mcrdvcks

[mcrdvcks]

smth about you being a virgo is just so right… like only a fellow virgo can write such delicious things…i’m obsessed

i'm glad someone thinks i'm virgo enough, lol. sometimes when i tell people in person that i'm a virgo they think i'm lying for some reason. like, nope, i am infact a virgo!

[mcrdvcks]

SPIDER-MAN: BRAND NEW DAY

[mcrdvcks]

aweeee, thank you for reading!! i'm so glad you liked it, and that line from bucky, as well as reader thinking it later on when the call came in saying bucky was injured and she thought about how he became your person, not knowing they both came to that realization🥺

two sugars

chapter summary: As the Avengers team medic it's your job to take care of everyone. So why does Bucky feel like he gets special treatment? Surely a medic wouldn't know the exact way he likes his tea. word count: 4.0k+ pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!reader notes: this is sometime post civil war but the avengers are a big happy family :) i just love the idea of medic!reader, and a reader who take cares of bucky even when he thinks he doesn't deserve it warnings/tags: medic!reader, mentions of violence, mentions of blood/injuries, fluff, angst, possible inaccurate depictions of medicine

The quinjet’s rear ramp hissed open onto the compound’s flood-lit tarmac. Everyone scattered toward post-mission routines—Thor to the kitchen, Natasha to the debrief, and Tony already complaining about “arrow residue” in his repulsors. Bucky tried to drift with the crowd, jacket pressed close to hide the dark bloom seeping through his side.

“You can limp faster than that, Barnes.”

You fall into step beside him, sweatshirt sleeves shoved to your elbows, med bag bumping your hip. Bucky answered with his best frown. “Took a scratch, that’s all.”

“Scratch?” You tugged the jacket hem and the fabric stuck to his ribs with an audible peel. “That’s shrapnel and at least two stitches.”

“Good thing I only need one.”

“Math is not your strong suit tonight. Med bay—now.”

He could’ve kept walking, you’d seen him yank bullets with pliers before. But the way you were already cataloging his breathing, the way your fingers hovered without quite touching—something in him unclenched. So he followed.

---

Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead as you snapped on gloves, murmuring absent comfort. “Top bunk’s free if you need to crash after.” Bucky eased onto the exam table, metal fingers curling off the edge.

“You really hate me, don’t you?” he grumbled while you cut away the ruined shirt.

“I don’t hate you,” you said, then winced theatrically. “I just hate that you treat medical like a voluntary suggestion.”

“That’s a lot of sugar-coating for ‘pain in my ass.’”

“Sugar-coating? You take two sugars in your tea.” You sterilized the wound, and he hissed. “Hold still.”

He did, but only because you asked. Because the gentle press of your palm over gauze was somehow louder than the sting of antiseptic. Because—though he’d never admit it—he trusted those hands more than the vibrating hum in his own metal arm.

“Shrapnel’s shallow,” you said finally, suturing. “You’ll live to brood another day.”

“Lucky me.”

You tied the final knot, slapped a gauze pad over it, then—softly—tapped his knee. “Go shower. I’ll re-dress it in the morning.”

“Thought you were off tomorrow.”

“Barnes, I saw you take that hit through a concrete wall. I’m not clocking out until I know you didn’t bleed through the mattress.”

He opened his mouth—some dry retort about over-caring—but you were already disinfecting the tray, back turned, humming off-key.

---

Bucky padded into the kitchen wearing sweats with damp hair, intent on pilfering chamomile. The compound was dark but for the fridge glow and the soft blue of tablet screensaver fish.

A lone mug waited by the kettle. Steam coiled up, lazy with two sugars stirred in.

There was a sticky note with your handwriting: “For not bleeding on the mattress. —Night watch”

He stared and noticed the tiny doodle of a star in the corner with five uneven points. The soft spot in his chest, poorly armored, thudded once.

He made himself a second mug—because the first felt too much like you standing there—and carried both down the hall.

---

The only light came from the vitals monitor you’d dragged over “just in case.” You were slumped in the visitor chair, hoodie hood halfway over your face, but awake—eyes on the empty bunk you assumed he’d take.

Bucky set the untouched mug on the table and slid the other toward you. “I figured you could use a refill.”

You blinked up, sleep-rough voice. “I thought you hated chamomile.”

“Growing on me.”

A beat. Then your gaze dropped to the clean bandage at his ribs, then to the tea. “Vitals look good,” you said quietly. “Pain level?”

“Manageable.” He nudged your foot with his socked one. “Go sleep in a real bed.”

You made a face. “Orders?”

“Suggestion.” His mouth twitched. “I hear those are optional.”

You laughed—soft, tired, the sound a little cracked around the edges. But you stood, stretching. “Fine. Wake me if it starts hurting worse.”

He saluted lazily. “Yes, doc.”

Before you left, you hovered in the doorway, studying him like another chart to file. Bucky lifted the mug in thanks.

When the door whispered shut, he exhaled into the quiet. The compound was never truly silent—vents sighing, arc reactor pulse traveling the pipes—but tonight it felt close. Close enough that he could hear the scrape of your chair being pushed into a corner, the distant thump of your sneakers heading for the dorm wing.

He took a sip. Too sweet, like always. But he didn’t mind.

Across the room, the monitor’s soft beep kept time with his heartbeat—steady, unhurried. Unusually calm.

Maybe he’d never say it out loud, maybe you’d never ask, but the truth sat warm in his hands—for someone who used to be a weapon, he was surprisingly okay being someone’s patient.

And maybe, just maybe, you were becoming the safest place he’d ever been patched back together.

He lay back, closed his eyes, and let the steady beep carry him toward sleep. No dreams, no ghosts—just chamomile with two sugars cooling on the bedside table.

---

When you walked into the kitchen, Wanda was already massaging her temples. Before you could ask why, she spoke. “Apparently, Clint’s midnight snack was the last of Thor’s Pop Tarts.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow from the coffee machine. “That man has a death wish.”

You shrugged out of your hoodie, sleepy grin in place. “‘Again’ has to be implied. What flavor?”

“Frosted cherry,” Wanda muttered, as if reciting a crime scene. “Thor’s favorite.”

Bucky whistled. “Clint better start running now.”

You laughed, then popped open the cabinet beside him and grabbed a mug—one of the few without cracks or Stark-brand snark printed on it. You poured coffee for yourself, then, almost absently, reached around and refilled Bucky’s too. Two sugars and a quick stir. Your left hand remained braced on the counter while your right did the pouring. He noticed the way you didn’t ask if he wanted more—you just did it, then dropped a tiny packet of vitamin C gummies next to his mug like it belonged there.

He blinked. “Uh… thanks.”

“Breakfast of champions.” You nudged the gummies closer. “Take those.”

Wanda smirked into her own cup. “Mother hen back at it?”

“Hush,” you said without heat, already fishing in the fridge. You snagged strawberry jam—he liked that brand, the one with whole berries—and set it next to the toaster before sliding two slices of rye into it, same as last time.

Bucky’s eyes flicked to Sam and Steve, who were locked in an animated debate over training schedules and paying zero attention to you. No one else seemed to be getting stealth-medic treatment.

The toast popped. You buttered it, then passed the plate his way. “Eat. Protein shake later if you’re still looking pale.”

“I’m not pale,” he muttered.

You tapped the inside of his right wrist, just where yesterday’s IV line had been. “Humor me.”

Steve reached for the jam and found an empty spot—your hand was there first, sliding it to Bucky. Steve redirected to peanut butter without comment.

Bucky sipped. Sweet, perfect. “You remember how I take it?”

You shrugged. “Memory’s my job.”

“Don’t see you memorizing Clint’s coffee,” he mumbled.

“What was that?”

“Nothing.” He bit into the toast.

Thor stormed in then, cape swinging. “Who has eaten the sacred pastries of Pop-Tart?” he bellowed.

Clint darted behind Vision like a toddler hiding behind a sofa. Chaos erupted—Wanda sighing, Vision tilting his head, and Tony strolling in with an energy bar and an amused grin.

You, unfazed, passed Bucky two ibuprofen tablets, whisper-soft: “Take with food.” Then you patted his left shoulder once, and crossed the room to break up Thor’s thunderous rant before it hit Category Five.

Bucky watched you go, tablets warm in his palm. Nobody else got those taps, that quiet voice.

Steve elbowed him. “You spacing out?”

Bucky slid the pills into his mouth and chased them with sweet coffee. “Just thinking.”

“Anything good?”

He watched you over by the fridge, coaxing Thor into accepting a toaster strudel peace offering. You glanced back once, checked the bandage line beneath his tee, subtle as blinking, then returned to the thunder god.

“Yeah,” Bucky said. “Good.”

Sam squinted. “Why’re you smiling like that?”

Bucky’s face smoothed. “I’m not.”

Steve chuckled. “Sure, pal.”

The kettle hissed again—fresh water. You were already setting out a chamomile bag beside it. Just one cup this time. For him. Bucky swallowed more toast and decided maybe gummies at 0800 weren’t so bad.

---

Tony paced, ranting about arrow residue again while you stood on a step-stool rewiring Bucky’s prosthetic calibration dock.

“This will cut recharge time by half,” you told him, finishing with a screwdriver flourish. “Left side ports were overheating.”

Tony paused. “You don’t do house calls for my suits.”

You shrugged. “Your suits don’t bleed.”

Bucky’s throat tightened. He flexed the metal fingers experimentally and they were already smoother.

---

You nearly collided with him outside the med bay, arms full of supply boxes.

“Need a hand?” he asked.

“Sure.”

He took the heavier crate with his left arm while you kept the lighter. Inside, you labeled shelves while he stacked gauze packs. “Dinner?” you asked without looking up. “Kitchen has turkey chili. I set aside a bowl, no beans.”

He stilled. “You remembered that?”

“Try forgetting a thirty-minute rant about legume betrayal,” you teased.

He coughed, embarrassed. “Wasn’t a rant.”

You just smiled, scribbling a date on a vial.

He noticed: no one else had personalized bowls waiting. No one else’s preferences pinned to sticky notes.

---

Bucky exited the shower, his shoulder stiff. You were leaning against his door with a pill bottle in hand. “Forgot your evening dose,” you whispered. “Take with water.”

He accepted it. “You chasing everyone around like this?”

“Only the stubborn supersoldier who forgets he’s breakable.”

A beat hung between you. He swallowed the pill and handed the bottle back. “Thanks,” he said, soft.

You patted his metal wrist—short, warm contact that didn’t clang like steel should. “Sleep. I’ll check the bandage tomorrow.”

You pushed off the wall, heading for your quarters. Bucky watched you go, mind replaying the day’s subtleties: the mug, the toast, the custom dock fix, the bean-free chili, the midnight meds.

He’d been trained to notice patterns—threat vectors and escape routes. Tonight, all he saw were gentle fingerprints no one else seemed to receive.

He brushed the healing edge of his sutures, feeling the ghost of your careful pressure. The soft spot inside his chest thudded, confused.

With a quiet sigh, he stepped into his room, door sliding shut behind him. The compound settled, vents humming. Somewhere down the hall, your laugh floated out of a late-night movie with Wanda.

He found himself smiling at the sound—unbidden, uncomplicated—then shook his head, still not quite understanding why any of it felt different.

But he noticed. Oh, he noticed.

---

The mission had been small. Routine, even. Just recon, in and out. But somehow, recon turned into a shootout, the shootout turned into a building collapse, and the building collapse turned into Bucky sitting on a gurney again, shirtless, with dried blood streaked down his spine.

You weren’t saying anything.

That was the part that made him nervous.

You were always talking. Even if it was just quietly—nagging, joking, grumbling about the lack of gauze. But now you were just… cleaning.

“I’ve had worse,” he offered.

Your latex gloves snapped as you peeled them off and tossed them into the waste bin. “You didn’t say you were hit,” you said flatly. “You walked off the quinjet, sat through debrief, and then I found out from Steve that there was blood on your back.”

Bucky’s mouth opened, then closed. “…It didn’t feel like a big deal.”

You grabbed a new pair of gloves, and didn’t even meet his eyes.

He winced. “Okay, maybe not the best choice of words.”

“I’m not mad,” you said, finally stepping forward with fresh antiseptic. “I just—if there’s something wrong, I need to know. That’s literally my job.”

“I know,” he said. Then quieter, “Didn’t want to make a fuss.”

Your fingers slowed. You sighed. “You never do. That’s the problem.”

The sting of antiseptic burned, but he didn’t flinch. Just watched you—how focused you were, how your brow furrowed when you worked, how you used your bare palm to gently steady his vibranium shoulder without hesitation.

---

Bucky wandered in, shirt finally replaced, hair still damp. You were at the stove, humming. Something savory simmered in a pot, and when you turned, your expression softened. “Sit. You look like hell.”

“I feel like it,” he muttered.

You slid a plate across the counter. Roast chicken, soft rolls, roasted potatoes. All stuff he actually ate. You didn’t even ask.

“No peppers?” he said quietly.

You shot him a look. “I learn.”

He glanced toward Wanda, who was eating leftover takeout. Sam was microwaving a burrito. Steve had a protein shake. Natasha wasn’t even around.

Just you, making an entire meal—for him.

“Did you… cook this just for me?” he asked before he could stop himself.

You didn’t answer right away. Just poured him water, nudged it toward him, and said, “you didn’t eat after the mission. Figured you’d need something.”

That was all.

No smile, no brag. Just facts.

He stared at the plate. Then the water. Then you.

And suddenly, it clicked. Really clicked.  You didn’t do that for anyone else. He watched as you turned back to the stove, scooping out a second helping for him without asking.

---

“Left arm up.” You raised your voice slightly over the compound’s gym speakers, watching Bucky jog to a halt near the sparring mats. He’d been training with Sam—light footwork drills, nothing too intense—but you’d caught the wince when he landed on the wrong foot. Twice.

Bucky didn’t argue. Just stood still while you tugged his sleeve up past his elbow. The metal gleamed under the overhead lights, scuffed from friction burns. You pressed your fingers to the joint just above his wrist.

“Feels fine,” he said, too quickly.

You didn’t look at him. “You ever consider letting me finish an exam before making declarations?”

“Not really.”

You held out your hand. “Knife.”

He blinked. “What?”

“Back of your waistband, Barnes. Don’t pretend it’s not there.”

With a grunt, he pulled the hidden blade and handed it over. You set it beside the med kit you’d brought out for him, then gently tilted the arm back and forth, checking the rotation.

“I adjusted the resistance last week,” you murmured, mostly to yourself. “Feels like it’s dragging again. Could be a wiring imbalance.”

“You’re the only one who notices stuff like that,” he said before he could think better of it. You glanced up. He didn’t move. “…I mean,” he continued, “I don’t think Tony even knows how this part works. But you always—”

“That's because you clench your fingers when you're in pain,” you interrupted, like it wasn’t a big deal. “Metal doesn’t bruise, but tension still shows.”

You flexed his hand slowly with both of yours, checking the motor response. Warm hands on cold vibranium.

Across the gym, Sam watched for a beat before wisely deciding now was the time to disappear.

---

He came back from the shower and found the bandage drawer in his bathroom neatly restocked. Same with the small jar of the eucalyptus balm you’d quietly started using on the nerve scars along his shoulder. He never asked for it. Never mentioned when it ran out. But there it was.

A sticky note sat on the lid, folded in half.

“Start with a thin layer. Don’t overdo it or you’ll smell like a tree. —Y/N”

Underneath was a doodle of a tiny pine tree with a frowny face sat in the corner. He set it down, sat on the edge of the bed, and rubbed his hand over his face.

You were everywhere, quietly.

In the gym, reminding him to stretch after missions. In the kitchen, always placing the sugar on his side of the table. In the med bay, adjusting the light so it wouldn’t buzz when he sat under it. In the way Wanda handed him a book and said, “Y/N thought you’d like this one.”

You never called attention to any of it. Never asked for anything back.

And somehow, it all hit him right now, in the silence of his own damn room.

You weren’t just being kind.

You were being kind to him.

He leaned back against the wall, staring at the ceiling like it had answers. The balm sat next to him, untouched.

And suddenly, all he could think was: When did I start needing her?

Not just the medical part. Not just the stitches and the vitamins and the “take your painkillers or I’ll sedate you myself” threats.

But you.

All of it.

He grabbed the sticky note again, turning it over in his hand.

Then grabbed the balm, because yeah, maybe he did smell like a tree. But if it meant you’d still be hovering nearby tomorrow, clipboard in hand and eyes soft with concern?

He didn’t mind at all.

---

You were in the med bay, updating reports and reorganizing supplies. Calm, routine stuff. A protein bar sat on a napkin next to your tablet, but you hadn’t even taken a bite.

The team had been deployed on a perimeter sweep near Budapest—low threat, minimal risk. You hadn’t worried… until the comm crackled to life.

“Y/N.” It was Steve. His voice was tight. “We need med bay prepped. ETA fifteen minutes.”

You were already standing. “What happened?”

There was a pause. “Bucky’s hit. Left side. Took a hit shielding Nat from debris. We’ve stabilized him, but he’s not great.”

Not great.

Your stomach dropped. “Vitals?”

“Still with us. But you’ll need to dig deep.”

You were already moving. Vitals cart on, sterilizers heating, IVs prepped, and sutures laid out. You opened the drawer with the trauma shears and had to stop—both hands braced on the metal edge as your throat locked tight.

A cold rush of adrenaline prickled your skin.

He’s still with us.

But “not great” was a hell of a distance from okay.

You scrubbed your hands, twice, and blinked hard. A few tears fell anyway, streaking silently down your cheeks before you wiped them off and pulled your gloves on. No time for panic. No time for feelings.

You weren’t his person. But somewhere along the line, he’d become yours.

---

The rear ramp dropped. Tony hovered in with the stretcher as Sam helped guide it. Natasha’s jaw was set, her hands smeared with blood—his blood.

And there he was.

Unconscious. Pale. Lips slightly parted like he was stuck in a breath. His vibranium arm was twitching involuntarily.

You snapped into motion. “On the table—now. Hook up the monitor. Nat, give me the full report while I—damn it, someone get this vest off.”

Natasha rattled off the damage as you cut open the combat suit. Shrapnel through the lower left ribs. Vascular trauma. Debris burn across the shoulder. One lung likely bruised.

“Vitals are dropping,” Steve muttered. “Y/N—”

“I know.” You clamped gauze to the worst bleeder, then barked, “Steve, scrub in or get out.”

The room cleared fast.

You didn’t notice your hands trembling until you felt the blood pooling under your glove, hot and sticky. You dug in anyway.

---

He was stable. Bandaged and hooked up to monitors. His chest rising and falling, slower now. Normal. You sat beside him, stripped of your gloves and gown, hands raw from scrubbing, and eyes blurry.

You hadn’t left. Hours had passed. Everyone else had, but not you.

“You okay?” His voice rasped through the quiet.

You startled, looking up—Bucky’s eyes were half-lidded but open, watching you.

You sniffed, tried to smile. “You’re awake.”

“Wouldn’t miss it.” You exhaled, shoulders dropping. He blinked slowly. “Your eyes are red.”

You rubbed your sleeve across your face. “Long day.”

His brow furrowed. “Y/N.”

“I’m fine.”

“You were crying.”

“No, I—”

“Sweetheart,” he murmured, low but steady. His vibranium arm, clumsy but precise, reached up and caught your hand. Gently tugged.

You tried to resist, just a little.

“C’mere.”

You let him pull you. One second you were sitting stiffly in the chair, the next you were curled against his good side, your forehead tucked under his jaw, cheek pressed to the edge of his shoulder.

He held you. A warm, real, heartbeat under your ear.

“I told you not to be a hero,” you whispered into his collar.

“Wasn’t trying to be. Just saw Nat about to get flattened.”

“You took a rebar to the ribs, Barnes.”

“Still breathing, aren’t I?”

You let out a weak laugh—half sob, half laugh. His hand came up and cradled your head gently before he pressed a kiss to your hairline. “I’m okay.”

“You weren’t,” you said, voice cracking. “Not for a while. You weren’t.”

His hand never stopped stroking your hair. “But I am now. Because you’re here.”

You gripped his shirt harder, hiding your face. “Don’t do that again.”

He didn’t say anything. Just held you closer. And for the first time in hours—maybe longer—you finally let yourself fall apart. And he didn’t let go.

---

The med bay was quieter than usual.

Bucky was sitting up now, monitors off, bandages fresh. He’d been cleared for light movement earlier that morning, and now he sat on the edge of the bed, tugging awkwardly at the edge of his hospital tee like it was itching.

You leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching him. “Looks like you’re getting ready to make a break for it,” you said lightly.

He looked up, lips twitching. “If I had my boots, I might try.”

“You’d make it about ten feet before collapsing.”

“Worth it.”

You pushed off the frame, stepping into the room. There was a new cup of tea in your hand—same chipped mug, same two sugars. You set it down beside him on the table without a word.

Bucky stared at it for a second, then up at you. “I’m getting the feeling you’re trying to fatten me up,” he said.

You shrugged. “Easier target.”

That earned a quiet laugh. He picked up the mug and sipped, but his gaze didn’t leave you. “You didn’t sleep,” he said after a beat.

You blinked. “I did.”

He gave you a look. “Y/N.”

You sighed. “Okay, maybe not a lot.”

“You stayed with me. Again.”

“I always stay with patients.”

“No, you don’t.”

Silence. He set the mug down, slow and deliberate, and reached for your wrist—not fast, not demanding, just enough to make you stop retreating. You let him take your hand.

“I remember,” he said quietly. “When I woke up. You were crying.”

You swallowed. “You were bleeding out. I didn’t know if I was gonna lose you.”

“You didn’t.”

“I could’ve.”

His thumb brushed over your knuckles. “But you didn’t.”

Your breath hitched. “I can’t lose you, Buck,” you said, barely above a whisper. “I can’t.”

He tugged gently, pulling you between his knees, one hand still cradling your fingers, the other resting lightly against your hip.

“You’re not gonna,” he murmured. “I’m not going anywhere. Not from you.”

Your eyes were glassy again. “You say that like it’s easy.”

“It is,” he said. “Now it is. Because this—” his vibranium hand tapped his chest, just above the fresh bandage “—hurts like hell. But not half as bad as seeing your face when I woke up.”

Your breath caught.

And then he leaned up, slowly, giving you every chance to pull away.

You didn’t.

Your lips met his—warm, careful, steady. Like a promise being made in real time.

When you pulled back, your forehead stayed pressed to his. His eyes were half-lidded, the ghost of a smile tugging at his mouth.

“You kiss all your patients?” he whispered.

You let out a breathy laugh. “Only the ones who try and disobey medical orders.”

He grinned, a little crooked. “I wasn’t gonna disobey.”

You arched a brow. “Liar.”

He kissed you again. This time a little firmer, more sure. And when you pulled away again, his arms wrapped around your waist, keeping you close.

“Stay a little longer?” he asked.

“Yeah,” you said softly. “Yeah, I’ll stay.”

[mcrdvcks]

ooooh, i love it so much. i love nerdy!bucky because it's pretty much canon - bucky said he read the hobbit in 1937 when it first came out, BUT it wasn't published in the u.s. until 1938. which means this man had it shipped from the uk just to read it. if that's not a nerd, i don't know what is

he tried to pull back for air, for sanity. "w-wait—" he gasped against your lips, "the— the assignment— pavlov— you n-need to—" you cut him off with another kiss. one hand slid from his face down to fist in the fabric of his shirt over his pounding heart. "shhh," you breathed against his mouth. "shut up, james." you kissed him again, deeper. your body presses him harder against the door. "just kiss me. stop thinking so much, genius."

i don't know anything about psychology, or therapy, or... whatever this man is saying, but i'd let you teach me bucky. we might need multiple sessions because we're not gonna get anything done

you cut him off with a kiss, "shut up, jamie," you shifted your hips against his hand, increasing the pressure. "kiss me. touch me. that's the only response i care about right now." he whimpered. the mention of the assignment died instantly. "okay," he rasped, surrendering completely. "okay." he kissed you again, deeper and messier this time.

i need him to whimper in my ear—sorry, what?

distractions - bucky barnes

nerdy!bucky barnes x cheerleader!reader

summary. when you asked for help, bucky the genius was more than willing to help you out with your assignment. you definitely had no underlying motive. none at all. 3k words.

cw. um.. fingering/rubbing. heavy makeout. a little bit of dry humping/grinding. some nipple play. touching?? i dunno i think that's it. minors dni

a/n. hey guys. this was supposed to be a drabble while i work on the long fic. this is like a fun little fic i have that teases some stuff in that long ass prequel. also is 3k words long for short fic? idk if this classifies as a short fic or not. this is really just.. because i was bored. absolutely not proofread.

taglist. @54nboo @demiebarnes @kararchives @1dluver13xx @devililithh @iownguns @loki-licious-945ad @ruexj283 @henrywinterreincarnate @biggestfangirl @buckybuckybuckysstuff @mrsalexstan @pretty-girl-rock-3 @riot-sounds @ambervanth @hiraethmae @btwbaureidrc @overwintering-soldier @fluorjscent @sweetserendipity65

sorry if i missed anyone! just remind me in the comments :) /nf

masterlist

bucky was hunched in his fortress – the corner table 27 paces diagonally across the main aisle. completely engrossed in a massive tome on cognitive neuropsychology. the world had narrowed to the page, the dance of neurons and behaviours.

you moved like a ghost through the stacks and shelved in your red, white, and blue of your cheer uniform. your sneakers made no sound against the floor, not that he'd ever notice when he was nose deep into a book.

you reached his table, standing right behind his chair, watching the focus in the set of his shoulders under his grey cardigan, the way his dark hair flopped over his forehead.

a slow smile curved your lips. you leaned down for a split second before you placed both hands firmly on his shoulders and whispered, "boo!"

he yelped – a short, almost inaudible sound that broke through the library quiet – jerking violently in his chair like you'd just tried to rob him, causin the pen to go flying from his fingers.

"jesus-" he whipped his head around, eyes wide with genuine alarm.

then he saw you. trouble. the uniform, the smile on your face, the proximity between you two.

instant. nuclear. meltdown.

a tide of red flooded his face, sweeping from his hairline down his cheeks. even his ears.

he stared, mouth agape, poleaxed. "y-you!" he stammered, voice too loud before he remembered where he was and clamped his mouth shut, looking around to see if anyone noticed. "w-what... you scared me!"

"mission accomplished," you grinned, letting your hands slide slowly off his shoulders, feeling the tension in the muscles beneath the cardigan.

you pulled out the chair beside him and sat down, leaning close. you purposely let your knee brushing his under the small table. "missed me, smartypants?"

he flinched at the contact, pulling his knee back an inch, but couldn't tear his gaze away from yours. "i... uh... was... working," he managed, gesturing weakly at the pile of textbooks on the table. "concentration... requires... quiet." his blush deepened impossibly.

"oh, i'll be quiet," you murmured. you saw his breath hitch. "mostly. actually... i need your genius brain."

you pulled out a crumpled sheet of paper – a psychology worksheet on classical conditioning you'd barely glanced at.

"this assignment's kicking my pom-poms. pavlov? salivating dogs? rings a bell, but..." you shrugged, batting your eyelashes just a little because you know that drives him wild. "help a girl out?"

bucky stared at the paper like it was radioactive. then back at your face, then down at your knee close to his again. he swallowed hard enough to make his adam's apple bob.

"i... uh... pavlovian conditioning... it's... fundamental," he stammered, pushing his glasses up nervously with a knuckle shove.

"s-sure. i can... explain. sit." he gestured vaguely to your chair, as if you weren't already sitting. "the neutral stimulus... paired with the unconditioned stimulus..." he trailed off, his eyes snagging on the way the red and blue fabric of your uniform top stretched across your shoulder.

you let him flounder for a few seconds, watching the blush spread and the stammer worsen. then you sighed dramatically, checking the slim watch on your wrist.

"oh, shoot. look at the time." you stood up abruptly, the chair scraping loudly against the floor. his head snapped up, filled confusion and lingering panic from the successful attempt at scaring him. "cheer practice. coach sarah'll have my head on a pike if i'm late for drills. ugh, more conditioning,"

he just blinked, still processing your movement. "b-but... the assignment?"

"right!" you leaned down, bracing one hand on the table near his elbow, putting your face level with his. you saw his pupils dilate slightly behind his lenses.

"how about... you come by my dorm? say... in two hours?" your voice was low, smooth, holding his gaze.

"you know where my room is. hawthorne hall. you can explain the whole... salivating thing... properly. and privately." you let the implication hang. your smile is pure, innocent trouble. "much quieter than here. fewer... distractions."

bucky froze. completely. the blush wasn't just on his face now; it seemed to engulf his entire fucking body.

he stared at you, lips slightly parted. his genius brain had visibly short-circuited. the invitation, the location, your proximity in that fucking uniform, the suggestive tilt of your head – it overloaded his system.

he opened his mouth. closed it. swallowed again. "y-your... dorm?" he squeaked.

"mmhmm," you hummed, straightening up but not breaking eye contact. "two hours. psychology tutoring. strictly academic. you know the drill." yet your tone was anything but academic. "you'll be there, right, jamie? my smartypants saviour?"

he was still staring, stunned, caught between terror and a dawning, flustered awareness. the stammer was gone, replaced by shock.

finally, he managed a nod, his gaze dropping to your lips for a fraction of a second before snapping back to the safety of his textbook. "i... uh... yes. okay. i... i'll be there." the words came out rough, and barely audible.

"perfect," you smiled. you gave his shoulder one last squeeze. "don't be late. or i might start salivating out of sheer boredom." you turned, the vibrant colors of your uniform flashing against the dull colour of the books around him.

this leaves him sitting in his chair with face burning and heart pounding out of his chest, staring blindly at pavlov's dogs on the sheet of paper you left while the scent of your vanilla shampoo and the promise of room 312 in the hawthorne hall hung heavy in his mind.

the library fortress felt suddenly very small, and the path to your dorm loomed large and exciting.

bucky stood outside room 312 of hawthorne hall. his heart hammered a quick rhythm against his ribs.

he'd spent the last two hours in a state of near-paralysis, trying to review the psychology worksheet. the words eventually blurred into meaningless shapes as thoughts of you in that uniform, whispering about your dorm, flooded his mind. he'd changed his cardigan twice, dithered over which textbook to bring, nearly turned back three times.

now, he stood there, fist hovering inches from the painted wood, knuckles pale. he took a shaky breath, steeling himself to knock.

then there was you. you'd spent the last two hours with anticipation, even during practice. the image of him hunched in the library, flustered by your invitation, fueled your impatience further.

now, you watched through the peephole – his fist hovering inches from the wood, taking a breath as he prepared himself to knock.

cute. adorable.

before he could knock, you yanked the door open.

your fingers closed around the cotton of his shirt collar. with a tug, he stumbled forward.

the door slammed shut behind him with a thud, plunging you both into the dim, warm light of your dorm with the scent of your vanilla perfume, clean laundry, and shared excitement.

"wh—" he managed to say before it cut off as his back hit the door.

the psychology worksheet fluttered from his fingers, forgotten before it hit the floor.

you were pressed against him instantly. the red, white, and blue of your cheer uniform was a stark contrast against his grey cardigan and brown pants.

your hands flew up, framing his face as you tangled your fingers ar the hair on his temples. your eyes locked onto his for a split second – his shock magnified by his glasses.

then your mouth was on his.

it wasn't gentle. it was desperate, needy. lips crushing against his with insistent demand.

a shocked sound escaped him, muffled against your mouth. he froze for a moment, filled with pure, flustered terror.

then bt instinct, his hands, which had been hanging uselessly at his sides, came up clumsily, landing on your hips. his fingers dug softly into the fabric of your skirt.

he kissed you back, hesitant at first, then with a clumsy urgency that matched yours, his lips moving against yours with inexperience. or hesitation.

he tried to pull back for air, for sanity. "w-wait—" he gasped against your lips, "the— the assignment— pavlov— you n-need to—"

you cut him off with another kiss. one hand slid from his face down to fist in the fabric of his shirt over his pounding heart.

"shhh," you breathed against his mouth. "shut up, james." you kissed him again, deeper. your body presses him harder against the door. "just kiss me. stop thinking so much, genius."

he whimpered soft and flustered, lost in the kiss. his glasses were askew, fogging slightly as his hands on your hips shook slighly. "b-but... conditioning... the neutral stimulus... and paired responses..." he mumbled against your lips, the academic terms comng out in a nonsensical stream. his brain desperately clung to the familiar framework that his body fought against.

you pulled back just enough to look at him. "i don't care about the dogs right now," you murmured as you lifted your thumb to brush his cheek.

"i care about this." you leaned in again. "kiss me back. properly."

he shuddered. "o-okay," the word came out shakily. "okay." he surrendered, leaning into you this time. his kiss lost its clumsiness, gaining a tentative confidence. his hands tightened on your hips, and pulled you closer until there was no space left between you.

you hummed your approval, your fingers sliding from his shirt to the back of his neck, tangling in the hair at his nape.

"good," you whispered against his lips. "now touch me." you guided one of his trembling hands from your hip, sliding it slowly up your side, and under the hem of your top. his palm encountered the warm, smooth skin of your waist and he gasps, his fingers trembling against your skin.

"l-like this?" he stammered, his eyes were wide behind his fogged lenses, searching your face for permission, for guidance –  sweet, flustered idiot.

you let out a soft laugh against his mouth. "you know how to touch me. don't play dumb, genius." your other hand found the buttons of his cardigan, fumbling them open, pushing the soft wool off his shoulders.

it pooled on the floor behind him, forgotten.

your fingers traced the line of his collarbone through the thin cotton of his t-shirt. "touch me everywhere, bucky."

he obeyed, driven by your words. his hands still shook but they were bolder now, exploring the warm skin of your waist that he's so familiar with.

his thumb brushes the lower curve of your ribcage, while his other hand slid up your back, fingers tracing the line of your spine through the fabric of your top, before tangling them in your soft hair.

he kissed you less hesitantly now, more desperate than anything. his earlier ramble about classical conditioning was now forgotten, replaced by the overwhelming sensory input of you – the taste of your lips, the feel of your skin under his touch, the soft sounds you made against his mouth.

the library, the textbooks, the world outside room 312 ceased to exist.

there was only the door at his back, your body pressed against his, your mouth on his, and the desperate, consuming need to keep touching, keep kissing, just as you commanded.

his palms smoothed over the soft fabric of your skirt, coming to rest firmly on the outside of your thighs. "up," he breathed against your lips, barely audible amidst the kiss. "wrap... wrap your legs..."

you understood instantly. you hooked your legs around his waist, locking your ankles at his back. he groaned softly at the sudden intimacy, his hands instantly shifting to cup your ass, holding you.

the strength in those arms, hidden beneath the cardigan, was undeniable as he effortlessly took your weight. he broke the kiss just long enough to take a breath, pupils blown wide.

without a word, your arms looped tightly around his neck. you buried your fingers deep in his dark hair. he walked across the small dorm room. the only sounds were your kisses and the purposeful steps he took.

he reached your desk, cluttered with textbooks and discarded ribbons. he didn't hesitate, simply lowering you, gently but firmly, until your ass met the wooden surface. your legs remained locked around his waist.

he didn't step back. he leaned in immediately, reclaiming your mouth with another kiss that even surprised you, less hesitant now, with the new position.

his hands roamed. one slid back up your thigh, under the skirt, tracing the sensitive skin along the seam of your panties.

his other hand, those surprisingly strong, capable hands that usually danced across equations or traced lines in textbooks, were shaking under your top. but they weren't retreating. if anything, his hands seemed fueled by a desperate need of you.

"here?" he mumbles against yours lips. his thumb brushed experimentally, just beneath your breast where the fabric of your sports bra began.

his eyes behind the fogged lenses of his glasses, searched your face, terrified he'd crossed a line, even as his hand remained.

you arched into the touch, letting out a soft gasp, "yes," you murmured. "exactly there, genius. stop asking." you slid your own hands under his t-shirt, feeling the planes of his stomach. "touch me like you mean it."

he whimpered against your mouth. "i... i do... i just..." he stammered.

his fingers traced the lower edge of your sports bra, mapping the territory with hesitantation before sliding higher. his palm encountered your breast through the supportive fabric. "oh god... s-sorry... is this...?"

"don't you dare apologize," you commanded, pulling back just enough to see the panic with raw desire in his eyes.

you hooked your fingers into the waistband of his soft pants, tugging him closer against you, feeling the hard evidence of his arousal press against your clothed cunt. "you feel that? that's how much i want you to touch me. stop thinking. just feel."

the academic facade was crumbling, replaced by a needy hunger.

"f-feel," he echoed. his other hand, which had been tangled in your hair, slid down, fingers tracing the sensitive skin just above the waistband of your skirt near the small of your back. his touch was still hesitant, exploratory, like he'd never touched you before.

he leaned in, burying his face your neck. "you smell... so good," he mumbled against your skin. "like... vanilla."

you tilted your head, granting him better access as your fingers tightening in his hair. "then taste me," you whispered.

he obeyed, his lips moving down your throat, leaving a trail of open-mouthed kisses that grew less hesitant as he went on. his hand under your top grew more confident as his thumb finds your nipple through the sports bra and circling it slowly.

"bucky..." you said, lost in the sensation.

he pulled back slightly, hair messy where your fingers had gripped it. he looked wrecked, and undone.

"l-like that?" he asked, his thumb still circling your nipple. his eyes were pleading for confirmation, for permission to keep going. "does... does that feel...?"

you silenced him with another kiss, pouring your answer into it. your hands slid down his back, gripping his back under his t-shirt and pulling his hips harder against yours. the friction drew a moan from him, swallowed by your mouth. he broke the kiss, resting his forehead against yours.

"talk less," you ordered. "touch more. everywhere." you guided his exploring hand lower, past the waistband of your skirt. "show me how smart you really are, smartypants. figure out what i want."

he stared at you, the blush on his cheeks deepened impossibly. the flustered stammer was gone, replaced by a focus that mirrored the look he has when solving complex equations.

the pad of his thumb brushed the bare skin just above the elastic band of your panties, making you arch instinctively into him.

he kissed you deeply, desperately with books nudged aside and his hand under your skirt. his palm flattened against your inner thigh, sliding higher, touch searing through the cotton of your panties.

his thumb found the dampening fabric at the very center, rubbing slow circles that drew another gasp from you. your fingers tightened in his hair, tugging.

he pulled his mouth away from yours, forehead resting on yours. "the... the assignment..." he panted, his thumb still moving in those maddening circles. "pavlov... you... you really should... understand the... the responses..."

you cut him off with a kiss, "shut up, jamie," you shifted your hips against his hand, increasing the pressure. "kiss me. touch me. that's the only response i care about right now."

he whimpered. the mention of the assignment died instantly. "okay," he rasped, surrendering completely. "okay." he kissed you again, deeper and messier this time.

his hand followed your guidance, slipping beneath your underwear. his fingers encounter your cunt, already wet and nearly dripping for him.

his hand slid over the front of your panties, cupping you firmly. his fingers traced the outline of your heat through the soaked cotton.

he gasped, eyes snapping to yours. "oh... oh god... you're..." he couldn't finish the sentence. the words dissolved into a  moan as his fingers explored your pussy.

"yes," you arched into his touch. "like that. don't stop. don't you dare stop thinking about this." you tangled your hand back in his hair, holding him close.

he was clumsy at first, then he finds a rhythm guided by your gasps against his lips and the rocking of your hips against his hand.

he was driven by your response like operant conditioning, by the way your legs tightened around him.

the "conditioned response" was happening right here, right now, and bucky barnes, your brilliant, flustered genius, was proving to be a very quick, very eager learner.

the flustered genius was gone, replaced by a boy consumed by learning a new language written only on your face and expressions. his name became plea falling from your lips, and the only psychology that mattered now was the consuming connection between your bodies, pressed against the wall of room 312.

that 'assignment' was the furthest thing from either of your minds.

[mcrdvcks]

yay, i'm so glad you liked it!! i knew bucky would not be oblivious to his wife's actions, because let's be real, he's obsessed with her. thank you for reading!!

be my, be my baby

summary: Now that the team knows you and Bucky are married, they learn very quickly about your strange marriage. word count: 8.9k+ pairing: bucky barnes x fem!reader notes: here is the long awaited part 2 to electric touch! (i hope i live up to the expectations😭) i had a lot of fun writing this, it's a bunch of fun little scenarios of the team learning about your marriage - which is... unconventional to say the least warnings/tags: takes place after thunderbolts*, domestic thunderbolts, bamf!reader, grumpy x sunshine (bucky is sunshine), reader is "brooding" and "cold", bucky is a lover boy, drinking alcohol, smut, slight sub!bucky, slight dom!reader, punishment, but not like punishment punishment, oral (f!receiving... and through the underwear), just the tip, a little bit of biting, slight switch!bucky & reader, bucky is a giver, unprotected piv, creampie, needy!bucky, yelena is a little shit

“If I find out who isn’t cleaning the lint out of the dryer, I will kill you,” you spoke, staring blankly at the team sitting in the common room.

John immediately raised his hands defensively. “Not me—I always clean it.”

Ava shrugged lazily. “I don’t do laundry here.”

Yelena glanced suspiciously toward Alexei. “Dad?”

Alexei frowned, looking genuinely puzzled. “Dryer makes lint? I thought that was feature.”

Bucky snorted, clearly amused. “Alexei, it’s not.”

You narrowed your eyes at Alexei. “It could start a fire.”

Alexei’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh. This explains strange burning smell.”

Bob looked alarmed. “There’s a burning smell?”

Yelena groaned dramatically. “Dad. Seriously?”

Alexei shrugged, grinning cheerfully. “Sorry. Next time, no fire.”

You sighed heavily, turning toward the hallway. “Just clean the lint trap.”

“Will do, sweetheart,” Bucky called playfully after you.

You paused briefly, glaring over your shoulder. “Barnes, you’re still on thin ice.”

He smiled warmly. “Noted.” You disappeared down the hall without another word.

Yelena turned, raising a brow at Bucky. “She really is charming.”

Bucky chuckled softly, eyes affectionate. “Yeah, I know.”

John shook his head, voice dry. “Barnes, you have weird taste.”

Alexei nodded approvingly. “Is good taste. Y/N very scary, very effective.”

Bob looked thoughtful. “Maybe you could remind everyone about the lint trap with a sign.”

Ava snorted. “Yeah, ‘clean lint trap or Y/N will murder you.’”

Bucky smirked faintly. “Might actually work.”

Yelena glanced toward the hallway again, sighing softly. “Honestly, I’d believe her.”

Alexei grinned cheerfully. “Good motivator! I clean lint right now.”

“Thank you,” Bucky said dryly, shaking his head as Alexei rushed enthusiastically toward the laundry room. “At least someone listens around here.”

---

You walked quietly into the kitchen, pouring yourself a cup of coffee without a word. Bucky glanced up from his seat at the counter, eyes lighting up slightly. "Morning, sweetheart."

You hummed noncommittally, sipping your coffee.

John groaned quietly. "Do you two ever stop flirting?"

You raised a brow at him, face blank. "We aren't flirting."

Yelena rolled her eyes dramatically. "Right. You just stare deeply into each other's souls every five seconds."

Bucky snorted softly. "That's not flirting. That's basic affection."

Ava sighed heavily. "I hate to see what you two actually think flirting is."

You exchanged a subtle, meaningful glance with Bucky. His lips curved faintly. "Trust me," you muttered dryly, looking back at Ava, "you haven't."

"Is threat or promise?" Alexei asked curiously from the table.

"Both," you replied flatly.

Bob smiled hesitantly. "I think it's nice."

Yelena waved him off. "You're too innocent for this, Bob."

Bucky stood casually, moving toward you and lightly touching your lower back. "Come on. Let's give them space."

John scowled. "See? Right there! Flirting."

You stared at him blankly. "Barnes touched my back. How scandalous."

Bucky shook his head slightly, guiding you toward the hall. As soon as you both were out of sight, he leaned in, voice low. "Wanna give them a real show?"

You smirked faintly, eyes glinting. "Absolutely."

"Perfect," he murmured softly, leaning in close. "Can't wait."

You gave him a small, dangerous smile. "They asked for it."

Bucky chuckled warmly. "We'll make them regret it."

You raised an eyebrow calmly. "Guaranteed."

---

The next morning, you walked calmly into the kitchen, wearing one of Bucky’s oversized shirts and shorts that barely peeked from beneath it. The team was already scattered around the kitchen, drinking coffee, half-awake.

Bucky immediately looked up from his coffee, a slow, appreciative smile spreading across his lips. “Damn, sweetheart. You wear that better than I do.”

You didn’t reply verbally, instead stepping smoothly toward him, pressing your hand lightly to his chest. You leaned down, brushing your lips softly against his cheek before casually whispering, just loud enough for the others to hear, “missed you in bed.”

Bucky’s grin widened, his metal hand sliding slowly around your waist. “Sorry, doll. Early morning training.”

John nearly choked on his coffee. “Oh, come on!”

Yelena’s mouth twisted in clear disgust. “Really? It’s barely seven.”

You turned slowly, settling comfortably into Bucky’s lap. You reached casually for his coffee cup, taking a slow sip. “Problem?”

Ava shook her head irritably. “You’re doing this on purpose.”

You arched an eyebrow calmly. “This is flirting. Yesterday was not.”

Yelena sighed loudly, pinching the bridge of her nose. “We take it back. Stop.”

Alexei looked up curiously, clearly confused. “I see no issue. Couple seems happy.”

Bob smiled shyly. “It’s sweet.”

John gestured dramatically toward you both. “They’re being obnoxious!”

You took another slow sip from Bucky’s mug, eyes perfectly neutral. “You specifically requested clarification.”

Bucky squeezed your waist gently, smiling up at you affectionately. “Just giving the people what they want.”

“We definitely do not want,” Ava muttered flatly.

You leaned closer, whispering softly in Bucky’s ear, fully aware everyone could still hear. “Apparently, we’re making them uncomfortable.”

He chuckled quietly, pressing a lingering kiss to your neck. “They’ll live.”

Yelena groaned dramatically, standing abruptly. “Come on, Bob. Let’s go train. Far away.”

Bob glanced uncertainly at you both, following obediently. “Okay.”

John shook his head, leaving the kitchen quickly. “This is torture.”

Alexei remained seated, completely unbothered. “You two continue. I have popcorn.”

You rolled your eyes faintly, sliding smoothly from Bucky’s lap. “Show’s over.”

Bucky pouted dramatically. “Already?”

You shot him a pointed look. “Barnes.”

He smiled warmly, eyes crinkling. “Love you too, sweetheart.”

“Gross,” Ava muttered, finally stalking out after the others.

Bucky watched them leave, smiling faintly. “I think our work here is done.”

You hummed softly, taking another sip of his coffee. “For now.”

---

Someone—Alexei—suggested that the boys have a boys' night out while the girls stay in and “gossip.” You stared blankly at Yelena and Ava, a bottle of vodka and six shot glasses on the coffee table in front of all of you.

“Are we expecting guests?” you asked dryly, nodding toward the glasses.

Yelena smirked, pouring the first shots. “No. These are backups.”

Ava took hers, glancing at you. “Don’t look so excited.”

“I’m thrilled,” you replied flatly.

Yelena raised her glass. “To Barnes somehow convincing you to marry him.”

Ava raised hers as well. “A true miracle.”

You sighed, lifting your own glass. “Sure.”

Yelena downed hers instantly, eyeing you sharply afterward. “Okay. Start talking. When did this whole… you-and-Barnes thing happen?”

You shrugged lightly, sipping your vodka. “Years ago.”

Ava raised an eyebrow. “Where?”

“New York,” you replied blankly.

Yelena squinted suspiciously. “How?”

“We met. We dated. We got married.”

Ava stared at you, clearly unimpressed. “Incredible storytelling skills, Y/N.”

“Did he propose?” Yelena asked, pouring herself another shot.

“Yes.”

Ava groaned loudly. “Details, Y/N!”

You took another slow sip, voice neutral. “He got on one knee and asked.”

Yelena narrowed her eyes, slamming down another empty glass. “You’re impossible.”

---

At the bar, Alexei eagerly placed fresh drinks in front of John and Bucky and slid a soda toward Bob. “Now, Barnes—how did you and our scary friend fall in love?”

Bucky smiled softly, looking thoughtful. “It was gradual. She’s… different, you know? Quiet, guarded. Took a while before she let me see beneath that. Then it was like I couldn’t imagine a day without her.”

John stared at him skeptically. “You’re telling me the woman who threatens murder over lint traps won you over by being quiet?”

Bucky chuckled warmly. “Trust me, there’s a lot more under the surface.”

Alexei nodded enthusiastically. “How did you ask for marriage?”

Bucky’s smile turned warm, eyes brightening at the memory. “We went for a walk in Brooklyn. I took her to our favorite spot near the bridge, got down on one knee, told her how much she meant to me, and asked. She actually smiled.”

John snorted. “I don’t believe you.”

Bucky laughed, shaking his head fondly. “I swear, it happened.”

Bob smiled shyly. “That sounds romantic.”

“It was,” Bucky agreed softly. “She’s amazing.”

Alexei clapped loudly. “Barnes, you old softie! I like this story.”

John rolled his eyes. “I still don’t buy it.”

---

Back at the Watchtower, Yelena was pouring her fifth shot, eyes slightly glazed. Ava was sprawled comfortably on the couch, nursing her own drink. “Wedding,” Yelena slurred, pointing dramatically at you. “What about the wedding?”

You took a careful sip from your own glass, completely unaffected. “Lake. Upstate New York.”

Ava raised an eyebrow skeptically. “Seriously?”

“Yes.”

“Who was there?” Yelena demanded loudly.

“The Avengers,” you replied simply.

Ava stared blankly. “All of them?”

“Yes.”

Yelena narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “And your dress?”

“Princess gown,” you deadpanned, voice perfectly even. “Big skirt, lots of sparkle.”

Ava snorted loudly, dissolving into giggles. “Yeah, right.”

Yelena laughed, shaking her head dramatically. “Now I know you’re lying.”

You calmly sipped your vodka again. “Believe whatever you want.”

Yelena pointed at you accusingly, swaying slightly. “You’re funny, Y/N. You pretend not to be, but you are.”

“Sure,” you said flatly.

Ava smiled lazily, slumped further on the couch. “Princess gown. That’s hilarious.”

Yelena nodded emphatically, pouring another shot shakily. “Almost got us there.”

You shrugged, voice dry. “Almost.”

---

“You too, huh?” Yelena asked, rubbing her forehead as she walked into the kitchen, seeing Walker with his head in his hands.

John groaned quietly. “I couldn’t sleep.”

Ava walked in after Yelena, looking half-dead. “I doubt anyone could.”

Bob glanced around hesitantly. “Did anyone else… hear things?”

Alexei nodded, completely unaffected. “Ah, yes. Barnes and Y/N were very active last night.”

John scowled deeply. “It was nonstop.”

Ava grimaced. “Very loud.”

Yelena sighed irritably, pouring herself coffee. “We need soundproofing. Immediately.”

At that moment, you walked casually into the kitchen, Bucky trailing just behind you. All eyes turned instantly, staring pointedly. You paused, eyebrow raising slowly. “What?”

Yelena narrowed her eyes accusingly. “You both had fun last night, I assume.”

You glanced at Bucky, confused. “What?”

John waved his hand irritably. “Don’t play dumb. We heard you two.”

Ava nodded firmly. “We heard everything.”

Bucky’s brow furrowed deeply. “Wait—what exactly did you hear?”

Alexei grinned widely, completely shameless. “Lots of grunting. Heavy breathing. Banging sounds.”

You stared blankly at them, slowly processing. Then, abruptly, you laughed—a sudden, genuine laugh that stunned everyone into silence.

John stared openly. “Did she just… laugh?”

Ava looked equally shocked. “That was terrifying.”

You shook your head, smiling faintly. “We weren’t having sex.”

Yelena looked skeptical. “Then what the hell were you doing?”

Bucky sighed deeply, rubbing his face tiredly. “She woke me up at 2 am because she couldn’t sleep. We rearranged the bedroom.”

Silence again. Then Alexei snorted loudly, clearly amused. “You move furniture at night instead of sex? Strange married life.”

Bob smiled shyly. “That’s kind of sweet.”

John shook his head irritably. “It’s still annoying.”

You shrugged lightly, pouring your coffee calmly. “Maybe next time we’ll actually have sex. See if you prefer that.”

John grimaced immediately. “No. Definitely not.”

Ava sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I’d rather listen to the furniture.”

Yelena raised an eyebrow, smirking slightly. “Just warn us next time.”

Bucky chuckled softly, looking fondly toward you. “We’ll see.”

You glanced toward him briefly, voice dry. “No promises.”

John sighed again, clearly resigned. “I hate it here.”

Alexei grinned broadly. “I love it here. Very exciting every day.”

---

You slipped quietly into the dark closet, pulling the door almost closed behind you, leaving just a thin sliver of light. Exactly five minutes later, the door opened again, and Bucky’s silhouette filled the frame. He stepped inside smoothly, shutting the door fully and sealing you both into darkness.

“You couldn’t pick somewhere a little roomier?” he murmured softly, hands finding your waist effortlessly.

“You’re complaining?” you replied evenly, sliding your fingers into his hair.

“Not at all,” he whispered against your lips, pulling you flush against him. “Just observing.”

You didn’t respond, capturing his mouth firmly instead. He pressed you carefully back against the wall, one hand braced beside your head, the other slipping beneath your shirt. Your breathing deepened, mingling together in the tight, quiet space.

His lips moved down your neck, teeth gently grazing your skin. “How long do we have?”

“Fifteen minutes,” you whispered breathlessly.

Bucky smiled against your collarbone. “More than enough.”

Suddenly, bright light flooded the closet as the door swung open abruptly. “What the hell?” John demanded, recoiling dramatically at the sight of you both tangled together.

Bucky turned slowly, sighing irritably. “Walker.”

John stared incredulously. “Why are you—why are you in the cleaning closet?”

You pushed Bucky back slightly, straightening your clothes smoothly, face carefully blank. “Clearly, for the privacy.”

John shook his head, eyes narrowed suspiciously. “That’s weird.”

You stepped forward calmly, brushing past him without another glance. “I’m done here anyway.”

John glanced back at Bucky, eyebrow raised skeptically. “Closet, Barnes? Really?”

Bucky just smirked slightly, adjusting his shirt. “It has its charm.”

John groaned loudly. “Disgusting.”

You walked away without looking back, irritation clear in every step.

---

Later that night, Bucky leaned comfortably against the kitchen counter, pouring coffee. Yelena glanced at him suspiciously. “Closet, Barnes?” she repeated, looking entirely unimpressed.

He chuckled softly. “She picks the locations. I just follow instructions.”

Ava raised an eyebrow. “You have instructions for this?”

Bucky shrugged, smirking faintly. “Once a week. Always in a different spot. She texts me exactly five minutes before—in code.”

Bob looked fascinated. “Why in code?”

“Because she’s paranoid,” Bucky replied easily. “And because she enjoys watching me struggle.”

Alexei laughed heartily. “Ah! Mystery and romance. Very good.”

John shook his head, still irritated. “I still don’t understand why a closet.”

Bucky sipped his coffee, smiling faintly. “Because she’s full of surprises.”

Yelena sighed deeply, rolling her eyes. “You two are ridiculous.”

Bucky just smiled quietly, eyes drifting toward the hall, already wondering where next week would take him.

---

You stood silently in front of the fridge, staring blankly at the empty shelf where your leftover slice of cheesecake had been sitting all day. You closed the fridge door, turned slowly, and moved toward the living room, where the team was sprawled out comfortably watching some pointless TV show. "Who ate it?" you asked flatly, stopping behind the couch.

Everyone turned simultaneously to look at you, blinking in confusion.

"Ate what?" Yelena asked carefully.

"My cheesecake," you said, eyes slowly scanning the room. "It was in the fridge."

John raised his hands immediately. "Not me. You scare me."

"Didn't touch it," Ava said, completely unconcerned.

Alexei shook his head innocently. "I learn lesson after dryer incident. No touching Y/N's things."

Bob shifted nervously, eyes wide. "I didn't even open the fridge today."

Your gaze settled on Bucky, who suddenly looked far too interested in the TV screen. "Barnes," you said slowly, voice dangerously calm. "Where's my cheesecake?"

Bucky cleared his throat awkwardly, eyes flicking briefly toward you. "Cheesecake?"

You stepped around the couch slowly, eyes locked onto his face. "My cheesecake. The last slice. The one you watched me carefully wrap last night and say, and I quote, 'I'm saving this for tomorrow.'"

Bucky rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "Oh, uh… that cheesecake."

Your jaw tightened slightly. "Yeah. That cheesecake."

He smiled apologetically, attempting charm. "I didn't realize it was that important to you."

"Barnes," John said dryly, "you're digging your own grave."

Yelena nodded. "Just apologize and offer to buy more."

You tilted your head slightly, eyes still on Bucky. "It was important enough that I wrapped it carefully and said out loud that it was mine."

Bucky winced slightly. "Sorry, doll. Really."

You stared at him silently for a long moment, then turned on your heel and walked out without another word, leaving tense silence behind you.

Bucky groaned softly, dropping his head back against the couch. "Shit."

John shook his head solemnly. "Nice knowing you, man."

Alexei chuckled, amused. "Barnes, maybe sleep with eyes open tonight."

---

A few hours later, you were quietly sitting cross-legged on the bed, scrolling absently through your phone when the bedroom door opened slowly, revealing a cautious-looking Bucky.

You didn't look up.

He stepped quietly into the room, closing the door gently behind him. "Still mad?"

You didn't respond, gaze still fixed on your phone.

He moved slowly toward the bed, voice carefully gentle. "It really was an accident. I genuinely didn't realize you'd care that much."

Your eyes flicked briefly toward him, cool and unreadable. "You didn't think I'd care about something I deliberately set aside?"

He sighed softly, dropping down onto the edge of the bed beside you. "Okay, yeah, that was dumb. I'm sorry."

You stared at him for a long moment, clearly unimpressed. "Apology noted."

He reached out carefully, gently touching your knee. "I'll buy you another cheesecake."

You raised an eyebrow slowly. "You'll buy me two."

"Three," he offered immediately, lips quirking slightly.

You narrowed your eyes, still cool. "Four."

He chuckled softly, gently sliding his hand further up your thigh. "Fine. Four cheesecakes. Whatever you want."

You finally set your phone aside, watching him evenly. "And?"

He tilted his head, eyes amused. "And… what?"

You leaned forward slightly, eyes locked onto his. "Apologize properly."

He smiled faintly, leaning in to brush his lips softly against yours. "I'm very sorry," he murmured gently, slowly deepening the kiss.

His hand slid higher, slipping beneath the hem of your nightgown, fingers ghosting over the soft fabric of your underwear. He shifted, lowering himself slightly, kissing down your neck, your collarbone, slow and deliberate.

Then he tried to tug your underwear down. Your hand shot out fast, fingers wrapping around his wrist. "Leave them on," you said flatly.

He froze, head lifting slightly. "...What?"

You tilted your head, deadpan. "You want to apologize? Do it through fabric."

He blinked, mouth parting, and you watched the flush crawl up his neck like a slow burn. "...You're serious?" You stared at him. He swallowed. "Okay. Yeah. No, that’s... fair."

You leaned back against the pillows again, arms folding behind your head, gaze steady on him. "You shouldn't have eaten my cheesecake."

"I know," he mumbled, already kissing down your stomach. "Big mistake."

"Massive," you muttered.

He grinned against your skin. "You’re gonna hold this over me forever, aren’t you?"

"That was the last slice," you said darkly.

He nodded solemnly, hands spreading over your thighs, lifting them just slightly as he shifted between them. "I deserve this."

"Yeah," you muttered as he kissed the inside of your thigh. "You do."

He didn’t say anything else. Just pushed your legs wider, settled in, and started slow—open-mouthed kisses against the thin cotton, tongue pressing against the damp spot already forming. He groaned softly, fingers digging into your hips.

You exhaled sharply, eyes falling closed. "You’re not taking them off," you reminded, voice low.

His voice was muffled. "Wouldn’t dare."

His mouth worked over the fabric, patient, reverent, the friction maddening. You twitched beneath him, hips rolling slightly, and he just groaned again, hands holding you still.

"Fuck," you whispered, breath catching when his tongue circled deliberately over the same spot, again and again, like he was trying to memorize how you tasted through the fabric.

He pulled back just long enough to say, "You still mad at me?"

You blinked down at him, chest rising and falling. "...Yes."

He smirked. "Good." Then he ducked back down, licking harder.

You bit your lip, biting back a sound, hands twitching where they were clenched in the sheets.

He was grinning against you now. You could feel it—obnoxious, smug, and cocky. But his tongue moved with purpose, with desperation, with apology. "Four cheesecakes," he breathed, hot against you.

"Five," you rasped.

He nodded, lips dragging slow and filthy across the soaked cotton. "Five. And I’m never eating your shit again without asking."

His mouth stayed pressed to the soaked cotton, tongue flattening and dragging slow as molasses across your clit, so relentless it made your back arch involuntarily. He was determined—like a soldier on a mission. His fingers dug into your thighs, thumbs rubbing idle circles against the soft skin just to soothe, but nothing about his mouth was gentle.

“Mmmph,” he groaned into you, the sound fucking obscene. The vibrations shot through you, sharp as a knife edge. You bit your lip hard, eyes fluttering shut, chest rising faster.

When his teeth grazed just barely over the fabric, you hissed. “Bucky—”

He pulled back just enough to breathe, chin slick, lips shiny, pupils blown to hell. “Yeah, doll?”

You stared down at him, your voice flat. “You're not taking them off.”

He smirked, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Didn’t plan to. I’m just gettin’ creative.” Then he leaned in again, tongue flicking the edge of the wet patch like he was teasing a wound.

Your head thunked back against the headboard with a low growl. “Then stop fucking around.”

He chuckled. "Yes ma'am."

His mouth sealed to your cunt again, tongue pressing hard right through the fabric, and you gasped—hips jerking before his arms locked you in place. He sucked over your clit like he was starving, tongue moving under the barrier, trying to get every drop. You felt the heat surge deep in your core, coil tight and fast, snapping like a tripwire.

“Ah—fuck—” Your thighs twitched in his grip, toes curling, back arching as your orgasm punched through you without warning, hot and sharp and fast. “Jesus—”

He didn’t stop. He kept licking, kept grinding his mouth into you like he wanted to wring every last shudder out of your body. You slapped the headboard behind you, fingers scrabbling for anything to hold.

"Goddamn it, Bucky—"

He finally pulled back, panting, mouth wet and eyes wild. "Still mad at me?"

You blinked down at him, your voice dry. “I hate you.”

He grinned, dragging his tongue over his lower lip. “That’s fair.”

You shoved his shoulder. “Move.”

"Move where?"

“Off the floor, you idiot.”

Bucky let himself be manhandled up onto the bed, his expression smug. You straddled him, still in your underwear, still flushed and breathing heavy.

He leaned back on his elbows, eyes trailing over you with heat. “So… still five cheesecakes, right?”

You didn’t answer. Just shifted, sliding up his thighs until your soaked underwear brushed the thick line of his cock through his sweats. His breath hitched. “Ohhh,” he murmured, eyes dragging up to your face. “So that’s how we’re playing it.”

You ground down slow, dragging your cunt along the length of him with maddening friction. “You wanna apologize? Start here.”

Bucky groaned low, fingers gripping the sheets, jaw tight as you rolled your hips again—dragging yourself along him, the wet cotton of your underwear catching perfectly over his cock.

“Fuck, baby…” he muttered, hips lifting into you. “That’s not even fair…”

You shrugged, moving again. His cock twitched under you, hard and pulsing, and you just kept going, using him, teasing yourself, grinding down like you had all the time in the world.

His voice dropped, rough and coaxing. “C’mon. Just the tip.”

You paused, eyebrow lifting. “You think that line still works on me?”

He grinned. “We’re married. I don’t need lines. I just need you to move those pretty little panties to the side.”

You stared at him. He held your gaze, cocky but not pushy, like he knew you'd give in eventually. You exhaled, dragged your underwear to the side slowly, and sat back down—just enough to line him up, just enough that the head of his cock brushed against your slick entrance.

Bucky cursed under his breath, hands flying to your hips. “Shit. Just like that—don’t move yet—fuck.”

You shifted slightly, and the tip slipped in. You both inhaled sharply.

“Jesus, you’re warm,” he breathed, eyes fluttering half-shut. “Just let me—”

You tensed when he pushed an inch deeper. “Bucky—”

“I know,” he whispered, voice tight. “I know, just—fuck, just a little more.”

You felt the stretch as he eased in slow, inch by inch, until you were nearly full and your breath stuttered in your chest. “I said just the tip,” you muttered, nails digging into his chest.

He gave a sheepish, breathless laugh. “Baby, I’m sorry—I got greedy. You’re just—fuck, you’re so good.”

You opened your mouth to snap something, but then he bucked his hips up, slow and deep, and you gasped, thighs trembling. “I’ll make it up to you,” he murmured, hand sliding behind your neck to pull you down, lips brushing your jaw. “I’ll fuck you nice, yeah? Just let me—”

He surged up again, and your protest turned into a moan, your hands flying to his shoulders. “Fuck, Bucky—”

“Yeah,” he breathed, eyes blazing now. “That’s it, doll. That’s what I wanted. Been thinking about you all night.”

His hands gripped your thighs, guiding your movements as you started to ride him in earnest—slick, filthy sounds between you, the wet drag of your cunt around his cock making his head drop back with a groan.

You leaned forward, panting, chest brushing his. “You think this fixes it?”

“No,” he rasped, lifting his hips into you hard. “But it’s a start.”

You bit his shoulder, just enough to make him hiss. “You’re an asshole.”

Bucky grunted as your teeth sank in, low and sharp, and his hands clenched around your hips like he was holding back a groan.

"Yeah," he muttered, voice rough against your ear, "I know."

Then he flipped you. Fast. Smooth. Like he’d been thinking about it for a while. One moment you were on top, grinding down with full control, the next your back was pressed to the mattress and his weight settled over you, thick and hot and deep inside. His hands framed your face like he was scared you'd vanish if he blinked.

You blinked up at him.

His mouth was parted, breath ragged. "Let me."

You didn’t say anything. Just stared, waiting.

He leaned down, kissed your throat. "Gonna make it up to you, promise." His hips rolled into you slow, deep, like he was trying to learn every sound you made from the inside. He cursed under his breath.

"God—you're so fucking wet," he groaned, forehead dropping to yours. "Felt like heaven even before I was inside. Now it's—shit—"

You exhaled through your nose, fingers digging into his back. “You're stalling.”

That got a growl out of him. One of his hands slid down between your bodies—his vibranium one, cold at first, then warming quick from contact—pressing flat against your stomach as he fucked in deeper.

"Feel me right there?" he murmured, nose brushing yours. "Right where I belong."

"Talk less," you snapped.

He bit back a grin, lips dragging down your neck. "Yes ma'am."

And then he got serious. His rhythm changed—harder, slower, the kind that made your toes curl and your thighs twitch involuntarily. His human hand slid down your leg, hooking under your knee, pressing it up toward your chest.

You gasped when he hit deeper.

"There we go," he muttered, mouth grazing your collarbone. "Right there. That it?"

You didn't answer. Couldn't. Your nails dug into his shoulder and he moaned when you clenched around him.

His vibranium hand moved again—between you now—thumb dragging down to rub you slow, firm. Perfect pressure.

“Fuck—”

“Shh, I got you,” he breathed, kissing your cheek, your jaw, his thumb never stopping. “Let me take care of you, baby. Just let go for me, yeah?”

You hissed through your teeth when he thrust deeper, thumb circling faster.

“I can feel it,” he whispered, hips snapping, breath hot against your ear. “You’re close. Come for me. Right now. Please.”

Your breath caught. Your legs shook. You grabbed the back of his neck and arched hard against him—

“Fuck, Bucky—”

"That's it—fuck, that's it, there you go—"

You shattered beneath him, tight and pulsing, and he didn’t stop moving, just kept fucking into you with a low groan, arms shaking, trying not to come too soon.

His hips kept driving into you, deep and slow, your walls still fluttering around him in the aftermath of your orgasm. His breath stuttered against your neck, jaw clenched so tight you could feel the tension in every part of him.

“Fuck, baby—” he gasped, voice rough, almost pained. “You feel so good when you come… fuckin’ squeezing me like that, shit—”

You didn’t say anything, just slid your hand up to grip his hair and tugged hard.

Bucky groaned, eyes fluttering shut, his cock twitching deep inside you. “Please,” he rasped. “Let me make you come again. Wanna feel it again. Wanna feel you break on me.”

You dragged your nails down his back, slow and deliberate, and his hips stuttered. “You’re so fucking greedy,” you muttered.

He nodded against your throat, lips brushing the skin there. “Yeah. For you. Always.”

His vibranium hand slid back between your legs without hesitation, thumb finding your clit like he was born for it. The pressure was perfect—firm, relentless—and the real hand tightened on your thigh, holding it high, spreading you wider, deeper.

"That's it," he whispered, watching your face now, eyes desperate. "C’mon, doll. Give me another. Want it so bad—"

You grabbed his jaw, forced his gaze to stay locked on yours. "Make me," you ordered.

Bucky let out a strangled sound that was half-moan, half-growl, and then he was grinding into you harder, thumb never letting up, hips moving with exact, perfect control. "I will," he swore, voice shaking. "I'll fucking wreck you if you let me. I’ll make you come so hard you forget your own name. Please let me."

You didn't reply, just held his stare, teeth digging into your bottom lip when the pressure started to climb again. Fast. Too fast.

"God, you’re perfect," he groaned, kissing the corner of your mouth, your cheekbone, your jaw. "So fucking perfect like this, underneath me, letting me take care of you—fuck—please come for me, baby, please—"

You gasped, head tipping back as your second orgasm slammed through you, sudden and brutal, making your whole body tense, your back arch up off the mattress.

Bucky’s eyes rolled back. “Oh, fuck—yes, yes, baby, just like that—goddamn—”

You were still pulsing around him when he finally let go, hips snapping hard one last time before he buried himself deep and groaned, loud and raw, like it was being torn out of him.

“Fuck—fuck—” he gasped, voice breaking, whole body shaking as he came inside you, hands gripping you like he’d fall apart otherwise.

You were both breathless, sweat-slick and trembling, tangled together like the only thing anchoring either of you was the other.

He finally slumped over you, chest heaving, lips brushing your collarbone.

"Apology accepted?" he mumbled against your skin.

You didn’t answer.

He lifted his head slightly, blinking blearily down at you. "...Still mad?"

You grabbed his chin again, hard, and kissed him—slow, rough, deep. You bit his bottom lip on the way out, and he whimpered into your mouth. Then you exhaled and muttered against his mouth, “I’m thinking about it.”

Bucky grinned like he’d just won the goddamn lottery. “I can work with that.”

---

You stared into the kitchen cabinet, mentally checking off your list. Tea, honey, cough drops, ibuprofen…

Yelena leaned against the counter beside you, squinting suspiciously at the pile of items already gathered on the countertop. "Are you building a chemical bomb?" she asked dryly.

You slowly turned your head toward her, giving her an utterly blank look. Yelena met your gaze, unblinking. After a long pause, you finally spoke. "Barnes is sick," you said flatly.

Yelena blinked once, then snorted. "Sick? He sneezed. Like, twice."

"Three times," you corrected evenly. "And he coughed."

She raised an eyebrow skeptically. "It's called allergies."

You ignored her, calmly collecting your armful of tea, medicine, and honey. "He's sick."

Across the room, John glanced up from the couch. "Did Barnes actually get hurt or something?"

"No," Ava said blandly from her chair. "He has a slight sniffle. Now Y/N thinks he's dying."

"He's not dying," you replied calmly, pausing at the hallway. "He's sick. There's a difference."

Alexei chuckled loudly from his seat. "You take good care, Y/N. Barnes very delicate."

Bob smiled gently. "Should we check on him later?"

You stared blankly at him. "Absolutely not." With that, you vanished down the hallway, arms still full.

---

You nudged the bedroom door open carefully, stepping inside to find Bucky sitting on the bed, looking perfectly fine aside from slightly messy hair. He glanced up, eyebrows lifting at the pile of items you were carrying. "What's all this?"

"You're sick," you announced flatly, placing everything neatly on the bedside table.

Bucky blinked, clearly confused. "I coughed like twice, doll."

"Three times," you corrected again, placing your palm gently against his forehead. He smiled faintly, rolling his eyes, but leaned into your touch anyway.

"You feel a little warm," you murmured, carefully pulling your hand away.

He sighed, shaking his head. "I'm literally fine."

You gave him an unimpressed stare. "You're taking medicine. And drinking tea."

Bucky chuckled quietly. "Or what, you'll force-feed me?"

You gave him another slow, steady look. "Yes."

He smiled softly, clearly amused but deciding not to push it. "Fine."

You poured him a cup of tea, stirring honey into it calmly before handing it to him. Bucky took a sip, shaking his head with faint amusement. "You know," he began lightly, "you're kinda cute when you're fussing."

You narrowed your eyes slightly. "Drink your tea, Barnes."

He smiled warmly, leaning back comfortably against the pillows. "Whatever you say, sweetheart."

You sat carefully beside him, arms crossed, watching until he drank at least half the tea. After a long silence, he glanced at you with a slight smirk. "You gonna keep staring at me like that?"

"Yes," you replied evenly.

He chuckled softly, shaking his head again. "I'm really okay, doll."

You ignored him, reaching out to brush a stray lock of hair off his forehead gently. "Just shut up and let me take care of you."

Bucky sighed, but his eyes softened. "Alright. But I'm really not that sick."

"Shut up," you repeated calmly.

He laughed quietly, but settled back further into the pillows, clearly deciding to humor you for now.

Satisfied, you reached over to the bedside table, calmly handing him two ibuprofen. He took them without protest, eyes crinkling in quiet amusement. "Anything else, nurse?" he teased gently.

You gave him another steady stare. "Sleep."

He chuckled softly, obediently closing his eyes. "Yes, ma'am."

You watched carefully until his breathing evened out, the tension in your shoulders finally easing slightly. Quietly, you reached out, carefully brushing your fingers along his cheek. "You're an idiot," you murmured softly.

He didn't respond, already drifting peacefully.

You sighed gently, settling back comfortably against the pillows beside him, silently watching over him anyway.

---

The kitchen was alive with quiet morning chaos. Yelena sat perched on the counter, lazily peeling an orange. Alexei and Bob were at the table, hunched over a puzzle like it was a high-level mission. John nursed a black coffee with an expression like he hated being alive, and Ava scrolled through her tablet, earbuds in.

You were standing near the stove, sipping from your mug and keeping mostly to yourself, as usual.

Bucky breezed in behind you, freshly showered, hair still a little damp. He leaned in, pressed a kiss to your temple, and murmured softly, “Love you, sweetheart.”

You didn’t look at him, just gave a neutral hum, calm and flat. “Don’t forget your knife. You left it on the bathroom sink.”

He smirked faintly, unfazed. “I got it.”

He gave your waist a soft squeeze and slipped out without another word. A beat of silence passed before Yelena narrowed her eyes and pointed a finger toward you dramatically. “You never say it back.” You didn’t respond, and just took another sip of your coffee. “No, seriously,” she said, sliding off the counter and walking closer. “He says it, like, all the time. And you just… ignore it. Or change the subject. Or give him directions about weapons.”

“Bucky knows how I feel,” you said flatly.

“That’s not the point,” she insisted. “You don’t say it back.”

Ava looked up from her tablet. “She’s right. I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say ‘I love you.’”

Bob blinked slowly, clearly distressed. “You don’t love Bucky?”

“She does,” Alexei said cheerfully. “She just shows it by keeping him alive. Very romantic.”

John chuckled, voice dry. “I’m just impressed Barnes doesn’t seem to care.”

“Or notice,” Ava added, raising an eyebrow.

Yelena smirked suddenly, eyes lighting up with a spark of mischief. “Let’s make a bet.”

Everyone perked up immediately.

“Go on,” John said warily.

Yelena grinned, turning toward you. “You start acting like him. All clingy and affectionate. Tell him you love him, kiss him on the cheek, hold his hand, all that. We’ll see how long it takes before he notices you’re doing it on purpose.”

You stared at her blankly. “That’s stupid.”

“Which means you’re doing it,” she replied smugly. “Everyone in?”

Bob raised his hand nervously. “I think Bucky will be happy. He might cry.”

“Two days,” Ava said, stretching. “He notices in two days.”

“Five,” Alexei guessed. “He notices in five.”

John shook his head. “Nah, he doesn’t notice at all. Guy’s completely blind to affection. He’ll just think she’s finally caved.”

Yelena looked at you expectantly. “Well?”

You sighed, finished your coffee, and set the mug down. “Fine.”

Ava blinked. “Wait. Really?”

You shrugged, walking toward the hallway. “If I’m going to make all of you shut up, might as well commit.”

“Try smiling too!” Yelena called after you. “For extra shock value!”

You raised a hand behind you without turning around, a middle finger casually extended. The group collectively laughed. Bob looked equal parts excited and nervous. Alexei was already drawing a tally chart on the whiteboard for the bet.

John muttered into his coffee. “This is gonna be weird.”

Yelena just grinned wickedly. “This is gonna be fun.”

---

It was a few hours later, mid-afternoon, and the team was scattered throughout the Watchtower common area again—some half-working, some definitely not. You wandered in casually, phone in hand, and spotted Bucky at the kitchen island, assembling what looked like a very questionable sandwich.

You approached quietly, standing beside him. He glanced at you with a small smile, clearly not expecting much more than a grunt or maybe a snide comment. Instead, you reached up, cupped his face with both hands, and leaned in to press a soft, deliberate kiss to his cheek.

“I love you,” you said casually, voice light.

Bucky froze mid–bread placement. His eyes flicked toward you, brows pulled in slightly. “…You okay?”

“I’m great,” you replied smoothly, brushing your fingers across his jaw like it was the most normal thing in the world. “You look handsome today.”

He blinked. Hard. “…Okay,” he said slowly. “Thanks?”

You smiled—actually smiled—and gave his arm a light squeeze before walking off toward the couch without another word.

Across the room, Yelena choked on her water, coughing violently into her sleeve, John’s head whipped around like he’d just heard a gunshot, Ava paused mid-scroll, Bob audibly gasped, and Alexei muttered something about “strange wind today.”

Bucky watched you sit down, still looking faintly baffled. He shook it off, returning to his sandwich. “Okay,” he muttered to himself. “She’s just in a weird mood.”

Behind him, Yelena was already marking one line under the Day 1 tally chart.

---

It was later that evening, just after dinner, and the team had migrated to the common room. Bucky was sprawled on the couch, legs up, lazily flipping through a worn paperback. You sat nearby, feet propped on the coffee table, arms crossed, as usual.

Ava was in the corner with her headphones. Bob and Alexei were locked in another intense round of chess, and John was pretending not to watch over their shoulders. Yelena was watching you with the intensity of a predator tracking prey.

You waited a few seconds before casually getting up and walking toward Bucky. He glanced up, half-expecting you to make some dry comment about his book or the state of his posture. Instead, you leaned over and gently tugged the book from his hands, closing it without a word. He sat up, confused, and before he could ask what you were doing, you slid right onto his lap.

Everyone froze.

Even Alexei abandoned his chessboard.

Bucky blinked, completely thrown off. “Uh… hi?”

You rested your arm around his shoulder, pressed a kiss to his temple, then said calmly, “Missed you today.”

His eyebrows lifted slightly, like his brain was rebooting. “We were literally together for most of the afternoon.”

You shrugged. “Still.”

He stared at you, clearly processing. “Are you… feeling okay?”

“I’m perfect,” you replied, voice soft.

Then, just to twist the knife, you tangled your fingers with his and laced them together on his lap—just like he always does to you when he’s being annoying and affectionate. Bucky narrowed his eyes slightly, head tilting. “…Okay, now I know something’s up.”

You blinked at him innocently. “I can’t love my husband?”

“I mean, yeah, but—” he cut off, squinting. “Since when do you say stuff like that?”

“Since now,” you said smoothly.

Yelena snorted from the armchair, trying—and failing—to disguise it as a cough. Ava slowly raised a single eyebrow. Bob was practically vibrating. Alexei whispered, “plot twist.”

Bucky looked between you and the rest of the room, clearly sensing something was going on but not quite sure what. “Right,” he muttered. “This is fine. Totally normal.”

You leaned in again, kissed his cheek, and murmured, “Love you, baby.”

Bucky stared at you like you had just declared war on gravity. “…I’m calling Sam,” he muttered.

You smiled faintly, settled back in his lap like you belonged there—which, to be fair, you did—and glanced toward Yelena.

She was holding up two fingers silently.

You gave her a barely-there smirk. Let the games continue.

---

It was later that night. Most of the lights in the Watchtower had been dimmed, and the common area was washed in the soft blue glow of the TV no one was really watching. You were curled up next to Bucky on the couch—next to, not just near, which was already suspicious.

You let your head rest lightly on his shoulder, fingers brushing his knee in a slow rhythm, and then leaned in, lips brushing just below his ear. “You look tired, baby,” you said quietly. “You want me to wash your hair for you later?”

Bucky turned his head slowly, eyes narrowed.

You stared back, innocent. “I’m gonna take a shower,” you said sweetly, like you hadn’t just dropped another bomb. You stood up, kissed his forehead, and walked out of the room without another word.

Bucky didn’t move at first. Then, slowly, he stood up, stretched once, turned to face the rest of the room, and said, flatly, “okay. Who poisoned her?”

The team froze.

“Or brainwashed her,” he added, pointing. “Walker?”

John looked offended. “I didn’t do anything.”

“Then who’s trying to body-swap her?” Bucky continued, not missing a beat. “Because that—” he gestured down the hall where you’d just disappeared— “is not my wife.”

Alexei opened his mouth.

Bucky held up a hand. “Nope. I love her. I love her. I love every sarcastic, terrifying, emotionally unavailable part of her. I didn’t fall in love with someone who calls me baby and offers to wash my hair on a Wednesday night.”

Yelena clapped a hand over her mouth.

Ava cracked first. “Okay, okay—it was a bet!”

John groaned. “Goddammit, Ava.”

“I knew it,” Bucky said, exasperated but mostly amused, rubbing his face. “How long did you think it’d take me to notice?”

“Minimum was two days,” Yelena muttered.

“I said five,” Alexei chimed in proudly.

Bob raised his hand. “I said never. Sorry.”

Bucky held out his hand. “Pay up.”

“What?” John frowned.

“You all lost,” Bucky said, already deadpan and halfway to smirking. “I noticed before two days. And I know there was money involved.”

Yelena groaned but reached into her pocket. “Ugh, fine.”

One by one, they all handed him bills. Bob looked like he didn’t want to participate, but even he dug out a few crumpled notes. Bucky accepted the pile without flinching.

Then, without another word, he turned and walked out of the room.

---

You were finishing brushing your teeth when you heard the soft knock—followed by the door cracking open.

Bucky stepped inside, holding a wad of folded bills in one hand. “I figured out the bet,” he said, calm as ever. “Apparently I’m very observant.” You raised a brow, clearly unbothered. He tossed the cash on the bathroom counter. “So I’m taking you to Coney Island tomorrow.”

You blinked.

His lips tugged up in a soft smile as he leaned casually against the doorframe. “And you’re not allowed to act weird and lovey the whole time, because that’s my thing. You just get to stand there looking scary while I win you plushies.”

You stared at him for a beat, then rolled your eyes. “Fine.”

He grinned. “Love you, sweetheart.”

You smirked slightly. “Don’t get sentimental on me.”

He winked. “Too late.”

---

The next morning, the team was gathered in the kitchen, half-asleep. Bucky strolled in like he hadn’t just robbed them all the night before, casually sliding his arm around your waist as you stood beside the fridge. “Morning,” he said brightly, pressing a kiss to your temple.

You were wearing a dark green sundress. Soft, strappy, flowy. And silent. Every head turned. The room collectively froze.

John choked on his coffee. “Is that—?”

“—a dress?” Yelena finished, blinking rapidly.

You adjusted the strap without looking up. “Yeah. Problem?”

“No,” Ava said slowly. “It’s just… unexpected.”

“Looks good,” Bob offered kindly, eyes wide.

Alexei raised his mug. “Color of war. I approve.”

Bucky, grinning like he’d won the lottery, clapped his hands once. “Alright, team. While we—” he gestured between you and himself, “—are off having a very well-earned day at Coney Island, you are going to clean the tower.”

John immediately protested. “Wait, what?”

“Team bonding,” Bucky said cheerfully. “You’re welcome.”

“You’re serious?” Ava asked, eyebrows raised.

“Deadly.” He pointed toward the kitchen. “Walker, Bob, Alexei—kitchen duty. Dishwasher, floor, counters. Top to bottom.”

“Not fair,” John grumbled, grabbing a sponge.

“Yelena, Ava,” Bucky continued, turning to them with a smirk. “You’ve got windows. Inside and out.”

Yelena squinted. “All the windows?”

“Every single one,” you said blankly, sipping your coffee.

“Cool,” Ava muttered. “This is abuse.”

“You’ll live,” Bucky said, already guiding you toward the door. “Don’t forget the hallway floors!”

---

An hour later, Yelena and Ava were upstairs with a bucket of water and zero motivation, grumbling as they passed through the hallway. Eventually, Yelena slowed in front of your door. She looked around. “No one’s watching,” she said, grabbing the handle.

“We’re supposed to be cleaning,” Ava said halfheartedly, but followed her in anyway. What they found stopped them in their tracks. “...What the hell,” Ava whispered.

The room was soft. Soft. Candles on the shelves. Warm fairy lights draped above the bed. Throw pillows. A fuzzy blanket folded perfectly at the end of the mattress. It was like a Pinterest board collided with a bookstore in fall.

And the photos—there were dozens. On the desk, taped to the wall, propped on dressers. One of them caught Ava’s eye first.

It was a wedding photo.

You were in a massive princess-style gown. Glittering skirt. Sweetheart neckline. Hair done up. Bucky in a black tux, smiling down at you with the softest look imaginable.

Behind you both?

Every single Avenger.

Yelena squinted at it. “...That’s real.”

“I thought she was joking,” Ava whispered. “That night with the vodka. I thought she was messing with us.”

“Same,” Yelena muttered. “She said it with a straight face. I figured it was sarcasm.”

Ava leaned in closer. “She looks... happy.”

Yelena looked at her. “She looks terrifying.”

“That is her happy,” Ava clarified.

Another photo—smaller, older. You and Bucky in front of a bridge, clearly in Brooklyn. You’re sitting on the hood of a car, his arm around you, your hand in his.

“Okay,” Yelena said slowly. “Maybe they are gross and in love.”

Ava crossed her arms, glancing around the room again. “It’s weird.”

Yelena pointed at the bat-cat plush. “That’s new. Barnes must’ve caved at some carnival.”

John stuck his head in the doorway. “Barnes doesn’t spend twenty bucks on stuffed animals.”

Alexei ambled in behind him. “Looks handmade. Maybe he stole it?”

Bob picked it up carefully. “Glow-in-the-dark eyes. Cool.” He flipped the tag. “No price.”

“Great,” Yelena muttered. “Mystery doll.” Her gaze shifted to the sketches pinned above the desk. “And when did Y/N start a fashion line?”

Ava touched one of the mission-gear designs. “These are good.”

John lifted the sundress sketch. “That’s the one she wore this morning.”

Alexei whistled. “She makes her own combat suits and dresses? Multitasking queen.”

Bob set the plush down. “So… she sews in secret?”

“Explains the needles I keep finding,” Ava said.

Yelena tapped a separate drawing—sleek black tac-suit with red accents. “This would look sick on me.”

John smirked. “Ask nicely. Maybe she’ll let you borrow it—after she murders us for trespassing.”

Ava grabbed the plush again, squinting. “Something’s off. Bucky didn’t buy this.”

“Then who did?” Bob asked.

Alexei snapped his fingers. “Secret admirer!”

Yelena rolled her eyes. “Barnes would’ve burned the tower down.”

Ava flipped the plush over. A tiny embroidered ‘PP’ sat under one wing. “Initials?”

“Pepper Potts?” Bob offered.

“Pepper sends Stark-tech, not plushies,” Yelena said.

John stepped back. “Whatever. Let’s bail before they get back.”

"Wait!" Yelena said, holding up a smudged notebook she'd grabbed from beside the desk. "This has more."

Ava narrowed her eyes. "Y/N’s sketchbook?"

Bob immediately looked nervous. "We probably shouldn’t—"

Yelena already had it open, flipping through. "Too late."

John crossed his arms. "What is it? More dresses?"

Yelena tilted the notebook to show the page. "That's me."

They all leaned in. Sure enough, a detailed sketch of Yelena in a tactical outfit took up the left page. Black vest, reinforced pants, sleek holsters, high boots. The right page had her in a fitted trench coat and wide-legged pants, stylish but still practical, with sunglasses pushed up into her hair. Notes were scribbled in the margins. Fabric types. Zipper placements. A few faint stars.

Ava leaned closer. "Wait. That's me."

The next set of pages showed Ava in two variations—one combat-ready with a reworked SHIELD-style jacket and lightweight gear, and the other in an oversized blazer and boots, holding a coffee cup with a scowl on her face. Both were captioned lightly in small, precise handwriting. Ava: structured / minimalist. Mood: constantly annoyed.

John let out a soft laugh. "She got that right."

Yelena turned the page again. "Oh my God."

Bob blinked. "What?"

"Alexei," she said, holding it up. "In a Hawaiian shirt and cargo shorts."

Alexei grinned proudly. "Is good look. Classic."

The next page had him again, this time in reinforced armor, but with a faint note at the top: He’s gonna ignore the weight distribution anyway, so make it fun.

"She thinks I do not notice that note," Alexei said, squinting. "I do."

John reached over. "Let me see mine."

Yelena handed him the sketchbook. He raised an eyebrow at the drawing. "Okay… that’s me. Tactical, obviously. And this—" he pointed to the opposite page, "—is a hoodie and cargo pants?"

Ava peered over his shoulder. "With dog tags. And fingerless gloves. What are you, a streetwear catalog?" John rolled his eyes but kept flipping.

Bob found his own sketch and blinked. "Oh."

It was soft. Literally. A cable-knit cardigan, dark jeans, and boots with his hair swept back. He looked like a grad student. The caption read: Bob: cozy nerd. Bookstore vibes. May cry if yelled at (true).

Ava smiled. "Okay, that’s accurate."

"There's one of each of us," Yelena said, still flipping. "She’s made outfits for all of us. Combat and civilian."

Alexei was nodding along, thoroughly impressed. "She is team mom. Team mom with knives."

Bob looked at the sketches taped to the wall again. "Some of these match the ones in the book."

Yelena paused on a new page. "Okay. This one’s blank, but it has my name at the top."

Ava leaned over. "‘Yelena – formal.’ She’s planning something."

John frowned. "Like what? A gala mission?"

"God, I hope not," Yelena muttered. "I’ll set something on fire."

Alexei was still examining the walls. "She never shows us this. All this time, she hides it like secret spy craft."

"Because she doesn’t want us in her business," Bob said quietly.

Yelena shut the notebook, careful now, and set it back exactly where she found it. "We should go."

"No shit," John muttered. He headed for the door.

Ava glanced around one more time. "The wedding dress wasn’t a joke."

"Nope," Yelena said, deadpan. "Princess gown. Confirmed."

They filed out, one by one, back into the hallway. Bob looked guilty, Alexei looked proud, and John looked vaguely stressed. Yelena closed the door behind them with a soft click.

John sighed. "Alright. We say nothing."

"Nothing," Ava agreed.

Bob nodded quickly. "Absolutely nothing."

Alexei shrugged. "I say she should make me suit for next barbecue."

Yelena elbowed him. "Shut up, Dad."

They started walking, quiet for a beat. Then Yelena muttered, "still not over the dress."

Ava shook her head. "I think I need a drink."

i've actually been writing a few other oneshots for this series- i've even wrote a oneshot about you and bucky first meeting (also a fix-it for civil war... it's also 20k+ words and will be split into two parts but that's besides the point)

anyways, i don't really know what to call the series/masterlist - should it just be electric touch or something else? on ao3 i have it listed as grumpy x sunshine as a placeholder, but i don't really like it. if you have any ideas, please, please, please let me know! and if you want to see any scenarios post/pre-thunderbolts you can send in an ask!

[mcrdvcks]

just reorganized most of my room. i've been meaning to do it all summer but i was busy with summer classes for college. i still want to change some of the posters in my room, and i need to put up shelves for all my funkos (and i don't know where to put them), but hopefully it'll be done before i start college at the end of august

[mcrdvcks]

SCARLETT JOHANSSON as NATASHA ROMANOFF BLACK WIDOW (2021) Dir. Cate Shortland

[mcrdvcks]

Three Men and a Baby (1987) The Fantastic Four: First Steps (2025)

[mcrdvcks]

Krysten Ritter as Jessica Jones THE DEFENDERS (2017), created by Douglas Petrie and Marco Ramirez

[mcrdvcks]

Top 5 Spiderman's. (from movies/animations)

ok, so if we're talking spider-man actors/versions/variants it would be

tom holland

andrew garfield

miguel o'hara (because he's technically a spider-man... and he's hot, i said what i said)

miles morales (because he's still a spider-man)

the one from ultimate spider-man

ask game - top 5/top 10 anything

[mcrdvcks]

Vanessa Kirby as Sue Storm The Fantastic Four: First Steps July 25, 2025 | dir. Matt Shakman

[mcrdvcks]

Hi! Top 5 colors? (It’s simple but I feel like they can say a lot about a person)

Also congrats on 3k 💜

thank you, lex!!💛i have never been good with names of colors, because why are there so many??, so i'm gonna include pictures lol

red, but like a bright red. my dream car is a bright red convertible (with like the... sparkle or glitter in the paint. idk i really don't know cars)

2. black. i just feel like it's a good combo color that looks good with any color

3. a light pink, or like a light mauve? idk whatever this is. i never used to like pink, but then i realized that i like very specific colors of pink - but i do not like purple, lol

4. a light blue, or a sky blue? i feel like i like more lighter, pastel-y colors

5. and a medium(?) green. i don't like bright green, and i'm not a huge fan of light green

ask game - top 5/top 10 anything

[mcrdvcks]

awe, thank you ash for the kind words!! <3

what?!?! i can't believe it

i gained 1,000 followers in almost 2 months since i hit 2,000 (i went back and checked, it was june 2). y'all are so kind😭i'm honored you follow me and my weirdness and my mess of hyperfixations

i'm not gonna do a big drabble/headcanon celebration like last time (that was a lot of work), but i wanna do something smaller like some deleted scenes from any of my works or snippets from any of my wip's - inspired by @cheekybarnes 4k celebration :)

so here's a poll for you to choose! thank y'all again, i love talking with all of you about my stories and the fictional men we all love and adore <3

[mcrdvcks]

what?!?! i can't believe it

i gained 1,000 followers in almost 2 months since i hit 2,000 (i went back and checked, it was june 2). y'all are so kind😭i'm honored you follow me and my weirdness and my mess of hyperfixations

i'm not gonna do a big drabble/headcanon celebration like last time (that was a lot of work), but i wanna do something smaller like some deleted scenes from any of my works or snippets from any of my wip's - inspired by @cheekybarnes 4k celebration :)

so here's a poll for you to choose! thank y'all again, i love talking with all of you about my stories and the fictional men we all love and adore <3

[mcrdvcks]

Hiii! Top 5 snacks?!

ooohh. that's hard because i'm such a random person and i like eating a lot of different things but here we go

trader joe's has these pb&j snack dip things, like it a peanut butter wafer stick and you dip it in the jelly. yeah those are currency in our house, because we don't have a trader joe's here and the closest one is in dallas which is like 7 hours away

chocolate chip cookies, specifically the ones i make. not to brag, but everyone who's tried them has loved them, lol. i use brown butter and a little bit of sea salt on top - ugh, it's a good think i bought chocolate chips because i want to make them

cookies and cream ice cream, yeah, i'm basic, lol.

chester's hot fries, at least that's what most people call them where i live, but i'm a spicy girl at heart

and since it's summer, i'm going to say cherries since they are still(?) in season

ask game - top 5/top 10 anything

[mcrdvcks]

top 10 favorite fics you’ve ever written or read!!!

i'm going to do 5 written and 5 read, just to make it even :)

not in any particular order:

down bad - hunter (the bad batch) x original fem!character. it was the first fic i actually wrote and published, i'm going to link the ao3 version, but i have a masterlist here too! it's not finished, but it has a special place in my heart

i love you, in every time - logan howlett x fem!reader. i cannot not mention this series. it was my light when i was really struggling with depression. i adore it, i spent so much time on it and i'm so glad people loved it as much as i did

what is this feeling? - peter lyman x fem!reader. i watched scoop (2006) because hugh jackman was in it and i loved it. i knew i had to write something with him so i did... and it ended up being 30k+ words

needy - logan howlett x fem!reader. i loved writing a reader where she's scott's younger sister and secretly dating logan. i love the secret romance trope sm

electric touch - bucky barnes x fem!reader. another secret relationship/marriage trope, lol. i love this and the other part(s) that i'm working on :)

now for fav read:

Amnesia by Valerie_Vancollie - On a mission gone wrong, Luke gets amnesia and Vader finds him.

Back To The Future by PinkEasterEggs - Teenage Princess Leia, heir to Alderaan's throne and her twin, Luke Vader, heir to the Imperial throne, get thrown back in time with the chance to save their parents before it's too late. With the Force finally on their side, they decide to have a little fun whilst they try and save their father's soul. What could go wrong?

A Parent Apparent by happyaspie - In which the author indulges herself in some shameless Irondad/Spiderson with fluff, angst and everything in between because she needs more of that in her life. OR Just another one of those, oh so overdone, fanfics where Tony and Peter's relationship grows into more of a father/son relationship after an accident involving Aunt May (who lives)

for you, i'll risk it all by whitesunlars - Darth Vader was certain he had killed Padmé Amidala on Mustafar, but when a rebel broadcast reveals she is alive, he will stop at nothing to free her from what he assumes is captivity. Former Senator Padmé Amidala was certain her husband had been killed on Mustafar, but after seeing Vader across the room during a mission, she is sure that she had been lied to. Knowing the truth, she seeks out her husband, either to bring him back to the light or kill him, which ever was necessary.

Tantrum by magicgoldenflower - After successfully delivering her children, Padmé steps up to lead the rebellion. Trying to keep her children safe from their father, she relies on Obi-Wan and Bail to help her raise them. Fifteen years later, Luke and Leia are sick of being kept in the dark. They decide to break the rules and discover a secret that will change everything they know and love.

ask game - top 5/top 10 anything

[mcrdvcks]

I know is top 5/top 10, but... kiss, kill and marry between Anakin Skywalker, Mat Murdoch and Bucky Barnes

oohhhh, noooo. this is too hard imma crash out

okay, because of "morals" i'm going to choose anakin to kill. i'm so sorry baby

now for kiss i think i'm going to choose matt murdock. i think canonically he's not the best long term partner, but i'd love to have a sensual kiss with him (maybe more...)

marry bucky barnes. yeah, he's the only one with a pet, i think that makes him a better partner than the others, lol. if you can take care of a plant or pet, you're self sufficient and won't need someone else to take care of you. also he has (and understands) anxiety and nightmares, and i think in general is very compassionate

ask game - top 5/top 10 anything