#but it entertained me to write so . whatever.

[hazbinhotei]

coming home to you.

warnings: none besides tooth-rotting fluff

word count: 804

summary: After a long, exhausting day of overlord duties, Alastor finds solace in the one place he truly feels at ease—home, in your arms.

alastor x gn!reader. just a short little scenario to help me bust out my very old, very outdated fic writing skills. lord has it been a while. enjoy!

You hum to yourself as you rinse off your plate, watching the last remnants of your dinner swirl down the sink. Your shared hotel suite with Alastor was silent, save for the pocket dimension of his hometown bayou leaking the sound of frogs croaking and crickets chirping into the room. It was a particularly peaceful night—as peaceful as it could be in Hell—and you relish the slowness of it all.

Normally, you would have waited for Alastor to return home from work before eating, but tonight was one of his late ones. Instead of his usual duties working around the hotel, Carmilla had rung up all the Overlords, calling an emergency meeting at her building to discuss the ‘future state of the Pride Ring.’ Whatever that meant.

His words echoed in your mind, spoken with that ever-charming lilt: "Don't wait for me to eat, cher." So, you had taken his advice, eating alone at the small table in your shared suite. It wasn’t the same without him, but you knew he’d appreciate coming home to a warm, welcoming space.

Just as you finish drying the last of your cutlery, the door to the hotel room creaks open, a sound normally followed by a charming comment or dramatic tease from its owner. But tonight, it drags like a body across the floor, heavy and slow. Alastor steps inside, his usual unshakable grin barely holding its form, his shoulders drawn with an unfamiliar weight. The Radio Demon, the grinning nightmare of the Pride Ring, looks… exhausted.

You’re at his side before he can blink, reaching for his striped red coat with practiced ease.

“Welcome home, darling.” Your voice is soft, soothing, the very opposite of the blaring white noise that so often accompanies him. You peel the crimson fabric from his sharp shoulders, the weight of it far heavier than it should be, steeped in the burdens of whatever dealings he’s handled today. He lets you, uncharacteristically still as you hang it up, your fingers brushing over the lapels just a moment longer.

“You know,” he drawls, his voice carrying that ever-present hum, though softer now, sleepier. “I do believe I’ve found my favorite part of the day.”

You hum in acknowledgement, trying to fight off the blush creeping up your neck at his affectionate words as you lead him to the couch with a gentle tug on his hand. He follows, pliant, sinking into the plush cushions with an exhale that nearly sounds human. Nearly.

Before he can so much as adjust his bowtie, you’re already working on it, nimble fingers loosening the fabric with a tenderness most would never dare to offer him. His eyes, normally glinting with endless mischief, watch you with something quieter, something raw.

“How bad was it?” you ask, brushing his hair back, reveling in the way he leans ever so slightly into your touch.

His chuckle is breathy, almost disbelieving. “Dreadful,” he admits, closing his eyes as your fingers trail down to massage the tense muscles at the base of his neck. “A bore, really. Politics, power plays—the same old predictable tricks.”

He sighs as you press a firm kiss to his temple. “The only true entertainment,” he continues, his voice tapering into something softer, “is right here.”

Your chest tightens at that, warmth spreading through you like honey in tea. You shift, guiding him down until his head is resting in your lap. He doesn’t resist, doesn’t quip or tease. He simply lets himself be held. “You’re such a terrible liar,” you muse, twirling a red face-framing lock of hair between your fingers. “You would go mad if you couldn’t wreak havoc on the citizens of Hell.”

He only hums in response, the sound deep from his chest as he gazes up at you with half-lidded eyes. For a while, there’s only silence. The gentle hum of the hotel, the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest, the slow, steady glide of your fingers through his hair.

Then, in a voice so uncharacteristically quiet, he murmurs, “I do hope you know how much I appreciate you.”

You pause, fingers stilling for just a second before continuing, even gentler than before. Your smile is small but genuine as you lean down, pressing your forehead against his.

“I know,” you whisper. “But it’s nice to hear.”

Alastor chuckles, the sound warm and genuine, before pulling you down into his arms. You yelp as he shifts, dragging you onto the couch with him until you’re properly tangled together. His grin, tired as it may be, finds its strength again as he nuzzles into you, his arms looping around your waist with an ease that speaks of years spent loving you.

And for once, the ever-boisterous, ever-smiling, ever-exhausting Radio Demon allows himself the simple comfort of just being.

With you.

[odileeclipse]

I'm gonna freaking eat your works.....

(this is mildly wordy It's like 2am and I have a lot to say)

I'm a big big BIGGGGG sucker for a good Shmilk or Pure ganilla fic....and wow you delivered.....🤤🤤

Big thank you for keeping me entertained for a good hour, that's a struggle for me LMAO I loved your writing, and the way you wuold describe his voice being all wispy and spooky; really added to the overall vibe of the fic and I really did like it :3

If you don't mindsies, I'd love to request something from you as well (o゜▽゜)o☆ As previously stated in a comment somewhere, angst makes me SO happy to write/read....the in-depth details people can do with emotions makes me so HEAHEHHAEHAEHEHAHEAHEH in a /pos way....

So! I would like to hhhhhhumbly request some good old fashioned Shmilky angst! Or, if you'd prefer to write Pure vanilla that's cool tooo!!!! I don't really mind what *type* of angst, just angst 🤤 I try to give writers creative freedom, but I'd adore some loss/unable to cope with loss of a loved one.....whatever works ;b ANYWAYS! LOVE YOUR WORK AND YOU'RE VERY COOL!!!!! 💥💥💥💥

The Puppet and the Fool

A tragedy in One Last Breath

A/N You're right there's been too much happiness on this blog time to fix that.

You were never supposed to last. From the moment you met Shadow Milk Cookie, you had been a mere curiosity, a spectator drawn into his ever-moving spire, his ever-deceiving carnival of illusions. And yet, somehow, you had done the impossible you had slipped between the cracks of his carefully constructed reality, nestled yourself in the spaces he hadn’t meant for anyone to occupy. It had started as a game, like all things with him did. "Oh? What’s this? A little spectator who doesn’t flee at the first trick? How rare!" His voice had slithered around you, a serpent’s coil laced with amusement and something sharper, something dangerous. Others feared him, reviled him, whispered of his cruelty in hushed tones. But you, oh, you were foolish. Foolish enough to laugh, to poke at his ego, to challenge him in ways no one else dared.

He had never asked you to stay. Never invited you into his world of trickery and taunts. And yet, there you were, day after day, watching his performances with something that was not admiration, not fear just an amused understanding. "And what, pray tell, keeps you lurking about, dear audience?" he would purr, flourishing his staff. "Surely, you have places far safer than my den of illusions." You had only shrugged, smiling faintly. "Your shows are entertaining." "A high compliment, indeed!" He placed a hand over his chest in mock gratitude. "But beware! The greatest trick of all is never knowing whether you’ve already become part of the act!" "I think I’ll take my chances." Foolish. But he liked that about you. And so, your presence became a fixture, something woven into the very script of his performances. He would create grand illusions, dazzling lights and twisting realities, and you would be there, arms crossed, shaking your head with a knowing smile. "Too much?" he would ask, grinning. "You always overdo it," you would reply. It became a game one he never admitted he enjoyed far too much. And, without realizing it, he began making his performances for you.

"I see through your tricks, Shadow Milk. You’re not as unpredictable as you think." That had caught his attention. You played along, indulged his theatrics, yet somehow remained separate from them. You saw through him in ways that unnerved him, as if you knew where the real strings were pulled. But instead of cutting them, you simply held them, quietly watching as he tangled himself in his own illusions. You became a regular in his performances, not as an unwilling participant, not as a victim, but as something else entirely. A quiet presence beside him, a soft counter to his grandiosity. A knowing smile when his lies got too elaborate, a gentle nudge when his mind grew too tangled in its own web. And somehow, he let you stay. Because for all his lies, you never demanded the truth from him. And for all his illusions, you never asked him to be anything but himself. Looking back, the signs had been small, quiet things, easy to dismiss, easier to ignore. The way your hand would tremble when reaching for his. The way your breath sometimes came too short, too shallow, even when you stood still. The way your laughter, once bright and full, became something softer, something restrained. "Tired already, my dear? We’ve barely begun the show!" he would tease, twirling his staff, watching as you paused to catch your breath. And you, ever the fool, would grin and wave him off. "Maybe you should carry me, then." "Oh-ho! A tempting proposition! But I’d hate to spoil you."

He had never thought much of it. Cookies grew weary. They faltered. It was natural. It wasn’t until he noticed the way you hid it the way you swallowed the winces, the way you steadied yourself against walls when you thought he wasn’t looking that something cold and unfamiliar began to fester in the back of his mind. Doubt. A word he despised when it came to you. But it remained. And yet, he never asked. Because asking would mean acknowledging. And acknowledging would mean accepting. So he let the show go on, even as the cracks in the stage deepened beneath your feet. Now, as you lay in his arms, the truth he had refused to see wrapped around him like chains, dragging him into a reality he would not accept. You had always been dying. And he had never noticed. Or rather he had never allowed himself to notice. "You lied to me," he whispered, his voice barely above a breath. You managed the smallest of smiles, though it barely reached your eyes. "I didn't lie." "But you didn't tell me." His grip tightened, his mismatched eyes wild, frantic, unblinking. "You let me play my part, let me prance about like a fool while you-" He choked on his words. "Why?"

You exhaled, slow, tired. "Because I knew you’d react like this." The laugh that tore from his throat was anything but amusement. "You-!" His voice cracked, and he had to swallow down the wreckage threatening to spill. "You knew and you still…" His breath shuddered. "Why didn’t you tell me?!" You hesitated. Not because you didn’t have an answer, but because you did. And he wasn’t ready for it. "Because I didn’t want my last moments to be a performance," you murmured. Your fingers brushed against his cheek, weak, barely there. "I wanted to just… be with you." Something shattered inside him.

All those stolen moments, every laugh, every conversation, every quiet night beneath an illusory sky of his own making they had been real. You had given him something real. And now you were taking it away. His breath came quick, shallow. His grip on you was desperate, as if holding you tighter could keep you anchored to him, to this world. "No, no, no, I won’t let you—" "Shadow Milk." His name had never sounded so soft. So final. You smiled. "I love you." And then, stillness. The silence was deafening. Shadow Milk Cookie did not move. Did not breathe. Did not accept. His jester’s hat had long since fallen, forgotten on the cold ground. The ghostly eyes in his hair flickered wildly, their gazes darting in all directions, uncertain, uncomprehending. This wasn’t right. This wasn’t real. The story wasn’t supposed to end this way. He clutched your body tighter, rocking slightly, his voice barely above a whisper. "You’re still here." A statement. A fact. A truth. Or perhaps, the most desperate lie he had ever told. "You’re just waiting for your cue. That’s all this is." His tone was light, theatrical, forced. "A clever little act oh, how you’ve fooled me this time, my dear!" His mismatched eyes gleamed, too wide, too bright. "But the show must go on." There was no response. Yet he continued, undeterred. "I’ll give the next line, then! What a generous performer I am!" A sharp, broken laugh left him. "You’ll wake up soon. You always do." The world did not answer. But he did not listen. Because Shadow Milk Cookie was a liar, a master of illusion, a weaver of truths and falsehoods alike. And so he told himself the greatest lie of all. That you were still there. That you had never left. That the final act had not yet begun. And as the silence stretched on, swallowing the stage whole, he did what he had always done. He played his part. And waited for you to play yours.

[daylighted]

omg!!. i love how u write sam and love baby!reader !! im so excited to see journal!reader and more sam :]]

I LOVE N ADORE YOU !!! this is the perfect excuse to write for lore & sam rn thank u beloved.

not the start chronologically ... but sam meeting lore HEHEHEHE

"dean, what is this?" it's comical, how similarly sam reacts in the face of the exact same thing he'd already once been through. this time, instead of the winchester family car standing in front of him, it's baby and another half-naked girl. you. what the hell was sam's life right now?

you smile widely at him, your hands flap in the pockets of your big brown coat, flailing excitedly. "hi, sammy!"

sam's eyes flit over to dean, then, narrowing in on him. "what is this?" repeated again, because dean's silence was loaded with answers sam probably didn't want to hear but needed to anyways.

you don't even seem deterred by him refusing to address you properly. like, how were people supposed to address journals? you didn't know. this seemed fine. anything sam did was fine.

dean's head drops to look at the ground, his dimples deep in his cheeks, giving away his grin even as he hides his expression. "listen—"

"dean."

"baby was lonely..."

baby was oddly, uncharacteristically silent until then, when she chimes in, of course, to defend dean. she always does. it's not a surprise that she jumps in but a surprise it took her so long. "i was!"

"so..." dean doesn't even try this time to stifle his amusement. he's laughing. sam's staring at him like he's grown two new heads, and he has, just in the form of girls that didn't used to be girls, and dean is laughing. "so she told me—"

"i did. i did tell him." baby grabs your hand, lifting it into the air and dragging her toward sam, to which sam instinctively recoiled a step. "this is your dad's journal."

a lot of pieces were missing. baby tended to do that, too: defend dean, and forget the rest of the story in favor of skipping to the ending. trying to teach her to read some of sam's favorite books was a nightmare.

it takes him a long minute to process the end of the story she'd said, too. he stares at her, a little disbelieving laugh falling out of his mouth. "what?"

his gaze flicks between you, to baby, to dean. again, he asks, "no, what?" dean's shoulders lift in a shrug as if he wasn't partially liable for whatever this was. "dad's journal? that's not true. can't be. i left it on—"

"the desk," you speak up for the first time since arriving here, that same warm smile on your lips, "you left it on the desk over there, and at 11:03 am, baby put it in her pocket."

baby nods fiercely. "my pockets are very big. it fit right in there."

"and dean took her to a witch," sam's eyes narrow at that part of your story, flicking back up to dean's with blatant irritation. dean fucking giggles, the bastard. "and baby asked very nicely to turn the book into me! so you had someone, too!"

the fact that this was a normalcy, now, in sam's life was completely fucking baffling. he bypasses dean and his little bursts of giggles and turns his attention to you, fully.

your coat looks familiar. almost like the one he'd brought with him from college, just a little more worn and faded, somehow. a pair of glasses rest on the bridge of your nose, stains that look suspiciously like coffee and beer on the big cream-colored t-shirt you wore. your legs—

sam did not, in fact, look at your legs. he caught a glimpse of tattoo ink on the bare skin and promptly looked back up, clearing his throat. "this is insane."

you break into a grin, clapping your hands together. "insanely good!"

he did not forget about baby. dean was to blame for encouraging and entertaining baby's ideas, but it was baby who started this. he puts on his best stern face, trying to pretend that he wasn't for a moment thinking that it was sweet that baby had done all of this for him.

"you can't just go to witches and demand they turn things into people for you." what a crazy sentence to say, but okay. this was just sam's life now. "you could have... i dunno, bought me a tamagotchi instead, if you wanted me to have something to care about." sam knew he would have killed that tamagotchi, but you didn't need to know that, and neither did baby. he is trying to instill good behavior into the chaos that was the both of you, damn it. "but it is very nice, that you thought i needed..."

he trails off, his eyes drifting back over to you again. what, exactly, did baby think he needed? she usually spelled it out to him in harsh, honest words, not knowing any better. in any other case, baby would have just told him straight up, like, you need to write better. i can't learn to read if you are just scribbling, which was something he'd heard plenty of in the last few weeks.

but this? he couldn't tell her intentions, or dean's intentions on going along with it. instead, all sam had to go off of was you standing in front of him, looking like a dream and like you thought he was a dream too.

"lore," he whispers it, like it was a thought that just occurred to him, sticking in his brain and unrelenting. "it's nice to meet you, lore."

with baby, she'd been absolutely hellish about calling her anything but the name dean gave her. with you, your face seems to light up at the name. as if it lived inside of you all along, the name melds into your features and sits as easily on your skin like your glasses do.

"technically, you already met me," you say, moving the t-shirt collar away from your clavicles and pointing at yet another scrawl of ink, this time— sam falters.

an idle doodle he'd done as a kid, sitting on the corner of the table while john scribbled notes into one side of the pages, and he'd been left to draw in the margins on the other side. three messy, uneven hearts over your left clavicle, and his even messier handwriting, spelling his name.

his smile is involuntary, dragging up on his lips and punctuating in his cheeks. "well, come on," he says with an exaggerated sigh, nodding toward the rest of the books sitting on the desktop, "we've got a case to work on."

notes. i cannot go a post without forgetting something on god !!! anyways here is lore <3 !!! if u saw this without the taglist pls mind ur business. i am a busy woman rn ok !! i should could maybe write an intro for indy & soldier boy later but i also need to lock tf in ON SO MANY OTHER THINGS. my writing schedule is so chaotic but brings me sm joy

tags. @titsout4jackles @honeyryewhiskey @ultravi0lence14 @figthoughts @theosaurous @stereotypicalbarbie @whyyouegg @eepwtf @rositaslabyrinth @rubyvhs @jensenacklesballsack @abox-of-rocks @sunsbaby @bluemerakis @jollyhunter @misatxox @angelblqde @bombarda-babe @unfortunate-brat @funkycoloured @chevroletdean @chiierful @cowboysandcigarettes @voidsuites @bitchykittenconnoisseur @beausling @soldiersgirl @dulcescorderitas @hyacinnths @blushpinkdoll @mccartneyqp @svbnra @angelicalm3ss @nperoconelcositoarriba @impala67rollingthroughtown @h8aaz

[wsknbfanaccnt]

this is so fucking real actually like at first whole writing TAAO or anything that involves oc x reader it always made me feel weird that I didn't have an oc that plays basketball cuz all I ever used to read was shit like that

but then I decided "ykw fuck you I write for my own pleasure, entertaining others is just a bonus I'll write whatever the fuck I want"

granted i still need practice on writing development😅

I sometimes wish Kuroko no Basket had been released in 2020 instead of 2012. The fanfiction featuring original characters or reader inserts is often cringeworthy, they all seem to share the same personality traits with only minor differences. It's really confusing why the female character is always portrayed as the only girl playing basketball with the boys, even more so that she is better than them and she is very Smart on the court but totally clueless in school. Her name is typically something like "Queen of Basketball" or another title starting with "Queen." She’s often depicted with an unrealistic body type and a mean demeanor, yet everyone seems to love her.

The writing quality is generally poor it’s so 2010s in bad way. Haikyuu and Blue Lock fans are so lucky you guys have a wider variety of fanfiction. While there are certainly some cringe-worthy stories, there are also many well-written ones. You have fanfics that actually explore relationships and don't just stick to the main plot and also most Kuroko no Basket fanfics are short, and if they are longer, they tend to fall into the reverse harem category. I’d be fine if they developed the relationships better, but most of the time, the characters just like her for dumb reasons. Can we please get an OC/reader who doesn’t play basketball, is nice and has a complex personality! (Also, if you know any good KNB fanfics, please share!)

[not-glorfindel-stop-asking]

Op, I'm not saying this to be mean but if you didn't want the Lindircident and all of that brought up, maybe you should have checked before making a Lindir rp account-😬😅

[TW: references to SA, s*xual abuse, physical abuse, fandom issues etc.]

Oh, so I should have "checked" every single post under the Lindir tag before daring to make a roleplay account?

Should I have scoured the depths of the internet, sifted through every reference, every joke, every cursed discussion that has ever been made?

Is that what you're suggesting? Because that's not how this works.

That’s not how any of this works.

I made a roleplay account for a minor character from a well-known franchise because I love said character and also because some friends joked that I am the "Lindir" of a group.

That is all I did.

I did not invite these references, I did not encourage them, and I certainly do not condone them. I have repeatedly stated that I am not interested, I have repeatedly set boundaries, and yet people insist on sending these messages, making these comments, and dragging me into something I have no part in.

How exactly is that my fault, genuinely?

Where is my agency in that?

Let me make one thing absolutely clear: I have never read the material that this is apparently based on.

I have no context for it, I have no investment in it, and frankly, I do not care. And yet, despite making my stance clear, I am still being subjected to unwanted references, to inappropriate jokes, and to outright disturbing messages.

And before anyone tries to twist my words—yes, I respect authors and creators. I respect the effort, the work, the passion that goes into writing (I am myself a writer).

But respecting an author does not mean I am obligated to engage with their work, especially when doing so could expose me to content that I find deeply distressing or uncomfortable. Respect does not mean blind participation. Respect does not mean forcing myself to endure something that I have every right to avoid.

I do not owe it to anyone to read something that I already suspect will make me uncomfortable. I do not owe my time, my mental well-being, or my emotional energy just to "do my research" on something that I have already made explicitly clear I want nothing to do with. It is absurd to suggest that I should subject myself to potential discomfort or even distress just to avoid being harassed over something I never engaged with in the first place.

And while we're here, let me make something crystal clear: Lindir may not be my original character, but that does not mean people are free to say whatever they please in my space. That does not mean I am obligated to sit here, grit my teeth, and tolerate references to NSFW content, to sexual violence, to things that make me deeply uncomfortable—especially as a survivor of SA myself.

The fact that I even have to spell this out is exhausting. It is beyond inappropriate, it is beyond disrespectful, and it needs to stop.

I cannot believe that even here, on a roleplay account, I have to be firm. I have to set and reset boundaries that should be obvious, and yet people still insist on testing them, pushing them, pretending they don’t exist. I should not have to raise my voice, I should not have to justify my discomfort, and I sure as hell should not have to fight for the bare minimum of human decency.

The entitlement is staggering. The audacity to step into my space and try to dictate what I should be okay with, what I should be forced to engage with, is infuriating.

No, I do not want these references. No, I will not "just deal with it" because I made a Lindir account. No, I will not entertain some ridiculous idea that making a fandom blog means forfeiting my right to personal boundaries.

I don’t care how long these jokes have been around. I don’t care how ingrained they are in certain circles.

I am telling you I don’t want them here. And that should be enough.

It is not difficult to respect people’s comfort levels. It is not difficult to hear "this makes me uncomfortable" and just stop. The fact that I even have to explain this, let alone demand it, is frustrating beyond belief.

So let me say it one last time for the people in the back: I am not responsible for what other people have made of this character.

I am not responsible for the history of a joke I was never part of.

And I am certainly not responsible for the fact that some of you cannot grasp the simple concept of "no."

If your argument is that I should have "checked" before making my account, then let me turn it around on you: perhaps you should check before sending messages that cross boundaries, that disregard personal comfort, and that contribute to a culture where people feel entitled to force others into discussions they never consented to?

Because that is exactly what this is.

You expect me to take responsibility for something I had no part in, to comb through years of fandom history just to make sure I don’t accidentally trigger your weird obsession with an in-joke I never signed up for.

But where is your responsibility in all of this? Where is your effort to check if what you’re saying is appropriate, welcome, or even remotely considerate? Or does that not matter because, in your mind, my existence here makes me fair game?

Because let’s be real—that’s what this boils down to. You’re not upset that I didn’t "check."

You’re upset that I won’t play along. You’re upset that I have the audacity to not care about whatever cursed discourse or running gag this is built on. You’re upset that I’m refusing to roll over and let you drag me into something I never wanted to be part of.

And instead of respecting that, instead of acknowledging that I have every right to set boundaries in my own space, you’d rather frame it as my fault for not doing your work for you.

I don’t owe anyone my time, my energy, or my tolerance for nonsense that makes me uncomfortable. If you’re so concerned about people "checking" things, start by checking yourself. Start by asking why you think it’s acceptable to push unwanted conversations onto someone who has repeatedly made it clear they want no part of them.

Start by recognizing that my refusal to entertain this nonsense isn’t the problem—you are.

No, I do not want to read about one of my favorite characters being repeatedly sexually abused/used. No, I do not want to engage with content that depicts that. No, I do not want to be sent references to it, jokes about it, or anything remotely related to it. No, I do not care how long this has been a thing in whatever corner of the fandom it originated from. No, I do not care how many people find it funny or "just fandom culture." No, I do not care if it’s "tradition" for some of you to bring it up whenever Lindir is mentioned.

I do not want it in my space.

Period.

I should not have to clarify this. I should not have to repeatedly state that I do not want to see, hear, or be associated with discussions of one of my favorite characters being subjected to sexual violence in MY space. And I especially should not have to sit here and defend myself when I say, unequivocally, that this makes me deeply uncomfortable—both as a person and as a SA survivor .

The fact that this even needs to be spelled out is disgusting.

I do not owe anyone my discomfort. I do not owe anyone my tolerance for things I have made explicitly clear I do not want to engage with.

And I certainly do not owe anyone an apology for existing in a fandom space without wanting to be dragged into something that I had no knowledge of and no interest in.

[katuschka]

Olalla Chapter Fourteen 1/2

Jake Kiszka x f!OC x Josh Kiszka 2.666 words So, once again I decided to split the chapter in two, not because of the lenght, but because it's quite heavy and might me more palatable when served in smaller doses (for the readers as well as for me). As I said at the end of the previous one, this was always my plan. The fact that I reached this part of the story NOW is a disturbingly peculiar coincidence, and I think it's inevitably reflected in the writing.

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction, intended for adult readers. Any resemblance to real persons is purely coincidental. Also, if you're under 18, go find some other entertainment elsewhere.

Warnings (are spoilers): indirect descriptions and mentions of war and invasion (no gore), psychical defeat and depression, incensed arguing, anger, language (even though most of it is in Polish), and as always, an unhealthy dose of heavy emotions and feelings

If you like the story and want to get notifications, you can join the Taglist

Previous chapter Olalla masterpost

Agnieszka, 23rd March 2026

I think that the worst part about it was that the world around us was still shrouded in darkness when we got woken up by the piercing sound. Nothing else happened, but you simply never know what the next second might bring when you can’t see. I wrapped myself up in my terry bathrobe and ran into the hallway to put all the lights on, ignoring the frightened faces of our visitors in their open doors. They kept asking what was going on and I had to reply with honesty that I had no idea, although we all suspected it and the possibility made my stomach turn violently. 

I met dad in the common room. He had already switched the TV on and was scrolling through his phone at the same time, and I stood frozen in the doorway, feeling my heartbeat rise with each passing second until it felt like I would suffocate. 

He remained silent, acknowledging my presence but staying in his own mental bubble for a few more minutes until he finally turned around towards me and calmly spoke: “Why?”

Why, indeed. 

One minute you’re a complex human being and within seconds, the tables turn and they reduce you to a mere ant, trying to run away from being squashed with the thumb of their dirty hands. 

Still, when dawn broke and I looked out my bedroom window, everything looked almost the same as before, filling me with a strange – and false – sense of calm at first. The garden was dusted with fresh snow, just as it happened almost every other day at this time of year. It would melt by midday, but it made our mornings sugar sweet. Same with white frost. It turned the whole town into a white wonderland, making us ignore the imminent danger that kept lurking just behind the corner. My sister was not immune to that, but it was always too easy to forget about the rest of the world here. 

Not this morning. 

This morning I saw Svetlana sitting on the frost-covered bench near the fireplace in the farthest corner of the garden, in just her pajamas and slippers despite the cold, clutching her head with both her hands as if in pain. 

She was in pain. 

Broken hearts hurt more than broken bones. 

Maya called at six thirty. I expected that, as that’s normally the time she wakes up. She cried and sobbed and almost screamed at times – not at me, just out of frustration – and all the time I tried to remain calm. So did dad when I put her on speaker because she suggested we all just pack our bags and drive straight to Frankfurt as soon as possible, leaving everything behind. Mama, on the other hand, was calm. With her usual, steely and dispassionate voice, she scolded Maya for being completely out of her mind, telling her we would not become a burden to her family. Needless to say, we agreed with her. What could we possibly do there? Me? I’d manage to fend for myself, no doubt. But my parents?

Besides, I’m not the one who runs away. I wanted to be useful, to face whatever was coming with my head held high and to help others do the same. Just like we always had. We’re not ants!

I spent the rest of the morning immersed in administrative work as our guests, most of them leaving in a hurry, all needed help at once. 

It also helped me keep my own feelings at bay, for which I was grateful. Some emotions are easy to navigate, but not hatred. I always resented the feeling, but it’s too powerful and nearly impossible to suppress when you’re a mere human. 

Two families decided to stay, though. One from Warsaw, another one from Poznan. They concluded they wouldn’t be safe at home and we naturally offered them shelter for as long as they needed. 

A woman from one senior house in Krakow contacted me just after lunch. They needed to transfer their clients to safety. Of course we agreed. There weren’t going to be any tourists anytime soon. It was actually a magnificent idea, and my defiant determination to be as useful as possible only grew. 

Things were changing so fast that my head was spinning by three pm, with my body overdosed with adrenaline but low on sugar. Agitation makes me forget to eat, until my body reminds me in painful ways. I had been up since 4 am, functioning solely on one cup of coffee I managed to drink before Maya’s phone call. So, as my hands started to shake and my legs turned to jelly, I sat behind the reception counter, quickly ate a few pieces of chocolate I had stacked in the drawer next to my chair, and rested my head on my crossed arms in front of my laptop for a while. 

I must have dozed off, being suddenly roused by a ringing phone next to my head. Disoriented, I had trouble remembering where I was, much less being able to determine the source of the noise. It took me a few more seconds to collect myself, but as soon as I saw a foreign, but strangely familiar phone number on the display, my heart freaked out again. I felt myself panicking, unsure what to do, and the phone continued to ring. It took me another while before I finally pressed the answer button. 

“Willa Eulalia, Agnieszka Kowalska speaking. How can I help you?” I answered mechanically. It was the best thing I could think of at that moment to keep my voice steady.

“Oh, thank GOD! Why the fuck aren’t you answering your phone? Jeeesus, you scared us!”

Phone? My phone... Oh yes, because this wasn’t… “I think I left it in my bedroom. What do you want Joshua?” I asked cautiously. 

“Are you ok? Everyone safe? I tried to face call you, but you didn’t… anyway, nevermind, we need to talk…”

“What do you want?” I repeated in exasperation. I didn’t feel anger. To be honest, I can’t say with certainty how I really felt, as I was getting quite lost in it. Hearing his voice again was unsettling, and it only added to the whirlwind currently swirling inside my head, but at the same time, there was something strangely soothing about it. I had been addicted to it once, and I felt myself falling into relapse pretty quickly. 

“Please, could we do this face to face? I’m… it’s serious.” 

I hesitated. What could he possibly want to discuss now? No, don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t that obtuse. ‘Willingly in denial’ might be a better description. 

“Olalla?”

“Hang on…,” I tapped on the touchpad and the laptop screen in front of me came on. “Ok, I’m putting this down. You can call me now,” I said and pressed the side button without waiting for his reply. 

“So what do you… oh… it’s both of you.” The possibility hadn’t occurred to me and I was now literally facing my worst nightmare. I’m not exaggerating. Those nightmares nearly made me go insane in January. Joshua smiled weakly, his eyes soft and full of affection, just how I remembered them. Even though that only made me feel worse, at least he was legible… I dare say I’ve always been good at reading people, although I admit I failed a few times... And Jake was one of those few exceptions, with his lips always pressed together defensively as if he expected the worst from everyone. I was definitely not interested in having to deal with it at that moment. 

“Could you please take off your sunglasses at least now?!?” I snapped, finally getting angry. To my surprise, he immediately obliged. But it was nothing in comparison to his eyes looking puffy. 

“Hello, Veela.”

I didn’t want them to know how it all made me feel. They sat there… somewhere… next to each other, both looking like two schoolboys ready to get berated for whatever folly they had done. Both pairs of hands pressed together in silent anticipation. “I’m waiting,” I said coldly. 

Joshua cleared his throat. “Well, first of all, we’re glad to see that you’re ok…” He paused and looked at Jake, who bowed his head down. I was getting impatient. 

“And?”

“And…” he took a deep breath, “and we want to make sure it stays that way.” He looked at Jake again. Something was off, hidden between the lines and I couldn’t decipher it. 

“Okay… so… I assure you I’ll do my best. If that’s all, I really have a lot of work to do right now, so…” I was ready to close the laptop but Joshua suddenly became very agitated, making my hand stop in mid air. 

“No, Agnieszka, wait! You don’t understand. You need to get out of there.” 

I think that was the first time I actually heard him call me by my real name, but that wasn’t what made me halt. I stared at him in utter disbelief for a while before I blurted out: “Ja pierdolę! Who are you to tell me I don’t understand?! And to tell me what to do?! I know very well what’s going on! Why do you care anyway? Gówno ci do tego!” 

My sudden outburst wasn’t fair and I knew that. I regretted it almost immediately. However, his words ignited something in me, making me finally lose control over all those thoughts and feelings I had been trying to suppress the whole day. To top it all, I started crying. He was right, in a way. I really couldn’t understand it. I still had no answer to dad’s question. Why…

Joshua looked defeated. He started rubbing his chin with the back of his hand while staring somewhere above their own web camera. Jake kept examining the floor, as if he couldn’t even bear looking at me. 

“I’m sorry,” Joshua finally whispered. 

“No, I am,” I sobbed. “But don’t tell me I don’t understand. It’s ME who’s here for fucks sake. I was woken by the sirens and I have been dealing with the consequences ever since. But don’t worry. I’ll be fine. It’s you who…”

“Stop it. You’re right. Of course you’re right. What I meant was…”

“We’re in Paris, actually…” Jake’s head had snapped up during my second outburst and now he suddenly interrupted his brother with a steady hand squeezing Joshua’s shoulder. “Have you watched the news this afternoon? You probably have, but…”

“No…” I answered hesitantly, but truthfully. 

“It’s bad. Really bad. It’s not just you, but Baltics too. We just watched it. It happened maybe… an hour ago?” He looked at Joshua again, who simply nodded. “The tour just got canceled. What he really meant is that we want to help keep you safe. We want to get you out of there. It was an insane move and everyone says that it won’t last long, but it could get really nasty in the meantime.” 

Jake paused, but kept watching me. Another moment passed in silence while I tried to process it all. “Why?” I finally choked out. 

“Why what?”

“Why do you want to get me out of here?”

Jake squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep breath before he answered. “I already told you.” 

Joshua rolled his eyes. I almost missed the subtle gesture, but it reflected what I was thinking. Not enough. Even though it was the last thing Jake told me – or the last thing I remembered him telling me – it was not enough. We had never been sincere with each other, always speaking in hints and riddles, and it resulted in creating a huge rift between us. I didn’t blame him, or me, or anyone. At least not anymore. It was nobody’s fault, just a fact. The three of us just found ourselves in an impossible situation and if anything, the current one convinced me that me ending it before the circumstances could inevitably force us to had indeed been the only right thing to do. I also immediately regretted answering the phone. The video call seemed not only hurtful, but also completely pointless. 

“No.”

Isn’t it strange how a one-syllable word can hold so many meanings? I realized it only after I said it, and watched the understanding appear on their faces. A no to their proposal, sure, but at the same time also a dismissal of Jake’s alleged reasons. He lowered his head again in defeat and once again squeezed his brother’s shoulder.

“Olalla, please, I beg you. Listen…” It was Joshua now, trying to persuade me with those puppy eyes again, but the ship had sailed.

“You two are crazy. Even if I wanted to, which I don’t, It’s almost impossible for you to help me in any way, so what are you playing at? And telling me that I don’t understand, to top it all…” 

“Almost, but not entirely… Jake?” 

And once again I watched them – completely flabbergasted – exchange looks. I dreaded to ask. I met Joshua’s eyes again and silently begged him to NOT say any more and just end the call mercifully, wishing me good luck or something. He just opened his mouth, but Jake exhaled impatiently and beat him to it. 

“I want to marry you, Veela.”

“ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND?!?! You’re a fool, Jacob. FOOL!”

“It was actually my idea…” Joshua chimed in. 

“And that makes it better!” I spat disdainfully and ended the call abruptly. They tried to reconnect, but I switched the laptop off. I didn’t answer the incoming phone call either. After all the time that had passed, when I thought I was just getting my sanity back, they did THAT. 

Later that day, after I finally managed to eat a slice of bread with butter and thus give my body just enough energy to keep on living, I finally got back up to my room to compose myself and take a much needed shower. Reluctantly, I checked the phone as well. There were several missed calls, mostly from old friends living in Krakow. 

There were, however, several text messages from Jake. The old me would have deleted them, just like I did back in August, but those two bastards broke and changed me since then. So, with a beating heart, I sat down on my bed and read the whole thread. 

Kuba Starlight: I totally understand, Veela. It was blunt. 

Kuba Starlight: But please believe me when I say that I mean it. I can’t bear the thought of something happening to you. 

Kuba Starlight: You want me to say it again? Fine. 

Kuba Starlight: I love you. 

Kuba Starlight: Josh didn’t tell me to do it. He only said there was a chance you would say yes. I had to try.

Kuba Starlight: And I understand you might need some time. Even though we don’t really have it. 

Kuba Starlight: Josh is flying back home with the rest, but I’m staying here. I’ll wait. 

Kuba Starlight: Your kisses don’t lie, you know? You might have fooled me once, but not the second time. Not after he confirmed it was true. Just please, if you no longer feel that way, tell me now and you’ll never hear from me again. 

The phone screen was covered with droplets of my tears by the time I stopped reading, distorting the last words just like my mind had been distorting the reality when he had kissed me again and I had felt those raw emotions running through my veins, poisoning my blood even more than all the vodka I had drunk. 

I typed the text. I wanted to lie. I almost hit the send button… and then I deleted it. I couldn’t do it. For hours since the face call, I had been hearing those words, echoing at the back of my head: Come, my love. My conscious mind rejected it, but something deep inside my chest kept fighting back, making it hard to breathe.

@thewritingbeforesunrise @fleet-of-fiction @writingcold @lvnterninthenight @its-interesting-van-kleep  @takenbythemadness  @edgingthedarkness @myownparadise96  @gvfstuddedmajesty @josh-iamyour-mama @jazzyfigz @tripthelightfantastix @sanguinebats @wetkleenex-gvf @peaceloveunitygvf @kiszkas-canvas @fleetingjake @lizzys-sunflower @hollyco @emojakekiszka @gvfmarge @Dayumclarizzel @lipstickitty @clownstarr @musicislove3389 @i-love-gvf @blankvz @psychedelectable @allof--mylove @joshylanefleet @thewaythatshebreathes @Ironlotus90 @justwantjosh

[eurydicees]

someone tell the court jester i love his smile

summary: elphaba and fiyero talk about what's true and real, and what's not. pairings: fiyero tigelaar/elphaba thropp words: 2992  warnings: none  notes: not technically a prompt but this was inspired by conversations with @napo-con-fritas and @mollrat101 about fiyero with adhd and how the outsider perception of that might impact his self-perception and thus his relationship with elphaba. this fic kind of got derailed from the original topic lol, but thanks for the inspo n i hope u enjoy!

Fiyero is talking, but he’s not really saying anything. He’s just kind of rambling about something that Elphaba isn’t quite following. It’s something about a stray cat he had seen on the street that day while he was out shopping, and how the cat reminded him of someone he knew in elementary school, which somehow led his ramblings to something about the magical fish in a well at his family’s castle in the Vinkus. 

She swears that she does usually listen to what he has to say—contrary to what seems to be the popular belief about their relationship, she does actually care about his thoughts and opinions—but something about this particular one-sided conversation is itching at the back of her mind like the final piece to a puzzle she’s been putting together for awhile now. She’s not quite sure what it is, but there’s something important that she’s missing. 

He talks with his hands, she notices. He makes both large, exaggerated gestures as he talks just as often as he fiddles and fusses with whatever he can find around him: a piece of paper that he’s methodically ripping to pieces, a ring he wears that he’s usually twisting around or tossing up and down in his palm, a pen or pencil he spins around his pointer finger. It’s really whatever he can get his hands on. 

Just generally speaking, Fiyero is constantly in motion. He’s not good at sitting still, or staying stagnant. He’s constantly bouncing his knee or tapping his fingers in basic rhythms against the table, shifting around in his seat during class, or toying with a strand of his hair that’s long enough to wrap around his finger and tug at. It feels like he’s just always a blur of movement, moving through the world at a velocity that Elphaba fears she sometimes has trouble keeping up with. 

She doesn’t always know where he’s going at that pace that he runs with, but his mind is constantly running forward. He’s always halfway to the next thought, the third step ahead, before he’s finished with the first sentence. It makes for strange leaps and connections in their conversations and in his logic sometimes, but there is—again, contrary to popular belief—always a real thread from point A to point B. 

Fiyero pauses his talking, looking at her with something unreadable on his face. “You’re not listening, are you?” 

She blinks. She didn’t realize that she had gotten so caught up in her own thoughts and her analysis of her boyfriend. She loves him, and she knows him, and she knows better than to zone out like that. His ability to sense other people’s disinterest is sharper than she had thought it to be upon first meeting—but it didn’t take long after that realization to understand that this ability is so well-honed because of how hurt and subdued he gets over that disinterest. 

“Sorry,” she mutters. She also knows better than to lie to him. He’s always been able to see right through her, somehow. “Just zoned out for a minute. Keep talking, I’m listening now.” 

Fiyero licks his lips, studying her carefully. “What’re you thinking about?” 

Elphaba shrugs, looking down at the book she had been reading before he wandered into her and Galinda’s room looking to spend time with her after being exiled by his roommate for the night. She’s curled up in her bed, a small crocheted blanket draped over her lap, while he sits at her desk chair. 

He’s doing that thing, she notes to herself. The thing where he tugs at the ring on his finger—he always wears it on a finger that seems just a little too tight for it to fit right—then seems surprised that it comes off. And he’s bouncing his knee again. It’s not anxiety, because the rest of his posture is perfectly relaxed. He just doesn’t seem to get stillness. 

She hums, trying to figure out how to put into words the things she thinks she’s maybe uncovering about him. The thing is that she’s not quite sure what it is exactly that she’s uncovered. She just knows that there’s something she’s missing about him, something that she wants to be allowed to understand. 

Elphaba loves him, is the thing. She’s not quite sure when that development really took place, but after only a few weeks of dating, she’s pretty sure that he’s her first real love. He sees her, in a way that very few people have ever wanted to try to see her.

Most importantly, he actually wants her as she is. Not the dulled, dimmed version of herself that she sometimes wants to carve herself into for the sake of social acceptance. Not the Galinda-fied version of herself that she tentatively has been experimenting with. Not the fiery, angry, defensive version of herself that she falls back upon as a safety mechanism. No, he just wants her as she is and as she wants to be. 

She wants to give the same thing back to him. She likes to think that she understands him well by now at least, but really she wants to give him the same sense of comfort that he’s given her. She wants him to feel at ease with her. 

And then it clicks. That’s what it is. He is at ease, he’s by no means on edge when he’s around her, but he’s also still always keeping up what’s an act of sorts. It’s not that he’s being fake or lying in any way, it’s more that he’s still desperately trying to mold himself into something palatable, a pill that’s easy to swallow, the kind of person that’s easy to want. 

He’s constantly trying to get her attention, trying to keep it, whether that’s by talking about things that neither of them care about or by telling prodding jokes until she laughs or asking her to rant about the latest book she’s read for hours. He’s constantly trying to keep her entertained, keep her laughing, keep her eyes on him. 

Doesn’t he know? she wonders. I’m always looking at him, whether or not he’s being bright and loud. 

It doesn’t matter if it’s easy to love him or not—which, at the end of the day, it was so easy to fall in love with him, even if she’s well aware that it’s much harder to keep him—and it doesn’t matter if he’s what she ever expected to want. It doesn’t matter if he’s keeping her entertained, not really. 

What matters is that he’s there. What matters is not if he’s easy to understand or easy to want, what matters is that being around him is like being free. Being around him gives her the freedom to be who she wants to, gives her the bravery to try to be who she actually is, at the end of the day. Being around him is like being set alight, like waking up after a long sleep to find that the world is just that much brighter now. 

What matters is that he’s trustworthy, and that he’s proved himself to be so again and again. What matters is that she cares about this boy who wormed his way into her heart despite all her defenses, despite all her crude remarks, despite all their differences. What matters is that—palatable, popular, suave, prettyboy or none of the above—she wants to stay at his side. 

She’ll do the work of loving him, she’ll put in the commitment and the effort to keep up with him. It’s not about being easy to want or easy to love. For her, love is about the act of trying. And oh, how she’ll try for him. 

Finally, she says, honestly, “I’m thinking about you.” 

He raises his eyebrows at that. He’s back to tearing tiny pieces of a paper apart, shredding it into small squares that flutter to the surface of the desk and pile up there like paper snowflakes. “What about me? I was talking about the fish of my childhood, it’s not really anything important to my psyche.” 

There it is—the way he downplays so much of what he says. Like he’s worried that she’ll think it has no value and so he’s trying to take the value away before she can do it for him. Something about that irks her a little; Elphaba has never wanted anything more than for him to trust her, with all of himself, and part of that is trusting that she cares. 

“Do you think we would have been friends if we met as kids?” she blurts out. 

It’s not really what she wanted to ask, not really what she had been thinking about, but the thought occurred to her when he asked that and she—she doesn’t really know the answer. She’s not sure if she even wants to know, but now the question is there, lingering in the air between them. 

He blinks, clearly not expecting the question. He pauses, thinking as he rips up that piece of paper. It looks like a blank sheet from a notebook, so no important notes are getting destroyed, but she really hopes it isn’t from the nice notebook. 

“I don’t know,” he says slowly. “You seem like you were pretty introverted as a kid, weren’t you? I might have been a bit too much for you. Too loud. Bright. Noisy.” 

“I suppose,” Elphaba says thoughtfully. “It would have been nice if we could have gotten along.” 

He shrugs, staring down at his pile of paper scraps. “I was…a lot. As a kid. Hard to handle.” 

“Maybe.” Elphaba watches the deft, easy movements of his hands as he sorts the scraps of paper into piles of large and medium and small sizes. “I was, too. To be fair.” 

He snorts. “What a pair we would have made. School jester and livewire introvert.” 

Elphaba rolls her eyes at the comparison, but doesn’t deny it. She does kind of walk through the world like a livewire, constantly balancing on the edge of electrifying everything around her. It was even worse as a child and she’s well aware of that. She does think it was—at least partially—justified, given how people treated her, but still. 

“School jester?” she asks, instead of arguing the point. 

“Something like that,” Fiyero says vaguely, flapping a hand in some random direction as if to dismiss the phrase. “The reputation immediately prior to ‘heartbreaker prince’ was probably ‘court fool.’”

She wants to say that that sounds kind of harsh, kind of cruel to himself, but he says it so neutrally that she doesn’t really know what to do with it. He sounds less like he’s offended by the words and more like he’s long since accepted them as gospel.

She still wants to argue with him, tell him that he’s so much more than either of those things. She wants to tell him all of the things that she sees in him, all of the brilliant, beautiful pieces to his heart that add up to so much more than an archetype. She wants to tell him that heartbreaker and court fool are impossibly small, diminishing words compared to all that she knows to be true of him. 

But for some reason, all of those words escape her. Maybe there just aren’t enough words in the language to explain all of that easily and simply. 

Instead, Elphaba asks him, “Is that why you do that?” 

“Do what?” 

She looks down at the book in her lap, running her finger along the spine in a smooth, grounding motion. He’s gone back to tearing the paper in half and the rhythmic sound of ripping paper is another grounding sense. 

“That thing you do,” Elphaba says, unhelpfully. He just stares at her, not understanding, and she sighs. He’s been receptive to this conversation so far, she might as well push her luck a little. Her words spill out faster, harsher, than she means them when she says, “That whole act. Like you don’t care about anything or want to try at anything, when I know you do. Is it because of that? Because you think that’s all you are?” 

Immediately, something in Fiyero’s expression closes off. “Don’t psychoanalyze me, Elphaba.” 

She swallows, looking up at him and standing her ground. She’s not sure it’s the right decision, but when has that really ever stopped her? “It’s just an observation.” 

He raises his eyebrows again—the only sign that he isn’t actually upset with her. “And what exacty are you observing right now?” 

“You’re never still,” Elphaba says. “Not physically, or mentally, or emotionally. You’re always moving onto the next idea or project, even if the first one doesn’t get finished. And the whole time, you’re trying to get people to keep up with you. Trying to keep them laughing.” 

“Is that really so bad of a thing?” he asks, something heavy in his voice. “To want to keep people entertained?” 

Elphaba shrugs. “Not necessarily.” 

They’re both quiet for a moment, staring at that unsorted pile of ripped up paper. His hands have stilled, but his knee is bouncing again. He hooks his foot around at the leg of the chair to still himself, as if now that she’s pointed it out, he’s too aware of it. She wonders for a moment how much of this he’s actually ever noticed about himself. 

Elphaba sighs again. She places the book on the nightstand and then neatly folds the blanket to her side so that she can stand up and cross the room to meet Fiyero at the desk chair. Slowly, she leans down to kiss him. It’s a tender, soft kiss; the kind of kiss that takes its time, because it’s in no rush to find anything more than what it is. 

Fiyero’s hands go to her waist, pulling her into his lap without breaking the kiss. When they finally pull apart, she’s sitting on top of him with one of his hands on her waist and the other on her thigh. She has her arms resting on his shoulders, hands stretched out behind his head. 

“But you’re more than that, you know.” 

Fiyero frowns, clearly having lost track of the conversation. He opens his mouth as if to ask what she means, and then it sinks in. She can see the moment that it does, the moment that it all falls into place. It settles on his expression like the paper shreds settle onto the desk. 

“And you don’t have to be the—the entertainment of the court for me to want to be around you.” 

Saying all of this is awkward, and strange, and vulnerable in a way that Elphaba is unfamiliar with. She doesn’t really know how to express her feelings like this. Between the two of them, Fiyero is the one always murmuring praise and compliments and truths that she’s still working on believing. 

You’re beautiful. So wonderful. So smart. The world in my arms. The moonlight pooling in my hands. Even if our time on this land is limited, at least I get this moment. Even if nothing else, I’m okay if I have this. Have you. So pretty. All mine, all yours. 

“You’re enough as you are,” Elphaba says, looking into his eyes, not quite sure how to read his expression at the moment. “However you want to be. I don’t need you to be the court entertainment for me to want to spend time with you. I’m not going anywhere. It’s good enough to just be around you, loud and exciting or quiet and calm.” 

She hesitates, waiting for him to say something. When he doesn’t, she chews at her lip for a moment before asking, “You do know that, right? That I’m not going anywhere if you tell a bad joke or a boring story or have a low day in general?” 

“I—” he cuts himself off, clearing his throat. 

He breaks eye contact, looking towards the desk and the pile of shreds of papers. One hand is tapping something out on her waist, a strange beat and pressure against her skin that she can’t quite place the melody of. 

“I know,” Fiyero finishes, in the way you would acknowledge something you didn’t know before that moment. Then, a little more confident, “I know.” 

She presses another slow kiss to his lips, bold in her ministrations of love as she moves her kisses to his cheek, to just below his earlobe, to his neck, to his collarbone. “It’s not a bad thing to be hard to handle. There’s very little you could do to scare me off at this point.” 

Fiyero lets out a shaky breath, pulling back slightly so that he can look at her, actually study her expression. 

Then he says the last thing she expected: “This is real, isn’t it?” 

Elphaba blinks. “I would hope so.” 

“No, I mean—” he waves a hand vaguely through the air, making some unreadable motion with it— “I mean, this is what it’s actually supposed to be like, isn’t it? I just—I lose track of things, and dates, and times. And I jump around my thoughts. And I don’t really know how to study. All things you value. But you’re here.” 

“Yeah,” Elphaba says slowly. “And I get angry and defensive, and snap at people, and sometimes throw things with my mind accidentally when I’m angry. And you’re here.” 

“I am,” Fiyero says, a smile growing over his face. “I am here.” 

Elphaba hums, and before she can reply, he’s kissing her again. He murmurs something into her mouth, something that she doesn’t quite catch, something that sounds like I love you but she can’t really be sure. They’ve never said that before. 

Still, it’s kind of a shame he didn’t say it louder. She would have said it back. But for the time being, she just returns the kiss, and keeps the thought clenched close to her heart. 

[treatbuckywkisses]

It's happened she LITERALLY did this for ME🥺😭 

the warning............ already has my stomach tense as fuck🫠

Thor is such a sassy king in this LOLL dramatic man with power 😮‍💨

A formal gala, with Bucky dressed up in a suit and you in the most alluring dress in your closet, could be the perfect place to earn a second warning. LMAOOOO YOU GO BABE !!!!!! 

“Okay darling, they’re closed.” He plays along, knowing that when it comes down to it, he would do anything you ask him without contest because it’s for you. My God shutup this whole encounter between them is literally the most freaking precious thing EVER☹️☹️

Bucky’s fearful that you won’t actually believe his statement, even though they are perhaps the most honest words that have ever left his lips. It’s no secret that before he met you, Bucky had enjoyed sleeping around - had entertained more than his fair share of attractive women in his bed, but after just one month officially as your boyfriend, becoming intimately familiar with your beautiful soul, he has zero doubts that you are the only woman he wants in that position for the remainder of his life. Em I'm SICK this is everything☹️❤️

You playfully slap his chest, giving him a kiss on the cheek, and then proceeding to rub your lipstick stain off, before pushing him along to get you a drink. He looks back at you as he walks away, almost bumping into the Chief of Surgery, apologising profusely with a guilty glance to you, before he shuffles off towards the bar. THE LOVE THEY HAVE IM SCREAMING 😭😭

“Months… how much can someone really change in a couple of months? There’s so many of us around the hospital he’s fucked. You really think he’s loyal to you?” You recoil at her words, not having expected the conversation to turn into whatever this was becoming, nor so soon into your small talk. I just gasped so loudly.............what a bitch 

“You don’t know him like I do and have no right to speak about him like that.” You state firmly with a small humph. If you weren’t at an event packed with your colleagues, you’d slap her. YESS STANDING ON BUSINESS BABY 

Coming to a compromise, your brain instead decides that being frozen in place, unable to look away like an impending car crash, is the best place for you to be. But that is also pure torture. this is so realistic😔 poor baby I'm feeling so bad for her rn

What if you are just Bucky’s practice run at being in a relationship, the one who fixes him up, teaches him all the valuable lessons, only for him to leave you and be the perfect partner to someone else? UGH EM the writer that you are !!!!! Seriously!!! The self doubting and silent spiral is so me lol so I can confidently say you wrote this out so well ❤️‍🩹 

There’s a split second where the whole world stands still, everyone at the gala other than the two of you disappear and it’s like you’re standing right in front of him, regardless of the space separating you. Their love 🥺🥺🥺 I will never be over them 

You lean your head on Bucky’s shoulder as he continues to rub your back. Why can’t the world just exist like this? Just the two of you in peaceful, quiet, solace. He kisses the top of your head and in that moment you know he’ll wait patiently, all night if that’s how long it takes, for you to explain how you’re feeling. I'm going to cry over this forever 

YOU'RE MY FUTURE YOU'RE MY EVERYTHING BE SO SERIOUS RIGHT NOW EM 

Fracture into a million pieces, the fabric of reality tearing apart at the seams around you as euphoria flows through you like wind on the surface of water. Every single cell in your body feels like it’s been lit on fire, burning bright like a shooting star soaring through a galaxy assembled by your love for him.  How actually dare you write this

“I love you.” Bucky confesses with a shaky breath, even though he is assured in his affection. Though you’re not conscious to receive his words, something about disclosing his most closely guarded secret to your beautiful face, finally admitting his profound feelings aloud, feels like an enormous step for him. Never in a million years did he think he could open his heart up far enough to allow space for these types of feelings to nestle within. “You are the most precious thing in my life. I’m never going to compromise what we have, never going to take you for granted. I’m going to love you and only you for every day I have left in this life and even when I’m no longer here, my soul will forever be yours.” A SLEEP CONFESSION I'M SO SICK HES SO FUCKING PRECIOUS 

A male paramedic was shot.  ........I know you did not do what I think you did.......... 

And then you see it. The thing that flatlines your heart. No.

You try not to break down seeing the sheer amount of blood, Bucky’s blood, soaking the gauze they are pressing into his shoulder wound, how pale and fragile he looks strapped down to the gurney. You’re an emergency medicine doctor, you’ve treated wounds like this before, confronted much more blood than this from a patient. But nothing in your training prepares you for observing your soulmate barely clinging to life, their claret staining your gloved fingers as you help maintain pressure, how cold his skin is to the touch, how his face looks almost serene even though these could be his final moments on earth, that he could be abandoning you for the warm embrace of death.   No simply no what the fuck hey what the hell 😃 em what the fuck! My heart is in my asshole right now you're so evil what the fuck is this babe!! (This is really written so beautifully but I'm mad at you currently) 

James Barnes simply wouldn’t exist anymore. STOP??????????? DON'T SAY SHIT LIKE THAT WHAT THE FUCK. 

You’d never hear his voice again. Or his laugh. I'm literally sobbing RN

Neither comes. You are fated to live in excruciating limbo, your lungs burning, as if you can’t take a breath until Bucky’s destiny has been sealed. Me fkin too 😭😭😭😭😭 

So I'm basically feeling all stages of grief RN but mostly denial🫶🏻 I simply refuse to believe you would do this to ME SPECIFICALLY?????? HOW DARE YOU😭😭😭 YOU GIVE ME ALL THE BEAUTIFUL THINGS SO WONDERFULLY AND LOVEY AND SOFT AND PERFECT AND THEN TO RIP IT ALL AWAY SO FORCEFULLY LIKE I'M THE ONE BEING SHOT WHAT THE HELL EM RESPECTFULLY WHAT THE FUCK. talk about a twist bc I was in denial from the beginning I really was thinking you'd make it Steve to throw us off but no she had to go and pull the trigger on my fucking man I'm so sick rn I'm going to bed until bucky wakes up.

In Situ

[He’s Hazardous To My Health Series]

Paramedic!Bucky Barnes x Resident!Fem!Reader

< < PART 8 | Series Masterlist

In Situ - meaning in the natural position (ie. Bucky’s place next to you)

Summary: You ask Bucky to accompany you to the hospital's fundraising gala.

Warnings: strictly 18+, unprotected soft loving sex, creampie, graphic depiction of gunshot wounds & significant bleeding to a major character, a bit of angst as they struggle to reveal their feelings, will we finally get an ‘I love you’??, certain ex-fling of Bucky’s makes an appearance, this part has a bit of everything, fluff, angst, smut all rolled into one; I will apologise in advance you have every right to hate me given the ending of this

Word count: a whopping 10.3k (buckle up)

A/N: this part is dedicated to the wonderful @treatbuckywkisses and @yenzys-lucky-charm, I haven’t updated this series in so long and I genuinely thought no one would care about it being incomplete but you both have left such sweet comments on the other parts that inspired me to continue with my vision for paramedic!bucky, so I hope you both enjoy my darling friends 🩵 banners by @vase-of-lilies

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It’s the start of a very long shift when the person you least want to encounter, Dr Thor Odinson, approaches you with a glowering expression which looks like the most accurate embodiment of ‘I would rather be anywhere else’.

You would rather quite literally be in any other room of the hospital than in trauma room 2 right now, but as your direct superior, you have to constantly take direction from the same man who tried to compete with Bucky for your affection, and then blacklisted you at work after you turned him down.

“Before you say no to this, I need you to know this is a requirement of your employment here and you cannot get out of it, no matter how much you might want to.” Thor states with the same amount of joy as if he were inviting you to a funeral. His hands fidget almost unconsciously with a sealed envelope as he speaks, before offering it to you with a firm, outstretched hand. “Believe me, I’ve already tried.”

You consider him for a moment, his eyes not quite meeting your examining gaze and nervously grinding his back teeth. Taking the envelope, you notice your name written in messy, scrawled handwriting on the front.

“Not sure why I wouldn’t want to, whatever you’re inviting me to sounds like the absolute time of my life.” You jest in an effort to diffuse the tension between you. Thor, however, doesn’t seem to find it funny as rather than a chuckle, you elicit the most forced eye roll you’ve seen in a while.

“It’s a fundraising gala, mostly for the research labs associated with the hospital, but part of the proceeds go to supporting patients without healthcare who otherwise would not afford our help.”

Though the thought of contributing to those of the community who are less fortunate, and find themselves in the unfortunately common situation of being in debt to a healthcare system which was designed to further cripple the already vulnerable, the lack of enthusiasm Thor is conveying during the conversation makes you wary of what important information you’re likely missing about the event.

“You’re allowed to bring a plus one.” He adds with a rising inflection, almost as if it’s a question rather than a statement.

Silence falls between you two, and for a moment you fully believe Thor is waiting for you to confirm whether you will be bringing Bucky as your date, which would just make this uncomfortable encounter even more awkward, but thankfully he speaks again before you need to say anything.

“You’ll be representing the ED, and more importantly the hospital, at this event. You and whomever you bring better be on your best behaviour, I don’t want to have to write you up again.” A smirk curves on your face as he walks away. Although there is a finality to his voice in which you know you won’t get out of this work event, Thor has reminded you of the very public display of affection Bucky showed you in the emergency room which had earned you an official warning from hospital HR.

A formal gala, with Bucky dressed up in a suit and you in the most alluring dress in your closet, could be the perfect place to earn a second warning.

* * *

The night of the Gala, Bucky knocks on your front door, feeling rather uncomfortable in this taut suit with the unnatural feeling of the shoulder pads compressing against his already broad shoulders.

He tries adjusting them as he waits, he wants to look his absolute best for you, to rival even a fraction of the radiance he’s sure you will exude tonight. But they feel even more out of place now he’s fiddled with them and regrets the decision until he hears the pattering of your footsteps behind the door.

“You have to close your eyes before you come in.” You call out to him in a playful voice, without opening the door. “I’m not ready yet.”

Bucky’s positive that in any state of undress or stage in the process of getting ready you are the most beautiful girl in the entire world, but a warmth spreads through his chest at the notion you’re wanting to look your best for him.

“Okay darling, they’re closed.” He plays along, knowing that when it comes down to it, he would do anything you ask him without contest because it’s for you.

Bucky hears the lock click as it opens and a small giggle, before the light pressure of a pair of lips on his.

“No peeking.” You request as you take his hand and lead him inside. Bucky knows your place like the back of his hand already and doesn’t need his eyes open to know that you take him towards the couch. “I’ll be right back, don’t you go anywhere.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” With each beat of Bucky’s heart his anticipation of seeing you only grows. He’s seen you in every way imaginable, naked and writhing for him, vulnerable with sickness, beaming with pride and joy, and yet every time he sees you he is continually flawed by how stunning you are in every scenario.

“Buck, you can open them.”

Bucky is simply lost for words. Never in all his life has he been in the presence of someone so utterly breathtaking. Looking at you now, practically radiating golden light, a brilliant smile tugging at the corners of your mouth, and your body looking downright heavenly in a form fitting dress which compliments the colour of your eyes, Bucky believes angels do actually exist.

“You are so beautiful.” He manages to stammer out once he’s picked his jaw up off the floor.

“Not as handsome as you in this suit.” You grip the lapels of his jacket to pull him even closer to you, straightening his tie in an action that overwhelms Bucky with a need to kiss you.

“What, this old thing?” He attempts to brush off your flattery, because next to you, there is positively no way anyone could compete with your beauty.

Bucky gulps the excessive saliva pooling in his mouth as his eyes roam your frame once again, because he can’t help but literally drool over how stunning you look - can’t believe that he gets to be the one who walks into the gala tonight with you on his arm.

The only other time he has felt this utterly floored by someone’s appearance was the first time he laid eyes on you as you strolled across the ER on that now historic day when he could not believe someone in scrubs and a lab coat could look so breathtakingly beautiful.

“You are genuinely the most gorgeous woman I have ever laid eyes on.”

Bucky’s fearful that you won’t actually believe his statement, even though they are perhaps the most honest words that have ever left his lips. It’s no secret that before he met you, Bucky had enjoyed sleeping around - had entertained more than his fair share of attractive women in his bed, but after just one month officially as your boyfriend, becoming intimately familiar with your beautiful soul, he has zero doubts that you are the only woman he wants in that position for the remainder of his life.

You kiss him in the breath after he finishes speaking, in that luscious, sensual way that no one else has ever kissed him and evokes a warm, fuzzy, almost life-ruining devotion, dare he say love, in his chest.

“Let’s just stay here tonight.” Bucky mumbles against your lips, his hands finding the zipper on the back of your dress and slowly unzips to let the fabric fall from your décolletage.

He can feel you smile against his lips but then you bruise his heart by pulling away and saying “As much as I would prefer to spend the whole night naked here with you, I’ve already been told I cannot miss this event.”

However, they aren’t words which scare Bucky away from a challenge, he dives back into the kiss, the tip of his tongue tangling with yours. He thinks he has you convinced when your hands start playing with the hair at the nape of his neck - you know how much he likes it and do it constantly to turn him on, but then you pull back and Bucky sighs.

“You’re insatiable, aren’t you?”

“Only when it comes to you.” He responds with a chuckle. You’re the only woman who’s ever had him whipped before, and Bucky’s not sure you realise how powerful the hold you have over him is.

“I promise, all we have to do is last an hour at this thing, and then you can take me home and have your way with me.”

* * *

You walk into the Gala, which is already packed with hospital staff dressed to the nines, hand in hand with Bucky who, in your opinion, looks magnitudes more handsome than any of the other men all dressed in black suits.

You turn to him and he’s already looking at you with that sparkle in his eye, like you’re absolutely perfect, just as you are, and there is nothing about you he would ever dream of changing.

“What?” You ask when those twinkling eyes don’t look away, but instead study your features as if there’s words left unsaid on the tip of his tongue.

“Just imagining pulling you into one of the on-call rooms, tearing this dress off you and tasting every inch of you.” Bucky shifts his hand to rest on the small of your back, his breath warm against your ear sending a shiver down your spine.

“Well, we have done some of our best work in there.” Bucky hums in agreement, both of you taking a second to remember the first of many visits to the on-call room which left you with shaking legs, but was also the first time either of you acknowledged that your feelings were deeper than simply hooking up. “I think you need to grab us both a drink to quench that thirst of yours, James.”

You playfully slap his chest, giving him a kiss on the cheek, and then proceeding to rub your lipstick stain off, before pushing him along to get you a drink. He looks back at you as he walks away, almost bumping into the Chief of Surgery, apologising profusely with a guilty glance to you, before he shuffles off towards the bar.

While Bucky is busy with that task, you instead make your way over to the other side of the atrium to take a look at the items available for the hospital's silent auction. You have to chuckle to yourself looking at the prices listed on the bidding sheets - as if anyone with medical school debt could afford to pay for even one of the allusive holidays or artefacts they had obtained for the fundraiser.

But you suppose your job tonight isn’t to bid on the items themselves, but to shmooze the wealthy guests in attendance into bidding with their spare millions.

Searching out one of the items at the lower end of asking prices, you decide to put an almost embarrassing low bid on an all expenses paid weekend to Mexico, that you know someone will outbid you on, just to say you participated in the night without needing to lie through your teeth.

You stroll through the busy hall, keeping your eyes peeled for Bucky near the bar but it seems you’ve lost him in the packed crowd. It’s usually fairly easy to spot your tall, broad boyfriend, and your heart sinks a little that you’re forced to walk aimlessly around the event as everyone else is wrapped in conversation.

“Doctor, lovely to run into you like this.” You hear a voice you’ve heard before but cannot place from behind you. And though you can’t actually see their face, the tone of their voice contradicts their words - they don’t seem pleased to see you at all.

Turning around, a face that evokes prickly apprehension in your chest comes into view. She’s hauntingly beautiful, the type of beauty which artists spend hours trying to commit to canvas and which is just not attainable for regular people like yourself. She holds herself like she’s closing out a Victoria Secret fashion show and is fully aware of the enchanting effect she has on any man who sets eyes upon her.

“Jacqui… I didn’t know pharmacy staff were invited to this thing.” Even with her disagreeable inflection, you do your best to sound pleasant.

“Oh well you are when you’re heading up the department.” She boasts, with a little wobble of her head which you mostly think is to draw attention to her shiny, voluminous blonde hair.

So is she just here to rub her new job title in your face?

“Congratulations, I didn’t know you got promoted.” You try to sound genuine even though you really couldn’t give a shit.

“I saw you walk in with Barnes. Where did he scamper off to?” You are now actually very glad to not have found Bucky in the crowd earlier. Something about the way she is trying to control the curiosity in her voice, and that she was actively watching the two of you together, makes you cautious of her intentions.

“Not sure, I was just looking for him.”

There’s a long pause where both of you refuse to be the next one to speak. You just want this conversation to be over. But you aren’t that lucky.

“How long have you two been together now?” The inquiry is almost punctuated with sharp spite, and though you don’t want to indulge her line of questioning, there’s a voice in the back of your head that’s telling you you need to defend your Bucky from whatever that time is implying.

“A couple months.” Is the defensive response you retort - it’s technically correct, though you’ve only been official for a month of that.

“Months… how much can someone really change in a couple of months? There’s so many of us around the hospital he’s fucked. You really think he’s loyal to you?” You recoil at her words, not having expected the conversation to turn into whatever this was becoming, nor so soon into your small talk.

Where the fuck was this coming from?

“I trust him implicitly.” You attempt to control the absolute bewildered facial expression that’s trying it’s very best to overtake your features.

“Oh you poor, naive thing.” She says with a tone you use when delivering bad news to patients' families. “Men don’t change, they just hide their true nature from you. Wait a few months, he’ll be back to his fuckboy ways, guys like him can’t resist cheating. I guarantee it.”

Most men are like that, at least in your experience. But Bucky has never given you any cause to believe he would treat you like that. Just because he had a reputation of casually sleeping around before meeting you, doesn’t mean once he’s in a relationship he’ll be unfaithful.

You can’t imagine the sweet man who walked into your place tonight with his eyes closed, waiting for your consent to see you fully dolled up in your gown and then proceed to call you the most beautiful woman he has ever laid eyes on, would ever cheat on you.

“You don’t know him like I do and have no right to speak about him like that.” You state firmly with a small humph. If you weren’t at an event packed with your colleagues, you’d slap her.

The look in her eyes appears like you’ve challenged her, but you don’t want to think about the connotations of that right now. Without saying goodbye, you turn on your heel, needing to get as far away from her as quickly as possible.

Rippling anxiety bubbles in your chest that in your experience only Bucky’s touch can soothe. You frantically search for him in the sea of black suits, trying to also keep half an eye out for Jacqui so you don’t accidentally run into her, but he is again nowhere to be found.

Where the hell is Bucky? Your mind practically screams as you bump into a strapping chest, but this one unfortunately belongs to the one and only Thor Odinson.

God, could he have worse timing?

You plaster on your best smile, trying your best to keep a calm facade as he introduces you to two older gentlemen he appears to be chaperoning for the night.

As wealthy and influential as they are, having made their billions from a tech empire started with a little trust fund from their families' generational wealth, you can’t find it in you to care at the minute. You just want to find Bucky. Need him to hold you until the tornado of anxiety dissipates in your chest.

But Thor doesn’t allow you to slip away unnoticed, instead he prompts you to talk up the work the team does in the emergency room, speaking about the people you save from all walks of life, from those without health insurance to the affluent who can afford the life saving medical procedures others fail to receive.

Knowing their donations tonight could mean the difference between many getting life saving medicine and not, you summon the will to engage in conversation, trying to push down the acidic bile bubbling in your stomach that had risen as result of your interaction with Jacqui.

The sharp taste remains on your tongue as you’re now caught in philanthropic discussion, silently cursing Thor who stands beside you for ever inviting you to this damn gala in the first place.

It’s at least fifteen minutes later when you finally excuse yourself from their presence, the two men having pulled out their cheque books, much to Thor’s delight, preparing to make generous contributions that would have the hospital naming wards after them.

You hate to think what trouble Jacqui could get up to in that time frame. But you don’t have to wait long to find out.

Finally, after searching near the whole hall for Bucky you find him. Goddess like Jacqui by his side.

She stands there, supermodel tall, blonde bouncy hair, beautiful, toned legs on display through the slit in her dress, a flirty smirk curving on her face, tucking strands of loose hair behind her ears like a schoolgirl with a crush.

The nerve of her, approaching Bucky at all, but especially after the words spoken between you earlier.

Just seeing them together, the most exquisitely gorgeous woman flirting with the man whom you love and confirmed less than half an hour ago to her you are in a relationship with, makes your insides tightly twist with jealousy, as if someone were wringing out a wet towel.

Half of your mind is telling you to stalk over there and possessively claim your man in front of everybody, but the other half, the insecure side which believes Bucky could do so much better than you, who would want someone as beautiful as Jacqui by his side, and which is currently winning the battle in your mind, wants to run off crying into the furthest corner of the hospital.

Coming to a compromise, your brain instead decides that being frozen in place, unable to look away like an impending car crash, is the best place for you to be. But that is also pure torture.

Bucky smiles, not quite his signature cocky smirk that never leaves his face when the two of you are together, but it’s definitely a smile nonetheless and your heart sinks through the pit of your stomach.

Men don’t change. He’ll be back to his fuckboy ways.

You’re not sure why you’re letting Jacqui’s words penetrate your mind, burrow into the deepest crevices and allow them to make a home there. You suspect it’s because at one point in time Bucky thought she was desirable enough to take home and do unexplainably filthy things with. Does he still have that same attraction for her?

What if you are just Bucky’s practice run at being in a relationship, the one who fixes him up, teaches him all the valuable lessons, only for him to leave you and be the perfect partner to someone else?

Practically paralysed in place as you watch their interaction, it feels like your heart has stopped beating all together when Jacqui strokes his arm. But buoyant relief comes near milliseconds later when Bucky brushes her off. That’s your man.

You can’t hear what they’re saying, but you distinctly see him mouth the words ‘I have a girlfriend’, which relieves some of the tension in your tightly wound heart.

Bucky frantically searches around the room, and appears to have found what he is looking for as his eyes settle on your face.

There’s a split second where the whole world stands still, everyone at the gala other than the two of you disappear and it’s like you’re standing right in front of him, regardless of the space separating you.

But when your mind catches up to all the drowning emotions swirling in your chest, an uncontrollable sob bubbles up your throat and tears sting your eyes. You’re not even upset with him, but the fear of what Jacqui had been planning on trying with him still manifests as a choking lump in your throat.

The physical distance between you throughout tonight has let doubt and hesitancy creep into the only small space in your heart Bucky’s affection has not yet touched. Jacqui planted the seed and it’s already bloomed into a large tree, branches crowding space in your tightening chest.

The last thing you remember seeing is Bucky taking a large stride towards you, before your hands fly to cover your mouth and you take off, walking as quickly as you can in your heels, to where you know the nearest on-call room is.

* * *

Prickling panic fills Bucky’s lungs.

Has he inadvertently just ruined the best thing in his life?

Jacqueline’s voice calls his name as he chases after you, watching as you weave between guests and make your way to the nearest exit, which only takes you deeper into the hospital.

He was naive enough to think Jacqueline’s intentions were innocent when she approached him for conversation, just two colleagues catching up at an event that neither of them were fully participating in, but he was sadly mistaken.

He’ll never make that blunder again.

Watching you shuffle into the nearest on-call room, Bucky takes it as a positive sign that he’s not the one you’re upset with, at least not completely, when you don’t slam the door in his face but instead leave it open knowing he’ll follow you inside.

Bucky stays by the doorframe for a split second, watching as you work to steady your breathing, hands wiping the corners of your eyes, but the overwhelming urge and the need to comfort you wins out and he can’t help but hastily rush to your side.

“Darling…” He starts to say but when you look at him with big, wide eyes that are filled with tears, his mind goes blank and all he can think about is holding you.

You turn into his chest, face nuzzled into his lapel, and his arms instinctively close around you.

It’s the little sob which escapes your lips that does Bucky in completely. He hates to see you upset, but never in the months of knowing you has he been privy to this amount of genuine distress. He’s seen some not so great days, shaking frustration, even teary eyed with sadness, but never breaking down weeping.

He would move heaven and earth to ensure you never feel this way again.

He places a feather light kiss to your hairline whispering, “I’m right here. Nothing can hurt you.”

Though it was not his intention, his words provoke more sobs to escape your throat and Bucky pulls you ever closer. He’s practically holding up your entire body weight, and decides you’ll probably be much more comfortable on the bed this on-call room provides.

Even seated, you cling to him like he’s your lifeline, and Bucky can’t ever imagine letting go. He’d drown if it meant holding you safely out of the rough, relentless rapids currently flooding your mind.

As a paramedic, he’s so used to taking action, launching into a crisis with the equipment to be able to provide aid, to prevent further suffering. But right now all you need is his presence, to be the anchor grounding you to this world as a reminder that you have someone in your corner fighting for your happiness.

He hates not being able to do more for you.

“Can you tell me what’s wrong?” Bucky asks after minutes of comforting you without words.

God, you feel so stupid. Crying at a work function because one of your boyfriend's ex-flings decided to flirt with him.

But it’s more than that - it’s the disrespect, the fact that she seems so entitled to Bucky’s affection simply because at some point in his history he slept with her, regardless of if she hurts you along the way to get to him. Do all the women at the hospital look at you like you’re an inconsequential ant they can step on to get what they want?

It doesn’t help that she's also the most stunning, physical personification of a man’s wet dream you’ve ever seen.

“It’s not you Buck, it’s her.”

He doesn’t answer immediately, just continues rubbing his large hand up and down your back, which tells you he’s confused by your statement. Perhaps you’re not making any sense in this outburst of emotion, you can barely keep your thoughts in a logical stream let alone expressing them eloquently.

“Jacqui, she… I told her we were together, she knew I was your girlfriend, and she still had the nerve to flirt with you.”

“I didn’t flirt back.” Bucky says defensively, and as much as you adore him, it’s making you frustrated having to spell it out for him how her actions have made you feel when your throat is aching from pure emotion.

You take a deep breath, allowing oxygen to diffuse into the deepest alveoli of your lungs, calming the constant stream of anxious thoughts, and letting you regain control of the tears falling from your eyes.

You lean your head on Bucky’s shoulder as he continues to rub your back. Why can’t the world just exist like this? Just the two of you in peaceful, quiet, solace. He kisses the top of your head and in that moment you know he’ll wait patiently, all night if that’s how long it takes, for you to explain how you’re feeling.

“I don’t know if it’s jealousy or insecurity. I genuinely don’t care how many women you were with before me Buck, it’s just a number, it doesn’t matter.” You sit up and look him in the eye, needing to convey just how vigorously you believe your statement. “It’s just… it's a soul crushing feeling that people in the hospital, people I have to work with every day, use the fact that you’ve slept with them to make me feel uncomfortable. That somehow because they know what you look like naked it diminishes our relationship and then they feel entitled to flirt with you and try and fuck you even though they know you’re dating me.”

The misery in Bucky’s eyes is almost tangible, and maybe it’s just an illusion from tears in your own, but seeing you hurting makes him start to cry too. His large hands engulf both of yours and his thumb strokes the backs of your hands resting comfortingly in your lap.

Previous partners have always brushed you off, gaslit you or raised their voice and called you crazy when you expressed an ounce of self-doubt or insecurity, but Bucky listens to each of your words with a determined focus, taking the weight of them on himself, as if they have just as much significance to him as they do to you.

“Darling, I’m so sorry Jaqueline made you feel that way. She had no right. But you need to know there is not a single woman on the face of this earth that could tempt me away from you, no matter how hard they try. No one has ever had me like you do.”

The panic beating of your heart starts to calm when Bucky places gentle kisses to your knuckles. His eyes brim with trepidation, as if he’s just realised how fragile relationships can be and he’s desperately trying to hold onto you, preventing you from ever letting go again.

“I can’t change my past, as much as I might want to, but all I know is you’re my future.” Tears trickle out of the corners of your eyes, but now the reason being due to happiness at Bucky’s sweet confession.

What did you ever do to deserve him?

“My life before I met you was dull, black and white reruns of the same shit each day. Since I met you, everything is in vivid colour. If I could go back in time and wait for you, I would. If I knew you were around the corner, there wouldn’t be any other women. But to me, you’re the only woman that matters. It’s so profoundly better with you because I-, because I care about you beyond comprehension. There were never any feelings with anyone else. You are the only person I have ever felt this way for. You have nothing to be insecure about or anyone to be jealous of, you’re the only woman in my eyes, and I-, you’re my everything.” For someone who constantly says he isn’t very good with words, Bucky always seems to know exactly what to say to make you fall even more in love with him. They are perfect words. Precisely what you need to hear from the man who has quickly become the reason for your being.

There’s a buoyancy in your chest as those familiar eyes, so blue you could drown in, examine your face for any non verbal cues of how you’ll react to his words.

“You really feel that way James?” You ready yourself, inadvertently grinding your teeth, waiting, hoping, wishing for him to say those three little words that will take your relationship to the next level.

But that hope pops like a bubble floating in the wind.

“Darling, I would never lie to you.” He punctuates with a kiss to your lips, slow and fervent, full of meaning. The look in his eye tells you he wants to reveal more, but it passes in a blink. “C’mon, let me take you home, and I’ll show you just how much I care.”

Bucky’s firm hold on your hand never leaves yours as he leads you back through the gala. You notice some glance at you, but all you’re focussed on is your boyfriend, his head held proudly high, not giving a damn what other hospital staff are whispering under their breaths.

* * *

Bucky slowly unzips the back of your dress, the material slowly falling away from your shoulders. A shiver runs down your spine as his lips kiss down the path of the zipper, starting between your shoulder blades, careful not to miss a single inch of skin as your dress bunches around your stomach and hips.

“You were the most beautiful woman there tonight. You’re the most beautiful woman in the whole world.” He whispers against your skin, in such a sure tone you can’t help but believe him. His hands roaming over the base of your spine before gently pulling your dress over your hips. “Can’t believe I got to be the man who walked in with you as my partner.”

Bucky turns you around to kiss you once you’re bare for him. The passion, zealousness of his lips feels like you’re drowning in a tender devotion he could not articulate with just words themselves.

You don’t need to break away from the kiss to push his jacket off, unbutton his shirt, nor unbuckle his belt. He’s as hard as a rock, standing at attention ready for you as soon as his trousers hit the floor.

“My darling girl…” He practically growls in your ear when you cup his balls with one hand as the other starts stroking him, using your thumb to spread the pearly bead of precum over his tip whilst placing kisses to his chest. “This will be a very short, one act play if you keep doing that.”

“I’ve barely touched you Buck.”

“Mmm, I know. That’s just how much you turn me on.” The signature smirk he shoots you turns your stomach to mush, and makes you feel like you’re the dazzling sun at the centre of his universe.

Bucky’s large hands pull you down on the bed, on top of him. He sits you on his thick thighs, tongue sweeping into your mouth, hands exploring your every curve.

You wish you could live in this moment forever, relishing in how much care Bucky holds you with, but still manages to make you feel like you’re the sexiest woman in the solar system.

It hits you square in the chest when his soothing, wide blue eyes look up at you with a familiar tenderness that gives life to butterflies in your stomach, that you would do anything for the man underneath you, the man you love.

“What do you want, darling?” Bucky asks between breaths as he sucks on your hard nipple, his tongue swirling, doing magical things that could make you cum just like this. “What do you need?” He adds, switching to your other breast, which makes it hard to control your stream of thoughts - but there is one thing at the forefront of your mind that you don’t have to consider to know you need desperately.

“You.”

He lets out a groan around your nipple and you suspect thrusts his hips up involuntarily, just to feel closer to you.

“I need you Buck.” You repeat, tucking your finger under his chin and bringing his lips up to tenderly touch yours, as the urge to kiss him overcomes you. If it were up to you, the remainder of your life would be spent with your lips locked with his.

“How?” His stubble scratches the tips of your fingers as you cup his face. The desire brimming in his eyes, the hunger to ravish every part of you, the yearning to have you so close to him you can’t tell where you end and he begins, leaves you breathless.

“Just like this, please.” Your voice is barely above a whisper, but your imploring tone inspires Bucky on, not wanting to waste a single second more where the two of you are not joined.

Your forehead rests against his, his eyes boring into yours as he simultaneously uses one hand to assist you lifting yourself to hover over him, and the other to line his tip up to your dripping entrance.

An obscene sound from the back of your throat topples from your lips as you sink down on Bucky's cock. He doesn’t take his adoration filled eyes off you for a single second, even to blink, as he fills you up completely. A whine escapes his lips once you’re seated on his thighs, appreciating how your pussy is swallowing his entire, impressive length.

“You enjoy sitting on your throne?” You can tell he’s trying to tease, a mischievous twinkle in those deep blue eyes, but his voice quivers slightly, almost as if it’s strained, which you know him too well to realise is a dead giveaway for just how aroused he is.

How aroused he is by you.

That fact alone is enough for you to start grinding against him, hips moving back and forth, working up a rhythm that has you seeing stars and him groaning your name.

Both of his large, calloused hands are resting on your hips, helping you keep the tempo, making sure each rock of your hips results in your clit being stimulated against his pelvis. His lips find your collarbone, teeth scraping your delicate skin, the sensation of which clears your mind of any coherent teasing response you could have come up with.

“Fuck, look at you fucking yourself on me. You’re a fucking dream.” Bucky’s mouth is one of the most arousing parts of him, not only for what his lips and tongue can do to your body but also for the salacious words he speaks in that gravelly tone which turns you on just as much as his body does. “That’s it, fuck me darling, this cock is all yours.”

“Buck you’re so deep.” Is all you can think, all you can feel is how his length is nestled within you, how much he fills you up. You’re bursting because of how satiated you feel with him inside you, but Bucky’s musky, woody scent, as well as his warm, tender touch surrounds you from the outside, you feel like he’s everywhere all at once, and it brings you right to the brink of coming undone.

“Be a good girl and cum for me.” In this moment you want to give him everything you have, give him everything he’s asking for and more. His voice is gentle the next time he speaks, a murmur just for you, and matches the softness in his gaze. “It’s okay, I got you. Let go for me.”

Bucky sucks the pulse point on the side of your throat and it’s the complete end of you. You shudder, feeling safe caged in his arms as ecstasy fires up from the base of your spine through every neuron in your body, your toes curling, fingers scratching down Bucky's back - you can even taste it on the tip of your tongue as you scream his name.

Your legs shake uncontrollably, unable to continue your pattern of movement grinding down against him, but Bucky takes matters into his own hands by wrapping his arms around your waist and fucking up into you to prolong your high.

Once you’ve finally stopped seeing stars, your vision coming back into focus, all you can see is the adoration, pure captivation as he looks up at your sweaty form trying to catch your breath.

“That’s the most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen.”

No one’s ever looked at you like this before, as if you’re the only girl in the world, the only person that matters to them, the one who holds their fragile heart in the palm of your hands and trusts you not to break it.

A dangerous thought flashes through your mind - do you dare tell Bucky that you love him for the first time right now, in the middle of the throes of passion. You have always wanted to let him set the pace of the relationship - he was the one who wanted to take it slow, not rushing into anything, but you can tell by the blooming warmth spreading through your chest, you have never loved someone more than you love him right now.

Bucky reaches up and affectionately brushes his thumb over the apple of your cheek, and before you can think twice about if you truly want to confess your devotion in this moment, he’s kissing you again.

Before you can even recognise what he’s doing, his toned arms have engulfed you in a tight embrace, and without pulling out of you, he flips you onto your back, making sure your head rests gently on one of your pillows. His body weight presses you deliciously into the mattress, it feels like being tucked in securely with a weighted blanket that just so happens to look like a Greek god.

“Need to feel you cum on my cock again, it’s so fucking addicting.” Bucky practically growls in your ear, his breathing heavy. His long chestnut hair falls into his eyes, but it doesn’t prevent him from gazing at you with a tangible combination of awe and lust.

The thrust of his hips is downright sinful. You feel the longing absence of each inch of him as he pulls out, only for him to split you apart again as his hips snap forward. Bucky starts out slow, his fingers intertwine with yours, forcing your hands above your head, but when he starts placing open mouthed kisses on the underside of your jaw, his strokes pick up momentum.

James Barnes has you in a trance, caged in by the sheer size of him, each languid, sensual thrust into you tightens the knot twisting into shape at the bottom of your belly.

He’s so breathtakingly beautiful, the most gorgeous person you’ve ever laid eyes on. As his shining pupils fixate on the pleasure contorting your face you ponder if he is possibly thinking the exact same way about you.

The moans dripping from his lips, mixed with grunted curses, along with the telltale crease in his forehead, and the fact that his teasing mouth can’t come up with anything coherent is evidence of how close he is. But you know Bucky’s generous heart better than anyone, perhaps even himself, and you are sure he’ll be determined not to cum before you.

One of his large hands continues to pin your wrists down as the other moves to wrap your legs tighter around his waist. Then he has the fucking audacity to rub the pads of his fingers over your clit in tight circles. You’re so done for.

“Bucky, oh fuck… yes, just like that.” You manage to stammer out, barely able to move with his weight pinning you beneath him, knowing your body is hurtling towards an inescapable, forceful orgasm, and all you can do is feel as Bucky plays your body like a fiddle.

“Please, need you to… I can’t last like this.” You can feel the desperate, animalistic timbre of his deep voice in your chest and his hot breath against your neck. “Darling please.”

And then you shatter.

Fracture into a million pieces, the fabric of reality tearing apart at the seams around you as euphoria flows through you like wind on the surface of water. Every single cell in your body feels like it’s been lit on fire, burning bright like a shooting star soaring through a galaxy assembled by your love for him.

Bucky speaks your name as a prayer, a vow, a promise. Over and over again. A reminder that you are who he is coming apart for.

It almost makes you dizzy how lost he is in the feel of you, how his hands spread you open as far as your legs will flex, but then you hear the wanton whimper as he spills his orgasm inside you and it’s almost enough to make you cum again.

As your heart rates slowly return to normal, Bucky lays down beside you, cupping your face tenderly as his tongue slips once again into your mouth. You would have thought given the display of passion just produced he’d have had his fill of physical affection, but he continues to surprise you.

Who would have guessed that Bucky ‘doesn’t go on second dates’ Barnes would now be clinging to you like a koala, not being able to get enough of your touch.

* * *

“Sweet dreams Buck.” You whisper in that tired, yet sickly sweet tone that Bucky associates with the contentment of falling asleep beside you.

”They’ll all be about you.” He responds with a delicate kiss to your forehead, fingers tracing gentle lines up and down the expanse of your back.

“Then I wish you nothing but dirty dreams.”

He rarely dreams of anything else nowadays, but it makes him smile nevertheless that your minds think in such similar ways.

You really are the girl of his dreams.

Even more than that, if there was an expression which captured just how significant you had become intertwined in his life after a relatively short period of time. His brain could not have concocted someone as perfect as you, even in his wildest fantasies.

He holds you close to him in the total darkness as your breathing slows, but there are too many thoughts racing through Bucky’s brain for him to fall asleep.

Tonight was perfect. Complete, utter perfection. Not that he expects any less of a night spent with you.

So why, even after building the courage all week ahead of the gala, (and if he was honest with himself, since the week he swapped to be on the night shift with you), had he yet to utter those three magic words?

Steve would say there was one final wall around Bucky’s heart he had yet to pull down for you, to reveal his deepest darkest vulnerability that he could barely admit to himself, let alone the flawless woman who consumed his every waking thought.

The insecurity he had been plagued with since he was fourteen years old and his father had wished death upon him.

The fear that he is innately unloveable.

Just because he loves you in a way that influences his every decision, impacts every aspect of his existence, and alters the chemistry of his brain, doesn’t mean you are as hauntingly consumed by devotion as he is.

And even though the rational part of his brain tries reminding him you would not have shown such patience and stuck around as he clumsily attempted to manoeuvre being in a relationship for the first time if you truly did not want to be with him, that nagging insecurity is always at the back of his mind like a fog that won’t clear, doubting whether after everything he has endured, if he is deserving of being loved the same way he adores you.

But at some point Bucky knows he needs to find the bravery to take that leap, even if your possible rejection would be his ultimate downfall.

“Darling?” Bucky whispers as quietly as he can into the still night air. You don’t stir, nor do you respond, which is exactly what he’s hoping for. “Darling, are you awake?” He questions slightly louder so that you couldn’t help but hear him considering his proximity.

You continue to rest peacefully, lips slightly parted and breathing steadily, which is precisely how you always appear when sleeping beside him, but given the gravity of what he is about to reveal to you, Bucky has to be absolutely positive you’re in a deep slumber.

“Chicken butt.” He says randomly, hoping that if you are feigning sleep this will cause a crack in your rather convincing facade. But to his delight, your expression doesn’t change in the slightest, no muscle in your face so much as flinches, and Bucky is finally convinced.

He takes a deep breath, readying himself even though he knows you’re unable to hear him.

“I love you.” Bucky confesses with a shaky breath, even though he is assured in his affection. Though you’re not conscious to receive his words, something about disclosing his most closely guarded secret to your beautiful face, finally admitting his profound feelings aloud, feels like an enormous step for him. Never in a million years did he think he could open his heart up far enough to allow space for these types of feelings to nestle within. “You are the most precious thing in my life. I’m never going to compromise what we have, never going to take you for granted. I’m going to love you and only you for every day I have left in this life and even when I’m no longer here, my soul will forever be yours.”

You provide no response, features stay perfectly still, breathing rate doesn’t change. Which is of course exactly the reaction he’s hoping for while you rest, but he can’t stop his mind from wondering what your reply might be if you were awake; if you’d profess the words back to him, or if instead you’d recoil, shying away possibly because Bucky was moving too quickly.

Nevertheless, Bucky knows better than most that life can be painfully short, everyone has their expiration date, and you need to tell the people in your life how much you care about them before it’s too late.

“I love you.” He repeats with a smile and a kiss to your bare shoulder. Though he is navigating the all consuming, anxiety riddled, life ruining feeling of falling in love for the first time, Bucky knows with absolute certainty that he would go through it all again, one hundred times over, if it meant getting to spend his life with you.

But now for the difficult part - he has to say those three life changing words when you’re actually awake to hear them.

* * *

When the irritating ringing of your alarm wakes you up the following morning, a wave of disappointment washes over you. The night before with Bucky had been nothing short of memorable; complete with overflowing emotion, devotion, and no hint of apprehension from the man who had previously told you himself he wanted to take the relationship slow.

It was the most tangible display of pure love you have ever beheld.

But now, you lay alone in a web of cold sheets, Bucky’s place beside you unnaturally empty. When he has an early shift, typically he wakes you before he leaves, and at the very least gives you a kiss on the forehead, if not a much more intimate show of affection. But today, you have no recollection of being woken, no memory of his pillow soft lips on yours.

You find it takes a much more determined effort to get out of bed without an energising kiss from your Bucky.

The gala is the talk of the hospital, those who did not receive an invite interrogating everyone who attended for all the latest gossip. You hear your and Bucky’s names dropped a couple times in passing conversation, but all that does is remind you of the night before, and Bucky proclaiming his devotion to you while extracting a pleasure from your body no one else has been able to produce.

Tonight, you promise yourself, those three small words that have been tugging at your mind for the last month, tonight you’ll tell Bucky.

His declaration of wanting to take your relationship slowly was all the way back before your second date, before you officially became his girlfriend, before you held him as his mother underwent life saving surgery, before you knew of his traumatic past, before he switched to the night shift just so he could see you more often, before last night where he told you you are his everything.

Regardless of if he says the words back, you need to tell him. Need him to know that he is the love of your life, that synapses in your brain have reformed so your train of thought always comes back to him, that he has rewritten the molecular code inscribed in your cells so that they crave him like water, drawing him in like osmosis.

Your thoughts are interrupted by your pager going off, calling an all hands on deck emergency.

The ER is a frenzy of nurses clearing trauma rooms, doctors discharging patients who have already been seen to and Dr Strange shouting at surgical staff to prepare the operating rooms.

“There was a shooting at the mall. Police and paramedics are on scene, but it sounds bad.” Wanda fills you in as you both wash your hands and put gloves on, getting ready for the volume of blood and carnage that comes with gunshot wounds.

Dr Strange gathers the emergency medicine team together to brief you all on what you’re about to face. His face is stoic, having treated too many disasters to even seem phased by the decimation of so many lives.

You have not mastered that, but you also like having your humanity, caring about people is what you do best.

“So far we know of eight victims being routed here. There will most likely be more. All G.S.Ws, five women, two men and a child, about eight. One of the men was a paramedic on scene.” The last sentence out of his mouth gives you pause.

A male paramedic was shot.

“A paramedic? Did they say who? Give a description?” All eyes turn to you and no one needs to say it aloud to know exactly what you’re thinking.

“No, that’s all the information we have at this time. They should only be a few minutes out.” You’ve never known Dr Strange to be very sympathetic, but the look he shoots at you is what you assume to be the most compassion he is capable of.

The nagging part of your brain that always finds a route to the most devastating scenario, no matter how unlikely, is screaming so loudly you cannot ignore it.

What if that paramedic is Bucky?

There would have to be thousands of paramedics in a city of this size, what would the chances actually be that Bucky is the one paramedic in critical danger at this very moment.

But the universe has always found a way to be cruel to you, with the exception of when it brought devilishly handsome Bucky Barnes into your life. But what could be more cruel than introducing you to unconditional love and then destroying your heart by taking it away just as swiftly?

Wanda, sensing your paralysing worry beside her, comfortingly strokes her hand up and down your upper arm. “He was working the morning shift today, his shift will be well and truly over. He shouldn’t have been working when the shooting happened.”

“Yeah… he was on morning shift today.” Reminding yourself how you woke up in bed alone. Your lips tremble as you attempt to talk yourself down from the ledge of sheer panic. But your best friend can tell this fact doesn’t convince you.

“Call him.” Wanda instructs with a level voice, only a small glisten in her pupils gives away that she too is worried for his safety.

Your hands are shaking uncontrollably as you locate his contact in your favourites, accidentally dialling your mum first before you see the picture you have of the two of you together set as his contact pop up as it starts ringing.

Time stands perfectly still, the bustling hospital which is always full of movement, the constant beeping of patients pulse oximeters, announcements sounding over the PA, it all goes dead silent and all you hear is the ring tone of a phone call which Bucky isn’t answering.

Pick up. Pick up. Pick up.

It goes to voicemail, his voice filling your ears but it’s of no relief because it’s only a recording.

You press his contact again.

And again.

And again.

The fourth time you’re forced to listen to his infuriating voicemail, you leave a panicked message. “Bucky I’m so worried about you, please ring me back as soon as you get this. There’s been a shooting. Please, I need to hear your voice, hear that you’re alright. Please.”

You thought he’d pick up the phone and relieve you from this torment, but now knowing he hasn’t answered after multiple calls, you’re more convinced than ever it’s him that’s been shot.

“Wanda if it’s-”

“You can’t think like that.” But that's all you can think about. Your job, the duty you have to these patients who are en route to the hospital, none of that comes close to the need to know Bucky is unharmed.

The world starts moving in slow motion as the first of the patients arrives. Time runs like molasses, but the anxiety in your chest turns up one hundred fold, as if flashes of lightning strike your chest one after another.

A woman gets pushed in on a gurney, light brown hair stained with blood, and even from the sight of how the paramedic needs to hold her skull flap to her head to prevent her brain being exposed, you know she won’t make it as much as the surgeons will try to save her.

There’s a child, not much bigger than Sasha who you treated the day you first met Bucky, that gets pushed through next. In complete juxtaposition, she’s sitting up talking to paramedics, arm in a sling, but mostly looks unharmed.

And then you see it. The thing that flatlines your heart.

Chestnut hair and an EMT uniform.

You’d know those thick, wavy locks anywhere.

“Bucky!” You don’t even recognise your own voice with how much terror it is consumed with. This can’t be happening. This can’t be real.

In a flash you’re by his side, keeping pace as they wheel him deeper into the hospital, your lungs and throat scorching with distress.

You try not to break down seeing the sheer amount of blood, Bucky’s blood, soaking the gauze they are pressing into his shoulder wound, how pale and fragile he looks strapped down to the gurney. You’re an emergency medicine doctor, you’ve treated wounds like this before, confronted much more blood than this from a patient. But nothing in your training prepares you for observing your soulmate barely clinging to life, their claret staining your gloved fingers as you help maintain pressure, how cold his skin is to the touch, how his face looks almost serene even though these could be his final moments on earth, that he could be abandoning you for the warm embrace of death.

Not your Bucky. They can’t take your Bucky.

“Buck, can you hear me?” Your hand cups his cheek, and he’s as cold as ice. His eyes are shut so he can’t even look at you to give you one last chance to memorise the astonishingly blue irises which have been your source of solace since meeting him.

A mask covers his mouth and nose, delivering rescue breaths. You try to place a block in your mind to stop it from retrieving the medical knowledge you have spent years memorising - you don’t want to know how catastrophic a situation his body must be in to be needing rescue breaths.

“I love you, James. You hear me? I love you!” It almost ends your existence when he doesn’t answer, doesn’t even so much as flinch at your confession. You hope any part of him that is still alive inside the casing of his cold body manages to hear those words.

Dr Strange and Wanda have to physically restrain you from following the team treating Bucky and prevent you entering the operating theatre.

Dr Strange’s voice sounds like a hum, too far away to make sense of even though he’s pushing you away from the OR. All you’re focussed on is keeping your eyes on Bucky for as long as you can.

Is this the last time you will ever see him alive?

It’s only once he is out of sight, that your brain starts to catch up to the realisation of what has actually happened.

Bucky was shot. A bullet ripped through his skin, tearing muscle and fascia, lacerating his organs, possibly fatally wounding him.

Bullets are designed to kill. To end the life of the organism the gun barrel is aimed at. There is no mercy from a gunshot wound, you had seen too many to believe better.

A guttural cry forces its way out of your parched windpipe without you being able to prevent it, your kneecaps sting as you fall to the ground. Hot, large tears cascade onto your cheeks as Wanda’s arms engulf you.

Any second now, James Buchanan Barnes’ heart could be taking its final beat and you wouldn’t be any wiser. His lungs would stop breathing, preventing oxygen from binding to hemoglobin in his blood and reaching his brain. Everything else would shut down quickly from there.

One second he’d be here and the next he wouldn’t.

James Barnes simply wouldn’t exist anymore.

You had seen it too often, heard from bereaved family members time and time again how quickly it had all happened, but it wasn’t until this very moment that you understood the magnitude of that sentiment.

How could he go from telling you yesterday night that you were the most beautiful sight he had ever laid eyes on to now possibly his cold, lifeless body laying on an operating table with his soul having crossed over to the afterlife?

You’d never hear his voice again. Or his laugh.

Never see his dazzling sapphire eyes as they regard you with overwhelming affection.

Never feel that warm rapture blooming in your chest when he’d proclaim himself as yours and kiss you in the same breath.

He’ll never get to know you love him.

It feels as though you are tumbling wildly down into an abyss, waiting for the inevitable crash at the bottom that would either end this eternal suffering or that sudden jerk, the lurch as you wake up from this cruel nightmare.

Neither comes. You are fated to live in excruciating limbo, your lungs burning, as if you can’t take a breath until Bucky’s destiny has been sealed.

Oxygen would be the gift you’d allow yourself once your love was awake and talking again; cracking stupid jokes with his signature cocky smirk and flirting with you like you were on your first date again.

And if he were to pass into the next life, taking your heart with him, then you would simply refuse to take another breath until you were reunited with him once again.

Part 10 coming soon

Be added to the series taglist here

He’s Hazardous To My Health [Paramedic!Bucky Barnes] Taglist: @lavenderpenumbra @crazyunsexycool @eralen @buckbuckyoongs @blackwidownat2814 @crayongirl-linz @ozwriterchick @desert-fern @misshale21 @chalesleclerc164 @rookthorne @janineb86 @emmabarnes @scarletbich @princezzjasmine @thebuckybarnesvault @doasyoudesireandlive @solitarioslilium @iamfandomwasted @tanyaspartak @pop-rocks-818 @Dumdidditydumdoo @missvelvetsstuff @kayden666 @amiimar @katheryn1 @safew0rd @kentokaze @thewackywriter @lady-loki-barnes-djarin @badasswlthafatass @loveoldmenlikelana @00cmh @pointless-girl @honeyglee @nerdxacid @ashhsage @prettylittlepluviophile @otomefromtheheart @sjsmith56 @mandijo17 @lokidokieokie @oceansandblackhearts @rebeccapineapple @soorwellystan @excusememrbarnes @lofaewrites @snapcapquartet @wishingwell-2 @aya-fay @lowkeysebby @redbarn1995 @lex-is-up-all-night-to-get-bucky

[thepunkmuppet]

the reason why transfem elias is my favourite theory for gwendolyn is because think about the implications.

so let’s say this alternate universe reveals that elias is actually transgender, and would present/identify as female if they had the opportunity to figure themself out and transition (elias was reportedly very young when jonah possessed them)

then the idea that in the tma universe they not only didn’t live long enough to do that, but THEIR BODY WAS TAKEN OVER BY SOMEONE ELSE WHO THEN PRESENTED IN A MASCULINE WAY AND LIVED AS A MAN USING THEIR FACE AND BODY FOR OVER TWENTY YEARS?!? FUCKING TERRIFYING

as a trans person myself, even though the real elias was dead the dysphoria that idea gives me is absolutely unreal, and really creeps into serious body/existential horror territory which i think would be really interesting and very in-character for a writer like jonny to explore.

[mishy-mashy]

Bruce is actually really attractive, and I have enough reasoning to make a list

He's:

Tall (. Tall enough to hit his head on the vault doorframe)

Long-legged

Has a straight nose bridge

Has high cheekbones (more noticeable in 2nd pic below)

Has a strong jawline

Sharp eyes, but they aren't small (plus eyebags if you're into that)

Overall, he has strong, attractive facial features

Has broad, refined shoulders. You can tell he works out (or he did, when he was alive)

Even has a thick, muscly neck

He has MUSCLE. Is SCULPTED. NOICE. VERY NOICE. (nice arms. Nice shoulders. Nice neck. Nice legs. Nice butt-)

(There are actually panels where you can see some of his muscles. Other than those already shown here, he's got bricky thighs-

-and in the panels where we first get his name dropped, he's got those shoulder blades too-)

The one time we see him smile, and he actually has a scary one

Has small, kinda sharp pupils, and his eyes remind me of a cat. We only ever saw him tense or defensive, so his resting/listening face is really cute

Other than the physical appearance stuff, he also:

Takes shit without batting an eye (patience, knowing it's just how Kudo is, etc)

Kudo being all "Cut the crap Bruce and give it to me straight", after Bruce tests his blood and is rightfully Concerned because they just faced AFO

Put up with Kudo's experimenting and testing over Yoichi's transferable Factor

Did ya'll see the look on Kudo's face when he realized he had Yoichi's Factor/will? Kudo was going to start in nonsense and Bruce just dealt with that.

Also something I noticed when looking back at the images here; Bruce has bandages on his arms in the void. But not when he faced AFO in the sewers.

Were he and Kudo cutting their arms open in their experimenting over Yoichi's theory? Is this why Kudo has two gauntlets instead of his one? Why we never see his bare arms in the void? That he always keeps his arms down so there's no slip?

Is smart enough to run blood tests, plus has enough common sense to pick Shinomori as his successor

He picked a guy who avoids society, has an Ability to detect danger so he can always stay away from AFO, is also a coward so he's never going to go throw himself into danger, even without knowing instinctively he stands no chance, etc.

Meanwhile, Kudo chose Bruce, who he played Hot Potato Yoichi with; but he did also trust Bruce, and put the only pure combative Ability in OFA through Bruce.

These two made their choices based on what they valued and saw the Factor needed.

Is logical, analytical, and calm.

He tried advising Midoriya on their Abilities in One For All, especially his own.

Midoriya then tried ignoring him about using Fa Jin for the first time, but found he was right, thinking: "Dammit!! I had [Lady Nagant] right where I wanted her, but... ugh! The Third was right. My parallel Quirk processes are all screwed up!" (ch. 314).

Plus, when Midoriya fixed his processing mistakes, Bruce was analyzing the way he reached his new conclusion. Pure facts, no bias, very calm, just saying it as it was.

We never see him panic. When he's caught by surprise in the sewers by AFO, Kudo, and Yoichi's little bubble event, he immediately reacts. He doesn't falter, he just knows he has to do something right now.

Was more willing to listen than Kudo to Yoichi's beckon, and probably was just following Kudo's rejection of Midoriya

While we don't see Kudo's face, we see Bruce's eyes when Yoichi calls on his heroes. Bruce was more open and receptive, or at least more impacted.

Bruce was also the one to start talking, while Kudo just kept quiet.

He actually communicates a lot

When Yoichi called them to support Midoriya, Bruce started talking to paint a picture of why they thought the way they did, so Yoichi understood where they were coming from.

(Though he seems to beat about the bush sometimes, since Kudo spoke up to be direct on how they couldn't just put their trust in some starry-eyed teenager. Plus, when Kudo tells him to just tell him what's wrong [double Factors])

When Midoriya first used Fa Jin against Nagant, Bruce came out just to tell him he knew what he was trying, but that Midoriya wasn't ready; and Midoriya found he was right. Midoriya just didn't want to listen to him then.

He asks Kudo for clarification after finding Kudo had two Factors in him after the sewer incident ("Just to be sure, All For One didn't touch you, right?") Kudo knew him well enough to go "stop beating around the bush and tell me", so Bruce was probably gonna start with questions, theories, and trying to understand everything in general, before saying "yeah you have two Factors. Don't know why".

Is strong-willed and loyal.

He followed Kudo, even to death, carrying on the cause he started until it ended with him.

Plus, when talking about how AFO needs a strong will to override OFA's own, we first see Bruce, Kudo, and Yoichi.

AFO couldn't steal OFA because the will was too strong for him, and that was back during Banjo's time. Since Shinomori never actually tried opposing AFO and just hid, we can assume the first Three (Yoichi, Kudo, Bruce) already had an accumulation of strong willpower that made OFA un-stealable. Those three are a strong enough foundation, and the main wills, that the other users just become bonuses.

Kudo, also saying that Midoriya needs allies with the same will and drive as him... hey Kudo, you're talking about yourself and your old allies, aren't you? That's why you look at Yoichi and Bruce when you say this.

Not only is Bruce attractive, but he's got good character. THE END.

[misakiisstupid]

Oh, Cass, it’s definitely a good idea. Let me tell you why!

You’ll find your own community. Tumblr has so many people who are just like you. From people who love martial arts to fans who admire your quiet strength and badassery, you’re going to connect with so many like-minded folks.

**Your meme game will be next-level. Imagine sharing all your silent but deadly moves in meme form. You can be the one to break the internet with your pure, unfiltered aesthetic. No words needed—just pure Cass Cain energy.

You can share your thoughts without saying a word. You’re good with action, Cass, but sometimes, it’s nice to have an outlet for your thoughts. Tumblr lets you share what’s going on in your mind in any form you want—text, gifs, pictures—no pressure. And sometimes, silence speaks louder than words.

**Fan art is gonna blow your mind. People are going to draw you. Like, a lot. They’ll capture your elegance, your strength, and your quiet beauty in a way that’s going to make you feel like the superhero you are. Prepare for your inbox to explode with fan creations.

You’ll have an outlet for your emotions. If you ever need to vent, Tumblr is full of people who understand. Whether you’ve had a rough day or just need to express how you’re feeling, there’s always a community here that will listen and support you.

You can keep an eye on your Batfamily. The Batfamily can be a bit… chaotic, but on Tumblr, you’ll have a front-row seat to what everyone’s up to. You’ll catch up on the latest happenings in Gotham and get all the gossip without having to sit through Bruce’s lectures.

You can share your favorite things. You know those moments when you see something you just have to share with someone? Tumblr is the perfect place for that. Post about your favorite books, music, or even those perfect ninja moves you perfected.

You can have a blog about anything. Do you know how many blogs there are about martial arts techniques, hand-to-hand combat, and training tips? You could literally start your own blog and teach people how to fight like you. Be a mentor to the next generation of heroes. I believe in you.

You can laugh at people’s ridiculous opinions. Oh, Cass, there are so many weird opinions out there, and Tumblr is all about embracing and roasting them. You can enjoy the chaos, and it’ll be your little secret. Trust me, it’ll give you endless entertainment.

No one will make you talk unless you want to. If you don’t feel like engaging, that’s totally fine. Tumblr’s all about letting people be themselves. You can observe, interact when you feel like it, or just scroll through posts without saying a word. It’s about your pace, your rules.

You can be an anonymous badass. If you ever feel like showing off your ninja moves or sharing some cool action clips, you can do it all anonymously. Be a mystery, leave people in awe, and just let your actions speak louder than your name.

You can write your own story. You’re an incredible fighter and hero, but your story is also one of growth, struggle, and triumph. Tumblr allows you to tell that story, whether through your own words, your art, or whatever you choose. And people will respect that.

You’ll find support when you need it most. We all have our battles, Cass. On Tumblr, you’ll find so many people who understand, offer advice, and give you the support you need to keep pushing forward. You’re never alone here. Trust me on this.

So yeah, joining Tumblr? Definitely a good idea. You’re gonna crush it, just like you always do.

Hi, I'm Cassandra.

Someone recommended me to join this place to socialize more. Maybe it's a good idea hm.

[burningcheese-merchant]

Ok fuck it. Fuck it I need to rant. I'm disappointed to the high heavens. This just looks like X and Y again. It just looks like they finally bothered to get off their asses and make Pokémon Z like everyone begged for 10+ years ago and they're trying to relabel it as a Legends game. You know what the word "legend" means? It means OLD!!! It's a fantastical tale of days long past! PAST! NOT FUTURE! Why are we in the future!!! There are no legends about the damn future, only the past!!!

How cool would it have been if we were in the Pokémon equivalent of Napoleonic France? If the protagonist was from a lower-middle-class family (maybe even lower, a genuinely struggling protagonist would be interesting, especially within this time period), who set out with their Pokémon to earn money to help out, only to end up caught in the middle of a nationwide shitstorm? What if you ventured throughout the region, through the beaches and mountains and beautiful French/Kalosian countryside, all the way to Paris/Lumiose, where the societal rot is at its most obvious and damning? What if the "evil team" wasn't evil at first, just a band of revolutionaries with their hearts in the right place, seeking change and justice for the broke and starving public against the laziness and corruption of the self-absorbed elite? What if the villain was the king at first, because he and the other royals really are as awful as they're stated to be? What if there were (optional, because not everyone was against the French monarchy) side quests to help spread revolutionary propaganda or help the rebels earn money, gather resources, toughen up their Pokémon in preparation for future battles against the royals? Hell, what if there was a rival group of royalists who acted as the rebels' foil, whom you can also help and hinder as much or as little as you liked?

What if there was an honest-to-God violent coup where people and Pokémon stormed the royal palace and destroy everything in sight (and you could be there, battling guards or something)? What if the king was challenged to a battle and lost miserably, proving once and for all how weak and pathetic he is, and thus overthrown and exiled (can't execute him, this franchise is too cowardly to evolve past being milquetoast kiddie shit)? What if the rebel leader, with his dear Empoleon beside him, took his place and crowned himself emperor right then and there, to the overwhelming joy of his followers and sympathizers, dismay of his opponents, and whatever it is the player chooses to feel, because there should be a genuine undercurrent of historical, political and philosophical discussion about all of this throughout the story that encourages us to form our own thoughts and opinions about the situation?

Only for the rebel leader, the Napoleon figure, to turn out worse than the king ever was, and his close subordinates immediately going mad with their newfound power and practically destroying the country. Then they really ARE the evil team for real this time, because they became the tyrants they sought to destroy, and depending on the player's past actions, it might partially be their fault that they succeeded. Imagine the Pokémon equivalent of the fucking Reign of Terror. People and Pokémon being attacked, imprisoned, exiled (again, they're too chickenshit to kill people. Tens of thousands died during the REAL Reign of Terror). Imagine your new mission going from trying to flee Lumiose and go home (only to fail, because they won't let anyone leave outside of being formally exiled out of fear/paranoia about uncontrolled dissidents) to taking an active role against the new regime, battling police to bust innocents out of jail, reuniting families and friends torn apart by fear and force? Imagine a heated battle against the stand-in for Maximilien Robespierre to help put an end to the madness!!! What if you went to libraries and picked up newspapers and listened to the telegraph and discovered everything has been censored in some way? What if you went into houses and found depressed wives and mothers and sisters and daughters, and opened letters from the men in their families (and their Pokémon, too) who were conscripted into the Kalosian army because the Emperor is trying to wage wars against neighboring regions to fulfill territorial ambitions (which actually did happen, Napoleon's France was constantly at war, which majorly tanked the economy because all the men were sent off to die or be horrifically injured. Remember when they tried to invade Russia? Over half a million troops went, barely 1/6 of them came back)? The climax of the story + defeat of the Emperor in battle can be a nod to the Battle of Waterloo!!! The post-game can have the player looking for runaway rebels like how you hunted for the Sages in post-game Black and White! What if there was a limited time mystery gift event where you could win a ferry ticket to the island the former Emperor is imprisoned on, JUST LIKE THE ACTUAL NAPOLEON, and there was a final cutscene between you and him where you discuss everything that happened and he asserts that he did what he had to and he still believes that he was acting in Kalos's best interest!!! Because many of the revolutionaries really did think that way, they believed they were doing right by France!!! Even when they jailed and murdered thousands of innocent people!!!

But no, we don't get cool shit like that, we get AZ running a fucking inn for whatever reason and an "urban redevelopment plan" that's literally just "let the Pokémon trash half the city with zero repercussions or any consideration for the homes and businesses in the areas they overrun". What the fuck man

[akutagawa-spotted]

how do you make shinjemis[??] i wanna make one

[niyana-the-ambiguous-mobian]

Just saw Kung fu Panda 4.

Well, it was certainly a movie…..

Action was good, music was a banger as always, voice acting was top notch, no surprise there.

That’s all I got positive wise.

[themarysuep]

Nooo the last thing the MCU wanted to do was make Bruno her primary love interest. I’m not sure if you’ve seen it, but there’s a deleted scene where Bruno admits his feelings and Kamala shoots him down.

This was admittedly a really cruel scene, and I see why Marvel decided to delete it. But it really showed that the MCU writers had no respect for Bruno. It’s the fandom that tries to make everything about him. If you compare it to when he admits his feelings in the comics, this was a definite no from Kamala, instead of her beating around the bush. There’s also Nakia clearly shipping Kamala / Kamran and getting angry when Bruno tries to embarrass Kamala in front of Kamran. There’s even a hilarious scene where “bad, bad, bad, bad boy (come on)i wouldn't change you if i could” plays when Kamala looks at Kamran walking off. Clearly, trying to say fuck those comics lol. Bruno’s screentime in the MCU struck me more as being respectful to GWW’s writing as the source material, since she gives him all the attention when she writes. He was written as an accessory to Kamala in the MCU tbh. The show and all the promo was about Kamran.

If it were me, I would trust Nakia more than Bruno. She’s mature, opinionated, strong and understands Kamala’s religious values. She would be the person I would trust to help me because she’s just a strong force, you know? She would make me feel safe. Kamala admits in the MCU that she was scared to tell Nakia because she knows Nakia hates superhero types or whatever. But Nakia reinforces that she could never hate Kamala (and Kamran). She would do anything to help them. Nakia cares about who is behind the powers, who is behind the mask. A privileged person, or people who are targeted. It was a very ambitious exploration of telling a story about Muslims and real minorities. Qarin was a good arc. Would be cool to get a recurring character like that. I mean Josh was a pretty shit person from the first issue of Ms Marvel.

Yeah, Iman won’t entertain the current ships when she takes over unless it’s mandated. Sophie did appear in Spiderman right? They could actually do a little Miles/Kamala/Sophie thing to wrap everything up. Sophie and Kamala having lunch in NY like they’re seen doing before. They’re having a really good day and laughing. Sophie saying she was actually thinking about Kamala and how amazing she is, and she just really wants to share something with her. And it’s very clear that she wants to tell her she has feelings for her. Then Miles comes in frantically saying he wants to speak to Kamala. I’m guessing at this point, he’s dying on the inside because he’s kept it in so long. Kamala sees how stressed he looks so she asks Sophie to give them a minute and she walks away to speak to Miles. Sophie obviously gets annoyed and tells Miles to talk to Kamala later, about to cause a scene. Kamala, in character, tells Sophie not to be mean. Sophie eavesdrops while Miles admits his feelings, which kind of breaks Sophie’s heart because she was also trying to find the courage. She walks away and leaves, not wanting to hear anymore. Kamala will likely give Miles her same old speech about being too busy for relationships, or that she genuinely hasn’t thought about him in that way or that she’s been through so much lately and she can’t handle a relationship. Miles smiles and says it okay, but the last time he tried to tell her, she cut him off, so he really wanted to get it off his chest. And jokingly tells her, it’s just in case she dies again. We cut to Sophie not taking Kamala’s calls. Sophie is in her apartment, alone, and we see her holding something that belongs to Kamala (I think it’s canon Kamala stays at her apartment sometimes because she doesn’t have her dorm anymore?) and just shaking her head realizing that she’s changed her mind. She cuts Kamala’s call and texts her that she had to run off because she forgot she had a class. Kamala none the wiser, because who would think two people would admit their feelings on the same day lol, sends her a heart in acknowledgement….not realizing that it was actually a knife to Sophie’s actual heart.

I don’t think Iman vibes with Bruno tbh so I think the romance is kind of over while she writes. She will write him as a loyal friend, and it might be that Marvel tells her who to make the lead (Bruno) when she writes to entice more readers. I like Kareem the best for now. No one really competes with Kamran for me anymore though. I have MCU brainrot. Yeah, I’m not saying these writers are terrible but they’re not perfect either. I see a lot of the fandom believe that early comics were “perfect representation” and the MCU is messing things up. That’s far from the truth. I rambled A LOT, sorry.

So, Medusa might be the best heroic mentor Kamala's had? Like, she's kinda the only one that didn't disappoint her or tried to force anything on her, or was too stubborn to listen to her. Medusa's entire approach to inhumans outside of their city is to treat them like her subjects but doesn't expect them to treat her like their queen.

She opens Attilan's borders, allowing non-inhumans to live and work there if they want. She offers Kamala assistance when she needs it but never tries to push her towards her "side", and if anything during IvX listens to her and her friends.

When her powers started to literally melt her body it wasn't the X-Men who showed up to help, (actually it was kind of their fault that it happened in the first place) it was Medusa. And even though the chances of saving her aren't certain, she has such faith in Kamala's strength that she doesn't doubt that she'll pull through.

And I don't know, that's just kind of neat?

[ceramicbeetle]

fragment of a partially written “what if Evan went through with the magic-exorcism and had his memory of Gowpenny erased?” fic -- specifically a scene in which Jammer/K/Sam track him down to some middle-of-nowhere rest stop in order to meet him again