sunskisser

[sunskisser]

thank you for the tag lovely sky, @godricgryffinsnore @mischievousmoony and @tea-biscuits-books <33

npt 🏷️: @neverthatsirius-jo @g1rld1ary @notyaslol @milunalupin @foodiegoogie

ִֶָ ☾. ִֶָ — tag game!!

let pinterest describe you to its best abilities and share how accurate you believe it is!! use the first picture that pops up!!

first search “aesthetic”, then “character”, and lastly “me”

thank you for the tags @dearmisshoney @riddlesrizzler 🖤

aesthetic ⋆ character ⋆ me

npt: @obsessedwithceleste @pizzaapeteer @godricgryffinsnore @draco-malfoys-lovergirl @redeemingvillains

[sunskisser]

running back to youuuu omg i love spring into summer its SUCH a good song

ME TOOOO omg it’s so sweet and lovely and flowy ☹️

[sunskisser]

guys im flying to london tmr <333

[sunskisser]

AWHHHH 🥹🥹🥹 me when??

mal i love this event and i love u <3333

can i please request for civil war — bucky barnes x sunshine!reader ?? thank you smookiedookiepappacookie 🥰😝🫶

bucky barnes x sunshine!reader ★

[sunskisser]

petition to make lovely an adverb. like tenderly. gently. softly. lovely can be doing something with love, for the love of it

[sunskisser]

Hey my lovely san san!🥰💝 How are you doing my angel pie?

I missed chatting to you, so I just wanted to say hello💞✨💐

awhhh hello lovely pri!!! 💛💛

im doing good :) i’ve been hanging out with my friends a lot, and my exams are over, so just chilling right now and waiting for my holidays!! how have you been angel?? missed you <333

[sunskisser]

GOSH i love this mk oh my god 😭😭😭 remus in a band is exactly what i needed….. he’s so lovely omg….. 🫶 i love you and your writing so!!! much!!!!!

hi mk, your celebration is so so gorgeous!!! <33 can i play truth or dare 🎲, picking a dare — remus lupin + "you came all the way here for me?"

thank you! 🫶

Remus Lupin x gn!reader

CW: fluff, one mention of alcohol

Summary: you surprise your boyfriend at ‘The Marauders’ first band gig!

Hello my lovely girl!! I love you! Thanks for playing!!

Your body is nearly trembling with excitement as you find a seat near the back of the bar, a small bouquet of plastic-wrapped moonflowers in hand. Tonight your boyfriend and his friends have their first gig as a band, and Remus is beyond thrilled. Still, when he’d told you about it over the phone a few weeks ago, he’d insisted you didn’t need to come because it was going to be a “small thing” and, anyways, you were back home with your family while he was in London. It’s not that he didn’t want you to come, because you know he did. Remus is just shy, and he doesn’t want to inconvenience you, as if anything related to him was an inconvenience. Of course, you’d immediately ignored his shy denials and booked a train ride to London for the day of the performance.

You arrived about an hour ago, changed in a pharmacy bathroom, and then bought the flowers you’re now holding. James, Sirius, and Peter all know you’re coming, but you’ve begged them to keep it a surprise, knowing the look on your boyfriend’s face will make it all worth it.

It being a Saturday night, the bar is packed full with people talking and laughing loudly with their friends over pints. You nurse your own carefully as your fingers fly over the keys of your phone, wishing Remus good luck before he goes on stage. You put your phone on the slightly sticky bar when the crowd gets a little quieter and ‘The Marauders’ hop up onto the little stage. Sirius, the band’s lead singer, is decked out in a black tee, his tattoo sleeves on display, with thick eyeliner rimming his eyes and his hair pulled half-up. James, their drummer, is in a red cutoff tank and jeans, his hair as messy as usual. Peter- the keys player- shows off the band’s t-shirt he designed proudly, his bottom lip stuck between his teeth as he fiddles with something on the piano. And finally, you’re lovely, darling Remus, the guitarist, looks equal parts handsome and sexy in brown jeans and a button-up only half done, revealing a long chain and toned chest to the audience. You’d be jealous if you weren’t also drooling over the absolutely delicious sight.

Sirius introduces the band and the crowd cheers, you included. You’re able to sing and dance along as they perform, pride, booze, and the electric energy in the room leaving you feeling like you’re on air. You are able to go unnoticed almost their whole gig until the very end. It’s not because Remus notices you in the large crowd, either, but because of Sirius. He announces that the last song is a special one- one they’ve never played live before- and that it’s about a very special guest in the audience. Remus’ brows furrow, as if he can almost anticipate what’s about to happen, but Sirius’ mouth spits it out before your boyfriend’s brain can process anything.

“This next song,” the lead singer shares, “is about our guitarist’s very lovely partner who came into London today just to surprise him!”

Heat rises to your cheeks as Sirius calls out your name, and Remus’ head snaps up, eyes looking for you eagerly. It doesn’t take long, and the crowd seems to part for you, everyone cheering and hollering as you walk towards the stage with butterflies in your stomach and a big cheesy grin on your face. The brunette’s smile brightens immensely and he sets his guitar down, rushing to wrap you in his arms and kiss you.

It’s a bold move, especially for Remus, and everyone whoops loudly. When he pulls away, his cheeks are flushed all pretty and he cups your face, “you came all the way here for me?”

“You wrote a song about me?”

You both smile wider as you talk over one another and laugh. You press another kiss to Remus’ lips and nod, “of course, my love. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“I’m reallyy glad you’re here and,” your boyfriends rubs his neck shyly, “I hope you like the song.”

You hand him the slightly crinkled flowers and he turns impossibly redder, kissing you one last time. He lets go of you and hops back up on the stage, leaning over into the mic as he puts his guitar back over his shoulder, “This one’s for you, dove.”

[sunskisser]

OH EM GEE yes yes yes i love u mal <33 everyone go request rn!!!!

★ MAL’S 8K MARVEL MARATHON !

welcome to bruisedboys’ marvel marathon! to celebrate 8k followers I am hosting a marvel themed celebration! all are welcome to participate, you can find the events, rules, and characters below. celly closes may 28

back to nav

the rules!

— send in an event + a character from the lists below. please only send me requests for the characters listed

— please stick to one request per ask! however you can send in as many asks as you like

— no smut requests please! all my regular rules still apply

— I may take time to answer your request/may not be able to answer it at all. I can’t guarantee I’ll get to every single request but pls know I appreciate anything u send in x

the characters!

★ STARRING…

bucky barnes, bob reynolds, yelena belova, john walker, steve rogers, tasm!peter parker, joaquin torres, miguel o’hara, peter quill

+ bonus characters! james potter, remus lupin, sirius black

the events!

★ NOW SHOWING…

ENDGAME — send me a dialogue prompt from this list, this list, or this list, + a character from the list above for a blurb!

VENOM — send me a kiss prompt from this list or this list + a character from the list above for a blurb!

THUNDERBOLTS — send me a prompt (eg. what pet names they’d use) and I will write you a short drabble/hc for each of the thunderbolts! (bucky, bob, john, yelena)

★ EXTRAS…

CIVIL WAR — send me a character + an aesthetic, au, trope, colour, or concept and I’ll make you a moodboard!

RAGNAROK — tumblr games! kiss marry kill, cast your mutuals, would you rather, etc.

hiii my lovelies, eek we hit 8k!!! thank you so so much, I actually cannot fathom that there are 8 thousand of you… but I’m so grateful you’re here and so happy to have you! I haven’t done a celly in ages so bear with me if I get overwhelmed lol!! thank you for all your support, love you all mwahhh xx

mutual tags ✉️ @cosmal @moonstruckme @wolvisms @inkdrinkerworld @oncasette @sunskisser @ellecdc @djotummy @amordixon @websterss @bradshawed @dearapril @spiderfunkz @underoospeterparker @fitzells @headkiss @lavenderslace @vampieteeth @bcyhoods @ddejavvu (love u guys infinity)

[sunskisser]

HIYAAAA OMG IM IN LOVE WITH YOUR VIBE LITERALLY EVERYTHING IS GIVING SO HARD

AAAAHHH THANK YOU SO MUCH LOVELY!!! your blog is so cutie too <333

[sunskisser]

san!!?!!? the new theme! it’s absolutely gorgeous! i’m in love 🙂‍↕️

THANK YOU!!! i really love this colour combo <3 also adore your blue theme hehe

[sunskisser]

iris by goo goo dolls really is insane though. I'd give up forever to touch you? you're the closest to heaven I'll ever be? all I can breathe is your life? and I don't want the world to see me cause I don't think they'd understand? when everything's meant to be broken I just want you to know who I am? does anyone hear me.

[sunskisser]

aaaah so so cute! thank you for the tag della <3

open tags :)

Picrew here

Join in! I've always wanted to start one of these but I also hate choosing people to tag, but I found this one and I was like "hey the doll trend with no AI hell yeah!"

So yeah, reblog with your own picrew!

[sunskisser]

ooh cute! thank you darling elle <33

1. spring into summer — lizzy mcalpine

2. savior complex — phoebe bridgers

3. mutt — leon thomas

4. come over — noah kahan

5. deeply still in love — role model

npt 🏷️: @godricgryffinsnore @notyaslol @tea-biscuits-books

When you get this, list your five favorite songs at the moment and send this ask to the last 10 people in your notifications :)

Oooooh ok well, here are the songs currently on repeat:

1) check - bbno$

2) homesick - Noah Kahan

3) the middle - Jimmy Eats World

4) amen - Shaboozey + Jelly Roll

5) my bubblegum - Rasheeda

Im too shy to go through my notifs & send this as an ask but let me see if I can convince 10 people to play with me, npt:

@unstablereader @lexiiscorect @lumininomenon @suugarbabe @iamgonnagetyouback @orangegal90210 @honeycaksy @jemssafespace @sunskisser @prettydaisygirl & anyone else who wants to play 🫶

[sunskisser]

STRICTLY BUSINESS — BUCKY BARNES

⭑ congressman!bucky x stripper!reader — wc 2.8k

⭑ summary: you're bucky's informant, strictly a business partner. nothing more, right?

⭑ cw: not nsfw but a few mentions of the word sex, fluff, hurt/comfort, bucky is a gentleman

This is louder than what he’s used to, much louder.

Neon signs and posters of sex icons lined the graffitied walls. The air reeked of smoke, weed, and booze. Groups of drunkards staggered this way and that, and Bucky skilfully swerved to avoid getting into fights he didn’t have time for.

Poppy music blasted from clubs and bars, a harsh contrast to the sounds of throwing up and making out — dirty people being dirty all over the streets.

Bucky kept his vision focussed straight ahead, taking it all in from his peripherals. He looked sort of strange in his suit, like an animal out of its natural habitat — he was surrounded by people in skimpy skirts and shiny tights. But he’s done this far too many times to care.

The door to the strip club creaked as Bucky pushed it open. It was darker here than it was outside, the only source of illumination being the disco lights gliding around in time with the sensual music.

A performance was ongoing, some woman in a tight corset and sparkling panties moving around the stage seductively. It seemed these were her final pieces of clothing; dollar bills lay all over the stage, a mini skirt and top discarded. Bucky didn’t spare the scene a glance.

He approaches the counter, handing the receptionist the small wad of cash. “My usual room.”

She nods mindlessly, taking the money and computing it. Bucky doesn’t wait for her to lead him there, turning on his heel and making his way to the private rooms at the far end of the club.

He thinks he’s done a pretty great job of convincing the staff of his credibility so far. In this club, he’s just a depressed widow desperate for sex. And they believe he’s a regular of your room, either because: a. he’s stupidly fallen in love with you, or b. you’re the only one who fulfills his desires. Either way, the managers don’t care — to them, he’s just a horny man helping in paying their bills.

Bucky knocks on your door, hearing your quiet grunt as an invitation as he turns the knob. Cold air hits him as soon as he enters the small room, the small disco ball above glinting with light.

His eyes land on you immediately, casually sprawled out on the bright red cushioning lining the circumference of the room. Your glance up at him. “Hey, handsome,” you grin.

Bucky can never tell with you. You’re surprisingly nice for a business deal, funny and flirty and incredibly lovely. Maybe you’re trying to seduce him, but that isn’t something you’d do, he thinks. He’d like to think he knows you well enough for that.

You’d been Bucky’s informant for a couple of months now, a pair of eyes and ears on the inside. He’d gotten a tip about Valentina some time ago, and had been on her trail. Everybody knew of this area, this club — especially Valentina’s men, who were regular customers. Bucky paid you to get whatever information you could and convey it to him on his weekly visits.

“Hi,” he mutters, unintentionally softening. He clears his throat, taking a seat a comfortable distance away before unbuttoning his suit. “What have you got for me?”

He can’t help but notice how you wince as you sit up. He won’t mention it, doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable. But he can’t deny the pang of concern that shoots through him, seeing you exhale through gritted teeth. Yet, you still have that stupid smile plastered on your face.

You hand him a file. “This is all I got,” you explain as he looks over pages of your hand-written scribbles, bits and pieces of information you’d managed to pick up. “She’s planning something with all the misfits that work for her, I think. Probably trying to get rid of them.”

Bucky hums in acknowledgment. He’s only half-listening, eyes flitting up to you every two seconds as he flips through the pages. He’s observant; he notices the subtle way your palm is splayed over your thigh, the short breaths escaping your lips. You look pained.

He knows he’s not supposed to care. 

“Strictly business,” you’d grinned with a wink when he first asked you for help. “I’m not giving you any services, handsome. Zero, nil, nada.”

“Strictly business,” he’d agreed, the hint of a smile on his lips. “Don’t worry. I’d never want your… ‘services.’”

You pouted teasingly. “Why not? Not pretty enough?”

All he’d responded with was an eye-roll, clearly meaning to say, ‘you know that’s not true.’

But he couldn’t help but care, worry about you. He couldn’t pretend not to know what happened behind these doors; legal services and illegal intercourse. The thought made something in his heart twinge. He knew how dangerous your job was, how much more danger you put yourself in just for him.

Bucky could hide behind nonchalance, peel off a layer and you’d find concern — but most of all, he felt anger. Anger on your behalf. Anger that you could sit here, looking so beautiful in all your pretty clothes and glowing makeup and softness, and all those perverts could think of was to pleasure you — or worse — themselves. 

Anger that he couldn’t be the one to hold you, to curl you up in his arms and never let you go. He couldn’t trace your lips, your sweet smile. Those lovely eyes which crinkled at the corners when you laughed, that heavenly body which deserved to be worshipped; not used and thrown away like a sex toy. Bucky couldn’t love you the way you deserved.

You arch an eyebrow as you catch him staring. 

“What?” you tilt your head to the side playfully. “Something wrong with how I look today?”

“Of course not,” he murmurs, eyes trailing over you from head to toe. Not hungry, not ravenous. Concerned, trying to spot where you’d been hurting. He sees it again — the way you hide the same area on your thigh, almost self-consciously.

“You’re hurt,” Bucky says bluntly, gaze moving upwards to meet yours. He tries to hide the worry in his tone, for both his sake and yours.

A flash of surprise flits across your face for a second, before you’re back to your usual collected self. 

“I’m fine,” you say airily. It sounds like you’re trying to convince yourself.

“Y/n.” He sighs, unconvinced. “You don’t have to hide it.” He reaches out like he means to touch you, then retracts immediately when he realises what he’s doing. He can’t.

You pretend not to notice. “I said I’m fine,” you reply curtly, smile still present but significantly smaller. “I’m all good.”

“You’re not. You’re in pain.”

“I’m not in pain, Congressman Barnes,” you reply sharply, sucking in a stilted breath. Bucky bristles. 

You swallow. “Sorry,” you mutter before he can respond. You rub your eyes, deflating. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped, I’m sorry. But you can’t… you can’t do this.”

He frowns. “Do what?”

“This,” you gesture between the both of you, almost apologetic. You hesitate, swallow. “You can’t… pretend to care. It’s not going to get you anywhere. I’m not —“ you inhale, blurt out what you’ve been thinking all this while, “ — I’m not gonna have sex with you, or whatever you want me to do. I can’t.”

Your voice cracks at that last syllable, and Bucky’s heart breaks with it. You don’t have to say it, it’s written all over your face, it’s in your glossy eyes — you feel hurt, betrayed. You think that the one man who’s never seen you as an object has changed his mind.

Bucky’s face contorts almost sadly, an ache tugging on his heartstrings. “Is that what you think this is about? You think I’m asking ‘cos I want your services?”

“Don’t you?”

“No,” he murmurs immediately, tone a colour of fond upset. He reaches out to smooth his palm over your forearm. When you don’t pull away, he presses his thumb into your skin, his way of reassurance. “No, that’s not what this is about. I’m asking because I’m worried about you, doll.”

“So you don’t just wanna have sex with me?” you ask again dumbly, head tilted in confusion.

Bucky can’t help but to indulge you. You poor, lovely girl, so used to being taken advantage of that you can’t fathom what it means to be cared for, to be loved by a man. Maybe loved is too strong a word, but seeing the look on your face right now, Bucky thinks he might just be in love with you.

He shakes his head, giving your arm a gentle squeeze. “No, I’m not doing this to have sex with you.”

You blink, perplexed. It’s almost like you’re struggling to believe it. You take a deep inhale, letting it out through pursed lips. Bucky watches you do it a couple more times before looking at him.

He doesn’t push you, doesn’t snap. He just waits for you to speak, looking at you — through you with those soft, dark eyes.

“Wow,” you mumble after a moment, expression a mix of awe and relief as your eyes lock on his, visibly softening. Your heart’s a riot. “Wow, um… okay,” you say again stupidly. “Okay, I really didn’t think so. I’m sorry.”

Bucky shakes his head, chest hurting with affection. “Nothing to apologise for, doll.” He moves his palm down to your hand, letting your fingers fill the spaces between his. “Where are you hurt?”

The softness of his voice makes you want to melt into the plush couch. Your other hand brushes over the purplish-black bruise on your thigh, eyes flitting down to it. “Here.”

“Can I have a look?”

You hesitate for a moment, then nod. It’s hard to say no when he’s asking you so genuinely, so nicely.

Bucky kneels down beside you, hand leaving yours as his fingers move to hover over the bruise. Your skin misses his touch already.

It was strange, a suited congressman kneeling in front of a stripper. You think it might make a great poster.

He traces the injury with his index finger, frowning when you wince. For a moment, he doesn’t say a thing, he just observes it.

The suspense gets to you. Bucky can feel you tense up under his touch, anxious. He pats your other knee through the fabric of your fishnets.

“What happened?” he asks gently, a hint of concern and protectiveness in his tone. His gaze is still fixed on your bruise, like it’s physically hurting him to see you injured. “Who did this to you?”

You grimace, feeling your cheeks start to heat up. “No one.”

Bucky looks up at you with pinched brows and upturned lips. There’s the slightest bit of rage in the way he’s looking at you — though you know it’s not towards you, but for you. You’re suddenly acutely aware of how stupid you’re going to sound.

You let out a small, sheepish laugh, and his expression lets up a little. “It happened a couple hours ago. I, um… I rammed into the table by accident, during a performance. I wasn’t looking.”

Bucky looks at you like he’s trying to figure you, or what you said, out, eyebrows furrowing even more. His eyes narrow contemplatively. “Seriously?” When you nod shyly, he sighs, shaking his head and relaxing slightly. 

“You’re stupid,” he scolds, but it's lathered in fondness.

“I know,” you grin. “Sorry, handsome.”

“You’re sure no one hurt you?” He sounds just about ready to go punch anyone who did. You don’t think he’s realised that he’s mindlessly rubbing your knee, affection seeping even from his touch. You hope it doesn’t show on your face how it’s making you feel.

“I’m sure,” you agree softly. Bucky sighs again for good measure, exasperation almost audible.

You swear he’s trying not to smile. “Tell me you at least know where the first aid kit is.”

You bend forwards and reach under the sofa, fingers pressing the cushion to find the hidden drawer. You pull it open and take the first aid kit out before sitting back up, closing the drawer with your foot. “Here you go.”

Bucky nods in thanks, shifting so he’s kneeling more directly in front of you. You press your thighs together, suddenly self-conscious, but all he’s looking at is the bruise.

His elbows rest on the couch on either side of your thigh, one hand holding your leg in place as the other dabs antiseptic over it. His fingers press into your skin, gentle even when he’s not trying to be.

You watch quietly as Bucky disinfects the wound, muttering an apology every time you wince. His palm slides under your thigh to hold it up as he wraps the bandage around it. He feels warm, so warm, soft, and every lovely word you can think of, and he’s holding your thigh like that. “Is this okay?”

“Yeah,” you nod stupidly. “Mhm, totally okay.” You don’t anyone’s ever held you with this much love since the day you were born.

“Bucky?”

“Hm?” he murmurs, looking up as he finishes securing the dressing. “Yeah?”

You think you’d like to drown in his gaze. You clear your throat, straightening up from where you’ve unconsciously been leaning closer to him. Your mouth opens and closes a few times, brain short-circuiting. 

You settle on, “Thank you.”

Bucky softens, the corners of his eyes crinkling a bit when he smiles. A strand of his slicked back hair falls forward onto his face, and you suddenly can’t stop thinking about brushing it back into place. “It’s nothing, doll. I’m just… glad you’re okay. Glad no one hurt you.”

He gives your thigh one last friendly squeeze before pulling his hands away, and you hate how much you wish he didn’t.

You nod dumbly. “Okay, handsome.”

You’d always used it teasingly, a placeholder because calling him Bucky had somehow felt far too intimate, too much familiarity for simply a business partner. Was that even what you were now?

Bucky’s smile turns more sly, like he knows exactly what you’re thinking, but he won’t do anything about it. He’s waiting for you to initiate, because he knows how you feel. He’d never do anything you wouldn’t want him to.

Maybe this is all in your head, maybe you really are nothing but an informant to him. But you don’t think he’d be looking up at you like this if he didn’t like you, even the slightest bit, so you decide to take your chances.

The tension is so thick you could bite into it. You reach out, hesitating before brushing the stray strand off Bucky’s forehead. Your heart feels like it’s going to burst.

You’re about to pull away when his fingers wrap around your wrist. Gentle, yet tugging, almost like he can’t help himself. He’s gazing up at you inquiringly, kindly. “Can I kiss you?”

You still. This isn’t something you’re used to, though you know you deserve to be. You’re used to men throwing you around, used to pretending like you enjoy being touched by disgusting men with disgusting thoughts. This is different, you think. This is Bucky, the only man who’s ever acted like one, and he’s asking for consent to kiss you. You honestly wish he’d just do it already.

“Yeah,” you breathe softly, nodding. “Yeah.”

Bucky pulls you down gently by your wrist, his other hand moving up to cradle the nape of your neck. He kisses you, then, in a way that makes your knees buckle. If you weren’t already sitting, you’d be on the ground just about now. 

His lips are forgiving. Tender, like all he wants to do is take his time with you.

Bucky pulls away after a moment. His face is still achingly close to yours, and he looks almost like he’s trying to stop himself from kissing you again. You can feel his warm breath fanning over your skin.

“Was that okay?”

You crack a smile. “Yeah,” you murmur. “Yeah, Bucky, it was okay. It was, um…” you clear your throat, pretending to think. “I’d say it was like a 6 out of 10.”

“A 6 out of 10, huh?” he muses quietly, thumb starting to rub lines over your inner wrist. “That’s all?”

“That’s all,” you agree, smile widening. 

Bucky chuckles. “Okay, then, if it was that average, I’m assuming you don’t want any more.” He shrugs, feigning nonchalance. “A one-time thing, then.”

“Hey!” you laugh. “That’s not fair. It’s a whole lot better than all the kisses I get in this place.”

“Then you should’ve rated it higher, doll,” he teases, but he’s already moving forward to kiss you again, and so are you. “That’s on you.”

So much for strictly business.

[sunskisser]

STRICTLY BUSINESS — BUCKY BARNES

⭑ congressman!bucky x stripper!reader — wc 2.8k

⭑ summary: you're bucky's informant, strictly a business partner. nothing more, right?

⭑ cw: not nsfw but a few mentions of the word sex, fluff, hurt/comfort, bucky is a gentleman

This is louder than what he’s used to, much louder.

Neon signs and posters of sex icons lined the graffitied walls, air reeking of smoke, weed, and booze. Groups of drunkards staggered this way and that, and Bucky skilfully swerved to avoid getting into fights he didn’t have time for.

Poppy music blasted from clubs and bars, a harsh contrast to the sounds of throwing up and making out — dirty people being dirty all over the streets.

Bucky kept his vision focussed straight ahead, taking it all in from his peripherals. He looked sort of strange in his suit, like an animal out of its natural habitat — he was surrounded by people in skimpy skirts and shiny tights. But he’s done this far too many times to care.

The door to the strip club creaked as Bucky pushed it open. It was darker here than it was outside, the only source of illumination being the disco lights gliding around in time with the sensual music.

A performance was ongoing, some woman in a tight corset and sparkling panties moving around the stage seductively. It seemed these were her final pieces of clothing; dollar bills lay all over the stage, a mini skirt and top discarded. Bucky didn’t spare the scene a glance.

He approaches the counter, handing the receptionist the small wad of cash. “My usual room.”

She nods mindlessly, taking the money and computing it. Bucky doesn’t wait for her to lead him there, turning on his heel and making his way to the private rooms at the far end of the club.

He thinks he’s done a pretty great job of convincing the staff of his credibility so far. In this club, he’s just a depressed widow desperate for sex. And they believe he’s a regular of your room, either because: a. he’s stupidly fallen in love with you, or b. you’re the only one who fulfills his desires. Either way, the managers don’t care — to them, he’s just a horny man helping in paying their bills.

Bucky knocks on your door, hearing your quiet grunt as an invitation as he turns the knob. Cold air hits him as soon as he enters the small room, the small disco ball above glinting with light.

His eyes land on you immediately, casually sprawled out on the bright red cushioning lining the circumference of the room. Your glance up at him. “Hey, handsome,” you grin.

Bucky can never tell with you. You’re surprisingly nice for a business deal, funny and flirty and incredibly lovely. Maybe you’re trying to seduce him, but that isn’t something you’d do, he thinks. He’d like to think he knows you well enough for that.

You’d been Bucky’s informant for a couple of months now, a pair of eyes and ears on the inside. He’d gotten a tip about Valentina some time ago, and had been on her trail. Everybody knew of this area, this club — especially Valentina’s men, who were regular customers. Bucky paid you to get whatever information you could and convey it to him on his weekly visits.

“Hi,” he mutters, unintentionally softening. He clears his throat, taking a seat a comfortable distance away before unbuttoning his suit. “What have you got for me?”

He can’t help but notice how you wince as you sit up. He won’t mention it, doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable. But he can’t deny the pang of concern that shoots through him, seeing you exhale through gritted teeth. Yet, you still have that stupid smile plastered on your face.

You hand him a file. “This is all I got,” you explain as he looks over pages of your hand-written scribbles, bits and pieces of information you’d managed to pick up. “She’s planning something with all the misfits that work for her, I think. Probably trying to get rid of them.”

Bucky hums in acknowledgment. He’s only half-listening, eyes flitting up to you every two seconds as he flips through the pages. He’s observant; he notices the subtle way your palm is splayed over your thigh, the short breaths escaping your lips. You look pained.

He knows he’s not supposed to care. 

“Strictly business,” you’d grinned with a wink when he first asked you for help. “I’m not giving you any services, handsome. Zero, nil, nada.”

“Strictly business,” he’d agreed, the hint of a smile on his lips. “Don’t worry. I’d never want your… ‘services.’”

You pouted teasingly. “Why not? Not pretty enough?”

All he’d responded with was an eye-roll, clearly meaning to say, ‘you know that’s not true.’

But he couldn’t help but care, worry about you. He couldn’t pretend not to know what happened behind these doors; legal services and illegal intercourse. The thought made something in his heart twinge. He knew how dangerous your job was, how much more danger you put yourself in just for him.

Bucky could hide behind nonchalance, peel off a layer and you’d find concern — but most of all, he felt anger. Anger on your behalf. Anger that you could sit here, looking so beautiful in all your pretty clothes and glowing makeup and softness, and all those perverts could think of was to pleasure you — or worse — themselves. 

Anger that he couldn’t be the one to hold you, to curl you up in his arms and never let you go. He couldn’t trace your lips, your sweet smile. Those lovely eyes which crinkled at the corners when you laughed, that heavenly body which deserved to be worshipped; not used and thrown away like a sex toy. Bucky couldn’t love you the way you deserved.

You arch an eyebrow as you catch him staring. 

“What?” you tilt your head to the side playfully. “Something wrong with how I look today?”

“Of course not,” he murmurs, eyes trailing over you from head to toe. Not hungry, not ravenous. Concerned, trying to spot where you’d been hurting. He sees it again — the way you hide the same area on your thigh, almost self-consciously.

“You’re hurt,” Bucky says bluntly, gaze moving upwards to meet yours. He tries to hide the worry in his tone, for both his sake and yours.

A flash of surprise flits across your face for a second, before you’re back to your usual collected self. 

“I’m fine,” you say airily. It sounds like you’re trying to convince yourself.

“Y/n.” He sighs, unconvinced. “You don’t have to hide it.” He reaches out like he means to touch you, then retracts immediately when he realises what he’s doing. He can’t.

You pretend not to notice. “I said I’m fine,” you reply curtly, smile still present but significantly smaller. “I’m all good.”

“You’re not. You’re in pain.”

“I’m not in pain, Congressman Barnes,” you reply sharply, sucking in a stilted breath. Bucky bristles. 

You swallow. “Sorry,” you mutter before he can respond. You rub your eyes, deflating. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped, I’m sorry. But you can’t… you can’t do this.”

He frowns. “Do what?”

“This,” you gesture between the both of you, almost apologetic. You hesitate, swallow. “You can’t… pretend to care. It’s not going to get you anywhere. I’m not —“ you inhale, blurt out what you’ve been thinking all this while, “ — I’m not gonna have sex with you, or whatever you want me to do. I can’t.”

Your voice cracks at that last syllable, and Bucky’s heart breaks with it. You don’t have to say it, it’s written all over your face, it’s in your glossy eyes — you feel hurt, betrayed. You think that the one man who’s never seen you as an object has changed his mind.

Bucky’s face contorts almost sadly, an ache tugging on his heartstrings. “Is that what you think this is about? You think I’m asking ‘cos I want your services?”

“Don’t you?”

“No,” he murmurs immediately, tone a colour of fond upset. He reaches out to smooth his palm over your forearm. When you don’t pull away, he presses his thumb into your skin, his way of reassurance. “No, that’s not what this is about. I’m asking because I’m worried about you, doll.”

“So you don’t just wanna have sex with me?” you ask again dumbly, head tilted in confusion.

Bucky can’t help but to indulge you. You poor, lovely girl, so used to being taken advantage of that you can’t fathom what it means to be cared for, to be loved by a man. Maybe loved is too strong a word, but seeing the look on your face right now, Bucky thinks he might just be in love with you.

He shakes his head, giving your arm a gentle squeeze. “No, I’m not doing this to have sex with you.”

You blink, perplexed. It’s almost like you’re struggling to believe it. You take a deep inhale, letting it out through pursed lips. Bucky watches you do it a couple more times before looking at him.

He doesn’t push you, doesn’t snap. He just waits for you to speak, looking at you — through you with those soft, dark eyes.

“Wow,” you mumble after a moment, expression a mix of awe and relief as your eyes lock on his, visibly softening. Your heart’s a riot. “Wow, um… okay,” you say again stupidly. “Okay, I really didn’t think so. I’m sorry.”

Bucky shakes his head, chest hurting with affection. “Nothing to apologise for, doll.” He moves his palm down to your hand, letting your fingers fill the spaces between his. “Where are you hurt?”

The softness of his voice makes you want to melt into the plush couch. Your other hand brushes over the purplish-black bruise on your thigh, eyes flitting down to it. “Here.”

“Can I have a look?”

You hesitate for a moment, then nod. It’s hard to say no when he’s asking you so genuinely, so nicely.

Bucky kneels down beside you, hand leaving yours as his fingers move to hover over the bruise. Your skin misses his touch already.

It was strange, a suited congressman kneeling in front of a stripper. You think it might make a great poster.

He traces the injury with his index finger, frowning when you wince. For a moment, he doesn’t say a thing, he just observes it.

The suspense gets to you. Bucky can feel you tense up under his touch, anxious. He pats your other knee through the fabric of your fishnets.

“What happened?” he asks gently, a hint of concern and protectiveness in his tone. His gaze is still fixed on your bruise, like it’s physically hurting him to see you injured. “Who did this to you?”

You grimace, feeling your cheeks start to heat up. “No one.”

Bucky looks up at you with pinched brows and upturned lips. There’s the slightest bit of rage in the way he’s looking at you — though you know it’s not towards you, but for you. You’re suddenly acutely aware of how stupid you’re going to sound.

You let out a small, sheepish laugh, and his expression lets up a little. “It happened a couple hours ago. I, um… I rammed into the table by accident, during a performance. I wasn’t looking.”

Bucky looks at you like he’s trying to figure you, or what you said, out, eyebrows furrowing even more. His eyes narrow contemplatively. “Seriously?” When you nod shyly, he sighs, shaking his head and relaxing slightly. 

“You’re stupid,” he scolds, but it's lathered in fondness.

“I know,” you grin. “Sorry, handsome.”

“You’re sure no one hurt you?” He sounds just about ready to go punch anyone who did. You don’t think he’s realised that he’s mindlessly rubbing your knee, affection seeping even from his touch. You hope it doesn’t show on your face how it’s making you feel.

“I’m sure,” you agree softly. Bucky sighs again for good measure, exasperation almost audible.

You swear he’s trying not to smile. “Tell me you at least know where the first aid kit is.”

You bend forwards and reach under the sofa, fingers pressing the cushion to find the hidden drawer. You pull it open and take the first aid kit out before sitting back up, closing the drawer with your foot. “Here you go.”

Bucky nods in thanks, shifting so he’s kneeling more directly in front of you. You press your thighs together, suddenly self-conscious, but all he’s looking at is the bruise.

His elbows rest on the couch on either side of your thigh, one hand holding your leg in place as the other dabs antiseptic over it. His fingers press into your skin, gentle even when he’s not trying to be.

You watch quietly as Bucky disinfects the wound, muttering an apology every time you wince. His palm slides under your thigh to hold it up as he wraps the bandage around it. He feels warm, so warm, soft, and every lovely word you can think of, and he’s holding your thigh like that. “Is this okay?”

“Yeah,” you nod stupidly. “Mhm, totally okay.” You don’t anyone’s ever held you with this much love since the day you were born.

“Bucky?”

“Hm?” he murmurs, looking up as he finishes securing the dressing. “Yeah?”

You think you’d like to drown in his gaze. You clear your throat, straightening up from where you’ve unconsciously been leaning closer to him. Your mouth opens and closes a few times, brain short-circuiting. 

You settle on, “Thank you.”

Bucky softens, the corners of his eyes crinkling a bit when he smiles. A strand of his slicked back hair falls forward onto his face, and you suddenly can’t stop thinking about brushing it back into place. “It’s nothing, doll. I’m just… glad you’re okay. Glad no one hurt you.”

He gives your thigh one last friendly squeeze before pulling his hands away, and you hate how much you wish he didn’t.

You nod dumbly. “Okay, handsome.”

You’d always used it teasingly, a placeholder because calling him Bucky had somehow felt far too intimate, too much familiarity for simply a business partner. Was that even what you were now?

Bucky’s smile turns more sly, like he knows exactly what you’re thinking, but he won’t do anything about it. He’s waiting for you to initiate, because he knows how you feel. He’d never do anything you wouldn’t want him to.

Maybe this is all in your head, maybe you really are nothing but an informant to him. But you don’t think he’d be looking up at you like this if he didn’t like you, even the slightest bit, so you decide to take your chances.

The tension is so thick you could bite into it. You reach out, hesitating before brushing the stray strand off Bucky’s forehead. Your heart feels like it’s going to burst.

You’re about to pull away when his fingers wrap around your wrist. Gentle, yet tugging, almost like he can’t help himself. He’s gazing up at you inquiringly, kindly. “Can I kiss you?”

You still. This isn’t something you’re used to, though you know you deserve to be. You’re used to men throwing you around, used to pretending like you enjoy being touched by disgusting men with disgusting thoughts. This is different, you think. This is Bucky, the only man who’s ever acted like one, and he’s asking for consent to kiss you. You honestly wish he’d just do it already.

“Yeah,” you breathe softly, nodding. “Yeah.”

Bucky pulls you down gently by your wrist, his other hand moving up to cradle the nape of your neck. He kisses you, then, in a way that makes your knees buckle. If you weren’t already sitting, you’d be on the ground just about now. 

His lips are forgiving. Tender, like all he wants to do is take his time with you.

Bucky pulls away after a moment. His face is still achingly close to yours, and he looks almost like he’s trying to stop himself from kissing you again. You can feel his warm breath fanning over your skin.

“Was that okay?”

You crack a smile. “Yeah,” you murmur. “Yeah, Bucky, it was okay. It was, um…” you clear your throat, pretending to think. “I’d say it was like a 6 out of 10.”

“A 6 out of 10, huh?” he muses quietly, thumb starting to rub lines over your inner wrist. “That’s all?”

“That’s all,” you agree, smile widening. 

Bucky chuckles. “Okay, then, if it was that average, I’m assuming you don’t want any more.” He shrugs, feigning nonchalance. “A one-time thing, then.”

“Hey!” you laugh. “That’s not fair. It’s a whole lot better than all the kisses I get in this place.”

“Then you should’ve rated it higher, doll,” he teases, but he’s already moving forward to kiss you again, and so are you. “That’s on you.”

So much for strictly business.

[sunskisser]

AAAAA <3<3<3 so cute mk i love youuuu 🤍🤍

- You are cordially invited to my 21st birthday party. There will be drinks, food, and lots of games, and I’d love to see you there! The party is over when the clock hits 11:59 on May 19th, so don’t be late!-

Rules:

- send me the emoji so I know what you want to do at my party and the needed info!

- i hope to interact with every guest, but please forgive me if i can’t get to everyone!

- i only invite (write for) people on my guest list (my masterlist) so please don’t invite any strangers!

- keep it pg-13. Save the sex for the afterparty, but a little kissing and foreplay never hurt anybody (I don’t write smut requests but I’ll make things a little raunchy)

- please don’t let this flop (i will cry at my own party!)

Take a shot 🍾- Pick a character from my masterlist, one of these tropes, and a genre (ex. fluff, angst, etc.) and I’ll write a one shot (shots are limited because I don’t wanna blackout!)

Truth or dare 🎲- It’s time to play truth or dare! Name your fav character and pick a truth or a dare and I’ll write a little blurb!

Party favor 🎁- tell me a little about yourself and I’ll ship you with a character I write for (please only take one so there are enough for all guests)

Cake and ice cream 🍰 🍨- Feeling hungry? Choose a slice of cake (character) and ice cream flavor (head cannon prompt)!

Vingt et Un 🃏 - The game is 21 (topical, I know). Pick a number, 1-21 (question 21 can be your choice) and I’ll share something about myself!

[sunskisser]

LET GO — ROBERT REYNOLDS

✦ bob reynolds x reader, 1.5k

✦ cw: thunderbolts* spoilers, implied that they all live in the avengers tower, reader is an avenger/thunderbolt, bob has nightmares of past trauma, hurt/comfort

✦ summary: bob always avoided you, and you had no idea why — till the night you help him out of a frenzy.

Bob was a strange guy.

You knew little about him, only as much as Bucky had told you. You’d been told all about his strange powers as The Void, how his dark side had taken a hold of him that day in New York. You’d seen the footage. You knew how scary he could become.

Yet, you couldn’t believe it.

You couldn’t believe that someone like Bob, who sometimes didn’t know left from right, with his soft eyes and softer yet smiles, was capable of something like that.

Trying to get to know him was frustrating. You’d been pursuing him ever since you moved into the tower, and it was almost like trying to catch water between your hands. He somehow managed to slip away every time you tried to make conversation, pinkened cheeks and spools of excuses dangling out his mouth.

If he wasn’t busy doing whatever else needed his attention, then it felt as though he was being held at gunpoint to talk to you – curt replies and eyes darting all over, muscles twitching like he physically had to get out of there. He was evasive. Annoying. Exhausting.

You didn’t know why, and couldn’t figure it out. Couldn’t figure him out. It was starting to get on your nerves, then, because why were you chasing after someone who didn’t want to be known? It was time to give up. If Bob wasn’t going to make an effort to talk, neither were you.

“Every time!” you grumble, begrudgingly nodding in thanks as Bucky hands you a mug of coffee. You take a sip of the bitter liquid, letting it wash over your tongue. “Every single time I try to talk to him, he avoids me like the plague. I’m starting to think he hates me.”

Bucky sighs, reaching across the table to pat your hand consolingly. “Maybe you just need to give him some time.”

“I’ve given him enough.”

“Methinks,” Alexei pipes up from across the room, flopping across the couch like a starfish, “that this is love. Young love, you know? Can never get past the anxie-titty.”

“Anxiety,” Ava corrects. She grabs Bucky’s mug from his hand as she walks by, earning an annoyed grunt as she plops herself down on the other end of the couch. “But honestly, — slurp — I agree. I think Bob just has a little crush.”

You roll your eyes, frustration growing by the second. “Yeah, of course. Bob definitely has a crush on me.”

Bucky snorts. “Exactly!” Alexei nods, lighting up as the sarcasm flies right over his head. “You got it. This girl is smart, I tell you. Very smart, quick learner.”

“And you’re the exact opposite,” Ava deadpans.

She smirks as Alexei’s face scrunches up in confusion, Bucky coughing in an attempt to keep a straight face. You crack a smile.

You groan and push your face further into your pillow. The heat that night was sweltering, almost suffocating, and the air conditioning had gone off again — Walker and his inability to remember to pay the bills.

You felt everything acutely; rough blanket on your skin, sweat between your toes, hot breath on your upper lip. It was overwhelming.

“This,” you grumble, rolling over and shrugging your blanket off, “must’ve been why his wife left him. Asshole.” You rub your eyes and sit up, deciding that you might as well try the couch. More ventilation out there.

Your blanket trails behind you like a cape as you open the door. Faint pieces of moonlight scatter across the floor, lighting up the hallway. It was just enough for you to walk your way to the living room.

You pause at the sight of a silhouette on the couch, a quiet huff escaping you. It seemed like you weren’t the only one with this idea.

As you move closer, it’s strikingly obvious who the culprit was — messy curls, Spongebob blanket, arms wrapped around himself. Bob.

You bite your tongue. You’re about to feel annoyed, about to let that anger wash over you again. Avoiding you wasn’t enough, he had to steal your one chance at proper sleep too?

Then you hear it.

His labored breathing, incoherent mumbles. You frown, unconsciously softening as you inch closer.

“Please,” he whimpers. You swallow. His hands twitch around his torso, and you get the strange urge to hold them. His eyes are squeezed so tight you wonder if it hurts. “Please don’t… don’t yell at me. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

You watch helplessly as he repeats the apology again and again. His face is contorted in some kind of anguish, muscles tense with fear. You think you can hear the sound of your heart breaking.

You reach out, hesitating before you place your hand on his shoulder and give a little shake. “Bob?”

“No!” he cries out hoarsely as he flinches away. You retract immediately, startled. “No, don’t hurt me… don’t hurt me.” His hands fly up to shield his face, fingers trembling where they cover his eyes. “I didn’t do it, I swear. Please, don’t hurt me.”

A pang of sadness twists in your chest. You knew what it felt like, to be haunted by what you’ve done, every one of you did. Nightmares of people you’ve killed, people you couldn’t save. They kept you awake at night.

But to experience something being done to you, someone hurting you all over again, was another hell entirely.

You straighten up. You had to try harder.

Your hands find Bob’s shoulders again, this time attempting to pull him up into a sitting position. He shrieks weakly, he trashes against your hold, but you don’t let go. You can’t.

His nails dig into your skin. “Stop! Stop, you’re hurting me. Let go of me.” You shake your head, tugging his blanket off with one hand as you hold him up with the other.

“I’m not trying to hurt you, Bob. And I’m not letting go,” you murmur. “You’re okay, it’s just a nightmare. Wake up.”

“Let go,” he says again, weaker. His grip on your wrists slackens as he heaves. “Let go of me.”

“No. I’m not letting go.” You swallow. “I’m here, and I’m not letting go of you. You need to wake up. You’re safe here.”

All it takes is another hard jolt.

His eyes fly open, flaahing in panic before they lock on you. “I — what —“

You pull away. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you. I’m sorry. You’re okay. You just had a nightmare.”

His breathing doesn’t slow, and you realise that it’s not you he’s afraid of, it’s himself. You soften. “Hey, Bob. Bob. Come on, look at me.”

His fear-filled eyes find yours, eyebrows furrowed like he’s trying to find a reason not to run away. You gently take his wrist and place his palm on your chest. “I need you to breathe, okay? Breathe with me.”

You take an exaggerated breath, exhaling through your lips. You see the mental struggle, the internal battle of deciding whether or not he can trust you.

He stares at you for a moment. Then, he starts to follow along.

Relieved, you continue. Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale. Till the shakiness is gone, wheezes turning into breaths. Till he’s calmed down.

You squeeze his wrist for good measure. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” he exhales quietly, dropping his hand from your chest. His body relaxes the slightest bit. “Yeah, sorry.”

You shake your head, lips curving upwards. “No need to apologise. I’m glad you’re okay.” You move to sit next to him, knees bumping against the other’s.

He swallows and looks down at his hands, cheeks turning their usual shade of pink. Thank god.

“I’m sorry you had to see that, though,” he says, voice coloured with sheepishness. He scratches his neck, refusing to look at you. “Must’ve been… weird.”

You huff out a quiet laugh, placing your hand on his knee. He lets out an embarrassed squeak. “Bob, seriously. It was just a nightmare, it happens.” You rub his knee reassuringly, tone fond. “Nothing shameful or weird about it, okay?”

It takes a second, but he nods. He dares to make eye contact with you, head tilting upwards like a shy puppy. “Um, yeah,” he mumbles. “Yeah, okay.”

Now you understand what Alexei and Ava were on about.

“Do you think you’re gonna be able to go back to sleep?” you ask kindly, fingers continuing their ministrations on his knee. “Or do you wanna talk for a bit?”

He doesn’t move his leg away. You watch as he draws his bottom lip between his teeth, eyebrows knitting together as he ponders almost adorably.

“Talk?” he says unsurely after a beat, turning to you. “I mean, if that’s okay. If not, then —“

“It’s okay,” you say, half amused, half comforting. “Completely okay.”

And that’s when you get to know Bob. He was finally making an effort to talk, and so were you.

“I told you!” you hear Alexei whisper scandalously the next morning, at the sight of your hand in Bob’s lap and his head on your shoulder. “I was right, he has a crush. And she is crushing too, little rascal.”

You pretend you didn’t hear, and hope no one notices your smile.