#no because I’m actually so sad that I might never be able to see her play in person until the next World Cup potentially

[scarletwitch1918]

Kristie Mewis moving to west ham which means I’ll never be able to see her play at nwsl

[godmadeaterribleerror]

It's Been Calling Me

Main Masterlist - Bucky Masterlist

Read on A03!

Tags: Bucky Barnes/Female Reader, light angst, shameless smut (oral f receiving, p in v sex), fluff, soulmates, dreams, told over many years, no use of y/n

Summary/Warnings: You've had these… dreams. Strange, realistic, detailed dreams of the same man, almost your whole life. But they're just dreams. You've been so sure, for so long, that they're just dreams.

So sure, until you're not.

Author's Note: I love this one. I love using fake Marvel science logic. I love putting sad men in situations where they can't escape love. I love semi-linear storytelling. Enjoy!

Word Count: 10.9k

“I get… dreams.” You mumble, staring at an odd point over Dr. Raynor’s head. It’s always better than looking her in the eyes. “They’re weird.”

“The very nature of dreams is to be strange.” You can see the shrug of Raynor’s shoulders, hear the neural expression that must be on her face. “Although if you feel they’re worthy of note-“

“They are.” 

Raynor hums. She’s probably raising her brows. You still won’t look.

“You sound quite certain of that.”

“I am.” You tuck your knees up to your chest, frowning at the air. “It’s- They’re not new.”

“Ah.” Raynor pauses, then says your name. In the gentle but firm therapist way that you really hate. It makes you feel like a child. “This conversation may be easier if you would look at me.”

“No thanks, I’m-“

She says your name again. A little harsher. “We’ve discussed this. You’re here of your own volition-“

“That’s not true.” You mutter. “Court-ordered isn’t volition.”

“Well you could’ve chosen the inpatient ward.” Raynor’s shrugging again. “Look at me.”

You let out a long breath, and meet her gaze. You’d been right. She was raising her brows.

“Good work.” She gives you a tight-lipped smile and small nod of approval. “Tell me about these dreams.”

It takes a minute to find the words. Not because you don’t have them, but because you’d never expected to use them. You’ve rehearsed them in the mirror a million times, but they always sounded insane, and you didn’t need another reason to be called crazy.

“I’ve had them my whole life.” It’s easiest to start there. “But it’s- they’ve changed. Over time.”

“Changed how?”

“It’s hard to explain-“

“Try.”

You scowl. “I am trying, Christina, but there’s kind of a lot to say-“

Raynor sighs, giving you the patented look of disapproval that you might hate more than how she says your name. “How about telling me when they started. Is that do-able?”

It takes a long, deep breath, but you nod. “I was- I think I was ten. I fell asleep, and it was the first dream I’d ever had. The first one that I remembered when I woke up. It was…” You swallow, and there’s a sting in your nails as you rip more skin away. “Really vivid.”

——

This isn’t your body. It’s too big, too tall, and you’re not nearly strong enough to rip a door off its hinges. This body is sprinting across ice without ever breaking pace or falling flat with a crunch. You can’t even walk up stairs without tripping over thin air.

But this doesn’t really feel like a body at all. It feels like a shell, or tool. Hollow and pressed down, moving so mechanically you’d think it was a machine if you couldn’t hear its heartbeat in your ears. There’s a lot of pain in it. Strangely numb pain, as if the owner of this body doesn’t allow himself to dwell on it, shuttering it off to the side as he moves.

You’re pretty sure it's a he. There’s hair in your eyes, but men can have long hair, and when the body’s arms swing into view they’re big and muscular. You’re also pretty sure there’s something between your legs that wasn’t there when you went to sleep.

And you can feel him. Very, very deep in your head, he’s bellowing and scraping at his own scalp. He feels like a caged animal, but this is his body. He’s roaring things that are more like feral sounds than actual words, and every time he gets loud enough for you to make out a real voice something clamps down on your skull—his skull—and it all goes quiet.

You can see another man in your line of vision. He’s on his knees, trembling and begging, but the noise is muffled and static. As if there’s a filter pushing anything coherent out of your head.

A gloved fist that’s attached to your body—but not yours to control—reaches out and grabs the man by his throat. It squeezes. 

He’s desperate. Locked down and furious, the ‘he’ who you’re possessing is almost pleading with himself to stop. 

But he doesn’t. 

And there’s a sickening snap that will echo in your ears for a long time after you wake up.

——

Raynor’s looking at you like you’re insane. You don’t love it.

“Did you…” She pauses, scanning over you with a small frown. “Did you see the hand?”

You blink at her. “Yeah, I just said-“

“Without the glove.” She clarifies. “The one that snapped the man’s neck. Did you ever see it without the glove.”

It’s an oddly specific question. And she seems to be looking for a certain answer, because in all your time of working with Raynor she’s never looked so obviously invested in a story. 

“Not for a while.” You keep your words slow, watching her wearily. “He always wore the gloves. And when he didn’t, he wouldn’t look at his hands-“

Raynor frowns. “So how did you know he wasn’t wearing the gloves?” 

“Because he knew.” You shrug. “I lived in his brain like, every night.”

“Every-“

“Night, yeah. That’s what I fucking said.”

Raynor hums, and you think she’s going to grab the notebook to write something along the lines of patient has lost her goddamn mind, but she just keeps staring at you. “You said you didn’t see the hand for a while. When did you see it?”

“When I was sixteen. The first time the dreams changed.”

“Changed from-“

“Being in his head.” You pull your lip between your teeth, weighing how much you want to reveal. Too much feels like a violation of his privacy, even if they’re your dreams. He’s a private guy, it took you years to get him to tell you anything, and if you’ve realized turns out to be the truth, you don’t want to ruin anything. “It’s- it was about six years of seeing everything through his eyes-“

“Everything?”

You wish Raynor would stop saying the word every like that. Like it’s a lie.

“All the murders.” You mutter. “There were a lot of murders.”

Raynor nods for you to continue, and you have to take a long, steadying breath.

“One night I went to sleep and he was… attacking some blond guy. We couldn’t really see his face. Then I fell asleep the next night, and it was different.”

——

You can see him. You’ve never seen him before. 

He’d never looked in a mirror, or described himself in his head for you like he’s a Wattpad character. He’s only ever been a body that moves out of your will, and a pained voice deep in your brain that didn’t seemed thrilled with what was happening either. 

But you’re not in his head, or his body. You’re standing in a bathroom—in your own body, wearing the same clothing you’d been wearing when you’d crawled into bed—and looking at him. 

He’s a lot more attractive than you’d anticipated. And you’d anticipated attractive. You’d built an image in your head of your imaginary dream assassin, basing it purely on a level of hotness that would justify all the murders he’d been up to. It had been a little fucked up, but you’d also been so goddamn sure he wasn’t real. That this was just a really odd and worrying coping mechanism for all the messed up shit in your real life. 

But he seems pretty fucking real right now. And almost impossibly handsome. Strong features that look like they’d been carved from marble, an almost hulking frame that’s somehow bigger when you’re looking at it from outside, and tangled, greasy hair that’s really working with the whole tortured expression on his face.

Because he does not look okay.

He’s gripping the sink and glowering at himself, scanning over his own face like he recognizes it less than you do. He’s bent like there’s a weight on his shoulders he doesn’t know how to shake off, and that’s impressive, because you’ve seen him pick up a car. 

The porcelain of the sink cracks, and he flinches back, looking between his hands and the rubble with wide eyes.

His eyes are blue. A really pretty blue. You’d always thought blue eyes were overrated—big whoop, you’re more sensitive to light—but there’s something silver in this man’s eyes that you really love. It feels like a deep storm you’d like to chase.

He’s really pretty. 

He doesn’t seem like the type of guy who would like being called pretty, but he is. In a natural and powerful way. Like something heavenly that’s burned through the atmosphere in a dreadful fall.

Pretty face, pretty eyes, pretty hands-

Metal hand. 

One metal hand.

——

Raynor looks worried now. You wish she’d go back to thinking you’re just batshit crazy. 

“Do you-” she clears her throat, sitting a little taller in her chair. “His name. Did you ever learn his name?”

It’s your turn to raise your brows. “Does that matter?”

“Yes.”

It’s a flat, tense answer. It makes something coil in your throat. 

“I-�� You rub your own calves, soothing yourself in the careful way you’ve always practiced. “I didn’t, for a while-“

Raynor says your name, her tone short and clipped. “Stop telling me something didn’t happen for a while. If I ask a question, it’s because I need to know the answer. Not the buildup.”

You frown. “Need to know?”

“It’s…” Raynor sighs. “It is very important that you give me a name.”

“Why?”

“Therapist reasons.”

You give her a flat look. “That’s not a real thing.”

“Yes, it is. Name.”

“If you need the name,” you say, raising your chin slightly. “You have to sit through my for a while.”

Raynor gives you a look of disbelief, shaking her head and muttering something that sounds like God, I can’t take two of them, before raising her voice. “Fine. What was for a while.”

“I couldn’t talk to him.” You explain. “For like, two years after I got out of his brain, he still couldn’t see me. When I tried to talk to him it was like I was in a- sort of a one-way mirror? And it’s not like he was just walking around telling the air I’m Bucky-“

“Bucky?” Raynor looks downright distressed. “His name was-“

“It’s Bucky.” 

He still is. He’s not a was, Bucky is.

That’s part of the problem.

“And how-“ Raynor swallows. “How did you learn this?”

“He told me.”

——

This is new. You’re not on a street or in a half-empty apartment—the two places you’ve grown most accustomed to seeing in your sleep—but in a field. A very big field with huts and brush and goats.

There are a truly staggering amount of goats.

And there he is. His hair isn’t greasy and unkempt anymore, but looks almost soft, pulled back in a half-up half-down situation that makes him look clean. His metal arm is gone, but he doesn’t seem that bothered by it. He’s standing taller than before, like the weight you’ve grown used to seeing finally has begun to lift.

His outfit is new too. It looks like something traditional and well-made, rather than the off-brand baseball hats—you too are a big fan of the American baseball team, the ‘Doggers’—and shitty polyester t-shirts.

You’re taking him and scenery in, trying to place where your brain could’ve possibly taken you this time, when he does something you’d never expected.

He turns and looks at you.

Not through you. Not around you. Not in your general direction.

At you.

He can fucking see you.

“Hello?”

You’ve heard him speak before, a few times. His voice has always been low and gruff and heavy.

It’s smooth and richer now. You don’t know if that’s because it’s directed at you—setting off small sparks over your ribs—or in relation to that vanished weight, but you like it. It suits him better.

“Hi.” You whisper, your body frozen in place as he moves forward.

He’s right in front of you. Staring at you. 

He’s always gotten prettier every time you’ve seen him. This is different.

This is knocking the air out of your lungs with just the sight of him, because there’s a light in his eyes you’ve never seen before, and it makes something deep inside of you glow.

“I’m, uh, I’m Bucky.” 

He holds out his hand, and you tilt your head at him.

“That’s a weird name.”

He blinks at you, his hand still frozen in the air. “I guess, yeah. Never thought about it. It’s just a nickname.”

“Oh.” That makes more sense. “Sorry. That’s- I just never thought you as- never mind.” 

Bucky frowns at you, opening his mouth—likely ask you what you mean by that—but you say your name and shake his hand because he gets the chance.

He has a nice hand. It warm, and calloused, and fits really well in yours. 

“Why can you see me?” You blurt, and there goes any pretense of containing the truth. 

Bucky frowns at you. “Should I… Not be able to see you?”

“You’ve never seen me before.”

“Before? What do you mean-“

“It’s- It’s weird. And complicated.”

He just stares at you, waiting for you to continue. 

You’re holding his gaze. You’ve never held anyone’s gaze before. 

It’s kind of electrifying.

“I’ve dreamt about you before.” You mumble. “And you’ve never seen me.”

“About me?”

He doesn’t sound like he believes you. You get that. It’s not really a reasonable or believable statement.

“Yeah. But you had two arms. And there weren’t goats.”

Bucky nods slowly, and seems to reach a conclusion in his brain that you don’t get to be privy to. 

It’s enough for him though. Because he gives you a small, almost nervous and apologetic smile. 

“Do you wanna, uh, do you wanna meet the goats?”

You blink at him. You’d expected more questions, or some doubt. But he’s just looking at you, something in his pretty blue eyes almost hopeful.

“Are they...” You trail off, glancing at the goats over his shoulder. “Your goats?”

“They’re community goats.” He shrugs. “But Shuri says connection with life will help my recovery, and I don’t really want to connect with people.” His voice lowers, and it sounds like he’s mostly talking to himself. “They don’t really like connecting with me.”

You don’t know who the fuck Shuri is, but you nod anyway. “So goats?”

He gives you another odd look, like he’d expected you to say something else. 

“Yeah. Goats.” 

“Did you name them?”

He frowns. “They’re goats. They don’t need names.”

You click your tongue, shaking your head. “Wrong. Everything needs a name. I named my car, and my phone.”

“You named your phone?”

“Yep.” You grin at him, and it’s a wide, teasing grin you haven’t given anyone in years. “Bertha.”

“That’s…” Bucky’s still staring at you–he seems to do that a lot—but there’s something like amusement in his eyes. “Bertha is not a good name.”

“Better than Bucky.”

He chuckles at that, and it’s a beautiful sound. Deep and heavy, like a bass drum in your chest.

It’s the sort of thing that could be addicting, if you’re not careful. Worse, it’s the sort of thing you wouldn’t mind being addicted to.

“You’re kinda mean, doll.”

“Yep.” You shrug, ignoring how ‘doll’ makes you feel fuzzy in your gut. “And I’ll be meaner if you don’t let me name your goats.”

He hums, scanning you over with an intensity in his eyes that reminds you of that storm you’d see all those years ago in the bathroom. This time, you’d like to do a little more than chase it.

You think it could be really easy to get wrecked by it. 

“Will you come back if I let you name them?”

He keeps saying things you don’t expect. Of course you’ll come back. You don’t have a choice.

But you nod, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Only if you promise to actually use the names.”

He nods, giving you another smile. “Deal.”

———

“Did you ever learn his last name?”

You shake your head. “I never asked. He mentioned his real name was James at one point, but then I asked why he was called ‘Bucky’ and we got off topic.”

“One… point?” Raynor’s words are slow, and you’ve really never seen her looked lost like this before. You’d be proud of yourself if it wasn’t a bad sign. “Exactly how frequently did these dreams occur?”

———

“You’re back!”

Bucky looks genuinely happy to see you. He does every night. The same surprised joy in his voice, shock always written over his face like it’s truly odd and lovely to see you here.

Like you’re not here every night, for three to four hours, standing in his little hut and wandering the fields.

You’ve worked out that you’ve put him in Africa. Wakanda specifically, likely because you’d seen it all over the news and it seemed pretty interesting. Shuri was the princess, and the guy T’challa Bucky had mentioned a few times was the King. You’d almost certainly heard their names during all those UN conferences—the ones you put on in the background just to hear some noise that wasn’t ringing in your ears—and your brain had just decided to run with it.

At least, you think it’s just your brain. You’ve always assumed this was all in your brain, because this feels like the exact kind of fucked up shit your brain would pull. And Bucky never aged. He’d never really changed, for six years. He’d had just been another way to cope for the longest time, but now—as you actually get to know him—he seems dangerously like a real person.

He looks like he broods less than when you see him hunched over a toilet or glowering at his reflection in a window. His appearance has started to shift in a way it never really had.

The metal arm has permanently departed. He seems fond of keeping his hair out of eyes, and his wardrobe finally has diversity. He talks to you, and he has a personality. An adorable, grumpy, endearing personality that would play into your idea of ‘made up in your brain’ if he couldn’t be so annoying.

He stares. He grunts a lot. He doesn’t get any of your references. If you made up an imaginary dream man to feel more loved, he would like all the things you like and hate all the things you hate.

But he doesn’t.

And it always draws you in further, because he truly does seem like just a perfectly insufferable asshole. 

That’s cruel. He’d been right. You could be mean. 

He never seemed to mind.

And he’s more like a dog anyway. One that escaped the pound and follows you around, not even bothering to beg for scraps because you offer them with a grin.

You like his company. You like his voice. You like that he’s annoying and you like more that it’s your exact type of annoying.

You like that he’s really fucking hot, and get hotter every time you visit. 

You mostly just like him.

“Of course I’m back.” You shrug, kicking a rock with the tip of your foot, watching it bounce through the dirt. “I’m always back.”

“Yeah. So far.” You see Bucky shrug in your periphery, and when you look up, he’s staring again. “Could change.”

“Won’t change.” You counter, giving him a pointed look. “Sorry, Buck. You’re stuck here until I die.”

That’s the first time you’ve called him Buck. He tenses for a moment, seems to shake something physically off his body, and nods slowly.

“Should I be worried about you dying?”

“Not right now, no.” You hum. Another rock gets kicked. “Death doesn’t agree with me.”

He chuckles. “Don’t think it agrees with anyone, doll-“

“Shut up.” Third rock. This one hits a goat, and you cringe slightly. “Shit. Sorry, Bubble McBubbleface-“

“Bubs will be.” Bucky rolls his eyes, moving to your side. He’s standing really close. You can almost feel a phantom heat from his body. “And I still can’t believe you talked me into that name. I had to tell the king of the damn country that his goat was named Bubble McBubbleface.”

You giggle, and Bucky shoots you a glare.

“You think that’s funny? I had to like pretend it was my idea,” he grumbles your name, and you always like how he says it. Like it’s some sort of answer. “I had to look the council of elders in the eyes and tell them that Bubble McBubbleface got Lady Gaga pregnant-“

Your eyes widen. “You let the goats get pregnant?”

“Course I let them get pregnant, doll.”

“But-“

He gives you a dry, amused look. “Would you rather I interfere? You want me to cockblock Bubs?”

You blink at him. “You know what cockblock means?”

Your brain had given him the personality of an eighty-year-old man. You don’t know why, but you stopped asking questions like “why” and “what” a long time ago. You just know that he shouldn’t know what cockblock means, for consistency.  

“Of course I know what it means. You taught it to me.” He winks at you, and you’re pretty sure you’re flushing.

This is meant to be a dream. You shouldn’t be able to flush, or feel a little flutter and hum in your heart, or something molten in your gut when he leans a little further forward to grin down at you.

This seems less like a dream every night.

You’d be worried about that if you had the energy, or foresight, or care.

“Are goats births gross?” You ask, and he chuckles again. The sound has started to inflict a sort of high on your brain, and every color in this dreamworld seems brighter. 

“They’re fucking disgusting.” He leans a little further down. You have to stare at his nose to pretend the proximity isn’t going to make your fall over. “But if you let me show you one in here, I’ll let you name the babies out there.”

You nod kind of stupidly, the whole world shifts into a barn—goat births are disgusting, but Bucky gets a look of intense focus you’d like to see re-aimed in your direction—and four months later Bucky tells you little Oz The Great and Powerful, Donald Duck, and Pants McPantsface have been welcomed into the world.

———

“So you’d see him in… Wakanda.” Raynor takes another long breath. If you didn’t think it would make everything worse, you’d tell her to try some deep breathing exercises. “Did the location ever change? Did you witness any more of those murders from before?”

You feel something spark in your chest like an electric wire, and you sit a little taller. You haven’t seen Bucky kill anyone since you’d been trapped in his brain. He’s a good man. And, as far as Raynor knows, a figment of your imagination. She has no right to fucking imply-

“It’s important that I know,” she says slowly, and you think your oddly blinding and righteous anger had been painted all over your face. “So I better understand what’s been happening to you. Please,” she says your name, leaning somehow further forward in her seat. “Answer my questions.”

You nod, letting out a slow exhale. “No murders. But he did start coming into my brain.”

Raynor frowns at you. “Was he not always-“

“Not like this.”

———

“This is new.”

You whip around, taking a stumbling step back that would’ve landed you on the floor, had Bucky not looped his one arm around your waist.

“Hey, doll. Pleasure seeing you-“ He frowns, glancing around your apartment. “Where the hell am I?”

You don’t answer, only reaching up to touch his face. His beard is soft. His hair is softer. When you trace the line of his nose it does feel like a nose, and when you poke his cheek it seems pretty cheek-like- 

“What, uh,” Bucky say your name, scanning over your face with concern. “What’s happening here.”

“You’re not supposed to be here.” You whisper, poking his cheek again. Just to be sure. “You’ve never been here before.”

“Yeah, figured that one out myself-“

“No.” You shake your head, placing one hand on his chest. It fits well there, slotting right over muscle and warm skin. Every part of him seems to fit perfectly against you, and you’ve never been this close before, but you don’t have any urge to move away. “You don’t get it, Bucky. You’ve never been here. It’s been ten years, and you’ve never been here.”

“I know, doll. Doesn’t seem like there’s much to-“ He pauses, giving you an odd look. “Ten years?”

“Yeah.” You mumble. There’s not much else to say.

He just stares at you, and shakes his head slightly. “Huh. You gonna tell me where I am?”

“My apartment.”

“Your-“ He starts slightly, but you never shake in his arms. “You live in this place?”

You nod, and he pulls you to your feet, scanning over your home. 

The silence wraps around your heart and lungs, and the room is spinning slightly. You’re asleep. You’re pretty fucking sure you’re asleep. You locked the door, turned off the lights, and crawled into bed, so you’re asleep. Bucky’s never been here before, but he’s not really here because this is a dream and he’s not real.

You think. 

You wouldn’t bet on that anymore, though.

And nothing has ever been as important as Bucky liking your room, because the longer he just scans over the space around you the more your skin heats, the more your eyes blur, the more your throat constricts and your heart aches and pounds-

“It’s very… you.” He finally says, and every bit of nerve vanishes into the air.

He’s right. You’ve been very deliberate in making sure your home is yours.

And you’re not sure why you bothered worrying at all. He fits here, just as well as he fits in every other part of you.

“Can I get the grand tour?” He raises his brows, and you nod, leading him through your space, making jokes and feeling your heart do a little flip and spin whenever he chuckles.

And things always do change. Frequently out in the real world, and carefully and easily in here.

And at least with Bucky, the change seems adaptive. You grow, he grows with you, until you’re twined and rooted into each other, and every color in this dreamscape is so vivid it’s the only thing that still tells you:

None of this is real.

———

“It was split after that.” You say. ”Half the dreams in Wakanda, half in New York.” 

You’re watching Raynor carefully. Still on the edge of her seat, legs braced like she’s ready for a fight, a tight expression on her face that Bucky calls the moose in headlights expression.

———

“You got that moose expression again, doll.”

You frown at him. “Stop calling it that, it’s just my face-“

“No. Your normal face has a dimple here, and your brows rest like that.”

He’s touching you as he explains, moving your features to match his words. You’d smack his hand away if his touch wasn’t soothing and flaring all at once. If you didn’t really love the idea of him looking at you long enough to know exactly how to adjust your face, and how to be right about it.

“But it’s not like that now.” He finishes, giving you a pointed look. “You got moose-face.”

You wrinkle your nose at him. “Moose-face is worse, Bucky. And it’s still not a real thing-“

“Yeah it is. Most people got a moose face.” He shrugs. He’s staring again. It’s taking a lot of effort not to melt forward into him. “Tight expression. Like a deer in headlights, but they think they’re too good to be in the headlights. They’re gonna go down fighting.”

“Oh.” You tilt your head, giving him a sickly-sweet smile. “Can I see your moose face?”

“I don’t have a moose face-“

“Liar.” You poke his ribs, narrowing your eyes. “You said everyone has one-“

“I said ‘most people.’” Bucky shrugs. “Moose face means you’re gonna get hit, you just don’t believe it yet. I know how to not get hit.”

“Sounds like something someone with a moose-face would say.”

He chuckles. You’re sitting down, and you’re going to fall over. “No luck, doll. I got other faces, but no moose face.” He frowns at the air. “Never could afford to have one.”

There’s suddenly something heavier in his eyes, and it makes your whole body feel wired and heavy. It’s suffocating and crushing and rotten, and it’s just an expression but everything feels worse when you see it—when his shoulders hunch and his face becomes set like stone, just like all those years ago in the bathroom—so it needs to stop right now. 

“What about a wolf face?”

Bucky blinks at you. “What.”

“You said no moose face.” You cross your arms, raising your chin slightly. “Do you have a wolf face?”

“I don’t know what that is-“

“So suddenly you’re the only one who’s allowed to make up expressions?”

You hold is gaze for a long second—you’ve gotten really good at doing that, but only when you’re dreaming of Bucky—until his lips twitch slightly.

And everything feels alright again.

———

“How much of New York appeared in your… dreams? Was is like Wakanda, where you wandered?”

You frown at the air. Raynor’s indulging in this, but not like you’d hoped. Not shutting you down or telling you that you’re crazy. You’d really hoped to hear some validation that you were just plain crazy.

“Not really. I mean, there was one night where we were at my job, a few at the coffee shop I usually go to, and maybe like, five at the park, but we were mostly my apartment when I was showing him stuff.”

“And what did you-“ Raynor’s whole body tenses, and the last part of her question is pushed through her teeth. “What did you show Bucky?”

You flush, your gaze dropping down to your hands. “Stuff. In my apartment.”

———

You don’t know exactly what gives. What straw completely desolates every single bone in your body, and ends with you here.

Maybe it was that you’d finally mentioned all the murders, and you’d never seem him look horrified before, but the sight has dislodged something along your ribs that hadn’t mended until he let you move his head to your lap. Stroking his hair as he stared at you, telling him about your day.

Maybe it’s that you always tell him about your day. That this—whatever this is—has shifted from trading teasing comments and trying to learn about each other, into pure and comfortable understanding, and now that’s how most nights are spent.

Bucky’s reports are short. The goats are being goats—that’s all they know how to do—he doesn’t like a song someone tried to make him listen to because it’s too loud, and Shuri brought him some food that made his face feel like it was going to fall off, but in a good way. You pretty sure he only gives them because you insist upon it, but he always puffs out his chest a little at the end, when you smile at him and start to tell him everything you can remember about your own day.

Maybe it’s how he always hangs onto your every word. Like it’s gospel or scripture, and to do anything but listen and watch would be a higher sin than any blood you’ve imagined on his hands.

And maybe that’s it. 

Maybe it’s how you really don’t believe it anymore, when you remind yourself that he’s not real. That he’s just a figment of your mind, manifested to evolve as you do and always be exactly what you need. 

You still tell yourself the lie, night after night.

But you’re certain it’s a lie. That Bucky is just like that. Meant to be here, with you, the exact same way you’re supposed to be wherever he is.

And now you’re here.

You’d started it. You’d slammed your mouth to his, and he hadn’t moved. There had been a brief moment where you’d been worried you’d made a mistake, but the second you’d tried to push back on his chest and apologize, he’d kicked into gear. 

And wet dreams are supposed to be hazy. Cast in a misting light and more of a halo that brings your body high than an actual, nameable feeling.

But you can really feel this. 

And it’s heaven.

You’d expected Bucky to kiss slowly. Deliberately. It’s how you’d always seen him move and speak, and you hadn’t been against the idea of being kissed in a methodical and careful way.

You’ve never been happier to be wrong.

Bucky kisses you like you’re air and water and every good thing in the world. All passion and spit and burning desire, where you can feel every bit of want in his movements. His mouth is demanding as he traces his tongue over your teeth and groans your name down your throat, his arm snaking around your waist to hold you steady against his chest. When his knee presses between your thighs you have to wrap your arms around his neck for balance, and it’s all you can do to return ever bit of want he throws at you as he walks to backwards to your mattress.

It takes effort to pry your mouth from Bucky’s. He doesn’t want you to go, even a few inches, and when you start to palm him through his pants—smiling against his lips and squeezing his bulge in a silent request—he hisses against your lips.

“You-“ He groans, nipping at your lower lip as you smile, repeating the movement. “You don’t- Shit, doll, you don’t know what you’re doing to me-“

You hum, bumping your nose with his and swaying in his hold. “Maybe. I’d like to do more.”

Bucky chuckles, and the sound rolls right into your core. “Think you could take more, sweetheart? Cause I’ve been a gentleman, but if more is on the table-“

It’s easy to cut him off with a heavy, deep kiss that has him half growling down your throat and his hips jerking against your movements.

“Want more.” You whisper, combing your free hand through his hair and trying to pull yourself impossibly closer. “Want you.”

Bucky tenses against you, and when you lean back to meet his eyes he’s staring again. Looking at you like you’re glowing, kneading your skin under his hand like he’s checking that you’re not going to vanish. 

“You want me.” He mutters, scanning over your flushed face. “You sure about-“

“Yes.” You nod, giving him a small, soft smile. “Only if you do, obviou-“

Bucky cuts you off with another bruising kiss, and before you know what’s happening he’s lowering you onto the mattress, kneeling between your legs, and shoving your thighs apart with a wolf-like grin.

You don’t know when you ended up naked. You can’t really care though, because Bucky shoves his face right into your pussy, and your mind empties of all thoughts that aren’t his name. 

It’s another point in favor of this being a dream. Bucky’s mouth against your cunt feels so amazingly real—licking and biting and eating you out like he’s been starved for a hundred years—but this has to be a dream, because no real man has ever made you feel this good. He knows every single way the plunge his tongue in and out of your pussy until you’re squeezing your thighs around his head and tugging at his hair, and his beard scrapes and tickles at your thighs in a way that’s driving you out of your mind, and fuck, he keeps moving his attention to nip at your clit, sucking it between his lips and letting his teeth graze against you, and-

“Bucky-“ You moan, grinding shameless into his face, trying hopelessly to remain upright with one hand, your fingers fisted into the sheets below you. “Please- I’m gonna- Fuck, I’m so close-“

He growls against you, flatting his tongue against your clit and squeezing his hand on your thigh, and that does it. You cum with a scream of his name, warmth washing over your body as your knees clamp around him and your eyes roll back in your head.

He’s ruined you. All Bucky did was eat you out in a dream, and you’re panting and flushed and drunk on him. You don’t know how you’ll manage to move on from this in real life.

You don’t really care. Not as Bucky runs his hand over your dripping, fluttering cunt with a look of open awe on his face, presses a kiss right over your clit that makes your hips jerk, and moves to his feet.

He’s naked now too. 

And he’s perfect. 

His cock is big and thick, standing at proud attention and jerking slightly as you run a hand up his thighs, your fingers trailing over his balls and a little drool falling out of your lips as you lean to take him in your mouth-

Bucky’s hand tangles in your hair, pulling you back to meet his eyes.

He looks just as wrecked as you feel. Chest heaving and eyes blown with lust. You’re going to lose your mind.

“Bucky-“

“Not now.” He mutters, pulling you a little further back. “Need to be inside of you, doll. Please.”

You’d have to be insane to say no.

You crawl back on the mattress, spreading your legs in silence invitation, and something hot and powerful flashes in his eyes as he takes you in. 

“You-“

“I’m sure.” You squirm in the sheets, running your hand between your legs and starting to rub your clit in slow, strong circles. “God, I’m so fucking sure, please-“

He’s shockingly fast for such a large man. It might be the whole dream thing, but you barely register him moving to kneel over you, swatting your hand away with a darkened gaze a set jaw.

“I do that,” he grunts, running two fingers up and down your cunt, smirking at you high whine. “Legs open, doll, want to see how wet I’m making you.”

You nod, falling flat on your back, and pour all your focus into his order. “Fuck, Bucky-“ He shoves the fingers into your pussy, and your back arches off the bed. “Shit- I- Please-“

“You want my cock?” He drawls your name, and you can only nod dumbly at the ceiling. “Come on, tell me you want it-“

“Want it,” you gasp, hugging your body as he starts to pump his finger, crooking them at the exact right spot deep inside of you. “Fuck, Bucky, you said- You said you’d fuck me-“

He clicks his tongue. “I said I’d be inside of you-“

“But- But I want you to fuck me.” You start to roll your hips as his pace picks up. “Please, Bucky-“

You whine as his fingers vanish, leaving you clenching around only the air, but it’s a short-lived pain.

Bucky slams into you with one thrust, and you’d been wrong again.

He hadn’t ruined you. He’s destroyed you.

You’ve never been so full in your life. You’ve never been fucked like this in your life. With a fervor that should be painful, but just makes you feel wanted. Cared for. Bucky’s every thrust is brutal and rough, and his mouth on yours is that same feral kiss from before, but he’s pressed his body over yours like he’s trying to shield you from the world, and he’s groaning your name down your throat like it’s a hymn.

You’d say his name too, if you could remember how to speak. But Bucky’s hitting every right spot deep in your pussy, and you’re so high the world is just color and light and Bucky, and when he starts to suck and kiss a line down your throat, along your collarbone, and over your tits, you’re sure you’re going to fly out of your skin.

Then he takes your nipple into his mouth, and the sound you make is almost inhuman. Your release crashes over you like a wave, Bucky groans against your breast as you squeeze around his cock, and a burning warmth coats your thighs and cunt as he cums with a roar.

You make a small noise of content as Bucky pulls out, kissing a soft line back up your jaw before dropping his brow to yours and letting out a long, slow breath.

“That was…” He trails off, moving his hand to hold your hips, drawing firm patterns with his thumb that might drive you out of your mind.

“Yeah.” You whisper. “It was.”

He nods, and neither of you move for a really long time. Usually you’ve woken up by now, but no part of you is eager to go, eager to leave where there’s still a little buzz in your heart from the pleasure, where you can feel a perfect ache between your legs and you’re so happily trapped under the warmth of Bucky’s body-

Happy. 

You’re happy. 

This isn’t real, but under Bucky’s body you’re safe and warm and happy. And you don’t want to go. 

Almost as if he can read your mind, Bucky clears his throat.

“Thank you.” He mutters, his breath hot and soft over your ear. “Needed this.” There a long pause, and his hand squeezes on your hips. “Needed you. And I know it’s dumb to thank you, because-“

“It’s not.” You cut him off with a kiss to his neck, rubbing your hand up and down his back. “And I needed you too.”

He lets out a dry laugh that you don’t understand, but doesn’t push on it. Just kisses your brow and rolls onto his back, taking you with him and clinging to you like you’re a tether to something a little more important than just a dream.

And you really don’t know why he’d laughed. 

You do need him. You’re growing more and more certain every night that you need Bucky more than you need anything in real life. That he’s more than anyone else, and that he maybe, possibly, could be real.

He feels real, beneath you with a calloused hand squeezing at your skin and your finger tracing over the scars near his arm. 

He sounds real, when you finally ask why he only has one arm, and he takes a very long breath but mutters that he fell off a train. When he tells you that bad people found him, and he wasn’t really the best guy either, for a really long time. 

He tastes real when you kiss him for comfort, and smells real when you bury your face in his neck as he continues. 

You know he’s not telling you everything, but you also know he’s not lying. 

And you really do know that, in some strange and impossible way, this might be real.

———

“I see.” Raynor swallows, and she won’t stop staring at you. “Did those, ah, occurrences happen again?”

You nod, staring at your hands. “Pretty much every time after.” A smile tugs at your lips. “One time we used the barn.”

“I-“ Raynor sighs. “Understood. How long, exactly, did this continue?”

“They never stopped, not until-“ Your nails dig into your skin, and a heavy stone lodges itself in your throat. “The, uh, the blip.”

———

These have been the worst five years of your life. And they haven’t been amazing for anyone, but no one else has to feel this like you do.

And that’s selfish. A little narcissistic. Incredibly crude.

But it doesn’t make it any less true.

Because everyone lost people. Everyone watched loved ones vanish right in front of them, witnessed the world fall and crumble around them as half of humanity vanished, and got left in the rubble to pick up the pieces. 

But no one else seems to feel this. Nobody else seems to be falling apart at the seams from nothing at all like you are. Because Bucky was probably never real. But he’s gone. 

And you don’t know how to move on.

It’s odd to grieve a dream. It makes living impossible. You go to all the support groups and listen to everyone share their own pain, and it makes your heart ache for them but nothing in you ever seems to heal. It’s as if a piece of you had been ripped out and ground to ash, and mending over it would be blasphemous. You don’t want to fix it. You need to, because this is no way to exist, but it feels wrong every time you try. As if even your body can’t just admit he’s gone, and you need to keep going. But everything feels artificial. Every breath is mechanical, and every beat of your heart feels shallow and deliberate, like it’s only doing just enough to keep you alive.

What’s worse is that you can’t tell anyone why you’ve become a sunken, hollow shell. You’d sound insane. You’re already not winning any points in the sound of mind department, and you do have a record, so if you went to one of the countless therapists who have been making their living off of everyone’s loss and said ‘see, doctor, the person I loved only existed in my dreams, but he vanished with the snap and now it feels like I’ve been cleaved in half’, you’d be locked up in an asylum.

You hate that you’re only realizing it now. That the overwhelming sense of warmth and peace you felt in your dreams with Bucky was love. That you’d fallen in love with a piece of your own mind. You’d basically fallen in love with your reflection. Your annoying, handsome, grumpy reflection that you’d rip your spine out of your body to reshape it back into his form, to bring him back to your side.

And the dreams still happen. He’s just not there, and it’s the worst thing in the fucking universe. You keep coming back to a forest, and there’s a little ash that’s always drifting around in the air, that feels really important.

It all always feels like more than just Bucky being gone. It feels like you’ve missed a train, or taken a wrong turn, and lost a key that double as a compass, and now you’re stranded at the bottom of the ocean. 

Alone. 

You’ve spent your whole life with only yourself to rely on, but you’ve never felt more alone.

———

“And after the blip?”

“He came back.” You’re going to cry. You really hate crying in front of Raynor—she always tells you it’s going to be okay, and you fucking know that—but you can’t stop it. Because Bucky really did come back, and it’s still the best thing that ever happened to you.

———

During the past five years, your sleep has gotten fucked. You get about four hours a night, because that’s just long enough to keep you functional but too short to allow you to appear in the forest.

So it took a while to pass out. You’d curled up in your bed, drank tea, done yoga, followed every ‘how to fall asleep fast’ internet guide until your eyes drooped, and you were gone.

When the dream takes shape around you, you’re not in the forest, but in a sleek, hospital-like room that you don’t recognize. 

And he’s there. 

Bucky’s right fucking there.

You make a small, choked sound, and his eyes shoot to yours in an instant. 

He’s moving in a second. Half launching across the room to grab you before your knees give out, holding you to his chest as you cling to his shirt and press your face into his neck. 

“Hey,” he mutters your name, and you can hear the low horror in it. He’s putting together why you’re crying. Why you’re scratching at his neck and trying to half climb up his body. “You’re alright. It’s all good, doll, everything’s good now-“

You cut him off with a long, heavy kiss, and his hand moves to cup your head. 

He has two hands again. You don’t really care why.

Because Bucky’s rubbing circles on the skin of your waist, and letting you cry without making a big fucking deal about it, and nothing mended. Nothing’s ever mended. You’ve been a little fucking broken for a long time, with or without Bucky. But it had been a kind of broken that had folded and shaped with him, and when he’d been gone it was like half your organs had been frozen and crumbled in your body.

But he’s back. And you feel real again.

———

There’s a long silence in the air, and you know what’s coming. The question. You’ve known she’s going to ask it the whole time—you’d honestly expected it a lot sooner—and you’ve been prepared. You have a very long speech about how Bucky had changed again—short hair, kept the new arm, appearing in his own, mostly empty apartment and trading the Wakandan clothing for jeans and jackets—and that he’d told you how much he hated some guy named John. 

He’d said he despised the asshole. That he was everything Steve had hated—you’d had a pretty good idea who Steve was, based on context and a theory but you hadn’t be quite ready to it yet—and nothing sounded better than punching his lights out. 

And you’re ready to explain that you’d had the news on in the background, a few words had broken from static background noise, and your whole world had shifted. John Walker had been announced as the new Captain America, they’d run a stupid little fluff piece on the life of Steve Rogers, and there was Bucky. Captain America’s best friend and ally, the assumed cause of that whole the Avengers are breaking up thing, and the former Winter Solider. 

You’d mostly stared at the screen for a really long time as everything feel into place—you’d looked him up after, and it was a little embarrassing it had taken you this long given that he has a Wikipedia page—before calling Raynor, and preparing for the question.

But when she asks it, your mind goes blank, and all you can’t think to say is the truth.

“May I ask,” Raynor says carefully. ”Why are you only discussing this now?”

“Because he’s real.”

———

Bucky has dreams. Not nightmares.

Dreams.

He dreams about Her. She’s the only constant in his life, the only solace and purely good thing he knows, and She’s not even damn real.

Bucky’s pretty sure She’s not real. It wouldn’t make any sense for Her to be real. He’d spent most of the years assuming that She was simply a result of him being able to dream again, a trick of his mind that was both a comfort and a torture, because he needed those dreams—needed Her, in a strange way that lived in his chest and was soft on his skin—more than he’d ever needed anything, but they also reminded him of what he’d never have.

A life in a simple apartment, filled with his own presence in a way that was easy. He always loved that about Her apartment. How everywhere he looked, She was there. The colors and furniture and posters and trinkets on the shelves all screamed Her, and no one could ever replicate that if they tried. 

He didn’t know how to do that anywhere. How to just be him in a way that didn’t feel like something was strangling him. His apartment was barren. Every time he spoke it felt like he should be apologize immediately after, because barely anyone seemed to like him, let alone want to hear him.

Bucky understood that. He wasn’t exactly his own biggest fan, and the only time there was no part of him trying to escape his own body was when he was asleep, and She was at his side. 

He liked being himself with Her. It was simple, and natural, and never a labor. She never flinched away from him—She seemed to like being close to him—and Bucky never really wanted to wake up. Part of him always hoped that this time, when he fell asleep and She appeared once more, he’d wake up in Her apartment, and it would all be real.

A very small part of him needed this—needed Her—to be real. It would be really amazing if She was real. It wasn’t something he deserved to ask for, to plead with the universe about, but he did. He kept trying to come up with reasons She could be real.

She felt real, in his dreams. She spoke and acted like a person, and not a doll or shell his brain may have created to get him through his de-programming. She was always saying things and making references he didn’t get until she explained them, things he was certain he hadn’t heard in passing. She was way prettier than anyone Bucky had ever seen, which would contribute to Her being only a dream if he wasn’t so certain that he simply wasn’t that creative.

He could imagine a pretty girl.

He couldn’t imagine Her.

Smart and funny and gorgeous, fitting against him like She’d been molded to, teasing him in ways he’d never thought of and kind to him ways he couldn’t be kind to himself. 

She was never disgusted by the arm, and Bucky was sure that—if She was only a part of his mind given shape—she would know about the whole Winter Soldier thing. But he’d had to explain all he could to Her, and when he’d left certain, darker parts out She hadn’t said but that’s not the truth, is it, James.

She seemed to like Bucky. That was the most concrete proof he had that She had to somehow be real. Nobody liked him. Not in to raw, unrelenting way She did.

So She had to be real.

Bucky really hoped, against all odds, that she was real. 

It would fix a lot of problems if She was real. Sam kept trying to get him to date, and he didn’t want to. He always felt like he was betraying Her. It wasn’t sustainable or logical, but logic didn’t really matter here, because Bucky’s gut would wither and his hands would curl into fists every time he had to try and flirt with another woman. They didn’t fit against him as well as She did. Their teasing would either bite too hard or not bite at all, and the night would end with Bucky falling back into Her arms. 

He asked Shuri—very vaguely, he didn’t want his brain to be poked and prodded again—what reoccurring dreams could mean.

“Reoccurring?” She’d frowned at him over the video call. “You’ll have to clarify, reoccurring can mean many things.”

“Uh,” Bucky had swallowed, glancing at his mattress across the room. “A dream you have every night. And it could change, but it’s always the same person in it?”

Shuri had given him an odd look. “Have you been having a dream like that?”

“No.” His answer had been too fast. He needed to keep it together if he was going to sell this. “Sam has. He mentioned that he kept seeing some lady in his dreams, and she felt real but he’d never met her before. Thought I’d do him a favor and ask about it.”

It wasn’t the best lie he’d ever told, if Shuri look of doubt had been any indication. But she bit, and kept moving.

“Well, it looks as if Sam,” she’d given him a pointed look, and Bucky had forced his face to remain completely neutral. “Has found his soulmate.”

Bucky had stared at her for a really long time. His vision had blurred, there had been a ringing in his ears, and time had seemed to still as Shuri’s words sank in.

Soulmate.

“I thought, uh,” Bucky had cleared his throat, his voice a little hoarse. “Soulmates aren’t real-“

“Of course they’re real.” Shuri had shrugged. “Soulmate is an archaic term for two brains that emit the exact same neuroelectricity, their nerve paths aligning completely. Often they will have differing personalities and lives, but the tie of the biology will link them in sleep, and they will experience incredibly vivid lucid dreams. Like this video conference, but if our minds and bodies were built to fall in love with each other. It is rare, but not impossible.”

Bucky had frowned. “But I- uh, Sam said he’s only had these dreams about four years-“

“Sam’s brain underwent severe rewiring and torment.” Shuri’s voice had been dry, her expression flat. “He would do well to remember that his connection may have been slightly mauled, and only after a certain genius princess fixed him would he have been able to reciprocate the bond fully.”

Oh.

The first time Bucky had appeared in Her apartment, She had said ten years. When She’d appeared to him for the very first time, She’d said she’d dreamt of him before.

Bucky had assumed that had been another way his brain was comforting him. Telling him he could be the type of person a pretty girl like Her dreamed about.

But when he thought about it—clenched his jaw and drew up the heavier, blood-stained memories of the Soldier—there had sometimes been someone in his body with him. Not the Soldier, but the third presence that wasn’t hostile. Wasn’t really foreign. Just was. 

“Could the-“ Bucky had swallowed, watching Shuri carefully as he spoke. “Sam said he could sometimes feel the gal while he was awake. Is that a thing that could happen?”

“If Sam was not himself, and the soulmate was not of full maturity, yes.”

Bucky had felt himself pale. “What do you mean, full maturity-“

“You are a hundred years old, Mr. Barnes.” Shuri had raised her brows, and all pretense of Sam had dropped. “There would have naturally been a point where your soulmate was a child, as that is how most people begin their lives. It is likely that you were still under the control of Hydra in your soulmate’s youth, and she would have only been a growing presence in your mind until she was a full person, and you were no longer only the shell of a man I met after my father’s death.”

“So she- Would she have seen what I did? As the Solider?”

He knew She had. She’d told him She had.

Bucky still didn’t want it to be true.

Shuri had given him a sympathetic look. “Unfortunately, yes. She would have. But if she is what you say, she is a perfect match to you in every way. She will not care what you were before, under the control of Hydra.”

“But-“

“It is not something worth protesting, Bucky.” Shuri had sighed, leaning a little closer to the camera. “This is not something that can be severed or changed, so please do not bother to ask. And remember that she is real. Her own person, with her own pain. I would recommend you attempt to find her, but that is something you will have to decide for yourself.”

And now he was here. Staring at the dark screen where Shuri’s face had been moments before, his head still spinning around the word. 

Soulmate.

She’d made is sound scientific. Possible. Bucky could have a soulmate. 

He didn’t deserve a soulmate. Not one he’d likely trapped in his mind, forced to witness the brutal atrocities he’d committed as the Winter Solider.

And he wanted to find Her. Bucky wanted to touch Her and kiss her and keep her longer than just the night. To wake up and see Her next to him, tangible and all his. 

He’d liked the idea of something being his in a way that wasn’t a curse. In a way he could throw his all right back to Her, and she’d catch it. 

But there was still the sour, molding feeling over his heart that—since She was real, and probably had Her own issues to deal with—She wouldn’t want him in her life. Not Her real life, where everything was more complicate than just them in a literal dream.

He shouldn’t find Her. She’d be better off without him. Bucky would do nothing but make Her life more complicated, and he could get through this know that She was real and safe, far away from him but still haunting his dreams in the best way possible.

He was so lost in his head he misses the first phone call. And the second one.

It was the third one that got his attention—buzzing and ringing on the table next to his computer, Dr. Raynor flashing across the screen—and the fourth one he actually managed to pick up.

Bucky didn’t bother to hide the tension in his voice when he spoke. He really didn’t have the time or energy for this, not right now. “Doc, I’m not due back for another four days-“

“I’m aware, James, I keep a calendar.” Raynor sighed through the speaker, and Bucky had never heard her sound so tense. It was a little concerning. “However, I am going to have to request you come in today. It’s an emergency.”

He scowled. “What emergency, I haven’t done anything emergency worthy-“

“It’s not only about you.” Raynor snapped. “And I’m changing it from a request to an order. Office in twenty minutes.” There was a long pause, and then a whispered, “Please.”

That wasn’t good.

“Did I get in trouble?” Bucky asked, his grip on the phone tightening. “Cause I’ve been following all the stupid rules, and if Sam says I did something he’s just being a dramatic dick-“

Raynor sighed, and Bucky could picture the thin look of exhaustion on her face. “You are not in trouble, James. It’s not- I can’t explain over the phone. It may be better for you to see.”

“See what?”

“Just come to the fucking office.”

Bucky blinked, and the line went dead.

Raynor couldn’t make him go. But he also had never heard her swear like that. Or order him to come in before an appointment.

He was a little curious. And it wasn’t like he had anything else to do today but drown in the knowledge of what Shuri had told him, trying to work out how he’d face Her tonight.

So he went to the office. Chances are it was nothing. Bucky couldn’t imagine it would be something. He spent the whole ride trying to think of an idea, came up blank, and decided that Sam had mentioned something to Raynor about how Bucky had been brooding more than usual, and he was just going to have to explain the whole I’m not brooding, I’m just sick of Sam’s blind date bullshit and also maybe have a soulmate thing. Then he’s kick Sam’s ass, and everything would be fine.

Bucky entered to office with a whole speech ready. His chin raised high and his arms crossed, because he was already having a very weird and complex day, and he didn’t need this. 

All the words were knocked out of him the moment he opened the door, glanced around the room, and saw who was on the couch.

Her.

In person. 

Very, very real, and in Raynor’s office, and here.

Raynor said Her name. The name Bucky knew Her by, and her last name. 

It was a nice last name. Barnes would suit Her better, but the idea that she was real enough to have a last name was already bringing Bucky to his knees, so he’d have to save that thought for later.

“Meet James Barnes.” Raynor was probably looking between them. Bucky couldn’t be sure though, because he couldn’t stop staring at Her.

She was moving to Her feet, and seeing Her in person was somehow even better. She was sharper around the edges, and more colorful in small, bright ways, and nothing about Her felt like it could ever slip between Bucky’s fingers.

She wasn’t mist. She wasn’t an illusion, or a coping mechanism.

She was real.

Walking towards him with wide eyes and an open mouth, reaching a hand up to poke at his face. Tracing his nose and running fingers over his cheekbones, Her eyes never leaving his.

Bucky caught Her hand right as it brushed over his lips, and She made the prettiest gasp he’d ever heard.

“You’re real.” He said, because it was all he could think of. Nothing about this was a dream. Bucky would not have a dream where Raynor was watching him restrain himself from kissing Her until she collapsed in his arms.

“I’m real.” She whispered, and Her voice was better in real life too. “You’re here.”

He nodded. “I’m here.” He paused, scanning over Her open features. “Don’t think I’m going anywhere, doll.”

Her face split into a wide smile, all teeth and light and joy. For Bucky. 

There was adoration on Her face, and it was all for Bucky.

“Good.” Her smile grew, Her fingers tangling with his metal ones. “Because I’m not either.”

End Note: Save me Bucky Barnes raising goats. Bucky Barnes raising goats, save me.

If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

Taglist

@foolinthera1n @globetrotter28 @lordofthunderthr @Youdontknowe @panicking-outside-the-disco

@Ambiguous-avery @generalmoonpolice @foxyjwls007 @ilovedeanwinchester4 @tiana-kh

@woaheasytig3r @winchester-whiskey @jsudsgf @deans-yn @jofinka

[venomvalley]

FEED ME!

PART III: MILK AND COOKIES ↬ sevika x pregnant!reader | 4.7k words

SUMMARY: The third trimester.

TAGS: 18+ (oral and fingering, both receiving). fluff. happy ending.

NOTES: this is the last chapter and im so sad about it. already working on an epilogue i love these two so bad

-> READ ON AO3 | 1 / 2 / SERIES MASTERLIST

Sevika is officially at a loss. She's never experienced this kind of… affection before, and maybe it’s a pregnancy thing, but you just won’t leave her alone. Constantly touching her, talking to her, following her around both the apartment and the streets like you can't bear to be apart.

It's weird. Terrifying, as much as she hates to admit it. Because she actually likes it. Has gotten a taste of what she's been missing, and she can't get enough.

Her favorite moments are when you join her in bed, all sleepy and grumbling. Smelling like her soap, wearing her clothes, laying in her sheets. Hers. Hers.

She's never been able to say that.

You curl up against her side as best as your belly allows, cheek atop her shoulder, arm slung across her chest to play with her hair. She purrs like a cat, turns her head to give you better access to the strands that have grown a bit too long for her liking.

“Found a midwife while I was out yesterday,” she says. “She's probably delivered half the babies in the Undercity.”

You exhale a soft breath. “That's a relief.”

“We’re going tomorrow.”

The hand in her hair moves to shift her head toward you, touch light against the curve of her jaw.

Your eyes mist over with tears, and your chin dimples as you peer up at her. “Thank you, Sevika. I mean it. I'm grateful.”

She nods, leans forward to rest her lips against your forehead. “I know.”

You sleep in late the next morning, a new routine you’ve picked up over that last couple of weeks. Late enough that she has to wake you up for your unofficial appointment, and you sulk in bed for the better part of twenty minutes before finally getting up to start the day.

After a long walk, you reach the building belonging to the midwife. The woman that waves you inside oozes experience with her curly grey hair and deep-set wrinkles. A pillar of the community according to the women she spoke with (Sevika had to make sure that she would take good care of you, after all). Brought into the world half the kids walking around the Undercity. Stern but loving.

“It’s nice to meet you, dear. I’m Lyra.”

You smile in return and give her your own name, accepting the arm that the woman offers to help you onto the stoop.

Lyra orders Sevika to wait outside, says the exam shouldn’t take long. It makes her skin itch, the thought of leaving you alone with this stranger, but you give her one final, reassuring smile, and she knows she’s outnumbered.

Fine. She can wait. But she doesn’t have to be happy about it.

She spends her time smoking cigarettes and people-watching. The streets are busy this time of day, families passing through, couples holding hands. A father carries his daughter on his shoulders, her tiny hands curled beneath his chin, and she thinks of her old man. If he’d see the person she became and look upon her with pride. Maybe he’d tell her that he didn’t know what the fuck he was talking about, that his grief over losing her mother and brother corrupted him. That he fucked up big time with raising her the way he did.

As a teenager she was rebellious, desperate to free herself from under his thumb. Got into the wrong crowd more times than she can count. An unfortunate side effect of anger and impulse—a dangerous recipe she’s relieved she grew out of.

For the longest time, she was left with that anger. It never failed her, never broke her heart, never left her behind. It was safe.

Your presence hasn’t fixed everything in her life, but it’s softened her edges. Cured the loneliness that added fuel to the fire. And every day that passes means one less day she might have with you. She knows the kid is due soon, a month at most.

She can’t lose you like she lost her mother. But she’s in too deep to back out. Couldn’t if she tried.

Still, the thought terrifies her.

And although she’s never considered herself a good candidate for parenthood, for building a family in general, she’s accepted that she now has a kid to raise. A less scary prospect when it’s you she’s raising it—her—with. You’ll be a great mom, already are despite the circumstances.

When the front door creaks open, she shoves away from the wall and stamps out her cigarette, waving the smoke away (even though she stands at the corner of the building).

You step out with a wide smile and a new canvas bag looped around your arm, waving goodbye to Lyra. When the door closes, you spot her immediately, reaching for her hand as she walks over.

“How was it?” she asks, leading you out into the street.

“Good. Baby’s healthy, and she thinks I have a few weeks before I give birth.” Your unoccupied hand reaches around to rub at your back. “Praise Janna, ‘cause this kid’s getting heavy.”

“I’ll rub your back when we get home.” A second-nature offer, instinct at this point.

“Oh!” You squeeze at her hand, take a step in front of her to say, “Can we get some more sweetbread while we’re out? I’ve been craving some all day.”

Your eyes shimmer at the mention, and she fully expects you to start drooling at any moment.

“Yeah, we can.”

An expression of relief paints your face, and she can’t help the smile that stretches her lips. “I absolutely love you right now.”

Her heart explodes inside her chest. She wonders how deeply you meant it, then decides that she’d rather not find out. Better to exist within the realm of her own fantasy for a little while longer.

.

.

.

The kid’s due any day now, and you’re ready to lose your mind. She’s given more massages in the last few weeks than she ever has in her life. Every day introduces another thing for you to cry over. Sleeping is difficult, as is every other task.

But today, she touches your stomach for the first time. Lays a hand against the taut skin and registers the flutter of… something beneath her palm.

“Feel that? She’s kicking the shit out of me.”

She looks up at you with a raised brow. “Takes after her mom.” Says it just to watch you giggle and roll your eyes.

“I’m not that bad.”

“You have a lot more room than she does.”

This is her life now. A realization that catches her off-guard, stops her in her tracks, and your hand reaches over to comb through her hair as her entire world falls apart. Like her center of gravity has shifted—like there’s no gravity at all anymore.

“Hey. You okay?”

She looks up at you, brows furrowed in thought. “Yeah.”

Everything has changed, and soon, things will change even more. She’s already bribed a handful of lackeys to do her jobs the next few weeks, and she’s lost sight of the main goal. Can’t really pinpoint when the switch happened.

Except she can: the moment you grabbed her hand that night in the alley—the moment you dug yourself a home in her heart.

But she has a plan. Set you up in a quaint house in the better part of the city, get in touch with some old friends that could hire you on for some money, and continue her duties as Silco’s right hand. It’s selfish of her, wanting the best of both worlds, but maybe there doesn’t have to be an either/or. Maybe she can have both.

Maybe her old man was wrong.

(Shit, she's turning into Vander—the Vander who prioritized his kids before the good of the Undercity.

If she starts considering deals with Enforcers, she might as well hang it up.)

A soft kiss to her forehead as she lays her cheek on your shoulder. “What are you thinking about?”

Nothing you need to concern yourself with.

She exhales a breath through her nose. “I’m not used to this. Being happy, I guess.”

“Me neither. It’s weird, isn’t it? The good kind.”

“We should move. Get a bigger place.”

“What, you don't like it here?”

The mocking grin you shoot her makes her lip curl. “No. I never have.”

You roll your eyes. “I was joking. I think it's a fantastic idea.”

“Later, then. After the kid comes.”

You press an open-mouthed kiss to her shoulder, snuggling closer into her side. “Fine by me.”

When she gets home the next day after a chaotic morning of running around the docks, she finds you in bed with a large book and a pen.

“So. I got this today.” You hold it up to show her the covering, the letters embroidered in the black fabric.

“You sure you’re supposed to be holding something that heavy?” she asks, brows lowered as she walks up to the bed with an outstretched hand.

Lips twisting into a frown, you pull the book to your chest. “Not the point. Look at the title.”

100 BABY NAMES AND THE MEANINGS BEHIND THEM.

She exhales a laugh. “Where the hell did you find that?”

“Tayla brought it by. Gave us some free cookies, too.”

“Really? I didn’t see any.”

You glance away from her, lowering the book to your lap. “I might’ve indulged a little bit, but to be fair, I didn’t know how long you’d be gone.”

Something warm swirls in her chest. Affection—an emotion she welcomes with a small smile. “I told you I’d be back today.”

She takes a seat next to you on the bed, peering over your shoulder to the page below. You’re on the letter S now, some names underlined in pen.

You blow out a breath, tilting your head back to rest on her shoulder. “I need your help picking a name.”

“I'm not the creative type.”

“You don't have to be. The list is right here.”

In truth, she doesn't want to choose. It's not her kid, not her future to determine.

“You're her mom,” she says, quiet, words stained with a sadness she didn't realize she even had.

You fall quiet for a moment, picking at a corner of the page with your thumb.

“If you want, and only if you want, you can be in her life, too—”

She says your name with a resigned sigh.

You turn to look at her, a hand braced against her thigh. A searing brand even through the fabric of her pants. “I know we haven't talked about it, but… I don't expect you to take care of me forever, especially since I'm gonna have a baby. I just—”

“Stop.”

She hasn't talked about it because it isn't a conversation she wants to have. Confronting the inevitable means moving forward, and she doesn't want to. She wants to live in her little bubble where the Big Bad is defeated and she might actually get a happy fucking ending.

“I'm serious. You've done enough for me. She's my responsibility, not yours, but—”

“You both are. End of story.”

“I wanna be more than your responsibility, Sevika.”

At the hurt look on your face, the prickling of tears in your eyes, she panics. Backtracks as quick as she can. “No, you are. I didn't mean it like that.”

“Then I want you in her life. Taking care of her, teaching her, loving her the way you do me.” You rest a hand on her cheek, smile sad and watery. “The way I do you.”

She doesn't know what to say. If she can even form words right now from the way her tongue hardens to stone inside her mouth. But her heart tenders, dissolves at your words.

You love her. You actually love her. Stupid, naïve, weak woman.

She kisses you, soft and sweet. Cradles the back of your neck in her palm like you're the only thing keeping her world glued together.

“You mean that,” she mutters, nose brushing against yours, lips a ghosting touch against your own.

“That I love you?” She nods, and you grin. “Have you met yourself? How the hell could I not?”

She exhales a laugh. Relief relaxes the pouch of her lungs—relief and something a lot more sickly.

Fear. Can't remember the last time she's been loved, been open to it. So far beyond possibility's reach she couldn't grasp it if she tried. For most of her years alive, she hasn't even wanted it. At its very core, love is what killed her mother and destroyed her father from the inside out. It makes you weak, stupid, impulsive. Irrational. A word that has no business in her vocabulary.

So why, then, does the word seem so appealing when it's you?

“I would like for this… thing between us to last a while. But I don't want you to feel pressured into it.” You shrug. “I come with a lot of baggage.”

She exhales through her nose. Says, “So do I.”

You roam your eyes over her face, a soft smile stretching your lips, before you plant the book in her lap. “Pick. I've already underlined the ones that interest me.”

“And if it's a boy?”

“It won't be. I'm telling you, I sense it. The baby whispers to me in my dreams.”

She actually laughs at that. “That another pregnancy thing?”

“Yep. Now pick. Don't make me tell you again.”

With a raise of her brows (you already have the mom voice down), she turns to the page. Runs her finger over each underlined name, testing them on her tongue, before landing on:

Stella — ‘star’

“This one.”

You peer down at the one she chose, cheek squished against her arm. “Why that one?”

She pulls a face. “Well…” It reminds her of how you've been the brightest thing in her life thus far, and if everything goes to plan, the kid won't be limited to the cage of the Undercity–she'll have the whole universe at her fingertips. “I like the sound of it.”

You nod, slow and thoughtful. “Stella… Ste…lla. Stella.” A tilt of your head. “I like it. It's pretty.”

So are you, she wants to say, but she stays silent.

.

.

.

You're ready to pop this kid out.

Lyra stopped by yesterday, examined you behind the locked door of the bedroom, and said that it was time. Suggested a more… unorthodox method to induce labor.

(”Sex is the most natural thing in the entire world,” she had said, turning to Sevika with both hands on her hips and a deep frown. “Why do you act so surprised, dear?”)

You're a lot less open to the idea, no matter how ready you are to be done with pregnancy.

“I just don't understand how you could want me,” spoken softly, melancholic.

Sat on the bed, Sevika soothes a palm over your thigh. “What do you mean?”

“I mean physically. ‘Cause of the…” You motion to your stomach, and she shushes you with a kiss.

“I don't care. You're more than that.”

“Yeah, but—”

“I want to help you.”

Your brows cant upward, a war waging in your brain as your eyes dart back and forth over her shoulder. “Are you sure you want to?”

“I'm sure.”

With a relieved breath, you nod your head. “Gods, please help me.”

Sevika is not soft, but she has to be with you. Wants to be.

You lay down in the sheets that smell so much like you and spend five minutes getting comfortable, fluffing the pillows behind you and removing clothes and adjusting your hips. You spread your legs and her first instinct is to bite, to scar the plump curve of your inner thigh, but she can't. Won't. Too much trust in the way your soft body blooms for her, fingers delicate on your full tits.

“Are you sure about this?” she asks. A loaded question—it isn't the act itself, but the person you've chosen for it. She wants to be seen as worthy after what you've been through.

“I've had the last ten minutes to change my mind,” you say, lips spreading into a dopey grin. “Need it so bad. Need you to help me.”

She closes her eyes, takes a steady breath at the sound of you so needy and sweet. Smooths a rough palm over the lower curve of your belly before pressing a kiss to your cunt. Already slick, puffy against her lips. Her tongue licks over your clit and you whine, fingers twisting around hers so tight the joints creak.

“Shit, that's—” You're cut off by a heavy sigh when she sucks the bundle of nerves into her mouth, soft and rhythmic, humming against you.

Best thing she's ever tasted, skin so soft under her hand, so wet she risks drowning. What a way to fucking go. You tilt your hips up to rut against her face, and she rides out your movements, offering up her tongue for you to grind against. Her hands move to your thighs but you bat her flesh one away.

“Fingers, Sev, please–need your—”

She's quick to split you open on two, groaning at the slick heat that sucks her in, at the way your shudder and keen high in your throat.

Between the rhythmic thrusting of her fingers and her tongue licking over your clit, it doesn't take much for you to cum. A surprisingly short time, in fact. Must have something to do with hormones, who fucking knows. It's hot. A beautiful thimg to watch—and feel, fuck—as you fall apart from just her fingers and tongue. Thighs tensing over her shoulders, insides fluttering, a hand fisted in her hair.

When you whine and shove at her head, she leans away with a long inhale of breath, sitting back to look at you still spread out beneath her, chest heaving, cunt plump and glistening. You've made a wet spot on the sheets under your ass.

You swallow with a click, arms stretching over your head. “Damn. Didn't realize how bad I needed that.”

She huffs out a laugh, wiping the lower half of her face off with her shirt (still can’t get over how wet you were; never seen anything like it in her life). “Glad I could help.”

“Your mouth should be illegal.”

She crawls up on the bed then settles in beside you as you lavish her with praise, basking in the afterglow with a hand in hers. Heat flushes up the back of her neck and courses down the length of her spine when you beg to kiss her, to taste yourself on her tongue.

You'll be the death of her.

She curls a hand over the back of your neck and slots her lips against yours, and immediately, you lick into her mouth. A moan vibrates your chest as you pull her closer, both arms wrapping around her neck.

“Can I return the favor?”

The question comes out of nowhere. By the steady rhythm of your breath, she thought you fell asleep ten minutes ago, but you're already rising to your knees to peer down at her with an expectant grin.

“That's not why I did it.”

“So I have to beg?”

A very nice thought. One she'd like to indulge in under different circumstances.

“How would you even—”

You roll your eyes. “For the love of Janna, I'm pregnant, not dying.” You scoot over to the side of the bed then grab one of the pillows you use to prop yourself up. “You can just lay on the edge of the bed, and I'll get on my knees in the floor.”

Well. You're more than willing, and she might actually combust if she doesn't cum soon. A win-win situation.

She takes a seat on the edge of the bed and helps you pull her briefs off.

When she spreads her legs, you tug your lower lip between your teeth, sweeping your eyes over her bare pussy. “I'm a little rusty, so you'll have to forgive me.”

She doesn't give a shit, will probably cum as soon as you get your mouth on her. And that's what she tells you.

With a teasing wriggle of your brows, you lean in, the flat of your tongue licking her from hole to clit. Her thighs twitch on either side of your shoulders, breath hissing through her teeth.

Shit, how long has it been since she—

“I don't have any other way to thank you for being so good to me,” you say, and her ears burn when you suck the lips of her pussy into your mouth. “This’ll have to do.”

She's nothing but a white-hot ball of need at this point. Heat broiling beneath her skin, coiling dangerously in the pit of her stomach.

You gaze up at her with low-lidded eyes as you swirl your tongue over her clit, watching her face twist up in pleasure.

Already, she's close. Thighs twitching, hips tilting up into your face. You circle two fingers over the entrance of her cunt, dipping in with a wet squelch.

When you lean away with a grin, she almost resorts to begging, and then you slide those fingers inside her, eyes locked onto the way she swallows you up.

“Fuck. You're so wet, Sev,” you pant, the thumb of your other hand raising to circle over her clit.

She knows. Shit, she knows—

“Please,” whispered under her breath.

Your soft gaze meets hers, and she's never felt so raw before. Flayed alive. Stripped down and vulnerable. The word means more than just begging. Sevika does not beg. Hasn't needed to in a very long time.

But she does for you.

“I know, baby.” You press a kiss to her puffy clit. “I'll take care of you.”

She will not cry. She absolutely will not fucking cry right now over some stupid little thing you said between her legs.

She collapses back against the bed and throws an arm over her face as you work her up to a quick orgasm with the steady rhythm of your fingers and tongue. She spreads her legs even wider when the coil in her belly snaps to keep from crushing your head between her thighs, and she grunts into the bend of her arm from how tight her limbs lock up.

It takes a good fifteen seconds before she can even breathe again, and she looks down the line of her body, flinching at the wet kiss you press to her stomach. Then another a little higher, and another, your chin sticky and slick as it glides over her skin.

“Thank you,” you say, reaching for her hand to help you climb on the bed and straddle her waist.

You're beautiful like this. Sated and sleepy and still so wet that your pussy leaves a puddle on her stomach. But the heated look you give her is a warning that you won’t be satisfied with just the one time.

Three rounds later—with you riding her face, and her leaned back against the wall, and you bent over the bed, and at one point you go to the kitchen for a snack and bend her over the counter, and then she fucks you in the shower when you’re supposed to bgetting clean—you’re both curled beneath the sheets, your belly pressing into her side, halfway between wake and sleep.

But something gnaws at her. Something she should've done months ago.

“I feel like shit. About… the way I talked to you when we first met.”

You sigh, and her heart begins to pound.

“Yeah, you were an asshole. A huge asshole.” At her guilty wince, you curl closer into her, cheek resting on her shoulder. Your hand soothes over the skin of her stomach. “But I get it now. You don't like to get close to people.”

“That's a nice way to put it.” She exhales a breath through her nose. Can't remember the last time she's tried to conjure up an apology. “I really am sorry, though. I want you to know that.”

You hum, voice thickening with the lull of sleep. “I appreciate it. Guess I knew there was more to you than what you show people.”

“Did the kid tell you that, too?”

“Oh, fuck you.”

“You already did. Four times.”

You laugh, and her sky shines a little brighter.

Everything is good. Great, in fact. But that’s the thing. Good things are fleeting in her life. Something always comes along to fuck it up.

She just hopes that the good days last a little while longer this time.

.

.

.

Fresh out the womb, the girl already looks like you—the shape of your eyes, the curve of your lips, your fingers and toes. Chubby-cheeked, a head full of thick hair, eyes blinking the world into existence.

Sevika does not make life, she destroys it, and yet in the same hands that have killed many, she holds creation in its purest form. Her face is one of the first things this baby will ever see.

She wants to cry.

She thinks of her mom, dying alone on that cold floor, and her vision mists over. Not this time. She’s older now, stronger, more lucid to the world. She'll do right by you—both of you.

But she’s terrified. Doesn’t know if she has it in her.

A trembling hand curls over her wrist, and she looks over, greeted by the gentle curve of your smile.

“Beautiful, isn’t she?” you whisper, voice dragged through the jagged rocks of the river.

All she can do is nod, a thumb soothing over the fine wisps of your daughter’s hair. Curious eyes peer up at her, squinting, wiggling tiny little fingers.

She’s never held a baby before. Always thought them too fragile, but Lyra insisted that if a baby can squeeze through a vagina, it can handle being held. It made her feel better, if a little flustered, and you had laughed yourself to tears at the look on her face.

But the woman had a point.

She won't touch her with her prosthetic, though. For all Lyra's talk about hardiness and resilience, that part of her has no business near such an innocent thing. It's seen and felt too much blood. Caused it.

You notice, though. Of course you do.

“We can put a sheet around it,” you say in an attempt to reassure her, trailing a finger over the metal. “It's gonna be hard to hold her with one hand.”

“I'll manage.”

You let it go, turning back to nurse your glass of water, and she's grateful. Wouldn't budge on this no matter how hard you try.

She holds the baby until she can't any longer, when it's time for her to feed and the room fills with fussing cries. Watches you for a long time, long enough for you to notice and look up at her with a smile, eyes turning to those crescent moons that she loves so much.

Loves. Huh.

Yeah, she—fuck, she loves you. The realization scares the shit out of her, but the sight of you cooing at your nursing baby (hers, too, if she wants it, and she doesn't think she's wanted anything more in all her life) makes the fear inconsequential.

Now, she just has to figure out where the hell to go from here. How to be what you need.

A new place is a good start. She did promise you, after all.

[redflagshipwriter]

Mamabat- enter Jason 1/2

MASTERPOST

The air was different with Cass, now. Danny felt a little anxious as he followed her to the study after breakfast. Something about her was serious-determined-protective. 

She always felt protective towards him. That was why he'd followed her in the first place. Some ghosts lied, but they couldn't do it with their aura. He knew what she really felt for him. 

“Sit?” She asked him. She gestured at the big squashy chair. Danny did without complaint. Cass perched behind him and started dragging her fingers through his hair, relaxing him.

Man. She was good at this. Top tier mothering, right here. Danny went limp. 

“I'm worried,” Cass broke the silence. She didn't sound worried. She never really did. Her voice was quiet and serious, but still kind. Her thumbs dug into his scalp. He pushed his head back against it. Bliss. “Barbara made you sad. Because you miss your sister?”

Danny tensed. 

‘I should have figured that Batman would track me down.’

Maybe he had known, if he was honest with himself. It didn't hit him like a shock.

“Tim thinks your name is Fenton,” she added, brutally sensible as always. And yup, that was it. No point in denying it. “Declared dead. In danger?”

He sucked in air through his teeth. He wasn't going to lie to her. 

“Worried,” she repeated. 

He thought about it. He really did. Danny bit his lip. 

She was liminal. That probably meant she'd come really close to death, in at least one sense of the word. Would that mean she was desensitized to it, or extra paranoid?

…It was hard to imagine Cass over or under reacting to a possible danger. She was just so steady. But would she see him as a possible danger if she knew what he was, what he really was? 

He could feel it out before he took a plunge with the whole truth.

Maybe it was wrong. Maybe it was invasive. She didn't seem to realize that she was liminal. That meant she definitely didn't realize how much she was communicating to him under her words and gestures. 

But Danny deliberately tuned into her quiet aural communication and tested the waters. “Tim is right, I'm Danny Fenton,” he said. He knew he was too tense. She would definitely feel it. But what could he do about that? He was nervous. “I… Maybe I did die.”

Her heart dropped to her stomach. He could feel the crush of grief on her heart. 

But it didn’t wash away the thudding repetition of love-protect-my darling. There was no suspicion, no guilt, no fear. It was just pain for his sake, with no calculation about how to solve a sudden problem. 

God. He wanted so badly for that to have been how his parents reacted. His eyes started to sting.

Danny sniffled. He thought it was safe to tell her. “I died,” he corrected, and he knew he was right when Cass made a little wounded sound and leaned her body into him, aiming to comfort. “Not then, but a couple years ago. I’m different now, and it’s uh… It’s dangerous to be this way.”

“Affects?” Cass asked quietly. She started to pet his hair again. “Mood? Health?”

“...Huh,” he said, because that was a sensible question he hadn’t expected. If he really thought about his mood and emotions before and after the accident: “Yeah, uh, there’s sometimes a mood thing. I might be a little more aggressive than I was before? And I can get kind of intense sometimes.”

He had thought that was basically just a reaction to having a whole bunch of new threats in his life. But would pre-electrocution Danny have been able to actually stand and fight Skulker? He had genuinely been afraid of the jocks. Maybe… Maybe he was different. Sure, Sam and Jazz were up for shooting ghosts with Fenton tech. Would he have been if he was just human? 

…He didn’t really think so.

Oof. Well, that wasn’t exactly great for his sense of self.

Cass shook him lightly. “Health?” she repeated.

Danny forced down that revelation to deal with later. He didn’t like acknowledging that he was kind of a chicken by nature, but historically, there wasn’t much evidence of bravery pre-mortem. “Uh, my heart rate is really slow, body temp is low, so I can’t really afford to go to a doctor for a checkup,” he said. “Uh, sometimes I’ve got none at all and my hair turns white.” He paused there. That was- that was enough, yeah? He was going to be honest with her because she deserved honesty from him. But that didn’t mean he had to explain the whole great beyond and his inhuman status.

“Sounds like Jason,” Cass said, after a long silence.

Danny short-circuited. “Wait, what?” He craned to look at her. “Who?”

Cass darted forward to kiss his forehead. “Little brother,” she said cheerfully. “Want to meet him?”

Uh, yeah. Danny nodded vigorously, wondering what the hell she was on about. “Do you mean he died?” 

“Died,” Cass agreed, getting out her phone and tapping away at it rapidly.

“Not like, heart stopped for a minute on the operating table and he was revived, or what?” Danny pressed.

“Dead in the ground, came back later,” Cass said. “Dead for months. Now, very crabby.”

Danny balked. “What?”

“White hair too,” she said. Then her face did something funny. “I think he dyed it recently,” she said. 

Danny huffed a laugh. “If it’s the same thing as mine, you can’t dye it.” He saw her look over his head for white streaks. He didn’t correct her line of thought.

He hadn’t thought that anything could top the anticipation of meeting Batman. But Danny had to admit the rest of the day was a wash. Apparently Jason couldn’t make it until the evening, about an hour before patrol.

Danny nearly paced a line into the carpet. He had enough energy to do that now, even without ecto. He was getting soooo much food here. A guy couldn’t even stress out for an hour without someone coming by to make sure he had fruit and yogurt or a hot drink.

He didn’t need someone to come and tell him that the much anticipated Jason had shown up. Danny knew it when he went to take a sip of cruelty-free chocolate milk (hand delivered by the most frightening child in the world) and choked on vapor.

Damian gave him a glare and snatched the drink away. “Are you incapable of drinking beverages?” he demanded. His face looked so goddamn cross but he was just worried.

Danny managed a smile. “No, went down the wrong pipe, sorry.”

Damian didn’t seem to even see the fog, so- so that meant that either he was really unobservant or he wasn’t liminal enough to see it the way people did in Amity. That was a small blessing. Danny appreciated it and he took back his drink to have something to hold onto.

That was a whole ass ghost. That was a whole ghost coming onto the property, one that felt big and mad and old. Danny smacked his lips, disconcerted. 

He, uh, didn’t know what to expect from this.

[twinsarekeepers]

“This isn’t the Arch, seaweed brain. You’re not pushing me into the stairwell again.”

First of all, LINE DELIVERY?? Leah Sava Jeffries is an ACTRESS because ‘seaweed brain’ is actually so corny and it would simply feel like fan-service if they included it earlier or in another context but this was so natural and I was so swept up by all the other amazing things happening that I was excited about it but also keyed into the rest of the scene.

But the way this perfectly displays her fatal flaw. She will not let this boy trick her again (spoiler: he does). She was caught off guard at the Arch because she wasn’t familiar with his game but now she’s ready. She WILL die for him and that is final.

“Yes, I am.”

This was CRAZY?? Percy Jackson #1 mentally unstable man because how is he determined to win every ‘sacrifice myself’ off with her? And he says it to her face too. He does not care for the games anymore, he’s fully telling her that he needs her to live.

“I’m not going to let you this time. It doesn’t work that way!”

This made me so incredibly sad. Annabeth is still thinking in transactions. She’s thinking about how he made a sacrifice in the Arch so it’s her turn now. This is how relationships work. This is how every relationship she’s had works. She literally can’t comprehend how he doesn’t see it that way. How he could be selfless enough to sacrifice himself for her TWICE. How he could care about her enough to believe she deserves it even after she was the reason they were in the Arch in the first place (my baby my baby say it with me now you’re my baby).

“It’s why you’re here!”

“Excuse me?”

This was so soft like I just *screaming crying gif*. The last time she said ‘excuse me’ to him she was pissed off about him bringing up Athena but now she’s just confused and sad. Like, she trying to figure out what he means by this. Does he think she’s so heartless and robotic that she’d just let him die for her own gain?

I also love how they don’t have her say ‘what?’ because it just adds this extra layer of how Annabeth has trained herself to be more mature in everything she does, even her language, because she believes that if she’s not perfect, she’s not worthy of love and affection and maybe even existing (literally sobbing wtf).

“When I was choosing my team, I told Chiron I needed someone who wouldn’t hesitate to sacrifice me if the quest required it. He agreed. That was you.”

I was confused at first about this because I thought Annabeth knew Percy thought this about her until I went back and watched the choosing ceremony again. He’s definitely keeping his voice lower as he speaks to Chiron and both Chiron and him are raising their voice as they address the other campers so makes sense that she wouldn’t have heard him.

But also, this just adds so much to literally everything. Because, in the beginning, Percy didn’t think him and Annabeth would become friends. He genuinely did think that she would sacrifice him if she had to and he thought he’d be able to curb it. He thought he’d be able to fight Annabeth if it came to it because she might choose the quest over his mom and he couldn’t allow that.

But now here he is, after getting to know her, and seeing her vulnerability and bravery and strength and courage and wisdom and passion and everything that makes her so beautiful and wonderful and amazing and his friend. She’s his friend and she’d never betray him. She’d never sacrifice him. She’d rather sacrifice herself before she ever did anything to harm him.

And he’s apologizing to her. Listen to the way Walker says the last line (again, THE ACTING). It’s literally a confession because he feels so bad that he ever believed that about her. And now he’s making her do it. He’s making her do this thing that he once thought she’d have done without hesitation. He’s thinking about the Fates cutting that string and he’s thinking about his own words to Chiron and how Chiron agreed and he’s thinking about how Annabeth said that prophecies aren’t always clear and he fully believes that he’s figured it out. This is fate. Annabeth would sacrifice him and complete the prophecy. She’ll be the friend that betrays him but not because she wanted to and he will fail to save what matters most, his own life.

This entire exchange was very insane. It’s my Roman Empire. I can’t stop thinking about it because it shows their motivations and their viewpoints and their internal struggles so so so well like I can’t even … I’m having a malfunction.

[hanquokka-mochimochicheeks]

strawberry freckles 🍓 ☆ ⋆🍓 ⋆

lee felix x f!reader

(+ toxic seungmin)

word count: 1k

genre: angst, fluff, established relationship, acne scars insecurity

summary: felix comforts you about your insecurity after a falling out with his toxic friend, seungmin.

warnings: kissing ⋆

~ ~ ~

“so you still haven’t slept with her?” the words spill out of the dark-haired guy next to felix.

they’d been chatting together for a while in a dark corner of the bar. felix could tell his old friend was way past tipsy and was considering calling him a taxi.

“seungmin, why are you even bringing this up?” felix says as he slides seungmin’s glass across the table so it’s out of reach. 

“i told you i’m only going to when she’s comfortable with it.”

seungmin looks back at him with wide eyes, his words slurring, “don’t tell me you’re waiting for her to become pretty or some shit.” 

felix knows he shouldn’t be taking a drunk person’s words to heart but he can’t help but get defensive when it comes to you. 

“what’re you on about? you’ve heard me talk about her the most- how I think she’s the most gorgeous person on this fucking planet.” 

“so you're trying to convince yourself she is?” seungmin smirks,  “if it were me, i would’ve left her so damn fast-  that ugly spotted bitch.” 

his filter is long gone and his thoughts are flowing out. 

“would you still be spewing this shit if she was actually infested with something?” “cause looking at her, i wouldn’t be surprised if she was.”

felix is at a loss for words. is this really the same friend that had congratulated the two of you becoming a couple with an entire party? has he always been this bitter, cynical person underneath all the smiles and laughs? but it’s past the point of being able to call him a friend, he’s downright insulting you. 

felix slams cash down on the table and storms away from the drunk man. he needs to get away before he lets himself smash that asshole’s head into his own drink. 

he catches a taxi to the apartment you both share, fuming in silence over the conversation he just had with seungmin. 

from the moment felix walks through the door, you can tell something’s off. 

“lixie~ you're back–”, your voice cuts off when you see his slumped shoulders and sad smile. you place down your mug on the kitchen counter where you're standing.

“what's wrong? did something happen with seungmin?” 

felix winces at the mention of seungmin and sighs. “i don't think i'll be seeing him anymore.” he steps behind you before draping himself over your shoulders. the sudden weight of him surprises you, but you nod, understanding he doesn't want to talk about it. 

holding onto his arms that are slung over your chest, you lean back into the warmth of his chest. he's shaking the tiniest bit,  but it's understandable since he just lost a dear friend. you had no idea it was because of you yet. 

felix led you over to the couch and gently pulled you onto his lap, still with your back to him. 

since years ago, you've had acne scars that covered your back, chest and parts of your face. it’s always been your biggest insecurity. avoiding clothes with low necklines, backless dresses and any event you'd have to wear swimwear to is second nature by now. on the occasion you do wear something slightly revealing, you can't help feeling self-conscious. 

having never brought up the topic with felix, he has no idea of how you would react if he mentions it. 

since felix is still clinging to you in silence with his arms tight around your waist, you figure you might be here a while. you lean down to the low table in front of the couch to grab a packet of candies you both love. as you're leaning over to reach it, felix suddenly lifts the back of your shirt up–  making you jump. 

“lix?” 

“you're so pretty, so perfect for me” felix mumbles between kisses along your back as his hands move to hold your waist. 

“seungmin, that barstad, he dared to call you ugly.” he spat the last word out like it tasted foul. 

“oh.” you can't think of anything else to say. 

felix's reluctance to talk about what happened with seungmin, his excessive touchyness and the sudden kissing on your back–  the realization hits…it’s all because of you. 

“you didn't hurt him or anything, right?” the words come out as a whisper. 

“i can't believe you're worried about him right now”, he sighs as if he's regretting it, “but no, i left before it got to that point.”

“but–”, you bite your lip anxiously, “surely you didn't need to stop being friends with him over something little like that… it's not like he’s wrong”

before you can answer, felix has you under him on the couch and he's kissing you like nothing else matters– not seungmin, not your scars, and not even the candy you were about to grab. 

“i think i need to make you understand how fucking beautiful you are and what it does to me.” felix says lowly in your ear, almost angry. 

slipping off your bra, felix's hands massage your breasts under your shirt, making you gasp. his mouth follows and he's kissing all over your chest, focusing on where the scars are. 

he pauses and pulls away. “you could try thinking about your scars like they're freckles– strawberry freckles!” 

a smile lingers on his lips and he points to his face as he adds, “i guess we're matching then~”

you both giggle. felix really can change the mood so easily just by being his usual silly self. 

then he goes back to being serious, but it's softer this time when he says, “but really, i can't have people insulting my precious girlfriend! so don't ever try to tell me it's not a big deal, okay?”

“mmkay”, you say, blushing, “...i love you lix”

“i love you more.” he replies before sweetly kissing your forehead.

[awritessomething]

Okay so Aaron Hotchner x inexperienced reader.

When they’re like full on making out reader gets flustered and tells Aaron she could never make her finish. And then Aaron is like “okay honey, show me what you do” and then after some very flushed minute reader shows him and she gets frustrated and he helps. ☺️☺️Aaron is everything

I’m in love with this idea.

𝐄𝐱𝐭𝐫𝐚 𝐆𝐮𝐢𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 | aaron hotchner x fem!reader

requests

𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆 | Aaron and his girlfriend were about to get to third base when he heard some shocking news. Of course, he helps out however he can.

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 | smut, pre-established relationship, virgin!reader, soft!dom hotch, age gap (not brought up), praise, pet names (honey, baby, gorgeous), fem masturbation, multiple orgasms, oral f!receiving, use of Y/N, aftercare

Aaron Hotchner was known for being a man who just knew a lot. There wasn’t much of anything that he was exactly bad at. That included kissing. Because of his age, some people might think that he would see make out sessions possibly as immature, but he did not. Not in the slightest.

Aaron was laid on his bed with his girlfriend, his hands cupping her face as they were making out. Her hands were in his hair, tugging at the dark locks. Aaron groaned against her lips and one of his hands went to her back. He flipped them so he was laying on top of her.

His hands went to move lower and tug off his belt and then her shorts, but she grabbed his wrist. They pulled away from the kiss and Aaron’s eyes widened slightly, wondering if he had done anything wrong.

“Are you alright?” He asked her softly. She nodded.

“Sorry, I just.. I don’t know how to say it.” She frowned as she looked up at him. He got off of her and sat down so he could listen more intently. His eyes were locked on hers. “I’ve never been able to… finish before? I just don’t want to do anything with you and have you be sad or something because I couldn’t cum.”

“Oh, honey, that’s fine.” He leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to her lips. Y/N smiled now, feeling a bit less nervous. “So, no man has been able to do it for you?” He asked, silently cursing any men that his girlfriend had been with in the past who now made her think like this.

“Actually, you’d be my first.” She admitted quietly, looking away in case Aaron got mad at her for not telling him. He didn’t get mad in the slightest. If anything, he was surprised that a gorgeous woman like her hadn’t been laid before.

“You're a virgin?” He asked just to fully confirm it.

“Yeah.”

“Oh. Well, alright. Why don’t you show me how you usually touch yourself, ok?” His words were so bold that she choked on her own spit. Aaron smiled at her surprise.

“Aaron no, I cant it’s-“ she tried to protest, but Aaron cut her off.

“I’m here to help you. Not judge.” Aaron reassured her with a soft kiss on the hand. She took in a deep breath and nodded. “Good girl. If you want me to stop, just tell me.” He whispered as he began to take off her clothes. He started with her top, then moved on down to her shorts.

Her eyes were on him the whole time. Aaron pressed a kiss to her bare abdomen and then pulled off her panties. Y/N watched him wide eyed. The last thing to go was her bra, which he threw aside. Then he leaned back and motioned for her to continue.

“Act like I’m not even here, ok?” He whispered. It was a difficult request, but she promised that she would make it work. Aaron was more experienced than her, she knew he just wanted to help.

Her hand trailed down between her legs, hand shaking slightly. He watched her silently as she put her hand onto her usual area and began to rub at the bundle of nerves. Her movements were messy and uncontrolled. She didn’t have any sort of buildup either, she just immediately went to full speed.

Aarons brows knit together as he stayed quiet for a while longer, just watching as she desperately tried to get herself off. Her legs were shaking and her bottom lip was pulled under her top teeth from frustration.

His cock stirred in his pants as he watched his girlfriend begin to get more and more frustrated. Her movements only got messier as the time went on as her hands got more tired. She kept up the same quick pace the whole time. Eventually, she whined out in defeat.

“Its ok, baby.” He whispered. Aaron went back over to her and now sat behind her, pulling her so she was sitting between his legs. He used his own legs to pin hers open. “Gimme your hand.” Aaron said softly but also quite firmly. She nodded and put out her hand for him. He positioned his hand over hers and took two of her fingers under his.

“What are you doing?” Y/N whispered, looking over her shoulder to try and see him. He pressed a soft kiss to her cheek.

“Guiding you, honey.” Aaron told her with a small smile. She couldn’t argue with that. She got more comfortable against him and just let him guide her fingers. “Start off slow, ok? Just get the feel of it.” He gave her instructions right into her ear. She shivered against him from the feeling of his breath on her skin.

His fingers guided hers as she touched herself again. Everything felt a bit better with the warmth of his body added onto it. Y/N silently cursed herself for letting this happen. She knew that once Aaron made her cum — which he undoubtedly would — she would never be able to get that same feeling again.

The pace started off slow as he had said. She got the feel of it with his fingers against hers. His grip on her hand stopped her from shaking so much and it helped her calm down. She closed her eyes just for a split second.

“Eyes open, gorgeous. You need to see what to do.” Aaron demanded. She did exactly as he said. Her fingers danced over the bundle of nerves, circling it. He kept his eyes on her to see what made her feel the best. He experimented with different shapes. Circles, stars, triangles, letters, anything. The starts seemed to work the best for her.

Her breathing had sped up. She was already squirming on him, trying to get him to just take control. Aaron didn’t give into her wishes though. He continued having her take care of herself. Eventually, he withdrew his hand from hers. She halted her movements immediately.

“Aar-“ she tried to protest.

“Keep going, gorgeous. Let it happen.” He cut her off. She couldn’t protest. Her head fell back onto his chest as she tried to mimic his movements. Aaron kissed her ear and the top of her head, watching as she touched herself.

As expected, it was no where near as good as when Aaron did it. His touch added onto everything and he was also older and more experienced, so it helped.

After a few minutes of that, her legs started shaking. Aaron could recognize the look on her face and also the way she seemed to be trying to get away. His hand pushed down on her abdomen, keeping her still. She fell over the edge with a sharp cry of his name.

“Aaron!” She whimpered and writhed, hiding her face in his arm. Aaron saw her pull away from her folds immediately and his lips pursed.

“Good girl. Lay back for me, ok?” He whispered and slipped out from behind her. She did as he said with no hesitation. She trusted him with her life. She looked at Aaron as he laid between her thighs.

“Wait, Aaron, no. I mean- are you sure?” She stuttered, the palm of her hand pressed against his forehead. He looked at her, unimpressed.

“Relax.” He said firmly. She gave in.

Aaron kissed up her leg, starting around her ankle and going up her thigh. She was panting, still recovering from her first orgasm. She didnt know how she was supposed to experience two in one night. His lips finally reached her more sensitive flesh, kissing along the folds and then up to her clit. Her back arched from the unfamiliar sensation. Aaron put one arm around both of her legs, effectively locking her onto his face.

“Can you- I mean, breathe?” She was already panicking again. Aaron already had his tongue swirling over her, tasting her. He didn’t respond. It didn't take much else to get her to stop talking. Her head fell back in a moan, hands immediately going to Aarons hair, desperately tugging at it. He hummed in satisfaction at the feeling of her pulling at his hair.

Everything was far too unfamiliar, too new. Her orgasm was approaching embarrassingly quickly, but neither could complain. It was a miracle to her that she managed to cum so quickly. To Aaron, he was just happy to make his girl feel good.

His tongue continued to circle around her and push into her hole a few more times, tasting her orgasm on his tongue, before he pulled back to kiss her. At the thought of tasting herself, she was disgusted, but when Aarons lips met hers, any protests faded away. She melted into the kiss and he smirked against her lips.

"Are you feeling better?" Aaron muttered against her skin as he started to kiss her neck softly, each brush of his lips full of love.

"Much. Thank you." She whispered and her arms wrapped around him. He smiled and then moved back up to kiss her lips once more. Aaron hooked his arm around her and picked her up. "What are you doing?" She clung to him out of instinct. She knew that Aaron wouldn't drop her.

"Shower?" He offered.

"Well, yeah, but you never... finished."

"I think Ill be alright." He teased lightly. "I needed to prepare you like this anyways. Maybe you'll get it all next time." Unlike most, that 'maybe' meant he was promising it if she wanted. Her cheeks turned a bright red. There was nothing else she could say, but she knew what she was thinking at least. When is next time?

[loosethreadsofyoursoul]

while i will always love and appreciate the bisexual dean winchester agenda, i truly believe that if he was raised differently—or maybe if he grew up today instead—that boy would have been gay. like his love for women in a romantic/sexual context was always such a caricature and was continuously used as a symbol of masculinity that played against the roles assigned to him by his father growing up for the sake of suppressing any queerness he might exhibit. now whether that suppression was purposely written into his character or was a reaction to the character they had created, i’m not sure, but it’s there regardless.

i don’t mean to dismiss the love he felt for cassie or lisa, but particularly with lisa, i’m not sure he was ever in love with her, despite the fact that he did care for both her and ben. i get so frustrated watching the end of s5 because him going to her house and his perfect “apple pie life” being with her in suburbia genuinely came out of nowhere and i’ve never understood a) why it had to happen, and b) why it had to be lisa. but thinking about it in this sense, she was the closest thing he had in his life to everything he was raised to believe he should want by one john winchester, who lost his perfect wife, perfect family, perfect apple pie life and sent all of them down this path in the first place. so of course to dean, his happy ending would be with someone like lisa. but that’s the important part. someone like lisa, not lisa herself. he may have had love for her and he may have been able to picture a life with her, but it wasn’t necessarily because she was everything he wanted; she was a symbol of the things that tore his family apart and so to be with her felt like he was finally able to put some of it back together. and that makes me so sad for him because all of that is a result of the sense of responsibility ingrained in him growing up by john, not something he wanted for himself.

but back to his general attitude towards women, there was an excellent post that said he only acts like the typical womanizer he has a reputation for being around women deemed “stereotypical” by the misogynistic perspective. otherwise, he tends to take on a fairly brotherly role; he doesn’t tend to pursue any women he can “take seriously,” and is more intimidated or impressed by them than anything else. with the exception of cassie (which was pre-series and we never got full context for in the first place), he only ever pursued women with whom he would have a definitive ending—by that i mean women who he knows he’ll never see again or who would have a clearly defined role during the time they’re together that wouldn’t threaten the status quo. and yes these could also be the traits of a commitment-phobe or someone chronically on the move, but for one, sam doesn’t tend to do the same thing (see ruby, amelia, and eileen), and for two, given the things i mentioned already, it makes me consider it more of a result of him not actually being interested in women romantically.

his reaction to women when not purposely used as the butt of a joke or to perpetuate the “womanizer dean winchester” agenda is often so innately fraternal, caring in a way that doesn’t have any expectations behind it. and when there is a romantic context, so much of the relationship can be attributed to the way john raised him and the beliefs he has as a direct result; it’s never simply been built on the foundation of love.

every time he is dismissed as this macho het guy, it also dismisses so much of what makes him a wonderful character, and yes a lot of that is his queerness. so in a world where he didn’t grow up with roles and responsibilities that shaped him into someone he knew his dad hated and forced him to create this character for himself in order to survive? i think he would have been gay and he would have been okay with that.

[brainddeadd]

He Never Will

the song

Luke watched her from across the table, his heart sinking as she recounted yet another story of how her boyfriend had let her down. He’d lost count of how many times he’d been here, listening to her vent about another guy who didn’t see her for who she really was. Luke knew he wasn’t perfect, but it tore him up every time she looked at him with those sad eyes, asking him why things never seemed to work out.

Tonight, he couldn’t hold back his frustration any longer.

“Why do you even put up with this, Y/N?” he asked, his voice low but steady. “I mean, if he doesn’t know what he’s got by now… he never will.”

She sighed, picking at the edge of her napkin. “It’s not that simple, Luke. I just keep thinking… maybe he’ll change, you know? Maybe he’ll finally realize what he has.”

Luke clenched his jaw, the words he’d been holding back slipping out. “If he doesn’t know what he wants by now, he won’t until it’s too late. And you deserve so much more than waiting around for someone who might never get it.”

She looked up at him, a little surprised at the intensity in his tone. He took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down, but he couldn’t stop. Not this time.

“Y/N,” he said gently, “why are you settling for somebody who treats you like… like you’re just someone he can live without? Don’t you see that you deserve someone who would never be able to let you go?”

She stared at him, a flicker of realization crossing her face, but she quickly looked away, as if afraid of what she might see in his eyes.

“It’s just… it’s complicated, Luke,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

“It’s not that complicated.” His voice softened as he leaned closer. “He’ll only know what he’s lost when he’s all alone. And by then, it’ll be too late. You don’t have to try so hard for someone who doesn’t even see how lucky he is to have you.”

She swallowed hard, her eyes glistening, but she didn’t pull away. “I guess… I guess I just keep hoping he’ll change.”

Luke’s heart ached, but he pushed down the frustration, focusing instead on her. “Maybe you’re just holding on to the idea of who you want him to be, not who he actually is.”

Silence hung between them, the weight of his words settling around them. She looked at him, and he could see the hurt, the hope, and maybe—just maybe—a hint of something he’d been longing to see for so long.

“Why do you even care so much, Luke?” she asked softly.

His heart raced, but he didn’t look away. “Because I’m sick of seeing you get hurt. Because… you deserve someone who’ll see you for who you are and treat you right. Not somebody who keeps making you wonder if you’re good enough.”

Her lips parted slightly, and for the first time, he saw the spark of understanding in her eyes. The truth he’d kept hidden for so long was right there between them, finally exposed.

“Luke…” she whispered, her voice trembling. “Why didn’t you say anything sooner?”

“I didn’t want to push you into anything you weren’t ready for,” he admitted, voice thick with emotion. “But I can’t keep watching you wait for someone who won’t change. You don’t have to settle for that. Not when there’s someone who already sees everything that makes you… you.”

She blinked, a tear slipping down her cheek, and he reached out, gently brushing it away. In that moment, the distance between them disappeared. She leaned into his touch, and he saw it—the realization, the acceptance, and the spark he’d been waiting for.

“Luke,” she said softly, her voice barely a whisper. “I think… I’ve been waiting for you all along.”

He smiled, a mix of relief and joy flooding him as he gently cupped her face, drawing her close. “Then don’t wait anymore,” he murmured before closing the distance between them, his lips finally meeting hers in a kiss that felt like home.

In that moment, he knew—she’d finally let go of the ones who couldn’t see her, and he’d finally found the courage to show her that he had seen her all along.

[banana-can-do-art]

(Spoilers for recent Nevermore update) I’m really sad that Ada died (or double died I guess, or technically it could still be fakeout and she might be good as the people in my comments have reminded me) before we got to really explore her as a foil to Will. Like I want to see her scream at him at the top of her lungs and hit him over the head with a chair for what he said in the nurse’s office scene and then I want them to become besties. Because even though they absolutely hate each other, Ada and Will have so much in common. Hence why they’re all over Monty. First off, Ada and Will are both absolute kiss ups. That’s shown pretty obviously by their behavior. However, they differ in the fact that Ada is kiss ups for her own gain. She mooches off of whoever has the most power in the room and then she ditches them when they’ve served their use to her. However, the whole ordeal also requires her to sacrifice her dignity. This is why she is able to dump Monty. However, Will on the other hand is not a kiss ups for manipulative purposes, he doesn’t kiss up to multiple people either, he has one specific person that he obsesses over and does the bidding of, that person of course being Monty. He doesn’t do it for his own gain, he does it because he forms a codependent bond with someone who has power over him. However, both Ada and Will do this for similar reasons, that most likely being their trauma. We have a lot more to go off of as far as Ada’s backstory. Ada was a maid and she was taken advantage of by the people she served. Being needed made her feel special even though at the end of the day she was disposable. It is implied that his death was via some kind of betrayal. This is why she is a mooch and constantly trying to make her self useful to whoever the current object of her affection is. Will’s traumatic backstory is a bit more tricky because as of right now we pretty much know nothing. However, it is a clear theme within the story that even if the characters can’t remember what happened to them in life, they still carry the emotional weight of their trauma and it effects how they interact with others in death. There is no way that when we find out whatever Will’s backstory is that it won’t have anything to do with him being codependent with someone and being taken advantage of just like Ada. The way that Will behaves in the story absolutely implies this with his nervousness and undying loyalty to Monty who is a person who does nothing but hurt him. Also I wouldn’t be surprised if his queer identity comes into play here as well. Homophobia is a theme explored with the main girlies, Annabelle and Lenore, so I wouldn’t be surprised if they use Will’s backstory to parallel their’s as well. Especially since we know that Will hates women because he as a man is expected to like them and he doesn’t understand why he doesn’t. Which is played as a joke but it is clear that he has crafted some elaborate narrative in his head about why women are evil rather than just except the fact that he isn’t attracted to them because he doesn’t want to come to terms with the fact that he’s gay. (Self hating gay misogynist man, so Ada will never put him in his place :(). Actually though, this does make me wonder if he had some sort of unresolved jealousy about a girl that took whoever he was having a codependent gay pining friendship with from him and he’s projecting his feeling about that girl onto Ada without even realizing it. Either way, these two are both extremely codependent due to trauma and have been taken advantage of and used by Monty and they totally could have learned to bond over it and now they never will and I’m mad about it!

[trainsinanime]

Perfection

It’s been months and I still think we’re not talking enough about Cloud Kagami in Perfection. I think Cloud Kagami is one of the most haunting, most beautiful but also sad akumas in the show. Most people will probably point to Chat Blanc as the winner in that category, and fair’s fair, you can’t argue with that body count. But for me, Cloud Kagami wins because she’s less literal, more metaphorical.

Kagami is depressed and lonely in this episode. She feels isolated, like she doesn’t fit in. And so her akuma persona doesn’t do anything offensive - she just physically doesn’t fit in. Her mental image of herself is too large, too weird, but also hollow, without substance. Not even that something was stolen from her; she feels like maybe she was never real at all.

The whole thing comes with a perspective shift for her. She’s too tall to see the small stuff, and she’s can’t even see the people anymore. Paris for her is just streets and buildings, a view like from a map. She is no longer able to see it as a place made up of people.

Swifties will of course recognise that this is exactly the same feeling and imagery as in the song Antihero:

Sometimes I feel like everybody is a sexy baby And I’m a monster on the hill Too big to hang out, slowly lurching toward your favorite city Pierced through the heart, but never killed

And it comes to a head when Kagami says that she might just fade away, and that it would be better that way. This is the only episode where the danger is not the akuma doing something bad, but the akuma dying. That’s really harsh.

On the flip side, it’s so important that Kagami doesn’t shrink down or becomes invisible. She is here, and we and the characters see and share in her pain. Our heroes know what’s going on and are worried about her. When Kagami says nobody would miss her, would notice when she’s gone, she’s categorically wrong. She is actually this huge presence, literally, in the city. She just can’t see and comprehend it, because her depression makes it impossible for her to recognise how much the people around her care.

I think this story is really harrowing, but I also love how beautifully they wrote and rendered it. This is really a stealth greatest episode of the show.

[ahyperactivehero]

If you're still feeling DBD drabbles I'd love some post-canon Edwin and Crystal bonding (making fun of celebrities together? studying magic? comparing rich neglectful parents?)

I love a good Edwin and Crystal bonding moment! I hope that if we ever get season 2 we get to see more of them bickering and bonding. Because these two remind me of me and my sibling so strongly it almost hurts <3

(reminder that i am taking election night drabbles, although i can't promise they'll be posted tonight. i'm working on as many as i can, but it is getting late! i'll likely finish most of them tomorrow unfortunately)

Drabble 2 

Crystal and Edwin were at war. Or at least, that’s what Crystal would have labeled themselves as. According to Charles this was simply, ‘Edwin when he likes you,’ which Crystal wanted to be judgemental about, but she had her memories back and she could remember what a menace she’d been to people she liked.

“It is not hard, Crystal,” Edwin stressed, leaning heavily on to the desk in front of him. At some point in time he had abandoned his coat and jacket and rolled his sleeves up in what had to be the most laid back outfit Crystal had ever seen him in.

Yet there was nothing relaxed about Edwin. She’d never known him to be a particularly relaxed person, but there was a strange undercurrent of stress that was running through him that she was pretty sure wasn’t always there.

She sighed again for what must have been the millionth time and dropped her phone onto the couch next to her. It’s not like anyone she actually liked contacted her that way. In fact, she’d been arguing with her mom the last time someone had actually reached out to her, which had only resulted in Crystal storming out of the house and crashing in the agency’s office for a few days.

Which brought them to where they were now. Edwin tapped the book in front of him, looking for all the world like a young teaching assistant annoyed with his students. “If you would simply try, I know you cou-”

Violently, she shoved herself up off of the couch. Her feet banged against the floor, almost loud enough to rattle the windows, and for once she was glad Charles wasn’t here. She didn’t want him to see her like this.

“I have tried, Edwin! I’ve tried, okay! Have you ever tried shutting up?!” she asked before throwing herself back down onto the couch, her back turned towards the world as if that might somehow block out the ghost.

One of Crystal’s favorite and least favorite things about Edwin was that he never seemed to be dissuaded by her poor attitude. Sometimes, it even seemed to encourage him. “If you had actually tried, you would have cast the spell,” Edwin said. There was no heat to his voice, not even an ounce of actual anger to him– even though Crystal was sure he was pissed.

She squeezed her eyes shut. Maybe if she did that she’d be able to block out Edwin’s voice and the tears at the same time. “I did try,” she said, all of the fire in her voice having faded until it sounded broken and sad.

The sound of soft footsteps filled the room. Edwin’s familiar sounding boots shuffled against the floor until he reached the couch and seemed to hover there for a moment. 

“Ah,” he said. “I see.”

And Crystal wasn’t sure what he meant until she rolled over and saw him looking at her phone. 

“You are fighting with your parents,” he said.

“So what?” she asked and snatched her phone out of his hands.

“So, magic, especially one as instinctual and ingrained as yours, is highly influenced by your emotions.” Crystal glared up at him from the corner of her eye, which forced him to hold his hands up in defense. “Not because you are a woman, or whatever else it is you might be thinking I meant. Just because magic works that way.”

They needed a new couch. She poked at a hole that had long since been worn into the cushion and pulled out a bit of stuffing before sticking it back inside. “So I’m just going to keep fucking it up?” she asked.

Edwin sat down on the floor with his back to the couch. It was almost easier to talk this way, the two of them back to back. At least then she didn’t have to see his judgmental face, and he wouldn’t have to see her cry.

Not that she was crying, of course.

“No,” Edwin said quietly. “You will not keep ‘fucking it up.’ Although it will likely take time for you to get used to doing magic with such intentions, not just relying on your instincts to guide you.”

She pulled another thing of stuffing out before shoving it back in. “What’s so wrong with instincts?” Her ancestors had done fantastically for her so far.

Edwin shuffled, but she couldn’t figure out what he had done. “Nothing. Instincts are, as Charles would say, brills. They help keep you alive and safe and have been developed for exactly that reason.”  He shifted again, and this time Crystal could feel him fully leaning back against the couch, and the goosebumps that a ghost in too close proximity caused raised along her skin. 

“But what happens if you can’t trust your instincts? What if something has changed or been manipulated and you can’t trust them?” he asked.

And Crystal knew they were talking about something heavy, something that Edwin would definitely rather not talk about with her. But here he was, talking about it with her just the same.

“You mean Hell?” she asked. She rolled over just enough to get a peek at the top of Edwin’s head. Even though she could see very little of him, she could tell that he was nervous and that made her nervous.

“Not strictly speaking of Hell. There are plenty of supernatural beings with the ability to manipulate you or your senses for their own gains.” He looked over his shoulder, his eyes barely catching hers. “But yes, I was referring to demons like David.”

Her nails had already been bitten down to the quick, but she chewed on them anyways. Buzzes shook the couch as more texts from her mom chimed in, likely just another rant about what an awful child she was and how she was making everything so difficult for them.

“They’re just saying those things because they feel like they are failing as parents,” Edwin said. He’d turned back away, his eyes staring into the closet as if it offered something particularly interesting inside. “And while that might be true, that does not mean that you are a failure.”

She snorted. “Oh yeah,” she said. “What do you know about it?”

Edwin’s sharp green eyes turned towards her before quickly cutting away. “You are hardly the only one to grow up with rich, neglectful parents,” Edwin said. “Why do you think I was sent away to school in the first place?”

Any and all fight she had had in her died. Fighting with Edwin was supposed to be fun and sharp and quick– it didn’t seem fair to fight him when he was being so honest.

A forced smile spread across her face as she reached out and bumped him with her hand. “Shoulda known you had rich parents,” she said. “Look at how you talk.”

Edwin furrowed his brow. “Everyone at school spoke the way I do.”

“Exactly.”

They sat in silence for a while before Crystal sighed and held out her hand. “Gimme the book,” she said. Which Edwin gracefully did.

The original language was too hard for Crystal to read, but Edwin had written it down in English and then wrote it out phonetically below that. It wasn’t very long, nor was it anything special, just a minor illusion spell. It wouldn’t be enough to trick anyone, or save her from a demon, but it was definitely a start. 

“Charles will be happy you’re trying again,” Edwin said as she ran her hands over the pages. 

“Oh yeah?” she asked. Was that a B or a D? Edwin’s handwriting was so nice it was almost hard to read.

“He takes his job very seriously as the brawn,” Edwin said, as if she needed to be told that. “But it makes him happy to know that you or I could defend ourselves with spells if we had to.”

Once again she snorted. “But you never do,” she said. “And I don’t see how this little spell is supposed to help.”

Edwin nodded. “Never need to. But that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t be able to in return. Besides, this was one of the first spells I ever learned, and it's a great base to build on.”

And maybe that was a better way of looking at it. Not just defending herself or learning magic that some old, dead person other than Edwin had created when she could just use her own ancestral abilities. No, this was just another way to protect not only herself but the people she had come to love. 

Plus, wouldn’t it be nice to have a base spell that she could work on? If she could master this, maybe she could use some elements from it in her family's own magic.

Slowly, she read the words out as she tried to picture what she wanted to show Edwin. It wouldn’t be perfect, she was sure of that, but God if she wasn’t going to make this time work.

Purple petals and leaves filled the air as the image of the tree inside herself appeared in her palm. It was shaky, the picture almost glitchy and waving before reappearing slightly less detailed than before. It was as if someone had roughly sketched what was inside her without any special art talent.

But dammit, that was her tree, and she had cast it.

“It’s beautiful,” Edwin said. His eyes were wide, and he leaned in. Petals settled over him for a moment before passing through him on the way to the ground. She wondered if that was a ghost thing or a magic thing. 

“This is me,” she said. 

Edwin glanced at her before turning back to the tree. “Your ancestors’ tree,” he said, finally understanding. “I can only imagine how amazing it is in person.”

Pride she hadn’t expected to feel flooded her, filling her tree with even more light until it nearly blinded the two of them. Edwin folded her hands closed, shutting off the spell as they blinked spots from their vision.

She smiled sheepishly and he grinned back at her, one of the first true smiles she thought she had ever seen on his face. 

“We’ll work on that,” he said.

And they would.

[songforeddiemunson]

Can you please do a Eddie X virgin reader where there has always been romance and they never acted on it until they confess when there watching a film and then a couple weeks after they make out then have soft sex

Thank you so much for the request!! I made some minor adjustments because that's just the route the narrative took me, but I hope you like it! I'm SO sorry this took so long, it's been a nutty few weeks.

NEXT SUMMER

Eddie Munson x Fem!Virgin!Reader (description vague apart from AFAB for inclusivity)

Summary: Eddie meets a cousin of the Wheelers who is visiting for the summer, and falls head over heels. The problem is, she lives in Chicago, and needs to return in the fall. Can they handle it?

Warnings/Tropes: longing with a bit of angst, fluffy affection, romantic soft smut, mild language, aftercare, mostly this is just really sweet.

Word Count: 5517

August 1990

You first caught Eddie’s eye on a late summer evening, standing under the twinkling lights of carnival rides at the county fair. It was the sort of cotton candy sky just moments before the sun dipped below the horizon, signaling the end of another august day. The droning cicadas were rapidly giving way to the cricket’s song, but all of those innocuous details faded away as Eddie watched you as you waited in line for the Scrambler, talking and laughing with your companion.

Eddie’s heart nearly leapt in his throat when he saw that the person you were speaking with was someone he actually knew. Nancy Wheeler! his brain screamed, and before he realized what he was doing, his feet were carrying him forward as if he was on autopilot, such was your magnetism.

Nancy caught sight of Eddie as he approached, and her face broke out into a broad grin. “Eddie!” she exclaimed with delight. “It’s so great to see you!” She hugged him as you stood by, a polite smile gracing your lips.

“Likewise, Wheeler,” Eddie replied fondly, and when his eyes slipped to you, your heart nearly ceased its rhythm. The breath was stolen from your lungs, and all you could do was stare wordlessly at the handsome man who evidently was a friend to Nancy.

Unbeknownst to you, Eddie was experiencing the same physical paralysis under your gaze.

“Eddie! You have to meet my little cousin!  She goes by Ivy, but her name is–”

“Oh my god,” you moaned, cutting Nancy off. Blood rushed to your cheeks in mortification.  “I am not little, I’m twenty years old now!’

Nancy giggled fondly. “Well sure, but you’ll always be little to me.”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m only two years younger than you, but whatever.”

Eddie laughed, and your cheeks pinkened even more. “It’s nice to meet you, Eddie,” you said. You struggled to meet his eyes; it was like staring at the sun.

“It’s good to meet you too Ivy, if– if you don’t mind me calling you that.”

You smiled and nodded enthusiastically. “Please do.”

And so you spent the rest of the evening with Eddie and Nancy, keeping things oh so casual but feeling like you might die every time he looked at you. You remained aloof because, after all, you didn’t even live in Hawkins, and eventually you’d have to return home to the city. 

When Eddie first learned that you would be returning to Chicago at the end of the summer, he was crestfallen but struggled to mask it.

“I’m sure Chicago is really cool,” he said with forced bravado. “Way cooler than boring old Hawkins.”

“Oh but I love coming here,” you breathed enthusiastically. “Chicago is cool and all, but this is so nice. I love smelling the mown grass, and being able to go to the drive-in movie theater, and all that great summertime stuff.” You gestured around you. “And the county fair! I love coming to the fair.”

Eddie smiled despite his growing sadness. “You make it sound pretty nice. But really it’s just cornfields…”

“...I love corn,” you countered.

“And strip malls…”

“.....strip malls always have video stores, and I love movies.” you said with a grin.

Nancy returned from buying a candy apple.

You pointed at her. “Candy apples! I can’t buy candy apples in Chicago.”

“Hmm?” she replied, confused, chewing. “I’m sure you can buy candle apples in Chicag–”

“Not from the fair though,” you interrupted. “They’re better from the fair.”

“Point taken,” Eddie said with a chuckle, holding up his hands in mock surrender.

“I do still want to jump in a creek though,” you said wistfully.

“Gross, no. There are leeches,” Nancy said.

“Not in creeks,” Eddie laughed. “Ponds, maybe. But creeks are fine.”

And so the evening wound down. You and Eddie went back and forth over the virtues of city vs country living, but Eddie had to admit, you did have a way of making Hawkins sound pretty great. When it was time to part ways, Eddie desperately wanted to kiss you, so much that his lips nearly burned from the need, but he refrained. What would a girl like you ever see in a guy like him?

Two days later, on a late Sunday morning, where the summer sun shone relentlessly through a bluebird sky, Eddie picked up the phone and dialed the Wheeler’s number with a shaking hand.

Mike answered, sounding like he just woke up.

“Mehllo?” he mumbled by way of answer.

“Mike! It’s Eddie.”

“Munson?!” that seemed to wake him up. “Dude! It’s been forever!”

“Yeah man! How are you doing?”

“Oh things are good, I’m going off to college next month, and–”

“Is your cousin around? Ivy?” Eddie blurted anxiously, covering his face in embarrassment over the way he must have sounded. “Sorry man, it’s just that I need to ask her something. I would love to catch up with you though! Before you head to school; we should get together.”

“Yeah definitely,” Mike responded, unbothered. "We’ll catch up. I’ll go get Ivy….” 

Eddie heard the handset thump against whatever surface Mike set it upon, and heard him call your name. He faintly heard your voice respond, which made Eddie’s already hammering heart pick up its pace. More fumbling noises ended with a slightly breathless, “Hello? Eddie?”

“Hi Ivy,” he replied, and you thought maybe you could hear a smile in his voice. “Wanna go jump in a creek?”

Your summertime in Hawkins was coming to a close; in only a few days’ time you were due to return to Chicago and university. As the final days ticked away, a ball of sadness gradually grew in the pit of your stomach. It was the best summer ever, and you were sorry to see its end.

Since the night you met him at the fair, Eddie had taken you cliff jumping into the Bear Creek, something that simultaneously terrified and thrilled you, leaving you more exhilarated than you have felt in a long while. But when you weren’t jumping, you simply floated in the water, watching the dappled sun dance across its surface, loving life.

Eddie also took you to the drive-in theater. It wasn’t a date, since he didn’t technically ask you out like that, and Nancy and Mike also insisted on tagging along. You lined camping chairs up in front of the van and rolled down the windows with the sound up loud so you could all sit together. It was a lovely, balmy night of watching Total Recall, and you ate too many skittles while swatting mosquitoes. It was perfect.

And now summer was ending and it was time to go, and you couldn’t possibly want to return to Chicago less. Why did you have to meet Eddie now?

You sighed as you packed up your things, folding clothes and setting them in your suitcase slowly, unmotivated. Nancy perched on the side of your bed, watching.

“You seem really bummed out,” Nancy remarked.

“I guess I’m not looking forward to going home. I wish I could stay a bit longer.” you replied, not bothering to hide your low mood.

“Would this have anything to do with a certain long-haired boy that lives on the other side of town?” Nancy prodded. It’s not like you were hiding anything.

“That obvious? And he’s twenty-four, he’s not a boy.”

Nancy nodded, with a giggle. “Fair enough.”

“And…maybe. I don’t know. It’s not like he’s kissed me or asked me out properly....” You stalled your packing, and you folded and unfolded the same sweater over and over while you let your thoughts wander.

“But you want him to?” Nancy prodded gently after a moment.

You sighed. “Yeah, I do. It’s kind of all I can think about actually,” you added with a wistful chuckle.  “But what’s the point when I live all the way in Chicago the other nine months of the year?” You flopped down dramatically on the bed with a huff.

“Maybe you can talk on the phone and stuff throughout the year, and pick up where you left off next summer?”

“Long distance?” You allowed a glimmer of hope to creep in. “Do you think that could work?”

Nancy shrugged. “I did it with Jonathan when he moved to California. It’s not easy, but it can work.”

You hitched a deep sigh. “What if he doesn’t want to?”

“There’s only one way to find out,” Nancy replied.

The sky was overcast as you loaded the last of your bags into the back of the Wheeler’s car, matching your mood. You hugged Mike and Karen goodbye; Ted and Nancy were going to ride with you to the train station. You scanned the empty suburban streets for Eddie, but he was nowhere to be seen, causing your heart to sink even lower.

Just as you were about to climb into the backseat, you heard a sound that pulled your attention toward the woods at the edge of the neighborhood. There was some rustling and you saw that the flora was jostling about. What the–

Eddie suddenly materialized from the trees, calling, “Wait!” as he trotted over toward you. Your heart reversed its previous downward trajectory with haste, and happiness soared through you so abruptly and completely that you thought you might fall over.

“I cut through the woods,” Eddie stated breathlessly. “I was afraid I wouldn’t make it.”

“Just in time,” you grinned.

Ted poked his head out of the car’s driver window. “We’re going to be late if we don’t get going.”

“Oh– Okay, I won’t take long,” Eddie stammered slightly.  “I just wanted to say good bye and ask you…is it okay if I call you?”

You struggled to contain your delight at the suggestion. “Yes Eddie, I would really love that.” You pulled a small notepad from your purse, jotted your number down, and tore the scrap of paper out before handing it over. “Don’t lose this.”

Eddie had the fleeting thought that he would have your digits tattooed on his flesh to ensure their permanence. “Don’t worry, I won’t.”

Ted honked the horn, even though you were all standing right there.

“Okay, well I have to go. Call me tomorrow?”

Eddie nodded, his throat suddenly gone dry. “I will.”

As you sat down and closed the car door behind you, Ted wasted no time pulling away.  You twisted around in the seat to watch Eddie grow smaller as the distance increased. He raised a hand and waved shortly before you went around a bend, causing you to lose sight of him.

The temporary high of seeing Eddie was quickly supplanted by sadness. It was going to be a very long wait for next summer.

June 1991

Once you were clear of the train platform, your rolling suitcase and duffle bag appropriately situated, you bolted through the crowd as quickly as possible.

Nine long months you waited. Nine months of speaking on the phone for hours nearly every night, talking about everything, watching movies together, helping Eddie write his next D&D campaign, discussing books. You shared hopes, dreams, wishes, and desires. Nine months of longing. Nine months of imagining his lips on yours, his fingers gripping the meat of your thighs, picturing him doing things to you that you’d never done with anyone before. You were tired of waiting.

You never officially declared yourselves to each other, still hadn’t even kissed, so you couldn’t be completely sure that he felt the same way. But you had a pretty good idea; after all, would a guy spend that much time on the phone with you if he didn’t feel some kind of way? He said he was going to pick you up at the train station after all, so that had to count for something.

You were determined. Eddie would not slip through your fingers; this summer was going to change everything.

And there he was. As you entered the terminal with the other passengers, you spotted him immediately.  He was leaning up against the wall, torn tight jeans and black band tee, long chestnut curls cascading around his shoulders. He was beautiful. 

The way his face lit up when he spotted you could probably heal the world, if you could find a way to harness it. 

You let your bags drop to the ground as you ran to him, and he opened his arms to you as you collided with him, slamming him back against the wall. His arms slid up around your back and gripped you tightly, his breath fanned across one ear, setting all your senses alight, and you simply resided in his embrace and felt the object of your affection absolutely envelop you. Oh how you had waited for this.

You pulled away just enough to look at his face. He was undeniably very happy, eyes bright, smiling broadly, his dimple making itself known.

“Hey you,” he said.

“Hi you,” you replied.

“I’ve missed you,” he said softly.

“I've been counting the minutes,” you said. You thought maybe you were going to cry.

“Try seconds,” he whispered, opening his eyes wide as if he was revealing a scandalous secret. 

The rest of the bustling train station faded away. The voices and echoes were reduced to a muffled din, and all the people who hastened past you became less corporeal. As your eyes roamed his face, it felt like you were the only two people in the world.

He blinked and pulled away, and as soon as it started, the spell was broken.

He hastened over to your bags and grabbed hold of them, slinging your duffel over his shoulder and taking your rollbag in one hand. “Let’s go,” he said with a look over his shoulder, his hair bouncing as he hurried through the terminal with you in tow.  He slowed as he approached the doors to outside. “Uh, I’ll take you to the Wheeler’s to settle in, but I wondered…” He paused, his expression belying his own lack of confidence. He looked almost shy.  “I got an apartment about a month back, finally…a space of my own,” he continued. “I wondered if maybe you wanted to watch a movie later?”

“Eddie!” you breathed, excited. “That’s so great! Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I wanted it to be a surprise,” he said with a small shrug. “No pressure, if you don’t want to. I just wanted to put it out there, no strings attached.”

“I would love to,” you beamed. 

“Do you want to know what movie I picked out?” Eddie asked.

“I really don’t care,” you replied, and you laughed together as you walked to the parking lot.

You waited anxiously for Eddie’s arrival later that evening.

“It’s a daaaate!” Mike sang as if he was still fourteen and not a freshman in college. Nancy slapped him on the arm.

“Don’t tease,” she admonished, but there was a twinkle in her eye.

“It is not a date!” you countered as you checked your reflection for the thousandth time. “Doesn’t someone have to say it’s a date for it to actually be a date?”

Mike rolled his eyes. “Some things are just sort of….assumed.”

You and Nancy glared at him in tandem. “Uh, no thank you. Nobody should make assumptions about anything like that,” Nancy scolded.

You nodded in agreement. “Yeah I mean, what if he just thinks I’m a great friend, and I go and spoil everything going in there thinking this is a date?”

Mike gestured toward you as you touched up your lip gloss. “Says the chick who has been fussing over her appearance obsessively for the last 45 minutes.”

“I’m just being prepared,” you said.

“For what?” Nancy said with a chuckle.

“Just in case it is a date. I never said I didn’t want it to be.”

Nancy laughed as Mike groaned in exasperation. Fortunately, you were saved from further discussion by the doorbell. You ran from the room before anyone could stop you, grabbing your shoulder bag on the way. 

You opened the door and revealed a slightly nervous looking Eddie, and he nearly stole your breath away.

Eddie was resplendent in a blue and black plaid button-up shirt with his black jeans and black converse sneakers. He had clearly made an effort to tame his hair, and his waves were soft and tidy. His breath caught when he saw you.

“H– hi,” he said with a grin.

“Hi yourself,” you said. You chanced a look over your shoulder, fearful of an audience. “Okay let’s go before Mike and Nancy get weird and interrogate us,” you said, grabbing Eddie by the hand and making him laugh while shutting the door behind you.  Eddie held his van door open for you before walking around the other side and starting up the engine. Was that aftershave he was wearing?

Butterflies exploded in your chest. Oh my god, this is a date, you thought to yourself elatedly.

Eddie’s place was nice, simple, and clean. He didn’t have much in the way of furniture or decor yet, but he had the basics, and it was all his.

You were halfway through Goodfellas– which was really good– and sipping on bud light bottles on opposite ends of the couch.  You were sitting with your legs curled underneath you, your left foot sticking out along the couch cushion.  Eddie reached over and gently laid a hand on your ankle, pulling your attention away from the film.

“I’m gonna grab another beer. You want anything?”

“Sure, you want me to pause it?”

“Nah, I’ve seen this twice already,” he said as he headed to the kitchen.

“Eddie!” you said, smiling. “Why didn’t you rent something you’ve never seen?”

“It doesn’t matter,” he called. “I love this movie.”

You picked up the remote and paused the film anyway.

“But it just came out on VHS!” you said, laughing. "How have you seen it multiple times already?"

He returned with two freshly opened beers and handed one to you. He sat down again, a little closer this time.

“What– you don’t watch movies over and over again every chance you get? Is that…like….not normal or something?” He smirked at his own sarcasm.

“Not that quickly I’m afraid,” you said, and he laughed out loud. 

“I guess I’m a bit of a fixator,” he said. “I fixate on things.”

“I suppose we all have things we fixate on,” you said.

“What do you fixate on?” He asked. He was leaning slightly in your direction. It made your heart speed up a little bit.

“Well lately,” you said, drawing out your syllables and pretending to think really hard about it. “Lately it’s been this guy.”

“Oooh,” Eddie said. “Tell me more.”

“Well, he looks a little rough around the edges, but it turns out that he’s the sweetest.”

“He is?” Eddie played along.

“Oh yes. And he has the biggest, most soulful brown eyes I’ve ever seen. It’s like he’s always seeing the world in new and interesting ways. And don’t get me started on his lips…”

“What about his lips?” Eddie asked.

“They’re so full and plump, like fruit, and I want to nibble on them.”

Eddie huffed a small laugh. “You want to nibble on his lips?”

“Among other things,” you said, a little breathily.

As your eyes flicked down to his lips, he licked them unconsciously, and you knew everything was about to change.

Eddie leaned forward, closing the distance between you, and he raised his right hand to cup the back of your head, pulling you forward. You felt his breath fan across your cheek as he rubbed his nose against yours.

“What other things did you have in mind?” he murmured.

“I want him,” you said simply. “But I don’t know how he feels.”

“Hmm,” Eddie cooed. “I think it’s safe to say he wants you too.”

“He does?”

“Oh yes,” he breathed, and then he kissed you.

Your breathing hitched– it was finally happening.

You enjoyed the simple feeling of his beautiful lips against yours for a moment before you parted your lips to deepen the kiss. You slotted his bottom lip between your teeth and applied gentle pressure. Eddie’s quiet gasp did things to you.

You chuckled, and rose up on your knees before pressing your body firmly against his, the movie now forgotten.

Eddie broke away, beaming. “I thought you probably felt the same way, but I wasn’t sure, and I was afraid to make a move and fuck it all up–”

“Shut up and keep kissing me,” you said.

He did as he was told. He also dialed up the passion, and you kissed each other hungrily, pouring nine months of longing into your efforts. Your tongues danced together, your hands roamed the expanse of his back, and you slid one hand up and under his shirt to feel his flesh.

Eddie gasped at your touch, and pulled away. His pupils were blown wide from the excitement, and you imagined that yours might look the same. He cupped the side of your face in his hands, boring his eyes into yours.

“Are we together? Are you mine?” he asked, and your heart broke and soared with equal measure at the sheer sweet earnestness of him.

“Yes, Eddie,” was all you could muster before he was kissing you again. He tipped you back and gently laid you down across the sofa, allowing his hand to travel up the length of your torso, keeping things chaste, but only barely.

You laid together and kissed deeply for a time, until you decided you’d had enough.

“Eddie,” you said.  “T– take me to bed.” 

“Are you sure? That’s really what you want?”

You nodded, but you couldn’t hide your nerves, and he gently pinched your chin to tilt your head up. “You seem anxious,” he said softly.

“Well, I – I haven’t actually done it before.” 

Eddie’s eyes widened slightly.

“I’ve done some stuff, a little hand stuff mostly, but never, uh– it. Sex. I’ve never had sex.”

Eddie smiled affectionately at your display of nerves. “Relax, babe. It’s okay. You don’t have to do anything you’re not ready to do.”

“But I am ready,” you said, more assuredly.  “I really want to do this with you. I want you to be my first.”

Eddie searched your face for any further signs of nervousness or unease, but all he saw in your eyes now was conviction and honestly. You reached up a hand and laid it on his cheek.

“Nine months I’ve waited for this. I knew a long time ago that you were the one, Eddie. I’ve waited long enough.’

Eddie nodded. “Okay,” he said softly.

He moved to stand and gently scooped you up in his arms, making you giggle, and he carried you over to the bedroom. He kicked the door open with his foot, making you laugh some more, and laid you on his bed, which was clean if unmade. He leaned down and braced himself on either side of your body to kiss you.

“If you want me to stop, just tell me,” he said between kisses, and then stood back up to pull his shirt over his head. He did it in one fluid motion, letting his soft curls dance across his shoulders and back, and he was a sight to behold. You’d seen him with no shirt on last summer when he took you swimming, but somehow this was different.

“May I?” he asked, and paused with his fingers above the fly of your denim shorts. You nodded, and let Eddie loosen the buttons before pulling your shorts down along your legs and tossing them aside.

You smiled up at him as he loosened his own jeans and pushed them down before stepping out of them, leaving him clad in nothing but his boxers. He returned to the bed and laid next to you, gently trailing one palm up your body and pushing up your shirt, resting it at the bottom of your ribcage just below the underwire of your bra. Eddie resumed kissing you; it was something you were quite sure you would never tire of. He was amazing.

After a beat he pulled away to look down at you. “I need to get you ready,” he said softly. “I don’t want it to hurt.”

“Okay Eddie,” you replied.  He pulled your shirt over your head gently, and then moved one hand to your back to unclasp your bra. 

“You seem to have some experience with this,” you said, feeling a stab of self-consciousness.

Eddie paused. “A little. I’m not a virgin, but I’m hardly a Casanova or anything…”

“It’s okay, I don’t need to know.” you looked away. 

Eddie was not pleased with the loss of eye-contact, and he could sense your discomfort. 

“Hey,” he said softly, turning your face to his. “It’s only been a couple different girls. I really haven’t had much action for a guy my age, trust me. And nothing serious, ever.” He kissed your forehead. “You’re special. I want this– I want it to be special.”

You relaxed and smiled. “Honestly, I’m fine.”

“You’re sure?”

“Completely.”

“Okay then.”

He pulled your loosened bra off, leaving you in only your knickers. “If you want me to stop, just tell me.”

Your answering smile was cut short as he bent and placed a kiss on your nipple. “You’re beautiful,” he murmured, before he sucked the little bud between his lips, setting all your senses alight. 

“Oh–that feels nice.” you sighed.

As Eddie suckled you, he slowly trailed his hand down the length of your torso, leaving goosebumps in its wake. He paused at the elastic of your underwear, slipping one finger just under the thin white band, but continued no further. 

“You can– ah– you can touch me Eddie,” you managed between gasps.

With no further preamble, he slowly slid his hand into the delicate cotton, and his fingers found your heat. He removed his mouth from your nipple, leaving it feeling cool and bereft, before kissing you lasciviously as he slowly pushed a finger inside of you. You gasped, but as quickly as he had entered, he was gone again. He dipped in smoothly a second time, but then turned his attention to your clit, applying gentle pressure and circling it with his moistened finger.

You arched your back and moaned at the sensation. Your senses were heightened, your heart was racing, and you couldn’t believe that you were here, with Eddie, after all this time. You were delighted; you’d waited so long for this, and you were going to enjoy it.

Eddie slowly picked up the pace and pressure of his ministrations. You felt as if all the blood in your body was rushing to the space between your legs, and your body began to tremble. It felt good– damn good. You could hear the wet sounds of your arousal as his fingers picked up speed, and then, without warning, he slid one back inside of you. You moaned as he pumped you with one finger, sliding out, stroking the sensitive button of nerves, pushing back in. You were teetering on the edge of climax when, suddenly, he stopped. 

“Wha–” you said blearily, as Eddie padded over to his nightstand. 

“I’m just grabbing a rubber babe,” Eddie smiled, as he pulled open the drawer and held up a foil square.

“Ah, right.”

“Just want to be careful, ya know?” 

“Of course.”

Eddie paused to look at you, his face painted with adoration and concern. “You sure you’re still okay with this?”

You nodded emphatically. “Yeah, yes.”

Eddie looked angelic. Flushed with desire, his hair slightly mussed, lips reddened from kissing, his boxers tented by his arousal. He walked around the bed to stand at the end, and he gently pulled your underwear off, leaving you fully exposed for the first time. You had to fight to resist the urge to curl into yourself protectively. You weren’t the only naked one for long, however, as Eddie pushed his boxers down, and you were able to see all of him for the first time.

He was beautiful. He was perfect.

He deftly rolled the rubber along his length before he laid down next to you, and let his fingers return to your heat. He leaned down and kissed your neck while he worked you open, this time with two fingers. He slid them inside as he kissed your lips and licked into your mouth, and then he gently climbed on top, allowing you to rest your calves around his hips.

You felt his tip prod your entrance.

“Are you ready?” he breathed into your ear.

“Yes,” you said, and he captured your earlobe with his teeth as he slowly started to push in.

“Ah– fuck,” you cried softly. It felt like white fire had ignited where you were joined and traveled up your body, settling behind your eyes, and a kaleidoscope of sparks clouded your vision. You squeezed your eyes shut and ground your teeth together as you moaned through the sensation. It hurt, but it was a sort of pain you’d never felt before.

“God, babe,” Eddie gasped as another shallow, gentle thrust pulled him deeper. “This okay?”

It wasn’t okay exactly, it stung like hell, but it was okay because this was Eddie, and there was nobody else on the planet you were willing to experience this with.

“Uhhuh, yeah,” you panted. “I’m okay.”

Eddie sat back on his heels and grasped your thighs with his hands, pulling you flush against him and seating himself fully inside of you. His eyes met yours and he smiled at you adoringly as he began to move.

You moaned in sweet agony as each thrust ignited new fires within you, but before you realized what was happening, the pain began to give way to intense pleasure. Your gasps of pain grew to cries of ecstasy, and Eddie could feel you yield to him, could feel the resistance temper, and he delighted in watching the change come over you. White fire was replaced by pure bliss.

He lifted your legs to rest your ankles on his shoulders, and picked up his pace. 

Eddie hugged your legs to his chest as he pumped, every thrust hitting deep, the mingled gasps and cries of your lovemaking growing in volume and timbre. You reached out a hand to touch his chest, but he was too far away. Eddie noticed this, and he released your legs to lean forward, bracing himself with his hands on either side of your shoulders, and he kissed you. It was damn hot, the passion of it all, making out so intensely that your teeth clattered together as he fucked you, all of your senses heightened and electrified.

You scratched at his back as your felt your climax building, causing his own pace to falter. Your cries of delight as you came caused his own orgasm to crash into him suddenly, and you both moaned as you rode it out together.

And then all was still.

You breathed together as you came down from the intense sensations you had just experienced, and you could feel Eddie’s heart beating in its cage, his chest pressed against yours. He could feel yours too.

After a moment, he got up, discarded the used condom, and slipped on his boxers, smiling down at your prone, naked body as he did so. “Was that okay? It didn’t hurt too much?”

You thought for a second. “It did hurt at first, that probably can’t be helped. But after a little while, it felt really good. Was I– was I any good?”

Eddie beamed. “Oh babe. You don’t have to ever worry about that. It was incredible.”  He headed to the bathroom, and returned shortly with a damp washcloth. He sat beside you and gently tended to your sore, sensitive area. The cool terrycloth was soothing, and he peppered your face with kisses, making you giggle. He tossed the washcloth aside and laid down with you, wrapping his arms around you to hold you close.

“Do you want to stay here with me? You can, if you want,” Eddie murmured into your hair. He sounded sleepy.

“Eddie, I want to be wherever you are,” you replied. You were feeling quite drowsy yourself.

“I don’t want the Wheelers to think I kidnapped you,” he said with a small chuckle.

“They know where I am, and we’re all adults, so I’m staying put.”

Eddie grinned. You had no way of knowing what was happening in his heart, but he wished he could transfer part of his joy to you, so you could feel even a fraction of his elation.

Eddie had no way of knowing that you were feeling exactly the same way. He also had no way of knowing that you were planning to transfer to Indiana State in the fall. In time, you would share your hearts fully with each other, but for the moment, you enjoyed just laying in his arms, and drifting off into blissful slumber.

Together. ♥

Thank you for reading! As always, likes, comments and reblogs are the lifeblood of all fic writers. Please show us some love! :)

MASTERLIST

[jeankluv]

Birdie - Satoru Gojo | Chapter 21

words: 3,9k

summary:While everyone adored him, you stood apart in your feelings. It wouldn't be accurate to say you hated him, as " hate " was a strong word, rather, you harbored a profound dislike towards him. The problem was he knew that and his irritating presence seemed to persistently cling to you whenever he crossed your paths. Now, you found yourself paired with him for your semester project, and the thought made you wish to hurl yourself out of the third-floor window. Three months of working alongside him loomed ahead. Adding to the discomfort, you were currently under the scrutiny of hundreds of eyes, each gaze feeling like a murder attempt. It seemed everyone coveted the opportunity to collaborate with Gojo Satoru, except for you.

warning this chapter: injuries, hospital, abusive behavior

tags:modern au, college au, fem!reader, academic rivals, he fell first, fluff, old money Gojo Satoru, abusive parents, slight slow burn, Satoru is a softy, secondary couple (Geto Suguru x oc), a bit of angst, no use of y/n, hurt/comfort, eventual smut, Gojo plays basketball, Gojo needs a hug

notes: hi, I’m even embarrassed of posting after so long but I’m sooooo busy and I don’t find time to write. Also I said Birdie was going to last till chapter 30 but tbh I think it will reach at least chapter 25, we are in the final part of the story for Satoru and Birdie. The final part of this chapter and the next one are going to be somehow the breaking point for the story. I don’t want to extend the story bc it would feel repetitive and I don’t want to add drama to this story bc it was never my intention with this one, this one was more like a college romcom.

jujutsu Kaisen materialist | ao3

materialist | previous chapter | next chapter

“So are you sure you won’t be able to go?” Kyoko asked you.

“Yeah…” You said leaving the books on the table. “Haibara’s sister can’t go, she is getting ready for her college exams and Haibara has the match.” You shrugged. “I told Satoru and even though he is a bit sad, he says that once the summer breaks begins he will make sure to spend time together.”

“Is he taking you somewhere?” Kyoko smiled. 

“He doesn’t want to tell me, but I think he is planning something with Suguru…” You looked at her, closing your eyes a little bit. “So tell me… what do you know?”

“I don’t know much, but I saw on Suguru’s phone something about Okinawa.” She smiled. “Have you been to Okinawa?”

“No, but it’s beautiful, right?” 

“So beautiful.” She smiled. “Ah! If they are taking us there I might actually pass away, this would be our first trip together as couples.” 

“And also for the two of us together.” You pointed out. 

“It’s true! I’m so excited!” She said with a big smile. “I’m so happy for us.” She said in a nostalgic tone. “I’m so happy to see you opening more, and to see this romantic side of you.” She said. 

You rolled your eyes. “You are just exaggerating things.” 

“Not at all.” She smiled. “And I will see it right now, look who is coming.” 

Your head turned and you saw Satoru coming to where you two were.

“There is…” Kyoko said. “That light that you get when you see him.”

“Kyoko shhh…” You said embarrassed.

Satoru then sat next to you, leaving a soft kiss on your cheek, making you flushed.

“So cute.” Kyoko said with a mocking tone.

“Enough!” You said back.

“But she is right, you are so cute.” Satoru said. “Suguru is not…”

“I know, he is busy. But it’s okay because I’m enjoying seeing my best friend all embarrassed.”

You rolled your eyes as you shook your head. “And why are we still best friends?”

“Whatever…now Satoru why don’t you tell us about Okinawa?” Kyoko narrowed her eyes as she looked closely to Satoru.

“What about Okinawa?!” His voice came out a bit pitchy, it was clear he knew.

“Yeah…” This time you spoke. “Tell us.”

“I don’t know what you two are talking about!” He stood up. “Let’s go, you need to work.” He said leaving both our you there laughing.

“We will have to look out for bikinis.” Kyoko joked.

“I will see you at home.” You waved at her goodbye as you started to walk towards Satoru.

As usual the ride to your work was filled with laughter and new conversations between the both of you, sometimes you wished those rides could last longer because you wanted to know more about Satoru, hear him laugh all the time. Just simply spend time with him. 

Maybe Kyoko was right, maybe you were losing it due to how in love you were.

“Thank you for taking me to work.” You said taking your bag.

“You are my girlfriend, it’s what I should do.” He said.

“Yeah, but there is no need ‘Toru…” You responded.

“Whatever, I know tomorrow you won’t be there.” He looked to the back seats, searching for something. “And it makes me sad, because I wanted to see you with this and I wanted everyone to see you wearing it, but here you have it.” He gave you a bag.

“What is this?” You said with a small smile on your lips and looking at him. “Oh! Satoru!” 

“It has my name on it.” He smiled proudly.

“But I won’t be there.” You said, with a sad smile and touching his name on the shirt.

“It doesn’t matter, I want you to have it.” He said. “You can always wear it while you are working. That way everyone knows who is your favorite player.”

You smiled, ready to tease him. “Then, you got the wrong name.” 

“Huh?” 

“It should say Nanami here.” You tried not to burst into laughter as you watched his expression.

“Oh birdie, don’t tease me or else, you will be late for work.” He grabbed your chin and looked at you with desire.

You smiled and kissed his cheek. “Thank you. I will make sure to wear it.” 

“Okay.” He then kissed your lips. “I will see you.” You hummed in response. “Love you.”

“I love you too.” You said leaving the car and waving at him goodbye. 

You watched as Satoru disappeared in his car down that street. Tomorrow was a big day for him and the entire team. You couldn't be there to support him physically, but you hoped that wearing his shirt during the game while you worked would serve as a lucky charm.

Satoru Gojo POV

Satoru moved his arms as he warmed up. There were about 15 minutes left before the match started. Normally he didn't get nervous, but at that moment Satoru felt something strange. Something that had been bothering him since that morning.

His phone vibrated on his pocket, making him drop his arms to the side and taking the phone out.

A smile appeared on Satoru’s face as soon as he read the notification that popped out on his screen.

It was just two words and one emoji, but it was enough to make him happy and for that strange sensation to disappear from his check. 

“Good luck 🫶”

He stayed staring at that screen for quite some time, finally your classes were ending next week. The project he fight so much to get paired with you, was due on Wednesday and after that you were both free from your classes until the next course, the last one. 

You still needed to work during the summer, but Satoru had everything planned, he was going to make sure that was the best summer for both of you. 

With his blue eyes still locked on the screen he started typing: I wish you were here—

“How cute, the captain all flustered by someone.” Satoru stopped typing as soon as he heard that voice.

“Sukuna…” He said looking at his ex colleague standing in the door. “This is not your team’s room, leave.”

“Why? Can’t I say hi to my dear captain?” He said with a smirk. “I heard you got a girlfriend and that she is not coming today.” 

“That’s none of your business.” Satoru turned around, breaking the eye contact with Sukuna. 

“I hope that’s not a distraction for you.” He kept on talking. “I won’t hold myself up.”

“Sukuna leave…” Satoru said between his teeth. “Or you want what happened last year to happen again?”

“Don’t play silly Gojo.” Sukuna walked towards Satoru. “And don’t threaten me, I won’t be nice today.”

“Ryomen, what are you doing here?” Yaga appeared on the door.

“Oh coach!” Sukuna acted surprised. “Just wishing Gojo good luck for today’s match.” He smiled, as if he was innocent. “Anyways, I will leave you alone, see you in a few minutes Gojo.” 

With that Sukuna disappeared from the room, leaving Satoru and Yaga alone. “Gojo…”

“Nothing, you know Sukuna, he only came here to bother me.” Satoru said. “He is still mad about what happened last year.”

“You know it was not your fault Sukuna was kicked out right?” Yaga said, approaching him.

“Doesn’t matter anymore, now there is a match to win. It’s the end of the season, remember coach?” He smiled passing by Yaga’s side. 

Before Satoru knew it, the clock had started ticking and the sound of shoes, hair and the screams of the fans filled his ears.

Satoru moved fluidly around the court, leading his teammates and setting up plays with precision. His blue eyes always following the ball. The pace of the game was intense, each possession feeling like a battle as the score went up point by point. 

But Sukuna was relentless. Every time Satoru touched the ball, Sukuna was there, pressing hard on defense, Satoru had noticed how his eyes sparkled with mischief and some darkness in them. But Satoru remained composed and continued with the game, keeping his cool even as Sukuna’s taunts echoed around him. 

“Are you sure you’re focused, captain?” Sukuna taunted as they collided mid-game, their shoulders colliding with a force that made the crowd gasp. “Or are you too distracted thinking about your kitty?” Sukuna laughed mockingly. 

Satoru didn’t answer, instead he headed for the basket, evading Sukuna and scoring a perfect shot. The crowd erupted into an uproar and his teammates cheered, clapping him on the back, but he could still feel Sukuna’s gaze on him. Satoru couldn’t hide his anger, his fists and jaw clenched, as he remembered how Sukuna had referred to you. 

During a timeout, Suguru pulled Satoru aside, his voice low but firm. “Don’t let it go to your head. This is just another game. Focus on your game plan, not Sukuna.”

Satoru nodded and took a deep breath. “I’m fine, Suguru…” But he wasn’t, he could feel the familiar spark of rivalry growing. A part of him knew that Sukuna was trying to distract him, but another part, one he couldn't ignore, was determined to show Sukuna that he couldn't be defeated. 

As the final quarter began, the game was very evenly matched. Both teams were racing with adrenaline from one side to the other, exhaustion taking over as each second passed.

But then everything shifted.

Satoru had the ball in his hand when he felt how Sukuna came running to him. Sukuna launched himself at him from the side, his shoulders slamming hard into Satoru’s ribs. 

The force of the blow was intense, unexpected, and he immediately felt blinding pain shoot through Satoru’s body. He staggered, his vision blurred, and within seconds he collapsed to the court, overcome with pain. His head hit the ground, and Satoru started to feel how everything around him began to darken and his name was being called in the distance.

Your POV

You look at the clock that was on the wall as you waited for the lady to give you the money. The match was probably over by know.

You were anxious to know the result and excited to see Satoru’s smiling face telling you they won. 

Your eyes were again on the old lady who was in front of you and who carefully was counting each penny she had on her hands to give you the payment. 

“Here you go.” The old woman said with a smile. 

You offered her a polite smile and gave her her bag with what she bought. “Thank you for coming.” 

The store was once again empty, it was just you and the sound of the machines that store the food as a distant sound. You pulled your phone out from your pocket, expecting excited messages from Satoru and from Kyoko. But you were met with a black screen, your old phone was dead, it ran out of battery without you noticing it. 

A sighed escaped from your lips as you went to the employee’s room and searched for the cable to charge your phone. 

Leaving aside the present you were going to give Satoru once he was there you carefully connected the phone and left it on the side when you heard the noise of the door opening.

Maybe it was him. He came?

You stepped outside the room, expecting to see the white hair of Satoru shining brightly under the lights of the store. But your smile quickly dropped when you saw Haibara and Nanami’s face.

Normally you would be excited but the look on their faces was telling you otherwise.

Before you could speak, Nanami spoke. “Something happened.” 

Something cold run through yourself as Nanami’s words sank on your chest. “What…?”

Haibara called out your name as he approached you. “You need to leave with Kento. I will stay here don’t worry.” 

Your mind was raising, confused and with thousand of questions popping. Nanami took your arm and without a word he guide you to his car. 

“Wait…” You said before entering. “What happened? What’s going on?”

“Hayashi didn’t send you a message?” Nanami asked.

“My phone died, it ran out of battery… doesn’t matter! Why did Kyoko send me a message? What is going on?” You exploded.

“It’s Gojo.” You knew you were losing your strength. “He had an accident during the match.” 

An accident? What?

“He is at the hospital right now…” He continued, but you could only hear him far away from you. Until he called you back. “Geto and Hayashi are there and our coach is also there. But Haibara and I came to pick you.”

“Is he… is he okay?” You trembled, scared of knowing the answer.

“I don’t know, he didn’t look good when they took him out of the match.” The air that was on your lugs once again disappeared as you listened to Nanami’s words.

“But how…? How did it happened?”

“It was a player from another team, he had problems in the past with Gojo and… he took it out today with Gojo.” Nanami explained. “He was unconscious when they took him, Geto asked as to come here for you and take you straight to the hospital.”

You nodded, shaking as every word started to process one by one in your mind. “Yeah… we should get going.”

The car ride was silent, your leg moved up and down as you felt how the suffocating knot that had formed in your stomach now settled in your body, practically leaving you without breathing. You had too many questions, but none of them came out of your lips, it was almost as if you didn't have enough strength to articulate a word.

The ride seemed endless, each second felt longer than the last. Every breath felt shallow and your mind was racing, like you were one of those Formula 1 cars, you were terrified to know its condition and completely angry towards the person who had done this to Satoru.

You felt Nanami’s eyes staring at you and then his voice echoed in the car. “We will be there soon… Captain Gojo is strong…” He whispered the last part as if he was a reminder for himself too.

You slightly nodded, still anxious and distressed. 

When you arrived you didn’t even wait for the car to stop before exiting and running towards the entrance of the emergency room. Nanami’s voice called your name but you didn’t pay attention to him, you searched for some familiar faces, you needed to know his state. See him.

The pulse in your heart went straight to your ears when you saw Kyoko and Suguru’s silhouette not far from where you were. You were afraid of getting closer and hearing what they knew. 

“Oh…” Kyoko gasped when she saw you. “You are here!” She hugged you. “I tried calling you but it said it was off.”

“My phone, it ran out of battery…” You whispered against her. “Kyoko, what…”

“He is stable now…” Suguru spoke this time, his voice was shaky. “They gave him painkillers for his rib and the contusion on the head was not serious. He will be okay.”

You nodded. “How did it happened?” You asked Suguru.

“It was an ex-team member… he… he got in a fight with Satoru last year and after that he got kicked out of the team.” Suguru explained. “And today…” 

“Is he crazy?” You said. “Hurting someone over a…”

“It’s okay…” Kyoko tried to calm you down.

“You can go in.” Suguru said. “I’m sure that he will be glad to see you once he wakes up.”

As you followed Suguru’s steps to the room where Satoru was, Kyoko never once let your hand go. Giving you the support you desperately need it. As you stood in front of the door, you opened with shaky hands and entered it. It was completely quiet and Satoru was in the hospital bed, sleep.

You felt the sensation in your stomach growing bigger as you got closer to the bed. Studying his face, you noticed how it was paler than usual, you felt a pang of sadness as you noticed that.

Satoru was always smiling, cheerful, radiant and now… he was there, in a hospital bed, unconscious. 

Your trembling fingers touched his white snowy hair. “Satoru…” You gently whispered, hoping for your nickname you used to hate so much to come out of his mouth.

But nothing happened, the only sound in the room was the monitors tracking his heart rate. You held his hand and sat next to him. 

Minutes started to pass as you kept on waiting for him to come back to you. You leaned forward, resting your head on the edge of his bed and closing your eyes to breathe in his familiar scent, calming your nerves. Despite the worry that was gnawing at you, the steady beat of his heart brought you a small comfort, a reminder that he was still there.

Last time you were in a hospital was when your grandma was about to pass away. You never liked hospitals, those white walls reminded you of back when you were little after the accident with your mother. Now you knew what happened and that dislike was only bigger. 

It was like you were always in a position where you had to see your loved ones suffering. Suguru said he was going to be okay, but despite that you were scared, scared of the possibility of losing him. 

You knew that your love was going fast but for some reason you felt like it was meant to be, that it was the type of love you would find in books, in films, in songs. 

“Satoru…” You whispered once again, squishing his hand. “Please come back, come back to me.” 

Your eyes began to grow heavy as the door softly opened, a man and a woman entering the room. Their expressions were neither warm nor eager, but reserved, almost cold. You swallowed hard as their gazes fell on you, you felt like they were analyzing you completely with those looks, they were almost telling you that you didn't deserve to be in that place. You didn't hesitate for a second to know who they were, they were Satoru's parents, but unlike Satoru, the gaze of those two people lacked warmth. Their gazes moved to stop at your hand that held Satoru's. 

The woman's eyes narrowed slightly and her lips pressed into a thin line as she watched you at her side. 

"Are you... Satoru's friend?" His mother finally asked, with a sharp tone that almost froze your blood. She barely waited for your nod before pressing her lips together even more. “I didn’t expect my son to have *guests*,” she continued, a subtle disdain in her voice. “Especially considering the kind of company he usually keeps.”

Her husband nodded slightly, giving you a subtle look. “I’m sure you’re… worried about him.” He said. “But this is a family matter. You’d better leave.”

The disdain was clear in his words, and the pain of it cut deep. Satoru’s parents clearly saw you as an outsider, someone who didn’t deserve to be here during such a crucial time. You hesitated, looking back at Satoru, unsure if you should let go of his hand. 

But the sight of him lying there, pale and vulnerable, hardened something inside you. Satoru had been there for you when you needed him most, you weren’t about to leave now, especially not when you knew of the abusive behaviors of those two people towards Satoru. 

With a calm breath, you looked up and met the icy gaze of his mother. “With all due respect, I’m not leaving. Satoru means a lot to me and I’ll be here when he wakes up.”

You held his hand a little tighter, feeling both protective and defiant. You would stay, no matter what they thought. Satoru was there because of someone else's cruelty, and you were determined to be there when he opened his eyes, to be the face that reminded him that he was loved, even if his own parents couldn't see the strength of the bond you shared.

His father laughed slightly, a laugh that could be straight from a villain. “Don’t tell me you are the real reason why our son is refusing to leave that stupid degree…”

You blinked slowly, as your mouth parted trying to talk. “What…?”

This time Satoru’s mother moved closer to you, with her arms crossed in her chest and her lips still in a thin line. “We told Satoru he should focus on the family business, think about what the family needs and he still refused and acted like a little kid. But apparently he prefers to throw that away for…” She took a lock of your hair and looked at you with those cold eyes, which although in color resembled Satoru's, everything else was completely unknown. “For someone like you.”

You felt how you were getting slapped across the face with those sharp words. “I’m sorry, but with all the respect. Satoru is his own person, who is capable of making his decisions and chooses what makes him happy. If you pay attention to him you would know he…”

Satoru’s father's laugh cut you off, leaving you muted as that laugh filled the room. “You are playing with fire, you know? Satoru has the potential to be one of the best lawyers and own the market within a few years, and position our family at the top. But you appeared and as stubborn he is now suddenly he is not listening to us. And look at him, here laying down in a hospital bed because he was probably too distracted thinking about you to pay attention to the game.”

The blood on your veins started to boil as those words hit you. “Satoru is doing what he wants, which makes him truly happy. He is not someone to bow for someone else's desires.”

“People could never understand what it means to be part of a family like ours.” This time his mother spoke. 

Your heart pounded with anger on your chest, you didn’t want to show them any weakness but it was becoming harder with each passing moment. 

“You came to the party with our son right?” His mother spoke once again. “It was not difficult for us to track you down…” Your eyes narrowed. “No family, works in a grocery store and you are on scholarship.”

“I have a family…”

“Dead…”

If you could describe what you were seeing at that moment it was red, just red. Your whole self was full of anger, your heart was racing on your chest, while you were trying to calm yourself down. 

This time Satoru’s time spoke. “You think he will thank you for this someday? For being the reason why he is wasting his potential.”

It was one after the other, one punch after another. You always felt you were a strong person, who didn’t let yourself bow down for anyone, but at that moment you were feeling like they threw you at the lions and there was nothing you could do. 

You strongly closed your eyes, trying to stop any tear that was trying to come out.

“Leave…” A voice sounded in the room and you felt how your heart started to warm again, as if was coming back to life.

— comment if you want to be tagged

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[starlightsreigns]

Never Ending | d. priest

summary ⇢ love is a never-ending cycle of happiness and heartbreak. Kennedy is no newcomer to this, but there's something so different about him and how much she cares. it's strange, but strange can be good. tags ⇢ brief mention of abuse word count ⇢ 3.1k

author's note ⇢ part two of my anti one-shots. part one is here! this might be my fav by far so thank you for voting for this one to be posted next! excuse the errors, and the lowercase is on purpose, sorry. wattpad kid here.

“why do it have to feel so strange to be in love again.” 

kennedy stretches out her body, reaching for her toes. she glares over at dakota and liv who haven’t started their stretches yet. early morning workouts meant the world to her, that and the fact that they had a long day that ended with a live show - they need to get started now rather than later. 

“you ready, kenny?" samatha plopped down besides her. “i have stuff I need to do.” 

a smile breaks out on kennedy’s face, “i love you, yes, cause those two are having the time of their lives.” 

she wasn’t actually upset with her friends. the last few months felt like hell on earth. the move to monday nights became a little harder than she thought it would be, kennedy loves her girls but spends most of her time alone to deal with her own shit. after the break up with her long term-2 years of wasted time-made her cry everyday for the last year-traumatized her beyond repair- boyfriend, peace and quiet was needed. she didn’t want to rehash the breakup, so no one knew they’d broken up months ago. it still felt so fresh, and after being moved away from smackdown, away from that routine, it just messed her up. 

kennedy needs that routine to keep her mind off of that man who destroyed everything she really loved about herself. she felt like a stranger in her body and at work. so much so, that she was worried that people were staring to notice the facade she was playing up, like now: 

“are you okay?” samantha askes as she spots kennedy. “you’ve been… quieter as of late, and i didn’t want to pry but you’ve been like that for a while.” 

what do you say to that? these women are her friends. they know her better than anyone else and she’s been lying about her happiness for so long that kennedy didn’t even know how she really felt. it was numb and cold. 

“i’m okay, sam, just tired and getting used to being on this new schedule.” 

not that she’d say it, but samatha doesn't mention kennedy’s boyfriend because she knew something was up. she refuses to be the one to bring that up. before she could call bullshit and before kennedy could conjure up another lie, dakota and liv joined them. it felt like a weight off kennedy’s shoulder, being able to fall into the background again. the illusion of being part of conversations is all she’s had now. 

“ghost in the mirror, i knew your face once but now it’s unclear..”

the group was biostorious as they spoke over one another. kennedy laughs softly trying to catch what the conversation was about. anecdotes get lost one after another as each person throws one into the circle. it was a jungle of conversation before the show could start for the night. kennedy rests an elbow on her crossed leg then places her chin on it, giving full attention to a story carlito is sharing. 

moments like this mean everything to her - because the pain subsides. there's no attention on her, but she feels included in something so bright and loving and playful. kennedy feels less lost, less confused, less dark and gloomy. 

carlito breaks his story with a cheer, and he points towards the entrance of catering. everyone turns to see what he’s hollering about. kennedy smiles as she sees damian walk in with dominik. damian chuckles at everyone’s playful cheering, going around to greet them. he bumps shoulders with carlito then gives him a hug. 

“what we doin’?” damian looks around the group. his eyes stop on kennedy who’s already lost in thought, her eyes sad like he’s noticed for the past couple of months. 

as someone else takes the reigns of the conversation once more, damian slyly takes the seat beside kennedy as karrion was on the other side of her. he lightly bumps her shoulder with his, smiling when her eyes met his. kennedy gives him a bright grin that doesn’t meet her eyes. damian leans into her and wraps his arm around her shoulder in a friendly manner. 

“you doin’ okay, kenna?”

a horrible nickname. but she saw it endearing. no one else calls her that.

he’s a sweetheart. he’s always been like that and kennedy didn’t mind his kindness. she needs as much as she can take before becoming needy. damian didn’t push her like most people did when they saw her shift in demeanor. it’s as if he knew just how much space to give her whilst always being there. 

kennedy nods, “very well.” she lies. 

“i can’t feel my body now, i separate from here and now…” 

most times, kennedy finds herself sitting alone. it’s all by choice. the silence helps her collect her thoughts and organize them. 

backstage was a constant buzz, but she found a way to tune it out. traveling with wrestlers meant constant noise, the noise that she used to contribute to with her loud laughs, but now she was a constant blank stare. 

she found solace in empty locker rooms, catering when the show started, her hotel rooms, bathrooms, the airport during early morning flights or redeyes, her headphones, and long car rides. anything to escape the questions that have begun to bombard her. the prying into her emotional state, her smiles and lack thereof, her weight loss. kennedy didn’t know how to hide it anymore. 

it was was like she was a passenger in her own life. she wasn’t in the front seat, she was in a minivan, watching her life pass on by from the third row. she was crying out to be let back into the front seat, but a ringing silence is what she was met with. sometimes the buzzing was soothing, but now it became enraging. 

kennedy sits in the empty hotel gym, staring into the mirrors. it was three in the morning, but sleep evades her like everything else in her life. a workout is the last thing she wants, so she slings her bag over her shoulder and leaves the room behind. there’s an eerie and comforting silence in the lobby but, it cracks with the sound of a group of people entering through the entrance. she recognizes the voices from a mile away and when a chorus of hellos comes her way, she musters up a smile and a wave in their direction as they head towards the elevators. 

“kenna,” damian branches off from the group who pile into the elevator. “long night?” 

“not as long as yours.” kennedy laughs softly and to damian. “fun night, mr.champion?” 

damian shrugs but the smile on his face betrays him, “you should’ve came with.” 

kennedy waves him off, “no no, but i’m so happy for you.” 

damian takes a moment to study kennedy’s face. he motions towards the seats in the lobby. there was a brief moment where kennedy wanted to form an excuse to disappear up to her room, but more silence felt like it could kill her today. so she follows him and they sit across from each other. they don’t talk for a moment. they simply stare at each other for a while. this should make her uncomfortable, but there's a softness in damian’s eyes that makes her trust him, that makes her unafraid to be here. finally, a smile breaks out onto her face, the first genuine smile damian has seen in the last six months. 

“ah, hermosa, there’s a real smile.” damian cheers quietly, leaning in. “tell me something.” he implores. 

“like what?” her voice a whisper. 

damian smiles, “anything you want.” 

for that she was thankful, and from that day forward, that’s what he’d do. his mission became to get a genuine smile out of her and get one random tidbit of information. it didn’t matter what she said. damian would take that random thing as the most important information kennedy could give. 

sometimes, she wouldn’t even have anything to say. he didn’t care. damian would sit there in that silence with her. 

“you know aaron judge has the 11th most home runs in yankees history?” he said one night when she had nothing to say. it made her smile. so he went on to give her aaron judge’s entire career highlights. just so she couldn’t have to talk. he did that a lot. kennedy knew more about yankees baseball than she’d ever think she would in her lifetime. 

that was his thing - sit and wait, no matter how long. if she had nothing, he’d fill that deafening silence for her. sometimes, he’d be prepared with a deck of cards for them to play a random game of spades, or bullshit, or simply stack the cards over and over again until kennedy was ready to call it a night - no matter how long that took. 

that broke the ice. and kennedy was thankful for that. 

“a lost connection, come back to me, so i can feel alive again.” 

kennedy felt better, not great, but she was slowly feeling like a human again. eight months and counting, and she’s finally opening herself up again, but some days are tougher than others. it was a work in progress. 

as the show wraps for the night, kennedy ties her hair into a low bun, lost in her own train of thought as the women pack up for the night. with her headphones on, she turns to look for the face of the one person she was driving to the next city with - it was rare that she drives with someone nowadays, but the silence was no longer comforting to her and she agreed to ride with kayden but now she was nowhere to be found. 

a text comes through as she searches. 

damian priest: i’m your ride tonight. 

kennedy’s smile is mixed with confusion as if he was there. 

kennedy: what did you do with kayden, priest? 

damian priest: can’t tell you. i’ll be in the parking lot. 

it was weird how excited kennedy was for this four-hour drive. this was usually the part of the day she was dreading, especially when riding with someone, but there was comfortability that they have with each other that eases all her anxiety. it was comforting being in his presence and damian would reciprocate that, but he was too afraid of scaring her off by saying anything like that to her. 

kennedy spots him right away. he leans against the car, hands in his pockets, scooping out the parking lot. when he sees her, he smiles like this is what he has been waiting for all day. everything about this was calming and kennedy gratefully took the passenger seat as he loaded her bags in and took the driver's seat. soon enough, they were on their way. 

the ride was quiet for a while. after seven hours of constant noise, they ride in comfortable silence. 

“you’ve never asked,” kennedy finally breaks the silence. when damian sends her a questioning look, she clears her throat. “you’re the only person who never asked me what happened.” 

damian nods in understanding, “if you wanted to tell me, kennedy, you would, but i’m okay just being here for you without having to know.” 

that makes kennedy stop for a moment. she studies the side of damian’s face as he drives. for the first time, she realizes the feelings that fill her stomach every time they’re together. it makes her take a deep breath and allow herself to finally say the things she never imagined saying out loud to anyone.

“he cheated on me,” she whispers, blinking away the tears. “he took the ring back, and when i confronted him about it, he… he beat me until i couldn’t breathe.” kennedy finishes, both afraid to look away from him and for him to respond. 

damian glances at her in shock. he doesn’t say anything briefly as he focuses on the road. then, he pulls over to the shoulder of the highway while kennedy looks in confusion. when he puts the car in park, she turns to him, worried that she’s made him uncomfortable. but he only grabs her hand. 

“one, thank you for telling me, kenna, you can trust me.” damian brushes a finger over her hands. “and if you tell me where he lives i’ll kill him.” 

this was the most free she’s felt in almost a year. kennedy closes her eyes with a smile, shaking her head. damian pulls her into a hug and rubs a hand on her back.

he whispers into her ear, "I'm always gonna be here for you, my love."

'my love' echoes in kennedy's ear like a foreign word.

“as a soul and body try to mend…” 

“why is this your favorite music video?” damian laughs while he looks down at kennedy who rests her back on his shoulder. 

kennedy exaggerates a sigh, “listen, everyone would say that thriller or smooth criminal or something like that is the best video but there’s something so special and captivating about the simplicity of beat it.” she turns to look at him. “like, i’m not bashing those videos cause they’re amazing, but beat it has something special and the fact that he had to pay it all himself because his record label didn’t believe in it.” 

damian listens to the passion in her voice as she defends the music video. he can’t himself but smile as she rambles on. when kennedy finally realizes he’s staring at her, she stops abruptly and sinks into the couch in slight embarrassment. 

“sorry, this is so dumb.” she laughs, biting her bottom lip. 

“nah, c’mon, tell me your second favorite MJ song.” damian begs. 

she thinks for a moment, “it’s a tie between who is it and human nature.” 

kennedy watches as damian thinks. she knows he’s trying to figure out a song to say that’ll impress her. when he says dirty diana, she raises an eyebrow and waits for him to explain that choice. it intrigues her because it reminisces beat it in the way the guitar plays. 

“i can’t explain it,” damian chuckles. 

a year since her breakup has come and gone. 

kennedy doesn’t know how she got here or how she's overcome it. a year and two months feels like six years when she’s with damian. so much so that she missed the year mark because they spent the day at the beach, soaking in the sun and as much ice cream as their bodies could handle. now, she can see that he did that on purpose. she’s thankful for that too. 

that pain feels nonexistent now. it’s replaced with something that scares her to death. 

“it’s pulling me apart this time, everything is never ending…” 

it has to change. kennedy can’t go another day living in this uncertainty, in this paralyzing state of wonder where she theorizes how she can ruin this relationship. it’s not fair to her and this is not fair to him. the days aren't cloudy anymore, but she misses her constant sunshine in the form of the 6’5 Puerto Rican. 

the fear of something new drew her away. first, it was less time together backstage, then she started riding with other people, which led to ignoring calls and texts. kennedy didn’t know how to deal with this, and bless his heart, damian didn’t push her. he knew better than to hover, even when all he wants is to talk to her. he knew she had to figure it out. damian didn’t worry about her, because her smile never fades now, even if they aren’t directed at him. 

kennedy sits with kayden as they watch a TikTok they want to recreate. she groans at the sheer amount of work they have to do to accomplish it while kayden beams with excitement. kayden glances up for a moment then looks over at kennedy. 

“there’s damian, you not gonna say hi?” she peers up. “you guys were inseparable, and now…” kayden waits. 

“i plan on talking to him later, he’s busy, i don’t need to interrupt him.” kennedy semi lies. 

a three-hour show feels like six when someone is anxious and unfortunately, kennedy feels like a personification of anxiety. it was only intensified by the cup of iced coffee that dangles in her grasp as she walks down the hallway. how much more of this confusion can she take? as if the universe chooses to answer the question, damian exits a room and walks in her direction. 

kennedy is still so lost in her thoughts, that she doesn��t see him from down the hallway. when they pass each other, damian stops and watches her for a moment, then shakes his head not wanting to do this anymore. 

“kenna,” he calls out. kennedy turns to meet his eyes in light shock. “can we talk, please?” 

he holds a hand out for her that she reluctantly takes. damian leads them to an empty office. kennedy sits on the cold fold-out chair that makes her shiver. she crosses her leg trying to calm herself while damian pulls a chair up in front of her and sits. 

it’s quiet. they stare into each other's eyes as they usually do, but it's not the same now. this is more intense and is filled with something new. she leans back into her chair and bounces her leg slowly not wanting to be the first one to break. damian gives her the faintest smile and she cracks - kennedy smiles back at him with a small huff.

his smile disarms her. 

damian pumps his fist in victory then leans in to take her hand, “what’s happenin’ with us?” he squeezes her hand to comfort her. “i thought everything was getting better and we were close - i’m thinkin’ you need a little space but now you avoiding me and i don’t know what to do.” 

“it’s not you, damian, and im so sorry you feel like that. it’s all just complicated and confusing.” kennedy sighs, focused on their hands. “im so lost.” 

his hands are warm. damian scoots his chair closer and waits for her to meet his eyes again.

“i’m never gonna force you to do anything, kennedy, you know that.” damian soothes. “i’m in love with you, and im willing to wait, as long as you’re willing  just be here with me.” 

those words make kennedy’s heart race. she looks into his eyes knowing that he’s telling the truth. their hands are still intertwined in their silence. kennedy raises her thumb and squashes his which starts a thumb war - the smile on her face radiates in the room, intensifying the feelings in his chest. they play the game until he wins the last round. 

“i win, what do you say?” he grins then kisses her hand. 

kennedy gets up carefully and moves onto his lap. damian wraps an arm around her waist, waiting to hear what she’s about to say. she keeps one of their hands intertwined and rests the other around his neck. 

“i’m literally so fucking petrified, but i really like you, im willing to just be here with you.” kennedy speaks softly. “because i love you too and i don’t know how to deal with that.” 

“let me deal with it for the both of us,” damian presses his forehead against hers. “i’ll hold everything for you, kennedy.”

“why do it have to feel so strange to be in love again.”

-------

ahhh, hope you enjoyed this one :) one of my favs

[class1akids]

BNHA 426 - First thoughts

I have mixed feelings:

My No 1 wish was Toya being able to talk, so I'm glad we got that. Though super-sad about the "slowly dying" thing. But he's not dead yet - so I'll consider that "open ending" for now.

Way too much focus again on Enji feeling bad - I'm glad Toya called him out for doing everything only when it's too late / doesn't matter anymore

I’m also glad that Touya reached his goal - he destroyed Endeavor, the hero fully. His body, his reputation, his legacy. Everything Touya was created for, he burnt to ash. (But at what price 😭)

it's also super-hollow to say he's sheltering the family from the fallout, after they've just talked about how Fuyumi lost her job (and got a new one through the connections she herself built). How is he going to do that?

What a contrast between Bakugou and Deku getting thanks from All Might and being called greatest heroes - while not a single person in this family thanks Shoto for the extraordinary efforts he made for them (not only in this war, but since his first visit to Rei) -> they never deserved my boy tbh...

The Shoto - Toya scene was easily the highlight of the chapter for me. I really wanted this for both of them. Everyone in the family is talking about how they will talk, but Shoto is the one actually asking a question to Toya; he still wants to know his brother after everything.

And I love how that's the final breakthrough for Toya -words supported by actions - to start crying and to say sorry. I think his inability to cry was one of the big reasons he could never move on, so I hope in whatever time he has left, he can get the emotional closure he needs. And I'm glad Shoto got at least one person in the family acknowledge his efforts, even if with just a "sorry".

It makes me super-sad though because you can see that Toya and Shoto's relationship had so much potential!!! They would have been the best of brothers.

Natsuo cutting off Endeavor is fine for me. I didn't expect a big group hug - all the kids are grown up with their own lives - like Toya said "why not sooner". Them becoming a big happy family was never on the cards. Though I'm more disappointed Natsuo had nothing to say to Toya. He's a lot like his father.

Is Rei sticking with Endeavor? I hope she's just escorting him to the agency car and not like moving back to the house with him.

I'm super disappointed that Shoto got no hug from his mom or even a line of direct dialogue. In 426 chapters, they never spoke directly!!!!! - Shoto is the only kid in the family Rei never had a dialogue with as a grown up. Hori really fumbled her too.

So Shoto - just like Izuku to Bakugou - never gets to respond properly to Endeavor's apology. Still, I interpret his line to Enji and Rei that even if the family doesn't get a dream ending, he's going to be ok because he has friends who support him and he's strong enough to shape his own identity. I'm glad we didn't get like a "it's water under the bridge" or an even worse "I'll restore the family's honor" kind of plot for Shoto. He did everything he could, he did the heavy lifting for every single relationship - he's more than earned his freedom (though I doubt that the public will easily forget that he's "Endeavor's son and Dabi's brother").

It's really bittersweet, but Shoto is still better off compared to where he started - he built some kind of relationship (however distant) with every person in his family and I guess he'll stay in touch without feeling like he has to carry all of them.

And more importantly has a safety net of friends, and he got out from under his father's thumb, away from the toxicity of his birth, forged a positive self-image, has clear goals, etc. He's an amazingly strong person, with a great mental fortitude and I hope in the 4 remaining chapters we'll see him smile at least once. He deserves it.

I'm glad Kiddo and Onima are alive. I would have hated it if they died from the copied Phosphor. I guess Burnin' is running the agency now? Though probably it gets closed down after Endeavor's retirement.

Hawks being the new prez of the HPSC was expected. Let's see what he can do.

Nagant "I want to stay in prison" is super-weird, but whatever. Hers always felt like a half-baked plot.

Gentle/La Brava is the first canon ship confirmed. I don't like them, but good for them I guess.

So next up: Spinner - Deku talk?

I need some processing time and some translations and the missing pages, but it's not the best or the worst. It delivered the thing I wanted most, though less talking from Enji and more talking from Touya and Shouto would have been better.