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Gunslinger!Gaz commission for @chzva ✨

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I don't think Soap would rush you into marriage because he wants sex. I think he does it because he knows his life can be cut short any moment. He does it because when he does bite the bullet he wants you to be taken care of. Hes smart, he plans ahead. Hes discussed this with his team, given them a game plan on what to do if he does die in combat.

Oh he loves you so much and it's proven with every breath he takes and every moment he's planned.

But when that bullet pierces his skull? When he wakes up in the hospital, brain foggy and vision blurred? When he sees you curled up beside him? He retires the moment he can.

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the year of the rabbit

You don’t like Bucky, and Bucky doesn’t like you. Clean and simple. Until it’s not.

cw: cisfem reader, vaguely snake-powered reader, mentions of blood, I have do not have a medical or STEM background lol

wc: 1.2k

part 1 part 2

The sharp scent of disinfectant does little to cut through the warehouse's stale, musty smell. Your clean, neat work station, a sanitary island in this dusty place.

"Careful, Rabbit."

There's something wicked and mocking clinging to Bucky's tone. It's a nasty poison that drips from his pink lips; it perfumes his being, irritating you whenever he gets too close.

He's not like this with Steve. He's not like this with Wanda. Or with Sam. He's maybe like this with Natasha, but it's different. Some sort of snappy camaraderie that comes with being lethal tools wielded by the worst kinds of people.

You're just an animal. (A snake, not to be trusted.)

You clench your jaw, syringe gripped tightly in your hand. He's called you 'Rabbit' almost exclusively since that night. Slotted it nice and sweet into his rotation of ignoring you and correcting you.

Don't hold your knife like that, Rabbit.

Rabbit, you missed a buckle on your tac-vest.

Rabbit, rabbit, rabbit.

It's driving you insane. The stupid, fluffy creatures have begun to populate your dreams, hopping in circles, laughing at you. Their fur looks so soft, like fresh, powdery snow. Like something you could really sink your teeth into.

You salivate a little.

"I told you, stop callin' me that," you mutter quietly, trying to refocus your fingers.

You pull the plunger back, extracting slowly, watching the crimson liquid fill up the glass tube.

There's some small, ancient part of your brain that hisses aggressively at the blood loss. It feels unnatural, a weakness. Especially when the biggest threat you know is lurking behind you, always ready to pounce.

The Winter Soldier, to his credit, is quiet as you draw your own blood. He's either rotating back to ignoring you, getting ready to spring more 'Rabbit' talk on you, or about to attempt some evil, new, secret third thing.

His presence feels enormous, practically begging you to turn around and look.

Don't you know? It's bad form to turn your back to a predator.

His footsteps echo in the empty warehouse, loud thunks stopping right next to you.

You freeze, disinfecting wipe stopped in mid-motion right over the injection site.

The reptilian brain, deep in the core of a human's psyche, is responsible for fight or flight. Something must be wrong with yours, because you always seem to freeze, waiting for his next move. Cowering in submission to the apex predator.

The injection site begins to harden, with hexagonal lines lightly raised on your skin. On first glance, no one could tell what's wrong with you. The fact that you're not emerald green or have snakes coiled at your scalp is a boon now that you're wanted in multiple countries.

Bucky looms next to you, frigid eyes trailing over your rudimentary equipment. The best you could scrounge together for blood trials.

It feels unsafe to be alone with him. Wanda's hunkered down in some spare room, with explicit instructions to not be disturbed. You briefly wonder when Steve and Sam will be back with more supplies. You need a shield right now, a buffer.

"What are you doing?" He asks, but there's none of the normal, caustic bite, no annoyance, just a vague intrigue.

Well. Looks like it's the secret third thing.

"Collecting a blood sample."

"No shit, really?"

You finally turn to glare at him, lip curled in threat; he looks completely unbothered, ignoring you're annoyance.

You hate how close he is, creeping into your territory.

"Why?"

You huff, staring at the syringe. The thought of explaining what you were doing makes you feel raw, exposed. You're throat bared for him to sink his sharp teeth into.

You glance at him quickly, at the earnest confusion that paints his face. He stares at you, expectantly.

You gingerly place your neck into his gaping maw.

"Natasha let me study some of her blood before she fucked off to wherever," you say slowly. Natasha had been understanding of your predicament. Kind, even.

After promising to destroy all of her blood samples, she had sat nice and still for you, letting you draw her life's blood.

You miss her more often than not, but it makes sense that you're frequently split up. A shiny red target on your backs keeps you all on the move.

There's strength in numbers, but not when you're a world-class assassin and spy. When it comes to hiding, the rest of you are nothing but dead weight.

"And I want to compare the control, Nat's blood, to mine."

Bucky raises an eyebrow at you, silently fishing for more information. You look down at your hand, picking at loose skin by your nail, unwilling to meet his stare. It feels childish to be doing this, but there's not much else you can do.

You don't have a network of contacts to tap into, no powers to attune, and you don't have the necessary equipment to learn how to hack. But you can sit and spin your blood around, staring at the shifting cells until something makes sense.

"I want to understand how I'm different. Need to see what they did to me."

You're surprised that the last sentence comes out; it catches you off guard. It's not something you've vocalized, the need to really see what was done to you.

"I want to still be me," you weakly say, finger stroking the scaly skin.

The confession hangs in the air, and you feel cold. You always feel cold these days. Permafrost sits in your soul now, keeping you isolated from everyone else.

You run your tongue over one of your extra sharp canines. Your little fangs. They come to a clean point, easy to tear into things, and distribute a paralyzing venom into the bloodstream. Difficult to kiss.

The thought sends a bolt of heat through you, and your posture goes ramrod straight. It feels like a perversion of reality to think of kissing someone while Bucky is essentially the only person here.

You remember the weight of his arm when he pulled you out of harm's way, how thickly built he was, how you froze, like you always do. You feel nauseous.

If Bucky notices a change in your behavior, he doesn't say anything.

You risk a glance.

He's nodding at your explanation, lips slightly turned down, but otherwise pensive.

"I get it." A small knot of kinship ties itself in your chest. He's been made and unmade so many times over the years, his mind an absolute warzone.

Hydra could've tested everything and anything on him. He might not even fully remember, but he would be able to feel the ache in his body, his soul. The body always keeps score.

"Not like you can undo it, but I get it." The poison drips from Bucky's mouth so easily. His blunt and callous statement slashes through the tiny knot that had just formed.

Thoughts of kissing his pouting lips evaporate.

"Oh my god, fuck off," you groan, turning back to your notes. It was foolish to presume you could have a normal functional relationship with him. You could trust him to watch your back from the shadows, trust him to stop your body from hitting the floor, but he's such an asshole.

For a fraction of a second, Bucky looks confused, but the mask slips back into place immediately. His face reveals nothing as he stalks away through the warehouse. You don't move until you can no longer hear the sound of his footsteps.

The tension in your shoulders doesn't release for another 5 minutes. No, you can't fix this. You're stuck like this. But he didn't have to be an asshole about it.

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monthly reminder Im alive ignore his nip covers the original post got taken down when he had them out, kyle you whore

no bg + sketch under the cut

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follow up drabble to Ghost as a recently freed gladiator Warnings: mentions of sex

You're amused the next time you see him.

Ghost remains stony under his helmet, refusing to take your advice to stop wearing it.

What he’ll never tell you is that he tried; everyone still stared at him. It's to be expected. He's a huge lumbering thing, face and body littered with gruesome scars.

A coy smile graces your face. Fuck. Venus made flesh. (Ghost doesn’t give a flying fuck about insulting the Roman pantheon, they’re not originally Roman, and they’re certainly not his gods.)

Price greets whoever the fuck they're meeting right now. Either the editor or the master of ceremonies, Ghost thinks foggily. He's too stuck on what on earth are you doing here…

He gets a good look at you, standing among this man’s entourage. His mind flicks through possibilities, wife, whore, servant…

You’re dripping in expensive-looking silk; the cloying scent of perfumed oil fills the room. Surely it must be clinging to your skin. He has the thought of licking a combination of sweat and oil from the hollow of your throat.

Your skin looks so soft. Ghost wonders if some part of you would light up at his teeth sinking into your flesh, at your blood dripping from the corners of his mouth. Would you bite him back?

He pauses. There are splotches of color on your fancy silks. He frowns. Paint and powder ruining the vision. Interesting.

You haven't once looked away from him, and he can't tell how he feels about it. What are your mithful eyes seeking?

"...Right, Ghost?" Price is looking at him, eyebrow raised expectantly. Fuck.

Ghost grunts, unable to look away from you. It's good enough for Price to work with.

"Venceslaus, why don't we have a drink? Go over the details." Your master (that can't be right. You look leagues more regal than he does) nods his head, and gestures in a sweeping motion towards a door.

"Let us move to the atrium." Venceslaus eyes Ghost with obvious disdain. "And please, leave your dog here," he says, sending Ghost a withering look. And then they’re gone.

"Did you like the oil?"

Ghost stares at you from behind his mask. Up close he can see more of the odd white powder that dusts your skin and clothes.

He wants to tell you is was the most luxurious thing that's ever touched his skin, that he thought of you as he tugged his cock until it was raw.

"It was fine." You smile graciously and nod. He eyes your lips, wondering what the inside of your mouth would feel like...

"I told you I would see you again." Your smile morphs into something mischievous. A certain levity in your eyes that makes him uneasy. Ghost grunts, remembering how you had vanished after telling him that.

"Venceslaus is planning a large celebration for the emperor's birthday. He's allegedly concocted the bloodiest spectacle in his honor." There's something dry and biting in your voice. Something within Ghost rumbles with approval at your annoyance.

“I’m working on a sculpture in honor of it.” An artist, huh? That explains what a soft creature like yourself is doing with this crowd. Venceslaus is your patron. Ghost grunts in acknowledgement, letting himself indulge in finding your figure under your silks as they swish against the floor.

"You live here?" You shake you head, glancing around the vestibule.

"Venceslaus pays for my own private residence. So I can work in peace," you say, rolling your eyes at the last part. Ghost chuckles a little, no real humor or levity in it.

No, no, just a sick delight in knowing he’ll get to plow you in peace soon. 

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literally the silliest Gaz drabble LMAO

You’re wearing a cheap, shiny pink wig. It sticks out like a sore thumb among the other guests who wear togas and plastic laurel crowns.

It catches Gaz’s eye immediately, the way it reflects against the light. The second thing he notices is that you’re eating sandwiches from the Prices’ fridge. He can’t stop the brow from arching. What were you doing? 

Gaz is walking over before he can stop himself. You’re munching away on what is very clearly a sandwich that was not prepared for this party. Stolen right from his Captain’s fridge. 

You’re chewing doesn’t stop or even slow down as he lands right next to you. He eyes you, the sandwich, and the fridge, still ajar. You’re wearing a pink, vintage dress. One that is very much not on theme.

You swallow, shifting a little on your feet. Neither of you says anything as the chatter of happy guests wafts around the two of you. Wordlessly, you kick the fridge door shut with your foot and then offer him a sandwich from the tray. 

“You hear for the Captain?” You ask, voice taking on a near-cloying quality. Gaz nods, taking the sandwich. “Well, I’m a guest of the wife. I know she buys these for lunch when she’s too tired to make anything.”

You take another bite, and with a mouthful of food, you tell him you’re gonna send her money. Curiosity satiated, Gaz sticks out his free hand.

“I’m Kyle,” he says, sending you a megawatt smile. You snort a little, choking slightly on the dry bread. You have the decency to look a little embarrassed, but you shake his hand and tell him your name over the noise of the other partygoers.

“What’s happening here?” Gaz thumbs at one of your synthetic, pink curls, watching the way your face pinches up in annoyance.

Cute. 

“Well, I clearly misunderstood Mrs. Price when she said ‘Greece.'” Gaz laughs at that. So you were Frenchie from Grease. Pink looks nice on you, at least.

His hand drops from your wig, grazing slightly past your jaw as it drops to his hip. You track the movement, eyes lingering on his exposed chest as he flexes for you, peacocking his muscles. 

He watches as you swallow a little nervously, sandwich abandoned in the little container. You blink doe eyes up at him, the longest stray pieces of your hot, pink fringe barely dusting against your eyelashes.

Really cute.

Gaz takes a bite of his own sandwich.

He makes a mental note that when he fucks you tonight, he wants the wig on.

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HOLY RECESSION INDICATOR BATMAN

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Thoughts on male squirting? Thoughts on Johnny or Simon squirting?

yeah I can think about male squirting.

can think about Johnny squirming and begging and panting, he can't take another orgasm, please hen you've milked him dry, desperately trying to bat your hand away from his cock, push your head away from where you're sucking at the head, trying to pull himself up the bed so you can't finger his tight hole anymore. it's too much with no breaks, all he can do to shake and shudder and drool for you as long as your hands are on him. his cock twitches, trying so hard to come for you, his back arches off the bed with his mounting pleas, and you get such a pretty squirt of nearly clear come from his overworked cock. he can only hope that's the end of it, but with the way you coo at him for coming like a girl, it's definitely not.

or maybe we're looking for something a little more traditional? ghost smearing his cunt against your face, riding your tongue like it's his favorite toy, dragging your nose against his short fat cock with a grunt of pleasure. never a compliment to spare when he's working himself on you, only the low direction to "clean him up" after a long day. drenching your face in the musk of sweat and slick, sucking his cock between your lips to try and coax him closer to the edge, knowing that he'll have you drink every drop of his squirt, make you lick it off the floor if you spill some, and you'll love every second of it.

yeah i can think about that.

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the year of the rabbit

You don't like Bucky, and Bucky doesn't like you. Clean and simple. Until it's not.

cw: cisfem reader, vaguely snake-powered reader, mentions of blood

wc: 720

a/n: cooking up a Thunderbolts era Bucky x reader series but wanting to make like some classic phase 2/phase 3 MCU prequel drabbles for that basically lol

part 1

"Don't fucking scare me like that," you hiss, fangs bared in threat. Your entry point's a long hallway enshrouded in darkness. Not another soul but you and the Winter Soldier.

He's headed up to Overwatch, putting his discipline and sniper skills to good use. He's got every right to be here. Except that he's spooked you, stepped on your tail like he always does. He always just watches as you flounder and squirm and lash out at him. Cold eyes glaring at you, as if trying to mentally dominate you into silence.

Steve trusts him, so you trust him. But he's unnerving. A silent, mean shadow. Sometimes you wish you could laugh with him the same way Steve does (and sometimes Sam too).

But it's never been like that with you. The two of you have always been at odds. When one cold-blooded thing meets another, hackles raise, jaws tense and at the ready. Who's going to snap first, who's going to draw first blood?

Bucky glowers at you, unimpressed. And why should he be scared of you? You don't have his strength or fighting skills. Just impervious skin and a lousy non-lethal venom reserve. A decent defense and a pathetic offense.

"Your face is stupid," you sneer at him, mentally kicking yourself for not coming up with anything wittier. It somehow feels worse when he doesn't take the easy bait.

The Winter Soldier waits for a moment before tucking you close to him; a thick, metal arm keeping you anchored against his tactical vest. Your body goes stone still, ears adjusting as you hear the heavy thunks of footsteps. It would just be easier to put a bullet in them and be on your way, but you don't dare break away from Bucky.

He would've shot them if it were the best solution. Your brow furrows as you puzzle through the logic while you wait.

A gunshot would raise the guards' alarms, putting them on edge and more likely to find and hurt the rest of your team, and Bucky isn't on overwatch yet, leaving everyone exposed. They can handle themselves, you know that. But if something were to happen and Bucky wasn't covering them...

You relax a little into him, satisfied with your tiny mental exercise.

"Clear," Bucky grumbles into your ear, as the footsteps fade. Neither of you move. His arm stays exactly where it is, waiting.

You breathe slowly, inhaling the scent of sweat, smoke, and leather. It makes your nose twitch unpleasantly, but there's something there that soothes your mind, lingering, just below the surface. He's solid behind you, thickly built, made for war. A killing machine.

You wonder how much effort it would take for your fangs to break flesh. (What would he taste like? Would he finally give you some sort of reaction? Would he moan at the puncture-)

You tear away from him, skin burning; you try to stuff those thoughts away to deal with later.

Your blood feels warm and pumps loudly through your ears. You can feel the skin on your chest tighten as it starts to slightly harden, faint hexagonal ridges beginning to raise. You want to rip his stupid throat out, hot, blood gushing down his neck, dripping down your mouth-

You shut your eyes for a moment and take a steadying breath. Your skin softens. When you look at Bucky in the dark, his face is impassive. Typical.

The silence is thick in the dark, as you attempt to recalibrate. He just stares.

With a roll of your eyes, you nod at him before creeping down the hallway. Bucky's gone in the blink of an eye.

When the bullets start flying, pinging off of Steve's shield while Sam's wings whizz in the dark, you find yourself grateful for Bucky's careful eye and detached training.

With Natasha gone, you take up her role as computer expert. But you're combat training is, well, limited in comparison to her extensive experience. To put it bluntly, you're pretty sure there are only a few people you could actually beat in a fight.

A body slumps to the ground next to you. Thank you, Bucky (you would rather die than say it aloud).

Your comm buzzes to life.

"Careful, little Rabbit."

You ignore the way goosebumps prickle your skin, you ignore the ice cold gaze on the back of your neck, and most of all, you ignore the odd flutter of warmth in your stomach.

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Yelena's new child vs. Bucky's new children

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YES the Thunderbolts have a fantastic team as family dynamic, yes they are living in Avengers tower, yes history is repeating itself and 2012 tower fics are so back. BUT!

instead of "Alexei eating poptarts" or "Yelena in the vents", we must come up with new headcanons and make history

Bob always does normal domestic chores, often getting in the way of important missions and spy business. "All I'm saying is Bucky is our best sniper" "It would be a much quieter assassination if I just slipped into the condo and cut his—" "Hey sorry guys, anyone have laundry? I'm doing a load"

Yelena and her guinea pig always eat meals together at the dining table. Everyone has their Chinese food or barbeque, meanwhile the rodent is loudly munching on a salad right beside them

Bucky is the mom and always keeps them on track. "Ava you have a dentist appointment in the morning, and bring Bob so they can add him to the insurance. Lena how was therapy? Alexei, I said no vodka until dinner"

Alexei is always coming up with new promotional ideas for the team. Cartoon tv show, cereal, toothpaste flavour...every day he thinks he's come up with the next big thing. Whenever they actually get put into production (Wheaties) he collects and saves it, and won't let anyone use a different product. (He threw out Yelena's frosted flakes and it took both Bucky and John to get her to stop attacking him)

Ava likes to phase and sneak attack her teammates at random. She claims it's for training but really she just thinks it's funny hearing them scream

John gets blamed for everything, even if it isn't his fault. Especially if it isn't his fault: "who ate the last bagel?" "John." "Where's my hair straightener?" "John had it." "Whose turn is it to unload the dishwasher?" "Johnnnn"

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thunderbolts throwing us bucky girlies back into intense hyperfixation to rival the good old days of the 2010s...iconic.

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Bucky Barnes in Thunderbolts* New Avengers’ end credit scene (2025)

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bucky barnes...oh how i've missed you.....