#it’s helping me come to terms with some things

[thebarneschronicles]

Closer to Home

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Synopsis: As you settle into your new role as the team’s “girl in the chair,” helping Sam and Bucky with their missions, you find yourself increasingly drawn to Bucky's intense presence. His brooding silence is matched only by his watchful eyes, and despite his gruff exterior, your kindness begins to chip away at his walls. When Bucky insists on walking you home one night, clyou chalk it up to his old-fashioned sense of duty and think nothing of it. But as the night unfolds, you realize there’s far more behind his actions than just good manners, and your growing feelings for him may not be as hidden as you think.

A/N: This was supposed to be something else ENTIRELY. But it just unravelled and here we are! Please, feel free to let me know your thoughts about it! B xx

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Your relationship with Bucky hadn’t started with fireworks or dramatic confessions—it began like any other normal relationship: after drinks and a movie.

It was a quiet evening, the kind that felt heavier after long hours at your desk. You were finally wrapping up for the night, shrugging on your coat and slinging your purse over a shoulder. The clock had just ticked past 10 p.m., though it hardly felt late to you. Still, your shoulders sagged under the tension of the day—hours spent poring over intel, trying to uncover scraps of information that might help Sam and Bucky on their next mission.

“You shouldn’t be walking home alone.”

You looked up to find Bucky leaning casually against the doorway, arms crossed. His voice was gruff but not unkind, his blue eyes shadowed but steady.

“It’s just a few blocks,” you replied, already bracing for the argument.

His jaw tightened—a subtle shift, but one you’d come to recognize as the start of his infamous stubborn streak. “Doesn’t matter. My ma would haunt me if I let you.”

That earned him a laugh. “Your 'ma' sounds like quite the character.”

“She was,” he said, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. It disappeared as quickly as it came. “C’mon, grab your stuff. I’ll walk you.”

You didn’t argue further, mostly because you were too tired to win, and partly because there was something oddly comforting about his protectiveness, even if it came wrapped in brooding silences and sharp glances.

Being around Bucky had taken some getting used to. You knew about him, of course—who didn’t? But nothing had prepared you for the sheer intensity of James Buchanan Barnes up close. His unrelenting stares, his quiet presence that somehow filled a room, and the way he seemed to carry the weight of entire worlds on his shoulders.

When you’d first joined their team as the “girl in the chair” (a term Sam insisted on despite your repeated protests that you were, in fact, a woman), you hadn’t known what to expect. Your days as a research journalist had been left behind in favor of a role that felt more like a sidekick to two superheroes. Never the hero, always the support.

“It’s not nothing, though,” Sam had told you once, catching you mid-eye-roll during a particularly grueling debrief. “You’re saving lives too, y’know. Every name, every address you dig up? That’s someone else’s tomorrow you’re protecting.”

Still, the job came with its own toll: exhaustion, migraines, and a constant ache in your wrists from hours of typing. But it also came with a quiet sense of purpose—and Bucky’s occasional company.

At first, his silences had been intimidating, his brooding presence almost oppressive. But you met him with unwavering kindness—bringing him coffee when he looked like he needed it, or letting him retreat into your office to escape Sam’s chatter. Slowly, the silences grew shorter, and the stares softened into something more watchful.

Now, walking beside him under the soft glow of streetlights, the quiet felt less like distance and more like understanding.

“So,” you said, breaking the silence, “is this a one-time chivalry thing, or do I get an official escort service from now on?”

Bucky snorted. “You’re assuming I’m doing this for you.”

“Oh, really?” you teased, grinning. “Who else is benefitting from my safe arrival home?”

He glanced at you, a spark of humor flickering in his eyes. “Sam’ll never let me hear the end of it if something happens to you. Man loves his lectures.”

“Ah,” you said, mock-serious. “So I’m saving you from Sam’s wrath. Got it.”

He didn’t answer right away, but his pace slowed slightly, his hand brushing the base of your spine as you turned a corner, like he was directing towards home. “Maybe I just like making sure you’re okay,” he muttered.

Your heart stuttered at his words, a quiet ache blooming in your chest, but you didn’t dare press him further. Hope was a dangerous thing, a fragile spark that had burned you one too many times before. It was safer to tuck it away, to pretend his words meant nothing more than what he’d said—a simple gesture of kindness, nothing deeper.

You were friends, after all... right? Or at least, friendly. He was kind to you, yes, but Bucky Barnes was kind in a way that felt carefully measured, like a soldier fulfilling his duty. He was a gentleman through and through, the kind who’d been raised to believe it was his responsibility to make sure no lady faced the dangers of the night alone.

“His mah would’ve expected nothing less,” you thought wryly, your lips tugging into a faint smile.

He was a man out of time, after all. Decades removed from the era he was born into, yet somehow still anchored there, even now. You wouldn’t have been surprised if the rules he followed were the same ones ingrained into him all those years ago. And maybe, just maybe, it was easier to believe that than to let yourself hope he cared for any reason beyond habit or honor.

“Almost there,” he said, his voice breaking through your thoughts. His hand hovered near your elbow, steady and sure, as if ready to catch you should you stumble.

The steps to your door loomed far too quickly for your aching heart, bringing an abrupt end to your time with the brooding soldier. Each step felt heavier than the last, as if your body was reluctant to leave his quiet, steady presence.

You paused on the final step, its height almost eliminating the difference between you and Bucky. It gave you just enough courage to look up at him, your fingers nervously twisting around the strap of your purse.

“Thank you, Bucky,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

He dipped his head in a single nod, his icy blue eyes flickering down to meet yours. His expression, as always, was unreadable, cast in shadows under the dim streetlamp. “Anytime.”

The simplicity of his reply made your chest tighten. You nodded in return, swallowing hard as your heart hammered in your throat. Turning away from him, you fixed your gaze on your front door, willing yourself to move forward, to end the moment before it unraveled you completely.

Friends. That’s all this was. It had to be.

So why did it feel so wrong to turn your back on him? Why did it feel like you were forcing yourself to betray something deeper, something unspoken, simply by walking away?

Your hand was on the doorknob before you realized you’d stopped moving, the quiet war between your heart and your mind reaching a fever pitch. You squeezed your eyes shut, battling the urge that rose in you like a wave.

Don’t do it. Just go inside. Let him leave.

But the battle was already lost. Before you could stop yourself—before logic could wrestle control away from the reckless beating of your heart—you turned. Your feet moved without permission, carrying you back down the steps toward him.

It wasn’t a decision so much as a pull, steady and undeniable, the words slipping from your lips as if carried on a tide of longing you couldn’t resist.

“Would you like to come up for a drink?”

The words tumbled out unbidden, your voice trembling just enough to betray how desperately you wanted him to say yes.

His reaction couldn’t have been more Bucky if he tried. His eyes shifted, and you swore you could see every emotion flash through them—surprise, hesitation, something a lot like longing—before they settled back into the stoic mask he always wore. Quiet. Unimpressed. Broody. And yet…

“I wouldn’t mind a beer.”

A laugh bubbled up in your chest, shaky with relief, and you motioned toward your door. “Well, come on then. I’ve got a six-pack that’s been waiting for some company.”

His presence filled the small apartment in a way that made your breath catch, the air somehow heavier, more electric. How many times had your silly, stubborn heart conjured up this exact scenario? Late at night, Bucky standing just inside your door, peeling off his worn leather jacket and tugging off the gloves that shielded both metal and flesh. Then, as if he’d done it a thousand times, he’d settle into a corner of your couch, legs spread, shoulders sinking back into the soft fabric like he belonged there.

“There's Heineken, Bud, and Corona,” you said, your voice only slightly betraying your nerves as you toed off your shoes and dropped your keys and purse by the door. “I think I might even have some whiskey stashed away somewhere. What’s your poison?”

He hesitated for a moment, his gaze trailing lazily around the room before settling back on you. “I’ll have what you’re having.”

Your stomach flipped, and you nodded, biting back the grin threatening to stretch across your face. “Sure thing,” you said casually, though you were certain the flush creeping up your neck gave you away.

You turned toward the kitchen, your heart doing an embarrassing little leap as you busied yourself rummaging through the fridge and cabinets. The clink of bottles felt absurdly loud in the quiet apartment, every moment stretching with the weight of his presence just beyond your line of sight.

“Nice place,” he called from the living room, his tone casual but laced with something warmer.

“Thanks,” you replied, grabbing two beers and popping the caps off with practiced ease. “I’d say make yourself at home, but it looks like you’ve already got that covered.”

When you re-entered the room, there he was—exactly as you’d imagined so many times before. His jacket was draped over the back of the couch, his gloves neatly set beside it, and Bucky himself sprawled out comfortably. His metal hand rested casually on his knee, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at his lips as his eyes met yours.

“Here you go, Mr. Barnes,” you said, forcing a steady smile as you handed him the green bottle.

“To your first visit,” you began, raising your own bottle in a toast. You couldn’t help the way your gaze lingered, taking in the sight of his broad frame on your couch, the casual way he sat, the sheer presence of him filling the space. Warmth pooled low in your belly, and before you could stop yourself, you added, “May it be the first of many.”

His smirk deepened at that, a flicker of amusement flashing across his features. He raised his bottle silently, going for a sip—but you stopped him, your hand darting out to rest on his.

“Wait!” you blurted, your palm lightly pressing against his larger one.

His frown was slight, his gaze shifting between your hands before settling on your face. “Why?”

“You have to look at me when we cheers,” you explained, your voice a little breathless, a little unsure of what you were doing but too far in to back out now.

His brow arched. “And why’s that?”

“Bad luck if you don’t. Years of it.” You shrugged, suddenly feeling the ridiculousness of your own words but refusing to back down. “I mean, I can’t even count how many years... Probably best not to risk it.”

For a second, you thought he might argue. But then he chuckled, a soft sound that sent a flutter straight to your chest. “God knows I’ve had enough of that already, haven’t I?”

You giggled, your laughter bubbling out, light and carefree. The fact that he played along felt like a victory, a small but monumental crack in his stoic armor.

With a glint of something softer in his eyes, he tilted his head toward you, his gaze locking with yours. “Alright, doll,” he said, his voice quieter now, warmer. “Let’s do it properly.”

Eyes steady on yours, he clinked his bottle against yours, the sound sharp and satisfying in the quiet room. And then, he didn’t look away—not for a second—as he took a slow sip.

You followed suit, the contact between your eyes and his making your heart race so fast you thought it might burst. The heat in his gaze was steady, grounding, and yet it sent a thrilling, electric charge through you that made your knees nearly buckle.

“Better?” he asked, his voice low, the faintest curve to his lips as he lowered his bottle.

“Much,” you replied, somehow managing to keep your voice steady, even as your pulse thundered in your ears.

The air between you seemed to shift then, heavier but no less comforting—a new tension that simmered beneath the surface. If Bucky noticed the way your gaze lingered on him, the way your breath hitched every time his hand grazed your knee as he reached for another beer, he never said a thing.

He was the perfect gentleman, as always. Even when you slid closer on the couch, settling beside him on the plush cushions - even though there were a whole three other seats available to you. Even when you turned toward him, resting your head on your palm, your eyes tracing the strong lines of his face while you rambled about the mission reports piling up on your desk. He didn’t even glance at your neckline when you leaned over him to grab the remote, though you couldn’t help but steal a quiet inhale of his scent—clean, warm, unmistakably him.

“Alright,” you said, breaking the quiet. “I feel like I’m torturing you by making you listen to all this. Do you feel like watching something?” Your tone was cheery, light, but your heart raced at the thought of sharing something as simple and intimate as watching a film together.

With your eyes fixed on the TV, you missed the brief hesitation in his expression—the flicker of doubt that crossed his face and quickly vanished. Yet, neither the guilt, the fear, nor the pain that lingered in his soul seemed strong enough to stop him from embracing what you offered so openly: a chance to simply be. For the first time in what felt like forever, Bucky seemed just a little less burdened by the shadows of his past, a ghost of his old self and a lot of his new one urging him to give in.

“What’s on Netflix?” he asked, his voice low and casual.

Your head whipped around so quickly you nearly gave yourself whiplash. “How do you know what Netflix is?”

His lips quirked into a rare, genuinely amused smile, the kind that made your stomach flip. “I’m old, but I’m not that old, doll.”

“You’re 106,” you shot back, arching a brow.

“And yet, I still know what streaming is,” he countered, the smile growing. “I’m not living under a rock.”

“Well, I am impressed, Mr. Barnes,” you teased, settling back into the cushions. “What else do you know about modern technology? Please tell me you’ve at least heard of TikTok.”

His expression shifted into something closer to a scowl, but the playful glint in his eye betrayed him. “I know about TikTok,” he said, sounding almost offended. “And dating apps. God, the horrors,” he added, shaking his head dramatically as he glanced at his phone like it was some sort of ancient relic.

You couldn’t help but laugh, the sound warm and genuine, filling the cozy space between you. But beneath the humor, your stomach twisted with an unexpected knot. Dating apps?

“What about dating apps?” you asked, trying to sound casual, but the curiosity in your voice was hard to hide.

Bucky groaned, slouching deeper into the couch as though the thought of them physically pained him. “I don’t know, doll. They just seem... unnatural. All these profiles and swiping left or right, like you’re picking a product instead of a person. Not my thing.” His voice held a certain distaste, and the casual way he said it made you wonder if he was speaking from experience—or just his own strong sense of principle.

You bit your lip, trying to suppress the questions bubbling up inside you. Had he ever used them? Was he speaking from personal experience, or just from watching the chaos unfold around him? Your thoughts shifted uncomfortably, and you tried to steer the conversation back to safer waters.

“I get it,” you said, trying to sound nonchalant. “It’s... kind of weird, honestly. It’s like shopping for a date, but with less... quality control.” You shot him a teasing grin, but the tightness in your chest was hard to ignore.

Bucky chuckled, the sound a low rumble that was soothing, even though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Exactly. I mean, if I’m gonna meet someone, I’d rather it be... I don’t know, real? Not behind a screen.”

For some reason, his comment made your heart stumble, a traitorous beat skipping out of rhythm. You quickly dropped your gaze to your beer, hoping the reaction wasn’t written all over your face. Was he hinting that he preferred real, in-person connections? That he’d rather... meet someone like that?

You cleared your throat, feigning casual interest to mask the swarm of uncertainty rising inside. “So, how would you go about it? Finding a date, I mean. Is Sam your wingman?”

Bucky nearly choked on his beer, shaking his head vehemently. “God, no! Can you imagine? He’s too busy being Captain America to care about my love life... except when he’s accusing me of flirting with his sister.”

The corner of his mouth lifted into a smirk, and your chest tightened with something sharp and unwelcome. Jealousy. You bit down on your bottom lip, trying to chase it away. “I didn’t know you liked Sarah,” you said, and to your horror, the disappointment in your voice was impossible to hide.

Bucky raised an eyebrow, clearly catching the shift in your tone. “She’s great,” he said with a thoughtful nod. Then his lips curved knowingly. “But not like that.”

The heat crawling up your neck to your cheeks was impossible to ignore, and Bucky’s sly grin told you he’d noticed. Your relief collided with your curiosity, the two tangling into a dangerous need to know more. “Oh,” you started hesitantly. “So... if not her, then who?”

He took another sip of his beer, the pause deliberate. “Had one date with the waitress from that Asian place we always order from. It… didn’t go well.”

Your brows furrowed. “And you haven’t tried again since then?”

“Not really.” He shrugged, leaning back in his chair, the movement deceptively casual. “You know how it is these days—apps, algorithms, everyone judging you by a couple of photos and a bio. And who’s lining up to date a former assassin, huh? People know too much, too soon. Real connections don’t happen that way.”

The self-deprecating edge in his voice made your heart ache. You tilted your head, studying the way his vibranium fingers tapped lightly against the beer bottle. “Maybe,” you said softly, your voice steady despite the nervous thrum beneath your skin, “you’re looking in the wrong places.”

His gaze snapped to yours, sharp and searching. “Oh yeah?” he asked, voice low, almost daring. “And where do you think I should look?”

You swallowed hard, feeling the weight of his question, his attention. “Maybe a little closer to home,” you murmured, eyes resolutely fixed on the beer bottle in your own hands.

The silence that followed was electric, charged with unspoken possibilities that hung in the air like static. His gaze lingered on you, steady and intense, and you could feel it even without looking up. It made your pulse race in a way you didn’t dare acknowledge.

The truth was, you weren’t sure if you were just caught up in the moment—or if there was something more lingering in his words, in the way he was looking at you now.

You wanted to ask. The question burned on the tip of your tongue, begging to be spoken. But a part of you hesitated, afraid of the answer. What if this was nothing more than friendly banter? What if pushing further shattered the comfortable connection you’d built?

“Closer to home, huh?” Bucky’s voice was a low rumble, breaking the silence but not the tension. He leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees, and for a moment, it felt like he was closing the space between you. “And what does that mean, exactly? You got someone in mind for me, doll?”

There it was—that nickname. The one you pretended to hate but secretly adored. It sent a shiver down your spine, and you could feel the corner of your mouth twitch, betraying the smile you tried to suppress. His voice was so close it warmed you from head to toe. “I’m just saying,” you replied, forcing your tone to stay neutral, “maybe you’re overthinking it. Sometimes the best things are right in front of you.”

His lips quirked, his expression softening as if he’d caught onto something unsaid. “You think so?” Bucky asked, his voice quieter now, almost thoughtful.

You dared to turn your head and glance at him, and the way his blue eyes locked onto yours stole whatever breath you had left. “Yeah,” you said, your voice barely more than a whisper. “I know so.”

The moment stretched between you, fragile and heavy with unspoken words. You swore he was leaning closer, his gaze flickering briefly to your lips before returning to your eyes. And suddenly, the question burning in your chest felt inevitable.

“Bucky…” you began, voice trembling slightly, unsure of what you were about to say—or what he might say back.

“Yeah, doll?” Bucky’s voice was gentle, a thread of warmth in the charged air between you.

You hesitated, but the weight of your emotions was too much to carry any longer. “Is this a date?” you finally blurted, the words tumbling out before you could second-guess yourself.

For a moment, his expression didn’t change, and then he shook his head slowly. “It’s not,” he said, his voice steady but quiet.

Your chest tightened, and the disappointment hit hard, like a blow you hadn’t braced for. You tried to mask it, but your face betrayed you, your shoulders sagging under the weight of the rejection. The ache in your heart grew with every second of silence that followed, the room feeling colder with each passing beat.

What you missed was the storm raging behind his steel-blue eyes—the internal battle he fought against his demons, the ones that screamed he wasn’t good enough for you. Wasn’t good enough for anyone. He’d carried those ghosts for too long to ignore them now. But he wasn’t blind.

He’d noticed the way your smile softened when it was meant for him, brighter and warmer than it ever was for anyone else. He’d seen how you fretted over him after missions, your hands fluttering with concern even at the smallest scratch on his skin. And he’d felt the hope radiating from you tonight when you’d invited him over, your words laced with a vulnerability you rarely showed.

Bucky knew. He’d known for a while. And that knowledge both terrified and thrilled him. Love, in any form, was fragile—he’d learned that the hard way. But tonight, sitting here with you, he realized he couldn’t keep running from the possibility of it.

He wanted you. Your laughter, your kindness, your stubbornness, your touch. He craved all of it. And maybe he didn’t deserve it, but for once in his long life, he wanted to try.

Bucky set his beer down, his movements deliberate, and leaned closer. His flesh hand brushed against the back of your arm and the touch sent a shiver up your arm. 

“It’s not a date,” he repeated, voice low but filled with a quiet resolve that made your breath catch, hurt twisting at your heart.

Your brow furrowed, the downturn of your lips impossible to hide. “Heard you the first time…”

“This isn’t a date,” he pressed on. Then, with a small, almost shy smile, he added, “But it could be.”

Your heart skipped, his words hanging in the air like a lifeline. “Bucky…”

Cutting through your hesitation, his gaze locked onto yours, unflinching, steady. “If you want this… if you want me, I’m yours. I want to try.”

The vulnerability in his voice left you breathless, stealing any coherent thought you might have had. For the first time in what felt like forever, hope blossomed in your chest, warm and radiant. You didn’t hesitate this time, your lips curving into a soft, trembling smile.

“Is this because you’re afraid of the apps?” you teased, the quip breaking the intensity just enough for you to breathe. But your voice wavered slightly, and your eyes glistened with the tears threatening to spill. “Aren’t you afraid I’ll steal your virtue?”

Bucky chuckled, low and genuine, the sound sending warmth curling in your chest. “I’m not a damsel in distress, doll,” he said, his tone playful as his fingers brushed a strand of hair away from your face. The simple touch sent shivers down your spine, and you leaned into it instinctively.

“And you’re also not the big bad wolf you think you are,” you countered softly, your voice tinged with both affection and defiance.

“Well, technically…” His lips quirked into a lopsided grin. “I am the White Wolf.”

You rolled your eyes, the tension breaking into something lighter, something safe. “He jokes,” you said, shaking your head. “He could be kissing instead…”

His grin softened, and for a beat, he just looked at you, his hand still lingering near your face. Then, as if your words had given him permission, he leaned in, closing the space between you in a way that felt both inevitable and extraordinary.

“Guess I’ll take your advice for once, doll,” he murmured, his breath brushing against your lips.

The moment his lips touched yours, the world seemed to shrink to just the two of you. His kiss was gentle at first, a question rather than an assumption, as though he wanted to be sure this was what you truly wanted. His warm hand cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing softly against your cheekbone, while his vibranium hand rested lightly on your knee, grounding him in the moment.

You sighed into the kiss, your hand instinctively reaching up to thread through the short hair at the nape of his neck. The movement drew him closer, and he obliged, deepening the kiss with a soft groan that sent a shiver down your spine. His lips were soft yet firm, moving against yours in a way that spoke of patience and restrained hunger, like he was savoring every second of this moment.

His vibranium hand finally moved, finding your waist with surprising tenderness. The cool metal was a stark contrast to the heat of his other hand through the fabric of your shirt, but it pulled you to the reality of him—both the man he was and the one he’d fought so hard to become.

When you parted briefly for air, his forehead rested against yours, his breaths mingling with yours in the small space between you. His eyes fluttered open, heavy-lidded and brimming with emotions he didn’t have to say out loud.

“Doll…” he whispered, his voice rough and full of awe, like he couldn’t quite believe what had just happened.

But you weren’t done. You weren’t ready to let the moment slip away. Sliding your hand from his neck to his jaw, you tilted his face back toward yours, brushing your lips against his again, slower this time, savoring the taste of him. He responded immediately, his grip on your waist tightening as his mouth moved against yours with more certainty, more passion.

The kiss deepened, growing warmer, more insistent. Your bodies angled closer together, his presence consuming your senses. You could feel his heartbeat against yours, steady and strong, and the faint rasp of his stubble as it brushed against your skin only made the experience more intoxicating.

You weren’t sure how it happened—one moment you were pressed against the back of your couch, his hands and lips demanding your full attention, and the next, you were straddling his thighs. Your arms wrapped tightly around his neck as your harsh breaths mingled, the taste of his tongue intoxicating and impossible to resist.

For all his claims of being a man out of his time, Bucky Barnes knew exactly how to touch a woman. His hands were a perfect dichotomy: one warm and strong, the other cool and unyielding, but both equally firm and commanding. His touch left no room for doubt or hesitation, responding to every unspoken plea you hadn’t yet found the words for.

And his kiss? God, his kiss. You could write sonnets about the way his lips moved against yours, the way his tongue teased and claimed you, coaxing a need from you that you hadn’t known you were capable of. None of your wildest fantasies could compare to the reality of him, his body pressed against yours, solid and capable. The things it could do—what it was doing, what it promised to do—set your whole body alight with yearning.

You kissed him harder, deeper, needier, your hips moving instinctively against his. His groan rumbled low in his chest, a sound that only made you crave him more. But just as your movements grew more desperate, his vibranium hand clamped firmly on your hips, halting your rhythm. His flesh hand cupped your jaw, gentle but insistent, forcing you to break the kiss.

“Doll…” His voice was rough, laced with a warning that sent a delicious shiver down your spine.

You blinked at him, still dazed, heat crawling under your skin as you realized what you’d done. “Yes, I’m sorry, I know—I’m sorry,” you stammered, your cheeks burning with embarrassment.

His breaths came heavy, his chest rising and falling against yours as his steel-blue eyes bore into yours. The hunger there mirrored your own, and the restraint in his grip only made you want him more.

Your lips quirked into a small, teasing smile, your own need warring with the desire to break the tension. “Seems like I really am trying to steal your virtue, huh?” you joked, your voice light but shaky as you turned your head to press a soft kiss to his palm.

His lips twitched, the faintest hint of amusement breaking through the hunger. “You’re gonna be the death of me,” he muttered, his hand slipping from your jaw to trail gently along your cheek, his thumb brushing over your kiss-swollen lips.

Your free hand wrapped around his vibranium one, your thumb tracing the grooves of the metal. “Wouldn’t dream of it,” you murmured, your voice soft but laced with promise as you leaned in, resting your forehead against his.

For a moment, neither of you moved, the charged silence stretching as his hands anchored you, holding you steady but never pushing. His restraint was palpable, and you knew without a doubt—if you wanted more, he would give it to you willingly. But only if you asked.

You wouldn’t, though. Not tonight.

Instead, you leaned in, brushing soft, sweet kisses against his lips, your movements unhurried and tender. Each kiss felt like a promise, an unspoken assurance that there was no rush, no need for anything more than this moment. It took superhuman strength—the kind he had—not to let it escalate.

When you finally pulled back, both of you were breathless, your lips tingling and your cheeks warm. His eyes searched yours, and the way he looked at you—like you were the most precious thing in the world—made your heart swell. His thumb grazed your cheek, his smile soft and genuine.

“How about that movie?” he murmured, his voice low and teasing, though his eyes betrayed a depth of emotion that made your breath catch.

You laughed, the sound breaking the last remnants of tension and filling the cozy space around you. “Alright, fine. Let’s find something to watch, then. Any preferences?”

“Anything but those baking shows Sam keeps trying to get me into,” he muttered, his lips quirking in faint exasperation.

A giggle bubbled out of you at the mental image of Sam dragging Bucky into a world of frosting, sprinkles, and delicate pastries. The idea was so absurd yet so perfectly Sam that you couldn’t help yourself. Leaning in, you pressed a soft kiss to his jaw, your lips lingering just long enough to feel the faint rasp of stubble. “Deal. No baking shows.”

As the two of you settled back onto the couch, scrolling through movie options, the tension between you shifted again—this time, it was softer, lighter, wrapped in a warmth that felt safe and steady.

Bucky stretched his arm along the back of the couch, his fingers absently brushing against your shoulder as you leaned into him, your body naturally seeking his. And for the first time in a long time, you noticed something different about him. The shadows that usually haunted his expression seemed to have lifted, replaced by something quieter, something calmer.

Here, with you, Bucky wasn’t the broken soldier or the ex-assassin haunted by his past. He was just… himself. And in that moment, you realized that’s all you’d ever wanted him to be.

[rareblackcat]

I was tagged to participate by @liondrakes

1/ Which category of alterhumanity do you belong to?

I have adopted quite a few labels over time. Therian was the first label I was introduced to and my main label to describe my animal identity. I am a vacillant therian specifically, as I don't have an animal-human side and am both simultaneity while still experiencing shifts that vary in intensity. I also use transspecies because it aligns with my feelings of being a werecat trapped in a human body and my wanting to change my body. I also use the border term Nonhuman because I am simply not human despite my current form.

2/ What/who is/are your type(s)? (if you have any)

I am a winged werebombay but I just say werecat. Bombays are a specific breed of cat. I am a Bombay specifically because of my domestic nature, as Bombays were bred to be pets and I look like them in my full and feliped forms. As a werecat, I can transform and have three different forms. One is felinoid (Humanoid cat), the next is Felianthro (anthropomorphic) and the last one is fully cat. You can see what they look like here

3/ Do you experience shifts? If so, can you tell us your most common shifts and your strangest cameo shift (if you've ever had a cameo shift)?

I am permashifted and I experience mental, phantom, and envisage shifts. How am I permashifted while being a vacillant therian? Because my shifts never reach non-existence. If shifts are on a scale of 0-10 with 0 being completely human, I simply never reach 0. My strongest shift is my phantom and envisage one. The two types of shifts come together for me allowing me to see my in my mind's eye/imagination. I can feel my whole body being covered by a phantom body or just specific limbs.

4/How do you experience your alterhumanity in everyday life?

My animality affects the things I like to do. I love to eat meat and fish, sun basking and, I'm pretty social for a cat so hanging around my friends is always nice. Being a blend between human and cat I'm pretty good at blending in. I'm my most cat when I am alone or with my boyfriends. Being cuddled and taken care of like a pet is the best.

5/ What do you think of the community?

I am in many different Alterhuman communities, I'm on TikTok, I occasionally look through Reddit, I'm in a few Discord servers, Pinterest, YouTube, and even some forums. I can't give a proper answer because the community is just like any other community, it has its good and bad parts, its misinformation, and its joys. I will say that information about different alterhuman experiences is lacking in certain communities and would be useful. All in all, I think the community is both chill and fun but also a bit high-strung in some places.

6/ What are the things that make you most comfortable and euphoric in your alterhumanity?

Being able to talk to like-minded individuals who understand me always makes me comfortable and euphoric, I also enjoy looking at media and pretending I'm in that world in my true body (though I don't have a hearthome,) I do enjoy wearing gear even if It doesn't help with my dysphoria, and my boyfriend treats me like a cat so talking to him is nice too. I also enjoy sleeping, eating meat, rubbing myself on soft blankets, sitting in the sun, biting, and play fighting.

7/ Are you experiencing species dysphoria?

I do experience species dysphoria almost every day. It to me, feels like I have an incomplete body that doesn't quite fit me. I don't hate my body and my true body would still incorporate this one, though it would look a bit different, It's just this one doesn't quite fit who I truly am on the inside.

8/ What advice would you like to say to a young alterhuman who has just awakened?

"Education is elevation" is something a beloved content creator of mine says. When looking for what labels fit you don't fret about asking for other's experiences who use that label and jump into some ask boxes. Do your research and ask around, hear both sides of the argument before you make up your mind on something.

9/ Do you have/want to have gears?

I do! I have a pair of ears, a tail, and some gloves. I do have a mask but I don't wear it unless I need to protect my identity. I've already ordered some black fur leg warmers and some more ears. I'm looking to buy a pair of wings and some fake teeth.

10/ Do you know/have any theories about the origin of your alterhumanity? If so, tell us! (all beliefs are legitimate)

I consider my Therianthropy to be psychological but I do not think I was born a Therian but I was born a bit animalistic. I watched a lot of animal media that helped foster my identity. My identity is behavioral and something that just feels right at the same time. I act like a cat and so calling myself one feels right. I think my animal identity is just something I developed over time. I think from a psychological standpoint the idea that therianthropy might be psychoneurological. Our brains might be wired differently and that causes us to act more animalistic and then our brain either latches on to an animal that matches what the brain experiences or we push it away and train it out of ourselves.

11/ Tag someone/a creature to answer these questions!

@zith-ipeth @bunnyboyzyon @creatureheart @wanderingcritter

@thatintrovertedbobcat If you're a mutual and have already done it please @ me!!/nf

If you are a alterhuman, reblog and answer these questions!

(don't be afraid to write a lot, do what you want ¯⁠\⁠_⁠(⁠ツ⁠)⁠_⁠/⁠¯)

1/ Which category of alterhumanity do you belong to?

2/ What/who is/are your type(s)? (if you have any)

3/ Do you experience shifts? If so, can you tell us your most common shifts and your strangest cameo shift (if you've ever had a cameo shift)?

4/ How do you experience your alterhumanity in everyday life?

5/ What do you think of the community?

6/ What are the things that make you most comfortable and euphoric in your alterhumanity?

7/ Are you experiencing species dysphoria?

8/ What advice would you like to say to a young alterhuman who has just awakened?

9/ Do you have/want to have gears?

10/ Do you know/have any theories about the origin of your alterhumanity? If so, tell us! (all beliefs are legitimate)

11/ Tag someone/a creature to answer these questions!ㅤᵕ̈

[sugarikiz]

FROM ME TO YOU — yjw. ✦ TEASER

𝒾n which . . . the way everyone was absolutely terrified of you confused you; you never did anything to actually scare them. fine, maybe you had a quiet persona and rumours saying you had magical psychic powers or something, but you weren’t really that bad, were you? and then in came bounding yang jungwon into your lonely little life — the your grade’s student council president and most popular boy. why was he even talking to you? it must have been pity, he was looking to get “possessed” or both. but contrary to both yours and popular opinion, jungwon meant not a single one of those things…

OR

𝒾n which . . . jungwon can’t help but wonder why you’re so scary to the rest of the school, and he just had to do something to get you to come out of your shell and show your true self. because everyone has a voice inside that not many other people but themselves hear, and he especially wanted to hear yours.

─── ♡ 𝓅airing . . . classmate! jungwon x shy, misunderstood! 𝑓. reader >< 𝓌arnings . . . won is so so sweet (yes it deserves warning) + angst / self deprecation + . 𝓌c 0.205k ୨୧ 𝒷ased on . . . the anime from me to you/kimi ni todoke ⋆.˚ 𝑓t. yano ayane , yoshida chizuru , miura kento , kurumizawa ume , kazehaya shouta + other characters with minor roles

★

初恋 ─── in my fmty phase (it’s so cute ACK >.<) likes + reblogs are very appreciated !!

taglist ( open & send an ask/dm/comment to be added ) ─── @dreamiestay @seyoungiesleeps @adoredbyjay @mrsjohnnysuh @ilyjxdz @acciocriativity perm. taglist ( open & send an ask/dm/comment to be added ) ─── @flufflights @liya07v @strvvy-anniee

your reputation at school wasn’t exactly… amazing. for some reason, all the students in your year made rumours that you had some sort of magical powers, you could read minds, et cetera. all because you didn’t talk to people too much.

you see, you were always a slightly awkward person. you never knew what to say or what to do when someone needed your help or comfort. so, you decided to just not talk much at all, in an attempt to get people to stop coming to you.

but now, as time went, you realised the weight of your decision. you had lost a critical part of your life, made a decision that honestly made you a bit sad to think about now.

and now — with your unapproachable and slightly scary demeanour — you had become a target of something terrible: high school gossip.

apparently, according to them, you were psychic, and had special, dark powers. their reasoning being a girl in your class named yuka got sick after sparing you a glance during the start of the first term.

and how was yuka getting sick after sparing you a glance even plausible? only the heavens knew, and they absolutely refused to tell you…

just to clarify, this is a one shot fic !!

[misaerabl]

Terms and Conditions

SUMMARY: She pays you to go on a date. One night, no strings attached. It’s simple—until it isn’t. Caitlyn Kiramman is everything you’re not: wealthy, confident, and effortlessly magnetic. She offers you money in exchange for your time, and you take it, convinced it’s just a transaction. But as the dates unfold, the chemistry between you both becomes undeniable.

Is it just the money? Or is there something deeper beneath the surface? What started as a simple arrangement quickly turns into a tangled web of emotions, where nothing is as clear as it seems.

WARNINGS: couch sex, oral sex (both receiving), scissoring, fingering (r receiving), squirting, they drank some wine but both are still perfectly aware of everything, angsty ending, plot with smut?

The sound of a clock ticking filled the silence of your small apartment. You sat at the edge of the couch, head in your hands, staring at the stack of overdue bills on the coffee table. Every red stamp felt like it screamed failure, and no matter how many times you ran the numbers, there was no way out.

Your phone buzzed on the table. You didn’t have to look to know who it was—Caitlyn Kiramman. She had a habit of checking in, her messages always polite, always the same: “Coffee this week?” or “Dinner on me?” You’d turned her down more times than you could count, and yet, she never stopped asking.

You’d met her months ago, entirely by chance, and from the moment her piercing blue eyes locked onto yours, it was like she’d made up her mind about you. Caitlyn Kiramman was perfect in a way that didn’t seem fair. Polished, confident, and absurdly gorgeous, she had the kind of grace and poise that belonged to someone who could have anyone they wanted. And yet, for reasons you couldn’t fathom, she wanted you.

You weren’t anyone special—at least, that’s how you saw it. Your life was messy, your clothes were plain, and your idea of fine dining was whatever you could scrounge up on a budget. Yet Caitlyn kept coming back, her persistence gentle but unyielding, as though she’d spotted something in you that even you couldn’t see.

It was baffling. What could someone like her possibly want with someone like you?

This time, though, her persistence came with an offer.

The message read: “Meet me tomorrow at The Gilded Hearth. I’ll make it worth your while.”

You frowned, your exhaustion turning to annoyance. What could she possibly mean by that? You had no intention of indulging her, but the reality of your situation left you desperate enough to consider it.

The next evening, you found yourself stepping into a restaurant that practically reeked of wealth. The kind of place where the waitstaff glided instead of walked, and the soft clinking of glasses mingled with murmured conversations in an atmosphere that seemed worlds away from your reality. Everything about it screamed luxury—from the polished mahogany tables to the soft, golden glow of chandeliers overhead.

Caitlyn was already seated at a corner table, dressed impeccably as always. Her navy blazer fit her perfectly, her dark hair swept back to reveal those striking blue eyes. She looked up as you approached, her lips curving into a smile that was as warm as it was unsettling.

“You came,” she said, her voice steady but carrying a note of relief.

“I’m not staying long,” you shot back, crossing your arms over your chest as you stopped short of the table. “What’s this about?”

Her smile softened, and she gestured for you to sit. “Please, just hear me out.”

Reluctantly, you slid into the chair across from her, already feeling out of place in this world of quiet elegance. Caitlyn’s demeanor shifted, her usual confident air replaced by something more serious, almost vulnerable.

“I’ll get straight to the point,” she began, folding her hands neatly on the table. “I know things haven’t been easy for you. I don’t mean to intrude, but I want to help.”

Your stomach twisted at her words, the familiar mix of shame and frustration bubbling up. “Help? What are you talking about?”

She held your gaze, unwavering. “Go out with me. One date. In return, I’ll pay you enough to take care of your expenses.”

The words hung in the air between you, absurd and impossible to ignore. For a moment, you just stared at her, struggling to process what she was saying. “You can’t be serious.”

“I’m very serious,” Caitlyn said, her tone calm but firm. “You’ve turned me down every time I’ve asked, and I respect that. But I also know you’re in a tough spot. Let me do this. It’s a win for both of us.”

The sincerity in her voice threw you off balance. She wasn’t mocking you, wasn’t trying to make you feel small. If anything, there was something almost... earnest about her offer.

You clenched your fists under the table, torn between pride and necessity. Every part of you wanted to walk away, to refuse her charity and keep what little dignity you had left. But the weight of your situation—the overdue bills, the mounting pressure—made that choice feel impossible.

You exhaled slowly, your resolve crumbling. “Fine,” you muttered. “One date. That’s it.”

Her smile brightened instantly, but it wasn’t the triumphant smirk you expected. It was something softer, warmer, and it caught you off guard. For a brief moment, you wondered if there was more to Caitlyn Kiramman than her money and her polished exterior.

“Thank you,” she said quietly, her voice filled with something you couldn’t quite name.

And just like that, the deal was struck. One date, you told yourself. Just one.

The first official date was nothing like you’d expected. Caitlyn had chosen an upscale rooftop lounge overlooking the city skyline. Everything about it was impeccable—the crisp evening air, the soft murmur of conversation from other tables, and the way Caitlyn seemed to command attention without even trying.

You’d spent most of the evening fighting the guilt gnawing at your chest. The guilt that came with knowing why you were here. Caitlyn knew it too—she had to. This wasn’t a romance; it was a transaction, plain and simple. At least, that’s what you kept telling yourself.

But Caitlyn made it difficult to stick to that narrative. She was charming without being overbearing, engaging without forcing the conversation. Her intelligence shone through in everything she said, and the way her laughter bubbled up when you made a dry comment—it felt genuine. Too genuine.

By the time dessert arrived, you were actually enjoying yourself. Maybe it was the wine, maybe it was the way Caitlyn seemed to look at you like you were the only person in the room. Or maybe, just maybe, it was because she was genuinely good company.

The guilt remained, though, a dull ache that refused to be ignored.

When the evening ended, Caitlyn drove you back to your apartment. Her sleek car purred softly as she pulled up to the curb. The atmosphere inside the car was warm, filled with the remnants of laughter and conversation.

“Thank you for tonight,” she said, her voice soft but sincere.

You glanced at her, unsure how to respond. “I guess... thanks to you too. For dinner. And everything.”

She reached into her bag and pulled out an envelope, holding it out to you. “Here,” she said. “For your time.”

The weight of the envelope was heavier than you expected, and the reality of the arrangement hit you all over again. You swallowed hard, tucking it into your bag without meeting her gaze.

“You didn’t have to do all this,” you muttered, feeling your cheeks heat.

“But I wanted to,” she said simply. Her tone was kind, but there was something else beneath it—something almost vulnerable.

You started to reach for the door handle when her voice stopped you.

“Wait.”

You froze, looking back at her.

“One more date,” she said, her eyes steady on yours. “I’ll double the payment.”

Your heart skipped a beat. “Caitlyn, no. This was already—”

“Just think about it,” she interrupted gently, leaning back against her seat. “I don’t want to pressure you. But if you say yes, it could help. Couldn’t it?”

Your throat tightened. You hated how easily she cut through your defenses, how she spoke the words you’d been trying to avoid. Double the payment. Enough to not just scrape by but to finally help your mom and still have something left.

You bit your lip, looking down at your hands. “I don’t know,” you admitted quietly.

Her lips curled into a small, almost triumphant smile. “I’ll wait for your answer,” she said. “No rush.”

When you stepped out of her car, clutching the envelope, you told yourself you wouldn’t do it again. But as you climbed the stairs to your apartment, Caitlyn’s offer played on repeat in your head.

And by the time you reached your door, you weren’t so sure anymore.

You dropped onto your bed with a heavy sigh, staring up at the ceiling as if it held answers to the questions swirling in your head. The envelope of cash weighed heavily in your mind, even though it now sat tucked away in the depths of your dresser. It wasn’t just about you anymore.

Your mother’s voice echoed in your thoughts—her strained laughter, the way she brushed off her own needs as if they didn’t matter. The medical bills piling up on her counter were no secret, and every time you saw her wince or move a little slower, it chipped away at your resolve.

Caitlyn’s money could change that. It could buy more than just groceries and a reprieve from overdue notices. It could buy her the care she deserved.

You rolled over, burying your face in the pillow. “It’s just one more date,” you muttered to yourself, the words muffled but carrying the weight of justification.

But it wasn’t that simple, was it?

Caitlyn wasn’t some faceless benefactor handing out charity. She was kind, charming, and far too perceptive for her own good. She made you feel seen in a way that left you unsettled because you couldn’t tell if it was genuine or part of her game.

And yet, the thought of saying yes didn’t feel as heavy as it should have.

Your phone buzzed on the nightstand, breaking the silence. You didn’t have to look to know it was Caitlyn. She was persistent, if nothing else.

Reaching for the phone, you hesitated, your finger hovering over the screen. It wasn’t a text this time. She was calling.

For a moment, you considered ignoring it, letting the call go to voicemail. But the memory of her steady gaze—the way her lips curved into that soft, patient smile—made you swipe to answer.

“Hello?” you said, your voice quieter than you intended.

“Hey,” Caitlyn’s voice came through, smooth and familiar. “I just wanted to check in. No pressure, but... have you thought about my offer?”

You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath. “I’ve thought about it.”

“And?” she prompted, her tone light but laced with curiosity.

“I don’t know yet,” you admitted. “It’s... complicated.”

There was a pause on the other end, followed by a soft hum. “I understand. Take your time. But if you’re willing, I’d love to take you somewhere special. No expectations, I promise. Just... consider it.”

Your chest tightened. You wanted to say no. You should say no.

Instead, you found yourself saying, “I’ll let you know.”

“Fair enough,” she said, a smile evident in her voice. “Goodnight, then.”

“Goodnight,” you replied, ending the call and letting the phone fall beside you on the bed.

As the silence returned, you stared at the ceiling again, the weight of the decision pressing down on you. One more date. It shouldn’t be this hard.

But the truth was, Caitlyn wasn’t making it hard because of the money. She was making it hard because, for the first time in a long time, you weren’t entirely sure you wanted to walk away.

Against your better judgment, you found yourself agreeing to Caitlyn’s proposal. One more date. It was just for the money—at least, that’s what you told yourself. But a small, insistent voice in the back of your mind whispered that maybe that wasn’t entirely true.

The evening started at a picturesque vineyard just outside the city. The sun dipped below the horizon as Caitlyn led you down cobblestone paths lined with twinkling string lights. It felt like something out of a storybook, the kind of place you’d never have dreamed of visiting. She was, as always, stunning—her blue hair neatly tied back, soft tendrils framing her face. She looked effortlessly elegant in a navy dress that brought out the striking color of her eyes.

The date unfolded like a dream. Caitlyn was the perfect conversationalist, effortlessly blending sharp wit with genuine curiosity. She asked about your day, your dreams, even your childhood—things most people wouldn’t bother with. And as much as you wanted to keep your guard up, you couldn’t help but be drawn in.

Dinner was served in a private alcove overlooking the vineyard, the table set with delicate glassware and candlelight. The food was exquisite, the kind of meal you’d only ever seen in glossy magazines. But it wasn’t the truffle risotto or the perfectly paired wine that held your attention—it was her.

Throughout the evening, you caught yourself staring at her more than you wanted to. The way her lips curved when she smiled, the way her fingers drummed lightly against the table when she was deep in thought, the way her laughter rang out like music in the still night air. She was magnetic, and despite your best efforts, you were drawn to her.

Every time you started to overthink, you reminded yourself why you were here. It was just for the money. Nothing more. But with every passing moment, that excuse felt flimsier.

As the date came to a close, you both walked back to her car, the evening still buzzing in your veins. The vineyard had been beautiful, the conversation even better. You couldn’t help but smile as she opened the car door for you, the evening winding down as the soft hum of the engine filled the space between you.

Her expression shifted, a light flush coloring her cheeks as she looked over at you. “I can’t believe this,” she said with a small, embarrassed laugh. “I completely forgot the money at home.”

You blinked, unsure if she was serious. “Seriously? How do you forget something like that?”

Caitlyn chuckled softly, shaking her head. “I swear, I wasn’t trying to pull anything. I just got caught up in the night.”

You raised an eyebrow, a bit skeptical, but she seemed genuine. “You really forgot?”

She nodded sheepishly. “I did. I’m so sorry about that. I swear I wasn’t trying to be sneaky.”

You sighed, leaning back in your seat, trying to think it through. It wasn’t like you had a choice. You needed the money, and she was offering to get it for you. Plus, you were already here.

“Alright,” you said, running a hand through your hair. “I guess we’ll have to go back to your place then.”

Caitlyn’s eyes lit up with a smile. “Thanks for being understanding. I wouldn’t want to leave you empty-handed.”

You couldn’t help but feel a little uneasy. This was supposed to be a simple transaction, right? But the way she smiled at you, the way she said it so effortlessly, made everything feel... murkier than it had been before.

“Fine,” you muttered, trying to brush off the nagging feeling. “Let’s go. Just make it quick, okay?”

She nodded, her smile lingering as she turned the car onto the road. "It won’t take long," she assured you, her fingers gripping the wheel just a little tighter.

The drive was quiet for a moment, both of you lost in your thoughts. You couldn’t help but glance at Caitlyn from the corner of your eye. This is just for the money. Nothing more.

At least, that’s what you kept telling yourself.

The gates to Caitlyn’s mansion opened with a quiet hum, and the sight of her home still caught you off guard, no matter how many times you’d told yourself to expect it. The sheer grandeur of the place was almost laughable. A far cry from the cramped apartment you called home.

She led you inside, the heels of her shoes clicking softly against the marble floor. The air smelled faintly of lavender and something sweeter—maybe her perfume, lingering faintly from the drive.

“Take a seat,” Caitlyn said, motioning toward the couch in the spacious living room. Her tone was casual, but there was something inviting about it. “I’ll just grab the money.”

You nodded, sinking into the plush cushions. The room was quiet, save for the distant tick of an ornate grandfather clock. You told yourself you were only here for the money, but as your fingers brushed the soft fabric of the couch, you couldn’t help but notice how at ease you felt.

Caitlyn returned a few moments later, an envelope in her hand. She hesitated at the edge of the room before walking over to you. Her expression was softer now, the confident edge she usually wore replaced by something... gentler.

“Here,” she said, handing you the envelope. It was heavy, more than you expected, and the weight of it made your stomach churn.

“Thanks,” you murmured, clutching it awkwardly.

She sat down beside you, her movements unhurried. “You don’t have to rush off, you know,” she said after a moment. “If you want to stay for a bit, that is.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Stay?”

She shrugged, a small smile tugging at her lips. “If you’d like. No pressure.”

You considered her offer. Every rational part of you screamed to leave, to take the money and go, but instead, you found yourself nodding. “Just for a bit,” you said quickly, more to yourself than to her. “Besides, you’ve already paid me... it’d be rude to run off so soon.”

Caitlyn chuckled softly, but she didn’t say anything, letting you justify your decision however you needed.

But was that really why you stayed? You tried to convince yourself it was. You owed her this, didn’t you? She’d paid you. But even as the thought crossed your mind, it felt hollow. The truth was harder to admit: you wanted to see more of her.

Oh, don’t be ridiculous, you scolded yourself. That’s not it at all.

“Wine?” Caitlyn asked, breaking the silence.

You glanced up to find her already pouring two glasses, her movements graceful as ever. When she handed you one, your fingers brushed briefly, and you cursed the way your heart stuttered at the contact.

“Thanks,” you muttered, taking a sip.

She leaned back, swirling her own glass as her gaze wandered to the fireplace. “You know,” she began, her voice low, “I’ve never met anyone like you.”

Your stomach flipped, and you forced out a laugh. “I’m not that interesting.”

“I disagree.” She looked at you then, her blue eyes piercing, as if she could see straight through you. “You’re different. Honest.”

You couldn’t bring yourself to hold her gaze, instead focusing on the way the firelight danced across the rim of your glass. Different? Honest? If only she knew the truth.

And yet, sitting there with her, you felt the tension begin to ease. Maybe it was the wine, or maybe it was her presence—calm, steady, and undeniably magnetic. Whatever it was, you found yourself wanting to stay just a little longer. Just for a bit, you told yourself again.

But deep down, you knew better.

The conversation flowed as effortlessly as the wine, the two of you trading stories and quips that left you smiling more than you cared to admit. Caitlyn had this way of speaking that was equal parts mesmerizing and disarming, her words weaving around you like a warm embrace.

You weren’t sure how long you’d been sitting there, sipping wine and talking, but time seemed irrelevant. Caitlyn leaned back, one leg crossed over the other, her posture relaxed but her eyes sharp, watching you in that way that made your stomach twist.

“Do you ever wonder,” she said, swirling the deep red liquid in her glass, “how people end up in each other’s lives? Like... what are the odds of us meeting?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “I don’t know,” you admitted, fidgeting with the stem of your glass. “I guess I don’t think about it much.”

“I do.” Her voice softened, and she tilted her head, the firelight catching the sharp angles of her face. “I think about how strange it is that out of everyone I could’ve met, it was you.”

Your heart skipped, and you forced a laugh to break the tension creeping into the room. “You make it sound like fate or something.”

“Maybe it is.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and impossibly sincere. You wanted to laugh it off again, but her gaze pinned you in place. It was as if she’d stripped away every wall you’d carefully built, leaving you bare and vulnerable under her scrutiny.

Your grip tightened around the glass, your pulse hammering in your ears. It’s just the wine, you told yourself for the hundredth time, clinging to the excuse like a lifeline. But deep down, you knew better. It wasn’t the wine. It was her.

And then she said it.

“You’re so guarded,” Caitlyn murmured, her eyes never leaving yours. “Like you’re afraid to let anyone in. But I see you, you know. The real you.”

It was too much. The sincerity in her voice, the way she looked at you, the undeniable pull that had been building since the moment you stepped into her world. Something inside you snapped.

Before you knew what you were doing, you set your glass down and shifted on the couch, crawling toward her. Caitlyn’s eyes widened slightly, a flicker of surprise breaking through her calm facade.

And then you kissed her.

It wasn’t tentative or hesitant; it was urgent, born of all the emotions you’d been trying to suppress. Her lips were soft and warm against yours, and for a moment, the world seemed to still.

Caitlyn responded almost instantly, her hands finding your waist as she pulled you closer. The kiss deepened, your thoughts scattering like leaves in the wind.

You found yourself straddling her, your hands tangled in her hair, both of you lost in the kiss. It was no longer just an exchange of lips—it was desperate, raw, as if every suppressed feeling had finally found its release. The kiss deepened, and time seemed to stretch, until finally, both of you pulled away, gasping for air.

Caitlyn’s eyes locked onto yours, intense and searching, as if silently asking, Was that real? Your breath hitched in your throat, and you swallowed hard. What were you doing? This was supposed to be about the money, nothing more. But how could you reconcile that with the way your heart was racing, the way your body was pulling you closer to hers?

For a moment, doubt crept in, the weight of everything you’d been trying to keep at bay threatening to suffocate you. This was wrong. You shouldn’t be here. But then, Caitlyn tilted your head gently, her lips brushing against your neck, and all those thoughts melted away like ice under a hot sun.

Her touch was electric, igniting something deep inside you. Her kisses trailed down your neck, slow and deliberate, each one sending a shiver down your spine. You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding, and for once, you didn’t care about the consequences. You didn’t care about the deal, the money, or the lines you’d promised yourself you’d never cross. All that mattered was her.

Before you even realized what was happening, you found yourself pressed back against the soft cushions of the couch, Caitlyn above you, her body warm and impossibly close. The world outside the room seemed to fade, the only thing that mattered now was her.

With a soft grunt, she tossed her expensive jacket onto the floor, the fabric crumpling as it landed. Her hands moved to your neck, her lips following closely behind. She pressed gentle, teasing kisses along the length of your jaw, the soft brush of her lips sending a wave of heat down your spine. The feel of her breath against your skin was intoxicating, leaving your thoughts scrambled, your heart pounding in your chest.

You didn’t even realize you were pulling her closer until her body was practically flush against yours. Your hands roamed, as if of their own accord, finding her waist, her back, holding her steady as she kissed you with increasing intensity. Her lips left a trail of fire on your neck, the sensation so distracting you couldn’t think straight.

Every part of you screamed that this was wrong, that it was supposed to be about the money, but with each touch, each kiss, that voice inside you grew quieter, lost to the heat of the moment. You didn’t stop her. You didn’t pull away. Instead, you found yourself sinking deeper into it, unable to resist.

Her fingers moved with a deliberate slowness, grazing your skin as they fumbled with the buttons of your blouse. Each touch sent a shiver through you, and you couldn’t help but watch her, breath catching in your throat. The way she moved—steady, focused, like she knew exactly what she was doing—made everything feel more intense.

Your chest rose and fell with every shaky breath, your heart racing in anticipation. It was as if time had slowed, every second stretching out as she continued, the space between you growing impossibly tight. You found your eyes locked onto hers.

"You're so beautiful," you whispered, your voice thick with emotion, as your hand gently reached up to tuck a stray lock of her hair behind her ear.

Her gaze softened, a slow smile curling on her lips as she took in your words. Her eyes roamed over your exposed skin, her fingers brushing lightly across your collarbone, tracing the line of your body as if memorizing every inch of you.

She inched lower, her hands moving with deliberate slowness, stopping just above the waistband of your bottoms. Her gaze never left yours, steady and intense, as she waited for any sign of hesitation. But all you could do was stare back at her, completely lost in the moment. Every thought, every reason you’d given yourself for being here, seemed to fade into the background. It was as if the entire world had disappeared, leaving only the two of you in this electric, heavy silence.

You swallowed, trying to find your bearings, but all you could focus on was the weight of her gaze, the way her touch lingered in the air. For the first time, you weren’t sure where this was heading, or if it even mattered.

"May I?" She asks for permission to slip your bottoms off. You hummed in response.

With a trembling hand, you slowly nodded, giving Caitlyn the unspoken permission she sought. As your bottoms slid down the length of your legs, the cool air of the room brushed against your skin, sending a peculiar tingle through every nerve ending.

Her eyes roamed over your bare form, taking in every curve and contour as if committing it to memory. She bit her lower lip, a soft sigh escaping her as she drank in the sight of you. Slowly, she began to unbutton her own blouse, her movements deliberate and seductive.

As the fabric fell open, revealing the smooth skin of her chest, she allowed the blouse to slide off her shoulders, joining your discarded bottoms on the floor. She unhooked her bra next, her breasts finally free.

It's clear she's proud of how she looks and It's also clear she knows you're conscious of yours. She was going to make sure you felt the most beautiful and desirable woman alive after this, because to Caitlyn Kiramman, that's what you are.

She gently ran her fingers along your collarbone, tracing the curve of your breasts without touching them directly, teasing you with her nearness. "Do you see how perfect you are?" She murmured, her voice low and husky. She wanted you to feel adored, worshipped.

She moved lower, her gaze locked on yours as she reached out to gently grasp your hands in hers. With a soft smile, she brought your hands up to her face, pressing a gentle kiss to your palms before laying them against her cheeks. "You're perfect"

With that, she leaned forward, her lips brushing against your inner thighs as she speaks against your skin. "So soft, so sweet." She kisses and nuzzles your thighs before finally pressing her mouth against your folds. Caitlyn's tongue dives in, licking and sucking at your pussy with intense focus.

"A-ah... Cait-"

She moans against you as she tastes your wetness, her tongue swirling around your clit with increasing pressure. Your legs tremble and your hips buck forward, pressing yourself against her face. Caitlyn grips your thighs tighter, holding you in place as she devours you.

"Mmm, you taste even better than I'd imagined," Caitlyn murmurs against your folds, her hot breath sending shivers down your spine. She continues to lick and suck, her tongue plunging in and out of your pussy, fucking you with her mouth.

You're panting and moaning loudly now, your fingers gripping her hair tightly as you pull her face closer. "God... C-Caitlyn," you whimper, your back arching off the bed as she curls her tongue inside you, hitting that spot that drives you wild.

Caitlyn's eyes flutter closed in bliss as she feels you tightening around her tongue. She knows you're close. She sucks your clit hard, flicking the tip of her tongue over it rapidly. Your legs shake violently and you let out a scream of pleasure as your orgasm rips through you.

"So beautiful..."

As the waves of your climax subside, Caitlyn slowly pulls back, licking her lips hungrily. She sits up, her nipples hardened with arousal, and swiftly removes her remaining bottoms. Naked now, she crawls back onto the couch, positioning herself between your still trembling thighs.

Caitlyn spreads your legs wider, her own pussy glistening with arousal. She grasps your inner thighs, holding them apart as she positions herself. With a satisfied smile, she presses her own folds against yours, the heat and wetness of her pussy scissoring against your sensitive folds.

You gasp as you feel the warmth and pressure of her pussy against yours, your fingers digging into the couch cushions.

"Oh my god," you breathe out, your eyes locking with hers. She starts to move her hips in a slow, sensual grind, creating delicious friction between your bare pussies.

Caitlyn's hips move faster, the room filling with the wet, smacking sounds of your intertwined folds rubbing together. She wraps her arms around your legs, pulling them up higher onto her shoulders, allowing her deeper access. "You like that?"

"Yes, fuck yes!" you cry out, your head thrown back in ecstasy. The sensation of Caitlyn's pussy rubbing against yours is overwhelming, sending waves of pleasure through your entire body. You can feel her wetness soaking through yours, the heat and pressure building to an intense level.

Caitlyn's movements become more frantic, her breath coming in short gasps as she chases her own orgasm. She leans forward, her mouth finding yours in a fierce, passionate kiss as she continues to scissor your pussy with her own. The dual stimulation is too much for both of you.

Feeling the blue haired girl's intense passion, you break the kiss, pushing her back gently yet firmly. She falls onto the couch cushions, a look of surprise and excitement flashing across her face. Taking charge, you kneel between her spread legs, your mouth watering at the sight of her dripping pussy.

"Yes..." she breathes out, propping herself up on her elbows to watch you. Her legs tremble slightly as you lower your head, and she can already feel the heat of your breath against her sensitive folds. Her hips lift involuntarily, eager for your touch, "Please..."

You part her slick folds with your fingers, revealing her swollen clit. Without hesitation, you flatten your tongue and lick a long, slow stripe up her center, tasting her sweet juices. Caitlyn's back arches off the couch, a loud moan escaping her lips, "Oh god, yes!"

You continue your assault on her pussy with fervor, your tongue circling her sensitive clit before sucking it gently into your mouth. Caitlyn writhes beneath you, her hands fisting in your hair as she grinds her hips against your face. "Don't stop, fuck don't stop!"

Her moans grow louder as you increase the pressure, your fingers joining your tongue as you thrust them in and out of her wet heat while sucking relentlessly on her throbbing clit. She's practically sobbing with pleasure.

Catching you off guard, she whispers, "Not yet," and gently pushes you back down to lie on the couch. She quickly moves around, positioning herself between your legs, her eyes locked with yours. "My turn," she says with a playful smile, licking her fingers before slowly sliding them inside you.

You feel a mix of surprise and desire as she takes control again. Her fingers, slick with her own saliva, slide easily into your tight pussy, scissoring and stretching you open. You let out a soft gasp, your back arching slightly as she starts to pump her fingers in and out of you.

Keeping eye contact, she adds a third finger, her thumb circling your clit. You moan loudly, your hips moving in rhythm with her thrusts. "You're gorgeous" she breathes out, her other hand casually squeezing one of your breasts as she continues to fuck you with her fingers.

"Don't hold back... let me hear how good this feels." curling her fingers up to brush against your most sensitive spot as she talks Her free hand moves to your clit, circles it firmly while pumping her fingers faster.

"Aah- Cait... F-Feels s'good..."

Her fingers piston in and out faster, knuckles deep now, stretching you wider than ever before. Her thumb finds your sweet spot and rubs rhythmically as she curls her fingers inside you, trying to mimic the shape of something else.

Fingers pumping in and out of you at a quickening pace, you can feel them getting wider inside you as she curls them up, hitting that spot deeper each time. You whimper and squirm beneath her touch, trying to pull your legs up to give her better access.

A satisfied smirk crosses her face at your responsiveness. She uses her free hand to push your legs higher, opening you wider.

Her pace quickens, the wet sound of her fingers sliding in and out of you filling the room.

Her fingers continue to drill into your pussy, curling up to rub against your g-spot with relentless precision. With a particularly hard stroke, your body tenses up and suddenly you're squirting hard, a powerful stream of fluid gushing out of your pussy and coating Caitlyn's hand and fingers.

Catching your eye, a satisfied smirk playing on her lips as she feels your warm fluids coating her hand "Oh, my... look at what you just did for me..." slowly licks her fingers clean.

"Oh my god- I've never..." You gasp.

"Well I'm glad I'm the first" She smiles, that gentle smile that leaves you yearning for her.

“Well, I’m glad I’m the first,” Caitlyn smiles, her voice soft as she leans in, her fingers brushing against your skin. The warmth of her body next to yours feels oddly comforting. She wraps her arm around you, pulling you closer as you both settle into the couch.

For a moment, the only sound is the soft hum of the music playing in the background and the gentle rhythm of your breathing. You let yourself relax, your head resting against her shoulder, and for once, you let go of all the worries you’ve been holding onto.

But as you lie there, nestled in the comfort of her embrace, something starts to pull at you—an unsettling thought.

The haze of warmth and affection is fleeting, and suddenly, reality crashes in. This wasn’t supposed to happen. You weren’t supposed to be here, wrapped up in her like this, enjoying her company as if it were something real.

You shift slightly, pulling your head away from her shoulder as a wave of guilt rushes through you. You’re reminded of why you’re here in the first place—why you agreed to this whole arrangement. It was never about her. It was never supposed to be about her. You needed the money.

Your gaze drifts, and your eyes land on the envelope of cash sitting innocently on the coffee table beside the wine glasses.

It’s like a punch to the gut. The money. That’s why you agreed to this. Why you came back. Not because you wanted to be here with her, not because of the connection you’ve started to feel, but because you needed the cash.

The reality sinks in, leaving a bitter taste in your mouth. You turn your head to look at Caitlyn, but her face is still soft with contentment, her eyes closed in peaceful oblivion to the internal war waging within you.

You want to believe that there’s more to this, that maybe there’s something real between you two. But you know better. This was always just a transaction. It was just business.

But why does it feel so much more than that?

[chaoticneutralnpc]

An alternate idea: special interests never die, they only sleep.

Having the combination of autism and ADHD, I find I often cycle through a lot of different hyperfixations. I was made to feel really guilty about it as a child, and was told constantly (mainly by my dad) that I need to “pick one thing and stick with it”.

But that’s just not how my brain works. I found so much peace simply by accepting that my new crochet obsession will probably only last a couple of months.

In doing that, I found that

1) I actually come back to a lot of hyperfixations! In terms of crafts, I found there’s some that I just keep coming back to (writing, music composition, etc.). I think it’s actually much more rare to have something that *never* comes back. The one example I would have given a month ago - 3D modelling - has actually come back with a passion!

2) Knowledge from one hyperfixation bleeds into the next. Being a jack of all trades has it’s downsides - for one, I’ve never truly gotten good at one thing, and I likely never will. But it has some amazing benefits. My 3D modelling interest meant that I could design and modify crochet patterns as soon as I learnt how to increase and decrease stitches. My music composition interest helps me improve the flow of my writing (especially poetry!). My UI interest made the principles of feng shui/home design make sense instantly. I could list many, many examples, but I am with Flowers For Algernon in that seeing the connections between many, wildly different disiplines is the true form of “intelligence”.

3) I have never had a hyperfixation truly die. Perhaps I am unique in this regard, but I’ve never gone from hyperfixating on something to despising it. Case in point Supernatural: for a while, it was my hyperfixation show. Now, I don’t have any interest in really rewatching it again and I haven’t for a while. But when I wear the trenchcoat I bought because it looked like Cas’s, or I see a reference to the show online, it brings a certain nostalgic warmth and comfort.

But if you see old hyperfixations as something you failed, they become a symbol of guilt that haunts you everywhere.

TL;DR: Life vastly improves when you treat moving on from hyperfixations like a toy you can stash away in a cupboard to rediscover later, rather than a child you’re abandoning.

Being neurodivergent means constantly grieving your old hyperfixations or special interests as new things come and take over, sometimes permanently replacing the old.

Coming to terms with the fact that you’re allowed to love more than one thing so wholeheartedly, so consumingly, is something I still struggle so much with.

In part because I feel guilt for “abandoning” my old interests & not spending as much time/any time on something that would keep me up at night, feeling that love fade to the background - but also because it’s exhausting to care for things so deeply. It takes an extremely heavy toll to give 150% to multiple things.

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

Honey Girl. Christmas.

chapter synopsis - Christmas doesn’t feel like Christmas for you this year. Bucky’s determined to change that.

pairing - dads bestfriend!bucky barnes x female reader - soulmate au

warnings - cursing.

word count - 2.5k

authors note - I know what you’re thinking… murphy, this is a christmas chapter and it’s january 2nd. and yes, I know. I admit that I had a lot less time than I initially anticipated over the festive period to write. regardless, I hope you enjoy this. it’s a flashback, set between chapters 6 and 7 <3

series masterlist. main masterlist. inbox.

“You have icing on your face.”

You chuckle as Isabel rubs at your cheek with her sleeve, trying to be gentle but failing miserably.

“What colour?”

“Green.”

“Christmas cookies,” you say as you smack her hand away, laughing when she glares at you playfully. “The kitchen is covered in red and green icing. It looks like an elf was murdered in there.”

“That sounds festive. And morbid. And… delicious?”

“You want to take some home?”

“Yes!” she gasps with excitement. “I was telling my brother about them yesterday, he’s desperate to try some.”

“Remind me later, and I’ll grab you a box.”

“Thank you. You’re the best.”

You’re rising from your chair to return to the kitchen when Isa grabs your hand, pulling you back down. You quirk a brow at her in confusion, asking a silent question.

“You’re going home for Christmas, right?”

She’s squeezing your hand rather tightly, waiting like an eager puppy for your response.

“I, uh - yeah. I think I am. Need to make sure I get back here in plenty of time for opening between the twenty fifth and new year.”

“Girl… what? That means you’ll only be home for a few days. That’s not a real Christmas.”

“It’s okay, it’s just the way things are. It’ll be a super busy few days anyway, knowing my Mom.”

She looks at you intently for a moment, and you can practically see the wheels turning in her brain.

“We’ll cover you.”

“Isa… what?”

“We’ll cover it. Me, Stella, and we can get Justin and Mikey to help too. They’re coming to give us a hand over the next few weeks anyway, so they might as well pull their weight.”

“I can’t ask you to do that.”

“You’re not asking. I’m telling you, that’s what we’re going to do.”

“Isa-”

“Please. You’re the backbone of this place - it’d quite literally fall apart without you. The least you deserve is some decent time off with your family back home. You deserve a proper Christmas.”

You’re quiet for a moment, contemplating everything. The more you think about it, the more you’re tempted - the idea of more time with your parents and Bucky is too good to pass up.

“Only if Stella agrees. And you can’t convince her - she has to agree on her own terms.”

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

“I should be thanking you,” you laugh, shaking your head.

“Okay, now leave.”

“Huh?”

“You’ve been here since 4am. Please, go home.”

“Isa.”

“I am so serious right now. Look at my face. Look at how serious I am.”

You can’t help but laugh at her, the stoic expression she wears doing nothing to hide the amusement behind those big brown eyes.

“Fine, fine. Man, you’re bossy today.”

“I’m learning from the best.”

You hit her with your dish towel, punishment for the jab she made. She’s giggling like a maniac, skipping back to her place behind the counter.

“Isa - call me if you need anything, yeah?”

“Always.”

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

You’ve been in the same spot on the couch for an hour when there’s a knock at your door. Reluctantly, you get up to answer it, disappointed about leaving the cocoon you’ve made so comfortable.

Your hand is on the door knob when you feel a sudden rush of warmth through your chest, spreading rapidly to the tips of your fingers and the soles of your feet. Suddenly, everything is a little bit brighter, more colourful, more vibrant. The birds are chirping louder, the sun setting in a more beautiful shade of orange than before.

He’s here.

You swing the door open to reveal Bucky, standing looking hopeful with his overnight bag in his hand. He gets even more beautiful every time you see him. His hair is a little longer, his stubble growing out slightly, freckles scattered across his golden cheeks. He looks like the sun has come down to earth and given him a kiss, just because.

“You’re here.”

“I’m here.”

He’s wrapping his arms around you before you can move, creating a safety net that blankets you both. You breathe him in, the scent of the ocean and musk and wood and home.

“What are you doing here?” you mumble against the soft cotton of his t shirt.

“Came to surprise you. Thought we could have our own Christmas, the two of us.”

“Really?” you ask as you pull back to look at him.

“Really. Isabel says you’ve been working too hard, and that you need a pick me up.”

“You talk to Isa?”

“We’re friends on Facebook.”

You laugh like you can’t help it, shaking your head at the idea of the two of them messaging each other.

“She was very adamant about sending me home today. It all makes sense now.”

“Our master plan worked,” he chuckles, stepping inside and kicking the door closed behind him.

You’ve almost forgotten how easily Bucky fits into your space, like he belongs there. He throws his bag down and sits down on your couch, sinking into the cushions like they’re moulded to his shape, ready and waiting for him to return.

“How long are you here for?” you ask as you slide yourself into his side, slotting in perfectly.

“Just a couple of days. And then I’ll see you back home for Christmas with your parents, yeah?”

“You’re coming? My Mom said she wasn’t sure whether you were or not.”

“I can’t say no to one of Lori’s Christmas dinners. I’ll come over at lunch time, give you guys the morning to yourselves. Won’t overstay my welcome, promise.”

“You could never overstay your welcome, Buck. Not possible.”

He presses a kiss into your hair, pulling you closer so there isn’t an inch of space between you.

“I got you a present. Wanted to give it to you while we’re alone.”

“You did? I thought we said we weren’t gonna do gifts?”

“We did. But I know for a fact you got me something, didn’t you?”

You chuckle, resting your head on his shoulder.

“Yes, I did.”

“Knew it. And anyway, I didn’t buy it. I made it.”

You quirk an eyebrow at him in curiosity, watching as he bounds across the living room to rifle around in his bag. When he finds what he’s looking for, he jumps over the back of the sofa, returning to his original place next to you.

“Here.”

It’s wrapped very precisely, a book sized rectangle with neat corners and careful folds. There’s a red ribbon tied around the centre, and the idea of Bucky sitting and trying to get it just right makes your heart ache.

You unwrap it gently, reluctant to undo all of his hard work. He’s watching you intently, determined to see every little reaction on your face.

Sitting in your hand is a leather bound book, with a forest green coloured cover. Your name is engraved into the front of it, carved into the material forever. You open it up to find that it isn’t blank, but contains templates of some sort, the pages covered with very faint geometric lines.

“What is it, Buck?”

He grins, turning some of the pages so he can show you.

“It’s a blank cookbook. Thought you could write down the final copies of the recipes that work after you’ve developed them, have them all in one place.”

“I love it,” you whisper, running your fingers over the pages. “What’s this pattern? On the paper?”

“It’s the blueprints. For our house.”

“It’s beautiful.”

“I made them as transparent as possible, so your eyes wouldn’t get distracted. But I wanted to have a piece of us in it, to remind you.”

“It’s the most thoughtful gift I’ve ever received,” you smile, willing yourself not to cry about it. “I love it so much, Buck. Thank you.”

He leans in to press a gentle kiss to your lips, all sugary sweet.

“My turn, now. Though lower your expectations, please.”

He rolls his eyes, laughing when you shove at his shoulder. You pull his gift from the drawer in the coffee table, handing him a small box.

He opens it carefully, lifting the lid to reveal a navy bracelet, all woven and intricate. He turns it over to look at the inside, gently tracing the embroidery with his fingertips.

“They’re our birth flowers.”

“I didn’t even know I had a birth flower,” he chuckles in awe. “Honey, it’s… it’s beautiful.”

“I made it.”

His head whips up, eyes wide as he stares at you.

“You made this?”

“I went to a class with Stella and Isa, it was like an introduction thing. And I knew how to embroider anyway, so that bit was easy.”

“I can’t believe you. Is there anything you can’t do?”

You’re laughing as you shake your head, dismissing his attempts to massage your ego.

“Like I said, it was a workshop.”

“I love it so much, honey girl. Thank you. I’ll never take it off.”

“Never?”

“Never,” he murmurs against your lips, big hands cradling your face as he pulls you closer. “Never ever.”

He kisses you with purpose, one hand gripping the back of your neck as the other wraps around your back to plaster you to him. You tilt your head to let him slip his tongue into your mouth, tasting the coffee he must have been drinking on the drive down.

Just as you’re about to pull his shirt up and over his head, his stomach rumbles louder than you’ve ever heard it.

“What have you eaten today?” you chuckle, carding your fingers through his hair to fix it.

“I had an early lunch, but I haven’t had dinner yet. Have you?”

“Not yet. You wanna make something?”

“Cake.”

“Huh?”

“I think we should make a cake for dinner.”

“Bucky Barnes. What is wrong with you?”

He laughs all full and warm, and the timbre of it settles nicely into your chest.

“I’ve been thinking about all the stuff I’m missing out on now that you’re here and not at home. The cakes, the cookies, the macaroons, the tarts…”

His stomach rumbles again as he clutches it dramatically, throwing himself backwards onto the couch cushions.

“And so you want cake for our Christmas dinner?”

“Yes I do.”

You can’t fight the grin that’s sweeping across your face, no matter how much you want to.

“Let me make you something to keep you going while I create the best cake for dinner you’ve ever had.”

“Yeah?”

“Oh yeah.”

A huge kiss is planted onto your cheek, joy practically radiating off your soulmate next to you.

“I’ll make myself a sandwich, honey. I know it’s gonna take you a while to line your baking tins.”

You don’t know whether to laugh or cry at the fact that he remembers the time you were ranting about cutting greaseproof paper and bottomless cake tins and butter versus margarine for stickiness.

“I have homemade bread in the pantry. Sourdough from the bakery.”

“That’s the sexiest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

He’s pressing a kiss into your hair as he rises from his seat, wandering towards the kitchen to get things moving.

“This is a stupid idea,” you laugh, following him. “What kind of cake do you want?”

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

“I’m never going to get over this.”

“So you like it?”

“Honey. My God.”

He groans into his last forkful of cake, placing the utensil down onto his plate with a definitive clang. You’re both sat at the kitchen island, the two of you having just finished your second portion each.

“Good, because we’ve got a whole cake to finish before you go home.”

His head is resting on his hand as he looks at you with bright eyes, watching every micro expression that graces your face as if it’s a rerun of his favourite movie.

“Make sure to write that recipe in your new book. We’re making this a Christmas tradition.”

“I like that idea,” you smile as you lean over to press a kiss to his sugary lips. “I like that idea a lot.”

“Good.”

You stack the plates and are about to get up to stick them in the sink when Bucky grabs your wrist, keeping you sat down on the bar stool.

“Hey, pretty girl?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Anything.”

His thumb rubs circles into the back of your hand, the touch so familiar that you almost don’t notice it at first.

“Why haven’t you decorated for Christmas?”

“Hmm?”

“I thought you’d at least have a tree, or some lights hanging. Maybe an ornament or two. But you don’t have anything.”

“Oh. Um… I don’t know. Just haven’t had the time, I guess.”

He’s looking at you like he doesn’t believe a word you’re saying. You’re not sure you believe a word you’re saying.

“It doesn’t feel like Christmas,” you whisper honestly. “Even when I was in culinary school, I’d go back home for Christmas. And now I’m here, and I have like three friends and no family with me, and it doesn’t feel like Christmas.”

A tear slips down your cheek as you sniffle, pulling the sleeves of your shirt down over your hands.

“Oh, sweetheart.”

He’s up and out of his chair immediately, wrapping his arms around you where you still sit. His familiar scent and his familiar warmth comfort you instantly, heart rate calming down ever so slightly as he holds you.

“I know it’s all new and different, but that’s the exciting thing about this, right? It’s not what you’re used to, but you have the chance to create new traditions and a whole load of new memories now.”

“You’re right,” you mumble into his chest. “I think I was so stuck on thinking about how different everything was, that I forgot that different can be a good thing.”

“Exactly. I’m here for a couple of days, and then we can go home and have the Christmas Day with your parents that you’re used to. Yeah?”

“Yeah. Buck?”

“Hmm?”

“You are the only person in the world I wanted to see when I opened that door earlier.”

“The feeling is mutual, sweetheart,” he hums as he presses a kiss into your hair. “Why do you think I drove all the way here?”

“Because you’re the best.”

“Can’t argue with that,” he chuckles, pulling you with him towards the couch. “Now come on, we need to watch a Christmas movie. You pick.”

“Love Actually,” you say without missing a beat. “It’s Love Actually or nothing.”

“Done,” he’s laughing, reaching for the remote.

“Thank you,” you whisper, lacing your fingers with his. “For everything.”

“Always. Merry Christmas, honey girl.”

“Merry Christmas, Bucky.”

[gingerale13]

I churned this out so fast excuse the quality.. anyways there's a cheesy ass note to my mutuals + followers under the cut bc I love you guys 🧡🧡

This year kinda whizzed by for me! A lot happened in my personal life that I don't want to share online, but throughout all of the highs and lows I was always able to come back to this wonderful fandom. It's been a huge comfort seeing other people theorize and discuss my favorite characters!

I've meet a lot of awesome people through Tumblr & Ao3, cosplaying, and various TF2 groups. As of writing this post I've got a solid 260 followers, which is an insane number to me when this blog simply started as a place to organize my creative works 😭

All of the little tags and comments on my stuff have seriously kept my life whimsical (for lack of a better term) and I would like to shout-out some notable people and works that kept me going through 2024!

First up, and probably the biggest one, is the lovely @aussie-bookworm and their fic, Going Through The Motions. These updates seriously made my day, and I couldn't have been happier you accepted my offer to proofread. It's been super fun discussing the differences between our countries, yapping about the Mercs, and different AUs. I hope to read many more of your works in 2025 B)

Next, another fanfic author, is AhChunta! If you like slow burns, mystery, and Speeding Bullet, I would really recommend Stolen Pieces. It's a super cool crime boss AU that I've been enjoying this year. Plus it deserves more attention!

Another awesome artist is @800db-cloud, who is honestly CARRYING the Freak Fortress fandom. I love how silly your depictions of those freaks are 🧡 and also YOUR ARTSTYLE IS SO COOL AND SATISFYING TO LOOK AT ARGHHH.. You're just super awesome 👍 also shout-out to @riskreward1, my chillest mutual. I think your Getting Milk comic series is hilarious and amazing, but seeing all of those other fandoms you draw is like a gateway drug to me because it's drawn in your KICKASS artstyle‼️plus you like The Mountain Goats and that's based

@thechocolatearmor!! The other Medic Cosplayer I met at my first con!! My friends still mention the in-character convo we had, you were hilarious and I'm so glad I got your Tumblr because I love reading all of your takes on reblogs. I hope I see you again so we can be insane together again 🔥

also @mikimel, I admire how silly you are 😭 I still have that little doodle you drew at the con, and I wish your Tomodochi Miis well <3 AND THE SOLLY FIGURE. He's beautiful. Your fashion sense is fire, and I hope to see more of your cosplay projects! :0 (specifically Soldier Miku. If that's still a thing hehe)

@ivvyzzspark you. You know what you did.

Another HUGE thanks to my very very patient proofreader @emiette for helping me make Crates readable! Em dashes are my new favorite form of punctuation.

And lastly I would like to thank @mvabank because you were the one who made me start rotting over TF2 in the first place 🫶 Magmas were always so fun with you and the image of your little sona with the big ass eyes is forever seared into my brain <3

Maybe it's because 2025 is divisible by 5, but I have a feeling this year is going to be a good one. Stay safe out there, people! Cheers 🥂

[mesetacadre]

I don't agree that it's purposeful alienation. At least for politics posting, which is most of my dash, it's the only good way to get your point across while avoiding misunderstandings and bad-faith readings of a post, and beyond a certain depth, it's also just harder to talk about some positions without specific terms which might seem pointlessly gatekeepy but have specific and useful meanings. "Proletariat" does not mean the same thing as just "workers", it's an academic term yes, but still useful, and just learning this shared vocabulary and set of concepts can contribute a lot to your understanding across languages. Posting in English also helps me when I talk/write about politics in Spanish because at the end of the day you're developing your own reasoning, which exists practically independently of the language you speak.

With all that being said, I really agree that anglo-centrism is a plague on the internet in general, and outside of communities that revolve around specific cultural objects or being a community of x language speakers specifically, there is a real pressure that comes to speak in english, otherwise you risk being simply ignored or getting some yank demanding you cater to them. This is in no small part because of the original subject of this post, which is the inability of imperial core citizens to acknowledge other places with different languages and histories exists.

If you're fine with it, I'll message you and we'll go through everything you had trouble with :))

usamericans and europeans love to moralize objective economic categories by transposing the relations of oppression to a good-and-bad dynamic which affects everyone as individuals, so that a statement of fact without any bearing on their individual personhood becomes an accusation to them, one that must simply not be true because their self-imposed moralization goes against the real oppression they do face, an oppression which has of course also been unnecessarily moralized, resulting in a completely self-fabricated contradiction between being oppressed (good and righteous) and benefitting from the oppression of others (bad and despisable)

[m00nl1ghts1vt]

♡‧₊˚ Babydaddy!Chris x Sweetheart!Reader - Dedicated

It is highly recommended to read Delusional before continuing.

🎵 Soul Ties (remix) - Savannah Cristina

“Yea he’s not leaving anytime soon,” your best friend sounds from the next room, her stale tone of voice makes it obvious she’s annoyed at the fact that Chris’ car hadn’t moved an inch from the parking spot it was in the night before. Your plan was to stay hidden away in your best friend's house for as long as you possibly could, knowing any conversation with your babydaddy would either leave you in tears or wrapped around his finger once again — you wanted neither. The open kitchen layout gave you a clear view into her living room where she was peeking thru the blinds. You lift your head from your hands and let out a hefty sigh, “he’s still out there?”

“I don’t think he ever left,” she tells you before whirling around to face your direction, “pathetic – dedicated but pathetic,” she snorts, no emotion showing in her voice until she sets her eyes on you. Her tight-lipped smirk falls to a frown as a sympathetic look washes over her face, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”

You force a smile, shaking your head at her, “it's okay. You’re allowed to have your own opinion on him.” It was the truth. She saw it all, from the beginning until now – she watched yours and Chris’ relationship flourish, she was the first person you told about your pregnancy beside him, she was the one to pick you and put you back together the first time Chris cheated. Now, she’s here doing the same thing once again but this time she’s comforting her very heartbroken, very pregnant, nearly due, best friend. She had every right to hate him. You just wished she could give some of the hatred she had for Chris to you because no matter what he did, you couldn’t hate him if you tried. You were too in love with him. 

Chris’ dedication to stay camped outside of your besties house wasn’t helping you hold the grudge that you wanted to so badly. You knew he needed to be held accountable for his actions but the longer you stayed away from him, the more you missed him. Not to mention the pregnancy hormones that raged thru your body, it felt like your heart had your brain in a headlock. He had been texting your phone every other hour on the dot, making your heart ache each time another text from Chris delivers to your phone. A thick silence falls across the room as your phone chimes on command, you and your best friend eyeballing each other across the kitchen island. You let out another sigh before flipping your phone face down, knowing anything that man said to you was just going to convince you more to take him back, you didn’t want to see another lame ass, “I’m sorry” or “please talk to me.” You just wanted time to think.  

“Maybe talking to him won’t be such a bad idea,” your best friend eases, “Bean is coming soon, and you guys at least need to be on talking terms before he gets here.” One thing you loved about her was her logical thinking, but she just didn’t understand. You were grateful for her being there and helping you thru the emotional roller coaster you had been on the last twenty-four hours. One minute you were in tears and the next you were pissed at Chris. Pissed at him for letting other women on social media cloud his judgement. You knew Chris’ lifestyle came with plenty of women throwing themselves at him, but you didn’t think he’d stoop down to that level, not when you were pregnant anyway. 

It made you wonder if he continued to text other women after the first time he was caught, had he been in other bitches DMs your whole pregnancy? The thought made your stomach weak and head woozy.

As much as you wanted to stay hidden in the comfort of your best friend's home, you knew Chris wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon, not until you talked to him. All the time you two were in this situation before, Chris was always one to give you your space. This time it was different, you were pregnant with his son; he couldn’t just stay home while you sat heartbroken, and he wasn’t leaving the spot he was in unless you were coming with him.

"One reply won't hurt," your best friend adds on, breaking you out of your train of thoughts, "don't give in too quickly. He deserves the meanest version of you right now, remember that!" her voice calls after you as you get up from your seat. You smooth a hand over your bump, slugging to the next room while you unlock your phone to read Chris' text messages.

You lock your phone, shoving it into your pants pocket before heading to the foyer, slipping on your shoes and calling out to your bestie, "going to talk to him!" Even though you were dreading the conversation that was to come. You weren't accepting any unkept promises this time. As much as you craved more information, it was unlikely you'd get it. You knew Chris, and you knew you'd be playing detective if you wanted to get anything else out of him.

The fresh morning breeze hits you as you make your way outside, your pregnancy waddle making itself known with each step you take. Your heart thumps violently in your chest as you set your eyes on a very messy looking Chris taking long strides to the passenger side door, yanking it open and waiting for you with eager eyes. The sight of him makes you feel like you could vomit at any moment, the feeling of uncertainty lies deep in your gut. You take a deep breath, trying to collect yourself as you approach his car, making sure you don't meet his gaze as you sink down in your seat.

You watch as Chris shuts the door, his bottom lip clamped between his teeth as he runs a hand thru his hair, quickly moving on his feet to the driver's side. It was obvious he hadn't slept all night. Chris sported his classic sleepy, messy-haired look many times before, but the bags under his eyes told everyone his lack of sleep was stress related.

Chris runs another hand thru his hair, letting out a long sigh as he sinks down into his seat, "I missed you, Sweetheart," his voice was hoarse, way raspier than normal, " — and bean." Your son did somersaults in your wombs at the sound of his dad's voice, making you smooth a hand over your bump in an attempt to calm him. Chris' eyes follow your movement, and he stretches a hand out to mimic your actions. Baby Bean thrashes around actively at the feeling of Chris hand on your stomach. Chris clears his throat, "I really am sorry," his voice thick with emotion as he looks up at you. You can see the tears pooling up in his eyes as he attempts to blink them away, letting a few fall in the process. It was the most emotion you had ever seen on him considering the fact you didn't even see tears when he found out you were pregnant. You watch as Chris collects the stray tears with the sleeve of his hoodie, quickly looking away as he sets his bloodshot eyes on you. Seeing him cry made you want to forget about all the hurt he caused you; it made you want to suffocate him in a bear hug while you ran your fingers thru his hair and sang him soft lullabies.

"He misses you too," you croak out, crossing your arms over your chest as you study the man across from you. He was still wearing the same clothes as yesterday, his signature scent of cologne was very faint, nearly worn off and watered down. The stress induced bags under his eyes indicated his mind was running rampant all night long, much like yours. His gaze fixated on you; he wanted you to know he was ready for whatever you threw his way. He was ready to take the heat for all of it, anything he had to do to get you back.

"You don't miss me?" his words echo off the interior of the car, making the silence thicker than it already was. There was no doubt that you missed him, but he didn't deserve to hear that. Your best friends' voice pops into your head, 'he deserves the meanest version of you,’ you wanted so badly to agree, but looking at how tore up and dismantled Chris sat in front of you – it absolutely broke your heart. You let out a staggered breath, "yea, I always miss you — but that doesn't mean I forgive you, Chris." As soon as the words leave your lips, Chris is nodding in agreement, he knows he has some making up to do.

In a way, you were thankful you isolated yourself from Chris instead of acting off of your emotions as you usually would. It gave you a lot more time to weigh out your options. Was it reasonable to break up with the father of your child twelve weeks away from your due date because he was texting a random girl on Instagram? Probably not. If there was more you didn't know about, it'd be a different outcome. Isolation came with overthinking, and you thought of every possibility when it came to Chris' infidelity. Who was she? Was she a side bitch or just some random? Was that the only conversation or was there more? Did he know her personally? You knew you’d be a wreck at this moment if you hadn’t cried your tear ducts dry the night before. No matter how hard your heart thumped in your chest, you felt numb.

You knew you couldn’t do it alone; you relied on Chris for almost everything these last 7 months. You were freshly in your third trimester, and you’d be damned if you spent the first few weeks of your baby’s life living in an unfamiliar air bnb or hotel room. There was no point in arguing with him. There was no point in asking questions. If Chris was this dedicated to get you to talk to him, there was no telling what he'd do if you held out no contact when the baby was here. Besides, he said he’d never do it again, right?

Wc - 1752?? (Not proofread yet)

♡‧₊˚ Sweetheart is such a pushover for her babydaddy 😭 I hope everyone likes this lol. This is very much unresolved, so there will definitely be more angst in the future 🫣 But also some fluff, Baby bean is due soon and I have yet to pick out name lol. Let know what you guys think and don't forget to send me ask about the two 🫶🏻

Masterlist

Babydaddy!Chris Masterlist

Taglist (comment to be added)

Requests/Asks are always open - send me questions or suggestions for Babydaddy!Chris x Sweetheart or Neighbor!Matt x Brat!Reader

[wistyivyy]

TW: Praise, some illusions to smut, size kink, degrading

|| G/N terms/names :))

Not Simon just picking you up with every chance he’s got, hauling your body against his, over his shoulder, bridal style, legs wrapped around his waist, anything to just get you in his arms. You just know he loves teasing you for it like?

“c’mere lovie, let me hold you eh? Tiny lil’ thing, love bein’ in my arms don’ yeh? Tha’s a good lovie.” He would say as he picks you up, walking around the house with you on his hip as he does menial tasks like the dishes or laundry. God Simon just loved how you fit against his body, not even in a perverted way, just in a how much he loved you close way. He would not let you do anything for yourself either.. climbing onto the counter to get a glass? Nope he would come behind you and grab it for you, mocking you slightly “so small, can’t even get yeh own glass without my help, jus’ need me all the time don’ yeh bunny?”

God he would degrade you for it too- “so small and dumb aren’ yeh? So pathetic f’ me, have to do everythin’ for ye, dumb whore.” Of course your flushing only makes him smirk and want to do it more?

Him also just opening doors for you, being a gentleman, letting you hog the shower water first when you shower together, letting you sit on his lap during a movie in the cinema because you can’t see over other people’s heads.

[ryssabrin]

i feel like people who don’t like solas or solavellan have such a warped perspective of what the romance is and how fans of it actually engage in it. like i’ve seen a lot of (most likely het dudes lol) on reddit say they tried it to see what the fuss was but felt it was “demeaning” and i’ve seen it described as literally a horror story where solas is manipulating and using and lying to a young impressionable lavellan who gives up her entire identity for him and becomes a complete doormat to all the awful shit he does. that’s never been my experience and i kinda just want to ramble about how i see it and what i find romantic about it?

so full disclosure, if veilguard had come out a few years ago with how they portrayed lavellan and solavellan i might have been pretty disappointed. i think there is a subset of the solavellan fanbase that likes the wolf/halla or student/professor thing and they play their lavellan younger and agreeing almost without question to everything solas says. i see the appeal but i never played my lavellan that way and i really like the dynamic of it when lavellan actually goes against his advice at times. solas is a character that needs to have his preconceived biases questioned. especially in inquisition when he’s still coming to terms with the fact that the modern people of thedas are in fact people lol. so i was concerned at the prospect of my lavellan being taken out of my hands and having to listen to her make excuses for him and submit to everything he says. (which tbf i don’t think is how she actually comes across in dav, but that was a worry.)

however when i replayed my canon dai run this year, i realized i was closer to the age i always saw my lavellan as (early 30s), and as my lavellan is probably the bioware pc i’ve always played closest to my own personality, i took the opportunity to tweak her a bit and make some different choices. i’ve (hopefully lol) matured and grown a lot since i was 24 and so rather than going for the snarky sarcastic cool girl vibes i opted to play her with more diplomatic and caring choices. it made me see the solas romance in a completely new light. rather than some sort of student/professor dynamic or a pride and prejudice-esque rivals-to-lovers vibe where lavellan is fighting for his respect the whole time, what stuck out to me was how much their connection builds simply because lavellan is kind to solas. she hears him out when he wants to give his opinions and advice, she respects his expertise on the fade and spirits, and she offers him comfort and friendship when she sees he needs it. she impresses him because he finds himself wanting to indulge in her closeness. he finds a connection to someone he never expected to and it makes him rethink everything about the broken state he put the world in.

it’s worth noting that lavellan is always making the first move. she kisses him first, she pursues him. he tries to brush off the kiss as a spontaneous lapse in judgement and she doesn't let him. he only ever gives in to her advances, he doesn't make them himself. he calls their relationship "selfish" on his end. he knows he shouldn't be encouraging her but he can't help but long for her companionship. that being said though if lavellan shuts it down he respects it. he probably feels a little relief because the temptation is now out of his hands lol.

i feel like there’s also this perception that he’s constantly shitting on the dalish while lavellan just has to put up with it and that alone is reason enough to find the relationship demeaning. he mentions the dalish in one optional conversation chain where you ask him for his opinion on the state of the elves and then in the balcony scene where he realizes he’s misjudged the inquisitor after his personal quest. in both instances, lavellan can stick up for the dalish. in the optional conversation, lavellan can say that if solas had a bad experience with a clan once (which we know from dav is exactly what happened lol), that she’d like to correct that misunderstanding about her people.

it's worth noting as well that lavellan doesn't know solas is the dread wolf when he's criticizing the dalish. from her perspective, he's essentially a city-born elf who had some dalish look down their nose at him for not being a "true elf" like they are, something that not only happens in canon throughout the games and lavellan would be aware of, but literally happens to solas specifically, right in front of you. he doesn't say a single word to mihris and she doesn't know a thing about him other than his face is bare and thus feels comfortable referring to him with what is essentially a slur. but rather than confront her directly about it he just passive aggressively speaks to her in elven almost exclusively for the rest of the quest lol.

far from the dynamic being that lavellan is just putting up with someone talking down to her about her culture, i think it's reasonable to see her view is more that they're both members of the same marginalized group, but from different cultures. his position in criticizing the dalish is not punching down it's lateral. she loves her culture, but is able to recognize it has flaws and not every member in it treats other cultures well, particularly even when they're from the same marginalized group. (and it's also just really meaningful that the first "flirt" option you get in the solas romance is lavellan recognizing that solas has put himself in a very vulnerable position as an elven apostate joining the chantry-led inquisition and with whatever power she has she will make sure that it's not held against him.)

i do think the writing conveys that he does have his mind changed about the dalish at least a little bit, but one of his pet peeves is when people are ignorant and refuse any information that challenges their worldview. as a manifested wisdom spirit, it is a particular sticking point to him to not be listened to when he is providing knowledge. i think criticism of how he is towards the dalish is lacking without taking into account his nature as a spirit. obvs we didn’t know that in dai but we do now. when wisdom isn't listened to it turns to pride. "i told you so," "i'll prove i'm right," "you should have listened to me," etc. etc. he got his feelings hurt when the dalish didn't believe him (and according to dav, literally tried to kill him) and his ego's held a grudge ever since.

when it comes to the vallaslin, to me it’s less about solas wanting to dismantle part of dalish culture (he offers no actual opinion on the dalish during that scene) and more that it clearly bothers him a lot that he fought so hard to free the elves from slavery and the one community of elves that’s closest to the descendants of the people he wanted to free still wears tattoos honoring the very tyrants he wanted to free them from. if lavellan says she wants to keep them and that the dalish reclaimed them and they mean something else to her, he doesn’t argue. i actually don’t like that solas’s post breakup banter with cole implies that lavellan thinks he might have broken up with her over the vallaslin. it’s putting thoughts in the head of my character that i personally don’t see her having. the way the breakup plays out, there’s not a single indication that it has anything to do with the vallaslin. i like to pick the “i believe in us” option because it shows lavellan having some idea that there’s something solas isn’t telling her and that’s the main reason he’s walking away. and the irony of course is that we learn in dav that that was the moment he came the closest to just giving up everything to just be with her.

so when i played through dav with my solasmance lavellan and she talks about what drew her to him it all just felt so right. he was kind and wise and sad but he made her feel like she was the only thing that mattered to him. (and that was very almost true!) there was a passion and intensity to their relationship that made her think he was the person she wanted to be with forever. when she says "i thought i would have followed anywhere he asked me to" you could read it as her saying she would have joined him in tearing down the veil if he asked and depending on your lavellan that might be true (though in the next bit she talks about how she would have been trying to change his mind anyways). but you could also read it as what her mindset was while she was with him during dai. before joining the inquisition, she knew him to be someone that traveled the world looking for lost secrets and history. why would she not have wanted to join him in that? is that not something you do when you're in love with someone?

something else that i find really compelling about solavellan is how solas relates to the inquisitor (not just lavellan) as a figurehead stripped of their personal identity. he knows from personal experience exactly what that's like. in the romances (not just solas's), the inquisitor is able to find someone that knows and cares for them for who they are, not what they represent. this aspect of the inquisitor's arc is honestly why i like keeping the vallaslin. my lavellan wants people to be able to look at her as the inquisitor and see a dalish elf. it's one small act of defiance and in reclaiming her own narrative. so thinking about what she might want to do after her responsibilities to the inquisition are over, it's reasonable to think she might want to just go wherever solas goes? because she loves him and feels like herself around him. even her asking him to let her come with him in trespasser feels more motivated by the fact that lavellan sees solas isolating himself and closing himself off and she's sad about it because she cares about him. that was why she wanted to grow close to him in the first place.

and i genuinely don't think it's all that wild that lavellan still holds a torch for solas 10 years later. i personally was friends with this guy in high school i always had a crush on, and towards the end of senior year it looked like it could actually end up turning into something. but then he immediately left for a summer abroad after graduation and eventually moved out of the country full time for school. we kept in touch off and on and caught up when he was in town, but nothing romantic ever happened. for years after i would catch myself thinking every so often what could have been and what he was up to. for solavellan, they were actually together. they had mutually expressed feelings and though their time together was maybe a few months at most, it was intense and passionate. they split up not because anyone's feelings changed, but because of solas's baggage. it's really not unrealistic for lavellan to continue wondering to herself what would have happened if he had been honest with her sooner. if she could have convinced him to change course. and it's not like she has the luxury of retiring and just not thinking about him anymore. that's not a conscious manipulation on solas's part to string her along, that's just the reality of their situation.

and even with all that in mind, in dav lavellan is still able to have the self-awareness to understand that the good in him that she believes exists and all that they had together and what she meant to him could all just be wishful thinking on her part. that she's giving him the benefit of the doubt "imagining his broken heart" when he doesn't deserve it because it makes her feel less foolish. she's not blindly faithful to him. i just loved everything about that scene and every word out of my lavellan's mouth felt spot on and perfect for how i saw their relationship. i could not have been more relieved lol.

as for the ending, i really really dislike the bad faith read that the only thing that matters is mythal and that he somehow loves mythal more and if that weren't true then lavellan alone would be able to convince him to stop. varric says about solas that he wants to be a hero, but it's easier for him to play the villain because it means he didn't fail, everything bad he's done is a choice. once you've done one bad thing, betrayed one friend, manipulated and sacrificed some pawns, committed one lil genocide, etc. lmao, it becomes easier to do it again. you've already crossed your moral event horizon and now you just have to find an end that justifies the means of all your misdeeds. what i've said about solas before is that what's frustrating is that he does genuinely feel remorse about the shit he does, but he needs to believe it's necessary and he will keep doing it. he needs to believe it will all be worth it in the end. it's not that he thinks feeling sorry makes up for it necessarily, but that he had to do it. he had to be the one taking on all of the bad things to hopefully one day do a good thing and it will all work out.

(as a side note when solas says "i would not have you see what i become" in trespasser i always thought that meant he was going to resort to some awful corruptive magic or something but it turns out what he actually meant was "i'm about to be a real asshole and do some incredibly awful things and i don't want you to see that side of me" which is much sadder.)

so when rook says "you don't have to do this" solas counters with "i've betrayed and fucked over and killed so many people who trusted me and if i stop i will have done that for nothing." so then the inquisitor jumps in with "as one of those people, i'm telling you that you can stop." but then we get to the heart of it. he thinks he failed mythal when she died the first time and was unwilling to listen to her as flemeth. he needs to make that mean something. he needs to justify to himself what mythal made him into. so he needs to hear from his mythal, not morrigan's mythal who has the benefit of the wisdom and hindsight centuries of living among mortals gave her, but his mythal, the one closest to who she was when she died that what he is is broken. that she's the one that broke him and he alone doesn't have to bear the weight of everything he did because of her. it's not about loving her, it's about the specific relationship he had with her. with that baggage unpacked, he's not only able to let go of his prideful need to prove himself right by tearing down the veil, he's also free to choose what he always really wanted: lavellan.

and still! yet again! he does not ask or assume anything on her part. she offers! of her own free will. something that really rustles my jimmies about a lot of solavellan criticism is that people act like lavellan has no agency. that she couldn't possibly make the choices she does of her own accord and it has to be solas manipulating her. that has never rang true to me at all. she always made the first move. i think this more uncharitable read might unfortunately be encouraged by how many actual solavellan shippers play into the wolf/halla thing but i personally don't think that's the dynamic that weekes actually wrote. it is lavellan that pursues solas, not the other way around. and weekes was honestly so careful in how they wrote the romance so that when solas's identity and plans are revealed, it doesn't feel like he intentionally tricked you or took advantage. i actually really like the ambiguity of whether or not they slept together because to me it does feel like that's a line solas wouldn't cross, but i get why that doesn't matter as much to other solasmancers.

i also think there's this perception that solavellan is a ship with an unhealthy power dynamic that needs to be "fixed" in some way or at the very least apologized for before you're allowed to like it. for me it's honestly kind of the appeal? not that there's some goofy dom/sub thing going on lol but that in spite of how "superior" solas may or may not feel to lavellan and the modern elves, he still falls hook line and fucking sinker for her. lavellan has so much more power in the relationship than she realizes. she changes his entire perspective on modern elves and his ultimate goals so bad he had a complete crisis of faith and had to run as far away from her as he could. how could he have broken the world so badly he needs to catastrophically break it again to fix it if it could create someone like her? someone he wants and cares for so desperately? it's the push and pull of him trying to stay away but selfishly indulging as long as he can that's so juicy to me! it's so good and i just wish other people could see that, even if they don't care for the character.

anyways. i don't have a conclusion. i don't want anyone to think i'm vaguing about them. this is honestly the result of some thoughts that have been brewing for a while and a lot of common criticisms i've seen over the years. i didn't want to respond directly to anyone in particular bc i learned my lesson about not doing that waaay back in the shenko fandom iykyk lol. i just really like the ship! i think it's tragic and romantic and lovely and poetic and mythological and all that good stuff. it humanizes solas as a character and makes me think about empathy and compassion and how much faith you can have in someone if you love them. or how it might feel to sacrifice love for something you think you need to do, only to ultimately realize you never did and find that love patiently waiting for you to get your shit together. or to love someone and know they love you back and that they love you so much they had to leave or they would have given up everything they thought they needed for you and then to be able to actually get through to them and get them back. "she could save him if he'd only just let her"! it's a very niche wish fulfillment fantasy and it's me! i'm the fan being serviced!

[solasfenheral]

some bemused vg bitching below the cut

i am. very bemused by the way this game seems to pull its punches at certain moments. like its afraid to really step on your toes and get in your face thematically. which is a deeply strange experience considering i've never ever felt this way about a dragon age game before???

to be honest. I half wonder if it is a product of this game being a sequel that came out so long after it's previous title and right off the heels of two games that received cold to lukewarm reception critically and within the community. I know there would've been extreme pressure internally for this game to be a critical and commercial success and you see that in how polished it is, how there have been huge technological improvements in things like hair which bioware has always gotten some flack for. and I can't help but feel that history contributed to how. cautious of me this game feels at times.

but its just. strange. it feels so strange to get something like the push up scene at the end of taash's personal quest chain. like what are you doing, with this lukewarm defense of trans identity. have some BITE about it man, I know you care about this! it's like the game doesn't want to commit to locking you out of companion content because they wouldn't tolerate transphobia but also doesn't want to accept it, so you end up with this bizarre kind of. half ass defense of transness without really standing its ground about it.

and one hand I get it because I don't want taash's storyline to be about defending themselves from player transphobia when they're already struggling with coming to terms w their identity throughout the game, but this scene man. its so damn strange.

and like. the way this game handles religion is so damn bizarre to me! which is a critique I've again, never felt for a da game! it feels SO strange for bellara to be like. lol yeah the gods being evil actually makes it EASIER for me to let them go like ffdsjkfhjks what....? epler I am in your HOUSE, this is not how faith worksssss

in trying, it feels like, to avoid steeping on toes about what the revelation of the gods would MEAN to the elves, vg just. really fails to grapple with the importance of faith in people's lives and the pain of what losing that or it being challenged means.

i wouldn't even be as annoyed if like. at least ONE of our dalish companions had complicated feelings about their faith and it was something they could discuss between them! it would be really interesting to contrast davrin's pragmatism, his preoccupation MORE with the lived reality elves might suffer with this knowledge come to light under the current systems of oppression, his understanding of the dalish mythology as important to his culture and his sense of SELF w/o ever having really believed in them personally, with someone like bellara who DID believe and is working through an arc about grief and trying to find a new understanding of what dalish culture looks like now with such a key tenant being challenged!

how do you understand death and what comes beyond death when such a central pillar of your life has been challenged! oh my GOD the depth the funeral scene gains when u have this subtext.

there's not a single banter on how harding reconciles her understanding of the Titans to her belief in the maker!

its just. CRAZY to me that this game seems to be trying to dodge the religious and political bite of its own story fsdhfjkds aaaaaaaa

man this isn't even touching how bizarrely fast rook's regret prison does its switcheroo and goes from neve/bellara's blaming rook for losing them to rook going don't worry your death wasn't my fault to davrin/lace like my GOD lemme stew in the survivor's guilt man ur not even giving me an understanding of why rook can process this!! lace or davrin literally died like! 10 minutes ago to their understanding!!!

[eunandonly]

exhibit a : you

୨୧ ; you and riki, on a date solving murder cases gone cold? that’s going to end in another murder!

pairing! criminaljusticemajor!riki x criminologymajor!reader | wc. 0.9k | warnings: atempted humour, incorrect law and forensic terms, homicide mentions EN-

🖇️ : riki version finally!! sorry it took so long ㅜㅜ

riki has been majoring in criminal justice for some time now

you two never really talked properly, most of your conversations were trivial things like “can i borrow your pencil” or “when does this lecture end”

you never expected your first proper conversation with him to be an argument about who can solve a cold case faster

"of course i can solve it the fastest, what are you talking about, y/n?"

that just pisses you off bc who does he think he is

let's be so fr why is he so full of himself?

you had just been listening in on his conversation about a case study and you couldn't help but jump in

and riki had the audacity to mock you

"you're really going to stick with that theory? it's clearly wrong- come on, even i know that."

you were ready to bash his pretty little face in

bc your theory about the jane doe case is definitely right dafuq.

the time window, the evidence, the interview transcripts... it all fits your narrative

and the more you and riki discuss the case, the more convinced riki is that your theory MIGHT be right

of course he won't admit that though

but when you start talking about livor mortis he can't help but stare at you with hearts in his eyes

like DAMN he loves girls who recite shit like that as if it's the alphabet

one day you're just packing up your bag to leave after a lecture when riki comes over

"hey, you wanna study with me this evening? get some work done on the cold case project?"

riki's tryna be all nonchalant but he's screaming inside PLEASE SAY YES PLEASE SAY YES

you say yes.

you two meet at riki’s dorm room and tbh it’s kinda messy in there

i imagine criminology major riki to have lots of books regarding criminal law and stuff lying about everywhere and js have a lot of stuff in general

like the only place that’s not covered by some book or paper of some sort is the bed because he needs sleep (but he stays up till 5am anyways)

he probably listens to true crime podcasts all night

riki and you start get into your work right away but both of you keep getting carried away bickering

don’t worry it’s just playful banter ☺️

“i said stfu his rigor mortis had only started on the head and neck of the body but livor mortis had fully set- that's just says that someone manipulated the factors”

you’re just sitting on his bed pointing at the case file and trying to prove your point

riki’s smart but dense at the same time

you both have some genuinely concerning conversation starters

“oh yeah so this girl apparently got burned alive on a wooden pole outside a school campus!”

"do you think the car air conditioner will be cold enough to use during the winter when trying to onset rigor mortis of the body?"

"if someone dug up a already dead body murdered by someone else and re-buried it to hide it from the officials, what charges would they get?"

you guys say it so casually too like you're discussing what to have for dinner

you always thought riki was cool and had a little liking for him but working on a project together and really made the feelings more intense

sure he’s an annoying little menace who’s way too stubborn

but he’s smart. and he’s pretty.

you really are going to bash his pretty face in one day.

even when you two are not working on the project you two meet up in each other’s dorm rooms to play games, talk, etc

like you two make plans to meet up at your room to play fortnite (you carry his ass through the game)

oh but he won't admit that

i feel like riki would prefer staying in for these types of activities

you know those little packages of fake crime cases you can buy to investigate and stuff?

that's what you and riki do on friday nights except it's not a fake crime

it's all real

you guys research serial murder cases, disappearances that went cold YEARS ago, heists... the list just goes on and on

yeah but these little dates are probably going to become a homicide case itself

no bc why is riki not shutting up his narrative is so wrong

he ends up confessing to you at the end of the month after both of you submitted the most beautiful thesis on a double homicide case

you got lots of help from riki on the criminal law aspects of it and you helped him with the profiling and forensics part

"no y/n, he would be charged for perverting the course of justice, what are you on?"

“riki, stop being such a dumbass. the offender and the victim had no connection whatsoever.”

riki was so scared to confess to you, he was overthinking for days straight instead of sleeping at night

so for your first date you just have him come over to your dorm and make a murder board with you

not exactly a common first date activity but both of you have fun with red string and evidence so it’s fine

you and riki later on create your own true crime podcast except you're not just talking about the crime

you're both solving them (agggtm anyone?)

i'd like to think that you and riki's podcasts went viral and everyone gushing over you two

you and riki just make a really cute couple

[jennaispunk]

I’m not one to toot my own horn or bring attention to myself but I was inspired by the lovely @jolapeno (ilysm 💜💜), @wethairjoel, @sawymredfox (ily bestie!! 💜), @toomanystoriessolittletime and others, I decided to post my own favorite things.

2024 was the year I started writing fic. I posted my first story in February and the rest is history. My journey has had its ups and downs (self-doubt, writers block, etc) but I wouldn’t change a thing. I’ve made some wonderful friends in the Pedro fandom (too many to tag) and I’m grateful for each and every one of you and all your shenanigans. 🤪

Now, for the things:

Just Another Saturday Night- The first fic I ever posted and it was for none other than Javi P for Space Sisters Valentine’s Day Exchange. I love writing for Javi. This was a fun story to write about Javi and reader baby sitting for Steve and Connie on Valentine’s Day and their feelings are revealed. Javi singing to Olivia will live in my head rent-free forever.

Like the Rain- my first Frankie fic. If you don’t already know, I love Frankie, and I mean LOVE (I really should write more for him). This one was for @guiltyasdave 1.5k kisses challenge and the prompt was kisses in the rain. If you don’t know by know, I love Frankie, and I mean LOVE. I really need to write more for him. This little story was ultimately about Frankie learning to accept love and the rain provided a good metaphor for washing the slate clean and starting again.

A Symptom of Being Human- my first Joel fic. This one was a bit different for me because it was the most heavy thing I’d written up to that point. It dealt with loss and panic attacks and I cried while writing it.

It’s Only Make Believe- my first Dieter fic written for @burntheedges Roll-A-Trope Challenge. My prompt was fake dating/relationship. This one was a bear, y’all. I struggled with this one quite a bit and it’s my longest fic to date. I had a hard time finding Dieter’s voice but I think I managed okay. This one made me fall for Dieter even more (and also made me rewatch the Bubble 🤣) and I’ve written two more fics for him since then.

Amid the Falling Snow- My first Ezra fic. Ezra has always been a favorite of mine but I had shied away from writing because I was nervous I wouldn’t be able to capture his voice. After a few rewatches of Prospect (a terrible thing to have to do I know 🤣) and some reading some fantastic resource material from @morallyinept, this just flowed out of me. I think I really found my stride here in terms of being able to paint an image with my words.

Miller’s Christmas Tree Farm- I tried something new this year: co-writing. This was a piece of Joel Christmas fluff I wrote with @toomanystoriessolittletime. I had so much fun writing this with you and I hope we can team up in 2025 to do it again!!

I also made a few moodboards (not related to any of my fics) that I’m proud of.

Frankie and Mouse- for @beefrobeefcal. Frankie and Mouse will always be one of my favorites and I will ship them until the day I die. This series has it all: smut, humor and tears.

Jagged Scraps of Him- for @moonlitbirdie. This was the first Ezra fic I read and boy did it blow me away. I love the way Birdie writes Ezra. If you haven’t read it, what are you waiting for?You can find the fic on A03 if you’re a registered user. I’m posting the moodboard as I pic because I can’t link it.

I participated in quite a few writing challenges this year (some of which I mentioned above) and helped me grow as a writer. I’m looking forward to the writing challenges you all come up with in 2025!

I stepped out of my comfort zone a bit in 2024 and participated in @morallyinept’s Pike’s Pick-n-Mix, where I was paired with the amazing @beefrobeefcal who I’m blessed to say became a good friend. ily Beef!! 💜

I also participated in Pedro Scouts. @goodwithcheese-Thank you so much for all your hard work and dedication into creating such a welcoming and fun space for the fandom. Scouts Summer Camp was probably my favorite part of this year. The shenanigans and group activities were hilarious and so much fun. Because of summer camp, I met @jolapeno, who has become a good friend. I’m truly blessed. 💜

I can’t say goodbye to 2024 without thanking all of those who have supported me, laughed with me and shared thots with me. I can’t tag you all because there are just too many. Here’s just are just a few that I haven’t already tagged and/or mentioned in this post who have made my 2024 worth remembering:

@whocaresstillthelouvre @secretelephanttattoo @bitchesuntitled @artsy-girl-76 @sixhours

@mothandpidgeon @yopossum @tinytinymenace @hellfire-state-of-mind @maggiemayhemnj

@romanarose @perotovar @toxicanonymity @wordywarriorwrites @mando-abs @timelordfreya

Here’s to a great 2025 for all of us!!

Much love,

Jenn 💜

[hockeytwittereats]

folklore to TTPD is the entire breakdown of a LTR

Home for the night and I have to share my realization that I had while running errands today. Poor @wavesoutbeingtossed got this dumped to her earlier.

folklore is about loss of youth, but also this great betrayal. It's the way that betrayal is shown in the teenaged love triangle, but also the key line in cardigan (imo) which is "I knew you'd come back to me". It is also, in my mind, the key to understanding hoax.

I might edit this tomorrow, but it is New Year's Eve and like two people follow me: I think the betrayal in hoax is JA questioning if they are going to go the distance and starting to back out of the Plans they had previously discussed. Okay.

The last two songs written for the album (on the same day) were: the 1 and hoax. Intriguing because the 1 is almost like "what would it be like if I was single" and hoax has "don't want no other blue but you/no sadness in the world would do". The 1 is contemplating things falling apart and hoax is deciding that this type of grief is the love she wants (the lakes is a lot like hoax with the grief).

hoax and the 1 segue beautifully into evermore which is really the negotiation of a relationship and all it has been through (see little evermore to understand why this relationship is worth fighting for). We see a broken engagement, we see another contemplation of how life can move on after losing what you think is forever. We see a breakdown of a fractured relationship. But it ends on hope imo (little evermore) and unlike with the lakes, it's time to go is sort of hopeful. Leaving doesn't have to destroy you. It can lead you to new, good things. But leaving is hard.

Pause for Renegade which gives us some insight into what was going on at the time. There's a desperation that this can still work. Yes, it is bad, but she can help. She's been there. JA helped her.

Midnights is the desperate negotiation of saving a relationship. I *think* the 3 am songs are a negotiation of outside things that can change you forever. WCS is the first act of love that damaged her in ways she didn't know at the time. BTTWS is unimaginable grief. TGW is something she thought was moved past, but still sits over her. Dear Reader is how abandoned and aimless she feels, how unseen she feels. High Infidelity is about a relationship that whenever it crops up seems to be unbelievably dark. Glitch is how none of this was supposed to happen except she's the Mastermind. What if she wasn't the Mastermind? Paris is a love song of an almost fantasy when you hear I Hate It Hear a couple years later.

Midnights as a whole is a desperate negotiation that moves off of what she already was looking at on evermore (sometimes with JA) and throws it into the spotlight: what could she change to change the course of it all. The 3 am is just showing that sometimes this stuff happened and it changed you. No negotiation can change that. The conclusion of Mastermind is "well, if I do everything/am everything this can last", but Dear Reader is begging to be seen, begging to be heard. The Reader is ostensibly the audience, but the reality is it is an audience of one. Because of the one that you love most doesn't See you anymore, what does that mean for you (both singular you and the you as a couple)?

Pause for YLM which si a scream to be seen, but she knows he doesn't see her anymore. Doesn't notice how sick she is. Doesn't feel how heavy everything is.

And TTPD is what happens when you cannot negotiation your relationship back to better waters. What happens when the ship sinks and you're left to pick up the pieces of something you never wanted to break. It is why loss of youth comes up, why this unimaginable grief comes up. We go back to what led to little evermore and the lakes and we learn that we can emerge alive (but scathed) from our worst, most dark experiences.

TTPD is the depths of grief over the loss of everything that comes with the end of a long-term relationship. But there is the gentleness of happiness found throughout. There is no out and out reading for filth of JA like there is for MH. Sure, he colours in every song, but so many of them have strokes of empathy throughout. Peter is a callback to Dancing With Our Hands Tied and what happens when it overwhelms someone. How was JA to know at 25 all that would happen?

And the glimmers of hope are stronger on TTPD than they are on any album from 2020 onwards. The Alchemy is what happens when you realize there is the chance of happiness after you. So High School is about reclaiming those feelings of youth and joy that crept out of everything for a while. TTPD and the Anthology is really a cumulation of Taylor seemingly noticing a crack and trying to fix it and once she realized it couldn't be fixed, trying to find what path she contemplated that would help her. I think she took a new path entirely, but one coloured by all the things she considered over the years.

[rywritess]

cameron at LEAST had something for charlie imo

this was when charlie was flirting with the other girls I MEAN CMON BROOOOO GHFHFJDJ like ive posted about this before but w less text and stuff and im just gonna give my thoughts in this cause WOWOWOW BOOMSHAKALLALALALA BOOM??

btw im not an expert in body language and this is my interpretation

THAT does not look like jealousy to me. His eyes are softened, his mouth slightly agape, eyebrows a bit raised, before he quickly looks down at the ground. It’s like he’s in slight disbelief, heartbreak, then contemplation in such a short amount of time.

Charlie Dalton, his roomate and the worst pain in his ass—… is currently flirting with two random girls and reciting romantic poetry. I mean cmon, its not exactly out of character for Dalton to do something like that. So why be so upset about it? I mean this could’ve been a golden opportunity for cameron to FINALLY get some peace and quiet if Charlie was too busy dating around to bother him. Unless, by some rare chance— he would miss him?

I feel like this is the point cameron realizes he may not hate his roomate as much he thinks he does, and maybe just a little bit, the tiniest part of him.. actually appreciates Charlie? A little bit more than friends. I mean CMON, I don’t think people react like that if their friend flirts with someone else. Like— that look is reserved after finding out someone you like fancies somebody else.

And it’s heartbreaking. That is a look of heartbreak, folks.

I can’t imagine how Cameron would also deal with this realization. Something he holds dear to is rules and tradition. He won’t dare to challenge the norm without some help. But who could he even talk to this about?? Like?? In my hcs, Cameron definitely struggles with internalize homophobia and has such a hard time accepting it because its not the norm. Especially since its 1950s. He just regresses it so much that he won’t ever come to terms with it. Maybe one day he’ll settle down with a woman, have kids, land a normal job, but the thing is— he wont be content with it. At least, I don’t think he would be until he accepts such a central part of himself. And it wont go away, no matter how much he tries to push it down. It’s there, it’ll always be there, taunting him.

just imagine how much fucking psyche locks he would have holy crap