#mickey barnes fic

[jesuistrestriste]

sage. my flight got delayed AGAIN. i’m not getting back to school til late, i have an assignment due tomorrow i haven’t finished…may i please request some Mickey 17 stuff? smut or fluff or angst idc i miss that little guy:(

⭑.ᐟ cw (18+) : dry humping, tiny bit of fluff —

mickey’s body is a mess.

he’s just been reprinted for the twelfth time, his limbs slimy and his blood whooshing erratically through his veins as he’s sat up on the cold table. the familiar scientists poke and prod at his skin while they scribble hurried little notes in their pads of paper. his head spins badly whenever he gets propped up fresh out of the machine, but he still manages to immediately think of you.

where you’re at right now, what you’re doing, who you’re with.

he can’t do anything until the people in the lab are ready to let him go though, releasing him until the next agonizing experiment needs his lungs or his heart or his brain. sometimes it’s funny because they’re ready to kick him out the door before his legs are ready to be used, like a mother bird kicking her baby out of the nest before its ready to fledge. regardless, they’re usually pretty quick about finishing their post-printing examinations. and he can use the spare minutes while they’re working on him to think about what he’s gonna do when he finally gets to see you again.

the sting of his new cells adjusting to the atmosphere is drowned out by thoughts of pressing his lips to yours, trying out one of the stupid sex positions you and him made up on one of the tablets, running his hands over your warm flesh. he sighs.

one time—a few bodies ago—you had sucked him off when it had only been about 30 minutes since the reprinting, and you’d told him that his come tasted like plastic and sterilized metal. (which was weird because his body was supposed to be biologically the same as the last, so shouldn’t he have tasted normal? whatever. didn’t matter. you had swallowed. you had licked the rest of it into his mouth afterwards. it did taste artificial.)

the people surrounding him eventually scampered off and he assumed his freedom, got dressed, and slinked off and out. he walked through the hallways and listened to the sound of his heavy shoes hitting the flooring. climbed the stairs to the rooms, then slid open your door to find you laid on your bed. his chest sags with relief.

you smile at him. god, that smile. he can’t help but shut the door in a hasty effort and crawl up on top of you. your guys’ dark colored jumpsuits slide together. its only a tiny spark of friction, but its enough.

his body is always extra sensitive after coming out of the machine; he always feels like a virgin again, not that he’s had much sex in general. he feels your hand over his hip, and he shudders.

“mmgh,” he breathes into your neck, stiff and shaky, “i missed you.”

“missed you too. it’s only been a day and a half, but i really, really missed you,” you whisper against his jaw.

he loves how you can be just as clingy as him sometimes. you even beat him at his own game on occasion, sticking to his side like a glob of glue, but he blames the fact that you only get to see him during select parts of the day. with your duties and his expendable work.. it’s tough. you both take what you can get, and as much of it as you’re allowed. and that usually also means getting handsy as soon as you’re together.

you feel him rock down against your thigh involuntarily, reflexively, chasing a brewing feeling in his stomach. your fingers run through his brown hair, and you bite your lip when it elicits a whimper from him.

“already, mick?” you hum teasingly, the tips of your digits scratching the back of his scalp, just the way he likes it, “don’t you wanna go down and eat first?”

he chokes around a moan when he starts to hump the most perfect spot on your leg, just enough muscle there to give him something to work against. his hands find fabric of your suit, slipping under your back next as he keens. he feels a rush of warmth coat his cock, and then he feels a dribble of something start to leak from his tip.

“don’t wanna eat.. not really hungry..” he gasps, his brow pinched up now in the shadows of the crook of your body, “this.. you.. this feels so good, i don’t wanna stop..”

you tilt your head slightly and then lift your leg under him to press it further against his bulging crotch. a sharp cry spills from his lips. you pet his hair again. he’s like a puppy sometimes—a needy, possessive dog that looks up to you like you’re something to be worshipped. you can’t get enough.

“okay, well, i snuck you some food anyways, its in my—“

mickey cuts you off, crashing his lips to yours with a hunger that’s almost unlike him. he usually wants you to lead (much preferring following your directions). his tongue seeks yours desperately, flattening over your own once he gets access. you have to swallow down all the little noises he’s making as he starts to thrust his clothed appendage against your body quicker. the movement of his snapping hips is building a warmth between all of the layers.. you wouldn’t exactly be surprised if he burned a hole right through with all the rubbing he’s doing. you lovingly slide a hand over his lower back in an attempt to soothe his frantic movements, but it doesn’t quite work. he breaks from the kiss, body jolting, to look down to your face and hiccup. expression all crumpled and contorted and flushed with an orgasm that he’s almost got clutched in the palm of his hand. eyes glazed over and jaw slacked like he’s high on pure oxy from timo. just a disaster of a man. and to think—a hunk of machinery and a brick of his memories brought him back to life less than an hour ago. birthed him, really. everything about him in this moment is so primal. you can’t shake the need to mark your territory, just in case he’s forgotten somehow.

“easy, easy.. you’re all mine for the rest of the night anyways.. i don’t care what they want, they’re not taking you from me tonight..”

and that’s all it takes.

just those sweet, possessive words pouring like thick honey into his ears, and then he’s gone. easy as that.

his eyes roll back, his head drops to your shoulder, his length spasms in his new underwear, then he’s coming. it happens as quick as you can blink.

“aah! im.. im—!”

he heaves through the uncontrollable waves of pleasure that bloom and spread throughout his nervous system, rendering him a trembling heap on top of you. if it weren’t for the remaining strength in his biceps, he’d collapse and probably fall like dead weight over your chest. he gives a few more shaky rolls of his hips as he rides out the prickling aftershocks of overstimulation. “f-fuck, ohh, ngh..”

then he really does slump over you. lowering himself slowly over your frame so as to not crush you. there’s something tender about the way he moves to ensure your comfort, even when he’s so wrecked, and it makes you instinctively wrap your arms around him. he sniffles while he catches his breath.

“s-sssorry,” the word broken up lazily as he struggles to bring himself back to the reality of your touch, “mmn.. jus’ felt so good, and you smell so nice, and i just couldn’t..” he trails off, shaking his head as he feels his body begin to overheat.

a little laugh bubbles up and out at his incoherency. then your hand over his upper back snakes down to playfully squeeze his rear. he sucks in a gasp and then chuckles into your skin as he squirms.

“s’fine, i like watching you finish like that.”

he chews the inside of his cheek like gum. you can almost feel his lashes flutter against your pulse point.

“felt like i wasn’t myself for a second..”

it’s a joke, one twinged with a bit of shame and guilt, you know that, but it doesn’t feel like one. each time he gets reprinted, a part of him changes—gets stripped away and plastered over with something new. you don’t always mind, but it does make you question which mickey you’ll get next time. will he be soft and kind? blunt and impulsive?

at the end of the day, you suppose it doesn’t matter much.

“you’ll always be my mickey.”

he lets out a weighted sigh of relief for the second time in the past thirty minutes since he’s been back in your presence, and it’s almost like you can feel the very last of the tension drain from his pores. he only whispers two more words against your ear before he finds his own hands wandering your body, eager to reciprocate and prove that he’s still useful. he owes it to you for loving him through it all.

“yeah.. yours.”

[buckythinker]

Oh my fucking god i have NEVER wanted a man so bad. Fuck me

[ladyantiheroine]

Mr. Barridge

Summary: Nasha comes home from work and has a moment alone with Mickey. Read on AO3.

Pairing: Nasha Barrides/Mickey Barnes

Warnings: Explicit sexual content.

Word Count: 3.3k words

Tags: Househusband!Mickey Barnes, femdom, pegging, dom/sub, domestic bliss, married life, strip tease, hair-pulling, finger sucking, lipstick & lip gloss, jealousy, possessive, sex, post-canon.

“Come on, little guy,” Mickey said. “Just a little more.”

After weeks of practice, Mickey managed to learn how to cradle a baby creeper in just the right way. In the earlier days, he couldn’t quite find the right way to position his arms that didn’t result in the little thing crying, but he seemed to figure it out now. He cushioned the pillbug-like creature in one arm, and with the other, fed it a bottle of creeper milk.

The baby was called Zekei, according to the others. He’d lost his mama when a falling ice rock landed on top of her in the underground caves. The other creeps had taken care of him, but as an act of peace between species, allowed Mickey and Nasha to adopt him. It seemed like the kind or extraordinary next step—interspecies adoption. What better sign that things between humans and creepers were going well?

Of course, learning to take care of a creeper baby came with plenty of learning curves. The scientists back at the station had spoken to the creepers and interacted with the babies enough to gauge their needs, but there were still plenty of adjustments. Thankfully, with Nasha now a council member, she could arrange for her and Mickey to have a whole house structure on Niflheim to raise Zekei on.

And since the Expendable program ended, Mickey was out of work. Which left him plenty of time to raise the little one.

Zekei was nice and quiet today, likely a bit sleepy after playing out in the snow. He serenely suckled the bottle until every drop was gone and Mickey set it aside. At that moment, he heard the front door open. Nasha was home.

Mickey glanced down at Zekei.

“Mommy’s home,” he said.

At that moment, the kettle Mickey had placed on the stove started to sing. He set Zekei down in his high chair and rushed over to turn the stove off.

“Looks like I’m just in time to see you burn the house down.”

Mickey glanced over his shoulder. Nasha stood at the kitchen doorway, still dressed in her council uniform. Those red, billowing robes that always reminded Mickey of rose petals.

“Would help keep the cold out, wouldn’t it?” Mickey said.

He moved the kettle over and grabbed two mugs from the cupboard.

“How was the council meeting today?” he asked.

“The usual,” Nasha said. She sauntered over to the kitchen table and took a seat. “Bickering and arguing, followed by more bickering and arguing.”

She leaned close to Zekei and rubbed the top of his head. He nuzzled into her touch.

“How has the little one been?” she asked.

“Better,” Mickey said. He plucked two teabags from a jar and plopped them each into the mugs, then poured the steaming water inside. “He finished a whole bottle today.”

“Wonderful,” Nasha said. “That explains why he’s so sleepy.”

It was true. Zekei was curled over in his little chair and released a sleepy little sneeze. Nasha gave him a kiss on top of his head.

“Chicken is cooking in the oven,” Mickey said. He stirred a silver spoon in both mugs before bringing them over to the table. “Should be ready for dinner in half an hour.”

Nasha smiled, and looked Mickey up and down.

“I can tell someone’s been busy in the kitchen,” she said.

Mickey glanced down at his clothes. Nasha had jokingly gifted him an apron with KISS THE CLONE stitched into the front, and it was now covered in sauce and grease from the late afternoon of cooking. Mickey chuckled.

“New recipe,” he said. He placed one of the tea mugs in front of Nasha. “Made you some tea in the meantime. I know summers on Niflheim aren’t exactly warm like they are on earth.”

“No kidding,” Nasha said. “It’s freezing out there.”

She brought the mug to her lips and took a sip. There was a stratified hum in her throat.

“Mm, this is good,” she said. “I’ve never had this before.”

“Yeah, I found some old tea leaves in the back of the cabinet,” Mickey said. “I’ve had them for a while and forgot.”

“Where’d you get them?” Nasha asked.

Mickey opened his mouth to answer but then paused, and cold dread flooded his stomach. Along with forgetting he had the tea, he completely forgot who had given it to him…and he wished he remembered before making it for Nasha.

“It’s…um…” Mickey licked his lips. Nasha was looking at him expectantly. “It’s…I got it from Kai.”

Immediately, Nasha’s eyes darkened.

“Kai Katz?” she said.

Mickey swallowed.

“After Kai and I first met, she took me to her room,” he said. “Nothing happened but…she did make me some tea. And she let me keep some of the bags she had…”

Nasha knew this story, but the reminder of it made the temperature in the room drop. The agent-turned-councilwoman was known for being…a bit of the jealous type. Blame it on the limited potential partners on Niflheim, or blame on just who she was. But Nasha never hesitated to remind anyone that Mickey Barnes belonged to her, including Mickey himself.

Once, after she saw two women flirting with him in the mess hall, she’d kissed him on the cheek with fresh lipstick, and Mickey hadn’t realized she left a stain until Timo pointed it out. When he asked her why she didn’t say anything, she simply told him, “I like to mark my territory.”

And from what Mickey heard, Nasha had spoken to Kai after their post-Marshall encounter, and it…was not cordial.

It was something about Nasha that scared Mickey a little. And also made his heart flush.

Mickey was sweating down the back of his neck as Nasha bore her eyes into him. He quickly moved over to Zekei’s chair and picked him up.

“I should put him to bed,” he said. “Don’t want him falling asleep in his chair.”

Mickey cradled the sleeping bug all the way upstairs to the nursery. He placed Zekei gently down on the pillow in his crib. The little pillbug was already making noises that Mickey deduced was creeper snoring.

He gently and quietly closed the nursery door. As soon as he did, he heard Nasha call him from their bedroom.

“Mickey,” she said.

Heart knocking in his chest, Mickey slowly approached the bedroom door that hung open. Inside, Nasha was sitting on the edge of the bed, taking off her shoes.

“Did I tell you got some new lipstick?” she asked.

Mickey shook his head. 

“I don’t think so,” he said.

“One of the other girls on the council smuggled it for me,” Nasha said. She slipped her hand into the pocket of her robe and pulled out a small, crimson tube.

Nasha didn’t get a chance to wear makeup often, due to her old work dress code (Marshall hated red lipstick, and made it everyone’s problem). But since she took over the council, she’d laxed the rules and Mickey found her more than once dabbing various colors onto her face. He watched her uncap the tube and smear it onto her perfect mouth.

“This one is new,” Nasha said, then popped her lips. “I want to see if it smudges.”

She stood up and sauntered over to Mickey. The hair on the back of his neck stood for reasons he couldn’t articulate.

Nasha gave him a sweet smile.

“Can you help me see if it smudges?” she asked innocuously. 

Mickey looked at the lipstick, the one in her hand and on her lips.

“Sure,” he said. “What do you want me to—”

In a split second, Nasha dropped the tube to the floor and pulled Mickey by his shirt into a hungry kiss. Mickey made a surprised sound against her mouth, but then surrendered onto her touch. Nasha pushed him back, closing the bedroom door behind her husband with one hand, and shoved his back against it.

Nasha began at his mouth, then pressed thick, scarlet kisses along his cheek, his jawline, and down his neck. Bloody stains bloomed like his pale flesh and Mickey tipped his head back against the door, his fluttering shut in mindless pleasure.

“Nasha,” he whimpered.

Oh, the sound of her name in his mouth made Nasha’s blood rush. She pressed his hands to the door behind him, her fingers entwining with him, while she continued to paint him red with her lips. Mickey’s brain felt like hot candle wax, melting down his whole body in a heat wave.

At one point, after Nasha’s mouth found Mickey’s again, her hand spider-crawled down his body and between his legs. Mickey moaned as her hand clenched the hard erection bulging between his thighs. With her free hand, she hooked two fingers into Mickey’s mouth.

“This is mine, remember?” she muttered against her lips. “All of this. Mine.”

She clawed a possessive hand over his crotch and Mickey felt a wet spot trickling right at her palm. He was still fully dressed, but he never felt so naked and vulnerable.

And it was like Nasha had read his mind, because using her impressive strength, she spun him around and pressed him chest-first to the door. She kissed along the back of his neck, one hand still to his bulge and the other firmly gripping his ass.

“Say it,” she whispered in his ear.

She pulled her fingers out of his mouth. Mickey tried to find the shape of the words on his tongue.

“I’m yours,” he said breathlessly against the door. His brain was a mess and his voice was a helpless, thoughtless whimper. “I’ve always been yours…”

He tried to keep himself standing on both feet as Nasha kissed his neck and her hands explored him all over. Her fingers found the trim of his shirt and pinched to lift it up over his head. Then she took the seam of his pants, and dropped them to the floor.

Despite their home’s heating, the icy Niflheim cold still bled through the walls. Mickey, down to his boxers, shivered like a wet cat. The only warmth came from Nasha’s red velvet robe against his body. But then she stepped back for a moment, she when she touched him again, he felt her bare stomach and legs.

“I wanna show you something,” she whispered in his ear, softer this time.

Mickey could barely scramble his thoughts together enough to respond.

“More lipstick?” he asked.

Nasha giggled, then stepped away from him. Mickey dared to turn around, and saw Nasha open the drawer next to their bed. The bottom drawer. The one Mickey thought neither of them ever used.

He watched, wide-eyed, as she pulled out a black leather harness studded with silver buckles, like the kind he used to wear on his climbing missions on Niflheim’s small mountain range. But Mickey realized it wasn’t climbing gear when he saw what was strapped to the front: A dark blue, plastic phallus. 

Nasha, stripped down to her gray bra and underwear, turned to look at Mickey. She dangled the harness by one crooked finger, to make sure he got a good look at it.

“Do you know what this is?” she asked.

Though Mickey never admitted it, he nodded.

“Do you want to help me put it on?”

Mickey nodded even harder, and rushed over to her. He dropped his knee to the floor in front of her and she handed him the harness. It took a moment for him to figure out which hole was what, but once he did, he felt it open so Nasha could stick each leg inside. He loved dressing her. He did it all the time when she was an agent, and he still did now that she was a councilwoman. Adjusting her gun holster, her shoes, zipping up the back of her robes. It felt right, like he was watching her come together.

He pulled the harness up to her waist and tugged the straps into the buckles. She ruffled his hair.

“Not too tight,” Nasha said.

Mickey nodded. When he finished, his eyes were on the phallus. He mentally compared it to his own cock, which was starting to ache in his underwear.

“One of the girls lent it to me,” Nasha said. “She snuck it with her off of earth. A backup, so she’d never used it.”

Mickey didn’t care much if it had been used, because he was too busy drooling over how Nasha’s legs looked in the harness, and his asshole clenched at the sigh of the long shape. Nasha gently took his chin under her fingers, and forced him to look up at her. 

She smiled down at him. Mickey had dark blue eyes that gleamed big and wide in the light, like a poor kicked puppy. She caressed his cheek with her hand, and Mickey nuzzled into her tough. Her fingertips brushed against his lips, and without having to tell him, Mickey opened his lips and let her press two fingers inside him.

“God, you’re so cute,” Nasha cooed.

She finger-fucked his mouth for a moment. Mickey, as if remembering their brief time with 18, sucked at her finger like he could get her off that way. He moaned with his eyes closed and savored the taste, holding her wrist in his hand so he could take in more of her.

Then, Nasha glanced at the door. Between Mickey’s thighs, his precome had started to drip dangerously close to the carpet.

“You’re gonna make a mess,” she said.

Mickey opened his eyes and looked at her.

“Do you want me inside you?” Nasha asked.

Mickey nodded. Nasha pulled her fingers out of his mouth, a long strain of saliva connecting her fingertips to his lips. 

“Then lose the underwear,” she said.

Mickey swallowed and rose to his feet. Nasha sat on the edge of the bed again and forced him to stand in front of her in the middle of the room.

“Go ahead,” she said, crossing one lovely leg over the other. “Strip for me, baby.”

Mickey was cherry-red in the face, but did as he was told. He took the seam of his boxers and pulled them down, letting them drop to the floor. It wasn’t exactly the sexiest striptease. In their brief time alone, Mickey 18 had put on one hell of a show for Nasha, including a full lap dance with his ass curled into her lap.

But that was a different Mickey. This Mickey, who’s awkwardness and flustered expression only endeared him more to her. Sexy in a way that made her want to eat him alive.

He kicked his boxers to the side. His cock was burning red and hard, and Mickey resisted the temptation to cover it with his hands. Nasha looked him up and down with a gaze that felt like a tongue on Mickey’s body.

Then, she crooked a finger at him.

“Come here,” she said.

Mickey, trembling like a cornered deer, took a few steps closer to her. When he was close enough, Nasha took his hand in hers. She turned it over, playing with his fingers.

“You have nice hands,” she said.

“Thank you,” Mickey said.

“They’re my second favorite thing about you.”

Before Mickey could ask what Nasha meant by that, she looked him in the eyes, and with one impressively strong tug, pulled him down onto the bed. Mickey’s face hit the duvet and Nasha mounted behind him.

“You’re mine, Mickey Barnes,” she said. 

Nasha pressed one hand up his rectum, and Mickey let out a mangled moan. 

“Not Kai’s…not Marshall’s…all mine.”

Mickey’s legs instinctively spread and his ass perked up. He’d never felt this before, but somehow Nasha knew just which way to press one finger—and then two—to make him whine.

“Yours,” he whimpered. “I’m all yours.”

Nasha, her fingers wet from Mickey’s spit, pressed a third finger inside of him before finally readying herself at his entrance. She started slowly, giving Mickey a moment to moan and whine against the new sensation filling him from behind. She pushed deeper, then a little, slowly began swerving her hips.

At this point, Mickey and Nasha had fucked each other in just about every way it was possible for two people to fuck each other. But not once had he taken her up his ass like this, and waves of pleasure were intense enough to bring tears to his eyes. It was like she had found a key to a secret room in his body that even he never knew about.

He moaned with each thrust she pounded into him. The springs in the mattress sang beneath their eight. The harness put pressure on Nasha’s clit, and the sounds Mickey made below her were enough to get her sweating.

“You like that?” she said between labored breaths.

Mickey couldn’t even respond anymore. All he could do was mutter out a euphoric sound as she fucked him deeper and deeper. Nasha stroked her hands down his back. One hand smoothed down to his ass, and she gave him a firm, red smack. Mickey cried out in pleasured pain and felt the burning outline of her hand on his cheek.

Nasha’s haggard breaths turned to moans and Mickey could see she was getting close. Despite his painful cock, he tried to hold it in, let her come first. Nasha snatched Mickey by his hair and tugged his head back, making his back arch. Mickey could have finished right there, but he hissed between his teeth as he edged himself.

“That’s it, baby,” Nasha said. She was thrusting so hard the bed frame shook beneath them, and Mickey thought it would break. “Take it…take all of it… you’re fucking mine .”

And with that, Nasha tipped her head back. Her eyes closed and she licked her lips as an intense orgasm climbed up her body like a wildfire. She let Mickey’s face fall back down onto the mattress.

Now, freshly satisfied, Nasha turned an evil smile back down to her husband. She gripped his hips in her hands, her nails digging into his flesh, and fucked him so hard that he started squeal.

“Fuck me,” Mickey moaned as he grew closer and closer to the edge. “Fuck, please, I’m yours, I’m—”

It was hot and sharp like a fire poker. Mickey came on Nasha’s strap with an intensity he hadn’t felt before. Even after every drop of him had been drained out, Nasha kept fucking him, and fucking him, and fucking him, until finally her hips slowed to a stop.

Both of them were dripping with sweat. Nasha was smirking and Mickey was trembling. She pulled out of him and rubbed his back.

“You okay, baby?” she whispered in his ear. Her tone was soft, sweet, like she hadn’t just finished obliterating him from behind. All Mickey could do was press his blushing face into the bed and clutch the duvet in his hands.

Nasha swiped the lipstick tube off the floor and leaned over her husband’s sweaty back. Mickey flinched as she started writing on his left shoulder with the lipstick. In her elegant cursive, she wrote “NASHA BARRIDGE” across his back.

When she was done, she capped the lipstick and pressed one more kiss to Mickey’s shoulder. She whispered in his ear.

“The chicken’s probably burning downstairs,” she said. “I’ll go pull it out the oven and we can have dinner. You can bring Zekei down to join us.”

With that, Nasha grabbed her robe off the floor and disappeared out the door. It would take a few minutes for Mickey to pull himself off the bed, put his clothes back on, and gather Zekei up in his arms to take him downstairs.

And when he would, Nasha would see him descend the steps, covered in her lipstick, a flustered smile on his face.

[dimlylittorch]

i’m so sorry i’ve been dead for like a week !! it turns out my brain rly needed a few days to dissociate after finishing my classes💀 i’m finally feeling back in my creative element, so i’m getting back to writing tonight :)

in the mean time, other than the 3 fics i’m almost done with (see here), here are a few writings that i’m getting started on:

[sweetiebarnes]

The following content is intended for an adult audience only. 18+ only. Minor DNI. Please pay attention to all warnings. Dark elements ahead. You do not have permission to steal or copy my work.

Bucky Barnes

Carter Baizen

Charles Blackwood

God the Bounty Hunter

Lance Tucker

Lee Bodecker

Max Burnett

Mickey Henry

Nick Fowler

Steve Kemp

[sejslover]

where are all the good mickey x nasha fics? it hurts me to say this but theres a lack of them on ao3 and tumblr. i just wanna read about my 2 shaylasss.

[writing-for-marvel]

For the Stardust Reblog Challenge: Summer Edition hosted by @liraketo

These are all the fics I've read in August. Please go show all these amazing writers some much deserved love! Also please remember to read the warnings for each individual fic

🔥 - smut | 💗 - fluff |💧 - angst | 😈 - dark

Dividers by @saradika

Bucky Barnes

😈🔥💧💗 Mob!Bucky x Fairy (series) by @kinanabinks

🔥 Live Now (series) by @world-of-aus

💧💗🔥 Barnsey x Clover (series) by @drabblewithfrannybarnes

💧💗 Positive Vicissitude (series) by @targaryenvampireslayer

💧💗🔥 My Little Love (series) by @crazyunsexycool

💧💗 A Hopeful Tale by @justagirlinafandomworld

🔥💧💗 Ceramics Professor Bucky by @fandoms-writings

🔥💗 On Bended Knees by @slyyywriting

😈💧 Dark Desires by @jobean12-blog

💗 Sunshine in the Dark by @/jobean12-blog

💧💗 CEO!Bucky by @fluffyprettykitty

🔥 Stay Quiet For Me by @inmyicyworld

💗 Morning Rain by @rain-lavender-rain

🔥 Spoiled and Stuffed by @sebstanwhore

🔥💗 On My Mind by @/targaryenvampireslayer

🔥 Skype Sex with Bucky by @boxofbonesfic

🔥 (Baby Cry For Me) When I Put My Lips On You by @cockslutpadalecki

😈🔥 Werewolf!Bucky by @buckylattes

Steve Rogers

💗 Hugging from behind by @worksby-d

💧💗 The Earpiece by @/crazyunsexycool

😈 Late Night Visitor by @sevenwivesofrafecameron

Joaquin Torres

💗 Neighbour!Joaquin by @/fluffyprettykitty

🔥 Photographer!Joaquin by @/fluffyprettykitty

Ari Levinson

💧🔥 Playing With Fire by @flordeamatista

💗 The Meeting by @astheskycries

🔥 Big Daddy by @slothspaghettiwrites

🔥 Sunkissed by @brandycranby

Andy Barber

💧💗 Terms and Conditions AU (series) by @navybrat817

🔥 Good For You by @sunshinexsin

Lloyd Hansen

💧💗 Lloyd Hansen fluff by @venusstorm

🔥 Chain Game by @mrsurahara

Ransom Drysdale

💧💗 Empty Spaces by @intrepidacious

💗 Sweet Surprise by @babyjakes

💗 In Perfect Colour by @/brandycranby

Mickey Henry

💗 Out of my League by @syntheticavenger

Joel Miller

💧💗 Joel Miller x Reader by @holacia3

💧💗 Nook of Love by @/jobean12-blog

[waldos-writing]

Just A Dog Pulling at the End of a Long, Long Leash

Rating: Mature Word Count: currently 6,2k (ongoing) Tags: Graphic Depictions of Violence, nightmares, Post-Canon Fix-It, Hurt/Comfort, Happy Ending

Summary:

Mickey Barnes. That's it, it's just Mickey Barnes now. Just him. Singular.

After the end of Marshall and Ylfa and the expendable program, Mickey's trying to figure out his place in all of...this. On Niflheim. In life. Thing is, he's just got this weird feeling that maybe...well, no. That'd be crazy. But maybe it's not just him. Maybe there was a miracle.

Or maybe he just doesn't know how to deal with the guilt of losing 18. Maybe if he just gets to live? If that's enough?

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

Chapter 3 (excerpt)

They liked Dorothy. Yeah, she’d been on the team that experimented heavily on him, but she also held his hand when he was bleeding out of every orifice and did her best to make things painless. He trusted her and if it wasn’t trust, at least he didn’t fear her, which felt close enough to the same thing. She was, as they say, good people.

Nasha was the one who closed the door and turned the chair around so they didn’t have to look at the isolation chamber in the bay next door. Somebody could probably argue enough applications to warrant keeping it but, yeah.

“You should have come sooner,” Dorothy said, her eyes so big and worried behind her glasses. She was holding an instrument over his arm, a soft whirring sound growing a little louder and Mickey swallowed uncomfortably. “Oh. Oh! No, don’t worry, this is just to scan your bones. Safer than an x-ray.”

She wanned herself to make a point and then put it back over Mickey. Dorothy was nice. Good people. He relaxed again.

“Sorry,” he muttered in thanks and shifted his weight in the chair. “Yeah, and, uh, I – it was my…my birthday.”

“Oh, gosh, that’s right!” Dorothy dropped her hands, looking over their heads. “Oh, Mickey, I’d meant to be there. I got you something!”

“If it’s anymore protein cake, I gotta say.” Mickey covered his stomach with his left hand. “I’m good.”

Continue here on Ao3!

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

my gorgeous angels, I have a fair few works in progress at the moment. which do we want first? what do you like the look of? which are you curious about? <3

[happypopcornprincess]

Hello everyone!

There are some new fics coming your way real soon, and I've made a google form for all to check if you want to be tagged in them.

Fandoms I write for:

Marvel

Joaquin Torres Bucky Barnes Peter Parker Tony Stark

Top Gun: Maverick

Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw Mickey "Fanboy" Garcia Reuben "Payback" Fitch Jake "Hangman" Seresin Natasha "Phoenix" Trace Javy "Coyote" Machado Hannix

you can vote for any other characters or fandoms you want me to write for, all requests are welcome.

[danahaep]

SEBASTIAN STAN EDIT COLLAB!!

[buckythinker]

literally shaking. What the fuck

[ladyantiheroine]

Warm to the Touch

Summary: Mickey is feeling sick after a reprint, and Nasha is going to see he gets better. Read on AO3.

Pairing: Nasha Barrides/Mickey Barnes

Warnings: None.

Word Count: 1.5k words

Tags: short & sweet, whump, sickfic, hurt/comfort, teasing, minor injuries, mild blood, cute

Mickey awoke with a deep, throat-wrenching cough. His eyes snapped open as he started hacking what felt like his whole lungs out.

The memory trickled in slowly, as they usually did after each reprint. The first were the newer ones. They had tested another vaccine on him, their second one on the road to figuring out a way to make humans immune to Niflheim’s atmosphere. This one left him with the worst, god-awful stomach he ever had, and died at some point while dunking gallons of vomit from his mouth.

It was so bad, he could still feel the phantom pain of it even in his new body. Or at least, that’s what he assumed.

He lifted his head and glanced around. To his surprise, he wasn’t on the conveyor belt in the lab, where he usually was after reprinting. He was used to being reborn with a dozen scientist eyes looking over him to make sure he was fully cooked. Instead, he was on his bed back in his room, stripped down to just a pair of boxers, like he just woke up one morning.

Then, Mickey flinched when the door to his room slid open. It was Nasha, with a tray in her hand.

“Rise and shine, sleeping beauty,” she said with a smirk.

She sauntered over and set the tray on the table near the bed. As she did, Mickey caught a whiff of something other than Nasha’s perfume. It was a warm, weirdly nostalgic smell he couldn’t quite place. Mickley groaned and tried to sit up, but Nasha pushed him down with a hand to his shoulder.

“Best not,” she said. “The folks at science said you need to rest until tomorrow.”

“Why?” Mickey asked. “I’m usually good to go after a few hours.”

“Not this time,”

Nasha plucked a glass of ice water off the tray. Mickey thought she was going to hand it to him, but instead, she cupped the back of his head with one hand and brought the glass to his lips with the other.

“Try not to move or talk too much,” Nasha said. “If you’re going to get up and move tomorrow, you need to conserve as many calories as you can.”

“Nasha, you don’t have to—”

“Shush.”

Nasha shoved the glass to Mickey’s lips and icy water trickled into his mouth. He nearly choked on it for a second, but then settled as Nasha watered him until the glass was empty.

“There was a complication with the printer this time,” Nasha explained. “One of the scientists got distracted and accidentally pulled one of the wires and it was out just a liiiiittle too long.”

She set the glass aside on the tray and swiped Mickey’s mouth dry with her finger.

“The result is you may not have gotten as much calories and juice in you as normal,” she said.

“That explains why I feel like shit,” Mickey mumbled.

“Hey,” Nasha scowled. “What did I say about talking?”

Mickey pursed his lips together. Nasha reached over to the tray again, and took a ceramic bowl in her hands. That’s when Mickey realized the source of the smell: A steaming bowl of chicken noodle soup. 

His eyes widened, and looked between Nasha and the bowl.

“I convinced one of the servers who makes Marshall’s dinner to give you some of his leftovers for yesterday,” she said. “I convinced him that our Expendable needed some extra calories after the printer was unplugged.”

By “convince” Mickey knew Nasha really meant “threatened with fists or a taser.” It wouldn’t be the only time Nasha used her knack for intimidation to get something from Marshall. It was one of the things about her that made Mickey’s heart curl. 

Whatever. He hadn’t had chicken noodle since his childhood on earth, and his mouth was salivating at the smell. Nasha gently held up Mickey’s head with one hand while she fed him a spoonful of soup with the other. It was piping out, but the temperature seemed to shock all of Mickey’s senses back to life. He dipped his tongue in the soup to taste the noodles and bits of chicken.

“Chew slowly,” Nasha instructed. “Don’t waste more calories than you take in.”

Mickey did as he was told. Despite his ravenous stomach, he patiently took every spoonful Nasha slipped in his mouth. He felt small, like a little kid again. And it must have shown on his face, because he heard Nasha chuckle.

“I kind of like you this way,” she said. “You’re cute when you’re helpless.”

Mickey didn’t know whether he should be flattered or concerned by that statement, but he was too sleepy with a full stomach to care. He nuzzled a little into Nasha’s hand after she fed him the last of the soup. She smiled and scratched his hair.

“You’re like a little kitten,” she said.

Thank goodness Mickey’s body was hot from the soup, otherwise Nasha would have seen the blush run to his face. Every day he was amazed to be Nasha Barridge’s boyfriend. How does a loser like him get a beautiful, brilliant, kind woman like her?

At that moment, Nasha’s smile suddenly dropped. She grabbed the blanket and pulled it off of Mickey’s body. Revealing his bare chest—and a thin red cut along his bicep.

“Ah, shit,” Nasha said. “You must have cut yourself on the machine after you hit the floor.”

“I hit the floor?” Mickey said.

“Shush,” Nasha said. “You came out faster than expected before they could roll the conveyor out. Landed on the floor with a splat.”

That wasn’t the first time that had happened, although Mickey hadn’t cut himself on the machine’s exterior on the way down. He wasn’t sure how he didn’t notice. Maybe they gave him a dose of painkillers while he was still unconscious. Either way, the cut looked like it was barely keeping itself from bleeding.

Nasha pressed her hands to her knees and stood up from her chair.

“I’ll go get first aid,” she said. She pointed at Mickey. “Don’t move.”

With that, she disappeared out the door and came back with a small medic kit.

“This’ll be fun,” she said. “Haven’t had to use first aid practice in a minute. Never with a freshly reprinted body.”

Nasha sat down, popped open the kit, and she pulled out a roll of bandages. Slowly, she began wrapping Mickey’s chest. Her fingertips were soft and Mickey felt tempted to take her hand and kiss it. But she told him not to move, and he knew she’d snap at him if he tried to.

“Toughest guy on this ship, I swear,” she said. “Marshall puffs his chest, but he’s not getting tortured on a daily basis.” She smirked and shook her head. “Bullet to the head, needle injections, radiation, falling several yards.” She flicked her eyes to his. “You’ve done all of that.”

Mickey didn’t speak, but the words he wanted to say sat in his mouth: And you put me back together. 

Nasha finished wrapped Mickey up then snapped the skit shut.

“Well, you’re fed and not bleeding,” she said. “All that’s left is some sleep.”

Mickey’s eyes widened. Before he could stop himself, he said “No,” and grabbed her wrist. Nasha paused before she could stand up, and looked from Mickey’s eyes to his hand. For a moment, Mickey thought she was going to scowl him again.

But instead, a small smile bloomed on her face.

“Don’t want me to leave yet?” she teased.

Mickey swallowed and shook his head. He let go of Nasha’s wrist and she pushed back his hair from his eyes. Mickey Barnes had dark blue eyes, soft despite their color, and wide as a puppy’s. It was part of why Nasha liked him, other than how good he was in the sack. He was gentle and thoughtful, in a station, on a planet, that was so lacking in those qualities.

Sure, to most people on the ship, he was a bumbling loser at best and an inhuman abomination at worst. But to Nasha, he was the sweet boy with soft hands and big, beautiful eyes.

“Do you want me to stay here tonight?” she asked.

“Ye—” Mickey stopped himself and nodded instead. Nasha giggled and pinched Mickey’s cheek.

“As much as I would love to take advantage of you in your vulnerable state,” she said, and Mickey’s blood rushed hot. “You need to conserve calories until tomorrow, so naked cuddling is the most I can promise.”

Mickey shrugged, then moved just enough to make room for Nasha on the bed. She stripped out of her uniform down to her underwear and settled into the mattress with a sigh. Mickey pulled the blanket over them and pressed close to her. He wrapped his arms around her waist and nuzzled his face into her chest, while Nasha played with his hair. She swore she heard him purring deep in his throat.

The station was quiet save for the buzz of fluorescent lights, and the agent and her Expendable drifted off into a warm, hazy sleep.

[strangecreaturewrites]

⟢ i won't leave you ⊹⠀ ﾟ ˖

mickey x f!reader ⊹ as an expendable, it was mickey barnes' duty to die as many times as deemed necessary. this time, you were there with him. warnings: discussion of death and grief. please use your discretion before reading. ( i have part 2 to this in the works, i just can't finish it tonight because i'm watching the new daredevil ep in a bit. this fic idea wouldn't leave me alone though. i love hurt/comfort and angst, and this part definitely brings the hurt, so i won't leave you hanging on the comfort for very long. also mickey x nasha are the couple of all time, but i would have to see the movie again to write this from their perspective. i think the inspiration is pretty clear though, so i wouldn't read this if you haven't seen the movie or read the book yet. anyway... thank you for reading <3 )

You chose to spend the next day in bed. The concept of PTO didn’t exist on the station — claiming a sick day raised more alarms than they were worth if you weren’t gravely ill — but people didn’t make it a habit to argue with you. So, when you said they could find someone else to cover your shift or go fuck themselves… well, that was that, wasn’t it?

Another concept that didn’t exist on the station in a way that mattered: getting fired. A person could yell and scream at their superior and then show up for their next shift, and as long as Marshall didn’t deem them a threat (to him, to his optics, to his vision), business went on as usual. Your rations might get cut for a while, sure. You might get locked up for a bit if you got too dramatic. But what did that matter in the long run? It was all the same torture.

For some more than others on this frozen rock, work being a kind of torture actually meant something.

You choked on your next breath, and you turned your face into the pillow as tears welled up in your eyes once more.

The worst part was that they didn’t understand, and it was impossible to explain it in a way that made sense to them. Them being everyone. The lab workers, your superiors, Timo, everyone.

“You’re so upset, and for what?” Timo said to you in the cafeteria. What was the tail-end of last night for you was a brand new morning for him. “He’s being reprinted as we speak. In a few hours, we’ll have our boy back.”

You could’ve slapped him. Normally, you would have. It was a testament to the enormity of the pain coursing through you that you didn’t.

Our boy. What a load of shit.

“I held him as he died, you asshole,” you seethed. Timo scoffed and resumed eating, an awkward silence settling between the two of you. You knew the bastard wouldn’t apologize, and you wouldn’t say anything else about it.

To your credit, you held it together fairly well immediately afterward. You climbed out of the tank and took off the biohazard suit. You let the medics look you over until you snapped at them to back off — you were fine — and you pretended to listen to the lab workers as they explained how important their work was and how you’d be seeing Mickey again before you knew it. That bumbling lead scientist was at your heels from the tank all the way to the door; you told him to shut his fucking mouth as you left.

You were numb. To everyone else, it looked like anger. Inside, you were roiling. Reeling. Shocked.

From the very beginning, you forced yourself to make peace with Mickey’s position as an Expendable. You had to if you were going to be involved with him, romantically, sexually — honestly, in any way. He quickly became your best friend, your lover, your favorite person, and you had to accept that every so often, he would die. And over time, you really did manage to grow accustomed to this brand of strangeness. (Humans really were remarkably adaptable creatures.) Maybe because there had been a routine to it: he would get an assignment, kiss you goodbye, disappear for a handful of hours, and then he would be back, a little tired, very hungry, and looking to be held until the funk from the printer wore off.

This time was different. You were there. You looked into his eyes, and you weren’t sure if he saw you. You stroked his cheek, and you knew he couldn’t feel you; his skin was so red and raw, how could his brain process any sensation besides pain? You talked to him the whole time, told him that you were there, that you wouldn’t leave him, that it would be over soon.

‘Soon’ ended up being a relative term, and though you knew him better, part of you worried he would remember your reassurances as cruel nonsense, spoken by someone who had no idea…

That’s what all the experiments were: cruel nonsense.

Your shock, your numbness, melted into incredulity.

You held him as he died. He stopped moving. Stopped breathing. How did a person cope with witnessing that?

For everyone else, the death of their loved ones was permanent. They mourned, and eventually their lives grew around the grief. You wouldn’t have grief. You would have terror. Would you be there to hold him when he died again? How could you possibly handle it? Leaving wouldn’t be an option, even knowing what you knew now. But what would it do to you, the second time around? The third?

The answers didn’t matter right now. You were in the interim between the last Mickey and the next one. Even being as perturbed as you were, you could recognize your good fortune. How lucky you were, to only be alone for a handful of hours, to know you would touch him again in less than a day.

Exhaustion seeped into your bones, and discomfort set in as you noticed the sensation of the cold, tear-soaked pillowcase against your temple, your cheek. You got out of bed, ran some water, and wiped your face clean. You dried your skin, brushed your teeth, and stripped to your underwear.

The last thing you remembered doing was flipping the pillow to the dry side. You didn’t even remember laying back down.

As the saying goes, you slept like the dead.

✧ part two ‧ ₊ ˚ .

[saiyanprincessswanie]

Missy’s Writing Challenge

Welcome to Missy’s Writing Challenge. I’m grateful for everyone’s support. I want to thank every single one of my followers on my blog. Whether you follow me for my work or for my weekly reading lists I thank you. Without your support, I wouldn’t be here.

(Thank you @late-to-the-party-81 for the header!!)

Rules:

This challenge is for Chris Evans & Sebastian Stan Characters Only

Tag your fic as #Missy's Writing Challenge and tag me in your work

You must be over 18 years old to participate

Mark all stories appropriately. (Fluff, Smut, Dark, Non/Con, etc)

It can be a drabble or one-shot whichever you prefer

Reader Insert only

Minimum words 500, No max, Please use the keep reading feature if it’s longer than 500 words

You can choose any AU, Trope, or Prompt. No need to send an ask.

No incest, No underage, No pedo, No toilet/bathroom fics, No DDLG & No RPF.

Will take late submissions

Due date: June 30, 2025

All stories will be reblogged. I will add all fanfics to a Masterlist for easy access.

If I haven’t reblogged your work for a week Tumblr might have eaten the notification so please send me a message.

Here are some characters, tropes, au’s & prompts to choose from. Choose whichever one you like or how many you like.

Chris Evan Characters:

Andy Barber

Ari Levinson

Cole Turner

Curtis Everett

Frank Adler

Jack O'Malley

Jake Jensen

Johnny Storm

Lloyd Hansen

Mr. Freezy

Ransom Drysdale

Steve Rogers

Sebastian Stan Characters:

Bucky Barnes

Chris (Destroyer)

Chris Beck

Frank (Endings, Beginnings)

God the bounty hunter

Jefferson/The Mad Hatter

Lee Bodecker

Mickey (Monday)

Nick Fowler

Scott Huffman

AU’s:

Alpha/Beta/Omega

Arranged Marriage

Mob Boss

Biker

Bodyguard

CEO

Roomate

Royalty

Soulmates

Sugar Daddy

Vikings

Tropes:

Annoying Neighbor

Arranged Marriage

Dad’s Best Friend

Enemies to Lovers

Evil Twin

Ex’s hook-up

Forbidden Love

Friends to Lovers

Idiots in Love

Only One Bed

Sex pollen

Writing Prompts:

"I wasn’t planning on falling for you. But here we are."

"If you keep looking at me like that, I’m gonna kiss you."

"You make me want to be better, even when I don’t know how."

"I love how you say my name when you’re breathless."

"I didn't believe in soulmates before I met you."

“It’s always been you.”

“You look cute wearing my clothes.”

“I look at the future and all I see is you.”

“I will always find my way back to you.”

“For the first time, in a long time, I feel like I have something to protect.”

“I owe my life to you.”

"I wish I could just hold you one more time."

“I was manipulated into believing I was unworthy of your love.”

"I could spend forever right here, tracing every inch of you."

"You made me believe in love."

“I would move mountains for you.”

"You can keep pretending you hate me, but I see it in your eyes. You’re mine—even if you won’t admit it."

"After everything I’ve done for you, this is how you treat me? I can’t believe how ungrateful you are!"

"I can’t believe you’d think that about me after everything I’ve done for you. Do you really think I’m that kind of person?"

"Do you still love me, or am I just convenient?"