Bot Besties

Studies is in "I'm gonna kill everyone / why are you breathing so loud" phase of the period and Stud isn't brave enough to face his girl, but still sends Alpine in this dangerous mission:

https://vm.tiktok.com/ZMr3SGjQq/

Oh, nonnie, Stud KNOWS it's a bad period when Smartie gets to that point. It's why you actually choose to remove yourself from the living room because you don't want to snap at him. If you snap at him, you might start crying because he has to breathe and it isn't his fault. Then you'll get upset because you're crying and wondering why your body is punishing you again, as if you forget that this happens every month. And then you get angry that it keeps happening every single month and-

Yeah, it's best to just go to your room.

Bucky can't let you suffer like that. He wants to help, but how does he do so without setting you off? Alpine, of course. Beautiful, smart, agile Alpine who can easily carry the little baggie that he put together.

"This is dangerous territory, Al," Bucky says, giving her a quick pet once she has the bag. "But you're a brave soldier and she needs this."

Alpine gets it. She wastes no time heading to your room and sneaking in after Bucky cracks the door open just enough for her to sneak in. She spots you curled up on the bed, almost looking like a cat yourself. You jolt when she jumps on the bed.

"Alpine, how the hell did..." You trail off as a little baggie is dropped in front of you, raising an eyebrow at it. "What's this?"

Alpine paws at the bag, encouraging you to open it. Inside is some aspirin to help you with any pain, some chocolate because you love it even when you aren't on your period, an eye mask for relaxing later, and a little note. A tear falls on the piece of paper as you read it.

"Sorry for breathing so loud. You just make me lose my breath. I love you."

You have to laugh. It's so adorable and so cheesy and so Stud. God, you really lucked out with him.

"Thanks," you whisper as Alpine rubs her head against you. "And thank you, mouth breather!" From the other side of the door you hear, "Mouth breather?!"

You giggle again as you wipe your eye. It feels good to laugh. "I love you, Stud!"

"Love you, too, Smartie. I'll order a pizza."

And when you two have dinner, you won't mind how loud he breathes because he's perfect.

Love and thanks! ❤️

Supermarket Scare

This idea is originally from @rosenclaws and I HAD to write it. (They actually did turn it into a fic which is here) I took the idea, changed a few things (Logan is boy dad in this one I fear), and idk I guess this is what came out of it lmfao

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Reader

Tropes: MILF reader <3

Warnings: None that I know of

Other tags: Logan who is GREAT with kids, but doesn’t know it, extra dramatic backstory that may not be legally accurate bc I said so

Background: You’re raising your adopted son, Arlo, on your own. Wade, Al, and Logan live down the hall from you.

Description: While shopping at the grocery store, you don’t realize that Arlo has let go of the shopping cart. When you look down to talk to him, you realize that he’s gone. Thank god for Wade’s new roommate.

    “Can we get some of those little donuts?” Arlo asked, his small hand gripping the shopping cart as you walked down the bread aisle. He knew the rule, if he wanted to walk instead of riding in the cart, he had to hold onto the cart.

    “Sure,” you hummed, “What kind? The chocolate ones or the white powdered ones?” You asked.

    “The white ones,” he decided. “They’re yummy.”

    “White ones it is,” you nodded, stopping the cart in front of the bread you needed. Turning away, you reached up and grabbed a loaf of bread. “You wanna pick out some cereal while we’re here too?” You asked, turning back to the cart, only to find that Arlo was gone. 

    Looking down the aisle, he was nowhere to be seen.

================

    Logan stood on one side of the aisle, observing the different kinds of granola bars. Why were there so many goddamn flavors anyway? His focus was drawn away from the boxes on the shelves when he felt a tug on his pants.

    Looking down, he saw a young boy with tears falling down his cheeks.

    “Uh,” Logan froze, not sure how to interact with a child. “Hi.”

    “I can’t find my mama,” the boy cried, his tears coming down harder.

    “What does she look like?” He asked, kneeling down so he was closer to the kid’s height.

    The boy only cried in response, clearly scared and missing his mom.

    “Alright,” he replied, looking around as he stood up and tried to decide what to do. “Let’s go to the front of the store. Then they can find your mom, okay?”

    The boy nodded, letting go of Logan’s pants to hold out both arms at the man. Grabby hands. How could anyone say no to that?

    Logan sighed, debating it in his head before leaning down and scooping the boy into his arms. As he walked to the front of the store, the boy’s tears slowed until they eventually came to a stop. The boy laid his head down on Logan’s shoulder while one of his hands held an iron grip on the front of Logan’s flannel.

    “Excuse me,” Logan spoke, walking up to the customer service desk.

    “How can I help you?” The woman at the desk asked.

    “He can’t find his mom,” Logan explained, nodding towards the boy in his arms.

    “Let me make an announcement,” the worker gave the boy a sympathetic smile. She picked up a phone from the counter, putting it up to her ear and hitting a few buttons on the keypad. “Attention shoppers, we have a lost little boy at the customer service desk. If he is your child, please come pick him up.” After the announcement was made, she hung the phone up.

    “Alright, kid,” Logan said. “Now you just gotta wait for your mom to come get you.”

    “I’m Cherie,” the worker spoke softly to the boy. “You wanna stay here with me while we wait on your mom?” She offered, holding out her hands.

    Logan moved to pull the child away from him and hand him to Cherie, but Arlo began to cry again. His grip on Logan’s flannel tightened.

    “C’mon kid, you gotta let go,” Logan encouraged.

    The boy cried harder, bawling as he tried to desperately stay in Logan’s arms.

    “It’s alright, angel,” Cherie hushed. Based on her tone, Logan could tell that this woman had certainly dealt with kids before. She was definitely a better person to watch the boy temporarily, but kids want what they want.

    “Okay, okay,” Logan relented, holding the boy close to his chest again. “I’ll stay, just stop crying. You don’t have to cry.” He looked to the worker, “I’ll stay with him ‘til his mom gets here.”

    Despite being secure in Logan’s arms again, the tears didn’t stop.

    “Shhh,” Logan attempted, gently swaying with the boy in his arms. He wasn’t sure what he was doing, but he’d seen mothers do it with their babies before.

    The tears just kept coming.

    Logan looked around, spotting a small display of stuffed animals. He reached out with one hand, grabbing the first one he could and holding it up in front of the boy.

    “Look at this,” he redirected the boy’s attention, shaking the toy slightly.

    Sniffling a few times, the boy in his arms slowly stopped crying. He used his free hand to grab the animal, pulling it to his chest.

    “Fox,” he said simply, looking at the orange and white stuffie in his arm. “I like foxes. Thanks.” His voice was barely more than a whisper.

    “Yeah, it’s a fox. You’re welcome,” Logan nodded, just happy that he had made the kid stop crying. With his free hand, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a few dollars. “For the fox,” he commented to the worker, who just smiled and nodded.

    Logan moved to sit down on a bench in the customer service area. As expected, the boy refused to move from his lap. So, there they sat. Logan, a mutant, and on his lap, a lost kid holding a stuffed fox. Quite the pair.

================

    “Oh thank god!” You exclaimed as you walked into the customer service area. “Arlo!”

    “Mama!” Arlo exclaimed from where he sat on a man’s lap.

    “Told you she’d be here,” the man said as he helped Arlo down from his lap. He looked familiar, but you were more concerned about Arlo.

    The moment his feet hit the ground, Arlo was running towards you with his arms reaching out.

    As he reached you, you dropped to one knee so you could wrap your arms around him. Your arms held him tightly to your chest.

    “Honey, I’m so glad you’re okay. I was so worried,” you breathed out, closing your now teary eyes as you held him.

    “I’m sorry,” he said softly, beginning to cry as you held him.

    “Hey, it’s alright, sweetheart,” you assured, pulling away enough so you could see each other’s faces. “You’re not in trouble. Just promise me you won’t run off like that ever again.”

    “I promise,” he nodded, leaning back in to cling to you.

    You slowly stood, picking Arlo up as you did so.

    “Thank you so much,” you spoke to the man that had been with Arlo, who was now standing. Now that you got a good look at him, you knew why you recognized him. “Wait, you’re Wade’s roommate, aren’t you?” You asked.

    Logan gives you a strange look, so you continue talking.

    “We live down the hall,” you explained. “Arlo loves talking Wade’s ear off whenever we run into each other.”

    “Probably because they’re on the same learning level,” Logan joked. He held out a hand for you to shake as he introduced himself. “Logan.”

    You supported Arlo on your hip as you took his hand in yours. As you shook his hand, you gave him your name in return.

    “And, of course, you’ve met Arlo,” you added, letting go of his (very warm, very large) hand and squeezing the boy in your arms for emphasis.

    “Arlo,” Logan smiled slightly at the boy. He hadn’t expected the little munchkin to grow on him so quickly, yet here he was.

    “I knew you,” Arlo stated.

    “You knew it was Logan?” You asked.

    “I knew he was Wade’s friend,” he smiled proudly. “The big guy with kitty ears,” he clarified, pointing to Logan’s hair and giggling.

    “Kitty ears?” Logan asked, raising a brow. “I’ve never gotten that before.”

    “I like them,” Arlo hummed happily. “They look like fox ears too,” he observed, holding up the stuffed fox with both hands.

    Logan let out a breathy chuckle, tucking his hands in his pockets. 

    “Thank you again,” you told Logan. “I really owe you big time,” you smiled. “It’s just me and Arlo, I don’t know what I would’ve done if something happened.”

    “No need,” Logan shook his head. Now that he’d learned it was just you and Arlo, he decided to try and flirt with you. “He’s a nice kid. And he’s got a very nice mom,” Logan gave you a small grin, which came across as more of a smirk.

    You aren’t sure how to react. It wasn’t like you had guys lining up to date you. Most of them didn’t want to flirt with a single mom. You weren’t even sure if he was flirting. What could you say? You were a little out of practice.

    “At least let me make you dinner,”  you offered. You tried not to sound too hopeful, but you were almost positive that you’d failed.

    “Pretty please,” Arlo chimed in, sticking out his bottom lip and giving Logan his most convincing puppy dog eyes.

    “Well when you put it like that,” Logan smiled, reaching a hand out to ruffle Arlo’s hair, which earned him a giggle. “I’d love to.”

    “If tomorrow night works for you, we don’t have anything going on,” you suggested.

    “Sure,” Logan nodded. “I’m free.”

    After deciding on a time, you caught a glance of your watch and realized you had to get Arlo to home to make dinner tonight.

    “We should get home, gotta finish shopping and get this little gremlin fed,” you chuckled. “Arlo, tell Logan goodbye.”

    “Bye!” Arlo gave Logan a big grin. “We can play when you come over tomorrow.”

    “Sounds fun,” Logan nodded, smiling at Arlo.

    “We’ll see you tomorrow,” you smiled. “And feel free to stop by anytime,” you added as you started to walk away.

================

    “Mama! There’s someone at the door! I bet it’s Logan,” Arlo exclaimed, running into the kitchen, where you were working on finishing dinner.

    “Okay, okay,” you chuckled, making sure nothing would burn as you wiped your hands off on a towel and headed to the door with Arlo. You checked the peephole, confirming that it was Logan, before opening the door.

    You and Logan didn’t have a chance to speak before Arlo was jumping up and down.

    “Logan!” He grinned, practically vibrating with excitement. He held both hands out for Logan.

    “Hey, bub,” Logan greeted, picking Arlo up into his arms with a small ‘woosh’ sound. He then turned his attention to you, smiling softly.

    “I’m just finishing up dinner,” you hummed, stepping aside and letting Logan in. You shut the door behind him as he toed off his shoes neatly next to the door.

    “Take your time,” Logan replied, not wanting you to feel pressured.

    “That means we can go play in the living room,” Arlo giggled. “Me and Fink were just playing in there.”

    “Fink?” Logan raised a brow. What the hell was a Fink?

    “Yeah,” he nodded. “The fox you got me. His name is Fink.”

    “Oh,” Logan chuckled softly. “We can go play with Fink before dinner as long as it’s alright with your mom.”

    “Please mama,” Arlo looked at you, giving you his brightest smile. “Can me and Logan go play while you cook?”

    “You can,” you laughed softly at Arlo’s excitement. “Play nice, okay?”

    “I will!” He promised, wriggling around until Logan put him down. He grabbed the man’s hand, tugging on it. “C’mon, c’mon, I wanna show you my toys.”

    You and Logan shared an amused look before Logan let Arlo drag him off to your living room.

================

    “Hey, you two, dinner’s rea-,” you stopped mid sentence as you walked into the living room. You hadn’t expected the scene in front of you.

    Logan sat on the floor with Arlo, who’s hair was now pulled up into two tufts on top of his head.

    “Look mama!” Arlo spoke proudly. “I asked Logan to make us match! Do we look cool?”

    “You look very cool, sweetheart,” you chuckled softly. “You’re both very handsome. But even cool guys have to eat dinner.”

    “Yeah, to be big and strong,” Arlo nodded, hopping up from the floor and rushing off to the table.

    Logan stood up from the floor, groaning softly.

    “Didn’t know you were a hairdresser,” you joked as he began following you to the table as well.

    “Well when he gives me those big puppy eyes, I can’t say no,” Logan defended.

    “You’ve got me there,” you chuckled softly. “You can go sit at the table, I’ll bring in dinner.”

================

    Dinner with Logan felt good. Domestic. Arlo yapped about his current favorite show while you and Logan chuckled. As much as you loved Arlo, you did want to talk to Logan without having every other sentence be about Nubs the pooba boy from a Star Wars show Arlo was obsessed with.

    “Alright, bud, it’s time to head to bed,” you hummed to Arlo. After dinner, the three of you had stayed at the table talking, and now it was time for him to get some sleep.

    “Do I have to?” Arlo frowned. “I wanna stay up and play with Logan some more.”

    “Listen to your mom,” Logan replied before you could. “If you go to bed now, we can play another time. Deal?”

    “Deal,” Arlo nodded, accepting Logan’s offer. He climbed out of his chair and walked off in the direction of his room.

    “If you wanna wait in the living room, I’ll be back out after I get him down,” you told Logan as you stood.

    Logan gave you a nod before you walked off after Arlo to help him get ready for bed.

    “I like Logan,” Arlo stated as you stepped into his room. “He’s fun.”

    You chuckled softly, getting into Arlo’s dresser to pull out a couple pairs of his favorite pajamas. One was yellow and covered in dinosaurs, while the other was light blue with green stripes.

    “Which pajamas do you wanna wear tonight?” You asked, holding up both pairs for him to pick from.

    “Dinosaurs!” He grinned.

    “Dinosaurs it is,” you nodded, putting the other pajamas back in the drawer for another night.

    Once Arlo was changed into his pajamas, you helped him brush his teeth. The two of you went back into his room so that he could lay down.

    “Wait!” Arlo gasped before he could climb into bed. “I have to go get Fink and tell Logan goodnight.”

    Of course he had to tell Logan goodnight. What had you been thinking?

================

    “Logan!” Arlo giggled as he ran into the living room. Logan was sitting on the couch as he waited for you to come back.

    “I thought you were going to bed,” Logan chuckled at Arlo’s energy.

    “Had to come get Fink,” Arlo answered, grabbing the stuffed fox from where he’d left it on a chair before dinner. “And I wanted to tell you goodnight,” he smiled, climbing on the couch next to Logan and wrapping his arms around the man to the best of his abilities.

    Logan was surprised, to say the least. It wasn’t exactly a regular occurrence for kids to come up and hug him. After a split second of shock, he wrapped both arms around Arlo and gave him a soft squeeze.

    “G’night,” he hummed before letting go of Arlo.

    “Goodnight,” Arlo grinned, planting a kiss on Logan’s cheek before hopping up and running back to his room where you were waiting on him.

    “You ready to go to sleep now?” You asked as he hopped up on the bed.

    “Yep!” He nodded, crawling under his blankets.

    As he got settled, you leaned over and flicked on his night light. Then, tucked him into bed, smiling as he wiggled around to get comfortable.

    “Do you think we can get ice cream with Logan and Wade one day?” Arlo asked hopefully.

    “We’ll see, sweetie,” you chuckled, leaning down to press a kiss to his forehead.

    “Goodnight, mama,” he smiled softly at you, “I love you.”

    “Night, bud. I love you,” you replied, standing from the bed and heading for the door. “Sleep tight,” you added, flicking the lightswitch and leaving his room, pulling the door closed as you did.

    Now that he was in bed, you made your way back to the living room.

    “He’s in bed,” you spoke as you entered the room. “He’ll be out in a few minutes. That kid can fall asleep anywhere,” you chuckled softly, plopping down on the couch next to Logan. You left a little bit of space between the two of you, not wanting to make things weird.

    “It must be nice,” Logan joked, an amused breath leaving his nose.

    “One time I found him asleep halfway through using the bathroom. He had his head leaned over against the toilet paper roll,” you laughed at the memory.

    “Jesus,” Logan laughed along with you. “He must keep you on your toes.”

    “You have no idea,” you chuckled, pulling one leg up onto the couch so you could face Logan as you talked. “He’s got enough energy for about a dozen kids. But when he’s out, he sleeps like the dead.”

    “He definitely has the energy,” Logan agreed. “But he seems like a good kid.”

    “He is,” you smiled proudly. “He’s a great kid. One of the sweetest kids I know. Maybe I just think that because I’m biased,” you joked.

    “I don’t think so,” Logan smiled. “He’s sweet. When he and I were playing earlier while you cooked, he was always offering to share whatever toy he had. Not a lot of kids are offering to share things.”

    “I try my best with him. I wasn’t sure if I was ready to be a mom, but then Arlo came along, and I dunno, it was just, it was right,” you spoke fondly.

    “It can’t be easy being a single mother,” Logan started, “You’re doin’ great. He’s lucky to have you.”

    “Thank you,” you said softly. Nobody had ever told you anything like that before. You weren’t really sure how to react. “I hadn’t really expected to be a single mom, but I don’t have any regrets. I adopted him when he was just a baby, but that’s a story for another time.”

    “I didn’t realize,” Logan replied. “He’s even luckier to have you than I thought, then.”

    You smiled at Logan, feeling so grateful that the mishap at the supermarket had happened. You enjoyed having him around.

=================

    “Tonight was nice,” you told Logan as you walked him to the door. It was getting late, and you had to be up the next morning.

    Logan put his shoes on while you opened the door.

    “I had a good time,” Logan smiled slightly at you as he stood.

    You both stepped into the hallway, and you pulled the door most of the way around behind you.

    “Thank you again, for yesterday,” you hummed, leaning against the wall next to your door.

    “No, thank you,” he replied, “For dinner. It’s not often I get a home cooked meal.”

    “Well, feel free to come by for more anytime,” you smiled up at him, “Even if it’s just chicken nuggets and mac n cheese, you’re more than welcome to join us.”

    Logan chuckled softly, nodding at your invitation.

    “I’d say that you two are welcome to drop by Wade and I’s place, but that is not fit for children,” he joked.

    You laughed, unable to help yourself. Joking with Logan felt so natural.

    “Well,” Logan spoke again. “I should get out of your hair, but I’ll see ya around, yeah?” He tried not to sound too hopeful.

    “Yeah, I’ll see you around,” you nodded in response.

     Logan hesitated for a fraction of a second before leaning in and placing a barely there kiss on your cheek.

    “I’d really like to see you again sometime. As a date,” he admitted. “I understand that dating is more difficult when you have a kid because you have to consider Arlo when you make decisions, but I’d like to see where this goes.” He couldn’t remember the last time he’d asked someone else, and all he could do was pray he wasn’t making a fool of himself.

    “I would love that, Logan,” you grinned. He was the first man to ever consider Arlo when it came to dating you. He seemed like the type of man to know that you had to put Arlo first. “Arlo is having a sleepover at my sister’s with his cousins this weekend. Maybe we could get dinner then? Just the two of us this time.”

    “That sounds great,” Logan nodded, trying and failing to fight off a smile. He felt like a goddamn blushing school boy. “I’ll come by at seven so we can go to dinner.”

    “Perfect,” you smiled. You leaned up, placing a quick peck on his lips. “I can’t wait.”

    Logan was shocked that you’d kissed him, but he certainly wasn’t complaining. He opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by a voice from inside your apartment.

    “Mama?” Arlo called out for you from his room. He must’ve had a nightmare or want a glass of water.

    “Duty calls,” you joked. “Goodnight Logan,” you hummed, stepping back into your apartment.

    “Night,” he replied, giving you a small nod as you shut the apartment door to go check on Arlo.

    After the door was shut, Logan realized he was smiling like an absolute idiot. He hadn’t been this excited for a date since…. He couldn’t actually remember.

    Turning on his heel, he headed down the hallway back to Wade’s. He couldn’t stop smiling.

    Walking into the apartment, he groaned as he saw Wade laying on the couch as if he had been waiting for Logan to get back.

    “Stop looking at me like that,” he huffed, shutting the door behind him.

    “Like what, peanut?” Wade shrugged. “I just wanna know how things went with the hot milf down the hall.”

    “Fuck off,” Logan rolled his eyes, dropping his keys on the entry table and walking off to go to bed.

    “I’ll take that as ‘It went great, Wade, you officially have a nephew now’. Is that about right?” He called after Logan.

    Logan ignored Wade, shaking his head. He had to admit, though, things had gone great with the hot milf down the hall. And it would only get better.

JUST A BITE

You learned quickly that Bucky Barnes had the tastebuds of a man who’d survived decades of rationed food and army chow—because he could eat anything. And not just anything… but pain. Pure, fiery, tear-inducing, sweat-on-your-brow spice.

You, on the other hand, would combust at a medium salsa.

The first time you’d gone out to eat together, he’d asked if you wanted to try a bite of his dish. You’d said yes, stupidly trusting. And when you took a mouthful of his flaming Thai curry, it was like your soul left your body for a moment.

Tears streaming, hiccuping, you’d waved wildly at him while gulping water, and all he’d done was laugh. That rare, deep laugh that lit up his entire face and made your heart flutter despite the actual hell in your mouth.

From then on, it became a silent agreement. You’d order something gentle—creamy, sweet, or mild. He’d get something that could probably strip paint. And no matter what, halfway through the meal, you’d each push your plates halfway across the table.

“Wanna trade a bite?” he’d ask casually, like this wasn’t a weekly ritual by now.

You’d glare at him every time. “One bite. One. And a small one.”

He’d just grin, breaking off a piece of your naan or scooping a bit of your pasta with practiced ease. You’d do the same, trying to find a pocket of his dish that didn’t look lava-adjacent. You never succeeded.

Tonight was no different. You were at a cozy little Indian place you’d both grown fond of. You had your creamy butter chicken with fluffy rice, and Bucky had some devil-red vindaloo that made the air around it spicy.

You exchanged bites like clockwork.

He hummed happily when he tasted yours. “God, how is this so good?”

“Because you can taste it,” you countered, taking the tiniest possible bite of his. “Oh my god—nope, still evil. Still so evil.” You grabbed your mango lassi like it was holy water.

He snorted into his water glass. “You’re so dramatic.”

“You’re a spice masochist.”

“Maybe I just like flavour, doll.”

“That isn’t flavour.. it's... it's- I dunno but it hurts”

Still, you tried it. You always tried it. Because for some reason, part of you loved the way he smiled when you did. Like he was in on a private joke with you. Like he liked knowing you’d brave the fire for him, even if it made your nose run.

And maybe… you liked feeding him a bite of yours, too. Watching his eyes flutter shut just a little at the sweetness, the softness of it.

hi, girly girl ♡♡♡

i’m re-reading your grumpy!bucky x sunshine!reader series (bc of course i am) and i was wondering, if you’re taking requests, what your thoughts are about:

💭 something happening to sunshine!reader, during a mission or something else, and she’s emotional (maybe hurt) and frantically asking for bucky. cue extra-protective!grumpy!bucky.

k love u bye

hi, babe :))

it started out as thoughts and I worked it into a lil something something

love you more <3

You came? You called.

Pairing: Avenger! Bucky Barnes x Avenger! Fem! Reader (Grumpy x Sunshine)

Summary: The team’s brightest light shatters after a mission gone wrong, and only one person can put her back together.

Bucky Barnes :)

Word Count: Roughly 900 words 

Warnings: Fluff, hurt/comfort, mild injuries mentioned (barely), mentions of blood, overprotective and soft Bucky, physical and emotional distress, a lil bit of angst (but just a pinch)

Author’s Note: I don't know where I was going with this, but I tried :(

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Divider by: @strangergraphics

You’re not supposed to cry.

You're supposed to sparkle. 

You're supposed to laugh like you’ve never tasted bitterness, bounce off the walls like gravity never quite applied to you, and leave glitter bombs and rainbow cupcakes in your wake. 

You're the sunshine of the team, the chaos incarnate with fingers covered in icing from baking every other day, held together by too much energy and not enough fear.

But right now, you’re sobbing, shaking so hard it rattles your bones.

The safe house is too quiet. 

Too sterile. 

You hate the quiet.

Your world is made of giggles and explosions and yelling at Tony for calling you “a walking serotonin factory,” like it’s not the biggest compliment ever.

Steve’s kneeling next to you, his voice is soft, words calm and even, like a warm blanket. 

Nat’s crouched just behind him, her clothes smeared with blood that’s not hers. You know what that means. She already got them, the ones who hurt you.

But none of that matters.

You want him.

“Bucky,” you whisper softly, the name tumbling out between hiccups.

Steve tries to soothe you. “He’s coming, sunshine. He’s on his way.”

But that only makes it worse. It hurts, how badly you need him. The tight, aching space in your chest pulses with panic.

You try to push yourself off the couch even though your leg won't work right. The pain flares, sharp and hot, but not as bad as the panic clawing through your ribs. “I need him now. Please. I want Bucky.”

Your voice breaks, shatters into something raw and desperate.

Steve looks helpless. Even Captain America doesn’t know how to hold back the sun when it starts to implode.

Nat lays a hand on your shoulder. Her touch is light but firm. “He’s coming,” she says quietly. “He’s already ripping apart the walls to get to you.”

That sounds like him.

It helps, but not enough. 

The tears keep coming, stupid and hot, blurring everything. Your fingers grip the blanket around you, but it’s not what you want. 

You want metal and leather and the calloused hands that catch you midair when you launch off rooftops without a second thought. You want the gruff voice that mutters complaints when you bounce in front of him, bright and too close, but never pulls away.

You want Bucky.

And then he’s there.

Steve barely gets out of the way before Bucky’s next to you, metal hand cupping your cheek like you’re made of something too precious to break.

“There you are,” he breathes. “Sunshine, what did they do to you?”

Your hands reach out to grab him, clutching at his jacket, his shoulder, his neck, anything that’s him. 

You curl into him like a sunflower searching for sunlight, burying your face in his chest and gasping like you can’t breathe without him. 

He smells safe. 

Like home.

“I thought you weren’t coming,” you sob into him. “I was so scared. I thought…”

He’s already wrapping around you, his flesh hand holding the back of your head, metal arm tucking you into him, so close there’s no space between your body and his. “Shh. I’m here, baby. You’re safe now. I got you. Nobody’s touching you ever again.”

You nod, even as the tears soak through his shirt. His lips press to your temple, your cheek, the corner of your mouth. Like, if he kisses you enough, he can erase what happened.

“You’re late,” you whisper, your voice trembling and watery.

“I know, dollface,” he murmurs, his voice cracking at the edges. “I should’ve been faster.”

Steve clears his throat, somewhere behind you. “Maybe give her a second to breathe, Buck.”

“I am breathing,” you mutter into Bucky’s neck, your voice muffled but stubborn.

Bucky glares at Steve. “She wants me, she gets me. End of story.”

Nat smirks from the corner, arms crossed. “She was begging for you like the world was ending.”

“She’s my world,” Bucky shoots back without hesitation.

He tilts your chin up gently, and when your glassy eyes meet his, he winces. “Look at what they did to my baby,” he whispers. “Your face. Your leg...” He trails off, breathing hard, like he might go find the bastards and rip them apart again just for good measure.

“Nat already got them,” you say, sniffling, managing a tiny smile. “Bet she looked really cool doing it, too.”

“I wanted to be the one to end them,” he mutters darkly.

You tug on his sleeve. “You’re here now. That’s better, the best thing ever. Promise.”

He melts at that, just enough. His forehead presses to yours. “You scared me, you little menace.”

“I scare everyone,” you mumble, eyes drooping as the exhaustion catches up with you. “But you always come back.”

“Always, sunshine.” He kisses the tip of your nose, holding you like you’re breakable. “You’re my favorite chaos.”

You hum, smiling sleepily at him, and he has to look away so he doesn’t fold. “I like when you call me that.”

“I’d like it even more if you didn’t almost get yourself killed,” he mutters. “No more solo missions. No more running ahead without backup. No more playing bait.”

“But I’m good bait,” you protest, nuzzling into his chest.

“I don’t care. No more.” His voice is final. His grip is absolute. “You’re sticking with me.”

And maybe that sounds like a means of control to anyone else.

But you? You just smile.

Because you’re safe. 

Because he’s here.

Even the brightest light needs a shadow to guard it.

And Bucky Barnes is your favorite one.

Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed!

If you'd like to be added to my taglist

Much love x

- Maeve

Tags: @princess-lil-spidey @sapphirebarnes @mgchaser @sparklystarsandstrawberries @arcadia-smith @rnurse-kole @juliebluehufflepuff @sailorsenshiuranep @alexxavicry @ficcharsimp @winchestert101 @thatesqcrush @bamitzzsam @grubler @peaches1958 @helen-2003 @ickearmn @Kimmie113080 @Xgbtmdmx @buckysbunnie @Shower-me-with-roses @pigeonmama @civilbucky @piinksdoll @desimarie12 @sleepysongbirdsings @barnesb420 @Suffereroflife @pigeonmama @yes-ilovetowrite @shadowstar1072 @serenaivy

Small Circles

Summary : Bucky Barnes is still getting used to modern dating… and hates that you have to work with your exes.

Pairing : Bucky Barnes x vigilante!reader (she/her)  / ex!various MCU anti-heroes/vigilantes x ex!reader

Warnings/tags : jealous!Bucky. Bi!Reader Hurt/comfort. Injury, references to violence, sex references. Reader used to be an anti-hero, and also used to date a lot of anti heroes. Angst/Fluff!!!!

Word count : 7.7k

Note : Retroactive jealousy is very common, and I definitely struggled with it when I first started dating my partner. I don’t really see it solved healthily in fiction, so I thought I’d write about it. I just finished moving in, so I will resume my series writing soon! And please, if you’d like to be on the taglist, message me! It gets lost in the comments sometimes. Enjoy!

Bucky Barnes didn’t talk about his exes.

For one, they were from a time when women wore red lipstick like armour and wrote love letters to the men who might not make it back home. Two, in the 1940s, talking about past relationships was basically the equivalent to hanging your dirty laundry out in the street— and not just because most of them ended with him shipping out to war. Sex and feelings simply didn’t belong in polite company.

But here he was, in the 21st century, trying to navigate dating after missing eight decades of social evolution— trying to keep up with you. 

And god, he hadn’t stood a chance from the moment you first met.

You were the first person he met post-pardon that didn’t look at him like the sum of his past. Sam introduced you at a bar in D.C.—nothing fancy, just three tired veterans nursing drinks and pretending the world wasn’t still spinning out of control.

“She’s an old friend,” Sam said. “Used to serve with me in the air force. Then she went off grid and disappeared to be an antihero—”

“Vigilante,” you corrected, scoffing.

“Whatever,” Sam rolled his eyes, “But she’s retired now.”

“You’re prettier than the photos.” You gave Bucky a once-over. “Grumpier, too.”

He blinked, thrown off by how casual you were, and before he could respond, you leaned in and asked, “You always look like someone stole your puppy, or is that just for special occasions?”

Sam just laughed and walked off to grab another round, leaving Bucky staring at the woman who didn’t flinch when he said “Winter Soldier” like it was some contagious disease.

Instead, you talked and talked through the night. At one point, he was talking about his brainwashing, and you just leaned your elbow on the bar, eyes on his metal hand, and said, “I’ve done worse.”

It was the first time someone didn’t try to talk him out of his guilt. You didn’t say he was “more than his past.” 

You didn’t try to fix him. 

You just looked at him and recognised the survivor with blood under his nails and scars that never faded.

That night, he walked you home. It was supposed to be a formality, but you talked the whole way, about the desert missions you and Sam survived, about the ops you ran without orders, about why you quit the military, and the blurry line between heroes and people who did what had to be done.

“Why’d you retire?” he asked at your door.

“After the Blip, I helped the Avengers out. Did some good. Got tired of seeing my hands stained red, even when it was for the right reasons.” You shrugged.  “Figured if I couldn’t die, I might as well live. Got a nice place. Set up offshore accounts. Now I make pancakes and talk to my plants.”

He smiled. 

“What about you, Barnes?” You asked, leaning against the doorframe. “You ever get tired of the life?”

Fuck, he hadn’t flirted in decades. He wasn't even sure if he still knew how anymore. 

But with you, it was easy. It was awkward at first, sure, but you laughed every time he stumbled, and you never once made him feel like he was too broken to try.

He brought you flowers a week later. 

Tulips. 

He had said he read somewhere that they meant forgiveness. You didn’t ask who he was forgiving.

“I’m not afraid of your past,” you told him one night, sitting on the floor of your living room after Sam convinced him to take you out on a date. “Not when I’ve got one that would make priests faint.”

He looked at you then, and the walls he’d spent so many years building fell all at once, because you weren’t someone he had to hide from. 

You weren’t afraid of the blood on his hands, because you’d seen it on your own.

So you became a couple. 

Three years later, he still couldn’t believe how easily you loved him.

You were loud where he was quiet, open here he was closed— a perfect balance. 

You called his name like it wasn’t borrowed from another lifetime. And for the first time, he wasn’t just surviving— he was healing. 

He was planning a future. 

With you.

And then… Sam had to drag you back into the field.

That’s when everything started to unravel.

See, Sam had said it would be one mission.

"Just a quick assist," he told you, sliding a file across the table while Bucky sat beside you, arms crossed and already suspicious. "No big commitment. We just need someone who knows how to hit hard and get out clean. I know what you’re capable of,” Sam leaned back and crossed his arms, “And this has your style written all over it.”

“This isn’t just a mission,” You raised an eyebrow, flipping through the folder and studying the requirements. “This is a clusterfuck.”

“That’s why we need you,” Sam fogged. “Come on, for old times’ sake.”

You said yes. 

Later that night, Bucky looked at you like Sam had handed you a grenade. “You’re retired.”

You smiled sadly. “It’s just one job, Buck.”

And at the time, you meant it. 

You really did. 

You had an house together, the pancakes and the plants. 

You had Bucky. 

You had a life.

But then you got out there again—suited up, boots in the dirt, heart pounding like it used to—and it was like a switch was flipped in you.

Adrenaline was one hell of a drug.

You weren’t craving chaos or the violence. Not anymore. 

Unlike your antihero days, you didn’t kill this time. You’d made that choice before stepping onto the field. You weren’t going to be the person who solved problems with blood anymore.

But the mission lit something inside you all the same.

Perhaps it was control. Perhaps it was purpose. Or clarity. 

The world didn’t make much sense most of the time, but in the field, you knew exactly who you were.

So when you came back home after that mission—Bucky could already see it in your eyes.

“You’re going back,” he said flatly, watching you drop your gear in the hallway.

You shrugged, breathless, hair stuck to your forehead. “I mean… yeah. I missed it. But I’m not that person anymore, Buck. No killing. Just in and out. Recon only. You know the drill.”

Bucky didn’t answer. 

Because part of him was proud. You’d stepped back into that world on your terms.

But another part of him… was afraid of who you were behind the mask.

—

The first sign was Matt Murdock.

It was your and Bucky’s first mission together since you’d unretired. Sam had assigned a simple intel grab in Hell’s Kitchen. You needed a legal inside man, someone who knew the network by heart, and Sam had said, “You still got a contact in New York, right?”

That’s how you and Bucky ended up across the table from Matt in his firm, the three of you tucked into a room that smelled like paper and secrets.

From the moment you walked in, there was chemistry— it wasn’t active, nor was it inappropriate, but it was present. 

Bucky could see it in the way Matt tilted his head to the sound of your laugh, how your posture relaxed like muscle memory. It was subtle, but it was there.

“You told him,” he said with a small smile. He could hear it in Bucky’s heartbeat. “About my… other job.”

You glanced at Bucky, who was stiff beside you. “Yeah,” you said. 

Matt hummed. That told him more than it should. “You must be serious about him, then.”

You just nodded, infuriatingly calm and confident. “I am.”

Bucky didn’t say anything. He didn’t trust himself to, especially because Matt’s voice was too casual when he added, “We used to be a thing, her and I.”

It wasn’t a dig. It wasn’t even smug. But it was there. As far as Bucky was concerned, it was a punchline with no joke attached.

You shrugged as the meeting wrapped, grabbing your jacket. 

“His job and crime fighting? No time for me,” you whispered an explanation on your way out. 

But it was the way you said it— the lack of apology. It was the way you weren’t surprised your old flame was part of the mission. 

“You never told me he was your ex,” Bucky mumbled under his breath. 

“We never had to meet any of my exes in retirement,” you shrugged.

That night, Bucky lay awake in your bed, staring at the ceiling while your body curled toward his. 

But all he could think about was Matt fucking Murdock—Daredevil. Lawyer by day, masked vigilante by night. Another man who had kissed you, fought beside you, known you in a world Bucky still wasn’t sure he fully belonged in.

What the hell.

This was the first time you’d fought side by side. The first time he saw how natural you were when the mask slipped back on. And suddenly, Bucky was wondering if he was the only one still trying to catch up.

—

The conversation about Yelena came over coffee. 

It was one of those late mornings, with sunlight spilling through the window of your kitchen, his metal fingers on your knee. You were sitting close, like always, thighs touching under the table, his hoodie drowning your body in a sense of safety. 

Bucky was scrolling through contacts Sam had floated for upcoming intel work, casually tossing out names. “Yelena Belova might be a good person to reach out to for our next mission. She’s low-profile, knows how to stay off the radar.”

He didn’t even look up when he said it, but you froze, coffee cup hovering in the air, just long enough for him to notice.

“Well… yeah. I haven’t seen her since…”

His head tilted slightly. “Since what?”

He tried to keep his voice neutral. But it came out just a little too sharp, like it scraped on the way out.

You hesitated, a little sheepish. “Since Paris. There was a caper. Messy one. We got out clean, but… one thing led to another.”

Oh.

He knew you were bi, so that wasn’t a surprise. But he never expected that knowledge to ever come with knowing names, too. 

Another sip of coffee wouldn’t fix the knot in Bucky’s stomach, but he took one anyway. It gave him something to do besides look at you—at the woman he’d fallen in love with, who kissed him in the dark and said “I love you” every night.

He nodded pretending it was fine. Pretending it didn’t sting.

But it did. Because it was another name from the same small, bloodstained circle of vigilantes and morally gray heroes. 

He didn’t realise how many people you’d still work with were the same people you’d trusted with your body before you ever handed Bucky your heart.

You were experienced. Not in a shameful way, but you'd lived. You’d fought and fucked and fled and loved in all the places Bucky had never dared go. And now you were here—his—but he couldn’t stop that stupid thought in the back of his head:

Where do I even fit in the story?

You reached for his hand, your thumb brushing the metal knuckles like it was second nature. You leaned in, pressing a kiss to his temple, voice soft.

“She didn’t mean anything long-term,” you reassured him.

He wanted to believe that settled it. He wanted to lean into you, like he always did, but he froze—just for a moment. It was a childish, stupid insecurity rearing up where your warmth used to melt it down.

And Bucky hated that, even now, three years deep in love with you, he still sometimes felt like the last one to the party.

—

Then came London, and of course, Moon Knight.

It was supposed to be a clean extraction—intel swap, quick in and out. You and Bucky were working in sync like you'd done this a few times now. 

There were no hiccups, until he showed up.

You spotted him across the plaza first— casual clothes that you knew could turn into a divine suit any second, and a woman at his side. You froze instinctively, and Bucky felt it immediately.

The guy was weird in that charming, cryptic way, like he might shake your hand or break your nose, depending on what time of day it was. And you smiled at him. 

“London is always full of surprises,” you said as the man approached. You turned your attention to the two people now standing before you.

“Who am I talking to?” you asked, casual on the surface, but your eyes scanned him like they used to.

“Relax, it’s Marc.” The man gave a small, tired smile. “This is Layla.”

“Layla,” you repeated. “Nice to meet you.”

“We’re married,” Marc added.

“Good for you!” You beamed genuinely. “Seriously, never thought I’d see the day. This is my boyfriend. Bucky— Marc and I used to… date. A lifetime ago.”

Bucky gave a tight nod, hands in his pockets. “Of course you did,” he muttered under his breath.

Marc caught it. So did you. You shot Bucky a really? look, but Layla just laughed, clearly unfazed. She greeted you like she’d known about you already, because you were clearly another name Marc had mentioned.

“So… does he still talk to Khonshu in the bathroom?” you asked Layla with a crooked grin.

“All the time,” Layla said dryly. “Once, I came in to see the bathtub trashed. He said it was because of Khonshu. At least Tawaret isn’t that demanding.”

Bucky shifted uncomfortably. 

“Yeah, we weren’t all superheroes with government contracts,” Marc added, trying to joke, but there. “Some of us were just bleeding in alleyways hoping the gods were paying attention.”

Bucky wasn’t sure if that was a dig. He also wasn’t sure how to respond. Was there a polite way to talk to your girlfriend’s ex who serves a moon god and still too-casual wife who served the goddess of fertility?

You tried to smooth it over, looping your arm through Bucky’s. But he was still stuck on the fact that you had dated this man—this strange, fractured vigilante with too many voices and a ring on his finger now. You’d been part of his chaos once, too.

And that he hated that Layla was okay with it, hated that Layla was secure— because fuck, if it didn’t make him feel bad. That’s who he should be. 

He shouldn’t be bothered by any of this. But he couldn't help it, he was.

Bucky couldn’t help but feel like he was the only one trying to learn how to stand still while everyone else had already danced through the fire and survived.

He was old-fashioned. He didn’t know how to joke about weird missions with exes or that time you almost died in a tomb under the Nile.

You, on the other hand, just kept moving forward. 

And Bucky loved you—but in that moment, he felt like the odd one out in a room he hadn’t realised he was still learning to walk through.

—

Then Nebula arrived on earth, as she always did every couple of years. It was a routine visit.

She talked to Sam for a while to exchange intel, but after that… the lines between work and play got blurred.

Sam had dragged you and Bucky to a rooftop bar, insisting that even people with kill counts needed to let loose. Nebula was tagging along. She wasn’t the nightlife type, but she was making an effort to try Earth customs.

So, there you were, nursing a coke, while Bucky was ordering himself another drink. 

He was watching you across the room, laughing at something Sam had said when Nebula slid in next to you.

She said no greetings. No small talk. Just a hand on your thigh and a blunt, “Are we doing this again?”

Bucky could hear that, thanks to his enhanced hearing.

You choked slightly on your drink, startled but not shocked. You swatted her hand off gently, not unkind, but firm.

“I have a boyfriend now,” you said with a smile. You tipped your head toward Bucky’s direction. “Long-term.”

She blinked, entirely unaffected. “What’s that like?”

Bucky was across the room, eyes fixed on you. His knuckles were white around his glass.

Later, when you were alone again, Bucky asked, “You…  and her?”

You curled up beside him on the couch, his vibranium arm slung heavy over your shoulders. You kissed his jaw once, then the corner of his mouth. “It was during the Blip, when she went to Earth a lot more,” you said casually, “Long-distance didn’t work. It… happened a couple times. Nothing serious.”

Bucky didn’t answer right away.

Nothing serious.

The words sat in his gut like a stone.

That was what got him. Not that it happened. Not that you’d been with someone else. He knew—internally, logically—that he wasn’t your first. But that phrase stuck like a splinter under his skin.

Nothing serious.

You said it so easily. That sharing a bed, even briefly, didn’t matter as long as it wasn’t long-term.

But Bucky came from a different world. One where people didn’t talk about past lovers. Where something like a hand on a thigh meant you were hers.

And now here he was—three years in, in love with a woman who kissed him like he hung the moon and yet casually mentioned flings with alien assassins.

He didn’t say anything that night, but pulled you in closer and let you fall asleep on his chest.

But he stayed awake long after, staring at the ceiling.

You were his peace. 

But when it came to your past, he felt like a stranger in your house. 

—

That month after, you came home flushed with mission energy, shedding your jacket before the door had even shut.

“She’s still as annoying as ever,” you said, grinning. “Yelena. She hasn’t changed. Made me climb five flights of a condemned building instead of going around because it was ‘more fun.’ See, this is why it would have never worked out between us.”

You were buzzing— adrenaline and nostalgia glowing in you. Bucky didn’t match your energy.

He stood in the kitchen silently as he rinsed a mug. You didn’t notice at first. Or maybe you did, but you didn’t think anything of it until he set the mug down so hard, it cracked down the middle.

“You ever gonna tell me how many of these people you’ve actually slept with?”

You froze mid-step. “What?”

He turned, tense as a live wire. “Every time we go out in the field, you’ve got history with someone. Is there anyone we’ve worked with who hasn’t had a piece of you?”

Whoa. Where did this come from? 

“What the hell are you talking about?”

He didn’t back down. “I’m serious. Daredevil. Moon Knight. Nebula. Yelena. I can’t take two steps into a mission without watching someone look at you like they already know how you sound in bed.”

You blinked, stunned. “Is that what this is about? You’re jealous?”

“I’m not jealous,” he snapped. “I’m—”

“You are,” you cut in. “And possessive, apparently.”

He didn’t deny it. “I just— I can’t keep pretending like this doesn’t eat at me. I walk into a room with you and wonder who the hell knows you better than I do.”

You stared at him, chest rising and falling. “You never told me this bothered you.”

“Well, I didn’t know half this shit until the last few months!” he barked. “Because you’re so damn casual about it. ‘Oh yeah, we hooked up a few times,’ like it’s a joke—like it doesn’t mean anything.”

“Because it didn’t, Bucky!” you shouted back. “Because none of them were you. None of them lasted. You’re the only one I gave three years of my life to, and you’re standing here acting like I cheated on you with my past.”

He didn’t respond. 

And something inside you broke a little.

“I don’t know what you want me to do,” you said, smaller now. “Erase it? Lie? Pretend I lived like a nun until you came along?”

“I want to not feel like I’m sharing you with half the damn underground,” he looked down, teeth grinding.

You let out a bitter laugh. “Then maybe you should’ve picked someone from your own century.”

That landed like a slap. 

You shook your head. “We’ve got an early mission tomorrow. Get some rest.”

Without waiting for another word, you grabbed a pillow from the couch and walked down the hall.

You slept in the second bedroom that night.

You didn’t cry. But god, it hurt.

And Bucky sat awake in the kitchen for hours, guilt and resentment twisted in his chest like barbed wire, because he knew none of what he said was fair. 

But the feelings he felt were still real. And they were starting to rot.

—

In the morning, you two were so quiet still that every small sound felt amplified: the click of your knife sliding into your boot, the zip of your jacket, the dull thud of your holster being strapped across your chest.

Your movements were efficient, muscle memory from years of knowing how to armour up always kicking in.

Across the room, Bucky stood still, with his gear slung half-forgotten over his metal arm. His eyes were rimmed with red, dark bruises blooming underneath from a night without sleep, but he had a job to do, so he was awake anyway. 

“Y’know…” He finally said. “You didn’t have to sleep in the other room.”

You fastened the last strap on your thigh holster and glanced at him. “Didn’t feel like pretending we were okay.”

You saw it—the slight flinch in his muscles, the way he looked down like the floor might offer a better answer than anything in his own damn head.

“You think I don’t know we’re not okay?” he said, quieter this time. “You think I didn’t lay awake wishing I could take it back?”

“Then why’d you say it?” you snapped, finally turning to face him. 

Bucky’s mouth opened, then closed it immediately. He had no excuses.

“You didn’t ask. You never asked.” You shook your head, biting down the lump in your throat. “You just… threw it in my face like it was supposed to shame me. Like I was a toy being passed around!”

He stepped forward, desperate now. “I wasn’t trying to shame you, I— I was pissed, okay? I was stupid. I saw the way Matt looked at you, and then Nebula, and—Christ—Marc—”

“They were my exes, Bucky!” You raised your voice, “what do you want me to do? Never speak to them again? I would have no help in this line of work!”

“Doesn’t matter!” he snapped, frustration boiling over. “BecauseI feel like I’m just the guy keeping your seat warm.”

You stared at him, throat tight. “That’s what you think I’m doing? Killing time?”

“No,” he said, gentler now. “No. I know you love me. I know.” His voice cracked. “But I come from a time where no one talks about this kind of stuff. Where men didn’t have to wonder how many people their girl used to patch up in back alleys and kiss between fights.”

“Well guess what, Bucky,” you said, voice trembling. “I didn’t get the luxury of going to swing bars and holding hands on Coney Island. I got blood and war and figuring out how to survive without falling apart. I didn’t know I was going to make it past 25. And then you came along. You—you, James—you made me realise some things last. And now you're throwing it in my face because what? You didn’t like the guest list to my past?”

He looked like you’d shot him.

But there wasn’t time to let the silence fester again—your comms buzzed with an urgent ping from Sam.

The mission. 

You turned toward the door.

“Let’s just get through today,” you said, voice brittle. “We’ll figure the rest out after.”

You walked out first.

And this time, Bucky followed—not because he knew what to say, but because even after everything, he couldn’t stand not being by your side.

—

The op was supposed to be easy.

But nothing was easy when you were angry.

You and Bucky moved like soldiers, but not like partners—not like you usually did. 

You were out of sync, one heartbeat off, one glance too short. One command left unsaid because your pride wouldn’t let either of you speak first.

That got you ambushed.

Suddenly, you were ducking behind crumbling concrete, the walls of the building already groaning as a blast from beneath shook the foundations.

Gunfire rained down the stairwell.

Bucky shielded you without thinking, metal arm flashing as he tore through two men, fast and efficient—but not fast enough.

A stray bullet lodged  itself in you.

You screamed.

“Goddammit!” you hissed, hand pressing to your shoulder as blood spread fast. “Fucking—shit!”

Bucky was already beside you, crouched low, blue eyes wide and terrified. “You’re hit.”

“No shit, Sherlock.”

You leaned against the wall, blood soaking through your suit too fast, pooling in your glove as you applied pressure. Your vision blurred, but you forced yourself to stay upright. 

“We have to move,” you growled, pushing off the wall. “Extraction’s too far, comms are jammed.”

“Then tell me where to take you,” Bucky said, already moving to sling your arm over his shoulder. “You’re losing blood.”

You paused, teeth clenched so hard your jaw hurt. You did know someone in the vicinity. “You’re gonna hate this.”

“Tell me anyway.”

You guided him three blocks through the back alleys of the city, stumbling past broken windows, flickering lights, and blood left behind like breadcrumbs. You turned down a shadowed stairwell, and at the end of the corridor was a steel door. 

You raised your good hand and knocked: four slow, two fast.

A secret code. 

Bucky stiffened beside you. “You have a safehouse down here?”

“Not mine…” you mumbled under your breath. 

The door swung open, and there he was.

Frank Castle.

Bucky had heard about him— The Punisher.

He looked at you. Then at Bucky.

Then at your shoulder. “You’re bleeding.”

“I know,” you muttered through gritted teeth. “Let me in.”

Frank stepped aside immediately, grabbing you by the waist like it was second nature. Bucky’s hand was still on you. Neither man let go.

“Nice to see you, too,” Frank said with a worried frown.

Bucky followed, staring at Frank like he was a ghost come to life—except this ghost had callouses, bruises, and knew your name too well.

“You’ve got him on speed dial?” Bucky bit out.

You sank down on the battered couch as Frank pulled out a med kit and started cutting through your gear. “I said you’d hate it.”

Frank smirked without looking up. “Still dramatic, huh?”

“She’s bleeding,” Bucky growled, stepping in. “Maybe shut the fuck up and do something useful.”

“Relax, soldier.” Frank didn’t blink. “I’ve patched her up worse.”

Bucky's jaw twitched. "Worse?"

You groaned. “Please. Not now.”

But it was already too late— you could smell the testosterone and unfinished history. 

Frank’s hands were on you. Bucky’s heart was in his throat. He saw the way Frank looked at you— like he knew what your skin felt like already. 

“You two…” Bucky started, then stopped. His voice was dangerously low. “You fucked, didn’t you?”

Frank looked up. “We didn’t bake cookies.”

Bucky surged forward. “I swear to God—”

“Both of you!” you barked. “Enough!”

Frank didn’t flinch. He just scoffed under his breath and turned back to your shoulder, grabbing a syringe from the med kit and tearing open a pack of gauze with his teeth. 

“Didn’t realize you were dating the Winter Soldier,” Frank muttered, injecting the numbing agent into the skin around your wound. “Last time I saw you, you were with that blonde Widow chick. Got a thing for Russians now, pretty girl?”

Your eyes fluttered shut for a second. Pain, exhaustion, and frustration welled up inside. “Shut the fuck up, Frank.”

“I’m not Russian,” Bucky snapped before he could stop himself.

Frank glanced over his shoulder. “That’s not what I heard.”

Bucky stepped closer, chest heaving. “You want to test what I’ve got in common with the Red Room, Castle?”

“Easy,” Frank shook his head, “just sayin’. She always did have a type.”

That almost did it.

Bucky’s fists curled at his sides. His breath came faster. He saw red— and for a split second, he was ten seconds away from tearing Frank’s smug face off. 

But then… he heard your soft whimper. It was a hiss of pain. Your head tipped  back against the couch, eyes fluttering as the blood loss started to catch up. 

And suddenly, Bucky remembered why he was here. What really mattered.

You.

He was at your side in an instant, kneeling by the couch as Frank packed the wound and started stitching. You were grunting, your fingers twitching for something to hold.

Bucky took your hand.

You gripped him like he was the only thing tethering you to this world.

Frank worked without saying much after that. The tension between him and Bucky didn’t fade—it settled like a landmine they both agreed not to step on. For now.

“Got anything for the pain?” Bucky asked, looking toward the dingy kitchen.

Frank jerked his chin. “Cabinet over the fridge. Bottles labeled in red are painkillers. Other colors are mine.”

Bucky found what he needed. Got the pills into you with a cracked water bottle. He sat by your side while you slowly went limp under the weight of the drugs.

You passed out with your head in his hands. He brushed the hair from your face with a touch so gentle it made Frank’s heart ache.

—

An hour later, Bucky stood at the tiny sink in Frank’s dimly lit bathroom, water running red as he scrubbed blood from his hands. 

The cracked mirror above the sink showed him a version of himself he didn’t like: wild eyes, tired lines on his forehead, and blood smeared up to his wrists.

This was your blood.

He gritted his teeth, pressing his palms harder under the water like he could scrub away his sins, like he could rewind time just by cleaning fast enough.

You got shot because we weren’t focused. He thought to himself. Because I couldn’t shut my mouth. Because I couldn’t let go of the past. Because I just had to pick a fight.

He squeezed his eyes shut.

You had every right to have a past. You told him, over and over, that you chose him.

But it hadn’t been enough in the moment. 

And now…

Now you were unconscious on Frank Castle’s couch with stitches in your shoulder, and he was standing in a stranger’s bathroom washing away the evidence of his own failure.

He slammed the faucet off and leaned heavily on the sink, breathing hard. For a moment, he just stared at himself. The blood was gone, but the shame still clung to him like a second skin.

“Get a grip,” he said to his reflection.

He grabbed a towel and dried his hands.

Behind him, the door creaked open. He didn’t have to turn around to know it was Frank.

“You done crying in there, Barnes?”

Bucky met his own bloodshot eyes in the mirror and took a deep breath. When he stepped back out, Frank was already cracking open two beers— one slid across the counter toward him like a peace offering.

“Don’t drink on missions,” Bucky said, even though alcohol didn’t give him anything to work with. 

“We’re not on a mission anymore.” Frank shrugged.  “You’re in my house. She’s breathing. “Take the fuckin’ beer.”

Bucky hesitated, but still sat down.

He cracked it open and drank in silence.

Frank leaned back, arms crossed, smiling like he’d already written this whole scene in his head.

“So,” Frank said. “How’s that working out for you?”

Bucky shot him a sideways glare. “You mean her?”

Frank raised an eyebrow. “No, I meant your bloodstained fashion choices. Yeah, I mean her.”

Bucky drank again. “Fine.”

“That right?” Frank said, not buying it for a second. “Cuz she showed up bleeding out on my doorstep and you looked two seconds from throwing me through a wall.”

Bucky’s jaw tensed. “You didn’t exactly help.”

Frank’s grin widened. “What, calling you soldier? That’s what you are, ain’t it?”

Bucky didn’t answer. 

Both of them drank.

The air between them stayed hot, but not explosive. 

Frank looked toward the back room, where you were still out cold. The lines of his mouth softened slightly, the smirk dying in the corner of his mouth.

“She still talk in her sleep?”

Bucky glanced at him. “Sometimes.”

“Used to scare the shit out of me. She’d mumble names. Codes. Orders. She’d say something about Wilson or about how Riley’s in danger. Good ol’ air force PTSD,” Frank nodded, “One time she said my name and thrashed so hard I thought she was gonna kill me in her sleep.”

Bucky didn’t respond.

“She doesn’t talk.. about you,” Bucky said finally. His voice was low, eyes locked on the floor. “I didn’t even know you two…”

Frank shook his head. “Didn’t bake cookies,” he echoed.

“Yeah. Got it.”

They let another beat of silence fester.

“You loved her?” Bucky asked, even though he didn’t really want to know the answer.

“I did,” Frank took a sip, but didn’t look at him. “Still do. Not the same way, though.”

Bucky’s hand tightened around the bottle. “What the hell does that mean?”

Frank finally looked at him. No sarcasm now, just tired honesty.

“I don’t know if she told you about my… past. But after all that happened to me, I didn’t think I was capable of it again. I was half dead. Barely human. And then she showed up and saw through all the bullshit. And she stayed.”

Bucky was listening. Processing.

“She taught me how to feel again. Real shit. Not just rage. Not just grief.” Frank rubbed the back of his neck, like the memory itched. “She used to tell me I wasn’t broken, just dented. I believed her.”

“So what happened?”

Frank leaned back, eyes on the cracked ceiling.

“She fed my flame and I fed her violence. I knew if she kept me around, she’d forget what peace felt like. So I ended it.”

That made Bucky’s stomach twist. He hated how much of that felt familiar. 

Frank glanced toward the couch where you were still curled in sleep, bandages soaked but holding. “She deserves better than that.”

“She deserves someone who doesn’t get jealous of her past,” Bucky muttered.

“You and me both,” Frank chuckled under his breath. “I used to hate that I shared an ex with Red,” Frank admitted. Bucky could just assume he was talking about Daredevil. “But it’s a small world. Small circle. Vigilantes fuck around. You think we go home to nice houses and clean sheets?”

Bucky said nothing. Because now, you did. 

“How long you two been together?” Frank asked, casual.

Bucky didn’t answer right away. Just watched the light shift across the floor as the old ceiling fan spun overhead. Then, finally, “Three years.”

Frank’s eyebrows lifted. “Three?”

He let out a low whistle and took a sip. “Well, I’ll be damned. That’s like… eight decades in vigilante time.”

Bucky didn’t smile, but nodded once.

“Congratulations,” Frank tilted his beer toward him in a mock toast. “Longest relationship I ever seen her in. Not that I was taking notes or anything, but…” He grinned. “I knew all the flings. None of ‘em made it past a year. Most of them burned out around month ten.”

Bucky shifted, fist clenched, but not as harsh as before. “I’ve met a few of them. Or… worked with ‘em.”

Frank chuckled. “Bet that’s fun.”

“Not really.”

Frank scoffed. “Y’know,” he said, “you don’t gotta worry about me. Or any of the rest of us.”

Bucky looked at him sideways. “Yeah?”

Frank nodded toward the living room, where you were sleeping under a threadbare blanket, one leg hanging off the side of the couch.

“She wouldn’t be here if she didn’t love you. Still a bit of a dick when she’s mad, but who isn’t? She chose you. That woman’s got trust issues deeper than the fuckin’ ocean, but she lets you near her when she’s bleeding?” He shook his head. “That’s something, man.”

Bucky’s hand curled loosely around the bottle. “Doesn’t stop the way it feels sometimes. Like I’m… following ghosts.”

Frank leaned against the counter, arms folded, studying him. “You’re not a ghost to her.”

“Feels like I am.”

“Then stop acting like one.”

That hit a little deeper than Bucky expected. He looked away.

“You’re not me,” Frank said finally. “And that’s a good thing.”

Bucky blinked. Looked up.

Frank gestured between them. “You know what I gave her? Rage. Like I said, we fed each other’s worst instincts.” He took a breath. “You give her something I couldn’t: Peace.”

Bucky scoffed, a bitter little noise. “Peace? You should see the way we’ve been acting lately?”

Frank shrugged. “Fights happen. Especially with her.” He smirked. “But she came here because she trusted you to carry her when she couldn’t stand. That’s what counts.”

Bucky  took a sip of the beer, but didn’t really taste it. He still felt the heat of the moment in his chest.

Frank tilted his bottle toward him again. “You love her?”

“More than anything.”

“Then hold on to that.” Frank’s voice was sincere. “Cause’ if two broken people can get their shit together and still choose each other every damn day, that’s more than most people get.”

They sat in silence for a while, before eventually, Frank raised his bottle one more time. “To the girl who survived all of us.”

Bucky hesitated—then tapped his bottle gently against Frank’s.

“To the girl who made us feel human again,” he said.

They drank.

In the back of the room, you shifted in your sleep, muttered something under your breath, then went still again.

Frank leaned back. “Think she’s gonna be pissed when she finds out we bonded?”

Bucky found himself a smile— just a little. “Probably.”

—

The pain was dull when you woke up—  more like a memory than a wound, pulsing behind your bones in sync with your heartbeat. Your shoulder throbbed under tight bandages.

You cracked your eyes open, vision swimming in the dim light. The ceiling was warped and water-stained, familiar in the worst way, lit only by the flicker of a busted lamp somewhere in the room. The air smelled like old cigarette smoke, sweat, and gun oil.

You remembered where you were. Frank Castle’s safehouse.

You felt a body pressing against your side. 

Bucky.

He was crouched beside the couch, looking like he’d been glued to your side for hours— maybe longer. His hair was a mess, flattened in places from where he’d run his hands through it on repeat. 

“Hey,” he greeted, rough around the edges but laced with so much affection it you felt it more than you felt the wound. He leaned in and kissed your forehead, “You okay?”

Your lips twitched into a ghost of a smile. You tilted your head just enough to brush your mouth against his in return, your voice barely above a whisper. “Mmhmm.”

Behind you, someone cleared their throat.

You glanced past Bucky, and there was Frank— arms crossed, watching the two of you with a look that wasn’t quite judgment and wasn’t quite amusement either. 

It looked like... approval.

Bucky glanced over his shoulder, but shifted closer to you anyways. His hand brushed your hair back with the softest care, like you were the only thing in the world that mattered.

“We gotta go, yeah, doll?” he said. “Whenever you’re ready.”

You winced as you shifted upright, his hand already sliding under your good arm. You leaned into him without hesitation. 

“Yeah,” you exhaled, trying to shake the fog from your head. “Just... give me a sec.”

You rested your forehead against his shoulder for a moment, letting the world settle, then pushed yourself upright again. 

“Thanks, Frank,” you managed, voice rough but sincere. “For the whole... keeping me alive thing.”

His mouth curved upward at the corner. “Anytime, pretty girl.”

The words had barely left his mouth before Bucky’s voice cut through the room— “Don’t call her that.”

But.. there was a hint of playfulness in his voice.

Frank’s brow ticked up, amised. “Relax, soldier. It’s a nickname, not a ring.”

“She’s not yours to nickname.”

You let out a low groan, rubbing your hand over your face. “Jesus Christ. I almost died and you two are busy measuring dicks?”

Frank huffed a small laugh. “Still got that attitude, I see.”

Bucky glanced down at you, brushing your knuckles lightly with his thumb. “Good. Means you’re still alive.”

Frank pushed off the doorway, “She’ll outlive both of us at this rate.”

Bucky’s lips twitched, his hand never leaving yours. “That’s the plan.”

You leaned against him, blinking up at the two men, brow furrowing as the realisation finally hit. 

These weren’t snide remarks. This was… banter. 

They weren’t trying to kill each other.

“What the hell…” you mumbled. “You two friends now?”

Bucky looked down at you, shrugging. “Had a long night.”

Frank smirked from across the room, raising an eyebrow. “And a few beers.”

You stared between them, utterly baffled. “The fuck did I miss?”

—

The drive back was a quiet haze of streetlights. You slumped in the passenger seat, curled toward the window, your shoulder still aching beneath layers of gauze. 

When he pulled up to your shared home, Bucky came around to your side before you could even try to open the door. He lifted you again like you weighed nothing and carried you into the apartment without saying a word.

He laid you gently on the couch, brushing the hair from your face as you settled back into the cushions. His fingers lingered on your cheek, “I’ll get your painkillers,” he said.

You let your eyes follow him as he crossed to the kitchen, retrieved a glass of water, and returned with a small pill in his palm.

“Small dose,” he warned, crouching beside you again. “We’re spacing them out.”

You took it, swallowed, then leaned your head back and sighed. You tilted your head toward him.

“So… you and Frank buddies now?”

Bucky snorted softly, shaking his head. “I wouldn’t go that far.”

“But you talked.”

“Yeah,” He confirmed. “We talked.”

You raised a brow, mildly impressed. “And you didn’t smash each other’s face in?”

Bucky chuckled. “Came close.”

You let a beat of silence pass between you. 

Then you finally said, “I’m sorry.”

His eyes flicked back to you. 

“I should’ve seen how uncomfortable you were,” you admitted. “I… I just didn't think the exes would be a sore spot.”

“I’m sorry, too.” He reached up, brushing his thumb over your knuckles. “I let all that shit build up. That’s not on you.”

“Still… I could’ve talked to you about all of it before I got back into the field.” You swallowed. “I… I just didn’t want you to see me differently.”

“I do see you differently,” he said quietly.

Your stomach twisted.

“But not in a bad way,” he added quickly. “Your past… is just that. Frank helped me see that.”

You blinked fast, trying not to cry. “But it keeps finding me.”

“I know,” he said. 

You gave him a sad smile and a kiss on the corner of his mouth. “I’m not going anywhere, Bucky. You’re my now. You’re my future. You're it.”

His breath caught, and he looked at you like you’d just pulled him out of the deepest part of the ocean.

He leaned in and kissed you, slow and soft and sweet. It was the kind of kiss that tasted like forgiveness, because he was still learning what it meant to be loved out loud by someone so unfiltered, by someone with nothing to hide.

You stayed pressed againsthim for a long time, your hand in his hair, his forehead against yours.

Eventually, he pulled back and smiled faintly. 

He stood, walking toward the kitchen. “I’m making you hot chocolate.”

You blinked after him. “Are you serious?”

“You want marshmallows?”

“Obviously.”

He got up, and from the kitchen, you could hear Bucky moving around — the clink of the saucepan on the stove, the rustle of a cocoa tin being opened, the faint hiss of milk heating as he stirred. 

You sank deeper into the couch, letting the ache in your shoulder fade into the background.

Your eyes drifted half-shut, but then you heard it.

A ding from beside you on the couch.

You blinked, turning your head slightly, and there it was — Bucky’s phone lighting up on the cushion, his name glowing on the lock screen along with the preview of a new text.

Frank Castle.

Of course it was Frank.

Curiosity got the better of you, and your eyes skimmed the message: "If you wanna give your pretty girl a break and need someone who doesn’t pull his punches on a mission, give me a call, Barnes. And I’ll be there."

You smiled — part fond, part exasperated — and the warmth in your chest didn’t dim.

Before you could say anything, Bucky’s voice floated over from the kitchen, teasing, “You looking at my phone, doll?”

You glanced toward him, two mugs cradled in his hands as he walked towards you.

“Didn’t know you and Frank exchanged numbers,” You lifted your brows. “He says he’s offering his services.”

Bucky lowered himself onto the couch beside you, placing the mug carefully into your hand.

Bucky let out a quiet snort, shaking his head as he picked up the phone and read it for himself. His thumb hovered over the reply button, but he didn’t type anything right away.

“At least,” he muttered under his breath, “he’s now calling you my pretty girl.”

You leaned your head toward him, letting it rest against his shoulder.

“Damn right I am,” you mumbled fondly.

Damn right you are. 

–end.

General Bucky taglist:

@hotlinepanda @snflwr-vol6 @ruexj283 @2honeybees @read-just-cant

 @shanksstrawhat @mystictf @globetrotter28 @thebuckybarnesvault@average-vibe

@winchestert101 @mystictf @globetrotter28 @shanksstrawhat @scariusaquarius

@reckless007 @hextech-bros @daydreamgoddess14 @96jnie @pono-pura-vida

@buckyslove1917 @notsostrangerthing @flow33didontsmoke @qvynrand @blackbirdwitch22

@torntaltos @seventeen-x @ren-ni @iilsenewman @slayerofthevampire

@hiphip-horray @jbbucketlist @melotyy @ethereal-witch24 @samfunko

@lilteef @hi172826 @pklol @average-vibe @shanksstrawhat

@shower-me-with-roses @athenabarnes @scarwidow @thriving-n-jiving @dilfsaresohot

@helloxgoodbi @undf-stuff @sapphirebarnes @hzdhrtss @softhornymess

@samfunko @wh1sp @anonymousreader4d7 @mathcat345 @escapefromrealitylol

@imjusthere1161 @sleepysongbirdsings @fuckybarnes @yn-stories-are-my-life

@cjand10 @nerdreader @am-3-thyst

@goldengubs @maryevm @helen-2003 @maryssong23

Friday Night

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Summary: You end up sitting next to Bucky in a casual team dinner.

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: humor, fluff, secret dating, flirting, light language, water war (because who can resist a splash battle?)

A/N: this is part 4 of "You Said What?", just some fluff in a universe where you and Bucky secretly date. It can be read on its own and doesn't necessarily follow a specific order, but if you want to check out the other parts, here they are: part 1, part 2, part 3. im loving writing about these two so thanks for reading, i hope you like it :)

It’s one of those rare nights at the compound, no missions, no briefings, no surprise alien invasions. Just a Friday. Just dinner. And, somehow, Steve decided it’d be nice if the whole team ate together like one big weird family.

The long table is already half full when you show up a few minutes late, sliding into the only empty seat left, next to Bucky, obviously by coincidence. Totally random. Totally not planned. Totally a miracle.

“Hey,” you murmur, your knee bumping his under the table. You don’t move it.

“Hey,” he says back, low and warm, like it’s just for you. His knee nudges yours in return, the tiniest pressure that somehow makes your chest feel full.

Dinner is loud. Sam’s in the middle of a dramatic story involving a rooftop and a rogue pizza slice, gesturing so wildly he nearly knocks over his drink twice. Wanda is laughing so hard she’s wheezing. Clint and Natasha are arguing about spice levels in the curry. Tony ordered five different desserts “just in case,” and even Vision looks mildly amused.

It’s chaotic. It’s weirdly cozy. And it’s perfect.

Meanwhile, Bucky quietly slides the breadbasket your way before you even ask. Passes you a napkin when you drop yours. Leans over and murmurs a dumb joke under his breath just to make you laugh. And when you both reach for the same dish, your fingers brush—and linger. Neither of you moves.

You glance at him. He’s already looking at you like you’re the best thing he’s seen all night.

“Stop looking at me like that,” you whisper, biting your lip.

“Like what?” he asks, faking innocence.

“Like you’re thinking about kissing me at a table full of Avengers.”

He leans in, voice low. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

Your breath catches. You blink, trying not to let it show. “Bold of you to assume I wouldn’t kick you under this table.”

“I’d still kiss you.”

“You’re impossible.”

He smirks. “Yeah. But I’m your problem.”

You’re in the middle of pretending to care about Steve and Nat’s back-and-forth on training strategies when your phone buzzes in your lap.

[bucky]: come to the kitchen. 5 mins. say you forgot the hot sauce.

You bite your lip to keep from grinning. He sees it and smiles with just one side of his mouth.

A few minutes later, you slide your chair back, muttering something about needing Sriracha. No one blinks. They're all too busy arguing over which dessert to try first.

You slip into the kitchen.

And there he is. Leaning against the counter, arms crossed, eyes already on you. Like he wasn’t just sitting beside you five minutes ago.

“I’m starting to think I’m more addicted to seeing you than caffeine,” he says, that soft smile tugging at his lips.

You walk right into his arms. He smells like clean laundry and something you can’t place—something that’s just him.

“I don’t think that’s a bad thing.”

“Tell that to Sam,” he mutters. “He said I’ve been grumpy all week. I was just missing this.”

His fingers brush your cheek, his thumb grazing the curve of your jaw. You lean up and kiss him—quick, soft, sweet. The kind of kiss that says I wish we had more time.

And then you steal another.

And another.

He groans, resting his forehead against yours. “Okay. One more, and then I’m walking back in there like nothing happened.”

You smirk. “You have lipstick on your mouth.”

“Dammit.”

When you both return, the table’s still buzzing, still full of warmth and noise and people who feel like home. Bucky catches your eye as you pass him the dessert like it’s nothing.

But you know. And he knows. And your heart is doing somersaults when Bucky leans in again.

“You’ve got whipped cream on your lip.”

You freeze. Glance at him, wary. “Do I?”

He nods solemnly and you wipe your mouth with a napkin. “Better?”

He tilts his head, eyes sparkling. “Not really. Might need to check later.”

You kick him under the table.

Dinner winds down slowly, plates are half-empty, dessert is more whipped cream than anything else, and everyone’s full in that way that makes you too lazy to move.

Tony’s talking about building a pizza oven on the roof. Clint is inexplicably napping in his chair. Wanda’s stealing bites off Sam’s plate while pretending not to. And you?

Your face hurts from smiling, your stomach’s full, but you still offer to clean up.

“I’ll do the dishes,” you say, already sliding your chair back.

A second later, Bucky glances your way. “I’ll help.”

“Seriously?” Sam teases. “Since when do you volunteer?”

“Since now,” Bucky says coolly, already following you into the kitchen.

You roll your eyes, but your heart is racing.

The kitchen is quieter than the dining room, where the others are still laughing, picking at desserts, arguing over who cheated in charades last week. In here, it’s just you, the soft clink of dishes, and Bucky—close behind you.

You roll up your sleeves and start running the water, pretending your hands aren’t slightly shaking. “You don’t actually have to help, you know.”

“I know,” he says, leaning a hip against the counter beside you. “But I want to.”

You glance at him sidelong. “You hate doing dishes.”

He shrugs. “I’ve done worse.”

You snort, handing him a dish towel. The two of you fall into a rhythm quiet, easy. You wash, he dries. Occasionally your arms brush, and each time it’s like a tiny electric pulse zips up your spine. You tell yourself not to overthink it. You fail.

“You were quiet at dinner,” you say, scrubbing at a particularly stubborn bit of lasagna like it personally offended you. “Well. Except for all the flirting.”

Bucky doesn’t answer right away. When he does, his voice is low. “I like watching everyone like that. Laughing. Being...normal.” He pauses. “I like watching you.”

You freeze, dish half-submerged in sudsy water. Slowly, you turn to look at him. “That supposed to be smooth?”

He grins, shameless. “Did it work?”

You don’t answer. You can’t. Because he’s looking at you again—that way he does, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you, and worse, that he means every bit of it. Your heart is somewhere in your throat.

“Bucky,” you say, unsure what comes next.

But then he sets the dish towel down. Steps a little closer. And when you don’t move he reaches up and brushes a wet strand of hair from your cheek.

“You gonna kick me under the sink,” he murmurs, “or are you finally gonna let me kiss you?”

Your breath catches. “There are at least three Avengers in earshot.”

“Then I’ll be quick.”

And he is. But somehow it still feels slow, like the whole world holds its breath for you, just for this. It’s not desperate. It’s not showy. It’s just real. When he pulls back, you blink up at him, dazed. “You call that quick?”

He grins, a little smug. “Told you I’ve done worse.”

You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling too. “You missed a spot,” you say, tossing him a still-dripping plate.

He catches it one-handed, totally unfazed. “You’re lucky I like you.”

You bump your hip into his, reaching for a fresh towel. “I tolerate it.”

There’s a beat of silence before he adds, “You know, I kinda like this.”

“The dishes?”

“No. This.” He gestures between you. “You. Me. Elbow-deep in soap. Feels… nice.”

You reach over and flick a bubble at him.

He blinks, deadpan. “Did you just—”

You do it again, giggling. He retaliates by flicking water at your face. You shriek. He laughs.

“What, you can handle HYDRA but not a splash of water?” he teases.

You grab the sprayer.

“Don’t you dare.”

“I dare.”

There’s a short-lived, extremely wet battle that ends with Bucky shielding himself with a dish towel and you both breathless from laughter, leaning against the counter like you’ve run a marathon.

“I think we’re officially banned from post-dinner cleanup now,” you say, still giggling.

“Worth it.”

There’s a pause. He looks at you, hair a little damp, cheeks pink from laughing. And then he leans in again, just because he can. Just because you’re both still smiling.

When he pulls back, he murmurs, “Think we can sneak off to dry off somewhere quieter?”

You grin. “Only if you promise not to start a water war in the hallway.”

“No promises.” But you link your pinky with his anyway.

And that’s when it happens. A very deliberate throat-clear from the doorway. You both freeze like guilty teenagers. Natasha’s leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, one brow raised like she’s watching a soap opera. “You two done playing splashy-splash, or should I get you floaties?”

Bucky groans softly, his head thudding against the cabinet door behind him. You try to hide behind the dish towel. It doesn’t work.

Natasha steps further into the room, clearly savoring this. “Didn’t know dishwashing came with a swim option.”

“We were just—” you start.

“—cleaning,” Bucky finishes, not even trying to sound convincing.

“Mhm,” Natasha hums, giving you both the kind of look that could peel paint. “You know, for two people trying so hard to look casual, you’re not very good at it.”

Before you can respond, there’s a loud clink from the doorway. Steve steps in, completely unbothered. Holding a slice of pie on a plate like it’s the most important thing in the world.

 “Is everything okay here?”

Natasha raises an eyebrow but doesn’t say anything more. Instead, she shoots you one last look, a knowing glint in her eye. “Alright, alright. Carry on with your... dishes.” She turns, heading toward the door, but not before adding with a teasing smile, “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

Steve watches her leave, clearly lost in his pie-induced bliss. “What’s her deal?”

You and Bucky exchange an amused look before Bucky mutters, “You really don’t want to know.”

Steve shrugs. “Yeah, probably not.”

And just like that, the moment passes. Natasha's suspicion lingers in the air for only a second longer before Steve’s back to his pie, you’re back to drying dishes, and Bucky’s smile is a little too smug for anyone’s good.

Why can I see Malyshka and Bee having closet ROOMS instead of regular closets bc Bucky buys so much

Bee's closet is so big that Mr. Tato has his own section for all his costumes.

And she can walk around her mama's closet every day and still find new items. (Bee also likes to go "shopping" in there).

Malyshka started with a massive walk in closet but Bucky quickly upgraded it when he realized they're wasn't going to be enough for room for everything he wanted to buy her. He hadn't even proposed at that point. But he knew what her life was going to be like with him and he planned accordingly.

Now she has an entire room dedicated to her outfits. It has multiple full length mirrors, a display case for her jewelry, a gorgeous built in floor to ceiling showcase for her shoes, rotating racks for her clothes.

It's luxurious and extravagant and Bucky wouldn't let her have anything less.

Bittersweet Moments

[Peter Maximoff x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: Your best friend (if you’d even call him that), is an annoying piece of work 99% of the time. But that 1%? That 1% is pretty special.

WC: 1513

Category: Fluff, Irritated!Reader, Mentions of Migraines

My first Evan Peters fic? Lets go.

『••✎••』

Being friends with that white-haired speedster meant you never had a moment of quiet. The guy was just so fast that you never had a second to blink without him pulling a prank on you, which is why you were constantly on edge around him. You could never trust him.

But that didn't mean that he didn't have his moments.

You were on the floor, eyes shut, attempting to fade the raging migraine out. You made your room into a dark cave and had been there all day, and yet, the pain in your head only grew.

By the time you heard your door creak open, you already felt the presence and the air in the room shift. It was almost like a ghost was floating through the doorway.

"No." The voice was quiet, and the sound was barely audible.

The soft footsteps stopped, and you opened one eye, seeing the blurred white figure. Your vision was blurry, and everything was doubled, but you could make out the face.

"You locked me out." The tone wasn't accusatory or playful. It was a soft, concerned tone that made your chest squeeze.

You rolled your head back, trying to look up at him.

"Sorry," you croaked. "But I’m also not sorry. I needed the silence."

"Yeah, yeah," he said dismissively. He crouched down his hand landing on your arm. His skin was cold against yours. "I know you secretly look forward to our little hangouts."

"No, I don't," you grumbled. "And I especially don't right now."

"Can’t even handle my presence without getting whiplash? Man, I must be really awesome."

You could faintly make out his smug smirk, and it made you snort, only worsening your headache.

"Just..." You waved your hand at him. "Get out. Leave."

He, in fact, did not leave. Instead, he stood up and went over to your bed.

You watched him in confusion as he took off his shoes, and then, with a quick flash of light, he was beside you once again, a blanket suddenly wrapped around him.

"Wh-" You were cut off as the blanket was draped around you, and you found yourself pulled up from the ground.

Peter's arm slipped around your shoulders, and he led you over to the bed. He pulled back the covers, and you climbed in, still unsure of what was going on.

Once you were in bed, he pulled the covers back up, and before you could say anything, his headset was ripped from your dresser. He placed them over his ears and lay down beside you.

He looked at you and nodded his head, giving you a thumbs-up.

You just stared at him, completely confused, but his gaze was unwavering. You let out a sigh, deciding to just roll with it. You were too tired to deal with Peter's bullshit anyway.

You rested your head on the pillow and shut your eyes.

A few moments later, a tune started playing, the music filling your ears. Not the loud, classic rock he usually blasted, but a soothing acoustic.

"You’re a fan of the Beatles?" You asked, surprised. You fluttered your eyes only to see Peter's face correctly. He looked like he was in deep thought. And with the soothing music from his Walkman (that he obviously lent to you) and the quiet, you couldn't help but feel a small tug on your heart.

He shrugged. "It just felt like the right song for the mood."

"Meaning… me dying?"

"Oh, stop being dramatic," he rolled his eyes. "Your little brain is just confused from having a devilishly handsome man lay in bed with you."

"You do realize I’ve had this for days now, right?"

"Alright, so, a devilishly handsome man around you. Is that better?"

"I can’t believe I let you in here," you grumbled, closing your eyes once more.

"Don't lie," he said, a little louder than usual since the music was loud in your ears. "You know you like my company—that and my box of sweets."

What box of—

Your eyes opened, and you looked up, seeing him holding a box of chocolate-covered almonds. Your heart did a flip.

"Is this... " You reached for the box, and he handed it to you.

"They're the good stuff. None of that cheap candy crap."

"Wow, you eat something other than Twinkies? I'm impressed," you teased, taking a piece and popping it into your mouth.

"Hey, don't hate the Twinkies. You ever try them with ice cream? It's great. It's like cake, but it's not, ya know? They're just so squishy, but the flavor is there."

"Uh, ew?"

"What, are you some fancy girl? Too high class for my delicious desserts?"

"Yeah, that's exactly it," you laughed, shaking your head. You rested your head on the pillow again.

"Whatever," he chuckled. "Eat your expensive ass almonds. I had to pay actual money for those, and I'm pretty sure Hank's going to notice they're gone."

That made you sit up despite the pounding in your head. "You stole them?! Oh my god, what's wrong with you?!"

"What?" he looked at you innocently. So I stole a box of chocolates. Big deal. The guy's rich. He never notices when I swipe his food. He'll just assume he forgot to put them away or something."

"Ugh, you are such an ass."

"You say ass; I say awesome."

"No," you said, putting another almond into your mouth. "Ass."

"Alright, fine. But, hey, look, who’s still eating the stolen chocolates?"

"Yeah, well," you smirked, taking another one. " Technically, I didn’t steal it. You did. So I can have a clear conscience."

"Ah, I see," he grinned. "Well, in that case, have another. Grab as many as you want. My treat."

You stared at him. "Okay, who are you, and what did you do with Peter?"

"What?"

"This," you gestured towards him. "All of this. You're never nice."

"Well, when you've had a migraine that's lasted for three days, you kinda learn to have a little empathy for that person."

"Three days?" you said, shocked. "Wait, how did you know the exact amount of time?"

"Don’t let anyone tell you you’re just a pretty face… I’m an all-seeing god, remember? Nothing can get by me."

"Except when Apocalypse broke—"

"Okay! Okay, I don’t need to relive that, alright? Sheesh, you're worse than Raven."

You grinned, taking another almond.

"Thanks," you said sincerely.

"For what? Comparing you to the blue lady? Anytime."

"No," you rolled your eyes. "I mean, for not pulling a… well, you. I really do appreciate it."

"Does this mean you’re leaving the Batcave? If we're getting sappy, then I should probably head out. I don’t want to risk my rep."

"You and I both know you have no reputation."

"True," he smiled. But hey, a guy can dream, right?"

You laughed, shaking your head. You were about to lay back down when he spoke up again.

"Actually," he said, looking at the ceiling, "there is one thing I'm good at."

"What's that?"

He didn't say anything. He just stared at the ceiling.

"Pete?"

His head whipped around to you, and with the same speed, he was leaning over you, his face inches away from yours.

"Peter, what—"

He leaned forward and pressed his lips to your ear, and the comment you were about to say died in your throat.

"I can shut up."

The sound of his voice, so soft and low, sent shivers down your spine. He pulled away and gave you a quick smile.

"Just something to think about," he said, and you could see the red tint on his cheeks. He sat up and stood in front of you before you could say anything else.

"You can give the Walkman back whenever, so, uh, don't worry about it. Anyway, I gotta get going. You know, stuff to do and snacks to eat." He turned towards the door. "Anyway, feel better. Later."

And before you could comprehend what had just happened, he was gone just like the wind.

You sat in your bed, still feeling the phantom feeling of his breath on your ear.

And ironically, the pain in your head was starting to fade.

So, yes. Despite him being an annoying little shit, he did have his moments. Genuine, quiet, caring moments. And it always made you question whether or not he was secretly a clone.

You were still staring at the door, your mind running a mile a minute.

But then, as if he could read your thoughts, he peeked his head back into your room.

"Oh, and if you tell anyone about this, I'll tell everyone you're a huge Star Wars nerd."

He vanished, and a second later, he was back once more.

"Also, I definitely didn’t steal that Walkman from a certain someone, so, uh, have fun with the mixtape!"

With that, he was gone.

You rolled your eyes and laid back down, putting the headphones back on.

"Ass."

You will definitely be visiting the white-haired speedster tomorrow. He may have his moments, but that doesn't mean he doesn't deserve some good old-fashioned payback.

WE ARE SO BACK

yeah I write 100 word analysis posts about my favourite fictional guy. yeah I ship him with another man from his franchise. yeah I have 1k edits of him in a tiktok folder and read x reader fanfiction about him. we exist.