#like that defeating him was a team effort

[theturtlelovers]

のﾚﾘﾶｱﾉᄃ 丂乇ﾒ 

Pairing: Leo/fem!Reader Rating: Explicit Contents: Leo gets injured during patrol and he gets in the mood for some love making time Warnings: 18+, mdni, brief mention of blood from a wound, hickeys, creampies, unprotected p in v (wrap it up peeps) Wordcount: 4,139 Sentence Prompt: # 14 + 67

𝕊𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕖𝕟𝕔𝕖 ℙ𝕣𝕠𝕞𝕡𝕥𝕤

Notes: Wow, this one actually took quite some time to finish, and I'm surprised by the word count. I believe this might be the post with the highest word count I have so far!

He didn't intend to get injured; it was purely accidental, or at least that's what Leo assured you. You had no reason to doubt him, aware that he prided himself on emerging from skirmishes unscathed. When you've inquired before, he likened the sensation of a human punch to a light slap. His tough, scaled skin rendered him relatively impervious to the average human's blows, which were what he typically faced on patrols during robberies, inmate escapes, and the like.

This time, the incident involved a random drunk man who had been ejected from a bar. The turtles happened to be passing by when they noticed the bar owner, looking quite irritated, forcibly escorting the inebriated individual outside. Sensing potential trouble as he observed the man stagger away, Leo dispatched Donnie and Raph to carry on with their patrol while he and Mikey hung back to ensure the drunk didn't cause any further disturbances.

Unfortunately, the drunk man did cause trouble, picking a fight with a teenager who accidentally bumped into him. Observing the youth's attire, Leo guessed aloud that the kid was likely on his way home from a late basketball game, given the sport's uniform he was wearing.

As was their nature, Leo and Mikey sprang into action without hesitation. The teenager took the opportunity to flee during the scuffle, which was for the best since he didn't need to be involved in the first place. Mikey initiated his peace-making efforts, his good-hearted nature leading him to let down his guard to appear friendlier. However, approachable as a mutant turtle might be, he was still an unusual sight for a drunk man grappling with the fear he was hallucinating. Blinded by alcohol-fueled rage, the man suddenly drew a Glock from his pants and pointed it at Mikey.

Fear and panic were emotions Leo found unfamiliar and unsettling. When moment April found them—though it was more of a rediscovery, considering she had known them prior to their mutation—he was primarily concerned with how she would react with the information of their existence, knowing she posed no physical threat to them. He hadn’t genuinely felt them until the Foot Clan blasted a hole in their sewer home, Shredder nearly beat their father to death, and he and the two youngest were captured like animals. Raph was missing, and in the midst of his concern for his siblings, Leo had little capacity to consider his whereabouts. Luckily, that situation was settled with Shredder's defeat and Sacks' arrest.

That heightened sense of awareness, once sparked, never truly faded for Leo. The persistent fear that someone could tear his family apart lingered constantly in the back of his mind. Your support during their moments of respite was invaluable; you had a gift for easing his anxieties, reassuring him of his strengths and the progress his brothers were making in self-defense. And even though you seldom mentioned it, understanding his mixed feelings on the matter, you once suggested that his brothers might eventually collaborate with the police force individually, rather than always as a team.

However, when Leo saw the gun aimed at Mikey, his youngest and sweetest brother, those feelings of fear and panic surged anew, compelling him to act instinctively. He positioned himself in front of Mikey, turning to shield them both with his shell. The sight of a second towering turtle startled the inebriated man into a frenzy, and in his alarm, he fired the Glock.

Mikey remained unharmed, but the bullet found its mark in Leo's thigh.

Just as quickly the situation happened, the man was apprehended and placed into police custody.

Ironically, Leo didn't even notice he'd been injured until Donnie brought it to his attention back at their lair. The wound appeared more severe than it actually was; it hadn't struck any vital arteries or tendons. Yet, as a surface wound, it bled profusely, likely exacerbated by adrenaline and his continued movement. Donnie easily fished out the bullet and stitched up the wound.

As Leo sat on the couch, he silently brooded, carefully masking his emotions while watching Raph and Mikey play video games. It was clear to anyone that Mikey felt guilty about the incident. Leo appreciated that Mikey was taking responsibility, acknowledging that his passive approach had escalated the situation, and offering a heartfelt apology. Despite this, a sting remained—not from the physical pain of the injury, which was linked to Mikey's inaction, but from the realization that Mikey was maturing. They were all growing up and evolving, a fact that brought both pride and a poignant sense of change.

Over the years, Raph had mellowed significantly. His anger became more focused during fights rather than exploding unpredictably like a tank's heat round. He even earned the trust to lead the team on some nights when the intensity was manageable. Leo vividly recalled the first time he challenged Raph to take the lead, fed up with his constant bickering. Raph, initially frozen with terror, was surprisingly humbled when the team returned more frazzled than when they had left. Although Splinter scolded Leo for his approach, there was a certain satisfaction in having Raph finally respect his leadership. Following the Kraang incident, Leo gradually began to relax, allowing Raph to take charge more frequently, initially with guidance. Over time, Leo found he needed to offer fewer and fewer pointers.

Donnie was still somewhat of a hermit, a trait that likely wouldn't change, which wasn't necessarily bad given his introverted nature. However, he was gradually coming out of his shell, engaging more with the world beyond his screens. Leo particularly appreciated Donnie's growing desire to improve his combat skills, as it provided a chance for the two brothers to spend one-on-one time together. Yet, as Donnie's skills sharpened, Leo found it increasingly challenging to best him in sparring matches. Even Raph, the physically strongest of them, was starting to struggle against Donnie.

Mikey was like experiencing whiplash with his dramatic transformations as he aged. The youngest was still brimming with energy, his jokes flowing as freely as candy from a pocket. Remarkably, he began taking accountability for his actions, cleaning up after his mistakes, and willingly taking on responsibilities without shirking them. However, Mikey's transition wasn't quiet. He often stonewalled during discussions about accountability and responsibility. His mood swings were abrupt, shifting from calm and content to inexplicably irritable when others presumed ignorance on his part. His bouts of anger, rivaling both Leo's and Raph’s combined, occasionally alarmed everyone, given that Mikey's default had always been to diffuse tension with humor. But almost as if it never happened, Mikey's emotional and mental state eventually stabilized into a more mature version of himself.

Everyone briefly wondered if Mikey was experiencing trauma, but the fact that he seemed more fulfilled with life after the tumultuous period reassured them and dispelled those concerns.

Then there was Leonardo, the leader in blue, currently wrestling with the idea that his brothers might no longer need him to look after their needs. He would always keep an eye on them, as neglecting to do so would contradict his nature as the eldest brother. However, the incident with the purple ooze, which caused a rift in his family, had truly opened his eyes. He never wanted to face your wrath again, having been viciously reminded that just because he wasn't used to the idea of his brothers possibly leaving to build their own lives—whether they remained turtles or mutated into humans—he needed to accept that they might not need him as much.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sudden warmth of your soft touch on his shoulders. How you managed to sneak up on him at times was beyond him. "Are you doing okay? Donnie told me what happened during patrol." Leo's insides melted as he looked into the gentle eyes you were giving him.

He nodded with a small smile, taking your hand in his and placing a chaste kiss on your knuckles. "I'll be fine. I'll be back to normal before you know it." The corner of your lips lifted into a smile. So pretty.

Mikey spun around. "Oh hey, (Y/n)! When did you get here?" Raph only turned his head to look.

"Not too long ago." Your focus turned on them. "Heard you ran into a bit of trouble."

The youngest grimaced at the reminder but managed to maintain a lopsided grin. "Yeah, it was kind of my fault. But hey! We kicked their butts before they could even say 'Pizza Hut'!"

Raph rolled his eyes. "There was no way he was thinking of pizza in that moment, you doofus."

"Okay, but I was! I was hungry!"

You perched on the arm of the chair where Leo was sitting, gently leaning against his side as you watched the two exchange playful banter and dive back into their video game. Leo quickly made you comfortable, wrapping his arm around your waist and drawing you closer against him.

This had become what he looked forward to at the end of each day: returning to you, waiting with open arms and a sweet smile. You were his constant. His slice of peace. Although the years and the pressures of their lives had subtly shaped your personality, at your core, you remained the same person he had first met. His thumb gently traced the curve of your hip as he rested his head against you, quietly inhaling deeply to savor your scent. If you noticed, you didn't mention it.

As the day drew to a close, Leo finally had you all to himself in his room. He didn't mind sharing your company with his family, as it always comforted him to know how well you got along with them.

You moved around his room with such ease, changing into pajamas you had stashed in one of his dressers. It pleased him every time he thought about how pieces of you were scattered throughout his space. A hairbrush, aligned neatly alongside some hair products, sat on the very dresser you were rummaging through. A few photos of the two of you, and some with everyone else, adorned the cement walls. You had even added string lights, choosing blue because they reminded you of Leo, and you just had to get them for him.

Without a second thought, he pressed himself against your partially clad back, where you were still wearing a bralette. You let out a soft sound of surprise when he placed a kiss on your shoulder.

"Leo," you warned, though there was no real malice in your voice.

"Hmm?" He feigned innocence, continuing to plant kisses up the side of your neck.

"What do you think you're doing? You're injured," you remarked, slowly turning around to face him. He let you turn, choosing instead to press his lips to the top of your head.

His mouth quirked up in a half-smile. "Tis but a scratch." That got a chuckle out of you.

“I’m serious, Leo. You really should be sitting down and resting,” you insisted, gently pushing him back toward his bed. While you both knew you couldn’t physically move Leo if he resisted, as he was a force of nature, he always allowed you to guide him where you wanted him to be.

Leo’s hands continued to roam freely over your body, tracing every dip and curve of your shape. Each contour was familiar to him, yet he remained tempted to explore it anew, regardless of how long you had been together. You followed his lead, your fingers tracing over his green scaled skin.

A brief, comfortable silence fell between you, unforced and easy. No words were necessary.

The tip of your nail lightly trailed over the raised scars lining his arms. "If I could, I would kiss away all of your scars." Your expression remained neutral as you observed him, but the waver in your voice betrayed your emotions. You empathized deeply with him, feeling the pain he must have endured as if it were your own.

There you go again, disarming him completely. In the past, he might have found this alarming, perhaps even considering you a threat to the defenses he'd built around his mind. But now, the idea of pushing you away was unimaginable. Your mind, body, and soul were too tantalizing and addictive for him to ever consider distancing himself.

Leo was at a loss for words as a small flush rose to his cheeks. Although he had never really viewed the scars he'd earned over the years as anything negative, it deeply touched him that you wished he had never had to endure the pain that caused them in the first place.

Since he couldn't find the words to express his feelings, Leo simply offered you a sweet smile and pressed his lips against yours. You sighed contently, naturally melting into his touch. The way your movements effortlessly synchronized always filled him with a sense of awe and satisfaction that no one else could provide.

The kiss deepened gradually, almost of its own accord, his tongue slipping between your plush lips in a practiced dance. His large hands encircled your waist, pulling you closer, your body significantly warmer than his turtle form could ever become.

With effortless strength, his hands moved to the underside of your thighs, lifting you up and gently setting you down on the bed beneath him. His breath was already heavy, despite having barely begun.

You squeaked in surprise, "Leo, you're going to hurt yourself." Your concern for him always came across as endearing.

"It’s sex, not an Olympic sport. I promise I can handle it," he chuckled, his voice rich with amusement. His mouth eagerly moved to the exposed skin of your chest, sucking gently. You let out a soft sigh, your eyelashes fluttering in response.

"Fine," you pouted cutely. "Just let me know if things start to get too much, okay?"

"Always." He murmurs against your skin.

Leo's fingers meticulously explored, slowly removing the remaining clothes you hadn't yet taken off. His lips seemed to move with a will of their own, seeking every curve and crevice to kiss and suckle on, leaving marks that were carefully placed where they wouldn't be visible to the outside world.

After what seemed like an eternity to you, Leo finally removed your bottoms, and his hands took their time exploring your most intimate area. You bit your bottom lip in anticipation, watching intently as Leo's movements brought his face closer to the space between your thighs.

His tongue eagerly reached out, tracing a long, wet line along your core. If his eyes had been open, you might have seen them roll back in sheer pleasure. You tasted musky and sweet, a flavor he yearned to savor more deeply. Firmly holding your thighs to prevent you from closing them, he suckled on the sensitive bundle of nerves that quivered with need. You let out a moan, your muscles tensing beneath him. As he continued, one of his hands gently caressed your breast, kneading the soft tissue and pinching your nipple. Unnoticed by him, his own arousal was evident, tightly confined within his shorts, but he had no intention of attending to himself just yet—you were his focus, far more important in this moment.

The sounds you made were music to his ears. He groaned deeply, a resonant churring emanating from his chest, as his hips pressed desperately into the mattress. Your hands, seeking something to grasp, found his arms draped over your torso and thighs, holding onto them tightly.

"Fuck, don't stop..." you whined, your voice a beautiful plea. It thrilled him to his core knowing he was succeeding in pleasing you so thoroughly.

Leo remained steadfast in guiding you to the precipice of ecstasy, unafraid of the fall, for he would be there to catch you, as he always had. His tongue shifted its focus to your clit, allowing him to slide his thick finger into your sopping depths. When he curled his finger in that perfect way he knew you loved, it sent you writhing, a choked moan escaping your lips.

This was a kind of torture he relished, with spikes of intense need coursing through his body as he ground his pelvis into the soft blankets spread across the bed, now creased and bunched from your combined movements. Leo felt no shame as he groaned against your cunt, having long moved past any reservations in your shared sexual exploits.

Leo could tell you were nearing the edge as your thighs began to twitch more erratically under his grip, and your moans grew louder and came in shorter bursts. Somehow, his efforts intensified, driven by the desire to bring you to climax around his finger.

"Oh, God! I'm gonna cum!" Your feet kicked slightly, a reaction that might have made Leo chuckle if he hadn't been so intently focused, his attention fully claimed by the task between your legs.

A sharp suck on your clit coupled with a final, deliberate curl of his finger sent you into a state of bliss, your voice stammering out his name as a flush spread across your skin. As you shuddered beautifully beneath him, Leo marveled at his fortune, wondering what he had done to deserve such a blessing as you. His tongue enthusiastically lapped at the juices pooling from your core, keenly aware of how your inner walls clenched around his tongue each time he dipped it inside you.

Once you began to whimper, he finally pulled away, his lips and chin glistening with your essence. Seeing him, usually so composed, in such a disheveled state was shockingly obscene. You were certain Leo would be mortified if anyone saw him like this—flushed with arousal and messy from your release.

The sight left you more turned on than ever before.

"Lee," you called out, but he didn't respond, busy licking your slick from his lips and staring at your pussy with a dazed expression. "Leo." This time, he looked up, and the intense heat in his eyes sent goosebumps spreading across your arms. "Baby, I need you inside me, please."

Your plea sounded like the answer to every prayer he had ever uttered. In his haste to remove his shorts and position himself between your legs once more, a searing pain suddenly shot through his leg, halting his frantic movements.

He hissed, uttering a few 'ow's, and froze in place while gripping your knees to keep them steady. Your eyes widened with concern as you looked up at him.

"Are you okay?" You asked.

"Shit, yeah. Just give me a moment. I got a little ahead of myself there," Leo admitted. He took a few deep breaths, waiting for the pain to subside.

Despite the inconvenience of the gunshot wound, it fortunately didn't dampen the mood. Especially for Leo, since you were so patient beneath him, waiting for him to recover. However, you couldn't help but smirk at him.

You must have noticed him questioning the expression on your face. "I told you, you were going to hurt yourself," you said with a knowing look.

"Shut up," he huffed, his voice tinged with embarrassment. You giggled and leaned up to press a kiss to his lips, tasting yourself on them.

The kiss served as a welcome distraction, helping him to ignore the flare-up of pain from his injury. He adjusted himself carefully, positioning the leg that would normally have pressed onto the injured one, onto his shoulder instead to keep you comfortable.

You quickly took his throbbing member in your hand, running the head along your soaked folds. Both of you moaned softly as the tip grazed the nerves that Leo had tenderly swollen with his mouth.

After a moment, you guided him inside you, and he sighed in relief as he felt your warm, wet walls envelop his cock. This sensation was familiar yet something Leo could never fully acclimate to, no matter how many times you welcomed him. You squeezed your eyes shut and let your head fall back with a soft whimper, feeling completely filled by him and still somewhat sensitive from your previous orgasm.

It was as if you encompassed Leo's entire sensory system. He could smell you, feel you, hear you—the aroma of your earlier climax permeating the room with the scent of sex. The way your inner walls fluttered around him, despite being nearly filled to the brink, was intoxicating. And the soft pants you took in an attempt to calm yourself only served to excite him further, making him even harder than before. Again, he wondered: What had he done to deserve you?

"Can I move?" Leo asked, aware that although you handled him wonderfully, he could still be a lot to adjust to, regardless of your experience with him.

You nodded and whimpered, "Yes, Lee, please..."

"Since you asked so nicely," Leo murmured, biting his lower lip to maintain some semblance of control over his voice. He began to slowly pull out, leaving just the tip inside, before pushing back in deeply.

The gentle pace was good initially, warming both of you up and allowing time to adjust to being so intimately connected. However, as Leo's desires grew more potent, it seemed you were also feeling the same urge for more. The way your brows began to knit together was a clear indication that you, too, were ready for him to intensify the rhythm.

Leo leaned down, adjusting the leg on his shoulder so it rested in the crook of his arm, allowing him to press his chest against yours to feel the intense heat radiating from you, a sensation he reveled in. His thrusts became sharper and quicker, eliciting gasps from your lips. The sweat accumulating on your skin deliciously rubbed against his plastron.

Despite the slight change in position reawakening the pain from his gunshot wound, Leo was too caught up in the addictive pleasure you provided to let it bother him significantly. The discomfort wasn't enough to stop him from continuing to drive himself between your legs, savoring everything you willingly offered to him alone.

With his face now close to yours, he captured your lips in a passionate kiss, both to swallow your moans and to muffle his own sounds of gratification. Your tongues sloppily intertwined, failing to effectively silence your noises, but neither of you cared, too absorbed in each other's pleasure to give it any thought.

Although your whimpers were smothered by the kiss, Leo could still hear them escalating in pitch. You were close to the edge again, and he would have the privilege of feeling you come undone around him.

Reluctantly breaking the kiss, Leo panted, "Are you going to cum around me?" His breath was heavy, tinged with both desire and anticipation.

His hand slipped down to rub your clit, eliciting a whine from you as your head lolled back, exposing your neck. Seizing the opportunity, Leo gently nipped at the tender flesh there.

"Oh fuck! Don't stop, please!" you cried out, gripping his biceps for support as Leo drove you over the edge.

Leo groaned loudly into the curve of your neck as he felt your insides clench around him, the sensation both painfully intense and blissfully satisfying. It was exactly what he needed to push him over the edge, leading him to release inside your welcoming embrace. He didn't get a chance to warn you, but he knew you wouldn't have minded anyway.

You gently guided Leo by the chin to place one more kiss on his kiss-swollen lips. He hummed gratefully, his eyelids fluttering shut to fully enjoy the moment.

After a few moments of heavy breathing and basking in the afterglow, Leo carefully pulled away, prompting a brief whine from you at the loss of his closeness. He walked over to one of the many organized shelves in his room, where he kept stacks of rags. Ready to return to your side and envelope himself in the warmth you brought to his bed, he didn't linger long. He gently used a rag on you first, tenderly cleaning away any traces of your intimate moments together before he considered cleaning himself.

You peered up at him with a soft smile, your eyes tracking his movements. A grin spread across your lips when he finally finished, and you stretched your arms out, inviting him to return to your side.

He returned your smile, charmed by your cuteness, as he slid both of you under the duvet's covers. You snuggled up against his plastron, and Leo, feeling content, kissed your hairline and let out a satisfied sigh.

"You still doing okay, champ?" you asked, your voice lifting slightly with concern.

"Never better."

Tagging: @whygz​, @coulrofilia-sexuell, @southernblossoms,, @peachesdabunny​

Interested in getting tagged? Come check it out!

Like what you read? Check out my masterlist to see if you find anything else!

[problemswithbooks]

I’m just annoyed by AFO, one of the worst characters and he’s the Big Bad. His main body should’ve died against Endeavor so we wouldn’t have to waste so much time with him.

I agree that Hori really didn't need to drag out OG AfO's death. I think he wanted to give All Might and Bakugou a Heroic Moment/Win but it came at the coast of pacing and AfO feeling really redundant. I mean I love All Might and I do think he needed a little bit of a moment before the end of the story but depending on how the story ends it could have possibly been left to his vestige+emotionally helping Izuku.

As for Bakugou getting his moment, again depending on how things go, could have been left for after Shigaraki gets fully possessed, with him teaming up with Izuku.

Because we're still not done with the story I can't say for sure, but I'm a little annoyed that OG AfO wasn't killed by Enji+Dabi. At the moment it seems like if/when Hori redemes the core LoV it will be last minute in a friendship is magic/breaking Shigaraki out of AfO's mind control thing. I'm not a huge fan of that and do wish that Dabi would have helped bring down AfO with Enji and Shoto. He still could have been cheering Shigaraki on from the sidelines to help bring him back, but it would have been the first step in showing he was starting to choose something for the greater good over killing his family for revenge.

It also would have given Enji, Shoto, Hawks and the other UA students that fought him more of a win, while also fitting in with the todofam subplot.

[rainnbepourin]

tama's power is evil. winning because of this is so unlike one piece...

like i would accept it if the strawhats sat down and decided that yes, they do have to rely on unsavory shit to win against the guys they're faced with now but this isn't that. they're not even acknowledging that it's sketchy.

[tired-biscuit]

farmer boy!kiri driving me insane as per usua

he’s everyone in town’s favorite guy!! big and dependable and so funny!! local housewives make it a point to wear their prettiest dresses to go and visit his stand at the local market.. but he doesn’t fall for it..

doesn’t fall for anyone until you move into town.. you work at the local bakery and sometimes visit him when the bakery needs an expedited egg delivery..

he’s so smitten with you, you’re pretty, smart and he can’t take his eyes off of you.. makes it a point to lift the heaviest things when you’re around in an effort to impress you..

little does he know how smitten you are with him.. how you purposely promote custards and egg tarts just so that your bakery needs more eggs and milk.. and you have an excuse to go see him again <3

all these meet-cutes until he finally works up the courage to ask you on a picnic.. where he lets you feel his muscles like you’ve been dying to from the start.. where he lets you take off his overalls and lifts up your skirt..

where the sun warms his and yours’ skin and where only the flowers know what happened next :3

(he ate you out and bred u <3)

18+ / fem!reader

you’ve been dying to touch and feel his biceps for the longest time now because you’ve seen the way they tighten and turn exceptionally prominent whenever he picks up and tosses those big sacks of flour that you keep ordering for your bakery from him and him only.

he always greets you in the friendliest way possible whenever he swings by to deliver you the goods; a polite nod of his head and a warm “hey there, darlin’” never fail to make you weak in the knees. the combination of it, that’s sometimes even accompanied by a rather playful wink, turns your brain to goddamn mush. goodness, you’re so into him that it’s getting kind of absurd!

but to be fair, how couldn’t you be? he’s pure eye candy, with his sharp facial features, fiery eyes and messy hair of the exact same shade that he keeps tied back with the help of a single elastic, and that exposes the sides of his neck, as well as the nape, in the most delicious of ways.

his skin is tan and sun-kissed from many days spent working outside under the blazing sun, and his back is broad; he carries any kind of weight with seemingly no trouble at all. the faded, well worn jeans that he usually throws on whenever he drives to town make his ass and thighs look absolutely divine as they hang off his hips.

the sight of them makes you feel like a sleaze from the way they coax you to ogle at him so openly again and again. stealing glances as he moves around your little storage room where you keep all your ingredients, all you can see is his tight physique, his big hands, how appealingly thick his fingers are; coated with a thin layer of white powder coming from the flour.

he’s a working man, oftentimes dirty with sweat and grime whenever you just happen to be passing by his land and spot him coming back from the fields, but surprisingly enough, he keeps his nails clean whenever he comes to see you.

and it doesn’t stop just at the nails. even his face lacks the sheen of sweat his line of work usually tends to induce, because unbeknownst to you, he doesn’t leave the house before he scrubs it clean. his signature white t-shirts — each one usually adorned with a logo of his favourite sports team — are crisp and constantly smell of pleasant laundry detergent; like they’ve been freshly washed every single time. and if his hair just happens to be a mess that day — stubborn strands, bedhead and whatnot — he makes sure to hide it underneath his trusty baseball cap just so you don’t have to see it.

altogether, it shows that he’s trying to impress you. that he’s putting in the effort.

and that effort is almost enough to make an already smitten girl like yourself admit defeat and fold right then and there; in the storage room of your little bakery. to make you rest the flat of your palms against one of the shelves, and bend right over at the middle.

until the fat of your ass is peeking from underneath your pretty sundress, no panties in sight, and he’s got drool nearly dripping from his mouth at the discovery. until his fat cock is nice and snug, sheathed inside your soft cunt, and his heavy balls are tightening from the way you’re invitingly wiggling your hips against him and hurrying to make him all sticky and wet with your arousal so that he can slide in even further, even deeper.

just by looking at him, you know he’d fuck you nice and slow, and so deep that it’d make hearts form in your eyes right before they’d cross. quiet grunts would fill your ear, his breathing ragged as it tickles the side of your neck and cheek. his calloused hands would be warm against your hips; dusting flour over your dress and skin, and providing a steady weight that you could lean on and rest your tired body against any time you’d wish.

there’d be constant pressure in your lower belly — overhelming but the good kind nevertheless. the slapping of skin against skin, the stretch, the sweat coating both of your brows. the pounding, the pleasure, the passion that’d be so intense that you’d end up feeling it in the goddamn marrow of your bones even.

and then, the climax. the white noise and bliss as every nerve end buzzes with electricity that’s powerful but mellow at the same time. the feeling of warm cum eventually leaking from your poor little pussy, down your thighs, dripping onto the floor; causing a mess you both chuckle at whilst cleaning afterwards.

his forehead pressing against your spine as he hunches his back because of the prominent height difference and waits for his cock to slowly soften whilst it’s still inside of you, still stretching your velvety walls. your clothes sticking to your salt-riddled bodies as you attempt to catch your breaths and not say anything too brash or embarrassing to each other.

you want him to rail you and fuck your brains out in this tiny storage room so bad. he’s just such a… man. bulky and strong, simple and endlessly kind. his heart is as big as his tits are, and much like the rest of him, you can’t help but leer at them, too as the mixture of the summer heat and your baked delights turns too much for him to bare in that exact moment and he swiftly loses the crisp white t-shirt just so that he can survive it.

watching him as he throws it over his shoulder and keeps it there, you start to think that you could take such good care of him. that he could take such good care of you. you can already see it; a cozy house, a couple of kids. hard work, animals and endless love. fresh lemonade and cookies. creaky wooden furniture and movie nights on the world’s comfiest couch. domestic bliss.

he’s the type to kiss you goodbye and hello again whenever he walks through the front door.

your daydreams end abruptly when he tosses the last sack of flour onto the neat little pile and turns around to look at you with a face that’s all of a sudden vividly red like a tomato; from his neck to his forehead, from one ear to the other.

you’re still blinking, sweetly batting your eyelashes up at him by the time he finally gathers enough courage to ask you a question you’d thought you’d never get the chance to hear from him.

he wants to take you out on a date, huh?

[slyscoutess]

paring: logan sargeant x fem!reader summary: your boyfriend's fans are suspicious of whoever is behind the account that defends him, even if it means attacking others writer: honestly doing this because if I start saying everything I'm thinking about what Logan is going through I'll go to jail, they don't even know the existence of the words I'm thinking now

liked by willilovers, lovingwags, champalbono and 948.818 others

F1 🚨 BREAKING 🚨 Alex Albon to race in Logan Sargeant's car or the reaminder of the weekend. Albon's chassis was heavily damaged during FP1 and a third one is unavailable. Sargaent will sit out of the Australian Grand Prix.

view all of 8.513 comments

hamiltonmyking personally i think if you crash your car you don't deserve to take someone elses

alobonoaxx maybe if you are good they don't take your car loscarfun maybe if u are good don't crash your car then lillechair you should stop fueling the enmity between the two, it doesn't seem to be very easy for anyone at williams

reminnipredestinado the level of disrespect is astonishing

liked by yourusename and 48.234 others

maxmillian Logan was doing so well in those trainings, he as happy and confident

reputationsargeant p14 and p13, he should be feeling amazing albonothinker what a bucket of could water the threw at him

williaamsfandom James Vowles, that was so wrong of you bloody hell

russelalexxie nothing surprising with again another team neglecting the second driver like that lecleccharlie and yet we expect more from James

liked by yourusename and 190 others

lovedbywaaags are we all seeing Logan's girl liking comments here?

ynloggielchild she was always overprotective of him, I don't think it will be any different now mercgirlies she and jenson must be hugging the hell of him right now, he needs

jessymrsbutton gotta feel for logan, that is so increbily harsh on him. hope alex can pull off a decent drive and points finish

hamiltonthinker Funniest possible outcome is Albon crashes in the race as well

milliansaaainz bruh??? tf was this team decision? okay, Alex is better overall but you can't get Logan out of his car cause his colleague crashed his down

1644loverera were they really not prepared for something like this on the track best knwon for this kind of thing

liked by yourusename and 289 others

lover.sincerely unprepared team and then wait for the driver's results, honestly idots, if you're not prepared to be a team don't waste time or money on it.

sargeanthourly yourusername burner account is back

first story responses in instagram dm

ynloganluvchild mother comforting father

ynthinker huuug him for us mother

havanauuhlala HOW CUTE

rappf1loover not you attacking people on twitter with him cuddle up on you

kikagaaasly i loveeee you both so much

loganthinker our boy must be so sad right now

second story responses in instagram dm

chuusargieln JENSOON

alobonowillli THIS MAN IS FATHER

logansargeantfanclub question, he was with Logan's cell today??

yourusername we confiscated it for the day, this picture came from logan's logansargeantfanclub OMG YOU ANSWERED, hey can you hug our boy while you attack williams on burner yourusername will do, dear

logansargeant i look so good on this picture

As Logan lay atop his girlfriend, the weight of the day settled upon him like a suffocating blanket. It had been a grueling day, one filled with the relentless pressure of decision-making and the constant battle against his own insecurities. Each choice made by his team seemed to amplify his doubts, casting shadows of uncertainty over his every move. The fatigue that coursed through his body was more than just physical; it was a weariness that permeated his very soul. Despite his best efforts to remain composed, the cracks in his facade had begun to show. He had fought back tears as he grappled with the gnawing sense of defeat and betrayal that gnawed at him from within.

Now, as he lay nestled against his girlfriend's neck, Logan felt the weight of his burdens lift ever so slightly. Her presence was a balm to his weary spirit, offering a refuge from the storm raging inside him. He buried his face against her skin, seeking solace in the warmth of her embrace. Her arms enveloped him in a cocoon of love and understanding, providing a sanctuary from the chaos of the outside world. In the soft cadence of her breathing, he found a sense of peace he had been desperately seeking. For a moment, the tumult of his emotions was silenced, replaced by the gentle rhythm of their shared heartbeat.

But even in the safety of her arms, Logan could not escape the relentless assault of his own thoughts. Doubt and insecurity still clawed at the edges of his consciousness, threatening to pull him back into the abyss. He squeezed his eyes shut, willing himself to block out the noise of his fears. And yet, amidst the darkness, he found a flicker of hope. It was the realization that he was not alone, that he had someone by his side who loved him unconditionally, flaws and all. With that realization came a newfound strength, a resolve to face his demons head-on and emerge victorious.

As he lay there, his fingers tracing idle patterns on her skin, a sense of unease lingered in the air, palpable even in the silence that enveloped them. He was acutely aware of the tension radiating from her, the subtle tremor in her fingers betraying the turmoil brewing beneath the surface.

He knew all too well the signs – the furrowed brow, the clenched jaw – that signaled her engagement in a battle, not just against faceless adversaries on social media, but against those who dared to assail him, to challenge his worth or question his choices. She was his fierce protector, his unwavering shield against the arrows of criticism and doubt. Despite the risks it posed to her own reputation and standing in the public eye, she never hesitated to come to his defense, to stand up for him even when it meant facing the wrath of the online masses. Logan couldn't help but marvel at her courage, at the depth of her loyalty and devotion. As he lay there, his senses attuned to every subtle shift in her demeanor, Logan noticed the telltale pause in her typing, the cessation of the incessant click-clack of keys on her cell phone. Instead, her hand drifted through his hair, a gesture both soothing and tender, as she released a frustrated sigh.

The words that followed were muttered under her breath, a barely audible expletive that spoke volumes about her state of mind. "Fucking idiot", she murmured, her voice tinged with a mixture of anger and exasperation, directed not at him, but at the unseen adversary on the other end of the virtual battlefield. In that moment, Logan felt a surge of gratitude wash over him, mingled with a pang of guilt. Guilt for the burden he unwittingly placed upon her shoulders, for the battles she fought in his name, and for the sacrifices she made to protect him, even at the expense of her own peace of mind.

Logan's awareness of his girlfriend's secondary account was not born out of snooping or suspicion but rather from a moment of transparency and trust. It was a measure of protection, a sanctuary where she could speak her mind freely without fear of reprisal or judgment. He remembered the conversation vividly, the moment when George had suggested the idea as a safeguard for her reputation. She had hesitated at first, reluctant to cloak herself in anonymity for the sake of preserving appearances. It wasn't her style to hide behind a facade or to suppress her thoughts and feelings. Her authenticity was one of the things Logan cherished most about her – her ability to speak her mind, unfiltered and unapologetic.

But when George broached the subject again, this time in the context of defending Logan's honor against the onslaught of online trolls and haters, something shifted within her. It was as if a dormant ember had been reignited, a fierce protectiveness rising to the surface. And so, with a sense of determination, she had created the secondary account, not as a means of deception, but as a tool of empowerment. It was a platform where she could unleash the full force of her wit and intellect, where she could confront those who dared to diminish the man she loved. Logan had never asked her about the account, respecting her need for autonomy and privacy. But he couldn't help but feel a surge of gratitude and admiration for her unwavering loyalty and courage. She was a force to be reckoned with, a fierce defender of his honor and integrity.

As he lay there, his head cradled in her arms, Logan couldn't help but marvel at the depth of her devotion. She was his fiercest ally, his staunchest supporter, and he was grateful beyond words for her unwavering presence in his life. And as he listened to her muttered expletives and felt the gentle caress of her hand through his hair, he knew that together, they could weather any storm that came their way. As Logan whispered a heartfelt "thank you" against the soft skin of her neck, his voice barely audible amidst the tumult of emotions swirling within him, he felt a surge of gratitude welling up from the depths of his soul. His face remained hidden, shielded from the world by the sanctuary of her embrace, yet his words carried the weight of his appreciation for her unwavering support.

In that moment, as his breath mingled with hers, he felt her body tense slightly, a subtle shift in her demeanor that spoke volumes about the impact of his words. And then, as if in response to his silent gratitude, he felt her hand release the cell phone, the device dropping to the floor with a soft thud. Turning her full attention to him, she wrapped him in a tight embrace, her arms a reassuring anchor amidst the storm of his emotions. "What did you say?" she asked, her voice filled with genuine concern, her eyes searching his for any sign of distress. For a moment, Logan hesitated, unsure if he should reveal the depth of his gratitude or if he should keep it locked away in the depths of his heart. But then, meeting her gaze, he found the courage to speak his truth. "I said thank you", he murmured, his voice barely more than a whisper. "Thank you for always being there for me, for defending me even when it's not easy."

Her eyes softened, a tender smile gracing her lips as she pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead. "You don't have to thank me, my love", she replied, her voice filled with warmth and sincerity. "It´s the bare minimun of my job as your wag, you know? love you, cherishe you, be there and kick some assholes asses on daily bases, that's what makes me president of the Logan Sargeant's fanclub" . Logan couldn't help but chuckle at her response, the tension of the moment giving way to a lightness that lifted his spirits. "Are you the president now?" he teased, a playful glint dancing in his eyes. "Do you have a whole fleet of social media accounts dedicated to worshiping me?"

He knew she didn't, of course. Her loyalty and devotion were genuine, not born out of obligation or duty, but from a deep-seated love that transcended any need for public adulation. And yet, there was something endearing about the thought of her as the president of his fan club, tirelessly defending his honor against all comers.

As he traced light kisses along her neck, eliciting a musical laughter from her lips, Logan couldn't help but marvel at the ease with which she could lighten the mood, even in the midst of their most intimate moments. Her laughter was infectious, a tonic for his weary soul, and he found himself drawn to the sound like a moth to a flame. As Logan peppered her neck with light kisses, each one carrying a whisper of his affection, he felt the weight of his emotions pressing upon him, urging him to speak the words that had been lingering in his heart for so long. Amidst the tender caresses and the soft laughter that filled the air, he leaned in close, his lips grazing against her skin as he whispered those four simple words: "I'm going to marry you."

It wasn't a question or a proposal, but rather a declaration of his unwavering commitment, a promise forged in the fires of their love. He had always known, deep down, that she was the one he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. But as the years passed and their bond grew stronger, that desire had blossomed into a fervent longing, a yearning to keep her by his side for all eternity. In a world where friendships faded and relationships crumbled, she had been his constant, his rock amidst the shifting sands of life. While others moved on with their lives, leaving him behind in their wake, she had remained steadfast and true, a beacon of light in the darkness.

And so, as he whispered those words against her skin, Logan felt a surge of emotion welling up within him – a mixture of love, gratitude, and hope for the future. For in that moment, surrounded by the warmth of her embrace, he knew that he had found his home, his sanctuary, his everything. As she turned to him, her eyes shining with unshed tears, he knew that she understood the depth of his commitment, the magnitude of his love.

As Logan whispered those three cherished words, "I love you", against the tender skin of her neck, he felt as though he were baring his soul to the universe. In that moment, every ounce of his love, every flicker of his devotion, spilled forth like a river bursting its banks, flooding the space between them with an overwhelming sense of intimacy and connection. For him, those words were more than just a declaration of affection; they were a testament to the depth of his feelings, a vow to stand by her side through thick and thin, through every triumph and trial that life might throw their way. With each syllable, he poured out his heart, laying bare the raw essence of his love for her.

And as the words hung in the air, suspended between them like a delicate thread, he felt a surge of emotion welling up within him – a potent cocktail of vulnerability and exhilaration, fear and hope, all intertwined in the tapestry of his emotions. When she whispered those same words back to him, her voice barely more than a breath against his skin, Logan felt a swell of joy rising within him, buoyed by the knowledge that his love was reciprocated, that his heart beat in perfect synchrony with hers. And so, with a tenderness born of reverence, he finally pressed his lips to hers, sealing their love with a kiss that spoke volumes of their shared bond. In that fleeting moment, as their lips met in a sweet communion of souls, Logan knew that he had found his true north, his guiding light amidst the darkness of the world.

liked by yourusername, alexalbon, lilymhe and 86.845 others

logansargeant My Dearest, I find myself overwhelmed by the depth of emotion that courses through me, like a river flowing endlessly towards the sea. For you, my love, are the anchor that grounds me in this tumultuous sea of life, the beacon of light that guides me through the darkest of nights. With each passing day, my love for you grows stronger, deeper, more profound. It is a love that knows no bounds, that transcends time and space, reaching across the vast expanse of the universe to find its home in the sanctuary of your heart. You are my rock, my solace, my everything. In your arms, I find comfort and strength, a refuge from the storms that rage within and without. Your love has transformed me, shaped me into the person I am today, and for that, I am eternally grateful. Every moment spent in your presence is a gift, a precious treasure to be cherished and savored. Your laughter is music to my ears, your smile a ray of sunshine that banishes the shadows from my soul. And when you look at me with those eyes – eyes that hold the wisdom of the ages and the innocence of a child – I am reminded of the boundless beauty that exists in this world. I want you to know, my love, that you are the center of my universe, the axis upon which my world revolves. With you by my side, I am invincible, unstoppable, capable of conquering any obstacle that stands in our way. So, my dearest one, I pledge my love to you, now and for all eternity. Know that my heart beats for you and you alone, that my soul sings your name with every breath I take. And though mere words could never fully capture the depth of my feelings, know that they come from the deepest recesses of my being – your lover, sincerely and forever yours.

view all of 785 comments

yourusername oh I’m gonna ugly cry right now 😫😫

logansargeant I'll be here to dry your tears, the bare minimum as your boyfriend ynloggieluv JUST MARRY ALREADY luvlogaan WE BEG

georgerussell63 okay rude? Where is my credit for writing the text for you?

russalobono GEORGE WHO WROTE IT?

georgerussell63 Of course, do you think an American could write that? love.sincerely shut it, stingy from lazytown, you just helped

alex_albon Do you happen to know what making us in a relationship look like?

carlossainz55 not good, that’s for sure charles_leclerc Does he charge to write one of these for me?

lovingwags THE LUCKIEST WAG ON THE PADDOCK????

logansargeant I beg to differ, I'm the luckiest person in the paddock, just to have her to call mine williamsgiirls drivers with the Mercedes symbol on their clothes putting the bar up there

jensonbutton amazing text kiddo, I won't be reading all of this, but I'm sure it's amazing

oscarpiastri I will forever be proud of myself for helping bring this couple together

spicegirlies3 Are we just going to ignore that he just assumed that his girlfriend is the one who has been defending him and attacking others?

lilymhe THAT’S HOW YOU MAKE MY GIRL FALL FOR YOU??? damn you good

liked by logansargeant and 289 others

lover.sincerely I think it's finally time to retire and delete this account, the last comment made on it will be to make it clear how much I love you, how much you deserve everything good that comes to you, Logan Sargeant, you are the most special man of the world. I would also like to make it clear to fans, all the hugs you asked me to give, I am giving, he will never leave my arms, don't worry, I will always be here to take care of our boy, just like I know you guys also will be. — your lover, sincerely.

[cepheustarot]

Who will be your love in 2024?

Attention! This reading is for entertainment purposes only. This tarot reading does not give a 100% guarantee that all the described situations will occur or being ultimate truth. You build your own life and destiny and only you know yourself best.

Paid readings

Pick a pile. Choose one or more pictures. Trust your intuition.

Pile 1. As I see it, next year you will have a choice between two people! The first man endowed with self-confidence, quite cheerful, sociable, leads an active lifestyle. At the same time, when you first meet him, you will think that he looks mysterious and in general for you he will be like a "mysterious person", because the person will not immediately talk about himself, will hide his personal information. I would also like to point out that he is more of an observer than an activist, he needs to assess the situation first, gather information and only then act, but he may delay the process.In that sense, he needs someone to push him into action. Also, this man has hard work, diligence, he tries to develop all areas of his life, to achieve balance in them, whatever he takes, he will always succeed. 

Speaking of the second person, he tends to behave closed and cold with people, but despite this external severity, he is quite sensitive inside and vulnerable. By itself, a person does not manifest or manifests rarely emotions in people, he tries to maintain calm and resistance. But he has a good reputation among people, he’s quite intelligent, erudite, spiritual, he respects tradition. Also people can often ask him for help, as he has a lot of experience, he is wise and can always say/do something that will help people. This person is also hard-working and diligent, he can have excellent grades in his studies or good stable salary at work, his activities can be related to people, for example, he can work as a teacher, lecturer, can work/study in law or in the medical field, he can also do podcasts.

Pile 2. Here, your love will be a person from the past, with whom you once stopped communicating. However, you have had quite good and warm relations in the past! By the way, there is a high probability that this is your friend from childhood or from youth, from school days (but this is not necessary, again). It may happen that you will meet by chance somewhere, or this person decides to suddenly call you, write, you will start a dialogue and you will begin to communicate as closely as before. By himself, this person is authoritative, he can be too serious, looks at things rationally, relies more on logic and facts and evidence will be important to him in disputes, not the feelings of a person. He is a good leader, purposeful, and at the same time he is a reliable enough person to trust! He clearly understands what he wants from life and how to get what he wants. He is also honest, always tells the truth to his face, he can be called straightforward. By the way, outwardly he has a pretty toned body, he has an athletic build!

Pile 3. You will meet a person who inspires people, he is a good leader and speaker, he knows how to work in a team and how to achieve success.He is a good planner, and instead of improvising, he prefers planning, acting strictly according to plan, but even if something does not go according to plan, he can calmly adapt to the situation, in this regard he can be called flexibility to adapt. He is also financially literate, does not make mindless purchases, knows how to save money and generally monitors his spending money. He can devote a lot of time and effort to work, in this regard he is a workaholic who does not know what rest is. He is not one of those who likes to lose and admit defeat, so he will stand up to the end in an argument, proving his truth. At the same time, this person is prone to self-sacrifice, it is difficult for him to say "no", he is ready to help loved ones and people, is capable of full dedication. He may have many difficulties and problems in life, but nevertheless he tries to solve them all, and in general he prefers the approach of "it is better to do something that is in my power than to do nothing."

Thank you for reading! I will be glad of any feedback 🖤

[tryingtofindava]

hi !! could u write tyler x fem reader where they are dating, and instead of tyler being impaled by a tree it’s his girlfriend ! thank u

── 𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐆 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄!

{[TYLER HERNANDEZ X FEM! READER]}

: ̗̀➛Back to Source

Your breath was staggered, twitching every few seconds or so. Trying your best to keep your eyes open, which proved to be a tricky task.

‘I wonder if I’ll die in the real world.’ Your thoughts spoke loudly, too loudly for your own liking. Why was it so quiet anyways?

Have the other’s drove off?

Will you ever see your friends again?

Will you ever see Tyler again?

I hope they’re safe from that… thing…

…

Is this how you die?

Thoughts like these consumed your mind. Y/n let out a defeated grunt, as she tried to push herself from the tree one more time. Her efforts were all futile though…

She is quite literally a human kabab. On this dead tree. In the middle of fuck all. The girl sighed shakily, her tear filled eyes trailing down to her stomach

. Looking at the tree that had pierced right through her very being, blood gushing out of you at an alarming rate, making it look like a Saw movie in real life.

This sucks major a-

SNAP!

Your head wipe to the side, your puffy eyes widening at the grinning face staring back at you. Shit. You have to get off this tree. Now.

Your brain is in overdrive as you try to push yourself up to escape from the phantom that was approaching rapidly. You close your eyes real tight, waiting for the phantom to scale the tree with ease and end your suffering.

TWACK!

Opening your eyes and peering down, blood dribbling from home parted lips. “Y/n!” You heard the red heads voice call up to you, though it was all muddled from the blood loss.

“Ashlyn, have you found her-“ Tyler looked up, his mouth falling open in utter shock. His hand shakes as he shone his flashlight up on your hanging body.

“Help me get her down!” Ash called out to the boy, who hurriedly went to help the leader to save his girlfriend. While Ben, Aiden, Taylor, and Logan watch from the sidelines.

Making quick work to get the needed medical equipment Ashlyn’s dad had placed in the real world for them to use to help.

You let out a pained whine as you feel Tyler lift you from the bark of the tree. His brows were furrowed as he focused on doing this as quick as possible to not prolong your pain.

“You’re safe now, I got you…” He murmurs quietly to you shaking form.

Everyone in the group made team effort to help you, all while Tyler gripped onto you so hard like if he let go it’d be game over. Mumbling reassurances, though you couldn’t tell id it was to you or himself.

Aiden was talking your ear off to keep you awake. “Y’know? This isn’t even that bad! One time, my bone went through my knee while playing football!” He blabs, though it didn’t help you feel better or assured at all.

“Dude, not the time!” Your boyfriend scolds him, while he rocks you in his shaking arms. While Ben and Logan stitched the gaping hole going through your back to your stomach.

“You’re gonna be okay, I promise… I won’t let anything bad happen to you ever again.” He squeezes your arm.

A/N: SOZ THIS WAS SHORT!! ^_^ I’ll probably add more and make it better in the future lolz :3

[rileyslibrary]

can you maybe do something where like, things simon does when he realizes he’s falling for you? :,)

Let me start by saying that I see Simon as someone more accustomed to others falling for him than the other way around. Like, he is the one who tends to be pursued rather than being the pursuer, if you know what I mean? I don’t know why but I feel he doesn’t have to put too much effort into wooing someone (and he probably knows that). A tall, beefy dude with a rugged appearance and that voice of his? The guy has it easy.

Now, what if he’s the one who falls for someone first? Aha! Well, He doesn’t even realise he has feelings for you, but they manifest in other ways, mainly through actions.

Ghost, as your lieutenant, for example, starts assigning you to low-risk missions or insists on accompanying you to ensure you’re safe.

In a more personal context, Simon offers to pick you up from your home so you don’t have to walk or take public transportation. He might even escort you to your car at night to protect you.

He tells you jokes he thinks you’d enjoy. He absolutely loves it when you laugh; he feels defeated when you roll your eyes and even a bit salty when you already know the joke (or fail to “get” it.)

He pays close attention to the details. He remembers your favourite food, how you like your coffee/tea, and your pet’s name. No, he won’t cook for you (yet), but he’s taking mental notes, studying you.

However, he’s not aware of what he’s doing exactly (or why he’s doing it, for that matter). It’s not until the rest of the team notices and insinuates that there’s something more between you two that he comes face to face with his emotions. Emotions he’s not ready to accept yet.

He rejects the idea that he has developed feelings for you and hopes that by suppressing ignoring them, they’ll fade away. But, as my boy Freud once said, “unexpressed emotions never die; they are buried alive and come forth later in uglier ways.”

He begins distancing himself from you. He rebuilds the walls you once torn down and returns to treating you just like everyone else. He had people he loved before, and it’s only brought him pain. His past experiences have left deep scars, and he’s determined not to go through that again. He’s not just doing it just for himself, though; he also wants to protect you from him and the pain.

Him. Pain. What’s the difference?

You, on the other hand, pick up on his behaviour but don’t confront him about it. “You know how the lieutenant is,” they once told you. “Sometimes he’s all jokes, other times he’s just business.” Maybe, you think, he needs his space. So you begin mirroring his actions, pulling away and giving what he seemingly wants.

But he secretly doesn’t want you to do that. Contrary to what he hoped to achieve by distancing himself from you and, therefore, from his feelings for you, he falls even harder.

Once cocky and arrogant, now he’s insecure. He starts projecting his fears onto you, feeling that you’re the one pulling away, even though you’re merely respecting his unspoken need for space.

So he confronts you. He wants an explanation for the change in your demeanour. And you? Well, you tell him the truth; you thought he needed some space. Right?

Who knows. Maybe you were just respectful. Perhaps you were giving him a taste of his own medicine.

It doesn’t matter. What does matter is that he gets it now. Running away from his feelings or those he cares about doesn’t work, just like ignoring his emotions won’t make them disappear. On the contrary, they directly affect both him and you.

Of course, he doesn’t admit it. No, he wouldn’t be caught dead doing that.

Yet, he decides to (re)open up to you, this time gradually, bit by bit, at his own pace. Just for a chance that this calculated, ruthless operator that many perceive him to be can finally transform into a genuinely emotionally invested human being for the first time.

[siren-nate]

I was thinking about the Chosen One, as I'm always doing, and... I realized something really disheartening.

Chosen has never won a fight while fighting for the right side.

His first fight with Alan? Right before he can teach him the lesson he deserved, he's captured and enslaved by Avast! for years. His second fight with Alan? He comes out on top this time, but it was that victory and the subsequent rampages that made the Dark Lord, his only ally, go off the deep end.

His grudge match with Dark? He's holding the advantage most of the fight, but is immediately overwhelmed when Dark puts on the wristbands. Even when he goes full bash brothers mode with Alan, the high point of their character arcs where they mutually forgive each other and work together as an incredible team, they lose to the ViraBot army. To add insult to injury, that practically nullifies his earlier win against the singular ViraBot.

The Mercs? We don't even see the fight that preceded it - we begin in media res with Chosen full-bore fleeing. His fight with Victim in the Box? What fight? That was a torture session where Victim was holding all the cards from the very beginning.

It just really has to sting. Imagine being THE strongest person in your universe 99% of the time, and one day, you look back and realize that every single time you were fighting for the right cause, you completely and utterly lost. Your only victories came when you were still a villain. You are a being created for and defined by your world-shaking strength, and you are always being overtaken by villains who are careful strategists, making concerted efforts to never give you a chance to breathe until you're worn down and defeated.

It gets hard to feel like you're living up to the name "The Chosen One".

[sc0tters]

Miscommunication Efforts | Nico Hischier

summary: when Nico finally realises how much his family mean to him.

request: yes/no

warnings: none.

word count: 1.31k

authors note: I was in a soft mood tonight and picked a prompt that let me write for a player of my choice (so let’s thank Luna for this one). Dad Nico is not a phase, it is a way of life.

pt 2

You could feel Nico slipping away.

Days felt longer as the time you spent with him decreased. The captain spent every waking moment that he could at the rink. A habit he had each time he came back from an injury and usually you were willing to stand by and let him go through this.

But this time you couldn’t, not when Rosie was around. She was your little seven month old baby girl who was the absolute light of your life.

Now Nico was a great father, you loved how he was with Rosie. But these last few days it felt like he didn’t care about either of you as he’d leave before you woke up and he’d only come back when you were too tired to keep your eyes open.

Jack had been over twice since it all started as he wanted to make sure that you were both okay. The Hughes boy could tell that his captain had something on his mind beyond just the game and family.

You decided to spend the day in New York with some of your friends as the girls hadn’t seen you or Rosie in weeks. Of course you sent Nico a message telling him that you two weren’t going to be at home for most of the day but what you didn’t expect was that when you eventually did come home Nico would be pacing around the apartment in a panic.

He walked up and down with his phone in his hand as he rambled to his mother about something in German. When he locked eyes with you it seemed that relief ran through his veins “she’s home.” Nico blurted out before he quickly hung up.

Rosie giggled as you bounced her on your hip “where the hell were you both?” Nico groaned as he practically pulled her from your arms.

You furrowed your eyebrows “I literally told you we were out-” you tried to remind him of it but he clearly didn’t seem interested in hearing your words “you took our daughter to New York for the day and didn’t even ask me if I was okay with that!” The hockey players loud voice caused Rosie’s lip to quiver.

It made you glare at your boyfriend “look it is sort of hard to treat you like her father when she hasn’t seen you in a week.” Your voice was soft as you tried to get Rosie to calm down “I’ve been busy with the team.” Nico tried to defend himself hit you weren’t having any of it “the same team that has been over to see your daughter?” You crossed your arms only opening them when Rosie reached out for you to take her again.

The silence began to overwhelm you as Nico looked like a child who had been caught in the act “I’m going to go give her a bath.” You announced letting out a sigh as you walked in the direction of the bedrooms before Nico could say anything.

Rosie seemed totally unaware of your defeated state as she focused on her rubber ducky “da!” She giggled looking up at the door. You turned your head to see Nico watching you both “want to sit?” You asked shifting up slightly as you made space for him.

Nico nodded as he joined you on the floor smiling as Rosie stared at him with her hair full of shampoo “mein kleiner Kürbis.” The hockey player cooed reaching out to tap her nose.

She looked at her father was the only man in the world as she made a small noise in response as her nose scrunched “why don’t you go relax schatzi?” Nico asked turning his attention to you.

The look on his face was guilty as though he realised how little he had seen of you both “I think mommy deserves time without us.” The grin Rosie sent him was one you’d remember forever as it warmed your heart “mommy is going to go have a bath of her own.” You explained bringing your hands into the water to wash away the soap that was on them “I’ll see you in there.” You pressed a kiss onto Nico’s head as you got up leaving them alone as all you heard was the sound of Nico telling her some story in German.

In the bathroom of your bedroom the chaos of the smaller bathroom had not seeped into yours. You lay in the bubbles almost falling asleep as the smell of lavender and rose soothed your mind.

“Schatzi?”

The knock at the door pulled your attention away from the oasis of peace that you had formed “come in,” you called out turning your head to the door.

Nico’s head appeared as he locked eyes with you “I just put her to sleep.” He explained sitting down in a similar position to what he was in when he bathed Rosie.

You nodded “I’ve been shitty to you both.” Nico blurted out making you smile “that’s one way to put it.” You giggled as the boy brought his hand into the water to splash you.

It made his heart warm “we have to win the game and Rosie started calling Jack dad before me an-” you raised your hand to stop him “she called Jack dad?” You furrowed your eyebrows almost wanting to be amused by this.

The hockey player nodded “she called him da,” it made his cheeks turn red as he was embarrassed by the fact that his teammate got called dad before he did.

But it made him feel worse when you laughed “hand me my phone,” you pointed to the device on the table. You were quick to unlock it clicking on a video.

The soft sounds of ABBA played through your speakers as you bounced Rosie on your lap letting both of you move along to the music “you like ABBA baby?” You smiled as she nodded “da da,” Rosie wrapped her hands around your fingers as she frowned hearing the music change to something that Nico had picked.

You laughed seeing her expression change “less daddy music more ABBA?” You asked as she nodded making you skip the song.

Nico watched the clip twice over before he looked back up at you “well now that makes me feel like a real idiot.” He confessed pushing his lips into a fine line “yeah.” You nodded placing your phone back on the table as you looked at him.

He reached out to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear “I don’t know why you put up with so much from me.” The hockey player sighed frowning as you looked at him with so much love “because I love you.” It was clear that you did “Rosie does, Boo will.” The second mention confused the boy.

You smiled as you scrunched your nose “surprise?” You shrugged as he quickly point the pieces together “we’re having another?” Nico gasped letting his jaw drop “Rosie picked the name and we were gonna tell you-” your ramble was cut off as Nico kissed you.

It was soft and full of love “I’m so sorry you couldn’t tell me earlier.” Your hand held his “you’re here now.” You squeezed his fingers as you looked at him.

The moment was one you two were bound to remember “baby I need you out of there so I can hug you.” Nico’s words made you laugh “last time I checked this bath was big enough for the two of us.” You shot back watching as he pulled his shirt off of his back.

All you wanted this entire week was the contact that your boyfriend gave you. Rosie needed her father but so did you. Pregnant or not, you missed your boyfriend and we’re glad to have him back.

“I’m here baby, just how you want me.”

[berrieluv]

academic rival!Remus Lupin x reader.

oh, the "who did this to you" trope, my beloved.

None of you knew how it started, and if someone ever dares to ask Remus would most likely groan at them, he didn't understood your dynamic.

He felt that nauseous feeling grow in him when you would get a slightly better note than him, even when it was the same note but your assignment got to be praised by the teachers.

You liked it. You needed the motivation and the competition to stay on top. Some people liked Quidditch, others joined the chess team, you and Remus created a rivalry to get through the school days.

Remus and you have never actually be friends. You liked James and Sirius, you thought they were funny, and in any situation you could imagine yourself dating Sirius, you shared a funny dynamic where you both would flirt. But the competition with Remus' took most of your time, it was almost as if he was your actual boyfriend.

Now that you think about it, you spent most of your time with Remus, or thinking about him, or thinking on defeating him. Your thoughts were 80% Remus Lupin and actually just a 20% school.

Now, in the last party before summer vacation, you both thought of taking a rest. No ditching your friends because you were busy studying, no "I can't drink, I have school tomorrow" anymore.

Just you, Remus and a ridiculous amount of butter beer. And of course, a lot of students as well, but Remus felt like it was only you and him right there.

You looked gorgeous. Remus thinks he never had any chance to look at you this way, to think of you as the most beautiful woman in the room. He knew you were pretty, he may hate you but he wasn't blind. He could see why Sirius had a thing for you. But now, in that exact moment, Remus couldn't take his eyes off you.

You were wearing jeans and a revealing blouse. Classy but somehow informal at the same time, Remus thought that maybe the shoes complete the outfit. That and your tide up hair, he wondered how much it took you to style it like that, he knew there was a lot of effort on the way you tried to make your hair look messy. It was a specific kind of messy you liked.

"Hey, Remus!"

He smiled at the girl who sat by his side, he didn't want to be rude, he was a gentleman, but his mind was killing him to turn around and watch you.

The girl in front of him was pretty, she was funny and she could keep up with any topic Remus would mention, she was well spoken and her body behaved in a way that was almost royalty-like, but he couldn't stop thinking about you, standing just a few steps for him, all that would take was to turn around.

"Remus, are you listening to me?"

No, he wasn't.

"No, sorry, love. What was it?"

She never got mad, not when Remus lost the track of the conversation or when he finally looked behind his back. To his misfortune, you weren't there anymore.

A few hours passed, the first girl was now long-forgotten and Remus was just sitting on the couch listening to Dorcas and Marlene talk about something and occasionally turning to ask him as well.

He felt his body on alert mode when he saw you again. It was around 1:00 a.m., if he was counting right, it was around three hours where he spent without seeing you.

Your face looked in panic. Your arms where hugging your body and your hair was in a different way than before, your lipstick also disappeared and he knew that sad smile way too well to ignore that something happened.

He excused himself from the girls and got up, making all the way to you, touching your arm only to feel you flinching at it, he frowned, because yes, you could say were enemies, but Remus has touch you many times, you could say you were used to it, and not once have you flinch.

"Is everything alright?"

"Yes"

But your eyes were filled with tears now and you felt so embarrassed, of what happened and for crying in front of all this people. You hided your face on Remus chest, trying to stop people from seeing you cry, Remus started to move his body a bit so it looked like the two of you were slow dancing, even when the music was nothing like that.

Remus took you upstairs, it was James' home after all, he could do whatever he pleases there.

He sat you on Sirius' couch, in his room and looked at you better, with the lights fully on. There were wounds in your arms, the kind of wounds the nails cause when they're drowning in the skin.

Remus tried to touch your face and you pulled back with an 'ouch', there was no visible marks but he could tell your left cheek was sore comparing to the right one.

"Who did this to you?"

He didn't know why he was so mad – Well, he knew if it was any other girl he could try tot help too –. He didn't know why he wanted to kill, why the Moony part of him felt like waking up when they were so far from the full moon.

You couldn't speak, you didn't knew his name, you only saw a Gryffindor pin in his jacket before he took it off.

"He was blonde" You say with tears in your eyes, not exactly sure why you felt so comforted right there with Remus, you wanted that asshole to suffer. You wanted him to cry, you wanted him to know how it feels to have someone doing things to your body without you wanting them, without you being able to stop it. "He was a Gryffindor"

And it's not like there's only one blonde Gryffindor in Hogwarts, but he knew one that would do exactly something like this.

"Stay here, I don't want you downstairs"

"He didn't... he didn't got far!" You yell before he could exit the door "He just tried, he, he couldn't take off my clothes, completely, he just tried. Nothing happened. I'm overreacting" You said with tears in your eyes, you felt ashamed, you were dirty now.

"More than enough happened" Remus walked away from the door and kneeled in front of you, kissed your knee and looked at you "Now stay here. I don't want you downstairs, alright?"

How could he not know who it was? It was the same blonde Gryffindor who called you 'Remus' little bitch' once, the same man who said out loud in a boys' night at the common room how you were one of the main girls he fantasized about, how he wanted, no, needed, to have you in any way he could.

Remus felt sick at the memory. He remember how the words twisted his stomach back then and he remember doing nothing, one of his Housemates was expressing out loud how he would even come in terms on raping if necessary and he did nothing.

"Remus, I've been looking for you" Sirius says, hanging from his shoulder and walking at Remus' speed once he didn't stop; "Where're we going?"

The boy didn't answer, he couldn't, his tooth were clenching he felt like he could break them at any moment. And the second he saw those blonde hairs and that cocky face he didn't doubt for a moment on throwing the first punch.

Sirius would always tell the story, and he would always mention he swears he has never feel sober up as fast as he did that day.

The alcohol evaporated from his system.

"Mate, what the... what is wrong with you?"

"You know what you did" Remus answers, caressing his fist with his other hand and looking at Tom, ready to kill him at any moment.

"Oh" He chuckled "You mean what I did... to your little girlfriend?"

You were not his girlfriend, but Remus didn't think necessary to point it out now, in fact, he sort of liked the thought of that. He would come to terms with that later.

"She wanted it tho... She was throwing herself at me like a bitch in heat"

And Remus threw another punch. He didn't even think of this one, the only thing he knew is that his hand was already making contact his his face.

Tom fought back, he punched Remus and that's when Sirius thought of getting involve, when that bastard's friends started to go against Remus.

"She was drunk!" He yelled once he felt James pulling him away, Sirius distancing himself from the others once James arrived and yelled at them to stop. "You had no right touching her, she was drunk!"

Lily tried to calm Remus down while James made sure of kick everyone out from the party.

"Remus, relax, alright?" He tried to breath but he couldn't bare to even think of you, scared, begging for it to stop and not feeling strong enough to do something about it, the impotence. "Where is she?"

"Upstairs"

"What if you calm down and go look for her? How does that sound? Spend a bit of time with Y/N, she must be scared and exhausted. She needs you to be there"

He nods, that actually sounded good, just the two of you, lying in Sirius' bed, or you lying in the bed while he's on the floor, maybe just holding hands, he didn't know. He was so confused right now, too many emotions.

Remus walked upstairs and opened the door, you looked at him, worried and ran to inspect his body, he just chuckled.

"I heard the fight" You say, calmly.

"Sorry" He says and you frown "I thought Sirius' room was soundproof"

You shake your head "Why did... why did you get into a fight? You don't fight"

"I've come to realize, that I can only fight when it comes to you. Whether is against you or for you"

"You will fight me?"

"I fight you every single day it's crazy. I spend more time thinking about you than any girl I've like. My relationships don't work because I'm just looking forward the next time I see you in class to see if I did better than you. There's days where the only thing feeding my will to live is our silly competition"

"But will you fight me, tho?" You asked with a smile and curious eyes. "Like you did today"

"I could take you" He simply answer "Not in a fight"

You chuckle and look at him, his hair is messy, even more than it always is, his shirt is missing around three buttons and you can see his chest, his cheek is red and it's starting to turn purple and yet he still looks a weird way of divine.

And you felt brave enough to kiss him. Remus feel like standing on clouds, it was the first time he could confirm he believed in God.

"Does this mean we're not rivals anymore?"

"Don't be silly, Remus. One kiss doesn't erase years of competition. I could mop the dirt with you"

"What about two kisses?"

"I would have to think about it"

[bucky-bucky-bucky-bucky]

Glutton for Punishment | Bucky Barnes x Reader

Hello, hello! I am back back back again. My life has been busy, y'all. School is kicking my ass. But this fic has been like 94% complete for like a month, and I finally got to finish it! yay!

wordcount: 8939

Warnings: angst, self harm, Bucky's trauma

Bucky collapsed onto the bed with a defeated huff. The mattress rippled under his weight and jostled the computer resting on your thighs. His chest rose and fell with another dejected sigh. His meetings with Fury never went well- but they weren’t always bad. Sometimes, things between them were cordial. Neutral. This was not one of those times. Bucky wanted to sink into the bed and never come out. He wanted to dissolve into the earth and disappear. The only thing anchoring him to reality was, as always, you. 

“Hey, how’d it go, babe?” The comforting lilt of your voice floated through the air. Maybe drenching your words in overt positivity was too much, but it seemed necessary. Maybe if you could coat your voice in optimism, it would fix whatever plagued Bucky. But you knew it was useless to hope. 

He didn’t answer. He just stared up at the ceiling, a blank expression on his face. Coming home to you after a bad day or a shitty meeting was always his saving grace; being near you brought him peace. But he hated bringing the shame home with him. 

“That bad, huh?” you ditched your laptop and laid next to him, propped up on one elbow. “What happened?”

Silence. He didn’t tear his eyes from the ceiling. Didn’t even blink. He just gazed upward- hopeless. 

In the quiet, your fingers traced up and down his arm. You pressed kisses to his shoulder. He always had a way of shutting you out before allowing you in. It wasn’t personal; it was just his process. He opted to suffer without your help until the pain ate away at him. And when there was almost nothing left, he tore down the walls and welcomed the onslaught of comfort. 

“He said it was my fault.” Bucky tried not to sound too pathetic. He knew you worried about him- a lot. Knew that his misery always hurt you. Seeing him in pain brought you nothing but heartache. But his efforts did nothing to hide the anguish in his voice. 

You didn’t want to make him repeat the whole ordeal, to relive whatever messed up shit Fury said to him- but you needed context. Your words were soft, your voice gentle. “He said what was your fault, baby?” Bucky didn’t deserve more blame, more guilt. Though none of what he did was his fault, a lifetime of remorse rested heavy on his shoulders after his Winter Soldier days. You wondered how much unjust blame he could carry before it crushed him. 

Bucky sighed, “All of it. Everything that went wrong on that last mission- the explosion, all those agents getting hurt-”

“What? You weren’t even the lead on that job- how is any of it your fault?” Heat rose in your chest. Your heart pounded against your ribs. Defending Bucky was your first instinct, your first priority. And while he accepted the shame with which Fury saddled him, you immediately turned to protection. To rage. 

Bucky shrugged, “he said I’m the most experienced, so I should’ve known better than to let the lead take our team into the lab.”

 “Wait- he said you should’ve argued with the mission lead?”

Bucky nodded. 

“But didn’t he reprimand you last month for that exact reason?”

Again, he nodded. 

“What the fuck?” Wrath sizzled beneath your skin. No one was allowed to treat Bucky this way- not even Fury. He contradicted himself and put his hypocrisy on full display, knowing Bucky hated himself too much to argue. 

“I can-” Bucky’s voice came out hollow. Empty. Guilt had him in a chokehold. “I can see where he’s coming from…”

“No, don’t do that.” It wasn’t a reprimand- but a reminder. You laced your fingers with his, “You know it wasn’t your fault.”

He refused to make eye contact. “I mean, I could’ve spoken up-”

“You weren’t even with them, were you? Didn’t Fury tell you to hit the warehouse on your own?”

He nodded.

“So how is any of it your fault, Buck?” Fury sent Bucky into a tailspin with almost no effort. He knew exactly which buttons to push, which wires to pull. Fury made him his puppet, his scapegoat. He made Bucky work harder than anyone else and never delivered the praise he deserved. Instead, he met Bucky’s efforts with tongue-lashings and bitter insults. With blame. 

“I don’t…” he shrugged. “I don’t know- but it feels like it’s on me. A lot of people got hurt and I am the most experienced. I should’ve said something-”

“But if you did, Fury would’ve called you into his office to tell you that you’re arrogant- like he did last time.” A deep breath filled your lungs and calmed your system; anger wouldn’t help Bucky. You needed to channel that energy into comforting him, easing his mind. 

You softened your tone, “You know you can’t win with him, Buck.”

“Maybe because I tried to kill him… twice.” Finally, he looked at you, “And I can handle being called arrogant- those agents got hurt, doll. That’s different.”

“I know it’s different. I’m just saying… you weren’t involved. You did what you were told- what Fury told you to do.” Your hand cupped his cheek, he leaned into your touch. “And if he wants to get mad at you for that, he’s a piece of shit. He knows he fucked up, and he’s pinning it on you.”

Bucky pulled you close. He curled in on himself with you at his center, his head resting against your chest. The logical part of his brain believed everything you said. It disregarded Fury’s false accusations and willed the blame to dissipate. But the rest of him took Fury’s every word as gospel. It rejected your assurances, categorizing them as obligatory kindness from a significant other. Shame feasted on his soul. He didn’t want to feel this way, but it came easily. By now, it was second nature. 

“Thanks, doll…” He lifted his head and brought his face to yours, “I appreciate you.” He meant it; no one ever supported him like this. But you always listened. You were always there for him, even when he was too ashamed to look you in the eye. You showed him patience and kindness and led him out of the dark more times than he could count. 

He dotted a few soft kisses to your lips, “I’m gonna take a shower.” 

“Wait-” Your hand caught his as he tried to get up, “I love you.”

A shy smile pulled at Bucky’s lips. He once again met your lips with his, needier this time. “And I love you.”

He stripped off his shirt and, immediately, your eyes landed on it. By now, you knew better than to stare. But sometimes, you couldn’t stop yourself.  

The first time it caught your eye, you couldn’t avert your gaze. You noticed it right away- how could you not? It drew your focus the first moment Bucky removed his shirt in front of you. You didn’t think anything could ever distract you from his perfect body- but you were wrong. 

A massive bruise splashed across Bucky’s skin. The cluster of broken blood vessels was dark at the center- nearly black. It exploded into by purples and blues that stained his right shoulder and eclipsed his chest. Sometimes, an angry, red haze leaked from the edges like a wine stain. Greens and yellows- signs of healing- colored the border every now and then. But no matter how many times you bore witness, they never seemed to overtake the tones of violet and navy. 

For whatever reason, this thing refused to heal.

On more occasions than you could count, you asked Bucky about this large indigo mark. And he always had an answer:

“Ran through a wall”

“Jumped out of a plane”

“That John Walker asshole hit me with Steve’s shield”

He did, indeed, have a dangerous job and a penchant for peril. For taking risks. But no one else on the team ever seemed to have a bruise like that. Even you received your fair share of stitches and broken ribs, but never anything as persistent as Bucky’s bruise. 

Wasn’t he a super soldier? Wasn’t he supposed to heal fast- really fast? His other injuries disappeared like they’d never happened; why did this bruise stick around? 

“I think you need to get that looked at,” you told him once, “it can’t be good that it never heals...”

Bucky shrugged it off with a smile. He kissed you on the forehead and thanked you for your concern. But he didn’t get it checked out. He downplayed the massive bruise eclipsing his body and moved on, just like he always did. 

“What are you lookin’ at?” Bucky quirked a brow at you, his shy smile making another appearance.

You shrugged, “Doesn’t it hurt?”

“It’s not- it’s not that bad,” Bucky did his best to hide his bruise with his vibranium hand, but the colors extended far past what he could cover. “I’m used to it.”

Something had to be wrong with him, right? Something inside his body had to be out of order. The first time you saw it- the first time you saw him without his shirt- was six months ago. How long could a bruise last? And how long did he have it before he showed it to you? 

Why hadn’t the serum fixed it by now?

Bucky was well past his expiration date. He lived more years than the universe intended, and his body suffered enough trauma for a hundred lifetimes. He was strong, he was a survivor. But every time you stole a glance at the inky spot on his skin, anxiety blocked your airway. Part of you wondered if this mark signaled his end. There was a chance that his body already started breaking down, that all those years of abuse caught up with him. Maybe his bruise was a harbinger. Maybe his days were numbered. Maybe he was dying. 

Maybe you were about to lose him.

Those kinds of thoughts pushed bile into your throat. You shoved them into the darkest corners of your mind and did your best to lock them away, but they reappeared from time to time just to hurt you. Taunt you. Bring you to tears. And while Bucky made his way into the bathroom and turned on the hot water, you remained fixated on the inky spot. On his demise. 

Bucky did his best to let the shower cleanse his mind. He told himself he’d let it all go- all the guilt and the blame. He knew he didn’t deserve it. But his shame didn’t run down the drain. It didn’t wash away with the warm spray of the shower. No, he remained coated in it, dripping with it, no matter how hard he scrubbed. And though it wasn’t an unfamiliar feeling, he never welcomed its reemergence.

A sliver of levity wriggled into his chest as he emerged from the bathroom. He found you reading in bed, your brows knit together in that cute way he loved. But your focus shattered when he stepped into the bedroom. He watched you dogear your page and shut your book as he climbed into bed. 

“You don’t have to stop reading because of me, doll-” 

“I was only reading while I waited for you,” you extended a hand in his direction and tugged him closer. He didn’t need to know that you only opened your book to distract from your crippling anxiety about his condition. He didn’t need to know that you read the same paragraph over and over and over without retaining a word. “Now that you’re here, I don’t need any other form of entertainment.”

“Is that so?” He narrowed his eyes at you and gestured to the book resting on your chest, “I’m better than Dracula?”

“Way better. So, the guy drinks blood and sleeps in a coffin-” You shot him a wink and knocked your book to the floor, “big whoop.” A dramatic eye roll and a quick laugh accompanied your comments about Bram Stoker’s masterpiece. But a sudden seriousness banished your playful tone as you gave Bucky a once over. He didn’t look any better- not that he ever looked bad. But the hot shower did nothing to help him relax. All his muscles remained taught. His brow still furrowed. The tension in his jaw seemed to turn to concrete. He was hurting. 

“How you doin’, Buck?” A gentle hand smoothed over his shoulder and slid down his arm. “You okay?”

A manufactured smile spread across his face. His shoulders rose and fell in an all too casual shrug. “I’m fine- I’m good.” He couldn’t seem to maintain eye contact for more than a few seconds.

Another tug of his hand brought him closer. “You don’t seem fine…”

“No, really. I’m okay,” he brought your hand to his lips and pressed kisses to your palm. He was the farthest thing from okay; it was written all over his face. And though he did his best to put on a façade for you, you saw through the cracks. A heaviness lurked behind the grin he wore. A deep sadness darkened his gaze. You knew he probably spent the entirety of his shower replaying Fury’s words and berating himself within an inch of his life. 

An extra helping of guilt dropped upon Bucky’s shoulders as he studied you. One of your nails dug into the cuticle of another. Your smile remained tight and tense. He could practically see the anxiety surging through your nervous system. And it was all his fault. You were worried about him, upset about him. How could he do this to you when you brough him nothing but peace?

He found it in him to take a deep breath, to let his shoulders fall a fraction of an inch. “It’s just gonna take a little time for me to get out of the shitty headspace Fury put me in. I’ll be alright-” He pressed a kiss to your cheek, “I promise.”

Fucking Fury. He seemed to allow everyone else chance after chance; he granted grace to every other member of the team. Everyone but Bucky. “You wanna get some sleep, then?” you cupped Bucky’s cheek, “hopefully, you’ll feel better in the morning.”

Bucky nodded. He reached over and flipped off his bedside lamp before giving his pillow a few adjustments. He got settled under the covers and waited for you to do the same- but you didn’t. You laid there, watching him. 

“You gonna turn your lamp off, doll?”

“Not until you’re all situated.”

Bucky looked down at his perfectly arranged covers and then back at you, “I’m um, I think I’m settled, baby.”

You quirked a brow at him, “Are you though? Come on-” you found his hand under the covers and pulled him closer. “Assume the position, Barnes.”

He let out a labored, tired laugh. “Baby, thank you, but I can’t. My hair’s still wet, you’re gonna be cold-”

“I don’t care- you had a rough day.”  You could practically see the war raging within Bucky’s psyche. He was dying to crawl into your embrace a disappear into your warmth. But he couldn’t- not tonight. 

“It’s okay, doll. You don’t have to, it’s-” 

“Come onnn, Buck. You knowwww you waaaant toooooo.” You gave your chest a few light pats, beckoning him to you. “I know it always makes you feel better.”

Of course, he wanted to. Something about resting his head on your chest, listening to your heartbeat, and feeling your hands in his hair eased his soul. Even on his darkest, most soul-crushing days, he found solace with you. But guilt still gnawed at him; Fury’s rant played on a constant loop inside his head. And after what he’d supposedly done, he didn’t feel as though he deserved your love. 

“Baby, I know you feel bad; And I know you’re trying to deprive yourself. But guilty or not- which you are not-” you gave his hand a squeeze, “you deserve comfort.”

A touch of heartbreak colored your voice. You were desperate to help Bucky, nearly begging him to grant himself some grace. Some care. In his attempts to hurt himself by staying far from your embrace, he’d hurt you instead. He’d made you sad, filled you with worry. He wondered if he’d ever be able to do anything right. 

In an instant, he did as you asked; he’d do anything to make you feel better. His head rested against your chest, his wet hair dampening your shirt. It sent a rush of goosebumps over your skin- but you didn’t care. A deep sigh left Bucky’s chest as he melted against you. He often swore his body was made to fit yours, that he only existed to touch and be touched by you. 

“See? Isn’t that better?”

“Mhmm…” he sighed, “much.”

You ran a hand through his wet hair, “Good. Now, let’s get some sleep. Okay?” You flicked off your lamp and wrapped your arms around Bucky, willing every ounce of your love into his body. He’d feel better in the morning- you knew he would. He just needed time and rest and a little love. And you gave him more than he ever dreamed of. 

But around two in the morning, a strange sound vibrated on the edges of your consciousness. The dense ‘thud’repeated endlessly, like an eternal metronome. It resounded inside your head, mixing itself in with your dream until it finally woke you. 

With your face still smushed into your pillow, you muttered Bucky’s name. The sound stopped- maybe you imagined it. Maybe it really was just part of your dream. Silence settled over your room once again and lulled you back to sleep. 

But only a few minutes later, that sound woke you once again.

Your words came out sloppy, heavy with sleep. “Whass tha noise?” 

No answer. 

“Baby,” you said, more alert this time, “You hear that?”

Bucky didn’t respond. 

With a groan, you forced your eyes open. There was no sign of disturbance or struggle; nothing out of the ordinary caught your eye. Everything was in its place- except Bucky. And when you pressed your palm against his side of the bed, the sheets lacked any remnants of his warmth. 

This wasn’t like him- not anymore, anyway. Back when you first got together, Bucky left the room when he woke from a night terror. He’d slip out of bed and escape to the living room, forcing himself to withstand his panic attack all alone. But one night, you found him on the living room floor- desperate for breath. He clutched the corner of the rug and gritted his teeth, willing the anxiety to receded. 

He flinched when you touched him; he didn’t hear you approach over the pounding in his ears. But the second he saw you, he reached for you. His sickly white knuckles regained their color as he released his fists and collapsed against you. He dropped his head into your lap, falling forward with the weight of his trauma. And he allowed your voice to soothe his racing mind. He let you guide him out of the agony. 

Of course, he apologized for waking you. For inconveniencing you. Of course, you wouldn’t hear it. And when the panic finally subsided, he let you walk him back to bed. He buried his face in your chest and thanked you a million times over. After that night, you made him promise to wake you when these things happened- no matter what time it was. You made him promise not to suffer in silence. And he agreed. 

You didn’t know he had his fingers crossed. 

“Buck?” the anxious pounding of your heart boomed in your chest. “Baby?” You kicked the blankets from your body and abandoned your bed. Slivers of light made their way through the blinds and splashed across the floor, allowing you to search through the darkness. He wasn’t sitting on the floor or in the armchair near the window. Nor did you find him in the en suite bathroom.  

“Bucky?” The hall was empty and the office void of Bucky’s presence. And while you searched for him, the sound refused to cease. It echoed through seemingly every fiber of the apartment. It haunted every space. Unfounded worries threw themselves at you, fighting to topple you to the ground. What if Bucky was hurt? What if he was gone? 

No- he was fine. Of course, he was. Right? He had to be. The home you shared was safe. Nothing here could hurt or harm him in any way. 

Well, maybe not nothing.

The thudding of your heart grew loud in your ears, nearly eclipsing the mystery sound all together. Part of you even doubted the existence of the noise- maybe it was just your anxiety getting to you. Maybe Bucky was in the kitchen grabbing a late-night snack, perfectly safe and happy. 

But when you rounded the corner into the living room, all doubt fell away. Shards of your heart did the same as you stood in shock, watching the source of the sound reveal itself. 

Bucky sat on the floor near the window, his back resting against the couch. 

His metal fist hammered against his right shoulder again and again, beating the flesh a sickly blue. 

The utter shock stole your breath, forcing it violently from your lungs. A burning erupted from your chest and spread through your every cell like wildfire. The floor seemed to tilt and ripple as a wave of dizziness sent you nearly collapsing into the closest wall. And through all of it, the sound persisted. The sickly thud of metal striking skin, striking bone.

But there was no time for your shock or sadness or heartbreak. Bucky needed you.

“Buck? Hey-” In only a few strides, you made your way to his side. But he didn’t look at you. He didn’t meet your eyes when you sat down in front of him, nor did he stop his assault. “Bucky, baby, can you look at me?” 

He didn’t. He simply forced his hand against his chest over and over, no matter the pain. 

“Bucky,” you didn’t recognize your own voice. It came out more strained, more desperate than you’d ever heard it. The sight of Bucky doing this to himself almost made you sick, the sound covered you in goosebumps. A flood of saliva rushed into your mouth, warning you of the impending threat of vomit- but you forced it down.

Every time you asked about it, every time you wondered what caused that bruise- you never imagined it was self-inflicted. 

“I need you to stop, okay?” Your words came out frantic, “Can you- can you just look at me for a second?”

His hollow gaze remained fixed on the floor. Anguish twisted his features, pulling his face into a pained mask. But his eyes held no life. 

“Please-” your palm landed on his bruised shoulder mere seconds before the next strike. The force of his vibranium fist was sure to shatter your hand, but you didn’t care. You’d do anything to stop him from hurting himself. Anything to ease his pain. And if you couldn’t make him stop, maybe you could soften the blow. 

But just as his fist once again neared his shoulder, he stopped. “Move,” his voice was low, almost timid.

“No.”

“Doll,” his eyes remained downcast, “I need you to move your hand.”

You refused. “I’m not gonna move, Buck. I’m not gonna let you hurt yourself.”

Finally, he dragged his shame-filled gaze upward. His despondent look sliced through you, cutting right to the bone. This was worse than the vacant stare he wore moments ago; this was utter misery. “Please…” his voice caught in his throat, barely pushing its way past the tension. “Move.”

But your hand remained; you’d keep it there until the end of time if you had to. 

Warm, salty tears breached your lips as you spoke, and only then did you realize you were crying. “Buck, why are you doing this?”

“Because I know you won’t.” He clenched and unclenched his metal fist in a never-ending cycle, itching to resume his efforts. “None of you will. Not Sam. Not Hill. Not ever Fury. So, I have to.”

“Of course, we won’t. Why- Why would we?” It was an unfathomable thought. 

“I need- I deserve to be punished. I deserve to face consequences for my actions.” The words fell from his lips in what resembled a recitation, like he had a script to follow. Like he’d said this before. “There are always consequences…” Again, he pulled his hand into a fist; the vibranium whined under his strength. “There have to be consequences.”

“There were consequences- your meeting with Fury? That was the consequence.”

He shook his head, “It’s not enough- people got hurt.”

“It’s more than enough…” With your free hand, you reached for Bucky’s cold fist. He resisted at first, almost scared to be without his method of punishment. But he never could resist your touch. One at a time, you uncurled his fingers from his tight fist. You pressed his cold palm against your chest and held it there, allowing the beat of your heart to vibrate through the metal. “Especially because you didn’t do anything wrong. People got hurt- but it’s not your fault.”

Bucky ached to maim himself. He needed to feel pain. Needed to get what he thought he deserved. But he couldn’t bring himself to tear his hand from your chest. And though you blocked his bruise and made punishment impossible, he liked the way your palm felt against his black and blue skin. It was the one part of him you always shied away from for fear of hurting the already tender flesh. But your touch soothed the deep ache.

“Baby, how…” you swallowed the lump forming in your throat, “how often do you do this?” You weren’t sure you wanted the answer; just the thought of Bucky doing this to himself day in and day out filled your chest with storm clouds. But you needed to know.

His words held a deep shame, “Whenever I deserve it.”

“Buck, you’ve had that bruise for at least six months...”

He shrugged, “I deserve it a lot.”

Everything inside you burst into flames. You wanted to tear Hydra apart, to destroy them for what they did to Bucky. They altered his sense of self so violently, so irreparably, that they changed who he saw in the mirror. He viewed himself only as a vehicle for destruction, a receptacle for other peoples’ wrongs. They drilled into him an acceptance of abuse, of pain, of torture. And now, he didn’t know how to operate without it. 

“No, you don’t- you don’t deserve this.” A small quiver forced its way into your voice, “even if this whole thing was your fault- which it wasn’t- you wouldn’t deserve to be hurt.”

He stared at you for a long moment. Sometimes, he didn’t understand. He couldn’t comprehend the sentiment that he didn’t deserve pain and suffering; that he wasn’t always to blame. It was almost like you spoke different languages. Shuri may have eliminated the Winter Soldier programming and rendered his trigger words useless, but she couldn’t remove his shame. His guilt. His instinct to assume blame.  

“I can’t do anything right-” His right hand gripped the edge of the rug. He needed some way to release his tension, his anxiety. The fabric bunched inside his fist and twisted with his every move. 

“It seems like no matter what I do- or don’t do- someone ends up hurt. That says something about me, doesn’t it?” 

“No. It doesn’t.” You slowly removed your hand from his metal wrist and found his right fist. He eased the tension in his grip with your help and released the corner of the rug. It fell crumpled against the hardwood, struggling to regain its shape. “Buck, you always say that you blame yourself because you think you’re a bad person. But I actually think you blame yourself because you’re a good person.”

He gave a small shake of his head. 

“You’re willing to shoulder whatever guilt or blame other people put on you- regardless of whether you deserve it- because you’re not selfish.” He was, in fact, the least selfish person in the world. He’d set himself on fire to keep you warm. Would move heaven and earth to make you smile. He was loyal, devoted. He cared about you, about his friends, without ever putting himself first. 

“And you haven’t buried yourself in ego or pride like some of the other guys we work with.” 

Bucky let out a soft laugh. 

No, he didn’t bury himself in ego; he had no ego. His self-image wasn’t inflated or overexaggerated. He just wanted to do his best. To help. To offset with light some of the darkness he caused. 

“And maybe it’s your way of seeking redemption- not that you need to be redeemed,” you gave his hand a squeeze. “But maybe part of you feels like if you accept enough responsibility, it’ll make up for the things you were forced to do as the Winter Soldier.” 

He let out a sigh from somewhere deep within him, somewhere he didn’t know he had. It seemed to him like he’d been holding on to this truth, this breath, since the day he escaped. And here, in the darkness, he released it. “I just… I don’t want to be the bad guy anymore.”

“That’s the thing Buck,” you gently stroked a few fingertips across his massive bruise, “You never were.”

His forehead fell against yours. The two of you sat there, motionless, for what felt like forever. Cars moved on the streets below. Thunder rolled through the sky. Rain drops tapped against the large windows. But neither of you noticed. 

“If I move this hand-” you tapped your once again fingers against his bruised shoulder, “are you gonna do it again?”

He shook his head. 

With great hesitancy, you removed your palm from the evidence of his self-inflicted punishment. It looked worse in the eerie 2am lighting, like a black hole formed on his skin; you feared it might envelope him completely if you let it. Your lips replaced your hand, leaving the softest of kisses across his skin. Bucky let loose a small sound- something like a whimper- as you traced the bruise with your mouth. He let a few tears slip down his cheeks. 

“Thank you…”

You took a moment to drink him in. He was stronger than humanly possible. Hugely muscular. Nearly indestructible. But in the middle of the night on the floor of your living room, he looked so small. So fragile. His shoulders caved forward, and his read remained bowed. His voice wavered. His right hand shook ever so slightly. He was a man haunted, possessed by his past. Fearing the future. He was hurt. Broken. Lost in others’ perceptions of himself. He lay trapped under his need for validation from those around him. He sought approval from people who never dreamed of granting it. 

You wondered if he’d ever be free from his ghosts, or if they’d follow him until he became one himself. 

“You don’t have to thank me,” you pressed a kiss to his forehead. “All I ever want is to be there for you when you need me.” The tremor in your voice matched Bucky’s. Pure hurt rendered the air around you thick and heavy. You ached for Bucky, and he, in return, ached to be anyone but himself. 

“What do you wanna do? We can go back to bed. Or if you don’t feel like sleeping, we can hang out in here and watch some tv.” You ran a hand through his sweat-dampened hair, “Up to you.” 

Bucky’s mind still raced. His brain sat stewing in a deep pit of sorrow and anguish. But he was tired- exhausted. And while his mind wanted to stay up for a while, he let his body decide. His chest and shoulder screamed with pain. His skin stung. Each breath forced a sharp agony into his consciousness; he knew he must’ve cracked a rib. “Let’s-” he grimaced as an inhale filled his lungs, “let’s go back to bed.”

As gently as you could, you helped Bucky from the floor. He smiled when your hand found his as you led him in the direction of the bedroom. The two of you shuffled down the dark hall in silence with no clue what to say. Bucky wanted to apologize; you wanted to drown him in promises of your love. 

Bucky stopped short when you paused, almost running into you. You turned to him suddenly, eying his bruise in the dim light. “You go ahead, okay? I’m gonna grab you an ice pack.”

“Doll, thank you, but I’m fine-”

You narrowed your eyes at him, “does it hurt?”

He shrugged; the motion made him wince. “I mean, yeah. But it’s-”

“Exactly.” You pushed up on your tip toes to press a kiss to his cheek, “I’m gonna get you an ice pack. You get your ass to bed- I’ll be there in a second.”

Bucky whispered a ‘thank you’ and headed in the direction of the bedroom, leaving you alone. But just as he turned the corner down the hall, guilt wrapped around his ankles like a ball and chain. He was stuck; his need to apologize rendering him frozen. He watched you turn in the direction of the kitchen and wondered what he did to deserve you. “Hey, doll…” he called after you. “I’m sorry for waking you.”

“Nothing to apologize for. I promise.”

“But I-”

 “You’re doing your best. You’re coping in the only way you know how. That’s not something to be sorry for.”

Bucky shrugged, winced, and disappeared into the bedroom, eager to escape your line of sight. Everything you did, you did for him. And though that knowledge should’ve eased Bucky’s soul, it only added to his guilt. He marked yet another tally to the long, long list of ways in which he didn’t deserve you. 

The walk to the kitchen wasn’t long- but it provided a sliver of extra time for you to cope in private. If Bucky knew just how much this upset you, how heartbroken you were, he’d never forgive himself. He, instead, would add that knowledge to his ever-growing mountain of shame. He’d adopt a new method of self-punishment, something more subtle, easier to hide. And he’d never express his guilt or shame to you ever again, all to save your feelings. You couldn’t do that to him; he deserved an outlet, a sounding board, a space to vent. You’d never dream of robbing him of that. 

“Alright, here we go,” you pushed open the bedroom door. “I got you one of the big ones, cause that thing is massive, and-” If you didn’t look up at the right moment, you would’ve crashed right into Bucky. 

He stood near the foot of the bed, just inside the door, almost vibrating with anxiety. It rolled through him in waves and placed tremors in his hands. He didn’t stand a fighting chance. 

His massive frame looming in the darkness almost blocked your path completely- and scared the hell out of you. “Shit-” You tripped over your own feet and stumbled backward, but Bucky wouldn’t let you fall.

He caught you in the nick of time, snatching you from the air and righting you on your feet. “Oh, hey- I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

Without a word, you pressed the towel-wrapped ice pack to his skin. Though he detested the cold, the sensation awarded him much needed relief. A deep sigh left his chest as his pain receptors deadened and the constant, months-long throbbing subsided. This was the first thing to put his pain on pause in- he couldn’t remember how long.

You searched his face for any indicators of discomfort, “How does that feel?”

All he could do was nod. The two of you stood there a while as Bucky drank in the relief. The muscles in his shoulders released their tension, his breaths came a bit easier. But something dark lurked beneath his quiet surface. 

“Such a gentleman, waiting for me to come back before getting in bed,” you threw him a wink.  

Bucky’s attempted laugh came out broken, disjointed. To his credit, he tried to laugh for real. He wanted to put this whole night behind him and slide into bed with you. Under the covers, surrounded by your body heat, nothing could hurt him. The skeletons of his past couldn’t claw out of the ground and wreak havoc on his psyche. But a nagging dread yanked at his heart. 

He couldn’t pretend things were resolved. He couldn’t forget his troubles and intertwine his body with yours like the knit of a well-loved sweater. The crushing weight of Fury’s blame sat atop his shoulders, growing heavier by the second. But he couldn’t find it in him to tell you, to ask you for help. 

“Come on, let’s go back to sleep. Okay?” You tucked the ice pack into Bucky’s hand and started toward your side of the bed, “I know you’ve gotta be exhausted.”

But Bucky didn’t follow. He didn’t join you, didn’t even nod. He stood there, stuck, his feet anchored to the floor. The cold pack ate through his nerve endings until his hand went numb. And no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t fill his lungs. They felt shallower, somehow- like they lost all capacity. 

His deadened fingers fell open, allowing the ice pack to fall against the floor. The sound pulled your focus, halting your efforts to right the sheets and blankets. 

“Buck?”

He didn’t answer. 

“Hey…” Quick steps brought you face to face with his empty stare. “Is everything-”

His knees met the hardwood as the weight of his anxiety forced him into submission. He fell against the cold floor with a sickening thud, his body shaking with the force. His head bowed; his spine curved forward. Ragged inhales forced their way into his ever-constricting lungs.

“Please-” he begged through choppy breaths, “if you won’t let me do it myself, I need- I need you to.”

“Buck, I’m-”

“I need you to hurt me.”

His words gutted you. 

“Baby, no.”

He begged over and over for punishment. For pain. 

Bucky fell against you the moment you joined him on the floor. His head lay buried in your neck, his sharp breaths fanning your skin. He begged through the tears, through the torment, for pain. And you refused. Instead, you gave him the lightest, softest affections you could manage. 

Under different circumstances, your gentle touch would’ve saved him. It would’ve brought him comfort in his moment of distress, grounded him during a bout of panic. But he didn’t want kind hands. For the first time, your soft touches prolonged the agony. The light circles you rubbed against his back filled him with impending doom. With misery. He wanted torture. Agony. 

And even if he were dying, he’d willingly sacrifice his last breath to ask for punishment. 

As carefully as you could, you helped Bucky lay down on the floor. How his body continued to run remained a mystery to you. He was drained, physically and emotionally. He was hurt. Panic ravaged his nervous system and pumped him full of cortisol. He was running on empty. 

“Let’s try to relax a bit, okay? Let’s try to breathe-”

He shook his head against the rug, “No, I need- I need it. I need you to- can you…” His words came out weak- but desperate.

Your hands raked through his hair and massaged his knotted muscles. Over and over again, you swore your love to him. You showered him in assurances and words of kindness. And though he was grateful when sleep won him over, it didn’t stop his efforts. Even as he finally dozed off, he begged. 

“P- please…” he sighed, his eyelids fluttering. “Need you… need you to.” His hand twitched, his brow furrowed. “Hurt- hurt me.” Hearing it didn’t get any easier. 

For what must’ve been the millionth time, you refused. 

And while Bucky slept in your arms, you remained wired. Every cell in your body swam in a cocktail adrenaline and cortisol. You wondered if you’d ever sleep again.  Just when you thought Bucky’s story couldn’t get any darker, it seemed to do just that. His life was all shadows and wormholes wrapped in an inky abyss. No stars, no moon. Just shapeless, unsettling, endless night. 

He deserved better. 

The sun rose as you fell asleep. Your mind shut off; your body gave out. Thinking yourself in circles while Bucky slept in the safety of your arms depleted your every ounce of energy. Worrying this much didn’t seem healthy; you didn’t think it was even possible to feel such deep concern. You never knew how taxing crying could be. But Bucky was worth it- hands down. 

No part of you wanted to fall asleep; Bucky couldn’t be left unsupervised. But a biological need for rest demanded you get some shut eye. And while you slept off the gut-wrenching night you’d spent with Bucky, anxiety seeped into your dreams. Images of Bucky maiming himself flashed behind your eyes. You saw him bloodying his body, abusing himself. His bruise haunted you. 

Waking in bed threw you for a loop. Only a few hours ago, you’d dozed off on the throw rug covering your bedroom floor. But when you opened your eyes, you found yourself snuggled under the duvet with Bucky’s body under yours. His arms held you tight, your face nuzzled into his neck. This was how things were supposed to be. 

It was then you realized- your head lay against his bruise. Even in your sleep, you did your best to protect him from himself. He wouldn’t dare strike his shoulder and risk hurting you. But the weight of your skull had to hurt him, didn’t it? He was sore, miserably so. Just the pressure of your palm resting against his bruise the night before made him wince- surely, your head was too much. With the utmost caution, you pulled your head from his chest.

“It’s okay- doesn’t hurt,” his voice was weak, full of exhaustion. You didn’t know he was awake. 

“Oh. Okay, good. I, um,” you looked around for a few seconds. “I don’t remember getting in bed.”

“We didn’t- well, you didn’t.” He couldn’t believe that after everything he put you through the previous night- all the pain, the heartache, the worry- he let you fall asleep on the floor. It was selfish of him, inconsiderate. He should’ve insisted that you get in bed. He should’ve done what you asked and crawled under the covers with you. He failed you- again. “I didn’t want you to sleep on the floor…” 

Your lips met his skin in a chain of soft kisses, “You know I don’t mind.”

“But I do,” he returned every kiss you granted him.

He woke nearly half an hour after you finally dozed off and found you curled up against him. Your head rested against the cold hard wood; the itchy rug left marks against your skin. A small shiver rattled up your spine and pushed you closer to Bucky’s warm embrace; it was too cold for you to sleep without a blanket. His body begged him to go back to sleep, but he couldn’t- not yet. He lifted you from the floor, his shoulder aching with the effort, and tucked you into bed with all the care in the world. Only then could he fall asleep once again. 

“I’m sorry about- about all of it,” he said. “Last night was-”

“You don’t have to be sorry,” you pulled your face from his chest, “I just wanna know what that was about.”

Bucky hoped that acting innocent would save him. “What?” Maybe if he pretended like he didn’t know what you were talking about, you’d move on. Maybe you’d tell him to forget it and save him the explanation. You didn’t.

“When you asked me to…” you gave a small shake of your head, “to hurt you.” The pain in your voice sliced through Bucky. He wondered if words could make him bleed. 

“Oh. Yeah. That was… I was out of line,” his jaw tensed. “That wasn’t okay. I know I made you uncomfortable- I’m sorry. I never wanna upset you. I was being stupid. And selfish. It wasn’t fair of me-”

The shame practically dripped from Bucky’s lips. You could almost see in running down his chin, staining his skin. He expressed his remorse for things that weren’t his fault, for things he couldn’t control. He told you how sorry he was for his trauma responses and the anxiety that held him hostage. Maybe one day, he’d believe you when you told him he didn’t have to apologize. Today was not that day. 

“I’m just worried about you, Buck. And I wanna help in any way I can-” you took a deep breath, “I just can’t help in that way.”

“I know.”

“Can you maybe tell me- can you help me understand?”

He remained silent for a long while. If he stayed quiet long enough, he could avoid any further distress on your part. With his silence, he could provide solace. But no. You had a penchant for knowing what made Bucky tick, no matter the pain it caused you. 

Your unflinching stare drilled through him until he couldn’t take it any longer. “I needed you to hurt me because that’s what I’m used to. I’m used to punishment,” he finally said. “Because when I fucked up at Hydra, there were consequences. They’d beat me within an inch of my life to get the message across.”

Of course, this was a sad truth you already knew. But hearing it aloud- from his lips- gutted you. The image of a cowering, broken Bucky sent bile rushing up your throat. You could see him lying in a cell somewhere, his blood staining the concrete as Rumlow tore him apart. And of course, he’d never fight back- he couldn’t. Not unless ordered to. 

“And now, that’s what I’m accustomed to,” he rested a hand against his bruise, almost on instinct. “I don’t know how to operate without it. I thought I’d be happy to never experience it again but… I feel like I need it.”

Showing Bucky kindness and understanding sat atop your priority list- but you couldn’t grasp his perspective. It didn’t make sense. He lived a life so foreign to you, so utterly other, that the things he said often left you confused. While the two of you had many similarities and things in common, some experiences would simply never be relatable. Some stories could never be shared. 

And similar to how Bucky couldn’t understand your flagrant disregard for locking the front door, you couldn’t fathom why he’d beat himself blue.  

“Why, Buck?” It wasn’t that you wanted to know. No, the truth could only serve to hurt you. But you needed to understand. You needed to untangle every knot within Bucky’s psyche and help mend his frayed edges. In order to help him, you had to first grasp his perspective. “Why do you ‘need’ it?”

“Because I know I deserve it.” The words came out course, almost aggressive. Bucky shot you a sheepish look, his method of a wordless apology. The next time he spoke, his voice was softer, his tone more even. “I’ve been conditioned to expect it. And waiting for that pain is- it’s torture. It’s almost worse than the punishment itself.” 

He thought back on all the beatings he received as result of fucking up missions. On one occasion, they broke all twelve of his ribs in one sitting. Another time, they turned almost his entire body blue with bruises. But the times they made him wait it out were far worse than any bloodshed. He jumped at every sound, lost the ability to think. To sleep. To breathe. Every moment fell prey to the anticipation of agony. Bucky shuddered. 

“I keep expecting pain. I feel like I have to look over my shoulder.” The urge to tear himself apart scratched at the inside of Bucky’s skull. If he could just deliver his punishment- if he could just get what he knew was coming- he’d be okay. By destroying his body, he could soothe his mind. But with you so close, staring at him with your blood shot, heartbroken eyes, he was stuck. “It’s like this sense of impending doom that doesn’t end unless I get what I know is coming.”

Things fell quiet as you thought over his words. Anxiety was an old friend you knew well. It accompanied you through everything, never leaving your side for more than a few days. But what Bucky described- that was the stuff of nightmares. That was misery. 

“Hang on,” you tripped over a detail in his story, “then what happened last night?” You didn’t mean to sound skeptical- it wasn’t like that at all. You believed every word Bucky said. One part, however, didn’t quite make sense. “Last night, you got your punishment. You got the pain. Why did you ask me to-”

He sighed, “Last night was different. You caught me. I had to stop- I’ve never done that before. I’ve never stopped right in the middle. I was only out there a little while before you found me.” His vibranium hand pulled into a fist and slowly released. He did this time and time again as the urge hurt himself gnawed at him. “I didn’t do enough. It felt like holding in a sneeze or something. And when we came in here to go to sleep, I still had this sense of looming pain, an impending punishment. And I knew you wouldn’t let me give it to myself. So, I asked you to do it.” 

The far-away look in his eye dissolved as he came screeching back to the present. Guilt dragged his features downward into a near scowl. “But I shouldn’t have done that. I’m so sorry.” The remorse weighed more than he could shoulder. If he thought he knew what guilt felt like before, he was wrong. 

“It’s okay, Buck.” You knew the memory of Bucky begging you for punishment would haunt you forever. It took up prime real estate in your mind and cut you deeper each time you paid it attention. But he couldn’t help it; this was part of his journey. When you started dating Bucky, you knew he wasn’t a ‘regular’ person. Darkness and demons followed him wherever he went, filling his mind with horrors most people could never imagine. Of course, there were going to be speed bumps and rough patches on the road of your relationship. But he never did anything with malice in his heart. He was simply trying to survive. “I know you’re just doing your best-”

“My best is pretty shitty.”

He was always so callous with himself, so unforgiving. It wasn’t fair. “Baby, you’ve made a lot of progress.” He was a completely different person than he was a few months ago. He’d worked hard every day to wade through his trauma and find himself on the other side- all while saving the world. “But it doesn’t all have to happen at once. You can’t heal from everything in one fell swoop. It’s not linear. It’s a slow process-”

“Really slow.” He let out a huff and pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes. Part of him wanted to run; he couldn’t believe he’d subjected you- the kindest, most loving person on earth- to this corner of his awful reality. But he knew being without you was a fate worse than death. Worse than Hydra. 

“I don’t want to do this-” he motioned toward his bruise. “I don’t want to hurt myself. But I don’t know how to stop. I don’t know how to heal the part of me that’s always looking over my shoulder for a punishment.”

You smoothed his hair back and let your hand drift down his cheek, “You don’t have to do it on your own, Buck. Maybe you should talk to someone-”

He shot you a pointed look.

“Not Dr. Raynor. Someone else. Someone with empathy.” 

Bucky gave a firm nod and a quiet laugh. “Okay, yeah. That works. 

“And in the meantime, whenever you feel that impulse, I want you to tell me, okay? I want to help you through in whatever way I can.”

He tried to protest, but you silenced him. “I’m in this with you- full stop. I’m with you for all the hard stuff and the things you hate about yourself. I’m always in your corner.”

He snaked his arms around you and pulled you as close as possible, relishing in the feeling of your heart beating against his skin. 

“This is a pain-free household, okay? We don’t do punishments here. We don’t hurt ourselves, and we don’t hurt each other.” You wiggled a hand free and offered Bucky your pinky, “promise?”

Not hurting you was a given; Bucky would never dream of causing you pain. But refraining from hurting himself was another story. The need sometimes possessed him, drove him to harm himself when the guilt grew too heavy. The look in your eyes, though, pushed him to promise you. You held such love for him, such adoration. And he knew you meant every word you said. You were going to help him through, to support him, no matter what. 

He linked his pinky with yours, “Promise.”

“Good.” You pressed a quick kiss to his lips before pulling away, “hey, do you have Fury’s address?”

Bucky cocked his head to the side, “Uh, yeah. I think it’s in my notebook in the office. Why?”

In one swift motion, you slithered from Bucky’s arms and slid out of bed. “Oh, no reason,” you sighed as you headed for the door, “I’m just gonna egg his house.”

———————

Taglist: @beefybuckrrito @shadytalementality  @everything-burns-down @rainbow-unicorn-pony  @mandersshow @breakablebarnes @psychoticmason @glxwingrxse @lonewolf471 @dreamerglassesgirl  @the-gods-gloted-but-they-burned @purpleshallot @seitmai @itvy5601 @dailyreverie  @navs-bhat @eviesaurusrex @themorningsunshine  @evangeliamerryll @buckys-metal-arm @broadwaybabe18 @the-kestrels-feather  @avocadotoastwithegg @goldylions @lokisasgardianvampirequeen @vrittivsanghavi @idkitsem @avengetheunnatural @rassvetsky @hereforbuckyandsteve @barnesselo

[bluecollarmcandtf]

18, going on 30

This is Troy, the youngest kid on the basketball team. He can shoot hoops alright, but I don't like him. The twerp skips all my lectures, and I've had enough! He doesn't deserve what he doesn't appreciate.

I'm 30 years old.

It's been 8 years since an injury ended my athletic career. I ultimately got a teaching degree, but this was never my dream. I hate lecturing to a crowd of hungover idiots; I hate staying late to grade papers when I have to wake up early for meetings; but I hate most of all what this life has done to my body.

I've gained a lot of weight since my basketball years, and what was once lean muscle is a thick layer of soft flesh now. I'd do anything to have a body like Troy's again. If that kid is going to take his life for granted, then I deserve it way more then he does.

"Troy!" I yell to catch his attention.

It's just him and me in the gym. I need to do this quickly before any of his teammates show up for practice, so I begin speed walking across the court.

"Mr. Johnson?" Troy looks amused to see his finance teacher in a gym, "What are you doing here?"

"I'm here for you, kid," I pant, finally meeting him by the hoop. I'm a little embarrassed by how out of breath the walk has made me. I already feel hot and sweaty from the effort.

"Is this about missing class?" the young jock laughs before taking another shot.

"Actually, yes" I take the opportunity to begin the transformation, "You need to get back to the lecture hall don't you? That exam is going to take awhile to grade."

"What are you talking about, professor?" Troy sneers, but he seems less comfortable.

"I'm talking about you, professor," I go on.

"I'm not..." he stammers, "You're the teacher, ok! Practice is starting soon, so just get off my back." Troy turns his attention back to the basketball hoop. The idiot hasn't even noticed how much his body has already transformed.

"I'm the teacher?" I grin at how well my plan is working, "Mr. Johnson, look at yourself."

Troy takes a nervous look down.

"What the hell!" Troy cringes as his voice comes out much deeper than he expected it to, "Why do I sound like that? What'd you do to me?"

"Nothing!" I lie, "But you look pretty stupid in my game shorts, dude."

"Where did this come from," Troy bellows and grabs his bloated gut in a panic, "And why does my whole body ache all the sudden?"

"Well, Mr. Johnson, you are 30," I remind him.

"I'm not Mr. Johnson!" he growls, pouting at the new layers of mass hanging off his body.

"Yeah, you are," I insist, "You're a professor, remember?"

"I guess I must be," Troy sighs in defeat, "I just didn't remember getting this old and fat. What do I teach, again?"

"Finance! That's what I've been trying to tell you!" I exclaim, already feeling youthful energy coursing through my veins, "You should get back to your classroom. You've got papers to grade."

"Right," Troy grumbles, unhappily accepting his new reality as Mr. Johnson, "Sorry to bother you...um, what's your name again."

"Come on old man!" I tease him, "I have you for finance! I'm Troy. Remember?"

"Of course," he curses his bad memory, "Troy, have a good practice."

Troy begins walking off in my former body. I really had let my old self go. Mr. Johnson looks even chunkier from the back, and those tight gym clothes only make him look worse.

"Mr. Johnson!" I call, "Can I get my clothes back?"

The man pauses and glances down at the small shorts he's wearing.

"Of course! My bad," he fumbles his way to the locker room, "I must've grabbed them by accident."

"Sure you did, creep," I mutter.

I hate to be so cruel, but feeling young again is exhilarating! The rest of the team is showing up by now, and they automatically laugh when I tell them about the professor in the locker room. To them, I'm their youngest star teammate.

I finally have the life of my dreams back!

"I'll see you at Thursday's class," Mr. Johnson emerges from the locker room and hands over the basketball clothes.

"Not likely, old man," I chuckle, joining my teammates in warming up. I can hardly wait to get this scrimmage started.

Troy shuffles back to the finance classroom in my old body. The rest of the building is dark, but he flips the light on, finding a thick stack of papers to grade.

With a labored sigh, the mature man sinks into his chair and gets to work. His head is still foggy about the whole conversation with the young basketball player. He can't figure out why he'd been in the gym, let alone why he'd been wearing that poor kid's clothes.

The new Mr. Johnson just accepts that his mind isn't what it used to be. Even though he'd rather be anywhere else, he picks up the first exam to grade. It's going to be a long night for him.

Meanwhile at practice, I'm having the time of my life! I've already talked the rest of the team into having a party tonight. I want to celebrate my new life as Troy, and this time, I'm going to make it to the big leagues!

I don't think I'll ever go to my old finance class again.

[dreamingonfilm]

✧˖*°࿐ Bruises pt. 2 | d.m

Draco Malfoy x f!reader, angst

Summary: A week after punching Draco, he finally talks to you. But he comes to realize that love isn’t always the answer.

W/C: 1.8k

a/n: thank you all for the support on the first part! i apologize in advance &lt;3

Part 1 - Read part 1 here !

Your friends laughed once more as you described how Draco’s face looked that day you punched him. It has been a week since then and you haven’t stopped thinking about it. The event still coming up a few times a day, as no one would have expected someone as kind as you to be the reason for the bruises left on Malfoy's face.

As the laughter settled down, you couldn’t help but be curious as to how Draco was doing. You haven’t seen him in a week and in all honesty you couldn’t help but wonder why he hasn’t tried to get back at you for what you did. What you didn’t know was that since the day you stood up for yourself, Draco hasn’t been able to get you out of his head. 

Immediately after you got into your common room, the boy turned completely red, his stomach erupting with butterflies as he thought about how your fist felt against his cheek. ‘I’m in love’ was all he could think as he walked to Madam Pomfrey in a daze. Each time he looked in the mirror, he couldn’t help but put his hand up to the yellow and purple bruise to try and remember what your skin felt like. 

It was a feeling that was new and confusing to him. He wanted to be mad at you, he wanted to hex you, to feel no remorse as he goes back to making your life a living hell, but for some odd unnamed reason, he couldn’t. He was completely enamored, every thought he had was of you, every time he walked into the Great Hall he would scan the room looking for your oversized robe and mismatched socks, but to his defeat you paid no attention.

On one occasion, Draco even went as far as to wait for you outside your potions class. He stood there for half an hour waiting for you to come outside, but to his dismay, you had skipped class that day to go to Hogsmeade with Harry. He walked back to his room in embarrassment after being caught lurking by Professor Snape. 

Despite his unsuccessful efforts, he knew that he would run into you soon. He put all his hopes on today.

The Slytherin vs. Gryffindor match was one that you would be sure not to miss, after all your two best friends were a part of the team. You couldn’t help but be grateful for a break from the stress of school and Draco. As you and Hermoine sat down on the stands, you couldn’t help but stare at the boy himself. He looked rather nervous, which was something unusual for someone of his caliber, as he fidgeted with the rings on his finger. His eyes moving back and forth threw the crowd almost as if he was looking for someone, that was until they landed at you. 

Letting out a small gasp you quickly looked away. Putting your head down to avoid eye contact with the boy that has made the past few years of your life a living hell. He however, couldn’t stop staring. Normally, he would be confident before a game, but today all he could think about was how you were watching. His stomach turned as he realized that you would be there to see whether he did poorly and embarrassed himself. Breathing in heavily, he tried to collect his nerves as the game started.

“Get it together, Malfoy.” he whispered to himself.

The game lasted for about two hours, the tension in the crowd was rising as the score was nearly tied, Gryffindor in the lead by only ten points. You watched carefully as your friend avoided an incoming bludger, giving you a smile before he took off again in order to find the snitch. 

“(Y/N?)” Hermoine interrupted your thoughts, looking at you with a small amount of worry in her face.

“Yeah?”

“By any chance have you talked to Draco?” She asked, giving you a small smile as you were taken aback. 

“No, no, I haven’t talked to him since last week,” you answered quietly, turning your head to look at him as he followed along behind Harry, “Why?”

“He’s been staring at you for most of the game.” 

“Wha–” you were cut off by the announcer over the speakers of the field.

“Draco Malfoy has caught the Golden Snitch! Slytherin wins!” The stands erupted with applause, cheers and a mix of boos echoing through your ears as you tried to find Draco. Your attempts being cut short as Hermoine grabbed you by the hand and led you down to where the players were.

After about twenty minutes, your friends finally came out to greet you. You gave each of them a hug and praised them for the good game. Your words of encouragement weren’t enough as the boys continued to complain about how unfair the match was, and how if McGonagall wasn’t there they surely would have given him a piece of their mind.

—--

“He’s never played like that, ever!” Harry complained once more as he took a bite out of his, now cold, steak. 

“Honestly! It’s like he was trying to impress somebody or something.” Ron agreed, running a hand through his hair as he tried to make sense of how they lost.

You glanced over at Hermione with a desperate look, but it was too late. “He was trying to impress (Y/N)! He was looking at her the whole game!” 

The boys simultaneously spat out their water, Ron choking a bit as Hermione gave him pats on the back to try and help out. They looked at you in shock, their mouths moving as they tried to come up with what to say but no words came out.

“He was not looking at me! He hates me. We all know that.” You said. Shaking your head as you tried to explain to your friends how there was no way that Draco could ever pay attention to you if it wasn’t without malicious intent.

“So you’re the reason we lost (Y/N), well I have to give it to you, you really did leave a nasty mark on Malfoy. Maybe you knocked something loose.” Ron finally managed to spit out, not before being hit on the back of the head by Hermione.

“You’re implying that (Y/N) is only likable by people who are out of their mind!” She responded while simultaneously rolling her eyes.

“Well actually,” Harry said, “I’m not out of my mind and I quite like –” but was cut off by someone clearing their throat behind you. 

You turned around only to be greeted by the devil himself. Your heart started racing, ‘this was it’, you thought, ‘he’s finally come for revenge.’ He shifted uncomfortably as he waited for someone to greet him, but finally spoke once he realized that no one was going to say anything. “(Y/L/N), may I speak to you,” he glanced over your friend's faces for a quick second before continuing, “alone.” 

You tried to respond but you couldn’t get a single word out of your mouth. Your breathing quickened in pace as you realized that you were going to be alone with Draco Malfoy once more. Surely you were going to get what was coming. 

“She doesn’t want to talk to you.”

“Shut it, Potter.” He sneered at your friend, “If she doesn’t want to speak with me then she is fully capable of telling me herself.” 

“O-okay.” You finally managed to muster out. The sooner you speak with him the sooner you can get it over with. Your friends gave you an apologetic smile as you started to get up from your seat. 

“If you need help, just call for me.” Harry whispered in your ear before you left, giving you a kiss on the forehead for reassurance. You smiled and walked off, following the blonde headed boy that was two steps in front of you.

The walk with Draco was unpleasant. Neither of you had anything to say, you both stared at your feet as you walked through the empty corridors of the castle. Looking up at him, you finally noticed the yellow and purple bruise on his jaw. While you wanted to smile, taking it as a token that you won, you couldn’t help but feel bad for the mark you left on him. 

Draco turned to look at you, feeling your gaze burning right through him, and finally spoke. 

“I just,” he started, “I wanted to apologize for how I’ve been treating you. I was hoping that we could start over.” His eyes still had those golden specks, and the wrinkles showed as he softly smiled. 

You couldn’t help but to stare at him in disbelief. Years of being harassed by Draco Malfoy, and now he decides that it’s time for you two to be friends? You were insulted. No amount of time, or therapy, could ever help you get over what he has done to you. You brought your shaky hand up before slapping him right across his bruised jaw, only this time you weren’t scared.

“If you think I can forgive you that easily, then you must be mistaken. I could never forgive you, Malfoy.” You spat out, his face full of confusion as he wasn’t expecting you to answer the way you did.

“But, (Y/N),” he spoke, “I’ve changed. Not to mention, you’re the one that punched me!”

“You deserved it! And I would do it again if I could!” You spat. Your words stabbing him a million times over. He shook it off and brought his hands over yours, your anxiety building up as you had no clue as to what he was capable of doing.

“But (Y/N), I love you.” Draco whispered to you.

You froze. You felt as if the walls were spinning around you, a high pitched screech ringing in your ears as you tried to keep yourself from falling down. He tried to help you, holding on to you, but you refused. You’d rather be cold on the ground than touched by Malfoy. Finally you brought yourself up to his face.

You stared at his eyes, those same eyes that have you captivated time and time again; you took in the way his hair fell in front of his face, the bags that he developed after not getting enough sleep unbeknownst to you that it was because he spent all night thinking of you, the healing cut on his cheek, and that damn yellow and purple bruise. 

Draco’s heart was beating out of his chest. Over the past few days all he’s been dreaming about was this moment. He wanted you. He wanted you more than he’s ever wanted anything else in his life. With a passion that could only come from the universe and stars themselves. He waited patiently for your response.

“Draco,” you began, running your thumb over the cut you left, “I could never love you.”

And then you walked away.

[linkspooky]

You're boring. You don't thrill me at all.

I received a few asks about Sukuna's comments on Yuji and decided to make a post about it. To begin with one thing I have noticed about Sukuna is that despite being the embodiment of arrogance and selfishness he's sometimes gracious and even praises the opponents he's fighting.

The complexity of Sukuna is that he can rip the NanaMimiko twins into pieces for daring to ask too big a favor of him for only one finger, but he can also a few chapters later take time to praise Jogo before he dies. He can praise Gojo with touching words even when Gojo in his afterlife segment believes he failed tor each Sukuna. He can also slaughter thousand of people just to get Yuji's goat. He's capable of being somewhat honorable if you earn his respect, and yet there's nobody he respects less than Yuji.

In fact, the way he treats Jogo is a contrast to Gojo, Gojo just mocks him openly in his defeat. Sukuna gives Jogo advice that he should have fought for himself instead of teaming up with others, and then praises his efforts.

He slaughters both Hajime and Higuruma, but in their dying moments he also seems to grant them what they wanted. Hajime wanted an answer on whether or not it was possible for the strong to love other people, and Higuruma wanted to die fighting. Gojo was lonely at the top as the strongest and he lost all identity, Sukuna cuts him down and he dies as a human being and Sukuna praises him saying he'll remember his name forever.

Sukuna sees all humans as insects, but he seems to divide them into the ones that are tasty enough to eat, and the ones he wants to squash. If you're worthy in his eyes, he'll even entertain you and play with you for a little bit. That's not saying much, but Sukuna is known as the worst curse in existence. There are small moments though where he seems to have a sense of honor, at least to opponents who earn his respect or catch his interest.

All of this makes the way he treats Yuji stand out even more.

Sukuna says that basically all of humanity is his toy box and he can have endless fun playing with them until he dies, and yet Yuji is the one toy that Sukuna doesn't want to play with.

It's not because Yuji is weak, because Yuji has been shown to steadily grow in strength over the series. Yuji doesn't have the mental handicaps cutting off his true potential like Megumi does either, Gojo says right away that Yuji's crazy, that he swings for the fences, that he's obsessed with getting stronger. Yuji may not be on someone like Yuta's level, but he fights side by side with Maki perfectly in sync.

Yuji is even someone who will walk face first into Sukuna's cleave and then keep walking.

It's not because he's weak, it's not because he lacks potential or handicaps himself like Megumi, so why is Yuji the one opponent that Sukuna just cannot stand?

Much like Mahito who also sought to destroy Yuji, and felt like he couldn't be reborn or become himself until Yuji was out of the way it's most likely because they are ideological opposites. Down to the roles they play in their world, Yuji is someone who has completely repressed his own identity in order to become a true sorcerer, a cog in the machine, one among many fighting for a supposed greater good. Whereas, Sukuna alongside Mahito were what Yuji identified as "true curses". Mahito said as much in his monologue where he attempted to break Yuji, that he is a curse, and Yuji is a sorcerer. The point of curses is to kill humans, the point of sorcerers is to kill curses they don't need any deeper reason to fight and it's not a fight between heroes and villains it a cycle. Exorcise, consume. Exorcise consume. Curses are born, Sorcerers kill curses it goes on and on.

Looking at it that way, Mahito is Yuji and Yuji is Mahito. They're both cogs in the same endless cycle of curses vs humans. Yuji doesn't keep track of how many curses he's killed, and Mahito doesn't keep track of how many people he's killed.

Yuji is suppressing himself to become a sorcerer. Sorcerers are cogs and cogs have a function. He wants to carry the torch that Nanami gave him, because Nanami is basically the most ethical and model version of a sorcerer, and Yuji's only imagined role in things is to keep fighting until he dies and then ideally passes the torch to someone else. Sukuna was a strong sorcerer from 1,000 years ago who died and became a curse to linger on in this world. Yuji was a normal kid (or a science experiment from Kenjaku) who decided to eat Sukuna's finger and then become a sorcerer and die for a reason greater than himself.

Sukuna represents the ideology of curses, while Yuji represents the total collective ideology of sorcerers from the modern age.

Sukuna will ask his opponents their ideology, he'll even sometimes give advice and share his point of view. He questioned Jogo's beliefs on whether curses were the true humans. he shared with Hajime his thoughts on love to give him an answer to his question. However, he doesn't want even want to engage with Yuji, he just wants Yuji out of his sight.

He wants to invalidate and disprove Yuji's beliefs because they represent the opposite of him and everything he stands for, but he also knows he can't.

Sukuna does explain in this chapter that part of the reason he hates Yuji is that he's been forced to share a body with him for so long and was forced to endure his thoughts long enough to know that Yuji actually means what he says his selflessness is the real thing.

You could also argue that Yuji is a literal cage that Kenjaku constructed to contain Sukuna. Sukuna's entire character is built around the fact that he has so much strength he has the absolute freedom to do whatever he wants, and in a thousand years the only thing that's hindered his freedom is Yuji.

I think it goes a step beyond that though, one is selfishness incarnate, who is obsessed with freedom to Eren Jaeger extents and the other is selflessness incarnate, who deliberately chains himself to roles. Yuji is willing to give up his free will to be a cog in the machine, because cogs have a function, they have a role and meaning.

That's the extreme of selflessness though, you give up your very sense of self. Yuji builds his sense of self over the roles that others assign him, not anything he does himself. His function, his purpose, is given to him by others he doesn't define it for himself. Sukuna even mocks him for it in the latest chapter.

Yuji needs other people to give him meaning. Sukuna on the other hands rejects the notion of love because he's never needed and will never need anyone.

Sukuna is all about his overwhelming sense of self, whereas Yuji lacks a sense of self entirely. By Sukuna's logic where strength comes from asserting yourself and burning everything around you, Yuji is weak, Yuji should have been crushed like a bug by now, but Sukuna hasn't crushed him yet.

Sukuna is the ultimate ideal of strength in the story. The only way to be strong is to get rid of your attachments and become a human calamity like him. Yuji's selflessness on the other hand is something that he's continually punished for. Yuji even thinks of himself as weak he says as much to Higuruma, people died, Yuji was unable to stop Sukuna because he was weak.

Yet Sukuna cannot get rid of Yuji, which challenges Sukuna's black and white ideals that all that matters is strength and weakness and the strong always triumph over the weak and devour them.

To change the subject for a moment let's talk about Gege's inspirations. Can you guess who Gege's favorite Fate Character is? I bet you can't guess.

While Gilgamesh is the unequivocally strongest hero in the Fate franchise, there is one character who is the natural enemy and the perfect counter to Gilgamesh. That is Shirou Emiya, who actually defeats Gilgamesh in combat in one of the three routes, something both gilgamesh stans and Gilgamesh himself hates Shirou for.

Gee, I wonder what the inspiration is.

However, there's a particular reason why Shirou and Gilgamesh are opposites besides the fact that they have relatively the same ability, Shirou can copy swords and Gilgamesh has every weapon in existence in his armory.

Gilgamesh is the first and greatest of heroes who defined what it is to be a hero and the heroic legend. Shirou Emiya is a fake hero. That's even how Gilgamesh refers to him, "Faker." Shirou has completely destroyed his own sense of self in order to be of use to others, because he thinks he is not allowed to exist unless he is saving others in some way. This is a pretty brief summary of Shirou's character, but because of survivor's guilt Shirou forgot his past, and identity and thinks it's unfair he got saved while others didn't. At the same time, Shirou saw the happiness on the face of the man who admired him and then became obsessed with the idea of saving others. Shirou can only experience happiness when he saves someone, and feels pretty much nothing otherwise. Not only does he save people for entirely selfish reasons, because of his survivor's guilt and to give him a reason to exist, but it's also not his own dream of being a hero. He stole someone else's dream, that of his father Kiritsugu who wanted to be a hero and who saved him and looked happy saving him.

I read in an analysis a long time ago, too long for me to remember who's it was that Gilgamesh will respect those that have a dream. When he fights Iskander in Fate Zero, while he completely slaughters him he also gives him his props in his last moments and honors him by killing Iskander with his full strength, because he respected Alexander the Great's dream of conquering Europe from ocean to ocean.

Which is why he cannot tolerate someone like Shirou, who has no dream of his own, no reason for fighting, only saving others for the sake of saving them and asking nothing in return.

Shirou wants to repress himself entirely and become an ideal, the same way Yuji does, it's just Shirou wants to become the ideal superhero and Yuji wants to become the ideal sorcerer.

There's another video I want to reference to illustrate how little sense of self Yuji has, and how conversely reliant on others he is for that sense of self. The video is [here] I reccomend the whole thing but this quote summarizes it pretty perfectly.

Yuji is the main character of the story, but the series own villain, and even a vast majority of the fandom constantly insists that he is not the main character, because he is so lacking in a sense of self. That's not a knock against Yuji, that's the point of his character. Shirou Emiya is one of my favorite characters of all time, they're similiar it's just Shirou goes to greater lengths to show how hollowed out he is as a person, how deeply unhappy and even mentally ill he is to live for the sake of others the way that he does.

Yuji wants to crush his own sense of identiy and become an ideal like Shirou, that ideal being the ideal sorcerer. Whereas Sukuna is defined by his overwhelming sense of self and his lack of ideals.

It only makes sense that they'd be at odds with one another, but Sukuna takes things a step farther he cannot abide by Yuji's existence because he's against the idea of ideals themselves.

Sukuna wants to believe that he is right to reject idealism and love, that he is not missing out on anything as long as he has himself and is strong. So far in life he's been able to poke holes in the ideals of anyone who challenges him, but he's spent so long in Yuji's brain he knows that Yuji's ideals are not false.

Sukuna doesn't just want to crush Yuji's hopes he wants to prove himself right. This is probably the first time in a thousand years he's even paused to question himself or think over his own beliefs because he's been so unchallenged and right.

Yet, Sukuna can't be right, by the very nature of the manga.

Jujutsu Kaisen isn't about one person being right, it's about balance. The worst person you know in Jujutsu Kaisen can have a point. Kenjaku does everything for his own amusement, but both he and Tsukumo Yuki agree that things in the modern Jujutsu World can't stay the way they are. Geto is a genocidal maniac but he's right that it's unfair for Sorcerers, especially children to sacrifice themselves pointlessly over and over again and if Geto hadn't been a close friend of Gojo's and went off the deep end Gojo likely would have never seen the flaws present in his own society.

Jujutsu Kaisen isn't a story about binary opposites, but one of yin and yang, of complementary ideals. Even a character like Sukuna can't last forever with his binary thinking, and Yuji existing and disagreeing with him is clearly having an effect on him. Sukuna's been so thoroughly challenged by his inability to crush Yuji outright that he's changed his goals. A thousand years ago Sukuna laid waste to sorcerers yes, but he was fine just being worshipped and bribed and getting into fights in the country side. He didn't destroy the world or anything.

His frustration with Yuji has gotten him to the point that he's willing to go full omnicidal maniac in order to challenge Yuji's ideals. That is how out of balance Sukuna is currently.

The manga won't land on the side of Sukuna being right, it will land on the side of balance, which is exactly why Yuji needs to challenge Sukuna as his antithesis.

The true answer however, will probably not lie in Sukuna's utter selfishness, or Yuji's selflessness, but rather somewhere in between.

[lila-lou]

✨ His only exception - Pt. 20/? ✨

Summary: 12 months ago, Butcher went above and beyond to have you join his team. You had a simple office job at Supe Affairs. The same thing every day, working from 9 to 5 and watching Butcher and his team defeat one renegade after another. One evening, however, something changed.

Pairing: Soldier Boy x Reader

Warnings: Language, angst, hurt

Word Count: 4728

A/N: This is part 20 of “His only exeption”.

English isn’t my first language, so please be lenient. 💙✨

The next few hours were a blur as you remained glued to the laptop screen, your eyes scanning the live feed from Vought's cameras. With Frenchie on the earpiece, you guided the team through the building, directing them to the best possible routes and warning them of any potential threats.

As they made their way through the corridors, leaving a trail of chaos and destruction in their wake, you couldn't help but feel a sense of unease gnawing at the pit of your stomach. The guards they encountered didn't back down easily, and the resulting skirmishes left a grim reminder of the danger they faced.

Despite the violence unfolding before your eyes, you remained focused on the task at hand, doing everything in your power to ensure the team's safety and success. With each passing moment, the stakes grew higher.

Despite the team's best efforts, it became increasingly clear that Homelander wouldn't be served on a silver platter. Vought was prepared for nearly every contingency, making it incredibly difficult for the team to advance.

As the battle raged on, the odds seemed to stack higher against them with each passing moment. The guards were relentless, their firepower and tactics proving formidable obstacles to overcome.

In the midst of the chaos, MM was the first to go down, struck by a barrage of gunfire. His body crumpled to the ground, wounded badly as blood pooled around him. Kimiko acted quickly, dragging him out of harm's way and ushering him towards the safety of their van waiting outside.

After a tense struggle, the team encountered A-Train, who was already waiting for them, ready to join the fight against Homelander. His presence provided a much-needed boost to their morale, and with his help, they pressed on, determined to overcome the obstacles in their path.

Despite A-Train's assistance, Soldier Boy proved to be the standout performer. With an almost effortless grace, he dispatched the guards one by one, moving through the chaos with a precision and skill that left you in awe. It was as if he was born for this moment, his every move calculated and deliberate, his determination unwavering.

In that moment, you couldn't help but feel a surge of pride knowing that he was kinda fighting for you. Despite the trials and tribulations that had tested your relationship, there was no denying the strength and courage that lay within him.

The minutes stretched into what felt like an eternity as the team fought their way through the building, inching closer and closer to their target. Finally, they reached the top floor, the anticipation mounting with each step.

With bated breath, they pushed open the door to Homelander's room, ready to confront their greatest adversary. But just as they stepped inside, the door to your apartment swung open, revealing Homelander standing in the doorway, a smug grin plastered across his face.

The sight of him sent a chill down your spine, his presence looming over you like a dark cloud. His shit-eating grin only served to fuel the fire of anger burning within you.

"Fuck", you muttered under your breath.

Frenchie's voice crackled over the earpiece, his tone laced with concern. "What's going on?", he asked, the urgency in his voice reflecting the gravity of the situation.

Ben's head snapped towards frenchie at the sound of your voice, his eyes narrowing in focus.

"He's in the apartment", you both said in unison, your voices cold and devoid of emotion.

As Frenchie's voice echoed through the earpiece, his urgency palpable, you knew there was no time to waste. "Run!", he yelled, his words a desperate plea for you to escape.

But deep down, you knew there was no outrunning Homelander. With the team already on their way back, you felt a sense of dread wash over you as you realized there was nowhere to hide.

Just as the realization set in, you felt a presence behind you, a cold chill creeping up your spine. Turning slowly, your worst fears were confirmed as you came face to face with Homelander.

He wore a sinister grin, his eyes glinting with malice as he took a step closer. "Looks like we're going for a little walk", he sneered, his grip on your upper arm tightening with a force that threatened to crush your bones.

Panic surged through you as you struggled against his iron grip, but it was futile. With Homelander in control, you knew there was no escape. All you could do was brace yourself for whatever horrors awaited you on this twisted journey with the most dangerous man alive.

As Homelander dragged you along, his grip unyielding, he chuckled darkly, the sound sending chills down your spine. "I knew sooner or later that piece of shit team would come for me", he remarked, his voice dripping with disdain. "And they left you behind, didn't they? To keep you safe. What irony".

The team's mission to take down Homelander had inadvertently led to your capture, leaving you vulnerable and at the mercy of the very person they were trying to defeat.

You gritted your teeth, fury boiling within you as you struggled against his grasp. But Homelander merely chuckled in response, his grip tightening even further as he led you away.

As Homelander dragged you through the woods, your heart pounded with fear and uncertainty. He pushed you to the ground roughly, causing you to wince as pain shot through your body.

"What's your plan with me?", you snapped, your voice tinged with defiance as you struggled to maintain your composure. Rubbing your aching arm, you glared up at him, desperate for answers.

Homelander laughed. "Right now, I don't care about you", he sneered. "All I want is my showdown, once and for all. I'm going to kill all of these amateurs, and especially that pathetic excuse for a hero, Soldier Boy".

As Homelander squatted down in front of you, his gaze bore into yours with an intensity that made your blood run cold. "Right now, you're just my little decoy", he said. "But after I've dealt with every last one of your little friends, I've already got a nice, cozy place for you in the lab".

His words sent a shiver down your spine as the gravity of the situation sank in. You were nothing more than a pawn in Homelander's twisted game, a means to an end in his quest for domination. The thought of being imprisoned again, in some cold, sterile lab filled you with dread.

Summoning every ounce of strength and determination, you grabbed a rock beside you, desperation lending you a newfound resolve. With a primal scream, you launched yourself at Homelander, wielding the rock like a weapon as you aimed for his face.

The impact was swift and brutal, the rock connecting with Homelander’s jaw with a sickening crunch. For a fleeting moment, you dared to hope that you had gained the upper hand, that you might have a chance at escaping his grasp.

But your victory was short-lived as Homelander reacted with lightning-fast reflexes, throwing you off of him with a powerful shove. The force of his blow sent you hurtling towards the nearest tree, the world spinning as pain exploded through your body.

With a sickening thud, you collided with the tree, the impact knocking the breath from your lungs and sending darkness swirling at the edges of your vision. In the haze of unconsciousness, you dimly registered the sound of footsteps approaching, and then everything went black.

Just moments later, Ben and the rest of the team arrived, guided by the GPS signal from your phone.

As Ben heard the familiar rhythm of your heartbeat, his eyes narrowed with determination. "Frenchie, look after her", he barked, his voice filled with urgency as he strode purposefully towards Homelander.

With every step, Ben's resolve hardened, his fists clenched at his sides as he squared off against his formidable opponent. "You're gonna die", he growled, his voice low and menacing as he met Homelander's gaze head-on.

Homelander chuckled, a deranged glint in his eyes as he spoke like a madman. "No one can beat me", he ranted, his voice laced with arrogance and delusion. "I'm invincible. I'm a god among men".

But Ben remained undeterred, his jaw set with steely resolve. It was time to put an end to Homelander's reign of terror once and for all.

The rest of the team surged forward, a united front against the unstoppable force that was Homelander. But their efforts proved futile as one by one, they were brutally swatted aside like mere flies.

Annie lunged forward with her powers blazing, but Homelander effortlessly deflected her attacks, sending her crashing into the ground with a resounding thud. Frenchie and Butcher charged in next, armed to the teeth with weapons, but their efforts were swiftly thwarted as Homelander effortlessly brushed them aside, their bodies sent flying through the air with bone-crunching force.

Even A-Train, with his super speed, proved no match for Homelander's raw power. With a vicious swipe of his hand, Homelander sent A-Train hurtling backwards, his body skidding across the ground in a tangled mess of limbs.

Despite their best efforts, the team was no match for the sheer might of Homelander. With each devastating blow, their resolve faltered, their hope dwindling with every passing moment.

But as Soldier Boy and Homelander finally clashed, the air crackled with energy, their blows echoing through the battlefield with force. Each punch was met with a counterattack, neither willing to back down in the face of their opponent's fury.

Soldier Boy's combat skills were honed to perfection, his movements fluid and precise as he met Homelander blow for blow. With each strike, he channeled every ounce of strength and determination, refusing to yield to the overwhelming power of his adversary.

Homelander, for his part, fought with a ferocity that bordered on madness. His punches were like thunderbolts, each one delivered with the force of a freight train. But despite his raw power, Soldier Boy held his ground, his resilience matched only by his unwavering determination.

For what felt like an eternity, the two clashed, their battle raging on with no end in sight. Each exchange was a test of strength and skill, a testament to the unyielding resolve of both combatants.

In the midst of the chaos, it became clear that this was no ordinary fight. It was a clash of titans, a battle for supremacy that would determine the fate of the world. And as Soldier Boy and Homelander fought on, their struggle reached a fever pitch, each one pushing themselves to their absolute limits in a bid for victory.

As Starlight, Butcher, A-Train, and Hughie managed to pin Homelander down, the tension in the air was palpable. Every second felt like an eternity as they struggled to keep the formidable Supe restrained. Meanwhile, Frenchie rushed back to the apartment, cradling your unconscious body in his arms, desperate to get you to safety.

Soldier Boy's chest began to glow with an otherworldly light, a sign that he was reaching his breaking point. The nervous energy in the air grew thicker with each passing moment, the anticipation of what was to come almost unbearable.

But then, in a moment of sheer determination, Soldier Boy threw himself at Homelander with all the force he could muster. With a deafening roar, he unleashed his power, the energy within him erupting in a blinding flash of light.

In the chaos that followed, everyone else scrambled for their lives, knowing that they had only seconds to escape. And then, just as Soldier Boy collided with Homelander, the explosion consumed them both in a fiery inferno of destruction.

As the dust settled and the smoke cleared, the echoes of the explosion ringing in the air.

After a while, Soldier Boy began to regain consciousness, the world around him swam in a haze of confusion and pain. Before he could fully comprehend what was happening, Butcher, Hughie, and Annie were upon him, their faces twisted with determination.

In his weakened state, Soldier Boy struggled to defend himself against their onslaught. Annie and Hughie held him firmly in place, their strength amplified by the urgency of the situation. Butcher wasted no time, swiftly placing a mask containing Novichok gas over Soldier Boy's face.

Despite his best efforts to resist, Soldier Boy found himself succumbing to the effects of the deadly gas. His vision blurred, his muscles weakened, and his consciousness faded into darkness once more.

As the last vestiges of his strength slipped away, Soldier Boy was overwhelmed by a sense of defeat. In his final moments of consciousness, he could only watch helplessly as his `Teammates´ closed in. Again.

The heavy breathing of the team echoed in the air, a testament to the intensity of the situation. Butcher wasted no time, his voice steady despite the urgency of the moment.

"Annie, Hughie, get Soldier Boy to the airport of Supe Affairs. There's a plane waiting there", Butcher commanded, his tone leaving no room for hesitation.

Annie and Hughie nodded in unison, their resolve unwavering as they prepared to move Soldier Boy. With determined strides, they hoisted his limp form between them, their muscles straining under the weight as they set off to carry out their task.

Turning to A-Train, Butcher's gaze hardened. "You're with me. We're taking Homelander to the Headquarter of Supe Affairs", he declared, his voice firm and commanding.

A-Train nodded, understanding the gravity of their mission. Together, they moved to secure Homelander, their determination to prevent his escape unwavering even in the face of his unconscious state.

With each member of the team assigned their roles, they set out to execute their plan with precision and determination, knowing that the fate of the world hung in the balance.

As the late evening light filtered through the windows, casting a warm glow over the room, you slowly began to regain consciousness. Blinking away the haze of unconsciousness, you found Frenchie sitting beside you on the couch, his expression one of relief mixed with concern.

Groaning softly, you shifted in your seat, the ache in your body a constant reminder of the ordeal you had just endured. As you opened your eyes, you met Frenchie's gaze, offering him a weak smile of gratitude.

"Hey there", Frenchie said softly, his voice filled with warmth. "Glad to see you're awake. How are you feeling?".

With a slight wince, you replied, "Sore, but I I'll survive. What happened?".

Frenchie's expression grew somber as he recounted the events of the past few hours, detailing the harrowing battle against Homelander and the frantic rush to get you to safety.

Listening intently, you couldn't help but feel a surge of gratitude towards Frenchie and the rest of the team for their bravery and quick thinking.

And despite everything that had happened, despite the anger you felt towards Ben, pretty much your only thought was how he was doing. So you asked Frenchie where Ben was.

"He… He left, (y/n)", Frenchie lied.

As you processed Frenchie's words, a heavy weight settled in the pit of your stomach, crushing your world with a sense of loss and disappointment. The news of Ben's departure struck you like a blow, leaving you reeling with a mixture of hurt and resignation.

"He left?", you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Frenchie nodded, his expression reflecting the weight of the situation. "Yeah, he said he didn't see any reason to stay now that Homelander is neutralized", he explained, his voice tinged with regret.

A wave of sadness washed over you as you absorbed Frenchie's words. It was as if the ground had shifted beneath your feet, leaving you adrift in a sea of uncertainty and heartache.

Frenchie's sympathetic gaze met yours, his eyes filled with understanding and compassion. "I'm sorry", he murmured softly, his words a gentle acknowledgment of the pain you were feeling.

But no amount of sympathy could ease the ache in your heart as you grappled with the abrupt end to your relationship with Ben.

Your voice shivered slightly as you mumbled, "I… I think I'm gonna go take a shower". The weight of your emotions threatened to overwhelm you.

Frenchie nodded in understanding, his expression filled with empathy. "Take your time", he said softly, his words a silent reassurance that he would be there for you when you needed him.

With a heavy heart, you pushed yourself off the couch and made your way to the bathroom, seeking solace in the comforting embrace of the warm water. As you stepped into the shower, tears welled up in your eyes, threatening to spill over as the reality of Ben's departure washed over you in waves of sorrow and regret.

In that moment, nothing else mattered. The chaos of the world outside faded into insignificance as the overwhelming sense of abandonment consumed you. The thought of Ben leaving, of him deeming you unworthy of his presence, echoed in your mind like a haunting refrain.

You didn't care about Homelander or the fate of the others. All you could think about was Ben. How could he just walk away, leaving you.

As the water washed away the tears streaming down your face, you felt a profound sense of emptiness wash over you. In that moment, you were alone.

As the days passed, your initial sorrow gave way to simmering anger. How dare Ben walk away without so much as a word? How could he ignore your calls and messages, leaving you to stew in a pool of unanswered questions and unresolved emotions?

Fueled by frustration and a burning need for closure, you dialed Ben's number repeatedly, each call met with the cold indifference of silence. You left voicemails and sent messages, pouring out your heart in a desperate attempt to reach him, but each attempt fell on deaf ears.

As time wore on, the messages went undelivered, your words lost in the void of digital silence. The realization that Ben had chosen to cut you out of his life without a second thought only fueled the flames of your anger, driving you to new heights of resentment and indignation.

But beneath the anger lurked a deep-seated hurt, a nagging ache that refused to be silenced. Despite your best efforts to bury it beneath a veneer of rage, the pain of Ben's betrayal continued to gnaw at your heart, leaving behind a bitter taste of betrayal and disappointment.

Three weeks had elapsed since the tumultuous events that rocked your world. MM's recovery had progressed steadily, bringing a sense of relief to everyone involved. With Homelander neutralized and held captive at Supe Affairs, a semblance of peace had returned, albeit tinged with the echoes of past trauma.

As you stood before Ben's room, a mix of apprehension and determination filled your heart. Today marked the day that Butcher intended to clear out Ben's belongings, erasing all traces of his presence from your lives. Before everything was discarded, you felt compelled to sift through his possessions one last time, searching for closure amidst the remnants of what once was.

With a heavy heart, you entered the room, the air thick with memories.

As you moved through the room, memories flooded your mind with every item you touched. Ben's belongings, though few in number, held a weight of significance that was undeniable. You carefully selected one of his hoodies.

Amongst the scattered mementos, you found a small stack of photographs, capturing moments from Ben's childhood. Each image offered a glimpse into his past, revealing layers of his personality that you had yet to explore. With a tender smile, you tucked the photographs in your jeans.

Finally, your gaze fell upon his favorite lighter.

With your chosen keepsakes in hand, you made your way out of the room.

As you flipped through the stack of photographs, back in your room, your eyes widened in surprise when you stumbled upon one that featured you. In the image, you were sleeping peacefully in Ben's bed, bathed in the soft glow of morning light, with his sheets draped loosely over your form.

Raising an eyebrow, you couldn't help but feel a pang of curiosity at the sight. It was a candid moment captured in time, one that showcased a side of Ben you hadn't expected to see. Despite his rough exterior, there was a tender, romantic quality to the photograph that took you by surprise.

"Mighty romantic of you, Ben", you mumbled to yourself, a wistful smile tugging at the corners of your lips. Despite his protests and claims of being anything but sentimental, the evidence before you painted a different picture. You lingered on the image, your heart ached with a mixture of longing and regret.

As another month slipped by, the absence of Ben weighed heavily on your heart. Eight weeks had passed since he walked out of your life, leaving behind an unfillable void. Despite the ache of his absence, you knew that life had to move forward.

In an attempt to distract yourself from the pain, you threw yourself into your work, immersing yourself in new projects and challenges.

It had been four weeks since you started working at Vought, and while you had hoped that this new job would provide you with some leads on Ben's whereabouts, your search had yielded no results thus far. Annie's prominent position within the company, with the support of A-Train, had facilitated your employment.

As you threw yourself into your work at Vought, hoping to find some semblance of closure or perhaps even a clue about Ben's whereabouts, you found yourself caught off guard by a coworker's persistent advances. From your very first day on the job, he had been flirting with you shamelessly, his charm and charisma impossible to ignore.

Despite your best efforts to focus on your tasks, his attention was a welcome distraction from the ache of Ben’s absence. With each playful exchange and lingering glance, you found yourself drawn to this new person, his presence offering a glimmer of solace amidst the uncertainty of your heartache.

As the clock struck noon on a Friday, the familiar sound of a knock interrupted the quiet hum of your office. You glanced up to see Jay, your coworker and so-called boyfriend, standing at the doorway with a hopeful smile on his face.

"Hey there", Jay greeted you warmly, his eyes lighting up as he took in your presence. "I thought I'd swing by and see if you'd like to grab some lunch before heading back to my place. What do you say?".

You hesitated for a moment, but as you looked into Jay's eyes, a flicker of warmth and affection tugged at your heartstrings.

With a soft smile, you nodded in agreement. "Sure", you replied, the corners of your lips quirking up in anticipation.

As you settled into his car, Jay turned to you with a gentle smile. "I was thinking", he began, his voice soft and reassuring, "maybe we could watch a movie tonight. And if you're up for it, we could have some… well… romantic time together". Jay's hand found its way to your thigh.

You felt a pang of guilt as Jay voiced his desires. After four months of Ben's absence and eight weeks of dating Jay, you hadn't yet taken that next step in your relationship. The truth was, you still weren't ready to fully open yourself up to someone new, not when your heart still carried the weight of unresolved feelings for Ben.

"It sounds nice", you replied, forcing a smile despite the turmoil swirling within you. "I'm just not sure if I'm ready for that yet".

Jay's expression softened with understanding, his hand squeezing yours in a reassuring gesture. "That's okay", he said gently, his gaze meeting yours with unwavering warmth. "Whenever you're ready".

As the day progressed, you found yourself nestled in Jay's arms, the soft glow of the TV casting a warm ambiance around you. The movie played in the background, but your thoughts were elsewhere, drifting back to memories of Ben. Again.

Jay was handsome, kind, smart, caring and came from a wealthy family—everything you could ask for in a partner. Yet, despite his many qualities, every touch, every kiss, every whispered word from him only served to remind you of the void left by Ben's absence.

With Jay's arm wrapped around you, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your arm, you couldn't help but long for the familiar touch of Ben, for the comfort and security you found in his embrace. As much as you tried to push aside thoughts of him, he remained a constant presence in your heart and mind, a ghost haunting every moment you shared with Jay.

Despite Jay's genuine affection and the comfort he offered, you couldn't shake the ache of longing for someone who was no longer there.

As the movie played on, Jay leaned down, his hand gently tilting your chin to meet his gaze. His eyes held a warmth and tenderness that made your heart ache in a way you couldn't quite explain.

"You look stunning today", he whispered softly, his voice laced with sincerity as he brushed a stray strand of hair from your face.

Before you could respond, his lips captured yours in a gentle kiss, his touch tender and affectionate.

As the kiss deepened, Jay's touch grew more urgent, his hands trailing up your hipbone beneath your shirt. You could feel the warmth of his touch searing through your skin, sending shivers down your spine.

His lips moved with a newfound intensity, his desire evident in the way he pressed his body against yours. You could feel the undeniable hardness of his cock against your thigh, the physical manifestation of his arousal.

Despite the warmth of his embrace and the passion in his kiss, a part of you couldn't shake the feeling of emptiness that lingered within you.

Feeling Jay's weight pressing down on you, you couldn't suppress the feeling of discomfort that surged within you. As he began to kiss your neck, you gently pushed against his chest, creating a small barrier between you.

"I can't", you whispered softly, the words catching in your throat as you struggled to articulate the turmoil raging within you.

Jay's expression shifted, a hint of disappointment and hurt flickering across his features as he pulled back slightly. "What is it?", he asked, his voice tinged with confusion. "Why don't you want to sleep with me?".

"I just… I can't", you mumbled, your voice barely audible as you struggled to find the right words.

Crawling away from him, you stood up and made your way to the bathroom, the weight of your decision heavy on your shoulders. As you gazed at your reflection in the mirror, a wave of longing washed over you, your thoughts drifting back to Ben. Again. His words echoed in your mind, a painful reminder of the promise he had made to you. His vow not to touch you again if someone else ever laid a hand on you.

"Hey, are you okay in there?", Jay's voice called through the door, laced with concern.

You took a deep breath, trying to compose yourself before responding. "Yeah, I'm fine", you replied, your voice wavering slightly. "Just need a moment".

There was a brief pause before Jay spoke again. "Do you want me to come in?", he asked tentatively.

You hesitated, unsure of how to respond. After a moment's consideration, you shook your head, even though he couldn't see you. "No, I'll be out in a minute", you assured him, your voice strained with emotion.

———————————

A/N: Please let me know what you think.🥰

-

Part 21

-

Taglist: @deangirl96, @thatgirljayy, @suckitands33, @deans-spinster-witch@mimaria420@kaz11283@uncle-eggy @jackles010378 @vxnilla-hxrddrugs @meowmeowyoongles @sarahgracej @zemosdarling228 @leila22rogers @mostlymarvelgirl @emily-winchester @blacknoirr @onlyangel-444 @seasonofthenerd @staple-your-mouth @artemys-ackles @selfdestructionandrhum @mystic-mara