#this is for fanfiction purposes

[sarahgotbored]

important question. emmrich's hands after he becomes a lich. they're gloves, yes? yes?

[femcelfuneral]

guys help what drink would adam order at a bar

[stump-not-found]

take the parts of me i cannot stand, and replace them with what you can no longer carry

when i look at my reflection, let it be some rotted version of you

[kennexara]

do you think there’s a space tinder and space grindr in the star wars universe and more importantly what would they be called

[obihoebikenobi]

Logan knows Wade likes a view.

In fact, the asshole won't shut up about how much he likes Logan's body and hair and eyes and ass--

So Logan decides to give Wade what he wants.

Logan takes his time getting dressed after his shower in the morning, dropping his towel and whistling to himself while he searches through his underwear drawer for a good couple of minutes, just to take out another pair of tight black briefs like he wears every damn day.

Wade just stares, head still stuffed into the pillow, but he's wide fucking awake, watching Logan's ass flex when he pulls on his briefs and stalks out of the room like couldn't feel Wade's gaze on his back the whole time.

Logan will walk around the house after a heavy dinner in just an unbuttoned pair of jeans and without a shirt, read his book and glance over his reading glasses at Wade's gaze lingering from where he's washing dishes in the kitchen.

When Logan goes out for a run he wears Wade's tightest, shortest shorts, the ones that ride up his thighs the moment he starts moving around.

He's so good at nonchalant partial nakedness and live action thirst trapping that Wade thinks he's just like that, and blissfully unaware of the effect he has on Wade. Specifically.

Wade can't get a rise out of him, can't say something shockingly horny enough to scare Logan out of going commando in gray fucking sweatpants.

So Wade resolves himself to his fate of a constant half-mast cock and fucking his fist in the shower thrice a day.

[frownyalfred]

hello. this is a PSA. ao3 is NOT releasing your browsing history, despite what you may have heard on tiktok.

if you’re signed into ao3, your history is viewable in the dashboard tab. it always has been, nothing is changing. please don’t believe everything you hear on tiktok.

no one is able to view your browsing history unless they are signed into your account.

[divineturtle]

Bothers me when I'm reading a fanfic and they make Doctor Leonard "Bones" McCoy just like. A mean asshole? MY Doctor McCoy introduced Spock to baby talk. MY Doctor McCoy bounces on his toes and has a smile bright as the sun. MY Doctor McCoy knocked Kirk *and* Spock out with a hypo to sacrifice himself for them even though the aliens said he was almost for sure going to die, and the other two would probably live. MY Doctor McCoy was like, hey, sure Spock committed mutiny, but do we really gotta arrest him? Yeah he's grumpy sometimes, but have you considered the fact that he's stuck on a ship in Space with two assholes that literally never listen?

I just watched the Abraham Lincoln episode and I stg it's a miracle McCoy isn't actually a huge asshole, because wym "this planet WAS deadly but Abraham Lincoln says it's cool so we're going" "hey, don't do that, you could beam down into lava and literally DIE" "Ugh shut UP McCoy we're following Abraham Lincoln onto the Lava Planet That WAS ENTIRELY LAVA until two minutes ago" dude I'd be swinging at a mfer. Especially if I was their doctor knowing it was going to be my job to sew them back together. They're absolute menaces to him and he still loves them and is willing to die for them every other episode.

And I don't ever want to see another "ahh he hates Spock" when he so obviously does not. In the last episode, he wasn't even sure that Kirk and Janice had swapped bodies and yet again, he was ready to commit mutiny with Spock and Scotty (why does Spock love mutiny? 🤨) He does like to rib Spock and get reactions out of him, but Spock likes to do it to McCoy just as much. He's been around humans his ENTIRE life, his mom is a human, he's half human, "I have no idea what you mean, Doctor, I'm just a simple little logic machine," you cannot convince me it's not a game.

And every time I feel like McCoy is being hurtful for actually no reason, the next scene is Spock taking action because of whatever McCoy had said and allowing himself to tap into that human part of him. He has a way of speaking Spock. It's not always nice but it's a way that gets through. Do you think asking Spock to use his Vulcan powers to permanently alter his friend and captain's memory so he forgets his grief over this chick he fell desperately for and then also she died in the span of like four hours is a great idea? No, he'd probably have some moral or logical issues with that. but just speech at him about love and feelings and stuff, throw something in there about how great it'd be if he could just forget, and he'll do it himself.

ANOTHER THING. When he's an asshole, he apologizes. He's not an asshole often, but when he is, he apologizes. Leonard McCoy is a lot of things, but he's not really a dick.

I think he deserves to be represented for the guy he is. He has SO many nice and good moments, he's just subtle about them. Remember when Kirk was like, "Bones, why didn't you tell me she was blind?" And he was like, "Idk Jim maybe because that'd be rude? Have you considered it's not your business?" REAL. Honestly, real.

This is a much longer rant than I meant for it to be and somehow I still have more I could say so imma cut myself off right here ❤️ If you read all that, thanks, you're just as weird as I am, even if you don't agree with my lil character analysis. If you didn't read all that, then you're not reading this ✨️

[captain-astors]

The Crown Prince

[themeraldee]

Sweet As Honey

[Masterlist] [AO3]

18+ Only | 7.6k | Homelander x fem!Reader | Set in Season 4. Lactation kink. Breastfeeding. Self-induced lactation (there might be inaccuracies). Established relationship. Shower sex. (And more importantly) Awkward shower sex. Some dirty talk. Cockwarming.

Written for cozy corner kinktober prompt #21: Breastfeeding

Huge kudos to @witchyclipse for beta-reading and keeping me sane 💚

Ever since Homelander has taken up the role as the head of Vought, things have changed. He’s always had to carry the burden of being the company’s poster boy, but it’s a whole different league to be involved with the business side of things.

This change has put a mild strain on your relationship. With the increasingly irritable moods he comes home with, you have tried coming up with more and more ways to make him feel better and release the increasing tension. You’ve even tried your hand at massages. And even though Homelander sighs happily anytime your oiled hands glide down his back, you know it’s more of a soft caress than a massage. And while there’s nothing wrong with a soft touch, the tickle of your hands doesn’t ease any of the deep ache lingering in the fibers of his steel woven muscles.

The closest you ever got him to release even a sliver of tension has been with sex. No matter what the situation outside your little bubble of content and intimacy ends up being, he’s never taken away from either of your pleasures. He’s entirely in the moment. He can be an incredibly attentive lover, thinking of you and only you. Whether it’s about your pleasure or his own, his mind doesn’t wander to outer conflicts. It’s why you push for long sessions whenever you can. The longer you can keep him in the subspace the better.

So it’s not that any of the things you do don’t help. They do. Very well in fact. Daily you have Homelander purring in your lap while you stroke his hair or moaning in your ear while you stroke his cock. He happily guzzles up all the love, care, and attention you pour down his throat. 

However, his highs don’t last long. As soon as he’s forced to break out of the dreamlike state that only you and him inhabit, his mind is quickly plagued with the overwhelming thoughts of plans going wrong and positive public perception dropping in waves.

This is most prevalent after nightfall. The dark of the night brings out his inner demons. The tension snaps back into his spine like a spring that you’ve been doing your best to keep bent the entire evening.

Falling asleep is a tough ordeal. Once that hurdle is over, sleeping soundly is an even harder challenge. His nightmares frequent his sleep more often these days. 

So you do your best to soothe him through this transition. Some nights you talk his worries away. Filling his mind with an enticing vision of escaping the media and the corporate driven life he’s surrounded himself with. You place him in the imaginary scenario of a warm family home. There he comes home to soft music, warmth and comfort. In his mind you’re preparing a home-cooked meal for him and Ryan, calling everyone down to the dinner table when you’re ready. Family pictures on the walls, Ryan’s achievements tacked to the fridge with magnets; nothing about this image screams control or misery. His perfect imaginary family. 

The wistful smile he gives the vision you describe always tugs at your heartstrings. You both know it’s a fantasy and in a way is no better than the Vought-curated story of his upbringing. While the idea is fun to roleplay, at the end the vision always falls apart like a house of cards. 

The hurt he carries pains you to see. So you relish in knowing that you’re the reason behind his relieved sigh anytime he comes home. Just like the soft hum that resembles a purr anytime you’ve got him soft and malleable in your lap. It warms your heart on a daily basis that you still affect him so.

But you know you can do more. 

While other people would be upset at their partner having less time for them, for you it couldn’t have come at a better time. Before this whole Vought takeover really happened you couldn’t free yourself from Homelander’s presence for even a good ten minutes. Whether it’d be him making sure he’s always by your side, because you never know what might happen, or him keeping an eye on you through the walls of the Vought tower; you knew he was constantly there.

Planning any sort of surprise was impossible. He’d always come home, greeting you with a smile and a not at all subtle, what did you get up to today, planning anything? Like a child, too impatient to wait till Christmas morning, he’s scanning every room looking for whatever present or surprise you have prepared for him. And while it’s been annoying to not be able to surprise him, you can’t really fault him too much. He’s never had any of this. After he divulged the details of his upbringing, you started seeing how with you around, he was chasing the moments he missed out. So if looking for secret presents or having you read your book out loud as he dozes off next to you heals any part of his inner child, you can’t really complain.

During these tense days you see how much he craves the simplicity of what should have been. A childhood, and normal upbringing that would have never gotten him into this mess. Something that would ground him and soothe his soul. 

This is where your plan comes into play. It didn’t take long into your relationship for you to figure out just how much Homelander was fixated on your breasts. It’s where his hands immediately slip down to when your kissing got hot and heavy. It’s where he presses his lips anytime he’s inside you and in reach. And it’s most definitely where you most frequently catch him staring when you’re not looking.

The most recent development started off with Homelander falling asleep on your chest. Something about your heartbeat loud in his ears soothing him and putting him to sleep. This gradually turned into Homelander absentmindedly, or so he says, playing with your breasts. Which very quickly turned into him suckling on your nipples as he fell asleep. You never found it bothersome, quite the opposite.  

And seeing him nuzzle into your chest so peacefully, suckling on your breast with such a content face just gave you an idea. Another thing that he’s never had. Something you’re more than happy to provide.

You prove yourself to be resourceful. While Homelander is out of the penthouse juggling crime fighting, press conferences, public appearances and meetings, you’re at home researching home remedies, housewife tales and experiences of wet nurses.

Upon finding out that it’s possible for you to induce lactation without being pregnant or undergoing hormonal treatments, you cheer. While keeping this little secret to yourself would be easy enough with how occupied Homelander was these days, keeping up with a hormonal regiment would be a lot harder to explain.

So started your journey. It took a few months of constant massages. You introduced herbal medicine in the form of teas into your diet. Easily dismissed to Homelander as your new routine towards better health. From fenugreek to fennel seeds, you’ve tried everything to beat the odds. Your determination and hordes of free time left you able to fully commit. 

Knowing you were doing this for him was enough motivation to keep going. Anytime he’d come home upset, irritable and grumpy you made yourself another cup of tea and gave your breasts an extended massage in the shower.

Even in all your secrecy, Homelander still noticed something being off. Across the time together he’s gotten to know your body to a tee, identifying your cycles is as easy as knowing the day of the week. So it’s not surprising that he comments on changes to your body that are out of the typical window.

He nearly caught wind of your secret few months into your little experiment, when he kissed his way down your neck and your chest. Too eager to get his lips around your hardened nipples to take his time cherishing each inch of your skin like he normally would. 

He gives your nipple a kiss, parting his lips to suckle on it like usual but he stops himself right before, making an intrigued hum. 

“Your nipples are more swollen than usual.” He gives it a little lick, as if to check if everything is okay with you. 

“Oh it’s just this new bra I got. It’s a little irritating.” You easily lie. You’ve prepared yourself for this confrontation many times in your mind, coming up with plausible scenarios. And while you’re aware of Homelander’s disdain for liars, you know he’ll forgive this once your plan comes to fruition. 

“Well, fuck, buy some new ones. Have a shopping spree. Or whatever.” He sighs in between your breasts as he presses wet kisses into the soft skin. 

You chuckle at the suggestion. Of course, he’s always there to meet your every wish and demand. Should you voice it or not. “There’s no need, I’ve got plenty. Really.”

“Oop, nope, you’re not getting out of this one. Haven’t had you give me a show in a little while now.” He gives you a cheeky look but really his attention is equally split in between your conversation and your breasts and you know he’s soon going to forget this little detail.

“Sure. If it’ll make you happy. Though I’m not sure a new bra will help. Starting to think you’re the culprit.” Your tone is tinted with your smile as you run your hands through his hair making him hum around your nipple.

“Guilty.” He popped his lips off wetly for a second before turning back to lick and kiss his way around your breasts to continue his nighttime ritual.

And for all of Homelander’s pride in his enhanced senses, he’s not noticed anything different since then. Except for commenting on the obvious enlargement of your breasts, which you end up blaming on your cycle or—when that excuse falls through—weight gain. A fact he very happily hummed at before continuing his playtime.

Lucky for you, you got to conduct your little experiment at your pace. For once really getting to surprise him.

Except all you end up doing is surprising yourself. 

Although your breasts feel more swollen and tender these days you blame it on the constant massaging and Homelander’s very own take on stimulation of the tissue. And yet, you’ve still not gotten any tangible results. The defeatist part of you was ready to wave your plans goodbye as a result. Until now. 

You’re indulging in your nighttime routine before Homelander comes back home. The tenderness you feel as you massage your breasts with the help of a vanilla and almond milk body wash is nothing new. What’s new is the milky droplet you notice when you wash off the soapy residue off your breasts. 

What happens next is a rollercoaster only you’re privy to.

Your heart races, the joy nearly making you scream in celebration as a months-long process is finally bearing fruits. The overwhelming glee you feel at finally being able to gift Homelander this homemade treat is quickly soured when you just about hear the door slam.

No. no. no! Not like this.

You had a setup in mind. Following your nighttime ritual, you’d be easing his mind with the sweet rivulets coating his tongue. You imagined the palpable relief you’d feel coming off him with each suckle of his lips. You don’t want him to find out like this. 

You can only hope that he’s annoyed and distracted enough that blaming the scented soap would be enough of an explanation to the underlying sweet scent of your milk. Your own milk. The thought alone was enough to make you giddy again. The man has been entertaining your every wish and whim throughout your entire relationship. Not only has he been terribly difficult to surprise, the appropriate gift has been just as hard to find. Who knew that you’d find the perfect one within yourself. The thought of finally revealing your secret to Homelander leaves a visceral throb of warmth in between your thighs..

Your body goes through sharp turns each second. From joy to dread to arousal, you feel the anticipation of what’s to come when the bathroom door opens and in walks an already naked Homelander.

“Fuck, you're a sight for sore eyes. Missed you.” Homelander quickly makes his way into the glass walled shower sliding right behind you, his arms automatically wrapping around your waist.

“I missed you too. I'm glad you're home.” You mumbled weakly, tilting your head to the side to allow him to press a kiss to your cheek first, neck second. Even amidst the spray of hot water his lips are hot against your skin, leaving warm tingles along their path.

“You have no clue how happy I am to see you.” He talks into the juncture of your neck, barely audible to you. But you catch the fatigued tone nonetheless. Maybe today really is a perfect day for the reveal.

“What happened?” 

“You don't have to worry your pretty head about that right now. I can tell you later.” One of Homelander's arms dips lower. He exhales in a way that feels like releasing the entire day's worth of weight off his shoulders.

“Now… I want you. Because fuck, I don't know what you've used today but you smell really fucking good.” He inhales sharply letting the soft vanilla and almond sweet smell of you take over his senses. Whether or not his senses picked up on the lingering milky undertone is something you don't want to press on. Instead you distract him.

You spread your legs a little allowing his hand to slither in between your legs. While water is not a lubricant your pooled arousal is. Already you’re slick enough to let his fingers glide along the velvety softness of your cunt. 

“Look at you... You know—hah—I could hear your heart rate go a teeny tiny bit insane when I arrived. Getting up to no good, were you?” You clearly see the mischievous grin in your mind without having to turn around.

“I wanted to be ready for you.” You exhale softly. You slump in his hold. It's nice to be able to relax and feel his deft fingers softly rolling your clit in a way that leaves your nerves buzzing and craving more. “I was hoping you'd get home soon.” You trail off, your voice turning a little high pitched as he massages you precisely enough to get your thighs quivering. He's learned how to rub your clit in a way that feels like bursts of fire sparking underneath the surface while not overstimulating you. It feels like heaven. Your eyes roll back and you grip hold onto the arm that he still has wrapped around your middle.

And while your arousal came from the excitement regarding the progress of your long-winded journey it’s not difficult to lose sight of that when Homelander is coaxing sweet moans out of you with well placed strokes around your clit. The victory is all forgotten by the time you feel his hard cock grinding against your ass, just begging to be taken care of.

Homelander has always been a needy lover. Even when his day to day is filled with bullshit he seems to be losing more and more of his sanity over, he still takes care of you as thoroughly as you deserve. Of course, knowing he’s getting just as thorough of a treatment from you. 

“Feel that?” He grunts in your ear. Taking the opportunity to nip your ear with a playful chuckle.

“So fuckin’ slutty of you, barely touched you and you’re already dripping.” Your legs feel like jelly with the way he treats you. He holds you tight, unyielding against his frame. Manipulating you to his heart's content. You’re almost off the ground. You can still reach with your tip toes but it’s far enough that it forces you to sag all your weight onto his frame. The sense of weightlessness and the confusing physicality at play gets you lightheaded. With how effortlessly he supports your weight, his fingers find it easier to glide with precision.

Normally you’d love to return the dialogue. Praise his efforts, his body, his mind. Just him. You know that’s what he wants. But the euphoria from the excitement and the constant burning pressure on your clit is enough to have your mind spinning. Barely focused on what he’s saying, let alone capable of coming up with your own sexy one-liners. 

“I love that about you, you know that? You’re so responsive. You never disappoint. Needy. Eager. All for me.” His voice gets frazzled towards the end. The quiver in the way his voice breaks could make anyone think he’s the one close to the finish line. And really, if you weren’t still getting sprayed by hot water you’d be able to feel the precum his cock has leaked all over you, grinding into your body with the slip it provided. Even though you’ve given him no extra attention, you simply craving him is more than enough to get him riled up.

It’s okay, he’ll get his turn. He’ll get his reward.

"Nobody can make you feel this good, baby. Nobody." He trails off with a hiss; the smell of you intoxicating enough amongst the soft sweet scents of almond and vanilla.

What makes Homelander a truly great lover is his unfaltering pace. He’s not pausing because he has to readjust his grip on you, neither is his hand tired from the endless and torturously consistent strokes around your clit that make your nerves light up all the way to your toes. 

“Gonna be a good girl and cum for me? I know you’re close. I can almost fucking taste it.” Homelander sounds wrecked. 

As if he could feel every single sensation your body is going through. Maybe part of him can. He’s so attuned to your body’s reactions. The smell, the sound of your heartbeat, the feel of your straining muscle, the tremble of your limbs. It’s no wonder he’s just as affected. 

He’s proud of being able to make you feel this way. Being the only one to make you feel this way. He has said so many times before and he continues to do so. He revels in being able to bring you the heavens themself with each spectacular orgasm. “M’gonna need you to hurry up sweetheart. I still want to fuck you.” He says this with a chuckle as if you were simply a little late to a meeting and not on the brink of a mind-altering orgasm. “And with how good you smell, hah well, I’m not gonna fucking last long.” 

With a few more finishing strokes you’re locking up in his hold. This orgasm had a long build up. The consistency of his strokes slowly stoked the fire to a bright flame until you felt the sensation spread to every nerve ending across your body. From your toes to your scalp, your body endlessly tingling. You slump in his arms, the pleasure pulsating through you like waves crashing across the beachfront one after another. 

“Mhmm that’s it, spread your legs a little more.” Homelander grunts out. He isn’t patient enough to give you a second to collect yourself. So you lean forward a little, bracing against the wall while you part your legs. A shiver runs through you when he grinds his cock in between your legs. The head of it catching on your abused clit.

While you’re excited to feel him in you, the need for each other isn’t enough to overcome the awkwardness that tends to come with shower sex. It’s slippery, wet and the verticality ups the difficulty. 

Homelander struggles pushing inside you from the odd angle your bodies are at. You’d be giggling at the clumsy slide of it all if it wasn’t for your own frustrated impatience. You whimper and whine, almost in protest at not yet getting what he promised. Homelander, in equal fashion, grunts in annoyance. Each effort to stuff you full gets derailed by slipperiness of your folds. And while the thickness of him rubbing between your slit feels grand, it’s not enough to quench his hunger for your tight squeezing warmth.

“Please… I need—” You whimper when the tip of him hits your clit again. Your clit feels so overstimulated that at this point it resembles the fuzzy shocked feeling of hitting your funny bone. 

“—I'm fucking trying alright, stop moving so much.” Homelander interrupts you, even more frustrated than you.

“Your cunt is just too fucking slippery. God fuck—” It’s when the tip of him finally makes it in, yet manages to slip out right as he’s eager to push in all the way is when he’s really had enough. 

Homelander effortlessly lifts you up, forcing your knees to bend, pressing against your chest as his hands grasp the flesh of the back of your thighs. 

You yelp at the sudden feeling of weightlessness. It’s the one thing that never ceases to amaze you. With your previous partners the sex positions didn’t move past the classics. All perfectly fine positions that you still thoroughly enjoy with Homelander on a daily basis. But nothing thrills you as much as being able to feel his wholly inhuman strength. Easily tossing you around and molding you to his body. You become less of an active participant and more of a warm and perfectly wet toy for him to fuck into.

Now is no different. Homelander finally manages to sink his cock into your throbbing and just as eager pussy. Your little content sigh of relief at finally being filled doesn’t last long. Instead he steals your breath away with the hurried press of his hips into yours. Your weight in his arms does nothing to deter his pace, effortlessly ruining you both with the slide of his cock. You brace yourself against his arms, looking for a shred of stability but that never comes.

The stretch of his cock from this position makes your clit ache. Already desperate for more direct attention. Opposite to the long drawl of your orgasm, Homelander is rutting into you as if he’s competing with himself on how many more thrusts he can fit in before he’s unloading into you.

It’s not many. He was clearly as worked up as he sounded. Losing himself in your pliant and warm body was already mind-blowing any given day. Being able to manhandle you fully, not giving you any leverage was an entirely different beast. While still minding his strength he lets himself unravel into the welcoming squeeze of your walls, pumping spurt after spurt of hot cum deep inside you.

While the quick fuck managed to reignite your flame, you don’t find it in you to beg for another finish. You feel rattled, legs resembling jelly and you haven’t even been put down. You’re all too aware of the way the thickness of his cock slowly slides out, and with it your pussy squeezes out a dribble of cum, sliding down in between your ass cheeks. 

You whimper at loss almost instinctively at this point. Some would find it surprising to see just how carefully Homelander sets you down but to him it’s a no-brainer. You’re precious cargo. And even then, standing on your own legs doesn’t feel right after what you’ve been through.

You hang onto his frame. Your quivering limbs make you hazy. Your pussy trembles with the remnants of your previous orgasm and the one that could have been. “Thank you.” Mindlessly you lul your head against his chest, breathing out the words.

Homelander laughs. Rarely do you thank him for sex but it’s a good indicator of how thoroughly he melted your brain. He always enjoys the extra stroke of his ego. Even if things are precarious or falling apart you will always be here, ready to sing his praises in all the genres.

“Mhm, you’re very welcome.” He pinches your chin and brings you closer for a big kiss. He indulges in the lazy press of your lips to his and he keeps you there for long enough to really imprint the feel and taste of your lips into his own.

You gain some clarity back when you pull away.

“Come on, let’s get to bed.” He greedily squeezes your ass with a wicked look. How he still holds the same excitement for more amazes you. In comparison you feel like you’ve run a marathon. 

Plus there’s the whole thing with your breast milk coming in that you’ve yet to mention.

“I’ll meet you there in a minute. Just want to clean myself up.” You say offhandedly. Really you wanna wash the scent of sex off your body so nothing detracts from the sweetness of your milk. You want your surprise to be perfect.

“Don’t take too long.” You can just about hear him over the shower as he leaves the bathroom after drying himself off. 

As the time for your big reveal nears you feel the anxiety brew in your gut. You’ve been working on this for months. The last thing you need right now is for your body to fail you. Just the idea of this plan failing or worse—him hating it—leaves you your gut in knots.

No. No, you can’t stress yourself out. Your body needs peace, quiet and excitement. Positive thoughts and feelings. You will yourself instead to think of the reward, the payoff of seeing Homelander grateful, happy and relieved.

You massage your body and breasts with some unscented soap you keep around for times when Homelander is feeling particularly overstimulated with senses. You do your best to wash off both Homelander’s cum and your arousal. You want a clean slate.

Resetting your mind back to your nighttime ritual, your body untangles the knots of anxiety. You leave the shower calm and at peace. You take your time drying yourself off, blow-drying your hair to not make the sheets wet and finishing off with brushing your teeth. You’re taking an awful long time but there’s not been a moment when he’s not waited for the warmth of your body lulling him to sleep.

He can wait a little longer. 

You hang up both yours and Homelander’s towel—one he left on the counter—and you wrap yourself up in your favourite combo of particularly fluffy robe and slippers. Both are of great quality, courtesy of Homelander. The robe feels soft and warm against your bare skin and part of you dreads the short moment when you’re gonna need to take it off before sliding into bed. It’s one of the few things you’ve cared to enjoy the luxury of. The comfort is unmatched.

Same goes for bedsheets. You’ve told him before that albeit the satin sheets look fancy and expensive, they don’t provide the soft comfort of a loving home you’ve been trying to introduce him to. It’s a constant battle trying to warm up the cold museum-like quality of his living quarters. But alas, one swap at a time.

The path from the main bathroom to bedroom isn’t long but you’re still grateful for your fuzzy slippers. No need to get your feet cold if you can help it.

You finally make it to the bedroom, well, if you could even call it a room. It took a little while to get used to the sprawling open space of his penthouse. Nothing really felt enclosed and the idea of some Vought employees having full access to not just his penthouse but the very exposed sleeping quarters made you queasy.

“Took you long enough.” He’s already in bed, covered with a blanket from the waist down. He props himself up on his elbows, unashamedly looking you up and down. He raises his eyebrows, expectantly nodding at you to proceed. 

You untie your fluffy robe, sliding it off your shoulders. Immediately shivering as the cool air hits your skin. Vought could really heat this place better. You catch the thick fabric of your robe before it falls to the ground, draping it over the ottoman in front of the bed.

Homelander whistles and his lips stretch into a wide grin.

“You’re ridiculous.” You shake your head, smile tugging at your lips. 

“And you’re gorgeous.”

He’s different today. Something about the way he looks at you that brings back the boyish charm he had when he swept you off your feet for the first time. These days you see worry lines and furrowed brows adorning his features more often than not. Rarely does he come home happy. 

But now? He’s looking at you, bare to the world, with that twinkle in his eye, finding comfort and excitement in your presence.

“You’re gonna tease me any longer? Come on, come here already.” His tone makes you feel giddy, it’s exciting—especially knowing you’ve a little surprise of your own. It’s lucky he caught you in the shower today.

Usually he comes home late when you’re already in bed reading a book, waiting for him to seek out some much needed comfort. You cherish those moments too, but today’s excitement feels particularly rare. It gives you a preview into what life could be like if things were different. 

But just like the fantasy of peaceful family life you often feed him, this also feels like a temporary illusion, just waiting to give way for the gruesome reality you find yourself to be a bystander to. 

Still, you take it for what it is and throw yourself into bed, straight under the covers he lifts for you. You’re used to sleeping naked because of him. Homelander says the sound of mismatched fabrics rubbing up against one another is downright infuriating. But really, you see it for what is. Though you can’t deny that the occasional midnight romp or a morning quickie heats up a lot faster with no clothes in between. 

Homelander quickly pulls you in, already greedy for a kiss. Barely apart for a moment and he’s already ravenous. It makes you wonder how he manages without you the entire day. 

Your hands glide from his stomach, over his hairy chest and up and behind his neck. He kisses you in his signature possessive way. 

There’s barely any build up. He goes from a decent, soft press of his lips to eagerly licking yours open. His moans are needy, impressing themselves into your lips as he takes over your lips with deep, open-mouthed kisses. Chasing after you each time you move any other direction that’s not towards him.

The sudden change from a gentle kiss to a downright sloppy makeout session shocks you enough to lose your bearings. Not that you had many to begin with. Effortlessly, Homelander pushes your back flat to the mattress. The power you feel from such a simple push shocks a giggle out of you, sending a tingle down your spine in excitement.

He leans over you, propped up by his elbows and knees. While you thought he had plenty of excitement in the shower he seems to be just as riled up by this charged up energy surrounding you both tonight. You feel his cock, already half hard, pressed in between your bellies.

He kisses you with raw hunger, his deep kisses pulling sighs and moans out of you. Apart from his inexperience when it comes to innocent affection and love, he’s mastered the art of making you feel like he’s pulling you apart bit by bit with every kiss. 

He kisses the rest of your body with his hand. Sliding from your shoulder to your arm then to your hip and thigh, pulling on your leg to wrap it around his waist. Without a break in the kiss he swaps hands and treats your other leg in the same way. He settles himself firmly in between your legs, still too focused on your lips to move things further along. Though you’re very aware of the weight of his hefty cock.

Just when he’s letting your lips off the hook, finding his next victim in the soft skin of your neck, you glide your hand up the back of his head, pulling on his hair. You pull hard enough to earn both a moan and an inquisitive look in his eyes. This is not the energy he was expecting from you today.

“Slow down baby… I just… I need you to take it a little easy on me.” You mumble. The showertime shenanigans left you feeling a little sore and tender. Albeit good in the moment, your soft pussy easily aches and needs some gentle treatment from time to time.

He looks at you with this innocent puppy look and you feel a little bad for breaking his flow and making him feel like he did something wrong. He just hums and gives you a little nod. His ravenous kisses turn soft and sweet when your fingers scratch through his hair, giving him a glorious scalp massage.

“Could you keep me warm? Please?” He asks softly, an uncharacteristic trait that very few have gotten to see over the years. Without waiting for an answer he’s squeezing his cock at the base, little more than half hard now and steadily filling out as he gently guides the soft tip through your slit gathering the wetness on his cock.

“Mhm, of course. Be gentle, okay?” He almost whimpers at the approval as he presses the soft head of his cock into your pussy, guiding inch by inch into you. He’s not fully hard and that makes it easier on your tender tissue. The heft of him sits comfortably inside you, right in the space he has long carved out for himself. 

Your pussy softly pulses around him, not out of your own doing but just the pure instinct of having him inside you. It’s comforting. Intimate. Something you didn’t expect to become a favourite part of your nighttime routine.

Homelander keens as he settles into you, every instinct screaming at him to fuck you again. But the hand at the back of his head scratching at his hair makes him melt. The soft and warm touch almost matches the equally soothing warmth of your pussy and he happily lets you guide his head to your chest.

Homelander descends kisses upon the soft skin in between your breasts. It's instinctual at this point. His palm softly cups your left breast from the outer side. His lips ghost over the delicate skin of your breast, hot breath mapping his way across.

You feel your heart rate spike as his lips inch closer and closer to your nipple. The excitement coiling in your gut and partially souring into anxiety. The thoughts coming back to you again. What if he doesn't like it? 

He's desperate for the familiar comfort, his parted lips releasing a soft stuttered moan as he moves up to the peak. His cock twitches inside you as soon as his lips brush upon your nipple.

You watch with bated breath as Homelander finally wraps his lips around the hard bud. Your heartbeat is picking up speed as you watch him intently, hoping—no, praying—that your body won't disappoint you.

It happens quickly. He pulls away in shock, uttering a panicked, what the fuck, as he flattens both palms on either side of your body, pushing himself upright. 

“Ah! Oh fuck…a-ah…” You yelp out in shock followed by a pained stuttered moan as his hips push forward in shock. His cock goes fully hard in the moment, burying itself as deep as your pussy allows in a sharp and uncontrolled thrust.

His eyes turn from wild, panicked and confused to worried. “Fuck, sorry, sorry,” he whimpers, his body buzzing, vibrating with unspent energy. You watch as his tongue darts out, collecting a droplet from his lips as well as licking the entire surface area just in case he missed any.

As the immediate reminder hits his tongue his eyes flicker in between the droplet of milk beading on your nipple, and you. 

“W-what? How?” He scrunches his eyebrows before dipping his sight lower. For a second you think he’s looking at how deep his cock was in you.

“You're not pregnant. H-h-how?” He stutters, shaking his head in short bursts, squinting at you in confusion.

“Did you just look in my uterus?!”

“Stop avoiding the question.” 

His expectant gaze and the way it flickers in between your leaking nipple and your eyes has your gut twisting with anxiety. Was it too much after all? Did he not want this? 

“I…I just. Um, I just read up on some stuff. You don’t need to be pregnant for…well, for this to happen.” Your ears burn with embarrassment at being examined at such a deep level. You don’t want to upset him. The whole point of this was to make him feel good. Make him happy. Did you overthink this? Looked too much into it? “Stimulation, massages, all the stuff we do. It helps it happen.”

“Babe, I’ve been sucking on your tits for a while now. It hasn’t happened before.”

“I’ve been massaging them a lot throughout the days. It took a few months.”

“I didn’t notice you doing that.”

“You’ve been busy. Look if this is weird—” You can’t stand the awkwardness brewing in you like a storm, a feeling similar to sour burning bile making its way up your throat.

“—I should’ve noticed this…” Homelander interrupts you, his gaze now firmly with your leaking nipple. Absent-mindedly he licks his lips again, as if looking for any milky residue. ”You—umh, hah, you did this? You really did this just for… just for me?” His voice goes from level to wrecked in the span of a sentence.

His expression looks tortured, brows furrowed, lips parted. A little strangled gasp leaves him as he watches you tap your finger against your wet nipple. You bring the tip of your finger to his parted lips. With an anguished whine he purses his lips around the digit. Eyes fluttering shut as he wraps his lips around the tip properly and runs his tongue around it. 

His eyes snap open and meet yours when he pulls the finger out.

With another rushed movement his cock sharply thrusts into you again, forcing a pained little whimper out of you just as Homelander captures your lips. Your aching walls flutter around him with the rush his needy kiss brings. The heat of it blooms in your core. The anxiety dissipating and your gut untangling. 

“Sorry.” He mumbles into the kiss half-heartedly but he’s too preoccupied with pouring his love for you into the press of his lips against yours.

“I fucking love you.” He spat out in between kisses. Harsh and desperate. Rushing through the motion of the kiss and the words. Worried about the moment escaping him. He imprints the words ‘I love you’ in each kiss. The syllables are barely distinguishable with how closely he’s pressed your mouths together but you feel it. You feel it with each breath, sigh and whimper. 

You pull him away with a simple tug on his hair. He looks high and drunk on the feeling of it all. It’s been a while since you’ve seen him give into you this much. These days he was all about keeping a semblance of control and appearances. Some of that ended up translating into the bedroom and your relationship. While he still had his vulnerable moments with you it was easier to feel bulletproof when he kept up the same act all day and all night.

You nudge his head down, nodding down towards the breast he abandoned earlier. He’s careful with his movements this time. As he moves lower and settles himself on your sternum his cock moves inside you, but the gentle wet glide just pulls a sigh of content out of you this time around.

“It’s okay. Go on, you can have more. It’s for you.” You’re breathless, the anticipation is unreal. After the long prep, being able to see and feel Homelander nursing on your breasts feels like a dream come true.

He brings your breast in a little closer to his lips, already parted and gasping. He leads with his tongue, licking up the little rivulet that dripped out earlier. Carefully he flattens his tongue, dragging it up the tender skin. When he gets to your swollen and leaking bud his tongue gently slides back behind his lips and he wraps them around your nipple.

The feeling of your milk flowing into his mouth is surprisingly more intense than you expected to. You throw your head back on the pillow, exhaling with relief. His tongue presses against your nipple with each suck, lapping up the milk you produce for him and guiding it down his parched throat.

Homelander isn’t doing much better, his brows are furrowed and he’s almost whimpering with each suck. With each glorious, delicious drop he loses more and more composure. His thick eyelashes flutter and you can see the way his tenderness seeps out. Tears bead at his waterline, clumping his eyelashes together into a few thick strands.

Your pussy quivers around him with every press of his tongue and instinctively he softly grinds into you, following each throb of you, matching the rhythm of his sucks as his left hand clutches the side of your ribs while the other still supports your breast.

He’s breathing rapidly through his nose and you feel when with one, two, three strokes he unloads inside you. It happens in the matter of seconds. You knew just how intrinsically emotions played a role in his arousal and it was no surprise that he came with such little stimulation.

As if riding out the pulses and twitches of his cock he sucks harder. 

“Gentler honey…” You guided him, your nails gently scratching down his scalp. He hums affirmatively and he does soften the suction of his lips around your nipple.

You feel his cock soften inside you and you settle yourself a little more comfortably. Relaxing into the mattress, you continuously glide your hands through his hair even when you move him to the other breast.

It’s moments like these that get you appreciating the usually gaudy mirrors surrounding the bed from all angles. You tilt your head to the side and watch the side profile of Homelander indulging with little whimpers and mewls. 

You coo soft words, still comforting him with your fingers in his hair. And really, he’s as relaxed as he’s been in a while. And that makes it all worth it. You smile as you turn your head back and look up this time. The birds-eye view of the two of you feels like a painting. The blanket has been pushed down and bunched up around your bodies while Homelander keeps himself as close to you as possible. You watch the bob of his head as he suckles on your other nipple. You don’t even mind that he’s laying all of his weight on you.

You smile at yourself in the mirror, seeing your goal accomplished. You reach down to pull up the covers a little, keeping both of you cosy and warm. Leaning to the side to pluck the discarded blanket from the side of the bed you move your breast and Homelander’s head with you as if you were supporting a newborn baby’s head. 

Even though the blanket covers him halfway up his back, the mirror gives you a good view of the way he softly grinds his hips into you. It’s less to seek friction and more to just actively feel you around him. The wet glide of your pussy is heavenly and even if he’s not fucking into you with the intention of making either one of you finish, the feeling is still worthy of being indulged in. Like a good dessert.

You turn to humming. Nothing in particular. Songs that are stuck in your head. Or just a random melody of repeating tones. You enjoy the sight of Homelander looking peaceful. Choosing to live in the moment and be grateful for what you were able to achieve today.

You did that.

Homelander takes you out of your dreamy and happy, heart-soaring thoughts with a displeased whimper. He pulls away from your nipple with a kicked-puppy look that nearly has you chuckling. Just like a kitten his lips are covered with the milk residue, beading a droplet in the corner of his lips from when he was getting messy, mouthing at the nipple and your breast rather than just sucking peacefully.

“Sorry. I guess there’s not that much yet.”

“Don’t you fucking dare be sorry. You… you’re perfect.” He places a kiss in between your breasts and nuzzles his head in between the softness of them. “Thank you.” He sighs out quietly. He settles his head comfortably on your chest, his eyes falling shut with heaviness that comes after an exhausting day. 

You readjust your position a little so that he’s only partially lying on your chest, no longer suffocating you with his full weight. You hold his head close to you, enveloping him in a warm embrace as he swiftly dozes off.

You realize he never actually said what angered him today but at the end of the day it doesn’t matter. As long as you can keep him sated and happy, nothing else will ever matter. 

Taglist (you can add(or remove) yourself to be tagged when I publish a new fic):

@infinetlyforgotten | @rafecamsgirlll | @nervoussystemss | @hom3landr

@mrsdesade | @nommingonfood | @littlegaaby | @jokesonyoupup

@natliecole | @misatxox

[nevertheless-moving]

So You Just Killed Palpatine

In Which, Much To Obi-Wan Kenobi's Surprise, While Dealing With The Consequences of One's Own Action's Can Be A Lot, It Isn't Always Entirely A Bad Thing

originally inspired by this and this from anon and husborth Part One, Part Two, Part Three ... Part Fo ... uh ... there's memes somewhere... Anyway Here's Part Five:

Obi-Wan blinked awake, head cloudy and body heavy, as if under unusually high gravity. But no, there was the all-too-recognizable ceiling of the temple healing halls, its mosaic ceiling drifting in lazy, clockwise circles.

What did I do this time? Wait, there was something I had to tell the rest of the Jedi...something important...

Oh dear, he was on the good painkillers, wasn't he?

“Obi-Wan?” someone familiar asked, voice and force presence ringing with a startling jab of hope.

“Bant?” he tried to reply, only to be met with burning pain in his throat. The only thing he managed to get out was an unintelligible coughing fit which pulled sharply at his gut.

“Take it easy!” she urged, moving into his blurry line of sight. “You’ve had extensive abdominal surgery, and your throat was — was crushed rather severely — it’s going to take more time for the grafts to heal.”

Obi-Wan nodded, chastened, before cautiously starting the process of pushing himself up in bed, Bant hovering nervously all the while. The effort made his muscles ache and the room spin faster, but things settled down once he was sitting up.

He looked around, sagging in relief at a small oily handprint on one of the otherwise sterile visitor chairs. Anakin had been here recently, and was in good enough health to be tinkering. Good, that was good. That was important.

He suddenly realized half his vision was obscured and sluggishly raised a hand to his face, only to find heavy cloth.

“I’m sorry, we weren’t able to save your eye,” Bant said softly. “Once you’re a little more healed we can discuss artificial or bioengineered replacement options.”

She plucked a cup off a counter overcrowded with a dizzying array of flowers. “Here, drink some of this if you’re feeling up to it, it’ll make talking a little easier.”

Obi-Wan accepted the drink, only to feel it slide out of numb hands. Bant gently closed her hands around his, helping to guide the drink to his lips. He grimaced at the taste.

“Bacta infused water,” she apologized. “You’re going to be drinking bacta infused liquids for some time, I’m afraid.”

A wave of exhaustion swept over him and Bant set the cup down as Obi-Wan sagged.

“Anakin?” he managed to rasp out.

“Anakin’s fine, he’s completely safe,” Bant said with a comforting squeeze of his shoulder. “He’ll be annoyed to know he missed you waking up, he very much wanted to be there.”

Obi-Wan was going to say something else, but sleep dragged him under first.

//

Obi-Wan opened his eyes — his eye — to the sight of Quinlan Vos scowling over a datapad. The dark spot on the left side of his vision was more noticeable than before. What the kriff did I do to myself?

He shifted, irritated at how lethargically his body responded. The pad fell to the ground with a clatter as Quinlan lurched towards the bed.

“Obi-Wan! Hold on, let me — you’re supposed to have the water before you try to talk.”

Quinlan helped hold up a cup and straw so Obi-Wan could take several short sips of the unpleasantly viscous and vaguely pineapple flavored water.

“How are you feeling?” Quinlan asked, hovering with uncharacteristic anxiousness.

Obi-Wan paused to think. “Weak,” he replied in a hoarse whisper. “How long have I been...”

Guilt flashed over Vos’s face. “You were in and out of Bacta tanks and surgery for a full two weeks. And then another week in an induced coma. And then another week in a self-healing trance. You had...a lot of internal injuries. I’m so sorry Obi-Wan—this is all my fault.”

Obi-Wan stared at Quinlan blankly for a moment. His face helped the memories to start trickling in.

"Yes..." he said slowly. "Yes — you knocked on my door... you said... Vos... please just... just tell me if I hallucinated anything — did I try to assassinate the Chancellor of the Republic?"

"I'd say you succeeded," Quinlan replied, half-smiling, half-grimacing.

"Did I — did we think he was a pedophile, only—”

He had to pause, throat burning as he fought a coughing fit. He swallowed more disgustingly flavored water before finishing the thought.

“—only to discover that he was in fact not sexually grooming Anakin, but was doing a number of other terrible things? And did he... did he — did he electrocute me...”

Obi-Wan’s voice trailed off and he took several more sips, throat filled with an uncomfortable fizzing sensation.

Quinlan nodded, wincing. “I mean parts of that you know better than me but yeah, that matches with what I understand.”

“Hm.” Obi-Wan finished the cup, mulling it over.

Quinlan Vos muttered something under his breath that Obi-Wan couldn't quite make out, but the word "dramatic" almost definitely featured.

Grey crept in around the corners of his vision, then black.

//

When he opened his eyes — his eye, he'd have to get used to that — next, he was greeted by a convenient and increasingly familiar cup at his bedside, as well as Master Windu. Obi-Wan quickly reached for the water, clutching it in both hands and taking a long drink.

Spurred on by the sight of the Master of the Order, he also reached for the urgent thought from earlier, wanting to get it out before he slipped back under —

“Chancellor Palpatine’s a Sith Lord!!”

The corners of Mace’s eyes crinkled. “Yes, Knight Kenobi," he said. "We’re aware of that now. You’ve proved it to be the case quite publicly. And ended the threat with remarkable... thoroughness.”

Obi-Wan head fell back. “A Sith Lord... the Chancellor!” he said in amazement. He was relieved to find his throat only barely twinging at his outburst.

“It truly stretches the imagination,” Mace agreed tolerantly.

“You’re telling me!” Obi-Wan took another long drink, head spinning.

Master Windu smoothed a crease from his robe before saying, with extreme delicacy, “I don't wish to pressure you into speaking before you've healed... but I admit, we’ve all been wondering how exactly you knew.”

"He force choked me and electrocuted me with Sith Lightning. Lighting! I thought that was a myth!” He drained the cup, hands shaking slightly.

“Yes,” Mace said quietly. “The healers were amazed you survived so long... let alone had the strength to fight back with such strength. We’re all extremely grateful to the Force for keeping you alive long enough for us to reach you.”

Obi-Wan made a mental note to feel grateful later, but his mental space was a bit of a mess at the moment, and he wasn't entirely certain he had filed it away correctly.

Master Windu sighed. “We would have been there sooner but I’m afraid none of us had any idea that you were going to confront a Sith.” A twinge of reproach crept into Windu's voice, but Obi-Wan set it aside along with the gratitude, to be examined at some later date. Ideally when his head felt less full of bantha wool.

“I had no idea,” Obi-Wan said numbly.

“Well you figured it out before the Council at least,” Mace replied, not without humor.

He couldn't help but snort. “Yes, because he shot lightning at me. I mean the force choking happened first but... lightning. Lightning!”

Lines formed between Master Windu's brows as he looked down at him. “As much as it pains me, I understand the risk assessment in not telling the High Council about a Sith Chancellor of the Republic, and goading a public fight was probably the best political move possible. But why start the confrontation so privately? It seemed rather — apologies, we can debrief on that when you're rested. I presume you were trying to get a confession about the droid and clone armies?”

Obi-Wan stared at Mace Windu wide-eyed.

“The what.”

The lines on Master Windu’s face deepened. “The... Kamonian clone army — the clones of Jango Fett...”

Obi-Wan’s eyes got wider. “Jango Fett—you mean Galidrean Jango Fett? The Jedi Killer? Palpatine made a clone army of him?”

Mace was silent for a long while, staring at Obi-Wan as though he were a particularly concerning puzzle. Obi-Wan chewed on the straw, mind wandering to whether or not it would be appropriate to ask Master Windu for a refill. As unpleasant as the flavor was, the fizzing did make his throat feel better.

“Knight Kenobi...” Mace finally said, speaking very slowly. “Do you remember why Chancellor Palpatine attacked you? The soul healers were quite certain the Sith Lord didn’t breach your inner shields but I think you might be suffering from some memory loss...”

His left eye itched; he resisted the urge to reach for it. Obi-Wan sank further into the cushions behind him, trying to think. Were there gaps in his memory? No, as usual, it all seemed a fairly clear path from Quinlan Vos knocking on his door to Obi-Wan ending up unconscious in the healing halls.

“Why Palpatine starting attacking?" he mused. "I suppose he wasn't going to just dance around forever — force, when he dodged my blaster shot, I simply could not understand how — it all happened so fast, but the next thing I knew I was pinned against the wall by a Dark —”

“Stop,” Master Windu ordered, raising his hand. He took a deep breath, radiating calm into the force.

“Do you remember what Palpatine said immediately before you shot him?” he asked patiently.

Obi-Wan shifted, feeling a pang of awkwardness as he muttered the answer guiltily under his breath.

“I’m sorry, Knight Kenobi, I didn’t quite catch that.”

“He said, ah, ‘you’re a Jedi’ and ‘you can’t kill an unarmed man.’”

Mace Windu stared at Obi-Wan.

There was a long pause while Obi-Wan fidgeted with the straw. He was starting to feel that perhaps his thoughts were even less clear than he had assumed them to be, and he was not handling this conversation particularly well.

Windu took another deep breath, radiating slightly less calm then before.

“Knight Kenobi. Why did you shoot the Chancellor of the Republic?”

“...I was trying to kill him,” Obi-Wan said, looking down.

“Why?”

Obi-Wan mumbled.

“Kenobi, speak clearly.”

“Well—ah—it actually turns out that I had misunderstood...I mean it had certainly seemed like...but he wasn’t actually...doing exactly what I thought...”

Windu stared at the recumbent Knight, who flushed.

It occurred to Obi-Wan for the first time, that, considering his plan of running away and becoming a bounty hunter was no longer possible nor, perhaps necessary, he could have misrepresented some of the timeline of events vis a vis sith slaying. Or better yet, pretended to have memory loss.

In his defense, the whole experience had been extremely unnerving! For all that weeks had clearly elapsed for everyone else, Obi-Wan was still processing Chancellor Palpatine shooting lightning out of his fingers.

A wave of exhaustion flooded over him, and he sank into it with relief, recognizing now the sickly sweet painkillers pulsing through his blood, clouding his thoughts and pulling him under.

//

Unfortunately, Mace Windu was still there when he woke up. Kriff.

He opened his mouth to try and backtrack, but Windu raised his hand, cutting off any poorly thought out explanations.

Master Windu took a deep breath, radiating very little calm by this point.

“Let me get this clear. Nod if yes, shake your head if no, did you go into the Chancellor’s office with the intent to assassinate the Chancellor of the Republic?”

Obi-Wan nodded.

“Did you know he was a Sith before you went into his office?”

Obi-Wan shook his head.

“Did you suspect he was a Sith?" Mace asked, slightly desperate.

Obi-Wan shook his head, cringing in apology.

“Before you went into the Chancellor’s office, were you aware that he was working with the Kaminoians to commission a clone army?”

Obi-Wan shook his head, biting back questions.

“Did you know he was working with the trade federation to commission a droid army?”

Another no.

“Did you suspect anything about these armies? Anything about a larger plot to destabilize the Republic? Destroy the Jedi? Become Emperor?”

Obi-Wan shook his head at each question, eyes widening with shock.

Mace Windu was radiating absolutely no calm at this point.

“Knight Kenobi...” he asked with a pained expression. “Did you... attempt to assassinate the Chancellor of the republic for personal reasons born out of some sort of misunderstanding? Only to inadvertently save the Republic?”

“I mean once I found out that he was a Sith... I of course changed tactics... and personal is a bit... but... that... Well. More or less sums the situation up, yes.”

Mace WIndu stared at Obi-Wan Kenobi, who wasn’t sure if he should keep talking or not. He didn't entirely trust his ability to explain things well at the moment, and ultimately decided to err on the side of silence.

Obi-Wan vaguely wished he could slip into sleep, but was fairly sure that it would be rude and possibly obvious to do twice in one conversation. His throat itched and he considered once again asking for more water, ultimately deciding against it.

Minutes passed, Master Windu staring blankly at the wall above Obi-Wan’s shoulders, while Obi-Wan's mind started to wander.

Who on earth had been paying to feed a clone army? How was Quinlan doing at getting Anakin to brush his teeth? Am I going to prison? Ohh that’s why the force was so insistent on killing Palpatine. Maybe that would help explain things to Master Windu? Though 'the force told me to' is  generally not considered a good excuse, in of itself, for acts of violence...though this is a rather unique situation...

Eventually Master Plo walked in, letting out a pleased noise.

“There he is! The Hero of the Republic!”

Mace Windu closed his eyes.

“Is that what they’re calling me?” Obi-Wan asked weakly, when it became clear Master Windu wasn’t ready to address everything wrong with that.

“Oh! Your drink is empty! Mace, Vokara was very clear with her instructions!” Master Plo scolded.

Mace Windu didn’t reply.

Plo-Koon snatched the cup, filling it up from a pitcher across the room and talking boisterously. “Well, the public is throwing around a lot of titles, but since you already had Sith Slayer...”

“Oh dear,” Obi-Wan said faintly, accepting the terrible water and drinking it for lack of anything better to do.

Plo-Koon patted him on the shoulder reassuringly. “I’m afraid to tell you it’s going to be very difficult for you to dodge commendations for your actions. Now that you’re awake you’re going to be faced with quite a backlog of requests for ceremonies and interviews—”

Obi-Wan choked. “Ceremonies?” he repeated in a higher pitch. He snuck a look at Master Windu. His eyes were closed, though he didn't appear to be meditating.

That probably wasn't a good sign.

"Yes, ceremonies," Plo-Koon said with far too much relish. "Turns out there are quite a lot of old traditions on the books regarding —"

Master Healer Vokara Che entered the room at brisk pace. “I thought I heard voices — I will remind you that before he is the ‘Sith Slayer Returned’ or ‘The True Chosen One’ or any such nonsense he is first and foremost my patient.”

She gave a sharp look to both Council Members. Plo-Koon nodded contritely while Master Windu continued to not say or do anything.

“The — no, no Anakin’s the chosen one —" Obi-Wan sputtered. "Anakin’s the reason — people aren’t actually calling me that, right?” he asked, drugs doing an admirable job at suppressing the panic he was fairly sure he was going to feel later. The device in Master Che's hand beeped faintly in answer.

“That and more, young Kenobi,” another familiar voice suddenly added, below his field of vision. “To collect your honors, expect to survive, you did not, mmn?”

“Master Yoda! No, I—I really didn’t expect... any honors... at most I was hoping that people would understand...” Obi-Wan protested weakly, shooting Windu a beseeching look which yet again failed to garner a response.

Che rolled her eyes, flipping a lek behind her somewhat sarcastically as she attached a glowing device to his chest. "Of course you didn't."

He barely refrained from wincing as several needles bit into him.

“Perhaps we would have had a better chance of understanding had you left us any of your evidence,” Master Koon chided gently.

“Put together the pieces we did, in our time,” Yoda added, hopping up on the nightstand to affectionately poke his shoulder.

Obi-Wan leaned back, feeling increasingly light-headed.

“Your vitals look good, all things considered,” Master Che said, sounding smug. “You should be back to getting into trouble in a year or so.”

Obi-Wan jerked his head in her direction, aghast. “A year?!”

“Busy, you will be, if work you wish. A seat, open there is for you. Comfortable chair, good company, important duties.”

Master Windu’s eyes squeezed further closed.

“What?” Obi-Wan asked, bewildered.

The healer scowled. “You were bleeding heavily into more or less all your major organs, including your brain. Really, it would be faster for me to list organs that weren't damaged. The fact that you recovered at all is only because Master Gallia conducted ill-advised on-scene amateur healing—"

"Is she alright?" Obi-Wan asked.

"—ill-advised, but successfully non-self-detrimental amateur healing, and I’m a miracle worker, and, credit where credit is due, you’re a stubborn bastard; not to mention your padawan has far too much energy to throw around — you really should consider enrolling him some healer’s courses—”

“Is he alright?” Obi-Wan asked, more urgently.

“He’s fine,” Master Plo reassured him with a gentle hand on the shoulder. “Everyone is fine except for you. He just tired himself out a few times, but Knight Vos has been keeping a close eye on him, and Anakin understands that the best thing at this point is to let you heal under your own power."

“Can I see him?” he asked. His voice was growing hoarse despite the dutifully refilled cup.

Vokara’s face softened. “Of course. He’ll be stopping by after class, in another hour or so. He’s been very punctual.”

“Master Windu? Alright are you? Silent, you have been.” Mace flinched upon being prodded with a stick. He opened his eyes, pinning Knight Kenobi with a steely gaze. Obi-Wan shrunk back, but Windu just sighed.

“You...” he trailed off. He stood up slowly, as if the movement pained him.

"I —" he said authoritatively, quieting the room. "—am taking a sabbatical. Call me when—” Windu gestured vaguely. “—you all sort out this mess.”

He walked out.

A long moment passed. “What did you tell him?” Master Plo finally asked in a hushed whisper.

"Ah..." Obi-Wan paused, limbs heavy with fatigue. "Well — you see— " He closed his eyes, feeling slightly cowardly as he did so.

//

When he opened them again, the light hadn't shifted nearly as much as other inbetweens, and his bandages hadn't been changed. Master Plo was still there, speaking quietly with Yoda.

Shit.

"Not too long that time," Vokara said, pleased. "I've lowered the dose on some of your medications, it should make it easier to stay awake."

"Oh. Good," Obi-Wan replied.

"Young Kenobi." Plo-Koon moved closer. "I dislike pressuring you in your current state, but... Master Windu appears to have left the temple. We were wondering..."

Obi-Wan opened his mouth, then closed it again, considering. His mind was, at last, starting to catch up with mouth. “He asked me... some questions. About how I came to suspect Palpatine," Obi-Wan said carefully. "It would appear I may have forgotten some details. About the evidence...Master Windu was — distressed regarding what I did and did not recall."

Vokara nodded. "Memory loss is completely understandable with the type of injuries you recieved."

"Alright, it is, if remember everything, you cannot," Yoda added kindly. "Our own investigations, ongoing are."

"So if I, ah, can't quite remember everything that led up to our fight," Obi-Wan asked, feeling guilty, but force, that blank look in Master Windu's eyes. "I mean I definitely remember the force willing me to decisively seek his end — really it was unusually loud about it," he added hastily. "If that helps."

Yoda nodded slowly. "This reason, understand we do. But, present to the public, perhaps not a good idea would be."

"Yes," Obi-Wan said. "I think — I'm not certain but I believe Quinlan Vos may have helped me collect some evidence..."

"Said as much, he did. Wait to confer with you, he wanted."

Obi-Wan sagged backwards with relief. "Yes. Yes! We had security concerns... Palpatine was so highly placed..." he trailed off.

"Considering Sifo-Dyas's and Count Dooku's entanglement in all this I can hardly blame you for hesitating to reach out to the council," Plo-Koon said, exhaustion audible even through his vocoder.

Obi-Wan choked on his spit; the following coughing fit was soon rewarded with a fresh bacta drink from Vokara.

Dooku?? Sifo-Dyas??

"Perhaps after I speak with him I'll be able to better assist with the current investigations," he offered hoarsely after recovering.

"Of course," Plo-Koon said gently. "Again, we apologize for interrogating you so early into your recovery but you really can't imagine the public and political scrutiny we've all been under —" He hesitated. "Master Windu was joking about taking a sabbatical right now, was he not?" he asked, sounding strained. "I know he's been under a lot of pressure, but surely you having memory issues couldn't—"

He was thankfully interrupted by the sound of small feet moving rapidly and a gangly body launching itself at highspeeds through the doorway.

Vokara just managed to snag the back of Anakin's robes before he crashed into Obi-Wan's medbed.

"Padawan Skywalker," she said, voice tight. "I believe I have mentioned the numerous injuries your master is recovering from and the need for —"

"Care in my movements," he said sheepishly. "Apologies, master, thank you."

"Anakin," Obi-Wan said, something in his chest relaxing at the sight of his dangling student.

"Obi-Wan." His padawan's eyes immediately started filling with tears.

Obi-Wan reached out instinctively. "Oh, Anakin."

"Give you a moment, we will," Yoda said, hobbling out, as Vokara sighed, then gently placed his pupil on the floor.

"Of course," Plo-Koon agreed. "Take all the time you need." He hurried to catch up with Yoda. Obi-Wan heard him begin to say, "Mace can't actually be leaving us to deal with this clusterfu—'' Then the door closed, and Anakin was weeping at his bedside.

"Shh," Obi-Wan said, tugging his padawan up, ignoring the protestations of his abdomen. "There, there, it will be alright."

Anakin crawled up, movements ginger and uncertain around Obi-Wan's numerous injuries. Together, they somehow managed to shift Obi-Wan enough for Anakin to fit beside him. His padawan shook with suppressed sobs, and parts of him were almost certainly hanging awkwardly off the edge of the bed.

Obi-Wan ran one hand through Anakin's hair, the other hand gently resting where he could reach without twisting too much, probably an elbow, though the boy was pointy enough these days that he couldn't be sure. If Obi-Wan was also shaking, well. There was reason enough.

"Sheev," Anakin finally said, oozing misery and an overwhelming tangle of other unpleasant emotions into the force.

"...I know he was your friend—" Obi-Wan said, after what was hopefully not too long a pause. This was another conversation that probably wouldn't be helped by painkillers.

"But he wasn't, really." Anakin curled up, even more miserable. "I know. I should let go."

The side of Obi-Wan's head throbbed. On second thought, painkillers were the way to go here. "That's not what I meant," he said. "He was a friend to you. He's gone now. Because of me, your master. And... I'm sure you've found out a lot while I've been asleep. I can't imagine a single padawan learner who wouldn't be struggling with their emotions right now. I'm struggling."

"I'm angry," Anakin said into his side. "Master, I'm so full of anger."

"You think I wasn't?" Obi-Wan asked dryly.

Anakin hiccuped a sob. "I'm angry at everyone."

"It's alright, Anakin," Obi-Wan soothed. "You'll work through it in time. I'll be here to help, whenever you want. Even when I'm the one you're angry with."

Anakin sobbed another minute, force presence roiling, before finally pulling himself in with a deep breath, and wiping his nose on the sheets. "You looked so cool when you were angry," he mumbled into Obi-Wan's side.

"Oh force," Obi-Wan groaned. "Of course there was holofootage. Of course you watched."

"Are you... still angry?" Anakin asked.

Fuck.

Obi-Wan tried to think of the right answer for a padawan learner. His head throbbed again.

"Honestly? Right now I'm mostly just tired. I feel like I was run over by a pack of bantha. It's never a good idea to try and deal with large emotional gnarls while you're this exhausted, remember that my young padawan."

"You've been asleep for years," Anakin whined. "How are you still tired?"

"Years?" he asked, amused.

"At least three," Anakin huffed, curling up against him.

Obi-Wan stroked his hair in peaceful silence for a moment.

"...Did you really smash in his skull with a metal chair to protect me?"

"I would do a lot of things to protect you," he confessed. "I'm sorry Anakin — I should have talked with you when I grew concerned with his behavior. I felt at the time I had to act swiftly, but I worry I only caused you more pain."

"It was a really cool fight."

"...Thank you, padawan."

"Can you teach me how to choke people with my ankles like that?" he sniffled.

Obi-Wan groaned internally. "Of course, as a Jedi, violence—" 

"Violence is our last resort," Anakin interrupted. "Right, yeah —but if it is needed—"

"—Such as when someone," Obi-Wan said over him. "After careful consideration, is found to be both politically insulated and positioned to commit great further harm—"

"Actually, I think you, the person who killed my trusted friend, lecturing me on why he was ultra especially irredeemably evil is traumatizing, even more traumatizing than all those holo compilations of you —"

"Oh force above, of course there's — oh. Oh no — please don't tell me—"

"The latest Jizz music," Anakin said, far too gleeful.

Obi-Wan groaned. Unfortunately, the extra movement in his chest triggered an admittedly ghastly sounding coughing fit and Anakin immediately lost the small edge of grace he had managed to cultivate during their back and forth.

"Master?" he asked urgently. "Master — hold on — I'll go get—"

"I'm fine," Obi-Wan rasped. "Any more of that —"

Anakin was already scrambling to fetch the pitcher.

Such a good boy, he thought affectionately, watching him pour and carry over a glass with the same care others might have when handling molten gold.

Obi-Wan drank with a reciprocal amount of delicacy, knowing his padawan was watching falcon-eyed for any wasted drops.

"Perhaps we should finish this conversation a little later," Obi-Wan said, once his airways calmed down.

Coughing should not be this exhausting.

"Of course," Anakin said, subdued, but he crawled back into bed readily enough when Obi-Wan patted it.

“Really, though —” Obi-Wan started to say, feeling it was duty to try and wrap up the lesson, but he was fortunately cut off before he was forced to figure out exactly what that lesson was.

“It’s alright,” Anakin chimed comfortingly. “We have time to talk about it, master. Can’t you tell?”

“Hm?” Obi-Wan replied, fighting the droop of his eyelids. 

“The force clears,” Anakin said, voice sonorous. “The dark retreats.”

“Oh.” Obi-Wan’s eyes started falling closed. “That’s nice.”

“So we have time. To figure out the rest.”

 “Very nice,” Obi-Wan murmured.

His padawan curled against him, force presence like ocean waves rocking him to sleep.

“The force says it’s going to be alright,” Anakin whispered, wonderingly. “It’s going to be alright.”

Obi-Wan smiled, then once again slipped back to sleep.

[norman-fucking-reedus]

not to be a kinkshamer or anything but some people on here will literally be like “daryl would be into burning you w cigarettes” or “having you claw his back during sex is a turn on” as if he wasn’t literally physically abused as a kid?? ☠️ like no babe he would not be into that because that would probably be extremely triggering?? did you even pay attention to the show to be saying something this goofy he literally self-harmed WITH a cigarette

[ultravioletbrit]

“dance” - Jegulus microfic - @into-the-jeggyverse - 292 words

Regulus pushes his way to the bar and slides in beside James who looks feral. Regulus smirks as he orders his drink then turns to face James; James doesn’t turn to look at Regulus.

“What’s wrong, James?” Regulus ask innocently.

“You know what’s wrong.” James grits out through clenched teeth.

“Do I?” Regulus says as he runs his fingers down James’ arm. James doesn’t answer but Regulus sees his jaw tighten and something different flashes in his eyes. Regulus put his fingers on James’ chin and turns his head so they’re looking at each other.

“It was just a dance, James.” Regulus tells him dropping the faux innocent act.

“It was more than that to him and you know it.” James nods towards the guy Regulus was dancing with.

“Why does it matter?” Regulus asks.

“You know why it matters.” James’ voice is still firm, but with determination instead of anger.

“Do I?” Regulus says again.

“You should.” James tells him turning to face Regulus fully.

“Enlighten me.” Regulus says and he barely has the words out before James’ hands are on his hips pulling him closer.

“Because you’re mine.” James states simply as if it’s already a fact.

“Oh really?” Regulus asks trying to sound indifferent, but he can hear the hopefulness in his voice.

“Do you want to be?” James softens and genuinely asks.

“Are you mine?” Regulus asks as he wraps his arms around James’ neck.

“I’ve always been yours.” James whispers in his ear sending a shiver down Regulus spine.

“Then yeah, I want to be yours.” Regulus tells him and leans back slightly to look James in the eye.

James gazes into Regulus’ eyes pulling him impossibly closer to kiss him and somehow this kiss is different than all their others.     

[paperultra]

the liminal space.

Pairing: OPLA!Roronoa Zoro x Reader Word Count: 1,575 words Warnings: Swearing, mentions of alcohol use [A/N: written with the cooper!reader from mise en rose in mind. i don't know where in the timeline this occurs, though. lol.]

cingulomania (noun): a strong desire to hold a person in your arms

Living in close quarters can really change how you see a person.

Roronoa Zoro, for instance, had always struck you as rather aloof, having traveled alone for some time before you joined him, and unused to physical affection. He never gave any indication that he was one to enjoy it, and he never sought it out from anyone. That certainly wasn’t odd. You respected his tendency towards personal space, subsequently believing that it extended to his sleeping habits as well.

So when you wake up, hardly able to breathe underneath the hulking mass of a snoring swordsman, you are more surprised than anything.

“Zoro,” you wheeze, patting his back with the hand that isn’t crushed between his chest and yours. Nothing happens, so you swat harder. “Zoro. You’re crushing me.”

His arms squeeze around you as he stirs, inhaling sharply next to your ear. You stop moving as he lifts his head and opens his eyes just wide enough to register you beneath him.

He pauses.

Good morning, sunshine is what you want to say in a cheeky tone. You want to prove that you’re unaffected by the warmth of his body pressing yours into the mattress, the sensation of his breath across your cheekbone and the way his gaze transitions from something bleary into something sharp.

The greeting refuses to leave your mouth. All you can do is blink.

The next thing you know, Zoro’s rolling off of you and out of bed with nary an apology, mumbling something about going to the bathroom.

You hum distantly in response and stare up at the ceiling as he shuffles to the door. Once he closes it behind him, you reach up and fold your hands over your eyes, cheeks hot.

Great.

—

It all started because you and Zoro could only afford a single bed at the inn.

(You use the term “afford” loosely here. The truth of the matter is that you grossly underestimated how much a room would cost, and the owner of the one place willing to lend you a room for half the usual rate demanded physical labor to make up for the rest. Given that Zoro would be spending most of his time hunting down a bounty, the majority of the unpaid labor fell on your shoulders.)

(But you digress.)

The room is small and bare, which is fine, because you and Zoro don’t have much between the two of you anyway. The only problem is that there is only one bed. Zoro had expressed no qualms about sharing so long as you didn’t disturb his sleep, and you had readily agreed, not wanting either of you to sleep on the floor.

After the first morning, you’re not sure if that was a lapse of judgement on your part or not.

Zoro doesn’t mention it at all before he leaves for the day, and you don’t, either. However, when he comes back in the middle of the night and you’re already in bed, squinting and shielding yourself from the bright hallway light as he takes his slippers off and walks in, he sits on the carpet just a few feet away from your side.

“What are you doing?” you ask as he proceeds to lay down.

“Sleeping.”

He closes his eyes and folds his arms behind his head. You frown.

“Why aren’t you sleeping up here?” No answer. You lift your head from your pillow, indignant. “Hey, don’t ignore me! I know you’re still awake.”

“I’ve had a long day,” he grumbles, “so I’d like some quiet so I can sleep. Thanks.”

You huff.

The thought that Zoro might actually be just as embarrassed flits briefly through your mind, but you extinguish it just as quickly. He’s never seemed like the kind of guy to be self-conscious about those kinds of things. A more likely reason is that he’s decided that he wants his own separate space after all and can’t be bothered to kick you off the bed.

So, you kick yourself off instead.

“What are you doing?” The phrase now comes from Zoro as you throw the covers off and grab your pillow, kneeling on the ground beside him. His eyes open and his brow furrows.

“Take the bed. I feel guilty.”

“I don’t want the bed.”

“Everybody wants the bed.” You lie down on the carpet and cross your arms over your chest, stubborn. “I’ve already slept in it. Now it’s your turn.”

“You’re an idiot,” Zoro says.

Neither of you budge.

The next morning, you decide that the first morning was in fact not a fluke, as you awake with your face smushed against his chest and the smell of steel in your nose once again. He’s not on top of you, at least, but the way he clutches you while you’re lying on your side, one ankle hooked over yours, is somehow ten times more mortifying. You wake him up in the midst of untangling yourself and pretend like nothing happened.

Who’s the idiot now? (The answer is both of you. Both of you are idiots.)

—

The third night, you and Zoro flop onto the hard mattress with twin groans, heads spinning and feeling overall miserable.

“That was the shittiest booze I’ve ever had,” Zoro slurs next to you, face down in his pillow.

“But you got a lead, right?” you mumble.

“Yeah …”

You had been there in the bar when he’d gotten that lead, but you can’t remember what it was for the life of you. Another inn? Another bar? Ugh, you’re never drinking there again.

“I’m cold.”

There are blankets on the bed. Unfortunately, getting underneath them would require a lot of moving, and you are physically incapable of exerting yourself that much right now.

You shiver and turn onto your side to curl up. You’ll fall asleep at some point, anyway.

Zoro murmurs your name.

“Hm,” you groan, eyes screwed shut.

He doesn’t say anything in reply. But you hear the mattress squeak, the bedsheets rustle as he shifts closer, and your breath catches when the small distance between you closes. He does not wrap his arms around you, no, but your knees touch, and the heat from his skin melds into yours. You hear his breathing slow to a crawl.

Through your drunken haze breaks through a sudden need to draw him into you, to tuck your face into his neck and keep it there forever. You want – you want. But you’re exhausted, and your head aches, so you find yourself slipping into a deep slumber instead.

He’s already gone when you wake up.

—

A suspiciously lumpy gunnysack in the corner of the room catches your eye once you enter, hand over your mouth to stifle a yawn.

“What’s in the bag?”

“Eight million beri,” Zoro says from his seat on the bed. Cleaning supplies for his swords are strewn around him, and he sheathes the Wado Ichimonji as you close the door. “I ran into another bounty on the way back.”

“Eight mill –” You clear your throat. “Wow. That was pretty lucky.” Eight million beri. Sometimes you wonder if you’ll ever get used to how much bounty hunters can make. (God, that would’ve been more than enough to pay for the room.) “We’re heading out to a marine base tomorrow morning, then?”

“That’s the plan.”

He puts away his supplies, setting them and his swords against the wall near his pillow before standing up to pull down the sheets on his side. You turn off the bedside lamp and do the same, crawling in with a sigh.

The two of you simply lie side-by-side until you decide to break the silence with your big mouth again.

“Am I a burden to you?” you ask.

“No.” The plainness of Zoro’s tone is a small comfort, you suppose. “Why are you asking?”

“Well …” You already regret bringing this topic up as you trail off, biting your bottom lip. “I feel like I haven’t really done much. I mean, I help with navigating and searching crowds and stuff, and I’ve been getting better at fighting, but I can’t help you, you know?” You fiddle with your fingers. “You don’t actually need me.”

There’s a gap between you and Zoro that you’ll likely never be able to close. You had always known that, and so had Zoro; in fact, he had told you at the start that going with him was a bad idea, given your inexperience in bounty hunting and traveling in general. And although you’d like to think that your ability to read a map and fix things convinced him of your usefulness, there are times when you think Zoro regrets bringing you along. Like now.

Zoro grunts, turning to lay on his back. His shoulder nearly lands on your hands, and you draw them to yourself as you wait for his answer.

It is brief and straightforward.

“I’m not forcing you to go with me,” he says. “And if you were a burden, I would’ve told you a long time ago.”

“Oh.”

It is brief and straightforward, and yet, there’s a strange lump in your throat. You swallow it and nod, even though he cannot see you do so.

Nothing more is said. However, as the night goes on, you reach out, and you find him, and Zoro finds you, and the space between your arms fills up with warmth and an unspoken promise. And you sleep very well.

[fluideli123]

The distance from the man that I am to the man I want to be The time it takes to realize time is the distance I need But I was born impatient And I was born unkind But I refuse to believe I have to be The same person I was born when I die 'Cause change is alright Change is alright...

Cocaine and Abel by Amigo the Devil

My first Starscream piece I've ever successfully made! I've been re-reading my favorite Transformers fic Stop Me by @megadoomingir recently and, alongside making a 4k+ word post about how much I love it, I decided to make my first piece of fanart!

I have an entire playlist of songs that remind me of this fic, so I decided to add the lyrics for the first song that reminded me of Stop me Starscream <3

My long ass post is still in the works, but as I work on that I'm hoping to post more art!! And please if you haven't already, go support megadoomingir! Their art and writing are absolutely phenomenal!

[t00muchheart]

It’s just that, in Faith, Dean thinks he’s going to die, and he’s braced for it, and when he lives, it’s only because someone else died in his place. And then, in In My Time of Dying, it happens again, and it’s even worse this time because that’s his father who died for him. So by the time All Hell Breaks Loose rolls around, of course Dean sacrifices himself: he’s already living on borrowed time, after all, but Sam? Sam is only here because he was dragged back into this life—he deserves to have the chance to leave it behind again, for good this time.

And sure, faced with the consequences, Dean can see that he doesn’t deserve it—not to die, and certainly not to go to hell—but he still believes that it’s better this way: better him than Sam, even if it would be best if it was no one at all.

But it has to be someone, and so Dean is dragged to hell, and after thirty years on the rack, Dean breaks—and after ten more, when he wakes up in his grave and pushes his way to the surface, he thinks that maybe he deserved it after all, maybe he deserved every bit of torture dealt to him and more.

And then he meets an angel, and the angel tells him that he was the one to raise him from hell, and the angel wonders at the fact that Dean doesn’t think he deserves to be saved, because even after everything, he sees something beautiful in Dean Winchester, something worth preserving. And the angel believes in Dean so much that he can’t help but start believing in himself again, just a little.