#x marvel male reader

[marvels-bitch-boy]

☃️ Request Version 2

Word Count: 6.4k

A/N: this took me a while to finish and this is my first attempt at anything spicy. Let me know how to improve it!

Masterlist , Version 2

Jesus Christ of all the people you could have fallen for you thought it was a good idea to fall for your best friend? Wanda Maximoff is literally the sweetest and most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen. Anytime the two of you hang out there’s this tension that you swear is there, she sits close to you, at parties she doesn’t leave your side, when a girl hits on you she is the first to intervene and rescue you. It’s like she knows you hate being without her. The last two months though the entire team doesn’t seem to have caught the memo that she wasn’t interested in dating. She’s had to reject 10 guys so far that everyone brings to dinners or parties. At this point, it was starting to annoy you because there wasn’t an event that you could enjoy without some creep hitting on her. A few times she had you pretend to be her boyfriend to scare them off. Those were times when you felt like there might be a chance between the two of you. Like there was a world where you were one of the guys that got set up with her. The chance to show her what she deserves from a guy. The only problem with that is the whole team completely forgets about you when they make those decisions, and you don’t want to ruin any of the great parts of your friendship. 

You were sitting with Wanda on the couch in the common room watching an old black and white movie you had been begging her to watch with you. One Two Three was the name of it and as soon as you said it was your favourite movie she couldn’t have agreed faster. She sat next to you as she always did but it felt different. It was most likely just you because she seemed as comfortable as ever. You looked down and saw her eyes light up from the action happening on the screen in front of you. The sight made this movie even better, the joy it brought her seemed to solidify its spot in your heart. You smiled as she laughed and commented on the ridiculousness of the film. When the “itsy bitsy polka dot bikini” song began to play you enthusiastically jumped up and began to dance. This made her laugh even harder, you knew the words by heart and would hum it on almost every mission. Now she knew exactly where you got it from. Her clapping that followed the beat was only encouraging you to dance more and soon you lifted her up to dance along. She was having trouble keeping up as she continued to laugh. You loved this more than the movie itself. Once the song ended you plopped back down onto the couch in a fit of laughter, she landed almost directly on top of you which only strengthened the fit of laughs and giggles coming from the two of you. This was a moment you wouldn’t trade for the world. Having your best friend by your side as you watch your favourite movie, laughing and dancing was one of the things you wouldn’t sacrifice. Even if there was a slight chance she felt the same you couldn’t risk losing this. You’ve never felt like this for someone and you would take whatever you could get from her. 

The fridge door opening caught your attention and your laughter ceased, you became more serious and Wanda rolled her eyes at this. She jabbed you in the side before turning around to face the person. “Tony?” she taken aback by his appearance at the compound since he no longer lived there “Isn’t it alittle late for you to be here?” This caught your attention and you finally realized the time. It was well past 11pm and you rarely ever stayed up this late. Deciding to chime in you smirked at him “You get kicked out by Pepper again?” he mocked laughter before he murmured a small “yes” which made you crack a real smile. Wanda however paused the movie and motioned for him to join the two of you. You flashed her panicked eyes and she glared at you which immediately made you shrink. 

“What’s the story here? All I see is communism and Coca-Cola” you rolled your eyes and sighed before resounding “That's what makes it funny… and the rushing to convert the communist to Coca-Cola” you chuckled at the last part. Wanda however apparently didn’t see the movie as either of the two. 

“There a love that no one seems to think will work but in the end they do, and theres also a lesson about acceptance,” she looks back to you “and learning to take risks.” that last part felt very directed at you. You shyly nodded your head and went to continue the movie but Tony again interupted. “So Witchy, you rejected the guy Natasha brought to dinner. I have someone who you’ll love, he’s sweet, smart, good looking, loves old movies and shows, has a good job, And! He happens to be a good friend” your heart started to jump at each word he spoke. Theres no way that Tony was the one to finally give you a chance, he had been trying to set her up with every shield agent in the compound. Maybe he saw the way you were together tonight. He saw the way you looked at her and he saw something you were missing in how she felt for you. “Tony, I’m not interested in anyone you guys set me up with. I’m fine with just my friends” she pats your thigh which sends a shiver along you and your entire body stiffens like a peice of ply wood only for a second. 

“Maybe hear him out, the guy sounds okay…” you hoped you were making the right decision, praying to whatever being was there that this tin can wouldn’t screw you over. Attempting to ease her nerves you held her hand in yours “Look, if it doesn’t go well I’ll be ready with a bat or some Sokovian snacks.” she seemed to relax at your touch and looked back to Tony “fine, but only once.” he jumps up victoriously. You have a sneaking suspicion that you just got fucked over by the giant dancing baby infront of you. Internally cursing yourself you unpaused the movie and settled back into the couch, Wanda settled into your side and you felt like maybe just maybe you’d be the one she ends up with.

—

As the music rages on at yet another stark party you find yourself alone for the first time that night. Wanda hadn’t been answering your messages all night and you had begun to get concerned. You looked around to attempt to see her auburn red hair anywhere in the crowd of people. You would have thought she stood out like the sun on a cloudy day. She had never left you alone at any avengers function, no matter who had been vying for her attention she never left your side. Tonight though seemed to be different. Tony had approached you earlier in the night with a man directly behind him who you noticed was dressed almost exactly like you, even his hair was styled similarly to yours. Questioning him about it led to nowhere -as always. 

As you attempted to find the red witch in the crowd you were pulled towards the bar by a small pair of hands that you had assumed belonged to her, but when you faced the woman you found a random pair of chestnut brown eyes that greeted you with over-blown pupils. This was not at all someone you recognized. “Uh… hi?” you attempted to be polite as you were stuck between the bar and this woman. “Can I help you?” She laughed and her breath alerted you to her inebriated state even more. 

“I saw you from across the room… you’re very very handsome” she slightly slurred her last few words and you gently attempted to keep her stable as she swayed for a moment. This caused a coy smile to appear on her face. “So strong” you gave her an obviously uncomfortable smile and attempted to guide her to a seat but she forced you down onto it and took the spot in your lap. Now you were getting very uncomfortable. You’ve had these things happen but by now you’d already have been rescued by Wanda and laughing about the situation together, though you were alone now, forced to figure your way out by yourself. 

When she reached for another drink you stopped her and in a panic, you drank the whole glass and she cheered you on. You looked at the bartender of the night and asked for two vodka redbulls, you felt like you would have to be an awake drunk tonight. She saw the look on your face and quickly produced two glasses full. As you chugged the glasses you looked around the room once again hoping to find Wanda on her path towards you to rescue you from this absolute stranger. Instead, you were greeted by her smile and laugh as she sat on a couch with a random man. You felt jealousy fill you and your heart began to sink. Your distraught appearance was caught by her eyes and she looked between you and the woman on your lap once you saw this you looked away from her and back to the woman. Plastering on a smile and placing a hand on her thigh -an act that made your skin crawl and felt so unlike you. As you sat there attempting to not give Wanda any of your attention and keep focused on the person in your lap there was a tap on your shoulder and the sound of someone's throat being cleared, turning around you found Sam with pursed lips and eyes that communicated to you his exact reasoning for being there. 

“Y/N!” he said through a gritted smile “Maria was looking for you. Now.” you didn’t need any more from the man and began to excuse yourself from the woman who whined as you left her. Sam gave you a smile as you kept walking along with him and patted your shoulder. You reached the only quiet part of the room and you were greeted by Maria sitting in a corner tending to a scotch. As you joined her Sam sat on the armrest of the loveseat and questioned you on what he had to save you from. “A pretty girl was on your lap and you looked like you were being mauled by a bear, what's up with that?” his brows connected with the expression he made and you wanted to laugh but you were still recovering from the uncomfortable situation. 

“I don’t do that, I like to take things slow…” you saw Maria nod her head at your words but Sam didn’t seem like he was buying what you were selling “and she wasn’t the person I would let -do that” That on the other hand had him convinced, he looked around the room and you shook your head, “oh no you don’t nope! No, you’re not gonna guess” 

“Ah! How’d you know I was doing that?” he grinned at you and it changed your mood, how could anyone not be in a good mood when Sam is there? He was the second person you had met when you joined the team and he was also the second closest person to you. So far to your knowledge, he didn’t know about your feelings for Wanda and you wanted to keep it that way. He was notorious for trying to play matchmaker, he once tried to set up Maria and Steve… that was an interesting month. 

“You can’t seem to butt out of my romances… which don’t exist might I add” that last bit made Maria laugh slightly and Sam gained an offended look on his face. Shaking his head and grabbing an empty bottle that sat on a nearby table he set it down. 

“You won’t tell me, fine we’ll figure it out the old fashion way” You looked at him cautiously as he spun the bottle and waited for it to land on one of the three of you. It was just your luck that it stopped dead in front of you. Fuck. there was no way he would let this go if you told him, and he would most certainly keep this up until you did. He exchanged looks with Maria and she leaned forward to whisper in his ear. His expression changed and you saw the mischievous grin he had plastered on his face. “Truth or Dare.” He spoke not as a question but a statement, you knew you had to answer in some way. 

You took a quick glance at Maria who had a knowing look on her face, did she know? How would she? You groaned and looked at the ceiling as you contemplated your choice. “Dare… Was going to happen anyway” Sam cackled for a moment as he stood up and looked around the room and set his eyes on something you couldn’t see. “Alright big man, I want you to go and make a move on the girl you so desperately-”. You interjected “Desperate? Who-”. “-want so badly… if it doesn’t work out let us know, we’ll forget this whole thing”. 

You didn’t believe him on the last bit but you could easily pretend or come up with a lie to say you tried. After all, how would they know? This way you didn’t have to tell them it was Wanda. Nodding your head you stood up and shook hands with the cheeky man. “Anyone ever tell you you’re a pain in the ass?” he made a faux look of hurt and clutched his chest “You kiss your mystery girl with that mouth” you rolled your eyes and walked away from the two who gave you a few small cheers as you made your way across the room. Within almost a few seconds you were met with the red auburn hair that plagued your mind. You felt the warmth radiate off her as you waited for her to turn around even a milimeter. When she did you found her dancing with a man that seemed slightly familiar- for fucks sake Tony! It was the man he had been trying to set Wanda up with, you remembered him from the earlier encounter at the bar. You felt a swarm of jealousy cover you like a bee hive over a keeper. You wanted to rip him away from her but she quickly saw you and stopped dead in her tracks, her face filled with embarrassment that quickly changed to guilt as she looked in your eyes. You felt the sour look on your face sear into her mind and you began to walk away. The door to the hallway was farther than you remembered at the beginning of the night, the people around you seemed to make a clear path in your mind. Suddenly you were stopped by Tony who had a concerned look, you attempted to walk past him and muttered small insults at the man but he ignored them. “Wanda doesn’t look to good… take her back to her room? She asked for you” he had to slightly yell the second half of his request as the music pounded into your skull. As much as you wanted to be upset with the girl she had no idea of your feelings, she wasn’t to blame here, infact no one was… except you. Nodding he guided you towards her as she sat on the edge of the couch and seemed to perk up as she saw Tony with you. Placing a hand on her forehead you felt her temperature was higher than it should be and you gently guided her to stand up. She moved like a wet spaghetti noodle with how flimsy she was. “Hey, red…” she nuzzled close to you and you sighed as you picked her up in your arms. Her breath hit the raw skin of your neck and almost made you stumble as you walked. Steadying yourself with the idea that she was too intoxicated to control her actions you made your way into the hallway. One of your hands made small circles on her back as you carried her along, attempting to soothe her in her current state. As you passed your room she seemed to whine as you continued. 

“No… I want Y/N’s bed” she spoke softly into your ear and that made your heart almost burst -even if it was slurred. You stopped and looked down at her and the sight made your willpower crumble like an ancient statue. “I want Y/N.” a small smile hit your lips and you turned around back in the direction of your room. “I’m here, don’t worry koldovskoy I’m not going anywhere”. 

—

As you set her down on your bed you felt her temperature once again but she began to squirm. She wiggled her way into an upright position and you asked her what was wrong. She simply said “Clothes” and began to reach for her zipper on her back. She struggled and you stifled a laugh as you reached to help. She swatted you away and for a moment you feared you had crossed a boundary, she usually allowed you to help her when the night became this blurry and she had said on multiple occasions she trusted you, instead she rubbed her eyes and spoke “only Y/N can do that…he’s gentle” this made you laugh at her words, no one else on the team would even use that word to describe you. You were known to cause damage to the compound, and rip clothes whenever you couldn’t make them fit, hell Tony had to reinforce your phone because you kept destroying them. She was the first person to call you gentle. When you looked back at her she gave you an offended look. “Don’t laugh at him!” you stopped and gave her a soft smile. 

“Okay… what else do you think he is?” you weren’t going to lie, this made you curious but you also hoped she didn’t answer, whatever she would say to you wouldn’t be fully truthful. She isn’t in a conscious state of mind, you didn’t want to find out what she thought about you while she was also attempting to rip her dress off. She let out a huff and began talking, you stood up and rummaged through your clothes in the half-lit room. Grabbing her a nightshirt and a pair of pyjama pants as you listened. “He’s sweet, handsome, -and he is sooooo funny. Tony said I should ask him out,” you stopped moving altogether, what? “-oh! He also liked old movies, and he’s handsome” the repeating of her words didn’t help you regain any composure as she sunk into your pillows. You snapped back into reality and lightly nudged her the clothes you expected her to go into the bathroom or something to change but she somehow managed to unzip herself partially, you took in a sharp breath and went back to your clothes and didn’t turn around as you rushed to the bathroom to change yourself. You mouthed curses at yourself as you remained confused and perplexed at her words. 

Leaving the bathroom in your captain america pyjamas you found a sight that wasn’t unfamiliar. Wanda laying in your bed cuddled up under the covers. You decided to take the floor on the bottom of the bed, you didn’t want her to wake up hungover in the same bed as you, -which wasn’t an uncommon thing but you felt like things between the two of you needed to change, especially if you were going to get over her. Right as you closed your eyes you heard her speak up once again “I can’t sleep” you looked over and saw her fling the covers off herself “It’s so cold…” just as quick as her words left her mouth she was asleep. Or so you thought.

—

As you were in your dream fighting off a field of bears with Viking armour you suddenly felt yourself lose your breath. You began to attempt to catch your breath and you ended up waking yourself up as you had attempted to breathe. Your eyes remained closed but you could feel a weight on your chest that was warm and seemed to completely surround you. Your nose filled with a familiar scent and you finally opened your eyes. Shit. That was the first thought you had as you opened your eyes. You found the woman who you finally realized was actually interested in you and was now resting her head on your chest. How the fuck did I end up in my bed?! I fell asleep on the floor. Her head moved and you froze in place not wanting to wake her up while you were in this position. Slowly as she moved her head off of your chest you carefully exited the bed like a snake and slithered onto the floor and ran into the bathroom to hide for a moment. Her voice softly called out for you only a second later. 

“Y/N?...” her voice seemed different. It wasn’t the way she usually called out to you, it was soft. You quietly spoke from the bathroom “Give me a second, I’ll be right back” you splashed your face with handfuls of water and started gulping down as much from the faucet as you could. You could feel the hum of a hangover leaning over you. You didn’t drink more than a few glasses, how the hell do you feel like shit now? Opening the door and walking back to your bed your feet hit the cold empty glasses that seemed to litter your floor. Confusion etched onto your face and you continued to make a path silently to your bed. Laying down and encasing yourself with the blanket you were caught off guard for a second as you registered who was still in your bed. Holy shit. This is real, and you were in bed with Wanda. You felt her hands roam your torso. 

Wait. 

You didn’t have a shirt, or pants on. You remember going to bed in pyjamas. 

The feeling of her pressed against you under the covers was soothing. And her voice almost sent you back into a deep sleep. “So warm” her words were stretched out, as if they were a cat waking up from a nap. She was just as warm as you. Your hand moved to her thigh that had was already draped over you. Running circles on her back and her thigh, your hand acted as though it already knew how she liked it. 

You two layed there until 10am when there was a knock at your door. You grogily got out of bed once again and navigated the maze of bottles that littered your floor. Grabbing the first shirt you saw and slinging it on before answering the door. Opening it you came face to face with Sam. SHIT SAM!

He looked at you with a mischievous grin and attempted to enter the room but you kept the doorway blocked. He raised an eyebrow before he looked you up and down and pursed his lips as he held in a smile. “You uh… have fun last night?” you rolled your eyes and go out into the hallway with him. You close the door softly hoping not to wake Wanda who was still fast asleep in your bed. Whispering to Sam in an almost yelling manner “Sam… please tell me you had an after party in my room because I have no idea how I now have so many empty bottles… and a girl in my bed” The last part of the sentence dropped his jaw and he yelled out in excitement, you quickly covered his mouth shushed him as loud as you could while whispering “Shut the fuck up! She’s sleeping!!” he nodded and you dropped your hand from his mouth. “What are you doing here? I don’t have training today and we don’t have a meeting” 

He looked at you with a smug expression. “I came to see if you were dead after all the booze you had me bring you…and your special friend -which by the way,” he pointed at you “you wouldn’t tell me who! Tried to ask you a few times and you laughed” You felt the memory break through your mind and rush to the surface.

—

You left the company of Wanda sitting on the floor with you and answered the door. Sam stood there slightly dishevelled, his pupils were blown and it was very obvious he was on his way to bed after his delivery. He handed you three multipacks of assorted drinks and some snacks, placing the multipacks inside you closed the door just enough to hide the full view of Wanda and thanked him. He attempted to lean over and get a glimpse at your mystery woman but you moved the door and smirked at him. He tried to question “Who’s the lucky lady?” you shook your head in defiance and winked at him before giggling like a giddy kid and shutting the door. You turned around and saw Wanda begin to laugh at the sight of you and take a swig of the malt you had been saving. “Guess I must be your lucky lady…” you stood there and looked at her. “I think I’m the lucky one right now” taking a drink out of the multipack you take a gulp of it and sit down next to her. “Now where did we leave off??...right!” you grab the remote and unpause the movie. You two weren’t actually paying attention to the movie instead you were progressively getting drunker and performing horrendous imitations of the characters on screen and mocking their decisions. 

—

Oh fuck. Did you flirt with her? You’ve never flirted with Wanda before. Oh, this night was definitely weird. You turned back to Sam “Yeah… about that sorry man, I kinda can’t tell you… yeah, bye!” quickly turn around and dashed for your door, slamming it in front of him as he tries to catch you. You definitely woke her up now. 

Standing in the entry way of your room and the light peaking through the curtains of your windows you get a good look at Wanda. She is laying deeply under the covers and you could have sworn she looked like the most beautiful person in the entire world. Taking a step forward warily incase she opens her eyes and is startled by you. She isn’t, she groans as she covers her head with the blanket. She speaks slightly muffled under the covers “get rid of the sun… and please tell me sam didn’t need me” You chuckle at her words and honestly you would make sure the sun never shined again if that is what she truly wanted. “No, he didn’t need you -he wanted to make sure I wasn’t dead after last night” she peaks out of the cover when she hears you closing the curtains even more. “Why? What happened?” you freeze in place and look at her, did she not remember? Or did she -much like you- have it all trapped under the surface in her mind? 

Reaching down you grab the pair of pyjamas that you had given her last night off the floor, the slight flash of hands ripping them off her body came to the front of your mind. “Not much, I don’t remember that much” handing them to her your fingers touch slightly and theres a twist in your gut at the contact. “I-uh, I’m gonna…just go shower real quick,” you swallow hard as she sits up and you notice her full lack of clothes “do you wanna- would you want to go after me? -or do you want to go back to your room…” your words trail off and you thought for a moment that she had a look of confliction, not just on a simple decision but in the way she sees you. Her eyes had slipped down you for a second before slingshotting back up to your face and her expression changed. “Yeah…-I’ll go after you,” she gave you a smile and you nodded before turning around and stepping over the bottles once again. Cursing yourself for going so overboard the night before. As you discard the shirt that you now realize is one that Wanda had left in your room days before. Turning on the shower and waiting for it to heat up you look in the mirror and notice something. Multiple large red and purple marks on the base of your neck, shoulder, and collar bones. You looked like a bruised cow. Touching them and they don’t feel like bruises. Another part of the night comes to mind.

—

Eventually, you two reach the rom-com section of cheesy movies and the drunker you are the closer you two get. While Wanda mocks the lead actress of the movie you catch yourself staring at her lips, not even going up to see her eyes but rather zoned in on what she is saying and the smile she had. “Who even falls for the best friend in real life anymore?!” her words dragged you out of your frozen state. Her comment on the storyline had you nervously laughing “no one, it's all just in movies, those are who fall for their best friends”  

You tried to add to her point “And books…only ever works out in books” Your eyes seem to have a mind of their own and they dart to her lips once again. She whispered something you couldn’t understand and started to slowly lean in. Your mind went blank you and you froze once again as she made contact with your lips. She pulled away quickly but your brain seemed to catch up and you slammed your lips back against hers. The taste of the alcohol on her lips added to the feeling of weightlessness. Your hand came up and cupped her face, while the other wrapped around her hip and pulled her close to you. 

—

“Oh shit” you whispered out and your hands came up to your face. “I’m fucked” slipping off your boxers and slipping into the warm water you feel a sting as it runs down your back, a sharp yell leaves your throat as your body moves on autopilot to escape the water. “JeSUs FUcK!!” jumping out of the shower you stand away from the mirror, stretching yourself to get a good look at your back you see long red marks and a few open cuts along with them. Your eyes widen as you try to think back on the night. It hits you and you let your head go ‘thunk’ against the wall. Sighing deeply you enter the shower once again as the fuzzy memory comes to you. 

—

You’re hoisting Wanda up onto the bed and her legs wrap around your waist as your kisses deepen into a hungry battle. The two of you attempt to bring the other closer. It slightly fades from your mind and then suddenly you are over a topless Wanda who suddenly flips you. Drunken giggles release from both of you and within seconds you are kissing with both your smiles pressed against the other. Your pyjama pants were already gone from view and so was your shirt. Or was it? Your mind starts to meld and soon you are faced with the image of Wanda against your neck and the memory of her body against yours. Breathing heavily you move in tandem with her hips.

—

Finishing up the shower you dry off and pick up your clothes, entering into the rest of the room you notice Wanda had left and you feel a twist in your stomach, like something just feel from a thousand feet in the air on your heart and it fell through every other organ. The dryness in your throat came to and your mind swirled with worry as you began to think of why she left. You know you didn’t take too long in the shower -you actually finished it faster than usual-, maybe she started to find pieces of the night just as you were. That made the knot even worse. Quickly you got dressed and rushed out of your door. Blowing past Sam in the hallway, Bruce in his lab and as you round the corner into the kitchen you collide right with who you were searching for. Wanda. “Shit” The impact had knocked one of the drinks in her hand and spilled all over the both of you. Discarding your shit that was only half wet you attempted to use it to dry her off before slight giggling from Tony could be heard behind you as he walked past. 

“Nice battle scars…” fuck me. Thats all you can say to yourself as you realize what he is referring to. “Who’d yo get them from” he takes a sip of his coffee with a coy look on his face. 

“No one, I uh… must have fallen or something last night” You see Pietro approach you with a spare shirt that he had run to grab as soon as you tore off your own. Unbeknownst to you Wandas eyes were locked on the marks that decorated you and she began to connect the dots. Putting up a front she looked away and headed back into the kitchen. You tried to follow her as you slipped the new shirt on, but quickly Maria pulled you aside by your ear as you almost reached Wanda. She took you down the hallway and into supply closet. “What the fuck did you do last night?” you looked at her with the widest of eyes and the dullest of brains behind them.

“Nothing…” she hit your chest with a smack “Don’t lie to me,” her finger was pointing into your chest now “I can tell something happened between you two, now spill!” you swallow what is left of your pride, and take a deep breath. “I have some faint memories of it, -like a few non PG memories…” you scratch the back of your head as you try to wrack your mind “I’m pretty sure we slept together, but I don’t know if she remembers it or not” 

Maria looks at you with exasperation “okay… are you blind?? Because the way she was walking out of your room I could see what happened” you felt yourself go red with embarrassment. “Do you think she’s upset with me?”  She sighed and averted your gaze. “I don’t think so…but if you ignore this for too long she might think you are” 

God dammit. 

Standing there after Maria left the cramped space you thought for a second. You’ve had these feelings for Wanda held up inside forever, you’ve wanted to hold her and kiss her since the first day you met her. You finally got to but you barely remember it and you don’t even know if she remembered it too. Theres a fear that lingers in your mind that she regrets it, that the friendship you two built so delicately formed and that this had ruined it. You leave the closet and walk into the kitchen. Looking for Wanda you scan the room but you’re unable to find her. Leaving with a huff you head back to your room. Your head was pounding and you had a stash of advil in your nightstand. 

As you open your door you hear the water running in your bathroom. The sound of someone in the shower scared you for a moment before you knocked on the door. The sound of the water stopping and footsteps you recognized approach the door sent a chill across you. She opened the door and within second you were face to face with Wanda covered in water droplets and draped in your towel. You felt a lump form in your throat as you looked over her. Your surprise was written on your face and she panicked for a moment, apologizing for using your shower and attempting to get past you. You put a hand out and stop her. Looking down at her you ask her the question that is tugging at you “do you remember last night?” she opens her mouth to speak but you cut her off as you know that look on her face all too well “-don’t lie, please… don’t lie”  the two of you were close. Close enough that you could feel her breath on your skin, you could feel the beat of her heart as she stared up at you. 

She looked at you, a mix of fear and nerves decorated her face. You had matched her nerves now. Her expression shifted “Do you?” you looked at her lips and back to her eyes. The distance between you felt like there was none. Your mouth felt dry, your palms were sweaty, and your hangover was arriving with a passion. “I-um, I remember alot” you avoided her eyes as you spoke to her. “-What about you?” you’re holding your breath as you wait for her answer. It feels like it takes ages. 

“Me too…” your hand that had been blocking her went to her waist. 

“Do you have any regrets?” her eyes flickered down to your lips and her breath hitched. She shook her head and you leaned down. You whispered against her lips “neither do I” and this time your kiss wasn’t rushed, it was slow and full of all the emotions and love you had held for her in your heart. Her hands weaved through your hair and you felt a sense of deja vu, you held her closer than you could last night. Yours bodies disconnected but not your lips. You felt her hands leave your hair and play with the hem of your shirt. They disappear under and within seconds she’s tugging it off you and over your head. You release a giggle as her cold hands run over your skin. You guide her farther into the bathroom by her hips and close the door with your free hand. 

The two of you finally got what you wanted. To be in the arms of the one you love.

[fawniswriting]

Before I Could Say It

This fic can be read as a standalone or as a prequel to After I Was Too Late.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Synopsis: The three times Bucky almost confessed his love to you, and the one time he finally does.

Word Count: 5.9k

Warning(s): can be read as gn!reader bcs I didn't use any gender-specific words (pls advise me if this isn't true). canon divergence. no use of Y/N. use of the nicknames sugar and sweetheart. insecure thoughts. bucky feeling like he's not good enough. unrequited love (or is it?). alcohol consumption. a bit hurt/comfort. profanities. use of weaponry, including but not limited to guns and knives. depictions of violence, blood, injuries, and murder. (near) death experience. angst. fluff. open ending.

Author's Note: Hii guys. I know I should be focusing all of my energy on Faithfully Yours right now, but I had the idea for this story and just couldn't pass it up!! We have a bit of an open ending here. I wasn't planning on making a part two but I'll see what the general consensus say and will decide whether or not a part two is due from the responses. anywayy hope you enjoy this one xx don't forget to comment, like, and reblog!!

Bucky Barnes Masterlist

When Bucky tried to think about the beginning, his mind always drew a blank.

It had been five years since the first time destiny orchestrated your paths to cross, six if one were to count the one-year cryogenic sleep that Bucky spent in Wakanda. The Soldat met you first, back when you, Steve, Sam, and Nat fought him on that highway shoot-out that revealed his identity. After that, you were everywhere—in Bucharest with Steve to coax him out of hiding, on the tarmac battle where you went against half of your own family for his sake, and even in Wakanda, where your eyes became one of the last pairs he saw before his body succumbed to the unforgiving clutches of darkness.

And when he was finally woken up, you were there, too, waiting for him.

Since then, Bucky struggled to remember a time when you weren't there. You supervised his deprogramming in Wakanda, becoming Steve's eyes and ears while the Captain roamed the world as both a fugitive and a vigilante. When the Sokovia Accords turned void, and the scientists in Wakanda assured Bucky that his mind wasn't going to betray his heart anymore, you took him back to New York, offering solace in the form of your warmth pressing against his side on the plane ride to the States. 

Even once the two of you landed on the compound's grounds, you never strayed too far—standing between Bucky and a begrudging Tony as if you were ready to launch yourself forward should the billionaire try to do anything untoward. As if the ruthless Winter Soldier needed a human shield to prevent him from shattering into fragile little pieces.

Before Bucky knew it, his entire routine—his entire life—became you.

From your morning spar sessions in the gym, the long walks around Brooklyn in the afternoon, to the weekly movie nights that you roped him into in the name of reacquainting him with pop culture—everything in Bucky’s life started to shape and smell like you. 

It was a constant. 

You were Bucky’s new constant.

And somewhere along the way, Bucky’s little troublemaker of a heart decided, once and for all, to anchor itself to yours.

True to his fashion, Steve was the first person to notice. All of the lingering touches and longing glances, the hard-etched lines of Bucky’s countenance that seemed to soften every time you were near—they spoke of an affection beyond a mere loyalty one might harbor for their teammate. It spoke of love, one that was so unadulteratedly pure and raw that Steve was sure there was no room left in the crevices of Bucky’s heart where a piece of you didn’t reside in.

“You’ve gotta say something, Buck,” Steve said to Bucky one evening.

The two of them were standing in the convention hall of a lavish hotel deep in the heart of Manhattan, surrounded by a guestlist of people that Bucky was assured were some of the most influential figures of the twenty-first century. People tried to swarm him since the moment he entered the party, shoving business cards to his face and dropping names that Bucky knew should have meant something to him. He paid none of them any mind—not when his eyes immediately found you in that sea of ties and ball gowns, just like a moth enticed to a flame.

You were all dolled up for the night, wearing a fancy little number that screams you if only with a little bit of additional sparkles sprinkled on top. Bucky watched you move through the ocean of people, confidence oozing out of every step, a blinding smile as you received each handshake with an indisputable poise. Bucky’s head whipped towards your direction at every echo of laughter, searching for the source, drinking in your infectious glee as if it were the only way to sustain the rhythmic beating of his heart.

Bucky shifted in his feet, Steve’s unprompted advice forcing him to tear his eyes away from where you were standing by Natasha’s side. The blond beside him smiled knowingly, a teasing yet sincere tilt in his voice as he added, “You’ve gotta tell at some point, pal. Better sooner rather than later.”

The line in Bucky’s jaw ticked. He brought the glass of champagne to his lips, tipping the drink back as though the liquid stood a chance against his enhanced metabolism. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “Buck.”

“Punk.”

The Captain sighed, reaching for a drink of his own. “At least ask for a dance, will you?”

Before Bucky could register what was happening, Steve had shoved Bucky forward, sending him stumbling forth towards the direction of your canorous laughter. Steve hid his amused smile behind his drink when Bucky flipped him the finger, the latter continuing his steps on wobbly feet, trying to ignore the pounding travelling up his bloodstreams.

“Hey, Bucky,” you greeted as soon as he had reached you. The smile on your face could rival the sun even on its brightest day, and Bucky prayed to every divine being in the universe that he could be on the receiving end of that smile for the rest of his days.

“Barnes.” Natasha nodded. 

“Hey, guys. What’s up?” Bucky attempted a smile, tugging at the ridiculous material of his bow tie that Tony had insisted him to wear. In fact, Tony was the one who forced Bucky to attend this whole shindig in the first place—something about showing a united front to prove to the public that there was no bad blood within the Avengers’ team. 

It was a shit ton of bullshit, in Bucky’s opinion.

But at least, the party gave him a chance to see you all dressed up to the nines.

“Nothing much.” You shrugged, tilting your head slightly to the side. “Did you need something?”

“No. I mean, I do. I was, um, wondering—” Bucky cleared his throat, “—I actually wanted to see if you’d care to join me for a dance?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Bucky saw Natasha’s eyes widen slightly. The redhead immediately scurried to the side, feigning interest in the tower of chocolate fondue just a couple of feet away.

Bucky’s heart nearly leaped out of his chest when you extended your palm towards him. “I would love to, Buck. Lead the way.”

Your fingers emitted warmth inside his hand, and for a moment, Bucky faltered. He kept his composure enough to guide you through the sea of couples on the dancefloor, willing the erratic thumping in his chest to quieten down as he pulled you flush against his body. The scent of your perfume slithered through the air, filling Bucky’s lungs, attacking each part of his senses until everything Bucky saw, heard, smelled, and felt was you.

“You look beautiful tonight, Sugar.”

The admission tumbled from his lips before Bucky had a chance to stop them, before he could thoroughly process the implications of such candor. You didn’t seem to mind, though. Instead, your persistent smile widened ever so slightly, your eyes twinkling under the glimmering lights of the chandelier hanging from the ceiling.

“Why, you look plenty dashing yourself, Bucky.” You hummed appreciatively, raking your eyes up and down Bucky’s suit-clad figure. “I must say, I was sad to see your long hair gone, but this looks great as well.”

Your fingers skimmed the hard contour of Bucky’s shoulder, leaving goosebumps on their wake, before sneaking through the short tendrils on the nape of his neck. He fought off a groan at the contact, the heavenly feeling of your fingers tugging at his hair sending shivers all throughout his body. Meanwhile, you were still smiling up at him all sweetly, completely oblivious to the rush of heat that you delivered through Bucky’s entire being.

“Sugar,” the nickname fell off Bucky’s lips in a low grunt, and for the first time that night, your composure staggered. 

Your breath hitched around a squeak when Bucky managed to tug you closer, circling his arms around your waist until there was barely room for air between both of your bodies. All around you, the world ceased to exist. The only thing that remained were your bated breaths, a raucous disruption through the electric field buzzing between where you and Bucky were pressed against one another. 

“I need to tell you something,” Bucky revealed, his voice low and sheer, stripped by unease and something akin to fear. 

Your forehead furrowed, undoubtedly sensing the trepidation shining out of the blue of Bucky’s eyes. “What’s the matter, Buck?”

Your palm landed on his stubbled cheek, and Bucky had to fight the urge to lean in, to chase more of your warmth like you were an oasis in the middle of his desert of a life. He grappled for the confession to come, for the feelings in his chest to solidify into something comprehensible. All Bucky had to do was open his mouth and seize the moment.

But just as quickly as it had arrived, the moment splintered through his fingertips.

“Good evening, everyone!”

Bucky's whole body jerked in surprise, his accusatory eyes instantly finding the MC standing on the stage at the front of the room. The music had stopped, replaced by the MC's welcoming remarks addressed towards a dozen supposedly prominent names that Bucky couldn't care less about.

“Hey, let's go find a seat,” you suggested, circling your tender fingers around Bucky's wrist before leading him through the maze of tables.

The two of you sat down just in time for Tony to deliver his opening speech as a representative of the Avengers. You glanced at Bucky in the middle of Tony's heartfelt sentiment about “shaping the future”, your hand finding Bucky's flesh one on his thigh, unaware of the kind of turmoil you have summoned from a single touch.

“You okay, Bucky?” you asked, squeezing his hand. “What was it that you wanted to tell me?”

I wanted to tell you that I love you, Bucky's heart echoed. I don't know when it started, and I don't know how, all I know is that you're every good thing that I have going on in my life.

Bucky's throat tightened.

He never ended up saying the words out loud. Instead, he smiled thinly. “It's not important, sweetheart. I'll tell you later.”

You assessed him curiously before offering him a small smile and directing your attention back towards the stage. Bucky sighed in the aftermath, feeling the wild beating of his heart settled to a normal one.

And just like that, the truth died on the tip of his tongue.

Weeks passed, and between countless briefings, missions, and reports, Bucky was forced to push all matters concerning his heart to the side. It wasn't easy, not when you occupied every facet of Bucky's otherwise monotone life. Every waking moment was a painful reminder that you were always within reach, but never close enough for him to have.

Following a successful infiltration into an illegal bio-weapon factory in the outskirts of Poland, the team had landed their jet on one of the safehouse grounds somewhere near the border of Poland and Germany. Natasha and Clint disappeared inside the house immediately upon landing, while Sam and Steve stayed on the quinjet to go over a few intels they had managed to gather from the factory.

Bucky's boots scraped softly against the grass as he crossed the distance towards the small lake just a few yards left to the safehouse. The surrounding trees rustled in the wind, a symphony of reds and oranges beneath the solemn autumn sky. On the shore of the lake, Bucky found you sitting, a rare serene look on your face as you closed your eyes to welcome the impending breeze.

“Hi, Bucky,” you greeted, eyes still shut tightly.

“How'd you know it was me, Sugar?”

“I always know when it's you.”

The moment your eyes opened, Bucky's heart stuttered in its cage. The smile you rewarded him was soft, embellished with a tenderness that a man of his repute would never deserve. He knew he should have looked away, but the selfish part of him wanted to hold your stare in place, to relish in your kindness no matter how much he believed he wasn't worthy of it.

“Come on, sit with me.”

You patted the ground next to you, and Bucky obeyed without further questions. He lowered himself on the grass, damp from the lingering chill of autumn air, and stretched his legs out. For a while, neither of you spoke, opting to enjoy the sound of water lapping lazily against the shore, a stark tranquility to the horrors you faced during the mission earlier.

The sky dimmed a tad darker as the sun ducked behind the cover of trees, leaving behind streaks of purple and gold on the horizon. Beside him, you heaved out a sigh, the remnants of sun casting your skin in an ethereal glow.

“Sometimes I wish moments like this could last forever,” you murmured.

Bucky's eyes slid towards you, studying the contours of your face like a historian would an ancient scripture. His fingers twitched, itching to feel every soft and hard edge of your features under the brush of his touch. 

You're the only thing in this world I want forever with.

The words resonated in his head and all the way down to his chest, settling like stone sinking underwater, slow and heavy. He almost said it out loud—nearly laid his heart bare for you to judge and scrutinize. But at last, he fabricated a grin and nudged his shoulder playfully to yours.

“You always get sentimental when you're tired,” he joked.

You laughed heartily at his jab, a melodic thing that wrested at every coil of Bucky's heartstrings. The two of you proceeded to watch the sunset together, the silence stretching between you, warm and comfortable. The sky burned in more explosions of hues, casting its reflection upon the lake like a dream neither of you dared to disturb. 

If Bucky were a braver man, a better man—one that wasn't weighed down by his history and remorse—maybe he would have told you. Maybe, in another life, Bucky would have charmed you at first sight, claiming you as his before the day could even end. But for now, Bucky was glad to settle for this—for sharing a quiet moment with you, and to bask in your company as though he were worthy of even a fraction of your attention.

For now, Bucky would let the four-letter word wither inside him, locked in a hidden fissure somewhere within his chest, keeping it safe from ever seeing any light of day.

Days flew by, and it was getting increasingly harder for Bucky to ignore the way his heart gravitated towards yours, to ignore the fact that you were always the first person he searched for in the morning and the last one he wanted to talk to before falling asleep. To pretend like the mere mention of your name didn't send a jolt that revived his entire being. Every single day was a battle between wish and logic—the unruly desire to make you his, and the rational reluctance of dragging you into the mess that was his life.

“This is getting ridiculous, Buck,” Steve said as he leaned back against the bar right next to Bucky, following the latter's eyesight to find you standing at the end of it. “You're just gonna avoid it forever? An eternal silent treatment? The two of you need to talk, whether you like it or not.”

Bucky inhaled a long breath, swirling the Asgardian mead in his glass without ever taking his eyes off you. It was your birthday—a joyous occasion that called for this merry yet intimate celebration with the entire team. The common room of the compound had been transformed into something warm and inviting, lit by the soft glow of string lights draped along the walls. A cake sat on the counter, half-eaten, its candles long blown out, but the remnants of your laughter from when you made your wish still lingered in the air.

From across the room, Bucky watched as Sam teased you about getting older, earning the bird-man a playful swat on his arm. Wanda handed you a small, neatly wrapped gift, and your eyes lit up in a way that made Bucky’s chest ache. He didn’t know what was in the box. He didn’t really care. All he knew was that he wanted to be the reason behind that breathtaking smile of yours.

And then, your eyes lifted.

The eye contact was fleeting. Brief. Gone by the time Bucky realized what was happening and forced his gaze away. Even then, Bucky still caught the hint of surprise as your eyes found his, replaced almost immediately by a longing that Bucky understood all too well. It clutched onto his heart, sinking its sharp nails until the life organ in his chest was bruised and brutally torn apart.

The Captain sighed. “You're being an idiot, pal.”

Bucky knew Steve was right—he was being an idiot. A coward, even. It was his own damn foolishness that had kept him avoiding you for weeks, skipping your morning spars, slipping out of any room you occupied before you could even notice his presence. All because he couldn’t handle the feelings that had taken root in his chest, the one that was growing stronger by the minute, infiltrating deeper into his system every time you so much as looked his way.

The party was still in full swing by the time Bucky decided to retire for the night, forgoing the goodbyes, heading straight to the elevator that took him back to his quarters. It was a few hours later when a clumsy knock sounded against his door, breaking through the quiet that had settled in his room.

“Sugar?”

Bucky's hand clenched around the door handle, his eyebrows knitting together at the sight of you in front of his bedroom.

“Hi, Buckyyy,” you greeted, your words slurring into uncontrollable giggles.

 Understanding dawned on Bucky's shoulders. “Sweetheart, are you drunk?”

“Am not!” You huffed, pushing past a stunned Bucky to enter the bedroom. 

You looked around for a moment, humming to yourself every time you came across a familiar token that decorated Bucky's room. There was a photo of you and him on the nightsand, a sketch of the Brooklyn Bridge courtesy of Steve hanging on the wall, and a few vinyl records stacked neatly on the shelf, gifted by various members of the team. At last, your steps halted beside the bed, and without a warning, you dove head first into the mattress, chuckling to yourself as you attempted to make snow angels with his blankets.

“This is sooo niceee,” you mused, burying youself deeper into one of Bucky's pillows. “Smells like you, Buck.”

The super soldier tried not to dwell too much on the sight of you lying on his bed, looking like you had always belonged in the same place that Bucky took his rest. A shiver ran down Bucky's spine as he closed the door behind him, his feet quiet against the carpeted floor before he took a tentative seat on the edge of the bed.

“Sugar?” Bucky took your shoulders in his grasp, turning you around until his eyes locked with yours. His heart staggered. “You wanna get back to your room? I could take you.”

His offer made you sit up in seconds, so fast that Bucky feared you might have given yourself a whiplash. He stared at you as your lips trembled, your whole body turning away from him until you were just a breadth out of his reach.

His fingers contracted in grief.

“Hey, Sugar? What's—”

“Why do you hate me?”

Silence.

Bucky's forehead creased in confusion.

“Hate you?” Bucky tasted the accusation on his tongue—the word being so foreign and farfetched from anything he could associate with you that Bucky had to wonder if he had misheard what you spoke. “Sweetheart, I don't hate you.”

“Liar.” You scoffed, scooting towards the foot of the bed, seemingly adamant to draw as much distance as possible between Bucky and yourself. “You have been avoiding me for weeks. You don't want to talk to me, or do anything with me. You hate me.”

Bucky blinked, stunned into momentary silence before shaking his head as if trying to rid himself of the sheer absurdity of your words. “That’s not true,” he murmured, his voice rough with something that sounded dangerously close to regret.

You laughed at his response—a wry, sarcastic laugh that was void of even the smallest hint of your usual warmth. “Then what other possible reason could you have for avoiding me, Bucky? Hm?” Your head turned towards him, and for the first time that night, Bucky finally saw the telltale sign of tears in your eyes, a glassy sheen that erased any remnant of the wits that Bucky had grown to know and love.

His stomach churned.

Guilt was eating at him alive. He couldn't believe that his stupidity had caused this—that he had hurt you due to his own incapability of controlling his emotions. Bucky didn't know what he was thinking when he decided that the best course of action would be to completely evade you, but he certainly didn't think that it would result in this.

With you, sitting on his bed, crying your eyes out while simultaneously breaking Bucky's heart in the process.

Bucky exhaled sharply, as if the weight of his own remorse was pressing down on his chest. He couldn't stand it—the way your shoulders quivered, the way you tried so desperately to keep your composure together as tears welled in your eyes.

"Sweetheart," he rasped, reaching for you, his fingers hesitant at first before firming in resolve. "I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry.”

You stiffened at his touch, your lips parting as if to protest, but Bucky was already pulling you into his embrace, holding you tightly against the muscular panes of his chest. His hands skimmed soothingly along your back, whispers of sweet nothings falling from his lips as he rocked you in the safety of his arms.

“I don't hate you, Sugar,” he murmured, voice shattering around the edges. “I've never hated you. How could I?”

How could I hate you when you are the only source of light I have remaining in this world? How could I hate you when loving you is the only thing about my life that I am absolutely certain of?

Your breath hitched against his shoulder, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. “Bucky—”

“Shh,” he soothed, pressing his lips to your temple in a featherlight touch. “Just let me hold you, okay?”

Slowly, he guided the both of you down onto his bed, his arms never loosening from where they were wrapped around your body. His heartbeat thumped steadily beneath your cheek, his fingers drawing lazy patterns against your back. The tension in your body melted bit by bit with each gentle word, the rise and fall of his chest lulling you into something softer—something safe.

“Don't ever do that to me again,” you warned shakily. “Promise me.”

Bucky's hold around you tightened. “I promise.”

“Good.” You sighed, exhaustion wearing down every inch of your bones. “You're my favorite person, Bucky.”

The admission pierced Bucky's chest like a lightning strike. He knew he should not have read too much into it, that the revelation was nothing more than a drunken slip of tongue that you probably would not even remember in the morning. But for now, Bucky chose to let that little detail slide, to let himself pretend that the confession had been made with more purposeful intent behind it—that the words had meant as much to you as it did to Bucky.

"Sleep, sweetheart," he whispered, his lips brushing against your forehead. "I've got you."

Since that night in his bedroom, Bucky had made a vow: he wasn't going to run anymore.

Bucky had learned his lesson. He wasn't going to let his own fears dictate his actions, nor would he allow his emotions ruin the precious friendship he had built with you over the past few years. Whatever he felt—whatever torment clawed at his chest whenever you so much as looked his way—it was his burden to bear. You didn't deserve to suffer for his cowardice, and he swore to himself that he would never let it happen again.

That thought lingered in Bucky's mind as he moved stealthily through the abandoned industrial site, gun drawn, boots scraping silently against the cracked concrete floor. The mission was straightforward: take out remaining hostiles, extract any valuable intel, and regroup. Simple. A basic in and out job that would be done just in time for dinner.

The team had split into pairs, and as fate would have it—or rather, as Steve would have it—Bucky found himself assigned to the west wing of the site alongside you. The direct channel to your comms in Bucky’s earpiece was quiet, and the super soldier took it as a good indication that your side of the mission was going smoothly. Meanwhile, he swept through his own side of hallways with methodical precision, checking every room, muttering a curt “clear” to his comms for each canvassed area. 

The air was eerie with cold and mold when Bucky entered the last remaining room in the hallway. There was nothing particularly different about this one. It was just as empty and as menacing, smelling of rat’s piss and years of abandonment, though his seasoned instinct—one sculpted from years of fighting and survival—warned him that something was amiss. His fingers tightened around his weapon almost instinctively, feeling an immediate unease venture up his spine, raising the very hair on the back of his neck.

The silence was too perfect.

Bucky’s feet skidded to a stop, turning on his heel to retrace his steps back towards the entrance.

Then, it happened.

The ambush struck like lightning on water. One second Bucky was alone, and the next, shadows had flooded the room, faceless figures in tactical gears leaping towards him at the same time. They were fast and ruthless, and even though none seemed to possess enhanced abilities, Bucky was still outnumbered. He dodged the first three attackers easily enough—disarming the blade from the first assailant’s hand, ducking out of the swinging baton of the second’s, and rolling on the floor before redirecting the third one’s bullet with the palm of his vibranium arm.

Bucky dashed out of the room into the one right across, the group of attackers still hot on his tail. He ducked behind a metal table and started opening fires at the entrance, taking out the threats before they even got the chance to enter the room. A curse fell under his breath when Bucky realized that he had worked through his rounds, scrambling to replace the ammunition as footsteps thundered into the room.

Slamming the fresh magazine in place, Bucky inhaled a gearing breath, only to be met with a sudden hush that descended through the air.

He raised his gun.

Instead of finding himself at the end of numerous gun barrels, Bucky was granted the view of bodies scattered all over the floor. The tang of iron meshed detestably with the spoor of grime, fog swirling around the edge of Bucky’s adrenaline-honed mind. When the dust finally stifled, his focus immediately zeroed in on the figure standing amidst the wreckage, rising out of the smoke like a doomsday’s salvation.

“Hi, handsome.” You smiled around a heavy exhale, a crinkle in your eye that seized the very life out of Bucky’s lungs. “Miss me?”

Bucky let out a rough breath, somewhere between relief and admiration. The grip around his weapon slackened ever so slightly, his body still thrumming with fight-and-flight, though the sight of your beautiful smile had managed to wash him with the kind of serenity that no other person could compel.

“Was wondering when you’d show up, sweetheart,” Bucky said, rising from his makeshift fortress behind the table.

“Sorry, Sarge.” You hummed, casually brushing the dust off Bucky’s shoulder as though the contact didn’t send him skyrocketing to heaven. “You know I like to keep people on their toes.”

Bucky failed to suppress his grin, nudging your shoulder as the two of you headed towards the entrance. With the hostiles neutralized, and the information uploaded to the flash drive discreetly tucked in the safety of Bucky’s inside pocket, the two of you were prepared for extraction. He redirected his comms to the main channel, alerting the other team members that the two of you were ready to wrap up and get the hell out of this dismal place.

He was barely a foot out of the door when a loud bang resonated in the air.

In a split second, Bucky sprung in retaliation, taking aim at one of the bloody assailants on the ground that had somehow taken hold of a gun, Bucky’s finger pulling at his own weapon’s trigger, assassinating him in place.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Bucky’s heart throbbed in his throat, a silent prayer on his lips at how close of a call it had almost been. His gaze took a quick scan of the pile of bodies on the floor, making sure that none of them would pull a similar stunt, only allowing his shoulders to deflate when he saw no remaining signs of life.

“Bucky?”

Your voice barely reached him, thin despite the echoic air of this dingy site, but something inside Bucky twisted the moment he heard it.

When he turned, the initial relief that had flooded his chest instantly collapsed.

You were standing there, just a breadth out of reach with your gun still tightly clutched between your fingers. But the side of your neck—God, the side of your neck—was slick with red, thick and dark as it ran in angry runnels down your skin, staining the collar of your tactical gear, pooling on your shoulder and drenching everything it touched.

Your whole body swayed.

Bucky’s heart dropped to the pit of his stomach.

“No, no, no—” he rasped as he caught you, arms winding around your frame to prevent you from hitting the floor. His knees slammed onto the cold concrete below as he cradled you against his chest, the tremble in his body betraying the steel he was supposed to be made out of.

Bucky blinked, willing this moment to splinter into a dream, willing for his body to be transported back into the comfort of his bedroom where the scene playing out in front of his eyes would be nothing more than a heinous nightmare. But as Bucky’s arms tightened around your limp figure, the awful, gut-wrenching truth settled like ice in his veins. 

This was real. 

The blood seeping through your gear wasn’t imagined. The faint hitch in your breath, the loss of color from your face, the sheer terror clawing its way up his throat—none of it was a dream.

His chest crashed.

“Hey, hey. I got you, Sugar.” His voice cracked as he pressed a palm against your wound, despairingly staunching the warmth from slipping through his fingers. But no matter how hard he was grasping, the blood just kept on flowing—too fast and too much—soaking his hands and every corner of his battered soul.

“Shit. Stay with me, sweetheart. Please,” he begged. “Steve! Nat! Somebody get here now!” he barked into his earpiece, nails digging deeper into your skin. “We need a medic! We need a—fuck—just get down here!”

You made a sound, somewhere between a gasp and a whimper, your breath warm against his cheek as you murmured, “I-It’s gonna… gonna be o-okay.”

It was a lie.

You both knew it.

And it destroyed him. 

“Don’t do that.” Bucky shook his head, his voice cracking around a choked sob. He forced a smile as he looked down at your pale face. “You always suck at lying.”

Your lips parted, the faintest ghost of a smile trying to make its way through, only to be interrupted by a wet cough that made Bucky’s chest cave in.

“Gotta stay with me, sweetheart. Please,” Bucky whimpered. “The team’s coming. Help is on the way. Just gotta hang in there a little more for me, yeah? Just a little longer. Please.”

Bucky wasn’t entirely sure to whom he was begging—whether it was you, the universe, or any higher divine power that might have heard his wretched prayer and taken pity on him. A man who had lost everything and asked for nothing, who was now asking for someone—anyone—to save the only thing in this world that made his life worth living, even if it meant having to sacrifice his soul in exchange.

Your hand reached out tentatively, shakily, gripping the strap of his tactical jacket and giving it the faintest tug. 

“Bucky,” you whispered, voice dissipating like a wisp of smoke as soon as you had uttered his name. Your eyes, glassy and unfocused, searched for his, and when they finally found him, a weak smile curved at your lips. “I love you.”

A sound tore from his throat, raw and full of despair. His forehead dropped against yours, his entire body rupturing under the weight of your words.

“I love you.” Bucky’s voice stammered. “God, I love you—I love you, sweetheart, I love you so much.” He pressed his lips against your clammy forehead, again and again, as though he could tether you here, as though his love alone could be enough to keep you from slipping away.

He should have been happy—should have felt something else other than this hollow, scorching agony. The person of his dreams, the one he had spent sleepless nights longing for, had just made the one admission that his heart had been wanting to hear, and yet, all he could do was break. His whole being perished under the weight of everything left unsaid, every moment wasted, every regret carving him open from the inside out.

He should have told you sooner.

God, he should have just told you—should have braced past his insecurities and found the courage somehow, should have showered you with every drop of love he had neatly stowed in his heart until he was shriveled and had no else to give. He should have bought you flowers everyday, let you know that you were the most beautiful person Bucky had ever met on this goddamn planet—because you deserved it.

You deserved everything.

Not this.

Not bleeding on the filthy floor of this desolate place, fighting off death that had bludgeoned its way right through your door.

“You’re gonna be okay, Sugar. We’re getting out of here, you hear me?” His breath stuttered, his grip tightening as if he could physically gather all of your fragmented pieces and mend you as new. “I’m gonna treat you so good. You’ll see. Gonna spoil you rotten like I ought to. Just—please, just hold on—”

Your fingers twitched against his chest. Your eyes fluttered.

A quivering breath left your lips before your body went completely limp.

Bucky stilled.

“Sugar?”

Nothing.

No soft inhale. No faint murmurs of response.

No squeeze of your fingers against his jacket.

Bucky’s entire world came crashing down in the blink of an eye.

“No. No, no, no, no—”

His hand cupped your face, blood smearing from his skin to yours. Bucky’s fingers trembled as he tapped your cheek, as if the action alone could keep you here, could bring you back to him. His breathing ceased, his whole body shuddering as he rocked you in his arms, your name tumbling over and over again from his lips like a prayer, like a curse, like a plea to the universe to undo everything, to give him one more chance, to take him instead.

“Come back to me,” he whispered, his face wet with the fractured shards of his heart. “Please.”

The only thing that acknowledged him was silence.

And Bucky Barnes had never hated the quiet more.

[invincibledc]

IMAGINE

Reader who shifts through realities, dimensions, universes, accidentally going into comic universes such as marvel and DC. Poor reader accidentally gets the affection of superheroes. Spiderman aka Peter Parker is he made a new friend, possibly a soulmate due to how reader and him are hitting it off well. Peter wants to show the avengers just how amazing and talented reader is. But sadly when things started to get a little crazy with Peter, reader dipped and fell into dc. Falling into dc is a death wish, apparently landing in Gotham as Batman literally saw reader fall from the sky but somehow lived and landed on their feet. Now it’s batman’s turn for the fun of it.

[l1tw1ck]

thinking about guys and monsters with dicks too big for their own good

guys like: Soap, Ghost, Enji, All Might, Steve Rogers, Thor, Clark Kent, Bruce Wayne, Lucas Lee, Whoever You Want

* i dont really write for COD but the guys in there are HOT

top!masc reader

cw: size difference (smaller reader), smut

a monster with a huge dick made specifically for breeding finding himself laying against the cold stone floor of his cave with his cock slapping against his tummy while you, so much smaller than him, fuck him like he was born to be fucked.

or a strong, athletic guy with a six pack and a long list of suitors who wanna be dicked down by him. he doesn't understand how he ended up this way, how the mouth he used only to speak and bark orders in the bedroom ended up being used to suck your cock. How he ended up as a cocksleeve to the puny little assistant he used to tease all the time. How his long, thick, and veiny cock ended up becoming completely useless. How he ended up whimpering and moaning when you would tease him about it. About how cutely it's flopping around as you fuck him. Or how cute it is to see him humping a pillow with such a huge cock.

no one expected a man who towers over everyone and could easily split a person in half if he wanted to be a submissive little cockslut. It was shocking to see the stark difference in his appearance and personality once the alcohol hit. you never even considered him to be your partner, you thought he preferred to give. but what he really wants is to be used. no one would've ever imagined that he'd be so good at sucking dick. or how amazing he looks when he's in subspace

a monster who's very experienced when it comes to sex but extremely inexperienced when it comes to bottoming. a monster who laughs in your face for even suggesting that you top him. a monster who agrees to let you try, thinking you'd be far too small to make him feel good. a monster who merely chuckles confidently when you tell him it's the 'motion in the ocean' that matters. a monster who eats his words and gets his grin wiped off his face once you start eating him out. a monster who comes just from your tongue in his ass. a monster who begs for you to keep going. a monster who shakes the entire ground and scares off anyone nearby with his moans of pleasure. a monster who wishes his cock wasn't so big so he could see you better. a monster who creates a puddle of his own come thanks to a tiny human

[cece693]

Just something short I thought of—sad Bucky because he thinks reader is planning on leaving him or just doesn't love him anymore. Like, you're ignoring him (not on purpose), but that makes the man go down a spiral of doubts which leads to comfort. It's definitely shorter than my other works, but I hope you enjoy it!

Did I Do Something Wrong?

pairing: bucky barnes x gender neutral reader tags: sad bucky, misunderstandings, reader is just busy, I promise, comfort, fluff all the way, short little fic, might even be considered an imagine

Bucky tried not to let the little things get to him. The first time you brushed his hand aside, you’d been running on only a couple hours of sleep. After returning from a week-long mission, you were bone-tired—so you mumbled a distracted “Sorry,” shut your eyes, and promptly drifted off. Bucky told himself not to worry. You were exhausted, that was all.

But days passed, and the pattern persisted.

The next time he reached for you—lightly resting his palm on your waist while you scrolled through mission logs—you shrugged him off without a second glance. Then there were the mornings he woke up alone, the bed already cooling on your side by the time he blinked blearily at the clock. You were usually a late riser, but now? You were gone before the sun had fully climbed the sky. Sure, you’d told him you liked to get a head start on the day, to train or do paperwork, but it still left Bucky feeling abandoned.

And then there was Natasha.

Bucky had caught you and Nat in a quiet corner of the common room, laughing together, your heads bent in conspiratorial whispers. From a distance, it looked so intimate. He tried not to imagine the worst—he trusted you, he knew Nat was a close friend—but old insecurities, the remnants of a lifetime of trust issues, began to creep up. If you were distant from him, but so playful and close with Natasha…maybe your feelings had changed.

It all came to a head late one night when you finally tumbled into bed after a punishing day. Bucky was waiting for you, eyes filled with longing, an unspoken plea hidden in the furrow of his brow. You settled under the covers, practically collapsing into the pillows. You felt Bucky shift closer, his arms trying to wrap around your waist—but you were so groggy you hardly registered it. Without meaning to, you scooted away, giving yourself room to breathe.

It was enough to break him.

“Do I—” Bucky started, then swallowed hard, heart pounding. “Do I disgust you now?”

The sheer pain in his voice made you crack open your eyes. You squinted at him, your exhaustion making things blurry for a moment. His expression was drenched in equal parts hurt and fear. The exhaustion clinging to your brain cleared in an instant as alarm and confusion set in.

“Bucky,” you murmured, voice heavy with fatigue, “why would you say that?”

“I don’t know.” He let out a rough exhale and ran his metal hand through his hair. “You never let me touch you anymore, you brush me off, you’re gone before I wake up. Half the time, I see you with Natasha instead. I just—I can’t figure out what I did, and it’s killing me.”

Your heart twisted as you finally registered the desperation in his eyes. He looked so lost, like a man expecting the worst. Pushing yourself upright, you shifted closer until your knees bumped against his hip, your gaze locked on his.

“Bucky,” you said softly, leaning in to brush a thumb over his cheek. “I’m not—I would never want to push you away. I haven’t been avoiding you on purpose.”

“But you are,” he insisted, voice small. It cracked a little on the last word. “You keep brushing me off, you don’t let me hold you. I…I don’t understand.”

You inhaled, guilt gnawing at your stomach as you realized how it must have looked from his perspective. “I’m so sorry,” you breathed. “I’ve just been so worn down. Between missions, late-night meetings, and a sleepless schedule, I’ve been running on fumes.” Your hand cupped his jaw, urging him to look right at you.

“I wake up early because…well, I know how important rest is for you. With the nightmares and everything, you don’t always sleep that well, and I didn’t want to risk waking you. So I figured if I slipped out quietly, you could stay under for a few more hours, maybe get some real rest.”

He blinked, startled. “You—You left so I could sleep better?”

“Yeah,” you said, your voice soft with apology. “You’re not disgusting to me. Far from it. I’m just so drained that half the time I don’t even realize I’m brushing you off. I’m on autopilot.” You sighed, pressing your palm against the place where his flesh arm met his shoulder. “As for Nat, we’re just close, like you and Steve. She’s been checking in on me, and I’ve been venting to her about mission stress. That’s all.”

Bucky’s posture loosened. You could see the confusion in his eyes giving way to fragile relief. Still, the ache in his voice lingered as he asked, “So, you’re not fed up with me? You’re not looking for a reason to leave?”

“No,” you vowed. “I love you. I’m sorry I made you think otherwise. I’ve just been overwhelmed—no excuse, I know, but I promise, it’s not you.” You gently pulled him closer, letting him lean against you. “I’ll always need you, Bucky. Never doubt that.”

He closed his eyes, exhaling the breath he seemed to have been holding for days. Quietly, he brought a tentative hand to your waist, as if checking if it was really okay to hold you. Instead of moving away, you leaned your weight into him, letting your body mold to his.

You pressed a kiss to his temple. “I’m still tired, but not too tired to show you how much I care.” Wrapping your arms around him, you rubbed slow circles between his shoulder blades, hoping to soothe his lingering fears. “Just let me make it up to you, okay?”

Bucky managed a small, wobbly smile, eyes burning with unshed tears of relief. “You don’t have to make up anything,” he murmured. “Just let me know what going on. Even if you have to leave in the morning, wake me up first. Tell me, so I know it’s not because you don’t want me around.”

A rush of warmth spread through your chest. “Deal,” you agreed, brushing your nose lightly against his.

With that reassurance hanging like a comforting blanket between you, Bucky allowed himself to settle into the bed, your arms wound safely around him. Soon enough, your shared warmth and the quiet of the night eased the frantic anxiety in his chest. He pressed his face into the crook of your neck, inhaling that familiar scent that reminded him you were his—and that no amount of exhaustion or misunderstandings could ever truly sever the bond you two shared.

In the morning, you did wake him up, gently this time. You had a briefing in a few hours, but before you left, you let him know—forehead pressed to his, your heart full of affection. Bucky watched you go with a subdued smile, heart so much lighter than it had been before.

[2kiran]

18+ M!READER

“There you go, good boy.” His hand cups your jaw, his lips ghosting over your own before they settle on your cheek. He simply looked too good, acted too nice, and you weren’t able to resist. His tongue lazily drags all the way to your neck, latching onto a sweet spot as he teasingly rolls his hips.

You shudder, your hands curling around his thighs. “Stop callin’ me that—” you’re cut off by your own groan when he suddenly grounds down against your clothed cock. He softly chuckles, the husky timbre muffled. “Why, don’t you like bein’ told you’re good?” He grinds in small, tantalizing circles, paired with a harsh bite, “My good boy. C’mon, take everything I give you.”

[hmmcypher]

. . . edging a desperate cutie to tears.

cw | sub!ftm!character, mean dom!reader, edging, possible dub-con undertones, light manipulation (?)

imagine your faves xx

“shh baby, you’re missing it,” you hum, nudging him to train his eyes on the screen. your hand is on his jaw, squishing his cheeks and forcing his eyes to remain fixed on the screen ahead.

your body was draped over his, a blanketing weight that pressed him into the mattress and made him stay exactly where you wanted him.

with his hips raised slightly, your fingers danced around the area he needed you most. it had been a the longest hour and a half of his life, he couldn’t even count how many times you’d edged him since the show started and at this point he was fucking soaking.

he couldn’t find it within himself to be embarrassed, not now anyway, not with how desperate he was to cum. embarrassment was the absolute last thing on his mind.

the show is long forgotten by this point, his brain is a messy scramble of pure need while you continue to toy with him.

“you’re so m-mean,” he chokes out as he wriggles his hips in an attempt to get you to touch him in any meaningful manner.

you leave a kiss right below his ear that sends a shiver down his spine. “oh love, i have been a bit mean hm?” you feign curiosity and your fingers trail lower and lightly trail over his clit. his inhales sharply and relaxes into your hold, “i’m so, so sorry baby.. i’ve been so mean.” your kisses feel cool against his warm, sweat slicked skin. your fingers dance against his clit, rubbing tight circles that leave him gasping shallow breaths.

“i need more,” he cries out in frustration. his brows are threaded together into a soft frown and tears fill the waterline of his eyes, threatening to fall. he feels you grin against his cheek, “more?” he nods furiously, panting and needy for it.

his body falls lax the moment two of your thick fingers plunge into his cunt. “thankyouthankyouthankyou hnng, f-fuck!” he babbles mindlessly, pussy quivering around your fingers. your pace is fast, unrelenting even, in and out of his sopping wet cunt.

he all but squeals, falling lax and ignoring the show completely. “plea-se, i-i need to cum! ‘m so close!” he whimpers, sounding as wrecked as ever. “i want to hear you get desperate for it, baby, i wanna hear you beg.” you grunt into his ear.

“please. i-i‘ve been so g- fuck, good for you! please i c-can’t,” he keens, clenching around your fingers like a vice. he continues to mindlessly beg, pleading for you to give him permission to finally cum. he’s desperate for it, yearning as if it’s all he needs.

but, you aren’t particularly swayed.

you can feel his muscles clench and tense up as he nears his peak. he’s gritting out curses through his teeth, trying to stave off for as long as possible.

just when you can feel he’s truly at his end, you withdraw your fingers. the tears that had gathered at his waterline began to fall. he sobs out in defeat as his thighs press together at yet another denied orgasm.

“i’m not sure i want to be done playing with you yet, doll. you can go again for me.. can’t you?”

[marksbear2]

can i request smut if either deadpool or wolverine (or both if you're feeling 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂)

just saw the new movie good god i almost popped a boner watching them fight

😔 I have yet to watch the movie but I love both characters especially my man Logan. I’ll do smut headcanons for both characters.

WOLVERINE & DEADPOOL X MALE READER

⚠️BOTH TOP AND BOTTOM READER— pure smut, both Logan and wade are switches, riding, blowjob, overstimulated, orgasm torture. And more⚠️

— Logan is very serious and like almost brooding type of guy during sex while Wade is probably talking your ear off.

— Wade watches you two fuck and he wont stop making comments and tries to talk you through it.

— Logan eating your hole out while Wade is making out with you touching and pinching your nipples or he’s jerking both of your cocks off.

— Wade and you taking turns fucking Logan, Logan is less but still on his guard and doesn’t have his walls up for you while you’re inside him.

— You and Wade being absolutely horny like rabbits while, Logan swears that he’s dating literal idiots.

— Logan trying not to his annoyance show while you and wade are cracking up jokes and laughing. He thinks to himself as to why the hell he’s here in the first place.

— The two of them having a preference of either sometimes listening to music or pure silence. Wade usually needs the background noise.

— The both of them taking turns on sucking you off, they get so smug seeing you overstimulated. By the end of it you’re a quivering mess.

— Both men can last long in bed so you’re pretty much exhausted after it all.

— Wade and Logan will be arguing and fighting over something stupid while your there fingering Logan prepping him while you sneakily instigate the argument.

— Logan covering Wade’s mouth, holding his mouth shut while your fucking Wade so hard and deep. The sounds of Wade’s muffled moans, and skin slapping against one another fills the room.

— Wade is 100% freaky, he’ll be the type of guy to have Logan’s cum in his mouth and kiss you.

— You and Logan spiltroasting Wade.

— You guys bickering about who’s gonna be the top of bottom for the night. But honestly doesn’t care which one he would be.

— Both are very vocal during bed, Logan will be letting out deep grunts and groans while Wade would be moaning his ear off or just talking way to much.

—Both of them fucking you while they’re still in their hero costumes. They’ll be covered in bruises or dirt and they’ll be relentless with you.

— But if they’re in too much pain you’ll all just jerk one another off.

— Logan would be bitting and marking both of you and wade’s bodies.

— The two still arguing while you’re still riding wade’s cock, they stop arguing hearing you moan and your body starts trembling as you cum. The both of them completely forgetting about the argument and focused on you.

— Both of them taking turns eating your hole out, or sometimes both of them stretching you out with both of their tongues.

— Logan walking in seeing you fucking Wade while wearing his own Deadpool mask and suit.

— The two of them prepping themselves waiting for you to get home.

— Logan holding Wade’s legs open for you could fuck him as fast and hard as you want.

— Both men are a bit impatient when it comes to sex, so you’ll tease and edge them.

— Wade can definitely take the both of you, at the same time.

— Both men being on their knee's licking and sucking your cock off. There tongues going up and down on your cock both flicking their tongues on your cock.

— Logan likes to tear and rip off both of you and Wade clothes off if he’s feeling very needy and impatient.

THE END

[gatorbites-imagines]

Kinktober day 24

Edddie Brock/Venom + Symbiosis

Just got back from the Venom movie, and sadly I didn’t enjoy it very much. But it did rekindle my love for Eddie and Venom. Readers got a symbiote named Whistle.

This probably has what counts as mild body horror in it? Just symbiotes being weird and bonding.

no spoilers for Venom: The Last Dance.

2024 kinktober masterlist

Date nights were an experience nowadays. Back when you and Eddie had just been the two of you, things had been much easier. You would go out for dinner, back when Eddie was a reporter and you a renowned professor at Empire State university. Back then you two could easily afford pricey dinners and way too expensive bottles of wine. Afterwards was a leisurely walk or drive back home, where you two would chuckle and sneak kisses as you pawed at each other. It regularly ended with you two barely making it to the couch before the passion took over.

Now though, with two symbiotes involved, having some privacy was hard. In the beginning it completely put a stop to your intimate life, even as Venom and Whistle both asked about it, or made raunchy comments.

But then the two symbiotes became involved in whatever you would call your relationship, Venom called it a polycule, Whistle called it a collection of passion and fornication. It did mean you and Eddie never got to kiss in peace, Venoms tongue always sliding into your mouth, or threads of whistles white body slithering against Eddies face and neck.

The symbiotes were a species that reproduced asexually, Venom and Whistle had both told you and Eddie that. But for two being from an asexual species, they sure were horny. Whistle more than Venom it seemed. Venom liked the slow game, slowly teasing Eddie over a day, where Whistle liked to milk as much out of you as possible until you couldn’t feel your legs.

Nowadays Eddie wasn't a reporter, and you weren’t a professor. Hed been pretty much banned from New York, and the people who had chased him out came after you too, going as far as making it seem like you had tried to take potshots at Tony Stark of all people.

Then came the whole thing with the symbiotes, a black mass of writhing black sinking into Eddie, as the slurpy tentacled white pile that was Whistle sank into yours. It felt like how you imagined being devoured must feel, from the inside out. You could feel Whistle slithering throughout your body, sinking into your veins and filling your veins.

Their being was thick but thin, everywhere but nowhere, all at once. Some semblances of reality told you that you were on the floor, arching and gurgling like a drunk choking on their own vomit, but all you could focus on was how Whistle seemed to fill all the empty crevices of your being, before they settled.

Eddie wasn’t faring much better, but he and Venom got themselves together first. You and Whistle had only bonded perfectly when you four were outside the facility, you thrown over Eddies, Venoms? Shoulder as they fled. Whistles voice was scratchier and higher pitched than Venom, it reminded you of those screamo artists whose voices were so raspy that it was hard to understand.

Many things happened after that, from other symbiotes to serial killers, there really was no way to put it all into words. It felt like you two, four, never had a moment of rest until it all was over, and you could slump down in the ransacked apartment you shared.

It was Venom and Whistle that wanted to go on a date night first, deciding that going out as the lethal protectors counted as such, you and Eddie mostly being dragged along for the ride. They swam and devoured fish, drank stolen alcohol even if it didn’t affect them, and settled on the bed to swirl their long tongues together like a pair of snakes.

It felt like an out of body experience, almost. With Venoms inky black hands rubbing up and down Whistles shiny white torso, their beings melting together before reforming again somewhere else, their black and white swirling together in a hypnotizing pattern.

The two symbiotes curled their mass from your faces, letting Eddie and you sloppily roll your much smaller and less flexible tongues together, filling the room with the wet smacking and sucking noises your kissing made. You could feel Whistle and Venoms masses sliding between you, swapping places yet staying at the same time, they were everywhere and nowhere, just like the first time you bonded with Whistle.

You could hear whistle purring in the back of your mind, strands of symbiotic mass rubbing against the surface of your brain, whether it was Venom or Whistle wasn’t something you knew, but it made you arch and gasp. The move was copied by Eddie, who’s eyes fluttered and flashed white for a moment, Venom bleeding through to the front for a moment before receding.

You didn’t even know where your cocks were in all that writhing mass. You could only guess Eddies thighs were pressed against your own, your two alien lowers rocking you back and forth, frotting you two together and smearing your torsos in your combined fluids.

Maybe it was all the cannibalism you had committed with Whistle inside you, but part of you wanted to devour Eddie. Like you could open up your chest cavity and pull him inside and become one, in the same way you did with Whistle and he with Venom.

The thought made all four of the beings on the bed moan, two human, and two alien, Venom conjuring that image to the front of your minds. Together you could be the greatest being. Apart you were all losers, but if you became one, then not even Knull could stop you.

It was hard to tell if you had cum during all of this, all pleasure centers of your body continuously stimulated by alien touches but inside and outside your body, Eddies arms wrapped around you, and you Eddie, trapped you in a moving cocoon of symbiote.

There was something fucking in and out of you, something Eddie must have been experiencing too from the way he moaned against your neck, Venom and Whistle pulling you harder together, as if they could somehow make you merge the same way they did.

Was it Venom or Whistle fucking you? or was it both? Which one of them had slithered a thin tentacle of symbiote down your cock, pressing cruelly against your prostate from the front and the back. Which one was massaging and sucking at your pecs at the same time? Which of your symbiote lovers was curled around your lungs and heart, squeezing them just enough to make your weak human body panic enough for it to become arousal.

Did it even matter? Together you four were something beautiful, something so inhumane it would be called demonic. But so many things were. When people didn’t understand, they feared, and God were Venom and Whistle worth fearing.

Eddie was keening against your neck, his sweaty face glued against your skin, his noises breathless and panicked, but so hot and aroused too. What were they doing? A mental flash of Eddies spine and ribs, intertwined by black and white symbiotic mass flashed before your minds eye, making you twitch and moan.

He had always been so needy and sensitive, even when it was just you fucking him. It was never enough, and back then you two just had to settle with the fact that you could never fill him enough for him to feel full. But now? Now it wasn’t just dirty talk or fantasy, it was so very real and fulfilling.

You could feel Venom sliding against your tongue from Eddies, like some strange thread of wiggling living saliva, Whistle meeting them halfway and coiling together into a knot. They had supressed your gag reflex a while ago, so you didn’t cough or gag as you felt symbiotic mass tickling the back of your throat from both the inside and outside. It all felt like too much all at once.

It was perfect, in its own sick unimaginable way. Something you couldn’t even have theorized back when you were still a respected professor, back when your days were filled with studying animals and humans.

The rumbling you could hear both inside and outside had to be your symbiotes purring, their intense rubbing, tugging, filling and emptying slowly ceased, instead starting to feel more like a full body massage. Your dick was aching and sore, honestly everything was sore in a way you couldn’t explain. Even your pores and blood veins ached pleasantly, like a muscle after a workout.

Eddie was limp and panting on top of you, arms still wound around you even as the symbiotes pulled back, focusing on cleaning you two up and getting watered and fed. “ever thought you’d be fucking aliens Brock?” you chuckle shakily, voice raspy from all the abuse your throat had been put through.

Eddie just grunted in reply, nuzzling his face a little further under your chin. “He has had many fantasies” Venom purred with a toothy smile, their pill shaped head hovering as tentacles rubbed you two clean. “But has he” Whistle hissed like an explosive, but a very pleased one at that.

You just huff a bit at the two, letting your eyes slide shut, ignoring how you felt Whistles mass run across your eyeballs to rub them clean before settling back against your spine, protecting your vital organs.

Venom and Whistle were still loosely draped over Eddie and you, acting more like a weighted blanket instead of a confining mass. Exhaustion was pulling at the edges of your mind, the purring of your symbiotes, Eddies slow breathing as he had fallen asleep almost immediately, and the influx of pleased chemicals in your brain acting like a lethal combination. Maybe date night wasn’t too bad, you did want a bit more of a warning next time…

[luv-lock]

ㅤֹㅤ⊹ㅤ #ㅤTAIL ME TO CHURCHㅤ.ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

☆⁠ PAIRING : Yandere Kurt Wagner x Fem Angel Reader

☆⁠ HEADCANON : How Would He Be With An Angel Darling?

☆⁠ NOTES : English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

Kurt saw you for the first time during a mission with the X-Men. You descended from sky like a gothic renaissance painting—glowing, regal, beautiful. Your voice rang out like a celestial choir that also wanted him dead. The moment your six cute, fluttering winged eyes turned toward him in horror, he was smitten.

You called him “demon spawn” with such elegance, he actually got flustered.

“Thou reek of sulfur and failure.”

“Thank you—wait, what?”

He tried to introduce himself and offer a hand. You floated over it. Not past it. Over it. Like his existence was something sticky you didn’t want to step in.

He 100% thinks he’s in love.

Logan says he’s into being insulted.

You say he’s “a furry manifestation of God’s worst joke.”

He tells people you’re just shy.

Your floating eyes adore him. They blink sweetly when he’s around, chirp like pigeons, and one of them even gave him a flower once. You hate that. You punish them by making them watch sermons.

Kurt talks to them like they’re cats.

“Hallo, kleiner augenfreunde! Did she tell you about me? No? She never stops talking about me—of course she did!”

You’re the opposite of what people expect an angel to be. You’re a narcissist with zero patience, a superiority complex the size of the sun, and no internal monologue.

You insist you loathe Kurt. Disgusting little demon.

But every time he prays, you mysteriously appear to scold him for “appropriating sacred rituals.”

Girl, why were you watching him pray?

This man’s main character flaw is blind optimism. You spit on his face (literally), and he’ll say, “She’s warming up to me.” You explode a building because he touched your wing, and he’ll smile through the blood.

“She said I was a disgrace. That’s two steps up from unholy vermin!”

Everyone else is watching this like a horror rom-com trainwreck.

You know everything about him. His birth year. His favorite food. The exact softness of his tail.

You dream about strangling him. Or marrying him. Or both.

You followed him to confession once and stood behind the priest, breathing dramatically. He nearly cried.

Your inner monologue: Stupid fuzzy rat. If he smiles at me again I swear to God I will decapitate him in my dreams and also braid his hair and also kiss him once and then kill him again.

Kurt is unwavering. You try to push him off a building? Teleports back.

You insult his tail? Offers to let you touch it.

You call him "an eldritch wet cat in spandex"? He blushes.

Eventually, you start talking to him without barbs. Just a little. One of your eyes starts hovering around him even when you’re not there. You start appearing to protect him, but only under the guise of “killing him later.”

“Touch him, and I’ll annihilate your bloodline. He’s mine to destroy.”

Kurt: beaming “She cares.”

He once walks in on you lecturing a broken mirror for reflecting you “incorrectly.” You’re in a silk robe, surrounded by fire.

He shrugs and offers you tea.

You start screaming about how tea is beneath you. He hands you your favorite kind. You stare.

You drink it.

Your floating eyes blink rapidly.

You’ve never sneezed in front of anyone. Because angels don’t sneeze. You told everyone this. Loudly. Often. But one day during a mission briefing, something in the dusty abandoned chapel hits your nose wrong and—

You let out the most pathetic, high-pitched “chu!”

And then immediately disintegrate a pew from embarrassment.

Kurt, blinking: “Gesundheit?”

You, glowing with shame: “I will erase this moment from your mind and soul, you putrid blue salamander.”

The floating eyes start circling him apologetically.

He still thinks about that sneeze at night. It was adorable.

One day He gives you a gift. Wrapped in silver paper, tied with a ribbon that matches your hair.

Inside: a custom eye mask. Six of them. Tiny. Embroidered with golden wings.

“For your augenfreunde. So they may sleep better, ja?”

You go feral. Shouting, flying ten feet in the air, glowing bright enough to cause minor sunburns. You accuse him of mocking your “divine protectors.”

He nods solemnly. “Of course. I will humbly accept any punishment you deem worthy.”

You glare at him.

You take the masks.

You tell him they’re “being incinerated.”

You lie.

That night, the little eyes float in a circle, sleeping peacefully in their tiny angeli masks.

Once during combat, your hair gets scorched. Not completely—but enough to reveal one eye. You freeze. Everyone freezes.

You’re panting, hurt, vulnerable.

Kurt immediately teleports in front of you, covering your face with his own tattered cloak.

“You are beautiful,” he whispers, reverent, not even trying to hide the awe.

You slap him.

You scream.

You kick him so hard he crashes into a tree and apologizes for being in your presence.

You vanish for three weeks.

When you return, your hair is longer.

Your eyes flutter around Kurt like shy children.

You still call him a disgrace, but now your voice wavers.

The first time you touch him you were injured. Bleeding golden-blue ichor that shimmers like mercury. You insist you’re fine.

You start to collapse.

He catches you.

You slap his chest. “Unhand me, heretic!”

But you don’t teleport away. You don’t fly off.

You just… sit there. On his lap trembling.

He whispers a prayer.

You roll your eyes so hard one of your floating ones spins in the air.

But your hand?

It grips his tail gently.

And when he flinches, thinking you’ll bite it off?

You curl your fingers around it and squeeze.

“Disgusting appendage… warm.”

He nearly passes out.

You eventually let him hold your hand. Only because you were “cold.”

You get jealous when he flirts with anyone else—even if you were trying to murder him that morning.

And even though you still call him a demon in public, at night you whisper prayers of confusion to whatever god cursed you with affection for that thing.

Maenwhile, Kurt thanks God daily for letting him fall in love with a celestial nightmare in heels.

— MASTERLIST ☆

— © luv-lock. Don't copy, use or translate any of my works here or any other websites ☆

[yandere-wishes]

Alice in Marvel-land

𐙚Yandere! Deadpool (Wade Wilson) x Reader x Yandere Wolverine (Logan Howlett)

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ In some worlds, you were Logan's little darling. In others, you were Wade's starry-eyed lover. But here in the void, there is only one of you and two of them.

⁀➷ GORE, yandere behavior, kidnapping, Deadpool being Deadpool.

⁺₊𝄞₊⁺ IDK, probs the Deadpool and Wolverine soundtrack

Logan feels the world slipping away.

Piece by piece, atom by atom.

In a blink, he's falling down darkness.

An endless rabbit hole.

What was the name of that fairy tale you liked so much?

The one with the girl who gets lost in splendor?

The dust is kicking up, framing the sunset portrait along the horizon.

The envoys are nearly home, this time they've brought someone back. The cage balls chime along the unsteady road. If you squint just far enough you can almost make out vibrant specks of red and yellow.

Strange, the void tends to wash out bright colors. Well, it tends to wash out just about everything.

You scrape your nails along the skeleton's sockets. Leave crescents in the decaying cartilage. "They're almost here" you call out awaiting Cassandra's next move. You watch dolefully as she's transfixed on a portal. The sparky thing unfurled like a fresh wound, strewing salt on persistent lacerations. She watches her brother, or well some variation of her brother. Surrounded by his new family, surrounded by those he loves. He's forgotten her, or maybe never even knew her. You think that the latter would hurt the most.

"Cassandra" Your voice rises in octave, this time getting her attention. "They're here".

"Coming" She sings, voice so chip it almost sounds like unshed tears. You send a final glare at the portal before it collapses on itself.

If you tried hard enough, maybe you could bring yourself to understand her pain. Those pesky notions of desperation for someone to love. But it

doesn't matter now everyone you've ever loved is dead anyway. And unlike Cassandra, you've long since given up on the childish dreams of being rescued by someone who would offer up love so freely.

"Maybe shut up now"

Logan's nerves are frying. Thin strings snapping with every syllable that leaves the red merc's mouth. He's starting to appreciate Stryker in a way he didn't even know he could. The man was a psychotic sadist but at least he knew when to sew someone's mouth shut. Maybe he can convince this Cassadra chick to do the same.

Logan's eyes are almost at 90 degrees of a roll when they stop. He stops, frozen. In the gaping mouth of the rotting skull, something all too familiar stands.

Or rather someone.

Someone he knew.

Someone he loved.

Your name tastes bitter on his tongue. All death and whisky.

Maybe cause it's been so long since the attack. Since he walked off for the night and left his family to die. Cause the last time he saw you, you were a mangled corpse laying in an open grave. Deadweight as he cradled you in his arms.

You walk closer. Face painted in too many shades of confusion.

Curiouser and curiouser.

Damn, he's started quoting that stupid book again.

"How do you know my name" You ask. You look just as beautiful as he remembers. Spine carved straight in pride with perfect lips, perfect eyes. His talons itch to glide across your soft skin, to feel you so intimately once more.

"LOOOGAN did you see what the bald chick just- HEY!!"

It takes too much effort to pull his gaze away. To stare at red and black and be reminded of cruel realities. But Wade has a tendency to be a persistent ache, some unwelcomed anchor to every problem he's ever had.

Only this time when he actually looks at him. Looks at the jittery body that's stilled abruptly. He can't help but be glad that he did. A bitter laugh bubbles in his throat. Maybe Wade's shut up for good this time.

He always knew you were special but this is truly a miracle.

"IT'S YOU!!"

Nope, didn't work. He knew he couldn't be that lucky.

Wade whispers your name, a forgotten prayer. Logan didn't even know the loudmouth knew how to pray. But he seems to almost soften when he sees you. That feral, cheeky killer, looks so so soft when he stares into your doe-eyes. Reaching out zealously to twirl a lock of your hair around his blood-soaked finger.

He can almost feel Wade choking on your essence, heart erratic, like a child finding a lost toy. He's drowning in ecstasy, and Logan is almost tempted to join him. You're here, a breath away. So close it's taking every ounce of self-control not to pull you to his chest and keep you locked between his arms until he finally dies too.

"Penunt look that's my girl!!"

"Your girl!?"

He had taken you for granted as he tends to do with most peaceful things. The realization had occurred a little too late. Right as he had been emptying a round into the target of the week's head.

He lands.

Arms high like an Olympian pleasing the crowd.

He wonders if he can make you cheer for him.

Clap and shout his name as he twirls around the mess he's made.

He wants to feel loved, although he'll never say it out loud. He's only ever been good with words when they're laced with sarcasm and profanity.

And maybe 'I love you' is just about the most obscene thing he can ever say to someone as sweet as you.

Wade plays the white rabbit, fluffy coat stained red from every kill. Tricking poor Alice into following him down cruel rabbit holes. Making you chase him through labyrinths then leaving you at every turn. He leads you to every kill, makes you watch as he dances in slaughter. He can even feel your eyes right now. Starlight slicing him open to quench vulgar interests.  

Alice always follows the rabbit.

He stalks closer, white eyes fixated on your deliciously bewildered expression. Precious thing caught in a warzone. He can almost taste you on his tongue, the sharp tip of a star slivering the inside of his mouth, soft hands painting crescent moons along the back of his neck. He needs to carve his essence across your lips, to pour the after-kill adrenaline into your soul. He needs you.

Only this time...

This time he'd been too distracted. So caught up in claiming you as his victory prize that he didn't notice the grizzled man clinging to life...

And a pistole.

The bullet punctures his shoulder. An afterthought.

But the lead keeps going.

Penetrating the air until it lands bunglingly between your eyes.

You fall into his arms.

Deadweight.

Did the white rabbit ever miss Alice?

Did he ever realize how truly special such a curious girl made him feel?

He doubts it.

Doubts that a stupid rodent would have better emotional stability than him.

He's been given a second chance. A whole plethora of them actually. He's been deemed holy, righteous. And aren't gifts of marvel bestowed upon the truly blessed? What better blessing than the sight of you standing amongst the sand and skulls?

Good to see your affinity for dainty dresses spans across all universes...

He lets the blood trickle down his claws.

What else is there to do but dream of you?

It's the fourth day of his massacre and he's lost count of how many humans he's killed. Maybe cause after the first hundred the faces tend to blur.

He leaves your pleasants in between the rotting carcasses and broken glass. Only taking the torturous parts of you. The things that can hurt him. The sharp edges that he can slit his pulse point on, the vague memory of your glare before you cried. The soft skin of your neck between his jagged teeth.

Enough to keep the hate burning.

He wonders if the creatures of Wonderland wept after Alice left. He wonders if Wonderland lost its wonder.

But now you're standing here.

Alive.

And he wants so badly to remember the sweet taste of your lips. The soft push against his chapped lips as he swallows you whole. Even desperate rabbits can go a little feral. His eyes take in every breath, every scowl.

Alive.

Alive.

Alive.

Good to see your affinity for dainty dresses spans across all universes...

Aliath skids forward, mystified in lightning and smoke. You feel your bones collapsing under the rugged man's, Logan's, vice grip. You thrash and scream trying to break free but he only barks out orders to his friend before they take off running.

"Your safe, don't worry we got you." There's a comedic cadence to every word Wade says. You can almost fool yourself into enjoying it if the two weren't actively attempting to defy Cassandra, to defy Aliath, to defy deities and absolutes. To ripe you away from the only semblance of opulence you've come to know.

"Let me go, you custome-wearing freaks." His gripe tenses. "Don't struggle so much, we said you're safe, now hold still" Logan's anger ripples through you. It's almost muscle memory to still, to obey.

Did you know him? Know them?

In some past life too out of reach?

The ground shutters to a jagged rhythm. You're flying up, escaping the misty horrors of the ground. Your head pounds with the force, air slapping across your body as you taste the cotton of the clouds between your teeth.

Is this how Alice felt as her head hit the roof?

Wade mutters about the stars and educated wishes. About people who live and matter. Logan slices through his thigh, the mercenary's optimism making his body ring with phantom pains.

No one matters.

And when they start to, they die.

There are cruel absolutes in this world. He's tasted them all. Let them slice his tongue and heart and danced to every tune they've sung. He rips his claws out and digs them into Wade's chest.

Again

And again.  

Wade savors the salty tang of blood inside his mouth.

Licks his teeth and runs his tongue over the gaping holes.

He's sitting in the front seat head rolled back.

High off the blood and adrenaline and the thought of having you so close.

"I take it all back, the Honda odysseys fucks hard"

Bones crack, interrupted mid-heal as Logan turns his head to glare. "Shut up" he rasps and Wade almost, almost, hears approval.

There's a low moan reverberating across the broken car. Late night sleepy mumble that's half 'I love you' and half 'I need you'. Neither one has heard it in such a long time.

"Finally awake sleeping beauty? Kinda surprised you could sleep through all of that" Wade shimmies to the back, only to be greeted by your foot smashing into his face, cracking his nose open, and sending a fresh wave of blood into his mouth. He pins your knee to the seat and wiggles himself between you. caging you with his elbows as he stares down at your pretty face. "Miss me, angel baby?"

"Wrong fairy tale" Logan turns around in his seat, claws out running them across your cheek "Please stop, just let me go" you've never begged before, never fallen so low. But these two things, mutants, mutates, or whatever they are, scare you. Reckless, suicidal, dangerous. You feel so helpless in their presence. Never knowing you're to be kissed or killed.

"You're as lovely as I remember" The melancholy colors him in a monochrome of sympathy. Here is a man who's gone through every horror and still gets out of bed. Or maybe he has to, maybe he can't quite die and can't quite reach heaven. So he gulps down his immortality with black coffee to at least pretend he's being buried six feet deep. "Even after all this time I still love you" You almost melt in his brown eyes. So lonely, so desperate.

Kill or kiss

You want him to do both. Want to kiss extinction on his lips while being impaled by the claws. Kill or kiss.

Both, both, both.

"You know~" Wade pushes himself up, "I think your dress should be red...and black. To match your favorite man."

"Who the hell said you were the favorite?" Wade leans forward, in a blink he's gripped Logan's wrist and lunged the Wolvarine's claws into your abdomen.

You writhe, the bones and metal feel almost heavenly inside of you. When he retracts the claws you moan out, it's too saccharine to hold back. Everything feels so much lighter, colorful. You feel your essence slipping out, gushing over the back seat.

Red waterfall, so pretty.

Dress stained red.

"Told ya so!"

Wade pulls you roughly by the shoulders and smashes his lips against yours. He's so cute, fickle Cheshire cat, tongue dancing across your mouth, slitting itself on your peaked teeth, and filling your mouth with thick red caterpillar smoke. "What the hell is wrong with you? You really are God's perfect idiot" Logan's anger is tangible, sweet, and bitter like hatter tea at midnight.

"S'okay Logan, it feels nice" Your words slur, slipping gauche from your tongue as you giggle profusely. You feel like Alice cracking open Wonderland's ribs, crawling inside, and smearing the wonder across your face.

"When I used to read fairy tales, I fancied that kind of thing never happened, and now here I am in the middle of one" You've heard these words before, Alice's words. she's right. Your fairy tale is painted red with pretty, crazy, princes who think that slicing open a princess is easier than kissing her. You reach out for Logan, desperate for a kiss. "eat me" you mutter, and Logan's face morphs into pure terror "Wade what the hell have you done to her?".

"What? It's better this way trust me"

"I hate you"

Logan bends, meeting you halfway. He kisses you with all the wary of a dead man walking. All teeth and heart and bitter memories left to rot three lifetimes ago. He pushes himself between your bones, trying to carve out his ethos in your body. He'd burn the world so long as he gets to keep you.

You squeeze your thighs around Wade's muscular thighs and hips unlocking a gibby giggle from the man. His mask is half pulled up as he trails sloppy fervorous kisses across your neck and chest. The nostalgia slithering under your skin has you squirming, you've been through this all before. In a past life somewhere where storm monsters and voids don't exist. "Remember how good this feels?" Wade mumbles as his fingers dig into your puncture wounds, drawing slow, desperate moans from your puffy lips. You don't dare answer you don't know what would be worst admitting to liking the loudmouth ministrations or admitting there were other versions of you out there, other happy versions.

"Oh for hell's sake," Logan reclines the front seat and shuffles closer. Pulling down the back of your dress. His kisses are bite marks in disguise rabid and feral, the two things the man will never escape. His name rolls across your tongue, you let it slip in an airy moan. "No fair " Wade complains "I want you to say my name too." He pulls out his baby knife and etches the skin of your thighs. Scribbling doodles of stars and half hearts and the little symbol he wears on his belt. "W-wade" you gasp never knowing whether to scream in pain or giggle in bliss.

Logan laughs into your neck. You didn't even know he was capable of such a gentle thing. You bite his lip playfully. Dragging your fingers across his muscular arms. Your thumb pushes into the space between his knuckles asking for the claws. For the most macabre parts of him. You glide your tongue across the parish where flesh meets metal. Kissing the metal and bones and lapping at the blood. Watch curiously as he draws out a long airy sigh. "Good girl" he mumbles voice marred with ecstasy and you almost see the ghost of a smile smear across his pretty lips.

Wade's thumb gently rubs against your hips. Softly usering you into peace, tranquility. Your eyes get heavy, the car gets blurry. The grotesque realignment of their bones steering you into a deep, content sleep.

"Hey Peanut, you think Alice in Wonderland here would mind if we keep going? "  

"Shut it, moron "

"Oh, how I wish I could shut up like a telescope! I think I could, if only I knew how to begin.”

🎀Bonus

Deadpool: "Do you think the author's going to write about us again? Or is she planning to finally write that Dune fic she keeps talking about?

Wolverine: "I have no fucking idea what the hell you're even talking about.

🪐@yandere-romanticaa @bad4amficideas @sugarplumz100 @oscarissac2099 @facelessfionna @siphite @tocotuesday69 @linoleunm @mei-simp @shamelessdarkprince @gabriqllas @lovely-liliacs @shiroi-asashin17 @failinguniversity

[fawniswriting]

After I Was Too Late

This fic can be read as a stand-alone or as a sequel to Before I Could Say It.

The above image does not indicate the reader's physical appearance.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Synopsis: The three times Bucky saved your life, and the one time you save each other.

Word Count: 10.1k (I got carried away)

Warning(s): gn!reader (pls advise me if there's any gender-specific detail in the fic), canon typical violence, angst, fluff, near death experience(s), hurt/comfort, alcohol consumption, physical injuries, it's a kinder ending this time I promise 🥺❤️ (lmk if I missed anything!!)

Author's Note: PT 2 IS FINALLY HERE Y'ALL!! I'm so sorryy for the delay, my work has been out of control lately (I legit had to go home at 9.30 PM last week 😭🙏🏼). But I've finally finished this piece, and I hope you guys like it!! I'm tagging everyone who left a comment/reblog-comment on the first part but if you prefer to keep the ending to the fic as it was, then you can just skip reading this. And if any of you want to be removed from the taglist, please just let me know!! As always, don't forget to comment, like, and reblog 💖

Bucky Barnes Masterlist

If someone were to ask you about the beginning, your mind would immediately go straight to that day.

Six years ago, your thread of fate wove into his, placing the two of you on polar ends in the middle of a highway shoot-out that revealed the face beneath the infamous Winter Soldier's mask. You recognized him from the sketches littered across Steve Roger's desk: Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes—Bucky, as Steve had called him. A shadow of the past, long presumed gone to the clutches of war and time. 

Yet, there he was.

Alive and breathing.

And he was trying to kill you.

After the events in D.C., you helped the Captain search for the man who had risen from the dead. You saw Bucky's apartment in Bucharest—a depressing little hole in the wall that was barely suitable for a human being to live in. It nicked at your chest, wrestled with a docile side of your heart that you hadn't entertained since they had dubbed you one of earth's mightiest heroes. And when you finally stood in front of the man—not the Soldat, not the merciless assassin who had sliced a dagger to your side two years prior—your chest tapered at the quiet war waging behind his eyes.

“I wasn't in Vienna,” Bucky told Steve. His eyes flickered briefly towards you as he said it, willing, perhaps, for at least one person in that room to put their trust in him; the man standing vulnerably in that apartment, not the weapon he was forced to become. 

“I don't do that anymore,” he added.

You believed him.

Steve did, too.

The next few hours were a whirlwind of chasing and being chased. After Zemo broke the Winter Soldier out of the facility in Berlin, you took Steve and Sam to an abandoned site you once neutralized where the three of you could keep Bucky safe from the authorities. You watched from the sideline as Steve interrogated Bucky for answers, listening intently while the Captain and the Falcon began rummaging their heads for a viable plan of action. 

Once Sam left to reach out to his contacts, Steve also excused himself from the room, muttering something about needing to make a phone call and leaving you alone with the burly man who was trying miserably to hide behind his curtain of hair.

Wordlessly, you walked towards the paper bag you kept on a rusty oil barrel, grabbing one of its contents before cautiously approaching the brooding man in the center of the room. Bucky looked up the moment you shoved the packaged croissant in his face, confusion shining with blue under the taut crease of dark eyebrows.

“Take it,” you said simply.

Bucky's frown deepened as he stared at your hand. 

You masked the sinking feeling in your stomach with a sigh, putting the package next to the makeshift chair Bucky was sitting on. 

“You haven't eaten since yesterday.” Your hands were buried in the pocket of your jeans as you spoke, hiding the tremble in them so the man in front of you wouldn't see just how much your heart was breaking for him. “We have a long journey ahead of us. And if Steve is anything to go by when it comes to a super soldier's calorie intake, you must be running on extreme deficit by now.”

Bucky stayed silent. 

You scraped the ground with the toe of your shoes, trying to fill in the quietness as you rambled, “I would've loved to prepare you a nice three-course meal, but considering half of the world is on our asses, I didn't think you'd mind a small downgrade. Believe me, I'd kill for a real croissant right now. There's a bakery near the Avengers’ old tower whose owner makes the best chocolate and butter croissants. They're fantastic. This one tastes like a foam board compared to them.”

Bucky continued to stay silent, only perusing you under his intense gaze. You rubbed the back of your neck and managed an awkward chuckle. “You know what? You don't have to eat that. It tastes terrible anyway. I'll just throw it out. Let me see if the pigeons would like some.”

You reached out to grab the plastic packaging, but Bucky stopped you in tracks, grabbing the croissant with a hesitant drag of his hand.

“Thank you,” he muttered curtly.

The sight in front of your eyes would have made you chortle under any other circumstances—the ludicrousness of seeing a Herculean with a metal arm grappling with the flimsy packaging of a factory-made pastry. The croissant was ridiculously small in Bucky’s hand, and you felt foolish for thinking it could offer anything close to sufficient sustenance for a man his size. He could probably devour the whole thing in a single bite and still be starving.

And yet, before he even savored a taste, Bucky tilted the croissant towards you in a silent proposition. An offer to share. To tear the pastry in two as if he didn't barely have enough for himself in the first place. The gesture lurched at something in your chest, winding down your ribs like overgrown vines.

You feigned a smile, feeling it crack around the sorrow you were desperately trying to quell. “That’s for you, Bucky,” you told him softly. “I have mine.”

The man nodded, hesitantly, as if the thought of having something to himself was stranger than fiction. He took a tentative bite, his forehead creasing as he chewed on the sad excuse of a pastry.

“Bad, huh?” You cringed sheepishly. “Told you. It's borderline inedible. You don't have to finish it if you don't want to.”

“I've had worse.”

You clenched your teeth. 

There was no room for doubt in your mind that he probably did have worse than an additive-laden confectionery.

“Yeah?” You didn't know why you were asking. “Like what?”

The metal fingers on Bucky's thigh whirred, like he was flexing, removing the stiffness in his joints if there had been flesh instead of vibranium. You waited with bated breath as he stared at a suspicious puddle on the ground.

“I was stuck in an underground cave system once,” Bucky began, pausing to take a tiny bite of the croissant. He looked defenseless that way. Almost like a child. “Spent a few days there. The only thing around me were bats.”

Your nose wrinkled. “You ate bats?”

Bucky didn't attempt to correct your assumption, just kept on munching on the artificial croissant as if he were a kid snacking on candy.

“Were they… good?”

Stupid.

What an incredibly, unbelievably stupid question.

“They were good enough to keep me alive.”

You didn't know what to say to that.

“Well,” you cleared your throat, “just tell me if you change your mind on that croissant. I can get you something else. Remember those pigeons I mentioned? They're not bats, but they've got, you know… protein.”

Then, upon some kind of miracle, it happened.

Bucky smiled.

It was brief, an ephemeral thing that evaporated by the next time you blinked, but it was there. As clear as day, as real as the foul smell of rotten carcasses that surrounded you in that dismal place.

You willed for the excitement in your belly to die down—the last thing Bucky needed was for you to go deranged over a mere smile, probably one of the firsts he allowed himself to have after decades of drought—giving Bucky a short nod before turning around to reward him some privacy, but you didn't go far before a rough voice halted your footsteps.

When your gaze landed on him again, Bucky was tense. His shoulders curled inward as if struggling desperately to keep himself small, his fingers twitched where they were curled around the half-eaten pastry.

“Are you okay?” he eventually asked.

“Me?” Your eyebrows knitted in a mixture of confusion and surprise. “Uh, I'm fine? Well, as fine as one can be after becoming a fugitive of the law, but otherwise—”

“That’s not what I meant.”

His scrutiny roved over your figure from the distance, as though his stare could penetrate through the deepest layer of skin, lighting up a flame that licked through every inch of your bloodstream. Blue irises jerked towards the side of your abdomen, a fleeting tic, but it was enough to force the realization to dawn on you.

Bucky was talking about your wound.

The laceration wound that he—no, that the Soldat—had administered during your altercation in D.C.

Instinctively, your hand lifted, brushing against the jagged scar that you knew was seething under the cover of your shirt. The simple movement didn't escape Bucky's notice, and you chastised yourself for your lack of consideration when you saw his body fold lower towards his knees.

“Bucky—”

“I'm sorry,” he said heavily, shakily. A striking fragility from a man who was supposed to be carved out of steel.

You shook your head in urgency, crossing the distance between you and him before stopping a good six feet away from the defeated man. He didn’t even look up at your proximity, keeping his head angled to the ground, shrinking more and more with every passing second as if he wanted to disintegrate into oblivion.

With careful strides, you removed the remaining space separating you and Bucky, sinking to your knee right in front of him. You called his name softly, begging him to glance up, coaxing him out of the shell of condemnation that he had crawled himself into.

When he finally peered at you, the blue of his eyes had dimmed into a stormy gray. You bit the inside of your cheek, fighting the urge to lean forward and gather this broken man into your arms.

“Bucky,” you called his name again, resolutely this time. Firm and steady, offering no room for even an ounce of doubt or a breath of protest. “It wasn't your fault.”

Bucky fleered.

“I mean it.” You searched his gaze, commanding him to stay there, to not run away from your eyes because you needed him to hear this. You needed him to believe. “I'm not gonna hold you accountable for what happened on that highway, or for anything else you might have done in the past few decades. None of that is your fault. They used you. You couldn't even remember your own name, let alone understand what HYDRA was forcing you to do. You're also a victim here, Bucky.”

He shook his head.

Your heart shattered into tiny little pieces all over the ground.

You shifted on the ball of your knee, sighing as you felt exhaustion pulling at your limbs. 

“Steve would agree,” you said quietly.

Those three words managed to snatch Bucky's attention.

“Actually, Steve does agree.” You glimpsed towards the entrance where the Captain had disappeared through earlier, swallowing the lump that had lodged itself in your throat. “It's the reason why he's here. The reason why we all are. He is the literal embodiment of everything good in this world, Bucky. And if Steve Rogers—Captain America himself—looks at you and sees someone worth saving, someone who deserves a second chance despite all that happened, then that says everything I need to know about the kind of man you truly are.”

You waited for something to shift, for the contempt in his eyes to dissipate, for the strain in his shoulders to melt, but nothing happened. He continued to drown, making no moves to get himself out of the murky waters that were pulling him under.

“Everything that happened while you were under HYDRA’s control—the missions, the casualties—none of it is on you, Buck,” you pressed on. “The wound on my side? That wasn't your fault either. Hell, I was shooting at you, too! I didn't know who you were back then. You didn’t know me. You didn’t even know yourself. They made sure of that.”

You took a shuddering breath, physically readying yourself to voice the next conviction out loud.

“If someone has to carry the blame, it should be HYDRA,” you determined. “Not you, Bucky. Never you.”

The silence that followed was strangulating. You watched Bucky with heart in your throat, waiting for him to react, to do something or say something. Perhaps if he had cried, it would've been better. Because then, you might have been able to help, to offer him the solace of your arms, to teach him how he could peel back the guilt that was clinging to him like a second skin. 

Yet, Bucky just sat, still as a tombstone and quiet as a graveyard. 

The eerie calm before a catastrophic storm.

When he finally looked up, Bucky's eyes were a tempest—dark and turbulent, thundering with the repercussions of a hundred lifetimes he never asked to live.

“Maybe—” Bucky's voice quivered. He ran his flesh hand across his face and started over, “Maybe you're right.

Your chest staggered.

Before you could respond, Bucky's gaze dropped, teetering towards your side, as though he could see the ridges of skin underneath the cotton fabric of your shirt. The place where flesh had once split under a blade he hadn't even known he was holding.

On his knee, Bucky's fingers twitched, like he wanted to reach out, to inspect the remnant of the wound with his own flesh and skin but didn't know how to trust himself enough to do so.

His jaw tightened.

“But it was still me, wasn't it?” Bucky's breathing stammered. The words came out choked, as though the truth tasted like rust on his tongue. “I was still the one holding the knife, Sugar.”

The nickname maimed you more than one could expect. Had Bucky said it with enough cynicism, maybe you would have chalked it up to bitterness and moved on. But he hadn't said it like that—he had said it with a devastating frailness, a frayed piece of another life bleeding through the cracks. It came from a version of him that had smiled at strangers and walked dates home in the rain, a boy from Brooklyn who probably said it with a charming grin and a flirtatious warmth.

Your heart broke for him all over again.

You ransacked your brain for something to say, to convince Bucky that he was wrong, but the sound of incoming footsteps stripped you of the chance, forcing you to quickly rise to your feet just in time for Sam and Steve to enter the room. Your conversation with Bucky was shoved to the backburner as the other two apprised you of your next step, both unaware of the tension stretching taut in the air, suspended between you and Bucky like a ghost no one else could see.

The next thing you knew, your life was unraveling like a house of cards in the span of one night. It felt like you blinked, and suddenly you were standing in the middle of a tarmac, staring down faces you used to sit with during breakfast and mission briefings, others who carried the weight of loyalty you could no longer afford.

The spider-like kid who loved to crawl on things was the first one you faced. He was nimble, all limbs and chatter, a fleck of innocence to testify to his lack of experience. You tuned out his nervous jokes and wide-eyed commentary as you focused on blocking each of his strikes, breathing through the ache in your ribs, willing your body to stay sharp.

But then, your instincts faltered.

The agonized sound wasn't loud, especially compared to the surrounding chaos that had befallen the airport. Your eyes flitted towards the man anyway, as if having a mind of their own, making you lose your footing for a fraction of second as your gaze landed on him from the distance.

Bucky.

The sight of him staggering back—blood blooming across his skin like a crimson tear—rustled an unknown weight within your chest. Natasha stood just a few paces away, her favorite knife in hand, the blade gleaming in the same shade of red running in rivulets down Bucky's cheek.

The moment of distraction was fleeting. Short. But it was the only opening your opponent needed to yank you off balance and send your back straight to the ground. 

“Sorry,” the Spidey kid huffed, straddling your legs, his grip surprisingly strong for someone built like a string bean in spandex. “Big fan, though. Seriously. Hey, crazy idea. Maybe after all of this, you can sign my—”

He never got the chance to finish his sentence.

With a drive of your elbow to his side, coupled with a shove of your knee to his chest, Spidey was now the one pinned to the ground—winded limbs and spayed webbing as he stared up at the clouds. You rose to your feet with a heaving chest, the ground trembling beneath your boots as you stole a moment to breathe.

You didn't even notice the light shifting in the sky.

Your reflexes awakened a second too late, stirring only when a dark shadow swept over your head. There was no time to run. Whatever protective measure you could whip up, whatever direction your feet could carry you in a matter of seconds, the end result was clear—you wouldn't be able to make it out of there unscathed.

Or at least, you should not have been able to make it out of there unscathed—but you did.

Because Bucky Barnes—the Winter Soldier, the man whose name was whispered between cautions of death and terror—had saved you.

He lunged from somewhere behind the smoke, arms wrapping around your frame before shoving you forward and down. The force of the blast rocked the ground as a small aircraft detonated a few yards away, radiating a heat so raging it licked at your back. Debris rained down all around you as Bucky’s body remained curled over yours, shielding you from the worst of it, lying like a fortress between you and the explosion's aftermath.

For a moment, all you could hear was your own ragged breathing. Your ears were still ringing when Bucky finally stood up, pulling you by your elbow to your slightly unsteady feet. He examined you from head to toe, his grounding touch remaining steadfast around your forearm, eliciting goosebumps.

“Are you okay?” he asked quietly.

You nodded, still in shock. Still breathless.

“Bucky.” Your fingers convulsed, moving up to clutch his jacket and stopping once you thought better of it. “You saved me.” 

He didn't answer at first, and when he did, his eyes evaded yours, jaw clenching as his gaze meandered somewhere distant. “It's the least I could do.”

Then, that same gaze moved, lowering until it settled on your side. You didn’t need him to spell it out to know exactly what he was thinking. The wound had been his doing once, delivered by a man with the same face but none of the same mercy. The shadow of a life that felt like his own but one he gravely wished to relinquish.

You felt the phantom sting of it then, not from the wound, but from the way Bucky was assessing it—like he was measuring his worth by the depth of that scar. Like saving you had been a down payment for a debt he could never repay.

Your mouth parted, already halfway to saying something, anything, that might severe the penance he had inflicted upon himself.

But before you could say a word, the world raged again, sending ripples of a faraway explosion that rattled the earth.

You swallowed hard, grounding yourself as you imparted, “We need to get to the jet.”

Bucky nodded once, his stature straightening as if his resolve had always been intact. The two of you broke into a sprint immediately, side by side, boots striking the tarmac in tandem as the smoke closed in all around you.

That was the first time Bucky Barnes saved your life.

And you knew, as you dashed across the airport grounds, that it wouldn't be the last.

After two years in Wakanda—two years since the disastrous battle on that infamous airport—you were finally bringing Bucky back home to New York.

Tony was not happy when he greeted the two of you at the compound, and you were even less thrilled to see him after everything that went down following his support for the Sokovia Accords—which, to your delight, had officially been nullified. Tony had promised he would play nice, and that included absolving Bucky—or at least, trying to—for all of the crimes that HYDRA forced him to do. It wasn't ideal, but it was a start; a show of good faith as Tony pledged to assist Bucky's recovery in every (financial) way possible.

Still, that didn't stop you from making sure that you walked in front of Bucky while the two of you were approaching the front gate, offering yourself as a human barrier should the philanthropist do anything untoward.

The first few weeks at the compound were dedicated towards ensuring a seamless transition for Bucky. From creating his daily schedule, vouching for a potential therapist, to showing him the nooks and crannies of his new home—you tackled every single task with purpose; convincing yourself that it was about structure, routine, and reintegration, but deep down, you knew better.

It was about keeping him close. Keeping him safe.

And maybe, that was exactly why you found yourself lashing out at Steve when he told you, a few weeks later, that Bucky would be sent on his first mission as an Avenger.

“This is bullshit,” you seethed, your fingers curling around the edge of the conference table in a death grip. “It's barely been two months and already they wanna send him back out there? After everything he's been through?”

The Captain sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I don't like this anymore than you do—”

“Then stop it.”

“I tried!” Steve's eyebrows creased, his mouth pressed into a thin line. It was a rare sight to see Captain America this upset. “The higher-ups were asking questions, and his therapist already told them that Buck is ready. I tried talking to him about it, but he's adamant to go. There's nothing else I can do.”

“There's always something,” you retorted. “Maybe you just haven't tried hard enough.”

Despite how much your words stung, Steve forced himself to move past it. He knew they hadn't come from a place of malice. Instead, it had come from a place of affection—perhaps even love—a protectiveness he also shared towards a certain super soldier with a metal arm.

“Look,” Steve began, shifting in his seat, “have you ever thought that maybe this is what Bucky needs?”

Your head snapped up.

Steve took your silence as a cue to continue, “We know he hasn't forgiven himself yet. Not fully. And that's understandable, isn't it? Maybe what he needs, right now, is the chance to make it right. Maybe going on a mission—one he actually chooses to partake in, where he knows something good will come out of it—could be Bucky's way of making his amends.”

The Captain trailed off, letting his words linger above the tense atmosphere of the conference room.

You hated how much it made sense.

With a drop of your shoulders, you pinned your stare on the faraway wall, biting the inside of your cheek before mumbling, “Fine.”

Steve smiled, ready to wrap up the conversation once and for all when your voice interrupted him, “But I'm going.”

“What?”

“You heard me.” You got up from your own chair and sauntered towards the door, flicking a firm glance towards Steve that left no room for objection. “I'm not gonna stop you from assigning Bucky to that mission. But if he's coming, then I'm coming, too. And there's nothing you can do to stop me.”

In the end, Steve had relented, and what was once supposed to be a three-person crew's mission became four as you, Bucky, Sam, and Maria Hill took off towards Panama City.

Interference hailed the four of you upon arrival, running you into more hostiles than the initial intel had suggested. Despite your time away in Wakanda, your instincts didn’t waver. The rhythm came back effortlessly, muscle memory filling in the gaps left by your mind without a sliver of hesitation. 

However, between every swift kick and  precise strike, your focus frayed. Not from fear, but from a certain super soldier who was never out of your sight for long. Your gaze strayed to his silhouette again and again, making you stumble more times than you cared to admit, trying desperately to stand your ground in your own fight while keeping an eye on him all at once.

It was reckless.

And it was precisely why, as you realized too late, you ended up failing to notice the grenade.

“Watch out!”

Two strong arms—one flesh and one vibranium—shoved you out of the explosion's radius, a flying shrapnel missing your head by inches as your shoulder crashed against the ground. Bucky got thrown immediately on impact, sent over the edge of the skyscraper as the ground started to crack, fragment, and disintegrate into nothing.

“No!”

Horror erupted in your stomach at the building's cession to gravity. You scampered forward, dropping to your hands and knees to lean over the skirt where floor was supposed to be. Your relief escaped in a stammered breath when you spotted Bucky a couple of stories down, still alive, dangling by his flesh arm around the corner of a deteriorating girder.

A window pane launched into the air.

Bucky's agonized scream ripped through the chaos the moment it rammed against his left shoulder.

Something in your guts twisted at the sight of artificial axons peeking out of the ripped seams of his tactical jacket. Blood soaked through the torn fabric, staining the silver beneath in unforgiving red. 

“Bucky!” Your pulse hammered. “Don't move, I'm coming to get you!”

“Don't.” Bucky's voice was stern. Final. “You gotta get outta here before the whole thing collapse.”

“I'm not leaving here without you!”

Inside your earpiece, noises began to crackle. 

“Guys?” Maria's voice emerged. The sound of punches and clatter reverberated from her end of the line. “I think I need some help over here.”

“Go help Maria,” Bucky commanded.

“But you—”

“Sugar.” 

The nickname halted you in place. Bucky was smiling as he looked up at you, although you knew that it was nothing more than a facade. Any other person would have been fooled by his performance, but you could easily pinpoint the shadow of a grimace he was trying to conceal, the exhaustion crippling his body as he struggled to hold himself up at an angle that wouldn't put additional strain to the already splintering steel beam.

Blue eyes softened. “I'm gonna be fine. You should go.”

Your throat constricted.

You crouched frozen on the ledge, the roar of distant gunfire echoing through the shattered high-rise. Fifty stories below, parts of the building's skeleton scattered on the ground. Your hand twitched towards Bucky, wanting to reach out, desperate to haul him back into your arms, but the chasm between you felt impossibly wide.

Meanwhile, Maria's grunts and struggle continued to echo in your ears as she seemed to wrestle a few assailants at once. You knew you should go to her aid. You knew this wasn’t the time for hesitation.

And yet… Bucky.

His lips were still curled into that easy smile—the same one he shared with you during clandestine moments around the compound, because this side of Bucky Barnes was one he reserved specifically for you. His knuckles had gone white from supporting his entire weight, the beam creaking under the slightest sway of his body, jerking slightly. 

“I don’t—” Your voice cracked. “I don’t know what to do.”

“I do,” he said gently, as if he weren't hanging by one arm over nothing but air. “You save her.”

You could barely breathe. 

The seconds were ticking—Maria was calling for help, and Bucky was slipping.

You weren’t enough to save both of them.

“Sam,” you gasped, pressing your hand to the comms. Static was the only response, and you prayed to the heavens above that wherever he was, whatever he was doing, he could listen to your plea. “You’ve gotta get to Bucky. Now. He’s gonna—I can’t—just… please.”

There was a beat of silence, the kind that stretched longer than a lifetime.

Just when you began to think he wasn't going to answer, Sam's voice fizzled in, “On my way.” 

The comms fell silent again.

A violent wind tore through the air, hitting like a freight train.

The steel girder—the one remaining lifeline fastening Bucky to this world—buckled with a piercing screech.

In the blink of an eye, the girder snapped.

“BUCKY!”

A blur of silver and red swooped below him in the same breath, and before you could lunge forward to follow Bucky as he fell, Sam was there—arms locked securely around Bucky’s torso, wings flaring wide to steady the sudden addition of weight. Bucky’s head dropped against Sam’s shoulder, dazed but alive. Your whole limbs teetered towards the verge of liquefying as your lungs finally released the air you didn’t know you were holding.

“You okay, man?” Sam’s voice chirped through your earpiece. “Christ, what did they feed you in Wakanda?”

A sound escaped your chest—something between a strangled sob and a wry laugh.

Gathering yourself, you pressed another hand to the comms, rising to your feet and sprinting towards the server room as you announced, “Hang on tight, Maria. I'm on my way.”

By the time you and Maria went back to the safehouse over an hour later, Sam and Bucky were already there. Bucky was lying on the couch the moment you strode in, his metal arm detached and thrown almost haphazardly on the coffee table while Sam tinkered with Redwing on the kitchen counter.

From the bandage wrapped around Bucky's shoulder, you knew that the on-site medical android had taken a look at him already, but the anxiety in your mind still wasn't pacified. It dribbled all over the floor as you marched towards him, your body shaking partly from the adrenaline still coursing through your veins, but also from the anger and dread boiling in your blood.

“Why the hell did you do that?!”

Venom leaked from your voice the moment you approached the couch. Behind you, Sam and Maria fell silent, readying themselves for the imminent confrontation ahead. Bucky's face remained impassive as he rose to a seating position, a faint tug at the corner of his lips.

“Hi, sweetheart.”

“Don't fucking sweetheart me.”

Your chest rose and fell in a dizzying rythm, daggers flying from your eyes towards the man in front of you. The same one who had nearly, stupidly welcomed death into his arms due to some kind of foolish heroism embedded in his principles. The one who was currently looking at you with cerulean eyes so tender it almost made you forget that he was close to slipping from your fingers a mere hour earlier.

Bucky let out a sigh. “I'm okay.”

“Quit talking to me like I'm stupid, Bucky. We all can see your ripped metal arm on the table. Your bandaged shoulder.”

 “It's nothing.”

“It's not nothing!”

“It's nothing compared to what I've suffered before.”

An incredulous laugh tore from your larynx, sharp and sardonic. It was the only thing keeping the lump inside from choking you whole. “Just because you've survived worse doesn't mean you're fucking invincible, Buck! You could've died. You almost died. If Sam hadn't got there in time, you would've—”

The words wedged in your throat.

Your eyes fell shut as you expelled the images of Bucky dangling between life and death out of your mind. 

Gentle fingers encircled your wrist. You gasped at the sudden warmth surrounding you, opening your eyes to find that Bucky had tugged you closer to stand between his parted knees. Your palms automatically landed on the column of his neck, chest pounding at the unbearable softness shining out of Bucky’s eyes. 

This was new territory—Bucky had always treated closeness like something fleeting, something borrowed. His touches, his embraces, were often hesitant, as though affection was a luxury he couldn’t afford. But now, he held you like he had done it a thousand times before, like your body against his was the very thing chaining him to reality. His hand curled firmly around your waist, anchoring himself, grounding his entire existence to the certainty of your presence.

“Hey,” Bucky said, squeezing your side lightly. “I'm right here, Sugar. I'm alright.”

Your chest burned. “We almost lost you.”

“But you didn't.”

“But what if we had?!”

“Then you should take solace in the knowledge that I haven't gone in vain.”

Your fingers clenched around the edge of Bucky's shoulders, nails branding crescent moons into the skin. He didn't even flinch.

“You don't need to sacrifice your life for me, Bucky. I don't need that kind of thing on my conscience,” you spat.

“I wouldn't call it a sacrifice, sweetheart,” Bucky said firmly, resolutely. “If that's what it takes to keep you safe, then I'd gladly take the fall.”

Bucky's declaration propelled the tears you had been desperately trying to contain to the forefront. A strangled whimper shredded from your lips. You quickly tried to mask it with a scowl.

“That's the very definition of a ‘sacrifice’, you idiot.”

“Not in my book.” Bucky smiled. “Not when it's you.”

Before he could say another word, you removed the distance between you and threw yourself in his arms. The dam within you finally caved in, freeing the ragged sobs you had been trying to keep at bay. Your tears stained the collar of his undershirt, your arms locking around him tightly as though sheer willpower might fetter him to you, to life itself.

He staggered slightly under your weight, grunting from the pull on his wounded shoulder, but his hand—his only hand—immediately rose to your back, fingers splayed as they began tracing slow, calming patterns across your spine. 

“Don’t ever do that again,” you whispered hoarsely. “Don’t throw yourself in front of danger for me. I don't ever want to watch you fall like that again. I can’t—”

“I know,” Bucky murmured, pressing his cheek to your temple. “I know, Sugar.”

“Promise me,” you croaked out.

He stilled for a second. “I can't,” Bucky said breathlessly. “I'd do it again in a heartbeat, sweetheart. I’ll always choose to save you.”

A fresh wave of tears surged behind your eyes. Your fingers curled tighter into the fabric of his undershirt. You hated him for that. 

And you loved him even more because of it.

From behind you, someone cleared their throat. 

“I hate to interrupt the Notting Hill shit we’ve got going on here,” Sam said, “but is anyone else starving or is it only the guy who just saved Barnes’ ass?”

The evening wind bit your cheeks the moment you stepped out of the bar. In a chorus of jovial shrieks and mischievous laughter, your friends from the Academy all bid each other goodbye—some heading straight home, some scuttering after the next round of drinks and fun, but all equally giddy and tipsy—stumbling on the curb and crashing against unassuming lamp posts.

“Sure you're not coming?” one of your friends asked.

“No, told you I've got an early morning tomorrow,” you slurred slightly, shaking your head twice when the face in front of you began to blur around the edges.

“Okay. Text me when you get home!”

You waved them off with a lopsided smile, turning on your heel and starting the slow trek back to the station. The pavement felt oddly slanted under your feet, and you blamed the tequila for the fifth time that night. The wind swept down the empty street, nipping at your exposed skin, sending discarded wrappers tumbling aimlessly along the sidewalk.

“Hey, Gorgeous! You need a ride?” a voice called out.

You didn’t bother looking. The city was full of idiots, and you weren’t in the mood for petty confrontations when your balance already wavered like a tightrope walker with a death wish.

You were in the midst of stifling a yawn when your foot unexpectedly hit a shallow crack in the pavement, pitching your body forward, arms flailing wildly before you caught yourself mid-fall.

The voice spoke again, this time laced with a grin that lit a match in the back of your mind, “Careful, sweetheart. Steve's gonna be pissed if you break an ankle before the mission tomorrow.”

Your eyes snapped up.

Leaning against a dark motorcycle across the street, like some kind of B-list actor playing a bad boy in a trashy movie franchise, was none other than Bucky Barnes. He looked way too good for someone who just watched you nearly eat concrete—leather jacket unzipped, gloved hand resting on the handlebar, and an easy smile tugging at his lips. 

Your face broke into an instantaneous grin.

“Bucky, what are you doing here?”

You skipped across the street without looking. The squeal of tires resonated in the air, blaring horns and flashing headlights as you registered too late the oncoming car speeding your way. You stumbled in your haste to escape the street, to save yourself before your crushed skull and its content became the next headline for tomorrow's 6 A.M. news.

But before gravity could make a fool out of yourself, Bucky’s arms were already around you. He caught your body with ease, keeping your face from planting onto the curb, his broad frame shielding you from the splash of puddle as the honking car zipped past. 

“Jesus, sweetheart,” he muttered, his metal fingers squeezing your hip, “you lookin’ to give an old man a heart attack?”

“Sorry,” you offered sheepishly, willing the percussion in your chest to assuage. “Thanks for saving me.”

“I'd save you anytime and anywhere, Sugar.” Bucky smiled, his gaze soft and genuine despite the flirtatious nature of his words. “But it'd be nice if I didn't have to do it all the time.”

You feigned a gasp. “And here I thought you were my personal hero on call, Buck.”

The man in front of you laughed—a carefree thing with his head thrown back, ocean blue glinting under the paltry luminance of streetlights. You stepped out of his embrace with great reluctance, shivering slightly in the absence of Bucky's warmth.

The motion didn't escape Bucky's notice. “Did you not bring a jacket?”

“I did.” You wrapped yourself with your own arms, stroking the goosebumps away with your palms. “I lent it to my friend and I guess… well, I forgot to ask for it back.”

“Why does that not surprise me?”

“Because everyone knows how kind, selfless, and generous I am?” You grinned.

Bucky didn't say anything in return. Instead, he made quick work shedding the jacket off his back, revealing the outline of muscles under the gorgeous cover of dusty blue henley. Your throat went dry, every nerve ending lighting up in fireworks when Bucky stepped forward, draping the leather garment around your shoulders.

“There you go. That would have to do for now,” he muttered.

His fingertips brushed your neck as he tugged the leather collar closer around you. The scent of coffee, mint, and something indistinguishably Bucky attacked your senses, stealing your breath and leaving the taste of longing on your tongue. He looked at you in that same infuriating tenderness that made your insides spume, reduced to tiny bubbles filled with hope and yearning.

“Thanks,” you breathed out once he withdrew. “By the way, how come you're here? I thought you had that mission with Nat today.”

“I did,” Bucky replied, burying his hands in his jeans’ pockets. 

Your forehead creased. “No way. Did you bail?”

“Are you crazy? Steve would have my ass.”

“Then…” 

“Came straight from the jet,” he said casually, the impish quirk of his lips giving him away before his words even landed.

“You what?” You gawked. “Are you serious? Did you even debrief with Steve before you went here?  Did you even go to the medbay? At all?”

“It was just recon.” He shrugged, far too nonchalant for your liking. “Nat can handle the debrief. She did all the sneaking around anyway, I barely lifted a finger.”

“That’s not the point.” You groaned, massaging the headache that had started gnawing at your temple. “Who cares if it was just recon, Bucky? The procedure says you're to go to the medbay after every mission. The rule is there for a reason. What if you were injured but you didn't even notice? What if you were exposed to a dangerous substance while you were on the field? It's incredibly reckless, stupid, and—”

Your words dissolved the moment his hands cupped your cheeks.

Bucky studied your countenance in silence, his eyes delicate, his thumbs gentle as they skimmed along your jaw. He smiled at you as if your soul was scribbled in a script only he could decipher. An intimate secret shared between the meager spaces the two of you occupied in this infinite universe.

Your breath hitched.

Everything around you tilted on its axis, the world dulling into a distant hum to make room for the cosmic threads tethering you both to each other. His eyes were tired as they locked onto yours, but behind the muted blue, something else shone through—something steadfast and searing, like an eternal flame trapped in the most secluded heights of the Himalayan range.

“I’m okay,” he said at last, voice low but certain. “I’m right here, and I’m okay.”

You didn't blink—you couldn't.

Your chest deflated in the aftermath of worry, the relief sweeping through you like a tide pulling back after a storm. Bucky withdrew, his hands leaving your face in a parting goodbye, and you had to fight the urge to yank him back in, to stay in the fragile moment that had cracked open between the two of you.

“‘Sides,” he drawled, a teasing glint replacing the ferocity in his eyes, “if I didn't pick you up, you'd probably end up passed out in a dumpster somewhere. Can't have you jeopardizing the mission like that, can I?”

You groaned and shoved his shoulder. “Ass.”

Bucky chuckled, rounding the bike before handing you a helmet. “C'mon, lightweight.”

You rolled your eyes, although the blooming smile on your face betrayed the faux irritation as you climbed onto the motorcycle. Bucky was warm in front of you, your arms finding purchase around his waist the second the engine roared to life, buildings and trees alike blurring past as the two of you sped through the streets of New York.

This time, you held Bucky a little tighter than usual, just in case he forgot how much it mattered that he made it home safely.

The pain was the first thing your brain registered.

Lights spilled through the all-encompassing darkness, rousing you awake, filling the gaps in your mind with an awareness of life. The ache traveled through your body in an unimaginable speed, a ravenous beast as it ate away your soul, and you could barely contain the pained whimper before it tumbled free out of your lips.

Something engulfed your hand.

Warmth.

“Sugar?”

You whimpered louder.

“Shit." There was a rustling by your side before the same voice sprouted again, “Hang on, sweetheart. I'll get the doctor.”

Time stumbled in and out of your grasp. You thought you could hear several voices conversing in the room not long after. One of them, unrecognizable in your ears but settled deeply within your chest, rose above all of them. It sounded desperate, broken, as if the person had attempted to barter with God using merely a mangled heart and a splintered spine.

“...please,” you caught him say, the end of a sentence blown by the breeze before you could curl your fingers around it.

“I understand, Barnes,” another voice spoke. “We'll take care of it. Just wait outside, will you?”

A pair of hands proceeded to roam over your body. You felt the pull of consciousness behind your eyelids, heaving you out of the void, an aimless ghost slipping violently back into flesh.

You gasped.

The world returned in a fragmented mosaic—white ceiling, antiseptic air, and a beeping monitor that echoed stubbornly beside your ear. Inside your body, a burning agony erupted. It sank into the deepest corners of your being, clutching around your lungs, turning you into nothing more than a wailing heap of muscles and bones.

“Hey, hey, easy now,” came a calm voice. 

The words arrived in the company of gentle hands, too cold for your liking, but they were a reprieve nonetheless. The face in front of you zoomed in and out of focus like moonlight dancing across shattered glass, the contours merging and sundering as they finally morphed into the features of a familiar friend. 

Dr. Helen Cho.

She pressed the back of her hand to your forehead before shining a penlight into your eyes. “Pupils reactive. That’s good. Welcome back.”

You blinked away the harsh light from your vision, wincing when the effort sent a jolt of pain through your neck and shoulder. Your lips parted in an attempt to speak, but your throat felt like it had been shoved with hot coals, shredding your voice into nothing more than a torn, fragile snivel.

“W-what… what happened?” you croaked out.

“You were shot,” Helen answered. “Do you remember?”

Just like that, the memory barreled into you like a sucker punch to the face.

Images of drab walls and ceilings, the sight of mold and moss co-existing with dead rodents’ remains filled your mind. The abandoned building once posed as the warehouse of an illegal bio-weaponry enterprise that had long ceased to operate. The Avengers’ presence on site was supposed to be a straightforward recon—gather the intel on the culpable syndicate, perhaps scour for names complicit in supplying the deadly goods in the first place—and it was implied as such on the case files given to the entire team.

No one could have predicted that the simple job would turn into an ambush.

Your mind began flipping through the pages of memory, recalling how it took you no time at all to neutralize the four agents sent your way. Under different circumstances, you might have felt offended by the measly number of hostiles assigned to you—had your thoughts, of course, not already been preoccupied with a certain super soldier. Still, any insolent disparagement your opponent once hurled at your combat abilities was indefinitely put on ice as you dashed across the site's west wing.

By the time you arrived, Bucky was already cornered.

Instinct, and something else akin to protectiveness, fueled your movements as you thundered into the room. Most of the assailants were already lying in stacks on the floor, the rest following suit with every deliberate strike you threw their way. Your chest rose and fell in erratic bursts, each breath scraping your throat as the last body hit the ground.

Across the room, Bucky rose from behind the makeshift fortress, aiming his gun before stopping dead in tracks. The corner of your mouth lifted when your gazes found each other.

“Hi, handsome. Miss me?”

Bucky let out a rough breath, his grip around the gun loosening. “Was wondering when you'd show up, sweetheart.”

He stood up and approached you in merely four strides, smiling so sweetly as though your presence in front of him had been God's own gift to mankind. You fought off a shudder and attempted nonchalance as your palm brushed the dust off his shoulder.

“Sorry, Sarge. You know I like to keep people on their toes.”

The grin on Bucky's face expanded. He bumped his shoulder to yours, the two of you heading for the exit as Bucky started requesting for extraction through his comms.

A split second was all it took for everything to go sideways.

You didn't know what compelled you to turn around for one last glance. Had you heard something? Felt something? Had the hairs on the back of your neck sensed the imminent danger before your brain could even begin processing it? 

It was impossible to say, but something dragged your gaze over your shoulder, an invisible hook yanking you back just in time to catch the glint of metal under the scanty light. One of the bodies on the ground, presumed dead, had begun to stir. His arm trembled as he lifted his gun from the blood-slick floor, the barrel rising with all of the inevitability of a verdict carved in stone.

Your breathing caught.

Everything in your body told you to run. To take shelter behind the wooden crate in the corner of the room, call out a warning, anything. But you knew exactly where that gun was aimed, where that bullet would go if you dared to move even an inch.

Straight into Bucky.

The whole world narrowed. What happened next wasn't a choice—it was a decision your body made under direct instructions of your heart, born not from years of training but from the gentle fondness you harbored for the man beside you. It commanded you to hold your ground, freezing your limbs, your chest pounding as though wishing to somehow intercept the bullet before it could write the ending you weren’t ready to read.

Then, the shot rang out.

Everything else had transpired in a blur. You remembered certain bits and pieces through the fog in your mind—the pain on your neck, the retaliation shot Bucky had fired from his gun, the look of pure terror you saw on his face as he held your crumbling body before it could shatter against the concrete ground.

The confession.

“Bucky.” His name fled your lips before you could even think about it.

Helen's gaze softened. “He's outside. He's been here the whole time. Never left your side since the surgery.”

You swallowed, throat thick with the weight of half-formed questions. “H-How long…?”

“Thirty-eight hours,” she replied. “The bullet missed your artery by millimeters. We almost lost you a couple of times. You were extremely lucky this time, Agent.”

Your eyes closed momentarily. When they opened again, your gaze found Helen with an unshakable purpose. “Could you please send him in?”

The doctor gave you a single nod, landing a reassuring pat on your knee before leaving the room silently.

Not long after, the door opened with a quiet hiss.

The sight of Bucky standing in the doorway smashed your heart into a million little pieces.

His hair was unkempt, sticking to different directions as if his fingers had run through them too many times to count. Even from the distance, you could still see how bloodshot his eyes were, how hollow and agonized they were under the harsh lighting of the room. He looked like a man who had outrun hell only to realize that it had made a home right inside his chest.

“Bucky,” you called out, slowly, gently.

His shoulders tensed at the sound of your voice.

Bucky's movement was tedious, as though it was painful for him to move, as though lifting his head required more strength than Atlas needed to carry the world on his shoulders. The moment his eyes met yours, something inside him cracked and splintered. 

“You're awake,” he said hoarsely.

“I am,” you replied, offering a soft, shaky smile. “I'm okay.”

Bucky didn't move.

He looked like he didn't even breathe.

It was as if an intangible weight had shackled itself around his ankles, stopping him in place. Bucky didn't try to fight it, to break himself out of the phantom hold he had been cast under. He just kept standing there, motionless, like he was afraid that if he came any closer, the fragile image of you in front of him—alive, breathing, and speaking—would vanish.

Your throat tightened.

“Buck,” you tried again, a tremor in your voice now, too. “Come here.”

His fingers twitched.

“Please.”

It was that single word that finally did it—the plea that fell onto him like a torrent on scorched earth.

He took one step, then another, erasing the distance between him and the bed with a slowness that might convince someone he was walking barefoot on shards of glass. You watched every inch of him draw nearer, his pain thick in the atmosphere of the room, heavier than the oxygen nesting in your lungs.

The hesitation returned when he reached your bedside, keeping him a good six inches away from you. He hovered in the space around the bed, uncertain, both of his hands clenching and unclenching like they wanted to hold you but were afraid you would completely dissipate like vapor under his touch.

You lifted your hand and reached out, tentatively, with the precision of someone trying to pet an easily-spooked cat. Eternity must have passed at least once or twice when your fingers finally brushed the inside of his wrist.

That was all it took.

The singular touch was all it took for Bucky Barnes—the Winter Soldier, the man with the power of a collapsing star, who had faced death and catastrophe greater than anybody else on earth could ever imagine—to entirely crumble under your palms.

A sound escaped him—something torn and guttural and not meant for human ears to hear. He fell to his knees beside the bed, clutching your hand like it was the only echo of mercy in a world that had offered him none. His head bowed against your stomach, shoulders shaking violently with the aggressive sobs he could no longer contain in his chest.

Your own tears spilled out of you in a tide stronger than the Pacific current, staining your cheeks as you brought your other hand to cradle the back of Bucky's head, threading your fingers through the short tendrils.

“I’m okay. I'm okay, Bucky, I'm fine,” you whispered, over and over, each word a balm against the searing agony inside his bloodstream. “I’m right here, darling. I'm okay now.”

“But you weren’t,” he choked, the sound of his anguish slicing your nerves deeper than the sharpest dagger ever could. “You weren’t, a-and God, I thought I lost you, sweetheart. I was holding you, tried to stop the blood—there was so much blood—and you just… you just went still. Was so cold and still and I couldn't—I didn't know what to do.”

“Bucky.” Your voice quivered. “I'm here, baby. You didn’t lose me.”

“I almost did.” 

His head rose, and your breath halted in your throat at the sight or red in Bucky’s eyes. He was not someone who cried often—perhaps it was the archaic 40s’ notion of masculinity that was still embedded in his system—and the only time you had seen him cry was back in Wakanda, when you and Ayo stood by him in the vulnerable moment that confirmed the severance of HYDRA's control over his soul.

Somehow, this Bucky—the one kneeling in front of you—looked even more shattered than the one in your memory.

“Your heart stopped, Sugar,” Bucky continued, the weight of his words pressing and twisting your ribs until you were nothing but a mire. “You weren’t breathing. So cold and stiff, and I… Shit—I didn't know if you'd make it. Had to do CPR the whole flight. Everyone told me to stop. They said y-you were gone. But I couldn't, Sugar. I just—I couldn't.”

“Bucky,” you whimpered. “Darling.”

“I thought I was too late,” he rasped, voice fracturing under the weight of a requiem still resonating in his chest. “I kept thinking if I'd been faster—if I’d stood closer—if I had just noticed sooner, then you… you would've…”

You cupped his face, forcing him to stop his self-torment and look up at you. To remind him that whatever horror still clawing at his being was no longer real, because you were fine, you were alive, and you were here with him. His cheeks were wet, flushed with the remnants of grief and an exhaustion that had been postponed for far too long. The pain in his eyes had dimmed the blue in his irises to gray.

“I'm fine now, Bucky,” you murmured, misty eyes and traces of salt on the tip of your tongue. “You did it. You saved me.”

“I shouldn't have had to,” he said, shaking his head as if trying to reject the truth. “You shouldn't have been in that situation in the first place. You should've been safe. I was supposed to protect you.”

“You did, Bucky. You did protect me.”

“Not enough.”

“Baby, look at me.” Your voice is firm, a lighthouse cutting through a war-born fog. Bucky's forehead furrowed as his eyes locked with yours, as if he still struggled to believe that the you in front of him weren't simply a mirage. “You brought me back, Buck. You didn’t lose me. I'm here because of you.”

His breath hitched.

His lips quivered.

You leaned down, pressing your forehead gently to his, ignoring the strain it caused to your wound because this—the man you held inside your palms, this tender moment you shared after everything the universe had put you through—was far more important than any pain you could ever feel.

“You didn't lose me,” you repeated.

There was silence in the next breath, a sacred one commonly heard in the space between lightning and thunder. You could feel his every exhale, shallow and staggered, like a beast coaxed out of fight but still bristling with a proliferate instinct.

After a stuttered heartbeat, his metal arm slithered around your waist, his flesh one wrapping around your hand again, tighter this time.

“Say it again,” he begged, barely audible. “Please.”

“You didn't lose me,” you uttered. “I'm here, I’m alive, and I’m not going anywhere.”

He crushed you against him then—still careful, still gentle—but underneath the heedfulness, his desperation bled through. Gripping you like you were the only thing that mattered in this vast universe, like he wanted to fold you into himself and keep you some place where danger and death could never lurk over you again.

You felt Bucky's lips on your skin, grazing along your shoulder, moving up the curve of your neck, your jaw, and your cheek. Worshipping you with prayers shaped as a thousand reverent kisses, moving like he was searching for the evidence that you were real, like he was memorizing a miracle while time was still ticking.

And when his mouth finally found yours, the press of his lips wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t greedy.

It was trembling.

He kissed you as if you were the divine being who granted him life, respiring your moans and gasps as if they were the instruments needed to mend his ruptured soul. Bucky tasted like every future you were always too scared to envision for yourself—the promise of companionship, affection, and happiness that had once been too surreal for your heart to believe in. But now, in this moment with him, they all suddenly became inevitable.

You kissed him back, slowly, cradling his face between your hands to hold together all of the fractured pieces that forged his being. Time slipped away in the hush where sorrow once lived, getting you lost in everything Bucky, until eventually, your lungs had to force you to part and come up for air.

“I love you,” Bucky confessed, holding onto your wrists to keep you tethered to him. To this moment. And to life itself.

Your thumb brushed the apple of his cheek, catching a silent tear, leaning in to steal another kiss from the corner of his mouth.

“I love you, too,” you whispered.

A sound between a sob and relief escaped him, and Bucky buried his face in the unwounded crook of your neck, breathing you in like he had been suffocating for days and had finally resurfaced for air. His arms stayed enveloped around you as he murmured praises against your skin—thanking the Gods for listening to his prayers, thanking the universe, thanking you. Paying reverence for the mercy that fate had bestowed over a mangled man such as himself.

You stayed like that for a long time. His weight against your side, his heartbeats slowly steadying beneath your touch. The monitors beeped gently beside you, grounding the two of you to reality, an anchor in the otherwise stagnant room. But in that moment, the only sound that mattered—the only one you cared about—was the soft inhale and exhale of your breaths, a proof of life, shared within the modest spaces that felt more freeing than a hummingbird flying over an open field.

Gradually, the room began to fade into silence.

And in the safety of Bucky's embrace, you had never appreciated the quiet more.

Taglist: @steph88x @athenabarnes @sugarmummystuff6 @wintercrows @jay-jaystevebuckyloki @spideysimpossiblegirl @vainillacookie @mazzaroni-cheese @killerwendigo @s-r-reads @nydubs @rafeskai @unpeellievable @thisismyacc11 @rimunagenius @buckygirls @buckyslove1917 @defn0tonyourleft @buhangini @infinitymitten @lemonhead456 @thescooponsof @buckytheloveofmylife95 @mizukiqr @littlegreenjellybean @p3nis-parker @shortlikerdj @onlyheluvsme @theschoolbasketcase @jjulesii @jvanilly @seaskysunrise @minminswag04 @dameronspector @buckybarnesfic @nameless-ken @marie-sworld @silverwolfeyes @idkitsem @waiting-so-long @redtabularasa @buckyinluv @ghostytoasty17 @moreadsfic @chlovocaine @mcira @personal-fanfic-storage @spookyreads @eternalsams @the-sunflower-room

[invincibledc]

Sticky Situation

✮⋆˙ Genre: Drabble/fluff ✮⋆˙

ִ ࣪✮🕷 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐘𝐒𝐎𝐍 𝐗 𝐒𝐏𝚰𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐍!𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑ִ ࣪✮🕷

Side eye. Y/n stared at mark who looked up on the ceiling to see his best friend just crawling to get the sticky hand off the roof.

“What are you doing?” Mark questions as he closed his door before his mom could see. “Getting my sticky hand…” y/n said as if that was obvious.

Mark’s neutral face fell as he could help but laugh at the spider human who jumped off the roof with the sticky hand.

Y/n, being the smart and dumb person mark knows, slung the sticky hand at mark’s face. Making mark flinch with it sticking to his face. “Hey! It still sticks.”

[godjustkys]

PLEASEPLEADEPLEASE bottom Bucky Barnes......... maybe reader saving Bucky from Hydra, taking him home, offering care and affection. Reader doing all sorts of stuff for Bucky, finding him a good therapist, making sure he sleeps and eats well, giving him reassurance. It's just a matter of time before Bucky falls in love and shyly confesses, reader being eager to start a relationship.Relationship seemed to escalate quickly , from holding hands to kissing, typically reader making the first move. However, reader would find any excuse to not move it further to the bedroom. Bucky pent up and frustrated and one day takes the matter in his hands.

THEME: bucky wants you. he wants you bad.

CHARACTER: male reader x bucky barnes

NOTE: taking care of bucky in all the ways possible, yes I love it >:) plus an emotionally intelligent reader because WHO CAN STOP ME?

p.s. requests are always open!

WARNING: praise,, yearner!bucky,, eventual smut,, big dick!reader (i can't help it..),, pillow princess!bucky,, very light nipple play,, dirty talk,, creampie,, unprotected sex,,

bucky was.. in shambles, to say the least. he was sitting in your car after his therapy session, eyes a bit wide as he stared out of the windshield. you found him in distress near a hydra base. you took him in more than half a year ago. like some dog. you didn't care how hostile he was towards you, you took your time, you were patient. if you told bucky a year ago that he would actually fit into society, poor guy would never believe it. “how was it?” your voice cut his thoughts off and he gave you a small glance, blinking more times than necessary. “she was okay.” bucky muttered. okay? god, that therapist was amazing.

you had taken him to seven different therapists already. at first, with the first three, bucky came up with excuses on why they were awful to him because the thought of therapy made him uncomfortable and he didn’t think he needed it. though, soon enough, he realized you weren’t giving up and he was going to have to go to therapy either way. he did throw a couple hissy fits here and there, but then bucky found himself wanting to comply with what you ask of him. why? he didn’t know.

“that’s better than that ‘fuckass bitch’ of a therapist you went to see a couple months ago, right?” you quoted his words, keeping your eyes on the road as you smiled. bucky’s eyebrows furrowed slightly and he shifted in his seat. “yeah.” he uttered begrudgingly. he wasn’t lying, that one therapist seemed like he liked to play pretend, plus he was just downright awful and inconsiderate. and he charged a lot of money for a single fifty minute session. couldn’t even spare the last ten fucking minutes.

after you got home, you heated him up a meal that you made in the morning. considering he was a super soldier, you took your time making food for him that had enough calories to fulfill his hunger without making him overeat. bucky was sitting at the kitchen island on a stool, his hands on the counter itself as he oh so patiently waited for his meal. you would never get this out of him, but he loved the way you made his food and how you let him eat snacks he wants. bucky was swinging his feet off of the stool a bit, in an unconscious manner as he waited. after you set the plate of food down in front of him, bucky stared at you, watching you put the utensils next to the plate. “eat up,” you said softly, patting his shoulder a couple times. “yea. thanks.” he got out, his heart fluttering as he looked at his food.

after another week or so, bucky realized he was in love with you. like, he was down bad. sure, he was a bit behind on today’s society, given the circumstances of his situation, but he was no fool. he started getting more.. physical with you. more of touching, which you had avoided and tried to do as less as possible, once again, given how uncomfortable he was with it. the two of you were sitting on a couch, watching a movie. bucky was sitting not too far from you, eyeing you the whole time and not once looking at the TV screen. “can i- lie down?” he asked softly, his voice a whisper. oh yeah, these questions you got a lot of recently. “yea, ‘course, go ‘head.” you told him with a small nod. you had placed a pillow in your lap just because, but bucky used it as an opportunity. he laid his head down in your lap on the pillow, turning to his side and facing the TV. that wasn’t what you were expecting at all. you smiled, not saying a thing to avoid making bucky uncomfortable. he settled, his cheeks heating up barely. the feeling made his brows furrow but he ignored it. during the night, bucky barely slept. due to the nightmares and the fear of having those nightmares again. but now, he was completely content and asleep.

when he woke up, it was already dark out, but you were still there. his metal arm was placed just above your knee, gripping slightly. you didn’t move his hand. you trusted him. the realization sent a pang of affection through bucky and he started shifting. that was only one instance though. he had his own room, but he would come in the middle of the night to yours, holding a pillow in his hand, his hair messy and face scrunched up, asking if he could sleep with you for the night. even though he was so reluctant about it, and don’t forget snarky, he always got comfortable next to you, even if he was facing away. the more time passed, the more he started sleeping in your room.

“do you like me?” bucky blurted out, his voice flat as he stared at the plate of food. the two of you were having dinner in silence. until this moment, to be exact. you looked up at him and raised a brow. “i’m taking care of you, aren’t i? i wouldn’t be if I didn’t like you and who you were as a person.” you responded calmly after chewing your bite. “i meant like a.. a significant other,, or something. do you like me like that?” he made eye contact with you, his facial expression giving his nervousness away. you paused. “what makes you say that?”

“i like you.” bucky stated, his hands in his lap, fidgeting with his fingers as he looked at the table instead of you. “maybe I’m not supposed to. but i do. is that stupid?” he was starting to second-guess himself. almost immediately. “it’s not weird.” you reassured him. “i like you, too.” you placed your fork down. “do you want our relationship to change? or is the way that we are right now enough for you?” you inquired gently, not wanting to pressure him at all. “it’s okay for us to be together, right? It’s normal now?” his eyes met yours, his voice trembling just a slight bit. he was so nervous, so shy. for the first time around you, he was being vulnerable. “people are tolerant nowadays, it’s okay.” you, once again, reassured him.

“then, what.” bucky said. “what does that make us, if we’re in a relationship?” yeah, 40’s were a bit rough.. “boyfriends.” you gave him a simple answer. “we can be that.” he muttered, lifting up his fork and picking at the food with it for a moment. “okay, boyfriends it is.” you grinned, turning your attention back to your food. after this incident, cuddles ensued. seriously, bucky was sticking to you like velcro. at night, he would sleep soundly in your arms. when you went to the gym to work out, he would constantly ask you to spot him even though he never fucking needed it, he just wanted you there. he would have his arms wrapped around you as you made food. he would be glued to your side if you were sitting on the couch or he would he holding your hand whenever he could if you would be doing tasks around the house.

you started giving him gentle kisses; not on the lips, you thought it was too soon. On his forehead, on his cheek, on the corner of his mouth.. but.. after this kiss - the kiss you gave him just now, on the corner of his mouth, had him staring at you, his lips slightly parted. you noticed it, staring right back. “what?” you said. bucky shook his head ever so slightly, shrugging his shoulders. “nothin’..” he mumbled, his gaze shifting to your lips. ah, he wanted a real kiss? you gave in after a moment, the look on bucky’s face almost guilt-tripping you. pressing your lips to his in a tender and sweet kiss, bucky just stood there. after you pulled away and offered him a smile, bucky fucking folded. his abdomen tensed as he felt nothing but butterflies in his stomach.

that kiss heightened bucky’s bravery. he would kiss you in the most random moments possible; when you were on a phone call, when you were washing cups, when you were writing, in summary, whenever he wanted. you didn’t mind at all, to be honest. he was getting comfortable around you, opening up to his therapist more, sleeping better, eating better, all the good stuff. though, what started frustrating bucky was when you would avoid his advances. at first he thought you were uncomfortable with it and he was ready to stop trying to take it further. but no, you wouldn’t go along with it because you weren’t sure it was truly what he wanted. another week passed and bucky was reaching his limit. he kept muttering ‘i’m ready’ or ‘let’s do it’ to you when kissing turned to making out, but like every other time, you would stop him from taking it further.

you were sitting on the couch, watching a show. it was late at night and bucky already went to sleep. or so you thought. the only thing illuminating the living room was the TV. your attention shifted to the sound of footsteps, bucky’s bare feet barely even making noise. he stopped not too far from you, an exaggerated frown on his sleepy face, his hair messy. he was standing there, only in his boxers, dejected, his shoulders slumped and hunched forward slightly. “why aren’t you in bed.” he muttered grumpily, his voice groggy from sleep. oh, he must’ve woken up and not found you in bed yet. “i’ll be there in a minute, buck. i’m sorry.” you told him with a small apologetic smile, your gaze shifting back to the TV. bucky stood there for a moment, and once you made no move to get up and get in bed with him, he huffed. he waddled forward, stepping in front of you to climb into your lap, his knees on either sides of your thighs, arms wrapped around your shoulders and face buried in your neck. you almost shivered; due to his cold metallic arm. “bucky, c’mon.” you muttered, placing a hand on his back as he settled. he let out a small groan of protest, making himself comfortable. as if he wasn’t a 260 pound man. you placed your other hand on his waist, your touch light. bucky lifted his head up, pressing a short, slow peck to your lips. then again. and again. and again. until you were making out with him.

you hummed against his lips, both of your hands now on his hips, just holding him gently. “i’m ready.” bucky said between the kisses, which eventually turned sloppy due to the added tongues. “i’m fucking ready so just..” he paused, his tongue sliding against yours almost desperately, eyes shut tightly and eyebrows furrowed. he pulled back to speak. “just fuck me.” he breathed, his chest rising and falling as he regulated his oxygen intake. you were about to protest, like always, but bucky cut you off. “no bullshit, okay? you think— you think i won’t stop you if i don’t like something?” he said impatiently, his hips pressing more firmly to yours. you inhaled sharply at the sensation, eyes locked onto bucky’s.

carrying a man of pure muscle while feverishly kissing him wasn’t so easy, but you did it, placing him on the bed and crawling on top of him, your legs between his spread thighs. despite holding back, god did you want this for so long. “m’sorry i made you wait..” you muttered softly, your lips trailing down his neck to his chest, a soundless gasp leaving bucky’s lips. his hands were resting lightly on your shoulders, as your own were fixing his position up, pulling him closer to you by his thighs. he squirmed underneath you as your lips teasingly grazed his nipple. “ghh..” he groaned out, pressing his head to the pillow underneath. you teased the bud, swirling your tongue around it and sucking lightly. he squeezed your shoulder with his right hand, avoiding the use of his metallic one for now.

bucky’s chest was heaving, his half-lidded eyes staring down at your face as you looked up at him through your eyelashes. god, he was pretty. you pulled your mouth away, distracting bucky with small gentle kisses across his torso as you spoke. “don’t have lube.” you managed between your ministrations. “don’t care..” bucky breathed, his metal arm trailing up to the back of your head. his fingers grasped at your hair, letting out a soft pitiful whine. bucky’s chest was rising and falling in heavy, shaky breaths, his body already glistening with sweat. his hair was stuck to his forehead, lashes heavy as he looked up at you from where he laid spread open on the bed. he looked ruined — and you hadn’t even touched him properly yet. his metal hand tightened in your hair, keeping you close as your mouth pressed lazy kisses down to his inner thighs, just teasing him, savoring the way he twitched under you. bucky wasn’t trying to be tough tonight. he wanted to be touched. “you sure?” you asked quietly, sliding up his body, nudging his nose with yours. bucky nodded once, quickly, breath catching when your bulge brushed against his clothed cock. “yeah. i want it. just do it.”

you pressed your lips to his in a deep, slow, filthy kiss, reaching down to discard bucky’s boxers in a rather swift movement. he made soft little sounds against your mouth as he assisted you, the cool air making him shiver. after somehow stripping yourself down between the kisses, you stroked yourself a couple times, spreading the precum that was already on your tip; you couldn’t help it, he was just so perfect. you carefully lined yourself up, your hands moving to grip bucky’s thighs as you pushed in inch by inch, giving him time to breathe, to adjust. bucky’s back arched off the bed, his metal hand clawing at your scalp as his voice broke into a soft, desperate whimper. “Ahh—f-fuck..”

“relax, baby. i got you,” you whispered, brushing his hair back and out of his eyes, your lips dragging down his stubbly jaw. bucky whimpered again; a quiet, helpless sound. his muscles trembled under you as you sank in deeper. his legs wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer even though his eyes were already glassy with the painful stretch. “God, you’re— fuck—” he muttered, as if he couldn’t quite believe it. eventually, you bottomed out and stayed there, pressed deep inside, letting him feel all of you. your hands roamed all over his body slowly — his hips, his stomach, his chest; it grounded him. “you’re doing so good,” you said softly, kissing down his cheek to his throat. “you’re perfect like this. so tight, so warm…” bucky let out a soft moan at that, almost a sob, his hand clutching at you like he needed something to hold onto or he’d drift away. then you pulled back, just a little, and rolled your hips in a slow, grinding motion. “oh god—” bucky gasped out, nails digging into your back. “again.. don’t stop—”

you started fucking him slowly, letting the rhythm build, the slick sounds of skin on skin and bucky’s broken little moans filling the room. his mouth hung open, whimpering with every thrust, his head lolling back against the pillow. “you like that, buck?” you asked, fucking into him a little harder. “you like being filled up like this? is this what you wanted?”

“yes,” he groaned, voice cracking, “yes, I love it— I love you, fuck—!”

you stilled barely for a moment, stunned, looking down at him. bucky’s eyes fluttered open, pupils blown wide and eyes wild. “i meant it,” he whispered softly, “i— i meant it.” with that sweet little reassurance, you kissed him hard, possessive, fucking him deeper now. bucky broke open under you completely, moaning with every thrust. “i love you, too. so much.” you rasped out, your hands resting on his ribs. “m’right here, buck. gonna fuck you nice and deep ‘til you forget everything else. just me and you. jus’ me ‘n you, sweetheart.” your voice got more slurred at the end, but for what it’s worth, it made bucky clutch you tight, as if wanting to mold his body against yours. pitiful, filthy sounds left his pretty lips as you dragged your cock out slowly, only to push back in just as deep, the force of your thrusts making the bed creak. your fingers were soothing his burning skin like you were trying to keep him together while tearing him apart. the way he stretched around your cock, no, forget that, the way he clenched when you pushed harder.. you were starting to regret waiting this long.

you were moving with control; the kind that made it worse for him. you weren’t speeding up, just fucking him deep, steady, and full. like you were trying to make his hole commit every singular inch of your cock to memory. “ghh— ah- i can’t—” bucky whined, his breath ragged, his hole clenching around your length. “you’re b— being mean,” he practically sobbed out, his eyes screwed shut. “more.. c’mon..” he added, his mouth right next to your ear. your stomach was filled with nothing but butterflies at the sound of bucky’s broken voice, so you did what you had to — you sped up, fucking him rougher. his whines turned more frantic, louder, his moans got higher pitched and sloppier, less controlled, eyes fluttering closed if he even managed to get them open. the cold metal arm let go of your scalp and his hand trailed to the nape of your neck, the chilly vibranium material just sending a shiver down your spine. you let soft groans and grunts leave your lips. both of your hands trailed to his thighs, pushing them up slightly so you could get a better angle. once you did; oh holy fucking shit.

bucky choked on your name, his whole body jumping. he gasped sharply, his hand clamping down on your wrist. “f-fuck—what was that?” he gasped out. you did it again, slower this time — dragging your motion until his breath caught and a helpless, broken sound escaped him. his metal fingers gripped the pillow, knuckles tight, chest heaving. “there,” you murmured. “right there. that’s it, isn’t it?” bucky nodded, moaning through gritted teeth as you kept up the pressure. his body trembled beneath you, thighs twitching. his voice was wrecked— low and breathy, falling apart with every grind. his thighs locked around you more tightly, fuck, he even tried to squirm away the more you hit his prostate. “no no no, right— here.. stay, baby.” you murmured breathlessly, holding onto him firmly. he asked for this. he’s getting it. bucky was getting restless; writhing, his toes curling, muscles tensing, chest arching up. a literal mess, that’s what he was. he whined helplessly, the sound broken, bordering on a sob. he let go of you completely, both of his hands finding purchase above, on the headboard — he grasped it, throwing his head back simultaneously. his cock was leaking and twitching so much it was almost embarrassing. bucky’s abs clenched as you continued to abuse his prostate. “ah-hahhaaah—” he cried out, tears filling his waterline as he scrunched his face up.

bucky was unraveling beneath you.

bucky’s voice had lost all control — gone was the sharp discipline, the soldier’s restraint. low, needy, guttural groans were pulled out of him with each rock of your hips. he wasn’t even speaking in full sentences, just fractured words. “gunna— gunna cum— shit, i can’t..” he rambled, his voice breathless and hoarse. when you continued the relentless fucking, his voice got more raw and desperate. somehow, the deeper you managed to get in him, the more you drew from bucky — he was gasping his way through it, he even started chanting your name under his breath, like it meant salvation. “please,” he whimpered, voice trembling. “don’t stop— don’t stop— please, m’so close—!” you kissed the edge of his jaw and whispered against his skin, “then let go for me, baby. let me hear you, make a mess.”

and he did.

with a shuddering sob, body so taut and shaking, bucky came hard, breath punched out of him, his moans spilling uncontrollably from his lips. his legs trembled as he clung to you, riding it out with soft, broken sounds and whispered curses. almost at the same time you came inside him, your cock twitching as your cum pooled deep inside him. the feeling earned another pathetic whine and he subconsciously rolled into you, his hips stuttering. his body was slick with sweat, drool on the corner of his mouth and down his chin. his hair was a mess, as he was himself. thank god he made that move, otherwise he would’ve missed out on being fucked so damn good.

[dorkszn]

LOGAN with bunny mutant!reader | 18+

male reader, bunny boy!reader, pet names, praise, subbot reader, slight boot riding, cowgirl, yk how hugh said he doesn’t have a safe word… how he doesn’t like to stop, tail pulling, slightly mean dom!logan, I’ve never seen any of the x-men or wolverine movies so not too much

Days where Logan is just sitting on the couch of the room you two share in the X-Mansion. Wearing a hoodie that isn’t all the way zipped up, displaying his muscular chest that you could just bury your face in for hours. And his cargos that sit a little loose around his waist despite the belt he wears.

When he’s just watching whatever is playing on the TV and you ponder into the room. Your eyes on him and him alone. Oh-so-innocent-shaped eyes with such a lustful glint in them. You just stroll over to him, blocking his view of the TV for just a split second before you’re on your knees in front of him, your chin on his knee and your core resting perfectly on his boot.

He pays you no mind, keeping his eyes on the TV. He’s doing it on purpose. A slight pout forms on your lips. “Lo,” you call out softly, looking up at him with those eyes he can never say no to. You roll your hips slightly, trying to create some friction for yourself.

“What’s up, Bub?” Logan finally acknowledges you when you call out his name, his eyes falling on yours. A small, fanged smirk grows on his face as he feels you pitifully grind yourself against his boot through the fabric of your shorts.

“Want you, Lo,” you sigh, resting your cheek against his knee. Your hands absentmindedly fidgeting with his pants leg.

“Yeah, you wanna play, darlin’?” Logan asks, still smirking down at you. You perk up at that. You enthusiastically nod against the fabric of his cargos. Logan’s eyes trail your body. Not missing the way your little cotton tail swishes feverishly behind you. The way you’re pressing yourself right against his shoe. How could he say no to that?

It’s only so long before his large, calloused hands are holding the soft flesh of your hips. He’s laid back on the couch with your legs straddling him, the muscles in them shifting as you fuck yourself on his cock. His hoodie unzipped completely and the fabric spilled onto the couch.

“Fuck, there we go, baby,” Logan groans, watching the way his thick cock disappears inside of you with each movement of your hips. Your bottom lip caught between your teeth as you chase that feeling, that euphoric feeling that it seems like only Logan can give you. “Pretty little bunny takin’ me so fucking good.” He says through labored breaths, his head falling back against the couch’s cushions.

Your chest heaving as you suck in him. Your gummy walls stretch around him each time he fills you again, clinging to him so perfectly. You seem to be the only one who can handle Logan and his stamina and he seems like the only one who can handle you.

“Logan~” you moan breathlessly, that knot in your stomach getting dangerously tighter with every little ‘plap’ that comes from your ass meeting his hips. Your pretty eyes hazed over with lust falling shut for a moment.

“Yeah, baby? Want me to help you? Does the little bunny need help?” Logan pants, his eyes glued to that pretty little fucked out expression on your face. And gosh, he couldn’t be happier when you nod through a shaky breath. His hands gripping your hips a little tighter as he helps you up and down his cock.

Logan’s breath quickens with every tug on your hips, every tug that makes you take him deeper. Every little moan and mewl that falls from your lips goes straight from his ears to the pit of his stomach and his groin.

His hands shifted to grab the plump flesh of your ass, his fingers digging into the flesh harshly. His legs shifting so he can fuck up into you. His hips meeting yours roughly, the quick drags of his dick stroking every inch of you dragging heavy grunts and labored breaths from Logan. Your hips stuttered to meet his.

“Oh c’mon baby, no way you’re getting tired on me already,” Logan comments, watching the way you slightly struggle to match him. He knows you too well. Suddenly, one of his hands moves from your ass to grab that soft, wagging tail that sits right where your ass and your hips meet.

“Logan—! Don’t— fucking— hah, do that,” you squeal in breathless whimpers when he roughly grabs your tail. The energy that you had seemingly lost returned as you brought your hips up again, meeting his in the perfect little rhythm.

“Aw, why not? Look how excited you get,” Logan teases, giving the scut a little tug. A weak moan of his name pulls from your throat, your finger pads that sat on his board chest pressing into the skin slightly. “C’mon, bunny boy, you wanted it, now take it like you know how to.”

A shot of pleasure shoots down your spine as you listen to his hoarse words. “Hngh— Logan, please,” you plead, leaning down and burying your face in his neck. Not quite sure what you’re pleading for but the words just mindlessly fall from your lips.

“Don’t worry, darlin’, I ain’t stopping.”

[2kiran]

YOU GET IT. MATTHEW MURDOCK IS A BOTTOM. A BOTTOM. we need him sluttier I swear....

Roommate! Matt who habitually walks around in your shared apartment adorned with just your hoodie and his boxers. It’s meant to tease you—to tempt you into touching him. Sometimes, he’d go out of his way to wear one of your shirts and nothing else. His strong, plump thighs would tense up whenever you’re close to him, and he’ll grin the moment he feels your stare. His backside would peak under the material too, and occasionally, his half-hard cock would strain under the fabric that belonged to you.

It’s not like he can help himself. Your items, specifically your clothing, bear your heady, mesmerizing scent, and you smell really good. You can’t expect him to go on ignoring that.

Roommate! Matt who habitually and consensually tugs the waistband of your pants down, especially when you’re trying to focus on something. Don’t blame him, he just needs your cock inside of him too much to the point that you’re fucking him a little more than half of the time you’re with him.

He particularly likes the feeling of his greedy hole swallowing the girth of your cock, his arms curling around your neck. Matt will deliberately clench around you when you don’t look or touch him for a while when he’s cockwarming you, just to get you to pay at least a fraction of your attention to him. If you do get somewhat pissed at him for distracting you, he’ll pepper sweet kisses all over your face as an apology.