#tony is so done with this shit

[denebolablack]

Tony: *To Bucky* You cannot shoot every single person I've dated that you don't like!

Bucky: *Raises an eyebrow*

Tony: Okay, you technically can, but you shouldn't. Come on, Steve! Help me out here!

Steve: *Amused* Idk babe, you always tell him to use his free will, and that's exactly what he is doing.

Tony: *Frustrated* I'm so done with both of you, absolutely done.

Bucky: Don't say that doll *Pushes the genius into his lap* I'll behave if you spend some quality time with us, ¿hm?

Tony: *Squints* I feel like I'm being blackmailed but I'll allow it just because you're hot.

Steve: *Hugs the pair of brunettes* Oh so you are with us just because we're hot?

Tony: Right now? Yes. Now shut up and kiss me cuz I'm still mad at you.

[thousandyearphantombunker]

"we want more mentally ill/disabled characters with ugly symptoms!"

You guys can't handle lapis lazuli tony stark or hank pym! You guys can barely contain your ableism toward the hulk! You guys hate the good doctor for all the wrong reasons! You made fun of his speech patterns and his meltdowns wtf like I'm sorry the only autistic person you've supported have been the perfect non annoying type- but too many of especially as children are like shawn- they talk weird and don't understand what's so offensive about what they said

You guys keep saying Lapis should just be rewritten into a villain! I don't like how the show handled her but like your really gonna make the girl who shows ugly bad symptoms of ptsd into villain? You guys keep trying to make hank into a villain or rewrite his past- god forbid a character have really sevre ugly symptoms that causes them to make decisions that permanently effect the story but have them still be heroes! God forbid Ironman have npd and be a hero! Let's shame MCU Bruce for his mental illness for being unable to do things because of it! God as soon as a character with a mental illness or developmental disorder or low IQ shows actual symptoms and behaviors (ei: acts like how someone with the disorder in question acts- you know the main part of having a fucking disorder) you get pissy and pile on the shame- yeah jen you do control your anger better than bruce- you can also stand better than Charles fucking Xavier! Yeah your smarter than a guy with a low IQ want a cookie?

I'm never gonna be one of those people who tell others to stop writing disabled villains or that writing a character that deals with internalized ableism (disabled people like any group of people can be total prices of shit, and I'm sorry not everyone is content and accepting of their disabilities and some of us take comfort in characters that struggle with being angry because of their problems) but Jesus Christ when a heroic character with ugly symptoms who makes cruel decisions or has 'bratty' or 'immature' moments can we let them stay heroes? Can we let them have a disorder without piling on the shame that we are inferior because we can't do something everyone else can- because that's literally what a disability is! Can they still be heroes?

Do we have to use intellectual/developmental disability as a shorthand for anti intellectualism and being a gross annoying psycho

Do we have to make every heroic character with aspd or npd into a villain or change their disability to autism because it's 'more sympathetic' as if lack of empathy isn't a goddamned symptom of many disabilities like PTSD and autism- You can headcanon tony as having autism- that's cool by me but it's clear some of y'all do it to make him a 'woobie'- which is infantalizing btw but also it's because some of y'all are ableist toward people with npd

I hate that the only acceptable 'ugly symptoms' are things like forgetting to shower or brush your teeth every once in a while or being a bit irritable and not stuff like burning bridges or having explosive outburts

Also it's not a mental illness unless it effects your behavior?

Im not saying that we should just accept and allow mentally ill/intellectually disabled people/characters to get away with bad behaviors unpunished but can they stay heroes? Can they still be respectable?

"we want more characters with ugly symptoms"

Yet

You people get offended by low functioning autistic people existing! You get mad at them for being incontinent or nonverbal/making strange noises or having scary anger issues or IQs low enough that they will never be independent you get mad at them for not showing the 'appropriate' reactions to things they may or may not fully understand- you hate people with sensory issues -

You don't want mentally ill/disabled characters- you want characters with the labels of mental disabilities without any of the ugly strange or off putting behaviors mental/intellectual deficiencies/issues cause- you want a romantic tragedy!

You shame people with Alzheimer's for FORGETTING stuff and LOSING SKILLS 'yeah yeah you are superior to your uncle because you can remember stuff but can you remember it's a fucking disease! you people are cruel

Yes you are technically superior to disabled people because you are capable of things we aren't and you have better character and you can control yourself but guess what? Those people you hate for being incapable of that shit have disabilities it's not our faults! It's the fucking definition of a disability! Like yeah it is a skill issue and we're just 'worse' than nondisabled with us lacking self control and having lower IQs and bad mental processing- yeah it is because we're lacking in some capacity that's like the definition disability you can't say you support disabled people and then turn around and say shit about how your better than these people because you can talk or take care of yourself

Hank Pym and Lapis Lazuli should get called out for acting like assholes and pieces of shit but I am firmly against turning one of few heroic characters who actively struggle with psychosis and delusions into another 'psycho' villain and I'm firmly against saying Lapis is just as bad as Jasper and using symptoms of her PTSD as signs she should be rewritten into a villain- I want them to be held accountable not turned into straight up evil guys or dear god washing out their problematic qualities until they're palatable/relatable to a neurotypical audience to make them good guys when they are already good guys!

Can people who do bad things because of their disabilities still be heroes? Can they be allowed to get better or do they have to accept that having ugly symptoms means being the bad guy? Fucking hell this is why I side eye anyone who acts like mental illness/developmental/cognitive or mental etc disabilities are more destigmatized than physical disabilities (trust me they aren't)

Tldr let characters with ugly symptoms be heroes let your characters with mental disorders act like they have a disorder and let said characters be heroes inspite of it!

[spookythesillyfella]

GUYZ . I AM VERY PROUD TO ANNOUNCE ..

IVE FINISHED MY TONY MASK !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

thank u so much to @thefrostknight for helping me with putting him together !!!! i couldn't have done it without uu !!!!!

+ photoz of me modeling the poor bastard boy ... hehe X3

[manzis-world]

Doflamingo : I forgot something?

Law: your morals

Doflamingo: nahi something important

[squireofgeekdom]

Oh no. Don't let me start plotting out a Leverage Redemption / Moon Knight crossover. I don't need more wips. Help.

[darthbloodorange]

JARVIS' Favorite [Comic]

For the: ✦ @tonystarkbingo Round 8 - "How Dare You" [R4] (Card: 8050)

Word count: N/a - Art Title: JARVIS' Favorite Rating: Teens Universe: Marvel Cinematic Universe Pairings: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark, JARVIS & Tony Stark, JARVIS & Steve Rogers Characters: Steve Rogers, Tony Stark, Jarvis (Iron Man movies), Other Avengers Warnings: None Major Tags: Humor, Clint Barton is a Little Shit, Tony Stark is So Done, Awkward Steve Rogers, Forever Hungry Steve Rogers, Domestic Avengers, Avengers Family, Avengers Tower ~ Summery: Clint finally asks the important question on everyone's mind. Who is JARVIS' favorite Avenger?

Tony regrets everything…

~

Notes:

Steve and Tony are dating in this. Steve paints in Tony's lab as he works. Tony and Steve had come up from spending time in Tony's lab. …Steve was hungry 😔💔. Steve regrets coming up. Tony regrets EVERYTHING!

[yourbustedkneecaps]

age swap au fic where everything is the same except that peter/spidey’s group switches with tony/iron man’s.

peter takes tony’s place. mj takes pepper’s. ned takes rhodey’s etc etc. “i am spider-man” press conference, tony sneaking out as iron man/becoming peter’s intern, may helping run the company, howard being a dick/owning a small business or smth — you get the gist

iron son and spider-dad i guess? tony (not lacking in intelligence) wanting to be as kind as peter and terrified of losing another good father figure in his life. peter “oh my fucking god kid if you’re not gonna stop at least let me show you the ropes” parker meeting tony during an expo/tour.

i want to see teen tony in high school desperately trying to be normal with his dad on his back about MIT and his tiny business or something. i want to see adult peter running a company with his besties and being loved as spider-man and trying so hard to help out some traumatized and angry kid in a rocket powered tin can.

this has tv show vibes to me in the best way

[pinksepia]

Tony Tony Chopper: cup edition

[testingcheatsenabletrue]

me when ppl bm me for picking iron man every single time without question

my brother in christ i died once. its not that serious.

[denebolablack]

A normal day on The Avenger's complex:

Jessica knows that Tony is in love with the Brooklyn's boys.

She also knows they love him back.

That doesn't mean she's gonna go easy on them.

If they want to date the genius then they better bleed for it.

Literally.

[featuresofinterest]

18 months ago i was like "i think rockstar lestat would have a hedwig vibe" and now rolin jones is out here saying that's literally one of their main inspirations. i could lift a car rn

[darthbloodorange]

Tony is too tired right now for Steve's jokes...

For the: ✦ @tonystarkbingo Round 8 - Journey [R5] (Card: 8050) ✦ cap-ironman Stony Bingo - IMAGE: Hug and Fly [Y4]

Word count: N/a - Art Title: Dropped Rating: Gen Universe: Marvel Cinematic Universe Pairings: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark Characters: Steve Rogers, Tony Stark Warnings: None Major Tags: Humour, Hug and Fly, Steve Rogers Being a Little Shit, Tony Stark is So Done ~ Summery: Tony is too tired right now for Steve's jokes...

[whysamwhy123]

So, I started writing a dumb crackfic about a bunch of my blorbos attempting to hit on my newest blorbo because it was funny in my head buuuuut turns out I'm not funny enough to bring it to life so I probably ain't gonna finish it. But I don't wanna feel like I completely wasted my time, so I'm just gonna drop the unfinished thing here because I can't seem to make myself continue it. It's a shame because I feel like it would have gotten a little better/funnier after I got the set-up out of the way, I had plans for where this would go, but alas, my brain has failed me yet again. And whatever, this most likely appeals to absolutely no one anyway, so here it is, read at your own risk because it sucks!

Jack was minding his own business before the show, wandering the halls while dicking around his phone, when he spotted Hook, just standing there.

‘’Hey man, what’s up?’’ he said, leaning against the nearest wall, still looking at his phone.

When no response came, Jack looked up. Hook was still as a statue, his eyes focused forward. Did he not hear him?

‘’Hello? Hook?’’

Jack got closer and slowly turned his head in the direction Hook was staring. ‘’What are you looki - whoa!’’

Jack almost dropped his phone when he first caught a glimpse of her. No wonder Hook was staring - she had to be the most beautiful woman he’d ever soon. She was fucking gorgeous. The kind of woman that’s so beautiful it feels like she shouldn’t be allowed to exist. Or that you shouldn’t be allowed to look at her, how dare you think yourself worthy! But she was real and she was right there all the way over on the other side of the hallway. She seemed to be checking how she looked in her phone’s camera, adjusting her long blonde hair and examining her makeup as though it wasn’t already perfect. She was perfect. She was wearing this all red ensemble that showed off just how killer her body was. And she was tall too. Long legs.

Jack’s mouth was agape. He knew it wasn’t polite to stare but how could he not?

‘’Jack, buddy,’’ Hook said, not taking his eyes off the beauty across the hall. ‘’I’ve found my next conquest.’’

Jack couldn’t take his eyes off her either. Who could blame them? ‘’Who is that?’’

Hook somehow managed to tear his eyes away from the vision they’ve been blessed to look upon and turned his head to Jack instead. ‘’My next conquest. Weren’t you listening?’’

Jack forced himself to look away - any longer and he was about to start drooling. ‘’No, who is she? What’s her name? I’ve gotta know.’’

‘’You seriously don’t know who she is?’’

The two men whirled around to find Daniel Garcia right next to them.

‘’How long have you been there?’’ Hook asked.

Daniel waved him off, a whatever gesture and then nodded his head in the direction of the unbelievably gorgeous woman. ‘’That’s Mariah May!’’

Hook and Jack blinked at him.

‘’From Stardom?’’

More blinking.

‘’Club Venus? Rose Gold?’’

‘’You’re just saying words at us, man,’’ Hook said.

Daniel gave them a judgemental look. ‘’You guys don’t watch Stardom? For real? Do you not watch any joshi wrestling at all?’’

Jack scratched the back of his neck. Hook gave a half-hearted shrug.

Daniel shook his head. ‘’What’s wrong with you guys? Y’all got no taste. Where else do you find spots to steal?’’

‘’My dad,’’ Hook said.

At the same time, Jack said, ‘’Shawn Michaels, I guess?’’

Daniel sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. ‘’I’m surrounded by uncultured swines. Look, she was one of the hottest - literally - free agents in the business. She just signed here, she’s debuting tonight.’’

‘’She’s a wrestler?’’ Hook said. ‘’Damn. Would have been easier if she was a rat.’’

‘’She could be,’’ Daniel said. ‘’You can be a wrestler and a rat at the same time.’’

Hook narrowed his eyes at Daniel. ‘’You would know.’’

Daniel smiled back, completely oblivious. ‘’Yeah, I mean, look at Adam Cole. Or Edge. Or CM Pu -’’ He stopped himself and his eyes went wide in Jack’s direction. A very uncomfortable silence fell over the three of them, one that seemed to last precisely one million years. ‘’...other examples…’’

‘’Alright, enough standing around,’’ Hook said finally. He took his hands out of his hoodie pocket and cracked his knuckles. ‘’I’m going in.’’

Two hands, one from Daniel and one from Jack, shot out and grabbed his hoodie, preventing him from taking a step.

‘’No way,’’ Daniel said.

‘’Nuh uh,’’ Jack added.

Hook glared at the two. ‘’I saw her first.’’

Daniel was aghast. ‘’No, I saw her first! You didn’t know who she was until fifteen seconds ago!’’

‘’That doesn’t count,’’ Hook argued. ‘’I saw her first in the building, so I get first dibs.’’

‘’That’s not fair!’’ Jack whined.

Daniel said, ‘’You don’t understand, man - I’ve been crazy about this girl ever since I first saw her on Stardom World. I’ve been waiting for this moment for months - that could be the love of my life right there!’’

‘’Yeah, well, I wanna fuck her,’’ Hook said, as though that was the most airtight, well-reasoned counterpoint imaginable. ‘’You can fanboy over her all you want after I’m done with her.’’

‘’Hell no! I don’t want your sloppy seconds!’’

‘’If ‘the love of your life’ is sloppy seconds, what does that say about you, huh?’’

Hook and Daniel had been gradually inching closer to each other with each response. They both looked mad, like they were one second away from throwing punches. Jack couldn’t let that happen. Not after last time…

He put a hand on each man’s shoulder and created some distance between them. ‘’Guys, guys, calm down! We don’t need to fight.’’

Clearer heads seemed to prevail, Hook and Daniel shared a nod and then their body language changed, less guarded.

‘’Besides, you’re both wrong,’’ Jack continued. ‘’I should get to approach her first.’’

Hook and Daniel, now suddenly allies, raised an eyebrow each at Jack. ‘’Why?’’ they both asked at the same time.

‘’Because…’’ Jack started. His mind drew a blank. ‘’...I…want to…’’

Now it was Jack’s turn to be blinked at. He wracked his brain - he couldn’t let this opportunity slip away, not when the girl in question was that hot.

‘’Okay, here’s why it should be me! Or, I guess, here’s why it shouldn’t be either of you!’’ He pointed at Daniel. ‘’You hit on girls all the time, while I don’t. So much. So it’s only fair that I got a shot first because, you know, it’s a special occasion.’’ Daniel looked incredulous and opened his mouth to respond but Jack cut him off by pointing at Hook and continuing. ‘’And you! Aren’t you already seeing someone?’’

‘’Uh, no? The fuck you talking about?’’ Hook asked, looking very annoyed at the mere suggestion.

‘’What about that girl you hook up with all the time? The one who’s always texting you? Carly something?’’

Hook rolled his eyes. ‘’Alright, look - technically, I never told Carly we were exclusive. I just…told her a bunch of other stuff and she kinda assumed and I didn’t correct her because I didn’t wanna seem like an asshole. But just because she lets me hit on the regular doesn’t mean I owe her anything - she should understand that. So how is it my fault if she gets mad about something like this?’’

Jack furrowed his brow at his best friend. ‘’You…you don’t seriously think that, right? That’s gross!’’

‘’Nah, that makes perfect sense,’’ Daniel said. ‘’Flawless logic. She’s the one in the wrong, not you.’’

He and Hook shared a quick fistbump. Fuckboy solidarity.

Jack sighed deeply. ‘’See? This is why I should get to shoot my shot first - I won’t treat like her dirt like you two assholes!’’

Daniel looked offended. ‘’I’ll have you know, I’ll treat her like a queen!’’

Hook nodded. ‘’Yeah, same. Unless she doesn’t want me to, you know?’’

Fistbumps all around.

‘’There’s gotta be a way we can decide, fairly, who gets to go first,’’ Jack said. ‘’Some way we can settle this like mature adults. Like men.’’

The three men took a long moment to ponder their predicament and search for an appropriate solution.

Hook glanced down at his fist. ‘’Rock, paper, scissors?’’

‘’Yes,’’ Jack said, emphatically.

Daniel rubbed his hands together. ‘’Alright, how we doing this? Elimination style or triple threat rules?’’

Jack decided to defer to Hook; it was his idea after all.

Hook considered it for a moment. ‘’The usual 3-way match rules. First to score a fall wins.’’

The three of them formed a triangle and each of them placed a fist onto their other palm, ready and waiting. After silently confirming they were all ready through a series of shared nods, Jack took it upon himself to count them down.

‘’Okay, here we go! Rock, paper, scissors, sh -’’

Before he could finish, Jack was shoved back by Daniel, his back colliding with the wall. Daniel then grabbed Hook’s hand, still balled into a fist, and promptly covered it with his own palm, preventing Hook from changing his option and signalling paper-beats-rock.

‘’I win!’’ he announced proudly.

Hook ripped his hand away. ‘’Like hell you do!’’

‘’The fuck was that?!’’ Jack demanded, rubbing his back where it was now sore. ‘’That wasn’t a win, you cheated!’’

Daniel smiled smugly. ‘’No, I didn’t. We said triple threat rules - that means it’s No DQ.’’

A lengthy discussion ensued about what exactly constitutes a disqualification in a game of Rock, Paper, Scissors, hollowed by a side tangent about why there aren't disqualifications in a triple threat match. Upon realising that they weren’t going anywhere and were just wasting time, they all agreed to play by elimination rules. Hook was the first fall, picking paper while Jack and Daniel went with scissors. And in the finals, Jack’s paper bested Daniel’s rock. How poetic.

‘’Yes!’’ Jack exclaimed triumphantly. He took a great deal of satisfaction in Hook and Daniel’s sour, dejected expressions.

Jack glanced back over to confirm that Mariah was a) still there and b) hadn’t overheard any of that, which turned out to be true on both counts. She was in the exact same spot as before, still admiring herself in her phone’s camera. Jack could relate.

Jack took a few deep breaths to psyche himself up. ‘’Okay, Jack, you got this. You got this! I know exactly what’ll work here!’’

Hook groaned. ‘’You’re not seriously gonna try that again, are you?’’

‘’I told you, it totally works!’’ Jack said, defiant. ‘’Sometimes.’’

‘’What’s he talking about?’’ Daniel asked.

Hook sighed. ‘’He has this thing he does to try and pick up girls. It’s stupid - he just stands around looking sad and supposedly, a girl will eventually come up to him and ask him what’s wrong.’’

‘’It. Works. Sometimes,’’ Jack insisted.

Daniel considered that. ‘’Huh. Yeah, I can see it. One time, there was this girl who told me I had ‘sad eyes’ and it was half the reason she fucked me. So you might be onto something.’’

With his confidence boosted, Jack took another breath to calm his nerves and headed down the hallway to his target. He willed himself to stay calm, but he grew more nervous with each footstep. The closer he got, the better he could see her. She was even more stunning up close.

When he was near enough, he put on his game face. Which was to say, he put on his best sad puppy dog eyes and leaned against the wall, dejected.

His head was bowed, but he could see Mariah out of the corner of his eye. Unfortunately, she was still distracted by her own reflection. Jack didn’t blame her, but he really needed her to look his way. 

He let out a loud sigh. Nothing. So he sighed louder. Still nothing. The third sigh was so loud and exaggerated, it was almost comical. But it was the one that got the job done. Mariah finally looked up from her phone and found him there. There was a flash of concern on her face and Jack knew his diabolical plan was working.

‘’Excuse me, are you alright? You look really sad!’’

Whoa, she has an English accent? Jack wasn’t expecting that. It took him a couple of seconds to process and actually respond.

‘’Oh, it’s nothing, really. Just one thing after another today, you know?’’

Jack knows this is the part where she asks more questions about why he’s so sad and tries to cheer him up.

Mariah just hummed. ‘’Okay,’’ she said, and then turned her attention back to her phone.

Uh oh. It’s not going according to plan! Jack’s brain scrambled for what to do next. He pushed himself away from the wall and closer to her.

‘’Uh, hey, wait! Uh, I’m Jack!’’ he said, offering his hand out.

She eyed his hand curiously and then reluctantly shook it. Goddammit, why did he try to shake her hand? That’s not romantic, that’s…business-y?

‘’Nice to meet you, I guess,’’ she said. ‘’I’m Mariah May.’’

‘’Yeah, I know who you are,’’ Jack said. He wracked his brain for what it was Daniel said about her back there. ‘’I saw you wrestle in, uh…Venus World?’’

[dividedskylane]

rewatching 13 reasons why at the tender age of twenty-four. so many things are wrong with this show, and me.

[denebolablack]

Okay, can we talk about how this quote is literally the whole Tony's life? Like he was a genius, and he definitely grew up too fast for his age (damn, he was in MIT at the age of FOURTEEN). He always keeps learning and remembering things he wish he didn't, the kind of things that would haunt him at night, the kidn of things that would make him feel useless cuz there are things that he just CAN'T stop even if he tries. But at the same time, he WANTS to know things because he needs control, especially after Afghanistan (because when he let other people control things, his weapons were sold to terrorists and he almost died).

So Tony Stark wants to know everything because he needs control, but he hates knowing everything because there are some things that he just CAN'T fix no matter how hard he tries.

And he can't let go of that.

He can't lose control.

Because when he loses control, people die.

He is a control freak because he is afraid of trust again because when he trust people, they betray him or they get hurt.

[daddyjackfrost]

Oh, my love, side to side: B. Barnes

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avengers!F!Reader

Synopsis: After a successful yet traumatizing mission, you dream of losing Bucky for the first time in years. In a fit of panic, you call him. He answers. Not the phone, but the call your heart makes to his.

Warnings: Slow burn, fluff, minor angst if you squint, best friends to lovers?, mentions of; blood, injuries, burning bodies, crumbling buildings, nightmares, death, loss, panic attacks, and religious imagery, down!bad bucky, very obvious they are in love, WC: 3k

A/N: Thank you for the request! I really do love slow-burns. I wrote this in like, forty minutes so if it’s bad, I’m sorry! Also, listen to the song! it elevates the experience. Reblogs & Comments appreciated!

The quinjet landed just after midnight. 

The compound’s landing pad lights flickered against the sheen of metal, casting long shadows as the ramp lowered with a hiss. The mission had ended hours ago, but the adrenaline hadn’t faded, not really. It clung to your skin like sweat, and its success didn’t account for the blood caked beneath your fingernails or the tremble in your fingertips when you keyed in your ID. It didn’t reflect the way your chest still heaved like you were mid-sprint, lungs not quite convinced you were out of danger. 

The inside of your suit was stiff with dried blood—some yours, most not.

As you stepped down into the quiet night, your body ached with exhaustion, but your mind wouldn’t slow. Not even with the hum of familiarity beneath your boots. You were safe and the mission was over. 

And still, you felt like the rug was going to be pulled out from under you any second. 

You chose to go on this mission alone. You had done your research, accounted for all the mistakes that could have been, memorized the facts and mission brief, and yet. Muscles aching, you leaned your head against the cool metal. 

The elevator hummed as it carried you back up to the main floor. The doors opened to the familiar click of Tony’s boots echoing from the kitchen, and Natasha’s soft voice somewhere behind him. Laughter floated down the hallway—Sam, probably, cracking jokes at this late hour. 

You stepped into the glow of the kitchen and the moment your boots hit tile, all heads turned. 

“Hey, hey—look who made it back alive,” Sam called, voice low but teasing as he leaned against the counter. His eyes raked over your bloodied body and softened a fraction. 

Natasha looked up from her tea. “You’re late.” She had kept tabs on you in the beginning. She had no idea how horrible it had gone, how it had all unravelled. 

Tony grinned from the bar, nursing something with too much tequila and not enough sense. “She walks in looking like a murder scene and you’re giving her shit?” He raised the glass towards you in a silent salute. “Welcome back.” 

You let out a breath of laughter, slow and tired. The kind that pulled from your chest more like a sigh.

“Just took the scenic route,” you said, voice hoarse. “You know how I enjoy a pretty view.” 

The words felt like bile on your tongue. There had been nothing pretty about anything you had seen. You knew they’d see bits and pieces in the morning, how their concern would flood your senses, but for now, you shoved it all to the back of your mind. 

The last thing you needed was Sam sitting you down or Natasha hovering. 

You felt his eyes before you saw them. Warm, filled with knowing. 

Bucky stood near the wall, arms crossed, his figure still as stone. His hair was brushed back, strands curling loose around his face. The dark t-shirt stretched over his chest like it didn’t want to let go of him. His eyes followed every subtle movement you made—the slight limp, the way your shoulders curled inward, your haunted silence. 

To others, you were fine. A little bruised, shaken up, but smiling. 

To him, you were a storm waiting to break. Something scraped and aching. 

Both of you had a tradition, something that had started years ago. A simple nod and smile after a mission, just to assure the other that you were okay, that you hadn’t let the mission come back home. 

You avoided his gaze and set your bag down with a soft thud. You knew, knew he’d read you too easily. He had offered to come with you, not because he thought you couldn’t handle it but because two sets of hands were always better than one. He wanted to help you, be someone you could lean on, but you had refused with a smile. 

Flashes of burning bodies and crumbled buildings hit you like a truck and you blinked. 

You didn’t smile or nod, just dodged his burning stare. He clenched his jaw.

“Gonna shower,” you murmured. “See you guys in the morning.”

“You want dinner?” Sam offered. “We saved—”

“I’ll grab it later,” you cut him off, turning. “Thanks.” 

Bucky watched you disappear down the hallway, the tension in your spine making his own body coil tight. He hated seeing you like this, hated that things had gone wrong and he hadn’t been there to help you.

“Don’t follow her,” Natasha said quietly, not unkindly. 

He didn’t move. Not yet. 

But later, when the kitchen had emptied, goodnights shared, and lights dimmed, Bucky made you a plate anyway. Put your favourites on it. Covered it in foil and tucked it into the fridge. Maybe, just maybe, you’d listen to your body and eat something.

He couldn’t force you, but he could make it easier. 

Quietly, he made his way down to his floor, but stopped at yours first. The elevator doors opened silently and he was greeted with a dark floor, eerily quiet. He moved towards your bedroom, eyed the bandages and medkit on the counter. 

He paused at your door for a moment, eyes narrowed, trying to listen through the silence. He heard nothing, just your soft breaths, a rustle. 

Then, slowly, he walked away. 

Sleep didn’t come easily anymore, not for you. It hadn’t, for years. 

But when it finally did, it came hard and fast—dragging you under into a memory that wasn’t quite a memory. The sky was red. Your lungs burned. In the middle of the smoke and gunfire and screaming. You were running toward him.

“Bucky!”

Your voice tore out of you in a ragged scream. He turned, slow and silhouetted in the haze, blood on his shirt—so much blood—and then he was gone. 

Shot. Chest ripped open. Dying.

You dropped to your knees. You were screaming. Shaking.

He was bleeding out in your arms, dog tags slick with blood, his blue eyes wide and fading. 

You woke up gasping. 

Your sheets were damp with sweat, clinging to your skin like a second, suffocating layer. The room was too dark. Too quiet. Your chest felt like it was collapsing in on itself, like your heart was breaking from the inside. You could barely breathe, throat raw. 

He had died. 

No, No—that wasn’t real. 

You scrambled for your phone with shaking hands, barely able to put in the passcode. Your fingers shook as you tapped his name. It was instinct, muscle memory. 

One ring. Two—

Panicked, you ended the call, dropping the phone like it burned. Your hands were in your hair.

 “No, no, no—” you whispered, tossing the phone aside as you covered your mouth with both hands. You couldn’t breathe. Your body rocked with panic, your mind caught between now and then and that awful dream where he’d died and you couldn’t save him.

You hadn’t had a dream like this in years. You used to dream about loss—death—like it was family, but then you gained a new family, real and tangible. Hours at therapy had made you comfortable in your skin, had convinced you that loss could be prevented and how to deal with it.

But this—this was new. This was personal. This was Bucky. Your Bucky. 

Pulling your legs up to your chest, you rocked back and forth, trying to breathe. The tears leaked out of your eyes anyways. 

The phone vibrated once on the nightstand. 

He was up before the second buzz. 

Bucky didn’t waste time. Didn’t hesitate. He was already moving. Barefoot, shirtless, sweatpants hanging low on his hips, dog tags clinking softly as he grabbed his gun from the nightstand. His metal hand clenched instinctively. 

He glanced at his phone. Your name was on his screen. 

You’d called and hung up. 

That was enough to make his blood run cold. 

You were only two floors up. He ignored the elevator and threw open the large metal doors, running quicker than he ever had before. 

He didn’t knock. The door creaked open quietly. You didn’t hear it. He was silently glad you had granted him fingerprint access months ago. He didn’t need Jarvis alerting and disrupting you. 

He stepped inside like he belonged there, in your space—because God, didn’t he?

His breath caught when he saw you—sitting up in bed, knees pulled to your chest, body trembling. You were sobbing. Your eyes vacant.

His heart cracked clean in half. 

“Sweetheart…” His voice was soft, barely a breath. 

You flinched. Then, your eyes met his—and he saw the exact moment they focused. The panic didn’t fade, but it shifted, turned into something raw, deeper. 

“Bucky,” you gasped. His name felt like a prayer on your lips.

He crossed the room in three steps. Sunk to his knees in front of you, at the edge of your bed, like he’d done a hundred times before.

“Hey, hey,” his voice was soft, coaxing. “I’m here, Y/n. I got you.” He held his hands out, giving you the option to hold on or push him away. Either way, he wasn’t moving. 

You stared at his hands for a second before you folded into him. You leaned down, off your bed, and wrapped your arms around his neck. He wrapped his arms around you like they’d been sculpted for this—holding, grounding, anchoring. Like these very hands hadn’t caused mass destruction. 

He pulled you onto his left knee, pressing your trembling body into his. He rubbed your back, pressed his cheek into your hair. “It was just a dream,” he murmured into your hair. You didn’t need to tell him, he knew. “You’re safe. Look at me, Y/n.” 

You did, slowly. Your hands gripped his shoulders, nails digging in. You hadn’t even realized he was shirtless, just holding on like you’d fall apart if you didn’t. 

His eyes, blue and stormy were so soft, so calm as he stared at you. His eyes flickered across your face, taking in the light bruising and cuts. Gently, his arms went under your knees and around your waist and he stood up. 

Your hold on him tightened and for a moment, you thought he was going to drop you onto the bed and leave. You whimpered, wounded. 

Bucky’s heart clenched in his chest and he pressed you closer to his chest as he sat down on the edge of your bed with you in his lap. “None of that, sweetheart. I’m here. With you.”

He rubbed your back as your face fell into the nape of his shoulder and he held onto you tight, wanting nothing more than to take on whatever burden rested on your chest. 

“You were—God, Bucky, you were gone,” you choked out, still breathless. “I watched you die.” 

He exhaled hard, holding you tighter. He pressed his chin into your hair, hoping you hadn’t felt the shiver that ran down his back. “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.” 

You nodded against his skin but he could tell his words hadn’t fully registered. He remembers the first time he had dreamt of you dying. It had been years ago, when you had first made him laugh. He was trying to stay away from everyone, keep them out of harm's way, but you’d slowly but surely clawed your way inside his heart. 

He hadn’t spoken to you in a week. 

It wasn’t until you cornered him, told him that avoidance didn’t mean protection, that he tried to be better. For you. 

He can’t remember if he’s ever died in your dreams. You hadn’t told him. He knew you used to dream about loss, but he wasn’t sure if he’d ever been included. 

It was a terrifying feeling, he decided. Being on the receiving end of such a revelation. It meant too much. He meant too much and he didn’t know how to carry that weight with pride. If you were dreaming about losing him then that meant you had him. 

And you did. 

Irrevocably so. 

You were the only one who ever had. 

But this fear, the picture of him in your arms—it wasn’t one he wanted you to see, to experience. He hated that you had. He lost you in his dreams often, but that was because he didn’t have you. Couldn’t. It was his burden to bear. 

You pressed your forehead to his chest, the steady beat of his heart grounding you. His body heat helped with your shivers, his scent a calming balm. You didn’t realize how hard you were crying until his fingers were brushing away tears from your cheeks. 

“I’ll get you some water, okay?” 

Part of you wanted to refuse, beg him not to leave you, but instead, you nodded, small and shaky. 

You slid off his lap and he stood quietly, hand on your shoulder until he had no choice but to drop it as he moved quickly, stepping outside your bedroom door and into the kitchen. He opened a cabinet and pulled a large glass out, filled it halfway with water and downed it. 

He sighed and braced the sides of the counter, head tipping down. He hated this, hated that you’d been alone on the mission and that things had gone wrong, hated that you’d been woken up by such gruesome nightmares. 

He wasn’t a very religious man but he’d beg God for all of your pain. If he never had to see that vacant look in your red-rimmed eyes again, he’d thank the God that had once abandoned him. 

He hadn’t heard. Hadn’t heard the soft patter of your feet or your shaky breathing, too caught up in his mind. 

But he felt you, felt your arms slide around his waist as you pressed into his back. He stilled before he sagged at the contact. You rested your cheek against his back, his hands resting on yours.

“Didn’t mean to scare you,” you whispered, guilt dripping onto the floors. 

“You didn’t,” he lied. He had been, but that wasn’t your fault. “Just needed to see you.”

The silence that followed was soft, fragile. Sacred. 

 “I couldn’t save you.” You sounded broken, like even the words were pulling you under. 

“You called me,” he said gently, tilting his head. “You reached for me. That means something.” He slowly turned in your arms, his arms wrapping around your waist as he looked at you, eyes having fully adjusted to the dark. 

“Why’d you get out of bed?” 

You looked away at the question, mildly embarrassed. But his eyes didn’t move, just watched you. “I needed to see you. Touch you.” 

His lips parted at the admission. His arms around you tightened and he tipped his head down, chin resting on your head. “I’m here, sweetheart. I’m okay. Alive.” 

“Yeah,” you said. But it didn’t feel like enough. 

Unbeknownst to either of you, you had begun to sway. It was soft, a whisper of muscle movement, but Bucky rocked you, side to side. It felt a bit like slow dancing, like if a candle had been lit and some 80s jazz had been playing, everything could have been warm and filled with love. 

It was a little like that now. 

The floors were cold and the room was dim but there was warmth between you, a press of chests as his body heat slowly enticed yours. There was love in the air, flickers of it wrapping around you like it couldn’t be helped. 

Bucky didn’t want to be anywhere else. Here, in your arms, swaying with you in the kitchen was everything he wanted—needed. But you needed more, needed sleep and a restful night. 

With an arm around you, he leaned back and filled the same glass with some water. Still close, he brought it to your lips and smiled softly when you let him tilt the glass up. The cool water soothed the dryness in your throat and you sighed, forehead against his bare chest. 

“Come on,” he whispered into your ear. “Let’s get you back to bed.” 

He filled the glass to the top before he flexed his arm and crouched down a little. “Jump, sweetheart.” 

With practiced ease, like it was second nature and maybe it was, you wrapped your legs around his waist and his hand, his warm, strong hand rested under your thigh. It was intimate, sweet, and it broke through the clouds that were in your head. 

Made something warm, something delicate and treasured curl up in your stomach. 

Holding you with one arm and the glass with the other, Bucky made his way back into your bedroom. 

If these were any other circumstances, if you weren’t quietly still mourning him in your mind, you would have fully appreciated it. Bucky holding you and taking you to bed had been a dirty little secret of yours, something you’d think about and imagine when you were alone. 

It—with his genuine love and affection—was all you wanted. 

You didn’t know you already had it. 

“Do you want me to go?” he asked softly, already knowing the answer. 

Your arms tightened around him as he eased you back into bed, carefully, never once letting go of you. You shook your head. “No. Can you stay? Please.” 

He didn’t hesitate. 

Bucky slid under the covers beside you, careful not to crowd. But then you turned and curled into his space, borrowing into his chest, your body instinctively molding to his, your face in the crook of his shoulder. 

He wrapped himself around you instantly.

One arm tucked under your neck, the other holding you tight against his chest. His dog tags were cool against your skin. His hand pressed to the small of your back. You breathed in his scent—soap and cedar and wood—something so distinctly him. 

“I don’t wanna lose you, Buck,” you whispered into his skin, heart settling but still afraid.

He exhaled sharply and buried his nose in your hair. “You won’t, Y/n. I’m here, with you. I’ll always come back to you.” He pressed his lips to the crown of your head. “Just how you always come back to me.” 

“Okay,” you whispered, focusing on his steady heartbeat, feeling safe for the first time in a week. 

And in that quiet, the hush of your room, wrapped in his arms, the steady rhythm of two hearts finally beating in sync, your eyes drifted shut.