#bucky hc

[chiacanwritesometimes]

the three times you tried, and the one time it worked. (part three)

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ship: bucky barnes x reader

word count: 2.6k

authors note: i’m posting this one a little later than i thought i would, i spent more time with it to ensure the most satisfying conclusion :) i delve into themes of pregnancy, weight gain, and miscarriage, so please do not interact if these themes trigger, bother, or make you uncomfortable.

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there’s no word for a parent who lost their child. you’ve heard that before. but, there’s no word for a parent who lost their child before they were born.

he stopped touching you the way you liked. he didn’t stop loving you, but he grew sorrowful of the way you grew stiff at his touch. it wasn’t personal, you knew it wasn’t his fault. it wasn’t his fault, it wasn’t your fault, it wasn’t anyone’s fault. you grew tired of hearing that, and the way peoples voice whined when they heard the news, and the way they tilt their heads, knit their eyebrows together and go “ohhh.”.

you became resentful. you were angry at the world, angry at yourself, angry at anyone who reminded you that your body was a failure, that you were a failure.

it’s safe to say that you hadn’t fucked in a while. the few moments you let him kiss you, and things got a bit heavy, you sighed and tapped his wrist twice, a signal you both have to show that it was time to stop. like clockwork, he smiled, kissed your forehead, and poured himself a glass of whiskey.

he started smoking again. you tried to protest, but you knew deep down you envied him. how dare he flaunt the fact he can damage his body with cigarettes, cigars, alcohol, and them have no effect on his body. you knew that wasn’t by choice, but you still felt jealous. he tried not to do it so often in front of you. there was a positive to this, though. you liked the smoky kisses he gave you when he was smoking, the tobacco taste of his tongue making you feel elegant.

most nights were spent awake. or, at least, him awake. you always fell asleep first, kissing him goodnight, and turning your back to him. he always looked at you, and just sighed.

he couldn’t sleep. it’s been years since he couldn’t sleep that way. he tried everything, from tea to subliminals. the white noise of the music couldn’t take him away from the fact that he felt grief, in all that which he was. and to make matters worse, his metal arm was the only part of him that didn’t seem to be affected. many days were spent without it, but the instant he put it on, he felt a surge of confidence. he felt disgusted with himself, reeling from the fact that the one thing he hates most about himself was the only thing in tip top shape.

you often wondered if your actions would lead him to get another lover. you scolded yourself for thinking that about him, as that wasn’t a fair accusation. you know that he held immense love for you, but you couldn’t help but feel cynical. maybe the only reason he stayed with you was some sort of ‘thank you’ for having stayed by his side so long after the effects of hydra. quickly, you pushed those feelings aside. you felt guilty to have had thought of him so poorly.

four months passed since maine. nine months had passed since the first time you were pregnant. the due date would’ve been any time soon, and every day was a reminder. the clothes in boxes, the pastel wallpaper rolled up. strangely, you felt somewhat normal. i mean, as normal as you can get in a situation like this.

you knew, deep down, it wouldn’t always be like this. you knew that eventually, you wouldn’t shy away from his touch, and you’d let him love you the way you wanted him to.

you decided to visit the shrine. you hadn’t done that in a while, but this time was different. you woke him up before the sun rose, and asked him to go with you.

of course he said yes. these past few weeks, you hardly asked him for anything. he was desperate, he was clinging to the ghost of your existence. your home was no longer blessed with your laughter, your dancing, your singing, your life. he wanted you, needed you, missed you. these disappointments had been the bane of his existence. he tenderly held your hand as you led him to your secret hideaway, the shrine. he kept quiet as you explained the meaning of the flowers around it, and the shape of the headstone. he admired your attention to detail, and for the first time in months, he saw, within you, a weight lifted. your eyes were tired, yes, but not resentful. your touch on his hand was no longer obligated, but appreciated. how obvious it seemed, sharing grief. how does that one quote go? a sorrow shared is a sorrow halved. it seemed like you had spent hours together outside, and it wasn’t long before the rays of the sun warmed you both to the point of removing a couple layers of clothing. you wore a simple nightgown, the silk cloth having a sheer effect from the sun. his muscles looked toned from the shadows cast from the sun, and for the first time in a long time, you let yourself go with your feelings. you placed a hand on his shoulder, his human shoulder. his eyes immediately zipped to you. he looked, nervous.

“james?”

his hand met yours, and held it. he then placed it on his cheek, inhaling deeply. his eyes fluttered shut.

you were kinder with yourself. you were kinder with him. you were kinder with the world. most nights were spent in his embrace, his soft kisses peppering your skin. you no longer stiffened at his touch, no longer dreaded his kisses. lazy mornings were filled with conversations about nothing, and everything. your value wasn’t determined by wether or not your womb could be fruitful. you threw away all pregnancy tests, hoping that would be a first step towards acceptance.

it was july, three weeks after the shrine, five months after maine, and ten ish months after you were first pregnant. hot summer nights were spent in a little gazebo in your backyard, the burnt smell of sweet marshmallows filling your nostrils. you laughed as he looked defeated at his small lump of charred sweetness. he rolled his eyes at you and threw a graham cracker at you, which made you laugh even more.

eventually, the fire died down, and you two were left stargazing. rather, you were left stargazing, and his gaze was on you. you didn’t know the name of the constellations, so you made them up.

“that one is a sword wielding cat.” you giggled, half asleep.

“yeah?”

“yeah. and next to it-“ you whispered. “next to it is his damsel in distress.” you pointed. you noticed his eyes linger.

“are you alright?”

“you are so fucking beautiful.” he said, almost in disbelief.

“…okay.” you smiled, and wiped a strand of hair away from his face. “is that all?”

“of course not.” he leaned on his elbows. he kissed your forehead, your cheek, your lips. “you’re wonderful, intelligent-“ a kiss on the bridge of your nose. “charming, gorgeous-“ a kiss on your chin. “and you’re…” he stopped.

“i’m?” you asked, holding his face.

“you’re mine.”

you smiled softly. his metal hand rested on your thigh, making you suck your breath from the cool touch. he waited for you to tap his wrist twice, to see if he was walking on eggshells. he paused, one beat, two beats, three. nothing. his eyes looked into yours, and you smiled.

it goes without saying that there wasn’t much sleep to be had that night.

now, you didn’t know you were pregnant. that is, you assumed, but brushed it off for fear of it happening again. you googled symptoms, but convinced yourself it was just hormones. what an easy scapegoat.

“why are you such a bitch?”

“hormones.”

it wasn’t until you looked a little fuller around your stomach that you bit the bullet and took a test.

two lines.

fuck those two lines.

you tried your best to hide it, you really did. you didn’t want to hide it from him, but you felt that another disappointment would break him completely. you could take one more, though. besides, this heartbreak would just be yours to bear.

you managed to keep it under cover for four months, until he found you out. you were taking a shower, and didn’t hear him walk in. you covered yourself in soapy suds, and hummed. he stayed there, watching you. he felt perverted, but he didn’t watch you lustfully. you looked different, fuller. he frowned, maybe it was the glass warping your shape. did you hide the fact you gained weight from him? he didn’t mind, why would you do that? he noticed you wore bigger shirts, and you stopped letting him hold your stomach when he spooned you. he was going to ask about it, but bit his tongue. maybe it wasn’t wise to ask his wife about her weight after two miscarriages. he may not know much about modern customs, but he knew that was definitely a bad idea. you kept humming, and turned off the water. you turned to see him, and your face flushed.

how. the. fuck. were you going to explain your bump to him?

“could you hand me a towel, dear?” you asked, trying your damn best to hide your nervousness. he nodded, and did as you asked. he slid the glass of the shower, and took you in your beautiful, bare form. the water droplets on your breasts made him blush, and he looked away out of respect.

“you’ve seen me naked before.” you teased.

“i know.” he mumbled.

“baby?”

“hm?”

“look at me.”

he did, and boy did he look at you. his eyes examined every feature on your face, every freckle on your cheek, every speck on your eyes, every pore on your skin.

“no, honey. look at me.”

he was confused. what on earth did you think he was doing? he tilted his head, and started to protest, when you grabbed his hand and placed it on your stomach. you didn’t say anything, just mouthed, “i’m sorry.” he just kept his hand on your stomach, his breath hitched.

“how long?” he asked softly.

“three, almost four months.”

“you should’ve told me.” he said, his voice breaking.

“i didn’t want to disappoint us again, and-“

“doll…” that shut you up. how you hated when he called you that, he could get away with anything with that name.

“bucky.”

“you could never disappoint me.”

“well, i-“

“no. you could never disappoint me. ever.” he tucked your wet hair behind your ear and tilted your chin lightly forward.

“you mean so fucking much to me, baby or no baby. i love you, regardless of the fact that-“ his voice broke. “regardless if…” you knew what he was trying to say, but did he? he cleared his throat.

“regardless if we have to dance this dance time and time again. i want to dance it with you. your sorrows are my sorrows, your joys are my joys. your love is my life and your life is my love.”

80 percent of miscarriages happen in the twelve weeks. you were on your fourteenth week.

the rest of the pregnancy felt like the other shoe was about to drop. you often woke up, scared you would be surrounded by blood, but…nothing. every time you went to the bathroom, you tensed up. nothing. you felt slight pain. nothing. you felt like you were going to be right, but how you hoped you were wrong. you begged, to any god who could hear you, that you were wrong.

he soon took you to medical appointments, to catch up on the ones you couldn’t attend when you were hiding. you went to ultrasounds, physical appointments. you even got to pack your hospital bag. you wouldn’t dare enter the nursery, you felt that it was bad luck.

you both knew the gender of the baby, but you didn’t host a gender reveal party. you wanted this to be your little secret, your little joy, your little loss. he agreed, because the only thing he ever wanted to be was with you.

when you were six months pregnant, he prepared a little dinner for you. when you were seven months pregnant, he surprised you with jewelry. every passing day was filled with suspense, as if the baby was going to come out and say, “sike! y’all really thought i was real?” you giggled at the image of that.

eight months rolled around. conversations about going to the hospital weren’t just a thing of the imagination, they felt real; they were real. one night, you laid in bed, ridden with pain. your back hurt, your feet hurt, your boobs hurt, your nails hurt. no matter what you did, it felt like everything was either sore or swollen. stretch marks adorned your thighs, stomach, arms and breasts. he never failed to let you know you were beautiful. god, and he truly believed it. your plump figure was that of a goddess, and he didn’t mind your breasts growing in size.

as a side project, without your knowledge, he started working on the nursery. your nesting behavior was set in the living room, the kitchen, the bedroom, but never the nursery. you hadn’t dared to set foot in that drab and desolate room, so he took it under his wing. when you were asleep, and really really asleep, like tired pregnant woman asleep, he left your bed, and got to work. he adorned the windows, the walls, the ceiling. stars decorated the ceiling, little constellations that you made up. he painted the stars from the night you first met. he built the crib, a beautiful, dark oak crib. he was always one to fiddle with things, as he found that it helped him stay grounded. he built the gazebo you frequented your days in, and a rocking chair. you didn’t complain, you liked the intoxicating smell of wood, sweat, and whiskey. what a man.

it hit you when you were nine months pregnant, that well, you were nine months pregnant. you didn’t think you’d make it this far, and now that you have, you felt at peace. if things fell into place correctly, you would have successfully carried a child to term. your husbands days were spent taking care of you.

you remember the day so vividly. you were wearing an oversized grey shirt that read, “practice safe lunch, use a condiment!” with a ketchup bottle drawing on it. how ironic, given your state. you stationed yourself in the living room, to be able to leave as quickly and efficiently as possible. somehow, you didn’t feel nervous. as your water broke, and you began dilating, you felt strong. maybe not physically, but mentally.

in the hospital bed, you groaned as you dilated. labor can last up to 12 hours for the first birth, so you had started taking frequent naps. or, attempted to. try taking a nap with your body being expanded by some watermelon sized child.

soon, it started. sweat beads overwhelmed your face as you began to push. blinding pain erupted from your skin, and you threw your head back. he, obviously, was there, holding your hand; supporting your weight. long felt the time that you spent pushing. you sobbed into his shirt, your white knuckles beginning to become sore, and your veins popping out so noticeably.

as soon as you were done, you were handed the baby, your baby. your baby. your baby with him, the baby you carried for nine months, the baby that stayed.

seven pounds, four ounces. this little baby boy, so tiny in your hands. he was a little one, but boy did he make it up in spirit. you named him after your husband, and his middle name from an old book you read when you were young. james oliver barnes, your darling rainbow baby.

three times you tried, three times you wept, but it was all worth it in the end.

[beecanons]

better yet Loki or Bucky (marvel) with autism reader :3333

loki and bucky with an autistic reader!

loki~

doesnt fully understand it at first but once you explain a little about neurodivergences he catches on and will probably make a comparison to something from asgard

does all the research on it, learns what midgard knows about this and gets frustrated with the history of mistreatment and such.

has no shame in admitting he's learning about it just for you. but will ask you dont go around telling people about this side of him, especially dont mention it to thor or he'll never hear the end of it.

very observant of your behaviours, stims, sensitivities and preferences.

"dont pick that one, love, it has a texture you dislike" "..i warned you"

he will do whatever he can to help you with a meltdown, he has outlets for his own anger so hes more than ready to help you find outlets to avoid hurting yourself.

you spend hours talking, especially about interests. he's happy to have someone to talk with and listen to him and is more than happy to listen to you rant and ramble about your special interests

will summon a stim or texture object for you to fidget with if you need.

need to sit in a quiet place and de-stim? he'll find a dimly lt corner and sit with you, maybe read to you if you'd like.

extremely respectful of boundaries, listens when you struggle and does what he can to help be it communication or otherwise

pays attention to your ques when you need or cant stand physical touch.

if anything makes you insecure he'll compliment you on it or avoid comments on it if you prefer.

Bucky~

a little slow with wrapping his head around it, came from a time where there was a lot of stigma around high support needs autistic folk so he might have some things to unlearn and a lot of new stuff to learn.

tries his best to memorise your sensitivities and preferences but will mix a few things up.

off handedly remembers a lot of details you dont expect him to catch onto, especially when it comes to how you communicate.

will come up with nicknames based on comparing your behaviours he finds cute with certain animals who have the same behaviours.

if you like organizing things hes a mess and never remembers where you put things and has to ask every time because hes used to chaotic order.

picks up on your stims and even starts doing a few himself without realizing.

"hey, fruit bat, where'd the keys go?" "...obviously by the door, right"

loves going to the movies with you but makes sure you get a good seat in the back not too close to the speakers or too close/far from the screen so you arent over stimulated.

stops wearing cologne because youre sensitive to scents and he doesnt want to give you a headache

need something cold/smooth to calm down/relax? you can hold onto his metal arm

isnt sure how to handle your meltdowns but does what he can to help you, breaths with you if you need it maybe even has you rest your head on his chest to help you calm down when its over.

[wintersoldiersoul]

Headcannons for when you have a bad day

- he notices immediately when you’re in a bad mood

- he sits down next to you and kisses your forehead and hugs you tightly

- asking things like “what’s wrong, my darling?” and “why are you sad, baby girl?”

- listening intently while you tell him so that he can figure out how to make you feel better

- he cooks your favorite meal for dinner (or gets takeout. whatever you want)

- he puts on your comfort show for you while you eat so that you can just relax and distract yourself from whatever upset you

- he’ll give you a long massage, taking his time to work the tension out of your neck and back

- “i’ll be right back,” he tells you with a kiss before disappearing into another room

- a few minutes later he comes back and leads you to the bathroom where he’s run you a bath with rose petals and lit candles

- “do you want me to leave you alone or should i join?”

- of course you want him to join

- when you get out he brings you one of his sweatshirts and your favorite pair of pajama pants

- he brings you a glass of wine (or whatever your fave drink is)

- bucky just wants to spoil you and make you forget about everything that’s upsetting you

- he’s constantly giving you kisses and stroking your arms

- he hates seeing you sad more than anything in the world

- he holds you so close you him when you eventually go to bed, whispering over and over how much he loves you

- even if your day was bad because of something small, he’ll still do everything he can to make you happy

[mrsmariebarnes]

• bucky barnes has known sacrifice. he's tasted it in the bitter winters of his past, carried it in the metal weight of his arm, seen it in the harsh truth of his reflection. a man out of time, a soldier built for war, he's given himself — his very essence — to a world that's demanded everything from him.

• he knows the stories, the narratives spun by the world, that the morally righteous thing to do is to lay oneself bare for the many. that's the narrative he'd once lived — offering himself up as a sacrifice for his country, for people he'd never know.

• but being the winter soldier, that chapter of his life that he struggles every day to reconcile with, it's shown him the world in its raw, unfiltered cruelty. it’s a world that had taken him and shaped him into something he never wanted to be.

• it’s a world that had tried to strip him of his humanity, his capacity for love, for gentleness. but it’s you who had brought him back, you who taught him that there was still beauty to be found amidst the broken pieces.

• there's something relentless in your love, something that can mend the most shattered parts of him, something that gives him a reason to believe in more than just survival. it's not about the good of many anymore, not when he has you by his side, your love painting colors onto his grayscale world.

• you are his world, his everything. you’re the warmth in his frostbitten world, the peace in his turbulent existence. the world may crumble, the stars may fall, but as long as he has you, bucky barnes will always have something to fight for. something — someone — worth every sacrifice.

• if he had to choose, he'd choose you. for once, the world can save itself.

[lessaofbenden-blog1]

I just hurt my own feelings with this Bucky HC.

Imagine if Bucky has his s/o say his activation words just to reassure him that he is truly broken free from hydra. At first s/o would be uncomfortable with it because who would want to say the words responsible for their lovers life being stolen, but after seeing how it helps him it becomes second nature. He wakes up from a particularly bad nightmare and s/o whispers the words sweetly in his ear to reassure him that he is in control. Over time he would go from hating every one of those words on their own to appreciating them as a reminder of his freedom.

I both love and hate this...

[mandyyvibes]

currently despairing over the fact that without Zola’s cruelty, without the serum that he didn’t even have a chance to consent to taking, bucky could not have survived the fall from the train. could never have survived the stretch of time that he laid out in the snow, presumably unconscious but potentially watching in horror as the icy landscape was quickly polluted by the flood of crimson that poured from where his arm used to be. never could have made it through the awful, inhumane surgeries that were required to install his prosthetic, the steel welding to bone and the muscles straining and snapping under the strain from the unwieldy metal arm. hydra never would have had the chance to turn him into their weapon, sure, but he also never would have had a second chance at life.

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

lotus

a/n: this has been sitting half-written on my pc for i don't even know how many months (tbh at least half a year. i was living somewhere else when i started it wow). finally took a deep breath and finished it (though with an ending that kinda flies by a bit because just wanted it to get done. i was scared that the story would never see the light of day, so zooming through the ending was a better option)

summary: a nervous breath then escaped his lungs before he uttered, “you do know what kind of massage this is, right?” to which you only blinked back at him all the same, none of your shock evaporation at his words, “you know that I’m here to give you more than just a regular massage?”

warnings: massage therapist!bucky barnes x reader, smut, sex worker!bucky, bucky doesn't have the metal arm in this one, thinking that your friend just signed you up for a normal massage but then it turns out to be an erotic one, kissing, dirty talk, manhandling, fingering, toys, multiple orgasms, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, anal, double penetration

word count: 4000

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With a hand tangled up in one of the ties of the robe you wore, you answered your front door after finally hearing the bells chime.

“Hi,” a soft smile swiftly warmed up the features of the man standing on the other side of the threshold, “are you miss Y/l/n?”

“Yeah, I am,” a tingle of nerves flickered through your body as your gaze washed over him, “you must be the masseuse.”

Why did he have to be so attractive? If it was this difficult to remember to breathe when he was standing completely out of your reach, then how were you going to survive a guy such as him touching you?

Following your gaze down to the folded-up table he carried, he nodded, “guilty,” before setting down the duffle bag he clutched in his other hand and extended it for you to grasp, “my name is Bucky.”

“Bucky,” you briefly shook it, “nice to meet you.”

“You too,” the touch faded, and he bent down to pick the supplies back up, “so, where should I set up?”

“Oh, in here, in the living room,” you gestured behind you and shifted to the side for him to enter. As he set up everything, you stayed at the perimeter and felt your heartbeat thump behind your ribcage, “is it weird that I’m a bit nervous?” you then quietly asked.

Briefly pausing his actions as he unfurled the massage table, he cast a glance your way.

“It’s not weird at all, it’s okay,” he stated in a calm tone, “but I assure you, this is a completely safe space, you’re in good hands.”

“I just–, this wasn’t exactly my idea, or even at all,” your hands fiddle further with the terrycloth tie around your waist as you began to ramble, “Nat, my friend, she told me that I needed to relax, so she booked this appointment for me as a treat. I don’t even know what it is she signed me up for, if it was just like a little five-minute long thing or what.”

“Oh no, she signed you up for the full package, 90 minutes.” 

“Really?” your eyebrows rose, “wow, that’s amazing.”

Once the table was set up and he rummaged through the bag for a towel as well as other supplies, his low timbre filled the room once more.

“So, before we start, I’d just like to ask if there’s anything off limits to you, anything you don’t like or that you’re not interested in? Or perhaps something in particular you’d like today?”

“Uh, I don’t think so,” your eyes narrowed slightly as you thought, quickly scanning through your body to get a good sense, “you can just be as rough with me as you want.”

“Alright, you like it rough, good to know,” you felt yourself suck in a silent breath at the way the phrase fell from his lips, “you ready to begin?”

“Yep,” you swallowed, hoping he didn’t notice how flustered he seemed to make you. 

He then lifted up the ivory sheets he’d sprawled out on the plush bench and held it up high, giving you a smidge of privacy as you dropped your robe to a nearby armchair, before laying down on the table and feeling the cotton drape over you. 

As you layed there on your stomach with your face comfortably nestled in the little nook, you sensed Bucky adjust the fabric, folding it down so that your entire back was exposed. 

A dull click found your ears as he pumped some oil into his palm. The very first touch conjured a brisk breath to fill your lungs as his hands slid along your spine, spreading the slickness around. 

Though when you finally managed to force yourself to relax into his touch, a soft moan slipped from your lips as his meticulous grip found a muscle particularly sore.

“Sorry,” you timidly apologized for the sound. 

But he simply zeroed in on the very spot that had made you groan and said, “don’t apologize, whatever bubbles up, please let it out.”

Your lips stayed half parted as his touch dug deeper, “it just feels really good right there...”

“Yeah, you seem to be holding a lot of tension in your back, especially right here between your shoulder blades.”

“Probably all the time on the couch,” you let out a pitiful chuckle, “I just kept on getting into uncomfortable positions and then stayed like that. Which, funnily enough, is pretty symbolic of how I ended up there in the first place, stuffing my face with Ben and Jerry’s and binging the most depressing of romcoms.”

“Bad breakup?” he guessed. 

“I don’t think you can call it a break-up if you never really were together in the first place,” you let out a sigh. Yet again had you fallen for a guy who’d turned out to be a complete and utter asshole, “men are just pigs,” you spat out, “no offence.”

“Oh, none taken,” he uttered, “you know, it’s actually very common for people to get this particular treatment after something like that.”

“Really? Your touch is on the same level as bawling your eyes out to Joni Mitchell?” you jested, “well, now I’m really happy that I let my friend talk me into this.”

Soon, when his touch had kneaded every inch of your back, it faded away and reappeared lower on your frame as you then felt him fold the sheet up to expose your legs, letting the thin fabric only drape across and cover the curve of your bottom. 

Once his touch had soothingly wandered up the length of your legs and as his broad palms dented your slightly parted thighs, you nearly didn’t notice through the trance-like state you’d drifted off to when his reach crept close enough to your core to feel the heat radiating off it. A gasp parted your lips as his fingers briefly ghosted against the very outside of your puff before retreating back down your thigh. 

“Is it alright if remove this for a bit?” he then asked as you felt his hand clutch the sliver of modesty that remained. 

“Oh, uhm,” you fought to comprehend his question through the haze you’d slipped into, both the haze of relaxation, though maybe more predominately the haze of sin, which was most likely what had swayed you to utter, “sure,” trying your best to stay calm as he removed the sheet completely. 

It became a difficult task to keep your quiet noises at bay and have them not seep through your heavy breath as he then began to massage the soft peak of your butt. 

You tried to remind yourself that it was the biggest muscle on the human body and thereby completely normal to be treated in this manner, but that truth would have been easier to swallow if it had been a less attractive specimen touching you in such a way. 

Eventually, Bucky’s lavish rubs came to spread you apart with each repetitive motion, surely granting himself a perfect view of just how mortifyingly wet you’d become. 

As he let his broad thumbs dig into your sitting points, you told yourself it was the slipperiness of the oil that caused his fingers to sweep closer to your core and not your own nectar that had leaked down towards his touch. 

It felt so good that your hips unconsciously tilted up and into his touch, as his thumbs slid close enough to caress your outer lips, nearly capturing them in a gentle pinch. 

You didn’t know how long it took, how long you essentially grinded into him as if you were in heat, but eventually, you snapped out of your fog and realized just where his fingers were. 

“U-uh… w-what are you doing?” your frame jumped slightly at the realization.

“Do you not like this?” his touch paused, though didn’t retreat. 

“Why–, uhm…” you nearly panted, “you’re just very close to somewhere else.”

And when he simply uttered, “yeah, I know,” in an almost amused and cocky tone. You swiftly propped yourself up onto your arms and glared back at him, successfully prompting him to rip his hands away.

Snatching the sheet back over your frame as you scrambled to a seat, you stared back at him in utter shock, “I’m sorry, but are you actually trying to sleep with me right now?”

His brows furrowed slightly as he blinked back at you, seemingly confused at your outburst, “I’m just doing my job.”

“I’ve had massages before, that was not–… that right there was something else. That was not you doing your job, that was your hands being persuaded by your dick.”

A nervous breath then escaped his lungs before he uttered, “you do know what kind of massage this is, right?” to which you only blinked back at him all the same, none of your shock evaporation at his words, “you know that I’m here to give you more than just a regular massage?”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh boy, I’m sorry, I thought you knew…” his glance fell to the floor as he then began to enlighten, “well, the lotus wellness center, where I work, specializes in the blend of not just physical and mental health, but also sexual health and satisfaction. An erotic massage, like the one you were signed up for, is one of the many services we offer.”

Your eyes had grown as wide as saucers during his explanation, “o-oh…”

“I totally understand if you wanna stop, if you’re not interested.”

“I–…” you tried to make heads or tails of the situation you found yourself in, “so you were gonna–, what? Fuck me?”

“I was gonna try and make you feel good, help you relax and unwind. You were signed up for the aurelia treatment which would involve me using my hands to pleasure you, as well as whatever toys you might be interested in.”

“Toys?”

“Yes, I have a generous collection with me,” he briefly gestured back to the duffle bag resting on the couch. 

“Okay, uhm…” one of your palms came down to brush over your features as you fought to comprehend it all.

“Do you want me to pack up and go?” you heard him ask. 

Slowly, ever so slowly, before you even realized it was moving, you shook your head. Letting your gaze flutter back up to find his, you exhaled lowly, “fuck…”

“I can also just give you a completely traditional massage if that’s what you want.”

“…and if I wanna try the other thing?” you nearly whispered. 

“Do you?”  

“I–…” you tried to speak, though couldn’t find the words and ended up just hazily nodding back at him. 

“Alright,” he gently mirrored the nod that still faintly rocked your head, “I won’t do anything you’re not comfortable with, I promise. You just say the word, okay?”

“Okay,” you breathed, shivering slightly at the tingle of goosebumps that spread across your flesh. 

The way he held your gaze a moment longer before shifting it to the massage table you still sat upon made you feel as if you might melt off it entirely.

“Lay back down,” he faintly nodded to the bench. 

Your eyes stayed glued on him long after you now layed sprawled out on your back. 

Letting his touch graze the sheet you still absentmindedly clutched to your chest, he asked, “do you wanna keep this on?”

“No,” you shook your head faintly, “you can remove it.”

“Okay,” he gently peeled the fabric off of you, “just say if you get cold, alright?”

“Mhm,” you hummed, still having a hard time wrapping your head around the fantasy you found yourself in. 

He began by working at your arms, tenderly spreading some oil across them and massaging down the length of them, one at a time, till his skilful fingers descended to work at your palms. It nearly felt as if he was merely holding your hand before he tossed you into the deep end with how intimate the simple beginning sensed. 

You couldn’t command your gaze to leave his visage as you traced his every move as if he was made of stardust. 

When his warmth let go of your hand, he reached for the bottle of oil that didn’t have a pump and unscrewed the top. Your bottom lip got caught by your teeth as he then poured a bit out over your stomach, curving the s-waves of droplets all the way up and across your boobs, dripping over your pebbly nipples as they stared back at him. 

As Bucky began to rub it in, he first stared softly down at your belly before swooping up, only to skip over your tits entirely and instead yanking a disappointed whimper from your lungs as he then commenced massaging your shoulders. 

You felt a bit lightheaded as you blinked up at him, all tall and broad, looming above your head and digging his warm touch into the base of your neck. 

Though when his rough palms finally did swoop down to caress your soft peaks, he quietly checked in, “this okay?” to which you simply nodded your head, eyebrows knitting together at the intenseness of the built-up anticipation.

Your entire chest cage heaved beneath his touch as he finally massaged your boobs, even occasionally fleeting away to ghost across your nipples, only to capture them in a pinch the next moment. 

You felt as if you were floating down a calm stream, letting the river of sin take you somewhere new and wonderful. 

Eventually, his broad palms swept up and down your form, though each time his reach dared to near your core, he barely touched you at all, missing entirely the spots that throbbed for attention, which of course only caused the sensation to deepen and render you even more desperate from his teasing. 

When he then shifted to stand to the side of the patted table, his deep voice washed over you once more as his touch stayed warm against your skin.

“Everything okay so far?”

“Yeah…” you hummed as you lazily blinked up at him, and the soft smile that curved your lips caused a similar one to bloom upon his own. 

His slow stride then carried him further down till his fingers began to dent the softness of your thighs. 

After he’d made your eyes flutter at the way he worked at the muscles in your legs, focusing on one thigh at a time, slowing working his way up till his fingertips stretched to dizzily brush against your outermost petals, it was then, that his sweeps grew and blossomed till one fleeting tease to your centre morphed into more as he kept coming back, each fluttering time slowly transforming till the maddening pets had become everything you’d dreamed of.

Soft whimpers flowed out of your lungs as he gently folded each of your legs up by your sides and cracked you wide open for him.  

As he gazed down at you with such intensity you’d never experienced before, it only took one step for him to change his angle and stand tall next to your hips. 

Letting his palms run up your inner thighs, the edges of each of his broad thumbs then met and joined on either side of your pussy as he captured it in a light pinch, making you moan softly, “fuck….” as his touch rolled your clit through your glistening puff. 

You nearly didn’t catch it because of how hard your own pants were, but Bucky’s own breaths had picked up as well and with a few stray curses seeping through his teeth as he continued to pluck at the strings of your pleasure. 

But then, before you could truly lose yourself to the ecstasy you felt flicking in your periphery, his hands slipped away, a smirk fast on his lips as a whine escaped you and he returned his attention to the rest of your body. Though thankfully, his torture only carried on a short moment before he finally granted you the first of many treats.

“Oh, yeah,” you couldn’t help but moan as he rubbed your clit and carried you over the peak. 

“Right there?” he leaned down closer to you as he kept up his pace, his free hand coming to rest right beside your head as he loomed over you. 

“Yeah,” you breathlessly panted as your body trembled beneath his touch. 

“Yeah?” he huskily echoed, nearly sharing your breath as he drew out your orgasm for as long as he could, and even as your body began to squirm at the sensitivity that swiftly set in, his touch never left you, only lightened to make it bearable and tickle you back from the high. 

He studied your features fiercely as his fingers then came down to tease your entrance. 

“How about this?” your leaky hole swallowed up the two digits he swiftly filled it with, “how’s that? Is that what you want?”

“Oh fuck!” your back briefly arched and lifted you off the table, closer to him for but a moment as sloppy sounds of your want echoed at the slow rhythm he played you at. 

“Or do you need a little more maybe?” he sneaked another finger inside, “huh?” his frame then bent down till you could feel his hot breath fan across your face, “what do you want? You want something more to make you feel good right here?” his fingers slid back out of your pussy and fluttered up till they found your puffy pearl, “or here?” he briefly soared back down to plug up your cunt once more, but only offered you one messily rock before his digits slipped back out and drifted down much further than you expected, “or maybe even here?” you let out a gasp as the slick pads of his fingers glided over your little rosebud. 

“I–, I–,” you struggled to answer him, feeling so foggy that you might just fall off the table, “fuck…” 

“I have any toy you could dream of with me,” he purred as your grip found his shirt for support, “so, what do you want?”

“I want–, I want–”

“What?” he pushed as he continued to stare down into your eyes. 

And as blinked back at him, only one wish came to mind, one that you timidly whispered, “y-you…”

But as fear began to prickle at your nerves, they all dissipated as the masseuse wasn’t offended at all, your words somehow conjuring a dazzled smile to appear upon his lip before he then chuckled warmly, “roll over for me.”

You nearly gave yourself whiplash from the hast you tried to fulfil his command.         

As he soon kneeled down to be on level with where your head was now twisted and resting on its side, his hand drifted up for you to spot the dildo clutched in his grasp. 

Handing it off to your flicking fingers, his touch briefly lingered on your cheek, stroking it softly as he said, “then pretend this is me, will you? Get it nice and sloppy for me.”

When you began to plant pecks across the silicon, your eyes shadowed him as far as they could as he straightened back up and walked back far enough to disappear from your sight, only for you to know where he’d gone to once you felt his mouth begin to devour you whole. 

It became difficult to concentrate on the task he’d given you, so much so that he had to remind you each time his lavish tongue buried between your legs caused your own to forget itself. 

Arching your ass further up towards his efforts, he tilted away from your drooling cunt and instead nipped up till he lapped against your other hole. 

“Oh, that feels really good,” you moaned around the dildo as you tried to catch a glimpse of him, though only saw the edge of one of his hands and they dented your bottom. 

“Yeah?” he let a dollop of spit drop to your rosebud before he nudged the pad of a thumb against it, “you like having this little hole played with?”

“Uh-huh,” you nodded, then watched as he momentarily dipped away to snatch up a butt plug from the zipped-open treasure trove his bag was. 

Once the toy was snugly buried within your little ass, he snatched the dildo out of your mouth and a string of your drool chased the silicone as he brought it back to tap against the sloppy petals of your pussy. 

It didn’t take very long after he’d begun to fuck you with the toy that you tumbled over the edge once more, making you that much more malleable when he yanked at your legs and manhandled you down to the bottom of the bench till your unsteady feet were once again on the floor and he had you bent over the table like a needy whore. 

That was also when your weak pleas began to bubble out, begging for him to fill you up with something other than a toy. 

Even though you couldn’t see his face, you swore you heard a tinge of astonishment in his tone when he asked you to clarify, making sure it really was him that had you begging and not just the way he made you feel. 

Though once you finally managed to convey the sincerity of your words and convince him of the way he and not just the acts he was performing, drove you wild, it was in the middle of chasing your next high that he broke his pattern and traded out the dildo with his own hard cock. 

A low moan seeped across your spine as he buried his length completely and let himself melt down against your back. Letting himself savour the sweetness of your warmth clenching around his fat girth, it took him a while before he finally began to move and soon found a steady pace that had your toes curling against the floorboards. 

His fingers gently dug into the soreness still remaining all down your back as his hips repeatedly collided with the plush of your ass in desperate thrusts. Though as his digits worked their way down the length of your spine, they eventually found the little plug that still remained in your ass. 

Teasingly twisting the toy, you thought that was everything he had planned, though all of those fantasies fluttered away when he suddenly yanked the small plug out and switched it with the bigger toy still firm in his grasp, your little hole only managing to wink up at him before he stuffed it full once more. 

You lost track of the amount of times he made you cum as the remainder of the intense dance became a bit of a blur. At one point he had you flipped around and lying on your back, gasping up at him as he folded you in half and nearly broke the massage table beneath you from how hard his deep strokes were. At the next, the dildo he drove you mad with was traded out with his own fat cock and he conjured a vibrating wand to hold against your puffy clit as he watched your pussy leak from the bliss. But at the end, once you were nothing more than a puddle on the table, his load painted against your tits as he let his frame drape down atop of yours, a hazy question left your lips.

“Is that usually how that goes?” you asked as you both panted, plastered against one another. 

Raising himself up only enough for his eye to catch your own, he uttered sincerely, “no…” and his gaze flickered down towards your lips, “no, it is not…” before he let himself give you the thing you hadn’t dared to request. The kiss was so sweet it nearly caused you to forget the sinful acts you’d just wrapped up.

© 2024 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[appocalipse]

the same thing ・❥・b. barnes

summary: during a mission, you put yourself in harm's way to protect bucky. back at the avengers compound, he wants to know why. | 1.4k words, angst with a happy ending

⋆.ೃ࿔*:���

"You should be resting."

You don't turn your head as the familiar voice comes from behind you, too focused on the delicate art of making the perfect sandwich to look away. You are a woman on a mission. "I was hungry."

A few seconds later, he's standing next to you, leaning back against the countertop with arms folded across his broad chest. "It's been less than twelve hours since they patched you up."

He's not going to stop hovering, you realize, because that's what Bucky does when he's worried.

"Want half?" Maybe you can distract him with food.

He regards the towering monstrosity on the cutting board and the chaotic layers of meat, cheese, and veggies sticking out at all angles.

You can't help but grin as you slap another slice of bread on top. "A quarter, then?"

Bucky has the audacity to look offended. "I'm not eating that thing."

You cradle the plate in your left hand, holding the sandwich with your right, and give him a pointed look. "Your loss."

Bucky just watches, arms still crossed, as you take a huge bite. His blue eyes remain narrowed, his mouth pressed into a thin line. He's like a one-man intervention waiting to happen. You shrug and wander over to the kitchen table.

Sitting down is a bit of an effort. The wound on your side pulls as you slowly lower yourself onto the chair, but if you can keep from grimacing too hard, Bucky won't be able to tell, will he?

Your smile probably gives you away. He narrows his eyes further. "Why did you do that?"

"Because I'm hungry?"

"No." Bucky takes a step forward. "I meant why did you get between me and that shot?"

Good question. The answer is embarrassing and you'd sooner walk barefoot over hot coals than tell him the truth.

"Hm?"

Another step. "I have superhuman healing powers."

"I'll live."

"It was stupid."

"You're ruining my—ow," you mutter, dropping the sandwich as you instinctively put your hand over your bandage. There goes the carefully maintained poker face. You force yourself to remove your hand and look up at Bucky with what you hope is an innocent expression, even as your side throbs in protest. "My sandwich. You're ruining my sandwich. Are you sure you don't want a bite?"

Bucky is too smart to take the bait. He moves around the table, coming to stand in front of you. The whole 'arms-crossed-stern-glare' thing again. It would be intimidating if you didn't know him so well.

"You could've been killed," he's like a dog with a bone, you swear.

"But I wasn't," you say pointedly. "I'm fine."

"Fine? You were shot."

"Will you just let it go? It doesn't even...hurt...that much," you lie.

It will take a while for the super-soldier serum in your blood — a weaker variation of the same stuff that runs through Bucky's veins — to kick in and accelerate your healing.

Bucky exhales. He looks about ready to give you an earful, but then his gaze shifts and he notices the way you're holding your side, how stiffly you're sitting.

You move your traitorous hand away like you've been burned.

"How bad is it?"

"Huh?" you sound deliberately casual. Too casual. "It's...totally fine. Not bad, really. Don't worry. I don't even feel it."

There's the reason why you've never been a spy. You can't lie to save your life, apparently.

Or maybe just not to Bucky.

"Okay. It hurts, like, just a little bit...like—like not even hurts hurts, just..." you trail off with a grimace as he comes closer. "More of an itch?"

"An itch?" Bucky sounds dubious.

"More of a burn," you concede. "A...mildly annoying but totally manageable sort of a burn."

"You are a terrible liar."

"Okay, so it hurts," you snap, the last vestiges of your patience vanishing. "I have an extensive hole in my side, I get it. It's not—I don't want you to feel bad about it. It's really not terrible, I can take it."

Bucky shakes his head. "What if it had been worse? What if they'd shot you somewhere vital?"

"They didn't."

"But what if they had?"

"Then I would have died!"

Bucky looks at you like you just kicked him. "Yeah. That's what I'm trying to say."

You open your mouth, then close it.

"You think I want that?" he asks softly.

"No." You suddenly feel very small. "Of course not, I just...just..."

"Just what?"

"I don't know," you admit with a sigh. "It's just that you are...people need you, you know? And you have a life, people who care about you, but I'm just..."

A nobody. A girl with no past, who can barely make sense of her present.

"...it would be better if it was me. That's all."

"It would never be better if you were hurt."

"Bucky—"

"You don't get it, do you?" he asks in a low voice. "People need you too."

You roll your eyes. "Please. You mean the team?"

"Me," Bucky says pointedly. "You think it's easy for me? When you get hurt? It kills me."

The sandwich lays forgotten on the table, squashed flat under your clasped hands. "It...kills you?"

He just looks at you for a long moment.

Your heart flutters in your chest. You have a sudden, intense urge to break the silence with a terrible joke, a quip, something light and witty to dispel the heaviness in the air and make this moment go away. But before you can open your mouth, Bucky shakes his head.

"You kill me."

Okay, that's not where you thought this was going. "What?"

"When you say stuff like that. When you make it sound like you don't matter, like it's okay for you to get hurt. Or worse. It's not."

Oh.

"Bucky," you try again, with a more serious tone. "I don't—"

"Stop saying that," he cuts you off.

You realize your mouth is still hanging open and snap it shut.

"You want to know what I think?" Bucky is so close now you could reach out and touch him, if you were brave enough. "I think that you got this...thing in your head, that you're not good enough, or strong enough, or that you're broken somehow. I think that you forget that it's okay to want things. I think that maybe you think nobody needs you. That no one wants you."

You swallow. You're afraid to say anything, to move, because your heart is hammering against your ribs and Bucky is looking at you like he can see straight into your soul.

"But I do."

"Do...what?" you whisper.

"Want you."

It's the last thing you expect to hear. "Bucky, you don't mean that."

His voice drops an octave. "Don't tell me what I mean."

Your cheeks are burning. You feel pinned under his gaze. Your side is throbbing again and you have a mouthful of butterflies and it's all just too much.

You move to get up but only make it halfway before the wound pulls again and you wince. "Shit."

"Where do you think you're going?" Bucky reaches out to help you, one hand braced against your shoulder as you sink back down into the chair. His expression has softened. "You need to rest."

You really want to kiss him right now.

It's the closest he's ever been to you, perhaps. You can feel his breath on your face.

"I need to...? You really confuse me, Barnes."

"How so?"

"Well, first you tell me that I kill you, and then you say you want me. It's kind of a mixed message—"

"I'm not interested in being just friends with you," Bucky cuts you off abruptly. "Is that clear enough?"

Your lips part but nothing comes out. There's a warm, tingling sensation in your chest and you suddenly can't breathe properly. "That's—you—"

Bucky smirks, just a little. He looks almost...proud of himself? Like he's happy he's rendered you speechless for once.

You decide to take a page from his book and put him on the spot. "And what do you think I want?"

"I don't know," he murmurs, leaning even closer. "But I hope it's the same thing."

His lips brush against yours, soft and gentle. He pulls away and you want to chase after him but then he's back again and kissing you harder this time, all teeth and tongue and ragged breathing and heat.

You close your eyes. Your head is spinning and you can't get enough air but you're kissing him back now, both hands coming up to fist in his shirt, holding on for dear life.

His mouth trails down your neck, leaving hot kisses along your jawline. You let out a breathy sigh.

"Is that...supposed to help me heal faster, mhm?"

Bucky just smiles against your skin.

[drawnfamiliarfaces]

PnF Spirit Week 1: May 27th - Pets

You never really forget your first ever pet. Especially if they disappear quite abruptly from your life.

[chiacanwritesometimes]

the three times you tried, and the one time it worked.

⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆

ship: bucky barnes x reader

word count: 1.09k

authors note: this is unedited, i wrote this at like 2am and will finish it some time soon!! this fic dives into themes of pregnancy and miscarriage, so please please do not interact if these themes bother, trigger or make you uncomfortable.

===========

three times, you had gotten pregnant. three times, you held the stick up carefully, as to not shatter the illusion, and showed him. three times, he held you as sobs racked your body. one time, though, one time, it was different.

the first time was a surprise. you were in your bathroom, and found some old pregnancy tests that you bought from your college days.

sheesh, do these still work?

you unwrapped it carelessly, and sat down on the toilet. humming, you urinated on the stick, and when you were done, placed it on the counter. you cleaned yourself and pulled your shorts up. washing your hands was difficult. you were nervous, you weren’t sure why. it seemed like a good time for you and him to have a kid, it felt natural. sure, he was still going on missions with sam occasionally, but not often enough to where he would be missing out. you dried your hands on the hand towel, and looked at yourself in the mirror. you sighed. you started to trail your fingers around your skin, your hair, your facial features. little scars adorned your skin, reminders of your past. various ones from your cat, but others from less kind encounters. your examination was interrupted from his throat clearing. his body leaned against the door frame of the bathroom; he must’ve opened the door when you were focused on yourself. his eyebrows etched together in what was beginning to look like a sort of quizzical and sympathetic emotion. he tilted his head to the side, acknowledging the pregnancy test.

“what’s that?”

he asked. for a moment, you felt confused. you turned your face to look at it.

“um…”

it felt strange to have to say it out loud, it made it too real.

“it’s a…”

he walked closer. he grabbed the box of tests, and scanned the words. his eyes widened. he turned to you with his mouth slightly agape.

“are you..?”

“im not sure.”

you started before he could finish. you squirmed under his gaze, feeling like you got caught doing something you shouldn’t have been. he placed the box down. he started moving the hair from your face.

“it’s okay.”

the two simple words eased you. it was okay if you were pregnant or not. he lightly placed a kiss on your forehead, and leaned to place his chin on the top of your head.

“how can you tell?” he asked softly.

“two lines means yes. one line means no.” you responded, face buried in his neck. you two stayed like that for a while, until you decided to check the test. you turn it over, and…

you at least had reached three months. you finished your first trimester, a good milestone. your bump was growing slightly bigger, and you began to waddle instead of walk. he found this endearing. he started calling you a penguin, and you rolled your eyes, which then made him laugh. it was a warm feeling.

fall had arrived. the leaves were turning brown, jazz began to swell from your home, and nights became colder.

it was a lazy day at the barnes house. both of you were at his home office, him at his desk and you on the couch adjacent to him. you were flipping through home and lifestyle magazines, occasionally breaking the silence with “we should get this!” or, “doesn’t this look cute?”. he often took breaks from his work to look at you. you had that glow, and not just from the pregnancy. both of you had many hardships previous to when you started to go out. you had supported him after the deprogramming from wakanda, and were the main reason he still walked out of bed a kind man. he was so grateful for you, and he was very glad to be entering this new step with you.

hours passed. night had begun to start, the lazy rays from the sun no longer there. you had fallen asleep on the couch, and he covered you with a blanket. he walked out of his office, and into a room full of liquor. as he poured himself a glass of whiskey, it happened.

screams filled the office, and his blood turned cold. he yelled your name out, and stormed into a scene from a horror movie. you were sobbing, your pajama pants soaked with blood. it wasn’t pooling, but enough has trickled to the point it stained the couch. he had no time to freeze. he scooped you up, given you a quick shower and grabbed the keys to the car as you were placing a pad on your underwear. your sobs had calmed down, but tears were still falling.

the trip to the e.r. felt excruciatingly long. the tense situation led him to white knuckle the steering wheel, his metal arm threatening to break it. you stared off into the distance, counting the stars to keep you distracted. you reached the destination, but neither of you had gotten out of the car. you remained frozen in your seat, and he grabbed your hand, breaking you out of your trance. his eyes were red, stained with tears of his own. “it’s…” he swallowed his tears back. “it’s okay.”

…

the second time wasn’t so long. it was five months after the first time you were…

you walked outside, and into the backyard. you and him had built a little shrine for the… “the one that couldn’t”, you had referred to it. calling it your child made it hurt, but not knowing if it would’ve been your son or your daughter hurt more. he thought it was a girl, but you said it was a boy. deep down, you agreed with him. you kneeled in front of the shrine. it was still cold out, old snow from the day prior covered everything in a thin sheet of white. you wiped away snow from her- err, it’s shrine, and closed your eyes. you breathed deeply, the cold air giving your cheeks a pink tint. you emptied your pockets. you lit a candle and started talking.

“happy valentine’s day, circe.” you chose that placeholder name because it was a mix between percy and cici, two potential names from the list. you cleared your throat. “valentines day is a day where you show appreciation to the ones you love most. you would’ve liked it, aside from the fact that we would have so much chocolate, something you wouldn’t have been able to eat.” the last words trailing off. “i love you.”

…

part 1/3? i will post the second part sometime tmr!

[beecanons]

Bucky Barnes is Trans Masculine

[bucky barnes is trans masculine]

James "Bucky" Barnes from (Dinsey's) Marvel is Transmasc!

requested by my sparkmate!

all posts are headcanons, please see our pinned for our dni before interacting and our blacklist before requesting!

[why-do-you-need-2-know]

Some more thunderbolts head cannons:

When Bob gets too prideful he becomes blond and that's the team indicator for when he is about to become sentry

Alexei definitely the one to set up field trip to tower for local school

The thunderbolts are a sponsor for at least one pee-wee soccer team and when the press ask why they act like it's a inside joke

The team gets genuinely worried when John says something so dumb to the point that John get weekly concussion check ups

Ava gets claustrophobic

The team each have their own build-a-bear (Bob has a custom one)

Yelena, Ava, and John go to the mall together (John is just there to carry the bags and pay but he likes the company)

Yelena taught Ava how to do makeup

There is a joking theory from the public that Bob is being held hostage at the tower

Sometimes when Bob turns into void, the void gets too tired to actually do something so they just lay there till somebody founds him and snap him out of it

Bob loves training as it makes him feel useful for the team

Yelena was the one who gifted Apline to Bucky because it "reminded her of him"

Ava loves to rage bait Walker

Ava sees Walker like her little ( middle schooler) brother while Walker sees Ava like his younger (annoying) sister

Ava loves using Tik Tok slang but stopped using it after Alexei said "CHAT" when referring to the team

Alexei calls ava his daughter

John LOVES competive cooking shows and hates to admit it. He yells at the screen like he's watching football so everyone just assumes he is.

2/????

[shiningsuki]

maybe something more - bob reynolds x reader

WARNING: CONTAINS SPOILERS FROM MARVEL’S THUNDERBOLTS*.

Pairing: Robert 'Bob' Reynolds x Fem!Reader Summary: 6 months after the Void spread across New York, the New Avengers play house in the Watch Tower. You notice Bob’s always got a book in hand, and you have an idea. Warnings: Light mentions of anxiety, depression, mental health issues, trauma, both Bob and reader struggle to start any type of intimate relationship beyond friendship at this point Content: Fluff, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Artist!Bob, Bookworm!Bob, the Thunderbolts* as a dysfunctional family unit AO3 🔗 <- read it on ao3! Word Count: 6.3k A/N: Thank you so much for reading my first Bob fic! He and Thunderbolts* got me back into fic writing. I hc that Bob is an artistic soul and has a few outlets to calm his mind, so please do enjoy. And also please be kind since I haven't written in over a year :') Reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated 🖤 More Bob to come soon~~

6 months after New York

The penthouse suite in the New Avengers facility, the Watch Tower, faces an interior design crisis. You watch the argument in front of you with amusement, feet up on the ottoman in front of the couch you’re sitting on, arms crossed. Yelena sits on your right, head in hands. Bob’s on your left; you sneak a glance at him. He’s reading a book, eyebrows furrowed in concentration, and a vanilla milkshake sits on the coffee table beside the armchair. How on earth he manages to understand the book’s content with the ruckus, you have no idea.

“It should be white,” Walker grumbles. The ex-soldier faces the empty wall in front of the couch, his back facing your row. You hear the grimace in his expression.

“No, green. Like grass outside. Inviting presence; when people walk inside, they say, ‘Oh, I feel so warm and fuzzy.’ Subconscious from wall color — that is psychology, right, Lena?”

Alexei flashes a toothy grin at his daughter. She groans quietly in response, head still in her hands. You glance at her in pity, then focus back on the two men. Their voices start to rise in volume.

“No, white. Green is too mucky.”

“Green is good color. Why do you not want it?”

“I’m not having this conversation with you.”

“You are not painter. We tell Valentina’s crew to paint. Lena, tell him we should have it green.”

“God, you’re insufferable,” Walker throws his hands up and saunters into the kitchen. Alexei gives Yelena a hopeful look, and she groans again before getting up to stand next to him. Their debate continues, but you shift your attention to the quiet man next to you. All conversation fades into the background, and it’s just Bob, his nose in a book and his mouth hovering slightly over the milkshake straw in his hand.

You gently bump into his arm. “Whatcha reading now, Bob?”

Bob starts, nearly spilling his milkshake. He quickly sets it down on the coffee table before looking back sheepishly at you. You stifle a chuckle and watch him smooth his hair back with his fingers. Bob clears his throat, darting his eyes between you and the open book.

“Oh, it’s uh, Catch-22,” Bob turns the book to its cover, and you peer at the blue canvas. “World War II fiction. Interesting history stuff. It’s about this antihero, Captain John Yossarian, and discusses the absurdity of war and bureaucracy. Basically, he and his crew have to follow this Catch-22 rule: to be relieved from duty, they have to be declared mentally unfit, but if they request it themselves, they’re deemed sane and so must continue flying missions.”

“Ah, hence the phrase,” You reply. “With a Catch-22, there’s no win either way. You’re stuck in an impossible situation.” You slightly frown, remembering the last few months, but your mouth quickly shifts into a smirk. “Sounds familiar.”

“Exactly,” Bob’s eyes brighten as he chuckles. “I was super into reading about this stuff as a kid. Actually, what got me into it was…”

Bob trails off, his expression following suit. A shadow clouds his face, and you see his jaw protrude in and out from his chin. You tense inadvertently, but force yourself to relax. Bob hasn’t had an episode in months. Chill out. Still, you take a deep breath in before speaking.

“It’s alright,” You assure him. A tiny smile flickers on your face. “I understand.” Bob glances at you and closes the book, resting it on his lap. You stare at the cover, letting the silence stretch. Bob clears his throat again.

“Thanks. Uh, I like the book so far. I’d recommend it if you’re into that kind of stuff.”

You nod, looking back up at him. “Thanks, I’ll have to add it to the list. I haven’t read much lately, but I used to like it a lot. Gives me an escape from all this—” You pause, gesturing around your head. Bob smiles at that, and you’re relieved to see his expression lighten.

“That’s cool. It’s always there for you when you’re ready.”

You look at him, feeling your chest tighten. You inhale another deep breath. Bob seems like an aloof guy upfront, but sometimes he says the most profound things without knowing it. It infuriates and intrigues you at the same time.

“Thanks again, Bob.” The conversation happening by the couch fades back in, and you barely realize Alexei and Yelena have been arguing back and forth for the entire time you and Bob were chatting.

“Lena, green is beautiful color! It matches your eyes.”

“Alexei, my eyes are not green. And we are not painting the wall that color. It doesn’t match the rest of the suite.”

Alexei’s face is a mixture of shock and hurt. “Your eyes aren’t green?’

You glance at Bob, sharing a look of mirth, before you both burst out laughing. Yelena looks at you both with murder in her eyes, which only propels you to laugh harder. The blonde lets out a string of curses in Russian and stomps out of the room. Alexei chases after her, pleading. You wipe your eyes after you calm down and look back at Bob. He’s smiling ear to ear and genuinely looks happy. It makes you feel warm and fuzzy inside.

You blink. Okay, Alexei’s rubbing off on me. That’s a problem. You stand up and adjust your clothes.

“I’m gonna go out for a bit.”

Bob nods. “Okay, see you later.”

You salute him and start walking away. Then, an idea springs into your head and you shuffle back to him, stopping in front of his knees. Bob looks up at you again, round saucers for eyes, and you smile.

“Hey, do me a favor? Write down all the books you want to read. Or the books you love and want to have. Text it to me, or just give me the list, whatever you want.”

Bob quirks an eyebrow up. “Ooo-kay. May I ask why?” A hint of suspicion laces his voice, but amusement takes over his face, seeing your energy.

“No reason,” You respond in a singsongy voice before twirling around and walking away again. “Thanks, Bob!” You call over your shoulder. You just hear him laugh in response, and you can picture him shaking his head, his bangs falling over his eyes. You smile again even wider, excitement bubbling in your stomach from your plans.

You give Bob a week and some change before you see his bedroom door ajar, and you knock on it. He’s sitting on the floor, crisscrossed, hunched over a sketchbook with pages of drawings surrounding him on the floor. You lean on the doorframe and cross your arms, watching him for a few moments. He’s so immersed that he didn’t hear you. You give it another second or two before knocking again, although this time it’s more akin to pounding on the frame. You’ve never been much of a patient person.

Bob jumps and his pencil flies out of his hand, then rattles onto the floor. He looks up at you with wide eyes, frazzled, and relaxes when he sees you. He swipes his hair back, and you glimpse a dark smudge on the side of his drawing hand. He starts to gather his things, muttering under his breath.

“Jesus! Could you not keep doing that?” Bob glances up at you, his tone serious, but you catch a teasing glimpse in his eyes. “You know I have a fragile heart.”

You roll your eyes, smirking. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. You can handle a jumpscare or two, I know it.” You walk over to Bob’s bed and plop down at the end of it.

Bob winces. “I just folded that.”

“Oh, sorry.” You make to stand up and Bob waves his hands, gripping his sketches.

“No, no, it’s alright. You’re already sitting. Please.” Bob motions downward, and you follow suit.

You glance at the papers. “May I see?”

Bob looks back and forth between you and his hands for a few moments. You see in his face the gears turning in his head. He swipes his hair back again, and his foot starts to shake back and forth. He’s nervous. You give him a reassuring smile.

“You don’t have to show me anything. But I’d still love to see the artist of the group’s work, if you’re willing to share.”

Bob chuckles sheepishly, shaking his head. “I’m no artist. Most of these are just sketches, really. But they’re messy. And unfinished. It just… helps clear my mind. You know…”

Bob trails off, gesturing around his head, looking at you expectantly. You laugh at that, touched by the subtle mirroring of you from before.

“I get it. Everyone needs an outlet. It’s cool that you draw, though—I’m so bad at it.”

“I’m sure you’re not that bad,” Bob replies. He shuffles the papers a few times before resigning to hand the stack over.

You grin at him and snatch them away. Bob avoids your gaze as he moves to clear the rest of the floor. You look down at the sketches and start rifling through them. There are some landscape images, mountains, flower fields, the like. Then you see portraits of the team, some in motion, some stills. You notice that every image is from a certain point of view, which you can only assume it’s Bob watching the rest of you interact while he stays quiet in the background, ever the observant one.

The last few sketches are the team’s individual pictures. None of them are smiling, but there’s a sereneness and simple beauty captured in them.

“These are amazing, Bob. You capture us so beautifully.”

Bob rubs the back of his neck, still avoiding your gaze. “Nah, they’re nothing special.”

“Of course not. They’re special, because you’re special.”

You wink at him, which thankfully he catches. Bob immediately looks away again, his hair falling in front of his eyes. His body seems to shrink in embarrassment, and you laugh. You look down again and shuffle to the next paper.

You can’t hold in your gasp. All the sketches were stunning, even the mundane ones, but this—a portrait of you, laughing, looking off into the distance with a spark in your eye. It’s the twinkle of hope, of real joy, something you’re fortunate enough to feel in sporadic moments the last few months, after everything. You didn’t know if you would feel that way again.

Honestly, you don’t even recognize yourself.

You look up at Bob, who wears an anxious yet expectant expression on his face. You look back and forth at him and the drawing, struggling to form words.

“What is it?” Bob asks.

“This… this is beautiful, Bob. I’m…” You trail off, clearing your throat. “I’m flattered. But there’s no way I look like this in real life. This person is—”

“She’s you. It’s how I see you.” You stare at Bob as he plays with his fingers in his lap. “All of those sketches, that’s how I see everyone here. This team.”

Bob pauses, chuckling. “I’ve said this way too many times, but you guys saved me. You saw me for who I am, and you still reached out to save me. So, the least I can do is portray how I see all of you as best as I can—and do the dishes.”

You let out a laugh, in shock, awe, disbelief. Words escape you again as you and Bob share a look of understanding. You let the comfortable silence stretch before whispering out the few words you can only think of to say at this moment.

“Thank you, Bob,” You look down at your lap, chest tight again, before gathering the papers and handing them back. “That really means a lot.”

Bob nods, a small smile on his face, and takes the papers, but a sketch that you hadn’t seen before falls out of the stack. It flutters to the ground and lands face up. You inhale sharply, chest threatening to burst.

An almost black page, scribbles upon scribbles melting into one another, with two small circles in the middle. Your body reacts before anything: hands ball into fists, shoulders tense, and your breathing starts to quicken. Bob snatches up the drawing immediately and hides it in his sketchbook. He glances up at you, terrified, and retreats into his body, looking so small on the floor like a child.

“I’m– I’m sorry!” Bob exclaims, hugging his knees. “That– you weren’t supposed to see that. You shouldn’t have seen that.”

You shake your head, unballing your fists and shaking them out. You try not to notice the tremor in your fingers as you settle your hands in your lap. “No, it’s okay, Bob. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have reacted like that. It’s just… when I think about that day…”

Empty, endless darkness. Falling into a room, then another room, then fighting your way through those painful memories before finally finding Bob, in his own room, and seeing no escape. Just… a void. You swallow hard. You still have no idea how long everyone spent in there, but it felt like eternity. Sitting in the pain. The shame, the disbelief. Revisiting what you never wanted to see again. But you had to, to save Bob. You all had to. And you know you would do it again and a hundred times over if you could.

Bob nods. “I know. Obviously, you know that I know better than all of you.” He pauses to gesture at the sketchbook. “Not all of these drawings are good. But like I said, they help clear my head. To regain lost memories. To try and remember all the bad things I did when I was… him. It’s cathartic, in a way. I try not to beat myself up over it. Some days are better than others.”

Bob shrugs, and you sigh. “Of course.” You get off the bed to sit beside him and place a hand on his shoulders. For a millisecond, Bob shrinks away, but relaxes since you’re not really touching him, skin to skin. You haven’t tried that, but from Yelena and Walker’s accounts, it’s kind of like a mini Void experience, but still not pleasurable.

You grimace to yourself. You don’t want to be afraid of touching Bob. You’re not really—he seems more afraid of contact than any of you do. So you keep your distance and close it when you can, just like now.

“Anything that helps you, I’m game. Do you have more good days than bad?”

“Yes,” Bob nods. “Thankfully. It’s not perfect, but it’s a step forward. I just haven’t used my Sentry powers since the incident. I’m… afraid to. Because then he… He might come out again.”

Bob swallows, and you squeeze his shoulder. “I know. We’re just trying to be cautious, that’s all, and what you’re feeling is totally understandable.”

Bob shakes his head, frowning. “I just wish I could be more useful. You know, help you guys out. All I do is wash dishes and clean up around the penthouse.”

You clap Bob’s shoulder before letting go. “And that’s all you need to do, for now. And be a friendly face. And share your book reviews and drawings with us. It really helps, you know. Everything you’re doing is enough, I promise.”

Bob lights up at that, smiling widely. You smile back and let out another sigh.

“Okay, dreamboat,” You say, standing up and brushing off your pants. You coined that nickname for Bob at some point, and it just stuck. He never seemed to mind. “I meant to ask you if you have that list of books for me yet.”

“Oh yeah,” Bob stands up and searches his desk for a moment. He turns to you and hands over a folded sheet. You take it and unfold it, skimming through the list.

“Those are all the books I could think of. I can send you more if I remember something I missed.”

“Great,” You say, folding it and tucking it in your pocket. You point at Bob and turn to walk out of this room. “Tolkien, Hemingway, Butler—some good reads. Thanks!”

“Wait, you never told me what you’re going to do with that list!” Bob calls after you.

“You’ll find out soon enough, dreamboat!” You reply over your shoulder. You glance behind you and turn to walk backwards, saluting. Bob’s head sticks out of his room, confusion clouding his face, and you just laugh.

“Seriously, you should think about showing everyone your drawings. They’re really something, Bob!” You salute to him before turning around fully to walk away.

Before you head out to pick up the furniture order you placed a few weeks ago, you stand in front of the newly painted beige wall. To Alexei’s dismay, the crew outvoted him and received a nice, monotone cream wall that matches the rest of the suite’s colors. Every wall is starting to be covered by various memorabilia, courtesy of members collecting random displayable knick-knacks to be showcased throughout the place. You’re standing in front of the empty space, which you had insisted that everyone keep empty for your plans, picturing the new furniture in front of it.

A pair of boots passes behind you. “Morning,” Ava’s voice chimes.

You motion without looking back at her towards you. “Ava, come here. Do you think mahogany will look good with this?”

Ava moves to stand next to you and tilts her head at the wall. “Yeah. They’re both neutral tones and don’t clash with each other.”

“Okay, good.”

“Wait,” Ava turns to face you fully, hands on her hips. “Didn’t you order the bookshelf already?”

You roll your eyes. “Yes, I did. I’m just making sure, and I’m getting it today.”

“Oookay,” Ava replies with amusement. “Is Bob still here? Won’t he see everyone assembling this?”

“No, Walker and Alexei took him out already. Sightseeing. He really hasn’t seen much of New York since the incident.”

Ava hums in assent. “Yeah, fat chance of that the last few months. Hope those boys have their wits about them and don’t leave Bob anywhere.”

You roll your eyes. “Unfortunately, I have close to zero faith in them, but we can only hope at this point.” You look back at the wall in front of you, determined. “This should take some time, but we’ll get it done before they get back.”

A few hours later, you wish you hadn’t said that out loud.

It took nearly an hour to coordinate the furniture drop-off and lug it inside the building. You don’t have superhuman strength, but you were stubbornly determined to drag the box into the elevator. As soon as you made it to the penthouse, the doors opened to Bucky, who gave you and the box a once-over.

“How the hell did you get this inside?” Bucky asked.

“Don’t,” You say, pointing a finger at the man. Bucky rolls his eyes and puts his bionic arm under the box, lifting it out of the elevator with ease.

“You could’ve just called, you know.”

“Shut up.” You strut past him and put a middle finger up behind your shoulders.

You exchange a look with Ava, who’s sitting on the couch with a book open. Her face wears a confused expression before you wave her away, exasperated. Bucky puts down the box by the wall with a gentle thud and wipes his hands.

“Hope nothing’s broken in there,” He muses.

You glare at him and refuse to entertain the notion. Your eyes sweep the living room, which conveniently does not have any of the books you ordered.

“Where’s Yelena?” You ask.

Ava shrugs, nose still buried in her book. “Dunno. Haven’t seen her all day.”

You groan, slapping your hand on your forehead. “She was supposed to pick up the books.”

You grab your phone from your back pocket and dial her number. After a few rings, your foot taps impatiently on the floor when Yelena picks up.

“Hello?”

“Where are the books, Yelena?”

“What books?”

You grit your teeth and start to pace back and forth. Ava and Bucky’s eyes follow your footsteps. “The ones for Bob. I told you to pick them up today from the used bookstore.”

“Oh shit,” Yelena replies. You let out another groan and rub your eyes.

“Dude!”

“Don’t dude me!” She exclaims. “I forgot, I was running other errands.”

“What other errands?” Your voice begins to rise, and Ava closes her book, crossing her arms while tracking your end of the conversation.

“Doesn’t matter,” Yelena says. You can just picture the blonde waving her hand in dismissal, like it’s no big deal. “I’ll get them now.”

“Hurry,” You hiss through the speaker. “Walker and Alexei can’t keep Bob occupied forever. I’m not even sure if Walker can stay sane with those two the entire time.”

“Roger.” Yelena hangs up, and you shove your phone in your pocket again. Taking a deep breath and closing your eyes, you pause just to breathe. Then, clarity washes over your body. You open your eyes and whip around.

“Ava, come with me. We’re waiting for Yelena in the lobby to help her bring the books up,” You motion at her to follow. Then you point at Bucky.

“Bucky, start unpacking the box and arranging the parts.” The man frowns at you at first, probably not liking the tone in your voice. You pivot and smile sweetly, albeit feeling a strain in your forehead. “Please. It’ll be great if you can start assembling the shelf too, thanks so much!’

“Hey, now wait a minute—”

“See ya, Buck!” You grab Ava’s arms to pull her quickly out of the common room.

What feels like hours pass by before Yelena arrives. You see a car pull up to the front, and she hops out, strolling leisurely to the back seat to pull out the first box.

You’re fuming as you step outside the building door and shove past Yelena, not bothering to say a word as you lift up another box.

“Hello to you too,” Yelena greets you, and you can only muster squinting your eyes at her in response.

“Now, now, ladies, play nice,” Ava says, walking up behind you with a box in hand. “Jesus, this is heavy.”

“How many more boxes are left?” You ask, leading the charge to the elevators again.

“Only two. We can grab them,” Yelena offers as she presses the close doors button.

That marginally makes you feel better, and you nod, giving her a strained smile. Yelena notices your expression and flashes a bemused grin.

“Hey, he’s gonna love it. And we’re here to help you assemble everything.”

“Ha, that’s funny,” Ava laughs. “You know, ‘Assemble’—”

“No.”

“Don’t even start.”

You and Yelena speak at the same time and let out a bout of laughter as the elevator doors close fully in front of you and start taking you upwards.

After the two women leave for the last boxes, you’re sorting through the books as Bucky continues to assemble the shelf. He says it’s easy to follow the instructions, grumbling the entire time, but you have a feeling he enjoys taking first responsibility in completing the task at hand.

Ava and Yelena return and start helping you sort. You’re unsure of how much time passes when you hear your phone ring. You grab your phone and hold it up to your ear.

“We are coming back,” Alexei whispers into the phone. “ETA 20 minutes.”

Shit. “Oh okay, uh…”

You glance behind you and see Bucky working on the last row. Ava catches your eye, quirking her eyebrow up.

“Try to stretch that as much as possible. We’re almost done - thanks!”

You hang up and toss your phone on the couch. “They’re here in 20.”

Yelena shoots up from her seat. “Let’s get to it, then!”

She joins Bucky to help him lift the last shelf row to the top and screw the bolts in. You and Ava start lugging piles of books near the shelf and placing them haphazardly in neat rows. You’ll worry about presentation later.

Bucky and Yelena join soon after. None of you speak, focused on filing the books away. Eventually, nearly every row is filled, with empty spaces to display any fun knick-knacks lying around. You grab a statue that was sitting out of place in the kitchen. Ava brings a fancy mug, Yelena stacks some of Alexei’s figurines next to each other, and Bucky brings over a small succulent.

You eye it as he places it on the shelf, and he looks at you. “What?”

“Where did you get that?” You ask, curious.

Bucky shrugs and murmurs, “Just had it in my room. I keep some plants in there.”

You feign shock, gasping and putting a hand on your chest. “James Buchanan Barnes is a plant dad?’

“Shut up, kid.” Bucky reaches out to ruffle your hair, and you duck, side-stepping him as he tries again to shove you.

The elevator dings, and all of you whip towards the sound. Everyone shuffles in front of the bookcase and waits for the men to step into the room. You take one last look at the shelf, admiring everyone’s quick work and how neat everything looks already before turning again just as the trio walks in.

Alexei’s hands hover in front of Bob’s eyes as they walk slowly towards your group. Walker trails behind, his arms crossed and his face bearing a curious look. You catch his eyes widening at the bookcase behind you, and he locks his gaze on yours. He gives you a small smile and thumbs up, which makes you stand up straight, nodding at him.

“Okay, guys, what is this?” Bob asks, his voice light. You see his hands wringing together nervously and you crack your knuckles, sharing the sentiment.

With a gulp, you nod at Alexei, and he moves his hands away from Bob. Ava and Bucky step to the side to show the bookcase in full, and Bob’s eyes widen to saucers, shining.

The mahogany shelf stands at least two heads taller than you. You’re on the shorter side, so it doesn’t seem like much, but from your point of view, it looks majestic. The case spans the entire wall and is lined with books. They’re mostly used, although you were able to bargain with the store owner for some rare collectibles. Valentina’s pockets run deep, and you’re determined to utilize her as much as possible.

You step to the side as Bob walks up, his fingers running across book spines and his eyes taking it all in. You don’t take your own eyes off him, gauging his reaction. You nervously squeeze your palms together, anxiety growing as the silence stretches.

Does he love it? Hate it? Bob wears the same awestruck, lost look that he’s usually susceptible to having, but you can’t tell if it’s more or less of a degree than normal. You’re tempted to break the silence until Bob’s wandering gaze finally lands on you.

“Is this… for me?”

You sigh in relief. “Yes.”

You respond so quickly that the breath leaves your body before you can think of more words to say. Almost immediately, you realize how personal that response comes across, how intimate, and glance around the room. Everyone has some degree of amusement on their face—from Yelena’s smirk to Alexei’s proud smile and Walker’s shit-eating grin. You glare at him before softening your gaze back on Bob. He looks at you, eyes still shining.

“I mean yes, I– well, we–” You gesture at the group. “–know you love books. So uh, I asked everyone if they would like to, um, have some of their own favorite books in the mix along with yours. So that you can read them whenever you want.”

You smile at Bob, then catch yourself. “I mean, you and uh, everyone here! Obviously.”

You cringe inwardly, but Bob only smiles. “That’s… amazing. So that’s why you were asking me for a list.” He smirks down at you, and you look away, feeling your cheeks flush.

Bucky clears his throat. “This was actually all her idea. We just went along with it.”

You turn to him with wide eyes, shaking your head. Bob looks at Bucky, then back at you. You freeze, feeling even more heat rush up your neck. Bob looks at you for a few more moments, stunned. Your face burns, but you don’t want to look away. After a few more agonizing seconds, Bob’s face melts into a soft smile.

“Thank you so much,” Bob whispers, and you part your mouth, taking a deep breath. His eyes flash with something indescribable, looking over you once more before he returns his attention to the group. “Everyone, this is so thoughtful. I really appreciate it.”

The team walks up to Bob, greeting him and admiring the collection. On the other hand, you start to slowly back away from everyone. You enjoy seeing them appreciate the plans you’ve had for weeks finally come to fruition, but you also feel an itch to run off and hide. After a few more slow steps, you turn your heel and march out to the balcony.

The blast of fresh night air cools your face, and you gasp. You make your way to the railing and lean heavily on it, bending down with arms stretched out and head facing the ground. After a few more deep breaths, you straighten, still slightly leaning on the railing while looking out at the view.

What the hell was that? Your heartbeat betrays your slowing breaths; you feel like you could run a marathon.

As you gaze out into the horizon, New York City greets you with twinkling lights, and your thoughts drift to the past few months. Finding out you’re no longer the hunter, but the prey. Forced into close proximity with other quote-unquote criminals and having to band to together to survive. Discovering a lonely man with powers beyond your comprehension. And fighting for your life to pull him out of the darkness, your own darkness and his, with a group of unlikely allies turned friends.

And everything afterward. Bonding with this group of people. This team. Never in a million years would you imagine. You’ve never been great at teamwork. But now, you have no idea where you’d be without these people. Probably dead, or in a worse place. Especially after getting to know a certain someone…

You can’t imagine a life without him.

“Hey.”

Speak of the devil. You turn around and see Bob standing near the doorway, leaning against the frame. You cross your arms and mirror his pose, smiling.

“Hey, dreamboat. Tired of the bookshelf already?”

Bob shakes his head vehemently. “No, no, not at all. I don’t think I could ever tire of it.”

He joins you by the railing, leaning forward and taking stock of the view. Your eyes wander to the group inside, animated conversation floating out the doors in a rumbling noise.

You nod. “That’s good. I was worried I’d need a refund.”

Bob chuckles at that. You look at him and smile, and see that his gaze is locked on yours. Intense, brewing again with something you can’t explain. You wait a few moments before opening your mouth to speak, but Bob beats you to it.

“Is it true what Bucky said? That it was your idea to get a bookshelf and all these books?

Again, you nod, although you avoid Bob’s penetrating gaze. “Yes. I… I know books help you. And it’s been fun when we talk about what you’re reading, what I’m reading, et cetera. So I thought everyone could have a space to escape, like we do.”

You look up at that, catching Bob’s eye. “The bookshelf is for everyone, but you’re my primary inspiration for getting it.”

Inadvertently, your chest tightens up after saying that. Your stomach flips and clenches into a ball, trying to decipher Bob’s expression. He gives away almost nothing, minus the glimmer in his eye that always seems to be there when he looks at you.

Finally, he speaks up. “That’s very kind. And I’m honored to be your muse.”

Oh. Your mouth forms a tiny circle, small waves of shock coursing through your body. You never thought of it like that—with Bob being an artist, you guess that’s one way to put it. You look away, out into the city again, suddenly feeling shy.

Bob lets the silence envelop the two of you, the city’s noises of cars honking and shuffling pedestrians filling the gap. Gears turn in your head—you want to say more, somehow, but you’re not sure what. Every now and then, you see Bob glance over at you in your peripheral, but he still remains quiet. That’s one of the things you admire about him—he’s observant, and good at latching onto others’ feelings. Perhaps to his own fault that he forgets about his own, but you try your best to keep him accountable.

Swallowing, you look back at Bob, who’s also looking out into the city. His hair blows back gently with the breeze, and he wears a serene expression. You’ve noticed that too, how much more relaxed he is after just a few months spending time in this watch tower, with this mismatched team taking care of each other. Selfishly, you’d like to think you had a lot to play in that change.

Kind eyes. Firm lips. Handsome, rugged, and soft all at once. More descriptions of Bob you’ve filed away in your brain, but you’d never admit to him or anyone else out loud—at least not yet. Finally, you steel yourself, breaking the quiet.

“Bob?”

He looks at you. Tonight, it seems a soft glow emits around him, covering his silhouette with a halo and making you feel like you’re in a dream. You blink—or maybe you’re finally losing it, bursting at the seams with everything left unspoken.

“Yes?”

He looks at you, dreams in his eyes, and fear fills you head to toe, threatening to drown you and pull you under. You grip the railing in front of you until your knuckles turn white, hopelessly trying to remain calm. Bob glances at your hands and reaches forward, stopping just inches from them. His eyes widen before he jerks back, looking away. Shame flashes in his features before it disappears just as quickly.

You feel a short wave a pity for him before you force it down. Bob doesn’t need pity—far from it. He wouldn’t want to be pitied. He just wants to be understood.

After you take a deep breath, you shut your eyes and let a flurry of words out before you think too much about them.

“I don’t know where we’re at and I don’t know if I’ve completely read the room wrong this whole time, but please let me know I’m not delusional, and that maybe, just maybe, we could be something more in the future.”

Silence. That’s all you’re met with for what feels like long, agonizing seconds. Blood rushes to your ears, your pulse quickens, and it takes all of you to steel yourself and keep your breathing even.

“Hey.”

You open your eyes. Stars dance across your vision before it settles on Bob again. Does he seem closer to you? Bob slides his hand along the railing until his fingers are inches from yours. He looks at them for a few moments before looking back up at you again.

“I’m going to be honest,” He starts, and your stomach drops. You swallow and start nodding, about to acquiesce, but Bob continues. “Let me finish.” He laughs, shaking his head, amused. You cock your head to the side, a flicker of hope blooming in your chest.

“I’m severely fucked up. And—I won’t speak for you—but you may or may not be on the same page. Am I correct in saying that?”

You laugh too. “Yes, that sounds about right.”

“Right. I’m getting better, but I still have a lot to work on. And to learn to control. And… I don’t want all of my shit to jeopardize whatever comes next.”

You try to stand tall, but feel your body caving as your resolve crumbles. You let out a sigh. “I understand, Bob. I don’t want any of mine to jeopardize our anything either.”

“But…” He trails off and sweeps back his hair with his free hand. His other one on the railing doesn’t budge.

“You’re not delusional. Everything you’ve felt in the past months, I’ve felt it too. I promise.”

Bob’s steady gaze threatens to topple you over. All you can do is nod in reply.

“Let’s make a deal. We work on ourselves until we’re less fucked up, or at least until we’re ready. Then maybe, just maybe…”

Bob’s tone is teasing, and you roll your eyes at his gentle mockery, but also smile.

“Maybe we can be something more.” You whisper.

Bob smiles from ear to ear. You’d do anything to capture this moment of happiness and keep it in your pocket forever. You smile back.

“We’ve got a deal, Robert Reynolds.”

You bump into his shoulder lightly, brushing your fingers a hair’s width from his. Bob sucks in a breath, and you look at him in reassurance. You scoot as close to him as he’s comfortable and settle into another long silence.

Giddiness bubbles in your chest. With another shared glance, you see a lonely man, saved by love and friendship, and a future where you and all your friends are truly happy and free. It seems like a flight of fancy, but when you look back out into the city, the possibilities are endless.

You’re in trouble, and Bob may lead you into a whole other fucked up-ness you’re unprepared for, but you’d ride out any storm with him. And you know he’d go to hell and back for you just the same.

[cosmicwavelengths]

imagine bucky working on sarah's boat all day under the hot louisiana sun and it makes his vibranium arm super duper hot (metal is a good conductor of heat)

bucky: sam i'm home

sam: hey buddy -reaches in for a hug-

bucky: wait no

sam: YE-OOWWWCH

[luvlyycy]

bucky hcs 🙏 uwu

a / n : oh the amount of hcs i have for mr. daddy barnes... these are sfw n nsfw ish??? idk just genuine bucky hcs. 😭

● lets start off strong , he bites! yeah. he'll bite you. sinks his teeth in your neck, thighs, stomach, arms. he bites.

● handsy !!! he is handsyyyy, he loves to touch and grab, its his love language.

● always calling you pretty girl, princess, baby— you are legit treated like a princess in all scenarios.

● has a habit of waking you up with head .

● is always buying you food. literally when you get with him, your money is what he calls backup money.

● likes it when you trace or kiss his scars. he finds it so adorable and soft.

● he appreciates his thick women. chubby stomach included.

● lets you wrap pink bows around his bicep or put them in his hair.

● umm, he has a daddy kink and its pretty bad.

● OH MAI GAWD. do nawt let this man creampie you... you will end up with his KIDS.

● he's the type to send you gym pics and like, make you drool.

● HE STANDS LIKE A FATHER AT TIMES. he legit will stand in front of your tv with his hands on his hips. ITS SO FUNNY.

● you'll often find him just lounging on the couch, beer in hand and watching tv— but when he sees you he immediately taps his thighs... orrirghh..

● SIT IN HIS LAP. BABY THATS WHAT HE WANTTSSS.

● you get the princess treatment everywhere. it's to the point where if steve offers to buy you something you respond "no, bucky's gonna get it" BSJDSKAOSM. he's given you his card multiple times when you're shopping.

● DRIVES YOU EVERYWHERE. once you are with him, you barely drive. like ever. he gives you no choice.

● lets you decorate the house how you like it. regardless of color.

● hes a big boy! he has abs but his stomach has a bit of chub... and he likes... when you bite.. it..

● he's kind of feral with you but he's good at hiding it.

• big boy haaates when you're upset. he'll go through heaven and hell to make sure you're happy.

• he enjoys your hugs or cuddles. it makes him happy and he enjoys your touches all the time.

• JEALOUS !!!!!! he can't act normal ngl. he'll be like squinting at the guy behind you or like.. groaning everytime a guy approaches you. it makes him so mad genuinely 😭

• isnt ticklish. idk i felt like i had to share this. like this is important.

• he's the type to grab the back of your neck and kiss you, or pull you closer by your waist. ohhhmaiigawddd....

• he's always walking around in a tanktop and sweats inside the house.. like.. he never changes it... only time is during the summer he won't wear a shirt.

• he turns you on without knowing. like when he puts his hair into a ponytail and you're sitting there huffing like a dog. hes like "?? girl what?" 😭

• appreciates if you appreciate his hands. something something, my hands caused more violence then good and if you love them it makes it all worth it.

• BIIIGG HUNK OF MAN. like, men are afraid of your man girly. he's walking around with a metal fucking arm girl, and SURVIVING EVERHTHIGN EVR.

• um. girl dad. yeah.

• GET CATS WITH HIM HE WANTS YOU TO SO BAD. HE WANTS MORE CATS. MORE CATS.

• hes. so old. hes legit asking you "the fuck is skibidi toilet." girllll.. we love our man.. so dad coded.

[slut4thebroken]

mouth cockwarming hcs

Idk I had an idea lol but I couldn’t figure out which character to use so I just decided to do this instead

Bucky Barnes

Dick Grayson, Jason Todd

Spencer Reid

Cillian Murphy, Emmett, Jackson Rippner, Jonathan Crane, Lenny Miller, Neil Lewis, Raymond Leon, Robert Fischer, Tommy Shelby

(Warnings: daddy kink for a few of them (no incest), a little bit of age play ig?, ionno lol)

Bucky Barnes - He’s no virgin, obviously, but cockwarming in your mouth? That was definitely a new one. It’s not his favorite, but he likes seeing you so relaxed and calm. It reminds him that he’s capable of being gentle with someone so delicate. Plus it’s not too hard— he’s had decades to practice restraint, so he can handle sitting still under you while you nap with his cock in your mouth.

Dick Grayson - Honestly, he gets it— he has an oral fixation too lol, but he usually eats pussy instead. Dick prides himself on being a gentleman though so he’s had plenty of practice putting up with a boner for the sake of not ruining an innocent moment with a girl… Usually he just reads a book or watches a movie to try and not focus on the fact that his cock is literally in your mouth.

Jason Todd - He thinks it’s cute. You’re already so tiny compared to him, but when you use his dick as a pacifier? You just look so fucking adorable. If you’re ever in a situation where you can’t cockwarm him with your mouth, usually you’ll settle for suckling his fingers or his thumb— but you don’t like it as much because the calluses on his hands are too rough compared to his smooth, (sometimes) squishy cock.

Spencer Reid - He gets a little antsy to be honest, but if he has a book or some paperwork to go over, he can usually sit still long enough for you to get your fill. He knows exactly why people find comfort in this sort of thing, and he knows exactly why you specifically find comfort in it. So he doesn’t judge or think it’s weird. He likes being the one that you go to for this comfort.

Cillian Murphy - He finds it a little odd, but as long as you’re happy, he’s happy. Plus he likes how paternal and protective he feels when you’re laying on his stomach suckling on the head of his cock while he pets your hair. It’s usually enough to get you to fall asleep too. He thinks it’s cute hearing your soft snores as you drool a little bit around his cock.

Emmett - Makes his daddy kink go wild tbh. His little girl using his dick as a pacifier? Yeah. Half the time, he can control himself. But sometimes (usually after at least 20 minutes so you can have enough time to enjoy yourself) he’ll gently push on your head, urging you to start sucking more. You whine, but end up doing it anyway just to please him.

Jackson Rippner - Doesn’t like it at all. If you do it right after he fucks your face and shoots his load down your throat then he can usually put up with it for a little bit. But other than that, he doesn’t have the patience for it. Sometimes when you’re napping and he sees you sucking on your thumb instead, he feels a tiny bit of guilt very, very deep down... But not enough to get him to change his mind lol.

Jonathan Crane - He thinks it’s weird as fuck. Honestly he wants to delve deeper into whatever thing from your childhood gave you an oral fixation, but he resists (for now at least). He’s usually pretty good about not turning it sexual, unless he’s particularly frustrated or stressed from work or his… extracurricular activities.

Lenny Miller - He doesn’t really mind. Honestly, he finds it a little relaxing too. He likes coming home after a long, stressful day at work and just laying with his little girl, petting your hair while his dick rests in your mouth, feeling you suckle on the tip while you hug him tightly until you both fall asleep.

Neil Lewis - He’ll try it because you want it so badly, but after less than ten minutes of his cock resting in your mouth, he’s already hard and leaking. He ends up whining and squirming, trying to get you to suck his cock properly until you eventually just give in and blow him. If you do it right after an orgasm, he can usually last longer, but if not, you have ten minutes tops before he gets too needy.

Raymond Leon - He feels the same way about this as he does about most ‘relaxing’ things: it’s a waste of time. So he often tries to work while you’re falling asleep. You’ll lay between his legs with your head resting on his hip, his cock sitting in your mouth, and he only complains if he doesn’t have enough space to use his laptop/tablet.

Robert Fischer - He understands… When he’s feeling subby, he’ll sometimes do that on your nipple. So even when he’s getting hard, he’ll try to ignore it and let you enjoy this for as long as he can handle it. He just reminds himself over and over again that you always let him nurse on your tits for however long he wants, so you deserve to nurse on his cock every once in a while too.

Tommy Shelby - He’s a master of self control honestly so he doesn’t mind it. Sometimes you’ll both lay down for a nap and you’ll suck on the head of his cock until you fall asleep, sometimes he sits up in bed and reads or does some work. Either way, he doesn’t really mind it. Plus you always seem extra inclined to reward him for his patience when you wake up from a nap with it still in your mouth.