#avengers gifs

[daxisyzz]

Marked What's Mine

Pairings: husband!bucky barnes × wife!reader

Summary: You can hold your own—always have. But that doesn’t stop your husband from going full Winter Soldier mode when he sees someone laid a hand on you.

Warnings: Language, injuries, soft-but-intense husband!Bucky, protective behavior, possessiveness, comfort, fluff, violence mentioned (not graphic), "who did this to you?", lots of banter.

Word count: 1.3k+

A/n: this fic is from my poll where husband au and who did this to u prompt won. I will do the enemies to lovers in my next fic. Thank you for reading <3.

Divider credits: @saradika

Night- 1:47 AM

You turned the front doorknob with all the delicacy of a trained assassin—which, to be fair, you were.

No sound. Good.

You stepped inside, sliding your shoes off silently and tiptoeing like the floorboards might narc on you. You could practically hear your heartbeat in your ears.

He’d be asleep. He had to be.

You could get to the bathroom, clean up, hide the worst of it. He didn’t have to know. You didn’t want him to worry, to spiral. Not again.

You made it three steps down the hallway.

Then— “Don’t move.”

Shit.

His voice cut through the silence, low and lethal. It came from the living room.

You closed your eyes. "Hi, honey. I'm home."

A light flipped on.

Bucky stood by the couch, arms crossed, half in shadow. The sight of him—barefoot, hoodie loose over his broad chest, hair tousled from waiting up—would’ve been comforting, if not for the look in his eyes.

His gaze traveled from your face to your arms, your ribs, where blood had started to seep through your shirt.

He didn’t say a word.

You tried to play it off. “Before you say anything, it looks worse than it is—”

His voice dropped to a whisper.

“Who did this to you?”

You exhaled slowly. “Buck—”

“Don’t. Just…” His jaw clenched. “Stay right there.”

“Bucky, it’s fine. I dodn’t even need stitches—”

“You’re bleeding.” His voice trembled with something dangerous. “You’re limping. You snuck into your own damn house like a thief because you knew I’d lose it if I saw you like this. And guess what? You were right.”

He was in front of you in three long strides.

His hands—warm, shaking—came up to cup your face, careful to avoid the bruises.

“You weren’t supposed to see me like this,” you whispered. “You’d only worry.”

“I worry when you’re five minutes late for lunch. You think this is gonna lessen that?”

“I’m not made of glass—”

“You’re made of everything I live for.”

Your breath caught.

He scanned your injuries with haunted eyes. “Who did this?”

“It’s not important.”

“It is to me.”

You sighed. “I didn’t want you to spiral. Last time you saw me with a busted lip, you threatened to drown a guy in the Hudson.”

“I should’ve.”

“Bucky—”

“Tell me his name.”

You met his eyes. “If I do, you’ll find him.”

He didn’t deny it.

“And if I don’t?” you added.

“I’ll find him anyway.”

You groaned. “You are the most dramatic man I’ve ever met.”

He lifted you into his arms like it was nothing—like you didn’t have two working legs—and carried you down the hall.

“I’m intense,” he corrected. “Not dramatic.”

“You literally brooded in the dark waiting for me to get home.”

“You really thought I wouldn’t notice? Like my wife could come home hurt and I wouldn’t feel it in my chest?”

You let out a weak laugh. “God, you’re annoying.”

“You married me, doll. That’s on you.”

Twenty Minutes Later...

You sat on the bathroom counter while Bucky dabbed antiseptic over the cuts along your ribs, his brows furrowed like each mark physically hurt him more than it hurt you.

He hadn’t stopped touching you.

Even now, his thumb rubbed soft circles into your thigh as he worked.

“Doesn’t even sting,” you said.

“That’s not the point,” he muttered, placing another bandage carefully. “You came home bleeding. You flinched when you took your shirt off. You snuck in.”

“I didn’t want to see your sad little kicked puppy face,” you teased.

He glared. “You’re lucky I love you.”

“No, you’re lucky I love you. You’re high maintenance.”

“Says the woman who took on a six-foot mercenary solo and got cracked in the jaw for it.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You think I didn’t win?”

He paused. “Wait. You won?”

“Cracked three of his ribs and made him cry.”

He stared.

Then—slowly—he grinned.

“That’s my girl.”

You tried not to bask in it, but you totally basked in it.

Still, he wasn’t done.

As he finished wrapping the final gauze, he stood between your legs and stared at you like you held gravity in your hands.“I breathe for you,” he said, voice barely a whisper. “That’s it. That’s the only reason I get up in the morning.”

Your throat went tight. “Bucky—”

“You come home hurt, and it feels like the world’s off its axis. I can’t think. Can’t function. You’re not fragile, babe. You’re the strongest person I know. But the thought of losing you? I’d lose everything.”

God.

You buried your face in his chest, arms tight around him.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Too late. You did. You always do.”

You looked up. “You’re a menace, you know that?”

“You love it.”

“Unfortunately.”

He grinned and kissed your forehead.

Next Day – 2:00 PM

You woke up to an empty bed and a note on the pillow:

Had to step out. Be back soon. Don’t move too much or I’ll find out and carry you around like a baby until you learn your lesson. I love you more than oxygen.

—B <3

You rolled your eyes.

And sighed.

And smiled.

He came back at sunset. Calm. Too calm.

You didn’t even have to ask.

“You found him, didn’t you?”

He dropped his jacket. “Yeah.”

“And?”

“He’s not gonna be walking straight for a while.”

“Bucky…”

“And probably won’t be talking much either.”

You stared at him.

“He’ll live. Probably,” Bucky said with a shrug. “I was nice. For the first ten seconds.”

“Jesus—”

“He laid a hand on you. You really think I wasn’t gonna rearrange his face?”

You huffed, arms crossed, but you were secretly touched. And maybe a little turned on.

“You are so dramatic.”

“No. Dramatic is you sneaking past your literal super soldier husband with blood dripping down your shirt.”

“Fine,” you muttered, walking toward him. “You win.”

He caught you easily, arms pulling you in.

“I always win, doll,” he murmured, kissing your bruised temple. “Especially when it comes to you.”

The Next Morning – 9:07 AM

Sunlight filtered lazily through the curtains, painting golden stripes over the bed where you were curled up like a cat. One leg over the sheet. A little sore. A little achy. But warm.

Bucky stirred beside you, his metal arm slung protectively over your waist.

“You awake?” you mumbled.

“Was watching you breathe,” he rasped, voice still sleep-rough. “You twitch your nose when you’re dreaming.”

“You’re creepy.”

“You married me, sweetheart. This is your fault.”

You snorted, rolling to face him, wincing a little. He was already awake, already watching you with that look. Like you were sacred. Untouchable. His.

“You hurting?” he asked immediately, shifting to sit up. “Need painkillers? Water? I can carry you to the bath—”

“Bucky.”

He blinked.

“I’m okay. It’s just a bruise, not a broken limb. Stop hovering.”

“I’m not hovering.”

“You’re three seconds from spoon-feeding me cereal.”

“…Is that an option?”

You groaned and buried your face in his chest.

“You’re insufferable.”

He chuckled, warm and smug, tucking you tighter under his chin. You stayed like that for a while. Tangled limbs. Warm sheets. His fingers trailing soft patterns on your back like he couldn’t stand not touching you.

“Don’t do that again,” he whispered finally.

You didn’t pretend to not hear it. “Okay.”

“I know you’re strong. I know you can take care of yourself. But if something happens to you—I stop breathing. You get that?”

You swallowed hard. “I get it.”

“I love you so much it makes me a little insane.”

“Only a little?”

“I toned it down for your sake.”

You giggled. “You’re cute when you’re crazy.”

“Good. Because you’re stuck with me.”

You looked up, brushed the hair from his forehead, kissed him slow.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Dark Energy 1

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Steve Rogers, Wanda Maximoff

Summary: you become a point of contention between Wanda and Steve.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

“I’ll be in and out,” Wanda promises. 

“Oh, okay, are you sure you don’t want me to wait out here?” You peer up at the daunting facade of the large compound marked with an A in a notable swoosh. The Avengers logo adds to your imposter syndrome. 

“Are you serious? That would be awfully rude of me,” she tuts. “It is me who forgot my phone.” 

“Right,” you chew your lip and hurry along with her as she waves her hand and a scarlet aura has the doors opening at her will. 

“Don’t worry so much. My coworkers are probably busy.” 

“Um, yeah, I wasn’t...” 

“And not so intimidating as you think. In their little costumes, eh?” She chuckles. 

You try to laugh. You don’t think they look ridiculous. Some might call it camp but you’re sure there’s some practical use to it all. What would you know? You’re just you. 

“Anyhow, we’ll fetch my phone and be off to the festival,” she assures you. “I am not in the mood to spend any more time with these freaks than need be.” 

She glances at you as you blink in shock at her branding. She clucks. 

“I am joking,” she pokes you. “I tease them and they tease me. Do you know what rhymes with ‘witch’?” 

You make another face and she laughs again. You hurry on, feeling like a little girl rushing after their parent on the way to the principal’s office. Not in a million years would you expect to have a friend as cool as Wanda. Well, she doesn’t seem to mind you and she shows you all sorts of cool things like the cards she reads and the dolls she makes. 

“That’s not very nice,” you say. 

“Not all my friends are as nice as you,” she assures. 

“So you’re friends with the Avengers?” 

“Some,” she shrugs. “Some not so much.” 

She stops at a door and flicks her fingers. They open as she struts forward. You linger and only follow her as you steady yourself. All night, you spent wading in anxiety in anticipation for the berry festival but you are wholly unprepared for this. 

You step into the doorway as she holds out her arm. A little red rectangle flies through the air. She catches her phone with a hum. She taps the screen with her almond nails as she turns to you. 

“There we are. I have the passes here,” she wiggles the screen at you. “My friend, Antonia, she will be selling her scarves and such. She does wonderful work.” 

“Cool, uh, guess we should get going--” 

You spin around, only to walk into a wall that wasn’t there before. You gasp and step back as two hands come up to steady you. You bat your lashes as your eyes flick up. You gulp as you recognise the famous chiseled jaw and golden hair. 

Steve Rogers holds you at arm’s length as your eyes flit up and down. His chest is huge, arms too, biceps exposed as he wears a loose muscle shirt. You’ve only ever seen him in his gear or suited up. On television, not face-to-face. 

He smiles as your mouth falls open. Wow. You've never seen anyone like him. Not aside from Wanda. They really are superhuman. 

“I’m sorry, Captain America,” you say as you gently step out of his grasp. 

Wanda giggle and nudges your side with her knuckles, “no need for all that." She raises her chin, "Steven.” 

He rolls his eyes, “so now you bringing civilians in here?” 

“Not to worry, we are on our way out. No need to sound the alarm,” she sniffs. 

He looks between you, “hi, Steve.” He offers his hand. 

“Oh, there he goes with the manners,” she rolls her eyes. “Come on, we’ve lost enough time.” 

“I don’t know how they do things where you’re from, Wanda, but an introduction is pretty typical.” 

“Well, I know when you’re from and times have changed,” she taunts and takes your hand. “Come, we are late.” 

She pulls you around Steve and you can only let her. You stumble along with her and crane to look back. He’s watching you. He gives a wave then disappears through the door. 

“He’s been such a stickler lately,” she complains. “If he hadn’t been on my case, I wouldn’t have forgotten my phone.” She lets you go as she checks it again. She locks it and tucks it into her red leather coat. “Ah, whatever. Forget about work, we’re going to have all sorts of fun.” 

You can’t speak. You're still in shock that you were in presence of the Captain America. You can feel his grip still warm on your arm. You’re not one of those fan girls but you always thought he was pretty cool. You think most people who aren’t you are. 

Wanda hops into her red convertible and pops on her sunglasses. The cat eyes give her a sleek look. You’re own are too big, inherited from a coworker who was giving them away. Like the rest of your things, you just sort of collected it. Never a voice of your own, just taking what you get. 

“I’ve never been to a berry festival,” you say. 

“Oh, you’ll love it. It’s more than just berries. Mostly stalls. Pies, jams, honey... but then you have the crafters. Like Antonia. Or you can have your tarot read but I must warn you, those swindlers aren’t so accurate as I am.” 

“Mm, yeah, probably just want money.” 

“Precisely, but we might find you a nice deck. I could show you how to read.” She offers as she shifts into gear. 

“Okay.” 

She’s quiet as she adjusts her mirror. You sense her peek at you. You smile at her sheepishly. 

“Forget about him.” She girds. “That captain has a lot of issues You don’t need to get into all that.” 

“I’m not--” 

“The serum made him look that way, he’s still that insecure skinny man inside.” Her voice deepens. “Do you remember when I read your cards? I said you would encounter dark energy. You would fare well to avoid him.” 

“Dark energy? Captain America?” 

“Steven Grant Rogers,” she corrects you. “Just a man. Just another simple man. And at the core, they are all the same.” 

[under0-0s]

"Well, I did try. That's all I could do."

Tony Stark + Pepper Potts in Iron Man (2008)

[avengerscompound]

Jeremy Renner as Clint Barton AVENGERS: ENDGAME

[mandoalorian]

parallel paths [bucky barnes x f!reader]

Pairing: Congressman!Bucky Barnes x Personal Assistant!Reader

Synopsis: You and Bucky travel to Russia on separate flights, with your own seperate missions. The emotional distance between you both deepens, with unspoken tension building. Little does Bucky know, that something has shifted in you.

Word Count: 4200

Tags/warnings: an 18+ series, mentions of torture, brainwashing, Hydra related stuff, canon-typical violence, and a lot of angst.

Masterlist

prev chapter <3 | congress & carnality masterlist

The jet was quiet, save for the soft hum of the engines and the occasional rustle of gear. Rain painted streaks down the window beside him, blurring the endless grey outside into something formless and cold. Bucky sat still, his hands clenched tight in his lap, metal fingers twitching unconsciously every few seconds. The silence wasn’t peaceful—it was punishing.

Across from him, Sam was adjusting his gloves, brows furrowed as he studied the floor plans of the Hydra compound one last time. Joaquin sat beside him, half-asleep, head resting back against the cold wall of the quinjet. They were prepared. Everyone was. Except him.

Bucky couldn’t focus. Not on the map. Not on the plan. Not on anything but the hollow pit in his chest that hadn’t stopped aching since you ran out that door.

He’d told himself not to chase you. Told himself Sam was right—that you needed space, that giving you time was the right thing to do. But every second that ticked by, every mile that passed between your plane and his, felt like a fucking mistake. Like he should’ve run after you anyway.

He wasn’t used to this—loving someone and not knowing how to protect them. Not physically. He could take a bullet for you without hesitation. Break bones. Tear through metal. But he couldn’t seem to talk to you. Couldn’t say the right thing, even when he was trying.

“You should’ve understood,” he thought bitterly. “You should’ve trusted her.”

But that was the problem, wasn’t it? Trust wasn’t something he gave easily. Not when his past was a minefield, not when his instincts screamed to keep the people he cared about away from danger, even if it meant locking them out completely.

Even if it meant losing them.

“You good?” Sam’s voice cut through the silence, calm but concerned.

Bucky didn’t look up. He gave a small nod, jaw tight. “Yeah.”

“Doesn’t look like it,” Sam said gently.

Bucky’s eyes stayed fixed on the rain-smeared window. He wasn’t ready to talk about it. Not yet. He couldn’t explain what it felt like knowing you were in the air somewhere, headed into the same hell he was—but not with him. He couldn’t explain the gnawing fear that if something happened to you, he wouldn't be there to stop it.

He thought about the way you cried when you left. The sound of the door slamming. The look in your eyes like he’d betrayed something sacred. And he had, hadn’t he? He hadn’t listened. Hadn’t heard what you were really asking for.

“You think I’m trying to control you? I’m trying to save you.”

That’s what he told you. But the truth was uglier. He didn’t want to lose you. And the second you brought up the Winter Soldier, the second you said he, of all people, should understand—you’d shattered something inside him.

He did understand. Too well. And that’s why he wanted the base gone. Because sometimes, not knowing was safer than remembering.

But you deserved more than silence and fear. You deserved answers. You deserved the truth.

And he’d pushed you away instead.

“We’re gonna hit the ground and split into two teams,” Sam said after a beat, walking over and crouching beside Bucky. “You, me, and Joaquin plant the detonators. We blow that place sky-high. Yelena and Y/N are searching the west wing for records, labs, whatever they can find.”

Bucky nodded silently.

“You trust her?” Sam asked.

The question was simple. The answer was not.

“Yeah,” he said finally, voice low. “I trust her. I just don’t trust what they did to her.”

Sam gave him a long look, then placed a hand on his shoulder. “Then let’s make sure we find out what that was. And end it. For good.”

The jet began to descend, the dull roar of the engines rising. Red lights blinked above their heads. Joaquin stirred beside them, reaching for his helmet.

Bucky didn’t move at first. He let the weight of it all sit on his shoulders for just a moment longer—the guilt, the fear, the love. Then he stood, adjusting the straps on his tac vest, sliding a pistol into its holster with precision that came more from instinct than thought.

The sky outside was grey as ash as the Russian terrain came into view—cold, dead, unwelcoming.

Bucky gritted his teeth.

He’d come here to destroy Hydra. But if they had touched you—if they had buried any part of your mind, your soul, your fire—

He would tear the whole world down to make it right again.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

The moment you stepped off the private jet, the cold sliced into you like a blade—sharp, merciless, and real. Russia had a particular way of freezing you from the inside out, not just your skin but your bones, your blood, your thoughts. It was like the entire country was trying to remind you that you didn’t belong here. That this place had once swallowed you whole and could do it again.

You pulled your coat tighter and adjusted the straps on your tactical bag. The landscape was a muted gray-blue blur of snowdrift and forest, empty save for the distant silhouette of an old concrete building in the valley. The Hydra base. It looked quiet. Dormant. But you didn’t believe that for a second. Evil like that didn’t sleep—it waited.

Yelena stood beside you, scarf wrapped tight around her jaw, her eyes narrowed as she scanned the mountainside. “Fucking bleak,” she muttered. “Perfect place for nightmares.”

You didn’t answer right away. You were still thinking about the fight. The way Bucky’s voice had cracked when he told you he was just trying to protect you. How his shoulders had slumped when you turned away. The way Sam had to physically hold him back from chasing after you. You’d cried in the car on the way to Yelena’s—ugly, gasping sobs—but now you felt hollow. Like something inside you had been scraped out and left behind.

You opened your phone, thumb hovering over Bucky’s name for a second before you swiped away. Instead, you tapped into the flight radar app and pulled up their plane. “Still in the sky,” you said quietly. “But they’re descending. Looks like they’ll land in twenty minutes.”

“That’s not much time,” Yelena said, leaning over to look. She clicked her earpiece. “Joaquin, come in.”

Crackling filled the silence, followed by Joaquin’s voice. “Copy. You two in position?”

“Just landed,” Yelena said. “We see the target. Going quiet now. But listen—hold the detonators for at least thirty minutes. We’re going in for intel.”

A pause. “Understood. You sure that’s enough time?”

“Not even close,” she said dryly. “But it’ll have to do.”

You looked back toward the compound, your hands flexing in your gloves. The building looked like it had been abandoned for years—concrete weathered and cracked, vines curling up around exposed rebar, windows shattered or boarded. But you knew better. Somewhere inside those walls, someone had kept you locked away like a weapon. You couldn’t explain how you knew that. You just did.

Yelena turned to you. “You stay glued to my side, got it?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Scared I’ll ditch you?”

She gave you a pointed look. “No. I just don’t want to be the one explaining to Bucky Barnes why I let his girl wander off into a Hydra death trap.”

A ghost of a smile flickered at your lips, despite yourself. “He’s not exactly speaking to me right now.”

Yelena scoffed. “Please. Men are all the same. Sulk for a bit, punch a wall, and then do something stupid to win you back.”

“I hurt him,” you murmured. “I said something I shouldn’t have.”

“Yeah, well, he hurt you first,” she said without missing a beat. “He should’ve listened. You don’t owe anyone your silence, especially not when your trauma’s involved.”

You swallowed hard, throat tightening as you looked back toward the base. “Let’s move.”

You and Yelena made your way toward the compound, sticking to the tree line. Snow crunched under your boots in soft, muted pops, each step measured, precise. When you reached the south wall, she pulled a collapsible crowbar from her bag and pried open a warped metal vent. It screeched in protest.

“Stay low,” she whispered, dropping into the darkness.

You followed.

The air inside was stale. Musty. It reeked of chemicals and metal and damp concrete, and underneath it all was a scent you couldn’t name—but it made your skin crawl. The hallway was narrow, lit only by the occasional flicker of exposed wiring and broken bulbs overhead. You ducked beneath hanging pipes and sidestepped puddles of oil and meltwater.

Each step deeper into the belly of the building made your chest tighten. This place was alive with memory. Not yours—but someone’s. The walls held onto screams, the floor soaked in sins. You could feel it vibrating beneath your soles. You didn’t just want answers. You needed them. Because the gaps in your memory weren’t just blanks—they were ticking time bombs. And you were tired of waiting to explode.

Yelena held up her hand, signaling for you to stop.

She crouched near a rusted panel on the wall, pried it open, and pulled out a bundle of dusty folders, half-buried under a loose grate. She skimmed the labels, eyes narrowing.

“Intel,” she said under her breath. “And look—this one has your name on it.”

Your stomach dropped.

She handed you the folder, and your gloved fingers trembled as you took it. The name at the top was yours. Typed. Stamped. Real.

“What the hell…” you whispered, opening it slowly.

Inside were photos—some of you unconscious in restraints. Some hooked up to machines. Pages of test logs. Serum markers. Neural rewiring. Trigger phrase development. Everything you hadn’t known you were afraid to see.

You stared at one word printed across the top of a page: Candidate 04. Viable. Responsive. Unstable.

“Jesus Christ,” you breathed.

Yelena pulled out her phone and began snapping photos of everything. “We’re taking it all.”

But the moment the shutter clicked, a loud bang echoed from somewhere deeper in the compound.

Your head jerked up.

Yelena tensed. “Shit.”

The trap had already begun to close.

The echo of the bang vibrated through the metal pipes in the walls. You didn’t know if it was a door slamming or a gunshot—or something worse—but your body reacted before your brain could catch up. Your grip tightened on the folder in your hands. Yelena spun around beside you, drawing her sidearm without hesitation.

“Move,” she hissed, grabbing your wrist and yanking you toward the corridor.

You both ran—ducking under beams and debris, boots slipping on slick, oil-slick concrete. Every door you passed now looked like a mouth ready to open and swallow you whole. You didn’t know what you were expecting—Hydra agents? Security drones? Explosives?

What you weren’t expecting was silence.

No footsteps chasing after you.

No shouting.

Just… silence.

That was worse.

You followed Yelena as she skidded to a halt near a reinforced door tucked at the end of a corridor. A red light blinked on the lock panel.

“This must be a main lab,” she muttered, voice low. “Help me with this.”

You shoved the folder into your backpack and crouched beside her, fingers flying over the cracked screen of the digital lock. Whoever had set this up was good—but not as good as Yelena Belova.

Within seconds, the panel clicked green.

The door creaked open.

You barely had time to register what you were seeing. A room like a tomb—low ceiling, sterile lights, computers blinking sleepily from standby mode. Monitors lined one wall, and in the center of the room—

A chair.

Not just any chair.

The chair.

You froze.

It looked just like the one Bucky had been strapped to in those old files from the Winter Soldier program. The metal armrests, the thick restraints, the electrode ports along the frame. You could feel your pulse fluttering in your throat like a trapped moth. You didn’t realize you’d stopped breathing until Yelena touched your back.

“Don’t,” she said softly, her voice stripped of humor for once. “Don’t spiral.”

But it was already happening. Visions behind your eyes. The flicker of machines, the hiss of restraints. Something cold pressing against your temple. A voice—foreign, male, commanding—speaking in Russian. You didn’t understand the words.

But your body did.

“I’ve been here before,” you whispered. “I knew it.”

Yelena moved to one of the nearby computers and began hacking into the hard drive. “We’ll take everything. Download it, burn it, make it public. You’ll get your answers.”

You didn’t move.

You couldn’t.

Your eyes were locked on the chair as your mind clawed back at fragments it didn’t understand. Metal against your skin. A strap biting into your bicep. Voices—foreign, clipped, cruel.

Then a sudden click. A speaker hissed to life overhead, hidden somewhere in the walls.

And a voice—a man’s voice—began to speak in Russian.

“Подчинение.” (Submission.)

Pain sliced through your head like a blade. You dropped the folder you'd been holding and collapsed to your knees with a choked scream.

“Забвение.” (Oblivion.)

You gasped again, louder this time, clutching the sides of your skull as the lights in the room flickered. It felt like something was scraping the inside of your brain, carving tunnels through your memories.

“Одиночество.” (Loneliness.)

“Stop.”You managed to spit the word out with an empty rasp.

“Страх.” (Fear.)

You screamed so loud it cracked in your throat, your body seizing against invisible restraints. Yelena spun toward you.

“Hey! What’s happening?! What is this?!”

You wanted to answer. You tried. But your mouth wouldn’t move. Your body was no longer yours.

“Служи.” (Serve.)

“Забудь.” (Forget.)

You convulsed again, tears leaking down your cheeks as you writhed on the floor, agony cracking through every nerve in your spine. You could feel your identity unspooling—thread by delicate thread—as if someone were erasing you line by line.

“Y/N!” Yelena shouted, bolting toward you.

But before she could reach you, a shadow appeared in the doorway.

Tara.

Calm. Collected. A glint of victory in her cold eyes.

“You really came back here,” she said softly, stepping inside as the speaker cut off. “How poetic. I do love a full-circle moment.”

Yelena lunged for her. “You—”

But a dart from the shadows embedded into her neck mid-sprint. Her eyes widened. Her momentum faltered.

And she collapsed to the ground.

You were still trembling on your knees, chest heaving. Your mind had been stripped raw, your name dissolving somewhere inside you like ash in water.

Tara crouched down in front of you, brushing a gentle hand across your clammy cheek.

“You remember this feeling, don’t you?” she whispered. “The serum did its job. We knew it would—eventually.”

You didn’t respond. You couldn’t.

But your eyes locked onto hers.

Unblinking. Cold.

She smiled like the devil himself had kissed her brow.

She stood, brushing herself off, and looked down at your still form.

Then she said it—

Softly. Sweetly. Like a lullaby for monsters.

“Are you ready for your mission, Soldat?”

The room hummed with silence.

And deep inside… a switch finally flipped.

Smoke bled through the halls like a living thing.

Bucky’s boots slammed against the metal floors as he sprinted down the last corridor, his rifle at the ready, chest heaving. Joaquin was just behind him, and Sam flanked his left, wings tucked tight against the low ceilings. The detonators were armed. The base was on its last half hour.

But none of that mattered.

All that mattered was you.

“Yelena said they were in the northwest wing,” Sam called out, tapping at the tracker in his hand. “We’re two turns away.”

Bucky didn’t answer. His gut was already doing the talking, twisted up into knots that refused to ease. Something was wrong. He’d been in too many Hydra facilities, too many goddamn hallways like this one to ignore the tension crawling up his spine like barbed wire.

The door at the end of the corridor was already ajar.

Smoke drifted from the cracks.

Bucky burst through first.

And stopped cold.

You were standing in the middle of the room. Not looking at him. Not looking at anything. Just standing. Still. Like a statue carved from flesh and ice.

“Y/N?” he said, voice rough with relief—and confusion.

You didn’t turn around.

His eyes shifted past you.

Yelena lay unconscious on the floor.

Bucky cursed and dropped to a crouch beside her, checking her pulse. It was steady, but shallow. A tranq dart protruded from her neck. His jaw clenched so tightly it popped.

“What the hell happened here?” Joaquin muttered.

The chair was still there. The machine. The monitors blinking dimly. An entire hard drive missing from the wall. The restraints on the chair were open, the scent of sterilized leather and metal still fresh.

“Tara,” Bucky growled, standing slowly. “She was here.”

Sam knelt beside Yelena too, checking her vitals. “She must’ve ambushed them. Took something. But what?”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Bucky asked, turning back to you.

You blinked once. Slowly. Then turned your head—just a little. Mechanical. Controlled.

“I’m fine,” you said quietly. That wasn’t even the answer to the question he asked. You didn’t look fine.

There was no tremble in your voice. No breathless relief. No frantic energy from being found.

Just stillness.

It was wrong.

Everything about you was wrong.

But Bucky didn’t want to push. Not here. Not now. You’d been through hell. Maybe it was shock. Maybe it was trauma. Maybe the fight from earlier still weighed too heavy on your heart.

He walked toward you anyway, carefully, like approaching a wounded animal. He placed a hand on your shoulder.

You didn’t flinch.

“You’re safe now,” he said softly, trying to find your eyes. “I’ve got you.”

You nodded.

But the emptiness in your expression cut him deeper than any Hydra bullet ever had.

“I owe you an apology,” Bucky huffed out, his eyes glazed with unshed tears. He took hold of both of your hands. “What I said before at the office… fuck, I was so scared of losing you. I couldn’t bear the thought of something happening to you. I was wreckless and you were right, I was being controlling and I didn’t even realise it.”

You stared at him blankly.

“I’m just glad you’re here, alive, safe, you’re okay,” Bucky continued. “You are okay, right?” He asked with uncertainty in his voice.

“I am okay.” You said.

Bucky didn’t look so sure, but he accepted it, for now. “Okay. Then let’s go home.”

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

The sight of the Hydra base crumbling behind them was a bitter one—smoke billowing into the sky like an unstoppable storm, its dark clouds twisting in the wind. It was hard to be proud of what they’d just done, even though it had been necessary. The weight of the destruction still settled on Bucky’s chest like a lead blanket, suffocating, even as the helicraft carried them away from the wreckage.

But it wasn’t the explosion, the victory, or even the aftermath that Bucky’s mind was consumed with. It was you.

You hadn’t spoken a word since the base had fallen. Your eyes were vacant, fixed on the floor of the helicraft, your body curled slightly into itself like you were trying to shrink away from the world. He could feel the tension rolling off you, thick and suffocating, and it made his throat tighten.

Bucky couldn’t sit still. He kept moving his gaze from you to the others—Sam was leaning back against the wall, arms folded tightly across his chest, looking like he was already preparing for the political mess that lay ahead. Joaquin was at the far end of the cabin, hovering over Yelena, who lay unconscious on the floor with oxygen tubes snaking around her face. The air was thick with the buzz of machinery and the low hum of the helicraft's engine, but all Bucky could hear was the beating of his own heart—faster now, heavy with worry.

He glanced back at you. Your fingers were barely brushing against his, but you weren’t holding on, not like you used to.

He could feel the cool distance in your skin. You were there, but you weren’t really there. Bucky wanted to reach out, to pull you close, but the words were stuck in his throat. He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know if anything could make it better.

It was Sam who broke the silence first, his voice a low murmur. “You good, Buck?” He looked over, his expression unreadable.

Bucky nodded, though it was a lie. He wasn’t good. Not by a long shot.

“Yeah,” he said, trying to make his voice steady. “Just… gotta figure things out. Get back to the White House tomorrow.”

You didn’t even look at him.

Bucky swallowed hard. "The snap election is tomorrow. All the votes are going to start rolling in the second the polls close. And then, it’s a waiting game."

His voice was low, almost to himself as much as it was to you, but still, you didn’t react. You didn’t even move.

“I’ll be at the White House all day. Ethan will be there too.” Bucky's chest tightened at the mention of his name, the mention of him—Ethan Halloway, the man who was running against Bucky for president. He was going to be there, under the same roof, as Bucky waited for the nation to choose its next leader. The stakes were higher than ever, and yet, it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered, not when you were this distant.

“I want you there, though,” Bucky continued, the words slipping out before he could stop them. “Not for the press. Not for the cameras. Just... for me.”

You lifted your gaze then, but it was distant. Your eyes didn’t hold the warmth they used to, the spark that had always been so you. It was hard for Bucky to swallow, the empty space that used to be filled with your strength, your humor, your love.

“Okay,” you said, your voice soft but not quite there. No bite, no fire.

Bucky’s heart cracked just a little more.

“You don’t have to come for the speech or the media bullshit. I just…” He paused, looking for the right words. “I just need you there with me, us. Please.”

The silence between you felt like it stretched across the whole world.

A heavy sigh escaped him. He ran his fingers through his hair, trying to ground himself in something solid. He couldn’t keep up this charade. His mind was a mess, and if he didn’t fix things with you, he was sure everything would fall apart. Again.

“I meant what I said earlier,” Bucky said softly, his eyes locked onto yours. “Back at the base. When I apologized for everything.” His chest tightened. “I never wanted to control you. I never wanted to hurt you. But God, I was scared. I was scared of losing you. Losing you, again, after everything.”

His voice cracked slightly at the last word. The raw emotion made his chest ache. He never wanted you to be this hurt, this unreachable. He wanted to protect you, yes—but not from your own choices. Never from your own choices.

You looked at him then. It wasn’t a warm look. It wasn’t a cold one either. It was just... empty. Silent. Distant.

“I’ll make it right,” Bucky added, his words coming out in a rush. “After tomorrow—no matter what happens with the election, I’ll make it right.”

There was a brief pause before you finally spoke.

“Okay.”

The word was barely a whisper. It wasn’t a promise. It wasn’t a statement of trust. Just... acceptance. And that terrified him more than anything.

Bucky squeezed your hand, feeling the lack of grip on the other side. The coolness in your skin sent a shiver down his spine. He held you tighter anyway, desperate for something—anything—to break the silence, to bring you back. But it didn’t happen. You didn’t pull away, but you didn’t lean into him either.

“I’m gonna do everything I can to fix this, to make sure nothing like this ever happens again,” he promised, his voice strained with the weight of the burden he felt pressing down on him.

But there was no reaction. No spark in your eyes. Nothing.

Bucky's fingers tightened around your hand, still not letting go. Not yet.

But inside, a cold fear spread, deeper than anything he’d felt before. What if you weren’t coming back?

The helicraft hummed steadily, carrying them toward Washington.

And Bucky Barnes sat in the silence, holding on, waiting for you to come back to him.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

Taglist: @imaginecrushes @maplepepperoni @sleepysongbirdsings @sunday-bug @bunnyfella @lktunes12-blog @bellamoret @mrsnikstan @greatenthusiasttidalwave@pancake-05 @theylovethesky @avengersfan25 @nydubs @abitofblues @ferretferretferret @helen-2003 @notreallythatlost @opheliagreenaway @flowerluvr @calzone-d @lil-riddle-kiddle @nameless-ken @ladyvenera @sky-full-0f-fl0wers @josis-teacup @marissa8208@houseofaegon

[sergeantbarnessdoll]

i have a request! reader and steve are expecting their first child (or children) and the child in question seems to love hearing steve's voice and the reader points that out as well. just something cute and fluffy 💖 thanks!

Dad’s Voice » Steve Roger/Captain America

Pairings: Husband!Steve Rogers x Wife/Pregnant!Reader

Summary: Yours and Steve’s baby loves to hear Steve’s voice.

Warnings: none except Fluff

A/N: Thank you for the cute request, nonnie🩵

Written on my phone. My apologies for any mistakes.

Header made by @buck-star

GIF IS NOT MINE! Gif credit goes to the creator.

When you found out you were pregnant with yours and Steve’s first child, he was away on a mission. You got creative and made him a t-shirt with his shield on it that says “Captain Dad”. You gave it to him when he got home and showed the positive pregnancy test. He was over the moon happy that he’s having a baby with the love of his life.

Now, you’re almost 7 months pregnant. You and Steve are almost done setting up the nursery. You guys had some help from Bucky, Sam, and the Avengers. You did the little things like organizing yours and Steve’s baby boy’s clothes. That’s what you’re doing right now. You’re sitting on the floor in the middle of your son’s nursery looking at baby clothes you just bought. You may have went overboard, but you don’t care. You’re just excited.

“Sweetheart, I’m home!” Steve announces as he walks in the house. “Are you home?” He asks.

“Nursery!” You replied loudly.

Steve made his way to the nursery to see you sitting on the floor in the middle of the room with more baby clothes in front of you.

“Did you buy more baby clothes?” Steve asks.

“No… maybe… yes.” You say.

“Darling, our son will have more than enough clothes.” He says.

“I know, but I couldn’t resist.” You say.

Steve sat down on the floor next to you, looking at the baby clothes you bought earlier.

“I like this one.” Steve says, picking up a red, white, and blue striped onesie.

“Oh! I almost forgot!” You rummaged through the plastic bag next to you. “It has a matching hat!” You exclaimed excitedly. “Isn’t that the more adorable thing you’ve ever seen?” You say.

“Is it adorable.” He agrees.

Steve helped you organize the baby clothes and put them in the baby’s dresser.

“I’m too fat to stand up by myself.” You say, pouting up at your husband.

“You’re not fat, honey. You’re just pregnant.” Steve helps you up from the floor with ease. “And you’re beautiful.” He adds.

“You really think so?” You asked.

“Yes.” He smiles.

You smiled and kissed him softly. The kiss was cut short when you felt the baby kick.

“Oh-” You put a hand on your stomach where your son kicked. “He kicked.” You say with a smile.

Steve put his hand on your stomach where your hand is. He smiles widely when he feels the baby kick.

“He’s got a strong kick, don’t you, son?” He coos.

The baby kicked again. The smile remained on his face.

“I think Steve Jr recognizes your voice.” You say softly.

Steve smiles widely when you said that. You two then went to the living room so he can continue talking to his son some more. Steve was telling him stories from the 1940s. Even though, Steve has told you stories from the 1940s, it makes you smile when you hear them. You don’t mind hearing them again.

“This one time, me and your uncle Bucky spent the day at Coney Island and we had so much fun.” Steve tells your son.

“Bucky told me that you threw up on one of the rides.” You point out.

Steve looked at you and playfully narrowed his eyes at you, making you giggle.

“That was one time.” He said. “In my defense, I probably shouldn’t have eaten before me and Bucky got on that ride.” He adds.

“That would’ve been a good idea.” You say.

“Can I get back to my story please?” He asks.

“Yes you can.” You replied.

Steve leans up and pecks your lips before picking up where he left off on his story. You don’t know how long Steve has been telling stories to yours and his son. You woke up when he gently laid you down on yours and his bed.

“What’s going on?” You asked, your mind foggy from the nap you just woke up from.

“You fell asleep when I was talking to our son.” Steve tells you.

“Oh.” You say. “Will you stay with me please?” You asked softly.

“Of course, sweetheart.” He replies softly.

Steve got in bed next to you and covered the two of you up with a blanket. He protectively wrapped his arms around you, putting one of his hands on your pregnant belly. He smiles when he felt the baby kick where his hand is.

“I’ll talk more to you later, bud. Mommy and I are going to relax for a little bit.” Steve tells yours and his son.

Your son kicked again, making both of you smile.

“I love you, Stevie.” You almost whispered.

“I love you too, honey.” He whispers back.

💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙

-Bucky’s Doll

[anonymousavenger]

[cassiemaebarnes]

The Road Trip

Bucky x reader, forced proximity, one bed trope

Summary: You and Bucky are paired up on a mission...which is a 12 hour drive away.

Word Count: 4161

Your alarm pulled you from your sleep and you groaned as you reached over to turn it off. You hated waking up early.

You had just joined the Avengers a few weeks ago, and they needed two people to go on an undercover mission, so you were the obvious choice, as no one knew who you were yet. And you were paired with Bucky Barnes.

In the few weeks you have known Bucky, he’s barely said a word to you. You’re a very outgoing person, so you’ve tried to strike up conversations, but he just doesn’t seem to want to talk to you. And now you were going to be in a car with him for 12 hours. You wanted to just fly there, but they didn’t want to have to deal with a rental car since you had to use different names.

You laid in bed for a little longer, finally pulling yourself out of bed at 6:10. Bucky wanted to leave by 6:30, so he would kill you if you weren’t ready by then.

You already had everything packed except for what you had to use this morning, so it didn’t take you long to get ready. You pulled on shorts and a t-shirt, finished packing up your stuff, pulled your bookbag over your shoulders, grabbed your pillow, and finally picked up your heavy duffel bag. You didn’t know how long you were gonna be there, so you tried to pack as many clothes as you could.

You shuffled down the hallway and into the kitchen at 6:25, and Bucky was cleaning up dishes, obviously having been up for a while.

“Morning,” you grumbled, setting your bags on the ground by the door.

“Morning, I’m surprised you actually rolled out of bed this early.”

“Didn’t really have a choice,” you mumbled.

He just laughed, drying his hands and looking around the kitchen. “Okay, ready to go?”

“I guess,” you responded. “Do we have any good snacks to take?”

“Uhh, I don’t know, check the cabinets.”

You rifled through the cabinets as he went to his room to grab his bags, and you found nothing good. He walked back into the kitchen and you sighed as you turned to face him.

“A tower full of people and there’s no good snacks.” You sighed, running your hands through your hair. “Man, I just wanted cheeto puffs,” you mumbled to yourself.

“Alright, you sure you have everything?”

“Yeah,” you responded.

“Okay then, let’s go.” You put your bookbag back on and slid into your Birkenstock sandals, picking up your pillow. You were about to grab your duffel bag when Bucky stepped in front of you, grabbing your duffel bag with his metal arm and slinging it over his shoulder like it weighed nothing.

You followed him to his truck and walked around to the passenger side as he put his bookbag and both your duffel bags into the backseat. You stuck your bookbag in the backseat before opening the passenger door and hopping up. Bucky got in and set a packet of papers on the middle console.

“What’s that?”

“The directions,” he answered.

Your jaw dropped. “You mean you printed off the directions? You do have a phone, right?”

“Yes,” he said, obviously annoyed, “I’m just used to using a map.”

“I mean, that’s valid, but you’ve got to learn how to use your phone eventually.”

“I know how to use it,” he replied.

“Oh really? Get the directions up on your phone then,” you said, crossing your arms.

He didn’t look at you as he started the truck and put on his seatbelt. “We don’t have time.”

“Hmm, good save,” you said, narrowing your eyes.

He just ignored you, backing the truck out of the garage as you put on your seatbelt.

“Well, I’m gonna try to get some more sleep,” you said, setting your pillow up against the window.

“Okay, I’ll try to drive as rough as I can,” he said, smirking.

You just shot him a dirty look before leaning your seat back a little bit and resting your head on the pillow, drifting into sleep almost immediately.

--

When your eyes fluttered open, the sun was fully out. You yawned as you started to stretch, trying to wake yourself up.

“Morning, sunshine.”

“Mmm, what time is it?” you asked.

“9:30.”

“Ugh, you mean we’re not there yet?”

“Not even close,” he said, laughing.

You leaned your seat back up and threw your pillow in the backseat. You stretched again, trying to get rid of the soreness in your neck and back from sleeping in a weird position.

Bucky reached his hand into the backseat and put something in your lap. You looked down and smiled when you realized what it was. A bag of cheeto puffs.

“I stopped and got gas and thought you might want those,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck, obviously a little embarrassed.

“Thank you, I’ve been craving these so much,” you said, tearing the bag open.

You slipped out of your Birks and put your bare feet up on the dashboard as you started eating. You figured he would yell at you to put your feet down, but surprisingly he didn’t.

What you didn’t realize was how his gaze lingered just a little too long on your long tan legs stretching across his truck.

You sat in silence as you ate, and as soon as you were done, you crushed the bag and stuffed it in the cupholder. Bucky immediately opened the center console, pulling out a pack of wipes and handing it to you.

“You are not getting cheeto dust all over my truck.”

“Then you shouldn’t have gotten me cheetos,” you said, smirking at him. You pulled a wipe out of the pack and wiped your hands clean. “You would be the type of guy to keep wipes in your truck,” you said laughing.

“Do you not keep wipes in your car?”

“No, I don’t have much of anything in my car honestly.”

“Well don’t worry, I’ll get you some wipes. You’re a messy eater so you’re gonna need them.”

You just slapped him on the arm as he laughed, obviously enjoying making fun of you.

You just sighed and picked up his phone. “Can I play some music?”

“I’m listening to the radio,” he said.

“Of course you are,” you replied, rolling your eyes. “Well can I connect my phone and play some music?”

“Yeah, I guess. I’m assuming you know how to do that because I don’t.”

You just laughed, pressing the Media button on the screen. “Obviously I do.”

You started playing music and drifted into steady conversation for the next couple of hours. You talked about a little bit of everything, all worries about the ride being awkward fading away.

You didn’t realize how long it had been until you looked at the clock.

“Wow, it’s almost 1 already? We need to stop for lunch,” you said, not realizing how hungry you had gotten.

“Okay, we can get off on the next exit and see what’s there.”

“Or, I can just look up restaurants near me and see what there is,” you said, grinning at him.

“You know, it’s okay to not use your phone for everything,” he said laughing.

You ignored him as you looked up restaurants. “Do we have time to go to a sit-down restaurant or are we just doing fast food?”

“Doesn’t matter to me. I’d rather not have you get crumbs all over my truck though.”

“I’m not that messy of an eater,” you said, rolling your eyes. He just laughed.

“Okay, how about Chick-Fil-A? I mean, that’s technically fast food but it sounds so good,” you said.

“Fine with me.”

It only took five minutes to get there and you hopped out of the truck right after he parked, eager to stretch your legs.

He opened the door for you as you walked inside, surprised at how busy it was for being 1:00.

“Man, I have to pee,” you said.

“If you tell me what you want I can order for you.”

“Oh, perfect. I want an 8-count nugget meal, fries, mac and cheese, and a cookies and cream milkshake.”

He raised an eyebrow at you, obviously judging you for getting so much food, but didn’t say anything about it. “Okay.”

You went to the bathroom, and when you came back, Bucky was at the register ordering. You found a table and sat down, pulling out your phone to see a text from Nat:

So how’s sitting in silence going?

You just smiled and texted back:

We’ve actually been talking the whole time surprisingly! Well except for the first 3 hours I was asleep lol

Bucky walked up then, setting the table marker and two drinks down on the table. “I also got you a water since you haven’t drank any today.” That’s when you realized you forgot to bring a water bottle.

“Ughhh I totally forgot my water bottle,” you said, dropping your head in your hands.

“I asked if you had everything,” he said, laughing.

“I know but it was also 6 am, my brain was not functioning.”

“We can stop at the store when we get there and get a pack of waters, we have to go grocery shopping anyway,” he said.

You were interrupted by the waiter bringing out your food. You instantly grabbed yours off the tray, realizing how hungry you actually were. You grabbed a couple packs of ranch off the tray, realizing you never told him you wanted ranch.

“How’d you know I wanted ranch? Or is this yours?”

“Oh, no I got the Chick-Fil-A sauce. You made chicken tenders for supper the other night and had ranch so I just assumed you might want some.”

You didn’t even remember you made chicken tenders, and you definitely didn’t remember Bucky being there. He might not be talkative but he’s definitely observant. Exhibit A being the cheetos you ate earlier.

“Oh, well thank you!”

You finished eating in silence, stomach full with satisfaction.

“Mmm, that was good,” you said.

“Yeah, I wasn’t sure what to expect,” Bucky said in return.

Your jaw dropped. “Wait, you’ve never been to Chick-Fil-A before??”

He just laughed and shook his head. “They didn’t exactly get take-out for you in Hydra.”

You froze, feeling bad for bringing it up. He never talked about Hydra with anyone, let alone joked about it.

He noticed your reaction and smiled. “It’s okay, I’m able to joke about it a little bit now.”

“Well – that’s good,” you said, still hesitant to say any more. “You ready to go?”

“Yeah,” he responded, picking up the tray.

You picked up your water and made your way back out to the truck, hoping the conversation about Hydra wouldn’t make things awkward. But once again, you guys fell into steady conversation as you got back on the highway.

A couple minutes later, your phone vibrated with a new text from Nat:

I kinda expected that honestly, he definitely likes you

You choked on the water you had just taken a drink of, nearly spitting it out.

“Y/n, are you okay?” Bucky asked, his arm immediately on your shoulder.

Your skin tingled where he was touching you, hyperaware of what Nat had just said. You turned your phone off so he couldn’t see the screen.

“Yeah,” you choked out, coughing a little more. “Just went down the wrong pipe.”

You continued to cough a little more, and Bucky moved his hand to lightly pat your back. Your coughing finally slowed and you took another drink to soothe your throat.

“Okay, I’m good,” you said, embarrassed.

His hand remained on your back for probably a second longer than it should have, until he finally moved it back to the steering wheel.

You thought about telling Nat what just happened, but she would only bug you about it more.

He definitely does not, I’m basically forcing him to talk

You pressed send and put your phone down, thinking about what she said. I mean, he did get you cheetos when you were just talking to yourself about it, and knew you wanted ranch because he saw you eating it one time. But you figured he noticed stuff like that with everyone. Right?

You pushed the thought away, not wanting to look too far into things.

You sat in silence for a while, drifting between easy conversation and comfortable silence for the next couple of hours, stopping only once at a rest stop to go to the bathroom.

Before you knew it, you were only 30 minutes out from your hotel.

“Wow, this drive went so fast,” you said.

“Yeah, it really did.”

“So, what’s the plan when we get there?”

“Well, I figured we’d check into our hotel first and then we can get something to eat if you want?”

“Ugh yes please, I’m starving,” you answered.

When you got to the hotel, Bucky went inside to get you checked in, then pulled around to the back door to park. You both got out and you were so relieved to finally stretch your legs again. You grabbed your bookbag but left your pillow in the car, and Bucky carried your duffel bag again.

You found yourself thinking, would he do that for anyone else, or does he really like me?

You shook your head, trying to shake the thought away as you followed him up to the door. He scanned the keycard and opened the door for you, letting you go in first. Okay, maybe he’s just a gentleman. I mean, he is from the 40s.

You tried to shake the feeling again as you pressed the button for the elevator. You went up to the fifth floor, then walked down the hall to your room. The hotel was really nice, and you just knew your room was about to be fancy.

You walked in and, once again, Bucky opened the door but let you go in first. Straight ahead was a couch and TV, to the left was a small kitchen and barstools to sit on, then there was a door to the bedroom. You walked over to the door, realizing almost immediately there was only one bed.

You started to freak out, only to remember Bucky sleeps on the floor, so it wouldn’t make sense to pay for a room with two beds. You dropped your bookbag on the floor and flopped face-first onto the bed, realizing how exhausted you were from the drive.

“You know they don’t wash the top comforter, right?” Bucky said, walking in behind you.

“I don’t even care at this point,” you replied, voice muffled from the bed.

He just laughed and set your bags on the other side of the bed. He went to the bathroom as you laid on the bed, seriously about to fall asleep. When he came back out, he immediately started unpacking his bags and putting his clothes in the dresser.

You rolled onto your side and put your hand under your chin to hold your head up. “Did you even look at the view from the window before you started unpacking?” you said, teasing him.

He just shot you a dirty look, but he couldn’t keep a little smile from peeking through. “Well, if I don’t do it now, I might not ever do it.”

“That’s a good point, maybe I should too.”

“Probably, you can take the bottom two drawers,” he said.

“Ugh, I just don’t feel like it,” you groaned, flopping onto your back.

“Well you gotta get up soon, I’m hungry.”

You groaned again, running your hands over your face then dropping them to your sides again. “Can’t we just like, order pizza to our room or something?”

Bucky looked at you and raised his eyebrows. “Actually, that’s not a bad idea. Now that I’m here I don’t wanna leave either.”

“Oh, perfect. Now we just have to figure out who will deliver here.” You pulled your phone out of your pocket and Bucky gave you a look. “What?”

“You and your phone,” he said, shaking his head.

“Well, I don’t know if it’s been 100 years since you’ve been to a hotel, but they don’t usually have books with all the food places anymore,” you said, raising an eyebrow at him.

“Alright, alright,” he said laughing.

You ordered from a local place, and the pizza got delivered about 45 minutes later. You wanted to eat it on the bed, but Bucky wouldn’t let you, so you ate at the barstools in the kitchen.

“Mmm, that was good,” you said, wiping the grease off your hands.

“Yeah, they really know how to make pizza,” Bucky agreed.

Together, you downed a whole large pizza in 15 minutes. You got up and washed your hands as Bucky folded up the pizza box so it fit in the small trash can.

“I’m gonna hop in the shower,” you said.

“Okay, I think I might run to the store and get a few things.”

“Oh, do you want me to come with you?”

“No, that’s okay,” he said. “It should only take a few minutes.”

“Okay.”

--

About 20 minutes later, you stepped out of the shower, drying yourself off, when you realized you hadn’t grabbed any clothes to change into. You opened the bathroom door and looked out, but Bucky wasn’t in the bedroom.

“Bucky?” you called out, with no answer. The coast was clear.

You darted across the room, first closing the curtains. The sun was about to go down, so you didn’t want anyone seeing into the room. You walked back over to the bed, rifling through your bag. You found the pair of shorts you wanted, but couldn’t find your favorite sweatshirt. You were reaching for your bookbag when you heard the door unlock.

You whipped around, gripping the top of your towel, suddenly realizing how little it was.

Bucky stumbled into the room, holding a case of water and a few plastic bags, freezing when he saw you. “Oh – uh, sorry,” he mumbled, turning around to set the groceries on the counter.

“No, I’m sorry. I – uh, forgot to grab my clothes,” you said, laughing nervously. You kept going through the bag, when you suddenly realized you left your sweatshirt sitting on your desk because you had planned to put it on this morning. You sighed, smacking your hand onto your forehead.

“Uhh, what’s wrong?” Bucky said, walking into the bedroom.

“I just realized I forgot my favorite sweatshirt.”

“Another thing? Wow, I’m disappointed,” Bucky said, holding back a smile.

“I didn’t bring another sweatshirt because it’s supposed to be warm here,” you whined.

“It’s okay, just wear one of mine,” he said, walking over to the dresser. He pulled open one of the drawers, revealing a stack of sweatshirts. He pulled one out and handed it to you.

“Oh, are you sure?” you asked.

“Yeah,” he said with a smile.

You took it from him, suddenly hyperaware that you were only in a towel again. You spun on your heel and quickly walked back into the bathroom, as Bucky watched you the whole way.

When you walked out, Bucky did a double take, but you didn’t notice. He loved the sight of you in his sweatshirt. He quickly looked away though, playing it off. “I’m gonna shower now,” he said, grabbing his clothes.

“Okay.”

You forced yourself to unpack your bag while he was in the shower, and it didn’t take near as long as you thought it would. When you were done, you grabbed your phone charger and plugged it in beside the bed. You pulled the blankets back and slipped in under the covers. Hotel beds always felt so cozy, and you had to admit, you felt extra cozy with Bucky’s sweatshirt on. Did this mean he liked you?

As if Nat could read your mind, when you picked up your phone, you had a text from her:

Walked past your room and saw your sweatshirt on the desk, did you mean to leave that?

You quickly typed back a response, knowing you were going to regret it:

No, I was gonna put it on this morning but forgot :( Bucky let me borrow his tho

She answered almost immediately:

Omg which one

You were confused why she was asking, but answered anyway:

Just a plain gray one, why?

You quickly realized why she asked when she responded:

Shut up, that’s his favorite one

As if on cue, Bucky walked out of the bathroom, running a towel through his hair. When he put the towel down and shook out his wet hair, you had to admit, he looked really hot. If only he walked out in just a towel too.

Your eyes went wide from the intrusive thought, but you quickly regained your composure and looked down at your phone, sending Nat a quick text back:

I think it was the only one he brought and I was freezing

It was a lie, but you didn’t want her making a big deal out of nothing. It was nothing, right?

You looked at the time, realizing it was only 9:00. “Do you wanna watch a movie or something?”

“Sure,” he said, “what’s on?”

“I don’t know, let’s look,” you said grabbing the TV remote and turning it on.

After scrolling through channels, you finally decided on Disney Channel, only because Frozen had just started and you begged Bucky to watch it, telling him it was one of the best Disney movies. Surprisingly, it didn’t take that long to convince him to watch it, and it took even less time to convince him to lay in the bed with you to watch it. Again, that means nothing…

You and Bucky didn’t say anything during the movie, and when it was finally over, you yawned, looking over at him. “So, what’d you think?”

“I think it’s definitely a kid's movie,” he said laughing. “Not as bad as I thought it was gonna be though. But I’ve had to pee since the rocks were singing,” he said, quickly getting out of bed as you laughed.

When he walked out of the bathroom, you had turned off the TV and were curled up under the blanket.

“Comfortable?” he asked, clearly trying to sound casual, but you caught the hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

You smiled sleepily. “Very. Thanks again for the sweatshirt.”

“No problem,” he said, walking over to the other side of the bed and grabbing a pillow. “I’ll just—”

“Bucky,” you interrupted, sitting up slightly. “You don’t have to sleep on the floor.”

He froze. “It’s fine, really. I’m used to it.”

“I know,” you said gently. “But you don’t have to be used to it anymore. It’s a big bed. And I promise not to kick you in my sleep.”

He looked at you for a long moment before nodding once, quietly. “Alright...if you’re sure.”

You smiled, patting the spot next to you. “I’m sure.”

He slid under the covers, staying as close to the edge as possible, stiff as a board. You turned to face him, grinning.

“You know,” you said softly, “you’re not as grumpy as you pretend to be.”

He turned to look at you, and for once, didn’t try to hide the way he looked at you. Warm, almost amused. “And you’re not as annoying as I thought you’d be.”

You gasped. “Hey!”

He chuckled, his voice low. “Kidding.”

Silence settled between you for a second, the kind that wasn’t awkward anymore - just comfortable.

Then, you decided to be brave.

“Nat thinks you like me,” you said, staring up at the ceiling.

He was quiet for a beat. Two.

“And what do you think?” he finally asked.

You looked at him then, your heart beating just a little faster. “I think you remember what kind of sauce I like and got me cheetos just because I mumbled about them once. So…I think maybe you do.”

He gave you a soft smile - real, this time. “Well…she’s not wrong.”

You blinked. “Really?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Really.”

You grinned, trying to keep your cool. “Well...good. Because I think I might like you too.”

He turned onto his side to face you more fully. “Good.”

And with that, he reached out, gently brushing a strand of hair out of your face. Your breath caught slightly, and for a second, you thought he might kiss you - but instead, he just whispered, “Goodnight y/n.”

You smiled, heart full. “Goodnight Bucky.”

The two of you fell asleep, side by side, warm under the covers, tangled in a sweatshirt and something new neither of you quite expected to find on a mission. Something that felt a lot like the beginning of something really, really good.

[amethystarachnid]

I know that we are always asking for part 2 of your fics, but it’s because they are all so good 🫠 can you please please lemas e write a part 2 of Stuck? This time they will never be apart again 🥺

STUCK - part 2

⤷ ANTHONY “TONY” E. STARK

ᯓ★ Pairing: Anthony “Tony” E. Stark x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: fluff, romance, some action

ᯓ★ Word count: 7.2k

ᯓ★ Part 1

ᯓ★ Summary: to never be apart again what's better than marriage?

ᯓ★ TW(s): nothing I think?

ᯓ★ Love is in the air - Valentine's Day special game

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ MARVEL Holiday Special

ᯓ★ MARVEL Multiverse - choose an AU, pair it with your favorite character and make a request!

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language

Over the next few months, everything changes—and yet, somehow, nothing does.

You and Tony fall into a rhythm, one that feels both familiar and completely new. Missions come and go, each one bringing its own brand of chaos, but the biggest difference now is that you’re in this together, in a way you weren’t before. There’s no more pretending, no more running away. You’re his, and he’s yours, even if neither of you says it outright.

You start spending more time at Avengers Tower, though you tell yourself it’s just for convenience. It makes sense—you work closely with the team, and it’s easier to stay in the city rather than bouncing between locations. But deep down, you know it’s more than that.

And so does Tony.

He doesn’t push. He doesn’t ask you to move in or even make a big deal out of it. Instead, he does what Tony Stark does best—he makes adjustments, subtle changes, little shifts that gradually pull you deeper into his world before you even realize it’s happening.

It starts with small things.

One day, after a grueling mission, you come back to the tower, exhausted and sore, fully prepared to pass out on the nearest available surface. You drag yourself into Tony’s lab, because of course, that’s where he is. The man has a penthouse full of comfortable furniture, but he still prefers to tinker in his workshop at all hours of the night.

When you walk in, you expect to see him hunched over some piece of tech, completely in the zone. What you don’t expect is the brand-new couch sitting in the corner of the lab, sleek and ridiculously comfortable-looking.

You raise an eyebrow. “Since when do you have a couch in here?”

Tony barely glances up from his work. “Oh, that old thing? Just thought it might be nice to have somewhere to sit. Y’know, for me.”

You cross your arms. “For you.”

“Yep.” He turns a wrench, eyes locked on the arc reactor core he’s modifying. “Sometimes I like to take a break, kick my feet up, maybe take a nap.”

You glance between him and the couch, then back again. You don’t believe him for a second.

But you don’t call him out on it, either.

Because the truth is, the moment you sit down, you know exactly why he put it there. It’s soft, but not too soft, the perfect balance between comfort and support. And positioned just right—close enough to him that you can watch him work, but far enough that you won’t be in the way.

It’s for you.

He won’t say it, but you know.

And that’s just the beginning.

A week later, there’s a second toothbrush in his bathroom.

The week after that, your favorite brand of coffee appears in his kitchen.

Then, somehow, your clothes start migrating into his closet. First, it’s just a hoodie or two, then a pair of sweatpants, then a couple of shirts. You’re not sure when it happens, but one day, you open a drawer in his room, and it’s full of your stuff.

Tony never mentions it. He never makes a big speech about you staying over more or tries to define anything. He just makes space for you, little by little, until one day you realize you don’t just visit Avengers Tower.

You live there.

Not officially. Not technically.

But you do.

And you like it more than you care to admit.

The missions don’t stop, of course. You and Tony are still a team, still fighting side by side, still driving each other insane in the middle of battle. But the difference now is what happens afterward.

Now, when a mission goes south, you don’t go back to your own place to lick your wounds alone. Now, when things get rough, Tony doesn’t drown himself in work and pretend nothing’s wrong.

Now, you come back together.

It’s not always perfect. Tony is still Tony—brilliant, frustrating, impossible Tony. He pushes himself too hard, gets lost in his own head, and occasionally drives you up the wall with his reckless decisions.

And you’re still you—stubborn, independent, not always great at letting people take care of you.

But somehow, it works.

One night, after a particularly brutal mission, you find yourself curled up on your couch in the lab, watching as Tony fiddles with some new tech. You’re wearing one of his hoodies—one that he definitely noticed you stole but never bothered to take back.

He glances at you over his shoulder. “You good?”

You hum in response, too tired to say much more.

Tony sets his tools down and walks over, leaning against the armrest beside you. “Wanna go upstairs?”

You shake your head. “Comfy.”

He rolls his eyes but doesn’t argue. Instead, he reaches for the blanket draped over the back of the couch—the one that wasn’t there a month ago—and tosses it over you.

You peek up at him, smirking. “You definitely got this couch for me.”

Tony scoffs. “Pfft. Please. I got it because my lab needed a touch of luxury.”

“Right.” You pull the blanket tighter around you. “And the blanket?”

“Also for me. Sometimes I get cold.”

You laugh softly, shaking your head. “You’re ridiculous.”

He grins. “And yet, here you are.”

You don’t argue, because he’s right. You are here.

And for the first time in a long time, you don’t feel like running.

---

The evening is perfect. Which, of course, is a problem.

Tony Stark doesn’t do perfect. He does grand, extravagant, excessive. He does too much or not enough. But this? A candlelit dinner at one of the most exclusive restaurants in the city, a private balcony overlooking the skyline, champagne that costs more than some people’s rent?

It’s dangerously, terrifyingly perfect.

And Tony is losing his mind.

You don’t seem to notice. Or maybe you do, but you’re too polite to call him out on it just yet. You’re dressed to kill, absolutely stunning in a way that makes him momentarily forget how to form words. He’s in his usual sharp suit, but for once, he feels like the underdressed one.

Not that he cares. He’s too busy having a crisis.

Because tonight, he’s going to ask you to marry him.

Or, at least, that was the plan. Right now, he’s just trying not to choke on his own anxiety.

You take a sip of your drink, watching him with a knowing look. “You’re acting weird.”

Tony blinks. “Weird? Me? No. This is just—this is my normal level of charm and charisma.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Your hand is shaking.”

He looks down. Damn it. He shoves his hand under the table. “It’s—low blood sugar. Didn’t have enough snacks today.”

You smirk. “Uh-huh.”

He clears his throat, reaching for the wine bottle. He pours himself a glass, miscalculates, and nearly overflows it. He curses under his breath, setting the bottle down a little too forcefully. A few people at nearby tables glance over, but he ignores them.

You lean forward, resting your chin on your hand. “Tony.”

“Hmm?”

“You sure you’re okay?”

He forces a grin. “Never better. Just enjoying the night. Which is great, by the way. Super romantic. You’re impressed, right?”

“I mean, it is a nice restaurant.” You glance around. “A little too nice. I was wondering why you went full billionaire mode on this one.”

Tony swallows. Shit. This is not going well.

He needs to just do it. Pull out the ring, say something smooth, get a ‘yes’ from you before he completely self-destructs.

He takes a deep breath. “So. Uh. You know how we’ve been doing this thing?”

You blink. “This thing?”

“Yeah. Us. Being together. Dating. Cohabiting. Occasionally saving the world.”

You tilt your head, clearly amused. “Tony, we’ve been dating for almost a year. Are you just now realizing it?”

“No! No, I mean—” He groans, rubbing his forehead. Jesus, why is this so hard? He had a plan. A speech. A whole thing. Where did it go?

You’re watching him now, suspicious and way too entertained. “You’re acting really weird.”

Tony exhales sharply. “Okay. Alright. Fine. No more stalling.”

You blink. “Stalling for what—?”

He shoves his chair back, stands up abruptly, and then immediately regrets it because now the whole restaurant is looking at him. Fantastic. Just fantastic.

You straighten, eyes widening slightly. “Tony?”

He fumbles in his pocket, almost drops the damn ring, and then—finally—manages to kneel.

Gasps ripple through the restaurant. Somewhere, a waiter whispers, “Oh my god, is that Tony Stark proposing?”

Tony barely hears it. He’s too busy trying not to pass out.

He looks up at you, and for a second, the panic fades. Because you’re staring at him with so much emotion—surprise, warmth, something dangerously close to tears in your eyes.

He licks his lips, heart pounding. “Okay. So. Here’s the thing.”

You bite your lip, clearly fighting a laugh. “This is already a disaster.”

“Shut up, I’m trying.”

You snicker, but gesture for him to continue.

Tony exhales. “I was gonna make this speech. Something charming, heartfelt, maybe even poetic. But let’s be real, I’d probably mess that up too, so I’m just gonna—look, I love you.”

You blink.

“I love you,” he repeats, firmer this time. “I don’t do feelings. I suck at them. But you—you make it easy. You make it make sense. And I don’t wanna do any of this without you. Not the crazy missions, not the stupid arguments, not even the times you steal my coffee and tell me it was yours the whole time.”

You laugh, and it makes his chest ache in the best way.

“So.” He flips open the ring box, staring up at you. “Marry me?”

The restaurant is dead silent.

You look at him. Then at the ring. Then back at him.

And then you hum, tilting your head thoughtfully. “Mmm… I don’t know.”

Tony freezes.

The entire restaurant collectively gasps. Someone drops a fork.

His heart stops.

You grin, leaning forward. “Kidding.”

He exhales so hard he nearly falls over. “Oh my god—”

“Yes,” you interrupt, laughing. “Yes, you idiot. Of course, I’ll marry you.”

The relief is instant—so overwhelming that he actually laughs, running a hand down his face. “You evil woman.”

You reach for his tie, tugging him closer. “Took you long enough.”

He grins, shaking his head. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever. Get down here and kiss me before I have an actual heart attack.”

You do.

The restaurant bursts into applause, cameras flash, and somewhere in the back, a group of strangers start cheering like they’re at a sporting event.

Tony doesn’t care.

Because you just said yes.

---

As soon as the elevator doors slide shut, Tony lets out a massive breath, leaning against the wall like he just survived a near-death experience.

“Well,” he says, running a hand through his hair, “that was the most stressful thing I’ve ever done in my life, and I have literally fought aliens.”

You smirk, still buzzing from the proposal. “Really? That was worse than intergalactic warfare?”

“Oh, easily.” He gestures dramatically. “At least in a battle, I know what I’m doing. This?” He waves the ring box in the air. “This was a nightmare.”

You roll your eyes fondly and step closer, wrapping your arms around his waist. “You poor thing. Did picking out a ring almost kill you?”

Tony scoffs. “Almost? Babe, I barely made it.”

You laugh, pressing a kiss to his jaw. “Tell me.”

He sighs heavily, slipping his arms around you in return. “Alright, so picture this: I decide, ‘Hey, let’s do the whole romantic, fancy ring thing, how hard could it be?’ Turns out, it’s insanely hard. Do you have any idea how many different types of engagement rings exist? There are shapes—round, oval, princess cut, emerald cut. Then there are settings, then metals, then apparently ‘clarity’ is a thing? I nearly had a nervous breakdown in some overpriced jewelry store.”

You grin. “I wish I could’ve seen that.”

“Oh, no, you don’t,” he says. “Pepper had to physically stop me from throwing a two-million-dollar ring across the room out of frustration.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Two million?”

“Ridiculous, right?” Tony shakes his head. “Even I have my limits.”

You snort. “That’s news to me.”

“Anyway,” he continues, “it took weeks to pick the right one. I went through, like, fifty designs, and none of them were you enough.”

You glance down at the ring now sitting on your finger—the perfect balance of elegance and simplicity, classic but undeniably you. You can already tell that he didn’t just buy something expensive—he thought about it. Put real effort into finding the one that suited you, not just what looked flashy.

You soften. “You did good, Stark.”

Tony relaxes a little, pride flickering in his eyes. “Damn right, I did.”

The elevator doors open, leading straight into the penthouse. Tony grabs your hand and pulls you inside, still buzzing with adrenaline.

“Now, hiding the ring? That was hell.”

You follow him to the couch, kicking off your heels as he collapses onto the cushions, running a hand down his face. “What do you mean?”

He groans. “Babe, do you have any idea how impossible it is to hide anything from you? I had to switch hiding spots, like, five times because you almost found it every damn time.”

You tilt your head, curious. “Where’d you hide it?”

Tony smirks. “Oh, first it was in my safe, but someone decided to snoop for snacks and almost cracked the damn code.”

You blink, then burst out laughing. “Wait—I did find a new candy stash in there—”

“Yeah, because I had to move the ring! Then I hid it in one of my suits, but you decided to borrow that one for a mission.”

You gasp. “I wore the suit with my engagement ring inside?!”

Tony nods dramatically. “Flying around, dodging bullets, completely oblivious to the multi-karat rock literally inches away from you.”

You shake your head, laughing. “I cannot believe this.”

“Oh, it gets worse.” Tony leans back, resting an arm along the couch. “I finally settled on hiding it in my lab—deep in a drawer, under a bunch of old schematics, impossible to stumble upon. Then one day, you walk in, looking all cute and innocent, and go, ‘Hey, Tony, can I borrow some paper?’”

You gasp. “No.”

“Oh, yes,” he says, nodding. “I watched in horror as you opened that exact drawer.”

Your mouth drops open. “How the hell did I not see it?”

“Because the literal grace of the universe intervened.” He puts a hand over his chest. “You reached in, grabbed the top paper, and closed the drawer one inch before the box would’ve been in your line of sight.”

You stare at him. “You were dying inside.”

“Dying,” Tony confirms. “I almost tackled you.”

You laugh so hard you nearly fall off the couch. “You idiot.”

“Excuse me, genius, actually,” he corrects, tugging you onto his lap. “Because, despite all that, I still managed to pull off a killer proposal.”

You straddle him, resting your arms on his shoulders, smiling. “Mmm. I don’t know if I’d call it killer.”

He scoffs. “I got a yes, didn’t I?”

You hum thoughtfully. “Eventually.”

Tony narrows his eyes. “You played me. I almost had a heart attack, and you enjoyed it.”

You grin. “Oh, absolutely.”

He groans, dropping his head onto your shoulder. “You’re the worst.”

You run your fingers through his hair. “And yet, you wanna marry me.”

Tony lifts his head, locking eyes with you. The teasing fades slightly, replaced by something warmer, something real.

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “I really do.”

Your breath catches. You’ve known it—felt it—but hearing it so sincerely, so softly, makes your heart ache in the best way.

You cup his face, brushing your thumb along his cheek. “Then what are you waiting for?”

Tony exhales sharply. “You’re trying to kill me.”

You smirk. “Just a little.”

He groans, but the moment you lean down to kiss him, he’s done for.

The teasing vanishes, replaced by heat, by something that’s been building since the second he put that ring on your finger. His hands slide up your thighs, grip tightening as he pulls you closer. You kiss him deeply, savoring the way he melts into you, how his breath stutters when your fingers slip under his collar.

One second, you’re on the couch. The next, he’s lifting you, carrying you to the bedroom without breaking the kiss.

The night stretches on, filled with laughter, whispered confessions, and slow-burning passion.

Tony Stark might’ve spent months panicking about tonight, but right now?

Everything is exactly as it should be.

--

The morning light filters through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the room. It’s quiet, the kind of peaceful silence that only comes after a night well spent. You stir slightly, shifting under the blankets, only to feel a solid warmth pressed against you.

Tony.

He’s still asleep—something that doesn’t happen often. Usually, he’s up before you, tinkering away in the lab or busy with something he claims is urgent but really isn’t. But today, he’s here, his arm draped over your waist, his face nestled against your hair. His breathing is slow and even, completely at ease.

You smile, shifting just enough to look at him. His face is relaxed, free of his usual sarcastic smirk or the furrow of concentration he always wears when he’s working. You reach up, brushing a hand through his messy hair, and he lets out a sleepy hum, tightening his grip around you.

"Morning," you murmur.

He groans. "No, it's not. Morning is a myth. It doesn’t exist."

You chuckle. "So the sun just decided to take the day off?"

"Exactly," he mumbles against your shoulder. "Tell it to go away."

You shake your head, running your fingers along his back. "If I do that, how are you gonna bring me breakfast in bed?"

Tony finally cracks one eye open, peering at you. "Is that what you think is about to happen?"

You grin. "I know it is."

He huffs, but the corners of his mouth twitch up. "You’re getting cocky."

"I just got engaged to Tony Stark. I think I deserve a little cockiness."

Tony sighs dramatically, stretching before rolling out of bed. "Fine. But if I burn something, it's your fault."

"You have a fully staffed kitchen downstairs."

"And yet, I insist on making it myself," he calls over his shoulder, already walking toward the door. "Because I am nothing if not a devoted fiancé."

You watch him go, shaking your head fondly before snuggling back under the blankets.

Fifteen minutes later, Tony returns, holding a tray with an impressive-looking breakfast spread—pancakes, fruit, coffee, and what looks like freshly squeezed orange juice.

You blink. "Did you actually make this?"

Tony smirks. "Depends. If it’s good, then yes. If it’s bad, then I had absolutely nothing to do with it."

You laugh as he sets the tray down in front of you, climbing back into bed. He sits beside you, stealing a strawberry from the plate before handing you a fork.

As you take your first bite, he watches you closely. "Well?"

You hum in approval. "Not bad, Stark. You might have a backup career as a chef."

"Please, I’d own the restaurant, not work in it," he says, leaning back against the headboard.

You nudge him playfully. "Speaking of big events, we need to talk about the wedding."

Tony groans. "Already? Can't we just enjoy the engagement phase for a little while?"

You smirk. "You do realize that means people are gonna keep asking about it, right? If we don’t pick a plan, Pepper’s gonna take over, and I don’t think either of us is prepared for that level of efficiency."

Tony winces. "Good point. Okay, fine. Where do we start?"

You sip your coffee, considering. "Well, first things first—where do we want to have it?"

Tony tilts his head, thinking. "New York is too predictable. And way too many reporters."

"Agreed. I don’t want to deal with paparazzi sneaking in pretending to be waiters."

"Vegas?" he suggests, smirking.

You shoot him a look. "Absolutely not."

"Alright, alright. What about a destination wedding? Something exotic?"

You brighten at that. "Now that sounds interesting. Somewhere with a beach. Blue water, white sand, no one around to ruin it."

Tony nods approvingly. "Private island wedding. Very Stark of us."

You roll your eyes. "I wasn’t thinking that extravagant, but I do like the idea of a beach wedding."

Tony grins. "Babe, if we’re doing this, we’re doing it right. No half-measures. I’ll find us a gorgeous, exclusive spot. No cameras, no distractions—just us and the people we actually like."

You smile, leaning against his shoulder. "That actually sounds perfect."

He presses a kiss to the top of your head. "Then it’s settled. A beach wedding it is."

You sigh contentedly, taking another bite of your breakfast. "This whole getting engaged thing isn’t so bad."

Tony smirks. "Told you. And just wait until I start planning the honeymoon."

You laugh. "Should I be worried?"

"Absolutely."

You shake your head, but you can’t stop smiling. The morning stretches on, filled with quiet conversation, lazy cuddles, and the easy kind of happiness that only comes when you know you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.

---

The day starts with excitement, a whirlwind of plans and decisions as you and Tony prepare to fly out and visit potential wedding locations. Of course, nothing with Tony Stark is ever simple, so when he insists on taking the Stark Industriesprivate jet, you barely bat an eye.

"You do know that normal people just look at pictures online and pick a place, right?" you tease as you step onto the sleek jet.

Tony scoffs, guiding you inside with a hand on the small of your back. "Normal people also eat frozen dinners and drive non-billion-dollar cars. Do I look like a guy who does 'normal'?"

"Not in the slightest," you admit, taking a seat on one of the ridiculously comfortable leather chairs.

Tony flops down across from you, stretching his legs out. "Besides, picking a wedding location is a big deal. We’re not just picking any beach; we’re picking the beach. The one where we’ll say our vows, drink overpriced champagne, and listen to Steve give a speech about how I’ve 'finally matured.'" He makes air quotes with his fingers, rolling his eyes.

You laugh. "You realize no one actually believes that, right?"

"Yeah, well, I’ll take what I can get," he says, smirking. "Now, sit back, relax, and prepare to be amazed because I have picked out some of the most stunning, exclusive, and borderline unreachable beaches in the world."

"And yet, somehow, you’ll get us there."

He winks. "Damn right I will."

—

The first beach is beautiful. White sand, clear water, palm trees swaying in the breeze.

Tony steps off the jet, takes one look around, and immediately declares, "Too postcard."

You blink. "Too what?"

He gestures at the scenery. "This looks like the default wallpaper on a laptop. It’s almost too pretty. Feels fake. Next."

You roll your eyes, but you have to admit, there’s something too polished about it. So back to the jet you go.

—

The second beach is somewhere in the Maldives, tucked away on a private island Tony somehow managed to rent for the day.

"This is nice," you say, toes sinking into the warm sand.

Tony crosses his arms, nodding. "Yeah… but something’s missing."

You raise an eyebrow. "Something like what?"

He sighs dramatically. "I don’t know. It just doesn’t feel right."

You stare at him. "You do realize we’re being absurdly picky about a literal paradise, right?"

Tony shrugs. "Look, I refuse to settle. We deserve the perfect spot. One that screams us."

You sigh, but you can't help but smile. He’s impossible. And you love him for it.

—

By the time you reach the fourth beach, you’re starting to think Tony just wants an excuse to drag this out as long as possible.

It’s sunset when the jet touches down on a secluded stretch of coastline. The moment you step off, something feels different. The air is warm, salty, and carries the faint scent of tropical flowers. The beach itself is pristine, untouched, with soft golden sand and gentle waves that lap at the shore.

Tony is quiet as he looks around. No immediate sarcastic remark, no exaggerated criticism. Just… silence.

You glance at him. "Well?"

He exhales, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah. This might be the one."

Your heart skips a beat. "Really?"

He turns to you, nodding. "It’s got the right feel, you know? It’s private, beautiful, not too picture-perfect but still breathtaking. And look at that sunset."

You follow his gaze, watching the sky turn shades of pink and orange. It’s stunning.

Tony takes your hand, threading his fingers through yours. "What do you think?"

You squeeze his hand. "I think… I can picture it. Standing here, saying our vows. You in some ridiculously expensive suit, me trying not to cry."

Tony smirks. "Oh, you’re gonna cry."

You narrow your eyes playfully. "Excuse me?"

He grins. "You’re gonna get all emotional, tear up right in the middle of your vows, and I’m gonna have to heroically hold it together."

You snort. "You? Hold it together? Please. You’ll be sniffling."

Tony gasps in mock offense. "I never sniffle."

"Uh-huh."

He pulls you closer, hands settling on your waist. "Alright, fine. Maybe I’ll get a little misty-eyed. But only because you’ll look so damn good in your dress."

You smile, resting your forehead against his. "So, this is it, then? The beach?"

Tony hums thoughtfully, then nods. "Yeah. This is it."

You let out a breath, looking around again. It really is perfect.

Tony tilts his head. "You know, if we’re gonna do this whole romantic, life-changing decision thing, we should celebrate properly."

You raise an eyebrow. "Properly?"

He smirks. "Skinny dipping."

You burst out laughing. "Tony!"

"What? It’s the ultimate 'claiming this beach as ours' move."

"You just picked it! You don’t own it yet."

He waves a dismissive hand. "Details. Come on, live a little."

You shake your head, still laughing, but when he starts unbuttoning his shirt, you realize he’s serious.

"Tony, we are not—"

He tosses his shirt onto the sand. "Too late, I’m committing."

"Tony—"

He grins, taking a step toward the water. "Last one in has to plan the seating chart."

Your eyes widen. "Oh, you asshole."

He winks. "Love you, sweetheart!" Then he runs, kicking up sand as he sprints toward the waves.

You groan but can’t stop smiling as you take off after him.

The night stretches on, filled with laughter, stolen kisses, and the feeling of knowing—without a doubt—that you’ve found the perfect place to say I do.

---

Planning a wedding with Tony Stark is both the most exciting and chaotic thing you have ever done. He insists on being involved in every detail—except for one. The dress.

It starts innocently enough. You mention that you’re going dress shopping with Pepper, and Tony immediately perks up.

"Cool, I’ll come."

You stare at him. "No, you won’t."

Tony blinks. "Excuse me?"

"You can’t see the dress before the wedding. It’s bad luck."

Tony scoffs. "Babe, I build luck. Do you really think a superstition is gonna change anything?"

You cross your arms. "It’s tradition."

Tony sighs dramatically, slumping onto the couch. "Fine. But I will find out. One way or another."

"You won’t," you say confidently.

He smirks. "We’ll see about that."

—

Dress shopping with Pepper is surprisingly fun. She’s efficient—of course—but she also knows when to just let you enjoy the process. You try on different styles, from elegant to dramatic, before finally slipping into the one.

The moment you see yourself in the mirror, your breath catches.

"This is it," you whisper.

Pepper smiles. "I think so too."

You turn, admiring the way the fabric moves, how it hugs in all the right places. It’s perfect.

The boutique owner beams. "So, shall I put this under ‘top secret’ and make sure no Stark-related spies get access?"

You laugh. "Yes, please."

—

The moment you get home, Tony is waiting.

"So," he starts, leaning against the counter, arms crossed. "Tell me about the dress."

You smirk. "Nope."

"Come on, just a little hint?"

"Not happening, Stark."

He pushes away from the counter, stalking toward you with a look that screams trouble. "What if I convince you?"

You raise an eyebrow. "Convince me how?"

He leans in, hands settling on your waist. "Well," he murmurs, brushing a kiss against your jaw, "I could be very persuasive."

You roll your eyes. "Tony—"

He cuts you off with a kiss, slow and way too distracting. His hands slide up your back, his lips moving in a way that makes your brain short-circuit.

He pulls back just enough to whisper, "So, sweetheart… ballgown or fitted?"

You almost answer.

You shove him back, laughing. "Nice try."

Tony groans. "You’re killing me."

"You’ll survive."

He narrows his eyes. "This isn’t over."

—

Over the next few weeks, he tries everything.

Casual questions over dinner.

"So, when you walk down the aisle, will there be a lot of fabric flowing, or is it more… sleek?"

Playful bribery.

"I’ll tell you exactly what I’m wearing if you tell me what you picked."

Sweet-talking between kisses.

"You know secrets are bad for relationships, babe."

Even full-on distractions.

One night, while you’re curled up on the couch, Tony tilts his head. "Okay, picture this: we’re at the wedding. I’m standing at the altar, looking ridiculously good—"

"Debatable," you tease.

"—ridiculously good," he repeats. "And then you walk in. Describe it to me."

You just laugh. "No."

Tony groans, dropping his head against your shoulder. "Why are you like this?"

You smile, pressing a kiss to his temple. "Because I love watching you suffer."

—

Eventually, the date is set.

It’s not too far away—just a few months—but Tony is already restless. He’s never been one for patience, and now that he knows the exact day he gets to marry you, he’s counting down the minutes.

"I don’t know why we can’t just elope," he grumbles one night as you go over the final guest list.

"Because we want a wedding," you remind him.

"You want a wedding," he corrects, smirking. "I just want you."

Your heart flutters. Even after everything, after all the teasing and planning, he still finds ways to make you melt.

You lean over, kissing him softly. "You’ll survive a few more months."

Tony sighs dramatically. "Fine. But if I don’t make it, tell the world my last words were, ‘She refused to tell me about the dress.’"

You roll your eyes, laughing. "Noted."

The wedding is coming.

And Tony Stark? He cannot wait.

---

The island is buzzing with energy the night before the wedding. Guests have already arrived, the air is warm with an ocean breeze, and the entire place feels like a dream. It’s everything you and Tony wanted—private, beautiful, and filled with people you actually like.

Of course, the night before the wedding means one thing: the bachelorette and bachelor parties.

Pepper, Natasha, and Wanda have taken full control of your night, insisting that you “enjoy your last night as a free woman” while Tony gets dragged off by Rhodey and Sam to a different part of the island. You’re not entirely sure what they’ve planned for him, but knowing Tony, it’ll either be wildly excessive or he’ll get bored after an hour and sneak off to find you.

—

Tony, in fact, does get bored.

The party starts off fine—there’s good music, drinks, and a ridiculous amount of food. Rhodey and Sam seem determined to embarrass him with an overly dramatic toast.

“To the man who somehow convinced a smart, beautiful woman to marry him,” Rhodey announces, raising his glass.

Tony smirks. “I like where this is going.”

Sam grins. “Let’s be honest—none of us thought this would happen. We all placed bets on who would put up with him the longest, and yet, here we are. She said yes. Miracles do exist.”

Tony rolls his eyes. “Wow. Love the support.”

“But really,” Rhodey continues, “we’re proud of you, man. You found someone who makes you actually tolerable.”

Tony pretends to wipe a tear. “That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

The night goes on, drinks flow, and a very expensive bottle of whiskey makes its way into Tony’s hands. He’s feeling good, warm and relaxed, but instead of throwing himself into the party, he does the exact opposite.

He starts talking about you.

Like, only you.

Rhodey notices first.

“You know,” Tony says, swirling his drink, “she does this thing when she’s really focused—like, she bites her lip just a little? And it’s insanely distracting. How am I supposed to get any work done when she does that?”

Rhodey sighs. “Oh boy. Here we go.”

Sam raises an eyebrow. “What’s happening?”

“Oh, he does this thing where he gets drunk and just starts monologuing about how much he loves her.”

“I do not,” Tony argues.

Rhodey gestures toward him. “You literally are right now.”

Tony ignores him. “And don’t even get me started on the way she looks at me. Like, have you seen her eyes? It’s unfair.”

Sam snickers. “Man, you’re gone.”

And that’s how the rest of the night goes—Tony sitting there, completely uninterested in anything that isn’t you.

At some point, a couple of women—probably hired to be entertainment for the party—try their luck, sliding up to Tony’s side with overly flirtatious smiles.

One of them leans in. “Mr. Stark, don’t you think it’s bad luck to spend the night before your wedding alone?”

Tony blinks at her. “What? I’m not alone. I have whiskey and an unhealthy amount of thoughts about my fiancée. I’m good.”

The woman tries again, running a hand down his arm. “Are you sure? Maybe we could—”

“Nope.” Tony stands up so fast he nearly topples over. He points at Rhodey and Sam. “See? This is why I hate bachelor parties. I have zero interest in anyone who isn’t her.”

The woman looks offended. “You’re really going to be that loyal?”

Tony stares at her like she just asked if the sky is blue. “I’m marrying the love of my life tomorrow. Do I look like I’m about to throw that away for some random woman? Jesus. I need to get out of here.”

Rhodey sighs. “Told you he’d do this.”

Sam shakes his head, laughing. “Alright, Stark, where you headed?”

Tony claps them both on the shoulders. “I must find my wife—fiancée, whatever. This party is lame without her.”

“You realize she’s literally at a separate party for the same reason, right?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Tony announces dramatically. “I am a man in love. I must see her.”

Rhodey groans. “You’re so annoying.”

—

Meanwhile, your bachelorette party is in full swing.

Natasha made sure there was just the right amount of chaos, but nothing too over-the-top. You’re sipping a cocktail, laughing at one of Wanda’s stories, when you hear Pepper groan.

“Oh no.”

You turn. “What?”

Pepper sighs. “He’s here.”

You blink. “Who’s here?”

Before she can answer, you hear Tony’s voice.

“Sweetheart!”

You turn just in time to see Tony barreling toward you. He’s clearly tipsy, grinning like an idiot, and looking way too pleased with himself.

You cross your arms. “Tony. This is a bachelorette party. For me.”

He nods. “I know. And I missed you.”

Natasha sighs. “You couldn’t last one night?”

Tony ignores her, wrapping his arms around you. “I had to come. There were women at my party.”

You snort. “That tends to happen at bachelor parties.”

“They touched me,” he says, horrified. “Flirted. Do you know how unpleasant that was?”

Pepper shakes her head. “God, you’re useless without her.”

Tony pouts. “I only want her.”

You roll your eyes but smile, brushing a hand through his hair. “You’re ridiculous.”

He grins. “And you love it.”

You sigh. “Unfortunately.”

Natasha looks at Pepper. “We should’ve bet on how long it’d take him to crash the party.”

Pepper smirks. “I was gonna say two hours. He barely made it one.”

Tony just presses a sloppy kiss to your cheek. “I can’t help it. She’s my favorite person.”

You shake your head, laughing. “Come on, Stark. Let’s get you back before Rhodey and Sam come looking for you.”

He groans. “Ugh, fine. But only if you promise to marry me tomorrow.”

You raise an eyebrow. “That was the plan.”

“Good.” He squeezes your hand. “Because I really can’t wait.”

And with that, you drag your drunk, lovesick fiancé away from the party, laughing as he continues to ramble about how much he really, really loves you.

---

The morning of the wedding is a whirlwind.

Despite how much Tony begged to stay with you until the last possible second, you shove him out of your room at sunrise.

“But what if I accidentally see the dress?” he protests, leaning dramatically against the doorframe.

“That’s exactly why you need to go.”

“I won’t even look! I’ll keep my eyes closed until the ceremony.”

You laugh, pushing him further out. “Tony.”

He sighs. “Fine. But if I pass out from separation anxiety, that’s on you.”

“Go, Stark.”

He pouts but finally leaves, grumbling something about how cruel it is to keep a man from his fiancée mere hoursbefore they’re supposed to get married.

—

Getting ready is… surprisingly nerve-wracking.

You weren’t expecting the weight of the moment to hit you so hard, but the second Pepper zips up your dress, reality sinks in.

You’re about to marry Tony Stark.

“Breathe,” Pepper reminds you, squeezing your shoulders. “It’s just Tony.”

You let out a nervous laugh. “Just Tony. Right.”

Natasha smirks. “The same Tony who has been texting Rhodey every two minutes asking if the ceremony has started yet.”

You shake your head. “Of course he is.”

Pepper checks her phone. “He also just sent, and I quote, ‘What if she changes her mind? What if she decides she’s too good for me and runs off to join a convent?’”

You burst out laughing. “Oh my god.”

Natasha sighs. “We should’ve drugged him.”

You take a deep breath, looking at yourself in the mirror. This is it. You’re ready.

—

Meanwhile, Tony is barely functioning.

Rhodey and Sam have been trying to calm him down for the last hour, but he’s a mess.

“Are you sure she’s coming?” Tony asks for the tenth time.

Rhodey groans. “Tony.”

“I mean, she said she’d marry me, but what if—”

“Dude.” Sam puts a hand on his shoulder. “She loves you. Now pull yourself together before you pass out at the altar.”

Tony swallows hard. “Okay. Yeah. I can do this.”

Rhodey sighs. “Dear god, let’s hope so.”

—

The ceremony is perfect.

The moment you step onto the aisle, Tony freezes.

For the first time in his life, he’s speechless.

You’re breathtaking. And it’s hitting him, really hitting him—he’s about to marry the love of his life.

He barely notices the guests, the music, or anything else. All he can see is you.

And he’s this close to crying.

He blinks rapidly, trying to keep his composure. He’s Tony Stark, damn it. He’s not going to cry at his own wedding.

But then, the vows start.

And when it’s your turn, you look at him with so much love that it completely destroys him.

“Tony,” you say softly, smiling at him. “There’s no one else I would ever want to do this with. No one else who could drive me absolutely insane and make me love them even more for it.”

He lets out a wet laugh, blinking fast. Nope. Not crying. Not yet.

“I love you,” you continue. “Not just for the brilliant mind, or the ridiculous charm, or the way you somehow convinced an entire team of superheroes to tolerate you.”

The guests laugh. Tony sniffs.

“I love you for the way you look at me like I’m your entire world. For the way you make me laugh when I don’t even want to smile. For the way you never give up, on anything or anyone—including me.”

Tony exhales sharply. Okay. He’s definitely crying.

You smile, squeezing his hands. “I promise to love you, even when you tinker in the lab at 3 AM and wake me up with explosions. I promise to stand by you, even when you drive me absolutely insane. And I promise that no matter what, you’ll never have to face anything alone.”

Tony swallows hard. His voice is so unsteady when he finally speaks.

“I—” He clears his throat. “Yeah, I’m—uh—damn it.” He rubs his eyes, making everyone laugh.

“You’re doing great, buddy,” Sam calls.

Tony sniffs again, shaking his head. “I had a whole speech planned. It was brilliant, Shakespeare-level gold—but honestly?” He looks at you, eyes shining. “I just love you. That’s it. That’s all I’ve got.”

And just like that, the rest of the world fades away.

You’re married.

—

The reception is exactly what you both wanted—chaotic, fun, and filled with way too much food.

Your first dance starts off slow and romantic.

Tony holds you close, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Still can’t believe you actually went through with this.”

You smile. “Still can’t believe you didn’t pass out.”

He grins. “Came close. Would’ve been very dramatic.”

The music starts to shift, and before you can react, Tony spins you.

You barely have time to gasp before the entire dance changes—suddenly, he’s dipping you, twirling you, and leading you into a completely ridiculous routine.

The guests go wild.

“Did you plan this?” you gasp between spins.

Tony smirks. “What do you take me for?”

“You absolutely planned this.”

He just winks.

—

The food is incredible.

Tony, of course, insisted on a menu that included way too many options, so everyone eats like royalty.

At one point, you catch him sneaking an extra plate of food while talking to Peter.

“Tony, that’s your third helping.”

He shrugs. “I’m celebrating.”

Peter grins. “This is actually awesome. Way better than any wedding I’ve ever been to.”

Tony pats his shoulder. “Kid, you’re at a Stark wedding. We don’t do boring.”

—

Then comes the cake cutting.

You should’ve known it wouldn’t go smoothly.

The second you and Tony pick up the knife together, you see the mischief in his eyes.

You narrow yours. “Don’t you dare.”

Tony smirks. “Sweetheart, I have no idea what you mean.”

He absolutely does, because the second you cut a slice, he grabs a piece and smashes it into your face.

The entire room erupts.

You gasp, wiping frosting off your cheek. “Oh, you are so dead.”

Tony grins, so smug—until you grab a chunk of cake and shove it right into his mouth.

He coughs, wiping his face. “Okay. Fair.”

—

The night is filled with dancing, laughter, and a ridiculous amount of love.

At one point, Tony pulls you aside, away from the chaos, just to take a breath.

He looks at you, eyes soft. “So. How’s it feel to be Mrs. Stark?”

You smile, leaning into him. “Pretty damn good.”

He wraps his arms around you, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Good. Because I’m never letting you go.”

And honestly?

You wouldn’t have it any other way.

[holyfuckinshitleto]

MARVEL Edit

[ninus9607]

❝𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐥 𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐈𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬❞

8. 𝑅𝒾𝑜 𝒱𝒾𝒹𝒶𝓁 𝒸𝒶𝓉𝒸𝒽 𝓊𝓅!

Pairing(s): Rio Vidal x Female! reader

Warning: nothing

tags l content: fluff

AN: I hope you like it.... please forgive me for every mistake!! English is not my first language! Btw, for now, look forward to the next 10, as I'll be uploading everything I've written here

 - How you meet

She watched you for a long time because you bothered her with your kindness...

The first time you catch the feeling of something watching you, it's subtle. A ripple in the air, a weightless pressure against the back of your neck. It's not unfamiliar magic that attracts attention, especially as rare as yours. But this is different. Heavier. More deliberate. Still, you don't acknowledge it.

You're too busy, after all. The tea shop isn't just a business it's a sanctuary. People come in with ailments, sicknesses, and wounds of all kinds, and you help them the only way you know how. With careful hands and ancient knowledge, you mix blends of herbs, pour steaming water, and let your magic seep into every cup. Healing them, mending what's broken, giving them another chance to live.

And that's exactly what has made you a problem.

For weeks, Rio watches from the shadows, unseen but ever-present. You are stealing from her. Taking souls that were meant to be hers, delaying the inevitable, and disrupting the natural order. At first, it's mere curiosity who is this witch daring to defy death itself? But the more she observes, the more frustrated she becomes. You do not fear the forces you tamper with. Worse, you smile as you do it, warm and radiant, speaking softly to those who should have been hers.

It's frustrating.

The first time she lets herself be seen, it's a warning.

"You should stop." Whisper enters your room...

It's late, the shop dimly lit with only a handful of flickering candles left burning. You're stacking dried herbs when the voice comes from behind you low, smooth, and edged with something you can't quite place. You turn slowly, and there she is. A stranger lady, standing just inside your doorway like she's always belonged there.

Her presence is overwhelming. Tall, draped in black, dark eyes pinned to you with quiet intensity. There's something timeless about her, something ancient in the way she carries herself, poised and unmovable. But there's no mistaking the irritation in her gaze.

You should be frightened. Any sensible witch would be. But instead, you lift your chin, steady and calm, despite the way your pulse thrums in your throat.

"Excuse me? I should stop what?" you ask, voice smooth as honey.

Rio tilts her head slightly, almost amused. Almost. "Saving lives."

You exhale a soft laugh, shaking your head. "That's what bothers you?"

Something in her expression flickers, a flash of something more intense something dangerous. "You're annoying" she corrects, stepping closer, slow and deliberate. "Stealing what belongs to me."

You meet her gaze, unflinching. "I don't steal. I heal. I give people another chance."

Rio studies you, her silence heavy. There's something else in her eyes now curiosity, perhaps, or something deeper. For a moment, you swear you see her fingers twitch as if resisting the urge to reach for you.

Then, just as quickly as she appeared, she was gone. The candles flicker, the door creaks slightly, and the space where she stands feels colder.

But it isn't the last time.

She visits again. And again. Each time, she lingers longer, her irritation tangled with fascination. She watches as you work, as you pour tea and murmur soft reassurances, as you heal the ones she's meant to take. At first, she only comes at night, a shadow in your periphery, her presence chilling the air. Then she grows bolder showing up while you're open, disguised among the customers, always watching, always waiting.

She doesn't understand you. She doesn't understand why you do this, why you resist the inevitable. But more than that, she doesn't understand why you make her hesitate. Why did your laughter linger in her mind? Why she can't stay away? Why are you so amazing?

And then, one night, she stops watching.

She acts.

It's after hours, and you're locking up when you feel it a shift in the air, the unmistakable presence of something more. You barely have time to turn before she's there, closer than before, her expression unreadable. But there's no mistaking the tension in her frame, the way her fingers curl at her sides as if she's holding herself back.

"You're reckless," she says, and this time, her voice is lower, rougher, darker." "Do you even understand what you're playing with?"

"No?"

"Death."

The word is final, sharp as a blade. But you don't waver.

"I know death." Your voice is quiet, but firm. "I've felt it. Touched it. I just choose to give people a little more time."

Rio exhales sharply, shaking her head. "You think you're powerful enough to defy me, little witch?"

A small smile tugs at your lips. "I think you wouldn't be here if I wasn't."

Something shifts between you an invisible line crossed, an unspoken challenge accepted. Her frustration is still there, simmering beneath the surface, but so is something else. A slow-burning fascination, tangled with tension, threaded with something almost like... longing.

And you feel it too.

You don't know what this is yet, what it will become. But as she steps closer, the warmth of her body nearly brushing yours, you know one thing for certain.

Rio Vidal is no longer just watching you.

- How you two kiss

- How they ask you out

You've gotten used to Rio's presence by now, though it still manages to grate on your nerves. At first, it was just a casual glance then a comment here, a sarcastic remark there. But after a few days of the same, you start noticing her everywhere. In the corner of your eye during spells, standing near the edges of your conversations, or casually lounging on a rock just far enough away to not engage but close enough to never truly leave.

"Are you planning on following me forever, or do you have something to say?" you ask, your voice sharper than you intended as you catch sight of Rio leaning casually against a tree.

Rio just smirks, her eyes glinting with something unreadable. "Following you? No... Just... sticking around."

It's always like this cryptic and evasive, yet oddly comfortable. 

Over time, she's become more persistent. Her visits are never announced, and she has a way of showing up just when you're in the middle of something important. It's impossible to focus with her there, lurking in the background, silently watching you work.

Today's no different. You're trying to finish a spell when you feel the familiar weight of her stare. You don't turn around this time no need. "You know, your patience is starting to become a little much," you say dryly, though a part of you can't deny the curiosity building beneath the irritation.

Rio chuckles, her voice low. "Is it? I thought you liked the company."

You sigh. "I don't know, Rio. You're starting to feel like a bad habit."

"Yeah?" Rio's tone is casual, but there's a slight edge to it, a quiet challenge lingering in her words. "I'll take that as a compliment."

It's not the first time she's said something like that. She always has a way of throwing words out like they don't matter, but you know better. You've started to get the sense that Rio isn't just here to annoy you for no reason.

And then, just as you're about to speak again, Rio walks up to you. For the first time, there's something more serious in the way she approaches. In her hand is a single, perfect rose—its petals soft, the deep red almost haunting in the daylight.

"Fine," she says, her voice low and steady now, "I admit it. I've been... hanging around, waiting. But it's getting ridiculous, don't you think?"

You blink, caught off guard by the sincerity in her voice. Before you can speak, Rio steps closer, holding the rose out to you.

"How about a date with death?" Rio's smile is almost dangerous, but her eyes betray something softer—a hint of hope buried beneath the sarcasm.

You pause, taking in the sight of Rio standing before you, holding the rose. For the first time, you realize that maybe Rio's visits haven't been just an act of annoyance after all. Maybe there's something more to this.

You take the rose from her, the edges of your lips curling into a small smile. "You're ridiculous," you mutter, but there's a glimmer of something else in your eyes something that makes the annoyance feel a little less real and a little more... welcome.

Rio's smile widens, her gaze softening just for a moment before it turns playful again. "You haven't said no yet."

- How you cuddle

(Yes Rio is the one who jumps on you every time)

- How is it to date your gf

 It's the random flowers, the thoughtful texts during the day, or a playlist she made just for you. You never know when something sweet will happen, but it's always something that makes your heart flutter.

On the tough days, when everything feels wrong, she's there to remind you that it's okay. She's your safe space, and even when you're at your worst, you still feel loved and accepted.

She'll surprise you with kisses in the middle of a conversation, hugs when you're busy, or randomly just holding your hand. It's a way of reminding you that she's always there.

Be prepared to be her own personal cuddle pet

JEALOUSY 

 You have your own little world filled with jokes, references, and shared memories. No one else quite gets it, but that's what makes it special.

When she fell in love, she fell hard...

Do you love your personal space? Forget it.

- How they look at you

AN: Don't worry guys, the NSFW alphabet coming next :)

PS: any ideas of what type of tropes I should write?

[avengerscompound]

Steve Rogers - Eyes

Captain America: The First Avenger

[wolverinecore]

Wade is all of us

[sergeantbarnessdoll]

Hi luv!!! Hope your week is going well! I love your work you always do amazing! 💕

I was wondering if you could do one with bucky and his teen daughter where maybe she is pressured by her friends to drink one night at a sleepover that he finally agrees to let her go to, but she gets scared after having one and calls him in a panic because she's afraid he'll be angry which he is but when he shows up he just becomes so protective and concerned. And maybe her uncles come along as well? If not that's totally okay no worries! I do not support underage drinking at all fyi, it was just a thought !! 💕

Pressured To Drink » Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier

Pairings: Dad!Bucky Barnes x Teen Daughter!Reader with Steve Rogers/Captain America and Sam Wilson/Falcon

Summary: You’re at a sleepover at your friend’s house and they pressure you into drinking and then you call your dad to pick you up.

Warnings: Fluff, tiny bit of Angst, language, alcohol, underage drinking, crying, nicknames

Age of reader: 13 years old

A/N: Thank you for the request, nonnie🩵

Written on my phone. My apologies for any mistakes.

Header made by @buck-star

GIF IS NOT MINE! Gif credit goes to the creator.

Talking your dad into allowing you to do something is always difficult. When Bucky says no to you, he means it. You resort to begging if you have to. Today at school, one of your friends asked you if you wanted to have a sleepover at her house tonight, which you really want to do. You’ve been begging your dad to let you go to her house for the sleepover since he picked you up from school.

“Dad, please let me go to the sleepover.” You begged.

Bucky hasn’t exactly said no to you going. He’s just beating around the bush.

“Y/N, you’ve been asking me the same question for almost an hour.” Bucky says.

“I’ll stop asking if you let me go.” You say.

Bucky sighs and thought about it for a moment. He just doesn’t want anything to happen to you is all. Although, he’s happy that you have friends.

“Ok, fine. You can go to the sleepover.” He finally says.

You squealed in excitement and hugged your dad.

“I’m going to text Ava and pack!” You say.

“Hold it!” Bucky stops you before you bolted out of the living room. “I have one rule. Don’t do anything stupid or you’ll be grounded for the rest of the month. Do you understand?” He says.

“Yes, dad. I understand.” You say.

You went to your room and texted your friend, telling her that your dad is letting you go to her sleepover and then you packed for it.

When it finally came time for the sleepover, your dad walked you to the door of your friend’s house. You knocked on the door.

“Hi, Y/N.” Ava’s mom smiles. “The girls are in the living room.” She says.

“Ok.” You smiled back.

You gave your dad a hug and told him you love him. Bucky watched as you ran to the living room.

“She’s in good hands, James.” She says.

Bucky smiles and nods before leaving. He went back home while you had fun with your friends. Bucky’s nerves were through the roof when he was hanging out with Steve and Sam.

“Did I make the right decision by letting Y/N go to a sleepover at her friend’s house?” Bucky asks Steve and Sam.

“She’s 13, man. She’s got to hangout with her friends outside of school sometimes.” Sam says.

“We understand that you’re very protective of her, Buck, but she’ll be fine. You don’t have anything to worry about.” Steve says.

Bucky knows Steve and Sam are right. He knows you’ll be fine at your friend’s house for the night. He also knows if anything happens while you’re at the sleepover, you’ll call him. He’s just nervous about the whole thing. All he needs to do is try to relax.

Meanwhile, you were having fun with your friends. You guys were watching movies. Ava’s mom ordered pizza for you guys. You guys took a break from watching movies to go hangout in Ava’s bedroom for a while. Ava closed and locked the door, which confused you.

“You guys want to see what my older brother bought me?” Ava asks.

You guys nodded. Ava went in her closet to get something and came out with bottles filled with something. The more you looked at the label on the box, you quickly realized that it was beer. Your eyes went wide.

“Awesome!” Your friends Elizabeth and Ally say.

You stood there silently. You didn’t think it was awesome at all. You thought it was a bad idea. Ava gave you all a beer.

“I don’t want one.” You say politely.

“It’s just beer.” Ava says.

“Live a little, Y/N.” Elizabeth says.

“What your dad doesn’t know won’t hurt him.” Ally says.

You didn’t like that they were pressuring you into drinking alcohol. You finally accepted it, but didn’t open it. They opened their beers and started drinking theirs. You nervously picked at the label and watched as your friends drank beer.

“Come on, Y/N. Open it and drink. You need to get out of your comfort zone for once.” Ava says.

You took a deep breath before opening it. You could smell the scent of the beer without having to bring it to your lips. You finally took a sip, gagging at the taste as you swallowed it.

“Relax. You’re fine.” Ally says.

You watched as your friends chugged half of their beers while yours was still almost full. You took a few sips while your friends finished theirs. You didn’t like this at all, but you didn’t want your friends to think you’re lame.

“Drink more.” Elizabeth says.

You looked at the beer for a second before drinking more. You ended up chugging it till it was half filled. A few minutes later your friends started drinking their second beers while you were finishing your first one. Something didn’t feel right after you finished it. You weren’t sure if it was your nerves or if you got a buzz from drinking it so fast.

“I’m have to the bathroom.” You say.

You stood up and unlocked the door. You walked down the hallway to the bathroom. You didn’t have to go to the bathroom. You needed to be alone and call your dad. You dialed your dad’s number and put your phone to your ear.

Bucky’s phone started ringing in his pocket. He took his phone out of his pocket to see your name on the screen. He immediately answered it.

“Doll, are you ok?” Bucky asks with concern in his voice.

“N-No.” You answered in a shaky voice.

“What’s wrong?” He asks.

“I didn’t mean to, dad.” You say, your eyes tearing up.

“You didn’t mean to do what?” He asks.

“Drink beer.” You tell him.

Bucky’s eyes went wide and his jaw clenched. Steve and Sam looked at him, wondering what’s wrong.

“Can you please pick me up?” You asked. “I want to go home.” You say.

“I’m on my way.” Bucky says before hanging up.

Bucky stood up and put his phone back in his pocket.

“Where are you going?” Sam asks.

“To pick up Y/N. She drank beer with her friends.” Bucky says.

“We’re going with you.” Steve says.

While Bucky, Steve, and Sam made their way to your friend’s house. You went back to Ava’s bedroom, making sure to wipe your tears away before they noticed that you were crying. You sat down like nothing just happened. A little bit goes by and Bucky, Steve, and Sam finally got to Ava’s house. Bucky knocked on the door and Ava’s mom opened it.

“Oh hi.” Ava’s mom steps aside to allow them to walk inside of the house. “If you’re here for Y/N, she’s in Ava’s room with the girls.” She says.

“We’re here to pick her up.” Bucky says.

“May I ask why?” She asks.

“She called me and told me she drank beer.” He says.

Her eyes went wide when he said that.

“I’ll get her.” She says.

Ava’s mom went to Ava’s bedroom. She opened the door to see that you guys were in fact drinking beer.

“Y/N, your dad and your uncles are here to pick you up.” Ava’s mom tells you.

You grabbed your stuff and left the room quickly. You could hear Ava’s mom telling Elizabeth and Ally to call their parents to come pick them up. You automatically knew they’re in trouble, especially Ava.

“Hi, dad.” You say quietly and gave Steve and Sam a smile.

“Don’t “Hi, dad.” me.” Bucky says. “How the hell did you guys even get your hands on beer?” He asks.

“Ava said her older brother bought it.” You tell him.

“How many did you drink?” He asks.

“I drank one. I didn’t want to drink it. They pressured me into drinking it.” You tell him.

Bucky’s anger faded away when you said that. He was ready to yell at you and ground you when you guys got home. He wrapped his arms around you, holding you close to him. Ava walked in the room with her mom behind her.

“I want you to apologize to Y/N’s dad and uncles.” Her mom says.

Ava rolls her eyes at her mom

“I’m sorry, Mr. Barnes. I’m sorry, Mr. Rogers. I’m sorry, Mr. Wilson.” Ava apologizes, but not sincerely.

“Why would you pressure Y/N into doing something she didn’t want to do?” Steve asks Ava.

Ava looked at you and scoffed.

“You told them?!” Ava asks.

“Yes.” You answered. “I didn’t want to drink, but you guys kept pressuring me.” You say.

“I always knew you were lame.” She says, narrowing her eyes at you.

“That’s enough, Ava.” Her mom scolded her. “I am so sorry for all of this, James. Her dad and I will talk to both her and her brother about this.” She says.

You then went to the car with your dad and uncles. You were quiet the whole car ride home. Your cheeks were stained with tears. When you guys walked in the house, you went to go straight to your room, but your dad stopped you.

“Where do you think you’re going, young lady?” Bucky asks

“To my room. Aren’t I in trouble for drinking?” You say.

“Yes, but I want to talk to you first.” He says.

You went to the living room and sat down on the couch. Your dad and uncles stood in front of you like you’re in an interrogation or intervention.

“I was ready to yell at you and ground you for drinking, but I’m not going to do that.” Bucky says.

“You should. I broke the one rule you gave me. You told me not to do anything stupid and I did.” You say, your eyes tearing up.

Bucky sighs softly and sat down next to you. Steve and Sam sat on the couch opposite of you and your dad.

“I just to know why you didn’t say no to them.” He says.

“I did, but they kept pressuring me. I thought if I drank one, they’ll stop pressuring me.” You explained. “I didn’t want to drink it, dad.” You say.

“Why didn’t you call or text me when she brought out the beer?” He asks.

“I don’t know.” You mumbled and shrugged your shoulders. “I wasn’t thinking.” You say.

At this point, tears were streaming down your cheeks. Bucky wrapped his arms around you, holding you close to him.

“Are you disappointed in me?” You asked.

“For drinking, yes I am.” Bucky answers.

You started sobbing softly as your dad held you in his arms.

“Am I grounded?” You asked, looking up at your dad.

“No. I’m letting you off with a warning.” He says.

“I’m sorry, dad.” You apologized.

“I know you are, doll.” He says softly, kissing the top of your head.

“I’m sorry, uncle Steve. I’m sorry, uncle Sam.” You apologized to your uncles.

Steve and Sam gave you a smile. You didn’t have to apologize to them, but you felt like you had to. They know you’re just a teenager who wants to try new things. Your dad knows that too. They just didn’t want alcohol to be one of those things.

“Thank you for picking me up.” You thanked your dad and uncles.

“You don’t have to thank us, babydoll. We’ll always be there for you.” Bucky says softly.

“I love you guys.” You say, hugging your dad.

“I love you too, doll.” Bucky whispers, kissing the side of your head.

“We love you too, kiddo.” Steve and Sam say in unison.

🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵

-Bucky’s Doll

[littledark11]

He makes my skin crawl very badly but she's trying so hard to please him but he's just being insufferable.

It doesn't matter how she feels as long as he's happy as long as he gets what he wants at the end of the day.

I've Got You Under My Skin 5

Warnings: non/dubcon, marital troubles, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Steve Rogers

Summary: your husband is a very demanding man.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

The keys jingle loudly as you rush out the door with your purse in your other hand. You just need to get out of the house. Sometimes, it feels like a prison. Especially lately. Since the fight.

You feel horrid for what you did. You made a mistake, sure, but you think Steve is right. You weren't paying attention to what he said. Now that you think of it, you may have misinterpreted your conversation based entirely on your own doubts.

Still, you're going to show him that you can do this. You've been reading up on it all night. Researching everything you need.

As you hit the button on the key tag, the car beeps and unlocks. The SUV is a bit bigger than what you would pick but Steve thought it was a good family vehicle. Besides, it's his money.

"Hey," he startles you as he appears from beside the garage. You blink and drop the keys.

"Hi, Stevie," you blanch and bend to pick up the keys as he approaches.

"You're running out," he doesn't sound impressed.

"Um, yes, um, doing some errands. Groceries."

"You could order."

You gulp, "I'm sorry. I was only... wanting to get out."

"Alone?" He inquires.

"Yeah, what--"

"You're not meeting up with Natasha for one of those sugary coffees?" He challenges.

You wince. "No, Captain. I'm not drinking caffeine anymore. It's not good... for conception."

He tilts his head and his cheek dimples, "ah, good girl."

"Do you want to come with me?" You offer.

His shoulders ease, "no. You can go. Grab some more protein. The banana stuff?"

"Yes, Captain."

"Drive safe," he girds.

"I always do."

He nods and turns back, "I'm gonna finish up the weeds."

You stare after him as he marches away. What does he mean? You just dealt with the garden. Once again, not good enough.

You get in the car and adjust the wheel and the seat. You buckle up and set your feet on the pedals. You flip the engine and put it in reverse.

You back out through the gate and onto the street. You drive, jaw locked, fingers cramped, tense in anticipation. You just want to make this better. You just don't know if it's too late.

You go to the grocery store first. You get the few items on your list. You have a lot of the staples still in the cupboards. You check out and use Steve's card. You don't have one anymore. He's a lot better with money than you.

Your next adventure makes you nervous. You stop outside the shop and stare through the window at the stuffed bunnies and the onesies. The maternity shop makes it all so real. You still feel so young. But you can do this. With Steve. He knows what he's doing.

You enter and the air rushes from your chest. Oh. Okay. That breast pump makes you nervous.

"Hi, how can I help you?" A woman chimes an approaches in a bubbly bounce. Her blond ringlets are perfect.

"Ummmm..." you fidget with your phone. "I looked online. Um, for prenatal supplements."

"Ah, yes, we have a whole aisle," she waves her arm and turns to stand beside you. "Do you have questions?"

"A lot," you admit.

"How long have you been trying? Oh, are you already expecting?" She wonders.

The questions feel too personal. Still, it's not like you came here without a purpose. You follow her to the far wall lined with bottles and vials of tablets.

"We're trying. Right now. Starting to. I just want to be healthy." You explain.

"Uh, huh, wonderful," she rubs her hands together. "Some of these you won't need until you're expecting but we can get you a few things. Maybe just have a look around for some inspiration, huh?"

"Sure, that sounds... good."

She explains to you all the organic supplements and even recommends some aphrodisiacs. Thing is, Steve doesn't need those. You pick a few and follow her around as she shows you mobiles and blankies. There's a little Cap squishee even. You pick it up and smile. He'll love that.

You take your goods to the counter and she rings you up. You dig in your purse and hand your card to her. She reads it passingly then pauses. 

"I thought you were familiar. Your Mr. Rogers. The Mrs. Rogers."

You squirm. Oh no. You forget how famous Steve is. Well, it's fine. It's not like she would tell anyone you know, right?

You just nod, "do you have bags?"

"Oh yes, I'll put this all away for you," she unfolds a paper bag and loads it up. "Anything else, Mrs. Rogers."

"Yeah," you choke. "My name's..." you correct her. Sometimes, you just feel like a part of Steve. Not your own person. "Thanks."

You take the bag and your card and leave. You sniff as you get to car and climb into the front seat. You put your purchase in front of the passenger's and sit there a while. You feel weird about this.

Just nerves. You start the car and head home. The trip is too quick. You're not ready.

You get out with the small paper bag and go around the trunk to get the reusable one with the T-bone steak and protein powder. You hit the button to close the hatch and go inside. You'd love to stay out in the sun but you couldn't relax if you tried.

"Stevie?" You call as you reach the kitchen. "Hello?"

He doesn't answer. You wonder if he's outside. You set to putting everything away.

"You're back." He greets, once more frightening you. You hate that.

"I got steak for supper. For you. I'll have some turkey."

"Great," it's not a happy remark. "You didn't come straight home."

You look away guiltily and shake your head. You're so stupid. You know he must have a tracker on the car. You grab the white paper bag.

"I was getting surprises." You offer him the bag. "Stevie, please, I'm sorry. And I meant it. I am trying."

You hold it out and he reaches inside with a scowl. His brows move in curiosity and he pulls out the Captain America plush. His expression softens and he peeks into the bag.

"Supplements. To get ready. And I'll go back for iron pills once I'm ready," you explain. "And I've been reading all night about how to get a baby. I should lay on my back and stay after for a bit. And-- and I ordered a book."

He tosses the plush and grabs you. His hands frame your face as you drop the bag and he pushes you back into the counter. His mouth covers yours as he growls.

You whine and touch his chest, overcome by his force. You were so afraid he wouldn't forgive you, that you're entirely unprepared for this. You manage to pull back.

"I-- Stevie, it won't happen now. But I threw everything out."

"I don't care," he snarls and drops his hands to your hips, "I need you right now." 

He lifts you onto the counter and you squeal. Your stomach flips but you ignore that flicker of fear. How you feel doesn't matter, as long as the Captain's happy.