#this was going to be short and precise

[pixiecactus]

About G/A and the separate futures phase. Whoever published it was a very dedicated shipper who got devastated by his response. I don't think anyone would lie about that because this fan was genuinely very upset over this. Despite being my favorite ship, I always had the impression that they would have at most some puppy love, but that it wouldn't be endgame. Then, everything connected for me. A friend of mine pointed out that many female characters of asoiaf (Sansa, Cat, Brienne, Dany, Asha), especially those who are outside the norm. They generally experience passions and/or have multiple romantic interests. And they are allowed to move on from those early love interests. And without the time skip. I end up finding it a bit unfeasible to expect that only Arya never goes through these experiences and that she should be only be with him and end. As if she couldn't live other paths? I know it's not a popular opinion, but I think it's a natural aspect to see other possibilities in life.  For me, if she were really going to end up with him (something I don't believe anymore). It would be more interesting if she could experience other passions. I mean in the most innocent sense, like a first kiss and things like that. George comments that he has always known the main characters' endings since 1991. And I don't think that includes G/A as endgame and like the only option in her life... I still like them a lot. However, I have a very different opinion from fandom

i'm going to fracture your ask into parts so it will help me focus on which part i'm actually answering, because my mind tends to hyperfocus on the smallest details, and i go ranting about them, and then i forget what i wanted to write in the first place. so here we go:

About G/A and the separate futures phase. Whoever published it was a very dedicated shipper who got devastated by his response. I don't think anyone would lie about that because this fan was genuinely very upset over this.

so i decided to make my response to this part a post of it's own, and here's the link to it. (x)

Despite being my favorite ship, I always had the impression that they would have at most some puppy love, but that it wouldn't be endgame.

i've come to agree with this notion as an adult, but from what i can remember during my brief time in the asoiaf fandom years ago, back in that time it was treated almost as common knowledge that gendry was arya's very own "ygritte" and how ygritte and gendry served the same purpose in the narrative for jon and arya, a "first love" figure. it seems that the show completely erased that type of idea from being discussed.

Then, everything connected for me. A friend of mine pointed out that many female characters of asoiaf (Sansa, Cat, Brienne, Dany, Asha), especially those who are outside the norm. They generally experience passions and/or have multiple romantic interests. And they are allowed to move on from those early love interests.

i want to say that i agree with this, but at the time i don't. let me explain, sorry for oversharing, but i have to say first that i'm one of the most aromantic fucks to ever exist, so i always have a hard time talking about these concepts because i know very well that they don't hold any significance for me, but my own experience is not the norm, and i have a hard time understanding how romantic interest or romantic love works in the slightest (skill issue on my part, i know). now with that out of the way, i want to tackle each character and their romantic interests as i see them.

let's start with sansa. this is all from my memory, though, as i haven't touched a sansa's chapter in its entirety in years (yeah, i know, but they're headache-inducing for me) sansa was enamoured with the concept of what a prince should be, and i think that her naivety completely blinded her when it comes down to joffrey. since she loved the aforementioned ideas of a handsome prince, i think she decided that if joffrey had the title of prince, those concepts must apply to him, and i guess that it helped his case that joffrey was pretty handsome. so sansa in her naivety, got a crush on an idea of joffrey who was only on her mind while she was actively overlooking any flaw or horrible behavior that joffrey presented. i guess this is why i have a problem with those posts that claim that sansa loves people so deeply. my response is that she is a child that doesn't know a thing about romantic love (and i know that's a bit rich coming from me)

i remember a little bit about sansa having a thing for loras tyrell, but what comes to my brain is sansa dreaming about licking the sweat of his chest, but i'm pretty sure that's an exaggeration, but 16 year old me remembers reading something sansa and loras's chest... okay i did find the part in the books.

Wed to Ser Loras, oh . . . Sansa's breath caught in her throat. She remembered Ser Loras in his sparkling sapphire armor, tossing her a rose. Ser Loras in white silk, so pure, innocent, beautiful. The dimples at the corner of his mouth when he smiled. The sweetness of his laugh, the warmth of his hand. She could only imagine what it would be like to pull up his tunic and caress the smooth skin underneath, to stand on her toes and kiss him, to run her fingers through those thick brown curls and drown in his deep brown eyes. A flush crept up her neck.

i classify this as purely physical attraction, but that's what i want to get to. from my perspective, sansa feels strong physical attraction to people, and her mind does the rest, filling in the blanks, but we never see her making an effort to know who the person behind the appearance she was attracted to actually is.

let me put a disclaimer here: this isn't me criticizing the character, i'm an aroace man that only feels aesthetic attraction, so i understand sansa in this aspect all too well. personally speaking, when i find someone beautiful, the only thing i want is to stare at them as one would to a work of art (and this has always happened to me with celebrities)

so other than the hound, my opinion is that sansa's romantic interests are purely based on physical attraction. and this ties with the notion that sansa believes that good appearance equals good character, when it isn't always the case.

now let's get to catelyn stark née tully. i guess that the three "romantic interests" that we could talk about here are littlefinger, but very loosely, because catelyn loved petyr as a brother, but he was in fact the one who was in love with her. and sure, we can talk about that time where cat, lysa and petyr played at kissing when she was no older than sansa and i think that littlefinger was younger than arya (?) but this example for me is just child curiosity manifesting itself (good thing that mononucleosis isn't a thing in this universe)

catelyn even as a young girl, had the knowledge that littlefinger was infatuated with her and that she didn't reciprocate her feelings, and from what i remember, she was betrothed to brandon stark at a really young age, and i think that catelyn was happy about this decision that her father made because brandon stark was going to be the lord of winterfell and the warden of the north, both very important titles.

so i'm currently using a search of ice and fire to find every time that brandon was mentioned in catelyn's pov, because i don't remember reading her ever waxing poetics about him and his handsomeness, other than that part in which catelyn's declared that she was disappointed the first time she saw ned, and how he was shorter and plainer than his big brother.

and then we have ned stark, the man that catelyn ended up marrying and learned to love. but even when this couple is one of the healthier relationships we ever had in the series as a whole, it wasn't without its issues. we can identify two shadows always lurking in the background following their marriage: the existence of jon snow and ned's refusal to answer catelyn's question of who was the boy's mother, and from ned's part, the fact that he was never meant to actually have the life he has now; it was supposed to be brandon, not him. from the way i see it, that could create a big "what if" for ned to wonder, at least at the beginning of their marriage, if catelyn was disappointed in him and if she still preferred to be able to marry brandon. these issues never got resolved during their marriage, but at the same time we saw they bonded; they were loyal to each other, and their relationship developed into unconditional love. i think that i'm not doing them justice with what i'm writing, but to be honest, i love that arya loves and admires her parents’s relationship, but i don't feel the same way that she does. i don't hate them but i don't like them either; they are just there, existing for me. (i guess it's a bad time to mention that i'm a supporter of the "ashara dayne was ned's first love" headcanon)

let me continue to brienne of tarth. i think that brienne's infatuation with renly is similar to the one of sansa with joffrey, except for the big detail that what made brienne like renly was the fact that he was kind to her. and of course this carries a big significance to brienne because she was accustomed to being scorned, to be rejected, or even to be pitied. but then again, i think that brienne is enamoured of a certain image of renly, without knowing the person fully.

look, i don't want to touch brienne's relationship with jaime, because absolutely i could never do them justice. did you see how bad i sucked at talking about cat and ned's relationship? i don't want to repeat that, even though in this case i do ship braime. but, what i will say is that gendrya and braime both share the aspect that they actually know the person, their character and how they behave before getting romantic feelings involved in the mix. let me point to the sign that says, "they had shared traumatic experiences together that strengthened their bond with each other."

my girl dany comes next. i want to preface what i'm about to write next with: once i was young and stupid and i actually shipped daenerys with drogo (i guess that i saw the relationship similar to how cat and ned marriage came to be) now that i'm a little bit older, i can see the relationship for what it is: a child bride slave and his slaver. now i think that daenerys's mind was trying to protect her from the big traumatic situation she was in and made her believe that she was in love with her so called "husband" because the ugly truth was too much to process. people always love to forget that dany is a young child as well.

we see daenerys exploring her sexuality later on with irri and for me, her relationship with daario, is charged with a strong physical attraction (i have my own theory that is meant to showcase that dany has developed hypersexuality, as sometimes happens with survivors of sexual trauma; a reminder here that dany was subjected to marital rape) and this is a way in which she can reclaim her sexual expression.

i'm going to skip asha (sorry!) because i remember the least about her, other that, i never understood the decision that the show took to make her sapphic (i'm using that term because currently i can't remember if her show counterpart yara was bisexual or lesbian; i have seen some people using one and other people using another) when in the book she's clearly straight, i really don't understand why for some people it's so difficult to conceptualize that gender nonconforming women can be straight and like men.

i really took the long road to get here (this wasn't a reference, by the way) but taking all that i’ve already written into account. yeah i agree with the thought that we see most female characters having different romantic interests and short passions through the books, and yes, i understand where people are coming from when asking the question: why would be any different with arya?

i will become the most positive and deluded version of myself to point out the next stuff about gendrya, how they seem to break the pattern, and why they could be an exception to this.

let's start by saying that when arya and gendry met each other, neither of them found the other attractive to the point that they created a preconceived notion of who they were supposed to be or behave.

they didn't become friends right off the bat; arya knew gendry as the bull, and gendry knew arya as arry, the two of them using aliases.

from there, their "relationship" started to develop from two strangers that were forced to coexist in the same space (this sounds a lot worse than what actually was, because contrary to brienne and jaime, arya and gendry didn't have any animosity towards the other at the beginning) to the very start of a friendship based on mutual trust and understanding.

i do think that they impressed each other, with gendry being the only one willing to go back for arya and then later on arya returning the favor.

that brings me to the "only gendry was different" part of the book. i'm sorry, but i live by this quote, and yeah, i know that the plain context is that arya is considering telling gendry her real identity and how she could be safe telling him because the queen wanted him too, but my main takeaway from this part is that gendry has earned arya's trust by being himself.

and i really think that for gendry the same statement is true. only arya was different, even more after he was told her real identity. because here comes this little girl, as brave and kind as they come, protecting him and a bunch of other kids (she's literally being mother wolf protecting her pack) even when she's part of the nobility and the daughter of a lord. arya's existence is challenging his very own preconceived notions.

so we have these two kids, who have become each other's more trusted people while they are in the middle of a war-torn country trying their best to survive. they have built a very strong foundation for their relationship to develop into something more.

a while ago, i read a post talking that for arya, loving people is easy; she is curious, friendly, and kind; she loves to participate in a community; she knows how to adapt; she's a very passionate character, but what doesn't come as easy for her is trusting people, and i wholeheartedly agree. and gendry with his obstinate and loyal personality, presented himself as reliable and steady, a strong shoulder to rely on, the perfect candidate to obtain arya's trust, if i say so myself. and all of this was before any of the two developed any romantic interest in the other.

i swear i'll get into the angsty part of the deal, but i need to write first that gendrya, in comparison to ned and cat and/or dany and drogo (since both couples were married before they really knew each other) seems to have chosen each other; they started to develop feelings and physical attraction out of their own volition.

i think that is super interesting that arya has never had a problem noticing attractiveness in boys/men before or after, but we don't get a peep from her regarding gendry in this aspect, but we can infer it when we pay attention to all the multiple times where arya describes his deep blue eyes, and his hair always falling between said eyes. arya's focus is on how strong gendry is and how muscled he is, thinking about it even when she's mad at him and how if she were to hit him, he probably wouldn't feel it at all because he's muscled.

Arya knew which prince she meant: Joffrey, of course. The tall, handsome one. Sansa got to sit with him at the feast. Arya had to sit with the little fat one. Naturally. 

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“A man does not choose his companions in the black cells,” the handsome one with the red- and-white hair said.

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She liked to pretend that one of them was Joffrey’s. She tried to picture how his pretty face would look dipped in tar. 

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“Her?” The Hound snorted. “Is she your mother, Dondarrion? Or your whore?” Dondarrion? Beric Dondarrion had been handsome; Sansa’s friend Jeyne had fallen in love with him. Even Jeyne Poole was not so blind as to think this man was fair.

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The handsome man had a beard of a different color every time she saw him, and a different nose, but he was never less than comely.

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“The gods must have loved him to give him such a voice, and that fair face as well.” He is fair of face and foul of heart, thought Arya.

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Before summoning the serving men to carry him away, she knelt and felt his face, tracing the line of his jaw, brushing her fingers across his cheeks and nose, touching his hair. Curly hair, and thick. A handsome face, unlined. He was young.

time to bring another one of my favourite moments, so i don't think that it would be news for anyone who read the books, the fact that gendry dislikes edric dayne with a passion. what i think that people don't notice is that gendry started disliking him even before the reveal that he was the lord of starfall, and what was the motive for this? well, edric's only crime was spending time with arya and talking to her in highheart. then he learned that edric was a member of the nobility, same as arya, and i think that at that moment, gendry truly hated him.

so currently gendrya has graced us with a friendship that started slowly, but it ended up building a strong foundation, composed of mutual trust, understanding, and loyalty. a little bit later on, physical attraction was added to the mix, along with feelings of inadequacy and jealousy. and then it was cut short.

we had a slow but promising build on towards something more with no payoff in sight.

and from the top of my mind, i think that the only other couple that you could say the same about them, is braime.

so unlike sansa and brienne, arya spent a lot of time next to gendry, learning exactly the type of person he is. she never idealized gendry to be someone that he's not.

and unlike catelyn and dany, there was nothing forcing arya into a place where she develops romantic feelings for gendry as a duty, and it was the same thing for him as well. (again, this sounds so bad for the nedcat nation, but my honest opinion is that if you have two people forced to be married and then later on you learn that these people developed feelings for each other and now are in a loving relationship, it can be a "me" thing, but i cannot help but wonder if there was a little bit of conformism coming from both parties involved added to the mix)

can i say that from a reader standpoint, arya and gendry misunderstanding each other is just so perfectly angsty? i know that i'm biased, but i swear it hurts so bad to even think about it. no, but really. my dumb teen brain used to think that gendry's thoughts about his knighthood were almost "one track mind." and the actual meaning of this was gendry trying his best to climb the social ladder to be deserving of having the chance to get with arya.

but this couldn't be further from what i now consider the truth. this decision is about himself (as it should be!) i do think that gendry noticed arya's class blindness and how this would affect their friendship because in the society they live in, there's no way they could ever be equals, and more closely, the fact that arya's family would never accept their friendship no matter what arya said to him. this is all part of arya's own journey to accept the idea that people that she has known all her life are not the good guys and how her own family and their allies can be responsible for horrible things happening mostly to the smallfolk as well. this is something that the author has put emphasis on for arya to notice since mycah's death in the first book. 

and gendry has seen this happen for most of his life, if i have to guess. and this gendry no longer wants to sit as peacefully as you could get while looking the other way; this was what he was doing under lucan's mentorship (?) apathy will get you nowhere, afterall. i think that we could add the fact that back in harrenhal he lived as an armourer would, what his life was meant to be before everything went to shit, and maybe he didn't like it; maybe he felt helpless, and i think he was set into conforming to this way of life before arya showed up with the idea of escaping harrenhal.

so we have gendry making his decision to stay with the brotherhood, first because he liked the idea of how they gave the hound a fair trial; second, the brotherhood presented themselves as outlaws fighting for the biggest victims of the wars all around them, the smallfolk, and that is something that gendry believes in and is willing to fight for. third, this was his best option since his friendship with arya would be a thing of the past whether he wanted or not, and arya's family would send him to the forge, and as i said before, i don't think that's where he wants to be anymore. fourth, i can see him thinking that arya is so close to getting reunited with her family, and probably her happiness about this fact would help lessen the blow of gendry not accepting to follow her again. 

arya isn't able to see this decision in this particular light, gendry choosing to leave her only seems to fuel her abandonment issues and bring her self-esteem even lower than before. this is all happening while arya is already breaking down, thinking that her mother wouldn't want her anymore due to her appearance and reasoning that she's not worthy of rescue from her brother, who is a king now. and here's the boy, who she once considered her only true friend in the world, siding with her captors, the same people that kidnapped her and only see her as a means to get coin. i can see this reinforcing the awful idea that arya has of "other than jon, no one will ever love me" and of course this isn't gendry's fault, but it breaks my heart all the same.

and since then, the few times that arya thinks of gendry after getting separated from him, the thought that dominates over any other is that gendry didn't want to be her friend, and she was stupid for ever thinking so.

and that makes you think that if arya would consider that the friendship between them built in mutual trust was a lie from the beginning or gendry was just humoring her because she was a lady from a great house and him a lowborn bastard.

and this means for me that if we get arya and gendry reuniting, they're not going to hit it off; arya was hurt, and the trust and camaraderie they used to share are gone.

And without the time skip. I end up finding it a bit unfeasible to expect that only Arya never goes through these experiences and that she should be only be with him and end. As if she couldn't live other paths? I know it's not a popular opinion, but I think it's a natural aspect to see other possibilities in life.

oh god, this is where i'm very conflicted with myself. because, as a person, i completely agree with you here, but as a shipper, i don't want to agree.

and it doesn't help that it's probably less than a year since i discovered that the five-year time skip is no longer in the picture. my plan really was, i'll get back into asoiaf when twow is released, and by then arya is going to be 16 and gendry is going to be 20, which i learned a few months ago that they would have matched the age both should be (as a girl who is a highborn lady and as a boy who was under an apprenticeship) looking for a partner to marry. we really could have it all.

the thing is that i'm pretty sure that arya would get those experiences in braavos... the problem mostly relies on gendry (not really)

George mentioned the coming of age of Arya in Braavos in the context of how a writer had to discipline himself to write only as many chapters as were necessary to serve the story, saying that what Arya was dealing with in Braavos could make a worthy young adult novel in it’s own right.

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"Arya is a lot of fun to write about. I could write a whole novel about Arya in Braavos."

meanwhile it's been a long time since i read a book of that particular genre... but all the ya books i still have stacked somewhere in my house from my teen years have a romantic theme as the main plot.

i'm inclined to believe that arya will have a romantic subplot in braavos just based on those previous quotes from the author, but at the same time, taking into account arya's personality and her curious nature, it fits and makes sense to see it as a possibility for me.

i'd dare to say that i'm a believer that "with the five-year time skip still in place, arya would have come back to westeros without a maidenhood for any man to claim"

now let me explain why i think that gendry could be the problem, but not really at the same time.

personally speaking, i don't find the notion of meeting a person when you're really young, falling in love with them, and them being your only romantic prospect as a healthy one. most likely is the aromantic cynic in me, but i believe that people in your life in the romantic aspect come and go and there's nothing you can do to stop them from doing so, so you better appreciate the time you have with them, and relationships are the best way to discover things about yourself.

but gendry in affc seems stuck in a sort of purgatory state. he's angry and seems to be consumed by guilt. this is my own speculation, but i believe that arya is front and center in his thoughts every day since she was kidnapped. and i'm desperate for someone to take him to the side and tell him that this isn't healthy. i get that the boy is grieving, and grief is expressed in different ways, and i have seen people theorizing that it has been around six or five months since arya was kidnapped in asos and gendry's appearance in affc, but my point still stands: this isn't healthy in the slightest.

and gendry doesn't seem interested in anyone around him, in a romantic or even friendly aspect, and that's why i have a problem with the widely accepted headcanon of gendry hooking up with one of the heddles, who it seems to be always jeyne, affc is showing us that gendry couldn't be more different than his father, even if he tried. the boy is not looking to get his dick wet with anyone. (i'll derrail here a little bit to talk about how most of the fics that follow the aforementioned headcanon have jeyne being the one seeking gendry out, and i have seen more than a few state that jeyne fell in love with him since the first time she saw him or since he came to live with them... and that leaves a weird feeling over me because in affc, jeyne is a 18 year old, already a woman grown, and gendry is a 14 year old, you know, an actual child)

now, with what i have said before, you'd think that i want gendry to experience another romantic prospect before reuniting with arya? well, no, i don't. but this time it doesn't have to do with gendry being his father's narrative foil but rather than somewhere along the way when grrm was writing gendry as a foil to robert in the sexuality aspect, gendry started to fit in a lot in a demisexual category and as a person that is part of the aspec community, i can't simply unsee it.

i don't think that this was the author's intention, and yes, demisexual!gendry is just another headcanon in a sea of them, but i live by this headcanon. like c'mon, what kind of boy rejects free sex offered to him in a society that doesn't see you as a man unless you have fucked someone?

and here's where the conflict in myself starts to show, because i truly believe that romantic relationships aid you in the process of discovering yourself as a person. but as the same person who knew that i was in fact asexual at the young age of 15 and succumbed to societal pressure from people around me telling me "that i couldn't know because i never had sex before" almost sounding as a "your statement isn't valid unless..." and after having a few romantic/sexual relationships in my early twenties, i can confirm that the 15 year old child that i was, still to this day, is right. and now looking back, i realize that i never had to prove myself to anyone, and i don't want gendry to go through the same things that i went through myself.

so... gendry is not interested in having sex or even having a romantic relationship with anyone else? good for him, and i fully support him. "only gendry was different" am i right?

For me, if she were really going to end up with him (something I don't believe anymore). It would be more interesting if she could experience other passions. I mean in the most innocent sense, like a first kiss and things like that. George comments that he has always known the main characters' endings since 1991. And I don't think that includes G/A as endgame and like the only option in her life… I still like them a lot. However, I have a very different opinion from fandom.

i said that i agree with the thought of gendrya not being endgame, and i do, but i think that my decision has a lot more to do with the fact that jonrya in all books is so strong, i'd be an idiot to not recognize it as such.

and this, plus the fact that i believe that the original outline is still relevant to the story, is why we truly respect jonrya in this humble gendrya household that is my sideblog...

but at the end of the day, it all comes down to preferences, and i like gendrya more than jonrya... it's just that i see arya and gendry as more evenly matched in a sense. i think that i have a problem with the fact that jon is arya's own idol, and the idealization of your partner in relationships is not something i find healthy.

and just because i want to come back to the beginning in a way, if we believe that the "quote" is real, gendrya having separated futures doesn't negate the possibility of them getting romantically involved in the first place.

so where i currently stand as a gendrya shipper, is if they happen, they happen and i’m going to be ecstatic for them, because i love them both and i want them to have good things in their life, i agree with you that they aren’t going to be endgame but i still have the littlest hope in my heart, it’s just both of them have so much life and fertility symbolism, you know?

and i think that i have to end this with the least positive version of myself, saying that i believe that grrm doesn't owe us anything as an author, and with every day that passes, i'm losing hope of ever getting to read twow... so there's the possibility that we will never know (?)

this isn't me trying to bring my favourite band into the mix, but i really think that gendrya is going to be my favourite "what if" and my best "i'll never know"

if you have read all of this post, thank you for putting up with me for this long. and thank you, anon for sending me this ask in the first place and for your patience. i'd say take a shot every time i wrote "i think", but that would be encouraging alcohol poisoning, so let's not do that.

[firelise]

i just also want to commend 4 minutes for not just having amazing cinematography and acting and writing, but probably the best showing and not telling of any QL i've seen. this is all i've wanted for so long just give me the puzzle pieces and trust me to put them together please. its so simple and well done.

[longagoitwastuesday]

While I loved that interaction, that is all we got about something that could be taken as two of the most important (alive) people in Gojo's life mentioning him, thinking of him with fondness, or coming anywhere close to mourning him.

Then we got two pages of resolution of whatever emotional turmoil these two have going on

[littleeyesofpallas]

[lemonhemlock]

What happens in soccer when the referee gives you a red card? Can the player pull out the uno reverse card? Are there any rules dealing with this situation?

thanks for eliciting a chuckle out of me in these dark times anon😭😭😭😭

the red card is the highest distinction a player can get during a game of FOOTBALL. it is similar to what the americans call a purple heart i believe. it means the player slayed so much that he actually has to be eliminated from the field in order to keep the game fair otherwise he would transcend to a higher level of consciousness and overpower everyone else in a mighty display of terror and violence.

for this reason he is not even allowed to go back to the bench. he has to move his still-earthly body immediately back to the changing rooms and wait out the rest of the game there. scientists believe that by isolating him from the roar of the crowds he will become grounded again, re-tether himself to his human form and prevent ,,, The Ascent

[fragmentedblade]

The implications that Blade and Dan Heng remember more than they admit is driving me nuts

[ravenwolfie97]

i can't sleep and i want to fight youtube

[screamsofpaint]

It feels so cringe to add tags and search for popular ones

[mikkouille]

do they still measure height at the adult general checkup ive always vibe approximated mine cuz i kept growing late and then i didnt have the mandatory for school yearly ones so i have to be honest, i didnt get any in forever but like what if i want to be the obnoxious height in bio gal huh. huh. height and bra size in bio. okay?

[marvelstoriesepic]

Weakness

Pairing: Avenger!Bucky x Avenger!Reader

Summary: You use Bucky’s only weakness to your advantage until it bites you in the ass.

Word Count: 7.2k

Warnings: feigning injuries; a sprained ankle; bruises; hiding injuries; combat fighting training; sparring sessions; mutual pining; Bucky being a doting sweetheart; Bucky being smug; Bucky being worried

Author’s Notes: This idea has been sitting in my drafts as a rough outline for months lol and I finally got the inspiration to make something out of it. I hope you will enjoy this! ♡

Masterlist

You love sparring with Bucky.

Maybe because you love the man.

But there is so much more to that, honestly.

You have basically sparred with anyone out of the team.

Steve is methodical. Always a teacher, always Captain. He calls out corrections in a way he does orders, his patience long-practiced. His strikes are accurate, economical, as if he calculates the exact amount of force necessary to bring you down and delivers it precisely, nothing wasted. But you always know he is holding back. He does not say it but you feel it in the way he controls every movement, never quite giving you the full weight of his strength. You learn from him, but there is always a ceiling to what he will allow you to take from the fight.

Natasha is sharp. She doesn’t coach you, doesn’t slow down, doesn’t hold back. She fights you like she fights anyone. You feel the sting of a bruise blooming before you even realize she struck you. And yet, when you get a hit in, when you shift fast enough to slip past her guard, her smirk is quicksilver - pleased, challenging, like she has just discovered something worth sinking her teeth into.

Wanda fights like she plays. Some days, she keeps her powers at bay, working only with what her body allows, light on her feet, swaying rather than striking. But she is not used to this. Not using her powers in a fight. So most of the time, she teases, powers tugging at your wrist mid-swing, a flicker of scarlett at the edge of your vision before she is suddenly behind you.

Sam is solid. He fights with his whole body, never wasting energy on anything that doesn’t serve his goal. He takes up space, keeps you on the defenses, his moves seamless. But he is generous too, throwing you a verbal lifeline mid-fight - “too slow, come on,” - challenging you in encouraging you. And when you get him down, he grins, bright and wide, like he wants you to win.

Clint fights like someone who doesn’t need to win, just needs to keep moving. He is slippery, dodging rather than blocking, grinning rather than growling. He makes a game of it, laughing at your frustration, forcing you to loosen up, to adapt, to try something unorthodox. He doesn’t spar to overpower. He spars to frustrate, to outlast, to make you think three steps ahead.

But Bucky.

Bucky watches you. Always. Even when he isn’t facing you directly, even when he’s standing in the shadows at the edge of the gym, you have his attention. It is something you have learned to steady yourself beneath. Because it never really seems to waver.

He is mindful. Of your form. Of your tells. Of how far he can push you. He does not go easy on you. Despite the obvious differences in height and weight and him being a super soldier. But he fights you like an opponent worth fighting. He fights you like himself. Precise. Controlled. Thoughtful. When he corrects you, it is not instruction, just a simple adjustment with the brush of his metal fingers nudging your wrist into a better angle, a small nod when you adapt.

And when you take him down - when you surprise him, when you shift your weight at the last moment and send him to the mat - there is that laugh breaking out. He is not stunned at the way you overpowered him. Not disbelieving. He merely laughs. A short burst of warmth, rare and genuine, something boyish in the way it escapes.

You live for that laugh.

Because Bucky knows your competence. He does not gift you victories because he knows you don’t need them in the first place. He expects you to win. He knows you can. And will. He does not say it outright, but you learned to read the subtle body language in the years of knowing him - the glimmer of something pleased in his eyes, the upturn at the corner of his mouth.

And when he helps you up - fingers gently curling around your wrist to pull you to your feet - he lingers just a little too long.

So yes, you love sparring with Bucky.

Basically, on the first day as an Avenger it was drilled into you that knowing your enemy is everything - know what you are up against, who you are fighting, how they move, what makes them weak.

You are good at this. At observing. You know how to study people, how to pick out patterns, how to find the smallest crack in an otherwise impenetrable wall and press until it splits wide open.

Still, Bucky Barnes is not an easy person to read.

But perhaps it was just a little too much fun figuring out what exactly his weaknesses are.

He doesn’t have many. His body is conditioned for war, his mind sharpened, his instincts too honed to give much away. If he has vulnerabilities, they are subtle. Nearly imperceptible to anyone who isn’t looking closely enough.

But you have been looking closely. For the better part of a year.

And then, about five months ago, something clicked.

Bucky Barnes does have a weakness.

A glaring one, in fact.

One so obvious you nearly laughed out loud when you finally pieced it together.

It’s you.

You are his weakness.

Bucky is a creature of routines.

The kind that keep him grounded in a world that still feels like shifting sand beneath his feet. And somehow, you have become part of them.

You don’t remember when it started, exactly. But you know that when you stumble into the kitchen in the morning, still half-asleep, Bucky is already there. Always. Sometimes with coffee already poured for you, sometimes just sitting at the counter like he’s lost, waiting like he’s been expecting something. You.

You tested it, once. You woke up later than usual, wanting to see if he still lingered. And sure enough, when you finally stepped into the kitchen, he was there, nursing a long-gone cup of coffee that was somehow still halfway filled, gaze fixed on the entryway even before you entered. Like he hadn’t been planning on leaving until he saw you. It’s when he loosened his grip on the poor mug. Flexing his fingers, as if he was close to shattering it.

Bucky is not a fan of crowded spaces.

He likes corners, walls at his back, exits in view. He keeps a respectable distance from most people, moving on silent feet, always aware of what’s around him.

Except when it comes to you.

You began to notice that in the common room. How he lets you sit closer than he does with anyone else, how he doesn’t shift away when his knee bumps his. How, when you walk side by side, he moves to make space for you without thinking. How he stops standing near the door when you are in a room, like some unconscious part of him doesn’t feel the need to watch his six when you are there.

And then there are the small things.

The way his arm comes up instinctively when you reach past him for something, like he is preparing to steady you or get it down for you if it is something you can’t reach. The way he steps in front of you if something startled him, body moving before anything else.

Little things. Automatic things.

And the most endearing part is, that he genuinely does not seem like he knows he is doing all that.

Bucky is strategic on missions.

He follows the plan without a hitch, keeps his cool and executes flawlessly.

Until you are in danger.

Then he gets frantic. He even tends to snap at Steve. He gets tighter, sharper, more lethal. It seems like instinct.

Just last month, you got cut along your thigh that you managed to patch up before the mission was even completely over. But Bucky was stoic and brooding. Frown on his face the whole time. He saw the blood, saw the way you had a limp in your step and something utterly cold settled in his eyes.

Sam later mentioned to you with a weird wiggle of his eyebrow that the man whose knife slashed you never had the chance to land another hit on anyone.

You started testing him in small ways. Seeing if he moves when you move. If he adjusts his strategy to keep you in his line of sight. If he listens to your voice above all others in a debriefing, even when Steve is talking.

And he does. Every time.

Bucky got mad at Clint once because he ate the last donut that was meant for you. Clint was genuinely terrified. He even went out to get you new ones.

Bucky picks up stuff from the common room he knows belong to you and takes it to your room.

Just yesterday, there was a book on your nightstand. One you had mentioned offhand in conversation weeks ago, something you said you wanted to read someday. And you know for a fact that Bucky got dragged into the city by Sam and Steve the day before.

After years as an Avenger, you learn to fool people.

You know how to smile when you need to, how to shake things off, how to deal with missions gone wrong or people unsaved.

But you can’t fool Bucky.

He just knows when something is off. He notices the way your voice shifts, the way your shoulders carry tension differently. You don’t have to say anything. He just knows.

And he never pushes. He lingers. He makes himself available. He sits beside you in silence when you don’t feel like talking. He glares at everyone who wants something unnecessary from you in times like those.

And then he would just go, come on, let’s go do something.

It is basically just watching a movie or cooking a dinner or baking cookies, but everything is more fun with him, and soon enough your smile touches your eyes again.

Bucky does not share.

He does not share his food. He does not share his belongings.

But he does with you.

When you are out and freezing, he shrugs off his jacket and tosses it over your shoulders without a word.

He lets you take fries off his plate and lets you drink from his cup, much to Sam’s surprise and disgruntlement.

Bucky does not talk about his nightmares.

Not to anyone.

But on certain nights, when sleep refuses to hold him and his mind is drowning in things long past but never gone, he finds you.

You were in the common room when it first started. Months ago. Nursing a mug of tea, when he wandered in, looking lost and exhausted.

With a single glance at him, you nodded to the couch, shifting over to make space, and he came sitting down without a word.

He let you talk. He even seemed to relish it. Intertwining his hands at his front and laying his head back against the backside of the couch, closing his eyes and listening to your mocked aggravation at the fact that Sam left a half-eaten sandwich on the counter again.

He stayed until the sun crept in through the windows, slight snoring making you smile.

It happened again. And then again.

After a while, you started recognizing the signs when his nightmares are getting worse again. The way he drifts into whatever room you are in and stays locked in his own when you are gone on a mission or out with the girls. How he leans against the doorway for a second longer than necessary before stepping inside, like he is debating whether he has the right to be there.

Sometimes, he’d pretend he’s just passing through. He would linger in the kitchen, hands wrapped around a cup of coffee he doesn’t drink while you are having your conversation with Wanda and Natasha.

One night, he even came to your room. Knocking and standing there with his hands fidgeting at his sides, eyes shamefully lowered, looking so much like a puppy in search of some love.

He didn’t pretend. He didn’t offer excuses. He just stood there and you saw it in his eyes.

You took him in your arms and then you took him in.

First, he sat down on the floor beside your bed, back against the wall, knees drawn up like he was trying to take up as little space as possible. He didn’t say anything for a long time. You just sat beside him on the ground, laying your head on his shoulder.

Eventually, his breathing evened out, head falling onto yours.

He would fall asleep like that. Until you managed to get him to lie down in your bed beside you. He usually sleeps like a baby when he’s with you.

You are not stupid. Neither are you naive. You have always been good at reading people, at knowing them, at watching them, and deciphering the things they do not say.

And you know what this might mean.

You certainly know what it means to you.

The way your pulse picks up when Bucky walks into a room so casually because you are there. The way your stomach flutters when his gaze lingers on you. The way your chest gets so unbearably full when he does all those smallest things for you.

But you think you also might know what it means to him. He seeks you out for everything, on instinct or not. Smiling seems to come so easily to him when he is with you. You are the only person he lets into his personal space - the only person he doesn’t startle away from when it comes to accidentally touching.

But Bucky Barnes is not a man who allows himself to want things easily.

So, you will not force yourself upon him. You will not push. You will not demand. You will not take what he does not freely offer.

Because you understand that he does not fear pain, or war, or perhaps even death.

But he fears something real, something good, something that cannot be fought off with fists or buried beneath old ghosts.

Because he does not think it is something he deserves yet.

But you are willing to wait. Until he is ready. Until he is sure. Until he knows that this is what he wants.

And if he never is, if he never comes to you with certainty in his hands, if he never crosses the space between you - then you will wait anyway.

Because for him, you would wait forever.

****

“Alright, sweetheart. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

There’s a smug grin on his face as he’s circling you.

And you know why it is there.

Because you are currently three losses deep into a losing streak against Bucky. And that just won’t do. You need a win.

You move first, closing the distance fast, testing his defenses. He blocks. A quick jab - he dodges. A feint - he doesn’t bite.

He knows your patterns, how you move, how you think. But you know him, too.

You go low, aiming for his legs, but he anticipates and shifts out of reach. “Getting predictable there, doll,” he drawls, smirking.

Yeah, you’re gonna wipe that off.

Rolling your eyes, you adjust. A punch goes up that isn’t meant to land, just to see how he reacts. He blocks high, but his balance shifts and there is a brief opening. A second and you are too late.

You strike fast, sweeping low again, and this time, you actually catch him. Not enough to take him down, but a start.

Bucky huffs, rolling his neck. “Not good enough, but better,” he teases, smirk still in place.

“Oh, fuck off,” you laugh, lunging again.

He meets you halfway, and for a moment, it’s just movement - sharp and fast and fluid, but you keep your balance. You duck, weave, block.

You land a hit, but it barely fazes him. He grabs your wrist, twisting - flipping you, but you are prepared, rolling and springing back up.

“That all you got?”

“Come find out.”

He laughs brightly before going in for attack. You block his strike, twisting out of reach.

It’s definitely not all you got.

He is not expecting you to cheat.

Not that you call it cheating anyway.

You decide that it’s time to take advantage of that weakness of his.

After all, it has worked before. And it will work again.

Bucky feints left. You dodge, pivot, but let your foot catch just so against the mat to send you off balance. The stumble isn’t exaggerated - it doesn’t need to be. You land on your side, letting out a sharp breath as if this is not exactly what you were expecting, and grab your ankle, wincing.

Bucky stops immediately. Just like always. It’s the first time you feign your ankle getting hurt but he reacts all the same.

His shift is instant. His whole body tenses. Taking a step toward you with his brows furrowed tightly, he scans you like he’s already running through every possible way to help you. Carrying you to the medical wing, for example.

“Shit, doll. You okay?” His voice is softer now. Concerned. So genuinely worried, you might actually feel bad.

He crouches without hesitation, without a thought, eyes so intensely fixed on you. And that smug grin is as predicted wiped cleanly off his face.

“Lemme see-”

He reaches out to you but that is when you strike.

You twist up, leg sweeping out and knocking his feet from under him. His surprised noise is so satisfying as he goes down, flat on his back, sprawled across the mat.

Silence.

“You have got to be kidding me,” Bucky groans loudly.

You are kneeling beside him, grinning, chest heaving. “Kinda needed that win, Barnes. No bad feelings, yeah?”

Bucky just stares at the ceiling for a long moment, one hand scrubbing down his face. He exhales sharply, muttering something under his breath, something that sounds suspiciously like every goddam time.

The last time you used your little trick on him, you had sold a jab against your side, staggering back and exhaling sharply as if he hit some sensitive point. He froze instantly, eyes wide. And you spun him into a flawless takedown.

The time before that it was your shoulder. All you needed was a slight grimace in fake pain and his whole demeanor changed in an instant. His hands went up slightly, a step in your direction and that was your opening to duck under his arm, and bring him down with a precise twist.

Yeah, alright, people might believe that that technique is a little mean and it certainly wouldn’t help you at all in the open field, but Clint did tell you to try something unorthodox.

You stretch, still smirking, and tilt your head at him. “You know, you’d think after falling for this multiple times, you’d have learned by now.”

Bucky’s head rolls to the side and he glares at you. Not in anger, not even close. Just that specific kind of exasperation that you have come to learn is something only you get to see from him.

He huffs. “Should’ve known you’d pull this shit again.”

“Should have. And here I thought I am predictable.”

He gives you a flat, unimpressed look.

“Can’t believe I was worried.”

“Aww, you were?” you say sarcastically, lightly. Almost in a sly sing-song voice, because is is always worried. That’s the whole point of this.

Another hand drags down his face, but there is a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

****

You exhale deeply, rolling your shoulders, as you make your way down to the gym.

Your muscles are stiff. Everything aches in that dull, stubborn way that promises it will get worse before it gets better.

The bruises that paint your ribs throb with your pulse. You remember the sharp, biting crack when you hit the ground.

It was a mission for Steve, Nat, and you, though you definitely could have used some backup.

You feel terrible.

And you hadn’t told Bucky any of that when you came home yesterday, sometime late.

Instead, you sent him a quick I’m fine. Training tomorrow? and buried yourself in sleep before he could pry. You know how he gets, after all. How his worry manifests, his eyes linger and his mouth tightens when you brush him off. You did not have the energy for it last night. And you don’t have it now. He does not have to know what hits you have taken due to your own recklessness. You already got a lecture from Cap. Don’t need it from his best friend.

So you show up. Because, if you don’t, he will know something is wrong.

Bucky is already waiting for you, standing loose and ready on the mat. His eyes snap up the moment you enter, scanning you the way he always does. Checking.

You ignore his gaze.

“Ready to get your ass kicked?” you say, tossing your water bottle onto the bench, forcing something light into your voice.

He smirks, arms crossed. “That what’s gonna happen?”

You step onto the mat, careful not to wince, careful to keep your breath even despite the sharpness pulling at your ribs. “Don’t sound so doubtful, Barnes. I’ll let you eat the mat.”

He snorts, tilting his head. “I sure like to see you try.”

He raises his hands, shifting into a stance, watching you closely. Too closely. There is something probing in his gaze today.

“How’d the mission go? Steve mentioned you guys ran into some-”

You don’t give him time to finish - time to think.

You move, fast, hoping to catch him off guard.

He sidesteps, but you strike again.

And immediately regret it.

Your ribs scream. Punishing. Your breath stutters, but you grit your teeth and keep going, keep pushing forward and attacking because if you pause, he will most definitely notice.

It goes on for perhaps a minute and you think you might actually be able to bite away the pain your whole body is consumed with, but then you stumble.

It’s a half-second of hesitation, a misstep that normally wouldn’t happen. But it causes you to trip away a few steps. Sharp pain courses through your ribs and a hand instinctively shoots up to your side. A hiss slips past your lips. Loud enough for him to hear.

But instead of reacting the way he always does - immediately stopping, immediately reaching - he just huffs amused, shaking his head.

“Bad time for trying that trick again, sweetheart. Shoulda known better.” There is that smugness in his tone.

His voice is light, teasing. His eyes are sharp, watching.

You grit your teeth, saying nothing.

He thinks you’re faking.

Which - fine. You have done this a few times. But now, with every movement grinding against the ache in your ribs, you wish he would just stop you.

Because it’s getting harder to hide.

It’s getting harder to see.

Bucky seems confused for a second when you don’t react to him at all, but doesn’t have time to act on it as you are going in for the next hit.

And Bucky dodges you too easily like he doesn’t even need to try. You swing again, slower than you should be, weaker than you should be - and he sidesteps, frowning.

“Tryin’ a new strategy?” he asks, but his voice is careful. His eyes are assessing.

You don’t answer. You can’t. You just go again, ignoring the way your body protests, ignoring the way you are moving wrong like you are just a second behind yourself. You hope maybe muscle memory will carry you through.

It doesn’t seem like it.

Bucky stopped throwing punches himself, only staying in defense mode and he won’t stop fucking looking at you.

And then you pivot too fast - twist wrong.

White-hot pain flares through your side so fiercely, it rips the breath from your lungs. A harsh, unsteady sound falls out. You can’t catch it. You stagger, grip tightening into fists, trying to push through.

But Bucky’s expression now definitely shifted. Amusement gone. Smugness gone. His face is hard.

You ignore that and try to go in for the next hit, but Bucky steps in fast, too fast for you to counter in your state, hooking an arm around you, pressing your back against his chest. He doesn’t throw you - he could, easily, he would - but he just halts your movement, stopping you clean in your tracks.

The pain spikes again and you gasp sharply. Your knees nearly buckle and Bucky’s grip on you tightens.

His hands are firm around you. Steady. But his breathing is not. It’s fast, strained, the muscles in his arms locking as he keeps you upright.

“What the hell happened?” His voice is so low, so serious. There is an edge to it, teetering on loosing control.

“It’s not a big deal,” you grit out.

“Bullshit.” Now he sounds harsh.

But his fingers still press so gently into your side, checking you out.

You whimper, flinching.

And Bucky freezes.

“Shit.” He shifts his grip, an arm around your waist, moving you to face him and still trying to support you without making it worse. His heartbeat is fast. You can feel it. Even in his hands on you.

He grabs the hem of your shirt and lifts it enough to see your torso. A breath hitches. It’s not yours.

The bruises are bad. Worse than they were yesterday. Dark and sprawling across your ribs, blooming in ugly purples and reds. You feel the shift in him, the way his whole body goes still.

You watch his tense features in discomfort. His eyes are turbulent, filled with a wildness stemming from something dark that writhes beneath his skin and causes his hands to shake against you. A tremor passes his jaw.

He curses under his breath.

“You didn’t tell me.” His voice drags low.

“I didn’t think it was that bad.”

He lets out a deep and rumbling sigh. Trying to compose himself. “It is bad, Y/n! How come you thought it’s a good idea to train like this, huh?”

He meets your eyes. There is a sternness in his expression. His eyes are heavy.

“I didn’t want you to worry.”

Bucky lets out a humorless breath. Closes his eyes for a moment until he takes a breath in again.

“I was already worried, doll. I always am. You know that, no?” he speaks solemnly. “You think not telling me makes this better?”

You open your mouth, then close it.

He shakes his head, exhaling profoundly through his nose. His grip tightens, but not enough to hurt you. He holds you carefully.

You take in a deep breath. “I- I don’t know. I guess I just didn’t wanna talk about it. I’m sorry, Bucky.”

His jaw is clenched and he bites his bottom lip, staring at the bruises littering your skin for a moment with eyes so dark they make you shiver.

“How did that happen? Who did this?”

You scoff half-heartedly. “Got a little messy. Pretty sure that guy’s not doing that well either.” You aim to get even the tiniest bits of amusement out of him but he might have gotten even more grim.

His touch is slow, a careful sweep of his finger across your skin, studying you for reactions.

He opens his mouth. Something on his tongue he wants to get out, but he hesitates. He swallows. Waits a few seconds. His voice is a rasp. “Don’t do that again.”

“Getting hurt on missions is kind of a normal occurrence, Buck. Not much I can do about that-”

“No, I mean-” he interrupts, voice quieter. “Don’t hide it again. Not from me. I- Just please.”

There is something in his tone that makes you stare for a while longer.

Then, you nod. Just once. But you mean it.

****

It took weeks for you to properly heal.

But finally, earlier today, you got the clearance of Dr. Cho - and Bucky, because he somehow told himself he has a say in that kind of thing - to step onto the mat again and resume training.

There is still a phantom pain in your ribs but it’s locked somewhere in the back of your mind.

But Bucky still would not stop fucking looking at you.

And it never is in a casual way. Bucky always watches you like he is waiting for something. Like his body is ready to move before his mind even has to tell it to. Like he is memorizing you, making sure nothing slips past him.

He is currently standing in front of you on the mat, rolling his shoulders, the stretch of muscle under his shirt shifting with the movement. The tension in his frame hasn’t faded, no matter how much you’ve reassured him. His fingers flex, then curl into loose fists.

Then his eyes find yours.

“Alright,” he says, voice low and edged with something firm, something not up for debate. “Don’t ever pull that shit on me again. You’re good enough as it is. No need for all that, yeah?” There is something heavy in his tone. “I'll even let you win this time if you need it so badly, doll,” he adds with a hint of humor that his voice lacked earlier, bouncing right back into your easy friendship.

You huff out a laugh and stretch your arms over your head, feeling the pull of muscles that have gone a little too long without use. “Trust me Bucky, I’ve learned my lesson.” Your voice is rather light, but it carries an edge as well.

Bucky’s jaw ticks.

There is something like guilt crossing his eyes for a second. Gone as fast as it came but you catch it. His lips are pressed together tightly and he seems to hold back an uncomfortable cough.

You’ve talked about this already. Plenty, in the weeks of your recovery. You told him you wouldn’t have believed him either after the many times you feigned injury during matches. That if anything, it was your own stubbornness that got you hurt and not him.

He only agreed with the stubborn part but he stopped bringing it up.

Still, you see he hasn’t let it go.

He carries too much guilt as it is. You don’t want him to carry more. So, you definitely won’t question his weakness during fights again. It was kind of funny, though, at least you’ll hold onto that.

You roll out your shoulders, shaking off the stiffness, then take your stance. “C’mon Barnes. You gonna fight me or just stand there looking pretty?”

His mouth twitches, a ghost of a smirk, maybe even a ghost of pink at the tip of his ears, but his eyes stay sharp.

He steps in, closing the space, moving with the same impossible control he always does.

You block his first strike, but it shakes through you. The force of it reminds you just how much power he’s holding back.

His eyes snap to your face. He doesn’t stop watching.

Studying.

Testing how you move, how much strain you can handle.

You feel yourself get into it again. The movement, the impact, the swiftness. The gym is filled with the sounds of breaths and footwork against the mat.

Bucky tests you, pushes you.

And you give as good as you get.

Your body remembers even if it’s been weeks. Your muscles adjust, wake up in a way they haven’t in too long. You move on instinct, dodging, striking, thinking, even pulling a move that you copied from Nat. One that Bucky didn’t see coming.

And it honestly looks pretty good for you, until your foot catches.

It’s nothing at first, a simple shift in weight, an uneven pivot that causes your balance to tip slightly off center. But a dizziness suddenly overcomes you and it’s too late to catch you. Your ankle twists, your knees buckle and the floor comes rushing up to you.

You hit the mat hard, landing awkwardly on your side, the jolt of pain snapping through your ankle up your whole leg, sharp enough for you to wince.

Shit.

You suck in a breath, already dreading what this looks like, what Bucky must be thinking. The timing couldn’t be worse. After everything - after the fights weeks ago, after the conversations, after the promise you just made to never feign getting hurt again - what else would he think?

But before you can lift your head, before you can force out some half-hearted quip, Bucky is already there.

Not hesitating. Not wary.

Rushing. Fast and frantic.

He’s at your side, crouching so fast his knees nearly hit the mat.

And you find yourself blinking at him stunned.

You expected him to pause. To hesitate. Maybe even get angry - to assume, even for a second, that you are feigning again, that you had just promised him not to pull that anymore but here you are.

But there is none of that.

Only the same panic from every other time you’ve dropped yourself to the ground on purpose. But this time it is real. There just was no way for him to know that. He still reacts the same.

“Where does it hurt, doll? Talk to me.”

His voice is calm, but his face is tight. His brows are drawn together, tension lining his mouth. The breaths he lets out are just a little too measured.

You blink at him, still baffled at the way with how fast he was there, how fast his reaction was.

“Just my leg,” you say, exhaling slowly. “It’s nothing. I just got dizzy and fell.”

That makes him frown, deeper than before. His hand moves so gently as he lifts the fabric of your training pants to get a look, taking your calve into his other hand. The touch sends a pulse of pain through you but you manage not to let it show on your face. You’ve had worse. You’re an Avenger, after all.

But Bucky’s jaw clenches so tightly at the sight of the swollen bone and the deepening flush of color on your ankle as if it is serious.

“Might have sprained it,” he mutters gruffly, and the displeasure in his voice is so clear.

“Think I’ll live, Buck,” you quip lightly and shift, trying to stand up but his hand doesn’t let up on your leg and he presses just lightly against your shoulders to make you sit back down.

“You still feelin’ dizzy?” he asks, basically ignoring what you said, voice dipping lower. His gaze locks onto yours. Intense.

You shake your head, trying to show him how casual this whole thing is but his eyes won’t stop searching you and it makes your stomach churn.

“I’m fine, Buck.”

His eyes don’t move. He doesn’t let go.

“Why did you even believe me?” You voice it light, but there is something cautious underlining it, you can’t shake. “Could’ve faked again.”

Bucky rakes a hand through his hair with a long breath. He averts his eyes.

“Saw you go down,” he says with a shrug that seems just a little too exaggeratedly indifferent. “S’ enough for my head to go straight to hell.”

That’s certainly not something you expected him to say and you are stunned once again. But you can’t help the way your belly does some delightful flips.

“And you promised me you wouldn’t,” he adds, shoulders straightening, like he is trying to shift your attention from the words he said before. From the admission he made.

“I’m really not going to do it again,” you promise again. But you won’t forget his words.

“I know, sweetheart,” he says sweetly, certainly, but the tension of your current situation lingers.

His touch on you is so damn careful, checking and rechecking, making you tell him what and how something hurts and you almost laugh out loud at his fussing.

“Buck, it’s not like I broke it,” you point out, a laugh in your voice. “I can still-”

“You’re not gonna walk around on that.”

You lift your brow at him, at his tone, an amused smile on your face but he just stares back. Without the smiling part.

Then he sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face before standing to his full height, adjusting his stance before crouching slightly again.

“Alright, come on.”

You blink but his hands already settle, one beneath your legs, the other bracing your back, and you barely have time to react before he is lifting you, arms locking as he pulls you against his chest with an ease you could only dream of.

“Bucky-”

“Not a word,” he warns with a grunt.

You sigh, letting your head fall back against his shoulder. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Don’t care.”

****

A sprained ankle takes anywhere from two to six weeks to heal properly, depending on the severity. You’ve had a few sprained ankles in your career already, so you would know.

But yours sits on the longer end of that spectrum and it frustrates you to no end because what the fuck. You were just done healing and now you got to do it all again.

The first week, Bucky barely lets you breathe without hovering close. He is always there, catching you if you wobble because you are too damn stubborn and rather hop around the compound than use a clutch. Because that would make it too easy, wouldn’t it?

The second week you get snappish. Tony makes sure to leave the room when you enter, Sam gets defensive, Natasha just smirks what frustrates you even more, Vision is a fucking robot only answering in a robotic voice way that drives you up the wall when he gives you a list of stores around New York that sell kettle fries but you only wanted to know where they are in the compounds kitchen. And Bucky endures every tiny bit of it, only that he is entirely unmoved by your attitude. At one point you just taped your ankle and tried to go down to the gym but Bucky stopped you before you could reach the elevator. He already stood there, brow quirked, arms crossed, unimpressed but amused.

By the third week, he sat next to you during team training, watching, studying. You criticized movements, talked about strategies, and laughed at Sam when Nat made him faceplant onto the mat.

Then the fourth week rolled in and you could finally put weight on your foot without wincing. For you, that meant you were good to go train again. But not for Bucky. So that meant another week of waiting.

But now you are back on the mat. Fucking again.

And you promise yourself, you will not fall this time. Not on purpose, not by accident.

Bucky stands across from you, arms loose at his sides, weight balanced, watching as you roll your shoulders and move through your warm-up.

“Got any last words before I kick your ass, Barnes?”

His mouth twitches. That half-smirk, something smug but fond, something that flies through his blue eyes like a spark.

“I dunno, sweetheart. Wouldn’t wanna land you on the sidelines again.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes.

“Bite me, Barnes.”

The moment you move, he matches it.

His reflexes are quicker than yours - always have been, always will be - but your advantage is that you know that. You know him. His patterns, the way he shifts his weight, the way his left shoulder always tenses a fraction of a second before he throws a punch. You don’t need to match his strength to win. You just need to read him.

The first strike comes low, an attempt to test your footing, but you pivot fast, avoiding the sweep of his leg with a practiced step-back. You counter with a jab - not meant to hit, just to distract - but he reads it immediately, catches your wrist, yanks you forward.

You twist, using the momentum, your free hand shooting up - Bucky dodges, barely, but you are already adjusting, using your own imbalance to push into him.

His hands are always steady, whether he’s attacking or defending. He uses his strength not to hurt you, but to push you, to remind you that you can take it.

And you do.

Blow for blow, counter for counter.

You refrain from looking at his face because he looks distractingly hot with his hair falling into his eyes and all, whipping around with his movements.

The moment his weight shifts forward, you are already countering. Stepping out of reach just as his arm sweeps for your waist. Your breath comes sharp as you turn and aim a well-placed jab that he sidesteps.

Bucky’s eyes gleam. Thrilled.

“Not bad,” he calls, already throwing another feint.

“Not trying to be”, you fire back, ducking, moving with him like it’s a dance. Like your bodies know this better than your minds do.

You push - he counters. You feint - he laughs, quick and breathy. You strike - he blocks.

Fuck, you missed this.

But then, he shifts.

And something changes.

It’s in his stance. The way he adjusts - not a mistake, but a decision. And in the half-second, before you react, before you catch on, you realize you don’t know what he is planning.

Your body is moving, a reaction before thought, but he is quicker - and you only feel him wind his arm around your waist, spin you around, and crash his lips against yours.

You stagger, letting out a surprised grunt against his mouth, caught completely fucking blindsided, because - what?

His mouth is firm, demanding - and it sears straight through your skin, your ribs, right into your bones, into your pulse, because Bucky Barnes is kissing you.

It’s not soft.

Not hesitant.

Not careful.

It’s everything it shouldn’t be in the middle of a fight.

It’s so unexpected that you don’t even notice the moment your back hits the mat. Don’t notice the way he takes you down like it’s nothing, like it’s unpredictable, because you weren’t ready.

You didn’t see it coming.

By the time you blink, by the time your brain catches up, he is already above you. Hovering.

His weight is balanced, both arms braced on either side of your head, and he is looking at you like he just won the fucking lottery.

Smirking. So damn smug.

Because Bucky finally found out your weakness. And he used it to his advantage.

Because what else could it be than him?

“You cheated,” you breathe out. Where has all the air gone?

“You kinda started it, sweetheart.” Bucky grins so wide, so proud, so happy. He pants above you. His eyes are shining.

And then he ducks down again.

He kisses you once more.

Slower, this time. Deeper. With something that lingers, something that presses into you as his hand slides along your jaw, something that feels like it has been waiting far too long for this exact moment.

And you don’t fight it.

Because it seems, you no longer have to wait for Bucky Barnes.

“You’ll know… not just in the way they look at you, but in how they’re not looking anywhere else.”

- butterflies rising

[aomiiine]

CALEB, THE FARSPACE COLONEL

AT THIS SHIP YOU WILL WITNESS … current!caleb & fem!reader. warning(s) -> MDNI. [18+ only]. needy/possessive caleb, might be ooc caleb, apple as a gag(?), squirting, implied creampies, cum eating, multiple orgasms, cunnilingus, no plot, just smut, not proofread wordcount. 1.6k (kinda short cs idk much ab him yet & i dedicated my whole pussy into this forgive me) tags. @ljubimaya

𝐻𝐸 𝑅𝐸𝒯𝒰𝑅𝒩𝒮 with single-minded determination to keep you near him at all times. Even with a 180 degree turn of his personality during his interrogation of you before, he assures you that protocol was the only reason for his brief change. Yet in the privacy of his room, he doesn’t exactly change to normal..

You didn’t know what brought you to the current situation you were in. To be more detailed, the situation you were in included you sprawled out on his bed, shirt bunched up beneath your chin with Caleb’s body hovering above you, burying his cock into you with reckless abandon. It all started with an innocent, heartfelt confession. But little did you know that calebs’ feelings would run so deep, so intense, to the point he had to have his mouth latch onto one of your tits, eagerly suckling on a nipple all the while his hips were unrelenting.

“W-wait, Caleb, please, I can’t cum again,” you whine with a sob, hands above you clinging onto his pillow for dearlife as he brought you to the brink of your nth orgasm. Caleb on the other hand seemed better than you despite the fact he would follow you every time you came, spilling his seed into your warm channel as if in sync. In truth, he wanted to cum the moment he slid inside your wet heat, but decided against it, wanting to cum with you. “Yes you can, I know you can, sweet girl,” he mumbled persuasively sweet against your flushed skin, your tits aching in the best way in his squeezing hand and warm mouth.

“Caleb, Caleb, fuck—! I feel weird,” you sobbed with a drawn out moan, hips beginning to squirm at the unfamiliar feeling in lower belly. His cock was stretching you out so good, almost too good. You thought you were on the edge of another orgasm but it felt completely foreign to you, fearing that you might embarrass yourself if Caleb kept on going like this. But Caleb himself was undeterred. Instead, a knowing smile of satisfaction crept on his face at your pleas, knowing exactly what was coming. “Of course you are, baby,” he cooed softly, hand fondling your right breast slipping down your back to thumb over the sensitive nub of your clit, rubbing it quick, tight circles that made your body arch into him with a cry.

Your legs quivered and kicked weakly on Caleb’s hip all the while he was fucking into you like it was nobody’s business, eager to push more of his cum into your already fully pussy. He could feel the heels of your feet burying into his lower back, quivering with pleasure that he knew was unfamiliar to you until now. Until he brought it to you.

his touch was precise, coaxing but going above your limits to make sure he makes your mind blank out. And true to his intentions, you cried out, loud, arching off the bed with splutters of profanities leaving your lips along with a wail pleading of his name when the pace of his thrusts into you sopping cunt quickened along with the rub and pinches of the throbbing nub of your clit.

Your lips parted in a silent scream when you felt yourself squirting all over his thick cock, yours juices surely overflowing onto his pelvis and down his balls to drip onto the sheets, making you gasp repeatedly, velvety walls spasming uncontrollably around Caleb’s pitifully hard dick, making him hiss a heavy ‘shit’ before he fucked into you more, prolonging your orgasm to reach his own. His hips jerked erratically into you, balls drawn up tight with his incoming orgasm until he came to an abrupt stop, hand previously rubbing your nub now holding you down by your pelvis all the while his throbbing cock pulsed with each pump of cum into your already filled cunt, making sure to overflow you with his seed.

Caleb’s chest heaved with heavy breaths to catch his breath, pulling away from your boneless, sweat sheened body on the bed, with his length deeply sheathed inside your warm hole still. With a few more shallow thrusts, he finally pulled out, breathing out a moan at the erotic sight of his cum that made a ring around his base, your leaking slit no less sexy.

“Fuck, you’re so fucking hot like.. Panting like a bitch in heat just for me,” caleb taunted, his own cheeks flushed red all the same along with his body coated with a thin layer of sweat like yours was on his bed, chest heaving from exertion. He couldn’t help the sly smirk that crept up his face, hand sliding down your thigh to pat the plush flesh there twice as if he was praising you, saying ‘good girl’.

Your pants died out and your breathing came back to normal, your limbs weak on the bed after a moment. Your lids felt heavy during the brief period when Caleb wasn’t doing to you, head burying into his pillow beneath your head to succumb to the sleep that called for you. But it seems like your supposed childhood friend had other plans for you.

“Urk..! Caleb.. what’re you doing now..” you slurred, mind still hazy from the mind blowing orgasm he gave you to process the tug he made on your leg. Your head lifted from the pillow weakly to see what he was doing standing off the edge of the bed, other hand moving to wrap around your other leg for another tug until you were close to the edge of the mattress.

“Shh.. get your rest. I’ll clean you up while you sleep, yeah?” the man with violet eyes shushed with a teasing lilt, reaching an arm over to grab one of his red apples nearby to bring them up to your lips, leaning forward to meet your half-lidded gaze. “Try not to be too loud.. I don’t want any of my colleagues coming over for a noise complaint,” he spoke in a near whisper, making the fresh red skin of the apple to kiss your equally succulent lips. You brought up a hand to hold the apple, letting him pull away. Yours brows furrowed at the implication that he wasn’t done, already biting down on the sweet fruit he gave you.

Leaving you oblivious, Caleb knelt between your legs that hung over the edge of his bed, positioning himself so he could lean in close to your pussy which he left in a mess, globs of his semen still oozing out to drip down the delicious curves of your ass. With eyes gleaming with unsated lust, he propped an arm under your thigh, the other hand pushing the other thigh further apart to give him access to your dripping cunt. He stopped pulling you apart when he could see your weakly clenching hole, head dipping to lick a firm stripe up the wet slit, making sure to flick over the clit too before repeated the action once more, though sloppier this time.

The evident shivers you made at his ministrations made him grin at the while he lapped up at the remnants of your juices that stained your folds, alternating between tongue-fucking your slick warm heat and sucking and biting on your sensitive nub for an extra boost of pleasure to shoot up your spine. Caleb’s gaze flickered up to your squirming form whenever he found the strength to peel his eyes off your filled pussy, scooping up his cum that he stuffed inside your used cunt to taste himself, then shove it back into you. The man could barely hear the muffled whines and whimpers you made whenever his slid his tongue as deep as it could go past your entrance, unrelenting with his pace, utterly absorbed in the act of pleasing you along with ‘cleaning’ you.

your earlier boneless body flared up again at the persistent strokes of caleb’s tongue on your wet heat, feeling his hand on your thigh knead your flesh and squeeze it tight whenever he lost himself in your depths for a long while before pulling away to get some air, only when he felt the unforgivable burn in his lungs. The way his nose grazed your neglected clit was equally unforgivable, only offering the nub a few kitten licks that nothing to sate its throbbing need for stimulation. Yet when he sensed your impending orgasm, it was as if a switch went off in his head, his focusing shifting to your pitiful clit to assault it with full force, nibbling and swirling his tongue around it relentlessly. The man was thankful he gave you that apple, or else the volumes of your cries at the delicious orgasm he was about to make you reach again would have escaped his room to the ears of his unsuspecting colleagues.

“For fuck’s sake, Caleb, slow, fuck..! Slow down..!” You thrashed your hips all over his face, grinding for dear life. You could feel your climax coming in, and it was coming in fast. You rocked your hips into his face a few more times before you brought the bite covered apple to your mouth for another full bite, throwing your head back with a hand gripping onto the pillow beside your head, an overwhelming sense of ecstasy washing over your body, barely able to overcome your sobs.

“I could make you cum all the damn hours of the day if I could, princess, fuck.. you did so well,” Caleb grinned against the damp folds of your pussy, half of his face smeared with your cum which he slurped with unrivalled eagerness. He pulled away from between your thighs to look up at you properly, curl of his lips growing only wider at the sight of your utterly passed out on his bed, his earlier praises falling to deaf ears.

[galaxy-fleur]

would u be willing to create an breakdown of ada's characterization throughout the whole resident evil?

I've seen some throughout the fandom but most of them just came from diehard aleons and none of them were ever being objective like u would think, i guess call it a shipping bias but maybe u know how it goes in the fandom

ur one of the only ppl here I've seen that actually seems to have a good grasp on the characters and such so i just wanted to ask if u would consider doing it? all the best ! 👍

Thank you, I'm very flattered you think so! Especially my beloved Ada Wong... Happy I'm doing my wife justice lmao

Doing a breakdown on her entire characterization would be a... massive post to make, though! Especially with the way I just can't seem to shut up once I start writing. I think I will eventually end up doing something similar, just sprinkled throughout different separate posts, but...

Maybe you have some specific things you'd like me to talk about? :)

[kisakunt]

BABY TRAP? LIKE THE MOVIE WITH THE TWINS?

description… you two are meant to be. sealed by fate, star crossed lovers. you’ll keep each other around however you need to.

warnings… dark content! baby trapping! noncon! obviously they’re being baby trapped they say something trying to stop it. consensual sex. full penetrative sex.

a word from the writer… i’ve had this in the drafts for aWHILE. it’s about time. do yall still read dc? i’ll never stop supplying… are we too woke now?!

TRAPS YOU

you’re hot under him, and he’s making that face he always makes right before he cums. it’s like repetition; eyes blanked out, mouth ajar but not fully open, brows furrowed like he’s desperate— and it’s scary.

“baby,” the word is cut in two with how fast he’s going, tease of pain as he hilts into your cervix with every thrust. “baby, you’re not wearing a condom.” your voice is uneasy, shaky from the movement and pleasure and build up. you think, in a way, the way you have sex is unfair. he gives you so much, orgasm after orgasm, rubbing your clit as he drills you to the point you go fucking stupid.

you feel safe with him. sex is sacred with him, no matter how sick it gets. but right now, with your calves pressed into his shoulders, his hands pushing your thighs impossibly back, you feel uneasy.

“baby, baby, pull out.” he gasps, sweat dripping down right near your eyes as a shaky groan escapes him.

“fuck,” a chaste kiss to your forehead, a shakiness in his movements, an unmatched rhythm as he gets closer and closer. “fuck. oh my, god. you feel so fucking good— so fuckin’ good.”

and so does he. but you’re scared.

“you’re gonna make such a good mommy, gonna be such a good mama. gonna— gonna give you my babies. gonna get you pregnant, gonna make you mine.”

“hey, wait,” your hands raise to his chest but he hits that angle that makes your eyes roll and they fall back. it feels so good you almost don’t care. “baby, baby, baby stop. baby, you gotta pull out.”

“you’re gonna be such a good mommy. gonna give you my kids. gonna give you my kids.” and it’s instant. it’s before you can even think— if you could anyway— it’s pressed so deep in you you betray yourself and cum, too.

he places his head to yours, kisses you greedy and whole, and whines into your mouth. it’s him, it’s real, it’s love. but— and you know this— it’s something so wrong.

“did you just…?” and before you can finish your question, he’s regaining his rhythm, fucking his cum into you with a half hard dick. it’s precise, it’s calculated, it’s intention.

he looks at you, eyes wide, breath heavy, and gives you a little grin. “gonna keep fucking you even when you’re pregnant, baby. gonna make sure i can keep you all to myself.”

GOJO, GETO, SUKUNA, YUJI

GETS TRAPPED

your legs hurt. you’ve been on top for all of thirty minutes, which you have no one to blame other than yourself. you love to edge him, love to get him so close and then take it all away from him. you think it gets him a little addicted.

but right now, as he squirms under you, losing every ounce of masculinity he’s ever had, something takes over you.

“gonna cum,” it’s breathless, short and sweet. “oh shit, i’m gonna cum.” you think he must think you’re edging him again. you think he’s expecting you to slow down, stop all together, pick up off him fully for ten or so seconds and then slam back down.

but you pick up the pace, grinding your hips into his, hitting his pelvic bone with your own as your hands grip at his pecs.

“wait, are you—” he falls apart under you, voice failing him, body failing him, hands only finding the strength to grip at your hips. “baby girl, i’m gonna cum.”

it’s melodic, tactile and articulate, a steady flow of bounces while your squelch fills the room.

“sweetheart, you gotta stop.” your right hand lifts from his chest to his mouth, shoving your fingers between his lips while he groans. he’s so easy to you, for you, because of you.

and then you feel it, milk it, relish in it— the way he comes undone at your touch, loses himself deep inside you. you don’t say a word about it, don’t think about it too much as you press your wet fingers to your stomach.

it’s a quiet giggle as reality washes over him. he looks cute, you can’t help but realize, panic and flushed under you. you’re sure of it then; he’s gonna be a sexy dad.

MEGUMI, NANAMI, CHOSO, TOJI

[girlwithrituals]

GLOW UP GUIDE FOR 2025⠀

READ: On average, it takes more than 2 months before a new behavior becomes automatic — 66 days to be exact. And considering that 2025 is precisely these many days away, why not start with our glow up plan already?

Physical Glow Up-

BODY

— 5-10K steps a day.

— 7-8 hours of sleep.

— workout everyday for 1 hr atleast- yoga/stretching/pilates/cardio/lifting weights. a workout may take one hour, but your mood will be boosted for the next 12 hours.

— posture training.

— sunlight exposure after waking up for at least 10 minutes.

NUTRITION

— 2-3 liters of water every day.

— limit your caffeine intake.

— avoid sugars as much as you can.

— high protein diet, pre and probiotics.

— more fruits and veggies (+ green smoothies if you like).

— no junk/processed food/trans fat.

— no eating after 8 pm.

SKINCARE

— be clear on your skin type (oily, dry, combination, sensitive).

— once you're clear, use these accordingly- cleanser, toner, targeted serum, eye cream, moisturizer, sunscreen (≥50 spf).

— keep your bedding clean as well.

— no picking of skin on your lips, cuticle etc.

— gua sha to help improve blood circulation and lessen toxins.

— cold therapy may take three to five minutes of being uncomfortable, but your energy levels will be boosted for the rest of the day.

— remove makeup before you go to bed.

BODY CARE

— shower every day.

— exfoliate 2x a week.

— use body lotion (shea butter/aloe vera gel/coconut oil).

HAIR CARE

— wash hair 2-3x a week

— oil your scalp 2x a week, at least 3 hours before shampoo.

— hair mask 1x per week.

— never brush wet hair.

— use silk pillow case.

HYGIENE

— brush your teeth 2x a day, clean tongue and the roof of the mouth daily.

— floss daily.

— cut your nails 1x a week, never remove the cuticles.

— glycolic acid under arm for odor and discoloration.

— never use soap on your coochie.

Mental Glow Up-

MINDSET

— set clear goals- define and breakdown your aspirations.

— start your mornings with positive affirmations.

— surround yourself with uplifting content and people.

— be shamelessly selfish to your career and mental health, remove anyone or anything that doesn't align with your priorities and wellbeing.

— boost your brain health by these 4 neuroscience tools:

difficult first: start your day with the most difficult task (cortisol and dopamine are high in the body meaning that your body/mind is primed to work).

rest your eyes: introduce a micro-pause after learning by resting/closing your eyes - will help retain information better.

tomorrow's worries: write tomorrow's to-do list before bed as it is proven to be effective in helping you fall asleep.

find time to play: engage in low-stake play. can be anything you find fun but where the outcome doesn't matter (induces neuroplasticity + reduces stress).

MIND

— meditation might take as low as ten minutes, but your focus will be improved for the rest of the day.

— no social media after waking up and at least an hour before bed.

— keep aside 1 hr of time to read daily! reading a new book may take five hours, but you will keep the knowledge forever.

— journaling, gratitude.

— digital detox once a week or for 12 hours.

— limit unnecessary screentime, unfollow or cut off people you don't want to see.

JOURNALING

— choose a regular time each day to journal, making it a part of your routine.

— find a quiet, comfortable place free from distractions. light a candle if you want.

— allow your thoughts to flow without censoring or editing.

— write about your feelings and emotions to understand them better. write about things you are thankful for to boost your mood. write about your short-term and long-term goals. identify what triggers certain emotions or reactions

— set a timer for 5-10 minutes and write continuously during that time.

— reflect on both positive experiences and challenges.

— make lists, journal your thoughts on these questions.

— journal at night to clear your mind before bedtime, because emotions and thoughts lose their power once we acknowledge them.

— a gratitude practice may take five minutes, but your mindset will be shifted for the rest of the day.

AFFIRMATIONS

— customise affirmations to your needs.

Personal Life-

WEEKLY TASKS

— initiate small changes: begin with small, manageable tasks such as making your bed or cleaning your room every sunday.

— celebrate your success: reward yourself when you achieve your goals or have a consistently productive week. consider treats like buying flowers for yourself or watching your favorite show.

DAILY WORK

— set achievable goals: establish realistic goals for the day, week, or month ahead.

— track your progress.

— organise your work space, declutter your shelves etc.

— embrace the power of lists: keep a list of tasks to be done and their deadlines. this way, you start each day with a clear plan. to make it visually appealing and motivating, consider using productivity apps like evernote, habit tracker, or notion.

PRODUCTIVITY TIPS

— wake up early.

— plan ahead everything, do scheduling. you can use:

google calendar / notion / tasks .

— if the task takes less than 2 minutes to finish, do it immediately.

— countdown rule, if you are procrastinating, count 1-2-3-4-5 and jump.

— start slow, don't rush and try to do everything at one time.

— follow a proper routine, use app locks based on screentime.

— pomodoro technique, 25 min work, and 5 min break.

— schedule longer break times as well e.g 30 min nap.

[bywons]

JUST MARRIED 、 psh

𝗔𝗟𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗡𝗔𝗧𝗜𝗩𝗘𝗟𝗬────𝖽𝗋𝗎𝗇𝗄 𝗈𝗋 𝗇𝗈𝗍, 𝗌𝗎𝗇𝗀𝗁𝗈𝗈𝗇 𝗂𝗌 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝖽 𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝗁𝖾𝖾𝗅𝗌 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗒𝗈𝗎

❪ 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐂𝒾𝐒 ❫ ｡ 𝖽𝗈𝗐𝗇 𝖻𝖺𝖽!𝗉𝗌𝗁 𝗑 𝖿!𝗋 1OO3wc 𖥔 𝖿𝗅𝗎𝖿𝖿 ──𝗰𝗮𝘂𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝘀 𝗄𝗂𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀 drinking 贅沢 ／ 𝐌𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐙𝐈𝐍𝐄

★REBLOGPLEASE

“baby, please please,” sunghoon mumbles gibberish as he struggles to stand still, “it’s such a good idea, just hear me out!”

under the heavy influence of alcohol and the aftermath of some questionable yet impressive breakdancing at your friend’s wedding, sunghoon now stands flushed and breathless—face red, tie askew, a few shirt buttons undone. his tuxedo is bundled in your arms, and his hands are on your shoulders, trying to stabilize himself.

“we n-need to get married and—” hiccup “and, and m-move in—” hiccup “—will- will be the best hubby f-for you” hiccup

sunghoon grips your shoulders tighter, his weight tipping dangerously forward every time he leans in, eyes half-lidded with determination and booze-fueled affection. his lips purse in slow motion, aiming clumsily for yours.

you push a hand firmly against his chest. “nope. not happening.”

“my wife,” he whines, stumbling back a few steps on the empty road in front of the event, before striding towards you again, “you hurt me, i r-really need you!”

“sunghoon, the cab will be here any minute—”

you couldn’t even finish your sentence as sunghoon slumps his whole body weight over you, gathering you into a bear hug.

somehow, you manage to create a fair space between the two of you. pressing your hands on his chest, you try to push back as sunghoon wraps his arms around your waist and rests his head on your shoulders.

“i love you,” he barely makes coherent sentences, snuggling his face at the crook of your neck, his lips gently pressing against it, “please marry me. we could elope. vegas. tomorrow.”

you laugh, something between blushing, humour and your heart swelling up to his words. you muster all your strength and push him until he’s just one arm away.

“i swear to god,” you sigh, trying to pry him off as his tux almost slips away from your hold, “you will wake up with zero memory tomorrow morning.”

“i don’t need memory,” sunghoon pouts again, chuckling out loud as he comes closer to you again, stumbling and swaying in his steps as he cups your face, “my body knows, my lips .. know.”

before you can say anything, he leans in and connects his lips with yours in the sloppiest, neediest kiss ever.

your brain short circuits.

his mouth is warm and clumsy, moving with unplanned precision against yours than he usually has— this is all desperation and tipsy affection. he hiccups once, twice into the kiss, chuckling before reconnecting his lips with yours. you feel your knees becoming weaker.

you try to push him away but he only leans in even more, humming into the kiss like he has been craving this all night. he slides his hand up your back, pressing you impossibly close to him, both his hands anchoring to your body.

he pulls back just a little, lips brushing yours, eyes fluttering. “you taste like forever,” he whispers, so seriously that your chest tightens despite the absurdity.

“sunghoon, there are still people here—” you gasp, pulling him back by his raven hair. he winces as the pull softly, but refuses to let you go.

“there’s no one here but us and destiny,” he breathes, and kisses you again before you can even roll your eyes.

this time the kiss is slower, softer, he tilts his head to kiss you deeper, his hands soon finding your cheeks. although he reeked of alcohol still, you couldn’t shake him away. you gasp softly as he tilts his head, deepening it—his mouth opening against yours with such yearning, you nearly forget where you are. his lips trail down to your jaw for a second, then back up, brushing teasingly slow before capturing your bottom lip again with a sigh.

“sunghoon,” you whisper against him, dizzy, drunk in love as well. but sunghoon only hums against your lips, and kisses them soft. slow. longer and lingering, blushing like he’s kissing for the first time.

“enough now,” you pant for breath as he pulls away, hitting his chest, “we have to go— what are you doing?”

sunghoon suddenly drops down on his knees. like, actually drops, hard, on the pavement outside the wedding venue with flickering lights still on.

you gape, “oh my god, ‘hoon! get up, you’re ruining your pants!”

“no!” he shouts, well, slurs incoherently while his arms wrap around your waist, “this is it. i have waited for this and i will say it.”

“get up—”

“y/n,” he cuts you off, dramatically clutching at his chest like he’s been shot. “i am so, so in love with you. like there is nothing in this world i wouldn’t do for you and—”

“oh my god.”

he takes a deep breath, then grabs your hand in both of his, pressing it to his heart. “marry me,” he says, eyes shiny with sincerity and tequila. “please. i’ll be so good. i’ll do the dishes. i’ll learn to cook. i’ll stop trying to do flips at weddings. probably.”

“you’re so drunk,” you try to lean in, eyes pricking with tears of both laughter and yearning.

“but I’m serious,” he insists, eyes locking onto yours like they’re the only steady thing in his spinning world. “i want to marry you. tonight. tomorrow. whenever. just—say yes. please, baby, please.”

“sunghoon, baby,” you sigh, controlling your chuckle as you start to caress his neck and face, “get up.”

“if i—” hiccup “get up, will you marry me?” sunghoon pouts.

“yes!” you almost shout, a little laughter escaping you. your heart aches, he is a total mess, drunk to the nose, shit crumples and knees dirty from the pavement as he stands up. but through all of that, you know he means all of it.

“okay,” sunghoon straightens his back, holding your hands, “we are married now. can i kiss my bride?”

you almost cry, tugging softly at his hands, “yes.”

he doesn’t waste no time, immediately capturing your lips in his, pulling you impossibly close again. hands resting on your cheeks, sunghoon truly loves you.

스루 ܃ never lower your standards, if your man doesn’t get on his knees for you, boy next 😹

© bywons, 2025 div ctto —taglist open ! nets. @/k-labels @kflixnet @k-films

[whenstarsundress]

it had been two weeks since the fight.

you said he was too intense, but also too guarded. you spoke while he said almost nothing. he didn’t stop you when you walked out, and that had hurt the most.

but you never blocked him on your phone. you saw the message, sitting at the top of your screen like a trigger.

i left a blade at your place. i need it back.

typical sylus. cold. precise. no emotion, except for the fact that you knew that knife had your initials etched beneath the handle.

you read it. let it sit and decided not to reply.

an hour later he sent another text.

don’t leave me on fucking read.

you flinched. that wasn’t a request. that was a warning. and you knew sylus. when he warns you, you listen, or you deal with the consequences.

this time you chose violence. you locked your phone and curled up on the couch. it was barely surprising as another thirty minutes passed and the door creaked open. he still had your key.

“sylus—”

he was already in front of you, black coat open just enough to see the holster against his ribs. his hands were bare and they were trembling.

“you read it.” his voice was too calm. “you saw it. and you said nothing.”

“i didn’t know what to say.”

“you say, ‘yes sylus.’ that’s all i ever needed.”

you took a step back, but he followed. eyes sharp, chest rising slow, like he was trying not to explode.“you think i stopped wanting you? you think i stopped dreaming about your skin, your voice, the way you say my fucking name?”

“i just—”

“you run and you think i won’t chase. but baby—” he pushed you hard against the wall. “you don’t leave someone like me on read.”

then he grabbed your jaw, tilted your face and kissed you like he was starving. his tongue pushed past your lips like it belonged there, like he remembered how you tasted after hours of ruin.

“you smell the same,” he groaned against your neck. “like peaches and sin.”

you gasped as he picked you up and lifted you like you weighed nothing and pressed his hips flush against yours. he pulled down your shorts with rough, hungry fingers rough.

“you’re wet. fuck, you’re soaked.”

“sylus—”

“say it.”

“say what—”

“say that you missed me.”

you didn’t say it. so he bit your shoulder. “you’re mine,” he muttered. “still mine. always.”

then he shoved his thick, heavy length inside you. every inch of him carved for you. and he fucked you against the wall like he was punishing you. like every thrust said, i should’ve never let you go.

“you left me,” he groaned, forehead pressed to yours. “so i’ll fuck the fear back into you.”

your moans echoed through the apartment, your nails dragged down his back, and when you came shaking around him, he didn’t stop.

he buried himself so deep, kissed your throat, and came inside you like it was the only thing anchoring him to this world.

then he whispered softly. “you leave me on read again… i’ll tie you to the bed and remind you who i kill for.”