#i surprised even myself while writing this

[holyblonded]

number 5 | paige bueckers

pairings: paige bueckers x reader, arsenal wfc x reader

summary: arsenal’s star girl and the new point guard for the dallas wings cross paths

notes: this was requested! i actually struggle writing romance so much also i did fabricate the scores a little…

You were born to be a star. Or at least that’s what everyone told you from the moment you could walk. You excelled at every sport you tried, basketball, tennis, track, but football stuck. Something about the ball at your feet, the way it seemed like an extension of your body, just made sense. Running up and down the field, the burn in your legs, the weight of a perfect pass, the sweet crack of a shot hitting the back of the net, it grounded you in a way nothing else ever did.

So when you were ten and got an invitation to try out for Arsenal’s Centre of Excellence, it was no surprise. Your mom scraped together every penny she had, bought two plane tickets, and told you to make it count. You balled out. There was no other way to put it. From that day on, you wore red and white like it was stitched into your skin. Arsenal was your home, your heartbeat.

You rose through the ranks quickly, and by fourteen, you were making your senior debut. With it came fame, the kind you never asked for and never wanted.

Kim Little used to tease that if you could physically dissolve into the shadows after a game, you would. But fame was a package deal. No matter how much you hated it, it stuck around. And with fame came obligations: appearances, interviews, photoshoots. Events you wouldn’t even watch in your free time, let alone attend.

Which is how you found yourself sitting stiffly in a chair, allowing a makeup artist to brush powder across your face, while your manager, Maggie, flipped through an email on her phone.

You kicked your legs back and forth, the chair squeaking slightly. “Maggieeee,” you groaned, tilting your head back dramatically. “I don’t want to gooo.”

“You think I want to be here babysitting you?” Maggie deadpanned, not even looking up from her phone.

You gasped, clutching your chest theatrically. “Wow. After everything we’ve been through? The trauma we’ve survived together?”

“The trauma of you refusing to attend anything remotely social?” Maggie snorted. “Get over yourself.”

You pouted into the mirror. “I am over myself. I’m so over myself I’m begging not to go.”

The makeup artist, bless her, tried to stifle a laugh. Maggie just rolled her eyes. “You’re going. You’re sitting in your assigned seat. You’re smiling when the cameras swing by. You’re congratulating whoever walks by. And you’re not escaping to the bathroom for half the event this time, understand?”

You groaned louder, tossing your head back against the chair. “I cannot believe this is my life.”

“You’re literally getting glammed up to sit at the WNBA draft and interview the next upcoming basketball stars. Cry me a river,” Maggie said, arching an eyebrow at you through the mirror.

The makeup artist finished your base and started on your eyes. You blinked up at her. “Wait, are you doing eyeliner? The swoopy kind? The dramatic cat one?”

“It’s called a wing, sweetie,” the artist said kindly.

You looked at Maggie. “Why do I need wings? Am I supposed to fly out of the event halfway through?”

Maggie laughed. “I wish.”

You sulked. “This is a violation of my human rights.”

“Uh-huh. Tell that to the Nike execs paying your endorsement deal,” Maggie said, standing up to go check the rack of dresses hanging nearby.

You glanced over your shoulder at the clothes. “Wait, wait, wait. I thought I was wearing a suit. Didn’t we agree on a suit? I can’t walk in heels. I’m going to fall and go viral for the wrong reasons.”

Maggie hummed thoughtfully. “You’re wearing the suit. Relax. But there are options. Versace sent three.”

“Three?” You practically yelped. “Maggie! Choices make me anxious!”

“That’s literally the least of your problems,” Maggie said, yanking one of the hangers free.

The makeup artist finished and handed you a mirror. You stared at your reflection, a little stunned. You looked…grown. Too grown. The soft glam, the liner, the perfect glow, someone who looked like they knew what they were doing. Someone who belonged at fancy events. Not the awkward, slightly fidgety player who still preferred a Sunday league game over a black-tie gala.

“I look like I know things,” you said faintly.

Maggie snorted. “You do. You know how to kick a ball better than ninety-nine percent of the planet. Now come on. Pick a dress so I can get you dressed before you start hyperventilating.”

You stood up and padded over to the garment rack, eyeing the options with suspicion. One was navy, one was black, and one was a daring white. You pointed at the black one. “That one. Safe. Stealth mode.”

Maggie gave you a look. “You’re not a ninja.”

“Could be.”

“Pick shoes.”

You rifled through the shoe boxes. “Do they make cleats that look like dress shoes?”

“Pick real shoes, you menace.”

You grumbled under your breath but chose a pair of sleek black heels. A couple of stylists helped you into the dress, fixing your straps and adjusting the dress like a mom getting her kid ready for picture day.

As you smoothed your hands down your dress, you caught your reflection again. You looked…good. Still felt like a fraud, but looked good.

Maggie handed you your small clutch. “Smile at least once tonight. You can manage that much, can’t you?”

“I’ll smile once if you let me skip the afterparty.”

“We’ll negotiate.”

You side-eyed her. “You’re the worst.”

“You’re lucky I like you.”

You bumped your shoulder into hers lightly. “You’re lucky I like you.”

Maggie smirked. “Go on, superstar. Time to suffer.”

You sighed, exaggerating every step as you followed her toward the waiting car, already counting down the minutes until you could escape back into your quiet, normal world.

But hey, at least you looked good while suffering.

The draft was buzzing, flashing cameras, laughter, the occasional high-pitched squeal of celebration, and you were sitting center stage, right in the chaos of it all.

You shifted in your seat, adjusting the long, black custom Versace dress hugging your frame. The gold designs swirling around the fabric caught the light with every move, glinting like fire. Your black and gold heels clicked lightly against the floor as you crossed one leg over the other, holding the mic lightly in your hand, playing your role for the night, interviewing players for Nike’s coverage of the draft.

This wasn’t really your scene, you didn’t love the noise, the chaos, but tonight, you were good at faking it. You were charming, quick-witted, and, surprisingly, actually having fun.

Right now, you were interviewing A’ja Wilson, who had the entire place wrapped around her finger with her energy.

“So, A’ja,” you said into the mic, grinning. “Be honest. How many group chats do you think have exploded the night you were drafted with people pretending they’ve been your best friend since elementary school?”

A’ja cackled, throwing her head back. “Girl, my phone look like it got hacked, that’s how many messages I got!”

You fake gasped, putting a hand to your chest. “And here I thought I was special.”

She laughed again and bumped your shoulder with hers. “You’re special. You different.”

You played it up, winking at the camera. “You heard it here first. I’m different.”

The two of you bantered back and forth for a few more minutes, keeping the energy light and fast. A’ja was a dream to interview, lively, hilarious, easygoing. But eventually, her PR person tapped her on the shoulder and pulled her away for more press.

You were just adjusting your mic when someone from Nike leaned down and murmured, “Paige Bueckers is next. She’s on her way over.”

Your stomach did a weird little flip.

Paige Bueckers.

You weren’t exactly the type to get starstruck anymore. You were too used to being the star yourself. A trailblazer that’s what everyone said about you. You had carved your own path through Arsenal, through women’s football, smashing records before you were even out of your teens.

But still…Paige was different. And when you looked up and saw her walking toward you, blonde hair shining under the lights, that easygoing smile on her face, yeah, okay, maybe you were a little starstruck.

Paige’s eyes caught yours and she didn’t look away. There was a jolt of electricity between you, instant and undeniable.

“Hey,” she said, voice low, almost amused, as she sat down next to you, a little closer than strictly necessary.

“Hey,” you echoed, giving her a slow smile as you passed her a mic.

You introduced her to the camera with your usual polished energy, but under the surface, there was a heat building, a charged current in the air between you that you knew the cameras couldn’t quite capture.

“First of all, huge congrats,” you said, grinning. “Drafted number one to the Dallas Wings, casual, no big deal.”

Paige laughed softly, eyes crinkling. “‘preciate you.”

“And second of all,” you added, digging into the bag at your side with a mischievous glint in your eye, “since it’s a big night, I thought we should toast.”

You pulled out two juice boxes.

The entire area around you cracked up, staff, Nike reps, even a few players passing by.

Paige raised her eyebrows, grinning wide. “You’re unreal.”

“I get that a lot,” you deadpanned, offering her one.

She reached out to take it, and your fingers brushed. Lingering. Way longer than necessary. Heat exploded up your arm.

Paige didn’t break eye contact for a second as she gently tapped her juice box against yours. “To new beginnings,” she murmured.

“To causing chaos,” you said back, voice dropping just a fraction.

She smiled, slow, lazy, devastating and for a second you genuinely forgot what your next question was.

It didn’t help that every time you handed her the mic, or gestured toward her, her fingers would find yours, light, feather-soft touches that made your brain foggy. It was all flirting, lowkey, under the radar, enough to make you giddy while still keeping the professional face for the cameras.

Eventually, after what felt like the fastest and slowest ten minutes of your life, Paige’s team had to pull her for other media obligations. She stood, squeezing your shoulder lightly as she handed the mic back, the contact lingering just a second too long, and then she was gone.

You blinked after her, shaking your head a little as you straightened in your seat.

“Get it together,” you muttered under your breath, adjusting your dress.

The rest of the night went by in a blur. A few more interviews, lots of smiles, polite laughter but your mind kept replaying her.

Finally, hours later, you sat at a small lounge area off to the side, checking the time on your phone. Five more minutes, and you could officially leave. You sighed, letting your head rest back against the chair.

“Long night?”

You turned and there she was. Paige.

Standing there, still looking stupidly good, her hands tucked casually into her pants pockets.

You smirked. “You stalking me now?”

“Maybe,” she said, grinning, sliding into the seat next to you.

This close, you could smell her perfume, clean and a little sweet. She turned slightly toward you, her knee brushing yours lightly.

The air between you felt electric again like something important was about to happen.

“You were great earlier,” she said, voice a little softer, a little rougher. “Had me laughing the whole time.”

You grinned, tilting your head. “I aim to please.”

She leaned in just slightly, eyes locked onto yours. “You do a good job of it.”

You were fully engaged now, giving back every ounce of energy she was throwing at you. Your posture, your smirk, the teasing glint in your eyes, it was all deliberate. It was fun. Dangerous.

Just when you opened your mouth to throw a cheeky comment back, Maggie appeared behind you, tapping your shoulder.

“Car’s ready,” she said.

You groaned dramatically. “Five more minutes, Maggie.”

Maggie just rolled her eyes and walked off, clearly used to your antics.

You gathered your clutch and started standing up when Paige said quickly, “Wait—can I get your number?”

You paused, pretending to think it over, tapping your finger against your chin. “Hmm. I don’t know…do you deserve it?”

Paige raised an eyebrow, challenging. “I’d like to think so.”

You glanced around, spotted a Sharpie on the table, and grabbed it. Without another word, you gently took Paige’s arm, rolled up the sleeve of her jacket just enough, and scribbled your Instagram handle in bold, black ink across the inside of her forearm.

You capped the pen and handed it back, smirking. “You have to work for the number. Start there. I’m here until the 19th.”

Paige looked down at her arm, then back up at you, pure amusement and interest written all over her face.

“Challenge accepted,” she murmured.

You shot her a wink, then turned and walked off toward the exit, feeling her eyes burning into your back the whole way.

Behind you, Paige just sat there, arm resting on the back of the chair, staring at the Instagram handle scrawled on her skin, a smug, satisfied smirk tugging at her lips.

The past few days had felt like something out of a dream, one you didn’t quite want to wake up from.

Since the draft night, you and Paige had been nearly inseparable. Breakfasts that turned into lunches. Exploring Dallas, discovering hidden coffee shops, cozy bookstores, late-night drives with the windows down and music blasting.

There was something about Paige, something easy and magnetic, that made you drop your guard quicker than you ever thought you could. You weren’t usually the type to let people in so fast, but with her? It felt natural.

She made you laugh until your sides hurt, challenged you in every little way, and had this habit of looking at you like you were the most fascinating thing she had ever seen.

Now, it was your last night before you had to catch your flight back to London, back to Arsenal, back to the chaos of your life.

Neither of you had said it out loud, but the weight of it hung in the air.

You were sprawled out on her couch, the two of you a tangle of limbs, comfortable and lazy. The TV was playing something neither of you were watching, the golden glow of the setting sun pouring in through the windows.

Paige nudged you with her foot. “Twenty questions.”

You turned your head to look at her, grinning. “Childish.”

“Scared?” she teased, one eyebrow raised.

“Never.”

You shifted to face her fully, folding your legs underneath you. “Fine. You start.”

“Okay.” Paige bit her lip, thinking. “Favorite color?”

You snorted. “Weak start. Black. Obviously.”

“You’re so emo,” she teased.

“Yeah? What’s yours, Bueckers?”

“Purple,” she answered easily.

You nodded. “You look like you like purple.”

You volleyed back and forth, favorite foods, hidden talents, weirdest fears (hers: snakes; yours: accidentally locking yourself in a bathroom at a party).

The questions grew slower, deeper. What’s your happiest memory? What scares you most about getting older? How do you actually cope with the fame?

That one hit differently. You stared at the ceiling for a second before answering.

“I don’t know if I do,” you said finally. “I think I just… compartmentalize. Like, there’s me, the person, and then there’s the version of me people want. And I just…try not to let them touch too much.”

Paige watched you quietly, eyes impossibly soft.

“You’re good at pretending,” she said, almost like it wasn’t a question.

You chuckled under your breath. “Yeah. You too.”

There was a beat of silence. The kind that was heavy and thick but not uncomfortable. Just… charged.

You didn’t know who moved first, maybe it was both of you at once, but suddenly Paige was shifting closer, and you were mirroring her without even thinking.

“Your turn,” she said, voice low.

You wet your lips, heart hammering. “What are you thinking right now?”

Paige’s eyes darkened, a slow, smoldering look that made your whole body tighten with anticipation.

“I’m thinking about how long I’ve wanted to kiss you,” she said, voice almost a whisper now.

Your breath caught, not from shock, but from pure, overwhelming want. You didn’t speak. You just leaned in, your hand finding her cheek, thumb brushing lightly across her skin. And then her lips were on yours. It started slow, gentle, almost cautious.

You tilted your head, deepening the kiss, feeling Paige’s fingers slide up to bury themselves in your hair. Her other hand found your waist, pulling you closer, pressing you flush against her.

You kissed like you were starving for it, mouths parting, breathing each other in, that sweet sting of desperation hanging between you.

You shifted your body, swinging a leg over her lap without even thinking, straddling her. Her hands found your hips instantly, gripping tight, anchoring you to her.

She pulled back for half a second, just enough to look up at you—lips swollen, cheeks flushed, pupils blown wide.

“Can I have your number now?” she asked, slightly breathless, but that same teasing glint still dancing in her eyes.

You grinned, slow and wicked, pretending to think about it.

And then, instead of answering, you leaned down and kissed her again, harder this time, teeth grazing her bottom lip in a way that made her groan low in her throat.

She pulled you closer, her hands roaming your sides, fingertips dragging against the thin fabric of your shorts, touch after touch setting your nerves on fire.

When you finally pulled back, both of you were breathing heavily, foreheads resting against each other.

“You’re a tease,” Paige murmured, her voice wrecked and fond all at once.

“You like it,” you whispered back.

She laughed, that gorgeous, laugh that made your chest ache, and tightened her hold on you like she wasn’t planning on letting go anytime soon.

The locker room buzzed with the usual pregame energy, music blasting, boots being laced, jerseys being pulled over heads. You were tucked into your little corner, half-dressed in your kit, phone perched secretly in your hands as your thumbs moved fast over the screen.

p buckets 🩷

Good luck today superstar. Wish I could sneak down there and see you before the game starts.

You bit your lip to hide the stupid smile tugging at your mouth, your cheeks burning. You quickly fired back a reply.

you

behave, bueckers. you’ll distract me.

Almost immediately, another text pinged.

p buckets 🩷

No promises. You’re too fine in that jersey.

You couldn’t stop the laugh that slipped out, low, giddy, and you bowed your head, trying to be subtle about it.

Too late. Katie McCabe, the nosiest, loudest teammate you had, caught sight of you immediately.

She strutted over, towel thrown around her neck, and leaned down into your space.

“Alright, who’s got you smiling like a little idiot, huh?” she teased, smirking.

You jumped slightly, snapping your phone against your thigh and shoving it behind you.

“No one!” you blurted out way too fast.

Katie laughed, throwing her arm around your shoulders. “Yeah, sure, tell me another one.”

Before you could even come up with a terrible excuse, another figure appeared, Leah Williamson herself, captain, protector, honorary big sister. She had her arms crossed and an eyebrow raised, clearly sensing blood in the water.

Chloe Kelly, recently back from on loan from Man City and another big-sister figure in your life, wasn’t far behind. The two of them exchanged one look, a deadly one, before closing in on you like sharks smelling blood.

“Who is it?” Leah demanded, half-joking, half-serious.

“No one!” you insisted again, your voice climbing an octave.

“Why you lying for?” Chloe chimed in, laughing. “We’ve known you since you were running around the training ground in your big cleats.”

Leah nodded solemnly. “Exactly. We know your tells.”

“I don’t have tells!” you whined.

They both raised their eyebrows.

“Yeah? Then why are you blushing like a tomato, little one?” Katie added, winking.

You were about to come up with some desperate, terrible lie when Renee, your head coach, clapped her hands loudly from across the room.

“Alright, enough!” Renee barked, her voice cutting through the chatter. “Eyes up here, team meeting!”

You exhaled a huge breath of relief as everyone shuffled toward the center of the room.

Katie shot you a wink. Leah narrowed her eyes in mock suspicion. Chloe mouthed we’re not done before turning away.

You shook your head, cheeks still hot, and tucked your phone away safely in your locker.

The game against Lyon was electric — exactly what you expected from a Champions League semi-final first leg.

It ended tied 2–2, a hard-fought, emotional battle with moments of brilliance from both sides. You had picked up an assist and drawn the foul that led to your team’s penalty. Not bad, but you were already replaying every moment in your head, thinking about how you could have done even more.

After the final whistle, you did your usual rounds, clapping the fans, signing shirts, tossing your training jacket into the crowd.

It was the best part of nights like this, connecting with the people who supported you through it all.

You made your way along the barricades, signing shirts, hats, even a football boot at one point. And then you saw her.

Paige.

Leaning casually against the barrier, her blonde hair pulled back in a loose ponytail, wearing a simple black Nike hoodie and jeans, somehow still managing to look unfairly good.

The second your eyes locked, you felt yourself light up like a firework.

You tried—tried—to keep it cool, but your grin cracked through instantly.

“Hey, superstar,” Paige teased as you got closer.

“Hey yourself, rookie,” you fired back, feeling breathless for absolutely no reason.

You signed a few more things for kids near her, pretending not to be in a rush to get to her. Finally, you stopped right in front of her.

“You want something signed, Bueckers?” you teased, tapping the Sharpie against her hoodie.

She smirked, mischief in her eyes. “Depends. You gonna make it special for me?”

You chuckled lowly, took a dramatic, exaggerated breath and then, grinning wide, you grabbed the hem of her hoodie and scribbled your signature across it. A big, messy, ridiculous signature.

“Collectible now,” you said, handing the pen back and winking.

She laughed, brushing her fingers lightly against yours as she took it, a little lingering, a little too casual. You felt the shiver go down your spine.

You two kept flirting, kept leaning a little closer than necessary, exchanging little touches that burned hotter every second. Then you felt it. That disruptive energy.

You peeked over Paige’s shoulder and sure enough across the pitch, perched near the tunnel, Leah and Chloe were squinting hard in your direction. Hands on hips. Mouths slightly open like they couldn’t quite believe what they were seeing.

You rolled your eyes and groaned dramatically.

“Problem?” Paige teased, noticing your sudden change in vibe.

“Just my bodyguards,” you said dryly.

She laughed, low and knowing.

“I’ll see you after I finish up,” you said, stepping back slightly but still reluctant to leave.

“You better,” she said, eyes twinkling.

You shot her one last grin, before jogging back toward the tunnel but not before blowing her a playful kiss that made her shake her head and laugh under her breath.

The whistle blew and the Emirates erupted.

5–1.

Five to one.

You could barely hear yourself think over the roar of the crowd, your teammates piling onto you, hugging, shouting, screaming their lungs out.

You had scored a banger, a left-footed rocket into the top corner, and you could still feel the buzz in your veins.

Arsenal Women were going to the Champions League final. The first time in eighteen years.

You stumbled around the pitch with the others, grinning so hard your face hurt, high-fiving everyone you could reach.

Confetti was already starting to drift down like snow. Flags waving, chants booming from the stands. It was a dream.

You turned, soaking it all in and then your eyes swept the crowd. And there she was.

Standing just beyond the barriers, hands tucked into the pockets of her jacket, a soft smile on her lips as she watched you.

The second your eyes locked, you lit up like the fourth of July.

You grinned wide, practically bouncing on the spot, and jerked your head toward her, mouthing wait for me.

You tore through your usual post-game routine, signing shirts, tossing your training top into the stands, posing for a few pictures, rushing but trying not to make it obvious.

The second you got close enough, you didn’t even think. You launched yourself over the barrier, right into Paige’s arms.

She caught you instantly, strong and sure, wrapping you up and lifting you slightly off the ground. You laughed into her neck as she swung you side to side, holding you tight like she wasn’t planning on letting go.

“I am so proud of you,” she murmured into your ear, voice warm and full of something that made your heart squeeze painfully.

You pulled back just enough to see her, your faces inches apart, still smiling, still dizzy with adrenaline and joy. And then, without a second thought, Paige leaned in and crashed her lips onto yours.

It was messy and breathless and perfect, the taste of victory and salt and something sweeter you didn’t have a name for yet. Her hands cupped your jaw, yours grabbed fistfuls of her shirt, both of you entirely forgetting the rest of the world existed.

Unfortunately, the rest of the world had not forgotten about you.

A chorus of screams shattered the moment. You cracked one eye open to see Leah and Chloe a few meters away, standing on the edge of the pitch, pointing at you dramatically.

“OI!! WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?!” Leah shouted, voice high with betrayal.

“YOU’RE DEAD! DEAD DEAD DEAD!” Chloe screeched, looking two seconds away from vaulting the barrier herself.

You snorted into Paige’s shoulder, half laughing, half dying of second-hand embarrassment.

Thankfully, Lia Wälti appeared behind them like an angel. She threw an arm across both Leah’s and Chloe’s chests, physically restraining them like they were wild animals about to bolt.

She caught your eye over their heads, gave you a slow, exaggerated wink, and mouthed go!

You grinned wickedly, stuck your tongue out at Leah and Chloe, and watched as their shrieks of protest somehow got even louder.

You turned back to Paige, still tucked safely against her. “Let’s go,” you whispered urgently, laughing under your breath. “Before they break free and I have to explain to the board why Leah Williamson murdered me in public.”

Paige grinned, grabbed your hand tightly in hers, and tugged you away into the bowels of the stadium—running, laughing, hearts pounding, hand in hand, your futures cracking wide open right behind you.

[shortnspidey]

CHAPTER SIX: GRAFTING HOPE

Bucky Barnes X Fem!Stark!reader || WC: 3.2K

SUMMARY: Bucky Barnes, caught in a political storm and haunted by his past as the Winter Soldier, battles internal guilt and fragmented memories while finding solace in someone who sees beyond his trauma, intensifying his struggle between seeking connection and fearing the harm he might cause.

WARNINGS: Touch starved Bucky, SO MUCH fluff, suggestiveness but no smut, slight angst

A/N: I was almost certain this story was done, but I couldn't help but write more chapters! 🫣 Enjoy the calm before the storm, these next two chapters are going to be a rollercoaster of emotions!

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The Wakandan sun filtered softly through the curtains draped across the windows of the hut, casting warm, dappled patterns across the floor and the tangled sheets. Bucky stirred beneath them, the light pulling him gently from sleep. He was used to waking up in a cold sweat, chest heaving, heart racing, echoes of screams clawing at the edges of his mind. But this time was different.

His eyelids fluttered open slowly, almost cautiously, as if expecting the old darkness to pounce. But instead he was met with silence. No screams. No phantom voices. No icy panic crawling down his spine. Just the birds chirping in the distance, and the rhythmic beat of his own calm breath. His mind, for once, was still. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes with his flesh hand and shifted onto his back, the bedding rustling quietly beneath him.

Since coming out of cryo, Shuri had dedicated herself to rebuilding his left arm, an effort that meant more to him than he could ever articulate. That old arm had been a weight in more ways than one, the red star etched on its surface a constant reminder of who he had been forced to become. Rolling onto his side, his gaze landed on the bare expanse of his left shoulder. Faint red scars and angry lines of healed-over tissue crisscrossed the skin like a map of pain and anguish.

He grimaced, the sight still hard to accept, still foreign. He hated how it looked, how it reminded him of everything he was trying to leave behind. Before his thoughts could spiral any further, he felt a gentle shift beside him, a rustle of fabric, then the soft thump of a leg draping over his own, followed by an arm wrapping across his chest. You. A faint, surprised smile tugged at his lips as he turned his head to see you nestled close, your body instinctively seeking his even in sleep.

Since the two of you had finally confessed your feelings for one another, something in Bucky shifted. The walls he’d built layer by layer, year after year began to soften in your presence. He found it nearly impossible to be apart from you for long. There was a stillness you brought with you, a kind of peace that made the noise in his head fade into the background. In your presence, the world didn’t just seem quieter, it felt right.

Now, with you pressed against his side, your breath warm against his skin, he let himself simply be. His eyes traced the familiar contours of your face, softened by sleep. The way your lashes rested gently against your cheeks, the slow, rhythmic rise and fall of your chest, the tiniest furrow between your brows that only he seemed to notice when you dreamed, it all made his chest ache with something he hadn’t felt in a long time. Something he didn’t think he deserved, or would ever get to experience again.

Love.

You grounded him, even now, in the early morning lull. “You know, it’s rude to stare.” You murmured, voice still wrapped in the remnants of sleep. A lazy, amused smile curled your lips as your eyes opened just enough to meet his. Even half-awake, your presence lit something warm inside him. Bucky rolled his eyes playfully, no trace of annoyance behind the gesture. “You’re gorgeous, doll,” He declared brushing a stray lock of hair from your forehead with surprising gentleness. “Can’t help myself.”

You let out a soft scoff, the sound muffled against his warm skin as you burrowed a little deeper into his side. The sheets were tangled around your legs, still warm from the lingering heat between you, and Bucky's arm was a steady, grounding weight around your waist. “Don’t bullshit me, Bucky,” You muttered, though the smile tugging at the corners of your mouth betrayed your amusement. “I look far from gorgeous right now. Pretty sure there’s drool on the pillow, and my hair looks like an untamed lion’s mane.”

Bucky let out a low chuckle. His fingers tightened around you instinctively, drawing you a little closer before he dipped his head and pressed a kiss to the crown of your head, lingering there like he was breathing you in. “Maybe so,” He murmured, voice laced with affection. “But I think you’ve never looked better.” Your nose scrunched, force of habit whenever he said something like that. Compliments always made you want to squirm or deflect, especially when Bucky looked at you like you were something sacred.

“We should probably get up.” You sighed, though there was no urgency in your tone. Your hand moved slowly across his bare chest, fingers trailing over the faint scars and the firm planes of muscle, feeling them tense beneath your touch before he relaxed again. He didn’t answer right away, just held you there for a few long, still moments. Then, with a reluctant huff, he pressed another kiss to your forehead, gentler this time. “I wish we could just stay like this forever.”

You gasped, dramatically, lifting your head to meet his gaze with a teasing smirk. Even when his words made your heart somersault in your chest. “Forever? That’s an awfully long commitment, Sarge.” His steel-blue eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled down at you, the affection in his expression almost too much to bear. “I’ve got nothing but time, doll.” His voice was low and certain, almost like a promise wrapped in velvet. Damn him. Damn his ability to smooth-talk you with that old-school charm and sincerity.

Because sometimes, like now, in the golden hush of morning you caught glimpses of the man he used to be. The one from faded photographs and whispered memories. Carefree. Flirty. Unburdened. Happy. You lived for those moments. You collected them like precious things, holding them close on the harder days. You let the silence linger for a heartbeat longer than necessary, your hand still resting on his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your palm.

Then you sighed, dramatic and exaggerated, breaking the spell before it managed to swallowed you whole. “Alright, Barnes,” You huffed, pushing gently against him as you sat up, the sheets rustling with the movement. “Up and at ’em, before Shuri comes looking for us and scolds us for not pulling our weight around here.” He groaned like a man twice his age, flopping back into the pillow. “I’ve survived worse.” You reached for the nearest pillow and lobbed it at his head. In a blur of motion, the pillow hit him squarely, then he pounced.

You barely had time to gasp before he flipped you back onto your back with an ease that still caught you off guard. One second you were upright, the next you were caged beneath him, your body sinking into the blankets as his weight hovered just above yours, flesh arm braced him at your side. “James Buchanan Barnes,” You warned, though the sternness in your voice faltered the moment your eyes met his. “I’ll get up,” He smirked, leaning in close until his lips were a breath away from yours. “But it’ll cost you.”

You arched a brow, though the grin tugging at your mouth betrayed your amusement. His eyes gleamed with mischief, boyish, utterly endearing. “Indulge me.” You scoffed, matching his smirk. “One kiss,” He purred, nuzzling his nose lightly against yours. “Then I’ll get up. Scout’s honor.” You knew damn well it would never be just one kiss. It never was. But his voice, rough from sleep and low in your ear, made it almost criminal to deny him. And, truth be told, you didn’t want to.

“One kiss,” You echoed, surrendering. He didn’t wait for further permission. He dipped down and captured your mouth with his, slow and sure, like he had all the time in the world. It was soft at first, warm, unhurried, lips moving against yours with a kind of tenderness that made your heart twist in your chest. Then his hand slid to cradle your jaw, tilting your face just right, and the kiss deepened. His tongue grazed your bottom lip, coaxing a soft sigh from you, and that was all the invitation he needed.

And then he really kissed you.

His tongue slid into your mouth with slow, deliberate intent, deepening the kiss in a way that made your pulse stutter and your toes curl beneath the sheets. Your fingers clutched at his shoulders, slipping up into his hair, needing something to hold onto, needing him closer. Time cease to exist. When he finally pulled back, reluctantly, your breaths came in ragged little bursts. His lips were swollen, pink and kiss-bruised, and his eyes had gone heavy-lidded and dark, like he was drunk on the taste of you.

“You said one, Bucky,” Your narrowed eyes didn’t hold an ounce of real anger. “A deal’s a deal.” He responded with an exaggerated yawn, stretching like a man completely unaware he’d just kissed the life out of you. And then, with a wicked grin, he dropped his full weight on top of you like a smug, overgrown cat. The air rushed from your lungs in a theatrical groan. “Joke’s on you, doll. I was never a scout.” He whispered into your hair.

“Oh, real mature, Barnes.” You muttered, though your arms had already slid around his neck, holding him close like you always did. You shifted beneath him, trying to flip the two of you over with a grunt of effort, but of course, it was useless. Super soldier or not, Bucky was built. Therefore he didn’t even move an inch. “Struggling there, doll?” He teased, his words muffled against your skin as he buried his face in the crook of your neck.

“Asshole.” You cursed, breath catching when his stubble grazed your throat. You opened your mouth to scold him further, but the words died as he lifted his head and caught your lips in another kiss, this one rougher, hungrier. This time there was no softness, no hesitation. He kissed you like a man starved, like he couldn’t get enough, like he was making up for every second he hadn’t had you pressed beneath him. His mouth claimed yours with a hunger that stole your breath and made your spine arch beneath him.

It wasn’t practiced, it was raw. Real. You gasped into the kiss, fingers clutching the back of his neck, dragging him down as if that could make the moment last longer. Your legs curled around his waist, your body aligning to his with instinctual ease, like you were two puzzle pieces that had always belonged together. It stole the breath from your lungs and replaced it with warmth, with certainty, with him. And suddenly, being late didn’t seem all that important.

After what felt like a full-blown operation in itself, complete with bribery, and another stolen kiss or two you finally managed to wrangle your super soldier boyfriend out of bed. The two of you made your way out, hand in hand, your fingers laced like it was second nature. Birds chirping echoed softly in the distance, and the scent of wildflowers carried on the breeze as you approached the clearing where the goats and other livestock huddled together.

The soft bleating of baby goats picked up in volume the second they spotted you coming. Clearly, they’d associated your presence with food and lots of affection. In the middle of the field lay a fresh stack of hay, still untouched. “Get to work, soldier.” You declared, slipping your hand from Bucky’s and giving him a quick kiss on the cheek, a reward in advance for good behavior. “That hay’s not going to move itself.” Bucky gave you an unimpressed side-eye but didn’t resist.

Rolling his shoulders as he sized up the hay like it was an enemy. “Bossy this morning, aren’t we?” His lips twitched with a hint of a smile, especially when he saw you already being swarmed by the tiniest of the goats, white, black, brown, all bleating and bouncing around your legs like excited toddlers. You bent down to scoop up the smallest one, a little black and white thing with bright eyes and a wagging tail and it immediately nuzzled into your neck, letting out a contented maaah.

The sound made you laugh, and Bucky paused for a moment, hay forgotten, just to look at you. You, surrounded by squeaky baby goats. Hair a mess from sleep and his wondering hands. God, he was so gone for you. “You staring at me or working?” You teased without looking, sensing his gaze. He blinked, caught, and snorted. “Hard to do both, doll.” He muttered, shaking his head before trudging over to the hay pile and grabbing an armful like it weighed nothing.

As you quickly corralled the baby goats into a semi-circle near the wooden fence, they practically fed themselves, nudging the bottles with greedy little noses, bleating impatiently between gulps. Their tiny tails wagged with wild excitement. You knelt in the grass, your hands moving on autopilot, switching out bottles, wiping the milk from eager mouths, gently guiding the smallest ones to the back so they wouldn’t get elbowed out by their bolder siblings.

Of course, there was always one clinger, the tiniest of the bunch, with oversized ears and big brown doe eyes who refused to feed with the others unless you held the bottle and gave him your full attention. You sighed fondly, cradling the little guy against your chest as he suckled noisily, hooves pressing gently into your arm. It wasn’t until the field settled into a quiet rhythm that you let your eyes drift to the other side of the clearing, drawn to him like gravity.

Bucky stood near the hay pile, methodically tossing fluffs of straw across the feeding troughs. He worked silently, his movements fluid and precise, and even without his left arm he didn’t falter. His right hand moved with an ease that was second nature now, his broad shoulders shifting beneath the thin, dark t-shirt he’d thrown on last-minute. You felt your breath hitch a little as your gaze followed the curve of his biceps, the play of muscle across his back, the way his jaw clenched in focus as he worked.

A sheen of sweat glistened on his temple under the rising sun, catching in the stubble along his jaw. Your lower lip found its way between your teeth, and without even realizing it, you bit down gently subconsciously, shamelessly ogling him like a schoolgirl with a crush. Except this man was yours to ogle. And you weren’t even sorry about it. That is, until he straightened up and turned to look at you, a teasing smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Are you just gonna keep standing there looking pretty?” He called out, cocking his head to the side. Heat rushed to your cheeks instantly.

Busted.

You raised your hands in mock surrender, smile betraying your embarrassment. “I already finished my job.” You spluttered defensively, still cradling the clinger goat, who was now happily snoozing against your chest like he belonged there. Bucky tossed the last bundle of hay and wiped his brow with the back of his wrist, his eyes never leaving you. “Uh huh,” He drawled the word heavy with amused disbelief. “Sure, sweetheart.”But then, in the space between your shared smiles, something changed.

It was subtle at first, a strange hush that fell across the clearing. The birds chirps, which moments ago had filled the air, faded into silence. A cool breeze whispered through the tall grass, rustling it like a warning. The hairs on the back of your neck prickled, your instincts flaring to life before your mind even fully registered why. You shifted your eyes upward and froze. The once-clear sky had darkened in the span of moments. Heavy grey clouds rolled in from the horizon like a wave, swallowing the Wakandan sunlight in eerie shadow.

Even the goats sensed it, heads lifting from their bottles, little ears twitching as they nervously clustered closer to the fence. “Bucky,” You called, your voice quiet but urgent. His jaw clenched, and without a word, he moved to your side, scanning the treeline just as a line of figures broke through it. King T’Challa, followed by Okoye and a handful of Dora Milaje guards. Their steps were swift and deliberate, boots crunching softly against the grass. You straightened instinctively, carefully adjusting the sleeping goat in your arms as if to shield it.

“White Wolf. Miss Stark.” T’Challa greeted, his deep voice calm, but not casual. He stopped a few feet from you, his eyes shifting between the two of you. His tone was formal, but not cold. The king had always greeted you with respect and an easy warmth that came with shared trust. But now, the curve of his lips didn’t quite form a smile. You felt it then, that subtle, unspoken weight of news not yet spoken.

Beside you, Bucky stood still, his hand brushing lightly against yours. Across the clearing, the Dora Milaje moved with quiet efficiency, setting down a long, matte-black briefcase between you and the King. Wordlessly, T’Challa knelt beside the case, his fingers working the biometric locks with smooth precision. The seals hissed as they disengaged, and the case opened with a soft click, revealing what lay inside. Your breath caught.

Inside, nestled against black foam, was the prosthetic arm, sleek and seamless, forged in a striking matte black vibranium with lines of deep gold veining through it. Your heart stuttered in your chest. It was beautiful. Nothing like the sketches you and Shuri had once sprawled across worktables late into the night. The real thing was something else. At your side, Bucky tensed. You didn’t need to look at him to know what he was feeling, uncertainty, acceptance, and the weight of inevitability all tangled together.

His eyes were locked on the prosthetic, jaw clenched, lips parted like he might speak but didn’t yet trust his voice. Then, after a heartbeat, he did. “Where’s the fight?” He asked, voice low, steady. T’Challa’s gaze lifted to meet his. He looked between you both, his expression unwavering. “On its way.” He declared, the words heavy, final. Your stomach dropped. That familiar, hollow feeling began to pool in your chest. The kind that always came before the storm.

You’d lived through your share of battles, he’ll even a civil war, but something about this was different. The weight of it pressed down on you like a warning, like something that was inevitable. You reached for Bucky’s hand, lacing your fingers through his. He didn’t pull away. Instead, he gave your hand a subtle squeeze, steady, grounding. He looked at the arm again. Then at you. As thunder rolled again, louder this time, you knew with chilling certainty, the fight had already begun.

Thanks for reading! likes, reblogs, and comments are always appreciated! <3

[murdocksapostasy]

bob reynolds x therapist!reader

tags: use of pharmaceutical drugs, mentions of mental health struggles, slight fluff, mentions of depression, involuntary taking of medication kinda.?

warning: i’m not a mental health professional do not take anything written here as professional advice or truth. (i also know bob definitely has bipolar but im not writing about bipolar sry)

after the events of new york with bobs whole void situation, everyone thought it would be best if bob got some support for his mental health struggles, yelena especially. she really cares about bob and didn’t want him to fall deeper into his personal void.

so here’s where you come into play, a licensed psychiatrist who specialises in powered-people, and just so happens to be an old friend of yelena’s, by that we mean..the red rooms

still the dynamic between you and bob was friendly if anything, you were simply there to keep an eye on him, make sure he takes his pills and be a shoulder to cry on that can give him professional advice. and weren’t exactly useless to the other thunderbolts either. again, experience withred rooms and a degree in psychology.

when you first met bob he was very timid but soon enough your calm and caring approach got him pretty comfortable around you.

now, it’s the afternoon at the watchtower and you knock on the door of bobs room for a check up.

“bob.? can i come in.?”

you hear a faint yeah come from inside before walking in, there you see bob sitting in the corner of the room looking out the window. he looks at you with that wide eyed expression he always has,

“hey..”

“hi bob, how are you feeling today?”

you could already tell by his body language it was definitely gonna be a low day.

“uh, i don’t know i think i’m okay..”

“could you put that on a scale from one to ten for me?”

„like a four maybe.?”

your face doesn’t show it but you’re a little disappointed, not in bob. you’re very proud of the progress he’s making, you just don’t like when he’s upset.

“that’s alright. can i give you your pills bob?”

you say taking out a little plastic cup with a little white pill inside, you extend your hand towards bob kindly offering him the pill. (even though he has to take them)

bob hesitates, before nervously brushing off his resistance.

“i don’t know..i just”

“is everything okay?” you ask a little surprised

“yeah it’s just… is it normal to feel weak? for taking anti depressants i feel like i should be able to handle myself. i can’t help like feel im doing something wrong?”

your gaze softens, and silence fills the air only for a few seconds while you think of an good way to phrase your response.

“you’re not weak, whatsoever and this won’t last forever, we all need some extra support sometimes, i used to take tablets too.”

“really?” bob tilts his head in curiosity.

“mhm”

silence fills the room again only for a brief moment before an idea pops into your head.

“come here.”

bob is a little caught off guard by the request but complies anyways walking over to you.

you turn over the small plastic cup letting the singular table fall into the palm of your hand, you put your free hand on bobs chin opening his mouth before placing the tablet on his tongue and watching him swallow.

your hand stays on his chin a bit too long before you finally take it away handing him a bottle of water.

bob looks at you a little confused taking in what just happened, you’re not sure either it just felt right.

“t-thank you”

he says giving you a small smile.

“i’m proud of you”

you say walking towards him before placing a little kiss on his forehead.

[laurynjc-art]

Trial Separation: A BMC One-Shot

I watch as Jeremy hoists the box into his arms and shoves it into the back of his car with the other piles of junk he’s lugging out to college. I’m honestly a little surprised that he’s kept up the whole “impure thoughts = push-ups” thing his squip forced him into last year, but old habits do die hard. I don’t mind. He can finally be useful when we’re at my place and I get a sudden desire to rearrange my bedroom in the middle of the night. And his girlfriend Christine certainly doesn’t mind, either. I have plenty of blackmail from knowing Jeremy for thirteen years, but I’m sure he’ll do anything I ask if I ever threaten to tell Christine why Jeremy wound up a beefcake overnight.

I wish I could say I was part of the junk Jeremy was bringing up to college, but earlier in the year, it was made pretty clear that Jeremy was flying out in the world solo. This was an upsetting realization for both of us- “Jeremy, I don’t think I even know what I want to do with my life.” I’d told him at some point after we took the SATs.

“What do you mean?” He asked. “You’re not going to kill yourself, are you?”

“No,” I said. “I don’t know what I want to do with my life.” It was some decision paralysis, mostly; I could do just about anything. Math, science, coding, I know computers inside and out. But the question was: what skills needed more refinement? What could I get by on? Like how I was already taking Calculus 1 as a junior, which is a lot more than some people can say. And what if I wanted to try and learn about something completely new? I’m not much of an artist, my writing is abysmal by Jeremy’s standards… I got to a point where thinking about it for too long made me want to start screaming.

But then at some point I remembered: oh yeah, high schoolers aren’t legally mandated to be shipped off to college as soon as they graduate. And my decisions began to clear up.

I thought about staying home for another year or so to work, bulk up my savings, maybe take some community college classes if I’m really bored. And school blows, maybe breaking up my theoretical sixteen consecutive years of education and giving myself a break would be better for me.

We had a really long discussion one night about this, Jeremy and I. About our lives and what the future might look like. Which sucked for him, I know I was the one hyping him up about college, and now I’m the one having second thoughts and backing out. There was a lot of weed and a lot more crying, all the while my Wii’s menu music served as the background track to our bout of vulnerability.

Eventually, after a good while of silence, Jeremy lit up a roll and said, “You can do whatever you want.” His phrasing and tone scared me, as did the fact he took a long drag on his joint without saying anything else. I worried this was going to be Jake’s Halloween Party all over again, but then Jeremy grinned and looked back at me with more tears in his eyes. I’m not sure if they were genuine or a result of him getting too high. “I’ll always be behind you. And hey, maybe a trial separation is a good thing.”

“You were the one who made me swear that we’d be going together,” I joked.

“Because I’d miss you!” Jeremy wailed. I chuckled, he was definitely too high. “I can’t stand it when you’re home sick from school, what am I supposed to do when we’re actually God knows how far away from each other?”

“Hey. Hey.” I put my arm around his shoulders. “We’ll figure it out. No matter where we end up.”

And finally, I cleared my decision with my moms, who were more than thrilled to let me stay a basement dweller for another year or so.

Jeremy slams the trunk of his car shut and leans on it, looking at me like he’s expecting me to say something.

“Is that all?” I ask.

“Mm-hm.” Jeremy nods, but his lips are pursed in his “I’m sad but don’t want to talk about it so I’m going to just run away and cry” way. Like he thinks I can’t see right through him.

“Do you want to talk?” I ask him.

“No,” is all he says.

“Do you want me to leave so you can cry into your porn?”

“Shut up.” Jeremy takes a swing at me, but I catch his arm and pull him into an embrace. He hugs me back just as hard.

“It’ll only be a few months, Jer,” I say.

“I know,” he replies. I could hear that he was crying, and I might’ve accidentally made it worse by rubbing his back. He sobs, then says, “I’ll just miss you, man.”

“Yeah. Me too.”

Jeremy lets me go so he can wipe his face, and a thought crosses my mind that I worry is a bit too coupley, but hey, who decided articles of clothing were only supposed to be exchanged with a significant other, anyway?

So, as if I’d been planning it all day, I untie my jacket from my waist and hand it to Jeremy.

“Here. Now I’ll be going up with you,” I say. Jeremy gasps.

“B-but Michael, this is your favorite!” He objects.

“Well, you’re my favorite.”

Jeremy laughs in a way that’s more like another sob, then says, “What are we, dating in middle school?”

“Good point,” I joke along. “I wouldn’t wear that around Christine, she might get jealous.” Jeremy laughs, really laughs, which makes me laugh, and then I get this pang in my heart because I don’t think it actually registered until now that oh, yeah, we’re not going out into the world together. I don’t know the next time I’ll get a moment like this. I start tearing up a bit and pray that Jeremy doesn’t notice, but of course he does.

“No no, stop,” Jeremy cries, throwing his arms around my neck. I cannot resist picking him up and spinning him around, and we could have stayed locked in our embrace all night if a cold evening wind hadn’t started cutting through us.

“I guess I better go,” I tell him. “Don't… do anything stupid.”

“I’m pretty sure I already cashed in my stupid,” Jeremy smirks, “but yeah. Obviously.”

One more hug, then I’m in my car and waving goodbye to Jeremy through my rear-view window. For a moment, a pit in my stomach forms at the fear that this might be the beginning of the end for us, but I banish it. We’ve separated under worse circumstances and came back together regardless. It’s just a year. He won’t be that far away. And besides, doesn’t distance make the heart grow fonder?

[alexanderlightweight]

Wednesday nights are my new/old/new again favourite part of the week. I'm solo parenting bedtime with 2 little ones and a doggy on Wednesdays which can be stressful when one is an infant who cries when tired (who would have thought 🤔) and the other is my 5yo autistic angel who manages her displeasure at a baby crying by being louder to down it out.

All this to say when the dust settles I treat myself to a cup of tea and binge read anything/everything you post during writing Wednesdays. So thank you for being you and sharing your gift. It's a sweet treat to frayed nerves and a sign that the week is almost over.

With that in mind I selfishly ask for a continuation of either guide/sentinel verse or some other where they're essentially power boosting eachother against others who would be happier to have them weaker (for control reasons or to get rid of them).NSFW please (should you be so inspired) but will happily take anything.

PS I hope you're getting some R&R yourself or at least snuggles with your pets 🐶🐈‍⬛.

that sounds... that sounds like you need a whole pot of tea and i'm very glad that my fics help you recenter and also remind you the week is near its end! I hope this wednesday was nice to you!

indeed! so shocking that a tiny human who doesn't understand anything cries at the surprise of exhaustion they can't comprehend! why I certainly don't still cry when i'm over tired even now that I understand it (jk I totally cry but I only wail sometimes). seriously, I love how kids are like 'oh hey. I can problem solves this by escalating' and you're just sitting there going '... someone please stop this ride. I would like to be off and go sit in the quiet, dark corner of peace I know exists somewhere'. not that kids aren't amazing, but well. they come with quite a few features that are understandable but no-less exhausting for all that they're being reasonable considering they're brand new humans.

as tempted as I was i didn't manage to get this written on Wednesday (because the brain fog decided I was done) but I hope you still enjoyed the other prompts filled that night when you took your break and I hope you enjoy this because I may have had too much fun with it

that being said, if this ends up not sounding like (don't read if I accidentally added something not your thing) something youd enjoy or if you read and it ends up not being your thing, just let me know.

uhm so I need to be clear this is 3DNE and it's in gladiolus first part here, so it's both bloody and kinky. seeing as Magnus senses Alec and goes Enemies to Married in about five minutes.

uh..., slaughter, fucking on a battlefield and using blood as lube (corpse blood so corpse desecration I guess). kinky sex and Magnus has dick piercings. battlefield bonding and some blasphemy. a little outside pov for some added despair. not for malec, malec are having a blast. probably some more but i'm bad at tagging without ao3's helpful database so be advised, here be dead doves.

also I did have some lovely cuddles with Nightshade (tho they are never enough according to him)

<3 lumine

gladiolus

Izzy isn’t sure what’s happened.

All she knows is that Alec is at the center of something powerful, red mist gathering in, obscuring her vision as she tries to find him.. Her hermano is in the eye of a storm that’s taken down the entire field of combatants. 

The shockwaves have stopped and while the ground still feels like it’s trembling with aftershocks, Izzy can’t be sure it’s the earth or her.  However, she’s finally conscious again and that means she can fight.  She pushes up from her side up to her knees, leaning on her elbows as she tries to steady herself and gather the will to get up.

She’s lucky that whatever happened took out both sides, giving her time to gather herself and then gets a look at what’s actually happening.

The warlock — the High Warlock and the reason her parents are in a different location rather than here —  is still in front of Alec, even if they're both standing now.  Izzy isn’t even sure if Alec’s standing or if he’s being held up, she can’t tell from this angle or from how blood drips down into her vision.  His wings are out, but they’re not glinting adamas and they’re not being ripped away from him either.

Finally she sees Alec fully as he steps away from the warlock and looks towards her, even across the distance, she feels like their gazes meet.

Run.

The stern command against her mind is silent to her ears, but not her senses. Izzy’s never felt a louder truth or a more desperate and deadly emotion from her hermano.

It’s dangerous.

He’s dangerous and it’s with fear that Izzy realizes the warlock must be a guide and if he’s a guide and Alec’s giving her a warning then...

Izzy closes her eyes and grits her teeth, forcing herself up even though she’s struggling along with every other shadowhunter on the battlefield. 

On a field of slaughter, more like.

Unlike the other shadowhunters who are picking their blades back up and orienting themselves, Izzy runs. One foot after the other, first a staggering limp before her gait steadies as her training overcomes the pain and shock.  Alec didn’t give empathic orders like that unless lives were in danger... but Izzy is the only one he’s bothered to warn.

Tears stream down Izzy’s face as the screams start.  

These are people she knows. 

Some of them are people she cares about and while she doesn’t like all of them, she’s been fighting on a battlefield with them for what feels like a lifetime. 

Even as others join her in fleeing, Izzy knows it won’t be of any  use.  

She’ll survive for one reason and one reason alone, because the bonds of kin can temper Alec’s reason enough to spare her.  There’s no such grace for anyone else on the field. Especially since most of them are hunter’s Alec only tolerated because they were all equal fodder once on the field and each body counted.

Alec’s never let on just how deep his soul ache is.  If the echoes of his un-shielded mind feel like a canyon or a puddle, or how deeply he yearns for a guide, if at all. 

Izzy feels like a fool.

Of course Alec would want a guide.  

Who else will give him the unconditional love he deserves and has been denied his whole life.  Their parents threw him at the Clave the moment he emerged and the Clave have him throwing him at demons and then on battlefields ever since.

Alec has no true reason to stay loyal to their people, not even the Pride of Idris that he was a part of.  Alec turned his nose up at too many guides, snubbed too many families and bruised too many personal feelings, despite the blatant lack of compatibility between him and well, anyone.

He’s been alone for years, not just by choice but because he’s never matched.

Which is exactly why he’s slaughtering them.

All of them.

Tiers and rows and teams of nephilim, killed by one of their own.  Worse, a sentinel, the steadfast protectors of their people.  The very reason Alec leads troops despite being unbonded is because of his natural instinct as a sentinel to protect them and his territory. 

Yet now he destroys what he once shielded with a near manic glee. Why wouldn’t he, when it’s to prove his devotion to his guide, Alec’s never been one to half-ass anything.

Izzy can feel Alec's satisfaction grow with each death.  It lingers heavy in the air as if Alec’s warlock guide is magnifying it. Projecting it out to further torture the nephilim dying in droves and flaunt his own victory in claiming a sentinel even the Clave has given up on.

Most of them are trying to fight back but some know better and are running.  Alec’s deadly enough on his own, but now in defense of his guide?  There’s no hope for any of them.

Izzy stumbles, nearly tripping as the hunter in front of her drops, an arrow through their throat.  Izzy wants to fall and kneel, take advantage of the fact that Alec’s her brother and take a moment to mourn and just breathe but she can’t.

Alec may be her brother but Alec’s guide is her enemy.

This is Alec’s last gift.

Her life, before her brother completely turns to the other side.

That warlock didn’t demand this. 

Oh the Clave will assume so and so will their parents.  They’ll make it sound like the warlock mind-controlled Alec but Izzy knows the truth.  This is a gift.  A courting gesture. A Raziel damned promise, that Alec will never betray his new guide and is firmly by his side, despite being enemies only moments before.

Izzy gets past the runline and to the tents, where runed defenses normally keep those in charge and those wounded who are sent back to heal.

Her first step past the zone where her body can recognize nephilim grace and she collapses. Rolling with the force of her fall and barely remembering to tuck herself to take the brunt on her shoulder rather than head.

For a moment she lays there, blood and mud in her mouth and then she’s being hauled up.  Aline and Sebastian pulling her up and into a tent rather than in the mud.

“Izzy, what in Raziel’s name is happening past the runes? We can’t see anything.” Sebastian’s voice is soothing and familiar and Izzy chokes, turning to spit before accepting a canteen of water.

“The High Warlock, the one no one can get near. The reason my parents got called to Idris—” Izzy gets out and then she takes several more sips.  They’ve both paled but what they’re imagining is nothing as bad as the reality.  “He’s a guide. A powerful guide, he brought the entire battlefield down. Even his own side and by the time I managed to get up it was too late.” Izzy shrugs, laughing mirthlessly as she cries because she can’t tell if this is worse or better than losing Alec to death. “He’s claimed Alec as his sentinel.”

Aline turns to where the wardline is lit up with silver-blue wards and runestones and Izzy follows her gaze.  The field she ran from can’t be seen, hidden beneath a deep, dark unnatural fog of crimson.

“The screams stopped a few seconds ago.” Sebastian murmurs, “I can’t tell if that’s bad or good. You think the warlock killed them all so that Alec wouldn’t have to choose? It makes sense he’d spare Izzy then, since she’s Alec’s sister.”

Izzy shakes her head, not sure if it’s guilt, love or exhaustion that holds her tongue from spilling the truth.  Better to let them understand and see with their own eyes the carnage Alec’s wrought. 

“Can you see out there, if you go past the wardline?” Aline asks her and Izzy isn’t sure, she doesn’t remember anything but trying to make sure she didn’t trip on the bodies that dropped as easily as the apples Izzy used to throw for Alec to shoot.

—-

Pleased avarice fills the entirety of Magnus as he watches his sentinel slaughter his way through packs of his fellow shadowhunters.  No sooner had Magnus pulled Alexander to his feet and into a kiss to ground his boy with his touch as he pulled Alexander from a zone-out and his sentinel bristled.  Turning his backto Magnus and hand on his unlit blade.

Magnus had thought it to be symbolic, that his delightfully tall sentinel wanted to show that he’d protect Magnus despite it hardly being necessary or what Magnus wants.  Instead of posturing however, he’d launched forward, blade reaping lives and his psyche oozing grim satisfaction. He’s a scythe in a field of bodies ripe for the harvest. 

This isn’t protection, it’s carnage.

Magnus is quite frankly, shocked and delighted by Alexander’s brutal instincts and the way he cuts through bodies with both his blade and wings.  They’re bonded and even if it hasn’t settled that’s more than enough for him to shield Alexander from the mental agony ringing across the field.

His boy is drenched in the sacred and holy blood of his own people, uncaring of the gore as Alexander crushes bones and cuts off limbs. A battledance of gruesome beauty dedicated to Magnus alone.

Magnus hadn’t had any particular plans for the rest of the shadowhunters on the field before this. He’d fully intended on taking Alexander somewhere private, where he could make sure his sentinel wasn’t too overstimulated as they finished bonding. Sentinel senses could be rather delicate, especially before the final claim to complete and settle a bond. Alexander’s mind and soul submitted so sweetly to Magnus’ claiming that he thought he’d need to protect his boy until it settled.

Yet Alexander stands strongly, bow drawn and arrow aimed, feet steady and planted on bloodsoaked ground.  Quickly and efficiently picking off those who try to run, avoiding only one single shadowhunter.

That singular mercy would normally be enough to raise Magnus’ hackles, however the bond that thrums between his boy and the lone shadowhunter is familial and filled with farewell, not one of lust or yearning.

Still, it stokes something bitter in Magnus’ instincts that anyone was spared when this is a display from Alexander to himself.  It’s not even a display of protection, but one of devotion. One survivor won’t make him doubt his sentinel but it does make him wistful, as Magnus watches his boy decapitate one of the hunter’s actually trying to fight back.

Despite thinking of taking Alexander somewhere calm and isolated, where his senses could be soothed as they bonded, Magnus has changed his mind.

Because while it isn’t necessary, Magnus intended to finalized his bond with Alexander with sex. He wants a primal bond and considering Alexander is slaughtering the soldiers he was leading only moments ago, his boy can only want the same.

Magnus doesn’t want to tame Alexander’s tempest, he wants to unleash it and add his own gale to the storm.

—-

The minute every threat is neutralized — perhaps not yet dead, but no longer a threat, Magnus pushes his sentinel down onto the ground and follows. Kissing Alexander messily and marveling at how just how much blood his boy got on himself during the massacre he just gifted Magnus.

“You’re divine, Alexander.” Magnus praises as he kisses blood from Alexander’s jaw and they both groan when Alexander gets his viscera soaked fingers under Magnus’ shirt. They’re firm and calloused and slick with still warm blood and Magnus chuckles into Alexander’s mouth as he uses magic to get both their pants open.

“I hope you’ll forgive me darling, but I’m afraid after your little display we’re bonding here and now, Alexander. I’ll fuck you on silks and roses later if you like, but for now. I’ll have you like this.” Magnus means it too, his sweetly vicious sentinel deserves finery and gentleness as equally as he deserves to be ravaged in the pools of blood he’s created.

Alexander chuckles under him, eyes dark and wild as he pulls Magnus down so he can lean up and kiss him — teeth catching on Magnus’ lip in a taunt.

“You think I mind bonding on the land I washed clean for you with blood? You think I’d let you bond me somewhere else? I’m your sentinel now. You decreed it. So prove it here, where it can’t be denied.”

Magnus has to kiss him for that and then Magnus drags his fingers through the thick blood on Alexander’s clothes.

“Do you think your dead comrades ever imagined that the most useful thing they’d ever do in life or death is help me fuck you open?”  

Alexander whines, hips wriggling to give Magnus more room to pull his pants down far enough so Magnus can fuck him. 

Magnus pets his fingers across Alexander’s hole, anointing it with the blood of Alexander’s own hunters with a smirk.  There’s a whine of impatience and Magnus spits, letting blood and saliva mix and adding magic to slick the way as he presses into Alexander.

Magnus feels as impatient as Alexander looks, the way he’s urging Magnus to hurry with little hitching breaths and judders of his hips as he clenches down on Magnus fingers.

“I’m trying to loosen you sweetheart, let me in.” Magnus nips at Alexander’s ear, careful to avoid breaking or biting skin just yet. “If you keep clenching like that, how are you ever going to handle my cock, hmm?”

Alexander whines, tensing despite Magnus orders and finally after a deep, steadying breath he forcibly relaxes.  Magnus fucks into him with his fingers, curling them and twisting and holding down Alexander’s hip with his other hand. Unrepentant when he finds Alexander’s prostate and rubs teasingly at it.

“There, isn’t that better?” Magnus asks and Alexander’s gasp of his name is the correct answer as Magnus adds a third finger, twisting until he’s knuckle deep. The rings of his fingers pressing together and stretching Alexander’s rim tight against the cold metal.

Magnus crooks his fingers teasingly, the rings threatening to slip past Alexander’s rim and he laughs in delight as Alexander comes, breathless and untouched between them.

“Such a good boy,” Magnus praises him mentally and also petting him with emotions.  Laving him with affection and pride and Alexander squirms, clenching around Magnus’ fingers like he’s afraid they’ll leave.  Magnus gives him a moment to settle and then presses his fingers deeper, curling them so they press insistently against Alexander’s prostate this time.

It earns him a deep whine and Alexander tenses and trembles beneath him.  His wings are muddy, fluttering and gathering filth and blood and Magnus only allows it because he’ll personally clean each and every feather later.

Once Alexander is entirely his.

Alexander’s hole is pink and swollen and streaked with blood when Magnus pulls his fingers free.  It’s obscene to use nephilim blood to fuck Alexander, but how can Magnus waste such a precious opportunity when it’s been provided by Alexander.

Magnus slicks his cock with the blood on Alexander’s torso and then fucks into him.  He’s not nice or gentle about it and Alexander’s scream is silent as his nails claw into Magnus’ back and he bites at the shoulder of Magnus’ jacket.  His teeth nearly pierce through the leather, prickles of pain teasing at Magn us’ skin as Alexander moans.

“Did I forget to mention the piercings, darling?” Magnus barely manages to get the words out.  Breathless himself and too entranced by how tight Alexander is around him.  The jacobs ladder of platinum rings down his cock dragging and catching on Alexander’s hole had been blissful but it’s even better now, fully inside him. Magnus has to take a moment, just to let himself feel as Alexander’s soft walls flutter around him. Each of the nine captive beaded piercings ensure that his sentinel will never be able to forget the feeling of Magnus fucking him. 

Of Magnus claiming him from the inside out..  

Alexander is breathing wildly, wings puffed up and trembling and eyes clenched shut as he tries to breathe.  There’s blood and mud in his hair and on his face and Magnus snaps his hips forward, just to make Alexander look at him.

He does, gasping out Magnus' name in both complaint and awe.

—-

Alec can feel everything and it’s been too much since Magnus caught him and claimed him but that doesn’t matter. Because all sensation fades away, to where he can’t feel the mud or smell the blood or anything but Magnus.

Magnus cock breaks and remakes him, as he memorizes every imprint of metal and flesh inside him as Magnus fucks him. 

Alec could zone out on the sensation of cool metal that stays chilled and Magnus’ cock searing hot in contrast. He can’t though, Magnus keeps him on the edge of awareness, dragging his cock in and out in smooth, slow thrusts, as if he has all the time in the world. Each piercing catches on Alec’s rim, again and again every time Magnus pulls out only to slam back in and when he hits Alec’s prostate, it’s with metal kissing it.

Alec can still hear the gasps of the dying.  The gargle of blood in lungs, slowly drowning those he stabbed in vital places but didn’t personally finish off.

But what does that matter when he can also hear the way Magnus’ heart beats in tandem with his own and feel how Magnus cock pulses inside him, slicking his walls with precome and the blood Magnus opened him with. Alec’s too sensitive to come again, even if he’s half-hard and wishing he could. That kind of pleasure would black him out when he’s this open and overwhelmed or worse. Send him into a zone out..

Magnus is shielding him, but not completely, not yet.

He wants Alec to feel this and Alec wants to feel it even if he feels like he’s drowning.

Alec wants to feel the raw agony of death around him as he discovers the brutal joy of being found and claimed. Wants to be lost and then found again by the pained pleasure of Magnus fucking him, his cock erasing and rewriting every moment Alec ever felt lonely and aching and empty without Magnus.

Magnus fingers stroke his dick, forcing him fully hard and then slowing to jerk Alec off with unhurried, lazy movements as the thick crimson fog around them begins to disperse.  

It lingers on the edges of his vision before disappearing and Alec groans as he realizes Magnus did it on purpose.

Magnus wants everyone to see and feel the backlash as their bond finishes forming, to witness Alec’s guide fucking him in a valley of blood and as Magnus comes, the bond sears fully into place.

Existence roars and the world spins before it’s tucked away behind Magnus, the sensations that overwhelm Alec fading away. Even with as over sensitive and vulnerable as he is.

He comes, barely feeling and nearly blacking out from the feeling of Magnus’ limp cock and hard piercings sliding from his raw hole. 

Fingers pet over his face and he can hear each kiss of metal teeth as Magnus zips him back into his pants and then hauls him up.  Alec’s not sure how he does it, when Alec’s spine feels like jelly and his wings are a dead weight.

There’s the noise of a portal and Alec follows with relief, knowing that wherever Magnus takes him will be home.

Will be safe.

—

AN:

When Magnus dropped his shields, they connected on a psionic level and he claimed Alec mentally, he then locked Alec’s senses on him with a quick imprint, to ensure that Alec will know him no matter what.  The sex just finalized the bond and also cemented what kind of bond it is. The psionic melding shared the basics of who they are with each other. Not like, favorite color and food, but like the primal basics of a soul and mind and their names.

I’m gonna explain the sentinel/guide bonds in my universe because everyone kind of has their own thing and mine is aro/ace inclusive which a lot of them are really not. In fact in this universe stabilizing/formalizing/settling a bond via sex is the rarer of the three options.

Okay so full-bonding can occur with either sex/mutual full sense-imprinting (including psionic)/and mutual, scarring bites. There’s about a twelve hour window after you start forming your bond to stabilize it with a full/complete bonding. It does not take a full twelve hours, but that’s about the limit before you start going feral with the need to finalize the bond.

Full and (mutual) sense-imprinting is both physical and psionic and creates a bond based on a kind of mutual steadiness, a baseline bond that's got a firm and even foundation and is very grounded. If one half of a pair is especially hot-headed/reckless/impulsive or something, they might want this kind of a bond to help ground themselves just a little more. Or if both sides have anxiety etc. This is the kind of bond that helps stabilize you and your partner to the point where a lot of partners can work apart if they want/need to. It’s the most common bond. 

A mutual bite blood-shared bond creates a very protective more insular bond. It’s basically the most defensive version of the bonds and it’s very focused on each other. More contact platonic or otherwise is required, a lot of holding hands and leaning against each other and generally being in each other’s space. Which is less optional and more a need to feel each other as close as can be. Most pairs who bond like this don’t work apart ever. Second most common bond.

Sex bonding is actually in fact a sex ritual with a side of bonding and is more raw and primal driven. It’s a more rare form of bonding because of that. The bond it forms is a violent, decadent and feral energy that toes the line of humanity. It’s a more rare bond because it does symbolize a sacrifice of control for the raw, wildness of a bond that's also rabidly obsessive. Depending on the pair, you never know if they’re more or less dangerous together or apart and which they are depends on the sentinel/guide. Least common bond.

After a bond stabilizes, the acts of full sense imprinting, sex and biting each other don’t have any effect on the bond itself. They’re just fun things they can do or not do. 

Yes they still need to do full sense and psionics imprints, but if they’d done that first it would be a different kind of bond. Therefore, sex first.

There are nine captive beaded piercings (which are a hoop with a locking bead in the middle that seals the piercing shut) on Magnus’ Jacob’s ladder piercing and they represent the nine circle of hell because he’s extra like that.

also for anyone wondering, Magnus didn’t influence Alec at all even though he could have. Alec is just also extra and wants to make sure Magnus understands that he’s picking Magnus, just like Magnus chose him. Alec wants everyone to know what side of this war he now belongs to. there will be no allowance of someone even hinting he's not loyal to Magnus and Magnus alone.

[xxplastic-cubexx]

cant stop thinkin bout charles and erik readin together on the couch but instead of reading with him charles is listening to eriks thoughts while he reads. Live mind commentary ……..

[recycledraccoon]

I have evolved into Scuttlespring anon, just say anything about them. I love them so much

THE ANON PANTHEON GROWS

Ok so. Gorgug likes Mary Ann because she absolutely infuriates him but also, and perhaps more importantly, because she has a type of confidence I think a younger Gorgug would have deeply envied. She's so weird, but entirely sure of herself. She likes what she likes and anyone who would have a problem with that is absolutely beneath her notice. She has friends not despite her oddities, but because she refuses to bend about them and that confidence is incredibly attractive in a person. Mary Ann Skuttle see's something she wants and she just...goes and gets it, easy peasy. Tiny little kobald strides, but when she puts her foot down with force, Gorgug thinks she could crush a mountain under with nothing so much as a blink or falter of her stride. She's certainly physically strong enough for it, and while Gorgug is undisputedly the better fighter, Mary Ann has a physical strength hidden under soft pastel pink hoodies and can, has, and will knock Gorgug on his ass. Gorgug got THRASHED at those Bloodrush field tryouts, and I'm certain he probably got his ass handed to him more than once during the year while at practice but before he quit the team. She made him so damn mad, everything that year was, and endlessly kind Gorgug got real mean to her over it. She was better than him, more casually confident, and didn't blink ONCE at his outburst. And later? When she was resurrected and freed from possession? He talks to her, acknowledges that it was just a game but he had been actually mad to be so easily knocked aside. He never really had to work at Bloodrush to be good at it, he just was, until suddenly she proved herself better.

And yet, without flinching, Mary Ann, famous for not giving a shit but listening to Gorgug say how much he had, just....asks if he has a girlfriend. Unparalleled confidence, shooting a shot he was unprepared for. Planets aligned even as his own orbit was knocked off course. And then, when he admits he doesn't even know where to get a quokki pet, something its been explicitly known to be something she really cares about? She writes down her number, letting him see that folded paper. She initiated this, and he got swept up in it, but instead of just handing over the number and allowing him to be swept up- Mary Ann Skuttle puts the number away and tells him shes gonna put it where you get quokki pets, and if he wants her number he's going to have to go get it. He's not allowed to just be swept up in the force of her, she wants him to put in effort, prove to her and himself that this isn't just a moment but a starting point. He cant be swept up by the tide, he's gotta swim. Gorgug liked Zelda, but their relationship started because they thought she was in danger and Gorgug had the best in. He stumbled into that relationship unsure and off balance, he never would have had the confidence to pursue Zelda without his friends hands on his back and their advice in his ears. Later on he gets more serious, he did love her and he put in the work to maintain that relationship, but it didn't work out and that's ok. Ever confident Mary Ann tho? She doesn't want unsure stumbling steps into this relationship. If Gorgug doesn't make the active decision to chase her, to WANT to be with her and putting deliberate effort to get there, then she doesn't want him at all. Gorgug, confused, asking where you even GET a quokki pet? And she smirks, calls him a loser, and walks away leaving him reeling and dumbfounded. Mary Ann Skuttle wants Gorgug to work for this. And who is Gorgug Thistlespring, but someone who puts in the work for things he wants? He did the seemingly impossible by creating his own subclass of Barbaficer, even if he had to take four years of schooling all at once. He puts in the work and makes the impossible possible, the greatest wizard of this age. So yeah. Yeah. Gorgug Thistlespring likes Mary Ann Skuttle because she makes him work for it.

[hyumjim]

Sorry but feeling superior to random Muslim/Arab Americans who did not vote for a party that told them over and over again to get over the ongoing genocide of their people…… is not gonna save you

[carnivallsarchive]

.

See the thing is. I know I'm good at writing. Like I have my weak areas or things I need to improve in, but it's not a skill I otherwise spend a lot of time feeling insecure about because a) if I don't believe in my writing literally who will b) if I want to publish my writing I ought to at least feel a resting level of good about it because editors and agents likely will not be cradling my face like a prize cat and telling me how talented I am while asking for their edits c) I've always had an audience for my writing even at its worst– I started sharing my original works online when I was around 16 & that really helped sell to me the idea of 'there will always be someone out there who likes what you do' d) untalented men never think this hard about the quality of their works and they always end up published anyway and e) I don't have many other thoroughly developed skills so why not have one I feel good about. Having said this. Awkward feeling to realize you're one of the authorial weak links in your postgraduate creative writing degree's social circle

[uchiha-gaeshi]

Does anyone else automatically size themselves up with people their age and look for ways that you’re inferior to them? Just me? Ok….

[a-shadowedvales]

when jane's powers return in season four (and because they were regained by her confronting and accepting her past, rather than being retraumatised with it!) they're stronger than they ever were. when she starts getting a handle back on them, she very quickly comes to realise not only have they affected her, but her mother, too. one of the biggest losses that came about with her losing them was the fact that she could no longer visit terry in the void; while there was no real communication there, it did allow jane to sit with her, and gain a little more connection than she could in the real world. when she first visits the void after their return, it takes her three hours to find terry, something that is both unexpected and incredibly worrying. but when she does, it's something of a miracle. jane's increased strength and control over the void actually wakes terry up from her catatonic state, but only in the void. there's no way to help her mother physically, but she does do so (unbeknownst to her) mentally. terry is reborn in jane's newfound control over the vale of shadows; she becomes the woman she once was, and while her body remains frozen in a "good dream", her mind connected to jane's own allows her some freedom. jane is able to speak to her mother in the void, is able to be held by her, and while it's still unfair and jane cannot stay in there forever, it's something. this only lasts for about eight months, as each visit slowly begins deteriorating terry's physical and mental state, and jane's health begins declining after spending hours upon hours in the void each and every day.

when jane finds out these visits are actually killing her mother on the outside, she deems to stop, but terry expresses the importance of them being able to speak, that she'd prefer to die on the outside, if it meant she could have just a few months with her daughter like this. terry and jane's connection was always so strong, which ultimately led to terry "waking up" in the void, but even jane's newfound strength cannot save her from the harsh realities. each visit nearing the end of those eight months, terry fades more and more, becomes weaker in the void, and her real body eventually gives up. jane's in the void when her mother eventually passes on, and physically feels their connection weaken, like some part of her suddenly becomes lost in the shadows, a part she'll never find again. jane falls into a depressive state for weeks after her mother's death, given she's technically lost her a second time, but soon comes to realise she was lucky to have even shared those eight months together. it was better than nothing at all. there is a proper burial and funeral, (and when jane dies, she's buried next to her mother) which allows jane some sense of closure. she never fully recovers from losing terry, nor from the fact that she never had a proper relationship with her, but she does eventually find some peace with it all.

[orcelito]

Wild that anytime I post an update a lot of people read it and are even excited about it and have their own thoughts and reactions to it that I'll never know.

Comments are only the very tip of the iceberg with it. And I am Very grateful to commenters for letting me in on it. But in the same way that I'll be excited with my friends when a fic we love updates, it's likely that Other people enthuse with Their friends when my fic updates. And it's just so strange. An experience I'll never have access to.

Everyone's relationship with my fic is unique. So many different people with so many different circumstances and preferences... and the number of people that have told me that my fic is one of their favorites, some even saying it's their Favorite favorite... every single one of them have their own relationship with my writing.

It's just interesting to me. I think and think and think on my writing. I have my plans for basically the entire fic, the way I want it to end already thought out, all the major plot beats and the relationship progressions, All of that thought out. I love my writing so very much, but I'm on the inside looking out. This is my mechanical horse, and I'm in here laying out the groundwork and pulling levers and constructing limbs, puttering away making the horse move. Forever and always, my relationship with it will be more intimate than anyone's, and yet more clinical. Because I know it better than the back of my own hand, but I'll never have the experience of reading it fresh. Of reading it without knowing everything that's going to happen from now to the end and beyond. I won't have the thrill of the plot twists I have planned, the delight at seeing things progress, the horror at seeing things go wrong...

This is my mechanical horse, and I'm making it move.

I just always wonder what it must be like to see it from the outside. I hope to others that it's a pretty horse.

[inkedbybarnes]

blind date

bucky barnes x fem!reader

summary: convinced that bucky will never like you back, you agree to a blind date arranged for you to forget about him.

word count: 3.7k

warnings: fluff. two idiots pining over each other (i know, i know. i love the trope). blind dates (they honestly scare me). boundaries being crossed. not so gentleman of a blind date. protective & grumpy bucky (yes, that's a warning!). pet names such as doll. lowercase writing. not proofread.

notes: happy 500 followers to us! hehe. sorry it took long, i waited until i reached that milestone and we finally did! we're growing in our small delulu home, and i love it. <3 i hope you enjoy this one!

dividers by @cafekitsune

comments, reblogs, and likes are highly appreciated. thank you! ♡

“come on! tell me more about this mystery guy.”

natasha plopped down the couch beside you while she held a pint of ice cream in her hand and a spoonful on its way to her mouth. you were talking about the blind date that sam arranged for you, and she hasn't stopped asking questions since you mentioned it.

“there's really nothing to tell besides that he's a guy looking for a date and that he's friends with sam. i'm actually surprised that sam set this all up, but i trust him, you know? maybe it'll be nice,” you answered, ignoring the fact that sam suggested this to help you get over your not-so-little crush on a super soldier.

your phone beeped, showing a message sent to you by your teammate. “speaking of the devil, sam just sent me the details but i'm really not sure if i should go. it doesn't feel right.”

“and leave the poor guy waiting? not happening." natasha stuck her spoon into her pint and set it down on the coffee table. “you feel that way because you like someone already, but nothing's going to happen if we'll sit here waiting. you're either giving this date a chance or ask bucky out. it's time you finally go out there and see someone. aren't you sick of us yet?"

“i'm quite sick of you, that's for sure.” you joked, having natasha as your room neighbour and basically your best friend. if you weren't spending your time sleeping in your room, you'd be spending it with her. “i just don't think i should be going on dates when i know i'm technically not emotionally available for others yet.”

“oh, you can't be sick of me. i'm great company." natasha replied confidently. “then why did you agree? we all know, besides barnes, that you've liked him for so long. plus, he's never been with anyone for ages. the two of you makes sense.”

you gnawed on your lower lip, hesitant to tell nat the reason why you agreed to this stupid date, but she was your best friend and also one hell of a spy to even try and hide it. “he told me that he found someone similar to bucky and that i might want to meet him. we agreed to let it be a blind date to avoid the mess of telling them that they're meeting an avenger.”

“i knew it. you're going on a rebound date!” she jumped on her seat, as if she'd solved the winning numbers to the lottery. “there was no way you'd suddenly go on a blind date without a catch. you're too hung up on bucky!”

“keep it down!” you pulled her back into the couch, nervously looking around the room to see if anyone was close by. “i'm pretty sure rebounds only apply to people i've dated. bucky's hardly a candidate for that list.”

“you've liked him for way too long that it basically feels like you had a relationship, and i'm pretty sure he likes you too,” natasha said. “trust me, my guts? golden.”

you winced at the thought. there had been zero signs that bucky liked you back. as much as you trusted natasha and her instincts, this was something you couldn't just assume.

“i don't think so, nat. i've given him enough hints. it's either he's too dense about it or he's just not interested. maybe it's just how it's supposed to be, and i can't keep myself stuck with maybes forever.” you sighed, deciding to finally go to the blind date. “help me pick an outfit?”

“like you even have to ask?” she smiled, dragging you to your room while you were still left with uncertainty in your heart.

the restaurant was one of those hole-in-the-wall places in downtown new york. it had a lot people dining inside, their noise easily heard from the outside, yet the ambiance already felt warm and welcoming. you wondered if sam suggested the place or the guy you were about to meet.

you sighed, giving your chest one last tap since it wouldn't stop beating so fast. it was a wonder how your heartbeat remained stable during a risky mission, while a harmless date had you this nervous. although with that, you felt human.

“okay, let's see where this goes,” you muttered to yourself, glancing at your watch that had a tracking device in it, as requested (or ordered) by your best friend.

natasha initially opted to come with you and seat somewhere far, but you told her that you didn't need it. so, she settled with a tracking device, as if you weren't an avenger who could defend yourself. you couldn't find it in you to complain, since this was natasha's own way of showing that she cared.

you entered the restaurant, eyes wandering around the room despite not knowing exactly what to look for. the only details you were allowed to know was that “joseph” knew where to take you, so you assumed that person was one of the staff that you had to look for.

once you found a waitress that didn't look too occupied, you approached her with a smile. “excuse me, may i know where joseph is?”

the lady looked up at you, recognition evident on her face. you were slightly worried that she knew your identity, but she gave you a warm smile and held your arm gently. “oh, he's right there by the counter. let me take you to him!”

she escorted you towards the man handling the counter that seemed to be where the orders were taken. he was shouting various orders behind him while arranging the food on the counter. by the looks of it, he could be the manager or the owner of the place.

“she's here!” the lady beside you exclaimed, catching the full attention of joseph.

“ah, there's our special guest for tonight!” joseph walked around the counter to hug you, as if you knew each other for a long time. “come, come! we have the best spot reserved for you. it's right outside where you can enjoy the view while also having some privacy, eh? your date already arrived, but no worries. he wasn't waiting for too long.”

you were rendered speechless as he took you to the patio, not expecting your date to arrive first, and most importantly not expecting to see him right away. you thought you were early enough, but it seems that your date was an earlier bird than you were.

once outside, all you could see was an empty patio with one man sitting not so far from where you were standing. you hated how you could only see his back and not his face, since he was facing the opposite direction. although, you immediately noticed how he was dressed similarly to bucky.

similar haircut, black boots, and a black jacket. while you weren't sure if they actually looked alike, sam wasn't kidding about them having some similarities.

“how come it's empty out here?” you asked with genuine curiosity. the restaurant was oozing with customers tonight, and they could surely use the extra space outdoors.

“well, uh...” joseph scratched his head, smiling awkwardly as he looked for an answer. “oh, well, stop worrying about that! you're here to go on a date and nothing more! let us worry about that ourselves, hm? come, let's not make your date wait for too long.”

you both walked towards the only table occupied, taking a deep breath before joseph announced, “your date has arrived!”

the man turned around, eyes widened at the sudden noise, but he eventually smiled once he looked at you.

“hey, nice to finally meet you.” he stood up, extending his hand. “i'm martin.”

one look at him and you knew that your heart stubbornly stayed with someone you shouldn't be thinking about.

“i still can't believe that i'm on a date with an avenger.”

you were barely done with your meal despite being here for more than an hour, and martin hasn't been able to stop gushing about your whole avenger sideline. while you understood his excitement, this wasn't the type of date that you hoped for.

“you think i could tell my friends?” he asked, suddenly nudging his chair closer to you that he was basically sitting beside you. “they probably won't believe me, so will it be okay if we took a picture?”

oh, so that's why he moved closer.

“sure.” you forced a smile. “but don't get too close, maybe? i'm.. i'm not that comfortable yet.”

as if you said nothing, he placed an arm over your shoulder, pulling you even closer to him. you've been through worse situations than this, but you were highly uncomfortable having your boundaries crossed.

bucky wouldn't do something like this. how did sam think that any of his behaviour was similar to him?

martin already had his phone out, capturing pictures and squeezing your arm, when you decided that this isn't what you wanted, but before you could open your mouth, you felt someone pulling his arm off of you, causing martin to scream.

“what is wrong with you!?” martin shouted, standing up and stepping away while he held his aching arm. when you turned around, you felt your heart stop to find the person you least expected to be here, but wanted the most to be with.

“bucky?”

he did not look at you, his eyes still fixated on martin, nostrils flaring as he took a step closer, standing in front of you as if he was shielding you, while martin took the same amount of steps backwards. “she clearly said no. what the fuck was so hard about understanding that?”

“look, man, i don't know what you're doing here, but i think this is between me and her,” he said, his eyes showing fear as he watched the ex-assassin approach him, hearing the gears of his metal arm whirring.

“give me your phone.” bucky ordered. “now.”

martin immediately fished for his phone, nearly dropping it, and gave it to bucky. “w-what are you going to do?”

“no, this is what you're gonna do,” bucky started, crashing martin's phone with ease and carelessly throwing it to the side. “this date never happened, your friends will hear nothing about tonight, and you will get out of here before i finish counting to three. one...”

in a snap, martin was already out of your sight. if you hadn't known martin before this, you would think he idolised pietro with the way he ran so fast.

“are you okay?”

forgetting about bucky for a split second, his voice jolted you out of your thoughts. you looked up, your heart racing, to find him right in front you.

“what are you doing here?”

“that doesn't really answer my question, doll. answer mine first, will ya? then i'll answer yours.”

“i'm okay, but i can take care of myself. you didn't have to scare the guy.” you sighed, trying your best to look displeased when in fact this has been the happiest you've been tonight. “so? why are you here?”

“well, it's really hard to explain...”

“you better try, barnes, because i am very confused right now,” you said. “one moment i'm on a date with someone, then suddenly my teammate, who i told nothing about said date, appears and crushes the phone of the guy i'm with?”

“natasha told me about it.”

you frowned, not surprised with natasha's gossipy nature, but confused about what she could've said that made him go all the way here.

“i was looking for you since you're always with us during dinner, and nat told me that you were on a date. i couldn't help but ask where and with whom, but she said that she had no idea, that it was a blind date. she was more than glad to tell me where you were, so i came here looking for you.”

“why?” you asked, confused and suddenly hopeful at the same time. although, you tried to keep your hopes down, not wanting to set yourself up for a heartbreak.

“what do you mean why? that's it. i was just worried, and now you're okay. can we go home?”

he turned his back on you and walked away, you were quick enough follow him, still unsatisfied with his answer.

once you've reached a dark alley where he had his motorcycle parked, you sighed and decided to ask one more time.

“what are you actually doing here, barnes?” you asked. “i want an actual answer or i'm walking home.”

“it doesn't matter,” bucky answered shortly, frustration. written on his face. “why did you agree to this anyway? doesn't feel like something you'd do.”

“you have no idea about what i feel and what i want to do,” you answered. “and you still haven't answered my question.”

“i don't know, okay? i don't know. i just..” he sighed. “i heard the word date and everything didn't make sense. all i knew was that i wanted to follow you here and stop whatever you were doing. i didn't like it.”

“what gives you the right to stop me from going on a date?” you asked, your head jerked back in disbelief. “and why would it even bother you? this is the first time someone went on a date in the team. so what makes mine so different?”

“what do you think?” he asked, his gaze challenging and curious, waiting for your response.

you stood in silence, his question causing a sudden drift in the conversation. you could feel the tension in the air.

“sam made me go to a blind date as well,” he spoke again. “i just remembered that he was asking me where i'd take someone on a date. days after that, he said he found a girl that i might like, and that i should go on a date with her, he suggested that it should be a blind date, knowing that i'm an avenger and all.”

“why didn't you go?”

“i couldn't. i wasn't interested. i knew it wouldn't work.”

“why?”

“because i already like someone.”

your heart sank, a lump forming in your throat as the reality set in that the person you've been pining for was already interested in someone else.

so much for going on a date to forget about him.

“what about you?” he asked. “why did you go?”

because of you, you idiot.

“trying to get over someone,” you simply answered.

“you were seeing someone?” he asked, completely clueless, but suddenly looking uneasy. “i never knew you were in a relationship. i guess, we're not that close, but i thought i'd at least know abou—”

“what? no!” you replied, voice rising as you spoke. "god, i agreed to this date because i wanted to get over you!"

the words slipped out of your mouth, your eyes widening in surprise as you accidentally reveal the feelings you had kept hidden.

bucky blinked, silence hanging in the air. the confession felt heavy between you as you waited for his response.

“i didn't agree to going on a blind date because i have feelings you,” bucky finally spoke, taking a deep breath before continuing, “because i knew i wouldn't enjoy it knowing i'd be thinking of you anyway, because as convinced as i was that you had no interest in me, i'd rather keep my eyes on you than on anybody else.”

“wait, wait, what? you like me?” you repeated in a slightly disbelieving tone, searching his face for confirmation.

“why would i follow you all the way here if i didn't?”

“because you care? and it might be dangerous to go on a date with someone i've never met?” you guessed. “i mean, i think you'd also do it for everybody else, as grumpy as you look like on the outside, you can be a softie sometimes.”

“if i had no feelings for you, i wouldn't be here. you're an avenger for christ's sake. some random guy would be like a training dummy for you,” he answered. “and no, i wouldn't be doing this for anybody else. if the situation's that dangerous, maybe, but a date? you're all adults. you know what you're doing.”

you couldn't help but giggle at his answer, which earned you a glare from him. “what?”

“nothing.” you shook your head. “you sound like an old man lecturing the younger generation.”

“are we completely ignoring the fact that we like each other?”

“that's the only thing on my mind right now.” you admitted. “are you sure about what you just said? it could be the hunger talking.”

instead of answering, bucky took his phone out of his pocket, swiping and tapping on it a few times before taking your hand and placing it on your palm.

“what am i supposed to—”

“just read it.”

choosing not to argue with him, you grabbed the phone with a frown. his messages with natasha were on the screen, starting from their messages from nearly four months ago. you scrolled through their messages, and while they lasted for months, they were all short and straightforward.

three months ago

bucky:

did you arrive safely?

romanoff:

since when did you start asking?

bucky:

?

romanoff:

yes, we arrived safely.

bucky:

👍🏻

romanoff:

really???

two months ago

bucky:

is she okay?

romanoff:

ohhh, that's why you keep texting.

bucky:

answer

romanoff:

geez, barnes.

yeah, she's okay.

bucky:

ok

one month ago

bucky:

she's sick?

romanoff:

yeah, wanna visit her?

you're basically immune.

bucky:

i have a mission

romanoff:

oh yeah

oops

bucky:

are you busy?

romanoff:

nope

why?

bucky:

take my place

romanoff:

no thanks, barnes.

bucky:

i'll take your next task

and the next one as well

romanoff:

why can't you just take this one?

bucky:

nothing

romanoff:

a reason or i'm not doing it.

bucky:

she's sick

i want to stay

romanoff:

oh my god

you're such a sap

fine i'll talk to steve

bucky:

ty

romanoff:

you're using abbreviations now???

bucky:

👍🏻

one week ago

romanoff:

movie night later, don't ditch us again

bucky:

busy

romanoff:

she planned this one

she's worried you won't come

bucky:

i'll bring snacks

romanoff:

i love knowing your weakness

bring popcorn!

bucky:

she prefers pizza over popcorn

does she like popcorn?

romanoff:

nope, but some of us do.

bucky:

ok

romanoff:

so you're bringing popcorn?

bucky:

no

once you were done reading, you returned his phone back to his hand. “you do like me,” you said, the confession finally sinking in.

bucky nodded. “and you like me too.”

“where does that leave us?” you asked, hoping. “are we.. dating now?”

“no,” he answered quickly.

you felt that ache returning in your chest, but before you could say something, bucky already sensed your worries and he wasn't letting you slip away that easily.

“no because i want to do this right. i want to take you out on a date first, bring you flowers, play music and ask you for a dance, all that stuff that you deserve,” he explained, bringing his warm hand to your cheek. “but trust me that it won't take long before i call you mine. i don't think i have the patience for it at this point.”

“you promise?” you rose to your tiptoes, wrapping your arms around him. “i don't want to wait that long either.”

“you won't,” he replied, leaning into you, his lips brushing against your nose before pulling you in a kiss. “i promise.”

this was supposed to have a lil bonus when they got back to the tower, revealing the team's true involvement with the blind date, buttt i might just do it some other time as a snippet/part 2 instead. i still have a few to write anyway, woops.

if you have any requests for bucky, send them my way! 💌

[creatediana]

"Fed to the Muses" - a poem written 2/22/2024

[infamous-if]

May 2025

Happy May! It's my favorite month because it's my birthday month and I'm one of those annoying people who treat their birthday like it's a national holiday (sorry)(yes im a gemini). I'm turning MC's age (26) so that's cool. I will now be auditioning for a big reality tv show pls watch out for it and vote for me.

I am CONFIDENT chatper 4 will be done in may. It's written. I just had a lot of logistical things i needed to work out. Plus I made a mistake in the earlier chapters that i didnt realize about until it came to bite me while writing this chapter (i fixed it). I have been doing a lot of moving around and even had to move my outline around—the same outline i barely rearrange—in preparation for the upcoming chapters. I've kinda been all over the place with this chapter because now things are happening. like actual things. real things. and im trying to prepare myself so im not a mess later. (ive learned from past experience). There are some things in chapter 4 that don't see a solution until later and it has me screaming. (i like instant gratification and this is the opposite of that)

But it is my favorite chapter. I'm really happy with how it turned out.

Something happens in this chapter that can go many ways which is why this chapter feels longer. Not only because of the Challenge but because of how this Challenge pans out. I think what this character and this week does will surprise some, maybe not others. But I'm excited to see the reactions of *that* anyway. heh.

I realized with every update the stats are my biggest problem and i realized it's because they don't feel like they're representing what i want them to represent. personality stats being measured in the story and will still influence flavor text so that hasn't changed but i've reworked the stat page to hone in on what truly matters in the story. for example, i made the attached/detached stat visible in the "band" part of the stat page. I've also added a Castmate/Competitor stat that ive always measured but i've renamed it and made it visible. That felt like something I didn't want to keep hidden. Stuff like that. You'll see it in the next update. All of this in preparation for the rest of the story.

This sounds like a huge change but it's not haha. I've just streamlined it so it better suits the story.

Yeah! This, like the other chapters, is a biggun. But I'm happy and proud of myself.

I've been asked again and i want to reiterate that patreon gets everything first, band tier and then fan tier and then to the public. The Seven POV should be up tomorrow.

Thanks guys! Can't wait to release Chapter 4 :)