#bob barnes imagines

[senka-mesecine]

What would happen if reader tried escape from hills!Barnes and she thought she had made it out, unknowing that Barnes had been following her the entire time?

That Dog Don't Hunt.

Robert Barnes x Reader.

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wonderful gif by @woman-with-no-name

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Meaning; Hound not taking part in a hunt. Apparently originating from the southern United States, the phrase may refer to a hunting dog that refuses to do its job. Something won't fulfil its intended purpose, or a plan or scheme will fail. 

⚫

You take one final look at the mountainous forest perimeters left behind you and you think to yourself 'Thank god. Never again.'

With every step taken closer to civilization, at least faint, ramshackle signs of it in the form of an occasional roadside diner, an old, semi-defunct gas station, a semi-abandoned lonely trailer park or a neglected settlement partially swallowed up by nature you felt one step away further from Barnes, at least in a subjective sense, some lizard part of your brain convinced against all logic, that by the time you'll make it to the nearest city, perhaps Knoxville, Gatlinburg or even going as far as Nashville, the embrace of all those buildings, the bustle of people, the cars, the shops, the traffic, you would've been safe from him, like someone having gone to a place he couldn't follow, repelled and left outside not unlike a vampire that needed an invitation to come inside from the cold and the wilderness; an invitation you wouldn't extend. According to an old Summer proverb, a dog understood 'Take it', but it didn't understand 'Put it down.' Barnes was much like that in a sense; he refused to comprehend letting anyone or anything go, the concept of break ups practically nonexistent in his vocabulary. A man could be only a couple of things in that regard in his opinion that consisted only of polar extremes; widowed, legally hitched or both dead and neither you or him were any of those three respectively.

That's why you needed to run.

Go as far as your legs would take you.

For the time being, that began and ended with hitchhiking.

But, so long as you were on the move, you had some vestige of consolation.

That so long as you moved, you'd be fine.

It would be fine because it beat him or you being buried rather than parted.

The highway snakes through the Appalachians like a circuit and the man who picked you up from putting up your thumb on the side of the road was a mercifully elderly one; a typical senior, fishing rods, buckets and nets in the back of his truck --- someone back from a pensioner's fishing trip judging by a quick deduction --- living with Robert made you careful by proxy --- all of his vigilance, long silences, instincts for danger and scrutinizing stares rubbing off on you like a second nature. Made you hellbent on details. You came to profile people and sizing them up without even intending to, neatly classifying them inside of your head into distinct categories. Safe and not safe. Friend or foe. Enemy or ally. You'd chuckle bitterly if you could, seated beside the greying man with a cap on his head combined with faded jeans overalls that seemed like they were exposed to too many days in the sun and rubber boots that were very well loved by the looks of them. Nobody was as unsafe as Barnes, so the point was moot in trying to analyze this situation to the extent you were unwittingly doing so. -"Fancy findin' anyone out here all on their lonesome. I thought you was a ghost when I first saw'ya by the interstate."- The grandpa remarks with some humor, not unkindly, curious eyes travelling between you on the passenger seat and the road, his coincidental usage of the word 'lonesome' immediately causing a shiver to run down your spine. -"You out here all by yourself?"- He asks, voice peppered with worry in the most paternal sense possible; sure, you realized you must've seemed demented walking beside the edges of the forest, stopping vehicles whose drivers could just as easily rape you and dump you in the nearest ditch instead of giving you a ride anywhere, but you supposed desperation caused people to do crazy things; you were like a wild animal in that sense. Felt like it too. Caught in a trap and willing to gnaw your foot off to limp free and bleed out somewhere where you could be left alone so long as it meant you'd have a moment of liberty. You give the old man a tentative look. You don't know why you decide against coming up with a creative lie, but the truth slithers forth before you can stop it.

-"I've left my husband. Ran away."-

You admit.

You find the old man's wrinkle framed eyes immediately widening.

Mouth agape.

What were you gonna say where untruths were concerned anyway?

That you were a lost hiker mysteriously separated of all their equipment and their group against all odds and now taking a ride in the opposite direction for no discernable reason? That you've been abducted by aliens and dropped off in the middle of the mountains? That you had a curious case of total amnesia? Honesty. Honesty was the best policy in the long run. People could feel honesty. They could sympathize with it on a primal level the way they never could with blatant, made up bullshit. You focus on the rearview mirror in front of you and the pine air freshener along with a picture of a woman in a plastic pouch hanging off a colored string, dangling as the old Ford moved --- old timer was a family man. Maybe a widower killing time by fishing. You weren't going faster than seventy miles an hour but that was good enough.

-"I haven't got a cent on me and I need to get as least as far as Gatlinburg. Please."-

You explain, not too proud to plead a little, semi expecting the obvious.

That he tell you to alert the police.

If the police headed back up those hills, thing is, they wouldn't be coming back.

-"He a bad man?"-

You're asked, with some semblance of familial worry on the driver's part, wrinkled, pale fingers having a vice grip on the steering wheel. Yeah, Barnes was a bad man. You felt you didn't even need to answer that one; the fisherman could just about read the truth off your heavy silence, no doubt. There were some good people in this world. Good people who'd understand even without you saying a single thing. -"Been puttin' hands on'ya?"- He eggs on and no, no, you mutely shake your head at that one, staring at your own lap. Problem was, Barnes was always ready to put this hands on everyone else. One time at a nearby bar at the foot of the mountain that also doubled as a hunter's lodge on occasion he held a knife to a man's neck just because he decided to vaguely chat you up and then look at you for longer than Bob liked; in the aftermath, the whole place was trashed and Barnes had the poor sob by the collar of the shirt, sobbing on the floor, pissing leaking through his trousers and you never stopped feeling guilty since, the whole situation leaving you with the ingrained fear that one of these days someone would get killed over a mere nicety of yours and that you'd have to live with that notion for the rest of your days. You weren't one of those girls. Who felt thrilled and titillated by the prospect of their man hurting others for them. If anything, once the knot that's been settled in your stomach for months after the incident started unwinding, you unwinded right along with it and hit the road, believing that with you gone, perhaps Barnes's incentive to bring harm would internalize itself too, his jealousy ceasing to have a reason to exist. -"No. It's more complicated than that."- You manage sincerely, trying for vagueness, feeling your own voice weak and faint, watching the road ahead disappear into dusk of the Great Smokies, the forest behind you seeming dark and distant, like a dream you couldn't place, relief washing over you slowly, like a caressing wave, the tension in your shoulders dissolving, so much so you hardly minded your lack of luggage or things, save for the ID and some small cash you could get your hands on tucked into your bra. You hoped Robert would've found the meal you left in the kitchen for him by now as a last farewell.

This was for his own good too, even if he didn't know it yet.

---

You had a total of twelve dollars to your name.

Now twenty, with the addition of what you were given.

The last money an old man's kindness could give you before he drove away.

Pushed it into the palm of your hand before you could protest, not that you could find it in you to, alone at night in Gatlinburg with just enough for one night at a room on a basic motel. You didn't get far, but it was still far enough. Better than nothing; the comfort almost instant --- the twinkling lights, the pedestrians and the honking of the moving vehicles like a bubble of humanity far away from the fray -"A room for one, please?"- You manage, out of breath at the counter of the first motel you spotted straight off the parking lot; whichever seemed on the cheaper side, aptly called The Roadside. Truth of the matter was, you were no soldier and you were no Barnes. You tended to get tired. Tended to need your rest like any person. You slide the money across the counter with all the hope in the world. The woman with the sharply penciled on eyebrows and the beehive eyes you speculatively. -"We've only doubles."- She retorts, seemingly bored, like she's spent the better part of her shift explaining this very same bit of information to dozens of people before you. Funny how that worked; if Barnes was here with you now, you'd get a room booked. Fact that he wasn't only complicated everything. The minute you detached yourself from him it's like the whole world conspired to keep you at bay and make things difficult for you. -"Can you please find something? Please? I really need this."- You halfway whimper, met with nothing but the cold scrutiny of the counter attendant; a radio playing behind her on a shelf. Sonny and Cher's I Got You, Babe. How ironic considering she didn't in fact, have you. Or your back. Then again, she was only doing her job. -"No singles."- She insists. Man, you really needed to get off the streets and under a roof somewhere. You still weren't out of danger. There wasn't a single information's board displayed anywhere detailing the prices and by the general look of the woman's disposition, you concluded she didn't want to book you on the basis she must've concluded you were a vagrant. You were, in a sense. -"What if I came back later? Would there be free spaces then, do you think?"- You try for pleasantries and she shrugs her shoulders as you grabbed your money from the counter. The nametag pinned to her dress revealing the name to be Debra. Jesus, Debra, help a person out. -"Yeah, maybe in an hour or two or ---"- She cordially blows you off and your legs are on the move. Yeah, you couldn't afford to waste time in a place called The Roadside; if anything, Barnes would look some place just like this first. In any case, you tried. Nobody could say you didn't try. -"Okay, thanks! Thanks a lot!"-

You respond, breathless, rushing out the door before Debra could even retort.

Not swift enough to where you could be suspicious.

But, still fast enough as not to waste time and lollygag, as Barnes would put it.

C'mon, now, Gatlinburg had to have someone to bunk for the night.

Somewhere beneath the bracket of twenty bucks.

Leaving you just enough change to eat literally anything.

Catch a bus or a train afterwards; in any direction but back from whence you came.

The crowded streets are dark, splattered with the light of the orange electrical poles melting into the moist pavement and the footsteps of people huddled around corner stores, the odd bar, drugstore, motor lodge, family diner packed with patrons --- you welcomed the crowd, feeling you could get lost in it. Out in nature there was only ever you and Barnes. Hiding being an impossible task. Always in his crosshairs. Like the prey of a hunter who knew his trade all too well. Even now, you could feel his phantom gaze on you, occasionally throwing careful glances behind you as you walked, checking if he was behind you, undoubtedly seeming unhinged or slightly unstable to whatever outside might've been looking in. A crazy woman rushing down the street, eyes darting around, looking for any place that had a plaque that said rooms on display, bypassing a motel decked out in Confederate memorabilia called The Rebel Corner. Nope. No way in hell. You couldn't do that one. It felt too prophetic; you could almost imagine him finding you there of all places and being so infinitely smug about it you would never live it down, hating yourself for being a choosy beggar like this as you sped up your pace, hope being alive and well once you stumble upon a small establishment, tucked in between two unassuming buildings, a blinking neon sign displaying the Dogwood Motel; working hours from 0-24h. Fair enough. Seemed both seedy enough and yet open and touristy enough to prevent it from being unsafe --- the garish yellow gingham wallpaper of the lobby hitting you like a sobering slap across the face. Yeah. You could stay here. Something about it seemed aggressively cheerful and friendly, right alongside the man attending the counter in a matching yellow wool turtleneck, a well manicured mustache and bushy sideburns. His trousers and the belt buckle it was fastened with tall on his waistline, shirt tucked in around it. You either spent too long in the woods or the world has gone more strangely surreal when you weren't looking. -"Good evening. Are there any vacancies?"- Feeling like an overly eager puppy, you practically prop yourself up your toes asking the question. -"Sure. There's an empty one on the third floor. Let me write'ya up."- He drawls, all fidgety and fingers, looking through his books, something regretful about his gaunt expression; he looked like an infinitely skinnier version of Burt Reynolds from Smokey and the Bandit, minus the hat, of course. -"Problem, though. The particular room has no windows, bit of an architectural fluke, so ---"- He starts and you instantly perk up, like a meerkat.

No windows!?

No place someone could crawl in? Break in!? Ambush you? Watch you!?

-"I'll take it!"-

You interject before the poor man could even finish your sentence.

Heart thumping fast in your chest.

He gives you an almost pitiable, concerned look, like he couldn't believe he actually successfully booked that one to someone.

You, for one, couldn't be happier. Oh, god bless the Dogwood Motel.

You borderline started fantasizing about something straight out of a movie scene; you mysteriously sliding the man a controversially large sum of money to hide the fact anyone by the surname of Barnes was staying here in the off chance anyone inquired, the fantasy remaining nothing but a fantasy. You barely had for food. You were nonetheless momentarily overtaken by the drug called hope, filling you with newfound euphoria.

-"That comes with a discount then. Five bucks a night. ID, please?"-

He explains, vehemently scratching the side of his face.

You slide him the plastic bit of identification of along with the cash for the evening.

Nearly bouncing up and down on your heel anticipating the key he gives you.

It's neon yellow, matching the rest of the interior decoration.

-"Alright, Mrs. Barnes. Room 307. Enjoy your stay."-

All pleasantries aside once he took one look at your ID, and the fact that being called Mrs. Barnes had the hairs standing up on the back of your neck, you don't remember when was the last time you grabbed something so fast in your life, squeezing the key and it's chain in the palm of your hand like someone would steal it from you, practically making a b-line for the nearby staircase, sauntering in wide steps up the third floor until you could practically feel your chest could explode with the pressure, sweat pooling your forehead; when you reach the room intended to be yours, pushing the key into it's allotted keyhole, you're entirely out of breath, huddling into the entirely womb-like, dark room with fingers searching hastily for the light switch and flicking it on to produce a dim, orange light stemming from the overhead chandelier, revealing a bed covered with rust colored Ogee patterned bedsheets and very loud, basketweave brown wallpapers lining the walls, enough to induce some measure of claustrophobia in just about anyone, semi expecting this to be an ambush for Bob to be waiting for you in some corner, deciding to jump out of the bathroom while your back is turned. The air is somewhat stale; the inability to air out and ventilate properly clearly taking its toll overtime. No matter. You wouldn't stay here forever. This was good. This was only temporary and meant to be a cheap shelter to help you recover from the ordeal it took you to get here in the first place. Next stop would be Knoxville via Pigeon Forge and Sevierville and from there, hopefully Nashville and the first plane out of the country, although how you'd get the money for the ticket eluded you. You'd think about that, you figured, when the time comes, in stride, deciding to focus more on moving than the future details. You turn the second interior room lock of your front door and you collapse on the squeaky, colorful bed that smelled like lavender detergent and accumulated dust, partially fearing that the moment you close your eyes, he'll be there, collecting you in his arms like a vice grip, meaty, thick, calloused fingers coiling around your neck.

You dreamlessly sleep without even removing your clothes like a train's just hit you.

'Works on paper', you remember him musing before you heavy eyelids flutter shut.

'You runnin' away. But that dog don't hunt.'

He'd gloat, warning.

Promising.

---

He was a man of immense self control.

So, when he decided to hurt someone, it was never an accident or a mere slip up.

It was a cold, deliberate, well-measured choice.

That's why you couldn't justify him. Robert E. Lee Barnes always knew precisely what he was doing; never his temperament winning out of him or something clouding his judgement, making him behave irrationally. His cruelty was finely oiled and tuned, almost like clockwork, with the punctuality of a Swiss watch; he's been threading the certain route of killing for you and because of you before and you knew it was for you and because of you in equal measure because he told you so. Quietly lorded it over you like a trophy. Held your chin over it, both literally and figuratively, making you witness it. Was only a matter of time, you knew, before he does it again and you'd wake up to something harrowing, like someone's skull on the mantlepiece serving as a reminder and a decoration, him leaning his whole arm over it while he smugly smoked after lunch with his legs up on a stool. You couldn't live like that. That was madness. Worse yet, it was purposefully evil. You loved him and you were assured he loved you too, in some sick, obsessive, dark, rotten, Barnes-ian way of his, but in equal measure getting away from him was the only sane choice that existed on God's green Earth, every other leading further back off the precipice of calculated, machine-like insanity that would sooner eat you alive than let you off the hook.

You ponder the whole idea out on a supply run, crack of dawn.

While the city still more or less slept.

First in line at the grocery counter, first to get out, first to be off the street, needing to start vacating the rented one-night room and return your key by nine in the morning, buying a reusable cheap rucksack, pastries in brown paper bags, some bottled water, more so for the bottle you can fill later rather than the actual fluid inside; another lesson you learned from Robert directly --- sometimes the canteen itself was more valuable than what was inside, because a canteen was always valuable all on its own --- figured there was something bittersweet there. Using the skills he pass on to you to escape him. Bypassing a Smoky Sky Lift billboard, you think about the prospect of catching a train out of here, hopefully the first one, refusing to stall or procrastinate; maybe hit the next town over. Get a job. Any job so long as it was honest and legal. Lay low for a while. Accumulate more money. Move on. Keep moving. Always moving. Disappear in some town, some city, maybe even some other State somewhere. Divorce wasn't what you were after. Just separation. Bringing Barnes to a divorce court feeling inherently absurdist. You could vividly imagine him being served the papers by whatever poor, long suffering postman would be forced to climb up the hill where your and his house stood and Barnes silently showing up to the court date with a sowed off shotgun.

You shiver at the thought.

What if he just got bored, you think in stride, looking both ways crossing the street?

What if his pride got so irrevocably injured by this, he wouldn't follow?

Was that possible?

Would he be capable accepting loss? Losing?

Would he retaliate for retaliation's sake? Would you ever be able to rest easy?

Set down your head on some pillow, god knows how far from here, and be assured that he wouldn't be looming at your front door one night? Would he ever throw in the towel and say, shit, I give up?

No.

Not Robert.

You knew him.

He'd follow you to the ends of the earth.

He never gives up, even at the cost of his own life, it simply wasn't in his nature, you solemnly conclude, settling back into the hallowed safety of your windowless room, plastic grocery bags in tow, re-packed into your backpack in the off chance you needed to get a move on quickly with no time to waste, taking a moment to look at a photo of him you brought with you as a keepsake; a rare sentimentality for sentimentality's sake, a reminder to yourself you could still care for someone, carry them with you and want to get away, locking the door behind you, using the leftover hour or two you had left in here to take a warm shower and wash the stink and sweat off of you.

God only knew when would be the next time you'd have the opportunity.

---

You board the ten thirty train northwest, heading towards Nashville.

With a transfer and a quick stop in Knoxville.

Funny. Part of you expected him to have caught you by now. Expect him to catch you day one, while you were still hitchhiking along the ADHS. The fact you were still out here and free to move about as you pleased, well, filled you with some semblance of unspoken terror and unease, like a calm before the storm or the deep breath taken before a dive. Where was he? Was it oxymoronic to ask that of yourself? This wasn't like him. Wasn't like Barnes to be seen when he hunts either, your subconsciousness tells you. The point you couldn't observe him tracking you was the whole point. A trick, to think you've gotten away. Outsmarted him. Ensure you let you guard down and then when you felt most assured in your safety he ---

The train tracks disappear beneath the rushing train in a blur.

You spent the last of your money on a one-way ticket, with literally fifty cents leftover, sharing a coupe with a mother, her newborn and two men; who they were to each other hard to asses but you welcomed the crowd. You were safer in a crowd. You might just slip away if you continuously surrounded yourself with people even if your situation started resembling a comedy sketch; you were travelling with a group off to protest the unveiling of a Civil War canon or other up in Nashville and judging by their colorful attire, lack of discernable luggage and the long hair, you could only assume they were drop-outs, beatniks and possibly homeless, like yourself. Degenerate scum, as Barnes would call them. You sigh sadly at the moniker. One irony compounds another. He would blow a fuse if he knew who you were bunking with. That or you were focusing way too much on the thoughts and the possible margins of approval to disapproval of a man you were hellbent leaving behind.

He was still your husband, not just some random man, you remind yourself.

He was a killer, another voice reminds icily.

But then again, you always knew that. He never hid it from you.

You knew that about him before you even married.

-"It's a history of oppression, of bloodshed, of violence, and they unveilin' that shit for the whole world to see!"- One of your fellow coupe passengers rants to the other while you gave yourself the brief leeway of closing your eyes, hugging your rucksack around your body, leaning the side of your head against the vibrating glass of the train window, the thinning forest bypassing the cornered edges of your eyesight in a blur. In everything went well, you'd be in Nashville in some three hours give or take. You internally curse yourself for not having a wristwatch on you --- then again, how could you, when he kept everything under lock and key? When he was always watching, like a hawk? You flutter your eyes open briefly, catching sight of the man's faded, ripped jeans vest riddled with badges and pins, turning your head away once you spot one saying Ban the Bomb and another that said Give Piece a Chance. Why did you feel haunted? By everything? -"Now, tell me how we can move on as a society with crap like that goin' on in our own backyard, man!"- The other one, with a long ponytail retorts, impassioned and you feel the sweat pool along the surface of your scalp, anxiety bubbling up in your gut once the baby in the woman's arms seated next to the pair hiccups itself awake, no doubt alerted by all the noise, whimpering in its swaddling cloth; its mother immediately grabbing the hem of her long, flowing blouse embroidered with the odd floral pattern peppered with tassels and frills, giving the child the nipple to suckle on. -"You'll wake the baby, asshole."- She whispers, slapping one of the men across the shoulder in a manner that could be considered playful, softly but with enough force to be considered a reprimand, cooing her crying kid. Her head leaning down in consolation, smooth, long hair falling around her face like a curtain; it must've been below her back, spilling all around her train seat like a veil. -"Shh, shh, Robbie, it's alright."- She mutters and it's like every instinct in your body fires and flares up, on alert. Robbie? As in Robert? Her baby was named Robert? Why wouldn't he be? It was a common name. You don't even remember when you excuse yourself, hastily exiting the coupe to get as much fresh air in the hallway, leaning against the nearest cabin wall to calm yourself down, feeling your own chest heave with tension. Would life always be like this, you wonder, hyperventilating, using your backpack as a comfort, embracing it like a shield around your body, protecting what exceedingly few belongings in the world you had left --- you running away and Robert always chasing you and catching up with you, in some shape, way or form, even if through reminders if nothing else?

The train screeches and you conclude you had to have been paranoid.

These were growing pains, nothing else; you anticipated this when you ran.

There was nothing more natural than being afraid when you were out surviving.

The whole hallway trashes and you feel every movement in your bones.

Causing you to hug your bag even tighter, like a life raft.

The baby's crying intensifies.

A pair of people smoking in the corridor stumble, one nearly falling over.

What the ---

A moment of silence later, the train sluggishly jumps, only to slow down.

Coming a complete halt.

You stop breathing, tears goddamn nearly welling in your eyes once the uniformed, heavy set, red faced Conductor slams the corridor door open, sauntering inside, pushing past the bewildered smoking couple sporting a matching pair of tan sunglasses. -"Get out of the hallway! Out of the hallway! Evacuate the train!"- He orders, pointing outside and you mutely shake your head once he spots you standing alone, grazing you with his finger from afar to signify that included you too, the threesome and their newborn peeking their heads out of the coupe through the sliding door, alerted by the commotion, looking at each other in confusion and then at you; the collective so distraught you figured nobody even noticed your cheeks were wet by now. The wispy, long-haired mousey woman with the baby looks at you square on, appearing like the spitting image of Olivia Hussey under this light; just as wide eyed, fae-like and lost. -"What's goin' on?"- She asks you and then repeats the same question to nobody in particular, staring down her two companions who seemed equally perplexed. -"What's happenin'?"- One of them echoes the inquiry and you stopped. Everything stop. You weren't moving anymore and that was the worst thing that could happen right about now. You needed to keep going. If you started running into obstacles now, all of this would've turned out to be in vein. You're practically soundlessly crying by the time the Conductor arrives to wrangle the four of you forward. You feel yourself grabbed by the elbow and pushed to move; unwillingly, you do. Like someone sleepwalking and having no control over it. No, no, no. This was a temporary setback, is all. Temporary setback. Temporary setback. -"The tracks have been de-railed. We can't get a move on 'till it's fixed."- You hear the Conductor shout and if there was a way for fear to feel painful inside of a human body, it does with you there and then; you sense the dread shooting through you like an electrical current. The forests around the train thick and deep; like someone who moved in a circle you were right where you started. And he could be out there. Waiting. -"Hey, what about a refund for our tickets, man! Shit! We paid our way fair'n'square! Ain' right, man!"- You hear the beatnik argue his case and whatever the surly Conductor responds back fades into background noise, some deeper instinct inside of you rendering you blind and deaf as you walked with the certain knowledge that he did this.

He singlehandedly sabotaged the fucking train.

-"No, we can't go outside."-

You whimper, aggrieved once you feel the Conductor's heavy hand on your back.

Ushering you down the steps in your unwillingness to get out, holding up the line behind you, like an animal led to the slaughter. You weren't being deliberately difficult; you were just...so scared. So scared.

-"Ma'am."-

Are the last words you're cordially give once you're practically shoved down the metal train steps, landing on the grass on your own two feet, right beside the train tracks that stood askew, the footboard, wheel and breaks stuck between what seemed like several planks dislodged from their place on first amateur glance; was honestly a shock the impact of the crash wasn't more severe. That it didn't send you and everyone thumbling headfirst down the floor. You look around, finding the scattered passengers confused, your companions from the coupe already walking down the train tracks on foot, the two men in cowboy boots and flaring bell bottoms still arguing among themselves, no doubt on the subject of the injustices of the railway system this time around, the woman and the baby between them, her long skirt fluttering after her in the breeze. Was nice, some yearning voice inside of you whispers, reproaching. To have a family. You had one too. Until you left it. No. That was just your intrusive irrationality throwing a wedge into your plans --- you could still make it, even though you cursed the fact that the nearest highway had the closest shortcut led through the surrounding woods, but then again, for all of Robert's faults, he was only human too and this fear; it was only skin deep. You'd make it to the road and simply hitchhike, the way you did before. If you could do it once, you could do it twice. This was only over if you believed it to be. Now wasn't the time for despair. Now was the time for action. You turn on your heel, seeing the Interstate from here, through the tree line of pines, making a dash for it, leaving the collective of befuddled, aggrieved passengers behind, practically running, the trees rushing past you in a haze leading you down a steep slope, accelerating your movements, nearly causing you to stumble forward, branches getting caught into your clothes, your hair, scratching against the skin, leaving you under the impression the painful, sudden impact drew blood and you were certain by the time you sprinted out of here you'd look like someone who's just taken a beating. Nobody was chasing you, you think feverishly, gripping your backpacking, you were just spazzing out all on your own. How ridiculous you must've looked. The pines close in around you and you falter, catching your balance of your footing at the last moment, the blur of adrenaline taking over and you barely spotting the untouched campsite in the forest clearing in front of you.

An extended hand holding a match to a piled on stack of woods.

Holding the flame there until the planks lit up under a pillar of thin smoke.

You...no.

It was him.

Crouching on the ground, lighting disemboweled bits of the train tracks on fire.

A metal crowbar, a hammer and a shovel leaned on a nearby tree.

You recognize him by the bush of curly hair.

Robert lifts his head up slowly, blue eyes calm, meeting yours.

Something about his voice infinitely pleased, humming in contentment.

You stand paralyzed, feeling the blood rush into your brain.

-"Mhmm-hmm! You ever get to Nashville?"-

Laced with soft spoken sarcasm, he tilts his head to the side, taking the half smoked cigarette out of his mouth, balancing it between his index finger and thumb, right before chucking it into the newly formed, fledgling campfire, letting it crackle; you take a step back instinctively once he slowly stands up, dusting his knees off with all the casualness in the world while you were here, with your eyesight dotted back in distress, causing you to feel faint and lightheaded. Shortness of breath overtaking all survival instinct as the distant sounds of slamming, shouting and clanking echoed from further back up the hill; repairs on the train no doubt already commencing. You weren't ambushed. You practically ran into a trap. -"Bob, I ---"- You try, desperately glancing between the point of where you came and where you winded up, wondering if you should try your luck and run back or not, finding your own words cracking midway through your pathetic attempt at a sentence. The train tracks were burning and he stood in front of you, rifle slung over one shoulder, fingers gripping the leather belt strap. His words come into mind; That dog don't hunt. And it was just as he said; it didn't. If this ever winded up in the newspapers, which you knew it never would, it would be one of those things where truth was stranger than fiction --- you could already see the article title; Vietnam Veteran involved in brigandry, deliberately causing an accident and highway sabotage to circumvent his wife from dumping him. More on page six! In a second of inappropriate self-indulgence you envision the hippies headed for Nashville getting their hands on a periodical and recognizing you on the front page. The gulp in your throat is heavy, glutaral. You were so embarrassed you could die. You open your mouth to say something to him, perhaps something meaningful, groundbreaking, witty, something of a verbal checkmate, but before you can, you feel yourself grow limp, nostrils filled with the pungent stench of vapor and smoke, all endurance fading once he's entirely too close for comfort, causing you to go collapsing into the familiar prison of his arms where you've been countless times before, the forest closing in around you, like the jaw of a flesh eating plant around an insect.

The campfire crackles on, swallowing the wood, leaving no traces behind.

The whole world goes thumbling on its head and everything goes black.

[ultralightpoe]

Ultralightpoe Masterlist

Requests are OPEN !

Last Updated : 2-4-25

“There is nothing I would not do for those who are really my friends. I have no notion of loving people by halves, it is not my nature.”

Northanger Abbey, Jane Austen

~ ~ ~

-Marvel -

-House of The Dragon-

-Top Gun-

-Bullet Train-

-Stranger Things-

-Scream-

-Witcher-

-Ted Lasso-

-Twisters-

-Challengers-

-Hunger Games-

Midnight Album Event

~2024 Halloween Event Masterlist

[bumpkinbitch]

mountain mamaaa

ignore the colouring of this im sorry

[rebelliousstories]

ValenFics 2025

Ooo! Are you ready for some loving? Because I know I am. Fourteen Fics, fourteen days, and fourteen different couplings. Get ready to feel the love this month!

Cupid (February 1st) Bernard the Elf

Now we all know that Cupid’s arrows do not work on legendary figures. What about legendary adjacent?

Letters (February 2nd) Poly! Gambit x Rogue

When the three are sent off to various missions near Valentine’s Day, Rogue proposes a very interesting proposition to cure their blues.

Puppy Love (February 3rd) James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes

Bucky was a skirt chaser in the 40’s; this is just a fact. Bet you never heard this tale from the era though.

Date Night (February 4th) Robert “Bob” Floyd

Finally, coming home after a long day away, all Bob wants is the simple things in life.

XOXO (February 5th) Spencer Reid

You thought Spencer knew an absurd amount of Halloween trivia? Oh, be prepared for this.

Candy Hearts (February 6th) David Loki

Having a lover at home that packs lunches for him is always sweet. And there are, sometimes, extra sweets involved.

Chocolates (February 7th) Eddie Brock/ Venom

Oh, the joys of introducing new foods to an alien symbiote who only wants brains.

Roses (February 8th) Logan Howlett/ Wolverine

There is only one person in the world that James Logan Howlett is soft for. Anyone else who finds out, very quickly learns not to blab.

Single Awareness Day (February 9th) Jake “Hangman” Seresin

Another year of failed romance leads to a night at the bar with her best friend.

Love (February 10th) Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw

Getting orders that you are to be shipping out at 0600 on February 14th is never good. Thankfully, there is a certain someone with a trick up her sleeve.

Card (February 11th) Eddie Munson

Why must candy-grams be a thing? What purpose do they serve? Why do people think it’s okay to deal them out to students who use them to rub it in each other’s faces?

Kiss (February 12th) Cooper “The Ghoul” Howard

A ghoul and a normie walk into a bar…

Hearts (February 13th) Aaron Hotchner

A simple note that makes all the difference.

Be My Valentine? (February 14th) Nick Burkhardt

Rational thought would tell you not to mess with a woman with a gun. But Nick has, apparently, thrown that out the window.

[literaryslapshot]

auntie j's blog rules ✎☁︎♡

⎯ please respect my blog rules as much as possible. if you have any questions about anything, feel free to ask! no shame in asking for clarification about anything. rules under the cut!

⎯ if you are requesting a fic/blurb/social media edit, please use my roster to request. the link is on my "materlist & directory".

⎯ if you are requesting smut, please be over 18+. also, if you are a blog that does not like smut, then blog the tag. you are responsible for your own media consumption. a lot of, if not most of, my content will be 18+.

⎯ i will not write any of the following: - stepcest - noncon - death - siblings/readers as

i like to write some angsty, dark stuff but those are my limits. so really, the doors are wide open with endless opportunity.

⎯ hate, stirring the pot, drama will not be tolerated. this blog is my personal escape, i come here to my secret garden to have fun and write my little fics. so, no drama, no tea, no hate.

with those being the rules set in place, let's have fun!

[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.

[cosmicwavelengths]

suckin' and f***in'

minors, dni! - 18+ only pairing: bucky barnes x f!reader a/n: i came across this imagine by @fckmebarnes and i couldn't /not/ write about it because... fuck. full credits to them for this idea! (i hope you don't mind!) - this has a bit of a weird title but it's inspired by bistro huddy lol cw: smut, blow job, begging, orgasm (m! recieving), bucky gets a bit rough, explicit language wc: 959 | masterlist | ao3

────୨ৎ────

“Are you sure you can take all of me?” 

Bucky runs a hand over his length, smug smile resting on his face. You were aware that he was bigger than most guys you’ve been with, but you figured you can make him come undone all the same. You tug at the zipper of his jeans, opening the fabric slit of his boxers and pulling him out.

When your warm hand makes contact with his cock, Bucky sucks in a breath, stiffening and grasping onto the arms of his chair. With slow movements, you test the waters by running your digits over his smooth skin, tracing around his balls and up the shaft to his head. You think your ears deceive you when you hear a quiet whimper come from the back of his throat. Oh?

Gently running your index finger around the head of his cock, he reaches your hand and grabs it—holding tight enough to halt your movements.

“Don’t tease me, not today,” Bucky attempts to command, yet his voice is laced with… worry? A plea? Is he actually begging for you? You may as well have been dreaming.

Shaking your hand out of his grasp, you take his cock fully in hand and start giving him proper strokes. “C’mon, I know what I’m doing, just let me, okay?” Throwing him an innocent smile, you pick up the pace.

His breaths become labored now, chest rising and falling steadily. Maintaining that firm pressure, his head lolls back, locs of hair cascading back. His mouth released a slight groan. “Fuck, darling, I need your mouth on my cock.”

Quirking an eyebrow, you look at him with surprise, slowing your movements. “No way, are you actually begging me?” You have to stifle your laugh, so as to not embarrass him. “James ‘Bucky’ Barnes. Begging me. This can’t be real.” In disbelief, you shake your head and start stroking him again.

Releasing the chair arms, he holds your head in place by your jaw, forcing you to look at him. And for the first time, you get a proper look him—how his bright blue eyes are blown with want, how a faint blush trails from his cheeks and down his chest. He breathes heavily, “Darling—sweetheart. Please, I need you to suck me off. I need to feel your warm mouth around me.”

This time, you chuckle. “As he commands,” and you dip your head down—finally, dragging the tip of your tongue from the slit of his balls to the tip weeping with precum, making Bucky’s eyes roll back into his head. 

“F-fuck, just like that,” he stutters, trying to stifle another groan from his chest. “You have no idea what you do to me.” Raising your brows at him, you grin before taking his cock fully in your mouth, burying him in your throat and popping back up, swirling your tongue around the head of his cock. Your mouth is so tight—so wet around him, feeling like velvet.

“Shit! Darling, fuck, I don’t know how much I can take if you keep doing that,” His breath is raspy, laced with lust. You couldn’t help but moan around him at his wantonness, sending vibrations down his shaft to his balls. Bucky’s eyes fix shut, holding onto his chair like a lifeline, unable to control how his hips buck into your throat.

You feel so fucking good, it should be illegal. Forcing his eyes open, he watches you bob your head up and down on him, and it’s the greatest thing he’s ever seen in his entire life. He thinks he could feel the wooden arm of the chair crack under the grip of his metal hand, but he doesn’t fucking care.

Soon enough, Bucky feels his cum rising in his balls, and he thinks he could blow any second. Then you pull off of his cock, a string of your saliva mixed with his precum connecting him to your soft lips. The fuck?

“No, no.” Bucky shoves himself out of the chair to his feet, lacing his vibranium hand in your hair. He starts relentlessly fucking your mouth, forcing you to gag on his cock. He probably would’ve held back a bit, but you’re his strong girl and he knows you take his strength.

Scrambling, you brace your hands behind his strong thighs as you try to hold yourself in place for his thrusts. He feels the way your mouth and throat give way for the length of his cock. It was hot and wet, and fucking heaven. 

“Shit, I’m cummin’, Fuck!” Bucky is barely able to get the words out before he grips your hair tightly, emptying his balls in your throat with a deep growl. He cums hard, feeling your throat constrict with each pump of cum he releases.

After he has hit the peak of his climax, Bucky grabs your face, pulling you off of him. “Let me see.”

Blushing, you open your mouth so he can see the pool of cum on your tongue. He moans at the sight, dragging a smooth thumb over your lips.

“Now swallow.”

Nodding breathlessly, you swallow down his spend, the salty flavor sliding down your tongue into your throat.

He lets you go, allowing you to collapse backwards onto the floor. You land on your ass with a slight thud. As you try to catch your breath, Bucky stands over you, still shuddering as he climbs down from his orgasm.

And, fuck, if that wasn’t the most erotic thing you’ve ever experienced in your life, and the mere thought of it makes you rub your thighs together with arousal. Seeing you so needy for him, he smiles devilishly as he strokes himself hard again. Damn that serum. “Now, it’s your turn.”

[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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[senka-mesecine]

What if Reader is jealous cause a couple of playboy bunnies had been flown in, performing for the troops on a Friday night. All the boys are infatuated by them, so she thinks, why should Barnes be any different? She worries Barnes has eyes for them, yet tries to hide her blatant jealousy from him due to embarrassment (assuming he even saw the girls performing in the first place). Shutting up when she feels his presence or even painfully faking a smile.

How would he handle this? How would he set her straight? Or would he pry and prod to see if he could pull the jealousy out of her, finding it endearing / entertaining / a turn on.

Thank youuu, you’re a genius 😌

The USO Show.

Robert Barnes x Reader.

---

ANN-MARGRET'S COMING TO CAM RAHN!

The world of that travels fast, at whirlwind speed, spreading like wildfire.

And instantaneously, the atmosphere at base camp changes, something holiday-like, almost jubilant overtaking everyone, washing over the general disposition and the morale of the platoon like a warm wave; whispers, plan-making and generally subdued excitement filling barracks, foxholes, bunkers and tents along with the occasional poster of the handmade variety as well as official print dotting bulletin boards; it's what you wake up to that morning, carrying provisional crates containing bandages and gauze. Bunny and Junior nailing a large centerfold a vulturous, redhaired woman on a huge notice sign starkly in the middle of base camp with a hammer. Starring, Ann-Margret, Nancy Sinatra, Playboy Bunnies and the Lonnie B. and Vicky G. Show with special host, Bob Hope! The poster says, the smiling auburn-headed woman taking center stage in knee-length shining boots and a mini-dress caught glamorous amidst a dance move grazing your eyesight and leaving behind a burning sensation. She was beautiful.-"You know what I wanna do to her?"- Bunny points with deliberation and you avert your gaze passing the pair, speeding up your pace, trying not to overhear but overhearing anyway, for better or for worse. -"I wanna suck her through a straw sticking out of her ginger Swedish poontang, man."- Typical Bunny being Bunny. You nod at the two as a way of hello; luckily, they don't notice. Too immersed in the task of ogling and leering over the centerfold they just put up next to a makeshift road sign of various distances, anywhere from Kansas, to LA to New York; erected for nostalgia's sake. A little reminder of home.

-"Bunny, you fucking gross, man! Put me off my lunch!"-

You hear Junior whine from behind you, truly aggrieved.

-"Yeah, that's cause'youse don't like pussy. You like carrot."-

Bunny retorts with a jab, but by then, you're long out of sight, biting down on your lip.

---

You were crestfallen.

Yes, crestfallen.

Now, you understood there was something contrarian and maybe even a tad bit selfish in feeling so blue when everyone else was ecstatic, right along the fact that it was downright delusional to ponder and consider the possibility of how the Sergeants would behave at this show if mere infantry and soldiery was behaving the way they were already, case and point, Bunny and Junior, but your mind still guided you unwittingly, where it shouldn't have been guiding you; Sergeant Barnes was a private fascination, sure. You had a right to those, you tell yourself. Man owed you nothing. Knew nothing of your feelings and it would stay that way too. If you liked him, you liked him privately, for yourself. by yourself. He, just as you had the right to have unrequited feelings for him, had the right to go and feast his eyes on something pretty after months and months spent in the bush --- you really couldn't even blame him or anyone else as for that matter, your pain genuine, but still having no righteous reason or basis to exist, you thought. Quietly suffering over a man who wasn't even yours, going to enjoy a spectacle put on by professionals who did this for a living. My goodness, you're really hellbent on hurting yourself, you tell yourself, shrugging off intrusive thoughts of Barnes's focused, intense eyes staring out at the busy stage, following all those legs, velvet clad derrières, immaculate, synched waistlines, winking cat eyes, puckered roughed lips and haridos sprayed to perfection. And here you were, grimy nails, hair tucked away beneath a hair scarf tied at the nape of your neck, sweaty, chronically exhausted and in a state of constant work, staying behind on washing duty, scrubbing the blood stained sheets of deceased patients with white soap.

Maybe if I was freshly flown in on some glitzy plane, you think.

Maybe If was freshly powered up, perfumed, dressed and clean ---

Maybe I could make him turn his eyes on me too.

Same as those dancing dolls.

An empty, childish fantasy, you conclude bitterly as the trucks next to the main barracks were filling up with eager men practically jumping into the back of the vehicle with a roaring cacophony of running motor engines, privates already singing, shouting, laughing and slapping each other the back, far away from the outhouse on the outskirts of the base where you did the platoon's basic wash up --- you decided to isolate yourself today of all days. That was the general idea, yes. Make yourself busy. Useful. Sink yourself into your duties. Try and tune out the world. Not show how upset you were, but try and stay out of everyone's sight long enough to prevent yourself from spoiling everyone else's fun. Not be present when he boards the truck with the rest of them. With Bunny filling his ears about whether the carpets match the drapes and O'Neill no doubt egging him on to stay after hours, in bars and clubs dotting the beach front of Cam Rahn, causing you to envision him inebriated and high on life, one girl seated on one knee and one on the other as they silently moved upstairs sometime after midnight, to some tucked away room somewhere, at the end of some red hallway enveloped in cigarette smoke. Why do you do this to yourself, your subconsciousness asks, once the fatigues, uniforms, towels and sheets were all washed and drying, having done a full week's work within one afternoon on purpose, the basecamp enveloped in the shroud of dusk by the time you emerge out of the small building, deciding to check on the barracks; maybe give whatever needed cleaning a good clean. Tire yourself out so much you'll merely plop down on your own bed like someone just hit by a train, drifting off to a dreamless sleep and not think. Not think for at least six hours minimum.

-"Oh!"-

You exhale, finding the lights at the main hall starkly bright.

Overhead. Attracting flies and mosquitos.

A long row of immaculate empty beds lining the hall and a singular form sitting on a nearby ammo crate; causing you to halt in your steps.

He ---

-"You haven't gone with the others, Sarge? The last truck has just headed out."-

You stutter, addressing Barnes, head downcast, seemingly making busy with the task of carving something with a push knife. He stayed behind? Why did he stay behind!? He looks up at you, like he knew you were there long before he ever acknowledged it with a physical cue. In response, all you get is a shrug. -"Eh."- He tilts his head, nonchalant, barely interested, causing you to feel like an intruder; like you weren't supposed to be here. You genuinely thought there was nobody here but you and the night watch. The night watch that would take its turn to be chauffeured out to Cam Rahn tomorrow for their break when someone else takes their shift. You shift from one leg to another, about to back out of the building, making small talk to fill the discomfort of surprise. -"Aren't you sad you missed them?"- You ask, dropping the formal tone and instantly regretting it; your chuckle awkward and small, realizing you were so startled you forgot proper form. He says nothing, his blade grazing the edge of something flat that sounded like wood. -"Bob Hope's gonna be entertaining."- You try again, fidgeting, hoping to be excused and simultaneously wanting to falling into the floor. -"And Ann-Margaret's coming too! Landing in a private plane!"- You add, unsure why; maybe by accident. Maybe because you expected some sort of positive reaction out of him that would only serve as a dagger to hurt yourself further with and enjoy it too; enjoy the weird, bizarre, exquisite, self-reinforcing pain of being unwanted. He looks up at you again, this time holding his stare for longer. -"If I'm keen on hearin' some Californian of dubious background shootin' the breeze off of a stage I can just listen to 'Lias playin' wise guy without movin' an inch."- You retorts and it takes you a couple of seconds to register a joke at the Sergeants expense; your smile tiny, embarrassed, covered up with your hand, unsure if, by accord, you were allowed to laugh at that, snorting against your palm, now standing on the threshold to the eerily empty barracks, one step away from scurrying out on some newly invented excuse of a task. -"But, the bunnies!"- You shoot in. -"Everyone's been really excited about them."- Yeah. Everyone. So, why ain't you among them, something from deep inside you asks him. -"Eyup."- Is all Barnes remarks, confirming, clipped and a man of few words as ever.

-"A broad preformin' for ten thousand sad sacks of shit is preformin' for none of 'em."-

He mutters and you need to stop breathing to ensure you were hearing that right.

-"Certainly ain' for me."-

He clicks his tongue, something about the notion seeming to displease him.

-"It ain' real."-

He builds in on his statement, leaving it as large as a house; looming over you, practically engulfing. You...didn't know what to say to that frankly. He must've been the only man in the 25th Bravo Division who thought that way and truth of the matter, probably the only man in the whole wide world, deepening the night time quietude even further, causing you to realize you were just effectively stunned into silence and that the scraping of his blade was practically echoing throughout the barracks, matching the thumping, beating staccato of your heart, your guts coiling into a painful knot. Maybe this didn't mean anything. Sergeant Barnes was always known to be so duty bound and piqued on the task at hand that he'd often neglect rest, breaks, R&R, and even sleep purely so he'd maintain that extra hour on guard, that extra hour on the ground, on terrain, out on the field, on the ready. That was simply his manner. In fact, this was the most you've ever heard him speak to anyone off the record, you included.

Maybe why you were so caught out of left field about it.

-"Why ain'chu goin'?"-

He inquires, and a shiver runs through you once you stir back to attention.

Now, that was a question you didn't expect.

Having the tables turned around on you.

You never expected anyone to care or even notice why you stayed behind. Not when all the other nurses have gone and boarded the trucks too right alongside the men, and just as eager as they were.

-"Your eyes ain' waterin' to catch a glimpse of Heston in them tight bell bottoms? Makin' good use of tax payin' dollars."-

He jabs, head cocked to one side; a trace of humor clearly laced through his words, albeit faintly as he throw one leg over his knee where he sat, twiddling the knife between his fingers, the light of the bulbs overhead reflection off the polished steel like a camera flash. -"Bobby Rydell with cookin' oil in his hair swingin' and swoonin'?"- He adds, clearly meaning to paint a vivid picture. No, all I want is to catch a glimpse of you, your innermost voice whispers. I am more than content with that. In fact, just standing here with you fills me with all the joy and agony in the world. Nobody they could fly in from all the lands and countries imaginable would make me so happy. -"Oh, no, sir."- You clear your throat instead, keeping your thoughts at bay, mustering a tiny smile; cordial, for politeness's sake, crossing your hands behind your back, fingers squeezing each other for comfort and so you would avoid twiddling them quite as much. -"Not for me."- You manage, shaking your head. -"Why not? You're a healthy, full-blooded woman."- He interjects almost immediately, standing up from the crate leisurely, blade and his half carved little piece of wood still in each hand. Somehow, that description of you as healthy and full-blooded sounded both as a complement and a fair bit of chiding; like he didn't quite understand what had to be wrong with you to miss the opportunity to see some of Hollywood's leading men live. Funnily enough, you could say the same about him. Some of the most dead drop gorgeous smokeshows would be at Cam Rahn and he was just indifferent to being there? -"A woman likes seein' her eyecandy."- Those words practically dance in his mouth, matching the odd leisurely pace of his footsteps, like he borderline intended to tease you for simply being here with him, embolden something dormant in you that nearly capsized inside of you with how fiercely you guarded it; your courage. -"Same as a man."- You counter. Not unkindly. But, a counter was still a counter. A counter you halfway regret dishing out once you find his eyes burning, unmoving and fierce. Crosshairs that could shoot you dead where you stood. You brace yourself, coming up with tactical, politically correct excuses ever a talent you practiced like a finely toned muscle.

-"Well, in either case, guess it's us two, sir. I'll fix you up more coffee, if you like. A chance to tidy up the place with everyone being away too."-

You practically stutter, in an artificial, make belief hurry, taking a couple of steps back, not turning your back to him until he'd, as you hoped, got sufficiently bored of this exchange to dismiss you. What did you know of his troubles, after all? Maybe solitude was what he craved. Maybe you were disturbing him in that without intending to. He wouldn't have stayed behind if solitude wasn't what he wanted. Still, his voice halts you. You whip back, semi expecting him to call you a wall flower and a special snowflake incapable of running with the tides, something within your guts telling you, however fantastical of a notion it was, that he stayed behind for you as much as you stayed behind for him. A healthy, full-blooded person could dream.

-"Cherry?"-

-"Sir?"-

-"Who'd they have to fly in for you to go and take a break with erry'one else? With them other nurses?"-

He leans one shoulder at one of the supporting pillars that held up the roof of the barracks, fingers newly engrossed in the old task of carving; his trust in his knife so complete that he could drag the shiv across the wood without even looking, eyes entirely on you. Who...would have to be starring at a USO show for you to be tempted to go with the other women? Was that what he was asking? Nobody? Somebody? Anybody? Everybody? Made no difference to you. You weren't the going type.

-"Haven't really thought about it, sir."-

You answer in honest, finding yourself unable to lie to him so blatantly.

If he expected a specific name or face, he'd have to consider this inquiry a letdown.

What was this conversation anyway?

Not that you didn't enjoy every second spent with him.

It was just...well...a surprise.

You sure as heck didn't expect to spend the end of today's day standing around chatting with Sergeant Barnes on the topic of which male celebrity was your favorite, rendering everything around you with a fever dream like quality; liminal and strange, the added weight of everything emphasized by the fact you were alone out here and the whole great wide world was out there, miles and miles away from your current position. In fact, if you listened carefully enough, you could swear you could hear the faintest signs of stage music all the way out here, on the edges of the jungle perimeter, in this lone building where you both stood, now merely a couple of steps between you. God strike me dead. He stood right in front of you in his green fatigues, his button up shirt rolled up at the sleeves, the veins lining his arms moving and flexing as he reach over to hand you whatever he was clenching in his fist, blade tucked back into place, somewhere in his safety belt. -"Yeah, haven't thought 'bout it myself none much. No point in gettin' up and ridin' all the way to Cam Rahn."- He concludes with a drawl; dry and distant --- disinterest oozing out of every pore he had, staring out the barrack's main entrance and the orange light spilling over the threshold and into the darkness on the horizon, gazing past your form and then landing back on you once your hand opens to feel a carved shape close around it, receiving what he gave you, before his free hand grabbed a hold of the reigns of the weapon hanging from a nearby shelf, slinging it over one shoulder, always on the ready. You open the palm of your hand tentatively, mouth agape. A face. A woman's face was what you were holding. It vaguely looked like ---

-"The views' to my likin' right here too."-

Barnes observes, giving you a lingering look, walking past you, obscured by the night.

You. It was you, it hits you like lightning. He was carving you.

By then, he was gone, blending with the abyss outside.

[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

[Thank you for the gif @heartsnmagic ]

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!

[arcadia-smith]

Falling out of love. (I know how this feels, and I am sorry in advance.)

Bucky Barnes x reader

It was the small things you noticed first—how he stopped reaching for you when he woke up in the mornings, how the soft smiles had turned into tight-lipped ones, how he barely held your hand anymore. How the nights were always colder.

You tried to fix it. You always tried. You stayed up late, writing him letters, hoping he would talk to you about the ghosts he couldn't outrun. You cooked meals he liked, did everything to make him feel safe, loved, wanted. But it wasn’t enough.

You don’t remember the last time you felt at home in Bucky’s arms.

Maybe it was weeks ago, curled up on the couch, his fingers lazily tracing patterns on your back. Or maybe it was months ago, when he kissed you in the rain and promised he wasn’t going anywhere.

But now, standing in your shared apartment, you realize something awful—you’ve been losing him for a long time.

And he let you.

The air is thick with silence, the kind that presses against your ribs and makes it hard to breathe. Bucky leans against the kitchen counter, arms crossed, looking at the floor. He won’t meet your eyes. Won’t say anything to stop this.

You swallow the lump in your throat. "You don’t love me anymore."

His head snaps up, eyes wide. "That’s not true."

"Then say something, Bucky." Your voice cracks, and you hate it, hate how desperate you sound. "Tell me I’m wrong. Tell me this—this thing between us isn’t dying."

His metal fingers curl into a fist. His jaw clenches. But he doesn’t speak.

Because you’re not wrong.

You let out a trembling breath. "I keep waiting for you to fight for us. But you won’t, will you?"

His throat bobs like he’s trying to swallow back something sharp. When he finally speaks, it’s barely above a whisper.

"I don’t know how."

You close your eyes, and for a moment, you wish he’d lied. You wish he’d told you that things would get better, that he’d try harder, that he wants to fix this. But he won’t. He can’t.

And the worst part? You understand.

You step closer, reaching out like muscle memory, like maybe if you touch him, you can remind him what you are to each other. What you were.

Your fingers brush against his vibranium hand, and for the first time in a long time, Bucky pulls away.

It feels like a bullet to the chest.

Tears burn in your eyes. "You don’t get to do this."

His breath shudders. "Do what?"

"Let me love you just enough to keep me here but never enough to make me stay."

Something in his expression cracks. You see it—the regret, the pain, the love that still lingers but isn’t enough to hold onto.

Bucky Barnes, the man who once held you like you were the only thing keeping him breathing, is now standing in front of you, letting you go.

And that’s what breaks you.

You nod slowly, like you’ve finally accepted what your heart refused to believe. "Okay."

His eyes snap to yours, panic flashing in the blue depths. "Okay?"

"You don’t have to say anything else," you whisper. "I get it now."

You grab your bag off the counter, fingers trembling. You’re still hoping, deep down, that he’ll stop you. That he’ll say something, anything, to make you stay.

But Bucky just stands there, silent and still.

And that silence is the loudest heartbreak you’ve ever heard.

Your voice wavers. "I love you, Bucky."

He squeezes his eyes shut, his whole body tensing. When he opens them, they’re red-rimmed, full of everything he won’t say.

"I know."

That’s it.

That’s all he gives you.

You let out a choked laugh, shaking your head. "God, I wish that was enough."

Then you walk away.

You make it to the door before you hear him whisper your name, so soft you almost think you imagined it. But you don’t stop. Because if you do, you might never leave.

The door clicks shut behind you.

And this time, Bucky doesn’t chase after you.

Because he never has.

And he never will.

[rebelliousstories]

New Year/ New Fics 2024-2025

I thought I would do something a little different year, and make some New Year’s Fics for everyone to ring in the new year with! So enjoy these seven magical Fics for the coming change.

Resolutions (December 26th) Eddie Brock/ Venom

A new year draws near, and thus the traditions of resolutions that they now have to explain the concept of to an alien.

Midnight (December 27th) Bernard

Another year, another bell chime, another roll around the sun. And another anniversary on the horizon.

Champagne (December 28th) Logan Howlett/ Wolverine

In his long, long life, Logan could not remember a time that he had ever drank a glass of bubbly. Apparently, it was a new year staple. But so is beer.

Toast (December 29th) David

A simple evening out at his girlfriend’s house that ends with a new tradition being started.

Fireworks (December 30th) James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes/ The Winter Soldier

Bucky is immune to things like PTSD. He has been cleared by numerous doctors and specialists, so that this thing never happens to him. Or so he thought.

New Years Eve (December 31st) Robert “Bob” Floyd

When you are married to a pilot for the U.S. Navy, you get to experience some cool things.

New Years Day (January 1st, 2025) Eddie Brock/ Venom

A new year has come, shedding the old. But some things remain the same.

[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.

[averagewriter-inthedark]

Bee's Fic Recs 💌✨ | Multifandom works

Happy 2025!! I've been writing on Tumblr since 2020, but I've been reading fanfic on here much longer. So here is a full list of my absolute favorite works from over the years of all the fandoms I love by amazing, talented writers! These writers inspire me every day and I look forward to every time they post. 🥹❤️ might do a part 2 to this soon!!

Note: this list of fic recs contains works that have fluff, angst, smut, canonical violence & death, etc. Be sure to read the content warnings and be mindful. MDNI on works 18+

-------------------------

Marvel

You're My Person | TASM!Peter Parker Imagine by @luvingspence

Right Where You Left Me | TASM!Peter Parker Imagine by @loeyparker

You Are Not To Blame | TASM!Peter Parker Imagine by @maximoff-pan

Static Verse | Bucky Barnes Series by @theconstantsidekick

Madripoor | Bucky Barnes Imagine by @imagines-all-day-everyday

Reality Check | Loki Series by @ohmygoodnessgraciouss

From the Void, With Love | Loki Series by @whirlybirbs

Bold | Loki Imagine by @loving-barnes

If I Keep Running Back to You | Loki Imagine by @theonewiththefanfics

No Sleep Till Brooklyn | Steve Rogers Series by @imamotherfuckingstar-lord

Sugar Lips and Starky-Boy | Tony Stark Imagine by @jamesbuchananxsteviegrant

He's Funny That Way | Steve Rogers & Bucky Barnes Imagine by @birdsofpry

Only Forever | Steve Rogers Series by @thank-you-for-the-vampire-money

This is Not Goodbye | Avengers Imagine by @imaginesforjoy

Home | Steve Rogers Imagine by @mikrowrites

Stardust | Loki Series by @imaginesoutofahat

Twilight

The Hybrid | Demetri Volturi Imagine by @wallwriterstuff

Revenge | Volturi Imagine by @like-rain-or-confetti

Oh No, He's Hot | Felix Imagine by @captain-yeet

Volturi Queen | Volturi Imagine by @fanficimagery

Game of Thrones/House of the Dragon

Hiraeth | Gwayne Hightower Imagine by @sainttherezia

The Sword and the Quill | Gwayne Hightower Series by @seancekitsch

Campaign Trail | Modern Gwayne Hightower Au by @seafarersdream

The Good Queen | HOTD Imagine by @itsgameofthronesimagines

Top Gun: Maverick

NCIS | Bradley Bradshaw Imagine by @ohtobeleah

Return to Me | Bob Floyd Imagine by @lewmagoo

The Better Man | Bradley Bradshaw Imagine by @bradshawsbaby

Jukebox War | Jake Seresin Imagine by @roosterforme

Call Me Daddy | Jake Seresin Imagine by @eternalsams

White Liar | Jake Seresin Imagine by @mrssturnioloo

Stranger Things

Wicked | Eddie Munson Imagine by @munson-blurbs

Gladiator II

The Prophecy | Lucius Verus Series by @lilmisshellfireswritingblog

Dies Natalis | Geta & Caracalla Imagine by @painted-flag

Near Death Experience | Gete Imagine by @megalony

Golden Empress | Emperor Geta Imagine by @multific

Soulmates | Emperor Geta Imagine by @multific

Men In Black

Happy Little Mistakes | Agent K Imagine by @lesbianstarkx

Harry Potter

Hardly Hurt | Newt Scamander Imagine by @xbarrjallenx

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[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.

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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-

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