#but also if I cut it and decide it’s not for me…. it will take years to grow back to its current length

[felassan]

David Gaider on Fenris, under a cut for length:

"Fenris. Now, DA2 is a story all on its own but I'm not going to go there other than to sum it up as "we had just over a year and a half to make this". It's why I only wrote one follower, Fenris, and although it'll make his fans mad: I probably shouldn't have. Let me explain. The way we'd approach making the followers is brainstorming a list of concepts covering first the array of gameplay classes (and sub-classes) and then making sure they each have some skin in the game when it came to the story's conflicts - ideally having characters on both sides of the major ones. Why? You can't make a player care about the world, but you can make them care about characters who care about the world. It's the easiest way to provide hooks into a conflict, outside of it knocking on the player's door. Heck, it's probably better than that. Players will burn the world for approval. After that, we'd decide things like romances/sexuality. Then the writers would pick who they'd write. I always let my writers pick first. I figured they do their best work when it's something they're inspired to write... and they got so few chances at ownership, I wanted to give it whenever I could It's why I (reluctantly) let Patrick wrest Cole from my grasp in DAI, a character I'd created in Asunder. It's also why I let Jennifer take Anders in DA2, who I'd started in Awakening. In this instance, it meant I was left with the angry elven warrior character who nobody else appeared to want."

"It should have been my first clue that something was up. The second was how the artists had zero clue what to do with him. The art concepts were all over the place - from mages to crows to... well, even weirder. No matter how hard I tried to explain the idea, the artists simply didn't seem to get it Does this mean he was a bad character? Not exactly. Just an idea that probably deserved some re-examining. You can tell when an idea has a certain spark, and part of that is being easy to communicate. Sadly, there wasn't time for any re-examining even if it'd occurred to me. And it didn't, not yet. If it had, if I had time, maybe I'd have re-booted him as a templar. Someone pro-templar rather than anti-mage, who could give a personal hook into Meredith and give the templars some badly-needed humanity. But this falls into the shoulda-woulda-coulda category. I had a follower to write. Quickly. I struggled, at first. It was hard to get away from "Fenris hates everything, all the time". It felt very one-note, and I didn't know where to take him. My third clue, I guess. I also wasn't sure if I was the right person to write a former slave. I did know that couldn't be the center of his story. I did know trauma, however. How it can eat you up. How the hate and resentment is like drinking poison and hoping the other person dies. How it can infect your relationships. Fenris's trauma isn't my trauma, obviously, but here I dipped into a more personal part of myself than I'd ever done before."

"It gave me the center of his story I was missing, but wow was it uncomfortable. In a good way, maybe. I likely wouldn't have, if I hadn't been so desperate. In a way, I think DA2 had some of our best writing *because* of the timeline. It was raw, with little time to sand down the interesting parts. I wouldn't have done the "Fenris doesn't talk to you for three years" thing if I'd known we were going to cut all the reactivity initially planned for the time jumps. When that call was made, I campaigned to cut the jumps to a year, but there was no time for the revisions it'd need. So, um. Awkward. I used to get asked where the name came from, and I... don't remember? Obviously it's derived from Fenrir, but I don't recall why we picked that. Someone pointed at Fenris the Feared from Joe Abercrombie's books... and I did read them, so maybe the name lodged in my head? Wouldn't be the first time. Casting Fenris turned out to be easy. He was the first time I requested a specific VA and got him. (The other times were Merrill and then Solas, my two "I want these specific Welsh actors, please".) Why? OK, if you must know, I'd played a bit of Final Fantasy XII. I heard Balthier. "Yes, that." 😅 And Gideon Emery was a delight, as it turned out. Consummate professional, and that lovely gravel in his voice... good god. Bite the knuckles. There was a struggle to find the voice at the outset where I did my best not to say "just pls do Balthier" but he found Fenris on his own and it was amazing. Overall, Fenris turned out better than he had any right to, considering the rocky start. He had a lot of soul, a vulnerability forged by pain that struck a chord with a lot of players, and I'm glad. Do I regret anything? Probably having him live in a corpse-filled mansion that would never update. That's a hindsight thing, though, as again the cut to reactivity over the time jumps came late. Outside of that, maybe letting the player give him back to Danarius? Poor shock value and a waste of resources because almost nobody took the option. Good evil options are ones that are tempting to take. And the lyrium tattoos. Interesting concept, but they're probably why you'll never see Fenris in a future DA. He requires a custom body, and the tattoos make that expensive. It's why I put Fenris in my 4th DA novel - the cancelled one. Don't fret, though. He died in it, so this way he lives on. 😉"

[source thread]

User: "Wait wait how does he die in [the cancelled novel]??" David Gaider: "Gloriously, after taking up a cause he didn't believe in at first but then made his own, one that allowed him to rediscover what it meant to be elven." [source] David Gaider: "I’m not sorry about the novel cancellation. I’m the one who cancelled it. I am kinda sad we couldn’t make it work, though. Considering it was after I left the DA team, it would have been my final DA hurrah." [source] David Gaider: "From my perspective, it was kind of "well if you're never going to use him again, let me at least give him a proper send off" and the story required a glorious death... but I get that's not the story his biggest fans would want (which is Hawke + Fenris 4ever), so it's just as well." [source]

User: "You all did some incredible work with such a tight deadline" David Gaider: "I'm of the opinion that even if we'd had only another six months to bake, DA2 would be remembered as a classic and not either a flawed gem or underbaked sequel, depending on who you ask." [source]

[thepicklednarwhal]

Just to add my 2 cents to this, giving birth was awful but for completely different reasons. I spent my entire life TERRIFIED of it to the point i said i didn't want kids. Now, as a mother of 1, the worst things about pregnancy were having to keep up with going to the doctors visits, which hey i got to see and hear my baby, but i hated going and being perceived. My feet swelled the last month of her being in my stomach and i eventually could not sit comfortable because i had a 21 inch baby inside of me who kept their feet in my ribs, no matter how much i tried to move her lol when i was in the hospital getting ready to push her out, i was dehydrated and hungry and they literally do not let you eat and your "drink" is ice. I went into labor with her friday morning at 5am, pushed her out at 3am saturday morning and it was awful because the nurse was not soft when inserting the catheter and checking dilation, she also broke my water by being rough. They decided to get a paycheck off of us and tried to say we were covid positive, which we werent, so none of our family could come support us or see my daughter until after we were discharged. They gave me pain medication that had me out of it and throwing up for hours so i couldnt even argue with them about the covid thing, and yes you can tear down there if you dont prep the area beforehand (which you totally can by massaging!), my doctor had to cut mine so i wouldnt tear and my husband said it sounded like paper being ripped lol also the shower after you've pushed out a human is the most satisfying shower you will ever have in your entire life, and your empty belly feels very strange. Pregnancy also ruins your teeth, your nip nops stay itchy for months, if not years if untreated and yes mom bladder is a thing. You do also bleed, i was in diapers with my daughter for a month. Pregnancy and child birth are definitely an experience and can be traumatizing on you and your body. It takes months to fully heal, but it's not an awful healing process. Also, final tidbit, contractions hurt like hell and are honestly the worst part. Pushing her out felt like i needed to lay a giant egg or take the biggest you know what of my entire life and all i felt were her legs coming out of me lol

giving birth sucks tbh. not only do you and the baby you’re birthing almost die, usually you shit yourself and often you tear your taint. then you have to push an organ out of your body (placenta) and if even a little of that remains in your body, you can hemorrhage to death or develop an infection that essentially rots your body from the inside out. even if you had a relatively “easy birth”, you bleed for weeks on end. even after that stops, your body and brain is changed for the rest of your life, the pregnancy leeched minerals from your bones, that can cause osteoporosis later. minor urinary incontinence is not uncommon, brain scans of people who gave birth show permanent changes in their brain, you’re never quite the same.

I say all of this not to say giving birth is disgusting but it is a harrowing and visceral experience. society downplays how fucking awful it is and makes it out to be a ~magical~ experience but it isn’t a magical transformative experience for everyone. it can be an extremely traumatic experience for someone who wanted to carry a pregnancy to term, much more so for someone who did not want to be pregnant in the first place or someone who knows their baby won’t survive the birth. anyway, abortion is a right. pregnancy and birth aren’t just inconvenient, it’s fucking awful.

[solarhysm]

DUST OF US - 01

> synopsis: 7 years ago Y/N broke Jungkook’s heart when she decided to end their relationship without an explanation. When they meet again at a friend's wedding, after almost a decade, Jungkook needs answers to move on.

> pairing: Jungkook x reader

> genre: romance, ex to lovers au

> warnings: explicit languages, violence, smut, cheating, nsfw, angst, +18 minors dni !!

> word count: 2.6k

*french writer, i apologize in advance for my awful english!

AGE: 27 years old

“Where are you going?” Baekhyun asks, stretching as you get out of bed and grab all of your clothes. It was late but you hate sleeping in another bed than yours.

“I should go home.” You simply say, pulling on your panties and jeans as the younger man whines, flipping on his back.

“Oh, come on, Y/N, stay the night.” He suggests as you shake your head with an apologetic smile while putting your bra on.

“Hyesun is getting married, tomorrow. I need to get up early,” You explain, but it was an excuse. You don’t want to be more than intimate enough with anyone.

Once fully clothed, you grab your keys and turn to look at the man still laying completely naked in bed. “I’ll see you on Monday.”

“Aight, boss,” He teases making you roll your eyes. “One last kiss?”

“Bye,” You smile closing the door of his room, hearing him laugh before making your way out of his apartment.

Once in your car, you sigh, leaning on your seat as you stare at the ceiling. Eleven pm already, and tomorrow’s list kept growing in your mind.

Your way home was silent, you didn’t even put music on, mentally listing all the tasks to do tomorrow morning. Drive Hyesun to the hairstylist, make sure that the flowers are delivered, get her dress, and a lot more.

The house should already be decorated by now. Hyesun was getting married at her in-law’s house. They have a big yard and suggested to make the reception in there. Since you couldn’t be here to help today, you ended up with the stressful tasks tomorrow. Her friends aren’t yours.

Yes, you still have a small circle of friends in common, but Hyesun was a sunshine and most of all: an extrovert. She met her husband by boldly asking his number at a coffee shop where he was working, five years ago. Something you could never. That’s probably why you’re still single and she’s getting married.

Kicking your shoes off at your front door, you’re greeted by your cat. He was a little terror. Or a demon like Namjoon loves to call him. And you can’t blame your friend. Not only was Trash a black cat with only one ear, the other got cut off. You don’t know how.

He was already like that when you adopted him. He was skinny and really ugly when you first got him. Well... he’s still ugly, but now he’s well-fed, maybe too much, you chuckle as you kneel to scratch the top of his head. But he was also a tiny demon who attacked everyone who dared to visit you.

“Did you miss me?” You coo as the black cat let out a meow husky enough to let you think that he smokes too many cigarettes. He’s not a loud cat, he occasionally meows when he’s hungry or when you come home after a long day.

As you make your way to the kitchen, the fat cat follows you. Opening the fridge, you take out a bottle of water and gives him a treat. Your eyes fall on the dress you’ll wear tomorrow, hanged at the bedroom door.

The wedding theme was midnight sky. So, obviously, your dress is navy blue and long enough to end at your ankles with a slit on the right side. You didn’t choose it, Hyesun did.

Palming your face, you take a sip of your water and walk to your bedroom. You need a shower. You could still smell Baekhyun’s cheap cologne on your skin. And you hate it. Too used to your own scent. Not of any men anymore.

The wedding was beautiful, but you didn’t expect less from your best friend. And she was gorgeous in her wedding dress. She smiles a lot, but you never see her smile that way. And all you could think was that her jaw muscles probably hurt after four hours.

“No, what I want, is a whole butterfly starting from my shoulders to my ribs,” Your friend, Hwan explains to you as she flips to show her bare back. You can’t help but scoff, taking a sip of your wine.

“Why? You want to become a fairy or something?” You ask arching a brow as she turns to face you, frowning.

“Don’t make fun of me,” Hwan pouts, folding her arms under her chest, “I saw it on Pinterest, I totally fell in love with it.”

“A tattoo is for life, you know?” You sigh, finishing your glass before tilting your head to brush your fingers on her back, right where her ribs are. “And this part is sensitive. It’ll hurt like hell.”

Hwan shivers at your touch, and you chuckle. You know her. She wants a tattoo today, a piercing tomorrow and in two weeks she’ll regret both. The red head -a dye she did without a second thought- rolls her eyes.

“And you think I can’t handle the pain?” She asks with an attitude, a tone that makes you pinch her forearm as she squirms and step back. “Are you crazy?”

“You can’t handle the pain, Hwan.” You conclude while she rubs the part that start to turn red.

“You’re the worst tattoo artist I know. I’ll give you a bad review on Google.” She groans as you smirk and stick your tongue’s out at her, making her smile amused by you.

Your eyes scan the room full of guests you don’t know before a huge smile spread on your lips as you notice the man all alone. He was sipping his glass of whisky as he looks at his phone, feigning to be interested but he’s probably scrolling emptily. You know him. He hates when people try to connect with him.

Excusing yourself from Hwan and the other girls, you make your way to your friend, too busy on his phone to see you coming.

“Yoongs,” You call him once you’re a few steps closer to him, he lifts his cat eyes from his screen before offering you a slight smirk and opening his arms as you nestle against his chest. You’re not really touchy, but with Yoongi, it was different.

“Nice dress.” He simply says, his nose in your hair before you pull back to look at him. He looks nice too. His hair is longer, but it suits him.

“You didn’t cut your hair?” You ask as he sighs, rolling a strand between his finger as you keep an arm around his waist.

“Didn’t have the time for it.”, He mumbles taking another sip of his whisky. “I didn’t know you would be here. Since you own a tattoo shop, we don’t see you often anymore.”

“It’s my best friend’s wedding, I couldn’t miss it. She would have dragged my ass back here.” you chuckle making him smile and nod.

“That sounds like Hyesun,” He jokes as you smile.

Yoongi wasn’t that tall, but he was still everyone’s type. Calm, mysterious, and good looking. If only dating was on his plans. That guy will probably stay single his whole life, too focused on his work.

“I was looking for you everywhere!” Hyesun groans grabbing your arm.

“I was here,” You simply reply, raising your shoulders, making Yoongi looks at you both amused. You probably get along because you’re both sarcastic. At least you know that’s something he likes about you.

“Thanks Sherlock, Mystery solved!” She rolls her eyes, before pulling you away from your friend, “Come on, follow me, I want to take pictures with you.”

She quickly waves at Yoongi, blowing a kiss at him as he didn’t move before pushing you away.

“He’s like a good old wine. Every time I see him, he’s getting hotter.” She smirks as you make your way to the photographer.

“Aren’t you married?” You joke making her roll her eyes.

“Married, not blind. As long as I touch with my eyes,” She adds as you shake your head, laughing, joining the girls.

Yoongi leaves his empty glass on the table next to him, an amused smirk on his face. If you stayed longer, he would have been part of an interesting reunion.

“Shit, I almost peed myself. There is a whole queue at the male bathroom,” The younger man groans, coming back next to Yoongi as he takes back his beer. “Hyung?”

The older man turns to his friend and arches a brow to show that he’s listening.

“Hyesun told me that there was a private bathroom upstairs for the closest friends” Yoongi simply mumbles, making Jungkook groans as he ties his hair into a bun.

“And you tell me only now?” the tattooed man sighs as he pulls up his sleeves, the temperature of the room getting hotter. Or maybe it’s him from running here and there.

“You left without a word,” Yoongi shrugs like it was obvious, his eyes still on the group of girls making funny faces at the camera. Jungkook lets out a chuckle.

“Which one?” He asks his friend who simply arches a brow. “I’m sure it’s the red head. You always had a think for girls with weird hair colors.”

Yoongi didn’t say anything. He’s used to the teasing. It’s a loss of energy, Jungkook was competitive and if you say that the sky was blue, he would tell otherwise until you tell him he's right.

Jungkook smiles proudly, turning his attention to the bunch of girls. Hyesun had pretty friends, but he’s not surprised. Until he recognized a face. A face he knows too well, a face he loved deeply once upon a time.

You didn’t change. Well… Your hair is shorter. You never liked your hair short, not after your mother spent your childhood cutting it into a bob.

The bangs too. You hated them. But today, you wore it gracefully. His doe eyes trail the length of it, how it brushes your shoulders when you laugh, how you have to push your bang asides.

He never hated you. Even after you broke his heart. Even after coming home to an empty apartment because you disappeared, or when you blocked his number and changed yours. He never hated you.

“You said she wasn’t here.” He frowns, turning to Yoongi who simply arches a brow.

“She wasn’t supposed to.” Yoongi replies, taking a sip of his new glass.

“I shouldn’t have come.” Jungkook sighs, his brows still in a frown creating a slight wrinkle between them.

“Kookie,” Yoongi turns his gaze to his friend who’s clearly uncomfortable. “You’re back in town. You both have the same friends group. What did you expect? You’ll have to confront her one day or another.”

“Y/N,” Hwan calls you as you were taking another glass of wine, facing her with a small hm? “The guy you talked earlier,”

“Yoongi?”

“Yeah, something like that. Do you know his friend?” She asks as you follow her gaze to the large man next to Yoongi, his back facing you. You liked the tattoos, and the muscular frame. The long hair was clearly a bonus.

“No,” You reply, your eyes trailing on Yoongi’s friend. You’ll definitely ask Yoongi who that is later.

“He’s hot,” Hwan comments as you nod, taking a sip of your wine before spitting everything out. You cough when the mysterious man turns around, laughing with your friend.

And almost immediately, you hide behind the table that separates you. Was this a joke?

“What’s wrong? One of your one-night stands?” Hwan chuckles clearly amused to see you, on your knees, trying to hide under the table. If only you could be sucked up by the floor. It was stupid. It was an old story. It’s been seven years since you dumped him like an old, forgotten sock.

“It’s my ex,” You almost whisper, making Hwan wide her eyes and hide with you like she even met him before.

You never thought that you’ll see him again. He disappeared for Japan right after your breakup for his studies. And you didn’t think about him since then. Well, it’s a lie.

You thought about him the three first years after your split. But, he was just some old memories from the shoebox under your bed. 

Some love letters written by a teenage boy, an empty bottle of perfume and a shirt of his that you didn’t have the heart to throw. But that’s all he was. A shoebox of memories.

“Oh damn,” Hwan murmurs, “How did you get that hot piece of man?” She asks as you roll your eyes.

He wasn’t that hot when you started dating him. He had a chestnut haircut, was too skinny even if he was the sporty type, and huge doe eyes. Now he’s…. a man.

“I think… I need to get out”, You swallow, get up and finish your glass. Walking to the backyard, you catch a bottle on your way.

Thankfully, Hwan didn’t follow you. A few persons were outside, some of them making out, the others too drunk, and probably getting some fresh air like you.

Did Hyesun invite him? Why did he come? He knows that she’s your friend. That you’d be here. Palming your face, you lean back against the wall, taking a sip of your bottle of champagne. Fuck… This is childish. You’re twenty-seven, for God’s sake. Act like an adult.

“Hiding?” You heard on your right, making you almost jump.

And here he was, a few meters away, a bottle of beer in hand. His eyes changed. He grew up.

“Good evening, Jungkook,” You breathe as he offers you a slight smile, his lips mostly forming a line.

“Good evening, Y/N,” He replies, making a few steps closer, “Long time no see.”

“Yeah...”

A silence falls between you before he takes a breath like he wants to calm his nerves too. Were you two nervous around each other?

“How… have you been?” He asks with a soft voice.

“Good. You?”

“Good.”

“Nice.”

You wanted to punch yourself. That conversation was stupid. Back then, you two could debate about everything for hours. Now, you can’t even have a basic conversation.

“I… Didn’t know you were back.” You say, looking at the grass at your feet.

“Yeah… I- I missed Korea.” He raises his shoulders slightly before taking a sip of his beer.

“Oh…Okay.” You scrunch your nose and take a sip of your bottle to not look too much stupid but his lips crease in an amused smile at the bottle in your hand. Neither of you says anything. And it’s weird. “That’s… some cool tattoos,” You add, trying to make the conversation as you point his entire inked sleeve with your chin.

“Yeah?” He chuckles awkwardly. “I always wanted tattoos.”

“I know.” You reply, almost immediately, making him lift his gaze to you as your eyes widen. “You- hm- You thought that Yakuza were cool.” you continue as he nods, his eyes still on you while you look away.

“You remembered.”

You clench your jaw slightly and take another sip of champagne. You hate champagne, but you didn’t read what was written on the bottle when you took it.

“Your father must be proud of you. I heard you had your own tattoo shop.” He says as your gaze soften. Jungkook and your dad were always close, he even called him ‘son’. Your father was in fact, proud of you.

“He is”, was all you could reply, and he nods silently before taking a deep breath.

“Can I… ask you a question? I need to understand something” He frowns a little, turning his head to look at the backyard before finally glancing back at you. He is waiting for you to answer and you simply stare at him. “Why did you leave me, Y/N?”

DUST OF US MASTERLIST.

WATTPAD.

buy me a coffee<3

[aquaticmercy]

The Catalyst

Summary : In this universe, you and Bucky are happy. In other universes, it might not be that simple.

Pairing : Bucky Barnes x reader (she/her) 

Warnings/tags : Violence, death, trauma, grief, cursing, non-sexual nudity. Lots of Angst. Fluff in the beginning and end. Multiversal Travel.

Word count : 8.9k

Note : This story is meant to resemble a What If? episode. It is an exploration of what would happen to you and Bucky if the other died. I will refer to the main universe (MCU) as Earth-616 because Marvel is stupid and has decided that it’s not earth-19999 anymore. The fic is inspired by the song of the same title by Linkin Park. Also, I hope this story makes sense? Enjoy!

Earth-616…

The bathroom was quiet, save for the soft gurgle of water and the occasional drip from the faucet. 

Bucky sat on the edge of the tub, bare and bruised, watching you with a tired smile.

The gash on his forehead was deep, an angry red against his skin, and his chest was peppered with smaller cuts and scrapes, remnants of yet another mission gone south. You stood in front of him, tilting his chin to clean the wound.

“You’re lucky this didn’t need stitches,” you murmured, focusing on your work.

“Luck had nothing to do with it,” Bucky said lightly, though you could tell he was exhausted. “I’m practically indestructible.”

You glanced up, narrowing your eyes at him, not finding any solace in his self-deprecating humour today. “No, you’re not, James.”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he gave you that lopsided, charming smile, the one that always made your heart flutter— even when you were mad at him.

“Alright, my love,” you closed the tap. “Bath’s ready.”

Bucky stood slowly, groaning as he stretched. Before you could move away, he pulled you back toward him. 

“Come take a dip with me,” he murmured. 

You looked up at him. “I drew this bath for you—”

“Please,” he interrupted.

You hesitated, only a moment, before nodding. “Alright,” you said. “But don’t think this means I’m letting you off the hook for almost dying.”

He gave you a faint smile as you undressed.

The water enveloped you in warmth as you both sank into the tub. Bucky settled behind you, his legs bracketing yours, arms wrapping around your waist. You leaned back against his chest, your head resting beneath his chin.

For a while, neither of you spoke. Your fingers absentmindedly traced his metal arm, feeling the ridges of the plating.

You closed your eyes, but the memory of his bloodied face lingered in your mind. The fear you felt when he walked through the door earlier that day—bruised and battered but alive—still held onto you.

Bucky’s lips pressed softly to the back of your head, pulling you from your thoughts. “You’re quiet today,” he murmured, his voice soothing your worries

You swallowed hard, finger frozen on his arm. “You just really scared me tonight.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, arms wrapping tighter around you.

“Just… be more careful, please?” you said quietly. “There’ve been too many close calls lately. If something happened to you…” Your voice cracked as you drew in a shaky breath. “If I lost you, I don’t think I’d know how to put myself back together.”

“Don’t say that,” he said, grip strengthening on you. “Don’t even think about it.”

You tilted your head back, resting on his collarbone. “I mean it, James,” you whispered. “You’re everything to me.”

“You’ll never lose me,” he said, his conviction absolute. “I’ll always come back to you, no matter what.”

“You’d fucking better,” tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, but you managed a small smile. “Or I’ll find a way to drag you back myself.”

Bucky chuckled softly. “You’re terrifying, you know that?”

“Good,” you said, snuggling closer to him. “Maybe that’ll keep you in line.”

He kissed the back of your head again. The water lapped gently around you, the warmth easing the knots in your muscles, soothing the subtle throb in your heart.

After everything you’ve both been through, you were just happy he was here— alive.

•

Somewhere in a distant reality…

In this universe, Bucky Barnes didn’t cry at your funeral.

The rain came down in unrelenting sheets, soaking through the black suit he wore, but Bucky didn’t shiver. He didn’t flinch when the first heavy shovelful of dirt struck your casket, the dull thud echoing in his ears like a death knell. He stood apart from the others, an immovable statue at the edge of the grave, his hands limp at his sides, trembling ever so slightly— His face might as well have been carved from stone.

The sound of weeping surrounded him—your friends, your teammates, people you had saved. Each sob seemed to pierce his skin, sharp as broken glass, but still, Bucky didn’t move. He didn’t blink. He didn’t cry.

Bucky didn’t cry when the ground swallowed you whole.

He didn’t cry when Pepper, eyes red-rimmed and brimming with tears, rested a firm hand on his shoulder. He didn’t cry when Sam placed a folded flag in his hands, whispering, “She was a hero.” He didn’t cry when Clint, voice hoarse, muttered, “She saved so many lives.”

He didn’t cry when Tony, uncharacteristically subdued, raised a glass to your memory that night, his hand trembling just enough to make the liquid ripple, Bucky stayed silent. He stared at the drink in his hand until it blurred into nothing.

But when he sat in the shadows of his apartment later, something deep inside him twisted.

He couldn’t stop replaying your death in his mind. Your final words, whispered through cracked lips and choked breaths, were for him. “You’re going to be okay, James.”

You had died saving them— saving the world. You had grabbed the infinity stones away from Tony, you had snapped so he didn’t have to. You did it because you couldn’t let anyone else make the sacrifice— you did it because Morgan needed a father.

But Bucky needed you.

And you were gone.

He had no more tears to give. He had shed them in the days leading up to your funeral, in suffocating quiet of the aftermath. He had cried until there was nothing left inside, until grief turned into a cold, sharp knife that carved your initials into his chest and refused to let him rest.

So he didn’t cry anymore.

But when the world fell away—when the comforting murmurs of others faded and he was left alone in the silence of the apartment you had shared—something inside him broke.

Bucky didn’t cry anymore, but that didn’t stop him grieving.

Bucky grieved like a soldier.

It was disciplined, bordering on mechanical. He scrubbed your presence from the apartment with clinical detachment, packing your things with military precision. Your clothes disappeared into boxes he refused to label. Your toiletries vanished from the bathroom like they had never been there.

He didn’t touch the photos, though. He left them right where you’d placed them. He didn’t move the jacket you always left draped over the back of the chair, didn’t even bring himself to wash the cup you’d left on the counter.

At night, when the apartment grew unbearably still, he would sit in the dark and trace his fingers over the curve of your handwriting in the little notes you’d leave him—Don’t forget milk! He would fiddle with the frayed fabric of the worn shirt that still smelled faintly of your vanilla perfume. He held it in his hands for hours, gripping it so tightly his knuckles turned white.

Every mission after that was a blur of adrenaline and violence. As soon as he got pardoned, he threw himself into the fight with reckless abandon, his mind a haze of desperation and anger, his body moving like a machine, like no part of him remained human.

He fought like a man trying to outrun himself.

He didn’t care if he made it back, didn’t care if he took a bullet—or fifty. Every blow he took was nothing compared to his own pain. 

But nothing— none of the wounds, none of the cuts he sustained— brought him closer to you.

And when the fighting was done, in between missions when the world didn’t need him, he disappeared, abandoning your shared apartment because it made him think too much of you. He retreated to a remote cabin deep in the woods, a place so far removed from humanity where no one could find him.

No one, except for Stephen Strange.  

—

It had been nearly six months since your death when Strange appeared on Bucky’s porch, his portal crackling in the fresh mountain air.

“Go away,” Bucky growled, not bothering to glance up from the knife he was sharpening. He had gone hunting again, determined not to rely on anyone else for his survival.

Strange ignored the warning, stepping through the glowing portal and onto the weathered wooden planks. His expression was grim, his tone desperate. “James Buchanan Barnes.”

“What do you want?” Bucky’s voice was rough, his patience worn thin.

“It’s not about what I want,” Strange replied. “It’s what the multiverse needs.”

Bucky finally looked up, his blue eyes still sharp but exhausted. He’d been running on empty for months now. You weren’t there to steady him, to breathe life into the fragile space beneath his ribs when the nightmares were too much to bear. You weren’t there to wake up next to him. You weren’t there to pepper him with kisses when he thought he wasn’t good enough. You were gone.

“The multiverse can save itself,” he muttered, turning back to his blade.

Strange’s expression softened, but only slightly. “If it could, I wouldn’t be here.”

Bucky let out a scoff, his hands gripping the sharpening stone. “You’ve got the wrong person.”

“I wish I had,” Strange said quietly, his words landing like stones thrown into water.

The desperation in his voice made Bucky pause. He set the knife down with care, leaning back in his chair to glare at the sorcerer. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Strange wasn’t the type to hold back words, but even he seemed to hesitate. And then he said it—the name. Your name. The one Bucky hadn’t heard in weeks.

“Don’t,” Bucky snapped, feeling like an arrow had struck his chest.

Strange pressed on, undeterred. “A version of her exists in another universe. But she’s… no longer her.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

With a flick of his hand, Strange conjured an image: glowing strands of the multiverse weaving together, spinning until a vision appeared. 

It was you—but… not you. Not his version of you. 

Your face was twisted, your body cocooned in violent energy. Behind you, planets crumbled, swallowed by the raw power radiating from you.

Bucky reached out, his hand floating near the image that magic had willed into life.

He couldn’t fully grasp it—this alternate reality where you were alive, suffering, destroying. It didn’t make sense, how this could exist. 

You were gone. You died in his arms. 

The heart that beat for him— he felt it stop beneath his fingertips. 

How could he possibly wrap his mind around this? That a fragment of your soul—some version of you—was out there, breathing, enduring. 

Alive. 

His throat tightened as he tried to speak, to force out even a single word, but he choked on his own tongue.

The multiverse. Or whatever Strange had called it. A few years ago, he’d have laughed it off as some nonsense, he wouldn’t’ve believed it. But after being snapped out of existence and then willed back into it by a handful of glowing galactic stones, Bucky Barnes, man out of time, knew better. 

Now, he’d believe in absolutely anything. Especially if it meant he was believing in a world where you still existed.

“She’s become the Catalyst,” Strange said, his voice laced with dread. “A being of grief, capable of destroying entire worlds. If she’s not stopped, she’ll collapse the multiverse.”

Bucky stared at the image, his chest tightening. Was this really you, destroyer of worlds, of universes? 

You couldn’t be capable of this. 

You were kind, you were incapable of harming an innocent soul. He remembered the day a poisonous spider had wandered into the room. You refused to kill it, carefully guiding it out to the garage.

But now, as the memories came flooding back, doubt began to settle. 

He had seen glimpses of another side of you, when you were alive. The fiery rage that consumed you after losing an old friend. The anger you brought into battle, wielded like an iron fist. It had been terrifying—a force of nature that no one could stand against. It was how you wielded the infinity stones long enough to do what needed to be done.

Now, looking at this image Strange had conjured, he wondered if that force had finally consumed you.

“You want me to go after her,” Bucky said flatly. He was certain of it. 

“I want you to stop her.” Strange nodded. “Talk to her. You’re the only one she might listen to.”

“And if she doesn’t?”

Strange’s gaze was unyielding. “Then you’re the only one who stands a chance at killing her.”

The words hit Bucky like a hammer to the chest. He turned away, gripping the porch railing until his knuckles went white. “I can’t lose her again.”

Strange stepped closer, his voice soft but resolute. “She would want you to do it.”

Bucky’s voice rose, his eyes filled with tears he would not let Strange see. “You don’t know her like I do.”

“No,” Strange admitted. “But I’ve seen what happens if no one stops her. Entire universes will fall. Countless souls will die. If you won’t do it for her, then do it for them.”

—

Bucky didn’t sleep that night. He sat on the edge of his bed, the room blanketed in suffocating silence, broken only by the occasional creak of his wooden single bedframe as he shifted nervously. 

In his hands, his gun seemed to glow under the moonlight filtering through the window. 

He turned it over and over, fingers brushing the worn grip, the faint scratch on the barrel— one he remembered you making during a standard recon mission. You had scratched it, accidentally catching it with your knife. 

You apologised profusely, and he said it was no big deal. 

He then teased you for being too attached to your weapons— how your knives had little personal inscriptions, how you had cared for it like it had a soul. He, on the other hand, said that he felt indifferent to his weapons— said he didn’t want to get too sentimental. 

You laughed, saying he was too dramatic. "It's just a tool, James. You’re the one who decides what it’s for."  

Now, he wasn’t so sure what he wanted to use it for. 

Strange’s words looped in his mind like a broken record: You’re the only one who stands a chance at killing her.

The thought of pointing a gun at you made his heart drop. 

He once promised to protect you, to be your safe haven. And now, a sorcerer had tasked him with destroying you in another universe. How could he ever make peace with that? 

How could he pull the trigger on you?

But then another thought struck him: Strange was right. You would want him to. 

You would forgive him if he had to kill you.

You always forgave him, no matter how many times he swore he didn’t deserve it, because you would understand that this needed to be done. If the situation were reversed, you’d do what needed to be done— because that’s who you were.  

You were good— everything he aspired to be. 

If you were alive, if you knew you had turned destructive— you would kill the Catalyst yourself.

As the hours dragged on, Bucky tried to think of another way, to fantasise a different ending for the sick story he existed in. What if there was a chance— however slim—to reach that version of you without violence? To pull you back from the brink and remind you who you were? 

He knew he had to try, but he also knew what failure meant: countless lives lost, entire universes wiped from existence.

If he failed, this universe would be gone, along with all the memories of you. Along with your legacy.

Your sacrifice would be in vain.

He couldn’t let that happen.

The gun in his hands felt heavier now, the future hanging like a noose around his neck. The sun was just beginning to rise when he finally stood.

He had made his decision. 

He didn’t bother to pack much—just his knife, the gun, and the dog tags he always carried, the ones you had once traced with your fingers when you thought he was asleep. 

He knew he needed to do this mission.

Not for the world, not for the universe.

The multiverse could burn, for all he cared. He’s doing this because he knew you would want him to. 

—

When Strange arrived at the cabin, the swirling portal casted an eerie light over his mostly empty living room.

Bucky’s face went grim. He didn’t say goodbye to the cabin, didn’t look back at the life he had built in solitude. 

He never liked this cabin. Never liked this new life— he only went here because it was what you always wanted. You wanted to be away from the city, one with nature. You always wanted to build the rest of your life here. Back then, Bucky had agreed— but now it was just a reminder that he was living a hollow existence without you.

He stepped through the portal. 

The overwhelming surge of energy as he entered the alternate universe was nothing compared to the pain his heart endured.

The world he had stepped into felt like the aftermath of a nightmare.  

The sky was a sickly yellow, streaked with ash and smoke. The sun, barely visible through the haze, poured a dying light over the desolation below. 

Buildings lay in ruins, their remains clawing at the sky. The ground was a wasteland of debris, littered with the wreckage of battles fought long before he arrived.

Ultron's remains were everywhere. His drones twisted, mangled, scattered across the landscape, half-buried in dirt or wedged into crumbling walls, some buried under concrete slab. Their empty eyes stared at nothing— stared at Bucky with emptiness.

Bucky adjusted his grip on his rifle and took a cautious step forward. The air was thick, stinging with the stench of burning metal and organic decay. He moved carefully, scanning his surroundings.

This wasn’t his world, but it was familiar enough for him to navigate through. 

“Strange,” Bucky muttered under his breath, though the sorcerer had closed the portal. He pushed through, putting his Winter Soldier mask on “What the hell did you send me into?”  

—

It didn’t take long for him to piece together what had happened. In this universe, Ultron had won, but not by slamming Sokovia into the Earth like an asteroid. Instead, his drone army had swept across the world, decimating everything in its path. 

He found more evidence in a hollowed-out bunker near the remnants of what would have been Central Park. His name was scrawled across a rusted memorial wall alongside hundreds of others. His dog tags—this world’s version of them—hung from a nail driven into the cracked concrete.  

Bucky stared at the tags for a long time. He could imagine the moment you had hung them there, your fingers shaking, your heart breaking.  

This was the universe’s cruel twist: in this world, he had died in the battle against Ultron. 

He had been the one ripped away from you.  

The rest of the story came from whispers, fragments of information he gathered from the few survivors he encountered. Most were too broken, too terrified, to speak more than a few sentences, but they all spoke of one thing: the Catalyst.  

“She wasn’t always like this,” one man had said, his voice trembling as he huddled in the corner of a makeshift shelter from scrap metal. “She used to be a hero. Fought against Ultron with everything she had. But when he killed Barnes—”  

His breath hitched, knowing the mask obscured him from this civillian’s view.

“—She lost it. Hunted Ultron down, tore him apart with her bare hands. But then she… she took his parts. Built something with it.”  

“Built what?” Bucky pressed, his stomach twisting.  

“Armour. Weapons. Something stronger than anything the Avengers had. But it did something to her—got in her head, twisted her. She’s not human anymore. Not really. Just anger and grief and—and…”  

“And power,” Bucky finished grimly.  

The man nodded. “She destroyed Ultron. Destroyed his whole army. But she didn’t stop. She just kept tearing down everything in her path. Now she’s… she’s…. If you see her, you run. You don’t fight. You don’t talk. You run.”  

—

That night, Bucky sat alone in the ruins of what would’ve been the Avengers tower. He stared at the fire he’d managed to build. 

The image of you—this you, the Catalyst—was burned into his mind. He’d seen a glimpse of it through Strange’s portal, but now the reality of it was just starting to sink in.

You had always been so full of life, so determined to make the world a better place. How could you be the very thing tearing it apart in this universe? How could you let grief do this to you?  

He clenched his fists. He should’ve gotten here earlier. 

This version of him had failed you. He should’ve fought harder, been faster, or something. Maybe if he had been, you wouldn’t have had to face Ultron alone. Maybe you wouldn’t have—  

“Stop it,” he muttered to himself, running a hand through his hair. “It’s not your fault.”  

He knew he could not control what this universe’s version of him did. But the guilt ate him up anyway.

—

The next day, he found the first sign of you.  

In the centre of the ruins stood a towering monument of burned metal, forged from the remains of Ultron’s drones. It was a grotesque structure, its sharp edges gleaming like shark teeth in the dim light.  

He looked around, realising this would’ve been the Rockefeller Center— where he had taken you on a date, ice skating in the cold winter with Christmas lights surrounding you. 

Bucky approached cautiously, his eyes narrowing as he studied the details. The surface of the monument was etched with symbols—some binary, some human words. 

This wasn’t just a monument. It was a warning.  

She’s close, he thought, gripping his rifle tighter.

The ground trembled beneath his feet. Suddenly, a low hum rose in the air. He turned sharply, his heart pounding as the shadows moved around him.  

And then he saw you.  

You descended from the sky like a vengeful god, clad in sleek, silver armour forged from Ultron’s technology. It clung to you like a second skin, pulsing with an unnatural light. Your eyes glowed with the same energy, and the air around you crackled with raw power.  

For a moment, Bucky couldn’t breathe. It was you— but at the same time, it wasn’t. It was the face he loved, the lips that once kissed him goodnight, the eyes that soothed him after he woke up from one of his nightmares. Yet something was wrong. This wasn’t entirely the person that had been his world. This version of you was twisted— destruction incarnate. 

But he could not stop the leap of joy his heart made. At least you were alive.

“You’ve come to stop me,” you said, not even lifting your eyes. Your voice echoed unnaturally. It was layered, as if a hundred versions of you were speaking at once.  

Bucky stood his ground, heart pounding as you, —no, the Catalyst— stood still. The pieces of Ultron’s remnants shimmered with an almost ethereal glow, stitched together into a terrible masterpiece that trapped you like a tomb. Your face—once warm and full of life—burned with an inhuman intensity, flickering like a dying sun.  

“I’ve come to bring you back,” Bucky replied, his voice steady despite the hammering of his heart. Slowly, he took off his mask.

Your expression flickered, just for a moment. As if he was a crack in the armour.  

You recognised the voice. 

“You’re— ,” you whispered, your voice layered and fractured, distorted by grief and the technology that had consumed you. Your eyes snapped up to meet his. “You came back to me.”  

The words hit Bucky like a blow to the chest. I did, doll. He wanted to say. I will always come back. 

But he knew this version of you wasn’t his, so he swallowed hard, keeping his rifle lowered.

You froze, your head tilting slightly as you studied him. You weren’t satisfied without an answer. “James?”

Bucky’s heart twisted. For a moment, he saw a glimmer of the person you had been, the love you had shared. 

Kill me now, he thought, before I have to kill you. 

But he knew the cost of that. He knew failing would mean he had failed you. 

“I’m here to help,” he said softly. 

You stepped closer, unsure whether to reach for him— a fragment of your old soul begging you to stop this madness — or strike him down— an instinct the Catalyst had developed. Your glowing eyes traced every inch of him, lingering on the scars lining his face, the haunted look in his eyes. 

Your fingers twitched, and for a moment, you looked lost.  

“You’re different,” you muttered to yourself. “The scars… the way you stand”  

Realisation dawned, and with it, the fragile hope in your expression shattered. You took a step back, the electric storm around you surging to life again. “You’re not my James,” you hissed, your voice bitter.  

Bucky didn’t flinch. “I’m not,” he admitted. “But I know what he meant to you. What you meant to him.”  

“Why would someone else’s James come to me?” you demanded, your voice rising, the ground beneath you cracking with the force of your grief. 

“Because I couldn’t save you in my world,” he said, his voice breaking. “But maybe I can save you here.”  

For a moment, the storm faltered, the energy around you dimming. But then your eyebrows furrowed, hands curling into fist, your grief boiling over into fury.  

“You think you can save me?” you snarled, your armour shifting as weapons emerged from its surface—cannons, blades, and glowing surges of energy. “You think you can take my pain away, make it disappear? You have no idea what I’ve done. What I’ve become.”  

The first blast came without warning. Bucky barely had time to dive behind the concrete of a collapsed building as a searing beam of energy scorched the ground where he had stood.  

“Don’t make me do this!” he shouted, rising from cover and firing a warning shot. The bullet ricocheted harmlessly off your armour.

“You came here to kill me,” you spat, advancing the attack with terrifying precision. “Just like everyone else!”  

“No!” Bucky’s voice cracked as he dodged another strike, rolling into a crouch and raising his hands. “I came here to stop this. To stop you.”

“And how do you think that ends?” you snapped, the storm of energy around you growing more volatile. “I know what I am. I’ve seen what I’ve done. There’s no stopping it.”  

You lunged at him, your speed too quick for him to process. Bucky barely managed to block your strike, your armoured fist colliding with his vibranium arm in a deafening clash of metal. The force sent him skidding backward, but he held his ground.  

“I know you’re still in there!” he shouted, his voice desperate. “I know you don’t want this!”  

“I didn’t want any of this!” you screamed, unleashing a wave of energy that knocked him off his feet. “But he left me! He—he died, and I—” Your voice cracked, and for a brief moment, the storm flickered, your grief breaking through the madness.  

Bucky scrambled to his feet, his chest heaving. “He wouldn’t want this,” he said, his voice softer now. “I don’t want this.”

Tears streamed down your face, glowing faintly as they fell. “I can’t stop,” you whispered, your voice shaking. “It’s too much. It’s too—”  

The storm surged again, and Bucky knew he was losing you.  

“I’m sorry,” he said, gripping his rifle tightly. “I’m so sorry.”  

You raised your hands, energy crackling between your fingers, but instead of attacking, you froze. A look of clarity crossed your face—a moment of realisation.  

Bucky lowered his rifle once again.

“You can’t let this happen again,” you said quietly.  

Before Bucky could respond, you turned your gaze to the glowing core embedded in your armour—the source of your power.  

“No,” Bucky said, stepping forward. “Don’t—”  

“It has to end,” you interrupted, tears spilling down your cheeks. “Promise me, James. Promise me you won’t let another version of me become this.”  

“I can’t—”  

“Promise me!”  

His throat tightened, and he nodded. “I promise.”  

A faint smile touched your lips, and then you placed your hand over the core. The energy around you flared brightly, pulsing like a heartbeat.

“Thank you,” you whispered.  

And then, a blinding light flashed before his eyes. You cried a violent shriek as you cast yourself into nothingness.

When the light faded, Bucky stood alone in the ruins, the air eerily still. Your body was nothing but ash, armour scattered across the ruins. The glowing core was shattered, its energy dissipating into nothing.  

Bucky dropped to his knees, his hands shaking as he stared at the spot where you had stood. He had lost you all over again. 

He had failed you all over again. 

—

Bucky stumbled through the portal Strange had opened for him, his body worn, his breaths shallow.

“It’s done,” Bucky said, his voice hoarse. He dropped a silver shoulder piece, a part of your armour—a fractured piece of the nightmare you had become—onto the floor of the Sanctum Sanctorum, in the space between them. “She’s gone.”  

Strange nodded, but said nothing.  

Bucky glared at him, his grief rapidly turning into anger. “You knew, didn’t you?” he growled, “You knew she went mad because she lost me. Why didn’t you tell me?” 

Strange met his eyes, “Because it wouldn’t have changed anything.”  

“That’s it?” Bucky demanded, his voice rising. “I’ve lost her twice now, Strange. Twice. And I—” His voice broke, and he turned away, rubbing a hand across his eyes.  

No crying today. He’s grieved over you. He’s done. 

No crying, Barnes, he insisted again.

“I wish it ended here,” Strange said quietly. 

Bucky’s head snapped back sharply, his heart sinking deeper in the abyss it was already stuck in.

Strange hesitated, his hands clasped behind his back. “This wasn’t an anomaly,” he said finally. “In every universe I’ve observed, when you die, she becomes the Catalyst.”  

He stumbled back a step, shaking his head. “That… that can’t be true.”  

Strange’s gaze softened, but there was no comfort in his expression. “It is,” he said. “Her love for you is not only her greatest strength, but also her greatest weakness. Without you, her grief consumes her. It changes her.”

“So what?” Bucky spat bitterly. “You’re saying she’s doomed to destroy the multiverse?”  

“No,” Strange said, his voice firm. “Not if you intervene.”  

“You want me to… to do this again?” Bucky froze, his blood running cold. “To watch her die again?”  

Strange’s silence was answer enough.  

“Fuck,” Bucky muttered, raking his fingers through his hair, wanting to pull them out so badly. “How many times, Strange?”  

“As many as it takes,” Strange replied solemnly. “If we don’t act, the Catalyst will dismantle the multiverse, piece by piece. She doesn’t stop at her own world. Her grief is a hunger—a need to destroy everything, to erase the pain.”  

Bucky sank onto a nearby chair, burying his head in his hands. The thought of facing yet another version of you—of seeing your face twisted by grief again, of failing to save you again—was unbearable. 

But what choice did he have?  

“Are you ready for this, Sergeant Barnes?” Strange asked.  

“No,” Bucky admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. He lifted his head, his eyes red. “But I’ll do it anyway.”  

— 

Every time Bucky stepped through another portal, he braced himself for the inevitable. Some universes were barely recognizable—worlds where humanity had advanced far beyond what he’d known, some were distant worlds ruled by psychopathic overlords.  

But in every one, you were the same. You met him. You fell in love with him— some evil villain decimated Earth, and this world’s version of Bucky perished in the fight.

When he was gone, your grief forged you into the Catalyst— destroyer of whatever force had destroyed earth, salvaging your victims’ weapons to make you more powerful.  

Sometimes your armour was made from Ultron, like before. Other times, it was pieces of Thanos’ gauntlet, or the living metal of Ego the Living Planet. In one universe, you wielded the shattered fragments of Mjölnir. 

You weren’t even close to worthy, but your grief was so powerful that you had bent enchanted Asgardian steel into submission. 

Each encounter started the same way.  

You mistook him for your James. There was always that flicker of hope in your eyes, that fragile moment where you thought he had come back to you.  

But then you noticed the differences—the scars, the way he moved, the subtle sadness in his eyes. 

And the hope turned to rage.  

“Who are you?” you would demand, furious. “Why do you look like him?”  

Bucky tried reasoning with you every time, pleading for you to stop, to let go of the grief that consumed you. But it never worked. The madness always took hold, and the fight always began.  

In the end, you always destroyed yourself. It’s as if he was doomed to watch— doomed to be a captive audience to your death— over and over and over again.

—

The first time Bucky killed the Catalyst, it nearly broke him.

He had spent weeks, maybe months, tracking you in this icy universe. In this universe, Frost Giants took over. Bucky had been killed somewhere along the lines, and you took Loki’s staff and matters into your own hands. 

When he saw you there, standing in a cloak of fur and leather, you radiated power.

And yet, behind the glowing eyes, he could still see you. The way you tilted your head when you studied him, the smallest flicker of hesitation before you struck.

He had prepared for this. Every movement, every breath, every strike was calculated, the result of months of relentless study. He’d learned how to predict the devastating surges of energy you unleashed, how to exploit the brief seconds when your guard faltered. You were stronger, faster, almost unstoppable—but almost wasn’t enough.

When he finally got to you, he only hesitated for a second before stabbing you.

No. What have I done?

A desperate wail tore from his throat as tears burned his eyes, spilling over like a shattered dam. He cried— for the first time in months— as he watched the light in your eyes fade. 

Bucky knelt beside your dying body, whispering useless apologies as he cradled you in his arms. You looked up at him. You didn’t look at him with grief. Not anger. Not hatred. Maybe relief. Maybe love. 

And then, as life drained from your eyes, the multiverse seemed to hold its breath.

You were gone.

Again.

He had finally convinced himself that he had to kill you. He could no longer endure your suffering. Every moment of your self-destruction had been nightmare fuel—your anguished cries, your desperate screams— It was unbearable. He loved you too deeply to continue watching you suffer.

Now, he was certain— ending your life, giving you a swift death,was the only way he could stomach this mission.

—

The Catalyst was powerful in every universe, but Bucky learned how to fight you better. Most times now, he was able to kill you, to put you out of your misery because he outmanoeuvred you, predicting your attacks like a ghost of every battle you’d ever had. Other times, he got there too late, and you destroyed yourself, unleashing a final burst of power so immense it annihilated your very existence. 

Those times were harder. 

Watching you choose to end it. Watching you fall apart in his arms, whispering words he couldn’t always hear.

Still, everytime, he took a piece of you.

He didn’t know why he reached out to gather the shattered remains of your armour. Sometimes it was a gauntlet, still glowing faintly with residual energy. A shard of the crystalline crown that marked your reign as the Catalyst. Sometimes it was Loki’s scepter. 

Maybe it was instinct, or maybe it was guilt. He tucked the fragments into his pack and walked away, feeling like he had salvaged a part of you.

At first, he thought it was a way to remember you. The woman you had been, not the Catalyst you had become. But over time, the collection grew into a monument to his failure. Each weapon, each ruined piece of armour was a reminder of what it cost to keep going. To try and save you. To survive you. To kill you.

And still, he couldn’t stop.

The multiverse demanded it. The Catalyst always returned, more powerful, and Bucky would be there, each time, with the weight of a hundred battles on his shoulders and memories of the woman he loved. He’d fight. He’d win. 

He’d lose you again.

And he’d carry another piece of you, knowing it would never be enough to make him whole.

So, over time, missions chipped away at him, piece by piece.  

He didn’t smile anymore. He barely spoke, even when Strange tried to comfort him. His humanity felt like a distant memory, buried beneath the endless cycle of loss.  

Once, in a rare moment of quiet, Strange tried to reason with him.  

“You don’t have to do this alone, Barnes,” he said. “I’ve talked to Clint, Bruce, and Sam. They said they’d help.”  

Bucky shook his head, his expression hollow. “It has to be me. I’m the only one she listens to. Even if it’s just for a second.”  

Strange didn’t argue.  

—

This time, he was so devastatingly close to saving you— it was the only time you had let him reason with you. The only time you had let him talk longer than a few seconds.

In this universe, you had taken the remains of Ronan the Accuser’s hammer, merging it with Kree technology to create an unstoppable weapon. You were a force of nature, cutting down armies and leaving entire planets in ruin.  

Bucky fought you for hours, trying to get through because he saw a chance. His body was battered and broken by the end. But as he stood over you, your armour cracked and your face visible beneath your helmet, you looked up at him with tears in your eyes.  

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice faint.  

Bucky dropped to his knees beside you, his hands trembling as he reached for you. “Don’t do this,” he pleaded. “There’s still a chance—”  

“You’re still my James, aren’t you?” you interrupted, your hand brushing his cheek. “You love me in every universe, the way I love you.”  

“Don’t leave,” he begged, his voice breaking. “Please, don’t leave me again.”  

Your smile was soft, bittersweet. “I never really left, James. I’m always going to be a part of you.”  

And then you were gone again, an agonising cry as you self-destructed.

He was alone again.

—

As long as there were universes to save, as long as there was a chance to save you, he would keep fighting—no matter the cost.  

Today shouldn’t’ve been any different.

He stepped through the portal with his usual grim frown, expecting to face another version of you consumed by grief, transformed into the Catalyst.  

But what he found instead… was peace.

The world was whole. The sky wasn’t scorched, cities still stood tall and bustling, and the air hummed with life. It felt… normal. 

And then he saw you.  

You were sitting at a small café on a sunlit street, your hair loose, a soft smile playing on your lips. There was no armour, no glowing energy, no storm of grief around you. You looked like the person he remembered—the person he had loved.  

He died in this universe, too— he knew as much. You had his dog tags around your neck, carrying a piece of him everywhere. 

It took time for him to piece together what had happened, but he eventually got it.

In this universe, Bucky had been the one who took the gauntlet from Tony. He had been the one who snapped the stones.

Bucky’s breath caught in his throat. 

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, he felt something other than pain. He watched you laugh, the sound a beautiful melody he thought he’d forgotten. 

In this universe… you were happy.  

For days, Bucky stayed hidden in the shadows, watching you from a distance. It was wrong, he knew, but he couldn’t help himself. He followed you through your routines—your morning coffee, your walks through the park, the way you waved at the children playing by the water fountain. 

You hadn’t become the Catalyst.  

Strange was wrong, Bucky thought, a flicker of hope sparking in his chest. Not every version of you succumbed to grief. In this universe, you had found a way to move forward, to live.  

And maybe… maybe he could, too.  

The thought crept into his mind slowly. What if he stayed? What if he stepped into this world and introduced himself to you? Would you recognize something in him, a fragment of the love you had shared in another life? Could you fall for him again?  

Could he be happy?

Could the two of you put the pieces back together again?

For the first time in years, Bucky allowed himself to dream of a life beyond grief and guilt. A life with you, as he once had.

He imagined walking up to you at that café, asking if he could join you. You’d be confused, maybe a little wary at first, but he’d win you over. He’d tell you about the man he used to be, the battles he’d fought, the people he’d lost. He’d tell you how much he loved you still. And you’d tell him about your James, how similar he was to him. 

Maybe, in time, you’d fall in love with him again.  

But then he saw Steve coming home from a mission.

It was a perfect day— the sun was warm, the breeze gentle, the streets alive with chatter. Bucky stood at a distance, watching you in the park, his heart full of hope, something he thought he’d never feel again.

And then Steve Rogers appeared.  

He walked up to you with that shy confidence Bucky had known since they were kids. You stood when you saw him, your face lit up in a way that made Bucky’s stomach twist.  

Steve pulled you into his arms, and you went willingly, laughing as he spun you around.  

Bucky felt the air leave his lungs.  

He watched as Steve kissed you, his hands cradling your face like you were the most precious thing in the world. And you kissed him back.  

It wasn’t fair.  

Bucky's knees nearly buckled, as he turned away. His chest caved in, feeling like his heart had been ripped out and crushed into a million little pieces. The fragile hope he'd clung to for the last couple of days was torn from him as quickly as it appeared. 

Your laughter echoed faintly in his ears, a cruel reminder that chased him as he stumbled toward the portal Strange had opened. His head hung low, his shoulders slumped. 

He was no soldier, no saviour—just a broken man, haunted by dreams that would never be his.

—

When Bucky returned, Strange's eyes lingered on him for too long.

Bucky wasn’t covered in bruises or cuts like he usually was, but somehow he looked…. worse. The exhaustion ran deeper this time, as if the scars were invisible. “You stayed longer than usual in this one,” Strange observed.

Bucky ignored his statement. “You were wrong,” he muttered instead. His eyes stayed fixed on the ground, unable to meet Strange’s. “She wasn’t The Catalyst in this one.”

Strange froze. “What do you mean?” he asked.

Bucky’s breath hitched, his voice barely above a whisper. “She’s happy here, after my death. W-with Steve.” He finally looked up, the emptiness in his eyes enough to make even Strange flinch. “She moved on, and she’s... she’s still… her.

Strange’s eyebrows softened. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly, his tone measured, regretful. “But this is the exception, the rule. The Catalyst is still out there.”

Bucky let out a bitter laugh, but it held no humour. Only defeat. 

He ran a hand over his face before dragging his fingers through his hair. His shoulders slumped under the weight of this endless mission.“I…” he started, his voice strained. “I’m never... I’m never gonna be happy. Am I?”

Strange had no answer for him. 

—

Bucky sat on the edge of his bed in Kamar Taj, staring at the collection of armour pieces he had gathered from the other universes. Each shard was a reminder of the battles he’d fought, the versions of you he had lost.  

And now, he had been cursed with the knowledge that not every version of you that lost him succumbed to grief.

The knowledge that you were happy in that world. That you had found love again, and it wasn’t with him. That no matter how hard he tried, no matter how many universes he visited, it seemed there was no version of him that could have you.  

It was cruel.  

You had once told him he was the strongest person you knew, but in that moment, he felt like anything but. He had fought armies of aliens, faced death over and over again, but this… this was too much.  

Bucky clenched his fists, his metal hand creaking under the pressure. He wanted to scream, to punch something, to let out the unbearable weight crushing his chest. 

Instead, he picked up one of the shards of your armour—a jagged, glowing piece from an Ultron world. He held it in his hand, his reflection distorted in its surface.  

“I’m happy for you,” he whispered, his voice cracking, insincere. “Even if it’s not with me.”  

Bucky placed the shard on his shoulder, the first piece of the armour. 

It felt right— like the power of a thousand suns starting to surge towards him.

He didn’t cry. 

He never did anymore.  

Because no matter how many universes he visited, how many battles he fought, how many versions of you he saved or lost, he knew one thing would never change:  

You would never be his again. 

Every time he closed his eyes, he saw you kissing Steve, your laughter echoing in his skull.

Why should they have happiness, when he was condemned to grieve for eternity?  

Why should any universe be allowed to thrive, when his own existence was empty, meaningless?  

He began by rearranging the pieces of your armour he had collected from the other universes. Each fragment gleamed with a faint, residual energy— remnants of the immense power you had wielded as the Catalyst. He spent weeks forging his own armour.

What started as just your shoulder pieces extended to more. 

He reforged the chest piece a version of you got from the Kree, then a gauntlet you ripped off of Thanos when the Infinity Stones had been destroyed. It grew and grew until every piece of him was covered in fragments of you.

When the work was done, he stood before a mirror, clad in the armour of his own making. It was a haunting reflection of yours, humming with fragment stolen power. He didn’t recognize the man staring back at him.  

“That’s the point,” he muttered to himself, almost annoyed.  

When the destruction started, the first universe fell quickly.  

Bucky tore through its defences like a force of nature, his new armour amplifying his strength and speed. He dismantled its protectors—heroes and villains alike—efficiently. He left the cities in ruins, their skies dark with smoke, their people screaming in terror.  

No one deserved peace when he couldn’t have it.  

—

Stephen Strange felt the disturbance immediately. The multiverse’s fragile threads started to unravel as Bucky’s rampage spread across realities. 

At first, Strange couldn’t believe it.  

Bucky Barnes, the man who had fought so hard to save the multiverse, was now its greatest threat.  

Strange had hoped that by guiding Bucky, he could break the cycle of grief and destruction. Instead, reversed it. 

James Buchanan Barnes was now The Catalyst.

— 

Strange arrived in a quiet, dimly lit apartment in yet another universe. The air was filled with the scent of coffee and rain, and the sound of your muffled sobs echoed through the space.  

Yet another version of you sat on the floor, clutching a photograph of Bucky—your James—to your chest. In this universe, he was gone, just as Strange had calculated. 

“Get out, Strange.” you demanded, your voice hoarse when Strange stepped through the portal into your living room. Your eyes were red and puffy, so utterly defeated.

Strange ignored the warning, stepping through the portal and onto the ceramic tiles of the apartment. His face was grim, his tone measured. He called your name to draw you out from the grief, even if only momentarily

“What do you want?” Your voice was raw, your patience long gone.  

“It’s not about what I want. It’s what the multiverse needs.”  

You finally looked up, your eyes sharp with exhaustion. You had been running on empty for months. You didn’t have Bucky here to hold you. To kiss you when you needed him to. To ground you in this existence. “The multiverse can save itself.”  

Strange’s expression softened, but only slightly. “If it could, I wouldn’t be here.”  

You scoffed, turning back to the photo of Bucky you cradled in your arms. “You’ve got the wrong person.”  

“I wish I had,” Strange said quietly.

The desperation in his tone made you pause. You set the photo down and leaned back, staring at the sorcerer with narrowed eyes. “What the hell are you talking about?”  

Strange hesitated for a moment before speaking. 

Then he said it: the beautiful name you haven’t heard in weeks— “it’s about Bucky.”

“Don’t,” you snapped, your voice a low growl.  

Strange pressed on, unflinching. “A version of him exists in another universe. But he’s not who you remember.”  

“What does that mean?”  

Strange conjured an image with a flick of his hand, the glowing strands of the multiverse twisting together to form a vision. It was him—but not your James. His face was twisted in anguish, his body surrounded by a swirling storm of energy. Planets crumbled in the distance, consumed by the raw power emanating from him.  

“He’s become the Catalyst,” Strange said, his voice heavy. “A being driven by grief, powerful enough to destroy entire worlds. If he’s not stopped, he’ll collapse the multiverse.”  

You stared at the image, his chest tightening. It wasn’t possible. Bucky was gone. He was dead.  

“You want me to go after him,” you said, your voice flat.  

Strange shook his head. “I want you to stop him. Talk to him. You’re the only one he might listen to.”  

“And if he doesn’t?”  

Strange’s gaze was unrelenting. “Then you’re the only one who stands a chance at killing him.”  

—

In the vast expanse of the multiverse, the roles have reversed but the tragedy remained unchanged. 

Somewhere, in a distant reality, Strange watched the threads of the timelines twist and tangle. He knew the truth, the one neither of you could see:  

That as long as one of you lost the other, the cycle would never break.

•

Back in Earth-616…

After some playful back and forth splashing, you both decided it was time to get out of the bath.

You stepped out first, shivering from the cool tile beneath your feet, grabbing a towel. Bucky followed, water dripping from his hair onto his chest.

He took the towel from your hands and draped it around your shoulders. He wrapped the fabric tightly around you, as if he was protecting you from whatever evil may want to reach you. 

Without warning, he pulled you into a hug. His lips brushed against your damp hair as you closed your eyes, sinking into the safety of his embrace.

After a while, you shifted in his arms, your hands finding another towel that hung from the wall behind him. 

The corners of your lips tugged up in a playful smile as you began patting him dry, earning a soft chuckle from your supersoldier boyfriend. He didn’t stop you— he never could when you insisted on taking care of him. 

So instead, he just watched you with that lovesick expression that made your heart do cartwheels. 

Neither of you spoke; you didn’t need to. His hand stroked lazily up and down your back, and your fingers traced patterns along the scars that marked his skin. 

As much as you hated seeing him hurt, you knew that he was safe. And that’s all that mattered. 

Because, in this universe, you were so blissfully unaware of the fragility of this peace, the fragility of your emotions. You remained unaware that in countless other universes, losing each other had broken you both. Unaware that in most other realities, there was no escape from the sadness that came with the death of one and not the other.

But in this one, none of that mattered. Because here, in this small bubble of love, you would keep each other grounded.

So as long as you both lived, you would stay blissfully unaware of the horrors your variants had to endure.

-end.

[jambalaya-enthusiast]

Just had another Jimmy thought...

If Curly had a daughter he would definitely introduce Jimmy as an uncle of sorts... Cutting it short once shes of age Uncle Jimmy about to get a whole lot creepier.

First he pulls you on his lap while He and your dad Curly are watching football or something, and you feel something but you dont say anything... but your dad needed to run to the store to grab some more beer. -Cupcake anon

Your own age.

Uncle! Jimmy x Curly's Daughter! Reader.

warnings: age gap(reader is an adult),toxic relationship themes, jimmy is a major creep, non-consensual touching. curly is an oblivious single father.

a/n; cupcake anon, you're a fucking genius. love you for sharing this prompt with me,hope I was able to do it justice!

It wasn't fun being a well respected captain's daughter. Especially after your mom left, your dad would leave for shipments for months on end,and you had to spend a good chunk of your childhood with nannies rather than your parents.

But that was when he came along,Jimmy... Or Jim,as your dad would call him. He was your dad's closest friend since childhood,and now he was gonna be... Living with the two of you? Your dad said that it was due to the shortage of leases on the market currently,but you know damn well it was because that jimmy person was just a broke guy.

"hey,so you're the daughter I keep hearing my friend talk about,huh?".

"uh yeah,my name is y/n".

"y/n huh? well that's a pretty name for a pretty little girl".

you did think it was strange as to how,Jimmy... or well,uncle jimmy as your dad advised you to call him, was so Frank and open minded with you,but you realised that's just how men in his situation were. Open-minded,and careless.

Uncle jimmy... was an interesting man to say the least,you hadn't really had the luck of having any fun 'relatives' for that matter so you thought this was the best as it was gonna get. Jimmy would offer you cigarettes. Something that your father had clearly mentioned in front of him was off limits for you.

"C'mon aren't you a big girl now? some rules are meant to be broken y'know?

"but dad would kill me if he ever found out..."

"it's alright,it will be our little secret".

All in all you started warming up to him,you thought that hey,this guy is already down on his luck,and he's also so fun to be around! wouldn't hurt to be friendly with him.

It didn't matter how unnecessarily long his hugs were,or how suffocating they were. he would always hug you so tight that you had to physically wriggle your way out of his grasp. on some occasions you could've sworn you heard him say something under his breath.

It didn't matter how he would stare at you for long periods of time if the two of you were in the same room,you thought maybe it's just a middle aged man thing

It didn't matter how during road trips,he would sit in the backseat beside you instead of sitting beside his best friend in the front. How somehow his hands would always find it's way to be on your thigh.

He was a fun guy after all! He lets you drink,smoke,and sneak out. Do all the things which your dad would have crucified you for.

Seeing both of you so close would have your dad asking you—

"wow you sure are having fun with uncle jimmy,huh? you guys seem to be close".

"yeah he's so cool! it's super fun to be around him".

"fun huh? Well im hoping it's a good kind of fun,honey".

But curly shouldn't be worried! His best friend was just taking care of his daughter... Right? He wouldn't do anything,wrong... Right? That much faith curly should have in his best friend... Should he not?

Your dad and uncle had a habit of watching football games during weekend nights,and you decided to join them one such night.

While watching the game,jimmy suddenly turned to you,and said.

'oi y/n, c'mere and sit" as he motioned towards his lap,he turned towards curly and said. "For old times sake,eh? You remember how I used to carry ya around? I'm feelin nostalgic".

Curly was already feeling tipsy from the 3rd pint of beer he was chugging,so he just laughter and said "haha,you guys are so adorable!".

Albeit,a strange request,you decided to do as your uncle asked anyway,and you went to him and plopped on his lap. No matter his lanky figure,he was still strong enough to carry your weight. So he had no problem in adjusting himself to have you sir on his lap while still getting a comfortable view of the ongoing game.

everybody was focusing on the game,but you,your focus was on something else entirely,all the while you were sitting on his lap, you could feel Jimmy's hot breath on your shoulder,how his left hand was rested at your side,firmly placing a grip, you could feel his heart beating, and you don't know what got over you,but you decided to do something risky, somthing vulgar which you hadn't even properly processed in your mind.

You grinded against him just a little,and that was enough to get his heart beating 10 times faster,you could practically feel his breath hitch,and him letting out the quietest groan. And you felt something hard between you legs,you realised that you had just gotten him rock hard. you felt accomplished for some reason. But that's when your dad decided to drop off the bomb.

"wait,fuck we're out of beer,jimmy look after y/n while I make a quick trip to the store to get few more".

"you got it boss".

You knew that it was wraps the moment your dad walked out the front door and closed it behind him. You blinked and suddenly you were pinned down onto the sofa, your uncle had both your hands pressed firmly above your head,he stared at you like a wild animal on the prowl, hunting its prey.

"damn,I didn't know that you were so dirty, grinding against me like that,you know how 'fuckin hard it was for me to keep from moaning?,you deserve to get punished for it don't you think?".

• you intently stared him,not knowing what to do,excited yet scared of what he was going to do next.

And then without a warning,he smashed his lips against yours,into a rough, messy, hungry kiss. he tasted like liquor with a hint of cigarettes,the cheap brand which he smokes all the time. His tongue was wildly exploring every inch of your mouth, he felt like an animal in heat.

then in between the kiss he said, "you don't know how long I've been wanting to do this,kid".

you already knew that this was going to be quick as your dad would be back from the store in no time,but you also knew,that this was the beginning of something,very long, something very vulgar. and even though it might be wrong,you felt eager,you felt excited. you were looking forward to whatever was going to happen next.

[messyoungie]

HABITS TO DROP WHEN GETTING YOUR LIFE TOGETHER

➝ CREATING UNAUTHENTIC & UNINTENTIONAL GOALS

the biggest mistakes you can make when creating goals is making goals that aren’t true to you and making goals for the sake of making goals.

it can be so exciting when you decide to get your life together. I mean, of course it is! there are so many possibilities! but when you start planning, don’t just write down the goals you see circulating on social media. what works for someone else may not be what works for you. don’t make your goals and habits based on what’s trending or popular in the self improvement community.

think about what you actually need for a minute. what is actually necessary? your goals and habits aren’t here to be glamorous, they’re here to help regardless of how simple or small they are. the point of thinking up new habits is to improve your life, so be intentional with your goals. what will practicing this habit or achieving this goal give you?

when you’re first starting out, your goals don’t have to be anything too crazy or intense. for example, let’s say you want to become a pink pilates girl and get into fitness. you shouldn’t jump right into it and say your goal is to work out for 2 hours 5 times a week. let’s consider some factors first. have you been living a completely sedentary kind of lifestyle? then try looking for exercises that’ll wake up dormant muscles. your goal should then be to repeat those exercises for how ever many times a week. then you’ll work your way up from there. (it’s important we don’t harm the body, so be mindful with your fitness goals.) what about your schedule? how much time can you actually give to working out? can your body even endure working out for that long?

anyways, hopefully you see what I mean. when creating goals, it’s not about having the “aesthetic” habits and goals that you may see on tiktok or tumblr. it’s about doing what is actually good for you and what’ll help you the most with where you are now in your journey. so please put some thought into your goals and where they’ll take you. creating unauthentic and unintentional habits will also mean you’ll be less likely to keep practicing them after a few times. at the end of the day, that doesn’t help you achieve anything and you’re left with a broken promise you’ve made to yourself. which leads me to my next point…

➝ NOT KEEPING YOUR WORD WHEN IT COMES TO YOU

let me start off by saying this— if you don’t even listen to yourself, why should anyone else? (harsh, ik)

a HUGE reason as to why people have no self confidence is because they don’t listen to themselves or keep the promises they’ve made to themselves. if you have no self trust, how could you have any self confidence?

now, building discipline can definitely be a challenge so if you want to start somewhere easy, nip your false promises in the bud and stop yourself from making them. that’s what I did when I was first trying to stop this habit. when my addiction to tiktok was at its peak I would always tell myself the usual “ten more minutes and then I’ll stop scrolling.” when I wanted to stop making false promises, I knew I had no control or discipline so the only thing I could do is be real with myself. I’d cut myself off when I heard myself say “five more minutes” because I knew it wasn’t going to happen. if I wasn’t going to quit my bad habit, then the least I could do is be honest with myself.

the things that you are constantly telling yourself, whether they’re mindless or intentional, matter.

so, stop telling yourself seemingly harmless lies. unnecessary false promises that you know are false will only fill you with tension.

➝ SEEING FAILURE AS AN INVITATION TO GIVE UP

this applies to so many things.

you wanted to be consistent with your reading goals but haven’t read a chapter in a week? dont give up. don’t tell yourself that being consistent is too hard for you, that since you missed a week this habit isn’t for you. make your goal a bit easier or give yourself another chance.

you wanted to spend more time doing art but it’s not turning out how you expected? dont give up. dont give yourself the title of a “bad artist” and never pick up a pencil again. move forward, give yourself another chance.

you wanted to quit your Instagram addiction but after a couple days you went back to scrolling for hours on ig reels? Don’t give up. dont tell yourself that this addiction isn’t gonna go away, don’t go back to the bad habit because you slipped up. give yourself another chance.

I think a lot of us (myself included) tend to give up at the first sign of failure, instead of reminding ourselves to keep going. it’d be wonderful if you could get it right on the first try. if you could read ten books a month right away after not reading a book in three years. if you could watch hours worth of tutorials and sketch the perfect portrait on the first attempt. if you could uninstall instagram for good and never feel the urge to go back. that would all be so amazing, but it’s not always the reality. expect the best from yourself and do the best you can, but also give yourself some compassion. keep in mind that you won’t always do things perfectly right away and that’s one thousand percent okay. when you feel yourself slipping up on your brand new goal, don’t end it there at the first failure. allow yourself to move forward, because the only other direction to move is backwards.

[moonshynecybin]

I’ve only been into/started following MotoGP for a few months. Can I ask how exactly did Marc getting the Ducati seat go down? I’ve seen references of it being jorge messing up/rejecting the seat and that somehow leading to Marc masterminding his way to it but don’t fully get it. Thank you :))))

lmao it was awesome. under the cut shes crazy shes long shes the war of the roses shes game of thrones shes ducati being fucking STUPID !!!!!

okay so the beginning of this season going towards the middle was like. genuinely dominated by discussion of who would end up with the second factory ducati seat, and there were 3 main candidates for the position: 1. enea bastianini, who had the seat but who had had a spotty 2023 marred by injury and was delivering inconsistent results in the early part of 2024, 2. jorge martin, who had been basically promised the seat ahead of them uno reversing and signing enea, and who had contended for the title the year before/was leading the world championship early in 2024, and 3. marc marquez, 8 time world champion and arguable GOAT of the sport, who was doing insane comeback rides on a year old bike that he had very little time to adapt to. on pure results, you would have to go with martin (it was p clear it wasnt going to be my girl enea....), but marc looked uh. very promising and very dangerous (apparently his data, ESPECIALLY in the left handers, was like. bonkers), and who was also undeniably a better business asset to ducati as a company trying to sell motorbikes. and as we all knowwwwww, ducati had BY FARRRR the most dominant bike on the grid, so they are staring down the barrel of like. deciding between three excellent riders for one, extremely coveted seat. they think they hold all the cards here, and after a bit of rampant speculation the ducati bosses say everybody calm the fuck down we will make a decision about the gp25 seat at MUGELLO. forza. and with that the stage is set.

but again. ducati had basically promised jorge martin that seat. in fact, there was a provision in his contract that said if he won the world title in 2023, he would automatically be promoted to the factory team. like if marc doesnt come in on his merry way essentially doing a year long AUDITION for that seat up-to and including crowd-commanding theatrics, then it is undeniably martin's bike to have. and it looks like ducati kinda thought they should honor that too! because it was reported (unofficially but through a multitude of reliable sources) on the thursday before mugello that jorge martin WOULD be signing with the factory ducati team to be in red for 2025 IMMINENTLY. and he shows up to the presscon with the moon shinging out of his ass and we didnt rlly have a reason to doubt him so things are looking pretty locked up tbh

so another piece of the puzzle. for the last few years one cog in the wheel of ducati's dominance has been them having EIGHT bikes on the grid, and as such having insane amounts of data to comb through and synthesize while developing the bike. at the time, the team with the most factory support is pramac racing. but YAMAHA have made a promise to a young shirtless man named fabio quartararo that they will get a satellite team for 2024 to help with THEIR efforts, and pramac's contract with ducati is expiring so theyre the top choice. yamaha offers them a fuck you amount of cash and full factory support to leave ducati and come run the M1s with them. and the thing is, it is EXPENSIVE to run an independent team and this sugar daddy style deal would essentially lock down their immediate future quite nicely, so they are thinking HARD about this— because if they lose jorge martin like. what the fuck are they doing not taking that deal. and YOU are asking me girl what the fuck does this had to do with marc marquez WELLLLL. ducati know that marc wants a gp25. and pramac has the factory spec bikes. and marc's famous ass is a VERY valuable little bargaining chip in their eyes. so ducati APPARENTLY wanted marc on the same deal jorge martin was on (complete with the promise of factory promotion if he won the championship) at PRAMAC in order to keep marc, jorge martin, and pramac all under the umbrella of ducati racing. they think problem solved :) we get to keep everything and everyone :) marc gets a current spec bike, jorge gets to be on the factory team, and we can still run eight bikes :) awesome.

WELL! marc catches wind of all of this and goes. fuck you i want to be a factory rider on a gp25. like why on earth would he move from busted satellite team to busted satellite team that doesnt even have his BROTHER ? so instead of keeping all of these negotiations behind closed doors he trots right the fuck up to the press at mugello and says hello yes i have ABSOLUTELY no intention of riding for pramac, in fact i only have the intention of riding with factory teams. big smile. fuck you. press run wild. domino tipped. pramac pissed off. ducati SWEATING.

AND i guess the ducati CEO (claudioooooo) was there. and some big sponsorship guys (audiiiiiii) were there. and it has been LONG been reported that gigi daligna really wanted marc for that seat (and that pecco REALLY didnt lmao). like bad. some would say carnally. and then i guess they looked at his data. and thought about how well he had already adapted to the gp23. and how badly he was beating bez and company. and i suppose the idea of actually losing marc and him going to a KTM or an aprilia scared the actual genuine NIPS off of these guys and literally by sunday night they had apparently called jorge martin to let him know that it wasnt going to be him and he went over to aleix and got that aprilia contract signed genuinely immediately (and enea later signed with ktm and pramac with yamaha). so the aprilia news was announced on monday and we knew marc was the choice from that, and then they announced it officially in the dumbest smuggest little video of all time a lil while after. but not before marc took a selfie in a shirt that said FACTORY PILOT that he later lied about and said wasnt on purpose. king. done and dusted. insanity.

so to recap: in the course of four days, marc essentially pulled a coup out of thin air by just. deciding to exercise some muscle with the press, which caused ducati to lose two bikes, secured the best seat on the grid for himself, and made sure that two of the riders that finished top four in this year's championship (including the CHAMPION) are on much worse machines going into next year. like he literally created the best possible outcome for himself by virtue of his reputation, media savvy, and sheer force of will. it was absolute crazy shit and SO much fun to watch play out live

[footygirl114]

Entrenadora (Alexia Putellas X Reader)

It has been absolutely forever since I have written anything, but this idea came to me and has been stuck ever since. I have more ideas for where this could go but would like to see if this idea is even interesting first. Please let me know what we think, as I fear I am washed up and my stories suck

Crouched down on the sideline, all you could do is watch as the #10 on your team cuts back across the top of the 18 shaking the defender and curls the ball into the top corner. You jumped up and could feel the bench behind you also jumping up and you watch on as the girls on the field surround the goal scorer as they celebrate. 

the feeling of your assistant coach slapping you on the back and say in“You were right the girls practicing the cutbacks paid off!” brings you back to the game at the moment. 

You smile and see the bench settle behind you and turn back to watch your team run back to get set for the kick off and you clap and yell out “come on girls, stay solid for 3 more mins, we got this!” 

The next few minutes pass by slowly, as you pace the sidelines occasionally yelling out instructions, but when the final whistle goes you can feel the relief settle in. You watch as the bench runs out on to the field and surround their goalie celebrating the semi final victory. You follow the team out and work your way through congratulating your players, but when your #10 who also happens to be your 10 year old niece wraps you in big hug you smile extra big. 

“That was a sweet goal Cami!” you tell her as she pulls back form you. 

“You taught me how to do that Tia!” she smiles up at you, and you cant help to pinch her cheek and she squeals and turns to celebrate with her teammates. 

You walk back towards the bench, after shaking the other teams coaches hands, and you start packing up your stuff and make sure the girls haven’t left anything lying about. You turn to get the girls to start cool downs, and you notice that your assistant coach has already got the team cooling down. 

Using the moment to stand there and think back on what you need to do for the afternoon prior to the final later in the evening. You fail to notice your brother come up behind you and squeeze your shoulders. 

You jump and turn to see him standing there and you whack him on the shoulder and say “you’re an ass.” 

He smirks and says “congrats on the win coach!” 

“Good thing you brought me in, you never would have got them to a final” you tease him with  smile. 

He chuckles and says “ouch, I wanted to coach but no parents were allowed.” 

“thank god you have such an awesome sister then” you smirk at him and move to gather your stuff as the team comes over to get their bags and move off the field. 

You cant help but smile at your big brother and your niece talking about the game as you follow them across the field. You follow them to your cars, and plans are made for the 3 hour window the team has before the final, to get the girls fed. You take a second to look at the schedule and see the other semi final is being played now and you decide to go and watch and scout the teams. 

You make your way towards the field the game is being played on and you find an empty spot towards a corner flag to stand in and watch. You are lost in the game that you don’t notice someone else coming to stand near you, and when you say something out loud about how stupid of a play that was you do not expect to hear a response. 

“si, I agree, would have been better to play the ball to the wing” the voice beside you says. 

You turn and see a stunning women, clad in Barcelona shorts and a half zip with a black ball cap on. It takes you a second but you finally respond with “or the ball should have been cycled back and not forced into a play.” 

“The centre back has a good range, she could have made a better attack” she says to you. 

The two of you go back and forth for the next few minutes before a goal is scored the way you both were just describing. You both laugh and you say to her “seems we both had a good grasp on the game.” 

“si, its refreshing to talk to someone who sees the game as a whole” she smiles at you. Before you can say anything else she asks “did you see that pass?”

“it was a waste of an opportunity” you reply back. It starts your conversation back up and you continue to discuss the tactics of the game in front of you. It lasts for the rest of the game, when your phone rings and its your brother calling and you turn to her and say “excuse me, I need to take this.” 

“I should go anyway, I enjoyed talking with you!” she says with a wink and she turns and moves away. 

You watch for a moment and walk the other way answering the phone to your brother, and you cant help but think that you would like to be able to talk to her again. When the time comes for your team to warm up, you completely forget about the conversation you had with the cute woman, and you focus fully on the game. 

When your team comes out the victors and after the celebrating dies down and you are standing in line waiting for the medal ceremony do you see her again. She is standing behind the convenor of the tournament with 2 other women dressed in the same outfit she’s wearing. You hear the convenor making a speech about the tournament and then introduces the 3 Barcelona Women players that are there to present the medals does it click who she is. 

You can feel the heat to your cheeks as you remember how you just spoke tactics with one of the best players in the world. You have to follow the team through the motions of getting the medals and you can barley look her in the eye as she places medal over your head. Luckily team pictures take priority and getting the team squared away takes up your team before you can continue to overthink it. 

When the madness dies down and a few people are left straggling around you find your self alone on the field. You are not alone for long when she steps up beside you and says “congratulations coach.”

You turn to her and say “Gracias, but my name is Y/N” as you turn to hold your hand out to her.

“Alexia” she says and shakes your hand with a smile. 

You try to ignore the tingling up your arm as she shakes it and you ask “Why didn’t you tell me who I was talking to earlier?”

She shrugged and says “does it matter? I enjoyed the tactics talk with someone who has the same view of the game as me.” 

“I mean I could have at least rolled out the red carpet, or maybe gone and watched some game play footage of how you move on the field” you chuckle back to her.

She smiles and says “Oh you would have watched me?” 

You shrug and say “for purely tactical reasons only.” 

She laughs out loud at that and says “can I take you for a drink to pick your brain about how my body moves?” 

“thats tempting for purely tactical reasons, but I promised my niece I would come celebrate the teams win with her tonight” You softly smile at her. 

She places her hand on your arm and smiles “you coach your nieces team here?” 

“si I do.” 

“thats very sweet of you” she squeezes your arm and continues “can we take a rain check?”

Nodding you move back a few steps to dig into your bag for your clipboard, and you write your number down and rip a piece off to hand to her and you say “call me for a rain check Alexia.” 

She smiles with a chuckle and says “I see what you did there, but I will be calling you for purely tactical reasons.” 

“I should go catch up with my niece.”

“you should” and she moves closer to you and press a kiss to your cheek and says “You’ll be hearing from me.” 

You watch as she jogs away to her other team mates and you move to meet your brother and niece in the parking lot. Your brother sees you coming and asks “what took you so long?” 

“Nothing, I was just taking it all in” you tell him with a smile. 

“mhm the blush on your cheek says otherwise baby sister.” he teases you and before you can swat at him he moves out of the way and says “now come on Cami is waiting for us.” 

***

The following morning as you are walking into your first class of the day you feel your watch buzz with a new message, you see it was an incoming message and you glance down quickly to notice it was an unknown number. Before you can read it you are at the door of your class room and you walk in and place your stuff down at the front podium. Looking up as you are connecting your laptop the lecture hall is about 3/4 full with 2 minutes to class to start. 

As your laptop boots up you can help but check your messages and you immediately can feel the smile and blush work the way up your cheeks. 

Unknown: Figured Id let you get a head start on the purely tactical reasons to watch me, and send you a link to the last goal I scored, I wont tell anyone if you watch it back a few times. But I would like to hear all about how my body moves from your perspective over dinner? 

Unknown: Also Hi, from the cute footballer you gave your number to, who would also like to be able to study how you move, again for purely tactical reasons ;)

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

The Villain’s Protector (Part 3) - Closer

Summary: The reader's in a bad spot when she's cornered by three infected intruders. But when the danger passes, she and Ben need to decide if they really can live together or if they'd be better off on their own...

Masterlist

Pairing: Soldier Boy x reader

Word Count: 3,700ish

Warnings: language, violence, life-threatening situations, death (minor characters), mentions of past torture

A/N: Happy Thanksgiving this week! Please enjoy Ben being an asshole/also his hilarious attempts at making up for it...

________

“Oh my god!” Both men spun their heads towards the back door, giving you a chance to make a break for it. You had to deal with the woman but at least you had a chance against her. In three large steps you were in front of her, ducking down to miss her punch. You kicked her knee, the woman shrieking and falling, giving you a chance to kick her back and shove her into your bedroom. You dove into the one across the hall, slamming the door shut behind you. Ben’s suit was draped over the back of a chair, his gun still in it’s holster.

Fuck it. 

You abandoned barricading the door, barely getting across the room before it flew open, all three of them standing there. The gun was in your hand within a second, finger squeezing the trigger blindly. You hit one of them, the other two shouting behind him. You jumped to the right to avoid the woman, getting a few more rounds off. She went down when a blur slammed into you. You crashed back against a window, falling through it and straight onto the back deck. Something sharp was in your back and your hand was empty, eyes blearily opening as the red streaked man stood over you with the shears.

“You could have been one of us, bitch.” He opened the blades and drove them downwards, straight for your torso. 

With a swift breeze, he was gone. You blinked rapidly, Soldier Boy standing over you, staring off to the side of the yard. Every muscle ached but you managed to look, spotting the man impaled on the shears about two hundred feet away in the grass. Strong hands turned your head, Ben’s face almost…worried? 

You blinked, reaching up to grab his wrist, his eyes wide.

“You have glass all over. You need-”

“Are you wearing fucking oven mitts?” You smiled, Ben staring at where your hand rested on the pink things. “Pink oven mitts?”

“Shut your mouth,” he said, pouting when you sat upright with a groan. He ripped them off, kneeling beside you with a grimace. “Uh. How true is that whole can’t die thing?”

“That’s actually really smart,” you said, nodding to the mitts. “If they can’t touch your skin, maybe we can keep you safer. Keep us both-”

“Y/N!” He grabbed your shoulders, eye twitching. “Do not lose it on me. Will you die if I rip that giant shard of glass sticking out of your back out?”

You shook your head, already pulling pieces out of your legs and arms. He sighed, gripping the glass and pulling it out fast, your heart skipping a beat.

“Warn a girl,” you grit out, hands reaching for anything to grip onto through the pain which meant his shirt before you. 

“You’re bleeding a lot,” he said. Shaking, you buried your face in his neck, breathing hard. “Y/N-”

“Take the rest out.” He tore your ruined shirt and jacket off, cool air hitting your back. He didn’t speak as he pulled out the other large shards you felt there but he flinched when you jerked into him and yelped. 

Finally, you felt they were all gone, your head throbbing angrily but you knew it’d dissipate soon.

“I totally had that guy by the way,” you mumbled. Ben’s chest rumbled beneath you, his warm body lulling you into a calmness. “Was that a laugh, Benjamin?”

“You are something else.” With some effort, you leaned back, Ben grasping your chin and turning your face. “Shit, your cuts are healed already.”

“I’m just that special,” you said, trying to stand but falling straight against him when a sharp bolt of hot fire ran across your back.

“You heal fast but the pain-”

“Takes longer. I’ll be better in an hour.” You didn’t move from where he cradled your body against his, Ben’s body strangely relaxed. “Bet you’re happy. You got my shirt off.”

“You do have great tits,” he mumbled, tucking your head under his chin. You raised your eyebrows, gaze focused out on the lake. 

“Ben, there could be more people nearby. We should probably move somewhere-”

“In the eighties I hired a young couple to take care of this place. They had a baby at the time I think. Landscape. Cleaning. That’s why that woman and those men were here. I let them live here in exchange for upkeep and I forgot they were here. This was my fuck up.”

“It was an accident, Ben. I don’t blame you. I’m fine.”

“You don’t realize you screamed when I took those glass pieces out, do you? The only reason you were in there alone was because I pissed you off again. I fucking forgot. I bring out your fucking shell shock, I screw up and you’re shaking in pain because of it. That’s not what a man does.” You sighed, taking a deep breath.

“Soldier Boy, you are ridiculous.” You moved your head so you could face him, Ben’s jaw clenched. You let your head fall onto his shoulder, offering a smile. “I’ve known evil men. Shitty, evil men. But you? You put on pink oven mitts which I’m confident you’ve never worn anything that shade in your life for fear it would shrivel your dick up. Yet, you did it for me. Here you are, apologizing in your own, albeit half-assed, way and look at that. Your dick is still just as big as it was an hour ago.”

He pouted, turning to look at the waters of the lake, ignoring your attempts at getting him to acknowledge his idea of what a man was wasn’t the only one . “Why did you break me out of that CIA black site? The truth this time.”

You closed your eyes, turning your head back under his chin when sharp, stabbing pains started up in your abdomen again. You tried to bite back the whimpers that caught in your throat but a few slipped through, Ben squeezing you tighter, anchoring you.

“Because there’s nothing worse than being trapped, unable to die, only to spend every waking moment in pain. All you want it someone to rescue you. So that’s what I did,” you said quietly.

He hummed, shifting his arms around you, holding your body against his.

“Do you still think I only want to use you, Ben?” He was quiet, slow steady beats of his heart thrumming underneath you for a moment.

“I could be evil. People thought that about me once upon a time. It’s how I ended up in Russia.” You shrugged, Soldier Boy shifting beneath you, soon carrying you back inside bridal style. You poked open an eye, Ben watching you closely. “I was trapped for a reason. Give it five minutes and you’ll hate my guts again.”

“Why would I hate the boy that wears pink oven mitts for me?” you teased. He rolled his eyes so hard you swore they were going to pop out the back of his head. You let your eyelid fall shut, head lolling back until he adjusted you. “If you end up screwing me over, then fine, you’re a monster. But until otherwise, will Mr. Evil please get me into a bath tub?”

“Your generation is fucking insufferable,” he grumbled, walking across the deck, in through the back door.

“Yes, yes, whatever you say, Satan.”

“What did I say about shutting that fucking mouth?” 

“Ben.” You opened your eyes when a door creaked, Ben setting you down in a large claw foot tub a moment later. You tilted your head, his face a mixture of annoyance and wanting to get out of the room as fast as possible. 

“What?” he growled, turning the water on warm and slow for you, setting some towels down next to the tub. 

“Just wanted to say we had a whole conversation where we didn’t fight. I think you’re in serious danger of losing your asshole status if you keep this up.” He gave you his bitch face and dropped a bar of soap in your hands. “Admit it. You like this, being yourself again.”

“You are weak and pathetic and like all women, you need a man to save you and then complain about us in the same breath. I ain’t a fucking pussy so don’t get fucking comfortable with me thinking I’m like your fucking girlfriend. I give the orders, not you.” He stood up and slammed the door on his way out.

So much for that progress.

You and Ben kept your distance after that. You spent most of the day cleaning the blood off the walls and floor while Ben disposed of the three bodies in the nearby woods. It was dark by the time he returned, the house smelling of disinfectant.

He threw his boots on the ground and gave you a glare as you ate a bowl of beans at the dining room table. He stormed around the kitchen, narrowing his eyes at the pot on the stove and the empty bowl on the counter beside it.

“Beans? I’ve had fucking paste shoved down my gob for weeks and you make me fucking beans?” You finished off your dinner, leaning back in your seat with crossed arms. He puffed out his chest, pointing a finger. “Don’t you fucking start, bitch.”

“Does it make you feel like more of a man to yell at me? Maybe you even want to hit me. Fucking go for it. We both know I can take it.” You got up, getting in his face and throwing him off guard so much so he stumbled backwards. “You want me to think you’re a monster? Go ahead. Hurt me. Insult me. Prove me wrong. Show me just how awful you really are deep down and that there’s no shred of a soul left in there.”

“Shut the fuck up!” he shouted, towering over you, his face turning red. 

“Do it!” He growled, grabbing your arms, picking you straight off the ground.

“Look at me!” You were ready to kick him in the nuts when you noticed the red on his face was…bright. Too bright. Infected bright.

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll help you alright.” You put your hand to his face, Ben instantly dropping you, both of you falling to the ground. This felt different than before. There was no sharp pain from the redness your hand absorbed from his face. No, it was warmer, a slow burning sensation that built up and up and had you gritting your teeth.

He gasped and choked before rolling away, your body falling back on the hardwoods. You panted, staring at the wood beams crossing the ceiling when Ben crawled over, staring down.

“I got some of their blood on me earlier when I killed that guy. I think it got on my face,” he breathed out. You nodded, giving him a thumbs up. “It must act slower that way?”

“Depends. Am I a weak, pathetic bitch?” you said, Ben lowering his head. “Good. See, we’re all good.”

“You didn’t scream this time at least,” he said, helping you sit up against the cabinets. He sat back against the fridge behind him, both of you catching your breath. “Why?”

“The more a particular…injury happens to me, the recovery period from the pain shortens. You didn’t have the streaks in you fully or else you’d be dead so it wasn’t as bad this time.” He shook his head, running a hand through his brown strands. “What?”

“Your powers suck.”

“Not powers,” you sighed, Ben pursing his lips. “I swear. I’ve never taken compound V in my life.”

“Well then you must be a natural born supe. Is Reaper your dad or some shit?” 

“No,” you snapped. Ben held up his hands, giving you just enough of a pout to make you feel bad. He got up and scooped some beans into a bowl, glancing at you once. The floor creaked, your eyes drifting up to watch him settle down across from you, slurping up his dinner. “Why are you eating on the floor?”

“Jesus fucking Christ, woman,” he said with his mouth full and a roll of his eyes. “Can I eat my dinner where the fuck I want to?”

“Of course you can.” He made a face, pointing his spoon at you when you parted your lips. 

“I swear to God if the next words out of your mouth are to argue with me, you will not like the outcome,” he barked. You swallowed down your comment about how the chair and table would be more comfortable. If he wanted to sit his ass on the hard floor, fine, that was on him.

You closed your eyes and tucked your knees up to your chest, lowering your head to rest it against them. 

“You’re a pretty good liar. Most women are but you put them all to shame.” You frowned, lifting your head wearily. He stood, setting his empty bowl on the counter before squatting down right in front of you. Long fingers grasped your chin, turning your head left, then right. “Your jaw is clenched so hard you could snap a tree in half.”

“Fine. It hurts whenever I absorb that red matter stuff from you. There’s nothing either one of us can do about it so why does it matter if you know?” His grip on your chin tightened, just hard enough to make you wonder if he was considering killing you.

“Don’t fucking look at me like that.” Ben’s grip loosened, his thumb wiping away the wetness that’d gathered under your eye.

“Like what?” you whispered, intense green eyes boring straight through to your core. He leaned in closer, his breath hot.

“Like I’m going to hurt you.”

“This was a mistake. Just cover yourself up when you go out and you should be okay,” you said. You got to your feet and barely made it out of the kitchen when his hand landed on your shoulder, freezing you in place. “Forget about Reaper. You’re free Ben. Just live your life how you want to.”

“Why the hell are you trying to get out of here so badly all of a sudden?” 

You closed your eyes, clenching your fist when a wave of burning heat flooded your veins. “Why do you care if I stay?”

“I can drown.” You turned around, furrowing your brow. Ben raised his chin, nodding once. “I nearly did as a kid, out in that lake.”

You both looked out to the dark water, gazes slowly drifting back to one another. He sat down on the edge of the couch arm, running a hand through his hair. He smiled but it didn’t reach his eyes, head shaking as he glanced at a knot of wood in the floor near your feet.

“My father took me out in a rowboat to the middle of the lake when I was a boy. Maybe seven, eight? He threw me over the edge, told me to start swimming.” His eyes met yours, his smile faltering. “It wasn’t until I started to sink did he pluck me out. He was so…disappointed in me the whole way back to the dock. I was convinced he’d throw me out any second. I never told my mother what happened but somehow she knew. It was the only time I ever saw her argue back against him. She ended up showing me how to swim over the next week right where it’s shallow at the shore edge.”

“Why are you telling me this Ben?” you asked quietly. He shrugged.

“You can either be terrified that something more powerful than you will kill you and that fear makes you run from it. Or…you can be a man and face it, tell that thing it’s not more powerful. You learn to respect each other’s power and work together.”

“A lake doesn’t snap your neck in your sleep when it gets mad at you,” you whispered. He sighed, his jaw clenching slightly. “You just…you’re so mean to me that I couldn’t even tell you were infected until you were literally ready to pummel me and I saw the red streaks. Ben, I didn’t know you wouldn’t hurt me. I read the CIA’s file on you and god, you’ve hurt so many people Ben. People you supposedly cared about, loved even. How the hell am I not supposed to be terrified of you? Maybe I was wrong and we should just go our separate ways.”

You headed down the hall, pausing when you heard him walk up behind you.

“If you stay…I’ll give you whatever you want.”

“It’s the end of the world, Ben. Forget about Reaper. What could you possibly give me that’d make me okay with staying with you?” You glanced over your shoulder, Ben’s face strangely soft.

“My word.” He held out his hand, fighting back a frown when you narrowed your eyes at it. “I’m fucking trying here.”

“Not good enough.” You stormed into the bedroom, grabbing a duffel from the ground as he huffed. You started to shove some things inside when he cleared his throat.

“Please stay.” You poked your head out in the hallway, Ben gritting his teeth. 

“Did you say please?” you asked. He rolled his eyes. You stepped back out, crossing your arms. “Fine. I’ll stay.”

“Good-”

“If you drop the Solider Boy shit and act like Ben. Act like the kind of man you wished your father had been to your mother.” His face went white in shock, Ben’s jaw dropping open slightly. “See? That normal guy is still inside of you. You know it’s wrong to be a dickhead. You fucking know it’s wrong and you do it anyway. But you have to stop. You have to be better. Not perfect, just better. Or else I’m gone Ben and this world gets a lot harder for both of us.”

“I…will try if tell me one real thing about yourself, why you don’t die.” He stood his ground, lips pressed into a thin line. You looked away, leaning against the door jam.

“You know how…you know when you did the Compound V trials and all the other participants died except for you?” He nodded once, tilting his head. “That was because your genes are advantageous. Your genes could handle that…evolutionary leap.”

“Like a Punnet square.” You raised your eyebrows. “I’m not a moron.”

“Well, yes, sort of like that. Your gene mixture basically was special. My genes are also…special.” You frowned, Ben’s fingers reaching out to graze your cheek. Your eyes wandered up to meet his, his green eyes curious, guarded. You crossed your arms, looking past him. “My genes, eventually, would have allowed future generations from my bloodline to be natural supes. Millions of years down the line. It’s incredibly rare. Think of it like if your genes and mine were in a race, I’m starting a hundred million miles ahead of yours and we’re racing to the same point.”

“You would get there faster,” he said quietly. You nodded. 

“Reaper found out about my genes. He ended up, activating those special parts of my genes and transfused me with his blood when he did so. He didn’t know what would happen but it gave me the ability to not die, like him. It was all an experiment to him.”

“How’d he do that? Activate them?”

“Through eight years of torture.” Ben stared at you, his adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed thickly. “Everything was forced on me, all because of my stupid fucking genes. Do you finally understand why I saved you?”

Ben nodded, letting you slip into your bedroom. You lay back on the old mattress, body in desperate need of sleep and rest. By the time you managed to get out of your jeans and under the covers, the door was cracking open. Ben was carrying something, a mug. Steam billowed from it as he set it down on the nightstand. Then he was leaving, nearly pulling the door shut behind him when he stopped.

“There are things I would say to you if I wouldn’t be a pussy for saying them.”

“Ben?” He looked over his shoulder, catching your smile as you sat up and took a sip of the hot tea. “That’s good enough for tonight. Thank you for the tea.”

He nodded, hesitating once more. “Drink that and then go the fuck to sleep. You look awful.”

“Goodnight to you too.” He grumbled and pulled the door shut, leaving it open a sliver to let in some light from the hall. You heard movement outside and heard a chair scrape along the wood floor. With you mug in hand, you tiptoed over, opening the door.

Ben was sat in a chair right outside your room, frowning when he saw you. “I thought I told you to sleep.”

“What are you doing?” He rolled his eyes.

“Just go to the fuck to sleep. We need to get a game plan together in the morning and you won’t be able to do that if you’re a zombie. Go before I make you.”

You took a sip of tea, offering him a tiny smile. “Try to get some sleep yourself at some point. It was a long day.”

“Y/N…” he warned. You took a big swig of tea and handed him the mug, Ben cautiously taking it.

“I think I’m starting to get you, Ben. You’re an acts of service kind of guy.” He stared at you like you had three heads and shook his own. “I’ll explain someday.”

“Alright, that’s it,” he stood, watching you scurry back to your bedroom. You plopped into bed, Ben pointing a finger at you before sitting back down. You tugged up the covers, putting your back to him as a wave of exhaustion hit you. 

You were just barely holding onto consciousness when something heavy draped over your body in the cool room. 

“She would have liked you,” he mumbled. You burrowed into your sheets, letting sleep overtake you.

That was until four am.

That’s when you woke up to screaming.

___________

A/N: Part 4 coming soon!

[miabluee]

｡ﾟ.｡✧ some tricks. .

. . .n’ rules .* . ｡ﾟ.

* always prepare if your gonna eat heaver meals— ex. i have Bloom before to help with bloating and digestion, and about an hour after i eat or whenever i get home i have a straight ACV shot. sometimes i will have ginger too, just depends (i use the ready-to-use paste, about as much as the length of my finger). lastly, i usually always have a cup of lax tea (x2-3 packets) before bed as a natural laxative and digestion aid. if i decide to fast after that consecutive day, i will normally continue this for 1-2 days. limiting the effects of eating like this might be a small thing, but with consistency it works.

* gradually drink full glasses of water before eating (within the span of about 30-45 minutes so you don’t get sick) or, have ‘sips’ of water between bites. in my experience, this makes what little food i actually do eat pass quicker (depending of what i eat ofc, which is not usually junk).

* using small plates/bowls— take time to prep your meals. spread out and separate what you are having to cover the whole plate and AGAIN, make a little seem like a lot. ofc sometimes eating from bigger dishware is unavoidable, ex. some holiday like Thanksgiving. if that happens, try to fill your plate with primarily vegetables. however still in this case, do your best to never finish what’s on your plate.

✧☾𖤓

* cut your food into smaller pieces; make a little seem like a lot then, limit further— ex. cutting a plain burger patty in 1/2, and one of those half’s into small pieces while leavening that other half alone on the plate. remember, less is always better<3

* enjoy your meal but don’t finish before others— chew your food slowly and thoroughly. match pace with who your around; trick them into thinking that your eating as much. do not make it obvious; engage in the conversation more to help as a distraction.

* illusion; you have to make it seem as if your actually eating— start leaving wrappers around the house, eat (throw away) some leftover meals and dirty a plate, etc. . . saying you ate at work or school will not work forever. u need to make them actually see evidence of food. plan your meals so when you do eat, they see. trust me<3

✧☾𖤓

* focus on clean eating and gut health— limiting sugar, dairy, and carbs; that’s as simple as it gets. (what keeps me from eating that bad shit is my fear of acne; yes, ofc weight gain and bloating too, but acne actually visibly shows on your skin and who genuinely wants to see that). ALSO, keep in mind that the more healthy you eat, the better it will actually taste. trust me<3

* choose quality if binging— here’s the thing; we all are gonna have binge and meta days, and wether you b/p or not, your still eating calories. it’s inevitable. nonetheless, what’s important is that you to pay attention to what you put into your body. in other words, binge on diet foods, dairy free options and overall lower caloric content. like if you want pizza, maybe choose cauliflower crust rather than regular. bread is super high in carbs and same for calories (i’m sure that’s obvious), but my point is that at least you’d be able to cut back some of the calories you’re consuming rather than eating say double or triple what the original product is. it’s a small difference, but it helps.

* adding 100% lemon/ lime juice to water— it helps curb hunger, speed up your metabolism, and reduce bloating (i bring a water bottle of this to work so i don’t eat on my lunches).

* tea and coffee— literally the best, but really try to cut/limit out the sweetener and additives (sugar is sugar, despite it being 0 cal, and u honestly really don’t need it; get the sugar you need from fruit) and, the bad taste of black coffee may deter you from eating.

* bone broth/ vegetable stock— soooo good for you, extremely low cal, and is a wonderful way to get a bit of energy without actually eating. it’s a healthy liquid that has nutrients BUT it is bland, so on occasion i’ll add a tablespoon of salsa (might sound strange but it’s actually reallyyy fucking good).

* diets drinks— i personally try to limit myself because of ‘nonexistent’ sugar (again, even if it says 0). however, caffeine is caffeine and it helps you seem full; go crazy on it because they will become your best friend.

* juice— most juice brands add sugar anyways (even the all natural ones) and if they don’t, still get in the habit of cutting that shit out of your diet. you honestly don’t need it. ofc if you do crave juice, have something on a meta day or spoil yourself with a yet low cal option (like an Sparkling Ice [5cal]). even better, make a smoothie; the best thing is actually knowing what you put into your body.

* honey— it’s very good for you, but it is HIGH in sugar. hear me out: as little as i’ve had it throughout my life, whether it’s in tea, baklava, graham crackers, or whatever else (like it doesn’t even matter how much or what i consume) i’ve found that honey WILL break me out without question. so, while it’s good for you, i do everything to avoid it because i usually get the sugar i want/ need from fruit. ofc there are those few people that can literally eat it— practically drink— as much as they want, so don’t be scared of it because it is sugar. remember, it still is a 100% natural source of sweetener. this is what just works for me, that being cutting it out from my diet completely.

* chia seeds— they are an excellent source of fiber (when i have them, its when i need a pick-me-up; like rather than breaking my fast completely by having solid foods, i’ll always have less that a tbsp with a glass of water instead). just keep in mind calorie content.

* chili peppers/ hot sauce & seasonings— a really good way to help boost your metabolism and limit what you eat; if spice makes you uncomfortable, try to start slowly and build a tolerance (i like to pickle/ jar the chili peppers i get and i usually just add few to my meals, or, i use the alternative: hot sauce).

* gum— it’s a staple, but try to lean towards the sugar free option. (i like fruit flavors most; i just can’t chew the others on an empty stomach easily. sometimes i treat a piece as if it’s a meal and that typically it works for me. it really honestly makes me just drink more water, which is obviously an added bonus).

✧☾𖤓

* fasting— be mindful that metabolic adaptation can occur in as little as two weeks so don’t overdo; the goal is to continuously lose weight. but again, if u do break a fast, it’s okay. please don’t beat yourself up: just accept it and move on.

* we all know this, but distraction; find ways to keep yourself occupied— research something interesting, do something you like, or try something new (there’s infinite possibilities, just keep exploring).

* continuous movement— doesn’t matter what, just burn calories (ex. i try my best to walk at least 10k steps everyday at work, even if i decide to workout or not that night. on my days off i try to focus primarily on reps.). mindset: even a little exercise is better than nothing.

* brushing your teeth— i was actually skeptical about this one, but it does work (i like to do it all; brush and then floss, mouthwash, and then do whitening strips or whatever when i’m really craving something).

* food log/planner— i know that this is controversial, but i personally like to plan out ahead of time (as in weeks) of what exactly i’m going to eat and when/how long i’m going to fast, including meta days. i count calories usually that ‘scheduled’ day before i eat so i don’t go over. i mainly just do this to make sure i’m getting enough of everything, or at least a taste, so i don’t get horrible cravings and binge really bad. however, do NOT obsess; it’s important to treat it as a guideline.

[ashblooddragons]

As The World Caves In

Request made by @valuemyheart1

Word Count: 1742

Summary: it's been three weeks since you lost your son to Blood and Cheese. and yet your breast will not dry, they become painful, and Aemond is all to happy to help relive that pain. (also Aemond was not with Syliv he was busy talking to some unnamed lord)

Warnings: memories of B&C, grief, P in V sex, breast worship, lactation kink, still new to smut so please be kind!

I can feel the weight of my breasts, feel how they are filled with milk for babe, it's painful and I should relive it, but there is no babe to feed to take this pain away. I've been fighting the memories, fighting the image of my little boy, my little Aenar.

Oh my sweet little Aenar, he was only five moons old when those monsters came in and took him from me. All for that little Strong boy. 

They were supposed to kill my loving Husband, my dear brother, Aemond. They might have if he wasn't speaking to some Lord that was in need of ‘dire advice from the prince’ I scoff at the thought. He was in dire need of my husband? Him? As I had to stand with a dagger to my throat as that blast cheese cut my son's head off? He needed my husband more? 

No, and there is a reason that the Lord is now being sharply questioned in the black cells. 

I can still see Aemond's face when he saw what they did to our little boy. He must have heard my screams after they sliced Aenar's little head off. He looked like he was going to be sick.

I hear something behind me, like stones scraping against stone. When I turn around to see what is wrong I see two men with knifes grinning at me, one rushes forward when he sees I'm about to scream. 

“You can scream lass, but if you do I'll kill ya. Do ya understand?” He asks, gliding the dull edge off his knife down the side of my face. 

All I can do is nod and pray that all they want is my jewelry. 

My nod seems to satisfy them as the bulky one lifts his hand from my mouth moving to reach for Aenar.

I gasp and step back holding Aenar closer to my chest cooing to him when he starts to cry. 

“What do you want? My jewels, you can have them just don't just my baby boy.” I plead helplessly. I gasp when the scrawny one rips the gold and ruby necklace from my throat.

“We were sent by the Queen, the true Queen. She wants payment for her son, and we were sent to make sure the deal was done.” The scrawny one says twirling his blade in his hands as he grins at me menacingly. 

For some reason this one scares me more than the goliath. 

“What does she want? What has my sister, the ‘true Queen’ , asked of you?” I ask feeling the pit in my belly grow, I have a sick feeling my jewelry is not what they are after. 

“A son for a son.” The goliath says pointing to Aenar who is still crying. 

I can feel his little tears soak into my silk robe, feel his little heart pumping in. I feel my throat constrict in dear, feel the bile rise in my throat. Black dots flood my vision as panic takes over.

“Give a price, want double the amount done. Just don't hurt my little boy. He's only five moons, please.” I beg but from the menacing smirk on the scrawny one, and the look of mock sympathy on the goliath I know they will kill my boy.

I tried to run but the Goliath grabbed me around the waist and held my head in place. “Told to take you to watch lass.” 

I watch as the scrawny one lays little Aenar on his changing table, raise his blade and strike down. It was a clean cut at least, as it only took that one swing for my little boy's head to fall off the table and  roll across the floor only to stop at my feet. 

I don't hear them leave, I don't hear the guards run in, I don't hear Aemond calling my name. I only heard screams and the blood rushing to my ears. When I turn I see nothing but Aemond, the way he can't decide where to look, our little boy or me. I watch as the blood drains from his face and his skin turns green. 

I don't know what to say besides one word. One word is all I need to say for Aemond to know who to kill for this crime against us.

“Rhaenyra.”

I'm cut out of my thoughts by the feeling of a hand on my shoulder. I whip around ready to attack only to find not a goliath nor a scrawny man, but my wonderful husband, my dear brother, I find Aemond.

“Sorry, I asked if you were alright?” He says with that tone that tells me he knows I wasn't here.

I about laugh at the question, how am I supposed to be alright? How am I supposed to ever be alright after what I went through? But instead of bringing up that night I decide to go a different route.

“My breasts hurt, the Maesters say I just have to wait for them to dry up, but they won’t. It hurts Aemond, it hurts.” I say flinching when I touch my tender and swollen breasts. It has only been three weeks since we lost our boy, and I haven't let a drop leave me. 

I watch his pupil dilate and hear him take in bated breaths. I know that look well, he's always adored my breasts but once I came with child and they grew, and once Aenar was born he seemed enthralled with the sight of our son suckling at my breast, one of the reasons I continued even though it is frowned upon for a Princess to feed her own child. 

“I could help,” he says breathlessly, making me confused how he could help me. “I could– I could relive that pain for you.”

“H–how?”

I feel his bated breath against my lips, feel the hardness of him against my hip. Try as I might I can't fight the desire that courses through veins, nor the wetness between my thighs. 

I watch as he moves so he is now hovering over me before he kisses my lips like a man starved. It has been so long since I felt desire, felt this need. I think as I move my hips so my core can meet his length. Though we're both still clothed, the friction is enough to make me breathless.

I gasp when he sits back on his haunches and lifts me so I'm on his lap. “Time to take that Nightgown off, Darling.” He says already raising it and I'm all too happy to help.

“Fuck.” I hear him whisper as he takes in the swell of my breasts, the rich pink of my nipples and the veins that have risen from prolonged fullness.

“Gods I've missed these.” He says kissing along the tender skin making me whimper in almost pain.

“They've missed you, my love.” I say smiling when I hear the guttural growl that leaves him.

Before I know it I'm laid on my back my Husband resting his hips against mine and my peaked nipple in his mouth. I feel each draw he takes, it's a strange relief, for the desire it brings to my core is undeniable, but so is the relief of that painful fullness and stretch. 

“Aemond.” I sigh out rocking my hips against his, I need more, I need him. 

“Fuck, if you keep doing that I won't be able to hold back.” He growls out gripping my hip and kicking up the milk that has dripped down my right breast. 

“Then don't.” I say gripping his hair and forcing him to look at me.

He may hate his eye, but I find there's something ethereal about his scar and sapphire. And even if it is the last words I say, the last thing I think before my last breath I will have him know I adore every part of him, even the scars and darkness. 

I feel him untying his trousers as he continues to suck and lick at my right breast. I feel each draw of milk leave me, hear the groan of pleasure he lets loose at each taste.

I feel the leaking head of his cock against my core, feel him hesitate from gliding into me.

“Please.” Is all I need to say before he drives into me with a punishing force. 

I can hardly catch my breath as he starts bullying my cunt with sharp hard thrusts as he moves over to my left breast. All I can think of is him, no more pain, no more grief, only Aemond and the pleasure he gives me. 

With each thrust and each drag from me teat I see stars, he has always known my body better than I ever could. He could always pick up the slightest frown or smile, and now he is seeing how he drives me mad with desire, how he takes my breath away. 

“You were made for me, from your nature to this sweet little cunt that grips my cock like a vice. There is no man, or god that will ever take you from me. Do you hear me?” He says emphasizing each word with a sharp thrust to the spot he knows makes me see stars.

“I was made for you, my love, only you, always you!” I scream out feeling my peak upon the precipice. 

With one more hard thrust, I’m screaming his name as I grip his long silky hair like a lifeline. My eyes go black from the force of my peak, and I can only barely hear him let ut a groan of pleasure before he spills in me, for all I can hear clearly is the beat of my heart. 

We lay like this for a while, his hands gripping my hips, my legs around his waist, and my fingers in his hair, and him buried deep within my core his cock acting as a stopper so his seed does not leak out of me.

We don’t say anything, for we do not need to, we know this was only a moment of release, of bliss, and that within time we will hold each other close, me sobbing into his chest and him letting silent tears fall into my hair. But we will have each other and that is all we will ever truly need.

@sugutoad @ilikefelines @mmogurl @classicsimpforaaronwarner @sachaa-ff

[livelaughlovesubs]

Happy anniversary! Could you do the prompt punishing/torturing toji after he lied to shiu about being a Dom or something? And then shiu tells reader and she decides to show shiu what really happens in bed 👹👹

Apologies if it’s hard to understand but I hope u see the vision

Once again happy anniversary!

I wasn’t sure if you wanted reader to fuck Toji in front of shiu or just to punish him… I went with the latter sooo

Dom!reader x sub!toji - reader is gn

Warning: orgasm deny, edging, foot job, stepping, teasing, pet play (?), degradation, bondage

Anniversary event

“Y/nnnn~” shiu slurred over your name, snickering as he tapped his cigarette over the ashtray. “You know, I was surprised when I found out your preferences.” He held an almost empty glass with his other hand, and you cheered your own drink against his. “Oh really? Still surprised I’m dating this guy over here?” You stubbed your elbow against Toji, who sat next to you, then you chuckled, “that joke’s getting old.”

He empties the last bits of his beverage and said, “no no, not thaaat. I mean you didn’t give off the feels of…” he stopped for a moment to take a drag, thinking over his words. It was obvious that he was tipsy, if not, drunk. You didn’t really pay attention to a drunk’s blabbering, not until he continued with, “…you know, of a sub, haha!” Suddenly you froze, what did he just say? Before you got the chance to ask, Toji slammed his fist against the table and growled, “cut the crap, don’t talk nonsense when you are wasted.”

“Oh , I didn’t mean it in a condescending way, I was just surprised when you told me.” While he said that, he locked eyes with your dearest boyfriend, so when he said ‘you’… “don’t listen to him, y/n. He’s drunk.” Your partner commented, his voice had a hint of hesitation, he also glared at Shiu, who didn’t even notice the hostile glances. “I want to hear more though. What else did this guy say?” You ignored him and turned your focus to the male sitting across the table.

“I don’t remember all that well, just, that he was the one in charge?” After finishing his sentence he took another drag of his cigarette. Toji hastily stood up and told you, “no way, he’s making things up. Why would I do that anyway?” His smile looked a little crooked, you knew him well enough to tell if he was lying. “Huh? I thought you were bragging about it.” Shiu asked, almost naively. If he wasn’t drunk before he definitely was now. “Fucking hell, can’t you just shut up.” The little scar on his lips twitched when he spoke, and he was certainly agitated.

You smiled through it all, speaking as calm as you managed, “so that’s what happened? Haha.” Toji turned to look at you, mumbling in a quieter tone, “you don’t believe him, right y/n?” Your lips curled up in an unnatural way when you said, “why, of course I don’t. Anyway, it’s time to head home now.” Just as how you could read his lies, he could also see through your facade, and he cursed Shiu under his breath as he responded, “alright.”

He fucked up. No, really, he fucked up big this time, and both of you knew. He didn’t know Shiu would be so vocal when drunk, and he also didn’t expect him to remember what he said. It’s not his fault now is it? If anything, it’s partly shiu’s as well, since he asked how your relationship was progressing and teased him about subbing for you. He got provocative, he was basically forced to lie about it!

That’s why it’s so unfair that he’s the only one getting punished, why’s he always getting the shorter end of the stick? Stripped naked with his arms tied behind his back, a raging boner standing proud between his legs as he kneeled before you. Whenever he gazed up to meet your eyes, you stared down at him coldly, making him squirm in painful delight.

“Even under such circumstances you can still think of other things?” You tapped his cheek with your foot, arms crossed over your chest. “No I-” “shut it, Toji, dogs don’t talk.” His brows furrowed and he pressed his lips into a thin line. “I can think of many reasons why you did that, but it doesn’t make me any less angry.” Now you placed your foot on his thighs, and stared down. “You know this is a punishment, try your best.”

Before he got time to prepare himself, you stepped down on his dick, pressing it against his pelvis. The sticky liquid stuck to his lower abdomen like glue. “Ah- uuh, urghHh..! Wai-” he quickly stopped himself and bit his bottom lip, he couldn’t afford to make mistakes now. “Was I too lenient with you?” Despite your choice of words, you weren’t talking to him and neither did you want him to answer. “So much that the dog forgot who’s the master and went around barking at people?”

Ah damn it, if you were going to degrade him with that fierce look in your eyes, all while teasing him like this, he wont be able to last. His sex twitched underneath you, and he struggled against the ropes. You could see the tips of his teeth biting his lips until it bled, or how his muscles were tensing up in response to your actions. His skin was glistening from his sweat, and his cheeks were blushing like crazy. “Filthy beast. I didn’t think you’d enjoy your punishment this much.” Then you pressed down harder, causing him to melt, to drown in ecstasy.

“UrggHhh..! Ah f-fuck…” he moaned and cursed, squeezing his eyes shut as he felt himself getting close, god he was withering. It was truly humiliating how much he loved this, the pain, the pleasure and the intensity of the moment. Really, he was so close, but how was he going to warn you when he wasn’t allowed to speak? “Nghh…! Hmm-mhm..? AhhHHhh～♡♥︎♡!!” Without warning, you rubbed his tip with your toes, enough until it was completely covered in his precum.

Once you were content, you pulled back and wiped your foot against his chest, right before he got to cum. “Argh- ah, ahh.. y-y/n..!” This time he couldn’t stop himself from calling your name. Head thrown upwards, eyes glassy as his saliva dropped down the corner of his mouth all the way to his chin. He was so confused, why did you stop? But the second he saw the look on your face, he knew the answer to his question.

“That reminds me, since I’m apparently the sub, I shouldn’t be doing these kind of stuff with you.” You snarled with a wide, sharp grin. “No- wait, I, I’m sorry okay? Just- let me cum.” He hastily yelled, squirming around and shaking with the desire for release. “No can’t do, I’m afraid I don’t know how?” The sound of your giggles rang in his mind. Afterwards, he wanted to protest again, but you just climbed into the bed and yawned, “anyway, I’ll go to bed first. Don’t wake me, alright my dear puppy?”

Even though it was formulated into a question, he knew very well it was a command. And he also knew, he had no way out of this. “Urgh- shit..” he groaned, trying to move away from his spot but failing to do so. This was the punishment you’ve planned from the very beginning huh? With a trembling and somewhat desperate voice, he whimpered, “I understand… sleep well, master.”

[daydreams-after-dark]

The Sunshine Princesses

Pairing: Soft Dom female reader x Sub Felix x Sub Jisung

Summary: Felix loves to dress up for you in layers and layers of lace and fabric. He wants to be all pretty for you, so he steals your make-up and powders his face, applies blush to create rosy cheeks and lipstick to give him a delicious look. He knows you like to play with him like this.

or, You come back to your quarters to find your little Lixie has hidden a young man in the wardrobe.

Word Count: 5k

Setting: French historical palace vibes, but absolutely not historically accurate. Refer to photos/vision board above for inspiration on the feel I was going for with this story.

a/n: this is a re upload of a previously posted work.

CW below the cut.

CW: feminisation (reader refers to them as princesses), cross dressing, mommy kink, reader refers to herself as “mommy” and calls Felix and Jisung “baby boys” etc but they are 22 approx in age with reader older (you decide her age as it’s not specified), spanking, oral sex, p in v unprotected intercourse, cream pie, orgasms, anal fingering (m rec). Cum swapping, voyeurism, praise kink.

TW: the following is in reference to Jisung’s situation prior to this story: mentions of physical abuse, Jisung has bruises, reference to sex trafficking, selling, implied potential sexual abuse (no characters were sexually abused).

🎀 🎀 🎀

Felix loves to dress up for you in layers and layers of lace and fabric. He wants to be all pretty for you, so he steals your make-up and powders his face, applies blush to create rosy cheeks and lipstick to give him a delicious look. He knows you like to play with him like this.

You will be arriving at your quarters any minute now and Felix adjusts himself on the plush bed, ensuring his garments are positioned just right. He is hard, his cock is leaking from the tip. The anticipation of what’s to come is almost too much for him to handle. But he is also hiding something from you, and he’s not sure how you will react.

He hears the door, signaling your arrival.

🎀 🎀 🎀

“Oh my beautiful baby boy. All dressed up pretty for me, hmm?” you purr as you climb up onto the bed, hovering above Felix.

He looks stunning. Ethereal. Like an angel. An angel you want to ruin.

“Let’s see what state you’re in, shall we?” you shuffle down the bed enough to start lifting the layers of fabric. No undergarments. Just his neglected erection, painfully hard, pink at the tip and leaking pre-cum. So fucking delicious, you think to yourself.

“Let me take care of you sweetie.” you reassure him as you grip his cock in your hand, ready to sink your mouth down over it.

“Mommy. Yes… I’ve been a good boy for you. All pretty and waiting.” he pants. 

“Shh. It’s okay. Mommy’s got you.” You lick the underside of his shaft from balls to tip and then swirl your tongue around the slit, before starting again. “You look so pretty, Lixie.” 

You love him like this, waiting for you to make him feel good. Such a precious boy. You take his balls into your mouth and hum whilst pumping his cock excruciatingly slowly, eliciting a deep groan from the boy on the bed. “You’re good enough to eat.” you smirk up at him and sink down over his shaft again and open your throat for him. Your lips meet his pelvis, his lips part with a sigh and his eyes roll back into his head. He tries his hardest not to buck his hips upward. You can tell he’s using all his self control from the way he’s gripping the sheets with white knuckle fists.

You love nothing more than pleasuring your Lixie, especially when he’s made such an effort for you tonight. Your eyes water as you bob your head up and down his length and saliva dribbles down making a mess around the base. Just the way he likes it. Messy boy.

Felix’s moans become louder and louder as he nears his climax, and you release him from your mouth just long enough to say “Come on baby, feed Mommy your sweet cum” and dive back down his cock just in time for him to shoot his load into your mouth. You carefully hold the cum on your tongue as you make your way up to kiss him. He parts his lips for you, allowing you to push it into his mouth. “Was so good I had to share it with you my darling boy.” and you lean down to kiss him again.

You groan into Felix’s mouth and he hums back. And then a whimper.

A whimper? But it was neither from yourself or Felix. You open your eyes and snap your head around to your wardrobe cupboard suspiciously. A clunk from inside has you climbing off your bed to investigate. “Mommy,” Felix begs “Please don’t-”

Cautiously, you open the wardrobe door to find a boy of about twenty years old crouching inside with the most scared expression you’ve ever seen. His wide eyes, open mouth, and positively chubby cheeks has you melting, and you feel a tug at your chest. You love to take care of little Princes.

“Oh deary me. What are you doing in here? Why don’t you come on out you poor frightened little thing.” You say gently, holding out your hand to the boy. He hesitates momentarily before reaching for you, standing and climbing out of the wardrobe.

“That’s it. Come on out. There you go, don’t be afraid.” you say encouragingly and usher him over to sit on the end of the bed with his cute little legs dangling off the side of your high set mattress.

“Felix!” You stay sternly to the sheepish young man on the bed. His face is still flushed and fucked out. “Did you know about this? Did you hide this poor boy in my room?”

Felix sits up and leans on his elbows. “S-sorry, Mommy,” he stutters. “He was being mistreated in the kitchens… I… I had to help him.” he pleads.

“Hmm.” you scoff and turn your attention back to the cutest little squirrel you ever laid your eyes on.  “What’s your name, sweetheart?” you ask gently cupping his cheek. He looks up at you like a lost puppy. His big bambi eyes on the brink of tears.

“Ji-Jisung.” he replies. 

“Jisung. That’s a pretty name.” you stroke his cheek and he visibly quivers. You stand and step back to take him in. Brown shaggy hair, big brown eyes, chubby cheeks, the most delectable pink lips. He was pretty. Absolutely pretty, and you are almost certain what Felix means by him being mistreated. The boy is ravishing. His clothes are another story entirely. Drab, beige common clothes. Who is this boy? Possibly a servant? 

Jisung opens his mouth as if he wants to say something, but then quickly closes it again, remaining silent. 

“Sungie? Can I call you that?” you ask kneeling on the floor at his feet. He doesn’t meet your eyes but nods. “Have people hurt you Sungie?” you press. Jisung flinches and his eyes flicker up to meet yours. “You can tell me.” you place an encouraging hand on his knee.

“Yes.” He whispers. “They beat me.” 

“Jisung,” Felix speaks. “Show Mommy your bruises.” and is at Jisung’s side wrapping an arm around him and holding him close for a moment.

“Felix, please go fetch washing up supplies and something for Jisung to sleep in.” Felix nods and immediately springs into action and exits your room in search of supplies, leaving you and Jisung alone.

“Will you show me Sungie? Show me what they did.”

Jisung slowly slips off the bed and removes his garments, deciding to take off absolutely everything and standing stark naked in the middle of the room.

You pull in a sharp gasp at the number of bruises, of all shades of blue and purple, that cover his upper body where his skin should be the same delicious honey colour of the rest of his body.

You continue to scan your eyes over him. His shoulders are broad, and his toned torso tapers off into the tiniest waist you’ve ever seen. You ignore the feeling in your core as best as humanly possible, but when your eyes drop a little further you see the most delicious cock you’ve ever laid eyes on, you feel yourself grow wet. His dick isn’t hard but you know that when it is it’ll be spectacular. 

“Ahem.” Felix scurries back into the room with supplies ready to wash Sungie to make him feel fresh, clean and safe.

“Did they touch you, Sungie?” You ask as you sit him down in a chair and begin his sponge bath.

“No…not like that… not yet anyway.” 

“Not yet?” you pause. Jisung doesn’t elaborate.

“Mommy,” Felix speaks up beside you. “Jisung was going to be given away from the people running the kitchens to a lord for…  entertainment. I had to help.”

“It’s okay, Lixie. You did good, baby.” you reassure him.

“You’re not mad?”

Oh you are mad. But not at Felix. Your mind runs through all the evil, degrading treatment that would be awaiting Jisung if Felix didn’t take him in. 

But aren’t you just as bad with Felix? A voice in your head pipes up. But you remember you gave Felix free choice. He could stay with you if he wanted, and he could leave if he wanted. It was his idea to dress up pretty for you. It was his request for you to treat him like a little whore. He bravely approached you with his kinks and fantasies. You were happy to have him just bring your dinner and help you into your poofy dresses. You didn’t intend for him to be getting you out of them, or have him wear them himself. It was Felix who ignited this in you. He doesn’t have to do anything he doesn’t feel like and he’s free to stop at any time.

But this Jisung might not be interested in that sort of thing, and that is okay. But if he is interested?

“Jisung? Were you watching us through the crack in the wardrobe door?” you ask. Jisung squeezes his eyes tight and nods. “Hmm. And what did you think, Sungie?” 

“I liked it.” He whispers and looks at the ground.

You arch an eyebrow. Interesting.”You did?”

“Yes.” he nods. “I’ve never seen it like…like that before.” he looks wide eyed at you and Felix.

“What do you mean, my love?” you inquire, washing over his bruises carefully.

“Well, it looked so caring and gentle. I’ve only ever seen it rough and brutal…and the person whose face is being…” he swallowed. “is never actually enjoying it.”

“Mommy likes to make me feel good…and feel pretty…and feel loved.” Felix smiles, drying off Jisung where you’d washed him already. 

“Sungie. I love to take care of Felix. Anything he wants I want to give to him.” you look to Felix and then back to Jisung. “And he loves to be my beautiful princess.”

“Oh I do. I really do.” gushes Felix.

“But what do you get in return?” Jisung asks you, watching your hand wiping down his forearm.

“Oh, Lixie takes care of Mommy too.” you reply matter of fact.

“But how?” He presses.

“Can I show him, Mommy?” Felix says excitedly.

“Would you like that, Sungie? Would you like to see?” you cup his jaw and turn his face to yours.

“Yes… yes please.” There is silence for a moment. “M-mommy?” he whispers quietly. “Will you look after me too?”

You look down to see his cock is hard and there is a bead of precum on the tip. Fuck you want nothing more than to kitten lick it right off him. What does he taste like?

“Sorry… um… Mommy?” He says shyly when he sees you notice his arousal.

“That’s okay, baby boy. But you do have a rather pretty one.”

“I knew he’d have a pretty one.” Felix sighs, staring longingly at Jisung’s cock.

“I’m glad that Felix brought you here and those bad, despicable men won’t be able to touch you.” You place your hands on both his cheeks and squish them. Adorable.  “Of course I’ll take care of you in whatever way you need, Sungie. But for tonight, I feel it’s  best if you just watch, okay? But you can sleep in bed with us after. Would that be okay?”

Jisung considers your proposal and nods.

You finish washing and drying Jisung and help him into the pretty nightie Felix brought in. Fresh white linen down to his calves and a simple little bow around the neckline and usher him to the bed.

You spend the next hour or so showing Jisung how Felix takes care of you. You get him comfortable on the bed, sitting up against the mountain of pillows, and you lay down beside him, completely naked. “Sungie,” you pant in anticipation as Felix nestles his head between your legs. “Watch.”

Felix begins to pepper kisses along your inner thigh and pushes your legs wider and presses them against the mattress. Your Lixie is strong even if he enjoys being dainty and helpless. 

“Don’t tease Mommy, Lixie. You know what I need you to do. Show Sungie how you take care of me.”

Felix presses his tongue flat against your aching pussy and you buck your hips up automatically. “Yes. Yes, my baby boy, my…fuck me with your tongue.” Your fingers thread through his blond hair. “Yes…just like that.” You say breathlessly.

You pull his hair forcing his face to press up hard against your cunt and continue to rock your hips against his face. He hums and moans, enjoying himself immensely. He enures he gives your entire pussy attention, spending time on your clit, then moving down your entrance and fucking you with his tongue. He moves lower still and presses his tongue against your asshole, teasing it until it lets him breach the ring of muscle and fuck you there too. Your little Lixie can’t get enough of your pussy or your ass. Desperate, needy little boy. Making you feel. So. Fucking. “God Lixie I’m cum-“ you shake and tremble around Felix’s face as your back lifts off the mattress and you are seeing stars.

You sink back down into the bed and let go of his hair, allowing him to finally come up for air. “It tastes so good. Mommy’s pussy’s so pretty.” He cooes and runs a finger through your sopping folds. “Can I share some with Sungie, Mommy?” 

You hesitate momentarily, catching your breath, but eventually nod, giving him permission. You are cautious, worrying that Jisung might not be ready to be involved.

You turn to the boy next to you. “You want a taste, Sungie?” You ask softly, and Felix offers his slicked finger to him. 

The boy’s eyes nearly pop out of his head at the offering and he shuffles onto his knees to allow Felix to slip his finger into his mouth. 

Jisung groans and closes his eyes while sucking Felix’s digit completely clean. He lets out a shaky breath as he opens his eyes slowly and locks eyes on your pussy.

“Fuck.” He squeaks and flops back into the mattress and looks at the ceiling like he was questioning his life’s existence. His nightie drapes over his erection and you bite your lip imagining all the things he could do with it.

🎀 🎀 🎀

After Felix has cleaned himself up and removed his makeup, he climbs into bed and snuggles up behind you. You’re facing Jisung, simply holding him in an embrace.

“Sungie. You’re welcome to stay here as long as you want, and you can leave at any time too. I need you to understand that.”

“Thank you… Mommy?” He seems unsure of what he should call you.

“Is that what you want to call me?” you stroke his hair and feel him shift on the mattress. 

“I think I do.” he sighs and drifts off to sleep. 

🎀 🎀 🎀

At some point in the night you wake up rather abruptly when you feel a hard erection pressing against your ass. Jisung. The only barrier between your bodies is yours and Jisung’s nighties rubbing together as he grinds against you seeking relief. Then you hear a stifled whimper followed by a wetness seeping through the fabric of your nightgown and sticking to your back.

You say nothing about it.

🎀 🎀 🎀

Over the next few days Felix helps Jisung settle in, lends him clothes, teaches him your schedule and important names of the court. Jisung eagerly takes it all in. In the afternoons Felix reads poetry to him, and Jisung teaches Felix songs.

Every night for the next week you and Felix demonstrate for Jisung something intimate and naughty. Then you put on your nightwear and snuggle into bed.

Each night Jisung gets a little bolder with his antics. On the second night you can tell he’s lifted his nightie up when he grinds against your back, and he lets himself moan just a little bit louder as he comes. Your core aches, desperate to be fucked, as you feel his cum on your nightie again, causing it to cling to your skin. You pretend not to notice but fuck you want to touch yourself so badly.

The third night he gets a little bolder still and tries to nestle his length right between your ass cheeks, trapping his bare cock between the fabric of your nightie and his stomach. You stay still, allowing Jisung to do what he needs to for his own pleasure and release. As usual, you say nothing.

On the fourth night he does the same thing except this time you have shimmied your own nightie up around your waist, leaving yourself bare and exposed. You feel him scooch up behind you and, yes there it is, his bare cock pressing against your exposed ass. Jisung gasps at the unexpected unobstructed contact. But when you don’t move he assumes you’re asleep and so he holds onto his cock and runs the sensitive tip along your ass crack, up and down, over and over. His breath is shallow and ragged. 

“Sungie?” You say low and firm. Jisung halts his movements.

“I…I’m… so-sorry… Mommy.” He chokes and pulls away. “You’re just so pretty…and you make me so…so…so hard.”

“Hmm.” Is all you reply.

“Mommy? Are you mad? Am I…are you going to punish me?” He whispers desperately. The corners of your mouth curl up. Baby Sungie wants to be punished, hmm?

“Keep that up and yes… you will be punished.” You sigh, feigning annoyance. “But if you stop right now, then I will let it slide and pretend nothing happened.”

“Thank you, Mommy.” He whispers and you immediately feel his cock return to rest against your bare skin. He runs the tip down between your cheeks and squeezes it between your thighs. You lift your top leg ever so slightly to give him access to nestle his velvety smooth cock between your thighs and the length of his shaft against your dripping core. You squeeze your thighs back together, encasing Jisung’s cock entirely with your soft body. 

“Mommy!” He tries to keep his cries down. “Mommy… feels so good.” He begins to fuck your thighs, the friction of his cock against your cunt causes a knot in your stomach to quickly tighten. You want to play with yourself, play with him, so bad, but you remain strong and let Jisung chase his pleasure.

“Hmm, you really do want to be punished don’t you Sungie? Such a naughty little boy.” Jisung’s hips speed up “Yes, Mommy… please. Sungie’s been bad.”

“And how does Sungie need to be punished?” you squeeze your thighs together even harder.

“Nngnh…Sungie…needs…aargh…feels s’good Mommy…Sungie needs spanking.” with a little grunt Jisung coats your inner thighs with thick hot cum and slips out from between your legs, spent.

Sungie needs spanking? This will be fun. 

You roll over and hold Jisung and he falls asleep almost instantly. Your legs are sticky, but you don’t care, and you reach down to finish yourself off while thinking about spanking little Sungie’s cute ass.

🎀 🎀 🎀

The next day sees you outside of your chambers for most of the day, attending court matters, functions, and other mind numbing activities, and isn’t until late afternoon that you return to your room.

You smile with delight when you enter finding Felix and Jisung at your vanity dresser. Jisung sitting on your little stool while Felix fusses over him applying makeup to his face. Both are dressed up pretty in your puffy, lace dresses and Felix has already painted his own face with your blush and rouge lipstick. They turn when they notice your presence. 

“Oh Mommy, you’re home. We thought we’d surprise you.” Felix beams.

Your hands come up to cover your mouth in surprise. “Oh my beautiful boys, have you dressed up just for me?” You approach the two young men and stroke their cheeks affectionately. “My pretty little princesses.” you whisper lovingly. The pair of them look back at you with innocent expressions, so desperate for your approval. “You’ve done so good.” you plant a small peck on their cheeks before moving to sit in one of your chairs.

“Come. Kneel in front of me.” you instruct, and they eagerly do as you ask. “Now. I must know. What kind of games are you wanting Mommy to play? Lift your skirts.”

Felix and Jisung reach for the hem of their dresses and simultaneously lift the front of their skirts to their waist, revealing their matching thigh high white stockings and their bare, erect cocks. You immediately feel your cunt pulsate. Such pretty cocks to play with. You bite your lower lip and cross your legs. Fuck, you’re turned on.

“Tsks tsk…I see. You boys want to play naughty, filthy games. Don’t you?” you muse. “Stand up, but keep your skirts lifted.” you drop down off your chair onto your knees in front of them and let your hands trail up their stockings. You gently let your fingers caress their inner thigh, taking your time before turning your attention to their obscene erections.

 “Oh dear. These look so painful. Do they hurt?” you coo as you take a cock in each hand and inspect them. The boys hiss at your touch, their cute little legs trembling. 

“So painful, Mommy.” Felix whispers.

“It’s so swollen.” Jisung whimpers.

“Naww. Lucky Mommy’s here to help make you better.” You swirl your tongue around Felix’s tip before swapping to Jisung’s. You’ve been dying to taste Jisung’s cock for a week and you close your eyes and take him deeper into your mouth. You groan. Jisung groans. Felix groans too as you pump his cock. You alternate between the two delicious penises until they are on the brink of exploding. Much to their dismay, you let go and return to your chair, leaving them sobbing for release.

“It’s okay my poor babies. I promise we will play very soon. But first, Jisung. Your punishment. Come.” you curl your finger ushering him forward. Jisung’s eyes widen enthusiastically and he practically falls over his feet to get to you and kneels in front of you. 

“I’m going to take care of you okay? Now, are you sure you want me to spank you?” you ask in a soft tone and hold his face in your hands. “I’m going to give you a word to remember. If at any time you are not enjoying anything at all, use the word and everything stops. Okay? Do you understand?’ Jisung nods. “Good. Your word is ‘poodle’. You can remember that, yes?”

“Poodle.” Jisung echoes.

“Good boy. I need you to lay across my lap. That’s it.” Jisung complies eagerly, laying over you as directed. You lift his skirt up to expose his perfect, honey toned ass, and rub your palm over his cheek, squeezing and kneading the flesh.

“Okay. I’m going to start your punishment now.” You raise your hand and land a firm smack to Jisung’s ass. He whimpers and tries not to squirm. “Only nine more baby, and then Mommy will make you feel good.”

You continue to spank Jisung. Not too hard, but enough to leave red marks. The last thing you want to do is cause any trauma, especially after knowing that he’s been beaten in the past. You come down with the final smack and rub your hand over his skin soothingly. “Good boy, Sungie. Lixie,” you look up to where Felix is sitting on the floor gazing at Jisung. “Lixie, please. The oil.” you say.

Felix passes you the bottle of oil from your vanity and you drizzle some of the liquid onto Jisung’s ass cheeks, and then a little at the top of his crack. He wriggles beneath you at the sensation of the oil siding down to his balls. “Such a good boy for me.” you massage the oil into his reddened skin. “Sweet sweet boy.” You pull his cheeks apart and gasp at the sight of his perfect, tight little hole, and you just have to touch it. Slowly, as not to scare the poor boy, you run your finger over it. Jisung whimpers. “Do you need to use your word, Sungie?” He shakes his head. “Feels nice.” Good. You circle his slippery rim several times until Jisung is trying to wriggle back against your finger, signaling he needs more. And then your finger is pressing inside. 

“M-mommy!” Jisung gasps. 

“Fuck.” Felix mutters from the side. 

You slowly pump your finger in and out of Jisung until you can feel he is ready for a second digit. He lets out the cutest, most desperate little noises as you loosen him up.

“Can I kiss him, Mommy.” Felix whispers. 

“Sungie, honey. You hear that? Felix would love to help take care of you too. Is that okay?”

Jisung nods his head. “Yes… please, Lixie. Need Lixie.” Jisung is coming undone. Felix crouches down by Jisung’s head and lifts it up to meet him. “You’re so pretty Sungie.” Felix smiles and takes Jisung into a slow, deep kiss while you slip in a third finger. Jisung writhes beneath you and then he’s coming hard, squealing into Felix’s mouth and spurting cum all over his inner thighs and carpet. 

Felix helps Jisung over to the bed and makes quick work of cleaning him up, praising him the entire time. “Let’s get ready for Mommy now.” He settles himself down next to Jisung so they are laying side by side, dresses lifted up for you to see.

It is a magnificent sight, having your two princes, or princesses rather, laying there ready for you, pretending they’re innocent, when all they want is for you to do naughty things to them.

You strip off entirely and climb onto the bed and begin with touching your own body. You caress your breasts and pinch your nipples, slowly taking your hand down the front of your body and between your legs. Your breath becomes shallow and your skin heats up as you watch your lovers watch you pleasure yourself.

“Please, Mommy. Stop teasing. Lixie won’t last.” Felix sobs.

“It’s alright, my Lixie. I’ll take care of you first.” You crawl close to him and straddle his lap and slide your slick pussy over his hardness. His cock is more than ready. Propping yourself up onto your knees, you guide yourself down over Felix’s length. Thick, hard as stone, and stretching you out deliciously. “I’m going to start fucking myself on you now.” you say and begin to bounce up and down his shaft. “Mommy, it’s too…slow down…plea-ease!” Felix whines and you know it’s because he’s been on the verge of coming untouched for the last little while. You lean down and kiss his lips, smearing rouge lipstick across his mouth. You love it when he looks like a messy little slut. 

You don’t slow down, determined to free him from the agony of his hard on, and it doesn’t take long until you feel him cumming deep inside you. He fills you up with so much cum that it seeps out almost immediately. You don’t orgasm, you’re saving it for Sungie. Oh god, poor Sungie. You rake your eyes over his body. His face is fucked out already and he is so fucking hard again. Exactly the way you want him.

You carefully slide off Felix’s softening cock and cover him up with his skirt. You give him a little kiss and tell him he’s a good boy before climbing onto Jisung and straddling his hips.

You can barely contain your excitement. “Hey Sungie.” you smile down at him. “You ready? You want to be inside Mommy? Fill her up with your cum?” 

“Yes…so bad. Want you… to play with me.” he says in a tiny voice. You feel Felix’s cum still leaking out of your body and dribbling onto Jisung’s length.

“Okay, sweet sweet Sungie.” you whisper as you lower yourself onto his cock, taking him in one motion. Your gaze doesn’t leave his beautiful face, as you begin to roll your hips slowly, undulating on top of him. He tries to keep his eyes open, but everytime you sink back down to completely engulf him he can’t help but squeeze his eyes shut and moan.

“That’s it, Sungie. Filling Mommy up so fucking good.” you purr. “Does it feel good for you sweetie?” 

“Mmmh…feels..so” he chokes as you rock harder on his cock. “So tight…slippery…warm.” 

He opens his eyes and they land on your tits. Your cunt squeezes at the thought of his plush red lips around your nipple, and Sungie cries out at the contraction of your walls. He’s close. But so are you. 

“Sungie, help Mommy…Come, sit up. Suck my tits.” you pull him up desperately, and he immediately wraps his lip around your breast and sucks the nipple into his mouth. It makes you fuck yourself harder on his cock, you need your release. So fucking bad. You’re panting and practically growling as your cunt clenches around him, and when he bites down on your nipple hard you explode. You throw your head back, and cry out his name. You’re not given a chance to come back down, before Jisung starts to thrust up into you uncontrollably and makes a high pitched whine. At the same time you feel him release his load deep inside you. 

“Fuck, Sungie. Jisung.” you hold him to your chest, breathing heavily, trying to calm your heart rate.

“Was I good?” he looks up at you with tears threatening to spill from his eyes. You push away the damp hair that is stuck to his forehead and place a tiny, soft kiss to his skin. “So good. You made Mommy cum so hard on your pretty cock. Such a clever boy.”

He beams up at you and snuggles close. You climb off of Jisung and lay between the two young men. The three of you feel blissed out and content.

‘Mommy?” Felix eventually breaks the silence. “I’m a clever boy too. Look! I got it hard again!”

It seems your boys aren’t finished playing.

.....

@channieandhisgoonsquad @noellllslut @itsseohannbin @weareapackofstrays @3rachasdomesticbanana @palindrome969 @xxkissesforchanniexx @fun-fanfics @rhonnie23 @jisunglyricist @strayywayy @armystay89 @igetcarriedawaywithyou @mylittleponeypinkrosieposie @justforreaders @melochacco @scenuniverse @oddracha @galaxycatdrawz @jiminssluttyminx @kayleefriedchicken @imperfectlyperfectprincess1 @dool-set-net @redstayrosie @mintymintmint251 @katsukis1wife @delulustardust @eastjonowhere

[buckiverse]

Between the Lines

☆--- paring: athlete!sylus x athlete!reader

[chapter 1/3]

☆--- summary: Sylus plays baseball, and you play softball at Linkon University. Unfortunately, both of you share the misfortune of suffering major injuries during the world championship, cutting your seasons short. With your athletic careers on hold, you and Sylus find yourselves rehabilitating together—working to rebuild not only your bodies but also your confidence in yourselves and your futures.

☆--- word count: 3.4k

☆--- warnings: murder mentioned, this is mostly world building tbh, eventual smut (not in this chapter), caleb & tara are mentioned

☆--- a/n: this story is very much me projecting, so enjoy! I was gonna make a mini vocab list type of thing, but honestly, I decided against it. But give me your thoughts guys I genuinely feel conflicted about writing a sports romance... essentially (╥_╥)

You started at Linkon University earlier in the fall. The campus was like nothing you had ever seen before, which was a high compliment from you since you grew up in the countryside. First, the sheer size of the place was enough to make you consider buying a scooter. You relocated closer to the university for your second degree, leaving behind your granny and best friend, Caleb. You understood the pains of being a commuter all too well, and for Law school, you decided not to repeat that mistake. 

It was darker now in the mornings. You took a deep breath and could smell the change in the season. You looked around and admired the change reflected on the campus. Birds flew overhead, migrating south in preparation for winter. Squirrels scaled the surrounding trees, busy working. The wind blessed your senses, the breeze blowing your hair, the crisp air causing you to sniffle from the chill. 

Warmth surrounded your body from your coat as you strolled down the paved path. Taking your time, you slowed your pace, observing the changes around you. Your favorite part was the colors that autumn brought about. It reminded you of your mother. She loved the change in season reflected by nature. 

You reached the large bulletin board stationed near the student center. From time to time, you check it out, always curious about what's going on around the school. Your gaze started from the top of the board, scanning your way down till the blue, gold, and white flier caught your eye. “Tryouts,” you said before grabbing it off the wall. “Softball tryouts.”

The clouds drew your head to the sky as you contemplated the flier. You used to enjoy playing when you were younger, but you still played occasionally. It had been a year since you’d picked up a glove. Your knee still screamed at you when the weather changed—the cold aching your old wounds. 

A signature ringtone came from your phone, distracting you from your thoughts. You opened the bag and grabbed your phone. You saw the incoming call from Caleb, “Yo, what’s up?” you said smoothly, giving the poster a one-over before folding and placing it into your bag. You resumed your steady stroll, making your way through campus.

“Hey, pip-squeak, just calling to see how’s law school going? Have you flunked out yet?” he teased. You laughed, imagining the face he was making on the other side of the phone. “No, actually, and I'm considering taking on a new hobby,” you replied smoothly. “I’m simply too efficient. I’m getting bored.” you joked, kicking a rock in your path. 

You were still adjusting to the grandeur of this campus. No matter how many months you committed here, you still needed help finding the law building. Your gaze followed the gothic architecture of the buildings. The stained glass and pointed arches got you thinking about changing your major. “And what would that be?” Caleb said, breaking through your thoughts.

“A sport,” you said. “I’ll leave you to guess which, but there are quite a few fliers around campus.” 

“Hmm, Softball?” he guessed. Your eyes opened wider as you saw the law building. Grand as this school was, this building was tucked away, but it still had a Romanesque charm. “Maybe–or maybe not, but I’ll call you later. I have a class to flunk out of,” you said. Caleb laughed at your elusiveness, “Break a leg in there.” You ended the call, climbing the steps and confirming the location for your day's first class. 

Linkon University was considered the pinnacle of achievement. It was one of the most prestigious universities in the country academically, and it also ranked among the top five for sports. Getting into Linkon for graduate school was an accomplishment and a big step toward your goals. You had dreamed of becoming a lawyer since you were a little girl. 

Opening your phone, you check the updated syllabus for your seminar class. Your eyes scanned the page, checking the topics for today's class, “Ethics and Justice,” you repeated quietly, processing the words on the page. 

To you, being a lawyer meant more than making a good living. It was about opportunity for justice. You distinctly remember the trial for your mother's murder, and the courtroom had a gloom about it. Seeing the somber mood your grandmother tried to hide from you was enough to shake your world. 

The trial began years after her passing, and you could see your grandmother trying to be strong for you. The judge called the court to rise, and the jury gave the verdict. When you heard the word guilty, a relief ran through you like no other. But, nothing could have prepared you for the following words: the sentencing of 10 years… 10 years for the lifetime of experiences stolen from you, and there was nothing you could do about it. 

You remember turning your head. Your face felt hot. Your ears were on fire, and rage ran through you–this couldn’t be right or fair. Even the feeling of your grandmother's arms enveloping you did not act as a comfort. She cradled your face, and the tears burned hot down your cheeks at the pain in your chest. 

That day, you decided to pursue law. Not just for justice, but ultimately for control, someone’s fate would lie in your hands–and you wouldn’t fail them how the prosecution failed you that day. 

The hallways of the law building were quiet as always, save for the occasional murmur of footsteps or the faint rustle of paper. Lost in thought, the memories of the sentencing racing in your mind. These days, you were reminded of your past more often than you liked to admit. 

Your eyes drifted upward to the arched ceiling, its intricate carvings like something from a history textbook. You let out a small sigh, trying to focus on the fact that you’d made it here, to Linkon, against all odds. 

And then you hit a wall.

Or, more accurately, a person. 

Your shoulder smacked against solid muscle, and the impact sent your bag sliding halfway down your arm. You stumbled back a step, muttering an apology as you adjusted your strap. “Sorry, I wasn’t—”

“Watching where you were going?” a voice cut in smoothly, tinged with amusement.

You looked up and were met with crimson eyes. Red–crimson. Like a warning sign. His smirk, paired with his annoyingly well-kept hair and that stupidly perfect posture, only made it worse. 

Your cheeks heated as you narrowed your eyes, irritation swiftly replacing your embarrassment. “Excuse me?” you said, your tone sharp.

“You should be,” he replied, the corners of his mouth twitching as if holding back a laugh. “I’d hate for you to end up injured on your first day.”

The audacity. First, it wasn’t your first day—you’d been here for months. Second, what was his problem?

“Oh, don’t worry about me. I can handle myself,” you shot back, trying to mask the faint flush creeping up your neck.

His expression didn’t falter. If anything, he looked more amused now, leaning ever so slightly closer. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

You opened your mouth to fire back another retort, but he stepped aside with a casual shrug before you could. “Good luck… rookie.”

And with that, he was gone, leaving you dumbfounded and a little annoyed. Rookie?

You shook your head, forcing yourself to focus. Whoever he was, you’d already decided he was annoying. He was probably some overconfident upperclassman who thought he owned the place.

You made a mental note to avoid him, refocusing on where you needed to be. 

You didn’t have to be first in class but needed a good seat, no exceptions. You picked up the pace, focusing on where you were going this time. When you found the room, you sat down and took a second to sink into the chair to relax. 

Your mind drifted to the man you ran into. “I wonder if he's a law student,” you muttered out loud. Not that it mattered.

You shifted your attention to the topic at hand. The class was starting soon, and other graduate students had warned you plenty of times that law school differs from your first degree. You reached for the legal pad in your bag, placing it on the table. It was covered in the notes from your readings on ethics and justice. 

Distracting you from your quiet mumbles while reviewing the coursework, a shorter brown-haired woman approached you. “Is this seat taken?” she asked smoothly. She had on a hat that said ‘Linkon Lions,’ and she wore athletic wear. Her figure was highlighted by the well-fitting clothes she had on. “I’m Tara, by the way.” 

“Oh, uh–no, it’s not, I’m y/n,” you responded. “Nice to meet you!” 

She sat next to you, and class went off without any issues. After your seminar, you packed your bag silently, looking up at Tara, “Hey, I was going to go to a local coffee shop. Do you wanna come?” you asked. You didn’t know her well, but she seemed nice enough, and you had a couple of classes with her.

“Yeah, I'm down,” she said swiftly, her face scrunching into a soft smile. You both worked your way to the coffee shop, opening the door for her. The coffee shop buzzed with a low hum of conversation and the occasional clink of ceramic cups against the tables. You placed your orders, picked them up from the counter, and sat in the shop's back corner. 

You sipped your drink, enjoying the warmth as it spread through your chest. Across the small table, Tara sat back in her chair, her brown hair pulled into a low ponytail. Her eyes lit up as she laughed at some joke about law professors.

“So,” she said, setting her cup down with a soft clink. “How’s your first semester treating you so far?”

You sighed dramatically. “Oh, you know, just drowning in legal briefs and case law. The usual.”

She nodded, her expression empathetic. “Same here. First-year law classes are no joke. And I’m trying to balance it with softball, which…” She trailed off with a wry smile, “...is its own kind of chaos.”

Your eyes widened. “Wait—you play softball? At Linkon?”

Tara grinned. “Yep. I’ve got two more years of eligibility left. I was redshirted most of undergrad, but I finally got some decent playing time last season. You play?”

The question caught you off guard. You hesitated, fingers fidgeting with the edge of your coffee cup. “I used to. I mean, I was really into it my first year of undergrad. It was–kind of my escape. But I haven’t played competitively in years.”

Her brow arched, a curious smile playing on her lips. “You should come to tryouts. The team could always use good players, and walk-ons are rare but not unheard of.”

“I don’t know…” You glanced down at your drink, suddenly fascinated by the swirl of foam. “It’s been so long. I don’t even know if I’d still be good enough.”

Tara waved a hand dismissively. “Nonsense. If you loved it enough to play seriously during undergrad, it’s still in you. Muscle memory, right?”

You chuckled weakly. “Muscle memory or muscle cramping.”

She laughed, leaning forward conspiratorially. “Tell you what—if you decide to try out, I’ll help you prep. We can hit the field before tryouts get you back into the swing of things.”

“You’d do that?” you asked, surprised by her offer.

“Of course! It’s always nice to have more women on the team who know what they’re doing.” She took another sip of her coffee, a smirk curling her lips. “Besides, if you’re half as competitive in softball as you seem about law school, you’ll fit right in.”

You couldn’t help but smile. The idea of trying out still terrified you, but having someone like Tara in your corner made it feel a little less daunting. Maybe this was the push you needed.

You made your way to your hole-in-the-wall apartment. It was bad enough that you were attending a prestigious university because the cost of attendance reflected that. You strolled, allowing yourself to soak up the tranquility of your surroundings. The green of the large trees had a way of calming your senses, even if your mind felt chaotic. 

You reached the brown building, entering the back alleyway to enter the door to the apartment. You sat down on the cot on your floor, hugging your knees. You dropped your head to rest on your kneecaps, and the flier from earlier popped into your mind. It really wouldn’t hurt to try out. It’s not committing to anything long-term. 

Linkon University felt like both a new beginning and a test of endurance. Between case law briefs and endless nights of research, you wondered if chasing both your dreams was even possible. You reached for your phone, your thumb hovering over Caleb’s contact. He’d know what to say right now. You waited as your phone rang, hugging your knees tighter. 

You explained yourself to him, and you hoped he’d understand. 

“So, you’re just going to stay holed up in your apartment and overthink this, huh? Solid strategy. I’m sure the team will be super impressed by your tryout performance—live from your living room.” he said. 

You groaned, “Not now, Caleb.”

“What? I’m just saying. Sitting on your couch isn’t exactly going to help,” he said. You sat up fully, adjusting your position in the bed. “I don’t even know why I’m bothering. It’s been years since I played competitively. What if I show up and I’m terrible? What if they laugh?” What if I'm wasting my time? The fear was paralyzing. 

“Hmm. Okay, let me think. When have you ever been terrible at anything you cared about? Oh, right—never.” he replied, his tone mocking. You rolled your eyes, “You’re so dramatic.” 

“No, seriously. You’re a natural. Do you think I forgot all those times you turned impossible plays into routine outs? You could probably still crush it even if you hadn’t touched a glove in ten years.”

“I’m not the same person anymore. And what if I embarrass myself–or fail?” you responded hushedly. “It just feels like the only thing I was sure about is Law School, and now that I’m here, I’m not even sure about that.” your voice trailed off.

“Look, I get it. Things have changed. You’re not the same person.” he said softly. “You’re better. You’ve got this, okay? You’ve always had this. Just think why you wanted to try out in the first place–go to school in the first place. You love the game. You love the law. And honestly, I think you miss proving to yourself just how amazing you are.”

You leaned back on your forearms, contemplating, “I guess so…”

“Alright, here’s the deal: if you don’t go, I’ll drag you to that field, even if I have to drive from the granny’s house. And you know I’d do it.” 

You laughed softly, “You would, wouldn’t you?

“Oh, absolutely. With a megaphone. And maybe I’ll sing an encouraging song, too.” You smiled, imagining the performance now, “You’re insufferable.”

“Yeah, yeah. But I’m also right. Go out there and do your thing, okay? You owe it to yourself. And hey, if they don’t see how great you are, they don’t deserve you anyway.”

“Okay. You’re right. I’ll go.”

—

Training with Tara was quite the adjustment. You knew this might be difficult, but you didn't realize how out of shape you’d become in just a year. 

“Keep pushing. You’re almost there,” Tara said, encouraging you. You had to remind yourself ‘mind over matter,’ taking control of your actions. 

But that was easier said than done when your lungs felt like they were on fire and your mouth was starting to taste like blood… You ran another rep, reaching the orange cone at first base. You tapped the cone, finally slowing down your pace, looking to your right—practicing good habits.

“I knew I struggled with endurance—but I don’t remember it feeling that bad,” you said, kneeling over as you held onto your knees. 

“You should try the athletic center,” she said, looking at you a bit concerned. One of the coaches could give you a weight card—to build endurance gradually.” You peered up at her, pondering the request in your mind. “Not a bad idea,” you said, short of breath. 

–

Later, after you finished up with Tara, you took her advice. Finding your way to the athletic center, you walked through the double doors. Everything about this school is grand.

The ceilings expanded as tall as the length of the building. Though this part of the building was admittedly more modern, the detailed pillars caught your attention. The athletic center was separated into three parts. The first part of the floor had workout equipment, even a separate pool area at the far end of the facility. The second floor had some more equipment, some things for rock climbing, some offices, and the rehabilitation center, which was your desired destination. 

Those injured and not injured alike attended this facility area, getting advice and training from the coaches. 

The clang of weights and low chatter filled the athletic center, but the sound softened to a quieter hum as you climbed the stairs toward the rehabilitation center. You paused at the entrance, unsure if you were even supposed to be there. The space was bustling, with trainers moving between stations, clipboard in hand, and athletes stretching or working through carefully monitored exercises. 

You spotted him before he spotted you. The guy from your first day (not really)–the one you’d bumped into. His striking red eyes and sharp features made him impossible to miss, even in a room full of athletes. He was seated on a padded bench, his left arm cradled in a sling, and his expression–a mix of irritation and determination–was fixed on a trainer who appeared to be giving instructions.

What’s he doing here? You wondered.

Not wanting to be caught staring, you ducked your head and moved toward the back of the room, pretending to look for something—or someone. You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing you’d noticed him.

As you passed by the station closest to him, his voice stopped you in your tracks. “I told you, it's fine. I don’t need to sit out. Just tape it up, and I’ll play through it.”

The trainer sighed, his tone firm. “Sylus, we’ve been over this. You tore your rotator cuff. Playing through it isn’t an option unless you want permanent damage. I know how much the team means to you, but you’re useless to them if you can’t pitch again.”

Sylus. So that was his name.

“I don’t care if I can pitch again,” Sylus grit out, frustration sharpening his tone. “I care about being there for my team now. Missing the playoffs isn’t an option.”

The trainer crossed his arms, unmoved. “If you keep pushing yourself like this, you’ll lose more than the playoffs. You’ll lose the game altogether. Think about that, Sylus.”

There was a pause, the weight of the trainer’s words hanging heavy in the air. Sylus didn’t reply, his jaw tightening as he looked away, his fingers flexing absently on his good hand.

You ducked behind a column, heart thumping in your chest. You’d come to this school expecting greatness from everyone around you, but hearing him talk like that made you realize how much pressure everyone was under. How much he was under.

He’s not just some arrogant jerk, you thought, remembering his amused grin when you’d bumped into him. He’s carrying something heavier than he lets on.

You debated whether to say something—to let him know you’d overheard—but you shook the thought away. What would you even say? Instead, you slipped out of the rehab center, your mind racing.

As you left, you found yourself thinking of Sylus differently. He was still annoying—there was no doubt about that—but now, you couldn’t help but feel a flicker of understanding. Maybe even curiosity.

[jewishgirlrevolt]

Inspired by @niraves post

I wouldn't have minded Brad as a concept and thing if they'd maybe leaned a little bit more into the meta, after wrapping up a couple of other storylines. So Imagine. Here's my rough breakdown of how 8a could have gone.

Episode 1/2 is the opening disaster bees and plane crash (plane crash is one episode now, not two). Brad does NOT go with Buck and Bobby to help Athena, but he tries. We get Athena involved in helping Henren.

Episode 3 beginning wraps up Athena's storyline and we continue going into the aftermath of Buck maybe killing Gerrard. We find out about the budget cuts and how the LAFD is getting a lot of money from the studio making Hotshots. Gerard says something along the lines of I was happy in my retirement until the she-witch forced me back. I need a desk job. Something like that. Maybe Gerard also lets something slip about Ortiz. The others don't catch it. But Hen 100% does. Buck talks to Tommy about Gerard. They cuddle. And a scene with Eddie along and sad in his house picking up his phone and calling someone saying "I need help."

Episode 4: Bobby and Athena redraw their building plans on the house. Michael mention. Athena says something like Maybe I'm getting too old for this. Bobby continues to work with Brad, who wants to know more about his stories with the LAFD, and invites him out to lunch. We get a bit more insight into the plot of the show. Hen and Karen talk to their lawyer and lay it all out there (Maybe a scene where Hen and Athena talk about Ortiz). After they all meet up at the park with Madney and Mara and Jee. We get some calls amidst all of this. But this is a Henren and Bathena episode. Athena notes she had fun doing all the PI like work (setting up for 8b where Athena either decides on the academy that'll be an 8b episode or if she wants to be a PI).

Episode 5: The episode opens with Eddie talking to someone. It's a priest or therapist, I really don't care. Actually, make it Frank. We love Frank. Then we get a court date for Hendren. This is where they really have to fight in court to get Mara back. Athena brings the proverbial smoking gun, and we get Mara back with the Wilsons in time for Halloween. Mara is back with the Wilsons. But Gerard is still at the 118. Maybe there's a quick nod to Josh and Eddie's moustache and we find out that Chimney had texted Maddie a photo of said moustache and he got a kick out of it when Maddie showed him.

Episode 6: We get a Madney and BuckTommy episode. Buck has been feeling very burnt out and is maybe contemplating a new job. We get more domestic BuckTommy. Madney meanwhile are dealing with Jee missing Mara, and contemplating if they want to have more kids. We also get the 118 and Gerard getting called to the Hotshots lot, where we see the staging for some traumatic diaster they dealt with. Like Chim and the Rebarb. Everyone's a little uncomfortable and Chim asks Bobby what's going on. Bobby says he tried to stop then, but the show wants to take from real life. We also get more meta for the show, since all their calls this episode are about that. Also Josh and Maddie meet up for brunch. They don't talk at the call center.

Episode 7 continues off that. Buck and Tommy deal with a relationship hurdle, Buck realizes how lonely and sad Tommy really is and just how scared he is. Maybe the run into Tommy's ex who thanks him for you know, opening his eyes and being his first and what not and that makes Tommy close in on himself a little and then Buck and Hen talk about this. Meanwhile, Gerard is just getting really bad at his job, to the point where Eddie actually gets hurt. Not significantly, but enough that maybe Buck texts Chris to tell him that Eddie got a little hurt at work and that prompts Chris to call his dad. Gerard's blunder makes news. He's fired and Hen is promoted.

Episode 8 is Hen and Bobby talking to the chief, Bobby is asked to come back. Brad Torrence demands to shadow Bobby around more. And we get to meet, on a call a charming older Captain from the 122 who wants to retire. But doesn't want to leave the job altogether. Eventually, he ends up as the new consultant and Bobby comes back to the 118. Chris tells Eddie he isn't ready to come home. Eddie decides he needs to go to Texas to reconcile with his son, but promises to be back. Uses all his unused PTO. Seriously No one takes PTO. Buck talks to Tommy about this career and his future and how while he's happy Bobby's back, he's not sure what's next for him career wise. Hen wonders if she would like to be Captain full time and if its maybe time to move on from the 118.

Episode 9: Bobby back to being captain full time. But there's still a little tension between him and Buck. Not enough to be concerned, but enough that everyone notices. Buck and Bobby finally talk about it. They catch up, have a heart-to-heart, and talk about how they consider each other father and son. They resolve their issues and then we have a dinner double date between Bathena and BuckTommy.

It would also be funny if they talk about the show within the show. Like Hen mentioned Karen loves hotshots and totally ships that one firefighter and that dispatcher or something like that and Brad is like "Oh yes, we've heard, the firefighter's love interest we introduced last season actually got a lot of harassment online. Fans can sometimes be absolutely crazy." Looks at the camera. But that might be too on the nose.

So obviously, if I was a showrunner this would be fleshed out more and you have to balance call scenes and whatnot. But I think this is ok.

[bianca-mii]

Paul & Richard❤️

We all love pictures with our fav guitarists kissing or hugging, but I'd like to share some other, slightly less popular photos I find something truly special about:)

Here they look SO MUCH alike. Almost like the same person one frame later. They're wearing matching outfits - black pants with extra belts, black jerseys, sleeves (Richard's a little longer and with red element, but with the red lighting on Paul too it's not much of a difference). They are in almost identical positions with the left leg on Richard's podium, their guitars are in a position in which you can't tell they're different, and most of all - they're rocking the same beautiful smile of pure joy of playing together.

They look SO happy here. I don't know if it was raining (looks a little bit like it), but they don't seem to be bothered at all, they're so much like we don't care, the world is ours!

Again extremely happy guitarists. Here not so much in the world is ours mode, more like the one is the entire world for the other. And nothing else matters...

Now grumpy guitarists for a change. This pic makes me laugh so much. Aww babes, who stole your morning coffee? They BOTH look in such a bitchy mood:D

This photo has such a strong bride and groom vibe. Only Schneider as the priest is missing;)

That's probably only an illusion, but I got the feeling Paul shows a thumbs up while Richard is just about show s thumbs down. Also Paul is visibly pleased, while Richard has rather a scowl on his face. Would make a perfect picture for Richard's words "when I'm like NO, he always goes YES".

Here with those little smiles they look like two schoolgirls gossiping during the break:D Richard obviously smoking, standing on a little stair (I saw the fuller version of this pic but can't find it now:( ), Paul standing on the ground. I've noticed a few times that when they stand next to each other, Paul tries to make himself smaller, as if he didn't want Richard to cone across as barely any taller than him. Also, they both seem to have their mouths open, I wonder how they decide which one talks and which is forced to listen at the moment. Paul probably has it easier because Richard has to take drags of his cigarette:D

Guitarists in black with fans (there was a lady, similar age as the man in between, next to Richard, but I cut her off, sorry😶). I don't know where it's from, but I remember there was no other R+ bandmembers. Perhaps the guitarists flying somewhere together, just the two of them?😇

Such an interesting shot. There's something about their faces that makes them even more attractive when you see them next to each other like this. They really are the match made in heaven...

Ok, no Richard here, but that enhanced super charming smile was for him - Paul looked exactly where his fellow guitarist was sitting. I wish we could see Richard's face at this very moment too...

Edit: I remember no credits whatsoever, I'm really sorry;( please contact for credit if you're the author!

Edit 2: gif with Paul smiling charmingly to Richard by @mrsfitzgerald 🙂

Also, only 10 pics because tumblt doesn't allow more in a post:(