#the scene in the bridge really made me think though

[massivedrickhead]

58 please from the drabble list please?

I'll be honest I have no idea what this is. I just started writing and this came out 🙈

Trigger warnings: suicide is talked about

58. "Am I dead?"

Prompt taken from here

Read on AO3

--

“Am I dead?” 

“No,” a voice replied. “Not yet.”

“I don’t… I don’t understand.”

Beca was surrounded by blackness. Nothingness.

“Give it a second,” the voice said. 

The darkness around her began to lift. Slowly at first - turning from inky black to grey - and then all at once, like someone had just flipped a switch. 

The suddenness of it made Beca flinch, and she screwed her eyes up against the light. 

When she opened them again, she was able to make more sense of her surroundings, though it did nothing to help explain her situation.

She was standing in the middle of what she presumed was a hospital room. She could hear the beeping of a heart monitor, the click and hiss of a ventilator, and the dull buzz of the overhead light.

“What’s going on?” Beca asked. “Why am I here?”

“Turn around and look,” the voice replied. 

Something inside Beca told her not to. A voice - her own voice - told her to stay still. 

Don’t look, it said. Don’t look, don’t look, don’t-

But she did it anyway. 

“What the fuck…” her voice was little more than a whisper, and she had to hold onto the railings of the bed to steady herself. “What the fuck is this?”

“I think it’s pretty obvious,” the voice said. 

“N-no,” Beca said. “This isn’t real.”

“Maybe not,” the voice said. “But the girl in the bed, she’s real. What happened to her is real. Sorry, I should say what happened to you is real.”

Beca shook her head as tears sprang from her eyes. 

“Like I said, you’re not dead,” the voice said. “Not yet. A coma, the doctor’s are saying. But they’re confident. Hopeful.”

“I don’t understand,” Beca said, her voice breaking as she looked down at herself in the hospital bed. “What happened?” 

“What’s the last thing you remember?”

“I don’t know,” Beca said. “I don’t remember anything.”

“Yes you do.”

“I don’t! I don’t know what the fuck is going on! Who are you? Just tell me what happened!”

The voice sighed. 

“Rebeca. You know what happened. And you know who I am. It hasn’t been that long since you heard my voice.”

Beca froze.

Only one person on Earth had ever called her Rebeca. 

“Mom?”

“In a way. Conjured up by your subconscious to guide you through this. I’m not really her, just your brain’s best impression but, for all intents and purposes, yes. And you can cool it with the cursing too, if you don’t mind.”

“But… You’re dead.”

“Yes. But you’re not, so we need to focus-”

“I can’t believe this,” Beca said, cutting her off, her hands coming up to grip her hair. “I must have lost it, had some psychotic break, this can’t be really happening.”

“We can go back and forth with this all you want, but she doesn’t have forever, you know? The sooner you accept this part, the sooner we can move onto the next bit.”

“Can you stop talking in fucking riddles-”

“-language-”

“-and tell me what happened?”

That sigh again.

The one that Beca had so often heard as a child and then a teen.

The sigh that meant her mom was disappointed in her. 

“What’s the last thing you remember?” Her mom asked again. “Really try and think.”

With a frustrated sigh of her own, Beca tried.

She closed her eyes, and tried to remember.

Beca felt something around her shift. She felt a cold burst of wind, and when she opened her eyes again she thought her heart might stop.

She was on the East bridge, with the Barden river rushing beneath her. 

She had never been the biggest fan of heights, but the Beca standing beside her didn’t seem to notice. 

“No.”

“I’m afraid so.”

“I wouldn’t.”

“But you did.”

“I’m telling you, I- NO!”

Beca watched herself climb up over the ledge and drop off the other side without a second of hesitation. 

She tried to take a step towards herself, but the scene shifted again and she was back in the hospital room.

“Luckily someone saw you,” her mom said. “Pulled you out.”

Beca took a step towards the bed and looked down at herself again. There was a blue tint to her lips, her hair was still damp, and the bags under her eyes were so dark they looked almost bruised.

Beca swallowed, as bit by bit of the last few months began trickling back to her.

“I thought about it a lot,” Beca said. “But I never thought… And then I woke up this morning and I just knew.”

“You’d stopped taking your meds,” her mom said. “Quit therapy. Quit talking to your friends. To Chloe.”

As if she’d been summoned, the door to the room opened, and Beca heard a sound she’d never heard before, and never wanted to hear again. 

It was something between a cry and a moan and a shout, and a second later Chloe Beale was moving through her and all but collapsing onto the chair at Beca’s bedside.

“Oh God, Beca,” Chloe sobbed. 

“Fuck,” Beca said, softly. “I… I can’t watch this. I can’t be here.”

“You can, and you will. You have to.”

“Beca, please,” Chloe cried, Beca’s limp hand held in both of hers. “Please, you can’t do this. You can’t leave me.”

“Chloe, I’m so sorry,” Beca said, her voice catching in her throat as tears slipped down her cheeks. “I’m so sorry, I never wanted to hurt you.”

“She can’t hear you,” her mom said. 

“Look, you’ll be better off without me, okay?” Beca said, tears filling her eyes faster than she could wipe them away. “Please don’t cry, this is for the best.”

“Rebeca, she can’t hear you.”

“Can you make this stop?” Beca asked, turning away from Chloe, pulling at her own hair again as she paced the tiny room. She felt like a lit fuse that was about to reach its explosive. “It’s done now, it’s over, the pain was meant to stop.”

“Rebeca-”

“-stop fucking calling me that! God, you never listened to me! Jesus fucking Christ, how many times did I ask you not to call me Rebeca?! Why didn’t you ever listen?!”

Anger like Beca had never felt before was rushing through her.

“I’m sorry.”

“I tried to talk to you about it. I tried to tell you a million times. I was hurting so much and you didn’t listen and then you fucking died!”

“I know.”

“You don’t get to be this voice in my head when you’re the reason I’m in here in the first place!”

She wanted to shout and rage and destroy something.

Destroy everything.

She wanted to scream until she tore herself apart.

Then Chloe spoke again, and it helped douse some of the fire spreading through her chest.

“I’m sorry,” Chloe said, pressing a kiss against Beca’s knuckles. “I’m sorry I didn’t see it. Please wake up, Beca, I don’t think I can do this without you.”

“Tell me why you’re so mad at me,” her mom said.

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“I’m mad at myself. If I hadn’t… If I hadn’t ignored your call that day…”

“Baby, that wasn’t your fault. I was already unwell, just like you are, and then… Well, you know how it goes. How it feels. It was wrong of me to call you, after everything that had happened… Everything I did and didn’t do. I knew you wouldn’t answer, I just… It was one last way to hurt myself.”

Beca swallowed. “I spent my whole childhood trying to tell you something was wrong with me, but you just… You wouldn’t listen. And by the time you were ready I was… Numb. Done.”

“I know. I know, and I’m so sorry.”

Beca sat down on the floor and hugged her knees to her chest. 

“It was supposed to be over,” Beca said. “It was all meant to stop. How do I make it stop?”

“You decide if you’re done fighting or not,” her mom said. 

“I am. I was done the second I stepped off that bridge.”

“I don’t think so,” she said. “Or I wouldn’t be here. If you really want to stop, you can. I don’t think you do, but it’s your choice.”

“I already made my choice.”

“And now you get another one. Please, don’t throw this away.”

“Please,” Chloe’s voice echoed. “Beca, please don’t do this.”

“She won’t recover from this. If you can’t do it for yourself, then do it for her.”

“I can’t,” Beca said, her voice strained. 

“You can. I know you can.”

Beca felt a tightness in her chest and a choking sensation in her throat.

“M-mom-”

The beeping of the heart monitor began to increase. 

Outside of the hospital room, a warm glowing light began to pulse.

“Your time is running out, Beca.”

“What do I do?”

“You know what to do.”

“Mom, wai-”

-

“Somebody help!” Chloe yelled into the hallway as Beca continued to make choking sounds on the bed. The beeping of the heart monitor had increased rapidly, and Chloe was terrified that she was about to lose her best friend right in front of her. “Help!”

Doctors rushed in and pushed past her and were soon crowding around Beca’s bed.

“It’s good,” one of them said, straightening up to look at Chloe. “She’s fighting the intubation, it means she’s breathing by herself.”

“Easy, take it easy, Beca,” another doctor said. “We have you, you’re okay.”

Through a gap in the people gathered around, Chloe could see the wide-eyed look of panic on Beca’s face as the breathing tube was removed from her mouth.

“Can I see her?” Chloe asked.

“Sure,” the doctor said. “We need to run some tests, but you can see her first.”

Chloe closed the distance between them and quickly took hold of Beca’s hand. 

“Chloe.” Beca’s voice was rough and quiet, but it was the best sound Chloe had ever heard. “Chloe, I’m so sorry.”

And then Beca was crying, and Chloe pulled her into her arms and cried with her, and held her so tight she was scared she was going to break her.

“I’m so sorry,” Beca sobbed. “I’m so sorry.”

“I know. Shh, I know, I know. It’s okay. You’re okay.”

They stayed that way until a doctor broke them apart. Beca clinging to Chloe like a lifeline, Chloe clinging to Beca just the same.

Chloe was allowed back into the room once the tests were done. 

Beca moved over on her bed, and Chloe climbed in beside her without a second thought.

“I’ve never been so scared in my life,” Chloe said. “Beca, I’m so sorry that I didn’t see this. I thought… I knew things were bad but I didn’t for a second think they were this bad.”

“Not your fault,” Beca mumbled, resting her head on Chloe’s chest.. “I should have said something. I never wanted to hurt you, I just wanted it to stop.”

“Bec, if you hadn’t made it, this would have destroyed me,” Chloe said. “I don’t know how to exist in a world that doesn’t have you in it, and I never want to find out. I need you to know that. You’re my favourite person in the world.”

“And you’re mine. You’re the only person I have left.”

“That isn’t true,” Chloe said. “You have a whole sisterhood of Bellas who would be here at the drop of a hat. You aren’t alone in this Beca, even if it may feel that way.”

“Do they know, the Bellas?”

“Not yet,” Chloe said. “But I can call them if you want me to?”

“No,” Beca said. “Not yet. I need to, like, steady myself first.”

“I understand,” Chloe said. “Whatever you need.”

Beca was tired, and felt her eyes closing as Chloe began running a hand through her hair.

“Chlo’?”

“Hmm?”

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“Pulling me back.”

[babelrevived]

Hey so I really really love your interpretation and I have to say it did make me look at s2 Vander in a new light. That said, while I do think this interpretation of their characters and relationships to eeach other and Felicia is compelling, it really only works if s2 was a stand alone and not a follow up to s1. And I think that's the biggest problem with s2 (aside from the oversaturated plot), and it's that it's trying to tell a different story than the one s1 set up.

To start off, you mention that Vander felt guilty for giving up on the promise he made to Felicia. In s1, we see the opposite. We see him feel guilty for ever even taking part in the violence that led to the bridge fight. He says it to Vi. He says that he was responsible for all these people and his violence is what got them killed.

In your longer post, you said that the "blisters and bedrock" at the end of the letter shows that he wants Silco's forgiveness and wants to patch things up. It also implies that Vander wanted to uphold the promise once again. None of this is even alluded to in s1. In fact, in s1e3, Silco straight up OFFERS him a way to redeem himself, to patch things up. He offers him the "blisters and bedrock". He was trying to recruit him back into the movement. Vander doesn't take it. He feels awful about what he did and probably desperately needs Silco's forgiveness to even begin to forgive himself. But he still doesn't take it. And that's what really makes me love his character in s1, because although he's kind of a twat, this scene showed a kind of selflessness where even though he wants Silco's forgiveness, what he's asking for in return Vander believes will get more people killed. He believes that they can never win a war against Piltover, that's why he gave up. Making his reason for giving up all about Felicia and her kids makes it more personal rather than ideological, which takes away all his selflessness and he's a poorer, less sympathetic character because of it.

Another thing I want to mention is the fact that not once during their ep3 conversation do they ever mention Felicia or their promise to her. The doylist explanation for that is that it would have ruined the "big twist", but whats the watsonian explanation? Wouldn't that have been the perfect moment for Silco to remind Vander of the promise? At least he could have said "blisters and bedrock" if they didn't want to mention her name. And when Silco unleashes his gang of henchmen on Vi Vander could have said "what the fuck are you doing, that's our dead friend's kid," but instead he says "this is between you and me". I think the problem with Felicia is that she makes their falling out seem to be more personal and emotional rather than political, and I think the reason why many of us felt that it was a political clash that happened despite their love for each other is because their entire conversation was almost entirely politics. At this point, they hadn't seen each other for years and Vander probably didn't even know Silco was alive (judging by his reaction when he saw him), but they immediately start talking about the base violence and you'll never win a war even with your monsters and yada yada yada, they only mention the drowning halfway into the conversation, which is when it starts to become personal. Vander then tries to make it even more personal by saying that he shouldn't have done it because Silco was his brother, at which point Silco backtracks and turns the conversation political again. If the betrayal happened for emotional and personal reasons then none of that energy was present in this confrontation scene. the Vander s2 tries to paint is just a completely different Vander than the one we were shown in s1. And I'm not saying that s2 should have filled the blanks of their backstory the exact same way that I did, but the problem is they didn't try to fill in the blanks, they tried to write a completely new story.

Also sorry for the long post I got carried away lol.

^^^ This “criticism” often comes at the expense of details in the scene they laud so highly.

Vi and Powder approach a burly man beating someone up without fear in a setting where any normal person would be terrified to meet someone who might do them harm.

They approach him and point to themselves, indicating they’re looking for their parents.

Vander ACKNOWLEDGES their gesture and points to their parent’s dead bodies. Meaning not only do they know he’s someone they can trust, but that he KNEW who they were and who their parents were.

The “revelation” in season 2 that Vander knew them doesn’t change the way this scene plays out in the opening. It’s clear as day that they aren’t just some random kids he adopts. He KNEW them. They knew HIM. That’s all shown in the opening scene.

I do not understand where this wishful misinterpretation comes from.

[deliberatelyamnesiac]

i'm about to finish part two from c&p, raskolnikov's indirect confessions being taken as signs of insanity is so funny in a tragic way

[dunadaan]

I’ve been feeling Créa creep up on me as of late and today I went back and reread my little document where I type up random ideas for scenes/fics and I was like. Wow who wrote this. This is really good. Why isn’t there more of this damn. But also wow I really put miss créa through the blender and she is a fine red mist a lot. But that is the life of a ranger…and even when she’s not a ranger anymore I press blend on high and she is sadly used to that

[thebarneschronicles]

Nine Lives

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Word Count: 9.4k

Synopsis: Bucky Barnes drives you insane—in every possible way. The bickering, the reckless plans, the way he smirks like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you. But when a mission goes sideways, leaving you both bloodied and too close for comfort, the tension between you ignites into something impossible to ignore.

You can keep pretending. Keep fighting him. But Bucky isn’t one to back down—especially when he knows you don’t really want him to.

Trigger Warnings: Bullet wounds, unprotect sex (wrap it before you tap it!), p in v, dirty talk, BUCKY BARNES (he needs his own warning)

Author’s Note: I had been tinkering with a few scenes in this and the Thunderbolts trailer made me finish it. Hope you like it! B x

-- Bucky Barnes was going to be the death of you.

Whether it was because he got on your last nerve or because you were desperately, irrevocably, undeniably in love with him—either way, he’d be the reason your heart stopped beating.

And honestly? It might happen in the next five minutes. Because God help you, the man was insufferable.

The room smelled like burnt coffee and bad decisions.

Sam stood at the front, gesturing at a holographic map as he laid out the mission plan, his voice steady and patient—too patient, the way a parent speaks when they know their kids are about to cause problems.

You were paying attention. You really were. But out of the corner of your eye, you could see Bucky leaning against the wall, arms crossed– and looking bored out of his mind.

Every once in a while, he flicked his gaze to you, not saying anything. Just watching.

And you knew that look. That I’m about to do something reckless and you’re going to yell at me for it look.

You gritted your teeth.

“—we’ll go in through the east entrance,” Sam continued, pointing at the building layout. “Stealth is key. No unnecessary attention.”

Bucky made a quiet sound. It wasn’t quite a scoff, but it was close enough.

Sam’s jaw flexed. “Got something to add, Barnes?”

Bucky shrugged, like the whole thing was barely worth his effort. “I just think you’re overcomplicating it.”

Your brows shot up. Oh, here we go.

Sam closed his eyes, visibly counting to ten. “What part is complicated?”

Bucky shifted, pushing off the wall. “The part where we’re tiptoeing around like we’re on a damn field trip. We go in, take out the threats, get what we need. Done.”

You turned in your chair, slowly. “Take out the threats?”

Bucky smirked. “What?”

“What?” you repeated, voice rising. “You mean brute force? Like some kind of rabid raccoon?”

Sam sighed deeply, rubbing his temples.

Bucky grinned, which somehow made it worse. “I’d say more wolf, but sure.”

Your grip tightened on the edge of the table. “Barnes, if you go off-script, I swear to God—”

“Relax, doll,” he said, casual as anything. “I’ll mostly follow the plan.”

Your eye twitched. “Mostly?”

Sam exhaled sharply, muttering to himself. “I should start charging overtime for this.”

Bucky wasn’t done, though—he turned that damn smirk back on you. “You do love bossing me around, don’t you?”

And that? That was the last straw.

Your chair scraped against the floor as you stood, planting your hands on your hips. “We are sticking to the plan, Barnes. No improvising. No wandering off. No turning this into some solo hero death mission.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose, inhaling through gritted teeth as you fought for patience you absolutely did not have. “Why is your solution to everything brute force? Sam has a plan. A good plan. A plan that does not involve you punching your way through every obstacle.”

Bucky folded his arms across his broad chest, looking completely unfazed. If anything, he seemed amused. “First of all, rude. Second of all, my way works.”

“You mean it works when it doesn’t get us killed?” you shot back, voice rising. “Which, by the way, is not a guarantee.”

His mouth twitched like he was trying not to grin. “C’mon, doll, you’re overreacting.”

And there it was. That goddamn nickname.

You felt it like a spark in your bloodstream, a rush of heat you refused to acknowledge. Instead, you rolled your eyes so hard they nearly got stuck. “Don’t ‘doll’ me, Barnes. I’m serious. We are sticking to the plan.”

“I am sticking to the plan,” he said, far too casually. “I’m just… modifying it.”

Your jaw dropped. “Modifying it?”

“Enhancing.”

“You mean ignoring it?”

He shrugged and you had never wanted to strangle and kiss someone in equal measure more in your life.

God, this man was going to be the death of you.

You took a slow, deep breath, curling your fingers into fists at your sides. “Bucky. No modifications. No enhancements. No Barnes-ifying the plan.”

He tilted his head, looking irritatingly pleased with himself. “Barnes-ifying? Huh. I kinda like that.”

You threw your hands in the air. “Of course you do.”

Sam, who had been observing this entire exchange with the long-suffering patience of a saint, let out a loud sigh. “Are you two done? Or should we clear the room so you can work out all that tension?”

Your head snapped toward him. “There is no tension.”

Bucky, the absolute menace that he was, had the audacity to murmur, “Oh, there’s tension.”

Your entire body went rigid. Your face felt hot. You whirled back to him, pointing an accusing finger at his chest. “I will kill you.”

His lips twitched. “I’d love to see you try, doll.”

You weren’t sure what infuriated you more—the way he said it— doll —like it was his own private joke, or the fact that you liked it. Loved it, even. That it sent a pulse of something traitorous through you, something that made you want to either punch him or grab him by the collar and—

No. Focus.

You squared your shoulders, planting your hands on your hips. “Here’s what’s going to happen, Barnes. You’re going to follow the plan. No making things up as you go along. Got it?”

His blue eyes glinted with something unreadable. “And what if I don’t?”

You narrowed your eyes. “Then I’ll personally make sure you regret it.”

Bucky grinned, slow and wicked. “Kinda looking forward to that.”

Your breath hitched. Your brain short-circuited. You opened your mouth, then shut it again, because there was absolutely nothing appropriate to say to that.

Oh. Oh, that son of a—

Bucky chuckled, clearly enjoying the way he’d just rendered you speechless. Then he leaned in just slightly, voice dropping to something low and smug.

“Face it, doll,” he murmured. “You’d miss me if I was gone.”

You scoffed, even as your stomach flipped. “I’d miss arguing with you. That’s it.”

“Mm-hmm.”

The knowing look on his face made you want to smack it off. But more than that, it made you want to—

Nope. Not going there.

You exhaled sharply, turning on your heel. “I’m done. Sam, let’s go before I change my mind and let him get himself killed.”

Sam snorted, giving Bucky a pointed look. “See what you did? Now you’ve pissed her off.”

Bucky only smirked, watching you walk away. “Nah,” he said, mostly to himself. “She likes it.”

—

You didn’t like it.

Not one bit.

And do you know why? Because you knew—knew—he wasn’t lying.

Bucky Barnes didn’t say things he didn’t mean. He wasn’t the type to play games with words, wasn’t the type to tease just for the hell of it. If he said there was tension, if he said you’d miss him, then he meant it. He knew.

He knew before you did.

And that was the worst part.

You had no idea when your constant bickering turned into something else, something deeper, something dangerous. One day, you thought you hated him—the next, you realized you couldn’t imagine a world without him in it.

It had terrified you.

So you fought.

You fought harder, argued louder, refused to let him see just how deeply he had burrowed into you. You clashed over the stupidest things���his reckless plans, his stubbornness, the way he called you doll like it was a secret between you. Because if you didn’t fight, if you let the walls slip for even a second, you weren’t sure what would happen.

And it infuriated you.

How dare he?

How dare he make himself at home in a corner of your heart you didn’t even know existed? How dare he take up permanent residence there, until that tiny space expanded into the whole damn thing?

How dare he make you want him when you were supposed to be angry at him?

How. Dare. He.

The memory took over before you could stop it…

It had been a disaster from the start.

The mission was supposed to be a simple recon—go in, get intel, get out. No unnecessary engagement. No close calls. No getting shot.

But Bucky Barnes? He didn’t believe in simple.

You were fuming as you dragged him into the safe house, your grip tight on his arm, ignoring the way his blood seeped through your gloves. He was bleeding all over the place, but of course, he still had the audacity to smirk at you.

“You’re manhandling me, doll.” His voice was rough, teasing. “If you wanted to get handsy, you could’ve just asked.”

You pushed him down onto the rickety cot in the corner, none too gently. “I swear to God, Barnes, if you don’t shut up, I will make your injuries worse.”

Bucky groaned dramatically as he flopped back, far too casual for someone who had just taken a bullet to the shoulder. “You’re so mean to me.”

“Oh, I’m sorry—should I be nice to the guy who just got himself shot?” You tore open the med kit, grabbing a pair of scissors and snipping at the sleeve of his tactical suit. 

Bucky’s smirk vanished. “Hey, whoa—this is a perfectly good jacket.”

“You’ve bled through half of it, Bucky!” You glared at him, slicing the fabric open with zero hesitation.

Bucky scowled. “Still wearable.”

“Still ruined.”

“You’re ruining it more.”

“Oh my God—do you wanna keep arguing, or do you want me to keep you from bleeding out you reckless, metal-armed asshole?”

Bucky huffed a laugh, because of course he did, the sound painfully casual. “Little dramatic, don’t you think?”

Your hands shook as you tore open the med kit, fingers fumbling over the supplies. “Shut up.”

“Oh, come on, doll, it’s just a—”

“Don’t you dare say ‘scratch.’”

Bucky sighed, dropping his head back onto the cot. “I’m not bleeding out.”

“You got shot, you dick,” you snapped, peeling the fabric away to get a better look at the wound. Through and through, just above his bicep. A clean hit, but it would scar if you didn’t take care of it properly.

Bucky peered at the wound like it was barely an inconvenience. “It is just a scratch.”

Your eye twitched. You gritted your teeth, pressing an antiseptic wipe to the wound with zero mercy.

Bucky hissed, body tensing as he glared at you. “Jesus—are you trying to kill me?”

“Oh, now you feel pain?” You didn’t let up, pressing a little harder just for good measure. “You didn’t seem too concerned when you ran into a hail of gunfire like a rabid golden retriever with a death wish.”

Bucky scoffed. “Golden retriever?”

“You just charged in, Bucky! What part of ‘stealth mission’ do you not understand?”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “I had to.”

“No, you didn’t!” You grabbed a fresh gauze pad, pressing it against the wound. “Sam and I were handling it just fine before you decided to be stupidly heroic.”

“Doll, you were cornered,” Bucky argued.

“No, I was waiting for backup.”

Bucky gave you a pointed look. “You were outnumbered and had a jammed weapon.”

You locked your jaw. Because okay, maybe that was true.

But he didn’t have to jump in front of a bullet for you.

You cleared your throat, trying to sound unimpressed. “I was fine.”

“You were two seconds away from getting shot.”

“I know, Bucky!” You slammed the antiseptic wipe against his skin, not caring when he hissed. “But you didn’t have to—you didn’t—you— I told you not to do it!” you cried out. “But no, you just had to go full Terminator and jump in front of a goddamn bullet for me—”

You stopped.

Because suddenly, your throat was too tight, and your breath was coming too fast, and you hated that the panic was winning, that it was spilling over.

You weren’t just mad.

You were terrified.

Bucky blinked at you, actually looking concerned now, which only pissed you off more.

“Doll—”

“You think you’re indestructible, don’t you?” You threw the used gauze aside, grabbing another one, your hands shaking as you pressed it to the wound. “Just because you have the serum, you think you can—can take all these stupid risks—”

Bucky sighed, clearly exasperated. “I heal faster than you do, sweetheart. It’s not that deep.”

Something inside you snapped.

“Oh, fuck you, Bucky!”

His eyebrows shot up at that.

“You think the serum makes you invincible?” you seethed, eyes burning. “Is that why you keep throwing yourself into danger? Why you never hesitate before taking a hit? Why you jump in front of bullets like it’s your damn job?”

Bucky opened his mouth, but you weren’t done.

“Guess what, Barnes? The serum doesn’t make you immortal! One day, your dumbass luck is going to run out! And what then?”

Bucky stilled, blue eyes searching yours.

But you were unraveling too fast to stop now.

“I swear to God, Bucky, I’m gonna lose my mind if you keep—” You sucked in a shaky breath, voice cracking. “I can’t—I can’t keep watching you do this to yourself.”

Something changed in Bucky’s face. The teasing, the smirking—it all vanished.

You didn’t want to see whatever was in his eyes.

You dropped your gaze, fingers moving on autopilot, taping the bandage down over his shoulder. Your hands wouldn’t stop shaking, but you pretended not to notice.

You felt him watching you.

For the first time since the mission, Bucky was quiet.

The weight of it pressed against your chest.

You swallowed hard, clearing your throat. “Just—just try not to die next time, okay?”

Bucky let out a slow breath, something almost amused slipping into his voice. “Not really my style, doll.”

You snapped your head up, narrowing your eyes at him. “Yeah, I noticed. You’ve got a real stubborn track record of coming back from the brink of death.”

Bucky grinned, slow and lazy, like he couldn’t help himself. “What can I say? I’m persistent.”

Your jaw tensed.

“Yeah? Well, I don’t want to be the one watching you zero out your nine lives.”

The smirk disappeared.

A flicker of something serious passed through his eyes—so fast you almost missed it.

For a second, you thought he was going to say something that would change everything.

But then, as quickly as it came, he shoved it away.

He exhaled a soft chuckle instead, shaking his head. “You worry too much.”

You clenched your jaw, standing abruptly. “And you don’t worry enough.”

Bucky watched you, his expression unreadable.

You grabbed the med kit and turned away, before he could see just how badly your hands were still shaking.

Because the truth was—

You weren’t sure what scared you more.

The fact that Bucky Barnes kept coming back from the brink of death—

Or the fact that, one day, he might not.

–

You exhaled sharply, shoving the memory aside.

No. Not thinking about that.

You couldn’t.

Because if you let yourself sit with it for too long—

If you let yourself acknowledge how much he meant to you—

You weren’t sure how you were supposed to breathe through it.

Bucky must have sensed the shift in you, because as you stalked ahead, fuming, he was suddenly there—keeping pace beside you, his presence entirely too much. Too close, too solid, too him.

“You’re quiet,” he murmured. “That’s never a good sign.”

“Maybe I just ran out of things to say,” you snapped, not looking at him.

He made a low sound, somewhere between a scoff and a chuckle. “That’ll be the day.”

You whirled on him before you could stop yourself, jabbing a finger into his chest. “Do you enjoy driving me insane, Barnes? Is it, like, a hobby for you?”

His lips twitched, that damn smirk already forming. “I mean… yeah. Kinda.”

You let out a frustrated noise, turning on your heel, ready to put as much distance between you and that insufferable smirk as possible. But before you could take two steps, his fingers curled around your wrist—gentle, but firm enough to stop you in your tracks.

The warmth of his skin against yours sent a jolt through you. His grip wasn’t rough, wasn’t forceful, but it was steady, intentional. And for a split second, you couldn’t breathe.

When you looked up, his blue eyes were locked onto yours, unreadable, intense.

“I’m not trying to drive you insane,” he said, his voice softer now, but laced with something heavier, something that made your chest feel tight. “I’m just trying to figure out why you won’t admit it.”

You swallowed, pulse hammering. “Admit what?”

Bucky tilted his head slightly, studying you like he was searching for something, peeling back layers you weren’t ready to let him see. His gaze dragged over your face, lingering—too long—on your lips before flicking back up.

Your breath hitched.

He was going to say something else. You knew it. Could feel it. But whatever he saw in your expression made him change his mind at the last second. His features shifted, the quiet determination giving way to something smug, teasing. A deflection.

“That it’s a good plan.”

Your pulse stuttered.

This wasn’t what he wanted to say. Not even close.

But he was giving you an out. Letting you pretend, letting himself pretend, like this was still just another argument. Another round of your never-ending bickering instead of… whatever the hell this was becoming.

And that? That scared you more than anything.

“It’s not,” you shot back, seizing the escape he’d handed you. You took a step back, yanking your wrist free of his grasp. “It’s stupid. It’s reckless, and it’s going to get one or all of us hurt if we do it.”

Bucky’s jaw tensed, his smirk faltering for the first time. His eyes darkened, something unreadable flickering in them before he asked, voice quieter, but rougher—”Why do you never take my side?”

The question hit like a sucker punch.

It knocked the breath from your lungs, left you reeling in a way you hadn’t expected.

“I—” The words caught in your throat.

He wasn’t teasing now. Wasn’t throwing out some cocky remark just to get under your skin. This was something real, something raw, and it left you woozy.

A slow smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Second time I’ve got you speechless today, huh? Must be a new record.”

His voice was light, teasing again, but the look in his eyes said something else entirely.

Then, before you could recover, before you could shove something sharp and defensive between you, he turned and walked ahead—leaving you standing there, heart racing, breath unsteady.

Completely, utterly furious at him.

And even more furious at yourself.

Your hands curled into fists at your sides, nails digging into your palms as you forced yourself to breathe. In. Out. Don’t let him get to you.

Except he had. He always did. And the worst part? He knew it.

You glared at the back of his head as he walked ahead like nothing had happened, like he hadn’t just thrown you completely off balance and left you scrambling for solid ground.

Why do you never take my side?

You hated that the question still echoed in your head. That it stung in a way you weren’t ready to unpack.

You stormed after him, your boots crunching against the pavement. “Barnes, we’re not done talking about this.”

He didn’t stop, didn’t even turn around. “Seemed pretty done to me.”

Your jaw clenched. “God, you are infuriating.”

“Yeah, you’ve mentioned that once or twice.” He threw a glance over his shoulder, his smirk still in place, but his eyes? His eyes were still sharp, still waiting.

You caught up to him in two quick strides, grabbing his arm to yank him to a stop. “Don’t walk away from me.”

Bucky arched a brow, glancing down at where your fingers gripped the sleeve of his jacket. “Thought you couldn’t stand being near me, doll.”

You ignored the way your stomach flipped at the nickname. Ignored the way your traitorous hand lingered for a second before you let go.

“That plan of yours?” You crossed your arms, tilting your chin up. “It’s reckless. And you know it.”

His smirk faded, just slightly. “And what if reckless is the only option?”

“That’s bullshit, and you know that too.”

Bucky let out a slow exhale, running a hand through his hair. “Look, I get it. You think I’m some idiot who just punches his way through problems—”

“I know you are,” you shot back.

He glared at you, jaw ticking. “But maybe—just maybe—I actually know what I’m doing this time.”

You opened your mouth, ready to argue, but something in his expression stopped you.

There was no smugness, no teasing. Just raw frustration, something worn down underneath.

You stared at him, chest rising and falling too fast, the words dying on your tongue.

“Right,” Bucky muttered, shaking his head. “Should’ve known better than to expect you to trust me.”

The words weren’t loud. He wasn’t even looking at you when he said them. But they landed like a slap.

Your breath caught. “That’s not—”

“Forget it.” 

— 

Shockingly, Bucky had followed Sam’s plan.

And—even more shockingly—it had gone wrong.

In the end, brute force had been the only way to get all three of you out alive.

You weren’t sure when the dust had settled, when the ringing in your ears had finally faded enough for you to hear your own breathing again. But when your vision cleared, Bucky was still standing.

Standing over a pile of bodies, bloodied and exhausted, his chest heaving with exertion.

There was a split in his lip, a gash across his forehead, and a bullet graze along his ribs, the fabric of his tactical suit dark with blood.

And you hated it.

You hated how your stomach twisted at the sight of him hurt. Hated the way your fingers curled into fists at your sides to stop yourself from running to him, from touching him, from grabbing his face and checking.

Most of all, you hated that you had doubted him.

Bucky Barnes had a century of combat experience. He had spent his entire life surviving fights he shouldn’t have walked away from, and still, you had dismissed him. Still, you had refused to listen.

And now? Now all of you were bleeding. All of you were shaken.

But the worst part—the part that made your throat tighten and your breath shudder—was that Bucky wasn’t even gloating.

No smirk. No I told you so.

Just silence. Just his sharp, assessing gaze, scanning the aftermath like he was still bracing for another fight.

By the time Torres had you all back on the plane, you were shaking.

The adrenaline should have worn off by now, but the weight in your chest only grew heavier. You knew—you knew—Bucky would heal faster than you or Sam. Logically, you understood that.

But logic wasn’t stopping the tightness in your throat when your eyes landed on the bruising around his temple.

It wasn’t stopping the way your fingers trembled as you grabbed the first aid kit and sat down in front of him, against every warning screaming in your head.

Bucky exhaled slowly, tilting his head back against the seat. “I’m fine.”

“You’re bleeding,” you shot back, voice sharper than intended.

“So are you.”

You ignored that. “Just—hold still.”

For once, he didn’t argue. But when you reached for him, when your fingers ghosted over his skin, his gaze flickered—just for a second—to your hands.

He noticed.

Noticed the tremor in your fingers, the way they weren’t steady.

His brows drew together, just slightly. He didn’t say anything, but you felt his stare, felt the question lingering on the tip of his tongue.

Your breath hitched. You curled your fingers tighter around the antiseptic wipe, focusing too hard on dabbing at the cut on his forehead.

When he flinched, you huffed. “Big bad super soldier can take on twenty guys at once but can’t handle a little stinging?”

His lips twitched, but the teasing was half-hearted. “Not my fault you’re rough.”

You shot him a look. “I wonder why.”

His jaw flexed. “You do like making things difficult.”

“Oh, I make things difficult?” You shook your head, pressing a little too firmly as you cleaned the wound. “I don’t remember me running in headfirst with zero regard for a plan.”

Bucky scoffed. “Right, because your plan went so well.”

You froze, fingers stilling against his skin.

His voice hadn’t been sharp, but the words still landed heavy in your chest.

“You didn’t have to follow it,” you murmured.

Bucky let out a slow breath. “Yeah. Well. I did.”

Silence stretched between you, thick and weighted.

You forced yourself to move again, forced yourself to focus on the cut rather than the way his eyes lingered.

Your throat was dry when you spoke. “You were right.”

His expression didn’t change, but you felt the shift in the air.

“We should have done it your way,” you admitted, barely above a whisper.

Bucky’s fingers curled over the edge of the seat. He didn’t speak, didn’t move, but you knew he was watching you.

Finally, he exhaled, his voice quiet. “Didn’t do us much good, did it?”

You pressed your lips together. “Would’ve gone a lot worse if you hadn’t stepped in.”

His eyes flickered. His jaw worked, like he wanted to argue but didn’t have the energy for it.

“You don’t have to say that,” he murmured.

“I do.” Your voice wavered, but you swallowed hard, pushing through it. “Because I was wrong.”

Bucky was still. Unreadable.

Then, after a beat, his voice dropped lower. “That an apology?”

You rolled your eyes, but there was no real fire behind it. “Don’t push your luck, Barnes.”

A slow smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Wouldn’t dream of it, doll.”

But his eyes? His eyes told a different story.

—

The hum of the jet was steady beneath you, the vibrations deep in your bones, but it did nothing to ground you. The cabin lights were low, throwing long shadows across the metal walls. Sam was already passed out in the back, his breathing even, the tension from the mission finally easing from his shoulders.

You should be doing the same. You should be closing your eyes, letting exhaustion take over, shutting out the memory of the chaos you’d just escaped from.

But you couldn’t.

Because Bucky was still watching you.

He sat across from you, silent and unreadable, his blue eyes darker in the dim light. He hadn’t spoken since you finished patching him up, but he hadn’t stopped looking, either.

It wasn’t his usual sharp-edged irritation or teasing smirk. No playful bickering, no cocky remarks about how he’d been right. Just this.

Something softer. Something heavier.

Something you weren’t ready for.

“You should get some rest,” he murmured, voice low and rough around the edges.

You shook your head, fingers curling into your palms. “I’m fine.”

Bucky exhaled through his nose, like he didn’t believe you. “Yeah? You don’t look fine.”

You hated that he could see it. The tremor in your fingers, the tension in your shoulders, the way you were still breathing too fast, like your body hadn’t realized the fight was over.

You hated that he noticed. That he cared enough to notice.

And then—because you were tired, because you were furious, because he had almost died and you were still trying to claw your way back from the sheer panic of it—you snapped.

“You could have died, Bucky.” Your voice was sharper than you meant, thick with something you didn’t want to name.

His brow twitched, but his expression didn’t change. His voice stayed infuriatingly even. “Yeah. That’s kinda what happens when people shoot at you.”

“That’s not funny.”

“I wasn’t trying to be.” His lips pressed into a thin line, his jaw tight. “You think I don’t know what I’m doing out there?”

“That’s not—” You exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down your face. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Then what do you mean?”

The question hung between you, thick with unspoken things.

Bucky didn’t move, didn’t blink, just watched you—his gaze steady, patient, like he was giving you the space to say it.

And God, you wanted to.

But the words sat like stones in your throat, impossible to force out. You clenched your jaw, tried to shove them back down, but they wouldn’t go away.

Because the truth was, you weren’t just shaken by the mission.

You were shaken by the way seeing him bleeding had made your stomach drop, by the way his pained groans had made your hands shake, by the way you had wanted—needed—to run to him, to wrap yourself around him and never let go.

You were terrified.

Because this wasn’t just anger or frustration or a heated argument in the middle of a mission.

This was Bucky.

And you couldn’t lose him.

So instead of answering, instead of trying to put words to the panic still rattling inside you, you did the only thing you could do.

You reached for him.

It wasn’t sharp or defiant, wasn’t out of frustration or anger.

You just—needed to touch him.

Your fingers brushed over his wrist, barely there, hesitant. A point of contact. Something to anchor you.

Bucky stilled.

For a second, he just stared at your hand, at the way your fingers curled against his skin like you weren’t even sure if you had permission to hold on.

Then, slowly, he turned his wrist under your palm, letting your fingers slide over his pulse point. His skin was warm, his pulse steady. Alive. Here.

Your throat went tight.

Bucky’s voice was quieter this time. Rougher. “You gonna tell me what’s going on in that head of yours?”

You swallowed hard, but you didn’t let go.

Your thumb ghosted over his pulse, barely a whisper of touch, but it still wasn’t enough.

You didn’t know what you needed, what you were searching for beneath your fingertips, but the slow, steady thrum of his heartbeat wasn’t easing the raw ache in your chest.

Your eyes flickered around the cabin.

Sam was still dead to the world, Torres nowhere in sight. The only two people awake on this jet were you and Bucky.

Something inside you snapped.

One second, you were gripping his wrist, tethering yourself to him like that alone would make this feeling go away. The next, you were moving before you could stop yourself—sliding out of your seat, crawling into his lap, wrapping yourself around him like holding on tighter would somehow keep him safe, keep him yours.

Bucky made a sound—something low, something confused—but his hands came up anyway, large and warm and steady as they settled on your hips, instinctive.

His breath hitched, and you felt it against your temple, the subtle shudder of his inhale.

You buried yourself closer, curling into his chest, fingers winding into the hair at the nape of his neck. His scent was everywhere—gunpowder and metal and something distinctly him—and you could have drowned in it.

“If you ever tell anyone I did this,” you muttered, voice muffled against his neck, “I will find ways to kill you.”

There was no bite to it. No real threat.

Just you—raw and exposed in a way you didn’t know how to take back.

Bucky let out a breath that sounded suspiciously like a chuckle, but he didn’t pull away.

Didn’t tease.

Didn’t shove you off like he should have.

Instead, his arms shifted, wrapping around you fully, pressing you into him like this was what he had been waiting for, like this was something he had been needing just as badly.

Like he wanted to.

His metal fingers flexed at your waist, pressing against the fabric of your suit, a steadying grip. His other hand flattened against your back, tracing over the curve of your spine as if he was committing the shape of you to memory.

His touch burned.

His warmth was everywhere.

You squeezed your eyes shut, your fingers sliding from his hair to his cheek, brushing over the stubble there, the still-healing cut on his temple. And then—before you could stop yourself—you were tilting his face toward yours.

For the first time since the mission, since the gunfire, since you watched the blood dripping down his temple and felt your entire world tilt on its axis—you met his eyes head-on.

Bucky swallowed.

His gaze dropped—just for a second—to your lips.

It was enough.

Your resolve snapped like a frayed wire.

And before you could second-guess yourself, before you could remind yourself that this was Bucky, before you could convince yourself that you didn’t love him like this—

You kissed him.

It was desperate, messy—nothing like the slow, sweet build-up you had imagined in the deepest corners of your mind.

Your lips crashed against his, your hands fisting in his suit, pulling yourself closer, closer, closer, needing more, needing everything.

Bucky froze.

Didn’t move when your lips parted against his, when your tongue flicked against his bottom lip, when your teeth caught the cut there, tasting blood.

Didn’t react when you kissed him again, soft and searching, when your nose brushed against his, when you sighed against his mouth, the sound fragile and aching.

Didn’t kiss you back.

The realization hit slow, creeping in at the edges of your desperation, sinking its claws into your chest.

He wasn’t—

Oh, God.

The sting of rejection burned hotter than the wounds littering your body.

You tried to breathe, tried to steady yourself, but your lungs felt too tight, your hands shaking as you forced yourself to pull back, to put distance between you before you shattered entirely.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, a shaky breath washing over his lips. Your throat was tight, your vision blurring at the edges. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

Your voice broke.

Bucky was still silent.

And that was somehow worse.

It took a second to register the weight of what you’d done, to catch up to you.

You had kissed him.

You had kissed him and he hadn’t—

Your stomach plummeted.

“I’m—” Your breath hitched, panic clawing at your ribs. “I’m so sorry, Bucky.”

You tried to untangle yourself, tried to scramble out of his lap, to preserve whatever dignity you had left, to put distance between you before you completely fell apart in front of him—

But then—

God.

Then his hands tightened on your hips.

Hard.

Before you could even get further, Bucky dragged you back against him, fingers digging into your skin, like he wasn’t about to let you go. He maneuvered you until your legs were astride his hips, your arms around his neck, your chest pressed to his.

Your breath stilled, eyes wide, heart hammering against your ribs.

His expression had changed.

The shock, the hesitation—it was gone.

In its place was something darker.

Something heated and unrelenting.

Something like want.

Bucky’s breathing was uneven, his lips parted, his pupils blown wide as his gaze flickered between your eyes, your mouth, back up.

Then—

Then his fingers traced up your spine, slow and deliberate, leaving goosebumps in their wake. His metal hand trailed over your ribs, up your arm, curling at the back of your neck, tipping your face toward his.

And then, finally, he spoke.

“Doll,” he rasped, voice wrecked and low. “Can you do that again?”

Your stomach flipped.

“I—” You swallowed, your pulse hammering against his fingertips. “You didn’t—”

“I froze,” he cut in, jaw tight. “I won’t now.”

Oh.

Oh.

Your lips parted, heart stumbling over itself.

Bucky let out a breath, something between a laugh and a groan, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe you. His grip on your hips flexed, strong and sure, and for a split second, all he did was look at you.

Like you were something he didn’t know how to handle.

Like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to devour you or worship you.

Then—slower this time, more sure—he leaned in.

And kissed you.

You had been right.

Bucky Barnes would be your undoing.

He’d kill you with the way he kissed, slow and deliberate, like he wanted to ruin you, like he wanted to take you apart with nothing but the sweep of his tongue and the heat of his mouth.

You felt it—every glide of his tongue against yours, every careful press of his lips, every sharp inhale between kisses—like a spark lighting up your spine, sinking deep, settling between your legs with a heat so intense you could barely breathe through it.

You shook on top of him, the way he touched you sending shockwaves through every nerve ending in your body. His hands were everywhere—tight, possessive squeezes against your hips, reverent drags of his fingers down your back and thighs, gripping you like he never wanted to let go.

A whimper escaped you, completely unbidden, and Bucky groaned, a deep, wrecked sound that vibrated against your mouth.

Then, suddenly, his lips left yours.

You gasped at the loss—until you felt him move.

Felt the warm brush of his breath against your throat, felt his nose skim along the sensitive skin there before his mouth followed.

“Bucky—” His name left you in a sharp breath as he kissed down your neck, slow, teasing, his lips dragging over every inch of exposed skin he could reach.

The problem was—there wasn’t enough.

Your suit covered too much, kept him from truly touching you, and it was driving you out of your mind.

You arched into him, restless, desperate. “Take it off,” you whispered, the words spilling out before you could stop them.

Bucky stilled, his lips pausing against your collarbone.

His hands tightened on your hips, but he didn’t move. Didn’t continue.

“Take it off,” you begged, fingers digging into the fabric of his suit, tracing over the zippers, tugging uselessly at the buttons, trying to feel more. “Please, take it off.”

His breath was uneven, ragged. “Doll, there are people—”

“I don’t care.” You tugged at his collar, leaning in, pressing another desperate kiss to the corner of his mouth. “They won’t see.”

Bucky’s hands flexed against your waist, like he was warring with himself.

You kissed him again, lips parting over his, trying to convince him, trying to make him understand, to feel just how badly you needed this, needed him.

He let out a shaky breath, his forehead pressing to yours, his chest rising and falling unevenly beneath you.

“Please,” you whispered, voice breaking. “Please, before you change your mind—I need this. I need you.”

That did it.

Something snapped in him.

The hesitation vanished.

And then, suddenly, you were weightless.

Before you could even process what was happening, Bucky was standing, lifting you effortlessly, your legs tightening around his waist as he carried you toward the back of the jet, moving with a singular, determined focus that made your breath catch.

Your back hit the cool metal wall of the jet, the impact sending a shiver down your spine, but you barely had time to react before Bucky was kissing you again—hot, rough, devouring.

You gasped against his lips, fingers curling into the hair at the nape of his neck, holding on for dear life.

His hands roamed down your back, over your thighs, squeezing, gripping—and then, finally, finally, he found the zipper of your suit.

“I’m not changing my mind,” he murmured, his voice thick, edged with something raw that made you shiver. His fingers curled around the fabric, tugging just enough for you to feel the weight of his words. “And you’re not changing yours.”

You nodded without thinking, without hesitation, without fear.

There was a faint awareness of the reality around you—the steady hum of the jet beneath you, the wall of gear shielding you from the others, the knowledge that Sam and Torres were mere feet away. The fact that you were both bloodied and bruised from the mission, that maybe this wasn’t the time, wasn’t the place.

But then Bucky moved, and all of that faded.

The zipper came down in a slow, deliberate slide, the rasp of it against your skin sending a shiver down your spine. His hands worked quickly, efficiently, but gentle, pushing the suit down your arms until you could shake it off completely. The moment it was gone, he pulled your arms around his shoulders, guiding them to hold onto him, like he needed you to keep him close.

“Hold on to me,” he murmured, voice quieter now, almost reverent, before dropping to his knees.

Your breath caught, your pulse hammering as his hands gripped your hips, firm and unshakable, guiding the rest of your suit down your legs. His head dipped, his lips grazing the fresh bruise blooming along your hip. He kissed it once, then again—soft, lingering. Worshipping.

You swallowed hard, your fingers threading into his hair as he nuzzled along your thigh, your knee, before rising back to his full height.

“Not getting these off,” he muttered, his fingers ghosting over your soaked panties. You’d be ashamed if it weren’t for the way his lips parted, like he was desperate to get back on his knees, get his mouth on you, There was also something else. The look on his face - regret, you thought - like he wanted to take his time with you, but was disappointed he couldn’t.

His hands moved up your body, skimming over your waist, tracing along your ribs. You shivered at the sensation of warm and cold, flesh and metal. His eyes darkened at the sight of you trembling under his touch.

“We have to be quick.”

You nodded, obedient, but there was something clawing at your chest, something making your breath catch, making your hands shake as you reached for his belt, undoing it with frantic fingers.

“This—” You took a breath, sliding the zipper down, pushing his pants and underwear down in one swift motion. His cock sprang free, thick and hard, the tip already slick with pre-cum. You ached at the sight of him. Ached to drop to your knees and taste him.

Instead, you swallowed hard and met his eyes. “This isn’t how I imagined doing this with you.”

Bucky let out a low, disbelieving chuckle, shaking his head. “Me either.” His voice was rough, wrecked, breaking apart at the seams. His lips brushed your ear as he groaned, deep and ragged, when you wrapped your fingers around him, stroking him slow, teasing. “Fuck, sweetheart—”

A shudder rolled through him, his forehead pressing to yours, eyes fluttering shut.

“But I’ll make it up to you,” he promised, voice thick with something dangerous, something devoted. “I promise.”

His arms wrapped around you again, lifting you effortlessly, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist, your hips rolling forward to grind against him.

“Bucky—”

“You want this?” he asked, pressing you back against the cool metal wall, the contrast making you gasp. His mouth was everywhere—dragging down your jaw, across the swell of your breast, open-mouthed and hungry.

“I do. I—”

The words faltered on your tongue.

Your heart was hammering, your chest was aching. This was reckless. This was insane.

This was everything.

You squeezed your eyes shut, pressed your forehead to his, your lips brushing his with every ragged breath. “I want you,” you whispered, voice breaking. “All of you.” Your fingers twisted into his hair, tugging just enough for him to feel it. “Please.”

Bucky exhaled sharply, his grip tightening. “You have me.”

His words were iron, unbreakable, true.

Something cracked inside you.

And then—there was no more hesitation.

His lips crashed into yours again, raw and consuming, leaving no space between you, no air, no room for anything but him. His free hand slid down, tugging at your panties, dragging them to the side. Your own hand moved between you, wrapping around his cock, guiding him to where you needed him.

“Jesus, doll—”

It wasn’t gentle.

It wasn’t careful.

It was one full thrust, his cock pressing inside you inch by inch, filling you completely, stretching you to the edge of pain. Your nails bit into his shoulders, your head falling back against the wall as a gasp tore from your throat.

You felt full. Too full.

Your legs shook around him, your walls clenching tight around his cock, the overwhelming stretch making your eyes slam shut, your mouth parting on a silent moan.

Bucky groaned, deep and wrecked, his forehead pressing to your temple. His body was shaking too, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps against your skin.

“Fuck,” he ground out, metal hand locking around your thigh, keeping you open for him. His other hand tangled in your hair, his grip tight, desperate. “Fuck, you feel—Jesus, sweetheart.”

Your breath hitched, your arms trembling as you clung to him. “I can’t believe you’re inside me,” you whispered, voice barely there, overwhelmed and ruined. “Oh my god, Bucky—”

He snapped his hips forward, and your world split apart.

The pleasure was sharp, blinding, a lightning strike surging through your veins. Your body clenched around him, gripping him so tight he groaned against your neck, his rhythm faltering for a beat. His hands tightened on your hips, metal and flesh both possessive, both desperate to hold on.

“You’re so fucking wet,” he choked out, voice strangled, roughened with something close to reverence. He thrust deep, his cock dragging against every nerve inside you, every sensitive place that made your stomach coil so tight you thought you might shatter.

“For you,” you confessed, arching into him, letting him feel it, letting him know. “All the time. Every time you look at me—”

Bucky snapped his hips forward, harder, deeper, tearing a cry from your lips.

“Shit,” he breathed, voice breaking, cracking at the edges. “Shit, shit—”

“You’re so deep,” you gasped, barely able to breathe. Your nails raked down his back, desperate, pleading, needing. “Bucky, I—I can’t—”

“I’ve got you, doll,” he groaned, pressing his mouth to yours, swallowing every sound you made as he ruined you completely.

Every thrust was a curse, every breath a kiss, and you were careening toward the edge so fast it was dizzying.

The pleasure ripped through you before you could warn him, before you could even process it. Your walls tightened, pulsing around his cock, body shaking so violently that he had to pin you to the wall with his hips, burying himself to the hilt, his hand cradling the back of your head, shielding you as you contorted in his grasp.

His mouth devoured your cries, catching every broken, pleading gasp as the orgasm tore you apart. It was an explosion that didn’t stop, that kept rolling through you, wave after wave.

You rocked against him, desperate for more, still chasing, still needing, barely hearing the way he rasped your name, telling you to slow down, telling you to look at him, warning you that he was—

“God, you’re heaven,” Bucky breathed against your ear, grinding deep inside of you, his voice wrecked, every syllable tinged with something broken, something beautiful. As you slowly came down, you could feel how close he was, how tightly he was holding on, trying to keep himself from falling over the edge. “I can feel you—fuck me, I should pull out.”

“No.”

It came out fast, urgent, a whisper laced with something dangerous. Your legs locked around his hips, keeping him trapped in your hold.

His entire body went rigid. His breathing stilled.

“Baby.”

Bucky’s voice was low, frayed at the edges, filled with disbelief. The word hung in the air between you, unspoken until now.

You froze.

Somewhere, in the back of your mind, you knew you shouldn’t have given that away. Shouldn’t have let it slip, shouldn’t have handed him something so fragile, something you couldn’t take back.

But what was a drop to someone who was already drowning?

Bucky’s hands tightened on your hips, but he didn’t move. If he wanted to, he could have pulled you off of him without lifting a finger. You had always been painfully aware of how much stronger he was, how easily he could overpower you.

And yet, he stayed still, locked in your hold. Completely at your mercy.

You swallowed, your fingers shaking as they curled into his hair, pulling him closer, refusing to let him run.

“C’mon, doll,” he whispered, his lips brushing yours, stealing a kiss that felt like it was more for him than for you. “Let go.”

His hips rolled, his pelvis grinding against your clit, making you whimper. Your body was still trembling, still oversensitive, but fuck, if he kept going just a little longer—

“I want you to cum inside me,” you pleaded, your voice trembling, your nails digging into his skin.

Bucky froze.

The words echoed between you like a shot fired into the silence.

His hips stilled. His breath hitched. His hands trembled where they held you.

You had to bite your bottom lip to keep from crying out, from begging him to move.

“Doll,” he rasped, warning in his tone, his forehead pressed to yours. He looked wrecked, as undone as you felt.

“Stop arguing with me,” you shot back, voice shaky, grinding against him, dragging your soaked, sensitive heat over him, pulling a moan from his throat so deep it made every hair on your body stand on end.

“Fuck,” he groaned, head dropping to your shoulder, his grip on you bruising.

“I want this.” You tightened your arms around his neck, pressing yourself closer, wrapping him in you, cocooning you both in the moment. “I’m begging you, Bucky. Please.”

“It’s—” He swallowed thickly, voice strangled.

“Irresponsible, yes, but what’s a little irresponsibility?” A breathless laugh escaped you, but your voice broke at the end, too raw to keep up the teasing. You squeezed your eyes shut, inhaling deeply before forcing yourself to meet his gaze. “I’m on the pill.”

His jaw clenched.

“I need this,” you whispered, the truth clawing up your throat before you could stop it. “I need you.” Your voice cracked, your breath hitched, emotion swelling too fast, too much. “You don’t get it, I—”

You didn’t even realize you were crying until he softened.

Something in his eyes clicked, something changed, and suddenly, his arms were wrapping around you tighter, his hands cradling your face like you were precious, like you were fragile, like he had to hold you together before you broke apart completely.

“It’s okay,” he murmured, kissing your temple, your cheek, your jaw. “It’s okay, sweetheart.”

And then he moved.

His thrusts were slower, deeper, his lips brushing yours between each movement. His hands wandered, soothing, worshipping.

“Giving you exactly what you want, yeah?”

You nodded frantically, breath labored, losing yourself in the way he felt, the way he surrounded you, consumed you.

“Don’t pull out,” you begged, voice barely there, a whisper of devotion, of desperation.

Bucky let out a shaky breath, forehead pressed to yours. “I won’t, baby,” he promised, voice breaking. His pace picked up, hips rolling against yours, pushing deeper, harder, dragging against your oversensitive clit in a way that had you whimpering. “Gonna fill you up like you wanted.”

Your toes curled at the words, at the image, your walls fluttering around him.

“Oh, please don’t stop,” you gasped, rolling your hips, needing, aching.

Bucky groaned, his head dropping back as his rhythm faltered, as he snapped his hips harder, chasing the end, giving you what you wanted, giving you everything.

“Fill me up, baby,” you pleaded, your voice a broken, desperate thing. “Make me yours..”

And that—

That was what finally broke him.

Bucky snapped.

A curse tore from his throat, his grip on you bruising, unrelenting as his hips slammed into you, chasing the inevitable, giving you everything. His rhythm turned frantic, needy, his body demanding what you had just offered.

And you took it.

You craved it.

Your body tightened around him, coaxing him deeper, begging for more. Every thrust was an answer to a question neither of you had spoken aloud, a declaration in the language of skin and breath and longing.

“Fucking hell, sweetheart,” he gritted out, his forehead pressing to yours, his breath hot against your mouth. His hand slid down between you, his metal fingers finding your clit and pressing, rubbing tight circles, dragging you back to the edge with him.

Your body shook, every muscle tensed, the pleasure sharpening into something unbearable, something deadly.

“Bucky—”

“I know, baby,” he groaned, his voice cracking at the edges, his own body trembling as he held himself back, as he waited for you. “Give it to me.”

You did.

Your orgasm hit like a tidal wave, knocking the air from your lungs, blinding in its intensity. Your body locked around him, your hands clutching desperately at his shoulders as the pleasure ripped through you in violent, unrelenting waves.

And that was it. That was everything.

Bucky followed, slamming into you one last time before breaking, burying himself as deep as he could go, a shuddering groan torn from his chest as he spilled into you, filling you like he promised. You felt it as his warm cum Costas your walls, so much of it you weren’t sure there wasn’t some spilling out.

His body trembled, his arms locked tight around you, holding you close as he gave in, as he let go, as he let himself have this.

For a moment, there was silence.

Just the sound of your breathing, labored and uneven. The quiet, lingering shock of what you had just done.

Bucky’s forehead pressed against yours, his chest rising and falling rapidly, his heart hammering so hard you could feel it through his suit.

Neither of you spoke.

Neither of you moved.

You stayed like that—wrapped around him, his cock still twitching inside of you, his arms cradling you like you might disappear if he let go.

You let your eyes drift shut, your fingers tracing slow, lazy circles against the back of his neck, the weight of him comforting, grounding, even as reality started creeping back in.

You should let go.

You should move.

You should say something.

But when Bucky finally pulled back, just enough to look at you, his hands coming up to frame your face gently, his thumbs brushing over your cheekbones—

The words died on your lips.

Because he was looking at you like you had just ruined him. Like you had just changed something fundamental inside of him.

Like you had just made him yours.

And you had.

Slowly,, Bucky eased his grip, his arms still wrapped around you, his hands still mapping the shape of you, like he needed to memorize every curve, every ridge, every place he’d touched.

His lips brushed your temple, then your cheek, then your jaw—soft, tender kisses that made your heart clench, made something deep inside you ache.

It felt too big.

Too much.

But you couldn’t stop touching him.

Your fingers traced the lines of his jaw, the stubble rough beneath your touch. You pushed damp hair out of his face, ran your knuckles down the slope of his nose, his cheekbone, memorizing him the way he was memorizing you.

A hand slid up to cradle the side of your face, his thumb tracing your cheek, his expression unreadable.

When he finally spoke, his eyes were soft, but serious.

“You meant it,” he murmured.

It wasn’t a question.

You swallowed, lips parting, breath hitching.

“Bucky—”

His other hand was still pressed to your lower stomach, like he could feel himself inside you, like he could brand this moment into your skin.

“I felt it,” he whispered, almost to himself. “The way you—” He exhaled sharply, like the words were too heavy to get out.

You closed your eyes, trying to give yourself some kind of reprieve from the enormity of it all.

“Don’t run from this.” His voice was so calm, but it cut through you like a knife. “Please, doll.”

Your throat tightened.

You weren’t sure if it was the aftershocks of pleasure or the overwhelming emotion of it all, but your body was still trembling—and Bucky felt every bit of it.

His arms tightened around you, securing you to him, anchoring you.

“I’m not running,” you whispered.

He pulled back just enough to search your face, like he didn’t quite believe you.

And maybe you didn’t quite believe yourself.

Because what came next?

What happened after this?

There was you before Bucky Barnes.

There was you after Bucky Barnes.

And they weren’t the same.

[questionablecuttlefish]

Okay Fine Let's Talk Timebomb and Season Two.

I do want to talk about this because I have a Lot of thoughts and feelings and it has been building up and building up, not only based on what's happening in other social spaces, but what people keep bringing into mine despite my best efforts to avoid it.

This isn't any kind of hatepost, I don't think I could hate Ekko or the ship if I tried, I just want to explain my very mixed feelings about the whole thing.

My likely-to-be-very unpopular take on Season Two's Timebomb romance is that it left me feeling uneasy and uncomfortable.

Not with what was in the show itself, I feel like that was perfect. Powder and Ekko sold me completely. They made me feel things. I even liked how Ekko and Jinx's story ended. I think it was beautiful, poignant, perfect...

...until.

'The Discourse' since, the way the fan culture has exploded around it, and particularly some of the creators' commentary on it, has made me sour on the whole thing.

It feels like I'm suddenly part of an increasingly small subset of people who saw what they did with S2 Timebomb and applied our media literacy to what was on our screens and got something very different to what the fandom consensus seems to be.

For context, I semi-shipped TB before this. Though I've always been Team Lightcannon, I had a lot of respect for timebomb, I understood it, I had read a few very good fics, I was just in the space of "Jinx has hurt Ekko too much for him to ever fully forgive her for murdering his friends, they might come to an understanding, and there will always be a silent undercurrent of love beneath the hurt, they may fight together on the same side again someday, but whatever bond they had as kids is broken and they can't go back, and both know it."

I respected, and still do, people who shipped them romantically, but I've always seen them as a broken childhood friendship being a much more interesting dynamic, and being hot for each other lessening that to an extent and not really adding anything to it.

All of his interactions with Jinx in season one are violent; she murders five Firelights point-blank in front of him in her intro scene, and Ekko reacts particularly upset to the pink-haired girl, Eve or Eva, whom Jinx shoots in the back. It's clear this isn't even the first time she's fought them. We don't know how many of Ekko's found family she's put on the Memorial Wall or how close he was with any of them.

Ekko is clearly convinced that "Powder" is gone, and the person who replaced her is a cold-blooded killer who can't be reasoned with. Leading to the Bridge confrontation, and this:

This is the first time Ekko catches a glimpse of "Powder", yes, but more importantly, this is the first moment he recognizes Jinx's humanity. He's hurting her, killing her, and he can't do it.

....and she knows he can't do it.

So, to save him the weight, she pulls a grenade, with the intent to kill them both, foreshadowing quite neatly where Ekko/Jinx (but not Ekko/Powder) is going to go in S2.

Fast forwarding from Season One here, Ekko disappears for 2/3rds of the second season, completely offscreen.

When we catch up with him he's woken up in the S2E7 AU; the Powder Timeline.

Here's where I start to get a little confused by the fandom take. Because, you know, I've seen enough Star Trek and Stargate and Supernatural and Batman the Animated Series and Quantum Leap to know exactly what this is.

This is the 'bottle episode', this is the 'Perfect World' trope, where the protagonists find themselves in an alternate universe - or trapped in a dream - or they've died or think they've died and this is their 'heaven' - where they have everything they ever wanted.

This is familiar storytelling and E7 follows a familiar pattern, the protagonist struggles to adapt to the surreal new circumstances, they are seduced by the illusion, particularly falling in love with someone in the Perfect World, but eventually, they start noticing something incongruous - something isn't quite right - (In this case, it's Vi's death, and Powder holding back her genius and hiding her grief to be support girl for others) - that reveals the Perfect World to be not as perfect as it seems.

And the hero has to choose to go home, because he realizes that this isn't real, it doesn't belong to him, he doesn't belong here.

Which is exactly what happens with Ekko in E7.

Which brings is to AU!Powder and Jinx.

And here's where I really start to struggle with the seeming consensus that the romance between Ekko/Powder automatically leads to Ekko/Jinx, like you can just transfer the one to the other.

I'm sorry, fam, I thought my basic media literacy was telling me that this girl:

Is not the same person as this girl:

....and I am not getting into any debate about "Jinx" vs "Powder" as identities within our current Jinx. I'm talking about Powder in the E7 AU.

AU!Powder is literally a different human being.

She may have been the same person up until the explosion in Jayce's laboratory, but from that fork in the timeline, she becomes a FUNDAMENTALLY different person to Jinx, shaped by different experiences, different relationships, different life events.

Powder's physicality with Ekko, as you can see in those GIFs, the casual intimacy, the clear affection, the way she touches him, looks at him, her awareness of him in her space, is so utterly opposite to the way Jinx interacts with him that if anything, it nailed home to me how savagely absent this kind of feeling is from his relationship with Jinx.

Powder loves Ekko. She leans on him, snuggles into him, touches his hands, dances with him, kisses him.

Jinx cares so little about him she barely makes eye contact and would casually kill him without blinking.

And I thought that was the point.

I really thought that was the whole point of E7. Being in the perfect world, getting his perfect love story with his perfect Powder, the girl Jinx could have been, but can never be, drove home for Ekko that his feelings for Jinx, both romantic and resentful, were tangled up in his illusions of "Powder", and it took living those illusions as a physical reality for Ekko to see his mistake.

To be true to himself, and true to her, Ekko had to let that go and go home.

To face his world's Jinx, and be there for her in her darkest moment, even if it meant giving up the love he'd found with Powder, a love that belonged to a different Ekko, for someone who could never love him back.

To me that was Ekko's most heroic moment, an act of selfless sacrifice. But that's what it was - a sacrifice.

Meanwhile, Season Two Jinx is not aware of any of this. The last time she saw Ekko was on the bridge where she nearly killed him, and for all we know she might have thought she succeeded.

She never talks about, thinks about, refers to, or even has scribble-nightmares about Ekko, not even once.

Season Two Jinx is, instead, having a love story of her own.

And Isha was and is a PUZZLE to me. Because she's more plot device than character, she isn't necessary except as a way to give Jinx a villain-to-hero arc and a way to reconnect to her humanity.

But she could have been Ekko.

If they really, really wanted us to have Timebomb Canon, instead of confining the entire arc to a bottle episode in an alternate timeline with a literally, physically different girl, they could easily have given all of Isha's considerable screentime to an Ekko and Jinx romance.

I'm sure Amanda Overton would have been on board with that. But that's not what we got. It's almost like reading two different fix-it-fanfics for the same character, put into the same show and running in parallel.

I'm not crazy, this is what's happening for Ekko in s2;

While this is happening for Jinx at the same time.

But Jinx's love story, too, ends with a tragic sacrifice.

And here's where the two stories finally intersect.

When Jinx is in her darkest moment, her absolute rock bottom, Ekko comes back into her life, a miracle, impossible, a Boy Savior.

But she's still ready to kill him.

Because she didn't dance with Ekko. She didn't invent a time machine with him. She didn't sit and watch the city lights with him and share a tender kiss and a heartfelt gift.

That was Powder.

Jinx and Ekko are resuming right where they left off on the bridge, right back to "I pull this pin and we both blow up".

They've both loved and lost, but their stories are absolutely unknown to each other. Ekko Doesn't Know About Isha. Jinx Doesn't Know About Powder.

It's only when Jinx (a genius, a reminder here) sees monkeys of her own design inside the Z-drive - recognizes her own handiwork, but knows SHE didn't make those - that, I think, sheer curiosity stirs her out of her darkness.

She has to know what that was about. She hesitates, just long enough for Ekko to speak. And, though offscreen, he tells her his story, and maybe she tells him hers.

And it's enough, just enough, to set Jinx back on her Redemption Arc, to become the hero Isha always saw in her.

Maybe even the hero Vi and Ekko saw in her, too. Her new costume is full of references to all of the people in her life who never gave up on her.

(side note, the yellow stars and crowns puzzle me, though - they're quite prominent, but who are THEY for? Isha? Maybe? Yellow isn't a color associated with anyone in Jinx's life, but that crown's identical to the one she scribbled on Demacia in Fortiche's map, is... this a very subtle future Lightcannon tease? Nah. I'm not that crazy.)

I mean her costume is also almost literally both a Fishbones and a Fiddlesticks cosplay, with her hair as Fiddle's tongue, so take from that what you will.

It's clear Jinx and Ekko war painted each other for the battle, but the Firelights are also similarly painted up, and (with Linke even confirming this) there really wasn't time to develop anything else, guys.

And I am, honestly, fundamentally angry at anyone who would suggest that, even if she'd been in any space to want it, our boy Ekko, one of the most genuinely good men in recent fiction let alone in Arcane, would take advantage of a girl he just talked out of suicide.

Moving on. During the battle, Ekko is knocked out and lying not far from Jinx. She doesn't even look at him, she leaps up to defend Vi instead.

And that's their final interaction on the show.

Instead of returning to Ekko, Jinx chooses one final act of sacrifice.

Ekko's final shot of the show is this.

He's sitting, alone, burning a mourning paper, where he sat with AU!Powder - where he and AU!Powder kissed - a place that has no significance to himself and Jinx, whatsoever.

It's little wonder who he's thinking about here, and which name he's burning on that paper. The girl he truly loved and lost.

For all he knows, Jinx is dead. But it's not only her he's mourning.

Or maybe he does know, or suspect, she's alive.

But either way, he's making one final act of sacrifice, too, with that paper burning into the breeze.

He's letting her go.

He's choosing his own story.

He's staying where he belongs.

Jinx may have become a symbol of the revolution, but it's Ekko who is, and always will be, the true hero of Zaun.

And this is Jinx's final shot.

Because let's face it, we all know she's on that airship.

She's "breaking the cycle". She's "walking away". She knows that Jinx has left too many scars on the people she still loves - on Vi, on Ekko, on the cities of Piltover and Zaun - for her to pick up the pieces.

She knows that if she's going to find out what "Jinx" might stand for now, she has to go very far away from everything and everyone. She has to leave it all behind and find something new.

Maybe even someone new?

And ultimately, that's why I feel the Timebomb we got was perfect, they shouldn't touch it, they shouldn't try to force it to be "Endgame", not because it couldn't have worked, but because that's the opposite of the story they told.

For the rest of my analysis, lol, this got a bit long but i have FEELINGS.

Now, I'm not saying I wouldn't buy Jinx and Ekko as a love story if they had actually told that love story. But they didn't. It had no screen time. They have less interactions in S2, maybe even in both seasons added up, than Vi and Loris. Let that sink in a bit.

We know it's Amanda's favorite ship, so she may have intended more, and may even actually give us all more at some point, but please, dear god, let's stop pretending they fucked or kissed or even held hands offscreen.

That's honestly a bit insulting to both of these characters, to insist hell or high water that this very important milestone in their relationship happened, but they just didn't even bother to depict it. That an entire love story (because it would be a whole one, remember, Ekko and Powder had a romance but Jinx did not experience any of that, she and Ekko are back at Square One) would just be cut for time.

They both deserve better than that.

Let's stop pretending there was some grand, horny, Forever Love story with 60 minutes of cut footage, all of it timebomb content, somehow left on the cutting room floor of an animated show where every single frame has to be deliberately hand painted.

Because if in some insane universe they had written, storyboarded, voice acted and animated an entire 60 minute additional timebomb storyline and then cut it from the show, that would itself be a searing indictment of the quality of the storytelling in that imagined arc, but that's not what happened. Anyone who knows how filmmaking works would shoot this one down, and the showrunners already have, so let's leave it behind.

I know Timebomb blew up hard, and I get it, but what we got on the screen is not confirmation that there is any relationship at all between Ekko and Current Timeline Jinx. If anything, Ekko and Powder's beautiful romance only highlighted the tragic 'never to be' of Ekko and Jinx.

And it's absolutely fine to look at the art book, look at the creator comments, and imagine what could have been. Draw the fan art, write the fanfic, imagine the what-ifs and the fix-its, those are all beautiful and valid expressions and deserve their space.

But don't go insisting it's "the canon" and going after the shippers of other ships for these characters as "not canon" or somehow offensive for existing, especially toward one particular ship that, yes, has been around much longer than timebomb, is uncool.

I think this is mostly people who are New From Arcane, it's Baby's First Ship and they don't know how to share space. The timebomb fans I knew pre-season two didn't do this, at least not often enough for me to notice or care.

But I'll just say to them, if a Timebomb follow up happens and they actually tell a good love story for Ekko and Jinx, I will accept it. Grudgingly, because I think Lux/Jinx is an untold, untapped story full of incredible character dynamics that would complete Jinx's story in ways that as much as I love Ekko, he's too tied to her past, he can't.

But I love Ekko, and I love Jinx, and I will accept it.

But I'll also say to them, if the followup doesn't eventuate, if things take a turn they don't expect, if Jinx's airship is heading for Demacia, maybe they'll have to experience just a taste of what it's been like for Lightcannon fans for ten long years.

And maybe that's healthy. Maybe that's okay. Maybe our endgames don't need to be 'canon' to have value and that's a lesson we should learn.

Maybe there's a new Light on her horizon, and that's okay too. Maybe Ekko won't be alone forever. Don't forget - until Arcane - his story had nothing to do with Jinx, and there was a whole lot of it.

More with the Firelights, maybe bring in the original Lost Children of Zaun from his old stories, his inventions, his parents, all could yet be in his future. Who knows? He might find a way back to AU!Powder - or she might rebuild what they worked on together, and come to him, no matter what butterfly effects that could set in motion...

But if Jinx is heading for a Light on her horizon, maybe Ekko might Explore some of his possibilities. Find a new Spark of connection. Just saying. Jinx isn't his only ship, either 😌

And it is okay for people to move on, and let go. Maybe, for two characters whose themes are letting go of the past, living in the moment, redefining their identities, and moving on, that's what their story should be.

[daylighted]

baby!reader working a case???

ok let me lock in bc i don't think i can logically headcanon this and we all deserve to see it come to fruition.

it was a very special day for you. new car, new clothes (really, a mix of dean and sam's handmedowns from the depths of their packed bags, but they were new to you which made them special), and a new identity.

they were acting as fbi for this case, something ghostly and ghoul-like and a bridge that seemed to be the centric point of it. they had badges and everything, dean even let you play with his before he got (rightfully) anxious you'd manage to lose it and took it back.

you'd seen them in action before, but it was so much less involved than this. you'd be where the new car was; parked at the beginning of the bridge, doing absolutely nothing at all, staring at the police cars that got to see more action than you did.

not today, though! you were walking right up to the scene, past the stupid police cars and the men themselves in their cute little uniforms, looking all serious and grimace-y.

it was going swell, too, until you'd accidentally made eye contact with the most grimace-y one, and he seemed to think that the fact that you were grinning at a murder scene was a little off, because he holds out his arm to stop the three of you from approaching.

"hey, what the hell is this?" he asks, glancing firstly between the two men and then to you.

that didn't ever really bode well, when people treated you as an afterthought. dean opens his mouth, sam's already fishing for the lanyard beneath his shirt, but you speak instead. "we are investigating."

the man's lips purse in amusement. like you were joking, or amusing. there was nothing funny about this. this was your very first mission with the winchester gang; it was so incredibly important to you.

"we are investigating," the policeman says, straightening his spine as he does, like he feels the need to emphasize his status and talk down to a girl. "you guys are going to get behind the yellow tape." again, it doesn't bode well, but it was dean's turn to interrupt you.

dean holds his fbi badge out. today he was dean williams. could you read? no. but he'd schooled you on what role you were and what his said so you didn't accidentally do something stupid, like this, and throw their whole game out the window before it'd even started. "the higher-ups called us in."

sam holds his up, too, and now you feel a little left out, but this was a part of the game.

the policeman nods to you, his face still impassive and, in a way, amused. "who's this, then?"

dean and sam look at each other, and then back at the man. you are still smiling like this is the best day of your life. it actually was, too. you didn't have many sentient days to use as reference.

"intern."

he watches you for a long while, like he knows that you're seconds from cracking, and just when you're about to tell him about how fun and exciting this is, he shakes his head. "nuh uh. this isn't happening. we've got it handled, thanks."

dean's lips flatten, and sam's already stepping forward to have a personal one-on-one with the cop, like he alone could change his mind, but your eyes go to the left. the edge of the bridge, where police officers are gathered around, assumedly, where something happened.

"...don't know where their daughter is," one says, low enough that you could only hear because you were attached to dean's arm, and he was drifting in that direction for the very reason of overhearing, "hasn't answered a call or text, but phone pinged here a few hours ago."

the bridge was long, and distant from any sign of civilization. your head tilts to the side. dean complained when he had to walk for long periods of time, sam was decently tall so it didn't take him as much time, but he didn't seem to like it much, either. neither of them would have walked the length of this bridge to somehow vanish, no matter if they were chasing something.

and daughter. assumedly younger, if her parents realized so quickly that she'd not come home the night before. girls could be tall, young girls could be tall, but even then, it would not make sense for a girl at least somewhat young to walk the length of this bridge on her own, especially in the middle of the night, from however far the family lived.

your head raises in an epiphany. you don't know social cues. don't know how to tell when a conversation is private, and when it's open for comment, so you blurt out the words in your head. "she was driving."

dean's head snaps toward you, and the police officers all tense, including the one that sam had been sweet talking.

"what?" dean asks you, even as the officers start to walk toward you with blatant intent.

how were you supposed to know that presenting a theory as a complete and total stranger bystander would lead to suspicion? that's not something taught in two hour long drives by the winchester boys.

you shove past all of them, going to lean over the edge of the bridge. the river below was deep and winding, its depths emphasized in the darkness of the water, even from this height. impossible to see the car that you knew was down there.

"she was driving," you repeat, your hands running along the railing, feeling for grooves or cracks you knew had to be there. sure enough, there's a huge crack a couple of feet from you, one that isn't paralleled on the other side of the bridge. "very fast. it's a straight road and bridge, so maybe she felt safer to speed. or maybe she was scared, and something was chasing her, which could be why she went to the left and..."

you nod toward the river below again, past the cracked edge. "went over the edge."

the entire bridge is silent. even the birds have stopped cawing. finally, the police officer who'd looked at you like you were nothing but a little girl trespassing presses the comm on his chest, holding it to his mouth. "get a search and rescue on the ground."

dean huffs out a laugh, not in the same way that the officers had poked and prodded at you. you knew dean very well, and knew his tells more than you knew general ones. he was impressed.

"what's your name?" the first officer asks as the others begin to load up into the useless, idle cars, heading off of the bridge toward the murky riverbank.

you straighten this time, as tall as you can be, and as proud as you could, in worn and faded and too-big clothes. "baby."

a huff of amusement, more similar to dean's than the officer's rude teasing before. he pats sam's back, offer's dean a gruff nod, and then turns back toward you. "you boys are dismissed. you can stay."

[mcondance]

angel of small death. billy loomis

summary. billy’s finally found a middle ground between his needs, and your reservations. right?

contains. MDNI 18+, dubcon, fingering, unprotected sex (yay!), “just the tip” turns into full-on sex, billy’s being….. billy, creampie (yay! x2), he gets off on your pain (yay! x3), i say “believer” and “gospel” so if borderline blasphemy isn’t your thing then sayonara, title is from the hozier song “angel of small death and the codeine scene” but it is not required listening for this piece (though, if you want to listen, you can)

word count. 2k

— a word from your author: this started out as me just talking about billy telling you “just the tip” as a bridge into fully fucking you. but then it became me going into detail. but it was fun to write, as i enjoy writing dubcon. billy loomis, i’m ready to be taken advantage of <3

☆ ☆

“just the tip, okay?”

you’ve been holding back with him for a while, only really having sex with him of your own volition once or twice, and leaving him to beg the rest of the time.

he won’t tell you, but he likes when you make him beg to fuck you. when you make him lie and cheat, when he has to distract you from his hands pulling your bottoms off and by the time he’s lining up, you’re so worked up he has no choice but to fuck you. he likes having to play his way into your pants, or shorts, or skirt, when “yes” isn’t flowing readily from your lips like it sometimes is.

and, this time, he’s found a compromise.

“just the tip, okay? just a little, so it’ll still feel good for me and you.” me and you, he says, even subconsciously his pleasure comes first. and you. obviously, he knows you like being full of him. you like knowing what he feels like inside you, penetrating and owning the most intimate parts of you. he knows that, even if you try to contain yourself, you think about being under him or on top of him everyday.

“okay,” you nod, eagerly lying back on your pillows and spreading your legs for him. elation is written all over his face as he walks on his knees between your legs, the same smile that made you fall for him months ago spread across his pretty features.

leaning over you and caging you in between his lean arms, he hovers for just a second. leaning up, you finish the kiss, pulling him down with shy hands twisted in the collar of his shirt. he kisses you deep, the kind of kisses that make your brain fuzzy and have your body getting ready to let him in. he lingers on your lips, taking his time and fucking your mind the way only he can.

it’s a surprise you even agreed to the compromise, with the way your mind starts to call back how it feels to have him all the way inside of you.

he parts from your lips, placing a kiss on your jaw, and then the hot skin of your neck. there, he lingers again, remembering the sweet spot he found the last time he got you like this.

when he finds it, your hips buck against him, a little whine leaking from your throat.

“billy,” you murmur.

“yeah?” he gives back, kissing your skin again. you breathe out in response. it’s damning, and so pretty, and it has something between your legs pounding like your heart in your heaving chest. everything he says, everything he does, every look, every touch, is it for you. billy loomis has captivated and trapped you, and the danger you’re in only sets you alight.

moving farther down, he studies your face with just a quick glance, and, despite wanting to, he doesn’t push you on getting your shirt off. he plans for the future, the outcome he knows he’ll get, and decides he’ll like it better if you have your top on.

with his mind made up, he moves back to your face, positioning himself above you. he kisses you again, and that fire inside you burns anew.

one of his hands moves downward as his lips continue moving against yours, kissing you with such force that your heads move up with it. it’s a kiss like you always wanted before you met him, the kinda kiss you only saw in movies. he makes you feel like you’re in a movie.

that hand crests over the band of your shorts, caressing the soft skin of your stomach, right above the butterflies that flutter there. it moves down again, into your shorts and your panties, and you shiver. immediately, his fingers start on your clit, rubbing and circling and fuck, it feels good.

“billy, ah-” you whine, bucking up against his fingers. your head moves off the pillows, and he follows you, breaking the kiss to watch you squirm under him. his gaze is observing, like a predator and his prey, like a mad scientist and his experiment.

wet and ready, it only takes a couple more passes before he can slide his hand down and slip two fingers inside you, pumping in and out slowly. now, your eyes slip shut and you tangle your hands in his collar again, grinding down on his fingers.

“billy,” you sob, crying out for him like a believer.

and like that scientist in his lab, watching his creation form and morph, he watches you. he watches the furrow of your brow and the canting of your hips. you are his creation, the nasty things hidden inside you brought out by a boy with a sweet smile and sweeter words. he could sell a fur coat to an eskimo, a glass of water to a drowning man.

drowning. that’s what you’re doing. and he’s watching on with a smile, the same sickening smile that grows across his face as you get so wet that you can hear his fingers disappearing inside you.

at another whine from you, he hums “yeah,” a damning sound that your eyes roll back to. your body tenses, all systems overloaded and overcrowded by the sensation that he unleashes within you. it's burning inside you, lava swirling in your veins, red and hot and you can't think, you can barely breathe. his presence above you adds to it all.

like always, you're close so quick. billy knows your body from months of only being able to put his fingers in you, and the couple of times you've let him take you all the way. "i'm gonna—," you choke, squeezing your eyes shut tighter as you brace yourself for what you know will knock a couple brain cells loose.

he hums again, and through cracked eyes you see his head tilt to the side. with that, and the way his hand grows a little rougher, you come. it's good for you, like it always is, and it leaves you floating.

but for him, that obstacle is out of his way. now, he can get what he wants.

"you ready?" he asks, soft and quiet.

"yeah," you nod meekly, excited to feel him inside you.

he forgoes any further pretense, pulling his wet hand straight out of your shorts and hooking them in his sweats and boxers just enough to free himself, and you shiver at the sight of his fingers covered in your arousal. that same messy hand hits the middle of your shorts and pulls them and your panties to the side in one swift motion, made easy by how spread your legs are.

he looks up at you as his grabs his cock, nudging your clothes back out of place with his leaking tip. with his eyes locked on you he slips in.

fuck, it’s just like you remember. it’s just like you’ve played over and over again. the blunt, burning pain, the wet slide as he reaches just an inch or two deep inside you, cutting off before he slides in any farther. above you, you can feel those deep brown eyes watching and taking.

a soft breath escapes your lungs, all shuddery and shivery and even though he’s just barely inside you, he feels good. he buries his face in the hot skin of your neck.

he doesn’t take any input from you now. he’s already given in to your wiles in allowing this shy act, and he has no interest in asking you to allow anything else.

“billy,” you call as he starts to move slowly. perhaps the act of casting the crown of himself into you, so shallow, is more lewd than what you’re avoiding. lascivious, maybe, this compromise.

he rocks like this for a bit, taking in the feel of your walls kissing and clenching around the tip of him. fat and thick, he stretches you so perfectly, the searing pain being overtaken by pleasure until that’s all that’s left.

the middle ground is fine, for you, as he rocks in and out of you, groaning lowly.

but for him, it’s not enough. all of you belongs to him, and he wants to feel it. he wants to feel you.

this time, he rocks in a little deeper, opening you up farther for him. “billy. .” you say quietly, distantly aware of his cock pushing deeper than it’s supposed to be. a ragged groan pushes out of his chest in response, something pathetic and needing, like he’s groveling for it.

“billy,” you assert to the blank white ceiling, louder, trying to get him to stop his rocking. but a pang of pleasure shoots up your spine because he’s reached a little deeper this time, and you’re not sure if you want him to stop. this is always how it is with him, so confusing, like your nerves get crossed and the pathways to your brain are blocked by the boy above you.

he doesn’t pay you any mind, rocking father and farther. “ah-,” you breathe, cutting yourself off with a deep breath in as he starts to hit spots he’s only hit a handful of times before. it hurts, a little. the sensation has you squirming and bucking under him as he takes what he wants, forcing himself in and breaking down the barriers you’d set. he groans so prettily. you heat up, somewhat proud to be the source of his pleasure.

it’s rough, and you know it shouldn’t feel this good, but as your bed rocks under you and he fucks his cock deeper and deeper, you don’t know why you even tried to hold back. as he slides deeper, the pain intensifies, but ecstasy soon grasps it and merges with it, the two-sided feeling bringing you to the brink of insanity.

in his mind, billy thanks whoever’s listening as he listens to your sounds rise, listens to whines like you’ve been wounded, those pathetic, layered sounds, the kind he likes to hear from you. they’re the kind that blow his ego up, let him know that the hold he has on you is deep-rooted and ever-growing. he planted a seed of control in you the day you two met, and it’s been his absolute pleasure to water it every day.

finally, he’s as deep inside you as he can be, and he’s outright grinding into you, rolling his lean body down onto you while he looses low groans and grunts and heavy huffs. the discomfort that sits in the bottom of your belly has been relieved, turned into something that hurts in the best way. he feels good, even as your mind reels with the violation. he shouldn’t be doing this, a part of your mind tells you, but your body tells you that it’s fine.

you move with his movements, your body bumping up and down every time he bottoms out inside you. silvery whines fly out of your mouth every time his wiry hips meet yours, the force with which he fucks you tipping your whole being off balance.

it’s good. it’s so good. he’s good, hitting that one spot inside you that has you clawing at his back, your cells scrambling to find something to stabilize them. the sound of his body meeting yours fills the room and it’s heaven, in that moment you feel a new pathway being formed, something in you molds to herald billy loomis’s cock digging in you as gospel.

“shit,” you curse, utterly dumbfounded by pleasure. if billy asked you to give him everything you own right now, you’d say yes and ask if there’s anything else he wants with it. he can sense that in you, that devotion and yearning for him that’s begun to water itself without him having to do anything. you’ve forgotten what this even started out as.

when he moves his hand between the both of you and maneuvers under your clothes to rub hard at your clit, everything in you screams. from your mouth, you sob, your head falls sideways and you grip tight at him, eyes shutting down. he hums harshly. he wants you to come, and he wants you to come now.

and you do, for billy, you’ll come whenever he wants.

he follows soon after, slowing but never stopping his deep strokes.

after a beat of silence, he speaks.

“you okay?”

“yeah, i’m alright.” gratefully, in your voice, he no longer hears that barrier. finally, he’s broken you down.

[yvesssssssss]

No way out(2)

Part 1

Nagumo Yoichi had always been a storm. Chaotic, unpredictable, and impossible to ignore. And just like that, he had swept back into your life, leaving a trail of confusion and nerves in his wake.

The Sakamoto store felt too quiet after he left, even though nothing had changed—except everything had.

Shin still looked like he was struggling to process what had just happened, arms crossed as he paced in front of the counter. “No, because I still don’t get it. You and Nagumo? How? Why?”

You sighed, pressing your fingers against your temples. “Do we have to do this right now?”

“Yes, actually.”

Sakamoto handed you a bottle of water before going back to inventory, acting like this was just another Tuesday.

Shin, on the other hand, was vibrating with secondhand stress. “Nagumo is—he’s Nagumo! You know what he’s like! He’s irresponsible! He’s dangerous! He pisses people off for fun! Do you really think he’s gonna be a dad??”

You didn’t answer. Not because you hadn’t thought about it, but because you had—over and over, until your head ached.

Nagumo wasn’t the type to settle down. He wasn’t the type to take responsibility for anything unless it amused him. The idea of him being a father was so absurd that you had convinced yourself it wasn’t worth telling him.

And yet.

He hadn’t run away. He hadn’t laughed it off as a joke. He had stayed.

That was more than you had expected.

Shin groaned. “This is a disaster waiting to happen.”

“Not our business,” Sakamoto reminded him without looking up.

“You keep saying that, but it is our business! She works here! And if Nagumo’s gonna keep showing up—”

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Shin.”

“What?”

“Drop it.”

Shin’s lips pressed into a thin line, but he huffed and muttered, “Fine.”

But you knew this wasn’t the end of it.

Not by a long shot.

|Later That Night|

You were exhausted.

Closing up the shop had taken longer than usual, mostly because you kept getting distracted. Your mind wouldn’t shut up, replaying the scene over and over. The way Nagumo’s smirk had flickered, the way his black eyes had darkened when he realized the truth.

You still didn’t know what he was thinking.

You locked the door to your small apartment, letting out a slow breath. Your place wasn’t much—just a one-bedroom with a tiny kitchen and a couch that had seen better days. It was enough.

At least, it had been.

You ran a hand over your stomach, biting your lip. Soon, it wouldn’t just be you anymore.

You had been planning for this, preparing for this. You had told yourself you didn’t need anyone else.

So why did it feel like your world had tilted off its axis the moment Nagumo found out?

A knock at your window nearly made you scream.

Your hand flew to the nearest object—a lamp—before you turned.

And there he was.

Nagumo Yoichi, standing on the fire escape like he had every right to be there, grinning at you through the glass.

You scowled, yanking the window open. “Are you insane?”

“Debatable,” he said, swinging a leg over the sill and slipping inside, landing with practiced ease.

You pointed at the door. “That exists for a reason.”

“But this way is more fun.”

You wanted to strangle him. Genuinely.

Instead, you exhaled sharply. “What do you want, Nagumo?”

He leaned against the wall, tilting his head. “Just checking in.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Bullshit.”

He placed a hand over his heart, mock-offended. “You wound me.”

You crossed your arms, staring him down.

For a moment, he just looked at you. The usual teasing glint in his eyes was still there, but underneath it, something more serious lurked. Something you couldn’t quite place.

Nagumo Yoichi was an expert liar. But right now, you had a feeling he wasn’t faking this.

“Look,” he finally said, his smirk softening. “I know you think I’m gonna bail.”

Your throat tightened.

He wasn’t wrong.

Nagumo had always been a wildcard. He came and went as he pleased, slipping through people’s lives like smoke.

“I’m not gonna bail.” His voice was quieter now. “I meant what I said, sweetheart. I’m not going anywhere.”

You hated how much you wanted to believe him.

Your fingers curled into fists. “Why?”

He blinked. “Huh?”

“Why are you suddenly acting like you care?” Your voice wavered despite yourself. “You don't do responsibility, Nagumo. You don’t even take yourself seriously half the time. So why are you here?”

He was quiet for a long moment.

Then, slowly, he stepped closer.

You should have moved. You should have put more space between you. But you didn’t.

Nagumo reached out, his fingers brushing your wrist. It was a fleeting touch, barely there, but it sent a shiver down your spine.

“You think I don’t care?” His voice was low now, almost dangerous.

You swallowed hard. “Don’t you?”

Something unreadable flickered across his face.

Then, to your surprise, he chuckled.

It wasn’t his usual mischievous laugh. This one was softer. Almost… fond.

“Y’know,” he mused, rubbing the back of his neck, “this is probably the worst way for you to find out, but—”

“Find out what?”

Nagumo smirked, stepping back. “You’re not the only one who’s been avoiding something, sweetheart.”

Your stomach twisted. “Nagumo—”

He winked. “Get some rest. We’ll talk later.”

And just like that, he strolled toward the window again, slipping out onto the fire escape before you could say another word.

You stood frozen, heart pounding in your chest.

Not the only one avoiding something.

What the hell was that supposed to mean?

One thing was for sure.

Nagumo Yoichi was about to make your life very complicated.

[maenefa]

This post about Boromir’s emotional repression made me think about Faramir, and how he copes with the same trauma.

Both of them fought in that battle. They were holding off the enemy until the bridge of Osgiliath could be destroyed, and then they had to escape by swimming across the river. Only FOUR men made it across, including Faramir and Boromir.

The battle is described at the Council of Elrond, but it’s important context for something that happens MUCH later, which is Denethor’s decision to send Faramir back to Osgiliath.

Now, I’ve defended Denethor for doing this. I think it was correct strategy. I think Faramir saved Minas Tirith by delaying the enemy, buying time for Rohan to arrive.

But I don’t blame Faramir for being reluctant, and for losing his cool with Denethor. His father is asking him to go back and do a rerun of a horrific battle that Faramir barely survived, which was basically a massacre for Gondor’s forces. The Witch King is going to be there again. And Gondor is going to be hugely outnumbered.

Faramir is only human. Going back to Osgiliath is traumatic for him.

To be clear, Faramir opposes the mission because he thinks it’s the wrong course of action, not because he’s scared. All the other captains agree with him. He’s concerned for the lives of his soldiers as much as for his own. But he definitely feels inadequate compared to Boromir, and he isn’t perfectly stoic when he responds to Denethor: “Since you are robbed of Boromir, I will go and do what I can in his stead—if you command it.”

He’s being ordered back to the front just one day after his encounter with the Nazgûl, and it’s possible that he’s already been infected with the Black Breath at this point. Pippin describes his face after that experience: “It was the face of one who had been assailed by a great fear or anguish, but has mastered it and now is quiet.” So Faramir is good at repressing his feelings when he needs to, but he’s repressing a lot, and he’s hitting his limit.

I think this quote is so emblematic of how the narrative treats Faramir: Tolkien loves drawing our attention to his suffering, while he’s less indulgent with Boromir. Faramir is something of a self-insert, so that might explain why Tolkien woobifies him at times.

But aside from that, the two brothers also just have different personalities. Faramir is a LOT more talkative and emotional than Boromir! He tells his entire life philosophy to a complete stranger. He isn’t afraid to start drama with Denethor. He’s open to falling in love even though he thinks the world is about to end, while Eowyn can’t bring herself to return his feelings until the war is over. He’s always talking about his heart and dreams and intuitions. He hates repressing his feelings, while Boromir seems resigned to it.

It really makes me wish that Tolkien had given us some scenes of them interacting…

[captainkirkk]

A quick review: The Goblin Emperor

I binge-read the last of the The Goblin Emperor today and my brain is still buzzing. Everyone knows that I'm a big fan of stories about people in power choosing consistently to be kind, especially when it's hard and it does not benefit them, and this book DELIVERED.

I loved reading about Maia choosing, over and over again, to be compassionate, even though he was miserable and overwhelmed and it would have been easier to be cruel. Maia felt like the purposefully isolated, abused teenager he was, overwhelmed and powerless when he first came to court, but I adore that we saw the slow, hard-won changes that hebrought about: winning allies simply by being kind and honest, making REAL change for the betterment of his people

Maia has only been ruling for a less than a year (I think) but already the world is benefiting from the care of Emperor Edrehasivar the Bridge-Builder (and what a title!!!). All the birthday messages Maia received - not just platitudes but warm gifts from people whose lives he'd changed - made me tear up

And I also really liked all the hurt/comfort scenes with Maia being surprised by being liked and treated nicely, and winning the loyalty and affection of so many just by virtue of being himself :'))

Anyway if you haven't read The Goblin Emperor, you should definitely give it a chance!! Especially if you also read and enjoyed The Hands of the Emperor

[torturedtypewritersdept]

blue eyes + bruises - part two

✯ pairing:

doctor!rafe cameron x fem!reader

✯ summary:

a tragic car accident looks like it'll be the end for you, but dr. cameron is here to make sure that doesn't happen.

✯ warnings:

mature themes, mentions of anxiety, nostalgia, and fear, car accident, death of a spouse (not rafe or y/n), major surgery, injuries, hurt/comfort, angst, fluff, etc.

✯ a/n:

nothing!! please don't engage if you have a hard time with any of these topics <3 this was origianlly posted on my old blog @/illicitfixations, @/lovelornanonymity back in 2021/2022 and i have rewritten + reshared it here :)

m.list

It only took minutes to get you into the operating room, Rafe had made sure of that – doctors on stand by as you were rolled quickly inside. He continued compressions as his colleagues worked around you, attaching a ventilator quickly to your lungs and cords and wires to your chest as your beautiful satin pale blue dress was cut away from your body and its arch nemesis cerulean blue surgical garb was draped over the different sections of your body that you were bleeding from. Rafe darted from the scene, rushing into the scrub room. He washed his hands quickly, but dutifully in his pursuit to get back to you. Jenni, his favorite nurse, helped him into his surgical clothes quickly, sliding his arms through the long blue sleeves and tying the back of it. It was funny, really, the way it resembled the structure of a hospital gown; one in the same with his patients in that way. As he made his way beside you, his gloved hand found its home against your hair and he leaned down to whisper in your ear. 

“You hold on for me, sweetheart, okay? I’m going to make it all better. I just need you to fight a little bit.” 

He said softly as he stood back upright and watched Jenni work the portable x-ray machine across you in search of any cracks amidst the shell of your body. 

“What are we looking at Cameron?” 

Dr. Richardson, Rafe’s long time friend and colleague asked as he looked over Jenni’s shoulders at the x-rays on the computer. 

“Extensive bone damage to the left side, specifically the femur, pelvis, and kneecap. She’ll need more than one surgery. I need to stabilize her leg for now. There’s possible soft tissue damage, she’ll need an MRI later to be sure.” 

He replied and Richardson nodded in his direction, understanding that Rafe meant you’d need more treatment if and when they could get you safely out of the woods. 

—

Some time later, Rafe stood over your body – cold, sterile, medical instruments in his hands as he dutifully worked to put your broken bones back together. He had watched on for hours as his colleagues repaired the internal bleeding in your abdomen and your brain. His body still remained canopied in seafoam colored scrubs underneath the blue surgical garb that he was required to wear in the operating room and his feet adorned in the best tennis shoes money could buy. He had a routine for surgery and over the last two years it had become a sort of safe haven for him – it was the only place that he didn’t think about her. The routine – simple in principle – his feet viciously traveling the white floors speckled with dots of gray as he rushed patient after patient in, the dressings, the blood, the practice of the procedures he performed – it all grounded him, down to the very essence of washing the remnants from his body when the performance was over. Wash, rinse, repeat, wash, rinse, repeat – he melodically spoke over himself after every discontinuation of the processes, whether the outcome was good or bad. He whispered reassurances to every person – the same ones he had whispered to you – though he never knew which way it would go. They went into the operating room, never knowing if they’d come out. The routine of it all had saved him, but all of that was washed away, like water under the bridge, as your blood trickled off of his hands. He closed his eyes for a moment and wondered if the outcome would be the same, if after all his efforts, would you end up just like she did. Would he be unable to save you, just like he couldn’t save her? 

“Paddles now! She’s crashing!” 

Dr. Richardson yelled, as he stood across from Rafe who was tending to the fractures you had sustained from the accident. 

“Charge to 350. Clear!” 

The shock sent electricity through your body, making your back arch off of the table, but still you continued to flatline. He did it again, your body responding in the same way – jerking off the table – yet, still, you flatlined and for Rafe it was visceral. The sound of the machine echoing that horrible constant beep, signaling that there was no life connected to it – it gutted him. 

“It may be time to call it, guys.” 

Dr. Richardson muttered in defeat to which Rafe found repulsive. 

“Absolutely not!” 

Rafe’s voice boomed across your body, as he took over. No one seemed to notice the crack in it as he did his best to keep his tears at bay. Dr. Richardson simply stepped aside, he knew your injuries were too bad, there was no way you were going to survive. But, he also knew that Rafe had to feel like he did everything he possibly could. He had to know that history didn’t repeat itself because of him this time. 

“Charge to 400! Clear!” 

Rafe was the one to send the electricity through your body this time and as he waited for your heart to start, the way that he knew it would, the seconds felt like hours and just when he was about to give up — the miniscule beat sent a series of beeps across the screen. 

“There you go, pretty girl. I knew you could do it.” 

He whispered above you, before getting back to his position and continuing his work on your bones, giving Dr. Richardson room to patch up the bleeding of your internal organs. 

-

Rafe stood outside of your hospital room, looking in on you every so often, he was pretending to do his nightly charting at the nurses station and every time he put his pen to the paper something stopped him. You were all he could think about, the way your eyes pleaded for his help in the emergency department, the way you said his name when you asked him if you were going to die, and where in the hell your family must be – didn’t they care? He finished off the chart he was doing and when he opened up the next file folder, your name appeared. Y/N Y/L/N. ‘Pretty name for a pretty girl,’ he thought. He wasn’t distracted as he listed your injuries, described the incident, and signed off on the surgery he had completed. He wasn’t distracted because this was about you. 

“How’s she doing?” 

Rafe looked up from your chart to the voice of his scrub nurse, Jennifer, who had helped operate on you. Everyone in the operating room knew that Rafe had grown attached to you, though, unsure why, he had never met you before, when he looked into your eyes, something was just different. Jenni knew if he didn’t save you he wouldn’t live with himself, he couldn’t live himself. So, she was really asking more for his sake than her own. 

“She’s doing okay, right now. Not out of the woods yet. We’ll know more when she wakes up. Did you find any family?” 

He questioned, never removing his eyes from the document held within the folder that he was writing on. 

“Mother in Georgia, but can’t come up because of ‘business obligations’. Real mom of the year type.”

Jenni said, rolling her eyes. 

“Her daughter could die and she’s worried about business obligations?” 

He asked incredulously. 

“You know the type well, Rafe.” 

He scoffed at the thought of his father doing the exact same thing if it were him who was in this situation. 

“I don’t know, Rafe. Nothing surprises me anymore. So, give me a run down.”

She replied. 

“Broken ribs, torn acl, whiplash, shattered kneecap, broken pelvis, concussion, broken femur, internal bleeding, brain bleed – you name it, she’s got it. We’ve got her in a medically induced coma to give her body some time to repair itself and if she wakes up, we’ll go back in and do more surgery. Truth be told – she’s a fighter, I don't know how she’s survived this long.” 

He said with an exasperated sigh, knowing the inevitable was coming, simply preparing himself for it. Your injuries – they were a lot to heal from and he knew that firsthand.  

“I believe she has Dr. Rafe Cameron to thank for that.” 

She gave him a soft smile and he returned it. 

“You’re a good friend, Jenni and you’re way too kind.” 

He reached out, placing his palm on her shoulder and gave her a pat on her back.

“I mean it, Rafe. They would’ve called time of death if you hadn’t spoken up. You should go in there and sit with her, it won’t hurt anything.” 

She nodded her head toward the door of your room and he shrugged. 

“It’s not really my place.” 

He spoke, but it came out barely audible, almost a whisper. She heard him and she knew what he meant. 

“Maybe not, but she has nobody coming for her and I know you feel connected to her. Don’t try to fight it to protect yourself. If she dies, it’ll hurt and it’ll be sad. But, if she doesn't, do you really want to live with the fact that you could’ve been holding her hand when she woke up? Do you really want her to wake up to no one being there? She’s not Molly, Rafe and I know you better than that.” 

Jenni left Rafe to think about what she had said while she tended to another patient. She came out of the room to find Rafe, evidently making a decision and she watched him from afar as he gingerly entered the threshold of your room, sitting down in the plastic chair next to you. She smiled to herself, knowing that he was in deep, deeper than even he was aware of. 

—

masterlist:

as always, if you'd like to be added to or removed from the taglist, please shoot me an ask or comment on this post so i can keep track <3

@maybankslover @inthelibrarybtw @luvrcndy @silkylovey @yagirlwrites @obxbabygirl @rafeecameronsbitch @klutzy-kay24 @roseczbalt @akobx @allsmilesreally7 @wtfdudesblog

[leihaddock]

So the other day @musette22 and I were talking about Peggy Carter (or rather I went on an angry rant about why I don't like her) and that made me think of a Peggy that was very much Steve's friend, beard even, as much as she was a Nazi regardless. And that got stuck in my head so take some extended thoughts:

A Peggy that is outwardly a mirror to Steve; in gender and perhaps sexuality as well as social class and upbringing. But no less "takes no shit" than Steve, no less kind than Bucky, no less of a role model than Sarah. Her morals however are very much a polar opposite to Steve's, but we as the viewer at most get hints of it during CATFA

Steve genuinely considers her a good friend. And she genuinely likes him, for what it's worth. She clocked Steve as queer right away, went "oh I like him" pre serum and offered to be his beard after. Keeps the creeps away, she told him, and gives you a reason to not accept any courting that won't get you kicked out of the army

She does the jealous girlfriend thing we see in canon anyway, despite of course not actually being his girlfriend (and the whole thing being abusive as fuck) to "keep appearances" but ultimately she gains his trust somehow

They enjoy each other's company in how little time they have together

But behind the scenes she's pulling strings

As soon as Steve rescues the 107th, uses that trust to get insider information she's not supposed to have

Why would she know what the Howlies do and where they are? She's intelligence, not a soldier

She deliberately makes them have a couple of close calls with Hydra by passing along that information

And then comes that goddamn train. Of course Peggy knows that Bucky fell. But she also knows that Bucky should have survived, because she knows that Zola had managed to create a stable super soldier serum

She prevents Steve from looking for Bucky and makes sure Hydra finds Bucky instead

The plane wasn't part of the plan on her side, she wasn't informed, and she's not happy about it. It comes to no surprise to her that Steve wouldn't give her approximate coordinates though. Because as she so foolishly said in that bar, Bucky had made his choice and Steve chooses to follow him

Peggy does mourn Steve, she also mourned Bucky, because they were her friends, even if the friendship was a farce, and she's not stone cold despite everything. But she's still very much got her eyes on a bigger thing so

She initially deliberately prevents Howard from tracking the plane by skewing the data

And she goes to talk to Bucky. Who spits at her, realises the betrayal and refuses to give up despite her very clearly telling him Steve was dead

It takes 20 years to break Bucky to a point where they can use him as TWS

During that time, Howard has shifted gears as well. He's quite aware he's working with Nazis, has been for a while, but he doesn't know about TWS's identity (because for as much of an asshole Howard turns into, I don't think he woulda been cool with that) until that fateful day in the 90's

Which was Peggy's call, because he defied her one too many times, and she has too much power to deal with him personally

At some point, Peggy steps down from what is now Shieldra (because there's no way she woulda survived to die of Alzheimers without being a top dog in Hydra), and Fury takes over Shield, builds the Avengers, and the story as we know it unfolds

Steve defrosts just fine because they have a couple of decades worth of experience with Bucky, and suddenly they have two super soldiers at their disposal

Steve goes to visit Peggy who "comforts" him, of course she does, she's still got the awareness regardless of which time she thinks she's in to keep their friendship going. Tells him about her life and the kids she's got, maybe even about queer rights improving

He doesn't know about Hydra. Doesn't know about Bucky. Until that day on the bridge, when they come face to face and TWS breaks. But Hydra, they're so close to winning, it doesn't really matter. But then they lose

Bucky runs, and Steve goes after him

And Steve finds more and more information on TWS. The data dump, of course, but also in old bunkers and labs. And burns the rest of Hydra to the ground in the process

And he recognises the handwriting in some of the older documents. Finds the report on the day they told Bucky he was dead. And exactly who was behind all of it

And now he also mourns a friend, two of them really, but one at least never lied to his face in this time. He's angry, yes, betrayed, yes. But also just disappointed. And Hydra burns

Peggy dies of Alzheimers and Steve still goes to the funeral, to see for his own eyes that the person he thought was his friend can't ever harm anyone again

We as the audience can only connect the dots so much without flashbacks, and we do get those. But only at the very end do we get the whole picture. And we mourn right alongside Steve (and Bucky, once he remembers)

[earthnashes]

SOOOOOOOO. Arcane season 2, huh? Now that a couple of days have passed for me to marinate I think I'm ready to share my thoughts on the season. This WILL contain spoilers though so if you haven't seen it, I highly recommend watching for yourself first!

So! Overall, as a standalone season I feel like there are things Arcane excelled at and things that have lost its way a bit. For starters and easily the best part of the show: it's visuals. I've heard some complaints about how much the show cost but like. Brother. When I think of super expensive shows, THIS is what I think it should look like. At no point did I question the budget because it's made abundantly clear every penny is used to best use it could possibly get. And it resulted in what I've been calling a modern greek statue: a marvel, an incredible tapestry of just about every art medium you can think of woven into something so beyond anything I've seen in animation I have a hard time finding the appropriate words to express exactly how much I'm taken by it. This is a clear example of what art IS man and jesus christ. It's mindblowing. I can't praise the show enough for that, like it's literally the best looking thing I've ever seen in media.

Same with the sound design and music, particularly in the battle scenes. Something about the energy behind the sounds, like the clacking of Vi's gloves as shes revving up for a punch, or the reverb of metal clashing, the sound of how blows connect. Even the little things, like the distinct difference between footsteps, or the glitch-like sound that spiders in the backround before shimmer or the arcane is utilized? Like CHEF'S KISS BRO. God almighty it tickles a part in my head.

Just the visuals and sound design is fuckin tasty bro. A solid 1000000000/10

So now Characters. Season 2 managed to take the existing characters and really built off of what was already there. In my opinion the characters, particularly the main players, received additional depth and evolution in a way that made sense in the long run, and the conclusions they reached in their arcs felt like a correct conclusion. However, it's how they got there and how fast they get there being one of my complaints.

For starters: the love triangle between Jinx, Vi, and Caitlyn. I didn't appreciate how, for the most part, it felt like it took a backseat in this season when it was one of the driving forces of season 1. It's not JUST them though: the relationships of every character kinda fell away to the wayside for the sake of getting through as much of the plot as possible, but we're on these three right now so:

-I feel like a PROPER recouncil between Vi and Jinx was sorely needed. There were hints to it, particularly in Act 2, but we were kinda left guessing and having to fill the majority of the gaps ourselves. One of Vi's driving factors as a character is her relationship with Jinx/Powder; her unable to accept that she's changed in her absence. Act 2 opened the door in allowing Vi to learn about Jinx as she is and come to terms that, even if she's changed, she's still her sister and there's a chance to bridge that gap. Vice versa to Jinx, particularly because of Isha's presence; I have to assume by becoming an older sister herself, she begins to get an understanding of Vi she previously lacked and that really could've been a stronger catalyst in her recounciling with her. Had the sisters actually got more on-screen time together and really let the hope between them breath, I feel like the ending would've had a much stronger impact.

-Cait/Vi, as much as I enjoy the pairing, felt a little too disjointed. Act 1 was the strongest showcase of their relationship; a sudden escalation driven by mutual grief and attraction and genuine care only to be torn apart immediately after because of Cait's blind rage. Cinema. Beautiful. But immediately after, we don't really see either character work off that much in my opinion. Vi does have a spiral that was very well shown, though I do wish we saw more of Pit Vi and her descent.

As far as Cait goes I would've preferred seeing her spiraling in her own way; with how the third episode of Act 1 ended, I felt like the show was gearing up to showcase how much she allows her hunt for vengeance cloud her mind and take over her life, to do things her mother would have not approved of. Like bro she was so SURE she wouldn't miss (immediately after missing every shot she took up to that point) that she was willing to potentially kill a child for it. Ain't no way she wasn't constantly frothing at the mouth for some time, wallowing in Vi's apparent "betrayal" and in the grief of her mother's death. I DO like how she is seen questioning her actions but it just feels like a tiny snapshot. Had they continued with showing her questioning what, exactly, the hell she's doing (while continuing to go on with her reign), then seeing not just Vi but also how her actions has widened the rift between Piltover and Zaun, her finally being able to break herself off would've felt more weighty.

"What are you shooting for, young Kiramman?" Grayson once asked. I can't help but feel like that line could have had some very strong carry-through into this season; not only giving a proper callback to Grayson as Cait's mentor(?) but also cement Cait's inner turmoil between blinded by revenge, but growing to dislike what she's turned into to get it.

And the sex scene. Particularly WHERE the sex scene occurred, immediately after Jinx heavily implied offing herself to "break the cycle". Vi isn't stupid. I felt like it was extremely clear what Jinx was alluding to, and it seemed like Vi understood that with how she asked "What are you gonna do?" She sounded terrified and desperate. She has SEEN Jinx be suicidal in this season first hand, was all but directly asked by Jinx to put her out of her misery herself. You're telling me she immediately bones the shit outta Cait right after Jinx scampers off and seems to forget it?? I dunno man. :/ I wouldn't remove the fuckfest, but in my opinion there were better places to put it.

And overall in terms of the characters as a whole, there was just too many gaps and too little time. Vander felt like he was underutilized, particularly his clear fight in trying to get a hold of his humanity; could've really used him to push the running theme of people can change, but they're still the same person at their very core.

Heimerdinger got shafted I feel like. He had such a strong impact in S1, only for his death to be... well. Forgotten.

Mel's storyline was way too fucking short. Love the powers she got but they ultimately felt unearned; I feel like we could've spent way more time on her learning to control it to some extent. Her whole shtick in being cunning and one step ahead of everyone (much like her mother) could've played a stronger part here too, particularly because I don't remember the Black Rose being explained much, so it would've been nice to see Mel put her strengths into play to find out for herself and give her a more active role in her ability to fight back.

Ambessa was anticlimactic and I didn't appreciate how she ultimately perished. I wanted her to die, don't get me wrong, but the war in general felt waaaaay too short and her death too easy. I appreciate they didn't go full evil with her, and made her an embodiment of Singe's quote of "doing horrendous things in the name of love", but it kinda felt like her initial plot of using hextech to fight the Black Rose (I could be wrong here but that is what it felt like she ultimately wanted) kinda got... forgotten?

Victor's progression is the only one that felt mostly natural in it's pacing. But again, with how unstoppable his robot pawns were, I felt like they really robbed the final battle of any significant weight to it; Zaun and Piltover, fighting as one against a common enemy. One of the biggest payoffs in the show... felt underwheming and, again, unearned.

And the new characters didn't really get much chance to do much of anything. Loris felt like an important parallel to Vander given how many times he was shown to look and sorta act like him. I felt like he had a bigger role to fill but just ended up bodied. Maddie, at least, had somethin interesting goin on but I feel like she could've been made more impactful in her betrayal.

Overall, a mid 5/10. It wasn't terrible, but it definitely needed more time to really flesh everything out.

And finally, the plot. I personally really enjoyed the overall plot and it's opposing themes to season 1. Whereas s1 felt like "love is undoing" and veered into tragedy, s2 felt like "love is healing" and veered into hope; the sisters learning to accept one another, Vi and Cait mending the rift between each other, Victor and Jayce finding their way back to one another. Isha giving Jinx purpose and a new perspective on life, Vander returning and, even if briefly, managing to regain his humanity for his daughters, the list goes on. It's such a beautiful contrast to season 1, but that is part of why I strongly feel like Arcane NEEDED one more season.

Season 2 was too focused on getting as much story out as possible that it didn't allow the characters themselves to push it forward, and it was weakened for it. Had there been three seasons, Act 1 and Act 2 could have been the entirety of season 2, and Act 3 could have been the whole of a season 3, where we get to see the total climax of everything that occurred. Given the rumors of there being a strong interest for an animated movie (and I have a theory that it might be to continue the story of Arcane in some way), that might help with some of the contingencies if it's true, but that's only if the movie actually comes to fruition.

As it currently stands, my biggest critique of Season 2 was switching focus on making the plot drive the story, when instead it really should've continued the trend from Season 1 in letting the characters drives the story forward.

_______

My meds is beginning to kick in and I'm getting drowsy from it so I'll leave it here for now! TLDR: Arcane Season 2 was mostly good. I have my fair bit of complaints and thoughts on how I'd personally structure everything, but a a whole, pretty good! It's one of those shows where I would personally recommend everyone watch from start to finish to at least experience it in its entirety yourself.

Season 2 Rating: 7.5/10

[savannahsdeath]

hii i love ur stories, and i was wondering if you could do a one-shot where ellie won't admit it, but she LOVES being a sub and just listening to you 🫣

SUB!TOP!ELLIE WILLIAMS X READER

mdni please<3

warnings: 18+!! sub!top!ellie, oblivious!reader, making out, a liiiitttleee of thigh reading, js smut

writers note: im a sucker for dom!ellie but my first req was sub!ellie and now it just has a separate place in my brain.. yeah, i need both. switch!ellie lover i guess💪💪 also this ones sub!top!ellie because im soooo in love w her like awshhzhsv

you always saw ellie as the firm, rough and confident one. as the 'don't tell me what to do' one. and definitely the straight-forward one. you wouldn't even think it's the complete otherwise, especially not while grinding on her lap. your lips were connected for a few minutes now, and everytime you pulled away to catch your breath a line of saliva built a bridge between you. you were needy, ellie desperate and the whole situation really messy. quite a combo.

"ellie..." you whined after freeing your tongue.

she pulled you back into her, holding onto the back of your neck. "what is it, doll?"

"mhh-" a week sound escaped your mouth, as you struggled to calm down and not act as if you just ran a marathon (because you didn't, of course, but that's how you felt). "touch me..."

you didn't realize she kept her hands only on your head because she was shy. you never thought she could be shy at all. your request, though, awakened something in her. she hungrily slid her slim fingers beneath your shirt, where they rubbed soothing shapes into your skin.

"like that?" she laughed, or at least you guessed she did, because the sensations made it hard for you to tell.

your answer was a one word, but a keyword. "more."

with that, her hands unfastened your bra and threw it somewhere on the ground. she turned you around, making you lean your back on her chest. your shirt covered the scene - her playing with your hard nipples, that didn't feel so sensitive until now. her hair fell on your face, slightly covering it, as she bowed her head to kiss your neck. your pussy sent a needy impulse through the rest of your body, signaling you this is what you needed, before the pulsating changed it's message to a 'not enough'. ellie seemed to notice it, and one of her hands untied the knot of your cute pyjama-shorts. the elastic at your hips widened to make room for her hand, and it carefully slipped underneath the waistband, though stayed on top of your underwear. she followed the wet path with her middle finger, arriving to it's source. she didn't put any pressure onto your body, leaving you unsatisfied.

"please- please, do it." you nodded, fighting the urge to press her hand towards you.

she was more than happy to do it, her hand avoiding now also your panties and making contact with your bare body. you shuddered at the coldness she brought with her, but things quickly got heated.

your head found support in her shoulder, resting on it, as her pointing finger rubbed your clit and the next two lazily waited at your entrance, collecting everything that came out of it.

"do you want me to do it?" she asked. it wasn't the taunting, teasing, playful tone. it was a concerned, shy and hesitating one. one you weren't used to hear from her.

you frowned, wiping your wet, drooled mouth with the palm of your hand. "are you... really asking me that?" you wanted to add '...or am i dreaming?' but that was too much for you now, and your throat refused to work.

"i only want to do things you want me to do." she whispered, sounding almost ashamed about admitting that.

she continued the trail of sappy little kissed on your neck, somewhere where the vocal cords are, and you thought that's the main reason they're not working.

you couldn't hide your surprise but stayed quiet, though not really by choice. she thanked god you couldn't feel her own wet spot, which was probably bigger than yours and still growing each time you asked her to do something for you. even if your commands weren't out of your dominance, even if you had no idea how they turn her on, she only waited for you to ask for more, or less, anything would satisfy her, as long as she can satisfy you.

[ohwaitimthewriter]

Look at me if you dare

Pairing : Noa x human!reader

Warnings: angsty fluff? Fluffy angst? (you chose!)

Words: 4.3k+ (for real?? 😳)

Requested:

A/N: So! I didn't plan it to be this long but HERE WE ARE. I had to remove the 'getting angry' part but for good reasons, and only if you'd be interested in,: I'm thinking about a part 2 🫣 I need some time to ponder about it, but it is still a possibility! Thank you for your request, I really enjoyed writing it and I hope you'll like it! 😁 (even if it took me forever and I'm so sorry for this 🥺)

Enjoy your reading 😁

Planet of the Apes Masterlist.

Crouching at the river's edge, you watched your reflection ripple with the waves of the peacefully flowing water. You observed the gap between your eyes and the shape of your nose, which marked the boundary between the two. The little dimple formed by your upper lip just below the bridge of your nose and the plump of your lower lip. The thin line they formed, neither a smile nor a sad pout, a straight line free of expression.

〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️

The hunting had been good that day. A stag, one of the biggest bucks in the deer herd. Euphoria had spread throughout the colony when none other than Noa, the leader of the Eagle clan, had returned from a long day's hunting with a few of his own. Anaya and Soona, of course, were part of the group, and you watched the two friends squabble with Noa over who had the best approach to killing the deer. Anaya was certainly trying to take more of the credit, puffing his chest out, but he quickly shook it off when Soona gave him a light punch in the ribs, complaining that he had no right to take full credit for the success of the hunt.

It was, of course, a team effort, and success depended largely on following the instructions given to each individual after agreeing on the best strategy. And this time, the best strategy was Noa's.

You watched them bickering, bragging about their feat, and could only smile at Noa's proud face, knowing full well that he had been the most astute on this hunt. The most astute and therefore the best provider for his clan.

And then his gaze met yours.

The cocky restlessness that radiated from his stance subsided. He glanced at the carcass strapped to his horse's saddle before locking his green irises into yours again and untying the animal, which fell to the ground with a thud.

Noa grabbed the animal by its antlers and began to drag it with one hand behind him, as he made his way towards you.

It seemed you were the only one who didn't quite understand what was happening. Anaya wanted to follow Noa, but it only took one look for Soona to understand and stop Anaya in his tracks. Anaya gave her a quizzical look before his mouth formed an 'O' in realization.

Dragging the animal's carcass seemed effortless, even though it was obvious that Noa was trying to hide the uncomfortable strain he had to exert on his arm muscles. Despite his thick fur, you could easily see the strength he was capable of, his muscles becoming more prominent with the 200kg of inert weight he had to pull behind him. He moved on all four, really only using three of his limbs, and the force of the pull made his shoulders even bulkier. The whole scene was rather impressive, but you had question marks plastered all over your face as Noa drew closer and closer to you.

Earlier in the afternoon, you had sat down by the big communal fire to work on making a spear more suited to your build. You didn't leave the log you were sitting on until the hunt was over. For a brief moment, you thought Noa wasn't really coming to you, but rather dragging the animal to the bonfire to share it with the rest of the colony. You wanted to believe it, because the wrathful looks of some disapproving apes were beginning to weigh heavily on your shoulders and you didn't quite understand what you had done to endure their judgment.

The carcass fell in front of you, and at the same time you heard an ape… Ezio, if you remembered his name correctly, who had taken part in the hunt, utter a muffled growl of… protest?

If you heard it, Noa must have too, but he decided to ignore it, preferring to keep all his attention on you. His stunning green eyes landed in yours and, like every time he gazed into the immense depths of your irises, you were afraid he'd discover a secret you'd been keeping under lock and key ever since you'd discovered it yourself. A secret that drew you irrevocably to him, but which you suppressed and buried deep inside yourself when the eyes of apes like Ezio landed on you.

You chose to avert your gaze towards the dead animal in front of you and prevent him from discovering it. Noa placed his hand firmly on the beast, pushing it further towards you until it touched your feet.

Why… was he bringing you the carcass?

You looked up at him again, and though you tried to give him an unsure smile, the silent question could be read in your eyes as they settled back on Noa.

No matter how much Noa saw you doubting, he couldn't help but feel proud to have brought you such a trophy. He wanted you to see it, to realize the strength it had taken him to kill it, bring it back and drag it to you. He wanted you to see his qualities as a leader, his qualities as a hunter, qualities that made him a perfect mate and that he would be perfectly capable of providing for all your needs… whatever they might be. He'd killed that deer for you, as proof that he was the best match for you. And any doubts you might have had could only be swept away by those 200kg of fresh meat he'd hunted.

At least, that's what he told himself in the back of his mind. That's what he wanted you to acknowledge in him.

In front of his attentive and expectant gaze, you remained unable to understand why he had placed the body of this animal at your feet.

On closer inspection, the stag was of impressive size, and there was no doubt that its remains alone could feed the entire colony. Your eyes followed the animal's shape and you couldn't help imagining its life before it unfortunately crossed the path of Noa and his hunting team. The animal must have been majestic. Its antlers were broad and you could count 14 points. An old creature. From the way its body was laid on the ground, you could only see one of its eyes, and the lifeless black iris squeezed your heart. A wave of empathy for this beautiful animal swept through your body and you instinctively leaned towards its corpse. With tentative fingers, you stroked its shoulder, as if to soothe the soul of the animal that had just given its life to provide for others. Its light-brown bristles were rough against the delicate skin of your fingertips, but it didn't matter, especially as you were certain to feel the gazes of the entire colony scanning your every move. Some approving. Others tolerant. And the last, disapproving.

You tried to push away the burning sensation in the back of your head caused by all those eyes on you, and uttered in a whisper addressed only to that deer, and perhaps, to Noa too, a heartfelt "thank you" for this animal's sacrifice.

Noa tilted his head towards you, seeking your gaze as he tentatively brushed your fingertips to capture your attention. A cloud of tingling ran up your fingers, from your hand to the hollow of your collarbone, creating a mass of tingles there that spread down your spine.

"He fought well."

Noa's gruff voice was meant to be reassuring. He understood your sympathy for the deer and wanted to be sure to let you know the animal had given everything to survive, but that Noa had been the strongest of the two.

You nodded silently and quickly wiped away a tear you hadn't felt rolling down your cheek. You took a deep breath, sharing a glance with Noa.

"Now it can rest." You say. " It'll serve us well."

Noa breathed through his nose proudly at your approval. It was all he needed, all he asked of you, and he grabbed the deer's antlers again to take it away in preparation for dinner.

〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️

You ran your tongue over your teeth, and if you weren't showing them off to the little fish that passed by, oblivious to the giant you were compared to them, you made a mental note of the shape of each of them. Smooth, not particularly sharp, and even the teeth you used as canines weren't particularly well-suited to forcefully shredding any fish or animal flesh.

Not… suitable.

〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️〰️

That evening, Soona joined you for dinner. Sitting cross-legged, you had set a bowl of vegetables and fruit in front of you, and on a thick piece of cloth was a piece of meat from the deer that Noa had brought you earlier.

Crouching beside you, Soona was biting into the animal flesh, and you admired the ease with which she was able to detach the raw meat and chew it as she would on the juicy flesh of an apple. Your meat, on the other hand, was cooked.

Soona glanced at the sharp little blade lying delicately next to your meat. Even though she was used to seeing you use it to cut small pieces of meat or fish, there was still a kind of fascination in her eyes. The Echos jaws weren't as powerful and efficient as those of chimpanzees, and while she didn't think they were very practical for everyday life, she was fascinated by your ability to find tricks to make life easier.

Her gaze was always benevolent, and you were never afraid to show her all the human tips and tricks that enabled you to navigate your daily life without too much trouble. Even in the troubles your three friends sometimes got you into.

Something as simple as biting into a piece of meat became a challenge, in all proportion, for a human, and this was quite fascinating for Soona.

But tonight, there was a glitch. Like a feeling of discomfort towards this piece of meat. Normally, you would have started by eating meat, or fish depending on the day. Meat, then vegetables, then fruit. A very specific order that you followed at every meal, even if Soona didn't understand the point of always having to "start with what's salty and finish with what's sweet", as you'd explained to her when she'd asked you. "I prefer to have a sweet taste in my mouth as a last bite." Soona hadn't had the heart to argue otherwise, if that was what you preferred then so be it.

And tonight, you had left your meat aside.

How odd.

Soona briefly moved her hand to show you your meat before signing.

" Not eating?"

Your eyes fell on the untouched meat. Usually, you would have taken the time to cut it up before starting your meal. But not this time. The blade you had taken out of your satchel after cooking the food over a fire had drawn more than a few questioning looks, some almost suspicious.

How long had people been watching you like this? Had it been a long time? And if so, how had you managed not to notice before?

Maybe you'd been blinded by the kindness and acceptance that Noa, Soona, Anaya and even Dar - who more than once had left you stunned by Noa's mother's tenderness towards you - had granted you. Your human condition had never been called into question, and although it had taken several weeks - months for some - for your presence among the clan to become as natural as taking a breath, you had never felt… rejected.

So why now? Why were you suddenly aware that maybe… your mere presence was perceived as that of a virus that needed to be contained. Like an underlying disease that had taken several months to blossom into its first symptoms.

Ezio and his gang of three other apes were stationed right in front of you, on the other side of the communal fire. The contemptuous look they gave you knotted like ropes around your wrists and you found yourself unable to move them to grab your blade and cut your meat.

You didn't know what to say to Soona because you really weren't eating your meat. Not because you didn't like it, nor because you weren't hungry, but because the judgment weighing on your shoulders blocked any will to move a muscle in the pit of your stomach.

Your gaze stopped for half a second on Ezio, who took advantage of your brief attention to challenge you, a small huff piercing through his muzzle, letting his cheeks formed a light puff.

You chose not to dwell on it and focused instead on Soona, who was looking at you with concern. You hesitated over your words before blurting out:

"I… I wouldn't want to… wouldn't you feel awkward watching me cut up the meat?"

Your question was genuine, but Soona widened her eyes, astonished by the implication of your sentence. She almost wished she'd laughed at you, because in all the time she'd seen you do it, it was about time you started worrying if that was really how you felt.

"Why would I bother?" She asked back.

And you sighed. Point scored for Soona. Your question made no sense as far as Soona was concerned. Of course she didn't care, and if she had, you were almost convinced she'd have asked you about it by now.

Seeing your defeated face, Soona went on to sign.

"I understand." And she gestured to your jaw. "Weak. Easier in small pieces to chew." She paused for a moment to gauge your reaction, and you seemed to accept her silent words. "I understand." She repeated aloud this time, her voice slightly rocky on the edges. "Anaya understands." She went on, and as if she could read the real reason for your concern in your eyes, she finished by directing her gaze towards the clan leader who was sharing his meal with Dar. "Noa… understands."

But Ezio and his friends didn't understand.

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Your hand plunged into the river, shattering your reflection, which had suddenly seemed too hard to look at. You didn't like what you saw. The water seeped through your fingers and its coolness slid under your skin in a vain attempt to bring some sanity back to your brain.

The delicate nature of your skin suddenly jumped out at you. Your hand bore various scars, large ones from sharp stones, small ones from bramble thorns, scratches from tree bark…

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You'd looked for it everywhere.

Earlier in the morning, you had wished to go outside the village boundaries in search of a particular plant. It was about to be that time of the month when your period pains would start, and valerian, a plant with small white flowers, could help ease those painful cramps.

Soona would usually accompany you, but today she was busy with Dar. So you decided to go alone, but to your surprise, Noa refused. He argued that it was too dangerous for you to venture outside the territory of the eagle clan, almost forgetting that you had been living outside its boundaries for several months.

After extensive negotiation, he gave you permission to go, on one condition: that you take your spear with you and that Eagle Sun go with you.

But the spear you usually left at the entrance to your hut had disappeared. After spending an hour looking for it, Eagle Sun became restless and an unfamiliar ape, whom you'd seen hanging around with Ezio, informed you that he'd seen a spear… in a tree.

So you ended up right there, and the longer you stared at the top of the tree, the more you felt dizziness creep into the back of your skull.

Your spear was probably 8 meters, maybe 9, above your head. The ape who had shown you the way had pretended to have urgent business to attend to, and left you to ponder how you were going to climb a tree whose first branches were 3 meters above the ground.

After a minute's thought, you decided that with a sufficiently high first support, you'd certainly be able to pull yourself up onto the first branches and climb to your spear. There was only one effective way to do this: a horse.

Surprisingly enough, it had worked. It had worked so well that it had angered Ezio, who had been watching the whole scene in the hope that you'd end up making a fool of yourself and proving that you had no place among the eagle clan.

A split second was all it took. You had begun climbing down, having previously dropped your spear to the ground, when a sudden jolt made you lose your balance. The branch your foot was aiming for slipped away, and your hands suddenly clutched the trunk in a vain attempt to hold on to your body, which you felt falling like a mass toward the ground. The bark burned your skin and cut into its surface as you tried to slow your fall and, fortunately, your feet hit another branch before your body finally hit the ground with an impact you could only imagine would cause severe pain.

Okay, 5 good minutes.

Your forehead pressed against the rough trunk, trying to calm your suffocating breathing. You felt as if your heart was threatening to burst out of your ribcage, its beats hitting your ribs so hard. Your trembling hands, still clasped around the trunk, curled in on themselves, leaving only the bottom of your palm touching the bark that had bruised them.

You didn't want to make a move. You closed your eyes, unable to bear the sight of the ground a few meters below you. You didn't want to move, and anyway, even if you wanted to, the pain radiating from the inside of your hands prevented you from gripping anything. You didn't even dare examine your hands, for fear that the mere act of bringing them towards you would cause you to lose your balance again and end up on the floor.

And even when your name rolled off Noa's lips, you didn't react. You tried to breathe deeply, trying to calm the heart that had started a race faster than it could keep up with, but you couldn't get rid of the fear that had gripped your insides the moment you fell.

Fear. You felt it keenly now. It ran through your veins and forced you to hug the trunk as tightly as you could, undeniably tightening your legs around the branch you'd suddenly found yourself sitting on. It was fear, too, that made you jump when a large hand came to rest gently on your shoulder.

Noa.

Unlike you, he had climbed with incredible speed and fluidity. His build was made for it. His hands, his feet, all his muscles - everything was designed to enable him to pull himself up any structure without difficulty.

He gave your shoulder a gentle squeeze, urging you to look at him, but you stubbornly kept your eyes closed, your forehead almost wishing it could sink deeper into the bark which would most likely leave a mark on your skin.

A soft hoot escaped his mouth, hoping that this time you'd turn your head towards him, but fear gnawed at your stomach too much to dare move a muscle.

And yet, you had to.

You wanted to rage at yourself for your inability to move, for your stupidity in climbing that tree, for your stupidity in not being smarter and realizing that your body wasn't made for such a feat. For not having enough strength or balance or dexterity. But your trail of destructive thoughts ended when you felt the knuckles of Noa's fingers brush gently against your cheek, carefully beckoning for your attention.

His thicker, rougher skin turned out to be much more tender than it first appeared, and your eyelids fluttered at his touch before opening fully, allowing your eyes to look at him.

His cheeks puffed up slightly letting out a gust of air, twice as content that he'd got what he wanted and that you'd accepted his touch. How about thrice as content when his scent, faint as it was, had just mingled with yours in the exact spot where his knuckles had landed.

His hand clung to the tree trunk again, and your skin felt quite cold all of a sudden as it lost his touch.

"Come." His low voice danced in your eardrums.

He locked eyes with you and promptly adjusted his posture to match with where you stood, making it easier for you to slide onto his back. And if fear had made you reluctant to leave your pitiful safety on that branch, it was quickly swept away when Noa gently grabbed your wrist and wrapped your right arm around his neck.

The sudden proximity of your face to his enclosed you in a protective bubble that belonged only to the two of you. You couldn't remember ever having seen him look at you in such a warm, loving way, and the softness of his green eyes felt like a barely perceptible touch, only leaving you longing for more. A brief floating moment in which you were both ready to lose yourself as his fur tingled the skin of your bare forearm, and you almost thanked it for keeping your feet on the ground.

What could he possibly see through you to look at you in this way?

When you took the time to look at him, you saw strength, benevolence and an insatiable desire to meet the needs and expectations of his clan; you saw reliability, commitment and, more than anything else, safety. He didn't have to do much to make all these things shine through in his features. Through it all, Noa was radiant to your eyes. And you were easily swept away in languid admiration if you weren't careful.

And then there was you. Unable to climb a tree. So what did he see within you?

You left the safe mental bubble in which you'd both found yourselves entangled inside to finally hoist yourself fully onto his back, wrapping your legs around his slimmer waist and your arms around his powerful shoulders.

In less time than it took to say it, you were back on solid ground for an inspection of your wounds.

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You hadn't been here very long, but you could already feel your thigh muscles screaming with discomfort, in this position so unnatural to you.

Not wanting to fight the tugging sensation, you let yourself fall on your bum, choosing a cross-legged position, more comfortable and less demanding for your… weak muscles.

The water clung to the fabric of your pants with little splashes, gradually flooding the inside of your shoes in the process. Although the coolness sent shivers down your spine, it didn't stop you from contemplating your body's constitution with a certain contempt.

An unsuitable jaw. Delicate skin. Weak muscles. It was an inevitable conclusion shared by many.

You could see them now. Those stares.

Those stares that said "weird".

Those stares that said "weak".

Those stares that said " not belonging ".

And the more you saw yourself in the waves of that river, the more you realized they were right. You didn't belong.

A raindrop slammed into your reflection, just above your cheek, creating a halo of tiny waves that distorted the features of your face. Then another raindrop clattered with a silent " splash ", and yet another, until it blurred your vision.

It was only when you had wiped the tears from your eyes that you noticed the reflection of a second figure appearing beside yours.

Without bothering to look directly at him, you let out a deep sigh when his shoulder brushed yours as Noa came to crouch beside you. His eyes were glued to your reflection as it danced in the gentle swell.

What did his irises see within your reflection?

You sensed a form of understanding, as if he knew what was going round and round in your head, and in a slight moment of comfort, you felt his shoulder press so lightly against yours that, if you didn't know better, you might have thought it a mere happenstance.

"you belong here." The light touch on your shoulder seemed to tell, and a tear dropped down your cheek again, "Look at me," it seemed to tell him. "I'm looking at you," his careful gaze told you. A second tear joined the first, " Look at me properly." and he huffed through his nose, confident but eventually his eyes acknowledged and conceded to your human condition. Another tear rolled down your skin, clinging for dear life to the tip of your chin before crashing into the water, "you see it now". Noa shifted his eyes away from your reflection, "I see it", putting an end to the silent talk.

His reflection disappeared from the surface of the water, leaving only a sensation of emptiness as his massive body moved from its spot beside you.

Noa glanced back at you, watching you curl into yourself, still sadly obsessed by a reflection he could only find beautiful.