#and like at the end of it trying to let them know that I won't be staying with them regardless of moving somewhere else

[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

[digi-diareis]

Teen MC snapping at Caleb

Context: Yk how when you're teenagers, guys think the only way to flirt with the person they like is by teasing them? Well, imagine if Caleb had an era like this until it went too far and mc finally snapped at him.

Beware: this is gonna be SO BAD. im not a writer at all and english isn't my first language either. its just that i've had this scenario in my head for a few days now and i needed it out of my system. Also, I decided to use they/them pronouns for mc. So its more inclusive that way and also bcs even I personally don't always refer to my mc as she/her. So yeah, for the bitches, bros and non binary hoes.

Imagine this, Caleb and you bantering like usual on your way home but you're having an off day which makes it easier for you to get pissed off and fed up with all the teasing. Unfortunately, Caleb doesn't notice this and keeps teasing you until you just snap.

So mc, exasperated, scoffs at him and turns around to leave with their arms folded across their chest and eyebrows scrunched so hard they almost look like a unibrow.

"I'm done talking you. Go find someone else to pick on, Caleb. I'm not in the mood."

Sensing the sudden shift of mood, Caleb is speechless for a bit and left floundering, looking for the right words to say. He thought this was just your usual banter so why were you suddenly taking the jokes seriously? Hell, he can't let you stay in a bad mood for the entire day because that means he's getting the silent treatment and he'd rather die (well not really but he almost feels like it) than have you completely ignore his entire existence. Again.

He approaches you slowly, using a gentle voice to not alarm you the same way one would with a hissing kitten.

"Pipsqueak? Did I say something wrong? I'm sorry... Tell me what it was and I promise I won't say it again. Don't be mad anymore, we don't want you to develop any more wrinkles, do we?"

And oh, the way you stiffened up, very much reminiscent of a stray cat on full alarm against anybody trying to steal its food. Caleb gulps, knowing somewhere along the lines, he triggered a tripwire and a bomb's about to blow.

"Uhm! You know what, nevermind me! How about we go buy your favorite snack? Oh, what a coincidence your favorite stall is right around the corner-"

You turn around with a glare that makes him immediately shut up, looking like you're about to rip him a new one.

"WRINKLES?! First, you make fun of my height. Calling me pipsqueak around everyone and never shutting your damn mouth about how not a day has passed where I was taller than you. Then you start being weirdly aggressive towards my other guy friends, which by the way, what the fuck? Now most of them won't even talk to me anymore! What is your problem?! And now, you're calling me OLD and UGLY?!"

"I-I never said -"

"Shut your damn mouth and listen to me, Caleb! You have been getting on my nerves lately! I've been trying to convince myself that this is all just friendly banter but sometimes, you go too far that I don't even know if I can still laugh it off! We used to be best friends but now, its so easy for you to make fun of me. I don't know what I ever did to deserve this but oh my god, if you hate me this much then just stop hanging around me!"

Mc is heaving by the end of their entire speech, extremely worked up and upset that they're red in the face. They had been bottling this up for the past few weeks so letting it out almost felt cathartic.

Caleb is stuck in place, throat dry and mouth open but words won't come out. Was that how it's been like for you? Had he taken the jokes too far recently? Maybe it was wrong to listen to the other guys in his class who said that teens tend to fall for guys who act terrible, the bad boy stereotype is popular nowadays.

He looks down, feeling guilty and pathetic that he ended up making you feel like you hated him when you were the person who embodied everything he loved. You made him feel like flying and falling, all at the same time. So how could he hurt you like this? He had to make things right before it was too late.

"I'm sorry. Its all my fault. I shouldn't have said all those hurtful things to you, even if it was a joke or not. At the end of the day, they hurt you and that's not right. Please believe me when I say that I could never hate being around you. That couldn't be more wrong, not when all I ever want to do is be by your side. So please don't tell me to stop hanging around you, just thinking about it feels like my chest is being squeezed that it hurts. I promise I won't make the same mistakes again, so please forgive me?"

He's nervous, fiddling with his hands while he looks you in the eye. He reminds you of a wet puppy under the rain, begging you to bring him home with you. You knew the moment he pulled those puppy dog eyes that you would eventually lose, you could never say no to him. Not when you were kids and not now.

You sigh, shoulders slumping and the frown gone from your face. Now you just look tired, which only makes him more worried, maybe you're tired of him? No, that can't be. What would happen to him if you decide he's not worth keeping around anymore? He just might stop functioning all together.

You turn your back and start walking home, he feels his heart drop thinking this is it. You're leaving him behind– that is until you turn your head to the side, side eyeing him with a blush on your face.

"What're you standing there for, I thought you were going to buy me my favorite snack? Don't get the wrong idea, I'm not forgiving you just yet. Not until I've had my fill."

After that day, Caleb completely changes. Or maybe its more accurate to say he reverted back to how he used to be when you guys were kids. Doting, attentive and extremely supportive. He still banters with you from time to time but he never goes out of his way to start one. Although, there is one thing that doesn't change and that's how over protective he still is, he's still acting like a guard dog and being threatening towards all the guys in your class but at this point, you're just happy to have your best friend back again.

And just like that, Caleb's popularity spikes in your class because suddenly, every girl wants a guy who comes at their beck and call and attends to their needs. No more bad boy persona for them, they just want someone who worships the ground they walk on the same way Caleb does for you.

[outer-andromeda]

Usually I try to better clean up and color these... But I REALLY wanted to share 'em as soon as possible cuz I really like how they look already, sue me :')))

Some story time under the cut for those of you who want context >:000

((EDIT - Small TWs for some negative talk and mentions of grief. Also spoilers for the ending on Chapter 4 :00)

As mentioned in a previous post, Gabby and Doey's relationship is... Very strained after the events of the fourth chapter.

Doey joined the group (Gabby, Kissy and Ava) eventually while they were venturing as subtly as possible to avoid running into Huggy. It was a surprise, obviously - they all thought he was six feet underground since the aftermath of him crashing down. They were all relieved to know he was still alive, but something was different. He wasn't as jovial as his usual self was... He was just... Off. Quiet. Monotone.

(Which is understandable since the guy is literally GRIEVING the loss of the kids of the Safe Haven y'know- and he feels immense guilt for what happened)

At some point, they get separated - Kissy and Ava stick together, while Doey and Gabby venture on their own way, both groups hoping to join each other again eventually. Doey and Gabby still have that quiet dynamic going on, because the human guy doesn't want to make things any worse than they already are. So he tries to be the cheerful one. For both his and Doey's sakes. He tries as hard as he can. But it falls flat. And Gabby, despite himself, grows more and more irritated by Doey's unusual calmness. Something's obviously going on and he won't say anything about it.

Something happens that puts them in a dangerous situation, and everything spills out. Gabby wants to talk, he wants answers. Doey is trying to ignore it, but he's being pushed. And suddenly his anger blooms back out. And he lashes out on Gabby. Shouts all the words he hadn't gotten out. How he was never any good for the kids. How he could've done so much more. How if it wasn't for him, "they'd still be breathing and standing right now". How Gabby can't understand. And Gabby... Takes it. He stands there, listening to every single thing he says. Silently.

He's not afraid. And Doey notices. It's unnerving. It catches him completely off guard. It's like something is starting to break inside of him. Something he's not sure he wants to let shatter much more...

And then Gabby hugs him. And the thing in Doey's core is completely obliterated. And the crocodile tears are finally, finally let loose. And his shoulders finally relax to wrap themselves around the short man.

They talk after some VERY good comforting words from Gabby. They find Kissy and Ava after some searching, and they're back on track.

And from then on, their relationship changes back slowly to the small friendship they had formed in the past, plus more. They both understand and trust each other, and Doey feels relief from having someone he can confide in and let himself relax with. And just... Be a kid. Even if just for a bit. All three kids need that so badly, and Gabby tries his best to give that to them. To Doey. Because he, out of anyone, deserves a break the most.

[lunar-years]

It's really interesting how Peeta's quiet rebellion in the first games is kind of completely overlooked by everyone, right down to President Snow, while Katniss emerges as The Singular Target. To the extent that by the end of the book when they meet Snow, Katniss can tell right away that only she is to blame for the berry trick, whereas Peeta is quickly dismissed and then for a long time, an afterthought,

Like, yes, the berry trick was Katniss' idea, but it comes to her straight from Peeta's rhetoric!! "They have to have a Victor, Katniss" and before that on the cornucopia, when Katniss asks him why they won't just let Cato die already and Peeta responds "you know why." Like...both statements are vague enough to maybe not seem of any big concern to the Capitol, but Katniss is directly picking up on the undercurrent of his words. And you can't convince me that by the time they actually go to put the berries in their mouths, Peeta isn't fully aware of the same thing Katniss is: the Capitol won't let them both die. They need their Victor, or it falls apart. Yet to Snow and the Capitol, they truly believe Peeta is just a lovestruck idiot carrying out a double suicide so they can be together forever, Romeo & Juliet style. Whereas Katniss, in their POV, is doing it out of direct malice towards the Capitol, not love for Peeta. Even Haymitch doesn't let Katniss and Peeta talk afterwards and only tells Katniss the reality of the situation in the Capitol because he thinks that if Peeta finds out the truth he'll get too upset or won't be able to handle it and things will blow up.

This is after an entire Games where Peeta has been doing something that I have to imagine is pretty unprecedented, and definitely in contradiction to the entire mindset of the Games, which that he neglects his own self preservation instincts and safety to protect and save Katniss. He's kind of playing the Capitol the whole time, because right from the beginning he's refusing to participate in the inherent selfishness and division they try to sow in the Games. And he's doing so in ways he can easily get away, because Snow and by extension the Capitol don't see love as anything other than a form of weakness.

And I'm not trying to say that Peeta is this mastermind deliberately plotting intentional rebellion from page one, because yeah, his actions are largely purely driven by love for Katniss. But the thing the Capitol can't understand is that for Peeta, that love has always been inseparable from rebellion. One necessities and fuels the other. The paragraph Katniss spends lamenting on how horrified Peeta would probably be if he heard the way she and Gale talk about the Capitol in the woods is almost laughable as a reader, because girl, Peeta would absolutely be right there with you. Meanwhile, Katniss is shocked at herself when she so much as thinks the word 'murder' for the first time in relation to a death in the Games. It's just fascinating!

And again, that's not to say Katniss isn't also very much rebellious, especially as the narrative goes forward, but what's key is that her rebellion also stems out of love, and it strengthens over the course of the books as her love strengthens. Her first act of rebellion is volunteering out of love for her sister. And then slowly, her mindset in the game evolves from pure survival as she comes to love Rue, then Peeta. In nearly every case it's love that prompts further rebellion. The Capitol just can't see it because they can tell the star-crossed lovers narrative is on her end, but not Peeta's, a ruse. That's why Katniss is singled out as a threat and Peeta isn't. And by the time the Capitol/Snow realizes the love is reciprocated and that Peeta is the key weapon to use against Katniss, the love is already so deeply rooted that nothing can stop the rebellion that follows.

[elzifelzi]

PHANTOM

CHAPTER TWO

Chapter 2:BEWARE!

The box ghost approached the boys slowly and began firing a flurry of ghost rays at them but they barely managed to dodge that.The boys who were terrified at the events that was currently transpiring realized that they were sitting ducks out in the open so they took refuge behind Tuckers work desk and began trying to formulate a plan. 

Tucker :”Danny do something!!?”

Dan:”Why me!!?”

Tucker :”dude you literally have super powers!”

Dan scratched the back of his head in response to Tucker's words. 

Dan:” why don't you do something?”

Tucker :”no way man, he's a ghost and I'm black. I've seen enough horror movies to know that this won't end well for me!”

As soon as that sentence left Tucker's mouth a ghost ray hit his work desk disintegrating it on the spot. Dan, not having any other options, took Tucker's advice and jumped in front of the box ghost preparing to face him. 

Box ghost :”ahh a human with a death wish, your soul would be the perfect accessory for my boxes.” 

Dan:”I'm not even sure I have a soul anymore, but if I did I'm sure I wouldn't let you have it. “

Box ghost :”ahhh so you wanna challenge me boy? your death will be swift.”

Dan clenched his fist and began concentrating just as he had before, if he could turn from ghost to human then surely he should be able to do the reverse right? His theory was right and in a flash of light he regained his ghostly appearance. Turning towards the box ghost, his eyes glowing green with anger , Dan now had a new air of confidence around him. 

Dan: “alright ghost, let's rumble!”

This sudden change surprised the box ghost,while shapeshifting was a common ghost power a human being able to switch from human to ghost at will was unheard of.

Box ghost :”a ghost, who can willingly shift from human to ghost is unheard of.”

A sinister grin spread across his face. 

Box ghost : “your soul just became 10 times more valua....”

The ghost's words were cut short as Danny delivered a strong right hook at his jaw and then followed up with another one to his stomach knocking the ghost through a wall.

He followed up with a furious barrage of  punches to his face, leaving it practically unrecognizable. 

Tucker:”dude thats amazing! how'd you get used to your powers so fast?”

Dan shrugs.

Dan:”I haven't. I'm just fighting how I normally would, I think my ghost strength is the thing that's actually damaging him.” 

Tucker:”well whatever you did seems to have worked you knocked him out.” 

Box ghost :”oh child, you have no idea how wrong you truly are.” 

The box ghost immediately recovered and useing his ecto energy created many box shaped projectiles, he launched them  at Dan , Dan who was still unfamiliar with his powers was blindsided by them and was buried under more than a dozen of the ghosts boxes. Tucker continued hiding from a safe distance. 

Dan: “boxes? I survive a portal exploding in my face only to die by boxes!?”

Dan's words upset the box ghost, almost as if they had some kind of deeper meaning to him. 

Box ghost : “You think this is funny!!You think this Is some kinda joke!??’

In a fit of rage the box ghost  seized Tucker by the throat and threw him out the window, leaving him to perish. 

Box ghost: “your soul is as good as mine ghost boy, you haven't won, I'll be back another day to reclaim it!”

And like that he disappeared. Dan without a second jumped out of the window diving  after Tucker, he managed to get a hold of him but they were still falling at a rapid  speed. 

Tucker:”Now would be a good time to practice flying Danny!!!”

Dan:”you don't think I want to?!I don't know how!!”

Tucker:”Then this is gonna hurt!!”

Dan:”no it won’t!”

Just as the two were about to hit the ground, Dan managed to switch places with Tucker cushioning his fall. His body crashed into the ground with a loud thud but successfully managed to prevent Tucker from getting hurt.

Dan:”ouch!you okay?”

Tucker immediately stood up and began inspecting his body for bruises.

Tucker:”Yeah I’m good,you?”

Dan:”in excruciating pain but no major “damage.

Tucker offers him a hand and pulls him up.

Tucker:”how’d you know that you’d survive that?”

Dan:”I.. didn’t.:

Tucker simply stared at him in silence.

Dan:”what!?”

He gives Dan a fistbunp.

Tucker:”Thanks for saving me man.You’re an idiot..but thanks.“

Dan rubbed the back of his head

Dan:”don't mention it, but that freak will be back again and I don't think I'm strong enough to beat him.”

Tucker :”Then we just gotta make you stronger. Time for a little training session.”

Dan:”you're acting like I'm some kind of superhero.”

Another grin spreads on Tucker's face.

Tucker :”That's not such a bad idea, you could actually be a hero.” 

Dan chuckles 

Dan:”I'm not so sure about that,besides what would I even call myself?”

Tucker:”How about Danny Phantom?”

Dan:”That sounds super lame, just Phantom is alright.”

Tucker playfully punches Dan in his arm.

Tucker:”Don't be a hater.”

The boys returned to their room and almost immediately began preparations for Dan's training unbeknownst to them the box ghost  wasn't working alone.

After leaving the scene he flew around Amity city until he met a swirly green vortex,entered it and arrived at an eerie area, where the sky was black and the surroundings were green,it was so unsightly that it made hell itself look like a nice place to live, it was almost an empty void that seemed to stretch forever in each direction a void that could drive the sanest man mad just for daring to ponder what lay beyond it. He continued his journey until he landed on what appeared to be a floating island enveloped in an ominous green glow , the island resembled a battered skull, with demonic glowing red eyes,after walking around for awhile he was greeted by another ghost , he was a humanoid machine who stood roughly 8 ft tall, his face was structured like a skull with piercing green eyes, the top of his head expelled a strong green Mohawk like flame, while the sides of his face and chin expelled a similar flame that resembled a beard. His upper body was heavily clad in metallic armor, his arms were large enough to make the biggest bodybuilders look small and in place of his right hand was a green glowing hook. He sat on a throne of bones and kept 3 ghosts on leashes, two of them looked like a green octopus with glowing red eyes and the other was a green 3 headed bulldog. Upon seeing the box ghost he let out deep growl and spoke In what can only be described as a demons tone

???? :”What are you doing here and where are the 20 human souls that you promised me?”

The authority that this ghost commanded was so powerful that the Boxghost who to Danny appeared like a frightening monster felt like no more than a small messenger boy.

box ghost :”I have them.”

He levitated 18 small boxes and placed them at the Ghost's feet. After counting them the ghost stood up furiously and using his hook seized the box ghost by his throat. 

???? :”Is this some kind of joke!? Where are the last 2!??”

Box ghost :”I'm sorry skulker I had some difficulties acquiring the last 2..”

Skulker :”What kind of difficulties? What are you too weak to slaughter a few humans? Pathetic.”

Box ghost :”it wasn't a human at least I'm sure it wasn't..”

Skulker tightened his grip on the box ghost's throat.

Skulker :”you'd better start making sense before I take your head as compensation for the missing souls.”

Box ghost :”one of them could switch from ghost to human at will. I don't know how he did it but he wasn't a full ghost!!”

Skulker's demeanor dropped for a moment before regaining his composure.

Skulker :”Is that all? Hah! you're more useless than I thought. What happened to the box ghost who was feared around the entire ghost zone? now you can't handle one ghostly brat it's a shame. “

In frustration, Box ghost fires a punch at Skulker but misses.

Box ghost :”I'm telling you the brat was tough!Not tough enough to beat me but tough enough that if left alone with his powers for longer he could!”

Skulker :”So you're saying this boy isn’t used to his powers yet.”

Box ghost :”fairly new with them from what I’ve seen. “

Skulker:”Interesting,Masters might want to know about this.”

Box ghost:”You’re still working with that human?The bastard’s a ghost hunter,you sure we can trust him?”

Skulker swiftly grabbed the box ghost by his shoulder and began slowly sliding his hook across the box ghost's throat, green blood began oozing out of his neck dripping down the handle of his hook. A chill went up the ghosts' spine, skulker had managed to make a deadman fear death. He then dropped the box ghost to the floor, leaving him holding his neck as Skulker stood on his back.The box ghost squirmed trying to break free but even his muscled physique was weak against skulker's strength. 

Skulker:”You don’t question me.Get it!?”

Hesitantly the box ghost nodded in response.

Skulker:good.

He tossed the ghost aside and sat back on his throne.

Skulker:”but if you must know me and Masters have a very favorable arrangement.”

Box ghost:”how so?”

He asked while rubbing his wounded neck.

Skulker:”It’s simple,we run a few errands for him and on top of supplying me with his new tech he turns a blind eye whenever our crew invades the human world.Those ghost hunters he works with are good but with with him keeping them on such a tight leash we won’t have anything to worry about.”

Box ghost: “not bad but what would he want with the ghost brat?”

Skulker flashes him a sinister grin.

Skulker:”the same thing we all want!”

Box ghost:”Well he can have what's left of the brat after I’m through with him!”

Skulker:”no! You’re done with him for now!This brat is much too Valuable to leave in your hands.”

In anger, the box ghost punches against the ground.

Box ghost:”Dammit! And what the hell am I supposed to do!”

Skulker takes his hook and stabs it into the ghost's chest!

Skulker :”You’ll do well to watch your  mouth when you speak to me!! As for what you’ll be doing,you’ll be getting me 50 more souls to compensate for the 2 you let get away!!Do I Make Myself Clear!?”

The box ghost hesitantly nods.

Box ghost :”But what about the ghost boy?? 

Skulker pressed his foot harder into the ghosts back, cracking what could only be his spine. 

Skulker :”Leave him to me, he interfered in my business so it's only fitting that I deal with him accordingly.But until I can properly assess his value my pets will keep him company In the meantime.”

He glanced at his pets and as if on cue one octopus and one dog both flew away.

Skulker:”That should keep the boy busy.” 

He directed his attention back to the box ghost.

Skulker:”You're still here? get out of my sight!”

He kicked the ghost away and left. 

Box ghost :”You may be stronger now, but soon I'll reign supreme once more!!!.”

The box ghost immediately set out to complete the task that skulker instructed him Unbeknownst to him Skulker was there watching his every move. 

Skulker : “Does that fool really believe that he could overthrow me? Ha! After I get the souls from him, and I'm done with the ghost boy I'll mount both their heads over my wall.”

To be continued

Chapter 1

Authors note..

Thanks for reading🙂

Hope you enjoyed

this chapter marks the first appearance of Skulker one of the big bads of this season hope you guys liked him.

Next chapter will be out next week.

[zainnaprollyloveslevi]

"The Limit Part 2"

Mammon X MC

Summary: This is a continuation of my first Mammon fic. Before jumping into this one, please read part one first. Thankyou.

Warning: SMUT SMUT SMUT. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. IF YOU DO CHOOSE TO CONTINUE DESPITE THE WARNINGS THEN THAT IS YOUR CHOICE. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK. Dom!Mammon X nonbinary MC, Oral (Reader receiving), No protection but no creaming inside (if he aint got no condom, don't let the mf top em), Mammon won't shut UP. Lowkey kind of rushed, not proofread.

Word count: 1.4k

Extra: This is my first time writing actual smut. I’m sorry this took so long to make huhuhu. A LOT of things happened in just a span of a month. I TRIED MY BEST I’M SORRY.

Minors DNI. NSFW UNDER THE CUT.

“I love you, MC, but I’m sorry…”

“...I’m at my limit.”

Mammon, the demon gripping you so sweetly as if you could flow out of his grip like viscous honey, has lost his wits end. Wet, desperate kisses planted themselves on your lips as he undid the buttons of your shirt with one hand. He pushes you further against the wall in an attempt to get closer to you, to merge your shared warmth until it was hot enough to set this room on fire. You can hear his shaky breaths, his hips having a mind of its own as he thrusts against your upper thigh despite the clothes getting in the way. Your vision blurs, you might as well close your eyes. He lets out one final huff before leaning back to look at you. He smiles, a smile you have never seen from him before. It’s like he’s teasing you. He speaks, his voice sultry and desperate.

“You look so fucking pretty like this, MC.”

Mammon takes off his top, throwing it to the side. His eyes never left yours, he needed to see every single reaction you gave him. For now, he likes what he’s seeing. He leans closer, gripping the ends of your blouse and takes them off of your body. You’re cold. He can sense this, he chuckles.

“Cold? Want me to help?”

He places a palm on your hip, sliding it down to feel your skin. You felt your breath hitch.

“Mammon-!”

He pulls you into him, cutting you off.

“C’mon, treasure. You told me I could have it. You can’t leave me hangin’ like this.”

His hand rests on your back, he slides it down just enough to tuck the tip of his middle finger under the bands of your pants. His chin rests upon your shoulder, you can’t see his reaction. However, it doesn’t take a genius to know what kind of expression he has on.

“I wasn't trying to stop you…”

You bury your face into his chest, in this position, you can hear his heart racing.

“...Just wanted to let you know that I’ve been waiting, wanting this too.”

For a moment, you swore you heard him gasp or at least choke. He then pushes you onto the bed by your shoulders. Here you are, back against the sheets as he hovers on top of you, one hand on the zipper of his pants. He looks desperate, frantic, he looks like he’s so close to losing it if he hadn’t lost it already a while ago.

“Fuck, MC, don’t fucking tease me like that.”

You heard him unzip his pants, he leaned down closer, close enough to kiss your neck. He whispers,

“I’m going to get re-aquainted with this fuckin’ body. Head to toe, you’re mine.”

He bites down onto your skin, going lower and lower each time.

“This body’s gunna get used to me, memorize the hell out of me. I’ll fuck it so good it’ll never forget me.”

He then looks up at you, his head in the middle of your chest.

“This goes for you too.”

He then dragged his hand down from the side of your hips to your pants, pulling them down and off of you gently but oh so desperately.

“I’ll ask ya again, okay?”

He kisses the skin right above your sensitive parts but below your belly button. He keeps his gaze locked into yours.

“Can I have it?”

You didn't realize it until now, but you felt yourself growing weaker and weaker. You nod, just trying to get him to do something already.

“Yes! Yes, Mammon! Stop asking!”

He scoffs, “And here I was, tryna be polite.”

He kisses your skin, lower and lower. Instinctively, you tried to squeeze your thighs together, he stopped you. His fingers dug themselves in the fat of your thighs, he glared at you.

“I thought I told ya to stop fucking teasing me.”

Without another word, without another response, he kisses your sensitive spot. You hitch, squeezing your eyes tight. He continues to kiss, lick, suck, anything that makes you feel so good you start to shiver. His hold on your thighs never falters, if anything, they grew stronger. He mumbles as he quite literally has you in his mouth, on his taste buds. His voice was breathy and desperate.

“Feels good, yeah? Gunna makes a mess on my tongue?”

You wish he would just shut the hell up. You reached down to grab him by his hair. He chuckles.

“C’mon, I know you can.”

He continues on, making you squeeze whatever strands of hair you were able to grab on his head. The pain doesn’t bother him in the slightest. He lets go of your thighs just to feel them squeeze around him, he’s smug about it.

“Go on, make a mess. We ain’t the ones cleanin’ this up. These aint our sheets.”

You’re so close to your limit.

“Oh fuck, Mammon!”

“Dun worry, treasure. I promise you will. I just need ya to cream on my face.”

You instinctively squeezed your thighs even harder, cumming right onto his face. He chuckles, getting out of his spot in between your legs to let you catch your breath. You don’t know what he did afterwards, he probably wiped his face, who knows. He then sat beside you, looking down at you.

“Are you alright? Still wanna keep going?”

He asks you. You're still trying to catch your breath and he’s over here asking questions.

“Oh don’t look at me like that. I’m just checking up on ya.”

He wipes the sweat off of your forehead, he smiles.

“Well, at least you ain’t cold anymore.”

Mammon gets off of the bed, re-positioning himself in between your legs. This time, he has your legs over his shoulder as he looks down at you. He smiles.

“You look so damn pretty.”

His pants were still on, his zipper was pulled all the way down as well as his boxers to give way to his hardened sex. He huffs, blush adorning his face.

“Gunna fuck you so fuckin’ good now.”

He slowly enters you, nice and slow.

“Yer gunna accept me, right? Let me pound into ya like there's no tomorrow?”

With the head of his cock fully inside of you, he slowly sinks his shaft into you. You let out a noise. This does not go unnoticed by him.

“Yeah you will. Of course you will.”

He then pulls himself out of you only to thrust back in with ample force and speed that makes your legs shake, he keeps talking.

“Yer my human, after all. Mine, all fucking mine.”

He pounds into you like no tomorrow. You don’t understand how he can thrust this fast and this deep, he’s making your head spin.

“Fuck– I might finish a lil’ early tonight.”

He leans forward, pounding in deeper with more force. His eyes never left yours, as if he was trying to burn this image of you beneath him, getting ravaged by him, in his retinas. For a long while, the only noise that you could hear was the noise you were making, his pants and moans, and the sound of skin pounding into skin. You’re dizzy, all of your thoughts are merging into one goop. You felt your back arch a little to accommodate him. He keeps his hand on the lower portion of your legs. He finds it in himself to speak again. However, his words have been reduced to burbles.

“I- fuck- I can’t. ‘m gunna cum…”

He goes faster, not that you thought that it was possible. The noises grew louder as he practically slammed himself inside of you.

“I fuckin’ love ya. Gunna marry ya one day. Gunna make sure we’re never apart.”

He adjusts his grip on your legs before going at it once more.

“So I won't have to miss ya, so that I won't have to wait months to see ya again.”

He keeps stuttering, he’s close.

“B-by then… we’ll be together… always, every single fucking day-! I can finally kiss ya everyday, finally hug ya, finally fuck ya! J-just wait!”

He lets out a groan before pulling out of you, evidence of his arousal spilling onto your stomach. The both of you huff, looking into the eyes of one another. He doesn’t say another word. He just gently removed your legs from his shoulders and laid down next to you. His breath was still ragged.

“I love you, MC. Please, never leave my side.”

[purpdrawsthings]

Hey wdym it's been like 24 days since that one post I made that was like to draw ppls Me Puzzles' ?... Oh.

I'M SO SORRY FOR LEAVING Y'ALL HANGING FOR ALMOST A MONTH GUHHHHHH

Immediately speed running since yesterday and today. Yes that meant I didn't even do anything for more than 20 days. I'm a lazy person you see 💥💀

Guess the Spotify music motivated me so hard I decided to speed run ig let's go?

Anyways enough yapping I know thats what y'all don't wanna read or see about rn y'all wanna see the JUICY Puzzles I drew right???

Anyways have them + how I think about them =D

Btw these weren't meant to be coloured.

First up, @fluffygiraffe 's PJ!

We got the silly Puzzles that was first to comment on the post! Hihi Fluffygiraffe. Idk anything about this Puzzles but I just gotta say I love the way you draw in a fuzzy and almost comforting art style and also PJ's design is very very cute thank you for the Puzzles 💜

Second, @emeraldsk 's Complete Puzzles!

Wait.. I've seen this man before... Hmmmmmmmmmm oh nvm. /silly anyways, I like the design! It's quite nice and the way the colours are arranged are done quite nicely. Overall, this Puzzles is approved by yours truly 💜

Third, we got @mrtophat518 's Grudge Puzzles!

Ono we got an edgy Puzzles chat get away /silly anyways, I've read the entirety of the whole Grudge Puzzles AU blog just today! I love that one time he broke the literal fourth wall and cracked the screen, that was a really nice surprise. [Thanks Micheal for fixing the glass with a new one we owe you something 💥] overall, the story is very enteresting and very VERY intriguing! I'm hoping to see how this progresses! Oh and also I love the puffy sleeves, those are literally my favourite, thank you for putting that on your Puzzles teehee it was fun 💜

Fourth, we got @bidinonsense 's Virus Puzzles!

I appreciate Alex for sending this in with their submission! The design is quite interesting to say the least! [Ooooooo funny sharp thingys.. Demon Puzzles... Ough....] I like how the mouth has a jagged line to represent sharp teeth ig, the 1 and 0 on the eyes are quite interesting! I think it kinda makes sense for a virus themed Puzzles? But overall, the design is interesting! Btw, I wonder if this is an au, if so.. I wonder how it works hehe... Oh anyways, thanks for the silly man! 💜

Last but not least, @alex-dolmatescu2-0 's Darkness Puzzles!

Ooooooooo, hello very... Handsome Puzzles... /silly /hj anyways, I've seen this Puzzles before! Saw a couple of posts about this guy and overall he seems pretty intriguing. The wings are a really cool concept, especially with the RGB colored looking wing! I really like drawing wings so thanks for giving me an excuse to draw one. Oh and the designs nice! Quite recognizable if you ask me. Anyways, approved! 💜

Special mention, @tsucacatenma 's Fallen Star Puzzles!

Yep, bonus Puzzles! For the past few days this person has been mentioning me on their posts about this particular Puzzles, and honestly, I love it! I love messy designed OCS like these that fill up space even tho ppl can't see shit. [That was a compliment 💥] the monocle was very nice, made him look a bit ✨ b r i i s h ✨ he truly is a very nice gentleman and definitely won't try to murder the SMG4 crew again. Btw the hand things coming out are very cool, I very likey. Anyways other than that, hope ur happy for this silly surprise teehee 💜

Anyways, that's about all! Last thing before we end this off, sorry for the long wait! I almost forgot this existed and during days I DID remember I just didn't get the motivation to work on it cuz I was scrolling through YouTube shorts or smth. I won't sugarcoat it, I'm a lazy ass =']

Anywaysssssss that's all buh bye! Hope I post or smth idek I'm working on smth but I'm not sure when it finished wait why am I still yapping OAHDISGXIXHDKDBPXBDPFBFOFBOFB

Yeetus

[wlwsoccerfics]

The ACL Chaos Continues(KerstinCasparijXRuthBrownXJillRoordXCasparijReader)

A/N: this Is Part two of 'The ACL Chaos Roommates' so read the first Part before this one.

Warnings: mental health issues, ACL injury, angsty

Summary: your healing Journey continues and so does the chaos.

Jill was off the crutches. So were you. It has been two months since surgery. But you still needed a cane sometimes to get around. And your pain was still a 6 sometimes even a 7 out of 10. But you kept pushing yourself even though you knew this was probably only gonna make things worse. Your fiancee, your twin and Ruth sure saw you struggling and they became quite worried with how you were handling things.

You were standing on the back porch, trying to walk without the cane while trying to get your leg to stay straight and it just wasn't working how you wanted it to work so you became more and more frustrated. Kerstin saw you from inside and walked out.

"y/n! Stop! What are you doing?! You are clearly exhausted! And overworking yourself doesn't gonna make this better!" Your twin sister told you. Her tone was a mix of worry and anger.

You looked at her before you started yelling and crying. Hugging her.

"i hate this! I know i said i would be patient but Physio said he isn't sure i will get back to my old self! What If i can't Play anymore?!" You cried into her shoulder while she wrapped her arms around you. Holding you close.

"it will be okay! Whatever happens you are smart, you will figure something out! And you are not alone, ever!" Your twin told you. You didn't see her face but you could hear in her voice that she was close to crying.

Unknown to both you and Kerstin, Jill & Ruth were watching you from the inside. Eyes filled with concern.

"this looks serious." Jill whispered out.

"i agree. whatever it is, we all have eachother! And we will support y/n! I just hope that Kerstin managed to get through to her. Because honestly your fiancee is not doing herself any favors like that! She is overworking herself constantly!" Ruth said.

"i noticed that as well, whenever i try to talk to her about it she keeps telling me how fine she is and that i imagine things!" Jill admitted.

Back to you and Kerstin...

"Luister alsjeblieft naar wat de dokter zei." (please listen to what the doctor said) Your sister spoke up.

"Ik probeer het. Maar dit is mijn leven." ( i am trying. but this is my life. ) You explained why it wasn't so easy to let things go and give them time. You were afraid your career might be over.

"Jezelf nog meer pijn doen, maakt het niet beter!" ( hurting yourself even more won't make things better! ) Kerstin answered.

You two talked for a little bit longer before walking inside. Both Jill & Ruth staring at you.

"Wat is er, lieverd?" ( what's wrong, darling? ) Jill asked.

"zag je mij een inzinking hebben?" ( you saw me having a breakdown? ) You asked your wife.

"we both did!" She told you and was referring to Ruth as well. You sighed softly taking a step towards hery grabbing her hand gently.

"let's sit down! I can't stand for that long without a cane." You admitted.

"which is Part of the Problem. Right?" Ruth asked. You nodded your head. All of you sat down on the Couch.

"Physio says he isn't sure i will be able to play like i used to before this injury. I am afraid my career might be over." You admitted, tears streaming down your face again. Ruth and Jill both felt like someone was punching the Air out of their lungs. They didn't expect this information to leave your mouth.

"liefje, it's still early on. Give it time! Even if you can't Play as strong as you do now, it doesn't mean you fully have to stop playing. Let's Focus on the healing process now. And worry later. I know things aren't going great for you but if they don't tell you that you can't Play anymore let's not go to career ending right now. Might take you longer to get back on the pitch, but you will get there!" Jill told you. Wrapping her arms around you. you cuddled into her side. It was clear to you, Ruth and Kerstin that the speech was not only for you but really to make sense of this for herself and well and build everyone back up.

"Jill is right, be patient with yourself! Be kind to yourself! You will get back onto the pitch. Even if you can just give 50% of how you played before this injury you still are world class! You are one of the best Players in the world, y/n! So don't give up on yourself! Cause the three of us sure won't ever give up on you!" Kerstin replied.

"we are here to support your healing Journey!" Ruth let you know. Offering you a kind smile. You thanked the three of them. Trying to stay focused on the good things. You knew they were right. You had to be more kind to yourself. And see what was about to come your way. Give yourself time. The Pitch will be there when you are ready.

You look at your fiancee ,a few minutes later you spoke up.

"i am thankful your journey is going better then mine Babe. I genuinely mean that. i hope you are right with what you say about my Journey but If you aren't...i know we talked about kids in the future...and i would be willing to carry one for us." You stated.

"that's sweet Babe! But let's wait okay? Focus on healing. You will get there!" Jill said.

Turned out that you indeed just needed more time but five months later you managed to do some running without pain, working on other skills as well. It was 7 months after you got hurt now. You weren't on the end of your healing journey but you were doing so great now and everyone was proud of you. Jill was doing even better , you were proud of her.

The two of you moved back into your place 3 months ago. Planning your Wedding, which was gonna be in exactly a year from now on. You had pushed it back cause of your Injury.

Even though your journey was difficult you appreciated everyone that was there for you and you liked being there for their journeys whatever those might be. You wanted to help people and not just receive help.

[pukaparade]

My Experience Working as an Artist at Santae

Just want to start off by saying that this is simply my personal experience and that anything following the cut is simply my own opinion based off of that personal experience. Readers are encouraged to please employ their own critical thinking and taking many grains of salt when reading another person's experience, mine included. Anyway, my feelings and experiences following the cut.

To start off when I applied to Santae I was really excited to be a part of the project. It's a project that has a lot of promise and it seemed to set itself apart from other petsites I've played in the past. I was really eager to try and be a part of it and participate in the growth of the site and community.

When I joined the server I received the typical greeting - CJ pings everyone to welcome new staff not unlike a welcoming party. It was a bit overwhelming but seemed well-meaning.

There were a lot of little red flags that sprouted up after my joining that I ignored or tamped down writing them off as caused by stress or seeing them as things that could be grown from. (Badmouthing past management, poor communication, etc..)

I can't and won't go into massive detail about everything that put me off and drove me to finally split ways because it would be splitting hairs after a certain point and I also just don't have the time, energy, or care to go through things with such a meticulousness. This post is mostly to warn others who may be thinking of applying what to expect and to cast a little transparency on the work environment. There are a lot of allegations going around and understandably a lot of people are afraid to speak up. I've already quit so that can no longer be held over my head (but we'll come back to this) and the worst that will happen is I'll become a social pariah on the site, or my account will be banned. (Kind of expecting this, so if Kasper #2468 gets iced just know it wasn't by my own hand lmfao. If my KS backing and SC earned by commission get nuked in retaliation ig it's a consequence I'm willing to accept.)

To the friends I've made on the team and the folks that reached out after I quit and removed from the server - I'm glad we met. And thank you to the former coworker who offered to post my goodbye for me after reaching out to me in DM (I declined because I didn't want anyone being ~ tainted~ by association lol) I was in the middle of typing a goodbye when I was unceremoniously removed from the server. When I joined staff got to say goodbye and some even hung around for weeks after parting ways, but since Sky was removed without being able to say goodbye it seems like being instantly deleted might just be the new standard. Not to mention the other artist who was just removed overnight without even a comment. To everyone else, I kind of assumed our camaraderie was as fickle and transient as my time on the team and wasn't surprised to be proven right. I'm sure it doesn't help that (in my experience) CJ has a habit of hopping into VC to badmouth anyone who doesn't align with his vision.

Anyway this is super disjointed already. Let's get onto some specifics.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

"You didn't even need reply ^_^"

I mentioned that the pings were stressful because we had already received multiple about this 'game' and it was getting stressful. When I mentioned that, I got a passive aggressive dm and followup about it afterwards. I will also note that a coworker added an agreeing 'react' to my post about the pings which cj then. removed. lol. I did not reply to the message bc by now I was tired of the manipulation games.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Commission Discomfort

I held off confronting about this for a long time because I feel that CJ does not take confrontation well and didn't want to make things worse for myself of others but by the end I was nearing my limit and needed to enforce a firm boundary.

I did some graphics work under the expectation that I'd be getting a divine figurine for it and had to follow up multiple times as usual, at which point CJ tried to pin it on a fellow artist coworker 'making him uncomfortable'. This is a common trend with poor communication on the team.

"management" would prefer that staff not commission site artists. This just always rubbed me wrong, especially after the, in my opinion, territorial behavior over me doing commissions. I also dmed some coworkers about it since he said he'd 'tell all the other artists' but no one else had gotten any similar messages from him.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Streaming in Server

When I started it was pretty casual for art staff to stream site work or personal work in the vc. I stopped streaming personal things after the first uncomfortable dm I got when working on an offsite comm and stuck to santae only work from then on. I don't have a screenshot of my own that I can use for this unfortunately but cj sent a message saying

"Hey @ artist @ lead artist @ lead clothing artist I would like to stop streaming art in the staff voice chat channel as technically the behind the scenes is for BMaC so it's just a gray area, however I would love if you all still wanted to stream but would like you all to stream via our Twitch platform or TikTok

Login credentials will be provided as well.

This is a perfect time to stream with the referral contest live it would be very beneficial I believe.

If you would like to stream please reach out to me, There will be SC pay for streaming, 5sc per hour with a max of 4 hours per day and max of 10 hours per week per artist :dravalove: your normal pay rates also apply this is just additional :heart:"

When the most recent artist to stream asked about back-pay for the stream done for the site the response was a gif of an empty wallet and a crying shimmerint emoji. These messages were later deleted.

further commentary as follows -

The only reason anyone noticed he deleted his messages was because in voicechat when other staff were asking why we don't steam anymore he said 'oh I deleted that' and then said that we can stream again in vc. This was followed the day after that vc by the following

CJ not only shared images to the BMaC in my time, but also would take the images directly from the art approvals channel and drop them into the staff vc anyway to show them off to whoever was around. Frankly this felt like shit every single time and felt like he just wanted the dopamine hit of people complimenting the art. Rarely were we credited during the fawning, too.

A fellow staff reached out to ask why I wasn't around as much, this staff member was in the same vc where he said it was ok again. CJ in my opinion likes to say things one way publicly but then if there's an issue he'll take it to dms or involve as few people as possible. To me his public and private faces are very different.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Final Straw

The screenshots from above reposted below

As you can see, they're clearly the same, lol. I will also mention that these plush items take twice as long to do and require more revisions than other items. On top of that I have concept art that I can't share due to NDA of the heartstruck concept - full roughs of the pets that I was not compensated for in any way. None of this was discussed prior to me starting the work which is my own fault and not a mistake I'll make again. I spent days, long consecutive hours working on the concepts before I could even start on the plush themselves. This time and the work I put in will remain unpaid.

Something I noticed while I was putting this together is that CJ has deleted at least one message from our dms, which is funny because the message I noticed got deleted is one that I had originally read as being sent with the intention to manipulate -

I have also been reached out to by a former coworker with a 'message from cj' which I declined. Respectfully, I've got you blocked for a reason man. If I had to guess he probably feels like there's something he needs to smooth over to cover his ass but I'm just not interested.

Overall my experience on art staff was quite stressful and the environment definitely felt like there was an in- and out- crowd that was decided by how present you are in vc and how willing you are to participate in the toxic positivity and bobble-head nodding. Also, getting frequently misgendered to your face and behind your back is a special kind of torture.

Anyway, I could probably ramble on more about the time he burst into voice call while I was in there with a coworker and ranted about another coworker for like 20 minutes totally ignoring me before just leaving, or how he's always talking shit about people behind their backs (hi new admins) but not to their faces but I don't have receipts for any of that. Nor energy. And besides there are other places where folks air their grievances and allegations if that's what you're looking for. So I guess I'll leave it here, take care y'all.

[tavolgisvist]

The Lovers That Never Were

(for @i-am-the-oyster because)

As for you, you sit there playing this game You keep me waiting

(The Lovers That Never Were, 1987)

Don't keep me waiting here Lead me to your door

(The Long and Winding Road, 1969)

Linda: The sad thing is that John and Paul both had problems and they loved each other and, boy, could they have helped each other! If they had only communicated! It frustrates me no end, because I was just some chick from New York when I walked into all of that. God, if I’d known what I know now… All I could do was sit there watching them play these games…

(Paul and Linda McCartney, Dec.1984, interview with Joan Goodman for Playboy, 1984)

All of the clocks have run down Time's at an end

(The Lovers That Never Were, 1987)

But in a final tender moment, the Observer said, Lennon wrote under a photo of himself with McCartney: “The minutes are crumbling away.”

(Associated Press: Lennon’s resentment of McCartney reflected in book notes, July 20th, 1986)

So you, you must tell me something,…I love you, Say goodbye or anything

(The Lovers That Never Were, 1987)

And I won't go away until you tell me so No, I'll never go away Yes, I know what I feel to be right

(No More Lonely Nights, 1984)

When all of the clocks have run down All over the world We'll be the lovers that never were

(The Lovers That Never Were, 1987)

In another world we could Stand on top of the mountain With our flag unfurled In time to come In time to come we will be Dancing to the beat played On a different drum

(Tug of War, 1980/82)

We had the whole musical universe to choose from – a rock and roll song, a love song, what would it be? – so I said, “Well, let’s start with Smokey Robinson and the Miracles. Let’s think of them”, so we started off and ‘The Lovers That Never Were’ came out. It was our first song together.

We did a nice but very, very rough demo of it, just Elvis and me, but when we tried to record it properly it didn’t really work out. So I ignored it for Flowers In The Dirt and decided to try it again for this album. And we thought of bringing in a 4/4 bass drum over a 3/4 song ~ this is for the musicians among you – which just makes it swing. It’s an old rhythm trick but it made it come alive, and we then had a version that we liked.

(Paul McCartney, 1993, Club Sandwich)

It was a waltz and not working, until Paul said, How about putting a 4/4 on top of this thing. And that was so complicated, waltz and 4/4 at the same time, but I tried and Paul’s looking at me saying, You all right? I’m struggling (claps in fours, stamps in threes), but I say, Just give me five minutes. A real head twister, but it was such a groove. Made the song happen.

(Blair Cunningham, from the “New World Tour”)

Baby’s In Black we did because we like waltz time – we used to do If You Gotta Make A Fool Of Somebody, a cool 3/4 blues thing. And other bands would notice that and say, ‘Shit man, you’re doing something in 3/4.’ So we’d got known for that. And I think also John and I wanted to do something bluesy, a bit darker, more grown-up, rather than just straight pop. It was more ‘baby’s in black’ as in mourning. Our favourite colour was black, as well

(Paul McCartney, Anthology)

“Baby’s in Black” was recorded by the Beatles on 11 August 1964, and was the first song recorded for Beatles for Sale. Lennon and McCartney sang their vocal parts simultaneously through the same microphone. This was done at their own insistence in order to achieve a closer feel to the performance. (x)

It was very much co-written and we both sang it. Sometimes the harmony that I was writing in sympathy to John’s melody would take over and become a stronger melody. Suddenly a piebald rabbit came out of the hat! When people wrote out the music score they would ask, ‘Which one is the melody?’ because it was so co-written that you could actually take either. We rather liked this one. It was not so much a work job, there was a bit more cred about this one. It’s got a good middle.

(Paul McCartney in Many Years From Now by Barry Miles, 1997)

They performed Baby’s in Black live during their appearances from late 1964 until their last tour in 1966. In 1996, a live version of Baby’s in Black was released as a B-side to Real Love, the second single from their Anthology project.

[leidensygdom]

So, one of the thoughts I've been having about AI of late (and the people defending them) is the people who try to defend it from an anti-capitalist, anti-copyright perspective. I can understand that there are AI bros that just like the convenience of cheap art (or even to run AI mills of any kind) and that they're being inflammatory or seeking to make a quick buck (and I hate them for it), but the perspective of "I'm defending AI from a communist perspective" it's truly the one that baffles me.

Like, let's be real. Who is pushing for it? Why is every large tech giant desperate to normalize it? Why are they trying to put it on every single thing you own? Why are they trying so bad to make the investment worth it? genAI is here because really rich people want it. Because it benefits companies. Because it's already been used to bypass any already ridiculous data protection the average person had, and data equals money to them, as they can use it to make increasingly more weaponized advertising. Instagram has been using it to generate images of people without their consent. Will ads simply include your face using their product? Who knows! But this is a massive concern for data privacy (and for consent)

People try to talk about artists who oppose AI as "entitled", "the biggest fans of IP law" and "acting as temporarily embarassed burgeoise who wants to ascend class through their art". The large majority of artists are already struggling to make ends meet as it is. Very few of the people you'll see complain online are doing much, if at all, through art. That one furry artist whose work you love who covers kinks and genders that the mainstream would not understand in 7 more decades isn't someone aspiring to be part of the upper class through they art. They literally just want to make a living.

Quite a large portion of internet artists are people who either make art that wouldn't fit the mainstream for different reasons (too subversive, too unique, too inflammatory, whatever), are disabled/ND people who have very limited options to make a living, or part of marginalized groups that have issues finding more standard jobs in bigger companies. Or several of these at the same time. These people aren't the evil capitalists you want them to be for trying to defend their work (and their livings).

Maybe, if AI existed in a world where everyone had an Universal Basic Income and their worth and chances of living were independent from their ability to commercialize their art, a lot of artists would care far less for it, or copyright, or anything. But it does not exist in a vacuum. The ones who are more staunchly vouching for AI are the actual big corporations that a lot of the people criticizing IP/copyright are usually opposed to. Can we talk about the way these corporations want to use AI to control social media? To standardize misinformation? How you can't generate a lot of things with it due to extreme sanitization? How it will tell you biased information as facts, knowing you won't fact check? How the use of genAI, ChatGPT and so is directly hurting people's ability to fact-check and have critical thinking? Maybe that's the most pressing issue, and the reason AI is being pushed as hard as it is.

Are the people who are at higher risk of losing their jobs to AI going to get compensated? Once companies start culling translators, customer service workers, videogame devs, writers and artists, VAs, and everything else they can replace, will they receive any compensation? No? Then maybe stand the ground with your fellow workers and hear their complaints about AI. Again, it does not exist in a vacuum, and as long as it doesn't, it will hurt a lot of people as companies seek to save up few cents.

But no, let's pretend that opposing AI is always made because every artist on the Internet is sitting comically massive piles of money they made drawing socially unacceptable queer art that gets them banned every other month from sites.

[mandy-asimp]

When She Calls

Lilia Calderu x Life!reader (she/her)

Warnings: language, deaths, sprinkles of angst, fluff, smut (but that's for waaay down the build up), whole lotta friendship, I'm like 87% sure that's it

Summary: when Life is asked to make a promise, she doesn't seem to be able to say no.But that promise was going to be served out so much longer than what she could see.

Chapter 2

Story masterlist

chapter 3

It was tense. The air. The people. Everything. 

Life had stayed on her own as she examined the room. Delicate fingertips running over everything and feeling the nitty bitty textures. She stood by the record player and kneeled to be eye level with the wood. Although her thoughts on what to do were clouded by the feeling of prying eyes. Even as her head snapped directly to stare at the booth. Agahta and Rio were speaking while looking directly at her. She only returned a harsher glare before standing up and continuing. 

“She won't expose either of us for the truth. She has too much to lose just like us. Like that Lilia character. Over four hundred years by her side as a cat. She’ll be too busy trying to fix what little time she has left with her to even focus on what we’re doing.” Rio reassured, already knowing how this goes. “She knew Nicky.”

The name caused Agatha to whip her focus to the words that were spoken so quietly she almost missed it all. “What…?” Her blue crystals glittered in the light, but as soon as the grief filled her eyes, it was all gone. “What if The Roads like Switzerland?”

Life turned her head once more back to the two, seeing how they got closer. She knew that it was either going to lead into a nasty makeout or something nasty. So she turned away, going back to examining everything. Stealing guilty glances to the oldest witch. However, she kept her distance.

Even when Rio’s voice came over the speakers. “Kill everyone around you. You get your power, I get my bodies.” The ‘coven’ moved together at her words, crowding in the center and watching through the glass.

“Hey that's my coven you're talkin’ about!” Agatha feigned her concern, although she hardly fooled anyone. 

The room erupted into complaints, but instantly drowned out by the screeching of the record. Dragging the attention to the record player as Teen fell back from it. Shouts to make the horrid noise end layered over each other. It wasn’t till Agatha took matters into her own hands after the boy's many failed attempts. She picked up the machine and slammed it into the ground, pieces flying over as she stomped with her heeled boot. Gasping a few times as she finally backed away. 

“We’ve been cursed.” Lilia stated. Her big brown eyes jumped all over, even to Life. There they stayed trapped in the storm clouds. How they rolled in and darkened the entire room. Only to be pulled back by the ticking of the metronome. Tick. Tick. Tick. 

~

Life and Death stood at the foot of the boy. A glass shard had cut him deeper and he had lost blood. Lots of it. The ‘coven’ stood around and did what they could. But it was when Agatha looked to them, begging with her eyes to Rio to not take him and pleading with Life to be fair. So neither did anything, they let the witches do their work. Observing the moment where they were actually looking like a coven. 

Even as they all sat around the fire as Teen rested. Well…Life hadn't joined them yet. She was from afar analyzing Agatha and her dynamic with the boy. She knew that the witch had figured him out just slightly, but she needed one more thing to be sure. Although, the funny thing about being life itself is always knowing who someone is without a second look. She knew who the boy was, and he wasn’t Agatha’s. But that wasn’t her knowledge to share. For all she knew, they didn’t know she knew of Nicky. She disappeared a century before Agatha was even born.

The woman was asked something that set her off clearly as she abruptly got up to leave. Giving Life her chance to go speak to the boy. “She’s always shot that topic down. He’s not one she likes to bring up…especially with Rio here now.”

“And I take it you know what happened to him?” Teen had sat up a little more, wrapping his arms around his knees as he grew curious to know so much more.

“I knew him. He was such a sweetie. Cutest little boy made from scratch I had ever been given the graces of curating. But…his time wasn’t meant to happen. They broke so many rules together.” She started her explanation, mimicking his pose right across from her. “I know who you are as well. I’ve known your path since your mother first knew.”

His brows furrowed as his eyes grew full of hope. “You…you know my name?”

“Of course I do. I’ll tell you a little secret, a token to show I mean no harm to you here. I’ve been hiding as Lilia’s familiar for years, all because I didn’t want to be Life anymore. It’s so demanding…having to see everyone into the world, to know when they’ll meet my counterpart.” She spoke so carefully, like if she was too loud everyone on The Road would hear her. 

The boy softly smiled, “so you’re the embodiment of life who hid as a cat?” A brief nod. “So…do you know then if-”

“Yes. I do know. I am not allowed to clear it for you though. That is a question of your life path that you’ll discover on your own…but like Agatha had said, you don't need to know someone's name to know who they really are. You’re a strong survivor too, I know you’ll figure it out.” She was so delicate with him. After all, she watched him escape. 

Life had gone out for a little bit. Lilia had left the front door cracked to ventilate out the air and get a cool breeze inside. And something within her told her to go out and observe the new lives that were coming in. It had been a while since she had done it and it was nice to see some of the positive lives that would be used wisely and greatly. 

Yet, there was a heavy pull towards Eastview that day. She followed it as well, finding the car smashed against a tree. A family, the Kaplan’s. Her heart ached at the sight of the lifeless boy in the back. His life managed to alter from what she knew. He was going to do wondrous things in his future, but alas…life is a funny thing. Never predictable to the fullest, even for herself.

The air around grew cold, a feeling she knew meant Death was on her way to collect the body. Life wished she could do something, anything to help him but it was against the laws of her nature. And unlike Rio, she had yet to bend them for anyone…but who would know it was her? 

The red anomaly in the distance began shrinking, and she suddenly wasn't watching. Instead she was acting and luring the soul of the voice that had just whispered a goodnight. “This way.” She would hum into the air, letting it travel all the way to the other. “Survive.”

The lifeless boy in the back of the crashed car suddenly gasped. “Tommy!” His eyes were everywhere, trying to find his missing brother. All he found was an unfamiliar woman pleading for him to be ok, and a soft glowing warmth behind her. 

Life stared with comfort, trying to ease his rushing heart. Only to give him a curt nod before disappearing.

“You…you were the one to lead me..” He had pieced the face together to the voice. He had played it to bring the shock, a guardian angel even. “I heard you. What about Tommy? Did you lead him out too? Do you know where he is?” The questions seemed to flood over the damn. 

Life sighed, “even if I do know where he is, you’d still have to find him. You’re on a set path, keep pursuing it.” And with that she had stood and left him to his own thoughts. Giving him just a brief moment before he would have to return to the group. 

Returning, the group had just finished sharing stories. Rio was getting ready to follow after Agatha as she walked away to catch her own breath. Lilia had grabbed at her wrist, a subtle hue of knowing as she stared up to the green witch. “Don’t think for a second I forgot what you said in that booth.” She had such a harsh undercut to her smooth words. 

Rio scoffed, letting her eyes widen as she hissed down to the other. Only Life was right in her way when she stepped again. Grey eyes burning into her and speaking without a single word. They held a silent conversation until the brunette groaned and rolled her eyes. Stepping around her and continuing to chase after Agatha.

Life didn’t bat an eye as she took a silent seat near the fire, keeping her distance still as the feeling of uncertainty followed her. “Ok, and what about you? How do you play into all this?” Jen’s voice cut straight through it all. Bringing the natural being into reality. “How do you know those two?”

“I’ve known Rio for as long as I can remember. We’ve been tied together for so long honestly. But I had made a commitment once, and she didn’t like the fact that I was going to uphold it. I eventually disappeared from her and anything to do with what our jobs were. I met Agatha when she was on her own. I didn’t help with what she had asked me that day, even when Rio asked…they were going to break more than what I wanted to be a part of. So, I kept myself hidden. Then suddenly I was brought here.” Life had kept the story short. There was so much to actually dissect that there was clearly not enough time now.. “I promise I’m no harm here. I never was.” She was sincere in her words. 

“How do we know we can trust you though? If you're telling us you knew those two, they’re full of tricks and lies. What makes you any different? After all, you’ve been lying for centuries.” Lilia was harsh. Her narrowing glare, her sharp words, they cut like a perfectly sharpened knife. “What if you’re just here to also collect bodies, just like Rio?”

“She has no purpose for bodies…” Teen had finally joined the group, taking a seat right next to Life. “She’s here to help us.”

“And what is her name?” Jen crossed her arms and quirked a brow. Everyone was suddenly expecting an answer.

It dawned on Life she never chose another name. She never needed another name the way Rio did. She was just known as Life, but it felt heavy suddenly. Like it wasn’t the proper choice to have everyone refer to her as such. “I don’t know…”

~

Chapter 4.

[whoopsyeahokay]

Alphabet Soup

summary: prompt fill. the journey of a clandestine love affair at several stages because Wally Clark craves what he can't have and refuses to keep his hands to himself. and you live for it.

pairing: grey!Wally Clark x fem!reader

warnings: smut. AU - modern setting. romanticized toxic behavior. cheating (not on you). possessive behavior. egregious use of the word 'baby'.

bon reading, frens

___________________________🧿

Alphabet Soup - W

W is for wishes come true. Wally's wishes more than yours, but you've been a willing participant in his waggish descent into the madness you work up in him, so he considers it win-win.

You've made a monster out of him, sweetly agreeing with every whim and want that worms its way into his brain. Fuck, sweet girl, you have to say no—need to say it—otherwise Wally's going to Energizer Bunny and keep going and going and going until he wears you down and out and into an early grave. Or jail. Whichever.

It starts small. Tame. Introducing new positions and toys and microdoses of that shit that makes Wally's skin light up like fireworks at every touch. Then it gets riskier. Sex in the park behind the statue of town founder Alexander Meheive; fucking your mouth while he whips down the highway with a deathwish; bending you over the teacher's desk in an empty classroom, door unlocked, during the five-minute interval between classes.

And then it escalates into: Baby, I wanna make you squirm when I can't touch you. A test-drive panty vibe when Wally takes you to a Dollar Theater movie in Mossborough which turns into dinner out, surrounded by innocent patrons at Daisy's because he wants to see how far you'll let him go. Wally's eyes fixed on your flushed face as you try not to make a sound, eyes glassy and lips bitten, coming just before dessert. Jesus Christ, you'll let him do anything, won't you?

Wally looms over you at Claire's birthday, one arm braced over your head, body hiding you from the club at his back, his hand under your skirt and fingers in your cunt, massaging your sweet spot until his shirt cuff is come-damp and ruined. Next, there's the Victoria's Secret changing room at the fancy mall because, fuuuck, you can't just waltz out in that sheer, lace-satin teddy and expect Wally to be normal about it.

The elevator at that high-rise hotel in Milwaukee after dark, P3 to PH, handprints on the mirror as you and he moan to the rhythm of the muzak. Supper after the Athletics Department benefit, everyone talking at the table, family-style service, your hand kneading Wally's hard-on while you use the Ben Wa balls Wally teased into your pussy five minutes after you and Janet arrived.

Janet's attention is on your dad, the principal, completely unaware of how fucking close Wally is to coming in his slacks because her step-sister knows how to worship Wally's cock better than a high-end whore. His eyes are heavy, unfocused, but he laughs where he has to, answers whatever Coach asks, does his bit like the winner he is before discretely slipping into the cafeteria kitchen to wait for you.

As soon as you're within reach, he has you on your knees, cock down your throat, needy whines and wanton whimpers wheedled out of him by your hotwetperfect mouth. That's it, just like that, suck my cock, baby, oh my God. He comes with a guttural groan, vision whiting out, praise tumbling from his lips—such a good girl, so fucking good for me.

Wally doesn't give himself a chance to recover, though. Pulls you up by the hair and lifts you onto one of the stainless steel countertops, tongue-fucks your clit and plays with those Venus balls until you're a trembling mess under his hands. Taking pity on you, he allows you to remove them before you and he sneak back to the table, separately. He smiles innocently at Janet, nods to your dad like Wally didn't just have his little girl panting and moaning for him a minute ago.

He wades through the rest of the evening with half a brain, Janet forcing him to mingle with the right people, all while his mind whirs and unlocks a thousand new whims that Wally can't wait to wear you out with.

This weekend is going to be fun...

🧿___________________________

MASTERLIST

also available on AO3!

A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z

[rosenclaws]

ma meilleure ennemie || Worst!Logan x Reader

summary: Logan loved, lost, fought, and killed you in his world. Now after being thrust into another universe. He finds you in a world where things worked out. How unfair.

warnings: angst, fem pronouns are used for the reader, its kinda a sad ending but like bittersweet more. talks of fighting and violence

wc: 4.2k

a/n: This is based on the song from Arcane! I would highly recommend watching the show btw its amazing and the scene this song is from is absolutely gorgeous. Anyways I hope y'all enjoy <33

Logan was really sick of all this multiverse stuff. Like seriously.

He barely remembers what happened. Wade had taken another one of this universe hopping devices from the TVA in order to complete some mission but as usual the two got into it. Shouting and fighting until Logan's claws went right into the little device. Before either of them could react it exploded. Logan felt like every atom in his body was being ripped apart and put back together. The world was spinning and he wasn’t quite sure where he was anymore.

In the blink of an eye he's not standing next to wade anymore. He in a bedroom. The light shining through the window and birds chirping outside. Logan looks down and sees that he's no longer in a bloody yellow and blue suit, but simple sweatpants and a black shirt. What the actually fuck. He catches a glimpse of himself in a mirror.

He looks different, just slightly. He had less wrinkles and the bags under his eyes were gone. His hair was a little longer too. It was uncanny as hell. It was him, he was moving his hand and touching his face but it doesn't fully feel like him. He hears laughter outside of his door.

Slowly he opens it, poking his head out to see the hallways bustling with students and teachers. He catches a glimpse of blue fur and he slams the door shut. No no no this isn't real. This is some weird fucked up nightmare dream thing. His heart starts to race as the sights and smells of this odd world start to fuck with his senses. He shuts his eyes and bangs his head against the door. Just wake up already Logan.

Wake. Up.

"You drink too much last night honey?" Logan acts before he can think.

Claws out and slamming whoever had snuck up on him into the door. Logan's eyes widen as he sees you under his arm. Confusion in your eyes as you tug at his arm.

"Fuck! Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you." You push him away with your powers but Logan's gaze only hardens.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" He growls. He should bury these deep in your fucking head.

"I live here?" You furrow your brows as you put your hands up.

You take a step forward but Logan takes on back. His defenses are up and he won't make the same mistake this time. You're dangerous, you're the enemy.

"Logan what's gotten into you?" You ask softly. You try again to reach out and touch him but he flinches away.

"Stay away from me." He pushes past you, shoving you into the wall as he rips the door open and runs down the hall. Ignoring the call of his name.

He wanders aimlessly around the mansion until he finds Charles office. If anyone can explain what was happening it's him.

"Ah Logan, I've been waiting for you to arrive, please sit." Hesitantly he sits down, he can't help but observe everything around him.

The last time he was here, at the mansion, was the worst day of his life. But now everyone's laughing and happy. He blinks and the memories flashes in his mind. The blood that stained the walls, the smell of burning, the screams.

"So much pain. I'm so sorry." Charles wheels over to Logan.

"Hey chuck. Been a long time." Logan grumbles. His hands dig into the chair handles, almost tearing them off the more he lets his mind spiral.

"Forgive me for prying, but your thoughts are incredibly loud." Charles pokes and prods Logan's brain. Seeing glimpses of his world and this one mashing together.

"You're not from here." Logan nods his head.

"I don't know how I got here but, I need to get back."

"Start from the beginning." Logan spills it all.

Starting with his own world. How he walked away and it led to everyone being killed. The years of grieving and killing. How he was found and kidnapped by Wade and how it led to him saving the universe. How their fight led to him being thrown into a completely new timeline. Appearing to have taken over the body of this worlds Logan. And you. How you were in his bedroom and the flurry of emotions that came with it.

In Logan's world you were a very powerful mutant with mind powers. You were kind and friendly, but rumbling deep within you was a terrifying power. Power that could level a city with only the snap of your fingers. Charles had taken you in as a child and nursed your abilities. Teaching you the importance of control. You were his prized student. But then Jean came along and Jean became everything you couldn't be. At least that's what you had always told Logan.

She took the spotlight. She got everyone's love an admiration. People weren't scared of her. Her power was graceful and strong while yours was reckless and something to fear. When Logan rolled around you were a professor. He had caught your eye from the moment he was brought in. A handsome, mysterious stranger. But as always it seemed that Jean was the one to grab his attention. Which Logan admits is true, at first. But Jean didn't want him and he respected that.

Logan met you in the middle of the night one day. Small talk turned into more as the sun came up and the two of you were still wrapped up on the couch. You understood him more than anyone and he got you. Your romance may have started slow but it grew into a pillar of Logan's life. He loved you. God he loved you so fucking much. You were his light, his love. You were never a second choice to him, but the right one. The only one that mattered.

But he got to you too late.

All that pain and doubt had been manifesting years before he got there and after one bad mission you exploded. The team had turned on you, told you that it was your fault. It was misplaced anger from everyone. Including him. A shame he carries to this day. Your powers became uncontrollable. If not for Charles and Jean together you could have leveled the entire mansion. Logan tried to console you, to bring you back to him but it was too late. You saw the fear and the hatred growing from those you once considered family.

So you left. The brotherhood got to you before Logan could and the next time he saw you was on the opposite side of battle. You had changed. He barely recognized you anymore. You were cruel and ruthless with your powers.

For years the two of you fought on opposite sides. Logan tried to fight for you. He was convinced the you that he knew was still in there but no one else believed him. They told him over and over that you were gone. That the woman he loved was no more and only a cold blooded villain remained.

You hurt his friends, you threatened the mansion, the kids who once looked up to you now shivered at your name. It hurt him to his core, but eventually he accepted it. His love wasn't enough. Nothing could bring you back. You were gone.

It all cumulated about five years after you left. The brotherhood wanted to use you to wipe out all those who opposed them. Innocent people included. Anyone who stood in their way. The X-Men were sent to stop them. It was a bloody, long, intense fight. Allies and enemies being taken down left and right until it was you and Logan left.

"Please sweetheart, I miss you." Logan begs.

"Come back home."

"That place is not my home anymore." You spit. Nothing but hatred in your eyes as you pushed Logan to the ground. Your powers keeping him from moving.

"I'm going to kill you and all your friends. Nothing is going to stand in our way. Nothing!" Your powers let him go but you grab him by the neck.

For a split second Logan thought he saw regret in your eyes. Something. Anything other than the empty soullessness from before.

Logan! Take it! He hears Jean speak in his mind.

She was nursing Scotts wounds, she could barely stand on her own. With a broken roar he digs his claws right into you. He watches as the light drains from your eyes. As the blood pours from the wounds he gave you. He holds you in his arms. Silently whispering that he loves you, that he's sorry.

Your body goes limp and when Logan can no longer hear your heartbeat he knows that you're truly gone.

Why you let go of Logan he'll never know. You had to have known what the risk was. Why would you ever give him free use of his hands, of his claws? A part of him wonders if this is what you wanted.

Your death took a heavy toll on him. He started drinking more and more. The conflicted feelings weighed heavily on him. Most would celebrate your death but he mourned you every damn day. Mourned the woman you were, the woman that you loved.

"What is she doing here?" Logan asks lowly. Memories of his version of you flashing through his head.

"Here she never lost control, never joined the brotherhood.

"What changed?"

"In this world, Jean came to me first. She was my student first and thus Jean helped me train her to control her powers. She was my star student. Never feared her powers." Logan scoffs.

Was that all it took? Was that little difference all it took to save you? If he had loved you enough could he have saved you? Or were you already too far gone by then.

"We'll work on getting you home. I'll talk to hank and get back to you. For now, just try your best to adjust." Logan is dismissed.

Now what? Maybe he should just hole himself in his room until its time to go home. Until he remembers that you're there too. Suddenly he hears kids screaming, his senses kicking into high gear as he runs outside, claws out on instinct. He sees you with a bunch of kids running around screaming. He doesn't have time to think. He just acts.

"Get away from them!" Logan yells. Making everyone stop in their tracks. He lunges at you and you use your powers to slam him to the ground.

"What the fuck is your problem! We were playing a game!" You shout.

"Kids, go back inside." You command and they slowly file inside, whispering amongst themselves.

"How was I supposed to know that?" Logan growls once you let him back up.

He puts his claws away but the hostility doesn't fade. How could it? His brain is so fucked up right now, he had long accepted that you were gone and now he's thrown into a world where you aren't a villain anymore. That you're the woman he loves again but he just can't let himself trust this. He can't. What if Charles is wrong? He just...he can't do this.

"What did you think? Did you actually think I was going to hurt them?!" You ask mostly as a joke.

"Logan, you've been off since this morning." You reach your hand out but he doesn't take it. He pushes himself up. Putting up these walls that you swore you broke a long time ago.

"I think its best if you stay the hell away from me." He walks away without another word.

Leaving you utterly confused.

Logan locks himself away for the next couple days. Only coming out when he was called by Hank and Charles. He could feel your eyes on him every time. Like a sad puppy he kicked to the curb. He doesn't even look at you. He knows he can't. If he does he'll cave. The problem is that Logan knows he can't stay here. He's only setting himself up for heartbreak if he lets you in. Nothing but pain and what could have been. He just doesn't think he can mourn you anymore. He just wants to go home. To forget this ever happened.

Once again he can't sleep, deciding to walk around the mansion instead. Pictures line the walls, some that he recognizes and others he doesn't. He stops and one in particular. Jean and Scotts wedding. Scott looks happy and Jean is a beautiful bride, but that's not what catches his eye.

It's you standing right beside her. A big smile on your face. You look gorgeous. So happy and carefree.

"I remember that day," He jumps hearing your voice once again. He turns to see you standing away from him, but staring at the picture. His claws don't come out this time at least.

"Can't believe Scott even wanted you as one of his groomsmen with how much shit you give him." You say softly.

"Yeah," Logan looks over to the other side of the photo. Seeing himself dressed in a suit. Except Logan's eyes are on you.

"Charles told me. About your situation. I understand why you reacted the way you did. I'd be freaked out too." You rub your arm awkwardly.

"How much did he tell you." He asks.

"Not much. Just that you're from another timeline and you're trying to get back." Logan grunts.

"That...you've been through a lot of pain and loss." Logan's breath hitches. So Charles didn't tell you any specifics. Maybe that's for the best.

"I don't know...what we are in your world. But I want you to know that I'm here for you Logan." He clenches his fits, god how can you be so sweet to him after he almost stabbed you twice. He'll never understand.

"Thanks. I'm sorry If I scared you before." He says.

"You can never scare me." You say and Logan shuts his eyes.

You used to say that to each other. Logan was made to be a weapon and you were a ticking time bomb. Yet not once were you ever afraid of each other. Both of you looking past what others saw.

"What...what am I? To you?" You ask hesitantly.

The question's been eating you alive since you learned about this whole thing. Logan takes a deep breath. Turning to look at you and feeling his heart sink down to his feet.

"It's a long story, one you don't want to hear." He says with a sigh.

"I mean, I have time. I just. I don't want you to have to carry it all alone." You reach up and touch his arm. Logan's eyes close as he feels your fingers trail down to his hand, lacing your fingers with his. It's been so long since he's held your hand.

"Maybe another time sweetheart." Logan squeezes your hand, using all his willpower to let go of your hand.

You watch sadly as Logan walks away, disappearing back into his room without another word.

He lays on the bed staring at the ceiling nursing a glass of whiskey. It's been a week since he got here. They're close to getting him home. There's muffled music coming from the living room.

It's Storms birthday. Logan should be out there, maybe to keep up appearances but a party is the last thing he wants to be at right now. There's a knock at the door and he ignores it. Until another one, and another. Finally he just gets up to tell them to fuck off. He opens the door to see Charles.

"I said no." He mumbles. Ready to slam the door but Charles stops him.

"I'm not here for that. We should be ready to send you home within the hour. That being said. I know it's been a long time since you saw most of us. Consider saying goodbye this time." With that Charles leaves, leaving Logan stunned.

Quietly he grabs his jacket and heads to the party. Sneaking in as best as he can. Sticking to the corner of the room. He sees Storm talking to Jean and Scott. They're smiling and laughing. Jean spots Logan from across the room. Offering him a small smile.

His eyes move over to the middle of the room. They had pushed the furniture around to make room for a dance floor. He watches as He's not strong enough for this? Rogue, Kitty, and Bobby were dancing. Laughing as they take turns making up stupid dance moves. Jubilee was using her powers to create fireworks that lit up the whole room.

She catches Logan's gaze and waves happily. Seeing everyone again, seeing them happy and thriving. It made his heart ache. To know that at least in one universe, everyone is okay. No thanks to him that is.

"Logan! Come dance!" Jubilee shouts, making everyone's eyes turn to him.

"No thanks kid, I don't do that." He grumbles.

"Oh come on Logan, it's a party." She begs.

Logan sighs and pushes himself off the wall. Walking to the dance floor taking Jubilees hand and spinning her around a little bit. A small smile crossing his face.

He remembers Jubliee asking him to dance once. Back in his timeline. She was a kid. There was this school dance and she wanted to go so badly. He took her hands and she stepped on his toes. He made her swore up and down to never speak of it but he remembers it fondly.

"Mind if I cut in?" He turns to see you standing there. You're all dressed up looking so pretty. Jubliee bows out, wiggling her eyebrows making Logan roll his eyes.

"Hi." You say softly as Logan holds out his hand.

"Hi." He says.

You and Logan move in sync. Like nothing had happened as the two of you move to the music. Logan smiles as he twirls you around and dips you. He lets go of the weight on his shoulders. Letting himself just exist for once. To enjoy holding you in his arms and dancing to the music. He'll face reality when he goes back. But tonight, he'll dance.

When the music lets up he drags you outside away from the noise and the prying eyes. You walk through the garden in a nice quiet. He leans down and picks a flower from the ground, putting it behind your year.

"Pretty." You bite your lip as you tug your coat tighter.

You sit on a bench and Logan joins you. From this angle you can see how lively the mansion is tonight. The party, the lights on in the bedrooms. Its so homey. Logan smiles, a part of his heart feels like it's patching itself up. At least its not all bad in every universe right?

"You go back tonight right?" You ask and Logan nods.

"Are you happy to go back?" Logan looks over at you, grabbing your hand and squeezing it tightly.

"I uh, I don't know." The truth is he wants to stay.

God he wants to stay so badly. To live here and be happy. No worries about the world ending or being reminded of his dead friends. But...He can't stay. As badly as he wants to this isn't his life. You aren't his girlfriend.

As he was told before. All the pain he went through made him the man he is now, there are people out there who still need him. Who need the Wolverine to fight for them. You lean your head on his shoulder.

"I wish I could stop time. Just for a second." He mumbles.

His arm wrapping around your shoulder as he watches them sing happy birthday. You lift your head, staring into his eyes. What sad lonely eyes they are. He leans in, foreheads touching as he cups your face gently.

"Can we, can we just pretend like it's the first time?" He asks in a low whisper.

You nod your head as you close your eyes and let his lips touch yours. The kiss means fucking everything to Logan. His thumb brushes your cheek as he kisses you with ever ounce of love he still has deep in his heart. He knows that you aren't the same woman but fuck he just hopes you know that he's sorry that he wasn't enough. He hopes you know that he loves you.

You tug on his hair and Logan groans. His other hand resting on your back pulling you closer. He reluctantly pulls apart from you. Breathing heavily as he catches his breath. There's this silly smile on your face, one that always appeared after Logan kissed you no matter how much you tried to hide it. He missed it.

Logan. It's time.

He hears Charles in his head. His smile dropping as he realizes it's time to go. "I can go with you down to the lab." You offer as Logan stands up. He takes your hand and helps you up, leaning in to kiss your forehead gently.

"No, I should do this on my own." The truth is he knows that if you're down there he won't be able to go through that damn portal.

"Don't look so sad, You'll have your Logan back soon sweetheart." He wipes away a stray tear from your face.

"I know. It's just, hard to say goodbye." You take the flower from your hair and place it in his jacket pocket.

"Something to remember me by." You walk hand in hand back into the living room.

Logan takes one last look around the room. A strange sense of peace coming over him as everyone smiles and waves to him. It's not goodbye for them, but it is for him. But at least this time, he got to say the words. Logan lets go of your hand, sparing you one last look as he steps into the elevator. He can't bring himself to say anything. You know what he wants to say.

The elevator moves slowly as he heads down to the lab. Silently he steps out and heads towards the lab.

"Logan wait!" He freezes as he hears your voice.

"How did you-"

"The stairs. I took the stairs." You blurt out. He nods, standing there unsure of what to say.

"Can I ask you one question before you go?" You ask breathlessly. He nods. He can hear something happening in the lab, he doesn't have much time.

"In your universe, did you love me? Were we happy?" Maybe its an odd question. After all you just made out outside. But you don't know what this Logan had been through, if things were different or how different they were. You just needed to know. You always had a hunch your love was stronger than a simple timeline.

Logan takes a long look at you. Committing you to memory, so that now he can remember you like this. Smiling and happy and unafraid of who you are.

"I loved you more than anything sweetheart, I still do." With a soft smile you take one last look at Logan before returning back up the stairs. When Logan returns he'll be the man you knew before, but you don't think you'll ever forget this other Logan. Not for a long time.

"You ready Logan?" Hank asks as he hooks Logan up to a machine.

This was supposed to separate the two Logan's. He just prays it doesn't kill him. Logan closes his eyes. Similar to the feeling before he grunts as his cells seem to tear apart once again. Only this time when the pain stops he's back in his bloody suit. The other Logan is laying on the ground. Knocked out from whatever the hell Hank managed to do.

Before their very eyes an orange portal appears. They must have finally pinpointed the anomaly once the two had been separated. Before he steps through he turns around, nodding his head at Hank and then Charles.

"It was good to see you again Chuck, Thanks for everything." Logan says.

It feels like a weight has been lifted off his chest as he steps through the orange portal. In a flash he's at the TVA headquarters, standing in front of Wade.

"Peanut! There you are, oh I was worried sick." Wade jumps into his arms and Logan just drops him. Wade stands up and dusts himself off.

"We need to get you chipped or something. Maybe a bell to wear around your neck." Logan rolls his eyes and just follows the TVA agent in front of them.

"I went to a world where dogs could talk. What about you?" Wade asks as they're brought back home. Logan thinks for a moment. He sticks his hand in the pocket of his suit. His body freezing as he feels the soft petals of a flower.

"Hello? Earth to Wolvie? What having some emotional flashback to something only the readers know about?" Wade waves his hand in front of Logans face.

"I was thinking asshole." Logan shoves his hand away. Smiling as he tucks the flower deep in his pocket, deciding that he'll keep his adventure to himself for now.

"Anything you want to share with the class?" Wade asks. Logan just shakes his head.

"No, nothing worth mentioning."

[feyatsirk]

Before You Leave Me

Inspired by Before you leave me by Alex Warren.

Also read on Ao3

Darling, handle me with care Cover me in bubble wrap. I'm scared you really mean it That you're never coming back

It's been a few years since they defeated Vecna, the two of them growing closer until they became more. The two of them using the government checks to rent a house just outside Hawkins; They were still close enough for the kids if they needed anything. Things were going too well, he didn't expect the other shoe to drop so soon. Steve walked up the drive, staring at the bags settled beside the open van, a few more at the foot of the patio steps. Eddie coming through the propped door with a single bag. He pauses seeing Steve standing there, a smile stretching across his face.

See your bag right by the stairs So I guess you already packed No, I can't change your mind But how could you leave just like that?

"Stevie!" Steve looks at the bags and then up at Eddie standing on the patio. He had just returned after going into town for a few things. Nothing perishable at the moment that he would need to focus on.

"What... What's going on?" Eddie grins widely and rushes up to him, kissing him.

"We got a deal. The boys and I, they want us in California tomorrow so we gotta head out today." Steve blinks at him. He can't go now. He has his job at the hospital, and he was about to start his EMT program.

"Are you coming back?" Eddie's smile drops, he looks around, glancing into the house that has been theirs. The worn out couch, the pictures and hand drawn artwork that Will had made for them on the wall just inside their entryway. Visible from where they're standing. He stretches his arms out in an 'i don't know' motion before looking back at Steve.

"I... don't know. I need this, Stevie." Steve nods. He understood, he knew Eddie would eventually leave this town, Steve just had hoped they would've been leaving together. He walks around him and heads inside to their kitchen, grabbing a mug and pouring some water from the fridge. Eddie following behind him and leaning against the counter looking at him.

"Stevie...?" He sets his mug in the sink and smiles at him.

I'm not ready to let you go So just give me one more night Hold me like you're still mine Oh, love me for right now before you leave me

"Wanna take a nap? You just took all that time packing, might be good to nap before you hit the road." Eddie gives him an odd look. Giving a nod before Steve takes his hand and leads him to the bedroom; the two of them falling into the bed, Steve wrapping himself around Eddie like he does for sleep; keeping his ear against his chest listening to his heart as Eddie threads his fingers through his hair.

I know it's gonna hurt Oh, Love me for right now I'm so used to getting damaged

"I'm not saying goodbye, Stevie. We're gonna meet up again, you can't get rid of me that easily." Steve chuckles a bit sadly. Blinking rapidly to try and keep the tears at bay. He wouldn't blame Eddie if he never returned. He already said he didn't know and Steve's life is here, even when the kids are all gone. He's not meant for other places. Eddie hums something random as Steve begins to fall asleep, his fingers gripping Eddie's shirt in a death grip.

Won't you stay a little longer Even if it's all pretend? And maybe by the mornin' I'll be ready for the end.

When Steve wakes in the morning, he stretches his arm out, the sheets cold and he grips the sheets in a second death grip that evening. Feeling the tears well up before he sits up and looks outside to see the orange and pinks of a sunset that should be beautiful. He was used to people leaving, he had really hoped that Eddie wouldn't have been one of them. He sees a note on the nightstand and reaches over for it, reading the messy scrawl from Eddie, saying they'll meet again sooner rather than later and that he loves him. Steve sighs heavily and rests his head back on Eddie's pillow, watching the sunset as he resigned himself to the new chapter in his life without Eddie.

[whysoblue2]

Honestly, I'm just excited to see the Kallamar and Shamura co-dependant toxic sibling relationship they've got going on, I gotta know just how nasty it got at its different stages and how it likely ended up affecting how they raised their other siblings. I love platonic toxic stuff like this, I would ponder if it could count as Shamura being a bit yandere at some point during it but idk if you're comfortable with that sort of comparison and I don't know much about their relationship besides what you have told. I need the DETAILS, the DRAMA

OOOH yeah, their relationship is juicy and hella toxic in my HC. I'm not going to lie, it's bad, but I wouldn't go so far as being yandere. Travis is 100% yandere. Let's see if I can explain. Long post on my silly headcanon ahead! You have been warned!

Young Shamura god of war, ruthless and merciless. An extremist that has the mission to reshape the Pantheon as they see in their vision, over the blood and bones of other gods. This lil squidling god still didn't unlock the power of his crown and that's perfect because, to Shamura, that is a white canvas, something they can shape the way they want, also the lil shit can heal? A big plus! So they bring said lil shit on the battlefield and train him the way they think is right, following their doctrines and ofc it's really bad. I mean Young Shamura displayed the same empathy of a floor tile, only Kall's influence changed that as I mentioned in a previous post I think. Imagine the Trade meme with Shamura: I receive: The ability to love and care You receive: Trauma and life-long fear But as the squid grows up they realise he does have a personality, he is not a blank slate and he wants to do his own thing, he loves art, music, dancing, and all those meaningless things that won't matter in a war. Also, he wants to go and slay gods (and slay in general💅🏻) his own way! AND THAT'S BAD! Because after so many years fighting together, Kallamar is not just a brother-in-arms but the only family they have! The realisation struck: he was their beloved little brother! Shock ensues. But Shamura doesn't know how to deal with it outside tactics, strategies and warfare so to protect his little brother, they treat him like a war asset with everything that it entails. (I let your imagination run wild here.) Things will happen that will finally make Kall snap and unlock the power of the blue crown, turning him from health to pestilence. From there things will go smoother. Shamura will accept that he has his own personality/cult/followers, but that doesn't mean they like it. They most definitely won't like it when Kall starts dating disciples and mortals. Good luck with that one, Shamura, it's gonna be fun! Of course, this is in the span of centuries while the god slaying and war rages on, not exactly the easiest of times. How will that affect the way they raise the siblings?

As Narinder enters the game, Shamura will find the cat easier to deal with and they focus on raising him, trying not to repeat the same mistakes they made with Kallamar. When Narinder joined, Kallamar would always follow them in their training, terrified that Shamura would use the same extreme methods on the kitten. He is pleasantly surprised to see that while being hard on the kid, they are not nasty and they show care! Yay! (in the meanwhile, it will dawn on him - not true ofc - that he doesn't matter to Shamura anymore and that Narinder has replaced him. The fact he had to endure the bad Shamura for so long and when finally they were good Shamura, they didn't give a damn about him anymore hurts a lot.) Then Kall is responsible for raising both Heket and Leshy singlehandedly. Shamura had very little part in training Heket (she arrived as the war was ending) and none at all in Leshy (who had never seen war at all in his life), so the joys of being a big brother/dad are all on him. But that meant he would do everything possible to not be like Shamura! He could do better, right? Wrong! The backlash of this is that he is way too soft and understanding, to the extent that the young ones don't take him seriously at all, so they grow up basically bullying the shit out of him.

I CANNOT GIVE YOU MORE DETAILS! Cause I'm gonna write them in the fic 😈 Drama&Angst guaranteed. I hope that's a good enough answer!💙 Thank you!