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it's the fact that throughout "the cruel prince," jude says that cardan is smirking slyly or grinning cruelly, but really he's just smiling at her because she makes him nervous 😭. like the whole book she thinks that he's out to get her and wants her dead, but bro is infact just so down bad for her that just looking at her makes him so giddy and flustered and nervous like a schoolgirl

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i wholeheartedly believe that cardan would be like a boy cat with jude. like when she does her makeup, he would just sit there and watch her, smiling when she dabs her brush across his cheeks. he would be a bit shy about asking for affection and would hint at it subtly by leaning against her. not even mentioning the fact that cardan himself reminds me of a cat. like, it just makes so much sense to me.

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writing 02: helloo! here is a short scene/fanfic that i wrote about Bucky. even though it isn't in the format i usually write, i thought i would post it, anyway! i'm trying to get comfortable with posting my writing here. keep in mind: my fmc default name is jane. it's not based on anyone, i just enjoy using the name.

there are no trigger warnings, other than men being idiots!

side note: i haven't exactly proofread this scene, since i just wanted to get it done and publish it here! in the future, i will obviously go over it and read/proofread to make it better. happy reading + please don't steal my work.

⊱ ────── {⋅. ✯ .⋅} ────── ⊰

You and Bucky have been working together for months. You’d just barely gotten used to his whiskey gaze and silent agreements when you were assigned together.

You’d been running from your ex, who’d been chasing you around the building for the last few minutes.

Bucky’s hand gripped your arm, steadying you as you bumped into his broad chest. He didn’t say anything, as usual, but an idea suddenly popped into your head.

You whispered a raspy, “Please for the love of God, play along,” before pressing your mouth to his.

He was initially shocked—obviously—but after a few seconds, and much to your astonishment, he leaned into it. The fingers of his left hand tangled in your hair, while those on his right melded into your hip, tugging you closer.

You fully expected him to push you away, or worse, speed in the opposite direction before you had the chance to kiss him. Which is why you’re filled with a sense of shock that not only is he not pushing you away, but he’s kissing you back.

You’re aware of the extra presence in the room, but it doesn’t register who it could possibly be. Not until you hear the clearing of a throat and pull away from Bucky’s warmth. You stand in front of him, looking at the person who had just entered the room. It was your ex, whom you had forgotten was chasing you in the first place. After all, how were you supposed to remember that when Bucky Barnes, the office grump, had practically melted when you kissed him?

“Javier,” you speak, your voice a pathetic form of shakiness. “I didn’t notice…” You stop midsentence. Were you supposed to say that you didn’t notice him? After you had run from him for the past few minutes? “Um, I don’t think you’ve met my boyfriend.”

His eyes widened briefly, but you went on, regardless.

“Javier, this is Bucky. Bucky, Javier.”

You nearly jump out of your skin when you feel Bucky’s arm encircle your waist, pulling you directly against his chest.

“You’re joking,” Javier scoffs. “You’re dating him? Seriously? This is a joke, right?”

“I’m not joking.”

“So, what, you expect me to believe that you left me for this convicted murderer?”

You can feel Bucky tensing up behind you. The words that tumble out of your mouth as rushed.

“That’s not true!”

“Come on, babe. You’ve seen the news stories. He’s a killer.”

You cringed at him calling you babe. The two of you have been broken up for months, but suddenly the girl that he cheated on you with decides she doesn’t want to be in that relationship anymore and he comes running back to you? No, he chases you around your place of work, without a single doubt that you don’t want him back.

“He was brainwashed by HYDRA. None of what he did was his doing.”

Bucky’s thumb circles around your hip and you nearly fall back against him. Who needs working legs, anyway?

“You don’t seriously believe that, do you?” Javier interrupts. “Oh, you do. You actually believe that.” His head tilts mockingly. “He’s a serial killer and you’re making excuses for him. That’s pathetic.”

“What’s pathetic,” Bucky pipes up, “is the fact you had to chase a woman down to be with you.”

“I didn’t chase her down,” Javier retorts, but his voice sounds shakier than when he was speaking to you. “Jane and I are meant to be together. We just hit a little bump in the road of our relationship.”

“We didn’t hit a bump! You cheated on me!”

“Details, details,” he dismissed.

“Nevermind the fact that you sound like a psychopath, Jane is taken. She’s dating someone. Me. I suggest you take several steps back, find your way out of the building, and never contact her again.”

“I don’t have to listen to you,” Javier scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest defensively.

Bucky steps in front of you, making sure that you’re staying behind him before advancing on your former boyfriend. Said ex-boyfriend steps back immediately, cowering in fear of the man in front of him.

“You’re right. You don’t. But you’ve seen what I can do. You’re a smart man, aren’t you, Javier? Get out of this building and never bother Jane again.”

“This is a-absurd! She can’t possibly be dating you.”

“Why not?”

“You’re a freak!”

You step in front of Bucky, protectively. “He’s not a freak. He’s better than you in every way.”

Javier scoffs in disbelief. “Yeah, right.”

“Goodbye, Javi.”

Your ex looks like he wants to fire something back, but then he notices the look in Bucky’s eyes. If looks could kill, Javier Perez would be six feet in the ground.

He stumbles out of the room, towards the stairwell and exits the building.

“Thank you,” you breathed, stepping back and looking up at the man that has saved you hours upon hours of hounding from your ex.

Bucky nodded in response, brushing over his suit, getting rid of all the remaining crinkles in the fabric.

“Um, well, I should get back to work.”

Bucky grunted as a response, watching you as you walked back to your cubicle and finished your work for the day.

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writing 01: hellooo! i want to post my writings on here! this one is not a fanfic or based on any characters, other than the ones in my head. my default character names are christian + jane, for future reference!

there aren't any trigger warnings for this scene. it's based on a prompt by @whump-galaxy where jane cleans up christian's injuries. i'm always open to suggestions or recs that you want to see me write.

side note: i haven't exactly proofread this scene, since i just wanted to get it done and publish it here! in the future, i will obviously go over it and read/proofread to make it better. happy reading + please don't steal my work.

𐙚˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩

“Hold still.”

Christian’s response comes out as a grumble. I’m not entirely sure that he’s even said anything, to be quite honest. It sounds like more of a grunt than a grumble, really. I focus my attention back on him, wiping his bloodied lip with a moist cloth. I, then, proceed to wipe his right cheek, which has been slashed somehow. The blood here is dried up, but he still winces when I swipe the red liquid away.

My guess is a bar fight, but I don’t think he’s in the particular mood to talk about it. Or talk about anything at all. Not that he ever talks about anything with me in general. So, really, what’s the difference? If he doesn’t want to answer the question, no one’s forcing him.

“What happened?” My voice comes out a bit more timid and shaky than I’d like.

He doesn’t respond, of course. Just stares at me like he’s plotting my murder. AKA, the usual.

I grab a gel ice pack from the freezer and press it to his bruised eye. It’s already turning black. Wonderful; just wonderful. Why couldn’t I have married someone who’s a stranger to violence? I’m not a nurse. I shouldn’t be cleaning up his face because he let someone else have their way with it.

I tilt his chin up, assessing the damage. Black eye, bruised face, blood seeping down his lips, and… is that dirt? How the hell did he get dirt on his face? Did he wrestle someone in a barn? Really, Christian? Really?

Just then I notice something. As I’m tilting his head to get a better look at it, his eyes flutter closed—no really, they flutter closed—like a butterfly. I can see the exhaustion seeping through his features in a way that I hadn’t noticed before. Maybe it was because I didn’t want to notice. I didn’t want to see that he’s human, just like I am. If you cut him, he’ll bleed. He’s not untouchable; no matter how much he claims to be.

His head relaxes in my hand and his breathing starts to even out. I place the ice pack on the counter beside his legs and continue wiping the blood off his beautifully bruised face. I enjoy the fact that he’s letting me do this without complaining. Without pushing me away. I kind of wish he did push me away. I don’t want to see him weak; it makes me feel things I shouldn’t.

“Bar fight,” he mutters underneath his breath.

I nod once. “I see. And what, pray tell, brought on this fight? I mean, I get it. You’re a naturally frustrating person. Who wouldn’t want to fight you? But, like, did you go to the bar specifically for a fight or did it happen randomly? God, please tell me you didn’t walk up to the biggest guy there and pick a fight with him. You’re smarter than that. Usually. Wait, is this about the argument we had yesterday? I told you—”

“Do you ever stop talking?” he interrupts. “No, I didn’t go for a fight. It happened on its own.”

I press the ice pack back to his bruised eye, using my free hand to wipe some dirt off his forehead with my thumb. I feel like a mother bird, cleaning her child. And whoa, that’s not where I want my brain to be headed. Because I’m not a mother bird. I’m his wife. Sure, it was an arranged marriage and we’ve never really had a real conversation before, but still.

“Why is there dirt on you? Did you fight in the desert or something?”

“No,” he sighs. “It was a cowboy bar.”

I try to hold in my laugh; I really do, but it bubbles out nonetheless. “You, tough guy of the century, went to a cowboy bar? Did you wear a hat? Oh my God, did you buy some boots? Maybe wear a buttoned-up flannel? Did you—”

“Jane. Stop talking. Please.”

“Right. Yeah, okay. My bad. But did you?”

“No, I didn’t wear a Goddamn hat, or boots, or flannel. Can we drop this now?”

I nod profusely, probably too much. I definitely look like one of those bobbleheads. I’ll shut up. But there’s no way I’m not bringing up the fact that Christian went to a cowboy bar, like, every single time we have company for the foreseeable future.

Embarrassing him will be my new job. That’s what wifes are for, isn’t it?

I get distracted and start carding my fingers through his hair. It feels very tangled. I don’t even notice that I’ve dropped the ice pack until my brain connects the fact that both my hands are now in his hair, combing through the strands. Why is it so tangled? Doesn’t he own a brush?

“What are you doing?” His voice cuts through my thoughts. More specifically, the sound of it does. Deep, raspy, hoarse. AKA, the hottest way a man can speak. Granted, the hottest way Christian can speak is to not speak at all, but this is a close second.

“Hm?”

But he doesn’t respond. Instead, he tilts his head back, making no move to stop me. His breathing sounds ragged at this point and I can’t tell if that has anything to do with me or if I’m imagining the entire thing. Maybe this entire encounter isn’t even happening. Maybe I’m daydreaming again. Or worse, I’m asleep. Dreaming about him would be catastrophic for my brain. My thoughts are chaotic enough. I don’t need to confuse them even more.

“Jane,” he mumbles.

“Yeah?”

I’m scratching his scalp at this point. A rather intimate gesture, but I can’t stop myself from enjoying the quiet tenderness of the moment we’re sharing. He doesn’t seem so scary when he’s relaxed like this.

“Take the pack off?”

It takes me a second to figure out what he means. What pack? You expect me to think of anything but the way you’re relaxing under my fingers, Christian? You expect me to think clearly right now?

Then, I look down and notice that the ice pack I had dropped at some point in the last five minutes is resting on his lap. On top of his dick, to be more precise. And it’s cold. Which can feel nice there, I guess. It’s not like I haven’t experimented with that. But maybe that’s not what he needs right now.

I pull the pack off his lap and step away to put it back in the freezer. When I turn around, Christian’s standing directly in front of me. Of course, I slam right into his chest. Why wouldn’t I? Firstly, there’s my luck with, oh, I don’t know, anything ever. But then there’s the fact that he moved right in my way. What did he expect? I’m not a psychic. I can’t tell when he moves. He’s a ninja. My husband is a ninja.

“Thanks,” he grunts, like it physically pains him to say that one word to me.

“Yeah. No worries. I mean, you were hurt. What was I gonna do? Let you bleed out? I suppose I could’ve done that. Really, I would have no problem doing that. You’re very capable of taking care of yourself. I’m also very capable. I’m sure you’ve figured that out. Yep. So, I’m gonna shut up now. Goodnight.”

He grabs my wrist before I can make any move to walk away.

“I hate sleeping alone.”

I’m so shocked by the words, I have to pinch my arm to make sure I’m not dreaming. Nope. Not dreaming. And that hurt.

“Oh. That sucks. Really, that’s… unfortunate.”

He stares at me, dumbfounded. “Now is the time where you minimize your word count?”

My eyes widen. “Oh, was that an invitation? Do you want me to sleep with you? In your bed? I can do that, I guess. It’s just that the whole time we’ve lived together, you’ve never once asked me to, so I just… um, didn’t. Obviously, I have no problem sleeping with you. In your bed. Under your sheets. That smell like you. Not that you have a distinct smell. I definitely didn’t notice anything like that. Well, since we’re bringing it up, I might as well—”

His hand claps over my mouth.

“Stop talking,” he sighs. “It was more of a statement than an invitation, but you’re more than welcome to sleep in my bed. Especially after you… took care of me tonight.” He pauses. “Would you like to?”

I open my mouth to respond, but he interrupts me. Again.

“Nod or shake your head.”

I nod in response.

“Great. Just don’t kick me in your sleep.”

I push his hand away. “How do you know about that?”

“I have my ways.”

He then leads me to his bedroom, our hands intertwined together, which feels even more intimate than me taking care of his face in the kitchen.

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someone give me ideas for bucky barnes one-shots !!

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i love how we have all accepted the fact that if bucky were to be in a relationship, he would call his s/o "doll."