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isitkpop · 6 years ago

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Unexplainable Emotion Game

So, I felt like creating a new kind of game that would spark up my K-Pop writing spirit. ~ Admin Chas

So, the way how this will go is almost the same as my other games. Pick an emotions and let me know what member OR ship you would like for me to write!

I do have limitations for groups that I will do For this game specifically. THis is because some of the groups that I have on my Masterlist, are groups that I still don’t fully know. So, I’m putting a group limit on here. Please choose a member OR ship from the groups below (the emotion list will be below also.)

It’s under the cut since it’s lonnnnnggg

Groups:

A.C.E

BlackPink

BTS

Day6

EXO

GOT7

Infinite

Seventeen

Emotions! (W/Definitions. There’s 40 to choose from xD)

Onism - n. the awareness of how little of the world you’ll experience. Imagine standing in front of the departures screen at an airport, flickering over with strange place names like other people’s passwords, each representing one more thing you’ll never get to see before you die—and all because, as the arrow on the map helpfully points out, you are here.

Mal de Coucou - n. a phenomenon in which you have an active social life but very few close friends—people who you can trust, who you can be yourself with, who can help flush out the weird psychological toxins that tend to accumulate over time—which is a form of acute social malnutrition in which even if you devour an entire buffet of chitchat, you’ll still feel pangs of hunger.

Sonder - n. the realization that each random passerby is living a life as vivid and complex as your own—populated with their own ambitions, friends, routines, worries and inherited craziness—an epic story that continues invisibly around you like an anthill sprawling deep underground, with elaborate passageways to thousands of other lives that you’ll never know existed, in which you might appear only once, as an extra sipping coffee in the background, as a blur of traffic passing on the highway, as a lighted window at dusk.

Hanker Sore - adj. finding a person so attractive it actually kinda pisses you off.

Chrysalism - n. the amniotic tranquility of being indoors during a thunderstorm, listening to waves of rain pattering against the roof like an argument upstairs, whose muffled words are unintelligible but whose crackling release of built-up tension you understand perfectly.

Altschmerz - n. weariness with the same old issues that you’ve always had—the same boring flaws and anxieties you’ve been gnawing on for years, which leaves them soggy and tasteless and inert, with nothing interesting left to think about, nothing left to do but spit them out and wander off to the backyard, ready to dig up some fresher pain you might have buried long ago.

Occhiolism - n. the awareness of the smallness of your perspective, by which you couldn’t possibly draw any meaningful conclusions at all, about the world or the past or the complexities of culture, because although your life is an epic and unrepeatable anecdote, it still only has a sample size of one, and may end up being the control for a much wilder experiment happening in the next room.

Ambedo - n. a kind of melancholic trance in which you become completely absorbed in vivid sensory details—raindrops skittering down a window, tall trees leaning in the wind, clouds of cream swirling in your coffee—briefly soaking in the experience of being alive, an act that is done purely for its own sake.

Nodus Tollens - n. the realization that the plot of your life doesn’t make sense to you anymore—that although you thought you were following the arc of the story, you keep finding yourself immersed in passages you don’t understand, that don’t even seem to belong in the same genre—which requires you to go back and reread the chapters you had originally skimmed to get to the good parts, only to learn that all along you were supposed to choose your own adventure.

Liberosis - n. the desire to care less about things—to loosen your grip on your life, to stop glancing behind you every few steps, afraid that someone will snatch it from you before you reach the end zone—rather to hold your life loosely and playfully, like a volleyball, keeping it in the air, with only quick fleeting interventions, bouncing freely in the hands of trusted friends, always in play.

Vemödalen - n. the frustration of photographing something amazing when thousands of identical photos already exist—the same sunset, the same waterfall, the same curve of a hip, the same closeup of an eye—which can turn a unique subject into something hollow and pulpy and cheap, like a mass-produced piece of furniture you happen to have assembled yourself.

Kairosclerosis - n. the moment you realize that you’re currently happy—consciously trying to savor the feeling—which prompts your intellect to identify it, pick it apart and put it in context, where it will slowly dissolve until it’s little more than an aftertaste.

Vellichor - n. the strange wistfulness of used bookstores, which are somehow infused with the passage of time—filled with thousands of old books you’ll never have time to read, each of which is itself locked in its own era, bound and dated and papered over like an old room the author abandoned years ago, a hidden annex littered with thoughts left just as they were on the day they were captured.

Rückkehrunruhe - n. the feeling of returning home after an immersive trip only to find it fading rapidly from your awareness—to the extent you have to keep reminding yourself that it happened at all, even though it felt so vivid just days ago—which makes you wish you could smoothly cross-dissolve back into everyday life, or just hold the shutter open indefinitely and let one scene become superimposed on the next, so all your days would run together and you’d never have to call cut.

Nighthawk - n. a recurring thought that only seems to strike you late at night—an overdue task, a nagging guilt, a looming and shapeless future—that circles high overhead during the day, that pecks at the back of your mind while you try to sleep, that you can successfully ignore for weeks, only to feel its presence hovering outside the window, waiting for you to finish your coffee, passing the time by quietly building a nest.

Dead Reckoning - n. to find yourself bothered by someone’s death more than you would have expected, as if you assumed they would always be part of the landscape, like a lighthouse you could pass by for years until the night it suddenly goes dark, leaving you with one less landmark to navigate by—still able to find your bearings, but feeling all that much more adrift.

Pâro - n. the feeling that no matter what you do is always somehow wrong—that any attempt to make your way comfortably through the world will only end up crossing some invisible taboo—as if there’s some obvious way forward that everybody else can see but you, each of them leaning back in their chair and calling out helpfully, colder, colder, colder.

Midsummer - n. a feast celebrated on the day of your 26th birthday, which marks the point at which your youth finally expires as a valid excuse—when you must begin harvesting your crops, even if they’ve barely taken root—and the point at which the days will begin to feel shorter as they pass, until even the pollen in the air reminds you of the coming snow.

Adronitis - n. frustration with how long it takes to get to know someone—spending the first few weeks chatting in their psychological entryway, with each subsequent conversation like entering a different anteroom, each a little closer to the center of the house—wishing instead that you could start there and work your way out, exchanging your deepest secrets first, before easing into casualness, until you’ve built up enough mystery over the years to ask them where they’re from, and what they do for a living.

Rigor Samsa - n. a kind of psychological exoskeleton that can protect you from pain and contain your anxieties, but always ends up cracking under pressure or hollowed out by time—and will keep growing back again and again, until you develop a more sophisticated emotional structure, held up by a strong and flexible spine, built less like a fortress than a cluster of tree houses.

Silience - n. the kind of unnoticed excellence that carries on around you every day, unremarkably—the hidden talents of friends and coworkers, the fleeting solos of subway buskers, the slapdash eloquence of anonymous users, the unseen portfolios of aspiring artists—which would be renowned as masterpieces if only they’d been appraised by the cartel of popular taste, who assume that brilliance is a rare and precious quality, accidentally overlooking buried jewels that may not be flawless but are still somehow perfect.

Fitzcarraldo - n. an image that somehow becomes lodged deep in your brain—maybe washed there by a dream, or smuggled inside a book, or planted during a casual conversation—which then grows into a wild and impractical vision that keeps scrambling back and forth in your head like a dog stuck in a car that’s about to arrive home, just itching for a chance to leap headlong into reality.

Keyframe - n. a moment that seemed innocuous at the time but ended up marking a diversion into a strange new era of your life—set in motion not by a series of jolting epiphanies but by tiny imperceptible differences between one ordinary day and the next, until entire years of your memory can be compressed into a handful of indelible images—which prevents you from rewinding the past, but allows you to move forward without endless buffering.

Gnossienne - n. a moment of awareness that someone you’ve known for years still has a private and mysterious inner life, and somewhere in the hallways of their personality is a door locked from the inside, a stairway leading to a wing of the house that you’ve never fully explored—an unfinished attic that will remain maddeningly unknowable to you, because ultimately neither of you has a map, or a master key, or any way of knowing exactly where you stand.

Anecdoche - n. a conversation in which everyone is talking but nobody is listening, simply overlaying disconnected words like a game of Scrabble, with each player borrowing bits of other anecdotes as a way to increase their own score, until we all run out of things to say.

Catoptric Tristesse - n. the sadness that you’ll never really know what other people think of you, whether good, bad or if at all—that although we reflect on each other with the sharpness of a mirror, the true picture of how we’re coming off somehow reaches us softened and distorted, as if each mirror was preoccupied with twisting around, desperately trying to look itself in the eye.

Anemoia - n. nostalgia for a time you’ve never known. Imagine stepping through the frame into a sepia-tinted haze, where you could sit on the side of the road and watch the locals passing by. Who lived and died before any of us arrived here, who sleep in some of the same houses we do, who look up at the same moon, who breathe the same air, feel the same blood in their veins—and live in a completely different world.

Mimeomia - n. the frustration of knowing how easily you fit into a stereotype, even if you never intended to, even if it’s unfair, even if everyone else feels the same way—each of us trick-or-treating for money and respect and attention, wearing a safe and predictable costume because we’re tired of answering the question, “What are you supposed to be?”

Monachopsis - n. the subtle but persistent feeling of being out of place, as maladapted to your surroundings as a seal on a beach—lumbering, clumsy, easily distracted, huddled in the company of other misfits, unable to recognize the ambient roar of your intended habitat, in which you’d be fluidly, brilliantly, effortlessly at home.

Semaphorism - n. a conversational hint that you have something personal to say on the subject but don’t go any further—an emphatic nod, a half-told anecdote, an enigmatic ‘I know the feeling’—which you place into conversations like those little flags that warn diggers of something buried underground: maybe a cable that secretly powers your house, maybe a fiberoptic link to some foreign country.

Énouement - n. the bittersweetness of having arrived here in the future, where you can finally get the answers to how things turn out in the real world—who your baby sister would become, what your friends would end up doing, where your choices would lead you, exactly when you’d lose the people you took for granted—which is priceless intel that you instinctively want to share with anybody who hadn’t already made the journey, as if there was some part of you who had volunteered to stay behind, who was still stationed at a forgotten outpost somewhere in the past, still eagerly awaiting news from the front.

Daguerreologue - n. an imaginary interview with an old photo of yourself, an enigmatic figure who still lives in the grainy and color-warped house you grew up in, who may well spend a lot of their day wondering where you are and what you’re doing now, like an old grandma whose kids live far away and don’t call much anymore.

Fata Organa - n. a flash of real emotion glimpsed in someone sitting across the room, idly locked in the middle of some group conversation, their eyes glinting with vulnerability or quiet anticipation or cosmic boredom—as if you could see backstage through a gap in the curtains, watching stagehands holding their ropes at the ready, actors in costume mouthing their lines, fragments of bizarre sets waiting for some other production.

Avenoir - n. the desire that memory could flow backward. We take it for granted that life moves forward. But you move as a rower moves, facing backwards: you can see where you’ve been, but not where you’re going. And your boat is steered by a younger version of you. It’s hard not to wonder what life would be like facing the other way…

Kenopsia - n. the eerie, forlorn atmosphere of a place that’s usually bustling with people but is now abandoned and quiet—a school hallway in the evening, an unlit office on a weekend, vacant fairgrounds—an emotional afterimage that makes it seem not just empty but hyper-empty, with a total population in the negative, who are so conspicuously absent they glow like neon signs.

The Tilt Shift - n. a phenomenon in which your lived experience seems oddly inconsequential once you put it down on paper, which turns an epic tragicomedy into a sequence of figures on a model train set, assembled in their tiny classrooms and workplaces, wandering along their own cautious and well-trodden paths—peaceable, generic and out of focus.

Jouska - n. a hypothetical conversation that you compulsively play out in your head—a crisp analysis, a cathartic dialogue, a devastating comeback—which serves as a kind of psychological batting cage where you can connect more deeply with people than in the small ball of everyday life, which is a frustratingly cautious game of change-up pitches, sacrifice bunts, and intentional walks.

Ecstatic Shock - n. the surge of energy upon catching a glance from someone you like—a thrill that starts in your stomach, arcs up through your lungs and flashes into a spontaneous smile—which scrambles your ungrounded circuits and tempts you to chase that feeling with a kite and a key.

Heartworm - n. a relationship or friendship that you can’t get out of your head, which you thought had faded long ago but is still somehow alive and unfinished, like an abandoned campsite whose smoldering embers still have the power to start a forest fire.

Xeno - n. the smallest measurable unit of human connection, typically exchanged between passing strangers—a flirtatious glance, a sympathetic nod, a shared laugh about some odd coincidence—moments that are fleeting and random but still contain powerful emotional nutrients that can alleviate the symptoms of feeling alone.

#kpop #ace #bts #blackpink #day6 #exo #got7 #infinite #seventeen #ask game #drabble game #emotion game

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quiet-onset · 6 years ago

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Pâro (4)

Pairing: Cap!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 2,372

Tag List: @thisisbullshytt, @here-for-your-bullshit, @unknownuserhasjoined, @bees-are-more-important, @catvader1o1, @i-bitch-you-bitch, @slavsher, @thefridgeismybestie

A/N: It’s been forever since I posted a chapter of Paro, so here ya go! Here’s the last chapter, in case you don’t remember what happened lol. And here’s the masterlist, too, in case you wanna start at the beginning. Enjoy!

Bucky thought two weeks was enough to cool off. Though he wasn’t sure who needed to more; him or Bruce.

They avoided each other like the plague for fourteen days, barely mumbling more than a word to one another. The tension was high, and everyone noticed. The team saw Bucky’s fist clench whenever Bruce had to speak during a briefing. They saw how Bruce would hightail it in the opposite direction if he ever saw Bucky coming toward him. Tony had to fill them in, but it was clear that the issue needed to be resolved if the team was to work efficiently.

Even you knew that this had gone on for too long. Bucky and Bruce were on the same side; they needed to make up. Bucky was kneeling on the window seat, screwing one of the new window frames into the wall, when you decided to bring it up.

“So how are things at the Tower?”

Bucky shrugged, “Same as always. Paperwork, meetings, all that good stuff. Pass me the Philip's head, will you?”

“Course.” You grabbed the other screwdriver and placed it in his hand. “So, everyone’s good?”

He paused for a moment as he realized what you were getting at. Then, he nodded as he pressed into the screw just a bit harder. “Everyone’s good.”

“So,” You started once more. “Dr. Banner is good?”

“Y/N, I really don’t want to talk about Bruce right now.” He sighed, his arms dropping as he turned to you in the window seat.

“You can’t be mad at him forever, Bucky.”

“I can try.” He scoffed, only half-joking as he went back to screwing the pane into place.

“Be serious.” You slid up to the window seat and sat across from him before snatching the screwdriver from his hand. “He was just doing his job.”

“Yeah, and he scared you for no good reason. I can’t believe he thinks you have something to do with MODOK.”

You grasped one of his hands with your own, his blue eyes flitting up to yours. “I appreciate you protecting me. I do. But Dr. Banner was doing what he thought was right. Not to mention, you have to work with him.”

He sighed, “I know.”

“Don’t you think it would be better for you, and better for your team, if you weren’t fighting with each other?”

Bucky had nodded, knowing that you were right and that this had gone on for too long. That’s why he was standing outside of Bruce’s lab preparing for a conversation that would inevitably turn into another argument. He took a deep breath and reminded himself that this was necessary. He was the Captain now, and that meant he had to put his pride aside for the sake of the team.

He turned the knob and walked in slowly, seeing Bruce working on something at his bench. He cleared his throat to gain Bruce’s attention. When Bruce turned his head and caught sight of Bucky, he returned to work almost immediately. “I suppose you’re here to reprimand me.” He said quietly with a scoff.

Bucky sighed. “Look, I know it’s hard, switching from Steve to me. But you didn’t have to take it out on her, Bruce.”

Bruce put down his tools and spun around on his stool. He looked up at Bucky as he wiped his hands on an old rag. “That’s not what it’s about. I think you’re doing a great job, actually. Minus, the girl.”

“She has a name.”

“She’s also hiding something.”

“Not this again.” Bucky rolled his eyes.

“Look, just listen, okay? Just listen to what I have to say.”

Bucky held his gaze but folded his arms over his chest. “Fine.”

“Nothing adds up, Bucky. She’s been at the scene both times MODOK attacked. In the first one, she almost got killed but wasn’t scared. The second, she’s in a facility that she has no business in.”

“She said the company contracts accountants from her firm.”

“Except there’s no record of that with the company or her firm,” Bruce revealed, watching Bucky’s expression falter a bit. “Not to mention, her stories didn’t match.”

“What?”

“She told you that she was on her way back to work. She told me that she was just leaving work.”

Bucky let out an unbelievable chuckle. “She had just jumped out of an exploding building and was being shouted at by a man who’s known to turn into a huge, violent green dude when he’s angry, Bruce.”

Bruce looked to the ground, shame flooding his veins. That was the only part of the night he regretted. He never meant to get so angry. He knew what could’ve happened, and for that, he owed Bucky and you an apology. “I’m sorry about that, Bucky. I really am. I didn’t mean to lose my temper like that.”

“I’m not the one you scared half to death.”

Bruce sighed, “I just know what manipulation looks like, what it feels like. I’ve experienced it too many times to count, and I know you have, too. I can’t stand by and watch it happen to someone I care about.”

The room was suddenly quiet. Bucky considered what Bruce had said. The only thing worth looking into to him, at least, was the thing about your firm and that company. Not to mention, Bruce admitted to caring about Bucky. He was still getting used to having friends outside his immediate circle; Steve, Nat, Sam, and the like. Hearing Bruce say that warmed his heart. “I’m flattered, Banner.” Bucky joked.

“I’m glad.” Bruce chuckled. “You know, I wouldn’t bring this up if I didn’t believe it. She’s hiding something.”

Bucky closed his eyes and let out a sigh, pinching his nose. When he dropped his hand, he checked his watch and noted the time. “I have to go.”

As he headed to the door, Bruce spun back around on his stool and picked up his tools. “Hot date?”

The super soldier paused and breathed through his nose. Reaching for the doorknob, he turned his head. “I’ll be back later. Call if it’s urgent.”

When Bruce heard the door shut, he sighed and looked across the table at the papers and files he’d been digging up in his search for the truth. He shook his head and looked down at Bucky’s shield, focusing on the repairs. Suddenly, he paused, noticing a small splatter of red in the blue ring of the shield.

Blood.

“FRIDAY?”

“Yes, Dr. Banner?”

“Run the splatter of blood on Cap’s shield for DNA.”

“Of course, Dr. Banner.”

—

As Bucky pulled over in front of the fancy restaurant in the car Tony lent him, he wondered if half an hour was too early to show up for a date.

He wanted everything to go perfectly. He went to Steve and Nat’s for help. Steve gave an enthusiastic pep-talk as Nat made Bucky try on a thousand different dress shirts. When the outfit was finally decided on, he left the couple’s house in a nervous rush. Logically, he knew he wouldn’t be late, but he couldn’t help thinking that something, anything would go wrong.

When he stepped out of the car, he pulled his suit jacket together, buttoning it. He ran a hand through his hair as he passed his keys off to the valet. He noticed the valet looking at his metal hand for just a bit longer than necessary but said nothing. He smiled kindly, “Thanks.”

Bucky walked inside, straight up to the podium where a server was waiting. “Good evening. Do you have a reservation?” She asked.

“Um, yes. Under Bucky Barnes.”

Her eyes widened as she looked at him. Lips parted, she couldn’t find the words. Bucky, again, smiled kindly at her as she slowly nodded to herself. “Sorry.” She said. “It’s just, you know, not every day does an Avenger walk in here.”

“It’s okay.” He chuckled.

“Your reservation says it’s for two.” She said, a bit confused as she led him to his table.

“Yeah, I’m a bit early.” He admitted while tugging on his collar. “Just a little nervous.”

“First date?”

“In about eighty years, yeah.” He chuckled breathlessly as they arrive at the table. “Thank you.”

“Of course. I’ll bring a bottle of our best champagne for you.”

Down the block, your heels clicked on the pavement as you held your clutch in your hands. You could barely contain your smile as you neared the restaurant. You were beyond excited to go on a date with Bucky as he had fascinated since the day you met. You had heard so many good and bad things about him, but none of it seemed to do him justice.

He was a good person, through and through. You could tell just from looking into his arctic eyes. They held compassion for everyone, a willingness to give everyone a chance. And at the same time, he had a desire to protect everyone he could.

Maybe tonight was your opportunity to make him see how special he really was.

You stopped just outside the restaurant’s large window, peering inside. Your smile reflected in the glass when you caught sight of Bucky. He was thanking a waitress as he brought a bottle of fine champagne to the table in an ice bucket. He looked so handsome, his suit fitting him perfectly. You watched as he shrugged off his suit jacket and draped it across the back of his chair. His dress shirt hugged his biceps nicely, and you couldn’t help but giggle when he let out a nervous huff as he sat back down.

After you took a deep breath of your own, you turned to walk to the entrance of the restaurant. Suddenly, you stopped, a strange feeling running up your arm. You lifted it and inspected your skin, but there was nothing unusual. Just your bracelet hanging from your wrist.

That was when you heard a voice.

Come to me.

Your eyes widened and you jumped, dropping your clutch on the ground. Much to your surprise, you turned around and began walking in the opposite direction. You tried to fight the feeling as it started to rush to your head. Your vision became hazy within mere seconds, but your body continued moving without a problem. Your last thought was of Bucky, hoping he’d come to save you once more.

Then everything went black.

Bucky waited for ten minutes after seven o’clock, the agreed upon time. Then ten turned to fifteen. Fifteen turned to thirty. Before Bucky knew it, an hour had passed by, and you still hadn’t arrived. He wasn’t sure what to think anymore. Did you stand him up? Did something happen to you? Had you forgotten?

Suddenly, Bucky’s phone was ringing, and his heart leaped as he hoped it was you. However, when he dug it out of his pocket, he saw that it was just Tony. He pressed answer and brought the phone up to his ear, “What’s up?”

“Sorry to interrupt your dinner, Cap, but we’ve got a situation.”

“What kind of situation?”

“The evil supervillain kind. I sent your motorcycle and shield to the restaurant. The destination is in the GPS; Just get here as fast as you can.”

Bucky stood and began making his way to the entrance, immediately shifting into Captain mode. “Alright, just keep everything under control ‘til I get there.”

“Aye aye, Cap’n.”

Outside, he could see his motorcycle and shield awaiting its driver. Just as he got to the door, the server from before called him. He had no time to turn around as he called back to her, “Just send the bill to Tony Stark.”

Everyone’s head had turned in Bucky’s direction as he made his way to his motorcycle, but he barely noticed. He approached the vehicle only stopping when he felt something under his foot. He looked down and lifted his foot, seeing a small clutch on the ground. He searched it for an ID, but his stomach sank when he found.

The picture of you was clear, as was your name.

“Shit.”

Bucky was pretty sure he broke every traffic law there was getting to the scene. On the way, he dialed your number and quickly slid his earpiece in, hoping he could get a hold of you. He was sent to your voicemail after a few rings, so he sighed and left a message.

“Y/N, I need you to call me back so I know you’re okay. I found your clutch outside the restaurant, but you never came in, and I just… Look, MODOK is attacking again, so I need you to get somewhere safe, far away from the scene, alright? Please? Call me back.”

As he got close, he noticed that the streets were full of people, but they left their cars while fleeing. He traveled through the cars as people ran screaming in the opposite direction. When he got to the heart of the fight, he felt his blood boil at the sight of the destruction. He hopped off his motorcycle and grabbed his shield, only to be lifted off the ground. He looked up with wide eyes, his heart hammering as he realized it was just Tony. “Warn a guy, will you?” Bucky shouted over the noise.

“Turn your comms on, will you?” Tony retorted.

“Wasn't exactly expecting to need them,” Bucky said as Tony dropped him onto a nearby roof. He turned them on and was immediately met with Bruce calling for him from HQ, slipping off his suit jacket. “Bruce, what is it?”

“There’s something important you need to know before you get there.”

“Well, I’m already here so tell me quick.” He gripped his shield and walked to the edge of the roof, trying to estimate the height. When he looked back up, his heart stopped.

A woman stood atop the rubble dressed in a dark purple leather combat suit, an evil smirk on her lips. Her eyes were white, almost as if they had been rolled to the back of her head. Her hands shot focused beams of purple energy at the team, but that’s not what surprised him.

What surprised him was that the woman was you.

#cap!bucky x reader #cap!bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #marvel x reader #Pâro series

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onlyonebiaswho · 4 years ago

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NAKAMOTO YUTA

Common | social media au, college au, bad boy au

You go from wanting to graduate with no distractions to falling head over heels for your school’s number one bad boy.

Every Text I Sent You *ongoing* | social media au, college au, strangers to lovers

When the one who answered isn’t who you expected.

Haut Monde | oneshot, rich kid au, rated m

Growing up with more money than you could dream of, you always had what you wanted. Nakamoto Yuta was similar to you in wealth, status, beauty, and flaws. Your innate attraction to each other proved to be entertaining at first, before slowly turning into something you never could have expected. He was everything you didn’t know you wanted while simultaneously being your worst fear.

Kitten | oneshot, established relationship, rated m

Yuta wants to try something new, but he’s decided he’d rather ease you into it before he eases into you.

Let Me Love U | social media au, college au, single parent au, strangers to lovers

Yuta works at the bookstore nearby the college campus, and he always sees you in the back corner of the store, head buried in books. One day, you stand in front of his desk asking for help, and he is in for a surprise.

Loyalty Love | oneshot, mafia au, rated m

The starting point—the moment it all changes—is very easy to remember. As is the moment it all goes wrong.

Not My Type | social media au, high school au

You don’t fall in love, and neither does Yuta. Instead, you guys make others fall in love with yourselves.

One Last Fight | oneshot, underground fighter au, established relationship

After months of Yuta fighting for cheap change on the side, you hear the promise you’ve heard too many times before. Just how long until it’s finally true?

Pâro | social media au, high school au, cinderella story au

You’re totally okay with being an invisible loser in high school as long as you get accepted into the university of your dreams. But maybe, meeting your internet crush would be even better. Maybe.

Starstruck | social media au, college au, soccer au

2nd installment in the NCT University Series

Can you believe that every Tuesday practice, thee Yuta Nakamoto—SMU alumni and now striker for one of Korea’s biggest football clubs—will come down to help assist with practices? You don’t really care though. Your job is to be the manager, not to be impressed by some football star. But maybe, sometimes, he’s kinda cool.

Your Lips, Like Roses | oneshot, fantasy au

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sleeping-stories · 8 years ago

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Mal de Coucou

n. a phenomenon in which you have an active social life but very few close friends—people who you can trust, who you can be yourself with, who can help flush out the weird psychological toxins that tend to accumulate over time—which is a form of acute social malnutrition in which even if you devour an entire buffet of chitchat, you’ll still feel pangs of hunger.

Sonder

n. the realization that each random passerby is living a life as vivid and complex as your own—populated with their own ambitions, friends, routines, worries and inherited craziness—an epic story that continues invisibly around you like an anthill sprawling deep underground, with elaborate passageways to thousands of other lives that you’ll never know existed, in which you might appear only once, as an extra sipping coffee in the background, as a blur of traffic passing on the highway, as a lighted window at dusk.

Chrysalism

n. the amniotic tranquility of being indoors during a thunderstorm, listening to waves of rain pattering against the roof like an argument upstairs, whose muffled words are unintelligible but whose crackling release of built-up tension you understand perfectly.

Altschmerz

n. weariness with the same old issues that you’ve always had—the same boring flaws and anxieties you’ve been gnawing on for years, which leaves them soggy and tasteless and inert, with nothing interesting left to think about, nothing left to do but spit them out and wander off to the backyard, ready to dig up some fresher pain you might have buried long ago.

Occhiolism

n. the awareness of the smallness of your perspective, by which you couldn’t possibly draw any meaningful conclusions at all, about the world or the past or the complexities of culture, because although your life is an epic and unrepeatable anecdote, it still only has a sample size of one, and may end up being the control for a much wilder experiment happening in the next room.

Ambedo

n. a kind of melancholic trance in which you become completely absorbed in vivid sensory details—raindrops skittering down a window, tall trees leaning in the wind, clouds of cream swirling in your coffee—briefly soaking in the experience of being alive, an act that is done purely for its own sake.

Nodus Tollens

n. the realization that the plot of your life doesn’t make sense to you anymore—that although you thought you were following the arc of the story, you keep finding yourself immersed in passages you don’t understand, that don’t even seem to belong in the same genre—which requires you to go back and reread the chapters you had originally skimmed to get to the good parts, only to learn that all along you were supposed to choose your own adventure.

Liberosis

n. the desire to care less about things—to loosen your grip on your life, to stop glancing behind you every few steps, afraid that someone will snatch it from you before you reach the end zone—rather to hold your life loosely and playfully, like a volleyball, keeping it in the air, with only quick fleeting interventions, bouncing freely in the hands of trusted friends, always in play.

Vemödalen

n. the frustration of photographing something amazing when thousands of identical photos already exist—the same sunset, the same waterfall, the same curve of a hip, the same closeup of an eye—which can turn a unique subject into something hollow and pulpy and cheap, like a mass-produced piece of furniture you happen to have assembled yourself.

Kairosclerosis

n. the moment you realize that you’re currently happy—consciously trying to savor the feeling—which prompts your intellect to identify it, pick it apart and put it in context, where it will slowly dissolve until it’s little more than an aftertaste.

Vellichor

n. the strange wistfulness of used bookstores, which are somehow infused with the passage of time—filled with thousands of old books you’ll never have time to read, each of which is itself locked in its own era, bound and dated and papered over like an old room the author abandoned years ago, a hidden annex littered with thoughts left just as they were on the day they were captured.

Rückkehrunruhe

n. the feeling of returning home after an immersive trip only to find it fading rapidly from your awareness—to the extent you have to keep reminding yourself that it happened at all, even though it felt so vivid just days ago—which makes you wish you could smoothly cross-dissolve back into everyday life, or just hold the shutter open indefinitely and let one scene become superimposed on the next, so all your days would run together and you’d never have to call cut.

Nighthawk

n. a recurring thought that only seems to strike you late at night—an overdue task, a nagging guilt, a looming and shapeless future—that circles high overhead during the day, that pecks at the back of your mind while you try to sleep, that you can successfully ignore for weeks, only to feel its presence hovering outside the window, waiting for you to finish your coffee, passing the time by quietly building a nest.

Dead Reckoning

n. to find yourself bothered by someone’s death more than you would have expected, as if you assumed they would always be part of the landscape, like a lighthouse you could pass by for years until the night it suddenly goes dark, leaving you with one less landmark to navigate by—still able to find your bearings, but feeling all that much more adrift.

Pâro

n. the feeling that no matter what you do is always somehow wrong—that any attempt to make your way comfortably through the world will only end up crossing some invisible taboo—as if there’s some obvious way forward that everybody else can see but you, each of them leaning back in their chair and calling out helpfully, colder, colder, colder.

Midsummer

n. a feast celebrated on the day of your 26th birthday, which marks the point at which your youth finally expires as a valid excuse—when you must begin harvesting your crops, even if they’ve barely taken root—and the point at which the days will begin to feel shorter as they pass, until even the pollen in the air reminds you of the coming snow.

Adronitis

n. frustration with how long it takes to get to know someone—spending the first few weeks chatting in their psychological entryway, with each subsequent conversation like entering a different anteroom, each a little closer to the center of the house—wishing instead that you could start there and work your way out, exchanging your deepest secrets first, before easing into casualness, until you’ve built up enough mystery over the years to ask them where they’re from, and what they do for a living.

Rigor Samsa

n. a kind of psychological exoskeleton that can protect you from pain and contain your anxieties, but always ends up cracking under pressure or hollowed out by time—and will keep growing back again and again, until you develop a more sophisticated emotional structure, held up by a strong and flexible spine, built less like a fortress than a cluster of treehouses.

Silience

n. the kind of unnoticed excellence that carries on around you every day, unremarkably—the hidden talents of friends and coworkers, the fleeting solos of subway buskers, the slapdash eloquence of anonymous users, the unseen portfolios of aspiring artists—which would be renowned as masterpieces if only they’d been appraised by the cartel of popular taste, who assume that brilliance is a rare and precious quality, accidentally overlooking buried jewels that may not be flawless but are still somehow perfect.

Fitzcarraldo

n. an image that somehow becomes lodged deep in your brain—maybe washed there by a dream, or smuggled inside a book, or planted during a casual conversation—which then grows into a wild and impractical vision that keeps scrambling back and forth in your head like a dog stuck in a car that’s about to arrive home, just itching for a chance to leap headlong into reality.

Keyframe

n. a moment that seemed innocuous at the time but ended up marking a diversion into a strange new era of your life—set in motion not by a series of jolting epiphanies but by tiny imperceptible differences between one ordinary day and the next, until entire years of your memory can be compressed into a handful of indelible images—which prevents you from rewinding the past, but allows you to move forward without endless buffering.

Gnossienne

n. a moment of awareness that someone you’ve known for years still has a private and mysterious inner life, and somewhere in the hallways of their personality is a door locked from the inside, a stairway leading to a wing of the house that you’ve never fully explored—an unfinished attic that will remain maddeningly unknowable to you, because ultimately neither of you has a map, or a master key, or any way of knowing exactly where you stand.

Anecdoche

n. a conversation in which everyone is talking but nobody is listening, simply overlaying disconnected words like a game of Scrabble, with each player borrowing bits of other anecdotes as a way to increase their own score, until we all run out of things to say.

Catoptric Tristesse

n. the sadness that you’ll never really know what other people think of you, whether good, bad or if at all—that although we reflect on each other with the sharpness of a mirror, the true picture of how we’re coming off somehow reaches us softened and distorted, as if each mirror was preoccupied with twisting around, desperately trying to look itself in the eye.

Anemoia

n. nostalgia for a time you’ve never known. Imagine stepping through the frame into a sepia-tinted haze, where you could sit on the side of the road and watch the locals passing by. Who lived and died before any of us arrived here, who sleep in some of the same houses we do, who look up at the same moon, who breathe the same air, feel the same blood in their veins—and live in a completely different world.

Mimeomia

n. the frustration of knowing how easily you fit into a stereotype, even if you never intended to, even if it’s unfair, even if everyone else feels the same way—each of us trick-or-treating for money and respect and attention, wearing a safe and predictable costume because we’re tired of answering the question, “What are you supposed to be?”

Monachopsis

n. the subtle but persistent feeling of being out of place, as maladapted to your surroundings as a seal on a beach—lumbering, clumsy, easily distracted, huddled in the company of other misfits, unable to recognize the ambient roar of your intended habitat, in which you’d be fluidly, brilliantly, effortlessly at home.

Semaphorism

n. a conversational hint that you have something personal to say on the subject but don’t go any further—an emphatic nod, a half-told anecdote, an enigmatic ‘I know the feeling’—which you place into conversations like those little flags that warn diggers of something buried underground: maybe a cable that secretly powers your house, maybe a fiberoptic link to some foreign country.

Énouement

n. the bittersweetness of having arrived here in the future, where you can finally get the answers to how things turn out in the real world—who your baby sister would become, what your friends would end up doing, where your choices would lead you, exactly when you’d lose the people you took for granted—which is priceless intel that you instinctively want to share with anybody who hadn’t already made the journey, as if there was some part of you who had volunteered to stay behind, who was still stationed at a forgotten outpost somewhere in the past, still eagerly awaiting news from the front.

Daguerreologue

n. an imaginary interview with an old photo of yourself, an enigmatic figure who still lives in the grainy and color-warped house you grew up in, who may well spend a lot of their day wondering where you are and what you’re doing now, like an old grandma whose kids live far away and don’t call much anymore.

Fata Organa

n. a flash of real emotion glimpsed in someone sitting across the room, idly locked in the middle of some group conversation, their eyes glinting with vulnerability or quiet anticipation or cosmic boredom—as if you could see backstage through a gap in the curtains, watching stagehands holding their ropes at the ready, actors in costume mouthing their lines, fragments of bizarre sets waiting for some other production.

Avenoir

n. the desire that memory could flow backward. We take it for granted that life moves forward. But you move as a rower moves, facing backwards: you can see where you’ve been, but not where you’re going. And your boat is steered by a younger version of you. It’s hard not to wonder what life would be like facing the other way…

Kenopsia

n. the eerie, forlorn atmosphere of a place that’s usually bustling with people but is now abandoned and quiet—a school hallway in the evening, an unlit office on a weekend, vacant fairgrounds—an emotional afterimage that makes it seem not just empty but hyper-empty, with a total population in the negative, who are so conspicuously absent they glow like neon signs.

The Tilt Shift

n. a phenomenon in which your lived experience seems oddly inconsequential once you put it down on paper, which turns an epic tragicomedy into a sequence of figures on a model train set, assembled in their tiny classrooms and workplaces, wandering along their own cautious and well-trodden paths—peaceable, generic and out of focus.

Jouska

n. a hypothetical conversation that you compulsively play out in your head—a crisp analysis, a cathartic dialogue, a devastating comeback—which serves as a kind of psychological batting cage where you can connect more deeply with people than in the small ball of everyday life, which is a frustratingly cautious game of change-up pitches, sacrifice bunts, and intentional walks.

Ecstatic Shock

n. the surge of energy upon catching a glance from someone you like—a thrill that starts in your stomach, arcs up through your lungs and flashes into a spontaneous smile—which scrambles your ungrounded circuits and tempts you to chase that feeling with a kite and a key.

Heartworm

n. a relationship or friendship that you can’t get out of your head, which you thought had faded long ago but is still somehow alive and unfinished, like an abandoned campsite whose smoldering embers still have the power to start a forest fire.

Xeno

n. the smallest measurable unit of human connection, typically exchanged between passing strangers—a flirtatious glance, a sympathetic nod, a shared laugh about some odd coincidence—moments that are fleeting and random but still contain powerful emotional nutrients that can alleviate the symptoms of feeling alone.

Flashover

n. the moment a conversation becomes real and alive, which occurs when a spark of trust shorts out the delicate circuits you keep insulated under layers of irony, momentarily grounding the static emotional charge you’ve built up through decades of friction with the world.

Wytai

n. a feature of modern society that suddenly strikes you as absurd and grotesque—from zoos and milk-drinking to organ transplants, life insurance, and fiction—part of the faint background noise of absurdity that reverberates from the moment our ancestors first crawled out of the slime but could not for the life of them remember what they got up to do.

Onism

n. the frustration of being stuck in just one body, that inhabits only one place at a time, which is like standing in front of the departures screen at an airport, flickering over with strange place names like other people’s passwords, each representing one more thing you’ll never get to see before you die—and all because, as the arrow on the map helpfully points out, you are here.

Kuebiko

n. a state of exhaustion inspired by an act of senseless violence, which forces you to revise your image of what can happen in this world—mending the fences of your expectations, weeding out invasive truths, cultivating the perennial good that’s buried under the surface—before propping yourself up in the middle of it like an old scarecrow, who’s bursting at the seams but powerless to do anything but stand there and watch.

Exulansis

n. the tendency to give up trying to talk about an experience because people are unable to relate to it—whether through envy or pity or simple foreignness—which allows it to drift away from the rest of your life story, until the memory itself feels out of place, almost mythical, wandering restlessly in the fog, no longer even looking for a place to land.

Morii

n. the desire to capture a fleeting experience. “With every click of the shutter, you're trying to press pause on your life."

Dès Vu

n. the awareness that this will become a memory.

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quiet-onset · 6 years ago

Text

Pâro (1)

Pairing: Cap!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 2,264

Tag List: @thisisbullshytt, @here-for-your-bullshit, @unknownuserhasjoined, @bees-are-more-important

A/N: I’m so excited guysssss!! You’ll find this series has an element of the Marvel comics in reference to a certain character, but I’ll work all the important info into the fic. I hope you guys like it! Enjoy! (Also I made that graphic from a generator, so be proud of me lol)

Bucky had learned in a short two weeks that being Captain America was a tough ass job.

He tried to keep to his routine. Get up at six in the morning, go for a run, come back around seven for training with recruits, then deal with all the menial tasks, paperwork and such. He quickly realized that everything was changing now that he’d taken Steve’s old mantle.

His morning run seemed almost an impossibility now. Ever since hearing Steve Rogers was stepping down, and Bucky Barnes was taking over, reporters and paparazzi have been outside almost all day. They wanted to ask him a thousands questions, all of which seemed very accusatory. So the morning run had to be changed to a run on the treadmill.

Then, he was told he was no longer training recruits. He would initiate and oversee them, but training was given to Sam. He found that Captain America only trained recruits in exceptional circumstances, like Wanda or Peter.

The icing on the cake, though, was that he had a lot less paperwork to do. He had to go to various meetings with Tony where they would approve new tech or assign missions to agents and the team. Bucky felt like hadn’t signed this many papers since he joined the army in the forties.

But Steve left the job to him, so he had to do his best.

Bucky was with Bruce, getting his metal arm checked out when the sirens sounded off loudly, meaning the Avengers were needed. Bucky looked up with a kind of fear in his eyes, a fear that Bruce recognized as fear of failure. “Hey,” Bruce called. “You’re gonna do fine.”

Bucky sighed as he stood from the table. “I sure hope so.”

“Wait.” Bruce quickly grabbed a suitcase and placed it on the table. “If you’re gonna be Captain America, you’re gonna need a new suit.”

—

Sam was the first to tease his new captain. “Well, don’t you look spiffy!”

Bucky shook his head as he drove his motorcycle through traffic, trying to get used to his new suit. It was modeled after Steve’s, though it was tailored a bit more to Bucky’s taste. The chest was its normal cobalt blue with the silver star and stripes. The accents were a dark red, and everything from the torso down was black, very indicative of his style. He still had holsters for his guns and knives, and his shield was hooked snugly onto his back. He’d forgone the helmet, figuring everyone already knew who he was. He was thankful, though, that Bruce left the suit without a sleeve for his metal arm. Bucky figured it would help others get used to having a new Captain America.

“Shut up, Wilson.” Bucky said into his comms, still bobbing and weaving through cars.

“Alright, Cap.” Tony said as he arrived on the scene. “You’re up. What’s the move?”

Bucky opened his mouth to speak but was immediately taken by surprise. Their villain, whoever this guy was, was a giant head in some kind of floating chair. Bucky had seen many things in his life, aliens, talking animals, monsters that seemed akin to creatures he’d only seen on television. But one thing he had never seen was a twelve foot tall head. “What the hell is that?” He muttered to himself.

“We can deal with the what later, Barnes.” Sam told him.

“Right.” Bucky said to himself. “Work on incapacitating him, maybe aim for the chair. Where’s the Spider-kid? We need civilian control.”

“Not here.” Tony grunted. “Dealing with some Fisk business uptown.”

“Alright, alright. Our priority is making sure everyone is safe. We can deal with this… thing afterward.”

Bucky tried to think on his feet as he began ushering people away from the scene. Many people stopped to stare at Bucky as if he was the one with the giant head. He felt the world’s eyes on him as he took a deep breath. He wasn’t used to being in charge; he was always the one who took orders. But now, he had to step up.

So ignoring all the prying eyes, he let out a determined grunt and pulled his shield off his back before throwing it directly at the villain’s chair. The giant head faltered, slowly turning around to look at Bucky. “Mr. Barnes.” He said venomously.

“Giant floating head.” Bucky nodded. “I don’t know what your problem is, but you’d do better surrendering.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, Mr. Barnes. See, I’ve done the calculations. Do you know the probability of you defeating me?” Suddenly, light started to shine from the band on his forehead, as if it were charging up. Bucky realized he was defenseless without his shield as it was stuck in the chair, so he ran behind a nearby truck. “Zero.”

Bucky couldn’t see the beam of energy that was shot at him, but it had enough strength to send him and the truck flying in the opposite direction. Landing on the pavement, he groaned but stood back up. “Sam.” Bucky called as he pulled out his knife. “Need you to get my shield out of his chair.”

“On it.”

Just before another beam of energy could be shot at him, Tony fired at the chair, throwing him off his balance. Sam took the opportunity and glided in to get the shield. Moments later, the shield was back in Bucky’s hand, and he was jumping from car to car, gaining momentum. When he was ready, he leapt into the air and land on the back of the chair.

He used his knife to pry a panel off before he was thrown off. When Bucky landed on the ground, he noticed writing on the panel he pulled off. MODOK. That must be his name, Bucky thought. “Banner, his name’s MODOK. Look into that for later.” He groaned.

MODOK laughed at Bucky as he stood back up. “Do you really think you can do this? Be Captain America?”

Bucky didn’t answer. He knew that he couldn’t give in. He couldn’t let him prey on his deepest fears.

“Being Captain America requires making difficult decisions. For example,” MODOK used a beam of energy to tear a pillar off of a nearby statue before throwing it at a woman. She seemed frozen in her place, her expression void of any emotion besides shock. “Get me, or save her.”

Bucky didn’t even stop to think about it. He quickly called for the team to stay on MODOK before running towards the woman at full speed. Just as he arrived in front of her, he shoved the shield into her hands. “Hold this in front of you and crouch down.” Bucky ordered, shouting over all the chaos.

You had no time to question him, following his orders immediately. Bucky braced himself and reached his hands out. Seconds later, Bucky was holding the pillar over the both of you. You peeked over the shield when you didn’t feel any impact. “So you’re the new Cap?” You asked.

Bucky looked back at you with friendly eyes. “‘Fraid so. ‘Scuse me for a minute.”

He tossed the pillar into the empty street before jumping to the top of a bus. Sam landed on a nearby roof, “He’s gone, Buck.”

Bucky sighed but nodded. “It shouldn’t be very difficult to find a giant floating head, right?”

“We’ve dealt with crazier. I think.” Tony said from above.

Buck hopped off the bus, “Alright. Back to the Tower for a briefing.”

You met Bucky halfway, holding his shield in both hands. You gave it back to him with a smile on your lips. As you looked him over, you thought that maybe all the bad things you heard about him weren’t true. After all, he’d just saved your life. You looked up at him, almost shyly. “I think this is yours.”

He let out a breath. “Yeah, thanks.”

“Thank you.” You said. “Ya know, I’d probably be dead if it weren’t for you.”

“You don’t have to thank me.”

“Well, I am.”

Bucky chuckled as he looked down at the ground. He felt weird. His heart was pounding, he was sweating, his cheeks felt hot. He reminded himself that he just battled a supervillain, and that everything he was feeling was normal. Suddenly, his eyes caught sight of your wrist, which seemed a bit swollen. He nodded to it, “You should head to the hospital.”

You looked down, wincing as you cupped your wrist in the your free hand. You let a small smile form on your lips, “I’ll do that.”

—

When the briefing finally ended Bucky and Tony hung behind. Tony was closing the presentation when he saw Bucky staring at the wall, seemingly in thought. Tony waved a hand in front of him. “Hello, anyone home?”

Bucky snapped out of it quickly. “Right. Sorry.”

“You okay?”

“I just keep thinking about earlier.”

“We’ll get him. We always do.”

“No, not that.” Bucky shook his head. “I mean, how people were looking at me. I was just trying to get people to safety, but to them, I wasn’t a hero. I wasn’t Captain America. I was still the Winter Soldier.”

“People are fickle, Bucky. They’ll warm up to you. You just have to keep doing what you know is right.” Tony shrugged.

“They hate me, Stark.”

“Well, I hated you until not too long ago. And if I can change my mind, so can everyone else.” Tony pointed out jokingly. “Maybe you should go to the hospital and see some of the victims.”

“For publicity?” Bucky’s brow furrowed.

“For your conscience. But, yes, also publicity. Ya know, show them you care. ‘Cause I know you do.”

It took some convincing, but soon enough, Bucky was on his motorcycle in civilian clothes, on his way to the hospital. From the moment he took off his helmet, reporters swarmed around him. Bucky went over Tony’s coaching in his head as he prepared to be bombarded with questions.

“Who was the villain that attacked New York today?”

“Are the Avengers paying for the damages?”

“Where is Steve Rogers?”

Don’t answer any questions. Half will tell the truth, and the others will twist your words.

“Were you Steve Rogers’ first choice to become the new Captain America?

“Do you think Steve Rogers would be proud you let the villain escape?”

“Why are you the new Captain America?”

Don’t get worked up from any of their questions. They take a reaction as an answer. If they ask for a statement, just say…

“I’m here to visit the victims of today’s attack and make sure they’re okay.” Bucky recited verbatim. “Thank you.”

Hospital security escorted him inside whilst keeping all the reporters out. Bucky looked around at everyone waiting for medical attention. Luckily, no one seemed to be to be gravely injured, but it was still jarring for Bucky. It reminded of his days in the army, watching soldiers die under the hands of nurses who were simply trying their best to keep them alive. A young girl pulled on his pant leg, and he looked down with kind eyes. “Hey there, kiddo.”

“Are you the new Captain America?” She asked innocently as he crouched down to her height.

“I suppose I am.” He let out a deep breath.

“What happened to Steve Rogers?”

“I can’t really say.” Bucky told her. “But he’s okay, and he’s still watching out for everybody.”

She gasped, “Like an angel?”

He let a small smile form on his lips as she grinned up at him. “Exactly like an angel.”

“Well, if he chose you, I think you’re gonna be the bestest new Captain America.”

His heart warmed as he saw the hope and excitement in her eyes. She suddenly buried herself in his chest, wrapping her little arms around him. He let out an endearing chuckle as he embraced her as well. “Thanks, doll.”

After she adorably insisted on taking a picture with him, he continued further into the hospital, painfully aware of all the eyes on him. On his arm. He tried his best to ignore that feeling as he spoke to as many victims as he could. He endured all the insults and criticism and gratefully took in the little encouragement he received. Just as he was heading back toward the entrance, he looked in one of the rooms, seeing a familiar face.

It was you.

You were sitting on the hospital bed on the phone. He could by the crease in your forehead that you were angry with whoever was on the other end. When you adjusted your position, you winced, remembering that you now had a sprained wrist. When you looked up, you saw Bucky’s curious blue eyes looking at you, and you smiled. Sheepishly, you gestured for him to come in as you said goodbye to whoever was on the phone. “Hey.”

“Hey.” Bucky smiled, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “How’s the wrist?”

You held up your right hand, displaying your new brace. “Sprained. But it should heal in two weeks or so.”

“That’s good. I’m glad you’re okay.”

“Thanks to you. Have I thanked you yet?”

“A few times actually. But I appreciate it.” Bucky chuckled. “I, um, I actually have to go. But I’ll be in touch.”

You realized he was asking for your name, so you put your left hand out for a handshake. “Y/N Y/L/N.”

“Y/N Y/L/N.” He repeated, trying to bite back a smile as he shook your hand. “Nice to meet you. Again.”

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #cap!bucky barnes x reader #cap!bucky x reader #Pâro series

67 notes · View notes

quiet-onset · 6 years ago

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Pâro (2)

Pairing: Cap!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 2,532

Tag List: @thisisbullshytt, @here-for-your-bullshit, @unknownuserhasjoined, @bees-are-more-important, @catvader1o1, @i-bitch-you-bitch, @slavsher, @thefridgeismybestie

Bucky groaned when six in the morning rolled around. He turned over in his bed and hit his alarm clock in a blind search for the snooze button. Sadly, he hit it too hard, and it broke.

He let out another loud groan while he sat up against the headboard. He had been up all night, thinking back to his fight with MODOK. He had been trying to discover his motives for attacking New York out of the blue. Not to mention, he seemed hyper-focused on Bucky alone. Bucky had let the thoughts fill his head until nearly four in the morning when sleep finally took over.

He shook his head and wiped his eyes, preparing to get ready for the day. He grabbed his phone as it lit up with a text from Bruce.

Call the team for a meeting in the morning. Think I’ve got something on this MODOK guy.

Bucky let out a sigh and called FRIDAY. “Let the team know we’ve got a briefing at ten.”

“Of course, Captain.”

Bucky’s brow furrowed for but a moment until he remembered. He was Captain now. It was still hard to get used to. He wondered how Steve did it for so long. He’d barely had the position for two months, and he was already exhausted. On the other hand, he was glad that Steve was finally getting what he deserved. His own little happily ever after.

It was an inspiration, really. Something to hope for. If Steve could have that, maybe the rest of them could eventually have it, too.

Hours later, everyone had gathered in the conference room. Thor brought everyone coffee, and Peter picked up a box of donuts on the way in. It all seemed kind of normal for a moment. Then, Bruce turned on the projector, and that damned floating head was staring at them.

Normal is overrated, right?

“This is MODOK. At least, that’s what everyone calls him.” Bruce said. “It stands for Mental Organism Designed for Only Killing.”

“Well, that’s just peachy,” Thor said sarcastically.

“He’s an experiment gone wrong from AIM.”

“Wait, AIM? Advanced Idea Mechanics? That AIM?” Tony asked.

Bucky’s brow furrowed. “You’ve heard of them?”

“I’m surprised you haven’t. They’re a branch of HYDRA. They basically design as much tech as they can in hopes of overthrowing literally every government on Earth.”

“Again,” Thor said. “Peachy.”

“Well, I can’t find any files on his real identity.” Bruce continued. “They must be destroyed or hidden with a complex encryption. We’d have to break into AIM’s headquarters.”

“Sounds like a plan, let’s go.” Peter stood up, ready to go.

“Kid, wait.” Bucky stopped him. “We can’t go in there half-cocked. This MODOK guy is ridiculously smart, and their security is probably heightened now. We need to do recon and come up with a plan.”

Peter huffed and sat back down, itching to help. “Okay, well how about we ask the civilians that were around when the attack started?”

“Good thinking, Pete.” Tony nodded.

Bucky agreed as he stood. “I want Sam, Tony, Rhodey, and Peter on recon. The aerial view should help. Everyone else, go around the city and start questioning.”

Everyone started filing out of the room as Bucky began tidying up the conference room. Bruce and Tony looked at him with amused eyes, holding back their chuckles. “You know we have people for that,” Tony told him.

“I know,” Bucky said. He looked up as he put all the trash in the donut box. “Just thought I’d help.”

“Right.” Tony drawled out. “By the way, you being on the questioning detail is purely professional, right?”

“Of course.”

“Of course,” Bruce repeated. “Because why would we want someone with military experience on the recon team?”

“Sam and Rhodey were both in the military.” Bucky pointed out with an eye roll.

“So, there’s no other reason? No pretty-girl kind of reason?” Tony asked.

Bucky was caught completely off guard. He didn’t know they knew about you; he didn’t tell them. He found no reason to tell anyone. You were just a woman he saved. A woman amongst a sea of people he had protected. Yet, you were the only one in that sea of people who he couldn’t stop thinking about. There was just something about you that kept you on his mind. He kept telling himself it was the timing, but he knew, deep down, that it was more than that.

Tony chuckled, “Bucky, I’m a genius, and Bruce has seven PhDs. It was simple deduction.”

“Plus, we saw you save her,” Bruce added.

“Look, I just think it’d be easier if I talk to her. She’s talked to me before; she’ll be comfortable talking to me again.” Bucky said defensively.

“Sure, sure,” Tony said with a smirk. “Go ahead. We got this.”

Bucky exited the room with another poignant eye roll, leaving Tony and Bruce alone. Bruce was staring at the feed of you just before Bucky saved you on a loop. Bruce wasn’t sure what was wrong with the picture. Something just didn’t sit right with him. Tony placed a hand on his shoulder, “You good?”

“Yeah. Yeah. Just..” Bruce shook his head. “She doesn’t look scared to you, does she?”

“Scared?”

“Yeah. Anyone in their right mind would be terrified at the sight of a pillar coming straight for them. But she doesn’t. She looks surprised, but not scared.”

“Everyone reacts differently, Bruce. You know that.” Tony said with an amused tone. “Besides, isn’t it time Bucky had something good in his life?”

“Yeah. You’re right. Guess I’m just overanalyzing again.”

“As usual.” Tony joked.

“Funny.” Bruce said sarcastically. “Look, I’ll get in contact with Shuri. See if she can help me hack into these AIM files.”

“You do that. And buddy, relax, alright?”

Tony didn’t wait for an answer before exiting the room, knowing that Bruce would only nod halfheartedly. And Bruce did just that, nodded to himself as he stared at the photo of you. Something just didn’t sit right with him, and he was determined to figure out what it was.

—

Bucky wasn’t sure what to expect when he pulled up to your house on his motorcycle. New York was different now. He didn’t know exactly how people lived anymore. But when he parked in a small neighborhood just outside of Hell’s Kitchen, he smiled.

Everything was so familiar. Children playing in the streets. Adults outside playing cards. It was one of those rare neighborhoods where everyone was a family. It seemed fitting for you to live there. Somewhere happy.

The kids stopped and watched as Bucky walked to the nearby apartment building. Some of the parents pulled their children back or shielded their eyes; he tried not to take that to heart. He could hear the murmurs but would never admit that they almost made him falter.

He just smiled kindly and kept moving.

Upon entering the apartment building, he walked to the elevator, repeating the number to himself, 506. He pressed the button, only to be called by the desk attendant, a teenager with bright purple hair.

“‘S broken. Stairs are to your right.” She said, not even looking up from her magazine.

He turned his head and hummed to himself. “Alright then.”

Minutes later, he stood in front of your door and raised his fist, knocking on your door. There was a commotion behind the door that had him on edge, ready to pounce. He heard voices whispering back and forth at each other. He was just about to kick in the door when a couple exited from one apartment over, clearly in the middle of a fight.

Oh, Bucky thought. Must’ve been next door.

He shrugged to himself and raised his fist to knock again, but you opened the door before he could. You looked a little disheveled, but you smiled when you saw him. “Cap.”

“Call me Bucky.”

“Bucky, right. Sorry it took so long, I dropped my coffee pot just as you knocked so—“

“It’s no problem, really.” He assured you. “Do you mind if I come in?”

“Oh, of course not. Come in.”

You stepped aside, allowing the tall man to walk past you. You led him to the living room, and he smiled. You folded your arms across your chest, turning to him sheepishly. “It’s not much. Kinda small, but it’s enough for me.”

“No, no. It’s nice.” He said, almost as if he were reminiscing. “Small, cozy. I like it.”

You fiddled with your hands, watching him take in his surroundings. He seemed a bit nervous, but you were sure that your humble abode brought him some kind of familiar comfort. You watched as he glanced at your window seat down the hall, admiring the sheer amount of books for but a second. As he turned once more, his eyes landed on the floor next to you, and, suddenly, you remembered the broken pot on the floor. “Shit, I totally forgot.”

You picked up a handheld broom and dustpan and began to sweep up the broken glass when Bucky joined you on the floor. “Here, let me.” He told you.

“Wow.” He said, noticing the new bracelet on your now brace-free wrist. “You heal fast.”

You looked down, remembering that it was no longer there. “Oh yeah. It wasn’t super serious, so it healed pretty quickly.”

“Right.” Bucky nodded.

He thought nothing of it as he swept up the last of the glass, handing it to you so you could throw it away. When you turned back around, you had a sweet smile on your lips, the kind that made Bucky’s heart skip a beat.

He was nervous, he could admit that. Back in the forties, he was much more confident in himself, so getting the girl (or girls, in some cases) was never a problem. But times were different now, and Bucky was, too. His confidence had dwindled, and he shut himself off. It was just now, looking at your smile, that made him begin to reconsider being the self-proclaimed loner.

“I’d offer you coffee but.” You looked around and huffed, gesturing to your potless coffee maker. “What about tea?”

Bucky smiled and nodded. “Tea would be great.”

He had lost his train of thought as he watched you put a kettle on. You moved around so swiftly and softly. It was mundane, but it was fascinating to him. His entire life had been nothing short of hard and rough, so having such a graceful being in front of him was astounding.

He turned on his heel and took a deep breath. Focus.

“Well, um, I’m here on official Avengers business and—“

“Official Avengers business?” You asked, a teasing smile on your lips.

He chuckled, “Yes. I, uh, I need to ask you some questions about the day of MODOK’s attack.”

“MODOK is his name? What does that stand for?”

“Mental Organism Designed Only for Killing.”

“Oh.” You said, taken aback. “Isn’t that pleasant.”

“Do you mind if I…?”

“Oh, please, ask away.”

Bucky tried his best to treat you as anybody else he would question. He had to remind himself that he couldn’t give leeway just because you’re pretty. Very pretty, in fact.

“What brought you to the area the day of the attack?”

“Work, actually. I work at an accounting firm, but I, uh, was on my lunch break. Trying this pizzeria all my coworkers were raving about, Jerry’s.” You told him. “I was on my way back to work when I saw people running in the opposite direction.”

“Then?”

“Then, MODOK threw a pillar at me, and you saved me.”

Bucky hummed as he approached the mantle. He looked at all the pictures, smiling at some of the childhood ones. You walked up behind him and sucked in a breath. “Already looking at my baby pictures, huh? I just wanna say, I was a dorky kid, but I think I’ve outgrown that.”

“They’re cute pictures.” He chuckled.

He scanned the pictures, watching as you got older in each one. Then, he came across one of you and a guy with wide smiles. You both wore Harvard sweatshirts, so he assumed it was from college. “You went to Harvard?” He asked.

When you saw the pictures, your smile faded almost instantly. “Um, yeah. That’s my best friend, George. Or, he was my best friend.”

Bucky froze, “Did he…?”

“Oh, no. No, we just... had a really bad falling out.”

Just then, kettle began to whistle loudly, interrupting your conservation. You were grateful for it; as much as you liked talking to Bucky, you hated talking about George. Your falling out had been fairly recent, so talking about it was like cutting open a healing wound.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.” Bucky turned as you walked back to the kitchen, clearly uncomfortable with the topic at hand.

“It’s alright.” You said. “You couldn’t have known.”

Moments later, you returned with two small mugs of tea. You handed one to Bucky carefully, reminding him that it was hot. “It’s, uh, called Country Peach. Hope you don’t mind.”

He chuckled at the name but shook his head. “It’s perfect, thanks.”

“C’mon.” You smiled, beckoning him down the hall. “Let’s sit.”

Bucky followed you to the window seat he’d noticed before. It was nice, almost like a small, plush couch fit into the window, bookshelves on either wall. His brow furrowed as he noticed the window was wide open, the fire escape just on the outside. “Wasn’t this closed when I came in?” He asked.

“Maybe.” You answered. You watched as he set the mug on the windowsill and closed it for you. Your mind wandered briefly when you saw his biceps moving under the dark green shirt he wore, but you quickly regained your senses. “The wind can blow it open sometimes.”

“That’s not safe, y’know.” He said as he secured the window as best he could. He peered out the closed window once more before sitting down.

“Yeah, I’ve been trying to find someone to fix it, but the base prices are ridiculous.” You mentioned, sitting next to him while sipping your tea.

“I could fix it.” He said nonchalantly. “Y’know, for free.”

“I can’t ask you to do that, Bucky.”

“You’re not asking. I’m offering.” He smiled when you looked away, trying to hide your shy grin behind your mug. “Back in the day, Steve’s place had a really crappy window, so we fixed it together.”

“Steve Rogers?”

Bucky nodded, “Yeah. Plus, it could be nice. Having a side project to work on where I’m just Bucky—“

“Not Captain.”

He was surprised, how easily you understood his struggle without him even having to say it. “Exactly.”

You thought about it for a moment, then set your mug down with a playful gaze. “Under one condition.”

“Name it.” He mimicked your actions.

“I get to help.”

“You drive a hard bargain.” He joked. “But alright.”

You stuck your hand out for a deal-sealing handshake, making him chuckle. He shook it with a smile on his face, almost just like your own. “Looks like you’re my new contractor.”

“Looks like it.”

#cap!bucky x reader #cap!bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #marvel x reader #Pâro series

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quiet-onset · 6 years ago

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Pâro - Prologue

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

A/N: Guess who’s posting another series? I’m literally so excited about this; I outlined this whole story and wrote the prologue in one night. I’ll post the first chapter on New Year’s Day, along with the series masterlist. I haven’t been this excited since Gætir, so I hope y’all like it. Enjoy!

Tag List: @thisisbullshytt , @here-for-your-bullshit (if you wanna be tagged, send me an ask or message)

“On your left!”

“I’m getting real tired of your shit, James.”

Steve chuckled as Bucky warned Sam of an incoming rocket aimed directly at his left wing. Quips like that had come easily once the team was reunited after Thanos’ snap. Bucky had joined the Avengers after they were welcomed back into the United States, all charges dropped. It was back to simple recon missions and taking out HYDRA bases.

And somehow, Steve felt like something was missing.

If he was honest, he knew what it was. He’d known for a few weeks but only spoke to Nat about it. They’d become close during their exile and the time after the snap. The public labeled them “superhero boyfriend and girlfriend”, but they thought that was childish. Natasha was grown, and Steve was just over one hundred years old. They were partners; they’d figure everything else out along the way.

Steve met Natasha at a corner just outside the computer room. He nodded to her, and she went in. There was no room for a relationship in the field; they had to focus. That was their agreement.

That is until Natasha waltzed straight into a room with explosives. “Uh, Steve?”

Steve turned around, eyes widen as the timer counted down: three, two, one. His heart hammered in a panic, but he gained his senses quickly. He placed his shield on his back and wrapped an arm around Natasha, pulling her to his chest. He grunted as the explosion hit the shield, throwing them down the hall but blocking them from the fire.

“We have to get out,” Steve says, pulling her up.

“Steve, focus.”

“I am focused, Natasha!” He snapped. “I have to get you out.”

“What happened to no relationship in the field?” She asked.

“You know what happened.”

The standoff only lasted for a few seconds before Steve called for the team to retreat. Tony’s brow scrunched, “Retreat? You alright there, Cap?”

“I’m fine. The computer room is destroyed. We can’t get any info from it anyways.” Steve said into the comms. “Retreat.”

“You heard the man.” Tony sighed. “Back to the quinjet.”

Ten minutes later, everyone was back on the quinjet. They all sat around awkwardly as Steve and Nat argued in the medbay. No one could understand them as their voices were muffled, but they knew it had to be bad for Steve to be shouting. Just as the quinjet docked, their voices quieted, and they emerged from the medbay. Steve’s hands hung low on his hips as he let out a huff, “Conference room, two minutes. Got an announcement.”

Once everyone was gathered, they waited with expectant eyes on their Captain. They noted the tired look in his eyes as he called for their attention. Bruce cleared his throat. “You said you had an announcement.”

“Yes.” Steve sighed, his fingertips splayed on the wooden table. “It’s the reason we had to retreat. Natasha walked into a room of explosives just before they went off. She barely escaped with her life.”

“Yeah, but why is that an announcement? That happens all the time.” Sam shrugged with a confused look.

Steve closed his eyes and heaved out another heavy sigh as he prepared to admit the truth to his teammates. “Natasha’s pregnant.”

The room was filled with gasps and surprised eyes. Everyone’s attention was given to Natasha as she shyly wrapped her arms around her middle. Steve cleared his throat and prepared to be fielded with questions.

“She’s pregnant? And you told nobody?” Bruce asked.

Tony raised a hand. “Hold up, she’s pregnant, and you let her go out in the field?”

“He doesn’t let me do anything.” Natasha corrected him with venom in her voice.

“Do you really think I could stop her?” Steve asked, looking at her fondly. “Look, the point is, Natasha can’t do this anymore. Not while she’s pregnant.”

“Of course.” Bruce nodded.

“And neither can I.”

The room fell silent as the announcement was finally made. Steve made it clear that his decision was final. He stood tall, head up, chest out, his coveted Captain stance. “Natasha and I will be stepping down. Indefinitely.”

There was immediately an uproar from the team, obviously not ready to give up their Captain yet. They all knew it would have to happen, but they didn’t expect it so soon. They’d just been reunited. The Soul Stone kept them all apart for what felt like forever, and now, Steve was leaving.

“I’ll still be here for emergencies. But I have to be there for Natasha and our child.”

“What are supposed to do without our Captain?” Peter asked in a quiet, sad voice.

“You’ll still have a Captain,” Steve said with a small smile. “Because I’m handing the mantle over to Bucky. If he’ll take it.”

Bucky looked up with wide eyes. He never expected much to come from being in the Avengers, so becoming Captain America was definitely not on his to-do list. Obviously, it’d be an honor, but Bucky wasn’t so sure he deserved something so sacred. Not anymore. “Steve, I can’t.”

“You can, Buck. You’re more than capable.”

“You know what I’ve done, man. Who I am. I can’t be Captain America.”

“You’re right,” Steve told him. “I do know who you are. You’re the same guy who always pulled a scrawny kid out of fights in the alley. You’ve been a hero since we were kids, Bucky. All that’s left to do is embrace it. Besides, the only other person I’d want to take it up is Sam, and he has said explicitly—”

“I’m not becoming Captain America just so everyone can ask why I’m black. No, sir.” Sam interrupted.

They both chuckled as Steve placed a hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “Please, Buck.”

A million thoughts ran around Bucky’s head, all of them telling him not to. That he wasn��t worthy, that he’d never be as good as Steve. But there was one voice. A small voice but a voice nonetheless that said yes. So Bucky listened to that voice.

Soon, everyone filed out of the room, leaving Bucky alone with Steve’s shield. With his metal hand, he ran his fingertips around the silver star, a look of pure wonder and anticipation in his eyes. Steve came back and looked at him from the doorway. He called for his best friend, “Hey, Cap?”

Bucky looked up.

“Coming?”

Bucky’s lips tugged upward as he looked at Steve, a small smirk forming, “Yeah.”

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #cap!bucky barnes x reader #cap!bucky x reader #marvel x reader #Pâro series

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quiet-onset · 6 years ago

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Pâro (3)

Pairing: Cap!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 4,521

Tag List: @thisisbullshytt, @here-for-your-bullshit, @unknownuserhasjoined, @bees-are-more-important, @catvader1o1, @i-bitch-you-bitch, @slavsher, @thefridgeismybestie

A/N: woooooow, this is super late! But it’s really long so I don’t feel that bad lol. In case you don’t even remember what happened in the last chapter, here it is. Enjoy!

“What brings you here, Captain?”

“Shut up, Steve.”

It had been almost four months since Bucky became Captain America, and things weren’t getting any easier. He and the team still had no leads on what MODOK wanted or the extent of his powers. The public still seemed cold towards him. And Bucky still had no idea what he was doing.

So he did the first thing that came to his mind. He visited his best friend in a new Brooklyn home.

It was weird seeing Steve in such a domestic setting, but it suited him perfectly. There were still a few unpacked boxes and some tables in need of being assembled, but Steve figured it could wait. After all, he hadn’t seen Bucky in three months. Upon entering the living room, Bucky saw Nat struggling to pick up a screwdriver from the ground. It seemed her growing belly was getting in the way. Steve rushed to her side and picked it up for her. “Nat, what are you doing?”

“Getting the damn screwdriver. What does it look like?” She looked up, smiling when her eyes landed on Bucky. “Hey, Bucky.”

“Nat, hey.” He grinned. “You look—”

“Huge, I know.”

“I was gonna say happy.” He told her truthfully. “But you probably shouldn’t be trying to put together a table from IKEA right now.”

“That’s what I said.” Steve rolled his eyes.

“Well, I need to do something. I’m tired of sitting around and doing nothing.”

“Why don’t you finish unpacking the last few boxes in the bedroom then? That’ll keep you moving.” Steve suggested, supporting her as she walked to the hallway.

“Fine. But I want those tables done today.”

“Alright, mama.”

Steve watched her as she continued down the hallway, only returning to Bucky when she was in the bedroom. Bucky looked at him with an amused smirk on his face, “Mama?”

He waved his hand in the air before gesturing to the couch. “Nat is convinced the baby can hear us already, so she wants to start with the whole ‘mama, dada’ thing early. Swears it’ll make the baby talk earlier.”

The two sat down with a sigh, looking around at the new house. Steve’s and Nat’s new home. It was simple and their personalities shone through easily. Bucky could tell the fireplace was Steve’s idea, but the pictures of Brooklyn were Nat’s doing. She always wanted to make sure Steve felt like he belonged. And Steve, he always wanted Nat to remember that she always had a warm home to return to. It was nice. It made Bucky proud.

“I’m really happy for you, Steve,” Bucky told him. “You deserve this.”

“I’d like to think so.” Steve chuckled in response. “It’s been an adjustment, for sure. Reminding myself that I don’t have to fight anymore. That it’s under control. That I can just be, ya know.”

“Yeah.”

Steve nudged Bucky’s foot with his own. “You’ll get that one day, too. I guarantee it.”

“Here’s to hoping.” Bucky scoffed.

Steve’s brow furrowed as he looked Bucky over. He recognized this look. The bags under his eyes, the borderline scruffy beard, the dark sarcasm. Something had happened, and Bucky wasn’t handling it well. “Bucky, what’s going on with you?”

“I think the easier question would be what’s not going on.”

“You wanna talk about it?”

“You’ve got enough on your plate, Steve. I don’t want to add—”

“I wouldn’t have asked if I wasn’t concerned, Buck.”

Bucky ran his flesh hand over his face as he heaved out a deep breath. “I have no idea what I’m doing, man. I’m just winging it every day. I’m glad I could take this on for you, but I don’t know how to be a captain. Hell, I wasn’t even a captain in the army.”

“I’d assume being a sergeant is pretty similar.”

“You’d think, right?” Bucky chuckled. “Everyone’s always looking to me. For a plan, for orders. I try to think of what you’d do, but it’s hard, y’know? After seventy years of blindly following orders, now I have to give them. Not to mention, people hate me.”

“Nobody hates you, Buck.”

“Everyone hates me. If one more reporter asks me why you chose me to be Captain America, ‘m gonna implode. They’re around the Tower all the damn time. And they’re always quick to remind me that I don’t deserve this. That I’m not good enough and that I’ll obviously never be as good as you.”

Steve sat forward, his elbows on his knees as he looked Bucky in the eye. “Look, I know it’s hard. But, Buck, I never would’ve asked you to do this if I didn’t think you could handle it.”

“How did you do it for so long?” Bucky asked quietly.

“When it got hard, I had to remember that I always had the team to fall back on. You, Nat, Tony, everybody. And you have them, too. If no one else ever decided to support you, you’d always have us, Bucky. Always.”

Bucky thought back to forties, remembering when Steve had become Captain America, the performer. He chuckled as he thought back to those old, terrible movies he used to film. “Was this what was like back then?”

“Yeah, exactly like this.” Steve laughed along with him. “Nobody liked me at first, man. I was still that stupid show boy with backup dancers to them. I had to just keep doing what I knew was right. They came around eventually.”

“That’s what Tony told me.”

“I guess he can say something useful every now and then.” Steve joked. “Look, if there’s any advice I can give you, it’s that you have to be you. Don’t think about what I would do. Just trust your gut.”

Bucky nudged Steve’s foot, just as he did only a few minutes before. “Since when did you get so good at giving advice?”

“What can I say? I’m a wise old man.” He responded with a smirk.

“Yeah, sure.”

Steve moved from the couch to the floor, opting to start on the table Nat was building earlier. He picked up the instructions and peeked over the top to look at Bucky. “So there’s nothing else going on?”

“No,” Bucky answered. His eyes narrowed as Steve shrugged innocently. “Why do you ask?”

“No reason. You just have this look.”

“What look?”

“The I’m-seeing-a-girl look.”

Bucky rolled his eyes as he threw his hands up in the air exasperatedly. “How do you even know about that?”

“Paparazzi are everywhere, and Nat is really into tabloids now for some reason. Last month, it was crocheting.” He reached across the floor and grabbed a magazine, throwing it to Bucky. He picked it up, shocked at the picture someone managed to take of you handing him his shield back after MODOK’s first attack.

“So a giant floating head attacks New York City, and this is what they take a picture of.” Bucky sighed.

“So you are seeing her?” Steve asked, screwing in a table leg.

“No, I’m not. I mean, I see her. Around. But I’m not seeing her.”

“Do you want to?”

“I don’t have time for a relationship, Steve. Besides, she’s probably not even interested. As a matter of fact, maybe I’m not interested. You ever think of that?”

“You look pretty interested in that photo.” Steve chuckled. “Flushed, sweaty, smiling.”

“I’m sorry, did I not mention the giant floating head?” Bucky asked sarcastically.

“Okay, when was the next time you saw her?”

“I went to her house—”

“Her house?” The grin on Steve’s face was growing by the second.

“To question her about the attack.”

“And what happened?”

Bucky huffed, rolling his eyes, “Nothing. We talked.”

“So that’s the last time you saw her?”

Bucky bit his tongue, knowing what would come next if he answered truthfully. Steve could tell he was holding back; they were best friends after all. A smirk grew on Steve’s face as he deduced the truth, “You saw her recently, then.”

Huffing once more, Bucky waved his hand from the wrist. “I’m fixing her window.”

“Buck, I never thought I’d have to tell you this, but that’s called a crush.” Steve laughed. “You should ask her out! You deserve to be happy, y’know.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Bucky shrugged.

“Well, I know. You’re a good person.”

The duo smiled at each other fondly. It was so strange to experience. It was as if their friendship had never changed, yet constantly changed as fluidly as the seasons. Sure, there were some new components. But at the core, Steve and Bucky were still the same best friends they were seventy years ago.

Before Bucky could get another word in, his phone rang. He checked the caller ID, seeing Tony’s name flash across the screen. Steve recognized the look on his face; he’d worn it many times himself. He smiled and waved his hand at Bucky, “Go on, answer it.”

Bucky shot him an apologetic look as he clicked the green answer button, “What’s up, Tony?”

“Sorry to interrupt the old man convention, but MODOK is back.”

“Where?”

“Beata Pharmaceuticals, just outside of Queens.”

“Any idea what he’s after?”

“Not yet, but Bruce is on it,” Tony answered. “Just get here fast. Like yesterday.”

“On my way.”

Upon hanging up, Bucky parted his lips to apologize, but Steve cut him off almost immediately. “Don’t you dare apologize, Barnes. Just go be great.”

Bucky smiled, “You getting soft on me, Rogers?”

“Jerk.”

“Punk.”

—

When Bucky arrived, the area had been blocked off by police. The police held back reporters who attempted to ask Bucky questions as he hopped off his motorcycle.

Something wasn’t right, Bucky could tell. The police didn’t normally show until after the fact, preferring to leave the supervillains to people who could handle them. Bucky approached the police captain as he looked over his surroundings. It was chaos almost, some policemen rushing people away from said building, others fighting what looked like henchmen. “What’s going on?” Bucky asked the captain.

She turned, greeting him with a nod. “Clearing the area. We have reason to believe there’s a bomb inside.”

“Any civilians inside?”

“All the employees are out. It’s just MODOK and his henchmen now.” She told him. “I’ve called in the bomb squad, so when they arrive—“

“I don’t want you risking your men. We’ve got this.” He said, pulling his shield off his back.

“And if you die?”

He turned with a shrug, “We’ll cross that bridge when we get there, Captain.”

He ran towards the building at top speed, easily taking out any henchmen in his way. When he made it inside, he decided to check in with the team. “How’s it going out there?”

“Just dandy,” Tony grunted.

“Where’s MODOK?”

“We think he’s wherever they keep their experimental drugs,” Bruce answered.

“Okay. Peter, Wanda, comb the building for the bomb. I’m going for MODOK.”

“Alone?” Tony asked.

“If I can destroy whatever he’s looking for, he’ll have no reason to stay.”

Bruce directed him to the lab containing experimental drugs. Bucky came upon a long hallway, the bright light that flickered reflecting off the large window halfway down the hall. He cursed to himself; it seemed just like a horror movie. Taking a deep breath, he grabbed a pistol from his thigh holster and put his shield up, proceeding slowly down the hallway.

He could hear the whirring of MODOK’s chair as he approached the end of the hallway and turned left. One of MODOK’s robotic arms slithered out of the back of his chair, reaching for a vile on the counter. Quickly, Bucky pulled the trigger, and the arm recoiled back into the chair. “Mr. Barnes,” MODOK said. “What a pleasure.”

“‘M afraid I can’t say the same,” Bucky answered. “Where’s the bomb, MODOK?”

“A bomb? I can’t say I know what you’re talking about.”

“You’re willing to kill innocent people?”

“Collateral damage, Mr. Barnes. You just can’t see the big picture.”

Before Bucky could even question what he meant, two of the robotic arms shot out of MODOK’s chair and clamped onto Bucky’s shield. In the blink of an eye, Bucky was left defenseless as the other arm grabbed him by the torso and threw him across the lab. He grunted when he made contact with a rack of chemicals, liquids spilling all over the floor as Bucky thought about his next move.

Bucky’s eyes followed the arms carefully as he sneakily reached for his knives. He leveled his breathing as the arms rushed toward him, only moving at the last second. He plunged one knife into each arm, and the sharp edges tore at the wires inside. With MODOK’s arms inactive, he slid across the floor to his shield. He hid his body behind it as MODOK shot out a beam of purple energy at him.

It was a battle of endurance between the two; who could hold their line longer. MODOK and Bucky both pressed forward, gritting their teeth. He took a quick look behind him as he felt his heel hit the wall. When he looked back up, his eyes widened.

“Y/N?”

With Bucky momentarily distracted, MODOK gave one last push and sent Bucky through the large glass window, into the hallway. Bucky regained his senses when he saw you leaning against the wall with blood trickling down your arm. He went to move, groaning at the soreness in his back.

“Bucky!”

You threw your arms around his neck, not feeling the pain of the cut. Bucky let out a breath and returned the gesture quickly before pulling away, his hands on your shoulders. “What are you doing here? You gotta get out of here.”

“I tried!”

Bucky heard the distinct whirring of MODOK’s chair, causing his ears to perk up. He turned you at your waist and urged you down the hall. “Go, go!”

“I ran towards the exit,” You huffed as he directed you up the stairs. “But some of the henchmen started shooting and chasing me, so I ran—“

“We can talk about it later. Right now, we just need to focus on getting you out. Bruce?”

“There should be a door on your left.” He answered quickly.

Bucky grabbed your hand and pulled you through, running down another hall. Bruce told him to take a right, where they were finally able to stop and take a breath. As Bucky’s breath began to even out, he noticed your brow was furrowed and you were struggling to breathe. He recognized the expression; he’d seen it on many civilian faces before. Hell, he’d worn it a few times. You were panicking.

He placed his hands on your shoulders and looked into your eyes. “Y/N, you are going to be fine. I am going to get you out of here safely, okay. But we don’t have time for hesitation, alright?”

You did your best to slow your breathing as you nodded. “What about MODOK?”

“You and your safety are my priority.”

Had the situation not been so dire, you would’ve dwelled on those words and the sincerity behind them. He knew that those words had a double meaning. That he didn’t only mean that statement in the face of danger. No, that was something that he was slowly but surely discovering about himself. It seemed that he’d always put you before his mission, and, to be quite honest, it frightened him.

“Bucky!” Wanda snapped him back to reality. “I didn’t see a bomb.”

“I didn’t either, Cap. I checked the vents, too, but there was nothing.” Peter added.

Bucky was about to have them double-check when he came to a realization. MODOK said there was no bomb, and everything he had done so far was calculated. Nothing he did was ever by mistake, including the way he attacked the team.

He’d thought nothing of it during the fight, but MODOK had thrown him into a rack of chemicals. They didn’t pose any immediate threat to him or anyone outside, so he brushed it off and continued to fight. But, Bucky couldn’t help but wonder what if.

“Bruce, the lab I was in. It had chemicals in it.”

“That makes sense,” Bruce answered, the click-clack of the keys falling deaf on the team’s ears. “They were experimenting with all kinds of stuff.”

“Is any of it flammable?”

The question caused a lightbulb to go off in Bruce’s mind as he wondered why he hadn’t thought of that before. “Of course it’d be too risky to bring an actual bomb. That leaves room for the possibility of it being disarmed. If it’s chemicals—“

“No one can stop it.” Bucky finished. “Peter, Wanda, out of the building now.”

“Bucky, how will we get out?” You asked him. “We’re too high up.”

Bucky walked over to the window and judged the distance to the ground as he gripped his shield in his left hand. He knew that you’d both have to jump. When he looked back at you, you were shaking your head, fear coursing through your veins.

“We have to,” Bucky told you.

“I can’t. We can’t jump out of a—“

“Do you trust me?”

There was a beat of silence, but you could see the urgency in his eyes. You nodded, prompting him to wrap his arm securely around your waist.

“We’ll be fine.” He said with a nod.

With that, you both jumped out the window. The wind was whipping against your face as you picked up pace, falling quickly toward the ground. Then, the explosion sounded just above you. Small pieces of debris hit you as you fell, but couldn’t find it in yourself to notice. Bucky held you as tightly as he could as he braced himself for impact, but he never felt it.

Bucky tried to move, but whatever caught them was sticky. He pulled it off one hand just for it to get stuck to the other. He sighed in relief before letting out a small chuckle. As he tapped on the comms, he pulled you to your feet and checked you for injuries. “Thanks for the save, kid.” He mumbled into the comm.

“Sorry it’s so sticky.” Peter huffed, landing on a neighboring rooftop. “Better than nothing though, right?”

“Far better.” Bucky chuckled. After checking your arms and legs for injuries, he looked up at you. “Are you alright?”

“As alright as I can be.”

He could see that you were still shaken up. Your eyes flickered here and there as you looked for any sign of MODOK. Bucky managed to get your attention when he picked up his shield, dusting the webs off before hooking it onto his back. “We should get back to the Tower. We’ll get your statement there, and the doctors can check you out.”

“Bucky, I feel fine—“

“Y/N, please.” You could see the worry clear in his eyes, his hands on your shoulders. “Just humor me, alright?”

—

Bruce wasn’t having it this time.

He knew that no one believed him. He knew that Tony and Bucky and the rest of the team thought he was overreacting, overanalyzing. But Bruce knew he was right in his gut. There was something off about you, and he was going to get to the bottom of it.

Tony was on his heels as Bruce hightailed it to the conference room Bucky had taken you to. He tried his best to calm the scientist down, but Bruce was inconsolable. Bruce knew what it felt like to be manipulated, and he would be damned it happened to one of his friends. “Bruce, just take a minute and think about this. There’s got to be a logical explanation.” Tony said.

Bruce stopped just outside the door. “Then maybe she can enlighten us.”

Bucky was surprised when the door was thrown open. He had been sitting with you, tightening the new bandage on your arm and calming you down. You hadn’t been exposed to the things he had, so the explosion still had you a little out of it. Bucky looked up, his brow furrowing. “Everything alright?”

“It’s fine.” Bruce nodded. “I just want to ask her a couple questions.”

You looked confused as you pointed at yourself, “Me?”

“I already questioned her, Bruce,” Bucky informed him.

Bruce shrugged, “Then the questions should be easy to answer.”

“What’s all this about?” You asked.

“This is about you. I just find it strange that you were in the facility in the first place. You work at an accounting firm, right?”

“I do—”

“Because that’s what you told our Captain here.”

“I do work at an accounting firm, Mr. Banner.”

“Great.” Bruce nodded, going over to the computer. He began typing furiously as he ignored Tony’s request that he calm down. “So you were at a pharmaceutical facility that you do not work at for what exactly?”

You cleared your throat, her heart hammering in your chest when his tone became even more accusatory. “They get their accountants from us. I was there as a representative for my firm.”

“That’s convenient.”

“Bruce, I think you need to calm down,” Bucky said slowly, his voice dangerously low.

“I’m just looking for an explanation. Right, Tony? Like you said, a totally logical explanation. That��s what we want.”

Tony shook his head, “Don’t drag me into this. I think you’d better listen to Bucky, okay? You’re not in the right mindset.”

“Why am I the only that finds this sketchy? She shows up every time MODOK does, without fail.”

“Some things really are coincidental, Bruce.”

“Really?” Bruce said. He pressed a button and suddenly, light from the projector flooded your eyes. You squinted and raised a hand to shield your eyes as you spun your chair around to look at the picture. It was you, the day of the first attack when MODOK threw a pillar at you. You stood up, confused as to what this had to with anything. Bruce walked up to the front of the room, pointing at the picture. “Because the look on her face? That’s not coincidental.”

“Where the hell is this going, Banner?” Bucky nearly growled.

“Any normal person would be afraid for their life. Screaming, crying, doing something. But she’s not scared. She’s surprised.”

“This is ridiculous.” You mumbled.

He walked closer to you, pointing a finger at you with an expression close to pure rage in his eyes. “Did you know he was going to attack New York that day?”

“No, I told Bucky!” You said frantically. “I was on my lunch break! I was going to the pizzeria down the street when it happened!”

Bruce paused, the look in his eyes almost indecipherable. His lips were parted, but no words came out. You didn’t know what happened, but it was like his brain short-circuited and he was just left staring at you accusingly. For a moment, you were afraid for your life. You had never seen him become the Hulk, but maybe this was how it started.

Bucky could see the fear in your eyes, and he immediately went into protective mode. He marched over to the two of you and stood in the middle, giving Bruce the fiercest look he could muster. “That’s enough, Banner. Back off.”

You watched over Bucky’s shoulder as Bruce seemed to regain his senses. He looked Bucky in the eyes and was no longer looking for a challenge. He scoffed as Bucky turned to you and, in a small voice, said, “C’mon, let’s go.”

You felt Bucky’s large hand on the small of your back as he ushered you out of the conference room. You caught Tony’s glance, and he gave you a sympathetic look. Before you exited, you turned your head once more to look at Bruce. He still had that accusatory glint in his eyes as he glared at you.

Tony turned to Bruce slowly, his frown causing a crease in his forehead that was normally attributed to stress. “What the hell was that?”

“I know, I lost my temper.” Bruce sighed as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Well, you better fucking find it. Okay?” He chastised softly, stepping closer. “You scared that girl half to death.”

“You gotta understand, Tony. I don’t believe her story.”

“I know you think—”

“No, I know.” Bruce stopped him. “Tony, her stories didn’t match up.”

“Her stories?”

“She told me she was going from work to the pizzeria. She told Bucky she was going from the pizzeria back to work.”

Tony paused, thinking back to when they listened to Bucky’s recordings of his questionings. Slowly, he came to the realization that Bruce was right. Tony looked him in the eye as he realized that he may be right about everything. “That’s a minor detail.”

“One that can easily be mixed up by someone that doesn’t usually lie if they’re under stress.”

Tony folded his arms across his chest as he gave Bruce a cautious look. Finally, he nodded, “Fine. I’ll help you look into this. But if we don’t find anything—”

“I won’t bring it up ever again.” Bruce agreed.

Meanwhile, Bucky looked down at you with concerned eyes as he placed his hands on your shoulders. He rubbed up and down your arms soothingly as you took a deep breath. “You alright?” He asked you.

“I’m okay.” You nodded. “I’m fine.”

“I’m so sorry. I had no idea—”

“It’s alright, Bucky. He’s just trying to do his job.”

“Still.” He heaved out a sigh. “I don’t know what got into him.”

You placed a hand on his chest, hoping it would calm him. Bucky’s cheeks heated up as he realized you could now tell how fast his heart beating. He couldn’t help it; being so close to you did something to him, made him nervous. Or maybe it was the way your eyes bore into his, concern laced in your Y/E/C irises. “It’s okay. I’m okay. I promise, Bucky.”

Bucky suddenly found Steve’s words running across his mind as he looked at you. You should ask her out, Steve had said. You deserve to happy, y’know.

Now, Bucky wasn’t sure how true that was. He didn’t know how worthy he was of happiness, no matter how many good deeds he did before his life ended. He’d done some gruesome, unforgivable things. But standing there, with you, he felt all the baggage melt away. Looking into your eyes, he felt normal. Or, at least, normal enough to follow Steve’s advice.

“I know that this isn’t the best time to do this.” Bucky started nervously. He tugged at the collar of his suit, the material suddenly feeling suffocating. “There’s not really a right time in this line of business, but this is definitely not it—”

“Bucky?” You called with a small smile on his lips.

“Right. Um, I was just wondering if you, uh, if you would like to go out to dinner sometime. With me.”

A quiet, adorable laugh slipped past your lips, causing Bucky to let out a sigh of relief. Your smile was bright as you nodded, “I’d love to.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #cap!bucky x reader #cap!bucky barnes x reader #Pâro series

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