#I have no idea how you do this I'm in tears

[marvelstoriesepic]

Like he means it

Pairing: Roommate!Bucky x Reader

Summary: You can’t take another night of hearing Bucky fuck a girl who isn’t you.

Word Count: 13.6k

Warnings: Bucky is a fuckboy (but he’s still a sweetheart); lots of talk about unrequited love (but is it?); mentions of sex; crying; lots of desperation; longing; heavy confessions; feels; happy ending

Author’s Note: This is written for the lovely cinema themed writing challenge of @elixirfromthestars ♡ I had this kind of idea for a while but when I read those lyrics it somehow immediately came back to my mind and I needed to make something out of it. This is kind of inspired by your Boulevard Confessions because I loved it so much! And damn, I've already written so much about roommate!Bucky but I can’t help myself lol, I love him. Also, this got a little long, I'm sorry. Still, I hope you enjoy! ♡

Hold My Hand "Pull me close, wrap me in your aching arms. I see that you're hurtin', why'd you take so long to tell me you need me? I see that you're bleeding, you don't need to show me again. But if you decide to, I'll ride in this life with you. I won't let go 'til the end." — Lady Gaga

Masterlist

You hear the giggling before anything else.

It’s always the giggling.

And, as always, it grates on your nerves.

It carves through the air, seeps into the walls, into the floorboards, into you. It tears its way inside and scrapes its manicured nails along the rawest and most sensitive parts of you, only to bury itself deep, where you can’t simply dig it out.

Then comes the keys.

The light, metallic jingle, so careless in its melody, but so troubling in its meaning.

Then the lock turning, the click soft and yet so irrefutable.

Then the door opening.

More giggles.

His breathy chuckles.

Then the door closing.

Shoes being kicked off, one hitting the wall.

You press the pillow harder against your ears, as if you could suffocate the sound before it reaches you, as if you could bury yourself deep enough under the covers to escape what you already know is coming. But you can’t. You never can.

Your brain usually does you the favors of drowning out the parts in the hallway, knowing it will probably make your heart stop in an instant. Today, it doesn’t do you any favors and you close your eyes, accepting the sting behind them.

And then, his bedroom door.

And if all that wasn’t torture enough, it was only the easy part.

Because now is when it really starts. It’s when your throat closes up, the breath in your lungs turns heavy, thick, impossible. Because no matter how many times this has happened, no matter how many times you laid here in your bed, still, so still, waiting for the agony to stop, pretending it doesn’t happen - it never stops hurting. It never stops breaking your heart - or whatever’s left of it.

At first, there is silence. The small period where you almost dare to believe, to hope.

But then comes the moaning.

High-pitched and breathy, hinting at a pleasure that strikes you with a hammer.

Someone else. Always someone else. Someone who is not you, someone who never had to try, someone who will never know what it means to ache for him like you do.

Then, quieter, but just as devastating, Bucky’s voice. The low sound of him unraveling. The sound of something slipping from him that you will never be able to take.

And that’s what breaks you most. That’s what turns the ache into utter misery. Madness even. It’s the inescapable proof that he has something to give - something deep, something intimate - and he is giving it away. Over and over again, but never to you.

You close your eyes, as always. It doesn’t help, as always. The sounds don’t stop anyway. The images come anyway - the touches you have imagined, the way his hands would feel against your skin, the way his mouth would shape your name if you were the one beneath him. The way he might look at you, if only he could see.

But right now, you are just the ghost in the next room, curled in on yourself, ears filled with the sound of someone else living the life you always wanted.

And in the morning, or right after, when the door will open again, when the giggling will turn to goodbyes, you will still be here, where you always are. Where you always will be. Waiting. Wanting. Breaking. Wishing you could turn it off, this feeling. This unendurable and never-ending heartbreak.

And that finally makes the tears flow.

They well up before they spill over, down the slope of your cheek, gathering in the hollow beneath your nose before falling onto the pillow and wetting it like a pool.

You squeeze your eyes shut, so tightly it should hurt, so tightly it should make them stop. But they come anyway. They come despite the barricade of your willpower, despite the way your body coils tighter in on itself. They come despite the desperate war you wage against them.

They come because you have lost. Because it’s too much.

The moaning doesn’t stop, and it’s too much. It’s the middle of the night, and it’s too much. It’s the third night in a row, and it’s too much.

Bucky’s hushed voice shatters something inside of you, you didn’t know was left intact a few seconds ago.

Your breath turns sticky, only half of it making its way up your throat. The other half stays attached to the walls of your throat like honey gone rancid. It refuses to leave completely, snagging and trapping you in the awful space between breathing and choking.

Maybe if it stopped altogether, it would be easier. Maybe suffocating would be gentler than this slow and unsparing death of heartbreak.

Your hands are shaking. You bury your face into the pillow, willing it to just take you as a whole and never let you leave again. The fabric muffles the shuddering sobs, but it cannot do anything for the way your body trembles. But you know that the sounds of pleasure in the other room will tune out the sounds of your cries. The pillow is being clutched so tightly, you might tear the fabric. But it’s your heart that’s being torn into so many pieces. So what is a pillow compared to the ruin of your heart? It’s nothing.

You are alone in your grief.

The moans stop for a second - abrupt, cut off mid-breath.

Bucky’s voice comes. He says something but you don’t catch his words.

However, you do catch the displeased groan of his girl for the night. Drawn-out and petulant. Annoyed.

Bucky speaks again. Firmer, this time. Again, it’s too quiet to catch it.

And then you hear your name. It’s muffled still, but you would hear your name coming from his lips always and forever. You know the exact cadence of it shaping his mouth.

Everything in you halts. Your breaths are suspended somewhere in your throat, caught between shock and devastation.

The girl scoffs. It’s a snappy sound. Almost whiny. You would have rolled your eyes if you weren’t so troubled.

The moaning resumes. But it is quieter this time. Controlled almost. A courtesy. A mercy. But not for you. Not in the way you wish.

And it makes you know.

He asked her to keep it down. For you. He must have told her he has a roommate - you - and that they need to be mindful, that you might be trying to sleep.

Somehow, in all the infinite ways he could have cared for you, this is the one he chose. Not to love you, not to want you, but to make sure his flings don’t disrupt your sleep. As if that’s the worst of it. As if the noise is what truly keeps you up at night, and not the agonizing truth of it all.

Harshly, your teeth sink into your lip, fighting to stifle the sob that trembles on the edge of you. But again, you are losing.

Because hearing your name in the middle of something so intimate, spoken in the same breath of his pleasure, is pure anguish.

Because your name should not exist there. Not like this. Not casually sneaking into a mind occupied with pleasuring someone else.

If he were to say your name in a moment like this, it should be a soft whisper against your skin, entangled in sheets, buried in kisses that steal the air from your lungs. It should be something private, something sacred.

Not an idle afterthought. A consideration. A passing thought before he loses himself in someone else’s body. You have never heard him say any girl’s name before when sleeping with them, but hell you also don’t try to listen too closely.

You won’t talk about this. You never talk about this. When the morning comes and you meet Bucky in the kitchen for breakfast, you will not mention it. Just like you never mention the other nights. Just like you never dwell on the soft apologies he offers when they got too loud. And just like always, you will brush it off, force a brittle smile, and tell him that it’s fine.

It’s not. It never has been. And you don’t think you ever manage to make it sound like you mean it. But you are gone before Bucky can push or apologize again. Or see how deep the knife has gone.

Because he might be careful to be quiet. But he will never be careful enough to stop breaking your heart.

So what is the point?

You don’t want to do another morning like this.

You can’t do another morning like this.

Not three times in a row.

Not when the night has already taken your soul and what was precious of it, barely sewn together by the time the sun fights its way through the window.

Not when you know how it will play out. Like it has the day before. And the day before that.

The door to his room will creak open, the girl already gone. You will hear the shuffle of his bare feet against the floor, the sigh as he stretches, and the yawn that usually makes it past his lips. He never tries to stifle it.

And then, him standing there and watching you.

Disheveled. Bed hair sticking up in a mess. You never let your mind wander to how her fingers might have something to do with that. His shirt would loosely hang over his frame, probably thrown on in a hurry, collar askew, revealing a sliver of skin you shouldn’t be looking at.

That lazy and slightly flustered smile. Sleep still in the corners of his eyes, his lips, his voice, when he greets you with a scratchy morning.

Like nothing happened. Like he didn’t shatter you into a thousand unfixable pieces last night. And the night before that. And now this night.

You will do your best to greet him back without sounding pained. Focusing on making coffee. The way the steam normally curls into the air, the warmth of the mug in your hands. You will have to focus on it as if it’s the only thing keeping you upright.

And despite knowing you shouldn’t - despite hating yourself for it - you will slide a cup toward him. As you always do.

His smile would shift. Settling into something fond, something warm, something that digs its claws into your ribs and refuses to let go.

Because that’s usually the worst part. He’s always so sweet with you. Thoughtful, affectionate in ways that don’t count. In the ways that make you feel like maybe if you just hold on a little longer, if you wait just a little more, he might start feeling what you do.

But you are certain, he won’t.

Because for him, everything seems fine. For him, this will be just another morning. Another easy, comfortable start to the day. With his eyes on you and sipping his coffee, exhaling like he is finally at peace, and leaning against the counter with a lightness that always has your stomach all up in shambles.

He always makes it seem so normal. Starting conversation with you, talking to you as if nothing has changed. Like you didn’t spend the night curled in on yourself, swallowing down sobs so thick they feel like razor blades. Like you didn’t spend the night choking on the sound of him with her.

He never mentions them. Never says any of the girl’s names, not that you even know what they are. He never makes plans to see them again. Just another faceless but very loud girl. One to be forgotten.

But tomorrow night, there will be another.

Tomorrow night will be the same.

And in the morning nothing will have happened.

Only him standing there with his sleep-mussed hair and that sweet, easy smile, drinking the coffee you should have stopped making for him a long, long time ago.

You rise out of bed, not even aware of it. The cold air nips at your tear-streaked cheeks, your sheets thrown back in a mass of tangled fabric still warm from the ball your body was curled in, breaking in silence. The pillow is still wet.

Your hands move on their own, tugging on slacks, yanking a hoodie over your head as though the fabric could hide you, save you from the devastation caving a hole into your chest.

You fumble for your phone before throwing open your bedroom door.

The moans are louder again. Yanking at your resolve and laughing at the way your tears keep coming.

Your feet move faster. You don’t actually run, but it feels like running. Like fleeing. Escaping a burning building before it collapses. The living room comes into view and it’s like a cruel trick, like the universe is taunting you, because all you see are phantoms.

The coffee machine on the counter. How many times have you two stood there, still tousled with sleep, you making coffee for the both of you because Bucky burns everything. How many times did he lean on the counter, watching you with that stupid little half-smirk, pretending to judge your process but always humming in satisfaction when he took the first sip.

The bookshelf in the corner - the one you swore you could build on your own. And you tried, you really did, but the second the screwdriver slipped and you gasped out loud, Bucky was there immediately. Hands on yours, worry furrowing his brows, grumbling about your stubbornness and continuing to grumble when he passive-aggressively built it himself.

You sat cross-legged on the floor, watching him, pretending to be annoyed but secretly savoring the way he kept glancing at you, again and again, to make sure you were okay and giving you instructions as to how it’s done but throwing you a glare when you insisted on trying again.

The carpet. The same one you both collapsed onto after a night out with your friends, too tipsy to move, giggling like teenagers as you pointed at the ceiling, pretending to find constellations in the uneven paint. He named one after you. You named one after him. You fell asleep there, side by side, and when you woke up he was so close. So close.

The couch. The one he practically melted into last week when he had a fever, whining dramatically until you caved and brought him soup. He kept pulling you back when you tried to leave, pouting like a child, demanding your attention because I’m sick, doll. Can’t ignore me when I’m sick. Until you sighed and sat down, letting his head rest in your lap. He fell asleep like that. Snoring. And you didn’t have the heart to move.

And now he is in his room, tangled in her, moaning into her skin, kissing her - like it doesn’t mean anything. Like none of it ever meant anything.

Your breath is uneven, your hands shaking as you grab your shoes. The laces blur, your vision fogs, but you can’t stop.

You throw open the door to your shared apartment, barely thinking, barely breathing, only moving. It swings back into the frame with a sharp sound echoing through the hallway, louder than you had intended. But it doesn’t matter now. Because you are sure that Bucky doesn’t hear it. He doesn’t notice. He is otherwise occupied and you are utterly drained of thinking about with what.

The air outside the apartment feels different. Lighter and cooler, but it doesn’t bring relief. It’s thin and hard to pull into your lungs properly.

Natasha’s place isn’t far. Fifteen minutes on foot. You tell yourself that over and over, like a mantra, like something to grasp on.

No more moans. Lost to silence, left in a place that feels little like home right now. Still, they resonate in your skull, haunting reminders of that pain you can’t dismiss, that hurt that hangs off you like a heavy burden.

You slow your steps on the staircase and inhale deeply. It trembles on its way out.

You hate how fragile you feel. How breakable. Hate how much this affects you. How much he affects you.

But you keep walking.

Just yesterday, you talked to Natasha and she offered you to stay with her for the night, looking at you all sharp and knowing, but in her own way sympathetic. You declined. Because you thought you’d be fine. Well, you were wrong.

It’s past midnight now, completely dark, but you don’t care.

You know, Natasha will let you in. And that will have to be enough for tonight.

The city is alive even at this hour. Neon lights glow in the distance, their reflection shimmering in rain-slicked puddles that dot the cracked pavement. Somewhere across the street, there is a group of people laughing, and disappearing around a corner. A car flies past, with headlights unlocking long shadows lengthening down the sidewalk.

You focus on those things. On the shoes thumping against the pavement. The way the crisp air is somehow refreshing as it weaves through the fabric of your hoodie and stings slightly at the tear-streaked skin of your cheeks, keeping you awake and propelling you forward. Not that you need any more motivation to leave.

You wind your arms around yourself like a shield, like a last-ditch effort to keep yourself from falling apart completely.

You don’t look back.

Somewhere above you, there is a creak of a window opening.

It makes you freeze for a small second, before tightening your arms around yourself and picking up your pace.

Your stomach spins violently because fuck, you know that sound. You know the groan of that window when it moves, just a little off its hinges, just enough to make a noise you’ve heard a hundred times before. Because it’s the window of your apartment. And it makes a noise that has never felt so much like a punch to the gut.

“Y/n?”

You close your eyes.

“Y/n!”

Your name spills from his lips, laced with confusion, infused with something that makes your fingers clench around your arms.

You could ignore him. You should ignore him. Just keep walking, keep moving, pretend you didn’t hear.

But you can’t. You never can.

With a slow, dragging breath, you turn around.

Bucky is leaning over the frame, his torso reaching out the window, bare from the shoulders down. He is bathed in the hazy yellow glow of the streetlights.

His hair is messed up, brown tendrils all sticking in different directions. His brows are knitted in confusion. His lips in a frown so full of worry. And it’s just too much.

Too warm. Too intimate. Too familiar.

Your chest stutters, lurches, and swirls itself into a dozen moving shapes that hurt more than they should. Because he stands there shirtless. Shirtless. And you know why.

You swallow back your hurt, but it stays stuck in your throat and crawls right up again to make you taste it on your tongue.

You force your gaze away from staring at the curve of his collarbone, the slope of his throat, the soft lines of his skin, the hard lines of his muscles that she had her hands on just minutes ago.

“Where are you going?”

The tone highlights his concern, thick with the kind of worry that would have meant everything if it weren’t coming from him like this, not now. His voice is rough, remnants of the time already spent with that girl, but all you can hear is that damn worry in it.

As if you owe him an answer. As if he isn’t the reason your chest feels like it’s been hollowed out and left to rot.

You draw in half a breath and look away - down the street, down at your shoes, the bricks of your building. Anywhere that isn’t him.

“To Nat’s.”

It’s clipped and short. You don’t want to explain, don’t want to talk, don’t want to stand here in the night air beneath the window of the apartment you share with him like some pathetic wreck while he worries about you.

“Nat’s?” You can hear the bewilderment in his voice, the way he is trying to piece it together, the way his brain is already working overtime, scrambling to make sense of this - and you can practically feel the moment he decides he won’t let it go.

“Somethin’ happen?” His voice just won’t stop to be so perplexed, so concerned. It is softer now, but you only glance up at him briefly before averting your eyes again.

Because damn Bucky, yes, something happened. Everything happened. Every night that he brings someone home, every touch that belongs to someone else, every soft moan that isn’t meant for you.

All these moments, all these memories, every feeling left unsaid that swivels and stings and grows into what it is now - a storm inside your rib cage, a hurricane of almosts and never wills and why does it have to be like this?

But of course, you can’t say that. You won’t say that.

So you just shake your head, tighten your arms around yourself, and take a step back.

“Go back to bed, Bucky.”

Because you can’t do this right now. You won’t do this right now.

Not when you are already about to break.

“I- What?”

His voice is a little raspy, puzzled, and under any other circumstance, it might have been endearing. On a normal day, if this were some cozy Sunday morning and not the breaking stretch of midnight, you might have smiled at the sight of him like this - hair in a wild mess, eyes a little heavy from the day, bare shoulders shifting in the glow of the streets.

But this is not a Sunday morning. And nothing about this feels good or cozy or right.

You are so damn exhausted. So damn drained.

“You-” he starts again, brow furrowing deeper, but before he can get another word out, hands appear - slim fingers wrapping around the thick of his bicep, tugging, pulling, trying to drag him back inside.

Bile is pooling at the base of your throat.

She’s alone with him up there, in the space that you have spent so much time making into something warm, something filled with comfort. A space where you feel home. With him. And yet, it’s that random girl in there, laying in his bed, under his covers, in his scent, in him.

“Bucky, come on.” Her voice is thin and peevish, thick with impatience. And exhaustion you believe she has no right to feel when you are the one who has spent the time suffocating under her presence.

But Bucky doesn’t move.

His hand only grips onto the windowsill tighter, muscles in his arm locking.

And his eyes stay fixed on you.

Still searching. Still confused. Still trying to understand.

And it makes your hands clammy.

The way he looks at you like he is reaching for something just beyond his grasp, something that eludes him no matter how hard he tries to hold onto it.

He huffs out a breath that just borders on frustration when her fingers won’t stop pulling at him.

“Hold on, doll-” he calls out to you and unwinds her hands from his arm, barely sparing her a glance as he leans out the window again. There is a little something in his tone when he speaks to you again. Something like exasperation. But it’s not meant for you. “What’re you doin’ at Nat’s? Tell her it’s the middle of the goddamn night. Why would she let you walk over to her? She knows it’s not safe.”

You shake your head, already half turning away again. You just cannot do this right now.

“It’s fine. Just go back to bed, Bucky.”

“Y/n - hey. What’s wrong? What’s this about?” There it is. That softness in his voice. That concern. And it hurts. Because he doesn’t get it.

“Go. Back. To bed,” you repeat, sharper now, gritting it out between clenched teeth.

But Bucky has always been stubborn. And so infuriating. It’s like he doesn’t hear you at all.

“C’mon doll, did something happen? Talk to me,” he urges, voice gentle but he doesn’t seem to like the way you look as if you would bolt around the corner any second. His tone is coaxing in a way that makes you ache because this is what he does. This is what he has always done - pulling you in, making you feel safe, making you feel cared for, making you feel like you matter. Like he means it.

And it’s cruel. So cruel.

Because you are in love with him.

And he is standing in that window, bare-chested and rumpled from a night with another woman, while you are in slacks and a simple hoodie beneath him with your heart cracked wide open, bleeding into the pavement.

“I don’t wanna do this right now, Bucky,” you snip, voice losing patience. But you are so tired.

Bucky sighs and runs a hand through his hair, frustration growing, seeping into his voice. “You’re killin’ me here, sweetheart. Just tell me what’s goin’ on. It’s cold out, doll. You’re not even wearin’ a jacket.”

You swallow down a choked breath.

Because this is making things so much worse.

That he cares. That he is looking at you like this, like you matter, like you are his.

Like you are something he wants to figure out. And he wants to take his time with. Like he wants to fix you.

But you are not broken. You are just in love.

“Bucky,” that girl calls out again, dragging his name out, voice honey-thick and pettish. “Come on babe, let it go. Just-” She tugs at his arm again, nails skimming along his forearm. “Come back to bed.”

But he doesn’t move.

Doesn’t even glance at her.

His mouth twitches, jaw ticking as he exhales sharply through his nose, shaking her off with a firm roll of his shoulder. “Would you quit it for a sec?” His voice is edged now, tinged with a kind of terse impatience he seldom ever lets out. “Jesus, m’tryin to talk here.”

The girl huffs, clearly displeased, but Bucky doesn’t spare her another second.

But the one second he threw his head around at her was your chance. Your feet move before you can think, before you can talk yourself into staying, because if you do, if you let him pull you in, let yourself hope-

“Woah, doll, hey. Wait, I-”

His voice is frantic, stammering over its own syllables and filled with too many things your mind is too jumbled to focus on.

But it makes you stop your body in the midst of a step. And you grind down on your teeth against the frustration burning inside you.

You should keep walking. Shouldn’t have stopped.

But Bucky is leaning even further out now, his knuckles bracing against the sill, the night air tousling his hair, eyes wide and concerned, searching. One of his arms is reaching out, down to you as if he could touch you like this.

“Hold up, yeah? I’m comin’ down.”

You whip halfway back to him, brows snapping together, heart slamming against your ribs.

“No, you-”

He’s already pulling himself back inside, shaking his head as if it should be obvious. “I’m coming down,” he repeats, more insistent, more sure. Leaving no room for argument.

Your fists squeeze the fabric of your hoodie. Your stomach churns. “Bucky-” you try again. But he has already made up his mind.

“Wait there, alright?” His voice dips lower, steadier but still urgent. Resolute, as if he would run after you if you bolted down the street. “Doll. Promise me you’ll wait.”

Something in his tone, the look he is giving you, like he’s begging, almost a sweet-talking declaration. It’s catching your breath somewhere in your throat.

You could run.

You should.

You should turn right back around, disappear into the night, and leave him standing there, shirtless and confused and worried.

But you hold his gaze for just one long and heavy beat, then exhale shakily, shoulders dropping slightly.

“Okay,” you say weakly.

Bucky nods determined and taps his fingers against the windowsill, before rushing away, leaving the window wide open.

And you stand there hating yourself for waiting.

Hating yourself for hoping.

Technically, you could just leave.

Take a different route to Nat’s apartment, slip into the dark veins of the city where his voice wouldn’t reach, and let him walk out onto an empty sidewalk with his hair still tousled from another woman’s fingers and the taste of someone else’s lips still lingering on his own.

You could make him feel just a fraction of what you feel, with something hollow pressing up against his ribs when he finds nothing but cold pavement where you used to stand.

But you don’t.

You know you won’t.

Because it wouldn’t just frustrate him. It would hurt him.

And that’s the one thing you could never bring yourself to do.

Not Bucky.

Never Bucky.

You know him. The way he chews at the inside of his cheek when he’s trying not to say something reckless. The way his brows pull just a little too tight when he’s agitated but trying to play it off like he is fine. The way he folds his arms over his chest, not because he’s closed off, but because he needs something to hold onto.

You know exactly how he would react if he stepped out here and you weren’t there.

How the slight crease between his brows would deepen. How his fingers would twitch, opening and closing, like he’d missed his chance to catch you. How his lips would open and he would stare helplessly around and call your name.

And god, as much as this pain is devouring you from the inside out, pushing its way into the light but leaving you sitting in the dark, as much as your heart feels like being torn apart with unsaid words and unmet confessions - you cannot stand the thought of hurting him.

So you stay.

With feet planted on the concrete, fists clenched so hard, that your fingers start to cramp. You lift your trembling hands to your aching cheeks to hastily scrub away the fresh wave of tears surging forth downwards, willing your body to erase any evidence of your devastation.

But the more you wipe, the more it hurts.

You believe your cheeks are red from the effort of wiping so much, eyes swollen and puffy, your body trying to rebel against all of your commands.

Inhaling shakily, you force the breath down, down, down where you can pretend it doesn’t hurt so much. You angle your face slightly away from the building, hoping the dim spill of moonlight won’t betray your inner struggles.

Because the moment Bucky steps out that door, it will be the same as always.

He’ll look at you like you are his best friend. Like you are his safe place. Like you are the person he can always count on.

And you will look at him like you aren’t falling apart.

Like your heart isn’t unraveling at the seams.

Like you aren’t drowning in a love that will never be returned.

The door swings open with a force that startles you, the sound of it hitting the frame a little too sharp against the night.

Bucky storms out onto the sidewalk like he’s got something urgent to say, like the world might stop spinning if he doesn’t get to you fast enough. He doesn’t hesitate. Doesn’t pause. Just moves straight to you, his steps quick, closing the space before you can change your mind about standing here. He has a crumpled shirt thrown on and it hangs a little off. But it makes you want to run so hard.

His fingers wrap around your arms, not hard, not forceful but firm.

Those warm hands on you make you want to crumble.

His breath is coming fast, chest rising and falling, like he ran down the staircase to get here as fast as possible.

His eyes are so deep, deep and blue, roaming your face with so much intensity, searching and scanning and pausing.

Shadows cast over his sharp cheekbones at the way his brows are furrowed, his lips slightly parted.

“What’s going on, doll? You been cryin’?” His voice comes out rough and he talks fast. Urgent, breaths spilling over themselves as he rushed through the words, almost tripping on them in his desperation to get them out. “Why’ve you been crying? What happened?”

His thumb twitches against the fabric of your hoodie.

You open your mouth, close it again. Your throat is dry from the sobs you tried to silence earlier. You shake your head, a knee-jerk reaction.

“I was just going to Nat’s, Bucky. Nothing happened.”

It’s a weak excuse, said in a weak voice.

And you hate how it makes Bucky’s expression shift. That tiny wounded something that crosses his features, something that shouldn’t be there, because you did wait for him, you didn’t leave, but it’s still not enough. You lied to him. And he knows it. And he’s hurt. And you hate yourself.

He shakes his head, his jaw going tight.

“No,” he murmurs, eyes never leaving you, voice so low. “That ain’t nothin’, doll. C’mon. You’re runnin’ off in the middle of the night, how could this be nothing?”

You look away. Because if you keep looking at him, him with his concern and confusion and hurt all interflowing in the pool of those blue eyes, you won’t be able to hold yourself together much longer.

You swallow hard and force yourself to breathe slowly.

The sting behind your eyes is never really leaving you.

Bucky leans in, just a little. His grip on your arms tightens, but it’s not harsh. Only insistent. Desperate for you to give him something here.

“Somethin’ up with Natasha?” His voice is gentle, like he knows this has nothing to do with her, but he has to ask anyway to go through all the possible options of what might be going on.

“No,” you croak, barely managing the word.

He softens at the sound of it, but that frown doesn’t ease.

“What’re you doing then, huh? Why’re you running off like that? S’ not safe, you know that.” His voice is soft. Almost like he’s trying to soothe a skittish animal. But the concern is wrapping around every word. “What’s got you so upset, sweetheart? Talk to me, yeah? Please?”

His voice takes on a desperate intensity. Like he’s begging you to just let him in. To make him understand.

You bite down hard on your bottom lip, willing it not to tremble, willing your face not to crumble right in front of him, but the air is too thick for your airway, making it harder and harder to breathe.

And Bucky is looking at you, like you are breaking his goddamn heart. Like you took a shot straight for it.

He is so full of worry, it looks painful, the crease of his brow always there when he’s thinking too hard, when he’s feeling too hard. His lips are still parted, like he wants to beg for an explanation, for some string of words that will make this all click into place and turn this into something fixable.

Because Bucky Barnes fixes things.

But this might be the only thing he can’t fix.

His hands on you are a contrast to the way you feel as if you’re falling apart. You hate how much you just want to collapse into it, to let yourself lean into him, let him hold you up. Because he would. You know he would. He would pull you in without hesitation, wrap his arms around you like he has done so many times before.

But you don’t want him to hold you. Don’t want him to hold you like a friend.

You want him to hold you like he means it. Like you mean something more than the sum of all the nights you spent choking on your own silence, swallowing words you could never say.

So all you can do is stay frozen, bones locked, eyes burning, heart splitting itself open in the middle of the street where he doesn’t even know he’s killing you.

“I-”

You try. You really try.

But then the door swings open again. And the sound of it alone is enough to send a bolt of ice down your spine.

Because this time it’s her walking out.

She steps out onto the sidewalk like she has every right to be a part of this moment.

Like she hasn’t spent the first part of the night in Bucky’s bed. Like she hasn’t been touched by him, kissed by him, fucked by him, wanted by him in a way that you have only ever ached for.

Like she hasn’t taken something that was never hers to have.

But it’s not yours either.

She looks so composed, too. More put together than you would have imagined. Her hair smoothed, clothes adjusted, skin glowing in a way that tells you she wasn’t just sleeping up there - she was living in something you’ve been dying for. She probably took a moment in your bathroom to check herself, to fix her lipstick, maybe even to admire herself in the mirror while you were downstairs, breaking apart.

She had the time for that.

Meanwhile, you can barely stand.

Your body is alive with magnitudes of unspoken things, suffocating. You feel like you’ve been sanded down, like a piece of wood, leaving nothing but the ache and longing and all the words you can’t say. This destruction is slow and ruthless, it doesn’t come with an explosion, but rather a slow erasure.

Like you’re being unmade. Piece by piece.

Like you were never meant to be here in the first place.

And Bucky is still looking at you.

Not at her.

You.

And maybe that should be enough. Maybe it should mean something.

But it just puts more pressure on the knife that is already turning around in your flesh.

The girl doesn’t leave and Bucky stiffens.

“Bucky,” she drawls, almost lazy, like she’s bored with this already. “Are you coming back up, or…?”

Your stomach lurches.

You feel exposed, scraped raw, like you’ve been trampled over, flattened by something massive, left behind for everyone else to step around.

Bucky lets out a slow breath through his nose. His jaw works under pressure. And then, he huffs. Annoyed. Like she’s interrupting something important.

“Go home,” he flatly tells her, his attention still on you. Not even addressing her with a name. Perhaps he doesn’t even know it.

“Seriously?” she scoffs, crossing her arms. Her eyes flick between the two of you.

Bucky exhales another breath and drops one of his arms from you to scrub it over his face, pushing through his hair. He turns toward her just a little, stance rigid.

“Yeah, seriously,” he mutters, already turning back to you. “I’ll call you a cab if you need-”

“God, you’re such a dick,” she snaps, cutting him off, rolling her eyes with an exasperated huff. “Unbelievable.”

And then she’s gone.

But so are you.

You don’t even think about it. You just move.

Your arm slips from Bucky’s loosened grip, your body already shifting, already turning, already pulling you down the sidewalk, away from him, away from this.

It’s pathetic. You know this. But you have to get away.

Your vision is a blur, the streetlights smearing into a soft, hazy glow against the wetness welling in your eyes, and no matter how much you try to breathe through it, it’s too much. Simply too much.

You’re hurting. And you need to go. Now.

But Bucky doesn’t let you.

“Woah, whoah, hey!” His voice is quick, rushed, and then he is moving, closing the space between you. And this time, he cuts you off completely, stepping right into your path, right in front of you, blocking the way like a wall. He’s so broad in front of you, and so fucking present, making it impossible to escape.

You stop so fast it almost sends you stumbling back.

His eyes flick over you so quickly, so intensely, scanning for something he doesn’t understand but is so desperate to find.

“Alright,” he exhales, low and careful, holding his arms out as if ready to stop you again if you make a run for it.

“You want me to put you in chains to keep you still?”It’s a weak and failed attempt at humor.

And it’s not funny. Not even close.

His voice is too thin, too strained, and there is something in his eyes, something tight and aching, that makes it clear he is not even trying all that hard to make his joke work.

You don’t smile. Don’t look at him. Arms still around yourself.

Bucky’s throat bobs as he swallows, as he shifts his weight, as he lets out another slow and deliberate breath. He moves so slow. As if any tiny movement of him would make you walk away from him.

“What’s going on with you, mhm?” His voice is so soft. So concerned. Brooklyn warmth and worry combined with something gentler than you can handle right now.

“What’s this - this fight-or-flight thing you got goin’ on?” he continues, tilting his head just slightly, watching you too closely, reading too much. “You’re rushing off like the damn place is on fire. The hell is that about, doll?” Still so soft. So cautious.

His eyes are on you like you are the only thing in the world that matters, like he’s trying to solve you, like if he just looks long enough, he’ll figure it out.

But if he really understood, if he really found out, everything between you would change.

And you can’t handle that. You can’t handle anything at the moment.

“Just drop it, Bucky, alright?” It comes out sharper than you mean for it to. Harsher. A little spit of venom that you hate yourself for the second it hits the air. He doesn’t deserve your attitude. But you can’t hold it back.

You see the way it lands. The way his brows pull in tighter, the way his lips press together, the way his chest rises and falls so measured. But it’s all not out of irritation. He just tries to figure out where that came from. What is happening. What has you react the way you do.

His voice is even and calm. But oh so careful. “I don’t think I will, doll.”

You look anywhere than at him and his troubled face.

Your throat tightens so fast, you have to swallow hard against it, teeth digging into the inside of your cheek as you blink up at the sky like maybe that keeps the tears from spilling over.

And Bucky watches all of that.

His expression stays soft, but his eyes are burning with something deep, something real, something that makes you feel like you might actually drown if you keep looking at them for too long.

“Y/n,” he almost whispers, and it sounds so pained. “Why are you crying, sweetheart.” He’s so gentle, so tender, so fucking careful like he’s afraid that if he pushes too hard, you’ll just break.

You shake your head, arms around yourself tightening. “I’m fine.”

Bucky makes a quiet noise in his throat, somewhere between a sigh and a scoff, something deep and disbelieving.

“See, that’s bullshit.”

You’re about to turn again, but he anticipates and gets hold of your arms.

“Look,” he sighs, heedfully taking off a hand of you to rub it down his face. “You don’t wanna talk? Fine. You wanna bite my head off cause I’m askin’? Fine. But don’t stand here and tell me you’re okay. Because I’ve got eyes, doll, and I can see that you’re not.”

You want him to stop.

You want him to turn around.

You want him to leave you here to fall apart in peace.

But he won’t.

And you don’t know what to do with that.

And you break.

No matter how hard you bite your lip, it doesn’t matter.

The tears slip and streak down your face before there is anything you can do. A sob follows. You can’t choke it down. Your shoulders shake, your breath stutters, and your face tilts towards the ground as you bring trembling hands up to wipe at your cheeks, in a futile and desperate attempt to regain composure. It’s useless.

You feel so pathetic.

Embarrassed. Ashamed that you ran off like this. That you’re standing here, crying in the middle of the night, on a sidewalk with no explanation, making a fool of yourself in front of him.

And the second your face crumbles, his does, too.

The second your breath hitches, he is moving.

Strong arms envelope you, winding tight, pulling you straight into his chest like he doesn’t even need to think about it. Not for a single second.

You let him.

Because it’s either this, or you’ll collapse down onto the asphalt.

His grip is firm, grounding, warm in a way that makes you ache even more. His hand cradles the back of your head, tucking you against him, and you feel the press of his lips there, gentle, but somehow rough.

Like your pain is his own.

“It’s okay. Shh… it’s okay,” he breathes, pained and low, the words pressed into your hair, into your skin. Making space between your ribs. “Oh, doll.” He presses you tighter to him. His hand brushes over your hair. “It’s okay.”

There is something so deep and aching in the way he talks to you, like the sound of his own voice hurts him. Like you hurt him.

His other hand moves over your back, soothingly, trying to give you some strength.

“I gotcha,” he breathes. “M’here, doll. Okay? Just breathe. Gotta breathe for me, baby. Please.”

It’s a slip. Baby. A mistake.

And it makes you cry harder.

Because it’s so soft. Gentle. Because it falls from his lips like something that’s always been there, something that’s always belonged to you.

Except it hasn’t.

It doesn’t.

Not in the way you want.

You don’t know what he calls those girls he takes home. If they get to hear him say it. Girls who have felt his hands in places you never will. Girls who have heard his voice rasp against their skin in the dark.

But you are not one of those girls.

You never will be.

And you know you will never be able to untangle that damaging wrench in your stomach.

So hearing him call you that. Baby. Like it means something. Like it’s yours. Like it hasn’t been whispered in the dim glow of your apartment, murmured against someone else’s lips, someone else’s skin, just someone else just hours ago.

It’s too hard. too cruel.

You wish it didn’t matter. You wish it didn’t rip through you the way it does, splitting you down the center, carving you open.

But it does.

Because even if it doesn’t belong to you, you still want it.

So you cry harder.

Sobs wrack through you, your chest hitching with the force of them, your hands gripping the fabric of his shirt, clumping it in your fists.

Bucky feels it and he hears it and he grips you tighter, pulls you closer.

“Hey, hey, hey,” he coos, voice just above a whisper, more desperate now. Like he’s drowning in your hurt right along with you.

“Sweetheart,” he tries again, voice strained, thick. His lips are in your hair. “Please talk to me. Make me understand, baby, please! Tell me what’s wrong.”

But you can’t.

Because what the hell would you even say?

That you’re in love with him?

That you’ve been in love with him?

That seeing him with her - hearing the sounds that bleed through the walls, the ones you’ll never be able to unhear - feels like being skinned alive?

That you want him in a way you shouldn’t?

That you want him in a way he will never want you back?

You won’t.

So instead, you just press yourself harder into his chest and squeeze your eyes shut, letting him hold you like you are something precious. Like you are his. Even if you are not.

“Help me understand here, baby. Please,” he repeats with a voice so soft, that makes him seem afraid you might break apart completely if he speaks any louder.

Maybe he’s right. Maybe you’re already in pieces at his feet, shattered beyond repair, and he just hasn’t realized it yet.

He lets you cry when you don’t answer, hand stroking up and down your back, the other soothing over your head. He whispers into your hair, words you can’t even process, just the deep cadence of him, the low rasp of his voice against your temple.

His lips move to your forehead, brushing over it. His breath is warm against your skin. You don’t have it in you to pull away, but you wish you would.

Because none of this makes it any easier.

Because his hands feel too good, too steady, too right - and it’s a lie.

Because it’s him.

And that means it hurts.

You wish he would just go and let you have your pathetic heartbreak alone.

But Bucky Barnes has never been the kind of a guy to leave things unsolved.

He pulls back just slightly after a while, just enough to get a better look at you, and when you try to duck your head, to keep him from seeing too much, he doesn’t let you.

Strong, warm fingers cradle your face, thumbs brushing over the damp skin of your cheeks, tilting your head up and forcing your gaze to his.

He looks wrecked.

His brows are drawn, lips parted, chest rising and falling unevenly. His hands tremble just a little against your skin, but his grip stays firm. Solid.

“Don’t look away, doll. Eyes on me, yeah?”

You swallow hard, jaw tight. “You just ruined your good night,” you say, the words falling out bitter, self-deprecating, stiff with something that tastes like resentment but feels like heartbreak.

Bucky’s frown deepens, his lips pressing together, eyes scanning over your face like he’s searching for something, anything that’ll make this make sense.

“The hell I did,” he scoffs, shaking his head. Confused you even brought this up. “I don’t give a shit about her. Don’t even know her name, if I’m bein’ honest.” He lets out a huffed laugh.

But you don’t.

Because somehow this makes it worse.

And you hate it.

You hate that some part of you wanted her to mean something.

Because if she meant something, if she was special, then at least this ache in your chest would have a name. A reason. A shape you could hold in trembling hands and squeeze so hard that it stops hurting at one point.

Then, at least, you could maybe finally accept that there is no hope. No reason to hold on to those feelings.

But Bucky just shrugs.

It meant nothing. It never meant anything. Not with them.

Not with the girls that come and go, the ones who pass through his nights in the same easy way the hours do - fleeting, ephemeral, touched, and forgotten.

Not with anyone. Not even with you.

You have spent so long feeling this, holding onto it, trying to keep it hidden beneath layers of friendship and longing and careful restraint. You have spent so long pretending that it is fine, that it doesn’t matter, that you can live like this - on the sidelines, just the girl in the other room, in the shadows, in the spaces between what you want and what you’re allowed to have.

And he stands here and looks you in the eyes, telling you that it is nothing. That she is nothing. That they - all of them before her, and all of them after her - are nothing.

You can barely breathe past it.

You don’t say anything.

And Bucky freezes.

His hands, where they cup your face, stop their soft, absentminded strokes. His thumbs, which had been tracing reassuring circles along your cheekbones halt. His breath catches and his eyes shift.

There is something uncertain in there.

And then, his lips part. His brows go up ever so slightly. His pupils flare.

Something settles over his expression that you don’t recognize.

Like a switch has been flipped.

Like a puzzle piece has clicked into place.

Like suddenly he is seeing something in your eyes, something like an answer, something that has been there all along.

His fingers tighten, anchoring himself. Making it seem that if he lets go, if he moves even a fraction, something will break. In him, or you, you’re not sure.

He pulls back. Not far. Just an inch. But he needs to see you better. Just enough to search your face for something he needs to know. His gaze locks onto yours and holds you there, testing something, making sure.

His voice is hushed when he talks. Breathless.

“Is that what this is about?”

It’s quiet, the way he says it. Like he’s afraid of it. Like he’s careful with it. There is disbelief on his face. Astonishment.

You shake your head too fast, too sharp, like if you deny it hard enough, it’ll erase the way he’s looking at you right now. That it’ll undo the meaning of his words and the way they sit between you. Something fragile on the verge of breaking.

“No,” you say, but it barely comes out, barely sounds convincing. Your voice is hoarse, scraped raw form holding back everything you don’t want to say. Your lungs refuse to work in sync with the rest of you. You swallow, eyes darting away, grasping for something to latch onto.

But Bucky doesn’t let you.

“Doll…” It comes like a sigh. Weightless and soft. His hands don’t drop from your face, don’t loosen, don’t give you the space you’re so desperately trying to carve out between you. If anything, his grip grows more robust. Just enough to keep you there.

“Hey. Look at me.” His tone is low, carrying the kind of warmth you’d usually like to lean into, but now all you want is to get away from it. You don’t want to meet those stormy blues.

Bucky’s thumbs are sweeping, so feather-light, over the curve of your jaw, smoothing along the damp trail of your tears, and his voice dips even lower. Softer. He is so close.

“C’mon, sweetheart. Give me somethin’ here.”

It’s not fair that he gets to call you all those sweet names like he means them. Like you mean something. Like it’s not the same word he probably called her and all those others who got to have him, even if only for a night.

“I don’t-” you try, but your voice is trembling and thick with tears, and Bucky’s gaze shadows.

“Don’t what?” he coaxes, leaning in just a little, close enough that his breath skims your skin, warm and stable in a way you aren’t. His fingers slightly move against your cheeks, as if resisting the urge to pull you closer.

You shake your head again, your hands wrapping around his wrists - not to push him away exactly, but to have something to hold onto. You have no idea what to say.

“It’s- It’s not-” Your words trip over themselves, stuck somewhere between your throat and your ribs, tangled up in everything you’ve never let yourself say.

But Bucky just watches you, unreadable things swirling in those impossibly blue eyes. Wary things. Still so damn careful.

He exhales and his hands slide down, skimming the column of your throat, settling against the curve of your neck like he’s grounding you. Holding you both together.

“Doll,” he sighs, and it’s too much.

It’s not teasing. It’s not playful. It’s not easy. Not the charming lilt he likes to throw in his tone.

It’s vulnerable. Tender. Substantial.

“You’re breakin’ my heart here.”

And that’s what has another tear slip over your lashes.

Because you’re breaking his heart?

What does that even mean?

You were the one trying to escape the heartache he caused and now he tells you it’s his heart that hurts?

“Please,” he whispers, and his voice is wrecked, gravel thick in his throat. “Just tell me, doll. Tell me what I did. Tell me so I can fix it.”

His lips stay parted, trying to find air, trying to find some kind of solid ground. There is a sheen over his eyes.

“I can’t-” Your voice cracks, but you don’t look away this time. His hands won’t let you. He won’t let you.

His eyes are pleading.

“Can’t what, sweetheart?” he urges, dipping closer, voice just a rasp of sound between you. His thumbs wipe away the new tears and he winces while doing it as if it actually causes him pain that they fell.

The streetlight flickers above. It casts shadows across his face, highlighting the sharp line of his jaw, the tight pull of his mouth. His fingers flex against your face.

“Is it-” he starts, then stops, then starts again, throat bobbing and voice rough and hesitant. “Is it those girls?”

A shallow gasp slips from your lips. Fractured and tripping over something unseen. Your shoulders grow stiff.

You can’t answer. You only shake your head, not in denial, not in confirmation, but in something else, something tired and so fucking done with feeling like this.

You try to pull back, try to slip free from the heat of his palms, try to turn away. Another tear drops onto the back of his hand.

Your reaction must be answer enough.

Bucky’s head, Bucky’s hands, Bucky’s eyes, Bucky’s whole body - everything is moving so much, keeping you from slipping away, reaching for you, not letting you go.

A breath. A pause. Like his brain needs an extra moment to process what this all could mean. His breath catches in his throat and you can feel the exact moment he gets it.

The exact moment he realizes.

“Shit,” he breathes, so quiet you almost miss it. His grip tightens. It grows distressed. Despairing. Keeping you from leaving his hold, although you don’t stop trying.

You sob and his hands press into your cheeks, thumbs smoothing away tears like he can erase this, like maybe if he holds you tight enough, he can go back five minutes, five months, five years, to a time before he made you feel like this.

“Shit, doll, I-” His voice breaks, gravel and regret and anguish - and something so painful - landing with every syllable.

You don’t stop trying to pull back, trying to push him away. You can’t talk. You can’t stop crying. You can’t look at him.

But Bucky is devastated. And he is desperate. And he won’t let you go.

“No, no, don’t - please, Y/n, don’t.” He runs through his words, frantically getting them out, frantically trying to make you look at him.

He reaches your face again and holds on like it’s important. Your tears won’t stop falling. A whimper falls from your lips when you realize he won’t let you leave.

Bucky panics.

His swallow seems to hurt him. Everything he does seems to hurt him.

“Oh, sweetheart - fuck, fuck, I didn’t-” He lets out a rough breath, one of his hands letting go of you to scrub over his face, pushing through his hair in frustration.

Not at you.

At himself.

“Doll, I didn’t - Jesus Christ, I didn’t know.”

It comes out hoarse, scraped down to nothing but feeling. Each word drags from his throat like sandpaper against silence. Coarse and raspy.

And then he’s shaking his head, hands sliding to your shoulders, his hold firm, his eyes darting over your face like he is trying to memorize it, searching for the right words in the curve of your lips, the glisten of your tears, the way your breathing is a single shuddering mess.

“I didn’t - fuck, I didn’t mean-”

He seems to hold back a scream.

Sucking in another sharp breath, he squeezes his eyes shut like he’s in pain, angry at himself, wanting to go back and rewrite everything, tear out every page where he made you feel like you were anything but his.

You wish you could believe it.

“Bucky-” you croak out.

“No, don’t-” His head doesn’t stop shaking. His jaw is clenched tight. Hands shaking against you. “Don’t say my name like that.”

“Like what?” Your voice is whisper-thin.

His breath shudders out, and when his eyes meet yours again, they are so earnest. Glossy with a sheen of tears.

“Like it’s over.”

Your throat closes around your next breath, never making it reach your lungs.

Because what is he saying? Nothing ever had the chance to be anything.

“I didn’t know, doll,” he whispers, voice breaking. “I swear to God, I didn’t know. You gotta believe me, I - fuck, I never wanted to hurt you. Never wanted you to feel like- I didn’t think you’d-”

He cuts himself off, voice choking.

His hands drop suddenly, like he doesn’t even deserve to hold you anymore. Like the guilt is weighing them down.

And then, unsure and hesitantly, he lifts one of them again and pauses before cupping your face, waiting for something - permission, maybe, or just a sign that you won’t pull away this time.

When you don’t, when you just keep standing there, frozen and broken and bewildered, he lets his palm settle warm against your cheek, his thumb brushing so lightly it sends a shiver down your back.

“Tell me how to fix it. Tell me I can,” he pleads, like he means it. Like he would do anything. “Tell me what to do, baby. Anything. I’d do anything. Just gotta tell me. Please,” he chokes out.

Cars roll past you. There are voices in the distance. A neon sign flickers. But none of it touches this.

This thing between you.

Bucky’s hand shakes against your cheek. His breath stirs against your skin so ragged and he leans in. His forehead presses to yours, his body curling toward you like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it, just needing to be close.

“I’m so sorry,” he gasps out. “God, I’m so fucking sorry.”

Never have you seen Bucky like this. He keeps things easy, keeps things light, and shrugs off pain like it never quite reaches him. But it does now.

It consumes him.

His fingers curl at the back of your neck, not pulling, just holding, grounding himself against you. And when you continue standing there, breath shaky, tears still trembling in your lashes, his whole body sags.

His chest heaves with a breath so deep it sounds like it’s costing him something.

“I never meant for this to happen. Please, believe me.”

His forehead presses harder to yours, seemingly trying to press his words straight into you, that maybe if he gets close enough you’ll feel how much he means them.

And you do. You just don’t know what the hell is going on.

He lets out a sound that resembles a sob. And then you feel the damp heat of a tear where his face brushes against yours.

Bucky is crying.

It breaks you. You don’t know what to do with all this pain. His and yours. Don’t know how to ever let it go.

You pull back. Just slightly. Just enough to breathe, to think, to process.

But Bucky’s whole body tenses, and his eyes squeeze shut as if he knew it was coming but it still pains him. Bracing himself for something he already knows is going to hurt. His hands drop to his sides.

And maybe that should give you some kind of satisfaction, a tiny sense of justice for the nights you spent lying awake, wondering if you meant anything to him while he had his hands on someone else.

But it doesn’t.

Because the way he is looking at you, when he cracks his eyes open again, when he meets your gaze with so much open ache, makes your chest hurt. It makes something inside of you quake.

“Bucky,” you start, but your own voice is so small, so lost. You shake your head, scanning his face, trying to piece it together, to make sense of something that refuses to fit. How the tables have turned. You just can’t seem to find the irony in it. “What are you even - I don’t - I don’t I understand.”

His throat bobs, thick and tight, and he pulls in a breath like it’s the last one he’s going to get.

“I love you.”

Your mind blanks. You flatline. Your knees go weak.

He says it like it’s the simplest thing to say. As if it is the most obvious thing in the world. But it isn’t.

Because if it was then why has he spent all those nights with those seemingly meaningless girls. Why has he let you ache for him while he touched someone else.

“I love you,” he says again, softer, trying to make sure you believe it.

But you don’t know how to.

Your lips part, but nothing comes out. You feel the words, heavy and warm and terrifying, but your body doesn’t know what to do with them. Your mind is screaming at you to run, to protect yourself, to build the walls back up before it’s too late, but your heart doesn’t listen.

Bucky’s hand trembles when it reaches for you, fingertips ghosting over your jaw, waiting, waiting, waiting for you to pull away.

You don’t and he steps closer again.

His whole body thrums as if he is scared to touch you but more scared not to. He looks at you with those red-rimmed and puffy eyes, so tremendously bare, holding onto your own eyes like he is drowning and you are the only thing keeping him afloat.

“Say something, doll,” he pleads, his voice so unsteady, that it guts you.

But what could you say?

Because love is not supposed to feel like this, to hurt like this. It isn’t supposed to feel like your heart has been split open and stitched back together all in the same breath.

But looking at him and at the way his eyes are just as pleading as his words, at the way he is breaking right in front of you - it makes you wonder if maybe it was hurting him all along, too.

“You-” you begin, voice barely more than a whisper. You have to stop, have to pull in a breath that doesn’t seem to want to settle, have to force your hands to stay at your sides instead of reaching for something - for him - that you don’t know if you can take. “But that-” Another inhale, sharp and broken. Your chest hurts. Your whole body hurts. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

Bucky exhales, long and slow and then he drops his head. Shoulders slumping, spine curling, like something inside of him, has just given out.

Guilt.

It sits heavy in his frame, in the set of his jaw, in the way his hands jerk like he wants to touch you but knows he shouldn’t.

“Yeah,” he mutters, a humorless little laugh escaping, barely more than a breath. He drags a hand down his face, through his hair, before letting it fall uselessly at his side. His voice is lower when he speaks again, raspier, weighed down by something that feels an awful lot like regret. “I know.”

You watch him, waiting. Because he owes you this. Because he cracked open something you weren’t ready for, something you tried to bury, and now you need to understand.

And Bucky must feel that. Because after a beat, after a deep, shuddering breath, he looks at you again.

“I didn’t think I could have you,” he admits, voice quiet. Cautious. The words fragile in his mouth. “Didn’t think I was allowed to even want you. To this extent, anyway.”

Air enters you unevenly, shaking on the way in like a shiver made of sound. “Bucky-”

“You’re my best friend,” he pushes on, stepping in just a fraction, like he can’t help himself. His voice is getting rougher, rawer, like something in him is unwinding too fast for him to stop it. “I didn’t wanna mess that up, y’know? Didn’t wanna lose you over somethin’ I couldn’t control.”

Something tightens in your chest. Something shifts.

“So you-” you swallow, shaking your head, trying to put it together, trying to make sense of it. “So you just went around to go get yourself other girls you can fuck?”

Bucky flinches. Actually flinches.

Gaze dropping in shame, his features form a grimace. “I tried,” he croaks out, gesturing at his chest with one hand. “Tried to stop feeling like this. Tried to move on, tried to-” He exhales sharply, tilting his head side to side, something torn playing out with the movement. “It didn’t work. Nothin’ worked. Didn’t even make it easier. But I was afraid to face it. Really face it. So I just kept going.”

It hurts.

It hurts in a way you don’t know how to hold. Don’t know how to carry.

You thought, for so long, that the way you love him, ache for him, is a one-sided agony.

But he is confessing to you, eyes red and weary, voice splintering, telling you that he’s been afraid to speak it aloud too.

That he loves you, that he tried to kill it, that he thought losing himself in someone else would somehow erase you from his mind.

Bucky’s words are a fist curling around your ribs, squeezing the air from your lungs.

It should matter. It should mean something that he’s standing in front of you, breaking apart, pleading for you to understand. Shouldn’t it be enough that he’s telling you it was always you? That no one else ever came close?

But he still touched them.

Still chose them, even if only for a meaningless night.

While you sat in your room, staring at the ceiling, wondering if you were going insane. While you clenched your fists so tight beneath your sheets at night, biting your tongue, swallowing it down, because Bucky is your friend and friends don’t ache like this.

And yet, he is telling you, showing you, he aches too.

But instead of sitting with it, instead of letting it consume him the way it consumed you, he tried to make it disappear.

He tried to fuck it away.

And now he looks at you like you are the only thing that has ever mattered, like the ground beneath his feet, is unsteady, like he is afraid you are going to bolt at any second.

You feel like the ground beneath your feet shits a fraction of an inch, not enough to send you falling, but enough to make you question if you were ever standing solid in the first place.

“But, doll, it-” he rushes forward, watching your pain, stepping into your space until there is barely anything between you. “It never meant anything. Swear to god, none of ‘em ever meant something to me.” His hands wrap around yours, squeezing, grounding, begging. “They weren’t you. Couldn’t be you. Didn’t matter how hard I tried, how many times I told myself to stop thinking about you because you’re supposed to be my best friend, but I wanted so much more than that - it didn’t matter. Nothin’ worked.”

He is struggling to force the words out, but he does. And they leave him with a catch in his voice. Faltering.

“I thought about you, sweetheart. Every fuckin’ time.” His voice turns frantic and he leans in to make it convince you. He watches your lips tremble and shakes his head quickly. “Thought about how you’d feel. How you’d sound.”

Your breath stalls.

Bucky swallows, taking a quick pause but continuing, voice growing softer. Lower. Reverent. “Tried to picture you instead. How you’d look under me, wrapped around me. So goddamn beautiful.” His voice cracks. “But it wasn’t you. And I know it was wrong, but I couldn’t help it.”

He stumbles over his words, afraid of saying too much, of pushing too far, or admitting too much - but it doesn’t stop hurting.

Even if you know it might not be fair.

But the thought of him with them, the thought of his hands gripping someone else’s skin, his lips murmuring something soft against someone else’s throat - it makes you sick.

And he sees it.

You try to blink back another wave of tears.

His hands are on your face again, thumbs swiping furiously at your damp cheeks like he can rub the hurt away.

“Please tell me I didn’t ruin this.” His voice cracks through the words, the panic breaking through. Your silence seems to suffocate him, squeezing his ribs until there is no space left for air.

“I’m so sorry, baby! I wish I could take it all back. I would.” His bottom lip trembles and he bites down on it before continuing. “Tell me I can fix this. There’s gotta be somethin’ I can do. Anything.”

You blink rapidly, vision swimming, breath hiccuping in your throat. You don’t know if there is anything to fix, if there was ever anything there, to begin with, but he is looking at you like there was. Like there is. Like it is still hanging in the air between you, waiting to be caught, waiting to be named.

And you want to catch it. To press it to your heart and cherish it.

But the wounds are fresh. Still bleeding. Still open.

The images you conjured up in your mind, him with all those girls. The sounds of him bringing one after the other home - the routine.

The giggling. The keys. The apartment door. More giggling. His chuckles. The hallway. His bedroom door. The goodbyes. The mornings.

But worst of all is that you can’t even blame him.

Because what was he supposed to do? Wait for something that was never promised? Hold out hope for something that was never offered?

You had no claim on him.

But still, you hate how he tried to fuck you out of his system. Hate that he couldn’t, that he’s standing here now, telling you it was all for nothing, that you were always in his head, in his bones, and that that somehow is supposed to make it better.

You don’t know if it does now. But you hope - you hope so dearly - that it will get better. If he’ll stick with you.

“No more girls.” The words choke out of you, weak and broken, barely a breath. But he jolts like you have screamed them.

“Never,” he breathes immediately, shaking his head as if to get rid of his own images, gripping you tighter, his thumbs pressing into your cheeks, his eyes burning through yours. “No more, baby. No one else. Not ever.”

Your breath catches, body sways.

There is a burn behind your ribs, not quite pain, but not far from it. It is something that pulses in time with your heartbeat. Too quick. Too uneven.

“Only you,” he adds, his forehead dropping to yours, noses brushing, his breath warm against your lips, his hands trembling where they hold you. “It’s only ever been you.”

Heat rises up your throat, something between nausea and electricity, a burst of too much all at once.

“I got a lot to make up for.” His tone is unraveling at the seams. But it sounds firmer now. Convicted. “I know that. I know I- fuck, I screwed this up before I even knew I had a chance. And that’s on me.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, because it’s too much - his voice, his touch, the way he is looking at you like you hung the damn moon when you’ve spent years feeling invisible to him in the way that mattered.

“I don’t wanna rush this, alright?”

You blink up at him. Your chest feels stretched too tight, as if the ribs themselves are holding onto something they shouldn’t, something too large, something too consuming.

“I don’t wanna mess this up more than I already have. I don’t wanna push or expect anythin’ from you - I just wanna do this right. For you.” His voice wavers on the last word, still scared of saying the wrong thing, scared of losing something he only just realized he had. “You understand me?”

You nod wordlessly. Almost feeling hypnotized by him. His eyes are so intense. So full.

“I’ve been waitin’ for this, hopin’ for this - Christ, I don’t even know how long.”

Your stomach flips, something curling in your stomach at the heaviness of his confession, at the realization that you weren’t alone in this. Maybe never have been.

“And now that it’s happenin’ - now that I have you, even if I don’t deserve it - I wanna take my time. I wanna make this good for you. Have to. I have to make this right,” he says, voice filled with something gravelly, rough like something barely holding together.

His fingers slide over your jaw, tracing along the column of your throat, memorizing the feel of you beneath his hands.

“And I hate-” his voice falters, eyes squeezing shut for a moment before he forces himself to look at you again. “I hate that it’s happening like this. That I hurt you first. That I didn’t see this sooner.”

“Bucky-”

He cuts you off with his eyes and a shake of his head.

“Please I- I gotta do this. Gotta say this, baby.”

You nod.

He closes his eyes again for a moment like he wants to go back and shake his past self by the shoulders, tell him to wake the hell up and stop hurting the one girl he ever cared about.

He continues, voice hoarse. “I would do anything to make this different. Better. The way you deserve.”

Your breath is shallow, not quite catching, but hovering just short of where it should be, as if your body can’t decide whether to brace itself for collapse.

You’ve spent so long breaking for him, wanting him in ways he never seemed to want you back. But now he is pouring his heart out and asking for something he already has but isn’t sure he is worthy of.

“You don’t gotta say anythin’ right now, doll,” Bucky whispers. Afraid of scaring you off. “I know I shoulda told you sooner.” He grimaces, disgusted with himself. “I shoulda known sooner. I was so fuckin’ stupid. So fuckin’ blind.”

You don’t even notice you started leaning further into him.

Bucky stares at you for a moment. You look back.

“I don’t deserve you,” he says quietly. Whispers really. He exhales shakily and you feel the breath fan along your cheeks. “But I swear to God, I will.”

You don’t weigh the hurt against the want, don’t let the war in your head talk you out of your next move.

Your hands reach up, curling into the fabric of his shirt and before he can say anything else - before he can tear himself apart further - you kiss him.

And for a split second, Bucky freezes.

Not believing this is happening, not expecting it even after everything he just told you.

But then, he exhales this soft and quivering breath against your lips, relief knocking the air out of his lungs.

One hand flies to your waist, pulling you in, the other threading into your hair. He kisses you back like he is starving, like he has been dying for this, like he can’t believe you are real and this moment is something he’s imagined a thousand times but never thought he’d get to have.

And he is so warm. So solid. His lips move against yours, soft and slow at first - savoring you, afraid to go too fast, to push too much. But when you let out a little sigh and your fingers tighten, Bucky melts, pressing in closer, enveloping you in his arms in a way that has you feeling he tries to make sure you never go anywhere else again.

He breathes you in like you are something holy, tilting your head and deepening the kiss. He is not forceful. He takes what he can get and he cherishes it. Like he said, he wants to take his time with you. It makes you fall in love with him even more.

It’s like he can’t believe you are even letting him have this. But he kisses you with a hope and a determination that this will not be the only time he gets to have this.

And when you pull back again, he rests his forehead against yours once more. You feel the way his chest rises and falls against your own, the way his breath shakes, the way his grip does not loosen at all.

“Jesus, doll,” he rasps, panting. “You tryna kill me?”

And the way he says it, the way he looks at you, so full of longing and desire and relief makes you realize that maybe he’s been suffering just as much as you have.

“I want you. It’s as simple as that. I’ve spent a great deal too much of my life already trying to convince myself that I can make do with less but I can’t. You hear me? I’m done. I’m not giving up. A life without you is not enough.”

- Beau Taplin

[sugardaddy-glucoseguardian]

Amazing yes

- Danny is visiting Gotham and the big ass lizard man is throwing a tantrum in the middle of the street. Danny who is used to his rogues doing the same shot when they wanna play fight just body's croc. Everyone is confused, croc is snapped out of it and instantly goes, fuck it. And throws down. Bats show up to croc and some feral meta out of towner rolling around throwing punches and snapping teeth at each other while growling.

- Danny is sick and tired of the smog in Gotham, between not being able to see the stars and Sam complaining about the pollution he wanted it fixed. Together with Sam, Tucker said nah fuck that, they went to Dr.Pamela Isley in Robinson Park. Ivy is very amused by the young adults that come into her park complaining about pollution.

She's actually intrigued when the girl has the same pull to the green she has. The flowers in the garden tilting towards her when she got angry.

- Danny HATED clowns. Freakshow made it an ingrained response. You can't control him if you aren't conscious. So when he goes to Gotham to visit Jazz at GU he sees the Joker and it ON SIGHT. No warning, just Joker monologuing in the street to some Bats and a crazy out of towner comes sprinting from an alleyway and just takes him out at the waist. Full body collision before Joker can even react to being tackled and point his gun the feral little shit is already punching his face in.

The Bats aren't sure if they need to rescue this civilian from the Joker or the Joker from the civilian. By the time they move to at least separate the two, the Joker is beaten black and blue and unconscious and the random guy is growling with bloodied fists hunched over his body like a wild animal defending its kill.

- Selina Kyle was expecting her haul tonight to be diamonds, maybe a ruby and this cute cat sculpture she saw yesterday. Her plans are completely derailed when a small whimper comes from the alley below her.

Quickly circling back she sees a little girl, probably 12 and softly glowing... melting. She quickly hurries down to her, she looks terrified and in pain.

"Hello, my name is Catwoman, can I ask what happened sweetie? And how can I help?" The little girl has green tears running down her face and Selina watches as she seems to shrink before her eyes, 10, 8, her eyes scream fear and Selina has no idea what to do. She presses the panic button Bruce gave her for emergencies.

"I-it hurts. Please, I don't wanna die, please it hurts, i don't wanna go again!" The little girl sobbed and Selina had a horrific realization.

This little girl was gonna die and there was nothing she could do to help her.

So she stayed and whispered comforting words and held her in her arms, smaller and smaller she shrunk, 6, 4, 2 she seemed to stop there. A sobbing glowing 2 year old with melted feet and dripping hands.

Bruce landed behind her. She could tell he didn't know what to do either. Finally Selina pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead and the baby stopped crying, looking up at her with eyes far older than her tiny body and she collapsed into herself, all that was left was a small gemstone with swirls of blue and green cradled in her arms.

Selina sobbed. And Bruce held her as they mourned a child they never knew.

(Oops sorry was gonna go cute and it got away from me, I'm thinking dani will reform with Selina and Bruce taking care of her core and she eventually grows as a normal child instead of the forced growth she was originally created with. Also since she was actually 2yrs old that's how old she'd be when she reforms)

- Jazz moved to Gotham for an internship at a local therapy office, her goal being to gain experience and move to Arkham. Her liminal abilities have made her an empath. With low levels of compulsion. She was walking into work and some girl was just standing outside the building staring.

The emotions that rolled off her were, nervous, scared, angry, confused, excited, scared, determined. Jazz approached and carefully moved into her line of sight. She had shoulder length black hair, deep dark eyes, pale skin and looked to be of some possible asain desent. She was beautiful but looked at Jazz with the blankest eyes and emotionless face she's ever seen.

"Hi, my names Jazz and I work here. I don't know if you have an appointment you're working yourself up for or something, but I know therapy can be a scary experience for a lot of people. I can walk you through it if it'll help?" The girl opens her mouth then hesitates.

"How?" She whispers and Jazz feels relief and confusion though nothing shows on her face or body language.

Jazz assumes the question is how she knew? "Ah well, you looked like you needed some encouragement, you've already down the hardest part, you're here and looking for help." Again no expressions but emotions zap through the air, more confusion, weariness, and the breiftest hint of hope.

The girl slowly raises her hands and Jazz takes half a second to recognize the sign language.

Can you understand me?

She smiled and quickly thanked herself for learning signlanguage in highschool.

Yes! Can I help you get in?

She nodded and they walked in together. Jazz ended up staying for Cass as her translator and the relief pouring off of Cass was so strong she thought she was gonna cry just from being in range. Hopefully Cass gets the needed relief she's looking for in therapy. And maybe Jazz gets a friend out of it too.

- Jason is sick and tired of his siblings prodding making jokes that cause he was dead for a good chunk of his teen years he never got to sleep around or even go on a date.

So he tells himself he's gonna go to a bar, pick someone up and have a one night stand and get this shit over with so his siblings leave him alone. The bar was crowded and loud and Jason hated it.

The wall he was leaning against was sticky and the alcohol in his hand was only half drank. He couldn't relax and he felt so uncomfortable, this wasn't a stake out where he had something to focus on, he was supposed to be chatting and dancing and making out with someone. He knocked back his drink, annoyed with himself.

He left.

He came back three more times in the next week, each time he was just as uncomfortable and no one approached the dude who glowered in the corner of the room. No one except Danny.

Danny was a bartender and trying to make ends meet. Alcohol was easy to serve and he was strong enough no fights made it past a single punch before they were thrown out. He'd been watching the guy come and go for several days now and each time the guy looked like it physically pained him to come in. Danny wondered what the hell he was trying to do clearly forcing himself to come to a place he definitely didn't enjoy.

On the fifth time the guy ordered and moved to his wall Danny decided he wanted to know more. Curiosity killed the cat but you can't kill what's already dead.

"Hey man, what's with the face? You look like you've been dragged here against your will." Danny joked as he slid up next to the guy on his lunch break. The dude glanced down at him, clearly doing a once over of his body, top to bottom, and Danny raised a brow. Really? Dude was here for a lay and decided the best way to do that was to stand in the dark and glare?

"Wanna hook up?" He asked, well more like hurriedly demanded. Danny raised the other brow. Not that he wasn't interested but the guy looked like he was gonna throw up. Danny glanced at his drink, he knows he'd only had the one but the man was so clearly out of his comfort zone Danny felt like maybe the hookup should wait till the guy actually wanted to instead of looking like he was forcing himself.

"Hm, how about we start with names? Like hi, my name is Danny Nightingale what's your name?" The guy blushed from his chest to the tips of his ears. His shoulders curled in and he sheepishly answered, "Jason, names Jason Peters.. Sorry, didn't mean to jump you like that, im... trying to.." He trailed off, looking mortified. Danny giggled. Jason was cute ok?

"Well how about this Jason, ypu clearly aren't the type to pick up one night stands and I'm not sure why you think you need to. But if you wanna get laid that bad, pick me up tomorrow at GU and take me on a date. I'll see if we can get you laid." He smirked leaned up and pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek and walked away.

He hopes he will take him up on it.

Write below a Batfamily meets Danny Fenton story but choose the wildest relationship that you can think of that isn’t adoption or a romantic relationship

For instance:

- breaking into a building for a drug bust but they got the wrong building number and broke into Danny’s apartment.

- gets met over and over because Condiment King of all people continuously kidnaps him for plots

- was brought to the GCPD for wrestling Killer Croc at 3am high as a kite over a new fear gas drug that’s been making its rounds through Gotham.

- accidentally smacked the coffee out of Danny’s hands while catching a perp.

[whos-the-seme]

"You promised!" Shang Qinghua, despite his efforts, couldn't stop the gasping sobs. "You said you wouldn't leave me behind again! And then you died then and you're dying now and you promised!"

Shen Yuan reached for the other, fighting through the darkness and blurriness encroaching his vision. He managed to grasp his best friend's cheek, weak fingers brushing away the falling tears. "I'm sorry--"

"No! You don't get to be sorry," Shang Qinghua tried to sneer but his face crumpled instead. He didn't shake off Shen Yuan's hand. "This is the second time you're leaving. That's all you know how to do, isn't it? All you do is run away!"

"Qinghua--" Shen Yuan tried to say, but began to cough, hand falling away. The pain was unbearable and it was making it difficult to take in air. Shang Qinghua immediately reached out to steady him as Shen Yuan hacked out his lungs. In between each new flare of pain that swam along with every cough, Shen Yuan could make out the mumbles of his best friend.

"I didn't mean it, please, I didn't mean it, please not now, I didn't mean to say that, I'm sorry, please, please..."

This was familiar. The pain, the loss of breath, even his best friend beside him, keeping him upright. All that was missing was the hospital bed and the frantic beeping of machines. No nurses coming to save his ass now in this forest.

Shen Yuan briefly lost consciousness and when he came back to himself, vision clearing a little, he found Shang Qinghua holding his wrist, pouring more qi into him. As if they hadn't already discovered that qi transfers didn't work when the thing taking all of his was the poison of a Soul-Sucking Bewildered-beest. Shang Qinghua could've tried to get him back to the sect but Shen Qingqiu would have been long drained of qi and, most importantly, dead by then. He couldn't fly and transfer qi at the same time.

It only prolonged the inevitable.

"S-stop," he said, weakly pushing at Shang Qinghua's hand. The other ignored him. "You're gonna d-drain yourself. And then you won't be able to get back at all."

"I don't care," Shang Qinghua said. Shen Yuan wondered how long he had lost consciousness for, as the tear tracks on Shang Qinghua's face were now mostly dry. "You promised."

"I know," Shen Yuan didn't apologize again. "But you know it's not gonna work. And I'd rather you return, at least." He could feel his eyelids getting heavy.

Shang Qinghua let go of him only to throw up his hands in anger. Fresh tears were starting to spill down his cheeks again. "So what? I just leave you here to die without even trying?" He balled up his fists. "Typical. You always think that your actions won't affect other people."

Shen Yuan got the sense that Shang Qinghua was referring to something else, but his mind was starting to get too muddy to think of what. Breathing was getting a little harder. A lot harder.

"Qinghua. A-Hua, please listen to me. C-could you come kneel down next to me? Right here." He waited until Shang Qinghua lowered himself a bit, still frowning, before gently placing his forehead against the other peak lord's. "Listen to me, okay? I know I broke my promise again. But you've found me before and I trust you'll find me again." He said between gasps of air.

"A-Yuan--"

"We've met again and again... and we'll keep meeting. I k-know it." Gasp. Cough. "Beyond all ideas of... right and wrong, there's a field." Vision dimming. Grasp slackening. "I'll be... waiting for you... there."

"A-Yuan?"

"..."

"A-Yuan!?"

"..."

A wail broke through the serenity of the forest.

[jellymochii]

thinking about face sitting with chan, you would be having a bad day just overall be so stressed and he wanted to help you unwind after your long hard day but you didn’t want to hurt and he’d be like “you could never hurt me” and just give endless reassurance as he’s bringing your body down to his face

YEYSYEUSYESS I LOVE THIS IDEA as a girl with big thighs myself <3

cw: smut, cunnilingus, mentions of weight insecurity

Imagine you'd come home from a long, hard day at work, and all you wanted to do was get a meal in your systen and kick your feet back on the couch - but that sinking feeling returns to your belly as you take a look at your now swollen legs from all the running around you've been doing.

You hate the way your legs and your whole body look. All you can see are your hip dips and fat thighs. How could you let yourself go like this? You'd have to find a way to lose the fat, or else you'd he unlovable to everyone, you'd be unlovable to him. Besides, boys prefer skinny girls anyway, you thought.

You resisted your body's urge for some much needed nutrition and trudged your way to the couch to fall asleep and wait until Chan got home. Maybe you could magically lose 20 pounds in your slumber, if you were lucky.

You drifted off to sleep with the thoughts of your unworthiness lulling you into a depression, only to be woken shortly after by gentle kisses to your forehead.

"Well g'morning to you, sleepyhead." Chan whispered endearingly.

"Mmmm, sorry babe, long day." You muttered in your sleepy confusion.

For a brief second, it seemed as though your angst was gone-only to reappear immensely as you gazed at his loving face. He was so beautiful, so hardworking and kind, it's no wonder he had millions of adoring fans. You though? You felt like you were nothing compared to him, just a nobody in the presence of a man blessed by the goddess of beauty. Tears began to prickle in your eyes as your emotions flooded your system.

Chan took quick notice to this, scrambling to figure out what was wrong and how he could help out. He spent the next hour brushing his fingers through your hair and listening attentively to your thoughts of worthlessness, wishing he could take away the pain you felt and making his own tears threaten to spill.

"Here, baby, let me make you feel better." Chan whispered as he grabbed your hand and led you to the bedroom. What you didn't expect was for him to lay flat on the bed and motion you with his fingers to come towards him.

"C'mere baby, come sit on your throne." He said as he motioned you to sit on his face.

"Oh, uh, but I-I don't wanna hurt you, I'm a little too-" Your words were cut off swiftly by Chan's palm cupping your mouth.

"No buts, you deserve it. Now sit." He retorted.

"You don't have to do this just to make me feel better, babe. I don't wanna hurt you...or suffocate you either." You remarked.

"Oh Y/N...you could never hurt me. What do you think I train with Changbin so much for? Besides, air is for pussies-I want it all.

Slightly more persuaded by his words, you slid your panties off and crept over to him, hovering over his face and giving him a view of your glistening cunt.

"Ffffuuuuck, look at that. Is this all for me?" Chan asked as he brought his digits to your folds, spreading them apart to give him the best view possible.

"God, Y/N, you don't know how fucking sexy you are. All of this gorgeous body and these soft ass thighs-I'm so lucky." He said as he took his free hand and began to knead at your plush thighs, soaking up every part of this moment.

"Are you sure you want me to do this? You can stop, anytime, promise." You replied nervously.

"Positive."

"Are you absolutely positive?"

"Yes, I'm absolutely positive."

"Ok, just make sure you tap whenever you need some-AANGH~" You cried out suddenly as he grasped your hips and shoved your body onto his face, instantly devouring your pussy like a starved man.

You couldn't help but buck your hips against the tip of his nose, especially when it hit your clit in just the right spot, making the most unholy moans escape your throat. The sounds of Chan's tongue skillfully slurping up your juices from every part of your sopping cunt was enough in itself to make you cum, even more so when he snaked his hands from under your thighs to grasp your ass desperately.

You lifted yourself off of him out of fear of hurting him, only to be met with the face of Chan, eyes furrowed and covered in your juices.

"Did I say get up? No, now get back down here and let me worship you."

Needless to say, you were gonna be in for a long night. Chan was gonna make sure you knew you were perfect, even if it meant eating you out all night long.

[ironstrange1991]

Affection

Pairing: Supreme!Strange x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 5,9k

Synopsis: A night at one of Tony's parties ends in a serious fight between you and Supreme and now he must find a way to make you forgive him.

Warnings: Use of the word "Whore", SMUT: prenetrative sex, angry sex, orgasm denial.

A/N: This one was supposed to be a brain rot smut, but I ended up developing the emotional part much more than the smut itself, however I really liked the result and I also thought it matched the inspiration that was the song. it is within the Multiple Stephens universe because I needed to include Defender Strange for plot reasons. I hope you like it and have a good reading ;)

Supreme Strange was a affectionate man. Maybe he wasn't the most romantic or the most attentive. He definitely wasn't as sweet as Defender or as understanding as the good doctor, but he prided himself on being a affectionate boyfriend. To his own standards. Sure, he used to get a little mean when he got jealous and you said he had a sharp tongue when he drank, but so what, right? Saying I love you or go fuck yourself were two ways of saying he cared, it was affection all the same.

He sighed, checking his phone for the tenth time that morning alone, acknowledging that maybe he had crossed the line in the last fight you had. Just a little. You refused to talk to him, you didn't answer his texts, and you were clearly waiting for a formal apology, but he wasn't the least bit inclined to do so once he knew that, even though he had crossed the line in his reaction, he had every right to be angry.

It all started at one of Tony Stark's parties. The night had started off really well, the three Stephens were there, you were happy about that because it wasn't common for the three of them to go out with you. You both had drunk that night. Stephen and Defender not much, but he had drunk a lot and you had allowed yourself a few glasses of champagne. You danced, to electronic music, which he hated, but at the time it seemed fun, you kissed, you made love in one of the tower's rooms - although making love wasn't exactly the name he would give to what you did there - and everything was fine until he saw you full of smiles and looks with Thor Odinson. You were friends, he understood that, but from friends to what he was witnessing there was a huge distance. You were practically sitting on the Asgardian's lap while you idiotically tried to lift his damn hammer. - And Supreme found himself wondering if you weren't trying to lift something else from the Norse god. It was indecent and ridiculous and he found himself wondering why the others weren't as outraged by the scene as he was. They both just watched the scene from afar and laughed and talked to each other like the good friends they were.

In the end, Supreme couldn't contain himself, much less hide his displeasure with the allegedly innocent joke, and a minute later he was dragging you by the arm to the huge balcony of the building and hurling every kind of accusation and insult that his dirty mouth could muster.

"I can't believe you're saying that!" You replied indignantly and slightly offended.

"Oh no? That's because you can't know what I'm thinking." He spat back, "Do you have any idea how ridiculous you looked there? As if having three cocks isn't enough for you. Do you need another one?"

"You're drunk," you accused, and your eyes filled with tears, but he didn't let them move him.

"I'm not the one embarrassing myself for everyone to see. You should be ashamed of yourself acting like a fucking whore." He said, and your answer came too quickly for him to defend himself. You slapped him hard in the face and then raised your fists against his chest, striking him while you gave in to your tears and rage.

"You bastard, I hate you. I fucking hate you." You said it over and over until he grabbed your hands and pushed you against the wall, keeping you trapped there and making you look at him.

“You're mine, do you understand? Fucking mine!" He shouted and then kissed you roughly. Too roughly. His kiss, always full of love and passion, felt more like an assault to him, and he liked it.

You tried to fight him, but there wasn't much your small frame could do against his muscular body other than surrender, and that's exactly what you did, and somehow he knew that was where he really hurt you, when he made you see the power he had over you. But you kissed him back, even if you were angry, and it was impossible to know if the night would have ended differently if the two of you hadn't been interrupted by Defender Strange. Always him. The good Samaritan.

"Supreme, let her go." He heard him say just as he had taken your lips by force again and you were giving in. "You're drunk and you're hurting her."

Supreme could have started a fight right there, but he just stepped away, looking at his other self with disdain. "If you were half the man you think you are, you would be as offended as I am by that deplorable scene." He accused.

"Because I'm a better man than you are, I know there was no malice on either side. They were just having fun, and you would know that if you weren't so sickly jealous."

"Because I love her." He said through gritted teeth.

"Because you confuse love with possession," Defender replied and Supreme felt an overwhelming urge to punch him in the face, but he just walked right past them both, walked back to the lounge, grabbed his suit jacket that was hanging on the chair and left.

When he woke up the next morning his head felt like it was going to explode and the memories of the fight seemed distant and to some extent not a big deal, but when you didn't look him in the face during breakfast, he understood. Three days later he was checking his cell phone waiting for you to answer the countless texts he had sent just that morning while he was confined in the compound waiting for the Avengers meeting to end. He was leaving on a mission with Barton, Rogers and Romanoff in a few days and he didn't want to leave things as they were, but deep down he knew he had messed up terribly with you, even his narcissistic ass understood that his reaction wasn't normal and the fact that everything had happened at a Stark party, in front of your friends, only made things worse for him.

...

You were tired and it wasn't even noon yet. To be honest, you had no idea how you would get through that day and your mind kept playing with excuses to get up, grab your things and leave the office. Your cell phone wouldn't stop buzzing with texts from Supreme, each one more eloquent than the last and you knew their pattern well. First he would apologize saying that he had overreacted, then he would blame you for something you hadn't done, then he would say that even if you hadn't done anything wrong, you should avoid that kind of situation once you knew him and knew he would be angry. Again, he would blame you, but then he would apologize for the overreaction he had, and the cycle would go on and on.

He was so different from the other Stephens that sometimes you wondered if it was possible for them to be the same person. Stephen would never treat you like that. Defender would never talk to you like that, but Supreme always found a reason to take out all his frustrations on you and you hated him in those moments, but you couldn't help but love him in all the others.

"Y/n? Did you hear what I said?" You heard Phil saying and were dragged back to your reality inside the office, to the sound of the extremely loud air conditioning, the incessant typing on the keyboards of the computers in the booths next to yours, the hurried footsteps and the ringing of the phones.

"I'm sorry." That was all you said and he stared at you for a minute, rolling his lips and then repeated the question.

"The Link Dynamics files? I need to deliver everything to their lawyer this afternoon. Tell me you didn't forget!"

Of course you forgot. "Of course not! I'll finish reviewing them. I’ll bring them to your desk in a minute."

Phil's worried frown turned into a wide smile "You're the best, Y/n." He said and left.

To some extent, the desperation to finish your work in time for the 1pm meeting helped you forget about the issue with your problematic boyfriend and thus you managed to avoid the intrusive thoughts that told you to run away from work and lock yourself inside your room to watch bad TV shows and eat junk food.

By the end of the afternoon there were at least twenty texts that you didn't bother to read and when you got home the Sanctum was silent and your chest was enveloped by warmth when you smelled food coming from the kitchen indicating that Defender had already arrived. You took off your shoes and left your bag and keys on top of the sideboard and followed the smell to the kitchen where you found him distracted by the stove.

You didn't bother to announce your arrival, instead you approached and wrapped your arms around his waist and rested your head on his back.

"Hi there" He chuckled, stroking your arm lightly and continued with his work. "Long day?"

"You have no idea." You groaned.

He hummed, finishing stirring what looked like a very juicy and fragrant stew. "Since you’re here, taste it for me and help me decide if it needs anything else." He asked, gently turning and bringing the spoon to your mouth, his other hand under the spoon to make sure not a drop would stain your white blouse. It was a fish stew and although you hadn't seen it, you could taste the potatoes and carrots, as well as paprika, thyme, garlic and olives perhaps. You hummed, slowly savoring it and then pretended to think for a second. "More salt, perhaps." You finally said and he raised his eyebrow.

"Really? That's not what I had in mind. I thought more pepper."

You shook your head. “No, it’s fine as it is. It’s just that you know me, I like my food with a little extra salt.”

He smirked. “I guess a pinch wouldn’t hurt.” He turned and added a pinch of salt to the stew and stirred it gently and you found yourself staring at him. He looked gorgeous, even though he looked completely normal. He wore black sweatpants and a gray long-sleeved t-shirt. His hair was tied back in its usual ponytail and his feet were bare. You loved it. Seeing him in his most natural, domestic form, doing normal things like cooking. The image always made your heart skip a beat.

“I didn’t expect you to cook tonight. I thought you’d be tired. I was already deciding between having a sandwich for dinner or ordering something.” You confessed, watching as he turned off the heat on the pot and removed a pan of gratin vegetables from the oven. He carefully placed it on the counter. "I was anxious. You know how I get before missions. I thought it would be a good idea to have a proper dinner before I go."

You couldn't hide the pout you made, and he smiled at you quickly. "I'll be back in three days." You crossed your arms. "The last time you said that you were gone for almost two weeks."

He let out a small laugh. "I know, but this time is different. I have no reason to believe something so big could happen to keep me away for so long."

You nodded, still reluctant. "I still wish you didn't go."

"Me too." He confessed and dedicated himself to setting the table and you smiled watching him arrange each plate and dish in its proper place. He was always meticulous in this matter and you found it super charming. Although the Sanctum had a beautiful dining room, you were used to eating in the kitchen. It was spacious enough and had a certain comfort that the sterile living room lacked. The smaller table could seat six people, but Defender was used to always setting out four plates. That night, however, he hesitated when setting out the fourth, but did it anyway.

You sighed as you watched him finish arranging everything and finally gave in to the matter that hung over you like a gray cloud.

"I know I can't leave things as they are, but I don't know how to move on as if nothing had happened."

He finished setting out the cutlery on the table and then rolled his lips, thinking of the best way to say what he was thinking.

"Say it."

"He's not gonna change, baby. We've been at this too long to understand that this is just the way he is, and I can say that for sure because he is me."

You shook your head. "Sometimes it's hard to believe that. You would never talk to me like that."

"But the man I was would. I've evolved, baby, I've gotten better with time and pain, but Supreme is the way he is, and you've always known that. You were already irritated with him from the start, remember? But you fell in love with him anyway."

You lowered your eyes because you couldn't bear to look him in the eye. 'Because he's you and you're Stephen.'

"Yes, I know.  We are Stephen and I’m pretty sorry for that" He said nodding. “You know I don’t blame you for falling in love with him. I just need you to understand that he is the way he is since the beginning and we don’t have any reason to believe he’s  gonna change.”

Somehow you felt guilty about the situation you had put yourself in at that party. Even though there was no malice in the joke with Thor, you had a few more glasses of champagne than you should have and that affected your judgment. Sober you would never put yourself in that situation knowing that Supreme was there watching you and by understanding that things didn’t get any easier.

"It's just... I hate him sometimes." You confessed, feeling the weight on your chest intensifying.

"But you love him anyway." Defender finished. "It's okay to admit it. I know. I always knew, since day one."

"What should I do then? I can’t pretend nothing happened." You asked, genuinely lost, but he just smiled politely.

"Rule number 16, baby."

You sighed. "You guys can't interfere when I get into a fight with another Stephen."

"Exactly. And I think I interfered too much that night, but I don't regret it, tough. I just can't tell you what you should do. However, I can tell you what I wish you wouldn't do."

You waited.

"Let him go on a mission without you guys having resolved this."

You stared at him, understanding very well where he was going with this. If something happened and Supreme got hurt, you would never forgive yourself. "Now I hate him even more." You sighed and Defender came closer, pulling you to nestle into his chest. "Love and hate are awfully close, baby. Now, let’s forget this matter for a bit so we can enjoy our meal together. What do you think?"

You nodded and he smiled contentedly, gently lifting your chin to kiss you. He did it slowly, just a touch of lips that lingered over time and made your knees go weak. It was how he got everything from you. Gently and lovingly. With Defender Strange things were always that way.

When your lips parted you let out a little moan and then confessed "I love when you kiss me like that."

He frowned "Like what?"

"Like you. Soft and gentle. You can get anything from me like that, Defender Strange."

He let out a little laugh "You think I'm soft, huh?"

You smiled feeling your face blush "Only with me. Outside you are a feared and highly respected sorcerer."

"Okay, good to know I can keep the appearances." He hummed contentedly and then kissed you again the same way.

"Don't worry, I won't tell anyone that you're super sweet."

"Thank you, baby." He said, smirking and kissing you one more time before pulling away and ordering, "Now I think it's best if you go upstairs and change. We don't want the food to get cold."

You nodded, reluctantly pulling away from him.

 "While you're at it, tell the doctor that dinner is ready. He should be in the library." He asked.

“Okay” You said walking away.

...

Supreme was distracted on the phone, confirming the last details of the mission when he heard a knock on the door. He had gotten out of the shower and was in front of the mirror, gathering the courage to shave when he was interrupted by the call from his fellow Avenger, and they had been on the phone for several minutes. Since he took a while to answer, he heard the sound of the bedroom door opening and a voice calling him, but he didn’t bothered to answer.

"I believe everything is fine, but if you have any questions, you can call me later, Romanoff." He said, hanging up the phone.

 "Supreme" Defender called and he threw the towel in the sink, giving in to laziness and leaving the bathroom.

"Dinner is ready. I thought you would want to eat with us instead of here." Defender informed, entering the room.

Supreme shook his head. "I don't want to be where I'm not welcome." He said simply. In the last few days, you had refused to sit at the table with him and that had broken his heart deeply, but he understood, or at least he was making a huge effort to understand.

"She's still mad at you. God knows she has her reasons, but she's not okay with the way things are." Defender sighed. "She misses you. Just apologize and get it over with, Supreme."

He stared at his feet for a few seconds. "I really messed up, didn't I?"

Defender chuckled nervously, "That's what you always do. You let your emotions speak louder than reason. It's amazing how different we are in that way. I have so much trouble acting with my heart instead of my head, but with you it's all the time."

Supreme sighed heavily, putting both hands on his hips, his head still down, and then nodded, glancing at Defender regretfully. "I love her. I'm jealous of her. When I saw her..." He stopped, shaking his head to rid himself of the memory. "I know I should control it, but I can't. She's mine” He stopped himself and shook his head. “Ours. She is ours. This... I can understand this thing we have because it's us, but when any other man gets close to her, I just lose my mind."

Defender nodded, "She loves us, Supreme. There is no one else. But we need to treat her much better. You need to treat her much better, Supreme. What you did... the things you said to her were unacceptable."

"I just said it, I wasn't thinking straight..."

"You called her a whore."

Supreme looked at him in surprise "I didn't."

"Yes, you did. You hurt her. She told me."

"Of course she did." There was no way to refute that. Defender was right as always and Supreme wanted to go back in time to erase that horrible night, but he couldn't do that. He needed to deal with the consequences of his actions.

"Say you are sorry." Defender ordered with his authoritative tone that always made Supreme's blood boil in his veins.

"Do you really think I haven't done that before?"

"Do it again. Say it like you mean it. Say it bluntly, without apologies, without blaming her for something you did because that's what you always do!"

Yeah, there was no way to refute that either.

"Why do you even care?"

Defender sighed, "I told you. She loves you and misses you. That's why." He said, turning to leave the room. “I just can’t stand to see the sadness in her face.”

Supreme went back to the bathroom and stood in front of the sink, staring at his reflection in the mirror. He looked fine. His defined chest and visible biceps were a source of pride for him. After all, the hours he spent at the Compound gym listening to bad music had to be paid for somehow, but at that moment all he could see were the bags under his eyes resulting from sleepless nights. He knew Defender was right and he was wrong, and that was hard for him. His narcissism made everything about him, you said, but what you didn't know was that being like he was could hurt him a lot.

When he finally went down to dinner, he found you and the other Stephens already eating. Apparently, Defender had cooked that night and you were all delighted with him, giving little compliments while humming with each bite of food.

"I mean it. That's the most delicious flounder I've ever had in my life." You said, which made him almost roll his eyes, but he held himself back.

"You're still here. I thought you'd already left." Doctor Strange said as Supreme sat in the place reserved for him and right in front of you.

"Tomorrow. We're still working out some details." He answered while serving himself.

"What's the situation?" The doctor asked.

"Possible misuse of ancient magical artifacts in southern Russia. Some people died in unnatural ways, which caught the attention of the Avengers. They could be relics, which I doubt."

"I remember Wong saying he has an inventory of all the magical relics on this planet so if one go missing he would know." Defender confirmed. "Whatever it is, it's not sorcery."

Supreme took a forkful of food and had to hold back his satisfaction. It was indeed delicious and somehow that only made him feel even worse. How was it possible that one of them knew how to cook so well and the other two could barely boil water to make spaghetti?

"Witchcraft, perhaps. We've faced things like this before." Doctor Strange guessed. "You could ask Maximoff for her opinion."

"No, I can handle it." He said, glancing subtly at you. You were eating in silence now, but you must have been staring at him because your eyes met, and he could see your cheeks turn pink before you looked away.

Doctor Strange shook his head. "It's up to you, but dealing with witchcraft can be dangerous." "No. It's fine with me. I've dealt with plenty of witches in my universe." He bragged and then sipped from his glass of the white wine Defender had chosen for the evening. An excellent choice, to say the least.

Stephen didn't press the issue, but you looked directly at Supreme for the first time that day and spoke visibly irritated. At that point he suspected that the sound of his breathing was enough to irritate you. "Let's hope your arrogance doesn't get you killed one of these days, Stephen. I honestly don't know how you can stand yourself."

That hurt.

"Come on doll, don't be like that." He found himself begging as he watched you stand up and threaten to leave the table. The idea that you would rather give up such a delicious meal than endure being in his presence was devastating to him.

"Don't call me like that!" You almost yelled at him, which made him snap too.

"I'm sorry, okay?" He almost shouted the words, standing up as well. "I'm sorry. I hurt you and said things I shouldn't have. I overreacted and it wasn't your fault. None of this was your fault. I'm so sorry."

He couldn't believe how saying those words felt like it lifted a weight off his chest. He needed this as much as you did, apparently.

However, it took you so long to show any reaction that the relief was quickly replaced by the fear that he had somehow managed to make everything even worse. You just stood there staring at him. The other Stephens didn't dare say anything. Supreme was pretty sure they were barely breathing for fear of breaking some stupid rule of theirs by interfering. "Honey... I love you. Please, talk to me. Forgive me. It wasn't your fault, it was my fault and my fault alone and I'm sorry for saying otherwise and I'm sorry for being the way I am, but please, I can't take this anymore. I miss you." Your reaction to his words was so abrupt that he barely realized what you were doing when you ran and went around the table and then threw yourself into his arms. The next thing he knew, he had your head in his hands and was kissing every inch of your face, forehead, eyes, nose, cheek and only then did he kiss your sweet lips and the little moan you let out when he deepened the kiss made his whole body tingle.

"Finally" he heard one of the Stephens say softly.

"Why did it take you so long to say it?" You asked against his lips.

"Because I'm a fool." He heard himself say and then pulled you back to his lips.

...

There were so many types of sex and you loved every single one of them. Lazy sex, when you woke up in the morning together and could afford to stay in bed late. It was usually slow and unpretentious. There was also homecoming sex, when Stephen came back from a mission after being away for weeks. It was always hard and desperate and full of sweat and saliva. Midnight sex, when one of you woke the other up to make love, sometimes it ended in cockwarming and both of you fell asleep without cumming, but that was never the goal.

That particular night you were introduced to a different form of sex, one that everyone talks about but that you had never experienced: Makeup sex.

You barely realized how you got to the bedroom. One minute you were eating dinner and the next you were devouring Supreme's mouth as he slammed the door behind you and you jumped on his lap. A moment later you were both naked and he was directing his cock at your entrance.

He wasn't gentle, actually, the thing about makeup sex is that it's not gentle. There's too much feeling involved and a desperate need to satisfy a pent-up desire.

"Shit, honey..." he cursed through his teeth as he finally buried himself inside you. The stretch was welcome and before he could say anything that would ruin the moment, you shut him up with another kiss, using the situation to your advantage to take control of the kiss. You used the support of your hands on his shoulders to bounce on his dick and your eyes rolled back with pleasure and you found yourself confessing on his lips.

"Oh I missed this. I missed you."

He groaned contentedly holding you by the ass and helping you move up and down on his cock, but a minute later he was throwing you on the mattress and coming on top of you. He entered you quickly and your legs locked on his hips while your nails dug into the skin of his back. He forced himself against you like a desperate man, it was something primal and delicious and your body responded to each thrust with the same desperation, producing more and more of that wetness that made him slide inside you with frightening ease and at the same time made an obscene squelching and wet sound.

"Fuck" He rasped between your lips "You're so fucking wet for me, honey. Feels so good."

You just hummed in response, at that point your mind was completely incapable of formulating a sentence, your heart was racing and there were so many emotions involved.

"I missed you so much. I'm sorry, love. I promise I will be better. I just... was so jealous. I am so jealous of you all the time and when I saw..."

"Shut up, Stephen" You said using all your strength to push him off of you. He didn't resist, he just rolled over on the bed and let you go on top of him. You slid him inside you again, taking control with a certain desperation and he allowed it. Supreme was not submissive, in fact he never allowed himself to be in a position where he was not in control, but that night he did not hesitate to let you ride him and you did it with force, with anger, with something more than just the pleasure you felt. It was as if by subjugating him like that you were making up for everything he had put you through in the last few days.

It didn't last long. And you didn't care. Your eyes closed, feeling the familiar tightening in the pit of your stomach and you didn't fight against it, you kept moving, grinding against him like an animal in heat as sweat ran down your neck and your breathing became labored and labored. The muscles in your thighs ached with the intensity of your movements, but you didn't care either, you needed to keep going, you needed your release, you needed that sweet catharsis to wash your soul and body and maybe then you could leave everything that happened behind. Sex as a cure. When the knot finally broke you let out a moan so loud that you knew anyone inside the Sanctum could hear it, the orgasm so strong it felt like you were going to pass out right there. It was over. You were his and he was yours and love had healed everything. Love would always heal everything.

...

Stephen had never felt that way before. It was easy to say that he had never seen you act that way before. The way you used him to reach your high was almost offensive, as if he was nothing more than a cock you could rub yourself against until you got what you wanted and that should have made him angry, but on the contrary, it was fucking hot. Maybe, and just maybe, he could understand the appeal that submission had with Defender. It was sexy with you.

However, when he realized that when you were done you simply dismounted him and threw yourself on the bed without giving him the chance to join in that bliss with you, he understood. The sex hadn't been for him, and you still hadn't said you had forgiven him.

You lay there in silence, and he chuckled nervously feeling his dick throb in protest. He ran a hand over his face and then turned to look at you and there were tears in your eyes and his heart broke into pieces knowing that it was his fault.

"I never meant to make you mad, you know? I was joking. Thor is like a brother to me. All of them..." You stopped as your voice broke and then took a deep breath before continuing. "They're my friends."

He was silent for a minute. All the adrenaline from the unfinished sex was quickly fading and replaced by remorse. "I know."

You wiped a tear that ran down the side of your face and then smiled at him, and the smile was sad. "There is only you, Stephen."

It wasn't easy for someone like him to admit when he was wrong, but in that moment, Supreme understood how cruel his behavior was and how he always managed to hurt you even when he knew you were the person he loved most in the world. How fucking contradictory could that be? His stomach churned with self-disgust, but he took a deep breath and cupped your cheek gently and pulled you in for a kiss. Soft, slow, completely unlike the sex had been, but with the same intensity of emotion involved. When your lips parted he could feel his eyes wet with tears he refused to shed and he was finally ready to tell you how sorry he was for everything when you covered his mouth with your fingertips and smiled.

"I know. I don't want to talk about what happened anymore, I just want to stay here with you. Please."

And how could he deny that? So he pulled you into his arms and you eagerly snuggled into his chest while he buried his nose in your hair, inhaling its delicious scent. You were so sweet, so fragile and at the same time so strong. There was nothing he could say to explain how much he loved you, he just hoped you could see it in his gestures. Even the bad ones.

You were silent for a few minutes. The orgasm that had been denied to him long forgotten. His blackened fingers continued to slide slowly down your arms and you drew circles on his chest with your nails. It was comfortable and intimate, and he didn't know anything better than that.

It was you who broke the silence after several minutes. Your fingers were now playing around his lips as if outlining a goatee that wasn't there.

"You need to shave." You said and there was a hint of irritation in your voice that was almost comical, and he couldn't help but tease you about it.

"I really don't get it. I thought you liked men with beards. You live with two of them, after all."

You tsked petulantly as if it was obvious what you needed to explain.

"I like beards, not stubbles. They itch and give me allergies. And besides, they give an air of sloppiness that doesn't suit you. I'm used to seeing you always impeccable and I like it. It must be the only good thing about your narcissism."

Ouch. You could have forgiven him - though you refused to say so - but he knew it would take you a while to let it go completely. Either way, he deserved it. Whatever treatment you decided to give him, he deserved it.

"I'll shave in the morning," he said obediently.

You hummed and went silent again for a long time, long enough for him to notice your breathing becoming more regular and low and your body weighing more in his arms and just like that he knew you had fallen asleep. He stared at the ceiling with a relieved smile on his lips, but the relief was contained and he found himself remembering a random moment from last week, but at that moment as he replayed it in his head it gained a new meaning. You and he were in the living room, it was Sunday, his day to be with you and you had decided to spend that time together at home instead of going out. You had dinner and were watching a movie sprawled on the couch. His head was in your lap while you stroked his hair. It was a normal and routine moment, but Stephen passed by you and observed the scene with a disapproving look and teased "You don't deserve her."

At the time he responded with an ironic "Fuck off", but when he remembered, after everything that had happened in the last few days and everything that had happened in his universe, Supreme knew it was true. He didn't deserve you.

Reblog please! Leave a comment if you liked it. Interact! I will love to read all of your comments and opinions. It inspires me to keep writing!

BACK TO DOCTOR STRANGE MASTERLIST

BACK TO MAIN MASTERLIST

BACK TO MULTIPLE STEPHENS MASTERLIST

TagList: @withalittlehoney @thelostsmiles @thealleydog @anadlockfan @dementeddoll @strangesgirls @dontmindme262 @iamsherlocked1479 @rmoonstoner @sassenach-on-the-rocks @dragonqueen89 @insanelyobsessedwithdilfs @wickedscribbles @agathassscribbles @captaincarmel416 @hobimysolecito @geeky-politics-46 @iobsessoverfictionalmen @bobateadaydreams @pinkthick @groovy-lady

@doctorstrangelovemusic-blog @rachelessfreedom-world @ppatricia34me @strangesgirls @dreamxonxx @benaddictcumberpatch @veryladyqueen @notglucose @nicoletk @azu21 @harlekin6 @coffedraven

@ironstrangeheart @asgards-princess-of-mischief @slytherinqueen4life @spideybv28 @pxanonymous16-blog @kinavet @lovingsherlockmolly

@pinkthick @loverofallbroken @butchers-girl @dontmindme262 @yourmajesty13 @strangeions @bloodyflowerrr @insanelyobsessedwithdilfs @newtsniffles @xourownsidee @kakashibabe02 @lykaonimagines @d0ct0rstrangewife @classickook @aphroditesdilemma

[hyperfixatorofweirdthings]

My take on a (You save the toys) fanfic [Part 5, wow]

Chapter 5: What's behind that door?

You woke up suddenly. You look around still sitting on the ground. Everyone wasn't out here. You wonder how long you were out, how long have they been in that room? You slowly get up but before you can you find a sticky note on the ground. "Hey Angel. Whenever you wake up come to the kitchen." You tilt your head slightly pocketing the note and walking to the kitchen. You find another sticky note. "Hi again Angel head to the door." You sigh walking over to the door you have been wondering what's behind for so long. You open the door expecting everyone to be in there. But no one. You walk in seeing a sticky note resting on the bed. "Why Angel you seem to have walked into a predicament." Before you could even move you are grabbed in a blanket like an animal.

You hear a heavy sigh before someone starts talking carrying you around like a sack of potatoes. You scramble around trying to escape but to no prevail. "Hey Angel stop moving around so much or I might drop you!" The voice was muffled but you found out it was Dogday. Why were they doing this... "What are you guys even doing!?" You yell out frustrated and annoyed. "Well it's a sort of game. We waited for ever for you to wake up ya know." He says this softly. "I don't have time for games." You snap at him quickly. Another voice somewhere far off starts talking, "Well if you act like that we can always put you inside Doey?" Poppy. That little porcelain doll. You hear a chuckle to the other side of where you were.

"Ah I'm not sure they'd like that very much." You start trying to make Dogday drop you. Prying at his hands shifting around quickly and kicking. He drops you but before you could even make a run for it Doey grabs the bag scooping you up. Now you'll never get out of this forsaken blanket. You cross your arms pouting silently to yourself. You murmur mainly talking to yourself. "This stupid game, might as well just throw me out of my own house." You grumbled. For someone without ears he hears scarily well. Doey caught enough of your words to get the gist. Before he could say anything you started talking again grumbling curses. He shakes the blanket letting you know he heard you. You stop cussing when you realize.

They didn't walk very long stopping only a few steps later. You assumed you were in your room. You try kicking the blanket you were wrapped in, when you get an idea. You make sure the blanket isn't too important to anyone. It was an old crappy blanket you kept in the closet forever. It held no significance. You grab your key off your necklace, trying to cut a hole in it. It rips the fabric slightly. Everyone was talking but the second they heard the rip it went silent. You stopped working putting the key on your necklace quickly but quietly.

Everyone stared at the blanket for a good while before going back to talking. Everyone again went silent but for a different reason You were set on the ground a hand still holding the bag. You heard the soft squishes of Doey walking away. Darn his stretchy body, just being able to walk away but still keep you a prisoner.

Before you could keep ripping the hole open he let's go of the blanket letting you free. You jump to your feet spinning around seeing all the toys. You gasp when you see what they did for you. It was a huge paper, one they must've found in the attic or basement.

You couldn't stop the tears rushing down your face as you looked at the poster. Everyone with proud looks on their faces. It was a giant white poster board with drawings of you. Art everywhere. You making food while throwing little bits of egg at toys to catch in their mouths. You helping toys with their scratches and wounds. But four of the pictures hit you the hardest.

One of you hugging Doey refusing to let go, trying to make him feel better.

Another of you talking to Poppy, as she cried hugging your legs.

You helping Kissy with her burned fluff on the side of her head. It hurt, bad but you fixed her up pretty neatly.

The last one being of Dogday. You were sewing his legs back on making sure not to hurt him.

Everyone was mortified when you started crying. They thought they upset you. But you started laughing. After a moment you wiped the tears away, speaking, "I-its beautiful. You g-guys did amazing." You finally looked at the text in big sloppy bubble letters it said "Thanks Mom" little signatures flooded around it. You felt like a bullet train rain over your heart. You were overwhelmed with emotions when you ran over to everyone trying to get a group hug. "Cmere ya little rascals!" After a while everyone stepped away except Dogday. You hug him tightly as you buried your face in his soft fur. "You guys made me wait so long. It was worth it though." At the end you looked up at him. Him looking down at you his usual smile on his face. The toys left only a few staying. The seven that worked on this the longest.

You gave each one a kiss on the head or a big hug, until you got to Doey. He looked down at you his smile seemed bigger than usual. Non the less you hugged him. He hugged you back. Little did you know.

He looked at Dogday, Kissy, Poppy, and the three other toys nodding his head towards them. The signal. Before you could pull yourself away from him he held you fast. You stopped assuming he wanted a longer hug. So you squished him harder. After a moment you looked up at him. Uh oh. His red teeth smiled back down at you.

You yelped when you saw them. "H-hey. D-doey buddy let go." You say pathetically, but it was already to late. You were knocked to the ground by Dogday. "WOAH, HEY THERE!" You squeak out as he pins you to the ground. Everyone was laughing as they surrounded you. "H-hey let's t-talk about this." Before you could even try to wiggle free from Dogday you were being tickled. "GUHAHAHYS!" You tried holding in your laughs but that's hard when seven pairs of hands are jabbing at your sides, stomach, and other soft spots.

Doey a red toothed smile on his face speaks up in the chaos, "Told you I'd get you back pal." You yelped when Kissy touched your arm. "T-THIHIS I-ISN'T F-AHAHAIR!" He pauses thinking it over for a moment. "I guess it isn't but it's just as funny." He stretches him arms toward you getting ready to join the fun. You tried rolling away but Dogday was licking your face. "H-hey! S-stop that!" After what felt like forever they backed away. Little giggles still escaped you as you sat up. You look at your leg lifting your pant leg just to check on it. It was fine, the toys made sure not to touch your hurt leg. Which you appreciated.

You got up looking at the smiles on everyone's faces. "Yeah, yeah you smile now buuttt." You pause for dramatic effect, "Guess who's not getting TV time~" They all gasped clearly offended. "Hey I'm the parent of this house. Can't fight with someone older than you guys." Doey spluttered "W-well...aren't we technically older than you?" You think about it for a minute. "Hmm...nope!" Doey groans "Cmon! You were the one who tickled us first. It's only fair." "Hmm last I checked life isn't fair." You walk out laughing at the jaw dropped look on everyone's face.

Later you decided to make dinner. You ended up hanging the poster on the wall behind your bed. It'll stay there for a long time. You decide to pick someone to decide what dinner should be today. You whistle catching everyone's attention. "How about we do a little game everyone? A game that'll decide who chooses dinner." Everyone cheered at the thought. "The game will be red light green light. We'll play outside. First person to get me. WITHOUT CHEATING..." You snap to look at Doey. "HEY! I'm not a cheater!" He crosses his arms as everyone looked at him. You continue still giving him a glare. "...right... anyways! First person to get to me will be the winner. But this would be no fun inside sooo. We will go outside. If you guys wanna get into teams. And pick one person to do the challenge. Or you can do a free for all so what will it be?" Everyone murmurs for a bit talking to each other. Deciding. When they come to a conclusion. "TEAMS!" "Alright that settles that. Everyone get into teams. Oh wait before we do that we need team captains. I was thinking... Doey, Poppy, Kissy, and Dogday be the captains. What do we say?" Everyone but the four selected let out a happy "YEAH!" The fpur you listed gave you a look. You shrug "You guys are perfect for it. Besides I'm not sure it's fair if we have a bunch of little critters going against Doey. Let's be honest." They look at each other nodding slightly. "Now the team captains will pick their members. Poppy will go first, since she has a disadvantage being smaller. Your teammates will/can help you while you play. Only slightly though. So choose wisely."

Eventually got into groups (Omg time to share some names of critters/ a number of how many we have hopefully I won't forget :0) There is roughly twenty smiling critters about three for each mascot. Therefore each team captain gets about five. (We'll continue this on the text chapter. Sorry this one is so much shorter TvT) Can't forget the 3 Mini Kissy Missy's, one Boogie bot and Medic! Soo we have about 25 toys not including the "big 4"!

[mendessi]

things i say when you sleep | chapter nine

multi chapter bodhi durran x fem!oc

word count: 5k

chapter summary: Without Bodhi, Ania navigates her new signet with the help of Xaden. It's Reunification Day. What could go wrong?

tags: slow burn, friends to enemies to lovers, canon typical violence, mentions of death, she falls first he falls harder, majority canon compliant, some canon deviance, eventual smut, angst with a happy ending, additional tags to be added

AO3 masterlist

seven | eight | nine | ten | eleven

He says it like a bad thing. 

The sour taste that's in my mouth is hard to swallow as I slowly crawl off of him. 

However the second he says it, things become clear to me. 

"You say it like it's a bad thing," I repeat the words, out loud this time. I'm not sure I can hide the hurt in my voice. My heart feels like it's in my stomach when he won't look at me.

"It's a death sentence. You can't tell anyone," He whispers. 

Xaden told me to find him if it manifested. He was the reason it manifested and now he was pulling away. 

"I didn't know I was until just now," I wrap my arms around myself feeling small, "You can't even be sure I am."

An inntinnsic. Out of all the second signets in the world, the one I manifested is a fucking death sentence. 

He stands up from the bed, and I cannot help but grab his arm. Please don't pull away.

"Where are you going?" My voice cracks and the sadness filling my chest is enough to rattle the furniture in my room. 

"I can't be around you right now," He says and I sit up on my knees. 

"Wait, please," I plead, "I-I didn't mean to. I'm sorry, Bodhi. Please, I won't do it again." 

It was an accident. I didn't mean to do it. I would never push my feelings onto him. Especially not something like desire. I didn't know it was something I could do. 

"I have to go," He pulls himself from my grip and I can't stop the tears that spill from my eyes. 

The lights in my room burn brighter and I don't flinch when they eventually burst. There are too many emotions swimming in my head but I know that they're all mine. 

An empath is what he called me. I've never heard of it before but I'm not stupid enough not to realize that it's a form of inntinnsic. 

Guilt sinks in and I regret kissing him. These were my emotions. 

This is what I get for letting him in. For allowing myself to think that I could find a semblance of happiness here. Months of back and forth, shutting him and Xaden out, and the second I'm fully ready to trust this is what happens. 

He's afraid to be around me now. Afraid that I'll push my feelings onto him again. Maybe I am better off dead with Carr snapping my neck. There's a reason signets like this are a capital offense. 

I ignore my better judgment when I crawl from my bed and leave my room. I can't stand the idea of being alone right now, but I also don't know who to go to. I feel like this is a girl issue but Violet hates me right now for a reason I'm unaware of and Rhiannon is on Violet's side always. I'm not chasing after Bodhi and I refuse to bother Xaden right now.

It takes me several moments to knock on the door when I finally stop outside of it and when I do a few more for who it belongs to to open it. 

"Ania," Ridoc says, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "You okay?"

The tears have yet to cease and I'm sure I look like a disaster, "Can I please stay here tonight?" 

He looks me over once, the look in his eyes softening when he sees that I'm crying, "Of course." 

He crawls back into bed and lifts the covers for me and I slide in next to him. Respectfully, he leaves space between us.  

"Do you want to talk about it?" He asks softly. 

I contemplate how I could even tell him why I'm crying without revealing something that'll get me killed if he decides to tell anyone else.

"Does it have to do with Bodhi? I saw you leave the flight field with him," He continues. "Do I have to kill him?"

He manages to get a small laugh out of me and I sigh softly when he reaches out the brush the tears from my cheeks. 

"I trusted him and I shouldn't have," I whisper. 

"Did he hurt you?" He asks and moves to sit up, but I put my hand on his shoulder to make him lay back down.

"Not like that," I shake my head. 

"Because we can get the whole squad together and take him out," Ridoc says and I laugh again. "I'm serious." 

"I know you are," I say, pulling the blanket up to my chin. "Thank you."

"You're not gonna try to kiss me again are you?" He asks and I punch his shoulder. 

"Don't act like you didn't like it," I laugh. 

"You hit too hard to be playful," He groans and I can see him holding his shoulder in the moonlight that illuminates his room.

"I wasn't being playful," I smile, wiping the last of my tears. "Can we go to bed now?"

Without another word, he rolls over and is snoring within minutes. 

After a night of fighting Ridoc to share the blanket, he's the one who gently slaps me awake. 

"I don't want to go," I groan. Despite not sleeping much last night, it did give me time to think about the revelation of my new signet.

Knowing that there's a chance I'll see Bodhi in formation hurts and I don't want the reminder of how he pulled away from my touch last night. 

"We can pretend to be sick," Ridoc offers as he pulls his tunic over his head. "Come on, you need to get dressed."

"We have maneuvers later and I will not have you rot in bed at the fault of a man," Gleigeal says and I know he's right. I can't hide in my room all day.

Flying will make me feel so much better, regardless of whether I see Bodhi or not. I'm appreciative that Gleigeal gave me the space I needed last night to process everything, but now I have questions. 

"Am I inntinnsic?" I ask. 

"That's to be determined," He replies and I glare at the wall I'm staring at. 

"That's not an answer," I roll my eyes. 

"You will have the answers you desire soon, Ania," Gleigeal says. "Until then, I'm closing the channel."

Ridoc sits on my bed while I get dressed and I half expect Bodhi to come knocking on the door. Violet, Sawyer, and Rhi are standing outside of her door, whispering amongst each other when they see Ridoc and I exit my room. I can't be bothered by what they're thinking at this point. 

After Battle Brief, we're headed to the flight field when Xaden appears.

"Wingleader," Dain says and I know he's fighting the urge to clench his fists, "What can I help you with."

"I'm pulling Cadet Alistair from maneuvers today," Xaden says and I immediately glance at Violet, who tightens her jaw. 

Great.

"Right," Dain says and nods turning to face me, "Cadet Alistair, you're released."

I try to ignore the way my squad looks at me as I fall in line with Xaden's step. He leads me to his room and I know that we're about to have a conversation about last night. Good to know that Bodhi immediately ran to his cousin after leaving me alone. 

"Did he tell you?" I ask as I sit on his bed. I know we'll be in here for a while. 

"He told me what he thinks happened. The accusation alone is enough to get you killed," He says, "I want to hear it from your perspective." 

"I thought about it last night," I say and he pulls up a chair to sit in front of me. "If he's right, then it manifested when the light did. Or maybe even before. I initially thought I was the one projecting my feelings, but I don't think that's true." 

"Walk me through it," He leans back in the chair, one leg propped up on the other. 

"Trust the wingleader," Gleigeal says. "He wouldn't let anyone lay a finger on you for what you are." 

"So I am one then?" I say down the bond. 

"I didn't say that," My dragon has a sense of humor that I'm not particularly fond of. 

"When I manifested the light, I could feel his fear. I had my own of course, but he felt different. It kind of," I look for the words, raising my hand to my chest, "Seeped into my chest. Became one with mine." 

"You felt it molding into one?" He asks, his brows furrowed in concentration as he listens intently. 

"Yes and again last night. I wanted what was happening. But I could feel that he did too." I say. "At the moment, it was hard to dictate what was mine, but after thinking about it, the strands are different before they entangle." 

"You absorbed his emotions and made them your own," He says and I nod.

"At one point, I think I subconsciously knew what was happening, because I pushed a thought outward and his anxiety disappeared for a moment," I explain, trying to recall every single moment. 

"Interesting," He nods. 

"He realized before I did and when he said it, it kind of made sense," I shrug my shoulders, fiddling with my shoelace now. I try to halt the rejection building in my chest, "He left like he was afraid of me."  

Xaden clears his throat and leans forward, "He wasn't afraid of you. He was afraid of what'll happen to you if anyone finds out." 

They'll kill me, I know. I don't want to say it out loud. 

"I'm gonna help you control it, Ania. I won't let this be your downfall," He says and I nod. 

Xaden and I spend the day in his room and Gleigeal cracks the channel open a tiny bit to practice sorting emotions. 

"The biggest concern is that you take in too many emotions at once and combust, but you've gotten this far without having that issue, so I think we're in the clear there," Xaden says.

My eyes are closed and I'm sitting in the Riorson House library, watching the tendrils of Gleigeal's crimson power filter in through the window. 

"Choose a color for your emotions so you know that they're yours. Everyone else's can be a different color," His voice sounds distant when I'm here. "What do you feel right now?"

"I feel mellow, I guess?" The mage lights in the library shift to a deep green color. 

"I'm going to think on something and I want you to try and pick up on it," He says and I can hear his footsteps pacing back and forth slowly. 

The library around me stays the same and I wait patiently to feel something. The sparks of Gleigeal's pattern brighten and I can feel him opening the channel further. 

"Are you doing-"

My chest warms and I have to force myself to breathe after an overwhelming feeling settles over me. My fingers tingle and my heart rate picks up. The subtle feeling of fear laces with the warmth and my brows furrow. It's strong and I look around the library to try and find where it's coming from. 

On one of the tables in the center of the library, under the evergreen lights, sits a book open to a page. As I approach the table, the feeling grows stronger. Small golden fibrils sprout from the pages, swirling around one another until they meet the green light from the mage lights. 

I reach my finger out slowly, touching the golden strings and the feeling is immense.

It feels like home and finding your person after what feels like an eternity of searching. It's the hesitation before the first kiss. It's the unimaginable terror of losing everything in the process. The weight of responsibility you feel to ensure nothing will ever happen to those you love. It's unimaginably beautiful and equally terrifying. 

"Cut it off," Xaden says and I do just that. I slowly close the book watching as the fibrils crawl back down into the page. 

"What were you thinking about?" I ask once I open my eyes, but I think I know the answer. 

He takes a beat and then sits back in the chair. 

"Violet," I say softly. 

His silence is the confirmation I need and I nod my head. 

"That feeling," I pause and purse my lips, "I feel it too." 

He nods his head and we sit in a comfortable silence for a moment. 

"I trust that he'd take care of you," Xaden says finally, "Which is why I'm not bashing his head through a wall." 

A breathy laugh falls off my lips and I look out the window, "Still protective as ever."

"It's the only way I can ensure everyone I care about is safe," Xaden says and I lock eyes with him. He cares about me.

"It aches sometimes, you know?" I shift the subject back to the original conversation. It's hard for him to talk about these things, I don't want to push it.  

"Oh, I know," He sighs. "It'll sort itself out, little Alistair. Just give it time." 

I'm not ready to fully admit it to myself, so I don't. But Xaden has caught on. 

I don't ask him how he knows how to handle my signet, but I think I know. Something tells me that we might have it in common. I don't think he's exactly like me, but I think we'd both be killed if anyone found out.

"We'll meet as often as we can before I leave to try and get it a hundred percent under control," Xaden says when we stop in front of my door. 

"Thank you for today," I say, looking up at him. 

"Anytime, Ania," The tiniest smile etches on his lips, and then he's off.  

When he's out of my line of sight, I see Violet and Rhiannon coming down the hall. They're whispering to each other, I'm sure about Xaden once again outside my room. And pulling me from maneuvers. He's pulled her plenty of times, but I know it's an issue when it comes to me. Because today, I got a glimpse into Xaden's head. She'll talk to me when she's ready, but I consider going to her first. I don't have it in my today, drained from training with Xaden so I seclude myself in my room. 

Xaden's been helping me twice a week when he can, even if that means occasionally pulling me from class. I can now clearly decipher which emotions belong to me and which are foreign. I've even worked on pushing my own emotions onto him, which is much harder and takes a world of concentration, but he's confident with more practice I'll be able to perfect it. 

He's leaving in ten days and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't going to miss him. He's like Beckett in so many ways and I wish he were still here to see it. If he hadn't been here to help me train my signet, I don't know what I would've done. 

Today of all days is brutal for me every single year. It's been six years since my entire world went to shit.

Six years of no Aretia. No Riorson House. No Mom and Dad. No Beckett. 

The book is open in the Riorson House library as I walk through the corridors toward Battle Brief. 

As I pass several marked ones, I'm met with a plethora of feelings. Anger, sadness, and grief are among those most prevalent. I allow it to melt into my chest, merging into one with my own grief. This day is so different to us that have relics on our arms. I can feel the change in tone when I finally take my seat in the Battle Brief room. 

I look around and Xaden catches my eye. He gives a small nod and I return it. I feel his also joining everyone else's settling in my chest. As I turn back to the front of the room, my eyes land on Bodhi.

We haven't spoken since that night the empathy manifested and I don't know if that's on my accord or his. 

"Why is it you're choosing to torture yourself with the anguish of others," Gleigeal asks. 

"It's not just theirs. It's mine too," I reply, tearing my gaze from Bodhi's. 

"Do not make me close the channel," He threatens. "And stop with the longing looks at the one who betrayed you."

"Betrayed is an extremely strong word," I fire back. "Also, 'longing looks'?" 

Gleigeal chuffs, "I do not take it lightly that he stranded you that night." 

Yeah, me either. I also don't take it lightly that we're not speaking at the moment. I'm not really speaking to anyone at the moment. I see my squadmates in class and for maneuvers, but unless I'm honing my signet with Xaden, I'm locked away in my room. Ridoc stops in every couple of nights to check in on me, but other than that, I've distanced myself from them again. 

The strand that I know is Xaden's shifts to a slightly different color, and I look around the room. Violet, who's sitting next to me seems to be lost in thought. I let her strand join the others and immediately release it when I feel the frustration. Are they arguing right now? She glances at me and I fix my sight back on Devera, though I'm not paying attention. My suspicion is confirmed when Xaden says her name loud and clear. 

It's wrong of me, I know. I shouldn't be in their business, but I was just curious. It will not happen again, I can assure you. 

Ridoc and Liam are sitting in my room- handsome as ever, later that night while I get ready for the Reunification Day celebration hosted by the King. I didn't think before I agreed to attend, but Liam somehow convinced me. Xaden insisted that I didn't have to go, but I'd feel bad leaving Liam as the only marked one there.

I had tried to let Ridoc braid my hair but all I got instead was a big knot that hurt to brush out. Liam took over, saying he learned how to on his little sister, Sloane, who'd be coming into the quadrant next year. Like Xaden, Bodhi, and I, he was separated from her. 

The dress I'm wearing is floor-length, with a slit running up my right leg, that stops just below my hip bone. It hugs my body nicely and I actually take a moment to admire my curves in the mirror. 

"You look hot," Ridoc says, earning a glare from me, "If I don't score with the healers, my door will be open tonight."

"In your dreams," I scoff, earning a laugh from him and Liam.

"Don't be fooled, Liam. Did Ania ever tell you about the time she ki-"

"Ridoc!" I scold him using my lesser magic to swing the door open. "Out!"

"I'm gonna go get a head start on making way with the healers," Ridoc winked before he exited my room, leaving a snickering Liam and I.

"I don't see you much anymore," Liam said after a few minutes of silence, "Everything okay?"

I shrug my shoulders as I look at my reflection in the mirror, "It's fine." 

"If you want, we could meet up to train like we used to. Xaden kind of took over Violet duty so I have a little more time," He says with a small smile. 

"Yeah, that would be nice," I force a smile, but I feel the tendrils of his sadness merging into my own. "It's really kind of you to join Violet tonight."

He shrugs his shoulders this time, "It's better than being sad and alone in my room." 

"I think that's why I'm going too," I say as I stand up. 

"You look beautiful, Ania," Liam says as he pulls my sash over my head and adjusts it.

"Not too bad yourself, Liam," I smile and link my arm with his when he offers it. 

We exit my room and jog to catch up to the rest of our squad. 

"You two clean up nice," I tease as we approach Violet and Rhiannon. 

"Look at the two of you," Rhi teases, "If looks could kill."

"Violet," I give her a small smile. She looks stunning with her hair in an intricate arrangement and her dress fits her beautifully. I want to compliment her, but I don't know if it would fall flat.

"Hey, Ania." She nods in my direction and I awkwardly pull myself from Liam's arm with a sigh. 

As we approach the courtyard, the music grows louder and louder. It's easy to forget other quadrants exist outside of the riders, but seeing the cream, light blue, and navy swimming amongst each other reminds me quickly. I'm walking behind Ridoc, Violet, and Rhiannon when it feels like a weight is thrown into the center of my chest. It knocks the air from my lungs and I have to hold the wall to steady myself. I reach for Liam's arm and he turns quickly to support me. 

"I- I don't want to be here," I say just above my breath. I'm confused as to where this feeling came from. I had been excited to have a night with my squad, but now I want nothing more than to sit under a cold shower and catch my breath.

"Do you want me to go with you?" He asks and I shake my head rapidly. 

"Stay with Violet," I say, pulling away from him.

"I need you," I call out. 

"Meet me in the field," He replies. 

My hands shake as I walk away from the party and back toward the Riders Quadrant. 

As I'm passing through the courtyard, I can feel the fibrils from the book sprouting more and more out of control. It's too much. I took on too much for the day and I shouldn't have. Someone grabs my arm and I turn around pulling away quickly. 

"What's wrong?" It's Garrick. I feel a pang of guilt for the way I'm about to ignore him.

"I'm going somewhere," I say as I back away from him. Xaden's strand shines a little brighter and I glance toward the opening of the Parapet where Garrick seems to be standing guard. 

"Ania, wait," He calls out as I continue my path toward the field. He doesn't try to come after me and I'm thankful for it.

"I told you not to smother yourself with the misery of those around you," Gleigeal scolds and I finally cry out as I see him landing in the center of the field. 

He lays his body completely flat and rests his head on the ground as I fall to my knees next to him. 

"Ground yourself, Ania," He says with a gust of steam that blows my hair back.

I dig my nails into the grass, as a sob racks my chest. I let myself lean against his leg and close my eyes as I put myself in the Riorson House library. 

The fibrils growing out of the book are out of control, a rainbow that shakes and rattles, each color dancing with the other. I reach for it, trying to slam it shut. It takes every ounce of my mental strength to slam it closed as a scream rips through my throat. 

My chest hurts as I try to catch my breath. I let myself fully collapse against my dragon. My cheek is flush with the grass and Gleigeal nudges my back with his nose. 

"Breathe," He urges. 

I do as he says, taking a deep breath as I focus on how the soft grass feels between my fingers. My fingertips and palms glow against the blades of greenery and I close my eyes again.

"I understand you miss your family, especially today," He starts, "But if you risk your life again to take on the grief of your peers again, I will not be as kind about it."

My head bobs in understanding and I let my eyes close. 

"I wonder if Beckett were here, would he be yours instead," I say out loud. 

"Regardless of whether he was here or not, I knew that you were destined to be my rider long before you came into the quadrant," He says. 

"You would like Beckett," I say softly. "He wanted to do what was right. It's what got him killed." 

"To my understanding, I think I would have not minded his presence," He says and I laugh lightly. That's the closest I'll get to his agreement on this subject. 

Gleigeal sits with me for I don't know how long. He lets me talk his ear off, occasionally responding to me. I tell him about Aretia and my parents. I speak of Beckett more than anything. And of our childhood spent at Riorson House. Most of all, I'm grateful that he's here for me. 

A grumble resonates in his chest and he swivels his head towards the top of the flight field.

"Someone approaches," He says lowly. "The one who betrayed you." 

"He didn't betray me," I roll my eyes, not even bothering to stand up.

"Ani," He slows his jog and looks down at me, "Garrick told me he saw you come out here, but he didn't want to bother you-"

"Because he could probably tell I didn't want to be bothered," I cross my arms over my chest. 

"Let's go inside," He offers me his hand. 

I glance up at him with a scowl, "Are you sure you want to do that?" 

"Please," He says softly. 

"This will be the only time I agree with him. It is past my bedtime and sleep beckons me," Gleigeal says standing up. He barely gives me any time before he launches upward into the sky. 

"I'll remember this later," I mumble down our bond. 

Bodhi and I walk side by side, but I keep a distance between us. The memory of him pulling away from my touch sticks with me and I don't wish to relive it. I follow him mindlessly, focused on several different couples wandering around with each other, likely heading back to their rooms. A sigh leaves my lips and a part of me wishes I had stayed at the party. Maybe I would've found someone to bring back to my room or maybe I would've ended up in Ridoc's bed again.

"Can we talk? Please?" He asks as we stand in the courtyard. Either I say yes and go with him, or we part ways and I go back to my room. Xaden says that once he's gone, I'll be able to start helping Bodhi with the drops, which means a lot more time spent with him. Talking to him is probably the right thing to do if I want to avoid future awkwardness.

I do miss him. We were right on track to being okay again and then I went and fucked it all up. And ever since it happened, I can't stop thinking about how his lips felt against mine. 

"Sure," I finally say. 

He leads me back to his room and opens the door. He holds his hand out and I glance between his hand and face.

"Xaden warded my room. I have to pull you through." He says. 

I hesitate before I place my hand in his and allow him to pull me through. 

He gestures to his bed and I take a seat. I look around his room and it reminds me of Xaden's, just smaller. Maybe Bodhi will be a wingleader and get moved to a larger room. 

He stands against the door, biting the inside of his cheeks. He's thinking about what to say and I wonder if I should be the first to talk. I've put my shields up so that I don't accidentally read him, or let him think I've read him or whatever it was that went wrong the night of the start of War Games. 

"I'm sorry-"

"I just wanted to say-"

We both start and I bite back a laugh. 

"I'm sorry that I left you that night," He finishes. 

Shaking my head, I look down at my hands as I cross one leg over the other, "I should be the one apologizing."

"No," He says, "I left you. That is ridiculously unacceptable on my part. Regardless of how I felt, I thought I was helping by leaving." 

Finding the right words is hard. I want to explain to him that I would never intentionally put my emotions onto him. I would never intentionally read him without his permission. There is so much to say but the words just won't come out. 

"Please say something, Ani," his words are so quiet, if I were any further away I wouldn't have heard them. 

"I understand why you left," I tell him, "I didn't mean to do what I did. Or whatever you think I did." 

"What are you talking about?" He asks, stepping forward. 

I rise to my feet, "I didn't push my emotions onto you. I wouldn't do that, Bodhi. But I understand that you left because-"

"No, no. Ani, what you felt were my emotions. That's why I left." He holds my gaze and I shake my head. "I didn't want you acting on what I wanted."

"Bodhi, you're not listening," I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose, "That's not what happened."

"If you want me to beg for forgiveness, I will." He's on his knees in front of me within a second and my heart nearly stops. "But please don't shut me out again."

"Bodhi," It comes out as a whisper, "You don't understand." 

"If you want me to grovel, I will. I will ask for it every day until I graduate." His voice matches mine, his hands ghosting over my thighs like he's stopping himself from touching me. 

"What happened that night was both of us. Feeding off of each other," I say to him quietly, "I didn't push onto you, nor did you push onto me,"

I trail my finger against his jawline and then brush the curls off his forehead. The way his eyes scan my face nearly sends me into a spiral. 

"Ani-" I shake my head and brush my thumb against his bottom lip. His lips part and he breathes out and I'm at a loss for words at the sight before me.

Bodhi Durran is on his knees in front of me. 

"My shields are up. I'm not using my signet." I cup his jaw in my hand and lean down letting our noses touch. "Yet, I still want you all the same." 

He swallows and allows himself to finally touch my thighs. His fingers trail up the slit in my dress and he tilts his head up to brush his lips against mine, but I pull away slightly. 

"This fucking dress," He groans and he lets his lips brush against my upper thigh, right where the slit ends and my breath hitches. 

"Look at me," I choke back a whine when he presses a trail of kisses from my knee back to my upper thigh. 

"Ani this dress," He whispers against my skin and I have to pull his chin to look up at me. "I will never get over this dress."

"Then take it off." 

previous | next

tag list: @lynnieluvsu @sherlockstrangewolf @abysshaven @wolfbc97 @paris009 @poseidont @angel-graces-world-of-chaos

[la-gotica-fantasma]

8 realistic situations to add to your writing -

Disclaimers: I cannot stress enough that I am not at all trying to tell you what to write, these are just some concepts / prompts. - My title does not mean that your more lovey-dovey scenes are unrealistic, I just couldn't think of how to title this - Some of these are scenes that have been used in my writing, so if by the off chance you are using any of these, please don’t copy the dialogue word for word. :}

ROMANTIC -

1) When both of them are cuddling / holding hands and one of them starts sweating.

★ “Ugh! I love you, but I don’t love all this sweat you produce!” “But it’s my love for you seeping out of my pores!” “I couldn't care less what it is. Off!” “Fine, your majesty.”

2) Each character hating their mother in law / partners mother

★ “Mom is asking to visit.” “And do what?” “I’m not sure, check up on everyone?” “She can check up her own ass for the stick I know she’s lost up there.”

★ “Well, your mother is no saint.” “She never claimed to be!” “Uh-huh, and when has mine?” “Circa-” “Okay! Truce?” “Truce.”

3) Character X bringing up a pet peeve they have with Character Y at a family gathering.

★ “Character Y does this one thing when they eat- they never scoop up their food with their fork, they’ll just attack it! Sometimes I can’t stand it.” “You never told me that bothered you?” “It didn’t bother me enough to mention it.” “Not until a family dinner?” “I didn’t mean anything negative by it-” **cue Character Y aggressively attacking their food with their fork** “Okay, I get it! We’ll talk later.”

4) Character X and Character Y bake with each other, except realistically.

★ “Character X, why are your arms wrapped around me?” “Because I love you.” “I love you too but I also love being able to actually mix the ingredients together.”

★ “Get the eggs!” “You told me to stop buying eggs because ‘inflation will kill us all’.” “I wasn’t wrong but, UGH-! I need eggs!” “Well I got them anyway, but still.”

★ “Stop touching things!” “How am I supposed to bake without touching anything?!” “You aren’t!”

5) Planning lies they'll tell in 5 years when people ask how they met.

★ "What if we say that we were playing bumper cars and I hit you so hard I fell into your car?" "Hmm.. how about we say that I was going to my best friends wedding and I was all down and glum, but a friend of mine told me to 'have some fun' and that maybe I'd meet someone special at the wedding, and that's when I saw you. You and a little yellow umbrella that I've seen in so many places before, and we just talked about our past together?" "I think that's been done before." "By who?" "One of the most popular rom-coms ever aired."

★ "We could say I saved you from-" "I'm gonna stop you right there." "Fine. What's your idea then, if you're so smart?" "We tell them we met in a psychiatric ward." "Wow. Exquisite thinking." "Just imagine the looks on their faces!"

PLATONIC / ROMANTIC -

6) Those moments where neither party can decide on something so they do nothing, only for them both to yell out what they want and it coincidentally be an agreement.

★ “What do you want for dinner?” “I’m not sure, what do you want?” “I dunno.” **cue them both lazing around, doing nothing for minutes** “Spaghetti.” “It’s like you can read my mind.”

7) Character X asking Character Y how their day went, and Character Y just breaks down in tears- not because their day was bad, but just because Character X asked.

★ “Hi, how was work?” **cue ‘ugly’ sobbing** “Oh no, was it really that bad?” “No- It just- It was just- sweet to- ask-”

8) Stuff that should be awkward really not being awkward at all.

★ “Did you just fart?” “Yeah.” “Okay, good.” “‘Good’?” “Good that it’s not a gas leak.” “Yeah, I had to force it out a little bit.” "So definitely not a leak." "Definitely not."

p.s. Your writing is captivating as always suga, and I am abidingly proud of you and your work. <3

Morbid affection,

- Tipsy ᓚᘏᗢ

[bittersweet-jack-of-no-trades]

Hope you don’t mind my contribution:

"But when the summer's over, you give me my house back, you give me my name back, and this Mystery Shack junk is over, forever. You got that?"

Stan remembers that one in the night, curled up on the sofa-bed not twelve hours after punching Bill out of his mind. Adrenaline still fizzing in his bloodstream, mind foggy from the memory gun, he couldn't sleep--- not that he usually did these days--- and was forced to bear the relentless waves of his own life coming back to him. His cheek still stings from where memory-Ford punched him fresh out of the portal, and now he remembers Ford's conditions: he has to leave.

He sits up and surveys the room doubtfully. It's not like there's much he could call his own, all of his possessions an extension of the Mystery Shack and his Ford/Mr. Mystery persona. Most people would call Ford, lost to the multiverse, the ghost haunting this house, but really it was Stan. There was, maybe, nothing left of him, especially with the years before he became Ford still lost to the ether of the memory gun--- at this rate, Ford knew Stan better than Stan knew himself, and Ford wanted him gone.

He promised he'd stay for the kids, but maybe that was worse for them. It would better if they only had Ford, smart and reliable and self-assured in his identity. Stan goes to pack a bag, but finds himself hesitating--- which are these clothes are Ford's, not his? Which of these shoes? These knickknacks? Hell, even the cassette tapes and CDs shoved under his desk: all of that music he picked because it seemed more Ford-like. Damn it all, he thinks, and walks out the door with just the clothes on his back and his wallet.

The Stanleymobile, at least, he knows is his. Shitty, dirty, old, a little stinky--- yeah, that was fitting. His hand is around the handle when---

"Stanley?" His brother, of course, blinking sleep out of his eyes, squinting without his glasses. "Where are you going?"

Stanley refuses eye contact. "Fulfilling my end of the bargain. I'm going away. I'm sorry for turning your house into the Mystery Shack. You can fix it now."

Stan can see Ford's gears turning as he tries to interpret Stan's words. His eye light up frantically as he, too, recalls their conversation in front of the mirror. "Stanley, no--- no, no, I--- I said that in the heat of the moment. I didn't--- you've done so much good, Stan. You can't leave. Please don't leave."

Any other time, Stan would be rightly pleased that his brother was desperate enough to say please. Tonight, though, he's just confused. "What do I have to offer, Ford? This life isn't mine. This house isn't mine. I did my job. I shoulda stayed wiped--- woulda been better for everyone."

Ford is, bewilderingly, crying. He also hugging Stan now, and Stan freezes up in his grip. "You are," Ford says, firm but thick with tears, "the most important person living in the house. And this house cannot lose you. Now can we please go inside, maybe have a drink, and just talk about this?"

Ford has released him from the embrace so they can look each other in the eyes. Stan buffers--- go inside or leave? What to drink? How to talk? Pieces of himself still lost in the haze of the back of his mind, he has no idea what to do. Choice seems a privilege he never earned. Ford grips his shoulders, realization dawning in his eyes. "Stan. We are going to go inside, I am going to make you hot chocolate, and we will talk about how necessary it is for you to stay."

The directions resonate more clearly, and Stan nods. He can do what his brother says--- at least for now, at least until he figures out what he wants. They go back inside, Ford with a grip on his brother's bicep as if scared he'll run away again; looking up in the entrance hall, Stan sees a picture he had literally forgotten about: him, Dipper, Mabel, and of course Waddles, posed in front of the house, smiling. His family. His family who needed him--- not just needed him but wanted him. How could he have forgotten?

No- wait. How difficult do you think it was for Stanley when he began having options? You know?

Like when he began living as Stanford Pines and could choose what sort of meal he'd have, when he had to start picking new clothes for himself, how much do you think he struggled with that?

Because I'll tell you now, most times you'd freeze up and your brain just blanks- what DO you want? You've never had that option before so what do you even choose now that it doesn't have to be cheap or used or to survive??

Stanley had to make decisions but they were probably survival ones, life and death, not if he should pick the blue or pink shirt.

[coyotelip]

jegulily waiting for a child microfic part 2! careful || part 1 || @taylorswiftmicrofic || wc: 812

“It's so small. Smaller than I expected,” James says in a whisper as he wraps his arms around Lily's five-months-pregnant bump.

“Can you grow a bigger one?” Lily replies with a laugh as she continues to carefully run the razor along James' jaw, shaving away the remnants of his morning stubble.

Five minutes ago, James was doing it on his own, looking at himself in the mirror with a frown. There was blood just under his lower lip where he hadn't been so careful with the razor. So when Lily walked into their bathroom in the morning, she couldn't ignore her husband's embarrassing suffering and set about helping him.

James now has his back to the mirror, leaning slightly so that she can work with his face at her height. His hands are on her round belly, stroking her bare skin, running his fingertips along the white stretch marks on her skin. Lily's hands gently circle his face and apply gentle pressure, shaving away the stubble along with the shaving foam that cools his skin.

“Oh, I wish I could,” James says, returning to the conversation, only half jokingly. That way he would be able to stay at home all the time as he wanted. James doesn't say it, but Lily's eyes meet his and flicker, noticing the sadness in her husband's gaze.

“I've been thinking about something…” she begins cautiously. James tilts his head slightly, but doesn't stop her from continuing to manipulate the razor. “You can raise your price list, right?”

“Why?” he asks, a little puzzled. James has been working as a massage therapist for eight years now and rents an office in the city center. And he'd be lying if he said he wasn't proud of his success - the best athletes and several celebrities in their city use his services, and some even invite him to their homes to give them private sessions. And of course, James charges a lot of money for this level of skills and experience.

“Oh, you know, your regular clients can afford it. I'm sure they'll stay with you even if the price doubles,” Lily picks up a damp towel to wipe James' face of the remaining shaving foam. Her voice trails off as she adds, “And you'll be able to afford to spend more time at home, right?”

Her green eyes look at James with hope. She knows how much James has been putting on himself these past few months. Of course she does. He doesn't even have to voice those thoughts and feelings, Lily and Regulus read his every thought in those moments when James comes home from work late at night and finds them on the couch wrapped in a blanket and covered in brownie crumbs. When he leaves for work early in the morning, sometimes while both of his partners are still in bed. When Regulus talks enthusiastically about something that happened during the day and about new information he found on the Internet about newborns.

James never says what is bothering him because of his particular and biggest fear. That they will stop sharing with him everything that happens in his absence so as not to hurt his feelings.

There are days when James wishes his job was as flexible as Regulus' and he could just work from home. Although their plans for the big house already include the idea of a separate office space for James for clients who are willing to travel out of town to visit him.

Putting down the towel, Lily cradles James' face in both hands, and he rubs lightly against her palms like a cat hungry for touch. The man has to cover his eyes to keep the tears from falling because of the flood of thoughts that has overwhelmed him. It seems that he is the one who has experienced all the emotionality that is typical during pregnancy.

All this time, James' hands remained on Lily's rounded pregnant bump - these days he tried to maintain physical contact with his wife whenever possible. Even when his profession required him to be skillful with touching other people, he had never been so careful and caring with anyone but his partners.

Lily gives him this time to think and gently strokes his cheeks. And James begins, “I think…” when something happens.

A light push coming from somewhere inside the woman's belly. A very light impact wave that James feels under his palm and makes two pairs of eyes look down.

James doesn't remove his hands, but instead spreads both palms to cover the entire surface of Lily's belly. And he feels it again - a kick. A small hand or foot that responds to the sound of his voice, to the warmth of his hands, and wants to say hello.

This time, James doesn't close his eyes, but lets the tears roll down his cheeks.

[ailendolin]

Tampon trilogy reaction:

I am a woman. – The way they say it so confidently as two men.

Periods slash – Everyone laughing because Sam is being a little shit is glorious.

40 years of tampons are stored in my shed – Please don’t do that.

It’s attracting bees – Well, in that case, I guess …

Jane is my name, blood is no one’s game – Poetic.

Today embarks on change – Even my ears are bleeding and I’m not a native speaker. Sam wtf? Poor Tom has to put up with so much.

_________

I think the doctor actually prescribed it to me, Mum - Lol

Mum? Okay - Haha, I love it when someone else defines their character and they have to adapt.

Your cough will be cured through ancient methods - Doesn't sound foreboding at all.

I've got a shed of all my used tampons - Lol of course you have. Nice callback there, Sam. Also Luke slowly dying trying not to laugh is hilarious to watch.

We're gonna make a blood ritual - Yep, foreboding as fuck. Together with the voice, I feel like this is Lady Margaery from a different, darker universe where she ended up adopting Titch and makes blood rituals instead of meth.

Today embarks a blood ritual - Oh, how brilliant. I love it so much when they make fun of each other and bring mistakes back.

Demonic tamponic noises - I can't with the subtitles XD

_________

Never mind - I love how disturbed Sam was by the noises Tom made.

I'm not trying to rob you, Bilbo. I'm trying to help you. - Oh Sam, I love you for turning this into LotR. His Gandalf voice is really good. Luke's Bilbo voice ... not so much lol.

Have you heard of my tampon - Sam is so done and AJ is so happy with himself.

Tom singing - I love how AJ just walks away because he knows the Dirty Dancing lift can only end in bruised egos and broken bones

Well, you're gonna have to wait some time cause this is a boat - this one really made me laugh. I didn't expect 'boat' at all

I think I'm being followed by a spectre - I understood that reference.

If you happy and you know it clap your hands - What was that? I have literal tears of laughter in my eyes right now.

We have servants who carry our hearts for us - You are right, Tom, that is an interesting sci-fi concept.

Unchained Melody - Luke has a gorgeous voice.

Just put the tampon down - And there is Tom, ruining a beautiful moment with a the perfect callback.

Doing a compilation video around the callbacks was a great idea! Hopefully, we'll see more of that in the future!

[mk-wizard]

This is possibly the most random idea ever, but if I was to make a Shattered Glass version of Transformers One, the most crucial thing I would not change was Orion Pax and D-16 being friends, miners and their ambitions.

What I would flip is how each character's ambitions would be translated. D-16 accepting that he is a miner and wanting to focus on that would be flipped in a positive way in that he is humble, accepts himself and believes in hard work to get ahead. And he does want to get ahead, but the RIGHT way without skipping crucial steps and while playing fair. In other words, his mentality of "we're miners, we mine" is not him settling. It's him accepting that doing his damn job will get him ahead in life which technically, is not wrong. Hard work does get you ahead in life most of the time, but if the system is broken (which unfortunately it is), then you're justified in changing.

In Orion Pax's case, his ambitions of believing himself to be meant for something greater is rooted more in ego and delusion. He also takes not focusing on his work a lot further as he tends to sneak out way too much not to get into the archives, but to do stuff like gamble and such. That is another thing that separates SG Orion Pax from the other guy. He doesn't take risks as a leap of faith. He takes them solely out of foolishness and thoughtlessness. Also, his risks tend not to pay off. Most notably, he wants to get to fame, fortune and more the easy way as he feels a sense of entitlement to it.

Most notably, instead of there being an Iacon Race, there's an Iacon fighting tournament in the arena where it is an all out brawl and the last bot standing wins. A lot of bots suggest to D-16 that he joins because he's built like a tank and is as strong as one, but he's a pacifist and doesn't like hurting other bots. Plus, the risk of winding up dead or crippled does not appeal to him because the odds are still against him and he would rather be able to keep doing his job. One day, Orion enlists him without his knowledge or consent. In spite of not wanting to be there, D-16 WINS the fight because he is a natural fighter and survivor. It is also revealed that before he was a miner, he was a gladiator, but switched careers once he was able to buy his freedom. Even though he won, he is NOT happy that he did because of what he had to do.

The rest of the film plays out the same way, except the big moment. When D-16 is faced with shooting Sentinel... he freezes upon realizing how everyone around him is looking at him. It reminds him of how people looked at him with fear and like a monster when he was a gladiator, so he sobers and gives this speech.

"I hate you. You took my energy, my hopes, my life goals and my LIFE!! I want to kill you!... But I won't because if I do that, you'll take the one last thing I have: my dignity and I'm done giving you everything. And now that everyone sees you for the fake you are, you can't take anything from ANYONE anymore, so I'm going to let you live, BUT you're going to spend it giving back to the society you ruined. Starting with this."

Then he forcefully opens up his cog port and removes Megatronus' cog. As a side effect, Sentinel depowers into a pathetic weak looking little bot who dwarfs compared to D-16. That is when Orion suggests they use the cog to become the new leaders, but D refuses saying that he will not follow Sentinel's path nor will he reduce a true Prime's remains to a tool. This is when Orion has had enough of D-16 always holding him back, he fights D-16 for the cog and in doing so, pushes him off the ledge while he is still alive and falls into the abyss. While this is happening, Orion inserts the cog into himself and powers up before dragging Sentinel into the crowd. When he does, he watches them tear Sentinel apart with glee. Meanwhile, D-16 makes contact with the spirit of Megatronus who informs him that his code of honour, unbreakable spirit in the face of Deception and act of mercy has made him worthy in the eyes of Primus. In doing so, he gets rewarded with the Matrix of Leadership and dubbed as Megatron Prime, BUT he is also given the task of leading Transformers to a new age as the Autobot age is over and was one based on deception, so the new Transformers will now be called Decepticons.

Megatron Prime then faces off with powered up Orion, beats him and while he does, smashes his face in such a way that he completely destroys his lower jaw. Orion leaves with some guys, gets a mechanical lower jaw which also transforms into his mask and is pissed that the Matrix was given to Megatron. So he renames himself Nemesis Prime to symbolize what he is to his ex-friend now and to how HE should be Prime. Meanwhile, Megatron Prime honours his mission and does not forget about the people who supported him. The first thing he does is abolish the gladiator games and slavery.

PS: SG Elita-One is not a miner. She is a spoiled rich young woman who is one of Sentinel's many mistresses and a girl Orion had his eye on for a while. In the end, she goes with Nemesis because she's a gold digger and sees potential in him, and because even in this universe, she has fallen for him. I also call her Alita-Nill to differentiate her from her good counterpart. Megatron Prime has a girl too who is Nightingale (SG Nightbird) who is an aspiring singer and waitress as Maccadam's bar. As for B... he was always mute and is much more shy person. He joins Megatron because he was always so kind and protective of him like a brother figure. Also the "Rise Up!" catchphrase is turned on its head to be positive as in "Keep moving forward" or "Don't give up!"

What do you all think?

[alynnia]

Sylus x Rafayel (x MC) ramblings

The fujo came out of me with this one. After my little karaoke blurb I had an epiphany and had to get it out of my system. I'm no writer but I like to write. The below is litterally brain vomit of ideas and situations spilling out as they come and they're free to the public to play with. These two have quite a bit in common and potentially have chemistry? I dunno, could be my fujo goggles.

MDNI because the last section is lewd. Nothing explicit just options of how I think the sexual part of their relationship might be.

Both bonded to MC

•Sylus, through a shared soul and Raf through an eternal bond. Both of these continue through lifetimes. So imagine Rafayel's shock when courting MC he gets two instead of one. Does he just love half of her soul or all of it? Now we don't know the exact timelines of the myths if they all share the same universe and same Philos, but let's say they did. Sylus' soul sharing with MC came first so when Rafayel bonded with MC, he was unknowingly bonding with Sylus as well. He would be reluctant in this set up, believing that MC was the one he is tied to and only her (this is true of course but we are playing pretend here) but why does he feel a similar pull from Sylus? The fiend is nonchalant about it outwardly but I can see him teasing the fuck out of fish boy. " I guess that makes me your 'beloved' as well but...I don't bow to gods, puppy. I end them. " and then gives him a few smug paps on the cheek. This likely results in a fight MC has to break up and it happens often.

•They would both try and show each other up with showing affection to MC, but Sylus would always include Rafayel in his gifting. If he buys a dress for her, he's buying a suit for him. If she gets a ruby necklace, he gets ruby cufflinks. While MC can have any color jewels she wants, he defaults to red gems. After a while, Rafayel takes notice that the crow boy likes to "mark" them with rubies as a subtle way of telling the world the two of them are both his. It's hard to say if he's doing this as a show of dominance or something more but the way Sylus gives him a satisfied smirk/smile when he sees them both wearing matching onyx and ruby brooches makes his eye twitch and his heart skip. Sensing danger between them, MC would excitedly suggest that Sylus wear one too so all three could match, a subtle way on her part to say they are all equal here.

•When talking to MC about Rafayel, he uses "our".

"I think our husband is throwing a tantrum again~"

" I am NOT your husband. "

" Tch, aaw. Tough luck, you're stuck with us both. "

" Then I want a divorce. There's got to be some way to break out of this, a loophole or a spell to break this curse... "

" You hear that sweetie? Our husband wants to break up with us. Maybe he's not as devoted as he says. "

" N-not her! JUST YOU! You are the curse that defiles our sacred bond and I will not stand for it! "

" And how do you plan to do that? Hm? Rip our very soul asunder? That can't be good for either of us, puppy~ " And he's just smirking the entire time with an arm around MC. " But if you insist, I may know someone who can help you. Very experimental, has not had one survivor yet. But! You seem to be very set on tearing her apart...are you willing to take the risk~? " He just loves challenging gods and seeing Rafayel seething is just too precious.

Both rich as fuck

•As someone else here on tumblr mentioned, Rafayel is spoiled prince rich and Sylus is mafia rich. Raf seeing Sy spend money like it was nothing takes these acts as a challenge on his own wealth. He'll offer to pay for things with a smug smile and Sylus lets him do it without a fuss, merely raising an eyebrow then smirking. Neither let MC pay for anything. This ends up frustrating Rafayel after a while. Why doesn't he say anything? Is he just going to let him pay for it all? Greedy crow. ):< Finally fed up, he confronts Sylus saying that he should pay him back with interest. Raf doesn't need the money but it's the principle of the matter! Sylus is just…

"Alright, if it will shut you up." and points him to a page of restraunts on a tablet he was looking over. Rafayel figures he's being asked where he wants to eat on Sy's tab so he chooses the most expensive establishment. The kind you need to make a reservation for a year in advance. He's already planning to order top shelf, the highest priced items on the menu and exclusive private seating for all of them. Sylus looks over the selected place and scoffs, " Pompous. " A little later when Rafayel is expecting to go out, Sylus just slaps down paperwork in front of him and tells him to sign it. What is it? Essentially the transfer of ownership of that place he chose. Apparently it had already belonged to Sylus and now it's Raf's. " This should cover it, yes? "

Both are mythical creatures

• Raf being a mermaid (God of tides) and Sylus being a dragon (Bringer of Ruin) Gods create, fiends destroy. Sy is for the skies and Raf for the seas. They're both beings of power and forces of nature.

• Being the dragon he is, Sylus would likely keep all of the art he doesn't put away or keep track of. It comes from the need to hoard treasures and because the fish is terrible with leaving his work all over the place. Don't get him started on the paintbrushes he keeps stepping on. Thomas would think him a life saver for keeping things organized and available but Sylus would charge him every time he wanted to retrieve work from him. So Thomas is left with the choice of dealing with Rafayel or paying a stupid amount of money to Sylus to bypass the anguish.

•On the flip side, After Raf has seen Sylus' treasure trove of gemstones, he would also just so happen to pick up jewels from museums to add to his own collection. Ones Sylus possibly have never seen or heard of due to their connections with Lemuria. Sylus would make a comment about Lemurians crying pearls he heard once, baiting Rafayel and of course the mermaid can't help but confirm he's able to do this. (They both know what they are by this point) But isn't that a dangerous thing to admit to a greedy dragon? Perhaps Sylus should lock him up and force him to cry to obtain such beauties. But he figures he doesn't need to. Rafayel himself is enough of a rare treasure to keep after all. He would say this right to his face without flinching, as if it was just common sense. He pins another ruby trinket to his lapel to which Raf would find himself blushing then storming off somewhere. He would like to see those scales though. They sure are shiny and our Sylus likes shiny things.

• Sylus walks in on Rafayel in the bath and sees his mermaid tail for the first time. He's enamored but doesn't show it on his face. The mermaid is squawking, telling him he shouldn't enter when someone is in here without knocking but Sylus just ignores him, grabbing what he needs and is about to head out. The mermaid did catch those eyes looking at him in a particular way, wondering why he doesn't ask about the tail.

" So...you're not going to say anything about this? "

" Should I? "

" You've just bore witness to a rare sight, the scales of real Lemurian in his full glory. You would be a fool not to admire. "

" Oh, in that case do forgive me~ " turning around casually he takes wide steps and looms over the tub, his shadow cast over the Lemurian's form, " Then allow me take a closer look... " That's when Sylus runs his hands over the glistening tail, face unchanging as he studies it's quality. This envokes the wrath of Raf smacking his hand away, " No one said you could touch! " Sylus removes his hand but smirks in response. His gaze lingers on the glittering on the mermaid's face before rising up and heading back to the door, " I've seen better. "

" ......WHAT? Where?! No you haven't! Who else has-! " the door is already shut and he's gone.

• What if Sylus took MC's place in Rafayel's myth? A fiend finally captured, tied up and thrown into the ocean. We have hints that Sylus may not know how to swim so perhaps this is his weakness. Rafayel comes across this strange drowning creature who isn't quite human but curious to know more. He cuts him free and planned to just let whatever happens to him, happen but Sylus is quick, desperate to live and be out of this water. Having heard of the Lemurian tales he grabs hold of his savior and tries to steal his breath with a kiss, biting his lip in the process just like MC did. And you know the rest after that. Would make an interesting AU I think but would divert from the myth a looot from there. Still could be a fun ride. Raf can show him the ocean and Sy could show him the skies.

A weakness and a fear

•I don't think Sylus can swim. There's an Abyssal Chaos situation that hints at this and it's living rent free in my head but he does have a pool so who knows. I'm going with the idea that he can't swim for this. So...Sylus would almost always get the one-up on Rafayel, teasing and bullying him but when it comes to water, the fish finally has the upper hand here. Sylus would never admit this weakness out loud to anyone but MC. If they went to the beach he would just stay out of deep areas and Rafayel would take notice. Being a cheeky one and in his element, he'd somehow get the drop on him and pull Sylus over into the deep side to see what happens. Also for revenge. But Sylus isn't reacting the way he thought? This big tough guy is actually going to drown if he doesn't do something. He could be rid of him finally, let the man drown and have MC all to himself. He watches him sink, feeling a twinge of satisfaction but just as he's about to take off, the mark on his chest lights up. It can't be helped, can it?

After "saving" him, Rafayel tells him it's about time he learned how to swim. It's an essential skill and it's a crime to not beable to appreciate the beauty of the ocean. Sylus, surprisingly to Raf, agrees. " Then you should teach me. It's the least you can do after trying to kill me. " Not that it would work I think. How far does his immortality go anyway? Que montage of the two of them in the water together.

• Rafayel has a fear of cats. Sylus likes cats. After all, their beloved MC is their kitten and he's raised a lion cub before. The Lemurian god is offended that he would call MC such a horrid nickname as it's essentially calling her a demon. Sy quickly picks up on the fear and like the earlier scenario, tries to tease him with it. Though it's to a lesser degree in the form of just bringing strays for MC to take care of in front of him. If she's loving the cats, there's no way Rafayel can say no to her. Sylus knows this and pushes it further holding a kitten to his face, " To think a mighty god could be felled by such a small creature. " This prompts Raf to suck it up and slowly but surely start to confront his fear of cats, Sylus happily "helping". Que montage of the two interacting with cats from kittens to tigers.

Break out?

• Sylus doesn't believe beasts should be in cages and Rafayel hates the way humans treat animals. One night, after getting drunk and arguing which leads to a bet, they set local zoo animals free or something. They will never be caught.

Music

•They would share playlists and talk shit about each other's taste but still give genuine listens. Sylus prefers records and buys one for him just to prove how much better it sounds in this format instead of digital.

•They go to the opera together. Sylus is enjoying himself but Rafayel has some harsh critisms. He can do better. Sylus would ask for a demonstration and he says it would kill him. Crow boy sees that as a challenge because well, he can't die. So perhaps he could be one of the few who could listen to his death song without dying and appreciate it. It'd still probably hurt, but maybe it's worth it? Would be funny to see Sylus wheezing in Rafayel's arms, bleeding from his ears and still tell him his singing was shit just to rile him up. It's a lie, but picking on him is too much fun.

•Singing together. See the Karaoke blurb.

If they were in a relationship (Lewd bits)

•OT3. MC is far too important to them and their own connections would be their shared loved for her. They'd prefer to be seperate with her at first but over time Sylus would be the first to invite him together with MC. Rafayel is going to say no the first couple of times (it's not offered often) but eventually warms up to the idea if only to prove to the other that he can perform better than him. Then it becomes another game of chicken when Sy leans in closer to Raf with MC in the middle. Sylus will give looks, light touches in passing but won't be the one to give in. Not because he doesn't want to, but because he wants Rafayel to be absolutely sure he's into it and he gets a kick at making him buckle. Which he will and of course, Sylus obliges letting Rafayel think he's the one that "won" in this. MC is happy to see them get along.

•The longer this OT3 relationship goes on, the more likely sometimes it would be just the two of them while MC is off on a mission somewhere in the world that takes days to complete. At this point they're used to it and the roughness becomes more gentle and tender. Well, Sylus almost always had been the more gentle one and Rafayel the more agressive and it only took them being alone for Rafayel realize it.

• They would be competative in bed but even when bottoming, Sylus more often than not has control and directing Rafayel. Telling him there's no need to go easy on him. Raf will always fight for control and sometimes "win" but he melts too easily and loses himself in the moment. His most dominant side comes out during a certain season which is a pleasant surprise for Sy. They're both waking up with scars but Sylus more so. He doesn't let them heal quickly just to show off the result to Rafayel when he wakes up.

" Are you not proud of your work? " Oh he is proud. Embarrassed seeing what he's done to him and the memories of the night flashing in the back of his mind, but proud. Another win for the fish, "conquering" such a large man. Snatching Sylus by the chin, he'd give a warning with a hint of slight concern for his bird boy, " It would be wise not to forget what I can do to you. "

" Do what? These little marks? " He brushes them away with his evol, " Oh no. Look, they're all gone. I guess you'll have to try harder. "

And now I wonder if Rafayel could end up leaving a mark on him that not even Sylus can heal through his god mode. 🤔

•Playing with the headcanon of Sylus' draconic habits and urges being active in his current life, I wonder if they would "sync" up. Honestly it sounds dangerous, Sylus may very well eat the guy. Literally. That's for the tragedy enjoyers. For the degenerates…4 swords, eh? Okay on the tamer side of things, I can see them taking it out on each other to spare the worst of it from MC. Locking themselves away just to go all out. But back to degeneracy, she'd probably end up peeking out of curiosity and end up dragged into it. Rest in Peace girlie. 🙏

•So what would a dragon/mermaid kid look lik-

OKAY OKAY I'M DONE. IT'S OUT OF MY SYSTEM. DO NOT PERCEIVE MEEEE!! But really though, this was fun. Is this 1k words? I have no idea.

I think this is how you tag people? @crutoyu @turkeysamwichh

[dent-de-leon]

Brennan: "...as all of you watch Nia step on a solid beam of moonlight, and walk across the sky, to her sister's body...You arrive. You see Lianna, the bridge of moonlight stretches before you, and...as you arrive, you see her beautiful smile on the face of the body. As you go to her, the moonlight keeps building around you.

As you kneel at your sisters side, moonlight swirls, and a beautiful woman with your sister's phase, the size of a mountain made of moonlight, is kneeling over you. All of you see the Moonweaver here in this space, embrace. And you feel tears of light streaking down her face and falling to her."

Celia: "Will I see her again?"

Brennan: "You don't recognize me?" The Moonweaver wears Lianna's face. Or perhaps it's more accurate to say--Lianna wore the Moonweaver's. You look and you see...Lianna's hand caresses your cheek. She diminishes and sighs, to be near you in this moment. She kisses your cheek, and you smell your sister, and she is with you, and around you.

She holds you tight, and she sighs, "I didn't want to say goodbye. I didn't know how much I wanted to stay...The day is coming where we will be sisters in Moonlight. And I hope that day is very far away."

Celia: "'Not too far." And while holding her beautiful glowing sister, she realizes that...she kept her promise. And it is not nearly like how she imagined it. And she...like cupping her hands when the rain fell, just says, "Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. I don't know when I-- I don't know how. I'm not meant to, but you do. So I will follow you. I will continue to listen. I will continue to search. And I will find you."

Brennan: "She looks and says, 'We're leaving.'"

Celia: "Who's we? You keep saying 'We.'"

Brennan: "She looks up at the sky. 'You have to know. I grew up, side by side with you, and I knew that there was something strange inside me, but--'"

Celia: "Not strange. Beautiful."

Brennan: "She weeps openly, and she just says, 'I found it all out, through visions and dreams, that something was inside me...Our parents--they went, they made it to Vasselheim, they're there. They're there, you can go find them there, but...we're leaving. And--we're making--there will be a blanket of magic over this world, so no god can ever touch it again. But we couldn't leave the world on its own. And...my si--my other siblings. The gods--weren't sure that we would be able to share our gifts with the world."

"'And I said, 'If our love for them is true, then it will pass the mantle of protection. It will pass through the gate.' And they said, 'How could it be strong enough to pass a barrier that not even the gods can pass?' And I said, looking to my siblings, 'That the love of one sibling will be strong enough to pass. And it had to be you. I'm sorry. I'll be the first to go. And I know that you'll be strong enough to show that this love is still here, even when I'm far away.'"

Celia: She says, as she often does say, "It is unending...You'll watch us though? from the place you go to where you cant reach us?"

Brennan: "She looks up at the moon and smiles, 'In all of the vastness of realms to find, no gift was greater, than one mortal life with you.' She embraces you."

VERY IMPORTANT BONUS:

Celia: [with upmost sincerity] "Did you send the fireflies that day?"

Brennan: You see, the Moonweaver--Lianna--laughs, and just says--[with so much warmth and fondness and not a single idea what her dear sister is saying]-- "....huh?'

[love-toxin]

Seóirse Commission

a/n: a commission i did for one of my lovely commissioners! <33 cws: afab!darling, meet cute, pwp, size difference, heat/rut cycles, mating, scent kink, breeding, dirty talk, rough sex, m on f oral, groping, chokehold. word count: 5.1k

Today would be the day you finally did it. You'd made your choice–you were going to learn how to swim, even if it killed you. 

In retrospect, it wasn't the greatest of your many ideas. Swimming was a useful skill of course, and it might save you if you ever found yourself stranded somewhere or were somehow dropped into the ocean by the powers that be. But finding adult classes to learn how was both difficult and expensive, unless you wanted to pay to do water aerobics with a group of 70-year-old women…which actually didn't sound that bad when you thought about it. Regardless, you'd seen enough videos of parents chucking their babies into pools to feel confident enough to try it all on your own. In the ocean. On the beach. It couldn't be all bad–it was free, wasn't it?

Alas, that was how you found yourself in your current predicament, with a swollen ankle and your fingers gripping the buoy you'd managed to drag yourself up on. There were far more rocks than you expected on the bottom, and after trying to keep your balance against the unexpected strength of the current, you'd rolled your ankle on a loose one and yelped in pain before being swept up by one of the foamy waves that had lapped at your feet on the shore. It brought you right out into open water in what felt like an instant, and in a panic you started splashing and paddling for dear life. No amount of deep breaths could quell the overwhelming feeling of “I'm going to die” until your wild flailing eventually caused you to smack your hand on the buoy, and you scrambled to cling to it without thinking twice. 

As grateful as you were to have avoided a painful and sudden drowning, the assessment of your new circumstances was quick to bring tears to your eyes and a sniffle as you glanced around. Aside from the steadily moving shoreline that seemed to shrink the more the waves jostled the buoy, a look over your shoulder exposed the vast expanse of a wide, unending sea that would surely swallow you whole at the first opportunity. Sharks, whales, drop offs, whirlpools, anything and everything could kill you in an instant and each possibility appeared more horrifying than the last. It almost felt more hopeless to cry in the face of such daunting odds–after all, the shore was right there. Still close enough to swim back to. But you had no reassurance that you could fight the sea's luring pull out into the deep, and without that, you most certainly were not moving an inch off of this buoy. 

Luckily, you wouldn't have to. Right at the pinnacle of your sorrow when all seemed absolutely lost, a dark shape moved beneath the waves towards you…and at the very last moment, a head breached the surface and a man sucked in a deep breath as he peered up at your pitiful face.

“Are you okay?” His soft voice carried a twinge of sympathy, because he knew. It must've been obvious by your expression that you were anything but, all you had to do was shake your head to confirm it. “That's okay. You're safe now.”  

You noticed at first glance the way his blue eyes glinted under the overcast sky, but even more captivating was his hair; his silver locks had been slicked back by the water and a few strands twisted as the breeze blew them against his flushed cheeks, yet he looked so young at the same time that he almost struck you as having a baby face. There was no way he was over 40, but by his size and the gentle maturity of his voice you could tell he wasn't any average man in his twenties, nor could he be a teenager. His eyes locked in on your ankle, and without touching it he hovered his fingers over the swollen patch. 

“Looks twisted,” He mused under his breath. “Here, I'll help you down-” The stranger held out his huge arms to help you off the platform, but when you clung harder to it with a whimper he drew back instantly with a worried gleam in his eyes. “What's wrong? You don't want to get in the water?” 

A firm shake of your head said all that needed to be said. He let out a soft sigh, but he wasn't irritated–rather he seemed bothered by your apprehension itself, and wanted to make sure you felt secure. 

“Well…I see. Are you a strong swimmer?” 

“N-No..” With how shaken you looked, he was surprised you even answered. 

“Oh, that's alright. Why don't I carry you on my back? You can keep your head above water, and keep warm.” Sniffling softly, you peered down at him with a glimmer of hope.

“Are you sure?” 

“Of course.” He nodded happily. “There's nothing to be afraid of. We'll be back to dry land in no time.” The way he smiled up at you, how he held the buoy firmly in his hands and it resisted the current with his bare strength alone, all put you at ease with a haste that you'd rarely experienced from any other person, especially from a man you didn't know at all. He seemed kind. Humble. Maybe even one of those awkward yet friendly types, but in a good way. It was too easy for you to give up your name to the enigmatic stranger, but he replied with enthusiasm and a light splash as he kept treading water.

“I'm Seóirse. I'm a swimming instructor at the community pool, so I promise you're in good hands!” Seóirse chuckled meekly. “Just climb on my back, and I'll get you back home.” 

So you did. Awkwardly, and cringing with pain at the jostling of your sore ankle, but you managed to slide off the buoy with Seóirse's help and slip back into the dreaded water. He let you pull your arms round his shoulders and tugged your wrist for you to squeeze them closer to his neck, reassuring you with a smile that you wouldn't choke him. As soon as you were secure, he started paddling towards the shore–and it amazed you that, even with how massive he was compared to any man you'd ever known, he glided through the water with you like the current was nothing but a breeze against his skin. He managed to keep your head above water with each stroke and squeezed your thigh on his hip when your breath started hitching, assuaging your fears when you thought you saw something moving about in the sea around you. 

Although it felt like it took ten times as long to get back to land than it did to get dragged out to sea, you reached the shore before you even knew it was happening and tightened your grip on Seóirse once the heaviness of gravity set in upon him stepping up out of the shallows. Your squirming in anticipation of being put down just made him laugh; he held both your legs up and bounced you to get you higher up on his back, so your cheek rubbed against the silky strands of his damp, dripping hair. 

“That ankle needs to rest. My home isn't far–I can treat you there, if you like?” The question poked at your mind while he moved further up on the shore, the sand slipping out from under his feet though he managed to keep steady with your weight on him. You had to admit, it certainly sounded better than sitting in a hospital for hours waiting to be seen, especially for something that wasn't all that serious in the first place. 

“Um…uh, yeah.” Unconsciously, you nuzzled yourself closer to Seóirse's warm body and clung to him in the cold. The breeze from the overcast day cooled the water clinging to your skin in an instant, and left you feeling frigid and shivering as you both dripped all the way down the beach. He managed to bend down and grab the handle of your bag that you'd left on the rocks without having to set you down, and hooked it around his elbow to carry along before he continued towards a little cottage at the shore's end. If there wasn't anything else you could say about the rather enigmatic stranger, you could say this; he was incredibly strong, and it was difficult not to notice the flex of his toned muscles with every step he took while you were pressed against his body so intimately. 

It took less than ten minutes to reach the little home on the edge of the sea. A grassy outcrop at the end of the shore propped up the humble abode he called his own; he didn't even mind the water dripping in the foyer as he carried you in, reassuring you that it was no big deal and he tracked in all sorts of things you wouldn't believe. Seóirse brought you into a little sitting room off to the right and laid you down on a huge, comfy sofa, where he proceeded to fuss over you for an hour or more with ice and blankets and a towel to dry your hair. 

Of course he wanted to know why you–a person he'd never even seen around here before–was swimming out to sea on such an overcast day, especially since he knew for sure now that you were by no means a practiced athlete in that sense. It took a bit of prodding for him to ease it out, but when you finally admitted that you wanted to learn how to swim, he didn't click his tongue or lecture you on your poor methods of doing so. In fact, he smiled.

“Well, why don't I teach you?” The way his eyes brightened at the thought alone made your heart ache with the desire to say ‘yes’. “We can swim together. I don't get to go out in the ocean as much as I'd like, anyways..” He peered out almost longingly at the water through the window, churning and foamy and frightening-looking to anyone who wasn't so confident in the ocean. But he was. Nobody else would come to the rescue of a stranger from so far out if the water wasn't like a second skin to him. 

“I…o-okay. If that's alright with you?” You almost didn't want to accept for fear of acting greedy with his generous offer, but it was hard enough to say no to those sweet, gentle eyes. “Can I pay you?”

“Don't worry about it.” Seóirse rubbed your hand just to squeeze it in his giant palm. God, his smile was just blinding. He was like a living sunbeam. “We're friends now. You'd be doing me a favour, too.”

There wasn't much to argue with that. Seóirse made sure you were warmed up, ensured you could get home safely, and gave you his phone number before he sent you off. You had no idea just how prevalent his presence would be in your life from that day on, or how much he would go on to change everything you knew about your own world itself.

“Seóirse?” You called out softly, rapping your knuckles on his door yet again. With your bag slung over your shoulder and your hoodie on, you were more than ready for your weekly session together. 

But Seóirse hadn't answered your texts for two days, and you feared something might've happened to him. He was always so timely with his responses unless he was working, and even then you'd hear from him after an hour or two when he'd send you an apology, because he'd been tied up with a student or was doing an extra lesson in the pool. He'd never ignore you completely, and although you didn't want to pry you didn't want to just give up without making sure he was alright.

“Hey, Seóirse? Are you okay?” Knock knock. “It's me. I'm worried about you–if you're okay, can you come out?” 

Suddenly a thump resonated from inside the cottage and you jumped, shifting a half-step back as your mind raced. Was he getting robbed? Did he fall and hurt himself? 

“S-Seóirse?” 

“Go away.” His voice rumbling so close to the door startled you again, and you nearly slipped off the step, but if anything the raspiness of it made you infinitely more worried. It sounded as if he had pressed himself completely up against the door with how close he was, and you caught a whiff of something–it grew stronger and stronger as you took it in, a musky, heady scent that you could nearly taste with how thickly it hung in the air. 

“I just wanted to make sure you were okay. I haven't heard from you in-” A slow, soft grunt hit your ears in a funny way, his breathing deep enough it stopped you in your tracks. “...days.” 

It'd been several weeks since you'd first met Seóirse out at sea, and each day since then you'd had some kind of contact with your new friend. Whether through texts, calls, or meeting in person, your mind automatically went to him whenever you had something to do or wanted to feel a little less alone. He was so kind if a bit reserved, and that was fine with you, but this wasn't the first time you suspected that something was…off.

The real reason for that was the thing you had found by accident while searching through his attic for a space heater. It was small and cramped, far too tight for Seóirse's enormous body to squeeze into comfortably, and he'd let you up a few weeks ago when a cold front moved in and chilled you down right to the bone. Maybe being so huge, the cold didn't bother him as much, but when you came over for dinner he'd mentioned he might have a heater and let you climb up to search for it. But as you were dragging it out from the far corner, your foot bumped a box out from its hiding place and you'd dived to catch it before it fell down the hatch you'd climbed through. It wasn't really your fault for opening it, since it was already half-cracked…but when you peered inside out of curiosity, what awaited you was something you never would've expected. 

You could tell by looks alone that it was blubber, perhaps some sort of rubbery pelt from an animal as you touched it and felt the skin spring back. It was so pretty, so unusually soft it was almost slick, it gleamed without any light…when you lifted it you could guess it might be sealskin, but before you unfolded it completely, Seóirse called up suddenly from the bottom of the ladder and asked if everything was okay. It might've been a case of you projecting your own feelings, but you almost sensed a hint of panic in his voice as you shut the box with a snap and hurriedly tucked it back into its place. You wouldn't have thought much else of it and might've forgotten it completely by the time you climbed back down the ladder. But you caught your friend's sigh of relief when he saw the space heater in your arms, and when you headed down to the dining room you heard the muffled creak and a small shake of dust as someone else made his way up to the attic to double check. Only once he returned did things go back to normal, but you thought of that incident a lot, and paired with his behaviour now, and the scent…well, you had some ideas of what might be happening with your friend. And an online search had reaffirmed your convictions just days before he disappeared.

“S'nothing..” Seóirse sighed faintly. “...’m fine. I'll be fine.” 

Obviously he could sense your trepidation, but maybe he wasn't expecting how determined you would be to inject yourself into his private affairs. There was a bit of guilt welling up inside you for prodding so much, but how could you help it? 

“I'm gonna hurt you if you come in here,” He muttered at the twisting of the doorknob as you tried it to see if it would open. As if he was dumb enough not to lock his doors during this time of the month. 

“You'd never hurt me.”

“I might not have a choice.” He growled, guttural and almost feral, like he was more animal than man. “Leave.”

“I can't.” You insisted, just to flinch at the sound of his fist slamming against the doorframe. “I-I can't, Seóirse. I know you're in pain.”

“I can smell you.” He sucked in a breath of air through his teeth. “You smell so good..” 

“Something's going on. I know you're not…like me.” You leaned closer to whisper, hoping he would hear it over the erratic thumping of his own heart. “I know you came from the sea. I want you to know that I don't care about that–I won't judge you, and I won't tell another soul what you are.”

The silence that followed was grim, heavy, dark like the clouds that were slowly gathering overhead. You'd get rained on if you didn't get inside soon, though what Seóirse uttered next raised the hairs on your neck faster than any oncoming lightning. 

“I'm in heat.” He whimpered under his breath. 

“I-I can help you..” You swallowed. “I can try.” Seóirse scoffed from beyond the door, but he seemed to understand your determination the longer he let it settle in. Help. 

The door suddenly swung open, and he dragged you inside with a heavy slam as it shut behind you. Pitched into almost complete darkness with the curtains covering every window, Seóirse's hands groping you in the dark made you squeak and shiver with every squeeze. What you thought might've been his leg suddenly dug into you painfully, the stiffness of his growing appendage sending a cold shiver racing up your spine. He was big. 

“You don't know what you're doing.” He muttered into your ear, and practically lifted you off your toes like you were a doll in his grip. “You should've run from me.” 

“I-I-” 

“You found it, didn't you?” He grunted lowly. “You found my skin. Why didn't you take it?” 

“Because I-” He cut you off with a kiss, his chapped lips hungrily devouring yours in the wettest kiss you could've imagined. He couldn't stop once he started, only trailing them further down your cheek to your neck before he bit down and started sucking. “..I-I couldn't do that–ah!” 

Seóirse sucked a deep, dark bruise into your throat that you wouldn't notice for days–you would have so many by the end of this that it'd be a struggle to count them. 

“Y-You're my friend, Seóirse..” 

“Friend?” 

The way he growled that singular word made your stomach knot itself up, only made more intense by his moan when you nodded against him. He grabbed the back of your head and held it to his chest, which was so warm and sweaty it heated up your whole body from the inside out. He wasn't the Seóirse you knew in that moment, but you weren't all that opposed to it the more he pressed himself against you. 

Yet, just as the energy in the room came to a climax, the arms you'd been wrapped up in peeled themselves away, and Seóirse stumbled back, rattling the end table as he bumped into it in the dark. Suddenly freed from his grip and sent teetering backwards, you felt along the wall for the light switch–and with a flip, you saw him in the state he’d been suffering in for the last couple days. 

Sweat poured its way down his body, it had drenched him from his forehead all the way down to his calves. You'd felt his skin but didn't realize he was completely naked, staring down at you with such a flushed face he looked sick. His bright eyes were hooded and dark, his breathing husky as his chest heaved, and he stared like he was watching the movements of prey–and then, in a flash, he darted away and raced through the hall to his bedroom, where he slammed the door shut behind him. 

This time, when you crept down the small corridor to reach him, you knew he wasn't holding it shut. You could hear it before you even peeked in, the squeaking of his bed frame and his panting as the sound of fabric swished over his skin. The room was just as dim as the rest of the cottage save for a soft light in the corner, a lamp lit up to highlight the glistening of Seóirse's back as he rutted against a pillow that had seen far better days. The poor thing was soaked through and worn with light patches where the fuzz was almost completely rubbed off; was this all he'd been using to get through his heat? It was honestly surprising that he managed to tear himself off you at all. 

“Just leave,” He practically pleaded, barely turning his head back over his shoulder while he couldn't stop humping his cotton-filled partner. “I'll hurt you…you won't…you won't like me anymore..” 

It almost sounded childish, but knowing Seóirse by now, you knew he felt that way genuinely. The man had such low self-esteem, so little faith in himself and his abilities, that he would apologize just for asking you to spend time with him as friends. He would've never imagined you felt the way you do for him–he probably thought he looked like a freakshow in your eyes. 

Hence why, when you started to strip quietly behind him, he didn't even glance back until your hands on his shoulders sent a jolt through his shuddering body. The way your soft skin pressed against him from behind would curse his wet dreams for the rest of his life. 

“Let me help you,” Seóirse's back arched as you whispered into his ear, a gasp quick to escape when he grabbed you from behind and practically flung your body over his shoulder, the pillow perfectly propping up your hips in front of him as you landed. He licked his lips, bent your legs back, and no power on earth could've muffled the squeals of pleasure from your lungs as he dove face-first between your legs. The shlucking of his tongue parting your slit nearly overshadowed the wet grip around his cock, each pump harsh and tight as he tried not to think too hard about breaking you in two with it. How hard you would scream when he stretched you to fit every inch…it was so awful of him, he was an awful friend, but he hadn't been able to get it off his mind since the first few hours of his rut. 

You wanted to help him, but here he was driving you crazy with his greed; slurping up your precious clit like you belonged to him, and all your pleasure was his to bestow. The guilt would kill him when he was finally able to think clearly again…but right now, it was more likely that not fucking you would kill him. 

You could barely cry out his name as he devoured you whole, and your fingers slid and trembled in his hair like you couldn't even manage to get a grip on it. The way your hips jumped and ground against his face gave him a clear picture that you liked it, but it wasn't until your legs were thrashing and your hole started leaking that he knew you'd hit your limit. But whether you had or hadn't, he wasn't quite done–and you could tell the moment he flipped you over and grunted as he dragged you back on your knees. Still spasming from the first one, Seóirse teased the tip against your entrance with a hooded look in his eyes. Just one push. Just wiggle it in. Even your own hips bumped back against him as you whined, almost in heat yourself, but he still struggled to just go for it and not hold himself back. If he hurt you, he knew he'd never forgive himself. 

“Please,” His hands trembled in the face of your begging. “Just wanna help…w-we’re friends, right?” Seóirse swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded.

“Yeah..” Your back seized at the slow, gradual stretch, just the tip alone pressing into you like a mountain you couldn’t hope to summit. Seóirse’s guttural moans managed to help, though, because the shivers racing up your spine at the sound of them loosened you up with enough slick for him to slide, but he wouldn’t divert away from his goal. He’d pined over you for too long to give up now. “Yeah-!”

A sharp gasp, a twinge of stinging pain, and your nails tore the sheets beneath you as he settled in just barely halfway. Your so-called friend whined deep in his chest with pure, pleasured agony, and before you could speak a word his fingers tangled roughly into your hair.

“Squirm,” He commanded, growling hard as he gripped your head in his whole hand and tilted it back. “Squirm on it. You're not escaping me now.” Once you caught a glimpse of his near-manic expression, he shoved your face into the soft covering of his pillow–the very same he'd been using and thinking of you this whole time. The musk clinging to it alone drove you into a frenzy; animalistic and wild with little regard for your own conscience. Was this how Seóirse felt? Because if so, you could hardly blame him for what he was about to do, or how close he was gonna get to breaking you right in half. 

“Fuck!” The curse felt foreign coming from his sweet mouth, but it paired perfectly with the frantic pump of his hips as he fought to sink even deeper into your heat. You clung to him like a vice, your walls and your womb knew what they needed, and he loved the sensation of your body bending to your instincts just like he did to his. The bed went from squeaking to rattling in an instant as his powerful thrusts knocked it against the wall, but if he broke it or broke you he couldn’t even mind it–his grasp on your waist and the resistance of your soft body as you squealed ensured that his mind wouldn’t escape the haze of lust that always came with these dreaded ruts. 

Maybe it was your own feelings for Seóirse that dulled it or it could’ve been an effect of his overwhelming pheromones, but even his size and the urgent pounding of his massive hips slamming back against you couldn’t rival the bliss that crept down every limb and seared throughout your veins. It could’ve been a breeding instinct, but whatever it was you wanted more; the pain of being spread open beyond your limit and knowing your sensitive areas would bear bruises in the morning was nothing compared to the dizzying pleasure of Seóirse pinning you under his weight and reaming you into the shape of his cock. 

The sudden brush of his bicep against your cheek made you stiffen, but without stopping his merciless rampage on you, he slid an arm over your throat and effortlessly tightened his hold to lift you higher, and meet your beautiful, glossy eyes with his own. Shrouded and dark unlike the pure blue that you’d come to adore, Seóirse cracked a devious smile that somehow still carried a tone of innocence about it. 

“You love me–your pussy loves me,” He gasped, tilting his head down to press his forehead to yours. “I can smell it, I love it. I love you–ah-! I love you..” The confessions tumbled out of his mouth one by one, from how he knew you were the one by the way you smiled at him to how he wanted to do this since the day he found you all cold and alone, stranded out at sea. How you were his beloved human and he wanted to be your selkie prince, please, because he only wanted one mate and he knew it just had to be you. On, and on, and on, until his chest sunk into your back and he plowed into you with increasing urgency, your gasps and little cries fueling his desire to blow his load as deep as your nethers could possibly take it. 

Seóirse’s needy tears spilled down your shoulder as he buried his blushing face into it. One shaky thrust, then two, and on the third he squeezed you tight enough for spots to dot the edges of your vision, and a shuddering wave of ecstasy washed over him as he relaxed completely into you. Spurts of thick, sticky selkie cum glued you both together once it started leaking from the seams of your union, but based on the dampness of his sheets and the haze hanging in the room itself you could be certain it wasn’t going to be any more of a mess than he would’ve made without you. 

What was more concerning was the fact that he barely even softened up once he’d finished. He didn’t bother easing out of you and instead let you warm him, nestled deep and snug and still not fitting completely; you were absolutely ruined, but Seóirse was only just getting started.

“Are…you okay?” He mumbled into your skin with a tender kiss, and thankfully drew his arm away from your neck to leave you ample space to breathe. At first you nodded, but he waited patiently until you managed to work up the strength to speak it out loud. “I’m glad. I’m so glad…so happy you’re with me.” His fingers traced soft patterns through your hair as he sighed with relief. “I knew you were the one for me.”

The one. The words left a fuzzy warmth settling into your heart. The one, his beloved, the person he wanted so badly to love that it pained him up until now…it didn’t feel too bad to be that person for Seóirse. Besides, this was only the beginning, and you had plenty of time to get to know this side of him until the end of his rut. A couple days, a week, hell, even a month–no matter how long it took to satisfy him, you had a good sense that it wouldn’t be the last time you stuck around for your ‘friend’. 

[ordinary-barbie]

Rafe watches your favorite show without you.

Rafe x fem!reader

summary: When Rafe watches a new episode without you, he faces your wrath—or does he?

tags: fem!reader, pet names (babe, baby), some kissing, mention of Severance but no spoilers I promise

a little something I decided to whip up, heh. Idk if this is even that good but f it we ball

You loved Rafe deeply, but right now, he was enemy #1.

One of your favorite things to do with your boyfriend was watch shows together. The two of you had recently gotten hooked on Severance, tearing through the first season in a single weekend. Now season 2 was in full swing, and you were excited to catch the latest episode—after you came back from your old college roommate's bachelorette party weekend, of course.

Rafe had groaned when you'd reminded him that you were going to be in Charleston for the weekend. He was (mostly) okay with you leaving him for a few days, but what really sucked was not having your weekly Severance date.

You'd returned from your trip feeling exhausted yet happy after a weekend of partying with your girls. All you'd wanted to do was cuddle up with your man and catch up on your show. When you'd played the episode on your laptop, you noticed that Rafe wasn't reacting to certain story developments like you were—almost as if he had already seen them unfold...

You paused the episode and turned to Rafe, cocking an eyebrow at him. "Rafe Cameron, did you watch the new Severance without me?"

Rafe smiled bashfully, knowing he was caught. "Babe I tried to wait, I really did. But I was so bored last night and I couldn't resist..."

You tsked at Rafe. "Wow, you just broke a cardinal rule. Don't watch a show without your partner!"

"I should've been patient and waited for you. I'm sorry, baby," Rafe replied, genuinely sounding contrite.

You thought about playing up your disappointment more—making him sweat a little—but Rafe was looking at you with puppy dog eyes that you simply couldn't resist.

"I guess it's okay," you said, flashing your boyfriend a smile. "But you're gonna have to make it up to me..."

Rafe pulled you into his lap, kissing that special spot behind your ear. You moaned, leaning into him as he moved to your neck, lavishing it with kisses. "What'd you have in mind, princess?"

"Um..." You'd had an idea brewing, but Rafe's kisses had your brain scrambled in the best possible way. He chuckled at you, giving you a peck on your nose.

"How about after dinner, I'll watch that Summer House show you like?" Rafe offered.

This was huge. Rafe hated reality TV and always popped his earbuds in whenever you'd turn Bravo on.

"Wow, you really are sorry, huh?" you teased, laying your head on Rafe's shoulder.

A lazy grin tugged at Rafe’s lips. “I'll make sacrifices for the woman I love.”

“I appreciate it, babe. Just make sure it doesn’t happen again,” you warned him with a mock sternness.

Rafe smirked. “Yes, ma’am. I love it when you get bossy.”

You rolled your eyes, though your eyes sparkled with amusement for your silly boyfriend. You closed your laptop—you could always catch up with Severance tomorrow. Right now, cuddling with your boyfriend and taking a nap sounded pretty appealing.