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m4tthewmurd0ck · 17 days ago

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i see late submissions are accepted, yay! this may be just what i need to get out of my writing slump

WELCOME TO MY CINEMA! ˙✧˖°🎥 ༘ ⋆｡🎞️˚

As you all know, last August I opened a cafe (a.k.a. my cafe themed writing challenge). The response to that was so wonderful and I adored hosting it and reading every single one of your entries, and I'm thinking it's time I host a new one! ♡

This time I decided to rent out a private theater for all of us to sit and have a movie marathon! This writing challenge starts today and closes on March 30th! I will be traveling the last week of March and it would be the perfect time for me to catch up on reading all the entries (since I read & reblog every fic submitted). The masterlist of all entries will be posted sometime in the following days of me returning from my travels! (Just like my last writing challenge, if you see this anytime later or can’t make the deadline do not fret, if anything below inspires you, you are welcome to write and tag me so I can read it and add your submission to the masterlist♡)

Below are the rules, prompts, and guidelines ♡

who you can write for: all marvel characters are welcome / any fictional sebastian stan or chris evans characters are welcome too (any characters they’ve portrayed based on real life people will not be accepted though!!) I will be expanding this from my last challenge and accepting submissions for characters from Top Gun Maverick & Twisters 2024. (please keep it to x reader fics only!!)

some general guidelines: Below I’ve provided a number of different scenes, quotes, and songs for inspiration ♡ Anyone can use as many as they'd like and even mix and match however you’d like!! If you use any please let me know somewhere in the post! If nothing below inspires you, you can always submit something with inspiration from a scene/dialogue exchange from another movie or tv show, just please let us know where the inspiration came from!! :) here's the catch though -> the scene/dialogue exchange has to come from another movie or tv show that is not from the one the character is originally from. For example, if you write for Bucky Barnes, the scene/dialogue exchange has to come from another movie or tv show that is not from Marvel. 18+ fics are welcome, just please add warnings! Entries are not limited, you are welcome to submit as many entries as you'd like! Any length of fics are welcome, but if it’s over 500 words please add the “keep reading” option. If you write something as part of a bigger series, please write your submission as a standalone ♡

what is not accepted: no dark fics, anything involving minors, incest, rape, noncon/dubcon... (You can always message/inbox me to ask questions.)

how to enter: please tag me and use #elixirscinema when you post ♡ i’ll leave a like (from my main blog @saturnsflowers) to let you know I saw it and reblog it to this blog once I read it :) I love reading and leaving comments on all submissions, so please be patient with me if I don't get to yours right away! also, let me know if I haven’t interacted with your post after a few days in case I missed it! You can send me a reminder through my inbox or dm, thank you! ♡♡♡

Happy writing! My inbox is always open for any questions or comments!! ♡

These trailers are all so exciting! Did any of them pique your interest?

˙✧˖°🎥 ༘ ⋆｡🎞️˚ For scenes, you can use any of the ones below or use one or more from any movie/tv show you'd like! You can use the dialogue, the themes, the moments, the dynamic, etc of the scene to inspire your writing. It doesn't necessarily have to be word for word or match the scene exactly nor entirely, it just has to inspire you in some way! Below I have different scenes linked for inspiration, but again you are free to use any scene(s) from anywhere else to inspire you!! ♡

📖 ...✩ Why didn't you write me? — The Notebook

🦊 ...✩ "I love you." / "It'll pass." — Fleabag S2

⛲️ ...✩ I loathe you... — The Princess Diaries 2

🩺 ...✩ Are you telling me you love me? — The Artful Dodger

🐎 ...✩ You're the bane of my existence... — Bridgerton S2

🗡 ...✩ That's not how you hold a dagger. — My Lady Jane

🗞 ...✩ You can’t lose something you never had. — How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days

🪶 ...✩ I burn for you... - Bridgerton S1

🖊 ...✩ You are my exception. — He’s Just Not That Into You

👒 ...✩ Don't marry him. — Little Women

🏹 ...✩ I do... I need you. — The Hunger Games: Catching Fire

🌊 ...✩ I thought that we loved each other... — The Summer I Turned Pretty S2

🪵 ...✩ There is no one like you... — To All The Boys I've Loved Before

🚢 ...✩ You jump I jump, remember? — Titanic

🪩 ...✩ Doesn't what I said mean anything to you? — When Harry Met Sally

🎸 ...✩ You were paid to take me out? — 10 Things I Hate About You

🫧 ...✩ You're looking way too hot right now... — Love, Rosie

🐚 ...✩ Are you engaged to that beautiful woman? — Mamma Mia Here We Go Again

💌 ...✩ Break my heart into a thousand pieces... — To All The Boys: P.S. I Still Love You

🏛...✩ I am never going to be over you. — Scandal

🥂...✩ Oh, now I remember why I had such a crush on you… — Something Borrowed

🚑 ...✩ I'll tell you what you are to me... Criminal Minds S4

💋 ...✩ Do you really hate me? — The Hating Game

🌀 ...✩ It's okay, I've got you now... — Maxton Hall

I’m going to get some snacks before the marathon starts. Do you want anything? Here’s the menu:

🍫 ✩｡⋆⸜ "They warned me about you, I should have listened."

🥨 ✩｡⋆⸜ "No. No, stop. Stop talking like that. You're going to be fine."

🍪 ✩｡⋆⸜ "Of course I came for you. It would take far much more than that to stop me."

🍟 ✩｡⋆⸜ Realizing they're in love.

🍭 ✩｡⋆⸜ "It was just a kiss. It changed nothing between us."

🧋✩｡⋆⸜ "We're not just friends and you fucking know it."

🥤✩｡⋆⸜ "I have loved you from the moment I laid my eyes on you."

🍬 ✩｡⋆⸜ "Are you flirting with me?" — "You finally noticed?"

🍿 ✩｡⋆⸜ "Just stay. We can figure everything else out later. Right now, just stay."

🍦✩｡⋆⸜ "If there's really nothing going on between the two of you, you don't mind if I ask ___ out on a date, do you?"

🍕✩｡⋆⸜ "I cannot stand you, and yet, I also cannot stand to be away from you."

🍗 ✩｡⋆⸜ "Wait a minute. Are you jealous?"

🥪 ✩｡⋆⸜ "Do I need to remind you that we're not actually married?"

🍩 ✩｡⋆⸜ "If you don't love me, prove it then. Prove to me you've never felt something towards me. Look at me."

🌭 ✩｡⋆⸜ "You kissed me last night." — "And you didn't stop me."

🍔 ✩｡⋆⸜ "What if I told you I've been in love with you since we were kids?"

🥗 ✩｡⋆⸜ "Is this what you wanted, huh? Making me fall in love with you just—just to fucking leave? Do you really expect me to be okay with that?"

🌯 ✩｡⋆⸜ "I love you." — "You shouldn't."

🧁✩｡⋆⸜ "If you leave now, you lose everything. You lose me."

🧃✩｡⋆⸜ "I think we need to talk."

🍧 ✩｡⋆⸜ “I don’t owe you an explanation.”

🍰 ✩｡⋆⸜ “Kiss me.”

🍨 ✩｡⋆⸜ “It's storming, why are you here?"

Let's check out the songs on these soundtracks. Do you like any of them?

˙✧˖°🎥 ༘ ⋆｡🎞️˚ Feel free to use the lyrics below, the entire feel of the song, or any other lyrics in the song! The playlist is below in case you want to go through and listen to the songs while you write ♡

Black and White "Now, we're sittin' here in your livin' room. Tellin' stories while we share a drink or two, and there's a vision I've been holdin' in my mind. We're 65 and you ask when did I first know? I always knew." — Niall Horan

Cinema "Do you think I'm cool too? Or am I too into you? Tell me what you want and you got it, love. I want all of you, gimme all you got." — Harry Styles

Death Wish Love "And I'll ask the stars at night, how I can slow the time. God, I'm so terrified that I'm gonna lose you. And I'll die if I do." — Benson Boone

Exile "I think I've seen this film before, and I didn't like the ending. You're not my homeland anymore, so what am I defending now? You were my town. Now I'm in exile, seein' you out." — Taylor Swift

Happier Than Ever "And I don't talk shit about you on the internet. Never told anyone anything bad. 'Cause that shit's embarrassing, you were my everything, and all that you did was make me fucking sad. So don't waste the time I don't have, and don't try to make me feel bad." — Billie Eilish

Hold My Hand "Pull me close, wrap me in your aching arms. I see that you're hurtin', why'd you take so long to tell me you need me? I see that you're bleeding, you don't need to show me again. But if you decide to, I'll ride in this life with you. I won't let go 'til the end." — Lady Gaga

I Like Me Better "I like me better when I'm with you. I don't know what it is, but I got that feeling. Wakin' up in this bed next to you. Swear the room, yeah, got no ceiling. If we lay, let the day just pass us by. I might get to too much talking. I might have to tell you somethin'" — Lauv

Iris "And I'd give up forever to touch you, 'cause I know that you feel me somehow. You're the closest to heaven that I'll ever be, and I don't wanna go home right now." — The Goo Goo Dolls

John Hughes Movie "Maybe if I'd reined it in, you wouldn't wanna kiss somebody else. And you don't owe me anything, so I'm just gonna walk home by myself. And it's not like I've been crying, no. There's just smoke in my eyes." — Maisie Peters

Love Again "Show me that heaven's right here, baby. Touch me so I know I'm not crazy. Never have I ever met somebody like you. Used to be afraid of love and what it might do, but goddamn, you got me in love again." — Dua Lipa

Love The Hell Out Of You "I'm gonna love the hell out of you. Take all the pain that you're going through. I'll bring you heaven if that's what you need. 'Cause you've always loved the hell out of me." — Lewis Capaldi

McKay & Cassie "Console me, don't let me go, baby. Ain't nobody gonna hurt you, so feed me with those pretty lies. 'Cause there ain't no escaping those ocean eyes. Oh, baby, I'll kill anybody that hurt you." — Labrinth

Movies "In my head, we're dancing in the dark. In my head, we kiss under the stars, but we know that's not what we're doing. 'Cause, baby, this ain't like the movies... I want a love like the movies." — Conan Gray

My Tears Ricochet "I didn't have it in myself to go with grace. And you're the hero flying around, saving face. And if I'm dead to you, why are you at the wake? Cursing my name, wishing I stayed. Look at how my tears ricochet." — Taylor Swift

Slow Motion "Dreaming 'bout you sinkin' into my bed. Dizzy, I see stars all around my head. Liftin' me up to the moon and back again. You're my lucky penny, yeah, you just make sense. I like to keep my cool, but you're divine. Mother Nature must've taken her time. Come on, take me away, I'll let you drive." — Alessia Cara

So Hot You're Hurting My Feelings "And I'm out at a party, they're playin' our song. I cry on the dance floor, it's so embarrassing. Don't send me photos, you're makin' it worse. 'Cause you're so hot, it's hurtin' my feelings. I get a little lonely. Get a little more close to me. You're the only one who knows me, babe." — Caroline Polachek

The Way I Loved You "I miss screaming and fighting and kissing in the rain. It's 2 a.m. and I'm cursing your name. I'm so in love that I acted insane and that's the way I loved you. Breaking down and coming undone, it's a roller coaster kind of rush. And I never knew I could feel that much and that's the way I loved you." — Taylor Swift

Unsaid Emily "If I could take us back, if I could just do that. And write in every empty space the words "I love you" in replace. Then maybe time would not erase me. If you could only know, I never let you go. And the words I most regret are the ones I never meant to leave unsaid..." — Julie and the Phantoms

You Could Start A Cult "Lately, what I know of reality. I let go of it happily when I look in your eyes. Mm, swear it's true. No mountain that I wouldn't move or sea I wouldn't part in two. To wake up by your side is all I wanna do." — Niall Horan & Lizzy McAlpine

1 Step Forward, 3 Steps Back "It's one step forward and three steps back. I'm the love of your life until I make you mad. It's always one step forward and three steps back. Do you love me, want me, hate me? Boy, I don't understand." — Olivia Rodrigo

playlist for the songs above can be found here: 🎞️✮⋆˙

to my lovely mutuals, please don’t feel pressured to participate or share, just thought I’d share this with you all ♡

@elvenrin @marvelstoriesepic @humanwip @flowersforbucky @whatever-lmaoo @nickfowlerrr @buck-star @navybrat817 @mercurial-chuckles @mrsbuckybarnes1917 @neverthatsirius-jo @perdidosbucky-yyo @nicoline1998enilocin @mostly-marvel-musings @vintagebuckybarnes @barnesafterglow @nekoannie-chan @stellar-solar-flare @fvckingavengers @thevillainswhore @drabblesandsnippets @amathslutsguidetofandom @multiversefanfics @thereoncewasagirlnamedjane @malum-forev @nameless-ken @writing-for-marvel

I am new to the Top Gun Maverick & Twisters fanfic communities, (I've only just recently started writing for some characters), so I will be tagging some writers whose work I have in my to be read 🥺♡♡ To those who I've tagged, please feel free to ignore and don't feel pressured at all to share!! I just thought I'd reach out to a few writers in those communities, since I mainly have only marvel mutuals/followers ♡♡

@rootedinrevisions @arcane-vagabond @sunlightmurdock @ohtobeleah @roosterforme @sehnsuchts-trunken @sunnysidevans @fireinmoonshot @rosie-read-that @seresinhangmanjake @mickandmusings @bloatedandalone04

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m4tthewmurd0ck · 2 months ago

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hi! i'm also asking about the joel book off of wattpad and im way too interested in it to stay patient..I NEED TO KNOW!! lol but yes ofc i am wondering what'll happen!

hey! it won’t let me message you from this account since it’s not my main, but could you message me? i’ll be able to respond that way and would love to share!

#ask #brivcz

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m4tthewmurd0ck · 2 months ago

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Hiiii!!!! I love your Joel fanfic on wattpad and am coming from your most recent chapter about how you plan to continue the book. Honestly I found the second episode pretty traumatic and if you follow that plot I would just love to know as a heads up to prepare mentally hahaha

hi! thank you so much for reading it!! i responded via message so i don’t spoil it for anyone else, its from @infiniteminds which is my main

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m4tthewmurd0ck · 3 months ago

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i really am a slut for a good back story 😭😭 this is now a mini series which is why it’s taking so much longer. but there’s still lots of room on the tag list if anyone is interested!!

in every universe

── bucky barnes x fem!avenger!reader

according to every website i’ve checked, there’s no exact date that bucky fell off the train, they only say sometime in january of 1945. but i need a specific date for this so we’re pretending that it’s january 26.

* yes the pic on the right is from tfatws but thats not necessarily when this takes place. before thunderbolts* though, hence why it’s still avenger!reader. steve didn’t go back to be with peggy, nat and tony are alive because i said so hahdbzjsrjxh. its not super important for this but they do make appearances.

* no use of y/n but i do use she/her. no descriptors other than reader being shorter than bucky. according to google, sebastian is somewhere between 5’11” and 6’0” so do with that what you will.

* readers powers are similar to wanda maximoff, but the energy is a dark blue, hence the hero name dark surge. this isn’t related to my other thunderbolts*!bucky piece, i’m just using the same name. reader can also time travel and travel the multiverse. i know i know too many powers, but shhh you’ll see.

In the entire time you’ve known Bucky, you’d say he has always hated you. Steve would, and does, disagree. He says that Bucky doesn’t hate you, he’s just reserved around everyone. And Bucky, well, you don’t know what Bucky would say. You’ve given up on trying to form any sort of genuine friendship, and have just accepted the fact that he wants nothing to do with you.

But you don’t see it. The longing glances when you’re talking to someone else. And you don’t understand. If he hates you, why do the 2 of you keep being paired up for missions? You don’t see that on said missions, his first priority is to find you so that he can see for himself that you’re safe.

One day, he overhears that you’re being sent back in time to collect some very important information. Your tasks? Find Colonel Phillips work tent, photograph papers from a specific folder, and come back to the present.

It’s a simple enough mission. But when he hears the chosen date is January 26, 1945, Bucky swears his heart stops. It’ll be fine, though. It’s the day he fell off the train, but it won’t affect you… right? If that’s the case, though, why is it now hours past the time you were supposed to return, but no one on the team can get ahold of you??

now that the writing gears are finally turning again (thank you thunderbolts*), i’m finally posting this preview. if you’d like to be notified when this is posted, which’ll be sometime this weekend, let me know!

TAG LIST ── 17 of 50 spots taken

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m4tthewmurd0ck · 3 months ago

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in every universe

── bucky barnes x fem!avenger!reader

THE TAG LIST IS FULL!!!! check the comments for my backup @.

now that the writing gears are finally turning again (thank you thunderbolts*), i’m finally posting this preview. if you’d like to be notified when this is posted, let me know! it’s a series, so expect to be tagged with each chapter

TAG LIST ── FULL! 50/50 SPOTS TAKEN. will tag my backup below where i’ll be reblogging updates. follow and have notifications on if you didn’t get on the tag list!

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m4tthewmurd0ck · 3 months ago

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a love that makes sense

── bucky barnes x fem!reader (former avenger, currently part of the thunderbolts*)

word count: 3.7k

clearing up a few things timeline wise, to avoid confusion. infinity war happens in 2018, thunderbolts* in 2027. the events of the winter soldier happen in 2014 so when i eventually mention how long reader and bucky have known each other, its 13 years.

no use of y/n but i do use she / her. no physical descriptors other than reader being shorter than bucky (sebastian is 5’11 - 6’ so do with that what you will). powers are similar to that of wanda maximoff, but i don’t write about them in this part. hero name is Dark Surge (where wanda’s powers have a red energy, your color is black, hence the name). readers parents are both dead.

baby girl is back on the big screen and my writing gears are turning again. inspired by @aquaticmercy! their entire masterlist is stunningggggg, and brb im gonna go re-read right now. this is my take on the secret wife trope with thunderbolts* bucky, but someone on the team already knows 👀

*NOTE: benjamin poindexter is not bullseye in this. i just need a name that’s easy to associate being a piece of shit with hshxjsidnxfj

also i am a slut for a backstory, so sorry if you hate long pieces but get a snack and get comfortable

SPOILERS FOR THUNDERBOLTS* BELOW THE CUT!!!

Bucky hated the idea of a gala to introduce the (rich) world to the team.

To the new Avengers.

Valentina said it would be good for you to show face, that it would be the first planned public outing as a group.

Sam Wilson had made it known he didn’t like you all using the Avengers as your team name, what with him trying to sue for copyright, and Valentina was a little too quick to point out that now was the time for a united front. The public needed to see that not only were you heroes, but that you were also a real team.

None of you could see how dressing up and playing nice with the upper class would prove that, but you all discussed and decided it was better not to argue.

Yelena pointed out that the Thunderbolts, or Avengers, or whatever the team name was, basically owned Valentina. Bob was on your side again, and even Valentina knew that all it would take was one of you going to the press to expose her.

But it was Alexei who said Valentina was right. The world knew who you all were as individuals, but they’d yet to see you as a team in a somewhat normal setting.

You suspected he just wanted a chance to dress up and have people admire him, but kept quiet about that.

But back to why Bucky hated the gala.

It wasn’t for him. It was true, he didn’t like the idea of having to put on a show, even though he was used to it since becoming a congressman. And he hated that he could hear the whispers of the general public, who often referred to him as the Winter Soldier behind his back.

No, he hated this for you.

Of everyone on the new team, you were the only one of the original Avengers. You’d joined shortly before Loki and the whole attack on New York, having been recruited by Steve.

And as the only original Avenger, people tended to pay extra attention to you. He knew without a doubt, you’d be smiling for more photos and answering more questions than any of them.

You loved what you did, that you got to help people. But you didn’t like how public it all was. You missed when you were an unknown vigilante working (mostly) alongside the law. When you took on smaller problems like robberies or attempted shootings. Because no one knew who you were back then, you weren’t often praised. And that was exactly how you wished it could’ve stayed.

What Bucky hated most, was how he wouldn’t be able to comfort you tonight.

He’s known he loves you since before he could even remember what love was. You tracked him down to his tiny apartment in Romania, but didn’t tell Steve right away. You gave him 6 additional months of peace, while slowly inserting yourself into his life.

And while his memory was foggy, he wasn’t stupid. He knew who you were when you approached him at that outdoor market he used to frequent, but he believed you when you said you had no intention of alerting Steve, yet. That you needed some peace and quiet too.

The first time you helped him through a nightmare, and held him as he sobbed and said he wanted the pain to end, that was it for him. When he woke up the next morning to see you curled up next to him, your hand on his chest as if you needed the reassurance his heart was beating, he knew he didn’t ever want a life without you.

And when you finally opened your eyes and smiled at him, for a brief moment it felt like all was right in the world. You seemed to know how he felt, because you simply moved closer and spoke softly as you told him everything was going to be okay, and that the 2 of you didn’t have to discuss feelings, but you felt the same way.

With all that went down once you finally did have to tell Steve where Bucky was, and all that happened after, your relationship was obviously kept a secret from, well, everyone.

Eventually the 2 of you felt comfortable enough to tell Steve, who smiled as if he already knew. And you then confessed that Nat knew, and had known for a long time because you needed someone outside of the relationship to talk to.

As time went on, the rest of the team each found out in their own way.

Tony found out when he overheard you talking to Nat about how you were terrified to tell him about you and Bucky. Tony was the closest thing you had to a dad, and you didn’t think you could handle him being disappointed in you.

Thankfully, he and Bucky had long ago sorted everything out, and he told you that he overheard you, but you had nothing to worry about. If you were happy, so was he.

Clint found out at the same time as Thor and Bruce, when the 3 of them had taken the elevator up to your floor of the tower to ask about an upcoming mission. They froze as soon as they got off of the elevator, and were met with the sight of you fast asleep, your head on Bucky’s chest as he lazily scrolled to find something good to watch. By then he was genuinely friends with everyone on the team, so he didn’t have much of a reaction to them.

But he sighed, knowing you wanted to tell them yourself. You’d just gotten back from a solo mission though, and were more tired than he’d seen you in a long time. So he simply looked at them and mouthed if you wake her, I will kill you.

All you had to do was mention to everyone that you both wanted to keep the relationship out of the public, and that was it. You trusted them, and knew nobody would ever say anything.

That was a long time ago, though. You didn’t know most of your teammates that well.

You were still on the fence about John. With the recent string of events that had taken place, he’d proven himself to be a good teammate and valuable asset to the team. And knowing what he saw in the void, you felt bad.

But that still didn’t erase the things he’d done in the past. You remembered all too well, what happened when you were working with Bucky and Sam and the wannabe Captain America showed up.

As for the other members of the team, well all except 1, they were nice enough, but you weren’t close enough with them (yet) for you and Bucky to feel comfortable revealing your relationship.

It wasn’t unusual to everyone else that the 2 of you spent more time with each other than any of them, after all you’d known each other longer. But you were worried that one day, someone would catch on before you had a chance to tell them yourself.

Which was how you found yourself in this unfortunate position, wandering around the massive room Valentina rented for the night. She instructed everyone on the team to go off on their own, mingle with the people. And do not stick together like a pack of wild animals being cornered.

Of course, it wasn’t lost Bucky that if your relationship was public, he could ignore her suggestions and just walk around with you, arm in arm. He could pull you in for a kiss, maybe even ask you to dance if these fancy galas did that sort of thing.

And it wasn’t lost on you that if people knew the 2 of you were together, you could comfort Bucky. Like right now, you can tell by the way he’s walking around with his metal hand in his pants pocket and his right hand holding a glass of champagne, the way he keeps looking around as if a threat is close by, that he’s anxious. And anxious probably isn’t even a strong enough word, because you know he hates these public events as much as you do.

“You always come to these things alone?”

You had enhanced hearing, but still felt like you were going to have a heart attack at the sound of an unexpected voice. How had someone managed to sneak up on you? You really had to work on not zoning out in public.

“Pardon?” Not wanting to seem rude, you put on a smile and turned to face the man on your left.

He was tall, and not bad looking. But something about the way he smirked at you put you on edge. He stared as if you were a prize to be won, or he needed time in the spotlight so he spoke to you, hoping one of the few invited members of the press would soon walk by.

“I just asked if you always come to Valentina’s galas by yourself.”

You hoped you didn’t sound as annoyed as you felt.

“Well this is the first event being thrown by Valentina, so no. It’s been a few years since the Avengers have thrown a gala. And even then, Tony only invited respected individuals that we worked with closely.”

The man scoffed. “Right. Guess my invites always got lost in the mail.”

“Guess so,” you shrugged.

“Now that I’m here though, I can keep you company.”

This guy needs to work on his subtlety, you thought to yourself.

You briefly surveyed the room, and found that Bucky’s eyes were already on you. You suspected that he’d been watching since the man first approached you.

You okay? He mouthed. You gave a slight nod, and he turned back to the person he was speaking with, though you knew he’d look back at you once you looked away.

“I’m actually meant to mingle with everyone, but I appreciate the offer…”

“Benjamin Poindexter,” he held his hand out. You hoped your smile was convincing as you shook his hand. He held on just a little too tight, for a little too long.

Before you could step back, you and Benjamin were both startled as a hand not at all gently gave him a pat on the shoulder. You looked to see Alexei, and were never more relieved to see him than you were in that moment.

“How are we doing this evening, huh?”

Benjamin opened his mouth to answer, but Alexei had already put his arm around you and had begun leading you in another direction. Almost as an afterthought, he turned back around.

“Sorry I need her for official superhero business, you understand.”

Only when you were nearly across the room, did Alexei finally stop walking. “Should I kill him?”

You laughed, but had to stifle it when you saw his completely serious facial expression.

“I— no. Hey look at me, no killing him, right?”

“Maybe I just accidentally—”

“No. I really appreciate you saving the day, but I think he was just a weird fan who managed to sneak his way in. Promise me he’ll leave here alive.”

“Oh okay okay, I get you. I wait until he leaves and then—”

“Alexei!”

Yelena approaches, having heard the tail end of your conversation.

“Trust me, I wish I could kill men simply for being creepy as well. But the public won’t love Red Guardian so much for killing a man out in public just for being a creep.” She turned and whispered in your ear, “he won’t be able make it l look like an accident. But I can. We’ll talk later.”

🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋🦋

What feels like a lifetime later, but is really maybe an hour, you’re all seated at dinner. And of course in another effort to whore you all out to the public make people think the Avengers were just like everyone else, the entire team were sat at different tables.

“Well well well, guess it’s my lucky night.”

Oh fuck me, you thought as Benjamin took the seat next to you. How had you not noticed his name on the place cards?

“Hello,” you gave him a nod and tight lipped smile, before turning to survey the room once again.

Alexei held up a steak knife and motioned to Benjamin when he wasn’t looking. When you shook your head, he sighed and resumed conversation with the man he’d been talking to.

You were sad that Bucky was on the other side of the room, so you wouldn’t be able to see him after this long and boring dinner was over.

Ava and Alexei were the only ones who lucked out with table mates.

You turned to your right and saw John sat between 2 men who both seemed to be vying for his attention. He caught your eye, and you laughed and mouthed having fun?, and had to force yourself to not laugh when he slowly raised his hand to flip you off.

Yelena was a few tables away, resisting the urge to grab her steak knife and shove it in the throat of the man speaking to her. He clearly just loved the sound of his own voice, and she hadn’t even gotten a word in. The topic? Himself, of course. And how he could’ve been a hero too if life had dealt him better cards.

Bob was the only one who’d been excused from tonight. Understandably, as he was still recovering from recent events.

Earlier you offered to stay back and hang out with him. The rest of the team agreed that might be a good idea, until Valentina swooped in and immediately said no. That everyone would be wondering where the only original Avenger on the team was.

“So being an Avenger and all that, do you have a lot of free time?” Benjamin asked.

“Umm no, not really. Between missions and writing the reports and training, I don’t have a lot of time for myself.”

“That’s a shame. I was hoping to take you out some time,” he put an arm around your chair while also scooting his closer.

That’s when you finally stood up. “I’m not dating anymore, but again I appreciate the offer. If you’ll excuse me.” You didn’t give him a chance to say anything else before you started to walk away.

Valentina unintentionally saved the day, calling you over to talk to a mayor of some city a few states away. Why he was at this dinner, you had no idea. But after only a minute of conversation, you could tell he was genuinely a nice guy, so this was already a lot better than talking to Benjamin.

After everyone finished eating, the team mingled with guests for another hour before things finally started to wind down. Half an hour after that, and only a handful of people remained.

“Ready to head home? I’m exhausted,” Ava was the last of the group to approach the table you’d all gathered at.

“Yeah,” you looked around the table, “shit. I think I left my phone in the bathroom. I’ll meet you guys at the car.”

Everyone slowly stood up and gathered their things, but Bucky lingered near you. “I can wait for you,” he offered.

You could see he was just as mentally exhausted as you were, maybe even a little more. “It’s okay, I’ll meet you at the car in a minute, I think my phones on the counter by the sinks.”

After double checking, he nodded and turned around to look at the team. They were all talking amongst themselves as they headed to the doors, so Bucky took the opportunity to take your hand in his. “You did good tonight doll, proud of you.”

“Right back at ya’ Sarge,” you smiled.

You held hands a few seconds more, before expertly letting go and making it seem as if you just walked side-by-side. Unbeknownst to each other, you were both thinking that you couldn’t wait until the day came where you didn’t have to do that.

Once exiting the ballroom / banquet room, Bucky turned left and made his way to the exits, while you went right and headed for the restroom.

When you saw your phone sitting exactly where you thought it’d be, you felt relief. As you walked back out, you scrolled through your missed messages and calls, not looking up from your phone.

“There you are.”

You’d later swear your heart stopped when you heard Benjamin’s voice again. And you mentally cursed yourself for not paying attention to your surroundings. This was now 3 times the same man managed to sneak up on you.

“Hi,” you quickly nodded before taking a step towards the doors.

“Not so fast,” his hand reached out to grab your arm, and he wasn’t at all gentle.

You sighed as you tried to remove your arm from his grip, but fear quickly replaced annoyance when you realized he was stronger than he looked. And when he looked up, gone was that smug smile. Now he only looked angry.

“All night you’ve been such a fucking bitch to me, and for what?”

“Let go of me. You clearly know who I am, so you know what my powers are. I don’t want to hurt you.”

He laughed, then leaned down so his face was only inches from yours.

“You think you’re too good for me, because you’re an Avenger and I’m not? I could’ve been a hero too, you know.” He laughed, although there was no humor behind it. His grip on your wrist tightened as he gave you that sick smile. “I can—”

You didn’t get to find out what it was he could do, before a hand reached from behind you and wrapped around Benjamin’s throat. In seconds, he was pinned against the wall.

And even if the hand around Benjamin’s throat wasn’t metal, you still would’ve known who it was that was behind you.

“James,” you turned around and smiled. “I could’ve handled him.”

“Oh I know you could’ve,” he tightened his grip as Benjamin tried to speak and continued to try and remove Bucky’s hand. “You could’ve kicked his ass, but you shouldn’t have to.”

By then, the rest of the team had all come back into the room. Benjamin looked to them as if to silently ask for help, but suddenly they were all preoccupied with the floors and ceilings. Alexei even went so far as to whistle and brush invisible crumbs off of his suit jacket.

Bucky shook his head as he finally dropped his left hand, allowing Benjamin to breathe properly for the first time in a couple of minutes. Any relief he felt was short lived though, because Bucky almost immediately used his right hand to slam him back against the wall.

“You’ve been bothering her all night. And I know exactly who you are. Dishonorable discharge from the Army for sexual misconduct against female superiors. Looked into you after you bothered her the first time. And she,” he nodded towards you while never taking his eyes off of Benjamin. “Has been too polite to tell you to fuck off, but I’m not. If you so much as breathe in my wife’s direction again, it’ll be the last breath you ever take. And if you tell anyone about what’s going on right now, I can promise you that you’ll only wish you were dead.”

With that, he let go, and Benjamin fell to the ground as he tried to catch his breath. He got up after a moment, a hand on his neck as he scrambled for the doors.

“You’re all fucking psychopaths!” He yelled. Yelena took a step towards him, causing Benjamin to yank the doors open, probably running faster than he had in his entire life.

“You okay doll? I knew something was off when you were gone longer than a minute. I meant what I said, I know you could’ve handled it, I just—”

“It’s okay,” you placed your right hand in Bucky’s left. “I kinda like when you come to my rescue.”

You took a deep breath before turning to face the team, all staring at you with wide eyes and open mouths. “I know you have questions, and I promise we’ll answer them all… eventually. Let’s just get home first.”

Alexei immediately opens his mouth. “So you two—”

He was stopped by Yelena, who grabbed his arm and began walking towards the car. “Chop chop let’s go people I have a lot of questions.”

Only a few minutes later, you all finally slumped back in your seats.

“Former Winter Soldier and vigilante both turned Avenger, meet and fall in love. Beautiful!” Alexei grins, giving you a thumbs up in the rear view mirror.

Bucky takes your hand in his, apologizing once again for letting the cat out of the bag.

“Seriously though,” Ava leans forward in her seat. “Does no one know about you two?”

You shrug, “the… original Avengers, is that what we call them? Anyway, they all found out a long time ago. Natasha was actually the first one I told.”

Hearing that you confided in her sister brings a smile to Yelena’s face.

The rest of the ride to the tower is silent. And you end up falling asleep leaning on Bucky’s arm. At one point, he turns and places a soft kiss on your head. The team all turn to look at each other, as if silently asking if they were really all that blind. How had they missed this??

You wake up just as Alexei not so delicately comes to a stop as he waits for the gate to the parking structure to open.

“At least I can finally do this now,” Bucky smiles as he walks next to you, slipping his hand into yours as you head into the tower.

When you all walk into the downstairs lobby area, Bob is there.

“Saw you guys pull in on the cameras. Figured I’d wait to see how the night went.” He looks at you and Bucky holding hands, and smiles. “Oh you guys finally told them!”

All eyes are on you again.

“What the fuck!”

“Wait BOB knew?!”

You and Bucky turn to look at each other. “This is gonna be a looong night.”

why this is called “a love that makes sense” is coming in part 2!

TAG LIST FOR PART 2 ── 10 of 50 spots taken. if you’d like to be added, let me know!!

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m4tthewmurd0ck · 3 months ago

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in love with everything about this!!!

baby girl right there.

Jackass

Summary : Everyone is horrified that Bucky is flirting with a married woman, but then they realise there's a reason why.

Pairing : Thunderbolts!Bucky Barnes x florist!reader (she/her)

Warnings/tags : Secret wife trope. Cursing, Injury. Featuring the Thunderbolts*. Bucky kinda gaslights the entire team. Fluff!!!!

Word count : 3k

Note : The next chapter of spoils of war is almost here, but I just need to go over a couple of paragraphs! In the meantime, enjoy!

The Thunderbolts knew a few undeniable truths about Bucky Barnes.

One: He was grumpy.

Two: He was a private person.

Three: He never, ever let anyone see where he lived.

That last one bothered them the most. They’d pieced together the general area; a quiet neighborhood with old brick buildings, modern cafés, and just enough charm to make it feel… vintage. But no one had ever set foot inside his home, no one had even seen him unlock the door to his sanctuary, since he dodged every casual suggestion to hang out at his place with a variation of “I got plans” or another. And, curiously, every time they stopped for coffee in this part of town, Bucky would mysteriously slip into the tiny flower shop beneath a brick apartment building.

That was odd. No one would’ve guessed that Bucky Barnes even liked flowers.

What was even odder was that this infinitely grumpy, emotionally constipated, “I hate people” supersoldier — would be capable of flirting.

With the florist.

With you.

“Are we seeing this right?” Yelena whispered, elbowing Alexei as they peered through the shop window after Bucky made them wait outside.

They watched as Bucky stood by the counter, leaning in ever so slightly, a charming grin tugging at the corner of his mouth as he watched you wrap a bouquet.

“He’s smiling,” Alexei muttered, horrified.

Inside, Bucky reached for the bouquet you were tying up, his gloved fingers brushing against yours. You playfully smacked his hand away, laughing. He laughed, too, and that was enough to send Yelena spiraling into an existential crisis.

Yelena squinted. “He’s flirting.”

Alexei frowned. “Bucky does not flirt.”

“I know. That’s why I’m freaking out.”

They watched as you handed him the bouquet, and in return, Bucky gave you a wink. And then he turned, walking out like he hadn’t just transformed into a different person.

That was when Yelena, utterly horrified Yelena, caught a flash of gold on your ring finger. She squinted her eyes. It was unmistakable. “Wait a second—”

As soon as he got back to them, Alexei folded his arms. “You were flirting.”

Bucky scoffed. “I was not.”

“She’s married!” Yelena accused, pointing dramatically. “She had a ring! You flirted with a married woman!”

Bucky didn’t even blink. He simply shrugged, tucking the bouquet carefully under his arm. “I didn’t see a ring.”

“She was literally wearing it—”

“I didn’t see a ring,” Bucky insisted, tugging absentmindedly at the chain around his neck— the one that held his dog tags, hidden under his shirt.

Yelena and Alexei exchanged a deeply disturbed look.

Bucky Barnes was flirting with a married florist.

What was the world coming to?

—

Bucky knew he’d fucked up the second he stepped back into Thunderbolts HQ.

Alexie had just looked confused, while Yelena had been simmering the entire walk back, her arms crossed so tightly over her chest it was a miracle she hadn’t snapped a rib.

She lasted exactly two seconds before she exploded. “You are jackass, Barnes!”

Bucky barely had time to sigh before she stomped closer.

“What’s so wrong with what I did?” he muttered, placing the bouquet of flowers in an empty vase

Yelena let out an incredulous laugh, pacing in front of him like a caged tiger ready to strike. “What’s wrong?” she echoed, her accent thickening with rage. “You flirted with a married woman! I should punch you in the face on principle!”

From the lounge, John Walker looked up from whatever government-issued nonsense he was pretending to read. His brows immediately furrowed, his eyes twisting into the signature disapproving dad look he’d perfected. “Wait, what?”

Ava, who had been drinking tea in the corner, raised an eyebrow. “This is scandalous,” she murmured, eyes brightening with intrigue.

Alexei, who was now plopped on the couch like some washed-up, Soviet-era king, said, “If a man had flirted with my wife like that, I would have hunt him down and mount his head on wall.” He crossed his arms, nodding to himself in approval. “As is tradition.”

Bucky scowled. “I wasn’t flirting.”

“Oh?” Yelena snorted, “So you were just undressing her with your eyes for fun, then?”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “That’s just how I look at people.”

Alexie shook his head. “So you look at us like that?”

Bucky opened his mouth. Then immediately shut it.

Yelena’s hands curled into fists. “Yeah. Thought so.”

John’s arms crossed over his chest in that holier-than-thou stance that he was so famous for. “Look, man, I’m married. And if someone flirted with my wife, we’d have a problem.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Bucky groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “You guys are making a big deal out of nothing.”

“Nothing?” Yelena threw up her hands. “She’s married, Bucky!”

“Okay, even if I was flirting,” Bucky turned to her, exasperated— “I didn’t see a ring.”

Yelena’s hands flew to her head, fingers digging into her scalp like she was resisting the urge to rip out her own hair. “You probably chose to look away!”

John sighed like a disappointed youth pastor. “This is unbelievable.”

“No,” Bucky still insisted, “I didn’t see a ring.”

Yelena’s jaw dropped. “It was a thick gold band, Barnes. How could you not see it?”

Ava, who was clearly enjoying the drama more than anyone, sighed. “That is inappropriate behaviour, Barnes.”

Alexei shook his head again, “You should apologise.”

“I’m not apologising,” Bucky scoffed, “Because I did nothing wrong.”

His fingers toyed absentmindedly with the chain that led to his dog tags, and Yelena immediately locked onto the movement. Every person has a tell, a habit they did when they were nervous. And being a super spy, Yelena knew this was his.

She narrowed her eyes. “You are gaslighting us,” she muttered, pacing again like she was mentally weighing the pros and cons of strangling a super soldier.

“I didn’t see a ring,” Bucky repeated, his voice steady.

“You’re lying,” she snapped.

He shrugged, maddeningly casual in all of this chaos. “Guess we’ll never know.”

Ava laughed cynically. “I can’t tell if you’re a complete scumbag or if this is just really fun for you.”

Bucky just popped a beer from the fridge, flicking the cap off with his metal hand. “Why not both?”

He took a long sip of his beer, completely unbothered.

And maybe, he looked a little bit too smug.

—

Three weeks later, Bucky led Yelena and John on a mission to take down a high-scale arms dealer.

And, as always, the mission had gone sideways.

It was too late for any shops to be open, too late for anyone with a shred of common sense to be out on the streets.

Yelena was bleeding, pressing a torn scrap of fabric against a deep gash on her arm. John had a busted lip and a slight limp. Bucky was sporting a few cuts and bruises himself, but nothing he hadn’t shaken off a thousand times before.

“Guys,” Yelena managed a grunt, shifting her grip on her makeshift bandage, “we need to get ourselves patched up before one of us drops dead.”

“We ran out of antiseptics back at HQ,” John reminded them.

Yelena groaned, throwing her head back in despair. “So what are we supposed to do?” She gritted out, “Just bleed out in the street like sad little orphans?”

John scowled. “That’s a little dramatic.”

Yelena turned and glared at him. “Your face is dramatic.”

Bucky let out a deep breath through his nose, running a hand along his damp hair. He glanced around the street, making sure they weren’t being followed before whispering to himself, “Guess we’re doing this now.”

Yelena tilted her head. “Doing what?”

Instead of answering, Bucky turned on his heel and started walking.

John and Yelena gave each other a wary look.

“I don’t like when he does that,” John said.

“No one does,” Yelena agreed, but they both followed anyway.

It didn’t take long for them to recognise the route— It was the neighbourhood where the team usually got coffee.

But Bucky wasn’t heading to the café.

They rounded the corner, and suddenly John stopped dead in his tracks.

It was a closed florist—the very one where Bucky had, allegedly, been trying to charm his way into a married woman’s bed.

To John’s absolute horror, Bucky walked right up to the door and knocked.

“Bucky.” He said, voice strangled. “What the hell is this?”

Yelena blinked. “I don’t think we need to seduce a married florist to get medical supplies.”

Bucky sighed, rubbing his temples like he was already regretting this decision. He turned to them, leveling them both with a look. “Alright, listen up,” he said through gritted teeth. "The secret’s out now, so you two gotta keep your mouths shut.”

John’s brows furrowed. “What secret?”

Before Bucky could answer, the door to the flower shop clicked open.

And there you were, standing in the doorway, wrapped in one of Bucky’s hoodies, looking exactly how he’d expected: exasperated but unsurprised. He knew you’d still be up, cataloguing the latest floral shipment for tomorrow’s arrangements.

The second your eyes landed on a bruised and bloodied Bucky, and flanked by two wounded Thunderbolts, no less—you let out a sigh.

“James,” you said knowingly, your voice laced with fond irritation. “What did you do?”

Yelena and John froze in their tracks.

James?

No one called Bucky by his first name. No one. Not unless they had a death wish.

Bucky, unfazed, just stepped inside. “We ran out of antiseptics, honey.”

Yelena and John exchanged a wide-eyed look.

Honey?

You pinched the bridge of your nose. “Again?”

Bucky shrugged like this was a perfectly normal Thursday night occurrence.

You muttered under your breath, “I should’ve known this would happen when I married an ex-assassin.”

Oh.

Yelena’s mouth opened, closed, then opened again. “Married.” she repeated

John blinked rapidly. “This is why we can never go to your place?”

Bucky could only shrug. Of course it was— they would have seen the evidence of how much love in his home was carved out for just you.

John let out a wheeze.

Yelena pointed between you and Bucky, motioning erratically. “Wait. WAIT. So—so she’s your wife? She married you?”

Bucky nodded. “Yup.”

“Like—actually married?”

“Mhm.”

Yelena gasped, clutching her chest like she’d been personally betrayed. In a way, she had. “And no one knows?”

Bucky thought for a second. “Sam does.”

“And Joaquin,” you added, trying to be helpful.

Bucky nodded. “Right. Joaquin.”

“Oh, and Isaiah and Elijah Bradley.”

“Yeah, they were at the wedding.”

“A teenager knew about this,” John’s eye twitched, “—and we didn’t?”

Bucky could only nod again.

Yelena rubbed a hand down her face, “You gaslit us,” she accused, jabbing a finger at Bucky. “You let us believe you were a homewrecker for weeks—when you were married the whole time?!”

You snorted, glancing at Bucky, who had the audacity to look smug. “Yeah, that sounds like my husband.”

Yelena let out a string of very creative Russian curses.

John looked like he was about to have a stroke.

“All secrets aside,” you said, welcoming the two disoriented Thunderbolts in and locking the door behind you, “It’s good to finally meet you both.”

John still looked like he was buffering. Yelena, on the other hand, was vibrating with adrenaline, looking like she was trying to solve a conspiracy theory in real time.

“This is—this is insane,” she muttered, pointing aggressively at Bucky, then at you, then back at Bucky. “You’re—you’re so normal.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “I’d like to think so.”

Bucky just hummed. “She’s perfect.”

Yelena actually sputtered like an old car engine.

John made a noise that was somewhere between a groan and a strangled laugh. This was all too much.

But there wasn’t time to let them spiral further. Bucky, gently nudged you toward the others. “Take care of them first, darling. They’ve got worse injuries.”

You frowned, wanting to protest—because, really, Bucky should always be your first priority—but your husband was nothing if not stubborn. You knew better than to argue when he had that look in his eyes— you knew that fighting him on this would only drag things out longer, and right now, time was precious.

You turned your attention to Yelena and John, motioning for them to follow you deeper into the shop. The scent of lavender, roses, and freshly cut stems—clung to the air as you led them toward the back, where your little work table stood tucked in the corner.

Years of practice had made you quick. You moved with quiet efficiency, gathering supplies from neat shelves: you cut and split an aloe vera plant for burns, grabbed bandages, and a mix of balms you’d perfected over your time tending to Bucky. It wasn’t the kind of sterile, military-grade first aid they were used to, but it would have to do for now.

You started tending to Yelena’s arm, gently dabbing the wound with fresh aloe. She hissed through her teeth before narrowing her eyes at you.

“So how long has this been a thing?” she demanded. Bucky, now leaning lazily against the counter with his arms crossed, barely spared her a glance. “A while.”

John scoffed, “A while?”

You bit back a grin as you smoothed a bandage over Yelena’s arm, “Three years.”

Yelena’s jaw dropped.

“Three—” She turned to Bucky so fast it was a miracle she didn’t give herself whiplash. “You’ve been married for three years?!”

John let out a long, defeated groan,This was simply too much to process. “Fuck’s sake.”

Yelena shook her head. “I thought you were a loner who hated people."

Bucky only shrugged, unbothered.

You chuckled as you pressed the last piece of medical tape into place on Yelena’s arm. “Alright, you’re done.” Then, glancing at John, you motioned for him to sit. “Your turn.”

John sighed but still plopped down. You took his hand gently, turning it over to examine his bruised knuckles before moving to his busted lip.

Meanwhile, they kept peppering you with questions, barely giving you room to breathe.

“How did you meet?”

“How do you put up with Bucky’s brooding?”

“Does he ever actually smile?”

At that last one, you paused, dabbing at John’s lip carefully. “He smiles all the time.”

John let out a scoff. “No, he doesn’t.”

You glanced over at Bucky, knowing he showed that part of him to you and no one else. “Oh, he does.”

And then, finally, it was Bucky’s turn.

You turned to him, your brows knitting together as you studied the little cuts on his cheek, the dried blood near his brows. He looked a little tired, a little worn around the edges.

Your fingers found his chin, tilting his face toward you as you inspected the damage. Your touch was so featherlight, so incredibly careful. There was no missing the way your thumb brushed over his cheekbone— how incredibly gentle it was.

“You should’ve let me do you first,” you murmured, half-scolding, half-concerned.

Bucky’s lips curved into a small smile, a flicker of mischief lighting his tired blue eyes. “That’s exactly what you said last night, sweetheart.”

John choked.

Yelena groaned, grabbing the nearest pillow from the nearest chair and hurling it at Bucky’s head. “You two are disgusting.”

Bucky caught the pillow effortlessly, giving her a smug grin before setting it aside. When his eyes found yours again, his shit-eating grin turned… lovely. The tension in his brows eased as you dabbed gently at his cut.

For all the blood, for all the bruises, you handled him like he was glass.

And then, without thinking, you leaned in.

It was meant to be a brief kiss— a quick reassurance, a way of saying I’ve got you. But the moment your lips brushed his, you couldn’t help but linger.

Your fingers curled instinctively against his chin. His hand found your waist without hesitation, as if he needed you closer. As if the world shrank down to just the two of you.

John and Yelena exchanged a look, the previous horror of their teammate hiding a secret wife momentarily forgotten because this was… weirdly cute.

You giggled as you pulled away, seeing Bucky looking at you like you hung the moon for him.

“Anywhere else?” you asked, brushing your thumb over his lips.

Bucky hesitated just for a second. Then, a little sheepishly, he said, “Got a cut on my ribs.”

You exhaled, shaking your head. Of course he did. Before he could argue, you reached for the hem of his shirt and tugged.

“Off,” you said simply.

Bucky huffed but didn’t fight you. He lifted his arms, letting you strip the fabric from his skin, and goddamn.

Bucky, half-naked, was unfairly, ridiculously beautiful. Even now, even after all this time, seeing him like this still knocked the breath from your lungs. His body was a roadmap of battles fought and survived, scars carved into the expanse of his chest and ribs that told stories only he could say.

John made a strangled sound, somewhere between “Jesus Christ” and “I need to leave the room,” but you ignored him completely. Yelena let out a dramatic sigh and whispered “they are one second away from sucking each other’s face off,” to herself.

You tuned them both out, fingers dragging carefully over Bucky’s ribs, searching for the wound. When you found a thin jagged cut just below his ribs— you sighed softer this time and reached for the aloe.

“You need to stop getting hurt, my love,” you said, smoothing the cool gel over his skin.

Bucky’s voice came quieter. “Lucky I have someone to take care of me, then.”

And that’s when Yelena finally noticed it.

The thin chain around Bucky’s neck—one she’d always assumed was just for his dog tags—held something else, too.

A ring.

A simple wedding band that matched yours, worn from years of resting against his skin.

She blinked, realisation hitting her like a freight train. Oh.

That’s why he always played with it.

Every time Bucky was nervous, every time he was uncertain, his fingers would move to that chain—not just to fiddle with his tags, but to remind himself of you.

Maybe he wasn’t a complete jackass after all.

-end.

Note: Hope this doesn't bite me in the ass when the movie comes out.

General Bucky taglist:

@hotlinepanda @snflwr-vol6 @ruexj283 @2honeybees @read-just-cant

@shanksstrawhat @mystictf @globetrotter28 @thebuckybarnesvault@average-vibe

@winchestert101 @mystictf @globetrotter28 @shanksstrawhat @scariusaquarius

@reckless007 @hextech-bros @daydreamgoddess14 @96jnie @pono-pura-vida

@buckyslove1917 @notsostrangerthing @flow33didontsmoke @qvynrand @blackbirdwitch22

@torntaltos @seventeen-x @ren-ni @iilsenewman @slayerofthevampire

@hiphip-horray @jbbucketlist @melotyy @ethereal-witch24 @samfunko

@lilteef @hi172826 @pklol @average-vibe @shanksstrawhat

@shower-me-with-roses @athenabarnes @scarwidow @thriving-n-jiving @dilfsaresohot

@helloxgoodbi @undf-stuff @sapphirebarnes @hzdhrtss @softhornymess

@samfunko @wh1sp @anonymousreader4d7 @mathcat345 @escapefromrealitylol

@imjusthere1161 @sleepysongbirdsings @fuckybarnes @yn-stories-are-my-life

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #aquaticmercy #reading recs

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m4tthewmurd0ck · 3 months ago

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refreshing change of nice john. and @aquaticmercy is already one of my favorite bucky writers.

ugh, a masterpiece!!!

Red, White, and Blew em' All Away

Summary : Bucky asks John Walker to set him up with his best friend. Of course it's an unnecessarily complicated plan.

Pairing : Bucky Barnes x sniper! reader (she/her), Best friend!John Walker

Warnings/tags : Thunderbolts* spoilers!!!!!!! Fluff, Cursing, brief mention of trauma. Implied sex. Brief mention of death. John has massive Ross from friends energy in this one. Mutual pining???? Everyone lives in the tower. (Please let me know if I miss anything!!!)

Word count : 5.3k

Note : This was inspired by the song Supersoaker by Kings of Leon. If you’d like to be on the taglist, message me! It gets lost in the comments sometimes. I’m also closing it soon since it's getting a bit out of hand. Anyone have any suggestions on how to organise taglists better? Anyway, enjoy!

You were one of the most lethal soldiers of your generation—at least, you had been. Back in the 75th Ranger Regiment, you were very close with both John Walker and Lemar Hoskins. They were family, as far as you were concerned.

You never used to question orders. Back in the unit, that wasn’t your job. You were a sniper. You saw the world through a scope, in gradients of distance, timing, and target confirmation. You didn’t hesitate.

Lemar used to say, “You think too much after the mission.”

You’d reply with a dismissive chuckle, “That’s the only time it’s safe to think.”

But watching Lemar die changed something in you. You saw it in slow motion— the way his back hit the pillar, horrified as John’s guttural rage as you stood frozen on the spot.

When you saw him raise the shield, you knew what he was going to do. But you didn’t stop him. Maybe you couldn’t. Maybe you didn’t want to.

Watching John—your brother in arms—bring down his shield like a guillotine on a surrendering man snapped the last thread of who you thought you were.

So you fought Sam and Bucky in Latvia, trying to explain that John was in grief. You knew what he did was wrong, but fuck— you’ve just lost Lemar, too.

Because if he wasn’t your field partner, who the hell were you?

You held your own for a while— until Bucky disarmed you, pressed you against a wall, breath ragged, eyes wild. You’d never admit it, but that the moment stuck with you, burned itself into your memory like a scar on skin.

After the dust settled and Karli was gone, Sam reached out. He saw something in you. He dragged you to the VA, made you talk, made you work through what you felt.

You started climbing out of the pit. And then, she came—Valentina Allegra de Fontaine, with a promise of purpose and redemption. Just like that, you were right back at John’s side, following orders again.

—

But it was different now.

After New York, after pulling Bob out of his literal void, you had… a family.

And you moved to Avengers tower with that family.

Bucky started noticing you more after that day. He always had, if he was being honest. From the first time you pulled the bolt on your M24 with that annoying little pretty smirk after you, John, and Lemar helped him and Sam with the Flag Smashers the first time he met you.

You weren’t just good— you were dangerous. And that caught his attention.

So when you both moved to live in the Avengers tower full-time, you and Bucky, ironically, clicked. Two ex-army snipers, worn out by decades of destruction, it felt like a no-brainer. You’d never admit it to anyone, but you thought he was stupidly hot even when he had a knife to your throat during training. He, likewise, thought your smile was devastating.

You sparred. You bantered. You shot rounds together every morning now at the Avengers compound.

It was a ritual at this point. 0600 at the shooting range. You and Bucky would be shoulder to shoulder, trash-talking, competing, and trying to out-shoot each other like teenagers in basic training. The bullet holes on your targets were always nearly stacked.

“Can’t believe a relic like you still has steady hands,” you teased once.

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Can’t believe you’ve got all these fancy new tech, and still can’t beat me. Back in the 40s, all I had was a good eye.”

“Whatever, old man,” You huffed, but smiled. He thought it was the best damn thing he’d ever seen.

So yeah, it’s safe to say Bucky had a crush on you.

The kind of crush that made him forget how to speak like a normal human whenever you looked at him. The kind that made him stalk around in doorways just a second too long, hoping you’d notice. The kind that had him memorising your coffee order and pretending it was just coincidence.

The only problem was that he had absolutely no idea how to ask you out.

So, naturally, he turned to the one person he thought might have some experience in that department.

John Walker—your brother in everything but blood. The man who once challenged a bouncer to arm-wrestle just because you said the guy looked strong. The man who had never, in the history of knowing you, made a subtle decision.

Bucky should have known better.

The second Bucky confessed, he regretted it.

John’s eyes went wide with shock and glee, like a kid on Christmas who just found out his new toy came with explosives. He damn near shouted, “Wait—wait. You have a crush on my best friend?!”

Bucky winced. “Keep your voice down.”

John leaned back and grinned like he just cracked the Pentagon’s launch codes. “Oh ho ho. This is gold. Don’t worry. I got you.”

“John—”

“I’ve got you, Buck,” he insisted, slapping a hand to his shoulder like he was about to make a blood oath. “I’m gonna help you win her over.”

Oh. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.

—

It was so bad.

Because instead of helpful advice or moral support—or literally any of the sane things a normal person might do—John decided to be John. Unnecessary, over-complicated, convoluted John.

He ended up setting you up on a blind date with someone from his high school.

Not just someone. Bruce Mallory, the guy everyone hated. The walking red flag. A high school quarterback who used to cheat in every test and called women “females.”

Bucky found out three hours before the date.

“What the hell were you thinking?” he demanded, cornering John by the weights like this was a hostage negotiation.

“Relax,” John said like this was all going according to plan. “It’s strategy.”

“Strategy?”

“Yeah, man. Trust me.” He leaned forward like he was about to reveal top-level clearance intelligence. “She needs a push. I know her enough to know likes you, but she thinks you’re out of her league.”

Bucky huffed. “That’s insane.”

“Exactly,” John said, like that somehow made sense. “So, I set her up with a guy I know. Total douchebag. Real fucking dickhead. She’ll hate the date. Then you swoop in afterward, say something funny, remind her what a good guy looks like. Boom. Bucky gets the girl.”

Bucky stared at him like he’d grown a second head. “You’re telling me… you intentionally set her up for a bad time so I’d look better by comparison?”

John looked insulted that he even had to explain. “It’s foolproof.”

Foolproof. Right. Coming from the divorced guy.

Bucky groaned.

Somehow, this had become his life.

“See? Bruce Mallory,” John said, showing him this guy’s old high school photo on his phone. “Used to sell oregano as weed in high school. Had three girlfriends at the same time until they all found out at prom and cornered him by the punch bowl. Absolute legend.”

Bucky stared at him.

It sounded unhinged. Bucky should’ve shut it down then and there.

But the truth was, he was desperate. You haunted his thoughts. He couldn’t breathe right when you were in the same room as him. He was in deep, and every time he thought about telling you, his mind conjured a dozen reasons why he shouldn’t.

So yeah. He let John run his little plan.

And then watched it implode in slow motion.

Because when you came back to Avengers Tower after the date, you weren’t angry. You weren’t disappointed or exhausted or cursing John’s name.

You were… happy?

Bucky’s chest tightened like a vice.

“How was it?” he managed, voice tight, his rehearsed smile barely holding.

You shrugged casually. “Really good, actually.”

Bucky blinked. “Oh?”

“Well,” you said thoughtfully, “he’s a pediatrician and goes to the same gym I used to. Volunteers in war zones sometimes for humanitarian missions and he’s currently saving up to establish a free hospital in areas of conflict.”

Bucky’s throat went dry. “Hmm?”

“Yeah. Also, he fosters dogs—he’s got this one now with three legs—and he’s been learning ASL so he can work with hearing-impaired kids.”

Bucky felt the world tilt sideways.

“He… fosters dogs?”

“Yeah.” You smiled, and it felt like getting stabbed with a butter knife— it was slow, messy, painful. “We’re going out again next week.”

“Thanks for introducing us, man,” You turned to John, whose mouth was agape from the kitchen, “You’re the best.”

John looked like someone had just told him his credit score was zero. “Uh… y-you’re welcome?”

Bucky laughed. It was a brittle, choking sound that tasted like rust in his throat. “Wow. Great. No, this is… this is great.” He turned to John, eyes cold. “Hey. John? Can we talk? Just real quick. In the hallway. Now.”

John followed him knowing he would get an earful. The second the door shut, Bucky pointed at him.

“What the hell did you do?!”

John threw his hands up. “How was I supposed to know he’d go through a redemption arc?!”

“You told me he was a human garbage fire!”

“He was! Last time I saw him he was getting dumped three times simultaneously. I didn’t know he’d become freakin’ Mother Teresa with a gym membership!”

“He volunteers in war zones, John!”

“I know!”

Bucky groaned, dragging a hand down his face like he was trying to peel off his skin. “She was supposed to hate him. I was gonna show up, make her laugh—”

John winced. “Yeah, that was the plan. But apparently, Bruce Mallory became Ghandi’s hot cousin, I know.” He paced around the room, “which means… I need to come up with a plan B.”

—

Meanwhile, you were sitting in the common room trying not to scream into a pillow.

Because Bruce Mallory was great. He was smart, kind, and selfless. But you knew exactly why you’d said yes to a second date.

Because you had to get over Bucky Barnes.

You’d been crushing on him for months. Hopelessly. Pathetically. Every glance, every half-smile had rooted deeper in your chest like a splinter you didn’t want to remove. But he was a war hero—broken and still healing, older than time yet still disgustingly handsome. He was Bucky Barnes.

There was no version of reality where someone like him would stoop so low and choose someone like you.

So when John set you up and Bruce Mallory came along, you stupidly thought, maybe if you dated someone else, it would fill that hole that Bucky left in your heart. Maybe it would help you let go of the fantasy of ever being with the former winter soldier.

So yes. You’re going on a second date, even if it was for all the wrong reasons.

—

You went on the second date next week and didn’t say much after, just that it went “well” and you were “going on a third.” No dreamy smiles, but still— no complaints either.

Which, for Bucky, not knowing everything was somehow worse.

He stood in the gym, punching a bag so hard it nearly came off the chain.

Across the room, John leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching him implode.

“She didn’t rave about it,” John said helpfully. “That’s something, right?”

Bucky didn’t respond and just kept punching.

“She didn’t not like it,” John added. “But you know, not every spark sets the world on fire. Maybe she’s just... being polite.”

“John,” Bucky growled, sweat dripping from his temples. “Do you have a Plan B?”

John nodded, a little too quickly. “Absolutely. We’re going on a family vacation.”

—

“Team bonding weekend!” he announced in the New Avengers group chat like it was to pile a group of super-operatives and Bob into a rented cabin in the woods for a little R&R.

Yelena immediately called dibs on making the s’mores and threatened anyone who brought off-brand marshmallows.

Bob asked if the cabin had satellite TV.

Ava sent a thumbs-up and a gif alluding to arson.

Alexei promised “memorable Soviet campfire tales.”

And Bucky was both extremely nervous and cautiously hopeful. Maybe this was the break he needed— a moment for you to see him outside the chaos.

Plus, John was undeterred. Because this wasn’t about s’mores or a holiday. This was about you and Bucky finally getting your heads out of your asses and realising you were cosmically meant for each other.

The centerpiece of his romantic heist was one single strategically placed bed.

He got there early and rigged the room assignment, going so far as to fake a DO NOT USE sign on the air mattress. He removed the backup cot and hid it in the woods.

It was all going to work. Maybe you would get a confession. Maybe a kiss under the stars.

What he didn’t account for was your complete and utter, soul-crushing obliviousness.

—

When you got to the cabin and walked into the room, you took one look at the bed, then looked at Bucky—already slightly pink in the ears—and then just shrugged.

“Two seater,” you said, tossing your duffel onto the small, barely padded couch in the corner of the bedroom. “I’ve slept on debris-filled floors. This’ll be a luxury.”

Bucky muttered a curse under his breath. “You’re sleeping on the couch?”

“Well, yeah,” you shrugged, “You’ve got the vibranium arm. Probably not great for furniture. Go take the bed.”

“No,” he insisted. “You take the bed. It’s final.”

You raised an eyebrow and chuckled. “You pulling rank on me, Sergeant?”

Bucky loved it when you called him that. “I’ll make it an order if I have to.”

“Oh, sir, yes sir,” you said with a playful laugh.

The flirty tension was there, for half a second.

It was enough for Bucky to remember how soul-crushing his feelings for you were.

—

The evening passed in a haze of awkward not-quite moments.

Outside, the others drank by the firepit. Yelena was teaching Ava how to make s’mores using a knife for a stick. Alexei was yelling about surviving a Siberian winter inside a collapsed barn with only a spoon and a shield.

When you excused yourself early—“Gonna crash”—Bucky followed too quickly. “Yeah. Same. ‘M exhausted.”

You both entered the room and settled into the roles you had clearly assigned yourselves: You on the bed, arms crossed behind your head, and Bucky on the couch, perched like it might collapse under the weight of his own emotional constipation.

And outside the window, just beyond the tree line, John Walker lurked like a raccoon, peeking through the curtains and mouthing: “DO SOMETHING.”

Bucky didn’t. Of course he didn’t.

He just sat there until the silence got too loud to ignore.

And because Bucky apparently hated himself, he asked the one question he absolutely shouldn’t have. “So… how’s Bruce Mallory?”

You looked over, surprised. “He’s good. Actually good. I was surprised. When John said ‘high school friend,’ I thought he’d be a creep. Most of the guys I’ve met from his past are… dumpster fires.”

Bucky forced a civil nod. “That’s… great. Just great.”

You tilted your head. “You okay?”

“Me? Yeah. Sure. Sounds like a nice guy.”

You’d hoped—just a little—that he’d show something. Jealousy, maybe. Some sign that maybe he cared.

But there was nothing. Just that same unreadable distant face.

And the lack of reaction hit harder than any rejection.

You pulled the blanket tighter around you and turned your back. “Yeah, I guess… I’m gonna see him again.”

Bucky’s voice was flat. “Have fun.”

That was it.

No follow-up. No argument. No protest.

You closed your eyes.

And across the room, Bucky stared at the ceiling like it knew he’d just let the only person he wanted walk a little further away. Again.

Outside, John peeked through the window one last time.

You were asleep on the bed.

Bucky was wide awake on the couch.

And John, crouched behind a tree with a fistful of s’mores, muttered furiously, “Goddammit.”

—

After the fourth date, you came home smiling. Nothing euphoric, nothing giddy—just… content.

Which killed Bucky inside.

So when he asked, against every warning in his head, “going on a fourth date?”—and you answered with a quiet “yeah”—he didn’t flinch.

He just smiled a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

John, standing nearby, turned to him the second you walked out of the hallway.

“Okay. Okay,” he started, “This is it. Emergency measures. We’re moving to Plan C.”

Bucky shook his head immediately. “John, it’s over.”

“Plan C is going to work.”

“I said no.” His voice didn’t rise, but it was cold. “Leave it.”

Bucky had reached that particularly cruel stage of heartbreak—the one where everything about him turned a little too polite. He’d only smile when you made a joke. Compliment your shot grouping briefly at the range. Nod when you passed him in the hall, and then walked away before you could see the way it killed him to be near you.

And you were not better off.

Bruce Mallory was… kind. Charming. Smart. He didn’t just talk, he listened. He asked questions. Sent you little check-ins during long missions. He liked your dark humour and never looked at your scars like they were something to ignore or erase.

But still—every time Bucky walked into a room, you felt the same electric flutter in your chest, like your heart forgot what it was supposed to feel, like it didn’t care that you’d ruled him out months ago as something impossible.

Because surely, surely, Bucky didn’t want you like that.

So you told yourself Bruce was a good choice. That maybe a few more dates would silence the crush you’d spent so long burying. That maybe Bucky would stop living rent-free in your head.

But you were John Walker’s best friend.

And he knew better.

So as Plan C, John thought that if he’d whisper the truth into the right ear, it would spread like a quiet fire until you realised what had been in front of you the whole time.

He picked his weapon: Yelena.

During sparring, he said it casually. “Hey, so, if it ever comes up… maybe you could mention that Bucky’s got a thing for her. Like, plant the seed.”

Yelena snorted, blocking his punch with ease. “You want me to gossip?”

“It’s not gossip,” he said, ducking her counter. “It’s… just, well, true.”

She shrugged, unbothered. “Sure.”

The next day later, while sharpening a knife, Yelena said to Ava, “Apparently Bucky’s got a sad little sniper crush.”

During a tech debrief, Ava pointed at you when you walked past and whispered to Alexei, “Bucky’s in love with her. Isn’t that sweet?”

Alexei, profoundly misunderstanding the nuance, leaned over to Bob during lunch and declared with confidence, “Bucky is madly in love with her. They are clearly dating.”

Which is how, in the middle of an otherwise average Tuesday dinner in the Avengers compound— Bob looked up from his fifth plate and casually said, “So I heard you’re dating now. I thought you were going on with Walker’s old football friend.”

Forks froze and chewing stopped.

You looked up. “...What?”

Bob, all golden retriever-like his enthusiasm, smiled between you and Bucky. “Bucky’s in love with you, right? Alexei said so.”

Across the table, Bucky looked like he’d just taken a bullet in the chest.

He wanted to speak, to explain, to lie, to run.

But you chuckled too quickly. Too loudly.

“Oh! No—no, that’s—you probably misheard,” you said, waving a hand, forcing ease into your voice. “That’s not—I mean, Bucky doesn’t—come on. It’s Bucky Barnes.”

You said his name like it was sacred, like it belonged somewhere far above your head, up in the clouds with legends and gods.

You turned back to your food, smiling awkwardly. “He’s just nice to me because we shoot together. That’s it.”

Bucky didn’t move. Because how could he?

You’d shut it down so fast, it broke his heart into a million little pieces.

To you, shutting it down made perfect sense.

Because how could someone like Bucky — war hero, former congressman, team leader—look at you and want you?

Even if he did.

Even if every morning with you on the range made the day better. Even if your voice could pull him out of his worst spiral. Even if he'd give anything just to hear you say his name.

But he said nothing.

And across the room, John Walker sat in silence, hands limp around his fork, watching the flaming wreckage of Plan C.

After dinner, Bucky found John in the kitchen.

“Okay, that did not go how I planned,” He said to Bucky. “Plan E. Or F. Whatever. I’ll fix it. I swear I’ll fix it.”

Behind him, Bucky sighed. “John. Stop.”

John turned, his eyes were too gentle for someone who was normally so brash.

Bucky shook his head. “You were wrong,” he said sadly, looking utterly lost in his own head. “She doesn’t like me.”

But John knew you, so by extension, he knew how wrong Bucky was.

—

Today was the day of your fourth date. You were almost at the elevator— you had your coat on, keys in hand, and an intoxicating trace of perfume behind your ear—when John stopped you.

He just stood in the hallway to the tower’s residential floor with his arms crossed. You paused, blinking. “What do you want, man?”

He looked you dead in the eye and said, flatly, “You know Bruce Mallory lied to get Katie Jansen suspended in high school, right?”

Your brows shot up. “What?”

“Yeah,” he nodded solemnly, “Faked some emails, told the principal she was selling test answers. All because she was gonna out him for cheating on her with her sister.”

You stared. “What?”

“And he used to smoke in the cafeteria,” John added, like that was somehow worse.

“That was surely years ago, John,” you said, suspicion blooming in your chest. “Besides, why are you telling me this now? You’re the one who set me up with him.”

John held up both hands, like he wasn’t also the arsonist in this particular fire. “Look, all I’m saying is— I’m your best friend. I know you. And I don’t think you’d actually like Bruce Mallory.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Why would you set me up with someone you don’t think I’d like?”

“I was trying to push you in the right direction!”

“What fucking direction, Walker?” You demanded, very confused all of a sudden.

“Ugh, look,” John said defensively. “Last I saw him, he was trashing locker rooms and pissing behind the bleachers. I didn’t realize he’d gone and joined Doctors Without Borders and cleaned up his whole life.”

“Did you, what, set me up to fail?” You crossed your arms. The idea of that seemed impossible, but you also knew how your best friend sometimes played 4D chess with very questionable motives.

“I’m just saying,” John muttered under his breath, “he’s not your type.”

You stepped back and raised your eyebrows. “And what exactly is my type?”

John hesitated, then shrugged like it was obvious. “Taller than you. Broody. Built like a brick wall. Shoots better than you half the time and won’t let you forget it. Has a metal arm, probably.”

Your jaw dropped, blinking slowly.

He knew of your crush?

Of course. Of course he knew.

“…You just described Bucky.”

John tilted his head. “Well, yeah.”

You stood there—mouth open and brain short-circuiting like a glitching circuit board. “I—okay, maybe, but that doesn’t mean anything! That’s Bucky Barnes. He’s out of my league!”

John actually groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “You—you absolute dumbass.”

“Excuse me?!”

“BOB WASN’T LYING!” John shouted, shaking you by the shoulders as if it was going to knock some sense into you.

You gulped. “What?!”

“Bucky is in love with you, you idiot!” John practically yelled, voice echoing through the hallway. “He’s been in love with you since you knocked him on his ass in training week one! Do you never notice how he paces around like a sad little Victorian widow every time you go out with that pediatrician saint?! He just thinks he’s too fucked for you, which again: Not true!”

You just… froze. For once, you had no witty comeback.

John pointed at your chest, eyes narrowed with brotherly fury. “I cannot believe I have to say this out loud: you are not out of anyone’s league. Least of all his. You are literally his exact brand of damaged.”

You couldn’t breathe. Your heart felt like it had slammed into a wall and kept beating anyway.

“…I need to find Bucky,” you finally whispered.

John nodded, satisfied, already pulling his phone out. “I’ll text Bruce Mallory. Tell him you’ve got a classified emergency. You can explain later.”

You hesitated at the elevator door. “But—”

“You’re about to go find the guy who thinks your laugh is the only thing worth surviving for.” John arched his brow. “Mallory hasn’t even brought up ‘exclusive dating’ yet. He’ll be fine.”

—

You went downstairs and stood outside Bucky’s door.

You were really doing this, were you?

You raised your hand and knocked—quietly at first, then a bit firmer when there was no answer.

There was silence for a bit, and then a shuffle. The. Footsteps. Then you heard the sound of something—or someone—hitting the floor and a small “shit,” muffled through the door.

When it opened, Bucky stood in the doorway, shirtless, wearing those low gray sweats that should honestly be illegal on him, as if he just got back from the gym.

And when he saw you, his breath hitched.

His eyes trailed from your heels, up your legs, over the curve of your waist, and finally rested on your face—hair done, lips glossed and parted slightly in hesitation.

“...You look—” His voice faltered. You didn’t need any of this— Bucky loved you as is, but seeing you go through all this effort for another man hurt. “Wow. You got all dressed up for him, huh?”

He meant for it to sound casual, even teasing. But they came out almost bitter.

You swallowed. Your heart was racing, and not for Bruce Mallory.

“I—” you started, then faltered. You looked down at your hands for a second, then back up at him. “I’m not going.”

He tilted his head. “You’re not going on the date?”

You shook your head. “No.”

He didn’t move, didn’t speak, just looked at you like you’d said something in a language he didn’t understand.

“I was.” You stepped in a little closer. “But I couldn’t do it.”

Bucky’s brow furrowed, “Why not?”

You hesitated, your voice dipping lower. “Because I realised I didn’t want to see him.”

His head lowered just slightly. “I… well. What—”

You interrupted him, and your throat felt tight. “I wanted to see you.”

You shifted your weight, arms wrapping loosely around yourself. “And… John kind of straight up told me.”

Bucky sighed. “Told you what?”

You let out a long breath, the words tumbling out in a rush. “That you liked me. That you get weird when I talk about going on dates, and that the reason you haven’t said anything is because you think you’re too messed up, or broken, or whatever Bucky Barnes excuse you’ve decided to make up this month.”

A small, crooked smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. “He said all that?”

“Well… not verbatim,” you chuckled. “And the thing is…” You hesitated. “I never thought I had a chance.”

His brow creased. “What?”

“I thought you were out of my league,” you said gently. “You’re… you. You’ve been through hell and survived it. You’re unfairly hot even when you’re grumpy. And I’m just me.”

He stepped toward you, pulled you in by the wrist and closed the door. Your heart started racing out at your chest.

“You’re not ‘just’ anything,” he insisted. “You’re kind. You’re stubborn. You laugh like the world isn’t on fire. You’re gorgeous, not to mention. And you… you see me. Not the Winter Soldier. Not the Avenger. Just… me.”

You didn’t even realise you were crying until his thumb brushed beneath your eye, catching a tear.

He cupped your face, thumb trailing your cheekbone, eyes locked with yours.

“C’mere,” he whispered, barely audibly.

You didn’t hesitate. You closed the gap and kissed him.

It wasn’t desperate or frantic. It was slow and deep—like every moment of tension between you had been leading up to this. His mouth moved against yours like he already knew the rhythm of your soul. His metal hand found the small of your back, fingers wrapping possessively. The other curled gently at your chin, tilting your face so he could kiss you better

You sighed into him, hands bunching in the fabric of his sweats as he backed you against the door, never breaking the kiss. His tongue swept against yours, coaxing a low moan from your throat, and he smiled into the kiss like he’d just won a war.

When he finally pulled back, your foreheads pressed together, he whispered, “Tell me you’re mine now,” he whispered, “Because I don’t think I can go back to pretending I don’t want you.”

“I think…” you nodded with a whisper, “I’ve always been yours.”

He grinned that boyish grin, like the sun breaking through clouds.

—

The next morning, the sun was barely up, the building was still quiet — too early for most of the other avengers — but not for you and Bucky.

You were standing barefoot in front of the stove, one of Bucky’s sweatshirts drowning your frame, your hair a little messy from the night before. He was behind you, arms wrapped around your waist, chin resting on your shoulder as he murmured in your ear.

“I’m gonna burn the pancakes if you keep distracting me,” you teased, half-laughing as he pressed a warm kiss to the curve of your neck.

“Worth it,” he muttered, nuzzling in like he didn’t care about breakfast at all.

You giggled and leaned into him anyway, flipping the batter one-handed while his fingers played idly with the hem of your — well, his — sweatshirt. He hadn’t stopped touching you since you woke up. A kiss to your cheek while you brushed your teeth. A gentle pull back into bed when you tried to get up. And now… this.

Not that you were complaining.

He handed you the toast while you plated the eggs, sneaking another kiss to your temple as you reached up into the cabinet.

“I could get used to this,” he murmured.

Then came a little creak.

Both of you turned toward the hallway as a pair of socked feet appeared near the door. And there was John. Peeking around the frame like a kid in pajamas. His smile was smug enough to power the whole building.

“I did that,” he announced proudly, pointing at the two of you.

You narrowed your eyes. “You literally almost made it worse.”

“Shhh,” John put a finger to his lips. “Don’t ruin it. Let me have this.”

Bucky chuckled behind you, grabbing two mugs from the counter. “Let him gloat. It’ll keep him busy for a while.”

John leaned in toward Ava, who’d flickered into existence behind him with a cup of tea— as she often didn’t bother to control her phasing when she was still tired. “I just gotta figure out how to convince them to name their firstborn after me,” he whispered dramatically.

Ava rolled her eyes. “John, they’ve been dating for eleven hours.”

You furrowed your eyebrows, wondering how she knew the exact timestamp. “Wha—”

She raised her hand before you could ask. “You were loud,” she said, as if stating the obvious, “I’m pretty sure the whole tower knows by now.”

You turned back to the stove, trying not to let the heat creep up your cheeks as Bucky slid beside you. His thumb brushed over your knuckles. “Firstborn, huh?” he said against your ear.

You gave him a look. “Don’t encourage him.”

John, from the couch, said, “Middle name at least! I’m not asking for much.”

And with that, you leaned into him again, plate in one hand, his fingers in the other.

If this was how mornings were going to be now — then yeah, you could definitely get used to this.

-end.

General Bucky taglist:

@hotlinepanda @snflwr-vol6 @ruexj283 @2honeybees @read-just-cant

@shanksstrawhat @mystictf @globetrotter28 @thebuckybarnesvault@average-vibe

@winchestert101 @mystictf @globetrotter28 @shanksstrawhat @scariusaquarius

@reckless007 @hextech-bros @daydreamgoddess14 @96jnie @pono-pura-vida

@buckyslove1917 @notsostrangerthing @flow33didontsmoke @qvynrand @blackbirdwitch22

@torntaltos @seventeen-x @ren-ni @iilsenewman @slayerofthevampire

@hiphip-horray @jbbucketlist @melotyy @ethereal-witch24 @samfunko

@lilteef @hi172826 @pklol @average-vibe @shanksstrawhat

@shower-me-with-roses @athenabarnes @scarwidow @thriving-n-jiving @dilfsaresohot

@helloxgoodbi @undf-stuff @sapphirebarnes @hzdhrtss @softhornymess

@samfunko @wh1sp @anonymousreader4d7 @mathcat345 @escapefromrealitylol

@imjusthere1161 @sleepysongbirdsings @fuckybarnes @yn-stories-are-my-life

@cjand10 @nerdreader @am-3-thyst @wingstoyourdreams @lori19

@goldengubs @maryevm @helen-2003 @maryssong23 @fan4astic

@yesshewrites1 @thewiselionessss @sangsterizada @jaderabbitt @softpia

@hopeofwinter @nevereclipse @tellybearryyyy @buckybarneswife125 @buckybarneswife125

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #reading recs #aquaticmercy

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m4tthewmurd0ck · 3 months ago

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rdr2??? we need to be married right now.

i was feeling overconfident and thought maybe... i could write some things for x reader week but i fear im deep in my rdr2/tlou phases again so im spending every hour im not at work just playin

#rae 💕#arthur can join too ig #i have a plan

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m4tthewmurd0ck · 3 months ago

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are we about to kiss????

#gimme a smooch #rae 💕

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m4tthewmurd0ck · 3 months ago

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REPORT THIS ACCOUNT AND DO NOT CLICK THE LINK!!! STOLE PART OF MY WORK AND THE LINK IS SPAM. using all the joel tags to warn people

save me

── joel miller x fem!reader

sort of takes place during s2 e2 but DOES NOT CONTAIN SPOILERS!!! what i mean by sort of is i borrow a scene from the episode BUT reader takes the place o…(Read More)

#joel miller #tlou #the last of us #pedro pascal #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x female!reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x fem!reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller fluff #joel miller angst #joel miller x you

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m4tthewmurd0ck · 4 months ago

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save me

── joel miller x fem!reader

sort of takes place during s2 e2 but DOES NOT CONTAIN SPOILERS!!! what i mean by sort of is i borrow a scene from the episode BUT reader takes the place of those in the scene with joel in the show. this is purely self indulgent angst and fluff. safe to read even if you haven’t seen the episode.

implied age gap, no specific age but reader is in her 30’s. no use of y/n but i do use she / her. no descriptors other than reader being shorter than joel. pedro is 5’11” so do with that what you will.

LASTY! i am aging joel back to 56 like in season 1. no reason other than i like 56 better than 61 hshdnseifn

You don’t know how it got like this. The group you were with, your family, used to contain 20 people. Now it was just you. You knew it was stupid to leave the cabin. It was high in the mountains, it was secluded, and you hadn’t come across infected in almost 2 weeks. But food was running low, and your desperation was at an all time high.

So you do something stupid, you leave your little safety net. And now you’re fucked, because you fell, an unknown number of infected are chasing you, and you’re pretty sure you hit your head when you failed to stick the landing.

Just when it seems like you’re about to die… you don’t. You’re saved. And this may be the concussion talking, but you’re pretty sure your savior is the most handsome man you’ve ever seen.

i’m not delusional, this is literally what happened!!!

if you’d like to be tagged when i post this, let me know!

TAG LIST ── 0 OUT OF 50 SPOTS TAKEN

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m4tthewmurd0ck · 4 months ago

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TLOU SEASON 2 EP 2 SPOILERS BELOW THE CUT!!!

YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED, LAST CHANCE TO KEEP SCROLLING

hey so what the fuck!!!! i knew it was coming because of the game but selfishly thought we’d have more time before they killed joel. i ugly cried watching it.

the way he tried to get up for ellie, i need 3-5 business days to process this. i am NOT ready for next sunday’s episode

#tlou #tlou hbo #tlou spoilers #the last of us #the last of us spoilers #joel miller #ellie williams #abby anderson #pedro pascal #bella ramsey #kaitlyn dever

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m4tthewmurd0ck · 4 months ago

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what have i done?

── (thunderbolts era) bucky barnes x fem!(former/retired)avenger! reader | platonic!best friend yelena belova

you’ve been a constant in bucky’s life ever since you helped steve track him down in romania. it’s a secret just between the 2 of you that you found him nearly a year before you told steve. you allowed him that extra peace, and for that, he is still grateful.

not only are you the love of his life, he’s also the first to admit that you’re actually the best person he knows. you say he’s biased, he disagrees.

bucky barnes likes to believe that he’s careful. on missions he no longer takes unnecessary risks, and even outside of work, he’d say he thinks things through.

one thing he did not think through, though, was introducing you the rest of the “thunderbolts” (he still hates that name). you and yelena have the same sense of humor, and she is constantly convincing you to do things that have everyone else rolling their eyes, but the 2 of you find hilarious.

now, whenever he’s in a room with you and yelena, he always asks himself the same question: what have i done?

how cute are these dividers by @saradika-graphics !!!

saw the trailer for thunderbolts again and hsehsiandjzsbchfir i am so excited!!!

would like to dedicate this to my favorite bucky author again, @pellucid-constellations for forever keeping me in my bucky loving era

i know i know i know i have so many wip’s that i’ve posted previews for and have yet to finish. BUT THIS IS DONE!!! written on my notes app because i was worried my app would crash while writing again 😭 literally just need to copy + paste and then quickly read through for spelling and grammar.

if you’d like to be tagged when i do post it, let me know!

TAG LIST ── 12 out of 50 spots taken!

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m4tthewmurd0ck · 4 months ago

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already in love with this! also living for a story where topper isn’t a dick hahdbzjdnxja fan behavior 💅

⁺˚⋆｡°✩ ᴀʟʟ-ᴀᴍᴇʀɪᴄᴀɴ ʙɪᴛᴄʜ ✩°｡⋆˚⁺

𝘪𝘯𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦𝘳!𝘳𝘢𝘧𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘳𝘰𝘯 𝘹 𝘱𝘰𝘱𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳!𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 (𝘰𝘣𝘹 𝘴𝘮𝘢𝘶)

𝘳𝘢𝘧𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘳𝘰𝘯 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘥𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘮𝘭𝘺 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘢 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘶𝘣𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘦𝘭, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘯𝘰 𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘦, 𝘪𝘵 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘭𝘺 𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘸 𝘶𝘱. 𝘺/𝘯 𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘦𝘸𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘱𝘰𝘱𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳, 𝘴𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘥𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘰𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘤𝘭𝘪𝘮𝘣𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘴. 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘱𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘴 𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘴𝘴 𝘥𝘶𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘢𝘧𝘦’𝘴 𝘴𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴, 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘷𝘦𝘴 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘵𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩 𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳’𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘴.

ᴘʀᴏꜰɪʟᴇꜱ: 𝗂𝗇𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗀𝗋𝖺𝗆 𝗍𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗋

𝗈𝗇𝖾- 𝖻𝗈𝗈 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗐𝗁𝗈𝗋𝖾

𝗍𝗐𝗈- 𝗐𝖾 𝖺𝗋𝖾 𝗌𝗈 𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄

𝗍𝗁𝗋𝖾𝖾- 𝗍𝖺𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖿𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖽𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗉 𝖺𝗉𝗉𝗅𝗂𝖼𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌

𝖿𝗈𝗎𝗋- 𝗐𝖺𝗂𝗍 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗂𝗌 𝖿𝗂𝗋𝖾

𝖿𝗂𝗏𝖾- 𝗐𝗁𝖺𝗍𝖾𝗏𝖺 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗆𝖾𝖺𝗇𝗌!

#reading recs #houseofblve #rafe cameron smau #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x you

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m4tthewmurd0ck · 4 months ago

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this is so fucking cute!!!!

Hi hi!! Hope your day’s going well!!

I adore the krakoa headcanons you have for the x-men, how willing would you be to do something similar for mcu characters?? Idk if there’s an equivalent though, if not it’s no problem ❤️

MCU CHARACTERS X FEM!READER

A year after your death, you are resurrected and reunited with your lover

Characters: Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanoff, Bruce Banner, Clint Barton, Bucky Barnes, Sam Wilson, Peter Parker (Tom H.), Stephen Strange, Thor Odinson, Loki Laufeyson, T'Challa, Marc Spector, Steven Grant, Jake Lockley, Scott Lang, Wade Wilson, Logan Howlett, Matt Murdock, Frank Castle, Benjamin "Dex" Poindexter, Wanda Maximoff, Pietro Maximoff & Erik Lehnsherr

Requests are reopened since I'm going to have surgery for my scoliosis...yes, it's bad news, it's a major operation, so I need your requests to feel better. PLEASE SEND ME REQUEST. I don't have surgery for another four months so I have plenty of time since I'm at home! I can't wait to see all your ideas, I LOVE YOU <3

Tony Stark

- Tony Stark, the man who could build a new world with his hands but could not stop them from shaking when they lost you. He spent a year in ruins, laughing too loudly at parties that could not fill the silence you left behind, drowning in half-finished projects where your ghost lingered in the curve of every wire. He never stopped talking about you—not to his friends, not to himself, not to the night. You were the equation he could not solve, the loss he could not engineer his way out of.

- When he sees you again, standing in the flickering light of his workshop, the wrench in his hand slips, clattering to the floor. He doesn’t move, doesn’t breathe. His mind, sharp as ever, gives him ten different explanations, each more impossible than the last, but his heart—his battered, grieving heart—gives him only one. “Tell me I’m dreaming,” he says, voice hoarse, because the alternative is something he cannot afford to believe.

- And then you speak, and the walls he built to keep himself from shattering crumble in an instant. He is across the room before he knows it, hands gripping your arms, your face, tracing the proof of you. The ache in his chest is unbearable, but not from pain—it is the sheer weight of having you again. “They told me I was crazy,” he murmurs against your lips, against your skin. “Guess they were right.”

- You are back, but time has moved without you, carving deeper lines into Tony’s face, dulling the arrogance that once carried him like armor. He watches you like you might disappear again, fingers always brushing your wrist, your hip, the pulse at your throat. He doesn’t sleep much—he never did—but now, when you wake in the night, he is already awake, watching the rise and fall of your breath as if it is the only thing tethering him to reality.

- He brings you everywhere, makes no excuses for it. “My ghost, my rules,” he says when someone questions it. He builds new suits and doesn’t let you out of his sight, not when danger is near, not when a single misstep could take you away again. He has never been a man who believed in second chances, but for you, he will believe in anything.

- The world thinks he is Iron Man, but you know the truth: Tony Stark is just a man who loved and lost and refused to let death win. He holds you like a miracle, like proof that he was right to fight for the impossible. And for the first time in a long time, he is not afraid.

Steve Rogers

- Steve Rogers has always known loss—has carried it like a second skin, worn it like a name he could never leave behind. But losing you was different. It was not the cold silence of the ice, nor the distant ache of time slipping through his fingers. It was immediate, brutal. It was your blood on his hands, your last breath against his cheek. A year passed, and he carried on because that was what he did, because that was what you would have wanted. But he stopped looking at sunsets. Stopped drinking coffee the way you used to make it. Stopped believing that the world could ever feel warm again.

- When he sees you again, standing in the doorway of the safe house, the shield strapped to his back feels heavier than ever. His breath catches, his heart stumbles, and for a moment, he wonders if this is some cruel trick played by an enemy who knows exactly where to cut him open. But then your lips part, and you say his name, and the sound of it is like the first breath after drowning.

- He moves toward you slowly, hesitantly, as if one wrong step will shatter the illusion. His hands hover over your face, your shoulders, trembling with the unbearable need to touch, to feel, to know. And when you don’t disappear, when you are warm and real beneath his fingers, something inside him breaks. His arms crush you to him, his breath shaking as he buries his face in your hair. He is crying, but he doesn’t care. “I held you,” he whispers. “I held you.”

- After that, he does not let you go. The world calls him Captain America, but to you, he is just Steve—the man who wakes up in the middle of the night just to press his forehead against yours, the man whose grip tightens every time you reach for his hand, as if to reassure himself that you are not a dream. He does not know how to make peace with this miracle, so he does not try. He simply loves you harder, holds you closer, refuses to waste a second of the time he was so cruelly robbed of.

- He is more protective now, but it is not the suffocating kind. It is the quiet, steadfast kind, the way he always positions himself between you and an open door, the way he memorizes the sound of your breathing while you sleep. He does not speak of the past year unless you ask, but when you do, the grief in his eyes is something ancient, something that will never fully fade.

- Steve Rogers has always carried the weight of the world, but with you beside him, it is lighter. You are proof that even after all the battles, all the sacrifices, the universe still has kindness left to give. And he will spend the rest of his life earning it.

Natasha Romanoff

- Natasha Romanoff has survived on borrowed time for as long as she can remember. She has lost, she has bled, she has walked away from battlefields without looking back. But losing you was different. It was the one wound that did not heal, the one loss she could not turn into fuel. She did not cry. Did not speak of you. She simply moved forward, faster, harder, with reckless abandon—because if she slowed down, even for a second, she would have to feel the hollow space you left behind.

- When she sees you again, standing in the shadows of a dimly lit alley, her knife is in her hand before she even registers what she is seeing. Her body reacts the way it was trained to, but her heart—her traitorous, fragile heart—stutters in her chest. “No,” she breathes, shaking her head as if denying it will make it any less real. “No, I buried you.”

- And then you step closer, into the light, and she sees the familiar curve of your smile, the warmth in your eyes. She drops the knife. It clatters against the pavement, forgotten, as she crosses the space between you in two strides, her hands fisting in the fabric of your jacket. Her lips crash against yours, desperate, searching, as if she can taste the truth in the way you breathe against her mouth.

- After that, she is different. Softer, in ways only you will ever see. She touches you constantly—not in fear, but in reverence. A hand at the small of your back, fingers trailing over your wrist, knuckles brushing against yours as if reminding herself that you are here. The world may question, but Natasha has never cared for the world's judgment. You are hers, and she is yours, and that is all that matters.

- She does not let you fight alone anymore. Not because she doubts your strength, but because she refuses to feel that kind of loss again. She watches you when you sleep, when you move through a room, when you laugh. She memorizes the details she once took for granted—the exact color of your eyes in the morning light, the rhythm of your voice when you call her name.

- Natasha Romanoff has spent a lifetime making peace with ghosts, but you are not one. You are flesh and blood, a heartbeat beneath her palm, a warmth she never thought she would feel again. And this time, she will not let you go.

Bruce Banner

- Grief is not an emotion Bruce Banner can afford. He has spent a lifetime suppressing, locking away the parts of himself that feel too deeply, because feeling too much is dangerous, and losing you nearly ended the world. The Hulk roared in agony that day, the earth itself trembling beneath his wrath, but even in his most furious state, even as he destroyed everything in his path, you were gone. And no amount of strength, no amount of science, could bring you back.

- He stopped fighting after that. Retreated. Isolated himself in a place where no one could see the way his hands trembled when they weren’t balled into fists, where no one could hear him whisper your name like a prayer, a question, a plea. He stopped shifting into the Hulk—not because he was afraid, but because the monster within him had nothing left to fight for. There was only silence, only the ghost of your touch, only the unbearable weight of having lived when you did not.

- So when you return, standing before him in the quiet of his lab, he does not react at first. His mind, trained to doubt, to question, to disassemble and understand, tells him it cannot be real. That the chemicals in his brain are firing incorrectly, that his grief has finally shattered him in a way no transformation ever could. But then you say his name, and it is not just sound—it is gravity, it is a force pulling him from the abyss.

- He crosses the room in a single breath, hands hovering over your face, your shoulders, your waist, unable to trust his own touch. He is afraid to break you, afraid to break himself. And then your fingers slip into his, grounding him, reminding him that this is not a hallucination, not a cruel trick of his subconscious. You are warm, real, here. And just like that, the weight he has carried for a year crumbles to dust.

- After that, he does not leave your side. He watches you sleep, not because he doubts, but because he cannot waste another second of the time he was so certain he had lost. He builds new defenses, new protections, because if death could not keep you, then neither will any enemy foolish enough to try. He teaches himself to trust happiness again, to allow himself to feel, because with you beside him, it is no longer a danger—it is a gift.

- Bruce Banner has always been afraid of his own power, but with you, he is not afraid. He is a man, not just a monster, and for the first time in a long time, he believes in the possibility of a future. A future where he is not alone. A future where he is not running. A future where you, against all odds, are still his.

Clint Barton

- Clint Barton has never been one to dwell. The life he leads does not allow for it—grief is a luxury, mourning a weakness, and the only way to survive is to keep moving. But when he held you in his arms, felt the last shudder of breath against his skin, something inside him shattered. And he did not put the pieces back together. He let them fall, let them burn, let the silence swallow him whole.

- The others saw him continue—heard his sharp wit, watched him loose arrows with deadly precision, saw the same easy smirk that had always been there. But they did not see the empty spaces where you used to be. Did not see the way he avoided the places you had loved, the way he drank in solitude, the way his hands curled into fists whenever someone mentioned your name.

- So when you return—when you step into the dim light of his hideout, when your voice cuts through the silence he has lived in for a year—he does not believe it. He grips the bow at his side, tension in every muscle, because this is a trick, a trap, an illusion designed to destroy him completely. But then you move closer, and the way you look at him—the way only you ever have—makes the doubt in his mind fracture.

- And then he is there, hands gripping your waist, your arms, his forehead pressed to yours as he exhales a breath he did not know he had been holding. He does not ask how, does not ask why. He only pulls you closer, lets himself collapse into the only thing that has ever truly felt like home. His fingers are tight against your skin, unwilling to let go, unwilling to lose you a second time.

- After that, he is different. Lighter, in ways only you will notice. He is still Clint—still sharp, still reckless, still throwing himself into danger without hesitation—but there is a warmth now, a flicker of something that had long been extinguished. He touches you constantly—not in fear, but in reassurance. His hand on the small of your back, his fingers brushing against yours, a quiet, wordless promise that he will not take a second of this for granted.

- Clint Barton has always been a survivor, but he did not truly live until you returned. And now, with you beside him, he has no intention of losing that again. He is yours, wholly and completely, and this time, no force in the universe will take you from him.

Bucky Barnes

- Bucky Barnes knows the taste of loss better than most. He has drowned in it, clawed his way through decades of it, watched everyone he has ever loved slip through his fingers like sand. But losing you was different. Losing you was not the slow, creeping erosion of time. It was a blade to the gut, a wound that never closed, an ache that settled deep in his bones and refused to let go.

- He did not grieve the way others did. He did not cry, did not rage, did not seek solace in memories. He simply stopped. Stopped talking, stopped trying, stopped allowing himself to feel anything at all. Because feeling meant acknowledging the gaping wound your absence had left behind, and that was not something he could survive.

- So when he sees you again, standing in the doorway of his apartment, he does not move. Does not breathe. His mind—trained to expect deception, to anticipate betrayal—tells him this is a trick. But then you step forward, and the way your eyes soften when they meet his, the way your lips part in a quiet whisper of his name, makes the world tilt beneath his feet.

- And then he is there, crossing the space between you with the kind of desperation that only comes from losing something you thought was gone forever. His hands tremble as they frame your face, his breath shuddering as he drinks in the impossible reality of you. He does not trust words, does not trust his voice to hold steady, so he simply presses his forehead to yours, breathing you in, grounding himself in the proof of your existence.

- After that, he does not let you go. He does not speak of the past year, does not tell you how empty it was, how he spent every night staring at the ceiling, waiting for sleep that never came. He only shows you in the way he touches you, in the way he holds you closer at night, in the way his fingers linger on yours as if afraid you might vanish again.

- Bucky Barnes has spent a lifetime being taken, being controlled, being used. But you are the one thing that was his, the one thing that was real, and now that you are here, he will fight for you with everything he has. You are his salvation, his anchor, his second chance at something he never thought he deserved. And this time, he is never letting go.

Sam Wilson

- Grief is a weight Sam Wilson carries well, but carrying it does not mean it is light. It sits in his chest, heavy and unmoving, an ache that never quite fades. Losing you was not a clean wound—it was jagged, raw, a battlefield farewell written in blood and breathless whispers. He held you, watched the life slip from your eyes, and still, somehow, he had to stand up. He had to keep fighting. Because that’s what you would have done. That’s what you would want.

- But wanting and doing are not the same thing. He laughed in public, told stories that made others grin, carried himself with the same easy confidence. But alone? Alone, it was different. He spoke to you sometimes when the night was too quiet, when the wind sounded too much like your voice. He ran until his lungs burned, trying to chase the memory of you, knowing he never really could.

- So when you stand before him, alive, breathing, real, the world does not feel like the one he left behind. His first instinct is denial—a trick, an illusion, a cruel joke played by something with too much power and not enough mercy. But you look at him, and there’s something there, something he recognizes too well. Love. History. You. And suddenly, the weight in his chest is gone.

- He moves before he can think. One step, then two, then his arms are around you, his head buried in your shoulder, a shuddering breath breaking from his lips. His grip is tight—too tight, maybe—but he doesn’t care. He needs to feel you, needs to know this isn’t a dream he’ll wake from. He says your name like it’s the only word he remembers, his voice thick with everything he couldn’t say when you were gone.

- After that, Sam is different. Lighter, freer. He still fights, still leads, still carries the burdens of the world on his back—but he does it with you at his side, and that changes everything. He touches you constantly, a hand on your back, fingers brushing against yours, small, quiet reassurances that you are here, that he did not imagine this.

- Sam Wilson has lost many things. He has seen friends fall, watched the world tear itself apart. But this? This is something he never thought he’d get back. And now that he has you, he swears to himself—he’s not losing you again. Not now. Not ever.

Peter Parker (Tom Holland)

- Peter Parker does not know how to exist in a world where you do not. The pain is not sharp, not a clean wound he can stitch together with time. It is suffocating. Slow. A weight pressing down on him, stealing the air from his lungs, making every step feel heavier than the last. He was holding you, talking to you, and then you were just… gone. And nothing he did, no amount of strength, no web-slinging through the city, no late-night patrols could change that.

- He keeps going. He has to. That’s what Spider-Man does. That’s what you would have wanted. But some nights, when he is alone, when the mask is off and the world is quiet, he feels like a boy again—small, lost, powerless. He whispers apologies into the dark, tracing the memory of your touch, trying to pretend he still remembers exactly what your voice sounded like. Because he’s terrified he’s forgetting.

- And then, one day, you are there. Standing in the shadow of a flickering streetlamp, watching him with the same eyes he never thought he’d see again. At first, he doesn’t move. He can’t. His brain refuses to process it, refuses to accept this impossible, beautiful reality. And then you smile—small, hesitant, you—and he breaks.

- He crashes into you, arms wrapping around you so tightly it almost hurts. His breath stutters, hands shaking as they press against your skin, your hair, anything that proves you are real. “You—” His voice cracks. “You died.” And it’s not an accusation. It’s a question, a plea, a broken whisper of disbelief. But you are warm, solid, here, and he holds onto that with everything he has.

- After that, Peter is clingy. He doesn’t mean to be, but he is. His fingers find yours without thinking, his arm curls around your waist at every opportunity, his webbing pulls you to him when you step too far away. He is afraid—afraid this is temporary, afraid that one day he’ll wake up and you’ll be gone again. But he also smiles more, laughs louder, lives in a way he hasn’t since he lost you.

- Peter Parker has lost so much. But this? This is a miracle. And Peter—Peter is going to make sure he cherishes every single second of it. Because this time, he has you. And that? That is everything.

Stephen Strange

- Stephen Strange is no stranger to loss. He has lived through pain, through heartbreak, through the destruction of things he once believed unshakable. But losing you—that was something else entirely. That was not just loss. That was devastation. It was the kind of pain that settled into his bones, that made the world feel quieter, colder, less.

- He did not weep. Did not rage. Did not crumble beneath the weight of it. Instead, he buried himself in his work, in his magic, in the relentless pursuit of something—anything—that could fill the void you left behind. He scoured the multiverse, searching for answers, but found only silence. Death, it seemed, was absolute. Even for you.

- So when you stand before him, alive, whole, untouched by the grave, he does not react at first. His hands twitch at his sides, eyes sharp, mind racing through a thousand possibilities, a thousand explanations. This must be a trick, a deception, some cruel game played by forces beyond his understanding. But then you speak his name, and the way you say it—the way only you say it—breaks him.

- He crosses the room in three steps, hands cupping your face, searching for any sign of illusion. But there is none. There is only warmth, only life, only you. His breath stutters, his fingers tighten, and for the first time in a long, long time, Stephen Strange allows himself to feel. His lips crash against yours, desperate, searching, as if trying to convince himself that this moment is not slipping through his fingers.

- After that, he is possessive. Not in a way that is suffocating, but in a way that is unmistakable. His cloak wraps around you when you are cold, his hands find yours beneath temple robes, his magic lingers in the air around you like a silent guardian. He does not say it—not outright, not often—but you know. You have always known. He cannot lose you again. He will not.

- Stephen Strange has faced the impossible, has bent time and reality to his will. But this? This is the greatest miracle of all. And he, a man who once scoffed at faith, finds himself believing in something again. Because if the universe had any mercy, any kindness at all, it would let him keep you. And this time, he will fight for that with everything he has.

Thor Odinson

- Grief and gods have never mixed well. Mortals mourn with time, with rituals, with whispered prayers to the sky. But Thor? Thor does not know how to grieve in a way that does not tear the world apart. He held you as you died, cradled you against his chest, his hands helpless against the tide of fate. The sky wept with him that day—thunder cracking, the heavens splitting open in rage, the storm inside him unfurling with no battle left to fight.

- He left Earth after that. It was too loud, too full of life, too painfully real in your absence. He searched for answers in the stars, in old myths and forgotten magic, in the whispered promises of gods who had lost more than he had. But the truth was simple: not even the might of Thor, not even the power of Asgard, could bring back the one thing he truly wanted. So he drank, and he fought, and he laughed too loudly to hide the fact that he was breaking.

- And then, one day, he turns, and you are there. Standing in the golden light of the Bifrost, impossibly, beautifully alive. His breath catches in his throat, Mjolnir slipping from his fingers, his entire body frozen between disbelief and desperate hope. “This is a trick,” he says, but his voice is hoarse, unsteady, as if saying the words out loud might make them false. But then you smile, and he is undone.

- He crosses the space between you in an instant, crushing you against him with a force that nearly knocks the breath from your lungs. His hands tangle in your hair, his forehead pressing against yours, and his chest heaves with something between laughter and a sob. “You have returned to me,” he whispers, reverence in every syllable. And then he is kissing you, fierce and unrelenting, as if proving to himself that this is not some cruel jest of fate.

- After that, Thor does not let you go. Not truly. His arm is always around your waist, his hand always at the small of your back, his eyes watching you as if you might disappear the moment he looks away. He tells you, constantly, in grand declarations and quiet murmurs, how much he loves you, how he will never lose you again. You are his greatest treasure, more precious than any throne, any kingdom, any power the cosmos could offer.

- The God of Thunder has lost much—his home, his family, pieces of himself that may never fully return. But you—you are here, in his arms, alive once more. And Thor, a warrior who has fought countless battles, swears that he will fight against gods and monsters alike to keep you at his side.

Loki Laufeyson

- Loki knows loss better than he knows himself. He has lost love, trust, family. But losing you—that was different. That was a wound he could not charm away with silver-tongued words, a pain he could not outwit or outmaneuver. You died in his arms, your fingers curling weakly around his wrist as the light in your eyes faded. And for the first time in his life, Loki Laufeyson was powerless.

- He did not rage. He did not scream. Instead, he withdrew, wrapping himself in silence and solitude, retreating into the shadows where grief could not be seen. The world continued without you, and he played his part well—smirking, deceiving, spinning tales as if he were not hollow inside. But in the quiet moments, when no one was looking, he traced the ghost of your touch on his skin and whispered your name like a prayer.

- So when he sees you again, standing before him in the flickering candlelight of some forgotten sanctuary, he does not react—not at first. His body stills, his breath catches, and his mind races through every possibility, every cruel illusion that could explain this. But then you speak his name, soft and familiar, and something in him shatters.

- He reaches for you hesitantly, his fingers brushing over your cheek as if expecting you to dissolve beneath his touch. And when you do not—when you are warm, and real, and here—a sharp breath leaves his lips, and he pulls you against him with all the desperation of a man drowning. His grip is tight, unyielding, as if trying to convince himself that you will not be stolen from him again.

- After that, Loki is different. Not softer, not weaker—if anything, he is more dangerous, more cunning, more willing to do anything to ensure you remain by his side. He keeps you close, always within reach, his sharp wit reserved for those who dare to threaten what is his. There is no force in the universe he fears, no power he will not challenge, if it means keeping you safe.

- Loki Laufeyson has never believed in fate, in mercy, in second chances. But you? You are proof that even the most broken of men can find something worth living for. And this time, he will not lose you. Not to death. Not to gods. Not to anything.

T’Challa

- T’Challa was a king before he was a man, a warrior before he was a lover. But you—you—were the one thing that belonged solely to him. With you, he was not a ruler, not the Black Panther, not the protector of a nation. He was simply a man in love. And then, in a single moment, in the chaos of war, you were gone. And he—T’Challa, the unshakable, the wise, the just—fell to his knees, holding you as the life slipped from your body.

- He did not mourn in ways the world could see. There were no public displays of grief, no speeches of loss. He carried the weight of your death in silence, bearing it with the same quiet dignity that he bore every burden. But in the stillness of his chambers, when no one was watching, he let the sorrow take him. He traced the last place he had held you, whispered your name to the night, and wondered if he would ever learn to breathe without you.

- So when he sees you again, standing beneath the glow of Wakanda’s golden lights, his heart stops. His breath catches. And for a moment, he is afraid to move—to hope. But you step forward, your eyes locking onto his, and everything else ceases to matter. The world falls away, and there is only you.

- He crosses the distance between you in a single step, his hands cupping your face with reverence, with disbelief, with a depth of emotion he has never let himself show before. He does not ask how or why. He only whispers, “My love,” as if speaking the words aloud will make them real. And then he kisses you—slow, deep, a promise, a prayer, a thousand unspoken words pressed into your skin.

- After that, T’Challa is your shadow, your shield, your unwavering protector. He does not smother you—he respects you too much for that—but he watches, always. His fingers linger against yours in quiet moments, his gaze softens whenever you speak, and when he holds you at night, it is with the quiet, unyielding certainty that he will never let go again.

- T’Challa has lost many things—his father, his home, pieces of himself in battles fought for the greater good. But this? This is something sacred. And a king who has been given back his heart will protect it with everything he has.

Marc Spector

- Marc Spector has never been good at losing people. He has lost too much, buried too many, carried ghosts in the hollows of his ribs and the shadows of his mind. But losing you—watching you die in his arms, feeling your body grow cold as his own blood soaked into the ground—was something else entirely. It didn’t break him. It obliterated him.

- He stopped pretending after that. Stopped holding himself together, stopped fighting for anything beyond survival. He threw himself into missions with reckless abandon, took every fight as if he was begging for someone to land a fatal hit. He couldn’t sleep in your bed, couldn’t bear to hear your name spoken aloud. He tried—Khonshu knows, he tried—to find a way to bring you back. Bargained with gods, hunted down forbidden magic, but nothing, nothing, worked. So he gave up. He accepted that this was his punishment, his curse, to keep losing the things he loved until there was nothing left of him.

- And then—then—you were there. Standing in the doorway, alive, whole, looking at him like you weren’t a phantom haunting his grief. He didn’t move at first, didn’t breathe, convinced you were another trick of his fractured mind. But then you spoke—soft, hesitant, like you weren’t sure if he would even want you back. And the moment your voice reached him, Marc snapped.

- He was on you in an instant, his hands on your face, your shoulders, your arms—anywhere he could touch, anywhere he could convince himself you were real. “Tell me I’m not dreaming,” he whispered, voice shaking, breath unsteady. And when you smiled, when you nodded, he kissed you—desperate, bruising, like a man drowning who had finally found air.

- After that, Marc is different. Not softer, not gentler—he has never been those things—but determined. He refuses to let you out of his sight for too long, refuses to take a single moment for granted. The nightmares don’t go away—sometimes he wakes up reaching for you, convinced he’s lost you all over again—but you are always there, grounding him, reminding him that miracles exist.

- He still fights, still follows the path Khonshu carved for him, but now, there’s something else driving him. Not vengeance. Not guilt. You. You, alive and breathing, laughing in the golden light of morning, rolling your eyes when he gets in one of his moods. And if he has to fight every god, every monster, every force in the universe to keep you by his side? So be it.

Steven Grant

- Grief is a lonely thing. And for Steven, it was lonelier than most. He didn’t have Marc’s rage or Jake’s cold detachment—he just had absence, an empty space beside him where you used to be. You had been his bright thing, his sunbeam, the warmth in his life he never thought he deserved. And then, in a moment of violence and blood, you were gone.

- The flat was too quiet after that. He still made tea for two, still caught himself turning to tell you something, still found little reminders of you everywhere. Your books on the shelf. Your perfume lingering in the air. A sweater you’d stolen from him, draped over the back of a chair. He couldn’t let go, couldn’t move—just existed, stumbling through the days with a polite smile and eyes that held too much grief.

- And then, one evening, as he shuffled into the flat with the exhaustion of another day spent pretending he was okay, he saw you. Standing there, real as anything, watching him with that soft, hesitant look you always had when you weren’t sure how he’d react. He didn’t even think. Didn’t question. Just dropped whatever was in his hands and ran to you.

- “Oh, love,” he breathed, his voice cracking as he cupped your face, pressing his forehead to yours. He was crying—of course he was crying—but he didn’t care, didn’t even try to stop. “I—I thought—oh God, I thought I lost you.” His hands trembled as he touched you, as if afraid you might disappear if he wasn’t careful. But you didn’t disappear. You were here. And when you kissed him—gentle, reassuring—he let out a broken, disbelieving laugh.

- After that, Steven becomes more himself again. The light comes back into his eyes, the warmth into his voice. He tells you every day how much he loves you, how grateful he is that you came back. He holds you for hours sometimes, murmuring little things against your skin, afraid that if he lets go, the universe will take you away again.

- You are his miracle, his impossible, wonderful second chance. And Steven, the man who never thought he was enough, now knows one thing with absolute certainty—he will never take you for granted again.

Jake Lockley

- Jake doesn’t grieve the way others do. He doesn’t sit in sorrow, doesn’t cry himself to sleep. He compartmentalizes, shoves it all into a locked box in the back of his mind and throws away the key. When you died, he didn’t break down. He didn’t scream. He just acted. Found the ones responsible. Made them pay. Made everyone pay.

- He convinced himself that was enough. That revenge was all he had left to give you. But when the dust settled, when the blood was washed from his hands, there was nothing. Just an emptiness so vast it threatened to swallow him whole. He became a ghost, slipping through the world unnoticed, unseen. He only spoke when necessary, only acted when called upon. If Marc and Steven noticed how much darker he’d become, they didn’t say anything.

- And then—then—you were there. Sitting in the backseat of his car like you belonged there, like you hadn’t died in his arms a year ago. He slammed on the brakes so hard the tires screeched, his pulse roaring in his ears. He didn’t turn around at first. Couldn’t. His hands gripped the steering wheel like a vice, his knuckles white with tension. “Not funny,” he rasped, his voice low, dangerous. “Not a game I wanna play.”

- “It’s not a trick, Jake,” you whispered. And that was all it took. He turned, his breath catching as he finally let himself look. Let himself believe. And the moment he did, something inside him snapped. He surged toward you, pulling you into his arms with a desperation he rarely let himself show. His face buried in your neck, his breath shaky and uneven, his body trembling as if the entire world had just shifted beneath his feet.

- After that, Jake is ruthless about keeping you safe. He doesn’t care how you came back—only that you did, and that nothing will take you from him again. He’s always watching, always waiting, always a step ahead of any potential threat. He doesn’t say it out loud, but it’s in the way he tucks you close against him in crowds, in the way his fingers ghost over your pulse like he’s memorizing it.

- Jake Lockley is not a good man. He never claimed to be. But you—you are the one thing that makes him want to be. And if death couldn’t keep you from him, nothing else will either.

Scott Lang

- Scott never truly believed in happy endings, but he believed in you. He believed in the way your laughter could turn an ordinary day into something extraordinary, the way your hand in his made him feel like maybe—just maybe—he was enough. Losing you shattered him in ways he didn’t even know were possible. You died in his arms, your blood on his hands, and in that moment, he stopped believing in miracles.

- He tried to hold it together for Cassie. He smiled, told jokes, did his best to pretend he was okay. But he wasn’t. His apartment felt too big without you, the bed too cold. He found himself talking to the empty air, half-expecting you to answer. The worst part was the moments right before he woke up, when his brain still tricked him into thinking you were next to him, breathing softly in sleep. And then he’d open his eyes and reality would sink in like a knife to the gut.

- When he sees you again, it’s like the universe plays a cruel trick on him. He blinks, rubs his eyes, thinks he’s hallucinating. But then you smile, that soft, knowing smile he dreamed about, and everything collapses. He doesn’t think—just moves, just grabs you, just feels. “Oh my God,” he breathes, his voice shaking, his arms wrapping around you so tightly he might never let go. “Tell me this is real. Please tell me this is real.” And when you nod, when you whisper his name, he lets out a half-laugh, half-sob against your shoulder.

- Scott becomes clingy after that—not in an overbearing way, but in a you-can’t-leave-me-again way. He constantly reaches for you, constantly checks if you’re still there. He makes up for lost time—cooking you breakfast (badly), taking you on spontaneous road trips, making you laugh until you can’t breathe. Every moment is precious now, every second a gift. He refuses to waste a single one.

- He tells you everything he couldn’t before. How much he missed you, how much it hurt, how many times he caught himself looking for you in a crowded room. He never wants to take you for granted again. Every night, he holds you like you might disappear in the morning, presses kisses to your skin as if he’s trying to memorize you all over again.

- Scott Lang doesn’t know why the universe gave you back to him, but he doesn’t care. All he knows is that this time, no force in the world—no villain, no bad luck, no cosmic cruelty—is going to take you away from him again.

Wade Wilson (Fox)

- Wade doesn’t mourn like other people. He doesn’t wear black, doesn’t cry softly in the night. No, Wade’s grief is ugly, loud, chaotic. After you died, he became worse—more violent, more reckless, more unhinged. He threw himself into fights he knew he couldn’t win, hoping—praying—someone would finally land the killing blow. But they never did. His healing factor cursed him to keep living, to keep hurting.

- He talked to you like you were still there. Made jokes to the empty side of the bed. Left your favorite snacks untouched in the cabinet. The others tried to check on him—Weasel, Domino—but he just shoved them away with a laugh, a joke, a bloody fight he walked away from without a scratch. “I’m fine,” he’d say, voice hollow behind the mask. “Totally normal levels of depression. Probably a seven out of ten. Maybe an eight. Who’s to say?”

- And then, one day, you walked through his door. Just like that. No fanfare, no dramatic music—just you, standing there, looking at him with that same familiar amusement in your eyes. He froze. Blinked. Looked down at the bottle of vodka in his hand. “Oh,” he muttered. “Guess I finally drank myself into hallucinations. Took long enough.” But then you said his name, your voice real, and everything inside him broke.

- He tackled you before you could even take a step closer. Knocked you onto the couch, onto the floor, onto him, his arms squeezing so tight it was a miracle you could still breathe. “If this is a dream, I swear to Ryan Reynolds’ beautiful abs, I will murder my subconscious,” he babbled, his voice cracking. He touched your face, your arms, every inch of you, just to be sure. And when you laughed—when you really laughed—he just lost it. Full-on ugly sobs, face buried in your neck, refusing to ever let go.

- After that, Wade is worse—but in a different way. He never shuts up about how lucky he is. Clings to you, wraps himself around you like a human (questionably clean) blanket, dramatically declares that if you ever die on him again, he’ll personally go to hell and drag you back himself. He texts you every five minutes when you’re not around. If you so much as sneeze, he’s already googling life-threatening illnesses.

- But beneath all the jokes, the over-the-top antics, there’s something soft there. Something raw. Wade Wilson doesn’t believe in happy endings. But he believes in you. And if the universe was kind enough to give you back to him, then maybe—just maybe—he’ll finally start believing in second chances too.

Logan Howlett (Fox)

- Logan is no stranger to grief. He has lost more people than he can count, buried more loved ones than he dares to remember. But losing you—you—was different. It wasn’t just another loss, another name on the long list of people the world had taken from him. It was the loss. The one that finally made him want to lay down and never get up again.

- He disappeared after that. Vanished into the wilderness, into the places where no one could find him. He drank himself into oblivion, picked fights with men twice his size just for the chance to feel something. The nightmares were worse—your face, your voice, the way you reached for him as you died in his arms. He could still feel your blood on his hands, still hear your last breath. There was no escaping it. No running fast enough.

- When he sees you again, it’s not dramatic. It’s not loud. It’s silent. He turns, expecting an enemy, a threat—only to see you. Standing there. Alive. His breath catches in his throat, his heart hammering against his ribs like it’s trying to break free. For a long moment, he just stares, his jaw clenched so tight it aches. “No,” he finally rasps. “No, that ain’t possible.” But you just step closer, your hands trembling, your eyes pleading. “Logan,” you whisper. And something inside him snaps.

- He moves before he can think, his arms wrapping around you with the force of a man drowning who has finally found solid ground. He buries his face in your hair, breathes you in, his whole body shaking. “If this is some kinda sick joke,” he growls against your skin, “I swear to God—” But you just hold him tighter, and he finally—finally—lets himself believe it.

- After that, Logan is fiercely protective. More than before. You are his second chance, his proof that maybe—just maybe—the world hasn’t taken everything from him. He keeps you close, always within reach. He doesn’t talk about the time you were gone, doesn’t say how lost he was without you—but you see it in the way he touches you, like he’s making sure you’re still real.

- Logan has lived a long life, filled with too much pain, too much loss. But now, with you back in his arms, he thinks—just for a moment—that maybe, maybe, he finally has something worth fighting for again.

Matt Murdock

- Grief became a quiet shadow in Matt’s life, a presence that never left. He carried it with him in the way he adjusted his tie, in the way he spoke to Foggy and Karen like he was fine when he wasn’t. He still went out at night, still fought in the streets, but the fire inside him had dimmed. He no longer fought to save the city—he fought because it was the only thing that numbed the ache of losing you.

- He whispered your name in his prayers, his voice breaking over the syllables. In his apartment, your absence was louder than anything else. He reached for you in his sleep, his hands closing around nothing, waking up with an emptiness so heavy it stole his breath. He let the guilt drown him—because you died in his arms, and no matter how many bones he broke or how much blood he spilled, he couldn’t change that.

- When you return, he knows it’s you before you even speak. The world is full of sound, full of heartbeats, full of voices—but yours? Yours has always been different. His entire body stills, his breath hitching in his throat. He listens, waiting for the trick, the deception, because he knows what death feels like. But then you say his name, and the world tilts sideways.

- He moves without thinking, reaching for you, his hands trembling as they trace over your face, your hair, your lips. “You’re real,” he breathes, almost afraid to say it. “You’re real.” And when he finally lets himself believe it, when he pulls you into his arms and holds you so tightly it aches, he lets out a broken sound—somewhere between a sob and a prayer.

- After that, Matt is different. He refuses to let you go alone anywhere, his protectiveness manifesting in quiet touches, in the way his fingers always seek yours. He’s softer now, more open with his emotions, because he’s lost you once and he won’t make the mistake of taking any second for granted.

- At night, when the city is quiet and his scars ache, he traces over your skin as if memorizing every inch of you all over again. “I don’t know how I deserve this,” he whispers against your hair, his voice raw with devotion. “But I’m never letting you go again.”

Frank Castle

- Frank has always been good at loss. Not because he accepts it, but because he survives it. Losing you, though? It was a different kind of wound, one that never stopped bleeding. He didn’t cry. He didn’t scream. He just became colder. The world lost all color, all meaning. He didn’t live after you were gone—he just existed, a weapon with no purpose but destruction.

- He stopped talking. Stopped caring. The men he hunted became nothing more than names on a list, their deaths nothing more than numbers. He never said your name, never spoke of you, because acknowledging you were gone would break something inside him that even he couldn’t put back together.

- And then, one night, you stand in front of him, breathing, alive, looking at him like he’s still the man you loved. He doesn’t believe it at first. His grip tightens around his gun, his entire body coiled and ready for a fight because this? This is cruel. And yet—your eyes. Your heartbeat. The way you whisper, “Frank?” like it’s his name that brings you back to life.

- His hands shake as he reaches for you. He touches your face like it’s something fragile, something that might disappear if he presses too hard. And when you don’t, when you lean into his touch with a softness he thought he’d never feel again, something inside him shatters. He pulls you against him, his grip almost desperate, his breath ragged. “I lost you,” he rasps against your hair. “I lost you, and I didn’t—I didn’t know how to keep going.”

- Frank becomes your shadow after that. He’s gentler with you than he’s ever been with anyone, but that protectiveness? That fire? It’s stronger than ever. If anyone so much as looks at you wrong, they won’t live to make the mistake twice. But with you? With you, he is something softer, something almost human again.

- He doesn’t pray, doesn’t believe in fate. But at night, when you sleep beside him, warm and real, he presses a silent kiss to your forehead and whispers, Thank you. He doesn’t know who he’s thanking. Maybe the universe. Maybe you. All he knows is that this time, he won’t waste a single second.

Benjamin "Dex" Poindexter

- Losing you broke Dex. And when Dex breaks, he destroys. He tried to keep it together—tried to pretend he could move on, that he could keep living without you—but the anger, the madness, the unbearable emptiness inside him only grew. The world felt wrong without you. He felt wrong. He stopped sleeping, stopped feeling anything but the burning need to punish whatever took you away from him.

- He lost control after that. Killed without hesitation, without remorse. Let his mind spiral, let his demons win, because what was the point of fighting them without you? You were his anchor, the one person who made him believe he could be more than the monster inside him. Without you, he had no reason to pretend anymore.

- When he sees you again, he doesn’t react the way most people would. No tears, no disbelief. He stalks toward you, his entire body trembling, his breath uneven. His fingers twitch like they’re reaching for a weapon—like he can’t decide if you’re a dream, a trick, or something worse. “You’re dead,” he says, voice flat, empty. “I held you while you died.” And then, quieter, almost desperate—“Tell me this is real.”

- The second you touch him, the second your fingers brush over his, he breaks. He surges forward, his arms crushing around you, his breathing ragged against your skin. “Don’t leave me again,” he whispers, his voice shaking. “Please. I can’t—I can’t do this without you.” And for the first time in a year, his mind is quiet. The rage, the spiraling thoughts, the unbearable emptiness—it all stops the moment you’re back in his arms.

- After that, Dex is obsessive. He always had that trait in him, but now? Now it’s even worse. You are his, and he refuses to let anything take you away from him again. He follows you like a shadow, sleeps with his arms locked around you, memorizes every detail of your body just in case the universe dares to rip you away from him again.

- There’s a darkness inside him, one that never truly fades. But with you alive, with you real, that darkness is tempered by something softer. Something dangerous. He’s not just a killer anymore. He’s yours. And if anyone tries to take you from him again? He’ll burn the whole world to the ground.

Wanda Maximoff

- Grief clung to Wanda like an old, tattered shawl, woven with the ghosts of everyone she had ever lost. She had thought she had reached her limit—that the universe could take no more from her than it already had. But then it took you. And that, she realized, was the cruelest cut of all. She had survived wars, watched cities crumble, lost her family, her brother, her home. But losing you? That was the first time she felt herself break.

- She became something else after you died. A ghost walking through her own life, untethered from the world. The wind carried whispers of you—the echo of your laughter in a marketplace, the ghost of your breath against her skin in the moments before she woke up alone. And the anger—God, the anger. She lashed out when she fought, red energy sparking at her fingertips with a ferocity she couldn’t contain. She wanted to hurt the universe the way it had hurt her.

- And then, like an answer to a prayer she had never dared to whisper, you stood before her again. At first, she thought it was another cruel trick, another illusion meant to unravel what little remained of her sanity. But then—then she felt you. Your heartbeat, your warmth, the undeniable reality of you. And the moment that truth settled into her bones, she collapsed into you, shaking, weeping, hands clutching desperately at your arms, your shoulders, your face.

- “You were gone,” she sobbed, burying herself in you like she could merge her soul with yours. “I—I felt you leave me.” And for the first time in a year, her magic did not rage. It did not spark and burn with untamed grief. It simply was. It curled around the two of you like a shield, like a silent promise that she would never let you be taken from her again.

- After that, Wanda became something softer, but not weaker. She still held the storm inside her, but now, it had purpose. Now, it had you. She held you like she was afraid the wind might steal you away again, always touching—fingers brushing over yours, arms wrapping around you in sleep, a protective hand against the small of your back in public. She had lost everything before. She would not lose you again.

- At night, when the world was still and your breath rose and fell against her chest, she whispered things she could never say in the daylight. Apologies, promises, prayers in a language she had almost forgotten. And when you stirred, murmuring her name, she simply kissed you—deep and slow, like she could pour her very soul into you, like she could make you stay this time.

Pietro Maximoff

- The world never felt fast enough after you were gone. Time slowed into something unbearable, something suffocating. Pietro had always outrun grief before, always left it in the dust, but your death? That was a weight even he couldn’t shake. He stopped joking. Stopped running for fun. The world lost its color, its spark, its meaning. What was the point of moving quickly when you weren’t at the finish line anymore?

- He tried—he really tried—to pretend. To act like he was okay, to throw on that smirk and tell people, “Eh, I’m fine.” But Wanda knew. She saw it in the way he sat still for too long, the way his hands trembled when he thought no one was looking, the way he lingered in places that reminded him of you. His speed was once his escape, his freedom. Now, every step forward only took him further away from the last time he held you.

- And then—then he sees you. And for the first time in his life, he can’t move. He just stares, his heart a violent drumbeat against his ribs, his breath caught somewhere between a sob and a laugh. “No,” he whispers, blinking rapidly, because this has to be some sick joke. “This isn’t real.” But you are. And the moment you take a step toward him, he snaps.

- He moves too fast, too desperate, grabbing you like you might vanish if he lets go. His hands cup your face, his lips press against every part of you he can reach—forehead, cheeks, hands, lips. “You’re real,” he gasps between kisses, between shaky laughter and choked sobs. “You’re—you’re real.” And suddenly, the world isn’t slow anymore. You are his new gravity, the only thing keeping him from spinning out of control.

- After that, Pietro is obsessed with feeling you close. He picks you up just to hear you laugh, carries you even when you insist you can walk. He talks more, filling every silence with his voice because silence is what haunted him for a year. And he touches—not just because he wants to, but because he needs to. Holding your hand, leaning against you, brushing his fingers over your cheek just to remind himself you’re here.

- And at night, when he curls around you in bed, his heartbeat thrumming like a song against your skin, he whispers things he’s never said before. “I thought I lost you forever.” “I never stopped looking for you.” “If you ever leave me again, I swear I’ll outrun death itself to bring you back.” And when you tell him you’re here, that you’re not going anywhere, he presses a lingering kiss to your shoulder and finally—finally—lets himself breathe again.

Erik Lehnsherr (Fox)

- Erik was already a man carved from loss, molded by grief, his soul tempered in the fires of tragedy. Losing you was not just another wound—it was the moment he snapped completely. He did not rage. He did not weep. He simply became something else. Harder. Colder. More dangerous. Without you, there was no reason to hold back. No reason to believe in anything but vengeance.

- The world paid for your absence. He became relentless, his war against those he deemed responsible for suffering escalating beyond reason. He did not believe in mercy anymore—because if the world had shown you none, why should he? But in the rare, silent moments when he was alone, when his hands were still for once, he would stare at the space beside him and feel something that terrified him. Emptiness.

- When you return, he does not react as a man should when seeing his lost love brought back to life. He does not run to you. He does not whisper your name like a prayer. He simply stares, cold and unreadable, his mind calculating every possibility—illusion, manipulation, deception. And then—then you reach for him, and the moment your hand touches his, his composure shatters.

- His hands shake as they frame your face. His breathing is shallow, his eyes burning with something unreadable. When he speaks, his voice is low, trembling with something dangerous. “Who did this?” he demands. Because someone had to bring you back. And Erik Lehnsherr does not believe in miracles. But when you smile—when you whisper, “I’m here, Erik”—his fury dissolves into something broken, something human. He kisses you like a dying man gasping for air, his hands gripping you as if afraid the wind might steal you away.

- After that, Erik is ruthless in his protectiveness. He keeps you close, watches you with the sharp gaze of a predator waiting for the world to try and take you again. But in private, in the spaces where no one else can see, he is something else. His hands are reverent as they hold you, his voice is soft when he speaks to you, and his nightmares—the ones filled with loss—fade when you press a kiss to his temple.

- He does not believe in peace. He does not believe in forgiveness. But he believes in you. And that? That is the only thing in this world he will not let go of again.

#reading recs #urdreamydoodles

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