#solid chris

[4kihik0]

Posting it on tumblr too

[paulsram]

School doodles okay bai ……

[chauchau64]

i cannot stop

[buzzzbun]

Oc rivalry explained with liquid Chris and Ian-Brandon-something

[letjonstewartsayfuck]

can’t stand blond men with sunglasses and That Haircut

[taub-truther]

can we help you...?

[readreidsworld]

Bucky Barnes x Wife Reader

Summary Bucky goes missing on a mission.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

You didn’t remember the last time you slept.

Not really. Not deeply. Not since the mission. Not since Bucky disappeared.

It had been nineteen days.

Nineteen days since you last heard his voice through the comm, low and gravelly with that teasing warmth he only ever used with you.

Nineteen days since he’d said, “I’ll be back before you can miss me, doll.”

He was wrong.

Because you missed him before the jet even left the ground.

You hadn’t been able to sleep in the bed. It still smelled like him. You slept curled on the couch with his hoodie, waiting. Waiting for anything. For the door to knock. For someone to say he was okay. For the damn phone to ring.

But it never did.

Steve and Sam tried to reassure you. The mission had gone dark, but that didn’t mean he was

You couldn’t even think the word.

But your body knew. Nausea, insomnia, cold dread like lead in your lungs. You cried in the shower. You cried in the middle of the night. Then you stopped crying, which was somehow worse.

The house was a graveyard of memories. His boots by the door. The coffee mug with his fingerprint still smudged on it. His toothbrush.

Sometimes, you held it in your hand and whispered, Come home.

On day 20 Steve brought you tea. You snapped.

“I don’t want tea, Steve. I want my husband.”

Your voice broke. So did your knees. You collapsed into his arms and sobbed so hard your ribs hurt.

On day 22 you had a panic attack in the grocery store. The kind that makes your vision go black and your lungs forget how to breathe.

A stranger held your hand until it passed.

You went home, climbed into bed in Bucky’s hoodie, and screamed into the pillow until you saw stars.

On Day 23 You were folding laundry you didn’t remember washing when the knock came.

Three soft raps. You froze.

You didn’t rush to the door anymore. You had learned. Every time you did, it wasn’t him.

But something in your bones this time whispered: Go. Your feet moved on their own.

You opened the door and there he was.

Battered. Bruised. Blood crusted at his temple. Arm twitching like it hadn’t fully recalibrated. Eyes wide. Staring at you like you were the ghost.

He was thinner. Paler. But he was Bucky.

Your Bucky.

You couldn’t move.

Neither could he.

“…Hi, doll,” he whispered.

You launched yourself into his arms.

He caught you like muscle memory.

You kissed him like you were drowning, and he was air. You felt his hands trembling on your face. Felt his lips, desperate and raw against yours. Felt every broken piece of your soul stitching itself back together with every breath he took.

“I thought you were dead,” you sobbed. “I thought I couldn’t—”

“I tried to come back,” he choked out. “They had dampeners. No comms. No exits. I tried.”

“You’re here.” You clutched his shirt. “That’s all that matters.”

And then he cried.

Silent tears on your skin as he kissed your forehead, your cheeks, your mouth. His arms around you like he’d die if he let go.

“I kept your picture,” he whispered. “From our wedding. I looked at it every night. Every time I wanted to give up.”

You kissed him again, salty and breathless.

And you held each other in the doorway like a lifeline.

Because that’s what you were.

Bucky’s Pov

He knew he was going to die by day six.

No food. No comms. His mission partner dead. Trapped in an underground complex with a disabled arm and a fractured rib.

He wasn’t scared of death. Not really.

But he was scared of dying without seeing you again. So he didn’t. He lived. For you.

For your laugh, your voice, the way you kissed the corner of his mouth before he left on every mission.

For the photo in his vest pocket your wedding day. You were laughing, and he was looking at you like a man who had somehow been given heaven.

He slept on cold floors. Fought his way through armed patrols. Bled into his boots. And whispered your name under his breath to remind himself what was waiting.

He lost count of the days.

But he never forgot your face.

When he finally escaped, when the light hit his skin again and the pain caught up to him there was only one place he wanted to be.

Home.

And when you opened that door looking like you’d been shattered and still loved him anyway he knew he’d made it.

“I’m not dead,” he whispered into your hair. “I’m home.”

Two days later, you found him in the kitchen. Shirtless. In plaid pajama pants. Humming to the radio and flipping pancakes with a spatula like a goof and you burst into tears.

Happy ones.

Because this the sunlight in his eyes, the butter on the stove, the safety in your chest this was real.

“I’ll make yours extra crispy,” he said, grinning. “You always steal mine anyway.” You threw your arms around him and kissed him until he laughed.

Later, he ran a bath, just how you liked it.

You slid into the tub together, your back to his chest, his arms wrapped around you. The water steamed around you like a cocoon. You rested your head on his shoulder, eyes fluttering shut.

He traced circles on your thigh with gentle fingers.

“You fell asleep like this all the time before,” he whispered.

“I was never more at peace than in your arms.”

He kissed your jaw. “You’ll never be out of them again.”

You turned, slowly, water rippling, and faced him.

“I love you.”

He cupped your cheek, eyes glassy. “Forever, doll.”

Later, curled in bed in one of his old henleys, you fell asleep with your head on his chest, listening to the rhythm of his heartbeat.

Bucky stayed awake just a little longer, brushing his thumb over your wedding ring.

Because you were safe.

Because he was home.

Because he came back to you.

[brunchable]

𝑺𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒘𝒃𝒆𝒓𝒓𝒚 𝑲𝒊𝒔𝒔𝒆𝒔 [𝑶𝒏𝒆𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒕]

Words: 1.4K Characters: Bucky Barnes × f!reader, Steve Rogers × f!reader Summary: While on a picnic on a breezy summer's day, you find yourself nestled between Steve and Bucky, who showers you with affection, playful teasing while taking turns on kissing you. A/N: Imagine that. . . Only the picnic part was in my dream LMAO I just wanted to make things a bit spicy.

The world around you blurred, fading into the soft haze of a summer’s dream. You felt weightless, the golden sunlight filtering through the trees was lifting you into a realm where time had slowed, where everything was gentle and warm. The soft hum of the breeze, birds singing a melody, and the distant, idle chatter of passersby were just background noise, distant and irrelevant. The only thing that mattered was the two men beside you.

Steve lay stretched out on the picnic blanket to your left, his arm propped behind his head as he gazed up at the sky with a relaxed expression. The soft fabric of his white tank clung to his chest, the muscles beneath shifting slightly with every breath. His loose, light trousers gathered at his waist, his long legs stretched out casually in front of him. He glanced sideways at you, a small smile tugging at his lips, his hand brushing against yours, a silent promise of his undivided attention, no matter how serene the moment around you seemed.

Bucky lay on your right side, his body relaxed against the blanket. The brown short-sleeved shirt hung open over a simple white tank, showing just enough to hint at the strength beneath. His beige trousers were neatly pressed, the fabric soft as it draped over his legs. His hair was tousled slightly by the breeze, and he glanced over at you with that familiar, easygoing smirk, as if he had all the time in the world just for you.

“You make that dress look good,” Bucky's baritone voice broke the silence. He leaned in close, his breath brushing your ear, sending a delicious shiver down your spine, “Almost as good as it would look on the floor.”

“You think so?” you teased, but your voice was softer than usual, betraying the anticipation that curled in your belly.

Bucky’s lips twitched into a cocky grin. “I know so.”

“He’s not wrong,” Steve murmured, his voice smooth as honey.

You tried to respond, but the words caught in your throat. Instead, you felt your body melt against the blanket, the warmth of the afternoon and their combined presence making you feel both weightless and tethered to the earth all at once. You felt Steve’s fingers ghost over your hand, intertwining your fingers, grounding you in the surreal moment. His touch was gentle, yet it felt like he wanted to draw you in completely.

Bucky's hand came up to cup your face, the coolness of his metal arm contrasting with the warmth of the day. His thumb traced your lower lip, and sending butterflies fluttering allover your stomach. 

“So beautiful,” he murmured, eyes locked on yours. He lifted a strawberry between you, but instead of offering it directly, he brushed the tip of the fruit against your lips, teasing you.

Your gaze flicked between Bucky and Steve, your heartbeat thrumming in your chest. “You two are really laying it on thick today,” you managed, a playful smile tugging at your lips.

Steve leaned closer on your other side, his fingers brushing your jawline with that same gentle confidence that made your pulse race. 

“Can you blame us?” he whispered, his voice rich and filled with something you could only describe as pure adoration. “Look at you.”

Your lips barely had time to part before Bucky’s thumb pressed down lightly, guiding you to open your mouth. He slipped the strawberry past your lips, watching intently as you took it. You felt his gaze on you like a tangible thing, the intensity in his eyes leaving you breathless. You bit down teasingly, your lips sealed around the fruit and chewed slowly, the sweetness of the fruit mixing with the sudden tension that seemed to have fallen over the three of you.

Bucky’s lips twitched into a smirk, though his eyes were still dark with focus. “Good girl,” he murmured, so softly it was almost lost to the wind.

Steve chuckled beside you, but it wasn’t mocking. His free hand brushed over your shoulder, thumb tracing delicate circles across your skin. “Bucky likes to tease,” he said, his voice a soft, velvety hum, “but I like the way you blush.”

You couldn’t help it—heat rushed to your cheeks, though whether it was from their words or the way they were looking at you, you couldn’t tell. Before you could respond, Steve leaned in, his lips brushing the corner of your mouth, stealing the last lingering trace of strawberry juice from your skin. The kiss started soft, almost tentative, but quickly became something more, he pressed harder, deeper. His lips were hungry, searching, demanding—as if long deprived and you felt yourself surrendering to it, to him. Your hands instinctively slid under his tank top, fingers trailing fire up his stomach, your touch making him groan into the kiss. He teased your lips with his tongue, silently urging you to open to him fully. When you did, he deepened the kiss, his control slipping as his hands moved to cup your face, holding you close as if he couldn’t get enough. 

Bucky on the other hand kisses your shoulder, and runs his lips on your skin towards your ear, but doesn't quite make it that far. You tilt your head and after his deep breath out he bites you gently. It doesn't hurt, it only makes you want more.

Bucky’s eyes glinted in the sunlight, watching the kiss with a predatory focus. “She’s going to think we’re starving,” Bucky teased, though his voice was rough with his own desire.

Steve finally pulled back, both of you breathing heavily, his eyes dark as he smiled down at you. “Maybe we are,” he said softly, his thumb brushing over your kiss-swollen lips.

Not wasting a second, Bucky moved in, his metal fingers threading into your hair as he claimed your mouth with his own. His kiss was entirely different from Steve’s—no hesitation, no softness. It was possessive, demanding, like he needed to prove something with every movement. 

“You taste so damn good,” Bucky growled against your lips, before his mouth descended on yours again.

Your back arched involuntarily as you fought the feelings building rapidly inside. Gasping for air you surrendered as his mouth dominated yours. Your lips fought an erotic battle that you knew you would never win. The spiced scent of his cologne overwhelmed your senses causing you to squirm and shiver under his touch.

Steve grabbed your hair from behind to expose your neck as he attaches his lips to your exposed skin just below your ear. You gasp as soon as his lips touch your neck and you can feel his smile against your skin.

When he finally pulled back, both of you breathless, Bucky’s smirk was gone. His eyes were darker now, “You drive me crazy, you know that?” he whispered, voice rough with barely-contained desire.

Steve chuckled again, equally sounding dangerous. “She’s good at that,” he said, reaching for another strawberry. This time, he brought it to your lips himself, watching with quiet intensity as you bit into it. He leaned in, his lips brushing your ear as he whispered, “You taste better, though.”

Y/N shuddered at the way his words hung in the air, thick with unspoken meaning. The way they looked at you, the way they touched you—it was as if you were the only thing in their world, the center of everything.

“Tell me, doll,” he murmured, his lips brushing just below your ear. “Do you like it when we spoil you like this?”

Your breath hitched, and for a moment, you couldn’t find the words. It was overwhelming, the way they surrounded you, how their touches felt like promises of more. But eventually, you managed to nod, your voice a whisper in the space between you. “Yes…”

Bucky’s lips curved into a satisfied smile. “Good,” he said softly, his fingers brushing over your cheek. “Because we’re not done.”

Steve’s lips ghosted over yours in a kiss so soft it felt like a dream. “We’re just getting started.”

The afternoon felt infinite, the sun casting long golden beams over their tangled bodies. Each kiss they gave you was different, but no less intense. Steve’s lips were reverent, as if he was worshiping you with every touch, savoring each moment. Bucky’s kisses were fiery, hungry, like he was staking his claim with every breath.

“You’re everything, Y/N,” Steve murmured against your skin, his lips brushing the hollow of your throat. “We’d do anything for you. You know that, don’t you?”

Bucky’s hand cupped your chin, turning your gaze to meet his. “Anything,” he echoed, his voice firm. “You’re ours.”

[pookiepanda1]

I'm going to say my piece. And then I'm going to head out. The way some of y'all show energy for Bucky's cameo in this movie. And the way y'all inflate the hell out of it because "they're together again". I better see that same energy if Sam appears in the Thunderbolts* movie.

Also, stop tagging Sam Wilson and Anthony Mackie if y'all aren't going to talk about them. I touched on this in my previous post, but I am so sick of going to those tags and all I see is y'all talking about Bucky Barnes and Sebastian Stan. And maybe y'all will throw in a little mention of Sam or Anthony but that's about it. But yet, when I go to Bucky Barnes' or Sebastian Stan's tag, most of the posts rightfully focus or include the character or actor in a meaningful way

I have this same energy for the people who post in the sambucky tag but only or mainly talk about Bucky. Some of y'all talk about Sam like he's an accessory and it's so weird. The way y'all will give the most critical, deep essays and character dives about Bucky and then at the same time act like Sam is this "helper" or therapist to him is so hypocritical it's wild. And don't get me started on the people who picture Sam as this "big and strong" black man. It's straight up fetishization. Not to mention Anthony Mackie is literally shorter and smaller than Sebastian Stan. Y'all have such a warped sense of reality that y'all will make up features in order for them to fit your ideal couple. Nasty.

It makes me feel like some of y'all don't see Sam as a character. Some of y'all see him more like an accessory or a caricature. And if you're offended by this, or you're like "I'm not like that". You're probably way closer to what I'm describing than you think you are.

Anyways, feel free to like, comment, follow, and repost. Also send me a question if y'all want to! Hugs and kisses to all of my supporters and those who take the time to receive my message. Thank you! 😊

[thankstothe]

Some Lines from A Show

[mkat1347]

What do you mean that's your comfort character? They need a bar of soap and a hug.

[4kihik0]

Would the REAL king play a FAKE guitar?

[paulsram]

Liquid Chris oh how u enamor me

[stargrillzz]

I hate u (but not really)

summary: She’s impulsive. He’s impossible. Teamed up on missions and constantly at each other’s throats, they’d rather fight than cooperate.

note: Im telling u, this is gonna be a series, and it’s gonna be THE BEST, ok maybe not but still kinda good. (plus, i had to edit this in my phone so if titles or shit like that are not aligned or well situated it’s bc I cannot make it any better on my phone, sorry!).xoxo

Chapter I - Chapter II - Chapter III - Chapter IV

Too young, too bitter (chapter I)

mission gone wrong, obviously his fault

“You want me to follow him?” you ask, deadpan, staring at the glowing mission tablet in your hands. “You’re joking.”

“Nope,” Natasha replies without looking up from her gear bag. “You’re on recon with Barnes. Sam and I take the northern perimeter. Steve’s running point with Wanda.”

You glance across the hangar. Bucky stands at the Quinjet, arms crossed, looking like someone just asked him to eat a salad for breakfast.

“Can’t I just—switch with Sam or something?” you plead. “I’d rather spend two hours listening to Tony explain quantum physics in Klingon than spend one more minute with his cranky ass.”

From across the hangar, Bucky raises an eyebrow. “You know I can hear you, right?”

You don’t even flinch. “Good.”

He scoffs and turns back to the Quinjet. You groan.

Later, high above the city skyline, the two of you move through the crumbling remains of an abandoned HYDRA base. You’re nimble, fast, clearing rooms ahead of him like a blur.

“You going to keep rushing ahead like a toddler on Red Bull?” Bucky mutters through comms.

“You going to keep walking like your hips are made of rust and regret?” you shoot back.

“Maybe if someone followed the damn plan—”

“Maybe if someone updated their attitude post-WWII—”

“Guys,” Natasha cuts in over comms. “Shut up.”

You both go silent.

But it doesn’t last.

In one of the darker corridors, a security turret snaps to life.

You dodge. Bucky shoots. It barely misses your shoulder.

“Are you trying to kill me?” you snap, panting behind cover.

“You jumped in front of my shot!”

“I moved like a normal person. You aimed like my grandma.”

His voice comes through low and annoyed: “If you’d stop acting like a reckless kid—”

“And if you’d stop acting like every decision is life or death, maybe we wouldn’t be stuck in this eternal pissing contest!”

There’s a pause.

“Is that what this is? A contest?” he says, dryly.

“No,” you reply, stepping out from cover, voice icy. “Because I’m already winning.”

cold war (a.k.a the pettiest show on Earth)

Back at the tower, your feud reaches a level of childish few Avengers have witnessed before.

The thermostat war begins Monday.

You like the lounge at a cool 21°C. Bucky, the 106-year-old relic of a man, insists on setting it to an unholy 25. You start changing it every time he leaves the room. He starts locking the settings.

You hack it.

He disconnects it from the Wi-Fi.

You tape a printed photo of yourself next to the controls flipping the bird with a sticky note: "This war is mine."

Tuesday, you label everything in the fridge.

Not just your food. Everything.

"YOGURT — NOT BUCKY'S"

"JUICE — MINE. NOT GRUMPY GHOST VETERAN'S."

"LEFTOVER PASTA — TOUCHED BY ME. HOPE YOU LIKE GERMS."

The next day, your stash is replaced with MREs and a Post-it that just says “Try being less annoying.”

You leave his arm polish in the freezer.

He doesn’t speak to you for two days.

things (almost) gets physical

You’re sparring in the gym. Steve pairs you up intentionally, everyone in the tower Stark can’t take anymore you two fighting and failing on missions all the time.

You glare at Bucky from across the mat. He rolls his eyes.

"You know, we could skip this,” he mutters, rolling his shoulder.

“What, afraid I’ll kick your ass?” you ask sweetly.

“I’m afraid I’ll say something you’ll cry about for three hours.”

You lunge. He blocks. You spin and catch him with a leg sweep, sending him stumbling.

He recovers fast, grabs your arm, and flips you—hard. You hit the mat with a dull thud.

“Oops,” he says, smirking.

“You’re such a child,” you hiss, wiping blood from your lip.

“Says the one who labeled her yogurt.”

You go at him again, and this time, your fight looks more like a bar brawl than training. Steve has to physically step between you, catching your wrist mid-swing.

“Okay!” he says, laughing nervously. “Let’s dial it back.”

Bucky huffs and storms off.

You’re left breathless, heart pounding—not just from the fight.

There was a moment in there.

A second where he was above you on the mat, hands gripping your wrists, your faces inches apart, and your pulse jumped for a completely different reason.

You haven’t stopped thinking about it since.

white flag

It’s a week later when you find Bucky alone on the balcony during one of Tony’s ridiculous rooftop parties. Everyone else is drinking and dancing under string lights. He’s nursing a beer, watching the city.

You don’t say anything at first. Just lean next to him, close enough to feel his presence but not close enough to be soft.

He glances at you.

You both sigh at the same time.

“I still think you’re too bitter for your own good,” you say eventually.

He chuckles. “And you’re still an immature pain in my ass.”

You clink your glass against his bottle.

“Glad we understand each other.”

He glances sideways at you, and for the first time, there’s no venom in it.

Just something... complicated.

“You’re not that bad,” he says.

You smirk. “Careful. That almost sounded like a compliment.”

“Don’t let it go to your head.”

You stand in silence again, this time comfortably. Maybe this cold war isn’t over. But you’ve both stopped firing missiles.

For now.

Would you like a follow-up chapter where all this tension explodes into something more intimate (or romantic), or maybe a scene where they have to pretend to get along during a mission undercover as a couple?

[sloasis]

Buck's tsunami arc will always be my favorite .

[doobledabbadoo]

CHRIS MCCLEAN REDESIGN RAAAAAAAAAAAGH

DISCLAIMER: THESE DESIGNS WERE MADE FOR FUN. Constructive criticism, feedback, and suggestions are appreciated as long as it’s conveyed in a respectful manner.

commissioned by the very epic @tears-of-boredom !! hope ur cool with the outcome ^^

As per usual. these redesigns are meant for fun.

tdi cast: batch 1

tdi cast: batch 2

sadie + katie

world tour newcomers

roti cast: batch 1

roti cast: batch 2