#upper and lower bound

[math-journal2]

<— Unit 21: Part 5 —>

Possible Zeros w/o calculator

*good to know but it’s impractical if you got 8 or 9 possible zeroes to eliminate. If possible, graphing calculator

Page 51

[experiment, ignore it]

Page 56

[coquelicoq]

if we assume that each of the three pillars comes exactly three times for a total of nine times, and we know that the 7th time it was the 40-year guardian, and if we assume that was her final visit and the last two visits will be split between the 30-year guardian and the 8-year guardian, we can calculate how long ago the miharu family made that deal: (40x3)+(30x2)+(8x2)=196 years. 196 years ago it was 1828, but i think this is supposed to be set in the 1980s or 90s, so call it the late 1700s. that's the kind of thing matoba as the head of the matoba clan has to concern himself with - deals with youkai made by people 200 years ago from families that don't even exist anymore. it's an interesting contrast to the thing he says to natsume at the end of this arc, about the 9th visit, which is 30 years away, being someone else's problem. he's embroiled in the past but doesn't even think he'll get to have a future.

[canisalbus]

would the dog royal families be like pugs because of all the inbreeding? would love to see your take on a dog form of the Hapsburgs lol

Probably nowhere near as extreme as modern pugs and other hyper exaggerated breeds today, but to some degree certainly.

[grubloved]

did u know u can still have autism problems even if ur really happy akabsjsbdjdnfj

[sufficientlylargen]

#15 reminds me of the Wikipedia article for Graham's number, especially as it appeared back in the 2000s.

For those who haven't heard of it, Graham's number, commonly written g64, is a preposterously large number that, for a while, was considered to be the largest number ever actually used in a mathematical proof.

Graham used it while working on a graph-theory problem that involved looking at a structure in higher and higher dimensions to see if it was certain to contain a simpler structure after some point; Graham & Rothschild proved that there had to be a point where if the dimension was higher than this point the simpler structure would always be present, and also proved that whatever this point was, it couldn't be bigger than g64.

g64 is bigger than any other number you've probably heard of, unless you specifically study one of the handful of fields where preposterously large numbers come into play.

It's so big that you need several uncommon mathematical notations just to write it down - if you wanted to write down the actual digits, you'd find that there isn't enough space in the entire observable universe to do so. If you just wanted to write down the number of digits in it, you'd run out of space for that, too. If you wanted to write down the number of digits IN the number of digits, that's also too big, and so on, and even the number of times you can repeat that process while still not having enough space in the universe is, itself, too large to fit in the observable universe. It's a really big number, is what I'm trying to say.

And for a while, the Wikipedia article had a description of this number - going through the notations you need to even begin to describe it, stressing how vastly, mind-bogglingly huge this number is, and then concluded with something like "Graham also proved a lower bound of 6, though experimental evidence suggests it may be as high as 11."

More favourite numerical memes:

Implicit or implicit enumeration of uncountable things (example: taking inventory of the fucks which one gives)

Suggesting the divisibility of things which are not customarily thought of as able to be subdivided (example: "six whole people")

Using words that aren't numbers as numbers (example: "one William dollars")

Technically correct but contextually misleading estimates (example: looking at a group of several thousand things and observing that there are "at least three")

Incongruous qualifiers for apparently simple sums or tallies (example: she was twenty-seven years old, not counting 2014)

[wariomolly]

lrb reminds me of the zacchaeus debate i love and hate how language can be so much up to interpretation especially with texts that people ascribe so much freaking importance to. zacchaeus climbed a tree to see jesus because he was short. he (zacc)? or he (yeshua)? we will never know

[thevalicemultiverse]

How long can a kindred go between feedings?

Londerland Bloodlines

Alice: I -- well, I can't speak for anyone other than me, because I'm not 100% sure how it all works, frankly -- and I'm not convinced anyone else is either -- but the longest I've gone between feedings is about a week. But that's when I'm not using any Disciplines or doing anything else that requires me to use my blood power or whatever you want to call it. The minute I get my supernatural gifts involved, I have to feed a LOT more often. Generally I try to get in a feed every three or so days, just to keep myself topped up. My current life is a lot calmer than my old one, but -- you never know.

[mowu-moment]

falling alseep to math videos and having weird dreams. Suppose the patrons of a large movie theater enter the theater one at a time, and choose a seat at random among seats that are not orthogonally adjacent to any other moviegoer (up, down, left, or right). Seats are placed on a square grid of indefinite size. What is the average proportion of seats filled before a moviegoer must sit next to another?

[little-miss-dilf-lover]

18+ thoughts about LOGAN holding your hands above your head while you fuck

[fem!reader, mdni]

He rather likes the control of it, the ability to configure and move you in ways he pleases. The image of you below beautifully lewd: your wrists crossed over the other, a singular large hand securing their effortless bind – his weight from you above anchoring you in place.

Your knees loosely hugging at his waist, the contact minimal and desperate and clingy through your bound, busied hands. You’re handsy, urgent to feel him, though you can’t. All you can do is ball your fists and wiggle your hands, needy, extended fingers reaching down to skim the skin on the back of his hand.

He knew you were keen for contact, he could see it. Those knitted brows curling on your face every time he pulses around your hands, the act like he was teasing you with the temptation of letting go. The tiny microexpressions a window into every small yet overwhelming feeling you’re struggling to contain. 

His hips rock into you in a fluid, easing motion – each stroke calculated and precise despite it all being so soft and gentle. His cock sinking into you ever so perfectly, every wind nicely hitting at that spot inside.

His hands are occupied with you while yours remain empty – one hand still gripped firmly around your wrists, the other clutched to your side. His palm warm and busy as he touches you, the hasty motion of his wandering hand feeling over your side and your hip and your breast. 

Your knees tighten at his side as you adjust your hips, the new angle allowing him to slip in just that bit deeper. 

“Fuck,” he utters into your rawly kissed neck. The fresh, flush feeling of you loosening and tightening makes him momentarily miss a breath. “Fuck,” he repeats, the word strained and breathless between a staggered thrust.

The grip he has around your wrists tightens, his hold straightening your arms above your head. He dips in to press a string of kisses along your upper, inner arm – littering the sensitive skin with gentle, loving pecks. And the hand he briefly has on your waist lowers, his palm moving to situate on the back of your knee. 

The slight force prying your legs open, keeping them comfortably spread apart for him between. To fuck into you just that bit further.

[velvrei]

Logan making you squirt for the first time? PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE 🗣️🗣️🙏🙏

logan making you squirt for the first time (18+)

logan was traveled down the bed, head in between your thighs as he ate you out like he was starving and you were his final meal.

he moaned, sending vibrations to your core, the messy sound making you shiver and moan, the fact he was getting so into it made him so fucking horny.

“come on baby, you gonna cum? i know you’re close? be a good girl and cum for me, all over my fuckin’ face.”

his words made your body tremble, starting to feel as you slowly reached the edge.

you grasped onto his hair, nails then scratching slightly against his upper back, just grasping to whatever you could reach on him to leave marks, you knew how much he loved that.

he slowly slides two fingers into you, watching as you tremble, starting to penetrate your g-spot.

you feel yourself go over the edge, your orgasm so intense that your body shakes, pussy aching against logan’s tongue, “that’s it. good fucking girl. letting me eat her out and take care of her.”

you couldn’t help but moan again, feeling as your body almost came for a second time, and you looked down, watching as you drenched logan’s face. you knew what it was, you weren’t surprised, it was bound to happen with a cocky fucker like logan and a horny fuck like you.

you squirted all over his face, and logan couldn’t help but moan as you did so. once you were done, you looked down at him, watching as his eyes were scrunched shut and his mouth turned to a smile. his eyes opened, cockily smirking at you.

“did you just squirt?” his low raspy words make you tremble. he already knew the answer to that, but he loved to tease you and make you say it yourself.

you nodded, trying not to roll your eyes at his cockiness. he smiled up at you, lower half of his face wrinkling as he did so.

“yeah? i did that? god that was so fucking hot. were not stopping tonight until you do that again. this time all over my cock.”

[math-journal2]

<— Unit 21: Part 4 —>

Possible Zeros 2

*assuming you DO NOT have a graphing calculator, only scientific

Descartes Rule of Signs

#1

Upper & Lower Bounds

Theorem

#1

Overall Strategy

Page 55

[krys4h]

ꪆৎ cw ʚ bestfriend!kaiser, girly!reader + weightlifter!, smut, size kink, spitting, choking, rough sex◞ ྀི

“You're really strong.”

Sitting on your best friend's back, Kaiser was doing push-ups with disconcerting ease.

“You doubted me?” his lips curved into his signature smirk.

You rolled your eyes. Arrogant asshole.

“Of course not.”

You had been going to the gym with Kaiser for months now. Your wardrobe had to accommodate all your new gym outfits, it was now overflowing with light pink shorts and cycling shorts, comfortable and girly clothes for your new passion : weight lifting. Kaiser found it cute to see you pink from head to toe, even your water bottle.

It was only recently that you motivated yourself to go to the gym and adopted healthy habits. Kaiser was a valuable ally in your new goal because he knew a lot about this subject.

“Keep your back straight,” he ordered, his hand on your lower back when you were doing squats.

He corrected you during all your exercises like a coach, he was uncompromising and didn’t let you make any mistakes. While you were doing exercises, he watched you attentively, making sure your posture was perfect. He really acted like a coach.

“I’m so energetic today, I feel I could do a two-hour session,” you said enthusiastically.

Kaiser chuckled, finding you cute.

“Careful, you’re gonna exhaust yourself,” he sat on a bench, looking at you doing your squats. 

“You always work out until you’re exhausted, why can’t I do the same,” you tilted your head, a teasing glint in your eyes.

“It’s a bodybuilding method. Work until failure so you don’t stagnate in your results. Something for real athletes and not beginners like you.”

“In my head, you’re just a masochist,” you rolled your eyes and stopped doing your squats. It was a warm-up for the real workout. You walked to the upper body machine area, and stopped at the shoulder press machine. You selected the weight you wanted to lift and got into position. Kaiser was working out on a machine, leaving you alone since you were on a machine, you didn’t need help with your posture. Before you started your exercise, a man approached you.

“You’re gonna have a muscle contracture if you leave your arms that straight, pretty.”

You observed the man who approached you, he was tall and attractive. Heat rushed into your cheeks when he called you “pretty”, and you nodded, correcting your posture. It was Kaiser’s role usually, but you didn’t mind being helped by handsome men.

You continued your workout quietly. The man stayed with you from time to time and chatted with you. His company didn’t bother you, and you spoke to him enthusiastically in return. You were happy to make new friends.

At the end of your workout, you exchanged numbers. That’s when Kaiser came back to you. He frowned when he saw the man next to you, and automatically moved closer to you.

“Who is he?” he asked, watching the man leave the gym.

“A new friend I made.”

“Friend? You exchanged numbers.” his frown deepened as the conversation continued. He didn’t like what was happening at all.

“Yeah, to keep in touch, dummy.”

You were oblivious to his budding jealousy. Kaiser liked you for a long time, but he was waiting for the right moment to talk about his feelings so as not to ruin your friendship. He wasn’t sure if his feelings were reciprocated, so he was careful not to make a mistake.

Kaiser was unusually silent on the way back to your apartment. You were sharing an apartment, so there was bound to be a time when you would have to unravel the mystery of his bad mood.

Arriving at your apartment, you slumped down on the couch. Your apartment had been decorated by you, there were plants everywhere, making the interior warm and lively. There were pictures of you and Kaiser on the walls, pictures that dated back to when you were teenagers. You looked at the pictures on the wall with a nostalgic smile.

“Hey, remember my birthday when I was 17? You ate all the cake, you got sick,” you chuckled but you stopped when you noticed that Kaiser remained silent, leaning against the wall, his gaze fixed on the ground.

He wore black gym shorts, and a baggy black t-shirt that despite its width, revealed massive, bulging muscles through the fabric. With his height and his dark expression, he looked intimidating.

“Are you okay? You’ve been sulky since the gym,” you asked, your tone cautious.

You got up from the couch and walked over to him. You cupped his face with your hands, lifting it to make him look at you.

“What’s the problem, baby?”

“You.” he looked away.

"Me?" you narrowed your eyes.

“Yeah, you.”

A silence settled in in which you stared at him but he looked elsewhere, avoiding your gaze, his jaw clenched. His heart was racing, because he wanted to say it. He wanted to tell you that he loved you, and it killed him to see you give your attention to other men. That he wanted all of you just for himself. That he loved everything about you, including your annoying side. That you were his dream girl since forever.

And the best way to tell you this is to show it physically, that’s why he wrapped his arms around your waist and crushed his lips against yours. Your eyes widened with shock as you let him kiss you. He put all his frustration from earlier into that kiss, pressing his lips with force. You didn’t understand what was happening, but you weren’t against it. 

“You’ve always been mine, why are you trying to escape me now,” he muttered against your lips, nibbling on your lower lip.

“Escape? I didn’t try to escape you…”

“You did. Just an hour ago,” the edge of his tongue traced your mouth, and you parted your lips, waiting for him to kiss you for real. 

“It was just a friend, Micha.”

“Fuck him,” he captured your lips into a kiss, your tongues tangling together. “Nobody has the right to have you except me.”

He wrapped his arms around you, his arms under your ass to lift you. He carried you while kissing you to the sofa before placing you on it.

“Let me show you what it's like to be mine, you'll never want another man again,” he undid the elastic of his shorts.

That’s how you found yourself laying on the couch, your hand covering your moans as Kaiser pounded into you. He had his hand on your throat, choking you as his hips rocked into you with force and aggressiveness. 

“Who has the right to see you like this? Who has the right to touch like this, mhm ?” he panted out, his eyes drinking in your appearance, his eyes hungry for you. 

You struggled to answer him because your breathing was ragged. You placed your hands on his abdomen, trying to push him away, wanting him to slow down. 

“Tell me *thrust* who has *thrust* the right *thrust* to fuck you like this?”

His hand around your throat squeezed even more, as obscene noises were drawn out of him. His panting intensified with each deep stroke, and it was as if he was killing your insides every time he buried himself in you. 

“Y-You,” you whined, your tight heat aching because of his size. 

“That’s what I thought,” he smirked and he slammed his hips against yours again with even more force, his frantic pace making you lose your mind. 

“I can’t take it, Micha, I can’t take it !” Your eyes watered as you pushed him with all your strength, trying to get away from him. He was so big, every time he was plunging in, the stretch was so intense that your breathing stopped and you felt so full that you could explode. 

“Stop running away from that dick, baby. It’s yours,” he released your throat, and placed his hands under your knees. He pushed your legs until your knees were next to your head. The new angle made everything deeper, his cock slamming against your g-spot every time he thrusted into you. You rolled your eyes to the back of your head as your legs trembled. You were a mess, moaning and whining, your eyes full of tears. The dick was too good, and he was so big it hurt.

“Micha, it hurts…”

“I know,” one of his hands released your leg, and went between the two of you to rub your clit with his fingers. He slowed down his thrusts, and kept rubbing your sensitive bundle of nerves with his index and middle fingers. 

The stretch became less painful, but it felt even better when Kaiser pushed out of you, and spat on your abused cunt. He spread the string of saliva between your folds, and when he shoved himself into you again, it was no longer painful. He bent over to kiss your forehead.

“Look at you, taking it like a big girl,” he whispered in a low voice, his eyes full of love, a contrast with the brutality of his thrusts. 

The sound of your sweaty bodies colliding enveloped the room and the wet squelching of your pussy coating his dick could be heard. 

“Look at us,” he gazed at where your bodies connected, every time he pushed out, you could see the milky white ring of your arousal, and every time he pushed in your hole greedily sucked him in.

“I made a mess,” you panted, feeling the wet couch under your ass. 

“It’s okay. Let’s make a mess all night, love.”

𓍯 𝐤𝐫𝐲𝐬

[haunt3dh3art]

Born In Blood | Yandere Dexter Morgan x reader

i’ve been watching almost a season of Dexter a day now i’m on winter break!! i know you guys lurking in the Dexter community have been waiting for some more work, so this is for you <33 i'm also posting this on my ao3 page if you prefer that formatting - type in "haunt3dh3art" and you'll find me.

TW: Blood, slight gore, slight torture, mention of blades and rope, canon-typical violence, slight obsession hinting

· ˳ . ✦ . ˚ . ✦ . ˳ · ˖ ✶ ⋆ . ✧̣̇☽༺♰༻☾✧̣̇ . ⋆ ✶ ˖ · ˳ . ✦ . ˚ . ✦ . ˳ ·

Chapter 1 - Silence

Miami is full of gorgeous, witty women, and plenty of them would love a piece of Dexter.

But, none of them have ever held his attention for more than a few months. He tries not to let his lack of emotions get in the way of relationships, but its like everybody he meets eventually gets the feeling that something is very, very wrong.

A sixth sense, like when a dog growls at the darkness. You can't see what they can, but go back the way you came anyway.

So, eventually, everyone leaves, as is the next logical step for their survival.

When Dexter first sees you, whether you are an "almost victim" of the Miami Metro's latest killer or someone he sees on the street, it’s like he forgets to breathe. His eyes squint, a darkness glazing them over and something changes. His Dark Passenger appears behind him, but Dexter pays no attention to the ramblings of his damaged subconscious.

For argument's sake, here, you present to him as a victim. Or you would have been, had Dexter not figured out the location of the killer's lair in time.

He's led to a decrepit church, stone bricks falling off the walls, thick ivy covering almost every surface he can see. He makes no sound as he creeps towards the entrance. Slowly, he pushes the door open - it makes a lowly creak and Dexter slips into the darkness.

There is no light here, no ceremonious candles for the next killing, no flashy weapons to be seen on many of the stone slabs Dexter passes. Then, he sees a soft glow in the back corner of the vast church.

A cellar. The trapdoor won't quite close, and a whisper of light is allowed to seep through the thin crack against the floor. Dexter lifts it with deft fingers, careful to not make a sound. His steps make no sound as he glides down the stone stairs down, down into the basement. It's cold down here, and the air is thick with moisture. His silence, although usually an upper hand on an opponent, was not necessary here.

Your guttering screams rang out through the entire lower level; as loud as they were, Dexter was left wondering how they couldn't be heard until down here. You sounded animalistic, clearly fighting for your life and barely hanging on. As he got closer to the awful sounds of clanging metal and splitting screams, a chill rose up on Dexter's skin.

Then, he heard the killer's voice for the first time.

"How stupid can you be? You're nothing but a sacrifice to me." A low voice cut your screams into nothing but whimpers.

The slow dragging of a metal blade rang out into Dexter's ears and he was glad he came more than adequately prepared for a fight.

The killer was one Joseph Butler, serial womaniser and priest. Clearly, God had abandoned this disciple. The victims were most often strippers caught in his charming web, or occasionally single women looking for human connection. They must have thought they had struck gold.

His call card had been arranging his victims' hands into a prayer stance, nailing nails through the palms to keep the pose in place, and deftly placing a barbed wire "crown" on the person's head. They were always sat upright, bound with rope to a chair and lathered in blood.

The blade was new - Joseph was on the cusp to evolve his method, but he would never get the chance.

Candles lit the basement with a warm light, contrasting the suffocating atmosphere. Dexter suspected Butler had been torturing you with hot wax, or something similar, perhaps flames and the heated blade?

There was only a cloth curtain separating you, the killer and Dexter now.

"These are your final moments on this demented Earth. I suggest you use them to say a prayer." The killer spoke.

Dexter pulled back the curtain with one finger and saw he had his back to him.

This was the moment.

Moving as a snake slithers, Dexter stepped towards your torturer, and injected him with a tranquilizer. He instantly collapsed to the floor, making a satisfying thud.

Dexter stepped over him, and reached for his pocketknife to cut you free of your binds. You began to scream again and writhed in petrifying fear in your seat.

It was now that Dexter, crouched to your level, could finally see your face. Butler had obscured his view of you before, but with him out cold on the floor, Dexter could take the time to look.

You, caked in dirt and filth.

You, a look of horror beyond comprehension etched on to your face.

You, born in blood, just as he had been.

The moment Dexter was to undertake his duty once again as the necessary evil of Miami, he paused. Each time he had a killer strapped to a table, he paused for a moment to collect himself and appreciate the serenity of the moment. Perpetually holding the blade above his subject's heart, the point positioned perfectly, quivering in the air for a second of peace.

It was this moment, as he looked at you, that the constant roaring and wailing inside his head fell silent.

His eyes were fixed on yours, searching for an avenue of the same peace. He saw oceans reflected in your eyes, deep and dangerous.

"Shh, shh, shh. I'm not going to hurt you, I'm getting you out." He pleads, leaning forward on his knees.

He places the cool blade of his pocketknife on the rope next to your skin, making a quick, efficient cut of each loop around your wrists. It's a welcome sensation, despite the distant threat of pain.

Your screaming subsides, replaced by hyperventilating. Dexter's eyebrows pull together as he quickens his pace cutting the ropes around your feet.

Butler was only beginning his spree, killing 3 women in only 6 weeks. You would have been his fourth, had Dexter not been 10 steps ahead of his own department.

'Clearly an amateur,' Dexter thinks. The rope was too weak to hold a victim who had fight left to give, but that's easier said than done.

Finally, you were free, and instantly pushed the chair back. It crashed on the floor with a loud bang, but Dexter paid no attention to it. His eyes were stuck to you, mesmerised by you, even in your condition.

"What are you going to do to me?" You whispered, rubbing your fingers over your aching wounds.

Some of the blood on your skin was still fresh, glowing a crimson red against the candlelight. Dexter shook his head.

"Nothing," He said. "But, you need to stay with me, here. I can protect you, keep you safe, but you have to stay."

Dexter never imagined this happening to him. He knew the chances of you trusting him were beyond slim, but he hoped that by seeing your torturer on the floor, knocked out by his hand, that you wouldn't see him as a threat.

Dexter watched you with bated breath, his hands tightly clenched into fists.

You didn't move, weighing your choices. Would you really survive if you ran? How would you know there weren't more of these psychopaths waiting outside, ready to pounce the second you walked out into the night?

You shook your head, pacing around the room.

The curtain was pulled in a circle around the chair and it waved in the air as you walked past it.

"What's your name?" You asked.

"Dexter."

Saying his real name out loud felt like a violation, a curse. Only people in his life knew his name. Were you going to be a part of that now?

You nodded and stopped pacing. Pointing at the killer, you asked another question. "What are you going to do with him?"

Dexter let his gaze break from you to the man on the floor.

He would be out cold for the next 7 hours at least, unless Dexter chose to wake him up sooner. However, on this occasion, he didn't have a plan. He had all the supplies needed for a killing in the boot of his car outside, but he hadn't anticipated for you to be here tonight. The timing of the killing wasn't quite right, and a sign that Butler was becoming a bigger problem than the Miami Metro could handle. The FBI would soon step in, and Butler would be out of Dexter's grasp.

"I'm going to make it look like you were never here, which is why you have to stay with me. I have to.. dispose of him, but it won't take more than a few hours." Dexter said, choosing his words carefully to not scare you even more.

He checked his watch. 10:47pm. If he was to kill Butler and get to the marina in time, the process would have to be quick.

The sun was beginning to rise earlier in Miami.

· ˳ . ✦ . ˚ . ✦ . ˳ · ˖ ✶ ⋆ . ✧̣̇☽༺♰༻☾✧̣̇ . ⋆ ✶ ˖ · ˳ . ✦ . ˚ . ✦ . ˳ ·

[angelic-ria]

Hiii!

can I request yandere dazai?? Please<3

yaeyyy kay > u <

The bedroom was softly lit with a nearby candle, casting your silhouette into an outline. Dazai had always been this way—possessive and completely captivated by you. He couldn’t bear the thought of you being out of his reach, even for a moment. You were his entire world, and he felt an unrelenting urge to keep you as near to him as possible at all times.

Dazai sat on the edge of the bed, his elbows resting on his knees as he leaned forward, staring intensely at you with a crazed, obsessive glint in his brown eyes. The ones you once loved. The same ones that lied and brought you here.

He paused, his eyes never leaving your face as he studied every contour, every curve, committing it to memory. He already had, you think. He was so sickeningly obsessed with you. You really couldn't escape from your so called lover. You loved him, bitterly.

"Please, my love, know that everything I do, every action I take, every decision I make- it's all for you. It's all because of the love I have for you." he whispers, his hands tenderly holding your back. He noticed you had gotten slimmer. He frowned. He didn't like it when you refused to eat.

Dazai's gaze drifted to the chains that bounded you to the metal links glinting in the candlelight. "I sincerely apologize but they were going to take you away. I'm the best you've ever had- you know this my lovely!" he exclaims from behind. You refused to face him.

"One day, you'll get used to this, to me, to us. You wont be sad, You'll understand. Until that day I am to shower you with every sort of affection I can offer. And you? You should get used to it. It's better this way darling." he whispers in your ear from behind.

He makes you face him then gently maneuvers your body to plop in his lap. Then his hands trail to your lower back as you wrap yours around his upper body- you didn't want to. Your body just....wasn't listening to you anymore. He fucked you up good.

You close your eyes as you lay your head in the juncture where his shoulder and neck meet. He chuckles softly, amused as he brings one hand to run through your hair. It was long, he had to cut it for you soon. A little trim.

He buries his nose into your hair, inhaling your essence. Just in a little while you'd be his. It'd be worth it. Removing you from everyone's life's, so you could be in his only. His only. You should've left when you noticed the signs, its too late now. He loves you so much, you will too...eventually.

[delicatebarness]

𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏 𝒊𝒏 𝒂 𝒅𝒊𝒇𝒇𝒆𝒓𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝒍𝒊𝒇𝒆 | 𝒃𝒖𝒄𝒌𝒚 𝒃𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒆𝒔 𓂃🖊

───── ⋆⋅ ˗ˏˋ -`♡´- ˎˊ˗ ⋅⋆ ─────

Summary: Across every universe, every timeline, James 'Bucky' Barnes exists. And in each of those worlds, there is always... you. Two souls bound together by fate, destiny... But what if, in this universe, time runs out for you?

Warnings: Violent | Choking | Dissociation | WW2 | Multiverse | Implied Smut | Panic | Nude References | Language! | Let me know if I missed anything ♡

Word Count: 2.8K

Masterlist

A/N: Inspired by this post from @buckyismysafehaven Thank you for hearing my thoughts out and letting me write this. Happy Reading ♡ Remember, I have a praise kink; I need validation and attention to survive. Reblogs, likes, and comments are appreciated. ♡

Everything: @hallecarey1 | @pattiemac1 | @uhmellamoanna | @scraftsku35 | @ozwriterchick | @sapphirebarnes | @rach2602 | @thetorturedbuckydepartment | @lanabuckybarnes | @ruexj283

The Battle of Washington, D.C.—Spring, 2014.

Your lungs burned.

You weren’t sure how you got here. One second, you were running—blade drawn mid-sprint. Then, he caught you as the wind cut past your ears and slammed you against the hood of the nearest car. Your head snapped back against the metal, vision blurring into white flecks that flickered like static.

His gloved, metallic hand was around your throat, lifting you off the cracked road like you weighed nothing. Your fingers clawed him. Nails catching between the metal plates of his wrist, but his grip was unrelenting—whining slightly under the pressure.

He didn’t flinch.

Somewhere behind you, Steve yelled, calling out to you, hoarse with panic. The thudding of your heartbeat was so loud in your ears, it drowned out the sound of his footsteps. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Natasha limping toward you. A bloody hand pressed against her ribs, gun drawn in the other.

It didn’t matter. There was no time. Not now.

He had you.

The Winter Soldier had you.

You always wondered what death would be like. What would it look like? Apparently, death had steel-blue, cold eyes boring into you silently. His head tilted as he studied you, silently.

“Go a-ahead,” you coughed, the words hitching in your throat. “Kill me.”

Your eyes locked with his, and for a second, something shifted in them. Something… green. A shimmer, rippling across the blue ocean.

And then—

Your world shattered.

Glass imploded around you both, the edges crystallised, and sliced into fragments. 

───── ⋆⋅ ˗ˏˋ -`♡´- ˎˊ˗ ⋅⋆ ─────

You hit the ground hard.

The wind knocked from your lungs as your shoulders slammed against cold, polished tile. You scraped your nails against it while your lungs grasped for air. 

Above you, fluorescent light flickered, shadows casting against cabinets, a fridge, and a sink piled with dirty dishes. A faint whistle of a boiling kettle could be heard in the near distance. 

A kitchen.

You coughed again, reaching your hand up to your chest. The lack of tactical gear startled you. 

“What the hell—” you breathed, struggling to sit upright. There was no Kevlar. No thigh holster. You were sitting in sweatpants, a loose, oversized t-shirt, and bare feet. 

Suddenly, a shadow shifted from behind you. Then, a right hand appeared in front of your face—waiting.

You blinked.

The man was tall, dressed in jeans and a red Henley covering his broad shoulders. His left arm was absent from the mid-upper arm down, the Henley sleeve neatly pinned and cuffed. 

You didn’t recognise him.

Not really.

Not at first.

But those eyes. The steel-blue, sharp eyes. The same ones that bored into yours, only seconds before your world collapsed around you.

Instinctively, you flinched. Trying your best to scramble away, only to have your back hit against the lower cabinet door.

His expression was unreadable.

He didn’t move. Just stayed still, holding his hand out toward you. 

“Are you—” he started to ask, his voice cracking like he had spoken aloud in who knows how long. He cleared his throat. “Are you okay?” 

You swallowed hard. 

Pressing yourself back against the cabinets, your body trembled against the wood. Your chest heaved, trying to draw a breath into suffocating lungs. The man in front of you—the Winter Soldier—hadn’t moved, still.

Until a voice—your voice, echoed from the hallway. You were laughing. 

Both your heads snapped toward the sound. And your heart hammered against your ribcage as you scrambled to your feet and toward the sound.

“Wait—” the Winter Soldier, if that was even his name, called out. 

You didn’t listen. Your feet had already moved you through the doorway. Past a hallway of framed photos and awards. A white cat slept on the stairs. A basket of mail that looked like it was addressed to you. Yet under a different surname.

And there you were. 

No, not you. But another version of you, a slightly older you. You stood in front of a tall man, his hand on your waist as you looked up at him. You were happy here. A bright, easy smile tugged at the corners of your lips. Dressed in nothing but a white button-up shirt, a matching black lace underwear set visible underneath, and barefoot. 

And him—he looked similar to the man in the kitchen. The Winter Soldier. Only, now, he wore a white undershirt, black tailored suit pants, and his long hair slicked back. And now, his left side was adorned by a sleek black and gold metallic arm. 

He kissed you.

It looked comfortable like he did it a hundred times a day. 

The soldier came up behind you. Silently, he watched the other yous, too. As you sat down on the plush, expensive-looking couch, pulling your—her—feet up under her. He—the other Winter Soldier—followed. Relaxing, he spread his legs and wrapped an arm around your—her—waist, pulling her closer. His metal hand held what looked like congressional briefing notes.

A congressman? Was this Winter Soldier a congressman?

Neither of your other selves noticed your presence. You took a slow, unsure step forward. 

“Hello,” you whispered, voice cracking slightly. “Excuse me—”

No response. Not a side glance. 

You moved in front of yourself, reaching out. Your hand passed straight through the fabric of your—her—shirt like a mist.

“What—what the fuck!” you gasped, jerking your hand back.

“They can’t see us,” the Winter Soldier murmured from the other side of the couch. 

“Yeah? No shit.” You stood, straightening your spine as you looked up at him. “What the fuck did you do to us? What is happening?” 

“I think this has already happened,” he said, gesturing around the homey living room. “To them.” 

You blinked, staring dumbfounded at him. “So what, we’re… ghosts?”

“We’re not dead.” 

“Aren’t we? I’m sure you only had your hand wrapped around my throat, like what… less than five minutes ago?” you snapped. “And now we’re… married? In a house, and you’re a fucking congressman?”

The man didn’t answer.

However, the living room scene continued to play. You shook your head as your counterpart asked what time a dinner reservation was for. Stepping away from the couch, you watched him smile, telling her not to worry, and that he had already called to confirm. He reached out, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear. She leaned into his chest and called him Bucky.

“Bucky?” you looked at the Soldier, eyes wide. “You’re Bucky?” 

He nodded.

“No… No, I don’t understand this,” you said, pacing around the coffee table. “I don’t know you. I didn’t even know your name until just now… Steve,”

“What?”

“Steve… he doesn’t know it’s you.” You clenched your fists at your side, knuckles whitening. “Take me back,” you demanded. “Take me back, right now.” 

He stepped closer to you, reaching his hand out and resting it on your shoulder.

You should’ve pushed him away.

“I don’t think we can.” 

───── ⋆⋅ ˗ˏˋ -`♡´- ˎˊ˗ ⋅⋆ ─────

The moment those words left Bucky’s mouth, the world cracked again. Only this time, there were no visuals. No audio. But you felt it. The pressure shifted, and your heart fell to your stomach. 

The once quiet, domestic living room rippled, and the sharp scent of antiseptic filled the air. White uniforms, painted with splashes of blood and dirt, brushed past you in a small medical tent. A nurse with a clipboard in hand rushed through Bucky, and the groan of a soldier echoed somewhere in the distance. 

“Where are—” you breathed, staggering backward. Bare feet slipping against dirt. 

Bucky’s right hand reached out, catching you as if it were his instinct. “World War 2,” he muttered, gaze flickering between the olive-coloured canvas hung overhead, cots lining both sides of the tent—some empty, others occupied by wounded soldiers. And then, in quick bursts, his chest rose and fell. 

At the farthest end of the tent, another version of you knelt beside a cot. Smudged dirt and blood flecked over her cheeks, and her hair was pinned underneath a white cap. You watched her fingers working quick and steadily to stop a bleed on the soldier’s side. 

This version of you spoke calmly, commanding. A confidence that you had never possessed yourself.

Your thought was cut short. Bucky stepped closer to you. He had seen himself.

The fabric of his soldier’s uniform was stained with grime and sweat. His collar sagged open, and his pants were torn, caked with mud and blood—it didn’t look like his own. Unlaced heavy boots dangled at the end of the cot, scuffed and uneven. Dog tags settled against his chest. His jaw was tight, and his brows were knitted together tightly.

“This must have been before the train,” Bucky spoke quietly, beside you. 

You tilted your head toward him. “What do you mean?” 

“Look,” he nodded back toward the other you. You froze watching this version of Bucky reach a left hand to the nurse version of you’s cheek as she gently pressed a gauze into the wound. “I—he’s—whole.”

You didn’t respond.

There was an ache deep in your chest. 

Your nurse counterpart smiled and leaned down, pressing the softest kiss to Bucky’s lips. 

She didn’t fear him.

She was in love with him.

And that was when the wind outside the tent shifted. The canvas rippled, and lanterns flickered violently. A few completely blew out. You felt that sickening feeling in your stomach again, and a static screech filled your ears. 

You pressed your hands over your ears, squeezing your eyes closed.

───── ⋆⋅ ˗ˏˋ -`♡´- ˎˊ˗ ⋅⋆ ─────

When you opened your eyes, you screamed. But your voice was swallowed by a motion. Falling. Through nothingness. Green and blue light blend as one.

Bucky was next to you, his right hand reaching for you. The wind whipped past your ears as you tried to make out what he was saying. His lips moved, but no sound.

Then–

You landed hard on your feet, and the scent of beer hit the air. Music pounded, muted in the distance. A dressing room? 

Bucky called out to you, only it wasn’t your Bucky. 

Your gaze snapped toward the dressing room door, where your hands gripped his hair. His lips, his mouth leaving a mark on your neck. A graphic tee was already half off his back. A groan against your skin, and your legs wrapped around his waist as he pushed deeper inside you—

The scene swiped away in front of you.

Gone.

Replaced with another.

A new scene.

A new, calm Suburban?

There you were, standing in a matching pajama set by your mailbox. A white cat brushed against your bare legs. You waved, smiling with a coffee in hand. Directly across the street, Bucky—shirtless, grey sweatpants, waving back with a black and gold left arm. Again. 

It felt like a Sunday morning. 

Swipe. 

A high school corridor? 

Teenagers rushed around you, lockers clanging. One slamming shut, revealing a younger you, slammed against a cold metal locker as another Bucky grabbed your face. His lips were hungry against yours. His leather jacket opened, and your fist clenched around the black material. Pulling him closer. 

You both laughed breathlessly.

Young, stupid, and in love.

Swipe.

Bright colours, two-dimensional.

You looked at Bucky, a smile lighting up your face as he grinned beside you. His eyes were wide, and the softest shade of blue you’d imagine. 

He laughed. 

And the sound caused your stomach to flutter.

A literal bubble appeared above his head.

“Are we—in a comic book?”

You giggled. “This is so fuck—”

Swipe.

“—ed.”

Dust was scattered across solid ground. Everything was quiet, and the silence got louder as you both looked around. Gray sky. Ash fell from nowhere specific. Silhouettes of cracked buildings, jagged and hollow, loomed in the distance. 

Everything was… dead.

A void. 

You stood closer to Bucky. He held his arm out, as though to shield you. But from what? There was nothing here. Not a bird, nor a tree. 

There was no you or him. There wasn't anything.

Your mouth went dry. You both stood frozen in disbelief.

It is as if this world rejected existence.

Suddenly, a golden circle opened ahead of them, and someone stepped through it. A bald, calm, and assured woman emerged cloaked in saffron robes, over her chest hung a large, eye-shaped necklace, crafted from a metal that you couldn’t place.

Bucky’s arm—his only one—guided you farther behind him, gently. The glow from the portal cast a shadow along his sharp jaw. 

“I am not here to hurt you,” she said in a soft echo through the void. 

“Who are you?” Bucky asked, curiosity and caution mixed in his quiet tone.

She looked at you, her eyes reflecting centuries' worth of knowledge. But then, she turned to Bucky, his gaze fixated on her. “I am the Ancient One. And I believe it is time that you understood what is happening here.” 

She lifted her hand, slowly. Her fingers create deliberate shapes. And the necklace opened into two halves, responding to her, and revealing a pulsating, green glow.

The same glow that you remember seeing in the Winter Soldier’s eyes before you got here, wherever here was. Spreading across her wrist and arm, the green light illuminated a series of glowing runes.

And as she twisted her wrist, everything—the different versions of you, every world, and many more—rushed past you. 

Hundreds. Thousands. Short clips passing in a single heartbeat. 

Bucky rode a motorcycle with you on the back. You and Bucky kissed in the rain. Riding a dragon. At a Stark Expo in the 40s. You and Bucky as parents, cradling a newborn. Your wedding day. As actors, influencers, and small business owners. 

All of them. You and him. Together.

When it came to an end, both you and Bucky dropped to your knees among the dirt. Your heart pounded, and a blush crept up your chest as your pinky finger wrapped around his.

“Are you okay?” he asks, voice hoarse as he turns toward your hunched-over body. His face was etched with concern in every line. 

You give him a small nod. 

The Ancient One kneels before you both. Her robes pooled around her as her knees touched the ashened earth. “The multiverse cannot function with you.” 

You stare up at her, still trying to catch your breath. “I don’t–I don’t understand—”

“In every timeline, every possible thread of reality—you two find each other. Your bond is fundamental. A fixed point in time.” 

“Like an anchor?”

She looks at Bucky, offering a small, reassuring smile. “It doesn’t matter how it starts. Or when. Or why. Where that connection doesn’t exist, the universe's foundations begin to unravel.” 

You stood, shaking your head. “This—you’re insane. We don’t even know each other.” 

“In time,” she says softly, compassion flickering over her eyes. “You have loved one another over thousands of timelines, all in different ways. Over and over.” 

Bucky lifted his head, his knees still planted in the dirt and dust. “Why don’t we remember it?” 

“Memory is a fragile thing. But connections? They endure,” the Ancient One straightened, taking a step back. The green runes on her arm dimmed, and the necklace closed again. 

Another golden circle opened behind her, the edges sparking. The ground beneath your bare feet began to shake, and unsettled dust floated around you and Bucky. 

“You can’t stay here much longer,” she says, already stepping back through the portal. “But when the time comes, you’ll remember what matters.” 

And just like that, the portal closed. 

───── ⋆⋅ ˗ˏˋ -`♡´- ˎˊ˗ ⋅⋆ ─────

The pressure around your throat returned. Only now, the hand wrapped around it felt different. The grip was still firm, but the tremor weakened it. His face was close enough to see the steel-blue storm in his eyes. 

They were no longer cold.

No blank stare. 

No longer the empty gaze of the Winter Soldier.

Something human.

He stared down at you, his chest heaving like he had just woken up from a dream. Or maybe startled by a nightmare. A bead of sweat ran down his temple, his eyes full of confusion, and he searched your features.

“You’re—” he whispered, the words breaking in his throat. The sound was scratchy and raw. “You’re h-here—”

It was him.

Bucky.

You’re Bucky. 

The man who held onto you on dragonback. Who rescued you from a horde of undead. Who kissed you in the rain like the world would end if he didn’t have you. And sometimes, it did.

You lifted your hand, reaching for him. Your fingers faintly graze the edge of his mask. Pushing it just enough to see the man you remember.

But then, he flinched.

His full-body jolting.

Something behind his eyes slammed shut.

He was gone. 

You fell from the car—a dead weight—onto the road, discarded at his released grip. And with blurred vision, you watched him leave. The mask that covered his face fell as he looked back.

You tried to call for him.

But he was gone before your lungs remembered how to breathe.

───── ⋆⋅ ˗ˏˋ -`♡´- ˎˊ˗ ⋅⋆ ─────

Masterlist

Remember, I have a praise kink; I need validation and attention to survive. Reblogs, likes, and comments are appreciated. ♡

[mmurderhousewrites]

Warnings: NSFW

Imagine four armed Sukuna laying across your shared bed. Upper arms resting under his head, his lower arms holding your waist tightly as you ride his fat cock.

Sure you've rode him plenty of times before but even still it was too much to handle. Your body quivers from the 2 orgasms he already forced out of you, legs shaking from the workout.

"Don't tell me you're getting tired princess" Your boyfriend taunts giving you a smirk.

"It's too much, kuna" You silently plead.

Sukuna huffs before liftng you slightly. "Well then I hope you can handle me doing all the work" He chuckles darkly.

Sukuna slams you down on his hard cock before thrusting his hips up to meet you halfway. This night was bound to be intense.