#it's always a punch in the gut to realize how she was killed by doing the most human thing possible

[tqlepatiia]

words we can’t take back | b. barnes

masterlist | pt.2

summary: after a mission gone wrong, bucky lashes out, leaving y/n hurt by his harsh words. now drowning in guilt, bucky must find a way to apologize before it’s too late, but y/n isn’t ready to forgive so easily. can he fix what’s been broken?

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

warnings: angst, emotional distress, heartbreak, toxic relationship dynamics, arguments, mention of mental health struggles, potential triggers related to emotional abuse, strong language, and feelings of inadequacy.

word count: 5.9k

The mission had been a disaster from the start. Tension crackled in the air, the kind that always seemed to precede trouble. Bucky Barnes felt it in his bones, a tightness that grew with every wrong turn. It had been a simple extraction, but when they walked into a trap, chaos erupted. The sounds of gunfire ricocheted around him, the explosions reverberating through his chest like a war drum, drowning out his thoughts. But when he glanced at you—his partner, his anchor—something twisted in his gut.

In the aftermath, the wreckage of what had gone wrong stretched before him. Bodies lay scattered, their lifeless forms stark against the smoky haze, and the acrid scent of burning metal stung his nostrils. You stood there, bruises marring your skin, and your eyes, once sharp and defiant, now dulled by exhaustion. Bucky had seen too much, been through too much, and the anger inside him simmered, ready to boil over. How could this have gone so wrong?

“What the hell were you thinking?” he snapped, his voice a harsh whip in the stillness. His jaw was clenched, and his glare could’ve burned holes into you. “You almost got yourself fucking killed, you know that?”

Your breath caught, heart sinking at the venom in his tone. “I was doing my job, Bucky. I thought you had my back.”

“Had your back?” He stepped closer, fists clenching at his sides, every muscle taut with pent-up fury. The adrenaline from the fight morphed into something more destructive. “You’re a goddamn liability! You keep throwing yourself into danger like you can’t be hurt. What the hell is wrong with you?”

The words hit you like a punch, each one a jagged edge cutting deeper than the last. You could feel the weight of his anger pressing down on you, suffocating. “I didn’t ask for a babysitter,” you shot back, bitterness lacing your voice. “Maybe I’m the one who should be questioning if you’re fit to be my partner!”

Bucky’s expression hardened, eyes narrowing like a predator’s. This isn’t just about the mission, he thought, grappling with the frustration of watching you walk into danger. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have to worry about saving your ass all the damn time. If I wanted to deal with this shit, I’d find someone who actually knew how to handle themselves. I’m sick of dragging you through every godforsaken fight!”

Every accusation felt like a dagger, twisting in the wound he had just opened. You could see the pain and anger simmering in his eyes, but it was all directed at you. “You think I wanted this? I’m not the one who fucked up in the field! I thought we were a team!”

His laugh was bitter, devoid of humor, echoing against the wreckage around you. “Team? That’s a joke. You don’t get to call it a team when I’m the one stuck cleaning up your shit. I’m done with it. You’re not my equal; you’re just a goddamn burden.”

The air grew thick with tension, and you fought back tears, the tremor in your hands betraying you. “Maybe I should just leave, then,” you said, voice trembling but defiant. “If I’m such a problem, why don’t you find someone who doesn’t drag you down?”

The silence that followed was deafening. You turned away, trying to keep your composure, but you could feel his gaze burning into your back—a mix of anger and something softer, more vulnerable, that he refused to acknowledge. His heart pounded as the realization hit him: I pushed her away when she needed me the most. What the hell was I thinking?

As you walked away, the weight of his words hung heavily in the air between you, suffocating. Each step felt like a fracture in your heart, the distance growing more unbearable with every inch. Bucky stood there, feeling the echoes of his harshness fill the void where your connection once thrived. The realization settled in, and he knew this wasn’t over. How the hell do I fix this?

But as the dust settled around him, all he could feel was emptiness, a tidal wave of regret crashing over him, leaving him alone in the aftermath of his own making.

Days blurred together into an indistinguishable mess. The tension between you and Bucky hung thick in the air, suffocating, wrapping around him like a vice grip. He paced the empty halls of the compound, the rhythmic echo of his boots against the cold metal floors mirrored the chaos in his mind. Each step felt heavier than the last, a relentless reminder of the moment that played on a loop in his head—the hurt in your eyes when his careless words had cut deep.

Memories flooded back: your laughter in the training room, the way you encouraged him during his darkest moments. He had crossed a line he never intended to, letting his anger spew out like poison, each word a dagger aimed straight at your heart. Guilt clawed at him, a beast gnawing at his insides, turning his stomach into knots. Every time he caught a glimpse of you, it felt like a punch to the gut, the weight of regret settling like a stone in his chest.

The silence of the compound was palpable, broken only by the distant hum of machinery. He’d find you in the training room, pouring every ounce of your energy into your workout, the fierce determination radiating off you like a fire. Your tear-streaked face haunted him, a ghost he couldn’t shake. You weren’t just a teammate; you were everything to him. The thought of losing you felt like ice water dousing his heart, leaving him gasping for air, desperate to rewind time.

“Hey, Buck,” Sam said one day, leaning casually against the wall, arms crossed, the faint scent of sweat and metal mingling in the air. “You good, or are you just gonna sulk like an old man all day?”

“Yeah, sure,” Bucky shot back, the lie tasting bitter on his tongue, his eyes averted. He could feel Sam’s scrutinizing gaze piercing through his façade.

“Seriously, man, you think I can't see through that? There’s a damn storm brewing in that head of yours,” Sam pressed, his tone a mix of concern and teasing familiarity. “You gotta talk to her. You can’t keep doing this to yourself. It’s like watching a damn dog chase its own tail—ain’t gonna end well, and I’m not about to sit here and watch you make a mess of it.”

Bucky nodded, but the weight of his guilt felt like chains wrapped tight around his heart, squeezing the air from his lungs. What the hell could he even say? The fear of facing you loomed larger than any mission he’d ever tackled—a monster lurking in the shadows, making him feel weak and exposed. He clenched his fists, jaw tightening, as he fought against the rising tide of anxiety.

Closing his eyes, he leaned against the wall, fighting the urge to scream. He remembered how you had stood by him, even when the nightmares clawed at him in the night. You deserved better than his careless words, better than the pain he had caused. The metallic scent of sweat mixed with the lingering aroma of stale coffee filled the air, reminding him of the countless nights spent together, talking and laughing. Those memories felt like a beacon, drawing him closer to the confrontation he dreaded yet craved.

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath, pushing off the wall, each step toward you heavy with uncertainty. His heart raced as he imagined your reaction—would you forgive him? The thought of laying his broken heart bare to you, the one person who meant everything, filled him with dread and hope.

As he approached, the distance between you felt like a chasm. He was ready to confront the mess he’d made, but the fear of your disappointment loomed over him like a dark cloud. Sam watched him go, shaking his head with a faint smile, knowing his friend was finally stepping up to make things right.

It was time to face the music, to turn back the clock on the mistakes he had made. The symbol of his guilt—the small, worn-out dog tag you had given him before a particularly tough mission—burned in his pocket, a constant reminder of the bond he desperately wanted to restore.

In that moment, he knew he had to find the courage to bridge the gap between them, to reclaim what was lost before it slipped through his fingers forever.

After what felt like a damn eternity, Bucky finally gathered the guts to knock on your door. Each knock echoed in the silence, a stark reminder of the distance that had grown between you two. He stood there, heart pounding, fists clenched, feeling the weight of guilt that had settled in his chest like lead. Memories flooded his mind—your laughter during training sessions, quiet moments together in the compound, and the way your smile had once lit up even the darkest days. It all felt so far away now, a reminder of how easily he could lose it.

“Go away,” you called, your voice muffled but laced with hurt.

“Y/N,” he pleaded, desperation creeping into his tone. “I need to talk. Just… let me in, alright?” He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his mind racing with all the things he wanted to say but couldn’t quite grasp.

Silence hung in the air like a noose, heavy and suffocating. Each second stretched into an eternity, amplifying the tension until, finally, the door creaked open just enough for him to catch a glimpse of your face—red and puffy from tears, eyes shadowed with pain. It felt like a punch to the gut.

“I don’t want to talk to you,” you said coldly, arms crossed defensively, trying to shield yourself from the storm he had caused.

“I know. I messed up,” he replied, his voice thick with regret. He ran a hand through his hair, struggling to find the right words. “And I can’t—” He faltered, swallowing hard against the lump in his throat. “I can’t take back what I said. I was scared, and I lashed out. You mean too damn much to me for that. Just… let me explain.”

You stepped back, letting him in but hesitating, your anger and hurt crackling in the air like static electricity. Bucky could feel the tension radiating off you, could see how you trembled with barely contained rage. The faint hum of the compound’s machinery buzzed in the background, underscoring the silence between you.

“Bucky, you can’t just waltz in here and throw around apologies like they’re candy. It’s not that fucking simple,” you said, your voice shaking as emotions boiled over. “Do you even get what your words did to me? They cut deeper than you can imagine.”

The memories of your last argument flashed in his mind—how he had yelled, how his words had sliced through the fragile trust you had built. He could still hear your voice trembling, see the hurt in your eyes. It haunted him.

“I know it’s not,” he said, voice rising as frustration bubbled to the surface. “But you have to understand—I never meant to hurt you. I was scared as hell of losing you. I didn’t know how to deal with it, so I took it out on you. I thought I could keep you safe, but I fucking failed, and I can’t live with that.” He avoided your gaze, staring at the floor, ashamed of the turmoil he had caused.

You turned your gaze away, fury igniting. “You think being scared gives you the right to hurt me? Those words stick with you. They don’t just disappear because you suddenly want to make things right. You shattered something in me, Bucky, and you expect me to just let it go?” The air was thick with the weight of your words, each one a dagger aimed at his heart.

“I know,” he said, his voice cracking under the weight of his regret. “I’m not gonna pretend this doesn’t matter. I want to make things right. You’re not just some partner in this crazy shit; you’re everything to me. I’m so damn sorry, Y/N.”

A heavy silence fell between you, thick with unprocessed emotions. Tears glistened in your eyes, anger mixed with pain as you struggled to hold back the flood. Bucky could see your fingers trembling, as if you were fighting against the urge to reach out for him, to seek comfort from the very person who had hurt you.

“You’re sorry? That’s it? Do you think that’s enough? You can’t just toss around ‘I’m sorry’ and act like everything’s fine! Do you have any idea what it feels like to have the person you love turn on you like that?”

Bucky opened his mouth to respond, but the truth of your feelings hit him like a freight train. It shattered him, the realization crashing down harder than any blow he’d ever taken. “I didn’t mean to fuckin’ hurt you like that. I—”

“Didn’t mean to?” you snapped, frustration boiling over. “But you did! You meant every single word when you said I wasn’t enough! It’s like a poison, Bucky! Every time I look in the mirror, I see your words haunting me!”

“Y/N…” he pleaded, stepping closer, but you backed away, shaking your head fiercely. The space between you felt like an insurmountable chasm, filled with hurt and distrust.

“No! You don’t get to touch me. Not after what you said. I don’t want your pity. I want my trust back! I want to feel safe with you again, but how the hell can I when you’ve torn me apart like this?” The pain in your voice twisted like a knife in his gut.

“I’ll do whatever it takes,” he begged, desperation bleeding through his words. “I can give you space. I’ll listen—just don’t shut me out. I can’t lose you.” He reached out, almost instinctively, but stopped short, respecting your boundary. The small bracelet you used to wear, the one he had given you, lay forgotten on the table—its absence felt like a symbol of the trust now shattered between you.

“Maybe… maybe I need time,” you finally said, voice soft but resolute, tears spilling down your cheeks. “I can’t keep waiting for you to figure out how to treat me with the love and respect I deserve. I can’t be your punching bag.”

“Take all the time you need,” he replied, his heart sinking deeper. “I’ll be right here, waiting for you. Just… I hope you can find it in you to forgive me.” His words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken fears of a future without you.

You nodded slowly, the weight of the moment hanging heavily between you. Bucky turned to leave, each step dragging him down like a lead weight. The distant sounds of the compound faded as he walked away, leaving him alone with his thoughts. He wanted to scream, to punch the walls, to erase the hurt, but he knew he had to be patient. You needed time, and he would wait, even if it felt like forever.

As he walked away, the door closing behind him, Bucky felt a hollow ache settle in his chest—a deep emptiness that screamed for your forgiveness, for your presence. But he also knew he deserved the pain, the anguish he had caused. The only thing that mattered now was making things right, even if it took an eternity.

Days turned into weeks, and Bucky kept his distance, lurking on the edges of your life like a goddamn ghost. He was always there, a shadow in the background, never truly present, waiting for the moment you’d find it in yourself to forgive him. It was a tormenting cycle for him, hanging around the periphery of your world, the weight of his own mistakes bearing down like an anchor. He often caught himself recalling the laughter you once shared, memories of late-night talks and quiet moments that now felt like a distant dream. Those memories twisted in his gut as he watched you from afar, stealing glances during training, his gaze lingering near the kitchen where you used to share coffee and laughter, searching for a connection that felt like it was slipping through his fingers. But every time he made a move, the pain in your eyes sent him retreating, a constant reminder of the hurt he’d caused and the love that now felt so fragile.

One evening, the hum of the common room enveloped you, filled with the clatter of dishes and faint laughter from the team, but all you could focus on was the ache in your heart. You were scrolling through your phone, desperately trying to distract yourself when Bucky appeared in the doorway, hesitant and guarded. Your heart clenched at the sight of him—a mix of longing and sorrow flooding you, drowning out the world around you.

“Hey,” he said, voice low and rough, as if he was still wrestling with the demons of his past.

“Hey,” you replied, your voice flat, a careful mask of strength concealing the turmoil inside. You wanted to scream, to let him know how much his presence hurt, but part of you still craved the warmth he brought.

“Can we talk?” His words hung in the air like a fragile lifeline, one you weren’t sure you could grab onto.

You nodded, the weight of everything unsaid pressing down on you. “Make it quick,” you shot back, your tone sharper than intended, trying to keep the emotions at bay.

He stepped closer, eyes searching yours with a desperation that twisted your gut. “I need to say it again—for everything. I know it doesn’t mean much after the shit I pulled, but I swear I’m trying to fix this. I’m really working on myself.” As he spoke, he clenched his fists, fingers digging into his palms, a physical manifestation of the guilt that gnawed at him. “I just… I can’t keep running from this. I need you to know that.”

You let out a shaky breath, feeling the pressure of his words weighing down on you. “I’m trying to work through it, Bucky. But I can’t pretend everything’s fine just because you say you’re sorry.”

“I don’t expect you to,” he said, frustration cracking his calm facade. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, unable to meet your gaze. “But you need to understand how damn much you mean to me. I can’t lose you, Y/N. I won’t let that happen.”

Your heart ached at his confession, but anger flared within you. “You hurt me, Bucky. You can’t just wipe that away with a few nice words.”

“I know, I know! I’m fucking sorry, alright?” He ran a hand through his hair, pacing like a caged animal, the sound of his footsteps echoing off the walls. “I didn’t mean it. I was scared, and I lashed out. But you’ve gotta see how much I regret it, damn it!”

“Scared?” you spat, bitterness thick in your voice. “You don’t get to use your fear as an excuse for the pain you caused me!”

“Then what the hell do you want from me?” His voice rose, desperation lacing every word. “You’re acting like I’m a goddamn ghost! I’m right here, trying to fix this!”

“Because I need to protect myself!” you yelled back, tears spilling down your cheeks. “Every time I try to forgive you, you mess it up again! I can’t trust you when you keep hurting me!”

The silence that followed felt like a chasm between you, both of you breathing heavily, emotions spiraling out of control. Bucky’s shoulders sagged, the weight of your words crushing him. He thought of the little trinket you gave him once, a small metal star—a reminder of a bond that felt irreparably broken.

“I fucking hate this,” he admitted, his voice cracking, tears shimmering in his eyes. “I hate that I hurt you. I hate that no matter how hard I try, I can’t fix this. You mean everything to me, and it feels like I’m losing you more and more every damn day.” His gaze flickered to the floor, and for a moment, he was just a man haunted by his past, the soldier who had lost so much.

Your heart shattered at the sight of him, raw vulnerability spilling out. “You don’t get to say that after everything. You’ve made me feel worthless, like my feelings don’t matter. I can’t keep letting you walk all over me and expect everything to be okay.”

“I don’t want to fucking hurt you!” he cried, frustration and anguish battling within him. “I never asked for this! I just… sometimes I don’t know how to be better, okay?” He clenched his jaw, fighting against the tears that threatened to spill.

“Then you need to figure it out!” you screamed, your voice trembling with pain. “I can’t keep waiting for you to get it right while I’m left feeling broken!”

As your words hung in the air, the truth of your reality crashed over you both. The love you once shared felt suffocated by the shadows of anger and disappointment. You were both drowning in a sea of sorrow, hearts beating in sync but desperately out of tune.

Bucky stood there, shattered, eyes glistening with unshed tears, as you turned away, the battle within you raging. The silence stretched between you, heavy with unprocessed emotions, and for the first time, the thought of walking away felt more appealing than the pain of staying. But just as you took a step, a sliver of hope flickered in your chest—a feeling that perhaps this confrontation could lead to a path forward.

“Y/N…” he started, voice thick with heartbreak, but his words got lost in the chasm of hurt between you, leaving only a haunting silence in their wake. Yet somewhere deep within, the possibility of healing lingered, waiting for the courage to break through.

Weeks dragged on in the compound, each day feeling like a storm brewing just beneath the surface. The faint hum of machinery surrounded you, a constant reminder of the tension in the air. Despite Bucky’s promises to change, shadows of his past returned, casting a gloom that enveloped you both. Memories of laughter and shared moments felt like distant echoes now, buried under the weight of unspoken words and unresolved conflicts. You tiptoed around him, hyper-aware that every little thing could set off alarms in your mind.

The moment of impact came like a bullet, unexpected and cruel. During a mission briefing, Bucky’s voice cut through the air like glass shattering.

“Why the hell can’t you just focus?” he snapped, eyes ablaze with fury that had nothing to do with you, yet somehow landed squarely on your chest. The air felt heavy, thick with the scent of sweat and metal, making it hard to breathe. “You’re not some damn rookie! You should know better than this by now!”

“Bucky, I—”

“Just shut the hell up!” he roared, the words echoing off the walls, raw and menacing. His fists clenched at his sides, knuckles whitening as he struggled to contain the storm inside. “You’re making this way harder than it needs to be!”

Each word felt like a blow, carving deeper into your heart. This wasn’t a new dance; it was an exhausting routine, and the suffocating weight of your shared history felt more unbearable than ever. You remembered the moments when he had opened up, how he had let you in, but they felt like faint memories now. “Maybe you should take a good, hard look in the mirror,” you shot back, your voice shaky with a mix of hurt and anger. “I’m not the one with the issue here.”

He glared at you, frustration boiling over, muscles tense, jaw clenched tight. You could see the flicker of his inner turmoil, the fear of losing you clawing at his composure. “You keep pulling this shit! It’s like you can’t see past your own damn feelings! Just focus on the mission for once!”

Your chest tightened, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. “I’m not your damn punching bag, Bucky,” you said, voice breaking under the weight of raw emotion. “You can’t keep exploding at me and expect me to take it like it’s nothing. I’m sick of this!”

“Maybe if you actually gave a damn about the mission instead of whining about your feelings, we wouldn’t be in this mess!” His words cut deeper than you thought possible, and you recoiled as if slapped. You remembered the way he used to care, how he used to fight for every person he loved, and it stung even more to see him like this.

“I care, Bucky!” you cried, tears spilling over as you fought to hold it together. “But it’s hard to keep my head in the game when I’m constantly worried about when you’ll blow up at me next! You say you’re trying, but nothing changes! It feels like I don’t even matter to you anymore!”

For a moment, his expression shifted, a flicker of regret flashing across his face, but the damage was done. “You think this is easy for me?” he shouted, voice raw and desperate, filled with unfiltered anguish. “I’m trying to be better, but you keep dragging me back into this shit!” You could see the pain behind his bravado, the memories of his past haunting him, and it broke your heart.

“Don’t act like I’m the fucking problem!” you yelled, heart racing as reality crashed down around you. “I’m not the one who can’t confront his demons! You push me away and then blame me for not being there when you do!”

Pain flickered in Bucky’s eyes, the cracks in his stoic facade deepening. “You’re right,” he admitted, voice shaking, the weight of his confession crushing him. “I don’t know how to deal with this… how to deal with you. I’m scared shitless of losing you, and honestly, I don’t know if I can fix it.” The vulnerability in his voice was a fragile thread, hanging in the air, and you felt a flicker of hope amidst the chaos.

“Then maybe you need to sort your shit out,” you replied, heart breaking as you watched his despair unfold. “I can’t keep waiting for you to figure it out while I’m left feeling shattered.” You recalled the shared moments, the promises made, and the weight of them felt unbearable now.

Silence fell, thick with the unsaid and unresolved. You were both drowning in a sea of sorrow, love suffocating under the weight of his rage and your hurt. Bucky’s shoulders sagged as he stepped back, the chasm between you widening, feeling more insurmountable than ever.

“I can’t keep doing this,” you whispered, tears streaming down your face, anguish spilling over. “It’s killing me.” The vulnerability hung heavy between you, and for a fleeting moment, you saw a glimmer of understanding in his eyes.

His breath hitched, and he looked like he might reach for you, but the distance remained unbridgeable, a stark reminder of everything that felt lost. Yet, beneath it all, a small part of you held onto the hope that one day, you could navigate the darkness together.

The clash felt inevitable, like a storm building for days, ready to break over the fragile space between you and Bucky. The tension in the air was suffocating, each breath heavy with unspoken anger and hurt. You stood in the middle of the training room, fists clenched, trying to hold yourself together. Across from you, Bucky stood rigid, muscles taut, his hands balled into fists. The weights he had been using moments earlier now lay forgotten on the floor, a sharp reminder of the growing chasm between you.

The silence was unbearable. Then, without warning, Bucky's voice cut through the room like a blade. “Can you just—stop fucking around? You think this is a game?” His voice cracked, but his anger was palpable, radiating from him in waves as he hurled the weights down with a force that rattled through the room, the echo reverberating like a punch to the gut.

You flinched at the sound, the weight of his words hitting you just as hard. “Maybe if you’d stop yelling for one second, you’d see I’m trying!” Your voice shook, barely holding steady under the pressure. You were trembling, the knot of frustration and hurt in your chest threatening to unravel completely.

Bucky’s eyes darkened. “Damn it, you’re not trying hard enough!” he snapped, his fists tightening at his sides, knuckles white. His voice—usually so steady—was strained now, as though he was fighting to keep control. The anger in his tone felt like a punch, but you could see the tremble in his hands, the way his jaw clenched so tight you thought it might crack.

The sting of his words twisted in your chest. You could feel the pressure building in your throat, choking you with the weight of unspoken feelings. “I’m trying, Bucky. But it’s never enough for you, is it?” you said, the words tasting bitter in your mouth, laced with all the exhaustion you’d tried to suppress.

His face contorted in anger, but for a brief second, you saw something deeper flicker in his eyes—something haunted. You recognized that look. It was the same one he wore when he woke up from nightmares, drenched in sweat, guilt seeping from every pore. But it vanished just as quickly as it appeared, swallowed by his fury. “Get your shit together,” he snapped, voice low and intense. “I’m not your babysitter. You really think I can hold your hand through every goddamn thing?” His voice wavered, but he squared his shoulders, hiding the vulnerability underneath. “You want to survive? Toughen the hell up or get out of my way.”

“Then maybe you should just go!” The words burst out before you could stop them, raw and jagged, cutting through the tension. You hated how sharp your voice sounded, like a part of you was shattering with every syllable.

For a split second, his expression faltered—just long enough for you to see the crack in his defenses, the fear creeping in behind the anger. But the moment passed, and his face hardened once more, the distance between you widening.

“Enough is enough, Bucky.” Your voice trembled as you blinked back the tears threatening to spill over. “I can’t keep doing this. I’m tired of forgiving you just so you can hurt me again.” Each word felt like a physical wound, reopening scars you thought had healed.

Bucky’s hands dropped to his sides, but his fists remained clenched. “You’re being dramatic,” he muttered, turning his gaze away as though refusing to face the weight of your words. “I'm pushing you because you damn well need to be better. I can't afford to lose you.”

There it was. The fear he refused to name. He was terrified of losing you, but he couldn’t say it. Not out loud. So instead, he buried it under anger, under demands that pushed you further away.

“You twist everything, Bucky,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve tried to be there for you, to understand you—but I can’t keep pretending that this is okay. I can’t be the person you take everything out on.”

His jaw tightened, but his hands trembled at his sides. “You don’t get it,” he said, voice quieter now, almost broken. “I’m trying to protect you. I just… I don’t know how to do this without pushing people away. I’m not good at this shit.”

“And what do you think you’re doing right now?” you asked, your heart aching. “You’re pushing me away, and I’m too tired to hold on.”

The silence that followed was deafening, thick with the weight of unsaid things. Bucky’s breathing was heavy, his chest rising and falling in shallow, uneven breaths. The echo of the weights hitting the ground earlier still rang in your ears, a haunting reminder of how quickly things had spiraled.

You took a deep breath, feeling the chill of the room settle into your bones, as if the air itself was colder now, heavier. “I feel invisible, Bucky,” you whispered, your voice cracking with the weight of your confession. “Like I’m just a shadow, someone to absorb your anger when things get too hard. I can’t live like this anymore.”

Bucky’s eyes widened for a moment, and his fingers twitched like he wanted to reach for you but couldn’t. His lips parted, but no words came. His shoulders slumped slightly, a tiny surrender in the face of your pain.

He opened his mouth, his voice hoarse and desperate now. “Y/N, don’t do this,” His voice cracked, but his body was still tense, like he was holding something back—something he couldn’t quite bring himself to admit. “You don’t need to make this harder than it already is.”

“I don’t want to walk away, Bucky. But I have to, for my own sanity,” you said, stepping back as if putting physical distance between you would somehow make it easier.

He reached out, his hand hovering in the air between you, unsure. “Damn it,” he rasped. “I’m trying, okay? I need you to believe me.”

“It’s too late for that,” you whispered, your heart breaking at the sight of him so vulnerable, so raw. His hand dropped, and the space between you felt like a canyon now, too wide to cross.

Bucky’s breath hitched, his gaze dropping to the floor as though he couldn’t bear to look at you anymore. He clenched his fists again, nails biting into his palms. The weight of his guilt was suffocating, and you could see it in the way his shoulders sagged, the way his eyes dimmed with the realization that he had pushed you too far.

The room felt too quiet, the air thick with the aftermath of your words. You could feel the memory of every touch, every smile, every moment of laughter between you two slipping away like sand through your fingers. There was a photo—one he had kept tucked away in his jacket—of the two of you on a day when everything had felt perfect. He had carried it with him, a reminder of what he was trying to protect. But now, it felt like just another symbol of something irreparable.

“I loved you,” you whispered, stepping back one final time, tears blurring your vision as you turned toward the door. “But I deserve better.”

“Y/N!” His voice broke, desperate, as he took a step toward you, hand outstretched. His body was trembling now, fear etched into every line of his face. “Don’t fucking walk away from me! I can change. I swear, I can be better for you!”

You hesitated, your back to him, feeling the weight of his plea. For a moment, you almost turned back. Almost. But the words he had said still hung heavy in the air between you. And you knew—deep down—that you couldn’t survive this cycle anymore.

As you walked away, the echo of his voice followed you, the pain lacing each syllable a reminder of what could have been. But you didn’t stop. The silence after you left was deafening, and it swallowed Bucky whole, leaving him alone with his regrets, the weight of his own mistakes pressing down on him like a physical force.

He watched the door close behind you, his heart sinking with the realization that he had lost you. And for the first time, he didn’t know how to fix it.

[solelifauna]

Definitely NOT Invincible (Yandere Invincible & Reader)

Pt.5

Guys, I'm cooked. Anyways, thank you for all the kind words!!! Also Y/n's cooked too...anyways! Enjoy!

ALSO!! EVERYONE THANK @oof-spoof!! THIS SERIES IS NOW BASICALLY DEDICATED TO THEM!!! Thank you @oof-spoof for supporting me!

The group fell into a heavy silence, the weight of your words sinking in as if the world itself had pressed down on your shoulders. It wasn’t just about stopping Omni-Man and Invincible or sending that crucial tip to the Guardians of the Globe—it was about surviving long enough to make any of it matter.

The irrefutable fact lingered in the back of everyone’s mind, unspoken but looming: you might be killed again.

Your stomach churned at the thought, the memory of your father’s hand crushing your skull replaying in vivid, excruciating detail. The sound, the pressure, the blinding pain—it haunted you in ways you couldn’t even articulate. And if not that, then what? Would it be a more horrific death this time? Burned alive? Torn apart?

You looked around the table, the same realization written on the faces of your friends. Hallie was biting her lip, staring blankly at the table as her fingers drummed nervously. Connor’s jaw was clenched, his fists curled tightly on his lap. Weston was silent, his expression unreadable, but his tired eyes betrayed him.

Finally, Weston broke the silence. “I’ll figure out how to send the tip,” he said, his voice quiet but resolute. His gaze shifted between each of you before landing back on his hands. “You guys focus on keeping our… other obligation in check.”

Shit. You’d completely forgotten about the Demogorgons. Those damn things hadn’t been on your radar for the past few days, but they were still out there, roaming the town, lurking in shadows, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

Judging by the groans and sighs from Connor and Hallie, they’d forgotten too.

“Everyone still has their things, right?” you asked, already mentally cataloging what you had at home.

Hallie sat up straighter, brushing her hair out of her face. “Got my pump action and bolt action in my trunk and in my closet,” she said, her voice steadier than her posture.

Connor leaned back, rubbing his temples. “Got ammo and a G-48, Haymitch's axe, and the machete,” he listed off, his tone bordering on exhaustion.

“I still have the smoke bombs and my dad’s rifle he thinks he sold,” Weston added, his voice low but firm.

You nodded, storing the information away. “Good. We’ll need all that and more.”

The silence that followed was thick with understanding. You’d fought these monsters before. You’d survived the impossible. But this time, it wasn’t just about survival. It was about holding the line, balancing the dual threats of the Demogorgons and the looming Viltrumite takeover.

"I say we prepare for the worst," you finally say, your voice cutting through the silence. "Stock up on ammo when you can, supplies, canned food, and whatever else we’ll need. We have to be ready in case everything goes to shit again, in case… in case what we do doesn’t work—"

“Don’t.” Connor’s voice cuts you off, sharp and sudden. “Don’t say that, (Y/n).”

You flinch at the rawness in his voice, the sheer force of his words.

“Connor—” you start, but he barrels forward, his frustration spilling over like a dam breaking.

“It has to work!” he says, his voice trembling. “It has to, or else—” He looks away, jaw tight, his hands clenching into fists. “Or else that means we fought for nothing. That means all those people who died—who are going to die—died for nothing. That means we came back for nothing.”

His words hang in the air, raw and painful. You feel them hit you like a punch to the gut.

Your lips press together tightly as you try to find something—anything—to say. Connor was always the "strong" one of the group, the silent type, the brash one who rarely let anyone see how deeply he felt things. He was the backbone, the shoulder everyone else could lean on when things got tough. Seeing him like this, unraveling, hurts more than you want to admit.

“I’m—I’m sorry, Connor,” you finally manage, your voice barely above a whisper.

“No, I’m sorry,” he mutters, his eyes watery as he scrubs at his face with the back of his hand. His voice cracks slightly as he continues, “You—you’re just doing what you always do, trying to keep us alive. I’m sorry.”

“Please don’t apologize, Con,” you say quickly, leaning forward slightly, trying to catch his gaze. “I—I get it. Really, I do.”

The tension around the table is palpable. Hallie and Weston exchange uneasy glances, their worry for Connor evident in the grim lines of their faces.

“Connor,” Hallie starts gently, her voice low and careful, “nobody’s saying what happened before will happen again, but—”

“I know,” he cuts her off, his voice quieter now, almost resigned. He lets out a shaky breath and sinks back in his seat, rubbing a hand over his face. “I know. But we have to consider the high chance it will.”

The stakes couldn’t be higher, and the thought of failing—of going through all of it again—was unbearable.

But you didn’t have a choice.

You glanced at each of them in turn, taking in their tired faces, the fear lingering in their eyes. They were your family, your only anchor in a world that felt increasingly impossible to navigate.

“We’ll make it work,” you say softly, your voice steady despite the storm inside you. “I don’t know how yet, but we will.”

You don’t know if they believe you, and honestly, you’re not even sure if you believe yourself. 

Weston’s hand comes to rest on Connor’s shoulder, rubbing little circles in that gentle, soothing way he always did to calm the group down. It was such a Weston thing to do��he had always been physical with his care and affection, expressing his love in small touches and gestures that reminded you all you weren’t alone. You see Connor’s shoulders relax just slightly under Weston’s touch, though the tension doesn’t completely leave him.

You shift closer, moving to sit beside Connor, offering your silent presence as support. Across the table, Hallie slides her water bottle toward him, her brow furrowed in worry. “Here,” she says softly. Her voice doesn’t waver, but her eyes betray the depth of her concern. Connor takes the bottle with a small, muttered “thanks,” and sips from it, his gaze distant.

The weight of the moment settles over all of you, thick and suffocating. No one says anything for a while, and for a brief moment, the only sound is the distant hum of chatter from other tables in the courtyard.

Then the lunch bell rings, cutting through the stillness like a knife, signaling it’s time to go back to class. The sound sends a jolt through you, and you see the same dread reflected in everyone’s faces. None of you want to go. Yet, there was nothing you could do.

You all stand reluctantly, gathering your things in silence. Before you split up, you squeeze Connor’s shoulder gently, hoping it conveys what you can’t find the words to say. He offers a faint smile.

You walk into the crowded hallway, your mind scrambling as you try to recall your next class. What was it? You swear you knew just minutes ago, but now the information is gone, like a wisp of smoke slipping through your fingers.

You glance around desperately, hoping to recognize a familiar face, someone who might share the class with you. But the sea of students around you is a blur of faces you barely recognize. Who the hell are these people? You don’t remember their names, their voices, their stories. They’re strangers, even though you know you should know them.

Panic creeps up your spine as you weave through the hall, your breathing growing shallow. You’re losing it. You’re losing yourself, and there’s nothing you can do to stop it. The realization claws at you, sharp and unrelenting.

You hate this. You hate what this world, what this second chance, has reduced you to. What it’s reduced all of you to.

Your hands tremble as you tighten your grip on your bag, willing the shaking to stop, but it doesn’t. You pass classrooms, peeking inside, hoping something will click—a desk, a teacher, a face. But nothing does.

The hallways start growing emptier as students file into their classrooms, the bustling energy fading into a deafening quiet. You glance around, the panic tightening in your chest. Where the hell were you supposed to go?

Your mind scrambles, trying to latch onto something—anything—that will tell you your next class. The answer eludes you, slipping through your fingers like sand. You fumble with your phone, attempting to log into your student portal. At least that would show your schedule, right?

Except the password isn’t auto-saved. Of course, it isn’t.

You sit there staring at the login screen, willing your brain to remember your credentials, but nothing comes. It’s just another blank void. Great. Now you can’t even see your schedule, let alone your grades. Not that grades should be at the top of your concerns right now, but still, the thought gnaws at the back of your mind. You’re so screwed.

You lean against a row of lockers, the cold metal biting into your back as you let out a frustrated sigh. What the hell do I do now? Asking the front desk for help is out of the question. It’s the middle of the school year, and no one forgets their schedule this far in. It would raise questions. And why couldn’t you just look it up yourself? The idea of facing that judgment makes you cringe.

No, you can’t do that.

Instead, you resign yourself to staying in a random, empty hallway, slumping down against the wall. The quiet envelops you, a brief respite from the overwhelming noise in your head. You close your eyes for a moment, letting the silence settle around you. God, you didn’t realize how much your eyes were burning, how much your body ached.

The idea of just staying here, hidden and still, is so tempting. Maybe you could just chill here for a while. Yeah, that sounded nice. Just a little break.

You don’t realize how much time passes as you sit there, your mind drifting between the chaos of your thoughts and the exhaustion weighing you down. For a brief moment, you feel the smallest sliver of peace.

Until a voice shatters it.

“Playing hooky, (Y/n)?”

Your stomach drops. No. Not him. Not now.

Mark’s voice carries that unmistakable mix of smugness and sharpness, the tone that always made you want to squirm. “Tch, Mom and Dad are not going to be happy. Especially after the last meeting your counselor had about your little habit of skipping classes.”

You open your eyes, and there he is, standing over you with a smirk that makes you want to curl in on yourself. His eyes bore into yours, sharp and calculating, as if he’s dissecting you piece by piece.

“W-what? When did—oh shit,” you stammer, the memory hitting you like a brick. He’s talking about the meeting. You’d skipped a bunch of classes last semester to deal with the Demogorgons. Sure, you kept your grades up, but that didn’t stop the school from calling your mom. And to say she was upset was an understatement.

Mark’s smirk widens as he watches the realization dawn on your face. “Ah, there it is,” he says mockingly, leaning against the wall. “I’m sure Mom will love hearing about this. You know how she feels about second chances.”

You glare at him, the panic in your chest now mixed with frustration. “Mark, I—look, just don’t. Please.”

His expression softens, but only slightly. There’s still that edge to his voice, that unnerving mix of concern and menace. “Don’t what? Tell her? You’re not making this easy, you know. Skipping class, hiding out like this… It’s like you want her to freak out.”

“I just—” You falter, your words failing you. The exhaustion, the stress, the sheer overwhelming nature of everything—it’s all too much. You can’t think of a good excuse, and Mark’s gaze feels like it’s cutting through every lie you might try to tell.

He crouches down, leveling his eyes with yours. “What’s going on with you, (Y/n)?” he asks, his voice softer now but no less piercing. “You’ve been off. I know you’re not telling me everything.”

You look away, unable to meet his gaze.

Mark’s words linger in the air like a trap, waiting for you to fall in. “Are you depressed or something? Maybe it’s a boy? I don’t know, (Y/n), but something’s off. I know it is,” he says, his tone dripping with faux concern. “Just tell me. Tell your big brother, and I can make it go away.”

The irony of it all hits you like a freight train, and you can’t help it—you huff, then giggle, and then it all spirals out of control. A laugh bubbles out of you, wild and uncontainable, quickly escalating into full-blown hysterics. You’re wheezing now, clutching your sides, and you know you must look insane. Maybe you are. How could you not be?

It’s funny, really. The idea that he, Mark, could fix your problems. That he could “make it go away.” It’s laughable because a massive chunk of your problems is sitting right in front of you, watching you unravel with that same calculating smirk. How utterly absurd.

Your laughter devolves into choked breaths as your chest tightens painfully. The tears come next, hot and relentless, spilling down your cheeks. You’re sobbing now, loud and ugly, your body shaking uncontrollably.

Mark’s expression shifts, surprise flickering in his eyes. Then something darker takes hold—something intrigued, almost amused. He wasn’t expecting this, but oh, was he glad. He leans in closer, his lips curling into a softer smile. There was something seriously wrong with you. He knew it now. And that knowledge only made him more eager to figure out what had happened to his weak, adorable little sister.

“Oh, (Y/n),” he coos, his voice deceptively sweet as he cups your cheek with his large, warm hand. His thumb brushes against your tear-streaked skin, wiping away the evidence of your breakdown. His touch is firm but gentle, an unnerving mix of comfort and control.

You try to flinch away, your instincts screaming at you to get out of his grasp, but your body betrays you. Exhausted and overwhelmed, you slump into his hand, your head tilting slightly as if seeking solace. You hate it. You hate yourself for it. But you’re only human, and his warmth feels like the only anchor keeping you from completely spiraling.

“St-stop this,” you choke out between sobs, your voice barely audible. “Puh-please.”

Mark tilts his head, his expression almost mockingly innocent. “Stop what, (Y/n)?” he asks softly, his voice laced with feigned confusion.

“This,” you gasp, your voice trembling. “This—what you—you’re doing. Please, it—it isn’t fair.”

His hand doesn’t move from your cheek, and his thumb continues its slow, deliberate motion, wiping away fresh tears as they fall. His smile softens further, but his eyes remain sharp, predatory.

“Fair?” he echoes, as if tasting the word. “Oh, (Y/n). Life isn’t fair. You know that.” His voice drops lower, almost a whisper. “But you don’t have to worry about that. You don’t have to worry about anything. That’s what I’m here for.”

You shake your head weakly, your sobs growing quieter but no less intense. “You—”

He interrupts you gently, his voice soothing but utterly condescending. “Shh. Just let me take care of you.”

The words send a chill down your spine, the weight of his intent pressing down on you. You know there’s no escaping him now, not when he’s latched onto you like this. Not when he’s decided you’re his problem to solve, his little sister to protect—even if it means breaking you further in the process.

Mark’s gaze lingers on your trembling form, his hand still cradling your cheek. He studies you with a mix of curiosity and calculation, the wheels turning in his mind as he contemplates your place in all of this. Maybe he could make something useful out of you. Maybe you could be shaped into something worthy of the Viltrumite cause.

But as he takes in your tear-streaked face, the way your body shakes beneath his touch, he doubts it. You’re too weak. Too small. Too soft.

It’s almost pathetic how fragile you are, how human you are.

Still, the thought lingers—what if? What if you could prove yourself? What if, against all odds, you showed even the slightest potential? Perhaps then he could convince their father to keep you after the takeover. It would be difficult, of course. Nolan had little patience for weakness, and you were the embodiment of everything the Viltrumite race despised. But if you somehow managed to prove your worth, there was a chance.

Mark’s lips curve into a faint smile, the thought of sparing you for his mother’s sake bringing him a strange sense of satisfaction. You weren’t ideal offspring, no, far from it. But you were her daughter. Debbie would appreciate having you around, he’s sure of it, especially when their father inevitably takes her away from Earth to shield her from the chaos of their conquest.

“You’re lucky, you know,” Mark murmurs, his voice low and smooth. His thumb pauses for a moment, pressing lightly against your cheekbone as his eyes bore into yours. “If it weren’t for Mom, I wouldn’t even consider giving you a chance. But maybe… maybe you’ll surprise us.”

You blink at him, your chest tightening as his words sink in. “A-a chance? Mark, what are you—”

He cuts you off, his smile widening slightly, but there’s no warmth in it. “You’ll see,” he says cryptically, pulling his hand away and standing to his full height. His shadow looms over you, and for a brief moment, you feel like you’re shrinking under his gaze.

“Just remember, (Y/n),” he adds, his tone shifting to something colder, more deliberate. “This world isn’t kind to people like you. But you’re lucky to have me. I’ll make sure you don’t get left behind.”

The words feel like a promise and a threat all at once, leaving you frozen in place as he turns and walks away, his presence lingering long after he’s gone.

You’re left alone in the empty hallway, your breaths shaky and uneven, the weight of his intentions pressing down on you like a vice. Lucky, he said. But you don’t feel lucky. You feel trapped. And no amount of tears can wash that feeling away.

You sit there, slumped against the wall, trying to process what the hell Mark was talking about. “If it weren’t for Mom?” What does that even mean? Why would she have anything to do with whether Mark decided to “give you a chance?” What kind of chance was he even talking about?

Your mind spirals as you try to make sense of his cryptic words, the unease clawing at your insides. The idea that your mother somehow factored into whatever twisted plans Mark had for you only made the knot in your stomach tighten. What was he planning? What did he mean by not getting left behind?

Your thoughts race, one question bleeding into the next as panic wells up inside you. You can’t piece it together. You don’t have enough information. But the way he looked at you—the cold calculation behind his eyes, the way his words felt like a threat wrapped in false care—it makes your skin crawl.

You bury your face in your hands, your breathing shallow as your mind loops through the interaction. What the hell is going on?

Meanwhile, Mark is on his way out of the school building, his phone already in hand. He dials the familiar number, his expression cool and composed. The phone rings only twice before the unmistakable voice of his father, Nolan, answers.

“What is it?” Omni-Man’s voice is gruff, direct, as always.

Mark leans against the wall outside, his tone calm but tinged with a quiet urgency. “It’s about (Y/n),” he begins, cutting straight to the point. “There’s something off with her. More than usual.”

On the other end of the line, Nolan sighs. His voice is bored, disinterested. “Mark, your sister has always been like this. Emotional and a bit erratic. It’s nothing new.”

Mark clenches his jaw but keeps his tone steady. “No, Dad, this is different. She’s acting weird—like, really weird. Come’on, I’m sure you’ve noticed how she’s stopped constantly asking to go out with us? Or how everytime she looks at one of us, her heart rate always increases, hell, I could smell the adrenaline rush that gets triggered.”

Nolan’s silence stretches for a moment. “Dad, why is she having a fight or flight, fear response triggered, huh?”

“Of course I’ve noticed, Mark,” Omni-man sighs out. “If it’s worth worrying about, I’ll handle it. But until then, she’s just…” He pauses, and Mark can practically see the look on his father’s face. “She’s still a human.”

Mark exhales sharply, but he doesn’t argue. He knows better than to push Nolan when he’s like this. “Fine,” he says, his voice tight. “But if I find out something important, I’ll let you know.”

“Do that,” Nolan replies curtly, and the line goes dead.

Mark slips his phone back into his pocket, his expression unreadable. He’s not entirely satisfied with his father’s response, but he’s also not surprised. Nolan has never had much patience for what he considers “mundane human nonsense.” If (Y/n)’s behavior didn’t involve anything worthy of the Viltrumite cause, it simply wasn’t a priority to him.

Still, Mark can’t shake the feeling that there’s more to this than his father realizes. And if Nolan won’t take it seriously, then Mark will.

[rosemariiaa]

02 sᴇᴄᴏɴᴅ ᴄʜᴀɴᴄᴇs, ғɪʀsᴛ ᴄʀᴜsʜᴇs

𐙚—pairing: Paige x Azzi

𐙚—rosie’s note:i have nothing to say but enjoy this long and sad ass flashback and yeah..pls don’t humor me! live reacts are very much wanted and needed!! also wanted to say tysmmm for 700+ followers, i love evb soo much and ty for being here! happy reading lovelies 💌

𐙚—links: rosie’s bookshelf, series masterlist , prologue

𐙚—themes: au (time travel), angst, fluff (if you squint), hurt/comfort, mentions of depression

𐙚—taglist: @thaatdigitaldiary @ohbueckers @makethemhoesmad @imaginespazzi @sierrale8ne @bueckersbitch @xxloveralways14 @kmoneymartini @lupinqs @pboogerswbb @pbaz7 @guesswhoitsn @patri-ots87 @ashortyluvsports @absolutelydreadful @pazzilover101

enjoy!!!

Storrs, Connecticut 2021

It started a few weeks after Azzi and Paige made their “agreement”. That’s what Azzi called it in her head—a way to convince herself it was something mutual, something they both wanted. In reality, it was her idea. She was the one who said, “We can’t keep doing this,” and Paige had gone along with it, like she always did.

Azzi thought it would be better this way, safer. If they stayed just friends, they couldn’t hurt each other. But watching Paige move on, watching her live out this version of their lives that Azzi thought she wanted—God, it was killing her.

The first time Paige mentioned Leana, Azzi didn’t think much of it. Paige always had a way of making friends quickly, effortlessly. But then Leana started showing up, a lot. At the end of practice. At team dinners. At their apartment.

Paige introduced her to the team a few days after their conversation, her arm slung around Leana’s shoulders like it was nothing. Like it wasn’t the same way she used to hold Azzi. And Leana? She was perfect. Nice. Pretty. Confident in a way that made Azzi’s stomach churn with jealousy? No, Azzi never really got jealous when Paige would be with other girls. Especially because they would only last a day or a few hours, but Leana would not stop showing up.

So, it was definitely not jealousy. Hatred.

Azzi hated her. She hated how she laughed at Paige’s jokes, how she touched Paige’s arm all the time like it was it was gonna grow legs and run away if she didn’t, how Paige seemed to shine a little brighter whenever Leana was around.

She hated how much she wanted Leana to be awful. Selfish. Mean. Anything that would give Paige a reason to leave her, to come back to Azzi. So Azzi could hold her and comfort her, the way she always used to. But that wasn’t going to happen. Leana wasn’t a bad person, and Paige didn’t need Azzi anymore.

Fuck. What did I do?

Azzi tried to convince herself she was fine. That she didn’t care. That this was what she wanted. Right?

But then, tonight, she saw them in the dining hall. Paige was leaning against the table, laughing at something Leana had said, her head tilted back, blonde waves brushing her back. She looked happy. Free.

And then Paige’s hand went to the small of Leana’s back.

Azzi froze.

Her breath caught in her chest, her heart pounding in her ears. That was her spot. Paige used to do that to her all the time—those small, familiar touches that felt like secrets only they shared. And now Paige was doing it to someone else.

She would never do that to Azzi again.

The realization hit her like a punch to the gut, and for a moment, she thought she might be sick. She thought her heart had already broken, but somehow, it found a new way to break.

Because even though Azzi was the one who asked for this—even though she was the one who insisted they be just friends—watching Paige with someone else made her realize just how wrong she’d been.

She turned away before they could see her, her fists clenched at her sides as she hurried out of the dining hall. Her vision blurred, hot tears slipping down her cheeks before she could stop them.

This was what she wanted.

This was what she’d asked for.

So why did it feel like this?

Azzi wiped at her face, angry at herself for crying. She couldn’t help but think about the agreement again, how it all started.

She could still see Paige’s expression that night, the way her brows furrowed, her lips pulling into a small frown as she listened to Azzi stumble through her words.

few weeks earlier..

Paige sat down beside her, resting her elbows on her knees. “We need to talk.”

Azzi’s shoulders tensed, but she closed her laptop and turned to face Paige. “About what?”

“About why you’ve been avoiding me,” Paige said bluntly.

Azzi’s lips parted, but she hesitated. “I haven’t been avoiding you.”

“Az,” Paige said softly, giving her a pointed look.

Azzi sighed, leaning back against the couch. “I just… I needed space. To figure things out.”

“Figure what out?” Paige asked, her voice steady but laced with concern.

Azzi stared at her hands, fidgeting with the hem of her sweatshirt. “Paige, I can’t keep doing this. We said we’d be friends, and then I end up in your room, in your bed… It’s confusing.”

Paige leaned closer, her brows furrowed. “You just wanted to sleep and it’s not confusing to me. I know how I feel about you, Az.”

Azzi shook her head quickly, cutting her off. “That’s the problem. I don’t think I know how to stop letting this happen. And I don’t trust myself not to hurt you or get hurt again.”

Paige’s jaw tightened, her voice dropping. “So, what? You’re scared, so you’re just gonna shut me out? We’ve been through too much for that.”

“I’m not shutting you out,” Azzi said, her voice rising slightly. “I’m trying to protect us. You and me. If we keep crossing these lines, it’s only gonna end the same way it did before.”

Paige exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down her face. “You’re making this harder than it has to be. I get it, Az. I do. But I’m not gonna sit here and pretend I don’t want more.”

Azzi’s eyes softened, but she looked away. “And what happens when it gets messy again, Paige? What happens when we mess this up? I can’t lose you completely.”

Paige’s voice was quiet but firm. “You’re not gonna lose me.”

Azzi didn’t respond, her silence weighing heavy in the room.

Paige hesitated before speaking again. “So, what does this mean? Do I still get my goodnight kiss, or is that part of the deal over too?”

Azzi’s eyes shot to Paige, her cheeks flushing. “Paige…”

“What?” Paige said, trying to keep her tone light despite the tension. “I’m just asking.”

Azzi sighed, her lips curving into a reluctant smile. “Yes, you still get your goodnight kiss. But just… don’t make it a thing, okay?”

Paige grinned. “No promises.”

Azzi rolled her eyes, but her smile lingered as she stood up. “I’m going to bed.”

“Hold up,” Paige said, standing too. She leaned down slightly, her voice soft. “Goodnight, Az.”

Azzi hesitated, then stepped closer, pressing a quick kiss to both of Paige’s cheeks. “Goodnight, Paige.”

As she walked away, Paige watched her go, her heart heavy but hopeful. This wasn’t what she wanted, not entirely. But it was something. And for now, that was enough.

present day

Azzi knew she was fucked the moment she made the decision. She knew she was fucked when Paige agreed. She knew she was fucked when she realized Paige could talk to, kiss, and hold any girl she wanted now.

Because they were just friends.

And Azzi was completely, utterly fucked.

—

The past weeks have been hell. It was like she was going through the stages of “grief” or whatever. That’s how Azzi thought of it, at least. How else could she explain the sinking pit in her chest every time Paige and Leana walked into a room together? Or the way her throat tightened when she saw Paige’s hand on Leana’s ass or her arm thrown over Leana’s shoulder, her smile too wide, her laugh too loud? Seems fake to me. She thought.

The team noticed it, of course. How could they not?

Azzi’s energy had shifted. She was way quieter, more withdrawn during practice. When Leana was around, her answers became clipped, her eyes glued to the floor like she couldn’t bear to look at anyone. It didn’t help that Leana fit in so well. The team adored her.

KK had asked her once, “Az, you good?” when they were running laps.

“I’m fine,” she’d lied, her voice sharp enough to end the conversation. But KK’s look lingered, filled with concern Azzi refused to acknowledge.

She wasn’t fine. Not even close.

First stage: Denial

Azzi told herself this was temporary. It had to be.

Paige didn’t really like Leana, not like that. It was just something new, something casual to pass the time. Paige didn’t do relationships, not seriously, and this one wouldn’t last either.

Azzi clung to that thought like a lifeline.

But then Paige started bringing Leana to team dinners. She started showing up with her at practice, standing too close, laughing too hard. And when Azzi saw them together, her chest tightened like someone was physically squeezing the air out of her lungs.

One night, she sat on the couch in Caroline’s apartment, her hands gripping a throw pillow as if she could crush the ache out of her chest.

“I keep telling myself it’s nothing,” she admitted, her voice trembling. “That she’ll get bored and come back. But what if she doesn’t, Carol? What if—” Her voice cracked, and the words wouldn’t come.

Caroline pulled her into a hug, her voice soft and steady. “I’m sorry, Az. I know this sucks. But you can’t keep doing this to yourself.”

Azzi didn’t reply. Because what was she supposed to say? That she didn’t know how to stop?

Second stage: Anger

The denial didn’t last. It couldn’t—not when Paige started bringing Leana to their apartment.

Azzi walked in one day after practice to find Leana sitting on the couch, Paige sprawled next to her, both of them laughing at something on Leana’s phone. Paige looked up, her face lighting up when she saw Azzi.

“Oh hey, Az. You hungry? We’re ordering sushi.”

We. Azzi hated the word.

She dropped her bag by the door, her jaw tight as she muttered, “I’m good,” before disappearing into her room.

That night, she slammed her bedroom door harder than necessary, her chest heaving with an anger she couldn’t contain.

Paige was supposed to be hers. She didn’t care how selfish it sounded—she didn’t want to share Paige with anyone else. Especially not Leana.

Third stage: Bargaining

Azzi started picking apart every moment she’d shared with Paige, searching for something she could’ve done differently.

Maybe if she hadn’t been so stubborn about staying “just friends.” Maybe if she’d let herself fall the way she wanted to—completely, unapologetically. Maybe Paige would’ve stayed.

She confided in Caroline again one night, her voice barely above a whisper as she lay curled up on the couch.

“What if I just tell her?” she asked, her hands twisting the hem of her hoodie. “What if I tell her I messed up, that I want her back?”

Caroline gave her a look that was equal parts sympathy and concern. “Az, you’re the one who pushed her away. Do you think telling her now is going to change anything? She’s with Leana.”

Azzi’s stomach sank at the words, but she couldn’t let go of the thought. What if Paige still loved her? What if there was a chance, no matter how small?

When Caroline finally left, Azzi retreated to her bedroom, unable to escape the weight of her emotions. Her eyes landed on the photo frame on her nightstand—the picture of her and Paige after their U16 gold medal win. Paige’s smile in the photo was the kind that made Azzi’s chest ache, bright and unguarded, as if she’d never known heartbreak.

It had become a nightly ritual, one that Azzi couldn’t bring herself to stop. She picked up the frame, her fingers trembling as she brushed over the glass. “I’m sorry, P,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “I shouldn’t have pushed you away.”

She pressed her lips to the corner of Paige’s smile in the photo, just like she used to do before bed. It was their tradition—their goodnight kiss. Only now, it was one-sided. A ghost of a memory that haunted her.

“Goodnight,” she murmured, her lips still resting against the glass. “Sweet dreams, P.”

Azzi set the frame back down and collapsed onto her bed, clutching the pillow to her chest. Maybe if I hadn’t been scared. Maybe if I just told her now…

Her mind raced with impossible scenarios, rewinding and replaying their history, searching for the moment she could fix, the word she could take back, the step she could retrace.

But in the end, she was left clutching nothing but a pillow and a memory, her tears soaking into the fabric.

Fourth stage: Depression

The hope didn’t last.

It was gone the night Azzi walked into the gym to find Paige and Leana standing by the bleachers. Paige’s hand was on Leana’s waist, positioning her towards the basket, Azzi felt her heart crack open all over again.

She barely made it through practice, her movements sluggish, her mind a blur. By the time she got home, she was shaking, tears streaming down her face as she stumbled into her bedroom.

Caroline found her an hour later, curled up on the floor, her chest heaving with silent sobs.

“I can’t do this,” Azzi whispered, her voice broken. “I can’t—she’s everywhere, Care. And I can’t—” She gasped for air, her words dissolving into another sob.

Caroline sat beside her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “Az, you don’t have to go through this alone. I’m here, okay? Whatever you need.”

Azzi nodded, but the ache in her chest didn’t fade.

She thought about their first kiss. On the dock, at the lake house of Azzi’s grandparents, the way Paige’s lips had been so soft, so sure.

Would Paige still think about it?

Would she remember the way they’d laughed afterward, giddy and breathless, as if the world had suddenly cracked open and spilled all its light into their lives?

Azzi closed her eyes, tears slipping down her cheeks.

Will I still cross your mind in a year, Paige? she wondered, her heart aching. Will you miss us, even for a second?

Because Azzi did. She missed Paige every day, every second of every day. She missed the way they fit together, like two halves of a whole, and the way Paige used to make her feel seen, like she was the only person in the world who mattered.

I miss you, she thought, her chest heaving with the weight of it. I miss us.

But Paige was with Leana now, and Azzi was just a ghost in her life—a shadow of what they used to be.

And no matter how much she wanted to believe otherwise, she couldn’t shake the feeling that Paige had already moved on.

Stage 5: Acceptance? No. The lack of Acceptance

No matter how hard she tried, Azzi couldn’t let go.

She couldn’t stop thinking about the way Paige used to look at her, like she was the only person in the room. She couldn’t stop replaying their last kiss in her mind—the warmth of Paige’s lips, the way she’d whispered, “Just friends,” like it was a promise they could keep.

But they couldn’t.

And Azzi couldn’t accept it. She couldn’t accept that Paige was gone, that she’d moved on, that the life they’d imagined together was slipping further out of reach with every passing day.

She wanted to scream, to cry, to do anything that might ease the crushing weight on her chest. But all she could do was sit in her room, staring at the wall, as the realization settled in:

She wasn’t grieving Paige. She was grieving herself—the part of her that had believed in them, the part of her that had loved Paige so fiercely it burned.

And now, all she had left were the ashes.

—

Paige didn’t like Leana.

Well, that wasn’t entirely true. She liked her well enough to talk to her, to hang out with her when the apartment felt too quiet, too empty, too suffocating without Azzi. But when it came to everything else—when it came to the little things—Paige didn’t like her at all.

She didn’t like that Leana couldn’t cook. It wasn’t like Azzi was an all-star chef or anything—Azzi could barely cook either—but it was different. It was Azzi. At least Azzi could make scrambled eggs. And those nasty green smoothies she used to force Paige to drink after workouts? Yeah, Paige hated them, but she never really hated them because they were from Azzi.

Leana couldn’t even make toast without burning it.

Paige didn’t like how Leana was so touchy-feely all the time. It was suffocating. She hated how Leana’s hands always found her waist or her shoulders, how her arms would wrap around Paige’s neck, clinging like a vine. Paige was supposed to be the clingy one. She was the one who used to jump into Azzi’s arms after practice, planting kisses all over her face or pulling her into hugs just because she felt like it.

And Azzi? She didn’t need to be all over Paige all the time. Sometimes, Azzi would just sit next to her, quiet and comfortable, letting Paige know she was there without saying a word. Paige loved that. She loved being in Azzi’s presence. It was Azzi, after all. Who wouldn’t want to just exist beside her?

But with Leana? God, sometimes Paige wanted to yell, “Can you just get the fuck away from me already?”

Leana’s hair? Always slick, stick-straight, and perfect. Paige hated it. She missed Azzi’s hair—how she’d wear it in curls or braids, switching it up depending on her mood. Paige loved running her hands through Azzi’s curls, loved how soft they felt and how they smelled like flowers.

Leana always smelled like strawberries. Safe to say Paige never had an appetite for them anymore.

She didn’t like the way Leana chewed her food, loud and careless, or the way she slurped her drinks like she grew up with no one teaching her manners. Azzi chewed her food so pretty—if chewing could even be called pretty—with that bright, wide smile she always had when Paige surprised her with ice cream sundaes every Friday night.

Leana always wanted to eat out, and not even at good places. She was obsessed with Jimmy John’s. Paige was too, but only when she went with Azzi every other week after games. Paige couldn’t stand it. She missed how Azzi would insist they eat at home, complaining about how Paige didn’t eat healthy enough.

And God, Paige hated the way Leana fucked. She hated the way her tongue moved on her breasts, her stomach, and just her body. The way her small, slender fingers never hit the right spot, the way her kisses felt too wet, too desperate, too wrong. Leana always tasted like candy, but Paige didn’t even like that anymore. She liked when Azzi tasted like candy.

Because it was Azzi.

Leana was all wrong—her touch, her smell, her laugh, her everything. Paige didn’t like anything about her, not really. And the more she tried to forget Azzi with Leana, the more it became painfully clear.

She didn’t want Leana. She never did.

She wanted Azzi.

But Azzi didn’t want her, not like that. Not anymore. And Paige couldn’t admit it out loud, but she knew the truth.

She was in a tangled mess she doesn’t think she can cut herself out of.

The worst part was Paige only really showed Leana affection when other people were around—when the team was watching, or worse, when Paige knew Azzi was somewhere nearby. It was all for show. A charade. She wanted to convince everyone, herself included, that she was fine. That she didn’t think about Azzi day and night. That she didn’t spend every waking moment wishing things were different.

She faked a laugh at Leana’s terrible jokes, forcing herself to look interested, to act like she wasn’t distracted by the mere thought of Azzi. But she was. She always was.

Every time Leana touched her, Paige’s mind wandered to Azzi’s touch instead. Every time Leana spoke, Paige thought about Azzi’s voice, the way it softened whenever she called Paige’s name. Every time Leana kissed her, Paige found herself comparing it to Azzi’s kisses—how they tasted sweeter, felt deeper, left her breathless in ways Leana never could.

It didn’t matter how much Paige pretended. She wasn’t fooling anyone. Certainly not Azzi. Certainly not herself.

She was a fucked fool.

Present day (au)

The night was colder than Paige expected. The sharp winter air bit at her cheeks as she adjusted the duffel bag slung over her shoulder, glancing over at Azzi walking beside her. Her girlfriend’s hands were stuffed deep into her coat pockets, her brow furrowed in curiosity.

“You really aren’t gonna tell me where we’re going?” Azzi asked, her voice soft but laced with amusement.

Paige smirked, shaking her head. “Nope. You gotta trust me, princess.”

Azzi rolled her eyes, though the nickname softened her expression. “Last time you said that, we ended up at that hole-in-the-wall pizza spot where you made me eat that ‘experimental’ pineapple jalapeño pizza.”

Paige held her hand to her chest, feigning offense. “Okay, first of all, that pizza was fire, and you know it.”

Azzi gave her a side-eye, her lips twitching upward despite herself. “It made me throw up on your shoes but okay! Just hurry it’s cold.”

Paige rolled her eyes and grinned, nodding toward the gym as it came into view. Its towering doors stood shut, the building silent under the faint glow of campus lights.

Azzi frowned, glancing between Paige and the gym. “Uh, you do know the gym is closed, right?”

Paige pulled a key from her pocket, holding it up with a mischievous grin. “Not for me, it’s not. Perks of being a super senior and coach’s favorite.”

Azzi followed her inside, the smell of the gym familiar but the sight in front of her unexpected. The center court lights glowed softly, illuminating a small setup Paige had prepared: a picnic blanket, a thermos of hot cocoa, a container of chocolate-covered strawberries, and a jar of Nutella sitting neatly on top.

Azzi’s jaw dropped slightly. “Wait—is that Nutella and strawberries? Wow Paige, you really thought this through.”

Paige shrugged, trying to play it cool but clearly pleased with herself. “You’re the one who put me onto it. Said they’re ‘life-changing’ or whatever. Figured I’d return the favor.”

Azzi laughed, kneeling down on the blanket and picking up the jar of Nutella. “I didn’t just say they’re life-changing. I said they’re essential. There’s a difference.”

Paige chuckled, setting her duffel bag near the bleachers before grabbing a basketball. “Yeah, yeah. Now let’s see if you still got that jumper.”

For the next hour, they played like they were kids again—shooting around, teasing each other, laughing until their stomachs hurt. Paige couldn’t help but steal glances at Azzi, marveling at how at ease she looked, her usual focus replaced with unfiltered joy.

When they finally settled back on the blanket, Azzi leaned into Paige’s side, her head resting on her shoulder. She dipped a strawberry into the Nutella and popped it into her mouth, sighing contentedly.

“This is perfect,” Azzi said softly.

Paige smiled, her fingers tracing small circles on Azzi’s thigh. “Yeah. I figured we could use something like this. It’s been…a lot lately.”

Azzi tilted her head to look up at Paige, her brow creasing slightly. “What do you mean? You’ve been killing it this year, P.”

Paige hesitated, her fingers stilling. “Yeah, but…it’s weird, you know? Knowing this is my last year here. I’m really gonna miss this place.”

Azzi’s smile faltered, and she sat up a little straighter. “You don’t have to think about that yet, though.”

Paige raised an eyebrow, her lips quirking. “What about you? You’ve been quiet about what you’re gonna do. Are you staying another year or declaring?”

Azzi blinked, caught off guard. “I—” She stopped, her gaze dropping to the blanket. “I haven’t decided yet.”“I don’t know. It’s a big decision, and I don’t want to rush it. But…sometimes I think staying wouldn’t be so bad.”

Paige reached out, gently turning Azzi’s face toward her. “Hey,” she said softly. “We’ll figure it out, no matter what. You staying or going doesn’t change us, Az.”

Azzi’s throat bobbed as she swallowed, her eyes shining with uncertainty. “It’s just…a lot to think about.”

Paige’s expression softened, and she leaned in to press a kiss to Azzi’s temple. “I get it. Take your time. You don’t have to decide tonight.”

They sat in comfortable silence for a while, the gym’s stillness wrapping around them like a blanket. Finally, Paige broke the quiet, a playful grin tugging at her lips.

“So,” she said, glancing down at Azzi. “Am I still get my goodnight kiss tonight, or what?”

Azzi laughed, rolling her eyes. “You’re ridiculous, you ask this everytime” she teased, but her cheeks flushed pink.

Paige tilted her head, her grin widening. “That’s not a no.”

Azzi sighed dramatically, leaning forward to press a soft, lingering kiss to Paige’s lips. When she pulled back, Paige was grinning like she’d won a championship.

“See?” Paige said, leaning back against the blanket. “This is why I’m gonna miss UConn. Nobody does goodnight kisses like you.”

Azzi laughed, shaking her head. “You’re lucky you’re cute, because you’re so corny.”

Paige chuckled, pulling Azzi closer. For the first time in a while, she let herself just be present—with Azzi, with this moment, with this version of her senior year.

—

The gym was almost empty now, the faint echo of their laughter still hanging in the air. Paige knelt beside her duffel bag, tossing in her shoes and a few loose pieces of tape she’d peeled off her wrists. Azzi was a few feet away, waiting patiently for paige to finish.

The night had been everything Paige hoped for—light, easy, and full of the kind of love that made her forget, even for a moment, about everything weighing her down.

Azzi turned to Paige, her brown eyes sparkling even under the harsh fluorescent lights. “You okay?” she asked, tilting her head.

Paige zipped up her bag and stood, throwing it over her shoulder. “Yeah, I’m good,” she said with a small smile.

Azzi didn’t look convinced, but she didn’t push. Instead, she nodded toward the doors. “Come on, let’s get home, KK is blowing up my phone.”

They walked side by side, their footsteps echoing off the walls as they made their way to the exit. Paige glanced over at Azzi, watching the way her ponytail swayed with each step, the way she hummed softly under her breath. She was so beautiful, so effortlessly radiant, and Paige felt her chest tighten at the thought of everything she was keeping from her.

As they stepped outside, the cold air hit them immediately, their breath visible in the chilly night. Paige unlocked the car with a press of a button, and Azzi walked ahead, tossing her bag into the backseat before climbing in. Paige lingered for a moment, staring up at the stars as if they might hold the answers she was looking for.

“Paige?” Azzi called softly from inside the car.

Paige snapped out of her thoughts and climbed in, shutting the door behind her. The heater kicked on as she started the engine, and for a moment, they just sat there, the quiet hum of the car filling the space between them.

Paige had one hand on the wheel, the other resting casually on her thigh. Azzi sat in the passenger seat, her head turned slightly toward Paige as if she was studying her. The hum of the engine and the faint sound of the radio filled the space between them, but Paige’s thoughts were so loud they might as well have been screaming.

She’d done her best to stay in the moment tonight—to soak in Azzi’s laugh, her smile, the way her nose scrunched whenever Paige teased her. But as they neared campus, the weight in Paige’s chest grew heavier.

It wasn’t just about what she’d gotten a second chance at; it was what she’d lost the first time around.

Azzi broke the silence first. “Hey, you wanna just crash in my room tonight?” Her voice was soft, almost hypnotizing.

Paige glanced at her briefly before returning her eyes to the road. “Yeah,” she said, her voice just as quiet. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

Azzi smiled, reaching out to give Paige’s arm a squeeze before settling back into her seat.

For the rest of the drive, Paige’s thoughts spiraled.

What if she could fix things?

The question had been haunting her since the moment she woke up in this second chance of a life. She could do so much—change so much—but every action had consequences. Good ones, bad ones. Ones she couldn’t even begin to predict.

Her grip on the steering wheel tightened.

And then there was the truth. The one thing she knew she could never fix, never change. The one thing that had already shattered Azzi once before.

Paige swallowed hard, her jaw clenching. She couldn’t think about that now. Not tonight. She needed to focus on the present—on Azzi, on the way her voice softened whenever she said Paige’s name, on the way her fingers always found Paige’s whenever they were walking side by side. Just focus on Azzi, just focus on pretending.

But was she really pretending? No. No, she wasn’t.

Paige knew she loved Azzi. Everyone did. She loved her so much it felt like it was tearing her apart from the inside out. She loved her enough to want to protect her, even if it meant keeping this secret. She loved her enough to die for her.

But loving her didn’t make what she was doing any less wrong.

By the time they reached Azzi’s dorm, Paige felt like she could barely breathe. Azzi didn’t seem to notice; she was already climbing out of the car, waiting for Paige to grab her things before leading the way inside.

When they reached Azzi’s room, Paige hesitated in the doorway, her duffel bag slung over her shoulder. Azzi turned to her, frowning slightly.

“You good?” she asked.

Paige forced a smile and nodded. “Yeah. Just tired, that’s all.”

Azzi’s frown deepened, but she didn’t press. Instead, she grabbed Paige’s hand and pulled her inside.

They moved through their usual routine with ease—Azzi handing Paige a pair of sweats, Paige tossing her hoodie onto the back of a chair, both of them brushing their teeth side by side in the small bathroom. But as they finally settled into Azzi’s bed, the silence between them felt heavier than before.

Paige lay on her back, staring up at the ceiling while Azzi curled up beside her, her head resting on Paige’s shoulder.

“You’ve been quiet,” Azzi murmured, her voice barely audible in the darkness.

Paige exhaled slowly, her fingers brushing through Azzi’s hair. “Just…thinking.”

“About what?”

Paige hesitated. She could feel the words bubbling up in her throat, threatening to spill out. But she couldn’t say them. Not now. Maybe not ever.

“Everything,” she said instead.

Azzi shifted, propping herself up on one elbow to look at Paige. “Hey,” she said softly, her fingers brushing against Paige’s cheek. “Whatever it is, you can talk to me. You know that, right?”

Paige closed her eyes, the weight in her chest almost unbearable. “I know,” she whispered.

Azzi’s thumb traced slow circles on Paige’s cheek. “You’re scaring me, P. What’s going on?”

Paige opened her eyes, her gaze locking with Azzi’s. And for a moment, she thought about telling her—about laying it all out there, no matter the consequences. But the thought of the look on Azzi’s face, the hurt in her eyes, stopped her cold.

“I’m just…I’m scared too,” Paige admitted, her voice trembling.

Azzi frowned, leaning closer. “Scared of what?”

Paige swallowed hard, her fingers tightening in Azzi’s hair. “Of losing this. Of messing it all up again.”

Azzi’s expression softened, and she leaned down to press a gentle kiss to Paige’s forehead. “You’re not gonna lose me, Paige. Not now, not ever.”

Paige closed her eyes, a single tear slipping down her cheek. “I hope you’re right,” she whispered. Oh, hope, hope was a beautiful thing.

Azzi pulled her closer, wrapping her arms around Paige as if she could hold her together. Paige buried her face in Azzi’s neck, her heart pounding in her chest.

She wanted to believe her. God, she wanted to believe her.

But deep down, she knew that as long as she kept this secret, the clock was ticking.

And she was terrified of what would happen when it finally ran out.

——

𐙚— rosie’s note: so how do we feel? do we love rosie ?? 😊

[marril96]

A Cry in the Night

Pairing: Agatha Harkness x reader

Summary: Agatha is the only person you can turn to after accidentally killing ten people.

You weren't a violent person, far from it, which was why, when you killed ten people in the span of five seconds and felt good about it, you freaked the fuck out and started screaming as if you were being actively murdered.

Which was what had led to you killing ten people in the first place, and was also part of what had made you freak out, alongside the act of murder itself. But, for the most part, what scared you the most about the entire ordeal was the sheer and utter joy at the realization that they were dead and you were not, and that it was all thanks to your magic doing your dirty work for you.

Deep in the forest, no one could hear you scream. No one had heard you the first time, when they'd chased you here, when they'd cornered you and pointed their weapons and hurled insults, and you'd begged for someone to come and save you.

No one did.

You were alone.

You were scared.

You snapped.

It was self defense, really. They were the ones who were going after you. But who was going to believe you? Who was going to believe that a witch was in fear of her life against ten regular, powerless human beings?

You would go to prison.

The thought made you scream louder, throat raw and dry. It hurt, but you couldn't stop.

Your life was over.

Even if you remained free, the reputation of a killer would haunt you for the rest of your life.

No one cared about the truth when it came to pointing fingers at witches.

Not even other witches.

Blood stained the ground around you, chunks of flesh and bone, big and small, strewn about like a macabre exhibition. The barks of trees were painted scarlet. How in the hell were you going to hide this? Should you hide it?

Yes. You absolutely should. No one could know about what you had done. No one could know how exhilarating it felt to take their lives just as they were about to take yours.

You'd been judged enough by the people in your life.

This needed to be taken care of.

But how?

What were you going to do?

Agatha. The name rang in your head like an echo. The first thing that came to mind. The first — and only — solution.

If anyone would understand, it was her.

She loved to kill people.

She wouldn't judge you for doing the same.

Would she?

Your phone was in your hand before your brain had time to catch up to your thoughts. As if on autopilot, you typed her number in and pressed the call button. Hers was one of the few numbers you knew by heart. She was always there when you needed company, or a pity party, or a one night stand. Always eager to entertain, to have a bit of fun.

Here was to hoping she would be just as eager to help you hide dead bodies — or what was left of them, anyway.

Agatha answered on the second ring. Clearly not in the mood to have been woken up at three am, sleep heavy in her voice, she said, "Someone better be dead."

The accuracy of her statement only made you freak out more. Reality was setting in, punching you in the face, the gut, the heart. People were dead. And they were dead because of you. They would never get to see their children grow up. They would never get to play with their grandchildren. They would never get to grow old and experience life.

Because you took it from them.

You took their lives.

"They are," you said in your weakest, tiniest voice. Then a sob that burned your throat broke out of your mouth, and you were bawling like a child. It hurt to breathe, to think, to exist. It hurt to cry, but the tears kept coming, and your lungs kept stinging, and you were shaking, and it took the last remnants of your strength to keep your phone from tumbling out of your hands.

"Y/N?" Your name was a soothing melody on Agatha's mouth. She knew this was serious, that something was wrong, and you had her full attention. "What happened, honey?"

"Agatha," you said meekly. "Help me. Please, help me."

This was beyond a mere want. You needed her.

"Gladly, but I need to know what you need help with," she said. "Are you in danger?"

Not anymore. "N-No."

"Are you hurt?"

Very. "No."

"Then what's wrong?"

Another sob. Your legs trembled, threatening to give way, to send you crashing to the ground. You gripped the closest tree for support.

"They're dead. They're all dead, and it's all my fault."

You murdered them. And you enjoyed every moment of it.

The thought made your stomach churn.

"Okay, hon, tell me where you are," Agatha said. No judgment in her tone. No accusation.

"I don't know. In a forest." You knew that much. Aside from that, crickets. "There's blood everywhere. Agatha, there's blood everywhere."

Around you. On you. Staining your clothes. Glued to your skin.

"That's okay," she assured you. "One thing at a time, okay? I will find you, and then we'll deal with the blood."

"You will find me?" You wanted her to promise you. To make good on it.

You needed her, and you needed her now, and you didn't know how much longer you could keep yourself from falling apart for you were well on your way there.

"I will find you."

Not long after you hung up the phone, a crackle of branches startled you. Jumping to your feet, you turned in the direction of the sound. Your eyes glowed in warning, sparks of magic bubbling at your fingertips, bright and vivid in the dead of night.

"Whoa there, tiger," the familiar voice said, and the building panic instantly dissipated.

Agatha.

She had found you.

Just as she had promised.

"We don't want an accident, do we?"

Because if you were to blast her, she would suck every last bit of magic from you and leave you a withered corpse on the ground. Not on purpose, of course; she couldn't control this power of hers, couldn't contain it.

That was part of the reason you trusted her with this. Her power made her kill people, even when she didn't want to, so she learned to live with it. She had to learn to deal with it. Taking a life — or two, or five, or a hundred — didn't bother her. She never would have survived for this long if it did.

She could fix this,

She could help you.

Taking in a deep, calming breath, you willed your magic back. The danger had passed, you told yourself. You were safe. There was nothing to be afraid of anymore.

"I-I'm sorry," you said.

"You've got nothing to apologize for," Agatha told you, and you knew she meant every word.

As soon as the last spark from your fingers faded, she was at your side, arms out, warm and welcoming. You allowed her to envelop you into a hug and melted into her. She didn't care that you were covered in blood from head to toe. She didn't care that your surroundings were littered with the remains of your victims.

All she cared about was you.

This was the side of her nobody but few select people knew was there. Her heartless bitch reputation proceeded her; nobody cared that, beneath the cold, uncaring exterior, there was a person who loved and hurt and bled just like everyone else.

She wasn't the monster that everyone had made her out to be. The facade was there for her protection.

You stood like that for a few moments. Agatha allowed you to cry, allowed you to let it all out in a safe environment. The worst had passed. Now that she was here, everything was going to be all right. She would make sure of it.

Once you had calmed down enough to stand on your own two feet without crumbling into pieces, she took a step back, gently brought her hands to your stained cheeks, and said,"What happened?"

Her eyes, usually piercing and intense, were as soft as her voice. A reminder — an exclamation — that you weren't in trouble. That she wasn't going to judge you, or mock you, or put you down. That she was here for you, first and foremost.

Judgment was all she knew about her entire life. Her own mother — the one person in the world who was supposed to cherish her, love her, protect her — had thought her evil, irredeemable from the very start. All because she happened to be born with a power no one had even attempted to understand or help her control.

She wasn't going to do that to anyone else.

She wasn't going to do that to you.

"They chased me here," you said.

You first saw them eyeing you at the bar, but you'd thought nothing of it. A big group of friends eyeing other patrons wasn't unusual; drunk people tended to do worse things. One of the girls among their group had asked you to join them. You'd politely declined; you didn't socialize with strangers.

You thought that was that, until they'd followed after you on your way out of the bar and formed a circle around you in the parking lot.

You'd flashed your magic.

They'd flashed their weapons, and they'd said you were dead. That they'd been hunting you for days.

Summoning all the power you could muster, you'd blasted them and ran. You weren't going to die at the hands of witch hunters. Not in the twenty first fucking century.

"They had weapons," you said, fresh tears spilling down your face, over Agatha's fingers. "They were everywhere, and I couldn't run anymore, and I just wanted them to go away and leave me alone."

You hadn't set out to kill anyone tonight.

They were the ones with murder on their minds.

All you wanted was to protect yourself. To save your life.

"And then it got hot, and my power just… It burst out, and there was blood everywhere."

Agatha pondered on your words. "Witch hunters."

"Yeah."

"You did good," she said. "You protected yourself. Don't you dare feel bad about that."

It was easy for her to say that. She'd spent centuries perfecting the act of not caring.

You, on the other hand, had never taken a life before.

A hard lump formed in your throat; you swallowed it, hissed as it burned your insides on the way down. "It felt good," Here it was. Now or never. "It felt really good."

It had almost felt better than your and Agatha's countless one night stands through your centuries of friendship when one of you — or both — happened to be in the mood.

Agatha quirked up an eyebrow. "What did?"

"Killing them." Your voice cracked before the second word was out. "It made me feel…" Exhilarated. High. "Alive."

She smiled. Was that pride painted over her face? "And what's wrong with that?"

Everything. Everything was wrong with that. Murder wasn't supposed to feel good. It wasn't supposed to fill you with joy, with relief that it was your victims who were dead instead of you.

Were they victims, though?

Did it matter?

"Why did it feel like that? Why wasn't I scared?"

Why weren't you horrified with your actions? Why was your first thought to defend yourself, to make excuses?

Why didn't you care about them at all?

"Because you survived," Agatha said. "You fought like hell and you survived like the witch that you are. Don't you ever feel guilty for that."

Why shouldn't you? What made your life more valuable than theirs?

"I've never killed anyone before." You'd sworn to yourself that you never would. And then this happened. Mere seconds, and your body count had gone from zero to ten.

It wasn't even a conscious decision to do it. Your magic felt that you were in danger, and it reacted. You had wanted them to die — better them than you — and then they did, and it was awesome.

The thought made you sick.

Agatha grinned. "Every witch's gotta pop their cherry someday."

Did they? Were all witches destined to be killers?

Was it written in your DNA?

"We-We're meant to kill people?"

"Kill or be killed. It's the only way to survive in this world.."

She wasn't wrong there. Every witch you knew had a story or two of needing to defend their lives, be it from hunters, or from other witches. The world was cruel to your kind.

Even your own kind was cruel to your kind, as Agatha could very well attest to. She'd been a target practically from the moment she was born, despised by her own coven. By her own mother.

"You killed. You lived," she continued. "Don't dwell on it too much."

"How can I not?" you demanded for you saw no way out of this turmoil. There was a storm inside you, destroying you bit by bit, eating at your soul like acid. No matter how many times you tried to get it to stop, to rein it in, it kept on raging. Guilt the girth of which you'd never experienced before. Regret that stung like a hornet's prick. "I feel like I'm gonna explode. It hurts so much."

Softly, gentle, as if she were comforting a child, Agatha pressed her forehead to yours. She was so warm. So strong, power radiating out of her every pore. For the first time tonight, you felt truly safe. "The first time is always the worst."

"I'm scared," you whimpered.

One of her hands reached for yours and squeezed it. "You've got nothing to be scared of. No one's gonna hurt you."

"What if someone finds out?"

"Let them. There's nothing they can do. All they've got are words, and words are nothing. You're safe."

"I don't want people to hate me."

"What's it matter if they do?"

"They hate you." And, despite her insistence that she didn't care, that she enjoyed the infamy, you knew it bothered her. It hurt her. Everyone she'd ever known had turned against her. That was bound to leave a mark on a person.

Agatha was silent for a moment. Then, softly, she said, "You don't hate me."

"I could never hate you." You knew her too well — loved her too much — to ever be able to.

"I could never hate you." She repeated your words back to you with the utmost delicacy and ease, as if she'd been waiting a long time to say them out loud. As if she'd been waiting for the appropriate moment to be honest, to speak from her heart.

That was why she was the first person you'd thought to call. Sure, she teased you at times and engaged in sarcastic exchanges with you, but she'd never — not once — judged you.

She would never make you feel bad over something you had no control over for she knew how it felt to be kicked while she was down.

"Will you help me?" you muttered.

Agatha smiled. "You don't even have to ask."

No, you didn't. You never did, yet you always asked, anyway. Because it felt good to hear a yes from her mouth.

It felt good to have Agatha Harkness in your life.

"Do me a favor, though," she said.

"Yeah?"

"Don't feel bad for protecting yourself. There is nothing wrong with finding joy in defending your life."

"I'll try," you promised.

Lucky for you, you had the best teacher by your side.

*****

Tags: @werewolfbarbie @miss-moon-guardian @hermslore @uniquelesbianidiot @natashamaximoff1 @werewolfvpire @alsoknownasmel @swan-queen-is-magic @tardisesandtitans @midnight-lestrange

[comfortless]

I have some thoughts about König I wanna run by you. 

I really like the concept of him following rules to the letter, but not the intention. 

like he would never steal from friends, but that only applies to items, job opportunities, romantic interests, and ideas don’t count. 

he would never cheat on his lover, EVER! but…that doesn’t mean he can’t entertain thoughts of the nice recruit who for sure has a crush on him, he could lead her on just a lil bit, live off the attention when he’s deployed and claim ignorance if anything gets serious. 

oh and he would never hit you, of course not! but if he got you riled up enough or angry enough to throw a punch his way he could hold you down and restrain you so you don’t hurt yourself, he’s not a monster for kind of liking how you struggle to break free from his grip, and he’s barely even exerting any energy, it’s a safe kind of powerplay to him. 

ok i am listening and nodding my head yes!

König didn’t get the positive attention he so craved when he was younger, so any little bit of it he can grapple at is his for the taking. He’s a bit impulsive.

Mental health and repercussions are not at all relevant to him when he sees something that he wants and is within the realm of possibility for him to attain. He would have a sort of conniving way when it comes to going about these things, too. It isn’t intentional, but to him, his reasoning is absolute. Probably gets that from his father, but he prefers not to think of that.

He’s no master manipulator here, just a man that is very aware of his few talents. He’s not even good at telling a lie, far too blunt and always speaking the first thing that pops into his head.

There’s a promotion at work another operator is vying for? Well, he’s far more suited for it anyway— look at him. He’s big and good with his weapons, handles them nicely and can plow through an enemy with as much ease as he can a wooden door. His confirmed kills far exceed the number of things that his parents could find and scrape together and deem themselves proud of him for. König’s not entirely withdrawn, either, his people respect him. Some might even admire him a bit, wishing they had the things that he never even asked for: his height, the creepy look upon his face, his lack of hesitation when pulling a trigger or burying his hunting knife in another man’s guts.

They’re on good terms, still on good terms even after he presents his argument as to why he’s just that little bit more deserving. He doesn’t need to bring up his childhood or much of his past to anyone here, but he knows down to his very marrow that people tend to think there’s something off or wrong about him and in turn he’s met with pity or fear. He utilizes it, gets what he feels he deserves by coming off gruff and demanding, even whiny if the situation calls for it. Time and time again, he comes to realize it’s much easier and more rewarding for him to play people like toy soldiers in these situations.

He might not be able to get a girlfriend in any authentic way, but as Ghost said in her reblog here, I do think he would have at least tried a tryst with a friend’s girlfriend at some point. König could reason away any guilt. She came onto him, batting her lashes and wearing that low cut blouse while telling him about just how selfish her man/his friend was in bed. And when it ends terribly as these things do, he’ll learn his lesson well enough, gives some hashed apology over a pint of ale. It doesn’t mend a void, only forces another distance between himself and another person. König is more than used to that.

It is always the wrong thing said or done, always a ship with no harbor to dock. He would have friends, yes, but it’s up in the air as to whether or not any of them last very long. He’s self aware enough to realize that he creates these problems, that he could have just done x instead of y, but there’s this tentative, newfound pride wrought up within him that he doesn’t ever let go of. He doesn’t want to be seen as that weak little boy he once was. Apologies are like pulling teeth, even getting one from him is a big deal.

It isn’t his fault he didn’t get as much pussy as any other man and surely… any true friend of his would know enough about him to accept that he was not entirely the one at fault here. Richtig..?

He’ll be happy to take credit for a job well done. It wasn’t his idea to burst through that door and clear out a room of enemies, but he did the work. He deserves the praise, the increase in pay, whatever benefit he can gain from it. It didn’t matter that Fender barked out the order over the comms, warned his team of potential danger, what matters to König is that he got it taken care of with no casualties on his side.

New recruits come and go often, and more often than not, they’re horrified of this giant that outranks them. König still hasn’t mastered any way with women, but he’s been fortunate enough to land himself a sweet, cute girlfriend that waits for him at home. He’s not an idiot, either, knows a little romp at work isn’t worth a thing in comparison to her and would only add another fire to the desolate world he lives in in his head. His girlfriend’s the only garden he has, and he would rather damn himself entirely than ever see something he loves burn.

So, when one bold woman does approach him, placing her hand on his arm and complimenting his stature, he doesn’t feel a thing except some strange twist of pride.

He’s come a long way from the boy who was ridiculed and bullied relentlessly, worked himself tirelessly into becoming this broad mimicry of a god made flesh. But fuck. The attention is nice. He would compliment this recruit’s aim from time to time, pat her on the head like a good little dog when she takes out an enemy or stacks on extra work for herself. It never goes further than that, but she practically eats out of the palm of his hand, begging with her eyes rather than her voice to ask for a night with her colonel.

And when he’s on leave, and his girlfriend is asking why this woman is texting him so often, he shrugs and casually tosses her his phone. He’s got nothing to hide, hasn’t even entertained the thought of sleeping with this girl. If anything, she reminds him of himself before he ever got laid. That desperation is certainly there, and it does kind of unsettle him. Is this how he came off to women before…? A pitiful little thing that just wants to be loved and cared for?

He doesn’t even respond to the recruit’s messages, even when there are so many of them. He kisses his girlfriend everywhere, fucks her like it’s the first few times all over again, and falls asleep nestled up against her. There’s no room in his heart for anyone except the object of his affection, but a part of him does hope this lost little lady finds her own sliver of heaven too. He knows how she feels and hates the thought of making a woman cry outside of fucking her well. So he lets the recruit down easy next time they meet, tells her he doesn’t care for relationships at work, that he loves his girlfriend and he doesn’t want to hurt her. It’s spoken candidly, and doesn’t leave any room for discussion.

Shame about the lack of affection while deployed, but he’s managed on his own longer than most. He’s got an entire album of pretty photos of his girl in and out of the lingerie he bought for her to keep him company, anyway.

And admittedly, arguments with his beloved turn him on.

They both know that she can’t actually hurt him. When her hand is raised to give him a good slap for being a complete asshole over something as trivial as a cashier for accidentally ringing something up twice, he’s already hard. The grin on his face is nothing short of ugly, because he knows how this ends, the same way that it always does. He would take her wrist only after she’s hit him, let her stew in what she’s done, murmur her apologies through stilted breaths and lashes heavy with tears. She tells him she just doesn’t understand why he is the way that he is sometimes while trying to wrench her hand away from his grip.

He’s not rough enough to hurt her when the argument sparks up again, even guides her down onto the floor with a steady hand on her back while she pleads with him for answers that he just doesn’t have. He would go back to seeing a regular therapist for her, maybe. He would do anything for her and that’s just another thing that they both know.

“Heh… you like me crazy,” König would breathe into her hair when her thighs are locked around his middle. Poor thing can barely speak when she’s exerted her energy trying to best him in a battle she could never hope to win. She’s all whimper and no bite, nails raking over his shoulders with each slow, teasing thrust.

“Look at you.” He practically purrs when her face is taken into one callused palm, brought forward to lock eyes with him when the sounds spilling from her lips grow more needy. And then he gives her the fucking she deserves, rougher when she’s sighing his name and trembling from the residual waves of her own orgasm. It didn’t matter who was right or wrong anymore; argument long-forgotten, buried under a blanket of white heat. He chases his own end, lets her watch him unravel all for her as his seed fills her, spills out where they connect to make a mess of the carpet below.

He’s selfish in those ways.

[imagionationstation]

More- more gender swap Donnie? Please? Pretty please?

(No pressure)

OKAYOKAYOKAY- SO GET THIS!

There are a lot of things that stay very, very similar to canon, but obviously some things HAVE to change to make room for big adjustments like lack of love triangles, SO I was debating a couple of episodes and how they could be altered or fixed and literally rewrote an entire episode and OOPS MY HANDS SLIPPED AND NOW I’M SHARING BC YOU ASKED NO TAKE-BACKSIES!

Baxter’s gambit: Happens exactly the same except Fishface keeps doing those weird, uncomfortable, cringe flirty comments at Donnie and at one point he gets too far into her comfort zone and Raph punches his face straight into the ground and threatens to gut him if he ever tries that again ‘cause SHE’S A TEEN DUDE BACK OFF.

Then they bond, and he reminds him of the threat, but nicer.

Needless to say, Fishface leaves Donnie alone.

Slash And Destroy: After Spike is almost blown up, Raph wants Donnie punished, but it was an honest accident, and Splinter only warns her to keep her lab door shut. In a fit of frustration, Raph nabs the mutagen and shouts that “she only gets away with stuff because she’s a GIRL!” and then slams his door to lock himself away. When Slash is bragging later, he reminds Raph of what he said while enraged and insists that he “gave her what they both knew she always deserved” and also implies that Leo’s next.

This scene haunts Raph when Donnie opens up about her insecurities down the line and he realizes that he’s partly to blame.

Showdown: Shredder tries to get under his skin by challenging the false fact that Splinter ‘replaced’ Miwa and with a shelled freak, no less. He taunts him by threatening to kill Donnie, asking if he’d get over her just as easily. Splinter hisses that he loves both his daughters, dead or alive, and the fight leads to Karai’s reveal.

The Pulverizer: The brothers ditch Timothy with Donnie and she makes a halfhearted comment under her breath about stereotypes and “women getting left with the children” as Timothy destroys several beakers in the background and she resigns to her fate.

The Invasion, Part 1: During the argument over whether to use the bot, Donnie accuses Leo of not trusting her because “she’s a girl” and Leo insists that’s not why. When she demands an explanation, all he says is that he’s “the leader.” She’s visibly dissatisfied.

The Invasion, Part 2: While April wraps her arm, Donnie admits that she thinks Leo only separated from them because she was the one who got shot. That if she had been paying attention, or if she hadn’t picked a fight, it would never have happened. She asks if April thinks that it’s her fault that he’s out there alone. Before April can answer, a tremor shakes their building and Kirby freaks out.

A Foot Too Big Disclaimer: ERASE EVERYTHING YOU KNOW.

A Foot To Big is actually about Donnie being unnecessarily nice to Leo and Leo being too distracted by his own issues to really notice. Donnie gets distressed and confides in Mikey that he must be “really mad at her” and doesn’t listen when he’s skeptical. Raph tells Donnie that she needs to give him space, does the “you know what you need? Huh? You know what you need?” bit and then drags them outside. Leo’s already out there and Donnie’s too distracted looking his way to fight well. Raph sends him and Mikey out into the forest to put some distance between the two.

There, they run into a Big Foot. Donnie notices that she’s injured so they bring her home. She’s ecstatic to meet another female mutant that’s essentially a historical endangered species. There’s no weird love thing- only Donnie being her obsessive self and diving head-first into studying Big Foot. Leo notices that change from doting to basically pretending he doesn’t exist, and mentions it to Raph. Raph tells Donnie that maybe she should talk to Leo, and she fires back that it was his advice to give Leo space. Raph argues that he didn’t mean ignore him altogether, but Donnie doesn’t listen. They get into a shouting match that ends with Donnie spotting Leo walk out of the house and her quickly stomping off into the forest.

Later, Donnie’s sulking in the shadows when Leo finds her. Or, he reveals, Big Foot led him to her, hinting that she knows the forest really well. Donnie fires at comment about ‘betrayals’ and Leo sits down next to her, meaningfully saying that he’s grateful Big Foot did. Leo tries to get Donnie to open up, but she keeps denying that anything is wrong, more and more tense as he insists that she’s been acting strange ever since he woke up.

There’s a cliche “wait, I hear something” “what?” “shhh” “you’re just trying to shut me up” moment before they hear a shout.

They move to Big Foot’s aid, only to get knocked out themselves. Upon waking up, they realize what situation they’re in and Donnie gets an idea. She pleads with Leo to follow her lead and he does without missing a beat. They escape and fight The Finger, The Finger and Big Foot have their… moment, and then Leo and Donnie exchange baffled shrugs as they leave.

The last scene has Donnie supporting Leo on their way back to the farmhouse. Leo stops her on the porch and leads her into sitting down on the stairs with him. Donnie’s anger has clearly left her by then, and she hunches in on herself as he reveals that he knows that Raph and her were arguing about him. He pleads with her to tell him what’s wrong, and eventually she breaks.

Donnie pours out all the guilt that was eating away at her- how she didn’t listen and he ended up in a coma for three months, and how she knows he has every right to hate her but she’s sorry and going to try her hardest to make it up to him- only interrupted when Leo drops his crutch and pulls her into a tight hug. She shrivels in it, burying her face in his shoulder, and he assures her that nothing was her fault. He was being just as stubborn as she was. They could have found a compromise. None of his choices were hers to bear, and if he had to choose between protecting her or himself, he’d choose her a million times over. And not just her, all of his little siblings. He ends it with a light tease of “sorry, Donnie, you’re really not that special.”

He earns a shaky laugh that makes him smile. They separate and Donnie says that she’s going to do her best not to question him in the future, and he scolds her, saying that she better not let him make dumb plans just because she feels guilty. They poke fun at one another until the tension clears, and then Leo shivers, and Donnie frantically insists that he shouldn’t be out in the cool night air.

Her amused older brother lets her lead him inside and the episode ends with her shouting for someone to grab a blanket and to start up the fire, and then a black-and-white image of the farmhouse door.

YEAH YOU BET I JUST DID THAT

The Creeping Doom: Instead of chasing Icecream Kitty across the floor, they manage to calm Donnie down by letting her play with April’s hair. It ends up being a tangled mess of bows and hair clippings that April takes out on the way to the lab to check on Mikey, but she waits ‘till Donnie gets distracted, since it’s visibly clear that she both enjoyed herself and was proud of her ‘creation’.

The Power Inside of Her: When Donnie says that she’s okay after everything, Leo interrupts to say that she’s not. When Donnie stiffens, her older brother is quick to reassure her that if any of them were in her place, they would be far from okay.

After April thinks that “at least some good came out of this,” the scene transitions to just the turtles watching tv. Donnie says that she’s sore and headed to bed, but her brothers all visibly panic. Mikey’s the one to say that maybe they “should just hang out a bit longer?” and Raph insists that they should for Mikey’s sake since “he’d just wake them up later,” implying that he commonly wakes them when he has nightmares. Leo asks Donnie to “humor them” and Donnie gives in, lightly teasing her big, bad brothers as they scoff and crowd her, but overall looking immensely relieved.

I HAVE FIVE HUNDRED BUBBLING THOUGHTS, BUT ALSO THINGS TO DO, THE STRUGGLE! GAH!

THANK YOU SM FOR THIS ASK!

[auras-moonstone]

hiiii!! i love your writing and was wondering if you could do a jack champion or ethan landry imagine based on the song, “delicate” by taylor swift? just like a cute fluff 💖 tysm!!!

delicate — ethan landry

word count: 1,645

pairing: non-gf!ethan landry x fem!reader

summary: despite the delicate situation y/n and ethan are in because of ghostface and the group's doubts about ethan, they finally admit their feelings.

ETHAN UNDERSTOOD THE GROUP’S DOUBTS TOWARDS HIM, but it didn’t mean it hurt any less. He truly got that after being betrayed by one of their close friends, the group members were left with trust issues, but Mindy’s constant attacks and Chad, Tara and Sam’s distrustful glances felt like a punch to the gut.

It sucked. He finally managed to befriend a nice group of people, who accepted him with his shyness and quietness, and now with the Ghostface attacks, he was losing them. Y/N and Anika were the only ones that didn’t push him away, despite the former one having been present during the Woodsboro killings. He didn’t know what she saw in him that make her trust him, unlike the rest, but Ethan was grateful. Her putting distance between them would have broken his heart, because he really liked her.

Unbeknownst to him, Y/N liked him back. She trusted him with her heart, and she was sure it wasn’t her love for him deceiving her, she was positive he wasn’t the killer. She was the only one who believed him because she was the only one that really saw him, the only one who really payed him attention. Every flash of sadness that crossed his eyes whenever an accusation was thrown at him, the fear on his face when he realized the group was in danger, how he would always make sure to be the first person to enter a room to check it was clear, how he was always on hyper alert for any abnormal movement that could indicate the killer was close. Ethan Landry truly cared about them, and as a response, he received nothing but jabs and accusations and that broke Y/N’s heart.

The only good thing about the situation was that Y/N never left his side, not wanting to make him feel lonely. She was always making plans with him, trying to get his mind off things. That’s one of the things Ethan liked the most about her—her selflessness. The killer that chased her a year ago was back to haunt her, yet she was more worried about his well-being and feelings.

Right now, they were walking back to her dorm from the dive bar on the East Side. They were both a bit tipsy, giggling over the silliest of things and cuddling each other. Y/N was glued to his arm and he rested his head on top of hers.

“That was fun, wasn’t it?” Y/N asked as they reached her door.

“It was the most fun I’ve had in weeks. Thank you, you’re the best” his back was against the door, Y/N on the same position beside him.

“No, you are the best” she poked his chest. “I don’t like seeing you sad, Ethan. I love our friends, but they really get on my nerves when they point fingers at you.”

Ethan shrugged “There’s a killer on the loose, and they had been—metaphorically and literally—been stabbed on the back by a friend before, I get it. What I don’t get is why don’t you point your fingers at me?“

“Because I really see you. I can pin-point every little action that makes me trust you, but it would take the whole night. I just want you to know that I am certain you’re a good person, and that you would never lay a finger on anyone, much less on us.”

“You don’t know how much that means to me.” his voice reflected such vulnerability that Y/N couldn’t help but throw her arms around his middle.

“Stay. I don’t want you to walk alone at night” Y/N said as they broke the hug.

“Sure” he smiled.

They went up to her room, and Ethan waited nervously by the bed as Y/N changed clothes. When she got out of the bathroom, she furrowed her eyes at Ethan. He was standing still, with his arms behind his back and he didn't even take his jacket off.

Y/N was going to make a funny remark about it, but then her eyes fell on his face and she forgot how to speak. The light of the pale moonlight reflected on his boyish features and the air turned thick with tension and indecision. She wanted to get closer and drown in his chocolate brown eyes, and at the same time she wanted to stay there and admire the sight, because Ethan Landry was handsome, he was as magestic as a mansion with a view.

"W-what is wrong? Why are you looking at me?" Ethan asked insecurely.

"Because you're handsome and I like you so much."

Ethan was taken aback by her brutal honesty, but once he really processed her words, his heart threatened to escape from his chest. "You're drunk."

"Don't do that."

"Do what?" he asked confused.

"You are trying to convince yourself that I don't mean it. I don't know if it is because you don't feel the same, or because you don't believe it, but don't. I have liked you for so long, I would have told you sooner but then all of the shit started happening and I... I was scared."

"I don't feel the same? I would be crazy not to like you, Y/N" he said as he closed the distance, cupping her jaw. He tilted her head up and started to close the distance slowly, giving her time to take a step back. Instead, she grabbed him from the jacket and pulled him down to get rid of the few inches that separated their lips.

With their mouths unraveling their desire, they lumbered towards the bed, as they got rid of their clothes, and ended up twisted in the bedsheets. They couldn’t seem to get enough of each other, which made them stay awake until late, leaving them completely exhausted yet ecstatic.

IN THE MORNING, Y/N WOKE UP WITH A SMILE ON HER FACE as she recalled the long night with Ethan’s hands up in her hair. The cold spot on her side made her feel a little gloom, but the feeling soon evaporated when she heard the echoes of someone's footsteps downstairs—she just knew that it was Ethan. Putting on the shirt he had discarded last night, she tip-toed to the kitchen, where she found a shirtless Ethan making breakfast.

"For a moment, I thought you had left." Y/N said, making her presence known.

The curly-haired boy set his gaze on her frame and he almost let the hot frying pan fall to the ground. Fuck pancakes, he'd rather have her for breakfast.

"Well, thank you." Y/N laughed, which made him realize he had said it out loud. "And ditto. You, with your hair disheveled and bare-chested in those killer grey sweatpants, while you cook is by far the hottest thing I've ever witnessed."

Ethan blushed, and Y/N couldn't believe he was the same boy that, just a few hours ago, made her come six times as he whispered the filthiest things on her ear. She was a lucky gal, definitely.

"Maybe we should talk about it. I mean, is it cool that I said all that? Because I know that it's delicate, you know, the situation we are going through." Y/N said, sitting on the kitchen stool.

"Of course it’s okay.” he assured her. “You said you were scared" he gave her a look, letting her know he wanted her to expand on that.

"Part of the reason I never talked to you about my feelings is because I was scared of putting your life in danger. I mean, I know that you are in our friend group, making you already a potential target, but I was afraid that if you did reciprocate those feelings, you might be in more danger. Like, becoming a definite target."

"What changed?"

"To be honest? I don't know. I guess I reached the point in where you are in my head so fucking much that I just... couldn't take it anymore. It was hard to even look you in the eyes, Eth. Being so close to you yet not having you the way I wanted... so frustrating."

"I pretended you were mine all the damn time." Ethan confessed, playing with his fingers. "Maybe it's too soon to do this yet, but... I love you, so damn much."

"I love you too" she rounded the counter and wrapped his arms around him.

"The group is so not going to approve of this." Ethan warned. He wanted her to be fully aware of the complications their relationship might bring during such a delicate time. "They might turn their backs on you. I bet Mindy will think you're my accomplice."

"I don't care, that's on them. You make me happy. This is going to be over soon and they'll come around." Y/N said confidently. "The real question is, are you sure you want this? If you weren't on the target list before, you’ll definitely be now."

"I'd die for you." he said simply. And usually, in movies and books, it could be a sweet little line, but they were actually being persecuted by a serial killer who had already taken a couple of lives. It was not the time to play Romeo Montague.

"Don't say that, Ethan." Y/N said with a knot on her throat. "Promise me you won't do anything stupid."

"If the killer swung the knife at me or our friends, you'd step in too. Don't pretend. So, no. I can't make any promises." Ethan said. Her shoulders slumped, knowing he was right. "Let's just be positive. We'll be fine. Now, can I distract you from all this mess with kisses?"

That earned him a little smile and a nod. "I would really like that."

"I love you. God, now that it's finally out, I don't know if I'll be able to stop saying it." he laughed against her lips.

"You say it like it's a bad thing. Trust me, I won't complain" she gave him a long sweet kiss. "I love you, too."

[whomstress]

Boxer au Bunnydoll fic

So this was supposed to be shorter but got carried away but I think it's pretty good!

Boxer au belongs to @burrotello and none of this fic is cannon! The au is so great and I can't wait to see more! Go check it out and follow!

You're the Worst

Jax hated Ragatha, and she hated to say she was proud of why. It had been established early that Ragatha was much stronger than she let on. Jax himself didn’t even have to cheat to get past her rank in no time. But Ragatha fought differently when on and off stage. She’d rarely go all out in a fight, if ever on stage, but if one of her friends needed help with an upcoming match and needed a challenge, you’d think she was a completely different person. She wasn’t the quickest by a long shot, but for her main points of attack, focusing on strength, she had some serious speed. That was just her hands. If she got you with her legs, it was about as elegant as getting hit by a freight train. Not to mention she was a major strategist if she was very unmatched.

She thinks she can pinpoint the moment Jax started to hate her. It was a couple days after Jax received his champion belt again. Zooble had been his last opponent to the top, and they were a beast that day, so it was apparent the only thing that had them losing was the overbearing amount of fouls Jax pulled out that day. It was a sloppy win, even for Jax. Zooble, of course, had been beyond aggravated and needed to let some steam off with a real match tired of fighting Jax. 

Ragatha felt for her friend and decided to go all out that day just so they could properly let off steam. It wouldn’t be right not to give Zooble a fair fight when that’s all they wanted. So it was in the last 10 seconds of the third round they’d agreed to. Ragatha was parrying Zooble’s Maul. They could use it in multiple rounds, but Zooble liked to use it as a finishing move with how quick and powerful the blows were. They’d used it in their match with Jax, and it probably would’ve worked if Jax didn’t grapple and rabbit punch to get out of it. However, if you could get through the initial onslaught, there was a window of opportunity for a single second that a skilled boxer could cut through. Ragatha saw it; the opening was right in front of her, and she didn’t waste it. She pulled back her fist as far as she could, adjusting her grip, and pivoted her body to follow through and give as much force as she could. The uppercut smashed straight into Zooble’s jaw with a loud bang and sent them flying onto their backs. Leaving Ragatha standing alone when the bell rang, winning the last of the 3 rounds.

Kinger and Gangle cheered just enough for the room to hear, and Ragatha quickly went to help Zooble up. Apologizing to them even though they’d won the last 2 rounds. But instead of saying anything about that, Zooble started laughing uncontrollably and pointed somewhere off the ring, “Take some lessons, champ! That’s how a REAL fighter does it!”

Ragatha follows their finger to look directly at Jax. The last time she saw him, he was actively laughing at her getting punched in the gut. But now his face was in a hard frown, his teeth were clenched, and he was staring at her like she was a bug he just killed with his shoe. What did she do? Is what Ragatha ended up asking herself before he stormed out. It wasn’t until later that she realized it’s what she doesn’t do that makes him hate her so much. 

The fact that there's a possibility Ragatha could climb to the top on skill alone, but she chooses not to even try, pissed him off more than she’d ever known. His jokes that had always been here and there became an onslaught of insults from there on. Much crueler and more pointed than before. He had a personal vendetta against her.

She hated that about him. Every mess up she made, every slip-up, or sloppy movement didn’t go without a comment from him. God forbid he happened to stay for a match; she let someone pass her. He wouldn’t leave her alone for hours or until his match.

But all the same, she brushed him off as best she could. At times, she couldn’t stand to even look at him, but somehow she felt for him. She knows she has a bleeding heart; it’s her best and worst quality. But they were all stuck here one way or another, and despite his cockiness, she’s sure he wanted to leave just as badly. Staying on top was obviously important enough to him that he’d do anything to stay there. Ragatha knows that’s because the best bet out of here is winning this whole thing. And she may not understand in detail why it upsets him so much that she decides to stay a rookie; she knows it goes much deeper than it’s "annoying,” like he always says.

With all that being said, she still wanted to knock his teeth in some days.

Jax had been on something for the last couple days. Ragatha wasn’t sure what triggered his nonsense; this time, she felt like pulling her hair out. Everywhere she went, he was there with some stupid comment. Honestly, she thinks this is her fault. The other day, he gave her a semi-genuine compliment, if “you actually seemed like a fighter today” counted as a compliment, and she thought to herself, "Wow, maybe this is a new start!” And like a damn monkey’s paw, the universe said, 'Yeah, a start of something alright.’ She was so close to losing it that she had to take a break from training with her new friend Pomni just to blow off some steam. Pomni offered a spar, and though the offer was sweet, she was still a genuine rookie rank, and when Ragatha’s angry, well… she’ll wait a bit until she gets a bit more experience under her belt to take up that offer.

A heavy impact echoes throughout an otherwise still room. An NPC dummy arm goes flying back to slam against the wall, the training pad still attached to the hand. It falls down, broken, and Ragatha doesn’t miss a beat, swerving back to her very abused punching bag that was already spilling sand from her brace knuckles. “There she is! I knew I’d find you moping in one of these old-ass training rooms. Seriously, Doll, I get wanting to go Rocky style, but you have to choose the nastiest gym to match it?”

Ragatha does her best to ignore him, but at the sound of his voice, the next punch to the bag sends it flying farther than before. He laughs at her obvious frustration with him, and she tries to remind herself. Jax is a jerk; nothing he says means anything anyway; it's just another way to make himself feel better, knowing he wouldn’t be where he was if it weren’t for his “tricks.” 

He walks up closer to her and leans against the pole in front of her punching bag, so he’s directly in her view but just out of reach for a “stray” hit. "Damn, Dolly really did a number here, huh? You must be thinking real hard about someone.” She continues to ignore him, like he’s not there. So she doesn’t see the slight slint in his eyebrows with his shit-eating grin. "C'mon, who is it? Tell this old jack rabbit who’s bothering you. Maybe I’ll even beat 'em up for you if you ask nicely. That’s your thing, anyway. Too nice for your own good. As sweet as a ragdoll to hold at night!” He sighs like he’s swooning over her, and she hates this teasing the most, so her punches only get more aggressive.

His smile can’t get any wider, seeing how much he’s getting under her skin, only to go in for the kill. “Probably why you're as capable a fighter as one too.”

That’s it! Ragatha punches the bag, and it breaks completely in half, finally wiping that stupid grin off his face. She walks up to him and gets in his face like he so often does other’s, “You want to see how capable a fighter I am? Let’s go. Right here, right now! I know I’m a capable fighter. But as for you, I’d be surprised if you could hold your own for a single round without cheating.”

Despite the initial shock of her getting in his face for once, he smiles again, but it’s something much more bitter now. He purposely towers over her, getting inches from her face, and flicks a strand of yarn hair out of her face. ”You’re on. Lil’ Lady.” 

She doesn’t know why him saying just her stage name like that pisses her off more, but she stays in his face for a second longer than she needs to, so of course he has to add, “Take a picture, sweetheart. It’ll last longer. Maybe I’ll even sign it for you!”

Her face deapans, and she scoffs, turning fast enough that her ponytail “accidentally” slaps him in the face. She hops in the ring in the middle of the room and is very satisfied to see that his face has turned back to pure annoyance. “Hop to it, Jack Rabbit. Don’t have all day!”

If Jax's teeth weren’t sharp, he’d be grinding them right now. Even her comebacks were pathetic. “Hop to it,” she says, as if that’s not something a literal Ragdoll would say when you hug it. 

Moving into the ring, he re-wound his wraps before putting on his gloves. “Alright, what’s the game, toots?”

Ragatha crossed her arms, unimpressed, finishing setting up the timer. “Don’t call me toots.” He snickers. “1 round, 12 minutes. Basic rules. Whoever’s down more than 10 seconds or taps out by the end loses. You cheat at any time for any reason; it rounds over, and I win. Sounds good?”

He scoffs, “Don’t need to cheat to beat you, Doll.” He finishes putting on his gloves and walks over to her. “And what’s the prize?”

“Excuse me?” She raises an eyebrow.

“The prize, Dollface. C'mon, you don’t expect me to risk my reputation by fighting a little rookie without getting something out of it, do you?” 

As much as she wants to argue, she really just wants to get to rocking his shit and knows he won’t let it go. With an exasperated sigh, she says, "Okay, fine. Whatever you want, okay?”

His crocodile grin comes back bigger than ever before, and he eyes her like a hungry dog eyes a piece of meat. “Anything? Are you sure about that, Ragatha?”

She doesn’t know if it's his look or the fact that he said her actual name for the first time in forever, but she hates to say she gets actual goose bumps for a moment before catching herself, backing away from him to bring herself back to the moment. “Yeah, whatever, Jax. But if I win, you have to leave me alone! No more teasing, no more jokes, no more insults! Unless we have to be together, we’re strangers, got it?”

Something in his expression changes for a moment; his smile dulls and his eyes search hers, and in return, her face softens. Wait. Did she just hurt his feelings? Whatever her face is, it changes Jax’s into a grimace, and he practically spits at her before turning around and saying, “Got it.”

She shakes whatever that was off and gets back in the zone. Why is every conversation with him like being on a rollercoaster? Oh, she better win, or he’s actually going to drive her insane.

Without further stalling, the fight starts. Ragatha still doesn’t trust that Jax won’t cheat, even if it makes him lose, so she goes for focusing on defense. Jax is one of the fastest out of them, so it’s not a bad strategy all together, but as soon as it’s apparent she’s playing the side of caution, his drive seems to go 10 fold. “I thought you were gonna teach me a lesson or some shit?” He says this between an onslaught of rapid punches and kicks. “Weren’t you the one that was going to show me how capable of a fighter you are?” He goes for a left hook, and she barely dodges jumping back. “Seems like you're running away again, like you always do.”

Ragatha grits her teeth and finally throws a jab and then a solid right cross back, just missing his head by an inch, physically feeling a gust of air go along his sweaty chin. “There we go! That’s my girl!”

“Not!” She throws another punch, landing straight in his block, and pulls back only to punch again, “Your!” knocking him back with a much stronger force, “Girl!”

He quickly gets back up and laughs, “Jeez Rags, coulda turned me down a little nicer. Break this poor bunny’s heart, why don’t ya?” She rolls her eyes but regrets letting him distract her because he’s back in her face in a moment, getting a shot straight to her right cheek, almost knocking her down. If Ragatha had anything going for her, it was her strong legs and steady stance, so despite the hard blow, she stayed up right. "Ooooh, that’s gotta hurt. Hope you don’t get a black button.”

She hated that she actually laughed at that, specifically after he just hit her in the face, but his own shock at her laughter left him wide-eyed and open. She was able to fake a jab, causing him to be the one to start dodging her punches and kicks. He was slowly backing up into a corner, and just as he went for an escape, he accidentally moved straight into a full-speed roundhouse, not only knocking him back but also hitting the back of his head on the solid mental poll of the ring. 

“OH SHI-” is the only thing he hears other than a ringing in his head. He suddenly can’t remember why he’s fighting, but he knows he must be because his head is super sweaty. He goes to wipe it, and his hand is covered in red. He stares at it blankly for a moment and offers his hand to whoever is yelling his name right now, like a child showing a cool rock they found, and says, "Well, that’s not good.”

The last thing he hears is his name again as he knocks out.

He wakes up with a headache from hell and a towel over his eyes. Goddammit, he’s been in enough fights to know this means he's been knocked out. He tries to focus on what happened, but his brain feels foggy, and there’s a noise going on in the background that’s distracting him. He tries to ignore it, put his thoughts together, and slowly piece together what happened. He remembers getting into a fight with Ragatha and messing with her the whole time, because why else would he be there? But what else? The noise grew louder, and he realized it was a person but hoped they’d go away if he played dead. 

He made her laugh. Holy shit he made her laugh, and not in an I’m going crazy kind of way. She was smiling. At him. Hmm. 

Weird.

But of course she had to take advantage of that and knock him out just to win a bet. Oh yeah, they made that stupid bet. That he definitely lost. Ragatha’s words ring through his head, “like strangers.” Well, shit, this was...

The person blew their nose, and Jax realized they were crying and finally snapped, “Do you MIND? We’re all having a bad time here, lady; at least let me think in peace during mine.”

He heard a gasp, and the person suddenly took off his towel to look at him. Light quickly blinds his eyes, and it takes him a second to realize it’s Ragatha above him. She’s rambling so fast it’s bringing on another headache, and he takes a deep breath and says, "Ragatha, stop talking. I’m pretty sure I already have brain damage. I don't need more.”

He expects her to get mad or just roll her eyes, but instead she gets quiet and says a soft “Sorry.” He raises his eyebrow and looks at her, all the fight that was in her earlier completely drained. She won, but she looked miserable. 

“What’s wrong with you?” He says she's sitting up, and her damn mother hen instincts must’ve kicked in because she’s instantly next to him to make sure he moves slowly, holding him as he moves up. 

He looks at her hand on his chest, along with feeling the one on his back, holding him up like she just touched something dirty, and says, “I’m not thanking you. You did this. And if it weren’t for me, literally about to fall, and I might actually die if I tried. I would headbutt you for touching me right now.”

Ragatha's face deadpans. "Well, thanks for that, Jax.”

“Don’t mention it.” He says this, still looking at her hand.

“Hey. I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to kick you that hard; well, I did, but I didn’t mean to kick you straight into a poll like that.” She tapered off, obviously embarrassed.

“Uh huh,” He said, rolling his eyes and reaching back to feel the back of his head. Jeez stitches. Well, at least it was Ragatha that did it, so it’d heal right. He once let Caine do it, and the scar it left looks like a fucked-up shoelace.

“I mean it! I know we don’t get along-”

“Understatement of the year, Dollface.”

“BUT- I don’t want to really hurt you, Jax. Believe it or not, we humans only got each other here. Fighting is fun and exciting, but it also leads to things like this. And I just hate it.” Her breath hitches. “I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

Jax's eyes widen. Oh shit it was her crying. It was one thing when he made people cry; that was funny. But when people cried for him, it was just weird. He gets it, bleeding heart, mama bear, yada yada. Whatever, just crying for him is not his thing. “If you’re gonna cry for me, can you take it somewhere else? You’re making me so uncomfortable, I’d actually kinda wish that kick would’ve killed me.”

Ragatha’s jaw actually drops. “You’re actually crazy. You know that?”

He’s about to chew her out when he reaches for his stitches to scratch them, and she grabs his hand away like a kid caught in the cookie jar. 

He glares at her, getting tired of all her "help,” and she gives him an equal glare back before a lightbulb pops in his head. She cautiously watches his expression change to excitement. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

He starts laughing like an evil cartoon villain: “You cheated. I won.”

"No, I didn-” Ragatha started but then thought about it. The way she kicked him even by accident was illegal, and the fact that he got so hurt was, no matter how you look at it, a loss for her. “That’s not fair!”

"Oh, I’m sure you’d know all about fair after you cracked my head open.” His cheshire grin was back on his face.

“Hey! Listen you-”

“No, no, no, sweetheart. The rules were that if there was any cheating for any reason, it was an automatic loss. Or are you only loyal to your word when it’s about me?” Jax knew the answer to that, so when she made an ugly grimace and conceded, he wasn’t surprised in the least.

“What do you want, Jax?” 

“Hmm, let me think about it. Whatever I want is a big wish to grant. Gotta make it worthwhile.” He laughs. Eying her again like meat on a platter with a crocodile grin.

Ragatha squirms under his stare, causing him only more amusement. “You're the worst.”

“That’s my girl.”

[tanjamikaelson]

BEST FRIEND'S BROTHER - CHAPTER 15

MASTERLIST

CHAPTER 15: | GONE |

After waiting for over an hour, the tension in the air was suffocating. Every minute felt like an eternity, your heart pounding as your mind raced with what-ifs. Then, finally, Shoupe entered the tent, flanked by two of his deputies. The moment he stepped inside, you all sprang to your feet, hope and fear swirling in your chest.

"Did you find them?" Pope was the first to break the silence, his voice filled with urgency and desperation.

Shoupe's reply was short, the weight of his words sinking in immediately. "No."

Kiara’s voice was shaky as she asked, almost pleadingly, "So, they got away?"

"We, uh... we lost them," Shoupe answered, his expression grim. His words seemed so final, so hopeless.

"You lost them?" you repeated, confusion clouding your thoughts. It didn’t make sense. How could they lose them?

Pope’s voice rose, disbelief and panic seeping into his words. "What do you mean you lost them? Like, they're gone? What are you talking about?"

Shoupe’s next words hit you like a punch to the gut. "They took an open boat into a tropical depression, Pope." The gravity of the situation was clear in his tone, but it did nothing to soften the blow.

Your eyes welled with unshed tears as the realization began to set in. "So, they're dead?" you asked bluntly, your voice barely above a whisper. The words tasted bitter on your tongue, like admitting it might somehow make it real.

"We don't know," Shoupe responded, but the uncertainty in his voice only made the dread in your chest grow heavier.

JJ couldn’t contain his rage any longer. "You drove them straight through the storm, man! Are you kidding me?!" His voice cracked as he lunged at Shoupe, raw emotion pouring out of him.

"I'm gonna kill you!" JJ screamed, his body shaking with fury as one of the deputies held him back, restraining him before he could get any closer.

"JJ, stop!" Kiara cried out, panic in her voice. She reached out toward him, but the pain in her eyes was clear—this was all too much.

"I'm gonna kill you, you bastard!" JJ shouted again, his voice breaking. The desperation in his words mirrored the anguish you all felt, but there was nothing you could do.

"Hey!" one of the deputies barked, grabbing JJ and restraining him even tighter.

Pope, too, was consumed with anger. He stepped forward, his voice sharp as he shouted at Shoupe, "You killed him!" His face was red with fury, and he pointed accusingly at the officer. "He didn't kill anyone, and you know it!"

"We're still looking for him, all right?" Shoupe tried to maintain control, but the pain in his voice betrayed his calm demeanor.

Pope clenched his fists, his shoulders shaking. "Pope. Pope, just stop," Kiara’s voice broke through, her own tears finally spilling over. "Please stop."

You felt numb. The world around you seemed to blur as the enormity of the situation hit you. They’re dead. The thought was a heavy, crushing weight in your chest. Sarah—your friend, your family—gone. Just like that.

As if sensing your breaking point, six figures rushed into the tent. You turned to see your parents and the parents of Kie and Pope. Their faces were etched with worry and fear, but there was no relief to offer, no comfort in the news they had yet to hear.

Kiara rushed into her mother’s arms, her father wrapping them both up in a tight hug. The sound of her sobs filled the tent, and you could see Pope’s mother holding him tightly, whispering words of comfort that fell on deaf ears.

You stood frozen, the weight of it all pressing down on you like a physical force. Your mother appeared by your side, her arms encircling you. As she pulled you close, the dam broke. The sobs you had been holding back erupted from you, your body shaking as you cried into her embrace. Her hand stroked your hair, her voice soft in your ear, but the words barely registered.

All you could think about was Sarah—her laugh, her smile, the way she’d always been there for you. And now, she was gone.

•°•°•°•°•°•

Once you arrived home, the weight of everything hit you all at once. You felt utterly drained, both emotionally and physically, barely holding yourself together as your mom guided you up to your room. Each step felt heavier than the last, your body moving on autopilot, your mind still processing everything that had happened.

“What were you doing with them?” your mother asked softly, referring to the Pogues as she helped you sit down on the edge of your bed. Her concern was palpable, her eyes searching yours for an explanation.

You hesitated for a moment, your voice barely above a whisper. “I was trying to help Sarah… and John B.” His name hung in the air like a heavy weight between you, a name that now carried too much pain, too much danger.

“John B,” your mother repeated, her brow furrowing in disbelief. “The one who killed the Sheriff?” The concern on her face deepened, her expression clouded with confusion and fear.

"Uh—" you stammered, struggling with what to say. You didn’t want to tell her the truth, that John B hadn’t killed the Sheriff. But admitting that would open up questions, questions about who really did it, and you weren’t ready to face that truth. Not yet. "Uh... Sarah is dating him."

Your mother’s eyes widened in shock. “She’s dating a killer? And now she is—”

You couldn’t bear to hear her say it. “Don’t say that,” you quickly interrupted, your voice trembling with emotion. The thought of Sarah being gone, really gone, was too much to bear. It was as if saying it aloud would make it real, and you couldn’t handle that—not now.

Your mother sighed deeply, her shoulders sagging with the weight of it all. “I can't imagine what her parents must be going through right now. She was always such a good kid, I can’t believe she would be in a relationship with someone like John B.”

Her words cut deep, making your stomach twist in knots. You knew she didn’t understand, couldn’t understand. How could she, when you couldn’t even tell her the whole truth? She didn’t know the full extent of what was happening, didn’t know that the person you loved was the one who had pulled the trigger. The guilt gnawed at you, the truth burning at the back of your throat.

“I’m kinda tired,” you murmured softly, desperate to escape the conversation. “Can we not talk about it anymore?”

Your mother’s expression softened, concern still etched in her features, but she nodded. “Okay, get some sleep.”

When she left the room, the silence engulfed you. You crawled into bed, pulling the sheets up around you as if they could somehow shield you from the storm brewing inside. But as soon as you were alone, the dam broke. Tears flowed freely down your face, and you buried your head in the pillow, trying to muffle the sobs that wracked your body.

You cried for Sarah, for the friend who was more like a sister, who might be gone forever. You cried for John B, who was being hunted for a crime he didn’t commit. And you cried for Rafe—because no matter how much you loved him, no matter how hard you tried to deny it, he had done something unforgivable. The memory of him, beaten and broken on the ground, haunted you. The look in his eyes when he saw you with the Pogues—betrayal, anger, hurt—it tore at your heart.

Eventually, the tears slowed, and your body was exhausted from the emotional toll of the day. But even as sleep finally claimed you, the ache in your chest remained. You fell asleep with a heavy heart, knowing that the days ahead would be even harder.

TAGS: @wearemadeofstardust0 @hotch-meeeeeuppppp @thepopcultureaddict @deeznuggetsbebussin@wtfdudesblog

[camlovesjace]

GHOST RIDER, modern Jacexoc!fem

SUMMARY: Jacaerys had been acting weirdly, going out many nights and coming back in the mornings, Cellys is suspecting he was cheating...but the truth was far away worst. WARNING: violence, cheating suspicion, use of bad words, murdering, graphic descriptions (also, writer is not an english native, had patience pls)

Once again, he was gone. He had slip out of the bed at midnight and didn't come back, as usual lately. Cellys was worried, freaking out was a most clear description, her friends had talk with her, saying he was probably sneaking around with some other girl and that she should dump his ass away from her before he break her heart deeper or found him red handed. That thought made her shiver, she could barely think of it without feeling the knot forming on her throat.

Jace. Her Jace. Sneaking around with other girl?

It sounded so unrealistic, but nothing else could explain his behavior. He always arrived home in the mornings, tired and exhausted. His abstinence in home was like an empty place without solace, and she didn't realized she was getting distant when he was around.

She used to look at him, she notices everything he does or don't does.

He looked disturbed, his mind anywhere else but not there.

Then she heard the door opening, his lazy steps entering in the apartment, the sun was shining with it´s first rays of golden, it was a constant reminder of the day embracing the night. She pretended to be fall asleep, covering her back with the sheets and blankets, she heard his soft gasps of tiredness, he was coming to the bedroom.

He walked in, his presence itself was relieving, but it didn´t made her felt better. The idea of him in the arms of someone else, with his hands touching other skin, his lips kissing someone else...his love being torned apart from her, it was killing her.

His weight get into the bed, he was moving quietly but his lazy movements made the mattress move up and down slightly.

"Babe..." he murmured, his voice was low and hoarse but she didn't opened her eyes, trying to look as slept as possible. She could felt his hazel gaze on her back, then his arms wrapped her waist under covers as he cling behind her, like a hurted dog.

He buried his face on the back of her neck, his nose smelling the sweet aroma of her hair, a smell that always bring him home. She could smell a strong burning smell, like the smoke of a bonfire. The way his arms felt so heavy around her showed her how tired he truly was, and once again, that knot on her throat felt tighter than ever.

She broke down, crying as his warm body held hers, her soft almost inaudible cries hitted him like a punch in the guts.

"Hey, hey...what´s wrong?" he whispered, sitting in bed and turning her to face him, his grip was firm but gentle, seeing her eyes covered in tears all of them pouring down her cheeks -like if she were holding them for so long- while her chest moved up and down quickly in a painted breathe.

A wave of protectiveness washed over him, as he pulled her into his arms deeper but she broke the hug, getting away from him in bed. Then the realization made him felt sick.

"No" he spoke, his tone sounded more hard than he would've wanted, but into his chest he only felt guilty. Guilty for making her feel like this, for making her think he was doing that to her. She the love of his life, the best thing that's ever been his and the most precious he has.

"Do not do this worse" she whispers, trying to clean her cheeks but it was useless, tears were locked in for too much weeks and now they were scapink in a tsunami of emotions that made her stomach twist in pain "Jace, i know...i know-"

"No" he interrupted her, he moved quickly over her, holding her wrist and pinning her on the bed, his eyes held a plea on them "You need to believe me, please, please, my darling" he begged, desperately.

Knowing the truth would be dangerous for her, but he knew staying by his side would be much more. He didn't wanted her to leave, to go away from him and never see her again, to never heard her laughter or to feel her warmth on the bed every time he need solace from the dark curse on his soul.

"Aren't you? Tell me you're not doing it, tell me that even if it is a lie" she says, her lips on a soft pout, her heart was sinking on her stomach. He looked down at her, still pinning her body under his, not wanting to let go.

"I'm not! Cellys, i'm fucking not" he shouted, but his own tears made his confession sound weaker, not because it wasn't true but because he knew he was being selfish. He wanted her to stay, he told himself he would be able to protect her, to not hurt her in the path...but he was doing it by lying to her "I would rather die than betray you that way, you heard me? i would rather to be a damn rotting corpse buried in the darkest place of the world and the hell before hurting you like that" his tears were pouring down his cheeks, his grip on her arms tighten but not enough to make her feel pain.

She felt completely devastated, torned by the suspicion of his cheating and his sincere voice when he said he would never, she wanted to believe him so bad. She wanted to say she choose to trust in their love, but what if she was wrong? what if he lied? once again.

What if...?

It´s been a while since they talked, Cellys was out with a female friend on Verona, for the long weekend. But he knew it was an excuse to stay away from him, from home. She didn't believed him, and he understood why, he was lying after all. But not in the way she thought he was lying, her suspicions of cheating made him felt offended, but how could he blame her? He was, in fact, being distant and having an erratic behavior.

But there he was, sitting in a dark place in the middle of nowhere. The blood slipping through his fingers, the bone still noticeable under his knuckles. His body was sore, he could feel the heat of the fire around his neck. Even if his own fire could not hurt him he still felt the wound.

The sun was still hiding, extending his course.

The man sat next to him, in the bench, his pale skin was similar to the white tone of his bones, that were covered in an orange and blue flame.

"It is done" he announced, not disappointed but neither proud. The dead body of a man behind them, his soul was lost...as well his own.

"I know it's fucking done" Jace says, his voice was lifeless and rough, like if it carried a demoniac tone with it. The sun started to rise, the golden color was heavenly, and it reminded him to Cellys. Her sweet smile, her gentle touch, how it was to feel her breath against his neck when he held her.

He was losing her...

"Be careful in the way you spoke at me, child" the man says, the rage on it was heavy but Jace was not afraid of him, he was mad too. This was ruining his entire life, he wanted to give up.

He would rather die but not let his girl to think he would cheat on her like a bastard. No when he would fight with the devil himself to protect her and her feelings.

"I don´t wanna keep doing this, i wanna go home..." he says but the man only laughs.

"You think you have an option?" he mocked, then his gaze darkener "if you don't do what i say, i guess i must start to give you reason to..."

Jacaerys felt his skin burning as the sun rises more and more, he gasped in pain when his flesh started to cover his bones back, his fingertips found his jaw when the skeleton under was being replaced by skin and muscles, the fire dying.

"What...do you mean?" he asked, breathless. The smell of smoke burned his nostrils, it was the smell of his flesh killing the fire that was around his bones. The process was painful but more bearable than the first time he was turned into this monster.

"The girl" the man says, a smile pulling of the corner of his lips "She is pretty, isn't she? An angel"

A shiver ran down his spine with that protective instinct over him he had felt so many times before, but this time was much stronger than ever.

"Touch her and you're dead" Jace threatened but it sounded like a pathetic and useless warning in the ears of the devil.

"Oh, boy, i'm already are"

dt; @nebulamorada <3

[deadite-central]

I ended last Whole Cake post with Cracker, I’m starting this post with Cracker

I already mentioned that I adore this guy, and that I think he’s severely underrated, but the same can be said about his fight with Luffy. Never once in my life would I have thought Luffy’s appetite would come in handy in a fight, but here we are. When he realizes he can just eat Cracker’s biscuit soldiers, this fight becomes absolutely bonkers. I can’t even begin to describe the genius of Tank Man Stuffed Version. This shit so magnificent. I read one piece to be either emotionally devastated or laugh my ass off, and I am laughing my ass off here

Oda also has to deliver on the emotional devastation, and so we get Sanji’s second backstory. You could say it had been set up way back when in Jaya when he mentions he’s from the North Blue, but it really gets going during Dressrosa, where we learn his last name is Vinsmoke, and oh god all of this makes me so sad. So much of how Sanji acts can be traced back to his upbringing. His father’s hatred, and to his mother’s kindness. Whenever I get to the scene where Reiju pushes him to run, telling him he’ll find good people in the world, I cry. Because he found them! First it was Zeff, who was his real father figure, one who shared his dreams and passions. I already said this months ago during Baratie (you can find it here) but this puts their relationship in a new light.

Not only that, but he found the Straw Hats, who are trying their best to save him at this very moment, and he was forced to leave the people he loved and cared about for what, his abusive father’s ambitions? It’s devastating.

This scene over here is an absolute gut punch, because just as Luffy knows it, you know Sanji is hurting here, he doesn’t want to do this, but he’s convinced himself this is the only way to keep his found family safe, and again, because of his upbringing. Sanji believes he has to sacrifice himself for others, because what other point is there to him being alive? It’s a depressing outlook on the world but one hard to imagine not to have in his situation. So what does Luffy do? He doesn’t fight him, and instead promises to wait for him as he won’t be King of Pirates without him. He shows Sanji he’s needed for who he is already, and no one can replace him

The Sanji situation gets even worse, because even when he tries to convince himself this is for the better, that he’ll love Pudding, he is met with an absolute shock when Big Mom’s plan is revealed to Reiju and he sees everything. Pudding doesn’t care for him, she’s playing a role. They’re going to kill him and the Vinsmokes. Sanji, once again, is left with nothing, and so he tries to light his cigarette. One thing he can do to at least try and ease his pain is to smoke, but of course even that doesn’t work out for him.

It’s raining.

Jumping a bit forward because I’m done with being sad, Jinbei comes to the rescue of captured Nami and Luffy! I love him. Brook also gets some of the coolest moments this arc, and once they retrieve him from Big Mom, we learn he copied the Ponegliff! Things are finally looking up for the main characters, which is always a great sign for where the plot is going

People have analysed the “I want to go back to The Sunny!” scene a lot already, so instead let me give you this: I adore the mob meeting between Luffy’s team and Bege’s team. It’s important to the ongoing plot, but it’s also really, really funny (shout out to Gangster Gastino)

With the wedding starting, the clock is ticking, and the plan is put into motion. I have to highlight the introduction of people from the underworld, especially Morgans and Stussy, as both of them will get really important later on

[suntiger745]

Well well, that was certainly an interesting trip... An excellent trio of episodes to finish the season. The more I see of the animated show, the more appropriate the legend part of the Legend of Vox Machina feels. Things progress generally more smoothly, storywise. We get to see things we didn't see in the campaign. Events sometimes happen in a different order. Some things are outright different. We also loose some of the depth the messiness and more time for the characters to grow that the campaign's longer timeline of events brought. Appropriate I suppose. But even so, the heart of it is always there.

Tying the earth ashari trial that we never saw to the searching and finding of Raishan was a neat combination. Also big props to Marisha Ray for the range of anger, vulnerability, panic, acceptance and confidence Keyleth went through in episodes 10 and 11. It was also great to see Raishan's plan realized, which she never managed in the campaign (also, very cool lair actions). Raishan calling Keyleth a child was a nice bit of dragon arrogance. And to be fair, Raishan is old and very smart. Perhaps with time as she learned about her new dracolich body she would have been able to withstand or repel the cursed disease that Keyleth transferred into her. But not when the body was so new and she was still getting used to it. Nature is good at breaking down flesh and sinew after all, and the death curse was targeted specifically at Raishan. Vex'ahlia and Vax'ildan going after Ripley was cool. A look into the past almost, when the twins were on their own and getting involved with the seedy underbelly of civilization. A nice nod to Vax's Clasp connection. And of course Vex'ahlia getting the final blow on Ripley.

A detail people might not think about in all the vengeance quests, demon abilities, gunfire and Ripley meeting her end is that some people survived that. And they know about firearms now. And it's a safe bet there is at least a few other stashes of guns wherever that ship has its home base. The cat is well and truly out of the bag now when it comes to guns proliferating across Exandria. Not with the same push and quality as if Ripley was still alive, but still. That's important for the world setting, even if it won't impact Vox Machina's story much (though it might yet, we'll see).

The search for Percy's soul and the way they did the resurrection ritual was very cool as well. I liked the way they showed several of the people present contribute to the ritual and Laura Bailey of course killed it again with Vex'ahlia baring her heart to Percy's spirit.

I don't think the markings on Vax's arm is the Matron's doing though. I think it's merely an effect of going through with the ritual, especially for a soul imprisoned by a demon. More likely than the Matron of Ravens punishing Vax, I think that corruption/disease in his arm is either Orthax's final spiteful "gift" to Vax'ildan for ruining his day or simply a touch of death that will mark him as he was the catalyst to bring back a soul already dead for several days.

The Matron did warn him of consequences for going through with the ritual. I also suspect Vax will still consider it worth it.

Also very interesting how they split the group, at least for a while. It's not the Bard's Lament when Scanlan leaves, but perhaps something like it will instead come this time when they ask him to return to Vox Machina to fight the new threat.

And yet another example of where the Legend is different from what we saw in the campaign. Less painful and more smooth. So far, there might be a realy gut punch coming from Scanlan yet.

Still very curious to see where the story goes with Pike as well. And maybe we'll get our first Keyteor in the next season. Speaking of, is it season 4 yet? ;)

[slut4alicewu]

O Death, O Death

~ alice wu gulliver x fem!oc (Astrid)

summary: Astrid doesn't want to accept that alice is gone.

warnings: death and crappy writing.

words: 551

notes: fuck u marvel.

Alice died because of Agatha.

Alice is dead.

Alice died protecting me.

I can barely breathe as I stare at her lifeless body. The world around me feels like it's collapsing, everything turning cold and hollow. Her eyes, once filled with life and kindness, are now still. My mind refuses to process it—this can't be happening. Not her.

“Astrid…” Lilia’s voice is barely a whisper, trembling. But I can’t tear my eyes away from Alice. I can't face her, not now. All I see is Alice lying there, motionless. Her hand, which had always been warm and strong, is limp.

"She's..." Lilia’s voice cracks.

“No!” I scream, my voice raw, tearing through the silence. “She can’t be dead!” My entire body trembles with disbelief, horror washing over me. This isn’t real. It can’t be.

My gaze snaps to Agatha, whose face is now twisted with remorse. But remorse won’t bring Alice back. Agatha’s regret means nothing to me. I want to scream at her, hit her, but all I can do is stand there, paralyzed by the weight of my grief.

I collapse beside Alice, grabbing her shoulders, shaking her gently as if that might stir her awake. “Alice, Alice, wake up, please.” I beg, my voice breaking with each word. My hands tremble as I stroke her cheek, hoping for some flicker of life, but there’s nothing. “You promised me... You promised!” Tears blur my vision, falling onto her still face, and I wipe them away desperately.

The ache in my chest spreads to my throat, choking me, and my face feels like it's on fire, burning with the unbearable pain of losing her. I feel broken, shattered into pieces that will never be whole again.

“She died because of me.” I whisper hoarsely, guilt rising like a wave that crashes over me. “She died protecting me.”

I scream again, this time out of pure rage. At Agatha, at The Road, at the unfairness of it all. But no amount of anger will bring her back. Nothing will.

I clutch Alice’s hand, holding onto her like she might slip away even further. “Please.” I whisper one last time, my voice fading,

The silence presses down on me, heavy and suffocating. Her body is cold under my touch, and the realization hits me like a punch to the gut—she’s really gone.

Lilia kneels beside me, her hand trembling as she places it on my shoulder. “We need to go, Astrid.” Her voice is soft but firm, trying to pull me away from the moment, from the unbearable truth. But I can’t move. I can’t leave Alice.

“Not without her.” I whisper, shaking my head. The tears stream down my face uncontrollably now. “I’m not leaving her.”

Agatha takes a step toward us, her face pale. “We don’t have time—”

“Shut up!” I snap, my voice filled with venom. “You did this!” My hands tighten around Alice’s as I glare at Agatha. “You killed her!”

Agatha opens her mouth to speak, but the words die on her lips, and for a moment, even she looks uncertain, her mask of cold indifference cracking. But it doesn’t matter. Nothing she can say will make this right.

Alice is gone. And I don’t know how I’m supposed to go on without her.

[storiesbyjes2g]

3.130 Whoop that trick

At dawn, Sophia got up to pee, so I pulled myself out of bed to make breakfast because I knew she'd be hungry and head for the kitchen next. I felt like trying my French toast recipe again, as I hadn't perfected it yet. Cooking for Sophia had proven to be even more frustrating than cooking for Dad, because nearly everything contained dairy in some form. Scouring the internet every day for something new to try had gotten really old, so I started buying plant-based milk for my sanity. I think she appreciated it too because sometimes the temptation to eat dairy was so strong she gave in, damning the discomfort of bubble guts. How anyone could live life without cheese, I didn't know.

"Mmmmm, that smells so good," Sophia cooed.

"Thanks. I think I got it right this time."

The plant-based milk worked well for most things, but I needed to make adjustments to my custard. In my initial trials, either the bread came out too soggy, or it developed an eggy crust while it cooked. Everything looked perfect this time, so I hoped to remember what I did for next time.

"Okay, so hear me out," she started.

I had no idea what she was about to suggest, but I knew it would involve her not resting at home.

"It's Night Out on the Town tonight! We should go."

"Is that a good idea? You're due literally at any moment now."

"Okay, yeah, but this might be our last night as a child-free couple! We should spend some time together before we have to start scheduling it."

I wanted to come up with an irrefutable rebuttal, but I had none. Her logic was sound, as always. She'd been cooped up inside a lot lately, anyway. It wouldn't hurt to leave the house for a little while. It's not like we were going jogging around the lake or anything.

"Okay. But we're going to stay in town. There's a nice restaurant in Anchorpoint Wharf I've been wanting to take you to."

She clapped and did a little happy jig in her chair. I loved that woman.

Kooper and Rosie were getting old. Their coats turned gray, they slept a lot, and they walked a little slower. None of that seemed to stop them from running around the house like a pair of puppies, though. Rosie still demanded that Kooper play with her and dashed around the house and yard like she was training for a marathon. I loved that their age didn't stop them from having a good time. I was playing with Kooper when I realized something that stopped me dead in my tracks.

"Oh my Watcher," I shouted.

Sophia was behind me, asking what was the matter. I didn't mean to startle her, but it just occurred to me that Alessia might have her babies today!

"We need to get to Mama's house!"

She started to ask why, but I had already dialed Dad's number to see if he would come. Once she overheard my end of the conversation, she went upstairs immediately and got dressed. Dad said he was already on his way and would meet us there.

When we arrived, Mama wasted no time checking up on Sophia and loving on her youngest grandchild. She hammered her with a bunch of questions, like if she was getting enough rest and if she had experienced early contractions. All moms were lay doctors, I guess. Just as I had begun to think it was nice to have the whole family together again, loud forbidden words and angry screams rang out from upstairs, followed by rapid stomps heading in our direction.

"I'M GOING TO MURDER HIM," Alessia yelled.

"I'M GOING TO FIND HIM AND PUNCH IN HIS PRETTY FACE!! AND THEN I'M GOING TO CUT OFF HIS-"

"Whoa, Less," I said. "What in the world happened?"

Her face was as red as a strawberry, and her eyebrows scowled, just like an angry cartoon character. The lasers shooting from her eyes made me want to stay out of her way, but I needed to know what and who upset her so.

"JACE happened!! He's a PUNK!! Ol' llama-faced liar!!! I'M GONNA KILL HIM!"

"What did he do, Less?"

"He went back to his ex! IN MT. KOMOREBI!! And he married her!! He f#@$ing MARRIED her!!! HE SAID HE LOVED ME!! Ever since we found out it was triplets he's been weird!! HE IS DEAD TO ME!!!"

Mama had previously gone to the kitchen, no doubt to be near Dad when she noticed him taking out the trash, leaving only me to diffuse the situation. Alessia's anger was palpable, like an electric current coursing through the room. I had never seen her like that before, and it both scared and fueled me. I tried balling my fists and breathing extra slow and deep to keep myself from going off, but thoughts of confronting that piece of shit and laying hands on him stirred a fire inside me. There was no kind, gentle way to deal with this, and if I ever saw that cowplant turd in the street, it would be on sight! Nobody betrayed my sister and got away with it. I should have known something was up when he bailed at the baby shower. I saw him when we arrived, but after that, he was nowhere to be found. How could he weasel his way into my sister's fortified heart, knock her up, and leave her with THREE babies??? Did he really think running away to the mountain would absolve him of fatherhood? Like, did he not know child support was a thing? And he had THREE to support?? What an idiot! COWARD!! I hoped his wife had a real job because I knew Alessia would try to milk him dry. He'll be sorry he even met her! The sheer audacity of it all made my blood boil.

I was concerned about my niece and nephews and finally got Less to sit down. She didn't exactly calm down, because how could she? But she and I had a great time plotting and scheming against ol' Jace, planning what we'd do to him the next time we saw him. True, that wasn't healthy either, but it sure was fun. Revenge wasn't really Sophia's style, and she remained quiet. She also didn't have a sibling she would take up for at any moment, so she didn't understand why I acted like that and occasionally tried to talk sense into us.

But just like when she was a kid, Less found it hard to sit still and be calm, so she jumped up and paced the room, fuming like a teakettle. Even though he would eventually find out, I hoped Dad was still outside during Alessia's initial rant. Her situation was way too close to home, and I feared it might trigger him, especially being in Mama's house with all of us. But like I said, he would eventually find out. He and Mama came out from wherever they were, asking what all the yelling was about. I guess Mama had enough of Less' pregnant mood swings to come find out immediately. Less filled them in, and I saw a quiet rage growing within my dad. He looked just like how I felt. Maybe we could take another family trip to Mt. Komorebi and murder him together, heh.

I saw Mama eyeing me, as if to silently ask what we should do as the expert on all things mind, body, and soul. But I had no answers for her. My mind was set on destroying Jace, and my body was ready for it. I felt that in my soul, ha!

"I think we all need a dip in the pool," she said. "That should relax these tense mommies, right buddy?"

I sensed both sincerity and sarcasm in her tone, as she seemed disappointed that I provoked instead of diffusing the situation. Either way, she was right. Less definitely needed to calm down, but the rest of us did too, so we got changed and hopped into the pool.

[yvannahaleth]

Genocider Syo, Toko fukawa, Mukuro, Miu with an S/O who faught someone and nearly knocked them out because the person picked on their S/O's height? If there are too many characters Genocider, Mukuro, Miu only is fine!

Genocider Syo, Toko Fukawa, Mukuro Ikusaba and Miu Iruma x Reader That Fought Someone

GN! Reader, Fluff, SFW

Genocider Syo:

She was so ready to slice them up the moment you started to punched them

The whole time you were fighting them, she stands behind you, cheering for you

You can definitely tell that she's fucking proud of you.

She clearly jumps and yells "YEAH GET THEIR ASS!!!"

She's too excited and made everyone else who's watching getting concerned.

You could clearly hear her asking your permission to jump onto them and finish them off

Whoops, too bad for her, people are staring and it would be a bad place to 'finish someone off'.

She was so ready to seek blood yet you pulled her away from the crowd and went to home

Gosh, she was getting excited yet you didn't let the show finished.

She was blabbering about how close it is and how she could've easily finish them off.

....

Yet, she secretly blushed as you throw the first punch on them.

She was planning to shut them up first, yet you took the first attack.

Oh, she's honored to be your girlfriend.

"Still, it was impressive of you."

Even for the next couple of months, she'll bring that up just to get a good laugh.

Toko Fukawa:

"OH MY FUCKING GOD, ARE YOU INSANE?!" She says as soon as you laid a punch on that jerk.

She was all but screaming her guts out when you were fighting them.

Dear, she knows you can be stubborn sometimes but she didn't know you're this stubborn.

A part of her was fucking terrified about how people will react to this, while the other one was proudly throwing you with lots of compliments because she was itching to not gouge their eyes.

But oh my, she's still concerned and paranoid about your reputation.

You were annoyed, so does her, but the thought of you freely expressing your anger onto someone is jaw-dropping.

Her hands quickly grabbed your own as she leads you to run away, far, far away from that jerk. So that no one could have time to react or to throw you with tomatoes.

She always hated overloading attention, especially being stared with eyes full of hatred. She knows what it feels like.

But oh, she never wants you to know what it is like.

She cares for your well-being. She definitely was calling that shithead names while they were annoying you.

God, perhaps deep down in her heart, she's relieved that you took an action.

Because if you didn't, then her list of 'people Genocider Syo needs to kill' is getting longer.

Mukuro Ikusaba:

She's the Ultimate Soldier. She's always prepared to make a move when needed. Always.

Like this mutt for example, she realized that someone in particular will get bruised after this whole thing. She already made her mind. So why exactly did you take the first move?

She was gaping her mouth the whole time. Staring at you, amused. My, this will ease the whole thing.

Though, even though she was enjoying you beating the shit out of them, she needs to be the bigger person.

As soon as she realizes that their consciousness is slowly flying away, she puts an end to the fight. Leaving that bloody jerk in the ground with you in her arms, you could tell that faint smile on her face.

"What a show, superstar."

Miu Iruma:

"OH, YOU DICKHEAD NEVER SHUT YOUR MOUTH, DO YOU? THAT'S PROBABLY WHY YOUR MOUTH SMELL LIKE A BITC-"

You accidentally interrupted her speech by kicking that dumbass to the ground. As their body bounced back, Miu's eyes were wide-awake.

She were speechless the whole time. God, she didn't even know if she likes it or not. She likes it that you're putting them in their place but she dislikes it because that guy will get seriously injured and you'll become the bad guy here.

Miu is fucking proud of you yet she couldn't dare the thought of you taking the blame in this situation. So, being the--rarely--bigger person, she grabbed you and took you away from the crowd.

You could see well what's on her face, a fucking grin.

"That's my mighty S/O"

[aayakashii]

Ok, part 1 of title ideas!!!

Kiss me in the dark tonight

- Fake-dating au where MC has been paraded all around by Leo or Jin to keep the crazy suitors away from him. They do the fake dating really really well, and MC is so kind and pretty and considerate of his boundaries both while acting and in private (always looking out for Leo’s signs of overstimulation from his hearing or Jin’s signs that his exhaustion aren’t getting too bad, interfering whenever they look uncomfy, etc) and she does little acts of PDA that aren’t gross enough to cross the line of what a non-partner would do but hold so much love that it leaves them breathless (holding or caressing their face with so much joy and softness that it feels like a punch in the gut). Eventually they are forced to kiss for prying eyes, but it becomes too much and later, he drags MC away and asks for her to be willing to “kiss me in the dark too please. Not just when eyes are on us, not just to appease everyone else. Please, I just want one time where I taste your love because it is for me and not for anyone else”

Oh take this veil from off my eyes

- Omg this makes me think of Luca lifting the veil in the prologue so we are rolling with it. A snapshots of all the times that Luca was entranced/fell a little bit in love with MC. Of course, that first time is when he sees her for the first time. Then maybe when she goes to protect the kids despite not having any chance of fighting off the anomaly and being scared herself (she’s so caring and brave). Maybe she offers insights to demons, usually with a caveat that she knows he probably already has the information but couldn’t help collecting it for him anyways (maybe sneak in the “everyone’s stigma phrase is an anagram for a demon from Solomon” thing). The last moment is a full-circle where he accidentally gets some sort of fabric hanging over his head, and she lifts it for him, laughing a bit, and he just goes “oh. oh.”

There will be darkness again

- For some reason this is really reminding me for the I Fight Dragons song “Always” where it goes “I can't promise you there won't be pain, I can't promise to remain the same, But when you're scared, I’ll be there, tonight and always”.

- Mayhaps Lyca being scared about the full moon affecting him again, and being scared of hurting MC again, or her leaving him. And her saying “I can’t promise that there will always be light, or that I’ll never get hurt or leave, especially not with my curse. But I can promise that I love you, even when time are dark”

- There’s also Ed but I’m iffy on his character so I don’t have a lot for him.

Objects in the mirror are closer than they appear

- Sho, of course. Maybe Bonnie really likes the MC/reader and is constantly seeking her out. “I swear I was looking where I was going this time, so how did I almost get run over by you again?” “Must not have actually been looking” *Bonnie has favorites and went off course to see you but Sho refuses to say that because he knows that Bonnie only favors you because he favors you*

- Rui looking back at being able to touch people, thinking that time is so far behind him, only for his curse to be cured.

Cross my heart and hope to die

- Jiro (or Yuri, but I LOVE Jiro so I have to pick him) realizing that he doesn’t really want to continue whatever half-life that he is living if you are no longer there. He will find a cure for you, cross his heart and hope to die, because he refuses to live without the one person who still makes life worth living by his side. He already feels a sense of unnamable grief at times, he will not add to that, even when he can’t remember what he lost before.

- Zenji relationship where MC decides that she’d rather die and potentially join his side as a ghost than turn into an anomaly.

👻

FROTHING AT THE MOUTH AT ALL THESE IDEAS

1- I already had thought about a fake dating plot with Jin so THIS IS ACTUALLY PERFECT 👁👁 that little blurb you added here almost killed OH THE ANGST POTENTIAL BEFORE THE REAL KISS (I like making those boys suffer)

2- You know, one reason I always hesitated on writing about Luca is because in his case I feel like his story would be a slooooooowwww burrrrnnnnnn but this made me realize I can kinda make it like bullet points? Like enumerating each instance in which he felt something different for mc, instead of making one long scenario 🤔 I really need to play with other forms of storytelling and this would be great ngl

3- There will be darkness again comes from a Hozier song!!! I said it doesn't really have to match the song vibe, but reassuring Lyca actually matches it tbh :o the song is like about persistance in the face of problems and how he would support his beloved in a time of trouble (in my interpretation ofc). Like "even with all these awful things going on, the world will still keep going and you'll stay living, so let's do the best we can". Btw I am having a hard time thinking abt stuff for Ed too, because that last obscuary chapter made me so iffy abt him 💀 I need him to redeem himself sldhjsnzhdhs

4- OKAY I actually have an idea for this one bur now I'll add your Bonnie idea to it!!! My idea is a BIT nsfw but it's about Reader and Sho having some sort of friends with benefits agreement, but after a while reader wants actual commitment, but Sho doesn't; which causes them to avoid Sho for a while. During this time away from MC, he realizes he feels jealous whenever he sees them with someone else and it takes him some time to realize that maybe he does want them to be official after all. The relation to the title is that his feelings were bigger than he expected, much like the mirror situation 🫡 AND I'LL ADD BONNIE BEING A MATCHMAKER NOW

5- I love this because he actually kinda shows this feeling in his 25 intimacy home screen dialogue 😭 he says something like "I dont know why but I need to save you, I have to at any cost" ;-; jiro is one of the trickiest characters for me to write about without going to yandere territory, but it'd be an interesting challenge tbh

6- I HAD AN IDEA LIKE THIS A LONG TIME AGO!!!!! and never elaborated!!! Do you think this one would be on zenji's pov or mc's pov? I am leaning on zenji's pov because I think making mc die willingly and write her thoughts abt it would be a bit too heavy of a topic for me to tackle 😭