#shifting to bucky barnes

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Paradigm Shift 1

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such noncon/dubcon, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: you get transferred to a new position but it's hardly a breath of fresh air. (plus!reader)

Characters: Loki, Bucky Barnes, this reader is known as Billie.

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself💜

💼Part of the Bad Bosses AU💼

“So, I’m sending you over to logistics,” Mr. Odinson nearly knocks over your pen cup as he sits on the corner of your desk. He gargantuan figure makes you fear for the integrity of the furniture beneath him. “I trust you can keep things tidy there.” 

You want to ask why you but don’t dare. Thor can be pleasant enough. Personable, friendly even, but you’ve also heard how his voice turns to thunder when he’s angry. You’re not shy of the stories either. Wandering eyes and hands. You don’t think they’d ever find you but you’d rather steer clear of the risk. 

“Logistics?” You wonder. 

“Mm, yes, my brother and his new partner,” he waves his hand dismissively, “they’re in need of a desk jockey to mind their dates. When I tell you how many meetings I’ve shown up to and met only an empty table.” 

“Uh, yes, sir, that sounds... bad,” you eke out. 

“Mm, yes,” his eyes flick up and down, “as it were, Fandral said you did rather well on his little task force so you will go down and sort them out. I would warn you but it better you find out for yourself. Perhaps those two will not be so difficult for one such as yourself, eh?” 

He taps the tip of your nose and you blink in surprise. You’ve witnessed it before. A bit too touchy for HR’s liking but they don’t do anything about it. After all, if you make money, then who cares how you behave? 

“When do I... start?” You ask. 

“Now,” he shrugs, “suppose sooner is better.” 

“Now?” You can’t help the shock in your voice and he narrows his eyes, “yes, sir. Um...” 

“There are boxes in the copier room, pack up your things, they should be expecting you... I think,” he stands and scratches his beards, “who’s to say if they read the email.” 

You’re hardly feeling good about this. He hasn’t said one thing that’s made you confident in your reassignment. You prefer the familiar and after two years, this is finally comfortable. Of course you’re the sacrifice they’ve chosen. Now you have start all over again. 

You get up as Odinson leaves and you head off to the copy room. You find an empty paper back and return to your desk. You put your pen cup inside, your ergonomic keyboard and mouse, the next person can put in a request, and you empty your single drawer into the bottom. You put your bag and coat on top and bid a wordless goodbye to your cubicle. No one else even seems to notice as you pack up your laptop. 

Logistics. You’re not even sure where that would be. You stick to your little corner of the company and keep your head down. 

You look it up in the office directory. A whole floor down. You get on the elevator and bob impatiently as you descend. You step off and march toward your fate. You slow as you pass between the desks of clacking keys and the smell of stale coffee. No one looks very happy. Even if they gossip terribly upstairs, at least they’re lively. 

No one looks up as you stroll by. Right. Where exactly do you go. You’re not seeing a free desk. You near a door with a placard on it. Laufeyson, Odinson’s brother. You glance over to the next door. Barnes, a newly acquired consultant. Alright. 

You knock on the first door and wait. And wait. And wait. You tap a little harder and hear shuffling from within. You step back as the door opens with a harsh swing inward. 

“What do you--” The tall main with his oily black locks stops himself mid-sentence and tilts his head, “and who are you?” 

Your eyes round. Does he not know? Your brows arch and nearly meet in the middle. You frown. 

“Your brother--” 

“Secretary,” another voice grits like gravel from behind you. “Remember?” 

You turn as the blue-eyed man blows across a mug and tastes his coffee. His hair hangs around his square jaw, a thicker set than the other man. You glance between him and Mr. Laufeyson, “secretary? Well, not exactly, your brother sent me for clerical--” 

“Secretary,” Laufeyson insists, “very well. Suppose it will ease the burden of tracking those mindless check-ins,” he makes a sarcastic quotation with his fingers, “as you will. Send a ticket to IT, have them add you to my calendar.” 

The door closes as swiftly as it opened and you stagger back. You look over at the other man as he approaches the next office and rests his grip on the handle, “My partner, Loki Laufeyson; Bucky Barnes,” He motions to himself with his cup, “send that ticket in and add my name.” 

“Yes, sir, but er, wait, I--” 

He just as quickly dismisses you with the open and close of his door. You stand dumbly in the hall and look around. What a warm welcome. You look down toward the bullpen of desks and further down the hall. So, where are you supposed to work? 

You pace up and down the short hallway. You find a closet full of old mice and keyboards, and the breakroom with its worn-out coffee maker and humming fridge. You can’t exactly work in either.  

You sigh and return to the hall. You plunk yourself down between the doors of your new bosses and open your laptop to balance on the box. You sit on your jacket and keep your purse against your thigh as you sit on your feet. You open up the support portal and file the ticket; first task done. You have to wait for access until you can do anything else since neither of them seem to want to explain very much. 

You shake your head. Why on earth did you think it couldn’t get worse? It surely feels like a demotion to be sat on the carpet with cardboard for a desk.

You wonder why you? You suppose you’re not interesting enough for Mr. Odinson to keep around. Still, he doesn’t need to punish you for not being his type. 

Well, so long as you’re paid, you’ll just have to make it work. 

[frvityleaf]

I don't think this'll do well for the COD lovers who like my first two posts, but I LOVEEE Bucky, so..

!! NSFW BELOW THE CUT !!

Bucky Barnes, who always wakes up needy no matter what :(

(Established relationship + reader has already consented to being unconscious during such.. filthy activities)

•♡•♡•♡•♡•♡•♡•♡•♡•♡•♡•♡•♡•♡•♡•♡•♡•

He tries not to wake you, knowing you need your sleep, but the way his face is buried between your thighs, suckling on your clit, tongue lapping at your folds, your bound to wake up by the second orgasm he pulls from you.

As soon as he notices your wake, your eyes fluttering open to look down at him, locking with his, his hands find yours, gently holding them at your sides as he continued devouring your cunt, the soft moans spilling past your lips as pleasure overwhelms your senses the only melody he wants to hear for the rest of his life.

And the way your body shakes as you ride out your release on his face? He could look at that sight forever.

And that was just warm up :)

•♡•♡•♡•♡•♡•♡•♡•♡•♡•♡•♡•♡•♡•♡•♡•♡•

Might delete this and go back to just writing COD smut if this gets less than 30 likes by the end of the week, but please lemme know what y'all want 😭

I don't really like this one anyways

Edit: Y'ALL SMASHED THAT 30 AND WENT TO 200 IN LESS THAN 2 DAYS?! OH MY GOD?? TYSM ♡♡

[bromcommie]

You can't light up all sides at once. Add a second light and you get a second darkness, it's only fair.

aka more practice sketches ft overlap and richard siken bc I'm fucking predictable

[barnesafterglow]

night shift

summary: your growing fame becomes too much for bucky

pairing: actor!bucky barnes x singer!reader

word count: 2k

warnings: fame au, dual pov, unreliable narrators, idk how the grammys work (clearly), angst angst angst, steve is a good friend, bucky is Going Thru It, if you think this is joe + taylor coded you're prob right, directly inspired by night shift by lucy dacus

a/n: yearly fic, dedicated to new lovers

masterlist - i no longer have a tag list but you can follow @theafterglowlibrary to get updates! 🤍

You shoved him off of you, heart racing, breaths coming fast. You had said Bucky’s name, had whispered it in your most intimate moment, and now you needed to leave.

You said nothing else, gathering up your clothes and pulling them on as quickly as you could.

“Wha-”

The door slammed behind you, cold winter winds whipping around you as you realized you’d left your jacket on the hook by the door. It was your favorite, but one you were okay sacrificing as long as you didn’t have to face your embarrassment anymore.

Huffing a breath you could see in front of your face, you called an Uber - at least you had remembered your phone - and paced anxiously a block away from his building, hoping and praying he wouldn’t follow you out.

The entire ride home your mind spiraled until you turned off your phone, terrified this would make headlines already and, let’s be honest, no one would be surprised if it did. You hated that was the life you lived. As if your breakup with Bucky hadn’t already been tabloid fodder for weeks now, the public speculating every detail and warping every comment and photo posted. You had taken to keeping off social media altogether in the time since, trying to disguise your outings as much as possible and take back alleys to recordings and friends’ houses.

Your biggest supporter through all of this, surprisingly, had been Steve - Bucky’s best friend. He hadn’t been your friend first, sure, but he had become like a brother to you nonetheless, and he knew the situation better than anyone. You knew he still talked to Bucky just the same and, while that stung a little, you couldn’t fault him for being there for his childhood best friend too.

Which is how you ended up outside his apartment the very next morning, clad in your typical-as-of-late attire of a hoodie and a hat and sunglasses. It was also how you came face to face with Bucky for the first time since that fateful night.

“I didn’t come to sit here and watch you stare at your feet, James.” You stood from his couch, starting to seethe with pent up anger from your gradually failing relationship, all to end up here. What did he want? To absolve his guilt and shake hands and everything would be fine?

No. You had been the victim of his petty remarks and anxious jealousy for so long. You wouldn’t let him think he deserved your time when he didn’t respect the person you had become. 

Your anger flashed back to the week before, the last time you had been seen out in public together as he was breaking up with you at your favorite coffee shop, where he had paid for your drink and you gave him a hesitant kiss, even though you knew it was inevitably coming. He had led you to a table in the corner and proceeded to tell you that he was sorry but he couldn’t do this anymore, it was too much for him - you were too much for him. Okay. That’s all you said was “okay” before you pushed out of the chair and walked around the city until the sun went down.

By the time you got home that night, the headlines were already speculating your breakup, though neither of you had yet to shed a single tear.

-

Bucky blinked as you shuffled on Steve’s doorstep, eyes wide and contemplating the quickest escape. He didn’t blame you.

He had admittedly not handled your breakup the best; in fact, he regretted it almost immediately at the stricken look on your face, clearly not expecting it. He didn’t blame you for that, either, seeing as it had slipped out in a moment of panic.

You had gained a lot of fame over the course of your relationship, even more than him, and he didn’t quite know how to cope with it. And so the words had poured out, unable to be taken back, and here you were, weeks later, still at odds.

He thought every night of how to make it up to you. Public displays weren’t your thing and you had blocked his number the night of your big fight, so that was out of the question, and he didn’t fancy showing up to your house only to have the door slammed in his face either.

But now, now maybe that you were here on the most neutral ground you could stand on, maybe he could keep his foot out of his mouth and apologize. Words stirred in his hindsight, unable to string together a coherent sentence as your face morphed through the stages of grief in record time. Then, just as he was about to speak, Steve placed a hand on his shoulder and gently guided him back into the house. Relief flooded your face as you drifted out of his sight, and he realized this probably wasn’t going to be as easy to take back as he thought.

“Buck,” Steve said as the two of them turned around the corner. “You need to leave.”

Bucky felt his face do something awful, a mixture of confusion and guilt, but he decided to keep his mouth shut. He simply nodded and kept his head down as he shrugged on his jacket and passed by you in the doorway.

He could hear the soft sound of your sobs as the front door clicked shut.

-

Songwriting could be as easy as breathing and as hard as climbing a mountain. Right now, the words flooded out of you like a tap of water.

And so did the tears, staining your notebook paper and smearing ink, but still in your heart you knew you would never forget these lyrics - these words that so painstakingly came from your soul and laid it bare.

As you finished the last verse, you took a deep breath, sucked up the tears, and called Natasha. 

-

“Steve, I need to talk to her,” Bucky whined over a beer in a rundown bar in Brooklyn.

“No, you don’t.”

“I can fix it, I know I can.”

“I don’t think you can, Buck.” Steve ran a hand through his hair, a deep sigh leaving his lips. “She’s trying to move on. Don’t ruin that for her.”

“But-”

“No.”

Bucky mimicked Steve’s sigh and leaned back in his chair. It had been increasingly hard to justify his decision to end things with you. He didn’t know what he was thinking and he regretted every moment of it since then. 

“Do you think she misses me?” Bucky looked so hopeful, but he could see the sorrow in Steve’s eyes.

“I don’t know.”

-

The Grammys, the fucking Grammys, and you were performing. You were nominated for a couple, and the Academy had asked you to sing - preferably a new song - in honor of that.

Natasha wrapped you in a hug, twirled you around, and announced you were going out to celebrate. You hesitantly said yes, knowing the press would be everywhere and there was always the possibility of seeing Bucky.

But fuck him. This was your moment.

Which is how you ended up at your favorite dive bar in Brooklyn. Your first mistake.

It was your favorite because Bucky had taken you there so many times. But you couldn’t think of another place you would celebrate than the place where so much inspiration and so many lyrics had come from.

You didn’t scan the room as you walked in with your hand clutching Nat’s, the rest of your small circle of friends following close behind. Your second mistake.

Walking straight to the bar, you didn’t notice Bucky in the far corner, watching your every move. It wasn’t until you were a few drinks in, feeling the celebration kick in, that you spotted him.

At first, you intended to ignore him. This was your time, your night, your moment. He didn’t get the spoil that.

That is, until you went to the bathroom and he trailed you into the dimly lit hallway.

“Baby,” he whispered, his voice a harsh rasp of beer and no sleep. “I’ve missed you.”

Your heart stopped beating in your chest.

You weren’t prepared to see him tonight, not that you ever were these days. But tonight of all nights, the one that should have been carefree and fun and a glittery memory for years to come, was smeared with anger and heartbreak as you spun to face him.

“What the fuck,” you snapped as his fingers grazed your bare arm. Immediately you felt bad, seeing the hurt on his face, and your expression softened. “Sorry.”

“I-it’s okay.” The catch in his voice broke your heart, your own watery eyes matching his. For just a moment.

It took you too long to come to your senses - this was the man who had shattered your heart without a second thought - but he was already so close to you. His body only inches from your own, his hot breath fanning your face, and goddamnit you missed him. You missed him so much that your heart broke all over again.

Your mind cycled through a thousand different thoughts all at once: get away, come closer, touch me, keep your hands off. You couldn’t decide what you wanted in the moment.

You were so, so angry, and yet you couldn’t stop yourself from reaching out to him. His hands settled on your waist as the lights overhead flickered. Your hand pressed gently to his cheek, completely of its own volition. Suddenly, you were tracing the planes of the face you had once known so well. He looked older now, like your time apart had aged him, yet his was still as handsome as the day you had first laid eyes on him.

His eyes locked with yours, and neither of you said a word - not him to ask, not you to stop him - as he leaned in to kiss you.

-

It should have felt like a victory - it did feel like a victory - but there was something else there. Something dark and twisted and Bucky couldn’t figure out if it was coming from you or him.

The kiss could have lasted moments or a lifetime, he didn’t really know. All he knew was one second you were holding him close to you and the next you were shoving him off.

“Fuck fuck fuck,” your voice came out in a whisper, like you didn’t want to draw attention from the steadily growing crowd of the bar. He supposed you didn’t.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me.” You nodded at his words, your fingers pressed to your lips like you could still feel him there. “I’ll just go.”

You nodded again, your eyes vacant, and he made his way back to the main room of the bar. He looked back in time to see you slump against the wall, and he knew that you were thinking of a way to erase any trace of him on you.

-

The stage lights came on, you strummed your guitar and started to sing.

The first time I tasted somebody else’s spit, I had a coughing fit.

You let the lyrics you poured your heart into spill out across the stage. Still, somehow - in the crowd of hundreds of faces - you spotted Bucky.

This time, it didn’t make your heart clench. Didn’t make you shed a tear or run away.

No. This time, it empowered you. Let him hear the lyrics he inspired. Let him feel that pain of your words and feel the hole in your heart where he had broken it. Where you were now healing.

-

Bucky watched as you sang, and you were mesmerizing. He could feel the echoes of hurt in your words, the hole in your heart he had put there. He knew, despite the last time he saw you, that there was no making up. There was no fixing what was well beyond broken. No chance for him.

In five years I hope the songs feel like covers,

Dedicated to new lovers.

[buckyalpine]

Shapeshifting Bucky

Random thought from the depths of crackfic hell. But imagine an AU where Bucky's time with hydra also included the ability to shape shift on top of his super soldier serum. He can turn into whatever but he really only shifts into a wolf most of the time. Stealthy, huge, strong, agile and an absolute puppy. Werewolf Bucky is the scariest mf to exist. In his wolf form, his fur is nearly jet black, a stark contrast to his beautiful blue eyes. His teeth turn into sharp fangs and his claws could slash through just about anything.

However.

The large furry thing is nothing but a little puppy around you.

Human Bucky struggles to show his affection for you even though he loves you like crazy. He loves touching you but hesitates to do anything. Wolf Bucky has 0 issue hopping onto the sofa he doesn't fit on, attempting to curl up in your lap. He doesn't fit on your lap either and you end up drowning under a heavy mass of dark fur, the chuff he makes as you adjust himself is equivalent to his usual pouty face.

How dare you try and squirm away when he wants pets and cuddles.

And honestly, he's pretty irresistible. Even Tony's found himself petting the soft fur when he walks by, scrunching his face when he realizes who he's petting and cursing to himself immediately after. It's not just Tony either. Most of the Avengers catch themselves mid pet, occasionally shrugging and going back in while shaking their heads at themselves.

That isn't the only thing wolf Bucky enjoys.

“Bucky!” You stare at your boyfriend who was a human last time you left him, now in his wolf form sitting on top of your duffle bag you'd packed for an upcoming mission. There's no way for you to get to it, sitting as its hidden underneath him and it doesn't look like he has any plans on moving. He growls when you try and get closer, daring for you to try and leave when you just got back from a mission earlier in the week.

"Baby, I have to go, you gotta get off" You try to reason with him but he just stares at you with piercing blue eyes. By now you can read his body language and he's not hearing any of it.

Don't think so, stay with me

"C'mon, you know I'll be back soon" You gently scratch the top of his head and he nuzzles into your palm. He tiled his head to the side widening his gaze as best as he could and you couldn't help but giggle at how cute he looked, silently pleading with you.

"Aww, don't give me those puppy eyes Barnes, that's not fair" You coo while he lets out a whine, huffing and resting his head on his front large paws until his ears perk up with a bright idea.

"For fucks sake Bucky!" You laugh incredulously when he picks up the bag with his teeth, shaking the clothes out and burying himself under them, happy to be surrounded by your scent and finding another way to keep you there.

"What’s going on" Steve walked by the room, wondering why you hadn't come to the jet yet, eyes growing wide when he saw what his best friend was up to "What the hell"

"Oh my god" Sam looked over Steve's shoulder, snorting at the way Bucky was now half asleep while you were still in your tac suit but your bag now nearly torn to bits. You shrugged, deciding to give up, looking at the over grown puppy waiting for a belly rub, giving the two men an apologetic smile.

Bucky snuggled happily on top of your clothes, his nose nudging into your hoodie, before closing his eyes, ears twitching contently while your on the phone with Fury, coming up with a lame excuse as to why you couldn't join.

Some other things I imagine for wolf Bucky:

He's the cutest thing ever. Sam nicknamed him Sirius Black and he loves it.

Loves eating meat. Eats a lot in general.

Fiercely loyal

Likes to go on walks

I'm sorry for this, I have a headache, instead of taking an Advil and sleeping, I'm out here giving into my ridiculousness, I'll see myself out.

[eitlean]

Every time someone describes a characters leather jacket as their armour I immediately think of Emma Swan

Rip Derek Hale you would’ve loved her

Rip Jess Mariano you would’ve loved her

Rip Bucky Barnes you would’ve loved her

Rip Killian Jones you DID love her

As I’m listing these I’m realising these are all people I’ve shifted for and I’m starting to sense a pattern

[itsthewritergal]

I’m in need of fluffy Bucky fics - pleaseeee send them to me??

[gay-jewish-bucky]

unfriendly reminder that bucky smiling at the end of tfatws doesn't mean he's healed or better or happy no matter how hard the fandom or marvel itself pushes the narrative that he's ~fixed~ now

people with c-ptsd can have good moments or days or even extended stretches of time where things appear okay and symptoms are more manageable, this doesn't mean it's been cured

people with c-ptsd can sometimes hide their symptoms in certain social contexts and preform normalcy, this doesn't mean it's been cured

c-ptsd isn't something you can just heal from in a matter of months, for a lot of people recovery is a lifelong battle

it's ridiculous to believe that someone who faced decades of constant trauma, who doesn't even have sufficient mental health care, could just "move on" in less than a year

there is no quick or easy fix for c-ptsd or any other trauma disorder

[zachoncrach]

Me: listening to 40s music because of Bucky

Steve: "What are you listening to?"

Me: "Seriously? You've never heard of Frank Sinatra? You're literally older than the great depression-"

[woobiz]

him vs her

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Paradigm Shift 3

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such noncon/dubcon, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: you get transferred to a new position but it’s hardly a breath of fresh air. (plus!reader)

Characters: Loki, Bucky Barnes, this reader is known as Billie.

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself💜

💼Part of the Bad Bosses AU💼

Dark roast, black. You're tempted to order one for yourself but the extra dose of caffeine might unhinge you after the morning you've had. Transfer, no desk, a firing, a stolen desk, and two painfully aloof bosses.  

You go back up to the office, the short reprieve offering some clarity but not solutions. There has to be some way to get more than a grunt and a closed door from these men. Geez, if you wanted to work with children you would've done so. 

You knock on Mr. Barnes' door. The one next to it opens first. Laufeyson considers you from head to toe and Barnes appears not a second after. He takes his cup without a thanks. 

"Mm, and where is mine then?" Laufeyson challenges. 

You blink, long and hard. Of course. Of course! You let out a slow breath, "what would you like, Mr. Laufeyson?" 

You don't miss the quiet snort from the other door and it closes before you can glance Barnes' expression. You have a suspicion he expected this. It's like your first job when you worked with a bunch of men in stocks. Their numbers were as bloated as their egos. 

“Matcha.” 

The door shuts in your face. Again. You bite down and stretch your fingers wide. It’s fine. It’s fine. Growing pains. 

Matcha... what? Iced? Latte? Hot tea? Smoothie? Wonderful, a guessing game. 

You will be getting yourself another coffee for the trouble. Another trip to Roasters and you settle on the simplest option; just tea. You’re certain if you’re wrong, he’ll let you know.  

You stand at the two office doors and contemplate your life decisions. Is this worth it? Can you beg Odinson to take you back? To send down another poor soul? You almost feel bad doing that to someone else. You’re about to give when that innate stubborn ticks in your jaw. It’s only been a few hours. You don’t just give up that easy. 

Knock, knock. There’s a delay before Laufeyson answers. You’re not put off by it. You know the tactic. It won’t work on you. If his tea is cold, it won’t be your fault. 

“Matcha, sir,” you hold out the cup. 

He accepts it and reads the sticker on the side. He narrows his green eyes and looks at you, “note for next time, I prefer Garcon’s to Roasters.” 

Click. Another shut door. You’re really starting to get angry. You laugh out the flurry of agitation and turn away. What else can you do but think of it as a joke? It has to be. It’s just that absurd. 

You sit at the desk and open your laptop. You get it hooked up to the monitor and refinagle the cords. That’s an accomplishment at least. A tiny morsel of victory. You glance around and frown. It’s like the waiting room in Beetlejuice; everyone looks miserable. Well, can you blame them? 

Your phone buzzes and you check the messages. Girl nights hangs like bait at the end of your day, keeping you swimming through dark waters. It’s a bit ridiculous. Your friends are all like you in one way but all vastly different in many other ways. You all spend your days taking care of men who couldn’t give a shit about any of you. 

You can already taste the Paloma; bitter grapefruit with the burn of tequila. You are dying to drink away this day. You look at the clock and nearly whimper. It’s not even one o’clock. Ugh. 

You plug away at your desk. You get the daily agendas templated then spend time scouring the web. You have something in mind. You’re pretty sure you can make it work. As long as those grumps can do the simplest of tasks. 

You customize the survey and send the link. You doubt you’ll get a response today or even at all. It’s a hail mary, really. Barnes’ door opens, then Laufeysons. Your chest fills with dread. Great. 

“Hello, sir and... sir,” you sit up as they approach. 

“What is the meaning of that quiz?” Laufeyson demands. 

“It’s not-- 

“Asking a lot, aren’t you?” Barnes crosses his arms. 

“No, I just--” 

“What business do you have about my dry cleaning?” Laufeyson hisses. 

“I have lunch when I have lunch. I'm not a child at grade school,” Barnes sneers.

“Okay, woah,” you put your palms out, “first, there’s an n/a column, you can choose not to disclose the information. Two, I need to know what to do. What do you want from me?” 

Both men frown and look at each other, then back to you. 

“I can think of one,” Laufeyson raises a finger, “don’t treat us as children who need you to put our socks on.” 

“Good one,” Barnes scoffs, “also, you could stop with calendar reminders.” 

“Those are automatic,” you mutter. 

“And the arguing,” Laufeyson points at you. 

You sputter, dizzy at their onslaught of criticism. They can tell you exactly what they don’t want but they can’t give you a clear answer as to why you are there. You calm yourself with a breath and sip of coffee. 

“Mr. Laufeyson, Mr. Barnes--” 

“Why him first? My name’s first alphabetically,” Barnes says. 

“I--” you stop yourself and take another taste of your coffee, “if my presence is getting in the way of your work, I will go back upstairs and talk to Mr. Odinson--” 

“Mr. Odinson? Thor?” Laufeyson says, “no, you won’t do that. In fact, that is another item for your list, no talking to my brother. Especially of me.” 

You could tear your hair out. You could hit your head on the wall. You could gauge your eyes out and drown yourself in your coffee. Instead, you smile. 

“Got it,” you say, “well, sirs, good luck with your meeting this afternoon.” 

“Yes, thank you,” Laufeyson intones. 

“Mm, sure,” Barnes says and they both turn on their heels then stop at once. They face you in sync with each other. 

“Meeting?” They ask. 

“Mmhm,” you nod, “it’s in your calendars.” 

They stare at you. 

“If that’s something you’d like me to brief you on,” you say tritely, “you can submit that in the survey.” 

Laufeyson hums dryly and Barnes growls. Neither says anything further as they retreat. You keep your eyes on the screen as your heartbeat races. You can’t believe you said that. 

[pastelbatfandoms]

Outfits inspired by a dream I had ❤💜

[ithinkimightbeagoose]

this bit i found on bettina levy's channel but make it my mcu dr (credits to beaft)

i hope i did this whole photo editing thing right

again, credits to beaft

also yes that is my contact name for him

[shifting-w-maryjane]

⛧☾༺♰Navigation♰༻☽⛧

Hiii guys this is my intro page to my shifting account and well......ME!

My name's MJ and I've been a part of the shifting community since September 2020.

I haven't actually shifted yet so this page will basically be like my shifting diary. I'll post some things about my DR's and such.

------------------------------------------- Heres a list of some of the places I am attempting to shift to

(this is only some of them I will eventually add more to the list or take some off depending on if I want to shift to them)

My Current DR's - *My favorite DR's

Harry Potter

Marvel

*Supernatural

*Outerbanks

The Only Living Boy In New York

*Heart Break High

*The Society

*Bridgerton

*Divergent

*The 100

School Spirits

Bad boys

Riverdale

List updated: April 27, 2024

[thegambitgazette]

Knight Meets Writer

A/N: These are just drabbles from my DR. Context - I’m an Eternal similar to the Fates in Greek mythology that was sorta kicked out and continued to live my life on Earth. I went by different names over time and spent my years writing. Powers include manipulating strings of fate and seeing bits and pieces of the past and future.

Word count: 3304

Warnings: none? slight angst ig

Summary: how I first met Steve and Bucky

I forced a closed-lipped smile through a bite of my cinnamon roll. All I wanted was a peaceful afternoon to write, but a girl could dream. I only got a sentence and a half out before some guy grabbed the seat in front of me and snagged my journal from me. Eddie Frank, the football player that dozed off or made too much noise in our history class. He’d make his opinions on women in higher education abundantly clear, but he’d also made his interest in me transparent..

The irony didn’t escape me. I was less than one hundred years from hitting seven thousand years old, which meant I had more college degrees than anyone around. History, biology, criminal justice—hey, I had to fill my time with something. Going by a new identity meant rebuilding that reputation over and over again. Not that I minded too much. I loved learning, and I got to move around and study in different places.

Being as old as I was also meant that I had zero patience for children like Eddie Frank. I swallowed the bite of my pastry and reached over to grab my journal back, but he was faster.

“You know, I always wonder what you’re scribbling in there,” he said, casually flipping through the pages.

“None of your business, Eddie!” I reached over the table to try and grab it again, but he pulled his arm back, knocking it straight onto a passerby.

I let out a disgruntled cry as my journal fell to the floor, along with the patron’s coffee. The drink splashed all over my book, and both the passerby and I swore in frustration. If ever I ran into Phastos again, I’d ask for a way to make paper and ink not so easily soiled. There went the likely next best American novel.

The stranger, a short and skinny young man in a suit clearly too big for him, picked up the journal and held it out. Eddie moved to grab it, but the stranger pulled back and looked at me. “Is he bothering you, ma’am?” His voice came out deeper than I expected. Usually, I’d get fed up. Another man trying to come to the rescue. But something about the sincere look in his eyes had me truly believing that he had genuine intentions and wasn’t just trying to make himself look good. Something about him felt familiar, too.

“That’s my book,” I said, nodding to it.

He handed the notebook to me with a tight smile. “Sorry about the coffee.”

“No, no.” I shook my head. “I’m sorry you lost your drink. Thank you, uh…”

“Steve.” He held out a hand.

I took it with a smile, finally remembering where I recognized him. “Rogers, right? We’re in American History together. Professor McClain.”

He beamed. “Yeah, I’ve seen you around. Ursula, right?”

Eddie cleared his throat. “Kid, if you couldn’t tell, we’re in the middle of something here.”

Steve noticed my discomfort, his brows drawing together in concern as he looked between us. I pursed my lips. It would be best if he just went on his way and let me handle it. It’d be over soon, anyway.

“I think you’re done here, buddy,” Steve interjected. “Why don’t you let the lady do her work?”

Not like I have anything to work with anymore. I inhaled sharply and gently pushed Steve’s shoulder. “It’s fine, Steve. Don’t—”

Eddie stood up, his chair scratching the floor in a loud protest. He easily shadowed Steve in both height and build, but the latter didn’t shrink at all. “You wanna say that again, punk?”

I bit the inside of my cheek. This could only end up badly. Steve cocked his chin up, refusing to back down. “I said, ‘I think you’re done here.’”

Without another word, Eddie grabbed Steve by the neckline of his collar and dragged him outside and towards a back alley behind the coffee shop. I swore under my breath before piling all of my books into my messenger back and racing out after them. A damp journal could be salvaged, but I didn’t want to imagine how broken Eddie would leave Steve.

By the time I reached them, Steve was already on the floor, wiping at his busted lip. Don’t get back up. Don’t get back up.

He stood up, bracing two arms up to protect his face.

“Didn’t you have enough?” Eddie sneered.

“I can do this all day.” Steve threw a right hook, but faltered, allowing Eddie to knock him aside once more.

“Hey!” another voice rang.

I didn’t stop to check who it was, instead dropping my bag and hurling the hardcover journal right at Eddie’s head. He turned to me, eyes incredulously wide. I didn’t wait for him to say a word before hurling another book from my bag. That one hit his chest. “Leave him alone, Eddie!”

I realized my mistake as he stalked towards me. I couldn’t just materialize a weapon here or use any other sort of magic, not while there could be onlookers. Before he came within a foot from me, someone else pulled him back and threw him against the wall of the building. I looked up at none other than James Buchanan Barnes, Steve’s best friend and the university knight in shining armor, as the ladies called him. Unlike Eddie, he didn’t act cocky about it, but I knew a few other girls in my class well enough to know that he also knew them well enough.

“Are we really gonna do this again, Eddie?” James asked, as if bored.

Eddie turned to face him before holding his hands up in a surrender and scampering off. I huffed. Knight in shining armor indeed. He turned to me with a lopsided smile. “Are you alright?”

I nodded and gestured to the books strewn on the ground. “I think I got him more than he got me.”

He chuckled and picked them up. “That you did. You’ve got a nice arm, Ursula.” He handed me the books.

“You know my name?”

He already had his attention on Steve, unable to hear my question. “And what am I gonna do with you?”

“He had it coming,” Steve said before looking at me. “Seriously, are you okay?”

I snorted. “You should see yourself, Rogers.”

“Eh, I’ll be fine.”

“No, come on. Let me at least get you another coffee.”

Steve waved it off, still with a smile despite his bruises and cuts. Bucky blew out an exasperated breath. “Well, what if I take you for coffee sometime?” he asked.

My jaw dropped. Did he just ask me on a date? From the corner of my eye, I saw Steve shake his head, used to his friend’s flirtatious antics. Right, he did this with a lot of women. It could be fun, though. I wanted to say yes, see where it took us, but something about those fate strings urged me to say no. Not now, not the right time. I couldn’t fight it; I never had been able to fight it. Fate wanted what she wanted. I forced a smile, looking at him through my lashes. “Maybe some other time, Barnes.”

With a final nod to them both, I turned away.

~

I started seeing Steve and Bucky more often around campus, be it in the halls or coming and going from class. It started off with Bucky calling my name whenever he saw me or Steve waving whenever we crossed paths, and then it became a small game of who would spot each other first.

They caught me one moment while I was sitting on a bench at the university plaza. My friend and roommate, Dottie, and I wanted to get some fresh air in between classes and would sit on that stone bench. I’d take the time to just write whatever my brain came up with to declutter all of the class work. When I wrote, I had a habit of getting lost in my own world of characters and adventure, so much so that I didn’t hear the loud, “Ursula!” from across the plaza.

Not until I felt the soft pat of a notebook on my head and looked up to see Bucky with a small pout. “You didn’t hear me, doll.”

I scoffed, softly pushing his arm away, but I couldn’t help the small smile itching my face. “Sorry, James.” I held up my own journal, a new one that I had to buy because the old one was just destroyed with coffee stains. “Writing.”

He tucked his book away in his own bag. “Oh!” Again with that lopsided grin goddammit it. “Can I read some?”

Absolutely not. “You read?” Idiot.

He feigned an offended expression. “Yes, I do! The Hobbit is my favorite.”

Dottie cleared her throat. “Ursula, are you gonna introduce me to your friend?” She had a sparkle in her eyes as she looked between the two of us, clearly bubbling on upset that I didn’t tell her I knew the knight in shining armor.

My cheeks heated up at the slight realization that Bucky—Bucky—enraptured me in my own little world as deftly as my writing did. “Dottie, this is James. James, this is my friend—”

“Dottie!” she held out a hand, which Bucky took. “Tell me. How do you know Ursula?”

I gaped. Before I could say anything, Bucky spoke up. “We had a run in at Amorette’s. Well, more like an alley behind Amorette’s. I was catching up with my friend when I saw her just hurl a book at a guy, and of course my friend was right on the other side of it.”

A hesitant laugh escaped my lips. “It was Eddie.”

“Oh, that reminds me.” Bucky held out a cup of coffee. “For you.”

I looked at him quizzically. “Me?”

“Yeah! The lady at the dining hall gave me the wrong kind and Steve is in class, so.”

I set my journal aside and took the coffee. “Thanks, James.” I had to admit that the guy was charming, in his own dorky way. If I were any less stubborn, I’d admit that I had the wrong impression of him. Sure, he had the confidence and suaveness of any guy that looked the way he did, but he didn’t push or brag about himself to get a girl’s attention. Then again, he could have just been acting friendly and wasn’t really trying to flirt or anything. Gods, I couldn’t be misreading the signals, could I? Maybe he took my rejection from the other day and stuck with it. Any decent person would.

“You know you can call me Bucky. Everyone does,” he said, snapping me out of my spiraling train of thought.

I smiled, suddenly feeling shy about calling him by his nickname. “Alright, Bucky.”

“Hey, Bucky!” Steve walked up to his friend, a confused look on his face. “You said you’d be back in twenty minutes after getting that c—”

“Ah-ah!” Bucky quickly covered Steve’s mouth. “I think its time for my next lecture. I’ll see you around, Ursula. Dottie, nice to meet you.”

As he pushed Steve away, Dottie called out, “We’re going out dancing if you guys wanna join! Meet up at Amorette’s at 8?”

“Dottie!” I scolded. We had absolutely no plans to go out.

“Sure!” Bucky called back.

Okay, maybe now I had plans to go out.

~

The crisp night air pricked my skin, making me wish that I wore some sort of cowl or sweater over this dress. Dottie refused to let me go out in one of my older dresses and instead lent me a teal blue number that scooped around my neckline and flared out with the skirt. I honestly felt like a doll wearing it, but I let myself welcome the dainty and feminine feel of it. I’d worn dresses for millenniums now. This had no reason making me as nervous as I was.

Granted, I knew I was lying to myself. It wasn’t being caught in a dress that had me worried, but the person himself who would catch me in the dress.

I arrived at Amorette’s about fifteen minutes early, hopeful to get a few moments of calm to collect myself. Those hopes were quickly squashed when I saw Bucky already waiting outside the café with a bouquet of flowers in his hands. Gods, he looked so handsome in a suit.

Steve wasn't there, and I knew he came up with an excuse to leave us alone just as Dottie did.

At the sound of my footprints, he looked over and smiled. “Evening, beautiful.”

He held out the flowers, which I took gratefully. “Geez, Bucky. First coffee, and now flowers. Are you always spoiling your dates?”

At that, he beamed. “So this is a date?”

“I didn’t say that.” As much as I wanted it to be, I kept squashing those thoughts. James Barnes was as human as it gets—caring, handsome, such a gentleman. He deserved someone that could grow old with him and settle down with him, not someone that needed to change their identity every forty or so years.

This was just one dance, one night out. Who said I couldn’t have a little fun?

Bucky laughed, and I just about melted. “Permission to try to change your mind by the end of the night?” he asked as he held out his arm for me to take.

I wrapped my arm around his. “Permission granted.”

~

I had more fun than I wanted to admit. Bucky did and said all the right things; I shouldn’t have expected anything less. The moments of silence in between while we danced, or when he’d approach the bar to get us drinks, or even when we laughed at things we’d forget about later, I caught myself wishing and dreaming. Imagining settling in a white picket fence house, getting a golden retriever, writing my next novel while he read the newspaper. I’d never fallen so fast, but I sure tripped face first into this one. Even the vague sentience of the fate strings stirring at my heart seemed to sing at this meeting, at the dancing. How could fate want this? Who would I be to object?

The night went on too fast. When 11:30 hit, Bucky insisted on walking me home, saying that a man never let a lady stay out too long. I told him that he was pushing it there, but I accepted. He’d wrapped his coat around me when he saw me shiver on the walk back to my apartment. As we reached my door, I turned to him. His icy blue eyes rested on mine, both of us unsure how to break the silence or the tension.

“I had a lot of fun tonight, Bucky. Thank you,” I finally said. Tell me this is it. We can end it here and you can have fun with other girls dying for your attention. Girls that would age and live life with you rather than longer than you. Break my heart, Barnes.

He wet his lips, looking sheepishly down at his shoes with that charming smile of his. “Yeah, I had a lot of fun, too.”

Neither of us took a step away. Each second passed, I let myself plummet further and further into this feeling. “So, what happens now?”

He quirked an eyebrow up. “How do you mean, Ursula?”

I shrugged, copying his playful smile. “You tell me. How does the knight in shining armor end his dates?”

“Is that what people call me?”

“Oh, yeah. All the ladies look forward to being swooped on by Bucky Barnes himself.”

He laughed, shaking his head at the ridiculous nickname. “Well, I won’t swoop on anyone, but usually I leave it up to my date. If she says goodnight and goes straight inside, I take it as they never want to see me again. If they open the door and invite me in, it’s… well.” Bucky raised his eyebrows, hinting at what an extended night meant. “But if she lingers at the door…”

Bucky nodded towards me. I lingered. Realizing the tell, I bit my lip and rested my back against the closed door. He took a step towards me and gently cupped my face in his hand, his thumb caressing my cheek. In a breath, his lips met mine. Even when kissing, Bucky didn’t push. He started off gently, innocent pecks dancing between us. It wasn’t until I parted my lips that he slipped his tongue in. I let out a gasp as I took in his warmth, my hands coming up to wrap around his neck. At a nip on my lower lip, I clutched his hair, and he let out a guttural groan in return. I sighed into the kiss. I wanted more.

The cold washed over me once again when I nearly fell back as Dottie opened the door. “Urs? I heard a thud and though—Oh my God!”

Bucky pulled away, keeping a respectable distance as I tried to hide my surely red face.

“Pretend that didn’t happen! I’m not here!” Dottie slammed the door shut, but the moment was long gone.

I couldn’t help but snort out a laugh, which Bucky joined in on. “Sorry about that,” I said.

“Don’t worry about it, doll.”

We gazed at each other, and I wanted that moment back all over again. “Oh!” I began to take off his jacket, only now remembering that I still wore it.

“Keep it,” he said.

My brows knit together. “Your jacket?”

Bucky nodded. “Give it back the next time I see you.”

I cocked my head to the side. “You mean on our next date?”

“So this is a date, then.” He grinned like a little school boy.

I nodded, stifling another laugh. “You got me, Barnes.”

~

I rotated the diamond ring around my finger. Usually it quelled the hurt rising in my chest, but today, it wouldn’t. I looked at the date circled on my calendar. March 10, 1946. He would have been twenty-nine today. It would have been our fifth anniversary in May. We had a small wedding when we got news of him being drafted—just us, Steve, Dottie, and his parents. He wanted to wait until after he got back from the war, but I knew.

Then, I knew. It wouldn’t be for another seventy three years that I’d see him again. I didn’t know how or why until Steve came back and told Peggy and me that Bucky had fallen from the train. They presumed him dead, but those damned fate strings told me otherwise. I didn’t know which was worse.

I mean, of course I wanted him alive. I wanted so badly for him to come home and for fate to be wrong for once. I hated my magic for everything it was worth from that day forward. For not being able to tell me the full story, for not being able to manipulate it so I could see my husband again.

I swore that day that I would never use them again. I shut that part of me deep, deep down. As they held his memorial, as they gave me his flag, every particle of that magic died with the world’s idea of him. When Steve crashed and I attended his funeral, I ignored the screams of those strings as they attempted to claw me out of that dark place I fell into.

“I’m sorry for your loss, Mrs. Barnes.”

He’s alive.

“Condolences. Steve was a great man.”

Is. He is a great man.

“If you need anything, Mrs. Barnes—”

I need my husband.

I opened my locket, tears staining the black and white photo of us on our wedding day. “I’ll wait for you, Bucky,” I promised. “I got you.”