#bob barnes imagine

[senka-mesecine]

Please. Barnes is jealous that the reader is talking to another soldier. (sorry if my english is wrong)

I Oughta Be God.

Robert Barnes x Reader.

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wonderful gif by @woman-with-no-name

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-"You done waxin' poetic with that boy?"-

-"Sir?"-

-"Waxin' poetic. You just about done?"-

Sergeant Barnes's voice halts you mid stride and you stop to look at him, unable to immediately process what it was he meant only for it to hit you like a stray bullet; You did the unthinkable and supposedly broke all conduct protocol. You took the effort to show some human empathy towards one of the short timers whose toes literally threatened to decay inside of his own boots due to the long marches and the potent cocktail of near constant humidity. One thing these men needed was some kindness and you intended to show it to them to maintain some vestige of humanity among the ranks, wanting to lead by quiet day-to-day example, deciding to stand your ground on the matter. This was a question of morale. -"Tropical ulcer. Jungle rot."- You explain matter-of-factly, hugging your equipment close to your chest almost as a shield of sorts, introspective enough to confess to yourself that the man frightened you even while he was there indulging in the seemingly unassuming hobby of sitting down, playing cards with a couple of his eerily silent men, heads kept down, like he slightly frightened them too. -"I have to talk to him about it, sir. I'm sorry. The nature of it is purely informative."- You add, portraying the blunt banality of the topic. People around here needed to understand the illnesses they suffered from and how to prevent them from happening again in the future. It was literally your job, outside of helping them, to explain deterrent measures.

Sergeant Barnes didn't seem to agree.

-"Y'need to be treatin' him and makin' sure his toes don't go fallin' off and stickin' to his goddamn boots like paste. Not talkin'. Ain' no talkin' gonna fix him now."-

His heavy drawl is there laced with ample sarcasm dripping through like poison almost like he intended to imply your patient was done for, long since dead already, written off and that there was no helping him; now that --- it pushes your buttons hard and even though you knew he cared for his men in his own strange way, the callous way he talked about potential harm reeked of unnecessary cruelty. You tended to let a great many wry remarks around camp go in through one ear and out the other, but however calm you intended to be, you decide to cut the crap for lack of a better word. -"I didn't realize speaking to the men on base is against regulations or forbidden, sir, all due respect."- You retort, calmly --- as calmly and as kindly as you could so the point would be more poignant, not blurred by a freakout. Barnes gives you a look. Strange and half lidded that could almost be translated as sure is if I say it is. A deck of playing cards still in his hands, you gulp, feeling the need to clarify yourself once he says nothing more, minding his game instead, for the moment anyway. His sudden silences tended to make you nervous. Was impossible to know what he was thinking. -"I'm talking to you right now, sir, aren't I?"- You ask, trying to alleviate the tension; if the rules were the same for everyone technically you were wasting valuable time going back and forth that you could've been spent preparing Morepenicillin, Metronidazole and a general cocktail of anti-fungal antibiotics for that poor private's foot.

-"I own your ass out here. You belong to me, beaut."-

He shoots back suddenly, focusing his gaze back at you.

Your breath hitches.

Was nothing new, Barnes telling people he owns them, flat out.

He did it on a near daily basis, in fact.

When he says it to you, though ---

Beaut. The general scrambled nature of your brain right about now allows you to process that he's called you beaut ten seconds later than the actual moniker was uttered, leaving your mind in chaos as you tried to quickly deduce and decide if he was mocking you, being sarcastic again, trying to put you down or ---

The men seated around him around him are as silent as the grave. No snickering.

They weren't even looking at you, hyperfocused on their respective stacks instead.

-"I'm the only one y'all should be talkin' to and that includes you more than anyone."-

Barnes assesses himself and for some reason you find yourself tongue tied, unsure what to say to that without directly arguing with your superior, your better instinct overshadowed by some chemical in your brain that irrationally made you weigh the idea. Resent it yet weigh it. The idea of only ever talking to Barnes. You legs cannot move from where you were standing. You felt that you could only really move if he told you. He tilts his head, lips pressed into a hard line, setting down his cards on the table from the box he was seated on. Full House. Suddenly, the load of medications, needles and syringes you were carrying, having felt weightless a moment ago feels as heavy as a boulder in your arms now. What was this conversation even? -"I oughta be God to you."- He looks straight at you then and you could swear your legs were on the verge of crumbling from underneath you. The company of men around him falling into such a deep state of general quietude you could practically hear them all breathe around a makeshift table of beer cans, ashtrays and cigarette buds. Unwittingly and intrusively you imagine Barnes as a shadow looming over the jungle perimeters like God himself, swallowing you whole, finding a rare mercy when he nods his head wordlessly, giving you dismissal. Only then do you feel your legs move. Once he allows them to. His command that you spare your words only for him seemed non-enforceable but he nonetheless gives the order with such quiet gravitas you believe it to be.

Almost like a sort of magic.

-"Understood, sir."-

You mutter, getting the hell on out of his presence as fast as you could.

Fearing you could get burned if you stayed.

W --- what was that?

Did he really give you a direct order to never speak to anyone but him ever again?

[mickandmusings]

mickandmusings masterlist

Last Updated: 9-26-24

Requests: Open!

'Am I Okay?' Masterlist

Supernatural:

Dean Winchester

Sam Winchester

Castiel

Marvel:

Bucky Barnes

Thor Odinson

Loki Laufeyson

Natasha Romanoff

Stephen Strange

Bridgerton:

Anthony Bridgerton

Benedict Bridgerton

Colin Bridgerton

Star Wars:

Din Djarin

Poe Dameron

Obi-Wan Kenobi

Anakin Skywalker

Ben Solo

Top Gun:

Jake 'Hangman' Seresin

Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw

Robert 'Bob' Floyd

Natasha 'Phoenix' Trace

Pete 'Maverick' Mitchell

Tom 'Iceman' Kazansky

The Bear:

Carmy Berzatto

Stranger Things:

Steve Harrington

Eddie Munson

Other:

Joel Miller

Javier Pena

Rafe Cameron

Indiana Jones

Prince Eric (live action)

Tyler Owens

Javi Rivera

[ultralightpoe]

Ultralightpoe Masterlist

Requests are OPEN !

Last Updated : 11~2~24

“With this hand, I will lift your sorrows. Your cup will never be empty, for I will be your wine. With this candle I will light your way in darkness. With this ring I ask you to be mine.”

~ ~ ~

-Marvel -

-House of The Dragon-

-Top Gun-

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-Hunger Games-

Midnight Album Event

~2024 Halloween Event Masterlist

[lilylovelyxo]

Tony: “You’re like a benign tumor. With a little bit of hair and teeth.”

Bucky: “I’m like a tumor… with teeth?”

Y/N: “Sounds cute!”

[harlowhockeystick]

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[uhsolikethis]

Bucky should've kept his fuckass Bob. The spark left for me when he did the big chop. See if he had cut it shorter but still kept it as a bob it would've gave a little more.

[buckyalpine]

Mob Bucky likes his innocent date ft smut

Sigh. I wanted this to be wholesome but it’s horny instead I’m sorry. Might delete tbh. Imagine devilishly gorgeous mob Bucky getting joy out of making his shy date flustered til she’s tripping on her words and unable to speak. He got Steve to find him a date for an event in the evening, uninterested in having to actually find one for himself. He just wants a pretty thing on his arm that he could maybe fuck at the end of the night. Between busy schedules and mob work, Steve doesn’t find anyone so he scrambles to the last person he can think of.

His sisters best friend.

You’re not at all what he was expecting.

He walks down the long staircase in his all black suit, beard trimmed, his cologne intoxicating, coking an eyebrow when he sees the shy thing waiting for him that he’s supposed to go with.

You nearly squeak when he stands before you, too nervous to say anything, your heart running a million miles a minute, knowing exactly who the very James Barnes was. You had no business being here, you were doing this for Steve.

“Hi” you whisper, and Bucky can’t help but smirk at the way you keep tugging at your dress, not meeting his eyes, tipping your chin up to meet his wolfish expression.

“You must be Y/n” he doesn’t let go of your face, noting the goosebumps that now cover your exposed skin from your plunging dress. He doesn’t say much else, letting you squirm, quite enjoying himself.

You want to tell him he looks good, be the confident woman he probably expected to have, exuding grace and poise but you bite your lip instead, nearly whining when he lets go of your chin.

“Y-you um. You look b-beautiful” you finally stutter out, your face burning under his amused gaze.

“Is that so Bambi?” He smirks, cocking his head while you fidget with your fingers. “Hmmm. No one’s called me that before” he chuckles, taking your arm in his and leading you to the limo parked outside.

Your skin is so soft, you smell so sweet and for the first time ever, he doesn’t want to ravage his date to bits. Not when you’re such a soft precious thing.

The night goes well as you grow more and more comfortable with him. He dotes on you the entire time, not letting you lift a finger. He can’t help but take care of you, not letting anyone else near his precious little Bambi.

By the end, he wants to take you home safely like a gentleman but he wants more. And he knows you do too. He can see it in the way you look at him with such longing, nuzzling into his side further and further in the back of the limo.

You’re practically on his lap now, desperately wishing he’d just have his way with you without toy having to say anything but he’d never let that happen.

“What is it Bambi” he whisperers when you squeeze your thighs together, hiding you face in his neck. Your hand trails from his tie to his belt buckle, too embarrassed to go any lower.

“Oh you poor thing” he coos, bringing and pressing your hand on top of his erection, your shaky hands rubbing his bulge like a needy kitten, “do you want my cock baby, s’that it? My Bambi needs her cock?”

“Mhm” you whine, clinging onto him when the limo pulls up to his house, his thick arms wrapping you up and taking you right to his room with no second guesses.

When he gets you into bed, all his animalistic tendencies go out the window, holding back how badly he wants to pounce on you and ravish you like the cute little bunny you are, trapped in the wolfs den. Your gown has been thrown off, lingerie ripped to bits, laying on his bed as he crawls on top of you, his thick, leaky cock bobbing between his legs.

“Are you sure you want this Angel” he checks in with you first, cupping your cheek and swiping his thumb across your pouty lip.

“W-want you” you whisper, shakily reaching down to grasp his cock, swallowing nervously. “I just- I don’t-“

“You don’t have to be scared bunny” he kisses your cheek, placing his hand on top of yours, guiding your strokes. “I’ll teach you how to play with my cock baby”

You tighten your grip, tugging him to where you need him most and he can’t hold back much longer, he’s trying to hard but you makes it impossible.

“Fuck Bambi” he groaned feeling his tip run against your soaked cunt, holding back frok shoving himself in you “keep doing that and I’ll lose control baby”

“Lose control Bucky” you tug at him again and he shakes his head with a strained chuckle.

“I’ll hurt you bunny” he said warns again but you need him to take you apart till you cant walk.

“Please?”

“Bunny…” he warns one last time but you want anymore.

“Daddy” you whine in his ear and something inside him snaps. He doesn’t give you any warning, slamming his cock into you with one stroke, your pleasured cry music to his ears.

“What did you just call me?!” He pulls out to flip you over, spanking your ass while his balls slap your clit, loving the way you go dumb over his cock.

“Such an innocent little baby with a filthy mouth, huh doll, my bunny wants her daddy’s cock”

He grips onto the headboard, delivering powerful snaps with his hips, alternating between pounding you against the pillows and grinding his cock in you without pulling out.

“Such a tight pussy squeezing daddy’s cock, my naughty little bunny, you want daddy’s cream too baby? You want daddy to give you his fresh cum, hm? Breed this needy little pussy?”

“B-breed me daddy!!” You squeal, his words driving you towards your climax, crying into his sheets and arching your back more as his movements grow sloppy.

“Get ready for daddy’s cum baby- gonna breed this pretty pussy till your fuckin’ round n’swollen n’leaking with milk” he gritted out, grabbing your hips with slam back and meet his thrusts. “Together Bambi, cum with daddy, c’mon, be a good girl n’cum with daddy”

The most salacious and primal sounds fill the room as he pumps ropes of his cum into toy, your greedy pussy milking him for all he’s worth. He can’t believe such a quiet little bunny could turn out to be a minx on the inside but he’s never letting you go.

“You’re dangerous Bambi” he whispers, keeping his softening cock in you, having never felt so satisfied afterwards, practically floating in the clouds with you. “M’never pulling my cock out, you feel too good around my dick baby”

You giggle as he kisses your glistening skin, gathering your into his arms, your eyes growing wide when he doesn’t kick you out of his bed.

“You’re mine now Bambi” he says with a soft growl, holding you closer to his chest before pulling the sheets over you both.

Anyway. Wholesome version coming later.

[miley1442111]

new house, new title- b.floyd

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a/n: intended for fem reader, but as always imagine what you like:)))))))))

summary: how you and bob settle into your new home

pairing: bob floyd x reader

warnings: none

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Bob was nervous. He loved you and he saw himself growing old with you and having children, and eventually grandchildren. A family is all he’d ever wanted in life. He’d grown up in a huge family that shaped who he was, of course he wanted that for his kids. When he was a kid and an adult asked what he wanted to be when he grew up, he told them he wanted to be a dad.

Now, standing outside of your newly-purchased farmhouse sitting on a hefty 15 acres of land, a barn and stables just a 3 minute walk from the house, and a small cove leading to the lake partly on your land, just a 10 minute walk away, yet he was nervous.

Why? you may ask. Well, Bob hadn’t proposed yet. Which is what he was planning on doing right now. 

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You looked so pretty, messy hair and moving clothes on from the exhausting day, yet you were still smiling at him the same way you do every time, with pure adoration and love. 

You two were sitting outside on a picnic blanket as the sunsets, the golden sun keeping you warm as the summer breeze gently blew past you. 

“I can’t believe it’s ours,” You smiled. “It’s so beautiful.”

Bob’s eyes stayed trained on your figure, going over his speech one more time, the ring in his pocket feeling heavier and heavier. 

“You’re so beautiful,”  he smiled and you chuckled. One thing you’d learnt about Bob Floyd is that Bob had moves  he’d just never used while flirting. Trust me, he used it now.

“So are you,” you smiled,  Bob would never get used to your compliments, his ears and cheeks turning red as a shy smile spread across his face. 

“Baby-” Bob was starting, but you yelped, spotting a small kitten in the distance. Immediately jumping up and running over to grab it. Bob didn’t know what was happening at all, so he jumped up and followed, running after you. “Baby!”

“Rob, look!” You squealed in delight, the small black kitten in your arms, nuzzling into you as she shivered. You were the only person in the world who called him ‘Rob’, ‘Robby’, or ‘Bobby’. He loved it. He smiled at the scene in front of him. You were a vision in the sunset, the small kitten looking so comfortable in your protective arms. Bob could hear more meowing from behind and found the rest of the litter, and the mother cat asleep. 

“Baby-” He started, knowing that look your eyes. 

 “We’re keeping all of them,” you said decisively. Bob stared at you with an amused smile. “What? They live on our land anyway, why not let them into the house and feed them?”

“There’s 10 of them!” He laughed.

“You can name like 5 of them,” you shrugged. “Maybe 4.”

Bob laughed again, pulling your waist into his. This was the perfect moment, he’d never felt more love in his life. He pressed a kiss to your lips as his hand reached into his pocket to find… nothing. He pulled away abruptly, panic setting in. 

“Rob, what’s wrong?” You asked as you recognised the anxiety in his eyes. “Rob?”

“I dropped it,” he admitted, horror filling his features. “I dropped the ring.”

Now it was your turn to panic. What ring? Was he finally proposing? “Holy shit,” you gasped out. “You’re proposing.”

“Yes I am, and I dropped the ring somewhere back there,” he hid his face in his hands. He’d ruined it. He was the worst boyfriend/ maybe fiancee/ maybe ex-boyfriend? 

“Yes. I’ll marry you,” you smiled, tears falling from your wide eyes. Bob looked up immediately, shock filling his features. 

“You will?” He smiled, his hands circling your waist. You nodded furiously, the kitten still in your arms as you held it tighter, careful not to hurt it. “I love you so much, and it’s been a long time coming- I know that,” he smiled when you giggled. Even if he dropped the ring he might as well continue with his spiel. “And I’m sorry it took me so long. To be honest I’ve had the ring in my bedside locker for a year now,” that earned him a (deserved) slap on the arm. He chuckled, raising his hands in defeat. “And I’ve wanted to marry you everyday for the past 6 years. You are the most incredible thing that has ever happened to me, I swear to god, when you walked in on me changing in your mom’s house-” You laughed, leaning your head on his shoulder. “I never thought I’d find the love of my life. But I did. And I’m so glad I did. You are everything to me, I love you a lot more than I can ever try to put into words. Thank you for just being here. I love you, and sorry that I dropped the ring- it was real pretty, at least I thought it was.” 

“I don’t give a shit about a stupid ring Rob,” you chuckled. “You’re going to be my husband,” you smiled, kissing him heavily. 

“It’s not stupid,” he defended it, an uncertain insecurity running through his voice. “I-I made it,” he admitted sheepishly. “But if you want something else I don’t mind-”

“I’m finding that ring,” you said definitively. You loved it when Bob made you stuff, he was the epitome of ‘to be loved to to be known’. That man made you things at least once a week to make your life easier, even in the early stages of your relationship. “And I only want that ring Bob,” You smiled and kissed him again, then handed him the kitten in your arms as you walked off, beginning to look while the sun was still up. 

Bob looked down at the kitten in his arms, protectiveness filling him almost immediately. He wanted to name this one Patch because of the patch of white on his stomach. His baby fever had been bad in recent months, but seeing you hold the kitten in your arms, so contempt and protective, he was sure he was ready to have children that second. 

Fuck waiting until after the wedding. 

“I found it!” You shouted, holding up the small box Bob had dropped earlier. 

“Bring it over here!” He shouted back. “Don’t open it yet!” 

“Why not?” You asked, running over. 

“Cause I have to get down on one knee,” he smiled, his southern charm pulling out all of the stops. He lowered himself onto one knee, the ring box in one hand with the kitten in the other. “So Y/n, will you do me the honours of marrying me?” He smiled up at you, and when you wrapped your arms around his neck, practically screaming ‘yes’ he knew he was exactly where he needed to be. He also knew you two were definitely keeping all of those cats. He also knew he loved you, a lot. 

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navigation for my blog :) (criminal minds, obx, the bear, marvel, top gun, the hunger games :)

topgun masterlist :) (requests open!)

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[preciousbarnes]

Languages of Love

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Bucky and you are complete opposites in day to day life. You’re a local florist, surrounded by plants and soft colors. Bucky is grumpy and rough around the edges. At nights together, his softer side shows, whispering sweet nothings to you that you love but never understand.

Word count: 1.7k

Tags: smut, first time, soft sex, fluff, bit of a language barrier, grumpy!bucky x literal sunshine, florist!reader.

You first really noticed it the first night you slept in the same bed together. It was innocent, you and Bucky were taking your time in the relationship, but you asked him to stay the night at your apartment above your little florist shop since it was storming so horribly outside after your dinner date with him.

You both got ready for bed, Bucky stripping down to just his boxers and you changing into a pair of sleep shorts and a tank top. You both climbed into bed, you shyly staying to your side of the bed until you felt Bucky’s strong arms wrap around your waist, pulling you into his chest. You let out a little squeak in surprise, causing Bucky to give a resulting deep chuckle. You laid in his arms, nuzzling yourself close to him as you entangled your legs with his, enjoying the contrast of his furnace like body heat, and the coolness of his metal arm. You laid there silently for the longest time, trading gentle and soothing pets.

That’s when Bucky softly started talking to you in a language you didn’t understand.

“Ya ne znayu, chem ya zasluzhil eto, no ya tak blagodaren” He mutters to you in Russian, gently running his fingers through your hair. I don’t know what I did to deserve this, but I’m so grateful.

You look at his face, taking in the soft and heartfelt expression. You had no clue what he had just said, but judging by his face you were certain it was something sweet. You gently pecked his lips, making his little smile grow. You both fell asleep in each other arms that night, feeling like your hearts were so full of affection and love.

The second time it happened was in a more heated moment. It was your first time. Your first time ever, and his first time with you. You were both laying in the middle of your bed under the soft sheets, lights dimmed in the room with soft jazz playing in the background. You were naked, and Bucky remained in his boxers, his cock straining against the fabric, forgotten. He had taken out all the stops, wanting to make your first time so special, feeling so honored to be your first. He had gently worked you open with his fingers and mouth, whispering sweet nothings in English between your legs.

“You’re doing so good doll, opening up for me so prettily.”

“Look at you, darling. So fucking gorgeous.”

“Can't wait to be inside of you, sweetheart. Going to make you feel so, so good baby,”

After plenty of foreplay, he raised up, leaving you soaked and a pleading mess for him.

“Please, Bucky. Please, I want you, please.” You gently begged, barely recognizing your own voice, already so wrecked.

“Are you sure, moya lyubov'?” He asks you, wanting to be certain that this is something you want. My love.

You nod your head, hand coming up to gently caress his jaw, feeling the stubble underneath your fingertips, a stark and rough contrast to the soft expression on his face, one full of love and utter adoration.

He stripped off his boxers, tossing them off the side of the bed. You let your eyes trail down from his face, down his chest and chiseled abs, to his dick. It was flushed, bobbing a bit from a twitch. The length and girth had your mouth watering, just imagining how much better than just fingers that would feel, how full and absolutely stuffed it would make you feel. His head glistened in the soft light, wet from precum that had leaked out, showing you just how thoroughly he enjoyed the foreplay as well.

You reached down, grasping him in your hand, making him suck in a breath at the touch. You gently and slowly pumped your fist, using your thumb to gather the precum beaded at the head and move it down his shaft. As you pleasured him, you looked up to see his face overcome with pleasure, soft groans leaving his lips. Fire stirred in your gut with the realization that you were making him feel that way. Something possessive swirled in you as well, not wanting anyone to ever see this side of him again, wanting the sight to be yours and yours alone.

After a few moments, you were paused by his hand coming down to grasp your wrist.

“Sweetheart, I’m not going to last if you keep touching me like this,” He says roughly, his voice taking on a gravelly tone, overtaken with the pleasure you were bringing him.

You smile, proud of yourself which makes him smirk and chuckle. He removes his hand from your wrist, taking himself in his hand to line himself up. He slowly pushes in, filling you to the brim. Your back arches off the bed, a moan being ripped from your throat. Once he's in you to the hilt, his head drops to your shoulder, a groan leaving his lips. He’s overwhelmed with pleasure, never knowing it was possible for it to feel this good. You’re so warm, so tight, your velvety walls gripping him just right.

He begins thrusting, slow and sensual but strong thrusts hitting just the right spot. Your nails rake down his back, legs coming up to wrap around his hips, trying to pull him impossibly closer to you.

That’s when you hear it. That soft, deep voice muttering words to you that you don’t understand, slipping into what you now know is Russian.

“Ty chuvstvuyesh' sebya tak khorosho, detka.” You feel so good, baby.

“Ty kak budto sozdana dlya menya.” It’s like you were made for me.

“Zakhvatyvayushchiy,” Breathtaking.

“U tebya yest' ves' ya, telo i dusha.” You have all of me, body and soul.

He keeps muttering soft phrases and words against your skin that night, cherishing you in a way you never knew someone could. It's the contrast between the sharp thrusts and gentle hands and words that send you over the edge in the end, vision going white as you pull him over the ledge with you into absolute bliss.

After you both are sated and content, laying in each other's arms, he mutters one more phrase as he gently kisses the place where your jaw meets your throat.

“Ya tebya lyublyu” he says worshipfully, almost like a prayer leaving his lips.

You normally just smile at the sweet words you don’t understand, giving his kisses or hugs in response. This phrase though, it felt important to know, so you ask.

He looks at you like you hold the answer to all the universes questions, bringing his hand up to run his thumb against your cheekbone so softly you barely feel it.

“I love you,” he tells you, easily but so full of conviction.

A smile breaks across your face, as you return those three little words to him.

The next time you hear the language slip from his lips was when a recruit got a little to close, not knowing you were there at the training compound to see your boyfriend.

“Ne trogay yeye” He spat out, roughly grabbing the hand the recruit had reached out in goals of touching your arm. Don’t touch her. He was shooting daggers with his eyes at the recruit, who was now backing away, stuttering out an apology before quickly walking away.

The look on his face was reminiscent of a cartoon grumpy bear, making you giggle gently which led him to look over to you, a confused look on his face with the remnants of a scowl still there.

You reached up on your tip toes to kiss him gently on the lips, replacing the scowl with a dopey smile. In the background you could hear Steve’s chuckle at the lovestruck look on his best friends face as you grabbed his hand, leading him out to your car as you told him about the new shipment of flowers you just got in that you wanted to show him.

You found yourself in your floral shop with Natasha, her helping you with organizing order forms as you got out supplies to make another arrangement.

“Hey Nat, you’re fluent in Russian, right?” You ask the agent, earning a smile from her and a soft “Da.” Yes.

“You’ve been around when Bucky says stuff to me, right?”

She nods and smiles again, seeing where this is going.

“You want to know what he says?” She asks, filing away the orders and turning her full attention to you.

“Yeah, I always want to ask, but he has this look on his face. This soft expression. Like how people look at baby kittens. It makes me feel so cherished. I don’t ever want to ruin the moment,” You explain, hoping she understands.

She laughs at your comparison to Bucky’s face to how people look at kittens.

“Yknow, if I heard anyone else say Bucky looks at something how people look at baby anything, at one time I would’ve thought they had lost their mind. But yeah, that’s how he looks at you sometimes. He worships you, honey. Most of the time, when I’ve been around and he’s spoken to you in the language, he’s telling you that you're his whole world, that he feels so lucky to have found you, that he feels blessed, that you’re his angel, that he is yours completely, just really soft shit. He loves you.” She tells you, making your heart swell.

“Well,” you begin, “can you help me with something for him?” you ask.

Later that night you both found yourselves curled up together on the couch of your now shared apartment above your floral shop, Bucky playing with your hair as your hand gently strokes up and down one of the arms wrapped around you as you listen to his heartbeat with your head rested on his chest.

That’s when you say it.

“Ya beskonechno lyublyu tebya” you tell him, hoping you got the pronunciation right. Based on the shocked look on his face, followed by a wide smile stretching across his face, you’re assuming you did well enough for him to have understood. I love you to the moon and back.

“I love you too doll, to all the planets and beyond and back” He tells you, pulling you in for a soft kiss.

[senka-mesecine]

This may sound sooo weird but could I request some predator/prey play with Barnes? Thank u!

WARPAINT.

Robert Barnes x Reader

-

-"Dusk's settling. It's time."-

You remark standing on the threshold of the house looking out into the woods as you shrugged into your jacket, zipping it up for warmth there to ward off the chill of the great outdoors. The agreement was made. Was a done deal. Bob's impaled you on a stare from inside the house like he was hellbent on giving on a quiet head start and wordlessly intending to make sure you take it; in fact, those were the agreed rules of the game. You go on right ahead, start walkin', he said, and I'll be right behind'ya, because if I go at it right now, you won't make it past the front porch. And you believed him. Truly. You did. There was simply something quietly fascinating, perhaps a little daunting and curious how seriously he took this whole thing. Like it was an actual insurgence or ambush and not two lovers deliberately toying with one another. Like it wasn't mere foreplay, for lack of a better word. -"I'll just go out there and start strolling, alright?"- You carefully explain and re-explain as if though you weren't over this a hundred times before --- the whole cat and mouse thing? Needed to seem natural and spontaneous. Like you were truly someone caught unaware instead of a person genuinely chased. At first anyway. That was the impression that was meant to be projected. It was just that Robert was so very stern and grim looking you had the odd impression he already started the game, at least inside of his own mind, all while you were still here assessing the rules and preparing for it, fidgeting with your zipper, awkwardly staring out into the bosom of the forest. A distant pheasant shrieks somewhere in the bush and the sound nearly makes you shiver. God.

-"And please, come and find me soon, Bobby. I can't stand the dark."-

You borderline plead, disguising it, perhaps, as a tiny, mild mannered little joke especially once you pepper in an endearment for good measure, stepping off the threshold and across the porch, still talking to the man who hasn't even made a single move outside the house, merely assessing you, back leaning against the wooden pillar holding up the ceiling, almost casual in his body language. Something about his eyes relaying what you could only translate as him saying 'Bet' before you ran out down the trail leading into the tree lot, house becoming smaller and smaller behind you.

---

-"Robert!?"-

You call out, approximately what you could only deduce as a full hour later. Your voice echoes into the abyss, but no response comes. You vaguely pondered if bringing a wristwatch with you would make everything better or worse, but it was a moot point. You particularly cursed yourself for not having a flashlight, but you supposed you were the vulnerable, hunted party to exuberant degrees as it were. Didn't need to worsen your chances as much as you actually wanted to be caught prematurely, so Bob could take you back to the warmth of home so you could call it a night. -"You there!?"- You try again, understanding that the game wouldn't have you giving away your position this blatantly, but thing was you assumed he'd show himself sooner. After all, he's promised. Maybe he's changed his mind and you're merely being teased. You wonder. No, no. That wasn't Bob. When he set his mind to something he went through with it. This wasn't meant to be, in your mind, a chase in the woods at dusk, but you stumbling around in the dark, borderline as blind as a bat, your only relief of light coming from the half moon above head, careful steps following the pale ribbons of light squeezed through the foliage of the trees as you watched you step, the occasional dry branch or twig cracking underneath your feet, alerting an unseen hooting owl in the distance. Must've been ten at night by now, according to your vague assessment. Somehow, the gravitas of the situation settles in like a rock around your neck; if it was so scary, why was your heart thumping fast? Excited? Catching your breath on a downward slope you lean against the trunk of a nearby pine tree, leaning your back against it and using it as a momentary rest and refuge from sight. Love did make you do stupid things; if someone told you'd be in forests of Tennessee playing hide and seek with someone, you'd snort in amusement. You embrace your arms around yourself, around your torso and the jacket on it, keeping your warmth intact, imagining the hands were his. A distant echo cuts through the silence. You stir, breath hitching, calming only once you realize there was a silhouette between the pines; grazing in the distance in the moonlight, causing your shoulders to drop in relief. A deer. Just a deer that didn't notice you.

Scared the crap out of you.

It was late. You move, deciding you had to at this point, either heading further into the woods or back, towards home, following back the trail leading towards the house and hoping to God you'll run into Robert somewhere along the way only for the soul to jump out of your body, on the steep top of the precipice where the three lot started to thin above you, he was right there against the moonlit sky. You'd recognize the outline of him anywhere and before you can think, you yell, unsure if you feel happy or terrified to see him. Maybe both. How long was he there, how long was he there, long was he there and how on earth did you not hear him, your mind races, feverishly, looking for questions that didn't have any momentary answer and you feel it reflect in the way your voice comes out shivering like a leaf. -"Bob!? Where were you? I was waiting for you!"- You words crack in your throat, echoing all around you, getting no response back. -"What are you doing!?"- You inquire; sheesh, what took him so long? You watch his silhouette shift from one leg to another, leaning his weight sideways. He was about to taunt; you knew that stance. You knew that body language. It's just that you couldn't predict what he was going to say next no matter how cognizant you were of his mannerisms.

-"Deer huntin'."- He drawls candidly, stepping forward and shit ---

If you run, you run on pure instinct.

Your legs simply take off from under you like they were operating with a mind and a will of their own, rushing through a maze of trees, bushes and branches, making decisions independently from your brain and the rest of your body, giving you no time to process anything but the primal survival instinct that told you to flee. Flee as far as you can. You loved him. You understood that. But every atom in your body carried you as fast as it could out of there to the degree you couldn't even stop yourself. Even if you wanted to. If someone stopped you there and then to ask you if this was still only foreplay or if you were truly running from Robert Barnes you were convinced you'd have no precise answer to give with a head full of white static and noise, hearing his footsteps behind you loud and clear and swearing that it couldn't be him; must've been the frantic beating of your own heart in your chest, in your head, in your ears. The Robert you knew was too quiet for this. A moment of distraction is all that it takes. The sleeve of your jacket gets harshly tangled into a sharp branch, and with a volatile tug, the material rips, taking the fabric of your shirt with it along with some of your skin. You're scratched. You're bleeding. But, you're still running. The tattered remains of your jacket remain hanging limply and in tatters from a nearby pinecone riddled bough. Shit, shit, shit --- the pain's intense, even with all the adrenaline pumping through your system.

-"Mhmm-hmm! Lettin'ya flag get captured, girl."-

You hear him from behind you gloating like he knew something you didn't, almost humming in contentment, and when your own frenzy briefly allows you to throw back a glance across your shoulder, Robert's there, standing some twenty odd feet behind you, the dark outline of him anyway, holding up the remains of your sleeve like they're a trophy. He either moved like the wind, soundless and as fast as a hurricane or you were much slower than all of this subjectively felt and your mind was playing tricks on you. He could've caught up to you right now, you concluded, but he didn't want to. He wanted to hunt. You envied that deer from earlier just now, grazing in the dewy forest grass. Envied and understood it. Wanted to be quite as lithe and fast it probably was and slip into the night, never to be found again. The only thing that slows you down is the burning sensation stemming from your scratch; the fact that the blood was trickling down your elbow and that you could feel it pooling in your coiled fist, dripping down into the foliage. You stumble back like a wounded domestic animal, forehead lined with cold sweat. You ain't got no fuel or air left in you. You breathe, loud and ragged and desperately fast only to find him there, leisurely striding in your direction down from the hill, inspecting a blood stained piece of cloth with pursed lips like the sight of it almost entertained him in ways you couldn't comprehend.

He dips his finger into the bloodstained material, maintaining eye contact.

Bringing it up to his face and drawing a straight crimson line across his cheek.

Slowly, almost leisurely, like he wasn't in a tremendous hurry whatsoever.

Then repeating the exact motion with the scarred side of his face.

It was makeshift warpaint.

Warpaint made out of your blood.

A trophy made out of your own sleeve tucked promptly into his belt.

-"Bob, you're scaring me."-

You gulp hard, you exposed bit of skin erupting in goosebumps as you were holding up your hands defensively, speaking as fast and as firmly as your hyperventilation and lack of breath allowed you, catching yourself flying. It was a bold faced lie and you knew it even as it was spoken. Or perhaps a half-lie at best. You weren't just scared. You were aching. You were aching to stop running, walk towards him, give yourself up and let him do whatever he wanted with you here and now and be wholly content doing so, which was mad. It was insane. He was the most horrifying sight you've ever seen so to want this meant that, the way Robert himself would put it, you've gone dinky dau. Totally unhinged. You wanted to escape and never return here again just a second ago. Now you wanted him to fuck you. Were was the logic in any of this? God forbid some trekkers, mountaineers or hunters come this way and spot this scene; they'd think you're both unhinged or that you're about to be murdered. -"Hell's bells, so run, then, if'ya so scared."- He shoots back and judging by the harshness of his voice you felt like he was giving you an order and disbelieving you at the same time. It's like your mind's been read; he knew how turned on you were right now and how guilty you felt about not feeling guilty about it. -"You're talkin' the talk and not walkin' the walk, darlin'."- And there it is; he's taunting you again, stepping forward soundlessly, hit by a ray of moonlight, faced adorned with your own blood. He was right. You could've started running again by now, instead, you were here listening to his soliloquy, mesmerized. -"I'd reckon,"- He begins. -"y 'thought it'll be all fun an' games out'ere and the fact that it ain' made'ya feel alive."- There it is; hitting the nail right on its head, as always. At that point, you feel your thighs practically pulsate with need, your lurching guts tying themselves into a million tiny knots. -"And you want me for all my horrible self."- He tilts his head smugly. You were like a deer in the headlights. Just bleeding and not even being able to deny what he was saying. You were prey wanting to get caught. -"You ain' 'fraid of the dark neither. You thrive in this shit."- He takes your very own words, reformulating them and so deep is his influence that only once he tells you, and you know the words are coming, do you actually start sprinting again.

God, what did he do to you?

He was in charge of your very soul. You were literally obeying commands.

Robert wasn't hunting wild, untamed big game tonight.

He was hunting his domesticated, well-trained house pet he personally set loose.

-"Go on. Run, bun. I know y'love me."-

He quips with a hard, raspy baritone that shakes the forest and you attempt to run finding yourself clumsily stumbling about instead through the bushes, practically sobbing up; exhausted, hurt, burned out, you practically hear yourself whimper with every move. He catches you. Does so effortlessly. Could have done so ten times by now, but the fact he does it now when you're weakest sends a little wail past your quivering lip. -"No!"- You sniffle as his hand halts you in your tracks mid-movement practically having your whole body haul itself back like you were lighter to him than a feather, his index finger and thumb holding you right above your bleeding scratch; you hiss instinctively, captured. The last feeling in the long list of sensations you needed now was pain.

-"Oh, god, please."-

You moan, begging as he lifts the arm he had his vice grip around up, poking the wound with an index finger, almost as if inspecting it, or perhaps intending to cause you some unease in a bout of sadistic inspiration, no more than you could handle, right before he leaned his head down with eyes still on you in the dark like daggers, taking his mouth to the blood and sucking on it, tasting you, hot saliva cleaning away the dried ichor of your fresh scar and whatever specks of dust and dirty got caught in the surface like it meant nothing to him. You throb and your mouth parts as you cry out, more so when he lets go, done with savoring, hands around your waist once your back gets pressed into the trunk of a nearby pine tree, held in place by him, causing you to go lightheaded with exhaustion, never even noticing he's wrapped your own ripped sleeve tucked into his belt around your gash instead of a bandage or that his other hand produced a knife, doing away your sweat drenched, wet blouse, cutting it down the middle with a ripping sound no differently than cutting through paper, using his knee pushed between your legs to keep you from falling over, maintaining your thighs parted. You were certain you were as wet as a person can be by now. The prey's been caught.

He kisses you rough enough to bruise, all grunts and desire.

A kiss with the aroma of rust and metal; the lingering aftertaste of blood.

Leaving you no space to breathe.

You moan into the contact, your blood smeared over his face smearing back unto yours along with the potent cocktail of his sweat mingled with yours, feeling his hands everywhere, rough, heavy and calloused; ripping at the thin strap the held your bra together in the front, on your throat, squeezing, around your waist, pulling by the hair and yanking back rough, grabbing your jawline, puckering your face up, biting your cheek and leaving behind teeth marks you could feel like he really intended to fucking eat you alive, not a bit of finesse or poise to him, bloodshot, feral eyes glazed over, angry yet blank, seeing the moon and nothing but yourself reflected in them, finding his stare simultaneously hollow and beaming with something primordial. Around these parts people used to gossip how sometimes, if you look carefully enough, that Barnes guy, as they called him, had eyes that shine red in the dark and right about now, you believed them regardless of how much you never enjoyed them talking shit about your man, the rut that ensues being rough, crude and quick --- hungry --- without preparation or maybe this --- all of this --- was all the preparation you needed as he fucks you against the dark pine bark, back scraping against its surface. You were a hole. Just a hole for him. In this neck of the woods, here and now, anyway.

Would you be able to walk or stand up straight after this?

You had to wonder.

Probably not seemed like a plausible answer.

-"You animal."-

You whimper and gasp as you're grabbed with both arms, practically thrown on the grass, him standing over you, his legs on either side of his body as he loomed with his head against the pitch black sky, your clothes torn, flesh exposed here and there and everywhere for him. He was magnificent. Holding his cock in his hand pulled out through the zipper of his slacks and undone belt buckles like it was a barrel of a rifle about to shoot. Appearing like he wasn't offended by the moniker that slipped past your lips unwittingly, more as a statement of the truth than an actual tease; in fact, he smiles even though he smiled so rarely, his scars embossed into the surface of his skin reflecting the pale light of the moon, making his face appear like it was smashed to pieces, centered only by his teeth on display, still red from the blood he practically drank from you. He kneels over you as you catch your breath from being hauled down as you were, spreading your legs even further, deciding it seems he prefered to have you on the cold hard ground, rather than standing up. Your feeling, aching fingers coil into the dirt, bracing yourself. Deer about to be slaughtered and displayed above the mantlepiece. Bob? An animal? More like a whole zoo. This was going to be a long night. He leans down with his visage still drawn out with the scarlet fingerpainting camouflage for a second time, speaking so closely to you you feel his breath in your nostrils caressing you, all heat, liquor and nicotine. His tongue proceeding to trace the inside of his cheek like he was itching to chew into his own flesh, spitting on the nearby soil, frustrated and wild,

Right next to where your jacket lay discarded and forgotten by the root of an old tree.

Places his hand covering nearly your entire face against your mouth.

He liked doing that as a habit from time to time, containing your moans and screams and keeping them all to himself, like he didn't like to share even the faintest echo of your desire with the world, letting it wash against the skin of the palm of his hand like a muffled, trapped cry instead; not unlike something he could close around his fist and keep like a tangible thing long after he's done with your body. It was his. All his. Every part of you was. Your soul and the very breath in your lungs.

-"Animal?"-

His expression is raw, lips crooked to the side as he cocks his head.

-"Darlin', you ain' never seen what an animal is. Not half of it."-

[deliciousangelfestival]

Flour Power - End

Character: Amnesia!Bucky x Baker!Female Character

Summary: A baker helps a stranger, only to discover that this individual not only aids the bakery but also brings trouble along with him

A/N: Because Bucky got amnesia, his name was temporarily changed to Bob.

Chap 1, Chap 2 , End.

Main Masterlist || support: Ko-fi

Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Leave a comment and Reblog, please. I'd love to hear your thoughts. ❤️

The closed sign had been placed at the door, signaling the end of another busy day at the bakery. With the customers gone, only the four of you remained, gathered around a table in the dimly lit interior.

You poured a steaming cup of tea for the newcomer, who had introduced himself as Steve. His gaze lingered on Bob, who seemed unfazed by the attention.

"He got amnesia? No wonder why he doesn't remember me," Steve remarked, his tone tinged with a mixture of concern and disappointment.

You nodded in understanding, acknowledging the gravity of Bob's situation. "So, his real name is Bucky?" you inquired, seeking clarification.

Steve nodded solemnly. "His nickname. His real name is James Buchanan Barnes," he confirmed, his voice tinged with a hint of nostalgia.

"Ooh," you and Tammy exclaimed simultaneously, sharing a moment of realization. The revelation of Bob's true identity added a layer of depth to his enigmatic persona, and the name James Buchanan Barnes seemed to suit him far better than the simple moniker of "Bob."

Steve looked at Bucky, his expression resembling that of someone who had reunited with a long-lost friend. "You don't remember me?" he asked, his voice tinged with a hint of sadness.

Bucky remained silent for a moment before he shook his head.

Steve let out a heavy sigh, his shoulders sagging with disappointment. "Did they do something to your brain?" he murmured, his concern evident in his tone.

Confused by the exchange, you interjected, seeking clarity. "What do you mean? Who exactly is Bucky?" you inquired, your curiosity piqued by the cryptic conversation.

Steve took a sip of his tea before fixing his gaze on you and Tammy, his eyes bearing a warning look that sent a shiver down your spine.

"You have to keep every word that comes out of my mouth a secret," he cautioned, his voice low and serious.

You and Tammy exchanged uneasy glances before slowly nodding in agreement, understanding the gravity of the situation.

As you watched Steve, you couldn't help but feel a sense of foreboding, realizing that there was more to Bucky's past than met the eye.

Steve explained, "Me and Bucky are black agents. To put it simply, we're always sent on off-the-record missions."

Tammy whispered in awe, "Woah, that's cool."

You glanced at Bucky, a newfound understanding dawning on you. No wonder he was so talented—he possessed a multitude of skills.

Steve sighed heavily. "Bucky has an excellent success record. But suddenly, we couldn't locate his whereabouts for a year."

As Steve spoke, you couldn't help but recall the doctor's words about Bucky's condition—wounds from bullets and knives, along with poison in his blood. The extent of his suffering weighed heavily on your mind.

Instinctively, you reached out and placed your palm on Bucky's hand, offering him a silent gesture of comfort and support. You couldn't imagine the pain he had endured.

Feeling the warmth of your touch, Bucky looked up and offered you a grateful smile, his eyes reflecting a mixture of gratitude and resilience.

Steve observed the interaction with keen interest, his gaze shifting between you and Bucky. It was clear that he recognized the bond that had formed between you, and his expression softened slightly, acknowledging the depth of your connection.

Steve cleared his throat before speaking, his tone serious. "So, me and the others have been searching everywhere for Bucky. Then our facial recognition system gave us an alert that Bucky is still alive."

Tammy chimed in enthusiastically, addressing Bucky directly. "Isn't that great, Bob? Oops, sorry, Bucky. You found your friend."

You couldn't help but feel a pang of anxiety as you processed Steve's words. "Does that mean you want to take Bucky home? I forgot to ask, does he have family?" you asked, your voice tinged with concern.

Steve shook his head solemnly. "No, this man is a loner," he replied, his expression grave.

A sense of relief washed over you at Steve's response, though you couldn't quite pinpoint why.

"If Bucky wants, I want to bring him back to the team," said Steve.

"No," Bucky replied firmly, catching everyone off guard with his quick response.

Sensing the tension in the air, you attempted to diffuse the situation. "Perhaps he still doesn't trust you yet. Give it some time," you suggested, offering a reassuring smile.

Steve fell silent for a moment, contemplating your words. "I understand. I'll come back another time," he conceded, his tone tinged with disappointment.

Steve rose from his seat, straightened his suit, and left a generous tip on the table. He glanced at you and Tammy with gratitude. "Thank you for saving my friend," he said before exiting the shop.

You watched as Steve's figure disappeared from view, noting the dejected expression on his face.

Turning to Bucky, you found that he had already slipped away to the kitchen, his departure as silent as his footsteps. It dawned on you that his training as a black agent had instilled in him the need for stealth and discretion.

Meanwhile, Tammy chimed in with a playful remark. "That Steve guy is handsome," she commented, breaking the solemn atmosphere with her lighthearted observation.

🗡️

At the back door, Bucky stood like a silent sentinel, his gaze fixed on the darkness beyond as he prepared to take out the trash.

As he moved to re-enter the bakery, a sound caught his attention, causing him to pause. Instinctively, he closed the door behind him and turned to face the dark alley. "Come out," he called out calmly, his voice betraying no hint of fear.

From the shadows emerged a figure, slowly materializing into the form of Steve. Without warning, Steve hurled a knife toward Bucky.

With reflexes honed by years of training, Bucky caught the knife effortlessly, his expression unchanged by the sudden attack.

Steve smirked, a glint of recognition in his eyes. "I knew it. From the moment you said 'No,' I knew you were still the same old Bucky."

"Why do you keep pretending not to remember?" Steve questioned, his tone tinged with frustration.

Bucky remained silent, his fingers tracing the contours of the knife as he pondered his response. "I like it here," he finally replied, his voice devoid of emotion.

Steve's expression softened, a pang of sadness flickering across his features. "Why?" he pressed gently.

"No torture, no one waking me up with waterboarding. Nice place, good food, good friends," Bucky explained, his words belying the memories of the trauma he had endured.

Steve's heart ached at the reminder of Bucky's suffering. "When did your memories start to come back?" he inquired, his concern evident in his voice.

Bucky's gaze turned distant as he recalled the moment. "When the burglar hit my head with a baseball bat," he replied quietly, the memories resurfacing with painful clarity.

Steve looked at Bucky with a mixture of concern and understanding. "I can't believe you went through all of that alone. Do you want to tell me what happened?"

Bucky simply shook his head. "No."

Steve couldn't push it further. He knew Bucky was a quiet person. If he said no, there was nothing that could change his mind.

Steve drew closer, resting a comforting hand on Bucky's shoulder. "I'm going to sound heartless right now, but can you tell me about the situation with the syndicate?" he asked gently, his concern evident in his voice.

Bucky's gaze remained distant as he replied, his tone tinged with resignation. "Everything has turned to dust," he murmured, the weight of his words heavy with the memory of the battles he had fought.

Steve's eyes widened in disbelief. He couldn't fathom that Bucky, alone and unaided, had brought down the nefarious syndicate.

"That's... incredible," he breathed, struggling to find words adequate to express his astonishment.

"You could stay here forever. Your sacrifice will be rewarded," he added solemnly, his respect for his friend evident in his voice.

"But are you going to keep lying to them? Especially to the owner?" Steve questioned, his voice tinged with concern. He noticed how Bucky looked at you, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes.

Bucky's expression remained impassive as he replied, his tone resigned. "It's for the best," he affirmed, knowing that the truth would only bring more pain and complications.

Steve nodded in understanding, his gaze lingering on Bucky for a moment before he turned to walk away. "I'll arrange your reward as soon as possible," he promised, his voice fading into the night as he disappeared from view.

Bucky watched as Steve walked away, feeling a sense of gratitude that his friend had been searching for him. Deep down, he was glad that Steve and the team had never given up on finding him.

Despite this, the pain from the torture he had endured made Bucky prefer to leave it all behind. He was grateful for the amnesia he had, as it gave him the chance to forget the pain he had experienced.

With a sigh, Bucky turned and walked back inside the bakery.

Turns out, you were waiting for him. "It's alright if you still don't remember, Bucky. You can stay here as long as you want."

Bucky felt his heart warm when he heard that. You were the person with the biggest heart.

"Yoo... I'm ordering pizza. What topping do you guys want?" Tammy suddenly appeared.

Bucky chuckled. In this place, the only place he could feel family warmth that he never had.

🌅

The next morning, Steve greeted you and Bucky with a bright smile as you both rubbed the sleep from your eyes.

"Good Morning!"

"What are you doing here so early?" Bucky asked, still trying to wake up fully.

"I wanted to give you back your old bike," Steve replied, his smile widening. "And I have something to show you both."

Confused, you and Bucky followed Steve outside, where the quiet street was suddenly disrupted by the wail of a police siren. A police car screeched to a halt in front of Rick's bakery shop.

"What's going on?" you asked, bewildered.

Steve explained, his expression serious. "It turns out the person who hired the burglar to destroy your shop is him," he said, pointing at Rick, who looked confused as he was dragged away by the police.

"That explains a lot," Bucky muttered, his expression darkening.

"He was jealous of your shop and had debts," Steve continued. "That's why he wanted to ruin your place so all the customers would go to his bakery instead."

Realization dawned on you, and you turned to Steve with gratitude in your eyes. "Did you tip off the police?" you asked.

Steve nodded proudly. "Consider it my way of showing gratitude to you. You helped my friend, and I'm here to help you."

You couldn't help but admire Steve's loyalty and friendship. "You have a great friend," you said, looking at Bucky. "Too bad you still don't remember him."

Bucky tensed at your words, shooting a warning glance at Steve, who simply smiled in response.

Despite Bucky's unease, Steve remained unfazed. "It's okay," Steve reassured, patting Bucky on the back. "You'll remember eventually."

Bucky didn't respond, his gaze distant as he watched Rick being escorted into the police car.

After the commotion had settled, Steve turned to you both. "Now, about that bike..."

As Steve handed Bucky the old bike, you couldn't help but feel a sense of gratitude towards him. Despite the challenges and uncertainties, it was comforting to know that you had someone like Steve on your side.

With Rick's scheme exposed and dealt with, you felt a weight lift off your shoulders. Perhaps now you could focus on rebuilding the bakery and moving forward.

As Steve bid farewell and left, you and Bucky exchanged a glance, silently acknowledging the bond that had formed between you.

"Looks like things are finally starting to look up," you said with a smile.

Bucky returned the smile, a hint of warmth in his eyes. "Yeah, they are."

As the sun began to rise, its gentle rays illuminated your face, casting a warm glow that seemed to banish the shadows of his past.

At that moment, gazing upon you, bathed in the light of the sunrise, felt like an answer to the nightmares he had endured.

Being here with you was enough to make him forget the torment of his past.

Together, you headed back inside the bakery, ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead, knowing that you had each other for support.

-End-

Taglist:💙🩷

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Author Note: Hey friends,

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Your support through tips would mean the world and help me keep creating.

Only if you feel like it!

Here's the link: Ko-fi

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[ultralightpoe]

ULTRALIGHT HALLOWEEN EVENT 2024

HAPPY HALLOWEEN WEEKEND! Stories will be posted from the 31st to the evening of the 3rd! A little forewarning some of these are full blown imagines and some are cheap blurbs! I hope you all have fun and had a safe Halloween!

Requests for other stories are OPEN

Check out my MAIN MASTERLIST HERE

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ENJOY!!!!

The Bride - Bucky Barnes [Marvel]

Murder Mystery - Jake Seresin [Top Gun]

Trick Or Treat - Bob Floyd [Top Gun]

Masked Games - Gwayne Hightower [House of the Dragon]

Ghost Girl - Steve Harrington [Stranger Things]

In The Deck - Patrick Zweig [Challengers]

Masked Martyrs - Finnick Odair [Hunger Games]

Blood Runs Cold -Geralt of Rivia [The Witcher]

Scream Queen - Eddie Munson [Stranger Things]

The Hex Hold - Art Donaldson [Challengers]

Ghost Tours and Ghost Towns - Boone [Twisters]

Scarring - Coriolanus Snow [Hunger Games]

Last Ones Standing - Eddie Munson [Stranger Things]

Scary Stories To Tell In The Dark - Tyler Owens [Twisters]

Escape The Night - Bob Floyd [Top Gun]

Pots and Potions - Steve Rogers [Marvel]

More to come tomorrow and sunday!

[moki-dokie]

rating the birds in my backyard on their tendency towards violence

@luulapants inspired me to make a bird post as well. we should talk about our local dinosaurs more! (not including the same birds from their post we also have here)

great-tailed grackle 7/10 physical violence is not how you guys operate. you wage mental warfare with a barrage of unending noises on the most annoying frequency imaginable to man. also some of you have mastered mimicry in the wild and this is simply too much power for a beast like you to wield. (similar to the common grackle but infinitely more annoying)

american kestrel 3/10 she's beauty, she's grace, she'll smack an eagle in the face. fearless and skilled little predator that delights me every time i get to see one. bit more secretive than other raptors tho.

red-tailed hawk -1/10 a majestic cry that always gets used for eagles in voiceovers, absolutely stunning, and a staple of the midwest and west but... baby ain't got a single braincell. head empty. mobbed on the regular by birds a tenth their size. i've personally watched a single sparrow harass one for 30 minutes before it gave up and ran away. can't steal shit to save its own life. scared of everything ever. they're basically horses of the birds of prey, if horses were a little less psychotic.

mallard duck 1/10 just little dudes doing their own thing. females can get a little aggro when nesting thats about it. sometimes pushy when food is involved. otherwise just chill, beautiful guys. but do me a solid, my web-footed friends? stop fucking nesting in my garden!! i don't like stressing you out when i'm tending to it!!

northern bobwhite (quail) -5000000/10 you're doing great sweetie just keep doing what you're doing. bob-bobwhite amirite

red-winged blackbird 4/10 you lot have a scare tactic technique that sparrows wish they had by just squaring up in numbers and looking fabulous while doing so. no notes.

eastern bluebird 0/10 they've literally never done anything ever wrong. perfection. little fairies but without all the deviousness. absolute cuteness. a blessing to be in ones presence.

scissor-tailed flycatcher 9/10 ahhh yes our stunning state bird. the herald of summer. the graceful acrobatic dancer. the beautiful singer. the brutal serial killer of all things insect. watching them 'hunt' is spectacular. one of the few birds that can hover. they're deadly accurate. almost exclusively capture their prey mid-air. but sometimes they'll get a bug too big to snipe on wing and do you know what they do in that case? they'll take it to their perch and beat it to death. remarkable.

carolina chickadee 4/10 don't let their round sweetness deceive you. they are full of spite and precisely zero fear. will absolutely pick on birds twenty times their size. small man syndrome.

mourning dove 0/10 hwoo hoo hoo hoo?

bald eagle, 2/10 WHAT are you doing this far south sir. we are landlocked my guy. the ocean is that way. big rivers and lakes are the other way. certainly there cannot be enough fish for you here!! surprisingly docile, for a giant raptor.

golden eagle 10/10 he'll eat your dog in front of you and then fuck your wife while maintaining eye contact with you the entire time. everything is afraid of this motherfucker.

great egret 0/10 they're chill and serenity incarnate. and their smaller cattle cousins are exactly the same. their size is the only thing intimidating about them. fuckers are HUGE

american goldfinch 3/10 food aggressive, mostly. lovely to look at. they really like to bitch up a storm tho.

california gull 90000000/10 nature's biggest asshole. we don't even have large bodies of water here. get out.

hummingbirds, all (ruby-throated pictured) 10/10 they choose violence every waking moment. god help you if you've forgotten to refill a nectar feeder. all they know is speed, feed, make things bleed.

barn swallow 9/10 Do Not Go Near The Nest. willing and able to peck you to death.

baltimore oriole 1/10 goofy guys with a great sense of fashion and one of the prettiest songs. they're just here to flirt and have a good time

greater roadrunner 3/10 i love our mini velociraptors so much i dare not speak ill of them. also one of the few birds that fuck outside of the need to reproduce. hell yeah my dudes get it on you freaky little dinos.

northern mockingbird 5/10 i think these guys are on par with how the europeans feel about magpies. they don't really steal shit, but they will, like grackles, commit psychological warfare by being the most annoying little shit possible. and sometimes they're bold enough to chase you. their hatred of cats outweighs their sense of self-preservation, too. they will get into a metaphorical fist fight with a cat. and win, usually.

eastern meadowlark 6/10 i know our prairies are awfully tempting to go frolicking in but unless you crave an unusual death that involves being relentlessly shrieked at with drive-by stabbings, i wouldn't recommend it. these guys are lurking in the tall grass, just waiting to fuck up your day.

black vulture 1/10 slightly smaller than their red-faced cousin, way more common here, and so so chill. they're all bark and no bite, unless you're roadkill. is one in the road blocking you from passing because he's chowing down on a dead opossum? go around, bitch. you are not important enough for him to get out of the way.

wild turkey 11/10 (males) female turkeys are pretty cool. they can be a bit Extra but generally they just want to eat. males, however. males would love nothing more but to beat you to death and then take a shit on your corpse. persistent. unyielding. once you have become a target your only hope is getting in a car and quickly driving away. if they don't beat the shit out of your car first, that is.

desert cardinal 2/10 these guys are great. they're not even supposed to be here. i always mistake them for female cardinals at first. about the same temperament as normal cardinals. they're weird but everyone seems to be okay with them.

great horned owl 8/10 so, so stupid and yet so spiteful. not a great combo. so ironic owls are the posterchild of wise when they're perhaps one of the dumbest birds of prey. its a wonder they haven't stupided their way into extinction. only thing this idiot has going for it is being so photogenic and has the most creepy mood-setting song ever.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Silver Lining 2

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

Characters: silverfox!Bucky Barnes

Summary: You have an unpleasant encounter with an older man.

Note: I was going to add this to the bookstore au but realised Bucky is a side character in Steve’s and not old so….

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.

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.

You leave the cafe with your lukewarm cup. You were so anxious you'd almost forgot about the pepperminty goodness. You sip, slightly disappointed in the temperature. Still, it's yummy and you have your bag of books in hand. The day has been a mild success.

You walk along the icy pavement, the season nipping at your cheeks. Most people complain about the snow but it's your favorite. You don't drive so you don't worry for a slippery commute, you have your heavy-treaded doc martens and a downy coat.

You head down Ironwood hoping to catch a streetcar car only to find it skimming past. You sigh and drop your shoulders. You could use the exercise and it would be so bad as long as the path behind Jerry's Submarines isn't snowed over.

You cut through to the next street along a short alley and hop over the bank between the sidewalk and the road. As you do, you slip and stumble, a pair of headlights turning just as you fall into the street. I long fearsome honk blows in your ears.

You whip around to face the driver, raising your hand in an apologetic wave. Not the smartest move but the street isn't usually that busy. You brows pop up as you recognize behind the wheel. Oh boy. Not again.

You skitter away hoping he didn't recognise you too. That very same man who invaded your personal bubble and insulted your taste. Lisa doesn't believe it when you say you're cursed but it's hard to deny from your vantage point.

You get to the other side and keep your head straight, marching away without looking back. He drives by slowly past your peripheral and you dip onto the path, letting out a breath. Alright, no way you'll see that jerk again.

There's a blanket if snow over the path but not enough to deter you. You kick through the powder as you bob to the music in your earbud. You know, Mariah Carey's non-Christmas tunes aren't too shabby either.

You come out on Orchard, sipping your mellowed candy cane cocoa and swing the paper bag carelessly. You could start your podcast. You have more than enough resources now and the new books will be the cherry on top.

As you stride along Orchard towards Cornish, a car door opens and shuts. You don't see the figure before you until they step over the curve and nearly take you off your feet. You drop your cup, spilling what's left of the cold hot chocolate.

“Oh, oof, d-dude–” you sputter out as the liquid drips down your lilac docs.

“Dude?” The man grips the bag in his left hand, his other opening and closing in a tight fist. No way.

“Ew,” you let out the syllable without filter.

“Ew?” He eyes you head to toe.

“Y-yeah, y-y-you're following me.”

“Following?” He growls, “you girls sure do have quite the imagination these days.”

“B-b-but… you saw me….g-go down the path.”

“I wasn't even looking at you, doll,” he scoffs.

“D-d-doll?” You scowl.

“Oh, don't even--I could call you worse.”

“L-leave me a-alone,” you back up, gripping the wire handle of the shopping bag tightly.

“Happily,” he sneers, “I have a job so get out of my way.”

He shoulders past you, harshly. Your trads slip on the salted walk as you grunt and turn to eatch him strut towards the house just a few feet down. You rub the sore spot left by his gruff impact.

You shake your head a leave, thinking better of shouting ‘old man’ at his back. You probably shouldn't antagonize him. So you spin and tuck your hands into your pockets and carry on.

Your street is only a few blocks away. By then, you've almost forgotten about the strange encounters. The closer you get to the haven of your bedroom, the more excited you are to crack open your new books.

Your parents house is trimmed in bright coloured lights and the lawn decorated with plastic candy canes and full entourage of fake reindeer. The familiarity of your childhood home is both comforting and stagnating. You can't believe you're still here.

You go inside, leaving your wet boots on the mat as your mother calls your stepdads name from the kitchen. You unzip your coat and hang it on the rack mounted against the wall. You reclaim your bag of books and make your way to the front room.

“Dean,” your mom calls again as she appears in the hall, peering in after you, “oh it's you.���

“Just me,” you drone and continue towards the stairs. You stop at the bottom, “mom,” she keeps from retreating and looks back at you, “need help?”

“Oh, no honey, I almost got it figured out. So, how's the job hunt?”

You try to smile. Oh, that. You can't live off severance forever and the settlement is never going to happen.

“Good,” you lie, shifting the bag behind your hands.

Maybe you should be a bit more prudent. It's an investment, for your podcast. You just need to figure out how to record. And how not to stutter every other word.

You're only thirty. You have time to smooth out details. Don't you?

You turn and plod up the stairs and into your bedroom. The clutter greets you along with the nest of blankets tangled in your bed. What are you even thinking? You can hardly keep your room tidy.

It's not your fault. Your mom says so. Lisa too. But it has to be. You had it all, a good job, a nice apartment, independence. You blew it all. If you'd just kept your mouth shut.

But wasn't that the problem? Isn't that why you're getting therapy? So you can speak up next time. So there won't be a next time.

You sniff and sit at the desk, adding the bag to the mess. You hang your head in the darkness as the snow reflects the sheen of street lights through the window. It takes time, Lisa says, but you feel it running out.

[missacidburn928s-heathenhideaway]

Don't care if it sounds cold. It is, what it is.

Bucky x POC!Reader, Ex!Steve x POC!Reader

Wordcount: 1394

Summary:

Steve returns 3 years after he left for the past. Wanting the life he had with you before back without consequence. Too bad you’ve moved on with someone he least expected.

Warnings:

Angst and Feels, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Domestic Fluff, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Steve Rogers Feels, Hurt Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes Feels, Protective Bucky Barnes, Exes, Sad and Sweet, Sweet Bucky Barnes, Moving On, Lovers to Friends, Friends to Lovers, Abandonment, Domestic Avengers

Notes:

Hello Heathens! Woke up feeling angsty, with a mighty need to finish this dialogue heavy drabble I started last week. Happy reading!

You’re preparing lunch in your modest kitchen, singing and dancing along to the music flowing from your bluetooth speaker, when there’s a knock on the door. Knowing Bucky can easily hear it and you're currently preoccupied you leave him the task of answering it. You listen to the door opening and murmurs of speech for a couple moments before it closes again and two sets of footsteps can be heard heading your way.

“Sam, what have I told you about at least texting before you come over.” You look up from the island, expecting to find a grinning Falcon before you but are caught off guard by the imposing form standing under the archway. “Steven?”

“Hey, doll.” He takes a step forward as you close your eyes, shaking your head to relieve you from the vivid hallucination that is taking up space in your home. It isn’t until Bucky places his cool metal hand on top of yours, giving it a squeeze, that you dare to open them again. 

“What are you doing here? And most importantly why ? You went after your happily ever after. You shouldn't be here.”  You blurt out, disbelief showing on your face. Bucky without hesitation makes his way to your side of the island, showing his support and making sure to be within arms reach if you need him. 

“It wasn’t quite as happy as I imagined it would be.” You watch his adams apple bob as he swallows. “All I wanted for so long was to have a do over with Peggy. So the first chance I had to fulfill that dream, I took it.” He places his hands on the island. “It was good at the beginning, but I couldn’t get you out of my head.” He locks eyes with you. “We barely spent any time together after a while. She was always working. Trying to better the world, leaving me alone with my memories of you. I found myself seeking out pieces of you in her. They always fell short. No one loved me like you. I wanted that back. So I decided I needed to come home.”

You take a deep breath to calm yourself, tears brimming your eyes as you hand Steve a dose of painful truths. "What we had was special Steven. I'll admit that. But it wasn't enough for you. I wasnt enough for you. Your head was always full of the what ifs. Your heart was never fully mine to begin with. I thought that as time went on, that my portion was growing in size. How wrong was I to believe such things.” A lone tear falls from your eyes. 

“I'm a firm believer of actions speaking louder than words. You leaving me behind for a chance with her that day was all the reality I needed. It broke me. You broke me. Honestly if it weren't for Bucky, Sam and Clint’s family I don’t think I would have had the will to endure all that pain. I wanted the ground to swallow me up. I wanted to not exist so I wouldn't have to feel the pain of being abandoned for a ghost of your past. I was real, Steve. I was there. I gave you the pieces of me I hadn't shared with anyone else before and you took all of that for granted. And now you're back and expect that love to still remain intact.” 

Your heartache seeps through your words, coating it in poisonous barbs, to protect what remains of the vulnerable organ. Bucky, your lover and loyal protector, moves in closer, wrapping his flesh arm around your waist, grounding you. “You have got to be kidding me. Even if I wasnt with Bucky, I wouldn’t take you back. Not after 3 years and having to rebuild myself. My standards have changed and you don’t meet them anymore.”

It’s as if your words delivered a swift punch to the gut for him as he lashes out with vitriol lacing his tongue. “And he does? My best friend. I always knew you had feelings for her. You couldn't wait to swoop in as soon as I was gone could you.” He has a white knuckle grip on the marble as he stares down the man he’s always trusted with his life.

Bucky just nods his head in disbelief as he replies. “I'm the bad guy, Steve, really?” He pulls you in closer to his side, done with the niceties. “If you must know. We didn't even broach anything near romantic until almost a year after you left us BOTH behind.” 

He clenches his jaw as he gets that possessive glint in his eyes and you know he’s not going to hold back. “When it finally happened, a natural progression if you will, there was no turning back. She became mine, as I became hers. It was fucking magical. She always came for me. On my fingers. On my tongue. Clamped tight around my cock like a vice. Squeezing the life out of me.” He husks, ghosting his metal fingers across your collarbone. “I helped her forget about the pain you caused when you left her behind for the past. I gave her an outlet for that agony. We sank into the darkness of our loneliness together. Don’t tell me that didnt mean something. Don’t be that daft Rogers. Our love for each other is bone deep.”

Steve stares at the both of you, a loss for words.

“Mama” comes over the monitor sitting behind you on the counter. You turn to see your daughter standing in her crib having woken from her nap. She continues on trying to get your attention, “Mama”, “Dada” the only words you can make out from the babble.

“I’ll get her.” Bucky kisses your temple and proceeds down the hall.

“You have a baby?” Steve chokes. “How old?”

“She’s 15 months old.” You state.

“So, she’s not mine.” He whispers out.

“Not a chance pal. She’s all mine.” Bucky beams as he walks back into the kitchen, your daughter Amara on his hip.

“You never wanted kids with me Steve. Certainly not towards the end. Why would you think she was yours?” You ask.

“Wishful thinking I guess.” He looks over at the sweet cherub face cuddling up against her fathers chest. “She’s beautiful.”

“Bug, want to say hello?” Bucky asks his daughter, a hand running up and down her back.

The toddler eyes Steve and squeaks out a “Hi.”

“Hello sweetness. You look just like your Mama, but with your Dada’s eyes. Such a lucky girl.” You watch as his shoulders slump. “I screwed up royally. I acted before thinking, once again, and look at what it cost me. Everything I ever really wanted was always right here with you and now I’m going to have to watch it from the sidelines instead of being the one to share them with you.” A lone tear rolls down his cheek. 

He wipes it away. “I know it’s not much, especially now. But for what it’s worth, I’m Sorry. Truly and deeply.”

“I know you are Steve.” You reassure him.

“We both do.” Bucky adds.

“I don’t hold it against you, ya know.” You impart, placing a hand on his. “If you didn't put me through all of that pain I never would have ended up here, with a life I never could have dreamt of. It’s not perfect, but that’s the point. It works for us and we’re happy. This home is full of so much love and communication. I had to be knocked down to know what I really needed in life. The things I wouldn't settle for. The things I deserved. I hope you can find that one day Steve. I really do.”

“Thanks, doll. I’m pretty sure that ship has officially sailed for me though.” He straightens himself out, Captain persona put back in place.

You give Bucky a look as he places Amara in her highchair. You can’t leave Steve in this state. No matter the pain he caused all of you, there is still love in your heart for him. “Stevie, would you like to stay for lunch?”

“I know Bug would love to get to know her Uncle Stevie.” Bucky states.

You watch a small smile emerge on his face. “I would enjoy that very much.”

[redux-iterum]

Charred Legacy: Chapter Seventeen

(AO3 counterpart here.)

The next evening brought a welcome surprise—just as Fireheart walked out of the Barn in the early part of the night, a long, low call and the rustling of the hedge announced a patrol of WindClan cats, right before Rookstar’s angular head pushed through the shrubbery. Fireheart trotted over to greet them as several cats appeared after him and stood together, all with the default unimpressed look of the moor Clan.

“Good evening!” Fireheart said, delighted. “It’s nice to see you again.”

Rookstar’s sunlight-yellow eyes narrowed as they studied Fireheart. He fought not to wilt in self-consciousness, just meeting the stare and blinking politely. After a moment, Rookstar nodded slowly to him.

“You look well fed,” the leader said flatly.

“We are, yes.” Fireheart gestured with his tail at the Barn. “There’s plenty to eat here. Though, uh, heh, we’re a little sick of mouse and rat at this point.”

A brown molly poked her head out from behind Rookstar. “Can’t imagine the agony you must be going through.”

Fireheart snorted, before his memory caught up with him. “Oh! You’re Larkbelly, right?”

Her eyes widened ever-so-slightly. “Good of you to remember me.”

“Of course!” Fireheart skipped back a couple steps. “Sorry, I’m in your way. Come on in.”

Rookstar’s expression shifted so slightly that Fireheart almost missed it, but he said nothing. He passed around Fireheart and led his patrol towards the Barn, where several more cats had emerged to see what was going on. Fireheart trotted along after them, tail high.

“WindClan!” remarked Teaselfoot, coming outside properly. “Hope we haven’t done anything wrong.”

“Just got better eating than us,” Larkbelly replied as she passed him. “For which you’ll be put to death.”

“Larkbelly…” a very pale grey molly murmured.

“Alright.” Larkbelly nodded, but Fireheart could almost hear her rolling her eyes. Teaselfoot watched her go with a blink of surprise.

As the patrol entered the Barn, the Clan roused and circled around to greet them. Bluestar stood furthest away, squinting suspiciously at Rookstar.

“No notice, sorry,” he said. “We came to see how you all are doing.”

Bluestar’s jaw was set weirdly tight. “Is that all?”

Rookstar’s head tilted just as slightly as his expression changed. “Is this a bad time?”

“No, no—” Speckletail nearly jumped in front of Bluestar, bobbing her head apologetically. “This is a fine time. We’re not busy. We’re just taken by surprise.”

“Ah.” Rookstar’s head leveled perfectly. “Sorry. Been on dog-watch.”

“And how does it look out there?” Speckletail asked, brisk and businesslike again.

“No scent or sight of them,” a more stout black tom said, limping on a badly twisted paw up to stand with his leader. “Like they knew we’re looking for them.”

“Deadfoot.” Speckletail bowed her head to him. “Good to see you again.”

Deadfoot returned the nod silently.

Bluestar’s squint turned into a full scowl. “What is there to check on? We’ve stayed here the whole time. Your borders are untouched.”

“Bluestar—” Speckletail turned to her, hushing her with, “They know that. That’s not what they’re here for.”

“It isn’t,” Rookstar said, though his voice was a little slower and faintly uncertain. “Just wanted to be sure you’re all well.”

Bluestar didn’t look swayed—if anything, she started to look confused. At a hurried nod from Speckletail, Whitecloud came up and used his tail to gently guide Bluestar further into the Barn.

“She’s been stressed,” Speckletail said to the WindClan cats. “It’s been hard on all of us, even as comfortable as it is here. You’re welcome to stay for a bit, if you want. Would you like some mice?”

Rookstar evidently knew a prompt when he heard it, because he nodded. “Been meaning to update you on the territories anyway.”

As he followed Speckletail to where she and Bluestar had been staying most of the nights, the rest of WindClan’s patrol spread out to speak with the ThunderClanners that had gathered around to watch. Fireheart walked over to Larkbelly just as Cloudkit came bumbling around a haybale and ran to greet her.

“Hi again, fluffy little ant,” Larkbelly said—and there was that warmth once more. “You got bigger since I last saw you.”

“Hi!” Cloudkit stumbled to a stop, puffing out his furry little chest. “I’m real big now! I can eat a whole mouse!”

Larkbelly purred. “That’s awesome. Can you catch one yet?”

Cloudkit faltered. “Um… no.”

“Well, that’s the next step,” Larkbelly said, her head at his eye-level. “Catch a mouse, and then a rat, and then a squirrel, and one day you could take down a deer.”

The kitten gasped. “A deer! I wanna catch a deer!”

“You’re more likely to be caught by one at this size,” Teaselfoot said, strolling over to them. To Larkbelly, he said, “And since when did a WindClan cat have a personality?”

“Since I got the name Larkbelly,” she said, and just like before, her mirth disappeared when speaking to the warrior. “Who’re you, fuzzy?”

“Teaselfoot, lanky.” He looked her up and down with visible amusement. “I didn’t think any of you could speak beyond a monotone.”

“Surprise,” Larkbelly said, lilting her voice.

Teaselfoot chuffed with a face like he hadn’t anticipated chuffing. “Well, good to meet you.”

Larkbelly regarded him with narrowed eyes. “-foot, huh? With those legs?”

“I’ll have you know that the long hair is deceptive.” Teaselfoot stuck out his front paw, stretching his leg so it could be better seen (and it did look longer away from his belly-fur). “Take a gander at that. Spider Legs, they call me.”

“Oh, good,” Mousefur said from a short distance away. “You found someone else to be insufferable with.”

“I’m all charm!” Teaselfoot protested, giving his sister an outraged look. “I don’t know about Larkbelly here—”

“More charming than you,” Larkbelly said, still flat and quiet. “Faster, too.”

“Oh, is that a challenge?” Teaselfoot cocked his head at her, eyes glittering.

Fireheart glanced down at Cloudkit, who was watching the pair go back and forth like he was watching a bug fly around, waiting to be swatted.

“If you guys are going to race,” Fireheart said, “maybe do it outside, so we don’t trample the kits?”

“Who’s racing?” Greystripe looked over from his conversation with a tawny molly.

“Larkbelly here is asking to be humiliated in front of her Clanmates,” Teaselfoot said, and Fireheart knew he said it louder on purpose, probably to get cats looking their way, which they did.

Larkbelly did not look remotely bothered. “He thinks he’s faster than me.”

To Fireheart’s surprise, a wave of scoffs rippled through the WindClan patrol, even Rookstar.

Mousefur twitched her whiskers. “Buddy, I love you, but you’re an idiot if you think you can outrun any WindClan cat.”

“My name is -foot!” The tabby gestured wildly with a paw towards Mousefur, giving Larkbelly a look like she was supposed to be equally disbelieving. “You dare doubt me? My own kin?”

“I dare,” Mousefur said. “But race anyway. It’ll be funny.”

Now with the attention of the entire Barn on them, Teaselfoot turned to Larkbelly. “Well? Shall we?”

Some of that mirth leaked back into Larkbelly’s voice. “Don’t throw a tantrum when you lose.”

Fireheart was almost pushed by the crowd that formed quicker than he could move, cats lining up just within the doorway of the Barn as Deadfoot hobbled out with Teaselfoot and Larkbelly to find a starting point. Apprentices maneuvered to the front, with the kittens before them, and Bramblekit sat between Fireheart’s front legs to watch, his eyes sparkling.

ThunderClan must be extremely bored if they want to watch another Clan do anything, Fireheart thought dryly. Even with Teaselfoot participating.

“Start here,” Deadfoot said, standing on the far right of the Barn, almost past the house; it was enough of a distance to give them time to hit top speed, by Fireheart’s measure, and have a decisive victor. Deadfoot pointed with his tail to the hedges. “End there.”

“What do they get when one wins?” Bramblekit asked Fireheart, having to stick his head out a little so he wasn’t just looking up at his brother’s chest.

“I think they get to make fun of the other one,” Fireheart replied with a twitch of his whiskers.

“Oh.” Bramblekit looked back down. “That’s not very nice.”

“No,” Fireheart agreed, “but they’re grown-ups. They can have fun with it.”

“If you lose, you’re exiled,” a red-brown tom from WindClan called to Larkbelly.

Larkbelly slouched her head to the side in acknowledgement, but said nothing. She lined up with Teaselfoot, the pair shuffling a little to make sure they were exactly equal. Deadfoot murmured something to them, stepped back, took a breath and made a noise somewhere between a bark and a yowl.

Instantly, the racers broke into a sprint, to the shouts of their Clanmates (some cheering, others jeering). It seemed to only take a moment before Larkbelly was speeding ahead of Teaselfoot, even with the sleek tom running faster than he ever had in the forest. Teaselfoot looked thrown off, but he kept on, even when Larkbelly’s lead turned into a couple body-lengths, and it took a couple heartbeats for him to catch up to her when she hit the hedge.

WindClan did not gloat in their victory, but they did go to greet their Clanmate and congratulate her. Teaselfoot sighed, but his tail was high and curling over his back as he went up to Larkbelly.

“Guess that old saying is true,” he said with a purr. “You know the one.”

“‘The slowest WindClan cat is faster than the swiftest of any other Clan’,” a couple of the WindClanners said in unison.

“You were destined to lose,” Larkbelly said, still flat and calm, though she did look a bit pleased with herself. “Ask RiverClan; there’s legends about this night.”

Teaselfoot chuffed again and gave her a friendly tap with his tail. “Well, at least my Clan has a new source of jokes on me.”

“And I can’t outpace any of my Clanmates,” Larkbelly added. “Even the apprentices.”

“Okay, now you’re just making things up to make me look worse.”

“Am I? Ask them.”

“She’s agonizingly slow,” the red-brown tom said.

“Horrible at running,” the pale grey molly agreed.

“Snails have fled crows faster.” The tawny molly nodded.

Teaselfoot didn’t look offended; if anything, he was visibly tickled. “If you say so.”

Fireheart watched them, pleased. We can bond just fine with anyone. I hope the rest of ThunderClan pays attention.

Just then, a snowflake landed on his nose, making him sneeze. Bramblekit looked up at him and trilled as he sniffled. Fireheart responded by pretending to wipe his nose on the wide brown head, earning a squeak and nearly being knocked over as Bramblekit tried to hide underneath his belly. A couple cats looked at them. Fireheart ignored the initial discomfort in their gazes upon Bramblekit. 

“Snow’s coming,” Rookstar said. He hadn’t moved from his position next to Speckletail, at the very edge of the Barn’s door. “We should leave.”

Speckletail looked up, as did the others; sure enough, the clouds overhead were pressing tightly together, shedding white flakes with increasing intensity.

“Thank you for coming to see us,” Speckletail said to the leader. “I hope you’ll stay warm tonight, and in the morning.”

Rookstar nodded to her once. “You too.”

With that, he strode out of the Barn, his legs seemingly long enough for an apprentice to walk under his belly. He flicked his tail and his Clanmates gathered back into a proper patrol. Teaselfoot bowed in jokey respect to Larkbelly, who thwapped his head with her tail in a definitely non-accidental way before following her Clanmates. Several ThunderClan cats called out goodbyes before, one by one, they turned back into the Barn, only a few lingering to watch the last of WindClan to disappear through the hedge.

“Thank goodness it’s so warm in here,” Brindleface said, shaking out her fur like snow had gotten on it. “The nursery is nice, but I like the room here.”

“I know how you feel,” Goldenflower replied. She huffed a purr. “I love the nursery, but I’m a bit too big for it.”

One-eye chortled. “Hasn’t stopped you from being in there as often as you possibly can be, has it?”

Fireheart followed Bramblekit as he caught up to the rest of the kittens. Cloudkit was staring out the door, a contemplative look on his ginger face.

“Do we have to go back to the forest soon?” he asked Fireheart.

Before Fireheart could answer, Tawnykit said crossly, “Obviously. That’s where we live.”

“Tawnykit, please.” Brindleface touched her nose to Cloudkit’s head. “Yes, we’ll go as soon as we can. That’s our home, not this Barn.”

“Oh.” Cloudkit looked down.

“I know, it’s comfy here,” Brindleface said. “But it’s much better at home. You know that.”

Cloudkit didn’t respond to this. He lifted his head again, but his eyes were troubled in an oddly adult way, like there was something he wanted to say or ask and knew it wasn’t a good idea.

Fireheart walked past him, paused, and then gently tapped his nephew’s side with his tail. Cloudkit looked up at him and he gave an encouraging, affectionate nod. This relaxed the kitten’s face some, and he meandered away after his siblings.

Fireheart watched him go. He knew already—he was going to have to have a very difficult conversation with this kit once he became an apprentice.