#Collateral OC

[thephonemenarentreal]

This Conglomerate baby has appeared a few times in doodles...but now doing their proper art c:

Collateral is known as the Butcher of the Bilges and is a rather feared individual in the Conglomerate. Although they rarely leave the belly of the ship, their reputation proceeds them and also the fact they are best friends/possibly a creation of Simulcast.

More lore under the cut <3

Collateral was NOT originally a TV. They are currently wearing the head of Simulcast's former Vice-engineer when she got upset with them. Collateral liked the shape of their head and decided to wear it.

In fact, most of Collateral's body is not their original body as they pick and choose parts they like from units and replace themselves constantly. What they were or who, is long lost.

It is believed that Simulcast created them as a test for her Titan AI program. She has neither confirmed nor denied this. However she and Collateral are very close friends with the later being very quick to come to her defense.

Since they aren't actually a TV, they don't teleport or produce the mist.

Collateral always has the same expression on the screen which tends to freak people out more, especially as they always talk in the same flat , rather cheerful and foggy voice.

They are extremely quiet and have a habit of sneaking up on people. They also can stand very still and even stop their processing to appear dead, or a corpse to spring up.

Collateral often compliments people by their parts. These should be taken with a bit of fear as it is well known when Collateral likes something, they would really like to have it to either switch out something of theirs or add to their collection of "aesthetically pleasing" things.

They don't talk much, usually just humming or chuckling. When they do speak, it is always in very short sentences and simple words, mostly as they don't like to talk for long times.

Collateral likes to watch movies, especially animated ones, and like to collect stuffed animals to add to their lair.

Their favorite way of taking out units is to remove the heads through the use of a pizza cutter-esque weapon with extremely brutal force as it leaves the body unmarred for harvesting.

Units that have pissed off the higher ups are thrown down in the "Bilges" which is a labyrinth of hallways and rooms filled with spare parts and dead units. Here, Collateral roams about hunting down those units, taking them, out, and disassembling them in their lair.

Collateral's lair is full of things they like to collect and they are a bit of a hoarder. A trait they share with Simulcast, so often the items in their lair are actually hers and they are just guarding it.

In fact, the Bilge is full of strange collections of items. Collateral though is more than happy to go through the horde to find items for Mr. Vector if he believes it is there, like a rare collectible or the like.

Those units that escape are given a second chance to do better. Not many make it out and usually those that do were not "interesting" to Collateral to chase, that is, they weren't "pretty" or Collateral was told to spare certain ones and just give them a good scare.

Collateral likes to use the parts they like best to make their own units, although they are inactive and empty. Collateral sets them up in scenes and talks to them like a child playing tea party. The Bilge is full of these cobbled together units.

Collateral doesn't like leaving the Bilge, but will do so for parties with Simulcast or on special missions where a rat needs to be tracked down.

They are an honorary Recycler, although even Mr. Vector is careful about handling Collateral as they are dangerous. The only person that seems able to completely control Collateral is Simulcast, which gives more credence to the rumors she created the macabre unit.

Collateral likes the chase and has even said "Playing with food is very nice."

When asked what kind of unit they are, Collateral can't answer the question, simply saying "I am what I am. The prettiest parts,"

Collateral collects the fluids from units carefully saying the need to "feed the little titan" which a reference to the half-formed Titan in the bowels of the Pleasure Cruise that is carefully being created and seems to need the blood of units...or maybe Collateral just thinks that.

When Simulcast is asked, she won't say anything to most people, however to those in the know, she will admit that Collateral is a "prototype" for a different kind of Titan AI based on her initial plans. A failed one though, but a good means of research for her V2.

------- Simulcast's notes: Collateral is very loyal and good at what they do, but social functions are not there and a need to constantly replace parts as the AI is unable to handle self repair correctly. Going to need some tweaking and more prototyping of models before making V1 "Titan: Chthonic Protocol"

At least I got someone in my corner to keep my back safe as I work on my Magnus Opus!

[shortnspidey]

JUNO

Bucky Barnes x Fem!Stark!reader || WC: 6.3K

SUMMARY: Everyone’s drawn to you, it’s part of what makes you so special, and one of the first things Bucky fell in love with. He admires the way you light up every room, the way people naturally gravitate toward you. But it also means he's constantly sharing you with the world. So one weekend, he decides to take you away from it all, just you, him, and the time he's been craving.

WARNINGS: INCLUDES SMUT (18+) Literally all fluff, clingy Bucky, platonic everyone x reader, set after Thunderbolts* but there are NO spoilers, lots of sexual tension & kissing, unprotected p in v, body worship, oral (female receiving), breeding/praise kink, possessive!Bucky

A/N: Based on my Collateral Hearts series but can be read as a standalone! This is my first time ever writing smut so please proceed with caution! Miss Sabrina has corrupted me with her sensual songs! Who else is excited for Man’s Best Friend?! 🙋🏻‍♀️

➩ main masterlist

➩ series masterlist

➩ bucky barnes masterlist

Bucky loved that you were well-liked, adored, even, especially by his new teammates. People naturally gravitated toward you. You had a natural charisma that allowed everyone to feel comfortable around you in a short period of time. Hell it was on of the many reasons as to why Bucky fell in love with you. But right now? He all but hated it.

Ever since moving into the Watchtower, it felt like he barely saw you anymore. Mornings used to start with you curled up beside him, the soft rhythm of your breathing syncing with his, your fingers finding his even in sleep. Sunlight would filter in through the curtains, casting lazy patterns across your tangled limbs and the bare stretch of your shoulder where the blanket had slipped.

Now, half the time, he woke up alone, your side of the bed already cold. The bed always felt too big without you in it. Sometimes it was Yelena who stole you away before dawn, coaxing you into early-morning workouts with the promise of post-training pancakes. Other times, it was Ava, needing a 'worthy' sparring partner. You took the hits, gave them back twice as hard, and came home with bruises you waved off.

Then there were the weekends you spent away, Pepper and Morgan. No matter how much he wanted to go, it always seemed like last minute missions dragged him away. You’d always call him, voice chirping through the phone promising to be back soon. But “soon” never felt soon enough. Sometimes Kate or Peter whisked you off into the city, for coffee, errands, or just something spontaneous and chaotic.

You always said yes, always too sweet to turn them down, even when he could see the exhaustion in your shoulders. Even when he wished you’d stay. Then there was Alexei, roping you into helping with one of his latest “experimental” kitchen masterpieces. You played along, though Bucky was pretty sure your true motivation was making sure the kitchen didn’t spontaneously combust. He’d watch you from the hallway, laughing through the chaos as you tried to wrestle a spatula from Alexei’s hand.

Bob was quieter, more subtle, inviting you out to bookstores or record shops with that shy smile of his, slipping you away for hours without anyone noticing. Bucky noticed. He always noticed. Even Alpine, your spoiled, smug little cat, got more time with you than he did. She curled into your lap like she owned you, purring contentedly as you worked or read, giving him that self-satisfied feline stare that somehow made him feel like the third wheel in his own relationship.

He didn’t blame them. Not really.

He knew what it was like to want to be near you. You were the kind of person people clung to without realizing they needed to. He understood that better than anyone. But still... call him spoiled, call him selfish, but he had grown used to having you all to himself. The soft silences. The late-night whispers. The quiet reassurances no one else got to hear. Which is why he had a plan to keep you all to himself. Bucky had been awake long before the first hint of dawn began to warm the skyline outside the Watchtower’s windows.

For once, he wasn’t watching the clock tick down to your departure, he was preparing to stop it altogether. About an hour before your alarm was set to buzz, he reached across the nightstand in the dark, silencing it with a flick of his thumb. Then, with a quiet exhale, he shifted toward you, strong arms sliding around your waist and pulling you back against the solid heat of his chest. Your skin was warm and soft beneath the covers, your breathing still deep and even.

For a few precious seconds, he simply held you, burying his face in the curve of your neck, breathing you in. The faint scent of your shampoo clung to your hair, sweet and familiar, something he swore he could never get enough of. He pressed a soft kiss to your shoulder, then another to the space just below your ear, scruff brushing against your skin as he did. You stirred, just barely. Your body tensed for a split second, instinctively aware it was time to start your day.

Your internal clock, honed by routine, nudged at you to slip out of bed and head down to the gym to meet Yelena and Ava. But of course, your super-soldier fiancé had other plans. Plans that involved making it incredibly difficult for you to leave. Before you could so much as stretch, Bucky tightened his grip, strong arms flexing around your waist to pull you back flush against him. The warmth of his bare chest pressed to your spine, the beat of his heart slow and steady against your back.

His nose nudged into the crook of your neck, scruff tickling the sensitive skin there as he mouthed lazy kisses along your pulse point, soft, lingering, possessive. A soft sigh escaped your lips, your head instinctively tilting to the side, offering him more skin, more of you. His metal hand found yours under the blankets, cool fingers intertwining with your warmer ones. You didn’t resist. You never did when he touched you like this, slow, intentional, like every movement was a vow.

His legs tangled with yours beneath the sheets, thigh sliding between yours in a way that made it near impossible to move. Not that you wanted to, not when his body heat seeped into every inch of you, not when he was anchoring you so completely to this moment, to him. ��You’re not going anywhere,” He murmured into your skin, voice rough with sleep, lips brushing against the spot that always made you shiver. “Not today, doll.” A small, sleepy smile curved your lips as your fingers tightened around his.

You could feel the way his breath hitched just slightly when your hips shifted back, nestling closer. Maybe Yelena and Ava could manage without you this morning. Just this once. You lips curled with amusement and affection, loving just how clingy Bucky was in the mornings, how much he needed to wrap himself around you like a super-soldier sized blanket, as if keeping your body close could somehow shut out the rest of the world. Oh, how far the two of you had come. “Big, bad, brooding super soldier…”

Your voice was soft, still heavy with sleep, but laced with teasing warmth as you turned in his arms to face him. Your legs shifted against his under the covers, tangling tighter. Your arms slid up around his neck, fingers brushing over the edge of his jaw as you pulled him in until your noses nearly touched. The heat of his breath mingled with yours, slow and heavy, like neither of you was in any hurry. "You’ve grown soft, Barnes.” You whispered, voice dripping with playful smugness.

Bucky’s eyes flickered down to your lips, his gaze hooded and hungry. “Mmm,” He rumbled, head tipping slightly into your touch as your fingers raked through his messy, sleep-tousled hair. He let out a low groan, that deep, gravelly kind that always made your skin prickle, especially when you scratched at his scalp just the way he liked, nails grazing along his roots with just enough pressure to make him shiver. You arched a brow, smirking. Point proven.

“Can’t help it, doll,” He murmured, voice dipping even lower, his mouth already dangerously close to your jaw. “You’ve got me all spoiled.” Your laugh came out as a soft, breathy exhale, a little too breathless to be innocent. And before you could fire back with something cheeky, Bucky leaned in and pressed his lips to the curve of your neck, slow, open-mouthed kisses that sent shivers cascading down your spine. You tilted your head instinctively, giving him room, your grip around his neck tightening slightly.

He took full advantage, grazing his teeth against your pulse point before sinking them in just enough to make your breath hitch. “Bucky,” You whispered, half warning, half plea. He chuckled against your skin, low and satisfied, before soothing the bite with a slow, deliberate sweep of his tongue. The heat between your bodies thickened, the space beneath the covers was suddenly too warm. You shifted again, hips brushing against his, the tiniest movement, but enough to feel the way his breath caught.

“As much as I love where this is going…” You murmured between soft, uneven breaths, your voice catching slightly as Bucky’s teeth gently tugged at your earlobe, sending a shiver cascading down your spine. His tongue flicked over the spot to soothe it, and you let out a soft moan, fingers curling instinctively into the hair at the nape of his neck. “I’ve gotta go downstairs before Yelena breaks down the door.” You whispered, trying to sound authoritative.

Yet, the conviction in your voice faltered when he pressed himself closer, all muscle and heat, pinning you beneath the weight of his affection. Bucky shook his head slowly, deliberately, his stubble scraping against the sensitive skin of your neck as he exhaled a warm, lazy breath. “Not today,” His voice didn’t leave room for argument. “You’re mine for the weekend.” You tilted your head, brows raising in amused disbelief, though your body betrayed you, arching subtly, craving more contact, more of him.

“Oh?” You teased, breathless, your fingers dancing down his spine under the sheets, feeling the way his muscles flexed in response to your touch. “And what exactly does that mean, Sergeant?” He pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes smoldering with a look that made your stomach flip. His gaze flicked down to your lips, then dragged slowly back up to meet your eyes with a lazy, knowing smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I already packed our bags,” He brushed his nose against yours, voice dipped in that slow, rough drawl that always turned your knees to jelly.

“You and me. Hotel suite. Privacy. Room service. A giant bed with no interruptions. And a whole lot more of this.” His hand slid from your waist to your thigh, fingers gripping and pulling until your leg was hitched over his hip. The shift brought your bodies impossibly close, so that you could feel a very prominent bulge, between you both. His metal hand cradled the back of your neck, the coolness contrasting deliciously with the heat building between you. Then he kissed you, not soft, not teasing.

His mouth claimed yours with a hunger that had simmered beneath the surface all week. Lips parted, breath mingling, and then his tongue slid against yours in a slow, deliberate sweep that made your toes curl under the sheets. He tasted like sleep and warmth, like something familiar and utterly addictive. You responded just as eagerly, pulling him closer with a quiet, breathless whimper, your fingers tangling in his hair again, nails dragging against his scalp to coax out another low groan from deep in his chest.

His teeth grazed your bottom lip, catching it just enough to make you gasp, and then he soothed the sting with a lazy flick of his tongue, sensual, unhurried, like he was savoring every inch of you. The kiss deepened, grew slower and heavier, full of unspoken promises and heat that made your thighs clench around him. By the time he finally pulled away, his lips were swollen, his chest rising and falling just a bit faster, matching your own ragged breath.

His forehead rested against yours, and when he looked at you, there was nothing but lust and devotion burning in those storm-blue eyes. “Privacy, huh?” You whispered, grinning against his lips. “That sounds dangerously tempting.” He grinned back, eyes flickering with a flash of lust and mischief. “Good. Because I’m not sharing you this weekend. Not even with Alpine.” You let out a laugh, breathless and light, your fingers brushing over the stubble along his jaw. “She’s going to be deeply offended.”

“She’ll live,” He shrugged, kissing your cheek, then your jaw, then down your neck with renewed purpose. “But me? I might not. I need you, doll. All of you.” And from the way his hands roamed, slow and possessive, from the way his mouth claimed your skin like he was memorizing it all over again, you believed him. You lay together in a haze of half-lidded glances and lingering fingertips, your thigh draped over his hip, his hand splayed low on your back, as if letting go of you might break the spell.

The silence was soft, intimate. A kind of quiet only earned by two people who knew each other completely. Every now and then, his mouth would brush your shoulder, your collarbone, the hollow of your throat, not with urgency, but reverence. Like he was reminding himself that you were really here. That he didn’t have to share you yet. Eventually, as much as neither of you wanted to move, the idea of privacy, true privacy, pulled you both from the comfort of the sheets.

You slipped out of bed first, bare legs brushing cool hardwood as you padded to the dresser, and Bucky’s gaze followed you like a shadow. His Henley, the one you’d stolen off his side of the floor, hung loosely over your frame as you gathered what you needed, catching his smirk in the mirror when your shoulder peeked out from the stretched collar. He moved slower, watching you beneath hooded lids as he tugged on a dark t-shirt, one that clung just right to the lines of his chest.

His fingers brushed yours more than necessary while you finished packing, every accidental touch lingering too long, every stolen glance speaking volumes neither of you said out loud. Before leaving, Bucky moved to the nightstand and, with deliberate ease, turned both of your phones off. Then he tossed them into the drawer and shut it with a soft click, a clear, quiet declaration. This weekend wasn’t for notifications. For distractions. For anyone else.

With that, the two of you slipped down the hallway like a secret, hands brushing, steps slow and careful. The tower was quiet for once, the buzz of conversation strangely absent. You passed the main floor where the sunlight pooled in warm patches across the tile, and just as you reached the elevator, a quiet rustle of pages caught your attention. Bob sat in one of the oversized armchairs by the couch, a book in one hand, the other cradling a half-empty mug, brows raising as he looked up.

He didn't say anything, just gave the two of you a knowing look over the rim of his cup and turned the page, eyes dropping back to his book. Bucky didn’t even glance over. He just reached for your hand, lacing his fingers through yours and pulling you gently into the elevator. The doors slid closed with a quiet chime. The car ride was calm, quiet. You rested your head on Bucky’s shoulder, fingers still twined as they rested on your thigh, the city slowly unfolding outside the tinted windows. The farther away you got from the Watchtower, the more your shoulders dropped.

Maybe you really did need this.

The hotel was tucked away in the quieter part of Manhattan, tall, sleek, with understated elegance. Marble floors, tall windows with sheer curtains that caught the light, staff that didn’t ask questions when Bucky checked in under an alias and insisted on the penthouse. He kept you close at his side, his hand firm at your waist as you walked through the lobby, brushing against you just enough to keep your body warm with anticipation. The elevator to the top floor was silent, save for the soft chime as you rose higher.

You could feel his eyes on you the entire way up, as if he was counting down the seconds. The suite itself was breathtaking. Floor-to-ceiling windows wrapped around the room, bathing everything in soft, ambient light of the heart-shaped candles. The bed was enormous, dressed in layers of cloud-like linens and plush pillows. A fireplace flickered in the corner, and beyond a set of French doors, was a balcony, offering the hush of the city far below. Bucky didn’t say a word as he dropped the bags to the floor.

He simply walked past you to the windows, drawing the curtains slowly, blocking out the world in measured movements. The light dimmed, shadows deepened. And you could feel it again, that weight between you. The heavy, unresolved tension that had followed you all morning. The quiet wasn’t awkward. It was thick, charged, humming with the ache of everything you hadn’t done yet. You stood there, still, your pulse tapping just under your skin, watching the way Bucky’s broad shoulders moved as he stepped back toward you.

His eyes locked onto yours like you were the only thing in the room that mattered. He stopped just close enough for you to feel the heat radiating off him, his hands hovering, not quite touching, as if waiting for permission. You gave it, without a word. He stood there, quiet and still, but his eyes said everything, dark, slow-burning, full of hunger. His hands lifted, finally closing that small space between you, one brushing a loose strand of hair behind your ear while the other rested at your waist, thumb pressing gently into the dip of your hipbone.

He kissed you like the world had stopped. Like there was nothing else, no time, no place, just the two of you, and this quiet room. It started slow. His lips moved against yours with aching patience, savoring you. You found yourself clutching his shirt, pulling him impossibly closer. You could feel the restraint in the way he held you, the quiet tension in his shoulders, in his hands, like he was trying not to overwhelm you, not to take too much too fast. But you didn’t want restraint, not today.

You wanted all of him.

As if reading your mind, he lifted you into his arms without breaking the kiss, carrying you to the bed like you were something priceless. He laid you down gently, settling in between your thighs like you were sacred. His eyes never left yours as he hovered above you, thumb stroking over your cheek as you instinctively wrapped your legs around his hips. You could feel the restraint in the way he held you, the quiet tension in his shoulders, in his hands, like he was trying not to overwhelm you, not to take too much too fast.

"Bucky," You gasped against his mouth, your voice thick with need. “Stop being so damn careful. I need you, all of you.” You nipped at his lower lip, a sharp spark of impatience. A low growl vibrated in his chest, a sound both feral and tender. Your plea finally snapped the last fragile thread of his restraint. He pulled back just enough to look at you, his gaze blazing with sudden intensity. The tenderness didn't vanish; it transformed, becoming possessive, hungry.

His hands slid down your sides, palms rasping deliciously against the thin fabric of his your shirt before finding the hem and pulling it up and over your head in one smooth motion. Then, with a quiet exhale, he leaned back on his heels just enough to reach for the collar of his own shirt. You sat there, breath caught, watching with parted lips as his fingers gripped the hem. And then he lifted. It was deliberate, the kind of slow that made your mouth go dry. The fabric peeled upward, revealing inch by delicious inch of golden skin and muscle.

Every flex and ripple beneath smooth scars catching in the soft light. His abs tensed with the motion, the deep ridges carved with perfect symmetry. His metal arm gleamed with subtle reflections, a stark, beautiful contrast to the warmth of the rest of him. When the shirt finally cleared his head, he tossed it aside without looking, his eyes never leaving yours. You stared. Blatantly. Breathless. You’d seen him shirtless hundreds of times. After training, after missions, in bed beside you in the quiet haze of morning light. But somehow, this felt different.

Intimate. Like every inch of him was bared just for you, not just in body, but in trust. He didn’t smirk. Didn’t tease. He just stood there, letting you look, chest rising and falling as if he felt your gaze like a touch. And you were in awe. Of the sheer strength written into every line of his body. Of the scars he didn’t hide. Of the way he looked at you like you were the only thing that mattered. Your fingers twitched, aching to touch him.

He took a step forward, quiet and slow, and as he knelt onto the bed in front of you again. Your hands rose on instinct, palms flattening against his chest. The heat of his skin radiated beneath your touch, his heart thudding strong beneath your fingertips. Cool air kissed your skin, but it was instantly replaced by the searing heat of his stare as he drank in the sight of your bared torso, clad in a blue lace bra. His flesh hand spanned your ribcage, thumb brushing the underside of your breast.

While his vibranium fingers traced the delicate line of your collarbone with astonishing sensitivity. “You’re so fucking beautiful.” He breathed out dipping his head, not to your mouth this time, but instead to the pulse fluttering wildly at the base of your throat. His lips pressed there, hot, wet, and open-mouthed, then traced a slow, searing path downward. He worshipped the slope of your shoulder, the valley between your breasts with lingering kisses that made you writhe in pure pleasure.

He took one of your peaked nipple into his mouth through the lace of your bra, sucking gently at first, then harder. The wet heat and the scrape of his teeth sending jolts of pure lightning straight to your core. You cried out, fingers tangling in his dark hair, holding him there as he lavished attention on first one breast, then the other, peeling the bra aside with infinite care to expose flushed skin to his hungry mouth and tongue. "Every freckle," He murmured, his voice a low rasp that vibrated in your bones.

"Every curve, I have memorized." His lips followed his hands, kissing a slow, burning trail down your sternum, his tongue swirling around your navel before dipping lower still. He made quick work of your jeans and underwear, stripping them down your legs with efficient grace. “Soaked for me already, and I’ve barely even touched you,” He rasped against your damp skin, his breath ghosting over your sensitized nipple. “Just like I knew you would be.” And then he was kneeling on the floor at the foot of the bed, broad shoulders parting your thighs with gentle insistence.

He paused for a long moment, just looking at you spread bare before him in the dim light. His gaze was dark, possessive, tracing every curve and fold with agonizing slowness. “Mine.” He stated softly, the word a vow that resonated deep in your bones. Then he lowered his head. The first touch of his tongue was a revelation. Not tentative, not teasing, but a broad, flat stroke from the very base of your core up to your clit, gathering your slickness with a low groan of appreciation that vibrated through your entire body.

You arched off the bed with a sharp cry. Bucky Barnes didn’t just go down on you; he worshipped you. His mouth was relentless. He lapped at your entrance, savoring your taste, his tongue delving inside in shallow thrusts before swirling back up to circle your clit with exquisite pressure. His vibranium thumb joined in, rubbing firm, knowing circles just beside that aching nub while his tongue focused its attentions lower, fucking into you with slow, deep strokes that made you see stars.

He alternated, broad licks that covered your entire core, focused suction on your clit that had your hips bucking wildly, deep penetrations with his tongue that mimicked the thrusts you desperately craved from another part of him. His metal hand slid beneath you, gripping your ass, lifting you slightly, angling you perfectly for his mouth. His flesh hand joined the mix, two fingers sliding deep inside you with effortless ease.

They curled upwards in that devastatingly perfect come hither motion that hit just the spot. He hummed against you, the vibration traveling straight to your core, intensifying the coil tightening unbearably low in your belly. "Taste so fuckin' sweet," He growled, his voice muffled against your flesh. "Gonna make you come all over my face. Gonna drink every drop you give me." His eyes, blown with lust, flicked up to yours, holding your gaze as he intensified the pressure, his tongue pressing hard, rapid circles directly on your clit while his fingers pumped deep and fast.

“B-Bucky, I-I’m close.” You moaned out, hands fisting the sheets, knuckles white. “Come for me.” As if his words were a direct order, the orgasm crashed over you like a slow-building wave finally breaking shore, utterly consuming. Your back arched, a choked cry tearing from your throat as your inner walls clenched rhythmically around his fingers. Bucky moaned against you, lapping eagerly, drinking down your release, his tongue gentling to soft, soothing strokes as the tremors subsided, prolonging the aftershocks until you were breathless beneath him. 

Before you could even catch your breath, Bucky surged up over you, his eyes wild with need, lips glistening with your arousal. He shoved his own jeans and briefs down just enough to free his cock, thick, flushed red, veins standing proud, and already weeping at the tip. The sight alone sent a fresh surge of desperate heat through your spent body. He rose above you, his chest heaving, his cock thick and flushed, veins standing proud, glistening with pre-come.

The candlelight caught the silver of his dog tags where they lay against your sweat-slicked chest, shifting slightly with each breath. His gaze fixed on them, then slid to the diamond ring on your finger. A possessive, primal satisfaction settled over his features. His metal hand reached out, not to touch you, but to gently lift the chain of his dog tags, letting the cool metal slide through his fingers before letting them fall back against your skin. "Right where they belong," His thumb then brushed over your ring finger, tracing the band.

"This too." He leaned down, capturing your lips in a deep, claiming kiss, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. "My future wife." He positioned himself at your entrance, the broad head nudging against slick, swollen flesh. “Need to be inside you,” He growled, his voice ragged. “Need it like air. It's been far too long and I’ve waited long enough, baby.” There was no question of protection; the raw need in his eyes, the possessive set of his jaw spoke of something deeper, primal.

He pushed forward with excruciating slowness, his eyes never leaving yours, watching every flicker of sensation across your face. You felt every ridge, every inch of his impressive girth stretching you, filling you impossibly full. He paused when fully sheathed, buried to the hilt, his hips flush against yours. The feeling was profound, a deep, aching fullness, a sense of being utterly claimed. He paused there for a heartbeat, forehead pressed to yours, breathing ragged. “So damn perfect,” He choked out. “Like you were fuckin’ made for me.” 

He began to move then, withdrawing slowly, almost completely, before sliding back in with that same deep, deliberate glide. His thrusts were long and slow, a powerful, rolling motion of his hips that ground his pelvis against your sensitive clit with every deep penetration. His metal hand braced beside your head, his flesh hand slid down to grip your hip, fingers digging in possessively, pulling you onto him with each thrust, ensuring he reached impossibly deep.

He kept his eyes locked on yours, watching every flicker of pleasure cross your face. "Look at you," He groaned, his gaze raking over your face, down your body to where you were joined. "Taking me so deep, so fuckin' perfect." His rhythm remained measured, but each thrust carried undeniable power, a claim. He shifted slightly, angling his hips, and the next deep glide brushed directly against that sweet spot inside, drawing a sharp cry from you. “B-Bucky!” You gasped, reaching to place your arms around his shoulders, nails digging into the flesh, needing something to ground you. 

"There?" He rasped, a feral grin touching his lips. He repeated the angle, hitting that spot with unerring accuracy on every deep stroke now. Each powerful stroke sent a shockwave through your core, forcing a ragged gasp from your lips. "Yes! Bucky, yes! Right there!" You cried out, the words dissolving into a high, desperate whine as the sensation intensified, stealing your breath. "Gonna make you come again, right on my cock, gonna feel you milkin' me."

The pressure built again, coiling tighter, fueled by the relentless friction against your clit, the deep stimulation inside, and the raw possessiveness in his voice and gaze. His thrusts grew fractionally harder, deeper, the bedframe groaning softly in protest His big hand slid from the curve of your hip, fingers digging possessively into the soft flesh of your ass, lifting you higher. He angled you perfectly, driving himself impossibly deeper, stretching you wider.

You wrapped your legs tighter around his sweat-slicked hips, heels digging into the small of his back, anchoring yourself as your head thrashed back against the pillows, a sob tearing from your throat. "Please, Bucky! Need it!" His breath scorched the shell of your ear, his growl a possessive rumble deep in his chest. "Wanna fill you up," He promised, punctuating each word with a brutal shove of his hips that made you see stars. "Wanna pump you full, mark you deep. Make everyone know you’re mine. Only mine."

You felt the primal truth of it in the desperate clench of your own muscles, in the slick gush of arousal coating his cock with every withdrawal. He grunted, a harsh sound of pure lust, his rhythm becoming a frantic piston, slamming into that glorious spot relentlessly. The wet slap of skin on skin filled the room, mingling with your choked cries and his guttural groans. You could feel the tell-tale tightening in your belly, the flutter becoming a frantic pulse triggered by his words, and the exquisite torture of his cock stretching and stroking your inner walls.

"G-Gonna c-come ag-gain." You sobbed, your words barely intelligible. “Oh God, fuck! I'm coming!" The coil snapped. Pleasure detonated, white-hot and shattering, radiating out from your core in violent waves. Your body seized around him, milking him frantically. Feeling your release, his thrusts became frantic, powerful pistons driving deep. He buried himself to the root with a final, guttural groan, his body locking tight as he pulsed hotly inside you. You felt the distinct, thick spurts of his release, flooding your walls, impossibly hot.

He held himself there, buried impossibly deep, grinding his hips against yours as the last pulses left him, his forehead pressed to yours, his breath ragged gasps against your lips. "Mine." He whispered, a satisfied rumble vibrating through his chest and into yours. His metal hand drifted up, his fingers gently tracing the chain of his dog tags resting on your sweat-slicked skin, right over your pounding heart. His thumb found your wedding ring again, rubbing it slowly. "All mine. Filled with me. Marked by me."

He stayed buried inside you, his weight a comforting, possessive anchor, his release a warm, claiming presence deep within, sealing the promise whispered against your skin. A low hum vibrated deep in his chest as he pressed a feather-light kiss to your temple. "Easy," He murmured, the rasp in his voice gentled but still undeniably him. His thumb traced the curve of your cheekbone, wiping away the dampness there, sweat or tears, it didn't matter.

"Just breathe with me, alright? Deep and slow." He demonstrated, drawing in a long, shuddering breath, encouraging you to follow. The overwhelming intensity of release still shimmered through your limbs, leaving you boneless and trembling. With infinite care, he finally slid out of you, a soft, wet sound accompanying the withdrawal that made you whimper softly at the sudden emptiness. You felt the slick warmth he'd pumped into you trickle free onto the already soaked sheets. "Shhh, I got you." He soothed instantly, his big hands moving with surprising tenderness.

One arm hooked beneath your shoulders, the other beneath your knees, and he gathered you close against his chest as he carefully rolled onto his side. The movement brought you flush against the hard planes of his body, skin sticking where sweat hadn't yet dried. Your eyes fluttered shut, letting out a slow exhale as Bucky reached blindly towards the nightstand, fumbling for the soft cotton washcloth. He’d always come prepared. With meticulous care, he began to wipe the sticky evidence of your shared pleasure from your inner thighs and the swollen flesh between them.

The cloth was a shock at first, then soothing against your overheated, sensitive skin. He paid gentle attention to every curve, every fold, his touch reverent now instead of demanding. The sight of his seed mingled with your own slickness on the cloth sent a fresh wave of possessive satisfaction through him, visible in the slight tightening of his jaw before his expression softened again. A slow, utterly sated smile touched his lips as he tossed the cloth aside and pulled the sheet up over both of you, tucking it around your shoulders.

You subconsciously molded into his side as he kissed your forehead, lingering this time. "My good girl.” Nestled against him, surrounded by the scent of sex, sweat, and him, you felt utterly safe. The room was quiet now, save for the soft hum of the city beyond the windows and the steady rhythm of your breathing as you lay tangled in each other under the soft weight of the duvet. Bucky’s arm was wrapped snugly around your waist, holding you to his chest like he was afraid you might slip away again.

Like if he let go, someone else might steal you back. Your fingers traced lazy, aimless patterns along the metal plates of his left arm, marveling at how gentle something so cold and strong could feel. After a long stretch of silence, you finally broke it, your voice low and hoarse, still coated in the haze of what had just passed between you. “You really went all out, huh?” You teased, tipping your chin up to look around the suite, your lips curving with soft disbelief.

It was breathtaking. The kind of romantic gesture that felt pulled from a dream, except it was real, and it was him. The sprawling king-size bed behind you was draped in white linens, now rumpled from your bodies. Champagne rested in an ice bucket on the nearby table, condensation dripping slowly down the glass. Heart-shaped candles flickered across the space. Bucky looked down at you, his expression softened with something that looked like pride, but not the cocky kind. Something quieter. Earnest.

A hint of bashfulness pulled at the corners of his mouth, crinkling the skin at the edges of his eyes in that way you loved. "You deserve the world," He declared quietly, voice rough. “I figured… if I had a whole weekend, I’d make it count.” You bit your lip, emotion swelling in your chest. That was the thing about him, underneath all the muscle and metal and history, he was tender. Thoughtful. So hopelessly, endlessly in love with you. You nestled closer, letting your forehead rest against his collarbone.

Your breath ghosted against the hollow of his throat as you exhaled, pressing a featherlight kiss to the sensitive skin there. Your hand rested over his heart, fingers splayed, feeling the strong, steady thump beneath your palm. His heart. Your home. “You know I’m already marrying you, Bucky.” You whispered against his skin, as the diamond on your ring finger caught the candlelight. You felt it instantly, the subtle stutter of his heartbeat, the breath he inhaled just a little too sharply. His grip around you tightened.

His hand slid up your back, slow and deliberate, fingers spreading wide between your shoulder blades, anchoring you to him like he needed the contact to stay grounded. He held you there, close, like he was trying to memorize the feeling of your body against his. “I know, but I just… wanted to remind you how much I love you.” You lifted your head then, meeting his eyes, eyes that had seen too much and still looked at you like you were something precious.

You kissed him slowly, lips brushing his with quiet gratitude and a love too big for words. “You do,” You whispered when you pulled back. “Every single day. And I'll spend the rest of our lives expressing how much I love you too.” He smiled, that small, rare smile only you ever got to see. Then, without another word, he pulled you into his arms again, pressing his lips to your temple, content to hold you in that quiet, candlelit room where for once, the world had nothing else to ask of you. No missions, no alarms, no interruptions.

Just Bucky and you, exactly where you were meant to be.

Thanks for reading! likes, reblogs, and comments are always appreciated! Feeling generous? Leave a tip!

[letters-of-fire]

another attempt to redraw that scene from Maurice (and also try out new brushes)

[blackrevell]

// Archive Entry: The poetic power of unbridled masculine camaraderie relieving the world of yet another Cold War — all captured within a single photograph, hidden away in the intimacy of one's desk drawer. The reasons of its concealment from the eyes of the curious remains unclear, and we are yet to discover if the decision was driven by hot passion, or hot shame. Or France.

[ manly men & the unfortunate victims courtesy of : @ouroboros-hideout & @olath124 ]

[acrowwithakeyboard]

Not to toot my own horn but this was the most aesthetically cohesive battle we've had. Everyone focusing on the dragon while Gore stays behind me for backup on the auxiliary enemies, Ieama remembering to change to a non AOE spell before getting close range, Auri and Redcap not hitting anyone in the party. It's just Chefs Kiss

Spoiler line is for Head Cannon thoughts on the group learning to work together and small spoilers (info from conversations) for some followers!

Hearkening back to this post, I like to think after her revelation, Ieama has tried to make amends to her fighting style since she cares quite a lot for her friends. But, she is not the best tactician for teams, and she hardly knows how to communicate in the middle of a fight, so it's likely the others who have experience with fighting in groups that help with plans or drills for the party.

Still, she has made attempts at least for taking more restoration spells, a feat she needed the college of Winterhold for, to her chagrin. At least if she does hit someone she can heal them well now, but her goal is to avoid hitting anyone, as she is used to not caring about the splash zones of her spells.

Of the others, Auri had been on her own for a while, and Remiel was looking out for herself for the longest time. Redcap meanwhile is pretty adaptable, working with his tribe, then alone with Anise, then again with a full adventuring party. Xelzaz also was a solitary before they met. For all of them, they all have a more one on one fight style, like Ieama. Xelzaz however seems to have experience at least in expeditions and teaming up for missions more so then the others. Meanwhile, Gore has talked about being taught to plan for and after fights, so I know he would help drill the group on down time for safety reasons. After losing everything he knew to Jo-Lee's machinations, he likely harbors the fear of losing his found family. Not to mention the innumerable times hes shouted directions to Ieama in the heat of a fight ("stand back, down a potion, and let me rip them in half for you-") or offered info on an area's inhabitants ("vampire/spriggan/troll lives nearby.") before the enemy found us. He is young, and was younger still when he was made a lieutenant in the Ravens, a title that entails leadership, management and direction to units, so he had a great deal of responsibility over people. So he's likely to drill the group for ambushes, keep an eye on archer's ammo, remind the team when they need to make a restock trip, and were it not for Xelzaz he'd probably take over food and water inventory as well.

Val, as a pirate captain, and all that entails, would have good battle plans and contingencies. He's of a a keen mind for both diplomacy and made good investment into his reputation, and also the added bonus of him being able to think on his feet is a good skill. Val also has age on his side, and with that a good deal of experience to share. But unlike Gore, he kept his cards close with the full extent of his plans, or, he only thinks halfway through and plays it by ear as he goes. Still a good skill for an unexpected turn of events in a fight, though. He is also hard on himself for his mistakes and past, and the responsibility weighed on him leading up to meeting the party. Val had/has a lot of grief over failing his brother Fathis, and in turn he knows he lost himself to vices when he finally became captain of the Dark Rose. His self awareness is, as he has said, a curse. He would help if asked, and I have no illusion his experience would be a boon for the party, but I can imagine his worry of doing right for the team would rear its head due to him dwelling on his past mistakes.

[virgilmoira]

Finally more CoMax posting 😭

[zepskies]

And So It Goes - Part 19

Pairing: Billy Butcher x OFC (Latina!OC)

Summary: As Madelyn Stillwell’s personal assistant, Helena Flores finds herself caught between protecting her job, and more importantly her life—or helping Billy Butcher bring down the supe who killed her best friend, Becca.

Word Count: 4,200

Tags/Warnings: Angst, tension, and a plan made…

ASIG Series Masterlist

19: Collateral

The morning after Butcher, Ben, and Hughie returned to the house came yet another bomb of information Helena wasn’t prepared for.

Homelander had been created in a lab…using Ben’s DNA.

Holy fucking shit, Helena thought, as she sat down heavily on her couch. That seemed to be the anthem of her year.

Ben explained how Vogelbaum had framed it to him back in 1980—as a simple genetics experiment (the details for which, Ben may or may not have tuned out at the time). After the weight of that fell between them all, he left the room with a large bottle of bourbon Helena had hidden under the sink.

“We’re all packed up for the road,” Butcher said. He looked over at Helena and Hughie, who sat together on her couch. Frowning, she noticed how Hughie discreetly blotted at some dark-colored substance coming from his ear. Whatever it was, it certainly wasn’t earwax.

What the fuck? she wondered.

“Where’s Soldier Boy?” Butcher asked, breaking her from her thoughts.

“You mean, ever since he told us he was supposed to kill his own son?” Hughie retorted. “He locked himself in the bathroom, with a bottle of Old Granddad.”

“My alcohol, you mean,” Helena quipped.

“Homelander ain’t really his son, and he knows it,” Butcher pointed out. He seemed tired, to Helena’s eyes. She could hear it in his voice. She also thought he wasn’t giving this news the full weight it deserved. It had clearly shaken Ben, no matter how much Butcher didn’t want to hear of any kind of hang-ups to their mission. 

Before she could say anything about it, Ben finally came out from down the hall. He glanced at them all before he ventured into the kitchen, grabbing a soda from the fridge.

At least it’s not my beer, Helena thought.

“All right, let’s be off then, ey?” Butcher said, hauling on his black trench coat. “We’ll swing by the office and grab some more V. Then Hughie’ll bring us to where the cunts are. And we’ll pop off Noir, then Homelander.”

Helena shot him an incredulous look.

“More V,” she said, gesturing at Hughie. “Really. Because the black sludge coming out of his ear isn’t enough of a warning sign?”

Hughie grimaced, but Butcher gave her a tight, resigned look.

“You know the score, love. We’ve got two more on the list. That means heading to the Tower,” he said. “I’d appreciate it if you stayed here.”

She crossed her arms and gave him a narrowed look. After last night, she thought he would’ve understood her by now. She didn’t want him to go through with all of this, for his own sake, but if he wouldn’t listen to her, then she would at least try to make sure he and Hughie lived through this.

Because if she let him and Hughie go without her now, knowing she could’ve done something to help…then she’d never forgive herself.

“Well, there’s no sneaky way you’re going to get V24. The R&D lab is below ground at Vought Tower, Level 0. Even when I worked there I didn’t have clearance,” Helena said. Though as an idea grew in her mind, she bit her lip, and finally sighed.

“But there’s a way we can go about this without just bulldozing through the front door…I can get you in there from the control room.”

“Not necessary,” Butcher said. His brows drew together as he looked down at her, drawing closer. She met his gaze with a stubbornness he should’ve expected.

“It is if you want to maintain any kind of element of surprise against Black Noir, let alone Homelander,” she said. Butcher’s lips pressed together, but she made it clear, even in her silence, that he wasn’t leaving without her this time.

Butcher crossed his arms and met her stance, just as bullheaded as ever.

“You’re not coming,” he said.

An hour later, Helena was breezing through radio stations, sitting shotgun in Butcher’s car, while Hughie was forced to sit in the back with Ben. They were cruising at full speed down the highway towards New York City.

“Fucking land on something already,” Ben sniped from the backseat. If he heard one more station change from girly pop to heavy metal, he was going to lose his shit.

Helena rolled her eyes and settled on something they could all agree on: John Lennon, “Give Peace a Chance.” She had to stifle a sardonic smile at the irony.

After a while, Ben started to snooze in the back, while Hughie stared out the window. Helena turned to Butcher and asked something she’d been wondering for days now.

“How’d you even get ahold of V24 to begin with?” she asked.

Butcher expelled a sigh, but he was honest, after swiping a hand over his mouth and beard. “Through Maeve. She gave me the tip on Payback, on a weapon that supposedly killed Soldier Boy, the whole thing. She wants that golden cunt dead as much as we do.”

Helena nodded slowly. “I guess that makes sense.”

She’d been seeing a lot about Maeve on the news; that supposedly she was in rehab, according to Vought. But Starlight fans were teaming up with Maeve fans on social media, demanding proof that she was actually where Vought said she was.

If what Butcher said was true, then maybe Vought had found out about what Maeve was up to. Maybe they’d decided to take her off the playing field.

Helena shook her head in contemplation. This was it. Homelander, Vought—the entire thing needed to crumble. As much as she hated the plan, she could admit that with Ben on board, there was a shot that it wouldn’t all end in even more blood and misery.

Helena woke after a doze to Butcher climbing back into the driver’s seat. They were stopped at a gas station, for which she assumed he’d filled up the tank. Something wasn’t right though, she thought, as the car started moving.

Ben groaned as he woke up from his long nap, and he noticed the same thing she had.

“Oh, there he is,” Butcher said.

“Where’s the cum guzzler?” Ben asked. Helena rolled her eyes; she could only assume he meant Hughie. It was a valid question though. She turned to Butcher with a frown.

“You were spot on about him. There I was, filling up the motor. I turn around, the little git had done a runner,” Butcher said.

Helena’s face turned incredulous, but the knowing shift in Butcher’s gaze implored her to play along. She hesitated, but then she tried to school her features into something more neutral.

“We needed him to get to Noir,” Ben said in annoyance.

“Ah, don’t you worry about that, guv. I got it all worked out,” said Butcher.

Now Helena knew there was something off here. She’d learned to tell when he was lying, but this time his gaze remained on the road. He glanced into the review mirror to watch Ben contemplating.

After a moment, the supe seemed to accept his words.

“Wake me when we get to New York,” he said, and laid across the entire backseat of the car.

Helena shot Butcher a sharper look. It said she’d want answers later; she knew there was no way Hughie would cut and run, not when they were so close.

Butcher nodded in acceptance. He knew he could fool Soldier Boy, but not Helena. He just had to figure out what he was going to do with Helena when they got to his apartment in the city, because he had no intention of bringing her to Vought Tower.

He glanced at her, but she was suspicious now. She crossed her arms and shook her head at him before she faced the road ahead.

It was a long car ride.

A few hours later, they arrived at the apartment Supe Affairs had been funding for Butcher’s team. There, they took some time to regroup. While Ben raided the fridge, Butcher pulled out a locked box from a large safe in the back room. Helena peered into it incredulously.

“Why do you guys have a giant-ass safe?” she asked. “You could fit a whole body in there. More than one, actually.”

She stepped back when Butcher closed it back up. He tossed her a knowing look.

“Having a lead-lined box comes in handy,” he said. He set down the smaller one he carried on the dining table and unlocked it. Inside were a few more green vials of V24. Helena’s brows raised.

“Huh. You really didn’t need my help,” she remarked. Butcher remained quiet, earning her gaze. “Why’d you let me come here with you then?”

“‘Cause I knew you’d raise hell for me, whatever I did,” he said. It was half-exasperated, but she detected the slightly softer edge behind his eyes. He knew why she was here, why she was insistent on helping him. She wanted him to come out of this in one piece, but not just for herself.

With that heavy thought, she watched him walk away from her to check on Ben in the kitchen. She was left with an open box with a handful of vials left.

The thought of V24 disgusted her…but she knew, if she was going back to Vought Tower, if she was taking any chance of coming face-to-face with Homelander again, she needed to protect herself.

She grabbed a vial and hid it in her jacket pocket.

While Helena took her time refreshing herself in the bathroom, she soon caught the muffled sounds of Butcher and Ben talking.

She carefully opened the door a crack, and she listened. She heard Ben talk about The Soldier Boy Story losing out Best Picture to American in Paris. It had been Vought’s best PR story for Soldier Boy’s background—a poor kid from the streets of South Philly, who discovered he had incredible powers to match his heart of gold.

To no one’s surprise, that story was utter bullshit.

Ben had grown up the son of one of the wealthiest steel moguls in Philadelphia, his father. Ben later got kicked out of boarding school…

“Because I was a fuck up,” Helena was surprised to hear him say. She ventured out of the bathroom and lingered in the hall, so she could spy the back of him while he continued with Butcher. Both of them were drinking. Whiskey, if she had to guess.

“But he made sure I knew it,” Ben said, speaking of his father.

“Use the belt, did he?” Butcher asked.

“Never laid a hand on me. He couldn’t be bothered,” Ben replied. “Said I was a disappointment. Not good enough to carry his name.”

Once again, Helena fought the sap within her that wanted to sympathize. She continued to fight against it, even when he admitted that his father hadn’t even been satisfied when Ben underwent Vought’s experiments and became Soldier Boy.

“He said I took a shortcut,” said Ben. “That a real man wouldn’t have cheated.”

Helena took in a subtle breath. She heard the heaviness in his voice. The resentment, and yet, a thread of resignation. She understood then where it all came from—the bravado. The machismo. The asshole behavior. It all stemmed from that wound inside him that craved validation from his father.

Helena could relate. Her own father was, and had always been impossible to please. She knew what it was like to be a disappointment.

In the living room, Ben swirled the liquor in his drink as he shoved down memories of a life he’d thought he left behind a long time ago.

“What about you, got any kids?” Ben asked.

“It’s complicated,” Butcher admitted.

But even when Ben admitted that he’d wanted kids, that he thought he could do it better than his father, Butcher saw through those threads. He reminded that Homelander wasn’t Ben’s son. Not really. He was raised in a lab to take Ben’s place. And more than that…

“Look mate,” Butcher said. “We had a deal.”

Ben drained the rest of his glass and stood. Suddenly this room felt stiff and oppressive.

“I’m gonna get some air,” he said.

Helena watched him head for the apartment’s balcony. She stepped into the living room and shared a look with Butcher.

“On one hand, you probably abandoned Hughie at some random gas station,” she said. “On the other hand, you’re doing your hardest to keep Ben on your side.”

Butcher shook his head instead of answering her, but she stepped into his path and laid a hand on his chest.

“I think you left Hughie because you wanted to save him from all this, like you probably want to leave me here,” she said. “You’re not the same man who started this whole kamikaze mission. The difference now is, you actually have a line you won’t cross.”

Butcher looked down on her, not knowing what she wanted him to say. Just now though, she didn’t need him to say anything.

She grasped the front of his shirt and pulled herself up to him, meeting his lips with hers. It was slow, but with the underlying passion that had always existed between them, right from the start. His hands migrated down the curve of her waist and held her close, his fingers pressing into her lower back.

When she broke from him and met his heavy eyes, hers were filled with quiet determination. Butcher couldn’t understand it. Part of him even hated it, knowing he was still dragging her down with him here.

“Why are you being so fucking stubborn?” Butcher asked.

Her head tilted as she gave a wry smile. “What do you mean?”

His grip on her waist tightened a little.

“Why’re you staying with me?” he pressed. “Hel, you know where this ends.”

“Billy, I don’t have a death wish,” she told him. She squeezed his arms back. “But I don’t just want you alive for me. Ryan needs you too.”

Butcher shook his head, but she stopped him from withdrawing.

“He don’t need me,” he said. “Fact is, both of you are better off without.”

“Yes, he does. He loves you, Billy. He’ll forgive you if you give it a chance. And like it or not, he’s your responsibility. Because you made a promise,” Helena said firmly, pressing a finger into his chest. Tears welled up in her eyes as she met his furrowed stare. “Be a fucking man. Take care of the people you care about. The people who love you.”

Her voice shook, but her conviction was fierce and steady. Butcher could only look down on her in silence, even though her words rattled him down to his boots.

They were interrupted by a knock at the door. Both of their heads turned, though their eyes briefly met before Butcher gestured for her to step back while he ventured towards the door. He looked in the peephole first.

His eyes widened. Bloody hell?

He opened the door to find Queen Maeve, looking a bit ragged in an “I <3 New York” t-shirt and some pajama pants that were too big for her. 

“Fuck me,” Butcher said in shock. “I thought you was dead.”

M.M. then quickly stepped into view, making Helena gasp when he pointed his gun directly under Butcher’s chin.

“You didn’t think I knew where the blind spots were, motherfucker?” he said.

 “M.M.!” Helena exclaimed, half in greeting, half in warning. Her face practically begged him not to pull that trigger. The other man’s lips pursed.

“Hey, Hel,” he said, more casually than he looked. Behind him and Maeve were Hughie and Annie, Kimiko and Frenchie. The whole gang was here.

“Back up,” M.M. ordered at Butcher. He obliged him by stepping back into the room, closer to Helena, but still in front of her.

“Where’s Soldier Boy?” Annie asked. Her tone boded no further bullshit.

“You on that Temp. V shit, Butcher? Huh?” M.M. demanded. “What happens if I pull this trigger?”

“M.M., stop!” Helena tried. She stepped forward, but Butcher stopped her with a hand held against her. Hughie likewise grabbed M.M.’s shoulder and imploringly diffused him, at least for the moment.

“If Soldier Boy goes through with this, thousands will die,” Hughie said. “Help us stop him.”

“This ain’t a bloody kinder care we’re on about, son. It’s Vought-fucking-Tower,” Butcher pointed out.

“Becca worked in the Tower,” said Frenchie. Helena shot him a look for that one, as did Butcher. Helena had worked for Vought as well.

“You shut your fucking cake hole, Frenchie,” Butcher shot back.

“No,” Frenchie said. He seemed to gain some confidence in standing his ground. He dropped his backpack to the floor and planted his feet as he glared back at Butcher. “No! My cakehole will remain open! You will never command me again. I am done with your cruelty—”

Helena’s brows raised. Once again, Hughie played the part of peacekeeper as he talked Frenchie down from his (seemingly well-earned) tirade. 

“We, we heard you, okay?” Hughie said. He turned to Butcher and leveled him with an honest truth. “You could’ve let me die from the V, but you saved me… In the shittiest way possible, but still. I don’t think you want to do this. I think you want me to pull you back. Like Lenny used to.”

Helena’s eyes widened. He knows about Lenny?

She looked to Butcher for his reaction…and she missed the way Maeve moved. She grabbed something out of Kimiko’s hand and tossed it out the window, despite Annie’s protests. Then she ripped M.M.’s gun apart.

“Butcher’s right. Homelander needs to die!” Maeve said. “That’s it. Whatever it takes.”

Annie shook her head in disbelief. “I really thought that deep down you were a hero.”

“Well, you were wrong,” Maeve replied. “There’s no such thing.”

“This isn’t going to happen,” Annie refuted. Her eyes glowed, displaying her power as the lights flickered.

Helena’s mouth fell open, even as Butcher subtly stepped in front of her. Was this apartment about to become a battlefield?

“Annie, I don’t want to hurt you,” Maeve said, with caution in her eyes.

“But I will,” said Ben. He finally drew back into the living room. Helena didn’t know how long it had been since he’d stepped back inside, but she could assume he’d been waiting for the right moment. That was apparently right fucking now.

He drew all eyes in the room, including M.M.’s darkened gaze.

“All right, you lot. Into the safe,” said Butcher. Helena shot him an incredulous look.

“Billy,” she tried. He wasn’t able to be so stoic looking down at her, but he was resolute in his decision.

“You too, love,” he said. His hand guided her by the small of her back. When she tried to push back, he grasped her arm with a strong, but not painful hold and shepherded her along with the rest of them into the safe. Except for Ben and Maeve, of course.

Helena met Ben’s gaze, but his unyielding mask was firmly in place. She reached out to Butcher before he closed the door. She knew what he was doing; this was his version of saving her—of keeping her out of this. But she glared at him.

“Billy, don’t do this,” she all but pleaded.

He stared back at her in silent apology. “Goodbye, Helena.”

Then he shut the door, casting them all in darkness.

She was grateful no one could see the way she wiped a tear or two from her cheeks. Butcher had shut off the power, so Annie couldn’t use her abilities to draw from the electricity. What she could do was bulldoze her way through the safe, ramming it over and over with her shoulder until the door burst open, allowing them to escape.

Annie shook off the exertion and took in deep breaths.

“Okay, they got a really big head start, but I know a way in,” she said.

“So do I,” said Helena. The women looked to one another with a tenuous truce.

“Then what?” said M.M., after he turned the power back on. “The way I see it, we’re fucked with no grease. No plan and no knockout gas.”

“Knockout gas? Is that what Maeve threw out the window?” Helena asked.

“Yeah, it’s Novichok,” Hughie explained. “A nerve agent. Literally the only thing the Russians found that can take down Soldier Boy.”

Her eyes widened. “What, it can kill him?”

“No, just put him to sleep, indefinitely,” he replied. She considered that with a frown. She couldn’t believe she was even thinking this, considering all the bullshit he’d pulled on her, but she didn’t know if putting Ben to sleep was something she wanted to see happen to him…

“Well, maybe we can reason with him, assuming he takes down Homelander,” she suggested. “Ben’s a raging asshole, but he’s not totally…”

Her words died on her tongue when she realized how M.M. was looking at her, as if he didn’t know her.

“Ben? Motherfuckin’ Ben?” he said incredulously. “So what were you doing all this time, playing fucking house with America’s oldest killer?”

“M.M., that’s not how it went down,” Hughie tried to jump in on Helena’s behalf, but she crossed her arms and stood firm.

“I was trying to help Butcher and Hughie stay alive,” she said, gesturing pointedly at the younger man. Hughie gave a sheepish look.

“Look, I’m not saying he’s a good man,” she continued, meeting M.M.’s angry gait. “But there’s humanity in Ben. I’ve seen it.”

The man had an ego a mile high and twice and wide, with anger issues and that only barely masked how repressed he was, emotionally. He’d threatened her, and even bruised her…but he hadn’t killed her.

He hadn’t wanted to. He’d walked away before he could actually break her.

It wasn’t a strong vote of confidence for his character, but it was better than Homelander, nonetheless.

“You really think you can change that rat bastard,” M.M. said, breaking her out of her thoughts as he shook his head. “Just like you think you change Butcher!”

“I’m not trying to change anyone!” she raised her voice to meet his. “But I do believe that people can choose to change. To be better.”

Because if there was no hope for that, then there was no hope for herself either.

“Call me an idiot,” she said, and she threw her hands up. “Call me a bitch and a lunatic, I don’t care! I don’t expect you to understand, but I’m going to do what I think is right.”

“Yeah, what’s right for you,” M.M. shot back.

“Maybe,” she snapped. “Maybe it is selfish, and I’m sorry. After Homelander’s dead, I’ll help you with Soldier Boy, whatever I can do. But do you really think Ben is the biggest threat right now? To everyone and anyone?”

M.M. seethed in silence, but he didn’t seem to have an answer for her. Annie, Hughie, Kimiko, and Frenchie—they all stood by Helena and M.M., in both silent contemplation and wariness. 

“Okay, then what’s less selfish?” Helena asked, with gesturing hands at him. “Taking out Soldier Boy for your revenge, or ending the biggest fucking psychopath in the world? Otherwise known as Homelander. Who, if you forgot, was responsible for my best friend’s death.”

That fell between them all, heavier than a stone in a shallow pool. Part of Helena felt guilty for spinning M.M.’s cause as selfish, but she’d made her point. M.M., Butcher, Ben, and even she had a score to settle. It was just a matter of who was willing to sacrifice the most for it.

She wasn’t willing to sacrifice her life for revenge, but she would for the ones she loved.

M.M.’s anger soon lessened, by degrees.

“Okay,” said Hughie. He cut through some of the tension, as he himself let out a breath. “How do we get more Novichok?”

“…We don’t,” M.M. said. “That was the only one.”

After a moment of deliberation, Frenchie chimed in. There was a lab in New York that might just have what he needed. It just happened to be Vought’s R&D lab on Level 0.

It was a crazy plan.

“We’re going to break into Vought Tower, while you go to the lab, crawling with armed guards, and you’re gonna cook up the world’s most dangerous neurotoxin?” M.M. said. Sarcasm and disbelief dripped with every word. “With what, a little moxie and a little Mr. Wizard know-how? While we hold off Homelander and Soldier Boy?”

“Uh…oui?” said Frenchie.

Helena looked over at him with a sharp frown. “Are you fucking high?”

He gave her a smile. “Also oui.”

She sighed and covered her eyes with her hand.

“We’re so screwed,” she muttered. “But we’re also wasting time.”

“It’s good enough for me,” Hughie said, with a smile. Annie met her boyfriend with a smile of her own.

“Me too,” she said.

Kimiko agreed to this ingenious plan more readily than M.M., and even Helena. Even so, they had no other options. They were heading to Vought Tower.

AN: Phew! On to the finale! (And then the Epilogue after that.) I finally finished writing the last chapters of this series, so the next chapter will be out soon: on 2/20.

Next Time:

By the time Helena turned back to the scene before them, Ryan’s eyes were glowing red.

He shot a laser beam right at Soldier Boy, knocking him through the far wall and onto his ass. When he got up, shaking rubble from his shoulders, he clearly wasn’t happy about it.

Fortunately, Helena reached Ryan just as Ben took a few intimidating steps forward.

“Ben, stop!” she shouted. And it actually halted the supe’s steps.

Keep Reading: Part 20

The Boys Masterlist

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Ko-Fi Me ☕

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[chronurgy]

Ohhhh yrliet girl you fucked up. You fucked up real bad.

Yrliet seemed to take Malakai's "I will take all the help I can get to escape" as forgiveness but I really, really don't think it was. Especially after being psychically tortured (and resisting through sheer willpower), Malakai has more or less shut down the part of their brain that feels. This is also partially a response to the torture worm that makes you see things. They beat all the checks by pointing out inconsistencies in the scene, so that's what they're devoting everything they have toward (and what they were taught to do to resist warp corruption) - know what is real and what is not. There isn't much room for other things right now. They need to get out and they will. They will do whatever they need to do to get out and consign any considerations of what happens after that to the future. Right now they are putting everything they have towards staying sane via clinging to a single, tiny shred of hope that might promise escape. The only question is if and how they'll process what happened during this time. Will it give them enough time for the fires of their anger to calm down and their usual nature to reassert itself, or will it push them further over the edge? And the thing is, Malakai is pretty forgiving. Malakai wants to see the best in people. But she just dropped them into their own personal ptsd nightmare and I don't know that there's any coming back from that under these circumstances. For a couple reasons.

First, she made a really stupid decision and then lied to their face, which they take as a challenge to their authority. Malakai is well aware that they're a psyker and only a distant relative of theodora, and therefore their authority and right to ascend as rogue trader is on.... Perhaps somewhat shakier ground than they would like. Especially after they were more or less threatened by the lord inquisitor (thanks for the heads up, heinrix. It probably did help). So they are very aware that they need to strengthen their authority as much as possible, and use it wisely. This actually caused a number of conflicts between them and Jae, who they saw as challenging them/overstepping, and lead to some cooling of that relationship. Heinrix has also been on the receiving end of that type of displeasure in some cases, though his authority via the inquisition does allow him some level of..... Imposition. Heinrix warning Malakai that the lord inquisitor was coming and that there was no real threat almost certainly saved that relationship from a similar cooling. But anyway, yrliet made a bad decision (trusting the drukhari?? Girl) which is somewhat forgivable, and then lied about how she knew (challenging them, using them, not forgivable). That means that their relationship is at an end, the only question is what kind of end. Because Malakai absolutely cannot trust yrliet now, because they see her as a poor decision-maker who can't even acknowledge that flaw (or so desperate that she will risk anyone and anything to get what she wants, which amounts to the same thing). Malakai cannot give her any other assistance because of this, so it's time for them to part ways.

It's how things actually played out that makes me wonder exactly what that parting of ways will look like. In most circumstances, I think Malakai would be willing to provide her with any resources she required, then drop her off at a location of her choosing. A polite but firm goodbye. But Malakai has already been under a lot of stress as they try to manage their new protectorate and try to decide between doing what they feel is right and what they were taught is right and then watching both of those options blow up in their face. Being threatened by the lord inquisitor didn't help matters either. And they had sort of started to make their peace with their choices, to regain some faith in their ability to choose what they believe is right, and then yrliet came in and, in some sense, proved all those people who said they were a fool to trust a xenos right. She sold them out. And maybe that isn't a super fair assessment of the situation, but Malakai has been dropped into their own personal ptsd hell and they're struggling to cope. They're backed into a corner and they're about to start swinging. They're not particularly angry or vengeful, but everyone has their limits and this just might be theirs. It really depends on how the rest of the act goes, but I think there's a real chance they'll execute her, especially if things get worse.

Apparently if you don't take yrliet into your retinue, Achilleas Scalander is the one who betrays you (I looked it up). He explains that he broke during torture. I've seen people call this motivation far more compelling, and I agree! That is absolutely something Malakai could forgive, interestingly enough.

[panakinthedisco]

As the world lay in shambles by the sudden outbreak of a disease called cordyceps brain infection, society is broken, the government is on the rubble where a world became lawless and violent. But even chaos is prevalent, some are persistent to find a vaccine, though it is deemed impossible and hopeless due to the overwhelming mutation.

Kannika Suriya-Neuman, the only child of two known Medical professors took part with the cause - becoming the first pioneers who tried to find the vaccine, ten years after the outbreak. With her parents, Phillip Neuman and Anna Suriya, the tumultuous journey to find a cure becomes, metaphorically speaking, the search for a holy grail that can end the virus once and for all. Their team that consisted of surviving doctors and medicine majors from different prestigious universities across America took part in a seemingly impossible cause.

Even though there is progress, a group of syndicates that are formed has other things in mind. For years living in a world without law or governance, the idea to take power in a lawless country will be gone if a vaccine is created. The Citadel whose ideology is protecting the society they created is now in a threat to the vaccine so they did the unthinkable, pulverize the whole operation.

By the massacre of Kannika's colleagues along with her mother who sacrificed her life by saving people, the search for the cure becomes thin up until a revolutionary group by the name The Fireflies steps in to protect the remaining survivors.

But the quest of the cure becomes hopeless for another ten years. Kannika, now thirty eight years old, is beginning to believe that the world she's living in is going to rot along with the decaying corpses of the clickers and runners. Until, Marlene, one of The Fireflies, tells her about a young girl who might be the answer to the prolonged cure.

Hope begins to shine in the horizon as Kannika sets the journey to find the young girl who is said to be immune from the virus. In between crossroads and that small hope that she hid in her heart, a man with a cold heart comes to her with tenderness and begs to be indulged by that love that he couldn't even remember. Kannika finds herself with Joel Miller, a man whose life is enveloped in regrets and sadness. But Kannika is in thin ice as Joel would take a bullet for the young girl that he grows to love as his own child.

A child over the future of many generations.

While for Kannika with a gun in her hand pointing to her lover, she silently hopes from the darkest corner of her mind that Joel should've pulled the trigger.

pairings: joel miller x original character / original characters x canon characters

warnings: major character deaths (oop!), smut, violence, brief mentions of SA (will state in the chapter) and gore.

author's notes: this is a slowburn romance for kannika and joel. also, as much i want to make this as a reader x joel, kannika neuman has a special in my heart soooooo sorry y'all! this fic will stick to some parts of the canon (series and video game) but act one and act two is full canon divergence. basically making my own lore.

other notes: most of the graphics of this fic are made by me unless its stated.

translated version/s: i've got a spanish translation for this fic in wattpad. you can check it out in here [CLICK HERE]

collateral damage gif banner: made by @alderaandors <3

AVAILABLE ON WATTPAD & AO3

ACT ONE | INFERNO (sets in ten years after outbreak)

001 . . . . fungi

002 . . . . sense of normalcy

003 . . . . happy anniversary!

004 . . . . breaking dawn

005 . . . . the holy grail

006 . . . . alternate universe

007 . . . . i am, i am, i am

008 . . . . all things must pass

009 . . . . sense of kindness

010 . . . . whiskey and fate

011 . . . . machiavellian

012 . . . . a little light

013 . . . . tortured soul

014 . . . . the punisher

015 . . . . not now, not ever

ACT TWO | PURGATORIO (sets in eleven years after outbreak)

016 . . . . a path ahead

017 . . .. happiness is a warm gun

ACT THREE | PARADISO (sets in twenty years after outbreak)

SEE BELOW THE SPOTIFY PLAYLISTS OR YOU CAN VISIT MY ACCOUNT.

☆ MASTERLIST | NAVIGATION | SOCIALS | SIGN OFF BANNER MADE BY. @ALDERAANDORS ☆

[thephonemenarentreal]

Warm-down doodle for the night c: Mad Punk Engineer Simulcast and her bodysnatching bestie Collateral being dramatic

Both are on the Most Wanted List. Simulcast says of COURSE she is most wanted. Who wouldn't want the glory that is her perfect frame??

They are currently out of reach of being arrested for now, due to some deals cut with her new employer and the Alliance. You can bet though Simulcast is GLOATING (even if she is sort of under really nice house arrest technically...)

[shortnspidey]

THE VOID

Bucky Barnes X Fem!Stark!reader || WC: 5.4K

SUMMARY: What was supposed to be a quiet family weekend getaway at the Stark cabin is quickly interrupted by New York City being terrorized once more!

WARNINGS: Thunderbolts* spoilers! Angst, slight fluff, hurt-comfort, non-sexual nudity, talks of past trauma & HYDRA PTSD

A/N: Based on my Collateral Hearts series but can be read as a standalone! This was meant to be a short drabble but I couldn't help myself! It's safe to say Thunderbolts* is my new Marvel comfort movie! I hope I did this one-shot justice since we didn't get to see much of Bucky during the movie! 🫶🏻

➩ main masterlist

➩ series masterlist

➩ bucky barnes masterlist

As the soft glow of morning sunlight filtered gently through the sheer curtains, casting warm streaks across the hardwood floor. Your eyelids fluttered open, adjusting slowly to the familiar surroundings, the soft lavender hue of the walls, the faint scent of vanilla lingering in the air, and the peaceful silence broken only by the occasional chirp of a bird outside.

A small sleepy smile tugged at your lips as your gaze settled on the delightful chaos around you, a mountain of stuffed animals piled high near the window, polaroid pictures taped to the dresser mirror, each one a tiny fragment of a life well-lived and well-loved. Shifting to your side with a sleepy sigh, you expected to find the comforting bulk of your super-soldier fiancé beside you. His warmth, his steady breathing, maybe even the soft snore he always denied having.

But instead, a mop of tousled brown hair and a small frame tucked under a fortress of blankets greeted you. Morgan. Your not-so-little sister, who had clearly claimed the entire bed as her own sometime during the night. You let out a quiet chuckle, realizing you were perched on the very edge of the mattress, less than an inch from tumbling onto the floor. The covers had all migrated to her side, cocooned around her. She was somehow an even worse bed hog than Bucky, and that was saying something.

Even Alpine, with all her feline entitlement, hadn't managed to steal this much space. Your thoughts were interrupted as Morgan stirred, her little nose wrinkling adorably in protest against the invading daylight. She nestled even closer into your side, seeking warmth and refuge. "Morning, sunshine!" You chirped with faux cheeriness, knowing exactly what kind of reaction you'd get. Predictably, the nine-year-old groaned, burying her face deeper into your ribs with a dramatic sigh that made you smile even wider.

Definitely not a morning person, another undeniable Stark trait. "Morgan," You sing-songed, dragging her name out teasingly. “Time to wake up!” She grumbled in protest, clearly trying to lull herself back to sleep or at least tune you out. A soft giggle escaped you as you gently poked her side. “The only way I’m waking up is if you make me breakfast.” Morgan grumbled, her voice muffled against your side. You gave a mock gasp, clutching your chest dramatically.

“Demanding.” You teased, though your tone was soft as you reached out, brushing a few strands of her tangled hair away from her face. You leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead, lingering there for just a second longer than necessary. Her skin was still warm from sleep, and for a moment, you just took in how small she still was, despite her growing stubborn streak and increasingly bold opinions. “How about I make you breakfast,” You offered, lifting your brows with a knowing smile, “and I’ll even let you sneak a juice pop before Mom makes us lunch?”

Her face twitched, trying to stay serious, trying not to give in to your irresistible offer, but you saw the small smile forming at the corner of her lips. “Promise?” She asked, lifting her head slightly and giving you those big, brown, soul-piercing eyes that always reminded you a little too much of your dad. You nodded, solemnly holding out your pinky. “Pinky promise,” You declared, your voice dropping to a whisper like it was sacred and in a way, it was.

Morgan didn’t hand out trust easily, but a pinky promise? That was ironclad. She hooked her little finger around yours, her smile breaking fully now. “Deal!” You grinned and pressed another kiss to her forehead, this one quick and full of affection, before leaning over to grab your phone from the nightstand. The screen lit up with a flurry of notifications, texts, emails, a missed call from Harley, but your thumb moved instinctively to the one name that always made your chest tighten in the best way. The most recent message read:

Bucky 🖤: Made it to the Capitol in one piece. Miss you already, doll. Tell Morgan I’m bringing her that thing we talked about.

You smiled at the screen, thumbs flying across the keyboard as you typed back a quick “I love you, stay safe.” Before you could even lock your phone, Morgan was peering over your shoulder. “Why couldn’t Bucky come?” She asked, her voice softer now, her fingers still tangled in the edge of your sleep shirt. You arched a brow, turning to face her with a mock pout. “Am I not enough for you anymore?” Morgan rolled her eyes with a giggle, but her cheeks flushed pink.

“You know what I mean.” She grinned. It always amazed you how quickly Bucky had wormed his way into her heart, how naturally he’d settled into the role of her protector, bedtime storyteller, and co-conspirator in every bit mischief she could dream up. And truthfully, you loved watching the two of them together, even when you pretended to be jealous. “Believe me, sweetheart, he wanted to,” You reassured brushing her hair back again as she snuggled close once more. “But he’s just a little busy now that he has Congressman duties.” Morgan huffed.

“You should’ve brought Alpine at least.” You laughed, ruffling her hair. “If we let that spoiled cat in this bed, there wouldn’t be room for either of us. Plus, she’d steal your juice pop.” That earned a giggle from her. “C’mon,” You coaxed, stretching your arms and sitting up fully. “Let’s go make some waffles. With chocolate chips. Maybe even whipped cream, if you swear not to tell Mom.” She perked up instantly, eyes gleaming. “You got yourself a deal!” This kid was definitely going to be the death of you.

After scarfing down at least a dozen waffles between you and Morgan, each one stacked precariously with whipped cream, chocolate chips, and just a hint of syrup for good measure you both made sure to clean the flour battlefield you’d left behind. The kitchen still smelled like vanilla and melted chocolate, but the counters were wiped, dishes stacked, and evidence buried, for the most part. Just in time too, as Pepper raised an eyebrow when she entered but said nothing.

Only offering a suspicious glance toward the empty whipped cream can in the trash. With the scent of breakfast still clinging to your pajamas and Morgan cradling a warm cup of cocoa, the three of you curled up on the couch for your weekend ritual. Blankets, mismatched socks, and the faint crackle of old movie magic filled the living room. The familiar sounds of Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone played in the background, Morgan mouthing lines under her breath, completely absorbed in the scene.

And then, it happened.

The screen glitched, colors flickering unnaturally before the film feed abruptly cut to a flashing Breaking News banner. Static crackled. Then came the footage. A live aerial shot of Manhattan, swallowed by what looked like a creeping black fog, only it wasn’t fog. It slithered like it was alive, climbing buildings, flooding streets, consuming everything in its path. Helicopters struggled to keep up with the growing shadow that rolled through downtown like a tidal wave of nightmares.

Your blood ran cold. A surge of déjà vu punched through your gut, memories of Thanos, of the Snap, of losing everything for a single moment in time. But this wasn’t dust. This was something else, something darker. Morgan leaned forward, her cocoa forgotten, and even Pepper tensed, lips pressed into a thin, worried line. The footage zoomed in closer. Through the billowing obsidian mass, faint shapes flickered, terrified civilians, abandoned cars and buildings.

The once-iconic Avengers Tower, half-swallowed and collapsing in on itself, like some monument to forgotten glory. And at the center of it, looming like a shadow torn from nightmares, stood a shadowy figure. He wasn’t entirely solid, more like a dark silhouette. With every movement, people vanished. Your hand trembled as you reached for your phone, a cold sweat already forming at the back of your neck. You didn’t even remember dialing, your thumb working on autopilot.

“Pick up. Pick up.” You whispered, heart hammering against your ribs, anxiety rising like bile. One ring. Two. Three, then static. Faint, fragmented screams filtered through. Car alarms. Crumbling stone. You heard staggering breath, sharp and uneven. “Bucky? Are you there?” You asked, voice cracking, eyes fixed on the chaos on the screen. A ragged exhale echoed on the line. Then voices, quick, panicked. Civilians? You couldn’t tell. “Bucky, please tell me you’re not in that mess.” You begged, voice fraying at the edges.

You weren’t even sure if he could hear you. A pause. Then finally, his voice, raw and distant. “I wish I could, doll.” Your breath hitched. “I’m sorry.” He added. Those two words carried more weight than you could bear. Every instinct in you screamed to fight, to argue, but your voice didn’t come. Not even a whisper. “Doll, I—” And then, the call dropped. Your phone slid from your hand and landed on the couch cushion beside you with a thud. Your chest was tight, lungs refusing to work properly. Noticing the shift in your demeanor, Morgan instantly wrapped her arms around your waist.

“Is Bucky okay?” She whispered, burying her face into your side. You pulled her close, holding her like she was the only anchor in the storm. “I’m sure he is, sweetheart,” You reassured softly, kissing the top of her head. “He’s strong and brave.” But even you couldn’t tell if you were trying to reassure her or convince yourself. You looked up. Pepper had already stood, face pale but composed. She met your eyes, her strength unwavering even now. “Mom—”

“I know,” She mumbled quickly, cutting you off. Her voice was gentle, but there was an iron edge beneath it, a quiet strength born from too many nights spent watching the man she loved walk into war zones with nothing but conviction and an arc reactor. Pepper Potts wasn’t a stranger to sacrifice, and now, neither were you. “Go.” You hesitated, guilt gnawing at your gut. “Just promise me you’ll be careful.” She added, her hand closing tightly around yours.

You nodded, trying to keep your face neutral even as your stomach churned. You turned toward Morgan, who stood silently by the couch, clutching a pillow to her chest like it was a lifeline. “Morgie,” You called softly, crouching down to her level as her tear-filled eyes locked on yours. “He’ll be okay. We both will. Stay here with Mom, alright? I’ll call you as soon as I find Bucky. I promise.” You extended your pinky once more. This promise felt heavier than all the others.

“Okay.” She whispered, her voice cracking as she surrendered to your embrace, small arms wrapping tightly around your neck. You held her close, kissed her temple, then leaned into her ear. “I love you, kiddo.” You breathed, barely able to speak past the knot forming in your throat. You felt her nod against your shoulder, and it shattered something inside you. With that, you quickly got dressed, grabbed your car keys and drove as fast as the speed limit allowed you into the void that was now New York City.

As you made your way into the city, weaving recklessly through the traffic, your hands clenched the steering wheel in a white-knuckled grip. Horns blared, lights flashed, but none of it registered fully, you were running on instinct and adrenaline. You fumbled for your phone at a red light, trying once again to ping Bucky’s location. Nothing. The screen flashed back the same message, unable to locate device.

You swore under your breath, the sickening realization hitting you like a punch to the gut, his phone must’ve been destroyed during all the chaos. There was no other choice. Without any clue where he might be, you had to go back to the apartment. Your chest ached with the weight of uncertainty, but through it all, a stubborn flicker of belief remained, he’d make it home to you. He had to. The moment your key turned in the lock and the door creaked open, the silence inside greeted you.

You didn’t need to call out to know, he wasn’t there. The emptiness clung to the walls, thick and oppressive, and did absolutely nothing to soothe the storm of fear brewing inside you. You closed the door quietly behind you, letting your forehead rest against it for a beat too long, before turning to scan the room with hopeful eyes. Then, a soft meow echoed from around the corner. “Alpine,” You breathed out, your voice cracking slightly with relief. The snowy white cat padded into view, her tail high as she trotted toward you, clearly happy to see you home.

You knelt down immediately, scooping her into your arms and pressing her warm body close to your chest. She purred against you, a soft, steady vibration that grounded you just enough to keep from unraveling completely. “Hi, sweet girl.” You murmured, your voice gentle as you carried her to the couch. You sank into the cushions, Alpine nestled securely in your lap, and stared out the window at the glowing city beyond. Every instinct in you screamed to go back out there.

To search every alley, every rooftop, every shadow, but instead, you sat still. Holding on to hope like it was the only thing keeping you from falling apart. After what felt like an eternity of pacing in the kitchen, organizing things that didn’t need organizing, and switching between news broadcasts that offered very little comfort and a phone that refused to light up with his name, you were unraveling thread by thread. Each second stretched, heavy and tense, your breath shallow. And then, you heard it. The familiar jangle of the doorknob.

Your heart skipped a beat, then thundered, and as the door creaked open, you let out a breath that felt like it came from somewhere deep in your soul. Your muscles, locked in anxious tension, began to loosen as you rose quickly from the couch. But the moment you turned the corner and saw him, really saw him all of that fragile relief shattered and the fear came crashing back in. There he was. Dressed in his signature all-black, the fabric of his clothes torn in various places.

Revealing angry red gashes and violet bruises beneath. His broad shoulders were pulled back in a rigid posture. His long hair was disheveled, sticking to his forehead and brushing his jawline, and his face, God, his handsome face was a map of pain. Scratches lined his cheekbones, one temple split and still weeping. His knuckles were bruised, skin split. And still, he didn’t bother to close the door behind him. His cerulean blue eyes locked onto yours, and for a brief moment, time stood still. He closed them slowly, like the sight of you was too much to bear all at once.

Relief, exhaustion, maybe even guilt, it passed across his face like clouds across a stormy sky. “James.” The name left your lips sharp and clipped, your arms instinctively crossing over your chest. There was frustration in your voice, more than that, there was hurt. At the sound of his given name, his eyes opened again, more alert, more present. He knew exactly what it meant when you used it like that. But he also knew this wasn’t about being in trouble. Not really. Cautiously, he took a step forward, hand raised, vibranium fingers trembling just enough to betray the storm inside him.

He reached for your arm, bracing for the rejection he was sure he deserved. But you didn’t flinch. You didn’t pull away. When his palm met your sleeve and you stayed rooted to the spot, something in him broke loose. He took another step, his other hand rising to gently uncross your arms, and you let him. You didn’t meet his eyes, not yet, but you didn’t resist his touch either. He pulled your body into his slowly, grounding you with the firm steadiness of both flesh and metal, his touch familiar, grounding. You looked away, jaw tight, holding back tears or words, you weren’t even sure which.

He exhaled slowly, then lifted a hand to your face, calloused fingers brushing lightly against your cheek as he tilted your head up. You didn’t want to look at him because if you did, you’d lose what little composure you had left. Still, you let him tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his thumb lingering on your temple as he searched your face like it held the only truth left in the world. Your eyes met again, and for a heartbeat, the silence between you was louder than anything either of you could say. Then finally, you broke it, your voice low and rough around the edges.

“You’re still in trouble.” You grumbled, trying for stern but falling short, the corners of your mouth betraying you with the tiniest quiver. “I know, doll,” He murmured, his voice gravelly and soft in that way only reserved for you. “I know.” He rested his forehead against yours, his breath shaky as it ghosted over your skin. He wasn’t asking for forgiveness yet. He just needed this. You. “Just let me hold you.” He whispered, more of a plea than command.

And without another word, you let him.

Bucky’s chest rose and fell beneath your cheek, each breath shaky, uneven. His arms were tight around you now, no longer tentative. Flesh and vibranium wrapped fully around your waist, holding on like if he let go, everything would collapse. And maybe it would. You didn’t want to test that theory. He smelled like smoke and the faintest trace of blood, but underneath all that, you still found him. That scent you’d come to associate with home.

“Hey,” He murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, lips brushing your hair as he spoke. “I’m here. I’m okay.” You pulled back slightly at that, brows furrowing. “You’re not okay, Buck,” you scoffed softly, your hands coming up to cradle his scruffy cheeks. “You’re clearly hurt and you’re bleeding.” You swallowed hard as your thumbs traced the edges of a fresh cut along his jaw. “You scared the hell out of me.” His eyes closed again, jaw clenching as he leaned into your touch. You blinked quickly, fighting the sting in your eyes, but he saw it anyway.

Without hesitation, Bucky leaned down, pressing his forehead to yours again, this time more firmly, grounding himself in the contact. Then, slowly, deliberately his lips brushed yours. It wasn’t a kiss full of hunger or urgency. It was soft yet purposeful. You melted into it instantly, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as his hands cupped your jaw, thumbs brushing along your cheekbones. His lips trembled against yours, not from fear but from sheer, overwhelming feeling. He kissed you like he’d been afraid he wouldn’t get the chance.

Like this kiss was a thank you, an apology, and a promise all in one. When you finally parted, he lingered, his nose brushing against yours, eyes searching yours with that soft, open ache that always made you want to protect him, even when strongly believed that he was the one built to protect you. You exhaled shakily, resting your hands over his heart. In that moment, no words needed to be shared. You simply pulled him close, this time wrapping your arms around his neck, burying your face against his shoulder.

After a beat, your voice now more steadier broke the silence. "I hope you know you owe Morgan a call, she was pretty shaken after what she saw on the news." Bucky let out a long breath, one hand ghosting up your back in an absent, soothing motion. "Hopefully the bear plush I brought all the way back from DC will be enough for her to forgive me." Your brow lifted, eyes narrowing slightly as amusement flickered in your voice. "Seriously, Bucky. Morgan has enough stuffed animals to fill an entire daycare."

"Doesn't mean I'm gonna stop spoiling her," He offered a small shrug, the corner of his mouth quirking just enough to chase away some of the tension. "We should call." You nodded slowly, lifting your head from his shoulder without pulling away completely, your arms still draped around him in a gentle tether. "We should," You murmured in agreement. Your gaze swept over him, taking in the grime, the torn edges of his clothes, and the blood smeared along his jaw. "Might want to clean yourself up first."

Your fingers reached up, brushing lightly over the blood smeared on his cheekbone. The touch wasn’t firm, just the barest sweep of skin against skin, but it carried so much more than it seemed to. In that single gesture, you offered reassurance, a silent apology for whatever pain he endured, and the comfort of knowing he wasn’t alone. He leaned into the touch with a subtle, almost imperceptible sigh, his eyes fluttering closed for just a beat too long. Like the warmth of your hand was more healing than anything could ever be.

His lashes lifted slowly, gaze locking with yours. The blue of his eyes, normally sharp and vigilant, had softened into something almost vulnerable. “Join me?” Just two words. So simple, but they cracked something open inside you. The sheer vulnerability behind them wrapped in a quiet plea and a need for closeness he rarely voiced ever made your throat tighten. You didn’t trust your voice to hold steady, so you simply nodded, the motion small but immediate.

His expression didn’t shift much, but you saw the way his shoulders eased, just slightly. He leaned in, pressing one last lingering kiss to your forehead. He stayed there for a moment, his lips resting against your skin like he was afraid letting go too soon might shatter whatever peace had settled between you. Then, he stepped back, not far, just enough to reach for your hand. His fingers found yours with an easy familiarity, holding on like you were his lifeline. And without a word, he turned, guiding you slowly toward the bathroom down the hall the space you shared.

As you stepped into the space, a wave of protectiveness surged through you, catching you off guard with its intensity. It was more than just concern, it was an aching need to reassure him, to make it unmistakably clear that he was safe and loved. He stood quietly, as if waiting for something he didn’t quite know how to ask for. Your fingers trembled slightly as you reached for the hem of his t-shirt, eyes flicking up to meet his, searching for any flicker of hesitation. The fabric was worn, soft beneath your touch, and you tugged gently, more a question than a motion.

His response was wordless but immediate, lifting his arms and granting you silent permission. You peeled the shirt upward, revealing inch by inch of scarred, bruised skin that made your heart twist. A sharp, quiet gasp escaped your lips as the damage came into view faint scrapes, livid bruises blossoming in purples and yellows, and the ever-present, jarring contrast where metal fused into flesh. You knew the serum would eventually do its work, knitting tissue and dulling pain, but logic didn’t stop the worry that clawed its way up your throat.

You leaned in, unable to keep the distance between you. Your hand wrapped around his warm, solid bicep, drawing him gently closer. He didn’t resist. Your lips brushed against the harsh line where his metal shoulder met skin, a place that too often bore the weight of his guilt and silence. You pressed a soft kiss there, then another, scattering them along his shoulder blade, the curve of his jaw, and finally to the corner of his mouth. Each kiss was a silent whisper: I love you. You’re not alone.

His breath caught, chest rising sharply, and in the next heartbeat, his lips found yours. The kiss was deep, unhurried, the kind that said everything neither of you could quite put into words. When he finally pulled away, it was only to mirror your earlier gesture, his hands slipping under your oversized knit sweater and lifting it with reverent care. It joined his shirt in a quiet heap on the floor. “I love you so much, Y/N.” He murmured against your mouth, the words rough and tender all at once.

What followed felt timeless, a slow shedding of barriers, both cloth and emotional, until you were stripped bare, wrapped in warmth and each other. Garments fell away between stolen kisses and whispered reassurances. Hands traced the map of each other’s bodies like a prayer, gentle and certain, until there was nothing between you but skin and steam. At one point, his fingers intertwined with yours, he brought your left hand up to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles.

Then pausing, kissing the delicate glint of the engagement ring that rested there. His eyes met yours, soft and unguarded, and it said more than any vow ever could. Under the cascade of the shower, he held you close. You could feel the tension leaving his frame as your fingers threaded through his damp hair, massaging the soap in gentle circles. You washed away the remnants of blood and sweat, each pass of your hands careful not to press too hard against his bruises. Then it was his turn. He touched you as though you were made of glass.

His hands were hesitant and unsure, but so achingly tender it brought tears to your eyes. Every swipe of the washcloth, every stroke of his palm was deliberate, a silent apology for all the times he’d believed he didn’t deserve softness. You weren’t sure how long you stood there, surrounded by heat and steam and the quiet hum of water. Time didn’t matter. All that did was this, the slow melting of tension, the steady beat of his heart against yours, and the comfort of knowing that here, in this moment, you both had found something worth holding onto.

After drying off and pulling on soft, comfortable clothes, you settled into the rhythm of familiarity. Bucky perched at the edge of the bed, phone in hand, as he FaceTimed Morgan. You watched as the tired lines around his eyes softened at the sight of her excited face, his voice lifting just enough to sound like himself. “I promise I’m in one piece, kiddo,” He reassured her, holding the camera up so she could see the both of you. “Got a surprise for you next time I visit. I just know you’re gonna love it!” Morgan giggled, already speculating what said “surprise” was.

As the call continued, he had her and you laughing in no time, making goofy faces, promising to teach her how to do a proper left hook (with Pepper's reluctant permission), and patiently answering every curious question she had about what she had seen on the news. You noticed how his shoulders dropped, tension easing the longer he talked to her. Even Pepper smiled, though her eyes flicked across the screen with a mother's worry, lingering on the faint bruises still visible on his face.

When the call ended and the familiar dial tone hummed into silence, the weight of the night returned. The room felt heavier, quieter. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, his elbows resting on his knees, phone dangling forgotten in one hand. The other scrubbed across his face as though trying to rub away everything he’d just relived. You straddled his lap slowly, grounding him with your presence, settling so your chest was against his, your arms around his shoulders.

Your fingers threaded into his hair, gently scratching at his scalp, something you knew calmed him. “You want to tell me what happened?” You asked softly, your voice barely above a whisper. His throat bobbed with the effort of swallowing. “Yeah,” He rasped. “Yeah, I do.” And so he did. He spoke in starts and stops, piecing what had happened in fragments. He told you about flying to D.C. to expose Valentina de Fontaine. How he’d manage to convince force Yelena and her father, John Walker, Ava Starr, reluctantly, to gather enough evidence to bring Valentina down. But as usual, she was always ten steps ahead.

“She was manipulating this innocent man, Robert Reynolds, Bob, to somehow become the world’s New Avenger under her control, yet her plan had a horrible flaw,” He explained, eyes distant. “Bob, he had another side of him. This drug trail, it wasn’t anything like what happened to Steve or Banner. There was a darkness, a void.” Your hand moved from his hair to his chest, palm flat over his heartbeat. “Go on.” You coaxed softly, watching as his breathing grew more labored.

“The worst part,” He muttered after a long pause shutting his eyes, bracing himself. “Was that this alter ego, he could get inside our heads. All of us. It wasn’t just telepathy. It was like he peeled something back. Like he could reach into the rot of the trauma we’d buried and drag it into the light.” His voice cracked on the last word. Your arms tightened instinctively around his back, rubbing in slow reassuring circles. “He saw inside my worst nightmare,” Bucky continued, each word weighted and raw.

“And then he made me live it again. It felt so real, Y/N. The cold steel of the restraints. The stench of antiseptic. I was strapped down at that H.Y.D.R.A. base again. My body was fighting, but my mind—” His jaw clenched hard. “They were erasing me. Again and again. Every time I’d start to remember who I was, they’d wipe it clean. My name. My face. You.” A pained breath escaped him. “You were fading. I couldn’t hold on to you.” You leaned forward, resting your forehead against his. “But I’m right here,” You whispered.

“You held on enough to help your friends. To come home to me.” He swallowed back a whimper, blinking back tears. “I didn’t think I’d make it out,” He admitted, his voice hoarse. “I didn’t think I deserved to.” You tilted his chin gently until his eyes met yours. “You always deserve to come home.” For a long time, he didn’t say anything, just let himself breathe against you, his arms wrapping around your waist like you were the only thing tethering him to the earth.

Then, with a shaky exhale, he lifted your left hand and brought it to his lips again. He kissed the engagement ring slowly, reverently, holding your hand against his chest. “This,” He murmured, voice barely audible, “is the only thing that kept me from breaking.” You felt your own tears gather against your lash line as you processed his words. “Bucky, sweetheart, while I'm not thrilled you jumped into danger," You began, your tone soft but laced with honest concern. His arms wrapped around you tighter, keeping you anchored against him.

“I know, doll,” He murmured, his voice low against your lips. “I’m so sorry I scared you.” You pressed your index finger to his mouth before he could say anything else. “But I am so proud of you,” You declared firmly, your words laced with admiration, leaving no room for protest. That brought a real smile to his face, that rare kind of smile that lit up his features and made the years of pain and burden momentarily vanish. The kind of smile that always made you swoon just a little, no matter how many times you saw it.

“Besides,” You added with a dry scoff, “Let H.Y.D.R.A try to get close to you again and see what happens.” He raised an eyebrow, half amused and half confused. “What, you gonna fight 'em with your sarcasm?” You rolled your eyes, but your voice was calm and certain as you lifted your left hand between you. The ring glinted in the low lamplight. “No. You have me. And I’m not going anywhere.” Understanding dawned in his expression, and something unspoken passed between you.

You had seen each other at your best and worst, through blood and bruises and sleepless nights. And still, here you were. That was all he needed. And that was more than enough.

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Remember you are NEVER alone! Do not hesitate to ask for help if you are struggling with your mental health, reach out to your loved ones, check in on people who have been too quiet, and always remember to be kind because you never know what other people may be dealing with! 🤍

Mental Health Help Hotline: (833) 317-4673

[wanologic]

elias thoughts

[letters-of-fire]

Silence. The whole ballroom went silent as he found himself in the arms of his old lover. He thought they'd just been standing there, frozen in place, looking into each others' eyes, when he realised his feet were still moving, dancing to a melody he couldn't hear. The only thing in his ears was his own heartbeat, loud and rapid. Growing ever more frantic as Howard pulled their bodies closer together.

Oswald would not let him win this time. He took over the lead, twirling his partner around, green dress billowing after them. Howard quickly caught on and switched up his step, so that it was him that dictated their movements across the ballroom. It was a merciless and grueling battle — good thing Oswald was dressed appropriately.

The violins sighed definitively as the musicians played the last note and Oswald... Oswald found himself looking up at Howard, the shorter man leaning over him and holding him firmly in his embrace.

Oswald felt his face flush like a virgin's. He could only hope people would believe exertion to be the cause. (writing by @lord-emerson)

[morningdraws]

I might have been tooling around with a thing lately (and if I make it just a bit more polished I might even start posting about it lmao), but here are some contextless doodles of some characters.

Poppystalk (the blue-eyed one, he has two different designs here because I'm not satisfied yet), Storkclaw (white) and Rubbleflash (red). all these characters had a backstory created by @morsobaby

[illastrologist]

Apiphany "AP" 🪷 an NPC chronurgy wizard!

[halflinghands]

Elm cuts his hair after the 2nd main quest bc he's gotta wash his hands of all that nonsense & start fresh or something