#bucky barnes self insert

[magical-reid]

The Soldier and His Mission

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Reader

Word Count: 1K

Summary: When a trigger sends Bucky back into the grip of the Winter Soldier, he shadows you with an unyielding protectiveness that leaves the team on edge, though he doesn't harm anyone. After days of tension and careful steps, Bucky finally breaks through the icy barrier, returning to himself in a quiet, tender moment, finding solace in your presence.

You should’ve known something was wrong the moment Bucky went still.

One second, the mission was wrapping up—just another Hydra facility wiped off the map, just another set of goons taken down. The next, something triggered him. A phrase muttered in Russian over a radio, the faintest crackle of a long-dead handler’s voice. You saw the shift in his posture before he even turned around, the telltale tightening of his jaw, the blankness overtaking those usually warm blue eyes.

Bucky Barnes was gone.

The Winter Soldier stood in his place.

And yet—he didn’t hurt you.

Not when he turned to face the team, his body language bristling with danger. Not when Steve hesitated before stepping forward, his hands raised in a placating gesture. And certainly not when you cautiously called his name, your voice softer than the others.

Instead, the Soldier moved between you and everyone else.

A shield.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Back at the Tower, you thought the episode would pass. That maybe, after a few hours, after enough familiar sights and sounds, Bucky would shake it off like he always did.

But the Soldier wasn’t leaving. And he had decided you were his mission.

Not to eliminate.

To protect.

At first, it was just hovering. You moved—he followed. You sat—he stood at your back, ever watchful. The others gave him space, exchanging worried glances when they thought you weren’t looking. Steve was tense, obviously trying to figure out how to break through, while Tony was less patient about it.

“This is a problem,” Stark declared after the first few hours, arms crossed as he leaned against the counter. “I mean, I hate to be the one to say it, but we have a fully armed, brainwashed assassin in the Tower again, and we all know how that went last time.”

“He’s not attacking anyone,” Natasha pointed out.

“Yet,” Tony shot back.

You ignored the argument as best you could, focusing instead on cooking something for Bucky—something normal, something familiar, something that might ground him. His eyes tracked you the entire time.

Then you miscalculated the heat on the stove.

The oil in the pan hissed and spat, and a second later, you hissed too as a sharp sting bloomed across your palm. You barely had time to react before there was a sudden blur of motion.

Bucky was on you instantly.

His flesh hand gripped your wrist, his metal one hovering protectively over the stove, as if it had personally attacked you. His face was unreadable, but his grip was firm, his hold gentle as he examined the burn.

“I’m okay,” you assured him, but he wasn’t listening.

Instead, he took the cold pack you hadn’t even reached for yet and pressed it carefully to your palm, his jaw tight, his brows furrowed in focus. You exchanged a look with Steve over Bucky’s shoulder, and the Captain exhaled, something like relief flashing in his eyes.

He was still in there.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The Soldier continued shadowing you for the next two days, much to Tony’s frustration. But as Natasha had pointed out—he wasn’t hurting anyone.

Unless they posed a threat to you.

That was something Steve learned firsthand during a sparring session. You had barely landed a hit before Bucky, watching from the sidelines, had moved. The next thing you knew, Steve was on his ass, blinking up at the ceiling, while Bucky stood between you like a human wall, eyes cold and calculating.

“For the record,” Steve grunted as he sat up, rubbing his ribs, “I was letting her win.”

Bucky wasn’t convinced.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

It wasn’t until you needed a medical checkup that things really came to a head.

“Barnes, I have to actually examine her,” Dr. Cho said patiently, eyeing where Bucky stood between you and the med bay’s equipment.

“No,” he replied flatly.

“Bucky—” you tried.

“The room is secure.”

“That’s not the—”

“She does not require assistance.”

“I do require assistance,” you corrected. “Because I burned my hand and twisted my shoulder thanks to a certain super soldier overreacting in the gym.”

Bucky didn’t move.

You exhaled slowly.

“Okay,” you said, shifting tactics. “Then stay.”

That got his attention.

“If you want to make sure nothing happens to me,” you reasoned, “then you can stay here. But you have to let the doctor check me out.”

His expression was unreadable for a long moment. Then, after what felt like an eternity—

“…Understood.”

Progress.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

When it finally broke, it wasn’t dramatic.

There was no grand trigger, no huge revelation.

Just a moment of quiet.

You had fallen asleep on the couch, exhaustion finally winning after two days of Bucky’s overprotective hovering. When you woke up, it was to warm hands gently brushing over your wrist—both flesh and metal, but softer this time, as if relearning the feeling of touching you.

And then you heard it—his breath hitching.

A tiny, barely-there sound, but one filled with something raw.

You blinked sleepily, looking up.

Bucky was staring at you. Not the Soldier. Bucky.

His face was pale, his jaw tight, his eyes wide—his real eyes.

“…Doll?” His voice cracked over the word, like it had been caught in his throat.

You smiled sleepily, shifting so your fingers curled around his. “Hey, Buck.”

His exhale was shaky. His shoulders sagged. And when you tugged him down to you, he didn’t resist.

He just buried his face in your neck and held on.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

“You scared the hell out of me, you know,” you murmured later, your fingers absentmindedly running through his hair as he rested against you.

“I know,” he admitted, voice rough.

“You threw Steve like a ragdoll.”

“…Yeah.”

“…Kind of hot, not gonna lie.”

A laugh. Quiet, but real.

And just like that, Bucky Barnes was back.

[4fterc4re]

"i could use someone like you.

someone who'll kill on my command,

and asks no questions. "

'Pyscho, Muse. '

[daydreamgoddess14]

I was going to sleep and then I read that summary and just had to have a quick little bedtime story to send me on my way...

so hot, so sexy 🤌

Coffee. Emergency. Thighs.

Summary: You told Bucky that the only time he’s allowed to wake you up is under three conditions: He has coffee. It’s an emergency. Or his head is between your thighs.

And today, he really, really wants to wake you up.

Pairing: Beefy!Biker Bucky x Reader

Word count: 1.6k

Warnings: Smut, Oral (fem receiving), consensual somnophilia, praise kink, body worship (Bucky has a thing for thighs).

A/N: Beta’d by the amazing @lunarbuck and @cwbucky. Based off an anon ask.

《Masterlist》《Biker!Masterlist》《Library》

You’ve always said that the only time he’s allowed to wake you up before your alarm goes off is under three conditions: if he has coffee waiting for you, it’s a dire emergency or if he has his head between your thighs.

Otherwise, you won’t be responsible for what you would do to him if he doesn’t allow you to sleep in.

He learned this after he woke you up one bright and way too early morning to ask if you remembered where he put his book—it was next to his watch by the way. You found it in less than three seconds and turned on him with a disgruntled gaze.

He can’t lie, he loved the fiery way you glared at him.

Do not wake me up again without a good reason, Bucky.

You pulled him down to your level and repeated yourself so slowly and with so much malice, that he instantly got hard. 

The way you aggressively manhandled Bucky, turned him on more than either of you expected. He spent a few hours apologizing to you, mostly with you on top of him. 

It’s a little after six, muted pinks, burnt oranges and streaks of blue mar the skyline, and enough light filters through the spaces around the curtains to illuminate the room in a dusky glow.

Bucky’s been awake for hours. He spent the first two on his back, staring at the ceiling, willing himself to get up and do something, anything.

But that would mean leaving you, all warm and soft and sleepy, he tried once, even got his leg over the edge of the bed but the light weight of your hand splayed across the ridges of his lower abs rendered him immobile, he has no choice but to stay in bed.

With you.

Keep reading

[sillygoose067]

Wrong Bag, Right Time

Lewis Pullman x Reader

You’re already regretting your decision to book the late-night flight by the time you step off the plane. Your brain is a thick fog, your legs are stiff, and your eyes are burning from a barely-there nap sandwiched between two chatty seatmates. The fluorescent airport lights feel like a personal attack as you shuffle through the terminal, clutching your carry-on and weaving through a sea of bleary-eyed travelers.

You follow the signs to the baggage claim, your body moving on autopilot, ears still ringing from the jet engines and the tinny airline announcements. You lean against a cool, steel column, rolling your shoulders back as you wait for the belt to start rumbling. Around you, people are already gathering, faces drawn and eyes darting every few seconds as the carousel creaks to life.

Bags start thudding onto the belt, one after another — a parade of black, navy, and occasionally neon roller bags that look like they’ve been through multiple rounds of airport roulette. You squint, eyes scanning the blur of luggage as it slowly snakes its way around the conveyor.

Your suitcase is black, a standard roller bag with a scuffed corner and a strip of faded, decorative tape around the handle — a last-minute attempt to make it easier to spot in the chaos. When you finally catch sight of it, you push through the small crowd, reaching for the handle just as a kid with a Spider-Man backpack nearly trips over his own shoes, forcing you to dodge sideways to avoid a collision.

You grab the suitcase and wrestle it off the belt, feeling the reassuring weight of your overpacked essentials as the wheels clatter onto the tile. It’s a little heavier than you remember, but then again, you crammed it full of work documents, laptop accessories, and enough backup phone chargers to power a small tech convention.

Dragging it toward the exit, you catch a glimpse of your reflection in the glossy airport windows — hair mussed, eyes smudged with exhaustion, and your blouse slightly wrinkled from a restless sleep against the plane window. You sigh, mentally promising yourself a long, hot shower the second you get to your hotel.

The shuttle to the car rental lot is packed, every inch of space claimed by tourists and business travelers with the same dazed expressions you’re sure you’re wearing. You brace yourself against a pole, your suitcase tucked between your knees as the bus lurches into motion, bumping over the uneven tarmac.

By the time you reach your hotel, you’re practically running on fumes, dragging your suitcase through the lobby and into the elevator with a series of clumsy, exhausted jerks. You fish out your key card, nearly dropping it twice before you manage to swipe it through the reader and stumble into your room.

Your heels come off first, clattering to the floor with a dull thud as you toss your bag onto the bed. You flick on the bedside lamp, the warm glow instantly making the small space feel a little less sterile.

The water from the shower is scalding, and you let it beat down on your shoulders, eyes closed as the steam fills the small bathroom, fogging the mirror and making the tiles beneath your feet slick. You let yourself stand there longer than necessary, feeling the tension slowly drain from your muscles, the ache in your lower back gradually easing.

Wrapped in a thick hotel towel, you shuffle back into the main room, hair dripping onto the carpet as you flip open your suitcase, ready to dig out your comfiest, most threadbare shirt and collapse into bed.

But when you peel back the top layer of clothing, your fingers don’t hit neatly folded blouses or the sensible, corporate slacks you’d meticulously packed. Instead, you pull out a rumpled Led Zeppelin tee, its soft, well-worn fabric clearly belonging to someone who’s spent years living in it.

You blink, holding it up, the faded graphic stretching across the front like a relic from another lifetime. Confused, you dig deeper, pulling out a small mountain of band tees, a denim jacket with fraying patches sewn into the sleeves, and a battered leather notebook, its cover creased and edges worn.

Your pulse quickens as you flip through the pages, finding half-finished sketches, messy notes in looping cursive, and the occasional smudge of ink where someone clearly wrote in a hurry. There’s a faint, musky scent clinging to the pages, a mix of worn leather and old cologne.

“Wait...” you murmur, setting the notebook aside as you reach for a thick stack of papers wedged against the side of the case. It’s a printed script, the title bold at the top and someone’s lines heavily highlighted in yellow.

You glance back at the open suitcase, your mind racing, heart thudding against your ribs as you fish out a small, laminated luggage tag tangled in the zipper. It flips over in your hand, the plastic cool and slightly warped from years of travel.

“L.P.”

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.” You sink onto the edge of the bed, the towel slipping from your shoulders as you stare at the mismatched pile of someone else’s life spread across your hotel sheets.

---

Across town, Lewis Pullman hauls his suitcase up the narrow stairwell to his apartment, one hand gripping the railing as he leans into the climb, every muscle in his legs protesting the final stretch. He fumbles for his keys, and finally shoulders his way inside, the familiar, comforting chaos of his one-bedroom coming into focus as he kicks the door shut behind him.

He toes off his boots, letting them fall wherever they land, and drags the suitcase into his cramped living room, tossing his jacket onto the back of the couch. The streetlights outside cast thin, golden strips across the walls, and his refrigerator hums steadily in the otherwise silent space.

He flips open the suitcase, too tired to even think about organizing, and reaches blindly for a clean shirt. Instead, his hand lands on something stiff and sharply pressed.

Lewis frowns, pulling out a neatly folded stack of dress shirts, their collars crisp and perfectly creased. He blinks, eyebrows knitting together as he digs deeper, pulling out tailored slacks and a leather-bound planner with a small, discreet logo embossed on the corner.

“What the...” He flips the planner open, eyes skimming over tightly packed meeting notes, detailed itineraries, and a color-coded calendar that looks like the work of someone who genuinely enjoys spreadsheets.

He reaches for a thick, intimidating-looking folder marked “Confidential” in bold letters, his heart sinking further as he flips it open to reveal a stack of professionally printed documents.

“Oh, no. No, no, no.” He lets the folder drop onto the floor, running a hand through his already messy hair as he stares at the unfamiliar contents of what is very clearly not his suitcase.

Somewhere out there, someone is currently rifling through his tangle of band tees, scribbled notes, and, worst of all, his heavily highlighted script for a new gig he'd just scored.

---

You stare at the suitcase spread open on your hotel bed, the pile of band tees and creased notebook sitting there like a physical reminder of the chaos your life has just become. You should do something — call the airline, maybe, or at least try to figure out who this L.P. is before their missing luggage becomes your permanent problem.

But you’re exhausted. The kind of tired that settles deep in your bones, turning your thoughts into molasses and making even the simplest task feel monumental.

You let out a long, frustrated sigh, rubbing your eyes and glancing at the clock on the bedside table. It’s already pushing 1 a.m., and the idea of trying to navigate a customer service call right now feels like a special kind of hell.

“Alright, fine,” you mutter to the empty room, tossing the vintage tees back into the suitcase and flipping the lid closed. You’ll deal with it in the morning, when your brain is at least somewhat functional. For now, you just need sleep.

You crawl into bed, still vaguely damp from the shower, and tug the covers up to your chin. The mattress is firmer than you’d like, the pillow a little too thin, but it doesn’t take long for the steady hum of the hotel air conditioning to lull you into a deep, dreamless sleep.

---

Across town, Lewis drops onto his couch, head thudding against the worn armrest as he stares up at the cracked ceiling. The folder of mysterious corporate documents is still sitting on the coffee table, its thick, embossed cover practically daring him to open it again.

He considers getting up, maybe flipping through the papers for a hint about who his mystery bag-swapping stranger might be, but the thought alone makes his eyes feel heavier. He’s not exactly equipped for a late-night detective mission right now, not with the remnants of jet lag still clinging to his brain like a wet blanket.

“Tomorrow,” he grumbles, kicking his feet up onto the armrest and letting his eyes drift shut. He’ll deal with it in the morning, when his brain isn’t actively trying to shut down.

---

The next morning comes far too quickly. You wake to the sharp, insistent chime of your phone alarm, the sound cutting through your foggy consciousness like a knife. You groan, slapping at your phone until it goes blessedly silent, and roll onto your back, staring up at the bland, popcorn-textured ceiling.

It takes a moment for the events of the previous night to come rushing back — the wrong suitcase, the unfamiliar band tees, the mysterious L.P. luggage tag. You sit up slowly, rubbing at your eyes and trying to shake the lingering cobwebs from your brain.

First things first: your own suitcase. You’d had the foresight to slip an Apple AirTag into one of the side pockets before your flight, a small, paranoid part of you always worrying about exactly this kind of mix-up.

You grab your phone, opening the Find My app with a flick of your thumb, but the screen just loads into a frustratingly empty map, the little green dot stubbornly refusing to show up. Too far away, probably. You grit your teeth, already regretting not springing for the upgraded model with the longer range.

You tap the call icon and put the phone to your ear, bouncing your knee as it rings.

“Thank you for calling Apple Support. Please hold while we connect you to the next available representative.”

You resist the urge to groan, your fingers tapping an impatient rhythm against the hotel comforter as the tinny hold music crackles in your ear.

---

Across town, Lewis is having his own version of a chaotic morning. He’s halfway through his second cup of coffee, hair still damp from a hurried shower, as he flips through the stack of neatly printed documents that had been sitting in what he thought was his suitcase.

Every page is packed with dense, professional text — contracts, meeting agendas, and what looks like a series of legal documents with a name scrawled at the bottom in neat, looping handwriting.

“Alright,” he mutters to himself, leaning back against the kitchen counter as he taps the name into his phone’s search bar.

Results flood the screen, a frustratingly long list of people with the same name scattered across LinkedIn profiles, news articles, and random blog posts. He scrolls through the first few pages, trying to find anything that might match the person he accidentally luggage-swapped with, but it’s like looking for a needle in a very, very crowded haystack.

He blows out a breath, tossing his phone onto the counter and rubbing the back of his neck. His manager is going to kill him when they find out about this. Still, he can’t exactly let a stranger hold on to his scribbled notes and half-finished script forever.

“Alright, screw it,” he says, grabbing his phone again and pulling up his manager’s contact.

“Sam, hey, I’ve got a situation,” he says as soon as the line connects, pacing a tight circle in his small kitchen. “No, it’s not like last time. I just... I might have swapped bags with someone at the airport, and I have no idea who they are, but they’ve got my script. And my stuff. All my stuff.”

There’s a long pause on the other end, the kind that usually means Sam is resisting the urge to throw his phone against the nearest wall.

“Okay,” Sam finally says, his voice a carefully measured calm. “Here’s what you’re going to do. You’re going to take the bag you’ve got and head back to the airport. There’s a decent chance the other person will do the same once they realize they’ve got the wrong bag.”

Lewis sighs, glancing at the stack of neatly folded dress shirts and leather-bound planner sitting innocently on his counter.

“Yeah, alright,” he mutters, grabbing his keys off the hook by the door. “I’m on my way.”

---

Meanwhile, your Apple Support call finally connects, a cheery voice on the other end promising to walk you through the steps to locate your missing suitcase. You glance over at the still-open bag on the bed, the crumpled script catching your eye.

Maybe it’s time to finally figure out who the hell L.P. is. You grab the thick stack of papers, flipping to the cover page and skimming the title. Your eyes widen as the name Lewis Pullman jumps out at you, the pieces suddenly falling into place.

Lewis Pullman. The actor. Bill Pullman’s son.

You stare at the script in your hands, heart thudding in your chest as the full weight of your accidental heist hits you.

“Oh, no,” you mutter, sinking back onto the bed. “What have I done?”

---

Lewis taps his fingers against the steering wheel, jaw tight as he stares at the congested freeway ahead. The morning sun glares off the windshields around him, turning the LA traffic into a slow, blinding crawl. He glances at the passenger seat, where your neatly packed suitcase sits like a silent accusation, the crisp corners and tasteful leather trim a stark contrast to the chaos he’s used to.

By the time he finally reaches LAX, the nerves in his stomach have twisted into a full-on knot. He parks and hauls the suitcase through the labyrinth of terminals, the weight of his mistake pressing down on his shoulders.

The airport is buzzing with activity, the steady thrum of engines and the chaotic clatter of luggage creating a backdrop of controlled chaos as he heads for the airline counter.

The attendant at the lost and found desk looks up, raising a perfectly manicured eyebrow as Lewis approaches, his suitcase clutched in a white-knuckled grip.

“Hi, I... I think I accidentally swapped bags with someone on my flight last night,” he says, his voice coming out a little more strained than he intended. He sets your suitcase on the counter, running a hand through his hair as he tries to sound less like a sleep-deprived mess. “This isn’t mine. I’m hoping the person who has mine will come looking for theirs, too.”

The attendant nods, typing something into the computer and giving him a weary, knowing smile — the kind that says this isn’t the first time someone’s stumbled in with the wrong bag and a panicked expression.

“Just leave it here,” she says, slapping a tag on the handle and sliding it onto the cart behind her. “If the other person comes by, we’ll let them know you dropped it off.”

Lewis hesitates, fingers still wrapped around the handle, his brain fighting a ridiculous urge to hold onto the bag a little longer. He gives it a final, reluctant nudge, watching as the cart wheels it away and disappears into the maze of behind-the-scenes airport chaos.

With a deep, tired sigh, he turns and heads back to his car, hands shoved into his pockets as the sounds of the bustling terminal fade behind him.

---

Meanwhile, back in your hotel room, you’ve entered the frantic, mildly horrifying phase of a full-on internet spiral. Your laptop is balanced precariously on the edge of the bed, multiple tabs open on Lewis Pullman.

You grab your phone, pacing the small stretch of carpet between the bed and the window as you pull up his IMDb page, half-hoping there’ll be a contact button you can just click to resolve this mess. But of course, there isn’t. The closest you get is a list of his past projects and a handful of magazine interviews that all seem to paint him as the down-to-earth, quietly intense type.

Finally, after what feels like a small eternity of frantic googling, you stumble across what you think might be his manager’s number, tucked away on an obscure industry listing. You dial it, hands shaking a little as the line rings, each passing second making your pulse thud harder against your ribs.

Voicemail.

You hang up, your breath coming out in a short, frustrated huff as you toss your phone onto the bed. You’re tempted to try again, maybe leave a message this time, but something about the whole situation already feels too much like a scene from a bad rom-com, and you’re not sure you can handle the embarrassment of leaving a rambling, half-panicked voicemail for a guy you’ve never even met.

Finally, you decide to cut your losses and head back to the airport, clutching Lewis’s battered suitcase like a lifeline as you weave through the bustling lobby and make a beeline for the lost and found desk.

An attendant is sitting there, her expression unimpressed as she types away at her computer. You clear your throat, shifting your weight nervously as you set the bag on the counter.

“Hi, I think I accidentally swapped bags with someone on my flight last night,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady. “I just... I just want to leave this here, in case they come looking for it. It’s got a lot of their stuff in it, and I’m, um, really hoping mine is still somewhere in the system.”

The attendant glances at you over the top of her computer, her expression a mix of boredom and mild curiosity. She slaps a tag onto the handle of the suitcase and adds it to the same cart Lewis’s bag disappeared on earlier.

“We’ll call you if we find anything,” she says, already turning back to her screen.

You nod, swallowing the lump in your throat as you scribble your name and number on the form she slides your way. It feels weirdly final, like you’re closing the book on a strange, mildly mortifying chapter of your life.

---

A few weeks pass, and the whole suitcase fiasco slowly slips into the background noise of your daily routine — a bizarre, slightly embarrassing story you’ll probably share with friends over drinks someday.

But then, just as you’re starting to convince yourself that you’ll never see your meticulously packed suitcase again, your phone buzzes with a call from an unknown number.

“Hello?” you say, balancing your phone against your shoulder as you fumble with your laptop.

“Hi, this is LAX Lost and Found. We’ve located your suitcase. You can come pick it up anytime this evening.”

---

You arrive at the counter a little breathless, the memory of your original suitcase still a fresh sting as you approach. But just as you step up to the desk, another figure rushes up beside you, his sneakers squeaking against the polished tile.

“Hi, I’m here to pick up my suitcase —” you both start, your voices overlapping in a messy, tangled echo.

You glance at each other, both of you wide-eyed and a little winded, and then immediately look away, the awkward tension settling like a heavy fog. He’s tall, a little scruffy around the edges, his hair tousled like he’s run his hands through it one too many times. There’s a brief flicker of recognition in his eyes, like he’s trying to place you, but then he quickly looks down, rubbing the back of his neck as if he’s suddenly aware of how tightly the air feels around you both.

The attendant rolls her eyes, bending to grab two identical suitcases from the back, her movements sharp with barely disguised exasperation.

“Here,” she says, shoving both bags onto the counter with a loud thunk. “I assume you two know which is which this time?”

You and Lewis both reach for your respective bags, pausing to double-check the scuffs and ID tags, even unzipping the top a few inches just to be sure.

When you both exhale in relief, catching each other’s eye for a split second, his mouth opens, closes, and then opens again, like he’s trying to catch the right words before they slip away.

“Uh, hey,” he starts, one hand gripping the handle of his suitcase, the other half-raised in a tentative gesture. “I, uh... just wanted to say thanks for, you know, bringing my stuff back. I know that, uh, it probably... wasn’t the most convenient thing.” He lets out a little breathy chuckle, eyes dropping to his shoes for a second. “I mean, I’m not sure what I would’ve done if you hadn’t.”

You let out a small, relieved laugh, the lingering tension breaking like the first crack of a smile after a long, awkward silence.

“No, it’s fine. I... kinda panicked when I realized what I had. Almost didn’t want to touch anything, but, uh... yeah.” You bite your lip, feeling a little of the same nervous energy radiating off him.

He nods, his shoulders relaxing a bit, and he shifts his weight from one foot to the other, like he’s working up the nerve for something.

“So, uh...” he hesitates, his gaze flicking back up to yours, the corners of his mouth twitching in a hesitant, lopsided grin. “Maybe we could, I dunno, grab a coffee sometime? Or, uh, dinner, if that’s... less weird?”

You blink, a little caught off guard by the sudden offer, but the earnest, slightly flustered look on his face makes it hard not to smile.

“Yeah,” you say, nodding before you can second-guess yourself. “Dinner sounds nice.”

“Cool, cool,” he says quickly, letting out a breath that sounds suspiciously like a silent cheer. He fumbles for his phone, nearly dropping it as he tries to unlock it with one hand, his cheeks turning a little pink. “Uh, here, just... give me your number and I’ll... yeah.”

You chuckle, tapping your info into his phone as he watches, his eyes crinkling at the edges when you hand it back.

“Alright, well... I’ll text you,” he says, stepping back with a little half-wave. “Thanks again. Seriously.”

You nod, your heart doing an odd little flip as you watch him turn and weave back into the airport crowd, his suitcase rolling behind him, the wheels clattering against the polished floor.

[darkredsugarcookie]

Hi!! I’m new here so I’m sorry if I do this wrong. Just want to send some Thunderbolts!Bucky ideas maybe he called his girlfriend (the reader) for backup (maybe she’s a former shield agent) but didn’t share too many info with the group and they all a little surprised to find out he has a girlfriend

Let me know what you think, thanks!

i absolutely LOVE this!!! Ever since I saw Thunderbolts I've been thinking about almost this exact thing and I got another ask for something similar, so here we are! I'm also tempted to make a part two of this but focus on the two of them more and make it a comfort thing to apologize for my shame room fic LOL

love you 3000!

Signed Up For This

Word count: 1,143

As far as the media knew, the two of you were nothing more than acquaintances. 

But it was a bond that had gone back a lifetime, from when the two of you had first met when you were fresh out of escaping the Red Room, to when he was the contact you had made to get a fresh start on life and he was in the process of trying to make amends with his existence, so he had offered to get coffee. “We both need some… new connections,” he had said, offering that awkward smile that you had fallen for almost as quickly as he’d fallen for you. 

It was your idea to keep it a secret. You knew how he felt about weaknesses and you were currently the only one he really had. If anyone knew the truth… God, it terrified him. The idea of losing the one pure and right thing he’d gained in this side of the century drove him into a panic more often than he’d admit. So he was glad you had brought it up, worried you might be offended or think he was ashamed of you.

Which was what made him making you the head of his security when he decided to run for Congress a little out of the blue, but you took it. Any opportunity to be close. Plus… who said sneaking around at work was for teenagers? 

But tonight, you had a different reason for asking to speak to him in private in the middle of the fundraiser gala. You knew that look on his face. That look that said he was plotting when he very much should not have been. 

“What are you thinking?” you asked, peeking around the corner for a moment before your gaze fixed on him again. It was a miracle his hair had stayed in place, but there was a reason he always made you do it for him. “I can see that look.”

“What look?” he replied, that dumb grin you’d fallen for years ago pulling at his mouth. “I’m not thinking.”

“You are such a liar, James Barnes. I can see it. Whatever you’re thinking, leave it alone. We are past our meddling days.”

“I’m not meddling,” he said. 

You tilted your head. “Do not let this stuff with Valentina get personal. You can’t afford to get in trouble with all this.” 

“The politics don’t—”

“I’m not talking about politics,” you said. “I’m talking about you, Buck. We don’t know for sure what’s going on and we can’t act until we do. Otherwise we’ll be in just as much trouble as she is.”

“I talked to her assistant,” Bucky said. 

“Her assistant? Mel?” 

“Yes. She’s on the fence.” 

“Okay. Tell her to call you when she’s made a decision. Don’t make it your job to change her mind,” you said, taking a step closer. He just stood there a moment, looking you over. Not in that ‘get in the office and take off that dress’ kind of way he normally did, but like he was just taking in your existence. “You told me that my job as your security is to keep you safe. But my job as your fiance is to make sure that we’re not making dumb decisions. Let Mel come to you.”

He nodded, reaching for your waist to tug your body closer. Normally you’d pull away in a setting like this, even hidden, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do so. Not now. Not when you had that feeling in your stomach that something was just off. And that feeling had never led you astray. “I just make your job harder, don’t I?” he said with a small, teasing smile. 

“You do, but I signed up for it,” you replied. 

“I’ll be good,” he said, nodding. “But… Mel’s just a kid. If she needs help—”

“Help her,” I said. “And if she needs more than that, call me.” 

He leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to your mouth. “My best girl,” he whispered. 

“Always.”

And you should’ve known after that conversation that it was only a matter of time. Within thirty-six hours, you were sent a pin drop link to some place in the middle of nowhere and a message that just said “need you.”

You’d tugged on that leather uniform jacket you hadn’t touched in a long time and braided back your hair before pulling up to some abandoned garage in the middle of nowhere, intel in hand. You could hear voices from inside, something about a “Bob” and exclamations of words you hardly understood. 

You shoved through the rusted door, swiping up on the tab in your hands. “She took over the old Avengers tower,” you said, approaching and offering Bucky the tablet. “Heat signatures say she has the place crawling with security and I ran facial rec on the guy she brought in early this morning.”

“So guns blazing is the only way in,” Bucky said, reaching to squeeze your hand in a silent thank you. 

You shrugged your shoulders. “Guess so,” you replied before turning to the abstract group of circus people tied up in front of you. And John. “What the hell happened here? Bucky, I told you to just leave Walker alone, he’s been through enough.”

“Who are you?” the little blonde in black asked. If you squinted, you might recognize her. Like some sort of really distant, childhood memory. 

Bucky blew out a breath before you could answer. “She’s my fiance.”

“Your what?” came from all four of them. 

“He’s married?” the brunette asked. 

“In the process,” I corrected. 

“How did that happen?” Walker muttered. 

“Oh, that is cute!” the large one exclaimed, seeming to be way too happy considering the circumstance.

You glanced at Bucky, your arms folded over your chest. “This is… who was so important?” 

“They’re witnesses,” Bucky said, giving you a look as if to tell you to be kind. 

A sigh escaped your lips as you looked at the others. “Most ragtag team I’ve ever seen,” you said, shaking your head. “What, exactly, is the plan here?”

“Well, originally, they were my witnesses,” Bucky said, tucking his phone into his back pocket. “But now the agenda looks a little different. Take out Val, help Bob. Then we go home.” 

“Bob?” You asked. “Like Robert?” You took the tablet from his hands and swiped it open. “Yeah, he’s a big deal now. If we’re gonna move, we need to do it fast.” You swapped a knowing look with Bucky as he nodded. “I’ll start the car.” 

As you made your way towards the door, you heard the voices behind you. 

“So you’re really not all bite, huh?” one of the girls said. 

“Someone really does have a soft spot.”

“Isn’t that cute."

And despite yourself, a small smile pulled at your lips.

[iamthatonefangirl]

sensitive - thunderbolts* bucky barnes

disclaimer: mentions of mental health, lots of talk of insecurities, bucky/hydra yk how it is. a lot of this is very close to home for me, so please read at your own discretion.

this came from this thought i posted about yesterday.

*written before the movie came out, no spoilers ahead*

~~~

fuck, you could do this forever. if this was the only thing you could do for the rest of your life, you would die content. 

you wanted to devour him. 

you had him laid out on your bed, finally reciprocating the princess treatment he always gave you. that’s what you deserved, he would always tell you, only the best for you.

but now it’s your turn to do what you will with him. show him that he deserves princess treatment, even if it makes his face flush pink.  

you slowly peel his clothes off, watching like you’ve never done this before, never seen him undressed for you before. it’s been how many hundreds of times, and yet, you feel like you never get the chance to just look. you decide to take that chance now, knowing you have all the time in the world to just be in this moment, with him.

a much needed moment of reprieve to just be together, just the two of you.

his pants come off first, then his shirt, and you trail your mouth from his neck down to your chest. “such pretty tits, baby,” you say to him, partially teasing him, but you mean it with your entire heart. you leave marks all over, not letting an inch of his chest go unkissed.

“shut up,” he responds, his face going pink, but he loves it. he loves when you call him pretty, loves knowing how much you want him, even when you embarrass him with little comments like those. he soaks up every moment of it, of you on top of him, just worshipping him. 

you gently touch over his soft skin, letting him relax into the feeling; you slowly feel the tension in his body start to slip away. you know well enough by now to know that it means the anxieties in his head are calming, so you take it as a sign to keep going. 

you trail your fingers up to the scarred tissue across his shoulder, a brutal reminder of the tortures he once suffered at the hands of the cruel scientists and power-hungry motherfuckers–

your rage can wait. 

your touch is ever so delicate over his skin, cautious that you don’t hurt him in the process. all you want is to make him feel loved, cared for. teach him to associate this part of him not with what was done to him, but with the love and care you have for even the parts of himself he hates the most. 

you bring your mouth to kiss his shoulder and, of course, he tenses. but this time, it’s not as bad, you realize. it’s more of a surprise than a scare. 

joy always fills your heart when you realize that something you’re doing is working. that he’s learning to trust you, blindly. that he wants to trust you, no hesitations and no questions asked.

you card your other hand through his hair, pressing your lips to his temple before bringing them back to his scars. 

he lets you. his hands come gently to your hips, to ground himself that you’re real, that you’re there with him, that he’s not crazy. to tell himself that he’s not still stuck in hydra’s grasp, and he is most certainly not dreaming of a life he’ll never have.

because you’re real. this is the life he gets to live now, with you. 

you’re his. something real, something soft, something he wants more than anything. so he lets himself feel your skin. your lips on his scars. your hips under his hold. 

once he’s well and relaxed, keening into your touch, you keep going, kissing down his stomach. 

he doesn’t miss anything about hydra. he doesn’t miss anything about being the winter soldier. 

but if he’s honest?

he mourns the loss of the chiseled figure he once had. he wonders if you would love him more like that, pure muscle, perfectly toned. 

and then your words come to his head, reminding him that’s not real. that’s the product of the constant physical strain he was under, the lack of proper nourishment. it’s not real. 

but sometimes, that’s not enough to ease his worries of needing to be better, to be perfect for you. 

you don’t think you’ll ever convince him of how perfect he is, but you’ll spend the rest of your life trying to. 

your hands come to his waist, still not letting an inch of his skin go untouched by your soft lips.

he sighs and his hands come to your hair. “baby, stop,” he whispers. he doesn’t mean it, but he can’t stop himself from the doubts taking over in his mind. 

“what’s wrong?” you inquire. you know what’s wrong, and he gives you that look. you both know–it doesn’t need to be said out loud.

“I love you like this, baby,” you promise him with another kiss to his waist. he shifts uncomfortably. 

it breaks your heart. 

“don’t you like my tummy, baby?” you try, voice soft and sweet, voicing your own insecurities to just show him–

“yeah, but it’s sexy on you, baby,” he argues. you shake your head. fuck that.

“then why can’t I think the same about you, baby?” you try, roaming your hands over his soft skin. 

he huffs. 

“you know I’m right…” you say, punctuating it with another kiss. you keep going, and eventually his hands come to your hair, gently stroking your head and silently showing his acceptance of your affections. it makes your heart soar. 

you wish you could express to this man how much you love him, how much you trust him. there’s not a single thing wrong with him. 

for now, you’ll keep reminding him with your words and your lips, because he deserves it. all of it.

~~~

masterlist

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[bluetimeombre]

'Bye Sebastian!'

You had stared in the most of the movies of all. The cast love you, maybe some men love you more than others (fem reader)...

[this is a complete self indulgence piece of writing for me. I have loved marvel for YEARS and I always watched interviews of them all and wanted to be apart of it, it's hilarious. So this is just some of the best parts that I love, for you. Would love to do a part two...]

YOU AND MARVEL... Marvel and you. It was like bread and butter. Like peas in a pod. You were the youngest of the original seven, you were in the most movies. You were the most loved, cast and crew and fans.

Perhaps some loved you more than others...

SEBASTIAN, MACKIE & YOU,

thirst tweets,.,

Quite possibly one of the most chaotic and best loved trio's of the Marvel cast. The three of you played friends of Captain America, in some cases, maybe some of you played something a little more. But behind the scenes, the three of you made the perfect trio.

Sebastian's quiet soul with your constantly gushing one. And Mackie was there... usually to bring out the worst in you.

Once, when the three of you were staring in a Marvel show and you were all forced to read thirst tweets to each other, it got too sweet.

"I've done this far too many times," you said as Sebastian held the bucket out to you.

He grinned. "And yet the people still find the filthiest things to say about you."

"Preach," added Anthony.

Sebastian dug in first. "I want someone to look at me the way Sebastian Stan and Y/N look at each other."

The both of you aww and pull little faces to each other. You'd started the Marvel journey together, so maybe you and Seb had soft spots for each other.

Mackie was off to the side. "That's great.... that's great."

"I look at Mackie with pure loathing, so," you shrug.

Mackie takes another piece of paper. Reading: "Anthony Mackie you cutie patootie, come sit on my face I will eat you ass like a fudge brownie."

"Oh my-" you can't hide your shock as you cup your hand over your mouth and hide your blushing face.

"First of all," said Mackie. "Send a ticket bitch, let's do this."

You shake your head, still getting rid of your blush.

Sebastian's turn is next. "I don't even know what this means- Sebastian Stan is one thicc B-I-H."

You and Anthony nod. "Bitch," you both inform him.

"Right," he nods. "That's-that's kind."

"So true," you add, going in for yours. "I just wanna be Y/N's stay at home husband. The dishes will be clean, the laundry will be done and her ass will be ate- what is with all this ass eating," you look around as Mackie laughs, clapping you on the shoulder. "But thank you, I guess."

"Dog, that's already me," said Mackie, stealing the paper from you and throwing it into the distance.

You look aghast. "Anthony Mackie is not allowed anywhere near my ass."

Sebastian took another paper and started to read, chuckling to himself. "Listen, when Y/N said 'those steal blue eyes let you know where home is, that's my safe place,' about Sebastian's eyes, bitch I felt that."

"Well done for reading Bitch this time," you nudged him, proud.

Sebastian playfully glared at you, flexing his jaw like he would bite. "They didn't spell it out like that last time!"

"How do you feel about that?" asked Anthony.

Seb only meant to glance at you to share a smile but it turned to a smirk.

Of course Mackie caught up on this. "Don't look at us like that, man, you gotta look in the distance when you talk to us."

Sebastian blushed. "No I feel good, It's a good feeling, it's good."

Mackie took another paper. "Thinking about Anthony Mackie taking a nap on Sebastian Stan's couch, don't bother me."

You start cackling immediately, looking to Seb who laughed as you immediately knew where it was going.

"You have a nice couch man," said Mackie, smirking and playing it on.

"You've put this on the internet-" said Seb. "You've never seen it!"

"You have a nice couch homie!"

"He's never been to my house!" Sebastian told the camera firmly.

"That's a lie-" said Mackie as you continue to laugh to yourself in between them, "alright fine, you scared of people breaking in because of your couch, alright fine it's an awful couch." Anthony gave the camera a stern look.

"The only person to have been on my couch is Y/N and that's how it stays!" said Seb.

It's your turn to look to the camera and win, throwing your thumbs up and mouthing 'I win.'

escape room,.,

There was another time when you proved how great of a trio you were, even in a group of other people. When you, Sebastian, Anthony, Letitia and Benedict all had to do an escape room.

"Oh it's for real, they're locking us in guys!" said Letitia as the door locked and red sign flared.

Dramatically, you pulled on the handle, leaving it with all your weight. Sebastian behind you laughed.

"Chances are they don't make it out in time," Joe Russo, the director of the film and also the one to suggest this, said through the walkie talkie, but didn't realise they were linked into the room.

"Hey!" you protest.

"Find the stones," he said.

You nod and head over to Benedict Cumberbatch, patting his shoulders. "This is all you Sherlock." You instead made it your mission to just be annoying with Mackie at your side, the camera's picking up on all of it.

Eventually, Sebastian joins you and the two of you spend a good time looking around the room, trying to figure it out together.

"You better check your draws, Y/N," said the voice of Joe Russo.

Mackie clicked at you. "Y/N, take your pants off, dude."

You act to oblige but Sebastian had already found the real clue to whish Mackie whines loudly at the fact you weren't taking your pants off.

You and the group get the cards of the stones, Sebastian adding more and more as he finds most of them. Benedict finds the last one in the clock.

"Ah, that's what I was gonna do!" said Mackie.

"This is too much fun," said Russo.

"We can hear you!" you call as everyone else tries to find out the code, Sebastian alone in a corner.

"What's the number of your apartment?" asked Letitia. "Strange?"

"How's he supposed to know, he shot that film five years ago," you joke.

As everyone still tired to find out the code, you headed over to the camera man, whispering in. "I'm being really helpful."

Seb joined your side, arm ghosting your back. He hardly minded the camera crew as he asked you. "Do you think lunch will be after this?"

In that time, the code had been found, a laser had been pointed and Mackie had thrust a card into your hand, which you waved around without knowing what it was for.

"Y/N, you're holding the de-coder," said Russo.

You look around helplessly and shrug, leaving Sebastian laughing at you. But then came Anthony's desperate call for you two.

"It's this way!" the two of you chase after him, laughing all the way.

red carpets,.,

You were in the middle of an interview during the Civil war press conference, where names were being screamed and stars were flooding the carpet.

It was all going well before Mackie caught wind of you being around, and he walked over with Sebastian to greet you.

"Woah," they said.

"Oh no," you shake your head.

"Y/N, man you're looking good," said Mackie, standing up on the platform with you. "Man, oh man, let me tell you something-"

"No!" you chuckle as he throws a friendly arm around your shoulder. You notice Sebastian watching and through a helpful look at him.

"You ever see someone this good looking walking down the street, they gonna get arrested, cause they're killing everybody," said Mackie, "Look at this, pow-pow, pow-pow, pow!"

"Why don't I just let you interview each other?" said the interviewer.

Mackie took it as invitation to steal the mic and to urge the lady on, pulling up Sebastian instead. "Go on then, go on, get outta here, get outta here!" He took to looking in the camera. "Hey how's it going, I'm here with Sebastian Stan interviewing Y/N at the Civil War premier, one of the stars of Civil war-"

"One of them?"

"Tell me, Y/N, how's it going? How you feeling tonight?" asked Mackie while Sebastian couldn't do anything but stare and fix his blazer, trying to look his best.

"Next to you? Strong."

Mackie giggled.

"I'm breathing in your cologne right now, it's strong, it's good," you pat him on the shoulder.

"Hey, i'm not a player, I just shower a lot," he said to the camera.

You laugh and slowly pry the mic from his hands. "I wanna know about these two gentlemen over here, mainly Mr Sebastian Stan, tell me Sebastian, who are you wearing tonight?"

You lean across Mackie, acting as if he wasn't there to which he pretends to take offense for. It takes Seb a moment of two to stop his blushing and smiling to answer you.

"Prada, Y/N."

"Ohh, a lot of Prada," you and Mackie cheer together. "That's not me that's Jay-Z. Little black, on grey, on black, I like it," went on Mackie.

Sebastian looked to you. "Do you- do you like it?"

Mackie helped you aim the microphone to your lips.

"I love it. Love the pocket-square, really brings out your eyes."

"Someone said to me, you look like you just came out of a Chinese restaurants, I said- maybe I did!" he joked, causing you and Mackie to hold on and laugh.

"Ok so what about your workout routine?" you ask, as a way of really hitting the hard questions. You cross your arms over your chest and talk into the mic, practically blocking out Mackie, "I think the people want to know how you get all hot and sweaty. I mean- what's your chest at now, a forty-eight?"

Sebastian stops you, an accusing finger in your face getting closer. "Hang on, the last time I saw you you said I was getting smaller!"

"No, actually. I think the last time I saw you I promised I'd climb you like a tree, that-"

Mackie waved his arms around, stealing your microphone as you and Sebastian laugh, teasing each other away from the ears of the mic. "Woah, woah, woah... woah!"

And it happened again, a few years later at the premier of Endgame.

Sebastian and Anthony's character had dusted, yours hadn't so you didn't have much time to spend with them, but when you did, you all made sure to make the most chaos you could.

You creep up on an interview with Sebastian, slowly wrapping your arms around his waist and standing there, non-chalant.

It took Sebastian all of one second to know it was you.

"Oh my god, you!" he embraced you quickly, smoothing down any wrinkle he made in your outfit.

"How are you?" your voice is muffled from his side as he holds you.

"I was about to get my dance on, i'm so glad you're here!" he said, letting you go but keeping an arm around your waist.

"Your dance on?" you look between him and the interviewer, quickly saying hello.

"Yeah, she snapped, but it meant that I dusted, you know," he said.

You shrug. "Oh and you just wanted to show us your moves?"

"Yeah I was getting ready," he said. Then. Sebastian Stan took a step back, a hand on your shoulder and looked you over. "Wow, you look amazing!"

"So do you, you know your suit matches your eyes."

Suddenly, from behind the two of you, Anthony Mackie popped up and plucked the microphone from the lady and the two of you make room for him, chuckling.

"Let me tell you something- we're here-" said Mackie.

"Not again!"

"We're here with Sebastian and Y/N, here today. One the mark of greatness, another the measure of beauty. How does it feel- no, actually, Y/N, do you have any funny antidotes from what happened two years ago on set?"

You nod. "So many, you weren't in any of them," you said in the mic as Anthony pushed it closer and closer into your face.

"Was there anyone you hated on set?"

You pretend to think about it. "Um yes, Chris Hemsworth."

"Is there anyone who hates you?"

"Yes, Chris Hemsworth."

"No," Sebastian chuckled, "no one hates you."

"You're wrong, Chris Hemsworth."

"Where is he tonight?" asked Mackie, again shoving the foam of the microphone into your face.

"Far away from me," you say deep into it.

"Ok, cool, cool, i'm gonna make sure to interview Hemsworth tonight, how does that make you feel?"

"Please do."

Sebastian boasted about Mackie's suit, pointing out the pocket square tucked in his blazer pocket. "You got my Christmas gift to you?"

"I did," said Mackie, grinning, turning to explain to those listening. "He sent me a pocket square of Y/N's face."

You gasp. "I want one!"

Mackie laughed. "I put it in my pocket, hold it close to my heart."

The three of you continued to chat, bringing up the escape room you did earlier in the day.

"It was my first time doing an escape room, actually," Sebastian informed the two of you.

Mackie and you gasped, dramatically. "Mine too!" you both said.

"Oh my god I think they're in love," Said the interviewer.

"Woah, that's so crazy," Mackie said. "You know the three of us, we're just so- it's so- we just have so much in common!"

"It's a beginning every time!" Sebastian grinned.

"It's like every time we meet, we're meeting all over again!"

Sadly, the interview had to come to an end. As Sebastian was pulled away, he gave you one last hug and a kiss on your cheek, promising to find you later.

"Ay, you know this dude?" Said Mackie, watching Sebastian's assistant tug him away.

"Aw, see you soon, miss you- Bye Sebastian!" you call after him.

DID YOU SURVIVE THANOS'S SNAP?

Buzzfeed had the cast of Avengers Endgame sit and take one of their quizzes, whether or not you survived the snap of Thanos.

Finally, they paired you and Chris Evans together. Despite the two of you having been best friends and staring as them too since the first Avengers, it was rare they had you paired. And especially alone.

"Hi, I'm Y/N," Said Chris Evans.

"And i'm the better Chris, Chris Hemsworth," you said. "And we're here today with Buzzfeed to challenge whether we're pussies or not," you said, sure your little curse would be bleeped.

"Yeah, the thing-" said Chris, trying to snap his fingers, "the Thanos-"

"I'm so glad you know these movies well," you joke at the fact he couldn't even call it what it was.

Chris huffs a laugh before you start.

'Which infinity stone would you most like to get your hands on?'

"Good question," said Chris.

You raise your hands and pretend to sup his bicep. "These stones right here!"

He does his famous Chris laugh. "Ok, i'm going mind."

"Boring, i'm gonna go time."

"That's so-" said Chris, making an act of flipping the table. "That's such a you answer."

You frown, "thanks?"

'Which Disney character would you chose to join the Avengers?'

"Oh this is such a you question," you tell Chris, watching to see who he'd pick.

Chris leant back in his chair, resting his hand on the back of yours. He looked at you through his lashes. "Who do you think I'm gonna pick?"

You look back at the options, weighing them up. "You're so gonna go genie."

So he clicked the genie, because you'd said so. "What about you, huh?"

"I mean he's not gonna be helpful at all but I love stitch, I-I have a soft spot for stitch," you say, circiling the guy.

Chris again beamed. "I knew you were gonna say that!"

"You just know me so well."

'Which word would your closest friend describe you as?'

"Perfect!" said Chris for you.

"That's not an option," you tell him.

Chris pulls a face. "Well it should be for you. Actually, I don't think we're that close," he joked.

"No," you chuckle, playing along. "I only met you today."

You and Chris thought about it for a while.

"Why can't I just chose all the above?" you joked but Chris only seemed to agree with you.

"Yeah, can I just pick all of them?" Asked Chris. "Ok, no, how would you describe me?"

You look over at him, leaning on the table. "Dreamy. But that's not on there so... you're loyal, but you're funny, you're successful, i'd go loyal." you and Chris had first become friends when you were both on the Avengers set, terrified at the scale of the world you were joining. He'd joined you for lunch and ever since, whenever you did movies together, you had lunch dates together.

It still took Chris a long time to decide for you but you got there in the end.

'Which is your favourite MCU dynamic?'

There was a picture of Tony and Bruce, Steve and Bucky, Hope and Scott, Thor and Loki, your character and Bucky, your character and Natasha and then Gamora and Nebula.

"Why aren't we on here?" whined Chris as you chuckled.

"So now I just have to pick who I love more, Bucky or Natasha," you said.

"Or you could pick someone else," suggested Chris.

"No, I have to pick me."

"I'm boycotting cause you and I aren't on here."

In the end, you chose yourself and Bucky.

'And finally, what would you say is your personal character flaw?'

"Well, we don't have any so where's none?" said Chris, circling the choices.

"Yours is gonna be that you joke around too much, I can tell you that now," you told him.

Chris chucked. "Maybe I can be a bit too reckless," he said. "But you, you're- you have no faults, this is rigged!" he waves his arms out wide.

"No, maybe i'm... maybe I care too deeply?" you suggest.

Evans rolls his eyes. "That's not a fault, that's just sweet."

Finally you got to the end and your fates were decided.

"We didn't survive!" you yelled, looking at both yours and Chris's fate. "This is all because I chose stitch isn't it?"

AVENGERS ENDGAME

The Endgame press tour was wild and full. But the best part was spending it with the original guys, the one's you started it all with and would end it all with. Robert, Chris, Chris, Scarlett, Bruce and Jeremy were all your little crew.

And doing press with them was always exciting to say the least.

All of you were stood behind a podium, you were sandwiched between Chris Evans and Robert Downey as the Russo brothers determined the game.

"Most likely too," read the Russo brothers.

"Most likely to need to have a nap," you said and threw up your own face.

"Most likely to nap with you!" added Mark Ruffalo, adding his own face.

"Alright Avengers, we'll give you examples, you vote on a fellow avenger who fits each scenario- here we go!"

It almost seemed- to the camera's- that none of you were paying attention as Robert made smooch faces to the closest camera and you and Chris Evans used your cardboard cut out faces to make them kiss.

"Who is the most likely to make you laugh in the middle of a scene?"

A lot of them held up themselves, you held up Evans and Downey. Scarlet picked you and reached over to hit you over the head with the picture of your own face.

"Five hundred points to Renner for using all of them," said the Russo brothers.

Ruffalo had Renner. "I said Renner, he does an amazing squat thrust."

"Oh yes!" both you and Downey got excited at the prospect. "Give it to us Jeremy, give us your warm up, will ya."

And he obliged, dramatically lunging and squating and the such as you all cheered him on.

"Let's not over-do it, you're not thirty anymore," you told him.

"Who is the most likely to stop to read a lost dog poster?"

"Oh my god. Is that even a question?" you throw up Evan's cut out of his face, as does everyone else.

"What a weird question," said Scarlett.

"Chris Evans is a lost dog."

"He has a lost dog!" Ruffalo agreed with you. He reached over for the two of you to hold his hand and slowly, together, say your lines as if they were rehearsed and from the movie. "Someone, somewhere, lost their dog to Chris Evans."

"Yeah his whole facebook page is dogs," agreed Hemsworth.

You look down at the panel of them all. "What's facebook?"

Next was for you all to decorate your own cupcakes, the cupcake challenge.

"Using the ingredients in front of you, you each have three minutes to design a cupcake basked upon your own character!"

Everyone started piping immediately, or throwing decorations on. To your right, Downey went straight with yellow and blue, making a mountain of the icing on his cupcake while most others started moulding things.

You leant down when Robert told you to and opened your mouth and he piped in a long line of icing that had you gagging from the sugary taste.

"Y/N, what are you doing down there?" The Russo brothers asked you.

When you turned to face them, it was like glue in your mouth and blue icing was smeared on your lips.

"It's always messy to start but it comes out in the wash," said Downey.

Eventually you managed to do something with your cupcake.

"Hey, Chris you've got it on your shirt!" you told him, pointing to the area.

When Evans looked down to check the stain, you flicked his nose up, getting icing on him. It ended up with a red nose for him and he splatted his cupcake decoration on your cheek, causing you to gasp and stand, shocked.

"I feel sick, I ate too much fondant," Hemsworth complained.

"Are you just eating?" asked Scarlett.

Chris giggled. "Hmm, yea."

By the end of the three minutes, everyone but Evans and you had a cupcake to show.

"I see Evans went for the Captain America shield on Y/N's cheek, but Y/N where's yours?"

"Oh, I ate it."

MUSICAL BEERS,

an indiscreet make-out,,,

"We're about to play, musical beers, but for that we're gonna need a few more players, please welcome from the stars of Captain America, Civil war, Elizabeth Olsen, Paul Bettany, Sebastian Stan and Y/N!"

The four of you had been invited on to play musical beers with Jimmy Fallon. A game like musical chairs but when the music stops you have to reach for the closest beer cup and down it. You were joining your other Civil war star, Jeremy Renner.

As you all walked out, Sebastian dramatically un-did his blazer while the rest of you went to dirty- game talk.

"I want her out first!" Jeremy pointed at you as you copy his warm-up lunges, causing him to chuckle and push you over.

Eventually, Jimmy wrangles you into spaces. You find your spot and Sebastian slides in behind you, watching you closely.

As the music began, a rather creepy circus type music you all started prancing around the table, taking long strides and pausing too long at each cup.

Your hand kept ghosting the beer cup in case the music stopped.

"You can't do that!" yelled Sebastian and Jimmy.

You groaned loudly and rushed around to the next one. As soon as the music stopped, you grabbed and downed it along with the rest of them, all but Paul Bettany.

You look to Sebastian as you crush your cups and he takes yours, throwing it in the middle, the bin. "I hate beer."

While Paul leaves the game, complaining how this couldn't happen- he was English! You all take your spots, this time you keep a close eye on Elizabeth as she laughs at your determination.

The music starts again and quickly Jimmy falls out the game, practically lunging across the table to reach the beer. You make a dramatic move out of downing it in front of him.

Then there was you, Elizabeth, Sebastian and Jeremy left and only three beer cups.

As the music sped up, Elizabeth reached for the cup, spilling it.

You saw who do it, determined not to lose, you took a gulp of the beer. But the music was still playing!

You look around helplessly.

"Spit it back! Spit it back!" Jimmy calls.

You do so and move on, lucky enough to reach the next beer cup and for Jeremy to be out.

With no music, Sebastian stood in front of the cup you had spit back into. He looked down at it, chuckling to himself.

"I thought the music stopped!" you said, cringing.

"You can't," said Elizabeth, already having downed her beer.

You all stood, watching as Sebastian picked up the cup. He looked at you last time and took the drink. The crowd cheered, the cast laughed and you approached Sebastian as he tipped the cup upside down to show he'd drank it. "I'm sorry," you giggled.

Sebastian wrapped an arm around you. "Best beer of my life," he joked.

The game continued and the two beer cups were placed right next to each other.

"What?" you gasp.

Quickly the the game began again and Elizabeth rushed along side the empty space as you and Sebastian watched each other, checking each others move. He rushed around and then you quickly followed like you were chasing him down until you were at the beer cups.

The music stopped and Lizzie Olsen just grazed your hand by the time you and Seb had picked up the beer cups and downed them.

Lizzie went off laughing and you hugged her before taking your place for the final game.

"I'm slipping- i'm taking my shoes off for this one," you take them off and Lizzie takes them for you as you and Sebastian stand at opposite ends of the table.

"We've already made out!" he called over to you as the cup was placed in between you.

"Yeah, winning's pointless at this point," you said as the music began.

You moved easier, quicker, keeping your eyes on Sebastian although Lizzie and her laughing kept distracting you. You laughed, warning her and taking your eyes of the ball for a moment.

Sebastian was right behind you, hand on his hip and pushing back his blazer as he lingered before you both had to move with the music again.

The music went fast then slowed down, as you both kept reaching and letting go off the cup.

As Sebastian ran back around he reached for the cup as the music slowed and slowed and slowed, but never stopped.

He let it go, looking at you confused.

But as no more notes were played, you grabbed the cup and downed it.

Sebastian was already reaching for you and he barrelled into your body, holding onto you as you drank it and chucked the cup away. "No!" but in his 'dismay' he picked you up and jumped up and down celebrating your win.

"Sebastian made out with Y/N, I think he's the real winner!" said Lizzie.

YOU AND TOM HOLLAND BEING THE KIDS OF THE CAST

You and Tom Holland had hit it off instantly since meeting. Your minds were alike, your humour, everything. Honestly it was kind of frightening how quickly it went well for you guys.

fuck, marry, kill?,.,

On the infinity war press tour, everyone was given all three choices of Chris: Hemsworth, Evans and Pratt. The rest of the cast answered with such:

"Oh I don't like this game cause it has the F word in it," - Pratt.

"We-we we won't use that word, will we? We'll er make love? or just hang out with, cause they're all men and i'm married," - Hemsworth.

"This is a Disney movie," - Winston Duke.

But Tom Holland was ready.

"Fuck. Marry. Kill." Hemsworth, Pratt, Evans. And he didn't take a minute to think about it. "Sorry Evans."

"You had that answer pretty prepared."

"Yeah, a bit too prepared," he laughed.

But he wasn't the only one.

When it got to you, you only cleared your throat and answered.

"Kill. Fuck. Marry." Hemsworth. Pratt. Evans.

"You're marrying Evans?" asked the interviewer.

"If Evans asked me today, I would marry him."

korean food,.,

You and Tom, along with Pom, Benedict and Tom Hiddleston had gone to Korea for press but as far as you and Tom were concerned, it was for trying new food.

You all discussed what food you had and hadn't tried from Korea, Tom being quiet as he listened to them be listed.

"Korean BBQ," Pom added to her list.

Tom perked up from sitting next to you. "Oh yeah, that's good, that's good."

You laugh and mimic him. "Of course, you know Korean BBQ. I like the pancakes," you say when asked.

Tom gasped. "I've never had a Korean pancake."

You look shocked, as if you've never seen him before. "We have to go for pancakes before we leave."

He fist bumped the air.

That day you and the team were trying some of the most traditional Korean food. The first was a Kimbap which was the most classic thing kids would get in their lunch.

"You get to have Spider-man on that lunch box though," said Tom Hiddleston.

"Ah yeah, I did actually have a spiderman lunch box," said little Tom.

"I think I had a spiderman lunch box," added big Tom.

"I still have a spiderman lunch box," you say.

"I actually have a spiderman toothbrush, now," said Tom Holland, admitting it proudly.

"Did you have a spiderman duvet? A spiderman pillow?" asked Benedict.

"I did, I gave them to Y/N," said Tom.

You nod along, proudly. "I sleep like a baby every night."

As you dove into your first treats of the day you were also given several different drinks and the camera really loved to pick up on how Tom gently tapped the top of his can while you pierced a drink with a little straw and took a sip. You really did look like kids compared to the rest.

Tom Holland ranted about his love for Milkis while you rolled your eyes at your drink, Banana Wuyou. Upon trying each of each others drinks, you both preferred the other and continued to drink them throughout.

You all dug in. Everyone talking about how good it was while you and Tom just eat, sharing it together.

You all tried fruit, a Korean fruit from the south that you all enjoyed.

"It's a hybrid, right?" Asked Pom, stealing your attention. "Clementine, Mandarin and orange?"

"How does that happen?" Asked Tom to your side.

"Yeah, how does that happen with food?" you ask as well, the both of you waiting for answers. "How do you get a hybrid of- how does...."

You were met with blank stares.

"Life finds a way, Y/N," Hiddleston said. The host laughs as Benedict puts a hand on your shoulder.

"We'll tell you later."

"Tell us later, please," said Tom, going back to sipping his drink.

interviews,.,

Sometimes, on the rare occasion it was allowed, they put you and Tom Holland in interviews together- only to control the mess. If Tom spoiled something- either you would stop him or just get the interview derailed. If the two of you started joking around and wasted ten minutes of time, only one interview and apology had to be made.

It worked well.

For example, the time you were being asked how the two of you deal with scary moments and films.

"I do pretty well," said Tom, boasting.

"Yeah?" you ask.

"Yeah, I'm pretty thick-skinned when it comes to that sort of stuff," he said. You let him carry on talking a little more before yelling in his face and catching him off guard.

He cursed and had a fist ready at you as you just laugh.

"That Spidey sense," you teased.

Or in another when you let Tom talk and talk about the movie but he was about to say something... spoil something.

You throw your hands out and cover his mouth. "Spoiler!" you sigh, shaking your head as Tom sits, stunned for a moment.

All of a sudden you retract your hand as Tom licked it. He laughs as you hold out your hand, cringing.

"Someone- someone- get me something! Help me!" you joked.

Or another time when you and Tom sat with Benedict as a Watch Mojo interviwer readied to take her seat.

"We love Watch Mojo!" said Tom.

"No way?" she asked.

"Yeah, we're always watching it," he said.

You nod, and mimic the intro to the videos. " 'Welcome to Watch Mojo,' "

"That's me!" said the woman.

Benedict watched as you and Tom looked at each other with excited smiles, pumping your fists and getting giddy like kids.

You shift in your seat. "Can you do the intro for us?" you ask, adding a small, 'please.'

The woman almost rolled her eyes but cleared her throat and accommodated you. "Welcome to Watch Mojo!"

"Oh, no way!" Tom cheered as Benedict laughed confused at the two of you.

[h3catee]

Introductions Are in Order

Paring: Robert Reynoldsx Fem!Witch Reader! Past Avenger!  

Summary: Bucky asks a favor of you and ends up getting you entangled with one of Valentinas ploys. 

Warnings: SPOILERS FOR THUNDERBOLTS*,  talks of mental health, depression, anxiety. Some violence (bc its marvel), some language. Trauma. Angst. Decent amount of Hurt/ With some comfort! 

Word count: 2.7k

AN: Hi! Welcome to my fic! this is probably multi part idk my plans yet. I'm leaning more towards multi-part bc I'm usually a chapter by chapter writer so there isn’t a lot of Bob in this one but I hope its a good intro to maybe a 2-3 parts. I literally fell in love with Bob's character during Thunderbolts and this man gave me motivation to write again. I didn't have a Beta reader for this one so pls forgive any grammer or silly mistakes. Forewarning (y/n)’s powers based off of the Marvel character Morgan le Fay just to throw that out there, she’s definitely not Wanda but definitely not Morgan. Think morally gray/ hates everyone except like 3 people/ witch trained by the past avengers. Next part will have more Bob I promise, just wanted to introduce the story here >:3

Song for the chapter: https://open.spotify.com/track/09fDemXgXzRReTfb7UWxjD?si=7e0b5d606b824813 

xoxox

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“I need your help with something.” 

You sighed heavily before responding, “Hello to you too Senator Barnes!” You heard the man grumble from the other phone line. 

“You know I hate when you call me that,” Bucky said. 

“Well…what do you want, Buck?” You said, rolling your eyes. You look around your empty apartment for something to fidget with while Bucky chews your ear off about calling him another stupid nickname. 

“Y/N, Valentina’s got this guy apparently named Bob-” 

“Bob?” You ask, cutting him off. Who names their kid Bob in this day and age? 

“Yes, Bob! I’m with Nat’s sister and she said we have to go get him because he’s part of some Sentry project,” He explained, voices yelling at him in the background of the phone call. “Can you just meet us at the tower?” 

A wave of nausea rolled over you, “The tower? Bucky, I don't go around there anymore.” 

“I know, but I wouldn’t be calling you if I had anyone else to call.” 

“How nice,” you taunt. You were never any of the Avengers first calls. To be fair you weren’t sure if it is because they were scared of you or your lack of social skills. “Also Nat’s sister?” 

“Later,” Which means he says he’ll tell you later but in reality he’s never going to bring it up again unless you find the answer yourself. 

You sigh, walking over to the bookshelf in your apartment that’s filled with books, both regular and magical, and pictures. Your hand brushes across a photo of yourself, Steven Strange, and Wanda, “I don’t fight anymore Bucky. You couldn’t just ask Sam?” 

“He’s uhmm..busy,” He answered, “I know how you’re feeling y/n.” 

“You don’t,” You interrupt. How could he possibly understand how you’re feeling when he barely reaches out to you unless he needs something. Him and the rest of the remaining team abandoned you, after Wanda, you had no one to turn to. You felt the all too familiar dull ache in your chest. You chewed on the skin around your nails waiting for Bucky to respond. 

“ I think we need you for this one.” Which means in Bucky terms that whoever they are fighting is a mutant and something he can’t fight. 

“Fuck,” You mutter to yourself. 

Ever since Wanda vanished you refused to step back out on the field.She was the only one that truly knew what you were capable of considering she was the one that found you all those years ago. Not even Thor, a god, could hold you back during training sessions and the only avenger to understand your pain was Wanda. And now she’s- 

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath to ground yourself. You haven’t been able to sense her magic anywhere. No matter what realm you went to, you couldn’t find her. 

Fuck you Bucky Barnes. 

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“She already knows we’re here,” You try to explain to the group in front of you. Bucky gave you and the rest of the team a run down of Sentry and what Mel, Valentinas assistant, told him about Bob. That doesn’t stop them from driving a truck through the lobby destroying the front of the building in the process, “Awesome,” You have no choice but to join the fight to defend the group. Defense only, you tell yourself 

While Walker has his back turned, a soldier on the ground fires a few stray bullets, you toss your hand up and redirect the shots to the wall behind him, “Watch yourself walker,” You growled. Before he could reply you went back to the fight. Using your magic to cast illusions into the minds of the soldiers fighting to give the group an advantage when attacking.

“I just had that drywall put in. You can just come up, you know that right.” Valentina’s voice rang out over the intercoms, “But I know you knew that already y/n. Come on up!” 

Yelena and Ava looked at you, knowing you had previously stated that and they had just refused to listen. You just rolled your eyes at them before motioning them to go in the elevator. 

“You are not coming,” Yelena asked as the group of 5 squeezed into the elevator. 

You shake your head before pointing up. You close your eyes and feel the familiar stomach reeling feeling of teleporting to where the penthouse once was. Where you shared few but long lasting memories. Your eyes wander across the empty walls and fairly empty room before you look at Val. 

“Ah! Y/N, so lovely to see you darling. You see I’ve always wanted to work with you,” The woman said. 

“Can’t say the same,” You said in a sarcastic tone. 

“Hmm, well maybe he’ll change your mind.” You just raise an eyebrow.

You don’t have the chase to question her because Bucky and the team come through the elevator doors ready to arrest her for crimes. You look between each person and back to Valentina, honestly not sure what is going on. 

That's when you feel it. A humming. Power. You look around only to notice no one else in the “Thunderbolts”, as Alexie is calling them, notices it. You try to pinpoint a mind to tap into to find where this power is from but you can’t, a black shadow blocking you out. Shit. 

“Meet Sentry.” 

You look up to where a man is clothed in a…ugly suit, with unnaturally yellow blonde hair. 

“Hey guys,” He greats. You study him for a second, the power dripping off of him but there's something else there, something all too familiar. You try to invade his mind but there's something keeping you out. You pull and claw at the black void keeping you out. 

“Y/n.” You vacate the attempt on his mind and meet his eyes. You cock your head to the side, he knows what you were doing, “That won’t work,” his voice coming out cautious. 

“Take care of them Robert,” Valentina orders. 

“I don’t want to hurt you guys,” Bob says, looking around at all of them in front of him, “Please just give yourselves in.” 

“Wait-” Yelena tries to interrupt. 

Alexie yells before running towards the man. Instead of following the rest of the team you stand back and observe. Everything they throw at him gets blocked or countered. Teleportation. Flight. Strength.

Bucky shoots at Bob only for the bullets to be sprayed back at him and Walker. You hold your hand up blocking the bullets and directing them towards the already broken window. Thats when Sentry notices you. 

“I knew I liked her,” Walker says to Bucky, getting ready to fight again. 

“Wanda’s not here to save you this time.” 

You barely move after hearing the voice in your head when the rest of the Thunderbolts move to attack Bob. You shake your head as if to clear your thoughts but you feel his eyes on you. Instead of the blue you saw earlier, Bob’s eyes have a golden hue. 

“She left you, just like you told her to.” 

“Stop,” You whisper to yourself, rage boiling beneath your skin. 

The fight breaks out and you watch as Bob grabs Bucky's Arm. 

“God damnit,” You whisper, before running towards the two to save Bucky. Bob tosses Bucky to the side, his arm now torn off. You shot a blast of energy towards him only for him to teleport out of the way. I don’t want to hurt you, You try to telepathically tell him. 

“You can’t hurt me,” He says aloud. 

“Says who,” You taunt. Your feet leave the floor before you can’t register your rage taking over. Blast after blast and nothing is hitting him. 

He teleports in front of you and grabs your neck. What he doesn’t expect is to look behind you and see a beach. A sunset. He furrows his brows as he looks around in confusion. 

That gives you enough time to grab his wrist and teleport out of his grasp. 

The illusion collapses around the two of you as you lose contact. With every fight you’ve been in, usually your opponent will be thrown off once coming out of the illusion but Bob…He raises a hand before you can counter and you slam into the concrete wall of Avengers Tower, the wall cracking behind you. 

 You feel an arm hook under your shoulders and begin to drag you to the elevator which you see is already occupied with the rest of the team besides you and Yelena. “Get off of me,” You grumble. You teleport out of her grasp and out of the tower completely. Your knees are wobbly beneath you and you assess your surroundings. Guard still up. 

“Are you hurt?” You turn and see Bucky running towards you, the rest of the Thunderbolts following in suit. 

“You know I’m not,” You used your magic to heal yourself immediately after the hit, “I tried to help Buck but I’m not strong enough anymore. I’m leaving.” 

“No, let us regroup and we can go back in,” Alexie tries to argue. 

“All of you just got your asses beat, you especially-” 

“Well I am just rusty but now I am ready to go,” The older super soldier bellows. 

You see Yelena put a hand over her eyes. You just laugh out of disbelief and begin to walk down the street. 

“Wait y/n,” Bucky follows after you, “Just wait-” 

You turn, he can feel the rage dripping off of you, “What!” You shout, “What do you want from me?” 

He just stares at you, “I was going to ask if you were okay.” 

You laugh, “Am I okay? God, you should've asked me that when Tony died. Or when I lost Vision and then lost Wanda. Or Nat. Or Steve.” 

“You acted like you didn’t even care about half of the team, what did you expect me to do?” He argues. 

“I didn’t want to hurt any of you!” You exclaim, letting your emotions run wild on the streets of New York, “If you think that up there I used all my power, you're wrong. I didn’t want to hurt any of you so I stayed away.” 

“But Wanda-” 

“But Wanda understood me, more than you or Tony or any of them. You don’t understand what I went through, what I’ve done. Bucky, you don’t know who I really am.” 

There was commotion behind you, taking your concentration away from the conversation. Citizens were pointing up towards the sky. You and Bucky exchange glances before running to where you could have a clear view of what they were looking at. 

A shadow of man floated above Avengers Tower. You watched as he raised a hand and all of a sudden a helicopter came crashing into a crane. Concrete and rubble began to fall from the buildings that were hit. People were screaming. 

Typical avenger in New York occurrence. 

You and Bucky split off to protect the people from being crushed. You used your magic to stop concrete from crushing a family and urged them to get into a building. 

“You’re alone,” You turned to see the man closer to you now. You recognized the voice from just minutes ago, Bob, “You’ve always been alone.” You just stare at him, “It eats you alive doesn’t it, y/n.” 

People are screaming, you turn to look behind you and see shadows of people spread across the floor in dark black smoke. You heart drops, what the fuck is this guy. 

“The pain goes away. Just come with me,” Bob captures your attention once again, “I can make it go away.” 

“How?” You whisper. He reaches a hand out to you. 

“Y/n! Stop!” Bucky shouts behind you but something in your mind is telling you to go. Telling you that everything will stop if you accept his hand. Everything will be quiet. Will the pain finally go away? 

“Y/n,” The distorted voice urges. 

That’s when you close your eyes and walk into the void. 

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You open your eyes and find yourself in an all too familiar room. One lined with archaic symbols preventing you from escaping. Your heart drops because you see yourself, younger, wounded, broken standing on the other side of the room. 

You know this day, you recognize it by the energy alone. This was the first time you killed someone. The first time you disintegrated someone's body and brain. 

“Y/N, Before you is a man who is being convicted of crimes against countless women, including your own mother,” You watched as your younger self balled her hands into fists, “Your task is to eliminate him.” 

Younger you nodded. 

���N-no,” You ran over to where you stood and wrapped your arms around your younger self, “you don’t have to do this,” 

“Get off of me,” Your body is thrown a few feet away from your younger self. That's when you feel it, the pain of a curse of 1000 sharp white-hot knives digging into you, you scream and writhe on the floor. That was your punishment when you were captured, if you ever disobeyed or failed, they cursed you over and over. 

“Stop,” You sob, the curse diminishing, “Stop,” You whisper, tears falling onto the floor beneath you. Your mind whirls and your limbs ache, like you’re gripped by a fever that burns through you like wildfire. 

“Y/n?” A male voice. 

You look towards a doorway where Bob stands, not Sentry, not Void but Bob. You squeeze your eyes shut to stop crying. 

“Oh god, I-I’m so sorry,” He runs over to you, “I-I can’t stop it,” He apologized. 

“I don’t understand,” Your voice comes out as a whisper, “What is this?” You finally sit up and watch the rest of the scene play out in front of you. 

You watch as younger you raises her hand towards the man and he begins to scream in agony. You watch as his skin flairs and melts. 

“Don’t look,” Bob urges, grabbing your arm and pulling your attention from the memory. There are tears in his blue eyes. He has brown hair now instead of the fake gold that Val gave him. He’s clothed in a sweater and tan pants. He honestly looks like he’s going to pass out. “I can’t do anything right, I’m so sorry,” He mumbles, “I-I don’t even know you and you’re stuck here with me. It’s this…void.” 

“How do we get out?” You ask, looking down to study your shaking hands. 

“I-I don’t know. There’s different rooms and each one just gets worse. I’m so sorry Y/n,” He begins to cry. Your heart shatters for a moment thinking about what he must go through if he deals with this constantly, now with the serum it must have fully taken over him. 

“Let’s just get out okay,” You place your hand on his thigh and he tenses beneath you. You squeeze his leg in reassurance before standing up, “P-please don’t tell anyone what you saw, I-I can’t. No one knows.” 

“I won’t, Why would I tell them?” He asks sincerely. All you can do is nod, “Y-you can trust me.” Once again, you just nod. 

“Do you think everyone else is in here?” You ask, trying to change the topic. 

“M-maybe,” He saying, shrinking in on himself. 

“Hey, it’s okay, I’m fine. We’ll all be fine,” You soothe, “Let’s just find them.” 

Thats how you ended up finding the team, fighting Bob in a chicken outfit, and getting out of the void. Only to have Valentina throw a new title on the group right after. 

The New Avengers. Including you. Awesome. 

And that’s how you ended up here, living in the tower after some much needed renovations. Bob didn’t remember anything after the Void incident but something told you to tell him. So you showed him through your magic. He apologized profusely to the team and kept his distance since then. Honestly, he reminds you a lot of yourself when you first joined the Avengers with Wanda. But you refuse to let him fall into that dark of a hole like you did. 

You want to save someone for yourself, for once. You want to save him. 

part two!

[auroralwriting]

ice ice, baby! the masterlist

the brooklyn thunderbolts and the manhattan avengers are the biggest rival hockey teams. filled with friendships, ex-friendships, relationships, and drama, no one can get enough of the rivalry; including the teams themselves.

warnings: i do not play hockey so there might be some inaccuracies, injuries, graphic language, hockey level violence, inspired by @/loveisstxnge on tiktok pairings: bucky barnes x reader (yelena belova x ava starr, bob reynolds x joaquin torres, steve rogers x natasha romanoff, tony stark x pepper potts)

introduction | chapter one | chapter two

chapter three (out soon!)

[enlyume]

Not so secret

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word count: 1.8k

Summary: Steve accidentally finds out why Bucky insisted on him taking a day off.

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: None

Notes: This is Bucky x female reader, but with Steve's POV. AU with no superpowers. Also, English is not my first language :)

Being the owner of your own gym comes with a few pros and a lot of cons. The pros? You knew a lot of people - and women - you could make your own schedule and choose your own staff and as a personal trainer you could stay fit. Cons: You had to put up with clients complaining about the self-defence classes being too difficult, your colleagues flirting with their wives, and you being on call 24/7 with no holidays. But, so far, Steve was enjoying his gym life.

Two and a half years of surviving in Brooklyn seemed like a success, so he could choose how to spend his first free day in a long time. Clean his apartment, go to his mother's house to help her with some water-related problems, go for a run and do some shopping. He could already hear Bucky, Natasha and Sam saying that this was far from a free day, but he didn't care.

He knew Bucky would scoff and swear he would never give him another day off, but looking at his now full fridge, he felt happy. So happy that he thought he could at least give his friends the satisfaction of a night off drinking. Maybe not until he got really drunk, because the next day was Friday and he had to open the gym, but still.

So he called Bucky, and when he didn't pick up the phone, he tried Natasha.

"I can't believe you wasted your first day off in months running errands. We are not friends anymore," she said, and Steve could picture her sitting on her couch, the TV on a murder mystery, her eyes narrowed. "That's not what Buck and I work our asses off for, Rogers!" she complained.

"Hey, I can do whatever I want with my free time. And, how do you know that?!" he asked, looking around for a hidden camera. His friends wouldn't spy on him, would they?

"I know everything," she whispered and Steve felt the urge to hang up and go and read. "OK, what's up? Are you taking off again tomorrow to help your neighbour redecorate?"

"I was thinking about going out for a drink with my friends, seeing as it's not that late, but I'm rethinking my life choices right now and I'm not so sure anymore."

"Don't be a drama queen, Stevie. Give me five, the bar next to my place".

"It'll take me more than five minutes to get there, Nat".

"Yeah, OK, you've got eight. Call the boys, I call the girls?" She asked and didn't need to elaborate. Natasha, Buck, Sam and himself were a team in and out of the gym. And since she finished college, and came back to Brooklyn, Becca usually joined them with her roommate Y/n.

"I already called Buck, but he didn't pick up. I'll try again," he replied, grabbing the keys and leaving his apartment. It wasn't that big, but living alone was more than enough and it was only a block away from the gym. That saved him the daily traffic jam.

He shrugged under his jacket, wishing it was summer, and walked down the street.

"Let me know if he doesn't pick up. I'll try," Natasha said, and Steve could hear her moving around her flat, getting ready.

"What makes you think he'll answer your call but not mine?" he sneered, smirking. Bucky had been pretty insistent about hiring Natasha, and although they flirted sometimes, it had never become anything serious. Or so he thought.

"He will," was her brief reply. Steve rolled his eyes and turned the corner. His eyes automatically drifted to the gym and he paused, frowning. The lights were on, but it was past closing time. "Hey, gotta go. See you in ten".

"Eight!" was the last thing he heard Natasha say before he hung up.

Steve crossed the street and tried the front door, breathing a sigh of relief when he found it locked. So Bucky wasn't there and hadn't left the gym open, he'd just forgotten to turn off the lights. He used the keys to get inside and went to his office to turn off all the lights from there, but stopped in the doorway when he saw Bucky's jacket and helmet on the table. His friend was still there? Past closing time? The blond left the office and went to the stairs, climbing them two at a time and heading for the only room where the lights were still on. Maybe Bucky had fallen and hurt himself, or maybe he had fainted, or maybe…

"That's not the way to use it, doll."

Doll. Doll. Steve narrowed his eyes, already angry with Bucky. When he'd offered to do the afternoon shift that Thursday too, on the pretext that he'd worked a lot and deserved a day off to rest, Steve hadn't been suspicious. It wasn't the first time Bucky had suggested it, and he'd had to get his house in order and run a few errands, so he'd accepted without question. And Bucky had smirked. He hadn't thought about it at the time, but now the smile had taken on a new meaning.

Emma, the student who had started Natasha's self-defence classes a month ago, immediately came to mind. Or it could be April, the recently divorced woman. She always laughed at his jokes, even when they weren't that funny, and stroked his arm openly. Steve opened his eyes wide. It could also be Peggy, making good on his threat.

"If you don't ask her out soon, I will, punk," he had told him a few times when Steve's eyes lingered on the door of the classroom Peggy had just entered. He took a deep breath, gripped the door handle and looked at the ceiling. Please don't let it be Peggy, he prayed. "Then tell me how it works."

Steve let go of the handle as if it were on fire. He knew that voice. It wasn't Peggy, but maybe it would have been better if it had been.

"Yeah, I'll pass. It's funnier to watch you try." Steve did not need to see his friend's face to know that he was smirking.

"Is that why you wanted me to come, to laugh at me?" She didn't mean it maliciously, because if there was one thing she knew about Y/N, it was that she wouldn't say anything to offend.

Steve tried to remember if he had seen her at the gym before. She was at the opening, sure, and she visited from time to time, but had she tried a class? He remembered Bucky telling her to leave because she was against the dress code. Y/N always gave the same answer: her gym clothes were just for posting photos on her social media.

"I wanted you to come so I could be alone with you. I missed you."

"We saw each other at Nat's last Sunday," she chuckled.

"Yes, but I couldn't…"

Steve knew he shouldn't, but curiosity took the best of him and he pushed the door just a little, so he could see them. Y/N was standing next to the treadmill and Bucky was holding her cheeks while he kissed her. He couldn't help but be surprised, because even though he knew what he was about to see, he didn't expect to see exactly that. His friend getting into trouble, kissing his younger sister's best friend? Yes. Bucky pulling away from her just enough to reach down and wrap his arms around her waist, filling her face with kisses, both of them laughing and whispering words in each other's ears? No. Because this didn't look like an affair. The smile on his friend's face as he listened intently to what she was telling him gave away that this was anything but a simple affair.

The sound of a mobile phone interrupted them and for a few seconds Steve thought it was his and he was going to get caught, but Bucky let go of Y/N and picked up his phone from the floor. "Hey Nat, what's up?"

Bucky turned, his back to the door, and Steve looked at Y/N. She had sat down on the workbench again and was trying to lift the weights without success. Bucky immediately gestured for her to let go and she obeyed, still smiling.

"I'd love to, but I've worked my ass off today and I'm dead. I'm going to bed," Bucky said to Natasha, declining her offer to join them for a drink.

Y/N held out her hand and Bucky took it, intertwining his fingers with hers and letting her pull on it, trying not to laugh. "Hmm, tempting, but I'll pass," Bucky said again. "Night, Nat."

He hung up and dropped the phone on the floor before standing over T/N. Steve took that as his cue and stepped back, not wanting to see any more. A low moan made him rush downstairs and out of the gym, closing the door carefully behind him. Bucky and Y/N. Y/N and Bucky. They were… what were they? Should he ask? He wanted to know and at the same time he didn't.

He walked on until he reached the bar and forced a smile when Sam held up his hand and waved at him. Natasha was next to him and Becca in front of them, a beer in her hand and laughing at something the redhead was telling her. And a new fear hit him: did Becca know?

"Took you longer than ten minutes, Rogers! You're paying next!" Natasha joked with her trademark smile. Steve nodded slowly as he sat down next to the younger Barnes.

"You all right? You look like you've seen a ghost," Sam chuckled, taking a sip of his beer. Steve ignored him and turned to Becca.

"Where's Y/N? Is she coming?"

He wondered if he was being too direct. He could have made some small talk before asking about her, or maybe he should have asked about his brother first. But he needed to know if Becca knew about her best friend and Bucky. The brunette rolled her eyes and shrugged.

"She already had plans with her colleagues."

"Why? They're not as fun as us," Sam complained.

"And your brother?" Steve asked again and Becca tilted her head. "I called him, but he didn't pick up."

"He said he was tired," Natasha said, a smirk on her lips. "But from his tone, I bet he's with a girl."

"What?! He ditched us for a girl?" Sam complained again. "He deserves to work all weekend, Steve."

"I don't know, Sam," Steve murmured, looking down at his hands. He remembered Bucky's smile, Y/N's laugh and them holding hands. His best friend saying how much he missed them. And then he remembered that Y/N didn't work weekends. "He's been working a lot lately. I think he deserves a weekend off."

"Whaaaat?"

Their friends started talking at the same time. Sam was whining again, while Natasha and Becca were plotting how to ruin Bucky's weekend. Steve stood up, smiling.

"OK, next round's on me!"

[yourkidinthedark]

Happy Belated Birthday

Pairings: Bucky x y/n x platonic!thunderbolts

Warnings: alcohol consumption, reader is drunk, sexual jokes, swearing

Notes: This is my first fanfic let me know some constructive criticism! Also, please note I struggle with learning disabilities therefore this was grammar checked by the site ‘Goblin Tools’.

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You made it another year. In your line of work, this was more of a milestone than for the average civilian. You knew when you took on the role of a “New Avenger” that it wouldn't be easy, but Christ, what a year.

Checking your outfit diligently in the mirror, you smoothed down the black satin of your dress, which rested dangerously high on your thighs. Tonight, your friends were taking you to a new bar that had opened down the road. You had always wanted to go there, and what better way to celebrate your birthday, right? You tried hard not to mix work with your personal life, so you kept both completely separate. Your friends didn't know about your job as an Avenger, and the team didn't know about your small, rundown apartment and close circle of friends. You made it your personal mission to keep it that way, but a certain super soldier was making it increasingly hard.

Finishing up your makeup and spraying a generous amount of perfume, you couldn't help but let your mind wander to Bucky. You’ve had a crush on him for as long as you’ve known him. If he were here, would he notice the way the black stain hugged your body like a second skin? Would he carefully trace the seam down the side with feather-light fingers? Would his breath become uneven, fanning your neck as he unzipped your dress, letting it fall to the floor? Hands roaming every inch of exposed skin like a drunken person at a vineyard. Drinking in your touch and savoring the taste.

You felt guilty for even thinking about him in that way. Sure, you’ve had a long history together. Even before the Avengers, wherever you found yourself on a mission, he’d be there too on one of his own. But now, he was technically your superior—the leader of the New Avengers and the head protector of the city. Despite that, you were certain that he might have felt something towards you as well, but you couldn't be sure that he would ever act on it. You weren't oblivious to the way his eyes would linger on you for a bit longer than necessary or the way he used a softer tone of voice reserved just for you. Despite him being in a position of power, there was an immeasurable amount of chemistry between the two of you.

When you first joined the team, he treated you just like everyone else. He was cold and kept to himself most of the time, only ever really speaking when he had information to share. It started one night after a long and rough mission. You decided to crash at the Watchtower considering how exhausted you were. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn't rest. The images from the mission haunted you as soon as you closed your eyes. You could hear the frantic screams of nearby civilians and Bucky barking orders through your comms. It was driving you mad. Quietly, you walked to the kitchen. You remembered Yelena had said the best way to occupy your mind was to have a snack. You were certain you could snag a protein bar from somewhere, and maybe the hunt would keep your mind occupied.

Sat at the kitchen counter, focused on an important-looking file; it was Bucky. Your heart caught in your throat seeing him wear a white tank top, his sculpted body visible through the fabric. The glint of his metal arm reflected the light like the sun on water. He looked up from his paperwork, and his eyes fell on you.

“Sorry to disturb you, I was just grabbing a snack,” you said sheepishly, opening random cupboards until you found one with food. You felt his eyes following your every move, as if they were locked on a target.

“Can't sleep?" he said after a moment, voice low and cautious. You sigh.

“No, not really. Yelena said a snack helps her, so I figured I'd give it a shot before I completely lose my mind.” You turned back to the cupboards and suddenly became very aware of your attire: a tight-fitting pair of workout shorts and a black tank top, both borrowed from Yelena. He eyed you behind his stack of mission reports, his gaze trailing over your figure subtly. You could see the hesitation in his stare before he eventually turned back to the papers.

“A cup of tea helps me,” he motioned to a black mug sporting a big silver “A” on the front. “Something my mom used to give me when I was a kid and had a nightmare. Guess the tradition stuck,” he said, his face softening at the mention of his mother.

You were surprised; you didn't think he ever shared anything personal about his life, at least not with you. You felt grateful that he was willing to open up a little. Little did you know that was the wave that broke the dam of silence.

“Well, do you mind if I join you, Barnes?” you asked as you grabbed a mug and a chamomile tea bag from the cupboard.

“Please,” he said, motioning to the empty breakfast bar stool beside him. You set your mug next to his and poured the water in. Sitting down, you toyed with the tea bag hanging from the side of the cup.

“So, you must have had a nightmare too?” you said cautiously, afraid that the sudden dive into a personal topic would scare him off.

“Every night,” he said, his gaze averting from the packet of papers.

You whistled. “Must go through a lot of tea then.”

He laughed. You studied the way his eyes crinkled slightly and the gentle bob of his throat. He looked so much like himself—not a trained assassin or the leader of the New Avengers, but just Bucky. Just a man whom you were rapidly developing a crush on.

He looked at you, his eyes carrying a lighter emotion. “Wanna talk about it?” he asked.

“There’s not really much to say. Just the typical stuff: loss, destruction. Usually, when I wake up, I can talk myself out of the doom spiral, but after today's mission, it was almost impossible. I just keep thinking, what if I was faster, or what if I went left when I went right? It's all just a little too loud this time.” You rubbed your eyes from exhaustion.

Bucky dropped the packet onto the table with a small thud. Hesitantly, he placed his flesh hand over yours. You looked into his cold blue eyes.

“You can always ask yourself the ‘what if’ questions. But dwelling on what you could have done differently will destroy you. Believe me; I've lived it. We do what we can on a mission, but there will always be some that don't go the way we plan.” He paused, as if he were holding back. “We wouldn’t have made it as far as we did today without you.”

You felt the blood rush to your cheeks, and you were certain he could see it, too. You squeezed his hand with trembling fingers.

“I guess you did learn a thing or two from those speechwriters back in Congress,” you laughed. “But seriously, thank you; I needed to hear that.” You offered him a gentle smile, which he returned, his thumb grazing over the back of your hand as he pulled away.

Every time since that night, whenever you both found yourselves at the tower, you shared a cup of tea, talking about everything under the sun: your fears, hopes, dreams, and aspirations. It was what you looked forward to the most when you were at the Watchtower. You even caught yourself spending more time there than at your apartment a few blocks over. After a few of these exchanges, you both began texting. At first, it was just simple messages, usually letting the other know if they would be around the tower after hours, but somewhere along the line, his name became the first thing you saw on your phone in the mornings. Whenever you were apart, you found yourself smiling at your phone. You grew fond of the way he wrote text messages like little letters, always signing his name at the end of each one.

Your friends became suspicious. They noticed how your schedule became more packed with “work events” and how you were giddy whenever the contact “Sgt. Barnes” popped up on your phone. They asked you about this mystery man on multiple occasions, but all you told them was, “he's just a guy from work.” You didn't know how they would react to your mystery man being the former Winter Soldier, and you were positive Bucky did not want a million questions thrown at him by your friends.

So, though it was your birthday and you picked out your dress with Bucky in mind, you didn't tell him it was your birthday. You were determined to keep work and life separate. Still, you couldn't help but wish he would be there tonight to celebrate your birthday with you. You let your mind daydream about him, wondering how he would wake you up on your birthday, if he would bring you breakfast in bed, or take you to the café down the street. Would he take you out on a special date or keep you all to himself behind closed doors? Would he give you a gift of jewelry or the gift of intimacy so pure and full of love it was next to worship?

With a sigh, you tugged on your boots, slung your purse over your shoulder, and left your apartment. The walk to the bar was pretty uneventful. Though your outfit was quite relieving, you weren't scared of walking at night alone. You had killed enough assassins and “bad guys” to know some random guy off the street wouldn’t be successful at harming you. If anything, they should be afraid of you walking the streets of New York. With the sound of loud bass booming in a crescendo, you walked into the bar and were mauled by your friends.

The night was a blur. You weren't sure how many shots deep you were, but God, were you ever drunk. You spent the night dancing and singing god-awful karaoke with your friends, dancing on tables with both hands occupied by random cocktails your friends kept shoving into your hands. The music was so loud you almost missed the alarm on your phone.

Setting the cocktails down, you grabbed your phone from your clutch. Your eyes, taking a moment to adjust to the text on your screen, widened in horror.

EMERGENCY DEBRIEF ALL ATTENDANCE REQUIRED

Shit. In a drunken haze, you shoved your phone back into your bag, searching for your friends. You gave them some half-hearted excuse about how you had to go and called an Uber to take you to the tower. You bid your goodbyes and stumbled into your ride. The driver gave you a funny look when you slurred out that you wanted to go to the Avengers Watchtower, but he obliged. Almost falling out of the car, you made your way to your second home.

The elevator opening startled you from almost drifting off. Before you, Yelena was grabbing a cup of coffee through half-closed eyes.

“So, you were summoned—Holy, I think you should wear that all the time.” Yelena wolf-whistled as you did a slight twirl, tripping at the end.

“S’special dress for someone special,” you slurred happily. Yelena raised her brow.

“Have you been drinking, little one?” she asked as you frowned at the nickname.

“S’hearsay, your honor, innocent until proven guilty.”

Yelena was quick to pick up on your crush on Bucky. She always noticed the small things, like the stolen glances and touches that lingered just a bit longer than normal. You remembered the day she cornered you in the training room about it. You were stretching, waking your muscles up before you were about to take out your emotions on a poor punching bag when you heard her voice in the shadows.

“How long did you think you could keep your little crush from me?”

“Jesus fuck, Yelena!” you yelled as the blonde emerged from the darkened corner of the room. “Are you trying to kill me? You can just ask me, you know; you don't have to wait in the shadows like a creep!” You yelled, and she looked sheepish.

“I’m sorry; I don't really know how to do the friend thing. I’m kind of working on it, but the question still stands.” Now it was your turn to play into the interrogation.

“I don't know what you’re talking about,” you said, feigning aloofness.

“No, don’t even try with me, Y/N. I've seen it all: the touching, the smiling at your phone, the little heart eyes. All you need is a naked baby to shoot you in the heart with an arrow. It’s disgusting, really. Why you want to date a super soldier is beyond me, but I’ve made it my mission to set you two up because I cannot sit and watch this puppy dog love anymore.” She said, amping up the dramatics.

“I could care less if Bucky is a super soldier, and I do not look at him with heart eyes!” you yelled, your cheeks turning an impossible shade of red. “I just find him…interesting.”

“You did not just say that you find him interesting,” Yelena rolled her eyes. “You look at him like he hung the moon. And not to mention the way he looks at you; he gets all soft looking and hangs onto every word you say like it’s gospel.”

You smiled softly. “Does he really?”

“Oh my God, yes! You are impossible. You have to do something about it. Tell him. Make him tell you; I don't really care, but you two need to get together so that I don't have to keep watching this,” Yelena said, pointing her finger at you.

“I can't tell him! Are you insane? He’s technically our boss, and I’d have to be absolutely hammered in order to work up the courage to even get close to confessing anything!” You let out a frustrated sigh. Yelena put her hand on her hip.

“This is not over. I will find a way to make you confess to him or him to you. You guys are my mission,” she said, heading for the door. You ran a frustrated hand through your hair and began training for what turned out to be a long night.

Currently, at the Watchtower, Yelena’s eyes were watching you as if calculating your moves. Realizing something, she grabbed you by your arm.

“Let’s not stand here all day; let’s get you into the briefing room. Come on, you saw the message. It's an emergency or something.”

Guiding you to the briefing room, she gave you a pat on the arm and opened the door. There, you found the rest of the Avengers gathered around the table. Tucked in the corner near the front of the room was Bucky, his hair tousled with frustration and exhaustion. Somehow, even in exhaustion, he still looked like a Greek god. With every ounce of your being, you tried to evade Bucky’s stare, but the pull was too strong. You glanced at him just as his eyes fell over the hem of your dress, lingering on your thighs. Your cheeks heated up, and you turned away as you heard Yelena chuckle under her breath.

“What strip joint did you just walk out of?” John asked, his leg propped up on the vacant chair beside him. He held that same smugness that one day you were going to wipe the floor with. Bucky cleared his throat, his eyes shooting murderous intent at John.

“Wouldn't you like to know?” you said, finishing the sentence with a small hiccup, which made you giggle.

“Jesus Christ, are you drunk?” John stared at you in disbelief.

“S’so what? I’m allowed to drink on my birthday.” You mumbled, pushing his feet off the chair with more force than you intended and sat down.

“You say birthday?!” Alexei boomed across the table. “Birthday, and we don't have cake or music? Why have you kept it to yourself?! We should sing!” His Russian accent was thick. Even in the middle of the night, he still looked excited to be here.

“If anyone starts singing, I will put a bullet in my brain,” you mumbled.

“It’s your birthday? Why didn't you tell me?” Yelena said, swatting your hand.

“S’just another day. My friends from home took me out to this new bar, though; you should have seen it.” You said, smiling at what little you could remember.

Bucky’s gaze pierced your skin like a dagger. It occurred to you that this was likely the first time he had seen you in this state and dressed for the bars. You couldn't tell if he was staring because he was going to fire you or for another reason—a more selfish, primal reason—and God, you hoped it was the latter.

The debrief was important; you would give them that. The details made you sober up a bit more, but you were definitely still tipsy. Mentions of bioterrorism had been whispered from an ex-OXE employee who had been reported by one of their spies. The team formed a quick plan that would need to be fine-tuned tomorrow before you left, which was lucky for you because you would likely forget everything in the morning.

As the meeting was coming to a close, you were jolted out of your sleepy state by Yelena slamming the table and standing up quickly.

“Well, this has been great, really, but I think it's time for all of us to go. Namely John and Alexei; gotta make sure you’re both rested for tomorrow. Sounds like a pretty serious mission, if you ask me.” She grabbed their arms and began dragging them to the door. She called over her shoulder, “Bucky, you should make sure Y/N doesn't eat shit or something.” And with that, she and the rest of the team were gone. You internally groaned. Right, we’re her mission, you thought. You stood up a little too fast, wobbling slightly, and you felt a metal hand grab your wrist, causing you to stumble over your own feet.

“Whoa, easy,” Bucky said as he helped you catch your balance, his flesh and metal hand holding you by the elbows.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have drank so much. In case, you know, you needed me.” You said, doe eyes finding his. His cheeks tinged pink, and he looked down.

“Is it really your birthday?” he asked, as if he were discussing a government secret. You gave him a shy nod. “I wish you would have told me; I would have gotten you something.” You blushed an impossible shade of red.

“S’just another day, and besides, just having you this close is a gift in itself,” you hummed. The soldier froze. Did he hear that right? She’s just drunk, he thought, still he couldn't help but relish in the words. He drank them in like lemonade on a hot day, intoxicated by the sweetness of you.

Slowly, you wrapped your arms around his neck. He went rigid, as if he were replaced by a Roman statue, carefully chiseled to perfection.

“No, you’re drunk. This isn’t—”

“Relax, Soldier. Just shut up and dance with me.” Softly, you began to sway side to side, rocking back and forth on the balls of your feet. Bucky laughed softly, ridding his body of the tension. His hands fell perfectly into the dips of your waist. You were sure you looked like a couple of kids sharing their first dance, but you didn't care.

Gaining a bit more confidence, Bucky grabbed one of your hands from his neck; the other stayed grounded at your waist. Still swaying, he pulled you out slowly and carefully spun you so your back was flush against his chest. Melting into the warmth, you sighed, your head falling back against the crook of his neck.

“I don't think I’ve danced like this since the ’40s, surely not with a girl this pretty either,” Bucky whispered, his breath hot against your ear. His words left goosebumps on your skin, and butterflies spread throughout your body. A permanent blush clung to your skin as you sank into his words.

“Keep saying stuff like that, and dancing is not the only thing we’ll be doing.” Bucky coughed, startled by your comment and your liquor-induced boldness. “What’s wrong? Cat got your tongue?”

You slipped out of his hold to face him, your noses brushing. You didn't think; you rose to your tiptoes and kissed him.

Bucky froze. On instinct, he kissed you back. His metal hand rested on your upper back, and his flesh one brushed a few pieces of hair from your face. You tilted your head to the side, sighing into the kiss, hungrily nipping at his bottom lip. Gently, you felt his thumb brush over your lip. He broke the kiss, cupping your face.

“We can’t,” he said as if it physically pained him. “You’ve been drinking; it's not right. It’s not how I imagine kissing you.” You felt your cheeks heat in embarrassment at the slight rejection.

“I promise you, Bucky, I want this. I’ve just never had the courage to do it sober,” you said, your head falling against his chest at the confession. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into a hug as his chin rested on top of your head.

“And you know that I want this too, but not when you may not remember it. Not when you might forget how good I’ll make you feel.”

If he couldn't hear your heartbeat before, he sure as hell could now. Your breath hitched, and you leaned back from his chest, your bodies still flush.

“What’s wrong?” he said, a smirk playing on his lips. “Cat got your tongue?”

You laughed breathlessly, looking at him through thick eyelashes. “Damn cat.”

“Will you let me make it up to you for missing your birthday?” His hand left your waist to cup your cheek.

“I think we could think of something to get up to,” you flashed him a grin.

You caught a glance at the time on the wall clock behind Bucky. “As much as I hate to say it, I should get going. If we're going to have a mission tomorrow, we will both need rest. After I just kissed you, I'm not willing to lose you to a mistake that could have been prevented by a little sleep,” you mumbled. You didn't want to leave him, but you knew it was for the best.

“You can't get rid of me that easily. Not when you kissed me while wearing a dress that I'm going to see every time I close my eyes,” he mused. “You’re staying at the tower, I hope?”

“Play your cards right, and maybe one day you can help me take it off,” you smirked, catching how his breath hitched over your words. “I’ll probably head home so I can grab a few things for the mission.” You said gently, pulling away from him.

“Then I'll walk you home.”

“I’ll be fine, Bucky, really—I’ve taken down multiple assassins at once,” you said, laughing and swatting his arm. “You need rest too, my dear.”

“I am not letting my girl walk alone in downtown New York, drunk in the middle of the night. I don’t care how many assassins you’ve taken down,” he said, grabbing his leather coat off the back of the discarded meeting chair.

Your knees threatened to give out at his words, the possessiveness behind them sending a blush across your skin.

“Your girl?” you repeated, liking the way the words tasted on your tongue. He smirked, guiding his hand to your lower back.

“Well, I'll submit a formal application once I take you on a proper date,” he said, guiding you through the meeting room doors.

In the elevator, you leaned against Bucky’s shoulder. His hand was securely around your waist, making sure you were upright.

“Mmm, you’re cozy,” you slurred from exhaustion, nuzzling into his left arm. Bucky gazed down at you with a lazy smile across his face.

“I’ll ask Wakanda if they will make you a pillow out of vibranium,” he joked.

The walk back to your apartment was shorter than you wished. In true gentleman fashion, somewhere along the trip, Bucky had slipped his leather jacket across your shoulders, protecting you from the bite of the late-night air. You both talked about the mission you had planned for tomorrow and discussed some strategies that might help it succeed. Before you knew it, you were standing at your apartment door.

“Well, this is my place,” you said, a bit embarrassed by the weather-worn exterior of the building.

“It’s charming,” Bucky said, flashing you a grin. “I always expected you lived around the Watchtower, but I never knew you were this close.”

“Yeah, I generally try to keep my personal life and work life separate. You’re the only one who's been here, apart from my friends.”

“I’m honored,” Bucky said, taking your hands in his.

“You're sure I can't ask you in?” you smiled, tilting your head toward the door. “I could make you a mean cup of tea.”

“As much as I’d love to, I should get going. But when we get back from that mission, I'll take you up on that offer,” Bucky said lowly. He raised your hand to his mouth and kissed your knuckles, sending goosebumps down your body.

“So, see you tomorrow?”

“See you tomorrow, my love.”

The next day, you woke up to the sunlight peeking in from behind your curtains. A headache sat between your eyes like a bullet lodged in your brain. Begrudgingly, you shuffled out of bed and to the medicine cabinet in search of Tylenol. Facing yourself in the mirror, the memories from the night before rushed in like a tidal wave—the bar, the meeting, Bucky—all of it. Heat rose up your body as you hid your face in your palms.

Softly, a knock echoed through your apartment. You cautiously made your way to your front door and slowly turned the knob. The sight that greeted you was nothing short of holy. Bucky Barnes was standing outside your door, wearing a fitted black tee and sunglasses, holding a bouquet of assorted flowers in one hand and a tray of coffee in the other.

“Happy belated birthday, beautiful.”

—————————————————————————————

Part 2

[magical-reid]

The Bucky Barnes Cake Conspiracy

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x (implied) Avenger!Reader

Word Count: 800

Summary: When Wanda convinces you and Natasha to do the “Hear Me Out” cake trend, you think it’s just harmless fun. That is, until every single one of your picks is a different version of Bucky Barnes, the entire Tower gets involved, and Bucky himself finds out in the most humiliating way possible—via Wanda’s viral video.

It started as a joke.

A harmless, ridiculous joke.

And then it spiraled into something much, much worse.

“I’m just saying,” Wanda said, shoving her phone in your face as the three of you wandered through the grocery store, “we should do it.”

Natasha glanced at the screen. “Oh, the ‘Hear Me Out’ cake trend? That’s dumb.”

“Exactly!” Wanda grinned. “Which makes it perfect for us.”

You furrowed your brows, watching the TikTok she’d pulled up. The trend was simple: buy a plain cake, decorate it with pictures of celebrities or characters you found attractive, and then justify your crush by sticking ‘Hear Me Out’ in the middle.

It was stupid. But also hilarious.

“I’m in,” you said.

Natasha groaned. “Fine. But I’m not helping if this turns into another Tower-wide disaster.”

Wanda hummed, already making a beeline for the bakery aisle. “Oh, it definitely will.”

Back at the Tower, you sat cross-legged on the kitchen counter as Wanda set up her phone. The cake—a plain white-frosted one you’d grabbed from the store—sat in the center of the table, looking all innocent. It had no idea it was about to be used for nonsense.

“Okay,” Wanda said, grinning. “Time to put down our picks.”

Natasha went first. She taped a photo of Keanu Reeves onto a skewer and stuck it into the cake. Classic. No one would question it.

Then Wanda went. Pedro Pascal. Another solid choice.

And then you—

“Y/N,” Natasha deadpanned. “Are you serious?”

You hesitated, mid-skewer placement. “…What?”

Wanda started cackling.

Because instead of picking three different people like a normal person, you had, without realizing it, picked three different versions of Bucky Barnes.

One was a picture of him in his tactical gear, scowling like he was about to murder someone (hot). Another was of him in a hoodie and jeans, looking all soft and domestic (also hot). And the third? The one that really sealed your fate?

It was a close-up of his metal arm.

You winced. “Okay. I see how this looks—”

“This looks like a confession,” Wanda said gleefully, already zooming in on your picks.

“Oh my God,” Natasha muttered, running a hand down her face.

“I panicked!” you hissed. “I wasn’t thinking—I just grabbed the first ones that looked good!”

Wanda was shaking with laughter. “Oh, babe. This isn’t panic. This is obsession.”

You groaned, dropping your head onto the counter. “I hate you both.”

The video went up on Wanda’s account that night.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

By the next morning, it had one million views.

And the Tower was in absolute chaos.

Clint greeted you at breakfast with a slow, knowing grin. “So,” he said, spreading cream cheese onto his bagel, “should we start calling you Mrs. Barnes, or—?”

You threw a banana at his head.

Sam nearly fell off the couch laughing when he saw the video. “You put the metal arm?” he wheezed. “Oh, you’re down bad.”

Steve, who had clearly been dragged into this nonsense against his will, just gave you a long, unimpressed look over his coffee. “You could’ve just told him, you know.”

Tony, of course, had the most Tony reaction possible. “This is the most effort I’ve ever seen someone put into a crush. If I had known Bucky was your type, I would’ve set up an HR department just to make this more scandalous.”

You wanted the Earth to swallow you whole.

But the worst part?

Bucky.

Because by some miracle, he hadn’t seen the video yet.

Which meant you were living on borrowed time.

It happened later that night.

You were curled up on the couch, pretending to read a book but mostly trying to avoid eye contact with the entire human population, when Bucky strolled into the common room.

“Hey, doll.”

Your stomach flipped. “Hey.”

He sat next to you, arms stretched out over the back of the couch, his face unreadable. For a brief, fleeting moment, you thought—maybe he doesn’t know.

And then—

“So,” he said, far too casually. “You like my arm that much, huh?”

Your entire body locked up.

Your soul left your body.

Your mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.

“I—what—who—?”

Bucky chuckled. “I saw the video.”

You shut your eyes. “Kill me.”

He hummed, like he was thinking about it. “Nah. ‘Cause then who’s gonna take me on that date you clearly want?”

You choked. “What—”

Bucky turned to face you fully, that infuriating smirk tugging at his lips. “If you wanted me so bad, sweetheart, you could’ve just asked.”

Your entire brain short-circuited. “I—That’s—You—”

Bucky leaned in, voice low. “Next time, maybe write my number on the cake instead.”

You exhaled sharply, heart hammering. “Are you—Are you flirting with me?”

His grin widened. “You tell me.”

You stared at him. Then at the door. Then back at him.

Finally, you sighed, rubbing your temples. “Fine. But if we go on a date, I’m making Wanda pay for it.”

Bucky laughed, eyes warm. “Deal.”

[letstalkaboutshtufff]

Broken Rules🎀

Alpha Bucky Barnes/Yelena Bolova x Omega reader you

Pairing: Alpha Bucky Barnes x Alpha Yelena Bolova x omega reader you

Warning: 18+, Alpha beta omega dynamics, swearing, minor injury, spanking👀 lemme know if I forgot anything.

Summary: You break the rules and they find out

A/n: Ya’ll…. I can’t believe I wrote this😭👀….

Oh you were finished. Absolutely undeniably screwed. You might as well start packing now. Ok maybe that was being dramatic but still you were in deep shit.

You sighed looking at the steaming hole in the plush carpet. Blaster still hot to the touch on the table beside you. Damn you and your bored curiosity.

One day. Bucky and Yelena had been gone one day and you’d already broken two of their biggest rules.

Rule #1 Never put yourself in danger under any circumstances.

Rule #2 No touching any of the weapons around the tower.

Yup you were screwed. You whined feeling the burning sensation on your hand intensify.

The skin a fiery red from the blast but not as bad as It could have been you supposed. You could take care of it easily but the sizzling hole in the middle of the living room was going to be a bit more challenging. You weighed your options. You could cover the hole up somehow and make up some excuse as to how you hurt yourself that didn’t incriminate you… although your two hydra trained Alphas could spot a lie a mile away…

You really didn’t have much a-

*BZZT BZZT*

You gasped seeing the familiar name pop up on your comm watch.

Shit shit shit… ok act natural….

*click*

“H-hello?”

“What happened?” Bucky’s voice cut through the device like a knife despite the gunshots ringing in the background.

“W-what?” You heard a grunt and something thud onto the ground then he spoke again, stern but that underlying concern ever present.

“I said what happened.” More grunts and gunshots but Bucky didn’t seem phased.

“Bucky I don’t know what your-“

“Don’t lie baby girl we felt your distress through the bond, are you hurt- ah shit, Bucky we have 30 seconds before it explodes-“ Yelena tsked.

“On it”

“Now answer the question, are you hurt? What happened?”

“Are you guys by a bomb!?” You shrieked suddenly panicked.

“Don’t change the subject!” Bucky yelled from further away.

“You heard him little one answer the question. now.” Her voice was stern and even through the phone it sent a shiver down your spine.

“I-I I’m fine! Are you guys fine!?”

“Please, we’re basically yawning over here- no Bucky cut the red one not the blue one-“

“Got it, it’s disabled.” You cried a sigh of relief. The beeping ceased and you heard a shuffle by the phone. Bucky’s voice cutting back in.

“Doll?”

“Y-yeah?”

“You gonna tell us what’s going on like a good girl or do we have to come home now and handle it ourselves” his voice was soft but you could hear the underlying threat clear as day.

“I um… I just hurt myself a bit, it’s nothing big really..” you cringed at how unconvincing you sounded.

“What? How?” Yelena sounded more worried now.

You sighed knowing you couldn’t lie to them because they’d find out the truth anyway like they always did.

“I-I burned my hand, but it’s really not that bad! I already put some cream on it and-“

“How did you burn it? The stove? God I knew that new model was shit- lemme call the doctor-”

“No I don’t need a doctor! I already treated it, it was just a little graze…”

….

“Graze?” You sucked in a breath.

“Y-yeah…”

You heard a frustrated sigh

“Baby”

“Y-yeah?”

“Were you playing with our weapons again?”

“….yes”

“We’re on our way”

“Huh? B-but the missio-“

*click*

Crap…

*************************************************

The wait was excruciating. You sat on the couch leg tapping the floor a mile a minute. The familiar ding of the elevator had your heart leaping from your chest.

The doors slid open revealing your two Alphas. Both were covered in dirt and blood-barely any of their own of course- and both looked equally tired. As soon as they saw you they marched over quickly.

Yelena pulled you up so you were standing before scanning your entire body for injures. Bucky was already at your side pulling your hand up.

He frowned tilting it side to side, Yelena looked as well, growing more upset by the second. Concern quickly gave way to anger.

“What the hell were you thinking?”

“I-I”

“And this isn’t even properly treated”

“I put the- ah Bucky?!”

You hardly could get a word in before you were lifted up and brought into the bathroom and placed on the counter.

Yelena followed soon after with a med kit.

Before your could protest she was pulling your long sleeve shirt off leaving you in your underthings and jeans.

“Yelena it’s just my han-“

She shushed you with a single look.

You felt like a worm under a microscope as they both treated your wound like it was a gunshot to the chest.

They worked quickly and although you could feel the steam rolling of of them, they were as gentle as possible. Once they finished they stepped back and motioned for you to go sit in the living room.

You avoided their gaze choosing a very interesting spot on the rug. The weight of their stares piercing through you like knives.

You didn’t dare speak in the tense atmosphere as they both stood in front of you.

“Now tell us exactly what happened”

Your breath hitched at his tone.

“W-well um-“

“And don’t dare lie omega” Yelena sat on the coffee table knees almost touching yours. You longed to feel her and Bucky but knew this was definitely not the moment to be whining for their affection.

After taking a shaky deep breath you continued, “I was um bored and wanted to look at the new shock blaster- I didn’t mean to press anything..Honestly I was just looking”

“Do you have any idea how ridiculously stupid that was? You could have seriously hurt yourself or worse!” You flinched at his harsh tone.

“What were you even thinking? you know you’re not allowed to touch our weapons.” Yelenas voice was quieter than Bucky’s but no less angry.

“I-I’m sorry I wasn’t thinking..”

“No you weren’t” Bucky huffed crossing his arms.

“I’m sorry…”

“How can we trust you alone again if you can’t even follow our simple rules?”

“I won’t do it again I promise…”

You felt the tears well up against your wishes. All you wanted to do these past few days was have them hold you in your arms and now that they were back they were furious with you. You felt your omega shrink back in shame for disobeying your alphas.

Despite the anger the two felt they couldn’t help but soften a bit seeing your tears.

“We’ll finish discussing this after we get cleaned up and changed. Be on the bed when we’re done.”

You nod still riddled with guilt as they both stood and disappeared down the hall into your shared bedroom.

The hour was late so while they were showering you changed into your night slip. Maybe the revealing skin would soften whatever punishment they had planned.

You sighed looking at the bandage that stuck out like a sore thumb.

The door clicked and a rush of steam flowed out, Your alphas now clean from the missions dirt and grime. Yelena in her silky robe and Bucky in just his pajama bottoms made your heart skip a beat.

How long had it been since they touched you? Way too long.

Yelena was the first to speak, “so you can listen when you want to.”

You bit your lip not sure what to say.

She took slow and careful steps to you like a predator stalking its prey.

“Stand up” you quickly scrambled off and stood in front just a few feet away from her. She gave Bucky a look to which he immediately sat on the bed legs spread.

“Take it off, all of it” you nodddd and shakily let the straps of your gown fall leaving a puddle of silk on the floor. You knew better than to disobey at a time like this so you quickly made work of your panties too.

As soon as you were bare Bucky pulled your arm making you yelp and stumble splayed out across his lap. You already knew what was going to happen.

Your fingers dug into the silk sheets awaiting the inevitable.

Cold hard metal slid up your thighs sending shivers through your body. You wished he was using his other hand so you could feel some semblance of comfort but it seemed this was all part of the punishment.

Smack

Quick but sharp the sting spread quickly.

“Count” Yelena crossed her arms leaning against the wall, her eyes on you like a hawk.

“O-one..”

Smack

“T-two..”

Smack

“Th-three…”

Bucky was relentless, his slaps firm and barely leaving room for relief.

“Can’t believe you did that, what the hell were you thinking?” Bucky practically growled from behind.

“I-I’m s-s-sorry ah-! F-four” you bit your lip as more tears fell down. The wind sharply blowing from the a.c, Bucky’s lack of touch, Yelena’s glare, by the 10 smack you were overwhelmed and shaking. Your scent was already distressed since they arrived- that was expected but there was a shift that made Bucky pause and Yelena falter in her stance.

You didn’t realize when it had become so hard to breathe through the sobs and shaking but now it felt like you couldn’t get any air in.

“Y/n?”

You world was quickly shifted and your gaze was no longer blurred sheets but a frowning Bucky.

In your distressed state you thought you only made him angrier so apologies were flooding out of your mouth only they were barely intelligible.

Bucky was anything but angry, concern washed over him when he realized your state and he was quick to pull you up to his chest, cradling you in his arms. He held your cheek with his real hand hoping the warmth would calm you. Yelena crossed the room quickly and kneeled in front gently caressing your hair.

“Hey hey it’s ok, it’s over shhh everything’s ok, we’re not mad ok? We were just worried, shh breathe doll breathe.” He continued to hold you close gently kissing your head and whispering reassurances softly.

“Baby we’re sorry we didn’t realize it was too much, please don’t cry anymore, cmon back to us love we promise we’re not mad ok? It’s all forgotten, just come back to us…” Yelena felt horrible for not picking up on your emotions much sooner. It’s true you had your safeword but they should have paid much more attention.

She stood up and sat beside Bucky, you still cradled in his lap. Bucky lifted one arm so she could also be near you and calm you down.

Their warmth and scents eventually helped your breathing to slow down and sobs turned into sniffles. You winced when the pain in your hand finally registered that you had been gripping it so hard.

Bucky motioned something to Yelena which she understood and swiftly pulled you into her lap, Bucky stood up disappearing into the bathroom for a sec and came out with a glass of water and some pills.

“Here doll, for the pain”. He held the pill to your lips and gently pushed before lifting the glass and helping you drink as well.

You whispered a thank you then snuggled back into Yelenas warmth.

“You alright baby?” You nodded to Bucky.

“I’m sorry we didn’t realize sooner…” Yelena kissed your cheek apologetically sounding disappointed in herself.

“I-It’s not your fault it’s mine, I-I should have used my s-safeword but I couldn’t really think and then-“

“Stop, it’s our jobs to protect you and care for you. We should have paid more attention. We’re so sorry.”

Yelena nodded in agreement, “We should have noticed, we’re to blame not you.” She buried her head in your shoulder feeling the guilt of the world.

“Please don’t be upset… can we just forget it all and cuddle and sleep please?”

Bucky sighed with a tired smirk and nodded while Yelena was already moving the two of you under the covers.

“Wait we gotta put the salve first” Bucky reminded and Yelena pulled the covers off. You frowned at the loss of heat.

“Awe come on can’t you do it in the morning?”

“No”

“No”

You huffed but laid still anyway as they spread the cream over your sore bottom.

As soon as they finished you were pulling them closer encasing you entirely. Bucky behind and Yelena in front. She gently pushed a strand out of your face before leaning closer and kissing you softly.

“Goodnight darling…”

Bucky lowered his head to kiss you as well then you watched biting your lip as the two kissed over you.

A rush of heat flooded your body and you couldn’t help but speak out, “a-actually it’s a little early to sleep don’t you think?”

Their laugh broke the kiss but soon their predatory gazes were locked onto you. Smiles diminishing into smirks that had your heart pounding in anticipation.

“Oh? What did you have in mind baby?”

****************************************************

I cAnNoT bEliEve I wRoTe tHiS😅😅😅 guys was this cringy or do you want a series😂👀

[freakrenaissance]

Mercy 🤤 🤤 🤤 🤤

Personal Sessions

Summary: Your new gym comes with a few perks. Heated swimming pool, sauna, and your very own personal trainer. Bucky Barnes. And he has the best way of making sure you work up a sweat.

Pairing: MMA!Bucky x Reader

Word Count: 3.8k

Warnings: Smut, size kink, belly bulge, choking, praise kink and hint of breeding kink, beefy Bucky.

A/N: Beta’d by the lovely @maladaptivexxdaydreaming and @lfnr-blog-blog-blog.

|Masterlist↬MMA Masterlist↬Library ↬Kofi|

Good for one free personal training session.

The neatly handwritten words stare up at you.

A thin ribbon of blue ink smeared across the words from where he circled the word personal.

Putting the corners of the thin white card between your fingers, you spin it to the front. Brooklyn’s 107th Gym embossed in bold black lettering above a pair of red and blue boxing gloves.

Steve G. Rogers and J. Bucky Barnes inscribed in fine black lettering.

You trace your finger over the latter’s name.

Bucky Barnes.

He’s been starring in your dreams ever since you walked into his gym a few weeks ago. And after you discovered a few videos of his fights, demonstrating his sheer strength and agility, he’s the reason your favorite vibrator has been getting more of a workout than you have.

Turning the card back over, you blow a shaky breath through your lips.

Good for one free personal training session.

And you wonder just how personalized it will be.

Keep reading

[sillygoose067]

Crash Landing Into You pt.2

Joaquin Torres x Reader

Joaquin stood outside the bookstore café, bouncing a little on the balls of his feet. He’d changed his shirt twice before coming—settled on a dark green button-up he hoped looked cool but not too try-hard.

When you walked out, he straightened, caught off guard by how nice you looked in your sweater dress, hair down, a small crossbody bag slung at your hip. You had this slightly nervous smile, the kind people wore when they weren’t totally sure if this was a good idea.

“Hey,” he said, hands slipping into his pockets. “You look…great.”

You ducked your head, warmth creeping up your cheeks. “Thanks. So do you.”

There was an awkward moment, the two of you trying to figure out if you should hug, shake hands, or just wave. He opted for a slightly dorky half-hug, arm barely touching your shoulder, and you both laughed as you walked in.

The conversation over coffee started cautious, a little stilted. He asked you about your job, you asked him about his, both of you trying not to sound rehearsed.

“So,” he said, stirring his cortado, “ER work. That’s gotta be intense.”

You nodded, wrapping your hands around your mug. “Yeah, it is. I mean… I like it. It’s chaos, but it makes me feel useful. You have to be quick, but you also have to be kind.” You shrugged. “Keeps you human, I guess.”

He tilted his head, genuinely impressed. “I get that. I mean, my whole thing is about quick decisions, too, but usually it’s more… ‘don’t crash into that building’ and less ‘save a tiny life.’”

You laughed, your shoulders relaxing a bit. “Both important. I think the building people appreciate you.”

The date got easier from there. You found little overlaps—shared shows, mutual fears of public speaking, the same guilty pleasure for really bad pop songs. By the time the café closed, you were leaning in toward each other, forgetting to check your watches.

He walked you home, hands brushing once or twice before he finally took yours, and when you reached your door, you lingered there, suddenly self-conscious again.

“I had a really good time,” you said, looking up at him. “Thanks for… this.”

He smiled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, me too. Can I… text you? Maybe plan something less caffeinated next time?”

You grinned. “Definitely.”

You parted with a soft, slightly awkward hug, and when you closed the door behind you, you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

⸻

By your fourth or fifth date, you’d found a rhythm. You’d made him dinner at your place once—a slightly burnt lasagna he pretended to love, even though the edges were like roof shingles. He’d taken you to a street fair, where you’d nearly puked on a spinning ride but insisted you were fine.

It was after one of those casual, unplanned nights that you found yourself curled up on his couch, legs across his lap, half-watching a terrible reality show while he absently rubbed your ankle.

“I have a confession,” he said suddenly, eyes still on the screen.

You looked over, heart skipping a little. “Yeah?”

“I have no idea what’s happening in this show,” he admitted, looking at you with a sheepish grin. “I’ve just been nodding every time you comment.”

You burst out laughing, head falling back against the armrest. “You liar. I thought you were invested in this trainwreck!”

“Hey, in my defense, I just like listening to you talk about it. You get all fired up.” He poked your shin. “It’s cute.”

You blushed, shaking your head. “You’re ridiculous.”

But he was also leaning in, thumb tracing gentle circles against your calf, his face closer now, eyes flicking to your mouth.

And when he kissed you, it was soft at first, a tentative press of lips, like he was giving you time to pull away. But you didn’t. You leaned in, fingers curling in the fabric of his shirt, and he exhaled against your cheek, a quiet, contented sound that made your heart do backflips.

⸻

Eventually, he started leaving things at your place. A spare hoodie on your coatrack. His favorite phone charger coiled beside your bed. A toothbrush in the cup next to yours, like some quiet promise.

He’d stay over some nights, both of you too tired to make the trek to his apartment. You learned his little habits—how he hummed when he brushed his teeth, how he always checked the locks twice, how he stretched his arms over his head every morning like he was about to launch into the sky.

One lazy Sunday, you were curled up on the couch, his head in your lap, your fingers absently running through his curls as you read a book. He closed his eyes, a soft, sleepy smile on his lips.

“Is this weird?” he mumbled.

You looked down, brushing a curl off his forehead. “What?”

“This.” He cracked one eye open. “Us. Being this… domestic.”

You smiled, leaning down to kiss his temple. “Not weird. Just… nice.”

He squeezed your knee, eyes drifting shut again. “Yeah. Nice.”

⸻

It wasn’t perfect, of course. No couple is.

The first time you really fought, it was over something stupid—a last-minute mission that took him out of the country for two weeks without so much as a text, and you’d spent every night staring at your phone, convinced something had gone wrong.

When he finally showed up at your door, looking exhausted but relieved, you’d tried to brush it off, but he’d caught the tightness in your voice, the way your arms stayed crossed, shoulders tense.

“You’re mad,” he said, leaning against your doorframe, eyes dark.

You bit your lip. “I’m not mad. I just… I wish you’d said something. I worried.”

He exhaled, running a hand over his face. “I’m sorry. I should’ve. I just… it’s hard to explain. I didn’t want to put that on you.”

You hesitated, then stepped closer, your tone softening. “I want you to put it on me. That’s kind of the point, right?”

He dropped his head, shoulders slumping. “Yeah. You’re right. I’m sorry.”

You reached for his hand, squeezing gently. “I just… care about you. A lot.”

He looked up, his eyes softening. “I care about you, too.”

And the hug that followed wasn’t perfect either—too tight, too desperate—but it was real. And that mattered more.

⸻

It came out one morning, long after the sun had risen, when you were both tangled up in your sheets, half-awake, still groggy from the night before.

You were draped across his chest, fingers absentmindedly tracing the faint scar on his shoulder, your head tucked beneath his chin. His arm was wrapped around you, holding you close, his thumb brushing the soft skin of your arm.

He yawned, stretching a little, then mumbled, “You know you’re my favorite person, right?”

You smiled, eyes still closed. “Is that so?”

“Mm-hmm,” he said, voice sleep-heavy. “I’m serious. You… you make everything feel… different. Lighter. Even the hard stuff.”

You blinked, waking up a little more, feeling the weight of his words.

“I mean,” he continued, a nervous chuckle in his throat, “I’m still a mess, obviously. But you make me want to be less of a mess.”

You propped yourself up on your elbow, looking down at him. “Are you trying to tell me something, Torres?”

He hesitated, eyes searching yours, his heart clearly picking up speed. “Yeah,” he said, voice softer now. “I love you.”

Your breath hitched. It felt like the air in the room shifted, the world suddenly sharper, brighter.

You swallowed, felt your heart pounding in your ears, then leaned down, pressing your forehead to his.

“I love you, too,” you whispered, your nose brushing his. “A lot.”

The relief in his eyes was immediate, his lips crashing into yours in a kiss that felt both urgent and deeply, deeply right. Like a promise sealed.

⸻

A few months later, he got hurt. Nothing critical, but enough to shake you both.

He’d been out on a mission, one of those chaotic, high-stakes ones that Sam swore would be quick and easy, and he came back with a gash along his ribs and a limp that made your stomach drop.

When he stumbled into your apartment that night, his uniform torn, sweat slicking his hair to his forehead, you froze.

“Oh my god,” you whispered, rushing to his side. “Joaquin, what happened?”

He tried for a reassuring smile, even as his knees buckled a little. “Nothing. Just… took a hit. It’s fine.”

But when you peeled back the fabric and saw the jagged, bloody line across his ribs, you felt a wave of nausea hit you.

“You’re bleeding,” you hissed, guiding him to the couch. “Why didn’t you go to med bay?”

“I’m fine,” he insisted, wincing as he leaned back. “I just… wanted to see you.”

Your heart twisted, both at the stupidity of it and the tenderness. You grabbed your first aid kit, kneeling beside him as you started to clean the wound, hands shaking slightly.

“Dios, this looks bad,” you muttered, biting your lip as you worked. “You can’t just… walk around with this.”

He let his head fall back, exhaling shakily. “I knew you’d patch me up. You’re surgeon, right?”

You shot him a look, half angry, half terrified. “Yeah, for kids.”

He reached for your hand, catching it even as you tried to swat him away.

“Hey,” he said, voice suddenly serious. “I’m okay. I promise. I’m not going anywhere.”

You paused, meeting his eyes, and felt your chest tighten.

“Promise me you won’t do this again,” you whispered, your voice cracking a little. “You can’t just… come back to me like this. It’s not fair.”

His grip tightened on your hand, his thumb rubbing gentle circles into your skin.

“I promise,” he whispered back, eyes softening. “I’ll be more careful. I swear.”

And when you leaned in, pressing your forehead to his, his free hand came up to cup the back of your neck, holding you there like you were his whole world.

⸻

Eventually, you stopped keeping track of which things were his and which were yours. His spare hoodie became a permanent fixture on the back of your desk chair. Your favorite blanket migrated to his couch. He started leaving spare socks in your laundry basket, and you stopped pretending you cared.

One morning, you caught him singing in your shower, a horribly off-key rendition of some old R&B song, and instead of being annoyed, you found yourself grinning like an idiot.

He came out of the bathroom, towel around his waist, hair dripping, and caught you staring.

“What?” he said, a little sheepish, grabbing for his shirt.

You shook your head, blushing. “Nothing. Just… you’re cute.”

He paused, then broke into a wide, teasing grin. “Oh, I’m cute, huh?”

You tossed a pillow at him, laughing as he ducked. “Don’t push it, Torres.”

But as he crossed the room, pulling you into a damp, soapy hug that made you squeal, you realized you hadn’t felt this happy in a long, long time.

[darkredsugarcookie]

"The Pressure of His Lips" - ex!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Hi! Like three (3) people have asked me to start posting fics on here, so here we go. I'm new to posting on tumblr, but I'm a wattpad and ao3 veteran, so be nice. I'm still trying to figure out the formatting and everything for this place :P

Summary: After breaking up due to your secret relationship being brought to the surface, you are not handling the separation well. Too much vodka and lonely nights end with you accidentally Bucky from the bathroom floor.

Warnings: Alcohol use, heavy intoxication, mentions of smoking weed, slight hint at SA history upon the reader, angst, alpine mention!!!! let me know if I missed any!

DISCLAIMER: This is an excerpt from a bigger fic I've been writing in which the self-insert has a history of SA. It is hinted at for one sentence in this specific blurb.

By all means, I should’ve been the one that managed to keep my head above water. Dad hit rock bottom when he was my age— after my grandparents died. He was no stranger to tell me about it. It was always an example of what not to do. Even Mom had her struggles after she lost her brother. 

I had every picture perfect reason to stay away from anything that could drag me down like a weight in still water. Which is why I couldn’t tell you how I ended up at the bottom of a bottle on a Monday night in uptown Manhattan. 

For a long time, I refused to drink more than once in heavy social settings after what happened when I was seventeen. But this? I didn’t care anymore. I needed whatever would keep him and my parents and the team out of my head. 

The problem I was running into, however, was that by the time I was cross-faded in a mass of bodies in a bar uptown, he was the only thing I had the ability to think about. 

Everything I wouldn’t confront during the day when I was sober chased me down until I was curled up in the corner of a bathroom stall. 

The smell of weed clouded my senses as the cold tile floor hit the backs of my thighs. The vodka still on my tongue made me dizzy and I could feel my heart beating like a drum in my head.

Every memory axed its way into my head like a migraine I couldn’t shake. I could spend every night like this, I could dance with strangers I didn’t care about, I could swear off men to my best friend and demand that I was completely fine, but I would always end up like this. Thinking about how I could still feel the pressure of his lips on my skin and if I tried hard enough, the temperature of the bathroom tiles almost felt like that of his arm under my fingers whenever we were curled up together. 

I couldn’t keep a straight thought. It all flashed through my head in images I couldn’t shake. 

My phone was vibrating. 

I fumbled for it, where it was tucked into the front of my dress, and I didn’t even check who was calling when I  tapped the screen and held it to my ear. I sniffled, wiping my nose. My cheeks were wet. 

I was crying. That seemed to be pretty normal for me these days. 

“Hello?” 

I blinked. Great, now I was hallucinating voices. I’d never reached that point of being wasted. “Nat,” I said, rubbing my eyes. I probably just ruined my makeup already. “What’s up?” I did my best to sound sober. Probably didn’t work.

There was a heavy sigh. “You didn’t mean to call me,” he said. 

“You called me,” I replied. 

“No, I did not. Are you… Are you okay?” 

“I am fine,” I said. “I’m not… supposed to talk to you.” “I know, angel.” Another sigh, a shuffle of something. Maybe blankets. It couldn’t have been that late. 

“Are you sleeping?”

“It’s almost four in the morning.”

My head was pounding, swimming… I couldn’t quite breathe right. “You don’t really sleep…”

“No, I don’t. Less now. Where are you?” 

“Why?” I felt defensive all of a sudden. No matter the fact I didn’t think I could get up off this floor if the building was on fire. 

“Because you’re drunk, sweetheart. And you’re alone. It’s not safe.”

“You don’t know that I’m- if I’m alone.”

A brief pause. “Yes, I do. Do you know where you are?” 

I was picking at a loose thread on the hem of my dress. “I’m…” I squeezed my eyes shut. That string wrapped around my finger twice. “I’m in the bathroom.”

“Okay, hold on—” I heard a door shut. It was quiet for a second. “I know where you are. You stay in the bathroom, okay? I’ll come get you.”

“But you—”

“No, you stay where you are.” I shrank a little. “Hear me?” 

“Yeah…” “Good. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

I think I fell asleep after that, because the next thing I remember was hearing a commotion of voices— only one of which I recognized. 

Then it got so bright as the stall door was pushed open and I swear it felt like my heart that had dropped dead almost a month ago was beating again. 

Bucky’s face was a mix of emotions as he touched my cheek. “Sweetheart…” He said, letting out a breath. 

“Why are you here?” I asked, blinking a few times to try and see clearly. If he was here, I wanted to feel it, see it. All of it. 

“I’m here for you, doll.”

“But you hate me.”

He looked at me like I was crazy. “No, I don’t, baby. I don’t hate you. But we need to get you home, come on.”

Without waiting for me to say anything, he lifted me to my feet. “Where are your shoes?” he asked. I just shrugged. 

As I limped my way to the bathroom exit, one of the other girls stopped him, demanding that he either explain how he knew me, or set me down. If I was sober, I might have hugged her for that. “He’s…” I started. 

She cast a worried glance from me, to the man holding me up. Bucky sighed and pulled out his phone, showing her the screen. “She’s mine, promise.” I barely caught a glimpse of the wallpaper. It was a picture Avery had taken of us when we were in Atlanta, we were in the kitchen, not even aware she was watching. 

Once we were past the crowds, he shoved the door open and helped me outside. The chilly air shocked me a little back into my senses, but not much. 

He pulled the car door open and helped me into the passenger seat before rounding the hood and climbing in. “I feel like lecturing you on how dangerous this is might be pointless because I don’t think you’re gonna remember any of it.”

I sniffled, wiping my cheeks. “I thought I was… fine.” “I’m sure you did,” he said, pulling onto the street. “Avery would have a heart attack if she knew about this, you know?” 

“Yeah… It’s okay.”

“It’s not,” he sighed, shoving a hand through his hair. “This isn’t like you.”

“Sure it is,” I replied as I looked out the window. “It’s in my genes.” Bucky glanced at me, but didn’t say anything. When we pulled up outside my apartment building, I paused. “How do you—”

“I had a feeling something like this would happen. I got it from Nat.” 

“She gave it to you?” 

“I had to ask. Beg, actually.”

“That isn’t like you,” I said, quoting his own words. He cast me that same look he always gave me when I said something annoying, but valid. I smiled a little, tipping my head against the headrest of the car as I watched him climb out. 

When he got to my side and pulled the door open, he didn’t give me an option. Next thing I knew, he was scooping me into his arms and I didn’t have it in me to fight. I leaned closer, letting my body relax for the first time in weeks. I could scold myself for this in the morning. 

“What’s the door code?” he asked me. 

“My birthday,” I replied in more of a mumble than anything. “It’s—”

“I know your birthday, angel.” 

I sighed and nodded as we stepped into the warmth of the lobby. I didn’t question him as he held me the whole way to my apartment, his fingers occasionally brushing against my body as if it was muscle memory. 

He pressed the same code into my door keypad and shoved the door open. 

“Don’t let the cat out,” I muttered. 

“The what— Oh my god.” I heard my little white kitten meow up at him. “That’s Snowball,” I said. “Or Alpine. I can’t choose.”

He sighed, a small smile on his face. “I like Alpine.”

Bucky carried me to the master bedroom and set me on the bed. I rubbed my eyes, the ache behind them starting to grow. He disappeared for a second and when he came back, he put a glass of water in my hand. “Drink this,” he said, setting my shoes in my closet. I wondered briefly where he found them before he returned from the closet with the Avengers Compound sweatshirt that used to be his, but I had reclaimed. “You can’t sleep in that dress,” he said. “Or that makeup.” 

“I’ll be fine—” I started. 

“No. You’re gonna change. I’ll give you a—”

“I can’t get the zipper myself,” I said quietly. “It’s not- It’s not a ploy… Promise.” 

He helped me to my feet and turned me around before tugging at the zipper. I felt the air hit my back a second before his hand landed at my waist. “Are you gonna remember anything from tonight?” 

“I hope so,” I said softly. Other words for definitely not. 

Bucky sighed and dropped his head to my shoulder. “I miss you,” he breathed, lips brushing against my skin. “More than I’ve ever missed anyone.” 

A pain lodged itself in my chest. It was so deep that in this moment I genuinely didn’t think it’d ever leave me. And if it did, it might just leave a hole where it sat. “Bucky…” 

“Get changed. I’ll be right back.”

When I felt his body heat disappear from me, I dropped my dress to the ground and tugged on the sweatshirt he’d set on the bed. I didn’t bother with shorts, just left my underwear on. 

I dropped onto the edge of the bed, finished my water, held my hands in my lap. 

Bucky came from the bathroom and clicked on the lamp beside my bed. He took my face in his hand and with the warm rag in his hand, wiped it gently along my face. “Close your eyes,” he said softly. 

I did as I was told. It wasn’t as in depth as I could’ve myself, but it was enough to keep my eyes from hurting in the morning.

He tossed the rag in the hamper and guided me into bed. “You need to sleep,” he said softly. 

“I’m not used to sleeping alone,” I mumbled against my pillow. 

“I know, sweetheart,” he replied, fingers combing through my hair. “Me either. But you’re gonna be okay.” 

I felt exhaustion coming for me like a thief in the night. “You think so?” 

“I know so. Sleep, baby.” 

A breath escaped me. I didn’t have the energy to speak anymore.

As sleep pulled me away, I felt his kiss against my head. Then the light clicked off and it was gone like a dream.