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mandoalorian · 19 days ago

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the life of a showgirl | bucky barnes x f!reader

synopsis: when the new avengers go undercover at the glamorous orange-lit club sunset mirage, bucky barnes is supposed to be gathering intel—not falling into an all-consuming obsession with the showgirl who owns the stage and, before long, his every thought.

warnings: 18+ explicit content ahead, minors do not interact, no use of y/n, protected p in v, male recieving oral, fingering, riding, dry humping, male masturbation, voyeurism (lap dance with an audience), dirty talk, over stimulation, non-consenual touch (not from bucky), violence/physical fight, body worship, aftercare, misconceptions/stereotypes about dancers, mentions of sex work, mob/mafia themes, wilson fisk is here lol don't ask i've been playing spiderman on ps5.

word count: 11K

author’s note: today is my day off work, and the TS12 news that came this morning had me vibrating with excitement. so of course, i had to channel my inspiration into a bucky fic for you all. fun fact: one of my all time favourite movies is moulin rouge, so expect those sort of vibes. i hope you enjoy! & feedback is appreciated, always.

bucky barnes masterlist

You weren’t there to see how the city bared its teeth that night.

Vegas—no, not Vegas; something older wearing Vegas like a costume—glimmered beneath a sheath of neon, all vibrant orange seams and gold thread, a seamstress’s dream stitched over a bruise. Down on Kestrel Boulevard, where the air tasted like champagne and cigarette sugar, the club’s sign curved in cursive: Sunset Mirage. The promise and the warning in one breath.

Inside, the place was plush and sinful in a way that made men feel rich even before they’d lost a dime. Velvet booths, brass rails polished to a fever shine, mirrors angled to multiply every light and make the room look endless. Music lapped the walls—lazy horns, a piano with a sly grin. Waiters in white gloves sluiced between tables with bottles, the bubbles winking like secrets. A stage slept behind a curtain of glittering beads, a closed eye with a heavy lash.

Bucky and John walked in like sin had a dress code they were determined to obey. Tailored suits, cufflinks that caught the light, the solemn grace of men pretending to be the kind of men who threw money for sport. John was showier; he liked to be seen. Bucky was a bruise under a sleeve—present, quiet, impossible to ignore if you knew where to look. He carried the room with a stillness that turned heads, as if the noise bent around him out of habit.

“Play nice, gentlemen,” Valentina’s voice purred through the comm in Bucky’s ear, silk over steel. “Blending in looks a lot like money. Try to look expensive.”

“I am expensive,” John said, already flashing a smile at the hostess. “Tell ’em Walker’s here to lose a little dignity and a lot of cash.”

“More dignity than cash,” Yelena’s dry Russian lilt crackled across the channel, followed by the faint clink of rhinestones. “I am down a pair of earrings already. I hate this.”

Bucky’s mouth tipped at the corner. “You volunteered for feathers,” he murmured, eyes sweeping the room the way a current reads a shoreline—mapping exits, counting faces, weighing posture. He clocked the pit boss with a shark’s smile, the corner table with too much privacy for a club that sold spectacle, the balcony rail with a perfect vantage and no drinks left sweating on it. He catalogued the weight of the space in his bones. Whole, then hollow, then whole again.

“Yeah, better me in feathers than Bob,” Bucky could practically hear Yelena’s eye roll through the comms as she scoffed incredulously.

“Last time I was in feathers was when Alfredo’s Bail Bonds had me dressed in a chicken costume,” Bob muttered from somewhere on a different channel. Bucky hadn’t even realised he was part of this mission.

“Right, when you were addicted to meth,” Walker grumbled.

“Anyways,” Yelena interrupted. “I volunteered to outshine. Feathers are just a path to glory.”

A second voice joined hers: Ava, soft but amused. “Yeah, if glory is a ten-pound headdress that doesn’t clear the dressing-room doorway.”

“Beauty is pain,” Yelena replied. “Also, pins. Lots of pins. Bucky, if you step on my train, I will dislocate your shoulder.”

“Copy,” he said, not bothering to hide the warmth in his voice. Family had a thousand dialects; theirs was bickering on an encrypted channel.

Outside, Alexei revved the engine of a limousine so ostentatious it should have come with its own brass band. The paint job was a wet, boastful red; the chrome trim winked like it knew all your secrets and charged by the hour. RED GUARDIAN glowed on the dash in block letters, an overly dramatic threat and a promise of a ride.

“I am parked,” Alexei announced, proud. “The valet tried to take keys. I told him only a true champion drives this beast. He cried. From respect.”

“From fumes,” John muttered, accepting two glasses of whiskey from a passing tray and handing one to Bucky. “Here, Barnes. Toast to another night of pretending we like each other.”

Bucky didn’t toast. He lifted the glass, let the smell curl into his head—oak and smoke, memory and heat—and put it down untouched. His gaze continued its slow prowl, always moving without looking like it was. John sprawled in the booth like he owned it, knee jacked out, tie loosened with the impatience of a man allergic to collars.

“Eyes on the prize,” Valentina reminded them over the secure channel, grounded and calm from an unmarked van three blocks away. “We’re not here to get cute. Fisk runs a network that moves hardware and information under casino lights. We confirm the ledger. We get out.”

“Ledger,” Yelena echoed. “Small black notebook, raised emboss on the spine, smells like leather and laundering.”

Ava hummed. “Back office is keyed to a biometric. I’ll need a friend.”

“You have me,” Yelena said, and Bucky could hear the smile.

They were good, the girls. Soft where the world expected hard, bright where the world dismissed. The trick wasn’t feathers or lipstick. It was eye contact. It was knowing precisely when to let it slide away.

A hostess led Bucky and John to a corner booth with a clean line of sight to the stage. The table was shadowed enough to keep them unremarkable, but not so dark a security camera would wonder why. The lighting was intentional here—everything in this club was—because the house understood the power of suggestion. Give a man two-thirds of a picture and he’ll spend his fortune inventing the rest.

“You see the pit boss?” John asked, too close to Bucky’s ear, breath warm, tone pitched just for him. He’d learned spycraft, but he wore it like cologne—loud, for other people to smell. “That guy’s wired like a Christmas tree.”

“Mmh.” Bucky tracked the gleam at the boss’s wrist, the bump at his lapel, the habit of touching his right hip when someone laughed too hard. Not a weapon. A comfort tick. Holster memory. “Former security. Not military. Walk’s wrong.”

“Tell me something I don’t know,” John said.

“You’re slouching,” Bucky answered.

John huffed. “Bite me.”

“After the mission,” Yelena said sweetly.

Ava’s laugh came like chimes. “Doors are coded but the runners chat. One mentioned ‘the King’ arriving late. Think that’s Fisk?”

“Kingpin,” Valentina supplied. “Yes. He’s not expected front-of-house, but his shadow is long. Don’t touch him if he touches you. Not tonight.”

Bucky’s hand, flesh and metal, went quiet on the table. Not tonight was different from never. He filed it. He filed everything to the back of his mind.

A pianist slid into something slow and honeyed. The mirrors behind the bar caught it and turned it to light. A trio of dancers crossed the back of the room, feathers bobbing like exotic birds migrating south for the season. Guests leaned in. Credit cards thought about their choices.

“House is seating the whales,” John murmured, eyes on the tuxedos drifting toward the rope line nearest the stage. “Show’s in five.”

“Copy,” Yelena said, voice suddenly lower, breath a little closer to the mic. Bucky pictured her in sequins, shoulders bared, posture perfect, a blade wrapped in velvet. “Ava and I are on the move.”

“Watch your corners,” Sam said.

“Watch your corners,” Yelena returned, and the channel crackled with fond exasperation that softened the edges of the night.

Bucky watched the staff, the exits, the way the air shifted moments before a curtain rose. He listened to the hush as anticipation slipped its hand into the room’s pocket, stealing breath. He felt John bristle beside him with a restless, competitive energy that had nothing to do with him and everything to do with the way John wanted the world to see him—loud enough to drown the quiet parts.

Bucky didn’t need to be seen. He needed to see.

The club’s lighting dipped, as if someone had pinched the wick of the evening between finger and thumb. Conversations thinned to whispers. The bead curtain at the stage’s mouth shivered as if a gust had made it blush. A spotlight traced a lazy circle across velvet, slow as a heartbeat, then tightened like a promise.

“Positions,” Ava breathed, and there was a new note in her voice—anticipation’s cousin, nerves dressed as bravery. Somewhere behind that curtain, backstage lights seared white, hands smoothed satin, pins were checked and checked again. Somewhere a breath was held.

“Alexei,” Valentina said. “Engine.”

“Already purring,” Alexei replied, delighted. “She likes to be ready.”

John drummed his fingers. “Let’s get the ledger and go before I start tipping out of boredom.”

“You don’t tip,” Bucky said mildly.

“I tip when I’m pretending to be a gentleman.”

“Oh, this is you pretending to be a gentleman?”

John grinned, flashing teeth. “I prefer the term ‘artist’.”

“This club is adults only,” Yelena warned, and Bucky could hear the grin in her voice now. “So stop acting like kids before it draws unnecessary attention.”

A low laugh rolled through Bucky before he could stop it. It lived in his chest and warmed his throat and did nothing to slow the clocking, the methodical scanning, the weight of habit that kept him intact. He sipped his whiskey finally, just enough to look like he belonged, and set the glass down where a fingerprint wouldn’t matter.

On the balcony, a camera’s red eye winked. At the rope line, a guard shifted his stance to hide a key fob that wasn’t for show. Near the bar, a runner with ink on his fingers slipped a slim black book beneath a tray liner before vanishing toward the back corridor.

“There,” Bucky said, quiet. “Ava, your door’s about to open. Runner headed your way with a book. Black, embossed spine.”

“Copy,” Ava replied, and the flirt lilt fell away, leaving something sharp. “On him.”

“Yelena?” Sam prompted.

“Already moving,” she said, unconcerned. “Try not to miss me.”

The stage lights bloomed.

Sound gathered itself like silk being drawn through a ring; the room inhaled with it. The curtain’s fringe swayed, the brass rails caught starbursts, and somewhere deep in the structure of the building, the bass thumped like a second, larger heart.

Bucky didn’t know he’d been waiting for it until his pulse answered.

He didn’t know your name yet. He didn’t know the particular shade of red they’d painted your mouth, or the way your laugh would sound later when the audience had gone home and the glitter lay on tile like fallen constellations. He didn’t know the cadence of your steps or the way your gaze would skim over men who howled for you and land on the one who didn’t.

He only knew the room leaned toward the stage as if gravity had shifted—every eye, every breath, every dollar and sin—and that whatever stepped through those beads would change the night.

“On you,” Valentina murmured, and Bucky folded himself into the booth’s shadow, a patient line of tension from shoulder to ankle.

The music swelled.

The curtain parted.

The moment the beads parted, the room forgot itself.

The hush that had draped over the crowd broke apart, spilling into a wave of low whistles, appreciative murmurs, the clink of glasses raised instinctively toward the stage.

And then there was you.

Orange—not just orange, but the molten glow of a desert sunset—wrapped your body in sequins and silk. It caught every lick of light and flung it back into the room until the air seemed warmer for it. The color made your skin luminous, the way fire does when you stand too close. It bled into the long, arched plumes of your headdress, the tips of the feathers dusted gold so they winked when you moved. Every step sent a ripple of shimmer down the line of your legs, sheer stockings catching hints of light, rhinestones flashing like sparks along your hips.

The band hit a brassy, sultry note, and you walked like the music belonged to you—hips swaying just enough to make the crowd lean forward, shoulders back so the delicate straps of your costume curved against your skin.

Bucky wasn’t breathing. He was certain of it. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Valentina’s voice was a faint, “Yelena, status?” but it might as well have been happening in another universe.

“Would you look at that…” John’s voice came from just over the rim of his glass, lazy and smug. “I’ll take her over the ledger any day. Wonder what’s under—”

Bucky’s head turned just enough for John to see the flicker in his eye, the kind of cold that didn’t require words. John lifted both hands in mock surrender, smirking. “Easy, Barnes. I’m just appreciating the view.”

But Bucky wasn’t appreciating. He was studying. He was learning.

You commanded the stage like you’d been born under its lights. Your eyes swept over the front tables, a playful pass that made strangers feel chosen, and yet—when you looked away—they seemed almost disappointed, as if they’d imagined the connection. You gave the crowd enough to keep them leaning in but never enough to take.

It was the armour of a woman who knew the difference between power and danger.

From his seat, Bucky tracked the subtle tells—the way you let a leering man’s comment slide off without so much as a twitch in your smile, the precise angle of your arm when you bent to lift a long cigarette holder from the prop tray, the half-second pause before you let one of the tuxedoed “high rollers” take your hand for the choreographed spin.

Orange sequins flashed as you turned, laughter spilling from your painted mouth, and Bucky’s whiskey sat untouched on the table.

“Ledger secured,” Ava’s voice came low and quiet in his ear. “Meet point in ninety seconds.”

Yelena followed, her own voice bright with the aftertaste of adrenaline. “I’m on the stairs. Pit boss didn’t even blink.”

Bucky didn’t answer right away. The corner of his vision was full of you—your heels clicking against polished wood as you moved into the next sequence, a cascade of feathers swaying like they’d been trained to follow the curve of your body.

“Barnes,” Val prompted.

He blinked, tore his gaze from you with effort, and gave the barest nod toward the exit. John was already sliding out of the booth, smoothing his tie and muttering about “leaving before the real fun starts.”

Bucky stood slower. One last glance at the stage—at you, framed in gold light, eyes catching for the briefest heartbeat on the tall, broad-shouldered man leaving the shadows of the back corner. You didn’t falter in your step, but he saw it. A glint. A question.

And then the curtain beads shivered behind him, and you were gone.

Outside, Alexei’s limo door swung open like the flap of a magician’s cape. Yelena and Ava were already inside, their showgirl makeup still sharp, glitter clinging to their skin like it belonged there.

“Got it?” Sam’s voice was tinny over the comm.

Ava held up the small black ledger, triumphant. “Got it.”

John sank into the seat beside her with a sigh. “Good. Now can we go somewhere less… feathered?”

Yelena smirked, settling back against the seat. “You looked. Don’t pretend you didn’t.”

Bucky said nothing. The club lights still burned in his peripheral vision, and the image of you—in orange, laughing under the weight of a thousand eyes—was already burned into the inside of his skull.

He told himself it was just a face. Just a performer. Just another night in another club on another mission.

But deep down, he knew better.

Bucky told himself it was nothing.

Nothing but the aftertaste of a mission, a leftover scrap of detail his mind hadn’t filed away yet. Just another performer in another club, the kind of distraction the city sold wholesale.

And yet…

The next night, his boots found the sidewalk outside Sunset Mirage without his permission. No comm in his ear. No team in sight. Just him and the low hum of the street, neon humming overhead like a siren’s low laugh.

Inside, the club hadn’t changed—why would it? The same dim brass glow. The same tangerine velvet curtains like a closed mouth hiding a secret. The same sour-sweet perfume of champagne and smoke curling into the rafters.

And the same table in the back, shadows just deep enough to swallow him if he sat still.

So he did.

A whiskey slid onto the table without him asking—same server as the night before. The man gave him a glance that said, I’ve seen your kind before. Bucky didn’t bother correcting him.

The stage was empty for now, occupied by a jazz quartet sawing through something lazy and low. Bucky’s eyes skimmed the crowd the way they always did, cataloguing exits, reading posture, noting tells. But the truth was, he wasn’t here for them.

When you stepped out—different costume tonight, silver and white with bursts of coral feathers—he felt it hit low in his ribs, that strange pull.

You didn’t see him. Not yet.

The crowd did what crowds do—leaned forward, called out, threw money like they could buy the way you looked at them. Bucky sat in the dark, hands loose around his glass, eyes never leaving you.

Night two became night three.

Night three became night four.

Always the same—he’d slip in just before your set, find that table, nurse the same drink, and let the rest of the club blur around the edges.

You started noticing him on night five.

Not because he was loud—he wasn’t. In fact, he was the only man in the room who didn’t whistle, didn’t shout what he wanted to do to you, didn’t flash money in some clumsy bid for attention. He just sat there, still as a stone, watching like the whole show was just for him.

By night seven, you found yourself looking for him before the lights came up.

And there he was—ocean blue eyes catching the stage lights when they swept over the crowd, steady and unblinking, following the line of your arm as you spun, the arch of your back when you dipped low.

It wasn’t the way most men watched you. Most wanted to take. He looked like he wanted to memorise.

You wondered what he’d do if you gave him something worth remembering.

The city was quieter by the time Bucky stepped out into the street, the club’s neon still bleeding into the slick black pavement. Sunset Mirage loomed behind him, all velvet glamour and gold filigree, like it knew it had secrets worth keeping. He tugged his jacket collar up against the night air and started the walk toward where he’d parked his bike.

He hadn’t spoken to you. Not once. He’d just sat there, same as every other night—nursing a single whiskey, letting the noise of the crowd wash over him while his eyes stayed locked on you.

And now, walking under the weak yellow glow of the streetlamps, he could still see you.

That night’s costume had been emerald green, sequins climbing over your hips in swirling patterns, feathers arcing over your shoulders like the wings of some exotic bird. Your smile—sharp, deliberate, meant for the crowd—had skimmed over him more than once. Or maybe he’d imagined that part.

He told himself it didn’t matter.

By the time he reached the New Avengers tower, the city’s hum had faded to a low murmur. The door clicked shut behind him, and silence swallowed the space—too still, too clean, too empty. He shrugged out of his jacket and tossed the keys onto the counter, the clink echoing louder than it should have.

He didn’t turn on the main lights. Just left the kitchen lamp on, its golden halo spilling over the edge of the counter. He poured himself a whiskey, the sound of liquid against glass sharp in the hush, and carried it to the bedroom.

The place was bare—bed neatly made, no personal clutter. Functional. Which made the picture in his head all the sharper: you here, your laugh soft against the walls, the sequins from your dress catching on the sheets.

He sat on the edge of the bed, glass in hand, elbows on his knees. Tried to drink slow. Tried to think about something else. Anything else.

Didn’t work.

His mind went straight back to the way your hips moved when you turned on stage, the deliberate sway of your shoulders, the way you leaned into the mic like it was a secret lover. He thought about your legs wrapping around his waist instead of strutting past his table. Thought about how you’d sound saying his name in that low, teasing voice you used to make the crowd lean forward.

The whiskey glass clinked softly as he set it down on the nightstand. His flesh hand dragged over his face; his metal one braced against his thigh.

He gave in.

His fingers slid over the hard line already pushing against the front of his slacks, stroking lazily at first, just to feel the ache sharpen. He unzipped, pulling himself free, the heat of his own skin a shock against the cool air. Thick, flushed, already slick at the tip—he wrapped his hand around the base and gave a slow, steady stroke.

A breath hissed out between his teeth.

He thought about you leaning down into his lap, sequins brushing his thighs, your perfume curling around him. He pictured your dress hiked up, your bare skin hot against his palms as he pulled you down onto him, filling you inch by inch until you were gasping.

His strokes quickened, breath hitching as the image sharpened—your hands on his chest, your hips grinding, your voice breaking when he fucked into you deep enough to make the bed creak.

“Fuck…” The word was barely audible, pulled from somewhere deep in his chest.

He thumbed the sensitive underside, imagining your lips there instead, the wet heat of your mouth. His hips lifted into his own hand without thinking, chasing it. The thought of you looking up at him while you took him in made his grip tighten, made the muscles in his thighs go taut.

It didn’t take long. It never did, not when he’d been sitting in that damn club for nights on end, storing you up like ammunition. His head tipped back, jaw clenched, and he came hard into his hand, his breath ragged in the stillness.

For a moment, all he could hear was his own breathing, the faint tick of the cooling radiator, the echo of your laugh in his head.

He cleaned himself off mechanically, dragging his hand back through his hair.

The glass of whiskey was still waiting for him. He took a long swallow, the burn grounding him.

And he had no choice but to wait for tomorrow night, to do it all over again.

────୨ৎ────

You’d been dancing long enough to know the room before you even saw it. The heat of it. The pitch. The way men leaned forward when they were hungry for the next act, the way they slouched when they thought they’d seen it all.

Tonight, though, you weren’t reading the room. You were reading him.

There he was again, exactly where you’d come to expect him: the back corner table, half in shadow, one whiskey in front of him. Not a drop spilled. Not a second glass ordered. And those eyes—God, those eyes—blue in a way that made the lights jealous, tracking you like he could feel every step.

You’d started to anticipate him. In the dressing room, while the other girls laughed and pinned each other’s costumes, you found yourself wondering if he’d be there. Wondering if he’d notice the way the seamstress had let the hem out on your new skirt so it swayed a little more when you walked. Wondering if he’d feel the heat when you looked right at him.

Tonight, you decided to stop wondering.

The bassline rolled under your skin like warm honey as you made your entrance, sequins in deep orange catching the light like embers. You felt the shift in the room the moment you stepped into it—men straightening, eyes narrowing, mouths opening in practiced whistles.

But you didn’t look at them.

You looked at him.

He didn’t move. Didn’t blink. But there was a tautness to his jaw, the faintest flex in the muscle there, that told you you had his full attention.

Halfway through your set, the music dipped, and the floor opened for the “audience number”—a quick, sultry tradition where you’d choose someone from the crowd for a little… personal attention.

The girls always picked the loud ones. The ones who’d play along and tip big. The ones who’d laugh about it later.

You walked past them all.

The crowd parted in waves of confused murmurs as you crossed the room. You could feel his gaze as you came closer, the stillness in him sharpening like a blade. When you stopped in front of his table, the corner of his mouth twitched—not quite a smile, not quite a warning.

You didn’t ask. You just slid onto his lap, one knee on either side of his hips, your hands finding the back of the booth on either side of his head.

Up close, you could smell him—clean soap under leather, whiskey he hadn’t touched, something faintly metallic you couldn’t place.

He didn’t touch you.

But you could feel him. Every inch of him. The heat through his suit pants, the heavy press beneath you that told you exactly how wound tight he was.

The crowd roared. Whistles and shouts, men egging him on, telling him to “get a handful.” But he didn’t move. His hands stayed on the seat, gripping the worn leather like it was the only thing keeping them there.

You moved slowly—hips rolling, spine arching, feathers brushing his chest. The music swelled, and you leaned in, close enough for your lips to nearly graze the shell of his ear.

“You’re a hard one to read,” you murmured, voice pitched low so no one else could hear.

His breath hitched, just once. Then, quiet enough that you almost missed it: “Not that hard, doll.”

You smiled like you hadn’t just felt it in the base of your spine and slid off him with one last deliberate grind, leaving him there—tense, silent, blue eyes following you all the way back to the stage.

When the set ended, you didn’t need to look to know he was still watching. You could feel it.

The show ended in a burst of applause, the kind that bounced off the velvet and brass until it became something heavier than sound—a haze you had to wade through to get backstage. You moved through it with the practiced grace of someone who’d learned to let hands brush your arm without flinching, who knew how to smile without letting the smile touch anything inside you.

You kept your head high, glitter still clinging to your skin, feathers bobbing with each step as you made your way toward the dressing rooms.

That was when you saw him.

Wilson Fisk was waiting.

“Beautiful,” he said, not as a compliment, but as a fact he thought he owned. His pale eyes swept over you, landing on the curve of your hips in that way men did when they wanted to make you feel smaller.

“Glad you enjoyed the show, Mr. Fisk,” you said, keeping your voice even, professional. You’d been trained in this—smile, acknowledge, move on. “If you’ll excuse me—”

His hand clamped around your arm. Thick fingers, grip like iron.

“I think we should enjoy something a little more… private.”

The hallway behind the stage was dim, lined with gilt-framed mirrors and racks of costumes. You knew every exit. Every camera. And yet your pulse spiked, because men like Fisk didn’t care about being seen.

“I’m not that kind of performer,” you said, trying to step back.

He didn’t move. “I wasn’t asking what kind you were.”

The room tilted—not literally, but in that way adrenaline can tip the whole world sideways. You were aware of the muffled music in the club, the distant sound of laughter, the cool press of the wall at your back as he started steering you toward the private corridor.

You thought about calling for security. You thought about running. But you knew the truth: the owner didn’t tell Fisk no. No one did.

The private back room was smaller than you expected when you’d first seen it weeks ago—low ceiling, leather couches along the walls, a round table with an ice bucket sweating in the centre. Dim amber lighting gave everything a warm glow that felt sickly under the circumstances.

Fisk shut the door behind you, the click loud in your ears.

“You’ve been on that stage, making all those eyes hungry,” he said, taking a slow step forward. “Now I get the first taste.”

“Mr. Fisk—” you started, keeping your voice steady out of sheer will.

“You can drop the ‘Mr.’” His smile was wrong—too wide, too sure.

You stepped back, the edge of the couch catching you behind the knees. Your palms went damp. This was one of those moments where you wished you could step outside yourself, become the version of you people saw on stage—untouchable, fearless, made of fire. But that version didn’t exist here. Not now.

“I told you, I’m not for sale, I don’t do this—”

Fisk had you cornered now, and the walls felt like they were closing in on you. “If you keep babbling like that, I’m going to have to shut you up myself.”

But you didn’t let up.

“Sir, please, I already told you—“

His hand shot up, fast enough that your body flinched before your brain caught up. Not to touch, but to strike.

And then something in the room shifted. An energy. A voice—low, steady, cutting through the heavy air like a wire pulled taut: “Don’t.”

You froze. Fisk froze.

From the shadowed corner by the coat rack, a figure stepped forward, and your brain did a double-take so hard it nearly tripped over itself.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” you blurted before you could stop yourself. “You?!”

Bucky Barnes—tall, broad-shouldered, looking like he’d just stepped out of some noir fantasy in that dark suit—walked toward you with the calm of a man who’d already decided exactly how this would end.

Fisk turned toward him, disbelief sharpening into anger. “Barnes? You think this is your business?”

Bucky didn’t even look at him at first—just kept his eyes on you, and there was something in them that made the walls feel less close. “You okay, doll?”

You opened your mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. “I… what—how—”

Finally, he turned to Fisk, stepping between you. “Let her go.”

“She’s not yours,” Fisk said, his voice darkening.

Bucky’s tone didn’t change. “She’s not yours, either.”

For a moment, it was just the two of them staring each other down. Then Fisk made the mistake of trying to tighten his grip on your arm.

The vibranium hand came up like a flash, clamping around Fisk’s wrist and squeezing until the big man’s teeth clenched with the effort of not showing pain.

“You’re gonna walk away,” Bucky said, voice dropping lower. “Or I’m gonna put you down, and you’ll be lucky if you can still write checks with this hand.”

Fisk’s lip curled. “You don’t scare me.”

Bucky’s jaw tightened. “I’m not here to scare you.”

The punch came without warning—short, sharp, all shoulder and precision. Fisk hit the couch, then the floor, cufflink popping loose and skittering under the table.

You were still standing where he’d left you, heart pounding in your throat. “You just punched Wilson Fisk?”

“He had it coming.” Bucky turned back to you, holding out his flesh hand, palm open. “Let’s get you out of here.”

Your mouth worked. “I… I barely know you.”

“Right,” Bucky nodded understandingly. “My name is Bucky Barnes and I’m an Avenger. You’re safe with me, I promise.”

“An Avenger?” You narrowed your eyes. “I don’t recognise you.”

“A New Avenger,” Bucky corrected himself. “We’re like, really new. Don’t you watch the news?”

You stayed silent, squaring him up, and honestly? Bucky respected it.

“Please, let me take you home.”

“I’m fine—” you said quietly, your eyes darting between Fisk’s unconscious body and the door. In one long stride, you headed towards the exit.

“Doll.” The way he said it—quiet, but threaded with enough steel to cut—made you stop. “Please.”

You didn’t know if it was the please or the way he’d stepped in without hesitation, but your hand was in his before you’d even decided to give it. He sounded desperate. Like he was begging, almost. But he had just saved your life, and he was an Avenger, apparently.

And God, something compelled you to him. He was magnetic. Tall and broad and older.

The next thing you knew, you were outside, the air sharp and cool against your skin. A gleaming black motorcycle waited at the curb, chrome glinting under the streetlight.

Bucky swung a leg over the motorcycle and held out a helmet. “Hold on tight, doll.”

The engine roared to life, deep and throaty, and when you climbed on behind him, your arms wrapping around his solid frame, you realised you were already holding on tighter than you needed to.

The club disappeared behind you in a smear of neon and asphalt, the city lights bending into streaks as he pushed the throttle. The wind pulled at your hair, carried away the scent of smoke and perfume, left you with nothing but the pounding of your heart and the warm, unyielding line of him under your hands.

You gave him your address willingly.

The helmet felt heavier than you expected when he set it gently on your head, the strap snug under your chin. You could still feel the echo of Fisk’s grip on your arm, but the way Bucky’s hands had replaced it—steady, careful—was grounding.

“You ever been on a bike before?” he asked, his voice muffled under his own helmet.

“Once,” you admitted, glancing at the gleaming black machine beneath you both. “Didn’t end well.”

He gave you a look over his shoulder, a flicker of something like amusement in those piercing blue eyes. “You’ll be fine, doll. Just hold on.”

You swung one leg over, your dress hitching higher than you meant it to. Your arms wrapped around his middle, and he was warm under the leather, solid in a way that made you want to hold on even tighter.

The engine growled to life, deep and smooth, and then the city blurred past in streaks of neon and shadow.

For a few minutes, there was only the hum of the tires and the rush of wind. Then, his voice came back to you over his shoulder.

“You from Vegas?”

“No.” You shifted your grip slightly, leaning in so he could hear you better. “Came here a few years ago. Couldn’t resist the lights, I guess.”

“What got you into the club?”

You huffed a small laugh. “The money. The costumes. The stage. I like performing… most of the time.”

His head tilted slightly, like he was tucking that away. “You’re good at it.”

“Yeah? You watch a lot of showgirls?” you teased, your voice light, but your heart thudding at the thought of him in the crowd night after night.

“Just one,” he said without missing a beat.

The words landed warm in your chest, making you grip him a little tighter. “And why’s that? Professional interest?”

“Keeping an eye on things,” he said, and you could hear the smirk in his voice.

“Things?”

“Maybe you,” he admitted, low enough that the wind almost swallowed it.

You leaned your cheek against his back, letting the thrum of the bike and the strength in his frame soothe the last of your adrenaline. “Guess I don’t mind that.”

When the city lights thinned and your building came into view, you almost wished for a longer route. The ride had been… safe. Not in the boring way—safe like the feeling you’d get if you were dangling off the edge of a building and someone caught your wrist in time.

He slowed to a stop outside your door, killing the engine. You climbed off, pulling the helmet free and shaking your hair out, suddenly aware of how close you’d been pressed to him the whole time.

“Thanks for the ride,” you said, handing the helmet back.

“Thanks for trusting me,” he replied, his gaze steady on yours.

That was when you heard yourself say it—light, easy, like it was nothing. “Come up for a drink?”

His pause was brief, but the way his eyes darkened told you the answer before he even spoke.

“Yeah,” he said finally, the corner of his mouth twitching. “I’ll come up.”

And just like that, the next part of the night was decided.

The hallway smelled faintly of old carpet and someone else’s cooking, the faint rattle of pipes in the walls. You let him follow you up the narrow flight of stairs, the sound of his boots steady behind you.

Inside, your apartment was warm and a little messy—the kind of lived-in that didn’t need apologising for. Costumes hung on a rack in the corner, glitter clung to the edges of the rug from quick changes at home, and a half-finished mug of tea sat abandoned on the counter.

“Make yourself comfortable,” you said, shrugging off your jacket and kicking off your heels. Your sequined dress caught the light from the kitchen like it was still under the stage’s spotlights. “Whiskey okay?”

“Always.”

You poured two glasses and handed him one. He took it with a nod, his flesh fingers brushing yours—brief, but enough to leave a trace of warmth against your skin.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. You sipped your drink, leaning back against the counter, watching him take in the room. He wasn’t restless—he was too controlled for that—but there was a charge in the air, like the coil of a spring.

Finally, you broke it. “You’ve been coming to the club every night.”

His gaze found yours, steady and unflinching. “Yeah.”

“You don’t whistle. You don’t shout. You don’t try to get me alone.” You tilted your head, curious. “So what is it you want, exactly?”

He set his glass down on the counter without looking away from you. “Wanted to see you. That’s it.”

“That’s it?” You gave a soft laugh, shaking your head. “You’re not very good at lying.”

He stepped closer—not enough to touch, but enough that the heat from him reached you, made your skin prickle. “I’m not lying, doll.”

The pet name hit harder here, without the noise of the club to hide it. You swallowed, trying to keep your voice light. “You always this intense?”

“So I’ve been told.”

You laughed again, but softer this time. “You know, most guys would’ve just asked me out instead of stalking my stage for a week.”

“I’m not ‘most guys’.”

That was true. And the thought should’ve been unnerving. But instead, you found yourself leaning forward, testing the line between you.

His eyes flicked to your mouth for the briefest moment before returning to your gaze. “You should get some rest,” he said quietly, but his voice wasn’t convincing—like the words belonged to a man trying to do the right thing, while the rest of him was waiting for you to close the space between you.

You tilted your head, smiling faintly. “What if I’m not tired?”

The pause that followed was thick enough to taste—heat and want and something else you didn’t want to name yet.

His jaw flexed, and he took a slow breath, like he was holding himself in check. “Then I’m in trouble.”

The words still hung in the air between you, low and weighted, like the bassline of a song only the two of you could hear.

You tilted your head, sipping slowly from your glass, letting the heat of the whiskey warm your throat. “Those nights when you watch me… You look at me like you want to ruin me.”

His jaw flexed, and he didn’t look away. “I’ve thought about it.”

You set your drink down on the counter and closed the space between you, your heels clicking against the floor. “Tell me.”

“What?”

“What you’ve been thinking,” you said, voice low, stepping right into his space. “All those nights you’ve been sitting there, just… staring.”

He tilted his head, studying you the way he did in the club—like he was memorising every detail, storing it away for later. “Thought about getting my hands on you. Pulling you into my lap and not letting you go ‘til you knew exactly who you’ve been performing for all week.”

You smiled, slow and deliberate, your hands coming up to the lapels of his suit jacket. “Then why don’t you?”

One corner of his mouth twitched. “Careful what you ask for, doll.”

“Careful’s not really my style.”

That earned you a quiet, rough chuckle, and when you slid your hands down his chest, you could feel the heat of him through the fabric. “Sit down,” you murmured, nodding toward the couch.

He obeyed without a word, leaning back against the cushions, watching you with that steady, unblinking gaze. You stepped in front of him, the sequins of your dress catching the lamplight, and began to sway your hips—slow, deliberate, the same way you’d done on stage but without the distance.

His eyes tracked you like a hunter tracking prey, his tongue flicking briefly over his bottom lip when you turned and lowered yourself into his lap.

This time, you felt his hands.

They were big and warm, one gripping your waist, the other sliding down over your hip to palm your ass through the thin fabric. He pulled you flush against him, and the hard line pressing into you left no doubt about what sitting in that club all week had done to him.

“See what you do to me?” he murmured, his lips brushing the shell of your ear.

You rolled your hips slowly, biting back a smile. “And here I thought you were just there for the music.”

“Only music I hear is the sound you make when I touch you.”

You shifted again, your hands sliding up to the back of his neck, fingers threading into his hair. “You gonna tell me what else you’ve been thinking, Barnes?”

His breath was hot against your jaw when he answered. “I’ve been thinking about peeling this dress off you, inch by inch. About getting you under me and hearing you beg me to make you come. About how many ways I can get you to say my name before the sun comes up.”

The words sank into you like heat in muscle, spreading low and sharp.

You smiled, letting your fingers toy with the first button of his shirt. “Guess we’d better find out, then.”

His jacket was the first to go, sliding off his shoulders in one smooth motion before you were tugging at the loosened tie around his neck. The sequins at your side brushed against his shirt as you shifted, and you could feel his hands start to roam—over your thighs, up your ribs, memorising the shape of you like he’d been starving for it.

“Been a long week, doll,” he said, his voice gone rougher now. “Don’t think I can take it slow.”

You smiled like you’d just won a bet. “Good.”

You shifted your weight forward, your knees digging into the couch cushions on either side of him, and rolled your hips down slow. His breath caught—just enough for you to notice—when your core pressed right over the thick, hot line straining against his pants.

Bucky’s hands tightened on your waist, thumbs stroking small, absent circles as if he was trying to memorise every dip and curve. “You’re killin’ me, doll,” he murmured, voice low and frayed.

You rocked forward again, your dress sliding higher with each motion, the sequins whispering against his shirt. “You’ve been sitting there all week, watching me move like this,” you teased, dragging yourself over him with lazy precision. “I bet you’ve thought about it every night after.”

His jaw clenched, blue eyes dark under the shadow of his lashes. “Every damn night.”

The friction was maddening—heat building where his cock pressed against you through the barrier of your panties, the pressure growing with each grind. You felt him meet your movements, his hips pushing up into you in slow, deliberate thrusts.

One of his hands slid down from your waist, fingers skimming your thigh, over the curve of your hip, until his palm cupped you fully. The heel of his hand pressed against your clit through the thin lace, and you bit down on your lip to keep the sound in.

“Mm, that’s it,” he coaxed, his voice rasping like gravel under silk. “Let me feel you.”

You leaned forward, bracing your hands on his shoulders as his fingers slipped beneath the edge of your panties, tracing the damp heat they found there. His touch was confident but unhurried, middle finger stroking through your folds before pressing up into you, curling just right.

Your breath hitched, hips stuttering against his, but he didn’t stop—his thumb found your clit and began slow, deliberate circles, timed perfectly to the way his cock kept nudging against you through his pants.

“Fuck, Bucky…” you breathed, your forehead dropping to his.

“That’s it, doll,” he murmured, his other hand sliding up to cup your breast, thumb brushing over the tight peak through your dress. “So wet for me already. You like it when I talk to you like this? When I tell you what I’ve been thinkin’ about doin’ to you?”

You managed a shaky nod, the pleasure winding tight inside you with every flick of his thumb, every roll of his hips.

“Good,” he said, his voice dropping to something dark and possessive. “Because I’m not even close to done with you.”

Your muscles clenched around his fingers, and his gaze sharpened, sensing how close you were. He pressed harder, curling deeper, coaxing you toward the edge until you couldn’t hold back the soft, broken sound that escaped your throat.

“Bucky—”

“Come for me, doll,” he urged, the command hitting low in your belly. “Right here, on my fuckin’ hand.”

It was the way he said it—like it was inevitable—that sent you over. You came with a gasp, shuddering against him, his fingers working you through it until you were trembling in his lap.

When you finally caught your breath, he withdrew slowly, bringing his glistening fingers up to his mouth. His eyes stayed locked on yours as he sucked them clean, groaning low in his chest.

“You taste even better than I imagined,” he said, and your whole body flushed hot at the admission.

You were still catching your breath when the thought slid into your head—wicked, sharp, and impossible to ignore.

Pushing up from his lap, you let your palms trail down his chest, feeling the steady pound of his heartbeat under your hands. His eyes tracked every movement, blue and dark, the heat in them pulling you forward like a current.

“My turn,” you murmured.

Bucky’s brows drew together slightly. “Your turn?”

Instead of answering, you sank to your knees between his spread legs. The shift in height made his breath catch audibly, and you could feel his gaze drop to follow the motion.

“Doll…” His voice had an edge now—half warning, half want.

You just smiled, running your hands up the insides of his thighs, feeling the tension thrumming there. His suit pants were warm from your body, the fabric stretched slightly over the thick bulge straining against the zipper.

“You’ve been sitting in that club all week, looking at me like you want to devour me,” you said, your fingers brushing over the hard outline of him. “I think you’ve earned this.”

He let out a quiet, rough laugh. “I’m not gonna stop you.”

“Didn’t think you would.”

Your fingers made quick work of his belt, the clink of metal loud in the quiet apartment. You slid the leather free, unbuttoned his pants, and tugged the zipper down. The tension in his body was a live thing now, coiled and waiting.

When you freed him, your breath hitched—thick, heavy, already flushed a deep pink, the head glistening in the low light. He was big enough that you had to take a second just to picture how he’d feel inside you.

“Christ, doll,” he muttered, watching your reaction with a half-smile. “Gonna stare all night?”

You arched a brow. “I call it my Bucky Barnes impression.”

You wrapped your fingers around the base, feeling the heat of him pulse under your touch, and leaned in to press your mouth to the tip. The taste was clean and faintly salty, the slick heat making your tongue curl instinctively.

Bucky’s head tipped back against the couch, his jaw tightening. “Fuck…”

You took him slowly at first, letting your lips slide down just past the head before pulling back, your hand stroking the length you couldn’t fit yet. The combination had him groaning, a sound low and ragged in his chest.

“You’re killin’ me,” he said, voice hoarse, one hand coming down to brush your hair back from your face.

You hummed around him in answer, the vibration making his thighs tense under your palms. You picked up the pace—deeper now, sucking harder, twisting your wrist as you moved, letting your tongue tease the sensitive ridge under the head each time you pulled back.

Bucky’s breathing was rough now, his free hand curling into a fist against the couch cushion. “Look at you,” he rasped, glancing down, his eyes burning into yours. “So fuckin’ pretty with your lips around me. Good girl.”

The praise hit like a spark, heat flaring low in your belly. You took him deeper, pushing until you felt the stretch at the corner of your mouth, your throat working around him.

“Shit—” His hand tightened in your hair—not pulling, just grounding himself. “You keep doin’ that and I’m not gonna last.”

You pulled back just enough to grin up at him, your lips slick. “That’s the idea.”

Before he could answer, you took him back into your mouth, this time stroking him in rhythm with each bob of your head, your other hand cupping and massaging the weight of him below. His hips shifted subtly, a restrained thrust you felt as much as saw.

He swore again, the sound guttural, and you could tell by the twitch in your hand that he was close. But before he could reach the edge, you pulled away slowly, letting your tongue trail over the head one last time.

“Doll—” His voice was wrecked, and that alone was worth the smug smile tugging at your mouth.

“Not yet,” you said softly, climbing back into his lap, straddling him again so you could feel every inch of him, hot and heavy, pressed against you.

You were still flushed from the way he’d sounded, still feeling the weight of him in your hand and the slick heat on your lips, when you sank onto his lap again. This time, there was no teasing.

Bucky’s hands went straight to your hips, steady and firm, pulling you forward so the hard length of him pressed right against the soaked fabric of your panties. You both groaned at the contact, and then you were fumbling for the small foil packet he pulled from his pocket.

His smirk was fleeting, swallowed by focus as he tore it open, rolled the condom down over himself with quick, efficient movements.

You lifted yourself onto your knees, your dress bunched high around your waist, panties pushed aside with a quick tug of his fingers. The head of him nudged against your entrance, and you couldn’t stop the shiver that ran through you.

Bucky’s gaze locked on yours, his hands cradling your hips like he was holding something precious. “Take your time,” he murmured.

You sank down slowly, inch by inch, feeling the stretch as your body took him in. He was thick, filling you until your breath hitched and your hands gripped his shoulders for balance. His jaw was tight, his eyes fixed on the point where you joined, watching the way you took him.

“Fuck, doll,” he breathed, voice low and reverent. “You feel so good. Like you were made for me.”

When you finally settled into his lap, your thighs pressed to his, the fullness had your head spinning. You rolled your hips experimentally, the friction sparking bright in your belly.

“Just like that,” he said, thumbs stroking over your hips. “Ride me.”

You obeyed, lifting and sinking, your rhythm slow at first, savouring the drag of him inside you. Bucky’s hands roamed—over your thighs, your waist, up your sides to cup your breasts, his thumbs brushing over your nipples through the thin fabric still clinging to you.

“Look at you,” he groaned, his head tipping back for a second before snapping forward again, his eyes burning into yours. “So fuckin’ beautiful. Been dreamin’ about this all week—having you like this, hearin’ those sounds you make.”

Your pace quickened, the wet slap of skin meeting skin filling the room, but the angle wasn’t enough—you wanted more, needed more. You were close to saying it when he suddenly stilled your hips with both hands.

“Not enough for you either, huh?” he said, his voice gone darker now, that rough edge back in it.

Before you could answer, he was moving—lifting you off him just enough to push you down onto your back on the couch. Your legs bent over the armrest, your dress shoved higher until it bunched around your ribs. He settled between your thighs, his hands pushing your knees wider as he lined himself up again.

“Bucky—”

“Shh, doll,” he said, sinking back into you in one long, deep thrust that had your mouth falling open. “I got you now.”

He started slow, each stroke purposeful, his hips rolling just enough to hit that spot deep inside that made your toes curl. Then he picked up the pace, the sound of his body meeting yours echoing off the walls, his breaths coming hard and fast above you.

One hand gripped your hip, the other came up to hold your jaw, forcing your gaze to meet his. “Keep your eyes on me,” he rasped. “Wanna see you when you come.”

The tension coiled tighter and tighter, your nails digging into the couch as you clung to him. His thumb found your clit, pressing and circling in perfect rhythm with his thrusts, and that was all it took.

“Bucky—!” Your climax hit hard, pleasure ripping through you as your body clenched around him.

His groan was guttural, his hips grinding deeper into you as he chased his own release. “Fuck, baby—” Two more hard thrusts and he was spilling into the condom, his forehead dropping to yours as he caught his breath.

For a moment, the only sound was the thud of your heart and the slow, uneven rhythm of your breathing. He stayed inside you, holding himself there like he couldn’t quite let go yet.

Then, softer now, almost like he didn’t mean for you to hear: “Told you I couldn’t take it slow.”

Your breathing came in shaky little bursts, the kind that didn’t match the stillness settling over the room. Every muscle in your body felt like it was caught between melting and twitching, the lingering hum of too much sensation still sparking in your nerves.

Bucky stayed close, one hand braced on the couch beside your head, his chest still rising and falling with deep, steady pulls of air. His gaze swept over your face, lingering for a beat like he was checking you for something only he could see.

“You’re shakin’,” he murmured.

You swallowed, your voice caught somewhere in your throat. “I’m fine.”

“Yeah,” he said gently, shifting his weight so his body caged you in without pinning you. “But you’re still shakin’.”

The fact that he’d noticed made something loosen in your chest. You hadn’t realised until that moment how many men never did.

He slid out of you slowly, careful like he was easing you away from the edge of something dangerous. The absence left you empty and a little too aware of the cool air against your skin. Before you could pull your dress back down, he was already gathering you up, tucking your body against his like you weighed nothing.

You let him.

The couch creaked under his weight as he sat back with you curled into his lap, one arm wrapped firm around your waist, the other smoothing over your spine in slow, grounding strokes. The steady rhythm of his hand, the quiet rasp of his breath, the faint scent of leather and faint cologne—it all worked its way into your body until the trembling began to fade.

Neither of you spoke for a while. The world outside could have been a hundred miles away.

When he finally did move, it wasn’t to pull away. He shifted you gently, murmuring, “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

You let him carry you into the bathroom, your cheek resting against the solid line of his shoulder. The light in here was softer, golden, throwing long shadows over the tile. He set you on the edge of the counter like you were porcelain.

The warm cloth he fetched was damp and soothing against your skin, his touch slow and deliberate as he wiped you down. Not hurried, not clinical—just careful. He was quiet the whole time, not in an awkward way, but in a way that said he was making sure every movement counted.

When he finished, he pressed the cloth into the sink and reached for his shirt draped over the back of the door. “Arms up.”

You obeyed, and the fabric fell over you, soft and far too big, smelling faintly of him. It hung mid-thigh, covering you in a way that felt more intimate than being naked.

Back in the living room, he settled into the couch and pulled you with him until you were tucked under his arm, your legs stretched out across his lap. His thumb traced idle lines against your hip through the cotton.

For a long moment, the only sound was the slow, even rhythm of your breaths. Then you spoke, voice quiet but steady. “I’m… not the type of girl who just has one night stands.”

You felt him pause—not with judgment, but with that same listening stillness he’d had at the club.

“I know what people think,” you went on, keeping your eyes fixed on the faint pattern in the carpet. “The way I dress for work, the way I dance, the way I smile like that—it’s a job. But to them, it’s an invitation. They think I’m easy. That I go home with whoever asks. That I sleep around.”

He didn’t interrupt. He just let you talk, his hand steady on your hip.

“It’s not true,” you said finally, your throat tightening on the words. “But it’s easier to let them believe it than to waste my breath trying to convince them otherwise.”

His fingers flexed slightly against you. “I’m not the type of guy to look for one night stands either.”

You gave a quiet, tired laugh. “You could’ve fooled me tonight.”

That earned you a faint smile—one of those almost-hidden ones that didn’t reach his mouth so much as his eyes. “Wasn’t your body that kept me comin’ back to that club, doll.”

You blinked, glancing up at him. “No?”

“No.” He said it with a certainty that left no room for doubt. “It was the way you held that room like it was yours. The way you made every single person think they were the one you were singing to, and then walked away like you owned the place. The way you moved—not just on stage, but like you knew exactly who you were the second those lights hit you.”

You didn’t know what to do with the warmth creeping into your chest at his words.

“I want to get to know you,” he continued, his voice softer now. “Not just the dancer. I want to take care of you. Make sure you never have to be in a room with men like Fisk again.”

The sincerity in his tone left you off-balance, because it didn’t feel like a line—it felt like a vow.

Your fingers curled into the hem of his shirt where it hung loose on you. “I don’t know if I’m used to someone wanting all that.”

He pressed his lips to the top of your head, the gesture almost absent but achingly gentle. “Then I guess we’ll take it slow.”

You closed your eyes, letting yourself sink against him, your body no longer trembling but still buzzing in a different way. His arms tightened slightly around you, like he was making sure you wouldn’t slip away.

And for the first time in a long while, you felt like maybe you didn’t have to.

────୨ৎ────

The next few nights felt different. Not because the stage lights burned any brighter or because the applause lasted longer—but because you knew he was there.

Even if you couldn’t see him past the glare of the spotlights, you could feel him. The weight of that steady, unblinking gaze from somewhere in the crowd, like an invisible tether holding you anchored in a room full of noise.

Bucky didn’t sit in the shadows anymore. He’d trade the whiskey glass for a vantage point just off the main floor, close enough to intercept any hand that might stray too far when you worked the crowd. The men who got too bold suddenly found their attention shifting elsewhere, a quiet but unmistakable warning in the way Bucky’s eyes met theirs.

It didn’t take the other girls long to notice.

“Your shadow’s here again,” Clarissa, one of the other showgirls, whispered in the wings one night, a teasing lilt in her accent. “You must be his favourite act.”

You’d only smiled, adjusting the angle of your headdress. “Maybe he just likes sequins.”

But when the curtain fell and the crowd dispersed, you always found him waiting—backstage now, leaning against the wall just far enough from the chaos of the dressing rooms, arms folded, hair curling faintly at his collar from the humidity of the club.

Some nights he’d walk you out, quiet but solid at your side, making sure you got to your car or your apartment without so much as a wrong look from anyone. Other nights, he’d just hand you your coat and murmur something low—“Good show tonight, doll”—before vanishing into the night like a shadow that belonged only to you.

It didn’t go unnoticed.

One evening, after a particularly rowdy crowd, you stepped offstage to find John Walker standing just outside the wings, hands in his pockets, wearing the half-smile of a man who thought he had a right to be there.

“Hell of a performance,” John said, his tone dripping with that drawl you’d heard him use on half the waitresses in the city. “You’ve got the whole room eatin’ out of your hand.”

Before you could answer, Bucky appeared from around the corner, eyes flicking briefly to John before settling on you. “Ready to go?”

John’s smile twitched. “You her driver now, Barnes?”

Bucky didn’t bite. Just stepped closer, his presence filling the space between you and John without a word. “I’m whatever she needs me to be.”

You bit back a laugh, sensing the heat under John’s casual posture. “Play nice, boys.”

John held your gaze for a moment longer, then turned with a shrug, muttering something under his breath as he walked away.

Bucky watched him go, jaw tight, before looking back at you. “You okay?”

“Better now,” you said, and meant it.

From then on, it was a quiet rhythm: the shows, the crowd, the hum of the club—and somewhere in all of it, the certainty that Bucky Barnes was out there, watching. Always watching. Not like the others, who wanted pieces of you they hadn’t earned. His watchfulness was different. Steady. Protective.

The kind that didn’t fade when the lights went down.

The kind that stayed.

────୨ৎ────

Sebastian Stan taglist: @notreallythatlost @houseofaegon @bunnyfella @sunday-bug @wintrsoldrluvr @maryevm @mcira @monsteraddicts-world @positivenergy @cherriesnmango @navs-bhat @hits-different-cause-its-you @avivarougestan @allhailbuckybarnes @torntaltos @risingwolf97 @overwintering-soldier @doilooklikeagiveafrack @brelione @boomyoulookingforthis

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #sebastian stan #james buchanan barnes #thunderbolts #the new avengers #sebastian stan x you #sebastian stan x reader #the life of a showgirl #taylor swift #ts12 #marvel

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anonymityisfunwriter · 1 year ago

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"Slut!"

Pairing - Steve Rogers x Stark!Reader Summary - It was perfect. Lovelorn and nobody knows. Love thorns all over this rose. You almost forgot just how hard the fall back to reality is. But if they call you a slut, it might be worth it for once.

Steve Rogers Masterlist | Inspired By Taylor Swift Masterlist

"She goes through guys like a train-"

You immediately change the channel. The next one isn't better. You don't know why you thought it would be.

"The Stark last name and the long list of ex-lovers, that's her claim to fame. I mean, let's be honest here, she's a slu-" The tabloid reporter is abruptly cut off as the screen before you goes dark.

You look up to find Steve with the remote in his hand. He glares at the screen like the reporter was still talking, "You shouldn't be watching that."

"I'm used to it."

"You shouldn't be. It's despicable. They were - the things they're calling you-"

"A slut," you finish for him.

His eyes dart to you, that furrow between his eyebrows getting deeper and deeper with every word spoken, "It's not true. This isn't journalism, it's slander."

You weren't sure how this happened. Sure, it was only a matter of time before they found you out. This wasn't the first time. Not the second or the third either. If the press was to be believed, you were love sick. Love struck with a new man every week.

It wasn't the first time someone called you a slut. It certainly wouldn't be the last.

You stopped living your life in fear of what people would say a long time ago. Being this young was an art. And up until now, you thought you mastered it.

It was simple. You even had your rules. You followed them and no one got hurt - or at the very least, it minimized the damage.

They were going to stare at you. Strangers. Press. The flashing cameras. It came with being a Stark. If they're going to look, you gave them something to look at. You didn't so much as step out on the street with a single hair out of place. You were flawless. Always.

You were nineteen, and on the heels of a breakup with your second ever boyfriend, the first time someone spit that word at you - "slut!" It hurt, but it didn't hurt as much as you thought it would. It almost made you laugh. You realized that they didn't really care about your love life or about the trail of broken hearts you were supposedly leaving behind. They wanted a spectacle. They wanted a show. If you're going to be drunk, might as well be drunk in love.

It was easier after that. You knew the truth. The people around you knew the truth. You let everyone else believe what they wanted. You did what you wanted. You lived your life without worrying about being called a slut. They were going to call you one anyway. And if they call you a slut, you might as well make it worth it.

You gave just enough to keep them satisfied. Never anything too real. Never too much. Just enough that they wouldn't dare peak behind closed doors. Just enough to be able to live your life.

There were was a cost, of course. No one took you seriously. You dealt with the vague humiliation of the rumors constantly swirling about your hips and thighs and whispered sighs.

And though you inherited the Stark genius, no one cared about what you thought, what you had to say.

In that, the reporter was right, your love life was far more interesting than your thoughts on quantum mechanics or the military industrial complex. That was what you were known for.

For the most part, you were okay with it. You were willing to pay it all.

That was until you fell in love with Steve Rogers. Suddenly, you weren't willing to give them crumbs. You weren't willing to expose a love that felt this delicate.

You sit on the couch, huddled in your sweatpants, pensively staring at the blank screen.

This time, it was different. This wasn't a show, not a spectacle. It was real, an exposed nerve that the world decided was fair game. You were fair game and it was open season.

Steve settles beside you, draping an arm around your midsection. He kisses your temple, "Tony thinks it's probably best that you lay low for a while."

"Yes, well, my brother is the expert on PR damage control."

It wasn't the same though. You both knew it. Tony had done far worse with far more women. Yet, he would never pay the price you were paying in this very moment.

Steve's arms tighten around you like he's shielding you from the storm, "It's not right. It's not fair that you're being forced to sequester yourself. You're being punished but what exactly was your crime?"

"I fell in love with Steve Rogers, that was my crime." You fell for the man everyone wanted, the man who was in the wrong place at the right time.

"I'm sorry," he whispers against the crown of your head.

"For what?"

"You warned me this would happen."

It was true. You told him exactly what would happen, but even you didn't anticipate exactly how bad things would get.

You'd been with Steve for just under a year. And up until a week ago, only a select few knew. You both agreed to keep it a secret from the public. You felt protective over the love you shared, it was more real than anything else you'd ever had. You wanted to keep it to yourself, out of the hands of people that would tear you both to shreds without a second thought.

Steve felt the same. Though he was more worried about the enemies he made over the years.

It made sense to protect the relationship, to protect yourselves until you were both ready. You wanted to protect him from what you knew was lurking around the corner. Steve was still so new to the 21st century. Dating in the public eye wasn't easy. Dating a Stark wasn't easy. For almost an entire year, you used every publicity trick in the book - and it worked.

But then, you heard it, the whispers, rumors bubbled about your newest future ex-lover.

You only agreed to going public because everyone told you it was time, because they promised that the timing couldn't have worked out better than this. It was better to do this on your own terms than have it leaked.

No one knew how bad it would get.

"Are you sure? There's no going back after this," you whisper, standing in the hallway of your apartment. You could practically hear the cameras flashing outside your apartment. You'd never been this nervous to leave your apartment before. You'd been through the plan a million times. You'd be exposed to the cameras for a matter of seconds. Happy was already waiting with the door to your SUV open, ready for you to jump in. You'd walk outside holding Steve's hand - a sort of silent announcement to the world. "It won't be easy."

"I don't care," Steve promises, kissing the palm of your hand. "I'm tired of hiding. I'm proud to call you mine."

You tenderly stroke his cheek, "And if it blows up in your pretty face?"

He smiles down at you, "You're worth it."

"We'll pay the price, I guess." But deep down, you know. You'll pay the price, he won't.

The cameras had never been that loud before. Even though your announcement went off without a hitch, even though your publicist couldn't have been more pleased, not even they could have predicted how bad things would get.

It seemed like the whole world was calling you that four letter word.

At first, it was mostly online. People were mean, you knew that. You were prepared for nasty comments. Steve's most staunch supporters thought he could do better. People rejoiced in the spectacle your love life turned into. You were a laughing stock all over again. All that you were prepared for. Then some rabid fans leaked your phone number.

You decided that it would be a good time to disconnect anyway.

But it didn't end there. Not even close.

The day after you were expected to make an appearance for a charity you founded. It was just a quick 2 minute speech. And though the event had been throughly vetted, you'd never forget the way your blood ran cold when mid-sentence someone screamed that four letter word over and over again until security dragged them out. You continued until your speech was done, but there was no hiding the way your hands trembled.

From what you heard, the video was still making its rounds online.

You were expected to make an appearance two days after that. An event honoring your father. An event you poured your blood, sweat, and tears into to make sure it was impeccable, an event worthy of honoring your father. The same event you were practically uninvited from.

"Hello?"

"Hey, it's just me. I come in peace," Tony jokes.

"I'm glad," you sigh. "I was worried I was going to have to get another number."

Tony sighs into the phone, "How are you holding up?"

"I've been better."

"I'm afraid I don't come bearing good news."

"What now, Tony?"

"That event you had Friday night, the one for dad?"

You pinch the bridge of your nose. You already knew were this was going. "What about it?"

"They want me to take over for you."

You bitterly scoff, "This week just keeps getting better and better, doesn't it?"

"You say the word and I'll tell them to fuck off."

"No, don't do that. It's for dad."

"You planned this whole thing single-handedly. You deserve to be the one up there." You don't say a word. He's right, you both know it. It doesn't change the situation you've been put in. "You are still going, right? Come on, you have to go."

"They broke into my house, Tony."

"What? Are you okay?"

"Happy just told me," you explain, sparing Tony the most gory details. "The one in L.A. Apparently, it is now covered in spray paint. You wanna guess what they wrote?"

"Where was your security?" Tony demands.

"Here. Trying to keep people off my sidewalk."

"I'm so sorry."

"I just - I don't think it's a good idea. At least until I get more security."

"I can't believe I'm saying this, but I'm glad you've got Steve there. At least I know he'll keep you safe."

You almost smile. Tony was never his biggest fan, but you mostly credit that to him being an overprotective big brother. And the situation you'd found yourself in did nothing to win Tony's over good graces, "It's not his fault, Tony."

"It kinda is, but I digress. Listen, we'll figure this out, alright? I'll go streak in front of the Tower if that'll take some heat off of you."

And though you effectively doubled your security in the last two days, nothing would change anyone's mind about you. You were the villain tainting their hero.

You broke down after that call, violently sobbing against Steve's shoulder. He just pulled you in even tighter.

It reminds you of why you're doing all this. So you can be together, out in the open. That in a world of boys, he's a gentleman.

You squeeze his hand, "You're worth it."

"I'm not worth having your reputation torn to shreds."

And maybe they're right about you. Maybe you do get love struck. Maybe his eyes are like the world's strongest liquor, and it went straight to your head. Maybe you do get love sick. Sure, your life has momentarily fallen apart. It's magic, madness, heaven, and sin, all rolled into one. But if they're going to call you a slut, it might be worth it for once. "But what if all I need is you?"

Steve Rogers Masterlist AnonymityIsFun Masterlist Inspired By Taylor Swift Masterlist

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mgparker · 3 months ago

Text

all too well

[tasm!peter parker x reader]

| word count: 4.5k

summary: staying away from you was easier for peter when you hated him.

warnings: angst, violence, cursing, weapons, injuries, unrealistic events but it's fanfic so idgaf, peter being a literal stalker, peter being extremely stupid, very sad feels, f!reader, implied that reader has medium-long hair, unedited!

notes: i wrote the first half of this like almost three years ago tbh and decided to finish it all in one go tonight. so it's a little bit of a mess. oh well. this was also supposed to be like 10k+ words, which is why there's more world/storybuilding than usual. oops.

You still remembered the moment Peter broke your heart as if it were yesterday.

It was the only time in your relationship that he’d ever made you feel the way you did that day, worthless and manipulated.

“I don’t love you anymore.” Peter had said. “I don’t think I ever did.”

A straight up fucking lie. At least the part about not loving you at all. You knew that was a lie— it had to be a lie. Otherwise, Peter fucking Parker was an amazing actor.

But that was two months ago, the healing process difficult and still ongoing. It was hard to move on from a relationship that had been built on nearly half a decade of friendship. Peter was one of your closest friends in middle and high school until he decided he suddenly didn’t want to talk to you anymore.

“Have you talked to Peter lately?”

The question immediately threw you off, ripping your attention away from your homework like a bandaid. “What? Why would I do that?”

Your friends Mary Jane Watson and Gwen Stacy sat in front of you, books of their own laid in front of their spots.

“I don’t know,” MJ shrugged, sharing a glance with Gwen. “I heard him talking about you the other day in Bio.”

“Talking about me?” You rose your eyebrows. “I thought he was still pretending I didn��t exist.”

“He is,” Gwen said assertively, giving MJ a side eye.

You nodded as if the news pleased you, and in an odd way, it did. It made it easier for you to just hate him. “Good.”

Gwen gave you a sympathetic look, one you didn’t catch because you’d already ducked your head into your book. Truth is, Gwen Stacy knew you like the back of her hand. Having known you since kindergarten, your friendship was stronger than most. Rivaled only by the friendship that you used to have with Peter. Keywords: used to.

“So you’re still going to the open mic fundraiser tonight, right?” MJ changed the subject. Her tone was enthusiastic, bursting with excitement.

Right. The open mic fundraiser being hosted by the Midtown’s theatre department. It was at a small coffee shop a few blocks from the school, one you’d visited a few times when you desperately needed caffeine to wake you up before a long day of classes.

“Yeah,” you sighed, tapping your pencil against your temple lightly. You kept your gaze on your book, knowing that MJ’s face was likely decorated with a smile. “I’ll go, MJ.”

“Thank you! Thank you!” She squealed, clapping her hands together and looking at Gwen expectantly.

“Oh— I can’t. I have decathlon practice.”

“Boo-hoo,” MJ pouted before gathering her things and skipping away from the table. “I’ll see you tonight!”

You gave her a wave, even as she was halfway across the library at that point. Mary Jane was an impressively speedy person.

You looked back at Gwen. “What’s her deal?”

“It’s hard for her to be in the middle I guess,” Gwen shrugged.

You didn’t mind that MJ was still friends with Peter. In fact, you hoped your messy breakup wouldn’t destroy your friend group but Gwen had adamantly stayed by your side, going as far as to stop talking to Peter.

You didn’t like it, feeling bad that Peter lost one of his best friends because of you but it wasn’t like you broke up with him. It was the other way around and he had made you feel really shitty in the process.

Being the loyal friend she was, Gwen chose you without a second thought.

“I want nothing to do with him,” you sighed. “I just want her to understand that.”

“I’m sure she will… eventually.”

“It’s been two months, Gwen.”

Gwen gave you another sympathetic look. “I know.”

Determined to finish the last of your assignment, you looked back down at your book. Your mind quickly strayed from schoolwork, inevitably thinking about the events of your breakup.

“Peter,” you were pleasantly surprised as you greeted him at your front door. “I didn’t know you were coming over today. I thought you had a—”

“—the photography meeting. Yeah it got cancelled.”

“Oh,” you frowned, his tone throwing you off immediately. The visit was unexpected but being around Peter was like a drug. You couldn’t get enough of him so you welcomed him in without a second thought. Except he stayed planted at your front doorstep, hands shoved in his pockets and a heavy look on his face.

You hated that look— it made your heart sink immediately. “What’s wrong?”

“Can we talk?” He asked, his eyes difficult to read. Something you’d never struggled with before.

“Of course.” You stepped outside, shutting the door behind you softly and following Peter to your outdoor loveseat.

“Uh— I don’t know how to say this,” Peter started, avoiding your gaze completely. His hands were shaking slightly and his posture was tense.

Your anxiety kept you rooted to the spot, concerned over his strange behavior. You were usually so open with each other so this was weird to say the least.

You kept silent, giving him the time he needed to formulate the words. His longer hair fell over his eyes, his head hanging in what looked like shame. “I can’t do this anymore.”

The words were mumbled, but you caught it.

“Um, okay… do what?” You asked hesitantly.

There wasn’t a lot of meanings behind that statement. You knew that well, but the notion seemed impossible. You and Peter worked so well together, heck you wouldn’t be surprised if your hearts danced to the same rhythm. You were so in tune with each other, the possibility that something wasn’t working out just seemed… unthinkable.

“I can’t be with you, Y/N.”

Heartbreak hit you like a fucking train. “What do you mean?” You cleared your throat.

“I’m breaking up with you,” Peter confirmed, refusing to meet your eye. His stony expression was cold, a look he had never directed toward you.

It took a minute but you finally found the words to respond. “I—I thought we were okay?”

Peter’s hard exterior almost broke apart just from seeing your expression. “We aren’t.”

“Why?” You shot back.

Peter shook his head at you incredulously. “We haven’t spoken in weeks. I thought that would’ve given you a hint.”

It indeed had been two weeks since you and Peter had had a solid conversation, at least outside of school discussions and occasional texts. You were just in denial about the whole thing, acting like everything was okay in front of your friends when clearly it was not. You thought if you ignored the distance, adamantly lied about its existence, that you would end up believing it.

“I’m just confused,” you put your head in your hands, rubbing your eyes as if the action would give you some clarity. “Did I do something?”

As far as you could remember, you had done absolutely nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing to piss him off. Nothing to irritate him. What changed?

“We need to stay away from each other,” he ignored your question.

“Peter,” you snapped. “Can you please just tell me what’s going on? Because last time, I checked we were in a communicative, loving relationship—”

“You’re wrong.”

“What?”

Rain had started falling gently, a calm background noise to the chaos that was unfolding.

“I don’t love you anymore,” Peter said emotionlessly. “I don’t think I ever did.”

Shocked, you repeated his words over and over again in your brain so that they could make a sliver of sense. But they didn’t. This was incredibly out of character for your best friend— was he playing a joke on you? A sick, cruel joke but a joke nonetheless?

In the time it took you to process his words, Peter had gotten up, fully intending on leaving you on your own doorstep but you finally jumped into action.

“No,” you fumed. “Peter Parker, you can’t say that and just walk away. What the fuck is your problem?”

“Right now, my problem is you,” Peter spun around, tone equally aggressive. “The fact that you can’t just accept I don’t want you anymore. The fact that you’re making this harder than it has to be and the fact that you won’t just let me leave. It’s ridiculous.”

You hated how pathetic he was making you feel right now. But Peter was, above all else, your closest friend. There wasn’t anyone that completed your soul quite like he did. “So this just comes out of the blue? You realize that you never loved me and you suddenly want to destroy a friendship we’ve had for six years?”

“Sounds right,” Peter agreed.

Enraged, your jaw dropped. “Then I’m—I’m not stopping you.” Your anger blinded you to reason.

Peter stood under the pouring rain, water soaking his clothes as he stared back at you. It was tense, the air reeked of betrayal and fury. Agony was the only word you could find to describe the hole this was ripping in your heart.

It didn’t make any fucking sense. I mean— you’d talked to Aunt May a few days ago, funnily enough considering your own boyfriend was ignoring you and also happened to be conveniently out whenever you passed by the Parker residence. But May seemed fine, giving you her usual bright smile and enthusiastically asking about school and your family. Nothing to alert you that Peter was going through any trouble.

And you’d tried to get a direct answer from him for the past fourteen days, sending him texts whenever you failed at getting anything substantial from your conversations in class. But your calls were sent to voicemail and your texts left delivered.

“I’m sorry, Y/N.”

You could only flare your nostrils in fury, tightening your grip on the doorknob behind you as you stared at Peter’s retreating figure.

A slight movement from Gwen snapped you out of the memory, a distraction you welcomed gladly.

The room was getting a bit too stuffy, despite the vast space between each table. “I’m gonna go,” you swiftly packed up your things, ignoring Gwen’s look of concern. “Your dad is still picking you up right?”

“Yeah…” Gwen said. “Are you okay?"

"Fine," you said stiffly, checking the time on your phone. You had just enough time to catch the train home, get ready, and then get back here in time for the fundraiser. You almost sighed at the thought. You didn't want to go-- not in the slightest.

The streets were as busy as usual, but you made your way to the station on time. You stood with your back pressed against the wall as you always did, your eyes scanning the crowd subtly. The entire time you stood on the train you felt the heavy weight of someone’s gaze, but kept your eyes planted forward. It was the New Yorker in you.

You hastily made your way home and made your way upstairs, ignoring the bitter silence throughout the brownstone. Your father had left a while ago, something about a business trip. It wasn’t unusual for you to be left alone, the last few months had proven to be full of unexpected changes. What had once been a semi-lively home, was now empty save for the occasional visit from someone your father hired to tidy up the house once a week.

After a long debate in front of the mirror, you opted for a tank top and jeans with a leather jacket thrown on top. You figured you should put your best foot forward for MJ’s event. You couldn’t mope forever.

The trip back to Midtown was fine, uneventful, and you made it just in time. What you had expected would be an evening full of disassociating ended up leaving you feeling lighter than you had in months. Thankfully, MJ had dropped the Peter subject completely and instead focused on getting everyone to hit the stage.

Hence your stellar duet rendition of ‘Start of Something New’ which brought the fucking house down in your honest opinion (there was more giggling than singing).

“Thank you, thank you, thank you for coming!” MJ squealed as you finally made your exit, squeezing you in her surprisingly strong grip. You smiled into the hug, glad that you came.

Finally.

Finally, you’d had one night that hadn’t been tainted by the hole your ex-boyfriend had left in your chest.

MJ gave you one more serious look, grasping your arms. “Are you sure you’ll be fine getting back—?”

“Yes,” you repeated with a teasing eye roll. “I’ll be fine. Dad sent a car.”

You’d gotten good at lying over these past few months too.

MJ accepted it with a smile and bounded off toward the stage again where the rest of the attendees were chatting and laughing. You lingered for a moment, eyeing the community between them.

With a sigh, you spun around and left the coffee shop, the air instantly clouding around your breaths. It was cold and oddly quiet, the streets more empty than usual.

Especially with the absence of the car you’d claimed would be waiting for you.

You shook your head as you began your walk back home. The train made it faster to get there, but you weren’t keen on lingering in subway stations alone at night.

Besides, the walk gave you time to silently seethe over the lie you’d just told MJ. Your dad couldn’t give less shits about you. Apparently, his business trips were much more important.

The topic of irresponsible workaholics made your thoughts stray to your friend Harry Osborn for a moment. You should text him, invite him over to bond over their shitty parents who think throwing money in their children’s faces made up for their poor parenting.

The route home was so familiar that you were walking on auto-pilot, your mind more distracted than usual.

A bright sign caught your eye.

Joe’s Pizza.

You scowled at the reminder of Peter, almost seeing the ghost of him standing just outside his favorite spot all smiles and laughter.

In a foolish effort to keep him as far away from your mind as possible, you pivoted down the nearest road to avoid passing by. He clearly wasn’t there (only a few tourists stood by waiting for their orders), but your annoying heart still clenched at the slightest reminder of him.

The road was darker and seemingly colder, but you hustled on, dragging your jacket closer to your body. Your gaze was sharper now and you scanned every dark corner and shadow.

Suddenly, a movement made your feet hesitate. Instinctively, you nearly stopped in the middle of the road, but instead you continued at a slower pace, trying to figure out what you’d seen.

You couldn’t see anyone and whatever shadow you’d seen had disappeared, but your heart still raced slightly. Suddenly, you were regretting this detour.

Your path strayed closer to the middle of the road to avoid feeling cornered and you quickened your pace, seeing the corner you intended to turn, your chest beginning to feel lighter from the familiarity of the intersection—

“Move and I’ll blow your fucking brains out.”

Your heart froze as cold metal pressed against the crown of your head, tangling in your locks. Your feet skidded to a stop.

A million thoughts ran through your brain, but fear paralyzed you, your lungs frozen in mid-inhale. Your gut had been screaming at you, trying to fight its way over the reckless noise in your head—

“Good, that’s good. Now turn around,” the deep voice demanded and your panicked body hesitated to move. The gun dug deeper into your scalp. “Slowly.”

It felt like you were out of your own body, doing as he asked and turning to see a face obscured by a shitty ski mask. Was he planning on robbing you? You catalogued the items on you quickly, trying to remember if you were carrying enough cash to placate the guy.

Before you could make your plea, a calloused hand came up to your chin and grasped it roughly. A shocked gasp escaped your lips and you tried to hide your terror as the man dug his fingers in your skin. He tilted your face back and forth as if inspecting it.

Your mind was spiraling to the worst case scenario and you were trying to figure out whether you should speak— or if you even could. You always froze in a panic.

An amused chuckle slipped through the guy’s nose and he squeezed your chin mercilessly. Tears sprung to your eyes.

“Really easy to catch you, girl. You’d think our little superhero would be watching over his precious plaything better.”

You realized with a sickening lurch that this had nothing to do with a random robbery and all to do with your best friend— well, ex—

“You’re gonna tell me who’s behind the mask,” he traced the gun from the back of your head all the way to your left temple and dug it into the skin enough that you winced. “And then you’re gonna come with me, nice and easy.”

Your resolve suddenly steeled.

Because as much as you thought you now hated Peter Parker, he would always be the love of your life. Your best friend.

You’d rather die than reveal his secret.

“So tell me, who’s behind the mask, girl?” The man snarled. His nails bit into your skin.

Finally, you found enough courage to speak. It felt loud in this deserted alleyway. “You found me yet you don’t know who’s behind the mask—“

Your slightly mocking tone earned you an unforgiving whack across the temple, courtesy of the hard-as-fuck gun in his hand. Your vision blurred for a moment and you would’ve stumbled if his grip hadn’t tightened on your chin.

Despite your stupid bait, you did find yourself pondering your own words carefully. If they found you (whoever they were), they’d have to been tracking you for some time. How had they made the connection between you and Spider-Man without making the connection between you and Peter Parker?

Well, you and Peter hadn’t been spotted together in months so—

“Got a fucking smart mouth, huh?” He snarled. “You’re gonna tell me who Spider-Man is. Either way, you’re coming with me and he’ll reveal himself soon enough. The boss is eager to meet him.”

The boss?

“You’re wasting your time. He’s not gonna come,” you said between gritted teeth, anger and fear mixing in the pit of your stomach as the gravity of the situation gripped you.

He’s not gonna come. Peter Parker left you behind long ago. You’re going to die.

“Last chance, tell me.” His threat came with a menacing grip around your throat and you almost fought back before remembering the very serious threat of a bullet in your head.

His tactic was obviously meant to scare you into submission and you tried to relax in his hold with this in mind, but his fingers kept tightening and your airways were closing and —

Your hands instinctively came up to claw at his, throat burning and your vision blurring—

A quick movement caught your eye and you barely registered the gun flying away at least 50 feet in the air before the man’s other hand was gripped by a glob of web you barely saw as your eyes rolled back before his grip was ripped away forcefully and his body went flying away from you.

The loss of his grip sent you crashing down, weakened by the lack of oxygen and damn near completely unconscious. Black dots clouded your vision and just before your head could hit the cold cement, gentle but frantic hands enveloped you firmly.

Your name was uttered frantically, the hands clutching you into a warm solid chest and you slowly tried to blink the dots out of your vision. Disoriented and barely hanging on to consciousness, you tried to resurface.

“—Y/N? Baby, baby, look at me. Let me see those pretty eyes, come on—“

The voice sent a chill down your spine and your vision was clearing up slightly, your mouth moving before your mind could catch up.

“Peter?” You whispered doubtfully, head throbbing from the ruthless hit that guy had landed on you.

The vivid red and blue colors of his suit were dancing in your vision and your dazed eyes focused on his face as one of his hands came up to rip the mask off his head.

The sight flooded your chest with relief, heartbreak, and joy all at once. You felt the familiar euphoria you always did whenever you locked eyes with him.

All that love— everything you thought you’d banished away— turns out it was only tucked deep down and it resurfaced in a violent tidal wave of emotion.

But for now, in your disoriented and likely concussed state, all you could manage was a slight upturn on your lips.

A shaky chuckle left his lips, cradling you in his arms as his knees dug into the pavement below. “Hey, baby…” one of his hands came up to cradle your face, his watery eyes scanning your body with such desperation that it concerned you.

All at once, the present slammed into you and the confusion hit.

“W-what? How? Where—?” The questions spilled out of you, barely strung together or making sense.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry—“ Peter was saying, running his thumbs lightly over your chin where it still stung and up to your throbbing temple that felt strangely wet. His touch was everywhere all at once and not helping with the aching confusion.

“The guy— he was— they’re after you—“

You tried to sit up to look for him— suddenly terrified that he would be pointing the gun at Peter or you— despite the lack of strength and Peter’s firm grip keeping you locked in place.

“Hey, I took care of him. He’s down. He’s down, I promise,” Peter was reassuring quietly as he soothed your hair back, words tumbling from his lips in a nervous ramble. His hands were shaking and his face was wet, hair in complete disarray.

“Y/N, I’m so sorry—“ his hands suddenly gripped you a little tighter when your eyes slipped shut for a moment too long. You felt exhausted, the adrenaline seeping out of you and leaving you in the aftermath of a strangled throat and a painful concussion. “This wasn’t supposed to happen. You were supposed to stay safe. Staying away meant you’d be safe.”

His words were barely audible, a devastating mumble of self-loathing and blame, tumbling out one after the other.

“What are you talking about?” You forced out, your voice raw and barely above a whisper.

Peter’s eyes suddenly locked with yours, filled with agony as if seeing you in pain caused him pain too. Before you could make sense of it all, Peter sprung to his feet and cradled you in one arm before a rush of air forced your eyes shut. You barely felt the journey home, floating between a state of consciousness and unconsciousness until those arms rested you on the familiar surface of your bed and your eyes slowly opened to find Peter hovering above you.

His hands cradled the back of your neck, leaning in to rest his forehead against yours, breathing in shakily as his eyes slipped shut and a single tear made a path down his cheek.

Despite the amount of shitty you currently felt, the overwhelming need to make sure he was always okay took over. Your hand went up to wipe his tear away, coaxing his eyes open as you traced his jaw softly.

“Hey, I’m okay. You’re okay. We’re both okay, Peter,” you whispered.

“I need to take you to a hospital,” he said as his eyes traced the bump on your temple and the traces of blood that remained. It was physically painful for him to gaze upon your bruised throat, littered in hues of purple and pink.

It was all his fault and the guilt stabbed him in the stomach repeatedly. He should’ve been the one with those bruises. His blood should’ve been spilled, not yours. Never yours.

“I’m okay,” you insisted weakly, tracing your eyes all over his worried face. All that “hatred” you’d felt before you had melted away into nothingness. Because nothing felt as right or complete as it did when you were with him.

“No, I’m taking you to the hospital now,” he said insistently, slipping out of the suit and reaching into your drawer to take his own clothes out and change. If you weren’t so rattled from the night’s events, you would’ve blushed at the fact that he somehow knew his clothes were still untouched from the months you’d spent apart.

You couldn’t find it in yourself to argue against it anymore, and after a brief hospital visit and some scans later, you’d felt lucid enough to have a conversation with your ex.

And after he’d explained the threats Spider-Man had been receiving months ago, he also explained his desperate attempt to keep you safe by ensuring he no longer had any part in your life.

He’d lied. He’d said horrible things to get you to let go of him. Things that pained him so badly he barely felt like a person in the months after he’d broken up with you.

To know you’d both been in misery… to know that his words, his cruel cruel words, were lies fabricated to keep you safe…

It infuriated you and weakened you all at once. And because you understood his love and deeply loved him just as much, you found it in yourself to forgive him.

Only after some groveling on his part. And heavy scolding on yours.

“If you ever try to gaslight me again, evil villains threatening us or not, I swear I’ll break up with you for real, Parker,” you threatened very seriously one lazy afternoon, your thighs slung on either side of his hips.

His bright brown eyes stared up at you as if he held his entire world within his arms. “You got it, ma’am,” he breathed, leaning up to capture your lips with his.

Your hands gripped his shoulders and traveled to the back of his neck, tangling with his chestnut curls. He kissed you like you were the air he needed in his lungs, as if you’d disappear from his grasp if he ever let you go.

Your teeth captured his bottom lip lightly as you pulled away, his eyes darker as they slowly opened to look into yours. And he gave you one small moment before flipping you over so that your back hit the couch and he hovered over you suddenly. The movement so quick that you couldn’t stop the giggle from escaping your lips, muffled by his own smiling mouth as he came down to meet you over and over again.

296 notes · View notes

cowboylikeyouu · 11 months ago

Text

🦾 WINTERHAWK RECS 🏹

@bl0ssomized asked for some winterhawk fic recs & i took that as my sign to finally sit down, go through my 500+ bookmarks and provide y'all with my fav fics <3 if you end up reading/enjoying any of these, PLEASE make sure to leave a comment on ao3, the authors deserve all the nice words in the world!!

about this list:

most of these fics are pretty popular in the fandom, so this list is more directed at new fans just joining the winterhawk paradise!! (there's a lot on here tho, so maybe you find one you haven't read yet)

bee asked for little to no smut, so i'm not gonna rec any pwp works here (with a few exceptions).

there's obviously still smut in many of these fics, but i tried to tell you if it's important/skippable or not. if you don't mind smut i obviously recommend reading it bc GOD these authors just know their shit, but i think nobody should miss out on the amazing long fics just bc they don't like smut :)

i put a "notes" section for every fic where i just yap about it and/or my feelings towards it for a bit bc i literally can't shut up about these two guys.

alright, i think that's all, let's go!! pls tell me if i messed up the links somwhere :)

50k+ words

Lucky In Love by dr_girlfriend

words: ~60k

important tags: no powers AU, oh my god they were roommates!, friends to lovers, mutual pining

notes: every time i give winterhawk recs to a new fan i start with lucky in love, bc even tho it’s an AU, it has soo many of the typical winterhawk tropes i love so much. PLUS: roomates. and lucky. and every chapter is titled “aw, [something], no” and i find that way too funny to not mention. idk it’s just one of that fics that gives me the warmest & fuzziest of warm fuzzy feelings and i think everyone should read it.

smut: even tho it has the wonderful, wonderful tag “not gonna tag every sex act just trust me there’s plenty”, there’s actually not that many. in my opinion, the perfect amount for a 60k, 21 chapters winterhawk fic. it’s quite a slow-burn, so they’re only in the later chapters anyway, and the build up to it is soOoo good. this is one of the fics where i know exactly where to find the smut scenes so feel free to hmu.

Like Real People Do by Kangofu_CB

words: ~67k

important tags: “i actually just wanted to watch these two idiots fall in love in a secluded cabin ok”; civil war fix it

notes: no one, NO ONE gets me like this fic, it checks like every single one of my boxes. perfection. not lying when i say it’s my favorite fic of all time. it doesn’t have a special premise or anything, but that’s the good thing about it. it’s just so… cozy. comfy. feels like home. i can’t even remember if like real people do is my favorite hozier song because of this fic or if it’s my fav fic bc like real people do is my fav hozier song, but i know that i never cried as hard as i did when i heard lrpd live and could only think about this fic. nothing makes me feel as good as re-reading this story, i want to eat it.

smut: yes, but only like 2,5 scenes. hmu and i tell you the exact fucking paragraph number or smth, this fic is literally engraved in my soul. thank you CB. some day i’ll leave a 2k words comment on every single chapter.

The Other Man out of Time by sara_holmes

words: ~97k

important tags: time travel, falling in love, clint barton centric

notes: okay so this is kinda the best winterhawk fic in existence?? not my absolute favorite bc it makes me cry too much, but definitely top 3. no other winterhawk fic made me sob this hard, no other winterhawk fic makes me wanna curl up on the floor and cry for an hour every time i think about it. that being said: IT HAS A HAPPY ENDING!!! and a lot of stuff in between is SO sweet as well. premise is basically: clint travels back in time and fights in wwii alongside bucky and they fall in love. and then bucky!canon happens. you get it? you get it. it’s- UGH it’s so good. jesus. i’m crying.

smut: a few short sexy scenes i think, but no SMUT smut, and it’s definitely definitely DEFINITELY not the focus of the story. can’t emphasise enough how much everyone should read this

Hipsters get Remembered, Legend’s Never Die by sara_holmes

words: ~90k

important tags: millennial bucky barnes, awesome clint barton, recovery

notes: millennial bucky is one of the most entertaining things fandom came up with, and this fic is the epitome of that trope. love love LOVE. plus, clint’s really fucking awesome in this.

smut: yes, but only like two or three times in 11 chapters, easily skippable

Puzzle Pieces (series) by sara_holmes

words: ~446k

important tags: steve/tony, kid fic, emotional hurt

notes: if you don’t like stony this one isn’t for you, just skip to next one :) if you like stony: GOD pls read puzzle pieces!! the first 200k words fic is stony focused and has only pre-slash winterhawk, but even tho they don’t get together in this one yet it’s literally one of my favorite clint/bucky portrayals of all time, no one gets them like sara, it’s perfect. the stony/kid fic storyline is SO amazing as well, so if that’s your cup of tea, check. it. out. after that they’re a few longer winterhawk instalments, and while some of them are really angsty and painful, there’s always a happy ending. god i need to re-read this entire thing. it makes me wanna cry and throw up in all the good ways.

smut: some, but you can definitely skip it.

I’ll keep you safe here with me by sara_holmes

words: ~110k

important tags: kidnapping, PTSD, mind control aftermath & recovery

notes: ngl i haven’t read this one in a long time, but everything by sara is perfect and this one’s one of the most kudo’d winterhawk fics, so it’s basically a must read. everyone needs to read a good clint & the winter soldier fic at least once

smut: it’s rated mature, so no really explicit smut. can’t remember if they don’t get a bit horny tho.

A Heart Worth Loving by Kangofu_CB

words: ~82k

important tages: soulmate AU, no powers AU, modern bucky barnes, forced cohabitation

notes: GOOD FUCKING SOUP. soulmate au AND they were roommates????? beat that. it takes them ages to figure out they’re soulmates, which makes this equally amazing and frustrating, but it’s all so so worth it

smut: yes, at the end of it. you CAN skip it, although i recommend skimming through it and read the dialogue parts and stuff.

if you were a mythical thing by Kangofu_CB

words: ~75k

important tags: teachers au, kid fic, werewolves

notes: quick story time for this one bc i remember it so so well lmao: winterhawk olympic bang 2022, most authors had started to post their fics except for CB and i KNEW she had written one, and i was literally checking my emails every hour for days. and then she finally posted it and i already started screaming when i saw the taylor lyrics as a title, and then i read those three tags and literally had to sit on my floor for 20 minutes to calm down bc i was so excited. i remember posting like 20 stories on my private insta that were just me keysmashing lmaoo. idk but teachers + kid fic + werewolves is just such a BONKERS combination, and i can promise you’re in for a treat, it’s so so fun. 15/10.

smut: yes, but it takes some time to get there and it’s skippable

Adventures in dogsitting by Call_Me_Kayyyyy

words: ~53k

important tags: friends to lovers, dogsitting, pining

notes: another olympic bang fic, thank you. cute, fun, lots of lucky content :) good soup

smut: NO SMUT

Under My skin (series) by finely honed

words: ~360k

important tags: Steve/Tony (the “main” instalment is stony focused), PTSD, Life after the army, AU - Tattoo Parlour

notes: the “first” instalment is a stony fic (one of my all time favs honestly) but with a lot of amazing side-winterhawk, and there’s a winterhawk spin-off, that’s a prequel to the stony arc, so you can just read that first if you want. it was one of the first english winterhawk fics i’ve ever read and it always makes me wanna cry when i think about it (in a good way).

smut: they’re quite horny in both big instalments, but i would say the smut is skippable. it’s not un-important for both the winterhawk and the stony dynamic tho, so i wouldn’t recommend doing that

This is Not a Date, it’s a Kidnapping by sara_holmes

words: ~50k

important tags: Fake Kidnapping, also real kidnapping, Bucky Barnes recovering, fake relationship

notes: all sara_holmes is good sara_holmes, but this one’s one of my favs, it’s just so fun. GOD i miss winterhawk olympic bang 2021, this was such a blast to read when it first came out!!

smut: NO SMUT

Freedom’s Reach by dr_girlfriend

words: ~68k

important tags: arranged marriage, western/historical AU, slow burn

notes: aaaand another winterhawk olympic bang 2021 fic! pretty sure this one was my fav during the bang, like i remember hitting up a friend of mine and screaming at each other for like an hour every time a new chapter dropped, we were SO invested. very good soup.

smut: yes, but it’s a sloooow build, so it’s only in the later chapters. pretty sure it’s easily skippable

ghost in the machine by squadrickchestopher

words: ~75k

important tags: fake character death, heavy angst, ghosts, loneliness

notes: UGHHHH clint “dies”, becomes a ghost and only bucky can see him. touch starved clint final boss basically. amazing shit. painful shit. (happy ending tho)

smut: it’s rated explicit and it’s by squaddy, so i’m like 99% sure there’s smut, i actually can’t remember tho lmao

Barton’s Halfway House for Ex-Brainwashed Assassins (series) by Kangofu_CB

words: ~90k

important tags: the slowest burn, the mcu reimagined completely, accidental baby acquisition, found family, kid fic

notes: this one’s an ongoing series, and it’s such an amazing one, you can feel all the love that’s been put into this. you have to go through like 60k of slow burn before winterhawk actually happens, but it’s soooo worth it. plus: kid fic. kid fic’s always good.

smut: yes, but only in the 3rd part and the short pwp oneshot. easily skippable

something magic, something tragic by squadrickchestopher

words: ~55k

important tags: supernatural elements, vampire bucky, enemies to lovers

notes: VAMPIRES!!! that should be enough to convince you to read this fic!! and it’s by squaddy, it literally can’t be bad if it’s by squaddy.

smut: ughhh not entirely sure, pretty sure the mature rating is mostly for violence, but, again, it’s squaddy, so it’s very possible there’s some sexy stuff hiding in there.

Sweet Home Was Home by there_must_be_a_lock

words: ~110k

important tags: “i sorta made my own franken-canon”, christmas fluff, soft feelings

notes: i found this one on accident once when i wasn’t really expecting to find another PERFECT long ass winterhawk fic i haven’t read yet, and then i binge-read it in one night, and it’s honestly one of the best i’ve ever read, it’s so so soft and… healing. for both bucky and clint and myself. it’s really not as popular as it should be imo, definitely worthy of a place on the first page of the ship tag!! highly HIGHLY recommend checking it out!!

smut: yes, but skippable

10k - 50k words

Starving for the Light by thepartyresponsible

words: ~45k

important tags: magic AU, soul bond

notes: jesus christ i wanna eat this fic so bad. definitely my favorite 2021 winterhawk olympic bang fic, it’s just THAT good. need to re-read it entirely to make sure, but i think it’s in my top 10 if not top 5 fav winterhawk fics of all time. clint’s just so… beautiful in this, idk how else to describe it. and idk, it has a such a unique premise and setting, i love everything about it.

smut: yes, but skippable.

Historic Features by flawedamythyst

words: ~19k

important tags: ghosts AU, homophobic violence

notes: oooohhh my god, don’t make me think about this fic i’m gonna cry. it’s actually pretty fun and cute and fucking awesome, but clint & bucky’s backstory in this?? i’m ugly crying, leave me alone. premise is basically: they’re ghosts and haunting the apartment they died in years ago, scaring everyone who tries to live there out of it. then steve and tony wanna move in. it’s fucking great.

smut: NO SMUT

Call It What You Want To by Kangofu_CB

words: ~48k

important tags: modern bucky barnes, sugar daddy

notes: clint becomes bucky’s sugar daddy on accident without realising and it’s the funniest fucking shit i’ve ever seen, god i love him so much. plus, again,,, millennial bucky barnes. gimme all the millennial bucky barnes.

smut: 3 or 4 scenes i think, starting as early as chapter… 2??? i think??? pretty skippable tho, as long as you read like the foreplay and everything.

A Thistle Cannot Grow by ccbytheseashore

words: ~12k

important tags: kid fic, developing relationship

notes: AHHHSDJGHSKJDHG. enough right?? i’m always a sucker for some good dad!clint & soft!bucky content. this one’s so so sweet it’s one of my main comfort fics, can’t recommend it enough if you love kid fics!

smut: yes, but it’s literally only like 500 words of frotting, you know when it’s coming and you know when it’s over :) (it’s amazing tho)

Attachments by Lissadiane

words: ~22k

important tags: high school au, mother hen bucky barnes, clint barton needs a hug

notes: i KNOW many people don’t like high school AUs and i don’t fucking care. teenage winterhawk has so much potential, i love them to death. which is exactly why you should read this ;)

smut: NO SMUT

Outnumbered by sara_holmes

words: ~18k

important tags: kid fic, triplets, no powers AU, bucky comes home to new york

notes: another single dad clint fic, but give him 3 boys this time!! —> chaos. amazing chaos. + amazing bucky. good soup.

smut: NO SMUT

Once Lost (now found) by Teeelsie

words: 40k

important tags: hurt clint barton, on the run, self sacrifice

notes: hurt clint barton final boss. this was written for whumptober, so you can imagine how bad it gets. SO worth it tho, even if you don’t really love that kind of stuff!

smut: NO SMUT (pretty sure clint’s too hurt to have any kind of sexual thoughts <3 stupid stupid stubborn man. i love him so much)

The Best Worst Thing (that hasn’t happened to you yet) by sara_holmes

words: ~48k

important tags: enemies to friends to lovers, rescue missions

notes: if you’re into comic winterhawk and read their tales of suspense run, you should definitely read this fic. if you haven’t read tales of suspense, go do that now and then come back to the fic, bc it’s basically a rewrite that gives us the bucky/clint & nat dynamic we fucking deserve

smut: don’t think so?

skylines and tan lines by flawedamythyst

words: ~33k

important tags: no powers AU, coronovirus lockdown, long distance flirting

notes: this was literally my fav fic during lockdown, i’m not lying when i say i read this at least 20 times in 2020/21 lmaoo. it’s just such a fun concept; bucky’s living with peggy/steve, and their dynamic is so enjoyable.

smut: there’s quite a bit of sexting & phone sex, plus a smut scene at the end. doesn’t take up the entire fic tho, and the rest is worth it as well.

Behind Bars by sara_holmes and Behind Bares (On The Other Side Remix) by flawedamythyst

words: ~32k (sara), ~25k (amy)

important tags: prison AU

notes: sara’s fic is the original, amy remixed it and wrote if from clint’s pov (with quite some changes). i love both fics, but i definitely read the remix more often and prefer it, but i highly recommend reading both, they’re amazing!! clint & bucky are cell mates!!! and it’s angsty!! a little bit!!

smut: can’t remember what it’s like in sara’s version, but it’s only rated mature soo... there’s definitely one or two smut scenes in amy’s fic, but easilyyy skippable, only like a few handjobs or smth i think.

What do you mean we left Clint on Mars? by sara_holmes

words: ~25k

important tags: outer space, falling in love, clint feels

notes: a classic. falling in love long-distance is soo fun, and i love it when author’s touch-starve clint, so there’s that <3

smut: NO SMUT

A Christmas Miracle: Getting Lucky by Lissadiane

words: ~11k

important tags: christams, hallmark fic

notes: LUCKY!!!! i read this every single christmas. you should too. you’re welcome.

smut: NO SMUT

Dear Super-Secret Diary by flawedamythyst

words: ~16k

important tags: christmas fluff

notes: clint is bored and gets a diary (and the guy). a christmas must-read, it’s fun and cute and fluffy!!! one of the few times i will accept first person narration bc, well, it’s a goddamn diary

smut: NO SMUT

winterhawk punks in love (series) by 1000_directions

words: ~19k words

important tags: punk au, amputee bucky, deaf clint, ptsd, emotional hurt/comfort, recovery

notes: punk!winterhawk is so important to me I NEED MORE OF IT!!! this one’s such a perfect mix of happiness and angst and comfort UGH it just hits that spot.

smut: yes, but the fic’s still amazing if u skip it

Apple Of My Eye by flawedamythyst

words: ~40k

important tags: clint barton’s farm, found family, domestic

notes: FARM FIC FARM FIC FARM FIC!!! bucky, clint and wanda basically start an apple business on his farm, and it’s just soo comfy and awesome.

smut: NO SMUT

Alone in the Bitterness by Lissadiane

words: ~16k

important tags: no pwers au, nurse bucky, disaster clint

notes: nurse bucky nurse bucky nurse bucky nurse bucky!!! do i have to say more??

smut: NO SMUT

Team Spirit by Noxnthea

words: 17k

important tags: case fic, enemies to lovers lite

notes: noxnthea is such an underrated author it’s a literal crime. i normally don’t love case fics that much, but this is a ghost hunters case fic AND their banter is so fun that it really doesn’t matter for me this time

smut: NO SMUT

Reach Out by Kangofu_CB

words: ~11k

important tags: 5+1, a lot of sex tags, porn with feelings, feelings realisation

notes: CB’s smut always hits different, and idk, the +1 of this is just sooo funny and adorable, i love it to death. read this more times than i’ll admit.

smut: basically pwp, big no no if you don’t like smut.

Storms Within (Bridges Rebuilt) by Kangofu_CB

words: ~11k

important tags: star wars setting, force sensitive bucky & clint, crack treated seriously

notes: guys you can’t imagine my excitement when the notif for this fic popped up in my emails. luke skywalker is one of my top 10 all time fav fictional characters AND HERE HE IS INTERACTING W MY FAV BOYS IN THE ENTIRE WORLD!!!! it’s so so good, if you’re into star wars you’re gonna love it!! (even if not, it’s by CB, impossible to not enjoy)

smut: NO SMUT

Draw, Breathe, Fire by FestiveFerret

words: ~15k

important tags: falling in love, flirting, banter

notes: haven’t read this in a long time, but i’m pretty sure it was like a perfect little bucky-recovering-and-falling-in-love-with-clint-while-living-in-the-tower-fic. he learns archery!! pretty sure they also adopt a ferret or something???? good shit

smut: NO SMUT

Hoist a Black Flag by Kangofu_CB

words: ~11k

important tags: pirate au

notes: ITS BASICALLY AN OFMD AU OKAY HOW CAN U NOT LOVE IT???

smut: yes, but skippable

Cupid’s Arrows by flawedamythyst

words: ~14k

important tags: office AU, valentine’s day

notes: clint dressed up as cupid, bad pick up lines, shenanigans. haven’t read this in quite a while, but i remember i enjoyed it A LOT a few years ago and re-read it multiple times!!

smut: NO SMUT

The Best Thing since a Double-Shot Expresso by sara_holmes

words: ~11k

important tags: coffee shop AU, misunderstandings, getting together

notes: friends to lovers final boss. they’ve been best friends (husbands) for years and literally live together, and it takes them an insane amount of jealousy and steve’s ass to finally get together. such a fun read, highly HIGHLY recommend

smut: NO SMUT

Habits of My Heart by Kangofu_CB

words: ~18k

important tags: Fuckbuddies to Lovers, no powers AU, grindr

notes: fuckbuddies to lovers with loads of pining will always be THE most realistic winterhawk depiction for me, sorry not sorry. this one’s extra fun bc steve and nat have been trying to set them up for months, but they’ve been already hooking up for months. it’s great.

smut: yes, but easily skippable.

In Which Peter Is Everyone’s Favourite Avenger by DestroyedConscience

words: ~25k

important tags: Twitter, everyone is gay, gen z humor

notes: look, this is an unfinished, non-winterhawk-centric twitter fic, but as a fellow winterhawk twitter fic author i just HAVE to recommend it. if u like this kind of thing, go check it out, it’s so fun :)

smut: NO SMUT

Look What The Cat Dragged In by flawedamythyst

words: 22k

important tags: Bucky Barnes is a cat lover, domestic fluff

notes: i haven’t read this in years, but i KNOW it was great. at this point just go check out amy’s account and read all of her winterhawk fics, she has over a hundred and they’re all great!! but this one has them co-parenting alpine, so it’s extra great!!

smut: NO SMUT

My Heart Will Be Your Home by dr_girlfriend

words: ~49k

important tags: soulmates au, single parent clint barton

notes: soulmate au plus kid fic guys, i repeat, SOULMATE AU PLUS KID FIC GUYS!!! BY DR GIRLFRIEND!!!! GOD i miss winterhawk olympic bang 21/22 this one was such a blast to read when it first came out.

smut: yes, but skippable

Chrome Plated Heart by dr_girlfriend

words: ~20k

important tags: pacific rim fusion

notes: i’ve never seen pacific rim and i still had a blast reading this one!! (she put a basic explanation for it somewhere in the story notes, so dw about it!!). it was SO nice to read a fic where they’re not heavily traumatised and just have a chill, easy getting together. really sweet stuff

smut: NO SMUT!!

Know When To Hold ‘Em by flawedamythyst

words: ~11k

important tags: exes to lovers, no powers au, cambling

notes: UGHHH i need more fics like this one, it’s so so SO good!! flashes back and forth to the time when they were first together and when they meet again and skjdghlksdhg my heart just hurts so much for both of them. (happy ending tho dw, clint’s just so sad in the present and it hurts my soul)

smut: yeah, the part in the present is basically just one big smut scene but it’s soOoOoO emotional and i always love me some emotional smut

Christmas in Colour by mariana_oconnor

words: ~12k

important tags: soulmates see in colour, christmas fluff

notes: SOULMATES SEE IN COLOUR !!!!! *swoons so hard she falls to the floor* top 3 best soulmates tropes i dont make the rules i love it so much. ESPECIALLY when it’s with a character like clint who usually has a colour he loves SO SO much. a christmas must read :)

smut: NO SMUT

Chaos By Another Name by shatteredhourglass

words: ~13k

important tags: dimension travel, time travel, friends to lovers

notes: DIMENSION-HOPPING TIME-TRAVEL ADVENTURE GUYS!!! why wouldn’t you wanna read it???

smut: yes

I Still Choose You (The Public Domain Remix) by mariana_oconnor

words: ~14k

important tags: soulmates at first kiss, fake/pretend relationship

notes: have a fic with two of the best tropes ever, you’re so very welcome. plus plus PLUS: demisexual bucky. as a demisexual/asexual/still trying to figure it out lesbian, i’m always ALWAYS here for any kind of ace spectrum winterhawk, so yeah.

smut: NO SMUT

the road rising up to meet me by veryrach

words: ~24k

important tags: pining, sexual reawakening, chaotic slutty clint barton

notes: MORE DEMISEXUAL BUCKY!!! AND HOT CLINT!!! no other words needed. read it.

smut: i’m so sorry but i can’t remember if it gets SMUTTY smutty. but there’s definitely a lot of sexual themes i mean look at the tags lmao

Showdown by shatteredhourglass

words: ~14k

important tags: fake/pretend relationship; fluff

notes: breaking my silence: fake dating might me my fav trope of all time. in this one they’re pretending to date for the sole purpose of annoying steve and tony and i think that’s the best thing ever.

smut: NO SMUT

Light the Spark by dr_girlfriend

words: ~26k

important tags: fake/pretend relationship, mutual pining, enemies to friends to lovers

notes: aaaand the next fake dating fic >:) the enemies arc is like 0.2 seconds, blink and you miss it, but whoooo cares, we’re here for the fake dating & pining guys!!!

smut: yes, but you can skip it!

-10k words

Wine and Pine by feathers_and_cigarettes

words: 6k

Important tags: Touch-Starved, Fake Marriage, pining!clint

Notes: this is one of those fics i always come back to without realising and it always hits that spot. like i said, fake dating is my favorite trope, and MISSION fake dating???? i'm in heaven

smut: there’s quite a bit of smut, but it’s at the end and even if you stop reading after they kiss it’s really worth it.

Over Easy by Lissadiane

words: ~9k

important tags: hook up gone awry, awkwardly crashing the birth of a baby

notes: need y’all to know that this has one of my all time fav smut scenes, i kinda know it by heart. don’t quote me on that, this is our secret. this one’s just so so SO much fun, i’m having the time of my life every time i read it (which is at least like once a month)

smut: yes, and it’s kinda the best part, but everything else is so fun as well that i really wouldn’t wanna miss out on it

The Love You Deserve by flawedamythyst

words: ~8k

important tags: unhappy family holidays, homophobia, family issues, jewish bucky barnes

notes: another must-read christmas fic for me; clint goes home for christmas to an uncle of his or something but they all turn out to be homophobic assholes or something and then bucky shows up to save the day <3

smut: NO SMUT

what you really, really want by Noxnthea

words: ~8k

important tags: pining, misunderstandings

notes: *blurts out* THEYVE BEEN IN LOVE FOR AGES AND THEN WANDA HEXES THEM SO THEY THINK THEVE BEEN DATING FOR YEARS!!! this is SUCH an underrated fic, it doesn’t even have 200 kudos like wtf??? SHOW IT SOME LOVE!!!

smut: NO SMUT

The 300 Club by Noxnthea

words: ~10k

important tags: no powers au, scientist clint & bucky

notes: there aren’t enough scientist winterhawk AUs so HUGE THANKS noxnthea for feeding us. i will literally haunt you if you don’t read this one, ITS SO UNDERRATED!!! AND SO FUN!!

smut: NO SMUT

For Everything There is A Season by dr_girlfriend

words: ~9.7k

important tags: crack fic, secret service agent!bucky, small business owner!clint barton

notes: crack fics are always gold and this one especially, it’s such a ridiculous idea, how could you not love it? always a very fun read!

smut: NO SMUT

Background Noise by Reremouse

words: ~8k

important tags: modern au, deaf clint barton

notes: MILLENIAL BUCKY!!! clint is bucky’s upstairs neighbour and extremely loud bc he’s well… deaf. lol. and bucky’s a night shift worker which really isn’t a good combo on first thought. but on second thought, these are clint and bucky, so OBVIOUSLY they’re gonna make a great combo out of it. it’s fuckign amazing. plus bucky & sam friendship!! good shit guys, good shit.

smut: NO SMUT

you didn’t hear that by jedusaur

words: ~2.6k

important tags: roomates, eavesdropping

notes: super self-indulgent rec, i always read this one when i need some cheering up lmao it’s just so fun and they’re kinda nasty and UGH. love. it explores the range of bucky’s super hearing. do with that what you want.

smut: yes. it explores the range of bucky’s super hearing in every way ;)

one more time by squadrickchestopher

words: ~4k

important tags: touch starved, hurt clint barton

notes: i don’t even know why i love this one so much, but it holds SUCH a special place in my heart. it might be my undying love for touch starved!clint who finally gets his well-needed hugs by bucky. there’s also an amazing podfic by flowerparrish for it, make sure to give kudso to them both!!!

smut: NO SMUT

the salt on your lips by veryrach

words: ~9k

important tags: kissing, an absolutely ridiculous lack of communication

notes: exactly what the tags say. it’s a 5+1 as well, WHAT ELSE DO YOU NEED IN LIFE???? 10/10. i remember waiting for months for the last few chapters and it was SO worth it!!

smut: NO SMUT

Love Potion No. 10 by Kangofu_CB

words: ~8k

important tags: love potion/spell, not actually unrequited love

notes: i won’t say anything about the story bc i don’t wanna spoiler it, but i’ll say that i re-read the second half of it at least once a month, it’s just THAT sweet.

smut: NO SMUT

There’s No ‘I’ In Denial by flawedamythyst

words: ~5k

important tags: truth spells

notes: clint gets hit by a magic truth gun and can’t lie anymore. such a fun & cute read every single time.

smut: NO SMUT

The Name of the Game by squadrickchestopher

words: ~6k

important tags: competition, trash talking, feelings realization

notes: this one’s just so so fun, it has allllllll the winterhawk banter anyone could ask for. and i always love me some competitive idiots in love

smut: NO SMUT

Full Barton by aw_writing_no

words: ~6k

important tags: no powers au, cop!bucky, human disaster clint

notes: what the tags say. clint embarrassing himself in front of bucky who enjoys it a bit too much gotta be one of my fav tropes.

smut: NO SMUT

one more little mistake by shatteredhourglass

words: ~3k

important tags: clint barton wears glasses, bucky barnes is horny for clint barton

notes: these tags are basically the entire fic lmaooo. it’s great, i love nothing more than HOT HOT HOT clint barton and bucky realising how hot he is

smut: almost lmao (they get interrupted while making out)

my hands no longer an afterthought by shatteredhourglass

words: ~3k

important tags: getting back together

notes: i have a sweet sweet SWEET spot for winterhawk getting back togethers if handled well, and this one handles it soo well.

smut: NO SMUT

Five Lies People Believe About Clint and Bucky by EVVS

words: ~1.5k

important tags: established relationship

notes: this is one of those fics i always go back to if i have a few minutes and need some (bitter)sweet fluff. it’s exactly what the title says, some lies are fun, some are painful, and all of them just hit that spot

smut: NO SMUT

My Sausage Brings Alll the Boys To The Yard by flawedamythyst

words: ~1.7k

important tags: bad flirting

notes: this one’s so stupid it probably shouldn’t be on here but i remember how i was reading this in class for the first time when i was still in school and i was almost pissing myself bc it made me laugh so hard. very fun, go read it >:(

smut: NO SMUT

bonus for the freaks:

Filthy Porn Fridays by squadrickchestopher

there’s 18 works so far, it’s smut smut smut aaaand - you guessed it - smut. if you wanna see the boys fuck nastily, this is your place to be.

(delicate tension is the best fic of the series, it’s actually a roadtrip AU and not just smut, highly highly recommend)

alrightyyy, i think that's it for now :) this took me quite some time so i'd appreciate some reblogs or whatever!! we need to spread some winterhawk love guys!!

all my love goes out to every author i mentioned here, and every other author who's ever written winterhawk. you guys are my heroes, idk what i'd do without you. literally ripping my heart into a thousand pieces and giving every single one of you a tiny part 💜

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itrainswhenurhere · 5 months ago

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no offence but i can tell by your smut fics if you’re a virgin

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strawberrylore · 1 year ago

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I said I was going to write a story based on how I just got my heart broken and I’m pulling a fanfic move and moving back to my hometown.

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Reader

Written on phone at 3AM, while heartbroken.

Might suck but feedback and constructive critism is always welcomed. Just be nice.

Possibly might do a part 2. Possible happy ending, depending on the mood I’m feeling.

Song on blast as I’m writing this is August.

You Were Never Mine

You knew it was going to happen. You felt it deep inside, you just chose to ignore it. You held on to false hope, thinking that maybe you were just overthinking it. He had started being distant. You thought that maybe he was just busy, or had a lot on his mind.

But you knew deep down that wasn’t the case. You just hadn’t expected that it had something to do with her.

You thought he had gotten over it, but you were wrong. He was wrong.

But what could you do? You can’t force him to stay. You can’t force him to love you the way you love him. You let him go easily.

But your heart still yearns for him. You hadn’t seen him in a few weeks. He was sent on a mission by Charles. You had planned to tell him that you loved him when he came back. You had wanted to cook him dinner, make something he had always wanted to try.

But when he came back, he didn’t really talk to you. You felt something was off, you had even told your friends back home about it, but you thought it was just that the mission hadn’t gone the way he wanted it to.

But how wrong you were. He had sat you down and told you the heartbreaking news.

“I’m sorry. I thought I was over her, but I was wrong.”

Your world shattered as you heard those words come out of his mouth. Tears instantly clouded your eyes.

“What?”

He looked down and took a deep breath.

“I’m not over her. And I can’t continue on with you if I’m not over her. It’s not fair to you.”

Tears were falling from your eyes. You took a deep breath and putting your head in your hands.

“I’ve been thinking about her. This. For weeks. I’m sorry. I know you didn’t want to hear this but I can’t drag you along.” He tried to take ahold of your hand but you pushed him away. You sat up abruptly.

You didn’t want to face him. You couldn’t, lest you breakdown even further.

“I appreciate your honesty Logan. I really do. Thank you for letting me know before this could’ve turned much more serious.”

In reality, you and Logan had been seeing each other for 4 months. Before that you had feelings for him. But he was with Jean.

They had ended badly. He didn’t date anyone for months but he had asked you out.

You foolishly thought that she wasn’t going to affect him and his relationships anymore.

“In reality Logan. I felt this coming. Just didn’t expect it to be because of her.”

He looked down, he looked guilty.

“I hope you can figure it out Logan. I’m glad you told me. Don’t worry about me. I should’ve been prepared for it.” Your voice failed you, but you didn’t turn to look at Logan’s reaction.

“Again. I’m so sorry.” Logan stood, trying to step closer to you, but you didn’t let him.

“I know. But that’s okay. I can’t force you to be in a relationship when you aren’t in it fully.” You move further, wanting to step out of his room.

“I wish things were different. I really like you, but I know that if we kept going, I’ll only break your heart.” Logan said. He sounded conflicted. But he knew he had to be honest with you.

“I know what you mean. I’m glad you were honest with me.” You started to head out.

“I wish you luck.”

You don’t know why, but that shattered whatever remaining hope that maybe, just maybe, he’ll come to his senses and realize that everything he could ever want was right in front of him. You shake your head, trying to stop yourself from sobbing.

“You as well.”

With that, you stepped out and closed the door behind you.

You went to your room. You didn’t want anyone to see you.

As you got inside, you headed to your bathroom. You turned the sink on and splashed water on your face.

You looked in the mirror, thinking about everything that’s happened. You couldn’t take it anymore and broke down in heavy sobs, falling to the bathroom floor and hugging your knees to your chest.

You wondered why. Why did it always have to be you? You always had the worst of luck finding someone, someone who treated you with respect and love. Then you found the one, only for him to be ripped from you as well.

You couldn’t take it. You needed air.

You got off the floor, you headed to the balcony attached to your room.

You took deep breaths as you tried to calm your crying.

You needed out.

The only reason you had stayed at the mansion was for Logan. You had wanted to go back home, to your friends. To your family. But Logan was the one thing keeping you here.

Now that that’s done, you didn’t have anymore excuses. You had decided right then and there that you were going back home.

#logan howlett x reader #logan howlett x you #wolverine x reader #logan howlett #x reader #logan howlett angst #marvel #x men movies #heartbreak #taylor swift #angst #wolverine #deadpool x wolverine #deadpool and wolverine

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percabething · 10 months ago

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when the fic has an aesthetically pleasing layout but the writing is… questionable

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guiltyasreid · 4 months ago

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Gorgeous ll Bucky Barnes x reader

warnings/tags: non, fluff, total fluff, fem reader, drinking word count: 1226 a/n: wrote this in an hour because i saw an edit of bucky to this song on tiktok and couldnt get it out of my head

It had been a long time since you’d been to the tower—maybe a year or two. A robot had nearly taken over the world (well, nearly decimated it, but details).

The tower still looked as it always did: people rushing around, trying to make something of themselves under the Stark name. The only difference now was that the Avengers had moved upstate. In an official capacity, anyway.

Stark still liked to host his parties at the tower, much to the dismay of his security.

When you got the invite, you rolled your eyes and ignored it. But then Pepper texted you to come, and you sighed, found a dress, and now stood in the middle of a sea of rich people.

Tony called out your name as he stumbled into you; he shook you, lifting you off the floor for a second.

“Tony,” you greeted him, giving him a small hug.

If there was one thing Tony Stark was, it was eccentric.

“No drink? Have mine,” he said, pressing his glass into your hand.

“You’re already drunk,” you snorted.

“I’m convinced Nat is giving me watered-down shit,” Tony replied seriously. “You have this. I’m going to get the real stuff.” He wiggled his brows. “Oh look, there’s Capsicle and his assassin buddy.”

He pushed you in Steve’s direction. Steve greeted you with a smile. “I didn’t know you’d be here.”

“I didn’t either,” you replied, taking a sip of the drink Tony handed you. You scrunched your nose. “This is not watered down.”

“Tony?”

“Tony,” you confirmed with a nod. “Here, you take it. It tastes horrid.”

“Then have mine. It’s something strawberry.” You swapped glasses, clinked them together.

“Oh, this is my friend Bucky,” Steve said, turning you to face the man who was watching you both.

If anyone asked why you choked on your drink, you’d say it was because you drank too quickly.

The truth was: Bucky was a gorgeous man. Tall, dark-haired, and too handsome to be real. Ocean-blue eyes that made you feel like you were drowning. Your breath hitched—you couldn’t look away. His hair fell around his face, sharpening his already rugged features. His broad shoulders were hugged by a fitted black shirt that had to be a size too small. It was ridiculous. How was this man just that handsome?

“A pleasure,” you said, holding out a hand that you hoped wasn’t clammy. Internally, you were on fire. He looked way too cool to be at this party. Full offence to the rest of the Avengers.

“The pleasure’s all mine, ma’am.”

His hands were calloused and firm, but soft enough to feel like a pillow to your own. His hand engulfed yours and you were pissed. Even his hands are hot.

“Ma’am?” You snickered, trying to ignore your thoughts. “Very Steve of you.”

“Bucky’s my friend from the war,” Steve explained quickly. You blinked at him, then looked back at Bucky, who was glancing between you both. If he looked at you for more than a second, you were sure you’d implode.

“That… makes sense,” you said, swallowing down your drink. “I’m going to get another. Want anything?”

“Whisky on ice?” Steve asked Bucky, who nodded.

If you took two shots at the bar, no one knew. Except Natasha, who raised an eyebrow. You shook your head, hoping she wouldn’t ask.

You returned with their drinks and your own, which you stared at instead of looking at Bucky.

Pool was played. Your body relaxed as the night went on. You were convinced Sam was cheating, but since he was on your team, you said nothing.

“Switch?” you heard and thought nothing of it—until Bucky stood at your side instead of Sam. You took another sip of your drink, bracing yourself.

“You want to go first?” he asked. You just nodded silently, not trusting your voice.

If you watched him lean over the pool table, that was between you and God. If you sighed when he grinned at Steve after potting a ball, you hoped no one heard. You were furious. There was no way this man was real. You didn’t know if you were mad that he was gorgeous, or that he wasn’t yours.

You snapped upright at your own thought.

Sam moved a ball with the back of his stick and you pointed at him. “That’s cheating!”

“I didn’t even touch it,” Sam said, offended.

“You’re lying. I saw it with these two eyes, man.”

“You sure? Pretty sure you were checking out Buck’s ass.” Sam grinned as he took his shot.

Your face burnt. But before you could respond, Bucky answered coolly, “Don’t call me Buck.”

He disregarded Sam’s comment like it was nothing.

Your thoughts spiralled. Why didn’t he react? Did he know? How obvious were you? Was he ignoring it because it was awkward? Oh god—what if he hated you now?

Unconsciously, you drifted closer to Bucky like he had his own gravitational pull. Your team won and you threw up a finger in Sam’s direction.

“In your face!”

You ducked into the bathroom. As you washed your hands, your thoughts raced. Did he have a girlfriend? Whoever she was, she was lucky. If he didn’t—why not? You pressed your cold hands to your cheeks, trying to ground yourself. The bathroom definitely made you feel more drunk than you actually were.

When you stumbled out (from the shoes, not the alcohol), you unfortunately bumped into the plague of your thoughts. Bucky.

“You alright there, doll?” His hands burnt against your bare arms—even the one made of metal.

“Doll?” You echoed. “I… doll.”

If you’d short-circuited, it must’ve shown—his face turned worried.

“I’m okay,” you rushed out with a quick nod.

He smiled, and your insides melted. “Good. Wouldn’t want you getting hurt.”

“Are you single?” You blurted.

His eyes widened. Yours did too. And before he could respond, you spun on your heel and rushed down the corridor.

The landing pad was blessedly empty. The rails were up, the wind was sharp, and the New York skyline was hazy in mist.

“So stupid,” you muttered, leaning over the rail.

It had to be the alcohol. You hadn’t acted like this since high school. First, you could barely speak to him. Then you asked if he was single. And every time he looked at you, it was like your whole body went up in flames. Maybe that was his superpower—making people fall for him.

The door opened.

You didn’t have to look to know who it was.

“Oh god,” you mumbled, not realising he could hear you.

He walked over, sleeves rolled up, eyes drifting across the skyline before landing on you.

“I am so sorry,” you began, already rambling. “I shouldn’t have asked that earlier. It was stupid. And I’m sorry about Sam’s comment. The question just came out like word vomit and I couldn’t stop it, and running away was definitely worse, and I’m just—really sorry.”

He stared at you with those blue eyes again. His hair was pushed back, showing more of his face.

“I am,” he said. “Are you?”

You blinked. “What?”

“I’m single. Are you?” He repeated, hands in his pockets.

You blinked again. Deer in headlights. You opened your mouth to say something—anything—but just nodded instead.

He smiled at your expression. “May I take you out to dinner, then?”

You nodded again, stiffly. What in the actual fuck was happening?

“Let’s get back inside before you catch a chill,” he said, holding out his arm. Without thinking, you took it.

“You’re pretty cute, you know.”

You grinned and looked away, a shy smile tugging at your lips. “You’re gorgeous. It should be illegal.”

He laughed, head thrown back, as you both walked into the party again.

You glanced up at him, studying him for a moment.

He truly was gorgeous.

#bucky barnes #bucky #bucky barnes one shot #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #the winter soldier #james bucky buchanan barnes #the avengers #marvel mcu #sebastian stan #taylor swift #falcon and the winter soldier #thunderbolts

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blueberrykizz · 3 months ago

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Let me be Selfish (chapter 2)

Bob Reynold x fem! Reader

Part 1

Summary: After years of being apart and moving to Manhattan, New York City from Sarasota Springs, Florida and in a new relationship, you see a familiar face on the news.

Notes: Since we don't really know how old Bob is supposed to be l'm gonna say in this story he's like 28 and reader is like 26-27 just she's only a little bit younger then him but she's out of college and a teacher for second grade.

Warnings: cheating sort of? (Not on Bob), Arguing (not with bob), toxic relationship (again not with Bob), swearing, brings up teen pregnancy (in a small part of a conversation), Bob talks about his drug use,

!THIS IS NOT PROOF READ! So I'm sorry if it's shit

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I gently pulled away as I looked down and sighed “Bob, I-I should go.” I said as I grabbed my coffee before I felt Bobs hand grab my wrist. As he looked up at me with pleading eyes.

“(Reader) please….j-just stay for a moment.” Bobs eyes were looking up at me as I looked at him for a moment before nodding my head.

I sat back down a little further from Bob as he let go of my wrist before he sighed and rubbed his eyes, as he looked ashamed, “I was stupid, okay? I didn’t want to leave you but, (reader) y-you knew what you wanted in life. Graduate high school, go for college for early children’s education…get married, have a family.” I looked up at Bob as he sounded like he was going to cry

“Bob…we were teenagers, the whole marriage and family thing was way down in the future for me back then.” I sigh as Bob nods his head

“Ya but you talked about it, and it scared the shit out of me, I dropped out of high school and I was smoking, and you were….God you were on the road to success, and I remember your parents getting on me about how I was holding you back, and if I made us teen parents, they’d kill me.” He laughed softly as I looked up at him

I laugh a little in response as Bob continues “I was sacred that because of me…you would never get out of Sarasota springs, like you wanted. And I was starting to get addicted to drugs and meth. I remember at your graduation I was out of it, I regret that so much now.” Bob nearly cried as I looked down

I tap my cup as I sighed “Ya…because we got in an argument, I was so pissed off.” I sigh as Bob nods his head, “That was when you told me it was either weed or you. That was before you found out I was also doing meth and all that” Bob said ashamed

I felt my eyes water “And y-you picked drugs…I remember because it was after the graduation at the graduation party and I couldn’t find you anywhere until I went to the front to see you buying from someone still high.” I sniffed as Bob looked up at me,

“If I could take it all back I would, I hated myself…still do because of that moment. I hated myself so much, after it happened I went home packed a bag a left” Bob eyes were watery as I looked down.

“I went to your house the next day…snuck in through your window. Your mom was home and she had just called my parents to see if you were at my place, she was worried and was asking all the neighbors where you were. I thought maybe you were just ignoring her and was in your room like you always did, but when I got there….and didn’t see you I cried, saw you left you room in a mess like you were in a hurry, the pictures you had of us on your wall on the ground and the pictures frame of me and you from the beach broken on the floor.” I felt a tear run down my face

“I remember laying in your bed because I missed you, took one of your shirts because it smelled like you…then I put all those pictures back into your memory box, i kept the picture that was in the frame. I still have the picture and your shirt.” I laugh softly as I wipe my face as Bob looked at me with wide eyes.

We sat there in silence Bob looked at me as I looked around the park seeing family’s playing, friends laughing, couples chatting. I didn’t say anything as a tear feel down my face and before I could wipe it away I felt another hand wipe it.

I looked back at Bob as he smiled gently at me, “I’m sorry for how I was when I was younger, I was stupid and dumb. I would understand if you actually hated me.” He spoke softly and embarrassed

I shake my head before gently scooting closer to him before resting my head on his shoulder, “I could never hate you Bob…I loved you to much to ever hate you even years later.” I sighed

I felt Bob become tense before I took his hand making small circles with my thumb just like I did when we were younger, Bob soon relaxed before thinking he kissed my head, “I still really want to be selfish.” He said quietly as if a whisper to himself

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We sat like that for hours, people watching in that park together spoke softly to each other about random things, it was nice and gentle. I wish it lasted longer.

Bob had gotten a call and told me he had to head back as I nodded my head telling I should probably head back home as well to finish up grading homework from my students.

When leaving the park Bob was going one way and I was going the other way, we looked at each other not saying much as Bob held my hand still he looked at me with softness as I stared up at him, almost as if we didn’t have to talk to understand each other.

A moment passed before I finally took breath “I-I should get going.” I said softly as bob nods still hesitant to let me go, as if he was scared that if he let go he’ll lose me. But soon he finally let go tucked his hand in his pocket and said his goodbye when he was about to turn away I acted without thinking and kissed his cheek before pulling away seeing the lipgloss it left behind

“Get home safe Bob, text me.” I looked up at him with a smile before turning around and heading home, I looked back for a moment expecting Bob to be gone but he was still standing in that spot looking at me.

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On my walk home I had much to think about, how I felt about Bob, what I should do about Nick. It was a lot.

When I finally got to my apartment and closed the door I walked into the kitchen to get some water where I found Nick making pasta, “Hey hon, thought I make dinner tonight.” Nick said happily before going to kiss my cheek.

I hum in response as I drinked my water before telling him I was going to grade.

Nick didn’t say anything for a moment, before I turning to me, “I don’t like you working at home, in fact I don’t understand why you work? (Reader) I make more than enough for the both of us.” Nick said as I rolled my eyes as Nick went on and on like he always did when I worked at home.

I finally cut him off “Well we’re not married, nor live together so…gotta pay my rent somehow Nick.” I said slightly annoyed as I sat down and began grading as Nick let out a sigh “Well we could get married.”

I froze for a moment “What?” I said as Nick chucked softly “I’m just saying it would make perfect sense, and you won’t have to work anymore, rely on me. Of course when we get married…you’ll have to stop being friends with certain people I don’t like…they’re just bad examples and people I already don’t like you being around.”

Nick spoke so casually about wanting to basically control my life like he wasn’t already. Nick came over with the food and he gave me my plate before sitting across from me.

“Nick I enjoyed my job, and I enjoy being with my friends.” I say softly not in the mood to argue with Nick. As he sighs “You don’t know what you’ll enjoy or like in a couple of years, and I just want what’s best for you, that’s all I want for you. I mean why take care of other people’s kids when we could have our own one day for you to take care of.” Nick said as he took a bit of his food

An image instantly came to mind of me having nicks kids and I instantly felt sick and lost my appetite,

“Well what if I don’t want that?” I looked up at Nick as he rolled his eyes “Well then (reader) you’re just being selfish.” I could tell Nick was getting a little bit annoyed with me since I didn’t immediately obliged

I sigh “Then I’m selfish, because I don’t see myself ever wanting that life…with you.” I mumble the last part

Nick bit the inside of his cheek as he shook his head “You’re being ridiculous, (reader) I just want what’s best for us, and I don’t really appreciate this conversation after I let you go out with a friend almost all day.” Nick was irritated as I looked at him in shock,

“Let me? Nick I’m a grown woman. I can do whatever I damn please and be around whoever I want.” I raised my voice was irritated as I looked up at Nick.

He was about to say something before my phone buzzed, and before I could reach it Nick instantly picked it up to read the text.

New message

Bobby: “I just got back home, wanted to tell you I thought about you and our conversation on my way back, I miss being around you. Anyways hope you take my advice have a good night sweet dreams.”

Nick read the text out loud before slamming my phone down “What the fuck!” Nick raised his voice “You told me you were going out with some friends, and instead you went out with…who the hell is this guy?!” Nick clenched his hand around my phone as I sighed

“He’s an old friend, and I didn’t tell you it was a guy because this is how you’ll react.” I dropped my fork looking at Nick

He shook his head “Damn right, and what was this conversation and advice, huh?! The guy probably wants to get your pants, with the whole ‘I miss being around you’ and ‘sweet dreams’ bullshit.”

I sighed “I don’t want to argue okay? Can we just leave it?” I spoke softly hoping that it would calm Nick down

But instead he got up threw my phone back at me got his coat and keys “I need to get a drink, after finding out my girlfriend is just a liar and a whore!” Nick yelled at me before leaving and slamming the door

I sat there in silence not knowing what to do tears ran down my face, my phone buzzed again it was from Bob, it was a yellow heart emoji, I laughed to myself a little.

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Two days went by and Nick never came back, I didn’t expect him to. I already had a plan in my head if he ever did, I would break up with him.

I had packed his stuff already in a couple of boxes, just a few clothes he left and his bathroom supplies, along with some decor he insisted I put up even though it didn’t match at all.

I was currently at my school in my classroom, my students were at lunch, I was planning my next weeks lesson when I heard a knock on the classroom door, expecting one of mu students I didn’t fully looked up “What do you need sweetie.” I said before looking up to see Bob.

“Bob! Oh, sorry I thought you were one of the students.” I instantly stood up and fixed my skirt that went to my feet. As he smiled down at me, “Hey…I was in the area…I remember you told me the school you worked at, thought I’d come by say hi and you texted me earlier saying you had forgotten your lunch so….I bring gifts.” Bob lifted the togo bag with a shy smile

I invited Bob in as I got one of the kids seats for him to sit with me and my desk as he brought out the subs I caught a glimpse of the receipt ‘Delmar’s’ I looked up at Bob “You didn’t. Bob you went to Queens just for the subs.” I laughed gently as Bob shrugged as his cheeks went pink

“I thought I hid it well with a different bag, but you told this was the best deli place ever….thought I would bring you something you actually enjoy.” Bob smiled as I looked up at him

He handed me the sub as I laughed softly to myself “You got my order right.” I said as I unwrapped the food as Bob looked at me

“I just got it like you use to back in high school. The guy gave me a hard time started going of on me in Spanish some guy had to help translate what he said to me guess the owner knew him, his name was Peter or something, but I explained that the order was for you and the man instantly stoped and made the order.” Bob shrugged as I laughed

“Mr. Delmar, good man I helped him raise money for a new shop after his last one caught on fire, he has a cute cat too.” I smiled before taking a bit of my sub as it instantly hit the spot

Bob chuckled softly at my reaction before he took a bite of his own and looked at me with wide eyes “This is amazing.” I nod my head as we ate in silence before I went to my desk drawer and got a small bag of chips as we ate.

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Bob stayed for a while as he looked around my classroom and saw all the pictures the kids drew nearly half of them was the new Avenger’s most didn’t have Bob only a couple and that was because the kids would copy the pictures from the news.

Bob listened to me talk about my students and how much I had to use his friends as a way to connect with my students to have them listen. I told him about my lessons plans and everything I would think he would find boring but instead he gave me his full attention and helped me come up with new ideas for crafts to make with the kids.

We talked for what felt like eternity as he told me all about the Avengers and how Bucky was in someway the mom of the group and always had to make sure Walker was behaving himself, and how at dinner Yelena would have her guinea pig eat at the table with them so if it ever got silent you would just hear her guinea pig munching on it food.

We laughed over so many things is was nice and comfortable. But when the silence hit, me and Bob just looked at each other enjoying each other company in silence.

We didn’t talk as Bob ate some chips as I finished some emails. Bob didn’t interrupt he sat patiently waiting for me to finish, he went on his phone for a moment before laying it on the desk and continued to look around my classroom and got a close look at the kids drawing some being about the kids family’s, their friends, the avengers, and me. He smiled at the drawings as he looked over them,

I sent the email before I got up to stand next Bob as he looked around, we stood in silence before he spoke up, “You’re students seem to love you.” I smile at his words as I looked up at him, “ya some of kids parents actually appreciate how much I do for the students.” I smile as Bob nods his head before looking down at me

He was about to say something when the bell rang indicating lunch was over, I sighed before grabbing my eyes to the classroom “Well I have to go get my student…I’m happy you came over Bob.” I say as Bob nods his head before going to wrap up his leftover sub and walk out with me

“Of course, couldn’t have you go hungry, you’re educating the brains of our future.” He smiled and chuckled a little as I playfully rolled my eyes as we walked out, “Well I should go get them…text me when you get home, be safe.” I wave at Bob as he nods giving me a small wave before turning to leave to the front office.

As I walked the other way I had an idea, I turned around to face Bob who was already looking at me before I gave him a smile “Hey Bob? Is there a chance…I don’t know…but if the team, the avengers could…could come to school and meet the kids? I’m sure the kids here would be thrilled.” I smiled as Bob looked hesitant before nods “I-I’ll talk to them about it.” He gave me a smile as nod “Thank you, I would appreciate it, just let me know.” I smile before giving him a wave as he turned around to leave as I turned back towards the playground.

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When the school day ended and my students were all picked up, I finally checked my phone as Bob texted me a while ago telling me he was back at the tower before sending me a picture of Yelena and her guinea pig eating together at the table.

I laughed to myself as I texted him back

(Reader): Omg you weren’t lying lmao that’s so cute.

I smiled to myself as I sent the message before getting up with my coffee mug to head to the teachers lounge to get a refill as I saw some of coworkers in there chatting.

I quietly went to the corner where the coffee maker was before the lounge went quiet as they looked at me. Before my colleague Jason and Sarah spoke up, “Someone had a surprise guest come by for lunch who just so happens to be part of the new avengers.” They smiled as I rolled my eyes at the

“He’s my friend and Bob is not part of the new avengers…he just lives with them…and is their when they have press talks in the background.” I say as I add sugar to my coffee

As Jason leaned against the counter next to me “Ya sure. Anyways dose Nick know?” Jason wanted to know all drama and details as Sarah liked to stay silent and listen,

I shake my head before I whisper to them, “Well me and Nick… aren’t really on speaking terms right now, and I could honestly care less if it bothers him or not.” I smile as Jason and Sarah looked at each other with wide eyes as I smile at them with a shrug before leaning against the counter sipping my coffee

Jason shakes his head “Oh naughty, naughty.” He laughed as I smiled at me as Sarah looked at me “So are you and Nick…over?” She asked as I sighed “Well we will be, once he gets over this stupid tantrum of his, I’ll tell him I’m over it, I already have his stuff packed.” Sarah looked at Jason then at me

“I’m just so done with his bullshit.” I sigh as Sarah nods with Jason, they were one of my few friends that actually said I should leave Nick.

They gave me a soft smile as Sarah pat my back “Well we’re on side with this, I mean from what you’ve told me and Jason, Nick seems like a selfish dick.” Jason nods in agreement with her as I gave them both a soft smile and thank you before fixing my hair “Well I should finish up grading my kid’s math assignment.” I smile before leave the teacher lounge.

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When I finally got home I put my bag and leftover sub on the kitchen table beside immediately going to my bedroom and flopping on the bed, kicking off my shoes before I texted Bob I was back home.

I laid on my bed staring up at the ceiling as I let out a sigh before my phone buzzed with Bob sending a thumbs up and yellow heart emoji before he sent a text.

Bobby: “Glad to know, get some rest and enjoy the rest of your leftovers sub, i already ate mine ten out of ten going again.”

I smiled at his text before resting my phone on my chest. I smiled to myself I felt like a teenager girl again crushing on a boy who just texted her.

“God damn it Bob.” I say before I rest my head on my pillow and eventually close my eyes.

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A/n: okay Bob is such a cutie also did y’all get my reference heh, I know I’m amazing. Anyways Taylor swift definitely came to mind when writing about Bob and reader when they were in high school. Also next chapter wouldn’t come out right away I’m still writing here and there into it, and because it’s my finals week I’m not gonna post a new chapter to the series this week, okay much love byeee!!!

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