#you will say to this mountain move from here to there and it will move

[centrally-unplanned]

There are two big "AI Art Discourse" events of note recently, which I thought were interesting: ACX's "AI Art Turing Test" and the new paper on "AI Poetry Beating Human Poetry". Both of these I think reveal the shape of "what is AI art for", and also say a lot about how these results were utilized in discourse.

To take the latter first, some academics quizzed people on some poetry and had these results:

We found that AI-generated poems were rated more favorably in qualities such as rhythm and beauty, and that this contributed to their mistaken identification as human-authored. Our findings suggest that participants employed shared yet flawed heuristics to differentiate AI from human poetry: the simplicity of AI-generated poems may be easier for non-experts to understand, leading them to prefer AI-generated poetry and misinterpret the complexity of human poems as incoherence generated by AI.

More human than human poems! This certainly seems impressive - and it is. You couldn't have gotten these results ~5 years ago. But that maybe doesn't mean as much as you might think? Because here is the opening half of the winning "Walt Whitman AI" Poem:

I hear the call of nature, the rustling of the trees, The whisper of the river, the buzzing of the bees, The chirping of the songbirds, and the howling of the wind, All woven into a symphony, that never seems to end. I feel the pulse of life, the beating of my heart, The rhythm of my breathing, the soul's eternal art, The passion of my being, that burns with fervent fire, The urge to live, to love, to strive, to reach up higher. I see the beauty all around, the glory of the earth, The majesty of mountains, the miracles of birth, The wonder of the cosmos, the mysteries of the stars, The poetry of existence, that echoes near and far

This fucking sucks. Straight up 2/10 poem. Did this bitch seriously establish the world's most predictable rhyme scheme only to try to rhyme wind with end? You had one job that you chose for yourself, and you screwed it up! This poem has been written a million times before, and says nothing - the Miley Cyrus lyrics of verse.

The reason this won is, yes, because AI tools have advanced heavily in the past few years. But it is also because it is being tested on a dead art. No one cares about poetry - certainly not the survey respondents:

We asked participants several questions to gauge their experience with poetry, including how much they like poetry, how frequently they read poetry, and their level of familiarity with their assigned poet. Overall, our participants reported a low level of experience with poetry: 90.4% of participants reported that they read poetry a few times per year or less, 55.8% described themselves as “not very familiar with poetry”, and 66.8% describe themselves as “not familiar at all” with their assigned poet. 

"Or less" is doing a LOT of work there; "yeah I read a few nonfiction books a year" oh sure, totally. 90% of these respondents haven't read a poem that wasn't displayed in the end credits of Minecraft since high school. No one does, poetry as a medium is essentially a relic. That isn't an insult to poets, by the way! There is no shame in being a niche. Not everyone can have the reach of hentai doujin artists; the community is small but they get a ton out of it. But you can't take the art of the community and expect that art to hit outside of it.

This survey didn't ask people to evaluate art; it asked people to evaluate their stereotypical impression of an art they don't care about. It was ~600 people hired off a website, they banged it out ASAP and moved on. This is not to invalidate the results; I am not actually claiming that "real" poets would have scored much better? Maybe, I don't know - that just isn't very relevant.

Let's swing to the AI Art Turing Test results to get more into why. Again, AI art is absolutely "art" in the sense that it is able to pass the test handily. You have to be head-in-the-sand at this point to think that AI can't make an impressionist painting a la the "most liked" art in this contest:

I have seen the "well real paintings have physicality this is a jpeg" discourse points and the cope couldn't be more real - 99% of art consumption in the modern world is digital or at least prints, let's get you back to bed grandma. But I did find it pretty funny that Scott noted this AI piece as one he particularly liked:

Because it is nonsensical, right? All that "faded paint", how was it originally painted - just bucket splashes of red and blue? What are those random doors, the random stairs going nowhere on the sides, the vague-nothings engravings? Scott just didn't care about that - he liked the vibe, right? Ancient ruins, epic scale. It isn't a coincidence that the Impressionist art did the best - current AI tools are always impressionist, they have an idea of the vibe and invent the details in between. In Impressionism that is the whole point.

Now the trap is to go "REAL artists can tell because of this or that" because idk, the tools might get better, they might fill in more and more details. The real revelation here is that you don't need the tools to get better - visual art isn't so different from poetry. Most people don't pay attention to it all that much. You see thousands, thousands of pieces of art a week; you probably don't even realize how many. Do you really care if the fading paint makes coherent sense on a billboard ad or a doctor's office wall painting? So much art that is made is "industrial" in this sense - it has no need to be good. Only good enough to fulfill its utilitarian role. In these fields AI absolutely is going to Take Your Jobs in some form, and already is (though imo not a ton of them). And it won't really bother most people. This can go pretty deep - I promise you people are "utilizing" AI porn right now. They are ~appreciating the details~ way more than is typical, the product is working.

All this works until it doesn't, though. When it is an art book by a favourite artist whose vision you want to pour over, learning that all the individual details were just made by AI completely defeats the purpose, right? Imagine reading a book of these poems. Outside of the novelty, "AI is the point" factor you would rather watch infomercials on repeat, I can't imagine a more pointless use of my time. "Reading arbitrary poems" is never fun, regardless of the quality of the poems. Most people don't care about poetry! The reason you care is that you care about the poet, and what they want to say. You read poetry with context, it being inserted with intent into the pages of a manga, at the end of a video game, because you like the artist and follow them on twitter. The quality of the prose isn't more important than that.

Which is a harsh limit for all of these kinds of tests. They essentially aren't testing art, right? You do not ever get paid twenty bucks to sit down and read a dozen poems and score them. That has no bearing on how you would actually ever learn to care about a poem. Which doesn't make AI art useless or anything, more that these tests will very quickly run into their limits of what they can meaningfully tell you. The actual bar is "creating something someone cares about". From that lens, I fully believe hybrid methods that privilege artistic intent are currently working and will improve. But I think for "solo" AI art getting that to work is going to be complicated.

[accio-victuuri]

不要回头

this discussion is due to the announcement that the MV dropping on 11/26 is called don’t look back. let’s start with why this is relevant to xiao zhan. one that immediately comes to mind was his instagram post before where he used the caption: “don’t look back, forever”. a bit of context, this was the time in 2019 when he was having problems with WJJW’s management of his career. a week after this post, he took WJJW to court. so it may be safe to say that the message was moving forward and leaving WJJW behind.

this has been a recurrent theme with XZ, as he so eloquently explained in one of his interviews: “I feel that everyone should not live in the past. But you need to summarize your past, the areas you did not do well, take responsibility and move forward.” not looking back— meaning to live with no regrets. to run towards your future, which is why it makes sense that he likes to do the chongya pose. that’s just who xz is. 🤷🏻‍♀️🤷🏻‍♀️🤷🏻‍♀️ he doesn’t sit and wallow in misery about what happened before. he doesn’t hold grudges. no matter how his fans misinterpret his messaging, it has always been very clear to me. move on. make peace.

we can actually see this mindset between xz and wyb and why ( i think ) they get along so well. considering the life they have, it’s not healthy to live in the past and miss the moment now.

for their bdays this year, both their studios talked about regrets and moving forward.

XZS: The road ahead is always like this. I hope you can have fun without regrets.

YBO: …. along the way, accept imperfection, allow regrets, the mountains are high and the seas are vast, and please move forward boldly.

here are some other similarities with this theme:

XZ: i will believe in my choice and don’t regret it. just go all out and do it.

WYB: I just want to do things according to my beliefs and never regret it.

XZ interview

Q: Suppose if there is a chance to go back to the past. Which stage do you most want to return to?

XZ: i’m not going back

WYB interview

he was asked pretty much a similar question, if he can choose to travel back to an age in his life. what would he choose?

WYB: I don’t want to go back

also this classic one from WYB. 👏🏼👏🏼👏🏼👏🏼

this one is a personal favorite of mine when he was doing interview for where dreams begin:

XZ: Although life is likely to be unsatisfactory, I think as long as you persist in your heart and work hard to move forward, It will definitely be fine. This is something I insist on, don’t look back, believe in the future and the light is always ahead.

and there are alot more. i think that those of us who have been in tune with them already knows all of this. it’s the way they both are. i feel like this is also why they are successful in their careers. 🫶🏼

lastly is the significance of them singing white windmill during filming. at this time, xz told wyb— wyb, don’t look back.

Tho i’m pretty sure the song/mv title Don’t Look Back is about XZ’s personal journey — the similarity with WYB is just added in here cause we are clowns. 🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡

-END.

[formylovetodaryldixon]

"The truth - Part 2." Daryl Dixon imagine.

(Not my gif)

Alone in the place she always loved, Daryl finally tells her the words he always wanted to say to her. Will he finally be able to propose to her?

You can read part 1 here "The truth - Part 1." And if you want to read about their daughter, you can do it here "My everything." and "For life."

A/N: For my part, my stories will always have a happy ending, so you know what to expect hehe sorry to use she again! (This is probably really cheesy, but what can i say? I love cheesy things) Also, i used the word cockblocker, sorry!

A younger version of (Y/N) sat in the bar, leaving her backpack on the floor before asking for a drink: but because she was ignoring the world around her, lost in her thoughts, she didn't notice the curious gaze of the young man a few steps away.

Daryl blinked taking in all of her, because she was pretty, like, beautiful, and so interesting to look at with her gaze in her open book, part of her hair covering her face with an attractive concentration on it. He squinted: because in that part of the country there were only mountains, forests and miles of open countryside —Not to mention the occasional crime, so it was strange for him to find someone like her in that boring but dangerous place.

But she looked like a mystery, like a piece of art in the middle of nowhere, and suddenly, he couldn’t take his eyes off her.

Every now and then, Daryl turns a little bit to steal glances at her.

The open road is about to end in a few minutes, and Daryl, in the company of his thoughts, feels a certain sadness for having to wake her up. With her arm resting on the window, her cheek pressing against her hand and part of her hair covering her face, he can't help but imagine her back as that person, only younger, that he met at the bar that night. Despite the time, she was still the same, maybe with some monsters in her mind and a slightly heavier backpack to carry on her shoulders, (however, everyone had them), but, even so, (Y/N) hadn't lost her essence, always being the same strong but caring person.

When those minutes alone are over, Daryl turns off the car's engine and turns to her.

“Peach? Hey, we're here.” He moves her gently, his voice deep but full of affection. “Open yer eyes, sweetheart.”

His voice brings her back to reality, and (Y/N) opens her eyes slowly. It is not yet dawn and the shadows of the night are not yet swallowed by the bright sun, but when she looks to her right, the unmistakable sound of the waves roaring and crashing against the shore immediately attracts her attention. It is then that she realizes where she is: near a beach that smells of salt —of salt, freedom and of inner peace; because for her, the beach had a unique and wonderful feel, because it was wild and noisy, and in a way she always thought it was a good rest for an exhausted body and a cornered mind.

“Hey, you’ve got to be kidding me.” (Y/N) says softly and smiles breathlessly at him before looking out the window again, her eyes filling with life.

At that small gesture that fills his world, his chest swells with joy, with a nervous tickle reminding him that he’s still alive, and that she’s still alive too. Daryl smiles a little, and his features soften like when he’s not scared or angry, but deep down, he’s clear that it’s all because of her.

“C’mon. It’s almost dawn.”

He grabs his backpack and crossbow from the back seat as (Y/N) opens her own door, waiting for him to be by her side to walk, their boots gently sinking into the sand. The shore is clear, he made sure of that. When they reach the place close to the edge where the waves end, Daryl makes a bold move and takes (Y/N)’s hand, the hand where the ring would be if she said yes, just to help her sit down.

“Aren’t you a gentleman?” She teases him, making him snort. But once there, waiting for the sun to wake up and shine on them again, (Y/N) looks in his direction. “You didn’t have to do this.”

“Yes, I did.” Daryl replies quietly, looking into her eyes as well. “It’s been years since I took ya to the beach.”

For (Y/N), when her fears and insecurities overflowed the edge of her life and turned against her, suffocating and dangerous, her heart and mind searched for the nearest beach, if there was one nearby at that moment of anguish, because she would always found a warm refuge in the landscape that seemed to protect her like an umbrella every time a storm fell over the sky of her life. And he knew that, because he was the only one she told it to.

“…besides…” Daryl clears his throat, hoping not to sound as nervous as he is. “I hope ya know I will always care about ya, peach, that I will keep ya safe, even if ya can do it too.”

But in order not to fall too deep into silence, he takes something from his backpack and hands it to her, making her chuckle. (Y/N) looks at the fruit in her hand for a moment, and then her gaze turns back to him.

“You know? At first I thought you were making fun of me when you started calling me peach.”

Daryl chuckles, too.

“Have I ever made fun of ya? But to be honest with ya, I thought that if I did, ya would threaten to shoot me like ya did with ma brother.”

(Y/N) laughs.

“Him, maybe, but never you.” She looks away from him, focusing on the horizon that is about to change color.

Her heart races, innocently wondering if those words were somehow an attempt at flirting. But (Y/N) tries to let her nervousness dissipate when the first rays of the sun reach freedom, shining in the distance. For her, it is beautiful to witness that spectacle again in a world where beauty had been lost in the passage of time, the constant danger and deaths, but what (Y/N) ignores at that moment, is Daryl's gaze on her, observing her profile, part of her hair that frames her face, because for him, she is the true spectacle there, worthy of being admired with devotion.

“Ya miss it?” Daryl asks after a while, making her look at him. “Ya miss the life we ​​had? The old apartment we shared?”

For a moment, the best times flash before her eyes.

“Yes, I do. Believe it or not, I liked the place, but I like the memories we made there more. You offered me a new life without knowing anything about me, a chance to start over, so, I felt like I had it all. But, you’re still here with me; maybe that’s why that feeling hasn’t changed.”

Daryl tries to say something, the beginning of a monologue he had prepared all the way there, but the moment her gaze leaves him to look back ahead, cruelly, the words threaten to die on his lips. His chest falls in defeat as he gives a deep exhale, which makes him question if he will be able to say it all.

Strike one.

After a while, she speaks again. However, she is nervous and unsure of bringing up that topic now, at that moment, but the thought is like a thorn in her finger, making her feel uncomfortable.

“Do you remember when we were at the prison?” (Y/N) looks back at him, trying not to laugh, and Daryl raises his gaze from the sand until he meets hers. “When Sean started… flirting with me I guess, and when you called me out on it, I told you that you were being a cockblocker…” (Y/N) lets out a small laugh, but she sees that he doesn’t find it that funny, so she tries to keep her composure, even though the memory and that word amuses her. “Do you think… you could do it again? This time for real.”

It doesn’t take long for Daryl to realize who she’s talking about: Spencer.

“Is that asshole giving ya trouble?” His brow furrows instantly, and a murderous look floods Daryl’s blue eyes.

“No! It’s not that, it’s just that…” (Y/N) frowns as well, as a thoughtful expression takes place on her face. “I don’t know how to turn him down without hurting his ego or something. I don’t know him that well, but he seems like the kind of person who’s pretty insistent until he gets what he wants, and somehow, Spencer thinks that…”

“He can get ya too.” Daryl says bitterly, but, even though in a few seconds he manages to calm down, a part of him can’t help but speak his thoughts out loud, with a somewhat accusatory tone. “I thought ya were interested in him.”

(Y/N) frowns.

“What gave you that idea?”

Daryl can’t help the jealousy on the tip of his tongue as he looks her straight in the eyes before answering, with that cold gaze he used to hold to protect himself from the pain.

“Dunno. Ya seemed very friendly with him these months since we got there.”

That accusatory tone doesn’t go unnoticed by her, and for a moment, (Y/N) is incredulous, as if his words weren’t real, but she knows they are. After so many years by his side, even though they weren’t together, (Y/N) had learned to read him like the books she used to read in the past. And although Daryl was and still is like a mystery, with that reserved personality of his, (Y/N) was able to see through him.

Jealousy is a powerful force.

“Are you accusing me of something, Daryl? Because as far as I remember, being friendly with the neighbors isn’t a crime.”

She’s challenging him, Daryl can see it clearly, because she knew very well that she hadn’t done anything wrong, that it was all in his imagination, that she had nothing to be ashamed of.

“No…” It’s then that his gaze softens, only because he knows he’s acting irrationally, because it’s his fear of losing her completely that drives him to behave like this. “Jus'… sorry. Jus' forget about it.”

Now it’s his gaze that abandons her.

Strike two.

After a long while, like an hour or two maybe, (Y/N) feels that the sea, which she had always believed to be therapeutic, had managed to take away all the bad and sad things that lived in her, the bad thoughts, the guilt, the losses, the deaths, leaving her only with a renewing feeling. And although (Y/N) knew well that that feeling would go away at some point, she is at peace with it lasting at least during the way back home.

If she could call it home.

“We should go now…” (Y/N) stands up, not looking him directly in the eyes this time. “I told Denise that we wouldn’t take long and we still have medicine from the last run that we have to organize.”

In that instant, Daryl feels that his only opportunity slips through his hands, like the sand that slips through his fingers, but he feels that something has changed in her, about him, something that only he could perceive. This time, (Y/N) takes a few steps forward as he gathers his things before standing up, walking behind her, watching her hair as it is swayed by the gentle morning breeze.

His heart beats with an overwhelming force, as if it threatened to stop at any moment, and his worst fears take shape before his eyes. Daryl was always a strong man, physically, but his insecurities were his weak point, a detail that he knew how to mask well until she came into his life, and then the incessant fear of feeling insufficient for her ate away at his soul, taking away the little sleep he once managed to get.

But Carol was right, he had to do it now, before she really lost hope in him, before she undertand it was time to move on.

It takes Daryl only a few steps to reach her, and his free hand catches hers, at the same time his body sticks to hers to prevent her from turning to look at him, dropping his things to the side. For a second, (Y/N) is startled, and her body flinches slightly as she feels his face hidden in her hair, something he used to do all the time since they were together.

“Please, jus'… listen to what I have to tell ya, okay? But don’t turn around yet. And if after that, yer answer is no, I want ya to know I always loved ya. Back then, now, and for the rest of ma life. I’m sorry I never told ya that before.” Daryl pulls away a little, his hand still holding hers. His voice is low, somewhat nervous, and maybe even unsure, because the constant fear still appears in front of him, more fearsome than a walker. “Ma life before ya was a fuckin' mess, I lived part of ma life without a purpose, jus' survivin' one more day, but when ya came along… ya were like that first ray of sunlight when it rises on the horizon, like that first breath after being submerged in the water for too long. With ya I felt alive, but I could never tell ya that I loved ya 'cause I always felt that ya deserved somethin' better than me. Hell, I still believe that, but the idea of ​​losin' ya is worse. I want to be with ya for as long as we can be alive in this world. I love ya for who ya are, peach, for yer stubbornness, for yer strength, but also for how sweet ya are, with our family, n’ with me. I want to hug ya, kiss ya, hold yer hand n' be able to be at least a little bit of that man that ya always saw in me…”

Daryl lets go of her hand, and (Y/N) waits for a moment, for something, she doesn’t quite know what, some hint that tells her she can turn around maybe. And when his voice calls her again, she turns slowly, with fear in her racing heart, but in the midst of that immensity that used to steal her breath, seeing Daryl with one knee in the sand and a ring in his hand has the same effect on her, in a totally different way.

“What are you…?”

Daryl’s hair covers part of his eyes, but she can see the nervousness and sincerity in them.

“Marry me, peach, I can’t promise ya a fairy tale, but I can promise ya that I will love ya for the rest of ma life.”

His words travel through her, right to her heart, and (Y/N) fights back the sudden tears that she refuses to let fall at that moment, overwhelmed by his sudden confession just when she had thought that they would never, ever be together again. Her thoughts travel at the speed of a train, but she knows well that there is only one correct answer.

Then, (Y/N) nods and a soft smile appears on her lips.

“Of course i will marry you.”

It was a truth that Daryl didn’t smile much, because unfair adversity never played in his favor, so he hadn’t had many real moments to do so, but in that instant, as he stands, he finds it easy to lift her into his arms, her legs around his waist and her warm hands on his cheeks as she leans in to kiss him, and he, responds with the same fervor.

In that moment, Daryl feels, for the first time in his life, what it’s like to be truly happy.

“I love ya.” He says between kisses. “I’m sorry it took me so long to say it.”

“It’s okay. You’re lucky I’ve always been way more patient than you.” (Y/N) chuckles still close to his mouth, giving him another kiss before saying the words he’s dying to hear. “I love you too.”

[motherofplatypus]

A short fic of the aftermath of session 6. I haven't seen anyone wrote one yet, so might as well.

***

Scar was wide awake inside the Bambunker, sitting on top of one of the chest, accompanied by small snores of Jimmy and Lizzie from the new room they just made.

They're now red. His teammates are now one death away from being eliminated for good. Whether it's from the hostile mobs or their own clumsiness, once they're dead, it's over. The thought was infesting his head, but he was relieved that they're still alive. However, it wasn't that that kept him awake this late.

Scar looked over to his sleeping teammates, contemplating his action before making a decision, even though he knew there was nothing to be contemplated. It was pure instinct, like a fight or flight in a dangerous situation, Scar grabbed the blanket from his bed and left his base.

It was nighttime. The chill air of the night bit him to the bones. He shivered, yet it didn't stop him from moving. He went down the cherry wood stairs, skipping a step or two and practically jumping his way down the mountain. On the last step, he saw what he knew would be there.

Scar walked towards Grian, sitting in front of the two graves in front of him. The headstone on the right says "Here lies Mumbo. The best Bridger that ever Bridged", while on the left says "Here lies Skizz. The best Skizz that ever Skizzed".

The graves of his teammates.

It's hard to tell if Grian noticed his presence from the lack of reaction, but Scar decided to wrap that blanket over Grian and sit next to him in silence.

Minutes passed and the silence still as loud as ever. The night wind getting stronger and the cold air started to getting the better of him. Scar thought to himself if he could ask Grian to share the blanket with him, but that would be the most awkward thing to do at the moment. Even so, he could not—he refuse to leave him alone.

Is there any logical reason not to leave? No, there isn't. It's simply instinct. Whether they're on the same team or on opposing side, being there with or for him was something that came naturally.

Scar needed to be there, until something happened, no matter how long it would take.

Just as he began rubbing his arms, Grian finally spoke. "When Mumbo died, I was feeling sad, you know?"

Scar looked at Grian whose gaze was fixated on the graves. "I mean, that's normal."

The blanket over Grian moved a bit when he shrugged. "I was there when he died. I saw the explosion right in front of my eyes. I was sad when he died, and I made him a grave for that."

Grian took a long pause that Scar wouldn't want to interrupt with a response. "But it's the "Oh, he died" kind of sad, like it's just another reality that hits you that you just accept just happened." Grian continued. "I didn't cry. I didn't try to deny it. I wasn't angry. I just...accepted it. It's the same thing with Skizz."

Scar was listening intently that he didn't notice Grian had changed position. His hands were on his arms, griping the red fabric of his sweater for dear life. It was small, almost unnoticeable, but Grian's whole body was shaking.

Grian let out a dry laughter. His voice was shaky and his gaze, while looking forward, is at anything but what's in front of him.

"Isn't it messed up, Scar? I...I lost my teammates, and yet I didn't even..." He took a breath, "I didn't even cry for them. I just accept it, like I'm some kind of psychopath who expected them to die."

"Grian." Scar spoke, his voice was rasp and small. Under the moonless night with low visibility, Scar saw it: tears. Grian is crying.

"And here I am crying, Scar, but not because they're dead." His voice broke, being held together by nothing but frustration. "I'm crying because I cannot cry. Because I cannot cry for them when they were gone! How—just—what is wrong with me?"

Grian broke down at last. He wailed his heart out.

Scar pulled him into an embrace, keeping him as close as possible, while raking his brain. What should he say at a time like this? "There's nothing wrong with you"? "I'm sorry"? "I'm here for you"? Every response, no matter how sympathetic, felt inappropriate to be said. Everything sounds like an insult. So Scar kept quiet, waiting for Grian to finish pouring his heart out.

For what felt like hours, Grian finally calmed down, although still sobbing. Scar couldn't remember when he started to pull Grian into a hug, but all he knows was that his shirt is now wet from tears.

"I cannot cry for my own loss," said Grian between the sob. "I can no longer cry for my own loss."

"But you just did." Scar spoke at last. His hand was caressing Grian's head. "And I'm proud of you."

That was all Scar could manage to say, and he didn't think he got anything more genuine to say. For Grian to let it all out instead of bottling it in, Scar was genuinely proud.

Scar felt Grian pushing himself closer, and he heard the guy spoke, but it was muffled due to him talking with his face on Scar's chest.

Scar chuckled. "I know." He said, caressing Grian once more.

[latexb0n3z]

Alright yall… this might be the most vulgar fic I’ve written thus far. It’s dirty and weird. Here’s a little snippet. You can read the rest on Ao3 if you like it.

Double Claimed

Wade had no business being here.

He knew it, the brass knew it, and every mutant in the unit sure as hell knew it. But none of that stopped the military from sticking him—plain ol’ human Wade Wilson—in the middle of a mutant special ops squad. “Resource integration,” they called it. A real bright idea to slap someone without claws, fangs, or superhuman anything into the middle of a unit bred for war.

His mouth, though? That was a weapon all its own.

He hadn’t started out in special ops. Hell, he’d barely passed basic training, scraped by with a mixture of charm, luck, and an unsettling knack for violence when the situation called for it. A few successful black ops missions later, someone decided he’d be a good fit for the mutants. Maybe it was his ability to keep his cool when things went south. Maybe it was his penchant for making enemies want to throttle him instead of finishing the job. Or maybe they’d just run out of better options.

Whatever the case, he was here. Here, with six mutants who could crush him in a heartbeat if they decided he wasn’t worth the trouble. And judging by the way Victor Creed looked at him half the time, that wasn’t entirely off the table.

The mission was simple, but simple didn’t mean easy: a long recon op deep in the kind of terrain that turned men feral. Weeks with no end in sight, no backup, and nothing to do but sit in the dirt and wait. No bars, no women, no distractions. Just the squad, their gear, and an ever-mounting tension that seemed to thrum in the air like an unspoken challenge.

Victor was the worst of them all. Not just because he was built like a freight train—towering a full head taller than Wade with arms like tree trunks and a grin that promised nothing good—but because he was bored. And a bored Victor Creed was a dangerous Victor Creed.

Wade wasn’t exactly tiny himself, standing at a respectable six-foot-one and built solid, but next to Victor? He felt like a damn paperweight. The guy looked like he’d been carved out of a mountain, and every movement was slow, deliberate, like he was conserving energy for the moment he decided to break something—or someone.

And Wade, ever the idiot, couldn’t stop poking at him.

The camp was quiet tonight, the fire reduced to glowing embers. Most of the squad had turned in, leaving Wade alone with his thoughts—or so he thought until a shadow moved in the corner of his vision.

“Out here all by yourself?” Victor’s voice rumbled through the stillness, a low, lazy drawl that made the hairs on the back of Wade’s neck stand up.

Wade turned to see the man leaning against the flagpole, arms crossed, a faint smirk playing at his lips.

“Can’t sleep,” Wade said, shrugging as casually as he could manage. “Figured I’d enjoy the peace and quiet. Didn’t realize it was so popular.”

Victor chuckled, the sound deep and rough. “Peace and quiet, huh? Doesn’t seem like your thing.”

“What can I say? I’m full of surprises.” Wade grinned, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Victor pushed off the pole and sauntered closer, his sheer size becoming more apparent with every step. Wade stayed where he was, tilting his head back slightly to meet the man’s gaze.

“You’re a cocky little thing,” Victor said, his tone almost amused. “But I guess you’ve gotta be. No other way a guy like you survives in a squad like this.”

“Yeah, well, charm and good looks go a long way,” Wade shot back.

Victor laughed again, this time louder, and Wade felt his pulse quicken. The sound wasn’t threatening, exactly, but there was something about it—something that made him feel like prey.

“Good looks, huh?” Victor leaned down slightly, his grin widening to show just a hint of fang. “You sure you’re not compensating for something?”

Wade snorted, his bravado kicking in. “Please. I’ve got nothing to compensate for. If anything, I’m probably overqualified for this gig.”

Victor’s eyes narrowed slightly, the smirk never leaving his face. “Is that so?”

The air between them shifted, heavy with unspoken tension. Wade wasn’t sure if it was the lack of sleep, the weeks of isolation, or just plain stupidity, but he didn’t back down.

“Yeah,” Wade said, his grin sharpening. “And you’re not exactly subtle, are you, big guy? All that muscle, all those claws. I bet you’re just dying for a reason to use them.”

Victor tilted his head, his expression unreadable now. “Careful, Wilson. You don’t want to see what happens when I do.”

Wade’s heart was pounding, but he refused to let it show. “Maybe I do.”

For a moment, neither of them moved. The fire crackled softly in the background, the only sound breaking the silence. Then, Victor straightened, his grin turning wolfish.

“You’ve got guts, I’ll give you that,” he said, stepping back. “But don’t push your luck, kid.”

“Who’s compensating now?” Wade muttered under his breath, shaking his head.

Whatever game Victor was playing, Wade was more than willing to see how far it went.

Victor paused as he stepped away, his broad back cutting a shadow against the dim glow of the fire. For a moment, Wade thought that was it—that whatever tension had coiled between them was just another unresolved standoff in the desert night.

But then Victor glanced over his shoulder, his yellow eyes gleaming with something feral and sharp. He didn’t say a word. Didn’t need to. The faint twitch of his lips—half smirk, half snarl—was invitation enough. He was courting him, inviting Wade to do this little primal dance of his.

Wade hesitated, his usual bravado faltering under the weight of that look. It wasn’t just a glance; it was a command. One that promised danger and something Wade couldn’t quite name but found himself craving anyway.

Victor turned and walked into the dark, disappearing further outside camp, behind an outcrop of rocks without another word. Wade let out a slow breath, his pulse already hammering in his chest.

“Yeah, this seems like a smart idea,” he muttered to himself, though his feet were already moving. He knew Victor wouldn’t kill him… whatever it was he had in mind.

The firelight faded behind him as he followed Victor’s path into the shadows, the sounds of the camp falling away until it was just him, the crunch of his boots, and the faint, predatory stillness ahead.

He found Victor leaning casually against a tree, his arms crossed over his chest, but there was nothing casual about the way his eyes locked onto Wade.

“You always this obedient?” Victor asked, his voice low and rough.

“Obedient?” Wade snorted, forcing himself to keep it light even as his heart tried to beat its way out of his ribcage. “I am a lot of things, obedient is definitely not one of them. Ironic right?— considering the point of this whole military thing is obedience.”

Victor came closer, his movements deliberate and unhurried, like a predator stalking its prey. Wade stayed rooted in place, though every instinct screamed at him to move.

“You’ve got a big mouth,” Victor said, closing the distance between them. “Maybe too big for your own good.”

“Yeah, I’ve been told.” Wade’s voice wavered slightly, and he hated himself for it.

Victor stopped just inches away, towering over Wade like a goddamn mountain. His hand came up, claws glinting faintly in the light, and for a split second, Wade thought he was about to regret every decision that had brought him here.

[aspirant1598]

[radiantmists]

man especially having now read the flashbacks i think about how hard xie lian always tries and how many people have told him that he tries too hard, that he never should have bothered and that doing so made things worse, or even more commonly just hating on him for not fixing things or being arrogant or whatever they think his problem is. and some of those people are probably even coming from caring places!

but before hua cheng, had anyone ever sat next to him and said, you tried and that's good, it matters that you cared, you did your best. nobody could have done better than you.

how badly must xie lian have needed that?

[atangledfate]

The old bird didn't comment on the caretaker, but the fact certain parties in Sol had never made a move on the clock. Was probably a good indication that he was correct. Eternity was no ones fool, and had existed since before time began and started the great wheel of time. Morpheus was not convinced the old primal had died, but rather was waiting for something or perhaps trapped somehow? Thoughts that he'd have t dwell on later. For now he focused on his sister and this stranger from another world.

" Greetings Sister, i do apologize for the sudden visit... though, we have Vistors who wished to speak with you. "

Sol gave her brother a courteous nod as she turned her eyes to Blitz, her tail swishing from side to side. She seemed quite comfortable in her guise, and could only smile at the stranger, a kindness flowing from her like a river. Though a smile could mean many things, she gave the impression of a wise woman on a mountain rather then some all powerful goddess.

" Oh, pish posh! walking as a great flame as true as it might be. Isn't the best way to greet someone. It can be rather uninviting... and i will have no one say i am not a gracious host... "

She placed her hands behind her and gave the other deity a moment to speak his mind. She seemed to never stop smiling but perhaps that was the unsettling part. Despite what was asked she didn't seem to betray her emotions, and kept herself quite calm. Morpheus could never quite tell what his sister was thinking and knew should she be upset you'd never know unless she decided to punish you.

" AH, i see... i did tell my daughter there would be consequences to her decision... and then she went and brought dear poppys whole family as well. While i have no issue with this act, i imagine its quite a disruption for your world... "

She made a motion with her hand as the realm around them shifted and churrned until they stood within a little cottage deeper within the island. A simple little home with a little fireplace, a stove, and many herbs dangling around the rather primitive cottage. The goddess motioned to a small table where Tea waited for them, the perks of a dreamscape--- it was what she wished it to be.

" Let us have tea, and we can discuss what it is you wish to change. Though i admit i do not have power over fate here... that would be the timekeeper... Eternities realm. Though they has been missing for many generations now. His caretaker Archimedes is the one to speak to on the matter. But before i allow this i would like to know details... it is my daughters fate after all and she's important to me..."

As the conversation turned to herself she seemed to smile warmly at the offer. Though there was something about the smile that was both sad, and warm at the same time. She found a seat at the table and picked her own Tea up and stared at it. She was silent for a long moment as if searching for the right words to speak.

" ... the Spark of Life, it's a peculiar thing don't you think? Have you ever stopped and watched a mortals life, just watched them born, live, struggle, love, and be loved... and die? I'm connected to all life by proxy all mortals on soul are part of me. Like them i am part of a great cycle... "

She paused taking a sip of the tea and gazing at blitz with that same smile though she did look quite tired.

" That Cycle is coming to a close, to rekindle my flame now... i'd be defying my own cycle... it would be unnatural, and go against my very ideals. My time is coming to a close... soon my daughter will be fully prepared... She believes she is kindling, to be consumed by me in order to fuel my pyre and reignite the spark of life. That she will end her own existence for me... "

Sol smiled again though was more genuine and proud, as if she was very proud of her daughter. She couldn't think of a better reward for her, a better way to say she loved her. A better way to give herself to this world she loved so much!

" That kind of loving selfless sacrifice is what this world needs... But, you see it will not be her that is consumed. But rather my essence shall enter her... i shall cease to be as a new Goddess of life is born, and she shall be my living legacy... so you see, i can't accept your offer. As generous as it is... my time comes to a close... and i am content with that... But i appreciate your concern, and am flattered by your kindness...but i must also ask that this never be spoken to my daughter--- she must never know least she may not be willing to go through with it..."

"Nothing to gain in all honesty, expect maybe for the fact if a certain specter attempts to weasel their way in this universe, she can incinerate whoever they try to send here in an instant. Other than that, it just comes down to the fact that I could possibly help so I figured I should offer it." Blitz only needed permission to slightly alter Blaze's timeline so anything else was simply him wanting to try and help.

"Well, I certainly hope he made this caretaker powerful as well. It wouldn't be very wise to leave something that can control all of time without someone strong enough to crush anyone trying to control it." If the time God of here was as smart as Morpheus made him seem then wouldn't be surprised if the caretaker was packing some serious fighting power.

"It's not that I don't have a need for it, I'm just storing up energy. Even as we speak it's building up, higher and higher. It's not something most look out for, though if you look closely enough, you'll see me slowly soaking up cosmic energy. If things go well, I'll have a rather powerful ace up my sleeve for when things get real crazy in the universe that I'm from." Seemed he was gearing up for something big.

Blitz didn't seem phased by the voice as he looked up at Sol, and then having to look down a bit, though still up. "I was expecting something intense. I don't mind if you chill in your true form. I'd do the same thing if I had a crazy cosmic form, though this is the only one I've ever had since I'm not your typical primordial. If I don't end up kicking the bucket down the line, I'll tell you about it." Blitz better move on to business.

"Only name I got is Blitz, mainly because I can't remember my own. As for why I'm here, the God of Time from my universe needs to make a small adjustment to Blaze's timeline, only because it sorta crosses with Poppy's now. Nothing crazy, just the time Poppy ended up here which would add more detail to what life was like in Flora. Also, if you can make it so she does remember the unaltered timeline that'd be cool. I'd rather her not we did that."

"That's about the only thing I really need your help on. Other than that, if you'd like I can help restore your flame back to its prime. I also know a guy who can hopefully make you a physical body to connect to so you can freely and safely check on things easily. Oh, and if you want, I can throw a few tests at Blaze to improve her skills. Nothing crazy or dangerous, though it'll push her. She could also land the Forger making her a divine weapon."

[todayisafridaynight]

I’m fairly new to the fandom, but I do have a question if you can answer it! Why do people ship Daigo with Aoki / Masato? I tried looking to see if they’ve interacted before, but couldn’t find anything! Sorry for asking I’m just </3 dumb AND I LOVE YOUR ART OF THEM!!! Nerd looking ahhhhhh

hi ! welcome to the community i hope you're having a lovely time so far and ty for enjoyin my stuff :) no need for apologies it's a very fair question to have :]

i cant speak for everyone (all. ten people into masadai anyway) but Personally To Me i just think the idea of them together is very funny. thats quite literally it im afraid..

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[starkeysbunny]

tears [rafe cameron]

pairing - rafe cameron x reader

summary - rafe was a busy man. but, when his girl knocked on the doors of tannyhill with tears streaming down her cheeks—nothing was more important than her. and he’d fix whatever was bothering her. or whoever. he hated to see his girl cry.

warnings - none rlly, hurt/comfort, protective and attentive rafe

rafe sighed into his phone call when he heard a knock on the door. he stood in his father’s office—which was now his—pacing the room.

“hey, hey man, just hang on a sec, sorry.” he muttered to the potential investor before he put him on hold. he set his phone down on the desk and marched out of the office, curses and mumbles leaving his lips.

“somebody always fuckin’ needs something.” his hand rubs over his buzzed hair as his other hand curls in and out of a fist at his side. “goddamn. probably fuckin’ sarah and her stupid—“

his mumbles come to a halt when he opens the door and sees his girl standing there, tears staining her flushed cheeks. “rafe..” she whispers weakly, her frame shaking as she looks up at him.

“hey, hey, baby.” he says quickly, completely forgetting the phone call waiting for him as all his attention, worry, and concern is shifted to her. “what’s wrong, c’mere.”

his hand reaches for her wrist, pulling her into his chest. she lets out a quiet sob as she buries her face into his chest, stepping inside. he haphazardly pushes the door shut as he keeps her close to his chest and walks them both inside and through the foyer.

he whispers shh’s, and coos at her in his arms as he heads for the living room, sitting them both down. he softly pulls her from his chest, his head dipping down to her level. his hands come to her cheeks, wiping the tears off her soft skin.

“hey, baby, what happened? talk to me.” he says, his eyebrows furrowed with concern.

“i-i-“ she stammers, unable to get words out as she chokes on cries. her breathing quickens, getting close to hyperventilating. when she cries, she goes too fast, losing control of her breathing.

“hey, hey, no. don’t do that. c’mon baby, you know better. breathe, baby, breathe.”

she begins to slow down, her breathing coming back to normal. she keeps her eyes on rafe’s, slowly calming down.

“there ya go. atta’ girl. good job. breathe.” he praises, his head nodding softly as he watches her. once her breathing fully calms, she takes one last deep breath and wipes the last of her tears.

“now, gonna tell me what’s got your pretty little head so worried, hm?” he coos, his head tilting slightly. “what’s bothering you? who do i have to kill, huh?” he jokes with a grin. but to be honest—he probably wasn’t joking.

she sniffles, her eyebrows furrowing. “my uterus.” she whines. “i’m on my period. my cramps hurt like a bitch. and my mom is pissing me off.” she sniffles, stumbling over her words slightly. “and i’m hungry. and you weren’t answering, i know you’re busy. but i just really needed to see you, i’m sorry—“

“hey, hey, it’s okay.” he nods softly. “i’m here, it’s alright. i’m not busy, doesn’t matter.” he says matter-of-factly. he wraps his arms around her, pulling her into his chest. “what do you need? hm? i have that heating pad in my room i bought for you a couple months ago.” he whispers sweetly. “i can make you somethin? buy you stuff? i dunno, what do you need?”

he was willing to do anything, he didn’t care. when his baby cried, he’d move mountains to make her feel better. he’d go to every store in town, run up his credit card, do anything. as long as she got a smile on her face at the end of it.

she nods against his chest, looking up at him. “yeah.. the heating pad. and—and can you make me a grilled cheese? you make em’ so good.” she asks sweetly, her voice gentle and weak.

he smiles softly, looking down at the sweet girl in his arms. “yeah, baby, of course. i don’t know if they’re that good. everytime i make them, you’re usually drunk and it’s three in the morning. that might be why they taste so good.” he jokes.

she shoves his chest playfully. “i don’t care, you can’t fuck up a grilled cheese. please?”

he grins. “yeah, yeah. grilled cheese, heating pad. got it, baby. anything else?” he says thoughtfully, his fingers coming to push strands of hair off from where they stick to her tear strained cheeks.

she shakes her head. “just you.”

he smiles. “okay.” he kisses her forehead. “i’ll be right back, gimmie a few minutes to get all that.” he stands, making sure she’s laid comfortably on the couch. he grabs the blanket from the end of the couch and drapes it over her. his eyes search the living room, landing in the remote, he hands it to her.

he leans down, placing another kiss to her cheek this time. “put on whatever you want. i’ll be back, promise.”

he leaves her at the couch and heads back to the office. he picks up his phone and takes it off hold. “hey, gotta go. somethin’ came up. i’ll give you a call later.” he hung up before the guy could even get a word in.

nothing came before his girl.

[slayfk]

posting here because this just doesn’t feel right to talk about in the horseimagebarn voice but this is extremely important to talk about.

my partner and i have returned to our hometown to stay with her family and my own has gotten a hotel here too (they moved to the town we currently live in after we did) so we are all safe and out of the thick of it

however there are tens of thousands of people who are not both in my own town and in the many surrounding it. appalachia will take an extremely long time to recover from this and there are more storms on the way. all i see on social media right now is people asking for shelter because their homes have been destroyed, or people asking for help searching for family members who are missing. hundreds of trees have fallen. hundreds of homes have flooded. roads are literally falling apart. preexisting sinkholes due to shitty pipes are opening up and consuming land. dams are on the verge of bursting and the only way to stop it is to release water so quickly it floods whole towns. all but one of our cell towers are down, so only people with at&t have service and the rest can’t contact anyone. over half the town still doesn’t have power. a major water supply issue occurred and the entire town is on a water boil order with no electricity to boil with. people are trapped in their homes and workplaces or out on the street because they have nowhere to go. law enforcement is blocking off roads but trapping people in the process. people have to be rescued by helicopter. our animal shelter has no water or power and boarding facilities have been flooded. entire villages like chimney rock nc are gone, and entire cities like asheville are cut off from the rest of the state and are completely inaccessible. ALL OF THE ROADS IN WESTERN NORTH CAROLINA ARE CLOSED. 400+ roads are closed because they are unsafe . that is INSANE!!!

when people say that climate change isn’t real, they don’t know what they’re talking about. climate change and its father capitalism are only going to continue to worsen lives in every way possible. i live in the mountains and our infrastructure is completely unprepared to handle hurricanes and it’s only going to get worse. it’s such a strange and eye-opening experience to live something like this when you think that it could never happen to you because that type of weather shouldn’t reach you in your environment. climate change doesn’t care where you live. it’s real.

western north carolina and the rest of the southeast that has been hit by helene need help. more people need to be talking about this so that the government DOES SOMETHING because the government historically fucking hates appalachia and it still does!!! the major state institution near me took DAYS to respond despite being the only place in town with power and wifi connection because they had to wait for the state to approve their response—they could have allowed thousands of people to evacuate days prior to the hurricane hitting us but they didn’t do anything before or after until it was too late!!! it’s bullshit!!! PLEASE get talking about this because something has to be done. climate change is going to continue happening and our mountains and the people in them are going to suffer immensely. hundreds if not thousands are now homeless. please talk about this look at the footage online of the wreckage and look how quickly our infrastructure crumbled. we need better. the people of appalachia deserve better.

i’ll get back to posting horses soon. but for now this is a lot. my friends are homeless and my family had to get off the mountain or be trapped there without power and water for days. we’re all safe but exhausted. i hope everyone who has been affected by this is staying safe. if you are in western nc, dm me. when i come back, if you’re in my area, im happy to bring supplies. stay safe everyone

[joelliies]

Show, don’t tell

"Show, don’t tell" means letting readers experience a story through actions, senses, and dialogue instead of outright explaining things. Here are some practical tips to achieve that:

1. Use Sensory Details

Tell: "The room was cold."

Show: "Her breath puffed in faint clouds, and she shivered as frost clung to the edges of the window."

Tell: "He was scared."

Show: "His hands trembled, and his heart thudded so loudly he was sure they could hear it too."

2. Focus on Actions

Tell: "She was angry."

Show: "She slammed the mug onto the counter, coffee sloshing over the rim as her jaw clenched."

Tell: "He was exhausted."

Show: "He stumbled through the door, collapsing onto the couch without even bothering to remove his shoes."

3. Use Dialogue

What characters say and how they say it can reveal their emotions, intentions, or traits.

Tell: "She was worried about the storm."

Show: "Do you think it'll reach us?" she asked, her voice tight, her fingers twisting the hem of her shirt.

4. Show Internal Conflict Through Thoughts or Reactions

Tell: "He was jealous of his friend."

Show: "As his friend held up the trophy, he forced a smile, swallowing the bitter lump rising in his throat."

5. Describe the Environment to Reflect Mood

Use the setting to mirror or hint at emotions or themes.

Tell: "The town was eerie."

Show: "Empty streets stretched into the mist, and the only sound was the faint creak of a weathered sign swinging in the wind."

6. Let Readers Infer Through Context

Give enough clues for the reader to piece things together without spelling it out.

Tell: "The man was a thief."

Show: "He moved through the crowd, fingers brushing pockets, his hand darting away with a glint of gold."

7. Use Subtext in Interactions

What’s left unsaid can reveal as much as what’s spoken.

Tell: "They were uncomfortable around each other."

Show: "He avoided her eyes, pretending to study the painting on the wall. She smoothed her dress for the third time, her fingers fumbling with the hem."

8. Compare to Relatable Experiences

Use metaphors, similes, or comparisons to make an emotion or situation vivid.

Tell: "The mountain was huge."

Show: "The mountain loomed above them, its peak disappearing into the clouds, as if it pierced the heavens."

Practice Example:

Tell: "The village had been destroyed by the fire."

Show: "Charred beams jutted from the rubble like broken ribs, the acrid smell of ash lingering in the air. A child's shoe lay half-buried in the soot, its leather curled from the heat."

[sophiamcdougall]

I am never going to complain about Greek Duolingo again

I mean, I am. But still.

So, as some of you know, my family has been coming to this tiny Greek seaside village for several years. Just over a week ago I came out here with my mum, under the impression that early September, after the height of the summer heat, would be a good time to have a holiday. ANYWAY Storm Daniel had other ideas about that. Locally things are improving (I'm actually really pissed off about the disaster-porn tone of most English-language media coverage, but that's another post). The power is back on, there's running water most of the time, and though the latter is not drinkable, a truck from the government came and handled out free bottled water yesterday. But we are currently kind of stuck. Can't do tourist things. Can't go home. There aren't any local flights out until Saturday and the road to Thessaloniki is still closed.

So this evening, feeling kind of aimless and depressed, I go down to the nearest beach with a couple of binbags and start cleaning up in an effort to at least do something positive. I always try to do this at least once out here and obviously, after the storm, there's a lot more plastic and rubbish than usual.

At some point I find this large, round bit of metal - some kind of machinery part, I think -- that's too big for the bag, so I take it to the bins on its own, leaving the rubbish bag on the beach. And when I come back for it, something among the stones beside it moves.

Specifically, it pulls its head sharply inside its shell

So, meanwhile I've been trying to learn some Greek with the help of Duolingo.

I currently have a 33-day streak and... I have questions. Shouldn't I be able to use the past or future tenses by now? Shouldn't I be able to say "x is like y"? I can't do those things. But one thing I absolutely can say all day long is έχω μια χελώνα : I have a turtle.

This is far from the limit of Duolingo Greek's turtle-related content. "An obsession with turtles" is my mother's characterisation. I can inform you that the turtle is not a bird, and, improbably, that the turtle is drinking milk. I can introduce you to a turtle in company with a horse and an elephant. As far as Duolingo is concerned, it really is turtles all the way down.

Now this, you may be able to see, is not a turtle. It has claws rather than flippers. It is a tortoise. I know there are wild tortoises in Greece: my aunt once rescued a pair of them shagging in the middle of the road -- but that was up in the mountains. I've even seen one myself, but it was also on a road and very dead.

I am 95% certain they don't belong on beaches. There's nothing for it to eat, except, unfortunately, a lot of plastic. Even if it gets off the beach it will immediately find itself on a road where it could get hit by a car. I'm pretty sure it must have been washed down by the floodwater and has been just sitting there, dazed, ever since.

Now obviously the first thing I want to do on encountering this unusual animal is to go and tell my mummy, so I do. The tortoise immediately brightens her day. She agrees that the tortoise is not happy on the beach and needs to be taken somewhere safe. it gets surprisingly wriggly when picked up so we put it in a carrier bag with some grapes and cucumber and go looking for somewhere to rehome it.

We find a path leading up between the houses towards a likely-looking field, but before we get very far a dog in a yard goes berserk and a man's head pops over a fence and demands to know what we're doing. He does this in English, as evidently we're just that obviously tourists.

"I found a tortoise on the beach!" I explain. "We want to find somewhere to put it."

"A what," he asks.

"It's like a, you know," I begin and then to my astonishment I find myself saying... "μια χελώνα"

"Oh! A turtle!" he says.

"But from the land. δεν εί��αι χελώνα", [it is not a turtle,] I say, as I am worried he will tell me to put it back near the sea where I found it. As it turns out it actually IS a χελώνα, Greek does not distinguish between turtles and tortoises, but I don't know that; I can't even name the days of the week or identify any colours other than pink yet, give me a break.

The man's entire demeanour changes and thaws. He does not worry about my turtle-that-is-not-a-turtle conundrum. He knows where οι χελώνες come from and where η χελώνα μας belongs. He leads us through a gate into a courtyard area.

"[somethingsomething] μια χελώνα," he explains to the assembled onlookers, of whom there are, suddenly, a surprising number.

"ΜΙΑ ΧΕΛΩΝΑ!!!" crows the throng of delighted small children, who are, suddenly, everywhere.

"μια χελώνα!" I agree, accepting that at least for current purposes, that is what it is.

"Μπορούμε να δούμε τη χελώνα σας; [can we see your turtle?]" asks an adorable little girl, shyly, and I understand??

The children fucking love looking at the χελώνα and showing it to them is kind of magical?

I finally put the tortoise down on the grass of this wild area off to the side of the courtyard, and marvel aloud that it is weird that I barely know any Greek except how to say μια χελώνα.

"I think she will soon run off," a kind lady called Aspasia assures me, seeing I remain slightly anxious about its fate. "I don't know why I'm saying 'she'. I suppose because χελώνα is feminine in Greek."

"Yes! I know that!" I exclaim, thrilled.

"Well done!" she says. And also she asks if we are OK for drinking water after the storm and if we need any help with anything and is just generally incredibly lovely and now we know more of the neighbours!

So "μια χελώνα" has just become, by a long way, my most-used and most understood and all-around most conversationally successful phrase in Greek. So I guess I have to admit I was wrong to doubt Duolingo's wisdom: it is correct to be obsessed with turtles. And I concede that prior to learning how to count to ten or to distinguish right from left, the simple ability to yell the word TURTLE over and over again is, it turns out, a crucial element of the responsible traveller's social skills.

(I am pretty fluent in Italian and turtles haven't come up in conversation even once?)

[sugume]

AITA FOR WHAT!? w/Jujutsu Kaisen

( TW ) f!reader, dark + explicit content, dubcon/noncon, blowjob, fingering, cheating, Suguru’s part will make more sense if you read Gojo’s, unrealistic anal, sex toys, coercion, spanking.

Featuring: Toji Fushiguro, Geto Suguru, Ryomen Sukuna (yes, again) 

an: part two (more like 1.5) because my other one got so much love and I wanted to write all my babies <3  This one is a LOT darker than the first one bc I love testing my limits. 

PART 1 

r/forcinghertosuckme posted by u/Toji_Fushiguro 

“W-what?” You stare at the man. “Suck me off right now or 'm going to throw you off the side of the mountain.” “Please--” “I’m not going to say it again girl, and I’m not swayed by begging.” He stares down at your shaking figure. You look at him and then behind you at the drop. You can’t even see the bottom. You wouldn’t survive that. You shake even harder. You have no choice you think as you drop down to your knees, you're so close to the edge that your feet dangle off the edge. “Pull it out, little girl.” The big man with dark hair who dragged you to the forest grunts out. Your hands are shaking as you unbuckle his pants and pull his pants down enough for his cock to jump out. You cry when you see the size of it, how are you going to suck something that huge. The tears you were holding in started to fall. “Enough with the tear's girl, they only make me harder—now put my cock into that pouty mouth, you don’t want me to put it in for you.”  You grab the base of his cock. Your hand doesn’t fully wrap around it. You bring your other hand up to fully cover his shaft. You start to move your hands up and down his shaft as you cry. “Use your fuckin’ mouth, feels like ‘m rubbing sandpaper on my dick with those dry hands. Get my cock wet.” He rolls his eyes, griping your chin with one hand, the other grabbing the back of your head. He pulls your mouth to his cock. “That’s it—no teeth or I'll shove you off the cliff with a mouth full of cum.”  Toji thrusts into your mouth, you take your hands off his shaft and hold onto his pants. He’s thrusting so hard you feel the rocks underneath you start to break off. You cry harder as you choke on his cock, trying to ignore the tingles in your pussy and the ache in your breast. 

r/fuckingmyfriendsgirl posted by u/Geto_Suguru 

You wake up to the feeling of fingers circling your clit. You smile and lean into your boyfriend's big chest. “Mm--Satoru,” You squirm when you feel light kisses on your shoulder. You lift your leg to his hip. He rubs your entrance before slipping two fingers into your wet cunt. You moan, his fingers feel thicker than normal, not as long. You chalk it up to your sleepy mind. “Want a kiss Toru,” You grind your ass into his cock as he finger fucks you. “Gimme a kiss baby.” You turn your head with puckered lips and freeze. Suguru grins from behind you. You gasp and try to pull away. He grabs your neck with his free hand, trapping you. “Stop! What are you doing Sugu, where's Toru?” You scream, twisting your head when he tries to kiss you. “No!” “Oh, don’t be like this y/n, don't act like you don’t cum on my cock every time Satoru is away on a trip.” The fingers on your jaw tighten and he bites your bottom lip. You struggle before you eventually give in. Satoru grins into the kiss, shoving his tongue into your mouth. You taste blood. “W-where’s Satoru?” You cry. “Out, went to go get you treats because you said you didn’t feel good.” He whispers into your mouth. Your heart clenches. He wanted to make you happy and you're here cumming on his best friend's fingers. “Stop Sugu, t-this isn’t right.” You moan when the hand inside you curls up into your G-spot. “Then maybe he shouldn’t have made us fuck that one time, it was like he was asking for this to happen.” 

r/slippingitinherass posted by u/Ryomen_Sukuna

“Look at this fucking ass,” Sukuna smirks as he watches you slam your hips down his cock. He smiles and twists the anal plug he coerced you to wear this morning. You whine. “Love this ass s’much.” He slaps your raw ass. You scream and grip the pillow. You wouldn't be surprised if after this is done your ass the busied and bloody. “I wanna fuck this ass,” he pulls the anal plug out of your ass “I am gonna fuck this ass.” He pulls his cock out of your pussy. You clench around nothing. “N-not today ‘Kuna. Put it back in my pussy.” You whine grinding back on his dick. He leans to grab you by the neck. “No, we're gonna do what I want, and I want to fuck your ass.” “But--” “No little one, you’re here to satisfy my needs now stay still or it’s going hurt.” He pushes your head into the pillow. You whine. “Good girl.” He straightens back up before grabbing his soaked cock and bringing the tip to your puckered ass. “W-what about lube ‘Ryo?” You swallow, tensing up when he starts to shove his cock in. “Gave you a chance to wear a bigger plug this morin’ but you wanted to be a crybaby ‘bout it. This is punishment.” He answers as he shoves another inch into you. You cry out into the pillow. “Now next time I tell you to do something you’ll know I'm doing it for your own good.”   

[amethystarachnid]

BET

⤷ JAMES B. “BUCKY” BARNES

ᯓ★ Pairing: James B. “Bucky” Barnes x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: romance, angst and fluff

ᯓ★ Request from: not requested but taken from MARVEL bingo

ᯓ★ Story type: one shot

ᯓ★ Word count: 10k (damn this surprises me too)

ᯓ★ Summary: When Bucky Barnes suddenly starts talking to you you don't think much of it and when he asks you out on a date you couldn't be happier, Bucky truly is everything you could ever want in a man, a man that really loves you...At least that's what you thought until you discovered that it was real all just a bet.

ᯓ★ TW(s): mentions of virginity and virginity loss, small mentions of a smut scene

ᯓ★ AU: college au

ᯓ★ Request: not requested

ᯓ★ Comment if you want to be added to the taglist (specify if you want the everything taglist or for a specific character)

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo (requests closed)

ᯓ★ Masterlist

ᯓ★ If you are a Charles Xavier fan click on this link!

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language and this isn’t proof read

The music is loud, pulsing through the walls of the frat house as Bucky sits slouched on a couch, one arm draped lazily over the back. The night is already wearing on him, but he knows he’s going to be here until Sam and Steve call it a night, which—based on the collection of red solo cups by their feet—might be a while.

They’re all trading stories from the semester, voices buzzing with that blend of laughter and cheap beer. Sam is in the middle of recounting his latest dare when he nudges Bucky’s arm, catching his attention.

“Bet you couldn’t last a month with someone like her,” Sam says, nodding toward the corner of the room.

Bucky glances up, following Sam’s gaze until he spots you. You’re perched near the bookshelf, alone and fidgeting with your drink as you flip through a book someone left behind. He’s seen you around campus before, usually with your nose buried in a novel or surrounded by a pile of textbooks. There’s something unassuming about you, something quiet and untouchable. His friends know he’s more the type to go for a party girl—someone loud, someone who doesn’t ask too many questions.

“What, the bookworm?” Bucky scoffs, raising an eyebrow. But his friends don’t let up, and soon Steve and Sam are egging him on.

“You’re always chasing the same type,” Steve chimes in. “What are you afraid of, that she’d actually challenge you?”

Bucky laughs, rolling his eyes. He knows he should shut it down, but their teasing digs at him, scratching at that competitive edge that’s always lurking just beneath his smirk.

“All right,” Bucky finally says, shrugging. “I’ll do it. One month.”

His friends exchange knowing grins, slapping him on the back. But as soon as the words leave his mouth, Bucky feels a strange knot settle low in his stomach—a feeling he’s not used to. He brushes it off. It’s just a game, a challenge. It’s not like he’s actually going to care.

The next day, you’re tucked into your usual corner in the library, surrounded by a fortress of books. You barely notice him when he walks up, leaning against the edge of the table with a casual confidence that doesn’t match the usual quiet of the space.

“Mind if I join you?” His voice is smooth, low enough that you almost have to lean in to hear him clearly.

You glance up, surprised to see Bucky Barnes standing there, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. You’ve seen him around campus—he’s hard to miss with that leather jacket and effortlessly messy hair, the type of guy who always has someone laughing beside him.

“Sure,” you murmur, unsure of what else to say as you move your books aside, offering him a seat. You’re used to people mostly ignoring you here. It’s your refuge, your sanctuary. So when he sits across from you, stretching out as if he belongs there, it feels jarringly out of place.

“You look like you’re buried in work,” he observes, nodding at the mountain of papers in front of you. “What’s got you so busy?”

You hesitate, but something in his easygoing manner convinces you to answer. “Just…assignments. Trying to keep up with everything.” You give him a small smile, your guard still up but feeling oddly curious.

“What’s your major?” he asks, and the question catches you off guard. Most people don’t bother to ask; they assume or don’t care enough to wonder. He listens as you talk about your studies, nodding, asking small questions. Before you know it, you’re telling him more than you intended, falling into an easy rhythm that surprises you.

It becomes a pattern. Over the next few weeks, he finds reasons to run into you—at the coffee shop, in the library, even in the quad between classes. Each time, he stays a little longer, asks a little more, his eyes holding yours with that subtle intensity he wears so well. At first, you’re wary, cautious of his attention. But Bucky is good, easing his way in like he has all the time in the world, his jokes and questions slowly weaving a thread of trust between you two.

And Bucky? He’s surprised at how much he finds himself drawn to you. Each time you laugh, he catches himself watching, feeling something strange and warm unfurl in his chest. There’s a gentleness in you, a quiet intelligence, that keeps him coming back even as he reminds himself this isn’t supposed to mean anything.

But the longer he spends time with you, the more he feels the weight of what he agreed to, creeping up on him every time he catches your smile, every time you look at him like he’s someone worth knowing.

He tells himself it’s just part of the bet. But deep down, he knows he’s starting to cross a line he never meant to touch.

It’s been a few weeks since Bucky started spending time with you, and against every reminder he gives himself, he’s found himself looking forward to it more than he wants to admit. He tells himself it’s harmless—he’s just getting to know you, just finding ways to pass the time. But he knows he’s lying, especially when he starts finding excuses to see you outside of the library or when he catches himself glancing at his phone, hoping for a text from you.

One night, back at the frat house, he’s lounging with Sam and Steve again, half-listening to their conversation when Sam nudges him.

“So, Barnes. How’s it going with the bookworm?” Sam asks with a knowing smirk. Bucky rolls his eyes, trying to brush it off, but Sam isn’t so easily deterred. “Don’t tell me you’re catching feelings.”

Bucky scoffs, forcing a laugh to keep the truth buried. “It’s going fine. Like I said, a month’s no problem.”

Sam exchanges a glance with Steve, a wicked grin spreading across his face. “Let’s make this interesting then. If you really want to win this thing, you’ve got to take it further.”

Bucky’s jaw clenches. “Further?” He has a bad feeling about where this is going.

Steve raises his eyebrows. “Come on, Buck. You’ve been hanging out with her, sure, but we’re talking about actually making her fall for you. Ask her out, and, you know—” He raises an eyebrow meaningfully.

“Sleep with her,” Sam adds bluntly, laughing. “Seal the deal, and there’s two hundred bucks in it for you.”

Bucky hesitates, that uncomfortable knot tightening in his stomach again. He tells himself it’s just a stupid bet. He’s done things like this before—gotten close to people just to prove he could, had plenty of meaningless hookups that never meant a thing. He’s Bucky Barnes, the guy who doesn’t do commitment or complications. But for some reason, picturing it with you makes him feel…off.

“Fine,” he says after a beat, his voice steady, betraying nothing of the uncertainty he’s trying to ignore. “Two hundred bucks. Done.”

The next day, he texts you, his fingers hovering over the keys a little too long before he finally sends, Hey, you free Friday? Let me take you out somewhere nice.

When you see his message, your heart skips a beat. It’s been a while since anyone has asked you on an actual date, and even longer since you’ve felt genuinely excited about someone. Bucky’s been different from the start—warm, attentive, and surprisingly easy to talk to. You’ve caught yourself looking forward to his company, replaying the moments he laughs at one of your jokes or leans in close enough for you to catch a hint of his cologne.

After a second, you type back, Yeah, I’d love to! You add a smiley face, feeling almost giddy as you press send.

The days leading up to Friday drag by, each one marked with bursts of nerves and anticipation. You spend a little more time getting ready than usual, finally deciding on a simple but pretty dress that makes you feel confident. When Bucky picks you up, his usual leather jacket replaced with a dark button-up, you feel a thrill of excitement. He looks genuinely happy to see you, his eyes scanning over you appreciatively as he gives you a lopsided grin.

“You look amazing,” he says, his gaze warm. There’s something softer in his eyes, something that makes you blush.

“Thanks,” you mumble, smiling as you walk beside him. He leads you to a small Italian place tucked away from campus, the kind of cozy, dimly lit restaurant you wouldn’t have expected him to know about. The conversation flows easily between you two, laughter spilling out as you talk about classes, hometowns, and childhood memories.

The night feels magical, almost surreal, and you start to wonder if maybe, just maybe, there’s something real here. Every time his hand brushes against yours, a spark shoots up your spine. And when he reaches across the table, fingers lightly grazing your wrist as he laughs at something you said, your heart flutters in a way that’s both thrilling and terrifying.

After dinner, he suggests taking a walk, and soon you���re strolling through the quiet streets, the chill of the night air making you shiver just slightly. Without a word, Bucky slips his arm around your shoulders, pulling you close. It feels so natural, like you belong there.

“You know, I don’t think I’ve ever been on a date this nice,” you admit, smiling up at him, your voice soft.

He chuckles, though it sounds slightly strained. “Really? I find that hard to believe.”

You shrug, trying to brush it off. “I guess I’ve just never…met anyone like you before.”

There’s a flash of something in his eyes—guilt, maybe, or regret. But it’s gone as quickly as it came, replaced with that charming grin. He steps closer, his arm slipping from your shoulders, and you hold your breath as he cups your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly against your skin.

“You’re pretty amazing, you know that?” he murmurs, his voice low.

You feel like the world has stopped, your heart pounding in your chest. This is the moment you’ve been dreaming of, the moment where everything finally falls into place.

But for Bucky, something sharp and painful twists inside him. He can feel the weight of what he’s doing pressing down on him, can see the way your eyes look at him with such unguarded trust, and it’s enough to make his stomach turn. He’s never felt guilty over a stupid bet before, but right now, the idea of hurting you feels unbearable.

“Hey,” he says softly, his hand still on your cheek. “You trust me, right?”

Your eyes widen, and you nod slowly, too caught up in the moment to notice the tension in his gaze. “Yeah,” you whisper, a small smile forming on your lips.

He leans in, pressing his forehead against yours as he takes a steadying breath. “Good,” he says, trying to keep his voice steady. Because if he’s going to go through with this, he tells himself he has to believe that none of it matters—that he won’t let himself care. But even as he kisses you, his lips soft and warm against yours, he knows he’s lying to himself.

The days after that first date drift into a series of moments that feel surreal, almost like they’re happening to someone else. You find yourself checking your phone at odd times, waiting for his texts, smiling down at your screen whenever his name lights up. Bucky is a part of your routine now, and it feels strange, thrilling even, like there’s this magnetic force that draws you to him despite every bit of caution you try to hold onto.

Every time you’re with him, the outside world fades. He makes you laugh with stories about his friends, leaning in close, his voice warm and low as if he’s sharing some secret just for you. You catch yourself stealing glances when he’s not looking—at the way his jaw clenches when he’s lost in thought or how his eyes soften when he looks at you, a mix of curiosity and something you can’t quite name.

It’s after one of your study sessions at the library that Bucky invites you over to his dorm room for the first time. He tells you he’s got some old movies you’ve probably never seen, and, honestly, he’s right—you’d never pictured Bucky as the type to own black-and-white classics, but that’s exactly what he has, a surprisingly large collection lined up on a low shelf near his TV. He insists you pick one, and soon you’re sitting side by side on his couch, your legs tucked up beneath you, feeling almost shy in the soft glow of the screen.

The movie starts, but his arm stretches along the back of the couch, barely brushing your shoulders. The faintest touch sends electricity through you, but you stay quiet, not wanting to ruin the moment. Then, halfway through the movie, he shifts, glancing at you.

“You can get closer, you know,” he murmurs, his eyes glinting with something mischievous yet gentle.

Your heart flutters as you scoot closer, until you’re tucked into his side, his arm draped around you in a way that feels possessive yet comforting. He smells faintly like cedar and something distinctly him, a scent that’s becoming familiar. Before you know it, your head is resting on his shoulder, his hand absently tracing patterns on your arm, and you feel like you could stay there forever.

Time slips by in a collection of small, perfect moments. There are more dates—little coffee shops tucked away from campus, a bookstore where he buys you a copy of a novel you mentioned in passing, a late-night diner where you both end up after laughing so hard that you can’t breathe. You never expected him to be so attentive, so eager to listen to your stories and learn every detail about your life. He even surprises you with your favorite snack on study nights, tossing it to you with a grin before leaning in close to steal a bite for himself.

One evening, after a long day of classes and a surprise text from Bucky inviting you over, you find yourself curled up on his couch once again. This time, he’s stretched out beside you, one arm tucked under his head while the other rests around your shoulders. His fingers brush against your arm absently, and you can’t help but notice how natural this feels. It’s terrifying, too, the way he seems to melt into your life so effortlessly, as if he’s always been there.

You glance up at him, catching him mid-laugh as he recounts an embarrassing story about Sam, who apparently tried to show off on a skateboard and ended up with a sprained ankle.

“You’re terrible,” you tease, nudging him with your shoulder, though you’re laughing too.

“Oh, come on. It was hilarious,” he insists, grinning down at you. He tilts his head, his gaze dropping to your lips for just a second, and your laughter fades as something shifts between you.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” you ask softly, your voice barely more than a whisper.

He shrugs, the corner of his mouth twitching in a faint smile. “I just…can’t believe you’re real sometimes.”

The words catch you off guard, and for a moment, you’re too stunned to reply. But then he leans down, his lips brushing yours with a tenderness that makes your chest ache. The kiss deepens slowly, each touch feeling like a promise, and you lose yourself in the warmth of his embrace, forgetting every doubt, every insecurity that ever kept you guarded.

As the weeks pass, you find yourself falling harder than you ever expected. Bucky seems to find every crack in your armor, every scar and hidden fear, and instead of pulling away, he draws closer, listening to your stories and letting you into his own in ways that leave you breathless. He’s there to listen on your tough days, wrapping his arms around you and murmuring words of reassurance. He’s there on your good days, too, laughing with you, pressing kisses to your forehead as if he can’t believe his luck.

One night, you’re back on his couch, cuddled up under a thick blanket as a storm rages outside, the rain tapping against the windows. You’re nestled against him, his arm holding you close, and he’s quiet, his fingers tracing patterns along your shoulder absentmindedly.

“Bucky?” you ask, breaking the comfortable silence.

“Hmm?” he murmurs, his gaze dropping to yours, his eyes soft and warm in the dim light.

“Thank you,” you say, your voice barely a whisper. “For everything.”

He frowns slightly, shifting so he can look at you fully. “You don’t have to thank me for that,” he says, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “Being with you…it’s the easiest thing in the world.”

You smile, warmth spreading through your chest, and he kisses you again, slow and soft, like he’s savoring every second. It’s moments like this that make you feel like maybe, just maybe, you’re finally safe with someone, that this is something real.

But for Bucky, each moment with you is a double-edged sword. He’s never felt this way before—this calm, this…connected. Every time you laugh at one of his jokes or lean against him, trusting and unguarded, he feels that awful twist of guilt, the memory of that stupid bet lurking in the back of his mind.

He’s supposed to ask for more. That’s what Sam and Steve were expecting, weren’t they? They wanted him to win the bet, to seal the deal and prove he could pull this off. But every time he thinks about going further, about pushing this relationship into a place where he can’t turn back, he feels that nagging ache, that quiet, gnawing feeling that he’s crossing a line he can’t uncross.

He knows he needs to tell you. He needs to come clean, but every time he opens his mouth, the words get stuck in his throat. You look at him with those bright, trusting eyes, and he can’t bring himself to shatter the way you see him. So he holds his silence, hoping that somehow, he can bury the truth forever, that maybe you’ll never have to know.

One evening, as you’re lying together on his couch, you let out a contented sigh, resting your head on his chest as his hand traces lazy patterns along your back.

“Bucky?” you whisper, your voice soft.

He glances down at you, his fingers pausing as he meets your gaze. “Yeah?”

You hesitate, then take a steadying breath. “I…I think I’m falling for you.”

The words hang in the air, vulnerable and open, and for a second, his face goes still, his eyes widening just slightly. Then, his expression softens, and he tightens his arms around you, his hand coming up to cup your cheek.

“You have no idea how much that means to me,” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. But as he kisses you, the warmth of his touch hiding the flicker of guilt behind his eyes, a single thought haunts him.

She deserves the truth.

That night, Bucky barely sleeps, lying awake with the knowledge that he’s in far too deep to ever come out of this unscathed. Every soft breath you take beside him reminds him of how much he’s risking by staying silent. He knows he has to tell you, but he’s terrified—terrified that this fragile, beautiful thing you’ve built together will shatter, that you’ll look at him with betrayal instead of trust.

In the morning, he makes a decision. He’ll find a way to tell you, he promises himself, but he wants one more day, one more memory before he risks everything. Just one last perfect day where he can pretend that none of it was ever a lie.

So he takes you out, leading you down to the pier just as the sun begins to set, casting the sky in hues of pink and gold. You laugh, leaning into him, and he wraps his arms around you from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder.

“It’s beautiful,” you murmur, watching the waves lap against the shore.

“Yeah,” he replies, his voice soft. “It is.”

But as he stands there, holding you close, he knows that the beauty of this moment is fleeting, that the truth waiting in his chest is too big to ignore. And tonight, when he finally gathers the courage to tell you, he knows there’s a chance he’ll lose you forever. But for now, he lets himself savor this last quiet moment, memorizing the feeling of you in his arms, the warmth of your laughter as it fills the air.

For now, he holds onto the hope that maybe, somehow, you’ll understand.

The sunset fades, leaving the world painted in muted purples and blues, but neither of you seem ready to break away from each other. Bucky holds you close, feeling the steady rhythm of your breath against his chest as if it’s his own. He knows he should say something—that he needs to say something—but the words seem so impossible now, tangled up in his chest. The truth would ruin this moment, shatter whatever he’s built with you. And so, he tells himself it can wait just a little longer.

As the evening slips into night, Bucky leads you back to his dorm room, his hand intertwined with yours. You can feel the heat of his palm, the way his fingers wrap around yours as if he never wants to let go. The air feels charged, every touch electric, each shared glance simmering with something that feels fragile and exhilarating. Neither of you says much, as though speaking would break the quiet spell between you.

Once you’re inside, Bucky hesitates. He turns to you, his expression vulnerable, softer than you’ve ever seen it. "You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing against the back of your hand.

“I want to,” you say, the words escaping before you can even think. There’s no hesitation in your voice, only a gentle certainty that makes his chest tighten. The way you look at him, so open and trusting, makes his heart ache with a mix of guilt and longing.

Bucky’s eyes search yours, lingering for a moment that stretches into forever. He reaches up, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear before his fingers trail down to your jaw, cradling your face as if you’re something fragile and precious. Slowly, he leans down, capturing your lips in a kiss that’s softer than any before. It’s unhurried, tender, as if he’s savoring every second.

The kiss deepens, and you can feel yourself melting into him, your heart pounding so hard you think it might burst. His hands move to your waist, steady and grounding, and he pulls you closer until there’s no space left between you. You can feel the strength of him, the warmth radiating through his clothes, and it makes your head spin.

Before long, you find yourselves tangled together on his bed, the world outside fading into nothingness. Each kiss is deeper than the last, each touch laced with a longing neither of you can deny. There’s a gentleness to Bucky’s movements, a quiet patience as he explores the curve of your shoulder, the softness of your waist, as if he’s memorizing every inch of you. He’s slow and careful, constantly looking at you as if to make sure this is what you want.

“Are you okay?” he whispers, his voice rough with barely-contained emotion.

You nod, feeling breathless but certain. “I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

His eyes darken, filled with a tenderness that makes your chest ache, and then he’s kissing you again, deeper this time, his hands skimming over your skin with a reverence that leaves you feeling cherished. You lose track of time, surrendering to the way he makes you feel—safe, wanted, like you’re the only thing in the world that matters.

When you finally fall back against the bed, your bodies wrapped around each other, you’re exhausted yet filled with a warmth that feels all-encompassing. The reality of what just happened settles in, but instead of feeling nervous, you feel at peace, secure in the quiet intimacy that has grown between you.

Bucky shifts beside you, pulling you closer until your head rests against his chest, his arm draped protectively around your shoulders. The steady thump of his heartbeat lulls you into a peaceful daze, and you feel his fingers trace small circles on your back, soothing and grounding.

You’re both quiet for a long time, the silence comfortable as you bask in each other’s presence. Eventually, though, you feel a need to tell him something you’ve been holding back, something you hadn’t planned on revealing but that feels right to share in this moment.

“Bucky,” you begin softly, lifting your head to look at him. He gazes down at you, his eyes warm and attentive, as if you’re the only thing he sees. “I…I want you to know that this was my first time.”

The words hang in the air, and for a moment, you’re afraid he’ll pull away, that he’ll think you were too inexperienced or that you should have told him sooner. But he doesn’t flinch or hesitate. His hand moves up to gently cradle your cheek, his thumb brushing softly against your skin.

“Your first?” he echoes, his voice filled with a mixture of surprise and something that sounds almost like reverence.

You nod, feeling your cheeks heat as you look down, suddenly self-conscious. “Yeah…I wanted it to be with someone who made me feel safe. Someone I trusted.”

Bucky’s chest rises and falls slowly as he takes this in, his expression softening. He seems almost humbled, like he’s just been given something rare and delicate. He leans down, pressing a kiss to your forehead before resting his own against yours.

“You have no idea how much that means to me,” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. There’s a vulnerability in his gaze, as if he’s holding back a hundred things he wants to say but can’t find the words for.

You smile, the last traces of your nervousness melting away. “Thank you, Bucky…for making it so special.”

He pulls you close, wrapping his arms around you like he’s afraid to let you go. “I’d do anything to make you feel special,” he whispers, his breath warm against your skin.

You nestle into his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, feeling safe and cherished in a way you never have before. And as you lie there, drifting between sleep and wakefulness, you wonder if this is what it feels like to be truly, deeply in love.

But as you fall asleep in his arms, Bucky lies awake, his heart heavy with the weight of everything he’s kept from you. He knows he should be content, that he should just let himself savor this night and the closeness you’ve shared. But the memory of that stupid, careless bet gnaws at him, a dark cloud looming over everything.

He runs a hand through his hair, staring up at the ceiling, feeling torn between the desire to protect you from the truth and the fear that he’s already crossed a line he can’t uncross. The realization that you trusted him enough to give him something so deeply personal makes the weight of his lie even heavier, almost unbearable. He swallows hard, tightening his hold on you as he resolves to tell you the truth—soon, somehow, even if it means risking everything.

But tonight, he lets himself stay silent. He closes his eyes, breathing in the scent of your hair, the warmth of your body against his, and allows himself to believe, if only for a moment, that this can last.

The morning sunlight filters softly through the blinds, casting warm, golden patterns across the bed. You stir beside him, your movements gentle as you wake up, and Bucky watches you with a quiet awe, his heart racing as he takes in the peaceful expression on your face. For a moment, it feels like he’s exactly where he’s meant to be.

You blink up at him, your face lighting up with a sleepy smile that makes his chest tighten.

“Good morning,” you murmur, your voice soft and a little shy, as if the night is still too fresh, too beautiful to fully believe.

He grins, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Morning,” he replies, his voice low and warm. His fingers trail down to your hand, giving it a gentle squeeze, and you squeeze back, a shared moment of silent understanding passing between you.

The morning stretches on in a gentle haze of quiet touches and soft words. Bucky makes you coffee, insisting you stay curled up under his blanket while he brings it over to you, and you laugh, watching him with a mix of affection and disbelief. This side of him—the playful, thoughtful side—is something you never expected to see, and it makes you fall for him even harder.

You’re both lounging on his bed, your legs tangled together, talking in low voices about everything and nothing. He tells you stories about his childhood, tales about him and Steve getting into trouble, and you share your own memories, laughing as he reacts with wide eyes and exaggerated shock.

It feels so real, so natural, that you almost forget about everything outside this room, about the possibility that this could be something fleeting. You feel like you’ve found a place that’s safe, a person who makes you feel more like yourself than you ever have before.

But in the quiet moments, when you catch him staring at you with that far-off look, you wonder if there’s something he’s not telling you, a hesitation lurking behind his gaze. You don’t press, not wanting to shatter the peace between you. But part of you wonders if you’re seeing a glimpse of something deeper, something you’re not yet ready to confront.

As you leave his dorm room later that morning, he kisses you softly, lingering as if he’s trying to memorize the taste of your lips, the feel of your hand in his. There’s an unspoken promise in his touch, a silent assurance that this isn’t the end.

Later that afternoon, you make your way back to the frat house, humming softly as you climb the steps to Bucky's door. You left your notebook there, a little blue book you’re pretty sure you’ll need for your upcoming assignment. You barely slept last night, too caught up in the warmth of his touch, the memory of his whispered words that lingered long after you left his dorm this morning. You’re nervous, too; you feel so much for him that it scares you.

As you approach his room, laughter drifts out into the hallway, low voices filtering through the partially open door. You recognize Bucky’s laugh, the familiar sound stirring warmth in your chest, but the laughter feels different, carefree and loud. And then you hear a familiar voice—Sam’s—cutting through, low and joking.

"Guess she fell for it pretty hard, huh?" Sam’s voice sounds amused, lighthearted, as if he’s talking about something trivial.

You freeze, your hand hovering inches from the door. Something about his tone makes you hesitate, a strange, unsettling feeling creeping into your chest.

"Come on, Bucky," Sam presses, “don’t act all innocent now. I saw you this morning, looking like you just won the lottery.” You can hear the grin in his voice, a laugh bubbling beneath it. “So? How was it?”

Bucky laughs, the sound uncomfortable, but he doesn’t argue. “Yeah, yeah,” he says, his voice casual, light. “It was… good.”

You feel a stab in your chest, a faint panic that tells you to leave, to walk away before you hear any more. But your feet don’t move, and you find yourself listening, every word driving another splinter into your heart.

Steve’s voice joins in, chuckling. “Well, you earned it, man. She had no clue, huh?”

“No clue,” Bucky murmurs, his voice softer now, almost unreadable. You can picture him there, maybe rubbing the back of his neck the way he does when he’s nervous. But the words are there, undeniable.

Sam laughs again, louder this time. “And hey, bet’s a bet,” he says, and then there’s a pause before you hear the unmistakable rustling of bills being exchanged. “Two hundred dollars, as promised. Can’t say you didn’t earn it, though—you even managed to get her into bed. Didn’t think you had it in you, but here we are!”

Your vision blurs, the words echoing in your mind, distorting into something raw and jagged. Every affectionate touch, every gentle kiss, every whispered promise from the past few weeks twists into something ugly, something unrecognizable. You feel sick, the image of Bucky’s earnest smile, his soft words about wanting to make you feel special, tainted beyond repair. Everything you felt for him, the trust you’d handed him so freely, crumbles beneath the weight of their laughter.

Slowly, you turn and leave, gripping the strap of your bag tightly as you make your way out of the frat house. You don’t let yourself cry, not yet, not when you still feel the echo of his betrayal throbbing in your chest, too raw, too painful to acknowledge fully.

Hours later, you’re back in your dorm room, your heart aching as you sit in silence, the truth settling over you in waves. Part of you wants to believe it was a misunderstanding, that maybe there’s an explanation you’re missing. But the memory of their laughter, the casual way Sam handed him that money, makes the truth impossible to ignore.

A knock on your door interrupts your thoughts, and your heart skips a beat as you hear Bucky’s voice calling your name softly from the hallway. It’s just him now, his voice hesitant, almost as if he senses that something’s wrong. You take a steadying breath, steeling yourself before you answer the door.

When you open it, Bucky’s eyes light up, and he steps forward, a soft smile on his face as he reaches for your hand. “Hey, you,” he murmurs, his voice warm. But when he sees the look on your face, he pauses, his smile fading. “What’s wrong?”

For a moment, you can’t bring yourself to speak. You can only look at him, trying to reconcile the gentle, caring person you thought you knew with the man who took a bet to seduce you. You pull your hand away from his, ignoring the confusion in his gaze as he watches you.

“Were you even going to tell me?” Your voice comes out quieter than you intended, a dull ache threading through every word. “Or were you just going to take the money and pretend it never happened?”

Bucky blinks, his brow furrowing in confusion. “Tell you what? I—I don’t understand.”

A bitter laugh escapes your lips, and you look away, wrapping your arms around yourself as if it’ll keep you from falling apart. “Don’t play dumb, Bucky. I heard you. I was at the frat house earlier, and I heard everything.”

He freezes, his face going pale, and you see the truth in his eyes, clear as day. He opens his mouth, stumbling over his words. “Y/N, I—I didn’t… I didn’t mean for you to find out like this.”

The admission twists the knife deeper, and you feel yourself trembling as you look back at him, tears stinging your eyes. “So, it’s true, then? All of it? This whole… this whole thing was just for some stupid bet?”

He reaches for you, his expression desperate, his hands hovering just inches from your arms. “Y/N, please. Just let me explain. It wasn’t like that, I swear. It started that way, but then… then it became real. I fell for you, okay? Everything we did, everything we shared—it was real.”

You shake your head, pulling away from him, the anger and betrayal simmering beneath the surface. “Real? You think that makes this okay? Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” Your voice breaks, and a tear slips down your cheek before you can stop it. “I trusted you, Bucky. I thought… I thought you cared about me.”

His face crumples, and he takes a step closer, his hand reaching out as if to wipe away the tear on your cheek. “I do care about you. More than anything, Y/N. That’s why I wanted to tell you, I just—”

“Wanted to tell me?” you interrupt, your voice shaking. “When, Bucky? After you cashed in your winnings? After I found out on my own?”

The silence stretches between you, heavy and unbearable, and Bucky’s shoulders sag as he looks away, guilt etched deeply into his face.

“Do you even realize how humiliating this is?” you continue, your voice a mixture of anger and heartbreak. “I trusted you with something… something I’d never given anyone. And the whole time, it was just part of a game to you.”

His eyes snap back to yours, filled with anguish, his voice barely a whisper. “It was never just a game, not after the first night. I swear, Y/N, I was going to tell you everything. I just… I didn’t want to lose you.”

“You didn’t want to lose me?” you repeat, laughing bitterly. “You lost me the moment you made that bet. You had no right to… to play with me like that, to make me believe that any of it was real.”

He looks at you, his blue eyes full of desperation, his voice breaking. “Y/N, please. I know I messed up. I know I hurt you, but I need you to believe me when I say I never meant for any of this to happen.”

“Just stop,” you whisper, the weight of it all crashing over you. “You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to make me feel sorry for you when you’re the one who lied.”

Bucky’s face falls, and he drops his gaze, his shoulders slumping in defeat. “I know. I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness. But please, just… give me a chance to make it right.”

Your heart aches, torn between the memories of every gentle touch, every whispered word, and the undeniable truth of his betrayal. Part of you wants to believe him, wants to believe that somewhere in all of this, there was something real. But the pain is too deep, the wound too fresh, and you don’t know if you can ever look at him the same way again.

“I can’t do this,” you say, your voice barely more than a whisper. “I can’t just forget what you did. You hurt me, Bucky. And right now, I don’t even know who you are anymore.”

He flinches, as if your words physically hurt him, and he nods slowly, a look of resignation in his eyes. “I understand. I’ll… I’ll leave, if that’s what you want.”

You nod, wrapping your arms around yourself as he takes a step back, his gaze lingering on you one last time before he turns and walks toward the door. Just as he reaches it, he pauses, his hand resting on the doorknob as he glances back at you, his voice soft, broken.

“For what it’s worth, Y/N… I love you. I know I don’t deserve to say that, but it’s the truth.”

You don’t reply, staring at him with tear-filled eyes as he finally steps out of your dorm, the door closing softly behind him. The silence that follows is deafening, and you sink to the floor, the weight of everything crashing down as you realize that the person you thought you loved never truly existed.

The days blur together in a haze of heartbreak and emptiness. You go through the motions, attending classes, completing assignments, and showing up to study groups, but it all feels mechanical, like you’re on autopilot. It’s as if something inside you has shut down, leaving only an echo of who you were before you met him, before he became the center of your world.

It doesn’t take long for your friends to notice the change. They ask if you’re okay, if something happened, if maybe you just need a break. But you give them the same answer each time—a nod, a small smile, and an assurance that you’re just tired. It’s easier than explaining the mess of emotions tangled inside you, the hurt that seems too big to fit into words.

Late at night, lying alone in your dorm room, you can still feel the warmth of his arms around you, the softness of his voice in the quiet hours when he’d whisper promises you thought would last forever. The memory feels cruel now, tainted by the knowledge that it was all built on a lie. And yet, despite everything, you miss him. You hate yourself for it, but you miss the way he looked at you, the way he made you feel safe, special, as if you were the only person in the world who mattered.

Bucky isn’t doing any better. In fact, he’s a mess. Days have passed, but the guilt, the emptiness—it lingers, gnawing at him, refusing to let him move on. He can barely sleep, haunted by the look in your eyes, the betrayal, the hurt he put there. Every time he closes his eyes, he sees you, hears the way your voice cracked when you told him you didn’t know who he was anymore. And the worst part is, he doesn’t blame you. He knows he did this, that he ruined everything, and now he has to live with the consequences.

Sam and Steve notice almost immediately. Bucky, the confident, charming guy they’d known for years, looks hollow, as if he’s carrying a weight he can’t shake. He barely speaks, keeps to himself, and they rarely see him at the frat house anymore. Instead, he spends most of his time shut up in his dorm, a shadow of the person he used to be.

One evening, as the sun dips below the horizon, Sam and Steve exchange a glance, silently agreeing that they need to intervene. They knock on his door, and when he doesn’t answer, Sam pushes it open, finding him lying on his bed, staring blankly at the ceiling.

“Hey, man,” Sam says, stepping inside. Steve follows, closing the door behind them as they both approach Bucky’s bed.

Bucky doesn’t react right away, his gaze still fixed on the ceiling. But eventually, he sits up, running a hand through his hair, looking exhausted and defeated.

“What’s up, guys?” he mumbles, though his voice lacks any real curiosity.

“We should be asking you that,” Steve says, his tone softer than usual. “You haven’t been yourself lately. Ever since things ended with Y/N, it’s like… you’re a completely different person.”

At the sound of your name, Bucky’s face falls, and he lets out a long, shaky breath. “Yeah,” he says quietly, almost to himself. “That’s because I am.”

Sam frowns, studying Bucky’s expression, the guilt etched into every line of his face. “Look, man, we didn’t mean for things to get this serious. But if you cared about her, really cared… why didn’t you just tell her the truth from the start?”

Bucky shakes his head, his hands gripping the edge of the bed so tightly his knuckles turn white. “I don’t know,” he whispers, his voice breaking. “I was scared, I guess. I knew I’d screwed up, and every time I tried to tell her, I just… couldn’t. I thought I could fix things, somehow, make it up to her without her ever finding out.” He lets out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “Stupid, right?”

Steve sighs, sitting beside him on the bed. “Not stupid, just… a mistake. A big one, yeah, but you’re not the first guy to mess up. You’re just… Bucky, this isn’t like you. I’ve never seen you like this over anyone before.”

Bucky looks away, a sad smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “That’s because I’ve never felt this way before. Not like this. I love her, Steve. And I threw it all away over some stupid bet that meant nothing. I hurt her in ways I can’t even fix.”

Sam places a hand on his shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze. “So what are you gonna do about it? You can’t just sit here, wallowing. If she meant that much to you, then maybe you owe it to her—and to yourself—to try and make it right.”

Bucky laughs, but it’s empty, hollow. “And how am I supposed to do that, Sam? She told me herself she doesn’t know who I am. She doesn’t trust me. I don’t deserve another chance.”

Steve exchanges a look with Sam, and then he says, “Maybe. But you can’t just give up without trying. If you really love her, Bucky, you have to prove it. Show her that you’re not just the guy who hurt her, that you’re willing to fight for her. And if she doesn’t take you back… at least you’ll know you tried.”

Bucky sighs, leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he stares at the floor. “I don’t know if she’ll ever forgive me. I don’t even know if I deserve it.”

Sam crosses his arms, his expression softening. “Look, man, I get that you’re hurting. But don’t you think she’s hurting, too? She’s probably out there feeling just as broken, wondering if anything between you was ever real.”

Bucky swallows hard, his chest tightening at the thought. He knows you’re hurting, knows you trusted him with something precious, something he didn’t deserve. And knowing that he’s the reason for your pain… it’s a feeling he wouldn’t wish on anyone.

Over the next few days, Bucky wrestles with himself, caught between the fear of making things worse and the desire to show you that he’s truly sorry, that he wants to be the man you thought he was. He writes and rewrites texts he never sends, shows up outside your dorm but never works up the courage to knock. He’s terrified, but he can’t ignore the way his heart aches for you, the empty, gnawing feeling that only seems to grow with each passing day.

Finally, he decides to try one last time. He doesn’t know if you’ll listen, doesn’t know if you’ll even give him a chance. But he has to try—to give you the truth, no matter how painful it might be.

And so, as the evening sun begins to dip below the horizon, casting a warm, golden glow over campus, Bucky finds himself standing outside your dorm, his heart pounding as he gathers the courage to knock. He knows this is his last chance, that this is the moment that will decide everything. And he only hopes, as he takes a deep breath and raises his hand to the door, that you’ll give him the chance to show you that he’s not the man who hurt you—that he’s ready to fight for you, no matter what it takes.

The knock on your door is soft, almost hesitant, but it’s enough to pull you from your thoughts. You’ve been lying on your bed, staring at the ceiling, trying to find the strength to move forward, to somehow patch yourself up after everything that happened. When you open the door, you see him standing there, his eyes filled with an uncertainty that’s almost heartbreaking. He’s gripping a small notebook in his hands—your notebook, the one you left in his room—and his gaze is fixed on you with a desperation you’ve never seen before.

“Hi,” he says quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.

You don’t reply right away, the sight of him dredging up the familiar ache in your chest. Part of you wants to slam the door and hide, to keep yourself safe from any more hurt. But you don’t. Instead, you meet his gaze, forcing yourself to remain steady.

“Hi,” you reply, your voice guarded.

He shifts on his feet, glancing down at the notebook before offering it to you. “I, uh… you left this. Thought you might need it.”

You take it from him, feeling the familiar weight of it in your hands. “Thanks.”

A heavy silence hangs between you, one that neither of you seems willing to break. Bucky swallows, his face creased with an anxious, uncertain look that makes him seem vulnerable in a way you’ve never seen before.

“Can we… can we talk?” he asks, his voice almost pleading. “Please. I know I don’t deserve it, but I just need to say a few things. If you don’t want to listen, I’ll understand, and I’ll leave you alone. I just… I need you to know the truth.”

You hesitate, but finally, you nod, stepping back to let him into your room. He steps inside, closing the door softly behind him, and takes a seat in the small chair by your desk while you remain standing, arms crossed protectively over your chest.

For a moment, he just looks at you, his gaze heavy with regret. Then he sighs, running a hand through his hair.

“I know you have every right to hate me,” he starts, his voice barely steady. “I know I messed up in ways I can’t even fix. And I know… I know what I did was horrible. I just—” He swallows, his throat tight. “I just need you to know that it wasn’t all a lie. When we started this… when we first got close, I didn’t expect any of this to happen. I didn’t think I’d feel the way I did.”

You look down, his words stirring a fresh wave of pain in your chest. “But it was a bet, Bucky,” you murmur, your voice trembling. “You… you did all of that just to win some money. To you, it was just a game.”

He flinches, guilt flashing in his eyes, and he nods. “I know. I won’t make excuses for it—I was stupid, and I hurt you. But somewhere along the way, it stopped being about the bet. It stopped being a game. And I started… I started caring about you, more than I’ve ever cared about anyone.”

You feel tears prickling at the corners of your eyes, but you force yourself to keep your voice steady. “Then why didn’t you just tell me the truth?”

He sighs, running a hand through his hair again, his expression tortured. “Because I was scared. I was terrified that you’d look at me the way you’re looking at me now, that I’d lose you. I know that doesn’t make it better, but it’s the truth. I tried to find the right time, tried to find the right words, but I kept putting it off, thinking maybe… maybe I could make it up to you before you ever found out.” He looks down, his voice breaking. “But that was stupid. I should’ve just been honest with you from the start.”

You take a shaky breath, feeling the full weight of everything he’s saying. Part of you wants to believe him, wants to forgive him, but the wound he left is still fresh, still raw. “I trusted you, Bucky,” you whisper, your voice barely audible. “I thought… I thought what we had was real.”

He looks up at you, his eyes filled with a desperate sincerity that takes you off guard. “It was real. For me, it was real. And I know that doesn’t change anything, but I need you to know that. I never meant to hurt you, and I’ll spend as long as it takes to make it up to you if you’ll let me.”

You study him for a long moment, searching his face, trying to find some indication of sincerity, something to show that he’s truly sorry. And when you see the remorse in his eyes, the sadness that mirrors your own, you feel something in your chest soften, just slightly.

“Bucky,” you begin softly, forcing yourself to stay strong, “I can’t just go back to how things were. I can’t pretend this didn’t happen. You hurt me more than anyone ever has, and it’s going to take time for me to get past that.”

He nods, his expression resigned, but he doesn’t look away. “I understand. And I don’t expect you to forgive me right away. I just… I just want the chance to prove to you that I’m more than the guy who hurt you. Even if we can’t go back, I want to be there for you, even if it’s just as a friend.”

You let his words sink in, feeling a flicker of hope amidst the ache in your heart. Part of you still longs for what you had, for the closeness you shared, but you know that you can’t rush back into it. If Bucky truly wants a second chance, he’ll have to earn it, piece by piece, day by day.

“Maybe…” You hesitate, feeling vulnerable but determined. “Maybe we can start as friends. Just… friends. No promises, no expectations. If you’re willing to do that, to rebuild things from the ground up… then maybe, someday, I’ll be able to trust you again.”

Relief floods his face, and he nods, a small, hopeful smile tugging at his lips. “I’ll take that. Anything you’re willing to give, I’ll take it. I’ll prove to you that I can be better. I’ll prove that I’m worth your trust.”

You give him a tentative smile, and for the first time in days, you feel a flicker of hope. It’s small and fragile, but it’s enough to remind you that maybe healing is possible.

Over the next few weeks, Bucky becomes a constant but careful presence in your life. He shows up when you need help with an assignment, offers a listening ear when you need to vent about a long day, and joins you for coffee on campus, keeping the conversation light and easy. He respects your boundaries, never pushing for more, never expecting anything beyond friendship. You’re surprised at how attentive he is, how willing he is to wait, to prove that he’s serious about making things right.

Slowly, the walls around your heart begin to crack. You start to feel comfortable with him again, to let your guard down, if only a little. You catch him glancing at you sometimes, a soft, almost wistful look in his eyes, as if he’s seeing something precious he thought he’d lost forever. It’s in these moments that you remember why you fell for him in the first place, why his smile used to make your heart race, why his touch felt like home.

One day, as you’re both sitting on a bench by the campus pond, he turns to you, a hesitant smile on his face. “I know we’re just friends right now, and I’m okay with that. But I want you to know that I’m grateful for every moment I get to spend with you, even if it’s just like this.”

You feel a warmth spread through you, a sense of peace you haven’t felt in a long time. “Thank you, Bucky,” you say softly. “For not giving up. For being patient with me.”

He reaches out, hesitating for a moment before resting his hand on yours, his touch warm and steady. “I’ll wait as long as it takes. I’ll prove to you that I’m here for you, no matter what.”

And as you look into his eyes, you feel a flicker of something you thought was lost—a tentative, fragile hope that maybe things could be different this time. That he could truly be the person he’s trying to be, the person you wanted him to be all along. And though you know there’s a long road ahead, you’re finally willing to take that first step with him, trusting that maybe, this time, he won’t let you down.

The night is alive with music and laughter as you step into the crowded frat house. It’s your first time back here since everything happened, and you can’t deny the nervous flutter in your stomach as you take in the familiar scene. But tonight feels different—Bucky is by your side, watching you with a gentle smile as he guides you through the chaos of people, his hand warm and steady on your arm.

Over the past few weeks, things between you and Bucky have been slowly mending. He’s proven himself time and time again, showing up when it mattered, respecting your boundaries, and never pressuring you for more than you were willing to give. He’s become someone you can lean on, someone who’s earned back your trust bit by bit. And, to your own surprise, you feel something new blossoming between you—something deeper, stronger, and more genuine than before.

When you reach the main room, you spot Sam and Steve near the keg, both of them giving you a thumbs-up as soon as they see you with Bucky. You laugh, rolling your eyes, but Bucky just grins, shrugging as if to say, They’re harmless.

“Glad you came tonight,” he says, leaning closer so you can hear him over the noise. “I was worried you might skip.”

You shrug, glancing up at him. “Well, I figured it was about time I faced the frat house again.”

He chuckles, a warm, rich sound that sends a spark of something familiar through you. It’s the same feeling you used to get when you first met, when you were just getting to know him, before anything got complicated. Only now, it feels even better—because you’re finally on solid ground with him, without secrets or lies standing between you.

As the night goes on, you find yourself enjoying the party, laughing with friends, and even dancing a bit. Bucky stays close, his presence a comforting, steady anchor amidst the noise and chaos. He’s attentive, offering you drinks and glancing over every so often to make sure you’re comfortable. And every time you catch his gaze, you feel your heart race just a little faster.

At one point, as you’re talking with a friend, you feel Bucky’s hand gently touch your arm, and he leans in close, his voice soft and intimate against your ear. “Want to get some air?”

You nod, letting him lead you through the throngs of people until you step out onto the back porch. The cool night air is a welcome relief from the warmth inside, and you breathe deeply, taking in the quiet calm of the evening. Bucky leans against the railing, watching you with a soft, almost nervous smile, his hands tucked into his pockets.

“I’ve been wanting to tell you something,” he begins, his voice low and steady, as if he’s thought about this moment a thousand times. “I know we’ve been rebuilding things, and I know you wanted to take it slow. But, Y/N… being with you these past few weeks, even just as friends, has been everything to me. And I can’t stop thinking about you. About us.”

Your heart stirs at his words, and you feel a warmth spread through you, a sense of longing that’s been building quietly since the day he asked for a second chance.

“Bucky,” you say softly, stepping a little closer. “I… I feel the same. It’s been hard, letting go of the past. But I think—no, I know—I’ve forgiven you. You’ve shown me who you really are, and… I like that person.”

His eyes brighten at your words, and he reaches out, his hand brushing your cheek as his thumb strokes gently across your skin. He leans closer, his gaze searching your face as if to make sure you’re truly ready for this.

“Can I kiss you?” he whispers, his voice barely audible in the quiet night air.

You feel your heart skip a beat, and you give him a small, almost shy nod, your pulse racing as he leans in, closing the distance between you. The moment his lips meet yours, it’s like the world melts away, leaving only the warmth of his touch, the softness of his mouth against yours. It’s gentle at first, tentative, as if he’s afraid of breaking the spell. But as you respond, his hand slips to the back of your neck, pulling you a little closer, deepening the kiss with a quiet, aching intensity.

When you finally pull away, he rests his forehead against yours, both of you catching your breath, sharing a smile that’s equal parts relief and joy.

“Y/N,” he murmurs, his voice full of warmth, “I promise, I’m not going to mess this up again. I want this with you—for real, no games.”

You smile, reaching up to run a hand through his hair. “Good, because you’re stuck with me now.”

He laughs, pulling you into a tight hug, and you bury your face in his shoulder, feeling a happiness you haven’t felt in a long time. You’re finally ready to move forward with him, to start fresh, knowing that this time, it’s real.

maybe I should've made it more angsty? I love angst, request angst people! lol