tomsparkyr - Tumblr blog

tomsparkyr · 22 days ago

Text

Held, loved, interrupted.

pairing — bobby campbell x fem! reader

summary — bobby and erik have a petty argument and, erik being erik, he tells bobby that his girlfriend is out of his league. cue to bobby showing up at your door like a kicked puppy.

warnings — 18+, body worship, praising, comfort, blow job, sad bobby, cockwarming, cuddling, a lil angst in the beginning but like erik immediately regretted it

a/n — my first request from @pinkberrymilkys! <33

The metal door to the tattoo parlour slammed open with the kind of force that rattled the hinges and echoed through the hollow brick walls. Erik didn’t even flinch. He just kept his back to it, hunched over his station, wiping down a machine he hadn’t touched in over an hour.

Bobby’s footsteps came in heavy. Guilty. Hesitant.

“I said I was sorry,” Bobby muttered, voice tight like a cord pulled too hard. “I lost track of time, alright?”

Erik let out a low laugh. Dry. Mean. “You lost track for four hours?” He turned now, slow, deliberate. His piercings caught the light like warning signs. “Must be some head she’s giving you, huh?”

Bobby stiffened, cheeks flushing. “Don’t—don’t do that. Don’t make it about her.”

“Why not? Seems like everything else is.” Erik stepped closer, tossing the rag onto the tray beside him with a wet slap. “I ask you to close for one night—one—so I can breathe for once, and you vanish off the face of the planet. No call. No text. Just Bobby, playing a bitch to Miss Perfect.”

Bobby’s jaw clenched. “You don’t know her.”

“I know you.” Erik’s voice was quiet now, which was worse than yelling. It felt colder. “You’re acting like some scared little lapdog, like if you stop kissing her ass for five seconds she’ll remember she’s outta your league.”

Silence.

It fell like a dropped weight between them.

Bobby blinked. Once. Twice. Shoulders locked. His throat worked around a response, but nothing came out at first.

“Wow,” he said finally. “Didn’t know you thought that.”

Erik’s jaw twitched. Regret flashed behind his eyes but he didn’t take it back. He couldn’t. That was the curse of knowing someone too well: you knew where the nerves were, but you also knew how to hit them without drawing blood. Just enough to sting.

“Bobby, I—”

“No. It’s fine.” Bobby’s voice cracked, just a little, and he shoved his hands into his jacket pockets like if he didn’t, they’d shake. “Guess it makes sense. Everyone else is just too polite to say it.”

He turned.

“Bobby.”

But Bobby was already halfway out the door. No yelling. No slamming. Just the jingle of the bell and the soft click of the door closing behind him.

Erik stared at it for a long moment, the shop too quiet now. The kind of quiet that made his skin itch.

He ran a hand through his hair.

Fuck.

The cold air bit at Bobby’s skin, but he didn’t zip his jacket. Didn’t call for a ride. Didn’t stop walking. He didn’t even realize he was heading to your apartment until he was standing in front of your door, knuckles red from the cold, breath fogging in little puffs.

He knocked once. Then again, softer.

You opened the door wearing one of his sweatshirts—the one that was his favourite in high school and he always said you could keep. You looked up at him and tilted your head, smile fading the second you saw his face.

“Bobby?” Soft. Careful.

He blinked at you like he’d just realized where he was.

You stepped aside without asking and he came in like a storm-wrecked thing, quiet, soaked in tension, eyes rimmed red like he’d been keeping something in for miles. He didn’t speak, didn’t sit. Just stood in the middle of your living room with his hands shoved deep in his pockets like he was scared they’d betray him.

You walked up, close enough to touch, but didn’t.

“What happened?”

He shook his head.

“It’s nothing.”

But you knew Bobby. You knew the way he carried his sadness like it was too heavy for his arms. You saw it in his hunched shoulders, in the way his mouth kept twitching like he was biting back everything that wanted to pour out.

So you didn’t ask again. You just stepped forward and wrapped your arms around him.

And that’s when he cracked.

His whole body shuddered like a broken breath. He buried his face in your neck, arms locking around you too tight, like you might vanish if he let go.

“He said you were too good for me,” he mumbled, voice wrecked, muffled in your skin. “Like I’m just… like I’m just some dumb dog hoping you don’t leave.”

Your heart broke and swelled at the same time. You held him tighter, one hand threading into his hair, the other tracing slow circles against his back.

“He doesn’t get to say that, baby” you whispered. “And it’s not true.”

“But what if it is?” It came out like a whimper. Not a question. A fear. “What if you wake up one day and realize I’m not enough?”

You leaned back just enough to take his face in your hands. His eyes were glassy, wide in their pain.

“Bobby,” you said, firm and low, “if I wanted someone else, I wouldn’t be here in your old hoodie with your dumb cologne and your terrible taste in takeout.”

A half-laugh punched out of him, wet and broken. You wiped under his eye with your thumb.

“You think you’re not enough, but you’re everything. You show up. You try. You love like it’s the only thing you know how to do.” You pressed your forehead to his. “That’s more than enough. That’s everything I want.”

He let out a slow, shaky breath. Something deep in him loosened. Broke open and bled clean.

“Can I stay?” he asked quietly, voice small.

“You never have to ask,” you whispered, pulling him to the couch with gentle insistence, fingers laced through his. He sat heavy, like his body hadn’t caught up to the softness of your touch. Like Erik’s words were still echoing under his ribs, shaking loose all the things he was too tired to hold.

He tried to lean forward, elbows on knees, but you stopped him with a hand to his chest.

“Uh-uh,” you murmured, gaze steady. “Back.”

He blinked up at you, confused, but obeyed.

The second his back hit the cushions, you climbed into his lap, straddling him slow and easy, like claiming a space that already belonged to you.

“What’re you—”

You pressed your finger to his lips.

“Shut up. Let me love you.”

And then you started with slow, deliberate kisses. One to his cheek, warm and lingering. Another to the bridge of his nose. His temple. His jaw. The corner of his mouth. Each kiss was like a whispered word, a piece of a sentence his heart hadn’t figured out how to hear.

“You don’t have to earn this.”

A kiss to the center of his forehead.

“You don’t have to prove anything to me.”

One to the tip of his nose, which twitched adorably under your lips.

“You’re already everything I want, Bobby.”

You kissed beneath his eye, warm breath mingling with the salt of his skin.

“Exactly as you are.”

He exhaled shakily, hands settling on your thighs like he didn’t know where to touch. Like he was scared that if he grabbed too hard, you’d disappear.

You cupped his face, thumbs brushing the curve of his jaw, and leaned in to press your lips against his. This kiss didn’t ask for anything. It didn’t need fixing or fire. It just stayed. Certain. Safe. When you pulled back, his eyes were a little glassy again but not from pain this time. From the sheer weight of being seen.

“You think you’re lucky to have me?” you whispered, brushing his hair back. “Baby, I won the goddamn lottery. You’re mine. All of you. The anxious, self-doubting, overthinking mess. The sweet, sensitive, stupidly pretty boy who doesn’t even see how loved he is.”

A single tear slipped from the corner of his eye. You kissed that too.

He let out a little laugh—hoarse, soft, half-embarrassed “God, you’re gonna make me cry again.”

You smiled, nose brushing his. “Good.” And you kept going. Kissing every part of him like it mattered. Like it was holy. Like it was yours because it was.

Bobby laid back like he didn’t quite know how to. Like his body had forgotten how to relax after carrying too many words he never meant to believe. His hands hovered at your thighs, unsure, chest rising slow and shallow.

You just looked at him. All of him. His flushed cheeks, the guilt still lingering in the corners of his mouth, the nervous tension in his jaw.

“I want you to lay there and take it,” you murmured. Your voice was soft, not a command.

Bobby blinked up at you, throat bobbing in a swallow “Take what?”

You smiled as you bent down, lips brushing his collarbone. “Everything I give you.”

And then you began.

Your lips trailed along the curve of his throat, slow and reverent. You kissed just beneath his jaw, right where his pulse flickered too fast. Your hands traced his ribs through the thin fabric of his shirt, like you were learning him all over again.

“You’re handsome,” you whispered against his skin. “You don’t even know, do you?”

His breath hitched. His hands gripped the cushions, knuckles white like he was holding back.

You pulled his shirt up and off, slow and sweet, like unwrapping something sacred. He let you. His eyes flickered away but you brought his gaze back with a hand to his cheek.

“Look at me.” And when he did, nervous and vulnerable, you kissed the center of his chest.

“This heart? That’s not weakness. That’s gold.”

Your hands roamed his sides now, fingertips mapping freckles and faded summer burns. You kissed his stomach, the little dip beneath his ribs, the soft edge where muscle gave way to tenderness.

“You’re allowed to be soft. You don’t have to be anyone else when you’re with me.”

He let out a breath. One of his hands slid into your hair. “I don’t deserve you,” he said, voice breaking.

You kissed right over his heart. “You do. Every second. Every inch.”

And then you kissed down—over the stretch of his lower stomach, over the places he never thought twice about but you adored. You didn’t worship like he was an idol. You worshipped like he was human, fragile, flawed, divine in all the ways he didn’t see.

And through it all, he watched you with glassy eyes, body trembling under your love like it was too much to hold.

“Breathe,” you whispered, crawling back up to kiss his lips. “Just breathe, baby. You’re not going anywhere. Neither am I.”

He lay back, breathless beneath you, eyes wide and glassy, skin flushed in that vulnerable, golden way that only happened when he forgot to shield himself. Shirt gone. His chest rose and fell like he was still catching up to the reality that you wanted him like this—not for what he gave, not for what he proved but for who he was.

You slid down his body with the kind of reverence that made his hands twitch, trailing kisses along the path of his stomach, his hipbones, the sensitive crease where skin met denim.

“Every part of you, baby,” you whispered, lips brushing skin. “Every single part.”

Bobby’s breath stuttered.

You looked up at him from between his legs, and his whole body tensed like he might shatter from the sight alone. The way you touched him, the way you looked at him, like he was something rare, something precious that deserved to be adored without hesitation.

He tried to speak, tried to say your name, but it fell apart in his throat the second your hands moved to pull down his pants and boxers. His lashes fluttered, mouth parting in a soundless gasp, hips bucking just slightly before he caught himself. But you shushed him softly, your voice soaked in sugar and smoke.

“Don’t hold back,” you murmured. “I want to hear how good you feel.”

You took your time taking his cock into your mouth, slowly making your way from the tip to the base and then back.

You praised him between every movement, telling him how handsome he looked like this, how good he tasted, how much you loved seeing him fall apart for you. Your words were honey poured over fire. He was trembling under them, the sheer intimacy of your voice almost more than he could handle.

His hands threaded into your hair but never pushed, he didn’t dare guide you, didn’t want to break the spell. You had him. Body and soul.

“You’re so good for me, Bobby,” you breathed against him. “So sweet. So perfect. Mine.”

That last word made him whimper.

His head tipped back, one arm flung over his eyes like it was all too much. Your mouth, your voice, the way your tongue tracked the sensitive vein under his tip.

You didn’t stop for a bit even after he came, letting him ride out the waves of pleasure fully. And even then, you crawled back into his lap, kissed his lips slow, let him taste the aftermath of his own unraveling.

“You okay?” you whispered, brushing his hair from his damp forehead.

He nodded, barely. “I love you,” he whispered.

And you smiled against his mouth. “Good,” you said. “Because I love you too.”

Half an hour later, some movie flickered across the screen, but neither of you were really watching. You were curled on the couch, tangled together like something slow and inevitable, your bare legs laced with his under the blanket. Bobby lay behind you, chest pressed to your back, arms draped around your waist. His body was still warm from everything you’d just given him. His heart hadn’t stopped racing.

And neither had yours.

He buried his face in the crook of your neck, nose nuzzling the spot that always made you sigh. You could feel the heat of his breath, the press of his lips, the lazy drag of his hand over your stomach.

You shifted slightly, hips rolling back into his just enough. And you felt him still inside you. Not moving, just there filling you.

Bobby let out a slow, shaky breath.

“You okay?” you whispered, already knowing the answer.

His hand gripped your hip, grounding.

“M-mhm.” His voice was a bit shaky. “Just… don’t wanna let go yet.”

The connection was intimate, so slow and still it barely felt physical. It felt like a heartbeat. Like the space between breaths. Like two bodies wrapped in a silence that said more. You reached back, lacing your fingers with his. Pulled his arm tighter around your waist.

“Then don’t.”

He let out a soft laugh, burying his face deeper in your hair. You could feel the way his lashes brushed your skin. His hand splayed across your belly, warm and steady. You could feel his cock twitch now and then, just barely. You pressed your hips back into him with a teasing little smile.

“You’re not gonna make it through the whole movie, are you?”

He groaned against your neck, playful and helpless at once. “Not a chance.”

The credits rolled. You barely noticed. Bobby kissed your temple, his voice a sleepy whisper in your hair. “I wanna stay like this forever.”

BONUS!

You smiled, pressing your hips back just a little again, enough to make him inhale through his teeth.

“Careful,” he murmured. “You’re gonna get me in trouble.”

“With who?” you teased.

And that’s exactly when the front door flew open.

“Bobby, I knew you were here and I need to—”

Erik.

Erik fucking Campbell stood in the doorway, already talking mid-stride like he’d been rehearsing the apology out loud, jacket half-off and attitude full-on—

Until he saw you.

Until he saw Bobby, shirtless, flushed, blinking in dazed horror from the couch where he lay completely tangled around you under a suspiciously large blanket.

Until he saw the way Bobby’s arms tightened, just a second too slow.

Until he saw Bobby’s face go pale and bright red at the same time.

Erik stopped cold. Blinked once. Twice.

And then, with a sharp inhale—

“Oh my god, are you—” His voice pitched up like a record scratch. “—dude, is your dick in her right now?!”

Bobby froze. His whole body stiffened against yours. Not a word came out. He just made a strangled sound like someone had punched all the air out of him.

You didn’t move either. For one long, horrified second, no one did.

Then Bobby croaked:

“…Could you not be here right now?”

“Holy shit, man—I came to say sorry! I didn’t come to get visually assaulted!” Erik spun around so fast he nearly tripped over the rug. “Jesus Christ—next time LOCK the damn door!”

“We did!” Bobby shouted, still cringing, half-curled over you like his body could somehow shield you both from the embarrassment crashing down like a tsunami.

“Clearly not hard enough!”

Erik stumbled back through the door, grumbling something about “goddamn horror movie timing” and “emotional whiplash,” and slammed it shut behind him.

Silence.

Bobby let out a long, long breath and dropped his face into the crook of your neck. “…I’m never looking him in the eye again.”

You burst out laughing, even as you stroked his hair and tried to stifle it behind your hand. “Well, at least now he knows you’re getting taken care of.”

That got a huff of laughter from him. A little shy. A little smug.

He kissed your shoulder, breath warm and trembling.

“Still not pulling out, though.”

375 notes · View notes

tomsparkyr · 24 days ago

Text

MATCH CELEBRATIONS ── g.clarke ౨ৎ ⋆｡˚

summary : in which george forgets to celebrate his goal during the match, so he makes up for it afterwards a/n : my brain is just full of creative ideas atm so… also can you tell george is my favourite? but i was rewatching the charity match and got this idea // italics is stephen doing the commentary content : established relationship ,, sexual innuendos ,, mentions of injury ,, a severe lack of knowledge on how football works xx

─────── THE ENERGY THROUGHOUT Wembley Stadium was electric and buzzing. The match had gone incredibly smoothly so far, with a new record of 16 goals being scored, making the overall score be 8-8 with only eight minutes to go. Your fingers were crossed on your lap, knees bouncing nervously as your boyfriend was subbed back on.

You were sat between Sabina and Arthur, both of them talking to you and making casual conversation. You and Sabina murmured over what the hell was going on during the match and the newest make up releases that were actually worth buying, while you listened to Arthur just complain about the constant off-side passes — whatever that meant.

You continuously checked your phone, a nervous habit you picked up when George wasn’t around. It made no sense — of course — because it’s not like he could text you right now anyway, he was literally on the pitch.

“Oh! It’s a corner! It’s a corner!” Arthur exclaimed, hand gripping your arm ridiculously tight, causing your bracelets to dig into your arms.

“Arthur!” You hissed, pushing him off like an annoyed older sibling.

“Sorry.” He laughed, staring at the huddle of players in front of the goal.

Tobi was stepping back, preparing to boot the ball towards them.

Just as he did, Angry Ginge completely missed his defence kick, the ball flying straight past him and into the foot of—

George.

All of a sudden, the stadium burst into screams and yells of support and excitement, everyone raising from their seats as your boyfriend’s foot knocked the ball into the back of the goal (and himself in the process as he stumbled into the net).

“Oh my God!” You screeched, standing and jumping whilst clapping, “Yes George! Oh my God, yes!”

Arthur and Isaac were just as excited as you, arms around each other’s shoulders and jumping in joy. Arthur pulled you into it and you laughed at their boisterous celebration.

George looked incredibly confused as he ran towards Tobi, gesturing between the two of them and trying to figure out who was actually to be credited, but when the rest of the Sidemen team joined in on clapping his back, he relished in the feeling.

He found you in the crowd and waved, resulting in him getting an air kiss back.

“And there goes George and his mrs, subtle PDA, we love to see it. Blowing kisses at him, though I’m sure he’ll be getting more blowing of another kind for that goal.”

You cupped your mouth with both hands and whooped for him, screaming loudly.

The cheering died down as the game continued to progress but you still couldn’t get over the adrenaline rush of the love of your life scoring a goal right in front of your eyes.

The grin never left your face, even after Theo Baker scored a last minute equaliser, making the score 9-9.

“Does that mean penalties?” You looked over at Arthur and Isaac, and they nodded.

You refrained as much as you could from biting your nails, considering you’d just had them done a couple days ago.

The crowd was in utter shock as Sketch saved Simons goal, as he was known for being a great penalty shooter.

As the game came to an end, with Speed getting the winning shot for the Youtube Allstars, a lot of people began filing out of the stadium, ready to leave and go home, yoy however, could not, as you had to wait for George.

From your spot, you could vaguely see Munya and Els doing interviews on the pitch, grabbing different players and putting a microphone in their face.

“Clarkey! Clarkey!” Munya called out, grabbing George’s shoulder and turning him to the camera. “Your goal virginity is gone!”

“Yes.” George laughed.

“How does that feel?”

“Well, it’s one of them ticked off the least, hopefully that means the second one tonight!” He joked, smirking, “No, um, honestly I had absolutely no idea that it was my goal, hence the complete lack of celebration and just, sort of, pointing at Tobi, um, but no, insane.”

“With more time, how would you have celebrated?” Munya asked.

“I—“ George laughed with a scoff, “I don’t think time was the problem, I think it’s just that I’m a pure idiot— uhm, but I do have a celebration now … where is she?” He hummed, eyes scanning the crowd and then pointing at you. “Isn’t she beautiful.”

He beckoned you down, waving his hand at you.

“Me?” You mouthed, pointing at yourself.

“Yeah! Come down!” He shouted, even though you probably couldn’t hear him.

“Is this a camera moment?” Munya questioned, confused as to what was going on.

“I mean, it’s going to be caught on the fifty thousand phones that are here, so might as well get it in good quality.” George shrugged with a laugh.

You made your way down the stairs and through the tunnel, when security stopped you.

“Sorry, love, players and interviewers only.”

“Oh, no, my boyfriend asked me to come down—“

“Tom, it’s good.” Simon came through, patting the security on the back, “She’s allowed through.

Tom nodded and let you past.

“Why does he want me?” You asked Simon, as he clearly had an idea as to what was going on.

“No idea.” He lied, gesturing for you to follow him.

You jogged up to George, ecstatic to be seeing him, and threw yourself at him, arms around his shoulders, “I’m so proud of you!”

He laughed, arms around your waist, and tapped your bottom to put you down.

“I’ve got something for you.” George stated, stepping back slightly.

Munya and the camera man cleared the scene, allowing him more space.

“What— Oh my God.”

The air was knocked from your lungs as you watched George, panting and flushed red from his exertion, as he got down on one knee.

His eyes were full of pure adoration and nothing short of unconditional, eternal love.

The air around you seemed thick, and despite the roar of the crowd and buzzing atmosphere around you, it didn’t seem real. You were grounded by his presence, and the scenes around you disappeared, as if it were just you two, alone, on a field of grass.

“Reader … you have been in my life for seven years now, and those seven years have been the most wonderful, exhilarating years of my life, and I genuinely couldn’t have done this whole Youtube, social media thing, without you.”

You burst into tears, unable to control yourself.

“Waking up next to you every morning is like witnessing the human embodiment of an angel, and there is no one else I could dream of doing that with. I don’t usually believe in ‘everything happens for a reason’, but I whole-heartedly believe that we met for this reason. Because you are my soulmate, through and through. You’ve been there for me through everything, from tough times like when my mum was sick and to the best days of my life, like asking you to be my girlfriend, and every day that’s followed since.”

Your sobs were uncontrollable as you nodded with his words, your hands on your cheeks.

“You’ve put up with me since day one, which shocks me, especially since I sweat like a pig when it’s only eight degrees outside, and even though we lost the game today, I know that I’ve already won in life, because I get to call you my girlfriend— and hopefully my wife.” He laughed, clearing his throat as he neared on crying himself.

“So … reader … will you marry me?”

The question lingered for a split second and you were entirely speechless, opting for a shaky nod instead of saying anything.

“Yeah?” He muttered.

“Yeah.” You croaked, holding your hand out.

He grinned and slipped the ring on. Once it was secure, he shot to his feet, lifting you off the ground. Your arms locked around his neck and your legs around his waist as you sobbed into his shoulder.

“To Mr and Mrs Clarkey!” Munya exclaimed into the microphone and everyone erupted into cheers.

“I love you so much!” You sobbed, pulling away from his neck and placing your hands on his cheeks, “Of course I’ll marry you, oh my God!”

He laughed at your reaction, giving you a chaste kiss, keeping it appropriate and sensible for the cameras and children in the crowd or watching.

yourusername

liked by arthurtv georgeclarkeey chloeburrows and 439k more

after five years on knowing you and four years of dating you … i can legally call you mine (soon)💓

tagged : georgeclarkeey

georgeclarkeey aren’t you sweet x

↳ yourusername and you’re performative, proposing in front of everyone like that x

georgeclarkeey loving you forever x

↳ yourusername loving you forever and always x

chloeburrows awww, the cutest! so happy for you two💞

arthurtv ‘we might have lost the game but i’ve won life’ 🥶🥶🥶 (congrats you guys❤️)

↳ georgeclarkeey cheers, was waiting for your approval (thanks mate❤️)

chrismd10 proposal was almost as cold as my free kick mate

↳ stephen_tries give it a rest, it was one of 18 goals

behzingagram best proposal oat🙌🏼❤️

sidemen ❤️❤️❤️

↳ georgeclarkeey thanks for letting me do that guys

livvydimartino beautiful girl🥹 so happy for you xx

↳ yourusername thank you ml💓

bambinobecky he can’t take my munchkin from me. tell him i’m coming for him

↳ yourusername nothing can split us apart becky x

↳ georgeclarkeey i can read her comments🤓🤓

arthurnfhill george please film fifty more platform roulettes before a baby clarkey is on the way

↳ yourusername don’t plan on getting preggy for a while yet finchy x

↳ faithlouisak neither did i babe x

user1 everyone’s getting married and having babies now!! this is so cute it’s so nice seeing everyone make their own families!

user2 the fact that she immediately burst into tears🥹

↳ user3 she’s so real for that honestly

user4 clarkey for the best proposal of all social media couples!!!

user5 they’re so in love it makes me feel sick (with jealousy)

275 notes · View notes

tomsparkyr · 24 days ago

Text

cat's out of the bag

pairing: Thunderbolts!Bucky Barnes x wife!reader

summary: how Bucky's top secret was revealed to the Thunderbolts. ft. a secret wife and Alpine.

warnings: some thunderbolts spoilers (if I'm missing anything, please let me know!)

a/n: thank you for helping me reach 400 followers! I have a small celebration going on where I'm accepting requests for drabbles and fics, go check it out if that's your thing! I love you all <3

the signs were all there, since the start. it was just a matter of time till someone made a connection. which never happened, fortunately for you both. which does not bode well for their capabilities as spies and enhanced humans, but oh well.

the first clue should've been Bucky's tendency to be a little too protective over his things. his duffel bag, his wallet, everything was off limits from the team. not even during emergencies were they allowed to go through the duffel bag, he swore there were no last minute medical supplies hiding there anyways; and even if they got locked out of their room? nope, he won't be opening his wallet. there was no keycard there, he was sure.

had anyone decided to see what was inside his duffel bag, they would find his tactical gear, some medical supplies that he was harbouring, a few knives, guns, and ammunitions, and finally, notes from you that you left every time he was leaving for a mission. there would be some little heart shaped candies that have grown on Bucky a lot more since he met you. there would also be a small metal box that was filled with doodles you had made for him, especially to look at when he was missing you more than usual.

his wallet would not have as many trinkets but has a single photo that frames him just as easily as the duffel bag does. there, hidden amongst the hotel keycard, some cash, and a few business cards, was a polaroid of you and Bucky, clicked by Shuri back in Wakanda. his flesh arm was wrapped around your waist, the metal one lying somewhere in his hut. he was grinning from ear to ear, lips pressed to your cheeks, eyes closed in contentment. it was the happiest he had looked in any photo, celebrating his freedom from the Winter Soldier with you.

well, it was good that nobody ever touched his things.

a second clue that could've been his undoing would've been the way he always hid his phone from the team, not letting them touch it or use it even in cases of emergencies. now, the Thunderbolts were not nosy – okay that's a lie, but not as nosy as they'd like, for they were scared of Bucky's wrath – but that was something that they understood and didn't pry much on, what with Bucky being so private and shit.

his phone wallpaper, the one that opened after unlocking the thing, was your photo, a candid he had taken on one of your picnic dates. the sun rays had illuminated your face and cast an ethereal glow, your eyes shining. my angel, he had called you. Bucky was a smart man, though, and his locked screen wallpaper was something non-descript, knowing that it wouldn't be incriminating at all to have an abstract design on his screen.

another clue should've been the fact that Bucky always 'fucked off' (in John's words) to an unknown place after every long or arduous mission. Alexei had tried to get him to stay, calling the post-mission team bonding as an important chance to increase morale, but Bucky never listened.

he would be too eager to go back to the home he shared with you on the other side of the city, a regular apartment that was filled with pictures of you and him, comfort, and his favourite sight: his two girls, you and Alpine curled up on the couch.

Alpine was a recent addition to your household. Bucky had found her roaming the street below at 2 AM as he was returning from a mission, yowling and snipping at all strangers who tried to come close. but when Bucky had stood and stared at the kitten, she stared right back, tilting her head as if she was assessing him.

her assessment must have been positive, because the next thing he knew, Alpine was strutting over to him, tail dangling and paws grabbing at his shoes until she was picked up and held near his chest, where she promptly purred and closed her eyes in satisfaction.

she had a similar reaction to your presence, sniffling your outstretched palm before deciding that you were going to be a better pillow than Bucky for the night, leaving his embrace and jumping into yours.

Bucky wouldn't say it out loud, but he was grateful for Alpine in more ways than one. her presence around the house was much needed ever since he joined The New Avengers, which had him out of the house more days than he'd like.

that damn cat would be his undoing, both of you would've never guessed.

"what's that?" Yelena asked one day, eyes narrowing in on the tendrils of fur that stuck to his black jacket, the contrast making it easier to spot the cat hair.

Bucky cursed in his mind, remembering that he forgot to brush his jacket while he was cleaning his other clothes. how was he to know that Alpine, the sweet little menace that she was, would find his jacket even in the depths of the closet?

yeah, he should've known. that cat brought more chaos than anyone else he's known in the last century.

Bucky shrugged, inspecting the hair as if he was seeing it for the first time. as if it wasn't a daily occurrence for him to scold Alpine while you brushed off the hairs from his clothes.

"looks like cat hair," Bob added, hoping he was helping the conversation.

he wasn't. Bucky wanted to glare at him and shut him up, but even Bucky wasn't that grumpy to mistreat Bob.

"you own a cat now?" John asked, directing the question at Bucky.

"no." he stated firmly. "must have come from the kitten I petted on the way here."

"you snuggle street cats?" Ava asked.

"this one was cute," Bucky shrugged.

"you, Bucky Barnes, pick up random street cats and pet them?" she asked again.

"what's so hard to grasp about that?"

"you ignored all the animals when we went to that petting zoo that Bob wanted to see," Yelena wondered.

"they were not as cute as this one," Bucky knew he was losing the argument.

"I don't buy it." John, ever the smart one, stated the obvious.

"buy what?" Alexei entered the room, late for their meeting. "what are we purchasing today?"

Bob filled him in on the conversation so far.

"the hair is all over your back, too, Mr. Soldier," Alexei picked one up to emphasise on his point. "the stray cat also got to your back?"

"okay, fine," Bucky sighed, deciding to come out with the truth. he was running out of patience. "I... own a cat."

silence fell over the briefing room. the team looked like personifications of the buffering symbol that Bucky has seen on some internet websites.

"can we see?" Bob was the first one to recover, totally on board with Bucky being a cat owner and excited at the prospect of meeting the said cat.

"I don't have photos," Bucky lied. he had plenty of photos in his gallery. in fact, the only photos in his gallery were of Alpine. with you.

one secret out was enough for one day, he thought.

Bob's face fell, nodding.

"but I'll click some and send you today?" Bucky offered, hating that he cared about this kid the way he did.

"okay!" his face lit up again.

"why can't we all just meet the guy?" John asked.

"girl," Bucky corrected.

"okay, girl."

"where is she now?" Yelena asked.

"in my apartment."

"who's taking care of her?" that was Alexei. "you should not leave pets unattended. could be harmful."

"she's not alone," Bucky answered before thinking.

instant regret filled him when he looked at the team who was buffering again.

"let's get back to the mission," Bucky tried. a failed attempt, he knew before he even said the words out loud, but he was now desperate to change the subject.

"who's taking care of her?" John asked again.

"do you have a cat sitter?" Bucky was glad to find the perfect lie, silently thanking Ava for her suggestion.

"yeah," he nodded, confidently. "something like that." he whispered under his breath.

which was a bad idea, considering there were two other super soldiers in this room.

maybe you were right, Bucky should really start to get full sleep. he was not as sharp as he'd like.

"something like that?" John repeated.

"yeah, I've got a cat sitter." Bucky stated, his tone authoritative.

"who is it? are they always taking care of her when you're out on missions?" Yelena asked.

"yes." was Bucky's curt reply.

"can we meet the cat?" for a grown man equalling the size of a bull, Alexei looked more like a child in a candy store.

"no."

"why not?"

"Alpine does not like strangers."

"we're your team," Bob pouted. "please?"

damn Bob and the soft spot he held in Bucky's heart.

".... fine." he said after a few minutes of silence, trying to think of how to get out of this predicament but coming up blank.

so that's how The New Avengers were huddled in the lift of his apartment building, the new mission briefing completely forgotten.

"ah, it's a recon mission, routine. we can come back to it later," John had reassured the team when Bucky tried to get out of this impromptu team outing one last time. he was met with Bucky's glare, but what other choice did Bucky have than to take them to meet his cat?

and that's how you opened the door to find your husband with the team you had only seen on TV and in articles before.

your eyes widened, mouth agape at the sight of your husband, brows furrowed and lips downturned in a grumpier expression than usual, flanked by five super heroes.

"uh..." you tried to make sense of the sight in front of you.

"hi, doll," Bucky breathed out. he stepped inside, a soft kiss dropping on your hair before he lowered his head to whisper in your ear. "I might have fucked up."

"he's awfully close with his cat sitter," Yelena murmured, the other five people in the hallway all nodding in approval.

"I can see that," you whispered back to your husband, peering at his team over his shoulder. "should I welcome them in...?"

he nodded, turning back to the idiots he called his team.

"come on in," his voice was strained, not at all a polite host.

one by one, they were herded inside and to the living room, where your work laptop was on.

"I'm sorry, let me just clean up," you frantically organised the papers and shut down the laptop. "I'm sorry for the mess, we weren't expecting, uh, visitors."

"we?" John, ever the parrot.

"where's the feline that has enamored Barnes?" Alexei asked.

"Alpine?" you looked at Bucky, who nodded solemnly. "oh, she must be here somewhere. let me try and find her."

"your cat sitter does not know where your cat is?" Yelena asked again when you left the room, muttering something about the damn feline. "she's not very good." Bucky shrugged in response.

Bob's gaze was sweeping all around the house before he silently stepped closer to Bucky, voice low.

"she's not your cat sitter, is she?" he asked him, unbeknownst to the rest of the team.

"no," he whispered, already having observed Bob taking in all the photographs in the hallway and the living room, as well as the ring on your finger.

"it's good to meet your wife," he smiled, then.

Bucky returned the smile, the lines on his forehead relaxing a little.

you came back to the room, the white furball held to your chest. "here's Alpine."

Bucky took her from your arms, and that's when Yelena caught sight your wedding band, gleaming in the sunlight pouring from the windows.

"wait, you're married?" Yelena sputtered.

"yes?" you turned to Bucky, more confused than ever. "what... what's going on?" you whispered.

"they think you're his cat sitter," Bob, who was standing next to Bucky, whispered back, his eyes trained on Alpine who was staring back at him just as curiously.

"oh."

"what does your husband think of you sitting around in another man's house taking care of his cat?" John asked.

"and him kissing your head in greetings," Ava added.

"and him calling you doll," Yelena piled on.

"I..." you shrugged, playing off like this was an every day, casual conversation. "he's fine with it. knows I love the cat and we could use the extra money."

"Mr. Soldier! you even attended her wedding, that's so cute!" Alexei pointed at one of the photos from your wedding that you had framed up on the wall.

Bucky sighed, a hand running down his face. "you are all idiots." he muttered.

he knew it was only a matter of time now.

"wait," Yelena was in her buffering mode again. when she was done assessing her surroundings and you two, a loud gasp filled the silence. "you," she pointed at Bucky. "and you." she pointed at you.

John and Ava seem to be reaching the same conclusion, wide eyed and gasping.

"what?" Alexei's brows were furrowed as he gazed around the room. "what is it, Yelena?" he looked to his daughter for support.

"they're married!" Yelena shouted.

and that's how The New Avengers, Earth's mightiest heroes, figured out Bucky Barnes' secret.

this one was a little all over the place but I hope you enjoyed. do let me know what you think. likes, comments, and reblogs are greatly appreciated <3

5K notes · View notes

tomsparkyr · 26 days ago

Text

real people masterlist

18+

you're popular among horror fans. he's well-respected among film critics. though you work in the same industry, you couldn't be more different - but your managers think a pr romance is just what your careers need.

series warning: actor!bucky x f!actress!reader, mature themes, fake dating, enemies to lovers, bucky is an asshole, grumpy x sunshine vibes, angst, smut, slow burn (or at least my attempt at a slow burn).

updates every friday.

intro

chapter one

chapter two

chapter three

chapter four

chapter five

chapter six

drabble: caught

chapter seven

chapter eight

chapter nine

chapter ten

chapter eleven

chapter twelve

chapter thirteen

chapter fourteen

2K notes · View notes

tomsparkyr · 27 days ago

Text

𝐒𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐃𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐬

➵ 𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | When you first started dating Bucky, he told you that you’d never have to lift a finger again, and he really meant it.

➵ 𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 | boyfriend!bucky x reader

➵ 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 1.3k

➵ 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬| Insomnia and nightmares. Fluff!

დ 𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | დ 𝐛𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐲 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | დ 𝐤𝐨-𝐟𝐢

Bucky never got much sleep these days. Even before he met you, his nightmares were far too violent and his thoughts were far too intrusive to even consider winding down and letting him sleep peacefully. This was one of the first things you noticed about him. He seemed like he never slept. That was his one fault in a sea of perfection, so you didn’t really take it into consideration. As long as he was relatively sane- and most importantly, happy- you figured he was fine.

He’d hoped falling in love with you would help ease this issue, but it only made it worse. Now he had you- a perfect creature crafted by heaven in his eyes- and that meant he had something to lose. Just the thought of being without you sent him in a spiral sometimes. So, he spent all his waking energy making sure you were just as happy and in love as he was.

He’d lay with you in your bed until you were out, then carefully peel himself off of you and out of bed, making his way to the living room. That way, if someone came in during the night, they’d get to him before you. The idea of someone breaking in and getting to you before him, possibly hurting you? Absolutely not. He’d put his life on the line any day for you.

Bucky would spend all night awake, flinching at any settling sounds the house made or any branch that hit the window. Alpine, the cat you two shared, would join him occasionally if she weren’t sleeping herself.

He would check every lock on the windows and doors throughout the house to make sure they were locked and wouldn’t budge. The security and fire alarms were always up-to-date as far as tech and battery life, in the off chance he had to go on an overnight mission. Though he hated doing it, at the very least, he could make sure you were safe while he was away. You could take care of yourself, Bucky knew that. But he liked protecting you. When you first started dating him, he told you that you’d never have to lift a finger again, and he really meant it.

Bucky had your alarm times memorized, and he knew your sleep patterns well enough to know exactly when you’d wake up. But he could do better than that.

Every morning, Bucky took the time to stop cooking breakfast for a few minutes to come back into the bedroom, turn off your alarms, and wake you up himself gently. Those alarms were too loud and harsh for your perfect ears. He’d kiss against your face and lips until you were awake.

Throughout the night, Bucky would double, triple, and quadruple-check every door and window for break ins. But he’d also check them to make sure they didn’t creak. He was harshly reminded of one time he went into your shared closet to grab one of his jackets and the door creaked. You lightly stirred at the sound, and Bucky’s head nearly spun off of his body when he went to check if you’d woken up. He fixed it with some lubricant one afternoon when you weren’t home, so he ensured himself that nothing like that would happen again. There would be absolutely no harsh noises that would wake you up out of your beautiful slumber, not under this roof. Bucky would always go out of his way to make sure you were properly rested, which was odd, considering he didn’t put in the same efforts with himself.

It wasn’t like Bucky never slept- he did occasionally. But no more than an hour or two. He had Alpine to keep him company, and he’d always tell you that he just woke up slightly before you to feed her.

That cat, as much as Bucky loved her, had her faults as well. Every time Bucky brought out her breakfast, she’d meow very enthusiastically, excited about her meal.

“Shhh, sweetie, Mama’s still asleep.” He’d always whisper, rubbing the top of her head. She would always rush to her food, gobbling it up as if Bucky was going to take it away.

When Bucky did sleep, it was for no more than two hours, in an upright seated position on the living room couch. He always tried to stay alert, and he’d always be a little hard on himself if he realized he fell asleep briefly in the night.

As much as Bucky tried to keep it from you, you could tell. There would be days where the bags under his eyes were darker than normal, and he’d often drift into his own thoughts.

You didn’t think it was a serious problem until you reached for him in bed one night and he wasn’t there. When you found him on the couch, eyes closed and just starting to doze off, you realized just how much Bucky was struggling.

“Bucky,” you cooed, softly petting his hair as you watched him slowly wake up. You couldn’t blame him for doing this to himself. After decades of fighting and war and torture, Bucky felt like what he had now, a normal life, a love, a person to call home, would be lost if he didn’t do everything in his power to protect it. That, and his internal clock was too set in stone now to change. He was used to being up all night, barely getting any sleep. He didn’t want to subject you to that. Even now, knowing you’d woken up out of your sweet dreams because of him, he was silently beating himself up about it.

“Hey angel,” he said with sleepy eyes. He brought a hand to your hair, giving you a genuine smile.

“Come back to bed,” you said. Your big dough eyes were enough to make his heart melt.

Who was he to say no to you?

He grabbed your hand, pulling you in close for a hug. Above everything- a good night’s sleep, a chance to shed a few tears, a nice long therapy session- Bucky needed to be in your embrace the most at this moment. There was an unspoken understanding that you knew more than Bucky was letting on, but he didn’t mind it. For a second, he let go of the reigns and let you take over.

“One of these days I’ll have you sleep through the night.” You teased.

“Honey, you can do many things,” Bucky said, “but I don’t think you can change this.”

You guided him back to your bedroom, “Don’t doubt me, Barnes.”

He let out a light chuckle as he got into bed with you.

“It’s just… too warm. Too soft. It doesn’t feel good.” He said.

“Lay on your side instead of your back,” you suggested, “and take this off.” You tugged at his shirt as Bucky complied.

You faced him, your hand running up and down his bare back. The feeling of your fingernails against his warm skin was enough to make Bucky’s eyes flutter shut yet again.

He was lost in you. The feeling of your hands on his body, the sound of your breath, the faint thumping of your heartbeat. It all relaxed him so much that he didn’t know what to do other than keep his eyes shut and rest his head against your shoulder.

Bucky slept. The most wonderful sleep he’d ever had in his many, many years of life.

For a full eight hours, Bucky slept.

He woke up the next morning to Alpine lightly purring as she slept in your spot on the bed. His head and eyelids felt heavy, and he had a weirdly calm feeling in his chest, despite his initial worry of not seeing you asleep next to him. There was a note sitting on top of your pillow, and next to a quickly scribbled heart was your handwriting.

“At work. You looked too peaceful to wake up.”

Bucky laughed lightly. So that’s what the feeling was.

Peace.

2K notes · View notes

tomsparkyr · 30 days ago

Text

Promise Without Ceremony | Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Bucky Barnes gave up on marriage a long time ago. But then, somewhere deep in a storm-soaked safe house, he pulls a bullet from your leg and accidentally proposes in the process.

MCU Timeline Placement: Post TFATWS

Master List: Find my other stuff here!

Warnings: blood loss, injury, bullet wound, field medicine, pain, mild medical trauma, emotional vulnerability, war references, ptsd mentions, marriage talk, soft angst, accidental proposal

Word Count: 3.9k

Author’s Note: i am once again asking bucky barnes to know peace (he will not). anyway i cleaned my kitchen at 1am and now i’m emotionally compromised about fictional men again. if you need me i’ll be lying facedown on the floor, thinking about laundry and commitment.

────────────────────────

The idea of marriage had died sometime in the ice.

Not all at once. Not dramatically, like a final gasp of a man slipping into the Atlantic with a ring still in his coat pocket. No, it had been slower than that. Eaten away in inches. First by frostbite. Then by fire. Then by the sound of screaming that wasn’t his own but came from his own mouth anyway.

It used to mean something to him. Marriage. A porch swing. Warm soup. A house with windows that didn’t rattle in the wind. The kind of thing you promised a girl in church shoes, hands clasped over the Sunday paper.

James Buchanan Barnes had once thought he’d get that life. That he’d earn it. If he fought hard enough, if he came home in one piece, if he smiled the right way when he walked her back to her door.

Then war had cracked the world open like a rotten egg, and everything inside had spilled black.

There were no porches where Hydra took him. No rings. Just cold steel and code phrases. Needles and electrodes. Years swallowed by fog. And when he remembered again, when he started to remember, he couldn’t even picture a wedding band without wondering how deep it would slice if it caught against bone.

So no, marriage hadn’t crossed his mind in years.

Not until you.

Not even with you, not in the usual sense. You hadn’t crawled into his life and started naming curtains or pointing out flower arrangements like a threat. You’d just…stayed. Through the Accords. Through the fallout. Through Wakanda and the long, sterile quiet of the recovery halls. You never flinched when he woke up screaming. You never tiptoed around the word past like it might set off a bomb.

You were there during the repairs. The recalibrations. You’d worked with Shuri on something far above his understanding, fingers stained with grease and ink, hair always pinned messily away from your eyes. You’d curse under your breath in three different languages. You argued with Ayo. You laughed loudly.

By the time he was sent back into the field—once he had left the mountains, left the quiet—he expected the connection to die out. Most things did. The world had taught him that. You could try to keep something alive outside the place it was born, but roots snapped when you pulled too hard.

And it had. He had left you. Not by choice, not really. One blink and he was gone. Another blink, and you’d aged five years without him.

But then he saw you again. In D.C. In New York. Even in Louisiana. Out of nowhere, standing in a pair of sunglasses too big for your face, grinning like it hadn’t been years for you.

“Miss me, Barnes?”

And damn him, he had.

You’d joined the mission against the Flag Smashers. Temporarily, at first. That’s what you both said. Just this op. Just this briefing. Just this one joint task force run with Sam.

And then it wasn’t temporary anymore. And then there was a room in the same safe house that you’d claimed. A bunk on the same floor. Your stuff beside his. And his toothbrush in your travel kit, and he had no idea how or when that had happened.

There were no conversations. No declarations. Just a slow merging.

He liked your laugh. The dry, cut-glass one you used when Joaquin said something stupid. The low, real one that came out when you let your guard down, when the weight on your shoulders slipped just enough to let joy through.

You liked to touch him. Not in the way that made him flinch. In the way that made the back of his neck burn. A casual hand on his spine when passing behind him. Fingers brushing his sleeve. A nudge with your elbow when he got too serious. You were constant.

You grounded him.

And he didn’t know how to name that. He wasn’t good at words anymore. Hadn’t been in decades. But he knew how it felt when you were hurt. When you bled. When someone touched you too rough during an extraction and he saw red before he even registered why.

He had never said “I love you.” Not outright. Neither had you.

But there were nights you fell asleep on his chest, breathing slow against the metal plates, and he’d whisper it in your hair like a secret. Like a curse.

Because he did love you.

And it terrified him.

Not because he thought you’d leave, though that was always a part of it.

But because he didn’t believe in the future. Not really. Hydra had broken that part of him, rewired him to think in terms of seconds, triggers, threats. Even now, after all this time, after all this healing, the idea of forever felt…dangerous. Unrealistic. Like planning for spring in the middle of a war zone.

But the truth was: he wanted to grow old with you.

He didn’t say it. But he wanted it.

The thought came loudest during quiet missions. When your hand found his under the table. When you scolded Sam like a sitcom wife. When you kissed him before leaving in a rush and forgot your ID badge, and he chased after you just to hear you laugh when he caught up.

That was what marriage looked like to him now.

Not churches or tuxedos. Not parties or speeches. Just this. Just you.

────────────────────────

It was raining now. Somewhere deep in the woods outside of Vienna, a safe house blinked on like a dying star. One generator. One flickering lamp. One bullet in your leg, and his hands slick with blood that wasn’t his.

You hissed as he dug the tweezers in.

“I told you,” he said, voice low, steady even as his gut churned, “you were too exposed on the ridge. You shouldn’t have gone up alone.”

You shot him a look. “Wasn’t alone. You were covering me.”

“I was supposed to be covering you,” he muttered, breath tight. “Didn’t exactly do a great job, did I?”

You didn’t answer.

He hated this part. The way the pain made your voice tighten, the way you bit your lip hard enough to bleed rather than make a sound. It reminded him too much of everything he couldn’t fix. Of every mission where he hadn’t been fast enough. Every loss that had turned to ash in his mouth.

You were trembling now, sweat slicking your brow. The bullet was lodged deep. He could feel it with the tip of the tweezers, but it wouldn’t come clean.

His jaw clenched.

“Bucky.”

“Almost got it.”

“Bucky.”

He angled the tweezers just slightly, catching the edge of the casing with a surgeon’s precision, eyes fixed on the wound like it was the only thing keeping him tethered. You were trying to steady him. He knew that. Heard it in your voice. But he couldn’t afford to believe you were okay. Not yet. Not until the metal was out and you were still breathing.

“James.”

He looked up at that. Your eyes were glassy, lips pale. And yet, somehow, you smiled.

“You smile too much when you’re in pain,” he muttered, tweezers angled again.

“Maybe you just give me a lot to smile about.”

“Yeah?” His voice came quieter, almost bitter. “Like what?”

“Like this charming bedside manner,” you rasped. “And your tendency to monologue when

you’re worried.”

“I’m not—”

“You are.”

The bullet shifted. Your body jerked, a hoarse cry caught in your throat.

“Shit—sorry,” he said instantly, his free hand anchoring you at the hip. His palm was warm. Steady. “You okay?”

“Peachy,” you breathed.

And then, silence.

Heavy. Close. Pressed between bodies that had seen too many battlefields, too many exits. The only sound was the storm outside, ticking against the roof like bones, and your ragged, uneven breath.

He bent closer, eyes narrowed on the wound.

“You need to hold still,” he said softly. “If I nick your femoral, it’s over.”

“I know.”

“I mean it. It’s deep. If I miss this—”

“You won’t.”

“I might.”

“You won’t.”

Another silence.

He couldn’t look at you. Not now. Not with the bullet half-extracted and your skin flushed with shock and fever and trust. Trust he hadn’t earned. Trust that felt too close to faith.

And he was always bad at faith.

He adjusted the angle of the tweezers again, fingers tight with precision, breath shallow. If he moved just a millimeter too far to the left, he'd sever an artery. Too far right, and he'd leave metal behind. His mind kept listing the options like a file folder: all the ways he could fail you. All the ways he could lose you.

“Keep talkin’ to me,” he said roughly, not looking at you. “You pass out, I’m gonna be pissed.”

“What, no pressure or anything,” you slurred, but he caught the strain in it. The thin layer of humor barely stretched over real pain.

The tweezers hit resistance. He felt it in his bones.

“You’re doing good,” he muttered. “You’re—fuck. Just hang on. Almost there.”

“Bucky.”

“I said keep talking.”

You let out a ragged breath. “You want a story or a monologue?”

“Dealer’s choice.”

Your voice wavered. “One time I saw Sam fall off a boat trying to impress a group of kids with his balance—”

“Not funny enough.”

“He hit his head.”

“That’s better.”

Silence ticked between your words. His grip steadied. He’d have to go in again. Just a little deeper.

You winced as the metal tip shifted.

“Fuck,” you whispered. “You know, I thought this would be the day we got pizza. Not playing Operation.”

“We’ll still get pizza,” he muttered.

“Oh yeah? You cooking?”

“I’m not cooking. I’m buying.”

You didn’t reply. And when he glanced up, your eyes were fluttering, breath shallower.

“Hey,” he barked. “C’mon. Eyes open.”

“M’tired.”

“I don’t give a shit.”

You laughed faintly again, breathe hitching, and it cracked something in him.

“Do me a favor?” You asked.

He hummed.

“If I lose consciousness…don’t let someone else try to patch me up.”

“Not a chance.”

“And if I die…”

“You’re not gonna die.”

“If I did. Hypothetically.”

His jaw ticked.

“If you did,” he said slowly, “then I’d kill whoever touched you. Then myself, probably.”

You let out a hoarse huff. “Jesus. That’s grim.”

“It’s honest.”

And it was.

Because he would. That was the part that terrified him. He would level cities for you. Not because it was right. Not because he’d made a vow. But because he couldn’t breathe without you anymore and he didn’t know when that had happened.

He leaned in. Flashlight shifting under his elbow. Blood soaked the makeshift cloth beneath you. The bullet was lodged against something slick and resistant. He knew the second he twisted, you’d scream.

He swallowed. Adjusted his grip.

“If this fucks up, it’s gonna hurt like hell,” he muttered. “So you need to stay with me, alright?”

You made a noise. Not quite a word. Not quite a yes.

He couldn’t stop now.

“Just keep talkin’, sweetheart. Anything. Tell me what kind of pizza we’re getting. Tell me a lie. Tell me where you see yourself in five years—”

“I’m bleeding out on a rotting cot in the woods, Buck,” you rasped. “Not interviewing for my dream job.”

“Doesn’t mean I don’t wanna hear it.”

You blinked slow. “You first, then.”

He didn’t think. Couldn’t. The panic had tunneled too deep. He started speaking before he meant to.

“Five years from now,” voice low, working the metal free inch by inch, “we’re retired. You hate the house I picked but only complain about the goddamn mugs. You make fun of me for how I fold laundry. You still steal all the blankets. And some poor bastard down the road asks what it’s like being married to the grumpiest man alive and you tell them I’ve always been soft on you.”

His fingers adjusted instinctively, and there it was, the clean edge of the casing caught between the tips. A perfect hold. He didn’t breathe. Didn’t blink. Just braced himself, every nerve wound tight as wire.

He cleared his throat. “Got it. On three.”

You didn’t speak.

“Three.”

He yanked.

A scream ripped from your throat, half-swallowed into his shoulder as you surged forward, clutching at his arm. Blood poured hot and fast, but the bullet clinked into the basin beside the cot.

He dropped the tweezers. Hands went to pressure. To cloth. To you.

“You’re okay,” he murmured. “You’re okay. Just keep breathing.”

You nodded faintly, head lolling back against the pillow.

He didn’t realize how close his face was to yours until the storm flash lit up the room—and he saw the way your eyes were fixed on him.

“Did you mean that?”

He blinked.

“What?”

Your lashes were heavy, lips pale, but there was no mistaking the way your gaze held him now. Steady. Anchored. Like you’d come back to yourself just enough to feel it. The weight of what he’d said, the shape it had taken, the shape it could still take if either of you were stupid enough to say it again.

“You said we’d be married,” you whispered.

His jaw ticked. “You were going into shock.”

“I wasn’t hearing things.”

“You were half-conscious.”

“And you still said it.”

He exhaled through his nose, sharp and shallow, dragging the blood-soaked cloth tighter around your thigh with more care than force. His hands didn’t match the way his mouth tensed.

“It was nothing. Just words.”

You didn’t believe that. He could see you didn’t. And that was worse. You weren’t teasing. You weren’t cornering him. You were just looking at him. Like maybe you’d known this was in him before he did. Like maybe you’d been waiting for it to slip out.

And god, he wanted to run.

Not because he didn’t mean it. But because he did. Too much. Too fast. In ways he couldn’t survive.

He pressed the cloth harder against your leg, then grabbed another strip of cloth from the field kit, wrapping it tight, methodical, just above the wound. Tourniquet style. Not too high and not too tight, just enough to slow the bleed.

His hands moved on instinct, the muscle memory of field medicine kicking in even as his mind spun. He checked your pulse. Inner thigh. Faint, but steady. He exhaled. Forced himself not to shake.

“I wouldn’t mind,” you said softly, “being a Mrs. Barnes one day.”

He stilled.

For a second, you thought maybe he didn’t hear you right. Or maybe he’d frozen, like his mind shorted out and hadn’t rebooted yet.

His heart flipped. Fucked off entirely, probably.

You shifted slightly, voice smaller. “But only if you keep folding laundry the wrong way. And keep picking ugly mugs.”

His laugh cracked at the edges. Like old bark. Like something split down the middle.

“You hate those mugs.”

“Yeah,” you murmured. “But you love them. And I love you.”

His breath caught. Chest tight. No armor. No dodge. No shield left between the two of you now.

“You’re not allowed to say that,” he said hoarsely. “Not when you’re this fucked up.”

“I’m lucid enough,” you whispered. “Don’t make me take it back.”

He didn’t.

He looked at your hand, still curled near his arm. Blood beneath your nails. Pulse stuttering in your wrist.

“I don’t even have a ring,” he said before he could stop himself.

You laughed. Soft. Breathless. Real.

“That’s okay. You’ve got gauze.”

He swallowed.

“I’d want to do it right,” he said, more to the floor than to you.

You reached up, brushed your knuckles against his cheek. Just barely there.

“Right now,” you whispered, “you just pulled a bullet out of my leg and said you’d kill the world for me. I think that counts.”

He leaned into your touch. Just for a second. Just long enough to let the part of him that still believed in things like vows and porches and soft lives feel it.

“Mrs. Barnes,” he murmured, testing it, letting the sound break in his mouth. “You sure about that?”

Your lips barely moved. “Why don’t you ask me?”

His head lifted just slightly, eyes catching yours through the stormlight. And it hit him like a second shot to the chest—cleaner than the first, but just as deep.

Why don’t you ask me?

So simple. So fucking impossible.

Because it was too big. Because it wasn’t a joke anymore. Because the second he said the words, really said them, he couldn’t take them back. Not like all the other things he’d lost to time. Not like the names they’d stripped from him or the missions they’d made him forget. This one, he’d remember.

He looked down at your leg, at the blood still leaking through cloth. His hands had steadied. His breathing hadn’t.

Why don’t you ask me?

Because what if you said yes just because you were scared. Because you thought you were dying. Because he looked like a man who needed saving and you were always the type to offer your hands even when yours were already shaking.

He looked at you, chest tight, and thought you don’t know what you’re saying. Not really. Not now. Not like this.

But then your thumb moved. Just once. Across the hinge of his jaw. And the quiet in your eyes told him yes, you did know. You always had.

He dropped his gaze, voice rough. “It’s just…”

He let it sit there. Let it ache.

“It’s not supposed to be this way,” he murmured, eyes flicking to the bloodied gauze still pressed to your leg. “I was supposed to have flowers. A ring. I was supposed to have something better for you than a leaking roof and a med kit that expired in 2015.”

His throat worked. His jaw locked.

He should’ve said it right then. Should’ve just spoken.

But instead—

“I didn’t think I was allowed to want this,” he said, voice low, uneven. “Not after everything I did. Not after everything that was done to me.”

You didn’t interrupt.

He swallowed. Continued.

“I used to think if I ever got out, I’d live quiet. Alone. Keep to myself. Go somewhere cold. Make peace with the fact that I’d never get to be anyone real again.”

His hand twitched where it held yours.

“And then you showed up. Like some pain-in-the-ass fever dream with too many opinions and terrible taste in music. You just—you didn’t leave. You stayed. You made fun of my shirts. You memorized my nightmares. You never once flinched at what I used to be.”

He looked up, then. Just barely. Just enough to meet your gaze.

“You made me want things again.”

You blinked. He could see the tears gathering now, not falling yet, just clinging to the edges like dew. Shaking. Waiting.

He shifted, exhaled through his nose, then slowly reached toward the chain tucked under his shirt. The tags clicked quietly against one another as he drew them out—worn, scraped, edges dulled. He hesitated. Thumb running along the groove of his name.

Barnes, James B.

Property of the U.S. Army.

And below that werenumbers. Codes. The echo of orders that used to own him.

They were the only thing he’d ever been given back when he’d stopped being a person. They were the last thing that made him his.

He huffed a breath. Shaky. Wet around the edges.

“And I don’t know how long I’ve been in love with you. I think maybe it was the first time you told Sam to shut up without looking up from your lunch when you knew it was a bad day. Or maybe it was the time you stayed up with me for four hours just so I could get ten minutes of sleep without a nightmare.”

His mouth quirked, not a smile, just a break in the grief.

“I’d want to give you more than this. Not a safehouse or some half-muttered promise with your blood on my hands. I’d want to give you everything.”

He looked at you now. Really looked.

“But I can’t.”

Your breath hitched. “Bucky—”

“All I’ve got is this.”

His voice was rough, worn down to its bones. He lifted the tags where they rested, cold and inert against his chest, like they hadn't once hung heavy with every name he’d buried, every order he’d followed. He hadn’t taken them off in years. Not since Wakanda. Not since they rewired the storm in his head and called it healing. Not since he’d started remembering how to breathe without a trigger warning stitched into his ribs.

But now?

Now he held them in his palm like they were something fragile. Like they might mean more in yours.

“I know it’s not a ring,” he muttered. “I just... I didn’t want to wait.”

His heart was punching up into his throat, each beat louder than the last. He wasn’t sure when he’d started shaking. Just that it was everywhere—under his skin, in his voice, in the ghost of a life he’d never thought he’d want back until you gave it shape.

He didn’t look away. Couldn’t. You were still bleeding. Still half-broken in his arms. But you were there. And alive. And looking at him like maybe he wasn’t a ruin of a man. Like maybe, even now, there was something left in him worth holding onto.

So he asked.

“Will you marry me?”

It didn’t sound the way it had in his head. It wasn’t confident. Wasn’t clean. It cracked at the center, frayed at the edges, barely held together by the breath it rode in on. Wrecked and unguarded and true in the way only something broken and rebuilt could be.

But it was his. And it was real.

You didn’t answer at first. Just stared at him—wide-eyed, wrecked, like the question had hollowed you out from the inside. And maybe it had. Maybe this was a bad time. Maybe he was a goddamn idiot for doing it now, here, with blood on his hands and guilt in his lungs and everything still burning in the corners of the room.

But then you nodded. Once. Then again. And again.

“Yes.” A whisper. Broken glass and salt. You swallowed hard, voice splitting again as you said it louder. “Yes. Of course I will.”

The sob hit him sideways. He didn’t mean to. Didn’t plan it. It just caught in his throat and stayed there, and suddenly your hands were on his face, and he was leaning in, and—

He kissed you.

It was desperate. Salty. A little off-center. His lip caught on yours, and your nose bumped his, and neither of you could breathe right but it didn’t matter. It was messy and clumsy and wet with tears and still somehow perfect.

His hand cradled the back of your head like he thought you might slip away, like if he didn’t hold on, the whole world might tilt again. And yours fisted into his jacket like you’d forgotten how to let go.

You were both shaking.

You pulled apart only because you had to. Because the world hadn’t stopped spinning even if it felt like it had. And then, quiet again, he moved.

He brought the tags forward.

Didn’t rush.

Didn’t speak.

He waited until you nodded, slow, sure, already teary again, and only then did he lift the chain and slide it over your head. Careful. Reverent. Like it mattered.

The tags settled on your chest, clinking softly as they touched your skin. They were cold. Real. Still streaked faintly with red.

But they were yours now.

His breath caught again, sharper this time. Not because it hurt. But because it didn’t. Because maybe this was what hope felt like when it didn’t come with a body count.

He pressed his forehead to yours and closed his eyes.

Mine, he thought. Not the government’s. Not the ghost’s. Not the weapon’s.

Yours.

tag list (message me to be added or removed!): @nerdreader, @baw1066, @nairafeather, @galaxywannabe, @idkitsem, @starfly-nicole, @buckybarneswife125, @ilovedeanwinchester4, @brnesblogposts, @knowledgeableknitter, @kneelforloki, @hi-itisjustme, @alassal, @samurx, @amelya5567, @chiunpy, @winterslove1917, @emme-looou, @thekatisspooky, @y0urgrl, @g1g1l, @vignettesofveronica, @addie192, @winchestert101, @ponyboys-sunsets, @fallenxjas, @alexawhatstheweathertoday, @charlieluver, @thesteppinrazor, @mrsnikstan, @eywas-heir, @shortandb1tchy, @echooolocation, @inexplicablehumanbean, @maribirdsteele, @daddyjackfrost

2K notes · View notes

tomsparkyr · 1 month ago

Text

going on a date with bucky barnes and it all goes so nicely, so sweetly, so smoothly. you both had so much fun, chemistry and a good time. he's charming, witty and he keeps flirting and complimenting you at every chance he gets. he held your hand all night long, neither of you even noticed it, it just happened naturally, your cheeks hurt from how much you're smiling and both of your hearts are at ease.. that's until the date comes to an end, it's time to pay and you ask him if he wants to go 50/50.

that would be the first time he lets go of your hand that night, it's unintentional just happened out of pure shock. "50... what.." the confusion on his face, you'd think he's an alien seeing earth the first time.

"you know.. 50/50.. we'll split the bill between us"

"split the bill?" he asks and you just nod, he'd blink at you, "50/50.. splitting the bill.. what is this about, i asked you on a date"

now it's your turn to be the alien seeing earth for the first time, "we are on a date, bucky. this is a date"

"no, it's not a date."

"it is a date"

"you're asking me to split the bill, this is not a date"

"oh my god sam was right, you can be such a drama queen." you laugh, he just stares at you, blankly. "it might've been a while since the last time you went on a date so let me break it down for you.. these days, people who go on dates split the bill, they go 50/50" you shrug, "it's normal"

"it's normal? you've done it before?"

you nod, "every date i've been on has been 50/50 yeah"

bucky nearly flips the table. bucky who spent all of his three dollars in the 1940's trying to win a teddybear for a girl he had a crush on, bucky who used to save up most of his income in an old shoe box underneath his bed so he can take his girl to a nice diner, bucky who went to the florist to get you a bouquet of roses and didn't even ask for the price just handed his credit card because to him your smile is priceless, bucky is about to have a stroke.

"you've never been on a date" he says, face still blank.

"yes i have"

"no you haven't. this is your first date." he says, "i'm your first time." he smirks and you blush at the possible implication. "50/50.." he scoffs under his breath, "what else are you gonna tell me next? i should walk on the inside of the sidewalk? keep my jacket on when you're cold? sleep further from the door? not open doors for you? jesus sweetheart what has the world come to?"

you hide your smile, you love it when he rambles like that, he's so calm yet so offended all at once somehow, it's funny and endearing. "what's wrong with walking on the inside of the sidewalk?" you joke and he rolls his eyes making you laugh, "so.. no 50/50? are you sure?" you ask one last time, hands on your purse on your lap.

he keeps his eyes on you as he pays the bill, glaring playfully, gets up and pulls out your chair before putting his black leather jacket on your shoulders, "no doll," he offers you his hand which you quickly hold, intertwining your fingers with his, and opens the door with his metal hand, "no 50/50."

8K notes · View notes

tomsparkyr · 1 month ago

Text

7 minutes of lewis & yn talking about each other

singer!yn x lewis pullman a/n: i have maybe 2 more singer!yn wips + 1 owen taylor wip. i'm super busy this week so i'm not sure when i can post those uhhh pls be patient w me ty ily i hope u like this

The video begins with the oldest; it’s Lew seated in an interview with Jay and Monica to promote Top Gun: Maverick. “So, it’s safe to assume that all the flight training and exercise needed to stay in shape must take many hours. Who are your favorite artists to jam out and work out to?”

Lewis can’t hide the way his lips quirk, “Recently, I’ve been listening to a lot of Y/N.”

From the corner of his eye, he can see the way Monica and Jay look at him. Knowing glints in their gazes.

“Really?” the interview asks, “I didn’t expect that.”

“No, yeah. She’s great.” Lewis smiles.

“She’s really great,” Jay adds. Monica tries to subtly hide her smile behind her hand.

“I jam out to Bad Blood on the treadmill.” Lewis comments, cheeky smile plastered on his face before Monica changes the topic.

“Muses & Anecdotes, congratulations on the new album!” The radio talkshow host exclaims. Seated across from him, you smile. “Thank you so much!”

“It’s doing really well. All thirteen tracks on Billboard’s Top 20. How does it feel?”

“It feels amazing. I had some doubts about releasing an album entirely on my own again, but I was encouraged by some very close friends and I decided, ‘Hey, why not?’. Luckily, it’s working out so far.”

“It’s more than just ‘working out.” The host teases, and you let out a little laugh. “So, speaking of ‘muses & anecdotes’, can we perhaps have an explanation to what ‘muses’ and what ‘anecdotes’ mean? Not the Merriam-Webster definition, but the YN LN definition.”

You let out another laugh. Letting out a hum, you think of how to phrase your answer.

“When I first started to conceptualize the album, I knew that it would encompass thoughts and feelings of certain events over the course of six years. Anecdotes quite literally means an account of an event that is… amusing or interesting.”

“And what does ‘muses’ mean to YN LN?”

The host eyes you, you catch the humor on their face.

“You know what it means, Rich.”

“I don’t! Promise!” the host is laughing.

“All of the songs in this album are inspired by and dedicated to a special person in my life.”

“That person being…?”

“Oh, stop it," you joke with a roll of your eyes.

The next clip is of a red-carpet interview for the premiere of Thunderbolts. Front and center of the video, Lewis is talking into a mic, he’s grinning at the question the interviewer asked him.

“My muse is here,” he’s grinning, head turning quickly to the side, down the aisle where you’re engaged in another interview of your own.

“Correct me if I’m wrong,” the interviewer starts, “But is this your first red carpet together?”

“Yes, it is,” Lewis confirms, “This is… Coming to an event like this has been something we’ve always wanted to do together, but it never really worked out in the past. I’m just happy we’ve finally done it.”

“How do you think YN will react to The Sentry?”

“Oh, I think she’ll hate him. I sent her pics during filming. She absolutely hated the hair. She’s in love with the Void, though.” Lew lets out a small laugh, mind recalling the texts you sent him when the trailer released.

“That was unexpected!”

Lewis gives a wink to the camera, “She loves his hair more.”

“I’m so excited. I’m such a huge fan of everybody, and Flo is one of my closest friends in Hollywood. I just — I can’t wait to see the whole film!” The next clip is YN on the same red carpet, with the same interviewer.

“And of course, you’re here for Lewis too?”

“Yes, of course,” you cut yourself off, turning your head to look for him, “Where is he? — Oh, there.” You see him ahead of you in the press line, talking to another interviewer. “I told him the reason I came today is to see the Void. I love his hair.”

“Lewis told us awhile ago. Not a fan of the blonde?”

“I am! Just… I love the Void more.”

The next clip is a little blurry, taken under the dim lights of your most recent concert. The camera is focused on the stage, where you’re dancing to ‘Dress’.

I woke up just in time, now I wake up by your side

My hands shake, I can't explain this ah, ha, ha, ha

Say my name and everything just stops

The camera turns to where Lewis is watching you from the VIP tent, it zooms in on his face, his smile, and how he whispers your name, before the beat starts up again.

I don't want you like a best friend

Only bought this dress so you could take it off

Take it off

“I feel so lucky to know her.”

The final clip is from a Zoom interview, Lewis is leaned toward the camera of his laptop, a lazy smile on his lips, “She’s my best friend, my biggest supporter.” This whole press junket, ever since the two of you went public with your relationship, questions about your relationship never fails to be brought up at least once. He never gets tired of talking about you.

Comments (274)

ally_browne PARENTS

falsedg0dz yn cant stop yapping abt lewis she released bonus tracks of muses n anecdotes OUT OF FUCKIN NOWHERE???

lewpulledman this is the first celeb couple where i feel like they really like each other

bobonboard girlie cant stop singing abt how in love and horny they r for one another

l0vedstory hard launching at 6 years …. we couldve had 6 yrs of them doing this

ynlewtruther I CANT STOP THINKING ABOUT YN’S ROLLING STONE INTERVIEW

millsjules wait why? ynlewtruther she wrote some songs at lewis’s montana place and she said in the interview that she realized he liked her back when she walked in on him playing “snap out of it” by arctic monkeys on the drums dfhgjkdfhg milesjules WHAT???? thats hilarious

voidedyn yn … lewis …. me …. sabrina carpenter paris juno position

2K notes · View notes

tomsparkyr · 1 month ago

Text

Pool Day

Pairing: Bob Reynolds x Reader

Summary: The team decided to request a pool, not thinking it would be made. Now, they have a pool.

A/n: Ugh! I love a good beach/pool episode! But this time, the relationship is established.

When Valentina asked if there was anything the team wanted in the tower, she meant like a training simulator or a chef. So, when Yelena spoke up, saying she wanted a pool, everyone backed her up. No one expected Valentina to actually go through with it because she didn't like them.

So, when Valentine announced the pool was done, everyone was flabbergasted. They were most astonished by the fact that she built it outside where the sun could be enjoyed. However, she said that was the last unnecessary request she'd be entertaining.

Of course, when the first day of summer rolled around, the pool was not forgotten.

---

You sit at the edge of the pool with your legs under the water. You're thankful you had time to buy a new swimsuit. It wasn't the best one you could find, but it'll do.

Yelena has found interest in sleeping on one of the floats. She's knocked out as the float hits one of the walls of the pool. Meanwhile, John is in the shallow area drinking a fruity smoothie. For the most part, everyone is relaxing for the first time in a while.

You sense a presence behind you and immediately turn. You're far too late, as two pairs of hands shove you into the chilly water. Your entire body is submerged, and water enters your nose. You pop out of the water, coughing and wiping your nose.

When you finally look up, you see Alexei and Bob standing where you were sitting. Alexei is hands on knees laughing and pointing at you as if he's pulled off a master prank.

"Is the water nice?" Bob asks. He holds out his hand for you to take. Even after shoving you into the pool, he's still kind enough to pull you back out. You should just take his hand and be thankful for the refreshing dunk. You aren't that type of person.

"Oh, wouldn't you like to know?" You grip his forearm and yank as hard as possible. He doesn't take a lot of effort to pull. The splash from his fall wakes up Yelena, who lifts her sunglasses as Bob pops up from the water.

"'Ey, I don't want any rough housing," She points at you and Bob with a raised eyebrow. "Don't wake me again," She warns and puts her sunglasses back on.

The moment Yelena is back to resting, Bob's arms wrap around your waist. His head rests on top of yours, and water drips from his chin to your nose. He creates a sort of shade over your face to block out the sun.

"I could get used to this," You keep your voice down. Bob hums in response. He sways both of you carefully while he enjoys the closeness. "Did you swim a lot in Florida?"

"Oh yeah, like, every day." He nods without hitting your head. He relinquishes his hold on you and spins you around to face him. "It was either the pool or the beach. I preferred the beach because when the wind is strong enough, the waves get super high."

"That sounds fun," You say. "We should have asked for a wave pool, too." You laugh. Maybe you can suggest it to Valentina as a way to train for water-based threats. Though you doubt she'd accept that answer.

"The last time I was in a wave pool, I got kicked in the head three times," Bob chuckles. His hands move to rest on your waist to keep you near him. "I'm pretty sure they should be banned for how dangerous they are." His face becomes serious as he thinks.

"Oh, you can't handle some waves?" You tease. You already have something in mind and begin floating away from him. His brows furrow, and he watches you get a few feet away. You wind up your arm and roughly glide it across the surface to create a small wave.

It drenches Bob once again, but once the splash clears, he's gone. Before you can react, his hands are on your legs. He efficiently drags you under, but cradles your head before it hits the floor.

You open your eyes, but the water makes everything blurry. All you can see is Bob's outline as it gets closer. His hands cup your face, and his lips press against yours as gently as possible. The kiss only lasts a few seconds due to a lack of air, but those seconds are like a treasure. His lips are all you can feel as your senses are blocked by the water.

When you emerge, you gasp for air, but he doesn't. You chalk it up to him having more experience in bodies of water than you.

Once you catch your breath, he calls your name. You look towards him only to be hit in the face by water. He forgets how strong he is and gets Yelena and John wet.

"Oh, come on!" John groans. He holds up his half drank smoothie that now has chlorine water in it.

"Ok, that's it! No more pool for you two!" Yelena shouts.

2K notes · View notes

tomsparkyr · 1 month ago

Note

Are you still writing the george inside fic? I love it!

heyyy !! yes i am, just swamped with revision and essays but it is definitely happening, and thank you for the love !! :DDDD

16 notes · View notes

tomsparkyr · 1 month ago

Text

Earned a Kiss

Pairing: Mason Mount x Reader

Summary: After the game, the reader gets pulled into the locker room to celebrate with Mason. In front of his teasing teammates, their shy kiss becomes part of the victory.

Word count: 799

Kiss me out of the bearded barley Nightly beside the green, green grass Swing, swing, swing the spinning step You wear those shoes and I will wear that dress

The halls of Old Trafford buzzed with post-match energy. Shouts, laughter and the dull echo of music leaking from the locker room. You stood nervously outside the door, heart still racing from watching Mason's incredible performance.

Two goals. Two special goals.

After everything he'd been through, the injuries, the setbacks, the nights he came home questioning himself, he'd done it. And you were bursting with pride.

You'd cried a little when he scored the second, but now all you could think about was seeing him, hugging him and telling him how proud you were.

"Oi? Lovebird?" A familiar voice called out, cutting through your thoughts.

You turned to see one of Rasmus, already grinning with his shirt slung over his shoulder. He jogged up to you, sweaty and smug, and before you could react, he looped an arm around your shoulders.

Your eyes widened. "Wait, I-- I can't go in there." He didn't even flinch. "Rasmus, seriously--" You tried to pull away, glancing around. A couple of staff members were nearby, but no one was stopping him.

He just laughed. "Oh, come off it. You've seen him naked, haven't you?"

Your face burned instantly. "Not the point!" But before you could argue again, he half-dragged you inside, ignoring your protests.

The room was chaos. Loud music from someone's speaker, half the team was shirtless and there was a distinct smell of sweat and a mix of perfumes.

As soon as they saw you, the reaction was instant. "Ooooooooohhh!" Loud boos, whistles, someone banging on a locker like a drum. Your entire face went bright red.

Mason looked up from where he was, in his shorts, damp hair flopping over his forehead, already flushed from the heat and now from the sight of you. He rose, taken aback by your sudden appearance amidst his teammates.

"What-- guys, come on!" He groaned, rubbing his face as a few of his teammates shoved you gently forward.

"Look at him blushing!"

"He scored twice and now he's scoring again, boys!"

"Give her a kiss, Mount!"

You tried to step back, but someone nudged you forward. At the same time, a couple of them pushed Mason toward you, all grinning like idiots. Your hands landed on Mason's chest to stop yourself from crashing into him, and his went instinctively to your waist to steady you.

"C'monnnn!" Someone yelled. "Don't be shy now!"

"I hate you all!" Mason said to his teammates, his grip on your waist still gentle. "So much."

"Do it!"

"Kiss, kiss, kiss!"

"Oh my god!" You whispered, not sure where to look, completely aware of twenty shirtless men chanting for you to kiss your boyfriend.

You buried your face against his chest, trying to hide from the sheer embarrassment. His bare skin was warm under your hands and you could feel his heart thudding just as fast as yours.

He leaned down a little, speaking against your temple with a breathy laugh. "They're not going to stop, you know."

"They're animals!" You said, looking at his teammates.

"We're going to start throwing boots at you if we don't get something."

Another round of chanting rose up, louder now. Someone threw a towel in the air like it was a bouquet at a wedding.

Mason looked at you, eyes soft and a little shy. "You okay?" He asked, fingers curling slightly at your waist. "We don't have to."

You looked up at him, cheeks burning. "You scored two goals." He nodded, trying to suppress a smile. "You've earned a kiss." The room exploded in cheers.

You and Mason both flinched at the noise, cheeks burning, eyes wide as the chanting got louder and more chaotic. You moved at the same time, like gravity pulled you together.

His arm slid around your shoulders, curling protectively around your neck, tugging you gently into him. At the same moment, your hand came up to his face, cupping his cheek with trembling fingers, warm from the heat of the room and your own nerves.

And then you kissed.

His lips moved against yours with a quiet smile, the kind that curved just slightly, like he was trying not to grin too much. It wasn't flashy. It wasn't perfect. But it was soft and certain the kind of kiss that said we made it, without either of you needing to speak.

The boys absolutely lost it.

"FINALLYYYYY!"

"That's the WINNING GOAL RIGHT THERE!"

"GET A BLOODY ROOM!"

You both broke apart with breathless. Mason's hand sliding down to squeeze your waist. He laughed, tugging you closer into his side like he never wanted to let go. And just before the boys could start chanting again, Mason pressed a gentle kiss to the top of your head.

You closed your eyes. Everything felt exactly right.

Warm. Safe. Home.

329 notes · View notes

tomsparkyr · 1 month ago

Text

This is literally just a crack fic

Basically you and Bucky are together and you got pregnant, you’re both trying to hide it from the thunderbolts… chaos ensues.

“You’re sure this is your size?” Valentina asks incredulously.

“Yes!” You say for what feels like the 10th time.

Valentina wanted you all to have new suits to “promote” the new avengers. You had yours sized and made about 4 months ago… right before you got pregnant.

Valentina huffs and her arms shoot up in frustration. “Well I guess you’ll just have to wear your old suit, since the measurements are obviously wrong.”

You’re almost relieved when you realize your old suit will definitely not fit either, then Valentina will definitely know something is going on.

***

The next day you’re in the kitchen hiding behind the fridge door as you munch on pickles and mustard. You’re not proud that you ate the whole jar of pickles but you’re creating a super-solider baby, who cares.

“What the fuck are you doing?!” You bite back a groan as you hear walkers surprised voice. He had come up behind you, seeing that you’re eating the last pickle and squirting mustard on it.

“… I was hungry..?” You answer though it’s more of a question.

He looks you up and down with a mix of confusion and disgust on his face. He walks away shaking his head mumbling something about ‘women’

***

Yelena is known for making the best food. You usually always enjoy her dishes. This time she had made spaghetti and meatballs, usually you would love it, but for some reason the smell of the sauce just made you extremely nauseous.

Throughout the time she was making dinner you had to excuse yourself to the bathroom to throw up multiple times. Bucky was growing more and more concerned for you the longer you forced yourself to be in that environment.

He touched your head and pretended you had a fever, telling the team you both were calling it a night.

The team shot each other confused looks but otherwise seemed unconcerned.

***

“Cmon!! You have to try this dress on!!” Ava urged, shoving it in your face.

The dress was beautiful, and exactly your style but you knew if you put it on it would show off your already large bump.

You’re just barely able to conceal it with large clothes and bucky’s hoodies. You guess that the large bump has something to do with the damn super soldier you’re growing.

“I’m sorry Ava, I’m really just not feeling it tonight,” you tell her.

You see her brows furrow just a bit then she puts the dress back and happily drags you to another store.

***

“You know we’re going to have to tell them soon,” Bucky tells you as his flesh hand rubs small, soothing circles around your swollen stomach.

“Are you saying I’m big?” You ask him disbelievingly.

He shakes his head laughing, “doll, you’re not ‘big’ you’re pregnant with a super soldier’s baby. I’m just saying that it’s going to get harder to hide. I heard bob grumbling today about how annoying it is to fold all the sweat pants.”

“I just want a little more peace, just us. Please?” You ask him.

“Of course, my love,” Bucky answers softly kissing your stomach, then your lips.

***

“Where is he?!” You yell as you run to the med bay.

Ava had told you Bucky was shot during the mission. You dropped everything and got to the med bay as fast as you could.

You reached a doctor and demanded him to tell you where Bucky was.

“Ma’am you shouldn’t be running around in your condition-”

“He is the father! I need to see him!” You said loudly.

The doctor finally caved and told you what room under the condition you walk and take the elevator.

Begrudgingly, you agreed. Fidgeting biting your lips and nails the slow ride up.

You walked into the room with nothing else on your mind but Bucky.

The second you roughly open the door Yelena’s eyes were on you. Everyone else was completing the mission report.

“Oh y/n, thank god! Bucky has been calling for y-” Yelena started. “Oh my god” she said, eyes wide and mouth agape. “You’re pregnant?” She asked.

How would she even… oh. You looked down and saw your large bump protruding from under one of bucky’s shirts. Damnit. When you got the call you didn’t even think to change.

“Surprise” you said lamely.

You saw her mouth open to ask more questions, but then Bucky groaned.

Immediately, you were at his side.

“Bucky?” You asked softly.

“Doll?” He replied confused.

From the corner of your eye you saw Yelena give you an incredulous glare.

Whoops.

“Are you okay?” Bucky asks.

“Am I okay? Bucky you’re the one that was shot,” you say while laughing.

“Yeah but you’re the one that’s—”

“Pregnant yeah” Yelena said, cutting Bucky off.

Bucky shot you a confused look then down at your swollen stomach that was very obvious, and understanding shown on his face.

“How… how far along are you? I don’t want to be mean, but you look… very pregnant.” Yelena asked.

“Well technically, I’m seven months but-”

“Seven months!?” Yelena yelled. “How in the world… the spaghetti and- and the loose clothes… god for some super spy I’m really not observant.” Yelena huffed.

“Okay, okay what is all the commotion?”

You groaned as Alexi came in, followed by the rest of the team.

Damn.

“Did Bucky die or something?” Walker asks, with a suspicious amount of amusement in his voice.

“Oh, well that’s new!” Ava said, eyes zeroed in on your stomach.

Well this was it. The cat is most definitely out of the bag.

The rest of the team followed her line of view and it was very quiet for a moment.

“What the..?” Walker started.

“Congratulations!” Alexi bellowed, coming towards you with his arms outstretched. You thought it was a hug but when his arms moved lower you realized it was to touch your stomach.

Bucky hated when people touched your stomach. Immediately, Bucky sat up in bed and protectively put an arm around your swollen stomach and pulled you closer to him.

“Fuck no you’re not touching my kid.” Bucky said firmly.

Even Walker looked a bit startled.

“Well I guess that explains why I found a bag of baby clothes in your room.” Bob said thoughtfully.

Suddenly all eyes were on him.

“Why were you in my room?” You ask him.

Bob looks surprised that you even asked. “I was getting your dirty laundry.” He replied like it was obvious.

284 notes · View notes