#{immediate post run in with psyche}

[celestial-encounters]

<...>

<AM I GOING TO GET FUCKING SMITED???>

[anhedoniawrites]

Tied Up - Spencer Reid

MDNI! 18+!

Summary: Spencer reveals his private red room to the reader, but when unexpected guests arrive he’s forced to leave her alone, leaving tension literally hanging in the air.

Masterlist!

Part 2 - Tied 2 You!

Post Prison!Spencer Reid x Female Reader

Genre: Smut 🔥

Word Count: 8.2K

Warnings: MDNI! 18+! softdom!spencer, sub!reader, pre-established relationship, pre-established safe words, SLOW BURN, chains mentioned, whips mentioned, blindfold mentioned, flogger mentioned, handcuffs used, use of ‘Good Girl’, use of safe words, thigh riding, no sex, just teasing (sorry).

WARNING: THIS IS MY FIRST EVER FIC, PLEASE BE NICE

The room felt like it was closing in on her, each item on display mocking her—mocking the reality she’d always known. She was no stranger to the darker corners of the human psyche, but this? This was something she hadn’t expected, especially not from Spencer. The chains, the whips, the cuffs... it was all laid out in front of her, each object far too intimate, far too raw, like a slap to the face. A stark contrast to the quiet reserved Spencer she thought she knew.

Spencer Reid, the FBI genius with a shy smile and a brain that could unravel the most complex cases, had always been hard to understand. But this—this—was not the Spencer she’d known, and yet, in a way, it was exactly the one she’d feared existed beneath the surface. Prison had changed him, she knew that. He’d come back with a quiet storm inside him, a part of him more ferocious than she’d ever expected. But this... this was far beyond what she had prepared for.

Her heart was racing, the intensity of the room’s atmosphere mixing with the intensity of the moment itself. She could feel the weight of his presence behind her, his breath brushing against her neck, as he stood close enough to make her skin tingle with a strange combination of dread and anticipation.

“Spencer…” She whispered, more to herself than to him, the words barely escaping her lips. Her mind was spinning, trying to make sense of everything. She wasn’t sure if she was afraid, or if curiosity was beginning to outweigh the fear.

He was so close now, she could feel his fingers brush the fabric of her shirt, his touch sending a jolt of heat across her skin. His hand snaked around her from behind, settling at the opposite side of her waist. The touch was firm and possessive, and as he pulled her just a little closer, she felt a surge of heat flood her body despite herself. He was patient, letting the moment simmer, his other hand resting lightly on her shoulder as if giving her time to process.

"I understand it’s a lot to take in, but one night is all I’m asking," he murmured, his voice low, almost coaxing. There was an undeniable edge to it now—a darker, rawer version of him she hadn’t known existed. The boy who had always been awkward, and uncertain, was gone, replaced by someone much more confident, much more determined to get what he wanted.

His words made her heart beat faster, but the undertone of desperation—the need in his voice—sent a shiver down her spine. She could see it in his eyes now. He wasn’t just asking. He was pleading for release, and it was clear that he wanted her to be the one to give it to him.

“We don’t even have to do anything, just let me give you a test run.” He spoke with a growl that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. The room was heavy with tension, and she could feel herself beginning to crack under the weight of it.

Her mouth went dry as she tried to process his words, her mind racing for a response. “A test run?” she echoed, her voice barely audible, still stunned by the shift in their dynamic. Her eyes darted nervously over the room again, the chains hanging from the walls, the whips draped over chairs as if all of it were daring her to make a decision.

The silence between them stretched, and still, neither of them looked at each other. Spencer knew better than to press her immediately, but his presence was undeniable. He was waiting, and though she felt that familiar sense of control over herself slipping away, she was too caught up in the moment to make a move just yet.

Her breath hitched as she felt the undeniable pull of the man behind her—no longer the shy, reserved Spencer, but something darker, something that called to a part of her she’d never fully acknowledged. Something she couldn’t resist.

Her mind was spinning, the tension in the air thick enough to cut with a knife. Spencer’s words hung between them, heavy and deliberate, his tone steady, but there was a hidden hunger underneath it, something primal. He wasn’t asking anymore; he was offering something—daring her to accept, to take a step into a world she had only seen glimpses of, a world she wasn’t sure she was ready to enter.

She looked at him, his features sharp in the dim light, his posture exuding confidence, like a predator who had set its sights on its prey. Spencer Reid, the brilliant, often timid genius of the FBI, had always been a puzzle to her, but now, standing in front of her with that cold certainty in his eyes, he was a puzzle she wasn’t sure she wanted to solve.

“We’ll do something light for tonight,” Spencer continued, his voice unwavering, almost as if he were reading a script. “If it’s something you’re not interested in, we’ll never speak of it again. But if it is something you want…” He trailed off, leaving the rest unspoken, knowing the weight of it hung in the balance.

The offer, the challenge, the invitation—it was too much for her to process at the moment. She wasn’t naïve, she knew what he was asking, what he was proposing. Spencer had always been a curious soul, someone who explored the depths of the human mind, but this was different. This wasn’t a case to crack open, a mystery to be solved with intellect. This was something visceral, something rooted in control and power, and she was the one he wanted to bend.

Her brow furrowed as she tried to wrap her head around it. Spencer was brilliant, yes, but he was also deeply sensitive, a man who had been through so much, and who had struggled with his own demons. How could he possibly want her, of all people, to be the one he could dominate?

She couldn’t help herself. “But why me?” Her voice cracked slightly, caught between disbelief and a tinge of hurt. “You know me. I’m not the one you want to be your submissive. I’m the complete opposite.”

She could feel the heat of the room pressing in on her, the walls lined with tools and items meant for pleasure, for control. But none of them made sense to her. They felt foreign. She was a woman who took charge, who fought for what she wanted, a woman who refused to bend to anyone's will.

Spencer’s gaze didn’t falter. He understood her hesitation, but it didn’t make him waver. In fact, the challenge only fueled his desire.

“I know you’re strong-willed,” he said, his voice low, almost a whisper against the backdrop of her doubts. “That’s exactly why I want you. I’ve had plenty of submissives before, but they were always too easy, too willing to give up control. I want you because you’re different. I want to break through that hardness, make you see things from my side.”

His words hit her like a wave, and despite herself, she felt a strange shiver of anticipation. The thought of submitting to him, of allowing him to have control, was so foreign, so against everything she had known about herself. She was passionate and forceful, a woman who never let anyone hold power over her. But there was something about the way he spoke, the unrelenting force in his words, that made her question everything.

“I want a challenge,” he continued, almost as if he could read her mind. “I want a submissive who doesn’t make it easy for me. I want the fire, the resistance. The satisfaction of breaking down those walls. The pleasure is in the struggle. In bending you, forcing you to surrender just a little of that control.”

She swallowed hard, her heart pounding. She knew Spencer—knew the parts of him that others didn’t. But this side of him? This darker, more dangerous side that wanted to claim her, to make her submit… it was something she hadn’t seen coming.

“You want to break me?” She scoffed, trying to muster some strength, but her voice faltered, betraying the crack in her armor. “I’m not some project for you to fix or control, Spencer.”

He stepped closer, not breaking eye contact, his presence overwhelming. “No,” he murmured, his voice almost tender despite the command in it. “Not to fix. To free you. You’re just as much in control of this as I am. But I’m not going to let you hide from what you really want, from what we could be.”

The air between them was charged now, the boundary between challenge and desire blurred. Her pulse raced, and even though part of her was telling her to walk away, another part—one that she hadn’t acknowledged before—was intrigued, fascinated by what he was offering.

Spencer’s smirk was soft but knowing as if he had already won, as if he was certain that, in time, he would break through to her. His words weren’t just an invitation; they were a promise.

And for the first time, (Y/N) wasn’t sure if she was ready to walk away.

“Just try, for me,” Spencer murmured, his lips brushing against her ear, his voice low and commanding. He pulled back with a lingering look, walking toward the plush red velvet chair. He eased into it with an air of deliberate confidence, stretching out as he sat, his legs parted just enough to make his intention clear. The subtle yet calculated display was meant to unnerve her, to draw her in, and it was working.

(Y/N)’s gaze faltered before inevitably settling on him. How could she not? Every move he made seemed to be a challenge, a dare meant to test her resolve. Her pulse quickened, the crimson glow of the room amplifying the heat already building in her chest. He was playing a game she wasn’t sure she knew the rules to—but she couldn’t deny how much she wanted to play.

“Take off your top,” Spencer commanded his tone firm but not harsh, cutting through the thick tension in the room. The words hung in the air like a tangible weight, their presence making her heart race. She hesitated, her hands trembling slightly as they hovered near the hem of her shirt. The space between them seemed to shrink as his voice softened, yet grew more intoxicating. “Slowly, (Y/N). Play with me a little.”

Her breath hitched, the words wrapping around her like silk, pulling her deeper into his control. She couldn’t help the small smile tugging at the corners of her lips, her nervousness melding with a flicker of boldness. If this was a game, maybe it was time to stop being afraid of losing.

Her fingers trembled as they softly grasped the hem of her shirt, toying with the fabric as though deciding whether to commit to the moment. Slowly, she began lifting it, teasingly revealing the soft curve of her stomach, inch by deliberate inch. The fabric slid higher, grazing her skin, until it passed over her chest and finally slipped free of her head. The shirt fluttered to the floor at her feet, abandoned yet heavy with the weight of what it represented.

She could feel his gaze on her, hotter than any spotlight, tracing every contour of her body with an intensity that made her stomach churn. Spencer didn’t need to move, didn’t need to say a word—his eyes alone held her captive. Shame bubbled in her chest, threatening to spill over as she wrapped her arms around herself instinctively, fighting the urge to cover what she’d just exposed. Her head dipped low, too afraid to meet his eyes.

“You’re gorgeous.” His voice was gentle but unwavering, carrying a reassurance that seemed to cut through her self-doubt. She risked a glance up, her breath catching at the warmth in his expression. He wasn’t mocking her, wasn’t scrutinizing—he was admiring, revering her in a way she hadn’t expected.

“You’re doing so well,” he added softly, his tone both a compliment and an encouragement. But then, he leaned forward slightly, his elbows resting on his knees, and his next words were lower, more intimate, pulling her further into his world.

“Do you trust me?”

The question hung in the air, a fragile thread between them. Her heart hammered in her chest, her body torn between the vulnerability of her situation and the strange, undeniable comfort his voice offered.

She gave him a soft nod, her movements tentative, barely perceptible. Her vulnerability was written across her face, her uncertainty etched into the way her hands lingered at her sides as if still debating whether to shield herself. But that wasn’t enough for Spencer.

“I need verbal confirmation, (Y/N),” he pressed, his voice calm yet firm, each word carefully measured. His gaze didn’t waver, steady and unrelenting, like a lighthouse cutting through the fog of her doubt.

Her breath caught in her throat, and she hesitated, the weight of his demand bearing down on her like a physical force. Her lips parted, but no sound came at first—just a shaky exhale. His head tilted slightly, his patience an unspoken challenge, silently urging her to cross the threshold.

“Yes,” she finally stammered, her voice trembling with a mix of apprehension and resolve. “Yes, I trust you.”

The words came out louder than she intended, almost like a yelp, as though speaking them had taken more courage than she thought she possessed. Her cheeks flushed instantly, the warmth spreading down her neck.

Spencer’s lips curved into the faintest smile, his expression softening. The tension in the room shifted, not lessened but transformed—where once there had been uncertainty, now there was something unspoken yet undeniable: her surrender, her choice.

“Good,” he murmured, his voice a low, velvety hum as he leaned back in the chair, savoring the moment like a victory he’d been patiently awaiting. Then, with deliberate ease, he rose to his feet, his movements measured and purposeful, each step echoing faintly against the room’s silence.

Spencer approached her, his hand finding the small of her waist, the touch firm yet oddly reassuring. He guided her gently but unyieldingly toward a ring mounted to the ceiling. Her pulse quickened as she followed his lead, her eyes darting nervously between him and the strange, ominous apparatus.

His hand never left her waist as he reached up, his other arm brushing against her as he brought the cuffs down to her height. The metallic clink of the chain echoed softly in the space, and her breath hitched when he lowered them to dangle just above her reach.

“You want me in those?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, the tremor betraying the fear laced in her question. The vulnerability in her tone was unmistakable. She glanced at the cuffs, then back at him, her mind a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts. Every fiber of her being told her to run, to escape the unknown. Yet something else—something she couldn’t explain—anchored her in place. Curiosity, perhaps. Or the magnetic pull of his presence.

Spencer tilted his head slightly, his darkened eyes meeting hers with an intensity that made her stomach flip. He could see it all: the hesitation, the conflict, the desperate tug-of-war inside her. And he could see something else, too—that faint flicker of desire she was too scared to voice.

“Yes,” he answered finally, his tone steady but softened by a hint of reassurance. “You’ll have a safe word. If you use it, I promise I’ll stop immediately. No questions asked.”

His words were firm yet kind, grounding her in the moment. For a fleeting second, she almost believed that he could see straight through her fears and into the part of her that wanted to trust him, wanted to let go.

“You’ll be safe,” he added, his voice dipping lower, the sincerity in it undeniable. “I’ll make sure of it.”

She swallowed hard, her gaze flicking back to the cuffs. The urge to flee still clawed at her, but so did the pull to stay. As the silence stretched between them, she realized that it wasn’t just the situation that kept her rooted—it was him.

She hesitated, her breath shallow as she wrestled with the decision swirling in her mind. Finally, with a slow exhale, she raised her hands above her head, her fingers trembling slightly as they brushed the cuffs that dangled just out of reach. It was a gesture of tentative surrender, a signal that she was ready—or at least, willing—to take this step.

But Spencer wasn’t done with her yet. He wanted more, needed more. The dominance he had craved for so long wouldn’t be satisfied by half-measures.

“Take off your bra,” he instructed, his voice low but commanding, the words settling over her like a velvet chain. He stepped closer, his towering presence casting a shadow that seemed to engulf her. The way he looked at her, with that quiet, unyielding intensity, made it clear—this wasn’t a request.

Her eyes widened as his demand sank in, the weight of it making her heart race. “I thought this was supposed to be a test run,” she managed to say, her voice shaky and uncertain, her gaze darting between him and the cuffs above her.

Spencer’s lips curved into a faint, knowing smile, his eyes dark with purpose. “How will we know if you like it or not,” he replied smoothly, his tone carrying a hint of teasing, “if you don’t show some skin?”

The words hung in the air, both a challenge and a justification. He wasn’t just pushing her boundaries; he was coaxing her toward something she hadn’t fully admitted to herself that she wanted.

She swallowed hard, her thoughts a whirlwind of anticipation and nerves. Deep down, she knew this was coming. She’d known from the moment she stepped into his suite that her imagination—the fantasies she’d entertained but never dared voice—was inching closer to becoming reality.

But knowing it didn’t make it any easier.

Her hands drifted downward, brushing against the clasp of her bra as her breathing quickened. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from him, his gaze like a magnet, pulling her in even as her mind screamed at her to stop. There was no turning back now; the pull was too strong. 

In that moment, she let go—let go of the armor she wore so tightly, the hard and unyielding persona that shielded her from vulnerability. She surrendered it all to Spencer, letting him strip away the control she clung to so desperately. Deep down, she knew she could trust him. The knowledge that he would stop the moment she uttered her safe word was her anchor, the thread that allowed her to take the plunge.

With trembling fingers, she unclasped her bra, the fabric loosening its hold on her body. Gravity took over as it slipped from her shoulders, fluttering softly to the floor between them, pooling at their feet like a quiet surrender. Her chest rose and fell in shallow breaths, the cool air grazing her bare skin, sending a shiver racing down her spine.

Instinctively, she wanted to shield herself, her arms twitching as if to fold over her chest. But she resisted. Instead, she lifted her chin and kept her gaze locked with Spencer’s, refusing to break the connection. His eyes were steady, dark pools of intensity that seemed to swallow her whole. They didn’t stray—not even for a second—to her newly exposed form. He stayed focused on her, his stare grounding her, holding her in place.

Her vulnerability hung heavy in the air between them, but his expression wasn’t one of judgment. It was something deeper—reverence, maybe, or an almost predatory satisfaction at her willingness to give herself to him. The heat in his gaze burned away the edges of her lingering shame, replacing it with a strange, electrifying mix of fear and exhilaration.

Slowly, she raised her arms above her head, her movements deliberate, her breaths shaky but resolute. The cold metal of the cuffs grazed her wrists, the chill jolting her skin as she settled them in place. Her fingers curled slightly, her body tensing with anticipation as she waited for Spencer to lock her into place.

Time seemed to stretch as she stood there, exposed and open, the chains rattling faintly with her unsteady breaths. Yet, despite the vulnerability of the moment, she felt an unexpected calm settle over her. She had let go. The control was no longer hers, and somehow, that made her feel free.

Spencer’s hands moved deliberately, reaching above her head to secure her wrists in the waiting cuffs. The faint metallic click echoed in the stillness as he locked her first hand into place, his movements measured and precise. Her breathing hitched when he reached for the second cuff, the soft brush of his fingers against her skin sending a shiver racing through her.

“Is that too tight?” he asked, his voice a gentle murmur, grounding her in the moment.

She gave an experimental tug on her restraints, testing the give of the chains, the slight pull on her wrists making her hyperaware of her position. The cold metal pressed firmly against her skin, but it didn’t hurt—at least, not yet.

“My left one feels a little too loose,” she admitted softly, her voice tinged with both vulnerability and trust.

Spencer nodded, his expression shifting into one of careful focus. He adjusted the left cuff with precision, tightening it just enough to hold her securely but not uncomfortably. His touch was gentle, almost reverent, as though he understood the weight of her trust and carried it with care.

“Try that,” he said, stepping back slightly to give her room to test the adjustment.

She pulled again, her wrists shifting slightly in the cuffs, the sensation strange but not unpleasant. “That’s good,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, yet the words carried a finality that made her pulse quicken.

Spencer’s lips curved into a faint smile, his eyes darkening with intent. The moment hung between them, heavy with anticipation, as the last barrier between her and his desires dissolved. She was bound now, completely at his mercy, and the realization sent a thrill through her that she couldn’t quite name.

He stepped closer, his presence commanding, yet his movements were unhurried, savoring her surrender. She felt the heat of his body near hers, the air crackling with a tension that made her stomach twist in a dizzying blend of nerves and excitement.

“You’re perfect like this,” he murmured, his voice a low rasp that made her knees feel weak. But there was an edge to his tone, a promise of what was to come.

She knew now there was nothing stopping him, nothing holding him back from taking what he wanted—and, as much as it terrified her, she realized she didn’t want to stop him either.

“This will be the only time I give you a choice in what we do,” Spencer began, his voice soft yet unwavering, the firmness in his tone underscoring his sincerity. “Would you like to try a blindfold as well?”

He spoke with an unusual gentleness, a kind of care he rarely extended to anyone in his role as a dominant. But with (Y/N), it was different. She wasn’t like the others who had stepped into his domain, already accustomed to giving up control. This was her first time, her first step into uncharted territory, and he felt an overwhelming need to ensure she felt safe every moment of the way.

As soon as the words left his mouth, he saw the flicker of panic in her eyes. It was subtle but unmistakable—the way her body stiffened slightly, the way her lips pressed together as if to hold back the truth. Spencer didn’t need her to say it aloud; the answer was written all over her face.

He knew it would be a no, and yet it wasn’t a simple refusal. It was a no that carried a weight, one wrapped in a quiet fear of disappointing him. The realization sent a pang through him, a reminder of how much trust she had placed in him and how fragile that trust was.

“It’s your decision,” he said softly, stepping closer, his tone warm and reassuring. “Whatever it is, it will never disappoint me.”

The sincerity in his voice seemed to settle over her like a calming blanket. Still, she couldn’t meet his gaze. Instead, her eyes dropped to the floor, focusing on their feet—the stark contrast between her bare toes and the polished leather of his tuxedo shoes. The image felt oddly symbolic to her: vulnerable and exposed next to his commanding presence.

Her breath wavered as she shook her head, the gesture small and hesitant. She forced herself to speak, her voice trembling but audible. “No,” she said, her tone heavy with a mix of shame and relief, as though the simple act of voicing her refusal felt like an act of rebellion against her own self-doubt.

Spencer tilted his head slightly, studying her with those sharp, thoughtful eyes. “Thank you for telling me,” he said gently, his lips curling into a faint, approving smile. “You don’t need to feel ashamed for setting a boundary. That’s exactly what I want you to do.”

Her shoulders eased slightly at his words, her breathing evening out. At that moment, she realized that he wasn’t disappointed—far from it. If anything, he seemed pleased that she had trusted him enough to speak her mind.

Spencer reached up, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face with a touch so tender it made her heartache. “You’re doing perfectly,” he murmured, his voice like a balm against her lingering doubts. “This is about you, not me. Always.”

And for the first time since she’d stepped into this world of uncharted sensations, she began to believe it.

Spencer’s fingers moved deliberately, brushing lightly against the curve of her hip. His touch was soft, almost featherlike, the kind of teasing that sent shivers skittering across her skin. He wasn’t rushing; this was about exploration, about seeing how her body reacted to him, how far she would let herself go.

Her breath hitched, and a quiet, involuntary giggle slipped past her lips. “That tickles,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, tinged with both embarrassment and restraint. She didn’t want to pull away, didn’t want to break the moment or risk displeasing him. But her body betrayed her, shifting slightly out of instinct, as if it had a mind of its own.

Spencer’s hand stilled for a moment, and then he withdrew, his touch trailing away from her hip. Her heart sank at the loss, but before she could fully register the absence, his fingers were under her chin, tilting her face upward.

The movement was firm yet careful, guiding her gaze to meet his. His eyes locked onto hers with an intensity that made her stomach twist and her knees feel weak. There was no need for him to speak; the demand in his expression was unmistakable.

She swallowed hard, the air between them thick with unspoken tension. Somehow, she already knew what he wanted, what he was waiting for. Her voice came out as a breathy whisper, soft but resolute. “Yes, you can touch me.”

Her words hung in the air like a confession, and Spencer’s lips curled into the faintest of smiles, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. It wasn’t a grin of triumph but of satisfaction—a confirmation that she was willing to give herself to him, step by step, in her own time.

He leaned in slightly, his hand still resting lightly under her chin, his thumb brushing against her jaw. “Good girl,” he murmured, his voice low and smooth, a reward in itself. The praise sent warmth flooding through her, melting away the last of her hesitation.

Spencer’s hand moved again, slow and deliberate, tracing her skin with the kind of care that left no doubt—this wasn’t just about control. It was about connection, about her trusting him enough to let him take the lead.

Spencer moved slowly, his touch deliberate and teasing, each contact designed to heighten the ache, the need growing in both of them. He knew how badly she wanted him to touch her, how much she would beg for it if he pushed her to that point. And yet, he was patient, letting the anticipation simmer, knowing that the slow build-up would make the moment more intense when it finally arrived.

He started at her cuffed wrists, his fingers trailing softly over the restraints. His touch was tender at first as if savoring the sensation of her restrained form. Slowly, his hands moved lower, tracing the line of her forearm, and the soft skin of her upper arm, each motion lingering longer than necessary. The gentle caress was almost maddening—he could feel the tension in her body, how her muscles tightened, waiting for the next move.

When his fingers reached her shoulder, he paused, deliberately drawing out the moment. Her breath hitched in anticipation, her body tensing as she prepared herself for the next step, expecting him to move downward, to give her the relief she craved. But Spencer, ever the tease, left her waiting. He chose to wait just a little longer, knowing that the suspense would make her feel every second of it.

Instead, his fingers danced across her shoulder, up her neck, tracing the curve with a soft, almost reverent touch. Her skin shivered under his fingertips as his hand moved slowly to her face, cupping her chin gently but with authority, guiding her to meet his gaze.

His eyes were dark, almost cold, as he took her in. He studied her carefully, noting the way the microfit shorts clung to her body, and how they outlined the contours of her hips and thighs. He could see the way her breasts stood out, her nipples hard against the chill of the room, a soft flush of color on her skin. Her stomach, ever so slightly bloated from the meal earlier, gave her an endearing vulnerability that only added to the beauty of the moment.

She was perfect to him. Every detail, every inch of her body, was etched into his mind. And as he looked at her, he couldn’t help but wish that she could see herself the way he saw her—vulnerable, beautiful, and entirely his in this moment.

The silence between them stretched, thick with desire and the tension of what was to come. Spencer’s fingers lingered on her face, tracing her jawline, his thumb lightly brushing her lips. He didn’t need to say anything. His touch spoke volumes—he knew she was waiting for him to give her what she needed. But for now, he wanted to make her wait just a little longer, drawing out the ache until she couldn’t take it anymore. 

As Spencer’s thumb grazed across her lips, a gentle shudder ran through her body. She couldn’t help herself, the desire bubbling up inside her, compelling her to lean forward and softly kiss the pad of his thumb. She longed for more—wanted to kiss him fully—but the cuffs that bound her to the ceiling kept her restrained, her arms stretched above her head, leaving her helpless in the moment. Still, the kiss she gave him, so subtle, was enough to send a shiver of satisfaction down Spencer’s spine. It was a silent reassurance to him, a sign that she trusted him completely, even in this position.

“Tell me what you want, Darling,” Spencer’s voice broke the silence, low and commanding, yet there was a softness to it that matched his intent. He wanted her to be brave enough to voice her desires, to speak up if she needed something, to never feel as though she couldn’t communicate with him.

Her breath caught as she swallowed, taking in the weight of his words. There was no hesitation now, only the quiet realization of how far she had come in this moment. “A kiss? Please,” she whispered, her voice trembling slightly. She reminded herself of the rules she had read about submissives—about the importance of politeness, of asking for what they wanted with respect.

Spencer smirked, amused and pleased by her request, the politeness of her words making the moment all the more enticing. He moved toward her, bending down to her height with a teasing, almost taunting air. The position she was in—her arms bound to the ceiling, her feet barely able to touch the ground—made her feel both vulnerable and desperate for him. She had to balance precariously on her toes, her body trembling from the strain as she waited for him to make his next move.

When he leaned in, his lips capturing hers with an intensity that sent a rush of heat through her, she melted into the kiss. It was deep and consuming, full of longing, with a quiet urgency. She didn’t want it to end. She couldn’t. Her body responded before her mind could catch up, and her hands instinctively reached for the chain of her cuffs, her fingers gripping it tightly to ease the strain on her arms. The discomfort was sharp, but she pushed through it, lifting herself slightly off the ground. As her legs wrapped around Spencer’s muscled waist, she pressed herself against him, a quiet plea in her actions.

But Spencer was not so easily swayed. He pulled away, his lips lingering just out of reach. “Ah uh. Good girls don’t misbehave,” he murmured, his voice low but firm. The smirk on his lips deepened as he felt her thighs wrap around him, trapping him in place, her body pressing against his with a force that betrayed her desperation.

His hands moved to her hips, steadying her as her legs held him in place. He could feel her warmth through their clothes, the way her breath quickened with need, and it made him pause, letting the silence between them stretch. He could feel her pulse racing beneath his touch, her every reaction amplifying the tension in the room.

For a moment, Spencer basked in the control he held over her, the way her body clung to him so desperately, her breath shallow and uneven as if she couldn’t bear to let go. His dark eyes lingered on her face, taking in every flicker of emotion—the need, the vulnerability, the surrender. She was entirely at his mercy, and he reveled in it.

But then, with deliberate care, he reached down, his strong hands firmly but gently prying her legs apart. His touch was commanding, yet never harsh, guiding her movements as he unhooked her feet from around his waist. Her thighs trembled as they released their grip, the strain and tension of holding herself up now giving way to his control.

As her feet found the ground again, Spencer softened, ensuring she landed with grace rather than force. His hands remained steady at her hips, holding her in place as her weight shifted, grounding her. The contrast between his earlier teasing dominance and the tender way he lowered her back down was enough to send a fresh wave of heat through her body.

“There we go,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing, a faint hint of amusement tugging at the corners of his lips. He lingered close, his presence still overwhelming, his hands resting on her hips for a moment longer before finally releasing her. The intimacy of the moment was undeniable—every movement calculated, every gesture leaving her yearning for what he might do next.

Spencer straightened, his eyes never leaving hers, as if daring her to test him again, to see how far he’d let her go before taking back the control she had so briefly attempted to seize.

 “You need to be punished,” Spencer said, his voice low and eerie, carrying a dark promise that sent a chill down her spine. Slowly, deliberately, he turned away from her, leaving her bound and vulnerable as he walked toward the imposing wall of floggers and tools. The soft rustle of his footsteps on the floor seemed deafening in the heavy silence of the room.

Her heart pounded as she watched him run his fingers along the neatly arranged implements, his touch dragging across the leather strands and polished handles. Each one swayed slightly at the friction of his movements, the gentle creak of leather making the air feel electric. Spencer cast a quick glance over his shoulder, his eyes gleaming with mischief, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Which one should I use?” he mused aloud, more to himself than her, the teasing in his tone unmistakable. His fingers hovered over one flogger before moving to another, keeping her guessing, keeping her on edge. The deliberate slowness of his movements was maddening, a calculated way to build her anticipation—or her dread.

Finally, he stopped, his hand resting on a flogger with sleek black leather strands and a braided handle that looked almost elegant in its design. His fingers curled around it as he pulled it from the wall, his eyes flicking back to her. The way he studied her, the intensity in his gaze, made her stomach churn with a mixture of fear and something else she couldn’t quite name.

Her breath quickened, her chest rising and falling as she tried to steady herself. Deep down, she knew Spencer wouldn’t actually use it on her tonight. He wouldn’t push her that far, not on her first time in the red room. But in that moment, her logical mind gave way to raw emotion—fear and uncertainty clawing their way to the surface.

“Yellow!” she blurted out, her voice trembling as panic took over. The safe word slipped past her lips instinctively, a desperate plea for him to stop. She tugged against the cuffs in a frantic, almost futile attempt to ground herself, her mind racing as she tried to ease the discomfort that had taken hold of her.

Spencer froze instantly, his entire demeanor shifting. The teasing smirk disappeared from his face as he set the flogger down on a nearby table with a quiet thud. Without hesitation, he turned back to her, closing the distance between them in a few quick, purposeful strides.

“Shh, it’s okay,” he said softly, his voice now warm and steady, a sharp contrast to the dark playfulness from moments ago. He cupped her face gently in his hands, his thumbs brushing soothing circles over her cheeks as he tilted her chin up to meet his gaze.

“You’re alright,” Spencer murmured, his eyes softening as he searched hers, his concern evident. “I’ve got you. I’m not going to use it, I promise.”

Leaning in, he pressed a tender kiss to the tip of her nose, the gesture so gentle and intimate that it made her heart ache. His touch, his voice, everything about him in that moment was designed to bring her back to a place of safety and trust.

“You did exactly what you were supposed to,” he reassured her, his voice calm and soothing. “You told me how you felt, and that’s all I’ll ever ask of you. You’re safe with me.”

Spencer stayed close, his hands never leaving her face as he waited for her breathing to slow, for the tension in her body to ease. And when it did, when her eyes finally met his with a glimmer of trust, he smiled softly. The flogger was forgotten, left behind on the wall as Spencer refocused all his attention on her.

“I just want to be touched by you tonight, please,” she murmured, her voice trembling and fragile. She knew how it sounded—pathetic, almost desperate, as if she were bargaining with a man who held all the power, especially here in his sanctuary, his carefully curated pleasure room. But wasn’t that what he wanted? For her to speak her desires, to get comfortable expressing herself in this space without fear of judgment?

Spencer’s eyes darkened at her plea, but his expression softened. “I can make that happen,” he said, his voice deep and soothing, a promise laced in every word. His fingers moved with practiced precision, brushing lightly against the waistband of her black fitness shorts. He didn’t rush, didn’t assume. He lingered there, his fingers barely dipping beneath the fabric, waiting—no, insisting—that she give him permission to continue.

“Yes,” she breathed, the word escaping her lips in a soft, almost inaudible whisper.

Spencer’s lips curved into the faintest of smiles before he sank to his knees before her, moving with deliberate grace. From her vantage point, cuffed and bound, the sight of him kneeling was intoxicating, his presence commanding even as he took a submissive position at her feet. His hands rested gently on her hips, and then he leaned in, pressing a soft, reverent kiss to her slightly bloated stomach.

Her breath hitched, the tenderness of the gesture catching her off guard. Slowly, Spencer hooked his fingers under the waistband of her shorts, dragging them down inch by excruciating inch. He took his time, letting the cool air brush against her exposed skin, adding to the anticipation. When the fabric finally pooled at her ankles, he left her standing there in nothing but her underwear, vulnerable and exposed.

But Spencer didn’t rush to the end goal. Instead, he moved with agonizing slowness, lowering his head further as his lips ghosted over the curve of her knee. His kisses trailed upward, soft and teasing, his warm breath brushing her skin as he made his way to her inner thigh. Each kiss lingered, igniting a spark that spread through her body like wildfire.

Her body betrayed her, straining against the cuffs, her hips shifting slightly as if to draw him closer. The chains rattled softly, her quiet plea for more unmistakable. Spencer noticed, of course—he noticed everything.

When his lips reached the sensitive skin just below her hipbone, he paused, pressing a lingering kiss to her lower abdomen, dangerously close to the edge of her underwear. Her breathing was ragged, her chest rising and falling as the tension built.

“You can take them off,” she whispered, the words spilling out before she could stop them. She thought that was what he wanted, thought that her compliance would please him.

But Spencer only chuckled softly, the sound low and rich, sending another shiver through her body. His lips curled into a smirk as he tilted his head to look up at her, his dark eyes locking with hers.

“No,” he said firmly, his voice a mix of authority and amusement. “I want you like this.”

The statement hung in the air between them, final and undeniable. It wasn’t about rushing to undress her fully—it was about savoring the moment, the anticipation, the power exchange. And in that moment, she realized that Spencer wanted her exactly as she was: bound, vulnerable, and entirely his.

As Spencer rose from his kneeling position, his hands moved with purpose. One cupped her breast, his palm warm and firm against her soft skin, while the other snaked around her waist, pulling her closer and keeping her from shifting under his touch. His fingers worked skillfully, kneading her breast with just the right pressure, his thumb brushing over her nipple in deliberate, teasing strokes. Every so often, he pinched the hardened peak, eliciting sharp gasps and soft whimpers that fueled his own satisfaction.

His other hand began its slow descent, gliding down her waist, pausing briefly to caress the curve of her hip before finally settling on the fabric covering her aching core. Spencer’s movements were slow and deliberate, his thumb pressing against her clothed clit in slow, torturous circles, testing her response.

The moment his touch found the perfect rhythm, (Y/N) couldn’t help herself. Her head fell back, her lips parted in a shaky exhale as waves of pleasure rippled through her. Her body strained against the cuffs, her wrists aching to be free so she could touch him, pull him closer, beg for more.

“Spence, please…” she whispered, her voice soft and pleading, tugging futilely on the chains above her head. “Keep going.”

Her desperation sent a thrill through Spencer, a wicked smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. He knew she wasn’t in any position to demand, but something about the way she begged him stirred a dark satisfaction deep within him. His fingers continued their torment, experimenting with pressure and motion, coaxing whimpers and moans from her that only grew louder with each pass of his thumb.

But just as she began to lose herself, Spencer’s hand abruptly left her throbbing clit, the absence of his touch almost painful in its suddenness. Her whine of protest was cut short as he swiftly clamped his hand over her mouth, his eyes dark and commanding as they locked with hers.

“Be quiet,” he growled, his voice low and rough, a sharp contrast to the gentle way he’d been touching her moments before.

His dominance was unyielding, and it left her breathless. She nodded faintly against his hand, her wide eyes filled with both submission and unspoken desire. Spencer’s smirk deepened, satisfied with her obedience.

Without another word, he shifted his stance, lifting one knee between her legs. The movement was deliberate, his thigh pressing against her clothed core as he resumed the rhythm she craved. He applied just enough pressure to drive her wild, the fabric of her underwear adding a delicious friction as he moved his leg.

Pinned between the unyielding cuffs above her and Spencer’s strong, unrelenting presence, (Y/N) had no choice but to give in completely. Her muffled moans against his hand were filled with a mix of frustration and pleasure, her body trembling under his control.

Spencer leaned in close, his lips brushing her ear as he whispered, “You don’t get to dictate how this goes. I decide when and how you get what you want.”

The words sent a shiver down her spine, and she realized with every passing second just how thoroughly he intended to own her tonight.

She was teetering on the edge, her body trembling as waves of pleasure built with every calculated movement Spencer made. His knee continued its agonizingly slow, circular motions against her clothed clit, and the dual sensations of his hand teasing her sensitive nipples and his other muffling her soft moans were driving her mad. Her breaths came in short, erratic gasps as her release approached, her body betraying her desperation to finally let go.

“Are you going to cum for me, sweet girl?” Spencer murmured into her ear, his voice low and smooth, sending a fresh surge of heat coursing through her. As he spoke, his lips brushed along her jawline, placing soft, deliberate kisses that only heightened her arousal.

The pet name unraveled her completely. Her head fell back, a muffled cry escaping against his hand as her body arched into him. Gathering herself, she tilted her head forward again, locking eyes with him. Her gaze was pleading, her response a breathless, trembling, “Mmhm.”

Her release was seconds away, her body tightening in anticipation. But just as she was about to tumble over the edge, the unmistakable sound of his apartment door opening shattered the moment.

“Spencer! Henry’s here for your sleepover tonight!” JJ’s cheerful voice rang out from the front of the apartment, oblivious to the scene she had interrupted.

Panic shot through both of them. Spencer froze for a split second, his hands and knee pulling away from her in one fluid motion. The sudden absence of his touch left her aching and unfulfilled, her body still straining against the cuffs in frustration. Their eyes met, wide and panicked, as reality crashed down on them.

“Spencer!” she whispered harshly, her voice low and urgent. “Don’t leave me like this!”

But Spencer, acting on instinct and clearly rattled by JJ’s unexpected arrival, turned away without a word. He moved quickly toward the door, leaving her suspended, nearly naked, and vulnerable. The lock clicked as he exited the red room, sealing her inside.

Her heart pounded, a mix of humiliation, disbelief, and residual arousal swirling in her mind. “Spencer!” she whisper-yelled again, tugging futilely at the cuffs. She tried to free herself, twisting and pulling, but the restraints held firm.

Panic bubbled up inside her as she realized the absurdity of her predicament. Left hanging in the red room, her body exposed save for her panties, she cursed herself for insisting earlier that the cuffs be tightened.

She squirmed in frustration, her cheeks burning with a mix of embarrassment and anger. The sound of distant voices from the other room filtered through the walls, a constant reminder of her helplessness.

Her mind raced as she considered her options—or rather, the lack of them. There was nothing to do but wait, stuck in this mortifying position, and hope Spencer would come to his senses and return before JJ—or worse, Henry—wandered too far into the apartment.

Thank you for reading! Please like and reblog if you enjoyed! Part 2 - Tied 2 You!

Masterlist!

[stellarsecrets86]

Neptune In Houses Of Groom Persona Chart

[PS: For entertainment purposes only. Have fun.💚]

Other posts you might like:

Masterlist

{Neptune in a groom’s persona chart represents dreams, intuition, spiritual connection, and the potential for idealism or illusion in his approach to marriage and life. Neptune reveals how the groom expresses compassion, imagination, and emotional sensitivity, as well as how he may deal with confusion or unrealistic expectations. }

▫️▫️▫️▫��▫️▫️▫️▫️▫️▫️▫️▫️▫️▫️▫️▫️

Neptune in the 1st House

Neptune in the 1st House makes for a spouse with an immediate, otherworldly magnetism. His dreamy and compassionate nature makes him gentle, spiritual, and deeply empathetic. He may intuitively know what others need emotionally, which could make him very appealing to his spouse. Nevertheless, the fluidity of his identity may make him too fluid in establishing boundaries, and at times, he will question his role in the relationship. This groom often wants to be an ideal partner and may sacrifice or have issues with being authentic. His spouse will find him creative and artistic, but the spouse needs to offer grounding energy to help him through reality.

Neptune in the 2nd House

This placement suggests that the spouse may approach his values and material possessions with an idealistic or spiritual lens. He might prioritize meaning and emotional connection over financial stability, sometimes leading to impractical financial decisions. However, he is generous to a fault and enjoys sharing his resources to create beauty and harmony in the relationship. He is looking for a partner who understands his selfless nature and respects the fact that he tries to bring abundance into the world in ways other than financial. The challenge is to keep financial clarity and not let his idealistic tendencies blur his practical responsibilities.

Neptune in the 3rd House

Neptune in the 3rd House speaks with poetic elegance, and he often views life through a powerfully imaginative yet abstract perspective. His words stir the emotional psyche, and he is a very engaging storyteller or communicator. This placement can indicate that he idealizes communication in his relationship, seeking a deep, almost telepathic level of connection with his mate. He could have a good sense of humour. 😄His creative ideas add depth to the marriage and his compassionate dialogue, yet his tendency to dream on about what was said, misinterpreting details, causes confusing situations. His partner needs to appreciate his dreamy overview while keeping him focused on everyday discussion and life's duties.

Neptune in the 4th House

Neptune in the 4th House seeks a home life that is very much a sanctuary: a place of love, spirituality, and emotional safety. He may idealize family life and dream of creating a mystical ambiance in the house. However, this very idealism runs the risk of leading him to disillusion when the reality doesn't match the dream. This placement would suggest a deep emotional attachment to the family of origin or a longing for an idealized version of it, which might influence his approach to marriage. His spouse must learn to deal with his emotional sensitivity and sometimes escapist tendencies by encouraging healthy communication and keep the family grounded regarding practical matters.

Neptune in the 5th House

Neptune in the 5th House approaches romance with a sense of magic and wonder. He may well be an artistic soul, probably having an artistic inclination for music, painting, or other kinds of creative activities. In romance, he idealizes passion and playfulness, and he is looking for a relationship that will make him feel like part of some kind of fairy tale. However, this idealism can make him vulnerable to unrealistic expectations or disappointment if the romance becomes mundane. His spouse needs to embrace his artistic and playful energy while keeping him grounded with the practical realities of maintaining a relationship. This placement also highlights emotional connection to children, as he may view them as an extension of his creative spirit.

Neptune in the 6th House

This placement can reveal a spouse who is unselfish, serves others, and often incorporates spirituality or creativity into his day-to-day toil. He should be very caring and take much care in whatever kind of responsibility he undertakes, though at times he might be inconsistent or unclear about boundaries in respect to routines. As a husband, he is deeply empathetic and willing to put his spouse's needs first rather than his own. But he should not lose himself in that process or forget his health. His spouse will play a key role in helping him find routines and healthy habits and striking a balance in his selflessness with self-care.

Neptune in the 7th House

Neptune in the 7th House suggests that your spouse is quite dreamy about a soulmate connection and idealizes partnership. He can bring a dreamy, romantic dimension to the relationship, often working at making an intense, almost spiritual connection with the spouse. However, this placement can also blur boundaries, codependency, or lead to unrealistic expectations from his partner. Sometimes, he projects onto a spouse fantasies projected and expects them to live out roles that are unreal. This wife should handle these predispositions by inculcating healthy communication and developing realistic expectations without losing respect for the dreamer/romancer within him.

Neptune in the 8th House

Having Neptune in the 8th House your husband is easily led to enjoy very heavy, emotional depth in intimacy, going into those intimate moments for extreme transformational reasons in a marriage union. He desires a level of connection where souls will spiritually and emotionally connect. This placement suggests a fascination with shared resources, mysteries, and even life's spiritual aspects like death and rebirth. However, this strong urge to change can lead to confusion or secrecy in the relationship. His partner will have to support his spiritual quest but also make sure that everything they do together is clear and trustworthy.

Neptune in the 9th House

It will put him as a person who is highly visionary, constantly pursuing spiritual or philosophical truths, and idealizes traveling, going to school, or religious studies-all of which can be shared with a spouse as part of their crusade. He wants those relationships to widen his vistas and inspire growing; though, he resides so much within ideals he has difficulty focusing on his visions for this life. His wife needs to understand his adventurous spirit and encourage him to take realistic steps toward manifesting his dreams.

Neptune in the 10th House

Neptune in the 10th House describes a spouse who idealizes his career or public image, and he often aspires to inspire or heal others through his work. He is likely attracted to artistic or spiritual professions and may be interested in a legacy that reflects compassion and creativity. However, such idealism causes confusion or diffidence about what he wants out of his work. As a husband, too, he works at balancing aspiration with home-based responsibilities, and he needs his partner to help him connect his vision with practical strategies for achieving fulfillment.

Neptune in the 11th House

This house represents an idealist in friendship and social causes. He dreams of a better world and enlists his spouse to be a part of such visions. That position indicates he may idealize group dynamics but must guard against disillusioning or misplaced confidence in others. His spouse needs to encourage his humanitarian endeavors while helping him maintain discernment in his relationships and goals.

Neptune in the 12th House

Neptune in the 12th House, he is deeply spiritual, introspective, and in tune with the unseen side of life. Thus, he may have an enriching inner life and become a very emotional and spiritual supporter for his wife. However, his introspection may at times turn into withdrawal or inability to state his needs. He seeks something more than material as a husband, but a husband has to help him keep the integrity and prevent things from becoming misunderstood or alienated.

------> Each Neptune placement will show how idealistic, vulnerable, and spiritually-emotionally connecting the spouse is, showing specific ways in which he approaches marriage and the role he plays in marriage.

[cozymochi]

Sorry for asking about the teeth 🤣 I was just extremely curious and won't ask the other question that also popped into my head about his teeth.

I am actually really interested in learning about both Nyoka and Cecil's magics. And just in general. As someone who likes to gush about their characters to my friends, I really like knowing all about characters, especially ones other people have created.

Whatever you're willing to share about them, I'd be very interested in hearing about

other question khjgh ITS FINE I THINK IT’S FUNNY, Thank you and everyone else for the interest 😭😳💖 I probably don’t say that enough I really really do appreciate it. Time to drop important lore on a random post 👍 These are gonna be super paraphrased 😭 one spell is less complicated than the other.

CECILS SIGNATURE SPELL:

“Sorcerers’ Stand-Still”

Renders a person or people frozen in place like a statue unable to move or speak until the caster either releases it, runs out of magic reserves to hold it, or it runs it’s course and wears off on it’s own.

A person is consciously aware that they are frozen in place. There’s no protection qualities here, they’re just stuck. It doesn’t seem like much, but he knows how to use it.

Inspiration: The “Standstill Stone” spell that Cedric used to briefly take over the kingdom in season 4 premiere of Sofia the First.

NYOKAS SIGNATURE SPELL:

“Mark of Evil”

intrusive thoughts the spell

His magically-infused cobra venom can affect someone's mind and remove their morals if he injects it into someone. His magic inflicts tremendous waves of pain and makes it difficult for a victim to think and control their own actions. So long as the spell is active, Nyoka can influence them almost like accomplices for his own means.

It’s not immediately obvious to anyone else that a person is under a spell at all. However, as the effect goes on, the victim becomes more and more openly uncharacteristic, irritable and difficult for Nyoka to steer influence as their psyche continues to fall apart. It’s ideal to release them before it reaches that point. Don’t worry, venom won’t kill this time because magic, but a victim’s memory will be hazy and they will be hurting quite a bit afterwards. 👍 He has more incentive not to use it.

Inspiration: The magic bite Ushari inflicts on Kion at the start of season 3 of the Lion Guard, and the maddening effects it causes from that moment on till the end of the show. (Heavily paraphrased.)

[soelstress]

Hopelessly Devoted To You

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x female!reader

Summary: Bucky misunderstands when he hears you but doesn't recognise those popular lyrics...

Word count: 3.4k

A/N - Hello lovelies! Thought I'd post this piece from when I was working on ANOTHER WIP and in a craze for misunderstandings from eavesdropping. This is silly fluff with a possible smidge of angst.

A big big thank you to @mrsbuckybarnes1917 for eyeballing this and catching my hiccups. Much love, Skittle!

The pic is what I had in mind for the polaroid.... just look at him 🥰😍 Sourced from Google

Do not Steal, Copy or Plagiarize any part of my work

Whistling, you prepared two lunches to go in the kitchen of Stark Tower. After putting the food into containers you cleared up any mess. Looking up, you saw Bucky stride into the kitchen. “Hey doll”. His eyes crinkled as he smiled, leaning on the counter.

You grinned back, your face heating at his proximity. “Hiya Buck. What’s up?”

Shifting his weight, he straightened slightly. “That movie you were talking about is playing at the old theater this afternoon. Thought I’d go see it… and wondered if you’d wanna go?”

Happiness filled you at his hopeful tone, only to be immediately swamped by guilt. “Oh Buck, I’m sorry but I’ve got-“

“Petal, are those nibbles ready? We gotta dash and dine!” A male voice called down the hall. You saw Bucky’s eyes then register the two lunches in front of him. His smile wavered.

“Coming Danny!” You quickly scooped the containers into your bag. Approaching him, you placed your hand on his flesh hand which rested on the counter. “Let me know if you do go, Bucky. If you don’t, maybe we can watch it here later? Snacks, popcorn, big pillows - the usual?”

His Vibranium hand covered yours,  whirring gently at the contact. “I’d love that doll”.

Once again you felt the heat in your cheeks as you tried not to melt at the feel of your hand caught between both of his. Catching sight of your watch, you groaned. “Crap I gotta run. See ya Buck”. Without thinking you stood on tip toe to peck his cheek and ran out. Unseen to you, Bucky touched where your lips brushed his cheek and blushed.

You met Danny at the elevator. He bounced with energy, his brown eyes glinting. As you both stepped in, he nudged you gently. “I know I said it after asking you, but I really appreciate you doing this, Flower. You’ve got enough going on with the team and saving the world”.

“Saving the world one memo at a time” you joke and he laughed. 

Exiting the elevator into the garage, you got into his car and drove to Queens where Danny was starring in a community production of Grease, performing for one week. He loved the stage, and was psyched to play Danny Zuko. So it had been a surprise for him to arrive at the Tower saying the show was in trouble and he needed you. Once calmed, he explained that the female lead had been injured in rehearsal and wouldn’t be able to perform on opening night. The director tried to contact people who had previously auditioned with no success. Danny had thought of you, knowing you loved Grease and had taken drama classes in school. Hesitantly you auditioned, knowing you weren’t the best singer but apparently your soft notes sounded better than some of the banshees called back as a desperate measure. When offered the role for opening night, you jumped at the chance. Trying to juggle rehearsals with your job was tricky but you were determined to push through, for Danny and yourself.

You arrived at the theatre and immediately started rehearsing. With opening night one day away, tensions were running high for everyone. Final notes and adjustments being made, everyone checking and rechecking every minute detail. The director watched you perform “Hopelessly Devoted To You”.

“Nice one, sweetheart” he drawled, scribbling on his script. “The pitch and volume are good, remember don’t push too much”. You acknowledged his advice. “My main thought is it needs just a bit more emotion, a bit of angst. Sandy’s fighting the urge to love this man but her love is so strong she’s determined to hold on. Might help if you think you’re singing to someone like that, rather than just an audience”. He eyed you with a frown. “Know what I mean?”

Nodding, you bit your lip. “I’ll try”. He nodded and turned to move onto his next task. Moving to the edge of the stage, you fought the image that appeared in your mind.

“Thinking about that Super Soldier of yours?” Danny obviously overheard your feedback… and seemingly read your mind. “I heard him ask you out earlier” he elaborated at your raised brow. “And what about inviting him and the team? I’m sure they’d come to see you”.

“Yeah, if no emergencies pop up” you snorted. “Come on Danny, Earth’s Mightiest Heroes showing up for a pen pusher?”

You found yourself being spun gently and saw Danny scowling. “I hate when you put yourself down, Petal. You did that even when we were together”. Shrugging, you avoided his gaze but didn’t move away. “But you’re more than that - you train with them, gather intel, help each one in their own individual way - paperwork is the least you do for them! Just because you’re not actively fighting in the field doesn’t mean you’re not part of the team. But even if you were just a ‘pen pusher’, I bet Barnes would still show”.

Sadly you shook your head. “It’s not like that between me and Bucky. Come on Dan, you know me. I’m not the type to be his girl, however much I might want to be”. Exhaling, you mumbled about rehearsing more before forcing the notion from your head.

Later that night, you walked through Stark Tower and asked FRIDAY the location of the team. The AI informed you that the team was sparring in the gym. Knowing you wouldn’t be disturbed for a while, you made your way to the open lounge. It was roughly the same size as the audience seating area at the theater. Popping your AirPods in, you asked FRIDAY to record your efforts. On your second attempt, you remembered what the director suggested. From your wallet, you took out a Polaroid you’d snapped of Bucky. Unguarded, his baby blue eyes sparkled, lips turned up in a soft smile. Your heart tugged, having fallen hard for the seemingly surly Super Soldier. Inhaling, you played the song again and allowed emotion to wash over you.

Bucky walked to the kitchen, grumbling about Tony and Sam showboating during training rather than focusing. Noticing a soft sound, he used his sensitive hearing to find the source. He paused at the entrance of the lounge to see you facing out of a window, your back to him. Carefully he took a step forward, intending to say your name when he heard you speak softly.

My head is sayin', "Fool, forget him" My heart is sayin', "Don't let go Hold on to the end", that's what I intend to do I'm hopelessly devoted to you

Frozen, he watched as you looked at a photo before pressing it to your chest, your voice hitching. He silently withdrew, not hearing you sing the chorus. Bucky entered his room and closed the door, heart thudding painfully as he replayed what just happened. He had been working up the courage to ask you on a date, but hesitated when Danny reappeared in your life. You had told Bucky that the two year relationship had ended amicably but Danny would still be your friend. Bucky had found himself wondering if the two of you had worked things out, given that you had spent so much time together the past few weeks. Still he hoped that something was possible, especially as you made every effort to make up for declining the plans Bucky offered. But now… he understood. It crushed him, but he knew he couldn’t hurt you by keeping you from the man you love. He only hoped that Danny knew how lucky he was. 

The next day rushed by in a chaotic blur, running errands for the team in the morning and dress rehearsal in the afternoon. Unfortunately due to a technical hiccup, you were unable to review your solo notes with the director. You and Danny relaxed backstage, inhaling your dinners knowing you wouldn’t be able to eat until after the show. Nerves began to show in twirling the cutlery, which he picked up on. “You know what they say about a bad dress rehearsal. Stop worrying Petal, you’ll be fine”. 

“Easy for you to say” you growled.

“Jeez, you need to chill out. Are they keeping Barnes on ice again? He could cool you off… or heat things up” Danny smirked, ducking when you reached to flick his ear. “Ok forget the team for a second - why didn’t you invite him?”

“That’s all I need Dan - nerves over inviting him and then with my luck performing badly. I’m stressed enough”. You pointed your cutlery at him for emphasis before throwing it in the bin. “Please… it’s opening night, can we just focus on that? No more talk of invites or team support”. Danny nodded and you sighed in relief. 

At the Tower Nat, Steve, Tony and Bucky were gathered in the living room for movie night. Since you usually joined them and offered options to watch, they noticed your absence. “Where’s our movie critic?” Tony asked, pouting when you don’t appear with snacks in hand. “Tin Man, did she say anything to you?”

Bucky shrugged, frowning. “She’s not been around the last few afternoons, but she didn’t say anything about tonight”.

Peter suddenly skidded into the room, clutching a piece of paper in his hand.

“Where’s the fire kid?” Steve caught Peter before he crashed into someone. 

Panting, Peter shuffled nervously. “So have you guys heard of that old movie Grease?”Tony and Nat groaned at Peter’s definition of ‘old’ while Bucky and Steve were confused. It hadn’t been mentioned to Steve, so he wondered if he should add it to his ever growing list of things to look into. Bucky tried to understand how a movie could be made about grease… unless Peter meant the country?

Nat started to suggest watching it for the current movie night when Peter interrupted her. “Wait! At school I was walking by the bulletin board, you know where you can put fliers for things. There was so much on that board - actually there’s a demonstration I think you and Bruce would love Tony - “

“KID!” Tony huffed with a smile. “What’s this got to do with Grease?”

Pausing, Peter blushed before laughing. “Oh right! Well I saw a flier advertising opening night tonight at a local theater. But that's not what caught my eye. Look at this”. 

Nat took the flier before anyone else could, her brows reaching for the heavens. “Well this explains a few things”. 

The boys gathered round. “No way” Tony exclaimed, his eyes widening behind his trademark glasses. Steve let out a noise of confusion while Bucky stared at the picture snapped of Danny in his T Bird Costume and you in a poodle skirt. Tony asked FRIDAY to check if any tickets were still available, which the AI confirmed would be set aside.

“Well we’ve got our movie night plans, though I’m definitely adding the movie to our list for these two fossils” Nat smirked as Steve let out a sarcastic laugh. “Everybody go change, I doubt our support would be as appreciated if we show up in our sweats”.

Everyone scrambled to go change, Bucky collaring Peter as they headed down the hall. “You know anything about theater kid?”

Backstage, it was a swarm of activity as everyone counted down to showtime. Standing in the wings, you saw Danny on the other side of the stage mumbling and wringing his hands. Darting around your castmates, you engulfed him in a hug which he reciprocated. “It’s gonna be great Danny. Let’s show ‘em the ole Razzle Dazzle”.

His body drained of tension as he softly laughed. “Wrong show Petal”. 

You faux pouted. “Fine. Let’s show ‘em Grease is the word”. He laughed again, prompting a big smile on your face. “Break a leg Danny”.

“You too, Petal”.

You crossed the stage back to the wings, not hearing the whispers about the audience being a full house due to a post on social media. In the audience, a certain group of people sat three rows back, not wanting to risk distracting either you or Danny. Bucky and Steve fidgeted, not knowing what to expect but nevertheless excited to see you perform. Nat sat beside Steve, with Bucky on his other side. Peter was sandwiched between Bucky and Tony, watching on his phone as followers responded to his post about the play. Once the curtain rose, the group was hooked by the performance with Tony and Peter humming along. 

The first few scenes passed smoothly as you darted backstage for a quick costume change. Nerves fluttered in your chest as you hummed a few notes in preparation. Danny appeared like a ghost, handing you the Polaroid and giving your free hand a comforting squeeze. “Remember, deep breaths… and sing to him”. Taking one last glance at the picture, you thought of the soft blue eyes that haunt your thoughts. Hearing your cue, you moved back to the stage.

Bucky’s breath left him as he saw you walk onto the stage, softly singing. He’d never heard you sing before, and the gentle tune was soothingly beautiful. But his heart stopped as he heard the words from the night before and understanding crashed through him - Danny’s sudden return and constant presence, you not being available to hang out - you were practicing for your performance tonight. His heart restarted when he once again heard the hitch in your singing, words filled with emotion. He steeled himself, thinking he might still have a chance and would take any opportunity to try. The group applauded loudly when you finished.

It was a whirl of costume changes and songs until the final act. Slipping into the leather suit you borrowed from Nat, you cursed when the zipper refuses to budge. “Wow, you’re really channeling this whole costume thing aren’t you? Right down to the broken zip”. Danny grinned mischievously. “I’m not sewing you into that, Petal”.

“No one is touching this suit - Nat will kill me if I return it in less than perfect condition”. You cursed softly. “I’m gonna rip this thing if the damn zipper won’t move”.

“Good thing Barnes isn’t here then, I bet you’d have his attention”. You flipped Danny the bird as he cocked his head in mock thought. “I bet he’d fight Widow for a chance to rip it off you himself, not like he couldn’t afford to replace it anyway”. Thankfully the zip then moved into place and you shoved him towards the stage.

When you walked on stage in the ‘Bad Sandy’ costume, the effect was immediate. “Shit” Tony murmured. Peter's jaw dropped. Steve reflexively admonished the cursing, Nat smiling at the exchange. Meanwhile Bucky silently growled. Gone was your workday office combination, the leather suit hugged your every curve, just the right side of sexy and not too modern.

The final song concluded and you were met with thunderous applause. Each cast member took their bow, ending with cheering. When you stepped forward for your turn, you thought the noise increased slightly but since audiences usually cheered loudest for the lead roles, you thought nothing of it. You practically floated backstage, thrilled with how tonight went. As you moved to enter the dressing room, you stopped in shock.

“So our Jack of all trades is also a moonlighting performer” Tony’s glasses flashed under the bright lights. He smirked at your surprise as you gaped at the four people crammed in the room. 

“What? How - “ you were at a loss for words. 

“Underoos here found a flier. Not important” Tony stepped forward and clapped you on the shoulder. “You did good kid, great work. Though now I know how you can juggle things, maybe we should discuss your workload”.

Nat swept you into a hug. “Explains why you wanted to borrow the suit… I was hoping it would be for more indecent purposes”. She winked as you blushed. “These meatheads all had their tongues hanging out, you stunned them. Good thing it wasn’t the ‘Cell Block Tango’, you might’ve given them all strokes” she laughed.

Peter and Steve both also congratulated you on your performance, Peter enthusiastically as he was familiar with the show. Steve mentioned he would definitely be adding the movie to his list. 

You smiled at them all but before you could say anything more Danny spun you round, sweeping you up in a huge hug. “Petal, you were amazing! I cannot thank you enough for helping us”. He turned to Peter and Tony. “And thank you both for sharing the event on socials, it’s helped us sell out all the shows”.

“It’s the least we can do, given how much Sandra Dee here helps us out. Especially our resident grandpas” Tony shrugged carelessly.

Danny nodded in agreement, pulling you close to the doorway so he could murmur “Just a pen pusher huh?” Leaning back, he winked at you before letting go. “Great seeing you all, thanks for coming. Petal, Ash is here and wants to take me for a drink so-“

“So what are you still doing here?” you laughed. “Get changed and say hey from me”. He turned with a nod, almost colliding with Bucky. Danny apologised, Bucky reciprocating without taking his eyes off you. Face heating under his gaze, you opened your mouth to speak but Bucky beat you to it.

“Is that what you really think?” His Vibranium hand took one of your hands and gently tugged you closer to him, so there was barely any room to breathe. “You really think you’re just a pen pusher?” Dread filled you. His enhanced hearing… what else had he heard? Lowering your eyes, you saw his chest rise and fall before cool metal fingers cupped your chin and raised your gaze back to his. “Doll… you help all of us on the team. Yes, you ensure all our paperwork is filed correctly and on time. But you step up when we need someone to train with, make sure we’re looked after in the field and you help us all individually… Starks errands, Parker's love life, Steve and me being old guys…” You chuckled softly. “Even your guy knows how valuable you are to us, so I can’t - “

“My guy?” You blinked in confusion. “What guy?”

Bucky frowned at you. “Danny, who else? Anyway, even he knows what you mean-”

“He’s not my guy”. Now Bucky wasn’t the only one confused. “I told you all that we’re just friends… did you think we’re still a couple?” At the nods, you couldn’t help but chuckle. “I promise you, we’re just friends now”. A flash of movement caught your eye. “If you guys look you’ll see why”. The group gathered at the doorway to see Danny leaving arm in arm with a beefy looking man who was listening to Danny in adoration. Danny in turn planted a kiss on his cheek. “That’s Ash, Danny’s boyfriend” you smiled when five sets of eyes widened. Tony and Nat murmured something about needing a drink, Steve and Peter following them out the door. 

“But the picture…” Looking up, you see Bucky was still confused. “Last night I saw you in the lounge, you were looking at a picture. If it wasn’t him, then who?” For some reason he looked upset. Heart pounding, you crossed to your dressing table and picked up the Polaroid before holding it out to him. Keeping your eyes down, you heard him inhale sharply. “Doll…”

“I’m hopelessly devoted to you” you murmured. 

His flesh hand entered your vision, holding something. You gasped. It was a red rose. “Parker said flowers before a show is bad luck, and that roses are usually accepted afterwards. Do you know why one red rose?” You shook your head. “One rose is for new love… while the red is passion, desire and romance”. Your eyes darted to his blue ones, soft with love and happiness. “I’m hopelessly devoted to you too, baby girl”.

[maxsimagination]

Hope you have a good day,could you do a Hayley Raso one were reader gets injured and Haley gets overprotective but after that she comes over and checks if your alright? Thankyou:)

𝙙𝙤𝙣'𝙩 𝙩𝙤𝙪𝙘𝙝 𝙝𝙚𝙧 - 𝙝.𝙧𝙖𝙨𝙤

summary: in a game vs chelsea, yn cops a nasty injury and hayley gets protective.

-> !! mentions of blood and injury !!

-> no hate to chelsea or its players, it’s just for the fic

𖦹 masterlist

𝗖𝗛𝗘𝗟𝗦𝗘𝗔 𝗩𝗦 𝗠𝗔𝗡𝗖𝗛𝗘𝗦𝗧𝗘𝗥 𝗖𝗜𝗧𝗬. the two strongest sides in the super league.

all the passion and power both teams had was coming to a head today, in the cup final.

to say i was nervous was an understatement, it wasn’t my first major game with the club but i got the jitters before every important fixture.

gareth had published the starting lineup yesterday at training, which i’d immediately looked over and noted that he’d put me in first. starting at centre back, lucky number eight.

when we arrived at the stadium, there was people all around in the stands. you could hear the crowd, not yelling, but the sheer amount of them made all the talking reverberate and was heard from the changing rooms.

eventually, we all ran out to start warm up, spending time running basic drills, gareth shouting instructions here and there, psyching ourselves up to play in our biggest game yet.

you could hear over the loudspeakers throughout the stadium, they announced each player one by one, as we each came up on the big screen. when we were called back into the tunnel, hayley came up next to me, bumping my shoulder with a grin.

“you excited?”

“yea, you could say that. nerves are buzzing in my stomach though.”

her laugh was light and sweet, her eyes sparkling with humour.

“you’ll do great. best centre back we’ve got.”

i could feel the blush spread on my cheeks. it was then that gareth herded us all in the change room, wanting to give us a pre match pep talk.

“go out there and crush them, girls. we got this.”

with one last cheer, we all walked out. the starting eleven lining up behind steph houghton, the experienced defender leading us out.

when we first kicked off it wasn’t an exciting start.

i didn’t get much ball time within the first ten minutes, kiera and georgia kept the ball up in the middle, occasionally passing back to defense who promptly kicked it back up.

chelsea’s first break came in the 25’ minute with sam kerr. she was lightning fast and had the ability to head in goals from anywhere.

lauren james had given her an amazing pass from the mid, and kerr was bolting for the ball down the left wing. i knew that jen was meant to be there, but she was too far up the field to make it back and still defend.

that’s where i came in, sliding along the grass to kick the ball away from sam’s foot at the last moment. it was a brilliant save, if i did say so myself, and ellie in goal was punching the air at my moves.

finally, we broke the stalemate, kiera landed an unexpected but amazing shot from outside the box. it was 1-0 to man city.

the whistle blew for half time shortly after and i dragged myself down the tunnel. chelsea was definitely making us work for it.

a fifteen minute break only seemed like five when we had to walk back out there. gareth had subbed hayley onto the field to play in striker, hoping we had another lucky break.

quite the opposite happened, however.

chelsea had the ball up our end, before it was tackled away; they had a corner kick. guro took that shot, and props to her because it curved beautifully. i had leapt up to header the ball away, but at the same time, lauren james was there.

her body had smashed into mine, knocking me back. however, it wasn’t the crash itself that had caused damage. when i had fallen back i was too close to the goal and my head had been hit on the metal post.

i heard the crack, and an audible gasp, although i couldn’t determine who that came from. a wave of pain consumed my body, from my head down. the first thing i did was reach a hand up to my head. when my fingers pulled away, the tips were covered in blood.

my blood.

i could barely make out what was happening around me, it was a fight to keep my eyes open and my ears were ringing, but what i did see was hayley going toe-to-toe with lauren james.

the medics had reached us then, but for me it was already too late, i closed my eyes and let my vision go black.

hayley was almost screaming in lauren’s face, this was her fault, she pushed me into the goal post and now i was unconscious. our teammates had to physically restrain her before things got out of hand. the ref handed lauren a yellow card for her dangerous play and hayley got a warning for her words.

i was stretchered off the field and taken in ambulance to the nearest hospital before the girls could restart their game.

when i woke up, the first thing i noticed was the white room. everywhere i looked there was white. then i saw hayley sitting next to me. i didn’t know how long she’d been there, but she was currently asleep in the chair so my guess was long enough.

hayley had always been a light sleeper, so when i moved my hand, it was no surprise that she woke up immediately.

“you’re awake.”

she stood up and called for the nurse. a younger woman walked into the room with a clipboard and some paperwork.

“yn yln?”

“yea-a.”

my voice was all croaky from not having spoken in a while.

“how are you feeling? took quite the fall on the pitch today.”

i didn’t have a clue what she was talking about so i just answered the question.

“my head hurts a bit. i don’t remember anything though. what happened?”

hayley was the first to speak up this time, recounting what had happened on the pitch earlier.

“your head was whacked against the goal post.”

turns out i’d split my head open, even if it was only a little bit, and gotten a concussion.

slowly i took in everything that had happened within the last couple of hours. i didn’t say anything just say in silence trying to process things.

the nurse ended up leaving after a bit, telling me i was free to go, as long as i had someone that could supervise me for a couple of days. that left me and hayley in the room alone again.

“i was so worried that you wouldn’t remember me.”

i don’t think she expected me to answer, or even hear what she said in the first place, but i knew.

“i wouldn’t forget you, ribbons. i’d never forget you.”

[windcarvedlyre]

Rewatched part of ch1's trial and found something else that's really interesting in hindsight!

We're all familiar with Komaeda's FTE; over a decade later, there's still some room for debate wrt whether he was telling the truth about his diagnoses or not. My stance was already that he was telling the truth, instantly regretted it, and lied that he was lying, and I will die on that hill. I think the above lines reinforce my stance further.

Hear me out. I might as well make this a comprehensive 'Komaeda wasn't lying' post while I'm at it.

For reference, here's the entire final FTE.

The reasons I already had to believe him are as follows, ordered from strongest to weakest:

Komaeda almost died from despair disease; he was much more severely affected than Owari and Mioda. Lymphoma can weaken your immune system, leaving you more vulnerable to infections. While Komaeda's degree of illness could also have been due to bad luck, this could easily be an intentional hint about him.

He claims he's wanted someone's love all along. Again in chapter 3, after the trial, Tsumiki targets his lack of loved ones and seems to genuinely perturb him, indicating this is a real insecurity:

Behavioural variant frontotemporal dementia, or bvFTD, can have symptoms that align with a lot of his social and behavioural issues in the game. bvFTD symptoms can include saying socially inappropriate things/being rude and insensitive, rash/impulsive behaviour, empathy issues, and rigid thinking, among other things. Do I even need to cite examples of these? He can still hide things and manipulate people sometimes, but his ch4 investigation segment proves he's genuinely socially impaired. He sometimes fails to understand the emotional nuances of other people and the impact his words will have. For example:

(Though he still has moments of self-awareness and introspection; he acknowledges he's pessimistic in his introduction and worries he'll make Hinata hate him by saying weird things in Island Mode.)

Issues with memory, cognition in general, etc, are more of a thing in later stages of the disease, so Komaeda having significant social impairments but still being extremely sharp and lacking noticeable lapses in memory makes sense.

Physically Komaeda just doesn't seem healthy in general. He's pale, skinny, his hair is white (possibly fading into a pinkish brown that I could see being his hair colour in the past), and- at least in Japanese- he sounds really breathy and wheezy. I once laughed in a way uncannily similar to his ch1 breakdown when I had a chest infection. With asthma. Stage 3 lymphoma symptoms can include chest pain, shortness of breath, weight loss, loss of appetite and fatigue. If it's still stage 3 it's present in lymph nodes above and below the diaphragm but hasn't metastasized outside of the lymphatic system yet, but if it's advanced to stage 4 since his diagnosis then it may have spread to his lungs as well- having further potential to cause respiratory issues.

In his second-last FTE he starts to tell Hinata about something before he entered Hope's Peak but stops himself, not wanting to 'burden' Hinata. And leaves immediately to end the conversation. He'd just told Hinata how his parents died in front of him, showing zero awareness of how bad it was or how it would affect Hinata, so it must have been real bad for him to do this. And makes it less plausible he was impulsively repeating something from a book later, imo.

Iirc at least one spinoff manga runs with it being true, depicting him in a doctor's office during a nightmare. I'm too tired to hunt this down now; maybe I'll edit it in later.

On a meta level I just find it less compelling for the final reward for spending so much time with him to be 'Here's some actual vulnerability- lol psyche, remember he's manipulative? He might still want sympathy, you be the judge'. It would make the aborted confession at the end the only thing we can't infer from elsewhere in the game already. On the other hand, the diagnoses being real, and him trying to take it back and distract Hinata with an incitement to kill him (before also trying to confess his crush and aborting that too, he's a mess there), really really adds depth to his character.

Semi-tangentially, some people with bvFTD also develop neurological problems that affect movement- eg. making them slow and stiff. There's no evidence for or against Komaeda having this in canon afaik, and I've read it's more of a thing in later stages of the disease, but in the ch1 trial he talks about the threatening letter as if it's in his actual handwriting, and if so... it looks pretty stiff, doesn't it? Either it was angular on purpose or the writer has trouble with fluid hand movements. Let me know if he displays fine motor skills anywhere else, I guess.

The only real counterargument is that he's outlived the 6-12 months he was expected to, but:

The estimate is presumably from the cancer, which is treatable. FTD can take years and years, even 10+, to reach the later stages.

That's an estimate, not set in stone, and real people have survived after being told they have X months to live without supernatural luck.

In either case, it doesn't matter how dire the prognosis is if Komaeda's involved. If the chance of him surviving something isn't zero it will probably happen. When he finally managed to kill himself it wasn't even real.

Anyway, the thing I started the post with! Compare the lines below.

In both cases he's said something that could make others feel bad for him, immediately takes it back, and claims he did that on purpose.

But he wasn't actually lying in the first line, albeit hamming it up a little. He wanted someone to kill him. This happened while he was still pretending to be the killer, after Saionji asked him why he sent the letter. He dropped a hint about the truth and then deflected away from it, likely intentionally antagonising people to distract them from thinking too hard about what he just implied and make them more averse to empathising with him.

So what could that imply about the lines from his FTE?

TL;DR: He told the truth about having cancer and dementia, your honour. There's not only strong evidence for this but precedent for the sort of deflection he made afterwards.

[izvmimi]

cw: violence and serious injury. fem!reader is a pro hero with a vague quirk, but including the ability to fly. izuku and reader are newly married, reader is referred to as wife. a/n: a rewrite of something posted previously so if parts are familiar that's why.

Hundreds of feet in the air, away from the rubble and carnage of the active surface where a few dozens of civilians hurriedly evacuate, you hover over Tokyo, facing what you realize may be your last ever opponent.

By this time, your vision is starting to blur, and it’s a miracle that you can still focus on the gloating, hulking form in front of you. The humans below you are like ants in a loose file, thankfully making use of the valuable time you’ve allotted them to escape to safety by dragging your opponent into the skies. Something monstrous and yet something human enough to laugh does so in a raucous cackle as it takes in your already slackening body, still floating yet shakily so in the skies. You waver with every strong gust, the loose and torn bits of your Hero costume flapping in the wind; you’ve nearly run out of charge to your jet boots, and it won’t be long until you either take this fight to the ground or gravity overtakes you.

“Is it really worth it?” the villain asks in mockery. You tremble like a leaf, and you can’t think of a part of your body that doesn’t feel shattered. And yet the answer is yes. It always will be yes.

Today is a bad day. The Symbol of Peace, your Deku, is nowhere to be found. Overseas, in fact. Other Heroes have heard your call to action, you’re sure, but no one is coming to your immediate rescue as of now. It’s just you, alone, for the first time since UA, since ever.

You don’t muster up the courage to answer, instead clenching your fists, steeling yourself for one final bout against an enemy you cannot beat. There’s not much more you can do in the way of winning, except buy time for someone stronger than you to eliminate this threat and keep the premises safe. 

Bile rises in your throat and you spit, then grin, widening your eyes fiercely. Perhaps it’s a mockery of some sort that the villain takes particular offense to. That may or may not have been your intention.

“I’ve had enough time wasted toying with you!” it snarls, and charges in your direction. It’s too fast to evade, and the first blow you manage to block is agonizing, weighing heavily on your tensed forearms. You grit your teeth as you feel the limbs strain to nearly breaking. 

You are no stranger to fear nor are you unfamiliar to pain but you feel both right now, more than you’ve ever felt in your entire life - a type of terrifying agony that mixes together and amplifies, sinking deep into your broken bones, one that settles far into your psyche and weighs heavy on your chest. 

Another blow is delivered, then another, until there is a barrage that breaks through your defenses. It occurs to you yet again that you’ll die here as a punch lands on your right cheek and clearly fractures your jaw, along with another right in the solar plexus that knocks the wind and any remaining vitality out of you. 

A noble death, of course; in the line of duty. A Hero’s death. 

A smile spreads on your lips. You are doing the best you can, and something in that should be comforting. The screams from down below are barely audible from the ringing in your ears and time seems to slow.

Things are starting to fade to black and the next few times you are struck barely register, passing the threshold of pain into numbness. Perhaps your Quirk has gone into effect, shutting down your nerves, so that you can no longer feel anything more than the plethora of emotions welling up in your fractured chest.

You’ve failed. You haven’t failed.

Perhaps your family will be proud of you. Your friends. Him, for risking your life as he would, if he were here, even if it meant he would lose it in the process.

You hurtle back to Earth like a meteor. Someone is calling your name. 

Someone is calling your name.

—

Thousands of miles away, Izuku Midoriya picks up his phone to find more missed calls than he’s ever had in his life in the span of three hours. As he leaves his conference, he fumbles with his phone, scrolling faster and faster through every notification. Bakugou, your friends, his mother… but none of them are from you. 

There’s a pit in his stomach as he realizes Bakugou is the only one brave enough to leave a text.

Call me ASAP. ___ is in the hospital.

__

“Your wife has a tendency to bite a little bit more than she can chew, but she’s alive.”

Izuku can hear the not yet uttered ‘for now’ that Bakugou is holding back, and he’s somewhere between grateful and dreadfully angry. There’s an incessant tap in his foot that he can’t help himself enough to stop and he knows he is giving off tiny little sparks of OFA the longer he sits and waits for the gate to open to allow boarding. It’s a good thing there’s nothing nearby that can catch fire, and if it weren’t for the fact that his childhood friend is on the line calming him down the only way he can, he’d have a word to say to the attendant who is staring him down.

“You didn’t catch her,” Izuku says suddenly in a cool voice. 

There’s a pause on the other end of the line, long enough to betray Katsuki’s guilt at being able to make it to the scene to subdue the enemy but not fast enough to intercept your crash towards the earth. That part of the fight was on video clear as day, captured by a civilian who immediately posted it on the internet, displaying your battered body for the world to see. 

Izuku watched it five times in a row, clenching his phone tightly until a long crack formed along the screen and his stomach churned enough to vomit. 

Katsuki mulls the words in his mouth before he replies.

“You’re right, I didn’t.”

Izuku decides to leave it at that. Anger won’t do him much good, and a part of him blames himself. 

There’s another silence on the phone and Izuku can hear his pulse racing in his ears.

“I’m sorry.” Bakugou says, and Izuku realizes the situation is truly dire. He doesn’t want the apology, not from someone who rarely does so. He doesn’t say anything in response.

—

“It’ll only be a week,” Izuku says, smiling. You give him a pout, even though you’ve been over this already for the past three weeks.

“A week is a long time, Izuku,” you sigh, but you forgive him anyway, rubbing his back gently and interlacing the fingers of your other hand with his. The airport is busy, but less so than you expect for this time of day, the early afternoon on a weekend. You don’t want him to go, you think, but anyone can get through a week and even if you’ve just recently tied the knot, he doesn’t only belong to you.

“It’ll fly by,” he insists. “I’ll call you every morning, okay?” 

You smile at him, your eyes nearly closing with the action. He smiles back, pulling your hand to his lips to kiss the back.

“Be safe,” you offer him as he moves past the waiting area, where you can no longer follow him.

“I will,” he promises. “You be safe too. I love you.”

—

“You can’t go from the airport straight to the hospital. Sleep first. Breathe. She’s not going anywhere.”

Bakugou’s voice is steady, the very opposite of what Izuku is feeling right now, having just touched down on Japanese soil and already calling right out of the gate.

“Which hospital?” Izuku repeats, completely disregarding his friend’s advice. Even breathing deeply doesn’t seem right somehow, right now - the air smells wrong to him, too salty and too dry, and the migraine that started on the plane 12 hours ago shows no sign of abating. 

Bakugou sighs and answers the question. Izuku is stubborn to a fault, he knows that better than everyone, and he can clearly sympathize with him.

“Just don’t harass the staff when you get there. They’re doing the best they can.”

—

“Who did it?”

Izuku’s voice comes out low and the fatigue in it is evident. The random beeps and whistles of the machines in the intensive care unit have worn him down over time, especially in the last hour, not to mention the drip, drip, drip of the bag of intravenous fluids that hooks up to your wrist.

The man in front of him balks at the interruption, then clears his throat. It’s clear that Izuku does not want to hear the same recapitulation for the fifth time today, but unfortunately this is all he has to offer.

“Unfortunately sir, we have no idea who that-”

Izuku snorts derisively, an action that has the nurse freeze and the words die in his throat. His eyes are narrowed and he is clearly upset, but he remains perfectly still, save for rolling his aching broad shoulders back. He’s been sitting in this exact spot for too long, watching, waiting.

Hoping you will wake up.

“Who did it?” he repeats.

The nurse furrows his eyebrows and pulls his stethoscope off of his neck, playing with it in his hands. It’s a simple nervous gesture, but it drives Izuku slightly mad.

“The important thing is that-”

Izuku closes his eyes and lets out a quick sigh, then claps his hands onto his thighs loudly enough that it echoes throughout the room. When he reopens his eyes and focuses them at the useless individual in front of him, his tongue is sharper than the edge of a blade.

“I’m going to be quite honest with you right now. I don’t care about the chronology of what happened once she made it here anymore. You’ve given me every painstaking detail and I’ve sat here quietly and listened to it. Really, I appreciate all you have done to make sure that she stays alive. However, my wife is here with staples on one side of her head and hasn’t opened her eyes since I got here... I’ve wanted to hit something desperately for the past twelve hours and if you don’t start giving me useful information - as in something I can act on - in the next minute, it may regrettably be you. So start talking.” 

The nurse’s face grows ashen.

“T-There’s no way for me to know that sir.”

There’s a pause in the air that nearly fills with the sound of the nurse’s heart beating out of his chest, and the beep, beep, beep of the overhead vitals monitor. Izuku smiles but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

“I’m aware now,” he says, finally. “So please leave and let us rest.”

The nurse doesn’t have to be told twice, knowing that Midoriya has given him an abundance of mercy by not taking out his anger on him. He scrambles out so fast he trips on the way out.

As soon as he leaves, Izuku acknowledges to himself that he was far too harsh, and the fact that, if you were awake, you would have given him an earful for being so unkind. He’s barely acting like himself. He is kind. He is a kind man.

Izuku lets out a sigh and runs his hands through his hair five or six times, a seventh for comfort. Your own head is partially shaved and wrapped in gauze, and while you were extubated before he made it across the country to this very hospital, there’s still a myriad of wires and tubes that sprout from your body like weeds in an untended garden. He’s been having trouble looking at you, not because you’re too beat up to gaze upon, but because your face is actually miraculously spared from swelling (or at least appears so due to the wiring of your jaw shut) and you look so peaceful in your slumber that you might as well be dead.

He wasn���t there to protect you. Constantly traveling these days, having been dispatched to other parts of the country where a second wave of insurgency against the Hero-favoring status quo had again resurfaced, and then most recently overseas, he regrets the fact that he couldn’t possibly be there for you. Yet, you always insisted and proved you could handle yourself well. You’d said repeatedly that despite being better on the field when you were together, you were still pretty damn good on your own.

And it was true, even if Izuku didn’t particularly like you going on missions separately initially at first. Even if you weren’t ranked as high as him, you were still ranked among many capable Heroes which meant you were at least competent.

But this time you truly had bitten off more than you could chew.

Deku steels himself to glance at you again and intertwines his fingers with your slightly cool ones. He flinches at first - the fearless Symbol of Peace actually flinches - but then grips them tightly, remembering that you’re still breathing. He watches the gentle rise and fall of your chest beneath the slight covers that the hospital provides you, and makes a mental note to bring your favorite blanket from home.

His phone buzzes in his pocket and he prays quietly that it’s not work related because he truly believes that this will push him over the edge, but it’s a text from Bakugou.

We made dinner for when they eventually kick you out. You can stay with us for tonight.

Izuku’s eyes start to burn. 

His friend thinks of everything. Katsuki understands, having been in the same position with his own partner just months ago. It had been so easy for Izuku to open up his home then, and now his friend has the opportunity to return the favor. It’s bittersweet. 

Izuku chokes down a sob.

Thanks, Kacchan. 

He doesn’t want to leave but visiting hours will be over in a couple of hours, and he’ll be inevitably separated from you again. 

He doesn’t know what he’ll do if he can no longer be by your side.

[sysakiddo]

1,2,3,4,5

To add insult to injury, 007 is already in his office when he opens the door. To his credit, Max only skips a beat before moving again. 

Daniel is holding a prototype of a new grenade Max’s been working on in his hands. 

“Don’t touch that,” Max barks out and Daniel smirks. “In fact, don’t touch anything in here.” 

Daniel has his feet on Max’s desk, the leather of the shoes glimmering in the bright light. “I didn’t even touch anything,” he drawls, which makes Max sigh. He knows Daniel touched all of the weapons in the room the second he entered it. Agents are predictable like that. 

“Who let you in?” 

Daniel shrugs, tossing the grenade from one hand to another. Max is ready to fight him. It must show on his face because Daniel yields without him saying anything else. “It was the new guy.” 

Max opens the door again and yells an angry “Liam!” tapping his foot impatiently. He should have already checked his messages four minutes ago. 

Daniel makes a face and says under his breath, “not good, not good,” but to be completely honest, he is glad he escaped Q’s wrath. For now. 

The new guy shows up and immediately gets pale when he sees the mood Max is in. 

“You can’t let strangers into my office without me. That’s honestly unacceptable and if it happens again, I won’t have no choice but to report it.” 

Liam gulps, trying to find a good enough excuse not to get fired. “I am sorry, I thought, well - He is your agent. He told me you were expecting him.” 

Your agent. Max wills down the electricity that runs through him. 

“And you trusted him? Honestly, I am disappointed. That will be everything.” He turns around and closes the door again. Daniel expected him to make him stand up from his own chair, but Max surprises him by plopping down on the chair across from him, which is meant for the visitors.

Max doesn’t say anything else, just focuses on massaging his forehead, where he has been feeling a throbbing pain since he woke up. 

“That was brutal, Q.” 

Max huffs. “Well, maybe his day would have been nicer if you didn’t fuck him over,” 

Daniel’s smile is so sharp it looks macabre. “I want to return to the field,”

The blonde tries to calculate if he can take another pain medication so early after the previous one. “Splendid, did you just return from the centre? I haven’t received the certificate yet, that’s weird. I’ll call them,”

Daniel is quiet for a beat too long, and it makes Max look up from his phone. 

“I’ve done them a week ago,” 

Max has seen the results. He has barely passed the physicals, limited rotation in his wrist, it said. He completely failed his psych evaluation, post-traumatic stress disorder, major depressive disorder, insomnia. Agent referred to therapy and not allowed to carry out any tasks until further evaluation. 

The note next to Daniel’s photo at the top of the document was blaring red. 

“Yeah, go there again, you know the procedure,” Max rolls his eyes. Daniel is not a rookie and he is making him lose time. 

He is still holding the damn grenade. “I’m not going to pass them,” 

Max shrugs, “Nice, paid vacation,” he says, like he hasn’t checked if Daniel has already visited the mandatory therapy sessions. He would rather die than watch Daniel become as broken as Sebastian is. “Now, if you excuse me, but some of us don’t have that and need actually to work, so like - fuck off, yeah?” 

“Q, I said I want to get back,” 

The throbbing behind his eyes is slowly blinding him. He is pretty sure he tastes copper on his tongue. “And I said come back when the med teams clear you. What does that have to do with me?” 

Daniel clicks his tongue, his hold on the grenade steady. “Well, for one, you are my quartermaster. You are also the only person who can fake the clearance.” 

The worst thing is that Max feels like he should have predicted this. He should have known. 

“I’m going to report you to your superior officer,” he says, voice like ice. Max regrets getting out of bed today.

Daniel’s right eye twitches. “I dare you to knock on M’s door right now.” 

Daniel noticed Max’s contempt for the older man a long time ago. He secretly thinks it’s because M doesn’t let him test his gadgets on mice. 

Truthfully, Max thinks it all started when Lewis took away his lion plushie when he was 10, claiming it was too childish. 

“I want to get back,” Daniel says again. “We need to finish this,” 

Max is so tired. “What’s in it for me? Why would I endanger my agent?” 

“Q, you are not finding him without me,” 

Max averts his gaze and huffs out a puff of air. “006 has actually done a good job-” 

“It’s not good enough, we both know it.” Daniel finally puts the grenade on the table. “Meet me at nine, we have to talk this through somewhere that’s not here,”

Max did his own mandatory six-month health check-up just a few weeks ago. The psychiatrist made him do word associations at the end of the session. He did well, like always.

But then the shrink said weak and the first thing that came to his mind was me.

[gallawitchxx]

hi beeee!! i hope you're doing okay 💖💖💖

ooohohohoho okay for the kiss thingy: god knows why cuz it sounds potentially very painful but i feel so compelled to request 28 🙏

sweet deanna! i'm hanging in, thanks love! 💖 so you & @lingy910y both requested #28 & i want to fill both of your prompts. but because you were (rightfully) afraid of pain, i gave you one that's a bit strange, but has a promisingly happy ending? you can be the judge! xx

- - - - -

send me a number & i'll write you a smoocheroo 😚

- - - - -

#28: ...as a lie ps. this is inspired by this post about dealer!mickey & insomniac!ian, who have now rotted my brain.

Ian hasn’t slept in days.

It’s happened before—endless energy is one of his tried-and-true symptoms of mania—but this isn’t that. He’s taking his meds, his skin isn’t crawling and his mind is fairly quiet. Quiet enough to frustrate him as he tosses and turns and wonders what the fuck’s going on.

His schedule has been all over the place lately; his normal routine lost to the endless cycles of employment and Gallagher family responsibilities. He’d been hoping to add school to the mix this semester so that he could have other, less hectic options than a rig-riding EMT, but he’d pushed it off. A pity, now that all-nighters are apparently his thing.

Night two, he googles a few things, which is a huge mistake. Who can fall asleep after reading about how even just twenty-four hours without sleep can begin to derail your bodily systems? Sleep deprivation can cause or worsen conditions like Type 2 diabetes, High blood pressure, Stroke, Heart attack—his pulse leaps as his phone clatters to the ground.

Night three, he takes to the streets, running around the Southside until his lungs burn and his knees wobble. As he passes the clinic that gave his seventeen-year-old self a lifetime prescription for antipsychotics, he knows that if this lasts much longer, he should call his doctor. Tell them his nighttime meds aren’t putting him to sleep anymore. Nip this insomnia thing in the bud before it can overthrow the delicate balance he’s worked so hard to maintain.

Night four, desperate and a bit delusion, he pulls up a number he hasn’t used in years, saved under a contact labeled, DO NOT TEXT.

He breaks his own rule: Hey. Still making house calls?

The response is almost immediate: the fuck u care for?

Ian rolls his bloodshot eyes, typing: It’s an emergency.

Three little dots herald a response that makes him laugh: a weed emergency?

He stays strong: Wouldn’t ask if I didn’t need it.

The next text makes his chest clench: u ok?

He decides to keep it vague—I can’t sleep, but it’s not what you think.—and hopes he doesn’t have to explain further and is relieved to read: u want ur usual?

Another clench: Indica

Two texts arrive in rapid succession: what else do u want? can i give u head while u smoke or no?

There it is: the reason Ian doesn’t use this number anymore.

Maybe in another life it would be a blessing to have a weed dealer to lovers arc with your childhood crush, but in this one, it was a curse. A curse that lasted almost a whole year, bringing with it an endless bouquet of blissful fucks and free weed, and a million moments of tenderness Ian knew nobody else was getting out of the guy. A curse that eventually came to collect payment in the form of bloodied knuckles, broken hearts and ego wounds. A curse that still clings to Ian’s psyche, filling his dreams with gentle, tattooed fingers and bright blue eyes and a sweet and savory scent that can only be described as Mickey.

Mickey, now DO NOT TEXT.

On second thought, maybe he should never sleep again.

The knock at the door makes him hard—a Pavlovian response that irks him more than the three sleepless nights he’s suffered so far. Three raps, one right after the other. The last one no more than a brush of his hand.

Ian adjusts himself and answers the door.

Fuck, one look at that smug asshole and he’s immediately right back in it. Lust and like and maybe even a little bit of reckless fucking love fill his body, rising to the surface like sweet cream. A layer of fat on the roof of one’s mouth; a treat to lick later, a reminder that they didn’t end things because they weren’t insanely hot for one another and potentially soulmates. They were just idiots. Stubborn, petty dicks.

Oh Pride, the great slayer of men.

Jesus, he needs to sleep.

“First one’s on the house,” Mickey says as he crosses the threshold, a joint held tightly between C and K.

Hours slip by. They laugh, they smoke. It feels like old times. Ian’s body is loose in a way it hasn’t been in years. It feels good. Like maybe-he-could-sleep-tonight good. And as he melts further into the couch, he starts to get a little horny too. Because Mickey’s yapping on and on about some asshole that frequents the bar he works at, and Ian’s listening, he swears he’s listening, but he’s also staring at Mickey’s mouth like he wants to take Mickey up on that text message and shut him the fuck up with his dick.

Like he wants to taste the stale smoke of his tongue.

Wants him to stay the night.

Forever, maybe.

Mickey finishes his story. His eyes go soft and he drums his fingers against his knee. “Should get outta your hair, Gallagher,” he says. “Letcha sleep.”

That’s the last thing Ian wants.

“Not tired,” he fibs.

Mickey cocks an eyebrow. “You’re not? ’S been days, man. This shit’s gotta be hittin’ ya by now.”

It’s true. It has been days and this shit is hitting him. Or maybe he’s having a sleep-deprivation-induced stroke. He just knows Mickey can’t go.

“Can’t go to sleep without a goodnight kiss.”

Mickey’s already leaning in when he asks, “Then you promise you’ll hit the hay?”

Ian nods as Mickey presses a kiss to his lying lips.

[genericpuff]

The Mishandling of LO’s S3 Mi(n)season Hiatus - Part 3 1/2

Here we go, Part 3 of my analysis of the current FP episodes - a three-parter episode set leading up to the midseason finale of LO.

Part 1

Part 2

Truth is, I had actually forgotten a lot of the weird (and very stupid) shit that happened in this episode, that I thought Episodes 251 and 252 had already offered up the worst that this three parter set could dish out. Boy, was I wrong, because when I went back to check out Episode 253, I was reminded of a reality that my brain had wiped out in an attempt to protect my withering psyche-

I also forgot just how long this episode is. It's so long that I frankly can't even fit it all into this post, so this is gonna be part 3 1/2.

Anyways, let's just get on with it. This is the final stop on our trip into absolute nonsense.

CAUTION: THIS IS PART 3 OF A 3 PART SERIES IN WHICH I WILL BE SPOILING MUCH OF EPISODES 251-253. THIS WILL BE A LONG POST. BRACE YOURSELF.

Well, it's the midseason finale, and what better way to open it up than with the final title card-

Typo and all. It wouldn't be an LO episode without one. Granted, IIRC this typo has been edited out, but the version of the screenshots I have from it feature it in all its original unedited glory. So enjoy that.

And yes, just like the last two times, the title itself only applies to the final cliffhanger, which is an absolute doozy especially for those who were there to experience it in real time.

This is already a bit of a wild opening compared to the last two episodes, but it's quickly revealed that this is laying the foundation for the prophecy that Psyche gave to Apollo back in Episode 252. In true LO fashion, the story can't actually be linear in any regard, we're always segmented from pieces of information at a time. Loyal fans will call this a "writing style", I call it Rachel just trying to get another 70 cents out of me.

That said, I will say the art here is fairly decent, but I think that just goes to show that LO's one of worst features these days - ironically enough - is its coloring. What began as its strongest feature has now become one of its biggest weaknesses due to the sheer laziness in its rendering and the colors become more and more saturated into the grotesque over time. So at this point, you pretty much have to rob these characters of their colors to make them look decent, and of course at that point it just further highlights Rachel's same-face problems. She definitely tried to make them look distinguishable here, at least, with Hestia and Poseidon being the most unique.

Now, this isn't the first time that we've heard of this herb being referenced - it was stated by Hades that Hera was the one to originally poison Kronos with the herb after gaining his trust - but to see it suddenly just pop up and play a role again out of nowhere already gives me a bad feeling in my stomach. It feels like yet another plot device - especially when presented in this type of format - that Rachel is suddenly using to try and seem "unique" in her writing, much like the strange narration we got back during the "Run For Your Life" sequence. It's just once again LO lacking any specific identity, it's always trying to be a million other things at once.

I will say, much of this in and of itself is panel filler. Why? Because the location of the herb doesn't matter. You'll see what I mean in a moment, but the mentioning of Anthedon plays no role here, it's just yet another obligatory "see, I know how to Google things!" lip service moment from Rachel "self-proclaimed folklorist" Smythe.

Anyways, Eros is perplexed by this but Psyche immediately catches on, knowing right away that Apollo is going for Zeus. And this is where we get yet another one of the dumbest sequences in this comic.

(see what I mean that the location of the herb doesn't matter? Because Apollo already got it and laced it into the cupcake).

Now, first of all, the fact that Eros and Psyche believe Kassandra's prophecy is already hilarious in and of itself, because ... well, because it literally defeats the point of her establishing it as a curse in the previous episode. Unless it only works on mortals? It never stated as such, so we literally just have to go with it and pretend not to notice that.

But most of all, of course LO had to play this off as some joke. Like, "hahaha how awkward! I've already eaten the cupcake!" and he still doesn't seem to really be in shock. Zeus has seen what this herb has done to gods before him, and yet his reaction to this is akin to a dad getting upset that he stepped LEGO's that he asked his kid 20 times to pick up off the floor. The whole "record scratch" style formatting of this followed by Zeus' lack of reaction just really makes me not care about any of this, because clearly the story doesn't care either.

But we don't see who he makes these calls to because the comic, of course, can't spend any longer than 10 panels on a single scene, so we cut to Hades and Persephone.

Again, I don't know what the point was of having Hera relay this information to Persephone for her to relay to Hades, aside from the fact that Rachel needed to act smart with Therapy Speak that didn't even apply to Hera's situation (as we talked about in the last part). They gotta make Persephone the center of everyone's world though, so it's Persephone who's delivering this info and trying to come up with the solution.

Hades, though, wants to focus on his wife's birthday the commemoration of spring.

SIR. THE WOMAN YOU WERE IN AN AFFAIR WITH SINCE BEFORE YOUR WIFE WAS BORN IS CURRENTLY GRAPPLING WITH YOUR FATHER WHO ABUSED HER AND IS NOW HAUNTING HER. THIS IS NOT THE TIME FOR FLUFFY ROMANCE TIME. THERE IS A CHILD BEING HELD CAPTIVE IN TARTARUS AND LITERALLY NO ONE SEEMS TO CARE.

Anyways, apparently (for some reason) Hades is the one who has to go meet Demeter out front. Even though Hades has literally NOTHING to do with this ceremony, it's not his domain, but Persephone literally says "yep, that's correct" when he asks if he needs to go out to meet Demeter.

This just feels like such a pointless conversation and I don't get what the point of this exact exchange is. Again, this isn't Hades' domain, so I don't see why he needs to be the one to go meet with Demeter.

But then, of course, to make matters worse, this man has the absolute audacity to pretend like he's never done anything wrong to Demeter. As if she should be obligated to be cool with sharing a bench with this man who literally terrorized her for years and then essentially groomed her daughter.

I hate him so fucking much and I can't believe we're supposed to be rooting for him. He has not undergone ANY of the character development necessary for me to want to care about him.

Anyways, Hades has a seat with Demeter, and the conversation is very brief before Hades says that he has a gift for her. And what is it, exactly?

Oh great, Hades. Sure wish you would have had this consideration hundreds of years ago. I fail to see what good this does for her now because it doesn't change the fact that he still cost her the role of Queen of the Mortal Realm and treated her like shit for hundreds of years. This comes across as such a shallow and empty "apology" because it's barely even a "gift", rather something she was OWED back then that he didn't want to hand over for his own selfish reasons. He still comes out the winner here because he's gotten to spend thousands of years being a rich slave-driving oligarch while Demeter has had to maintain the Mortal Realm on her own even without the glory of having a title.

I especially detest this "twist" because it's less of a twist and Rachel finally accepting the fact she couldn't come up with anything better than what her fans had to come up with for her. If this had been the fact the whole time, we would have seen it established back when we first got those flashbacks showing Hades being a total prick to her over the volcanoes. Instead, Rachel dragged it out for weeks and weeks until finally dumping this "twist" that her fans had been talking about all that time. This is yet another one of those "Rachel used her fanbase to come up with her ideas" moments. I know that that seems a little mean and presumptuous, but the fact of the matter is that the writing in this story is such an absolute mess that you just know Rachel's writing by the seat of her pants and has to rely on her audience's headcanons to actually fill in the gaps of her story. Most of the time when people commend her for the "great storytelling" in LO, what they're referring to are things they came up with entirely on their own because of how easy it is to just make assumptions about LO's storyline. Rachel benefits off the story being as vague as possible because then her fanbase will fill in the gaps with their own assumptions and give her all the credit for an idea they came up with.

By the way, to the "self-proclaimed folklorist" who wrote this, the volcanoes were really just entrances into the Underworld. Hades did not own them. They were owned by Hephaestus. And I would argue that the volcanoes were only seen as "entrances" into the Underworld because, fun fact - if you jump into a volcano, you die!

Hades frames his reasoning as feeling like Demeter was pushing him out of the Mortal Realm, but this makes no sense because none of that is on her. He claims that he felt like an "outsider" but the reality is that he made himself that way. He resigned himself to being King of the Underworld, he ate the pomegranate and made the deal with Erebus, and even he stated that he could still actually leave the Underworld, just not for long periods of time. So he was the only one keeping himself away from the Mortal Realm, not Demeter. We even see that in the VHS tape flashbacks where Hades stumbles onto Demeter's property and she lets him sleep it off in her home. So this whole sob story about how he felt "pushed out" by Demeter is such a bad take from someone who's routinely known to make himself out to be the victim. Because Hades can't have an actual reputation for a reason, no, this is a "retelling" told by someone who got all their Greek myth info off Tumblr circa 2016 and the front page of Google, so Hades has to be the misunderstood uwu sad underdog. Even though he routinely does things that reinforce the reputation he has within the comic, like being a slave driver, abusing lower class nymphs, and grooming teenagers.

Minthe showing up for a split second in the background is the best this comic has been since S2. We stan our girl Minthe, fucking run girl, do what Persephone couldn't do. She's the real hero of this story (｡･∀･)ﾉﾞ

And honestly, I'm sorry, but Demeter really SHOULDN'T be taking the high ground on this. She has more than enough reason to be upset. For a comic that tries to celebrate feminism and holding abusive men accountable, it sure is willing to make the women - often victims of the men - the real villains who have to "do better". Except for Persephone of course. Persephone is married into the system now, she doesn't have to "do better", she's a "boss babe" for being abusive and petty and undeserving of her status because she's the self-insert Y/N character.

So the ceremony for commencing Spring begins. I gotta say, for the final major scene of the mi(n)season finale, the art is severely underwhelming. You can really tell the difference between S3 and S1 art here, there's barely anything extra done to make this scene even half as impactful as the most basic of scenes from S1.

Like, it's fine, but it still feels so half-baked and rushed to attempt to replicate the kind of art that's been gone from the series for years now. The full sequence itself is actually quite lengthy, with a lot of nymph hands just moving around and playing instruments, but it's about as bland as any other panel, so it makes the sequence itself feel dragged out and boring.

This is about as pretty as the sequence gets and it's still not even as good as the original Dread Queen transformation. There's barely any rendering in the skin, and they couldn't even be bothered to make the hands look normal. It's like it's trying so hard to be "original LO" but is fundamentally missing the point of what made the original LO so captivating.

But oh noooo, looks like Persephone did a bad!

Are they actually gonna give her some kind of flaw? Are we gonna FINALLY gonna find out what she traded to Erebus?

No. We're just gonna make her the cause of winter.

Spaghettios.

And that's where I'm leaving this review for now because, as mentioned in the beginning, this episode is a LOT longer than I remember it being. There's still a whole ass segment with Apollo that we need to cover and I don't want to leave it out but I also don't want to do it entirely in text format and I've hit that pesky image limit. So I'll be posting that second part as soon as I can!

That said, I really can't stand this "subversion" by making Persephone the reason for winter.

First of all, because this is a common problem in a lot of H x P "retellings", as many of them fundamentally miss the point of why Persephone is the "Goddess of Spring".

Persephone was not born the "Goddess of Spring". She was born Kore (Κόρη), a maiden born from Demeter. It wasn't until after she was taken by Hades that Demeter, in her grief, took away the harvest and created winter. It was the return of Persephone every six months that brought about the spring, hence, she earned the name, "Goddess of Spring". What these retellings COMPLETELY MISUNDERSTAND is that the gods aren't 'born' with their titles, they're granted these titles by the mortals who comprehend them and write of them as harbingers of their respective elements, stories, and messages. Zeus wasn't "born" the God of the Sky and Heavens, he was granted that title after he overthrew Kronos and took the Heavens for himself. Hades wasn't "born" the God of the Underworld and the Dead, he was granted that title after he became the ruler of the domain of death.

Where these retellings really fuck up is constantly trying to "subvert" the H x P myth in an attempt to romanticize it, thus undoing the point of why Persephone is called "The Goddess of Spring". A Touch of Darkness also made this mistake by putting a "twist" on Persephone's character by having her start out as someone who couldn't make things grow. But if she sucks at making things grow, then why is she still referred to as The Goddess of Spring? In LO, Hades is referred to as "Grandpa Winter" and the seasons already seem to exist as we saw in this episode through the ceremony, so why has she been called "The Goddess of Spring" this whole time?

But I also can't stand this "subversion" because it fundamentally misunderstands the very myth it's trying to "retell". By giving Persephone the "curse" of creating winter, it further robs Demeter of her own agency in this story, more than it already has. It wasn't enough to make Demeter a helicopter mom, it wasn't enough to drive an actual rift between her and her daughter, they had to take away Demeter's entire role in the story and the creation of the seasons and give it to Persephone.

And this is, surprisingly enough, NOT the first time the comic has done this. There are many traits associated with different gods that have been given to Persephone and Hades. The volcanoes belong to Hades rather than Hephaestus, Persephone is "more beautiful than Aphrodite", Thanatos' and Psyche's butterfly symbolism is given to both Hades and Persephone, Aphrodite's symbolism of roses is given to Persephone, the list goes on. Every single plotline has to involve Persephone as the hero, and every single attribute that's commonly associated with other gods has to be granted to H x P in some way to make them better and more interesting than every other cast member in the comic, and yet they still come across as vapid and boring protagonists with nothing to show for themselves.

So to give the ONE thing from the source material that made LO what it is, it comes across as so unbearably cruel.

But then again, we should have seen this coming. After all, Rachel does not cite this as a retelling of The Hymn to Demeter. She simply refers to it as its more unofficial name: The Taking of Persephone.

Look, I get it, the story is meant to be told from Persephone's POV (or at least through the lens of her being the main character) so I can understand why Rachel may have chosen to reword this to make it more clear. But it's really depressing that she went to such an extent with making it about Persephone that she had to rob one of the most integral character of her moment and retribution. Especially when one of the only books in her cited "research" that's primarily about Persephone is, shocked, The Hymn to Demeter, which is listed at the very bottom of every "research" list you can find in LO's history.

LO should have just stayed as self-indulgent fluff. This isn't "subversion", this isn't a "twist", it's just yet another item on the list of making Persephone the most Important One of all. Even when it attempts to be a 'flaw', it fails tremendously by acting as yet another aspect of her being a Mary Sue, because her 'flaw' has come at the cost of another character's story, identity, and strengths. What was originally a tale of grief, retribution, and standing up against a patriarchal system, has now been warped into a consequence of a muddied plot that doesn't have anywhere left to go. For a story that claims to be "feminist", it has ironically missed the original point of its source material entirely, and completely robbed itself of the feminine strength it could have had if it hadn't tried to be "subversive".

I don't really have anything much more to say than that. I could leave it here for good, but we do still have that extra segment to talk about that covers the actual final cliffhanger in this episode, so... we'll see you on the other side.

[rosenbergamot]

Everyone is Trans???? (REAL NOT CLICKBAIT!!!)

Grian is the only trans person on Hermitcraft.

He knows this as a complete and utter fact. He’s not lying about this, no matter how much he wishes he was-- and goodness, does he wish he was every damn day of his life. It’s lonely to be the only trans person on a server full of your dearest companions. 

It’s not even a horrible thing. He doesn’t trust them any less, doesn’t love them any less, but he sure is peeved about being surrounded by cis people all the time. When he wants to talk about his hips looking too wide today, or his top surgery scars not sitting right enough for him, or the way he’s so happy he can finally grow something of a beard, or how having long hair has gone from something dysphoric to something euphoric for him-- he just can’t! 

Because they won’t understand! And, sure, of course he can just tell them because they’re his friends and they care about him, but sometimes he doesn’t want to just be cared about. Sometimes he wants to be understood. Sometimes he doesn’t want to have to explain everything, going through the same tiring motions he’s gone over time and time again in his life. 

Can a guy not just want another trans person to complain to? Is it really so hard for that to be his reality? Is it really so much to ask?

He’s having a particularly annoying day today. His stupid jeans aren’t fitting correctly on his hips. Usually he’s not too angry about it. On days where he feels more feminine he likes that he has these hips, revels in the way clothes hug his curves, but right now he’s feeling just about as Man as one possibly could, and it’s making him want to rip apart his clothes because none of them fit right. 

He ends up in a pair of sweatpants that hide enough of himself so that he’s able to leave his base. The day outside is warmer than expected, beautiful and sunny, and he immediately regrets the large sweater and comfy sweatpants he had chosen to wear. The light glints off of the ocean, teasing him with its deep secrets that he will never be able to decipher. 

In the distance he can see the newest addition to Scar’s train-- the big snail that those pesky snails had built. It worries him that they can build things all of a sudden. Still, it’s not like he can do anything about it. You just have to accept that they’re going to do whatever they please and then they’ll tone it down. It seems they like to cause mayhem. He can’t really knock them for that. 

He unhooks Pluto from the post. He runs his hands through his mane, reveling in the coarse feeling. It takes his mind away from his body for a few seconds, lets him be completely and utterly still in a way that he often isn’t. Being so detail oriented and such a perfectionist can be hard on the psyche sometimes, especially when that energy is directed towards your body. 

You might as well roll his boulder and call him Sisyphus because he’s… uh…

He’s having a rough go at it. 

Pluto whinnies as he stops petting him, nudges his hand with his snout. It’s time to go check the shopping district. Maybe do permit things. Ugh. 

The ride is uneventful. He smashes the glass to the permit office with his pickaxe, picks it back up and replaces it so that nobody gets any funny ideas. Don’t want them bothering him or anything of the sorts when he’s here. Having to work is his worst nightmare.

The office is as quiet as it is dark. He sighs so loud it fills up the space. He freshens up the light, makes sure that the sign telling people the door is out of order is in place, and then moves behind the filing cabinets, taking a look at his uniform that sits there.

Usually he likes how it fits. It’s tight, accentuating his flat chest and his curves. He likes it that way. Not today though. 

Today he’ll forgo the outfit. It’s not like anyone is going to come in, anyways.

--

Twenty minutes later and he was very wrong. Someone is digging underneath the building, muttering to themselves, and Grian guesses who it is before he even pops his head in. 

Of course Scar of all people needs help with permits today. He’s always looking for any chance he gets to bother Grian into doing work. He puts down his book, eyes him with an anger that he knows feels inappropriate even for him. Sue him, he’s having a bad day.

“Grian!” Scar’s voice is louder than he remembered. He’s got specks of dirt on his face. 

He shoves his shovel into the dirt, leans on it, falls over a little bit as it teeters, tries to right himself, ends up just knocking the shovel over instead, stands up straight, puts his hands behind his back. Stops. Coughs. Smiles. Continues yapping.

“It’s so lovely to see you here! It’s such a coinkidink that fate would put the both of us here! In the permit office! At the same time! Almost as if we’re destined to meet here and do paperwork together and-- and help me with my permit so that I can actually do something as a zoo keeper…” His voice is quieter at the end. Grian pretends not to hear it. 

“Scar.” He greets flatly. “What do you want?” 

Disregarding his ire, Scar saunters up to him. “Oh, well, nothing too bad, G, nothing at all! I wouldn’t dream of making you work or anything-- um…” He stops suddenly. He opens his mouth. He closes it, looking him up and down. If a visual question mark could appear over a person’s head, it absolutely would in this moment. “You’re not dressed up in your-- your little… office uniform! Your little suit! Where’s your clip-on tie, Grian?”

Ugh. “Office Grian is out of the building today.”

That does not do anything to quell Scar’s confusion. His big ol’ eyes look wet and pathetic as he stares at him. “B-B-B-B-But… how am I supposed to get help with my form if office Grian isn’t here?”

“You’re just gonna have to deal with good ol’ regular Grian today.” 

He loves Scar beyond words-- really, it drains him how much he loves this man-- but today is not the day for him. He can feel his energy departing out of his body already. He was going to try and stick it out for a while today. It looks like plans are changing swiftly.

“Is regular Grian as know-- legible. Knoll… knowledge…” He hums, goes down a different path. “Do you know how to do the form? Because I need some serious help, G.” 

He drags a hand down his face. It’s sweaty. “Office Grian doesn’t even know how to do the form, Scar.” 

“What?!” This is genuine surprise from him. “So you’re tellin’ me that this form is all… all…”

“Bullshit?” He finishes the sentence for him. “Yeah. Pretty much.” His head is starting to hurt. “Ugh. Look, Scar, I’m not feeling good today, so maybe we can leave this for another day?”

The humour drops from Scar’s face. It leaves genuine concern. “Yeah-- I mean, no worries. Of course. Of course! Do you… uh, do you need-- need anything? Want to… talk about it?” 

It’s tentative. An olive branch. Scar is a very kind guy. A genuinely nice person. He thinks he’s perhaps caught him off guard with how open he’s being right now. It leaves him quiet and thoughtful. 

When the smile is off of Scar’s face one can really appreciate the way he looks. It’s not like his smile isn’t beautiful-- because it is, it’s moreso that this stillness is rare for him, moments of calm few and far between his cheesy one-liners and fake grins, and so when one is awarded this sight it feels disarming. 

He often forgets how beautiful Scar is. He thinks about how handsome he is on the daily, a fact which he divulges to nobody but himself, achingly aware of it everytime he sees him. Yet he misses how pretty he is. It makes his heart hurt.  

“Um.” He says as he snaps himself out of his… state. With nothing else to say, he just goes, “okay?” Y’know, like someone who wasn’t just staring deep into their friend’s eyes and remarking on how gorgeous they are. Like a smart and normal person. He grins to try and make it look extra convincing.

Scar’s face immediately screws up into worry. It was not convincing. 

“Ohhhh, god. Who are you and what have you done with Grian? I-I-I-I’m scared! You actually want to talk about it? What kind of sorcery is this?”

The bit of humour grounds him. He snorts. “Scar, don’t make me regret my choice.”

That shocks him into movement. His friend’s head whips around, eyes looking for something. He runs around the office wildly, tripping over his untied shoelaces, ignoring his squawk of “tie your shoes Scar!”, and comes back with two chairs. He sets them down in front of the desk, patting the other one. When Grian doesn’t move he pats it again, more insistent. Finally he acquiesces, leaving the comfort of the desk and sitting across from Scar. 

“So!” His voice is far too cheery. His smile is straining at the edges. He’s out of his element right now, Grian realizes. And it’s because he always has to fight to get these talks out of Grian. It’s like pulling tooth and nail sometimes. And here he is, just ready to… to bare it all. 

Oh, god. He’s going to talk to him. About his problems. And his body. 

He suddenly feels sick.

“I think I may throw up.” 

Scar’s smile falls. “What?” 

He splays his upper body across the desk. His stomach is doing flips. “This. This is going to kill me, Scar. Do you understand?” 

“N-No?” 

“I am going to die a painful death, Scar, and it’s all because you made me talk about my… my feelings!” He makes a throwing up sound. 

“Now you-- you just wait a second, mister!” Scar leans forward so that he can poke him in the shoulder. “I didn’t make you do anything-- in fact you agreed to it! So let me hear it, Gri, or I-I swear I’m gonna… I’m gonna! I’m gonna send those stupid snails back over to you and make them eat your mending book right in front of your eyes!”

He gasps. “You wouldn’t.”

An mhm. A nod. “Ohhh, I would. Don’t you test me now!” 

He’s seen enough fish in the short span they’ve been in this season to know that, in his shock, his mouth is opening and closing like one. It takes all his resolve to not run out of the building and leave this stupid place behind. Sure, Scar may try and follow him, but he’s fast-- surely he can outrun him! It… it wouldn’t be too hard! He can do it!

The energy leaves him in one fell swoop as the silence drags on and Scar only seems to get more worried about him. Finally, he looks away.

“I feel alone…” he bites out. It’s like chewing glass. 

“Oh?” Scar is interested. That’s him telling him to continue. 

The proverbial glass on his tongue and teeth cut up his mouth and bleed the truth out of him. “I have… a particular problem that nobody else on the server can relate to.”

“Is it an avian thing?” He scratches his head. “Y’know, I know that Pearl isn’t exactly an avian herself, but she may be able to help you out. Or-- hey! Jimmy is an avian! We can message him?” 

He’s earnest. So earnest. He grits his teeth. “It’s not. An avian thing.” 

That makes Scar stop. “Is it… is it a them thing?”

Them. Neither of them need to say their names to know. 

“God-- no. No. Thank goodness.” In his stress, he begins to pull at his hair, his wings ruffling. “I just. God. Scar, I can’t believe you don’t know. We’ve spent…” lives together. Lived and died together. Stuck by each other’s sides when no one else would. Hurt each other but mostly just loved each other. “We’ve spent time together.” 

“We sure have! I-- I, uh… I don’t know what you’re talking about, though.” 

“Have you ever looked at me when I’m shirtless?” He just decides to bite the bullet. 

Scar’s jaw drops. His face begins to turn a shade of red he didn’t think was possible. He looks away, fiddling with the brim of his hat. “No, no-- no! No way. Noooo way. Never, G-- never! I would. Never.” 

“Why are you so--? Look, nevermind! Scar, I-I’m different from everyone else and it’s not because of them and it’s not because I’m an avian.”

“You’re gonna have to spell it out for me.” He’s still not looking at him. Did that really embarrass him so much? That… that means many things that he just does not have the brain to dissect right now. 

“I’m not cis.” Is all he can really say. 

It’s so silent you can hear a pin drop. 

“You’re…” Scar’s finger wobbles as he points at him. His jaw is back to being on the fucking floor. 

For a second, Grian thinks he’s just fucked up the entire thing they have going on. Scar is going to leave him. He’s going to hate him and he’s going to tell everyone and it’s going to ruin his life. Poppies and lilacs will mean nothing to them anymore. 

But then Scar starts to smile. He wiggles his fingers, bouncing in his seat. “Ooooh, Grian! Grian, I had no idea! What the heck?” His laugh is a little intense considering the information just given. Dread leaks out of his body and is replaced by confusion. Scar is still laughing. “What the heck?! You mean to tell me we could have been bondin’ even more? How-- how the heck did I not notice that?”

“What…?” His voice cracks. 

Firmly, Scar points at him. “Hold on, how the heck did you not notice this?!” He points to his own chest.

“Scar, what on Earth are you talking about?” 

With little care for much of… anything, really, Scar rips his own shirt open, the buttons flying off and skittering across the floor. He points aggressively at two thick scars underneath his pecs. They pucker at the end, pulling skin taut against his ribs. He’d recognize something like that anywhere. 

It’s Grian’s turn for his jaw to drop. “W-What? You… wait-- what? You… I-- Scar, put your shirt back on!” 

“The shirt is gone, Grian,” he says with faux seriousness. “You’re just gonna have to deal with this right now.”

He’s trying very hard not to stare at Scar’s chest. He is fighting a losing battle. 

“Nevermind that, though-- how the heck did you not notice these scars? They’re gigantic, Grian! Biggest ones I’ve got on my-- my whole… whole area!” He gestures vaguely to his body.

“Your torso?” He sighs. “I don’t know, Scar, I guess I don’t make it a habit to look at your pecs?”

That answer seems to displease him greatly. “Well, I can’t see why not, my pecs are amayzin’.” 

You know what… “Sure, Scar. Sure they are.” 

He beams at him. “You’re welcome to stare at them anytime, Grian!”

His ears are getting warm. Stupid Scar. “It’s nice to know I’m not alone on here.”

To Scar this seems like a joke. He laughs. When Grian doesn’t laugh too, he stops. Stares at him. Squints at him. “You-- you weren’t ever alone, Grian.”

“I didn’t know that you were also trans!” He argues, feeling his back start to rise. 

“No-- no, I mean… jeez, Grian, I don’t think I know a single cis person on this server. In fact, MIster, I thought you were the only one we had-- until now, of course!” 

“What.” 

“Actually I think Skizzy Wizzy is cis! Or-- or maybe he’s not…” He furrows his brows. “Ah, whatever, point is: you’re surrounded by trans people whether you like it or not, mister!”

“Why would I dislike it?” It still doesn’t feel real to him. If he weren’t sitting down he would have to sit down again. As it stands (or sits, he supposes) he just sinks lower into his chair. “I can’t believe this. I’ve been-- I’ve been stewing for years! Wait-- Mumbo?!”

“Yep!” He pops the ‘p’, grinning wildly. It makes Grian start to laugh. That makes Scar start to laugh. In a very sweet moment that turns very sobering very quickly, Scar takes his hand, squeezes it as if he’s squeezing one of those grip testing machines-- ow! “Now you don’t have to hide it, G. Isn’t that amayzin’?” 

The contact makes his head start to spin. “You’re crushing my hand, Scar.”

“Whoops!” He lets go, blushing. “Sorry, sometimes I don’t even know my own strength!” 

“Yeah, yeah… anyways, what was that about you definitely not staring at my chest earlier?”

Scar runs out of the building so fast you would swear he had somewhere to be. 

Which is good enough for Grian, because that means he doesn’t have to put an ounce of work in today! He puts down his ‘Gone Fishin’ sign, repairs the hole left by Scar, and then leaves the building. He feels lighter than he’s ever felt before.

So it turns out he was wrong. He’s never been so glad to be so wrong. 

(read it on ao3 here! <3)

[losing-it-lately]

I''ll give you a song rec and character! I've had "Please, Please, Please" by Sabrina Carpenter in my head for forever and it's basically about two people from different social circles and loving someone who doesn't always make good decisions, so I can really see an Eddie x Reader based on that!

Please Please Please!

wc: 0.6k

heist!eddie munson x reader

angst? more like a whump/fun heist au, but this is very inspired by the mv being about sabrina carpenter not wanting barry keoghan to go to jail

Your friends all have normal boyfriends- normal, law abiding boyfriends. And it's sweet having an intelligent and beautiful man, one who's both cunning and strategic, but kind and empathetic. Eddie is so many wonderful things, but legal isn't one of them.

You met him at the Louvre, a beautiful month-long trip to Paris that ended with finding the man of your dreams. And it was perfect, especially when he invited you to a quick trip to Rome, all expenses paid. Yes, you had just met the man, but you clicked- you had never clicked with anyone before.

“What good timing,” you remarked in the private jet to Italy, “the Louvre just had a set of expensive artifacts stolen. And the Cupid and Psyche statue!”

Of course he took it, it was the statue where you both met! He’s a man of business and love, Eddie can't help himself. And he nearly cries when a few months after your trips, you find the statue when exploring the lovely home you share. “Oh my God. This is why you don't trust men who you’ve only known for a month.” His eyes glaze over as he begins to ramble about it being a replica and him being an “engineer” like he told you.

You calm him down and he swears to tell you the truth, of every heist, of every plan, of every scam. And it's fine, until the first heist that you know is a heist. It was meant to be easy, you would get constant updates from Dustin while you would spend time with your friends at a bar downtown. A lovely alibi. And it was fine, until the updates paused and all of your friends’ questions circled back to your “mysterious European dreamboat”.

It’s difficult to balance “he’s not like that” with humble brags of the jewellery he buys you and quick lies about his job.

It's hours later than expected and you're tensed, the nerves in your stomach are jumbled, and then Eddie jogs in. He’s loud and hyper and the adrenaline is taking over, and suddenly another fear washes over you: the post heist high.

You motion for him to follow you before he can even get a word in with any of your friends. Immediately, in the dingy bar bathroom, he has you pushed up against the mirror, his nose pressed into the junction of your neck, smelling the bitter alcohols and sweet perfumes of the night (and the sweat from dancing, but he would never admit to enjoying it). His lips began pressing into your jaw, the adrenaline threatening to pass onto you, but you resist and push him off. A small pout forms on his lips. “My friends are outside!” You hastily whisper, “We can't do this here, and worse, you cannot give away that you’re a criminal! Please, don't do this to me, Eddie.”

His hands come to your jaw, rubbing and cradling, “I promise. I’ll keep my cool, baby.” Pent up tears threaten to release after all the stress of the night. “Shhhh,” he coos, “I’ll be so cool, don't ruin your makeup over me, pretty girl.”

“You scared me so much Eddie.” You hold onto his hands and soothe yourself. If your friends see tear streaks, they won't assume good and pure things. He stretches his arms around you, he's hot like a furnace from the running, but he's calm somehow, it's like he's calming for you.

You leave the bathroom and join your friends, before ditching early to eat a deserved diner dinner- something greasy and American to replenish the soul. Eddie holds your hand the entire drive there, he draws circles onto your knuckles and laughs as you recount stories of your friends. Next time, his introduction will be better, a brunch or something nice and grown up. But now, he just wants to think about you and your night together, nothing else.

[smol-dragon]

Snow Laden Tragedies

The Legion/Reader , Frank Morrison/Reader , Joey/Reader , Susie/Reader , Julie/Reader , F.J.S.J/Reader Chapter 1 of ?? Word Count: 2,580 words Chapter Warnings: Violence against reader Summary:

All you could do was run. You don't know how you got to this place or why there are suddenly murderers on your heel, but you can do nothing but run as you fight for your life to survive. It's unfortunate, really, that your circumstances are so odd, an oddity that doesn't go unnoticed by a certain group of killers. New toys are always fun and you're the shiniest one yet.

Cross posted on AO3

You didn't know how this started, how you got here, but all you knew was that you had to run.

Your heart felt as if it wanted to burst out of your chest, the thundering roar of blood pumping through your veins making it hard to hear your pursuer; but you knew he was there. You had watched as he struck down another woman from afar, tearing into her flesh with his blade. Her screams had echoed in the forest as her blood sullied pristine snow, the display being all that you needed to know you were in danger. This man would do the same to you if you didn't get away, you had to run.

In your haste you nearly fell, your sneakers now a detriment on the slick snow beneath you. You stumbled, but after a few botched steps you managed to regain your balance. You had almost let out a sigh of relief, but the sounds of steps quickly approaching made you realize your mistake. He had finished off whoever it was he was previously preoccupied with, leaving you as a final witness; a final victim. Without sparing a second thought, you took off into the woods.

Flecks of snow pelted your face as your lungs burned, trying to make sense of the world around you as it passed by in a blur. Nothing about this place was familiar. Hell, it wasn’t even snowing where you were just an hour ago, yet you now found yourself in a tundra? It was confusing to say the least, but you didn’t have time to consider the possibilities; not while being chased. Your heart hammered in your chest from exertion as you dared to look back, a mistake that had your blood running cold.

He had gotten closer, so much so that you could actually make out the finer details of his appearance. The mask you saw was worn down, a crudely drawn smiley face leering back at you and hiding whatever expression the maniac had underneath. You couldn’t even see his eyes through the holes, the entire thing was designed to successfully hide his identity. Everything else about him seemed normal, if not for the new and old bloodstains that littered his clothes. The glint of metal in his hand made you look towards his knife, one you were now realizing was being raised above his head. Your eyes widened slightly as you saw him push himself to seemingly his own limits, gaining speed as he barreled after you.

At this rate, you wouldn’t stand a chance. You returned your focus to the world ahead of you and willed your legs to work harder, teeth gritting as you could hear his irregular breathing like he was right at your heels. He probably was, but you didn’t dare turn around to check. Your only confirmation was the feeling of wind grazing your back, a strike that barely missed. Almost immediately after would sounds of pain leave the masked man, his footsteps briefly slowing. You weren’t sure what just happened, but you’d happily accept the gained distance without question and use it to your advantage.

You pushed yourself further, deeper into the snow laden terrain, the lack of landmarks or anything substantial concerning you. You didn’t know where you were, how you ended up in this place, or if you were even heading towards anything that could help you. For all you knew, you were just heading deeper into seclusion and cementing your fate. It was a thought that gnawed at the back of your psyche as you veered around conifers and other pines, but you were determined to try and live regardless. You’d run for as long as you had to, as long as you could until you dropped and couldn’t run anymore. 

But, it would seem fate was some-what kind to you.

Barely hidden in the endless haze of white would the outline of something solid and far more man-made catch your attention; a small building amongst the snow. It didn’t look inhabited, perhaps one of those old camping checkpoints for people out in the wilderness, but you didn’t care. A building meant there was a door and maybe, just maybe, a chance to buy yourself enough time to catch your breath.

You practically jumped up the stairs, skipping steps, as you rushed to the door. You could hear the heavy steps of your would-be attacker behind you as you slammed the door shut, quickly pushing the lock into place before a fit of coughs overcame you. Barely a few seconds would pass before something (or in this case, someone) collided with the door, rattling the wood on its hinges. You flinched from the sound of the impact, backing away from the door as the man battered at your only divider. He persisted for s few moments, but eventually all would fall silent.

You knew he was still out there, possibly waiting, but it seemed for the time being he had stopped. You weren’t sure why his assault had paused, but you would use the moment of respite to catch your breath and try to think of a plan. The interior proved far more useless than you would've liked, only fitted with a few pieces of furniture and an old wood burner, nothing that could help you evade the man just outside the door. The only thing that could even count as useful was a window on the opposite side of the building, but you didn't know whether or not such a plan would work. Surely he'd hear you the moment your feet touched snow, so how would you-?

A loud bang caused you to jump, eyes widening as you snapped your attention to its source. He had started to hit the door again, however this time with far more force; he was trying to break it down.

"Shit-" You swore under your breath, reanimating and rushing towards the window. You tugged it upwards harshly, hissing in pain as you were met with stark resistance. It was locked and, from the looks of it, the latch that kept it shut had jammed long ago. You were stuck and there was no means to escape, at least, not without some work.

"Fuck!"

The banging had increased in volume, the masked man's labored breathing audible through the cracks he had managed to produce. You were running out of time, so you did the only thing you could think of. Grabbing a nearby chair, you lifted it over your head and hit it against the glass with all of your might, yelping as the wooden object bounced off. The shock of the impact went straight to your arms, but it didn't deter you. Either you managed to break this window and slip through, or you'd die a horrible death.

You swung once, twice, thrice more until there was finally give, the old window shattering and spilling fragments down onto the snow below. You didn't waste any time the moment the window was clear, ignoring the shards that dug into your clothes and skin as you pushed yourself out the opening. You landed in the snow below unceremoniously, crying out in pain as a larger fragment dug into your side; but it wasn't enough to keep you from being able to move. No, you stood relatively quickly, your adrenaline muting your pain as you pushed yourself to your feet.

The door inside of the house would finally splinter and give, the sounds of it breaking filling you with urgency. The masked maniac would figure out your means of escape soon and if you didn’t get moving you’d lose the opportunity. A shiver ran down your spine as you once again forced yourself into motion, only pausing briefly as you looked at some of the splintered glass. A means to defend yourself wouldn’t hurt, right? Without a second though you grabbed the largest shard you could fit in your palm before taking off, holding your make-shift weapon firmly as you left behind the only structure you had seen for some time. You could tell by the distant shouting that he had figured out your plan, but by then you had already ran into the white haze; he’d only be able to follow you by your tracks now.

It at least gave you a slight advantage, but one you knew wouldn’t last if you slowed down. It didn’t matter that the cold was slowly seeping into your bones, causing your muscles to spasm perpetually. It didn’t matter that your fingers and toes were going numb, you had to keep moving. He would catch you if you stopped and you feared what he would do over the looming threat of hypothermia. At least, that was what you told yourself as you continued into the woods. 

And continue you would, running until you could no more, until you were forced to a slow trudge. The snow had not stopped falling since this entire ordeal began and the effects of it were starting to get to you. The cold had long since consumed your body- you couldn’t even feel your hands or feet anymore. Your limbs were growing tired, both from exertion and from the freezing temps stiffening your joints, but you couldn’t stop. If you stopped, he’d catch you. If you stopped, the cold would consume you. You had to keep moving, you had to-

Something would catch your foot and bring you tumbling forwards, falling onto the ground with a groan. You’d look back to see the offending object, only to realize it was a root. A tree root that was slightly jutted out of the ground, masked by the layers of fresh and fluffy snow. It was almost ironic that something so cliche would be the cause of your downfall, but as you tried to push yourself back up you found that you couldn’t . No matter how much you tried, your arms and legs would not work. They were too tired, too slow; your previous actions were starting to catch up with you at the worst possible time. This was it, surely, this was the end.

You let out a slow, shuddering breath as you screwed your eyes shut, trying to fight the urge to cry if only to prevent your eyes from potentially being frozen shut. Out of all the ways you could’ve died, alone in the snow was definitely up there for one of the worst. Maybe you should’ve let that deranged killer catch you. It was a thought that would echo in your mind as you stared off into the forest, so sure that you would see nothing amongst the bland white.

And then you saw him.

The masked man, his form barely visible, was stalking closer with the same murderous intent he had before. Your mind screamed at you to run, but you could barely even get your fingers to cooperate with you, much less your legs. You just had to wish for a different death, didn’t you? There was nothing you could do as you watched him approach, almost certain he was looking directly at you. It wasn’t until he was a few paces away did you realize he hadn’t seen you, didn’t even know you were there until he was basically right on top of you.

Your presence on the ground seemingly surprised him, as he stopped rather suddenly. Apparently, he hadn’t accounted for you to just be on the ground, helpless. You watched as the masked man remained motionless, staring at you as if to see if this was a trick. Sure, you still had the glass in your hands, but it wouldn’t do you much good in this position. At best you could piss him off, but you weren’t really sure if you wanted to do that. Finally he would move, stepping closer and finally speaking.

“You fucking fell ?” He spoke in disbelief, the annoyance dripping from his tone. You weren’t sure why, but it wasn’t as if you could ask or respond; you were just so goddamn cold . Your lack of response only served to irritate him further, as he let out a frustrated groan and kicked at your side. You winced, making a weak noise of pain, but didn’t move beyond that. 

“Jesus Christ, you’re fucking pathetic.” The knife that he had previously brandished would hang limp in his grasp as he crouched, using the blade’s tip to poke and prod at you. Each pin-prick was barely felt, some not felt at all even when he pressed the blade into your skin, your nerves long since numbed from the temperature. Though you couldn’t see his eyes through his mask, you could tell he was watching the small droplets of blood bubble from his handiwork, almost intently observing them. Whatever was going on through his head, though, didn’t pull him away from reality long, as his head tilted up to look at you.

“You can’t feel any of this, can you.” He spoke bluntly, monotonous and disappointed at the mere prospect that you weren’t in pain. Maybe the cold was serving to your benefit after all. You nodded your head slightly to answer, earning you a noise in frustration from the other before he stood and kicked at the ground. “Mother fucker! Of course you fucking can’t. Piece of shit- you just had to run, didn’t you?” He paced momentarily in a circle as he vented his frustrations to you, a prospect you found odd but could do nothing to stop. He would eventually turn back to you, spinning on his heels and pointing his knife at you in an almost accusatory manner. “All your stupid friends died like they were supposed to, even screamed like little bitches , but you just had to run.” He once again closed the distance, standing over you before snatching you up by the collar of your shirt. You made a sound of protest, shaking hands moving to grip at the hand that grabbed you, only to find he had once again stopped. 

You tried your best to balance yourself as he had his moment, one which didn’t last very long as his other hand raised to grab your wrist. You were confused, but seemingly so was he, a fact you couldn’t wrap your head around.

“You’re cold?” He sounded dumbfounded, as if the both of you weren’t in the middle of a snowstorm. “How the fuck…” His words trailed off, staring at your wrist as if it offended him before turning his attention back to his face. It seemed whatever plans he originally had detoured, as he immediately released you back into the snow. The back of your head had barely made contact with the ground when you looked up to see him holding his knife awkwardly, the butt end of it pointed towards you rather than the blade. And immediately, did that butt end come down and collide with the side of your skull. The first hit did nothing but jar you, a cry of pain escaping you as you tried to recoil away. The masked man’s free hand moved to press against your neck, kneeling over you and squeezing your torso between his legs as he once again struck you.

Though your throat was dry and hoarse you managed to scream, a sound that was cut off abruptly as he struck you on the side of the head a third time.

And just like that, everything went dark.

[silent-sanctum]

✧ Polaris ✧ - Jotaro x Reader

PART 11: Someone Special

— The previous parts of the fic can be found in the pinned post of my profile. Hope you enjoy! —

I'm back with another Polaris chapter loyal readers and this one's a long one 😘😳 This one covers the Anubis fight but other than that, the chapter also includes another deep dive into Jotaro's psyche and feelings. So expect some hurt/comfort and fluffy times with our favorite delinquent. Enjoy! 💌

word count: 10.6k

The shallow dip of your body against the plush bed was the first thing you’d sense as you came to.

Opening your eyes and the dim environment of a mimicked bedroom was what greeted you next. Through the darkness, vague silhouettes of what appeared to be ruined furniture lay abandoned on their spots in the room- wardrobe torn from its hinges, clothes that used to shine for stage ripped on the floor, the glass on the mirror of your dressing table shattered in pieces,

And just like before, everything was just as cold as winter. 

You pulled back the sheets and a chill snaked all throughout your limbs causing you to shiver, a puff of warm breath fleeting past your lips with every exhale. 

None of this surprised you anymore. You’ve been here too many times to care more so you knew what to expect in each.

In this situation, you’d panic less for yourself but for the people near you out there, dreading the image of rose gold arcing through the air during a friendly fire. But you took a deep breath and turned to the window, gaze immediately turned towards the night sky.

Where it was devoid of light, a lone star remained in place to shine enough for you to see. For you to feel some comfort in the manor. 

He was there watching over you. You trusted his words and it was enough of a push for you to get up.

You stood and reached for the nearest coat you could find on the tiles- a flimsy fur type that was a bit tight around you considering its size was meant for children. You shrugged them on regardless and with some semblance of warmth, you made your way to the door and stepped out.

Everything was how you remembered it with the mansion’s marble, granite, and antique light fixtures, but it wasn’t as polished as the first time. The walls seemed to decay with smudges spotting its once spotless surface and the tiles were matted over with something that dried out with time.

‘What should I do?’

You looked around, nervous but determined. ‘How do I get out of here without...’ You shook your head before the intrusive memory of what had happened could plague it again. ‘... escalating the problem’.

Your eyes fell on the open doors leading to the trees outside. For a second, your feet moved without a second thought, tempted to walk out of this hellhole and sprint free. 

But as your steps landed on the third step of the staircase, you paused. ‘This already happened and you know what happens next.’ You continued down the stairs and with caution, you went to the entrance and stopped before the door frame.

‘Running away won’t do anything to avoid her and if that’s the case,’ you took one last long look at the swaying trees past the fence, and with another heavy exhale, you grabbed the handles of both doors and shut them close with a resounding echo. ‘Then I have to confront this damn Stand head-on.’ 

You turned on your heel and faced the empty hall. With all the frustrations in your chest, you called out into the air. “Come out! I know you’re waiting for me! I’m here!” When nothing answered back, you persisted, “What? Now that I chose to shut myself in is when you decide to be silent?”

“Stop being a damn hypocrite and face me!”  

“You should watch your language child.”

Your breath hitched for a split second as the onyx Stand swirled up from the shadows from atop the staircase, tendrils curling in on with each other until it formed into the nightly figure that imitated your mother, blood ruby eyes rising from the dark to complete its look. You bit your lip and clenched your fists. 

Its sinister, booming voice dwindled into its more “motherly” tone that could almost pass off as a witch. It bore its teeth. “Well princess, you didn’t bother running away this time? Why?”

“You made it clear that fleeing from this manor won’t do any good,” you bit back. “Because you rule this hellscape you’ve built in me.”

The Stand crooned as its shadowy tendrils crept down each step. “Whatever do you mean?”

“Don’t play dumb with me. You know exactly what you can do here.” The shadows crept closer to you, its tips dancing underneath your feet. “I don’t remember everything from before but from what I do recall, your user treated her child as nothing but a way to seek fame. And somehow, I escaped her and you’re here in her place to torment me for disobedience-”

You gasped as a freezing cold grasped your cheeks in a flash with the shadows now curling around your body. You felt your eyes well up with tears, breaths coming in fast as you clawed with the darkness and stared into the gleaming eyes of the feminine Stand that opened its mouth into a grinning snarl. 

The haunting melody started to play in the background and a rush of paranoia surged, your fight-or-flight on the verge of activating. You could feel Silent Sanctuary wanting to break free from you with its need to protect. ‘No! Don’t... don’t come out please.’ 

“You are a smart child, little one. Don’t you see how you’ve decided to waste that potential with your insolence?”

“I didn’t want to live as my mother’s puppet. If anything, she was the foolish one for trusting that damn vampire-”

“YOU DO NOT INSULT HIM IN VAIN, STUPID GIRL.”

You bit back your whimper as its claws dug deep into your skin, an icy bite encircling you entirely except your head. “Now stop that childish rebellion of yours and sing for your mother, princess.” You closed your eyes and exhaled a shaky breath. ‘Persist. Don’t give in.’

A rational part of your brain switched on and in that brief moment of clarity, you found the words to respond with. “You’re not her. You’re just the petty remnant of the mother I used to know. A coward’s memoir.” Despite the cold, you gripped the clawed darkness and squeezed it with the anger that bubbled in you. “So stop pretending to be her and stop kissing DIO’s ass, you stupid ghost.” 

The piano’s song cracked at a dissonance and the Stand towering over you stilled, its grin faltering into a disgusting frown. “How dare...” The tendrils crept up your neck, making their way up your jaw. “HOW DARE YOU?!” 

You stiffened as the chill crawling on your neck surged up intending to swallow you whole. You squeezed your eyes shut and-

You gasped, bolting upright from your slumber.

In an instant, you wrapped your arms around yourself and pat yourself with a repeated pattern, taking deep breaths to calm down from your nightmare. 

A hand laid on your shoulder and you gazed up at the wide blue eyes of Star Platinum hovering before you, his bulky figure hiding you from the harsh sun. Once you’ve eased yourself into reality, you took in the current situation- a sunny day in the middle of the desert, ashy remains of a campfire, the Crusaders up and about talking amongst themselves, Iggy nibbling with a piece of wrapper, and-

“You’re awake.” 

You turned to watch Jotaro approach you with bottled water in hand. Looking at his bare arms and faded green top, you realized you were still wearing his gakuran from last night. He knelt beside you and handed you the liquid. “Did something happen?” You scanned your surroundings for any possible damage dealt. “Did I go off the deep end again?”

Jotaro shook his head and you sighed with relief, patting your heart. “That’s good.”

“Had a nightmare again?”’

“Same old,” you smiled with resignation. “But good news, I might have found a way to fight against it.” He nodded in return. With nothing else to say, he gestured to the bottle in your hands. 

“Drink up. It’s scorching hot out here.” 

“Speaking of scorching hot,” you shrugged off the black fabric and after one last feel of it, you offered it back to him. “Here’s your uniform. You’re gonna get sunburns if you don’t cover yourself from the heat.”

Jotaro cocked a brow and retrieved his piece of clothing. “I got set on fire for a second,” he huffed. “It isn’t anything new.”  

“That doesn’t reassure things!” You said with a pout.

“I got to help the old man with packing.” The delinquent stood and donned his signature gakuran, completely ignoring your statement. “If you’re done hydrating, join the group meeting. We’ll just be there waiting.”

“Now hold on! You can’t just walk off after reminding me that you were burned alive!”

Jotaro put up a hand of goodbye and you scoffed.

“Yah!”

---

The drive to the nearby city was not as long as you had expected.

There wasn’t much stuff to pack into the jeep so the boys were able to finish the basic task without your help, and after helping a now-blindfolded Kakyoin into the vehicle, the Crusaders traversed through the sandy landscape, powering through the blistering heat, alleviated with the wind breezing past your face.

Transferring Kakyoin into a booked hospital room was the first to tick off the itinerary, prioritizing patching up his eyes by a Speedwagon Foundation doctor before they could permanently blind him.

They arrived at their destination without great delay and given that the only thing left for them to do was to determine where DIO’s hideout was, the Crusaders opted to use a bit of their time to explore the city, ask the locals, and gather supplies while they were at a well-populated area. Iggy wandered off on his own. To help? To laze about? It depends on that dog’s mood.

Of course, being wary of your surroundings never left your to-do list. You’d expect that being near a leader’s den would mean an influx of their minions would lurk about to guard their base. Not even that but ever since you’ve begun to see a chance of overcoming your night terrors, the piano would begin to play in your mind again, and that mysterious figure stalking in the sidelines would appear at random.

Your mother’s Stand was wicked. It knew your mind returned to a stable state and with that found something to fight against its attempts of gas-lighting, so it began launching a counterattack to crumble you back into a crippling mess.  

But you knew better this time. Having experienced the rough of its worst, you understood better how the Stand operated in you. And so, walking through the streets with Jotaro became a test of your new trick. You allowed the music to play in the back of your head, slowly growing accustomed to its haunting keys despite some of its notes still making you quiver and anxious. 

You paid no attention to the stalker in the shadows. You had no reason to be afraid of him in the first place when you had a Stand whose purpose was to defend her user. The delinquent was with you as well and any aggression pointed at any of his companions resulted in a solid jab to the face by Star Platinum.

All of that considered, it helped quell the rising paranoia bubbling in you. 

Walking around crowded pavements in Egypt never felt so decent as it was in India.  

The group had split up into 2 in the meantime with the assigned tasks of buying refreshments and asking people about any suspicious activity happening recently. Polnareff, Avdol, and Mr. Joestar were off to the shops while you and Jotaro were left with the latter. Iggy, being a canine unable to speak, went along with the trio.

You agreed to meet up at the hospital by afternoon and discuss the next course of action with Kakyoin involved. 

Just as agreed on, after a day of roaming and talking, they all gathered by the building’s entrance. You had nothing special to report given that the locals had no clue about the issue at hand, to which the delinquent could attest, but the others shared something quite bizarre- of allegedly spotting “Jotaro” crouched by the jeep without you around, claiming you went ahead. 

Regardless of the news, the trio bought a bag of oranges and with Jotaro peeling one of them, you gladly accepted an offered slice. 

An ambulance arrived just as the Crusaders stepped into the establishment. 

---

Their first-day efforts didn’t show any fruitful results even with the assistance of an undercover Foundation agent who’d been patrolling the area for weeks before their arrival.

The group collectively agreed to resume scouting the city the next day and with that, each Crusader went off to spend the rest of the day doing what they wanted before evening. Joseph and Avdol stayed near Kakyoin’s room, Polnareff expressed interest in exploring the nearby ruins, while Jotaro and you decided to visit the marketplace to shop for trinkets.

The idea was yours and given that he didn’t have anything else to do, he volunteered to come with you. Not that he was thinking it would be dull and lifeless without you around or that not having you near him would induce immense concern and paranoia, but they were in enemy territory and you shouldn’t be alone wandering around.

At least that was Jotaro’s way of reasoning with himself.

But your Stand’s ability is primarily born to- He shook his head. It still wouldn’t hurt to have a backup.

Why are you always in my mind? Jotaro glanced at you walking beside him down lines of shops and tents, eagerly eyeing each stall with sparkling eyes and a rosy smile. 

Could it be... that? If so, is this what it felt like? 

When his heart would race every moment you looked up at him?

When he’d unconsciously begin to mirror the smile you'd have?

When his chest would cave and throb in pain when he sees you suffer helplessly?

When every ounce of his being wanted to fulfill that wish you made back in Singapore; about wanting to watch the ocean with him after all of this was over? 

Jotaro honestly didn’t know, but what he did know was that he liked experiencing them. In contrast to the irritating squealing and scolding of school girls and teachers, the constant attempts of bullies wanting to fight him, and the general stress that high school had to dump on him, being with you was a breath of fresh air he never knew he needed.

You were special to him. 

And for now, that was at least something for the delinquent.

Lost in his thoughts, you had skipped ahead of him with two small plastic bags that hung from your wrist, leaving Jotaro behind a few steps but still within his line of sight. There wasn’t much of a crowd to begin with so it made watching over you easier. 

Just as he was about to pass by another stall, something glinting sparked his interest from the corner of his eye- another vendor selling a collection of accessories and items that appeared high quality despite their simple designs. 

Jotaro turned to look if you were nearby and when you weren’t, his focus returned to the booth with his hand already reaching for his wallet. 

Shopping ended with your hands filled with souvenirs and his pocket slightly heavy.

---

The next day came and Polnareff, the apparent high-maintenance Frenchman that he was, suggested he visit a barber’s shop for a clean shave and simple hair trim. Jotaro was the first to notice the new sheathed sword in his hands but you were the one to bring it up.  

The adult shrugged it off and told the dubious teenagers that it was simply a “token of hard work”, and even though it was suggested to leave the weapon in his room, Pol dismissed the idea and brought the blade with him to the shop. For what purpose?

 

Who the fuck knows? To Jotaro, there was no other reason to bring that thing out unless it was to earn bragging points.

Regardless of the trivial inclusion, the trio visited the barbers at noon. There weren’t many customers falling in line to get a haircut in the small building, which made the waiting time much more bearable. The man in charge was a nice person as well, greeting his new customers with standard courtesy. 

He gladly led Polnareff to his seat while you and Jotaro took your spots on the lounge chairs by the shop’s window, where a stack of books was readily available for its customers. He pulled out one that cataloged the marine life of the Red Sea and began reading. 

The delinquent caught you glancing. “Should I expect a perfect score when I quiz you about that?”

“Don’t push your luck,” Jotaro said. However, if he were to answer properly later on, he’s somewhat confident he can ace your exam. You huffed and returned to your book about true crime and mysteries. Damn. Now he caught himself looking over at you. That looks interesting too.

“You can read it after I’m done.”

Shit. Jotaro turned a page with traitorous flushed cheeks despite maintaining his well-kept stoicism. Though you weren’t helping with that smirk plastered on your face, nor was the gleeful humming of the Frenchman nearby as he had the man apply shaving foam. He clicked his tongue, and in realization, he said “Hey, shouldn’t our first stop be the police station?”

“Oh take it easy Jotaro,” Polnareff waved him off.

“A man’s gotta look his absolute best as the saying goes around this part of town,” the barber added.

The delinquent was about to make a retort until you placed a hand on his shoulder. “We can visit in a while. I checked their schedule ahead of time.” He stared at you for a second, took one look at your knowing eyes, and sighed. 

“Fine.” 

“Oh before I forget,” Pol reached down beside him and offered the barber the new sword. “You don’t mind putting this out of the way?” The guy gaped at the random piece of weapon handed to him but did what Pol said. 

Jotaro still couldn’t believe the man would bring that with him everywhere. Even if he made no further comments about it, he held back a judgmental scowl and kept it behind a look of resignation instead. “Alright! Back to what I was saying earlier, I’ve done a fair amount of rolling around so I ended up getting kinda dirty.”

This time, both you and Jotaro glanced up from your respective books at the adult. “Make this face gorgeous again Mr. Barber~”

“Will do.”

A few seconds in and the minute the razor scraped an inch of the Frenchman’s face, he jerked upright and immediately complained of the blade being too dull for optimal shaving, telling the guy to either sharpen the thing or get a better one. “Good grief, you’re such a diva,” Jotaro said, unable to contain the judgment any longer. “Even Y/N’s not like this.” 

“Aww come on guys!” Polnareff whined from his chair. At this angle, the drape almost looked like a bib to an overgrown infant. “Y/N! You must crave for a touch-up from time to time at least!” 

“That’s not really a priority right now Pol,” You shrugged. “Besides, I can always have my beauty touch-ups after all this is over. Saves both cash and time.” And to that, Jotaro agreed. “Speaking of time- Hey mister,” You called for the guy’s attention. “Could you start with his makeover as soon as possible? We still have errands to tend to.” 

“You’re right sir... ma’am... my apologies,” the barber said as he whetted the razor back and forth.

More time passed and by the time the blade had finished polishing, Jotaro ended up taking a nap with you still up reading, while Polnareff lounged back with a warm, wet towel resting on his face. Nothing much went on but the mundane sounds of the brush against foam and skin. 

He could hear Polnareff hum in approval, praises spoken in French leaving his mouth with each smooth glide of the blade against his jaw. The barber responded when the Frenchman made a remark about continuing his good work down to his chin. Other than that, he could also pick up the sound of a book closing shut and the cushion lifted beside him.   

“Mister?” At the rising caution evident in your voice, Jotaro pried one eye open. 

And in a flash, he’s greeted by the sight of the barber brandishing the sword against the Frenchman’s jaw. The latter kicked into action and jolted the salon’s chair backward, enough for him to angle the blade away from his throat and launch it at the barber’s chest. 

Polnareff leaped out from his chair and stood away from the guy, putting himself in between the threat and his friends. “Who the hell are you?! And what have you done to the barber?!” The man pulled out the blade lodged across his chest as if it were nothing, blood dripping onto the wooden boards below. 

There was recognition in the Frenchman’s eyes. “Wait... could it be that... the sword is the Stand? A Stand that controls people?”

“Polnareff!” The man launched himself again but Pol pushed him back as he kicked the serving table towards him. Not that it mattered when he merely took the brunt of it and shoved it aside, already poised to strike him with a raised blade.

Silver Chariot entered the fight and the two swordsmen engaged in a one-to-one combat like old foes sparring just as before. They clashed blades and tossed each other around against the walls and furniture from the impact of their weapons. You and Jotaro could only watch and observe the fight that happened in front of them, trusting that maybe Polnareff would be able to find an opening.

But that wasn’t the case. He was struggling, growing more so with each time Chariot’s attacks were deflected and his slashes parried with ease. 

In the end, Polnareff ended up on the ground just as the barber stalked towards him with a confident stride ready to slash him down. 

At that time, a flash of rose gold zipped through the air and curled itself around the sword’s blade, tightening it and pulling hard enough to divert the man’s attention away from the Frenchman and draw him towards you instead. The second he faced the two guests, another fabric shot out to replace the other and encircled it around the guy’s neck. 

Jotaro saw Sanctuary lift him up to the air, rearing back in an arc as if it were ready to be thrown. It took one quick shared look with you and he took the hint. With no hesitation, Star Platinum manifested with its fists clenched and ready. 

As predicted, your Stand dragged the enemy by his throat across the air, ramming him straight onto his Stand’s gloved fist. With one loud “ORA”, Star delivered a heavy punch to the barber’s face and launched him out the window, shattering the glass in the process.

You, Jotaro, and Polnareff gathered outside the shop. “Think that finished him off?” 

“It’s never that easy Pol,” you said without tearing your eyes away from the body. “They’re tougher than they look.”

“Plus that punch was shallow to him, even if it took everything I had,” Jotaro added. Shit. It’s been a while since we’ve seen a Stand like this one. On cue, the man twitched and in an animated fashion akin to a zombie, he sat upright and turned to his opponents.  

“Not bad Star Platinum... Silent Sanctuary,” he said. “The rumors of your speed and coordination are true but now that I’ve seen it for myself, I can easily defeat them.” Jotaro stood his ground, admittedly a bit anxious at the sight of the man’s glowing, wicked eyes. His words felt threatening and as he got up, it felt like the battle had just begun.

 

A nearby civilian, a friend of the barber most likely, wanted to approach him but you stopped him and the other onlooking locals from nearing the threat. “Everyone stay back! The man is aggressive and dangerous!” 

“Stay back if you don’t want to end up in ribbons!” Polnareff called out. “Go inside and hide!”

With everyone at a safe distance, you three circled the enemy user with extreme caution. “This isn't good. This one feels different than the others we fought before,” you said.

“You’re right. The more we fight this Stand, the faster it gets.” Everyone got into position and braced for what was to come. “Every next attack of his will be the fastest after the last!” 

Jotaro took to heart what he said and kept a close eye on the man’s movements, and in a split second he could spot his gaze zero in on the delinquent just as he leaped into the air, screeching with a raised blade. I see how it is. He pushed both you and the Frenchman aside, away to safety, and stepped one foot forward with Star at the ready, arms raised.

I’m the one he’s after.

“Jotaro!”

Before any of the two could intervene, Star Platinum reacted accordingly and caught the falling blade between its palms, just before it could graze his forehead. The barber gaped at what had happened and in the next second, his Stand snapped the metal sword clean in half.

“That speed is remarkable. I’ll duly take note of that,” the man said with a quick grin as he fell to the ground face first, dropping the halved sword onto the dirt. 

Jotaro stood by, continuing to watch over the now-unconscious barber with suspicion. Take note? It's not over? 

“That can’t be it, right?” Polnareff said, eyeing the man.

“It’s too easy if it is,” you started after him. You turned to the weapon nearby. “Let’s first keep that away. We don’t want anyone touching it by accident.” 

A strip of cloth crept its way to the fallen blade only to be stopped by the delinquent’s Stand taking hold of its edge. “Don’t. What if it takes over you?”

“My Stand is immune to other Stand abilities,” you said. “You know that.”

“Still...” Jotaro shook his head. He can’t fathom what he’d do if he had to fight with a supernatural entity that directly opposes his Star Platinum. An impenetrable shield that's able to react as fast as Star. “We can’t risk it.” 

“It’s fine if the sheath is touched. The sword itself is the cursed object.” the Frenchman said, walking over to pick up the leather case and maneuvering it to slide the blade back in. “There. Now where do we put it?” 

“How about we toss it to the Nile?” Jotaro suggested. 

“Good idea.”

“Hey! This is the police! We’ve been reported that there has been violence in the area!”

The trio turned to face the single Egyptian officer dispatched to the scene. “Finally! Quick, this man needs help so you better get him to the hospital,” Polnareff said but the officer had already grabbed the Frenchman by his wrist. 

“Possession of a dangerous weapon? You’re coming with me!” 

“H-Hey!” Jotaro watched with unease as the man struggled with Pol, both their hands fumbling with the sheath. “I’m not the problem! Let go! You’re not supposed to touch this!” Anxiety spiked as his hand increasingly grew close to the sword’s handle.

“Excuse me, but my friend just picked up the weapon from that guy!” You attempted to reason with him. “He was only keeping it away for safety purposes! You can’t just take him into custody like this!”

“Polnareff, your hand-”

Before Jotaro could finish, the sound of the blade sliding against the smooth surface was enough for you and the police officer to pause and turn to the Frenchman. “Pol?” You uttered, already stepping away instinctively once it was clear something had already taken over him.

“It can’t be...” You walked back until you were standing beside the teenager. “It actually happened.”

“Hey, you drew the sword!” 

Polnareff, or whatever took over him, turned to the officer with his blade raised. But he wouldn’t get the chance to strike as Jotaro launched the man with a kick to the nearby roller-shuttered shop, knocking him out but away from being slashed to death.  

With his intervention, Polnareff looked over at the delinquent with that murderous intent clear in his eyes. A bead of sweat rolled down his temple. I’ve never thought about fighting one of us before, let alone Polnareff of all people. This was a problem because as far as he can recall, Silver Chariot was one of the Stands that could go at the same speed as Star Platinum and possibly Silent Sanctuary as well.

Fending off against such a threat that could likely beat his Stand in a speed battle sent a chill down his spine. At that rate, Jotaro might end up in a position where there would be no choice but to kill an ally. To kill Polnareff. He clenched his fists to prevent them from shaking.

You reached out to place a hand on his bicep, reassuring him that he might not need to do that if you helped him in this fight.

The possessed adult chuckled. “Don’t forget I, Anubis, have studied all of Star Platinum’s moves. It won’t be too long until I learn Silent Sanctuary’s next,” he cackled. “Someone I’ve fought before can never, ever hope to defeat me!” With a battle cry, Pol leaped to the duo with instant blood lust.

In sync, you and Jotaro leaped back to dodge the first slash, landing firmly to stand next to each other as Star and Sanctuary appeared before them. With each attempted arc, silk cloths rapidly darted across his vision, blocking each attack from striking Jotaro. 

Through an opening between fabrics, Star Platinum attempted to deliver a solid punch only for Polnareff to block it. Distracted, the humanoid tried to land another with its other fist but the Frenchman had already anticipated the next move. 

Immediately after shoving off the gloved fist, the adult burst into maniacal laughter as it began to slash at them with increasing speed. Sanctuary returned to deflect each cutting arc, flashes of rose gold creating sparks every time it collided with the steel. Star kept up his guard behind the fabrics, alternating between deflecting the stray slashes and sending jabs through gaps in the cloths.

But with every attempt at landing a punch, Jotaro felt Star struggle to return back to its defensive stance in a split second despite the cloths shielding them from most of the slashes. He could feel the blade nick at the Stand’s skin with every attempt, reflecting surface cuts on his own skin. 

This isn’t good. Jotaro heard you grunt beside him, breathing heavily as your Stand kept fending off the sword away from harming any of you. Yes, your Stand could tank hits but her user’s stamina could only last so long to keep it up. It’s getting faster and you’re starting to tire out. I have to stop that sword. 

At that moment, Polnareff raised the blade in a familiar downward move. I can catch it again! But as Star Platinum was about to do so, the blade sped up mid-arc and slipped past his Stand’s palms. Jotaro could feel his chest race at the rushing blade. “I’ll have your head!” 

A single strip of rose gold flashed a little above his eyes, deflecting the approaching blade away from landing on the delinquent’s forehead, but ended up cutting his shoulder instead. In that one-second opening, Star wasted no time and sent Polnareff flying onto the small tree. But the force of the hit also sent him back, knocking a fire hydrant off the ground in the process.

“Jotaro!” You hurried past the spraying water and crouched over to him. You sighed with relief as he got up with a bit more effort, wincing at the pain radiating from his shoulder. 

“This is the fastest Stand we ever faced,” he started. “I don’t want to lose this fight but if I don’t fight Pol with all I have, we’ll die.” 

“You guys said the problem was the sword right? Then there must be some loophole in that Stand’s tactics that’ll allow us to break that weapon for good,” you said. “No one has to die between us.”

Just then, Polnareff got up as well with the Stand that possessed him stating that their combined movements and attack patterns were learned. Shit shit shit. “So weak! Weak, weak, weak! But now that I know more, I’m going to show you something fun that’ll finish you and your little friend there for good.”

“Behold,” With a toss of the sword, Silver Chariot manifested once more and in a display of grand fashion, caught the weapon with its free hand, crossing blades with the cursed steel. “Anubis and Silver Chariot dual-wielding!” 

Nothing much could be said from the both of you. Instead, you braced yourselves in your side of the playing field, waiting for one of the two to move. 

To no one’s surprise, Chariot was the first to swing as it sped forward to thrust its rapier with lightning-fast movements, only to be countered by Star Platinum’s fist barrage. With the introduction of the one-sided sword, Silent Sanctuary joined the fray and swung its fabrics to parry off half of the hits. 

Every now and then, you tried to ease the rate of incoming attacks by having a stray fabric creep around the battling knightly Stand and either entangle its metal limbs or toss it entirely either onto the ground or off onto the side. And for a while, it worked. 

Midst the flurry of blades and fists, thanks to your interventions, Star was able to land a few punches on Silver Chariot, not that it dealt much damage when it took the hit like it was nothing and began its frenzied steel attacks again. Jotaro gritted his teeth, sweat dripping down his face. The sword. Damnit, I need to break that sword but how?!

But Anubis grew stronger with each strike, with each parry, and with each counter. Now, you couldn’t even toss Silver Chariot around anymore as the Stand was able to deflect the stray fabrics off of him while still relentless with its steel barrage. It grew faster and faster and faster.

You suddenly stepped forward, holding Jotaro’s wrist in doing so as you shielded his tall frame with your smaller one. “The hell are you-”

“Sanctuary is born to defend me no matter what. If I’m in the line of danger, then maybe my Stand will be able to respond better and quicker.” 

Jotaro wanted to refute and push you back before you could get hurt, but there was a bit of truth in what you said. With you in front, Silent Sanctuary’s fabrics grew in size and increased in speed the second its user neared the threat. Beyond the clash of cloth and steel, Polnareff continued to watch and observe with wicked eyes.

With the Stand distracted, it was Jotaro’s turn to launch a stealth attack. Star Platinum grabbed the nearest trash bin and chucked it straight at the Frenchman, drawing Chariot’s attention away from you to slice the bin in pieces.

But at that same moment, Star rushed over with a loud “ORA” and managed to land 2 solid hooks before the Stand recovered.

Star threw another object at it, a bush, but the Stand simply carved through the foliage before resuming its offense.

Before it could execute an arc to parry Star’s next set of punches, Sanctuary coiled a piece of itself around Silver Chariot’s dominant arm, pulled the Stand up to the air, and smashed it on the ground in a familiar whip-like manner. Once. Twice. Until it recovered again.

Polnareff clicked his tongue, looking dead at you. “You truly are becoming an annoyance. Always blocking. Always shielding. How about I fix that?” 

All of a sudden, Silver Chariot stood still and out of the one Stand spawned dozens of identical copies. Jotaro’s heart dropped with dread. He remembered this ability back when the Frenchman dueled against Avdol. And there were so many of them.

Anubis-possessed Polnareff cackled as all the Chariots spun their rapiers. “How about you block all of these now Sanctuary?”

Acting according to its strategy, Jotaro was forced to leap back and away from you as multiple Chariots rushed to Star Platinum at once. You weren’t doing any better as the remaining clones repeatedly clashed against the wildly whipping cloths surrounding you. 

Fortunately for the both of you, Star and Sanctuary were able to rid of the mirages with enough blind attacks and offensive defenses, but that left Jotaro having to fight off against the real Chariot while you defended yourself against a grinning, mad slashing Polnareff. 

At this rate, Silver Chariot was at par with Star Platinum and to make matters worse, in the middle of fighting its copies, his Stand accidentally managed to chip away a piece of shoulder armor hindering the knight Stand’s speed. And now, he’s truly left standing ground behind Star struggling to block off the speeding thrusts.

And Jotaro began to shake from where he stood as a few stabs of the rapier managed to slip past Star Platinum’s guard and cut the skin off his cheeks, arms, and legs. T-This isn’t good. The damn thing is speeding up. 

Even as his life was on the line, Jotaro glimpsed off into the side where you were facing off Polnareff wielding Anubis. You were on the defense as Silent Sanctuary focused on parrying all of the slashes instead of aiming for blind spots. You kept taking steps back, wincing with every advancing attack. The Frenchman pushed forward with his relentless swings, taunting you to risk a counterattack.

The delinquent clenched his fists as he watched you stagger the faster he became. If Jotaro had to knock an ally out to save another, then so be it. 

With newfound resolve, Star Platinum dodged the next set of thrusts and swung a heavy hook to Silver Chariot’s armored jaw. Jotaro didn’t bother checking if the Stand recovered and bolted to your side with his Stand’s fist raised and ready to put Polnareff out.

He was a few steps away now and just as he was about to deal the finishing blow, you caught him sneaking or rather, at something approaching from behind. “Behind you!”

Star Platinum redirected his punches back to the threat lurking behind the delinquent. Jotaro glanced over his shoulder to find Silver Chariot recovered and caught off guard as his rapier got deflected thanks to the metal embellishments of Star’s glove.

However at the same time, Anubis-Polnareff diverted his attention the same time Star did, and in that millisecond window, the cursed steel of the sword found itself lodged deep in his abdomen.

He couldn’t even register the pain when it happened but he could gradually feel it coming as blood accumulated in his throat and spilled out his mouth. 

But then it occurred to him. The sword’s stuck in one place. S-Shit, it’s not ideal but it’ll do. 

You cried out his name in terror and several strips of rose gold lunged out to attack the boasting enemy, reacting in response to its distressed user. “N-No wait!” He spoke through the pain. The fabrics halted just before they could strangle the distracted Frenchman. Jotaro locked eye contact with yours and through unspoken words, you nodded with hesitation.

I have a plan.

Jotaro grabbed hold of the wedged blade with Star’s help, faking an act of pulling the sword out of him. “S-Stop. Don’t push it any further. It’ll be murder.” 

As expected, Anubis cackled as he kept the steel firmly in place. That’s it. “I will not stop! I’ll push it in and tear your guts to shreds!” To further boost his ego, the delinquent allowed his grip to loosen for a minute.

That is until Star Platinum cried out a booming “ORA” as it began to punch at the sword, breaking it apart chunk by chunk. With the jackal now pleading for the teenager to stop, it further fueled him to continue until what was left of the sword was the handle.

With one last push, Star gripped the remaining piece in its hand, and with one last final cry, the warrior Stand finally crushed it to powder. 

Anubis let out a yell of defeat as his form cracked and disintegrated along with its ominous purple aura that kept Polnareff under its possession. Free from control, the adult fell to the ground.

Jotaro stumbled on his feet, making sure to put pressure on the stab wound. He didn’t even notice the lodged piece had dropped shortly into a small bloody pool below.

“Good riddance... It’s finally over.” Now that it was, all the adrenaline that used to rush throughout his body left in an instant. His surroundings seemed to blur and sway. He began to feel lightheaded and his body felt like lead. 

You hurried over to his side and kept him steady with half his weight leaning on you. The delinquent turned to your worried eyes and your frantic questions concerning his well-being. “That was a tough enemy... That last move took everything I had.” He continued to stare at you with his unfocused vision, reaching to touch your hand in a weak attempt to reassure you. 

“But I’m glad it was enough to defeat him before he could hurt you.” 

The world suddenly tipped over and the ground came up to greet him... or that would be the case if it weren’t for you catching him as his knees buckled and gave up on him. You laid him across your lap, cradling his head with one hand with the other pressing hard above his own on the profusely bleeding wound. 

“This is new...” Fuck... everything’s so fuzzy now. Blood continued to gush out of the gash in his abdomen, seeping past both your hands. Not to mention the other minor cuts still bleeding elsewhere. Why does it feel chilly all of a sudden? “I never felt this exhausted...” 

Above him, you whimpered as you kept alternating your focus on him and his wound. “W-What should I do?” You said in a foreign language he couldn’t understand. “Come on! Why aren’t you coming out this time?!” He could only assume you meant Sanctuary appearing to help apply pressure.

“Y/N...”

“No! Don’t do that! Don’t pass out on me!” You said in a panic. “Anyone?! Can someone call an ambulance please?!”

In the corner of his eye, he could pinpoint Polnareff stirring into consciousness. “What happened? Don’t tell me I got controlled!” 

“Pol, go get Mr. Joestar or Avdol or somebody! Just get help!” You gritted out to him and when he asked back in confusion, you screamed at him to go get the old man. Not wanting to upset you further, he darted off to do as you asked.

“Jotaro-ssi...” Through hooded eyes, he gazed up at you. “Still with me?”

“I’m... I’m trying...” 

“You better!” You said, your voice breaking into another whimper. You held his head close to you as you curled over him and kept pushing hard against his stab wound. “I know you like to be the strong, tough guy. So be one damnit!” 

Jotaro was about to say something in retort but he found it hard to speak when it felt like his throat was clogged. Just then, he heard something. It was faint at first but it picked up volume with each passing second.

It sounded like a gentle music box playing a soft song for him to listen to.

It was soothing. Hearing it put him into a sense of ease and relief one felt just as they were to rest after a hard day’s work. Whatever sharp or throbbing pain he could have felt dissipated and replaced with a relaxing sensation he could describe as cool waves washing over the heat of his injuries.

Jotaro didn’t know if he was imagining it but he could’ve sworn Silent Sanctuary hovered behind you, watching over him with her head tilted and her fabrics thinned and moving as if they were being plucked like a harp.

His eyes were heavy and all he wanted now was to shut them close and fall into slumber. 

Just as his consciousness was about to slip away, the last thing he could hear was the sound of his grandfather arriving flustered and your voice crying out and begging him to at least wake up for his friends. For his mother. 

For you.

He won’t be going anywhere anytime soon.

---

When Jotaro came to, his head along with the rest of his body still weighed heavy against the plush of the sheets blanketing him and the pillows cushioning him from all sides.

There was also the dull, throbbing ache from where he got stabbed sometime earlier than now. Given it felt like a tight band hugged his waist, he had expected to wake up to where somebody already wrapped a bandage around the area. Some band-aids helped with the other nicks he had on him.

His clothes were a bit different too- his hat and gakuran were hung on a nearby rack and his favored faded green top was replaced with a temporary red sleeveless one. He smelled nicer too, smelling like a mix of soap and citrus. How nice of them to sponge bathe me too. 

Then there was the shallow dip beside him. He lulled his head to the side and found you sitting by his bedside, asleep on your crossed arms with your face tilted to him. A couple of stray hairs had fallen on your eyes. What a bother... Jotaro slowly brought his hand up to gingerly brush the loose strands away and tuck them behind your ear. 

In turn, you furrowed your brows from the touch and he immediately drew back, cheeks going warm realizing what he’d done. You stirred for a couple more seconds before you blinked your eyes open. Seeing him awake was enough for you to bolt upright with surprise. 

You were asleep though. Your nightmares. “Were you okay?”

You scoffed as your eyes began to swell with unshed tears. “I’m supposed to ask you that, you jackass.” Jotaro tilted his head in confusion. Did he say those out loud? “You should know you had me panicking like crazy back there. What were you thinking letting yourself get stabbed for that long?”

 

The delinquent waved it off. “It was nothing. I’ve been hit worse before-”

“But that was the first time you collapsed and passed out!” You hissed back. Jotaro’s chest twisted in on itself as he watched you furiously wipe your eyes and sniffle. He remembered what you shared then that broke you into a sobbing mess.

Seeing you in tears was a bit more unbearable than he’d expected. 

“Don’t cry.”

You clicked your tongue, pouting afterward. “You can’t say that when I’m still reeling from what had happened.” 

“Like I said, it’s-” He shook his head. “Never mind. I’m fine now, alright? You patched me up and all.”

“Oh I didn’t do that,” you said. “Mr. Joestar was the one who did the bandaging. Avdol helped by calling a doctor to make sure nothing was infected.” For some reason, Jotaro was disappointed. Just a little bit. “Though the sponge bath was my idea so you’re welcome.”

“Also, they said that the blood loss was supposed to be severe since the cut was deep enough to puncture organs and a major blood vessel behind your guts, but you’re lucky that they found out most of the inner wounds were miraculously healed so all that was left was the superficial bleeding.” 

He would have found that weird but he thought back to that moment of him on the brink of unconsciousness- Silent Sanctuary watching him, the music box’s soft chimes, the cooling sensation that swept throughout his body. 

Jotaro had pieces he could put two-and-two together and it would make sense, but it was too sudden and out-of-nowhere at the same time. Guessing from your reaction, you hadn’t known the song played either so it couldn’t be that.

But he couldn’t be bothered to think too much when he still had a headache to deal with.

Knocking rapped on the door and in came Joseph holding a plastic bag filled with what he could assume were either snacks, medications, or contraband of some sort. “Hey, took you long enough to wake up sleeping beauty.” 

Jotaro scowled, further fueling the old man’s glee. “That’s the spirit champ! Here,” he handed over the goods to you. “Avdol thought you guys might need some stuff while my grandson here recovers- Biscuits, juice, a pack of smokes?”

“I said I’m fine.”

“Thank you Mr. Joestar,” you said as you shuffled through its contents just to see.

“Oh, by the way, Polnareff said he’s really sorry for what happened,” Joseph said, rubbing his nape. “He didn’t like doing what he did and he’d beat that shithead to a pulp if he still could-” 

“Yeah, I kinda went a bit too hard on him.”

“What happened?”

You sighed. “I lashed out at him for hurting you and told him to get lost, but now that I think about it again I feel really bad. It’s not his fault.” To that, Jotaro scoffed but couldn’t help but curl his lip at the same time at the thought of you getting protective over him. You turned to Joseph. “I’ll apologize to him in a bit.” 

“Knowing that dumbass, I think you should apologize now,” Jotaro said, crossing his arms. “He’s probably kicking rocks and pulling his hair out from all the guilt.” 

“Now? How about you?”

“Y/N,” he gave you a pointed stare and cocked brow. 

“Well,” You got up, still conflicted. “If you say so. But I’ll be back as soon as possible.”

His eyes fell shut before he muttered a quick “Take your time.”

---

You might as well label the Frenchman an overgrown kid by the time you said your apologies.

He was found pacing back and forth on the pavement outside the inn you were just in. You could’ve sworn he tensed when you approached him with open arms. For the most part, it was the adult who did most of the “sorry's" to your face even as you did your hardest to butt in and say that you should be the one to apologize.

It didn’t take long to get everyone back on good terms. Polnareff promised to buy you and Jotaro meals and left it at that. 

It was evening on the way back and you crossed paths with the old Joestar and his friend lounging in the building’s lobby, discussing matters with a man of short build and suit. You didn’t know who the guest was but based on past interactions, you could make a knowledgeable guess that it was another undercover Speedwagon Foundation agent helping the team find DIO’s headquarters.

“Oh Y/N,” you stopped as Avdol spoke. “Has Polnareff found agreement with you? Or did you kick him off again for another day?”

“Come on don’t be like that,” you said. “We’re back to being buddies. He’s just choosing to walk around the city for a bit before midnight.”

“That’s good news,” he said with an approving smile. “Care to join us? Perhaps you have some intel on the headquarters’ whereabouts or at least any leads on who knows where it is?”

You shook your head. “I still have to check up on Jotaro. Maybe tomorrow when he’s feeling better.” You waved at them and went on your way. Behind you, you could pick up the duo’s conversation.

“But it’s just a stab wound. The kid’s alright.”

“Let them be Mr. Joestar. Nothing’s more comforting than being around a close friend.”

“But why wasn’t she like that around Kakyoin? He’s admitted to a hospital so you think she’d be more concerned for him.”

“It doesn’t exactly work like that.”

You left them to their gossips and continued down to the stairs leading to the 2nd floor. You kept going until you reached the delinquent’s room and just as you went for the handle, a faint thud could be heard from inside followed by someone gagging. 

“Jotaro?!” Immediately, you twisted the knob and jerked the door open, rushing inside in fear something might have happened to your friend. The room was dark, the curtains drawn shut, and you found the bed empty and the bathroom door ajar, light spilling from inside. You threaded across the room and peeked through the crack.

Inside was the raven-haired teenager crouched beneath the sink, gripping the ceramic tight with one hand while the other lay on the bathroom tiles curled into a fist. “Fuck, stop it...”

Jotaro?

He didn’t hear you enter and just as you were about to call him again, he got up on shaking legs and raised his fist into the air. Then he swung it straight onto his wounded abdomen, causing him to gag and crumble back onto the floor.

“What are you doing?!” You swung the bathroom door open, surprising the delinquent from where he was crouched on the tile. “Are you crazy?!”

“Y-Y/N...”

“Come here.” You grabbed his wrist, pulled him up on his feet, and dragged him to his spot on the bed where you directed him to sit with his legs tucked under the sheets. “I shouldn’t have left you by yourself.” How long has been doing this since I was gone? Once settled, you switched on the bedside lamp and went to inspect his bandages. 

“Stop worrying. I can ex-” You harshly sucked air through your teeth, glaring and hissing at him to shut up. And he did. You pulled his tank top up to his chest and assessed the injury with careful eyes. A large, dark red patch marked the bandages surrounding the wound but given its color, it was due to earlier bleeding instead of his current doing.

You sighed with relief and tugged his top back down. But you still had questions to ask. “Why did you do that? How long were you doing that?” 

Jotaro didn’t reply His eyes looked elsewhere that weren’t in your direction, not wanting to respond. “Not answering? Do I have to be the most annoying person in the world to get through that stubborn head of yours?” You took your seat beside him, trying to get him to look at you. “Because I can. In fact, I can start now so don’t blame me if I begin-”

“I started overthinking.” 

You paused. “What?”

“You heard me,” Jotaro said. “I got into my head too much I started overthinking.”

“That doesn’t give you the excuse to punch your wound to snap yourself out of it,” you took a deep breath before you could go off into another nagging session. “Besides, I know you overthink a lot. What makes this any different?”

“I nearly died back there,” he muttered as if he was almost ashamed it happened. “What could’ve happened if I did? How could I help protect the others? How would my mom react? I wouldn’t even get to make up for the awful shit I did and said to her and could’ve died a bad son. Would she even be alive in time to know?” 

He exhaled a quivering breath. “But I lived, got to live another day, but it made me question myself even more- If couldn’t beat that thing, then how would I be able to beat the next that would come if they become more powerful and brutal than the last?”

You kept silent throughout his whole speech and watched him bear out the inner machinations of his mind, a crystal clear reminder of what both of you were- 2 teenagers on a death trip to stop an immortal vampire with his mother’s life put on a time limit. 

‘What should we do?’ was what he first asked Mr. Joestar the moment he found his mom passed out on the floorboards. You can only imagine the burden he had to carry ever since that question; the notion that it was his obligation to save her, that no one should be more involved in this mission than him. 

That he was responsible for her life more than anyone.

And you don’t know if this was him wanting to atone for all the surface-level mistreatment he’d done to her, or that it was simply out of the care and goodness of his heart.

Though it was a noble thought, it had its flaws and you made sure to bring those up to him. “Hey, look at me.” With reluctance, Jotaro did as asked. “You did what you could back then. You stood your ground against that cursed sword and found a way to defeat it even though it seemed impossible to do so.” 

“You shouldn’t blame yourself for not doing better. Both of us are just high schoolers with ghost companions that fight these obnoxious battles for us.” You chuckled. “Putting it that way makes it sound ridiculous. We should be doing homework but here we are.” 

Jotaro huffed, amused at your ramblings. “Still, I should’ve been stronger.”

“We all should, to be honest,” you smiled at him with a shrug. “There are tougher enemies? Then we band together and beat them using our wits. Find loopholes. More strategic thinking and less punching. You get it?” He tilted his head to the side. “What I’m saying is that we came to Egypt as a team and it should stay like that.”

You placed a reassuring hand on his arm. “You will save your mom, alright? She’ll be okay and we’ll help make sure that happens.” 

Jotaro regarded you for a moment with a contemplative stone-faced gaze, and your heart swelled as he chuckled shortly after. “I guess you’re right.” 

It was then you noticed the time on the clock. 10:30 PM. “Oh god, it’s getting late. How are you feeling? Do you need water? I heard you puking earlier.”

“I’m just tired and my head still feels like shit.” 

“I guess I’ll take that as my cue to leave then,” you said as you made a move to get out of bed, only to be stopped by the delinquent’s hand darting forward to hold your wrist. You turned to him in confusion.

“Aren’t you sleeping here?”

“Mr. Joestar reserved this room for you. In fact, he booked all of us separate rooms.”

“Alone? How about your nightmares? Who’ll make sure you won’t make a wreck again?”

You smiled at the concern seeping out of the delinquent. “I’ll be fine. I told you I found a way to avoid that from happening.”

“Oh.”

It was silent for a minute, neither you nor him wanting to speak or move in the dimly lit room. You trailed your line of sight to the hand still holding you from standing. “Then... uhm... shit. I can’t believe I’m saying this.” Jotaro let your wrist go and hid his reddening face instead. “This is so fucking stupid.”

“But could you...” He mumbled the next words. “Sleepover?” You widened your eyes at the request and your cheeks flooded with warmth. “Who knows? I might end up punching myself again while you sleep.”

“Yah, don’t you dare.” You puffed your cheeks and with indignance, you tucked your feet back under the sheets and made yourself cozy on the fluffy pillows beside Jotaro’s. “You’re really trying to piss me off with these threats of yours.” 

With audacity, the delinquent curled his lip upwards. “You’re still here though.”

“Well of course,” you pouted as you fidgeted with the sheets. “I realized I needed to pay back somehow for all those nights you watched over me. And now I got the chance to do so.” 

Then there was silence from his part and this time, you wanted to bury yourself whole to spare you from the embarrassment of saying that to him. You turned your head to face him with a snarky quip in mind, but you caught yourself from saying it when you found him staring at you wistfully with hooded eyes, that subtle smirk now wiped off his face.

Flustered, you blurted a quiet “What?”

Jotaro sighed and shook his head as he switched the lamp off. “Nothing.” 

Now engulfed in the darkness, you burrowed yourself further in the sheets as the delinquent did the same. You tried to shut your eyes and let what little drowsiness take over, but no matter how hard you tried doing so, you couldn’t fall asleep. 

So with all your probable solutions thrown out the window, all that was left was turning to your side. Beside you, Jotaro still laid on his back to not cause any pressure on his injury, but his head was tilted to face you. Both of you were awake, and it dawned on you how chilly it had become late at night.

“Can I?” You whispered. 

The delinquent nodded once without a moment’s hesitation. With his permission, you huddled closer to his side and curled up against him, head laying on his shoulder as you sighed at the combined warmth and smell of citrus permeating you. “You think Mr. Joestar’s gonna flip when he finds out he wasted cash on an empty room?”

“The old man won’t mind,” he mumbled. “He’s filthy rich to even notice.” 

“How proud of him then...” You yawned as you nuzzled closer to him. “Do you also think... he won’t get... chatty with the others?” 

“Hm?”

You slurred the last remaining words as you faded off into unconsciousness. “Because... I’m here with you.”

---

As you muttered out your last words of the night, Jotaro huffed and tucked his chin on your head, gently pulling you closer to him. 

“I’m here with you.”

His heart thumped at those string of words spoken for him. Jotaro flitted his gaze to you finding comfort in his hold.

His special someone.

Me too... 

“Who gives a shit what he does or says,” Star appeared momentarily to draw the sheets over both of you. He shut his eyes and followed you into slumber. “Just sleep.”

[rocketinthesky]

We’re not meant to be, but my heart refuses to listen

Max already found his soulmate, and is in a committed relationship with her. But why is his heart defying fate and pulling him back into George’s orbit?

- A Soulmate AU (GAX)

-fluff, slight angst, happy ending, canon divergent, rated Teen and up

Part I

(Read Part II next) (OR read on ao3)

Max’s eyes drift over to George’s wrist, an intricately inked tree without any leaves peeking out through the long sleeves of his suit. They’re in another post-race press meeting, joined by Oscar, Carlos and Pierre. He’s mostly zoning out, which is easy to do when the reporters finally decide to take pity on him and ask the other racers questions for a change. He fiddles with his own left sleeve, skin cold under his fingertips as he runs them over it. It feels numb, the dark outline of a rose on his skin. It didn’t used to feel that way, once.

It’s not as mortifying as the first few times were, when George catches him staring. It’s both disarming and electrifying when that camera ready smile of George’s softens into something more genuine—reserved—as if Max and him are currently sharing a secret only they’re privy too.

Max can feel the automatic, almost desperate, way his own mouth pulls into a matching grin. And the resulting fit of giggles between them attracts the attention of the other racers and reporters.

It’s easy enough to dodge the question of what’s making the two laugh like a pair of schoolchildren when Pierre butts in with a joke, and it gives George the opportunity to lean in closer to Max, mics distant enough to not pick up the almost airy whisper of George’s voice as he asks, “What were you staring at my hands for, mate?”

Max stiffens at first before quickly relaxing when he registers the teasing undertones to George’s question. He deliberates it, thinks the logical thing to do would be to make an excuse or a quip, make them both laugh at the ordeal. But the curiosity has been gnawing at Max’s psyche long enough that he can’t help the way the question rolls off his tongue, relieved in their freedom.

“Did you find your soulmate yet?”

George seems to freeze at his question, the playful grin on his face tightening. Max immediately feels guilty for asking such a prying question. They’re friends, but they’re not quite close enough to delve into these topics. Questions about each other’s personal lives always stayed on the surface level, never breaching family.

Max might have just crossed a line in their already fragile, somewhat undefined relationship. They’re friends in a broader sense. They never hang out alone together, they barely text each other outside of the usual fire emoji react on each others’ instagram stories and obligatory congratulatory messages. But then there’s also this…tension, Max thinks, that’s always surrounding the air between them. A spark crackling down Max’s spine when they meet eyes across the room or accidentally brush shoulders. The heat of George’s body branding his skin whenever they pat each other’s shoulders in friendly conversations.

There’s that numbness where his own soulmate mark lies, a permanent reminder of Max’s failure to be normal, to be less selfish.

George evokes in him a thrill he’s only gotten before on the podium, above everyone else. The champion of the fucking world.

“I did,” George says, stretching the word out. The emphasis there feels past-tense—as if there’s a but there.

Max wants to press the matter, but knows not to. Only shrugs. “Cool.”

George’s face relaxes, the corners of his eyes softening before he leans in close enough that his breath scorches the shell of Max’s ear. “Didn’t quite work out, though.”

Max holds down the shiver from wracking his body outwardly, but he can feel the goosebumps rising on his flesh.

This knowledge shouldn’t excite him. He’s with his own soulmate, for fuck’s sake.

When George pulls back, corners of his eyes crinkling, Max knows for certain by the battering of his heart that he’s fucked.

Fate already gave him everything he could possibly want. But Max hungers for more.

Trying my hand at a trope i’ve been wanting to write for a long time, and what better ship than Gax! My first foray into writing for f1 rpf so i am very very nervous lol i’m still pretty new to the fandom. Feedback is very very appreciated, i’d love to know your opinions on this if you managed to stumble upon this drabble! I do plan on this having a part two, and potentially more depending on how many it takes to finish the story. Hopefully not too long lol. Hope you enjoyed <33