#i have so much to vent but in the tags is not the place so.

[http-shield]

whatever you say, old man- bucky barnes

~ bucky barnes x fem!reader ~tags/cw: post endgame but no one is dead and life is good, think 2012 Avengers fandom where clint is in the vents yeah that is where I'm at, established friendships, pining, yearning, bucky is not used to new age dating rituals, explicit language, sexual tension ~ wc: 2.6k ~ not proofread

You: Hey, are we still on for tonight? Rita’s at 7?

Him: ye

“So you’re telling me this is normal?” Bucky’s tone is judgemental as he quickly reads over the words on your screen.

You nod, wordlessly confirming that situatuonships are a normal and staple part of the modern dating scene.

Bucky’s brows furrow, eyes flicking from the lack of effort text message to your face as you lean over the bed, phone gripped between expertly manicured fingers. He blinks once, twice, as if taking the time to formulate a response that will rebuke your earlier confirmation without hurting your feelings. This is a new thing for him, he is not usually so careful with his words because frankly, he didn’t care enough about the opinion and emotional well-being of others enough to warrant time and consideration when responding but you, you are a different being altogether. He doesn’t want to hurt your feelings, to see you frown because of his words; in fact, he wants the opposite; to see you smile and laugh and blush and want to talk to him, he doesn’t want to shut down the relationship you had cultivated between the two of you because he didn’t agree with someone you had said however, this was a situation where he couldn’t, didn’t want to, mince his words.

“There is no world where that is normal.” He stares at you, expression bored and a little annoyed. At you? Never. At the man on the other side of the phone? Incredibly so.

You sigh and pull back, phone being slipped into the pocket of your cargos as you turn towards your open closet.

He’s right. You know he is. There is nothing remotely normal about two grown adults being in a relationship that is defined by the amount of time the other left the first one on read, or how much emotional vulnerability there could be put on the table before the other got too scared and ran. There is nothing normal about being in your late twenties and having a grown man introduce you to his friends as a 'buddy’ despite having an entire draw dedicated to you in his apartment but you can’t admit that, refuse to admit defeat, especially to the man you are secretly interested in. There would be nothing more humiliating than to admit that you are only with this other guy because he is a welcome distraction and possibly more attainable than the man who is currently sitting on your bed. The man you so desperately want yet, are too chicken shit to stand up and do anything about it.

——

You had spoken with Natasha about this last night, her voice a soothing purr over the phone as she encouraged you to disclose your concerns about pushing the boundaries on your friendship with the super soldier.

“The worst thing that can happen is he says no and then you both move on.” She croons, voice laced with comfort and reassurance.

“Wrong.” You shake your head despite being on a voice call.  “The worst thing that can happen is he says no, I lose him as a friend and then I’m stuck pining after someone who wants nothing to do with me” You place another dish in the washer before continuing with your point. “Or I push him before he is ready, again losing him as a friend, and now I’m left with the guilt of possibly taking advantage of a war veteran.”

“You take advantage of Steve all the time, how is this any different?” 

“I take advantage of Steve to get someone to carry in the groceries. I’m not trying to date Steve.”

Natasha huffs a laugh. “What if he is interested in you as well?”

Your hands stop scrubbing at the pan in the sink.

“I can find out.”

Heat fills your body, your stomach twists at the idea of having that information. It would put an end to the constant yearning you feel, but the thought of finding out he doesn’t like you that way, that he sees you as no more than a friend will destroy you, humiliate you beyond all logical reason and you would be forced to cut off the friendship out of pure self-preservation.

You shake your head again. “I’m good.” And return to scrubbing your pan. “I'll just wait out the crush and then move on.”

——

“This isn’t the 1940’s anymore.”  You sigh and completely shift your attention from Bucky to the mess that is staring back at you.

Endless options of outfits are strewn about the small closet but so far none of them have come together, just single shirts and skirts and pants, all too muddled in a heap of black.

“Yeah, it's not the 40s but I doubt relationships and dating have changed that much.” Bucky grumbles from behind you, the bed creaking as he shifts to a new sitting position.

Another sigh, this one long and exaggerated leaves you as you close your eyes and will the frustration to leave your body. You want to turn to him and explain that you know all this, and are very aware of the fact that nothing about your current predicament is what you want. You want to be wooed with flowers and preplanned dates and soft kisses on hands and longing looks but that’s not the reality of life anymore and having to be reminded of it is getting annoying and your heart is starting to ache at the lack of effort given to you by your current choice of dating partner.

“You know if I was taking..” Bucky starts but you quickly cut him off with a whine of his name.

“James, please.” You don’t turn to face your friend, afraid to even glance at him because you know you will crumble. “I need help picking out an outfit so help me or go back to your room.”

The lack of response and the subsequent noise as if he were exiting is the answer to your ultimatum.

--------

“You know if I was taking…” You don’t let Bucky finish but, God did he want to. His name on your tongue was enough to shut him up, to send a flush rushing to his face in a way that no man of his age should blush, but he can’t help it. There is something about the way his name rolls off your tongue that has his mind racing to thoughts that should not be there, should not appear when the picture of you enters his mind.

“You know if I was taking you on a date, you’d get flowers and chocolates and champagne and those little baby dolls you like” is what he wanted to say before you shut him up with an annoyed grumble.

His intention wasn’t to display how things were different back in his day but to indicate exactly what you’d be getting were you about to go on a date with him, to explain the reason why you should go on a date with him and not some loser who couldn’t even formulate a full fleshed out text message. How if you were to drop that kid, and say yes to Bucky he would gather the moon on string for you, pick every flower in every field, find every single little Sonny Angel there is and give them to you each and every day for the rest of your life, you would never be sat wondering why he isn’t calling or responding, if you were even going out the next day, if he even liked you. Bucky would make his feelings for you so abundantly clear that even a blind man would be able to see the signs, but you are his best friend and best friends don’t feel that way about each other. It’s all platonic hugs and hair tussles, cheeky jabs at each other over coffee, shared trauma and secrets over whatever dinner you bring to his apartment and he yours. There will be no dates, or long hugs that turn into kisses that turn into you beneath him, whimpering his name as he makes you feel oh so good.

Fuck.

Bucky’s entire body is on fire, and he needs to stop thinking about the way you would feel wrapped around him, his mouth on yours, the taste of you sweet on his tongue. You, just you.

“Okay, what about this?” you announce as you walk into the bedroom from the ensuite. “Too much?”

You stand in the doorway, dressed in plain jeans and a black shirt.

“Too much?” Bucky is confused. “This is the outfit you wore to breakfast this morning.”

He is right about that one. You had worn a very similar outfit this morning, but tonight isn’t a full-on date, a semi-date, where things shouldn’t be that fancy so why shouldn’t you recycle your outfits. Bucky stands from the bed, readying himself to dig through the mountain of clothes that had formed at the entrance to the bathroom. He crosses the small space and squats before the clothing, fingers expertly rifling through the material, quickly brushing over the lace of bras and panties, before finding purchase on a black dress he thinks he has seen you in before. It might have been the dress you wore to a funeral or press conference, either way, it was not alluring in the slightest, not that you weren’t stunning in everything you wore, hell you could come out wearing a garbage bag and Bucky would be in awe of your beauty. It was just that he didn’t want your date to ogle you, to think of you the same way Bucky does so he is being a little selfish and conniving in his choice of garment.

“Where is he taking you?” His question is disguised as interest in the dress code but his real curiosity is far from an outfit.

There are two reasons why he needs to know where you will be tonight. The first is to judge whether this manchild is even worthy of a date with you, second if he knew the exact location and time, maybe he could show up and show out your date, make you realise what you deserve and how Bucky could be the one who gives it to you.

 “We’re meeting at Rita’s down the road and then might see a movie, maybe something else. I’m not sure yet.”

“He hasn’t planned anything?” Bucky whips his head around to you, finding you standing there looking incredibly embarrassed at the lack of effort. What the fuck happened in the years he was gone?

The defeated shake of your head is enough to have Bucky’s chest aching. He sits back on his haunches; the dress discarded back in the pile and gives the outfit another look as he decides on where to go from here. “Yeah, I think it’s too much.” He nods and stands up, brushing his hands as if he had just completed an excavation on some ancient site.

“Go change back into your sweats ‘cause there is no way I’m letting you on a date with a guy who can’t even plan something.” He nods his chin towards the bathroom, more of an order than a suggestion.

He watches you tilt your head back as you groan in frustration. “I’m not going through this again with you, old man. This is how it works now.”

Now it’s Bucky’s turn to get frustrated. He takes a step towards you, hulking 6’0 frame rising to tower above you with a somewhat menacing glare, but you know he will never hurt you no matter how much you push his buttons.

“I’m not talking about what it used to be like, little girl.” The jab at your age difference comes out before he can register it, but he notices how your cheeks flush. “This is about getting what you deserve.”

He pushes in on the space between your bodies, now chest to chest as you square your shoulders, not ready to back down from an argument despite knowing you will not win.

“And what’s that?” you stare up at him, brows raised in anticipation of his answer. You aren’t sure where this is going. If you are going to receive another lecture or maybe even a verbal beatdown as to why your standards for men are so low, a common topic of conversation between you and Natasha, but instead you are met with a soft smile as his Vibranium hand is raised and brushes against your cheek.

“You deserve flowers and preplanned dates and wine and jewellery and everything you could ever want.” Bucky’s voice drops into a whisper, cold fingers trailing soothing lines against your heating skin. “You deserve a man worshipping you, to be on his hands and knees begging to take you on a date. Not some punk who can barely put together a sentence.”

You hold his gaze, blue eyes staring intently as you shudder in a breath. “Who’s going to do that, huh?” your voice is small, no longer filled with the same bravado you had not a minute ago. “You know anyone who wants to do that for me, you send them my way Bucko.”

His metal hand slips to your cheek to your jaw, fingers pressing into your pulse points so he can feel the speed at which your heart is racing.

“I’d do it.” He states matter-of-factly, eyes dipping to your lips. “I’d do anything for you.”

Breathing becomes a little bit too difficult as his human hand traces up your bare arm.

“Anything?”

Bucky nods and dips his head until his face is mere centimetres from yours. “You didn’t let me finish before, but I'd give you anything you’ve ever wanted.” Fingers move to cup your chin and tilt your head up. “You want flowers, I’m a florist. You want jewellery, I’ll buy anything you want. Moon? Stars? I’m getting Stark to build me a rocket. Anything you want, you’re getting it.”

“And if I want you on your hands and knees barking like a dog for me?” You smirk, the mental image of Bucky on his knees panting like a puppy has your stomach twisting.

“Put a collar on me and call me Spot 'cause I’m yours, doll.”

The confession has your eyes widening.

“I’m all yours, from now until whenever you’re done with me.” Bucky whispers, breathless.

“And what if I want you to kiss me?” you ask, knowing he is waiting for your permission to do just that.

Bucky crumbles, his expression falling from that of teasing into one of pleading.

“I want you to kiss me, James.” You whisper.

His resolve breaks and he presses his lips to yours. Softly and timidly, closed mouth and restrained but as your hands reach out to grip his waist, a delicate gasp slipping past your lips, does he deepen the kiss. His mouth opens over yours, lips slotting against your plush ones, tongue darting out to test to waters only to be met with your slackening jaw. Bucky’s grip on you tightens as he continues to kiss you, afraid to let you go in case this was one of the many, many dreams he had where he woke up alone and confused, but as you bite down on his bottom lip, he is brought back to reality. Your hands on his waist, pull him tighter against you, the softness of your body had Bucky’s mind wandering to places it should not be. You pull back, pupils blown wide and lips parted as you pant. Bucky is just as breathless, hands cupping your face with a gentleness he doesn’t think you’ve ever known from the way you stare up at him.

“You’re not going on that date.” It's more of a command than a joke but you nod feverishly.

“Whatever you say, old man.”

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

a/n: eee this is my first avengers fanfic since like 2018 pls be nice I just need something happy to think about clint living in the airvents, thor eating poptarts era was my happy place

[tame-the-lion-writes]

[miguel o'hara] holding the world

This is reposted from my AO3!

After a nightmare all about your deepest insecurities, Miguel is quick to comfort you.

In other words: I was having fun reading a filthy as fudge Miguel O’Hara fic, and all of a sudden, literary SUBDROP hit me in the face like Peter Porker had just pulled an anvil out of nowhere. SO--this short little blurb is for all my fellow Miguel O’Hara simps who need something soft to follow up that kinky shit. Not quite aftercare, but a whole--“you exist as a human being outside of sex” sort of thing. Especially when that sort of “post-nut/fic” clarity hits and you need some love. So yeah!-- love y’all.

tags: hurt/comfort, praise kink (that isn't really a praise kink but just comforting), fluff, angst, can be taken in a post-sex manner

His palm presses down harshly between your shoulder blades, forcing your face into the mattress while his free hand bruises your hip.

“This is all you’re good for–” he whispers– “and to think you’re not even that pretty.”

To say that you were innocent would be a lie, but to say that you could take little blows like that on a high without realizing how much the doubt built up would be doubly so. And while your Miguel never degraded you like that–would never even dare to go near such a thing–the insecurities had built up. The dam overflowed.

It’s what made you wake up in the middle of the night, gasping for air, imaginary hands on your neck lingering in the cool dark shadows.

“Mm… mi cariño? Por favor–what’s wrong?”

Miguel’s voice comes out as a mumble, muddled with sleep. And yet, his arm, formerly rested across your waist with lazy affection, is still strong as it pulls you into his chest. His face now nuzzled into the crook of your neck.

“Bad dream,” you answer in return. “It’s nothing… Go back to sleep.”

But he feels the way your body is stiff against his, and the way your chest rises and falls in the wake of frantic pain. He doesn’t believe you.

“I won’t until I know you’re okay. So don’t tell me it’s nothing.”

His voice is clearer now that his concern has further awakened him. But you don’t respond right away – unsure of how to do so. It was a nightmare, you tell yourself. A fear from past trauma and situationships and exes that shouldn’t – and wouldn’t – apply now. You tell yourself he loves you. Miguel loves you. You know you do. 

And yet, your brain doesn’t trust him. Refuses to. He’s too good to be true.

You overthink so much that your words don’t come out natural.

“I– I just… You– you love me, right?”

As you glance up at him, hands on his chest, you see Miguel’s soft expression harden. It almost makes you flinch: you’ve seen so many faces before that it’s hard to distinguish different types of stress. Or more like your own stress keeps you from determining his exact mood. So much so that, for a moment, you think he’ll answer no–

–but better than a yes–

–he sighs and presses his forehead against yours. Lets you feel small and safe and vulnerable all at once. In a way that you let him. And he traces the tips of his fingers down the side of your face–not quite cupping it, but brushing strands of your hair away.

“When I call you mi vida, mi amor, mi corazón – I don’t mean that you’re the love of my life. I mean that you are my heart in its entirety.” He gathers up your hands in his and presses a kiss to your knuckles. “That I am yours as much as you are mine.”

It’s his kindness that makes you break.

“I-I’m sorry. I don’t know why I’m like this. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I just– I trust you– I swear I do. But a part of me just nags that you don’t really want me. That all I do is annoy you. That I’m not enough and never will be–”

Miguel doesn’t say anything to halt your rants. He knows you need this moment to vent, and as such, does nothing but shush you gently as he sits upright and holds you in his lap. Once your cries quiet down, he wipes away your tears with his thumb, places a kiss to your forehead. All that, and more.

And seeing you pout, he gives you this half-soft, half-teasing smile.

“... Do you need me to praise you? I’ve got a lot of those up my sleeve, you know.”

You can feel how puffy your eyes are right now. Hell, you can feel all the side-effects of ugly crying–snotty nose, congested throat, raw skin. But Miguel doesn’t seem to care as you come to nod, only complying with what you need, and speaking gently as though singing a lullaby.

“Alright, then. You’re a good girl, you know. No–the best girl. I know you try your best in everything, but when it gets hard and you just want to exist for a bit, that’s okay, too. And have I mentioned how pretty you are? Ay por Dios, the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen. The smartest, too. She’s got me like a fool on a leash. Imagine that…”

You can feel sleep take you once again as he speaks. And you can feel the way he moves your shared blanket over your shoulders as your eyelids droop.

What you don’t hear is how he ends his little speech, long after consciousness has departed.

“And you’ll never believe how much I love her. Like I’m holding the world in my arms.”

[straight-into-the-animus]

i hate unfollowing long time mutuals but i dont hate it so much when they reblog shit like writers don't have anything to worry about with ai stealing works so they shouldnt be as upset as REAL artists so friendly reminder that if you think writing isnt as tough or respectable as other forms of art then please kindly unfollow and block me.

[employee052]

turns out a brief moment of feeling ok doesnt mean im done grieving

anywho, heres a vent doodle with a pose i saw online, might not reblog the road trip thread posts for a bit (i feel bad for not being able to participate in my own trend but as long as people enjoyed it then i dont mind all too much)

i dont wanna call it a break bc i cant help but be on tumblr, but things might go quiet in terms of art or me talking.

hope yall are doin well today/tonight/timezone n ill see yall when i see you :3

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

ah yes! the joys of executive dysfunction and something being Fundamentally Broken In Your Braincase!

[demigod-of-the-agni]

Forgive me, forgive me. I ask, I beg, I pray, but it never comes.

You know I find it incredibly bewildering to see just how much kalki reflects myself in him like YEAH Duh of course he does, he’s my little guy it’s like his full time job. But at the same time he is a fully functional facet of my being and he is at the mercy of my whimsies, and whatever he discovers in his arduous journey of self realisation is ultimately a reflection of what I discover in the real world. It’s also incredibly funny because ffxiv lore for dark knights is really baked into the idea of (re)discovering yourself amongst the bloodshed and continuing to live and love and thrive despite the world working against us. who would have thought such a raw message could come from an mmorpg side quest about edgy emo boys of all places

also adamantite armour of fending i would lay down my LIFE for u

variant + phone bg version + ID below the cut

tch as if you guys are actually going to use artwork of my little guy as your phone background. i know. how dumb. let a girl dream. i should make an alternate version but it's of Fray and Myste

[START ID: A picture with a red background focusing on the character's bust that is placed to the left of the image's centre. He is coloured with a dark blue overlay, contrasting with the red background. He has brown skin, long black hair that falls over his shoulders, and is wearing blue and gold armour and earrings. He is looking at the viewer, right eye dark brown and the left an glowing unnatural red, with an expression that looks determined and angry and yet bitter and forlorn. In the foreground and on the right side of the piece, a miniature version of the character stands coloured in a light blue overlay and wearing the same blue and gold armour, looking as if he is glowing. He is facing towards the left of the piece, or perhaps at the character bust, his expression unreadable. Above the miniature character's head is the symbol representing the FFXIV dark knight, coloured in gold. END ID.]

[hanjnah]

Why are you afraid of a girl actually making you worse. you all wanna act like RACK people when you’re a 50 shades of grey girl’s worst nightmare in the sense that she hasn’t seen anything so you’re the worst she can imagine. Why are people afraid of bad things I’m really sick of it. Why do you call yourself a evil incest fag girl and then engage with ageplay in this pathetic hesitant way because ‘Oh I’m not a pedo those people are Actual freaks who should all die. minors get the tuck off my page. x and y kink blogs do not fucking interact. my partner thinks if ur a trans man then you can’t be a lesbian and also you should kill yourself. If you act like a retard and you haven’t told me you’re a retard then it’s okay for me to lolcow you.’ This is about my ex but also I am really tired of feeling like I can’t engage with “bad things” without feeling like people like this are going to crucify me. Anyways I think people should do “toxic” things for fun and be aware of the risks and try to mitigate harm but still feel free to experiment like we should all be leaning into our trauma and expressing it in sexual contexts and embodying the release of this trauma in cathartic displays within the relationship and like it should be fine because things aren’t black and white and if you both agree to this sort of game then idk justttttt do it do it I’m so sick of feeling like this stuff isn’t allowed and I’m bad for being this way, i think if I can’t be antisocial and crazy it will poison me and I don’t want to feel shame about that anymore. I love you cum while your partner cuts you and tells you to kill yourself I’m tired my final message

[ratcandy]

my classmates will go thru 6 hours of class the day after a long excursion through the countryside and then just get up and go run around in town for hours going to movies and shopping and whatever and I'm just sitting here like Aren't you all exhausted . Aren't you all sore and pained. Where are you getting this energy. Can we calm down

[softmeetscreatureplz]

Btw sorry but unfortunately my mind is currently trapped between Shame™️ (over existing. Fuck being so socially anxious-) and Guilt✨️✨️(not doing said things) and Tireddddd (everything irl)-

Plus mother has decided to be extra homophobic nd shit the last couple days, and apparently me nd her *alone* r going to a fair together tmrw so. If I'm not responding 2 anything that is specificly plot/heavy/have to be somewhat mentally aware 4,, I'm sorry nd ill (probably. Hopefully??) be back on Saturday.

[loser-jpg]

maybe you should be a better fucking sibling and validate your sister being rightfully upset genuinely what is wrong with you - sincerely, an irritated middle child

😀

i have literal fucking lasting trauma from having to grow up listening to this lady argue with adults for stupid reasons. i should not have to fucking hear that shit. she is supposed to be the mature one especially since shes twenty fucking two and has a full time job. why is it my responsibility to take sides? why should a child be subjected to hearing screaming at late hours of the night yet be expected to comfort those who put themselves in the situation? my parents never start those fights its always her. she always screams and cries and all they do is respond the only way that can get through her yells. also who the fuck are you to try and comment on how i should go about my home life? you dont know what my house is like so why do you think you can tell me what to do? and like. she started screaming because my parents ate her pizza without knowing she was saving it. shes mad that they ate food in their own house. shes eaten my food before but whenever i am upset and ask her not to eat my food without asking she gets mad at me. shes fucking hypocritical shes not in the right.

[giallos]

a truly terrible idea has latched hold of my gremlin brain which is, buck and tommy do break up so that buck can pursue eddie because either tommy thinks buck is in love with eddie or buck feels like he should be with eddie because everyone else keeps suggesting there's something more there BUT buck/eddie getting together changes their dynamic so much that neither of them are enjoying themselves (and they're worrying about losing what made their friendship so special because of all the changes to the dynamic) AND buck and tommy keep hooking up [air quotes] platonically (with tommy stumbling into inconvenient feelings and pining pathetically for buck while fucking him) while buck struggles to sort out intense feelings toward eddie (which obviously have to be romantic of course) vs. his calm, more settled feelings toward tommy (they're not as intense as his feelings about eddie so they can't possibly be romantic) blah blah long story slightly less long but buck realizes he's been in love with tommy the whole time and was having trouble separating strong but platonic feelings for eddie from his romantic feelings toward tommy and then tommy's like "newsflash asshole i've been in love with you the whole goddamn time"

i'll never write it because it's irredeemably stupid and i value my peace but it IS sitting in my hindbrain tormenting me right now

[sysig]

Let’s put it all on the line, see who’s victorious (Patreon)

[dandyshucks]

blinks tiredly. i decide "hm maybe i should try to expand my circle and step outside of it a little, lets go look at the main community tags" and im just greeted with a bunch of edgelords who think saying "fiction doesn't affect reality, don't like don't read" is peak activism and "fighting censorship". head in my hands. this is partially why i do not ever go into the community tags, my nervous system cannot handle blocking fifty weirdos every single day just so i can have a normal experience in the community tags hfdsjkl

[trans-axolotl]

so hot out. fainted twice already today! chugged a gatorade. trying to do things but i think the rest of the day will be for lying on the floor. trying not to get lost in my brain but this place is full of ghosts and i am haunted. just going to hold. until i leave tomorrow night.

[nothingmatters-everythingmatters]

reddit is easy pickings I know I know I know but I was genuinely shocked to see how easy it was to immediately find something that made me uncomfortable/slightly more peeved at the state of it all

the post--a fair and common sentiment for lesbians to experience. men are dumbasses and say shit like this all the time. frustrating for sure:

so, if you were someone who has any sense of respect or basic decency on respecting lesbians (+women in general tbh) when they speak, and you were perhaps a trans woman who might not really understand the truly frustrating experience of your sexuality being belittled and disrespected like this, wouldn't you simply let this one post go and not leave a comment as it is not something you have meaningfully experienced and thus don't need to add commentary?

well:

anyway good reminder that I should frankly never use reddit ever again sigh

bonus good comment that is weirdly more applicable than maybe the user intended:

anyway that's all from me thanks for indulging my public pettiness once more o7

[ganonfan1995]

maybe I'll treat myself to doing another playlist illustration since everything is miserable rn.