deadtired-highkeyenergetic

[deadtired-highkeyenergetic]

Spoils of War | Chapter One

Summary : Your father, the God of War, trained you to be his executioner— his weapon. When he assigns you a mission on Earth, you encounter Bucky, who helps you see yourself as more than a weapon. He offers you refuge and helps you go into hiding. Knowing that his favourite child has gone rogue, your father sends your half-brothers, Phobos and Deimos, to hunt Bucky down for aiding your escape and to bring you home.

Pairing : Bucky Barnes x Demigod!reader (she/her)

Warnings/tags : Trauma, mentions of abuse, Violence, cursing. 

Word Count : 5.7k

Notes : This is Chapter One of five! This fic is set post-FATWS and canon compliant. Can’t remember if we’ve ever seen Olympians in the MCU bleed in Love and Thunder, but I’ve made them bleed gold (ichor) here. Taglist is open and please let me know if I've missed anyone! Enjoy!

Read the pitch here

The skies of Olympus turned crimson the day you were born.  

Not a shade of shy pink or a lively orange that signified celebration— it was a deep crimson, the same shade of fresh mortal blood. 

The gods saw it as a sign— A child of Ares is born.  

One that inherited his Olympian blood— golden ichor— and to an extent, Olympian power. That day, you were born to be a creature of anger bound by blood to a war god.

A mortal woman, who had carried the child of a god, paid the price. Giving birth to a demigod was one many did not survive, let alone one this powerful.

And so, your first breath was your mother’s last. 

As your mother bled, your father stood over the bed, his expression devoid of any warmth, any love. Ares, the God of War, a towering figure who radiated power and rage, tilted his head as he watched you grasp the sheets.

You were small. You were fragile, then. But you did not cry. 

“Take her,” he had ordered his sons.

Phobos and Deimos followed his orders and carried you to Olympus.

—

Ares didn’t raise you with love. 

He never hugged you, never read you bedtime stories. He never kissed your bruised knees when you fell off your chariot.

No, he told you, a five year old child, to get back on the fucking horse and quit whining.

So you did.

You trained for him, you trained with his generals. By the time you were seven, you had mastered dual wielding knives and were on the training ground seven days a week.

“Stop crying,” he once barked when you scraped your knees during combat drills. “Pain is weakness personified.”  

Your childhood was a forge, and Ares was the blacksmith. Every day, you sparred with your brothers, Phobos and Deimos. They were sons of war, and they had been born and raised to follow and create chaos, like you had.

You didn’t understand your powers at first. Why did people grow angrier around you? Why did their rage seem to fill your veins with fire? Your father explained it bluntly:

“You feed off rage, girl. It fuels you. It makes you stronger; give you power. Learn to provoke it.”  

So you did. Not because you wanted to, but because you had to. You baited your brothers in sparring matches, taunting them until they attacked with blind fury. You’d absorb their strength through their anger and you’d use it against them. 

You learned to be fucking annoying. You learned to mimic Ares’s cocky smirk, his unbearable overconfidence, and his cruel remarks. 

You hated every second of it.  

But what choice did you have? 

This was what you were born to do.

By the time you reached fifteen years of age, the gods knew of your reputation. How could they not?

A demigod born with the powers matching that of an Olympian only occurred once in a blue moon, after all.

You became your father’s enforcer, the one he sent to mortal planets on unfinished business, whether it be Earth, or Xandar, or Hala. Once, when Knowhere still belonged to the Collector, you had even retrieved Ares’ stolen battle axe successfully.

See, no one would assume a sweet girl like you would hurt them. Until you did. 

Your father pitted you against mortals and monsters alike. You hated it, but you excelled. You could feel the rage of those around you—the anger of warriors, the fury of the survivors—and it made you stronger. Faster. Unstoppable.  

“You’re just like me,” Ares said one day, after watching you cleave through a line of warriors. His voice was filled with pride, but you felt nothing but disgust.  

“I’m not,” you snapped, your chest heaving.  

But he only laughed. “Oh, but you are. You think I don’t see it? The way you crave the kill?”  

You wanted to deny it. But deep down, you couldn’t ignore the truth. There was a part of you—a small, shameful part—that found solace in war.  

And maybe he was the only one who understood what it meant to be consumed by bloodlust, to feel the glory war in your veins.  

You hated him, but he was the only one who believed in you, the only one who saw worth in your existence. The other gods were scared of you— they did not care if you wanted to be more than a weapon, more than a daughter of war— because they knew you didn’t know how.

How were you supposed to be more than your father’s executioner when your powers were tied to rage? How were people supposed to trust you when your strength was amplified by the anger of those around you? How were you supposed to do any good if you felt weaker during times of peace? How were you supposed to break your mold when wartime made you unstoppable?

Your father claimed it was a gift, but to you, it felt like a curse.  

You hated the way you fed off anger, the way it twisted you into a monster. You hated the way your father pushed you to embrace it, to enrage others and suck the life out of them. But most of all, you hated the part of yourself that enjoyed it.  

“Stop fighting who you are, Child of War,” Ares said one day after a particularly brutal battle. 

You clenched your fists, your jaw tight. “Maybe I don’t want to be.”  

“Doesn’t matter what you want, fool.” He snorted. “This is who you are. You can either embrace it or let it destroy you.”  

You didn’t respond, but his words haunted you.  

To appease your father, you put on a mask. You played the role your father wanted, strutting through Olympus with cocky arrogance. You baited your brothers, goaded your opponents, and pretended not to care that everyone was too scared to get close to you.

But beneath the mask, you wanted to be gentle. You wanted to care about the mortals you fought, but how could you, when you drove a knife through their heart? How could you mourn the lives lost in battle when their anger strengthened you?

You wanted to be more than a weapon, but you didn’t know how to break free. 

Ares would never let you.

If you failed a task… if you failed, Ares would hurt you. And Ares was all you had. 

So, you stayed loyal to your father. 

Maybe he was right. Maybe you were just like him.  

—

The mission your father gave you was simple: retrieve Phobos and Deimos’ ichor and kill the mortal who dared to tamper with the blood of gods. Ares didn’t give details– but it was something about how your brothers bled the last time they visited Earth, and a human scientist managed to recover it for one of their meaningless experiments. 

Failure was not an option, and disappointing him would not be taken lightly.

When you arrived on Earth, you followed the faint scent of Olympian blood to a hidden ex-Hydra facility buried beneath a crumbling industrial complex. You slipped past the initial security easily— too easily— and made your way to the lab.  

Inside, you could smell the stench of antiseptic chemicals and burnt metal. The scientist did not look like a formidable foe— he was a wiry man with hollow cheeks and a frantic gleam in his eyes. He stood behind a cluttered table with two vials of golden liquid laying in front of home.

“Fascinating, isn’t it?” he said, when he noticed you there. He was not scared, he did not panic. He wasn't angry you had slipped past his archaic computer security system. It was almost as if he was… waiting for you. 

He pointed to the ichor as though it were his masterpiece. “The blood of gods. The key to immortality. Imagine what humanity could achieve if—”  

You didn’t let him finish. With a single motion, you drew your blade from your belt and lunged.

The scientist stumbled back, but he didn’t run. “Good,” he said, reaching for his own knife on his belt, “More ichor for me to farm.”

He stabbed your shoulder before you could stop him.  

Pain exploded through your veins as the weapon struck, the blast searing through your armor and biting deep into your flesh. You staggered, clutching your wound as golden ichor spilled down your fingers.

You looked at the knife he wielded and recognised the sting of the material: Uru metal– the same iron that forged Mjolnir.

“Hydra designed it specifically for gods and their spawn back when Thor first appeared in New Mexico,” he flipped the knife arrogantly. “Asgardian, Olympian— it doesn’t matter. You all bleed.”  

Your vision blurred, but you refused to fall. Gritting your teeth, you forced yourself forward, ignoring the searing pain. He tried to stab again, but you dodged, closing the distance in a desperate leap.  

His eyes widened in fear as he stumbled back, his confidence crumbling by the second. He tried to strike blindly again, but you blocked his arm aside with ease. 

You could feel it— he was getting angry. He was getting frustrated. 

Ah, that feeling.

That wonderful, addicting feeling.

You could finally feed.

And you hated to admit it, but his anger tasted intoxicating.

All of a sudden, the scientist felt weaker, though the poor mortal didn't know that his rage gave you a window to suck energy out of his frail body. For a moment, you didn’t even feel the stab wound as strength surged through you, eclipsing the pain.

You grabbed his fist that held the Uru metal knife and slammed it to the floor. The  sound of his wrist bone cracking beneath your grip was satisfying, his scream even more so.

"You're out of your depth, mortal," you growled. His breaths came in panicked gasps, and he tried for anything— his trembling hands tried to claw your eyes out in a feeble attempt to escape, but his strength was gone. You’d taken it all.

You didn't give him a chance to beg. In one quick motion, your blade slid between his ribs, a strike that ended his struggle as quickly as it began. His body jerked and a haunting gasp escaped his lips as life drained from his eyes.

You pushed your blade off him without a second thought, but as he died— you had nothing else to feed off of. The pain returned— and your body, for all its power, wasn’t built to handle this kind of divine punishment.

Sometimes you forgot you weren’t invincible, that you were not a true Olympian. Just a demigod—a hybrid caught between two worlds.

You retrieved the remaining vial of ichor—one had shattered during the fight, but at least one had survived. You pried the Uru knife out of the scientist’s cold, dead hands and claimed it as your prize— it would definitely be a useful addition to your arsenal.

Your hands trembled as you pressed them against the wound that refused to stop bleeding ichor. You winced, biting back a groan.  

Even through all this pain, all you could think about was how your father would be furious. Sure, the mission was technically a success, but to Ares, success marred by weakness was no victory at all. A mortal’s blade had wounded you, and you knew he’d punish you for being pathetic. 

Weakness was intolerable. Unforgivable.  

Ichor started dripping steadily down your armour. As you stumbled forward, your teeth clenched so tightly you thought they might crack.  

This was nothing. You’d survived worse, but survival was the least of your worries— your mind raced at the thought of facing your father in this state.  

Your vision blurred as you staggered against the wall, your legs giving out and slumped to the floor

Fuck, you though as you glance down at your hand, bathed in you golden blood.

You were bleeding far too much. And for a moment, you weren’t sure if you could even make it out of here at all.

You didn’t have time to curse to yourself before your ears picked up footsteps echoing through the  hallway. You gripped the knife, hands curling into fists as you braced for another fight. 

But the man who stepped into view wasn’t ex-Hydra—or at least, you didn’t think he was.  

He stopped dead in his tracks. He wasn’t here to kill you— that much was clear. Instead of raising his gun, he lowered it when he saw you slumped against the wall, clearly in pain.  

He wore a worn leather jacket that had seen better days, and beneath it, tactical gear that hinted at either a soldier’s past or a mercenary’s present. But the way he stepped closer wasn’t hostile.  

You sneered, “Back off, mortal.”  

“Easy,” the man said. He quickly scanned the room, noting the dead Hydra scientist slumped near the overturned equipment. He gestured toward the body with a tilt of his chin. “You did this?”  

“Why do you care?” you snapped, but you were calmer now. If he wanted to kill you, he’d have done so already.  

“I was supposed to arrest that guy,” he replied, stepping closer. 

“Well, I saved you the trouble,” you said, your breathing ragged. You were seeing spots now. “You’re welcome.”  

His disheveled dark hair framed his face, etched with faint lines of exhaustion and curiosity. A faint scruff peppered his jawline, and his blue eyes finally caught sight of the growing pool of golden blood beneath your feet. 

“Shit,” he muttered in concern, crouching slightly as if seeing it from a different angle would make it less strange. “You’re bleeding... gold?”  

“And?” you hissed, trying to ignore the pain radiating from the gaping wound. 

“I’ve seen a lot of weird things,” he said cautiously. He moved closer, careful not to startle you. “But this is new. We need to get you out of here. Wherever you came from, wherever they can heal—”  

“I’m not going home now,” you cut him off without thinking. “I’d rather die.”  

He tilted his head, and a faint glint of metal underneath his sleeve caught your eyes. A metal arm.  

“Great,” he said finally, his voice wry. “A melodramatic one. Look, I’m not a fan of killing, but since the guy’s ex-Hydra… I guess you got that going for you.”  

The casual remark caught you off guard. He wasn’t angry, or frustrated, or any of the things you’d come to expect.  

“I’ll do what I can to patch you up,” he said, glancing around for supplies. “But you’re gonna have to explain a few things. Starting with why the hell you’re bleeding gold.”  

“Why do you care?” you demanded, your voice sharp.  

“I don’t like leaving people to die,” he said simply.  

You narrowed your eyes, suspicious. “Even people like me?”  

His lips curved up into a sad smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Don’t know what ‘people like you’ means yet.”  

You tried to find a crack in his calm, something you could latch onto to push him away. “I don’t need your help.”  

“Yeah, you do,” he insisted. He tore a strip of fabric from his shirt and reached for your shoulder.  

“You’re wasting your time,” you said, trying to provoke him. You needed an opening to siphon his energy— you needed his anger. “What the hell are you anyway?” You spat weakly, “Did they run out of real soldiers and just piece you together with spare parts?”

He didn’t flinch. It wasn’t the reaction you needed. “I bet you were someone's failed experiment,” you continued, “You probably never measured up— too weak to be a real soldier, too broken to be human.”

He just shrugged. He didn’t even flinch..

Dammit.

Why wasn’t he angry?

So you pushed harder.

“They probably sold you off to the highest bidder, didn’t they?”

“You done now?” He only shook his head in disapproval. Nothing— nothing got under his skin. “Or do you need time to workshop more material?”

You flinched as his fingers brushed against the straps of your armour. “Don’t touch me,” you said, but made no real effort to move.

“Hold still,” he said.

He took apart your armour so gently that caught you off guard. There wasn’t pity in his eyes, and there wasn’t any condescension—he truly cared for another living being.

Still, you watched him warily as he tried to stop your bleeding, searching for an ulterior motive. But there was none. His hands moved with care, his eyes flickering between your wound and your face as though gauging your pain.  

“Why are you doing this?” you muttered, the words slipping out of your lips before you could stop them.  

“Because you’re hurt,” he replied without a second thought. 

You didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to process the kindness being offered to you without strings attached.  

“I’m Bucky,” he introduced himself after a moment, trying to break the tension.  

“Didn’t ask,” you muttered.

Bucky noticed the way you recoiled when his hands got too close to your face, the way your eyes darted away when he pressed a particularly painful spot. He didn’t comment, but he didn’t miss the signs either, because these signs of abuse weren’t new to him— hell, he'd lived through it himself.  The way you didn’t want to go home, the battle scars beneath. He didn’t need to know you to know you needed help. 

When he finished, he leaned back, wiping his hands on his trousers. “It’s not perfect, but it’ll have to do,” he said, giving you a small nod.  

You stared at him, unsure of what to say. Part of you wanted to lash out, to try and suck away his energy. But you knew it wouldn’t work— and the other part of you didn’t want to.

For the first time in your life, someone wasn’t treating you like a weapon. You didn’t know what to do with that.

“Come on,” he pulled your arms around his shoulders, “I can take better care of you at mine.”

And for once, you didn't complain.

—

Bucky’s Brooklyn apartment was quiet. At the very least, it was a place that didn’t demand anything from you.

Bucky sat you down on his couch, golden blood still slowly seeping through the ripped cloth he’d thrown on in haste. You could almost taste the metallic tang of it in the air, though Bucky didn’t seem fazed. He was busy in the kitchen, opening drawers and cabinets.

When he returned, he carried a small first-aid kit, a bowl of water, and a stack of clean cloths. He crouched down in front of you as he peeled back the blood-soaked fabric clinging to your shoulder.  

"Still bleeding," he muttered under his breath, mostly to himself. You tried to pull away, but he gave you a look that rooted you in place.  

"This isn’t going to heal if you keep moving around," he said as if he were speaking to a wounded animal. In a way, he was, because he was one.

He remembered the first days when he was running away from Hydra— he was self-destructive, refusing any help strangers would offer him. 

He could not watch this strange person rot in the same hell he did.

You clenched your teeth and let him work. His hands were steady as he cleaned the wound with the damp cloth. The cool water stung as it met your torn flesh, and you hissed through your teeth. He whispered a quiet ‘sorry’ but didn’t stop.

When the cloth came away streaked in gold, he paused, holding it up to the light. The liquid glittered, his brow furrowed.  

“That’s…,” he trailed up, glancing up at you. It was as if he was still trying to process all of this.

You stayed silent, hoping he’d let it go. But of course, he didn’t.  

"Why… what are you?" he asked, his tone soft but firm.  

You hesitated. You wanted to lie, but you knew he wasn’t asking to pry, but to help.  

“Olympian,” you said reluctantly, not wanting to admit you were a demigod, “Sort of.” 

He blinked, sitting back on his heels as he processed that. "Right," he said. "So… Greek gods are real."  

You nodded, unsure how else to respond. But then he stood and pulled his phone from his pocket, scrolling through his contacts.  

“What are you doing?” You asked warily.

“The… blood isn’t stopping. I’m calling someone who might know how to deal with this.” He didn’t even look up as he pressed the phone to his ear.  

Wait, what?

“Hi, Thor,” Bucky said as he paced around the room.

Shit.

Thor. Of course. The once golden prince of Asgard, the one who couldn’t keep his mouth shut if his life depended on it. You had less-than-nice run in with them before, and if the Asgardians knew you were here… word would spread.

Your father would know you were injured.

“Quick question,”  Bucky said, “What do you do to stop a god’s bleeding?”  

There was a pause across the line, then you heard Thor’s muffled voice. “What kind of trouble have you gotten yourself into, Barnes?”  

Bucky glanced at you, his eyes narrowing at your frantic head shake. ‘Don’t,’ you mouthed, ‘please.’

“Research,” he lied flatly, though his tone was not quite convincing.  

“Godly blood should stop on its own. But if it doesn’t stop after 15 minutes, it means the wound was pierced by a formidable weapon,” he explained, not questioning Bucky’s request even for a second. “In that case, earthly antiseptic won’t work. You need something stronger.”

Bucky looked around his house and picked up a bronze bottle. “Will the Asgardian liquor you gave me for Christma work?”

“Certainly!” Thor boomed over the phone.

“Got it,” Bucky said, “Thanks.” He hung up before Thor could hound him for details.  

He turned back to you, kneeling in front of you again as he wondered what the hell could have caused this wound— he did not know the weapon in question was sheathed in your belt.

You expected him to say something, to demand answers, but he didn’t. He just worked—cleaning your shoulder with the high proof Asgardian alcohol he poured into a bowl. He pressed the cloth against it to finally staunch the bleeding, wrapping it tightly with clean gauze. 

When he was done, he sat back on the floor, his legs folded beneath him, and looked up at you.  

“You don’t want him to know you’re here,” he said, not a question so much as a quiet observation.  

You didn’t respond. 

But he didn’t push. “I’m not gonna ask why,” he said finally, “But if you don’t want to go home… wherever Olympus may be. you don’t have to.”  

You didn’t thank him, but you stayed. Because for the first time in years, someone wasn’t trying to fix you or use you or break you. He was just letting you be. 

—

The morning came quietly, the pale light of dawn slipping through the blinds. You stirred on the couch, wincing as the sharp ache in your shoulder shuffled against the cushions 

You sat up slowly, grimacing. Your armour rested on the floor nearby, its once-polished surface dulled with scratches and dried ichor. Your knives, and more importantly the Uru knife you recovered, was still hidden in their sheathes. 

You hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but exhaustion had dragged you under.  

The undershirt you wore, still stained with ichor, clung to your skin uncomfortably. You were tempted to bolt, to leave before Bucky woke, but when you turned your head, you saw him in the kitchen, already awake and making coffee. 

“Morning,” he said when he noticed you stirring. His tone was casual, like you were an old friend crashing for the night and not a wounded stranger bleeding an inhuman substance on his couch.  

“Hmm,” you hummed, not looking into his eyes.

Bucky held up a box of cereal and a bowl in the same hand, a casual lift of his brows asking a question without words. “Cereal?”  

You blinked, caught off guard by the normalcy of it.

He offered… food… like everything was fine. Like you weren’t a runaway god suffering Uru-inflicted wounds in the home of a man who probably had a dozen secrets of his own.  

“Hm,” you said after a moment, nodding.

He set the bowl and box on the counter, poured the milk, and slid it across the counter toward you. You made your way to the kitchen, stiff and slow. He noticed your pain, of course.

“You should change that shirt,” he said, nodding toward the blood-stained fabric. “I’ve got a clean one you can borrow.”  

You hesitated. It was such a small thing—a shirt—but no one had ever offered anything to you without expecting anything in return.

You nodded, keeping your eyes on the cereal as you picked up the spoon. You ate a bite— and it confirmed what you thought of mortal food— it was sweet and a strange mix of a lot of different textures steeped in an almost flavourless liquid— it was weird.

Meanwhile, Bucky disappeared into the bedroom and returned a moment later with a plain black t-shirt folded neatly in his hands. He set it on the counter next to you, leaving it there for when you were ready.  

“Your shoulder still hurt?” he asked after a good fifteen minutes of eating in silence..

You nodded, keeping your eyes on the cereal. “A little.”  

“Thor said… godly wounds caused by powerful weapons don’t heal easy.”  

Your grip on the spoon tightened. “It’ll heal,” you said, a little too quickly. 

He didn’t respond, but you could feel his eyes on you, searching for a crack of something in your frown. When you finally glanced up, you noticed his eyes were calculating— like he knew too much and still didn’t have all the answers.  

“I still don’t know your name,” he said, almost like an afterthought.  

It wasn’t a demand so much as a fact he stated. But it still felt like a thread pulling at the seams of your defenses.  

What did he want from you? You thought to yourself.

“Does it matter?” you snapped.  

He tilted his head. “Maybe not,” he admitted. “But it might make things easier.”  

You didn’t answer, couldn’t answer. The idea of giving him that piece of you so soon felt too intimate, too dangerous.  

He didn’t push, just nodded like he understood. “Alright,” he said simply.  

You wanted to shout at him, to scream at him. To make him mad and heal yourself through his rage. But… a part of you didn’t want to sabotage the only person who saw you as your own person.

Instead, you found yourself wanting to tell him why you couldn’t go home, why the thought of stepping back into your father’s shadow made your skin crawl. 

But you couldn’t bring yourself to.

The silence stretched on, and you found yourself watching him as he stood to rinse his bowl in the sink. He glanced at you from the corner of his eyes as your fingers brushed the edge of the clean shirt he’d left for you.  

He wondered if you saw him the way he saw you—fractured but functional, a puzzle with too many missing pieces.  

—

By mid-afternoon, you were restless. You sat on the living room floor, frantically cleaning your armour, knives, and the vial of ichor— your father cannot know that you bled as much as you did.  Your fingers fidgeted, trying to piece together a plan for what came next, what you would tell your father. None of it stuck. 

As you desperately scrubbed the metal, you realised you've been moving way too much— though it was too late. The sharp sting in your shoulder let you know you’d overdone it.  

You felt a warm liquid spread beneath the bandage. 

Fuck.

You hissed and pressed your hand to it, feeling the ichor beginning to seep through again.

“Seriously?” you muttered under your breath.

“I’ll get the bandage,” Bucky, who had been on the other side of the room reading a book, said— as if he’d known this was coming. “You moved too much.”  

You glanced over your shoulder. He wasn’t mad, not even annoyed.

“It’s fine,” you muttered, though it clearly wasn’t. 

He quickly gathered the liquor and his first aid kit and sat next to you.

You glared at him, though your frustration in your eyes wasn’t entirely aimed at him. “Why are you even still doing this?” you snapped, trying to rile him up again, though you didn't really want to. It was just your survival instincts kicking in. “You don’t even know me.”

He didn’t flinch at your harsh tone. He just began peeling back the edges of the bandage with practiced care.

“Why?” you pressed again, desperate to crack his calmness. “You can’t be this selfless. You humans rarely ever are.”  

He paused, his eyes flicking up to meet yours. “If you must know,” he began, “I’ve spent the last few years helping displaced refugees. The blip was years ago, but there are still people who haven’t found a place to call home.”  

You blinked, your anger receding slightly.  

He went back to cleaning the wound. “I see the signs,” he continued, “You’re running from something— or someone, probably. You’re not a citizen of Earth, and as far as I know, Olympians don’t exactly have representation here. So I’m helping.” He glanced up again, his eyes steady but kind. “Because I’ve been there. People didn’t exactly grant visas to brainwashed super-assassins.”  

The words hit harder than you expected, the window to his past even more so. You wanted to argue, to deflect, but there was no anger in his voice, and no pity either. 

His hand pressed gently against your shoulder, holding the fresh bandage in place. “You don’t have to tell me what happened. But as long as you stay, I’m gonna help.”  

You stared at him, your chest tight, your breath caught somewhere between anger and relief. “I don’t want your help,” you muttered weakly, though you still didn't mean it.

It would’ve been so much easier if he was angry, if he yelled, if he snapped, if he fought back against your remarks. That, you could work with. You could siphon anger, harness it, turn it into strength to heal. But this? 

Why did this feel… better?

“Okay,” he said simply, taping the bandage. “But I’m not letting you die”  

Your shoulder throbbed, but the ichor finally stopped beneath the fresh bandage. He stood, tidying up the supplies without another word, and you sat there, staring at the floor, your walls slowly crumbling brick by brick.  

“That should hold for now,” he said as he packed away the first-aid supplies. “Try not to move around too much this time.”  

You nodded. There was something in the way he looked at you— like he wasn’t in a hurry for answers— that made you feel like maybe, just maybe, you could trust him.  

Your name hovered on the edge of your tongue, something you hadn’t offered yet. Something you didn’t want to offer, if you were honest. But he’d done nothing but help, nothing but treat you like a person when so many others hadn’t. He deserved… something.  

You finally said your name.

“Huh?” Bucky paused, not quite sure what he's hearing. 

“That’s my name.”

Bucky couldn’t hide his smile. He repeated your name, and you flinched. 

When your father or your brothers said your name, it usually came with an insult, or maybe praise for committing a horrific act— but on his lips, it could just be.

Bucky tilted his head slightly. “It suits you,” he said simply.

The words landed hard, warmth blooming in your chest. Was that… a compliment? You swallowed the lump in your throat and shrugged, trying to act like it didn’t matter. “If you say so.”  

“I do,” he said, and there was no teasing in his voice, no judgment, just certainty.  

He turned away then, giving you space.

It suits you.  

For the first time in a long time, hearing your name didn’t make you want to scream.

—

The halls of Ares’ residence burned red with torches. The God of War’s booming voice reverberated through the marble columns, a crimson cloak billowing behind him. Servants scurried out of sight, fearing the wrath of their master.

"Where is she?!" Ares roared, his armored fists slamming against the stone table before him. The impact cracked the polished surface, sending shards flying like shrapnel. "It’s been days, and my daughter has not returned!"  

Phobos and Deimos, his twin sons and loyal lieutenants, stood before him. Though they were gods of fear and panic, even they felt terror before their father’s anger.

“She was sent on a simple task!” Ares continued, his voice only of rage and not concern. “She was supposed to kill the scientist. It should not take more than a day! And yet, no word, no sign of her return!”

Phobos, the more cautious of the two, dared to speak first. “Father, perhaps—”  

“Silence!” Ares barked, cutting him off. “Do not insult me with your cowardice, Phobos. She is my finest creation, my most skilled warrior, my favourite child.” He sneered at his son, his words dripping with venom. “Unlike the two of you, she doesn’t run from the first sign of a challenge.”

Deimos, always eager to appease, stepped forward. “If she hasn’t returned, it’s because something has delayed her. But we can retrieve her. Just say the word, Father.”

Ares considered Deimos’ suggestion. “I will not have my enemies thinking one of my blood has failed her duty.”  

Phobos hesitated before speaking again. “Father, what if she… does not wish to return?”. 

Ares froze, his eyes narrowing to slits as he stared down his son. Then, slowly, he leaned forward, his voice low and laced with menace.  

“She would never,” he said, though there was a hint of doubt that he refused to acknowledge. “She knows where she belongs.”

Phobos exchanged a wary glance with Deimos, but neither dared to challenge their father’s conviction further.  

“Now, retrieve your sister,” Ares ordered, his voice rising once more. “Do not return without her.”

As the twins left, Ares stood alone in his hearth, staring into the flames of the brazier before him. 

You were his pride, his masterpiece. But deep down, he knew you had always had an unshakable humanity— a weakness you inherited from your mortal mother. 

You were fire, and that humanity made you untamed and unpredictable. And he was terrified of the day he could no longer contain your flames.

–end.

General Bucky taglist :

@hotlinepanda @snflwr-vol6 @ruexj283 @2honeybees @read-just-cant

@winchestert101 @shanksstrawhat @mystictf @globetrotter28  @thebuckybarnesvault

@read-just-cant @winchestert101 @shanksstrawhat @mystictf @globetrotter28

@scariusaquarius @reckless007 @hextech-bros @daydreamgoddess14 @96jnie

@pono-pura-vida @buckyslove1917 @notsostrangerthing @flow33didontsmoke @qvynrand @blackbirdwitch22

@torntaltos @seventeen-x @ren-ni @iilsenewman @hiphip-horray

Spoils of War Taglist :

@intelligenceofapineapple @diffidentphantom @isnow-0r-never @g1g1l @pixviee

@ailoda

January Posting Schedule taglist :

@starsmoonn @my-mind-is-incognito 

[deadtired-highkeyenergetic]

Game Night

Paring: Avenger! Bucky Barnes x Avenger! Fem! Reader (Grumpy x Sunshine)

Summary: Steve’s mandatory game night takes a turn when you and Bucky are paired up.

Word Count: Roughly 1.4k 

Warnings: Fluff, banter, friendly competition, implied threats, destroying property (Bucky and Sam), romantic tension everyone can feel, and some overprotective Bucky because that man does not play about his sunshine.

Author’s Note: Sorry for the delay; I was helping my friend with a research project. Ugh, it feels choppy, but I hope this is to your liking, babes ;)

Navigation

Divider by: @strangergraphics

The living room buzzed with energy as the Avengers tried to recover from the chaos of their most recent mission; the munching of chips and clinking of drinks in glasses filled the space.

Peter and you were talking animatedly about the mission, with Peter recounting how he flipped mid-air, webbing a bad guy to a nearby wall.

“I mean, I swear, the guy didn’t see it coming. I was way higher up than I thought, and then BAM!” Peter dramatically mimicked the motion with his arms, sending you into fits of laughter.

“It’s honestly kind of unfair that you can just flip your way out of everything, Pete,” you teased, elbowing him.

He shrugged, all smugness. “I mean, someone’s gotta make the web-swinging look good, right?”

Before you could reply, Steve stood up from his spot, clapping his hands for attention. “Alright, team! Time for some mandatory bonding!”

A chorus of groans erupted from the group, each one from someone hoping to escape Steve’s relentless enthusiasm for ‘team-building’ nights.

“Tonight is Charades.” Steve declared.

That’s when Steve decided to assign the partners. He glanced around the room with a twinkle in his eye and paired you with Bucky, clearly anticipating the fun to come.

You gave Bucky your signature puppy dog eyes, and he looked away with a scowl as he crossed his arms over his chest, not wanting to give in and show that he was happy to be partnered with you.

“Oh, great,” Bucky muttered, rolling his eyes. “This is gonna be a disaster.”

You didn’t let his grumpiness throw you off. “Bucky, come on!” you said, plopping beside him on the couch. “We’ve got this! We’re unstoppable!”

Bucky raised an eyebrow and shot you a skeptical look. “Sure, sure. We’ll see about that.”

He didn’t seem convinced, and as Sam overheard, he couldn’t resist adding his two cents.

"Oh, this is gonna be easy," Sam declared loudly, rolling his eyes. "Grumpy Barnes can’t even smile, let alone act."

"You’re gonna regret that," Bucky shot back, his tone thick with warning. 

His words weren’t loud, but they were laced with enough warning that Sam quickly leaned back into his seat, hands raised in mock surrender.

"Okay, okay, I get it," Sam laughed, but you caught the wariness in his eyes. "But not holding my breath, this will be easy."

Then, leaning in toward you, he whispered, “If we lose to that clown, I’m never letting it go.”

You gave him an exaggerated look of disbelief, pretending to be shocked. "Who knew you cared so much about winning?"

Bucky’s lips quirked into the faintest smirk. "Don’t mess this up," he teased.

You winked at him. “You’re with me. How could we lose?”

As the game started, it quickly became clear that Bucky treated charades less like a fun group activity and more like a tactical mission. His intense focus was almost comical, but you fell into an unspoken rhythm. 

When it was your turn to act, Bucky’s sharp eyes locked onto you, and after a few gestures, he almost always guessed your clues. When it was his turn, he leaned into the ridiculousness of it all, whether miming a gorilla or pretending to be a ballerina, just to keep your laughter ringing through the room.

By the end of the game, the scoreboard showed a landslide victory in your favor. Bucky allowed himself a small, smug grin as you squealed in delight and launched yourself into his arms, wrapping your legs around his waist. 

“We’re the dream team!” you exclaimed, giggling as you clung to him.

“Yeah, yeah,” he replied, though his grip on you was secure, his metal arm effortlessly supporting you. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

Much to everyone's amusement, he carried you back to the couch, where he promptly plopped you into his lap. “You’re comfy,” you declared with a grin, making yourself home. 

Sam, clearly displeased, waved a hand in your direction. “This has to be rigged. There’s no way those two didn’t cheat.”

Natasha snorted, leaning back in her chair. “They didn’t cheat, Wilson. They’re just disgustingly in sync.”

Sam grabbed a pillow and chucked it at you. “Sync this!”

The pillow hit you square in the face, and you burst out laughing, holding it in your lap. “It’s just a pillow!”

But Bucky didn’t see it that way. His gaze turned sharp as he caught the second pillow Sam threw mid-air. “If you throw another one at her...”

Sam, of course, took that as a challenge. “What are you gonna do, Barnes?” he quipped, hurling another pillow that you easily dodged.

Bucky’s eyes narrowed. “I’ll give you a five-second head start.”

Sam’s smirk faltered. “Wait, what?”

Without a word, Bucky carefully brushed your hair out of your face, placed you gently on the couch, and stood up. The room went silent as he walked purposefully toward the hallway. 

“What’s he doing?” you asked, looking to Steve for answers.

Steve sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, hiding a smile. “He’s going to smash Redwing.”

Sam’s eyes widened in panic. 

“Barnes, you touch Redwing, I swear-” He bolted after Bucky, and the two disappeared down the hall. 

Moments later, a loud crash echoed through the compound, followed by Sam’s yelling and Bucky’s retorts.

Natasha chuckled, shaking her head as she leaned back on the couch. “This happens all the time.”

You glanced between her and Steve, bewildered. “Doesn’t anyone stop them?”

Steve shrugged. “Nope. They’ll tire themselves out eventually.”

From a distance, the team could hear the muffled sounds of Bucky and Sam bickering echoing through the compound. 

“Touch Redwing, and you’re paying for a whole new one!” Sam’s voice was laced with fear.

“Oh, don’t worry, Wilson,” Bucky shot back, his tone mockingly calm. “I’ll make sure to recycle the pieces. I hear it’s good for the environment.”

A loud thud followed as if Bucky had knocked something over or thrown something against the wall. 

“Man, what is your problem?” Sam hollered. “You act like I threw a brick at her!”

“You hit her in the face!” Bucky retorted.

“It was a pillow!” Sam defended himself. “It probably felt like a marshmallow.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Bucky countered. “You don’t throw things at her. Ever.”

Back in the living room, you stifled a laugh as Natasha shook her head in amused disbelief. “It’s always like this,” she said, smirking. “I don’t know why Sam keeps testing him.”

Steve folded his arms, looking like the exasperated dad of the group. “Because Sam likes pushing buttons. And Bucky…well, Bucky only has so much patience.”

Another crash echoed from down the hallway, followed by Sam’s yell. “Oh, come on! That wasn’t even Redwing! That was my lamp!”

“You’ve got terrible taste in decor, Wilson,” Bucky said, completely unfazed.

“YOU OWE ME A NEW LAMP!” Sam shouted.

“I did you a favor.” Bucky said dryly. “So say ‘thank you,’ it's polite.”

You couldn’t hold back your giggles any longer. “Should we...I don’t know, step in?” you asked, looking at Steve.

Steve shook his head, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Nah. Let them hash it out. Bucky’s not actually going to break Redwing. Probably.”

“Probably?” Natasha echoed. “You’re really putting a lot of faith in him.”

From the hallway, Sam yelled again. “THAT’S IT, BARNES. YOU AND ME. SPARRING MATCH TOMORROW.”

“Fine,” Bucky fired back. “But don’t be mad when I wipe the floor with you, bird brain.”

Natasha leaned over to you, her voice low. “You know he’s only this protective because it’s you, right? He doesn’t care this much when we get hit with stuff.”

You blushed, glancing down at your hands. “He’s just…looking out for me. Like a guardian.”

Natasha snorted. “Yeah, sure. Keep telling yourself that, sweetheart.”

Steve smiled knowingly but didn’t say anything. 

The sounds of Sam and Bucky’s argument gradually faded as they came back.

Sam was glaring, his hair disheveled, and he muttered under his breath about never forgiving Bucky. 

Bucky, on the other hand, was smug, like he had just won a personal victory.

Sam threw himself back down on the couch, muttering something about "not talking to Barnes for the rest of the week," to which Bucky gave a half-hearted shrug.

He sat down beside you, his arm casually draped across the back of the couch. His eyes flicked down to you, and without a word, he reached out to brush his knuckles lightly over your knee.

“You okay, sunshine?” he asked quietly, only for you to hear.

You smiled. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

Bucky’s lips quirked upward, just slightly. “Good,” he said softly. “No one messes with you. Not even Sam.”

The others shared amused looks, but neither of you paid them any mind. Bucky’s protective side made your heart flutter in a way you didn’t quite understand, and you sank further into the couch, curling into his side.

Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed!

Tags: @princess-lil-spidey @sapphirebarnes @mgchaser @sparklystarsandstrawberries @arcadia-smith @rnurse-kole @juliebluehufflepuff @sailorsenshiuranep @alexxavicry @ficcharsimp

If you'd like to be added to my taglist or just ask me, and I'll update it!

Much love x

- Maeve

[deadtired-highkeyenergetic]

Update

Apologies for the lack of fics, been focusing on school work as well as getting my zine piece together since the final deadline is coming up. And also been grinding Marvel Rivals.

Bucky main! Rly happy abt the progress I've made, considering this is my first shooter. I usually play turn based games since it gives me time to think but I've been working on my ability to think quickly. The upcoming skin is driving me insane, Netease please I don't have money

[deadtired-highkeyenergetic]

Astarion. Arcane style

I wanted to go for less realism, giving him bigger eyes and thinner face, but ended up with familiar proportions. also plan to release a small tutorial here and bigger one, with brushes names and timelapse, for patreon

on twtr: https://x.com/skeptical_lynx/status/1881727933590781953?s=46&t=EuBiJuFrpmM7JiLiuDbaCA

on bsky: https://bsky.app/profile/skeptical-lynx.bsky.social/post/3lgba5ul33k2z

[deadtired-highkeyenergetic]

Kidnapped

Lemme just give my baby boi Bucky all the headpats in the world

Summary: You get kidnapped and Bucky has to rescue you

Your head hurts. Badly. And for once it's not because you drank too much the previous night. Lights begin to focus and the muted voices start to become clearer, unveiling the fact that you're currently tied to a chair and the deep cut on your forehead is currently dripping blood into your eyes.

"Look who's awake. About time." One of the masked people yanks your head upwards by your hair and you grunt at the sudden stab of pain.

"Missed me?" You grin, laughter punched out of your system when a fist strikes your stomach hard. Still, you manage to wheeze a laugh out, even as a fist strikes the back of your head hard, causing your vision to spin. "Missed you all too."

"Shut up and tell us where the Winter Soldier is!" The one whom you assume is their leader based on his mask's unique marking grabs your chin, lifting your head so that your gaze meets theirs.

"You want me to shut up or tell you where he is? You've gotta choose one —" You're flung to the side along with your chair, the floor slamming into your already injured side. Blood splatters onto the concrete floor from your coughing and you hear heavy footsteps stomping nearby.

Amateurs. They're terrible at extracting information and it's making you laugh at how pathetic they are. Unfortunately you can't enjoy the show as much as you'd like to because of all the pain you're in but at least there's some show to alleviate it. You focus on your breathing, centering yourself. You have to keep a clear mind, backup will be here soon so all you have to do is buy time. Even without your earpiece, you know that reinforcements will show up at some point. Hopefully before you actually die from your injuries.

You know that Bucky will come storming to your rescue. Probably.

It is rather ironic that your kidnappers only need to continue holding you hostage to find the person they're looking for instead of trying to beat his whereabouts out of you. The pain is getting rather annoying, especially considering how long your injuries will take to heal. This is going to put you out of commission for about a month, and the thought of being stuck in the house for a month is scaring you far more than your kidnappers could ever do.

The floor is rather cold, freezing to the touch really and you would like to not be in contact with the floor, but your kidnappers don't seem to share your sentiment since they keep squatting down to yell at you.

"It's better for your knees if you put my chair upright so you don't have to keep squatting down to talk to me. Also do keep your voice down, I'm not deaf you know." There are times where you curse your witty tongue, this is one of those times.

One moment you're on your side, lying on the floor. The next moment you're sent flying into a wall, the chair nothing but splinters in a pile underneath you. Fingers dig into the soft flesh of your throat, squeezing the air out of your lungs. You kick the air, struggling instinctively and dig your fingernails into the arm as hard as you can. which is not very hard considering how much air and blood you're losing. Black spots begin to crowd your vision and you're about to send an apology to your boyfriend for being the sassy idiot that you are when suddenly your body collapses to the floor, lungs heaving as they gulp down as much oxygen as they possibly can.

Coughing, you massage your throat. The bruises are going to be ugly, and Bucky is probably going to explode upon seeing your injuries. You would feel bad for your kidnappers if it wasn't for the fact that they nearly killed you and ruined your nice little record of not getting kidnapped.

"I will not ask again. Where is the Winter Soldier?" The leader roars, slamming you against the wall.

"You know, it's a bit hard to talk when it's kinda hard to breathe." You hit his arm. "Also, I believe he's right behind you."

A loud thud echoes in the now empty room as a metal fist collides with flesh and the leader crumples to the floor at the feet of a furious super soldier. You lean against the wall, panting as you push your hair out of your eyes, wincing when you accidentally touch the wound on your forehead.

"Took you…long enough." You huff, looking up at Bucky.

"Maybe I wouldn't have to do this if you didn't get captured." He scowls, kicking the leader's now unconscious body.

"Try intentionally walking into an ambush by yourself and let me know if you get out alive." You grit your teeth, using the wall to stand up despite all the ringing in your ears and the blurriness in your vision. Your head is starting to hurt worse, and all the blood you're spilling onto the floor probably isn't helping either.

"Well, you're alive right now aren't you?" Bucky scoops you up. "So don't go dying on me or I'll have to clean up your messes too."

"Don't recall having too many messes for you to clean," you tiredly mumble into his chest. Your eyelids feel heavy, black starting to cloud your vision and you want nothing more than to close your eyes and sleep forever but Bucky keeps jostling you, snapping you awake with every step he takes. "You make a terrible groom, can't even carry your bride properly."

"My bride needs to stay awake or they'll die." He frowns, purposely shaking you. "I mean it."

"Try not to sound like you actually care about me or I might start believing it."

Bucky simply grunts, definitely out of annoyance and continues the way too long walk out of the building, jostling you all the way. Your fingers clutch at his shirt tightly as you take in the sights before you, realising that Bucky had single-handedly fought his way in just to get to you.

"Can't believe you didn't invite me for this party. Seemed fun." You groan.

"Wasn't so fun knowing the only person I can tolerate on missions could die before I reached them." He murmurs, worry sparking in his ice blue eyes.

"Tolerate? Pretty sure I make for better company than that." You weakly poke him in the shoulder, giving him a glare that doesn't quite reach your eyes.

"Dream on, doll." The sound of a jet landing drowns out the rest of his words and he carries you inside, laying you out on a stretcher so that the doctor can tend to your wounds. You give him the finger as he turns to leave and he throws one back over his shoulder.

"Don't miss me too much while I'm gone, doll." With that, he disappears into the cockpit and leaves you with the doctor.

"As if I'd miss that bastard," you mutter to yourself, finally closing your eyes and drift off to sleep, ignoring the way your heart clenches at the thought of Bucky fighting his way through the base just to rescue you.

When you wake, you're back somewhere in Avengers Tower, bandages decorating your head and chest. You partially recall this place being the medbay, and judging from the look on Bruce's face your wounds aren't that bad, at least not now.

"Hey," you croak.

"Welcome back," Bruce smiles. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I got slammed into a wall multiple times."

"That's not far off. You'll be back in the field in give or take one month, don't worry." He hands you a glass of water which you accept gratefully.

"Where's Bucky?" The question slips out before you can stop yourself.

"Missed me that much, doll?" Speak of the devil and he shall appear. The brunette walks in with the largest smirk you've seem him make, automatic door sliding close behind him.

"Was asking so I could avoid seeing your ugly mug so soon." You bury yourself back underneath the blanket, ensuring that the fabric covered your face.

"How unfortunate that I chose to walk in now." He takes a seat next to your bed, quietly signalling to Bruce for time alone with you. Bruce nods, slipping out of the room and Bucky lets out a sigh. "Doll?"

You make not a single peep, not even when Bucky pokes you through the blanket so he takes matters into his own hands and yanks the blanket off you. You yelp, hands scrambling to pull the blanket back but the super solider is faster and tosses the blanket onto the table behind him before folding his arms over his chest.

"What?" You scowl, mimicking his actions.

"I didn't know your idiocy had no limits." His brows furrow. "What were you thinking, springing that trap with no escape plan? Were you looking to die?"

"If I was, it was a very unsuccessful attempt." You roll your eyes, turning over so that your back faces him.

"Be honest with me." He turns you over, grip softening when he realises how much he's hurting you but he doesn't let go.

"I wasn't trying to die, okay? But if I did, well…" You look away, hating at how your chest constricts when you see the pain in his eyes. "Would've been fine."

"It wouldn't have been!" He snaps. "It's not fine if you just go off and die!"

"Right," you mutter, playing with the sheets. Tears are beginning to form in the corners of your eyes, and you refuse to let him see your weakness. Biting down hard on your bottom lip, you try to push your emotions down before they can overwhelm you but the tears keep coming anyways. Dammit.

"Doll I —" He takes a deep breath. "I don't want to see you to die, alright? Or at least I don't want to see you die before me."

You lie there in silence, tears still streaming down your face and staining the pillow beneath. Fist clenching, you stifle a sob. Shit, you really don't want to crumble in front of Bucky of all people.

"You…matter. A lot. To me." Bucky forces the words out, but his gaze is soft, and so is his touch. His fingertips gently press against your skin, little spots of warmth amidst the sudden chill that has set in. "So don't go dying on me, alright?"

"Only if you make the same promise." You mumble and his eyes brighten. Giving you a genuine smile, he leans in to press a kiss to your forehead.

"Deal. Now get all the rest you need, I'll always be here."

"If you're expecting a 'thank you', I'm afraid you're going to be disappointed." You give his cheek a poke.

"You're welcome." He grins, ruffling your hair. He grabs the blanket, tucking you in with it. "Heal up, or I'll have to go on missions by myself and that would be boring."

"Well, can't have a bored super soldier now, can we?" You smile back at him, grabbing his hand. "Hold on."

He huffs in annoyance, but his eyes say otherwise. "Won't be letting go any time soon, doll."

[deadtired-highkeyenergetic]

Little Things

Pairing: Reader x Bucky Barnes

Word Count: 1K

Narrative Perspective: Third person limited (Reader’s POV)

Prompt: 25: “You bought me flowers?” “Yeah, well I noticed you’d seemed kinda down, so I wanted to cheer you up.” 

Summary: Feeling trapped in the weight of her own mind, you’ve spent days lost in a fog of hopelessness, convinced no one would notice. But when Bucky shows up at your door with a bouquet of flowers and no judgment, his quiet understanding pulls you out of your isolation, reminding you that you're not alone, and maybe, just maybe, there’s light even in the darkest moments.

You couldn’t remember the last time you’d felt light.

Everything seemed weighted, from the gray overcast sky outside your apartment window to the simple act of breathing. Even getting up this morning had felt like scaling a mountain, each motion slow and deliberate, like you were dragging your limbs through molasses.

The world outside continued to churn—cars honked, people shouted, a dog barked somewhere down the block—but it felt distant, like you were underwater. It didn’t matter what was going on out there; you were stuck here, trapped in the storm inside your own head.

A part of you knew it wasn’t supposed to feel this way. That people didn’t sit on their couch for hours staring at the floor, lost in thought spirals that twisted tighter and tighter. That it wasn’t normal to feel like your chest was caving in every time someone asked, “How are you doing?” because the answer was always wrong.

I’m fine.

I’m tired.

I’m busy.

None of it felt true, but what were you supposed to say? “I feel like a hollow shell of myself, and I don’t know why or how to fix it”? Nobody wanted to hear that.

So you sat there, unmoving, as the afternoon bled into early evening, your apartment dimming around you. You didn’t bother to turn on the lights. Maybe it would be easier if the darkness just swallowed you whole.

A knock broke through your haze, startling you. It wasn’t loud or forceful—just two soft raps against your door—but it jolted you all the same. For a moment, you considered ignoring it. What if they just went away?

But the knock came again, and something about its persistence pushed you to your feet.

When you opened the door, Bucky stood there, his broad shoulders hunched slightly against the drizzle falling outside. His dark leather jacket glistened faintly with rain, droplets clinging to the strands of his hair where it curled at the ends. In his left hand, the metal one, he held a bouquet of flowers.

For a second, you just stared. The image didn’t compute—Bucky, who always seemed to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders, standing at your door holding something so bright, so cheerful.

“You bought me flowers?” The words tumbled out of your mouth before you could think.

Bucky shifted awkwardly, his eyes darting to the side. “Yeah, well…” He scratched the back of his neck, looking almost sheepish. “I noticed you’d seemed kinda down, so I wanted to cheer you up.”

Something cracked in you at that. It wasn’t a clean break—it was jagged, sharp—but it let something through the fog. You lowered your gaze to the bouquet, taking in the vibrant sunflowers, soft daisies, and delicate sprays of baby’s breath. The yellows and whites seemed to glow against the gray of the day, like a stubborn little patch of light in an otherwise dark world.

“I…” You tried to speak, but your throat felt tight, the words sticking. You hadn’t expected anyone to notice. You hadn’t expected him to notice.

Bucky must have sensed your struggle because he took a hesitant step forward, holding the flowers out to you. “If you don’t like them, I can—”

“No!” Your voice came out louder than you intended, and you reached out quickly, your fingers brushing against his gloved ones as you took the bouquet. “I love them, Bucky. Really.”

Your voice cracked, and as soon as it did, you felt the hot sting of tears gathering behind your eyes. You bit your lip, trying to keep them at bay, but it was no use. One slid down your cheek, and then another.

Bucky’s expression shifted immediately—softening in a way that made your chest ache. He stepped closer, his blue eyes locked on yours, and you could see the concern etched in every line of his face.

“Hey,” he said quietly. “What’s wrong?”

You let out a shaky laugh, though it held no humor. “Everything?” you managed, clutching the flowers tighter to your chest. “I don’t know, Buck. I’ve just been… stuck. And it feels like I’m drowning, and I don’t know how to stop it.”

The admission hung in the air between you, raw and unfiltered. You hadn’t planned to say any of it, but once it started, it wouldn’t stop.

“I didn’t mean to dump all that on you,” you said quickly, lowering your gaze to the floor. “I’m sorry. I just—”

“Don’t.” His voice was firm but gentle, grounding you. “Don’t apologize. You don’t have to.”

You looked up at him, and the sincerity in his expression nearly undid you. There was no judgment, no awkwardness—just understanding. Bucky, of all people, understood what it was like to feel broken.

He reached out slowly, giving you plenty of time to pull away, and brushed a tear off your cheek with his thumb. The touch was light, almost hesitant, but it made you feel seen in a way you hadn’t in a long time.

“You don’t have to do this alone,” he said, his voice steady. “I’m here, okay? Whenever you need me.”

You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat. “Thank you,” you whispered.

He smiled then—a small, crooked thing that made your chest feel a little less heavy. “Anytime, doll.”

For a moment, neither of you moved, the quiet stretching between you. Then Bucky glanced down at the flowers in your hands. “I wasn’t sure what kind to get. They just… looked like something you’d like.”

You let out a soft laugh, brushing your fingers over the petals. “They’re perfect.”

[deadtired-highkeyenergetic]

Mission Mishap

Paring: Avenger! Bucky Barnes x Avenger! Fem! Reader (Grumpy x Sunshine)

Summary: A recon mission gone awry leads to Bucky having to protect his sunshine. As the snowstorm gets worse, he becomes her shelter from the storm, showing a tenderness that he rarely allows others to see.

Word Count: Roughly 1.8k

Warnings: Hurt/comfort, fluff, injury-related pain, bruising, cold exposure, mild language (like two curse words)

Author’s Note: It was snowing, and I got ✨inspired✨

This felt a little choppy because I combined two drabbles, but I think it works :)

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What should have been a quick recon in the mountains became more complicated when a snowstorm hit faster and harder than previously anticipated. You could barely keep up with Bucky as he pushed ahead, his sharp eyes scanning the nearby. The cold penetrated through your layers; gnawing at your bones and intensifying the ache of your bruises, but you forced yourself to keep moving.

"Can you handle a few more yards?" he asked, his voice low, and despite the chaos, was comforting. "Map says there’s a hostel a quarter of a mile away."

"I’m fine," you mumbled. You knew your words were merely a weak attempt to reassure both yourself and him.

Bucky turned his head toward you, his gaze softening. 

"Don’t do that," he replied. "Stop pretending you’re fine when you’re so clearly not."

The harsh wind bit at your face, and you tried to keep up with him, you couldn't hide the way your teeth chattered.

"You need to stop," Bucky said, voice sharp and authoritative. "You’re shaking like a leaf. Let me help you."

Before you could argue, he moved without hesitation, shedding his jacket in one smooth motion and draping it over your shoulders. 

"Come here," Bucky said. "No arguments. You’re freezing, and I won’t let it get worse."

You tried to protest as you stammered, "I-I’m fine. Really, Bucky, I’m fine."

But Bucky wasn’t having it. 

His glared down and you and you looked away.

"No, you’re not," he said again, this time softer. "You’re going to listen to me now, okay?"

He didn’t wait for a response. He wrapped his arms around you, guiding your arms around his neck and lifting you without much effort. You buried your face in the crook of his neck as you gave up on protesting. His body heat radiated through his sweater and the warm jacket he wrapped you in helped in instantly melting away the cold that had settled into your bones.

Bucky’s chest rose and fell under you, steady and reassuring, grounding you as the world around you spun with snow, harsh winds making it difficult to see. He held you close, his grip never wavering as if to say he wasn’t letting go, not for anything.

"You listen to me," he said said softly. "If anything happens to you out here, I’m going to be fucking pissed. Understand?"

"Noted," you said softly, your voice muffled by his neck. You tightened your grip on him, clinging to him as your life depended on it because, in a way, it did. Not that you’d ever complain.

You could feel his steady heartbeat, the way his breath slowed as he focused on getting you both to safety. His steps were purposeful, unhurried, but determined as he carried you toward the small hostel.

When you finally reached the building, Bucky didn’t waste a second. Without a word, he guided you inside and he gently set you down on a chair. The warmth of the room feeling like a stark contrast to the biting cold that had gripped you just moments before. Pun intended.

"You stay here," he commanded, his voice brooking no argument. "I’ll get us a room and call the team."

You nodded. 

As he moved to make arrangements, you wrapped yourself tightly in his jacket, the faint scent of him still lingering on the fabric. 

You winced from the pain in your side, but you manged to stay still. You looked out the window, watching as the storm raged on.

When Bucky returned, he didn’t waste any time sitting next to you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you into his side. 

"Better?" he asked.

You leaned into him, letting the comfort of his presence envelop you. 

"Yeah," you said softly. "Much better. Thanks, Bucky."

"You don’t have to thank me," he muttered, his voice low, almost intimate. "I’m just doing what’s right. Keeping you safe."

You closed your eyes, allowing yourself to melt into the warmth of his embrace. "I know," you whispered, your voice quiet but filled with gratitude. "And I’m glad you’re here."

Bucky’s fingers brushed through your hair, his protective grip never faltering. "And I’m not going anywhere," he murmured.

A moment later, he scooped you up effortlessly, carrying you to the room he booked and dumping you on the bed. The sudden motion made you giggle as you kicked off your boots.

Bucky turned up the heat, and as the warmth began to fill the room, you settled onto the covers. 

"What did the team say?" you asked quietly.

"They’ll try to make it tonight," he replied. "But I told them we can wait until the morning."

You raised an eyebrow, puzzled. "Why?"

"Because I’m keeping you safe tonight," he murmured, quickly adding, "And Sam snores. I can hear him from two rooms down the hall. I’m in no rush to go home, sunshine."

You laughed softly, your eyes brightening. "You’re unbelievable, Bucky."

Bucky grinned, his usual grumpy expression softened. "Yeah, but you’re stuck with me."

"Seriously though," he said, his voice suddenly quieter, "I’m not letting anything happen to you. Not on my watch."

"I know," you whispered, your voice soft but filled with sincerity. "And I trust you."

His eyes softened, just for a moment, before he cleared his throat and pulled away slightly, pretending to be unaffected by the vulnerability in the air. 

“Hey,” he muttered, his voice hushed and rough with concern. He paused for a moment as if considering whether to push or back off. He couldn’t ever quite figure out how to balance his protective nature. But when it came to you, he couldn’t help himself. “You sure you’re okay?”

You forced a smile, shifting a little more, trying to get comfortable, but the throbbing in your side was relentless. The last thing you wanted was for him to notice. He already had enough on his shoulders; you wouldn’t let him add your worries to his pile.

“I’m fine,” you whispered. Lie.

"Bullshit," he grumbled, his voice laced with frustration, the one that surfaced when he cared too much and couldn’t fix things fast enough. "What’s the matter?"

Bucky stared at you, his eyes narrowing. 

God, that stare. 

It was like he could read every inch of your soul, and you couldn’t breathe under the weight of it.

“Talk to me.”

You shifted uncomfortably, your side flaring up in protest. You winced, sucking in a sharp breath, hoping he didn’t notice, but of course, he did. 

He always noticed when it came to his sunshine.

"My side. Just a little pain," you admitted, the bruise hidden under the layers of clothing you still wore.

Bucky’s face softened, his worry evident. Without a word, he stood up, reaching for the small medical kit in his bag.

"Lift your shirt," he said, his voice low but commanding.

"I'm fine-" You mumbled. 

But Bucky wasn’t one to back down. He crouched in front of you, his large hands already moving to your waist, his fingers brushing the fabric of your shirt with a touch that was far too tender for someone like him.

“Lift.” The word was soft, but there was a dangerous edge to it, a warning wrapped in affection. The way he said it made it clear that this was happening.

You frowned and you raised the hem of your shirt, exposing the tender spot on your side where the impact from earlier had left its mark. "Shh, sunshine." He whispers soothingly. "You're okay, promise."

Bucky’s hands were gentle as he inspected the injury, his fingers brushing lightly over your skin, and his touch was careful but sure. There was something tender about the way he looked at you as if you were the most precious thing in the world to him. It made you lightheaded.

“Doesn’t look too bad,” he muttered, though you could hear the underlying concern in his tone. “But we’re still gonna clean it up, yeah?”

 His brow furrowed, and for a moment, his expression softened into something that hurt to look at. 

Like you meant something to him.

The second his fingers brushed over your side, just lightly grazing the bruise, you couldn’t help it. A whimper escaped, and your body tensed. You hated it. Hated being weak.

“Shh.” His voice was soothing. “You’re doing so good.”

You tried to move, to escape the pressure, but Bucky’s hand was already on your abdomen, holding you gently but firmly in place. His fingers splayed out over your skin, not forceful, but steady.

“Sorry,” you muttered, your voice strained as another wave of pain hit and you squirmed.

“You don’t have to apologize,” Bucky murmured, his grip tightening just a little, his other hand reaching for the antiseptic wipe. "Just breathe for me, okay?"

Something about his voice, soft yet commanding, made the tension in your body ease just enough for you to inhale deeply, to steady yourself.

“You’re tough, sunshine,” Bucky murmured, his eyes softening even more as he cleaned the bruise. "You’ll be alright."

But his voice held a gentleness that made your heartache. As he worked, cleaning the wound, his touch was slow, deliberate. The sting from the wipe was sharp, but his hands on your skin were grounding, like he was pulling the pain out of you with every careful movement.

Every time you whimpered, every time the pain made itself known, he soothed you with gentle words,“I know, sunshine, I got you,” “It’s okay, you’re okay.”

He cleaned the wound with slow, careful movements. The cool, sterile wipe stung a little, but his gentle touch was soothing, making the discomfort easier to bear. 

“I got you.” His voice was quiet, almost a whisper. A calm anchor. “Just breathe, sunshine.”

And you did.

When he finally finished, he leaned back and reached for a bandage. He pressed the bandage against your side like he was trying to heal something deeper than the bruise, something you couldn’t name.

“Good as new.” His voice was softer now. “You’re tough, sunshine. You’ll be alright.”

You smiled faintly, your fingers brushing the edge of the bandage. “Thanks, Bucky.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He grumbled, but there was no bite to it. His gruffness was a comfort, like a wall of security you could lean against when everything else felt shaky.

“Just-” His eyes softened as he looked at you, the rare tenderness that always made your chest tighten. “Get some sleep, alright?”

You nodded, curling up under the covers.

“Goodnight,” you whispered, your voice small and soft as you nestled against him.

Bucky’s hand gently brushed through your hair, his fingers pausing to stroke your scalp in a way that made you feel like the most important thing in the world.

“Goodnight, милая девочка.” Sweet girl.

His words were quiet, a soft reassurance in the night. You let out a sigh, the ache in your side fading as the warmth of his body enveloped you, and slowly, you drifted into a peaceful sleep.

Bucky stayed awake for a while, keeping watch, making sure you were alright. But as the night drew on, he pressed a tender kiss to your forehead, making sure you were okay before falling asleep himself.

Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed!

If you'd like to be added to my taglist

Much love x

- Maeve

[deadtired-highkeyenergetic]

Christmas Chaos

Paring: Avenger! Bucky Barnes x Avenger! Fem! Reader (Grumpy x Sunshine)

Summary: Your first Christmas with the team is one for the books. The excitement of unwrapping gifts turns into delightful chaos. 

Word Count: Roughly 1.1k 

Warnings: Fluff, Mild Violence (threats and roughhousing), Christmas themes, Bucky's red henley (totally deserves it's own warning)

Author’s Note: According to TikTik, tons of people didn't get what they wanted for Christmas; so here’s a little something I whipped up because I’ve been awake since 5 this morning and I have had three cups of coffee. I typed this on my phone, so if there are errors, I apologize. If you like this, you’re welcome and if you don’t, it wasn’t me :)

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Divider by: @strangergraphics 

You wake up to muffled noises from downstairs. You bury your face in your pillow, before looking at your phone for the time. It is too early to be up on any regular day, but today was different. It's Christmas day! Christmas day with your favorite people. You slipped on your fluffy slippers and quietly padded downstairs, rubbing your eyes and yawning softly. 

“Merry Christmas!” you chirped to the team.  

Natasha smiled and raised her mug of coffee. 

Wanda smiled and handed you a cup of hot chocolate. 

Tony was busy arguing with Bruce over an instruction manual, and Steve and Sam argued over who had better gift-wrapping critiques. But as you scanned the room, you noticed. Bucky wasn’t there.  

“Where’s Bucky?” you asked with a small frown.  

“He’s upstairs,” Sam said casually. “Brooding, probably.”  

“I can go get him…” You offered, only to be cut off.

“Nah, it’s fine,” Steve gave you a small grin, ruffling your hair. “Trust us.”  

Wanda passed you your stocking, filled with goodies. The works of small trinkets, candy and chocolate coins.

You grinned as you and Peter dove into the chocolates.

Tony already started complaining about the sugar rush you both would get.

Then, Steve pointed to a large, festively wrapped box.  

“This one’s for you, kid.”  

Your eyes widened. The box was massive, and you crouched down to peel the wrapping paper off. 

“What in the world?” you murmured, pulling off layer after layer. With a puzzled look, you pried it open.  

“Bucky?!”  

The former Winter Soldier was sitting cross-legged in the box, arms tied with rope, a gag around his mouth, and a pretty red bow on his head. He wore a snug red henley and gray sweatpants, looking both murderous and utterly done with life.  

He looked divine, even tied up. Delicious. Marvelous. He could make greek gods envious.

“Merry Christmas, sunshine,” Steve and Sam chorused, howling with laughter.  

Your jaw dropped, and then a giggle bubbled out of you as you knelt by the box. “Oh my gosh, you two didn’t! Poor Bucky!”  

Bucky’s piercing glare snapped to Steve and Sam. He growled something unintelligible through the gag, making them laugh harder. Your cheeks flushed as you gently began untying the bow and ropes.  

“I’m so sorry they did this to you,” you said, smiling softly as you helped him out of the box.  

Bucky’s expression was a storm cloud, but when his sharp blue eyes landed on your sweet, genuine smile, his hardened features instantly softened. 

“Merry Christmas, sunshine,” he murmured, pulling you into a surprisingly gentle hug. The heat of his body and the smell of fresh pine and something distinctly him filled your senses.  

You melted into the embrace, pressing your face into his chest as your arms circled his waist and whispered, “Merry Christmas, Bucky.”  

The tender moment lasted five seconds. Maybe eight, but who’s counting?

Then, he pulled back and turned to Steve and Sam.  

“You two are dead,” he growled, rolling his shoulders.  

Steve and Sam’s laughter ceased as they quickly stood. “Now, Buck, let’s talk about this—”  

But Bucky was already moving towards them, cracking his knuckles menacingly.  

“We’re going to run,” Sam muttered, and the two bolted out of the room, Bucky hot on their heels, shouting threats about payback.  

Watching the chase unfold, you couldn’t stop the laugh that escaped your lips. Natasha caught your eyes as she sipped her coffee.  

“Guess you’re his sunshine, huh?” she teased.  

You bit your lip, cheeks warm as you whispered, “Maybe.” 

Natasha smirked knowingly but didn’t push further. Instead, she was content to watch the chaos unfold as Bucky cornered Sam near the Christmas tree.  

“You think tying me up is funny?” Bucky growled, advancing with a predatory stride.  

“It wasn’t just me!” Sam yelped, using the tree as a barrier. “Steve came up with the idea!”  

Steve, who was inching toward the kitchen in a futile attempt to escape unnoticed, froze under Bucky’s glare.  

“Traitor,” he muttered under his breath, cursing Sam’s lack of discretion.  

“Traitor?” Bucky repeated, catching the word. “You both tied me up like a damn Christmas present and you’re calling him the traitor?”  

You stifled a laugh behind your hand, stepping closer. “Okay, okay, Bucky. Maybe don’t kill them? It is Christmas.”  

“Besides, we did it for her,” Sam pointed at you to soften the blow. “Right, sugarplum?”

“Do not call her sugarplum. Ever.” Bucky warned Sam.

“Bucky,” You called softly, looking up at him.

Bucky paused, looking back at you. 

His sharp glare softened into something almost dopey when he saw your pleading eyes and soft smile. 

With a sigh, he rolled his eyes and muttered, “Fine. They live. For now.”  

Sam exhaled audibly, his shoulders slumping in relief. “Thank you, sunshine!” he called to you, grinning.  

But Bucky turned sharply, pointing a finger at him. “Don’t push it.”  

Sam immediately zipped his mouth,

Steve, ever the brave one, chuckled and clapped Bucky on the shoulder as he passed. “Merry Christmas, old pal.”  

Bucky’s only response was a low grumble of curse before sitting on the couch. 

You disappeared into the kitchen and came back a few moments later, offering him a warm mug of hot cocoa in your hands.

“Here,” you said softly, “Hot cocoa. Consider it a peace offering on behalf of Steve and Sam.”  

Bucky eyed the mug for a moment, then you. He took it without a word, his fingers brushing yours briefly, sending a little jolt through you.  

“Thanks,” he muttered, taking a sip.  

You sat beside him, your own cocoa in hand, legs tucked beneath you as you leaned against the armrest. The room buzzed with holiday chatter and laughter, but your attention stayed on the super soldier beside you.  

“I hope they didn’t ruin your day,” you said after a moment, voice tinged with genuine concern.  

Bucky glanced at you, his lips quirking up in a faint smile. “Nah. Nothing can ruin my day when you are smiling at me like that, sunshine.”  

Your cheeks burned and you looked away.

Natasha, who had been observing the exchange from across the room, smirked and leaned over to Clint. “He’s whipped,” she whispered.  

Clint raised an eyebrow, glancing at you and Bucky before nodding. “Completely.”  

Bucky leaned back on the couch, sipping his cocoa and sneaking glances at you. Every now and then, his lips would tug into a soft smile. 

Without a word, he shifted, inching toward you on the couch. He casually draped his arm across the back of the couch, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

You eagerly took the opportunity to tuck yourself into Bucky’s side.

This time, leaving his cheeks burning.

Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed! Happy Holidays! Stay warm/cool wherever you're at.

Tell your loved ones that you love them.

And if nobody told you today, I love you <3

If you'd like to be added to my taglist

Much love x

- Maeve

[deadtired-highkeyenergetic]

Snowball Fight

Paring: Avenger!Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Fem!Reader (Grumpy x Sunshine)

Summary: Your first winter with the team and you woke up to snow falling outside. You manage to appeal to some of the team (beg) to have a snowball fight. But when you throw a snowball at Bucky, he abandons the rules of the game.

Word Count: Roughly 1.1k 

Warnings: Fluff, maybe two swear words, teasing, playful physicality (mentions of choking, but no choking), manhandling

Author’s Note: Merry Christmas Eve

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Divider by @strangergraphics 

From @buck-star Fluffy Winter Event

December rolled around faster than you had expected. By now, although you complained, you have fallen into the routine of waking up early and going training. But to your surprise, when you woke up, it was 11 o’clock. You looked out your window to find the outside of the compound covered in snow. You made a beeline downstairs and managed to coax a few members of the team into a good, old-fashioned snowball fight. After lunch, you bundled up and rushed outside, eager to start and kick some butt.

“Alright,” Sam said, his breath visible in the air. “We’ve got teams set. Clint, Wanda, and you on one side.” Sam shot you a grin and you adjusted your gloves. “Steve, Bucky, and me on the other.”

“You’re going down, Wilson,” you said, barely holding back your excitement. “This is my turf now.”

Bucky, standing on the opposite team with his arms crossed, shooting you a half-hearted glare. He had that look, like he was only here because Steve asked him to be.

“Just don’t whine when I knock you out of the game,” you teased, taking a handful of snow and molding it into a perfect snowball. 

Then, the snowball fight began. 

Clint immediately fired a snowball at Sam, while Wanda conjured up several smaller snowballs in the air, launching them with deadly accuracy. You ducked behind a pile of snow, peering around it to assess your next move.

And then, you saw Bucky. He was standing there, clearly not engaged.

Big mistake.

He was your favorite target, and you couldn’t resist. The former solider was in for a fun surprise. You giggled to yourself as you made a snowball, aimed, and with a satisfying thwack, it hit him square in the chest.

Wanda and Clint started laughing. 

Steve and Sam gave each other a knowing look.

Bucky did not find the same humor in the situation. In fact, he looked like he wanted to choke you.

Bucky’s expression darkened as he brushed the snow off, his jaw tightening. His eyes narrowed into slits as they met yours.

“You did not just do that, sweetheart” he growled, his voice low and dangerous.

You didn’t even flinch. In fact, you grinned. “Oh, I did. And it was a perfect shot. You’re welcome.”

“Your little ass is in trouble now.” Bucky started walking out from his team’s side of the yard. His eyes locked onto you, like a predator ready to devour their prey. Your face flushed red, but not from the cold.

“Oh, shit,” you muttered, realizing he wasn’t going to show you mercy this time.

You started to run away, but a few giggles slipped past your lips.

“You better run, sunshine!” Bucky called after you.

You sprinted toward the trees. As you glanced behind you, you realized Bucky was closing in fast.

You tried to zigzag through the trees, but he followed you with scarily accurate precision. You were smart, fast even, but you were no match for Bucky Barnes.

“We can talk this out, we’re both reasonable adults.” You smiled up at him, trying your best to reason with him.

He chuckled darkly as you moved towards you and your back hit the tree.

“I am too young to die!” you screamed, although you knew there was no danger. Bucky was a big softie for you.

“You gotta learn, sunshine.” Without warning, he scooped you up in his arms and threw you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. You let out a squeak and you slapped your hand against his back.

“Bucky!” you yelped, laughing in disbelief. “You’re such a cheater! Manhandling is not included in snowball fights!”

“Fuck the rules, sunshine,” he grumbled. “You should’ve thought of that before you hit me with that snowball.”

You huffed, giving into the inevitable and went limp in his arms.

He marched right up to the snowbank and dumped you into it. You landed with a soft thud and you scrambled to sit up, a small pout on your lips

“Oh, come on!” you laughed, brushing snow off your coat. “This is how you’re gonna play it? Throwing me in the snow?”

Bucky stood over you, arms crossed, a cocky smirk tugging at his lips. “You started this, not me.”

You shot him a look from beneath your tangled hair, puffing out a breath in frustration. “I made a perfect shot! It was nothing personal.”

His expression softened slightly, but only for a second. “You are impossible.”

You stood up, brushing yourself off. "Oh, I’m impossible, huh? You’re the one who lost, Bucky."

Bucky laughed in amusement at your smart mouth. “I think you’re forgetting who’s really in charge here, sweetheart. Maybe you need some discipline, hm?”

You grabbed his arm and tugged with all your might and the two of you tumbled backward into the snow.

“I’ll teach you some respect,” Bucky muttered, his hands suddenly pinning yours into the snow, the weight of his body pressing down on you. “You think you can get away with anything you do, you little troublemaker?”

“Yup,” you smiled, looking up at him. “Because I know you won’t hurt me.”

Bucky glared down at you, though the flicker of amusement in his eyes didn’t escape you. “You are lucky you’re cute, sunshine.”

You shivered suddenly, the cold biting harder now that the fun had gone on long enough. You tried to hide it, but Bucky noticed immediately. His expression softened in an instant.

“You’re freezing,” he muttered, glancing down at you with something softer in his eyes.

Before you could even respond, Bucky moved, lifting you effortlessly into his arms, guiding your hand around his neck.

“Bucky, what-” you started, but he just shook his head, his face still serious despite the small hint of concern there.

“I’m taking you inside,” he said, already walking toward the compound. “You’re not getting any warmer in this cold.”

You leaned your head against his shoulder, a small, content smile tugging at your lips despite yourself. “I’m not a baby, you know,” you teased, but the warmth of his embrace was undeniable.

As Bucky carried you inside, you could hear Sam and Steve laughing.

“In all the decades I’ve known him, I’ve never seen Bucky so whipped,” Steve said, shaking his head, a grin plastered across his face. “She’s got him wrapped around her little finger.”

Sam chuckled. “Yup, Bucky’s definitely in deep. I think she might be in charge here.”

You could hear Bucky mutter something under his breath as he pushed through the door open, but he didn’t correct them. He didn’t need to. Everyone could see it. The tough, grumpy soldier had met his match in you.

You readjusted yourself in his arms, snuggling closer. Your nose brushes against the side of his neck and you catch a whiff of his cologne that makes you want to drown in his scent.

It’s starting out to be the best holiday season.

Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed! I hope to get out another one shot tonight and tomorrow. They might be much shorter though, but fingers crossed :)

If you'd like to be added to my taglist

Much love x

- Maeve

[deadtired-highkeyenergetic]

soft zaundads...

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[deadtired-highkeyenergetic]

Teddy Bear Bucky

Paring: Avenger! Bucky Barnes x Avenger! Fem! Reader (Grumpy x Sunshine)

Summary: For once, the usually tense and stoic soldier is completely at ease, making for an amusing sight when someone finds you asleep on Bucky's chest.

Word Count: Roughly 1.3k

Warnings: Fluff, death threats (playful), roughhousing, chaos, chasing, and brief mentioning of Bucky's past if you squint.

Part 1: Sunshine in His Shadows

P.S. It can be read as a stand-alone, but if you want to know how it led up to this point, part 1 is above :)

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Divider by: @strangergraphics

The morning sun poured through the compound windows, its warm rays spilling across the living room, casting a soft glow in the room. You were nestled soundly on top of Bucky, curled into him like he was your personal, oversized teddy bear. His head rested against the back of the couch, one arm protectively wrapped around you. For once, he wasn’t tense or scowling; he was completely relaxed, a rare sight for someone so used to being on edge for years.

And if you squinted, there was a faint smile on his face.

Steve walked past the living room but came to an abrupt halt at the sight. His eyes widened, and he rubbed them as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Then, a grin spread across his face. A shit-eating grin at that.

"Oh, this is gold," he whispered to himself, eyes lighting up with the realization of what he had to do. With a quiet chuckle, he darted off, eager to recruit to show others.

A few minutes later, Steve returned, followed by Natasha and Sam. Natasha glanced at the scene, then raised an eyebrow, a mischievous smirk curling at the corners of her mouth. Sam, however, wasn’t wasting any time. He pulled out his phone with a wicked grin, his camera aimed at the precious moment unfolding in front of him.

“This is too good to pass up,” Sam murmured, crouching low to get the perfect angle. “Grumpy Barnes being used as a human pillow? For his sunshine no less? This is legendary.”

Natasha sipped her coffee with a knowing smirk. “He’s totally going to kill you for this, right?”

“Yeah, well,” Sam grinned, swiping through his phone. “I’ll send out the picture before he forces me to delete it. The old man doesn’t understand technology.” His fingers tapped out a message to Wanda, who’d probably get a good laugh out of it.

The sound of a camera shutter clicked softly, but just as Sam thought he was in the clear, Bucky stirred beneath you. His brow furrowed slightly, and for a split second, everything seemed still. Then, the faint creak of a floorboard sent Bucky’s instincts into overdrive. His eyes shot open, scanning the room like a hawk, before landing on the source of his irritation: Sam, his phone raised triumphantly, with Steve and Natasha struggling to hold back laughter in the background.

Before Bucky could fully react, you shifted against him with a groggy groan. You blinked your eyes open, still half-asleep, and found yourself looking up at him in confusion. 

“Bucky? What-?” 

It only took a moment for the embarrassing realization to hit. You had somehow fallen asleep on top of him, completely unaware. Your face flushed as your eyes widened, and you started to apologize, but before you could even say a word, Bucky gently but swiftly lifted you off him, placing you back on the couch. 

He stood, as though trying to shake off any evidence of what had just happened, then grabbed a blanket nearby and tucked it around your shoulders, making sure you were comfortable and warm.

“Stay warm, sunshine,” he muttered under his breath, his voice rough but strangely tender.

Sam, unable to contain himself, burst out laughing. “Oh, man, I’m framing this one. You look like a giant grizzly bear trying to babysit a kitten.”

Bucky’s eyes darkened with a glare so intense, it could’ve burned a hole through Sam. His voice was low and dangerous. “Delete it. Now.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa! I didn’t do anything! Steve told me!” Sam raised his hands in mock surrender, but his grin was impossible to hide.

Bucky’s focus shifted to Steve, who was pretending to be innocent. “Hey, don’t blame me! I had to tell someone what I saw. Kill him, not me.”

“See you, sucker!” Sam snickered, bolting for the door, phone clutched in his hand tightly.

“Hey, wait!” Steve scrambled after him, grinning as he caught up with Sam.

Bucky didn’t waste a second. With a growl, he chased after them, his heavy footsteps pounding like thunder in the compound. Steve was laughing as he ran, shouting, “Don’t let him catch me!”

“I’m gonna make you both regret that,” Bucky roared, his voice deep and fierce as he quickened his pace.

Still nestled in the blanket, you rubbed your eyes, trying to shake the sleep from your system. The chaos unfolding in front of you was enough to make you frown sleepily. 

“What...what is happening?” you mumbled, looking up at Natasha, who was still watching the scene unfold, an amused look on her face.

She leaned down to gently smooth your hair, offering you a warm cup of coffee. “Just another day in paradise. You fell asleep on Bucky, and now he’s off hunting down Sam for taking pictures. Steve opened his mouth and pretty much condemned himself. Typical.”

You buried your face in the blanket, your cheeks burning crimson. “I fell asleep on Bucky?”

Natasha smirked knowingly. “Oh, yeah. And he didn’t even complain. He stayed perfectly still for you. It was actually kind of adorable.”

The flush on your face deepened, and you peeked out from the blanket. “I can’t believe this.”

Natasha sipped her coffee, smirking at you one last time. “I’m going to see if Wanda got the picture.” With that, she made her way out of the room, leaving you alone to process the madness.

Meanwhile, down the hall, Sam and Steve were running for their lives. Sam glanced over his shoulder, still laughing, though his breath came in short bursts. “You can’t kill us both, Barnes!”

“Try me,” Bucky growled, a wicked grin playing at the corners of his mouth as he closed in on them.

Steve, managing to duck into a nearby room, slammed the door behind him. Sam, realizing he was alone and defenseless, let out a panicked yell. “Traitor!”

Bucky didn’t hesitate. He grabbed Sam by the back of his shirt with a single motion, yanking him to a stop. “Gotcha, birdbrain.”

“Wait! Wait!” Sam held up his phone, waving it frantically. “I’ll delete it! I swear!”

Bucky snatched the phone from Sam’s hand, eyes narrowed with irritation. He quickly checked the screen, making sure the photo was gone. Satisfied, he shoved the phone back into Sam’s chest with a low growl. “If I see that picture anywhere, you’re dead.”

Sam held up his hands, clearly not wanting to push it any further. “Message received, Sergeant Teddy Bear.” He backed away with a half-grin, hands still raised in surrender.

Bucky shot him one last glare before walking back toward the living room, shaking his head at the chaos. By the time he returned, you had sat up on the couch, still wrapped in the blanket, your face a mix of sleepiness and embarrassment. 

“Did you really stay still all night just so I wouldn’t wake up?” you asked softly, your shy smile tugging at his heart.

Bucky’s expression softened just the slightest. He shrugged, trying to hide the warmth he felt spreading through him. “Didn’t want to ruin your sleep, sunshine.”

A small, genuine smile spread across your face as you stood up and wrapped your arms around him in a tight hug. “Thank you, Bucky.”

He froze for a split second, caught off guard by the sudden affection. Then, slowly, his arms came around you, pulling you into a hug of his own. His voice was gruff as he mumbled, “Yeah, yeah.”

For a moment, everything was still. The harshness that usually clung to him was nowhere to be found, replaced by something softer, warmer, and something he wasn’t ready to fully acknowledge yet.

For now, he’d take all of the teasing, even if it meant chasing down Sam and Steve every day. Because if it meant getting to see that sunshine smile of yours, it was all worth it.

Every single time.

Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed!

Tags: @princess-lil-spidey @sapphirebarnes @mgchaser @sparklystarsandstrawberries @arcadia-smith @rnurse-kole @juliebluehufflepuff

If you'd like to be added to my taglist

Much love x

- Maeve

[deadtired-highkeyenergetic]

Lonely Nights

Two uploads in one day? I'm cooking. Also inspired by @/shurisneakers grumpy x grumpy works, go check her works out they're amazing

Summary: Attending a party with the man whose whole goal in life seems to be annoying you to no end goes...not exactly as planned

You've lost count of the number of parties Natasha has dragged you to attend. You're pretty sure this is at least the tenth one in the past month, which is ten times more than the number of parties you usually attend. Then again zero times ten is still zero so you're not sure how the math adds up.

Grabbing another glass of whiskey, you stare at the golden liquid swirling around, trying to drown out the noise in the background. Parties really are far too loud for your taste, the only good thing to come out of them is the free flow alcohol that you constantly take advantage of. The drinks taste even better knowing that the tab is on a certain genius playboy billionaire and so at every party you lurk at the bar, inhaling drinks until you get hungover.

Tonight, there's a newcomer — Bucky Barnes, also known as the Winter Soldier. Turns out he's Steve's best friend who was thought dead and you have to admit, the brunette is quite the handsome man, although you'd rather die than admit it out loud. He's currently following Sam who seems to be on a mission to talk to a girl for more than a minute, and from the look on his face, quite enjoying the other's multiple failures.

You take another mouth of whiskey and look away, relishing in the way the liquid burns on the way down. Natasha has disappeared, probably to outdrink yet another poor soul, leaving you all alone at the bar counter, not that you mind. You quite like the personal space and lack of need to socialise with another human being, two things that are currently being challenged by a certain brunette you were watching not too long ago.

"Go away."

"I see you've been learning some manners." He leans over to take a glass of whiskey for himself, downing half of it in one go.

"And I see you haven't." You glare at him.

"Maybe you should introduce me to your teacher, I might just learn some manners then." He simply smiles at you.

"Hmph." You turn back to your glass. "So what are you doing here?"

"Was invited to the party by Tony." He swirls his glass before downing the remaining half. "Same as you."

"I can tell. Why are you sitting right next to me after I told you to get lost?"

"I believe you said 'go away', not 'get lost'."

"Same thing." You pinch the bridge of your nose. He was getting on your nerves as always, you sometimes swore he saved all his cheek for you and you alone.

"Nope it isn't. One is asking me to simply leave, the other is asking me to lose all sense of direction —"

"Okay Mr Dictionary, didn't ask you for the difference between 'away' and 'lost'. Why are you still seated next to me?" You grab another glass from a passing waiter and immediately inhale one third of it.

"I'm tired and want to sit down." Bucky shrugs.

"There's plenty of other seats out there." You gesture to where the crowd is.

"Here seemed the most comfy, although the company it offers could use some work." He smirks, biting back an amused huff when you roll your eyes.

"Then go and find company elsewhere."

"But you'll be lonely. As a gentleman, I cannot stand by and let a lovely person such as yourself spend the night alone." He dramatically places a hand over his heart.

"Since when were you a gentleman?" You snort, knocking back more alcohol. You were going to need more if this bastard insisted on spending the rest of the night with you.

"Since the moment I saw you sitting here alone."

"How chivalrous. You want a lordship or something?"

He laughs, reaching over the counter and pulling out a bottle of vodka. "If only you could grant me one."

"Dunno. Could try pulling some strings or something, haven't tried granting anyone a lordship before. First time for everything, am I right?" You toss a bottle opener his way and he catches it, raising an eyebrow.

"Do you have this on you at all times?"

"Swiped it from the waiter just now. Was going to open one myself but since you've already taken one you might as well share. Sharing is caring, right?" You wave a hand.

"Then sharing this bottle would imply I care for you." He pops the cap open and starts chugging.

"Hey! I provided the bottle opener! I deserve some!" You yelp, rising from your seat. He easily dodges your attempts to grab the bottle from him and grins, waving it just out of your reach. Growling, you leap onto the counter and dash along it, successfully swiping the bottle from his surprisingly loose grip. Hopping back down, you gleefully wave the bottle before chugging the remaining liquid inside, letting out a satisfied sigh when not a drop is left.

"I win!" You cheer, laughing. All that alcohol is making you giddy and you lean a little too far backwards, stumbling towards the counter but before you can hit anything, a pair of arms wrap themselves around you, stopping your fall.

"Can't have you dying before granting me that lordship." Bucky grunts, placing you back onto your seat. You try to shove his arms off, making a face when he refuses to let go before resuming your scowl and crossing your arms.

"I'm not dying before you," you huff, annoyed. More importantly, you weren't about to die from a fall when you've survived aliens, gods, superhumans and everything in between.

"Congratulations on surviving purely out of spite all this while. Would you also like a gold medal?" Sarcasm drips heavily from his words.

"I'll take one." You don't miss a beat, even when tipsy. Bucky would admire that, really he would, unfortunately he's on the receiving end of your sass so it's already less admirable because of that. At least him being here means you won't be meeting your end via counters, he would miss all that wit and sarcasm if that were to happen. After laughing at your cause of death.

"Unfortunately I don't have one right now. Mind waiting for a bit, doll?" His lips quirk upwards ever so slightly.

"A gentleman making someone wait? What kind of gentleman are you?" You lift another snagged bottle to your lips, taking a swig.

"One that knows you're caring enough to share that bottle with me." He easily wrestles the half-drunk bottle from you, chugging the rest while keeping you at arms length with his forearm pressed against your chest. "Thank you for your generosity."

"You're not welcome!" You huff, futilely hitting his arm in an attempt to close the gap. He grins, turning the bottle upside down to show you there's not a drop left.

"Asshole." You scowl, gripping his arm tightly.

"My pleasure." His smirk is infuriating and with the alcohol clouding your mind, the moment he drops his arm you close the distance, wiping the smirk off his face with a kiss. Your lips connect and his eyes widen, but he kisses back, his metal arm snaking around your waist while his flesh one pulls you closer so that he can devour you.

Bucky's lips taste of vodka, whiskey and whatever else he drank before being your nuisance and it tastes good. You breathlessly pull away, cheeks flushed and grab a breath before diving back for another round.

"You're a pathetic kisser," you gasp after pulling away for air again.

"And still you want more." He licks his lips, ice blue eyes shining with mirth. "What does that say about you?"

"That I'm going to need to teach you how to kiss."

"Then teach me." He lifts your chin up. "The night's still young."

"Step one: shut up." Your lips crash into his again and he shuts up, savouring the kiss.

"Step two: don't stop." He murmurs, threading his fingers through your hair.

"Step three: eyes on me, only me." You press your forehead against his, feeling his warmth. "Took you forever to kiss me."

"You're the one who took forever, I was always open to it."

"Asshole."

"Idiot."

"You just asked an idiot to be your teacher."

"I don't mind this idiot being my teacher." His thumb runs over your bottom lip. "After all, this idiot is my idiot."

"Hate you."

"Love you too."

[deadtired-highkeyenergetic]

Second Chances

The Bucky brainrot is real, and so is my journey to main him in Marvel Rivals.

Summary: Fate decides to surprise you with a second chance by throwing you into the same team as a Bucky from a different universe (reader has fire powers)

Things never surprised you anymore, not after so many years of being a superhero but a golden portal opening in the middle of your house with a Doctor Strange stepping through it that looked like yours but not really still kind of surprised you. It was supposed to be a day off, a normal relaxed day so of course someone has to step in and ruin it.

"Evren, we need your help to save the multiverse."

"What?" You stare at the Doctor Strange who stands in your living room with a hand outstretched towards you.

"The multiverse is in danger, and the only way to save it is to defeat two Doctor Dooms. I am requesting for your help in that." He glances over his shoulder into the portal, eyebrows furrowing. "I don't have much time. Either come with me or watch your universe shatter."

"Well, then I don't have much choice, do I?" You walk towards the portal, laying a hand on the Doctor's shoulder. "I can't sit back and let my universe die."

"Good. We need all the firepower we can get." With that, he enters the portal, floating towards the battle that's raging on below in a city that looks familiar yet unfamiliar to you.

"Heh. Firepower." You take a step forward and feel yourself fall through the air, the wind whipping at your face. The air smelled different from the Shibuya you were used to and its decorations were different, definitely more futuristic, had a whole lot less manga and anime billboards. Instead, Spiderman icons were scattered throughout, or at least some sort of spider icon that looked a whole lot less friendly than the one you were used to.

Blue flames flicker in your palm, spreading to cover your entire body as you land in a fiery explosion, sending those nearby flying backwards. You begin to feel the familiar heat of your powers coursing through your veins, bright red scales forming on your forearms, shins, neck, and you grin, bending the heat to your will. A row of flame daggers appear behind you as Strange throws up a shield, blocking a barrage of long green blades.

"Stay behind me!" He conjures up blades of his own, flinging them at the approaching figures and you target the same figures, wondering who the enemy is. It's rather hard to tell, since both sides clearly have superpowered people clad in colourful outfits but if Strange was the one recruiting you, his enemies were yours and you weren't one to back away from a fight.

"Evren?" A familiar voice asks. Whipping around, you see none other than Black Panther standing before you. His suit is more decorated than you remember but he still sounds the same, and has the same stance as the Black Panther you know.

"Your highness?" You stare incredulously. "What —"

"Move it!" Yet another familiar voice shouts, shoving you aside as a ball of ice whizzes past your ear courtesy of a dual coloured hair lady. "We need to fall back and regroup, follow me."

Brown hair falls into your line of sight, accompanied by familiar blue eyes and your heart skips a beat. You know that face anywhere, even if it's half covered by a mask.

Bucky?

Your mouth opens and closes, questions filling your head when he grabs you by the wrist tightly and drags you away, sprinting at top speed. Your legs struggle to keep up but you somehow manage to hold yourself together long enough to reach a building where Strange and a few others await, dodging more ice projectiles that are now accompanied by Wakandan spears. Whirling around, you throw up a wall of blue fire and push it towards the direction of the attacks, sending the Wakandan king a silent apology before ducking into the house, panting.

"So much for a relaxing day," you gasp, quelling the flames within. The scales disappear into red mist and you feel your body cool down, though sweat still clumps your hair. Pushing the few loose strands out of your face, you survey your surroundings. Faces both familiar and unfamiliar stare at you as Strange introduces you as the newest member of their team.

"This is Evren. The portal lead me to them, destiny must have chosen them to aid us in this battle." He explains, gesturing towards you. You recognise the likes of Thor and Bucky but the other two faces are a mystery.

"Evren, heroes and villains from across time and space have gathered to fight for various reasons over control of the Timestream Entanglement, which is the space we're in right now. I meant it when I said I needed your help to save your universe. If the Entanglement gets out of hand, realities will collapse upon themselves and universes will die."

"Very cool, and not cool. Explains all the familiar faces but also raises so many questions." You look at Bucky, who stares back at you with an unreadable expression. "And a few personal problems."

"I understand. Take what time you need to orient yourself but we will strike again tomorrow, and I need you to be at your best." The Sorcerer Supreme frowns. "Choose any room to rest in, I will see you at dawn."

With that, he leaves and so do most of the team, although the alien in green with two antennas sticking out of her head does give you a smile and wave which you return tiredly. The only one left is none other than Bucky, and you're both relieved as well as filled with dread by that.

"I'm…assuming you know who I am. Or at least whatever version of me exists in your universe." You inhale deeply, trying to calm your nerves. Sparks of blue fire flicker on your fingertips and you force yourself to extinguish them, clenching your fist tightly.

He continues silently staring at you, gaze flicking up and down before going to a nearby bench to sit. You follow suit, taking in all the ways he's different from your Bucky. First off, his clothes are different, you've never seen your Bucky in…well…that outfit before but you have to admit it looks good on him. Then he has a metal arm that looks the same yet different but it's on the same side. Of course you can't forget that this Bucky wears a mask, and that your Bucky long stopped wearing one because it reminded him too much of his Winter Soldier days.

"Evren. Y/N." He finally starts speaking and you feel your chest tighten. Why does he have to sound the same as your Bucky? The one you'll never be able to see again, the one you failed, the one you won't ever be able to touch, see, or hear again.

"Yeah, that's me." You force out a chuckle, a smile plastered to your face. His gaze softens and his flesh hand reaches upwards to remove the mask. It's then that you realise he has a scar over his left eye, something your Bucky never had and your hand unconciously moves towards it. He flinches, pulling back and you quickly stop yourself, muttering an apology.

He shakes his head, setting the mask down next to him and looks you in the eye. "I'm not the Bucky you know."

"The scar is a pretty obvious sign," you laugh nervously, fiddling with your costume.

"I mean it." He frowns, and his eyebrows knit together the same way your Bucky's did. His lips even curve to the same degree and you can't help but tear up. "I'm the Winter Soldier more than I am Bucky, especially after everything Hydra's done to me."

"R-right." Your throat is clogging up and the tears aren't helping. Fingernails dig into your palm as you try to suppress your emotions — showing weakness to someone within moments of meeting them is not a good impression to make. You swallow hard, blinking away the tears and sniff, looking away. "Sorry, all this is still taking some time to get used to."

"It — it's alright. Take however long you need, doll." The words just slip out, he can't help it. His heart threatens to shatter as memories of his time with his version of you flood his mind. The gentle touches, the heated kisses, the soft whispers that turn to sticky blood, the smell of smoke and ashes, the saltiness of his tears, the —

He pulls his mind out of the darkness with a shake of his head, gripping his metal arm with his flesh hand. This isn't the you he knows, this isn't the you he failed to protect, this isn't the you he broke his promise to. Still, when he looks at you he sees his doll, his beloved, his little dragon and he can't unsee it.

"What…is your Bucky like?" He asks softly, flesh hand inching closer to yours.

"The." You begin. "The Bucky in my universe —"

Tears flow freely no matter how hard you try to hold them in, clogging up your throat but you press on anyways. You owe it to his memory, to at least be able to recall them fondly, cherish the times you had together and press forward.

"He was someone who never let the cruelty of the world stop him from being the kindest person ever. He was broken, burdened by his past but he never gave up. He always pushed forward, strove to become better and that motivated me to be better myself. He always cherished me, looked at me as though I was the only one in the world, loved me with everything he had. Sure he had his dark moments but he always rose above them." You bite your lip hard, drawing blood. "Others always saw him as the Winter Soldier but I always just saw him as James Buchanan Barnes, Bucky, my entire world."

"You were my entire world too." The words fall from his lips as a whisper but you catch them all. "But I couldn't save you."

"I couldn't save you too." You give his hand a squeeze. "Seems like we're both terrible at protecting those closest to us."

He lets out a sad chuckle, lips quirking upwards ever so slightly. "So it seems."

The both of you sit in silence for a while, staring at the floor but it's a comfortable silence, something you haven't felt in a while ever since your Bucky died. It feels nice, even if it's with a different Bucky and you can't help but smile. He shifts a little closer, your shoulders brushing against each other and you stay like that. His thumb glides over the back of your palm, drawing little circles on your skin and you look up, huffing in amusement at how his lips curved into a genuine smile, the corners of his eyes creasing.

"I miss this," you murmur. "I've almost forgotten how it feels."

He hums in agreement, savouring the physical contact, your unnatural warmth a stark contrast to the coldness of his metal arm.

"What was the Y/N in your universe like?" You ask, curious. His gaze clouds with sorrow and you nearly take back your words but he begins talking.

"They were beautiful, handsome, strong, smart and everything in between. They could be reckless, hot-tempered, eager to fight but always fiercely protected others, even if it could cost them their life. They blazed so brightly it lit up everyone around them and yet burned so warmly it drove the chill away every time. They were an idiot, but they were my idiot and I wouldn't have traded them for anything." He lets out a huff, smiling as fond memories flit across his mind. "I wish I had more time with them."

"I feel the same way," you sigh wistfully, playing with the ring that sits on your finger. "But there's no going back to change the past. The only thing we can do is move forward and honour their memory, no matter how hard it is."

You stand up, exhaling deeply and turn around to face him, extending a hand. Your resolve hardens, forged by the fire that's been reignited inside you. "The way I'm going to do that is by fighting to save my universe with everything I have. The flames I was given will blaze through my enemies and I will protect my home no matter what. That is how I will honour my Bucky's memory. How will you honour your Y/N's memory?"

He looks up at you, lips parting in surprise then smiles, grasping your hand and standing up. "I suppose I'll just have to match their fire, won't I?"

You grin, lifting up a fist. "Looking forward to working with you once more, handsome."

He bumps your fist, ice blue eyes gazing fondly at you. "Right back at you, doll."

Blue flames burst forth as you smirk, curling around your forearm. "Don't you dare fall behind tomorrow or I just might have to carry on ahead by myself."

He laughs, the first one you've heard since coming to this Shibuya and it makes your chest grow warm. You can't help but smile at him as he lightly punches your shoulder with his metal fist, just like how your Bucky always did whenever he accepted any of your challenges.

"You're the one who needs to ensure they don't fall behind tomorrow. Don't forget, I'm stronger than your Bucky." He smirks, nudging you with his elbow. "Do try to keep up."

You laugh, nudging him back. "You're on."

Tomorrow is going to be fun, far more than you ever expected. Maybe having your relaxation day interrupted isn't so bad if it means being able to live in a dream for a little longer. The flames within you roar in agreement, eager to rise up to the challenge and you touch the ring on your finger.

Hey handsome. I'm sorry for losing sight of the person you saw in me. Your death hit me really hard, harder than I expected and I was lost. I didn't know what to do without you by my side, I only knew I was being swallowed by an endless abyss and a part of me had disappeared forever. But fate gave me a second chance in the form of whatever this is. I got to meet an alternate version of you who had lost their version of me. His metal arm is different, stronger even, no offense to yours, but in exchange Hydra had broken him more than you. Still, there's the same kindness and strength in him that I saw in you, so I know he will pull through it all just like you did. Don't miss me too much, we'll see each other again in due time and when we do, I'll have so many stories to share with you. Love you James.

[deadtired-highkeyenergetic]

cold hands in warm hands + hand kisses with my beloved bucky

Warnings: swearing, snow??

A/N: I see that you all like those grumpy x grumpy assholes. well here have some more of them

All it takes is one bad decision, and now the two of you are stuck in what has to be a walk-in freezer. Or maybe Siberia. Either way, it’s cold enough to regret every choice you’ve made today.

"You're not getting my jacket."

"Don't need it."

"Glasses are mine too."

"Don't need that either "

"Not givi--"

"I don't need your stuff," Bucky interrupts, rubbing a hand over his face. "I'm fine."

You’re too cold to argue, so instead, you stomp off to the corner of the freezer to rummage through empty boxes, hoping to find something remotely helpful. Nothing. Just the sound of Bucky’s boots crunching in the snow behind you, breathing down your neck like some clingy demon.

"You’re really looking for gloves?" he deadpans.

"Some of us don’t come with central heating."

He leans against the wall, arms crossed, looking like he’s impervious to the cold. Like this whole thing is a minor inconvenience and not, you know, a potential frostbite situation.

You don't respond, pulling out tins and empty boxes but nothing that can help warm your freezing fingers.

"Give me your hands," he mumbles.

"Get your own."

"You're gonna get frostbite."

"Promise?"

His eye twitches.

Half an hour later, you've turned away from him to hide the fact that you're blowing into your hands for any semblance of warmth.

"Just give me your hands," he sighs, clearly at the end of his patience.

"I’m fine," you grit out.

"You’re an idiot," he says instantly.

You send him the middle finger.

"Gonna be hard to flip me off once your fingers snap off."

You glare at him as he thrusts his flesh hand toward you, clearly daring you to refuse.

Reluctantly, you slap your hands into his, grumbling under your breath the whole time.

"Christ, your hands are fuckin' ice."

"Who's asking you to hold onto them," you snap, trying to tug them away.

"Quit movin'," he mumbles, tightening his grip. "I just said they were cold, nothing else."

Bucky's a space heater in human form. His hand radiates heat, almost immediately warming your fingers. You hate how good it feels. The additional heat the annoyance he provides you with also helps.

"Where'd the metal one go?"

"It's metal," he replies, tone flat. "What d'you think happens to metal in the cold?"

You narrow your eyes at him. "Pipe down, Mr Science. You're so fuckin' bitchy."

"Shut up," he groans, "Five minutes. That’s all I’m asking for."

Still, he stays where he is. The warmth from his hand is enough to have you regain feeling in your fingers, the sting of thawing making you wince.

"Give it," you demand after a moment.

"What."

You pry one hand loose of his, holding it out expectantly, sending an eyebrow at his metal hand that hung loose over his knee.

"What, one's not enough for you?" he evades.

"It's only fair," you argue.

"Fair? You think this is a democracy?"

"It's called paying it forward, asshole," you retort. "I'm not gonna let your one hand stay cold."

"No."

"It's so funny that you say that, because I don't remember asking."

"You’re cold enough as it is. It’d freeze your hands solid in seconds."

"Good to know you’re selectively useful," you mutter, but your voice is quieter now.

The two of you stare at each other, deadlocked, frost gathering in the air between you.

You pull your hands back.

"Christ alive, what are you? Six?"

"Either both hands are getting warm or neither are," you declare. "Cry about it. You've got both hands free to wipe your tears."

He sighs irritatedly.

You both sit in the cold, arms crossed over your chests.

"Give me your hands," he says, voice low.

"You first."

Finally, with a muttered curse, Bucky thrusts his metal hand at you. "Happy now?"

You clasp both his hands, and the two of you sit in sulky silence as the warmth slowly spreads.

You glance at him after a moment. "We look like we’re auditioning for Les Misérables."

He huffs a laugh, his breath freezing in the air.

Bucky lifts the arm holding his metal hand, and presses a kiss to your open palm, lingering for a second, before letting it down again.

"You argue too damn much," he mumbles.

The tips of your ears feel warm, and you don't think it's from the cold.

You roll your eyes, "You're the one who threw a hissy fit."

Either way, you shuffle closer to him as you wait for someone to come pick you both up.

[deadtired-highkeyenergetic]

saw your requests were open and i figured i would humbly aid 🫡

everyone is always like “oh! bucky with a golden retriever reader this! bucky with a sunshine reader that!” what about bucky with a reader who’s just as moody as he is??

no one ever writes two grumps together and i think it would be an interesting dynamic

Summary: It's New Years Eve and this man simply refuses to do anything but be a pain in your ass.

Warnings: cursing, alcohol

A/N: Sid. did you know. did you know that you're literally a genius. you're so right about grumpy x grumpy. i do not know if I have done this justice but I wrote this out on my phone because I like this request so much thank you for sending one in 😭❤️

New Year’s Eve is a migraine wrapped in tinsel and cheap champagne. You’ve seen too many years roll over into nothing to care anymore.

Doesn’t matter. You’re here because the bar’s open, and when someone says “open bar,” you take it as a challenge to see how open it can really be.

“What’ll it be?” the bartender asks.

“Whatever’s most expensive.”

He ducks under the counter, comes back with a bottle that looks more like a museum piece than alcohol. Fancy glasswork, gold lettering, the works.

He starts, “This one’s got notes of—”

“Let me see,” you interrupt.

The second the bottle’s in your hands, you turn and walk away.

He sputters behind you, but you wave him off. “Put it on the billionaire’s tab."

You snake through the crowd and confetti, nodding at a few familiar faces but not stopping for any. Emergency exit in sight, you take a seat where you can watch the chaos unfold while staying out of it.

"Pass the bottle."

You don't even bother looking at him as you respond, "Go steal your own."

"You took the most expensive one."

"Get another one."

"This is easier."

"Go fuck yourself."

"Real festive of you."

Still, despite your best efforts, he’s already taking a seat, uninvited.

You take another swig before passing the bottle to him without another word.

He glances at you. "Why are you here?"

"Well, it was quiet before someone showed up."

"Must'a really pissed you off," he says, tipping the bottle back.

God, Bucky was fucking annoying. But his cheeks are flushed pink and his sleeves are rolled up to his elbow.

"Why are you here?" you scowl.

"It's quiet," he replies, like just knows it'll make you mad. He's right.

"You’re in my space.”

“This isn’t your space.”

“I was here first.”

“Congrats. Want a medal?”

"Leave."

"No," he states, resolutely.

Bucky’s the human equivalent of a rock in your shoe—persistent, irritating, and impossible to ignore.

You feel face warm with irritation. "Where's your date gone?"

"Nat set me up, I've never met her before," he says, as though it’s the least surprising thing in the world. "Haven't seen her in thirty minutes."

"What, you couldn't brood your way into her pants?"

He gives you a dry, unimpressed look. "I don't kiss and tell."

"Doesn't look like you're doing any kissing at all," you scoff.

He tips the bottle back, takes a slow drink, then hands it to you. "You think about me kissing a lot?"

"I don't think about you."

He snorts, low and humorless, and you hate that it makes you want to laugh.

Bucky's fucking annoying. He's run his hand too many times through his hair, and there’s a smudge of something—lipstick, maybe—on his collar, and he's stretched out too damn much, like he's right at home.

He sends you a look. It makes you want to hide. You hate the way his eyes linger, like he’s waiting for you to flinch.

"Bottle," you demand.

He hands it over silently, crossing his arms over his chest, staring right ahead.

"How much longer?" he asks, checking his watch.

"You can leave."

"Sure can," he says, but doesn’t move.

"So leave."

"No."

You stare at him. "Find somewhere else to sit."

"No," he replies.

The minutes stretch. The bottle passes back and forth, your irritation simmering every time he exhales, every time he looks at you like he’s got something to say but doesn’t.

Bucky was fucking annoying. He smelt like expensive cologne and Tide detergent. His eyes are tired and his voice is scratchy. when he shifts beside you, it’s like he takes up more space than anyone has a right

He holds his hand out for the bottle. You give it to him.

"What are you gonna do at midnight?" he asks.

"Finish this bottle."

"What about after?"

"I'll get another one."

Bucky rolls his eyes. “That all?”

“Why do you care?”

“I don’t.” You glare at him, but he doesn’t flinch. He never does.

“Good."

His jaw’s tense, his eyes dark and sharp, and for a second, you think maybe he’s as pissed at himself as you are.

Silence falls. It’s not comfortable, but it’s not uncomfortable either. It’s just there. Like him.

"What’re you gonna do at midnight? Cry into whiskey?” you ask pointedly.

“I could, but you drank it all." He rolls his eyes.

There's a lot left. You give him the bottle. He takes it without a word, fingers brushing against yours.

Bucky takes a swig. “No one waiting for you at midnight?"

"Loads," you scoff. "Got a line out the damn door waiting to kiss me."

"Uh huh," be says.

There's silence.

You look at him, only for find him eyeing you.

“No one waiting for you?”

You scoff. “Why, you volunteering?”

He doesn’t answer right away, just studies you with those sharp, unreadable eyes. “Maybe.”

"Sure, Barnes, I'll kiss you at midnight," you drag sarcastically.

His face doesn't shift. Your brows furrow.

"Christ, you're bein' serious," you mumble.

He shrugs non committedly. "I could think of worse things to do."

"Wow," you say dryly. "Charming."

"Just sayin'."

With two minutes to go, you find that it's harder to look him in the eye. Your heart stumbles over itself, and you take another drink to cover the sudden heat crawling up your neck.

Either the whiskey was really starting to take hold, or the damn spirit of the damn season was getting to you.

"Look, I wasn't plannin' on asking anyone else," he says.

You raise an eyebrow.

"Do with that what you will," he says, taking a swig.

"What about your date?" you test.

"Don't think she remembers I exist."

You observe him. His shirt is unbuttoned, and his coat jacket lay on his lap. His bowtie also hung precariously from his neck.

Bucky was really fucking annoying. His hair is toussled and his stubble is rough and you're fairly certain his nose is sunburnt. You know this because you've been staring at him every day from the second he stepped foot in the compound, withdrawn and scowling.

It's late and you're tired of a lot of things and you're careless, so you stare too long. He catches you.

"What?" he bites.

"I'm assessing," you say, then add grudgingly, “You're not... terrible."

Which is a lie. He's beautiful. He's acutely aware of this on some days. Those days are harder for you.

He stares at you. "I can see why there's a line out the door for you."

"Go join them," you say. "I'll finally get some fuckin' quiet."

He exhales a short laugh. "No."

You can hear the crowd shouting numbers, but it’s distant, unimportant. Bucky’s eyes are on you, steady.

The crowd cheers.

Bucky's really fucking annoying.

But he kisses you like he's liked you all his life. Like he's real tired of waiting. It lingers just long enough to make your stomach flip when you realise he still tastes like whiskey.

When he pulls back, he doesn’t look smug. He doesn’t say anything at all. Just hands you the bottle and leans back like nothing happened.

His cheeks are red. His lips are swollen. He's never looked prettier in his damn life.

“Happy New Year,” you mutter, staring at the bottle because you can’t look at him.

“Sure,” he says, voice low, almost hoarse.

[deadtired-highkeyenergetic]

HIII, HOW ARE YOU

I was thinking if you could write Bucky's version of "Who did this to you" 🥰 Also, I love you writing so much! The way you describe things makes it so easy for me to imagine the scenes

a/n: hello my love! thank you for sending this in, I hope you like it<3

this is part of misery loves company but is just a stand alone fic. you don't need to read anything before this

warnings: blood and hurt, implications of violence and killin klg, hurt comfort, swearing

The longer you spend in this business, the more sleep feels like a favor the universe begrudgingly grants. Rest without nightmares is a luxury, and your salary simply did not budget for it.

So when it’s 3 a.m., and someone slips into your room without a word, you’re already awake before the light in your bathroom flickers on.

You hear the faint shuffle of movement, the sound of cabinets opening and closing. His silhouette moves inside, quiet and deliberate.

There’s no urgency to it, no noise loud enough to wake anyone else. He knows better than that. He just doesn’t know better than to pick your bathroom to raid.

Sighing, you push off the bed and head toward the bathroom.

The door creaks when you nudge it open, and he doesn’t even flinch. He’s still bent over the sink, head in your cabinet, his shoulders slumped like he’s half-asleep himself.

“Go to bed,” he mutters, his voice low and rough, not bothering to look at you.

“Sure, right after you get the fuck out of my bathroom," you reply, leaning against the doorframe. “You know there’s one in your room, right? Or did you get lost again?”

“Crazy. Here I was, thinking I’d take the scenic route,” he deadpans, pulling out a bottle and squinting at the label. “Must’ve missed my bathroom. Maybe it’s hiding behind a bookshelf or something.”

You roll your eyes and press a hand to his shoulder, shoving him aside as you rifle through the cabinet yourself. “Move. You’re just making a mess.”

Bucky doesn’t protest, just leans back against the wall with a sigh, watching as you shove aside bottles and boxes. When you finally find the first-aid kit, you shove past him with more force than necessary.

“Sit down.”

To your surprise, he obeys, perching on the edge of the bathtub. His silence almost irritates you more than his usual backtalk.

You crouch in front of him, ignoring the way his gaze follows your every movement as you pull out antiseptic wipes and gauze. You don’t want to look at him yet. You don’t need to see his face to know he looks like hell.

But when you finally glance up, it’s still worse than you expected.

If you hadn’t trained yourself to stay composed in the worst situations, your breath might’ve hitched. His lip is split, an eye swollen shut, cuts scattered across his face, and a dark trail of dried blood streaks from his nose to his jaw. The faintest smudge of crimson still lingers on his temple.

"What?" his voice comes out sharper, like he's testing you to see your reaction.

He sits too stiffly for it to just be his face—there are ribs involved, at the very least.

You don't grace him with a reply.

"I'm fine," he says, as if that’s enough to wave away the mess of him.

“Didn’t ask,” you reply flatly, though your jaw tightens.

“Did someone teach you how to be this kind, or is it a God-given talent?” he mutters dryly.

You don’t respond, ripping open a packet of antiseptic wipes and crouching in front of him.

“How’d your day go?” he drawls, voice flat but testing.

“We don’t have to do this.”

“God, the hospitality,” he drags, voice dry and cracked. "For a second there, I was worried bleeding out in your bathroom might make you care.”

“So fuckin' dramatic,” you breathe, swiping a wipe across his busted lip with a gentleness you hate admitting to. “You’re not bleeding out. And I don’t care."

The silence stretches as you clean him up. He doesn’t flinch—not at the antiseptic or the sting of your touch—but you notice his sharp intake of breath when you press a little harder on his ribs.

“Who did this?” you ask lowly, your tone sharp without meaning to be.

He exhales through his nose, something like a grunt. “Why? You plannin' on punching them for me?”

"If that'll keep you out of my damn bathroom at night."

His gaze flickers to you, sharp and unyielding, but you refuse to meet it, focusing instead on wiping the blood crusted beneath his nose.

Finally, he mumbles, “Doesn’t matter. Kids are safe."

“Good,” you say, but the word sticks in your throat like glass.

When you glance up, his good eye is already on you, his gaze sharper than it has any right to be. His breathing is steady, heavier than usual but not alarming. Whatever he’s looking for, you don’t know, but it’s enough to make you shift uncomfortably.

“I’m fine,” he repeats, softer this time, almost like he’s trying to convince you.

“Didn’t ask,” you mutter, though your hand slows for a fraction of a second before you move on to the next cut.

His lip quirks at that, the ghost of a smile. “Sure. Noticed."

When you move to dab at the cut above his brow, something in his hair catches your eye. Your fingers brush against it, and you pull the strand closer for inspection

That’s when you notice it—the small braid in his hair, crooked and messy, like it was done by clumsy hands.

You reach out before you can think better of it, fingers tugging gently at the braid.

"Who did this to you?” you ask again, this time biting back a smile.

“Don’t,” he mutters, ducking his head to pull away, but your hand finds his neck, stilling him. His skin grows warm under your hand.

“One of the kids?” you press, voice softer now.

He clears his throat, his cheeks flushing faintly. “The jet was too dark. They needed a distraction.” He pauses, as though considering how much to share. “Missed that one, I guess.”

Your thumb brushes his jaw as you inspect the braid, lingering a little too long. “Shame. It makes you look less hideous.”

Bucky huffs, more exasperated than offended. “You’re shit out of luck, then. Gotta put up with this mug as it is.”

You realize you’ve been staring too long when his eyes flick to yours. Clearing your throat, you drop your hands and reach for another wipe.

He leans back slightly, his gaze dragging over you. “You look like you’re about to punch someone.”

“Surprised there’s anyone left to punch.”

“There isn’t,” he replies breezily, though the weight of his words hangs in the air.

“Good, I don't have to waste my time cleaning up after you.” You swipe the antiseptic across his lip, slower this time, and your fingers linger a fraction longer than they should.

You don’t miss the way his gaze drops to your hands as you tear off another wipe, the way his jaw tightens when your fingers brush against his skin again.

“You’re happy you don’t get to punch anyone?” he asks, “Careful, or I might start thinking you care.”

You don’t answer, not with words. Instead, you press the antiseptic down just hard enough to make him wince.

Bucky hisses, but his lips twitch, and you hate how much you want to smile back.

Instead, you pack away the first aid kit and push it into his lap.

“Go to sleep,” you mutter, turning away.

“Sure thing,” he says, but when you glance back, he’s still sitting there, watching you like he’s not quite ready to leave.

Like maybe you don’t want him to.

"C'mon," you say quietly. "It's late."

He finally pushes himself off the tub, and drags himself silently to your bed.

[deadtired-highkeyenergetic]

No One Else

This idea came to me whilst I was lying on my bed so here you Bucky fans go! You're welcome! Reader has fire powers in this fic and it's set in an AU where Bucky lives in the Avengers Tower + goes on missions with them.

Summary: Your marriage proposal to Bucky doesn't quite go how you expected it to...

"Can't believe we're actually doing Operation: Rescue the Genius Billionaire." You twirl the knife in your hand, sliding it into its sheath as you stand up, stretching.

"You're the one who volunteered for it. And then proceeded to volunteer me," Bucky snorts, double checking his rifle. "You only have yourself to blame for this."

"Hey, this means we'll probably get to share his black card. Think of all the expensive things we could buy!" You laugh. "Or at least I hope we'll be able to."

"Did you just sign us up for a dangerous mission with no guaranteed reward?" Bucky shakes his head, ruffling your hair. "If either of us die on this mission I'm blaming you."

"Good thing we're both pretty hard to kill." You flash him a grin, moving to the door of the plane. It's almost at your destination and adrenaline is coursing through your veins. Blue flames flicker at your fingertips, ready to be unleashed at a moment's notice. You can't recall the last time you felt this excited to go on a mission, maybe it's the fact that you've been partnered up with your favourite super soldier after what feels like forever, maybe it's the fact that Tony is going to owe you a big favour after this, or maybe it's the thrill of the fight to come.

"Fortunately." Bucky hums, walking over to stand next to you. "The amount of stupidity you bring along on missions would've killed a normal person at least a hundred times over."

"Hey I'm blaming the influence a certain idiot has on me. You know, the idiot currently standing in the same plane as me because he couldn't turn me down." You feel Bucky place his hand on your back, patting you a few times before adding a little more force as the door opens and sends you flying out of the plane. Thousands of feet in the air without a parachute. This bastard.

A long string of swear words flow from your lips, spoken in every language you can think of and you swear Bucky is laughing from up inside the plane. You can picture it clearly, his lips quirking upwards, the mirth in his ice blue eyes, the pat on the back he definitely gave himself before diving out of the plane.

Oh.

You twist your body so that you face upwards just in time to see a figure diving towards you. More curses spill forth as said figure wraps his arms around you, grinning as if the both of you aren't falling through the air with no parachute in sight.

"You know you're not that light, right?" You grunt, resisting the urge to bite him.

"Pure muscle and a metal arm, doll." He flashes you a smirk as you try to pry the super soldier off you to no avail.

"If we both go splat on the ground it's your fault."

"Then you're just going to have to ensure that doesn't happen, doll. I'm counting on you." You hate it when he says those four words. It always makes you fold and he knows it.

"You — You're going to be the death of me someday," you scowl. He only laughs, brown hair fluttering in the wind as you both plummet towards the ground and you feel your chest grow strangely warm. Your heart pounds against the ribs that cage it, stomach flipping when his eyes meet yours, his gaze soft and carefree. "Don't regret relying on me."

"Do I ever?" His thumb brushes over your skin, electricity crackling at the contact and you nearly lose concentration. You swallow, pushing his face away and he laughs again, the sound a beautiful melody to your ears. Shoving your bubbling feelings down, you focus on your descent towards the ground that is coming up to meet you rather fast.

"Hang on tight!" Gathering the flames within you, you push them outwards via your feet and shoot towards the warehouse where Tony is being kept, adrenaline causing your lips to curl upwards into a maniacal grin. Blue flames roar around the both of you, under your firm control and devour the roof of the warehouse before it can even touch either of you.

"Look who finally decided to show up." Tony smirks, watching you and Bucky land in a fiery blaze next to him. "And with such a fiery entrance too, what a show-off."

"You're welcome." You roll your eyes, meeting Bucky's gaze. He nods, and you conjure a ring of flames around the three of you, pushing it outwards as he lunges at the nearest kidnapper. A quick flick of the wrist from you burns through the ropes holding Tony hostage and you turn your attention to the fight happening in front of you.

Dodging the swing of an electrified baton, you slam your foot into your attacker's chest, sending him stumbling backwards. Fire daggers follow suit, flying in his direction and he slams into the wall, slumping to the floor. Whirling around, you fire a blast of flame at someone who was trying to ambush Bucky from behind and throw up a flame wall to give the super soldier a moment of respite. He shoots you a glance and gives a signal before jumping through the blue wall of fire, unloading his rifle's magazine into the unfortunate souls in front of him. A quick reload later he spins around, taking aim and fires another barrage but this time around his bullets are reinforced by your flames, piercing through the air at a startling speed and hitting their targets.

It doesn't take long for the kidnappers to fall to the combined might of you and the Winter Soldier. Before long there's only three beings left standing in the warehouse — you, Bucky and Tony.

"Go team," Tony cheers sarcastically, clapping as he makes his way over. "Didn't expect either of you, really."

"You're welcome. Now as for payment, I'll take your black card for at least one week with no spending limit —" You're cut off as Bucky shoves you aside.

"Ignore the idiot. A helicopter is on its way to pick us up, it'll be here in fifteen." Bucky ignores the punches you're landing on his right shoulder and ruffles your hair.

"I'm the idiot? When you jumped out of the plane without a parachute?" You yelp, dodging his attempts to further mess up your hair.

"I knew you'd catch me. That's called trust, not idiocy."

"It's called idiocy when you dive straight at me in midair!"

"I knew you'd be able to create an entrance into the warehouse, I simply tagged along so we'd get here faster."

"We could have died if I couldn't conjure enough flame to send us both flying here!"

"But we didn't."

"That doesn't mean you're not an idiot! It just means I'm powerful enough, you idiot!"

"Maybe the idiocy is contagious. I think you've spread it to me, doll." He laughs, leaning out of the way of your punch. "We can be idiots together!"

"I'm not an idiot!" You tackle him to the ground which only causes him to laugh harder. He effortlessly blocks your fists, ice blue eyes twinkling with mirth before flipping you over, trapping you underneath his bulk.

"Don't worry doll, being an idiot isn't always a bad thing —"

"Get off me you oaf!" You howl.

Tony sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. "The two of you argue like a married couple, just get married already and spare the rest of us."

Bucky blinks, staring at Tony while you push him off you, climbing to your feet.

"Yeah so when are we getting married?" You run your fingers through your hair, stretching. He stares at you blankly, mouth opening and closing. You see his throat bob, his metal fist clenching and unclenching — his usual signs of nervousness and feel your heart plummet. He doesn't say anything, not a single word falls from his snarky tongue. Your attention quickly shifts to the helicopter that has arrived just in time to prevent a lengthy period of awkward silence but the ride back to the Avengers Tower is filled with tension that makes even Tony uncomfortable.

Once the helicopter lands, Bucky doesn't even try to help you down. He simple leaves, walking straight to his room and locks the door without speaking a single word to you. You watch as he leaves, barely hearing Tony's passing apology through the ringing in your ears and feel a pit growing in your stomach.

Is this it? After all that time spent cultivating this relationship with Bucky that you love and cherish, this is how it ends?

After taking a much needed shower, you collapse onto your bed, staring up at the ceiling. Did you overstep? Had you read your relationship wrong? Curling underneath your blanket, you swallow the tears that threaten to spill over, fingernails digging into the flesh of your palm. You want nothing more than to take it all back, to preserve your relationship with Bucky. It brought you so much joy, happiness, even if sometimes you didn't act like it did. You had cherished all the time spent with him, whether it was fooling around or going on missions, the only thing that mattered was the fact that you had someone to tease, banter with, be yourself with.

"Y/N?" A voice sounds from outside your room door. Bucky. "May I come in?"

You pause, gripping the sheets. Your heart thunders, anxiety gnawing away at you but your hand finds its way to the door handle and pulls the door open anyways. The brunette shifts anxiously then pulls out a box of your favourite snacks, offering it to you.

"A peace offering?" He bites his lip, gaze flicking to everywhere but you.

"Sure." The word clogs up your throat and you take the box, stepping to the side to let him in. Closing the door behind you, you gesture to the bed. "You can take a seat there."

He nods, taking his usual spot on your bed and you take your seat next to him. He plays with the hem of his shirt, Adam's apple bobbing and exhales sharply. "Did you mean it? When you asked when we were getting married?"

You blink, mouth opening and closing before giving a nod. "I did."

The words come out as a whisper, your chest constricting and tears begin to blur your vision. "I'm sorry I —"

"No, you didn't do anything wrong." Bucky reaches over, taking your hand in his. "It's just…are you sure about it? I'm not someone you should be stuck with for the rest of your life. You deserve someone better, someone who can give you the life you deserve, the family you seek. I can't give you any of that."

"So who do you think can?" You squeeze his hand, looking him in the eye. "Tony? Steve?"

"Tony would be a pretty good choice. He's handsome, rich, can take care of you —"

"Yeah sure Tony is handsome. But he's not the one I call handsome, is he?" You lean in. "You're the one I call handsome."

"That — that's because —" His cheeks redden and he looks away, embarrassed.

"You're the one I want, not Tony, not Steve, not anyone else. I know what I'm getting into, proposing to you but I want this. I've never been more sure of anything in my life, I know I want you in my life forever, to be by my side forever, to intertwine my fate with yours and be yours as much as you are mine. I know the burdens you carry, you know the burdens I carry, and I'm willing to help you shoulder yours, if you will let me." You gently turn his face towards you, earnestly looking into his ice blue eyes. He locks gazes with you and you see the tears that have started to form.

"Will you?"

He blinks and tears start to flow down his cheeks. You simply continue to hold onto his hand and feel him squeeze yours.

"If you will have me."

You beam, pulling him in for a kiss that he returns with a hungry desperation and feel his metal arm wrap around you.

"Of course I will," you whisper breathlessly, breaking the kiss for air. "I love you, James."

"I love you too, Y/N." He cups your cheek with both hands, metal and flesh thumb brushing over your skin then presses his forehead against yours, closing his eyes.

"This wasn't how I expected my proposal to go, really. I had something way better planned out but Tony had to just go and ruin it." You chuckle softly and he smiles.

"You can propose to me again, doll. I don't mind."

"I'd quite like to get married, thank you very much handsome." You boop him on the nose, laughing at the way he wrinkles it immediately.

"So, Tony's black card?" He queries, ruffling your hair.

"Of course. We're going to put the wedding tab on him, on top of a few other valuable items as payment for rescuing him. He can't say no, not after he told us to get married." You grin, swatting his hand away before your hair can get messed up even further. "I can't wait to choose all the most expensive options."

Bucky huffs in amusement, catching your hand and presses a kiss to your palm. "I can't wait to get married to you. You're the only one for me, no one else."

"You're the only one for me," you echo, smiling. "No one else."