#bucky is down bad

[stxar-pvnk]

Natasha: you know, Tony I should really start training you, you need to defend yourself. I'll teach you

Tony: all...right?

Tony the next morning rocking up to the training area with the other avengers with tight yoga pants on and a compressed shirt as he does stretches

Steve: holy crap.

Natasha: ...this turned out better than I planned.

Clint: the butt, man. The butt.

Thor: he must be my new queen! Immediately!

Bucky: I...am going to go learn how to flirt. For like..no related reason..

[totallynotashieldagent]

bucky would be the WORST case of down bad in the history of down bads.

you could be dating him, married to him, be his and he'd still be such a puppy for you.

at your beck and call always. even if you just were going to the kitchen for a glass of water, he'd jump out before you with a let me get it and

he'd swoon every time you actually asked him for something. goddamn it, his account's been collecting interest for years and he's gotta spend it somewhere, right? why NOT you???

you're his girl, afterall. he'd spend his days off just watching you read because he can.

oh he'd be so wrapped around your finger - cooking meals, learning you favourites, helping out, sometimes physically making you sit out chores so he can do it for you

all with the whole i'm a super soldier, doll, i can do more than you and you'd have no argument against it.

you could belong to him in every which way possible and he'd still be working his ass off to make sure he deserved it.

[avonne-writes]

The best thing about this is that Gale tells Marge that Bucky is not the type who'd write letters and that it's hard to find a girl worth writing to. Then Bucky goes and already, within a few weeks of separation, he sends at least one letter to Gale.

yknow what we’re all sitting on? the fact that Bucky sent at least one (1) letter to Buck—when he asked him to bring that unicorn in the box to the sergeant in that Greenland bar

[anonymityisfunwriter]

Here me out. Grumpy!Bucky x Sunshine!Reader but based on Down Bad from Taylor's new album. I feel like there would be such an interesting story!

Down Bad

"I might just not get up, I might just stay down bad..."

Pairing - Bucky Barnes x Reader Summary - You were down bad for Bucky Barnes. You had a cosmic love with Bucky Barnes. But when you woke, you woke in blood, naked and alone, still you might just stay down bad. A.N. - How many fics do you think I've written since TTPD came out?

Bucky Barnes Masterlist | Inspired by Taylor Swift Series

Alright, hear me out...

BAMF!SHIELDAgent!Reader x Bucky.

Together, you were the definition of a power couple. There was no one better, no higher peak. Practically untouchable. You set the standard.

And now, you wish you could un-recall how you almost had it all.

Because it was over.

He sent hurtling back down to Earth without a second thought.

And you couldn't lie, you hit the pavement hard.

You were down bad. Worse than you could ever imagined. Most days, you debated on not getting back up, but you knew that wasn't really an option.

Not when people looked to you, watching and waiting. It was like you lost your twin. And while you mourned losing your other half, you felt naked and alone. Watched by all, consoled by none.

The sick part was that you never wanted this. You never asked to be thrown into the orbit of Bucky Barnes. You never wanted him to tell you that you were special, never wanted him to tell you were the chosen one. You didn't want him to show you that the world was so much bigger than the confines of your life. You never wanted him to make you feel safe in his arms.

So how dare he think it was romantic to leave you safe and stranded?

Some days, you stared at the sky and quietly pleaded for him to come get you.

You never wanted to need him. You never wanted any of it. You were perfectly fine on your own.

But you can't deny, you really loved his hostile takeover.

And just as easily, he left you all alone.

All alone trapped inside a person you no longer recognized.

This wasn't you. You were strong. Independent. You were the standard. You were the pinnacle. Not the person who burst into tears at the gym. You weren't the person who slammed on the emergency stop button because sobs wracked through your entire body.

But as you stood in the center of the training room, all eyes on you, there's no denying how he made a mess of you.

It was Wanda that pulled you into the locker room away from prying eyes. You furiously wipe away your tears, staring up at the ceiling - both to keep the tears at bay and to beg him to beam you up to that cloud of sparkling dust once more.

"Are you sure you're okay for this?" Wanda asks, she rests an easy hand on your back.

You roll your shoulders back, steeling yourself, "I've got this."

"You just - you haven't exactly been yourself lately. I'm worried about you."

"Just because I'm single?" You feel the tears welling in your eyes again. "Because I was so fucking down bad for him."

"Don't say that."

You've lost count of the amount of times you've cried this week, but you impatiently groan at yourself as you feel hot, stinging tears slip down your cheeks again. "I can't believe I'm actually crying."

"You're hurting. It's okay not to be a bad ass every second of the day."

"Fuck," you whimper, your head falling onto Wanda's shoulder. "I was so in love with him."

"I know, I know," she coos, stroking the back of your head. "He's not doing any better - if that makes you feel any better."

It doesn't make you feel better. The thought of him hurting nearly as much as you were only made it hurt more. It only made you ache for him more. You would either go down with the ship you built with him or burn as he held the matches.

You shake your head, pulling away from her. You rake your hands through your hair, then harshly rub your hand over your face. "Let's just get this over with."

"Are you sure?"

"It would make no difference if I was sure. Fuck it if I can't have him."

You really, truly can't believe you were this stupid. You can't believe you allowed yourself to get lost in his opal eyes. Never in a million years would you have wanted this.

To involve yourself with someone so irrevocably intertwined with your life. Because now, now, you had to listen to the stranger that knew every inch of your mind, body, and soul give you orders and directives on dangerous, life threatening missions.

Mere minutes after a full breakdown in the training room, you had to stand before him in the conference room all alone and listen to him talk like nothing happened.

"Are you sure you're up for this?" he asks, concern shining in his familiar blue eyes.

You roll your eyes, snorting, "Don't patronize me."

"I'm not. I'm just checking on you."

"Well, that's not your job anymore," you spit. "How about we focus on our actual job?"

"Fine." His spine stiffens, his jaw ticking as he speaks through clenched teeth, "Are we clear on the plan?"

The words leave your mouth without a second thought, "Would it matter if we weren't?"

"I thought we were going to be mature about this," Bucky's voice comes out low, so similar to the quiet rumble of his voice first thing in the morning.

You scoop up your share of your files and turn on your heels without another word. Without thinking, he reaches out, placing a hand on your shoulder to stop you.

The weight of his familiar touch is a shock to your system.

You know the mature thing to do. You should apologize. You should carry yourself with grace. You should set boundaries. You should hold your head high.

But lately, everything comes out with a teenage petulance. So fuck him. Fuck him for breaking your heart. Fuck him for taking away the love of your life. And fuck him for being the loss of your life.

You wrench your shoulder out of his grip. "Fuck you."

Bucky Barnes Masterlist Inspired by Taylor Swift Series

As always, let me know what you think! Reblogs and comments are always appreciated! 💛

Taglist: @marianita195 @meli18gonzalez @ludicbouquetfromearth @matchat3a @famousbreadcherryblossomsstuff @valoraxx @blue786sworld @buckyandgeraltsupremacy @geminigengar @ansaturn @ecolle @lexhalstead3 @ybflkmj @mediocre-daydreams @shanye1112 @thegirlnextdoorssister @toomanyfanficsbruh @moonlightreader649 @breathtaking-cynthia @mirikusashes@beans-and-toast @niyahcoca @katiechikin @elxvrr @antiheroxsblog @infamouslyclumsy @krissydclayton93 @buckysbarne @deadheadwbedhead @qualitygiantshoepsychic @whitexwolfxx310 @getosprettyboy @matchat3a @weallhaveadestiny @mostlymarvelgirl @honeydew3064 @michealharrypotter @mrs-bucky-barnes-73 @withyoutilltheendoftheline @the-photo-hoe @rae-nna @sarachabeans1@double-shot-of-tequila @spookyparadisesheep @lunaalovesyouu @daisy-loves-bucky @roseproseposts @theoraekenslover @king814318 @maybesomedaytho @carlie-babes99 @sunshinechikin @as-white-as-snow-love @melala1030 @badasswlthafatass @armystay89 @multiversefanfics @cherrysscinema @breathlesspieceofdeath @ravenn-darkholme @bxckybxrnes24

[lamialamia]

Fall In Love Alone - Stacey Ryan

[imasexypotato]

John: Are you wearing makeup?

Gale: Oh. yeah, it’s just eyeliner. Marge let me try it

John: ....

Gale: Does it look okay?

John: Uhm yeah, it looks fine, I guess

*Later*

John, sobbing into Curt’s shoulder: It looked so good

Curt: I know

John: I'm so in love with him

Curt: I know

[skyphloxx]

been writing from john’s pov. lmao

[ex0rin]

+bonus feral super soldiers:

[season-two]

[latibvles]

trouble's always gonna find you, baby.

okay hi, here's a piece of that western au I've been yapping about all week!! wahoo!! you can find my thoughts in the tag #western au (creative I know) but in short summary this is a Wild West au, the Bucks and (some of) the guys are in a vigilante-esque cowboy gang, Viv is the banker's daughter, and there's a whole lot more details about it because I've subjected Several people to it. Do not come to this expecting peak historical accuracy but do come here if you want John Egan and Friends in cowboy hats. TW for blood & discussion of a gunshot wound if that bothers you at all — otherwise here's three of Bucky's meetings with his ahem "angel" of sorts. tagginggg @hellofanidea , @saturnwisteria , @shoshiwrites & @upontherisers for having to listen to me yap about this (this is not proofread folks be kind to me)

I.

He thinks he’s died and gone to heaven the first time he sees her.

Not that Bucky thinks he’s necessarily deserving of it (he knows he’s not, has known as much since the first time he felt the spray of blood on his face) — but that’s the story isn’t it? Jesus comes to the Apostle John on a white horse, something like that. Resurrection, salvation, and all that fun stuff he didn’t pay much attention to as a kid despite his mother’s best efforts. Why Christ would appear to him and not someone like Brady or Jo, who are much better about praying and piousness, he doesn’t really know why. He’s also pretty sure Christ was supposed to come back the same way he left, so maybe it isn’t Jesus himself after all.

Her horse is pale and white, like her nightgown; early morning light and slight mist in the air make her look somewhere between an angel and a ghost. What was that thing his mom used to say? When the Devil tries to take you, he could see her now, pinching his chin between her finger and thumb to keep her looking at him, tilting his head up to her to ensure it, he’ll sink his claws in while giving you the prettiest smile you’ve ever seen, John. That feels more reasonable. The closer he gets, the easier it’ll be for her to drag him to the pit.

She reflects all the light of dawn — he can hear her mare chuffing, moving this way and that as she grazes the field, her white coat glowing in the haze. Bucky can’t fight that urge to move closer to her — but to his credit he’s not really trying either. He knows he shouldn’t, that he should just keep going, but curiosity grips him and doesn’t let go.

Maybe it's temptation. In his experience they tend to overlap anyway.

 He can see the grass stains now on the hem of the gown where it falls on either side of her; vibrant green against thin white fabric, flashes of olive skin that he tries not to linger on as he moves closer.

“You an angel?” Bucky asks without thinking, watches how she jumps slightly and snaps her head to look at him— eye level on their respective perches. She laughs a little, shaking her head.

“No,” she looks him up and down. “You from around here?”

“No,” Bucky’s lips curl on a grin, taking in the way her hair falls around her shoulders in soft brown waves. “Two towns over.” She whistles low, raising her brows at him.

“Long way from home then, sir.” Bucky reaches up, tipping the brim of his hat and she laughs a little as her horse moves again, a bit closer and still trained on the grass as opposed to his curious stallion.

“Not sir,” he declines. “It’s Bucky. You got a name?”

“Maybe.”

“Well I can keep calling you angel if you want.” She rolls her eyes at that, a smile tugging at her own lips. Gotta be an angel he affirms, just from the sight of the small strip of white between her lips, the amusement clear in her expression. Christ, she really is beautiful. Hers are some kind of warm hazel; a little gold, little green. Her hair falls freely past her shoulders, a bit past her chest — warm and brown and wavy.

“Seems a little dishonest if I’m not one though,” she notes. “Are you a liar, Bucky?”

He’s about to give her an affirmative no ma’am but it catches in his throat. She’s been holding his stare for a while now; arched brow, head tilted and he has the strangest inclination that she’d know even his answer would be a lie. Hell, for the past few years his mother thought he was working on a ranch with a buddy and his wife. And yes, he’s working with his buddy, and his wife — but it’s not a damn horse ranch.

“You give all strangers the third degree?”

“Just the chatty ones.” She looks him up and down, smile growing a little wider. “Guess I got my answer then.” Bucky kisses his teeth, feigning disappointment.

“Guess that’s a no-go on the name then?” She hums, looking around for a few seconds like she’s searching for something and Bucky can’t help but look around too — towards the barn on one end of the field, the house behind them with the pale white siding, and the mostly-broken and rotting fence encompassing much of what he assumes now is her backyard.

“Race me to that fence over there and you get it if you win,” she declares, pointing straight ahead. “But if I win I get yours.”

“Already told you. It’s Bucky.”

“You also told me you’re a liar. Maybe I’m shooting for last names,” she counters with a slight shrug. “Deal or no deal? I don’t have all day.” Bucky snorts at that, the edge of impatience, the way her mare seems to dig at the dirt in an antsy way to emphasize the point.

“Alright, deal.”

“And you better not go easy on me, Bucky.” He tries not to preen at the sound of his name on her tongue, the slight toothiness to her smile and how her brows furrow at him — voice taking on a competitive tone that stokes at some kind of fire within him.

“Wouldn’t dream of it ma’am.” She snorts at that as she leads him towards the center of the field with a slight tilt of her head, and he follows with a grin making its way onto his face. He sidles up next to her, watching with interest as she holds the reins a little tighter, glancing at him from the corner of her eye.

He hardly even registers her counting them off — which is to say he doesn’t register it at all. Too focused on how her lips move and the slight uptick at the corners of them. The crack of the reins is deafening when she takes off, a blur of white that has Bucky chasing after her — the heavy thundering of hooves loud in his ears. She’s faster with the transition but he’s really only a few paces behind, cracking the reins and urging the horse beneath him forward.

She looks over her shoulder, barely, at him and smiles again. Her nightgown’s rippling with the speed of her movement, dark hair whipping behind her with every thunder of her mare’s hooves against the hard dirt.

Bucky feels his heart stutter in his chest.

She slows at their agreed upon finish line, but he continues to move forward until he’s a few feet past her rotted fence. She eyes it, then looks back up at him. 

“I win.” She declares, and he can’t help but chuckle at that, taking in this newly windswept state of her. So if they ever do this again, he’ll know exactly what to expect, and if he never sees her again, he’ll have this memorized in its entirety. He nods a little, tipping his hat to her once more. He’s been lingering long enough. He could already envision the way Marge would turn his face this way and that, looking for scratches and Willie’s sage, mildly annoyed “you’re late” when he walks through the doors. But he likes this silence between them, in an odd inexplicable way.

“John Egan,” he says after a minute’s past, watching her brows raise slightly. “Friends call me Bucky, though.”

“We’re friends?”

“Halfway there, ideally friends know each other’s names,” he teases. Her lips press into an indiscernible line as she looks him over, before nodding slowly.

“Maybe next time.” Bucky grins at that, nearly preens beneath the promise of a next time.

“I’ll hold you to it, angel.” he counters as he turns to leave, relishing in that slightly amused scoff from her as he takes off once more.

II.

The second time he sees her is about as unplanned as the first time.

There’s a lot of things he didn’t notice before, that he’s noticing now for better or for worse. He’s pressing a hand to his side haphazardly, barely upright on his stallion as bright vermillion leaks through his fingers despite his best efforts. The bullet went clean through, thankfully, and the other guy was laid out in the middle of the dirt path for his guys to come pick him up if they cared about that kind of thing.

The territory they consider theirs is a handful of towns in close proximity to one another — close enough to share one Sheriff. He knew the dangers of traveling to the fringes of it — a general no man’s land that was riddled with bandits and scouts from other gangs searching for a means to expand their reach. Which is why he went at all; Buck and Willie with him to check out a commotion that ended up in a shootout. He’d broken off from them, drawing a couple riders with him despite Buck’s protests, and maybe he ate a bullet in the process but the other two guys were laid out which was what really mattered anyway.

He’s not really guiding his horse anywhere. Sometimes he decides to just do his thing and Bucky isn’t too hard pressed to stop him as he steps over rotting fence work and makes his way towards a barn with the doors left ajar. It’s mostly hay and workbenches in there, a couple stables and saddles hanging about. He dismounts unceremoniously and his horse immediately lays on one of the piles of hay.

His head’s spinning as he slumps against the pitch-black mount, sliding his shirt up to assess the damage.

It’s not pretty but it’s not life-threatening. Maybe. Okay, how should he know? He’s not the goddamn doctor. That’s Jo — or, technically, Jo’s brother, but neither of them are here right now. Christ he’s dizzy, head leaning against his horse’s torso as it expands with every inhale, and he presses a little harder against the wound — it’s not like he’s got bandages on him.

There’s a brief moment where Bucky wonders if this is meant to be his final resting place. Bleeding out over a surface-level bullet hole, Christ, what a way to go out. If he had the blood for it he’d be flushing. The notion makes him snicker and feel half out of his mind for laughing at his own unfunny joke.

He barely registers the creak of the doors, but he feels the warmth of sunlight as they open, can see the dust hanging in the air from the loading hatch also left inexplicably open — his gaze fixed on the beams and ladder leading up to the hayloft.

“Miss Vivian? Are you—” A soft gasp brings him back to reality. He tilts his head to look ahead at an older woman; much shorter than him and heavy-set. They hold each other’s stare before he smiles and waves with a bloodstained hand. She’s taking off like a bat out of hell.

Whoops.

She moves faster than he’d expect for a little old lady, and he almost laughs at that if there weren’t black spots in his vision, if his mouth didn’t feel dry, if he wasn’t jumping from one thought to another as the adrenaline wears off and leaves much of his body feeling sluggish and heavier than it already was. Back to staring at the ceiling, then, counting dust particles and biding his time as he waits for the Devil to finally come pick him up.

“John?”

Fuck. He recognizes that voice. He lifts his head again. She’s different in this light — hair pulled away from her face, in a much nicer dress than the nightgown he’d first seen her in. She pays them no regard though as she walks forward, casting a shadow over him. He thinks she might yell at him. He laughs half-heartedly at the odds — noticing everything except that it’s apparently her barn he found himself making a mess of, things tucked into the crux of her arm.

A bottle of whiskey, a flask, cloth dressings, rags— oh, she really is too good to him.

“Hey angel,” he murmurs as she kneels before him without a word. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“Of all the barns to go and die in you had to pick mine?” she asks, exasperated as she untucks his shirt to undo the buttons. He tries not to let his mind wander with every brush of her warm fingers against his skin. She pulls him up by the pits to a proper sitting position, and he grunts as he tries to help her with that.

“What can I say? Had to get that name.”

“Well you’ve got it.” He watches her drench the rag with the alcohol, running it across the exit wound first. He’s silently grateful it didn’t hit anything vital — or at least, he doesn’t think it did. It’d probably hurt even more than it already does.

“No I don’t,” he counters. Her movements stall for a moment before she continues, shifting again to clean where it’d entered him. Her head is bowed before him as she works, and once again his heart’s stuttering a little when she looks up at him through dark lashes, squinting at him.

“What’re you talking about?”

“Wanna hear it from you,” Bucky shrugs a little. “Doesn’t count if you’re not the one telling me, angel.” She mutters something about him being ridiculous that has him chuckling as she grabs the bandages. There’s smudges of mud on her skirts now that he can’t look away from — jaw clenching as she wraps his torso with careful precision. Her fingers drag across his skin, rough palms pressing to his stomach, his back. It’s all he can focus on; the roughness of her hands and the mud on her skirts, he damn near misses what she says next.

“Vivian,” she murmurs. “Viv. Whatever works.”

“Vivian… Viv… angel,” he chuckles a bit. “You gotta give me a third.”

“Does bandit work?” she asks as she assesses her work. Bucky kisses his teeth.

“I mean I prefer vigilante.” This makes her snort, and with her state of dress he practically relishes in how “unladylike” it is. Lifting her head, Bucky can’t help himself — reaching out to tuck some strands of hair behind her ear that fell out of place, aware of how close she was to him now. “We’ll put a pin in it.” She holds his stare for a few moments longer and he selfishly takes it in — the hand pressed into his outstretched leg so she doesn’t lean into him too much, the gold of her eyes. When she retracts, he swears that she’s branded his thigh with her handprint; he’s not mad about it.

“But I’m right, aren’t I? You’re…” she trails off, like saying the word will summon Sheriff Harding in a flash of holy light. He figures that explaining their unique relationship with law enforcement is a conversation for when his head is no longer swimming. His horse swats at him with his tail as if he’s trying to keep him awake, and he nods a little.

“That bother you? Bandit in your barn?”

“No. Just… surprised is all,” she looks away, wiping her hands with the rag — which is how he realizes that it’s his blood on her pretty fingers. Part of him wants to press further, just to see if she’s lying about it, but he ultimately decides against it. For now, he adds internally. “I’m not gonna have a bunch of your guys on my doorstep treating it like a hostage situation, am I?”

Bucky laughs, half-surprised by the look she gives him. It’s something between irritated and concerned, like it’s more of a convenience than anything else. She’s thrusting the small flask into his chest as she asks it.

“No, probably just two annoyed friends of mine. And they might apologize for me,” Bucky explains as he undoes the cap. He half expects the burn of alcohol when he raises it to his lips, but it’s just water on his grateful tongue. He licks his lips to gather what tries to escape. “Sorry for scaring your uh…”

“Maid?”

“Yeah. She seems nice.”

“Good at keeping secrets, too,” she adds flippantly. She takes his shirt in her hands. “I can… clean this. Get you a blanket. Gets cold back here at night you just… can’t come in the house.” She’s rubbing the nape of her neck and he nods, nonplussed at the boundary there. He smiles, running his hand over the dressings once, then twice.

“I’m getting the five star treatment, huh?” She rises, rolling her eyes a little as she takes the whiskey bottle and the dirtied rags.

“Better than most,” she affirms. “Don’t go anywhere.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

III.

Willie and Buck found him in the middle of the night. She was in her nightgown when she led the two of them to the back, to the barn where he’d wrapped himself in the blanket, knocked out cold. The vision of her when he brushed past was another he was adding to the gallery in his brain just titled Vivian. Bucky couldn’t really ride on his own; still a little loopy, his face pressed against Buck’s back while Willie led his horse beside her own.

“That the angel you were talking about, John?” Buck asked, gruffly.

“Mhm. Pretty little thing, don't you think?. Beat me in a race, too.”

The anecdote was met with silence from both of them, and if he wasn’t tired, he’d be more hard pressed to figure out the reason why.

Afternoons on Sunday are always the busiest — and the Church in their town is the closest of the bunch. Bucky hasn’t attended in years, and he didn’t this morning either, but he’s here anyway with Curt, waiting for Josie to get out. Sunday errands, her brother was a protective type and considering he patched up most of their wounds without questioning where they got them — the least they could do was accompany his sister to run errands.

And Josie’s sweeter than candy, so it’s not like Bucky minds much.

“How’s your side?” Curt asks curiously, bumping his arm. Bucky shrugs.

“A little sore. That’s about it.” Curt chuckles at that.

“Alright tough guy,” Bucky grins a little at the sarcasm. “When we gonna meet this angel, huh? Or is she a secret or something?” Bucky doesn’t answer for a moment. Truthfully, he hadn’t made the ride out to see her since, and that was a few weeks ago. He’d wanted to, but he’d been healing and there was a feeling in his gut that sending a letter would be a bad idea. So he shrugs once more, scanning the flood of people exiting the church in search of Josie.

“Well you think I’m making it up, so who’s to say?”

“Don’t tell me I hurt your feelings, sweetheart,” Curt teases, and Bucky’s about to counter with a remark of his own when his breath catches in his throat — lips parted, staring only a few feet away. Fuck.

He recognizes her immediately, talking with somebody, or listening, more like. The man next to her is doing the talking, and she’s holding onto his arm — not pressed into it, but definitely holding onto it. And it’s damn near impossible to miss the ring on her finger, chunky and attention-grabbing in the afternoon light. The older woman they’re talking to takes her hand to look over it, running her thumb along the back and the man next to her preens, talking so fast Bucky doesn’t even attempt to read his lips.

“Bucky. Bucky?” Curt snaps his fingers in front of his face and he jumps a little at the sound, whipping his head to look down at him. “You alright?”

He looks back up at Vivian, and for the briefest moment, he swears he’s caught her gaze before she looks away immediately — a full turn of her head like she’s looking at the other people around and not just trying to avoid him. There’s a want there to cross the threshold and speak to her — not out of any desire to embarrass her. More like see if he could get her the hell out of there. The stiffness in her posture is so plain to see that it’s impossible to ignore.

He’s also far too aware of who he is in comparison to who she probably is, which is to say — if a nobody from nowhere came up to her, it’d probably raise a few eyebrows. He looks back at Curt, who’s staring at him expectantly.

“I’ll tell you later,” he mumbles. Curt nods, and Bucky tries not to stare at her for too long.

Even if he so desperately wants to.

[yeehawbrothers]

With eyes like the sea after a storm- Bucky Barnes x reader

<3

——————————————————-

There were many things about him that you admired, many things you studied. If you had to guess, you would assume the god’s above has sculpted him in their own image. As if he was a replica of the best statue, or the brightest summer day. He, of course, has his own imperfections. Things he dispises about himself. Who doesn’t? 

It was moments such as these, that you almost wished you hadn’t met. For if you hadn’t, maybe he’d still be who he once was. A bright eyed young man, his life ahead of him. Not a forlorn shell of himself, locked in a barred room. 

It had happened so fast, you couldnt even be sure how. 

You had both been tasked on taking down a hydra base in the darkened woods of Maine. The kind of tree cover that blocks sunlight on a summers day. Neither of you had been thrilled about this task, but at least it would be quick. Or so you thought. 

The plan was to get in, get the needed information, and get out before the bombs you were set to rig exploded. To you, it seemed overly simple. After everything else you’d faced, it wasn’t something that you thought would weigh on your mind as the jet took flight. You sat across from him, watching as his eyes scanned the pages of a book he was reading. 

You were a collector of sorts, being a Stark allowed this. Many would assume those who hold the Stark name would posses collections of cars and jewels. Houses and estates. This however, was not who you were. The items you possess are often seen as small, or insignificant. But each holds its own stories. One of the many things you collected were books. Hell, a whole corner of your room in the tower was simply bookshelves. The shelves rose so high, that Tony had given you a small ladder that could roll across the linolium flooring and help you reach the top shelves. 

When Bucky had first joined the team, you were hesistant to approach him. He seemed closed off and distant. Who were you to push those walls? It wasnt until you ran into him as he entered the building, a stack of books in his arms, that you had decided he was much more than he seemed. From that point, you made it a priority to talk to him. To include him. At first, it seemed as though he was resistent. As if he was waiting for the other shoe to drop. For you to say you were kidding. After all, someone like you couldn’t really care about someone like him. Could you?

After taking notice of his love for books, you invited him to use your little library. Letting him know he was welcome to take whatever he wanted. He had thanked you, and the topic shifted. From that, you had assumed your offer would go unnoticed. Until one night, around 1am, as the rain pounded against the large glass windows in your room, there was a small knock at the door. Soft, so soft. As if knocking any harder would shatter the night. You were too comfortable in your bed to get up, simply speaking a soft, “Come in.”

There he was. In a regular tshirt and some shorts. What was really the most revealing thing you had seen him wear. He stood for a moment, hesistant in the doorway, until you laid your book to rest on your lap. Softly beckoning for him to enter. He did, as he softly shut the door behind him.

He didn’t speak much that night, simply grabbing a few books and sitting down on the lush carpet by the shelves. The thin sheer of the night was so soft, you resisted offering him a place on your bed. Although he hadn’t said much of anything, you knew something was wrong. Being intuitive had its perks. 

After a few hours, when the rain subsided and your eyes grew heavy with sleep, the restraint you had was broken. 

“Are you okay?” You whispered softly, watching as his head quickly snapped up in your direction. His look one of question and uncertainty. “Yeah.” He said softly, his voice gravely from unuse. “You’re a shit liar.” His eyes widened at your blunt comment, unused to such from you, who often remained quiet and watched, rather than speak out. The exhaustion had distorted your view of the persona you often maintained. The blunt thoughts of your mind slipping through. “You don’t have to tell me. But you’ve been reading the same page for the last 20 minutes.” Your tone was soft and unaccusing, an air of light humor. Something he wasn’t used to. There was silence for a moment, the haze you were in not rushing you to fumble an apology as usual. 

“Just..” He paused, seeming to hesistate in his momentary vulnerability. “Just a nightmare.” His voice was quiet and soft, almost a whisper. If the room hadn’t been so silent, you may not have heard it. 

All was still for a moment, before you sat up farther, leaning against the headboard. Softly patting the spot on your bed next to you. He looked from your hand to your face, unmoving. 

A few minutes, although they felt like hours, passed. Before he slowly rose and softly walked over, sitting on the side of the bed opposite to you. From your viewpoint, you studied the ridges on his back that were visible through the worn fabric. Noticing how tense he was, as If you were going to reach out and strike him for being so foolish as to sit beside you. 

“It’s okay. You can relax.” Your voice was soft, and quiet. His back slowly untensing as he turned slowly and looked at you. He studied your face, seeming to look for any hint of amusement or untruth. He was simply met by a small smile and tired eyes. 

The rest of the night was a blur. You eventually fell asleep. Waking up at around 5 as the sun began to show over the horizon. Attempting to stretch out, finding your movements restricted, you glanced down. He had fallen asleep at some point aswell, his head resting on the plush of your thigh, as one of your many plush blankets covered his upper half. You tensed for a moment, taken aback by this. ‘He fell asleep on me?’ Your furrowed brow turned to a small smile as you noticed the soft look of his face. Fully relaxed and content. A form you had never seen him take.

From that point, the two of you grew closer. Eventually becoming the closest of friends, and even stronger teammates. Even your brother Tony was quick to tease you about this, his inclination to despising the man strangely vacant. You couldn’t help but wonder who paid him off. And yet, although you denied any romance, reminding him platonic relationships existed, he simply giggled and left. Yes. Giggled.

Which led you back to the current moment, watching his blue eyes scan the pages. If there was one thing you couldn’t get enough of, it was his eyes. They were so blue and so soft. They reminded you of the sea after a storm. The hue sometimes changed. Sometimes they were darker, like an evening sky. Sometimes lighter, like a cool backyard pool in the midst of summer. Eye contact was not something you enjoyed. It was something that required effort, and attention. In the midst of remembering to hold it, not hearing what the other person said. This had happened with him many times, but not for that reason. You had simply lost yourself in his eyes. You often felt like you might sink and drown if you stared long enough, but you were never given the chance to test that theory. He would often noticed your silence and stare, assuming you were upset with him and quickly go quiet. You never noticed this, simply blinking as he looked away and continuing the conversation. You missed the look the shot your way, wondering if maybe, just maybe, you didn’t have any ulterior motive. You really were just looking at him. 

He seemed to feel your eyes on him, baby blues flicking up to meet yours. He raised an eyebrow, and you coughed and looked away slightly. Feeling your cheeks burn with the embarrassment of being caught. “Everything okay?” He said softly, his words guiding your gaze back to his. You nodded quietly. Prompting him to set his book down beside him, resting his chin on his hand, leaning forward on his knees. “You’re a shit liar.” You looked up, seeing a small smirk cross his features and you giggled quietly at his remark. 

“Just- nervous. I guess.” You started quietly, the only sound the whirring of the jets as your shoes tapped idly against the cool metal of the floor. He watched, patiently waiting for you to continue. “Its just- its been so long since I’ve been on one of these Hydra missions. I thought I was over…you know..all of it. This should be easy. But I’m just scared that-“ You stopped, your gaze flicking to his before to the floor again. “That?” He said softly. “They’ll get us. Again.” You whispered. “I can’t- I can’t go back. I’ve got too much to lose.” You looked up, expecting judgement. One of the strongest avengers, afraid of a little hydra mission? Pathetic.

But you werent met with judgement, or humor. Simply a sad, understanding smile. “I get that.” He said softly, shifting to sit back in his seat. “But you know Steve wouldn’t have let us go if he didn’t think we’d be okay.” You nodded softly at his words. 

Steve being like a big brother to you, as strange as it was, of course wouldn’t put you in a compromising situation. But there was always a what-if. 

“We don’t have to go.” Your head shot up, your eyes meeting his. “What?” He shrugged. “I don’t know. Its not like they couldn’t find someone else to do it.” You shook your head. “No. I- I want to.” He raised an eyebrow, before sighing and picking up his book once again. “If you say so.”

The rest of the ride was silent, your eyes now looking out the small window beside you. Watching the clouds pass by. From there, your mind settled slightly. Like dust in the desert after a breeze. The jet landed, you both exited and managed to get into the base rather easily. It having been abandoned for years, the locks weren’t the most up to date. You had managed to get to the main control room within a few minutes. This being where the computers with the data you needed to collect resided. Bucky wandered around the room as you got into the computer, inserting the USB and downloading the needed materials. In your focus, you hadn’t noticed he’d gone quiet.  

“Annnddd done. We should be good to go.” You placed the USB in your pocket, zipping it closed. “You know, for such an advanced group the computers sure are-“ You paused, turning around and noticing his position. He stood, ridged as he stared through a glass pane. You walked up beside him, looking through to see a containment chamber of some sort. “Whats that?” You whispered, eyes not leaving the large chair in the middle of the room. Some time passed before you noticed he hadn’t asnwered. “Bucky? You okay?” You turned, noticing the distant gaze on his features. There was no expression, and his once bright blue eyes were now almost grey. “Hey, are you-“ You reached up, gently touching his shoulder as you spoke. In a flash he was on you. His whole body turning as he slammed you into the wall, holding you in place with his metal hand on your throat. You gasped, clawing at him to no avail. “Buck-‘ You wheezed, before instinctively using your abilities to instinctively throw him off you across the room. You gasped, hand going to your throat on instinct. It was sore already, no doubt going to be bruised. You noticed him standing, turning and making his way back towards you. You placed your hands out infront of you, backing up slowly towards the door. “Bucky. Its me. Cmon whats wrong?” His gaze was cold and distant as he made wide steps towards you. It was then you realized, he wasn’t going to stop. Turning and running down the hall, quickly hearing him behind you. You were fast, but he was a super soldier. You started to use your enhancements to slam the doors behind you, buying some time as he slammed them down effortlessly. You managed to get out of the base, hand on the detonation for the bombs. You heard the last door slam down, watching as he stalked out of the doors. Directly towards you. “Bucky. Cmon. I’m not gonna fight you.” He didn’t stop, your words ricocheting off him. You quickly glanced over at the jet. Maybe if you could contain him you could- 

Before the thought had even met your nervous system to prompt movement, he was on you. 

In the two seconds you glanced away he had somehow broken the 15 foot seperation, knocking you to the ground. He sat above you, his hips holding you down. He punched you a few times, luckily using his flesh hand, before you realized what was happening. Sending him flying a few yards away, as you stood and wiped the blood from your face. F.R.I.D.A.Y quickly speaking up through your suit. “Ms. Stark. It appears you are injured. Should I inform Tony of the mission failure?” You coughed. “No. Don’t. I’ve got this.” It was silent for a moment before she responded, “Of course.” 

You would not make the mistake of giving Tony an excuse to hurt Bucky. He already hated him, you weren’t going to give him more ammunition. 

As Bucky once again stalked towards you, you realized he wasn’t going to stop. Waiting until he was a few feet away before speaking a soft, “I’m sorry.” Quickly acting and slamming him backwards onto the ground, holding his limbs down with the grey tendrils of your power. Straddling him quickly as he continued to blindly struggle, before reaching down, using your middle and pointer finger to tap against his temple. He stopped struggling, his eyes glowing the same color as the bounds that held him. You stood, releasing him and beginning to walk to the jet. “Cmon.” He followed blindly, his mind yours. This was the last thing you wanted to do, but you couldn’t get him to the jet alone. And you weren’t going to fight him. 

You walked up the ramp, as he sat on the seat infront of you. You reached into the console and grimaced as you pulled out the metal cuffs. Attaching one to his metal wrist, and one to the metal pole beside him, before removing yourself from his mind. Stepping back as the jet took flight, and his eyes cleared. There was a moment of silence as you detonated the explosives, destroying the facility as it faded into the distance behind you.

He took in a gasping breath, looking around wildly as he mindlessly struggled against the cuff. He quickly noticed you, stopping and staring. You watched his eyes flick across your face, and eventually down to your throat. Where you assumed bruises were forming. Subconsciously, you put you hand up, covering them. You took a soft step forward, freezing as he flinched back. “Hey..hey its just me.” He stared at you, his blue eyes glassy but clear. “You’re okay..” You attempted to move forward again, only for him to try and escape into his seat. Causing you to freeze again, and step back. You tilted your head, your own eyes glassy as your brow furrowed. 

“I..I did that. Didn’t I?” He said softly, looking to your face and neck. You opened your mouth to respond before he yelled, startling you. “FUCK.” You jumped back, eyes wide, never having heard him yell before, much less speak above a soft tone. “Hey its okay I’m-“ He shook his head visciously. “No. No. No. You’re not okay.” His eyes flicking to yours before looking away shamefully. “God I’m so selfish.” You furrowed your brows waiting for him to continue. “I- I’m so sorry. This is my fault. I never wanted to get close enough to hurt you. This g-“ He paused breathing deeply. “This arm. God. I’ve never hated it more.” You went to comfort him, before you noticed how erratic his breathing had gotten. His eyes grew wild as he struggled to breathe. You noticed how it was beginning to get worse. Shit. He was having a panic attack. You choked back a sob as you waved your hand softly, and he fell asleep. Falling limp against the pole beside him.

————————————————

Hours later, he awoke with a start. Instinctually attempting to flee, before the large metal restraints that held him to the bed became visible to his clouded mind. He managed to sit, as the cuffs held a strange amount of extra chain, even allowing his hand to reach his face as he roughly forced the sleep from his eyes. It was obvious his comfort was a factor in this. His eyes flickered like a dim candle across the small room he was in. It seemed to be some sort of containment cell, although he’d never seen such a thing with flowers on the table beside him. The bright colors seemed to almost cause him to cower away, like a bat in the bright summer sun. He was unsure how long his gaze had torn them apart, but he knew the sunflowers each had 34 petals. Sunflowers… and daisies. It clicked suddenly, sunflowers. Your favorite. Daisies… Both of which grew in the small garden you had on one of the community floors of the compound. A dagger of pain shot through him at the memories of before his fall to unconsciousness. The bruises across your neck like dark patches of blood across a satin sheet. Oh God, could the stains ever be removed? 

The hallway was silent as a snowy winter night in the mountains as you walked. Sock-clad feet silent against the icy tile floor as the steps taken held a force of uncertainty, and pressure. Approaching the door felt like walking through a hurricane as the force of the thoughts in your head swirled like a tornado through a vacant home. As the door clicked open slowly, the painful vision of the blue eyed man before you caused a pause. At the sound of the door opening, abeit mostly silent, his eyes shot to meet yours. Expecting a scientist or some sort of experimental doctor, instead, landing on your soft gaze as you enter and softly clicked the door closed behind you. As your feet carried you forward, his body pushed back into the bed. Like a wild animal, afraid. Steps paused, soft hands coming up in surrender. “What’re-“ He paused, eyeing you. “What’re you doing here?” The tone his words carried like a spear through your soul. Defeated, confused, mourning.

“I came to check on you… I wanted to apologize.” He laughed, loudly. The sudden loud noise like a gunshot in the silent of the night, as it ricocheted off the metal walls. “Apologize?” He said almost angrily. “To me?” His face was a mix of sadness and anger as his eyes met yours. They were a deeper blue now, almost like the depths of the ocean. The silence of your stare unnerved him as he looked away, eyes cast back to the flowers beside his bed. “You shouldn’t have cut these-“ His eyes turned back, expecting to find you halfway out the door. Instead, seeing you beside the bed. You both stared silently for a moment that seemed to stretch into eons. “I’m sorry.” The whisper from your lips sounded more like a scream to him. “I’m sorry I went into your head. I swore I never would.” The anger drained from his face, like watercolor on a canvas. “I didn’t want to put you in here.” Your eyes cast around the room disapprovingly. “I knew you’d wake up fine..but Tony-“ you cut yourself off, glancing at him before looking back down. “He sees me for what I really am.” He says flatly, “A monster to be contained.” The strings binding your heart seemed to loosen at his words, moving closer. “Don’t say that.” You whispered, reaching for his hand as he pulled back. “But it’s true. I hurt you. I could’ve KILLED you. Don’t you get it? I’m a monster. I’m not redeemable.” He said, looking down as his voice faded into the silence. “I don’t think there’s much I can say to change your mind now…but please, don’t blame yourself. None of this is, or has ever been, your fault. You’re a good man Buck. Everything that happened to you was not by your own volition.” Your hand manages to reach towards his metal one, he doesn’t bother to resist as you move it closer to you, resting your face against the cool metal. “This hand is not a weapon, and neither are you. See? Is anything happening?” The undying chill of the metal glides against your face as he slowly moves it, staring as if seeing it for the first time. “We’re gonna figure this out buck.” His eyes flick to yours as he jolts forward, the chains holding him back. Your eyes take in his defeated form, standing and touching the chains as they come undone like a loose string. His broken eyes meeting yours as you stand, as if nothing could touch you. As if he wasn’t able to snap your neck in a second. He lurches forward again, this time unhindered by the chains as his arms wrap around your waist as he pulls his head towards your torso. Your hand automatically finds placement at his back, as your fingers run through his hair. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you doll.” He says quietly, his voice soft and broken as water stains your clothes. “Just existing is enough.”

—————————————————

I’ve read over this too many times and i feel as though it’s not the best, but it’s self indulgent at heart.

All the love- A. <3

-i do not give permission for my work to be copied, translated, or posted anywhere but here on this post.

[bucky-bucky-bucky-bucky]

I might just not get up, I might stay down bad

[snailpebbles]

rewatching the Martian and screaming everytime Sebastian Stan is on screen IS girlhood.

[caustinen]

i saw this video and the brainrot overcame me and i wrote 2.4k words of secret agent!bucky and bond girl!gale except that actually he’s the son of a mob boss that works as a double agent

tags: smut / feelings / angst / injuries / tending of injuries

enjoy?

hold me like a knife (ao3)

It takes only three simple words, and the pain in Bucky’s wounds seem to vanish at once as he fighst a grin — his first smile for days.

”You look horrible.”

Gale speaks in his matter-of-fact and yet oddly tender tone as always, as if he was just observing facts that had no real implications for him; it’s the very same tone that caught Bucky’s interest in the first place before he ever even saw his face.

He loses the fight with the grin, though it’s quickly overcome with a grimace as he leans to the doorframe and accidentally touches on a fresh bruise. ”I missed you too, doll,” he manages to sound nonchalant, at least to his own ears, but the slight tightening of Gale’s expressions reveals he has been caught. A gentle but determined hand reaches for the collar of his jacket and pulls him into the hotel room, Bucky making sure to kick the door closed behind himself. The lock clicks just as soft fingers run down the less bruised side of his face before he’s guided down so the shorter man can press a careful kiss to his lips. His own hands land on his shoulders, running up and down his biceps and squeezing lightly. He’s like a child who has gotten his favorite plushie back after a vaction, he supposes, as he seeks the comfort of touch with the despair of a starving man.

The kiss starts light, careful, Gale clearly trying to determin how much Bucky is hurting — the lower lip is slightly swollen from where it split to a knife — but as Bucky presses himself closer and tries his luck with a tentative lick between his lips, Gale sighs before opening up to him. Bucky only realizes how tense he has been when his shoulders drop and he relaxes into Bucky’s embrace. The hitched breathes and sighs and wet sounds of their lips meeting fill the silence between them, and Bucky can feel life bleed back into him with each little silent ngh that Gale probably doesn’t even realize he’s making.

The slowness molded by the simple pleasure of the other’s body heat close starts to vanish into real passion, the touch of their mouths getting more demanding, but unfortunately a nib of Gale’s teeth on his tender lip makes him hiss in pain, immediately pulling Gale farther away. Bucky doesn’t let him go far, hands now secured around the small of his back, and Gale doesn’t fight him either. He’s blushed by their effort and his lips are slightly swollen now too as his eyes travel over Bucky’s face once more, no doubt noting each of his visble wounds and calculating how many he’s hiding underneath his suit. His eyes stop on the three hazardly done stitches on his left eyebrow, and Bucky knows he doesn’t need to tell him he’s put them there himself, just now on the plane.

He might tell him later, when they’re cooling down under a single blanket and Gale’s playing with his hair or fingers and he doesn’t have to look him in the face as he talks because he knows Gale will be latching on to each word, not missing a single unvoiced moment of pain and fear from his story that he’s not ready to admit even to himself.

Gale hums. He looks like he’s deep in thought, but Bucky can tell he’s still more alert than most people are when they really put their mind to it, just by the virtue of his upbringing. The thought physcally aches somewhere deep in his insides and Bucky realizes more than ever what a bad idea it was to come here like this, he’s clearly too in his feelings to be acting rationally, too raw from the gruelling assignment and worrying about Gale. His arms around the smaller man tighten without his permission but Gale doesn’t comment on it, still carefully mapping out his face with his gaze and fingertips.

”You should be at a hospital,” he finally says, whispers, really, the worry and relief he’s still at one piece battling each other over every syllable. Bucky swallows the lump from his throat and forces a grin. They don’t have long, they never do, and he’ll be damned if he made it all the way back just to crumble at his feet.

(Gale would let him, and pick him back up and put together no matter how many pieces he’d be in, and that’s why he won’t.)

”Nah,” Bucky says, satisfied with how truly carefree he does sound that time, ”I had to come see my baby first.” The endearement works wonders like always. Gale let’s out a silent breath and his eyes soften despite shaking his head slightly before reaching for another kiss. It’s softer, again, taking them back to the start, and that’s fine with Bucky, he’s too tired and tender for all these emotions right now. ”Well, you’re not gonna bleed all over my sheets,” Gale tells him as he pulls back again, ”c’mon, let’s get you cleaned up.”

Bucky lets his mind fade into a pleasant hum in the background as Gale unburdens him from his suit layers, biting his lip unhappily as he uncovers the bruising and cuts all over his torso but not saying anything. Bucky’s merely an observer as he’s pushed into the shower, the water pleasant rythm on his tired body. He leans to the cold wall and closes his eyes, unsure how long he just stays there taking it in before the door opens and closes with silent clicks and a smaller body presses against him. He keeps his eyes closed when Gale washes his hair, humming in content, following the gentle guidance of sure hands he trusts with the essances of his soul. He opens his eyes when Gale’s hands make a long stop on his cheeks again after rinsing the shampoo of. He finds his doll eyes looking at him, thoughtful and scared and thankful and suddenly Bucky feels chocked up again so he takes his face between his hands and presses his lips to the blonde’s forehead and tastes the clean water there.

After quickly washing his own hair under Bucky’s interested eyes Gale drags them out. For himself he pulls on a bathrobe before taking using one of the towels for Bucky’s curls and then the other for delicately tracing down his torso between all the marks of violence. Bucky stays silent even when he starts to disinfect the cuts, giving away his exhauston completely, but the silence is soft like a protective cushion between them and the world.

Once he’s happy Gale takes him by the hand and pulls him after himself. Bucky’s back hits the mattress and he suddenly feels all the tiredness at once at the soft embrace of the clean sheets, and then immediately after wide awake again as Gale’s thighs settle on both sides of his lap, hands automatically coming to rest lazily on his hips as Gale leans over him on all fours to press airy pecks all over his abused face — his temples, cheekbones, eyelides, side of his nose, the sharpest edge of his jawline — as if trying to force a protective spell, or a blessing, upon his skin.

”Sweetheart,” Bucky murmurs dreamily as the other keeps going down from his face, pressing his face into his neck and collarbones and inhaling him like an addict looking for his fix. Gale hums in answer absentmindedly and kisses his way further down. He kisses each of the bruises softly, nibbing at the parts of his skin that are not injured, letting the skin go up and down with his teeth, never biting hard enough to actually hurt but leaving his little signatures everywhere on his abs, navel, hip-joints.

Bucky’s hands have found reign in his hair at some point, long fingers twisted in wet strands and pulling just a little when Gale breathes against the base of cock, pressing his lips there and giving the sensitive skin between his dick and balls like it was something sacred. Bucky hisses in want as Gale guides both of his knees over Gale’s shoulders when he gives more admiring kisses to his manhood, asking to be pressed down to the bed with Bucky, to be let to be lost in their pleasure for just a moment.

Gale goes down on him like he wants to regain him, almost like he wants to hurt him too to replace memories of everyone else hurting him. Bucky groans as his throat clicks when he gags on him, and then moans immediately after, doing it again and again. It’s lewd and dirty and perfect. John can do nothing else but take it and whisper soft praise, ”So good for me darling”, ”Just like that”.

Gale pulls back to breathe properly, and Bucky drags him sitting up by his hair, making Gale whine with a wide smile on his face. ”Show-off,” Bucky accuses him quietly, with a fond little smile, their dicks rubbing together as Gale sits on his lap again. The blondie laughs into the kiss as Bucky turns them around, backing Gale up until the top of his hair is touching the metal frame of the bed.

They stare at each other there for a moment, Bucky taking his time now to look at him, pressing the image to his mind for moments when the warmth of the younger is just a distant memory. Gale bites his lip again, but this time with a happy grin, as Bucky bullies his thighs apart with his own and then presses down on him until his calves are trapped between them. ”Are you sure?” Bucky scoffs, shaking his head. ”Sweetheart. The day when I respond to that ’you know what, I’m good actually’ I want you to end my life with a tool of your choice.” Gale makes a disapproving clicking sound with his tongue but reaches to play with Bucky’s curls again with his left hand, softness in his eyes that makes him look younger. Pain swirls through John at the sight. ”I’m really okay just having you close-” Bucky shuts him up by licking at his lips. ”Shh. Let me, baby.” Gale falls silent, looking up at him with stars in his eyes, and it scares Bucky he knows how much he trusts him. ”Please, let me,” he whispers against his lips again. Gale nods.

John takes one hand to each of his own and presses them gently to the headboard. A soflty whispered ”stay” and then ”good boy” as Gale wraps his slender fingers around the metal there makes the blonde’s breath hitch. John keeps his hands there for a bit before running them down his arms, lips locked in a passionate kiss, the little noises Gale makes into it driving him wild. His own cock is aching and Gale’s drying saliva is cooling and making him extra sensitive, but he still takes his time prepping Gale carefully, taking care of him like he took care of him earlier in the bathroom.

He pulls his three fingers out when Gale’s sounds get loud and keening despite his best efforts of muffling them — there’s no need to be quiet here, but old habits die hard. He lubes himself up and sits up straighter on his knees between Gale’s legs. Gale is breathing hard, chest heaving between them, his hands still around the metal. John leans down to kiss him to not tell him how much he loves him and then pushes into him as Gale’s moans fill his lungs.

He can’t keep kissing him for long, the sudden need to take him hard overwhelming and immediate. There’s spit connecting their heart-shaped lips as Bucky presses his hands on the mattress on both sides of Gale’s head and puts his back into it, his pain, his frustration, and Gale throws his head to the side and smiles, and Bucky’s heart aches again so he fucks him harder, drinking in the happy sighs with his eyes and ears alike.

He notices that Gale’s arms are shaking with the effort of keeping them against the frame so he slows down for a moment, reaching for his hands again and carefully pulling them towards the core of them, waiting for Gale to have them wrapped around his neck before he drives into him slower but deeper. Gale’s gasping for breath with each thrust, his eyes closed and face focused on pleasure, and Bucky would like nothing more than to drag this out until the morning but he knows he needs to rest, and he’d rather fall asleep with Gale wrapped around him than see him leave at dawn to return for the shadows assigned to him.

Gale opens his eyes and they stare at each other, Bucky momentarily posessed by the hazy blue that looks up at him in melancholy, in need, in hope, in love. Bucky is immediately resigned, he wants to tear up his chest and stop feeling or stop the time and stay like this forever. He will give Gale anything he needs, anytime he can.

”In me,” Gale pleads him, and Bucky presses his lips to his forcefully now, overcome by the image of Gale pulling on his clothes and going back to his betrothed with Bucky still dripping from him. He whines aloud at the thought and gives it to him harder, better, louder, and Gale murmurs praise and gratitude into his open mouth before throwing his head back and coming between them. Bucky follows him there and then the room is silent again, both of them breathing hard, the sweat cooling between them. Gale has hidden his face to Bucky’s hair, away from the world, his arms hugging tightly around his neck, wanting to morph into this moment and only breathe the cheap hotel shampoo for the rest of his days. Bucky mouths at his neck, yearning to mark the pure skin that’s not his to claim, at least if he cares about keeping his Gale alive.

Bucky turns them carefully to their sides, slipping away from him. Gale feels suddenly cold and pushes himself closer so he can stay away from the room and the world beyond it for a moment more. Bucky makes a soothing cooing sound for he can’t say to him anything to make it better, and hugs him thight when he feels the first sob force it’s way out of his lover. He’ll hold him close for as long as he can, caress the perfect valleys of his back, and pray they both live to have this fleeting moment again.

[idk-bruh-20]

Irondad fic ideas #159

Fic set in a universe where they never reversed the snap. The world has been grieving for 8 years.

Suddenly, one of the snapped reappears, but it is not Peter Parker. It's someone else (maybe Strange, Wanda, Bucky...)

There's debate about what to do. The returned person doesn't seem to remember much, although it's possible they remember more than they're letting on. Should the remaining Avengers study them, interrogate them, let them live out a peaceful life and forget about everyone else?

The debate gets way more intense when Tony Stark finds out what's going on. They've tried to keep it from him, knowing how he'd react, and he definitely lives up to expectations.

Of course they need to find out everything this person knows. They need to bring their missing people back. They need to bring back his son.

How hard will Tony push to find out the truth? to bring his kid home?

Bonus:

At some point, the person admits that they were lying about their memories. They're here because they fell through a portal. They're from another universe.

Except... they genuinely didn't know Tony had a son? They've never heard of anyone called Peter Parker. And yes, their universe does have a Spider-Man. Their universe even has a May Parker -- she died recently, btw. And it was Spider-Man's fault.

This awful news, and the horror story Tony infers from it, makes him even more determined to rescue his kid. Once they learn how to reverse the snap, he's going to make sure he lives to protect Peter from bullshit like what this other Peter Parker had to go through.

Still, he's heartbroken for the version of his kid in this other universe. Before sending the universe hopper back to where they belong, he tells them all about Peter and asks them to find him, to keep him safe. He may or may not send some tech with videos for all of their memory-zapped loved ones too.

This fic idea was inspired by this fic by @asyouleft!

[meep-meep-richie]

Not Bucky changing his jacket cause Buck ‘hated’ his old one 🫠