Summary: You end up getting hurt while out in the field questioning a suspect. Thankfully, Detective Barnes is there to help.
Word Count: ~600
Warning(s): crime show level of violence / gun violence / mentions of a near-death experience / injuries + including mild description of injuries / blood / hurt+comfort
Prompt: patching up a wound + at a crime scene
a/n: This is a submission for @real-jane ‘s healing hands writing challenge! Congratulations on the milestone! 🥳 This drabble was inspired by the previous fic I wrote Conflict of Interest , this is placed around a year or so before the events of that fic happen. However, this is a stand-alone drabble, so you don’t need to read the mentioned fic to understand anything, but if you liked the dynamic here, I recommend reading it! 🥰 Thank you for reading! ❤️
“ Watch your step.” Detective Barnes had an arm wrapped around your waist, helping you maneuver through a crowd of officers. You were heading over to the back of an ambulance, a bit too shaken to walk on your own. As soon as you sat on the edge of it, his hands inspected the wound on your right shoulder. You held in any protests as the burning sensation worsened.
“ So much for my favorite coat.” You took it off, grumbling at the sight of the tear in it.
“ That’s what you’re worried about?” There was a smile of disbelief on his face.
The blouse you were wearing was expectedly torn as well. He sent you a sympathetic look when he cut through it to get to your wound. You couldn’t help the tiny gasp that escaped when you laid eyes on it. You finally realized why it felt like it was on fire. A bullet grazed your shoulder, removing a bit of the top layer of skin. The shades of red and pink across the wound assured you it would leave a scar.
“ I promise it looks worse than it actually is,” he held your arm up gently,” This might hurt a little, so hold onto me if you’d like,” his tone was so sincere it surprised you. You hadn’t known him for long, so you hesitated to accept the comfort you needed. Nevertheless, you appreciated the gesture.
He cleaned your wound meticulously, his eyes narrowing in concentration. You bit the inside of your cheek, stopping yourself from wincing. The sudden closeness had you fiddling with the loose threads of your coat that laid across your lap. Your eyes wandered over to his hands that were wrapping a bandage around your arm. This brought your attention to a cut on his index finger. You looked over at the medical kit beside you, searching for a bandaid.
Without thinking, you took a hold of his right hand and placed it on your lap, wiping the blood around his cut with a small gauze pad. You felt his gaze on you as you wrapped the bandaid around his finger.
“ You know I was the one patching you up, right?”
“ Is that your way of thanking me, detective?”
A soft chuckle escaped his lips,“ Thank you,” he paused, his smile fading,” I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have made you come. You got hurt because of me.” He couldn’t meet your eyes, putting the medical supplies back in their case. You placed your hand on his wrist, grabbing his attention.
“ You’re not putting this on yourself. The suspect said he would have legal representation present, so I chose to come. If it weren’t for you, I might not be here right now. So please don’t apologize for saving my life.” You recalled the way the suspect drew his gun to shoot you, a memory you knew would haunt you for a while. If it weren’t for Detective Barnes reacting quickly, pulling you towards him and out of the line of fire, the bullet would’ve done more than just graze you.
“ I know, but I should’ve checked for any weapons in the househ-” You cut him off with a stern look, reminding him of who he was trying to argue with. He let it go, realizing he was disputing with one of the best prosecutors in New York.
“ Although, maybe you could do me a little favor and let Prosecutor Romanoff know what happened here today,” you requested with a playful tone. He blew out a breath, shaking his head, an amused expression overtaking his features. “ No way. She’s your best friend, she’ll go easy on you when you tell her. She’ll kill me once you do.” You shared a laugh at that, the mood becoming lighter.
He finished patching up your wound, the pain diminishing slightly. He held out his hand, helping you off of the ambulance,“ Now, how about I go arrest the bastard so you can take him to court?” You smirked,“ I like the sound of that.”
For @real-jane 's healing hands challenge! I chose to write a healing from skin hunger/allowing themselves to be touched piece. Congrats Kate! ❤️
Word count: 719
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x gn!reader
Pure fluff 🥰
****
You didn't often find yourself awake at this hour. Sometimes missions left you with excess adrenaline, which could make it hard to sleep later on. But you were never without company. Working in the Avengers tower often came with night owl tendencies. Tonight was no different.
The gym lights were on, and there was only one person who'd be up at four AM, tearing up punching bags like his life depended on it.
"Can't sleep?"
Boom! The bag flew off the chain.
"Tony just replaced those," you added, trying to lighten those looming, tight shoulders. It didn't work.
Bucky Barnes had been down here every night since the first night you started coming down, almost a year ago. His knuckles were raw, the serum already working double-time to heal over the scrapes. Gingerly, you took the tape from the bench, waiting until he finished hanging the next bag to offer it.
Bucky shook his head.
"'S fine."
"You're bleeding," like he didn't know.
"Doesn't hurt."
"Bucky," and he stopped, turning his body towards you. You set down the tape.
"Did you try any calmer activities before coming down to beat the shit out of sandbags?"
"Needed to clear my head."
"You need to take care of yourself," you corrected. "Have you told Dr. Cho about your sleeping? The difficulty concentrating?"
Bucky stiffened, drawing himself to his full height. You didn't waver.
"Yes."
"And?"
"She thinks the serum increased my requirement for contact."
And that was it. He returned to throwing punches, each one harder than the last. You winced every time his fist connected with the bag, until finally, you couldn't take it anymore. You stepped next to him, and Bucky caught himself before the next punch so he didn't send you flying. You put a hand on the bag, blocking him.
"Y/N, come on. This is how I manage stress."
"Well, it's not working very well, is it?"
You gently closed your thumb and middle fingers around his wrist and tugged until Bucky followed you to the sink basin. There, you wet a washcloth, wringing it out.
"What're—"
As soon as the cloth touched his forehead, Bucky quieted. You dabbed it over his temples and cheeks to cool him down, then wiped the spots of blood on his hands. You set down the cloth and reached forward, placing both hands on the back of Bucky's neck.
"Okay?" you checked and he nodded.
Slowly you drew small circles at the base of his skull. Then you moved forward, under his ears, to his jaw, where you brushed his skin in light strokes.
Bucky's breath hitched, lids growing heavy. His head leaned forward and you eased him into your neck, scratching at his scalp, inhaling his soap and sweat.
"C'mon," you murmured, moving your hips closer. "Touch me, it's okay."
His big hands crept to your waist. Bucky hesitated with his metal fingers. You continued brushing his face, both hands cupping his jaw, thumbs caressing his cheekbones.
"That's good," you hummed as Bucky slowly pulled you closer, melding your body to his. "Good, Bucky, good."
"I don't… I shouldn't…"
"You deserve this," you reminded, pushing a lock of hair behind his ear. "You deserve to be touched kindly."
Bucky shuddered. One hand was on your spine, the other in the curve of your waist.
"Been a long time, hmm?"
"Yeah," he whispered, still afraid the walls were listening.
You wrapped your arms around his neck, lifting your leg to fit it over his hip. Bucky’s gaze grew unfocused.
"Dr. Cho suggested maybe I… I get a pet or something."
You hummed, rubbing between those broad shoulders, feeling him sag as the tension dissipated.
"Pet would be good. Maybe a cat?"
His arms tightened around you.
"Maybe. I dunno."
"You know, it's not one or the other, Bucky. You can have the cat and you can have me."
He looked up at you, eyes wide, pleading.
Don't give yourself to me. You don't know what you're doing.
You smiled, resting your forehead against his.
"As long as you want me."
"What if—" he licked his lips, swallowing. "What if I want you for a long time?"
warnings: knife injury, blood mention, all pretty tame but I'd rather be safe then sorry
words: 725
a/n: this is my submission for @real-jane 's #HealingHandsChallenge in celebration of her hitting 725 followers 🥰 I hope you like it, Kate, it was so hard for me to stop at 725 lol (maybe I'll write the smutty follow up to this down the line 🥴) Kate, I adore your writing. The way you have with words never fails to take my breath away, there's always new sides I see of you with every story you post and I hope we keep getting to see more and more. Thanks for including me in this, girlie, I had a lot of fun 💖 (like god I cranked that out in 2hrs. umm mom are you proud of me?? I made a moodboard who am i??)
18+ BLOG, MINORS DNI. IF YOU INTERACT AND YOU DON’T HAVE YOUR AGE VISIBLE ON YOUR BLOG YOU WILL BE BLOCKED. 18+ BLOG, MINORS DNI.
"Aren't you supposed to be some kinda elite knife murder…man? How did you accidentally cut yourself?" The stupid paper wrapper won't come off of the bandaid and it's driving you nuts. Stupid manicure, you huff to yourself and rip the paper open with your teeth. Thankfully one of the caterers had some bandaids in their bag but the character options were abysmal and apparently their packaging was military grade tough.
"So eloquent, doll." Bucky drolls sarcastically. "You're just a vision in white and I got distracted."
"Or, you were goofing around with Steve again. I told you not to play with knives around him anymore, he's a bad influence. And on our wedding day, too,' you shake your head, "unbelievable."
Bucky watched you struggle with a smirk on his face. He would ask if you wanted help but you growled, actually growled, last time. "You shouldn't be patching me up, I'll get blood on your dress."
"You're not gonna get blood on my dress."
"It'll be healed up in an hour anyway."
"That doesn't mean you don't deserve to be taken care of, Bucky!"
Your eyes meet over the Paw Patrol bandaid, now opened, paper partially peeled off in your hands.
"Sorry for snapping."
Bucky doesn't answer right away, letting you finish making sure his thumb has gotten the dire medical attention it needed. He smiles, admiring your handiwork.
"You do an amazing job taking care of me, doll."
"Of course I do. I love you, Buck. Or I wouldn't be here in this big silly dress." Your arms flail around you at the pile of tulle you're currently swamped in on the floor in front of him.
"I know, sweetheart."
You grab hold of his hand once again, press a quick, light kiss to the blue police dog taped to Bucky's thumb and and smile. "So cute."
"Y'know that's gonna show in our wedding pictures."
"Oh now you care about wedding pictures, Bucky?"
"No, but you care. You know if it was up to me we would've had our trio of idiots escort us to the courthouse and gotten this done in 20 minutes." He's right. Sam had even offered to drive.
"But don't I look pretty, Buck?" You bat your eyelashes, like anyone could ever describe you as coy, and Bucky snorts out a laugh. His calloused hands cradle your face like you're made of something delicate and precious and maybe you are, to him. It's why you're here in a large storage closet surrounded by white folding chairs and tables putting a silly little cartoon bandaid on his thumb instead of out there celebrating with your extended family. You're precious to him in ways he never thought he'd deserve. Delicate in how someone else's love could hold you up and in and wrap around you so nothing spills and you're whole. His thumbs, one metal one...plastic and sticky, caress your cheeks in soothing circles as he stares at you, lost in thought. You could go for a nap, waiting for him to come back to you, but he never took too long.
"We should get back." The low timbre of his voice sends shivers up your spine.
"We should."
"You do look beautiful by the way." Bucky plucks at the strap strategically placed over your shoulder and something in you wants him to keep pulling until there's nothing left.
"So I've heard. From you. About every five minutes."
"But it's true, doll." He runs his rough fingers down your arm and you feel like you're already shaking under him, about to fall apart. "You thinking what I'm thinking?"
"That you stabbed yourself so you could sneak me away and have your way with me in a broom closet?"
"Wha- no! Haha! What kinda lunatic do you think I am, sweetheart? I-," he coughs and clears his throat, "okay, maybe."
"Good," you smile with a tilt of your head, feeling his thick thighs tense under your fingertips. "'Cause I'm dying to get out of this dress. How long do you think Nat and Steve can hold off the angry mob when they realize we ditched the party?"
"Who cares, I wanna have my way with my fuckin' wife. Now let me help you get-"
You wince when you hear something tear in his hands.
Hai👋 uhm I was wondering if possibly you could write a little thing with y/n staying over at Peter's place for the first time and there ends up being a bad thunderstorm, like power goes out and everything? Then pete finds out reader is absolutely terrified of it? Like full on panic attack? I have severe astrophobia and tend to imagine him being there in all his lovely puppy like glory to try and cope, I love love love your work so much <3💕💕
Through Every Storm
Peter Parker x GN!Reader
Summary: Peter’s touch comforts you during a thunderstorm.
Warnings: TRIGGER WARNING depiction of a panic attack, lightning and thunder
Word count: 722
A/N: thank you so much nonnie for your kind words and your patience while I wrote this, I hope you like the drabble 💕 this is also my submission for @real-jane healing hands challenge (I hope it’s ‘healing’ enough)
Banners by @maysdigitalarts, dividers by @firefly-graphics
Masterlist | Ask me anything! | Library
You could smell the rain in the air before a drop landed on the pavement.
It wasn’t so much the threat of precipitation dampening your clothes and your spirits that bothered you, but the rolling, dark grey storm clouds directly above which carried charged lightning that had the hairs on your arms standing on end.
You fired off a quick text to your boyfriend asking if you could come over. His apartment was a mere few blocks away, compared to yours which was across town, and with the impending storm you didn’t want to be caught out in the open. Having to contend with the loud cracks of lightning and rumble of thunder would be difficult enough, let alone also having to find shelter.
As typical with Peter’s eager personality, he responded almost immediately saying he’d love for you to spend the night, punctuating the message with multiple emojis which brought a smile to your face.
It was only a handful of minutes before you were being buzzed up to his apartment. Your shoes, clothes and hair were slightly damp from the drizzly beginnings of the storm as you entered his place, but that didn’t stop Peter from pulling you into a sweet kiss.
Though it would be your first night sleeping over at Peter’s, you were too concerned about what was brewing in the sky outside to feel any anxiety about sharing a bed with him. Nor could you pay any attention to the movie playing on his laptop.
You had thus far been able to keep your aversion for thunderstorms a secret from him - you hadn’t been dating that long, and if a storm had been predicted, you were careful not to stray any further from your place than necessary.
But today you hadn’t been as diligent as you usually were - though in your defence, no storms had been forecast when you left home that morning.
The rain became gradually heavier throughout the movie, the dark storm clouds blocking out all rays of sun, but with Pete’s comforting presence you had managed to keep your anxiety to a minimum. However, once he left the room to microwave some popcorn, everything went downhill.
With a sharp flash out of the corner of your eye, which was followed almost immediately by a loud crack and the roar of thunder, indicating the strike had been nearby, the power in the apartment went out completely, submerging you in darkness.
Letting out a yelp, you pulled your legs into your chest, rocking back and forth in an attempt to soothe yourself.
“Honey, are you okay? It’s just the power, it’ll be back on soon.” Pete called from the kitchen.
Your chest tightened as the storm continued to fill all your senses; the smell of the rain, the loud clap of thunder and lightning, followed by the reverberations which shook the building. All you could manage to take were quick, shallow breaths, which were making your head dizzy.
When you didn’t respond, Peter poked his head around the wall to find you hyperventilating on his floor.
Would he think you were a coward, or stupid for having such a visceral reaction to something as natural as the weather?
Your greatest fear, perhaps even more so than thunderstorms, was losing Peter.
But Pete didn’t hesitate to rush over to you, almost tripping over the coffee table on his way, with the utmost concern evident in his eyes. His hands cupped your face as he sat in front of you, directing your gaze up to meet his own, scooting his body closer as if to provide a physical barrier between you and the raging weather beyond his walls.
“Try taking deep breaths for me baby. Slowly in and out.” He instructed, proceeding to count aloud the timing of each inhale and exhale to assist you with keeping a steady rhythm, rubbing circles along your back and whispering praises in your ear as you gradually gained control of your diaphragm again.
Though you were still frightened, his tender care and reassurance that no harm would come to you as long as he was around, went a long way to bringing you down from your panic attack.
You fell asleep that night with Peter’s arms protectively around you, not paying any mind to the pitter-patter of rain against the window.
▪️ summary: loki hid himself away to keep you safe. you’re not having it. ▪️ warnings: none! ▪️a/n: written for my 725 word healing hands challenge, so challenged by @buckysbirdie 💕 I’ve never written for loki before so I chose him! no gender specificity at all, much ambiguity. ▪️words: 725
prompt: 'cleaning them up'/'stormy weather'/'bucky or loki'
▪️ ▪️ ▪️
“Darling?”
He grasps your cheeks, worrying warmth into your skin with his thumbs; try as he might, he can’t get you to stand. The drone of the downpour suppresses his sigh.
“Come.” With an arm under your knees, and the other clutching you to his chest, the man who once demanded Midgardians kneel before him does just that to lift you.
You drift in and out of consciousness, catching fragments of what’s happening. A lingering scent of rose. Water, pounding in gallons against porcelain. Coiled black hair, which becomes frizzed in the heat of the washroom… how it curls around your fingers when you reach out to make sure he is corporeal.
A warm hand rubs your arm, and you come around with your nose tucked beneath his jaw–your fingers grasping the ends of his recently-washed hair. Feels like you took a dagger to the temple, but you’re happy, because he isn’t a Prince with the face of a god from a greater pantheon, welcoming you to the afterlife.
This is the Earth-bound man who asked you to wait.
“Explain, elskan mín?” He shifts so you have to look him in the eye. He’s got his back to the porcelain bathtub, you in his lap, while steam gives him a halo of curling hairs. Loki doesn’t make any movements to coax you into the bath.
You shake your head. “Not just now,” you manage.
He nods once, as he often does when words are insufficient between you, and leans in.
“Can’t tell blood from mud in your poor hair,” he murmurs, a breath away from soothing the hurt of being apart for months, now.
“When will you learn?” you sigh.
“Learn, darling?”
“I don’t wait, Laufeyson.”
He huffs a laugh. “More fool I.”
“Make it up to me?” You tuck his hair behind his ears. He raises an eyebrow and grasps your wrists to keep your touch at hand, but this time, he waits. As he turns his attention to the indentations of your knuckles and the lines traversing your palms, you see it: he’s running.
“What?” he says, as if to say please stop looking at me. His cheeks pinken.
“I’ll clean up,” you whisper. “If it will make you feel better.”
Your lips graze over his cheekbone, and it’s his turn to shudder. Leaving your hands in his grasp, you cautiously stand. Only when your feet are steady does he release you. Loki studies your ankles until your tac pants hit the ground, and then his pupils dilate. He peers at you, wide-eyed… he’s diminutive under your scrutiny. Then, those sweet green eyes shut in marked pain.
You knew he was hurting when he left for the safehouse. Thor said something which shook him to his core–bad enough that he made the decision to leave, under the guise of protecting you. I’ll come back for you when everything blows over, he had said, whispering in your ear while you were barely cognizant. Wait for me.
When you settle into the bath, your whole body aches to release the pain of battle, but you don’t allow yourself to take solace. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, frozen as he still is with his back against the tub.
“Jötunn couldn’t keep me away,” you say. He tenses.
“Jötunn? You–”
“I made you a promise. How could you forget so easily?”
He turns his head so his cheek is pressed to yours. “No–don’t say that. I didn’t, I-I couldn’t forget.”
“Then why–”
“You will forever be in peril; I cannot guard you from what threats may arise–from this realm or the next.”
“I drove a spear through the heart of a frost giant to find you. If you think I want you for your muscle…”
It's the shake in his shoulders, the… embarrassed laughter which signals his defeat.
“Help me clean up?” Your request strengthens his resolve.
Loki turns until he can wrap both arms around you, absolutely soaking his sleeves. He buries his face in your shoulder. You tug at his hair until he looks at you. Your lips and his are more eloquent than any declaration. Your touch is enough–to convince him that you’re safer together, that a tenderness which defies a four-letter definition is shared between you… and to urge him into the bathtub with you, oxfords, trousers, cufflinks, and all.
Hi! This is my attempt to write for Kate’s @real-jane Follower Celebration! It feels like years since I’ve written anything, so I’m very happy that you helped me stretch my writing juices a little bit. I hope this will make sense, if not - I’m stil happy that I managed to write this!
Also, I hope you will accept my own character that I’ve been basing my works in progress on, Leah is so great and I love her to bits x
Type of Healing: Through psychic/emotional control superpowers of OC!Leah Novak
Pairing/characters: Bucky Barnes, OC!Leah Novak, Peter Parker, Sam Wilson
Warnings: hurt, trauma, No Way Home aftermath (that’s a warning for me)
Words count: 749 (Please forgive me the 24 above the limit!)
Public events, sponsored and endorsed by the government, were the most uncomfortable sceneries for Bucky and Leah. He was avoiding the public judgement with all his leftover patience, and Leah couldn’t stand the fabricated atmosphere of pride and empowerment. Yet, they stood on the side of the biggest lecture hall at the New York University, with fake smiles plastered to their faces as Sam Wilson gave another speech of the month.
“Remind me please, what educational value do we bring to these students today?” Her whisper gets lost in the crowd’s laughter and ovation, but he hears it vividly. It draws a low chuckle out of him and he shakes his head in disbelief.
“Inclusivity, sense of community, and life wisdom.”
“I can imagine these quotes on the merchandise already. Add a NYU logo and you’ll be a rich man by the end of the year.” She smirked up at him and held his shiny gaze for a millisecond. He was itching to get out of the room full of horny teenagers and overly excited young adults, she could feel the annoyance peeking through his aura. “Wanna sneak out before the Q&A?”
And so, they did, right after Sam finished off his last anecdote that adorned his lecture. They lowered their heads as the hands of the students shot up to the sky, begging for their question to be chosen by the one and only, Captain America.
They walked side by side across the hall, timidly brushing their pinky fingers in a teasing game. The exchange of short looks between the two and the security guards was a formality, and Leah lead them to a small patio. Trimmed grass, a dozen of flowerpots, an experimental greenhouse and a few worn-out benches made the area calm enough for them to release the unwanted tension. But they were not alone.
A lean, composed young man was packing up a professional camera gear with a sorrow look in his eyes. Leah’s senses went on a haywire trip around her whole body; she could feel how his heart rate sky-rocketed when they both noticed him, as if he was able to sense them, too. She could feel his hands shaking, his heart skipping in something between fear and disappointment.
“Oh, hi! Uh, Sergeant Barnes, Le-uh, Ms. Novak… I-uh, I’m sorry, I don’t mean to interrupt you here,” his nervous, but deliberate rambling made Leah open up to her emotional curiosity. A blue hue flashed across her orbs when she allowed herself to gather his feelings and connect a few puzzle pieces together.
Bucky saw her do her ominous magic trick, so he attempted to play along.
“Don’t worry man, we were just exploring.” He sent a polite smile his way. “Are you studying here?”
“No, uh… I’m with Daily Bugle,” he waved around with his little press badge that was already glued together twice. “covering for Cap’s speech. Captain America’s, I mean. Sorry.” He stuttered and laughed nervously. The two approached him in a safe distance, but Leah took two steps closer than Bucky.
“What’s your name?” She asked curiously, still unable to grasp all the strings of his emotional state at once. He was heavily distressed, cornered by grief and sorrow.
“Uh, Peter Parker, ma’am.”
“Peter Parker. Sounds very familiar.” Leah smiled up at him and waited until he was brave enough to look up at her. She looked into his scared eyes and focused all her attention on him; she offered a handshake. Peter took a shaky breath and smiled back at Leah. She knew it was a sad smile.
Once she touched his hand, the blue sparks enveloped their weave.
“Can you let me in, Peter? I want to help you. I can ease your pain.”
Reserved at first, now he wanted to comply with all she could tell him. It has been weeks since he talked to anyone who knew him before Stephen Strange’s spell. He wanted to cry his eyes out as soon as he saw the pair, but instead Leah did it; her eyes spilled heavy teardrops as she embraced his hurt mind.
Peter couldn’t stop but think of all the memories that he had with Leah: the trainings, the check ups at the Avengers Compound, the shared battlefield. He showed her all that happened in the past months, feeling the heaviness lift up from his heart. His lip trembled at the realization that Leah will now remember him.
summary: here comes the bride 🥰 (a sort of prequel to this fic but can be read alone)
warnings: none? brief mention of getting stabbed by natasha lol
words: 503
a/n: @real-jane I promised you more and I hope I delivered 😅 I have more ideas with them so let me know if you want me to keep going with these two 😘 (also this bit was fully inspired by this pic of seb lol)
Y'know those compilations on YouTube of men crying when they see their wives walk down the aisle for the first time? The ones where the dude turns around and he's already got snot running down his face and he's just sobbing uncontrollably? Yeah, that's what Bucky looks like right now.
Okay, maybe not that extreme, but he's crying harder than you've ever seen him cry, that's for sure. The image is so shocking you almost throw your bouquet down and run to him. Thankfully, Wanda is there at your side, telling you to be patient and patting your arm that she's holding as she moves you slowly down the aisle.
It feels like eons as you watch Bucky's face contort in what looks like pain from the tears. It's so shocking to you that you almost want to laugh. Tears run into the beard he's grown out since the colder months came and you itch to wipe them away, to scratch your fingers through the coarse growth on his chin like you do when he's curled against your breast at night when neither of you can sleep. Bucky swears it puts you to sleep before it does him and maybe that's true. Maybe you need him as much as he needs you. Maybe more and he doesn't realize it.
Steve's got his bear paw of a hand clapped over Bucky's shoulder like the mass of it will ground him, hold him tight to the earth and remind him that all of it is real. Natasha's waiting for you on your side and crying too but she's a big sap who cries at more than she'd like you to know and she'll stab you before you can say a word about it. You have a scar or two to prove it.
Your hands shake and you're so goddamn close you want to fly the last few steps to him and take him in your arms. Bucky's hands twitch at his sides and you know he's thinking it too. How you don't collide like two freight trains stuck on the same track you'll never know.
You know it's time when Wanda lets go of your arm and pulls you to face her, actually pulls your gaze off of Bucky. She says something to you in Sokovian that you don't understand. Later she'll tell you it's a sort of blessing, an old tradition, and you promise to do the same for her when her day comes.
"Finally."
It's barely a whisper, choked around the syllables, but you hear Bucky when he speaks to you. Loud and clear.
You turn towards the man who's about to become your husband and, after passing Natasha your bouquet without even looking, you take his warm, tear-streaked face in your hands.
"What's the matter, Soldier? Never seen a pretty dame before?"
He chokes out a laugh and bumps his forehead to yours. His eyes close and open slowly, staring into the depths of you.
In celebration of 725 of you beautiful friends choosing to follow me, I’m very excited to propose this Healing Hands writing challenge!
The goal of this challenge is to focus on characters finding comfort and healing in some way. :) Because I cannot seem to write anything without making it far longer than is necessary, this challenge is intended to limit word counts to 725 or less.
Rules:
1. You can challenge ME to write a specific prompt, or you can choose to write it yourself!
2. Could be a fic, a moodboard, an edit of some kind. I will happily create a moodboard for your chosen prompt, just specify that in your submission!
3. Must be no more than 725 words (pls use *read more* if over 500!)
4. A complete prompt must include THREE THINGS: a type of healing, the situation you’d like to see it in, and a character you’d like to be used (see below for ideas). If you’d like to write a character, healing, or situation type outside of the ones I listed, that’s totally fine!
5. I don’t want to put too many restraints on content, but please make sure you properly tag any potentially triggering content in a warning at the top of your piece! Angst/smut welcome, naturally.
6. Deadline for participation is May 31st
7. Tag your piece with #HealingHandsChallenge and tag me so I can see your piece! I will make a masterlist once the celebration closes.
TO ENTER: Message me to say that you’d like to participate! Tell me whether YOU would like to write for your prompt, or if you’re challenging ME to do it, and provide me with your three choices (type of healing, situation, character) from the lists below, or with an original suggestion! (If you’re gonna go for it, you’re certainly not required to message me first 🥰)
I am so excited to see what you come up with! Thank you so much for joining me here. It has been such a gift getting to know y’all through our shared fandoms.
Cheers!
Kate
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Type of healing:
Patching up heartbreak
Giving medical attention
Cleaning them up
Finally letting them go
Self-administered healing
Or something else of your choice...
Situation:
Stormy weather
In a dream
In hiding
At a wedding
Grand public gesture
After battle
Or something else of your choice...
Characters I’m willing to write:
MCU characters
Harry Potter characters
Star Wars characters
Anyone from the Grishaverse
Bridgerton Characters
Or someone else of your choice...
My Masterlist
No pressure tags: @naarna @thornsnvultures @mannien @violets-library @buckysbirdie @fandoms-writings @ohheyjanie @annathesillyfriend @sanguineterrain @msvillainous @foreverindreamlandd @indyluckycharlie @adecila and anyone else who is interested in participating :)
