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lexcys · 2 days ago

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★ crimson tension rafe cameron x reader

summary: who knew rafe getting beat up and being vulnerable would end up giving him what he needed most - comfort

warnings: blood, wound description

a/n: ughh this took so long to write but it was worth it cuz I made myself giggle and kick my feet a few times. maybe this is a little cliche but I’m a sucker for these so sorry not sorry

loud music blasted over the speakers, laughter and unfamiliar voices rang around the manor, people spilled out from every room, clutching red plastic cups. the air was thick with the smell of beer and something sweet mixed with a faint undertone of sweat, the wide open doors leading to the cameron garden offered little relief, serving more as a passage to the outdoors than a true escape from the stifling atmosphere of tannyhill

the kitchen was a maze of half-empty bottles, red solo cups, and a few glasses perched on the edge of every counter. it was hard to believe none had shattered, considering the steady flow of people jostling past each other

right as you are about to take yet another shot you hear some barely audible shouting

curiosity overtaking your body faster than your mind and your legs start moving on their own accord, shot getting lost on the counter. making your way through the crowd but merely getting to the hallway as a mass of people block off the way and view to the living room, you hear a loud voice that undoubtedly belongs to rafe

whispers and 'oohs' pass through the crowd, before you notice rafe pushing past people with practiced ease, not bothering to acknowledge anyone as he moves forward. his focus unwavering, his movements deliberate as he makes his way toward you, a destination in mind

you catch a glimpse of the huge gash right above his eybrow - your eyes widen and you move towards him

after seeing his look and eyes you realize why he doesn’t react to you calling out his name - whatever substance he had taken prior was showing on his face, the haze clouding his expression, a disheveled look, glassy eyes with dilated pupils, fluoride stare as well as furrowed brows were noticeable as he brushes right past you

you glance around the room and the absence of attention on rafe doesn’t go unnoticed. you realise whoever had been on the other end of his rage must look worse - a chill runs down your spine imagining the ugly sight

being sarahs friends, tannyhill was not a foreign place for you so you knew where he was headed as he moved up the stairs

you hesitate but decide to follow him, once you’ve reached his room you rethink whether or not to knock, uncertainty creeping in but the worry gnaws at you too strongly - after calling out to him and getting no answer you enter the dimly lit room

the music dampens as you close his door. you pay no attention to his room, a already familiar space, your eyes immediately noticing him right ahead

the weight of the silence between you both grows heavier as you step closer, torn between reaching out and giving him space

he’s standing on his balcony, slumped onto the railing all though theres so much tension present in his shoulders that you can see it from a few meters away. his eyes are fixed on the ocean, the smoke lingering in the air making it evident that there was a cigarette resting between his fingers

he merely spares you a glance when you say his name again, turning around without muttering a single word

carefully you make your way toward him, situating yourself onto his right in complete silence, taking in the scene before you - the music has gotten louder and you look down at the people dancing below you, they payed absolutely no mind to rafe above them and in comparison to the loud laughs and voices the ocean before you was calm - the steady motion of the water, the endless horizon, seeming to soothe him

analysing his face you conclude that whatever fight had just occured - it was a heavy one - rafe had a busted lip, bruised knuckles, a bruise was already forming on his nose and the eybrow gash that was bleeding rather harshly. your face twists imagining how much his head must be throbbing

right now was not the time - but you also couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that he has never looked hotter

the moonlight hit his face just right, highlighting his tired eyes, making the blood adorning his face less unsettling, cigarette held between blood covered fingers, his knuckles bruised and bleeding, yet there’s something almost striking about the way his hands look, the way they’re still so perfectly shaped, even in their damaged state - his pain and his beauty so closely intertwined. even in this state, even with blood streaked across his face, there’s something undeniably captivating about him.

quickly pushing those thoughts aside you catch rafe looking at you for a second with a seemingly emotionless look, tension still present in his eybrows

you know he probably wanted to be left alone, his body language said it all. the desire to comfort him tugs at you, wanting to step forward and reach out, to brush your fingers along his jaw, to caress the sharpness of his stern yet tender face

''why are you here?'', he bites in a monotone tone, ripping you out of your thoughts

you clear your throat, ''I just wanted to see if you’re alright... maybe help you,” you say, the words feel awkward, out of place, like you’re intruding

his eyes snap to you, and for a moment, there’s a flicker of something sharp, almost like a reflex. then, it morphs into a cold, bitter look of disgust. “I don’t need any help,” he mutters

''rafe you’re bleeding - badly'', you utter throwing a glance toward the gash which, even in bad lightning, was clearly deeper than he realized as it had oozed so much blood that it had almost covered the right side of his face. ''I just-'' you falter before sighing, ''I didn’t know what happened and I was concerned''

you weren’t entirely sure why you were confessing your concern - it wasn’t exactly something that came naturally with rafe cameron. the alcohol in your system seemed to loosen the edge

seemingly bother by you answer, not even sparing you a look he replies, ''I don’t need your pity, run back to sarah or something'' he motions you away with his hand

you bite your lip, clearly fighting a mental battle whether or not to leave him alone. you notice his hands shaking, not sure whether it was from anger pain or something else

slightly tipsy you gather the courage to ask once again, pushing his annoyance aside because you so desperately want to help him, feeling your heart hurt seeing him like this

you try one last time, ''your hands are shaking, you sure you can patch yourslef up? I really just wanna help you rafe. but if you really want me to go say it - then Ill leave'', finishing you realize how pathetic you sounded, internally cringing but hoping it would convince him and make him see that you really did care about him

silence

rafe looks at you quickly noticing your concerned face filled with worry, even though his look was quick you notice that it changed, something changed, but before you can even get close to figuring out what he turns back around and takes a long drag from his cigarette, the smoke curling up in the cool air, his gaze fixed straight ahead, not meeting yours again

he exhales slowly, the smoke drifting up in a haze, but the tension in the air thickens instead of easing

defeated, you turn away, the weight of the silence too much to bear. you don’t say anything, no last attempt to reach him

suddenly you hear a quiet ''wait'' from rafe, so faint it wouldn’t have been audible if you had taken two more steps

you turn your head around quickly, trying to figure out if he really just said that but when you catch him putting out his cigarette into the ashtray you realise that he did

he turns around as you take a few steps towards him. his face barely visible from his dark room - only illuminated lightly by the moonlight and the soft glow from the party below - holds a stern and tense look, his jaw clenched with tension, vulnerability present in his eyes

rafe still hasn’t said another word but you’re easily able to read his expression and figure out what he wants you to do

relief washing over you you exhale a big breath, ''okay where’s the med kit?''

''bathroom'', is the only thing he says, voice low, eyes still focused on you - unwavering

you turn around and step into the bathroom, the small space a contrast to the size of his bedroom. quickly you begin searching the cabinets, your mind already running through the steps you’d need to take. already thinking about where would be the best place to clean and dress his wound, somewhere where he can sit down, somewhere you can work without too much trouble - before finding the med kit under his sink

a subtle warmth creeps up your neck, and you can’t shake the feeling that you’re being watched. you turn around noticing him standing in the doorway, leaning against the door - watching you with those empty yet pleading eyes before his gaze flickers over to the mirror - he’s lost in his reflection for a moment, studying himself

rafe stands there for a moment, seemingly lost in thought. then, with a quiet click, he closes the door behind him, fully stepping into the bathroom. the music muffles and the air between you tightens. you swallow, heart racing - you try to focus on the medkit in your hands. he moves past you slowly, sitting down on the toilet lid

right now, in the bright light of the bathroom, you’re finally able to see the full extent of his wounds as he holds his head up, avoiding your gaze. examining his wounds you settle on tending to his eyebrow first

you can tell that he’s not ready to talk about the fight or whatever happened. the air is heavy and something in his silence tells you not to push. so, you don’t, you stay quiet. setting the med kit down on the counter searching for the right tools, you feel suffocated by the silence, so awfully aware of every, rigid and nervous, breath you took

ready you turn back to rafe whose gaze is set onto the ground, still lost in thought - you try to clear your throat to catch his attention, to notify him that you’re ready and willing to tend to his wounds

he looks at you with a look, a look so vulnerable and hurt that it pulled at your heart. whatever he was just thinking must’ve hit him hard - the weight of it is there, written across his face, and you feel it in your chest. rafe’s eyes still carry that glassy, fluorid stare, as if he's still not fully aware of everything around him, making you wonder if he even realizes how much he’s letting slip

you figure that however you were to approach this - it would be awkward either way

you looked at him with a nervous look, alcohol-soaked cotton pad in hand - standing right in front of him, you hesitated as your eyes met his. he lifts his head a little farther up for you to get better access to his wounds. rafe is leaning forward, legs spread with his forearms resting on his knees, crossing his hands slightly in front of him infront - still at an awkward length until he fully uncrosses his hands, resting them on his knees. you waited, unsure if you’re allowed to enter the space, looking for a look of approval in his distant eyes. he nods - the faintest movement of his head, barely visible

his eyes carry a look that’s hard to read, an expression that makes you wonder if there’s a storm raging inside his mind or if he’s drifting into an unsettling emptiness

settling in between his knees - still trying to keep some sort of distance, unsure what was or wasn’t crossing the line, you bring the cotton pad up to his face. you gently start cleaning off the, mostly already, dried blood before moving on to his gash. the second it hits his skin again his eyes - which have been avoiding yours from the second he nodded - close, his jaw clenching pain evident although he tried not to show it, putting up some sort of barrier to, even in this vulnerable state, seem unbothered - strong

while cleaning you notice his hands, resting on his knees, and fingers lightly grazing against the fabric of your shorts, the lightest of touches—almost like a subconscious gesture. it’s a small movement, barely noticeable, but the tension it creates fills the space between you

you focus on your task, but it’s harder now, your hand faltering slightly with each light graze of his fingers

the delicate movement of his fingers almost like a distraction from the physical discomfort he’s trying to hide so well. it makes you wonder if he’s trying to ground himself, or if he’s just too lost in the moment to notice what he’s doing

after cleaning everything off in the best way you could you apply some zip stitches to at least momentarily close the wound. his breath hitches as you press the last stitch into place, but he doesn’t move or make a sound, the mask of stoic restraint still firmly in place

you couldn’t figure out if rafe was actually aware that he was pulling you closer to himself

by the time you were ready to clean his lip the distance between you was so minimal that you could barely clean it properly. the closeness making every slight movement feel amplified now, the soft brush of his breath, the faint tension in his jaw, the way his eyes flicker between avoiding yours and briefly meeting your gaze

you gently press the cotton to his lip, your fingers grazing his skin in the process. the way his gaze flicks up to meet yours for a split second makes your heart skip, throwing off your rhythm.

you hesitate for a moment, your heart racing in the silence between you. the closeness is overwhelming, and you know you need to steady yourself, to find a way to regain control. your fingers tremble slightly as you lift your hand, almost instinctively, and you gently place it on the side of his face. the warmth of his skin is a shock, he lets out a soft exhale which you wouldn’t have noticed if you werent holding his face with your hand - but he doesn’t pull away.

you angle his face just enough to get a better view, but the movement feels more like an anchor for yourself, the subtle pressure of your hand on his skin keeps you tethered, even as the air between you thickens with something unsaid

you press the pad to his lip slowly, careful and deliberate, but your fingers linger on his skin longer than necessary, your thumb lightly brushing the edge of his jaw. his breath brushes against you, warm and shallow

it’s hard to focus with the way his gaze lingers on you, the way your hand feels on his face

his lips part quickly as you tend his wound - the area lightly swollen, thankfully not comparable to his eyebrow gash

you finish tending to his face, placing a last small plaster, hurting at the loss of contact. you take a look back and admire your work and him. the quiet stillness between you both feels oddly heavy, but the comfort of knowing he’s patched up - protected for now - settles in

you dread saying the words a loud, not wanting to lose this moment, not wanting to end it - not sure what it even was

''done''

the hands behind you tighten their grip, slowly pulling you even closer, eliminating the space between you. your body freezes for a second - caught off guard. his head reasts on your upper body, sending a wave of warmth through you, and for a moment, you're aware of every breath, every beat of your heart

his breath is steady, slow, but there’s an unmistakable force in the way he holds you, a quiet urgency that makes your mind go blank

his grip, though firm, isn't forceful - more like an unspoken invitation, urging you, pleading you, to stay within the space he's created. he held on with such a purpose - it made it seem like you would evaporate the second he let go

you place one hand gently in his hair, testing the waters, seeing if he'd be comfortable with you running your fingers through it. the other one rests on his back

rafe flinches when you tryto pull him closer, putting pressure on his back

you let the moment linger for a few seconds more before speaking up, breaking the comforting silence which rested between you, ''rafe let me see your back''

he pulls back and looks at you for a second, his look completely unreadable. this time he complied. he stands up with a slow, deliberate motion and turns around. he lifts his shirt as far up as he could, pain clearly holding him back. gently taking hold of the shirt from his hand, you ease the fabric upward, careful to avoid causing him any more pain as you lift it higher

his back is painted with all sorts of colours - some bruises worse than others. you flinch at the sight, although you’re a little relieved to see no cuts

seeing there is nothing you can do you let his shirt fall back down, very carefully smoothing it on his back - hoping to provide some comfort with the soft touch

as you move next to him to rest a hand on his bicep, you ask him with a hushed voice, ''can I get you a new shirt'', meeting his gaze, ''yours is full of blood''

fully aware that the line that was not to be crossed has now become blurred

rafe nodded

you leave his side, moving to his drawer - your fingers fumble slightly as you sift through the clothes, searching for a shirt. you pick out a loose one, one that would not press against his back too much or that would be a struggle to put on

he now sat on his bed, patiently waiting for you, watching you

you turn back to him, seeing his eyes, his expression. a storm of thoughts no longer visible, only exhaustion

''is this one okay?'' you questioned. he nodded before clearing his throat and lowering his gaze, ''can you help me put it on'', clearly exhausted

you pull hisshirt up slowly, carefully and for a moment you’re stunned, staring in silence. the sight that greets you is just as shocking as it is heartbreaking - his chest is as bruised as his back

rafe is clearly avoiding your eyes, looking to his left with a tense jaw

without saying another word you pull the other shirt over his head, standing before him, ''are you gonna go back down?''

he replies with a shake of his head, ''no''

you quietly stars at him for a few seconds more, debating how to continue then letting your legs carry you towards the bathroom to clean up. but just as you turn to leave, you feel his hand snap out, gripping your wrist with a force that sent a jolt through your body. the touch was immediate, urgent, as though he couldn’t let you go. but then, as quickly as it had come, his grip softened, the tension draining away as he loosened his hold

your eyes flicker back to him

“stay”

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cutielando · 3 days ago

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brazil, my heart | m.v.

synopsis: in which Max finally makes a statement during the Brazilian GP

a/n: based on this request!

my masterlist

Your lip was stuck between your teeth as the whole garage waited anxiously for the start of the race.

The weather had kept everyone on their toes ever since the Sprint race had finished, and it seemed to be set on continuing to do so during the race.

Frankly, it wasn't something that you were very much keen on.

You were very tired, having woken up at 5 am to join Max at the track for the early Qualifying session from 7:30, you didn't want to take a nap after Max was done with Qualifying so you could talk to him, but now you were slowly starting to regret it.

Your nerves were stretched thin as you anxiously watched the 5 lights turn on one by one, your heart jumping in your ribcage once they went out and everyone lunged forward.

"Max up to P11" GP's voice suddenly rang through your headset, making you finally let out a sigh you hadn't realized you had been holding.

Max had long ago come to an agreement with his race engineers to do his best to keep you in the loop with regular updates because he knew you sometimes got too nervous or scared to actually watch the race.

The weather really didn't help your nerves, either.

You were always afraid for Max in dry conditions, but seeing him race in this rain and with the low grip level on the track, let's just say you were gonna have a lot more gray hairs by the time the race is over, which feels like a lifetime away.

Wet racing was often known to be one of Max's best conditions for racing, but it also meant more dangerous conditions.

Seeing the spray that the cars would leave behind, just having to imagine having to drive at such high speeds with water in your face, barely able to see anything, desperately trying to keep the car on track. There was no room for any mistake, no matter how little.

You trusted Max and his abilities, but that didn't mean you weren't still gonna be worried out of your ass for him.

"Red flag. Max is coming into the garage" GP's voice snapped you out of your thoughts, your stance immediately perking up at the sound of the news.

You waited until the cars had come into the pitlane to take off your set of headphones and make your way outside of the garage, anxiously waiting to see your boyfriend emerge from his car.

The moment you had laid eyes on him coming towards you, you hurriedly started walking over to him, not caring about any of the engineers or frankly anyone else from his team.

You only cared about making sure he was okay.

Just to ease your mind and worries.

"Hey babe-" Max barely got a word in before you jumped straight into his embrace, wrapping your arms around his neck tightly.

He grunted, but returned the tight hug, careful not to squash your head with his helmet.

You buried your head into his shoulder as best as you could, your heart racing as you finally felt him under your fingertips, okay and all in one piece.

“I’m never joining you at the track for another wet race ever again. I’ve had 4 panic attacks until now” you said, half joking and half telling the truth.

Max laughed, his arms tightening around your waist.

He knew how much you worried about him every time he would get into the car, and he also knew how much you hated the wet races. And he couldn’t blame you, but he was the best in those conditions, so you had nothing to worry about on his end.

“Is it that bad?” he asked, looking at his engineer over your shoulder who gave him a short and worried nod.

“It’s worse. I don’t know how you guys can see the track in front of your eyes from all that spray” you said, slowly letting go of him and stepping back from his arms.

Max pulled up his visor and smiled at you, the crinkles by his eyes telling you everything you needed to know.

“Hey, I’ve got this. Don’t worry about me, I’m driving the race of my life out there and everything is okay. I love you and I’ll come back to you in one piece” he said, holding our face in his gloved hands.

You bit your lip and studied him for a little while before nodding, giving him one last hug before he was pulled away by his engineers to go over data.

Running a hand through your already disheveled hair, you slowly made your way back into the garage, occupying your seat and putting your headphones back on.

Half more of this torture to go.

♡♡♡♡♡

The tears were falling down your cheeks before you could even think about stopping them, before the race was even close to being over.

Even though you couldn't see him, you could imagine what was going on behind Max's helmet, what feelings were going through his mind as he was leading the race towards victory.

Those last few laps seemed like they were taking forever, but then he finally crossed the finish line and took the checkered flag in first position.

You didn't think it was possible, but a new wave of tears started falling down your eyes, sobs racking through your body.

"P1, He's done it, Y/N" GP's voice rung through your ears, but you didn't care for any of it.

The only thing you cared about was seeing Max.

You got up from your chair and put the headphones on a table in front of you, your legs carrying you fast towards where his car was parked.

"Max!" you yelled just as he took off his helmet, his smile radiating as he started walking towards you.

You didn't waste a second before you flung your arms around his neck and jumped into his arms, wrapping your legs around his waist as Max squeezed you close.

"I did it" he whispered into your ear, the smile evident in his voice.

You nodded, burying your face into the crook of his neck as you clung onto his body.

"I'm so proud of you" you murmured, pressing little kisses on his neck and his cheek.

Nothing could ever beat this feeling, being right there in your arms after winning a much-awaited Grand Prix.

Nothing could be better than that for him.

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yvesntul · 20 hours ago

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18+, fingering, squirting, slight overstimulation, crying, begging, vi being kinda mean + drabble something liteee this is a repost from my old account @/loonadaworld if it looks familiar

‘ vi, please, ‘ you mewled, pushing your head against your girlfriend’s chest. ‘ fuck babe— listen to that, you hear how fucking wet you are ? ‘ she groaned into your ear, her fingers pushing into you at an unforgiving speed. ‘ it’s too much .. ‘ your hand wrapped around her wrist in a poor attempt to stop her. ‘ if you do that one more time i’m not gonna stop until you’re crying. ‘ your thighs closed around vi’s hand, a whimper falling from your lips as you shook in her hold.

vi cursed, pulling her fingers out of your sopping cunt in order to force your legs open. ‘ maybe next time you’ll remember to watch that fucking mouth of yours. ‘ her fingers plunged inside of you once more, eliciting a moan from both of you. the way her fingers were curling inside of you, paired with her thumb rubbing your clit, it wasn’t long before you were seeing stars, your soaked pussy fluttering around her as you fell over the edge of pure euphoria.

she didn’t make an effort to slow her movements, actually doing the opposite until the wet squelches of your cunt became too much for you to handle. ‘ vi wait, i think— ‘ she covered your mouth, a smile forming on her lips as her hand muffled your scream. you felt the wet sensation before you saw the mess, your girlfriend trailing sloppy kisses in the curve of your neck. ‘ shhh .. i got u right here, ‘ vi finally started easing you through the after shocks of your orgasm, her hand coming to a stop.

you had tears running down your cheeks at this point, your chest rising and falling with each breath. ‘ what was it that you said to cait again ? ‘ take me home since my girlfriend doesn’t want to. ‘ ‘ she scoffed, moving from behind you and laying you on her pillows. ‘ how do you think that sounds, hmm ? how do you think i feel when i hear my girl asking my friend to take her home ? ‘ vi hovered above you, her wet fingertips tracing shapes on your inner thighs.

you shook your head, cupping her face as she stared down at you with the darkest gaze you’ve ever seen. ‘ vi .. i won’t do it again, i promise. just wanted to leave the party already .. ‘ everything you said going in one ear and out the other. ‘ well you got what you wanted, now you have to take it. ‘ without warning, she inserted her fingers again, making your body jolt at the sudden intrusion. ‘ you’re gonna give me two more. ‘ vi felt her breath stutter at your choked sob, your hysterics only turning her on even more.

#vi x reader #arcane #league of legends #wlw #lesbian

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my-castles-crumbling · 2 days ago

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wine - jegulus-ish? - prompt from TTPD server's microprompt challenge - word count: 363

Sighing, Regulus stared at the rows and rows of wine, resisting the overwhelming urge to cry in the middle of the liquor store. While he felt like he knew something about wine, the pressure of selecting wine for this particular evening was so high that he felt like he might pass out. And it didn't help that he had zero guidance. James was great in most ways, but useless in others.

"Alright there?"

A calm, soothing voice broke Regulus from his panic, and he looked up to see the most motherly-looking woman he'd ever seen. From her kind smile to her genuinely concerned expression, she oozed maternal love, and made him want to melt.

"I-I'm fine," he sighed. Normally, he would have left it there, but for some reason, the warmth the woman gave off made him want to share more. "I'm just meeting my boyfriend's parents tonight, and...I'm nervous," he chuckled. "I don't do well with things like this and I think I've convinced myself if I pick the perfect wine, things will go perfectly."

Wrinkles formed in the corner of the woman's eyes as she grinned wider, and her warm hand moved to rest on Regulus's shoulder. "Do you love him, beta?"

Thinking of James, his beautiful grin, his laughter, the way he held him and loved him and made him laugh and constantly made his life better, Regulus couldn't help but smile and nod. "So much. More than anything, really."

The woman nodded like she was confirming something. "Then his parents will love you. All a good parent wants is for their child to be loved, after all. And if they don't...it's on them, not you."

Smiling softly and nodding back, Regulus sighed, his anxiety easing just a bit. "Alright. I-thank you."

"I also helps to bring a Chardonnay," she continued, reaching forward and handing him a bottle, eyes sparkling. "Now. I have no doubt that things will go well for you, but...good luck, Regulus."

He thanked the kind woman again, only realizing after he got to his car that he'd never told her his name.

He shouldn't have been shocked later to find out her name was Euphemia Potter.

The internet was a bit iffy about a translation for 'dear' in Hindi, since I had to take into account age, relationship, and gender so please correct me if I'm wrong!

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drowninginblox · 10 hours ago

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Thank you @possumtion for allowing me to make a drabble out of your work! You rock and keep up the amazingness!!

"Hey, furball?" Logan growled from the front passenger's seat. It was late. Really, really late when the X-Mansion had to be evacuated. Something something mansion’s rubble.

Everyone got out okay and you called a cousin to house all these displaced mutants, but after the hustle and bustle of everything that's happened in the last 7 hours... Yeah. You weren't surprised to see Kurt curled into himself. "Logan, he's out cold." You whisper through a smile. "We're thirty minutes away from the safe house," Logan warned before returning to the front window.

You take a moment to look at the passing terrain. All of you were bordering the Maine and the Canadian. To the point where the woods where to the two blurred served as a great hiding spot. The dark blues and blacks of night where lightening with the up coming dawn. Yet they couldn’t distract you from the masterpiece you’ve been sharing the backseat with. A small smile and contemptuous sigh ease you back into the comfort of knowing that he’s safe.

You've been pining for Kurt for a long time. Honestly, it's impressive. All the X-Men know outside of the object of your affection. And given your history with relationships, you were absolutely fine with that being the case.

Pinning has been your closest friend and that bitch is back to hold you through the feelings while your eyes lingered on him. The peaceful demeanor, the way his chest rose and fell in a subtle but smooth rhythm, even the reactions of his tail flicking between the crevice of his toes in response to his sweet dreams. If he even was dreaming... you hoped that he was. He deserved to dream.

Eventually, you broke away from him just to see the soft light of a… well… “Well look at what being a Potts can do for you…” Morph said a little too loud as they got closer to the property. You can only tap them as a way to get them to shut up. “One, by marriage. And Two, distant.” You gritted “Do not get used to this.” Logan chuckled lightly as he cracked open a window, allowing the soft crunch of the driveway to make itself known.

While he lit a cigar, you noticed Kurt stirring out of the corner of your eye. You leaned back in your seat as he slowly opened his tired eyes “Mmm…” he mumbled. You can only smile softly. As sad as you were to see his sleep interrupted, the sight before you was nothing less than adorable.

You watched as he stirred, eventually putting a hand on his knee and shake it a little “Hey,… hey Kurt… cmon… we’re here.” You say softly. His eyes slowly open while you move your hand away. “Hey hero. Cmon. We got room and board. No need to sleep in the car.” Morph snorts “Little bit of an understatement, huh Y/n?” You give Morph an even look from the mirror, making them raise their hands in defense as they park.

“Hey, hey- sor-ry!” You roll your eyes as you, Logan and Morph head out. Kurt meanwhile, takes his time to stretch. You do the same once you’re out, glancing over to Kurt through the still open door. “Hey Kurt, ya alright?” He only gives a heavy yawn, to which you chuckle “You want some help big guy?”

He shakes his head with another large yawn, showing off those fangs of his. You laugh again and close your door, making your way to his side of the car. Once you get there, you open his door to see his eyes still closed. “Cmon man,” he sighs “Y/n-“

“Don’t start with me Kurt. I will carry you.” He manages to partially open eyes “You would?” You nod. “Just cus I’m not an XMan anymore dosent mean I can’t pick ya up.” He smiles softly. “Ok okay… let me get out…” you offer your hand, to which he takes, guiding him out of the car. “Princess, jump up, or fireman?” You offer even though you already know the answer. He laughs “Is that even a question?” You smile and ready your arms.

His arms immediately wrap around your neck while you ready for his legs “One, two,…” he jumps and you hold his thighs with ease. “Okay spider monkey, let’s get ya to bed.” He only sighs against your chest as you walk inside.

Tony Stark’s house shouldn’t be as surprising to you by now. But every time you step into a different iteration, there’s always a new surprise. “Smaller kitchen… bigger living room… of course the wine cabinet is next to the flat screen…” you mumble as you take note of the accommodations. Kurt traces shapes into your back and arms as you do so, humming loosely to your notes “Ah… sorry Kurt. Don’t worry, just a quick trip up the stairs…” you mumble into his hair. “I gotcha. Just close those eyes.” You glance to see Morph covering their mouth while Logan glances knowingly. You send them a look, gaining a knowing smile from Morph and a shake of the head out of Logan before both turn away.

You lifted Kurt up a little more and cautiously made your way upstairs. Most of the guestrooms are on the lower level and all of which are filled, knowing your coworkers. You bypass Tony’s/Pepper's room, and head to the guestroom across from it. Peering inside allowed you to ensure that no one was in, entering as soon as the coast was clear. “ Okay, Kurt… we’re here, buddy.” You whisper “‘Time to get off the Y/n express.” You say with a chuckle. He matches it sleepily. “My hero…” he mumbled, loosening his hold on you when you carefully set him down. He hums and yawns at the mattress while you start to take your leave.

When he notices you leaving, he gets up “Mmm? Warte, hey- wohin gehst du? Where are you going?” You turn back. “Oh, uh… the couch. Or another guest room. Why?” He wakes up a little at that “Habe ich etwas falsch gemacht? Why would you?” He asks into the thick air. A blush creeps onto your face as his question stops everything. “What?” You whispered.

He pulls his legs up and sits on the edge of the bed “Y/n, you don’t have to leave…” you struggle to find your words, leaving a dense silence in the wake of his quiet offer. “Y/n, I trust you. I know we've never been in a situation like this before, and you obviously don’t have to if you don’t want to, but…” his tail disrupts the sheets on the bed from its gentle flicks back and forth. “Gott, das ist vielleicht egoistisch von mir, but I wouldn’t mind if you did. ” You hesitate but take a step away from the door. “Would this… is this platonic or…?”

Kurt’s eyes widened a little at that, processing the question in kind. Eventually, he holds the back of his neck and looks away “I- well Scheiße, … what would you want it to be?” You look down. You know you can be honest with him, always. Yet this is… “I don’t want to change anything,” he BAMFs to you, standing not even a foot away. “Y/n, nothing will change if you don’t want it to…” he assures as he takes a half step forward.

Now you’re only a few inches apart. It felt like every inch was just another painful reminder of the barrier you may be breaking. You can only hold yourself in your arms “Kurt…” you mumble “If you want what I want, then-“ “Then what Liebling? Tell me…” a hand ghosts and elbow. The room seems to get warmer.

“I-I want this, I do, but…” his gase faulters “Y/n… I-“ you swallow “Kurt… I don’t want this to be situational or… or fun… this is- I-“ you swallow your nerves and take a deep breath “It’s okay, It’s just me Y/n.”

“You say that like it’s supposed to assure me..” you chuckle while he smiles sheepishly. “We don’t have to talk about the implications or… whatever we want this to be if you don’t think you can. Or if you don't want to right now.” He hesitates but ends up holding your arm. “That can be for tomorrow. But if we do that, I need to say- that nothing. Truly, nothing will change if you don’t want it to. We could stay friends,” a hint of uncertainty laces his words “Or… we could be more… I-i would like that but,” you look up to him. “Yeah?” He moves his gaze from his arm to your eyes. “Yes… yes, I truly would. If you want to, of course. I swear Y/n, do not settle for me-“

“Wait wait- hold the fuck on, rewind?! What do you mean ‘settle for you?’” You say in a more normal tone, finally meeting his gaze. “If anything you would be settling for me!" His eyes widen "Wie bitte?" he breaths, but that doesn't stop you. "And do not say that I would be settling for you when you are the most attractive X-Man!" He takes a nervous step back "What?" Shock gives way to laughter as Kurt keeps his eyes on yours, seeing your genuineness not as delirium or a potential joke. Rather for what it is, the truth.

You smile and hold his cheek “Kurt, I’m not stupid. I know what beautiful is and I'd be lucky to have even five minutes with the most gorgeous man this side of the universe.” He chuckles as a light shade of violet peaks through his fur. “Well… then I think we should head to bed, Ja?” You can only kiss his cheek, making his face heat up more.

This was going to be the best night of his life.

Sleepy 😴😴😴

#kurt wagner #kurt wagner x reader #nightcrawler #nightcrawler x reader

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livelaughloveluffy · 2 days ago

Note

idk but I just feel like luffy, ace, sanji (obviously lol) zoro, and law would have a thing for plus size reader, who is sweet and naturally gets along with almost everyone but can also be a bit naive

plus size reader - monster trio, ace, law, and eustass

a/n: thank you so much for the request!!! it's definitely something that has fallen in my inbox before and i would love to write about it because i totally agree that these men would loveeeee plus size women 😌 (i'm 100% biased but shhhhhh lets not talk about that) i definitely took some creative liberty while writing this so i hopefully you enjoy!!

a/n: in typical fanfic writer fashion, i'm like actually so miserably sick right now, i have a really bad cough, my head hurts so bad, i feel super hot, and i can't even take cold medicine because of my antidepressants 😭😭😭 so if i start to not make sense, thats why 😭😭

nothing but fluff here 💗

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monkey d. luffy

-he's such a cuddly baby. luffy will 100% wrap his arms and legs around you, like a little koala, burying his face in the crook of your neck. he just wants all of you, all the time.

-the captain of the straw hats never ceases to amaze you with his strength as he often picks you up with such ease to either hold you close to him, with your legs wrapped around his waist, or to throw you over his shoulder, carrying you around the thousand sunny without a care in the world. luffy typically picks you up when he's extra excited to see you, needing to have you as close as possible. his grip on your body is always so tight, over his dead body would he ever let you fall.

-luffy refuses to believe that you don't see the beauty in yourself. his eyes widen in pure shock when he overhears you talking about your insecurities with nami. since that day, whenever you hear the captain talk about you, it's always with the phrase "the prettiest girl alive", with the widest smile on his face.

-he just can't help but constantly cover you with kisses. luffy is so proud to be able to have you, and he will happily shout from rooftops about his love for you, so shame about pda is absolutely nonexistent. it's a frequent occurrence for the captain to run up to you, smother you in kisses, and then run off to his other shenanigans.

roronoa zoro

_he's so proud to have you. when the two of you are together, he shows you off as if you're the shiniest trophy. his arm tightly intertwined with yours as the two of you hold hands walking the town of a new island. the green-haired boy always wants you as close to him as humanly possible, your bodies are always pressed next to each other, as if you were glued together, when side by side.

-zoro, who can pick you up with ease. when you are hugging him, he'll lift your feet off the ground, arms tight around your waist and spin you, only to then throw you over his shoulder like its nothing, taking you back to his bed. in a similar vein, he also often asks you to help him train, practically begging you to sit or lay on his back as he does hundreds of push-ups with ease. even if you try to protest and say you're too heavy, he'll scoff and pull you in for a tight hug. then picks you up and puts you on his back, making you cross your legs around his waist, and begin his training anyways.

-he's extra protective with you. especially when you two are exploring a new island, his hand is tightly gripping your waist as you walk side by side, and if you ever ask him why he'll turn to you and reply "just need to let everyone know you're mine." with the faintest hint of a growl in his voice. glares at anyone who dares to look your way for too long.

-the swordsman who is infatuated with your love handles. whenever you are just standing somewhere on the sunny, he'll come up behind you and grab your hips, pulling your body back into him. he'll rest his chin on your shoulder and when you ask him what he's doing he'll just reply with a simple "mmm, just missed you." drinking in the closeness of your presence.

black leg sanji

-the way this man is absolutely obsessed with curvier women. sanji constantly tells you how much of a goddess you are "mon amour, you're even more beautiful than aphrodite herself."

-the curly-browed blonde worships you and your body. when you are in only a bra and underwear in front of him, he takes his time to admire the absolute work of art you are. getting on his knees to stare up at you, placing his hands one on each of your thighs, working his way up to your stomach and hips, kissing along where his hands had just been. this becomes a ritual for him. he absolutely refuses to do anything more serious before getting to take his time adoring and worshipping you.

-sanji is constantly reminding you of how beautiful you are. he's saying it loudly, whispering it in your ear, and everything in between. you hear compliments from him a minimum of 100 times a day, and with the way his eyes widen and sparkle, you can tell how much he truly means it.

-he's genuinely heartbroken if he every found out that you didn't like your body or if you feel a bit insecure. sanji's eyes suddenly well up with tears as he explains that it hurts him to the core that you would see yourself so completely opposite to the way he sees you, "you're utterly ethereal, mon cheri. a work of art too perfect for this world." and he'll do anything to prove how much he means it. he'll leave gentle and delicate kisses all over your body and skin for hours, murmuring praises under his breath the entire time.

portgas d. ace

-ace was absolutely loud and proud about how attractive he found you from the very first time he laid his eyes on you. his gravely voice could be heard shouting across the moby dick "lookin' good, gorgeous." with the widest smile.

-the freckled boy will slide his hands up under your shirt, gently moving them up and down your hips and torso. ace has a carnal need to feel your skin, and there's nothing he loves more than getting to rest his hands on your stomach, whispering sweet nothings in your ear and leaving kisses down your neck as he does so.

-he loves to grab your ass. at first, ace tried to be subtle about it, starting by resting his hand on the smalls of your back, and slowly letting it fall lower until he reached your ass, and waiting a little bit before giving it a gentle squeeze. but as time progressed, he got more bold and unabashed about this form of pda, he's totally unbothered by the stares of the other crewmembers of the whitebeard pirates, returning their looks with the smuggest smile you've ever seen.

-ace will never let you forget how stunning you are. whenever he gets the chance, he'll be whispering in your ear about how gorgeous you are, how he's never seen anyone as beautiful as you, how he's so lucky to have you, and many other similar sentiments.

trafalgar water d. law

-like luffy, law is a lot more cuddly with you. often teleporting to stand right behind you, wrapping his arms around the center of your torso, pulling you close into him, his voice whispering in your ear "hi, beautiful." he always has a hand on you, whether it's on your thigh, your back, intertwined with your own hand, he simply can't resist you. the cruelest form of torture to the captain is not being able to touch you.

-praise galore. the captain is always finding subtle ways to praise you, trying to casually slip his compliments in during conversations. law often address you as "beautiful" or "my pretty girl", making it rare to hear your name slip from the law's lips.

-law is also extremely protective over you. his sharp eyes and stinging glare shoots at anyone who looks at you in a way he doesn't agree with. his hand holding onto your waist, pulling you close into him, with your head resting against his shoulder is law's ideal way to walk side by side with you.

eustass captain kid

-he's soooo loud about how attractive he finds you. it's an every day occurrence for you to hear the red-haired captain shout "oi, hot stuff, come bring your fine ass over here!" across the deck of the victoria punk. it's more common for kid to call you "hot stuff" or "doll" than it is for him to use your actual name, to the point that when you hear the captain using your name rather than a pet name, you genuinely think you're in trouble.

-eustass is so touchy. he literally cannot get enough of you, his large metal hand is always grabbing your ass or your hip, with his other hand running all over the side of your body. he's also not above leaving red lipstick stains all over your neck (and chest if you're wearing a top with a lower neckline). he leaves zero room for anyone to question who you're with.

-kid is obsessed with throwing you around, he's constantly picking you up and carrying you around the victoria punk. he'll put you up on his shoulders, loving the way your thighs squeeze around his head. throwing you over his shoulder, metal hand on your ass to make sure you don't slip. holding you by your waist with your legs wrapped around his. it's rare for you to be with eustass and for him to not be carrying you, its like second nature to him. and this man gets so fussy if you want to be put down. softly growling in your ear "make me.." while tightening his grip on you, refusing you to wiggle free from his grasp.

-the red-haired captain is genuinely angry if he hears you, or anyone else, talk poorly about you. nothing pisses him off faster than hearing untrue statements about the love of his life. the piercing glare he'll shoot your way if you start to talk down to yourself could kill. eustass will pull you close to him, whispering in your ear, the slightest hint of a growl in his gruff voice as he says "let me show you just how beautiful you are."

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tags ♡: @3v37773 @twiishaa @dindjarins1ut @thepotatocatto @peachycat17 @irethepotato @dreamcastgirl99; want to join the taglist? click here!

a/n: i really struggled finishing this because it's lowkey hard to think straight with my head pounding but you'll have to pry my laptop out of my cold dead hands if you think i'm going to let being sick stop me from writing some fanfic 😌

a/n: also sorry for cutting law's part a little short, i literally can't look at my computer any longer 💀

a/n: enjoyed this fic? here's my masterlist!!

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solxamber · 1 day ago

Text

Desperate Confessions with: Jamil Viper, Sebek Zigvolt

Others: Riddle and Leona

Jamil Viper

The kitchen was filled with the soothing clatter of utensils and the faint aroma of simmering spices. You were chopping vegetables with practiced ease, seamlessly slipping into the rhythm of Jamil's kitchen. He stole a glance at you—your focused expression, the casual way you moved as though this chaotic dance of preparation was second nature to you.

You didn't hesitate to reach for the salt he needed, passing it wordlessly, or to stir a pot he’d left unattended while juggling a dozen other tasks.

It wasn’t the first time you’d done this—helped him without making it a grand gesture, without expecting recognition. But today, something was different. Today, it felt like a dam broke inside him.

Jamil stopped chopping, the knife trembling slightly in his hand. His heart pounded against his ribs, a wild, relentless drumbeat that left him breathless. You were talking, something light and offhanded about how he always managed to make dinner look easy despite everything. But the words blurred in his mind, drowned by the overwhelming realization that he couldn’t keep holding this in.

He couldn’t keep swallowing his feelings, pretending that the way you effortlessly lightened his burdens didn’t mean the world to him.

The air felt charged as he set down the knife, turning to face you. His hands clenched at his sides, his breathing uneven.

“Jamil?” you asked, your voice laced with concern. “What’s wrong?”

He took a step closer, his eyes locked onto yours. “I—” He paused, his voice faltering as a wave of emotion surged through him. He closed his eyes for a brief moment, trying to gather himself, but it was no use. The words spilled out in a rush, raw and desperate.

“I can’t do this anymore,” he confessed, his voice low but trembling with intensity. “I can’t keep pretending this doesn’t drive me insane—how you’re always there, always helping, always making everything easier without even realizing it. You don’t expect anything, you don’t ask for anything, and it—it’s too much.”

Your eyes widened, and you opened your mouth to respond, but he continued, unable to stop now that he’d started.

“I don’t just want your help. I don’t just want your kindness. I want—” His voice broke, and he took another step closer, his heart hammering so fiercely it felt like it might break free of his chest. His hands reached for yours, hesitating for a moment before finally grasping them gently but firmly, like he was afraid you’d disappear.

“I want you,” he finished, his voice soft but unyielding. “I want to be the one who gets to take care of you the way you take care of everyone else. I’ve been holding this back for so long, but I can’t anymore. I…” His voice dropped to a whisper, his dark eyes searching yours with a vulnerability he rarely let show. “I love you.”

You stared at him, speechless, as his words sank in. The air between you felt electric, heavy with unsaid things. His gaze flickered down to your lips, and he felt an almost unbearable urge to close the distance. His grip on your hands tightened slightly, his restraint wavering.

“I shouldn’t,” he murmured, more to himself than to you. “But I can’t—”

“Then don’t,” you interrupted softly, a smile tugging at your lips.

He froze, his breath catching as you leaned in, closing the gap between you. His lips met yours in a kiss that was equal parts tentative and desperate, like he’d been starving for this moment for years. His hands cupped your face gently, reverently, as though you were something fragile and precious.

When you finally pulled away, both of you were breathless. You smiled at him, your cheeks warm, and he couldn’t help but mirror it, his usual guarded expression melting into something softer, something unguarded.

“I love you too,” you said, your voice steady despite the rapid fluttering of your heart. “And I’m not going anywhere, Jamil.”

His shoulders sagged, as though a weight he’d carried for far too long had finally been lifted. He pulled you into his arms, holding you close, the smell of spices and warmth enveloping both of you.

For the first time in what felt like forever, Jamil allowed himself to want something—no, to want you. And as he held you, he knew he’d never let you go.

Sebek Zigvolt

Sebek was, as usual, in the middle of a passionate lecture about Malleus, his voice booming with fervor. You had long since learned to tune out the dramatics and focus on the little things—the way his hands gestured wildly as if the fate of the world depended on it, the way his ears twitched when he got particularly worked up, and the faint pink dusting his cheeks whenever you gave him a little too much attention.

Today was no different. You sat beside him on the bench, letting his enthusiasm wash over you like white noise, a faint smile playing on your lips. Without thinking, you leaned against his shoulder, sighing contentedly as you rested your weight against him.

The effect was immediate. Sebek stiffened like someone had swapped his spine with a metal rod, his words faltering mid-sentence.

“And that’s why—why Lord Malleus is… what are you—what are you doing?!” he stammered, his voice an octave higher than usual.

You blinked up at him innocently. “Listening. You were saying something about Malleus and… moonlight?”

His ears turned a shade of pink that would’ve been comical if your heart wasn’t busy fluttering at how adorable he looked when flustered.

“Stop that,” he grumbled, glaring at nothing in particular.

“Stop what?” you asked, genuinely confused.

“Smiling!” he snapped, his voice cracking slightly.

You tilted your head, puzzled. “Huh? Why?”

“Because…” He clenched his fists, as though physically restraining himself from blurting out something disastrous. But it was no use. The truth clawed its way out of him, raw and unpolished. “Because I… like it too much.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Sebek immediately averted his gaze, as if the sky might mercifully swallow him whole if he refused to acknowledge you.

You stared at him for a moment, your heart pounding so loudly you were sure he could hear it. A teasing smile spread across your face as you reached out, grabbing his face gently but firmly between your hands, forcing him to look at you.

“Sebek,” you said, your voice light and playful despite the warmth blooming in your chest. “Do you like me?”

His eyes widened, and for a split second, he looked as though he might faint on the spot. But then the dam burst, and all his pent-up frustration and longing came pouring out in a torrent of words.

“You’re unfair! Your smile is cruel! You haunt my every waking moment with your ridiculous kindness and your infernal warmth! How am I supposed to serve Lord Malleus with any semblance of dignity when you—when you—” His voice cracked again, and he looked down, his expression somewhere between mortified and miserable. “…when you’re so you.”

The confession hung in the air, and you couldn’t help it—you leaned in and kissed him, cutting off his rambling in the gentlest way possible. His lips were warm and slightly chapped, and he froze for a moment, clearly too overwhelmed to compute what was happening.

When you pulled back, you were grinning, your face flushed. “There. Better?”

Sebek sat there, his face an unreadable mix of shock and flustered indignation. He touched his lips like he couldn’t believe what had just happened. And then, as if the words were yanked from him against his will, he blurted, “That’s not enough!”

You raised an eyebrow, amused. “Not enough?”

He cleared his throat, his ears practically glowing. “I need to… confirm. One more time. For certainty!”

You chuckled, your chest aching with fondness, and leaned in again. “If you insist.”

This time, he kissed you back, hesitant but earnest, his hands hovering awkwardly before finally resting on your shoulders. When you finally pulled apart, Sebek looked like he’d just run a marathon, his face flushed and his eyes dazed.

“Happy now?” you teased, brushing a stray strand of hair from his forehead.

“…For now,” he muttered, his voice barely audible, but the shy smile tugging at his lips gave him away.

Masterlist

#twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twst #twisted wonderland #jamil x reader #jamil #jamil viper x reader #jamil viper #sebek zigvolt x reader #sebek x reader #sebek zigvolt #sebek

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whokilledsamara · 1 day ago

Note

so about the mr. silvair hc where he makes mr. chopped watch with our permission... 👀 pls write something about that 🙏🙏🙏🙏

WATCHING

a Mr. Silvair x afab reader fic {an: if you want an amab reader version, send in another request :)}

warnings || smut, vouyerism, slight asphyxiation, hair pulling, cuckhold, multiple positions, NEEDLE MENTION AT START!! {not smut related}

{an: i stared at this in my ask box and kept thinking of a way to write it,, also just a oneshot, not too long :)}

a small huff releases you as Mr. Silvair injects the needle into your arm, before slowly pulling the tab as blood fills the syringe. "What do you even need this for anyways?" you ask, staring up at him. he pauses and tilts his head, seemingly confused. "...?" his gaze, or lack there of, set on your face. "Why, Doing?" you finally say, voice cracking at the foreign language that you still cant get the hang of. he thinks for a second, before shrugging. "Need, Blood. Experiments." he answers, quickly returning to your arm.

well that didnt answer your question..

allowing him to finish his administrations, seemingly pleased with your cooperation, he stands back up. Mr. Silvair makes his way into his experiment room, disappearing for a moment. Mr. Chopped was seated happily on the couch as always, beckoning you over with his chats. you sit down next to him, gently petting his head and murmuring 'cute' in their language. chatting conquers for a good while, even as you struggle to remember his language, but manage.

Mr. Silvair emerges from his lab, a fresh coat on. he beckons you closer with a finger, smiling softly when you obey. "Remove, Clothing" he states matter of fact. pausing, your face heats up with both confusion and embarrassment. "W-What..?" you ask quietly. he stares at you for a second before pointing at your lower abdomen. "Me touch. Experiment." he hums softly. your face heats up even further, eyes flicking from him to Mr. Chopped who was still seated with a confused expression. "Me can remove resident. Want?" he asks with a gentle smile as always. it takes a second for you to process his words, and before you can think, you find yourself shaking your head. "He can stay.." you say with a flushed face. his smile grows wider, pleased at your response. a soft sigh escapes your lips as you gently reach for your clothes, slipping them off with ease.

"Desire, Carry! Desire, Carry!!" Mr. Chopped exclaims with excitement. a low chuckle escapes Mr. Silvair's lips and with gentle hands he picks the head up, placing him closer to the both of you. "Pretty!" he says happily, appraising your naked form. "Thank you.." you mutter, a small squeak leaving your lips as Mr. Silvair's hands suddenly grip your waist, walking you to the couch and gently pressing you down on it, chest up. his hand drags down your torso, in between the valley of your breasts and down your stomach. a shiver runs down your spine when his hand gently parts your thighs, exposing your glistening folds to his gaze. the smile on his face curls up even more, and with an experimental touch, he runs a finger in between your lips. instinctively, your back arches off the couch, a hushed whine leaving your lips. "Interesting." he mutters under his breath. Mr. Chopped couldn't look any happier, excited noises leaving his mouth with every touch Mr. Silvair makes on your needy body. "Turn around." he says, gently patting your thigh with a smile. obediently, you position yourself on all fours, making your chest hit the couch and your hips in the air. a pleased hum leaves his chest, his gentle yet massive hand caressing your ass. excited giggles leave Mr. Chopped as expected, but hit a high pitch when Mr. Silvair lays an unexpected yet soft pat to your bottom. "Again!" the head says with a giddy smile. another chuckle leaves Mr. Silvair and he complies, asserting another slap, this time a bit harder.

a shuffling sound can be heard behind you, but a second before you can look back, you feel something poke your entrance. something big. he runs his member up and down your slit, collecting the juices dripping from it and using it as a lube of some sort. Mr. Silvair's hands gently grasp you, spreading you for easier access. pain shoots through your core as he slowly presses himself inside of you, a low grunt leaving his lips in pleasure. "Feels good." he reassures you, leaning down to press his chest against your bare back when he bottoms out. the cold air of the room you made your senses heighten, but what made it all the more was his cold hands gripping your hips as he laid down shallow thrusts. when he felt your hips push back, he took it as a sign to go faster, quickly picking up the pace with his thrusts. whines and moans left your lips, Mr. Chopped's eyes following your every movement.

"Faster?" Mr. Silvair questions, his hand reaching around to grab the front of your neck, pulling you up some. tears fall down your face as you nod, blood staining your lip from biting so hard. his hand moves from your neck to your chin, turning your face to the side in a quick kiss, rough due to his intense thrusts. "S-Silvair- fuck- i cant take.. hic.. it-" and while he didnt quite understand your words, he didnt take it as a bad sign. his thrusts only quickened, his hips desperately slapping against your ass.

"Me want see!" Mr. Chopped whines, pouting at his lack of view, mainly only seeing Mr. Silvair's back. "mmmmghh.." you groan against the couch cushion, yelping at the sudden change of position when Mr. Silvair flips you onto your back. he slips back in with ease, throwing your leg over his shoulder and pressing you down with his hips. "a-ahh- mmmm.." you whine, the pathetic moans leaving your lips seemingly spurring Silvair on. his hand travels down and rubs furiously on your clit, your hands suddenly shooting out to grab his shoulders, one managing to slip into his hair and tug. he lets out a low groan, his face turning into one of pure pleasure. his hand rubs faster, matching the rhythm of his thrusts in effort to make you cum before he does.

with another thrust and a magical finger on your clit, your back arches as far as possible, your orgasm ripping through you like fireworks. "fuuuuccckk..." a long curse leaves your lips and not long after yours, Silvair's orgasm follows. hot spurts of cum fill you, and in the background you both can hear Mr. Chopped giggling. you wince as Mr. Silvair pulls his length out, his previous cum dripping out of your well spent hole. he smiles gently down at you, quickly making his way to clean you up. once finished, his hand gently caresses your head. "Again! Again!" Mr. Chopped exclaims, a big smile on his face. both you and Mr. Silvair laugh softly, your tired expression speaking for you. he gently pats your thigh, pressing a quick kiss to your lips.

"Later."

{an: aughh sorry the end is kind of cheezy, ive been working on this throughout the day,,, 💔}

{ made by @whokilledsamara }

#smut #homicipher #homicipher x reader #afab reader #mr. silvair #mr chopped x reader #mr silvair x reader #mr silvair #mr chopped head #mr silvair x y/n #threes0me #cuckcold

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goldfades · 3 days ago

Text

TIGHTLING ─── LUKE HUGHES

request: "luke hughes + reader doing tiktok couple trends??"

here is the trend i was doing!

The phone props precariously against a stack of books on the coffee table, its tiny lens trained on you and Luke as he lounges on the couch beside you. His long legs are sprawled out, a stark contrast to your cross-legged position, and he looks completely at ease, a faded Michigan sweatshirt hanging loosely on his broad frame.

It was your idea—of course it was—to rope him into yet another TikTok trend. And honestly, it didn’t take much convincing. Luke, for all his teasing about how “obsessed” you are with the app, has never been one to back down from your antics. You swear he secretly loves these little moments where the two of you can just be goofy together.

“Okay, so here’s the deal,” you start, holding your phone up to demonstrate the angle and framing, even though he’s barely paying attention. His eyes flick lazily from your face to the camera. “I’m gonna ask you a bunch of questions, and they’re things only girls would know—like, makeup stuff, skincare stuff. You just have to guess what they mean.”

Luke blinks at you, visibly unimpressed. “That’s it? I just guess?”

“Yes.” You grin, wide and mischievous, and he narrows his eyes at you suspiciously.

“Why do I feel like this is just a setup to make me look stupid?”

“It's not, I promise.” You say, patting his knee in mock reassurance.

He scoffs, rolling his eyes, but the corners of his mouth tug upward into the faintest smile. You’ve won, and he knows it. “Fine. But you owe me for this.”

“Uh-huh,” you deadpan, grabbing the remote and shoving it out of the frame. “And what exactly do I owe you for a few minutes of your time?”

He tilts his head, pretending to think. “I don’t know. Maybe you stop stealing my clothes every time you come over?”

“That’s a deal I’ll never make,” you quip, setting the phone back on its makeshift tripod. “Okay, ready?”

Luke leans forward slightly, brushing his hair out of his face as he flashes you a lopsided grin. “Hit me with it.”

And just like that, you hit record.

You settle back into the couch, phone recording, and glance at Luke, who’s already sitting straighter, his focus zeroed in like this is some kind of high-stakes playoff. The intensity is so out of place that it’s almost impossible not to laugh, but you manage to keep a straight face. Barely.

“Alright,” you say, scrolling through your mental list of girl-specific words. “First question: What does waterline mean?”

Luke blinks. “Waterline?” His brows furrow, and he leans forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees like he’s trying to think through an SAT question. “Like... the edge of a body of water? Or where water stops?”

You gasp dramatically, clapping your hands together. “Oh my God, yes! That’s exactly it. How did you know?”

His face lights up, the corners of his mouth quirking into a self-satisfied grin. “Seriously? I mean, it makes sense, right?”

“Totally,” you nod fervently, resisting the urge to crack up. “You’re so smart.”

He smirks, leaning back against the couch. “Told you. What’s next?”

You bite your lip, stifling a laugh, and move on. “Okay, next question. What’s a cuticle pusher?”

Luke’s face scrunches up, his confusion written all over it. “A... what?”

“Cuticle pusher,” you repeat innocently, as though this is a perfectly normal thing for him to know.

He hesitates, narrowing his eyes at you. “Uh... is it like... something you use to push dirt out from under your nails?”

You gasp again, clutching your chest like you’re shocked by his brilliance. “Yes! Oh my God, Luke, how do you know these things?”

He lets out a laugh, visibly proud of himself. “I don’t know! It just made sense!”

“Wow,” you say, shaking your head like you’re genuinely impressed. “You’re two for two.”

“Duh,” he quips, leaning forward again, his confidence swelling. “Keep going. I’m on a roll.”

You suppress another laugh and press on. “Okay, what about... baking?”

“Baking?” he repeats, frowning. “Like... cooking?”

You shake your head quickly. “Not that kind of baking. It’s a makeup thing.”

He sits back, tapping his fingers against his leg as he thinks. “Makeup... baking... Does it have something to do with heat? Like, you heat the makeup onto your face or something?”

It takes every ounce of willpower not to break character. “Oh my God, yes! Exactly! You bake it onto your face to, like, set it. You’re literally on fire, Luke. I can’t believe this.”

He laughs again, a full, genuine laugh this time, his cheeks a little pink. “I’m just that good.”

“You really are,” you say with mock awe. “Okay, okay, one more for now. What’s a winged liner?”

Luke doesn’t even pause to think this time. “Easy. It’s eyeliner, but it’s, like... shaped like wings.”

You clap your hands together, nodding enthusiastically. “Yes! Oh my God, Luke! You’re literally unstoppable!”

“I know, right?” He beams, clearly riding the high of getting “everything” right. “See? I told you I’d win.”

You bite back your laughter, nodding along like you’re his number-one fan. “You’re seriously the best at this. I’ve never seen anyone crush these questions like you.”

Luke leans back, folding his arms across his chest, looking far too pleased with himself. “Alright, what’s the next round? I’m ready.”

You can’t hold it in anymore and burst into laughter, but he just looks at you, confused but still grinning. “What? Why are you laughing? I’m killing it!”

And the best part? He truly believes it.

You shake your head, waving your hand as if to dismiss your laughter. “Nothing, nothing! You’re just—you’re killing it, Luke. Like, I think you might know more about this stuff than I do.”

He grins, sitting up straighter. “I mean, you said it was trivia. I’m just good at picking stuff up.”

“Right, right,” you say, wiping an imaginary tear from your eye as you compose yourself. “Okay, next question. What’s... double cleansing?”

Luke pauses, his competitive streak kicking back in as he furrows his brow in concentration. “Double cleansing... like, washing your face twice? First to get the dirt off and then... to, I don’t know, make it extra clean?”

You gasp again, clutching his arm this time. “Yes! Oh my God, that’s exactly it. How do you keep doing this?”

He looks so smug now, like he just nailed a game-winning goal. “It just makes sense, you know? Two steps—one for the surface, one for deep cleaning. I’m basically an expert.”

You nod vigorously, stifling another laugh. “Seriously. Like, you should teach a class or something.”

“Maybe I will,” he says with a smirk. “Alright, next one. Hit me.”

You glance at your mental list again, biting your lip to keep from cracking up. “Alright. What’s a dupe?”

Luke tilts his head, confused but determined. “A dupe... like... a duplicate? Something that looks like something else?”

You slap your hand over your mouth, pretending to be floored. “Yes! Oh my God, Luke, you’re literally on fire. It’s like a cheaper version of something expensive. How are you so good at this?”

He’s grinning so wide now, his cheeks pink with pride. “I don’t know. I guess I just have a natural instinct for this stuff.”

“Clearly,” you say, barely holding it together. “Okay, okay, next one. What’s a beauty blender?”

“A beauty blender?” He pauses, his competitive edge shining through as he carefully thinks it over. “Uh... like... a machine that mixes stuff? Like makeup or foundation or something?”

You clasp your hands dramatically, your jaw dropping. “Yes! Oh my God, Luke, are you kidding me? How do you know this?”

He throws his hands up like it’s no big deal, even though he’s clearly eating up the praise. “What can I say? I’m just built different.”

You double over with laughter, but quickly try to disguise it as a cough when he narrows his eyes. “I’m serious! You’re like... a prodigy.”

“I know,” he says, fully leaning into the role now. “Alright, what’s next? Let’s keep going.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, wondering how far you can push this before he catches on. “Okay, this one’s tricky,” you warn, straightening up. “What’s... tightlining?”

He blinks at you, a little wary but still confident. “Tightlining? Uh... when you line something up really close together? Like... packing it in tight?”

You gasp again, throwing your head back. “Yes! Oh my God, Luke! It’s when you line your eyes super close to your lashes! You’re incredible!”

His grin is so wide now, he looks like a kid who just found out he’s getting a puppy for Christmas. “I mean, it’s just logical, right? Tightlining. Tight lines. Easy.”

“Easy for you,” you say, shaking your head in mock amazement. “You’re like a makeup genius.”

“I should probably put that on my résumé,” he jokes, leaning back and crossing his arms. “Luke Hughes: NHL defenseman, trivia champion, and makeup expert.”

You can’t help but laugh again, your chest aching from holding it in for so long. But he still doesn’t catch on—he’s far too busy basking in the glory of his “success.”

“Alright,” you say, wiping a pretend tear from your eye. “One last question, and this one’s a doozy. What’s a halo eye?”

Luke’s face scrunches up in confusion, but he’s clearly not backing down. “Halo eye... uh... is it like... when your eyes look shiny? Like they’re glowing or something?”

You clasp your chest, pretending to be in awe. “Yes! That’s exactly it! How did you know?”

He throws his hands in the air, grinning ear to ear. “I mean, it’s in the name. Halo. Glow. It’s not that hard.”

You’re practically wheezing at this point, barely able to hold yourself together. But Luke? He’s still riding that high, completely oblivious to the fact that he’s been getting it hilariously wrong the entire time.

── COMMENTS

melia 🤍 "halo eye… uh… when your eyes look shiny?" IM SCREAMING ♡ 18k

abby grace 🌸 the gasp after every answer has me CRYING 💀 ♡ 14.5k

lily 🦋 the fact that he’s dead serious makes this even better ♡ 6.3k

viv 🪩 “double cleansing… to make it extra clean?” i can’t breathe 😭 ♡ 292

nj devils enthusiast “baking… does it have something to do with heat?” AND YOU SAID YES 💀💀 ♡ 500

sarah rose ☁️ his face when you said he got it right 😭😭😭 pure joy ♡ 4.2k

ellie ✨ he’s never gonna trust you again when he finds out 😭 ♡ 1.8k

emma 🤍 “tightlining… tight lines… easy” LUKE WHAT ♡ 239

sophia 💕 he’s gonna tell people he’s a skincare guru after this 😭 ♡ 2k

madeline you could’ve asked him anything and he’d still be so proud of himself lmaoo ♡ 103

noah’s gf how is he so wrong yet so sure every time 💀 ♡ 89

↳ make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated !

↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

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daisymbin · 2 days ago

Note

Hello hope you're having a good day! If you are still taking requests I love the idea of fluff 27 + suggestive 5 together! Reader doing/saying it to best boy Mingyu please <3

hello!!! I am & yes yes omg this is so cute!!! thank you for requesting 🤍

request your own: full prompt list!

check out my masterlist! // gyu's m.list

fluff prompt #27: "did you plan this whole day just to make me happy?" +

suggestive prompt #5: "is that your way of asking me to stay the night?"

mingyu doesn’t think he deserves a day like this.

he’s been feeling a little off lately, the kind of off where his brain works too hard to convince him he’s not enough. not good enough for his members, his fans, and definitely not good enough for you. he hadn’t told you any of this, of course, because what kind of boyfriend lays that weight on someone else? but somehow, you just knew. you always did.

you’d planned the entire day down to the last detail—every moment overflowing with warmth and ease.

his favorite breakfast, eaten slowly at the cozy café he’d shyly confessed to loving on your third date. an afternoon hike where you teased him for tripping over his own feet and then held his hand the rest of the way up. dinner on the balcony of your apartment, fairy lights strung above as the city glittered in the background.

he sits now with you on that balcony, your legs tangled under the small blanket you’d pulled out when the air turned cooler. you’re leaning back against him, his arms wrapped loosely around your waist. the scent of your shampoo drifts up every time the wind catches your hair, and mingyu thinks it’s the happiest he’s felt in weeks.

he kisses the top of your head, unable to stop himself from smiling.

“did you plan this whole day just to make me happy?”

you tilt your head up to look at him, your lips quirking in that way that makes his heart stumble over itself.

“maybe.”

“you did,” he says, a little breathless, tightening his arms around you. “you totally did. how do you even—how do you know what i need without me saying anything?”

“you think i don’t notice when you’re not yourself?” you reply softly. “i know you, mingyu. it’s not that hard to figure out.”

mingyu blinks down at you, his chest aching in the best way possible. you’re looking at him like you’re proud of him, like you see every part of him—even the parts he’s tried to hide—and love him anyway.

he leans down to kiss you, slow and deliberate, his fingers slipping into your hair as he cups the back of your head. you hum against his mouth, the sound sending a shiver down his spine. when you pull back, there’s a teasing glint in your eye.

“i hope you’re planning to return the favor someday,” you say.

“someday?” he scoffs, brushing his thumb across your cheek. “as if i don’t spend every day trying to make you happy.”

“you’re sweet,” you murmur, your voice dropping just enough to make his pulse skip. “but i think you’re overestimating yourself.”

mingyu’s jaw drops. “overestimating—are you serious? you’re lucky i don’t pick you up and throw you over my shoulder.”

“you wouldn’t dare.”

his grin widens, and you laugh, leaning forward just enough to press a quick kiss to his jaw. your lips linger there for a moment, and mingyu’s thoughts scatter like leaves in the wind.

when you pull back again, there’s something playful in your expression, but it’s layered with a warmth that makes his heart race.

“so,” you say casually, brushing nonexistent lint off his sweater, before settling your hands around the back of his neck, "you don’t have to go home tonight if you don’t want to."

mingyu freezes.

he can feel your eyes on him, waiting for a reaction, but his brain seems to be short-circuiting.

you tilt your head, a small smile tugging at your lips. “what? too subtle?” you tease.

his throat feels dry, but he manages to swallow and find his voice. “is that—” he pauses, his lips quirking despite himself. “is that your way of asking me to stay the night?”

you roll your eyes, but the blush creeping up your neck betrays you. “do you have to say it like that?” you complained.

“me?” mingyu grins, leaning closer so his nose brushes against yours. “you’re the one who—wait, are you blushing right now?”

“no,” you say, but your voice wavers just enough to make him laugh.

“you totally are.” his grin softens, and he reaches up to gently cup your cheek, his thumb brushing over your heated skin. “you’re cute, you know that?”

“shut up,” you mutter, but your lips curve upward as you lean into his touch.

for a moment, mingyu just looks at you. the city lights reflect in your eyes, and he thinks it’s entirely unfair how beautiful you are.

“okay,” he says quietly.

you blink up at him. “okay?”

“yeah,” he murmurs, his hand slipping to the back of your neck as he kisses you again.

you hum against his lips, your hands sliding up his chest to rest on his shoulders. he doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to the way you touch him, so soft and careful, like you’re holding something precious.

when you finally pull back, your forehead rests against his, and you’re smiling in that way that makes him want to promise you the world.

mingyu laughs, his breath warm against your skin. “you know, i’m starting to think you planned this whole day for more than just making me happy.”

you pull back slightly to meet his gaze, your eyebrows raised in mock offense. “are you accusing me of ulterior motives?”

“maybe,” he teases, his hands sliding to rest on your waist.

you smirk, your fingers tracing absent patterns on his chest. “guess you’ll have to stick around and find out.”

his heart stumbles again, and he wonders how he got so lucky.

“oh, i’m not going anywhere,” he says, his voice low and certain.

mingyu doesn't move though, his eyes trained on you, taking in the way the wind blows in your hair, the way your cheeks are still tinted pink, and the way your eyes keep flickering between his own & his lips.

“what are you doing?” you ask softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

“looking at you,” he murmurs, his tone low, like he doesn’t want to scare the moment away. his hand comes up to brush a stray strand of hair away from your face, his fingertips lingering against your cheek. “you're so beautiful”

your breath catchesnas you pull mingyu him, his lips meet yours slowly, like he’s memorizing every detail—the softness, the warmth, the way you gasp softly against his mouth. his hands cradle your face, holding you gently but firmly, as if he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go.

you don’t know who moves first, but suddenly you’re closer, pressed against him, your fingers curling into his sweater. his lips part slightly, and the kiss deepens, sending a shiver down your spine. mingyu tilts his head, his thumb brushing your jaw as he kisses you like he’s been waiting for this forever.

it’s not just a kiss—it’s consuming. the world around you fades until it’s just him. the faint scent of his cologne, the way his chest rises and falls against yours, the soft hum he lets out when your fingers tangle in his hair.

he pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, his breath warm and unsteady.

“you’re dangerous,” he says softly, his lips brushing yours with each word.

“me?” you manage to whisper, your own voice shaky. “what does that make you, then?”

he smirks, his eyes dark with something that sends your heart racing. “completely yours.”

before you can respond, his lips find yours again, hungrier this time. his hands slide down to your waist, pulling you impossibly closer, and you can feel the heat radiating off him. he kisses you like he needs you, like he doesn’t know how to stop, and you’re not sure you want him to.

your hands trail up his chest, slipping over his shoulders and around his neck, and the sound he makes when your nails scrape lightly against his skin sends warmth pooling in your stomach.

he breaks away just long enough to press a kiss to the corner of your mouth, then your jaw, then the sensitive spot just below your ear. “you’re gonna be the death of me,” he murmurs, his voice low and breathless.

you laugh softly, tugging him back to you. “then don’t stop.”

& mingyu doesn’t.

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aquaticmercy · 1 day ago

Text

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.

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