#even if i had it in me to send something - i dont - i know it wouldnt be worth it. gods above and below i wish it was worth it

[hoonieyun]

a lovesick girl's guide to heartbreak

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗ ex!heeseung x reader hell is not the same without you... summary: you thought everything was going well 3 months after your breakup with your ex-boyfriend!heeseung until you realized that maybe you miss him more than you hated being with him.

warnings: profanity, toxic relationships, morally grey characters, huge red flags in dating, consensual skinship, kissing, overall 18+ wc: 2332

something was missing, like there was a looming feeling that there was something absent from your daily life and as hard as you tried to push down that feeling and act like it wasn’t there; it was all your mind drifted off to. 

the missing thing in question? heeseung. 

your boyfriend of 2 years.. ex-boyfriend that is. the two of you had broken up just a few months ago and since that day you haven’t been able to stop thinking about him. sure a lot of the thoughts that surrounded heeseung that swam in your mind were negative and left a sour taste on your tongue, but then it would lead to you thinking about all of the sweet things he’d do to make up for the bitterness he put you through. 

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗ 

“why can’t you just listen to me?” you shouted from the top of your lungs as heeseung rolled his eyes with an aggravated sigh. “i’d listen to you if you weren’t acting like this! you’re so emotional!” he yelled back. 

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗ 

several memories replayed in your head involving heeseung, you wished you didn’t have to think about it but after you left him it felt like that was what was left of you. like you were no longer the person that you were when you were with heeseung. like he took something with him when you broke up and has refused to give it back. 

you just weren’t sure what it was. 

it shouldn’t be like this but you’re left in this limbo of uncertainty and heeseung was the only way of adding any solace or clarity, but he was no longer there. you hadn’t seen him since that night, broken dishes, cracked picture frames, and a hole in your chest where your heart is supposed to be. your relationship with heeseung started off how a lot of relationships start, it was great. he was sweet and so were you, your love overflowed into one another and it felt like everything was sunshine and rainbows and then one day, it wasn’t. you were spending nights crying yourself to sleep while heeseung would leave you to cry because he didn’t want to deal with the emotional mess that you were and still are. 

that’s how your breakup went, you cried, you both yelled, and heeseung walked away. it was like a routine, a deadly cycle that neither of you could get out of until three months ago. this cycle was endless and exhausting yet it was all that you knew. as fucked up as it sounds, you found comfort knowing that you had heeseung on your side even if it didn’t seem like it. 

even when he would walk away from you…

even when you felt like he was ignoring you to prove a point…

even when it felt like you were the one person that he hated most in this world…

no matter what, it felt like heeseung was always by your side. like a shadow that you couldn’t feel but was always there. 

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗ 

your phone sat in your trembling hands as you contemplated on whether or not you should hit the send button. it was like the button on your phone had a strong gravitational pull and you found your thumb hovering over the button, the tiniest sliver of space between the skin of your thumb and the glass screen of your phone. 

there wasn’t even any time to process your final thoughts before your thumb was making contact with the cold glass and the familiar sound of the text being sent rings throughout your bedroom, much louder than it should’ve sounded. 

like it was an echo that rang in the room as a reminder of the decision you’ve just made. 

hi hee.. i dont even know why i’m sending this im just so lost. i didnt ever think that i would be missing you the way i do right now but you’re all ive been thinking about the last few months.  i miss the way you hugged me when i would cry.. granted i’d be crying because of you.  i miss when you would whisper sweet things into my ear when my brain got too loud and would lead to arguments.  i just miss you so much and you might not even respond to this but i just.. i miss you..

whether it was a good or bad decision however, was still out for debate. 

surprisingly enough, another familiar sound rings throughout your room, indicating that you have received a text message. 

hey pretty girl. i’m so happy to hear from you, can i come over?

it was short but definitely effective because you were responding in seconds and telling him that you’d leave the door unlocked to which he tells you that he still has a copy of your house key and would be there in no time. 

your heart was pounding a lot harder than moments before, like you had just put yourself in a life or death situation and in a lot of ways you did. death more than life. being with heeseung felt like two things, heaven and hell. it was either bliss or chaos whenever you were with him and neither heaven or hell was the same without him. 

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗ 

you had decided to change into your pajamas that just happened to be heeseung’s favorite. a pair of silk pajamas that barely left any imagination of what you looked like underneath; hence why it was his favorite. you’re brought out of your thoughts when you hear a knock on your bedroom door as it slightly creaks open, revealing heeseung who looked like he was going through just as much as you were. 

it was slightly comforting to know that in the time you were broken up until now, you weren’t the only one suffering. 

you muttered a whispered “hi” as he walked towards your figure sitting on the bed. the closer heeseung got the more visible his eyebags were. he looked like he hadn’t slept in days, his hair a mess, and he was wearing the same hoodie that he was wearing when you told him to “get the fuck out i fucking hate you” all those months ago. 

“hi, pretty girl. are you ok?” he asks, even though you both knew that you were the furthest from “okay”. 

he stands right in front of you and gently cups your face to look up at him, his touch instantly brings you warmth and a sense of comfort that you wouldn’t associate with him, not for the last year at least. 

“hee… i miss you.. but-” you begin to say and he interrupts you by softly rubbing your cheek with his thumb. a simple action that brings chills down your spine as you think about all of the other times he soothed your mind with that gesture. melting into his touch wasn’t something you weren’t accustomed to but this all felt so foreign and uncertain even if you knew where it was going. 

you were now back to the cycle that you were once in. 

“but?” he says, squatting down so that you two were somewhat on the same level. 

“i don’t know if it’s a good idea to want you. i miss you everyday that you’re gone but it doesn’t bring comfort knowing how much you hurt me..” a hiccup slips past your lips as you speak and heeseung is finally seeing what he’s done. you looked utterly broken and he knew it was because of him. his pretty girl that he loved so much was shattered and ruined because of him and he wished that he had realized it sooner. 

“baby.. shh.. its okay.” heeseungs says, pulling you into his arms as you cry into his chest. his hoodie getting soaked as you let out your emotions that he shamed you for in the past. “everything is okay, baby..” hee coos, rubbing the back of your head gently as you wrap your arms around him. 

if heeseung was being honest, he didn’t know what to do in this situation and it was only making him realize further how shitty he was. he barely knows how to comfort the girl he loved so much and it was breaking his heart. it may seem selfish that he was reveling in his own discernment and that he’s trying to wrap his head around his past mistakes instead of the one currently crying in his lap. 

“i’m sorry, yn.. i’m sorry, please stop crying, baby..” he whispers into your ear, hugging you even tighter than before as if you were going to slip away from his grasp any second now. 

he doesn’t know what to do now and he didn’t then. 

it was like you guys had each other wrapped around one another’s finger, knowing that one way or the other, one of you would crawl back and start the cycle all over again no matter how many times you may think it’s finally over. 

the two of you stayed that way for one moment, in one another’s embrace, your heartbeats syncing up with one another and for once in a long time; your hearts were in the same place. you were finally on the same page when it came to your love for each other even if it meant being in a place of uncertainty… you were sure of one thing, the love you had for each other, if you could even call it that, was something you couldn’t lose. 

“heeseung.. will you stay?” coming out of your lips as you slightly pull away from him, your eyes originally intending to land on his doe eyes but instead they fall onto his plump lips that glistened just the right amount from the small light in your bedroom. “i’ll stay only if you want me to.” he responds and you nod eagerly, like it was the only thing you could want. 

and in a lot of ways, it was. 

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗ 

that night you slept in heeseung’s arms, a place you once vowed to never return to but as a cycle rounds itself, you found that his embrace was the place you were the most familiar with even if loving heeseung only brought uncertainty and a sense of unfamiliarity that brought you so much dread that you never know if the world you were living in was a heaven that wasn’t anything like you expected or a hell that was much worse than the words you’d hear on a sunday morning. 

however, no matter where you were; you wanted heeseung to be there because none of it would be the same without him. 

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗ 

“good morning, pretty girl.” heeseung says, his voice was low and a bit raspy as he pulled himself up from laying next to you. you stirred as he readjusts himself, turning to face him and he’s got a smile on his face you haven’t seen in a while. a smile you loved so much and the longer the two of you were together… it began to fade away. it only appeared for special occasions like birthdays or anniversaries, then one day; heeseung just never smiled the same way ever again. 

you sat up, wrapping your blanket around yourself as you situated yourself in front of heeseung who did the same. “hee.. what are we doing?” you asked, the events of last night replaying in your head as you recall crying into heeseung’s chest and him trying his best to comfort you. 

“whatever you want, my love.” heeseung was good at that. saying all the right things to make it seem like everything was just that, alright. he would soothe your worries with empty promises, a soft rub on your back, and a gentle kiss on your lips. 

a kiss… something you craved from heeseung. 

“we’re too toxic for each other… but i don’t think i ever want to lose you. you’re all i’ve ever known and i feel even more lost when i’m without you. there’s so many signs that tell me to turn around, to stop, that this is just a dead end, but if i just keep ignoring the signs– it always leads me back to you. 

it always leads back to you, hee.. 

i don’t ever want to lose you but… can we even do this without falling apart?” 

heeseung looks at you momentarily, eyes flickering from your own eyes to your lips, something he also craved to feel. 

“you’ll never lose me, not even if you push me away… i’ll always pull you back no matter what. i don’t care what anyone says, they don’t know us like we know each other. the way i know your brain and body… and even soul. 

you’re mine and i’m yours, even if it destroys us.” heeseung’s face has gotten a lot closer with each word he speaks, nose slightly grazing yours. 

“i love you, ok?” he says and after a long time, you believe it. like he was willing to fix up any of the issues you two had if it meant that he could hold you every night as the two of you drift off to sleep. your dreams being filled with your happiest moments with each other instead of the nightmare of losing one another. 

you jump onto heeseung’s lap to which startles him at first but your hear his low chuckle in your ear as he embraces you in his arms. you would’ve said i love you back but you weren’t sure if you would mean it or if it would even change anything. 

you guess you’ll just have to see in a few weeks to know if things have changed and if the cycle is finally broken. your life was nothing without heeseung and whether or not you loved him was uncertain– you did, however, know that nothing was the same without him.  

"toxic" meovv the usage of song lyrics is credited to the artists above

copyright 2024 - present © hoonieyun all rights reserved

all writing here is fiction & not in any association with characters mentioned.

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heart not broken enough? let's try again... ˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

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[tteotlma]

Sugar and Skin

4. Fractured Focus || Previous - Next

A late-night encounter lingers in the quiet hum of the shop, a step too close and a touch nearly made, leaving behind something unspoken—something that refuses to fade.

TattooArtist!Bucky x Baker!Reader (4.6kwc)

tw: 18+ MDNI; mild language, subtle tension, implied attraction, slow-burn, strangers to friends to lovers, mentions of smoking, lingering touches, close proximity, unspoken intentions a/n: pls forgive me if some of the phrases are repetitive... i dont know how else to word and reword the same motions sometimes ((babes im so sorry for the wait.. it's been crazy... I started training at my new job.. i quit that job.. I saw hugh jackman in new york city, fell behind in school work so i had to catch up and then i got a new internet crush... so it's been CRAZY anyway..)) enjoy!!

The shop was unusually quiet for an early afternoon, the faint hum of the fridge muffled through the walls of the back room. Bucky sat in his station chair, feet propped on the black recliner stretched across from him as he leaned back, a sketchbook balanced on his lap. The pen in his hand moved slowly, purposefully, trailing delicate lines across the page. 

He wasn’t even sure what had drawn him to this particular image. At first, it had been a simple twig, then small berries began to take shape, clustered tightly together. His usual sketches were bold and heavy—intimidating designs for ink that would sit on someone’s skin forever. But this? This was… different. 

The soft red ink shaded each berry into a round plump form, almost glistening on the page. Leaves sprouted from the stems, broad and delicate, with the faintest etchings of veins running through them. Thorns lined the thin branches, sharp and deliberate, giving the otherwise soft drawing a quiet angst. 

Bucky’s brow furrowed slightly as he added detail to the sketch, his focus sharp yet relaxed. The raspberries, though he never called them that in his mind, seemed to grow beneath his hand, as if they were waiting to spill from the page. His hand lingered over the image, caught up in the small folds of a leaf and the way the weight of the fruit bent the stem. 

“You know,” Steve’s voice broke through the stillness, startling Bucky just enough for his boot to slip from the bench. He straightened, quickly closing the sketchbook with one hand as his sharp blue eyes flicked up toward his friend.

Steve stood at the counter, arms crossed, the corners of his mouth twitching like he was trying not to grin. “I’ve been reading up on insubordination,” he began, feigning seriousness as he leaned casually against the counter. “And technically, I’m your boss, which means when I send you to get my stuff and the stuff is given to you, I expect you to bring everything to me.”

Bucky sat up straighter, his boots hitting the floor with a dull thud. “I do,” he said defensively, his tone clipped. “I did.”

Steve’s grin broke free, his feigned seriousness dissolving. “Relax, Buck. I’m kidding.” He waved a hand, stepping away from the counter. “You don’t even know what I’m talking about yet and you’re already giving yourself away.”

Bucky gave him a sharp look, his brows pulling together in confusion. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Nothing,” Steve replied with a laugh, shaking his head as he approached. His eyes flicked to the sketchbook still tucked under Bucky’s hand. “What’ve you been working on?”

“Nothing important,” Bucky said quickly, but Steve ignored him, leaning over to tug the book free.

Steve flipped it open before Bucky could protest, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studied the page. “Huh.”

“Huh?” Bucky repeated, annoyed.

Steve tilted the book toward him, tapping the edge of the page. “This isn’t your usual style.”

“No shit,” Bucky muttered, grabbing the sketchbook back and closing it with a snap.

“Relax,” Steve said again, his grin softening. “It’s good. Just… different. Almost delicate.” He raised a brow, but didn’t press further, stepping back toward the counter. “Anyway, don’t forget to grab my coffee tomorrow, thanks.”

Bucky scoffed, watching as Steve disappeared into the back room. When the shop fell silent again, he glanced down at his sketchbook, the edges of the raspberries still vivid in his mind. With a quiet sigh, he leaned back in the chair and flipped the book open again, his pen hovering over the page.

The raspberries stared back at him, vibrant against the soft cream of the paper. Bucky tapped his pen against the edge of the page once, twice, before letting it trail back to the delicate stem, adding another small thorn.

—-

The shop had emptied out hours ago, leaving only the quiet hum of the fridge and the soft scratching of Bucky’s pen against paper. The raspberries on yet another page had taken form in a way that felt almost absentminded, the delicate shading of each berry and the sharp, spiked edges of the leaves coming together without much thought.

He leaned back in his chair, eyes flicking toward the clock. It was late. Too late to still be here, but something kept him rooted to the spot. He exhaled sharply through his nose, flipping the sketchbook shut with one hand before running the other through his hair.

He needed air, maybe a cigarette, probably both.

Pushing himself up from the chair, he grabbed his jacket, shrugging it on as he made his way toward the door. The air outside was crisp, the streets quiet save for the distant hum of a passing car.

And then—

The soft scuff of a shoe against pavement made him glance up.

She was standing a few steps away, caught mid-stride under the dim glow of the street lamp. 

Bucky froze.

For a moment, neither of them moved. 

The light above buzzed faintly, bathing her in warm hues against the dark backdrop of the street. She clutched the strap of her bag a little tighter, her fingers flexing against the worn leather as if she hadn’t quite expected to run into him either. 

His tongue darted out to wet his lips, the smoke from his lips curling faintly in the cool night air. 

“Didn’t think you’d still be here.” She said, voice quiet. 

“Neither did I.” He finally said, voice low and rough from hours of silence. 

A pause.

The silence stretched, thick and unyielding. It wasn’t the comfortable kind, but neither of them seemed to want to break it too soon.

Bucky shifted his weight slightly, exhaling another slow stream of smoke. His fingers twitched against the worn leather of his jacket, debating what to do with his hands. He could feel the way she was watching him—cautious, curious, like she was trying to decipher him.

His voice came quieter this time, more curious than anything. “Didn’t think this was your usual route.”

She took a slow step forward, fingers flexing against the strap of her bag. “Oh, I just wanted to run through some stuff with Steven if he was still here.”

Bucky’s gaze flicked toward the darkened tattoo shop behind him, then back to her. “You just missed him.”

A beat of silence passed, thick with something unspoken. She nodded, lips pressing together like she was weighing whether to say something else. Bucky didn’t move, didn’t press, instead he just watched, his empty hand sliding into the pocket of his jacket as the air between them stretched.

The distant sound of a car rumbled through the street, headlights sweeping past them for only a second before disappearing around the bend. The glow of the streetlamp flickered slightly, casting shifting shadows across the pavement.

Bucky’s gaze flickered down, catching the way she rubbed her fingers against the worn strap of her purse —a nervous habit, maybe. His own fingers curled inside his pockets.

The stillness felt heavier than it should’ve, settling in his chest like a weight. He exhaled through his nose, then brought the cigarette to his lips, taking a slow drag. The tip flared in the dark, smoke curling around his face as he held the breath for a moment before releasing it into the night air.

“You smoke a lot?” Her voice cut through the quiet, soft but pointed.

Bucky flicked his eyes down to the ember at the tip, rolling the cigarette between his fingers, considering. Smoke curled lazily in the space between them. “Depends on the day.”

She hummed, tilting her head slightly, like she was turning the answer over in her mind, weighing it.

Bucky brought the cigarette to his lips again, taking another long drag, letting the burn settle deep before exhaling slowly. The air between them clouded with it, thinning as it drifted up toward the streetlamp’s glow.

“One of those days, then?”

His fingers twitched.

Bucky looked at her—really looked at her—his gaze tracing the way the dim light softened her features. She wasn’t looking at him, not fully, just watching the ember flicker, waiting for an answer.

He inhaled again, slow, the nicotine further grounding him.

Then, he let out a short chuckle almost a scoff, low and almost to himself. “You could say that.”

She shifted on her feet, fingers tightening slightly around the strap of her bag. The words seemed to catch in her throat before she finally managed, “Actually, do you think maybe I could just… leave something inside for Steven?”

Bucky’s brow lifted slightly, but he didn’t move. “Yeah?”

She nodded quickly, a little too quickly, and gestured to the folder tucked in her bag. “It’s just—uh—it’s nothing urgent but—. Just some things I drafted for him for that thing you guys are doing.”

Bucky’s gaze flickered to the folder, then back to her face. She wasn’t looking at him—not directly. Her fingers fumbled slightly as she messed with the folder in her bag, like she was feeling the weight of the silence just as much as he was.

He exhaled through his nose, slowly, then shifted his stance. “Yeah, alright,” he murmured, reaching beside him to pull the door open. “Come on.” 

Bucky watched as she hesitated for only a fraction of a second before stepping toward him, her movements quick but deliberate.

She slowed just as she neared him, close enough that he could see the way her breath caught, the faintest hitch in her chest before she steadied herself. Her eyes dragged up his frame, lingering for just a beat too long before finally meeting his gaze.

As their eyes met, Bucky exhaled slowly, the cigarette perched between his lips, smoke curling between them in the narrow space. His free hand held the door open, fingers curling around the edge as he leaned into it, using the frame as lazy leverage. The glow of the tip cast flickering shadows across his face, the low light making his sharp features even sharper, the silver glint of his nose piercing catching faintly.

She hesitated for another second, her fingers twitching against her elbows as her arms crossed her chest. His gaze dipped slightly, just for a fraction of a breath, before flicking back to hers. He didn’t say anything, just watched her, the slow pull of smoke filling the space between them like something tangible.

Then, with an almost reluctant exhale, he reached up and plucked the cigarette from his lips, the barest hint of a smirk ghosting across his features as he dragged his tongue across his lower lip. The motion was slow, almost thoughtless, but she caught it—her eyes flicking to his mouth for just a second too long. His gaze met hers again, amusement glinting beneath the surface.

“You gonna go in,” he murmured, voice low, “or we just gonna stand here?”

Her breath hitched, just barely, before she shifted, stepping past him into the shop.

Bucky didn’t move from the doorway right away. He lingered just long enough to watch her falter in her steps before stepping further into the dim shop. The scent of her—something warm, something faintly sweet—brushed past him, but he didn’t let his gaze linger.

Instead, he sighed slowly, rolling the cigarette between his fingers before flicking it into the little tray by the window. His steps were unhurried as he followed her inside.

“You know where his desk is,” he muttered, nodding vaguely toward the back. The soft click of the door seemingly echoed in the vacant shop 

“Right. Yep.”She moved without another word, sneakers scuffing lightly against the hardwood as she disappeared past the main workstations. 

Bucky stood still for another second, fingers flexing slightly at his sides before he exhaled through his nose and trudged to where he sat earlier. Staring at the discarded papers strewn throughout his area, he sighed again shrugging off his jacket. The leather slid off his arms in one smooth motion, and he tossed it lazily onto the back of his chair.

Then, as if none of this was anything, he sat down. 

His eyes flicked to the sketchbook, still open to the crimson crops decorating the pageg. The red ink bled into the page in soft gradients, the delicate shading giving them weight, depth. He hadn’t planned on sketching them again, but somehow every time his mind came up empty, the shape of sweetness had come easy, his hand moving without thought, refining the curve of each berry he drew, the way stems wove together, thorns barely visible but always there.

His fingers hovered over the edge of the paper, the pen tapping idly against the margin. He wasn’t really thinking just tracing lines, smoothing out shadows, letting the motion guide him. The act itself was grounding, something to focus on, something to fill the quiet.

Bucky exhaled slowly, dragging the pen along the edge of a leaf, darkening the veins, sharpening the points where the thorns curled. The thorns had come later, after the berries, after the delicate lines and soft shadows. He didn’t know why, exactly—just that the drawing had always felt unfinished without them.

The shop was quiet. Too quiet.

The soft shuffle of footsteps barely registered until he felt a presence at his back.

"You've been busy."

The words were soft, spoken just behind him. Close.

Bucky stilled.

His fingers flexed against the pen, grip tightening slightly as the voice settled over him—quiet, but not uncertain.

He didn’t turn immediately.

Instead, he let the weight of her presence settle, let the space between them shrink just enough to be fully noticeable.

Then, slowly, he angled his head, catching her in his periphery.

She was standing closer than expected, her arms crossed loosely over her chest, her gaze flickering between the scattered sketches on the desk before landing on the one beneath his hand.

Bucky stared at her, waiting.

She nodded toward the page. “Didn’t take you for the delicate type.”

His mouth twitched. “I’m not.” He spoke too quick for his liking.

“Mm.” The sound was quiet, skeptical.

But she didn’t step away. Instead, her attention slowly dropped, shifting away from the sketchbook. It was subtle, something no one would notice unless they were really looking at her. Unless they were paying attention.

His gaze tracked the way her eyes flickered downward, no longer fixed on the paper but on him.

Her eyes traced the ink along his forearm, the dark lines and sharp, angular designs shifting over his skin as he involuntarily flexed his fingers. His tattoos were nothing like the sketches that were strewn about the room. They instead were stark, intricate, built from jagged lines and interlocking symbols that looked almost mechanical in their precision. They sprawled up his arms in bold, geometric bands, twisting and branching in patterns that mimicked circuitry, disappearing beneath the sleeve of his shirt like a secret map etched into his skin.

And she was still looking.

Bucky felt the way her focus kept drifting back, like she was trying not to, like she was searching for something else to land on but every time, her eyes traced the same path. His fingers, then his hands, and then arms, the way the veins ran just beneath the surface of his skin.

She swallowed.

“So,” she said, her voice quieter than usual, like she was only speaking to fill the space. “You, uh… sketch a lot?”

Her eyes flicked up briefly to his then to the book beneath his hand, like she was forcing herself to focus on the book in front of him instead of the way his biceps flexed slightly when he shifted in his seat.

Bucky tilted his head slightly, not answering right away, just watching her.

“I mean, I guess that’s obvious,” she continued, fidgeting slightly where she stood, fingers twitching against her arm as she still had them crossed loosely against her chest. ��Tattoo artist and all.” She quickly glanced at him. The motion was quick, barely there, but Bucky caught it.

He caught all of it.

His tongue flicked against his lower lip, slow, measured.

“Yeah,” he finally murmured, voice still hushed, and rough around the edges.

That should have been the end of it. She should have nodded, maybe said something about how it made sense, how he was good at what he did, then gone back to whatever excuse she had for still standing there.

But she didn’t.

Instead, her fingers flexed against her arm again, her weight shifting like she was debating something before finally nodding toward his sketchbook.

“This one’s…” she started, “not what I expected.”

Bucky’s brow twitched, his fingers tightening just slightly where they rested against his book.

She was still looking.

Still filling the silence.

Bucky dragged his tongue along the inside of his cheek, the corner of his mouth twitching just slightly. Her focus flickered between the sketchbook and his arms, like she was trying to settle on one or the other but couldn’t quite manage to stick the landing.

Instead of calling attention to it, Bucky let the silence stretch, watching the way she fidgeted slightly, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. Not nervous—just… preoccupied.

Her eyes flickered to the sketchbook again, as if reminding herself why she was standing there in the first place. “It’s just different from what I thought you’d draw.” Her voice was even, casual, but the way she kept her arms crossed tightly over her chest gave away that she wasn’t as relaxed as she sounded.

Bucky tapped his pen lightly against the edge of the book, watching her through half-lidded eyes. “Yeah?”

She nodded, her gaze darting across the page. “I guess I figured it’d be more like…” She hesitated, searching for the right word… before her eyes drifted again not toward the sketch, but to him. 

“You know,” her gaze traced the length of his fingers where they rested against the edge of the sketchbook, absentmindedly running his fingers against the edges of the paper. 

“Like the kind that…” her eyes then traced higher, following the veins that cut sharply along his forearm, disappearing beneath the rolled-up sleeve of his shirt. The intricate lines of his tattoos stretched over the muscle, shifting subtly with every small movement. 

“That…?” Bucky tucked his lower lip between his teeth, trying to hid his enjoyment in whatever was happening in front of him. 

Her attention lingered on his bicep a sec, then trailed upward again, sweeping over the broad plane of his chest, the way the fabric of his shirt stretched tight over it, dipping just slightly at the collar to reveal the edge of what seemed like the same tattoo.

Her lips parted slightly, eyes flitting up—finally—to meet his.

Bucky was still watching her.

She immediately cleared her throat, and stood straigh shifting her weight.

“I-I’m sorry it’s been a long day, I think I’m losing my train of thought.” 

Bucky didn’t miss the way her arms tightened against her chest, the huff of air she let out blowing a few stray strands of loose hair from her face. He watched, eyes tracking every small movement, as she reached up to push the hair back behind her ear, her fingers brushing lightly against her cheek.

Then she took a step back.

His gaze followed her as she leaned against the edge of the metal dresser behind her, shifting slightly until she was fully braced against it.

And then—

His jaw ticked.

He didn’t mean to look.

Didn’t mean to notice the way the hem of her jeans hugged the soft curve of her thighs, how the fabric subtly creased and pulled as she shifted her weight back against the dresser. It was brief—just a flicker of movement—but Bucky felt something twist in his chest.

His grip on the pen tightened, fingers flexing against the smooth barrel, accidentally leaving a violent mark across the page.

His brain felt like it stalled for half a second, before jolting back into motion, forcing him to drag his eyes away.

He shifted in his seat, rolling his shoulders like it would shake off whatever strange pull had settled over him. The shop was too quiet, the air thick with something unspoken, and Bucky suddenly hated how aware he was of everything—the faint scent of sugar and vanilla clinging to her skin, the soft hum of her breathing, the way she had caught her bottom lip between her teeth for half a second before releasing it.

He needed to say something. Needed to break whatever this was.

“You figured what?” he asked, his voice coming out lower than he intended.

Her brows lifted slightly, like she had forgotten what they were talking about. “Huh?”

Bucky tapped his pen against the edge of the sketchbook. “You said you figured I’d draw something different.”

“Oh. Right.” She let out a quiet breath, eyes flicking back to the page—though her posture was a little stiffer now, like she had caught onto the shift in atmosphere. “I just meant… I guess I thought your style would be more bold. Darker, maybe.”

Bucky hummed, his grip relaxing just slightly on the pen. “Most of the time, it is.”

She tilted her head, considering that. “So what made you change?”

He hesitated, the pen stilling against the paper.

For a second, he thought about lying—thought about brushing it off as nothing, as a mindless sketch, as something without weight.

But the raspberries stared back at him, delicate and vivid, surrounded by the sharp twist of thorns.

“Dunno,” he murmured finally, voice quiet, unreadable. “Just happened.”

She hesitated just a moment longer, adjusting the strap of her bag again, fingers gripping it as if she needed something to ground herself. “Artists,” she finally said, the word a soft exhale, laced with something almost amused, almost fond.

Bucky’s gaze flicked to her hands, to the way she flexed her fingers against the strap, before dragging his eyes back to her face. He didn’t say anything, just watched as she shifted, as she took the first slow step toward the door.

“It’s getting late. I should go.”

Something about the way she said it made something in Bucky’s chest press tight—like it was the natural conclusion, the only logical ending to whatever this had been.

Still, before he could stop himself, before he could think about it, he was standing.

She noticed immediately.

He moved without hesitation—quicker, smoother—and as he straightened to his full height, the shift in his posture made her steps falter just slightly. Her head tilted up, her brows twitching in the faintest flicker of surprise.

His fingers flexed briefly, then curled into his palm.

"Um…" He cleared his throat, fidgeting just slightly. "Sh—should I take you home?"

Her breath caught, just a fraction. Her fingers twitched against the zipper of her sweater.

Bucky felt the words sit heavy in the air between them, waiting.

She blinked at him, like she wasn’t sure if she’d heard him correctly.

He forced himself to hold her gaze, suddenly wondering what had even prompted him to ask. The words had left his mouth before he’d fully thought them through, hanging between them, heavy and uncertain.

“I got my bike out back,” he added, quieter, as if that somehow explained everything.

She stared at him for half a second longer, her expression unreadable. For a fleeting moment, Bucky thought she might actually say yes.

But then her lips parted, and a dry, almost amused lilt colored her voice.

“Your bike?”

Bucky exhaled slowly through his nose, nodding once. “Yeah.”

Her fingers flexed again, then curled into her palm. “And you think I’m just gonna get on the back of it?”

His brow twitched, but he stayed still. “Why not?”

She held his gaze, something flickering behind her eyes before she let out a slow breath. “That’s not a good idea.”

Bucky’s fingers curled slightly at his sides. “Why not?”

Her lips parted like she had an answer, but whatever it was never made it past her tongue. Instead, she just exhaled again, her grip tightening around the strap of her bag. “It just isn’t.”

His jaw shifted, considering her for a moment, before he gave a slow, almost reluctant nod. “Alright.”

Something in her posture eased, but only just.

Still, neither of them moved.

“Really,” he opened the door for her, stepping halfway through, his frame filling the doorway. “It’s not an issue.”

“No, really–”

She moved, and suddenly, they were in the doorway, the narrow space between them forcing them chest to chest. Closer than either of them had prepared for. The narrow space between them barely existed, her breath catching as she realized just how little room there was to step past him.

“Oh, Um..” Her voice coming out rushed. “Sorry i didn’t mean… I wasn’t—” and then as if second nature, her hand lifted. Maybe to steady herself, maybe for something else. But the moment her fingers grazed the fabric of his shirt, just barely, she froze.

Bucky did too.

“Paying attention…” She drawled out, staring at the stretched fabric over his chest. The touch of her hand was fleeting, but it sent something sharp through the space between them, something tense, something neither of them knew how to speak on.

She pulled her hand away quickly, like she’d been burned, like she hadn’t meant to do it at all.

“U-um—thank you,” she murmured, quieter this time, a little breathless, a little uncertain as she cradled the hand that touched him to her chest. Like she had been hurt. She stepped fully through the doorway. 

Bucky’s eyes flickered down, watching the way her fingers curled slightly against her palm. Something about it made his chest tighten, made his jaw flex, but he didn’t move. Didn’t say anything.

Not until she did.

“Maybe next time," she murmured, "Goodnight, Bucky.” She smiled at him softly before turning in the opposite direction, and heading back towards her store. 

Maybe next time.

Bucky’s fingers flexed at his sides, his pulse thrumming in a slow, steady beat against his ribs. He didn’t know why he was still standing there, watching her walk away, or why the sound of his name on her lips sent something sharp and unfamiliar through him.

His throat worked around the weight of whatever the hell this was.

He could have said goodnight. Could have given her a nod, a grunt—something easy, something that wouldn’t feel like stepping into whatever was settling between them, thick and unspoken. Instead, he just watched as she disappeared over the bend of the sidewalk.

The door groaned softly as it swung back into place, the brass bell giving one last muted chime.

Bucky stood there for a moment longer than he should have.

Then, with a slow exhale, he reached for the lock, twisting it into place before dragging a hand threw his hair and around his jaw.

His other hand tugged at the fabric of his shirt, the ghost of something warm against his chest making the material feel too tight all of a sudden. Like it had shrunk in the last thirty seconds.

Bucky rolled his shoulders, flexed his arms stretching them down his sides, but it didn’t shake the feeling.

With a quiet sigh, he turned back toward his station, eyes drifting over the scattered pages, the open sketchbook. The raspberries stared back at him, vivid and red, surrounded by sharp, curling thorns.

Bucky dragged his tongue over his molars, then reached for his pen, twirling it once between his fingers before setting it down.

He should go home.

He would.

Eventually.

But for now, he sat back down, flipping to a fresh page.

And, without thinking, he started to draw.

—

a/n: again thank you so much for your patience w/ this chapter huhuhu~ please reblog to support! I also love feedback, and comments :)

Literally your comments are hilarious

taglist (lmk if you want to be added!) : @cheezemanz @shirukitsune @miharuwrites @multifandomkid @violetpassionfruit @sapphirebarnes @grilledcheesewithjalapeno @angelbabyyy99 @theendofmaterialgworl @venuslovey @blackhawkfanatic @lazyneonrabbitt @singsosworld @danzer8705 @xamapolax @otterlycanadian @that1geek06

[thefrontmanscockwarmer]

My Best Friend’s Brother (Part 5)

Player 001 x reader

Masterlist <- comment on this post to be added to the tag list

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

You, Jun Ho, and In Ho walked to your apartment, grabbing clothes, your favorite throw blanket, and stuff for your cat.

“Why do you need so much shit?” In Ho, who seemingly had something to say all the time, spoke. He rolled your suitcase.

“She’s gonna be staying with us all month, dim wit” Jun Ho replied.

“Well that’s stupid. Don’t touch my shit while I’m at work.”

“Our room, our stuff” you said cheekily before you shot a look at him.

“No. My room, my stuff” he said.

“Wellllll I am staying there for a whi-“

“Whatever. Don’t touch my shit.”

“She touched your shit yesterday…” Jun Ho said.

“I dont give a fuck, i gave her permission to touch my shit.” In Ho snapped back. “Now, im telling her not to touch my shit when I’m not home”

“I don’t want touch shit at all”

“You literally scoop cat shit” Jun Ho says. In Ho snickered.

“Good one” he gave a fist bump.

“Can we stop talking about shit?!” You ask heatedly. The boys shut their mouths before In Ho whispered:

“Someone’s losing her shit.” Jun Ho laughed loudly, In Ho following suit.

“Seriously, In Ho? You’re literally older than us, get your shit together” they both snorted before laughing even louder. Making you laugh too.

Jun Ho left almost as soon as you guys arrived to the house.

In Ho pushed you against the door, barricading it shut. Breathing heavily in your ear, his cock leaking in his pants.

“I’ve been wanting to get ahold of you since you got out of bed this morning.” He growled in your ear. “I shouldn’t have let you go”

“No, you shouldn’t have” you reply, helping him out of his pants. You dropped to your knees. In Ho pulled your hair up, as you licked his tip. The feeling making him throw his head back, a low grumble from his chest accompanying it. You took his length, putting his cock deep in your throat. In Ho grunted primally as he pushed his cock in deeper. Forcing your head to hit the door. He pinned your hair up, thrusting into your mouth.

“Oh god, (y/n), why does your mouth feel so fucking good?” He coaxed in a low tone, fucking your throat. “I almost want to cum right now, fuck” the foreign feeling of his cock in your mouth was a long awaited day dream, you began to gag and choke on his thick member. The vibrations sending him into overdrive. He sped up, chasing his orgasm now, continuing his brutal assault on your throat. He braced his hand against the door, his hips stuttered. His body tense and convulsion with every thrust into your mouth. A low grumble”oh god” was uttered in the most sinful groan as he released cum down your throat. Thrusting slower now to fully empty himself inside you before putting himself back in his jeans.

“Your cum tastes almost like whiskey” you giggle.

“Well, according to last night… you really fucking like whiskey” he said. Your watery eyes looked up at him. “Ready to go pick out a new mattress your-annoyingness” he joked. You slapped his shoulder as you stood.

“Shut up.” You squint at him.

“Sorry” he kept laughing. “Mom, tell your son to stop laughing at me” you said as you walk into the kitchen.

“I would but, I haven’t heard him laugh this hard since he was younger.” She giggled lightly.

“Where Mr. Hwang?” You ask. “we might need his help.”

“He’s out betting on the horse races. Just have them deliver it to the house, the boys can do all of that.”

“Okay.” You shrug. You hear a loud groan as your cat emerges from In Ho’s room.

“Come back! I wanted more cuddles!!” He shouts chasing after the animal.

“Awww he’s so precious!” Mrs. Hwang exclaims. “What’s his name?”

“Wiseuki” you say aloud. The cat rubs against her legs as she repeats his name, looking at you knowing why you named him that… after her whiskey drinking son.

“Come on (y/n), let’s go pick that mattress” In Ho says pushing you out the door.

As soon as you entered the mattress store, he threw himself onto a bed. Immediate disgust etching on his face. You could tell this was going to be a long trip.

Taglist

@christinamadsen @sebbymybaby21 @nakiio5775 @xcinnamonmalfoyx @player279achlys @watasinekoru @galaxygurlll @angelofthorr @whamzou

[froschli96]

You know what, fuck it, I have to speak my truth! (this is gonna be a rant, so anyone who actually likes assassin's creed revelations and/or the secret crusade, be warned or maybe don't read this at all)

remember how altaïr talks to king richard at the end of ac1, and richard is like "[humans] come into the world kicking and screaming, violent and unstable. it is what we are. we cannot help ourselves."? and how altaïr answers "no. we are what we choose to be." and how that ACTUALLY has meaning bc he himself was "violent and unstable" at the beginning of the game but he has learned and is now CHOOSING to be a better person who cares about others and humanity at large? remember how his calmness and gentleness was something that he ACQUIRED over the course of the story?

and remember how in revelations they then suddenly had a PRE-AC1 altaïr say about the first of his targets "no man should pass from this world without knowing some kindness." and be all wise and calm and collected during a nice little chat with al mualim, who suddenly acts all fatherly? (like, this is suddenly supposed to be a positive relationship? what??)

also, during the confession the target says to altair: "you put too much faith in the hearts of men, altaïr. [...] humans are weak, base, and petty." and altaïr answers: "no. our creed is evidence to the contrary." KJASJFJDKL???? like, it’s almost insulting how close this exchange is to the one with richard. you know, the one that was actually earned after a whole game of character development. like WTF??? cool congrats now that development means nothing. like, apparently that was just altaïr reverting BACK to being the exemplary assassin who understands and believes in the creed that he was apparently just born as. (i also hate how having a young inexperienced altaïr saying this implies that altaïr's faith in humanity is a sign of naivete instead of a sign of the wisdom he has gained after being confronted with counter arguments for a whole game, and also something that distinguishes the assassins from the templars who use humanity's supposed wickedness to justify controlling them like in AC1, but whatever)

altaïr’s development in AC1 mattered BECAUSE he is not NATURALLY a good person, it actually said something about humanity's capacity for both bad AND good and how humans don't have to be forced to be good through mind control bc they can by their own free will choose to be better when taught how and when allowed the freedom to grow. but no. apparently altaïr has just always been calm, wise and gentle. and he just sort of forgot about that during AC1 bc…. ? bc of adha?? bc of abbas???

oh don’t get me started on the whole abbas thing. (it doesnt even make sense that abbas is so hung up about his father and "his family’s honor", like what about the whole point of al mualim not allowing parents to be close to their children bc it would make them weak? like, my dude, you’re not supposed to HAVE any family aside from the brotherhood)

they used the throwaway character that had like 5 lines and made him into altaïr’s main antagonist in revelations… like, abbas wasn’t supposed to be this ONE dude who had personal beef with altaïr, he was just supposed to show how while altaïr’s revered by many, a lot of his brothers also hate him, bc 1) altaïr is a shitty person at this point and 2) bc there’s no real feeling of community and family in this version of the brotherhood, but just a pervasive sense of competition and jealousy — these assassins don’t care about their goal of safeguarding humanity bc they’re too hung up on petty squabbles and divided by rivalries (you know, the things that made malik hate altaïr even before solomon’s temple and that he overcomes in the end which enables him to forgive and to reconcile with altaïr so they can work together and stop al mualim? (you ever just think about "we are one. as we share the glory of our victories, so too should we share the pain of our defeat. in this way we grow closer. we grow stronger." and cry? bc i do. all the time. malik, the man that you are))

and now abbas is altaïr’s childhood best friend turned lifelong enemy?? like, bowden bent over backwards to come up with an explanation for why altaïr is an arrogant ass at the beginning of AC1, when the explanation is right there: he was raised to kill without asking questions and was constantly praised for how good he is at murder, which resulted in him becoming arrogant and disregarding human life. like, it doesn’t have to be some shakespearean family feud type shit. and guess what, this "simple" explanation actually plays into the story’s themes, who’da thunk!

(like, abbas might not have been a "fleshed out" character in AC1, but he had a specific function and now that function is gone. mr bowden, mr mcdevitt, you know characters are allowed to simply exist to tell us something about their worlds and the systems they live in and sometimes that’s more important and also more interesting than having every single character have a detailed backstory to explain all their behaviors, right?)

with all of this revelations loses all nuance in regards to the levantine brotherhood and also the creed in general. like, altaïr being a master assassin at the beginning despite being a terrible person and not actually understanding the creed is a criticism of the brotherhood and the creed itself. like, it said something about the order that someone like altaïr was able to get that high in rank, simply bc he's good at killing, which also tells us what is considered important in the al mualim era assassin order. when you make altaïr’s arrogance the result of his personal conflicts instead of how we was raised by a brotherhood that only valued one's ability to kill, you lose that characterization of the assassin order itself!

and by suddenly making al mualim a semi good "father figure" you also downplay his manipulation of not only altaïr but all those under his care. (altaïr says something about al mualim being "as a father" to him exactly twice in the codex, but he doesn’t mean by that that he WAS a father to him, what he means is that he was the CLOSEST THING he had bc HE DID NOT HAVE PARENTS, not because his mother died in childbirth and his father was executed when he was young btw, BUT BECAUSE IT WASN’T ALLOWED, like his parents actually lived but weren’t allowed to be close to him, he says he came to view al mualim’s "weak and dishonest" love as enough and even better BECAUSE HE HAD NOTHING ELSE, BECAUSE AL MUALIM ISOLATED HIS ASSASSINS FROM THEIR FAMILIES. al mualim "loved" him bc he was good at killing people for him! hm, i wonder if this could be trying to say anything about cults and indoctrination and the inherent contradiction in fighting for peace and free will by taking children away from their parents and raising them to become killers?? like, altaïr wasn't ~the special orphan boy~ taken in by al mualim bc his father died a hero's death, it was "the way of the order" to have al mualim be the closest thing to a parental figure for everyone to ensure absolute loyalty! altaïr saying al mualim was like his father is not supposed to make you go "oh, he must have actually been a good guy for altaïr to consider him a father", it should make you go "oh that's kinda fucked up that he considers the dude who made him into a killing machine and who manipulated him a sort of father figure"!)

and then in revelations they suddenly portray that relationship as positive and healthy??? like, it would be one thing to give it some nuance by delving into the psychology behind al mualim’s "love" and maybe showing how al mualim did care about altair in a complicated, fraught sort of way (like, you know, there’s a lot of interesting things you could say about al mualim at several points addressing altaïr as "my child" in AC1 and how that parallels Garnier referring to the people he drugged and abused as his "children", and what that says about how the templars view the people who they say they want to save and in whose best interests they supposedly act (in any case, al mualim doesn’t use that phrase because he has any real parental feelings but rather to patronize and to invalidate any objections, like in a "mother knows best" way))

but they even fucking DARE to parallel that relationship with that of altaïr and darim in revelations, by having the reflection in the puddle of darim hugging altaïr showing altaïr hugging al mualim…. like their relationship wasn’t inherently abusive but just tragically cut short because al mualim was just "corrupted by the apple"… like WHAT???? so it’s not the very real problems like grooming, manipulation and indoctrination and the hierarchical structure of the brotherhood itself (all of which are antithetical to the assassin ideology), it was just the evil apple all along. great. that’s DEFINITELY a lot more interesting.

god im sorry i really dont want to spread negativity but this is driving me INSANE. like, somebody please tell me im not crazy bc i feel like somehow most of the fandom is in agreement that revelations and the secret crusade have better storytelling and characterization than ac1.

SPEAKING OF WHICH, can we talk about how, even IF we completely ignore AC1 and treat revelations altaïr as his own character…. the narrative still doesn’t really work?

basically, the whole point of his story in rev is that "he gave his whole life to the brotherhood", this obsession led to him not using his time with his family which has him ending up dying alone in a dark library and this in turn makes ezio reevaluate his life choices…. except. he doesn’t? neglect? his family? or whatever? like, his devotion to the assassins is sort of painted as this tragic flaw that leads to a lonely death bc it supposedly comes at the cost of his family, but… his wife has joined the assassins, (at least) one of his sons is in the brotherhood and even when he goes to protect the assassins against the mongols, he takes his family with him (except for the son who stays behind bc he has a family of his own and who, ironically, ends up dying bc of that)… like, you can’t describe altaïr as a good husband and father in the database and have his son tell him that "everything that is good in me began with you, father" when they say goodbye, and then want to make us believe that he put his family behind the brotherhood and that that is a character flaw that leads to his tragedy.

because you HAVE to have a character’s tragedy be the result of a character flaw. like. that is how tragedies work. otherwise it just becomes tragedy for the sake of tragedy which is… boring bc it has no purpose. and we know it is SUPPOSED to have purpose bc ezIO FUCKING QUITS BEING AN ASSASSIN AFTER WITNESSING IT!

it’s like they want to have their cake and eat it, too — they didn’t want to actually make altaïr a bad husband/father, but still wanted to make his life a tragedy where he loses his family which is why instead they outsource all responsibility to abbas who now has to be the reason for ALL the deaths.

like, they try to make at least maria’s death kind of sort of the result of altaïr’s rashness or whatever but like… these guys KILLED THEIR SON and TOLD HIM THAT ALTAÏR HAD ORDERED HIS DEATH. like, altaïr losing it in response to that is not rash, it’s fucking logical and justified! if anything the scene made me angry at maria for trying to stop him. like, GIRL, he was YOUR son too??? but god forbid we give female characters actual real emotions, she has to fill the role of "voice of reason who dies for altaïr’s man pain" i fucking guess.

like, it’s this weird mix where his tragedy is simultaneously painted as his own fault but also not really bc abbas is the one responsible for all the shit that happens. it just… it just doesn’t really go together.

the only way to make his story make sense narratively and to give it actual purpose is by looking at it in the context of ezio’s story, bc the things he sees in altaïr’s memories are supposed to be a revelation (ha!) to ezio specifically. and i guess that’s maybe the crux of it all — altaïr’s story in revelations was conceived of first and foremost to support ezio’s story and development. which is probably also why many people maybe don’t notice bc, having skipped ac1 and started with ac2, the majority of people mostly care only about ezio and only really appreciate altaïr’s story in as far as it serves to push ezio forward. (tho i’ve also seen a few people say that ezio is also written kind of weird in rev, but i’ve never really been an ezio girly myself so i can’t speak to the truth of that)

like, altaïr dying alone in the library doesn’t really have to make sense for his character, i guess, bc it’s only really supposed to be a cautionary tale for ezio.

so, i guess, for once, they actually had a MAN dying for another man’s character development, which is pretty woke actually. ubisoft, i take everything back jksdsfjhgdsahfhsdhfghfdsgjhsdgjh

[thebirdandhersong]

Lol

[perilegs]

my sweet little baby man is no longer with us

[firefl1ezz]

i just. hit s+ rank in splatoon and i never honestly thought this would happen?? am i cool now.. do i get to be a part of the s4? do i get to be watered down to my running joke all the time?

[13eyond13]

the funniest thing about having to report fraud on my credit card today was the girl on the phone listing all my transactions to me to see if i recognized them and literally 100% of them were all media purchases liiiiike wow I really have 1 hobby and 1 hobby only don't I

[itsalwaysdark]

i like overthink everything now it makes me feel so dumb. i used 2 be able to just talk 2 ppl but nowadays every single thing im like Is that actually going to make them hate me. Yes probably. and then i just dont respond which makes ppl hate me. this is how it is

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[dimeadozencows]

do you remember teufort drag au..... also happy new year

OF COURSE I DO OMG VE HIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII because I'm hyperfixtated on tf2 rn I literally thought about how much fun I had with the designs and story like. Two days ago gsjdjdkbd

HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!!!!!! I hope youre as happy and funny as the last time you tagged me in a post (⁠≧⁠▽⁠≦⁠)❤️💖❤️AND HAVE A WONDERFUL 2025

[faunandfloraas]

actual footage of me right now

[ratatatastic]

no im still on maffhew calling the forsymaffhew lovechild a missile

[tr0ubl3d-tr4n53nd3r]

I opened up about my body image issues and people called me a horrible person, told me I'm invalidating people with eds and that I'm body shaming people? God what the fuck? Ive got no fucking support system in real life and the Internet just hates me I guess.

[faderiftss]

Literally what are you even supposed to say if someone just sends you a hey DM. Sorry I'm ignoring that give me a sentence or something at least. Anything

[unityrain24]

man i know no one cares but i honestly don't know why they blocked me and it's been bugging me and i miss their blog :( and we weren't like close mutuals but we weren't like distant either. we'd send occasional messages or asks or some other interaction :(