal, until he was close to cumming and feeling your hands everywhere except where he wanted you. 

“I thought you said you didn’t like this.” You teased as he whimpered under your touch, his hand not letting up on his pace. He wanted to cum really bad. “I don’t. But this feels so good.” He whined and you allowed your hands to move over his thighs. You dug your nails into them lightly, enough for him to feel it and hiss. 

That was the straw, the thing that made him cum. Eric’s thighs started shaking and cum coated his stomach and thighs as he whimpered.His eyes shutting and you smiled, petting his hair. He was having a hard time opening his eyes after that, but he managed and looked at you with hooded eyes. 

“I- hated that. But fuck, we should do that again. Maybe I watch you this time.” 

A/N: This absolute pure filth like absolute filth. I haven’t written something like this in a long time. @kpoporacle I hope you like it!

[nightowlwriting]

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

word count: 11k

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

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

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

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

title credit: lil nas x

mobile masterlist - request - support my work? - ao3

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

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

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

Maybe he’s forgotten about you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is everything okay with you and Captain Rogers?” He easily catches up to you when you stop in your tracks, ignoring that you’re still bleeding a little bit down your face and you might be dripping blood everywhere from where it’s run down your arms.

“What?” You do your best to look confused like everything is fine, but Peter is perceptive. He may fumble around and be pretty awkward, but those are really just teenager things that he’ll hopefully outgrow. You should have known that when someone caught onto how bad things are on your end, it would be Peter. (You wonder if Nat or Bucky has brought it up with Steve, considering he’s spent more time with them in the past week than he’s seen you in the past month.) “We’re fine.” Your words are stilted as you begin walking to the medical wing much faster than before.

“I just thought I’d ask, well, because I’ve sort of noticed… Something just seems off, you know? Like, you two used to spend a lot of time together, and maybe it’s the recon mission coming up, but I was just thinking that you two really barely look at each other even when you’re in the same -”

“Peter!” You say his name much louder than either of you expected and both of you jump. “Peter,” You say softer, looking at the glass door to the medical wing instead of him, “Just leave it, okay? It’s nothing you have to worry about, kid.” Peter ducks around to open the door, forcing you to look at him. “He’s just focused on his stuff and I’m focused on getting you whipped into shape for this mission. We only have two days.” Once you’re inside and surrounded by the medical crew Tony keeps on staff, he thankfully drops it. You love Peter, you do, but it’s a lot like having a little brother. You can only love them so much before you want to fucking strangle them. Eventually, as the doctor checks to make sure he hasn’t broken your nose, you have to order him away to go study or something. “I’ll join you later,” You promise him as the doctor prods at your tender flesh, “I have an essay due soon.”

That’s another thing that’s been bugging you that Peter surely picked up on. Nearly everybody knew you were taking a course at the local community college, but nobody knew what it was about. You’d wanted to keep it a secret until you told Steve, but the day you had registered he’d flown out for a two-week mission without telling you or saying goodbye. After that, you decided it didn’t really matter if anyone knew what class you were taking, and keeping it a secret sort of spiraled from there. If they wanted to know they could look it up. Maybe it was petty, but you just wanted the class to be over and done with so you could forget that you really only picked it up so you relate to your boyfriend more.

If you can even call Steve your boyfriend anymore. You’re not so sure where you stand and, honestly, you’re really close to giving up on the relationship as a whole but you can’t do that. Before you were dating, you were friends, and Steve… He never gave up on you. Not once. How could you repay him by giving up on your relationship? The one that you thought was The One? Even if it hurts, even if you’re unsure more than sure these days, how could you? Somewhere, though, you know you deserve better. You don’t deserve the sinking, dark feeling that lingers in your gut for most of your days now or the way that you second-guess every move you make - even in the field. It’s dangerous but you can’t do anything to fix it.

You’re too scared. You know that eventually, it will happen, he’ll break up with you, but you’d like to put that day off for as long as possible. To relish in the love he once had for you, how pure and powerful it was. You’re sure that you’ll never experience anything like that again.

Hell, you might never fall in love again.

Those thoughts don’t do anything to help you, though, so you try not to have them. You get clearance from the doctor and get cleaned up as much as you can without taking a full body shower. The idea to go back to your room and take one crosses your mind but you know that Steve’s probably done training, probably heading back for his own shower, and you don’t want to open that can of worms. Instead, you go to the common room and drop into the couch between Peter and Tony. They’re talking about something something science something something, but you pull your stack of books and notebooks out from the shelf underneath the coffee table and continue outlining your essay from where you left off. The assignment was focused on how the end of WW1 changed American life and then how life changed leading up to and during WW2 but that had hit a little too close to home for you, so you’re writing about the racial tension and overall racism of the times. Tony and Peter keep talking over your back and then you hear footsteps heading toward the common room.

You barely look up when they enter - Nat and Bucky - because it’s fine. It’s normal. They’re just two of Steve’s best friends, that’s all, nothing to be jumpy about. You don’t even register that emotional pain that hits when you realize that, yeah, you’re not one of his best friends anymore. You doubt you’re even considered a friend in his book.

You groan and lean back into the couch, bringing your study materials with you. Peter glances over, skimming over your page and a half of shorthand, and gags. “Jesus, can you write like a normal person?”

“Oh, sorry,” You say lazily, not looking up as you continue to scribble in your incomprehensible code, “I do forget that some of us had privacy at home.” You lift your lips just a little bit to let Peter know you’re kidding, looking up at him through your lashes as you slouch next to him. He looks red in the face. “Besides, once you have to start doing mission reports you’ll be begging me to learn my shorthand and use my stenography machine.”

“I keep telling you that I can update that ol’ thing,” Tony draws your attention. For the first time, you realize that Nat and Bucky are on the loveseat looking at you expectantly. Steve is standing in the corner over their shoulder reading a book from the bookshelf in front of him. His back is tense and he looks like he’s not reading, just listening. You force your eyes back to Tony on your right and shake your head.

“No, because then you’d know my shorthand and it makes me too happy to see you spend hours trying to decipher it.” His eyes wander to your essay again, trying to find any patterns that he can use to figure out what the hell you’re writing on anything ever. He’s opening his mouth to make a smart-ass remark that will no doubt lift some of the weight off of your shoulders when another voice speaks up.

“Wow,” Steve doesn’t even look at you even as he says your name sardonically, “Way to be a team player.” Your mind comes to a screeching halt, trying to figure out what the fuck he’s playing at. Even Bucky and Nat look surprised at the cold way he spoke to you, Tony and Peter both gasping from your side. You can’t say anything, throat tight and burning with tears as you stare at your boyfriend with raised eyebrows. What do you say to that? How do you respond? You know it wasn’t a joke because he’s not laughing, not smiling, not even looking up from that fucking book in his hands. You can’t tell if you’re more hurt or embarrassed, but either way, you don’t want to stick around for someone to get the nerve to say something.

Instead of replying, you slam your textbooks shut and bundle everything into your arms. You doubt Steve even notices that you’re making such a hasty retreat but if he does, he doesn’t say a fucking thing. You feel like you’re in high school - practically running through an empty hallway with your notebooks and textbooks pressed to your chest, trying not to cry. It’s ridiculous. You’re a trained assassin, you’re an Avenger, you are strong and powerful and yet… And yet. You’ve given so much of your heart and soul to Steve Rogers that he can knock you down eight pegs without even trying. Without even looking at you. You can’t wait to go on this fucking recon mission, where you can put all of your focus on making sure Peter is doing okay and gathering the intel. Where you can stop thinking about how easily Steve Rogers seems to be pushing you to the side.

You spend the next two days writing your essay, ignoring almost everyone, and working on your essay. On the day of the recon mission, you’re running out the door for your eight a.m lecture, printed essay in hand, and reminding Tony that he promised to pick you up on campus after class for the mission.

You’re lucky that you went, too. You hadn’t counted on the professor making everyone stand up and tell the class the subject of their essays - didn’t realize that it would be twenty-five percent of the grade on the paper. You’ll never understand college professors and the weird shit they do, but the class is informative and entertaining. He goes around the room, starting on the opposite side of you, so you’ll be last. Great.

Several students did their papers on the propaganda of the time, one student was brave and did her essay on the ethical dilemma of the super-soldier serum and eugenics, and most of the other students focused on pop culture and how it changed. When your professor looks at you it’s almost like he’s expecting you to have done nothing but fawn over Steve and Bucky, considering you know them personally. He looks surprised when you clear your throat, stand and say: “I focused on the casual and institutional racism that faced non-white Americans at the time.” You almost preen when he looks impressed and then the shame fills you. It’s just… You want Steve to be proud of you. You want him to congratulate you on going back to school, even if it’s just for one class. You want him to be happy and surprised that he was the inspiration for taking the class.

Though, lately, the class has been more for you than for him. You like learning new things, pushing the boundaries of assignments, making people uncomfortable with the truth of the times you’re studying as told to you by two people who lived it. It’s nice. Normal.

Everyone needs a little bit of normal.

But, honestly, normal is fucking boring. By the time your class is over and you’re handing in your essay it’s like ants are crawling over your skin. A combination of nerves from the upcoming mission, a head full of fog from whatever is happening with Steve, and a little bit of fear at the thought of taking Peter into the field has you bolting for the door the moment your essay is taken from you. You’d worn your tac-suit underneath a pair of baggy sweats and a loose hoodie, so you don’t even bother slowing down as you head toward the car that Tony has waiting for you. He’s in the front seat, grinning at you from underneath his aviators and Peter is driving.

You slip into the backseat without thinking or looking at who’s there, tossing your bag in the back and peeling your hoodie off. “God, Tone, we’re goin’ to die before we even get to the mission with Petey driving.” You toss your hoodie back to join your bag and finally see who’s sitting next to you.

Of course, it’s Steve. He’s looking at you - but not really. He’s looking through you, like he can’t stand that you’re both crammed in the backseat of Tony’s electric car. His gaze catches you and holds you in place. Everything around you goes cold and fuzzy, making you miss Peter’s indignant complaining that he has his license so he should be able to drive… And then Steve scoffs and looks out his window, ignoring you. It stings but you have a job to do. You make some witty retort back to Peter, but it falls flat as you struggle out of your sweats. This is what life is, you think. Relationships aren’t meant to be forever - you learned that at a young age.

Until your accident at fifteen, you had watched your parents run out of helium, their relationship expanding and cooling in arguments, in days spent not talking, in trips to your grandparents without the other, in passive-aggressive computer searches for divorce attorneys left open for anyone to see. Then, after you were trapped between those machines - after you spent hour after agonizing hour with electricity pressing between your atoms, being torn apart and rebuilt as a young god - after that day you watched them expand against each other before the neutron core of their relationship collapsed on itself and the resulting supernova sent you to the streets. But then Fury found you. Then Tony, then Nat, then Steve.

Your parents exploded out from each other and the shockwaves ruined your life. At least now, your relationship with Steve is ending silently. There’s no explosion, no collapse, no rapid expansion to take over your cosmos. Your relationship with Steve is simply approaching the event horizon, where it will hang in the air until one of you takes the final step and you both become frozen, two collapsing objects on opposite sides of the universe. Maybe that’s what you already are. You feel so far away from him in the back of Tony’s car - like he’s eons and light-years away from you - and you feel so cold. Frozen, down to the bone. It makes you stiff in your replies to Tony and Peter, slow on the uptake when the car pulls up to the quinjet, nearing stasis and unable to respond when Nat asks if you’re okay.

Finally, you turn to look at her, nodding. “Fine,” You clear your throat, “Been a rough day.” You do your best to smile at her, but your face feels heavy. Your chest feels cold and tight, making you worry about your performance on the upcoming mission. When Peter shakes his head next to you, discreetly telling Nat not to press, you’re focused on Steve and the electricity humming in the most base part of your body.

He scoffs and rolls his eyes. You turn away and force yourself to smile, throwing a weak and numb arm over Peter’s shoulders. “Are you ready for this, Pete?” You jostle him back and forth, leading him toward the sitting area behind the cockpit. “Gonna get your ass kicked?”

“Please,” He shoves you off, nervously laughing, “Not with the skills you’ve taught me.” He mimics throwing webs, making hissing noises under his breath, and you bark out a laugh, shaking your head.

“You’re payin’ my medical bills when I have to save your ass, Spidey.” You shake your head and strap in next to the wall, Peter taking the seat to your right. Tony, from the aisle across from you, points a thick finger your way.

“You don’t pay medical bills anymore,” He waggles his finger, “So you’ll just have to make him do your homework for a week.”

“Mister Stark!”

“He’ll have to earn shorthand to do your essays,” Nat chimes in from between Bucky and Steve, who are both doing their best to not look at you - or anyone really. “You willing to share that with him?”

You lean back in your seat and jab at Peter with your elbow. “Hell no, so I guess Spider-Boy better do his best.” The arachnid in question grumbles, crossing his arms and slouching in his seat.

“No pressure, right?” He complains, “Not like I’m already nervous or anything.”

“You’ll do fine, kid,” Bucky pipes up, drawing your eyes back to Steve, “It’s goin’ to be a cakewalk.”

“Don’t jinx it, Barnes,” You warn half-heartedly, tucking in on yourself, “We need this to be easy.” From the look on his face - everyone’s face, really - you know that they heard you loud and clear when you were really saying I need this to be easy.

After an uneasy laugh from Bucky, a claustrophobic silence settles over you all as the jet begins to take off. You’re in for an hour ride and plan to spend it going over battle plans with Peter when harsh whispering catches your ear. It’s Bucky and Steve nearly crushing Nat between them until she gets up and sits across from Peter, rolling her eyes. Still, you try your best to run him through the actions you both had planned - the names, the setups you needed to execute them, everything. If something happens to Peter, you’ll never forgive yourself.

And then, cutting through your soft promptings to Peter and his equally soft replies, Bucky’s voice. “Leave it, Steve. Until after this mission.” Even Tony looks up from his tablet, curiosity piqued. Their faces are both red, set hard and angry at each other and your stomach drops. What the hell is going on that Steve ‘Till The End Of The Line Rogers is fighting with Bucky You And Me, Pal Barnes? You must shift, or lean too far into Steve’s eyesight, because for the first time in what feels like years he is looking directly at you - and seeing you, too. It makes your pulse jump and, almost instinctively, you want to reach out and ground yourself on the rubber of the seat underneath you.

You don’t get the chance, though, because Steve speaks. “No, why should I? This is clearly affecting the team.” He’s still looking - glaring - at you like you’ve done something wrong. “What’s the point of waiting? I’ve been waiting to talk about this.”

“Bo, I don’t think this is the time,” Bucky looks over his shoulder at you, then, and you know what’s coming. You know that it’s time, that Steve is about to break up with you in front of your teammates. Your friends. Your family. You steel yourself for the anguish you’re about to feel and then jerk your chin out, hardening your resolve.

“Buck, it’s fine. If Steve wants to address something, he can.”

Natasha says your name, a low warning over the hum of the quinjet. “I think he should wait.”

“Well, I’m not goin’ to wait!” Steve unbuckles himself and stands, “I have tried waiting, and look at where that has gotten me.” He puts his hands on his hips and puffs out a breath. You unbuckle and stand, too, unsure of where this is going. “You need to,” He holds one hand out, pointing at you while his voice shakes. You notice his hand is shaking, too, but fractionally. If you didn’t know Steve as well as you do you may have never noticed it. “You need to get it together.”

“I need to get it together?” You question, eyebrows nearly hitting the ceiling with how fast they shoot up. You’re not totally sure you’ve heard him right because what do you have to get together? The broken shards of your relationship? The information and research for your final paper? The awful way you’ve let yourself be treated for what seems like forever?

“You heard me,” Steve says, at the same time Bucky leans his head back and groans deep in his chest. “What? Someone had to say it.”

“We should wait for this,” Nat speaks up again, but lifelessly. She knows now that you and Steve are both on the warpath, neither of you are going to stop. (That’s also why the two of you work together as a couple so well. Very rarely are you both so worked up about something that you can’t back down, so the other is always there to meet you halfway and get you back to earth.)

“No, no, no,” You say, near hysterically, “No, he wants to do this now? Before a mission? Instead of the fuckin’ weeks we had to hash whatever crawled up his ass and died out? Be my guest. He’s already dragged everyone into this by treating me like a pariah.” You’re not sneering, but your teeth are gritted so tightly together you can hear them scraping and feel a tension headache beginning to bloom in your temples. Bucky looks… Almost incredulous at your statement. Like putting the blame on Steve is a dick move or something.

“Oh, so I’m the bad guy here?” Steve is curling his lip, glaring at you. There’s something behind his eyes, but he’s buried it so deep that you can’t reach it and figure out what it is. “I’m the bad guy, right. Right, right, right.” He scoffs, shakes his head, and then he’s running his fingers through his hair like he really can’t believe what you’re saying to him.

“Well, what else am I supposed to think?” You throw your hands out to the side and let them slap back down on your thighs. “You ignore me, you make me feel like shit, you talk down to me like I’m some insignificant foot soldier. How else am I supposed to take that, Steve?”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe ask me what’s wrong? Maybe ask me why I’m acting like this, instead of ignoring all of your problems like a child?” He mirrors your moments, but the sound his hands make when they hit the outside of his suit is more powerful than yours. Fueled by anger, you think. Anger and whatever the hell was in the serum Erskine pumped into Steve.

“Ask you?” You repeat, near-hysterical, “Ask you? Oh yeah, let me get right on that. Hey, Mister Rogers? Mister Captain America? Mister Ignores-His-Partner-For-God-Knows-Why? Hey, just why are you doin’ that?” You’re surprised that you’ve said something so snotty, but you don’t back down. (Steve looks surprised, too, and Bucky has stood up next to his friend like he’s about to start berating you as well. At least he looks more cautious about it, like he’s not totally sure that this fight should be happening.)

The more surprising part of your fight is how fast it’s shut down. Tony and Nat stand at the same time and exchange a glance like they’ve surprised each other. “That’s enough,” Tony starts.

Nat cuts him off. “I don’t care if you fight this one out instead of talking, but if you do it before this recon mission you two are going to blow it. Do you understand me?” She looks dangerous, the sharp edge of a knife spiraling through the air. You force yourself to look away from her, from Tony, from Bucky, from Steve. She’s right. You know she’s right - especially on this mission. Peter is there, going to be in real danger even though there’s not supposed to be one Hydra agent in a four-mile radius. You have to clear your mind and focus on protecting him.

Steve seems to think the same thing because he stands down. When you watch him collapse in on himself, Bucky’s arms around his shoulders, into the little quinjet seats your everything aches. Heart, lungs, eyes - everything. Even though you don’t know what’s going on, what could have possibly happened to make your relationship sink this quickly and out of the blue, you still love him. He’s still The One for you. You still want to be the one to comfort him and make him feel whole when he’s struggling.

But you can’t. You can’t and it kills you.

The heat of battle makes a lot of things fade into the background. Important things like why the fuck are there Hydra agents here? and Steve is going to break up with you when you get back on the jet and Tony swore on the fucking limited edition AC/DC vintage tour poster he has in his office that this would be an easy in/easy out information mission. None of that matters, though, because you’re in deep shit. There are seventeen of them, all primed to the teeth with weapons made to take your team down permanently.

You’re practically glued to Peter, calling out commands and plans for him to initiate. It’s when all of your plans fall through that you take a hit from a heavy fist on purpose, hitting the ground hard. “Plan F, Spidey, Plan F!” You cover the instruction with a groan and then you’re back on your feet, working your way toward him.

“Plan F?” Tony says, somewhere above you in his suit. Your comms crackle ominously as another heat-seeking grenade is launched, interfering with the radio waves your tech relies on. You don’t worry about it, because you know Tony is on it. He’s your eyes in the sky.

Peter is the one who answers his question, watching your close hand-to-hand tilt out of your favor briefly. “Plan Fuck It, Mister Stark.” He grunts as he webs up a Hydra agent, jerking him away from where he was about to slip a knife up and under Natasha’s kevlar. You finally drop the guy in front of you, ignoring Steve’s disappointed Language! and toss one of your knives toward Nat for her to use. Tony is still laughing in your ear, wheezing as he drops down and snags the rifle from one of the snipers and then takes back off.

What your little protégé failed to mention about Plan F is that it’s not just chaos, but controlled chaos. You let loose, letting a soft current cover every inch of your skin as Peter switches to his conductive webbing and takes special care to not web any of his allies. Except for you - if you’re in the way and he catches you in a web it doesn’t matter because you’re you, alive with electricity that drops the men that get caught in the web, too. You rip out of the webs and turn the current off when one of your teammates gets too close.

More Hydra agents are pouring out of the woods, topping out their numbers around twenty-five. That’s twenty-five too many in your opinion, especially when you can see Peter getting tired, his anxiety spiking, his moves having more and more hesitation behind them. You need to get this over with quickly, but you don’t have the options to do that. Steve, Bucky, and Nat are really the heavy-hitters - you, Pete, and Tony are the only ones without serums despite all of your individual abilities. Desperately you reach out for a web that’s still connected to Peter’s arms, pulling him out of the way of a baton that’s about to come down on the back of his neck.

The baton the agent is wielding glints in the coming dusk, freezing you as Peter scrambles past you with a quick apology. You’ve seen that before - seen it, felt it, know it like the back of your hand. There’s no way that you could ever forget that weapon. The man stumbles when his hit doesn’t connect but then rights himself and searches for a new target.

A long, black baton that splits into two prongs at the end is heavy in his hand. Electricity crackles between the bulbs at the end, flashing in the setting sun and your memories. The man only has one, but if it was hooked up to a machine, spinning. If there were four, five, six. If you were pinned between them, screaming in the pain as they rewrote your DNA… You’ve only felt it once, but you’ll never forget it.

And now, you’ll taste it again. On purpose this time. The man holding the stun baton is going for Steve’s back - his strong back, the one that protects people, the one that holds the weight of the world, the one that lays in your bed, the one you see whipping out of rooms as you’re entering just so that he doesn’t have to look at you - and you can’t let that happen. It only takes ten amps to kill a regular human, but you know those things are cranked up to twenty minimum. You don’t want to see how many amps of current it will take to stop Steve’s heart. You’re between the baton and Steve before you can think about what you’re doing or what comes next, the hard bulbs settling unyielding into your side and cranking out maximum power for maximum damage as soon as the current is connected and able to flow from one bulb to the other.

The pain hits you and your throat catches on it. It burns through your body, setting everything on fire - your chest hurts as your heart protests the electrons and then your powers kick in, sweeping them into your very atoms and cells. You’re a live wire now, ears humming and body thrumming with power you’ve only dreamed of. It hurts, and it burns, and you feel tears rising in your eyes because you’re back there - back begging for death or for life or for God and god at the same time - but then it’s over. The man sees that you’re not seizing up, not dropping dead in front of him, and he takes three steps back.

It’s not far enough.

You’ve only felt like this once before - right after you were unhooked from the machine that changed your life and brought you to your new family. You remember how you looked when you were put in front of a mirror with all of the pent up electricity circling your body - how your eyes were filled to the brim and dripping with bright and blue electricity, the way it was jumping across your body, how you didn’t need to breathe because your body was fully saturated with pure, unadulterated power. You wonder if you look like that now and assume you do because you can see the bright blue reflecting in the terrified eyes of the Hydra agent.

Your suit, unlike everyone else’s, is not grounded. It’s metal, metal, metal. You’re made to conduct, born for it, and the earth beneath you comes alive with bright white as you release all of the energy, the power, surges down and out. You’re practiced. You can reach out and feel the synapses and neurons of every human being in the clearing, know exactly where your teammates are standing, and know exactly how to target everything but them and the pitiful amount of electricity their brains carry. You grin, something truly feral and unhinged, and you can see the fear in the Hydra agent. Then, you let go.

You know that everyone is going to be pissed. (Maybe not everyone.) You’re not built for this, not made to take down nearly twenty fucking people at once. As you let go, you feel what they feel. The seizing muscles, the stopping of their hearts, the inside of their bodies crisping against their bones. At that moment, that delicious moment, you see the universe.

You become God. You become everything - your mother and your father and God and god and anyone else who’s watching your life from the ether. You become the judge, jury, and executioner of souls that you don’t know from Adam. You become lightning, and thunder, and exposed nerves of the cosmos at the same time. The world bends to your will and you relish in it, taking that power in your fist and wielding it to protect the man you’ll love for the rest of your life and the family that you’ve made. You will stop at nothing to end this, even if it means turning yourself inside out to do it.

You damn near do turn yourself inside out too, but that doesn’t matter, does it? The blood spilling from your ears, nose, and eyes feels like heaven. It’s hot, and thick, and it’s proof of the power that your body holds. You’re a temple and a sanctuary, a war-room and a bunker, a field of flowers and a sun-dry desert. It does not matter if Steve doesn’t love you at that moment, because you are love and hate wrapped into one package. You are everything and nothing, spread thin at the beginning and the end of time.

And then none of that is true. You are just… You. Standing in a clearing, surrounded by twenty-something dead Hydra agents and your terrified, terrified family. It hurts to breathe and you can taste blood in your mouth, but that’s an afterthought. Steve is still standing behind you, but he is alive. That is what matters.

This is what love is, you think.

Pain and pleasure.

Even if he leaves you, you will always love him.

Pain and pleasure.

You’re weak at the knees when he finally turns to see you - and you’re a sight. Struggling to stand, fingertips blackened with soot but not burnt, blood pouring from your nose, ears, eyes… You look like death, but you feel like life. Someone says something behind you - Peter, maybe? Or maybe Tony, in your comms? - but you don’t hear it. Everything tunnels out, your weak knees finally collapsing as you keel backward.

Steve bears down upon you almost immediately. You’re halfway to unconsciousness when he wraps you up in his arms, keeping you from falling in with the pile of bodies around you. He’s saying your name, harsh and soft and then in a voice like he’s ordering you to wake up. You loll about as he drops you down onto a patch of clear grass, hands searching your body for wounds. When he skims over your side, where the baton has burnt through your suit and your flesh, you surge back toward being able to have cohesive thoughts. The pain brings you back, hands wrapping around Steve’s arm and calling out his name. “Steve! Fuck, that hurts!”

“Honey,” He breathes, “Fuck, we have to get you back to the jet.” His jaw ticks, hair dirty and loose from its normal style. “Why’d you do that?” Steve doesn’t wait for an answer from you, ordering Peter to web something up to carry you over your protests.

“I’m fine,” You argue, only slurring slightly, “I feel fine.” But you’re going to let Nat and Bucky load you up on the webbed stretcher anyway because it’s the first time Steve has cared for you in a long time. You want to relish in this moment, the way that he didn't say your name but called you honey.

Well, and because Natasha slides a thumb across her neck over Steve’s shoulder in a silent threat.

You groan when Bucky accidentally grabs your calf where there is an absolutely awful stab wound, but you wave off his apology. “How could you have known?” To be honest, you hadn’t even known it was there until his Vibranium hand was slipping against it and sending shockwaves of pain through you. Peter is next to you the whole time that you’re being carried back to the jet - Tony staying back to begin scanning the bodies of the Hydra agents for the information you need and any other information they may be carrying. The poor kid is nearly at a breakdown, so you reach out to him and shake his arm when his fingers twine with yours. “Chill out, kid, I don’t know how you got it into your head that this is your fault, but it sure isn’t.” He sniffles, but hands back with Steve as Bucky and Nat get you situated in the small medical room of the jet. They transfer you and then make to leave, only Bucky hesitating near the door.

“Stevie’s goin’ to be here soon and… I don’t know what made you do what you did but you have’t explain it to him. He’s bendin’ over backwards to figure it out, and we don’t have’a clue. Came out’a nowhere.” He looks at you for another moment before shaking his head and stepping out of the room. Your head is spinning, partially from what Bucky just said and partially from the pain and stimulus of electricity. You wait there, then, because this is it. This is the event horizon. You wait there, eyes closed, until you hear footsteps approach the med room, and then the door slowly opens. Steve says your name, holding all the finality and weight of an atomic bomb. You don’t open your eyes until he swings a chair next to the stretcher and lays a hand on your calf.

“You don’t have to do this,” You finally say, pushing yourself up onto your elbows to watch him. “I know that you don’t want to.” Steve only scoffs and begins to wash the stab wound using a packet of soap and a water bottle. You say his name twice before he looks at you, something between hate and hurt curdling into a glaze over his eyes that stops you in your tracks.

“Just let me do this. It is the least that you can do.” His words are painful and stilted, like it’s taking force to push them past his teeth. You lay back down and close your eyes, content to just feel the pain of Steve beginning to stitch you up and then dress the wound before you feel the pain of Steve leaving you like you knew he always would. (Falling in love with Steve Rogers went against every instinct you had. You knew that he was going to hurt you from the first moment your lips touched his.)

When he’s done he sits back and puts his elbows on his knees, head in his hands. He heaves a heavy sigh and then shakes it off, “I’ll dress your burn, and then we’ll talk.” And normally, yes, you would agree but this is too important. You want to get it over with so you can lick your wounds metaphorically and dress them literally - and then you want to go home, you want to pack your bags, and you want to disappear and remake your life somewhere else.

Some far-off place where everyone you know won’t take one look at your face and know that you’re still painfully, deeply in love with Steve Rogers, end of your semester be damned. Family you’ve made be damned. You can’t sit around and be in love with him like a neon sign on a dark highway while it’s painfully clear that he hasn’t had a sign on his highway in a long time.

So instead of agreeing, you swing your legs over the stretcher and swallow your flinch when the burn pulls tight. Steve opens his mouth to argue but you give him a tight-lipped shake of your head and his jaw snaps shut. “No,” You say, voice not giving in to the emotion swirling in your chest. “I have let this go on long enough.”

It’s the wrong thing to say because Steve fucking scoffs again and looks away from you. “One day was long enough.” He says, cutting straight to your core. Okay, ouch. You take a deep breath and shake your head to try and bite back the tears that are inevitably rising in your eyes. If one day was long enough for him to realize he doesn’t want to be with you, why did he let it go on for nearly a full year? Why did he spend so long leading you on, pulling you by a thread before garroting your heart with it? What was the point?

“If you want to leave me, just say that,” You reply harshly, standing and wobbling away from him. He just watches you go, watches the way you struggle past the lead weights your muscles have become, the way you’re starting to feel the stab wound on your leg, the way the skin on your burn is beginning to blister and only just now losing its heat. He just watches you, where the Steve that loved you once upon a time might have helped. You turn your back on him, hands on your hips so that you can hide the way that you’re crying and your hands are shaking.

“If I want to leave you? If?” He says. You hear the scrape of his chair as he stands, “I think after what you’ve done, it’s not an if, sweetheart.” The way he says it tastes like iron. Steve never calls you sweetheart like he never calls you by your name. It’s always honey, lover, dovie. You don’t turn to face him because you’re struggling to keep yourself above water. “I spent so long thinkin’, wonderin’, askin’ myself - God damnit, will you look at me?” You turn slowly, not because you’ve never heard Steve speak like that but because his voice is desperate and raw. When you turn, you’re not sure what to expect. Maybe him, standing in front of you, broad-shouldered and disappointed like in those PSA’s he had to film once. Maybe he’d be angry, hands clenched at his sides and eyes narrowed like he gets in meetings when he doesn’t agree with something but he’s out-voted. But you never expect to see him crying, lip wobbling, folded in on himself like a young boy instead of the strong, invincible man you’ve come to love.

He looks so different.

It hits you, then, that you’re not looking at Steve Rogers. Not really. He's not Steve Rogers, not Captain America, not even Captain Rogers. You see him as he was - before America spat it’s untruths all over him and injected him with a serum that changed who he was, is, will be. He’s not the able-bodied man that you know, not strong and unreachable, not the heartthrob that overshadows the team during press events. He’s not America’s Darling, not really. Not where it counts.

You’re looking at Stevie Rogers. Stevie Rogers who, for all intents and purposes, was supposed to die before he made it out of toddlerhood or soon thereafter. Stevie Rogers who the doctors said wasn’t supposed to survive. Stevie Rogers who grew up sickly, rattling painful breaths and never playing ball with the neighborhood boys. Who couldn’t walk until middle school when he got his braces off. Who never had a partner because Bucky, strong and handsome and tall Bucky, was always deemed the better option. Who believed in his country so much that he tried to sneak into the second world war, subjected himself to a painful medical procedure so that he could change his very DNA to be what the world wanted him to be.

Captain Steve Rogers. Captain America. Strong, blond, patriotic, resilient.

You’re sure that if men don’t want to go to therapy now, in the modern age, they certainly didn’t want to go in the ‘40s. So where did that leave Steve, your Steve, standing in front of you and looking small, and broken, and sad, and alone? Did they expect him to take his new, taller, working body and run with it? Did they not think about how he would lose a part of himself in the process? How did they expect him to go from disabled to abled without some disconnect?

You think about the You That You Were Before and the You That You Are Now, and how you lost a part of yourself when the accident gave you your powers and how you’d lose yourself if someone figured out a way to take them away. You Before formed your identity around being normal - living in a shitty home with shitty parents, sure, but normal - and You Now form your identity around your powers, your team, your job, your love. If you lost those things, what did you have left? Who would you be?

When Steve lost his identity and became everything that America wanted everyone to think that America was, what did he have left? Sure, he could tell himself that he represents America - strong and patriotic and just - but it must have conflicted with everything he knew about himself before that. You know that disabled people now know that American society is unjust, unfit for them with abled people not willing to make room to allow them to thrive. You can only imagine what it was really like for Steve in the ‘20s and ‘30s and ‘40s. What he had to do just to survive. (Medical experimentation, you remind yourself. Did they know it wouldn’t kill him? Did they know his body wouldn’t rip itself apart with the new sinewy muscle they were packing on? Did they care? Or was he just a body they saw as broken? A project to fix? To turn him into something more like them and call it patriotism?)

You shake your head at him, still filled with despair, and try to figure out what he’s talking about. “Stevie,” You start, pet name easily replacing what you had been calling him because it’s not fair to shoe-horn him into a body that doesn’t feel like his own. You wonder if he still expects the bone-grinding pain that he used to tell you would happen when it rains. He raises a hand, a strong and family hand, shaking his head.

“I just need to know why I wasn’t enough for you,” Steve looks sad, slouching in on himself like he’s expecting to get his ass handed to him in another alleyway and hope Bucky is there to save him. “I need to know why you wouldn’t just break up with me if you wanted to see other people so badly.” You suck in a shocked breath because, okay, that’s not what you were expecting. Between that and the paradigm shift you’ve had on how Steve must view his identity, body, and self, you’re stunned. Steve continues like he doesn’t even register that you look shocked and pale and now you’re crying because he thinks you’re cheating on him? “And I get it. I get it. You have no idea how much I understand. If I were you, I wouldn’t want me either, okay?”

You cut him off there because what the actual God damn fuck is he talking about? “No, Stevie, I’m not cheating on you.” You shake your head again and this, your statement, lights a fire in him. He still looks like Stevie rather than Steve, but there’s anger there. You imagine that’s what it might have looked like moments before he got himself in trouble back before he was serumed. “I’m not.”

“Oh, yeah?” He challenges, jaw ticking and chin jerking up, “Oh, yeah? You can’t lie to me. I know, okay? The act is up, it’s over, I know, okay? You can stop pretending.”

“Steve, I do not fucking know what you’re talking about but I”m not cheating on you!” You raise your voice, not really angry but more out of necessity. You need to get it out of his head that he is anything less than everything you want - that you could possibly love anyone more than you love him.

“I wanted to clarify something for you,” Steve says like he’s reading an old script from when he was just a beefy, red/white/blue stage prop for the American military, “I am excited to meet with you, but there are some rules. Do not talk about Captain Steve Rogers. I don’t want to hear about him,” As he continues to recite something that has clearly hurt him, you go lax. You know exactly what’s happened - your fists unclench, your jaw drops a little bit, and it feels like someone has gutted you, “I think it is wise to keep work and pleasure separate, and it’s a rule I will enforce heavily. I look forward to seeing you again.” He’s sneering at the end, tears falling down his ruddy cheeks.

“Steve,” You try again, but he cuts you off.

“Am I just work for you?” His voice is shaking more than you thought possible, and so are his hands. You’ve never seen Steve so off-kilter, so thrown, and it breaks your heart that yes, technically, you’re the cause of this. Before this, before this horrible misunderstanding, your relationship with Steve was the paragon of trust so neither of you cared if the other read emails or texts. You remember the email - the email from your fucking college professor - because it had made you so angry that he’d referred to your relationship with Steve as something as simple and base as just pleasure - like you could even put words to the galaxy of a relationship you had with Steve - that you’d gone to the gym to work off some of that irritation. You hadn’t wanted to take it out on anyone accidentally. When you came back from the gym, Steve was gone on that two-week mission that he’d left on without saying goodbye.

Oh, God. You feel sick to your stomach as the paradigm of the way that Steve’s been treating you shifts violently to the left. You have to physically hold yourself up and try to speak past the lump in your throat. Steve looks… Brokenly smug. Like he knows he’s right, but he’d rather gnaw his own legs off than be right.

“No,” You croak, “No, Steve, you’ve got it all wrong.” You want to reach for him, but it feels like the room is closing in on you. You’re second-guessing everything now - especially what you’ve just said. How many people said the exact same thing to him pre-serum because they said something meant for Bucky to him? How many times did he hear that when he was getting a new diagnosis, hoping for the best? How many times had his own mother said it to him when he told her something someone had said, fresh-faced and not yet used to the way that abled people sometimes treated disabled people? You think you might be sick. “That email was from my professor, Steve. I’m not cheating on you, I’d never.” He laughs darkly and sits back down in his chair, head in his hands again. You try to gather the strength to move toward him when you see his shoulders shaking, a telltale sign that he’s crying.

“A professor,” He says with a watery laugh, “Right.”

Finally, you realize that he needs you, needs to know you love him, that you’d do anything for him. You can iron out the kinks later - figure out why he didn’t want to come to talk to you past the original hurt, why he treated you so coldly, why he didn’t trust that you wouldn’t do this to him - but now, you need to show him that you’re here. That you choose him. That you’ll always choose him.

You make your way to him and set a shaking hand on his shoulder. For a brief second you think he’s going to shake you off but then Steve’s hand shoots up and latches onto where your hand is resting, dipping his head to press against your arm. “Stevie, please,” You say, unsure of what you’re asking him to do, “I picked up a class, just one, and it’s… I picked it up for you, it’s about the ‘30s and ‘40s and…” He looks up at you and he looks so broken - face ruddy and wet with tears, lip wobbling, chest heaving as he tries to not sob. His brows are knit and he looks confused, “I just wanted to be able to understand you better. You had to leave so much of yourself at the door when you joined the Avengers, had to leave so much of yourself in the ice… In Erskine’s lab… Stevie, I just wanted you to be able to be you when you’re with me. I wanted to know the you that you were before you became Captain America.” Your voice is shaking, knees knocking together, and honestly? You feel like you might blackout.

“What?” He rasps, “What?”

“He sent that email because too many kids signed up for his class thinking that they’d be able to look at pictures of you and Buck for a semester. Emailed me directly because he knows we’re…” You choke on your words, shaking your head because you’re not even sure there’s a we anymore, “Because he knows I’m on the team. Didn’t want me walking in and making his class about just a few years in the ‘30s and ‘40s rather than the culture of the time.” You don’t know how else to explain it to him, but Steve isn’t saying anything - practically isn’t moving or breathing- so you continue to try and explain what’s really happening as best as you can, “And - and that email made me so angry because he singled me out, didn’t email anyone else about it, and I left to try and work some of that out; I didn’t want to take it out on you, or let it spoil - let it spoil… But when I came back from the gym, you were gone. You were gone for two weeks and I didn’t know why.” You’re crying harder now and pretty sure that within the next sixty seconds you’re going to collapse if you don’t sit down.

Steve shakes his head, still looking like he doesn’t understand. “What?” He says for a third time, “A class? A college class?”

“I just wanted to feel closer to you,” You confess, “Just wanted to understand a fraction of your life without making you do the heavy liftin’ and teachin’ me. Shouldn’t have’t do that,” You’re sobbing, barely biting out your words as you realize that something you’ve done to strengthen your relationship with Steve has destroyed it, “Shouldn’t have to explain a whole different time just to feel loved, Stevie. Should be able to be with someone who understands without you havin’ to explain.” You’re not sure you can say Peggy’s name out loud, and you hope he understands what you’re saying without making you actually say it, “Should’a been able to have love with someone who knew, and I know I’m nothin’ compared to what you should’a had, but I want to be. I want to be in the same ballpark instead’a watchin’ from the stands.” You wipe your face with your free hand and look away from Steve when he stands in front of you. You don’t want to see the look on his face - what he’s thinking about what you’ve said.

He says your name and you glance at him, but his expression stops him in your tracks. Where Steve looked broken and hurt and fuming with anger to hide the anguish, now he looks stricken. You shake your head, “No, no. I didn’t say that to make you feel guilty-”

“You think that I care about whether or not you can understand the ‘40s?” He cuts you off, hands moving to curl around your biceps, “You think that I care whether or not you can relate to a time in history when you weren’t even thought of?”

“Of course I love you. I love you more than anything in this world, but you shouldn’t have to not care, Steve,” You argue, shaking your head, “That’s what I’m trying to say. You should be with someone who understands without explanation. I just wanted to give that to you - didn’t know that this would happen.”

“I should be with someone who loves me,” He argues back, “If you love me, that’s all that matters. My past be damned.”

“But your past is you!” You try to pull away from Steve, but he anchors you there. You’re dizzy from being so close to him after this long, but also because of how many different twists this situation has taken. You can barely keep up with how bad your communication with Steve has become - barely keep up with how you need to fix it, or how to fix it. “Your past is you,” You repeat when you realize that Steve isn’t going to let you go. “And you shouldn’t have to give that up so that someone will love you.”

“But you love me,” He says desperately, ducking his head so that he’s nearly nose to nose with you, “You love me, right?”

“More than anything,” You say, closing your eyes and relishing in the feeling of being so close to Steve, “I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone. I don’t care about what anyone else thinks, or anyone else. I’ll even stop goin’ to class if you want me to - Steve, I just can’t do this anymore. Can’t do this thing where you don’t talk to me about what’s botherin’ you.” You’re choking up, barely whispering, but you know he hears you. YOu can feel his warm breath on your face, “Nearly fuckin’ killed me.”

“I thought it was goin’ to be easier,” He breathes, nose bumping yours, “When you eventually decided to leave me for him. Thought I was savin’ myself some trouble.” You can practically taste his tears as they fall again, “Buck and Nat tried to tell me that you weren’t - that you wouldn’t - but I just couldn’t believe them.”

When you open your eyes, his are closed. This close to him you can see the soft freckles that are blooming over his eyelids, his soft eyelashes kissing his cheekbones. You can feel him breathing, feel him nearly pressed against you in a way that feels hauntingly nostalgic and terrifyingly fleeting; like you’ll be able to feel his warmth for years to come, but he’s about to disappear. “That’s okay,” You finally whisper, “It’s okay that you didn’t believe them. That you thought what you thought. It’s okay.” He shakes his head against yours, opening his mouth to protest, but you refuse to let him feel guilty about feeling this way - you have plenty of time to sit him down and talk to him candidly about the way he acted because of these feelings, anyway. “If I would have been in your place I’m not sure I would have believed them.”

“I treated you so badly…” He shifts and wraps his arms around you. It’s almost immediate - you relax into his arms and wind yours around his waist, keeping him pulled against you as he presses his face into your neck and you press your cheek against his chest. “So awfully.”

“We’ll talk about that, okay? But later. Right now you just need to know that I love you, Steve. I love you more than I can tell you - more than I can express.” You want to kiss him, but you can’t. Can’t kiss him, you need to wait for him to kiss you, for him to close that gap and show you that he still loves you like you love him. “We’ll have to have a talk, a long and hard conversation about this, Stevie, but for now… For now, I’m just content to be with you, okay? MIssed you so much.”

He sighs, nose pressing against yours again. “Missed you too, dovie. Missed you more than I can even say,” His voice breaks as his lips brush yours. Your relationship is not without its flaws and problems - Steve’s actions when he thought you were cheating on him are proof of that and, well, the fact that you didn’t realize what was happening, why it was happening, or a large part of your boyfriend’s psychological makeup having an impact on your relationship while it went unknown by you… There is a lot of work for the two of you to do, a lot of work to do, a lot of communication to be done… But you’d do it all for Steve, over and over again.

When he presses forward and presses his lips gently to yours, you know that he’ll do it all for you, over and over again, too.