#But he WOULD wear glasses so that's why he has them....... Pry them from my cold dead hands.......

[xreaderanonaccount]

yandere webttore x fem reader smut pls? I wont him....... so badly....

Synopsis: You were just a simple baker in Snezhnaya that was being harassed by a local gang. Lucky for you one of your regulars just so happens to be the 2nd Harbinger of the Fatui. All he wants in return is a favor.

Webttore is a segment of actual Dottore, Reader is wearing a dress,

Tags: NSFW MINORS DNI, DUB-CON, AFAB Reader, slight Stockholm Syndrome, P with plot, Yandere, human body parts, grinding, fingering, orgasm denial, rough s*x, Not Beta read

A/N: Inspired by that one Mafia!Bucky x Reader series here on tumblr. I can't find it and i'm sad cause i really liked reading it. This is also my first time writing a Yandere character so I hope I did a good enough job

Words: 3.5K

There’s a small bakery in a quiet street on the outskirts of the Capital of Snezhnaya. Many of the Fatui Skirmishers come to visit before heading out. They claim it’s good luck. You are always happy to do business with the Fatui, as that rakes in revenue for you. But recently you were having a slight problem. A local gang has been trying to pry money out of you, “for protection” they claim, but you do know that it's bogus. You tried to tell them no but they seem to not take that answer well. They come in almost everyday to harass you about it. At this point it’s part of your routine. You wake up, get the bakery ready, and get harassed by the gang. They normally harass you about money, always coming in disrupting business or graffiti rude and cruel messages on your windows. But you never gave in, you just sighed and fixed everything. There’s no need to cry over spilt milk, that’s what your mother would always tell you. It was one of those days where you were being harassed again by this local gang.

“Just give us the money, then your debt will be paid.” One of the gang members spatted, his temper clearly waning by the minute. 

“Why would I? And what debt would I incur during this time period?” You questioned, cleaning a glass cup. You were not amused by this, it’s the third time this week and you are quite getting used to your new routine. 

“For protection obviously!” Another one spat slamming his fist on your counter. You rolled your eyes at their foolish behavior.

“Oh, protection? But I do believe that the Fatui Harbingers and their men have it all covered. No?” You asked, raising an eyebrow. The gang member stuttered for a bit before another one, a much bigger one, slammed his gun on your counter.

“Listen here, you’re going to give us the money or else-”

“Or else what?” A new voice spoke up, one that you’re not familiar with. Looking over you spot a tall man with icy blue hair sitting idly in the booths stacks of paper scattered around the table. 

“And who are you?” One of the members asked, storming up to the man. You quickly walked around the bar putting you between the gang and the icy haired man. 

“Leave him out of this. You can threaten me all you want but the minute you threaten a customer it’s over.” You glared at them, but a small chuckle was heard behind you. You heard some shuffling before you felt a presence behind you. You looked up seeing the icy blue hair man behind you. 

“See, I really like this place. It gives me time to get away from them and now… it’s ruined. By you lot.” His tone was cold as he slowly approached the gang. But they didn’t move. 

“Oh yeah, and who are you, a high ranking Fatui Harbinger?” One asked, pointing a gun right to his face. You couldn’t see what the strange man did next as he gestured to something on him. But whatever it was it clearly scared the gang away. Their faces were pale as they exited the store. One muttered that they’ll be back, but the other didn’t say anything. Now it was just the two of you.

“Ha, sorry for dragging you into this mess.” You sighed, running your hand through your hair. The man gave out a chaotic cackle before whipping around to see you. You finally get a good view of him. He had striking red eyes, the already described icy blue hair, and his outfit was strange. A white dress shirt with an overexaggerated collar, paired with a black vest. Strange clothing for the middle of winter in Snezhnaya. Let’s not mention the blue earring he wore that has some sort of liquid in it. 

“Hmm,” The man hummed as he circled around you like a predator eyeing their prey. He stopped right behind you, you felt his hands run through your hair playing with it a bit.

“You have nice hair, and very healthy organs.” He chuckled a bit.

“Thanks?” you tried to smile, but this is totally weird. Was he trying to compliment you, or something? You gave a weary look as you watched him slide back into his booth and continue looking around his stack of paper. You sighed as you walked around the counter, you have to repay him with something right? An idea popped in your head as you smiled to yourself. As you prepare your little surprise for the stranger, everytime you glance in his direction he always seems to be looking at you at the same time. Strange, but this man is already strange already. 

After a couple of minutes you approached the strange man again. As you approached him, he seemed to sense your presence and watched you set a plate down. 

“This… is a little thanks for helping me with those nut jobs.” You suddenly felt shy under his gaze. But he didn’t say a word as he took a bite out of the warm pastry. 

“Thanks.” He said muffled by the pastry that was in his mouth.

“No, thank you.” You smile as you walk away, going back to cleaning the mess the gang left behind. It seems that you have a new routine, you wake up, get the bakery ready, get harassed again, but now you have your new regular. The strange ice blue haired man comes in everyday it seems to work? You don’t really know, you never really pry into it. He always comes in and gets the same thing. A pure black iced coffee with a nice warm pastry. You're always confused when he asks for ice coffee as it’s Snezhnaya, the temperatures are always in the negatives. But he seems to enjoy his order. You can’t complain, he seems to help out when the gang comes in to harass you.

But for the past few weeks he hasn’t shown up.You were concerned and asked around but no one seemed to know what or who you were talking about. But something strange started to happen. Dead bodies have started showing up around your bakery. Either in your front door, in your alley way, or in the back door, wherever there is a spot a body was found. And every single time the body belonged to the gang that was harassing you. And every single time there was a message written in their blood confessing their crimes of harassing you. You were freaked out about it, thinking there was a serial killer on the loose and you reported it to the nearest Fatui station. The Fatui seemed to care for about a week but then stopped. They dropped the case saying that the 2nd Fatui Harbinger Il Dottore dropped the case. Which is strange because Lord Pucinella is in charge of the capital’s police so why is the Doctor dropping the case? You were lowkey freaked out about everything, but everytime you were scared to leave the strange man always seemed to appear. Always willing to walk you home, and if anytime you ask about his whereabouts he would just dismiss the question. Although a little freak out you didn’t question why he was here. It was nice to have someone watching over you especially when it seems that someone is clearly doing a revenge for you. 

On one fateful night, a quiet night you were alone in your bakery cleaning some dishes when you heard a high pitch scream. Your head shot up as you gently placed down the cup. The screams died out, and the silence after was deafening. Did you just hear the last moments of someone's life? You hesitated to leave the backroom before you heard a little ding, it rang around the quiet bakery, you were frozen not knowing what to do.

“Darling are you there?” A familiar voice spoke up, it was that man. You quickly walked out of the room already babbling about what just happened. But you were stopped in your tracks, your eyes went wide, and face went pale. There he stood covered in blood, his face like a maniac as he held a little box with a pretty bow on top. 

“W-what happened to you?” You stuttered as you slowly approached the man who gave a crazed smile holding out a box.

“I got you a present.” Completely ignoring the question he set the present in your hands. The blood smeared all over your hand. 

“What is it?” You hesitatingly asked. 

“Open it,” 

You slowly pulled the little ribbon on the top, the ribbon fell gracefully on your blood stained hands. Slowly taking the top off you only caught a glimpse of the inside before dropping it. Falling out of the gift box was a human heart, the blood oozing out of the heart pooling on your recently cleaned floor. You scrambled back, your back hitting against the wall harshly. 

“W-what is this?” You exclaimed looking over at him, all he had was a small smile as he walked around the counter getting closer to you. 

“A profession of my love, darling.” His small smile turned into a smile.You were still scrambling away to the back room.

“With a human heart! What is wrong with you?” You yelled, all he did was start to laugh, a laugh that soon turned into a cackle.

“What is wrong with me? With me? Oh darling, everything.” He made eye contact with you, his eyes blown wide with lust as he continued his approach. 

“Those little gang members won’t hurt you ever again.” He whispered as he encaptured you between his arms against the wall. Inches away from his face as he gave a manic smile. 

“You did this, killed all those gang members?” Your voice wobbled as you tried to grasp the situation. 

“Oh yes, I did, made sure they won’t hurt you ever again.” He whispered, his face inches away from you. You were shaking uncontrollably, you didn’t know how to react.

“Please don’t hurt me.” You whispered your voice quivering with every word. The man just cackled as he rested his head against your shoulder. 

“Hurt you… haha… I can never hurt. Not you, never.” 

“I… don’t even know your name.” He stared straight into your eyes, his ruby red ones shining in the light, piercing through yours. 

“I go by many names, but I prefer you call me Zandik.” Zandik reached out to your face, creasing it, the smell of metal filled your senses as he spread the blood all across your face. He leaned in his lips inches away from yours, you can feel his breath against your face.

“I would kill the whole world for you, I want you so badly. Please…” He pleaded, resting his forehead against yours. 

“I…I…” 

“Please…” You looked away for a second before Zandik let out a sound of frustration before slamming his lips against yours. It was rough, he had your arms pinned, you can’t move an inch. When he pulled away he smiled as he stroked your cheek. You’re pretty sure that the majority of your face is covered in blood. 

“I want you.” He murmured against your skin as his hands trailed back untying your apron.

“Do you want me?” He asked looking straight into your eyes, you just nodded. He started to laugh, the mood completely shifting for both of you. For him he was ecstatic, but for you… you have no idea. You were scared, afraid, but also calm? Like sure this Zandik man killed a bunch of men, but he did it in your honor. He has no ill intention on harming you, and he is clearly doing it out of love. But do you love him? All these thoughts stirred in your head as you felt Zandik’s hands trailed down your dress till it was underneath the frills. 

“Haa, do that again? Make that sound again, you sound so cute.” He breathed as he started to hike up your dress. The dress crumpled up to your waist as you obliged his request by whimpering again as you felt the cold wind of Snezhnaya brush against your legs. Zandik pulled back admiring how you looked. He chuckled as he leaned in towards your ear.

“You look beautiful with all this blood. So beautiful…” He whispered as he worked his way towards your panties. But was stopped your sudden grip on his wrist. He looked shocked at your audacity to stop his advancement. 

“C-could you at least wash the blood off your hands.” You mumbled as you looked away, “I don’t really want someone’s blood inside me.” It clicked in Zandik’s head and he rushed over to the sink, scrubbing his hands clean of all the blood. You stood there in shock on what’s happening. Everything is settling on you like a ton of bricks. This man who you're about to have sex with just killed a bunch of people these past months, and just professes his love to you with a human heart. How… strange. You listened to him mutter to himself something about, “not wanting other guys dna inside you.” that “you belong to him and him alone.” or “I’ll never let anyone hurt her again.” You weren’t going to lie, it was lowkey hot to see him like this. He patted his hands down on his pants before latching himself back onto you. His lips were back onto yours devouring you lips like there was no tomorrow. You couldn’t help but moan against his lips as he started to slowly grind against you. You could feel how hard he was against your cloth vagina. 

“I can’t help myself dear, you are so perfect.” He murmured against your skin, you felt his gloved hands trail down playing with the edge of your underwear. You felt him smile against your skin as he pulled your underwear to the side and plunge two fingers into your soaking wet clit. You heard him groan as he worked your way through your vagina. 

“You’re already so wet for me dear. So perfect, taking in my fingers like this.” He moaned as he fastened his pace. The moans couldn’t stop as you closed your eyes. The feeling was so overwhelming, the foreign feeling of his leather gloves pistoning in and out of you felt strange yet pleasurable. Zandik was biting against your skin, his shark-like teeth biting down on your exposed neck, you felt your blood trickle down your neck. His pace fastened with each thrust, you couldn’t hold back your moans. Whimpering his name every now and then, which seemed to get a reaction out of him. 

“Ha, I’m close.” You breathed out, feeling the coil tighten in your stomach. But the minute you said that you felt Zandik’s fingers ripping out of your inside. You whined at the sudden loss of his fingers. 

“I know darling, but I promise you. I’ll make you feel so so much better. I swear.” He cackled as he fiddled with his pants. You intently watched as he pulled his now hard cock out. He slapped it against your clit, earning a moan. You eyed at the sheer size of his cock. It was huge. You don’t think it would fit inside you.

“It’s not going to fit.” You exclaimed, panicking looking up to Zandik’s glaring red eyes.

“Too big? Haha, don’t worry darling, I’ll make it fit.” Zandik smiled as he lined up his cock with your vagina. 

“It’s not going to fit-” You were cut off as Zandik shoved his girthy cock all the way in one go. You yelled in pain and pleasure by the stretch. You tried to tell him to slow down but your cries fell on deaf ears as Zandik set a rough pace. He seemed to lose his own pleasure to listen to your pleas. You felt tears start to flow down your cheeks by the stretch of Zandik’s dick. Zandik started to laugh like a mad man looking down on you, his eyes wide like a crazed man.

“You look so beautiful like this darling, so beautiful when you cry.” He laughed, slamming his lips against yours, kissing your pain away. 

“Please, I want to cum.” You cried pulling away from him, the pain turning into pleasure as Zandik continued his rough pace.

“Ha, so obedient, so perfect. You were made for me,” He moaned as he gently cupped your face.

“Look at you, you were worried about my dick fitting yet look,” He tilted your head to see his dick disappear inside your vagina with each rough thrust, “your pussy was made for me, molded just me, and me only.” Your walls flutter against his dick with his words, which causes Zandik to groan.

“And now, you’re sucking me in with every thrust. Greedy greedy girl.” He chuckled as he captured your lips again. When he pulled away, a thin string of spit kept you connected.

“I’ve been aching for you for weeks now,” He started his confession, “every night, I would imagine how perfect you would be around my cock. And-ha, just look. It’s perfect, you're perfect, just for me. You’re mine, got it?” His words fell out of his mouth in pure pleasure as he started to draw dizzy circles around your clit. That sent your nerves into overdrive, moans kept falling out of your mouth. Your senses were sent into overdrive, every touch from Zandik made you clamp down around his dick. You couldn’t help it, the pure bliss that you were feeling was out of this world. 

“C-close.” You were able to get out, Zandik just chuckled before quickening his already fast pace. 

“Gods please, I want your vagina to suck me dry. Please, let me cum inside you.” Zandik moaned, “I want you to bear my children. Gods please.” All you could do is nod as you felt that coil tighten again in your stomach. 

“Please Zandik, I want to cum.” You moaned, the mere mention of his name made him go into overdrive. Circling his fingers around your clit faster, and faster. Every sense went into overdrive and you couldn’t hold it in longer. Clamping down on his cock you shook violently as you screamed out of his name. Zandik continue his rough pace fucking you through your high.When you came down from your high, you felt Zandik pull out of your overstimulated hole. You whine from the empty feeling, as Zandik let you fall to your knees, exhausted from everything. But Zandik wasn’t done, he stroked his dick faster and faster aiming it straight to your face. He cupped your chin making you look up at him with your fucked out face.

“So beautiful, so perfect. Just for me, tell me you want me.” Zandik breathed, he continued to stroke his dick before you stop his action. Confused, he watched as you replaced his hands with yours as you started to stroke him from base to tip. Zandik eyes blown wide from your actions he couldn’t help but start to thrust into your hands.

“I’m yours.” You muttered as you gave kitten licks on his tips. Zandik groaned as his dick twitched in your hands. The white warm semen painted your face, he had so much cum in him that by the time he finished you are probably sure your face is covered full of cum and blood. Zandik was breathing heavily as he gave a cackle. He smeared the cum and blood across your face, giving a small smile. 

“You look so beautiful with my cum painted all over your face.” You didn’t respond, only your heavy breathing was heard in the quiet bakery. You two stood in silence before Zandik noticed something outside the bakery, stuff his cock back into his slacks.

“Stay down there darling.” He smiled before turning towards the bakery door. You didn’t peak up but you heard the bakery bell ring indicating someone walked inside. 

“Lord Dottore! We’ve been looking all over for you.” Someone said, Lord Dottore? You mean the 2nd Fatui Harbinger? You looked up at “Zandik” who was annoyed by the disruption. 

“What is it?” He sounded annoyed. 

“We’ve located the gang that was harassing the bakery owner.” One of them stated, you watched as “Zandik” snatched the paper out of the person's hands.

“Very well, get to it then. I want any survivors sent to the lab. Have Prime deal with it.” He sounded a mix of boredom and anger as he dismissed the people who entered the bakery.

“Yes lord Harbinger.” They both said, before you hear them walking out of the bakery. Zandik turned back to you, giving you a wicked smile.

“Y-you’re the 2nd harbinger?” You whispered trying to scoot away.

“Oh are you scared now that you know my identity? Aw, you hurt me dear.” “Zandik” smiled, kneeling down to your level. He reached out for you stroking the cum and blood across your face.

“I promise you no one will hurt you again right?” You nodded at his statement, “Good. Now that I marked you I will always protect you… from anyone.”

A/N: divider credits: cafekitsune

[kissingghouls]

'leave me behind' and Terzo if I may ☺️ you can chose if you want to break my heart or just let him be the drama queen we know and love 💜

Oh my goodness Cake this took so long! I am so sorry 😭

Here's 1k words of Drama Queen Retired Terzo Fluff 💜 (Terzo x Reader [gender neutral reader, but there is a mention of wearing a dress], established relationship, relatively SFW but suggestive, MDNI, not beta read)

Terzo Emeritus is a magnificent bastard. Magnificent and beautiful. The warm light of the morning shines on your lover’s bare face—a luxury very few are allowed to see even now in his retirement. Trouble is, he’s as charming as he is handsome. The Third has completely stolen your heart and—if you were inclined to search through his room—probably some of your clothes as well.

The suite is just as dreamy and over-the-top as he is, all luxe velvet and silk in the deepest violet built to house royalty. An opalescent gleam dances over every surface thanks to the large stained glass window on the far wall. Touches of gold and marble from the fireplace to the valet where his suit waits for him seem to sparkle at this hour. Even the bed feels softer than the night before—as if Papa Emeritus III would sleep on anything less than a cloud. 

It's hard to leave this place. As much as you’d love to dramatically drape yourself over every opulent piece of furniture in the room and pose like a Victorian woman waiting for a letter, there were things to do. You were happy Terzo was enjoying retired life—even more so that he was spending his leisure time with you—but he’s been pretending to be asleep for a half-hour and you really need to get out of this bed. 

You’ve tried wiggling, huffing, and physically trying to pry his fingers away from you, but Terzo will not let go. Normally you think it’s sweet the way he clings to you, but he knows you have important meetings to attend. And he knows exactly how it will look if you are late. 

“Terzo, please,” you finally try, your voice hitting a pitched whine you hadn’t intended. You hope it helps to make your point.

“Amore,” he whines back. His eyes are still shut tight, but he’s fighting that sweet Terzo smile you usually enjoy.

“You have to let me go, Terzo.”

He groans in response, tightening his grip on you.  “I will never.”

“Terzo, darling, I need to get dressed. You know how they get if I’m late for a meeting.”

He sighs heavily and slowly releases his hold. Before he can change his mind, you slip from the bed and gather your clothes for the day. He watches you dress, eyes following the line of your body as you move through the room. He knows every part of you now, loves every part of you. There isn’t a dip or curve he hasn’t traced with his fingers or his tongue. He’s committed each freckle and scar to memory, knows them better than all those songs he used to sing. Songs he’d still sing at your request, but only for you.

Maybe he is a selfish man, but he can’t help but want you to stay in his arms. If not forever, then at least ten—no—sixty more minutes.

“Go on then,” he laments, dramatically throwing his arm over his eyes. “Leave me behind.”

The mattress dips under the weight of your knee as you sigh and climb back onto his ridiculous bed. You straddle his waist, leaning forward to press a kiss against his chest—that perfect pretty space right over his heart. “Terzo?” Your voice is soft, but you know he can hear you. You repeat his name, but he doesn’t respond, doesn’t move at all.  “Terzo, look at me.”

“I can’t,” he pouts, his bottom lip jutting out a little more as he keeps his arm in place. 

“Why not?”

“You’re too beautiful. Like staring into the sun,” he admits with a sigh. “And if I look at you now, you will never make it to that meeting. What kind of man would I be then? Contributing to your delinquency?”

You bite your lip and pry his arm away from his face, pinning it to the mattress instead. “I think you would be the same man you were last night—the same man who spent the entire evening with a hand up my dress.”

“Well, that’s not my fault, amore. You have bewitched me, temptress. I’m nothing more than a possessed man.”

“I wasn’t complaining.”

“Oh?” He asks, his left eyebrow quirked up. “Perhaps you could tell me what you meant, so I can understand.”

“I like you. I like being with you. I like being around you. I would rather stay here with you and let you worship me than sit in that stuffy conference room for even one second.”

“Sì, sì. I like where this is going,” he teases, raising his hips under you.

“But—” You pause to pin his other arm to the bed, holding him firmly. “If I miss this meeting, you better make it worth it—”

“Oh, amore, I—”

“And you are coming up with a much better excuse this time.”

He frowns. “And what was so bad about the last one?”

“Telling you brother I ‘choked on something’ isn’t exactly subtle.”

“Copia? He wouldn’t know an innuendo from his own fist.”

“You know the Siblings call him ‘Fuck Machine’ right?”

“They what—”

“It doesn’t matter, but you should be very proud.”

“Ah, sì, good for him I suppose…Why do you know they call him that?”

“Shush darling, it’s just girl talk.”

“Wait, what do they call me?”

You roll your eyes. “I’m going to work.”

His body shifts and twists until his hands are free. He grabs your waist, easily pushing you onto your back before he climbs over you. He softly traces his lips over your jaw as he speaks. “You said you’d stay.”

“I said if I stay. And that you better have a good excuse.”

“Hmm,” he hums, drawing a hand between your legs. “I don’t know, amore. I think it feels like you might be getting a fever.”

“Oh?”

“Mmhmm, Hell Flu is deathly contagious too. We should quarantine for at least a week I think.”

“A week, huh?”

“At least. You may need even longer to recover. I’m afraid you are very, very ill. I’ll call Copia and let him know you aren’t feeling well. You go ahead and get undressed, amore. Let me take care of you,” he says with a wink and hops up to call in sick for you.

[scaly-freaks]

cherry wine stains 8.0

playing it a little differently and rewinding back to their school years but with an Aegon POV this time.

all previous parts in pinned.

"I like your knee-high socks."

"I like the chain you wear like a crucifix."

"Strange way to describe it."

"I don't know. It just - it hangs around your neck like the absence of something."

Her words dissolve like sugar into the cup of his mind.

Clever people don't realise the riptide of their soul is not being fed until they meet another clever person. Aegon's currents slow to a whispered crawl as his eyes trace Amara's profile, creating images in the tangle of her windswept curls.

She's left a lipstick print on his mother's favourite mug. When he sees it, his soul unhooks from where he keeps it folded away, right there at the base of his neck where the silver chain fastens.

Later, he'll kiss that print, see if the measure of his mouth is enough.

Helaena told him in private: You can't! You can't, you can't, you can't! You ruin everything!

The frantic protests of a younger sister who thinks - knows - that her older brother getting involved with one of her friends is going to end up in a loss for her. He's dated one of Helaena's friends before (it ended in the kind of operatic disaster you only ever see on Eastenders).

He does not want to date Amara as much as he wants to pry her open like a game of cat's cradle and weave apart the strings that keep her mobile. Half the time, Aegon suspects she isn't truly awake. Some part of her is drowning in slumber, deep as Briar Rose. He catches that moment sometimes, as she blinks at him with those sleepy eyes.

The texture of her thoughts - when she gives them up - slips like satin over his fingers.

"Do you want a smoke?" He flips the mint-green box in his palm and grins.

Her gaze is longing. "I told my mother I'd quit. Besides, aren't menthol cigarettes banned here?"

He shrugs, slipping one between his pinched lips to hold it steady. "Nothing's banned if you squint."

"Flawed logic," she laughs.

"She said to a drug dealer."

That makes her laugh harder. He likes making her laugh. Feels worthwhile somehow. Not much in his life feels that way these days.

The younger siblings are all growing up, leaving school, moving onto greener pastures, where the chaotic drudgery of the council estate turns into a crystalline vision in the rearview, something to put into personal statements and add what rich tossers would call flavour.

They don't need him like they used to. He and his mother have raised them to become self-sufficient and now Aegon has to figure out what he wants to do with himself because where the kids are going, they won't want to admit what their brother does - has done - for a living to ensure their survival. He predicts he'll be the family embarrassment every Christmas, the uncle that shows up drunk, with a sliver of something in his eyes that suggests he could have been something once.

He knows he won't end up that way. His need to be someone, get somewhere, is far too aggressive. But he does fear no longer being needed by the people who have relied on him so long he can no longer extricate himself from the identity of protector.

Maybe it's why he likes making Amara laugh.

She doesn't have siblings. Her eyes still dart around, nervous, as if aware her protection in this world is lacking compared to that of others. Her parents won't always be around. When they are gone, there won't be siblings to divide her grief up with. It'll just be her.

If his subconscious is turning her into his new surrogate sister, it doesn't reconcile well with the instinct that stirs when her skirt rides up an inch.

Alicent's stained glass lamp flickers, bulb on the brink of permanent death. Aegon reaches over to ensure it is screwed on properly and it affords them a last burst of weak light. Amara reaches out her hand under the dappled glow of its illumination, slipping her fingers under the violets, yellows and greens, as the crook of her elbow turns rose pink.

"I've always liked your mother's taste in furniture."

"Yeah? Take it. She wants to throw it out."

"No. If she's decided it's dead, it should go. I'll just be keeping the corpse if I took it."

Aegon's eyes wrinkle at the corners, smile disguised by the inhale of the cigarette. "It's not organic material. There's no corpse."

She glances at him, as if aware of his mockery despite the affection he delivers it with. "I think some inanimate objects come alive if they are loved enough. Alicent's had this lamp since I've known her. It's lived with her, and now it'll die. We shouldn't interrupt the process."

No wonder Helaena adores her.

They are both odd creatures, his little sister, and this intense, doll-eyed mirage that turned up at their doorstep one day, hungry for oven chips and love. She reached out her cold hands to Alicent, and found herself overwhelmed with the warmth and affection given in return.

He's known her so long, she should feel like a sibling.

What does it say about him if he can't stop wondering what it must feel like to graze his lips over her stomach and tongue that bellybutton ring she got in a short-lived fit of rebellion?

Aegon flicks aside the cigarette, mouth acidic with guilt.

He isn't the kind of person who wants. Other people want. Aegon goes out and gets. There isn't enough time to submerge in the feeling of want and understand the true depth of craving the human soul can achieve.

But he sees the whorl of soft hair at the nape of her neck and the feeling crawls up the rungs of his ribcage like a creature possessed. He pictures being small enough to curl up in the soft folds of her clothing, to soak in the scent of her until he passes out from exhaustion.

That feels like enough wanting for today.

"I'll see you downstairs, yeah?"

If she looks disappointed, it's just wishful thinking on his part. She knows he's not going anywhere. He'll be in the living room with the rest of the family who've put on Shrek and are split into two groups - the half that sings along, and the half that won't.

"I'll be down in a bit."

"Cool."

A sudden gust of wind lifts her hair, and the flimsy ribbon comes loose. He catches it before it finds freedom. She turns, expectant, waiting for the inevitable return of her almost-lost property. He pulls it between his fingers, wonders if it also carries life inside the woven thread, the way she claimed his mother's lamp does.

The weight of her hair rivals Isolde's.

Irish myths were a rooted part of his childhood, laced into Alicent's quiet voice every bed time. She swears the Hightowers are mostly, if not fully, Irish. But she could never be sure of how far back, or of the intricacies of any bloodlines. Rich people have the luxury of unfurling a family tree across the polished mahogany of their dining room table. They get to find their eyes, noses and mouths in the faces of people who lived too long ago to care what has become of their DNA.

Poor people make do with maybes and perhaps because most of the time, the lives of their ancestors are of no interest to anyone but themselves. Unless a mining forefather was crushed in a collapse and the resulting riots tore down a political establishment.

So, his mother pulled them back to times so ancient, the ancestors became common for all, their bloodlines too distant to maintain individuality.

If Tristan and Isolde are in Aegon's ancestry, that past life becomes tangible when he runs his fingers through Amara's hair and tames it into a braid he's practiced on Helaena a hundred times.

"There's something mythical about your hair," he says, and then cuts himself short because he deals drugs for a living, and whatever fancy thought this was about to be would make more sense from someone more booksmart.

She cranes her neck back and gives him the brightest upside-down smile. "That's the best compliment anyone's ever given me."

Aegon bites the inner corner of his lip and nudges her to look straight so he can keep braiding.

Once her eyes are off his face, it splits into a smile. Warmth drains down his spine like gold egg yolk poured from its shell. Once the braid is done, he rests his chin on the top of her head, and passes it off as brotherly with a goldfish-squeeze of her cheeks.

He lingers, inhales deep, smells her, turns her scent into binary code that he will decipher in isolation later.

"Don't be too long. You'll catch your death out here."

[restinslices]

Could you do the Earthrealm champions being invited by GN!reader to dance with them in a video?

If you need song ideas for this request, I got you covered:

Bet y’all ain’t know I like K-pop. Expect the unexpected. My internet is being dumb asf and I cannot add gifs so you’re getting dumb pictures I found on Pinterest

Johnny Cage

“I’m a star sweetheart, I don’t have time for silly videos”

*Proceeds to dance with passion*

Johnny cannot take shit seriously so if you think he’d be too proud to do a little dance for a video, you’re smoking 

He probably wears something way over the top for the video as if he’s actually performing for a crowd 

I don’t think Johnny is a natural dancer but he makes do. He probably practices to make sure he doesn’t look stupid and you’ll have to record the video multiple times until he’s satisfied 

“I don’t like that one or that one or that one or-” “I’m gonna find a new partner. Oh my gosh”

Honestly I think he has more fun than you

“I think I should add ‘dancer’ to my lists of talents”

He probably asks to do it again

Idk if I see Johnny being into K-pop but the interest would start here and spiral 

I also feel like he enjoys dances from girl groups more than boy groups. I once again don’t know why I think this way but it makes sense in my head 

Likes more simple dances. It keeps the focus on his pretty face and outfits 

“I think I’d be fantastic in a girl group” “Ok Johnny”

It’s giving “nurse! He’s out again!”

He has a new hyperfixation now. I hope you’re proud of yourself 

Favorite thing to dance to is Cupid by Fifty Fifty 

Kenshi Takahashi 

Only does it because you asked him to, and even then he doesn’t really want to 

He doesn’t hate dancing but he just doesn’t do it 

Considering he escaped from the Yakuza, him being in a video with you isn’t the best idea. You can call him paranoid. He calls himself careful. 

When he finally agrees, he's wearing the most obnoxious get up; hoodie, sweatpants, a hat, glasses, a mask and gloves. It's so no one can know who he is, but who in the Yakuza is randomly watching dance videos?

He won't change his mind though and wears it all.

You have to do an easy dance otherwise he'll sweat himself to death 

I don't see him going out of his way to do it again. It was alright to him. He's not big on dancing so learning a dance then doing it wasn't the best way to spend his time. Also he was extremely sweaty so he's not tryna do it again 

He will if you ask, but he won't bring it up first 

He's trying to not be noticed but people can't help but notice him 

I feel like he favors boy groups only slightly. Favorite thing to dance to is Still 24K by 24K but only the chorus because once again, sweat and heat. And YES I picked 24K because I'm never letting their name die. I miss them 

Kung Lao

“I have better things to do, like training new recruits at the Academy” “If you're too scared of me dancing better than you, just say that”

He learns the dance that night 

He's competitive so what's supposed to be a sweet couples thing, turns serious 

Wants to do a hard dance just to prove how great he is even if it's stupid 

Legit is angrily typing “hard kpop dances” and picking one at random 

He has you ask the audience to comment who danced better or do a poll

If he wins, he's ecstatic and wants to continue showing off. If he loses, he's bitter. The vote was rigged. Real “Stop the count!” type shit 

If he loses he wants to do it again so he can do better. He legit can't let it go. The problem is he keeps diving into hard ass dances and refuses to start simple 

You have to pry his hands off the keyboard and help him pick something simple 

Once he stops being stubborn then you two can actually have fun. Dancing can become a regular thing, but he's gonna keep making it a challenge 

In his eyes, he always wins 

Idk if he has a preference for boy or girl groups. I'll say his favorite thing to dance to is Monster by Exo because I feel like he'd want to do Chanyeol's jump 

Raiden

I think he'd be shy at first. Super Shy if you will 

He doesn't wanna fuck it up, yk? After being told it's not that deep and it's just for fun, he agrees 

Besides Johnny, he's probably having the most fun. I feel like he enjoys spending time with the people he cares about and this is doing just that 

Wants to do it again because it's spending time with you and it makes you happy 

Before I even end this, he's a girl group stan and I'm standing on it

Idk why but I think he'd like 4Minute and I'm not changing my mind. He'd be bummed they're not together anymore 

Honestly, his favorite groups have probably all disbanded or are on hiatus. He's not having a good time 

“I like 4Minute” “disbanded” “2NE1?” “disbanded” “Miss A?” “disbanded” “CLC?” “I don't think they're disbanded but they're doing their own thing” “I hate my life”

I just feel like he'd have bad luck 

Dancing becomes a new hobby though. He can't always be getting rid of threats. 

Mainly does it with you 

His favorite thing to dance to is Whatcha Doin’ Today by 4Minute. Honestly I can see that being his favorite song which is a real shame cause I think his favorite would be Jihyun and she got like, one line (I'm projecting)

Liu Kang 

Big problem with your plan. He has glowing eyes and shades hardly dull them. How's he gonna hide that? 

With TWO pairs of shades of course 

I think he'd be reluctant to make the video because his existence isn't supposed to be known by random people 

He'd be willing to dance with you alone, he's just not sure about the video and he won't be sure until you come up with a good idea that'll get rid of that problem 

You can post it on your close friends though. They make sense 

I feel like he'd like dancing to some random ass unknown group from the 80s or 90s. Who even are these people?

He did watch as civilization grew so he's seen tons of groups form and disband so I guess it's not surprising he knows smaller groups. 

Idk if he'd have a preference for boy groups or girl groups. If it's good music, it's good music 

I don't think it'd become a new hobby for him. He's not reluctant about it like Kenshi, it just doesn't interest him as much as you'd like 

He makes it known he's doing this for you. Not in an asshole way, but in a “I really like when you're happy” type of way 

I'm NOT looking up old ass groups just for this so imma say his favorite thing to dance to is Kard in general. Why? Idk. I’m spreading an agenda

I wanna write more MK1 intros but I’m brain empty. I’m miserable This was also short. My bad anon. Everyone has around 230 words

[azrielslightintheshadows]

Shadows and tears

So this is a series about Azriel and reader. English is not my first language so please excuse any mistakes. I hope you like it!

Summary: Reader is a tortured soul who barely escaped the brutality of the Illyrian camps finding shelter in the Day Court. Her identity was well hidden until she caught the attention of the Night Court’s Shadowsinger. Will the mating bond be enough for their love to settle in?

Warnings: angst, mentions of abuse and trauma

You don't need a tissue box.....yet

Masterlist

Prologue , Chapter 1 , Chapter 2 , Chapter 4 , Chapter 5 , Chapter 6 , Chapter 7 , Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10

Chapter 3

Three sisters for three brothers

After a long bath to clear your mind, you decided that you had enough of sulking around, you needed to get out of the house even if it meant you were going alone. You started tracing your hands all over the dresses Mor gifted you trying to find the perfect one, the dresses were scandalous, but they didn’t shock you, living in Illyrian camps where the warriors and the women most of the time wore outfits that left almost nothing to the imagination you were used to it. You chose a low-cut midnight black dress that showed off your cleavage, your back was bare, and it reached mid-thigh. You pulled your hair in a high ponytail and wore matching midnight black heels. You stared at the mirror, you didn’t mind the scars you had, after one year in the day court they had faded and you only felt stronger now, wearing your scars like a true fighter. You thought of Helion and how he helped you see the scars this way and felt nostalgic, by this time you and him would be sitting on the balcony staring at the city with two glasses of wine. You shook those thoughts away when someone knocked on your door. “Come in” you shouted expecting to see Rhysand, but it was Mor who walked in wearing a similar dress to yours but red. “The house hinted me that you were planning to go get some drinks. Now I can’t say that I’m not a little hurt that you didn’t invite me but anyway would you like some company?” She said with a smirk “Yes I would like that, I just didn’t want to pull anyone of you from your schedules” you replied staring at your feet “nonsense we have to get to know you baby” she winked.

You two walked in the main room heading for the door, when you saw Azriel with that girl sitting on the couch laughing. You noticed how domestic and comfortable they looked, him staring at her eyes with a smile, his hand on the back of the couch behind her and her laughing leaning towards him. What you didn’t expect was that Azriel’s shadows weren’t there around him. He must be so comfortable that he doesn’t need them. You thought. They realized someone had walked in and turned to look at you. You could swear that Azriel took a sharp breath when he saw you, staring at your figure and the way the dress hugged your body.

“We are going out” was all that Mor said offering a tight annoyed smile and she grabbed your hand leading you outside. After you exited the wards, she winnowed you right outside of a place called Rita’s or at least that’s what the sign read.

“What was that?” you asked referring to her annoyance at the couple hoping you weren’t prying.

“Azriel and Elain…. Even though Rhysand ordered Az to stay away he doesn’t.” she replied with a scoff.

“But why?” you were utterly confused.

“Elain is Feyre’s older sister, and she has a mate that is not Azriel. I have so much to tell you, you don’t know anything about us” she replied and excitedly walked you both inside.

After way too many drinks and stories about everyone in the Inner Circle you were in tears some of them caused by sadness after Rhysand’s and Feyre’s story and others from laughter by the whole circus that is called warlord or Cassian or Cassie which was way too funny since he is literally a giant. The reference to the males as bat boys sent you into a fit of laughter and hiccups as you felt your head turning.

“Okay baby you had enough let’s get you back to the house” Mor said laughing. You decided that Mor could be a very good friend of yours and for the first time you felt sad about returning to the day court. Mor winnowed you back to the house and lead you to your room. “Goodnight baby” she said and left. You turned to walk into your room, but your shadows caught your attention they were trying to lead you somewhere so in your drunk state you decided to follow them tripping over your own feet, you managed to reach the balcony in way more time than you would soberly do and there he stood, Azriel in all his glory wearing his Illyrian leathers the moonlight falling on his sharp features, wings tightly tucked behind him staring the city. You know his shadows have already informed him about your arrival, but he doesn’t seem to bother as he keeps his cool stance, only turning his head slightly towards you. You moved beside him grabbing the rail. You stared at the view, the city was alive, laughter ringed in your ears, Sidra has never looked so good, illuminating the city lights and the figures of the people walking by, the moon was shining bright, decorated by the beautiful background of countless stars creating an almost purple colour around the sky. This scene could have jumped out of a painting, you could swear that it will probably be your favourite view, as you imagined this city being your home. You glanced at Azriel’s scarred hands gripping the rail tightly and maybe the alcohol took over but before you could stop yourself you took one of his hands, caressing his scarred skin with your thumb. He tensed and now you had his full attention, those hazel eyes staring deep into your own and his shadows hesitantly rising to cover his hand.

“Never hide your scars Azriel, they show the world that we are fighters” You muttered using your other hand to point at your own scars. His gaze darkened as he stared at the places you pointed to, his eyes lifted and softened when he captured your own in a tense eye contact.

“Who did this to you?” he growled.

“We all have our monsters” you replied and then pointed at his hands with your glance, “who did this to you?” you copied him.

“We all have our monsters” he smirked. You scoffed but he didn’t miss the amusement in your eyes earning a teasing smile. You wondered why he never smiles, he is indeed a stunning male but when he smiles? He looks like something made from an artist’s imagination.

“I wonder what I did to deserve to meet you… sometimes I think the cauldron is playing me” he replied taking a step back, his eyes never leaving yours.

“What do you mean?” you sent him a questioning look.

“I never thought I would meet someone who can understand the pain I’ve been through” he replied and took a seat on the ground his back resting on the wall behind him, his wings relaxed. You followed him taking a seat beside him, resting your head on his shoulder. Your own wings bumping into his but it didn’t bother either of you.

“Show me your monsters shadow singer” you breathed. “I can’t” he paused “they will haunt you forever”. “Will it make a difference? Mine already do” you replied with a sad smile. You felt him tense. “If I could, I would slaughter each one of them”

“How come you’re so open to me today?” you asked curiously.

“You won’t remember anything tomorrow angel” he replied with a chuckle knowing how drunk you are. Your lack of reply made him turn to look at you, he smiled noticing that you were fast asleep on his shoulder. He selfishly wanted to stay there all night but when he felt you shiver from the cold, he picked you in his arms and walked to your room. After taking off your heels and covering you with your duvet he left the room walking into his own, straight into the bathroom splashing cold water on his face. No this can’t be right. Three sisters for three brothers that must be it. He thought as he got ready for bed.

Three sisters for three brothers.

[bloofinntoona]

Polyjuice Shenanigans: Part I

Word Count: 1.5 k

Themes: fluff, kinda funny me thinks, sebastian sallowxf!reader, garreth weasleyxominis gaunt

Summary: sebastian and garreth drank a potion that made them swap bodies - chaos ensues.

A/N: A little cheat sheet so it's not confusing: if I put single quotation mark on a character, it means they are acting in their swapped body. For example: 'Sebastian' means Garreth in Seb's body, vice versa - hope it makes sense!

If Sebastian Sallow had to confess his true feelings, he would easily agree that Garreth Weasley was one of his closest friends in Hogwarts. He didn't go around the school parading his friendship with the redhead though, both of them are known to be absolute troublemakers, so it would be wise to hide their friendship from the professors' prying eyes. It started from a mutually beneficial trade, Sebastian stole a book from the restricted section for an extra mandrake root from Garreth. From then on, they began to exchange knowledge about potions and spells, with casual banters here and there. 

"Psst... Over here, Sallow!" Sebastian looked over his shoulder, spotting a friendly face hiding behind a huge pillar in the Transfiguration Courtyard. Garreth pointed to an empty storage room, motioning Sebastian to follow him. Sebastian rolled his eyes at the mischievous grin Garreth had plastered across his face. He knew that meant trouble.

"This better be worth my time." Sebastian joined the Gryffindor student in the small space, coughing as the dust clogged his nose. 

"Oh, I bet it will!" Garreth beamed, producing two vials filled with glowing blue liquid, "I will cut to the chase, I made a potion that lets people hear others' thoughts. Telepathy, if you will!"

Sebastian furrowed his brows, taking a close look at the suspicious potions, "Okay, and where do I fit in this?"

"Ah, my dear friend Sebastian, you know that telepathy involves two people?" Garreth wiggled his eyebrows, pushing a vial into Sebastian's chest.

"And you want me to drink this with you to test it out?" The chestnut-haired boy took the vial, "Why would I do this?"

Garreth tapped his chin, pretending to think, "Well, remember how I got you that kneazel fur a few weeks ago? Poppy found out that I stole from the bestiary and made me clean mooncalves poop for days - thank you very much!"

Oh, Sebastian just remembered how Garreth smelled absolutely foul, and that he didn't want to ever see mooncalves for the rest of his life. He opened the vial, clinking the glass against Garreth's, who was now smiling widely, "bottoms up."

They both drank the potion at the same time. Sebastian physically gagged at how foul the taste was, perhaps a medley of wet socks and soil, "Merlin's hairy balls, what did you-" Before he could finish his sentence, Sebastian started to feel funny, his visions blurred, but he could feel his hair growing, while the muscle under his skin moved and jolted. He was familiar with this feeling, in fact, he figured that he was transforming into someone else, and the effect of a Polyjuice potion. As his vision started to clear, he almost jumped seeing an exact copy of himself in front of him, the only main difference was that 'Sebastian' was wearing a red Gryffindor robe and uniform.

An apologetic smile formed on 'Sebastian's' face, "I'm sorry?"

"Don't tell me. The base recipe was Polyjuice, wasn't it?"

'Sebastian' nodded, reaching his hand to touch 'Garreth's' cheeks. 'Garreth' slapped the hand away, "Hey, at least you look better now, Sallow." he joked.

"Ha-ha. Funny. Okay, when will this last?" 

'Sebastian' took out his notes, and then his face fell, reading a clear note that the Polyjuice potion will either last for a couple of hours or even a full day. He read the excerpt out loud, eliciting a loud groan from 'Garreth'.

"It will be fine, Sebastian! We finished classes for today. All we need to do is just sleep it off, and I bet we will be alright tomorrow. Just don't get caught." There you have the typical Gryffindor's positivity on display.

'Garreth' nodded, it might not be so terrible after all. And then it dawned on him, he promised Y/N, his girlfriend, to study together for their N.E.W.Ts tonight. He had been pining for the new fifth year for a year and finally mustered the courage to confess his feelings in the middle of the sixth year. Y/N was probably one of the best things that happened to Sebastian after the series of unfortunate events in his life, and in turn, he was very possessive of the girl. It ranged from public displays of affection, and the daggers he shot from his eyes whenever another male student had the decency to flirt with his girlfriend. And with the current situation, Weasley, in his body, would be the one snogging Y/N tonight.

"I promised Y/N to study together tonight..." 'Garreth' muttered under his breath, 'Sebastian' caught that, face now pale with thoughts about being buried six feet deep if he dared to lay a single finger on the girl.

"Sebastian, I promised I will not inappropriately touch Y/N. You have my word, as a Gryffindor, and as a friend." 'Sebastian' tapped 'Garreth's' shoulder. 

The two boys emerged from the dingy storage room in their proper attire, after swapping their uniforms hastily. 'Garreth' swept his hair back in annoyance, writing a mental note that he would not grow his hair this long, every part of his face itching. "Act normal." he heard the other boy whisper, trailing him from behind.

"Sure. Let me just harass younger students for potion ingredients." 

'Sebastian' rolled his eyes, "Okay, then I'll just go ahead and brood with my book. What do you read anyways? Erotica?"

As 'Garreth' was about to inflict some sort of pain on the fake Slytherin student, he spotted Y/N in the corner of his eyes, striding towards them.

"Darling-" He immediately covered his mouth, his eyes motioned 'Sebastian' to greet her.

"Ah, my beautiful girlfriend, the butter to my beer, what can I do for you?" 'Sebastian' held his hand to hug Y/N, but he quickly retracted his limbs when 'Garreth's' burning gaze pierced through him. 

Y/N stared at her boyfriend, furrowing her brows at the boy's unusual behavior, "Alright, then." She snaked her arms around his, clinging onto what she thought was Sebastian. 'Garreth' gritted his teeth in annoyance, but he, fortunately, had enough self-control to continue the charade. 

"If you boys are done, I'll steal Sebastian." Y/N chuckled, "he promised to teach me Transfiguration. Merlin, help me I think I'm failing the class."

"I think you're amazing, and you'll definitely ace the class." 'Garreth' muttered with a smile, before panic set in his eyes, realizing that he currently was in a different body.

Y/N was visibly taken aback, 'Sebastian' felt her body tensing, he also knew that if they were in a normal situation, real Sebastian would have chewed him off for flirting with his lover. "Ah, uh," he eyed the fake Garreth in front of him, "Let's get out of here, Y/N!" 'Sebastian' dragged Y/N away from 'Garreth', "Also, remember, Garreth, Leander is waiting for you in the common room!"

'Garreth' whipped his head back, letting out an exasperated groan, Great, he was stuck with Leander while Garreth got to have fun with Y/N. He dragged his feet to Gryffindor's common room, muttering every single cuss known to mankind. 

"Where are we going again?" 'Sebastian' stopped in his tracks, realizing that he dragged off Y/N aimlessly, totally forgetting to ask the real Sebastian where the lovebirds were planning to study. 

"Sebastian, you're acting weird today. Are you sick?" Y/N put her palm against her supposed boyfriend's forehead.

"I'm fine, truly," the cogs started to turn in his brain, thinking of a viable excuse of his understandably odd behavior, "I think the classes today were a bit overwhelming, to be quite honest."

"Makes sense. Professor Bin's class is the worst, I think even Amit fell asleep earlier," she laughed, "Let's just go back to the dorm. I'll ask Ominis to brew one of his posh tea bags."

Hearing Ominis' name, 'Sebastian's' face turned into a light shade of pink. There was a lot to account for being in Sebastian's body, but Garreth completely forgot that he was able to be closer to a certain Slytherin boy he had been harboring a crush for.

At the first glance, one would assume Ominis Gaunt to be an arrogant boy who enjoyed slandering people. Yet the more you knew Ominis, you'd realize that he was a kind soul, genuinely cared for his friends, and his jokes (especially about people that he disliked) were beyond hilarious. It was during one of Sharp's classes, that particular day, they were having a test to brew a vial of Invisibility potion. Garreth was a bright boy, but due to his constant "additions" to his potions, he totally blanked. Although he didn't utter a single word, he felt a nudge on his elbow. The redhead looked at Ominis, who was stationed next to him, the Slytherin leaned in, whispering "By the ghastly smell of your potion, I bet you forgot to add some dittany leaves." Garreth nodded, proceeding with his assignment, actually completing it without any explosions - even Professor Sharp was surprised that Garreth actually didn't mess up.

"Thanks for the help, Ominis, I never thought I would get one from you." Garreth caught the Slytherin after class.

"Weasley, I could sense your panic from miles away. And I'm not looking forward to having my brows burned away from your explosions," he smirked. With that, Garreth felt a lump on his chest that he never felt before. 

Oh dear, this situation has proven to be more difficult than he thought.

A/N: had so much fun writing this! Def will continue this when I have the time soon. :D

[pedroshotwifey]

WIP Wednesday Game

Thank you, @kewwrites for tagging me!

Step one: Post snippets of the fics you're working on (can be a summary if there's no snippet)

Step two: put them in a poll and let people vote on which one you should work on, then prioritize the one with the most votes.

Step three: Ask me about my WIPs! I've got lots of lore to share + more snippets, etc.

Alright, I have a few loaded up for y'all, but I mostly just cleaned out my WIPs. Most of them were requests, which you will also be seeing a bit more of here soon!

First off, we have a lil snippet of TTF 9:

You push against him, trying to pry his arms away, and this, combined with the seriousness ebbing into your tone, finally catches his attention. He looks up at you, a slight pout on his full lips.  “I just need to let her know,” you say, waiting for him to loosen his grip, but he only sighs.  “Honestly, I don’t think that’s a good idea, sweetheart,” he admits, looking at you with genuine concern.  You frown, a bit taken aback.  “What do you mean?”  He sighs again and looks down past you, almost like he’s getting ready to explain something to a small child. You don’t like the way it makes you feel like such. You’ve noticed recently that he has a tendency to make you feel like a kid, though you don’t think it’s intentional. The age gap definitely doesn’t help either. It makes you worry sometimes that you’re too immature for him, even though you know you’re not in the slightest.  “I don’t think you should tell anyone you’re leaving,” he explains.

Next up, FB 7:

What’s worse, though, is the way your brain plays tricks on you. You see memories from your childhood, your mom and dad standing vividly in front of you.  Sometimes, you’ll wake and find Mando hovering above you, adjusting your pillow, cleaning your wounds. It seems so real, as real as the tears in your eyes and the ache in your chest, but you know it can’t be. It feels real, sounds real, looks real, but you know it's a figment of your cruel imagination. A fever dream trying to trick you into thinking that everything is okay.  It doesn’t work though; you know better than that. So you close your eyes again, as you do every time, willing your body to get the rest it needs and your brain to stop fighting with your heart. There are a couple times where you close them fully expecting not to open them again, and you find that the thought doesn't scare you. Being exhausted is exhausting, you decide after the first few times. 

Lastly, I got that Marcus Moreno fic I was talking about a while back:

He looks fucking gorgeous as always. He’s wearing a light blue button-up with black slacks and shiny black shoes. And, of course, those thick-rimmed glasses that have proven themselves to be your ultimate weakness. He smiles back at you and it’s like your blood turns to lava coursing through your veins.  “Hey, sweetheart,” he says way too casually as he sets his coat down on the chair beside him. “How was your day? Missy didn’t give you too much trouble?”  It takes you a moment to register that what he said required an answer. You were too busy picking his outfit apart and damn-near tearing his clothes off with your eyes.  “No, she was an angel as always!,” you say completely truthfully. Missy is the sweetest, most calm child you’ve ever babysat. At six years old, she is perfectly well behaved. “Did a bit of swimming and played a board game before dinner. She’s out cold now.”  Marcus beams as he walks to the kitchen.  “I’m glad to hear,” he calls out to you as he starts rifling through cabinets. “C’mere, I got something for you.”  Your stomach flips, but your brows furrow. Why would he have something for you?

Feel free to send in some asks! I'd love to see what y'all are thinking!

NPT: @callachloe @nerdieforpedro @wannab-urs @beskarandblasters @chaotic-iguana @morallyinept @romanarose and anyone else who wants to play!

[gakriele-lvs-blog]

Relatable Scars AU (Additions)

Some little additions to my previously established: What if Vee and Hunter got the chance to meet in the Demon Realm. Leading to Hunter discovering the monster Belos really is (What if AU #2)

---Their first meeting would probably go like something like this:

In the middle of Bonesthought Hunter is desperately trying to find something that could help clear his mind, to shut up that voice telling him to go back, put on his uniform, and spend the next 48 hours working without rest like usual. He really feels awful after the failed mission and really wants to relax for once.

He comes across a vending machine getting smacked by a random girl and he gets in his soldier mentally instantly and tries to arrest her. He persecutes her until they are both in a dead end, and while he threatens to call her parents for the damages he starts to realize what she is wearing, some dirty clothes with an oversized jacket, but before he can respond she calls back saying that she doesn't have parents and that he is a bully and tries to escape again. Hunter stops her and throws at her some money, backing off and apologizing to her. Getting a full picture of why she was trying to rob the machine

They arrive back at the vending machine where Hunter teaches her how to use it, buying her a couple snacks with his money, and staying with her until she is done. They introduce each other and Vee thanks him for being nice to her, something that she isn't used to. Hunter decides to leave not before telling her to be careful out there. Hunter comes back to the same spot a week later to see Vee, this time successfully stealing from the vending machine, but this time he distracts one of the passing scouts, helping her get everything without anyone noticing.

---When they first meet it was clear from the beginning each one was hiding something from the other. But reasonably none of them try to pry much at first, as time goes on they begin to slowly open out about what they go through on a daily basis.

---When Darius discovers that Hunter has been sneaking out of the castle he would be delighted. like: "Oh look at him, his first rebellion. He may not be beyond salvation after all" He promises Hunter to not say anything and gift him a Scroll (He believes Hunter has made a couple of friends his age and hopes they are a good influence on him)

-Continuation to the last one: Hunter will get Vee a Scroll so they can communicate at any time.

---Raine, thanks to Darius's words, decides to also keep an eye on Hunter now that there is the possibility of him trying to break free from Belos' control. They send Derwin (the guy with glasses, because Katya and Amber wouldn't take the mission seriously enough) to spying him during his trips to town and figure out who is he seeing so often.

---Vee knows since their first meeting that he is different from any other witch she has sniff before. Because of this and the scars, she believes he was also made like her. But doesn't dare to mention it because she wants to get his trust first.

---They spent a good amount of their time together talking about how different their lives are compared to the ones from the kids their age around town: "Have you ever... Like, speak with anyone your age, apart from me I guess." - "Can you imagine what a normal life would be like?" - "Have you ever wondered if you have some family out there looking for you" - "School sounds soo cool! They let you study whatever you want! They give you food, and clothes for Free! I would love to go to one!"

---Imagine the angst potential when Belos informs Hunter about the basilisk running out there, giving him the order to capture/hunt/kill any basilisk he comes across. Then, one day in Bonesthroguht as the Golden Guard he finds and successfully kills one in brought daylight, he quickly changes and finds Vee to see if she is alright just to see her absolutely horrified by what the Golden Guard did. Everyone in town is celebrating her sibling's execution. (Not knowing Hunter is the Golden Guard) she cries on Hunter's shoulder while he believes Vee was just spooked by the basilisk. (Probably not going to happen but hey, think about the angst!)

---Maybe at some point, Hunter uses his Golder Guard persona to get Vee to attend Hexide (?) Just kinda a loose idea for the moment.

---Lilith will find Hunter talking with this random girl and think: "Holly shit he got a girlfriend?! How?! since when?! Belos knows this?! Does he spoil him this much?!" So yeah, bad news for Hunter.

[fox-daddy]

Incorrect quotes now with my MC's because nobody can stop me.

TW: swearing, mild nsfw jokes

Hunter: You know Julian, because of pregnant people the average number of skeletons inside a person is never one

Julian: what the f-

valdemar: no, let them speak

~~~

Asra: your future self is watching you through your memor-

Julian: not if I drink enough alcohol. Take that you prying creep!

~~~

Asra: for some reason people are scared of staring into the vast depths of the ocean that is actually only a few miles deep. Yet find comfort staring into the endless abyss that is the sky above us

Kyle: that's because gravity doesn't drag you into the abyss

The Magician: not yet :)

Kyle: And what the fuck does that mean?

~~~

Bluebell: someone has drunk more alcohol than anyone else in the world and they don't even know it.

Lucio: of course I know him, he's me

~~~

Asra: what is C for?

Hunter dressed up as cookie monster: C4 is a fucking explosive

Asra: No, what is, C, for?

Hunter:... C is for Cock

Asra: what's your costume?

Hunter: cookie monster

~~~

Hunter holding a gun to a mushroom: tell me- tell me the name of god you fungal piece of shit!

Mushroom: can you feel your heat burning? can you feel the struggle within? the fear within me is beyond anything your soul can make. You cannot kill me in a way that matters

Hunter cocks gun tears streaming down their face: I'M NOT FUCKING SCARED OF YOU

Julian: hey, Hunter, what the fuck does this mean?

Hunter: decay exists as an extant form of life

Julian: That's a- that's a terrifying answer, have a nice day

~~~

Hunter: I love cheating, if you don't cheat what the hell is wrong with you?

Nadia: have you ever been cheated on?

Hunter: Oh shit, I forgot some people are in relationships. To clarify I love to violate academic integrity on exams

~~~

Bluebell: top hats imply the existence of a bottom hat

Kyle: cat ears

Hunter: why would you say something so controversial yet so brave?

~~~

Kyle: how to start discourse. 'insert favorite person' is a 'insert favorite Hogwarts house'

Hunter: Julian is a power-bottom and not enough people talk about it

Kyle: I don't think that sentence starts discourse so much as ends any conversation before it even starts

~~~

Hunter: nature documentary but the narration is just weird enough to make you question it

Bluebell: Some fish can walk out of water, so remember that next time

Kyle: you might think your safe, but horses are omnivores

~~~

Hunter: standing up and blacking out for a few seconds is just transitioning from a cutscene to the actual gameplay

Julian: you need to eat some salt is what that means

~~~

Hunter: the cis are all like 'but won't children be confused' but every interaction I've ever had with a child who didn't know what to call me has gone verbatim like this

"why are you wearing a dress"

"because I can"

"Okay. Do you like animals?"

Bluebell: kids are very busy and have got much more important things to think about, such as their favorite animals

~~~

Hunter: okay, brain, don't freak out, but we've come across a minor inconvenience

Hunter's brain already dousing itself in gasoline: that's unfortunate

~~~

Kyle with ADHD, ASD and mild dyspraxia/Dislexia: I'll stop making jokes about mental illness, when mental illness stops making a joke out of me *laugh slowly turns into pained chuckle*

~~~

Kyle: isn't it crazy how depending on your mental state you can either spill a glass of water and be like 'HAHAHA OOPS CLUMBSY ME' or spill a glass or water and be like 'MY LIFE IS A FUCKING NIGHTMARE, I DESTORY EVERYTHING I TOUCH, NO ONE WILL EVER LOVE ME AND MY WET FUCKING FLOOR'

~~~

Kyle: It's Halloween let's do something REALLY SCARY

Hunter: we could go to bed early and be alone with our thoughts

~~~

Kyle when trying to force themselves to learn something they have no care about nor interest in;

~~~

Hunter: why do I feel terrible?

hunter's body: coffee is not a meal, eat a vegetable, sleep, PLEASE!!!

Hunter: guess I'll never know

Hunter's body screaming internally: Oh my god!!!

~~~

Kyle: checking the clock before starting something*

Kyle's ADHD: well it's 9:14 which might as well be 9:30 and that's basically 10 which is almost 11 and I have to be in bed by 11 so I don't have time to start anything

~~~

Kyle: everyone is so much taller than me, I get to be picked up so often, just whenever I want! I just have to ask and it's GREAT! Now if only I could actually see where I was going through this stupid crowd.

Portia: I will make them pay for the way I was treated. The streets will run red with the blood of those who mocked me. All shall perish before the rage of the opressed. My vengeance draws near-

[tuesday-calling]

i dont know if anyone following me here cares much for my fic but i am alive and do plan on continuing them!!

(just a little writers blocked lately. if anyone has any suggestions or cures id appreciate it)

excerpt from my latest chapter of my fae fic (link below to ao3 as well)

•✾•✾•✾•✾•✾•✾•

John had thoughts dark as or darker than the shade; cold spots where the rays of the sun could never reach. Dark thoughts deserved to stay in dark places, untouched and unbothered. Just as when he could hardly see when he wasn't wearing his glasses, if he kept the gnarled and grotesque roots hidden in the darkness where he couldn't see them, that was better.

When he was with Paul, though. Paul was something else. He was pure sunlight and magic and music all bottled up into one frustratingly enigmatic and beautiful boy. John felt as though Paul could look into his mind, his heart, his soul and expose all the things John tried so damn hard to keep hidden.

That pathetically vulnerable part of him wanted to let it happen.

The object of his thoughts slumbered peacefully, blissfully ignorant of John's musings. His left hand rested on the pillow by his face, fingers curled loosely into an almost-fist. The moonlight peeking in through the window painted the skin of his exposed cheek in shining silver.

Paul was just stunning, in each and every way a living being could be. John was a man who lived each day waiting for the other shoe to drop, consistently surprised whenever it didn't. He couldn't fathom holding onto a creature of myth and magic like Paul for very long.

Nonetheless, though. He wanted to. He wanted to selfishly keep all of Paul's magic for himself. Maybe he could soak it up little by little, through his lips, through the caress of his skin, through the ghost of a melody that was seemingly always ready at Paul's lips.

He remembered stories of men keeping faeries captive. Though he didn't think himself quite capable of brutish acts of rape and violence such as those towards Paul and recoiled at the mere thought, he could almost understand the sentiment behind the cruelty.

When you had something this magical in the palm of your hand, you didn't let it slip between your fingers.

•✾•✾•✾•✾•✾•✾•

Paul had once told John, hushed and quiet as they sat together smoking one night, that he didn't really understand the way his magic worked. 

John thought about the way he'd stolen Stu's voice that day, back in Hamburg. He remembered meeting Paul's eyes and seeing how shaken he was. That was when John knew, really knew, that the scope of what Paul was capable of was so much greater than just talking to birds or writing songs as easy as breathing.

There was magic running through his veins, glittering gold and John had seen it for himself.

It was why, in part at least, John knew the band would succeed. It was why he wasn't shocked when Brian Epstein approached them after one of their shows with the intent of managing them. It was why everything with The Beatles finally clicked into place.

"I don't know if it works that way, John," Paul said, shoulders in a tense line. "It's the music that's gotten us here, not what's in my blood."

And maybe to some extent, that was true. John thought that Paul wasn't really aware of just how casually magical he was, though. It was in the way he walked and talked and breathed and held himself, the ease of his charm and wit. Anyone who laid eyes on him could see it, even if they were blind. (And John very nearly was, mind.)

Paul kept that part of himself so tightly under wraps that it made John want to pry his way in all the more. Beautifully secretive Paul. So enamoring, and so frustrating all at once. John supposed the way he adored him with a desperation akin to the need for oxygen may have been a byproduct of the thrall held over him; John couldn't be arsed to care.

Not when letting all of this happen just felt so much better than hiding under the shade in his head.

[terrifictoonman]

Prompt: You and your mother were exiled when the king's legitimate heir was born. More than a decade later, your half-sibling wants to meet you. (By: u/KazRyn on Reddit)

Heart Ablaze

Ludwell is a beautiful river town on the edge of the Crokonian Kingdom, not found on many maps. It's seen as an isolated oasis for those just trying to escape something and focus on finding their own peace.

Very few, if any, royal patrols come by. The local leaders have a surprisingly good relationship with the more aggressive towns nearby, so no worries about being raided. Aside from the rare gnome attack, this Ludwll is a small slice of heaven for those who live there.

Until someone couldn't mind their own business.

----------

While not as glamorous as others, the people of Ludwell could recognize a royal carriage from a mile away. Not to mention the dozen of "travelers" that just so happened to show up the day prior.

The town collectively held its breath, minds racing at why a royal would go to so much trouble to come here. Some believed that this was some secret meeting with the neighboring kingdom. Others thought this would be another one of the king's "excursions" outside of the prying eyes of his queen. However, one woman knew not only why the royal carriage was there but also to who was inside. She dropped her food basket and ran home as fast as her legs could carry her and then some.

She charged through the door into a cottage on a hill at the edge of town.

"Landon!" yelled the woman as she ran through her home in an intense search. However, all she found was the echo of her own voice. A little relieved but still in a bit of a panic, the woman left the cottage just in time to see the carriage roll up the hill.

A tall, stocky woman wearing a royal uniform with matching pauldrons and two short swords sheathed behind her walked out of the carriage. The two women locked eyes as the warrior came closer to the cottage.

"My lady," said the warrior, saluting. The woman raised her hand in protest.

"Oh please, we both know that formality is no longer required," said the woman. She closer to the warrior, reaching up to place her hands on her face. "Good to know they're still feeding you all well in the barracks." The warrior smiled as she held the woman's hand.

"It still doesn't hold a dragon's tail vapor to the meals you helped prepare," said the warrior. The woman lightly slapped the warrior on the cheek.

"There's my girl!" said the woman before hugging the warrior, lifting her off her feet. While in mid-hug, the woman noticed a figure through the carriage glass, watching them. The woman dropped the warrior and straightened her uniform. "So, Miss Royal Knight, what brings you all to our humble little town?" The knight's posture stiffens.

"The house of Dasvok wishes for an audience with sir -" The knight paused, seeing the woman shoot her an annoyed look. "-with Landon Phenur."

"What for?" asked the woman.

"That is between the house and your son," replied the knight. Ms. Phenur took another glance through the carriage window before looking back at the knight. "I can say this: we do not wish to cause any further unease than necessary."

"I believe you," sighed Ms. Phenur, "however, I also believe my son made it very clear that he doesn't wish to speak with anyone from the House of Dasvok."

"They... insisted," said the warrior. The two women stared at each other for a few seconds.

"Are they prepared for what might come next?" asked Ms. Phenur in a lower tone.

"Yes, ma'am," replied the knight.

"Are you?" asked Ms. Phenur. The knight closed her eyes and took a deep breath before answering.

"I pray it doesn't come to that," replied the knight.

"Then I hope your faith is strong," said Ms. Phenur. "I can take you to him, but I can not promise a gentle outcome."

Ms. Phenur was outside the carriage with the driver as they rode back into Ludwell. However, Ms. Phenur noticed something odd. While the town has never been busy, the streets are hardly ever empty, especially at this time of day. Ms. Phenur knocks on the carriage in a particular rhythm, and the knight rushes out of the carriage, quickly closing the door behind her. The two women survey their surroundings and find nothing.

"I see espionage is still a quality lacking in the royal core," said Ms. Phenur.

"You've been inside the kingdom walls," said the knight, "subtlety is a luxury." The knight pulls off a glove, revealing a symbol tattooed onto the back of her hand. The symbol glowed along with the knight's eyes. "Men, report!" The knight stands in silence and frustration as she repeats herself.

"Don't bother!" yelled a man. The two women took ahead to see a young man in torn clothes and covered in cuts, blood, and bruises. "The guys decided they were due for a drink. Unlucky for them, the drinks here hit hard." The man stops about fifteen feet away from the two women.

"Landon..." said knight.

"Odel," replied Landon, "long time no see, and if I remember correctly, I wanted to keep it that way."

"Landon, they just want to talk," said Ms. Phenur.

"So I've been told," said Landon, "but as you can see, I'm a bit of a mess. So, if you'll excuse me." The man starts walking but stops when the carriage door opens. Odel runs over to the open door, stopping the royal from leaving.

"Remember why we came here," said Ms. Phenur.

"Oh, trust me, the last thing I'm gonna do is forget," said Landon, tightening his bloodied fists. Odel drops her head in defeat and steps aside. Out from the carriage walks a dark elf halfling with long grey hair covering her eyes and pale lavender skin, all wrapped in a red and gold dress most royals wish they could afford. The princess walks past a concerned Ms. Phenur and stops a few feet away from Landon. "Your majesty."

"...Brother," said the princess. In the blink of an eye, the cuts on Landon's body begin to produce steam. "I do not wish to fight."

"We don't always get what we want," said Landon. "I mean, here I am talking to you. Does dear old dad know you're here?"

"Do you think he would care if he did?" asked the princess.

"Fair enough," said Landon, "So what? You were just in the area. Thought you'd stop by for a visit?"

"You're angry," said the princess.

"Understatement of the damn century," said Landon. The princess parts her hair, revealing a pair of pale, silvery eyes.

"What are you gonna do about it?" asked the princess as she glared at Landon. Landon's arms burst into fire as his eyes glow orange. He charges at the princess, winding up a punch, but whiffs hard as the princess gracefully dodges Landon's attack. Landon and Ms. Phenur looks at the princess in shock.

Landon swings wildly at the princess, aiming for the head and chest, but the princess continues to dodge with ease. Eventually, the princess leaps backward a few feet and whips her hair back over her shoulder.

"Congrats, you mastered not getting hit," yelled Landon, "but if you think this whole pacifist act is gonna get me to listen to you, you are in for a long day!" Landon charges at the princess and throws another punch. However, instead of dodging or even blocking, the princess takes the hit, full force, straight to the face, sending her flying through a window.

Ms. Phenur, enraged, prepares to "discipline" her but is stopped by Odel holding her shoulder. Landon stands, surprised that he actually hit her. His fire dimmed a bit as he walked towards the building he had knocked her into, but before he could get there, the princess walked out the front door, wiping off the glass and dirt from her dress before standing in a polite pose with a huge mark on her face.

"So, you can take a hit," said Landon.

"If that's what you want to call it," said the princess. "We lived in the same castle, learned from the same teachers, and trained with the same knights."

"So?" asked Landon.

"So I know you're holding back," said the princess, "and if I could hazard a guess, that means you're not as mad at me as you'd want others to think."

"Oh no, how could I be mad at you?" said Landon, "you're only the sole reason my mother and I were forced to leave our home, along with all of our friends and family. Not to mention, we had to fake our own deaths."

"And you're right to be upset," said the princess, "but I know -"

"You know nothing! " yelled Landon, his fire intensifying. "I had my entire life, all I've ever known, torn away from me overnight! My family and friends think I was assassinated! For years, I begged and pleaded to my father for... something, some way of ensuring them peace of mind, and all I received were threats! To myself, to my mother, this town! He was willing to destroy everyone I've ever known just to secure his pitiful life!"

"My hatred for him dwarfs what I have for you," Landon continued, "but he isn't here right now!" The fire on Landon's arms snuffs out, replacing his human skin with patches of crimson-red scales. "So, do you really want to burn on his pyre?"

"If that's what it takes to right his wrong," said the princess. Landon blows ash from his nose before rushing at high speed toward the princess. Once again, the princess doesn't dodge or block, and the two collide in a cloud of dust. When the dust settles, the princess still stands with Landon's clawed hand pressing into her neck, drawing a small amount of blood.

Landon lets out a deep sigh of steam. The scales on his arms lose their color and fall off in patches. Landon lets go of the princess's neck and walks toward Ms. Phenur and Odel. Landon faces Odel.

"I left your men at an inn down the road," said Landon, "they're alive, but they aren't going anywhere anytime soon. You should probably check on them." Odel knods in understanding. Ms. Phenur takes her son's hand.

"I'm proud of you," said Ms. Phenur.

"Don't be," said Landon, taking his hand back. Before Landon continues walking, he frees the horses from the carriage before flipping the cart over with one hand, severely damaging it. "Enjoy your stay, don't find me. I'll find you." Landon continues walking in the direction of his house. Mr. Phenur pats Odel on the shoulder before chasing after her son. Once he is out of sight, Odel rushes toward the princess.

"Are you ok, your majesty?" asked Odel. The princess opens her mouth, revealing fangs and a forked tongue. Both quickly transformed back to normal shortly after showing Odel.

"It was only for a second," said the princess. "I wasn't sure if he'd actually hold back that second time, but thankfully, it wasn't needed."

"And thank the gods for that," said Odel. "We should make our way to the inn, see how our men are doing. If we're lucky, Landon may have left them in at least two pieces." The two walk deeper into the town, the princess looking back in the direction of her half-brother, rubbing her neck.

----------

I hope you enjoyed the story! If you have any comments, criticisms, or critiques, don't be afraid to let me know (as long as they're constructive (or funny).

Stay safe, drink plenty of water, and be kind to yourself and others!

ToonMan, AWAY!

[spoodrm4n]

Steve reader request where they’re the king/queen of Hawkins in high school but as an enemies trope in which they playfully despise one another. She’s in the cheer squad and always is arguing with Steve during practice or something and they get closer ish. Yet one day reader forgets her contacts and has to wear glasses to school and gets bullied by everyone for looking ‘nerdy’ /‘not popular’ and Steve defends her or something and …?

I actually cannot wear contacts because I have a hole in my retina, so glasses are my best friend lol

See You Later

Pairings: Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader

Warnings: None! Pure. Fluff.

Word Count: 1.3K

You mentally facepalmed yourself as you sat at the back of the classroom, squinting and straining your eyes as hard as you could to see the board at the front of the classroom. There was no way you could make out what Mr. Hayes was writing. You had forgotten to put your contacts in this morning and you were paying the price. You looked around, seeing if you could make out what the students around you were writing as their notes, but you still had a difficult time discerning it. You breathed out through your nose, knowing you would have to pull out your glasses. 

You opened your bag and started rummaging through it to find that familiar hard, plastic case. You found it and pulled it out. Your leg bounced nervously, fingers prying open the case slowly. 

The only time you had ever worn your glasses to school was in the seventh grade and all of your classmates had thrown insolent comments your way. You had gone home that day and begged your mom for contacts, tears in your eyes. She had agreed and you made sure to never wear your glasses at school again. 

You swallowed and picked up the frames, eyes scanning the room for anyone looking at you. Your eyes fell on Steve Harrington towards the front of the class. He was twirling his pencil between his fingers, bored and his elbow rested on the desk, his palm holding his cheek. You and Steve had never really gotten along until this year. You two would bicker whenever you were cheering at basketball games and at practice. Why the cheer team held practice the same time as the basketball team– you would never know. The insults you tossed around at each other never really had any venom to them, mostly just snarky, annoyed comments. It had become normal for the two of you and lately you had both begun to end your feuds in fits of laughter. The two of you had some conversations and became something along the lines of friends. You only had one year left of high school together, why spend it fighting with someone you could befriend?

You slipped the glasses on your face and felt some relief when you could finally distinguish what Mr. Hayes was writing. You tried to keep your head down and avoid eye contact as you took notes, but soon enough you were hearing whispers and snickers from beside you. You frowned, scribbling down your notes faster and trying to ignore your classmates teasing. The comments continued and you felt yourself sink lower and lower into your chair. 

They had gotten so loud, apparently, that Steve was turning around, lips turned down and eyebrows pulled together, searching for the cause of your classmates’ gossiping. You tried to duck your head back down but Steve had met your eye already. He looked to you, then back to the others around you, but the bell was ringing now, signaling the end of class. You hurriedly shoved your notebook and pencil into your bag, threw it over your shoulder and kept your head down, rushing out of the door. The taunts and laughter of your peers continuing behind you. 

You walked out the door, ripping the glasses from your face and shoving them in your jacket pocket. You clenched your jaw and blinked away tears as you made your way towards the gym, wanting to hide in the corner of the bleachers and get some homework done during lunch period. You found the gym and pushed the doors open, finding your spot at the top corner of the bleachers. The class that was in there paid no mind to you as you pulled out your algebra homework and angrily wiped at your eyes. You started working out the equations, trying to distract yourself. You grew more frustrated when you realized you could barely see the words and numbers on the paper.

“I wouldn’t let them get to you,” you swore you jumped nearly a foot in the air as Steve sat down next to you. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you I totally thought you heard me–”

“Steve, it's fine.” You huffed, looking back down at your paper. You stared at it for a moment, eyes straining, before the instructions became clear and you started on another problem. 

“I’m not gonna make fun of you. You should wear them; if you keep squinting at that paper it’s gonna give you one hell of a headache.” Steve raised a knowing eyebrow. 

“I’m fine.” Your voice was cold and short. You just wanted to get your homework done in peace. 

“Can I tell you a secret?” You finally lifted your head from the papers in your lap, meeting his gaze. He had the ghost of a smile on his face and his eyes were warm and comforting. Your legs brushed against each other as you turned your body to face him, giving him your full attention. 

“Go for it, Harrington.” You gave him the go ahead, hands resting on the papers in your lap.

“I wear glasses, too.” You blinked at him, mouth falling slightly agape and eyebrows drawing together. 

“No you don’t. I’ve never seen you wear them.” You argued, hands moving to grip the bleachers on either side of you. 

“I do, I just wear contacts. I wear mine around the house, I don’t really go out with them.” He shrugged at you, smiling playing at his lips. 

“I bet they don’t make you look bad, though. I look like a total dweeb. Everyone makes fun of me, Steve.” You really looked at him. You could imagine the frames on his face, framing his coffee, brown eyes and covering up a bit of his eyebrows. You could picture them slipping down his nose and him pushing them back up the bridge absentmindedly. 

“Can I tell you another secret?” Your thighs were touching now and you had moved your hands from beside you to folded over your arms. You didn’t know when he had gotten so close to you. You nodded. “I think you look adorable with them on.” He smirked, elbow nudging your side a bit. 

“W-what?” You stuttered out, thrown off guard. That was the last thing you had expected him to say.

“You look totally cute in them!” He repeated, a grin on his face. You felt your face heat up and looked back down at the algebra worksheet in your lap.

“Shut up, Harrington.” You shook your head, avoiding him. 

“Come on. Put them on for me?” He whined, head dipping down to meet your gaze. You looked at him for a moment before you rolled your eyes and grabbed the glasses from inside your jacket pocket. You breathed out and put them on, turning to face him. His face lit up as he took you in, eyes crinkling at the edges as he smiled.

“See? Adorable.” He beamed, hand finding your own and squeezing. You returned the smile with newfound confidence. He let go of your hand and stood. “I’ll see you at practice, yeah?” He paused, awaiting your response.

“Yeah… Yeah I’ll see you there.” You were still surprised by his reaction. He chuckled, repeating ‘see you there’ and saying something about how someone named Dustin would like the unintentional pun. 

“You better still have those on when I see you next!” He called over his shoulder, making his way down the bleachers. You choked on air, caught off guard once again. You recovered and sat there for a moment, a bit dumbfounded, then continued your homework. You felt excited for once to wear your glasses, butterflies in your stomach at Steve’s words. 

“I’ll have them on for sure.” You mumbled to yourself, fighting back a smile. 

[honeystwiggypeach]

Davie needs glasses!

Dad!Eddie x Mom!Reader

Dad!Eddie masterlist!!

Based on a little conversation I had with @k-k0129 about Davie needing glasses

This is also based a little bit off of my own childhood of wearing those eyepatches to correct my lazy eye!

Tw~ Eyedoctors, Davies afraid of doctors, Light cursing, eye dilation(like with the eye drops), eyepatches, glasses,Davie doesn’t like wearing either all the time cause he’s a kid who even if you explain it to him doesn’t always get it!, uhm Wayne is described wrestling with Eddie to get his eyepatch on, idk let me know if I missed anything!

Eddie knew that when he was younger he should have wore his damn eyepatch, instead he’d fight with Wayne running around the trailer hiding in the cabinet beneath the sink until Wayne would get him out and basically wrestle him down onto the couch before popping the patch over his eye where Eddie would try and pry it off for a good thirty minutes until Wayne would take it off for him after he pouted for another hour and a half.

When Eddie told Wayne about Davie’s eyesight and lazy eye all inherited from Eddie he heard Wayne giggle…he fucking giggled????

“Ohh good luck putting the eyepatch on him son, your behaviors coming back to bite you in the ass ain’t it boy?”

Eddie just scoffs rolling his eyes, “whatever…gonna bring him to my appointment so he sees it isn’t bad, he gave y/n a hard time when she brought him last time.” He mutters.

And he was right. Davie sits in the chair across from him his little legs kicking back and fourth as he watches Eddie tilt his head back when the eye doctor instructs him to.

He can almost see his son flinch when he gets eye drops put in.

“See daddy didn’t cry buddy?” He coax’s trying to get Davie to realize there wasn’t a sign one that Eddie was distressed.

And it had worked, when Davie went in for his eye appointment in the afternoon, he got his eyes dilated like a champ.

“See buddy, that wasn’t bad was it?” Davie shakes his head no, “and now we get to pick out glasses!”

Eddie had held off picking a pair for himself until now so he could pick a pair with Davie.

He picked out a pair that sort of matched with Davies much smaller ones, but before the two could leave he had to get eye patches. Davie had a lazy eye, and one treatment for that(I am basing this off my experience with my lazy eye!) was an eyepatch over your ‘good’ eye for a few hours so the weaker eye could be stimulated.

Eddie remembers wearing them and fucking hating the damn things, they stuck to his forehead to his cheekbone which meant the adhesive got in his eyebrows and it was a nightmare until Wayne took it off and than he was fine and acted like nothing happened(que Wayne sitting there like better now son😐)

So Eddie wanted to at least let him pick out his own eyepatches! So Davie picked a set that were turquoise with little dinosaur print on them.

And on the way home Eddie explained to him what they were for and what their purpose was in the first place.

“And that’s why you’ve got to wear them.” He tells Davie as he parks the van.

“Are you gonna wear them like a good boy?” Eddie asks as he sets down Davie and he nods quickly.

“And I get a treat?” Eddie sighs but nods, if his sweet little boy was going to wear the dreaded eyepatch he might as well get rewarded for them.

Davie runs into the house eyepatches in hand as he runs up to you.

You pick him up settling him into your hip as he tells you about the eyepatches and matching glasses he got with Eddie.

“Davie has to wear glasses?” Lucille asks popping out from around the corner.

“Yea!” Davie tells her a little more excited than what he is, to be honest Davie dreaded the day him and Eddie would have to go to pick up their glasses.

“Be right back!” She tells before disappearing to her room.

“Are you going to put your patch on soon?” You ask Davie as Eddie sets the box of patches on the counter.

He gulps nervously as he nods.

You set him on the counter turning back to what you were making as you let Eddie put his patch on him.

When you turn back you see Davie pouting as the patch is placed on his eye.

“Mama I can’t see nothin!” He tells you as he squints his eye.

“Honey I don’t think that’s going to help you much.” You tell him pushing out the wrinkle he’s created in between his brows.

Eventually him and Eddie go in the living room to color.

Some two weeks later Eddie’s going out with Davie to pick up their glasses, when he gets home he removes his contacts, and wears glasses with Davie who has his eyepatch in underneath his glasses.

Lucille runs into the living room holding up a price of paper, “Davie Davie look!” She practically shouts shoving the paper in her younger brothers face.

“Lucille he can’t see it it’s too close.” You tell her softly.

“Oh right!” She says pulling it back a little as she points at a little drawing, “see Davie he’s got glasses now!”

Tags~ @miracleboysel @jessyballet @reticent-writer @bubbledtee @marishortcake @marrigold-2002 @griffinfinity @jvmisvu @eddiemunsonsfavbitch (idk why its not letting me tag you😭😭)

[the-himawari]

A3! Magazine Interview Translation - B’s-LOG March 2022 [Chikage & Hisoka Interview]

I Want to Know, I Want to Feel, The Real You The Allure of Secrets

Mysterious people are beautiful—.

This month, under the theme of “mysterious”, we bring you a special feature following “them” who possess an enticing charm.

A3! / CHIKAGE & HISOKA

Secrets that are known by “moonlight”

MANKAI Company’s Spring troupe’s Utsuki Chikage & Winter troupe’s Mikage Hisoka.

We bring you a newly written interview with this pair who share a deep bond that extends beyond their troupes.

*Please read disclaimer on blog

---

——Please tell us your impressions about the cover photoshoot this time.

Hisoka: It felt warm and fluffy, and it was hard not to fall asleep.

Chikage: I wore an outfit that I typically wouldn’t wear for the photoshoot, so I suppose it felt fresh.

Hisoka: I guess it’s rare to see Chikage without glasses? I feel like you don’t really see it in other photos.

Chikage: The cameraman suggested that I take them off during the photoshoot, so I did. I never actually expected that shot was going to make the cut.

Hisoka: I think that element of surprise is nice. …Probably.

Chikage: You’re not even sure…

——You two have known each other for a long time. But are there any points about the other that make you think, “this is strange”?

Hisoka: The fact that he likes spicy food.

Chikage: The fact that he likes sweet food.

Hisoka: The fact that he doesn’t sleep at all.

Chikage: The fact that he keeps sleeping on and on.

Hisoka: The fact that we’re complete opposites, and yet we’re living and acting together for some reason.

Chikage: …I feel the same way.

Hisoka: But, I don’t hate it. Oddly enough.

Chikage: Well, I… agree. I just wish you would give me a break from babysitting you though.

——Please tell us about a person at MANKAI Company who you think is “mysterious”, and a story about them.

Chikage: Mysterious, huh…? If I had to say, then maybe Omi.

Hisoka: Omi?

Chikage: He works, acts, and he’s also in charge of cooking in the dorm. Well, as for our meals, it’s not that he handles them every day. But I wonder how he manages his time.

Hisoka: Yeah, that’s kind of mysterious. He’s always coming up with tasty desserts too. But then again, isn’t Itaru also like that?

Chikage: Chigasaki is… He's the type of person who implements a schedule while balancing his hobbies, work, and acting. And it seems he’s working hard when you can’t see it. …If I think about it, maybe Omi is the same way.

Hisoka: That’s not mysterious at all.

Chikage: Then do you have anything to say?

Hisoka: Mmm… ah, there’s just one person. Tetsuro.

Chikage: Ahh…

Hisoka: He makes props for us all the time, but I have no idea what he does apart from that. I heard Juza has gotten tickets to the zoo from him before… I wonder if he likes animals?

Chikage: Now that you mention it, we don’t know much about him even though he’s been helping us so much.

Hisoka: Should I ask him next time? I’m not sure he’ll talk to me though.

Chikage: I'm not confident you would even be able to hear him if you two spoke. Well, there’s no need to pry unnecessarily.

Hisoka: Yeah. It might be better to keep the mystery a mystery.

——If you switched places with each other for a day, what would you like to do?

Hisoka: With Chikage? …No thanks.

Chikage: That’s not something I really want to think about.

Hisoka: I’d go on a marshmallow tour around the world on his company’s dime.

Chikage: Oi.

Hisoka: Of course I’d call it a business trip.

Chikage: Good grief… this isn’t a game, you know?

Hisoka: I know that. What about you, Chikage?

Chikage: I would eat fiery hot spicy food the entire day.

Hisoka: …I bet I’d get a stomachache after we returned back to normal. I wish you’d do something else.

Chikage: Why do I have to change my answer for you? …Then otherwise, perhaps I would try talking to cats?

Hisoka: You, Chikage? Why?

Chikage: Cats are tough to deal with since they just cry and I can't understand what they're saying. I have no idea what kind of demands they’re usually making. On that point, you understand what cats are saying, don’t you?

Hisoka: Sort of. Not as much as Misumi does though. We don’t need to switch for you to know that much, right?

Chikage: I asked because I didn’t know. …I really do want to avoid switching with this guy after all.

——What does “family” mean to you?

Hisoka: It’s a precious place that will accept me no matter who I am.

Chikage: It’s a special place that I want to protect no matter what happens.

Hisoka: …There it is. Chikage’s protectiveness.

Chikage: I simply don’t want to lose it. It’s that special to me after all.

Hisoka: That’s true… but I think you can depend on your family too, not just protect them.

Chikage: You’re too dependent.

Hisoka: You’re way too independent, Chikage. It’s alright to be selfish once in a while. Like, say you want to eat tons of spicy food or something.

Chikage: What the heck? Well, we may have different ways of doing things, but we both agree that it’s the place where we belong.

Hisoka: Yeah.

---

[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.

[bokutoslittlebird]

Request: nii!bokuto fucking y/n dumb at a team reunion party and the whole team ends up joining.

Okay so I made it so the whole team is there but Akaashi and Konoha are the only ones who really get to do anything. The others are enjoying the show.

Warnings: incest, humping/grinding, voyeurism/exhibitionism, watersports/piss play, gangbang, squirting, fire play/lighter use, breeding, dirty talk, cum shots, human urinal, thigh riding, asphyxiation briefly creampie, swallowing urine

Kōtarō-nii + Gangbang [includes Bokuto, Akaashi, Konoha]

It’s just supposed to be a little get together was what you were told. Two hours later, each old teammate of Bokuto was still downstairs, chatting and laughing. Every time Bokuto laughed so joyously, it rubbed you the wrong way. It was like he forgot about you, sitting back and talking to his old teammates. You were supposed to be hidden out of sight, but your needs needed to be met and if that meant walking downstairs to remind your brother you were still waiting for him, that’s what you’d do.

You didn’t expect him and his friends to wave you over.

“[Y/N]! It’s been so long since I’ve seen you! Visiting your nii-san, eh?” Komi asked, an eyebrow raised. ‘Visiting’ was one way to put it, but you were actually living with Bokuto, guest room still unused as your belongings were in his bedroom.

“Guess you could say that,” Bokuto threw out, then continued. “She’s going to college here, so it’s easier to live with me than pay for on-campus living,”

“Saving money, I see,” Akaashi piped up, taking a drink from his glass. It was just water, which meant they weren’t drinking alcohol. Bokuto had a soda, but everyone else looked like they were drinking tea or water.

“Hey, [Y/N],” Bokuto tapped you on the shoulder, making you turning your head towards him. “Can you get me another drink?”

“Of course, Kōtarō-nii,” taking his empty bottle, you go into the kitchen to see where he keeps the soda. Since he doesn’t want you to have any, they’re usually up high. Standing on your toes, you still can’t reach the sweet drinks. To speed up the time, you hop on the counter only to feel someone’s hands guiding you off.

“Don’t hurt yourself,” Bokuto says, caging you to the counter. “I thought I told you to stay upstairs,”

“I was bored, nii-san,” you whine, pressing yourself against him. “You’re ignoring me,”

“I’m entertaining my guests. You need to learn how to be patient,” he whispers, one of his hands rubbing at the spot between your thighs. “You’re dripping. Have you been touching yourself?”

“It’s not the same, plea—”

“If you’re good, I’ll fill you up so many times you’ll be swollen with my seed, how about that?” You nod your head, still pressing yourself against him. “Stop pushing yourself on me or I’m gonna have to punish you,”

With a final warning, Bokuto gets his own drink and removes himself from you, sighing as he sees your pout. Pressing a kiss to your forehead, he pats your head. “Just another hour, okay?”

That’s what he said.. an hour ago.

Sitting beside him was almost too much to bear. Knowing he could take you whenever he wanted to and him knowing you’re desperately waiting for him to touch you, it’s all too much. Even as your thoughts swim with the image of him absolutely ravishingly you in front of his friends, your pleading eyes and a pout his way whenever he glances at you, yet all he gives is his arm around your shoulders. As a good big brother should, but this is getting to be too much.

Sarukai is the one who decided to play a game. It was a silly card game you played as kids, but it was fun to pass time. Since you didn’t wanna play, you had to sacrifice your spot to Akaashi, your bottom instead being placed on Bokuto’s thigh. A warning squeeze on your hip was all you got, quickly telling them that you were cold which they all brushed off, going on with the game. He was like a heater, warmth rising from beneath his clothes, but it just made you more hot and bothered. It wasn’t until he started rubbing a hand on your thigh — inner thigh, included, his fingers brushing against your sensitive area — did you really feel impatient.

You hoped nobody would notice as your body started moving, and it seemed like they didn’t. Legs on either side of his thigh, you rubbing yourself against him, trying to get as much friction as you could. Bokuto doesn’t stop you, his hand instead rubbing soothing circles into your hip as you continue to grind against his thigh. Eventually, you end up humping his thigh as the rubbing effect wears off, only to have him lean down to your ear. “You can’t wait, can’t you? Such a needy slut needs to be punished, you know?”

There’s no other warning, you suddenly being pushed in the middle of the game as everyone shoots back in shock, surprised at Bokuto’s actions. “You’ve wanted this for a bit, haven’t you? That’s why you’re even wetter, isn’t it?” He smiles down at you, prying your shorts off. He then addresses the guests of his abode, “you guys get to see how much my beloved sister loves me,”

With your shorts and panties off, you’re staining the wooden table with your dripping juices as Bokuto gets his cock out. His friends seem into it, sitting back on the couches and chairs, eyes glued to the way Bokuto spreads your sopping cunt, clenching around nothing as you wait for him in anticipation. Licking his lips, he sinks into you, without letting you adjust as your legs tense and your toes curl, squeezing him as he pushes himself all the way in.

“Did you already cum?” He asks, seemingly dumbfounded by your sudden orgasm. You don’t answer, simply keeping your head against the table and having your eyes rolled into the back of your head. With no response, he decides to roughly thrust up into you, making you gasp as he pushes in so far, feeling so full as he snaps his hips to yours, your hands grasping at the edges of the table as you moan. Through your blurry vision, you’re able to see his old teammates with their own cocks out, hands around the thick appendages as their eyes are trained on how well you take in their former captain’s cock.

It’s only mere seconds before you’re mewling, back arching as you’re clamping around his cock again, body twisting with the force of your orgasm as you shake. Bokuto removes himself from your cunt, though, making you whine. “Don’t worry. I’m gonna let my friends have a turn with you, though. You seem eager Akaashi, wanna go first?”

“I’d much prefer her mouth than her pussy, Bokuto-san,” he says, moving around to your head. His cock comes into view, to which you eagerly open your mouth to take him in, tongue killing out to lick at the tip.

“I won’t pass up free pussy,” Konoha chuckles, taking Bokuto’s position and pushing into you. “Thought she’d be loose after taking a cock that big, but you’re tight as a virgin!” He laughs, pinching your clit as you squeeze down on him even more, muffled moans coming from your throat which is stuffed with Akaashi’s cock.

“Mhm! I taught her well, didn’t I?” Bokuto hums, guiding one of your hands to his cock. “Don’t forget about me, baby girl,” he says, low as he watches your hand jerk him off. Despite your eyes not being anywhere around his form, your hand works expertly from experience of handjobs. Akaashi seems pleased himself, fingers occasionally tracing your jaw and throat, only to close your nose as he face fucks you. Konoha seems to be enjoying himself, as well, your legs secured around his waist as he thrusts into you, his thumb rubbing at your bundle of nerves that has milky fluid coating his cock with each thrust.

“I’m close, can I do it inside?” He asks, looking at Bokuto, using his own hand to guide yours.

“No. You can cum in her ass, but not her cunt. That’s only for her nii-san, isn’t that right?” He directs the last bit at you, fingers pinching your nipples as your body jerks. Konoha decides to pull out, letting his semen paint your stomach white as he groans, making sure every drop lands on your skin. Akaashi is right behind him, closing your nose as he shoots his own load down your throat, your eyes glazed over as you drink it all.

Konoha takes it upon himself to push back into your cunt, feeling your walls clamp around him once more time. It’s too much and you feel something warm fill your insides, eyes widening as you think he put a load in you. When he pulls out, however, you feel it trickling out as the warm liquid drips from your cunt. “Seems she’ll only take cum, not piss,”

“She’ll take it, won’t you, pretty girl?” Bokuto coos, fingers keeping your mouth open as Akaashi takes his turn, warm liquid filling your mouth as you struggle to not let any spill. Once he’s done, Bokuto closes your mouth and nose to force it down, your eyes squeezed shut as it tastes bitter. “See? Just gotta know which hole to use. It’s okay, I’ll clean her out so you can use her again,” he hums once more, pushing his thick cock into your still leaking pussy. The force of his thrust has you mewling, drool spilling from your lips as your body jostles with each thrust. “There’s a cute little trick her cunt will do if you give her a bit of pain,” he grunts, fishing a lighter out of his pocket. Your eyes widen at the familiar click of the item, brief light before it’s shut off. He hands it to Konoha, who then flicks it on as he brings the fire close to your face, the light dancing ridiculously close to your cheek. Akaashi keeps you fron moving your head, sweat beginning to form as Konoha brings the lighter closer, the flame barely licking your skin as you scream, tongue lolling out as your squirt all over Bokuto’s abdomen, his groan overwhelmed by your cute noises. With another thrust, he’s spilling his own load into you, fill you up exactly how you wanted him to.

Konoha shuts off the lighter, then locks across the mark against your cheek where the flame touched you, pressing a sweet kiss in apology to the hot skin. “Now, what do we say, [Y/N]?”

“Thank you for filling me up nii-san. I’ll take anything you give to me, I promise,” you sweetly say, another moan as you feel Bokuto’s piss fill you up as well, his thumb rubbing your clit.

“Don’t worry, baby. Only I’ll be able to breed you, but my friends can have their fun, can’t they? I’ll promise to give you all my attention later, is that okay?” Your response is a nod of the head, the rest of his friends eager to have your holes and your hands around their cocks.