#i imagine most relationships are really casual and change from world-to-world without like

[aquaquadrant]

if it’s just the double life cast.. please tell me we’re gonna get a little side impdubs content 😭

PERHAPS

[baphometsss]

thinking about the different words for love in ancient greece and how the ancient elves seem to mirror that without having separate words in the language (that we know of). we know that the word 'lath' is love, that they named the centre of their empire after love. (according to legend, it was the romantic love of elgar'nan and mythal but honestly who the hell knows what their relationship was actually like.) but the regret where solas couldn't get mythal to leave the evanuris before she was killed is most revealing. this is the one the inquisitor gives to rook i.e. the first one if you haven't already found any, the one that they find at the ritual site after varric fails to convince solas to stop, as solas failed to win over mythal. it's the one where you can have the conversation where they debate what mythal meant by calling him 'love' and have that really cringey conversation

emmrich explains that they see the memories in their mother tongues, which means it translates differently to different people. (imo this is how you know they left it open to interpretation on purpose.) taash, as a qunari, immediately associates love with eros, because qunari aren't especially forthcoming with those kinds of emotions outside of romance. mythal's fragment even points this out if you're a qunari rook. she says (paraphrasing), your people don't bond like ours do, how could you know what it's like to love someone even as they stand against you?

but i personally think the love that mythal and solas shared was not eros but philia -- deep platonic love and devotion. it's the one type of love the ancient greeks valued above all others, above even family and romance. maybe there's also a bit of storge (parental/familial love, as mythal is referred to as his family in deleted dialogue w/lucanis and bellara, who have narrative parallels with mythal and solas), and a bit of agape (unconditional, self-sacrificing love) at least on solas's side.

so as for lavellan/solas... well, obviously, there's eros--sexual and romantic love. but i think, personally, that they share most of those different types of love rather than just that one. falling in love doesn't just bring out the best or the worst in you, but it brings out everything in you. solas has never been in love, according to the description of his romance, and that's why it catches him off-guard. it was a wildcard he couldn't predict. he himself says that it changed everything. everything we see in the romance suggests that the love they share is a mixture of all those different kinds of love:

eros--the romantic component, the sexual and passionate state of being in love with someone. their interactions are deeply romantic and passionate. they call each other 'vhenan'; this is an exclusively romantic term.

philia--deep friendship and devotion. they build a strong rapport on being seen as the people they are (solas, manifested wisdom/lavellan, dalish elf), not their mantles of fen'harel/dread wolf or herald of andraste/inquisitor. they are, before anything, friends.

ludus--noncommittal love/flirtation, casual sex--well, clearly it doesn't end up as being casual or noncommittal, but certainly they went through this as a stage. 'i have yet to see it [your will] dominated... i imagine such a sight would be... fascinating'

agape--unconditional, selfless love--lavellan clearly loves solas unconditionally. despite everything he's done and continues to do, they remain in love with him regardless of how badly those actions affect them and the wider world. it's the thing that gets them the most flack from fandom because it's seen as foolish. they even criticise themselves for it. and solas sacrifices his own desires, not just because he's so determined to follow through with his plan, but because he himself also can't bear to have lavellan see what he becomes. he 'can't do it to them'. he doesn't want them to suffer more than they already have at his hands. allowing them to follow him on the din'anshiral would've been far more selfish.

pragma--enduring love that grows stronger over time. well, lavellan is nothing if not enduring; their love will endure. that love has lasted a decade despite everything. solas, too, has not fallen out of love. even if you choose not to continue the romance in trespasser, he still wants to know if they feel the same about him after all that's passed. he haunts their dreams as a wolf, because he can't keep away entirely. he writes love letters and keeps mementos. their love has only become stronger, and now they live forever in the fade where it will grow and shape their world into something less 'terrible'.

philautia--self-love. they both do everything they can to make the other see their best qualities. it's hard to put this in the context of the relationship because it is self-love specifically, but i think lavellan's hope that solas will see himself as they see him, and that solas continually points out how they've changed him when they are romanced or high approval, is not a bad interpretation.

mania--i can definitely see how you could make their love obsessive. it is all consuming; neither can let go of it after a decade. this is the more unhealthy side of their relationship.

storge--familial love. i don't think they have this love towards each other per se, but i think they had this with the inquisition. in a way, the inner circle was the closest solas got to a real family that wasn't as fucked up as the evanuris. lavellan, especially if their clan was killed, also would've needed them like this. they were both a part of the larger picture here, and this is a part of their relationship too. it was the backdrop against which they fell in love; it enabled their love.

[misc-obeyme]

Oh damn if I'm not too late, maybe "I just wanted to make sure you're okay." with Levi?

Hello, anon!

Okay, this one ended up being hurt/comfort. I almost wrote the whole thing without including the dialogue prompt, too. But I realized I hadn't used it yet while I was writing the part where I did end up using it lol. So it was easy enough to fix that.

As always, Levi's anxiety and low self esteem hits close to home for me and that always makes him a liiiittle hard to write for. BUT I feel like I'm getting the hang of it maybe. I had less of an issue with this one than I did with his daily chat scene, anyway.

Thanks for participating!

1,000 Followers Event!

GN!MC x Leviathan with prompt "I just wanted to make sure you're okay."

Warnings: hurt/comfort, the usual Levi anxiety and such, brief appearances and mentions of the other brothers

Everybody knew that you were close with Leviathan. The other brothers never said it, but it was clear from the way they looked at the two of you, always together, always talking animatedly about your shared interests. Everyone noticed the amount of time you spent in Levi's room, watching anime and playing video games. Even Lotan seemed fond of you.

Levi was the only one who didn't quite realize the special bond you had. Not because he didn't notice how often you were with him, but because he simply couldn't believe that you would be interested in someone like him. There must be some other reason why you were always hanging around him. It was probably because video games and anime reminded you of the human world where you had enjoyed such interests before you were brought to the Devildom.

Levi easily explained away the things you did that didn't fit this narrative. He told himself he was imagining things when you smiled brightly any time he entered the room. He convinced himself that he was just the closest person any time you turned to him when you needed something.

Every day, he talked himself out of the idea that you might just like him for himself. Levi just couldn't wrap his head around that at all.

A few of his brothers tried to clue him in, but Levi came up with excuses for everything they said, too. Most of them gave up, but they were all equally annoyed at the way he seemed determined not to see your true feelings.

The truth was that Levi was too scared to confront you about it. It was just so much easier to pretend it wasn't happening. Especially since you hadn't actually told anyone that you felt anything for him beyond the casual friendship he kept believing your relationship was. What if everybody was wrong, like he suspected they were? He couldn't handle your rejection. It was too much to even think about it.

And yet things couldn't continue this way and everything changed one lazy afternoon. Everyone was at the House of Lamentation since it was the weekend. Lucifer was holed up in his office doing paperwork and Beel was no doubt in the kitchen, but everyone else was in the common room, doing various activities.

Even Levi was out of his room, though he was still playing a handheld video game. You were sitting beside him, watching over his shoulder. This was a fairly normal activity for the two of you. You both enjoyed watching the other person play and after a while, Levi would hand the game over to you so he could watch for a bit.

Asmo was sitting at the table bedazzling a new bag he had bought recently and Mammon was on the other side of you, scrolling through his D.D.D.

Across from where you and Levi sat, Satan and Belphie were in discussion about their latest idea for pranking Lucifer.

Satan was holding open a book of spells. "If I'm interpreting this correctly, it will cause the person it hits to state their deepest secret out loud."

"LMAO," Levi said from where he was listening in. "Do you really think a curse like that would work on Lucifer?"

"If we're sneaky enough and he doesn't see it coming, it might," Belphie said.

Levi handed you the video game so you could start playing. "You guys aren't sneaky enough to pull that off."

"We should probably test it," Satan said, still looking at the book. "I wouldn't want to successfully hit Lucifer with a curse only to find out it doesn't work as we thought."

Before anyone could do or say anything else, Satan recited the spell. It hit Levi squarely in the chest.

Levi fell back into the couch with a thud. "Even though everybody thinks MC likes me, I know they only hang out with me because my interests remind them of home!"

The silence that filled the room was broken only by the slap of Levi clapping his hands over his mouth and the cutesy music coming from the handheld device that had gone limp in your hands.

"Well, now we know it works," Belphie said mildly.

You looked at Levi, but he couldn't bring himself to meet your gaze. "Do you really think that?" you asked, the pain evident in your voice.

Levi wasn't sure what to say. If he denied it, you would know he was lying, but if he said yes…

He couldn't look at you and he couldn't say anything and he couldn't move. All he could do was sit there with his hands covering his mouth, his eyes squeezed shut.

Levi heard the sound of you putting the video game down on the table. He could hear you getting up from the sofa, heard the hitch in your breath as though you were trying to hold back your tears. Levi heard when you left the room, closing the door behind you.

"They're gone," Mammon said.

Levi opened his eyes and slowly lowered his hands.

"You're not really going to just let them go like that, are you?" Asmo asked.

Levi glared at him for a moment, then glared at Satan. "Why would you do that?"

Satan blinked. "I had no idea you would say that. I thought for certain you would say something about your favorite anime character. It seemed safe enough."

"Ya better go after 'em, Levi," Mammon said.

Levi considered this. They were right, of course. He couldn't just let you go. He had to go after you. He had to tell you why he continued to force himself to believe something that deep down he knew wasn't true. It was going to be the most terrifying thing he had ever done, but he had to do it. Not for himself. For you. The pain he had heard in your voice was more than enough motivation to help him overcome the fear of facing you.

Levi didn't say anything to his brothers. He simply stood up from the couch and went to look for you.

The first place Levi went was your room, but you weren't there. He poked his head into Lucifer's office only to receive a glare from Lucifer himself. You weren't there, either. He found Beel in the kitchen, but you were still nowhere to be seen. He checked the music room, the planetarium, the living room, the attic, even his brothers' rooms. Where else could you have gone? Did you leave the house all together? He checked the garden, but you weren't there, either. Perhaps you went to Purgatory Hall? Or the Demon Lord's Castle? Or somewhere else entirely?

Levi sighed. If he was going to leave the house to look for you, he wanted to be prepared. So he went to his room to grab a few things.

Levi opened the door to his bedroom and stopped dead in his tracks.

There you were, sitting in his bathtub, hugging yourself and looking miserable.

"MC?" he asked, too surprised to see you to do anything else.

You looked up at him and frowned. "What are you doing here?"

Levi blinked. "This is my room."

You looked around the room as though you were surprised to find yourself there. "Oh. Right."

"I was looking for you everywhere," Levi said. "I searched the whole house. Were you here the whole time?"

You didn't answer him, only ducked your head down and hugged yourself harder, your knees pulled up as you slumped down in his tub.

Levi closed the door to his room. He sat down on the floor next to the tub and looked down at his hands. "I just wanted to make sure you're okay."

When you didn't say anything, Levi began to ramble. "It's just that you're so cool and I'm so lame and I couldn't believe that you would actually like me just because I'm me and I knew it wasn't like that really, but it was too scary to think-"

"Levi."

Levi stopped talking and looked up at you. Your gaze was on the far wall.

"I came to your room instead of going to mine because this is where I feel safe," you said. "I feel safe when I'm here with you. And it isn't because of the anime or the video games or any of that. It's because of you. I thought you knew that."

"I did!" Levi insisted, then corrected himself. "I do. I do know it, MC."

You looked at him then, reaching a hand over the top of the tub, offering it to him. "Just get in here and hug me, won't you?"

Levi stood up immediately, grabbing your hand and climbing into the tub with you. You didn't even hesitate, collapsing forward into him, wrapping your arms around his torso, resting your head on his chest.

Levi felt himself blush profusely, but he didn't say anything or try to pull away. Instead he just returned your embrace, holding you close in his arms.

"I like you, Levi," you said, your face pressed into his chest.

Levi's blush deepened, but he powered through it. "I… I-I like you, too, MC."

Even though Levi's anxiety was sky high, even though he was still nervous to be this close to you, he was also the happiest he had ever been in his life. Holding you close like that, hearing you say that you liked him, being able to say it back, everything about these moments filled him with a joy he'd never known. He vowed to never hurt you again, to only ever tell you how he really felt, what he really meant. He vowed not to let his own insecurity get in the way of the truth of your heart.

1,000 Followers Event | masterlist | Thank you for reading!

[theladyalchemist]

A TALE OF THE DARK KNIGHT & THE PHEONIX 🕷️

A short fictional/non-fictional story I wrote about an argument I had with my ex boyfriend who has his Pluto and Mars conjunct my 12H Pluto..which is also conjunct my ASC and Chiron 12H. I mentioned these aspects instead of our 8H synastry because I kinda felt like those placements related more to this particular situation.

“Be your fucking self!” He says with rage in his voice. I sit listening to him call me out over the jail phone, body filling with anger as he speaks with demand. “This n*gga is crazy” I thought as I carry on to defend myself, unsure of why he keeps saying those exact words to me. “Am I being myself?” My subconscious thought wondered as the phone hung up. I then proceed to roll one under stress, turn on my rock music, and let the anger release with each puff. I personally considered myself one of the weirdest girls from Dallas based off my music taste alone, so I couldn't really grasp what he meant. I was like every other black girl from Dallas who grew up listening to UGK, Slim thug, Trill Ent., Gucci Mane, Future, Kevin Gates, Jodeci, Tyrese, etc…yet most times I find myself dancing all over my room to Willow Smith, Deftones, Lana del Rey, Justin Bieber, Girl in Red, Coldplay,Avril Lavigne and the list of Popstars, Rockstars, and country singers goes on. Music I couldn’t play around my “so called” friends because it was considered weird. I’m also the black girl who can be the life of the party at a club, but I would prefer going to museums, art galleries, arcades, hiking, amusement parks, going to the beach, going to music festivals, open mic nights, trying new foods, meeting new people, rooftop parties, traveling and the best of them all.. going to fashion shows. The kind of black girl who writes poetry/short stories nobody knows about, and keeps a diary. The black girl who’s too black for other races and not black enough for black people. The girl who goes missing on social media for months, comes back for a few days, and then goes ghost again. The girl all alone in a world of casual sex/relationships, because I believe in being with one person and continuing to be there even when things get tough. A girl obsessed with horror movies, and dark romance.“Till death do us part” is a term that makes me wet. A hopeless romantic. The girl who can only have sex with a man who will go through hell with me and walk out with the key. The girl who knew what and how sacred sex was at just 8 years old. But also the girl with insecurities surrounding sex from being brought up in a family who suppressed my sexuality. “Go change out of that skirt!” They would say, whenever men would come over. Calling me fast whenever I would dress up showing my skin. Telling me “he’s just going to have sex with you and leave you”, everytime I would have a boyfriend. Traumatizing me with the horror stories of my mother being raped by 3 men as a child, and projecting the outcome onto me if I showed any parts of my feminine side. The girl who is now a 24 year old virgin, afraid that men would take advantage of me and not knowing how to let go of the men that do. A girl who has been both stable and unstable trying her best to be a woman. To own her authenticity even if the world doesn’t accept her.

“Be your fucking self!”, the agonizing words he said replaying over and over in my head. I then imagine me screaming “I AM!” So loudly that the earth starts to shake. “He doesn’t understand” I thought to myself. It was better to tell myself that he didn’t understand than to admit he could be right. If he was right then that would mean the suppression I saw within him, I also had within myself. Was he my mirror? How did he unknowingly know that I had so many things inside me that I kept suppressed? It was the feeling of someone reading your diary without your permission, and then using your secrets against you. I hated him for the ways he went about things, yet craved him for ripping out every part of me that wasn’t real. Parts that I couldn’t see. He seen through her illusion and killed her before she could kill me. The girl I’ve let take over me for so long, lying on the ground with a knife in her heart bleeding out to her death. With the power of his words there she layed, finally dead. And there I rose, covered in her blood, reborn again.

[obsoleteozymandias]

Matchup for @frostfall-matches

Thanks for doing a trade with me!! I’m so glad I got to write for you, and I can’t wait to see what you write for me!! Have a lovely day and hit me up if you ever want me to write some more for you :3!

== Twisted Wonderland & Baldur’s Gate 3 ==>

I match you up with…

Ace Trappola

Pre-relationship:

You and Ace are frenimies from the get-go. He taunts you and gets in your face, and you snap back with witty responses and sarcastic remarks. Ace knows he’s met his match, and he’s endlessly pleased that he has someone he can really annoy without them punching him. 

He also is fond of your straughtforwardness. He’s not the kind of guy to beat around the bush and play pretend, so he grows a begruding respect for you when you say how you feel without sugar-coating it. 

After the whole Riddle Overblot situation, during which you both tell Riddle off and Ace punches him in the face, you two have solidified your status as best friends and absolute meances to society. 

You’ll never have to worry about Ace invading your independence. He’s a pretty independent guy overall. He knows how to take care of himself, and knows when to give you space. 

For some reason I’ve always headcanoned Ace as being a hockey kinda guy (even if he plays basketball), and so I’d like to imagine you two are frequent visitors to the local ice rink, where you chase eachother around like fighting siblings. 

He’s always showing you his newest sleight-of-hand tricks and card games, and oftentimes has to drag you into being involved, but you have to admit…something about how nerdy his hobby is is pretty endearing. 

He’s also all for staying up late to play videogames with you! He’s always super competitive, but you’re able to knock him down a few pegs. 

(He won’t admit it, but he loves it when you do that.)

If you love encouraging your friend’s bad decisions, then BOY HAVE I GOT NEWS FOR YOU! THIS BAD BOY IS FULL OF THEM! He’s always got at least one dumb/risky idea in his head, and while he’s not always pleased that you told him to do something that ends badly, he can’t deny how your laugh and smile make him smile too. 

Confession: 

Ace knew exactly when he fell for you, and it was during Riddle’s overblot fight. Since then, he’d been wondering whether or not to tell you. I imagine one day it just sort of…slips out. 

He didn’t mean to say it there and then, but he did, and he figures he might as well commit. 

And so he continues, expressing how he feels about you with a bright red flush on his face and a nervous yet relieved look in his eye. He’s ready - no matter what your answer is. 

Relationship:

Not much changes between you two before and after you start dating. Ace will absolutely cuddle with you, and likes it quite a bit when you lounge on him, but overall you two are just as chaotic as before. 

Ace would love to go on casual dates with you, like riding a blastcycle or going on car drives with music and just talking about life and your thoughts. It’s the time he values most in the world, and he loves seeing your smile as you laugh at the dumb jokes he makes. 

You’re his number 1 fan at basketball games, and his face always lights up whenever he sees you. 

Whenever you dye your hair a color, Ace actually dyes a strand of his hair the same color too! He passes it off as just a trend to outsiders, but anyone who knows you two knows the truth (and it’s so cute it’s revolting). 

Your rulebreaking attitude and relaxed nature means that anyone who gets in your way is bound for some trouble, and with Ace by your side, make it double. 

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

I match you up with…

Shadowheart

Pre-relationship:

Early in your adventure, Shadowheart comes to know you as ‘the reliable but a little deranged one.’ She knows she can depend on you to keep a level head in emergency situations, but the way you encourage Astarion’s habits is mildly…concerning. 

It isn’t until the Tiefling Party when she cracks a joke at you, and finally it seems like you two just…connect! Her dad jokes make you cackle like nothing else, and soon you’re riffing off of one another. 

And you quickly realize that she can really keep up with you. Whether it’s teasing or sarcastic comments, she’s ready to fire back at you, always with a sardonic grin. 

She’s not the most athletic person, but she’s always there to grab the back of your shirt when you trip, or catch you when you fall. She may jokingly mock you about it, but she’s willing to do it if it means she gets to banter with you some more. 

That said, she is ABSOLUTELY the voice of reason between you two. Except for when her decisions lead to casualties due to her alignment, she’s normally the one to advocate for LESS chaos amidst the group. Most of all, she wants everyone to stay in tact, and so she’s hesitant to enable your chaos. 

But part of her loves to see your little grin whenever someone does something reckless, and likes the laughs you let out when you vanquish another foe. 

(It makes her heart flip). 

You two make a habit of going on walks together at the end of the day, perusing the local landscape as the sun sets (unless you’re in the underdark, I suppose). Shadowheart likes that you listen to her, and that you’re just as willing to tease her as you are to listen to her troubles. She knows you struggle to be vulnerable with her, but she doesn’t mind. She can see the way you care in your touches to her shoulder and the little flowers you give her that remind you of her. 

Despite her dedication to Shar, Shadowheart has a deep desire to be hopeful, so to speak. She WANTS something to believe in, and your optimism combined with realism makes her think she can trust you with that hope. 

Confession: 

Shadowheart doesn’t realize she loves you in a sudden way. It’s just that one day, on one of your walks, she realizes that she can’t wait for tomorrow. Or the day after that. And she comes to the conclusion that walking with you is her favorite part of the day. 

YOU’RE her favorite part of the day. 

She’s incredibly nervous as she decides she wants to tell you. It’s in Baldur’s Gate when she takes you out to a private dinner, and then she confesses to you. She’s giddy and undoubtedly nervous, but she also can barely contain herself. 

Relationship:

Once you begin dating, Shadowhheart really begins to let herself be known. She’s much more open about her silly, sometimes awful jokes, but she feels so free around you that it’s impossible to feel bad about them. She’s almost always smiling and laughing in your presence. 

Your evening walks don’t lessen, but now they take on a new context as you two walk hand-in-hand, appreciating not only the conversation, but the company too. 

On that note, Shadowheart likes that you’ve got so many passions. She wants to learn the languages you’ve learned and speak them too. She wants to try your favorite foods and help you bake. She wants to be part of your life and hobbies, as she feels that she didn’t get to have many growing up. 

In this way, you come to share many hobbies between the two of you!

She’s a big proponent of physical touch. She gives you gentle squeezes and kisses whenever you go off to do something dangerous, and scolding yet loving caresses when she tends to your wounds. She loves when you two sleep together, wrapped around one another in your shared tent. To her, waking up next to you is better than any promised reward from the gods. 

You two are bound to last through all the trials and tribulations of life. You fought monsters and the end of the world together: and you’ll stick together for as long as you can.

[batmanlovesnirvana]

@whatonearthisgoingon PREACH.

I was just talking abt this with a mutual and a good friend of mine earlier today abt the whole trend of race-swapping James Potter, specifically making him Desi. Honestly, I was even tempted to make a whole post abt it myself because it's been on my mind a lot lately.

Here’s the thing: Yes, absolutely, I support more diversity in fandoms — I love seeing people of color represented as a minority myself and so when a racebent James is written well (with real care, understanding, and nuance), it can be genuinely amazing. I’m always the first to encourage more inclusion, more imagination, and more voices in fan spaces.

But we also need to be real about the kind of character James Potter actually is.

Like I said James ( alongside Sirius ) embodies a very specific archetype : the old-money, privileged, rich white boy.

He is that boy.

He’s from an extremely wealthy family ("stinking rich," as canon puts it). His parents lived comfortably, detached from the chaos of the larger wizarding world. James grew up spoiled, adored and completely untouchable. In school, he was arrogant, entitled and a bully. (Yes, he matured later ( that’s part of his arc ) but that doesn’t erase the very specific social dynamic he represents in his early years)

When u racebend James, especially as Desi or any other POC, it sometimes unintentionally erases the reality that POC, historically and systemically, would not have been granted the same type of social privileges James was born into.

That specific upper-class, arrogant, untouchable "golden boy" experience ( the one that James embodies ) is deeply, deeply tied to whiteness and generational wealth.

He’s not marginalized. He’s not fighting against the system.

He is the system, at least at first.

That’s why his arrogance made sense. That’s why his bullying (especially of someone like Snape, who comes from a poor, working-class background) hits the way it does. There’s a classism and elitism to it that's baked into James's characterization from the start.

He was arrogant. He was spoiled. He was a bully. (Yes, he eventually matured — that’s part of his character arc — but that doesn’t erase the reality of who he was before.)

That particular experience — of moving through the world with that kind of unchecked privilege — is deeply tied to whiteness, class, and generational wealth. When you racebend James without reworking or acknowledging that dynamic, it can feel weirdly dissonant. Because historically (and even today), Desi people and other POC wouldn't have been afforded that same effortless privilege in a British-coded, aristocratic society — especially in a system so obsessed with bloodlines and "purity."

And honestly, it gets even messier when you realize: We don’t even know how racism really operated in the HP universe.

JKR never properly explored it.

Sure, there are some surface-level hints here and there, but there’s no real, developed commentary on race or systemic racism in the wizarding world.

Most of the prejudice shown is based on blood status and not actual racial or ethnic identity.

When you start inserting real-world racial dynamics into HP without properly reworking the context, it starts to feel hollow, bc the world wasn’t built to support that kind of nuance in the first place.

And — I’m just going to say it — the fact that most of the people pushing the Desi!James headcanon are white themselves makes it even weirder to me.

If ur not Desi and ur not from that culture, and you’re just slapping on a race label without actually developing it ( without thinking about how it would meaningfully change James’s story, his privilege, his relationship to the world around him ) then it feels performative. It becomes more about aesthetic diversity ("look, we made him brown!") than actually engaging with what that would mean for his character.

SO when people casually racebend James without reworking how that privilege manifests, it can feel a bit ... off.

It’s not that James can't be Desi ( he absolutely can, and some writers have done beautiful things with that concept ) but for me personally, James represents a very specific kind of privileged, wealthy white boy energy and when that’s not acknowledged in the headcanon or the fic, it creates a weird disconnect.

It’s abt understanding what he represents and being thoughtful about how that dynamic would have to shift if you did.

Otherwise, it flattens his character and erases some of the sharper, more uncomfortable parts of what made James, well ... James.

VERY unpopular opinion ( yes again ) :

I don’t like the Marauders fandom sometimes.

LOOK.

I like the concept of the Marauders ( the idea of that era and the rich backstories the characters could have had ) but the way the fandom portrays them is completely disconnected from who they actually were.

James Potter and Sirius Black weren’t a couple of scrappy, misunderstood queer kids fighting against a world that hated them.

They were the exact opposite.

…

Both of them came from old money — not just rich, but aristocratic families with generations of wealth, power, and influence behind their names. The Potter and Black families were basically wizarding nobility. They would have been raised with enormous privilege, taught from birth that they mattered more than other people simply because of their bloodline, their social status, and their inherited power.

Fandom loves to project this modern idea of them being rebellious underdogs, queer-coded victims of a cruel system, when in reality, they were the system.

Even Sirius, who famously rejected the pureblood supremacist ideology of his family, still grew up as a wealthy, attractive, powerful white boy who knew exactly how much weight his name carried. His “rebellion” was real and meaningful in some ways, but it didn’t strip him of his inherent societal privilege. He was still Sirius Black.

James Potter, even more so, was a golden boy ; the heir to an immense fortune, from a beloved and respected family, with everything handed to him. He wasn’t an outsider. He was the insider.

If I had been a student at Hogwarts during their time, James and Sirius wouldn’t have been these charming, secretly-soft gay icons the fandom wants them to be. They would have been those insufferable rich white boys who thought the world revolved around them, the kind that coast on money, popularity, and privilege, and who genuinely believe they’re better than you even when they’re trying to be “nice.”

And just to be clear — I’m not saying this as a Snape fan or apologist. I’m not trying to paint Snape as some poor misunderstood victim either. I’m simply pointing out that the way fandom has collectively reimagined the Marauders ( especially James and Sirius ) says a lot more about fandom’s romanticization of wealth, privilege, and modern social issues than it does about the actual source material.

At the end of the day, James and Sirius were cool, popular, rich, talented, and good-looking — they knew it, and they acted like it…

That doesn’t make them evil, but it definitely means they weren’t the downtrodden, queer-coded rebels that fandom tries so hard to project onto them.

( And finally, everyone’s entitled to their own opinion and to how they see these characters. This is just my opinion. I actually like the Marauders as characters! Just because I criticized the way fandom tends to characterize them doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy reading about them or seeing different takes. I’m only pointing it out because honestly, people can get real sensitive when it comes to their favorite ships and characters — especially since the word “nuance” seems to barely exist on this app anymore. )

plz send me ur opinions on this, I’d love to read them :)

[angelharness]

Was already planning on some so this works out! Like most characters I’m writing for the first time it’ll probably take some time for me to distinguish how I characterize them, currently finding things out with him. This admittedly feels more like a character study than anything.. I’m sure I’ll get to write more explicitly romantic stuff for him at some point

WARNINGS: blood (is that even worth tagging anymore) and plenty of mentions of killing

TARHOS KOVACS / THE KNIGHT

It’s hard to imagine how he maintains any non-strictly-professional relationships, even more so when considering the romantic variety. He tends to categorize most people he meets into relatively loose classifications of enemy, associate, asset, useful, or not worthwhile. In his line of work, he’s never had those lines blurred or challenged. Meeting you means rare introspection on his part. 

It’s weird to chat casually, to talk about personal or daily matters rather than the specifics of a contract or even the passing chatter over dinner with his companions. He does not ask questions and doesn’t expect you to. When answering any, though, he seems to respond curtly and explicitly matter of factly, like running down a checklist. This is not out of disinterest, it’s just the way he goes about most matters. It’s not so clear if he doesn’t enjoy talking about himself or cannot think of anything he deems worthwhile to reference.

On that note, it’s a long and maybe frustrating path of trying to get to know him. You won’t be having the traditional sort of dates in the Entity’s Realm, and communication is limited by a number of barriers; English is only Tarhos’s third language, and he has just an elementary understanding of it. All things considered, he doesn’t have a very in-depth grasp on any spoken language; he grew up speaking Hungarian but was taken too early to ever attain fluency and forced to take on Italian, learned primarily through barked orders and the background chatter of his cellmates. His English, when he chooses to use it, is even more sparse, and is very much different from the vocabulary you are more familiar with. You can attempt to teach him some, but it is unlikely he’ll hold onto anything longer than a sentence. He very honestly might establish his own system of sign language before he can make himself speak comfortably.

Your best bet for getting to know him is familiarizing yourself with and learning to read his reactions and body language. This is harder to get a grasp of without a visible face to interpret, but you’ll begin to pick up on things you hadn’t noticed before; he rolls his shoulders back and points his feet forward when he’s interested. He’ll begin to gradually look aside if he isn’t. The flexing and twitching of his fingers is somehow infinitely expressive in the absence of words.

He goes about a similar process with you—he spends more and more time just watching you and how your face changes, or the variation in your voice, in your posture. Admittedly, he can only tell so much from a facial expression; he knows the telltale signs of pain, the deep lines of anguish or outright despair. He knows the gritted, grinding teeth and furious brows of someone enraged, even the glow of satisfaction, but anything beyond that may as well be new territory to him. 

One way, though, to tell that he certainly likes you is that he looks at you fairly frequently. This would seem insignificant in just about anyone else, but Tarhos looks at people only when speaking with them. Not when spoken to or at, but when he puts himself on equal footing with another person so that they may discuss. He almost regards the world and other people like a single, separate entity. He does not always immediately look away when you catch his stare, but certainly doesn’t appear that he wants his interest to be known. You might never fully know what he’s thinking, but you might be somewhere momentarily in those thoughts. 

He doesn’t ever really properly hold your hand, which requires him to bend down or slant his shoulder down uncomfortably—instead, he’ll more often wrap his hand around the back of your arm. It’s a little funny, appearing as if he’s taking you prisoner rather than attempting casual affection. 

At some point in his life, if not during his initial capture, he realized there would be no place for him to have a lover of any sort, and given his asocial tendencies, he thought he had come to terms with that notion. Now that he’s met you, there’s been a pretty significant shift in his outlook for the future; he’s lost in how to fit you into it, and though at first this disruption is greatly offending to him, he realizes that there is an appealing aspect to perhaps settling down. For once there is an end in sight to the torrent of still, bleeding bodies. Just understand that his decided code of chivalry is very far disconnected from the stereotypes lovingly illustrated in adventure books. He’s more acquainted with the sight of mangled meat between the silver plating of ruptured armor. 

He wouldn’t have ever considered himself affectionate, at any earlier point would’ve have loudly scoffed at the term, but if you can get him out of his grungy helmet and coax him into letting you brush his hair, he’ll become insistent that you do it routinely. 

Tarhos might enjoy sparring with you on occasion, but these sessions tend to become more of him fixing your form and instructing you than actual skirmishes. He repeatedly has to stop to walk over and correct your stance. He’s infinitely more knowledgeable and trained than you—it’s more than second nature, but first—it’s unrealistic you’ll ever best him, but then again, you have the eternity of the Entity’s Realm to train. He’s certainly going easy on you, otherwise you’d be wiped out in the first few moments, but there’s been a handful of times you had gotten a legitimate hit on him. You had even sent him to his knees in one instance (he was at his feet again in seconds, and you suspect he had only ever got him there, in the first place, by surprise, but it felt unspeakably good).

Will not kiss your hand unless outright asked to, sorry. It had never been customary for him, beautiful maidens with rich dresses were not the ones enlisting him to go out and kill and shed pails of blood, were certainly not being saved by him, and never did spare him glances, unless they were colorless and terrified. Even the curt shake of hands was not typical in deals between those who enlisted him. However, he’ll oblige upon your request, and soon it becomes the only way he greets you when meeting again after time apart. This seems to work better after you had talked him out of bowing to you everytime.

He finds himself on edge whenever you’re away, now, especially when in a trial. He trusts you to hold your ground and keep yourself alive, but worry is such a new feeling to him that it feels, at times, unbearable. He’s never even worried for himself—things just happened and he would soldier through it, that is how his life had always been. No threats of torture or unrelenting whips had made his stomach turn and roil like it did as he paced in your absence. Days spent in sunless, lightless cells had seemingly passed faster than the time he would await your return to the campfire, to him.

He won’t run to you and hug you and sob at your feet when you reappear, but he’s back at your side before the hazy fog of the trial can leave your system. He similarly appears to search for you first when he returns from a trial.

Pet names don’t immediately appeal to him, but if you beg him for one, he’d settle on something like ‘my treasure’ or culver. ‘My heart’ is another, but he struggles to get it out and will oftentimes just stare intensely at you, trying to force the words together, hoping maybe you’ll understand and spare him the vulnerability. It’s odd, dated, and not what would come to mind when thinking of a nickname for a lover, but he actually likes it when you refer to him as your suitor. Maybe it is its explicitness, that it serves as a declaration and can only be said wholeheartedly.

ALTRUISTIC S/O

Tarhos wouldn’t believe you to be naive or ignorant for your benevolence, only ineffective. He’s found what works best for him and scarcely strays from that; slaying carelessly, indifferent to whoever stands opposite of him and his sword. He never reprimands you, nor ever feels the need to, even if your choices may puzzle him. He decides that the world will straighten you out if it so necessary, that everyone will come to learn of its ruthlessness (however life decides to show that side of its many-faced form). 

He’s aware there are less violent, distastefully bloody ways to get what he wants, but the both of you can imagine he hails from a comparatively more savage background where brutality could be called common; in his eyes, Tarhos only adapted to the cruel circumstances of the society he found himself in. Nurture and nature were equally unkind to him, a pair of twin demons. He might struggle to conceptualize the drastically different life and time you came from, but never looks down on you for your selflessness. He might, however, feel the need to look out for you, knowing how ruthlessly unforgiving the world can be at times. 

Eventually might develop a greater appreciation for your abundant kindness when he finds himself on the receiving end. He’s especially appreciative if you’d offer to rub his shoulders from time or time, or help him with shedding or donning his armor. Unfortunately, with such underdeveloped interpersonal skills, his only means of expressing gratitude is extending his services to you, i.e. slaughtering an individual per your request.

Tarhos will hold back on displays of violence if you are present, but it will be strange to him and require a restraint he had never utilized before. Once he does, he realizes he’s never stopped to think before bringing down his sword on the skull of an opponent. This introspection won’t change his ways in the long run, certainly won’t sway the taste he’s acquired for killing, but he tries to be more mindful of your sensitivity to bloody matters. 

[ponett]

it's been a bit, so here's another roundup of some slarpg-related questions from my retrospring! some about the cast, some about worldbuilding and lore, others about the process of making the game

since holly floated the idea in her own stream: Did Jodie forge her own grill?

you know what? sure. this is canon now

very important question did catherine just pop out of the cauldron fully grown like that or did she actually experience childhood. need this answer for a debate

like most people catherine was born a baby

Given that it's the day of the Big Game: How do each of the Novas (+ Faith/Beverly) feel about sports?

jodie likes sports and follows the brightport teams actively, but she's also too good of a sport to really hate their rival teams

allison's always liked the act of playing sports way more than watching them (although she was never good enough at following orders to play on a team as a kid). she'll watch the big games with jodie, though

beverly is a casual fan who will at least root for local teams but doesn't really pay that close attention

melody and faith don't follow sports but can be convinced to show up for a super bowl party type get together

claire can only get invested in a sport or team if there's a jon bois type documentary that gets deep into the nerd shit

Were there ever any other names other than SLARPG in the running? Or was it always gonna be slarpg all the way.

i always considered changing the name. i have a list of 75 different names i considered over the years in my notes, ranging from more generic fantasy titles to sillier ones to more unique ones. early on most involved melody's name. many later ones include "Reverie." i may share the full list someday (possibly good fodder for a patreon post), but the "serious" title i've mentioned considering before was Power Couple (or Power Couples). i still like that one

i debated over the title a lot for many reasons. mainly, people are weird about the title, either treating the whole game as a joke or assuming it's porn or whatever. some also assume that you just cannot play the game if you aren't a lesbian, a thing that people don't do with other fantasy things that happen to feature sapphic relationships without putting it in the title

the problem, of course, is that changing your title is often a death sentence. half the struggle with marketing a game is even getting people to remember it in the first place in an era where a million things are constantly fighting for your attention. people need to have seen it a few times before they create that mental connection of "oh, THAT game, i've heard of that." so changing your title massively undercuts that

in that regard, Super Lesbian Animal RPG is just way more unique and memorable of a title than the alternatives i was considering. it's direct and unambiguous about the content of the game, and it grabs your attention in a way that something like "Guardians of Reverie," for instance, doesn't. (that's not a title i was considering too seriously, just an example.) also it abbreviates to a unique hashtag, which i find convenient. also i can say that rock paper shotgun once referred to it as "brilliantly named," so like, of course i can't change it now

several of the names i considered are now in the running for an overall franchise name, though, since i have zero intention of naming a game Super Lesbian Animal Platformer or Super Lesbian Animal Visual Novel or whatever

Do werewolves exist in slarpg

yes, werewolves exist on reverie. i briefly considered including a werewolf character somewhere as a gag because i think it's really funny to imagine someone being extremely melodramatic about being cursed and turning into a wolfman in a world that has furries all over the place

what order would you rank The Novas (+ Beverly/Faith) from most to least internet/irony poisoned

claire

allison

melody

faith

jodie

beverly

hey! sorry if this is a dumb question, but a friend asked me if there were any canonically straight characters in slarpg as a joke and now i’m genuinely curious. are there?

catherine, probably? i mean really, the orientations and love lives of characters outside of the main cast just don't get commented on at all. is vicky straight? is sean? are amelia, fanta, jack, or senna? who knows. i don't

i do think it's extremely funny to be in a situation where any character being confirmed straight would be an after-the-fact word of god thing though. i didn't even do this on purpose

Are there any characters that are straight edge

beth and mary ena, canonically

Are Dragon's Beastfolk?

the ancestry of dragons on reverie is unknown. some believe them to be related to reptilian beast folk, but they're usually considered their own thing due to their unique abilities

Did melody get Brent enlargement surgery? Or is she just lucky

who is Brent and why does he need to be enlarged surgically

are class names standardized across reverie, or are adventurers largely free to call themselves whatever class name they'd like?

they'll have certain commonalities that are widely understood. you can tell someone "i'm a witch" and they'll get that means you're primarily a magic user with a curiosity in the supernatural. but there are no strict regulations about what you can call yourself, no. like allison's class is just "punk," and that isn't A Thing that you can formally train to be recognized as. that's just her vibe. some titles may come with more specific expectations - for example, paladins are supposed to derive their power from faith - but a lot of the time it just comes down to semantics. what's the difference between a witch, a mage, and a sorcerer? who fuckin cares

was the secondhand staff's bent design conceived before or after holly's creation?

before. the origin story for the bend is that when drawing melody for the first time i realized it was going to block her face, so i literally just bent it out of the way. (and also it makes the design more memorable and fits with them being undergeared first-time adventurers making do with what they've got)

is 1 gold equivalent to 1 uk pound or something like that? or is 1 gold worth a lot more than our silly paper money

1 gold on reverie is more like a penny. it would be a bit less cheery in greenridge if food cost so much that a carrot was $95

whats melody's cup size!

you know what? i have to admire your moxie for asking me this

Does fortnite exist in the slarpg universe or are they free of such silly things such as video games

allison is always cranking 90s

is melody a fan of kirby : )

i don't think melody plays a ton of video games but i think she would enjoy kirby

Which of the cast would be most likely to play a game called Super Lesbian Animal RPG?

claire

really loved the game :] which somic character do you think would blend in the most into the SLARPG world

blaze as sir percival in sonic and the black knight

do you know where the vocal samples in "B.A.D." came from? one of the best parts of those really fun bosses

i do, but i think bee might still be keeping it a secret to see if anyone ever figures it out

I love seeing all the casual outfits the main cast has in the Prologue comic but I also realized we only ever see Claire in her adventuring gear and work clothes. Do you picture her having any casual outfits or is she just always wearing her witch clothes?

claire has other outfits, but these days she's wearing her witch gear and guild tabard as much as possible because that's how she wants to be seen

How would you feel about someone making nice body pillows of the main cast

it's preferable to mean body pillows

Yoshi P signed a fan's FFXIV body pillow, are you as based as him?

i am also capable of signing an ffxiv body pillow, sure

PLEASE TELL ME FAITH AND THE PALADIN BRIGADE ARE NOT COPS

this is all but outright said in optional dialogue lol. they're not cops. they aren't allowed to arrest or kill people. they're the emergency response for magical emergencies

I've just been wondering this but are there weapon regulation laws in the SLARPG world? Just curious if only registered guilds can have them or can just anyone carry a weapon around anywhere they want? lol

this isn't something i've really explored. my immediate thought would be that it probably depends on the weapon. wielding (or selling) an Ancient Cursed Obsidian Blade of Death is probably heavily regulated, but in a world where you can get jumped by monsters while traveling there's probably less concern over people carrying around regular old swords

I'm curious, was there ever any cut plans to expand on other locations in this universe such as Brightport? Was curious about that one since several characters mentioned it in game

if you mean "were there ever plans to visit brightport in slarpg," then no

the scope of the game was always confined exclusively to the sapphire islands from the start. one of my goals with slarpg was to have a small setting compared to other globe-trotting RPGs, but to explore that setting and its cast of characters more intimately. (mother 3's nowhere islands were a big influence.) but i also generally think it's good for worldbuilding when there's more to the world than what you see within the confines of the story. it stokes the imagination and makes it feel more real. if anything, i would've liked to reference even more locations elsewhere on reverie and things happening there, but i focused on brightport since it's claire and jodie's hometown and also the nearest major city

brightport is a big, big city, and if i ever explore it i want to do it right. had i found a plot excuse to make it appear later in slarpg, it probably would've needed to be smaller than greenridge with fewer buildings to enter, due to greenridge already being over scope. (notice how the other two settlements have simple outdoor marketplaces while greenridge has four separate shops you can enter, all with their own bespoke interior art and music. that was not a thing we could keep doing if we wanted to finish the game.) at that point it's not doing the idea of a big modern fantasy city justice, so why even bother?

it also would've felt very, very weird if you could visit brightport but you didn't get to meet claire and jodie's families, not to mention other characters since it can't JUST be them, and there needs to be some kind of transportation infrastructure connecting the sapphire islands to the mainland, and on and on and on. you can see how the workload quickly spirals out of control. so it was just never a thing i even considered for the game

[one-way-dream]

The King's Shadow - Ch. 2

Rating: General

Words: 3000+ (4600+ Total)

Media: Sonic the Hedgehog, Sonic and the Black Knight

Pairing: Sonic/Lancelot (Sonic/Shadow)

Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Developing Feelings, Pining, Alternate Universe - Medieval (Check AO3 for any tag changes!)

Warnings: Canon-typical violence

Chapter: 2/3

Link to the original work

AO3 Summary/Excerpt:

The other’s embarrassment slowly melted away into a resigned sigh, before turning into a smile; mischievous in appearance, but nothing short of putting the sun’s radiance to shame. And then Lancelot truly felt the carefree and trusting weight, the sheer warmth of the newly crowned king’s hand in his own.

And he knew more than ever that his life now belonged to him.

Author's Notes: WOW sorry this took so long! nearly two years..... truth be told it's just been sorta sitting there but i finished up the chapter tonight (ya boy got medicated finally) and i hope to get the next one eventually too! hoping to get it out within the next 5 years /j

thanks for reading and for all the support!! ❤❤❤

Previous/Next

Lancelot came to learn that King Sonic was not fond of excessive armour.

Surely, it was made clear enough by the fact that he only sported a gauntlet most of the time during his time as a self-proclaimed knight. Though despite being crowned as king, he still insisted on minimalism.

“It’s just a little too much, y’know?” Lancelot barely picked up on words that still sounded slurred to his untrained ears, “It’s easier to run with less of that metal stuff on me.”

Said “metal stuff” lay in a carefully discarded heap in the grass by the entrance to the moat, which would undoubtedly be picked up by one of the castle’s workers after the king would accidentally forget about it. Despite being polished daily and in pristine condition, there wasn’t a soul alive in the kingdom to actually wear that armour for more than two hours a day.

“Alright, patrol time is finally over! Ready to move out, pal?” Sonic glanced back at the knight keeping a respectful distance between them, who gave a silent nod in agreement. Lancelot’s visor generally hid his face during daytime patrols – the sunlight had been stronger and brighter than usual, bouncing off dirt paths and stone walls all the same. It was a bit too harsh for the knight, who preferred the cool whispers of the evening air dancing through his black and red quills. It was quiet. It was safe.

The king technically wasn’t obligated to wear armour if he didn’t please, but Lancelot noticed that Sonic at least attempted to wear it once a week, even if it was just for show until they were out of sight from the prying eyes of townspeople. The knight assumed it was a way of balancing his lifestyle of freedom with the customs that a life as king expected from him. In a sense, Lancelot found it to be rather noble.

He could only imagine the turmoil he faced leaving his people – it became clearer each day that there was a major cost, a sacrifice, to staying in a different world as their king.

As they made their way into the open meadows, Lancelot watched the other hedgehog stretch to the best of his ability, locked hands reaching above his head suddenly swooping down to the flower-adorned grassy field under them, fingertips grazing the white straps of his well-loved ruby sneakers. 

“Y’know,” He starts, posture reverting back to a casual stance as he turns towards Lancelot, “I didn’t really expect to have to wear all this bulk.”

The knight felt his frown deepen without him meaning to.

“That ‘bulk’ is a royal heirloom, passed down from monarch to monarch, your majesty.” But as soon as he processed the sound of his own voice, Lancelot regretted his tone. “…I— I beg you to forgive me for my insolence, sire.”

Sonic could only shrug, as if Lancelot hadn’t just spoken abrasively to him like he was some low-ranking squire. As if their relationship weren’t that of a legendary king and one of his many knights. As if their relationship didn’t have complexities woven into it through the gaps between each fibrous cross of thread. Impenetrable, so to speak, – not only to outsiders, but also to them.

“I mean, you’re not the same as him, but I’ve definitely heard far worse.” He smiled back at Lancelot even brighter somehow, like he didn’t have a care in the world, “Don’t sweat it, Lance.”

The knight’s expression grew even more perplexed.

“What?” Sonic stopped, expression mirroring Lancelot’s own, or at least whatever he could make out through his visor, “Surely that painfully abrasive tone meant that you’re a little more comfortable around me right?” He said with a sarcastic grin, motioning with a nod of his head for them to keep moving and conversing.

“That’s a good thing then! You can let your quills down and be as casual as you want, and in return I can give you a nickname. That sound like a fair trade?” Sonic laughed breezily, grazing the back of his hand against Lancelot’s arm in a half-hearted but friendly nudge.

Warmth stirred in Lancelot’s chest at his words, at his touch; like a sweet nectar that trickled down his parched throat and made him feel alive.

“You know, back home I have a friend who goes by a nickname. He’s like a brother to me, so nicknames came pretty naturally after I met him.” He spoke fondly, not catching the way he had Lancelot’s attention rapt thoroughly and genuinely, “His full name is Miles Prower, but we all call him Tails. Actually, he looks a heck of a lot like the blacksmith we have back in town! A kind and brilliant kid… just like him.”

Lancelot tried to crumple the odd feeling he got at the mention of “brother”. The conversation had more or less settled into its usual back and forth of the day as they continued strolling through the field of sweet violets; admittedly, one of Lancelot’s favourite parts of each day.

Usually these hours were somewhat one-sided conversations, but only in the sense that the king loved to talk, and Lancelot was more than content to listen and affirm. Though, he kept silent mostly out of respect and necessity – he had a responsibility to focus and protect the king, after all.

But today, when the winds are quiet and gentle and the skies bloom with iridescent clouds above them, somehow everything shifted on its axis again; for once, Lancelot was willing to finally hold up his end of the conversation. His heart throbbed loudly in his throat, in his ears, as he took a few short breaths and practiced his next few words in his head.

“I… have a sister.”

There. He said it.

He breathed her back into existence, and never again could she be kept buried deep inside of his soul.

The king slowed his pace, glancing to the side at Lancelot who still kept his eyes hidden under a visor. “Yeah? That’s really nice to hear!” Sonic immediately perks up, livelier than ever at the fact that his favourite knight companion was finally, finally opening up to him, “What’s she like? How old is she?”

Lancelot’s hand slowly reached up to his visor, hovering by the edge as he contemplated, before lowering his arm again and letting it settle by his side, not catching the way the king’s ears drooped slightly at his actions. He let a smile play on his lips instead, reminiscing about sky blue and moonlit gold.

“She’s… a good person, and she’s a little older than me. Full of love; always eager to share it with those around her, even if that means giving up parts of herself.” Lancelot spoke wistfully, affectionately, and in the back of his mind he realized that this was the most he’d ever divulged to anyone about her, “Whenever she’d scold me, there was never any harshness to it – even that was always out of love. She wasn’t perfect of course, but to me she was the closest anyone could ever be. More than anything, I… I think I miss her stories and her mischief the most.”

“Oh… what happened to h—” Sonic’s eyes widened in realization as bit his own tongue into silence, shaking his head and hastily covering up his tracks, “I’m so sorry— please disregard that, you really don’t have to answer anything you’re not—”

“…It was illness, your grace.” He solemnly answered.

“And it’s alright, please do not apologize. We live in difficult times, after all.” He gave the king a small smile, though he didn’t doubt that he could see right through his mournful expression, “I do miss her dearly, but… now that I have shared a piece of her – proof of her existence and a piece of my soul with someone like you, I do not think she will be forgotten so easily.”

The king comes to a standstill and turns to face the other, and it’s only then that Lancelot’s mind catches up with the gravity of what exactly he’s said. He hadn’t said enough to betray how he truly feels, surely, but he can’t help but feel his joints lock up anyway. The first emotion that rushes to him is dread, but then he remembers who Sonic is in the first place, takes in his charming smile in a single brave glance, and relief cleanses every bit of dread out of his system.

“Still…” The king steps closer, reaching out and letting his hand gently hold onto the other’s arm. It takes every bit of self-control Lancelot had been taught in training to not have a visceral reaction at the contact, “I really am sorry for your loss.”

But Lancelot had not been prepared for the faraway look in Sonic’s eyes as soon as he chanced a glimpse at his face. There was something… unreadable. Almost sorrowful in its nature; although something told him that King Sonic wasn’t just mourning the loss of his sister.

For the first time in his life, he didn’t want to listen to his gut feeling.

As quickly as his expression had come, it was gone like the wind, replaced with another casual smile. A rare glimpse of his walls unguarded. Lancelot thinks carefully – but even if Sonic was going to pretend that nothing happened, he couldn’t let it go so easily. The knight wills his heart to settle before taking the dive.

“Do you miss it?” He finally says it, quiet enough that the other could disregard him if he so pleased. “Do you miss your home world, sire?”

“I…” Sonic opens his mouth, then shuts it with a shake of his head, as if to shake an unwanted thought out of his mind, “Nah, I’ll go anywhere an adventure takes me.”

But somewhere in his heart, Lancelot felt that he wouldn’t.

He would tire of this adventure.

He would tire of his duties.

He would tire of this world.

Would a free soul like King Sonic be able to bear the crushing weight of a kingdom in pain? His kindness had seemingly no end in sight, but for how long until he runs on empty? How long until he may have to realize that there were more mouths to feed than plates to give? Or worse: more sick people than there were beds in monasteries? Would Sonic give out pieces of himself at that point, or would he have the courage and humility to step down?

Rather, would Lancelot be able to bear the sight of seeing the king’s spirit broken until it was a mere ghost of what it used to be?

“You’re thinking way too hard about this,” Sonic spoke somberly, as if reading the other’s mind. “I’ve got no plans to leave just yet.” Lancelot felt his heart leap out of his chest from being caught off guard. “Did… you hear what I just said?” he paused, “Sire, did you perhaps use witchcraft to listen in?”

Sonic stopped in his tracks, turning on his heel with an incredulous look on his face only to find that Lancelot was completely genuine. He laughed, bright and lively.

“No, of course not. I just have decent intuition… erm, sometimes.”

They continued in silence for some time, taking in the scenery around them and Sonic carefully stepping around the flowers the best he could. Things continued as normal, walking side by side for once instead of Lancelot acting as King Sonic’s tail. They watched the sun slowly dip closer to the horizon – but there were still many hours left of the day, and many more hours to spend with each other. The thought alone made his heart squeeze for a moment, and he selfishly let his mind wander with thoughts about the other world, wondering if he could ever be a part of it, even if only in his dreams.

And then, against all odds, Lancelot made a request for the first time.

“Your majesty, if you don’t mind… could you tell me more about your world?”

-x-

Another month had passed peacefully.

The king and Lancelot had gone on their patrols together as usual, Lancelot never needing to prod Sonic for answers about his world, as the latter happily indulged him with hours upon hours of grand adventures and small tidbits about his dear group of friends, and occasionally, rivals. It was the one time in the day, besides the mere minutes he spends in his chambers before inevitably crashing from exhaustion, where he felt like he could truly let his guard down and be free.

Lancelot smiled to himself. Even under the rule of a king, he felt free for the first time in years.

In the present day, King Sonic had an audience with the duke of a neighboring kingdom, accompanied by Merlina. Though one of the knights generally accompanied the king, he insisted that he could manage the meeting this time, especially with Merlina’s assistance. Lancelot casually shrugged – another unique quirk that he adapted from Sonic through his behaviour and his stories alone, although he made sure to only ever do it when the two of them were alone. It makes him both nervous and happy that he’s able to learn so much from him, that he’s able to grow even closer to him as his right-hand – his most trusted knight.

Both Sir Gawain and Sir Percival had invited Lancelot to a sparring match between the three of them, as a means of refining their skill over the course of the meeting, as well as during Sir Lamorak and Sir Galahad’s absence. If he had recalled correctly, the two of them had been sent on a great expedition.

Percival and Gawain clashed viciously, sparks flying as they both met their match. Sir Percival knew all the right points to hit; she had a keen eye for weakness and vulnerability, which meant that letting one’s guard down could be fatal within seconds of realizing it. The latter had to be the most powerful of the knights – sheer, raw, energy channelled directly into Galatine as he threw himself head on towards Percival. Lancelot personally preferred a more strategic method of fighting, but even he couldn’t deny that his strength had the potential to overwhelm him.

He stares up at the overcast sky, already missing how blue it was that day he had a heart-to-heart with his king. As the other two finish their match, with Percival as the victor, his gaze eventually settles on the dirt floor before him. Now that he really thinks about it, before he met Sonic, he’d… never really noticed these things about the others.

“…Do you know if the rumors about the king are true or not, Sir Percival?” Sir Gawain was the first to speak, chest heaving from their intensive sparring match.

Lancelot’s head shot up from the ground, any fluttering thoughts screeching to a halt as he stood from his place on the bench.

“Sir Gawain, I do not wish to partake in the spread of—”

“Rumors…?” Lancelot interrupted, taking the other two knights by surprise. It was rare enough for the black hedgehog to speak, let alone intrude on a conversation. Gawain cleared his throat, looking hesitantly between Lancelot and Percival, before he continued, “Yes, I thought… you might have already known, given that you are closest to King Arth— I mean, King Sonic.”

Lancelot continued to look onto Gawain in questioning silence, his breath caught in his throat.

“King Sonic is said to depart back to his world in a week’s time.”

Everything slowed down to a crawl for Lancelot, and he couldn’t fathom why. It was a simple sentence, but one that had the power to shatter his entire world.

A week’s time? He couldn’t be serious. It just didn’t make sense to him how or why everything was happening so suddenly.

But more than anything, even if it wasn’t true, why couldn’t Lancelot simply be happy for the king returning to his beloved home? Nausea brewed inside him, twisting and thrashing around in his stomach – anger only adding acid to the mix as he stormed up to the other knights, eyes locked onto the red echidna.

“Sir Gawain.” Lancelot says coldly, looking straight at Gawain’s confused expression and feeling relief in the back of his mind that he left Arondight propped against the bench. He didn’t know what he would do if he brought it with him. What had King Sonic even done to him to make him feel this way? “If these allegations prove to be false, and lest I find that you show yourself to be the perpetrator of these lies… there will be consequences.”

“What… do you mean by ‘consequences’?” Gawain’s look of confusion sharply morphed into one of intimidation, shoulders tense and letting out a low rumbling growl under his breath as if to challenge the other knight, “Tell me, do you doubt me, as your fellow knight? Do you doubt the loyalty I have for our king?”

Something ached inside Lancelot’s very core. Whether it was burning him up inside or settling him with a pit of grief, he couldn’t begin to differ.

“That is quite enough.”

Percival speaks up next, deep and commanding – enough to make them less tense, but not enough to break their unwavering eye contact, ruby upon amethyst in a deep scowl.

“If you are not guilty of any such crimes, then you shouldn’t feel the need to bare your teeth back at me.”

But Lancelot was the first to quickly mellow, the guilt setting inside him and taking the anger’s place as he realized that he was being impossibly defensive, far enough to threaten a fellow knight. It gnaws at him, because he knows well enough that he’ll regret this action in the coming hours – especially if the king hears about it.

He steps back, giving up and tearing his gaze away from Gawain in defeat as he clenches his jaw, heartbeat in his ears loud enough to make them twitch.

“All I was… —all I am ever after, is protecting our king’s honour.” Lancelot watches Gawain lower his guard as well, rage fading from his features as he also takes a step back, seemingly willing to listen. “I will not let his image falter.”

“That is all there is to it.” He lied.

[jackalmeat]

@letters-to-rosie said: okay so let's say Viktor has an s/o or just really good friend. how does he navigate things around questions of ability? how does he feel about disclosing things like pain, how long he can comfortably walk, etc? how does he feel about asking someone for help with certain tasks? how would this change as a relationship would evolve? are there some approaches that would totally just frustrate him and maybe even ruin a relationship?

You're so good to me, Rosie. I broke this line of questioning into three parts--

🫀 How does Viktor navigate questions of ability? How does he feel about disclosing things like pain, how far he can comfortably walk, etc.?

Viktor tends to play his hand fairly close to his chest in this respect. He'll acknowledge the factual existence of his limits or points of difficulty, of course; and he's apt to be quite tongue-in-cheek or sardonic about it to boot -- (imagine a flat look and a pointedly understated little quip when you find yourselves faced with a long, steep staircase, for example) -- but he's not inclined to disclose much about the exact scope of those limits willy-nilly if there's not a clear reason for more detailed information to be needed/relevant at that particular moment**. He'll be more forthcoming about himself with people that have done enough legwork to earn a more authentic relationship with him; but by and large there are many pieces of himself he's not quick to share. This, indeed, is often one of them.

He also, as an aside, is disinclined to apologize for his limits or ask if they'll be a problem for someone else (unless he's in a more fragile mental state and isn't as equipped to guard himself as usual). They're his to navigate; not yours. You don't get to act like his issues are your cross to bear.

(**In truth, one of the ways in which this matter tends to get broached most plainly and readily is through the medium of sex. It's important for partners, even casual ones, to understand how to interact with his body in ways that will be both pleasing and safe for him.)

🫀 How does he feel about asking for help with certain tasks? How would this change as the relationship evolved?

The short answer is that Viktor isn't an 'ask for help' kind of guy if he can at all avoid it.

The longer answer is that he isn't an 'ask for help' kind of guy precisely because he spends his life navigating a world in which people draw all kinds of conclusions about him (as a scholar, as a man, as a competent adult, and so on) the instant they so much as look at him, regardless of whether they ultimately mean well toward him or not. At this point he's more accustomed to being treated as an object (onto which others project a vision of what they expect him to be, based on preconceived judgements) than he is to being understood as the actual sum of his parts and being.

To loosely quote my own tags from this post about Viktor's tendency to hold others at arms' length when he's struggling in any way: he can't control whether or not people know about his disability (it's visible; of course they know), but he can attempt to control the flavor of the narrative people build around him in their own heads. His competence and general worthiness for respect are already under constant scrutiny by others, simply by virtue of his being a disabled man. As far as he's concerned, asking for help with anything simply reinforces the likelihood that others will find him lacking in some way, and subsequently treat him as such. Asking for help is a show of weakness he feels he's not 'allowed' to demonstrate without essentially cosigning others' right to judge him for needing it.

In sum, refusing to ask for help (or let others see him needing/wanting help) is one of the small handful of tools he has for maintaining a sense of control over both his own body as well as how he ultimately gets perceived by others. Likewise, he's not going to give up that tool quickly or comfortably, even if the person in question is a close friend or lover.

(Consider Jayce, for example. Even after approximately 7(?) years of developing a presumably close working and companionable relationship with each other, Viktor still withholds himself and the full scope of his issues from Jayce as a matter of habit when he's struggling. Viktor takes a massive, impulsive risk with Jayce based on the merits merely of a sheaf of research notes and a shared dream; yet balks at the prospect of letting Jayce witness him in a truly vulnerable state.)

Point being: it's not impossible for Viktor to arrive eventually at a point of being willing to risk that kind of vulnerability with someone, ask for help, let them see him in his 'weakest' moments and trust that they won't consciously or unconsciously think less of him in the wake of it, etc. However, the fact remains that that particular variety of trust doesn't come naturally to him, and having a friend or even a lover wouldn't change that.

🫀 Are there some approaches that would frustrate him and maybe even ruin a relationship?

Absolutely. It's worth noting too that, for as much as he wants to be seen (known, meaningfully) and valued by others, Viktor is not an easy person to get truly, lastingly close to even at the best of times. He has a lot of behaviors and defense mechanisms that can engage on a dime and perpetuate patterns which tend ultimately to lead back to him being alone in the ways that matter. While there are some circumstances beyond his control which have contributed to his overall lack of emotionally intimate connections with others, there are others that he could control, but hasn't. He isn't entirely blameless in his own emotional isolation.

That having been said though, when it comes to the things that others do which might be responsible for driving him away, it's largely a matter of balance. Keeping our scope here narrowed down to the matter of his disability, he doesn't expect anyone -- (especially not able-bodied people, no matter how conscientious they are) -- to be perfect. It's not automatically the end of the world if someone missteps a little out of ignorance but is ultimately well-intentioned. However, there are particular patterns of behavior that rub him very, very wrong when it comes to how people interact with his disability or overall health situation. Some examples of those patterns are:

❌ Second-guessing him all the time, as if he can't be trusted to make choices for himself. It's one thing to periodically check in with him or make suggestions; but if you act like you know his body, his limits, his comforts, his needs, and so on better than he himself does and treat him like he needs you to peer-review his decisions, then that says a lot to him about how you perceive him, and none of it is positive. It's not a cute show of affection to force your own idea of what he needs onto him 'for his own good' when he's made a choice you don't strictly agree with. He does not want a caretaker.

❌ Being overly skittish of acknowledging his disability or touching the affected parts of his body, as if you're afraid that 'reminding' him of his condition is inherently offensive or hurtful. He knows he's disabled; and he knows everyone around him knows it too. He doesn't like for others to fixate on that aspect of his existence, but it's just as offputting when people try too hard to skirt around his disability and act like it doesn't exist even though it obviously does. Shying away from it won't earn you any points with him.

❌ Telling him how to talk or think about his own disability, body, or life. He uses words like 'cripple' and 'gimpy' for himself sometimes (similar to how some people like to claim 'queer' or 'faggot', which he also has been known to do), and is prone to dry, irreverent, occasionally quite dark humor on the subject. You don't have to strictly like it, but he does expect you to know better than to micromanage his language.

❌ Treating him like inspiration porn. It's one matter to be aware of the fact that many things that able-bodied people take for granted are out of reach or difficult/painful/frustrating for Viktor, but it's another to focus excessively on his disability and act as if every single thing he does is some kind of courageous, statement-making triumph over the ~inherent, burdensome misery of his very existence~.

❌ Expecting him to be "innocent" in a way that's disproportionate to what you expect from other men. Acting shocked and appalled if he swears or makes a dark/raunchy joke--? Being overly surprised to find out that he flirts and has sex--? Assuming he's 'endearingly' clueless about all things worldly--? Halt, villain.

❌ (Something of a footnote related in various ways to many of the above, but when it comes to any kind of dynamic which involves a physical component: don't be weird about his relationship with sex. Viktor has had his fair share of sexual partners over the years, the overwhelming majority of whom have been entirely casual. If you're too interested in the idea of Viktor being inexperienced, needing you to ~coax his repressed sexual side out~ or ~teach him how to enjoy his body~, etc., then not only are you likely to be disappointed by the reality, but Viktor himself is going to question why exactly you made those assumptions about him in the first place.)

[newronantic]

HAIKYUU!! FICS

so this is mostly gonna be for myself to keep track of my favorite fics i’ve read, but hey if anyone else wants to check some of these out then thats great

MHA one is up!!

ill keep updating this as i read more, feel free to send me suggestions!

KageHina

plain as day - emleewrites

In which Hinata has spent the better part of the last twenty years putting his heart and soul into volleyball, hoping to be recognised, to be noticed. And yet he spends all these years also thinking of himself as rather plain, beyond his lack of height and bright hair, and not really noticeable at all.

In Transit - Mysecretfanmoments

Hinata finds that he likes standing close to Kageyama on buses and trains. It doesn't mean anything--probably. Maybe.

I like the way your clothes smell - Mysecretfanmoments

Power outages, ghost stories, and the presence of a certain orange-haired boy lead to bad decision-making on Tobio's part. He'd planned to keep his crush a secret; the universe has other plans.

Chaotic Neutral - akaraka

Who's this Kageyama person on twitter and is he gay?

1: Anonymous: see title

2: Anonymous: curry king

3: Anonymous >> 1: It's the curry king, obviously. Have you been using his memes this whole time without knowing who he was?

4: Anonymous: 1) Hinata Shouyou's boyfriend 2) See above

jellyfish - mysterytwin

At the beginning of his last year at Karasuno High School, Hinata Shouyou starts a list and calls it THINGS TO DO BEFORE GRADUATION, all with high hopes that he’ll be able to complete it before his time runs out.

TsukkiYama

Try This On For Size - CloudMonsta

A lot changed for Yamaguchi Tadashi over the course of high school. He started trying on dresses, for one.

The Great Yamaguchi-Tsukishima Split (Capitalization Necessary) - WyYeuw

"But no, the current situation isn’t normal. This situation requires the full attention of the team.

No, what’s really concerning this time around, is that Yamaguchi is the one ignoring Tsukishima.”

Yamaguchi confesses. Tsukishima fucks up—like, really fucks up. The volleyball club notices and loses a week’s worth of practice.

IwaOi

Terrarium - sausaged

He's practically a professional at being proactive (lies, lies, and lies when it comes to Iwaizumi).

At this point, is he really happy with just staying best friends forever? Will he be writing journals and collecting rocks forever (he will, he knows, but that is aside from the point)?

Can he really tag his Instagram photos with #YOLO if he doesn't actually put that phrase into practice?

A story about Oikawa Tooru, Iwaizumi Hajime, plants, and rocks.

They Say it Rain Diamonds on Jupiter - exsao

"You're in love with him."

Hajime considers denying it. He considers deliberately choking on his drink to express surprise, to create a distraction by spitting onto the man in front of him's pristine white shirt and causing a commotion. Instead, he swallows his mouthful of soda and heaves a small sigh once his mouth is free.

"Yeah," he says instead.

He's never been good at lying, anyway.

bait and switch - Stylographic_Blue_Rhapsody

Oikawa's university volleyball team knows he's in a long-distance relationship with someone from high school. They imagine a sweet-faced girl that matches his sarcasm with patience. They are so incredibly wrong.

my heart is where it’s always been - foreverautumn

Iwaizumi places his phone down carefully.

Oikawa. Pining after someone. There’s no way.

(Iwaizumi knows he shouldn’t care who Oikawa might have feelings for, but within the span of three days, it’s somehow the only thing he can think about.)

KuroKen

Beautiful People Will Ruin Your Life - todxrxki

Kuroo Tetsurou runs a private Twitter account where he's constantly tweeting about how desperately in love he is with Kozume Kenma. Little does he know that Kenma sees all the tweets and keeps referencing the account in an attempt to get Kuroo to confess to him. / Or, five times Kuroo didn't notice Kenma hinting about his private Twitter account, and one time he finally did.

the things that get caught in the valves of his heart - ghostpot

Emotional competency is not exactly Kuroo's strong suit. Kenma finds it quite amusing.

Accidentally In Love - todxrxki

Kuroo frowns, but then slowly, the corners of his mouth lift up into a smirk. "Well, if it's so unbelievable, why don't we give it a try?"

Kenma glances up at him curiously. "What do you mean?"

"Let's do the 36 questions to fall in love," Kuroo says, still smirking stupidly. "If we don't fall in love, then you're right, it's bullshit. But if we do somehow..." Kuroo waggles his eyebrows. "Then I win." / Kuroo decides he and Kenma should do the 36 questions to fall in love as a joke, but they both start to realize they might actually be in love already.

the galaxy is endless (i thought we were, too) - cosmogony

TW: major character death

Kuroken AU where the last words your soulmate will say to you appear on your skin when you turn 16, and how Kenma and Kuroo learn what this means over the course of their lives

even if you’re ahead for a bit, i will catch up - ghostpot

Kuroo first confesses when they're sticky-fingered, wide-eyed kids, and subsequently every day after that. Kenma takes a while to come around.

you’re the brake lines failing (as my car swerves off the freeway) - ghostpot

Kenma thinks that Kuroo looks ugly with his head bent against the arm of the couch like that. Then Kenma thinks that he wants to marry him, and is promptly thrown into the 5 stages of grief.

teach me the way home - icespyders

“Don’t go far off, not even for a day, because —

because — I don’t know how to say it: a day is long

and I will be waiting for you, as in an empty station

when the trains are parked off somewhere else, asleep.”

Kuroo and Kenma grow up in transit.

in this universe - crossbelladonna

Living with Kuroo is sometimes, just like this. It always feels surreal like he's living half a world and a lot of things rush by too quickly. Kenma feels like he'd watched him come and go in a blink, eyes wide and wordless as the shared space went snug in an instant and far larger in the next.

All this, and a glass of water.

Beginning’s End - todxrxki

Somehow over the course of Kenma's lifetime, he’s never really had an opportunity to miss Kuroo. He’s always been there. Even when they went to different schools, Kuroo would meet him afterwards so they could walk home together, shoulders brushing, Kuroo occasionally taking the opportunity to guide him when his nose was buried in the newest video game. The thought of Kuroo not being there anymore is uncomfortable, to say the least. / Kozume Kenma's third year and the changes the year brings in himself and his relationship with Kuroo Tetsurou.

All I Want for Christmas is You - todxrxki

“Kuro,” he says. “You’re a single guy.”

“Yeah, great, thanks for pointing that out.”

“And my parents already know you, plus they already know you like guys or whatever so… what if you pretended to be my date for Christmas dinner?” / In which Kenma recruits his housemate and best friend Kuroo to be his fake date for Christmas.

BokuAka

just to miss the sun - rosevtea

Everything begins to implode when MSBY Jackals outside hitter Bokuto Koutarou crashes Akaashi's livestream.

Operation BokuAka - kazzydolyn

After spending two whole years watching Bokuto and Akaashi pine for one another, the rest of the Fukuroudani Volleyball Club has had enough. When everyone meets up for a reunion dinner, the team decides to play matchmaker and finally get the two of them together. Unfortunately, their plan starts to fall apart when they discover that Akaashi is already dating someone. And apparently so is Bokuto. What a strange coincidence.

bitter - silvercistern

He accepted his classmate's chocolates gracefully, then declared his lack of interest with as much dignity as he could muster. She deserved the courtesy. At least she'd acknowledged that Valentine's Day was all about her, and not about him in the slightest.

Because if any of these girls had taken the time to actually get to know him, they’d quickly realize something even more important than his lack of interest in girls.

And that was that Akaashi hated sweets.

In Another Life - LittleLuxray

TW: major character death

Sleeping didn't come as easy as it used to. Bokuto knew this, and now Akaashi did, too.

The hospital AU that no body asked for, but that I took upon myself to write.

120% yes - pissedofsandwich

TOKYO FRANCHISE COMING SOON @OnigiriMiya

in reply to @bokkun_official 

Congratulations! In celebration of your historic engagement, please DM us so we can send you a free membership code with a 25% discount on every fourth purchase!

Kissing Ace - karasunovolleygays

It happens right after training camp.

Akaashi Keiji has a secret he has guarded since he was a child. He won’t go so far as to call it a fear, but more of an aspect of himself of which he is horribly mortified. No one on the team knows about it, and Akaashi does his best to keep it that way.

But years of dodging hugs and casual contact come to naught in the blink of an eye and the swipe of a hand.

daisy rings and frivolous things (i am deliriously in love with you) - gabstar

Akaashi Keiji is in love. Bokuto Koutarou is a star. Everyone on Fukurodani has a gambling problem.

SakuAtsu

The MSBY Black Jackals Read Thirst Tweets - isaksara (syailendra)

Sakusa’s eyes are very dark naturally, sucking in all surrounding rays of light and crushing them in his pupils. For an athlete, he is rather pale. His lips look very pink in comparison. Atsumu is suddenly catastrophically aware that in this instance, ‘accent’ is a euphemism. “Good enough for your Olympic-size ego, Miya?”

(In which Atsumu realizes that he is attracted to Sakusa Kiyoomi in the most inconvenient way possible.)

A Liar’s Truth - internetpistol

In which Sakusa Kiyoomi is raised to believe that gay people go to hell but then takes one look at Miya Atsumu and thinks, then why the hell did God make them so fucking hot?

[skiller0dani]

Broken Paradise | Spencer Reid

M A S T E R L I S T Criminal Minds Masterlist

smut requests info wc | 9.1k summary | you run into an ex boyfriend during an interrogation. except it's you being interrogated, and it's your ex boyfriend doing the interrogating.

song

another draft just waiting to be published. really obsessing over Spencer Reid.

also there's mentions of abortion, nothing graphic it's literally just a short direct reference and nothing else.

You always hear people say your past will come back to haunt you, you just didn't know they meant literally. You leaned back against the metal chair in the interrogation room, you've been in here for what felt like hours. You couldn't complain too much seeing as it's your fault that you're in here at all. You wished they'd come in and tell you something, give you an update, say hi, say anything. You seriously underestimated how maddening silence can be. You knew little about the murders the police were investigating, something about druggie women being found mutilated. The pictures they showed you were downright horrifying, you'd need at least one solid bottle of tequila to forget the bodies of those poor women.

The Las Vegas Police Department were a bunch of judgmental pigs, the only reason they'd brought you here at all was because you were from the wrong side of the tracks. Both of your parents were users, and if you were lucky, also dead. They probably assumed you used as well, and seeing as you seemed to fit the killers physical preference the police brought you in for questioning and also for your own "safety". But really you knew they didn't give a damn about your safety, they just wanted to know where you got your shit from. No matter how many times you insisted you didn't use, they kept pushing. When one male officer started throwing your parents in your face, you stood up and promptly broke his nose. That's how you landed yourself cuffed to the table, tightly.

"Oh thank you so much for gracing me with your presence once more." You smiled sarcastically as another officer walked in, wait he's definitely not an officer. The man who entered the room had cleanly cut dark hair, and wore an expensive looking black suit. Not the run of the mill beat cop that you were expecting. You bit back any other fiery remarks, if you wanted to get the hell out of here you needed to cooperate. Diana would be expecting you, not that you were itching to see her but after letter number 75 of her begging you to swing by- well lets just say that Spencer's mother was never the problem. You doubt Spencer even knew Diana was contacting you, which was good. You wanted nothing at all to do with him.

"I'm Agent Hotchner here with the FBI I need to ask you a few questions." This man was all business, you seriously had to fight the urge to fuck with him a little bit.

"I'd shake your hand but..." Your eyes flickered towards the table, where the police officer who's nose you broke had very tightly handcuffed you. In fact he cuffed you so tightly that your wrists were already raw and bleeding a bit.

"They wouldn't have handcuffed you if you didn't punch an officer. Did he hit a nerve?" The Agent's face was level, and gave nothing away as to what he was thinking. You tongued the inside of your cheek, your foot tapping quickly on the concrete floor. These assholes were really starting to piss you off.

"He was being a dick, how many times do I have to tell you guys that I don't use? Are your heads filled with sawdust?" You snapped roughly, yanking away from him to lean back in your chair despite the biting pain in your wrists.

"That's not why I'm here Miss Y/L/N." Agent Hotchner said, his voice even and his eyes on you. The way he was looking at you made you feel exposed, like he could read all of your secrets because of the way your eye twitches when you're nervous. You hate these damn FBI profilers- wait.

"How's Spencer?" It's a shot in the dark, a very long shot in a very dark tunnel. Before the scumbag left you without warning, Spencer mentioned that someone was trying to recruit him for the BAU department of the FBI. The profilers. Spencer left and never came back, two guesses as to where he went. Your eyes locked onto the Agent's in front of you, and from the slight upturn at the corner of his brow you knew you got him. Spencer is here.

"You know Dr. Reid?"

"So he's a Doctor now, doesn't surprise me. Let me guess, he has PHD's and Doctorates in Math, Chemistry and something to do with Geography right?" You say as casually as you can and you can only hope this man is wondering how you happen to know so much about one of his Agents.

"Unless I'm speaking to Spencer Reid, I want my lawyer." You snap, leaning back. You know Spencer won't talk to you, and unless they have physical proof you're guilty of something they'll have to let you go.

Check mate.

//

Spencer couldn't ignore the questioning glances from his fellow teammates even if he'd wanted to. He watched you lean back in your chair from the other side of the one way glass, what are the chances that you are wrapped up in this case? You of all young petite blonde women in the metro area. The world was fucking with him, it had to be.

"She a friend of yours?" Derek's voice was the first to cut through the silence.

"No." One word answers were the safest route, the shortest diction would give little time for them to draw information out of the way Spencer was speaking. There was a tremble in his tone, he knew there was. Spencer prided himself for having little to no baggage behind him, but of all unopened suitcases- his previous relationship with you was the largest one.

"Really? Cause she seems to know a lot about you." Derek said, his eyes fixed on Spencer. The tension in the room was palpable, and suddenly it felt hard for Spencer to breathe let alone compose himself. After shoving free from the small viewing room, Spencer found it a lot easier to exist without the scrutinizing gazes of his coworkers.

"You hear her?" It was Hotch, with a patiently guarded expression on his face. Spencer and drugs wasn't an uncommon problem, although in the past his poison of choice was dilaudid. Now there's a string of drug related murders and a possible junky who seems to know a lot about him.

"Yeah, from before the Bureau." Spencer clarified quickly, and Hotch honestly looked the tiniest bit relieved.

"Think you could talk to her, she's made it obvious she won't talk to any of us." Hotch said, and from the tension building in Spencer's shoulders he can tell there's some bad blood between the two of you. Spencer took a deep breath before taking all of those unresolved emotions and forcefully shoving them down. Deep, deep down. It's time to do a job, there's a missing woman who needs to be saved.

//

When that door opened again, you thought you'd won. You thought they were coming to begrudgingly release you. Instead you were met by the big doey eyes of Spencer Reid, your first and last love. All the air was stolen from your lungs in an instant, the memories flood back and you can't stop them. The anger rises then, this is the first time you've seen him since he left you. The one person you trusted not to leave you did, he left like everyone leaves you. Like your parents left you. He's very clearly all business, his face hardly giving anything away as he swiftly reached down to unlock the handcuffs around your wrists. If you wanted to walk away from this without your heart getting broken you needed the upper hand.

"Heya baby." You smiled, you hoped that maybe it would disarm him. At least a little, but when you looked at him all you saw was a stoic and focused expression. Nothing? Really?

"I need to ask you a few questions Miss Y/L/N." Spencer's voice was controlled, even in tone. His voice... God his voice could bring you right to tears. You could still hear him saying how much he loved you with that stupidly angelic voice of his. Spencer was very quickly taking control of the situation and you did not like that at all.

"You know you can ask me anything, there's no secrets between us right Spence?" You leaned forward on your elbows, trying desperately to ignore the throbbing in your wrists. One of Spencer's biggest giveaways is eye contact, when he's upset or feels guilty he'll avoid looking into your eyes. You turn your gaze up to meet his, but once again you're completely disarmed to see him unabashedly looking into your eyes like it isn't a problem at all. Either Spencer has amnesia and forgot who you were, or what happened between you two doesn't hurt him like it hurts you. You refuse to believe it's the latter, he just forgot. Definitely forgot. Somehow he must have forgot.

"Nina Fredricks, have you ever seen her?" He slid a photo in front of you, you recognize her as the woman who was most recently kidnapped. Most recently being 12 hours ago so chances of her still being alive are unfortunately slim. You nibble on your lower lip, come to think of it you actually might have seen her.

"Yeah, saw her at Winchell's, little coffee shop on the corner of 5th? You remember right Spence? You used take me there all the time, I loved giving you head under the table." You smirk, but it quickly falters. Whatever training he went through must have stripped him of all emotion and turned him into a machine. Built only to solve cases and do nothing else. That wasn't the case however, you just didn't know how good Spencer is at compartmentalizing his emotions. He could only imagine the looks on his coworkers faces upon hearing you say that, at least he can just say you were lying to try and illicit some sort of reaction from him. They don't have to know that you totally used to slip under the table and swallow his cock in a diner full of people. They don't know about that side of him, and Spencer doesn't plan on changing that.

"When?" He presses on with the interview, and surprisingly you're forthcoming with information when you're speaking to Spencer. Even after all this time, he has this annoying power over you. This innate ability to get you to do whatever he wants you to, although you would prefer him to use this special ability in the bedroom. No! No you have to eradicate thoughts like that, Spencer hurt you worse then anyone else ever has. He hurt you worse because he made you think he was going to stay, and then he didn't.

"Few nights ago, she looked really messed up though. Winchell threw her out, definitely doped up on something. Before you ask, no I didn't see where she went." You sigh, finally giving up flashing Spencer the all too familiar 'you win' look. Usually a victorious grin stretches across his face, but not this time. Those times are over.

"Did you see anybody with her?" You're not entirely surprised that Spencer isn't writing any of this down, that stupid eidetic memory. You're fooling yourself if you think he forgot what happened, Spencer never forgets anything. Ever.

"Every detail matters."

You genuinely try to remember if anybody was with Nina, and while you didn't see anyone you remember shortly after she left the diner there was this horrible screeching sound. "After Nina left I heard what sounded like tires screeching on the street. Never saw a car though."

"Thank you Miss Y/L/N, is there anything else you can remember about that night? Anything that sticks out?" After a few moments of quiet contemplation, you shake your head.

"Am I free to go?" You ask quietly and Spencer shakes his head.

"Unfortunately we're going to have to keep you in protective custody. We'll move you to a more comfortable room, but you'll need to stay in the precinct."

"But why? I'm not a drug addict-"

"You are exactly this killers type, and we don't know if looking a certain way is more important or if being a drug addict is when it comes to him choosing his victims." Spencer explains simply, his mouth moving a mile a minute as he stands. When he turns his eyes back on you, you realize he's waiting for you to follow him. You stand and follow him out of the cold interrogation room to a comfier waiting room. It has a table and chairs, vending machine and a big plush couch.

"You can stay in here, we'll let you know when it's safe to go home." Spencer says, and this is when you finally catch the crack in his façade. His eyes flicker away from yours, trying to disguise the waver in his voice, the desperation to vacate the room as quickly as he can. But now that you've seen him break, even a little, you're going to crack him wide open. You won't let it go that easily.

"Spencer?" Your voice is soft, with an innocent drawl that Spencer can't resist. He turns his head to look at you, swallowing thickly when his eyes meet yours.

"You do remember me don't you? Once upon a time we were in love." You see the rest of his coworkers trying and failing to look like they're not listening. But it's not like you care if they do, Spencer will though but luckily his back is to the door. After a few moments of tense silence, he finally speaks.

"Of course." It's not the answer you were hoping for but it's an admission, which is more then you were getting earlier.

"Do you miss me Spencer? Miss me in bed next to you?"

"W-Well I-"

"Do you miss when I used to cook your favorite dinner every night when you came over? Do you miss how I loved you unconditionally?" Your voice was steadily growing more hostile, and you knew there were tears building in your eyes. This has all been building up for so long you know you can't stop it now.

"Y/N-"

"Do you miss being able to fuck me whenever the hell you want? Is that what you miss the most Spencer? You must not miss me that much because when you left I didn't even get a fucking call! You didn't even say goodbye, you just left!" You were yelling now, with tears streaming down your face. Spencer had slyly shut the door by now, he knew this was going to happen the second he saw you. He wished he could help you understand why he had to leave the way he did. He was trying to protect you, and he still firmly believes he's protecting you. Look what happened to Haley, what happened to Maeve. Spencer loved Maeve and he lost her like Hotch lost Haley, and Spencer can't lose you. Not you. He wouldn't be able to live with himself if something happened to you.

"Please try to understand-" You never even let him get close to finishing his thought.

"Understand what? Leaving me? You said you loved me! How could you love me and then leave me alone? While I was pregnant!" Your hands flew to your mouth, you honestly never planned on telling him that. Spencer's eyebrows rose high in the air, and you can tell you just knocked the wind out of him. Spencer's hand reached back for the door handle, "pregnant?"

"Spencer I'm sorry I didn't mean to tell you that way." You tried to explain, and despite the fact that he'd abandoned you, you were dead terrified of him leaving again now that he was stood in front of you.

"Do I have a child you never told me about?" His voice is shaky, afraid. Now you can see all his coworkers heavily invested in your conversation.

"N-No, I...I got rid of it." You said softly, watching the mix of emotions swirl across his face. When his trembling palm curls around the door handle you launch forward to grab at his arm.

"I'm sorry, please don't leave. Not again-" But he's pulling his arm free from yours and turning out of the room, nearly slamming the door behind him.

//

Spencer ignored the questions, he ignored the looks. His legs gave out somewhere near one of the couches. He stared ahead numbly, trying to make sense of what you'd just told him. Trying to somehow wrap his head around the terror of you being pregnant and then the grief of the lost possibility all at the same time. By now, JJ and Rossi had shooed everyone away from Spencer. Which he was immensely grateful for, the only thing he wanted now was to be alone. Completely and entirely alone.

Pregnant.

The word kept replaying like a scratched record, screeching in his ears every time he closed his eyes. Spencer pressed the balls of his palms into his eyes when he heard the distinct sound of footsteps approaching him. Whoever it was, he already wished they would go away.

"Damn Kid, I didn't expect you to date such a spitfire." Derek joked as he sat down, doing what he can to ease the tension. Spencer didn't even bother looking up at him, his head stubbornly lowered and his gaze locked on the ground. Derek racked his brain for something adequate to say, but what was there to say? How could Derek find a way to make this right? Spencer just found out you were pregnant with his child and that you'd got an abortion all in the same 10 seconds. It was a lot to process.

"You gotta talk to her Spence." Derek's voice was less humorous this time. Spencer wrung his hands nervously, his eyes finally lifting to meet Derek's. A sharp shake of his head and a flash of the tears in his eyes and Spencer stands, wiping his eyes with the backs of his hands. Time to get back to work. Someone has to talk to you, Derek can't stand of someone crying by themselves like that.

"It's not really my place-" JJ tried to argue as Derek stood in front of her.

"Someone needs to talk to her, and Spencer isn't going to." Derek said, rubbing a hand down his face as his eyes flickered back to Spencer. Who was currently throwing himself headfirst into the geographic profile of the killer they're looking for, because maybe if he works hard enough the rest of the entire world will just disappear. Maybe if Spencer keeps working and does nothing else you'll just vanish from that room and he won't have to deal with this. It's not that Spencer wants you to go away, the opposite actually but there isn't room in his life for you anymore. It's not safe. Spencer would rather be alone for the rest of his life then put you in danger because he's lonely and misses you.

"Alright, fine. But only for Spence." JJ says, jabbing a finger in Derek's direction before reluctantly heading towards the room you're in. She glances back at Spencer, who has become consumed by the map in front of him. JJ can always tell when something is bothering him, he has physical giveaways. The way his shoulders are rigid as he scribbles something on the whiteboard, the furrow in his brow that lets her know that while he's working on something, his mind is elsewhere. The tremble in his palm from trying so hard to hold everything back, everything he doesn't want anyone else to see. To someone that doesn't know Spencer, he looks perfectly composed, his attention and focus completely on his work. JJ knows him well enough to know that his mind, and heart are sitting tattered in this waiting room on the couch next to you.

JJ creaks the door open, flashing you a smile that makes you absolutely hate her guts. Spencer probably has some puppy love crush on her, she's beautiful. Long blonde hair, slender body, stunning smile. Everything you're not.

"Hi I'm Special Agent Jennifer Jareau, but you can call me JJ." The way she's looking at you lets you know that she came in here to try and understand. You're not in the mood to talk to her or anybody else in this stupid building except for Spencer. You want to hate him so bad but you can't. You can't because of how much you fucking love him. The bastard.

"Look I know you're probably not all that excited to talk to me-"

"I want Spencer." You snap, and by the look on her face you can tell she isn't surprised that you said that. JJ chewed on the inside of her cheek, how does she say that Spencer doesn't actually want to talk to you?

"Dr. Reid is needed elsewhere right now, but I'm willing to talk if you need to."

"You don't have to lie Agent Jareau. I know he doesn't want to see me, he's doing that thing where he pretends to work on something while secretly obsessing over something else." You say casually, and the fact that you can pick Spencer apart so easily is somewhat off-putting to JJ. But that could be her unrequited crush on him shining through, deep down JJ doesn't like that some other woman knows Spencer better then she does. While you'd love to sit here and wallow in your misery, a much worse idea strikes you then. If you can't talk to Spencer why not fuck with the woman who's clearly in love with him.

"And the little twitch in his fingers, the slight clench in his jaw. See that? He keeps rolling his shoulders back," while everything you were saying isn't a lie- it's guaranteed to annoy her. JJ stayed quiet, she hated that she didn't know what the goddamn twitch in his fingers meant.

"He's tense, but there's more. He can't stand still, keeps shifting from foot to foot. It's driving you crazy that you don't know why he's doing that." You laugh as her annoyed eyes flash to yours for a second before settling on Spencer again.

"You're a profiler, you can't figure it out? That doesn't surprise me, you've probably never considered the fact that Spencer has an unusually high sex drive." Your words completely stun her, and JJ's cheeks flush profusely.

"It means he's horny." You say casually, leaning back against the couch. You love the blush on her cheeks, and the fact that she's clearly biting her tongue to avoid saying something rude. You love that you got under her skin, and yes you're aware that you're a bad person. Now that you've said it, JJ can't get it out of her damn head. Spencer is horny. Spencer isn't a virgin. The thought of Spencer having sex makes JJ feel a sick turning in her gut. She was happy believing Spencer was a virgin, believing that nobody has gotten to experience that side of him yet. Happy to believe that he was untouched, but apparently that was not the case. Now that the illusion has been shattered, JJ feels as though the jagged pieces of it are cutting into her, and she knows you enjoy watching her bleed.

"Trust me, I know just what to do to relieve the tension, I know how to get him off quick. Do you?" You smile as you let your eyes shamelessly drag down his slender frame.

"You're only saying this because you want to control the conversation, and you hate that I see him everyday. That I can talk to him whenever I want, about whatever I want. You wouldn't lash out if you didn't feel intimidated." JJ says calmly, rendering you just as speechless as she was moments ago. The pain that was sent stabbing into your heart caused you to recoil back from JJ, trying to hide your misty eyes from hers. You can't let her know that she's winning.

"Look, we can both get nasty all we want but that's not why I'm here. I just want to help." JJ says sincerely, but you still don't budge. JJ taps her fingers against the wood of the table, thinking about leverage she can use to get you to talk to her.

"Spencer fell in love again." JJ says finally, and this time you turn your gaze up to look at her. You push your emotions down, no matter how much it hurts to hear her say that. Who is she? Are they still together?

"If you want to know more about her, then I suggest you talk to me. An answer for an answer, fair?" You can see her trying to bait you, and damn her because it's working.

"Fine." You grumble, leaning back fully against the couch. Your eyes catch Spencer's for a second when he turns to face the table, presumably looking for a map you remember being on the right side. You point to the right side of the table and Spencer looks nothing but annoyed when he follows your direction and finds what he's looking for. He hates that he functions better as a person when you're around.

"What's the deal with you and Spence?" JJ asks, and there is a lot to unpack with that question.

"Gonna have to be more specific." You say with a shrug, your eyes hesitantly meeting hers.

"How long were you two together?"

"2 years 8 months." You answer without pausing, causing her eyebrows to raise. JJ didn't expect you to remember down to the month, it's been years since you and Spencer were together. That's not a short fling like JJ originally thought, that's a substantial amount of time.

"What's her name?" You ask, desperate to get information on this mystery woman who has stolen Spencer from you.

"Her name was Maeve." Was. You don't miss how she says was instead of is.

"Why do you hate Spencer?" JJ looked like she cared, but you know it's not you she cares about. She's in here to try and protect Spencer in some way, she's acting like you're the villain.

"I don't hate him. He abandoned me. Just packed up and left, no note, no goodbye. Haven't heard from him since." You snap, hating the amount of emotion that was in your voice. JJ's eyebrows furrow, that's just so unlike Spencer. He's not cruel, he's never been cruel but that...is cruel. You see a look flash across her face.

"Sweet boy isn't as sweet as he seems." You say softly, folding your arms over your chest.

"He must have had a good reason." JJ insists, her eyes landing on Spencer's back as he continues to map out the hunting grounds of the killer. You know he's just wasting time to avoid coming back in here. Spencer is a certifiable super genius, he finished mapping it out a while ago. He's just pretending he hasn't finished yet.

"Spence still with her? Maeve." Her name felt like poison on your tongue, and JJ slowly shook her head.

"She died in front of him, really tore him up." Your heart cracks a little bit at her words, you can't imagine how hard that must have been for him. You see JJ open her mouth to ask something else when the door opens, and a man with darker skin pokes his head in.

"JJ? Reid found him, we gotta go." As soon as he arrived, he's gone with JJ hot on his heels. She sends you a smile before she rushes out of the room, and you see Spencer following her path out. They're going to arrest a murderer who has an arsenal of weapons at his disposal.

"Spencer! Y-You can't go, it's not safe!" You blurt from the doorway, and he pauses. His eyes find yours as he holsters his pistol, an unreadable expression on his face.

"It's my job." And that's all he says before he disappears out of the precinct, leaving you once again.

//

You couldn't quell the anxiety turning in your gut, you're not sure how to exist while Spencer is out there hunting a murderer. You wished that you could turn off the part of your brain that's still so damn attached to him, but no matter how hard you try you can't silence your heart as it calls for him. You're not sure you could survive the constant fear of losing him if you ever ended up with him again, this life is too much for you to take. Maybe he knew that all those years ago when he left you the first time, Spencer always could see right through you. Maybe he left because he knew staying would only lead you to live a life of constant fear, maybe he was trying to protect you. Either way the reasons don't matter anymore because he left, and nothing can change how badly that hurt you.

"Does it normally take this long?" You ask a passing officer, who in turn shrugs before continuing on his path. You feel like you're going to explode or vomit, or both. It's been over 2 hours, should it be taking this long? What if he got shot? What if he's dead right now and you're sitting here with your damn thumb up your ass worrying about him like a useless housewife? Feeling useless, that's what you hate the absolute most. Knowing there's nothing you can do to stop a bullet on it's trajectory to his heart.

"Spence, are you sure you're okay?" You hear a flurry of voices and when his name graces JJ's lips you're pushing out of the room. Your eyes find him instantly, and then travel to his palm which is pressed tightly to his neck. His bleeding neck. You feel your heart rate spike, hammering like the hooves of wild horses as you move without thinking about it. Before you even understand that you've moved, you're stood in front of him. Your eyes try to scan his neck for wounds but his palm covers the location the blood is coming from.

"C'mere." You grab his wrist and yank him back towards where you saw a first aid kit earlier. Luckily your 2 and a half years of nursing school taught you how to stitch a wound and perform basic first aid. Spencer offers no resistance as you yank him to a back corner of the precinct, pushing him to sit down. You grab the first aid kit, slowly prying his hand from his neck. Your eyes mist at the wound, it's a bullet wound. Looks old though, there's scarred tissue. This had to have happened a few weeks ago at least. You see the thin line of the scar, the middle section seems to have opened up again.

"You didn't wait long enough for this to heal." You scold gently, not missing how his eyes watch you with an intensity smoldering in them. You miss the way he used to look at you, the way he's looking at you right now. You miss being the center of his whole world, you scoff. Look how easy it was for him to walk away from you. You threat a needle to stitch the center of his wound shut again, and when you look for numbing cream you discover that there isn't any.

"Spence, there isn't any- I can't find the numbing..." Your voice trails off as you begin to yank things out of the first aid kit to search for the numbing cream. Spencer's hand catches your wrist and it's only just now that you realize you're trembling.

"It's okay. I'll be fine." He settles back against the chair he's sitting in, turning his head to reveal his neck to you. You hesitate, the Spencer you remember had a very low pain threshold. All of a sudden he's expecting you to stitch him up with no numbing agent?

"Y/N, I can handle it." Spencer says again, his voice firmer than before. You swallow a lump in your throat before reaching forward to begin stitching. You press the needle against his neck, eyeing him to gauge his reaction as you puncture his skin to make the first thread. To your surprise he hardly flinches, a small quirk in his lip is the only giveaway that he's in pain. Is this the same man that got squirmy getting a shot? That would shy away from the needle? Now he's sitting here letting you stitch him up without moving a muscle, without even flinching? The more time you spend with him the more proof you get that this isn't the same Spencer that left you all those years ago.

"How did it happen?" You ask, wondering how he could have survived a gunshot to the neck. He shifts uncomfortably.

"Got shot, two inches away from hitting my jugular." Spencer says it so casually, but you're so stunned that you halt your movements for a moment.

"How many times have you been shot?" You ask, your voice hoarse. Is him getting shot a common occurrence?

"Twice. Also got shot in the leg." The casual way Spencer talks about it almost convinces you it isn't a big deal. But it is. It's a bullet ripping through his body, and it's happened to him on two separate occasions. You finish stitching and bandaging him up, your hands moving away from him as soon as you can.

"Thank God you went to nursing school or I'd be six feet under." He jokes. You know he's kidding but still, the thought of it makes you feel lightheaded.

"Don't say stuff like that." You snap softly, and you know Spencer can see the fear and vulnerability in your eyes. You hesitantly steal a glance up at him once he's stood up only to find he's already looking at you. You shy away from his intrusive gaze, and you could practically feel him probing at your mind. Reading your thoughts as if they were written down for him. You hate that he can always tell what you're thinking, you hate that it was so easy for him to read you. Like a damn book. You have to fight the urge to reach out and grab his hand, it's what you always did when you felt lost or unsure. Spencer was always there to ground you and bring your mind back out of your thoughts.

"Miss Y/L/N?" You hear JJ's voice gently interrupt you two. You shoot away from Spencer as though you were doing something scandalous. He doesn't move an inch.

"Yes!" You blurt a little too loudly, suddenly flustered being so close to him. Why does your sharp tongue always leave you when you need it?

"You're clear to go home."

"I can take her." Spencer speaks up before JJ has a chance to offer, and she knew he would. You swallow a nervous lump in your throat, your palms shaking.

//

The SUV has dark tint, you weren't expecting that. The second you sat back in the plush leather seat your mind flew to lewd thoughts of you leaning over the center console, Spencer's hand in your hair as he helps you take his cock in your mouth. You steal one glance at Spencer, his right hand holding the steering wheel loosely. Your cheeks heat up as you glance down between his legs, get ahold of yourself.

"The address is-"

"I remember." You knew he would. That damn eidetic memory ensured that he never forgot anything. It broke your heart a little, because some naïve part of you was hoping he remembered because it meant something to him. You hoped he remembered the way to your house because he didn't want to forget, because forgetting it meant forgetting you. But you know the reality, you know that he remembers because he has no choice but to remember. His memory is too good to allow him to forget anything, even if it was something he wanted to forget. You're grasping at straws and you know you are, holding onto that foolish notion that Spencer still held onto the memories. That he still held onto the gifts you gave him, crying softly in the night like you did sometimes.

"JJ told me about Maeve." You say softly into the silence, and you saw Spencer swallow thickly out of the corner of your eye. "I'm so sorry you lost her Spence."

"Thank you." He honestly wasn't expecting you to say that, to acknowledge the pain. Because acknowledging the pain meant that you knew he loved her. He did love her. But it was a different love then the love he feels for you. It was special, but so are you. You're special too.

"Have you...dated anyone else?" Spencer can't help but ask as he subconsciously continues the drive to your house. A drive he's committed to his memory, a drive he never wants to forget. You shift to look at him, there were a few you dated. You know when you tell Spencer about them that it'll drive him crazy.

"Tony Anderson." You say and just like you thought, Spencer groans deeply. Spencer detests Tony, they were practically mortal enemies when he still lived in Las Vegas.

"Tony? Seriously?" His tone is incredulous as his grasp on the steering wheel tightens ever so slightly.

"He was a good fuck at least." You know you shouldn't wind him up, but he hurt you for Christ's sakes. He deserves a little bit of pain too. Spencer flinches, a look of anger and something else simmering in his eyes.

"Please tell me you didn't have sex with Tony."

"Why does it matter?" You shouldn't enjoy upsetting people as much as you do. But there's still a small part of you that's convinced that Spencer deserves this.

"Because I can't live with the fact that somebody else has gotten to feel that perfect cunt of yours, let alone Tony." His crude words take you by surprise, and you can't fight the gasp that escapes your mouth.

"Well before you start digging your grave, relax. I never had sex with Tony." You decide to put him out of his misery, and you see the relief physically flood his body. You lean against the window, the next admission from you will leave the air heavier in it's wake.

"I've never slept with anyone but you Spence." You realize it's been a long time since you've seen Spencer let alone had sex with him but you could never bring yourself to sleep with someone else. It's not as though the opportunity never presented itself, you had plenty of chances to have sex with someone else. But you couldn't because there's still a stubborn part of you that doesn't want to betray Spencer.

"Really? Why?" Apparently this revelation surprised him.

"Because no matter where you go I will always belong to you." You snap without thinking, blinking tears from your eyes as you avoid his gaze. Spencer fell silent then, and you know he feels guilty. Probably because he's slept with someone else in the time since he's been with you.

"I know you have and it's fine I'm not trying to-"

"I haven't." Spencer corrects instantly, his eyes meeting yours through the darkness of the SUV. If he could see you he would see the look of utter surprise on your face. It's not as though Spencer was an overly sexually ambitious person when you dated, but you figured he probably slept with at least one person. "I haven't slept with anybody else either."

"I know someone that wants to though." You grumble without thinking, your mind drifting to JJ and the obvious crush she thinks isn't obvious. Spencer tilts his head in a way that resembles a confused puppy, you resist the urge to ruffle his hair.

"Who?"

"Agent Jareau." As soon as the name slips past the threshold of your lips, Spencer's jerks the wheel in surprise. You see a dark blush color his cheeks as his other hand reaches up to steady the wheel.

"J-Jennifer? No way! She's my best friend." You nearly laugh at his flustered state, and normally you would push it a little further but you decide to let it go. You don't want to completely destroy the way he sees her, you know you already destroyed the way she sees him.

"You have no idea what a catch you are Spencer." You tell him as you unbuckle your seatbelt, getting ready to exit the SUV. Spencer reaches over and places a warm hand on your wrist to stop you from leaving, his eyes searching yours for an answer he isn't sure you have.

"Come in?" You ask hopefully, you're not ready for him to leave again. Damnit why did he have to turn up again after so long? You were just starting to think that maybe you could move on and find someone new. You were finally starting to feel okay, and then Spencer reappears and turns your entire world upsidown all over again. Deep down you know that nobody will ever compare to Spencer Reid, and you don't want them to. You don't want anyone to be like Spencer, you want him to be his entirely own person. It's what you love the most about him, is his ability to be himself no matter where he is or who he's with. All of his little quirks, the things about himself that he doesn't notice but you do.

"Yeah." His answer comes across as an exhalation of breath, and you try to hide how excited you are. You want to hold on to any moment you can, stolen moments that you take as you please with no regret whatsoever.

"Nothing has changed." Spencer muses once you unlock the front door and push inside the darkened living room. You blush, admittedly nothing about your small townhouse has changed. It's all basically the exact same as when Spencer saw it last. You rub a hand down your arm as Spencer's eyes go wandering. Trailing over the curtains he remembers hastily pulling closed to protect your decency on more than a few occasions. His gaze then travels to the couch, all those movie nights you two spent curled up together. Or when he got you into Star Trek and you couldn't stop watching it. Pain stabs his chest for a moment, it's hard to remember everything he had to let go of to get the job he has now.

"I miss you too, you know." Spencer says off-handedly. It takes you by surprise, the sureness in his tone is jarring. He sounds so comfortable admitting when he's vulnerable, it's never been easy for you to be vulnerable with him. Maybe that's part of the reason he left, maybe you drove him away by shutting him out. His eyes meet yours, a look so soft in his eyes it feels as though his gaze is caressing your skin. You bite your bottom lip to keep the emotions at bay, what is it about this man that makes you so emotional?

"I never said I missed you." You try to snap, to add an edge to your tone. But instead it came out watery and broken, and in turn Spencer reached up to swipe away a falling tear.

"But you do." You can't even deny it, it's obvious.

"Damn you Spencer Reid, I was finally starting to feel okay again." You cry softly, curling your arms towards your chest in an attempt to shrink away from him. He cups your cheeks in his palms, turning your face up towards him.

"I wasn't." He admits before his lips are on yours, and it's not frenzied and desperate like you've been picturing all these years. It's slow and calculated, soft and passionate. Firm but with a tenderness that makes your knees buckle from the gravity of it. Spencer's fingers card into your hair, pulling your head closer to his. He nips at your lower lip, his arms crushing you against his chest. You throw yourself into him, your arms holding him as tightly as you possibly can. Afraid that if your vise grip loosens, even for a second, that he'll slip through your fingers like trying to hold onto water. You almost don't want to let your eyes close, you don't want him to disappear again.

"I missed you, I miss you-" You gasp against his lips, grabbing fistfuls of his dress shirt. Spencer continues to move his lips languidly against yours, backing you against the wall. His hand ghosts down your side to the hem of your shirt, his fingers toying with it.

"O-Off." You beg, and in an instant Spencer is pulling your shirt over your head. His eyes land on your bare chest, shocked that he almost forgot that you never really wear a bra. His hands curl around your back, drawing your chest up into his awaiting lips. His mouth curls around your hardened nipple, your hand flying into his hair from the contact.

"Is this a dream? Please tell me you're really here Spencer." You beg, almost becoming lost in the emotions again. His eyes flutter up to meet yours, his mouth reluctantly leaving your nipple. He brushes his lips over yours, his hand trailing down your stomach towards the waistband of your leggings.

"This is real, I'm here baby. I'm home." Hearing those words was too much, and you launch yourself into his chest as the first tear trickles down your cheek. Your lips press sloppily to his, the kiss messy and wet as his hand slides into your leggings. His fingers find your wet slit in an instant, desperately parting your lips to slide a lithe finger into you. Your body reacts to him instantly, in a way that surprises you. Almost as though it too was crying out for him, keening into him and begging for his touch as much as your mind is. Spencer hauls one of your thighs up to hook around his waist as he presses another finger into you. You cry out softly into the quiet air, accompanied only by the labored breathing fanning across your face.

"I need to feel you, I- I need-" You can barely get the words out as he steadily pumps his fingers into you. His mouth on yours silences your desperate pleading, his chest firmly pressing your back into the wall. You missed being able to feel him and you hate that you forgot what it feels like to have his body on yours. It's been so long you forgot what the sting of his cock feels like. What it feels like when you stretch wide open around him, to feel like you're being ripped in two. Spencer continues his pace, his thumb rolling your clit to provide the extra stimulation you're missing. It's not enough to satisfy you, but its enough for you two cum. Which you do. You gush around his fingers as you gently come undone, your back arching into him.

"Please," You beg wantonly, curling your other leg around his waist as his hands hook underneath your thighs. Spencer's lips press against yours, moving slowly against your own. You know now that you will never stop loving Spencer, and that he's completely ruined you for life. You'll never be able to love anybody else without your heart wandering back to him. But then again, you don't really mind because you don't want to be with anybody else. You don't want to love anybody else. You just want him, only him. He pushes into your room, walking the entirety of the way with his eyes closed and his mouth pressed against yours. He has the layout of your house mapped out in his head? He never even bumped into anything until he was dropping you unceremoniously on the bed.

"Tell me what you need, I'll give you whatever you want." Spencer husks against you, hovering above you. Your fingers are already unbuttoning his shirt before you even have the chance to respond to him. You know instantly what you want, what you need from him.

"I want all of you, give me everything." You plead, your lips practically chasing his as he kneels up over you. He's being soft tonight, and that's something you appreciate greatly. You need to feel his love, you need to feel everything you know he can't quite put into words. His hands are shaking as he undoes the button and zipper of his dress slacks before kicking them off the edge of the bed. You stare up at his naked body, looking as though it's been sculpted by the Gods specifically for you. Spencer smiles softly at you as he pulls your leggings down your legs, leaving little nips and kisses on your inner thighs as he goes.

"Hurry." You groan, nearly clawing at his bare shoulders to pull him back up to you. Spencer chuckles at how eager you are, watching with interested eyes as the head of his cock breaches your folds. You reluctantly stretch open as he continues his intrusion, his fists curling tightly around the sheets. Christ you weren't lying about not sleeping with anyone else, you're so tight it's making him feel a little lightheaded. Inch by inch Spencer presses into you, his forehead resting against yours once his pelvis is sitting flush against yours. Sure, you've had sex with hi before but never have you felt this connected to him. Spencer sits like a gentleman and lets you adjust to his size, trying to take a few deep breaths himself. It's hard to breathe with your heat sucking him in with a vice grip.

"Can I move?" You're surprised by how collected his voice is, but the furrow of his brow is a giveaway that he's losing the battle to stay stock still inside you.

"Yes, please." You moan, unashamed. Spencer gently draws his hips back, pulling himself nearly all the way out before swiftly sliding back into your inviting cunt. He sets the pace slow and deep, his hands reaching up to lace through yours. Every time the head of his cock nudges that spot deep inside you, you can feel your toes curl. Your head slams back against the pillows, unable to keep your gaze on him any longer. You feel yourself becoming one with him, and you wish you could capture this moment somewhere other then just in your minds eye. Your memory is nowhere near as good as Spencer's, he'll be able to recall every detail of this moment up until the day he dies. But over time, this memory will fade for you. It'll wear out, all the details becoming fuzzy and blurred. If he's not here in front of you, you'll forget and you don't want to forget.

When the night draws to a close, and the moon has reached its peak, Spencer slips carefully out of bed. It chisels away pieces of his heart as he carefully gets dressed, reaching for his go bag which he'd brought inside upon realizing that he'd be staying a while. He pulls out a t-shirt he'd worn recently and leaves it folded neatly at the end of your bed, something for you to hold onto when he's gone. Spencer's cheeks are wet with tears as he leans over and presses a kiss to your head.

"I love you." Is the last thing he whispers in the space between you two before he's gone again.

//

On the jet, Derek can't keep his eyes off Spencer and that helplessly broken look on his face. A book is laid nestled in Spencer's lap, but Derek can tell he isn't really reading it. Trying to bother Spencer into opening up probably won't work, but it's worth a try. Derek has to do something and this is all he can think of.

"You okay kid?"

"Yeah fine, why?" Spencer draws his eyes up from the book, his gaze meeting Derek's from across the table. While Spencer might be a talented actor, he can't lie to Derek.

"Look I know how hard it must have been leaving her again-"

"Did you know that on average the FDA allows a minimum of 1 rodent hair per 100 grams of peanut butter? They have to allow themselves room for error just in case of-"

"Alright you win, forget it." Derek sighs, turning his gaze out the window. In an instant Spencer drops his peanut butter spiel, turning back to his book. A guaranteed way to get people off his back is to start rambling about something boring or gross, they usually leave him alone pretty quickly. It's not that Spencer doesn't appreciate Derek's concern, he just doesn't want to talk about it. He can't talk about it, because every time he imagines how you're going to feel when you wake up, tears come to the surface of his eyes. He hates this case more than all the rest even though they saved the victim. Spencer hates this case for ripping open an old wound, one he thought healed.

He was wrong.

//

When you wake the next morning you knew he'd be gone. That didn't stop the tears from coming when you reached over and felt cold sheets. That didn't stop the tears from coming when you cried how much you loved him over and over again even though he couldn't hear you. It doesn't change how badly this hurts, how much worse it feels compared to the first time he left. Your eyes catch the shirt folded at the end of the bed and you grab it instantly. You pull it over your body and you lay down in your bed, inhaling his cologne that you know will fade over time. Eventually his scent will disappear, removing all traces that this fabric belonged to him at all. Every trace of him will disappear over time, every mark from your body will slowly vanish. When it's all gone, you'll be left with nothing more than a t-shirt that's too big for you, and a cold reminder that the man you love will never truly be yours. A reminder that every time he comes home, he leaves again.

A cold reminder that this world is cruel for bringing you Spencer Reid, only to rip him from you again and again.

[wkemeup]

Eclipse

summary: When a mission leaves you empty and broken, Bucky is determined to heal the wounds that linger deeper than the cuts on the surface.  pairing: bucky x reader word count: 8.4k warnings: canon level violence, hurt!reader, PTSD, dissociative episode, nightmares, a rapid switch from sweet/fluffy to pain, angst with a happy ending 

An eclipse finds its home in the darkness Thriving as it suffocates the sun and shadows her light In its passage she lays in wait Waiting— for the moon to give way and grant her morning

Bucky thinks he’s found heaven when he lays with you under the cover of thin, linen sheets; the soft, white of the fabric touching over curves and edges of exposed bodies, peaks and dips, like snowcaps nestled upon the crest of mountaintops. Lying flushed with heat, hearts beating a little faster, breaths a little labored, Bucky reaches out and traces the lines of your face.  

The tip of his finger brushes over your nose, slips down along your jaw, touches the sun kissed stream of light against your cheek as it seeps in through the sheet thrown over your heads. You giggle as he pulls you in for a kiss, chaste and sweet, his hand curling into the hairs at the nape of your neck and he tugs you closer. It’s the most beautiful sound in the world, the way you laugh to his lips, muffled in his kiss but still uncontained.  

Hidden under sheets, shared breaths between you in your own little world, Bucky decides he will be content if he stays here forever.

“I won’t be gone long, you know,” you tell him as you press lightly on his chest, just enough to get draw his attention away from the trail of kisses along your cheekbone and down your jawline. He pouts playfully at you, but you soothe your hand along his shoulder, recognizing the shift in energy as his eyes flicker a shade of hesitancy. “I’ll can handle myself.”

“It’s not that,” he replies quietly, voice soft, barely a whisper, as his smile begins to fall. It’s subtle, but you notice.  

“Then what?”

Bucky shrugs, swallowing back the anxiety that begins to pool deep into his stomach every time you leave on assignment. But he pushes out a smile, one you do not question, and he leans in to kiss the button of your nose.  

“I’ll just miss you, is all.”

You grin and it lights up wide across your face. The cast of sunshine behind you as it filters in through the sheets tossed over your body drapes down like a halo, an illumination of an angel, and Bucky commits the image to memory. Stored to a safe place in the back of his mind for the dark nights alone in this room. He’ll find you those moments, even when you’re miles away.  

“You’re a sap, Bucky Barnes,” you laugh, ruffling his hair as you toss the sheet up from over your faces and take in a deep breath of fresh air. It’s brighter in the room than you realized and you squint your eyes, tucking your face to the crook of Bucky’s neck to shield yourself from the sun.  

“Only for you, sweetheart.” He tries to ignore the bright red flicker of the clock beside you as he crawls out from under the safety of the bedsheets, the fantasy fractured by the reminder of your impending assignment; four weeks in a classified location, entirely on your own.  

A smile presses tight to his lips as you steal a glance back at him full of bright eyes and sunshine.

He does his best to swallow the anxiety though it churns like blades through his stomach.  

***

Bucky paces back and forth in his room, stealing looks at his phone as it sits face up on the bedside table. He taps the screen every few seconds, as soon as it dares to fade to black, so he can see your face again; the picture of you laughing behind an ice cream bar melting down your hand. A shimmering red bow and mouse ears on the top of your head from your trip to Disney last spring. He can still smell the melted vanilla and hardened chocolate when he looks at it and he tries hard to focus on the memory, but he knows it’s an excuse to make sure he doesn’t miss your call.

Tap.

Still nothing.

You’ve been gone over a week now and though he does his best to busy himself with time spent sparring with Sam in the gym, running out along the lake behind the compound, cleaning the kitchen until the stench of bleach burns up to the floor above him, you’re still at the forefront of his mind.  

He knows you’re safe. He knows that you can protect yourself and that you were capable of solo missions long before Bucky came crash-landing into your life, but it doesn’t stop him from worrying. It doesn’t stop the incessant twitching in his hands as he curls them to fists, doesn’t stop the frantic pacing and the wear he drives into the carpet, doesn’t stop the panic that skips the beat of his heart when it’s two minutes past check-in and you haven’t called.  

“Stop it,” he grumbles to himself, “she’s fine. Stop worrying. She’s fine.”

Another glance back at the phone. Tap-tap on the screen until it lights up with your smile. Nothing.  

Three minutes past check-in.  

He has half a mind to track down Fury himself when suddenly, the phone rings.

A ringtone you’d changed early in your relationship - a synthetic, almost electric, instrumental of Can’t Take My Eyes Off You right when the music starts to pick up and the trumpets are blaring and it throws him straight into overdrive.  

Bucky lunges it at, hands fumbling for the phone but it falls to the floor in his hurry. He hits his shoulder against the edge of the nightstand with a loud thump and collapses down to the carpet as the phone bounces down under the bed.  

“God-fuckin’-- ugh!”

He grips tight to the phone by the chime of ‘I love you, baby!’ and quickly brings it to his ear. He’s out of breath but he stills himself, takes a moment before he says anything and he hopes his voice is calmer than the rush in his chest.  

“Hi.”  

You snicker on the other end of the line and he knows in an instant he’s been busted. “Thought I told you not to wait by the phone, Buck.”

“I wasn’t.” A full faced lie. He grimaces as it comes out.  

“Sure, you weren’t,” you drawl, a laugh tucked sweetly into the hum of your voice.  

Bucky can hear floorboards squeaking faintly through the speaker between your breaths. Old wood, the whistle of the wind in the distance; a motel built in the early sixties with poor insulation and cracking foundations. He wonders where you are or if the image of you pacing amongst faded shades of burnt orange and green curtains, of once brightly colored comforters and pealing wallpaper only exists in his imagination.  

“You okay?” he asks first because he needs the confirmation. Despite hearing the even tones in your breath, the sweet laughter in your voice, he needs to hear you say it.  

“Always am, honey,” you respond lightly and Bucky lets himself take in a deep breath before you add, “I miss you though. It’s awfully cold here and I could really use a super soldier to keep me warm.”

It makes him smile; the first one that pushes up into his cheeks without force since you left. God, he misses you.  

“Don’t go calling Steve now, okay?” he teases, the anxiety draining from his body in gentle waves, cast out by the flow of ocean water through his bloodstream in the sound of your voice and the image of your smile as you tug your lower lip between your teeth.  

“Never. I prefer my men one-armed and dangerous.”

Bucky laughs as he sinks down further onto the floor, the carpet rubbing against his tailbone though he doesn’t mind. He’s grinning, listening to the sound of your voice as you tell him about how much you’re craving popcorn and chocolate chip movie nights and he feels like you’re sitting right next to him. He can see the creases in your smile, the lines by your eyes, the faint markings of old scars on your skin. He hears your voice and it reminds him of home.  

“It’s beautiful here, Buck,” you sigh and he wonders if you’re staring out a window to mountains or ocean or tundra. “I wish you could see it.”

“Where is ‘here’ again?”

You giggle and—God—it's the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard, even crackled and broken through the speakers of an old satellite phone miles away. “Nice try, baby.”  

The timer on his watch starts to ding and his heart clenches.  

“Time’s up, huh?” you whine playfully, but he can hear the disappointment in your voice. It’s never long enough, these three minutes that Steve allows for you, but he’ll take seconds if he can get them. Just long enough to calm his nerves, to give you the motivation to keep going on your own, without the possibility of the call being traced.  

“Yeah,” Bucky sighs, clenching at his hand. He brushes closed knuckles against his forehead, presses deep into his temples because he can already feel the pit in his stomach forming again. “Stay safe, alright? Come home to me.”

He pictures your smile, the soft edges and the curve of your lips.  

“Always do, don’t I?”

You do. He knows this.  

But his mind is cruel and it wonders when the day will come when you won’t.

***

“I’ll raise a Kit-Kat,” Bucky concedes nearly two weeks later with a tired huff, tossing a chocolate bar to the center of the table to accompany a handful of M&M’s and mini-Twix. It knocks over Natasha’s carefully constructed tower of Milkyways and she shoots him a warning glare.  

To his right, Sam snickers under his breath, a laugh too confident for a man with a dwindling stash of chocolate in front of him to the mountain sitting beside Natasha. He hides his face behind the fan of cards, but Bucky can still see the crease in his brow, the pinch of lines together at the center that tell him Sam is bluffing. Natasha is as stone cold as he would expect and he has no interest in challenging her resolve, so he decides to weed out Wilson first.  

“When’s your girl getting back, Barnes? Think you might need her around to console you after I obliterate your snack drawer,” Sam taunts, changing the subject abruptly. Another tell of his.

“End of the week, I think,” Bucky replies with a shrug, playing it off casually because he knows Sam is trying to throw him off his game.  

“As if you aren't counting down the seconds.” Natasha scoffs, a smirk pushing at pursed lips.  

“You're an absolute goner for her, you know that don’t you?” Sam says as he pushes a few more M&M’s to the center. Brightly colored pile at the center and he plops one from his own stash into his mouth.  

Bucky, meanwhile, chews on the inside of his cheek, avoiding Sam’s wandering eyes because he knows it’s true. You’ve only been together a little under a year, but he’s spent twice that loving you from a careful distance, just out of fingertip’s reach until he’d come back from a mission with one too many bullet wounds in his body and he couldn’t take the tension between you anymore.  

He could still picture the smile on your face as he told you, the way your eyes lit up and you jumped into his arms; IV drips and wires to machines and all. The press of warm lips to his cheek, his temples, his nose, his mouth. Sun streaming in through the window and casting a halo behind your hair. 

“Yeah, I know.”  

“Atta boy.” Sam nudges Bucky’s arm, grinning wildly.  

They turn to Natasha as she nods in approval before setting her cards down on the table with the kind of look in her eyes that tells Bucky the game was over before it even began. Royal Flush.  

“Not again!” Sam whines, slumping down into his chair.  

“It’s starting to feel cruel playing with the two of you.” Natasha reaches into the center and gathers the mountain of chocolate to drag it towards her towering pile. She starts to unravel a mini-Twix, keeping a taunting eye on Sam as he glares back at her. The chocolate passes behind parted lips and she bites down with a contented hum.  

Sam rolls his eyes. “You owe us drinks, ma’am.” He gestures to his empty glass.

Natasha smirks, conceding easily as she stands to grab their glasses. She turns to Bucky. “You want a refill, Barnes?”

He shrugs. “Yeah, sure.”

As Natasha makes her way back to the kitchen, Sam sneaks a few M&M’s from her pile and quickly plops them into his mouth with a cautious glance over his shoulder. Bucky begins to shuffle the cards and he can feel the burn of Sam’s stare even before he opens his mouth.  

“What do you want, Wilson?”

“When’s Y/n coming back? For real.”

Bucky glances up. Sam’s arms are stretched out along the backs of the empty chairs beside him. He’s relaxed into his position, chewing on the stolen chocolates as he raises an eyebrow.  

“End of the week... like I said.”

Sam leans in closer. “That a question?”

“No,” Bucky retorts shortly, though Sam clearly isn’t buying it. He exhales a tense breath as he bridges the deck. “She’s supposed to call tonight. Longest stretch without a checkpoint since she left.”

Sam nods. “What about the three minute calls?”

“Last one was four days ago. Same day she checked in with Fury.”

“You worried?”

Bucky slices the deck. Shuffles it for the fifth time. Bridge. Repeat. “Course not. I’m sure she’s fine. I’m not worried at all.”

“You sure?” Sam chuckles, leaning back into his chair with another quick grab of a few stray green M&M’s.  

“Fuck off, Wilson.”

That gets Sam laughing. He reaches across the table and snatches the cards out of Bucky’s hands before he can shuffle for a seventh time. He flashes Bucky a smile, dimples into his cheeks and all.  

“I’m dealing this round.”

Bucky nods, letting the tension slip easily from his muscles. He pushes out a smile. “Yeah, okay.”

But then, a glass shatters behind him and Bucky jolts up to his feet.  

“Nat? Are you--”

He freezes in an instant, tension burning through him like marble; the full force of a train straight to his chest and knocking the wind from his body, fracturing the stone to pieces around him.  

Natasha stands just a few paces ahead of him, her hands clasped at her mouth in an array of shock and horror, glass shattered at her feet. Ice along wooden floors and the smell of vodka burning into the air.  

Bucky almost doesn’t recognize you. There’s a slump in your shoulders, a far off look in your eye like you can’t quite focus on what’s in front of you, and a knife in your hand that won’t stop shaking.  

But that’s not the worst of it.  

You’re covered in blood. Deep red seeping into your hair, sticking thick and wet to your face and down your neck; trails of it along your cheeks like raindrops against a windowpane. It soaks into what remains of your suit, ripped and torn, exposed skin stained with grim and dirt. You look like something out of a horror movie.  

“Oh God,” Sam mutters out, pulling Bucky from his trance.  

He wants to sprint, wants to scream for help and sound every alarm he can find, but instead, Bucky only manages broken exhale as he slowly walks towards you. He moves with cautious steps, a hand out towards you defensively, like he’s approaching a frightened animal. It’s what you used to do when the line between him and the Soldier blurred, how you’d seek him out amongst the trauma and distortion and bring him back home.  

“Y/n?” he calls gently and finds his voice rough in his throat.  

You don’t respond, don’t even look at him as he stands within a foot of your reach. Nat and Sam are close behind, but they hold their distance.  

“Sweetheart, what happened?” Bucky asks as evenly as he can manage, eyes glancing down over your body in search of injuries. There’s too much blood and he doesn’t know how much of it is your own. He wants to tug you into his arms, tell you that he’s got you, that you’re safe now, but for the first time since Shuri removed the triggers from his head, he’s afraid to touch you.  

Your lips part, a few short blinks of your lashes, and you mumble out, “I came to find you.”

Your voice doesn’t sound like your own. It’s too flat, too void of emotion, and it rips Bucky right to his core. It’s a defense mechanism, he knows that. You’re still in there somewhere, he just needs to get you through this first.  

“That’s good, sweetheart,” he tells you, trying his luck as he sets a hand on your back. You don’t flinch, but you don’t lean into him either. He shares a worried glance with Sam and Natasha before he turns back to you, pushing out a smile. “You did good.”

“How did she get all the way here from the Hanger without anyone stopping her?” Sam questions, eyes trailing over the mess of blood in your wake, footprints following you from the staircase by the elevator.

“She’s covered in blood and God knows what else,” Natasha whispers back. “They were probably afraid of what might happen if they did.”

Bucky can’t tear his eyes away from you, vision tunneling on the mess of blood rooted in your hair and the stains of red on your face, your chest, your hands. Natasha and Sam’s voices become muffled beside him as he slides his hand down your back and gently lays it over your grip, still shaking as you hold onto the heel of the knife as if your fist had molded to stone around it. The tremors stop as he holds your hand.  

“It’s okay, honey,” he whispers, impossibly soft that not even Nat or Sam hear him, “I need you to give me the knife, alright? You’re safe now. I’ve got you.”

It takes a moment, but your grip on the knife slacks. It falls to Bucky’s palm and he gently guides it out of your reach and hands it over to Natasha. He doesn’t know what happened, but he knows what you’ve done for him when the Soldier has taken over his mind, when he didn’t feel like himself and needed reminded who he was, where the ground was solid under his feet.  

He knows what he needs to do.

“Nat,” he starts, but she’s already a step ahead of him.  

“I’ll go find Steve,” she says, like she can read his mind. “I’ll tell him what happened, see what he knows about her assignment that would have led to this.”

Bucky swallows back the bile in his throat and he nods. “Sam--”

“I’ll sweep the jet, see what I can find,” Sam replies quickly. He sets a hand on Bucky’s shoulder, gives it a slight squeeze, and pushed out a tight-lipped smile. He was your friend long before he was Bucky's. The determination reads in his eyes.  

"Thank you,” Bucky whispers.  

Sam and Natasha disappear down the hallway and then, Bucky is left alone with you. He’s suddenly made aware of how harsh your breathing sounds, like you’re gasping in air through a straw. You stare beyond his shoulders, though he can tell you’re not looking at anything at all. You’re existing. It’s all your mind can cope with.  

“Love?” Bucky calls, willing his voice stronger than it is. “Can you come with me?”

You don’t respond. Bucky clenches his jaw and tries again.  

“I’m going to take you to our room, alright?”  

He thinks it’s better not to present you with choices. It never worked well with him when he got this like; too much stimulation. He knows you’ll resist him if you need to. He slips his hand along your back to guide you towards the bedroom and you take a step as he does.  

You’re limping, he notices, as you cross the threshold into the bedroom. He tries to push his mind away from what caused such an injury, what could have possibly happened to result in the amount of blood drenched over you.  

That’s Sam and Natasha’s job. Bucky’s only concern is you right now, in this moment, bringing you home, making you feel safe. He guides you to the bathroom.  

“I’m going to start the water, okay?” Bucky tells you. You used to do the same for him, telling him what you were doing step by step in an effort to orient him. It grounded him back to his reality, brought him down from the plane of existence above his own head.  

The room starts to fill with steam, enough to fog the mirrors, and Bucky tugs his shirt over his head. He removes his sweatpants, but he resolves to leave his boxers on.  

“Sweetheart?”

You look in his direction and Bucky can’t help the wash of relief as it floods through him. You don’t smile and it’s almost as if you’re looking straight through him, but it’s something. Progress.  

He extends a hand to you, waiting patiently. Though you do not take it, you step a take closer to him, then past him as you walk into the shower fully clothed in your tattered suit. Bucky steps in behind and closes the glass door.

There’s enough room inside that he can stand comfortably behind you as you approach the stream of water. You stare at it for a moment before you reach out and let the water fall over your hand. You watch as the water around the drain begins to turn a dark red.  

“I’m going to wash this off. Is that okay, honey?” Bucky reaches steadily for the loofa behind you, though he pauses as he feels the texture of the sponge: exfoliating mesh. It’ll be too much for you in this state. He resolves for the body wash squeezed into his empty palm.  

“You let me know if you need a break.”  

Still, there’s no response.  

Bucky pushes back the burning lump in his throat and gingerly reaches towards you. He places a soap lathered palm against your shoulder and finds your muscles so tense they could have been made of steel or the vibranium seared into his own arm. You stare at his chest as if you could see through to his heart, maybe beyond that to the shower wall behind him, as he begins to peel the dried blood and grim from your skin.  

The water at his feet becomes muddied and red, the water slipping down your legs tainted by the aftermath of violence laid upon your body. He’s careful to only use his flesh hand as he washes you, something softer and kinder than the harsh touch of metal.  

You start to relax the more he works, your rigid stance easing as the blood cleans from your body. Your suit is still plastered to your skin, ripped and torn and cut open, and Bucky knows he needs to get this off of you. There’s blood behind the fabric, seeped behind the open slashes.  

He thinks of the softest clothes he has to dress you in when you’re clean and dry, something too big for your frame that smelled of fresh laundry or maybe the sweatshirt draped over the chair – the one you liked to wear when he was out on missions because it smelled like him. He just wants you to feel safe, to feel warm and protected.  

But he needs to get you out of this suit first.  

He reaches for the zipper at your chest and the next thing he knows, he’s pressed up against the shower wall, his head pulsing at the impact as you grip tight to his wrist. You’re panting, eyes unfocused at the center of his chest.  

He lets you hold him there. He doesn’t try to resist though he knows with his strength he could easily overpower you.  

“Sweetheart, it’s me. It’s Bucky,” he tries, his voice soft against the fall of water behind you. “I’m not going to hurt you, love.”

You don’t move, but your breaths start to come in a little more even. Your grip falters on his wrist though you don’t let go. His heart feels like it’s shattering inside his chest, stray shards embedding themselves into his stomach, his ribs, his lungs.

“Honey, look at me,” he pleads. “You’re safe now. You’re home. Let me take care of you.”

It takes a moment, but your eyes begin to trail up his collarbone, hesitant sweeps along his neck, his jaw, and then – his eyes. The hard resolve upon your features begins to crumble. Your lip quivers, your hand gripped tight around his wrist slacking in the tremors, tears burn into your eyes and Bucky doesn’t waste a moment before he gathers you into his arms, presses you tight to his chest and encases you against him.  

It's like something finally clicks, a floodgate burst open, because you’re clutching onto him like a lifeline. He can feel the sob as it travels up your spine and shakes your body as you cry. He’s grateful for the mist of the shower that hide his own tears as he rubs gentle circles along your back, easing you the best he can. It’s torture seeing you like this and feeling so powerless to help.  

He doesn’t know how long he stands there with you, but eventually, you stop crying. The exhaustion begins to take hold and your legs begin to shake under you, too weak to hold yourself up.  

“I’m going to take your suit off, okay? You’ll be more comfortable without it,” Bucky says, gesturing to the zipper. You follow his gaze in understanding and then, you nod.  

The suit already clings tight to your skin without the added pressure of the sticky residue of blood drenched into the fabric and the soak of water from the shower. He slides the zipper down to your navel and slowly peels what's left of the sleeves off your shoulders.  

There’s cuts and slashes underneath, wounds where blades had cut through your suit and nicked your skin. They’re superficial, better than they could have been if not for the suit taking the brunt of the attack, but they’re still painful to look at.

Bucky helps you step out of the suit and he leaves it in the corner of the shower. He glances at your underwear and you slide it down your hips without question.  

“Can I wash your hair, honey? Please?”

You nod and Bucky works quickly. You’re starting to shiver as the water loses its heat, so you stand a little closer to him, seeking out his warmth. It removes just an ounce of the boulder sitting upon his chest.  

When he’s finished, the water at the drain is clear again. The fresh scars upon your body and the distant look in your eye the only evidence remaining of what happened.  

Bucky reaches around you to turn off the water. He pulls a towel from the rack and begins to gently pat it over your skin until you’re dry. Then, he scrunches out as much of the water as he can from your hair, before he leaves the towel resting on your shoulders to soak up the rest.

“I’ll be right back,” he tells you as he finished drying himself off. “I’m going to go grab some clothes for you.”

He doesn’t even make it a step out of the bathroom before your hand is on his wrist again. He stills, looking back at you. Your eyes fall to the floor.  

Bucky swallows back the burn in his throat as he nods. “Okay. Okay, honey. Can you come with me?”

You nod.  

By the time you’re dressed in a fresh pair of his boxers and the t-shirt he slept in the previous night, you can hardly keep your eyes open. He wonders how long it’s been since you slept, if maybe it was since the evening he spoke to you four days prior. You sway on your feet as Bucky guides you to the bed.  

He lays you down, pulls the covers up to your chest and quickly rushes around to the other side of the bed to crawl in beside you. You come into his arms, curling up against his chest, and Bucky tries to pretend for a moment that this is just another night, that you just returned from a successful mission and there’s a relief in holding you again.

But he can’t shake the crippling dread as it burns into his skin. Even as your breaths fall even and you slack into his arms, Bucky stares up at the ceiling, eyes brimming with tears. He doesn’t sleep at all.  

***

A few hours later, the soft tap of a knock draws Bucky from his trance. He blinks a few times, realizing how long he’d been staring up at the ceiling before he lifts his head and finds Steve peering in through the doorway. There’s a solemn look on his face as his eyes flicker towards you.  

Bucky gently slides out from under you, careful to place a pillow under your arm where you’d been laying upon his chest as not to wake you. The bed rises a little as he stands and he takes a moment to brush the hair from your eyes before he makes his way to the door. When he meets Steve in the hallway, he’s careful to leave the door to the bedroom open a crack, just in case.  

“What did you find?” Bucky asks.

Steve sinks down onto the couch. A hand brushes over his face.  

“That bad?” Bucky can already feel the nausea beginning to take hold.  

“We recovered footage from her last know whereabouts – the safe house in Juno,” Steve says. He leans forward to rest his elbows upon his thighs, staring out into the empty space of the kitchen. He sighs. “She was ambushed, Buck. The feed cut out a few minutes into the fight.”

“Who were they?” Bucky chokes out. His throat is made of sandpaper.  

“We don’t know,” Steve admits, pinching at the bridge of his nose. “Mercenaries, probably. Could have been hired in retaliation against SHEILD. Her mission was to identify the point of contact for an illegal arms distributor that was shipping assault rifles into Canada and carrying them over the border. She wasn’t supposed to see any action, Bucky. It was a surveillance op.”  

Bucky doesn’t realize how tight his hands are clenched until he looks down to find puncture marks in the palm of his right hand from where his nails buried into his skin. He thinks of the woman who left him behind that morning, with sun kissed skin and a smile so sweet it made his heart melt, who has barely spoken in the hours since returning home, who’s bright eyes have dimmed into something empty and lost.  

He’s missing something, he’s sure of it. Maybe if he could just see the footage for himself, identify the bad guys, track them down... maybe he’ll be able to fix this. He could bring you back, make you smile again. Killing those men who hurt you will be a small consolation prize for his efforts.  

Bucky is determined as he stands. “I want to see it.”

“Absolutely not,” Steve shoots back. Bucky doesn’t even need to clarify before Steve puts an end to it. “What purpose will that serve, Buck? You don’t need to see the tape, okay? Just trust me on this. I’ve got everyone we have analyzing that video frame by frame. If there’s anything on it to lead us to those assholes, we’ll find it.”

“I have to do something, Steve. I can’t just sit here. Not with her like that...” Bucky glances back at the door to the bedroom. He can’t muster the energy to conjure the image of you standing before him drenched in blood that was not your own, a vacant look in your eyes as if you could see straight through him.  

“She needs you here,” Steve argues, rising to his feet. “What do you think will happen when she wakes up and I’ve gotta tell her you’ve run off on some vengeance mission? That you’ve left her alone to face this by herself?”

“That’s not what I’m doing—”

“Yes, it is!” Steve clenches his jaw as his voice echoes into the hall. It’s quiet for a moment and they listen for the bed to squeak, for any sign that you’re awake, but they’re only met with silence, Steve relaxes again. He takes a step forward and places his hand on Bucky’s shoulder. It startles him for a moment, but he can feel the tension as it melts in his muscles. “Just be here for her, man. When there’s something to know, I’ll tell you.”

Bucky keeps his stare on the thin crack in the door, the moonlight peering in from the window and seeping out into the hallway. He listens for the even breaths as you sleep soundly for the first time in days and he knows Steve is right. He doesn’t know if he could leave you like this even if Steve handed him the direct files of every man who laid a hand on you.  

“I should get back to her,” Bucky resolves, offering Steve as much of a grateful smile as he can manage. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes, but Steve understands. 

***

It takes days before Bucky can get you to leave the bedroom. He’s only been able to get a few words out of you here and there, short answers to direct questions, and you can’t hold his eye for very long, but he takes it as improvement.  

It’s the small steps.

He remembers you saying that when he was at his worst, when he could barely get himself out of bed, when he could hardly touch you without fear of breaking you in half, when the guilt tore and ate through him unchallenged.

So, every time you lift you head when he speaks, when you glance in his direction, when you nod in answer of a question, when you curl against his side and seek out his warmth – it matters. It’s more than what you were able to do the day before and that has meaning.  

When you finally do venture out into the living room, Bucky is sure to keep a hand on you at all times. Whether it’s wrapped up tightly in your own, pressed gently to the small of your back, resting against your thigh, over your shoulders – it helps to ground you, remind you that he’s there. You start to drift off into yourself otherwise.  

Meanwhile, everyone else is walking on eggshells around you.  

Tony turns out of the room before he can even step foot into the kitchen when he sees the back of your head over the couch. Peter is constantly shoveling food into his mouth to keep from his usual rambling one-sided conversations. Steve is deceptively quiet, constantly glancing in your direction as if he’s just waiting for something to set you off. Even Natasha keeps her distance, which surprises him. She stays in the room but she keeps to the corners, observing, like Steve.  

Sam, on the other hand, was never one for subtleties.  

“Hey kiddo!” Sam throws himself onto the couch beside you, bowl of popcorn in his hand as it jumps up into the air before landing back safely in the bowl.  

You flinch at the sudden intrusion next you and Bucky all but stares daggers into Sam for startling you. Bucky was trying to keep your environment as calm as possible as not to set you off into one of those dissociative states again. It could take hours just to get you to acknowledge his voice after that and Bucky can only take that so many times before he’ll simply crumble.  

“You know what I’ve been dying to watch?” Sam says aloud, as if someone is listening to him. He shovels a handful of popcorn into his mouth. “Raiders of the Lost Ark.”

“Sam, no.” Bucky warns as he pulls you closer to his side. That movie has far too much violence, even for an eighties film. He doesn’t know how you’ll react to it.  

“I wasn’t talking to you,” Sam shoots back. He settles into the couch beside you, grinning as he turns in your direction. “Come on, Y/n. It’s been ages since we’ve watched Indie. I know the first is your favorite anyway.”  

Bucky is all but ready to clock Sam ten ways to Sunday when you mutter out a quiet, “okay” and Bucky stills completely. It's the first time you’ve even acknowledged anyone besides Bucky since you came home. He stares at Sam with wide eyes, but Sam doesn’t seem to be surprised at all.  

Instead, Sam simply sinks into the cushions, turns on the movie he must have already lined up in the queue, and leans the bowl of popcorn in your direction. 

Indiana Jones starts his first trek into the cave in search of the Golden Idol and you reach your hand into the bowl. A few bites of popcorn within the first minutes of the movie and it’s more than Bucky has been able to get you to eat without coercion in days. A whisper of a smile crosses your face as Sam almost chokes on the handful he shoved into his mouth.  

Sam Wilson might be a massive pain in Bucky’s ass, but he’s a damn good friend. He’s the only one who hasn’t treated you like you’ve lost your mind. He gives you a sense of normalcy when the floor has been pulled out from under you.  

For that, Bucky owes him everything.  

***

Bucky finds out a week later that there are no bad guys to track down, no one to enact vengeance on for the trauma they’d put you through. There is a reason you came home covered in blood and grime with barely more than a few superficial scratches on your body.  

You’d killed them all.  

“Are you sure?” Bucky asks Steve, hands planted firmly on the conference table. The night sky is littered in cloud covered stars beyond the windows, crickets chirping in the distance. Bucky stares down at the mug shots of a dozen men now presumed dead.  

“We’re sure.” Steve slowly reaches out to gather the images, sliding them back into the file and out of sight. “We’re still working on who sent them but it was probably the arms dealer she was sent to identify. Fury’s sending out a team in the morning to bring him in.”

“That’s... that’s good.” Bucky doesn’t have the strength for revenge anymore. He’s grown tired of carrying it in his chest, on his shoulders, weighing him down as if sinking him to the trenches of an ocean.  

“How’s she doing?” Steve asks, gesturing towards the doorway as they begin to walk back to the elevator.  

“Better,” Bucky replies honestly.  

He’s even seen you crack a smile a few times watching movies with Sam in the living room, maybe even heard a breath of laughter when Sam dropped an entire bowl of popcorn and threw a fit about it.  

You’re talking to Bucky more, asking questions, starting brief conversations outside of the necessary ‘yes’ and ‘no’s, humming to yourself as you shower with Bucky standing just a few feet away. It’s something. Small steps.

“She’s strong, Buck. She’ll get through this.”

Bucky takes a deep breath as the elevator doors chime open. He presses the button for his floor. “I know. I just hate seeing her like this in the meantime.” The elevator reaches his floor and he waits as the doors begin to part. “Thanks, Steve. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

Steve nods. “You got it, brother.”

Bucky makes his way down the hall from where he’d left you just a few hours earlier. You’d insisted that you’d be alright on your own while he met with Steve. Sam is still sitting on the couch watching Netflix just a few feet outside the bedroom, leaving a blanket of security in Bucky’s absence. He can hear Sam singing along to the theme song as he passes by.  

There’s a ghost of a smile on his face as he approaches the living room, but a sudden, gut wrenching scream stills him in his tracks.  

Sam jumps up from the couch, popcorn spilling to the carpet and Bucky stares back at the cracked door to the bedroom with wide eyes. He exchanges a glance with Sam and as another scream echoes out into the hall in a broken cry, the two of them rush into the room.  

Bucky shoulders his way through the door, breaking the hinges on the top of the frame as he stumbles his way inside. You’re lying on your stomach, arms clutched under the pillow, sweat dampened sheets kicked off down by your feet. You’re whimpering, tear tracks into the pillowcase and your whole body is trembling.  

“Y/n?” Bucky calls as gently as he can, his voice breaking in the effort. He moves closer to the bed, his hand hovering over your shoulder, almost afraid to touch you. “Sweetheart, wake up.”

You cry out again, face contorting in pain as you press your face into the pillow. 

“I should get Cho,” Sam says behind him, starting to inch towards the door, but Bucky barely hears him as he runs into the hallway.  

“Come on, honey,” Bucky tries again. He sinks down to his knees beside the bed. His heart is stammering in his chest. It’s pounding so loudly he’s sure the whole compound can hear it. He feels the tears burn in his eyes as you start to sob. “You’re safe. You’re alright, love. I’m here with you. I’m here, baby.”

Bucky lets his hand ghost over your shoulder and he barely has a chance to react before you jolt upright and there’s a sudden, stinging sensation across his chest. Your eyes are wide, chest heaving as you try to catch your breath. It takes a minute before Bucky sees the hilt of the knife gripped tight in your fist.  

“Bucky?” you gasp. “What are you—Oh my God...”  

The knife drops from your hold as your hands clasp against your mouth. It falls at Bucky’s knees. You’re trying to stifle a sob as it threatens to consume you whole and Bucky tries to reach out for you, but you scramble away from him, fearful eyes staring below his collarbone.

Slowly, Bucky follows your gaze to his chest. There he finds that his shirt is torn in a long, pristine cut. Blood begins to soak into the light grey of the fabric from the open wound underneath. The knife you’d held in your hand bares his blood upon the blade.  

“What have I done?!” you cry, shaking your head as you scurry off of the bed and into the corner of the room. You sink to the floor and Bucky shakes himself of his stupor to rush towards you.  

“I’m alright,” he tries to reassure you, though he knows it’s no use. “Baby, I’m fine. It’s nothing. It’ll heal in a few hours. I’m okay.”

“Oh God, Oh God! No... I didn’t-- I didn’t mean to--” Your words are barely distinguishable, slurring together in your slobs, and you can barely catch your breath. You shake your head, fresh tears streaming on your cheeks. “I’m sorry. I’m-- I’m so s-sorry. I didn’t-- I didn’t mean to.”

“I know,” Bucky coos. He can feel the itch of a tear as it passes his jawline. “Honey, I need you to breathe for me. Please, let me hold you. I’m okay. You didn’t hurt me.”

But your eyes are glued to the open sliver of his t-shirt, the blood as it soaks into the cotton, and the slash underneath. It only makes you cry more. Its uncontrollable, like you might pass out if you can’t allow yourself to take in enough air, and Bucky feels like he’s reaching out into a fucking void because there’s nothing he can do for you.  

“Sergeant Barnes,” a stern voice calls suddenly from behind him. Helen Cho stands in the doorway with Sam just beyond her shoulder. She steps into the room, uncapping a syringe. “Hold her down.”  

You’re in hysterics as Bucky pulls you into his arms. You don’t resist as you fall against his chest, but he can feel the unease with which you sit in your own body, like your skin is crawling and you’re caged inside of yourself. He knows the feeling well.  

You barely notice as the needle punctures your neck, heavy head falling to rest against Bucky’s shoulder. He eases his left hand down your spine, hoping the chill of the metal will help soothe you as your breaths become more even and the sobs fall weak and far between.  

“I’ve got you, honey,” he whispers. You start to close your eyes, giving into the sedative. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. Just rest, love. I’ve got you.”

No one relaxes until it’s clear you’re out cold. Sam lets out a heavy sigh from the doorway, slumping into the arch. Helen sinks onto the floor beside Bucky, tossing the syringe into the disposal bag before she rubs a tired hand over her face.  

Bucky feels like he can hardly breathe. He waits until Helen and Sam retire to their own rooms before he allows the lump in his throat to consume him whole, before the tears on his face mirror the watermarked stains on his shirt. He doesn’t move from the floor until sunrise, unwilling to disturb your sleep.  

***

“I don’t know why you haven’t left me yet.”

The words pass your lips and they puncture straight through Bucky’s chest - like a knife embedded through his skin, nicking over bone and tearing through flesh. He feels sick, a wave of nausea crashing through him as he turns to look at you. 

Your eyes are swollen red, lips chewed raw. It only takes a flicker of your gaze to the long faded pink scar across his chest to know what’s on your mind. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” Bucky says firmly. 

You shake your head, unconvinced. “I could have killed you.”

“Don’t you go underestimating me, now,” Bucky teases, lighting his voice despite the burning ache he feels in his chest. He smiles at you but you can hardly meet his eye. 

Your legs are swung over the bedside, hands wringing in your lap, reddening the skin. Your breaths are shaken, lower lip trembling, and he knows you’re trying to hold back tears. He can practically feel the lump building in your throat, suffocating you. 

He sighs, sinking down to his knees in front of you. His hands reach out for your own and you flinch at his touch. It takes a moment before you can remind yourself who’s hands are holding you, who’s love you’re surrounded in, and you relax. 

He thinks of the woman who taught him how to love again, who woke him from a decades long nightmare with the sweet touch of her hand and the adoration in her smile. He conjures the image of you he preserved before you left on your last mission, with sun kissed skin and laughter in your chest, as he stares up at the dark circles under your eyes, the frown upon your lips, the aching claws of shame draining you of the light you possessed. 

“Sweetheart, look at me.” He tips a finger under your chin and guides you to meet his eye. He smiles, softening under your gaze. 

“You hold so much space in your heart for compassion and forgiveness,” Bucky eased, stroking his thumbs gently along the backs of your hands. “You never hesitated once to absolve me of my sins as the Winter Soldier. It didn’t matter how may nights I woke up empty, not knowing where or who I was. It didn’t matter how much I thought I was a burden to you and the team, or whether I deemed myself worthy enough to be loved by you. You were patient with me, kind beyond what I ever believed I could deserve. Can you not reserve some of that for yourself, too?”

He watches the sob creep up your spine before it breaks. There’s little more either of you can say and he resides to holding you in his arms, caged protectively against his chest where not even the demons lurking in the back of your mind can find you. 

He knows, eventually, you’ll be okay. You taught him that. Even when the tunnel was its darkest, when he could barely see beyond the tips of his fingers, and the sun was cast over in shadows -- you showed him that as long as he kept walking, he’d find the light again. 

***

“Come on, Y/n, what is the matter with you?”

Bucky hears you grumbling to yourself in the kitchen. He wipes the trail of sweat off his face from his morning run as he approaches the island covered in stray dollops of pancake batter, bottles of maple syrup, and mixing bowls. He smiles as he leans against the counter, waiting for you to notice him.  

“You weren’t supposed to be home yet,” you groan, catching Bucky out of the corner of your eye as you dump a plate full of burnt pancakes into the sink. Your hair a little out of sorts, a bead of sweat dripping down your temple. It’s almost endearing if it wasn’t for how fast your heart was beating. Bucky could hear it down the hall.  

“Missed you.” He shrugs casually, testing a smirk and you started to smile in return; all shy and sweet and full of the woman he adores. He glances to the mess in the kitchen and the smoke piling on the ceiling. “What happened here?”

“Pancakes aren’t my strongest suit.”

Bucky laughs at that. “I can see that.”

You sigh, scratching at the back of your neck. “I just wanted to do something nice for you, Bucky.”

Bucky can feel his heart sinking but he holds the smile to his face. “You do a thousand nice things for me all the time. Just being here is enough for me, sweetheart.”

“You know what I mean,” you say under your breath, eyes falling to the floor by his feet. “After everything I put you through since that awful mission-”

“Hey, hey -- Don’t do that.” Bucky crosses the kitchen and places his hands gingerly on your cheeks, guiding your eyes back to his. “You didn’t do anything wrong; you hear me? You survived. You’re still surviving and I’m just... I’m so proud of you, Y/n.”

You part your lips to say more, to argue against him, but it dies on your tongue as Bucky smiles at you as if you hung the moon and the stars and every damn  

“You don’t need to bring me coffee in the morning,” Bucky says before he presses a kiss to your forehead, “or bribe Stark into making new tech for my arm,” then a kiss to your nose, “or make me burnt pancakes to thank me for loving you through this.”  

He pauses as he pulls back. You’re watching him with an expression somewhere between awe and relief, but it’s the warmth of your smile that does him in completely.  

“We take care of each other, okay? That’s what we do,” Bucky says, leaning in to kiss your lips sweetly until he can feel the smile grow against his mouth. He pulls back, chuckling a bit under his breath. “Besides, I’m the last person who is going to be scared away by trauma.”  

You laugh as you wrap your arms around his waist, pulling yourself closer to his chest. Engulfed in the sweet smell of maple and butter and batter, Bucky feels a wash of calm for the first time since you left on that mission.  

He thinks you may have finally found your way home.  

Thank you so much for reading! ❤️ If you enjoyed this fic, please consider supporting me at my ko-fi account ✨

[lo-frequency]

Hi I love your blogand your writinh so much it's so good!

Could I request a shoto/denki and toga x chubby reader (if you're not comfortable writing with toga you can just to denki and shoto) thanks!

Fortunately for you, anon, I did them all! (and it's kinda long, so my bad lol) Also, there's mention of insecurity in Toga's, but it quickly turns to fluff. As always, please enjoy!

Denki

-Believe it or not, Denki was nervous to confess to you because he was afraid of being rejected. You’re so cute and cool and that he was sure there’s no way you actually returned his feelings. It was worth a shot, tho. So imagine his joy when you said you felt the same way :)

-Rants about you all the time to his friends, to the point where they feel like they know you personally before you’ve even met. They also get to hear all the tmi stories about what the two of you do alone, because he can’t help himself (if they don’t walk away first, lol).

-He knew you looked squishy before, but couldn’t believe how soft your skin was when he finally got to hold you. It was almost unfair. He often finds himself caressing your skin mindlessly whenever you’re close together, hand always ghosting across your arm or hand (or your thigh ;) ).

-Lays back on you to play video games, his head cushioned by your pillowy chest and the rest of his body situated between your legs as you watch him play. Play in his hair or rub his arms and he will fall asleep. The tingly feeling he gets when cuddling with you is his favorite kind of electricity.

-Zaps your butt “by accident”

-Easily flustered, but he tries to play it off with his cool act. Just kiss his cheek or tell him he’s handsome and watch him ramble about knowing he’s “irresistible” until he flushes red up to his ears.

-Denki can be pretty corny at times but he does have his serious moments, mostly when you two are alone together. He shows you what’s beneath his goofy facade, a boy with dreams and aspirations just like everyone else. After seeing this side of him, it’s a little irritating to hear people reduce him to an idiot (although he does have his moments 💀)

-Them thighs tho 😏 “Dang babe, you been working out?” “Not really, Kaminari” He clucks his tongue. “Sheesh, imagine being that thicc...naturally” he says, shaking his head as if it were a shame.

-Truly believes he has the best s/o in the whole school. Does not take offense to being called a simp 🤷🏾‍♀️.

-Wasn’t aware of it at first, but became super attracted to people with your same body type. His eyes always lingered on them in public, and he couldn’t help but think they were kinda hot (sorry, y/n)

-Very affectionate, but loves to receive as much as give, so please give this man plenty of kithes and hugs, he gets the shakes if he doesn’t get his daily dose of Y/n love.

-Y’all are so silly together, always cracking jokes or giggling about something. You eventually develop a similar sense of humor, and have so many inside jokes people can’t decipher your conversation. If anybody has anything negative to say about y’all: Denki puts his hand over his earpiece and says to you (from right next to him) “Pikachu to Big Sexy, I’m picking up some negative vibes on the radar, do you copy?” And you, holding your hand up to your own ear, say “Affirmative, doing a diagnostic scan...it’s a hater, confirmed.” Cue the obnoxious laughter, lmaoo

-Never forgets the anniversaries or relationship milestones. He even remembers the date of yall’s first kiss, and thinks about it every time the date passes (although he wouldn’t tell you that tho, that would be too sappy, even for him).

Shoto

-The way you and Shoto became acquainted was a little unorthodox. You fell on him during a training session one day, and the feeling of your soft body pressed against his was a new experience for him, to put it mildly. Shoto stood up from it a changed man. Call it an awakening, if you will.

-You were a little put off by all his staring since that incident, thinking he didn’t like you despite all your profuse apologies. But after Izuku dropped hints that it was probably fascination rather than contempt, your relationship progressed smoothly from there (thanks mostly to your efforts, since Shoto had no clue how to approach you).

-Shoto still had a staring problem once y’all became official, too. Whenever you asked him what he was looking at, he was not ashamed to tell you exactly why: you are too fine not to stare (ok, maybe he didn’t say it exactly like that)

-Not overly affectionate in public, but has a tendency to always stand or sit close to you whenever he can. Just sharing the same space is intimate to him.

-Sharing a bowl of soba noodles 💕

-Buys you expensive gifts all the time, and loves to see you using them. Especially if it’s clothes, it’s like a piece of him is always with you even when you’re not together (plus, it shows you’re all his ;) ).

-Now, I’m gonna tell y’all a little secret. It’s pretty shocking, so be warned: Shoto sometimes pretends to be oblivious when you hint at wanting affection, just to make you beg for it. Maybe you brush your hand against his, and he moves it. Or maybe he saw you lean for a kiss and he casually turns the other way just to hear you complain. He likes it, makes him feel wanted.

-Devious, I know, but just get even 😏

-When y’all are alone, he loves when you hold him close and just sit there, peacefully enjoying each other’s presence. He also likes to lay on your lap while reading a book or watching tv with you, slowly nodding off as you comb your fingers through his hair.

-Obsessed with you, but not in an unhealthy way, it’s just that you’ve become such a big part of his life that he kinda...thinks about you all the time. Shoto is canonically not very talkative, but I think that with you, he’d open up more about his true thoughts and feelings. So when he shoots you that blank stare when his classmates are up to some bull, you know exactly what it means.

-Also revels in knowing you that well, too. He’d flex how much he knows about you to the other people and sometimes unintentionally embarrasses you in the process

-For example: “Here Y/n, a cherry popsicle just for you!” Shoto immediately hands you some napkins before adding “Y/n doesn’t usually eat cherry popsicles, they always drop the red juice on their clothes.” Like gee, good looking out Shoto...thanks for telling the whole class I can’t eat without messing up my clothes 💀. He’s sweet tho, he has good intentions.

Toga

-She made it very clear from the beginning that she liked you, and with how smitten she was, who were you to refuse her (aggressive) advances?

- She thought your plump figure was just so cute, one of the cutest things she’d ever seen, and she quickly developed an unhealthy obsession with squeezing your chub.

-When you two are together, Toga is always attached to you in some way, whether she’s hanging off your arm or has her arms looped around your shoulders.

-Starts to eat the same foods you eat, borrow your clothes all the time, listen to your favorite artists, whatever way she could become closer to you

-Writes you love letters or sends you cute text messages all the time, you’re always on her mind, even when she’s on missions. “My Y/n is wayy cuter than you! Let’s get this over quick so I go back to them, ok? 🥰 🔪🔪”

-I know y’all were waiting for this...she most definitely uses her quirk on you. Toga loves you so much, she wants to become you. So one day, you finally allow her to give it a try.

-She tells you to close your eyes, and when she gives you permission to open them, you find yourself staring...yourself in the face. And you do not like it 🤢. There’s something so strange about seeing yourself in 3rd person, in all dimensions. Is this how you look to her, all the time? You quickly lose interest in this little charade, looking everywhere but at yourself as Toga prances around doing sexy poses in your body and giggling. However, when she sees your reaction, she stops.

- “Hm? What’s wrong, Y/n?” she asks with a tilt of (your) her head. You glance at yourself, then look away again. “This is so weird. I don’t like looking at myself” you say, grimacing at the slight bounce and jiggle of your body when she walks toward you.

-In Toga’s eyes, you were absolutely adorable. In fact, she was getting a little hot and bothered just taking peeks at herself (you) in the mirror. She’s used to feeling you up for sure, but being you was a whole other experience. Though, she can understand your insecurity. After all, it’s hard to live in a world that constantly tells you your true self is abnormal. She knows from experience.

-So, she comes up to you with a flirty grin on her face...and starts showering you with kisses, in your body! You start to protest, weirded out by the feeling of your own lips on your cheeks but she would not relent. Toga was determined to show you what being loved (by you) felt like from her perspective, with your irresistible “imperfections” and all 💕

Thanks for tuning in! :)

[saturnsstufff]

okay as a chubby girl myself I struggle with how I see myself and this idea makes my heart KSHDHSJS

okay so imagine IMAGINE

Request maybe 🤔🤔🤔

Okay,, you’re standing in the mirror yk in your mirror at technos house/cottage in your underwear and stuff, grabbing at the chub and stuff looking upset and not feeling good about yourself, and techno walking into the room and seeing this. yk him being upset that you feel that way Bc he thinks youre just so pretty 🥺.

IT COULD EITHER GO INTO A SMUT( 😏 where he SHOWS you how much he loves you and how pretty he thinks you are in the mirror) OR FLUFF WITH SOFT WORDS AND CUDDLES or both idk

*slams hand on desk* IVE BEEN WAITIN FOR THIS

I went with both, because I like options. I also based this off a little personal feelings so I hope it works!

My Goddess- Technoblade

Warnings: self conscious reader, swearing, NSFW

   The mirror. Your best, but worst nightmare imaginable. Some days you could look into it and see beauty within your curves. Spend endless minutes hyping yourself up. 'Man I look good' 'I am the fucking shit' 'damn look at that' all little things you tell yourself in pride. Because in those moments, you feel powerful. In those moments you feel like you own the world, that others are just lucky to breathe within your presence.

   However, there are bad days. There are days when looking into the mirror brings shame. Days when all you can do is grab at your stomach, and ponder of what you could have done, or what you will do. Its pressed that everyone is perfect in our own imaginable ways. Yet when you look at others, you cant help but be envious. Others can get away with wearing tight clothing, baggy clothing, any type of clothing. Yet when you try it on all you see is a box, if you wear tight clothing, every roll and muffin top pops out. It can be embarrassing.

   Techno never saw your curves as embarrassing however. He loved them. He loved the plush, soft skin of your tummy or your thighs. Your hips? don't even ask what he thought on hips, as long as they were yours. They were perfect.

   With that said, when he saw you saddened about your form he was slightly hurt. You thought he was beautiful, a hybrid of a monster. But yet you couldn't find the beauty within your rolls? Your plump little form? The very thing that made up you? If he ever found out who planted these seeds of lies in your mind, he would have words.

   If you felt confident enough to take the world by the horns, he let you. He would build you up with sweet words of encouragement. 'Well don't you look amazing...' 'you are looking beautiful as ever'. They were small phrases but they meant a lot to you.

   Techno isn't verbal with his love, or compliments really. He chooses to show it, words are just that. Words. Actions are done, are shown. They are physically put into motion. That's why he prefers it. But he also understands sometimes words are needed. They are needed to ease your nerves and doubtful mind.

   when he catches you glaring at your plump form in the mirror, he cant help but quickly move to your side. Kneeling and kissing up your body. Your arms, your thighs, everything. In the beginning he would let you look away. The idea of someone liking your body type left you uncertain, many times you would ponder if his endless kisses were done as a joke. But each and every time he would reassure you that it was real. That him loving you, loving your body. It wasn't in pity, it was in genuine love.

   Tonight was one of those bad nights. With Techno in the bath, you were left to change for bed. Wait for him to come out, and then cuddle the night away until the sun kissed the horizon.

   But well you changed your eyes fell to the mirror. Your eyes casually roamed your body. You were used to looking at it so nothing stood out of course. But as you shifted, you caught a few stretch marks within the candle light. They looked like streaks of lightning that were dragged across your skin. With a quick glance away, you pulled something over your form. Wanting to cover your body and deal with that mental baggage later.

   Of course the Hybrid that stood tall within the door frame held other ideas about that moment. The one thing that always put you at ease was Techno's size. Before you were in a relationship with him, you feared you wouldn't be able to wear your lovers clothing. Being a bit plumper meant "one size fit all" did not fit all. But luckily, with your roughly 6ish/7ish foot Piglin Hybrid of a lover, all of his clothing was a bit baggy on you. Technoblade was a very Built man, this came from his never ending training and his natural born strength of course. But even with him being built and big, the first time he asked you to sit on his lap had you hesitant. What if he found you too heavy? The idea of him asking you to move off would leave you completely mentally ruined. Of course when you finally sat he didn't utter any words besides praises. His hands running gently over your thighs, with a tight grasp he kept you close. When Techno saw you ease into his lap more often, he took pride in knowing you were comfortable enough to do it on a daily basis. That was when he upped the bar again. The day he asked you to sit on his face was the day you had a heart attack. You were so paranoid you would crush him. Of course he was all bemused smirks well you tried to think of excuses. Yet this man was able to ease your nerves and reassure you until you were comfortable once again. You would never forget how giddy he was to be between your thighs. That was the day he found his favorite spot.

   Before you could ease some bottoms over your underwear, this man had his arms around you. Pushing against your hands. His nose was nuzzled into your neck muttering gently "Please, leave them off for now..." with a brow raised you complied. You let the shorts drop to the floor, assuming you would be coming for them in a brief moment. You could smell the lingering sent from his shampoo. The fresh smell giving you great comfort.

   Techno moved you back to face the mirror, his head moving briefly so he could see you face yourself. With a light stubble scratching against your neck you felt the goosebumps rise. Your eyes met his ruby ones within the mirror. "Do you know, how beautiful you are?..." he asked rhetorically. Dragging out the words that he felt were important. You wanted to say no, but knew he wouldn't want that answer.

   "I think I'm alright..." you said softly. He hummed and pressed a loving kiss to your neck. His hands slowly fell down to the buttons of the shirt you were wearing. Skillfully he undid them without thought. When you had pulled a shirt on you didn't think much, but now saw that it was his you wore. Of course he didn't mind, he never minded.

   With the buttons undone he opened the shirt to expose your naked form. Every curve and roll on sweet display for him "You are beyond 'alright'... alright is basic. You know my goddess is beyond mortal definitions..." you gave a gentle smile at his charm, glancing away from his eyes. He didn't allow this tonight however. Instead he took your jaw and gently redirected it to the mirror. Meeting his gaze again.

   "My love... My goddess, you know your body rivals the gods, yes?..." you slightly shrugged, unsure if this was true. With another loving kiss he continued. "Persephone had rolls... She was just as plump as you my love..." you fallowed his eyes gently. Him comparing you to the beautiful goddess left you feeling better. If someone so divine could have rolls why couldn't you?

   He didn't stop there however. "If you cant see your beauty. Let me show you how beautiful you are..." his tone was pleading. Like a animal begging for spare scraps. You watched his eyes, his finger and thumb having control over your chin. You thought on his words and gave a brief nod to him. Trusting him and whatever he had planned.

   Instead of immediately kissing you all over, he pulled away. Firmly telling you to keep your eyes on the mirror. You felt a bit awkward standing there, your legs shifting closer underneath you. He soon came back however, his crown in hand. You could also see he had a simple gray towel around his waist, showing he was fresh from the bath.

   Your curiosity with the crown lingered, but you watched as he put it on your head. "You are a queen... My Queen... You will always be reminded of your everlasting beauty for as long as you are with me..." for not complementing a lot, tonight he was on a roll. Your eyes ran over the crown. The delicate and bright stones contrasting the shimmering gold well against your skin.

   He walked around to the front of you, leaning down to meet your lips in a loving kiss. His hand found a firm places on your hip, and on the plush skin of your ass cheek. With a gentle, but firm grasp he moved and rolled the skin beneath his hand. Loving how soft you were. With his hands working soft whimpers and moans out of you, his mouth devoured them. Eating every noise you made, cherishing them deep within his heart.

   Leaving your lips swollen he moved down. Kissing your jaw and neck. Planning to leave you a work of art. A show of how much he loves you.

   After your neck it was your chest. Soft plump breasts fitting ever so sweetly within his hands. With firm grasps he had you flushed red whimpering. Your eyes half lidded with the sweet lingering pleasure. Yet you still watched yourself and him, knowing to not disobey him.

   With soft kisses placed to the tops of your breasts and nipples he moved to your stomach. This is where you craved to look away. Wishing to hide yourself in his neck.

   "T..T-Techno..." he hummed acknowledging your words. But he still pressed light kisses down to the hem of your underwear.

  “Keep your eyes on the mirror." He said, pulling them down. Helping you step out of the discarded clothing. You couldn't see his face. Only his backside was facing the mirror, and even then his long wet hair hid most of his toned back.

   His fingers ran through your slit briefly. His rings offered a major temperature difference between your heat and the cold metal. With a little squirm his hands moved and held you in place. Desiring to keep you in place before he moved his head in and started to devour you. Eating you out like it was his last meal on earth.

   With a ever so sinful cry, you gripped at his hair. Begging for your knee's to not give out. With one hand on his head, the other one flew to the crown on your head. Trying to keep it on well you easily hunched over from the overwhelming pleasure. Techno never failed to leave you speechless- or should we say, he never left you quiet. Even if you could see yourself, you didn't think you would be able to focus much. Your eyes were tightly shut well your mouth ran between being in a 'O' and being locked shut.

   He did pull back from your folds to speak. Earning a cry from you. You were getting close and him pulling away was painful. "You can cum. But you have to keep your eyes open" you nodded profusely. Agreeing to anything if it meant feeling his lips back on you. He lingering a moment. Making sure your eyes opened before he leaned back. Taking his time to show your clit attention before going back to his main course.

   With your eyes looking back at you. You were unsure if you were ashamed with how blissed out you looked or happy. The whole scene in itself was erotic. You were incredibly small compared to the giant between your legs. His only drive to please you completely. Your eyes never left the mirror as he ate you out to your climax. Your hips stuttering and bucking, but proving no use to his iron grip. When you came he waisted no time at cleaning it up. He had no shame, that your cum was running down his chin. He was happy when you were pleased. And he knows you are definitely pleased after that climax.

   But he wasn't finished. With your legs weakening he helped you down onto his lap. He let you collect yourself against his chest for a few moments his hand ran over your back.

   "Doin' ok there Princess?..." you nodded slowly. Your chest rising and falling fast well you try and calm yourself. "Think you can do one more?" You nodded again well he pressed a kiss to your forehead, acknowledging your response. Adjusting his crown on your head, he moved so the mirror was beside you two. Showing both of your bodies, with the towel acting as a thin barrier.

   When you both were situated he did remove the towel. With a strong arm he lifted you up and positioned his hardened cock at your entrance, wasting no spare moment to fill you up. Well you did try to hide within his neck, it proved no use. He made sure to turn your head to the mirror.

   With your eyes hitting the mirror you saw how his head was beside yours. Your cheek was pressed to his chest well his was pressed to your forehead. His eyes lingeried your body. Drowning in your blissed out form. He found you utterly perfect.

   Well your bodies were connected, it almost looked like art. With techno's sharp gaze and your blissed out reddened cheeks, the contrast was there but yet they went together in perfect harmony. With the roll of his hips he made sure to keep your eyes on the mirror. Wanting to drag out every cry and moan you could utter. He set his pace at a rhythmic thrust, wanting to not only pleasure you, but himself as well. Well you griped to his sides, he kept his hand on he back of your head gently. Wanting to keep your head facing the mirror. With sweet sinful praises he coached you to a second orgasm, his fallowing close behind. He kissed your head gently, keeping you close to him well he felt himself soften. when his eyes met yours in the mirror he smiled softly. 

“Look at how beautiful you are... Always so, so beautiful Princess...”

[stellar-imagines]

HEADCANONS REQUEST: ❝super saiyan S/O.❞

[ Fandom: Boku no Hero Academia ] [ Characters: Midoriya Izuku, Bakugou Katsuki, Todoroki Shouto ]

「Headcanons of Midoriya, Bakugou and Todoroki with S/O who has a quirk similar to a Super Saiyan from Dragon Ball Z.」

MIDORIYA IZUKU 

♤ Midoriya is always interested in quirks, he will never pass up a chance to discover new quirks and their abilities. He was surprised to learn that it wasn’t actually a quirk and that you were just born like this. Superhuman strength, durability, speed, and reflexes. Seeing all that in person was just unreal, Midoriya is already in love. After all, this guy is weak for strong women like yourself. He’s dying to know more about your abilities ties and superhuman traits. But you know how it is for him, he’s very nervous around girls.

♤ Already has his notebook open when you decide to tell him about how your power actually works. This boy will listen to every single word you tell him, making sure he never missed any details. For the things he missed, he would ask you to repeat it. You'd go on and on about how you became a Super Saiyan, the science behind S-Cells, and different forms of a Saiyan. He'd ask you a lot of questions as if he were a student and you were a teacher giving a lecture.

♤ You are what Midoriya aspires to be in the future. You were strong, skilled, and able to hold your ground when facing villains. He admires you greatly and it shows through how he always seems to stare at you while you're training. This results in him not being aware of the things around him, sometimes he'd end up getting injured. His admiration and respect for you slowly turned into affection. It was his friends who pushed him into confessing.

♤ When you both started dating, this boy is still in the “Oh my god, I can’t believe someone as amazing as you is dating me.” stage for 2 whole weeks. He finds it very unbelievable that you accepted his confession. Midoriya puts a lot of effort into your relationship. This guy has a lot of dates planned in mind but he’s too nervous to ask you out. He will try to bring it up casually, making sure you were free during the weekend. Dates with him are always fun, he’s easily amazed by a lot of things and you can’t help but think that its kind of cute.

♤ Training sessions with him are just different. Midoriya was no longer the shy, timid, and easily flustered boyfriend anymore. He’s brash and reckless. This guy goes all out with you, because he knows how strong you were and that it will take a lot for him to defeat you. He gets a bit frustrated when he gets close to beating you in training, its kind of cute. Due to the similar nature of your quirks, you're always giving him a piece of advice that helped him countless times.

BAKUGOU KATSUKI

☆ You got this boy whipped from the getgo. Bakugou couldn't take his eyes off of you for even a second. The way you fought and moved during training struck a chord inside him. At first, he was shocked and began to think how unfair the world was, blessing you with such a great ability. After learning that you were basically just inhuman, he wasn't a happy man. He declares you as his rival in front of everyone, and from that day onwards, he's constantly asking you to spar with him.

☆ Despite all that, Bakugou is really weak for you. He admits that you're strong and the most likely to become a great hero to reach the high ranks in the future in Class 1-A. But he never tells anyone that of course, he'd kill himself if that slips out. As time passes, Bakugou couldn't control the growing affection he had for you. It didn't take long for him to realize his feelings thanks to his friends. It eventually led him to confess to you.

☆ Bakugou is very frustrated that you're much stronger than he is. He's very prideful and kind of had this imagination that he'd be the one protecting his S/O. But seeing how strong you were, it was evident that you're able to defend yourself without any help from him. But he's super proud of you and he doesn't bother hiding that fact. He's proud to be dating you but is very against PDA. Don't get me wrong, he loves giving you kisses and hugs but he prefers things like that to be more private.

☆ He loves training with you, its one of his favorite way to spend time with you. Bakugou had always wanted a sparring partner and someone who would join his workout. The two of you would train on hand-to-hand combat most of the time. Sometimes he would take you to the gym where you both will do the same sets together. The two of you will help one another with your reps, he particularly likes having you sit on his back while he does some pushups. 

☆ You like to call it Super Saiyan and a form that transcends human and closer to becoming God. Something about being able to reach the most powerful form of a Saiyan. You explained to him about the different forms of a Saiyan as well as the science behind S-Cells required to take on the form of a Saiyan. It confused him from time to time and he eventually gives up. You just explained it in the simplest form and just told him that your hair stands up whenever you enter Super Saiyan mode.

TODOROKI SHOUTO

♡ Definitely not the type to get overwhelmed with how strong you were. It didn't change the fact that he finds your superhuman abilities to be quite interesting. He has never heard of someone not having a quirk and was just inhuman. Todoroki gets curious about your quirk which caused him to initiate a conversation with you. He's not the type who would challenge people and call them his rival or anything. But he's always expecting something amazing from you.

♡ Seeing you in action multiple times made him fall in love with you more and more. He just likes watching you in action, how you were always adapt in different situations. You always performed well during training and surprising him with things that he thought were impossible to do.

♡ Todoroki has no idea how this Super Saiyan thing of yours work at all. Believe me, he tried his best to understand how it works. But once you began going on about S-Cells, Super Saiyan forms, Ultra Instinct, and whatnot, he's already lost. As your S/O, he wants to know everything about you, especially your quirk — ability. You've assured him that it was not necessary but he makes it his goal to decipher your superhuman abilities. So if you feel someone staring at you while you train, don't worry, its just Todoroki.

♡ Todoroki doesn't train that often but if you happen to be the type who would train after classes, he would gladly accompany you. Sometimes he would sit there and watch you, occasionally clapping when you pulled off some cool move. Sometimes he would join you, whether it be sparring or normal workouts in the gym. Todoroki is a great gym partner because he always helps you stretch and keep up with whatever you do.

♡ It doesn't show in his face, but Todoroki is thrilled to be dating someone as amazing as you. He slowly learns about the nature behind your superhuman abilities, as well as the things you could do with it. He shows his affections in an awkward manner but his love for you is so obvious to everyone. He would stare at you unconsciously and buy things that reminded him of you out of instinct. He's not the PDA type and is more of the type who would spoil you with gifts and surprises.

Total: 1313 words Published: 18.09.2021

Thank you for requesting! ｡٩(ˊᗜˋ)و*｡ You cannot believe how long I had to sit and listen to my friend's explanation on Super Saiyan and stuff...... But I played Dragon Ball Legends before so I know a thing or two We hope you liked it! ― author Lou

Thank you for requesting it! I don't watch Dragon Ball Z and all I know is Kamehameha. Hope you enjoyed this! ― author Natsuki

Requests are closed! Matchups are closed!

Please do not mind the grammar mistakes and typos.