Sebastian Stan - Blog Posts

now that thunderbolts has been released, i'm once again seeing people online responding to complaints that bucky's trauma is never fleshed out, with the following similar responses:

- "his trauma had 10 years to be fleshed out, why are you guys so obsessed with seeing him suffer?"

yeah.. no. bucky may have been on the screen for all six phases but he is rendered absolutely irrelevant after civil war (where - and i'm saying this as somebody who loves civil war bucky - he kinda is just a plot device for steve and tony to have more tension between them).

it's laughable to ever describe his trauma as fleshed our when no character even acknowledges his trauma?? he has gone through the worst horrors imaginable. it's like marvel thinks if they point his trauma out, they realize his "recovery" is near impossible (which is why it wasn't shown on screen). bucky DID have all these years to be fleshed out, but he wasn't. even by the second act of civil war it was like "okay we gotta make them teamup, make bucky stop being rightfully feral and guarded and just have him chill with steve and a bunch of randos who he doesn't know if he tried to murk an hour ago."

i've always adored this scene in civil war. despite having been practically feral, at arms length and desperate to run, once caught, bucky shows that he has regained himself somewhat and accepts the name of his past enough to correct zemo. this one scene gives us so much insight into bucky's psyche.

my favourite part about the bucky in civil war by FAR - aside from that red henley - is the way for the first half that bucky is on edge, has no idea what's going on, he's anxious, guarded, like a volatile, stray dog.

the way he looks at t'challa with shock, then just starts fighting. the way he is guarded with steve, yet comes up behind him, just to lie to him. the way he runs in the tunnels and frantically swerves to avoid being hit by a car here because he just has no fucking clue what's going on yet he's still fighting the fight

one thing about bucky's mcu story is that we never see how he heals. i don't buy for one second that a man who was brainwashed, manipulated, tortured with electroshock, physically abused and spent by far the majority of his life as a weaponized soviet assassin is going to be in any way okay. for christ's sake, this dude should have the final boss ptsd. yet it's nearly wrapped in a bow in some cameos of wakanda. we. never. see. it.

you may have also noticed that a lot of bucky's trauma is not credited to the writing of it, but to sebastian stan's amazing SILENT acting that makes you feel it. seriously, the amount of praise sebastian (rightfully) got for the way he made bucky look tormented is insane. this dude carried it

tfatws was arguably the last chance to do something with bucky - finally, six episodes to focus on his psyche! wowzers! instead, we get the INSULTING storyline that bucky needs to apologise to the people HE hurt and that this also somehow cures his mental health issues, though honestly the show swept around this by laughably not even showing us anything not skin deep. he has nightmares, he's a bit angsty - sure, that's easy to recover from when that's a you show a character going through. it's clear the backstory of bucky was them biting off more than they could chew, and wouldn't fit in with their story, so they condensed it and made it easier to make bucky a sidekick by essentially retconning his past trauma so that instead of having any of the severe mental health issues we expect of bucky, he was instead just. chilling.

so no. i'm not somehow being evil to a character and wanting them to constantly suffer. i realized, walking out of the cinema (spoilers for thunderbolts!!) that the reason i wanted bucky to have a void room is because it would mean the mcu would finally acknlowedge bucky's trauma. because let's be real. the character of the winter soldier, and post winter soldier recovery bucky are so unbelievable different with barely any material for how he got here that he may as well be a different character and not a loved character who i know and connect to the fucking winter soldier movie.

so, by having bucky never acknowledge the winter soldier apart from a quip, it makes it so easy to not have to ever, ever communicate just how he got from point A to point B. i want him to suffer because it means his backstory would finally be acknowledged by him, and others, and it would be cathartic and we'd see how he healed from it instead of the mcu just TELLING us that he healed from it. or even better just having him suddenly be better because the plot requires it (looking at you, second half of civil war)

anyway.. where was i on that civil war point?

you recover from trauma, expecially with the right support system, but trauma changes you. that doesn't have to be a bad thing, but for somebody who went through what bucky did, if he was a real guy he would've found a way to commit suicide a million times over by now, it's only bearing the logic of him being a character on screen that he lives. i think bucky would've been at his best if he fundamentally stayed the way he was for the first half of civil war - constantly guarded, closed off, timid in a way, volatile and willing to fight when needed even though he's just so exhausted of it, because something in him is just urging him to survive. that, at least, would've been way more believable than "completely adjusted, a bit angsty and awkward, skirts around any real discussion of mental health in favour of prancing around how steve rogers something something" like we got in tfatws.

civil war bucky was the last time mcu was willing to establish to us that bucky has FUNDAMENTALLY changed from his experiences, he doesn't go leaping in steve's arms and is clearly constantly on guard, and i think that's important to note because it's so easy to say "well they do acknowledge he's changed and he has trauma, he had the code words erased in wakanda.." but that was not a demonstration of how he was fundamentally forever affected by this trauma at all, it was a one-off point in a series manufactured only because they needed him to be more mentally stable than he'd never be to move the cogs of the plot along. (along with the fact it's clear that somehow erasing the words is meant to heal bucky of all his problems)

so yeah. no, i don't want to see bucky suffering and i am absolutely reasonable for being upset that thunderbolts is just another movie to sweep bucky's trauma and recovery to the side, because we never saw his recovery so the only way we'll ever connect this guy to bucky is if we see. him. acknowledge his past because holy shit he is a different person and i'd love bucky to be this mentally stable if we were shown it

one thing to note is that this dissonance is always made exceptionally clear by things like fanfiction that actually show bucky's trauma and recovery and do it in a way that doesn't shy away from any scary topics, which makes it all the more realistically brutal and cathartic when he recovers. that's why i've never fully gotten past 2016 bucky - because neither did the mcu as it just made a new character, whilst fanfiction writes all the things in the gaps of the original movies, so it also never got past it

Red.

Sebastian Stan x reader

it’s kinda like 50 shades of gray

warnings: Angst, smut, language, little floof at the end :)

Being Sebastian Stan’s girlfriend came at a big price. You loved him and he loved you, he was a funny and nice guy, until you got to the bedroom. This man had everything. from vibrators, to leg shackles, handcuffs, whips. He liked everything. But he made sure you were safe and comfortable every time, till one time you weren’t.

He had your legs and hands tied up with leather handcuffs, in the red room. You were in an interesting postion. You weren’t laying on the bed, no. You were kinda standing up at the end of the bed while he hooked your hands to the rails on the top of the bed post and then your legs to the bottom of the bed, so your feet were touching the ground. “god you make me so fucking frustrated.” Sebastian said as he walked around your almost nude body, you still had your lacy panties on. “why do you insist on defying me, Mrs. Stan?” he smirked as he stood in front of you.

“because I can.” you smirked right back. Seb didn’t like that, “what I am going to do with you, Y/N? fuck the thought of another man out of you or should I just go find another women to flirt with? huh!” he yelled, you knew he was angry but not this angry. “seb, it wasn’t even like th-.” you got cut off by a smack on your ass as he was behind you now.

“I don’t give a fuck what it was about, you were talking to another man while I wasn’t there.” he walked away for a second, grabbing something from a drawer. you waited patiently for him to come back, when he did, he was carrying something black. “Seb, what is that?” he smirked that gorgeous smirk, but didn’t say anything. he pressed a button that made the thing start vibrating, you instantly knew what it was.

“seb, baby, no-“ you were cut off again by Sebastian pressing the vibrator to your clit and slowly rubbing it down to your entrance and back up again. the feeling alone made you shudder in utter pleasure. “you make me so frustrated, god, sometimes I can’t even remember why I married such a brat.” you were used to dirty talk but never this, it made your heart sink.

“what?” you ask while throwing your head back. “yea you insist on making me mad, why is that? so you can be fucked like the slut you are?” he now pulled the vibrator away from you as hard as he could and it hurt. “seb-“ tears started to prick at your eyes at his words but also because of the pressure he put back on your pussy. he pulled it away again. “seb why are you stopping? don’t stop.” he laughed at you. “sluts and brats don’t get that they want.” he put it back on there and put so much pressure on your clit, it hurt. you couldn’t think of words, you were trying to remember the safe word and then after he pulled the vibrator away again ten times harder, you yelled, “red! red, red!”

it took him a minute to realize what you said. you or him has never used the safe word. his dominant side fading quickly, he immediately dropped the vibrator on the floor and quickly uncuffed your legs and arms. you were sobbing at this point, you walked over to the bed that held your black robe and covered yourself from Sebastian, he looked so guilty.

“baby, I am so fucking sorry, I didn’t even realize how rough I was being.” he slowly made his way over to you. “why? what did I do?” you asked as you stared at his blue orbs that held sorrow and regret. “I don’t know, I saw you talking to that man and I lost it. I’m so sorry, I will never ever be that rough with you again.” he scooped you up and walked to your shared bedroom. you smiled up at him, “I know and I won’t talk to other men without you there.” he smiled and slide in the bed next to you and brought you into his chest.

APPRECIATION POST FOR OUR MARVEL MEN

I died...

INFINITY WAR: Theory of CAPTAIN AMERICA

To all the members of the marvel fandom... this may break some of your hearts but it’s probably 42% false, hopefully.

Everyone knows that Chris Evans is done his 6 movie marvel contract and that he would have to be signed back later... well, infinity war part 1 is his last marvel movie as Captain America😭

And on the other hand, Sebastian Stan has a 9 movie marvel contract and has only done 4, including infinity war part 1. What I’m getting at is...

BUCKY BARNES MIGHT BE THE NEXT CAPTAIN AMERICA😱

ARGHHH I’ve probably just broken some of your hearts but it’s probably the truth. This is most likely affecting EVERYONE AND IT IS NOT OKAY. I SWEAR TO GOD IF ANYONE DIES IN INFINITY WAR,(R.I.P Vision) I WILL TACKLE STAN LEE! It’s either Steve Rogers dies or Bucky becomes Captain America...

What do y’all think??? Anyone thought the same thing???🤔

Imagine being part of the Marvel cast and being liked by these guys!

A/n: gifs aren’t mine!

Tom Hiddleston

Y/n: Hiddles! Wanna hear a quote I made?

Tom: I’d rather no-

Y/n: Okay great! Listen carefully!

Tom: I’m listening!

Y/n: Roses are red, violets are blue, vodka costs less than a dinner for two.

Tom: *laughs* I’m impressed!

(He said winking at you)

Y/n: And that’s why we’re still single! *wink*

(You said waving goodbye and walking off)

Tom: (gif happens) Wow!

Sebastian Stan 

(Both of you are reacting to Liza Koshys puns) 

Y/n: Her puns are cringey but funny! 

Sebastian: Oh Yeah? Why don’t you make one than?

Y/n: Is that a challenge Stan? 

Sebastian: Yes indeed Y/L/N!

Y/n: Okay! How do you get holy water?

Sebastian: You boil the hell out of it! Make a new one!

Y/n: You make one!

Sebastian: You know your puns are cheesy, but they make me feel GRATE!

(You fell onto the ground and started dying of laughter! Sebastian tried holding in his laughter but ended up laughing along with you) gif happens

Y/n: You’re so cute! Oh my gosh I can’t!

(You couldn’t stop laughing but you had enough energy to get up)

Sebastian: You’re so annoying, you know that?

(Sebastian said chuckling now. You got up and walked to the door about to leave the trailer still laughing. You turned back to Sebastian)

Y/n: Mission accomplished Soldier!

(With that said you winked at him then stepped out)

Sebastian: (gif happens) What am I gonna do with you?

Chris Evans

Chris: Damn! That ass is flatter than a piece of bread!

Y/n: I can always tell when you’re lying. Your lips move!

Chris: I guess you prove that even god makes mistakes sometimes.

Y/n: You did not just say that to me!

(You had a serious face but both of you knew it was as a joke)

Chris: You heard me! 

Y/n: You just started war Evans!

(You said in a low voice, crossing your arms over your chest)

Chris: I’m well aware of that! 

(He got up and slowly walked towards you)

Y/n: You are not as bad as people say, you are much, much worse

Chris: Some babies were dropped on their heads but you were clearly thrown at a wall.

Y/n: The only way you’ll ever get laid is if you crawl up a chickens ass and wait!

Chris: Are you the chicken?

(Chris asked with a smirk on his face)

Y/n: You wish! I can’t fit a big human dick like you up my non-existent chicken ass!

Chris: Right!

Y/n: Admit it Evans! I have an ass!

(Chris nodded his head mockingly)

Chris: Yeah you do!

Imagine Sebastian Stan and Mackie have to choose between you and Scarlett Johansson

Interviewer: So I know how you guys fanboy over Scarlett and Y/n about them being the hottest marvel females and how you wanna marry them.

Anthony: How’d you know that?

Sebastian: Mackinators and Winters Children talk too much!

(Anthony and Sebastian chuckle)

Interviewer: So if you had to choose one and kill the other, who would it be?

Anthony: Y/N IS MINE! DIBS ON HER! Forget Scarlett! Who’s that girl?

Sebastian: Okay then I’ll kill Y/n so you don’t get her since you love her so much! But I’ll smash her before I kill her!

Interviewer: I’m gonna tell Y/n that for sure! She’ll love it!

(Gif happens)

Sebastian: Don’t you do that! Please don’t tell her! She’ll poison my food!

that post about the different sexualities is for real. that's why i call myself queer cuz like it feels like it changes from day to day lol.

Right! Like one day I‘m looking at a pic of Sebastian Stan and I‘m like „goddammit I‘m straight“ and then the next I‘ll see a movie with Emilia Clarke and I just know I‘m not straight anymore lmao

I think I‘ll just settle for „labels are weird, if you‘re hot, you‘re hot“

'cause he's just so cool

Sketch of Bucky's new Rivals skin * Let's hope i get to actually render this one day hehe

So excited for Thunderbolts aaaaaaaaaaa (੭ ˃ ᴗ ˂)੭

Brother from another mother

Wyatt being the new extrovert to Sebastian while Anthony is away😭

Bucky is gorgeous and he needs to be reminded everyday 💓‼️

More to Love

Summary : Bucky marries you, someone who shows love through food. When his body changes, you show him he’s cared for no matter what.

Pairing : Bucky Barnes x wife!reader (she/her) 

Warnings/tags : FLUFF! Hurt/Comfort, Body Image Issues, Insecurity, Established Relationship, Weight Gain, implied sex, cursing, Food as Love Language.

Word count : 2.4k

Note : If you’d like to be on the taglist, message me! It gets lost in the comments sometimes. Enjoy!

Bucky hadn’t meant to gain weight.

It wasn’t like he woke up one day and decided, hey, let’s pack it on.

It crept in, slowly, like moss between cracks, or rust under paint. At first, it was just little things: seconds at dinner, not skipping dessert, an appetiser here and there.

See, when you and Bucky first started dating, it didn’t take long for him to realise that food was your love language. You cooked like it was second nature—every ingredient always added with care. He’d come home from missions or long training days to find you in the kitchen with your sleeves rolled up, humming to some old tune while stirring sauce or kneading dough. And your smile always lit up when you fed him, like watching him eat something you made was its own kind of joy. And Bucky, who’d spent so much of his life surviving, hadn’t known how hungry he was for that kind of care until you started filling his plate and his heart at the same time.

Somewhere between your late-night pastas and Sunday roasts, his shirts started to fit tighter around the middle. The scale ticked up a few numbers. He still trained, but it was different now. He wasn’t on a calorie deficit, and he was doing things for functional and not aesthetic purposes. He focused on Pull-ups, sparring, lifting until his arms couldn’t take any more. He could throw a grown man across the room. Probably you too, and that wasn’t a fantasy you were opposed to.

But even when his body changed, and time went by, your cooking didn’t stop. If anything, after you got married, it grew more intentional. You experimented more— comfort dishes from his childhood, thick stews you imagined his man might've made, and big, carb-heavy meals to help him recover after a mission. You packed him leftovers in little glass containers, sometimes with a note tucked in the lid. You didn’t just feed his body. You fed his memory, his heart, his right to be human again.

Still.

He’d catch his reflection in the bathroom mirror, shirtless, sweaty from a workout, and stare at his stomach. 

He hated that it made him feel weak. Sloppy. 

“Used to be leaner,” he muttered once, toweling off after an especially brutal workout session. 

You rolled your eyes, but with love, and tossed another towel at his chest. “Yeah? Well, I used to think I liked abs, but turns out I like a powerhouse husband who can deadlift a damn car more.”

That earned you a faint smile, but it didn’t erase the dread in his eyes— the one that said you’re lying, or you’re just saying that to make me feel better.

You weren’t.

God, you weren’t.

Because Bucky Barnes built like a brick shithouse? Bucky Barnes with thick arms and wide shoulders and thighs like tree trunks and a stomach that was less abs and more functional muscle? He was the kind of man you could climb like a jungle gym and bury your face against to feel safe. That strength wasn’t just aesthetic— it was real. 

And every meal you cooked was another way of telling him so. Every tray of roasted veggies, every slow-cooked braise or pan of cinnamon rolls was a reminder: You’re still cared for. You’re still mine.

To be fair, he’d never been satisfied with his body, not really. Not when it was used as a weapon. Not when it was hyper-lean, a machine starving for control. And not now, when he felt like losing the only grip he’d ever had on himself.

Then came the movie night.

You were watching some dumb action flick, all glossy lighting and guys with chiseled jaws and ten-pack abs. The kind of thing that didn’t usually bother you. 

C’mon, watching a superhero movie while being married to one? It was kind of surreal, kind of stupid. 

You’d whipped up a bowl of nachos earlier, layered with roasted veggies, black beans, just enough cheese to feel indulgent, but still a net benefit for your body, the way Bucky liked. He’d been halfway through the bowl, one hand resting on your thigh, when he suddenly stopped eating.

At first, you didn’t think much of it. Maybe he was full. Maybe the movie was just boring. But then you felt the way he shifted like his body was trying to shrink.

You turned your head to see him.

His eyes flicked to the screen. Then to the bowl. Then to his stomach. And then away.

You paused the movie.

“Buck?” you asked gently.

He didn’t look at you. “I’m fine.” He said it too quickly.

You set the nachos aside and turned toward him. “What’s going on?”

He hesitated.

“Look at those guys,” he said, motioning toward the frozen screen. “All shredded. And I’m just—” He trailed off, letting the bitterness finish the sentence for him.

Your heart broke.

You reached over and rested your hand on his chest, right where his heart beat under your palm.

You frowned in that goddammit I love you, why don’t you see what I see? kind of way.

You didn’t say anything right away, but moved closer, settled into his lap, and rested your forehead to his. 

“Bucky,” you whispered, voice soft as a feather, “you could have abs again tomorrow and I wouldn’t love you more than I do right now.”

He swallowed hard. 

“You say that now,” he insisted. “But maybe one day you’ll wake up and realise you’re married to some washed-up vet with a gut and a metal arm.”

You cupped his face firmly and made him look at you.

“Hey,” you scolded playfully, “Don’t you dare talk about my husband like that.”

A ghost of a laugh bubbled out of him. 

“You carry people out of burning buildings, Bucky. You wrestle Walker for fun and win more than half the time.” That earned you another chuckle. “You’ve got a body that’s survived hell and back. And you still use it to hold me like I’m the most fragile thing in the world.”

He looked like he didn’t know whether to cry or pull you into his arms and never let go. So you did it for him— you held him close, kissed the curve of his neck where tension still pulled on his muscles.

“You are so hot, Bucky Barnes,” you whispered. “So fucking hot. Built like a damn tank. Fuckin’ making me feel like the luckiest woman alive.”

He buried his face in your shoulder then, arms wrapping tight around you, so you didn’t move for a while.

He held onto you like you were tethering him to the Earth. His arms were so big, so safe and real. 

Eventually, his rapid breathing slowed. Then, slowly so as not to startle him, you leaned back just enough to look at him. His eyes were pink, glassy, and still a little distant.

“C’mere,” you whispered, taking his hand.

Bucky didn’t ask where you were going. He just followed you, quiet and trusting, fingers interlaced with yours. You led him into the bedroom, and he paused near the mirror at the side of your shared bed.

“I don’t—”

“I know,” you said. “But I want to show you something.”

You stood behind him at first, wrapping your arms around his thick waist, your cheek resting between his shoulder blades. He tensed up at his own reflection. You could feel it in the way his shoulders were bracing for impact.

But instead of asking him to look, you slowly stepped around him, sat on the edge of the bed, and pulled him gently toward you.

He didn’t resist.

You kissed the underside of his forearm first, the one made of flesh. Then his metal hand. You worked your way up, past scars and veins and muscle, until he was standing between your knees, and you lifted up his shirt and lowered his sweatpants just a bit, until you were kissing the stretch of skin just above his waistband.

Then, higher.

His stomach rose and fell under your lips.

You kissed the curve of it. One, then another. A third, right by his belly button. Your hands held his hips like he was loved. 

“You think this makes you less?” you said in disbelief, your breath warm against him. “Because all I see is more. More to hold. More to love. More of you.”

Bucky’s fingers twitched at his sides. He was stock-still, as if when he moved, he might fall apart. You looked up at him and saw the tears gathering again.

“Every inch of you is mine to love,” you whispered, “and you don’t get to tell me which ones I can’t.”

A choked sound made it last his lips. 

He dropped to his knees in front of you and wrapped his arms around your waist, burying his face against your chest like he was starved for touch.

“I don’t deserve you,” he mumbled, voice breaking at the seams .

You kissed the top of his head.

“Tough,” you whispered into his hair. “You’re stuck with me. And so is that stomach. And that chest. And fuck— those thighs.”

He huffed a laugh against your skin. “You like the thighs, huh?”

“Obsessed.” You nuzzled into his hair. “Do you even know what it does to me, watching you exist in this body like it was built for loving me?”

He pulled back just enough to look at you. His cheeks were pink, and for the first time that night, you saw something wonder bloom behind the disappointment in his eyes.

You leaned in again, your lips brushing over his—soft first. It deepened the moment he kissed you back. It wasn’t desperate, not yet. 

Just… vulnerable. 

It was as if everything unsaid between you was being poured into it, every little bit of doubt and love and hunger bleeding through.

His hands found your hips, fingers flexing like he couldn’t believe you were real. You felt him, too—not just the muscle, but the man who wanted, who needed to be seen, to be held, to be devoured.

“You drive me insane,” you whispered between kisses, your hands running up under his shirt, palming heat and muscle and that slight softness you loved more than you could say. 

He groaned low in his throat, and you felt it reverberate all the way down. 

You tugged his shirt up and over his head. You bit your lip as he fixed his posture, solid and built like sin.

God, you couldn't get enough of him. He had thighs thick enough to crush, arms big enough to cage you in. You ran your palms down his chest, over the swell of his sides, and kissed just above his waistband again.

“I want all of this,” you whispered. “Want to feel it. Fuckin’ climb it, baby.”

That did it.

He leaned forward before picking you up like you weighed nothing. You let out a gasp as he plopped you on the bed. His mouth was back on yours in an instant, kisses turning rougher and hungrier as his hands roamed  with that same desperate worship you gave him.

And when his thigh slid between yours, thick and commanding, you nearly whimpered.

“Bucky—” your voice broke on his name.

He pulled back just enough to growl, “You love this?” His thigh pressed harder, “Love how big and strong I am for you?”

You could barely think, could only nod, fingers tangled in his hair, body arching to meet his.

“Say it.”

“I love it,” you moaned. “I love the way you take up space. I want you to break me in half.”

His blue eyes darkened, his grip tightening just slightly. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

Then he kissed you again, and there was no more sound except for bodies moving like they were made to fit, made to ruin each other sweetly.

And when he finally, finally settled over you like the living embodiment of every gentle and savage thing you even loved—you whispered against his ear, “Don’t hold back.”

He didn’t.

—

You woke up to sunlight cutting through the curtains, the kind of light that felt too ethereal to feel real.

Bucky was already up.

He was standing, shirtless, hair still sleep-mussed, his sleep trousers hanging low on his hips, metal arm catching a glint of light as he rubbed at the back of his neck. You watched him from the bed for a minute.

He was staring at the mirror.

And not with that same bitter expression he usually did. This time… it was different. His brow was still furrowed, sure, but he looked… thoughtful. He looked like he was seeing something new.

Or maybe just seeing it the way you had all along.

There were faint bruises along his hips—your marks. Scratches across his back, red and already rapidly healing thanks to the serum, that they would be gone before the day. His skin was still flushed in places, the way it always got after you touched him like you meant it, like every inch of him was holy ground. 

You let the silence steep, just long enough to not startle him. “Staring at yourself like you’re in love, Barnes,” you finally mumbled sleepily from the pillows.

Bucky turned, but not ashamed. His eyes met yours across the room, and god—there it was. 

A smile.

“Maybe,” he said. His eyes dropped to his stomach, his chest, his body— painted in proof of your love last night. Then he looked at you, still tangled in the sheets, bare-legged, cheek creased from the pillow, looking at him like he was the answer to a prayer you hadn’t even known you wanted.

He shrugged, but it wasn’t dismissive. More like he didn’t know how to put it into words yet.

You sat up and let the sheet fall a little. His eyes flicked down and lingered, mouth parting, even after all this time.

“You didn’t seem to mind this body last night,” he said, quieter and teasing.

You gave him a look—are you serious?—then got up and walked across the room. You stood in front of him and slid your hands up the planes of his torso, over his stomach, then around to his back.

“Bucky,” you said, lips brushing his collarbone, “I wrote scripture out of this body last night.”

He laughed an open, sleepy-morning laugh, like you’d summoned it right out of his ribs. He ducked his head into your neck and held you for a second, arms around your waist.

When he pulled back, you kissed him once, then you glanced toward the mirror.

“Go ahead,” you whispered, brushing your fingers over his stomach. “Smile at yourself again.”

He did.

And he didn’t look away.

-end.

Extra Notes : This was really special to write, especially with so many fics like this going around! I used to have an unhealthy obsession with working out purely for aesthetics, but a few years ago, after moving out of my home country, I started reconnecting with my culture’s food. Cooking and eating became a way to feel close to home, so my body changed! I also shifted toward weight training and functional exercise, and while I’m definitely more muscular than lean now, it took me a while to realise this version of me is so much healthier than when I was stuck in an obsessive calorie deficit. Remember, bodies change, and I find our inherent ability to be look so different and still be worthy of love wonderful!

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

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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

I accidentally paused a video and just....their faces.... Sebastian looks confused, Winston looks offended and Anthony looks amused😂😂😂😂

M A R V E L

Bucky Barnes ✪

Loki Laufeyson ४

Steve Rogers ⍟

Tony Stark ⎊

Things The Avengers Are Not Allowed To Do

C E L E B R I T I E S

Sebastian Stan

Tom Hiddleston

Chris Evans

B A N D S

Andy Biersack / Andy Black / Black Veil Brides

D C • C O M I C S

Jason Todd / Red Hood

W W E

Finn Bálor / Fergal Devitt

twitter  @hourlyseb

Hand kink going CRAZYYYYY

Sebastian Stan + Rings

𝖢𝗁𝖺𝗅𝗅𝖾𝗇𝗀𝖾 𝖶𝖾𝖾𝗄 2: '𝖮𝗎𝗍𝗌𝗂𝖽𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝖡𝗈𝗑' 𝖨 𝗀𝗈𝗍 𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖲𝖾𝖻𝖺𝗌𝗍𝗂𝖺𝗇 𝖲𝗍𝖺𝗇 𝗂𝗌 𝗄𝗇𝗈𝗐𝗇 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗋𝖺𝖼𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗌 𝖺𝗌 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗈𝖿 𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌. @the-slumberparty

DESTROYER ─── Chris

FRESH ─── Steve Kemp

MONDAY ─── Mickey Henry

ONCE UPON A TIME ─── Jefferson

The smile and regret lmaoo

like her better ✧ t.holland

summary: mackie and sebastian wanna steal tom's girl.

warnings: i think none(? just mackie and seb teasing, let me know if there's one!

a/n: i went wild with this. this three are my fav marvel celebs so of course i had to write something for they. i finished tfatws and i really want to write something about it; requests are open and as always, english it' not my first language so i'm so sorry about any mistake! take care of yourself <3 (not my gif)

"Why isn't Harrison here, I miss my favorite person." you said and let out a sigh as you leaned your back against the chair.

"Excuse me?" Tom stopped leaning back and looked at you with furrowed eyebrows, you just raised one at the sight of him "I thought I was your favorite person."

"Not anymore since you had me bring you coffee." you stopped looking at him and returned your gaze to the front.

"You're my assistant."

"I'm your girlfriend," you corrected him and raised your pointing finger. "Harrison is your assistant, not me."

"Yeah, but you're here to replace him." he said with obviousness. It was true, Harrison was filming a new series and therefore you were to take his place at this event. "I'm only teasing, baby. Thank you for my coffe." he leaned in to leave a kiss on your cheek and you smiled as you felt the touch of his lips on your skin.

"So, who's coming?" you asked and pressed your lips to the water bottle to take a sip.

"I think Sebastian and Anthony, they'll be here any minute." he said as if it was the most normal thing in the world.

"Wait, you mean Sebastian and Anthony as Sebastian Stan and Anthony Mackie?" in your voice you could hear the excitement you felt knowing you were going to be around those actors.

"Yeah, why?" he asked without understanding why you were saying it like it was a big fact.

"Why? It's Sebastian Stan and Anthony Mackie! Lovie, thank you for bringing me with you." you gave him a kiss on his cheek as a thank you.

"No problem, always." he smiled at you before speaking again. "Why didn't you tell me you're a big fan of the two of them? I could have introduced you to them much earlier."

"I didn't think you'd want to." you confessed with some embarrassment and he opened his mouth in surprise.

"Of course i will do it! Anything to make my girl happy," his eyebrows furrowed gently and he moved closer to you to seek your lips and kiss you for a moment. "I love you."

"Love you too." you smiled in the middle of the kiss and gave him another and then broke away from him.

"On the roooad!" Anthony's loud voice flooded the place as he walked through the door, behind him came Sebastian. "What are you doing here, bug boy? I thought you weren't coming until the next week." he said when he saw Tom in the chair in front of him.

"Be nice with the child, there's a girl." Sebastian said as calmly as possible. "Where's the blodie boy?" he asked as he walked over to say hello.

"He couldn't make it," your boyfriend replied and got up from his chair to greet the two actors. "How are you, mate?"

"Good, and you?" he asked back and hugged Tom.

"So, who's the girl?" Anthony asked waiting for his friend to break away from Tom so he could say hello.

"Um, so, Mackie and Sebastian, this is my girlfriend, Y/N." Tom introduced you and you got up from your chair so you could greet them.

"No way! You're dating Holland?" Anthony asked with a fake surprise as he walked over to you. "How much did he pay you to come with him? Spill the tea."

"Ha ha, so funny." Tom rolled his eyes and crossed his arms as he watched you hug the two actors.

"Hey, do you want to come with us for lunch?" Sebastian asked politely, releasing you from the hug and placing his hand on your waist. You felt Tom's gaze on you as you felt Sebastian's touch.

"Sure! Will Tom come too?" you asked, not wanting to leave your boyfriend's side.

"Yeah, why not?" he answered you and then peeked out a little so he could see your boyfriend. "You wanna come, spidey?"

"Course." he replied immediately.

"Great, see you out there, Tom," Anthony put his hand on his shoulder. "Goodbye, Y/N."

"What was that?" you asked him as soon as the two left the room.

"What was what?" he returned your question without understanding, placing his hands on your waist.

"You give me the look." Your hands cup his cheeks.

"What look?" he asked again, tilting his head to feel your touch more.

"The look you give me when you're jealous."

"What?! I was not," he denied immediately. "Me? Jealous of that two? Never." he tightened his grip on his hands.

"Sure, baby, sure," you smiled and then stood on your tiptoes so you could connect with his lips in a short but passionate kiss. "Go have fun, i'll be waiting for you."

"Yeah, we actually meet the girl a little while ago. She's very nice." Sebastian answered the fan's question as his hand ran down his leg. The question was if they had met Tom's girlfriend yet.

"Let me tell you something about this girl," Anthony settled better on the couch and Tom put his hand over his face preparing himself for what he would say. "She's very nice, she's beautiful, so beautiful that i thought Tom had paid her to pretend to be his girlfriend."

"Oh, god." Tom said into the microphone, causing some laughter among the fans. You watched from behind the panel.

"Actually, we're having lunch with the little love birds," The Romanian remembered and turned to look at his two companions. "I don't know why, but it gives me a feeling it's going to be a lot of fun."

"If would be if Tom didn't come, but you know." Anthony whispered, though it was perfectly audible over the microphone.

"What?" Tom asked immediately and looked straight at him.

"Yeah, Tom. We like Y/N more than you." Stan agreed with him. In the room you were in you could only hear the countless laughs the actors got out of you.

"What?! Why?" he asked and looked at the fans with furrowed brows. "If it wasn't for me you two wouldn't have met her."

"So what? She's less annoying. I don't even know how she's dating you." Mackie grimaced and shook his head.

"Request to exchange Tom for Y/N. Anthony, please sign this." he made with his hands a piece of invisible paper and passed it to Mackie.

"Be careful, Tom. They gonna steal your girl." The interviewer told him, getting along with it.

"The thing that they don't know, it's that Y/N is Mrs. Holland."

THIRST TWEETS

SUMMARY: Sebastian and you are invited to read thirst tweets.

A/N: hey! so i really love sebastian and i wanted to write something about him, so this is what my mind created. also, english it's no my first language, so i hope this is good, let me know what you think! take care of yourself please. (not my gif)

you and Sebastian had been dating for a few months after the movie you were shooting ended.

he had been invited to Comic-Con for his role as Bucky, yet you were there as a supportive girlfriend. you two had been invited to the section to read thirst tweets. Sebastian had no idea what you two were going to do, but you had already seen some of those videos on the internet and it seemed quite funny.

"and what are we going to do?" the boy asked once you two were sitting in front of the cameras.

"the two of you are going to read thirst tweets." a girl behind cameras answered him as she handed him a blue pot.

"a what?" he asked again without understanding and took the pot in his hands.

"it will be fun, I promise you." you told him and placed a kiss on his cheek.

the cameras started recording and the signal was given for the two of you to start reading the little papers with tweets.

"hi! I'm [Y/N] and this is Sebastian." you greeted with a big smile and pointed to the boy next to you. "and today we will read yours thirst tweets."

"do you want to start? I have no idea how this works." Sebastian held out the pot for you so you could reach in and take a piece of paper out of it.

"alright." you said as soon as you took a paper between your hands. "oh my god, okay." you cleared your throat before reading.

"what?" Seb asked with great curiosity.

"i would pay a thousand dollars for [Y/N] to choke me with her thighs." you read and turned to see your boyfriend, who kept his mouth open in surprise.

"is that a thirst tweet?! oh my god, I don't want to do this anymore." he shook his head while laughing.

"stop it, it's your turn pretty boy." you snatched the container from his hands and held it out to him.

"i'm scared, I really mean it." he said when he reached into the pot. "Okay, let's see what it says." he narrowed his eyes a little so he could read better. "I want Sebastian to kiss me just like he kiss [Y/N], wish i were heather." he stop reading and looked at you with puppy eyes.

"why are you looking at me like that?" you asked.

"that means I'm a good kisser" he said with some arrogance.

"who told you that?" you asked in amusement and reached into the bowl to get another tweet.

"this person." he shook the paper that was in his hand. "if they want me to kiss them like I kiss you, it means I'm a good kisser."

"of course not." you pushed his face a little. "maybe you're a bad kisser but I'm not telling you because i love you."

"okay, you know what? I'll never kiss you anymore." he said and crossed his arms, then turned and turned his back on you.

"you do not even belive it." you put a hand on his thigh to turn it so that the two of you are looking at the camera again. "the dance that [Y/N] did in the Shawn Mendes music video plays in my head every day." you read and immediately the memories of that moment came to your head.

"i agree with that person." Sebastian spoke and then I look at you. "you looked hot in that video." confessed.

"i always look hot, what do you mean?" you asked indignantly and tossed the paper into the air, while your boyfriend pulled out another.

"Sebastian Stan, I ask you to choke me with the metal arm." he read and couldn't help laughing in the middle of the reading.

"would that be possible? I think it would kill you if I just tried for all the weight it carries." you said and put your own hand on your neck.

"i don't know, we should try it." he looked at you and raised his eyebrows playing.

"Sebastian!" you gave him a little bump on the arm. "this is family time, there are children watching us!" you said as a laugh began to escape from your mouth.

"fine." he said and rolled his eyes.

"okay, I think this is the penultimate of all." you said as soon as you touched the paper "that picture where Brie Larson and [Y/N] are kissing lives in my head for free." you read and quickly felt the gaze of your partner on you. "what?"

"you have a picture of kissing my set partner and I didn't even know it!" he sounded indignant and got up from his chair to go behind cameras. "i'm done."

you really couldn't stop laughing seeing Sebastian's reaction, however you had to fire the video without him.

"i need to see that picture. if we ever break up I'll blame Brie for being the third person in this relationship." the boy said with amusement once the cameras stopped recording.

"I'll show it to you when we get home." You assured him and they both smiled at each other.

stanning the right man >>>>>>>

~°•●🍹●•°~

How come the actors that I appreciate the most, are a clear clean mirror reflection of what I lack in life? I prob should number them, and the heart-aching need to meet them all before they either retire or...worse.

Hugh Jackman, Mads Mikkelsen, Sebastian Stan, Daniel Craig,RDJ(Robert Downey Jr.), Pedro Pascal, Oscar Isaac, Willem Dafoe(as a parental-only figure),Tom Holland, and probably more- are the perfect type of men I lack as partner, father, uncle, grandfather and family friend. These. These people make me happy just by the way they are as actors and public people. It isn't just how good looking they are, it is also the heartwarm they give out to the people, their taste from music, to fashion, to the characters they interpret.

This was just a small blabber as I find tumblr to be the safe enough place to write my thoughts out to, and maybe some resonate with this thinking that actors, possibly just male..just fit. By nature.

~°•●🍹●•°~

The way I hoped onto google so fast to search it🤣

Just woke up to this news

One stop off of heaven

Choose your path ➦

My girl

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

All ends well from Bucky and his girl, now they have to make up for lost time and miscommunication.

Chapters:

🛎️Part 1: I'll call you mine - Coming soon

🛎️Part 2: You're my sweet complete desire - Coming soon

Drabbles:

Coming soon (open to thots/asks)

I wanna be yours

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader → Ari Levinson x Reader

Bucky might not want you, but someone from your past absolutely does and he won’t let you be treated like you’re worth nothing. He’ll go above and beyond to show you what love truly is.

Chapters:

🗝️Part 1: Snap out of it

🗝️Part 2: Arabella - Coming soon

Drabbles:

Coming soon (open to thots/asks)

Monstertober Day 4:

Somebody’s watching me🦇

Pairing: Vampire!Bucky x Victim!reader

Warnings: Non con→Dub con, near death, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, dacryphilia, marking/biting, bruises (not the kinky kind), scratching, aphrodisiac, choking, spiting, making you drink your own blood, utter filth

Nicknames: Bambi, Doll, Deer, Pet

Word count: 2.5k

༻𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐓𝐚𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐌𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫༺

Have you ever felt like there was a pair of eyes following your every move?

All day that feeling’s been persistently nagging at the back of your mind. Each time you turned around, your eyes frantically scanned your apartment for the traces of the eyes. Nothing. You honestly felt like you were going crazy the entire day; when you were cooking you placed down the vegetable peeler to take the lid off the pasta that was boiling, you couldn’t have been turned around for more than fifteen seconds, you felt warm air blow against your neck and spun around instantly and there was nothing, no one and your vegetable peeler was also gone. You later found it on the coffee table. Odd, that’s all you could really say to abate the panic bubbling inside of you, the agitating feeling that you were not alone in your tiny one bedroom apartment. There was no way that you put that vegetable peeler on that coffee table, you knew that—but you lied to yourself.

As if nothing had happened, you sat down at the coffee table, put on Netflix and drowned out your fears for an hour, relaxed and laughed and now it was time to shower.

Slowly, you slipped off your clothes; shivering at the chilly air as it sends ripples of goosebumps across your skin, your nipples harden and you wrap your towel around yourself protectively, unsure if you’re protecting yourself from the cold or prying eyes. You open the bathroom door, staring out into the corridor one final time before letting out a steady breath and closing it. No one was there. “There's no one here, you’re being silly.” You reassured yourself, letting out a stifled laugh at the notion of someone being in your apartment.

You got in the shower, allowing the hot streams of water to wash away the stress that had plagued you all day. You lifted up your body wash squeezing a generous amount in your hand before spreading it across your body.

Thud

Your blood ran cold.

You turned off the shower, grabbed your towel, swaddled yourself in it and threw open the door to the bathroom “Listen! I know someone’s in here! So you better get the fuck out before I find you!” What were you going to do if you found someone? You had no idea. There was no way you could overpower someone, especially not in your towel.

Silence rang out in your apartment. Maybe you were going absolutely nuts. But it sounded so real.

You stomped through your apartment, heart hammering against your ribcage like a prisoner trying to escape, searching every single room. Throwing open each door one by one; as you did the terror you were feeling began to dissipate. You reached you living room, the rug was a bit dirty, but that was probably just from you spilling some dirt after repotting your plants.

Returning to your shower, you felt confident no one was inside your house. You had thoroughly checked reached individual room of your small apartment; looking behind your sofa, behind tables in the corner, even under your bed which took you a while to type yourself up to do.

You finished your shower, uneventfully, and got into your pjs and staggered over to your bed practically collapsing into it. The storm outside was raging on, rain hammering against your window, you laid on your side staring at the void. Lightning flashed and a rumble of thunder rolled on behind it, making you snuggle further into your heap of blankets. You let your eyes fall closed, listening to the rain.

Scratch

A branch must have been scratching against your window, you tried to ignore it.

Whack

Scratch

You threw your covers off, stomping over to the window and throwing it open to snap the branch. That’s when you realised. There was no tree that close to your window.

You were pushed to the ground by a person that came through your window. Your head hit the carpet as the person caged you in, the rain soaking his clothes from outside dripping onto you “Thanks for letting me back in, Doll.”

Glowing red eyes stared directly into your soul, you slammed your fists into him desperately in an attempt to get him off “Get the fuck off me! Who the hell are you?!” A scream died in your throat when an icy arm snaked around your throat pushing painfully into your trachea and pulling you into his broad chest.

“That is not very nice, I’ve been watching you all day after all. I even helped you clean up your vegetable peeler.” Your eyes grew as wide as dinner plates and your throat went dry at his confession. Hot tears streamed down your face and you opened your mouth to scream but a powerful hand clapped over your mouth “shhh. No need to talk, just relax for me little Bambi.” He steadily let his hand covering your mouth slip to below your chin and turned your head to face him. The harsh blue glow of lightning lit up the room for a brief moment and you were able to see him more clearly. His chiselled features are burned into the back of your eyelids; his chocolate brown hair, his sculpted jaw besprinkled with the beginnings of a beard. He was so enchantingly beautiful.

“You look so beautiful when you cry.” His reddened lips were slightly parted in an impish smile exposing his needle sharp canine teeth that glinted in the fleeting light, the sight of his wolf like canines only deepened your unease “Your heart is pounding Bambi.” He cooed letting out a dark chuckle as he tightened his hold on your throat, pulling you flush against you till his whole being is engulfing you—imprisoning you against his bulky figure, you cough as he squeezes. He lowers his head to the crook of your neck nudging his nose just below your ear and inhaling deeply. The strange man let out a groan in response “Fuck you smell so good, little deer. You’re going to be good for me aren’t you? Gonna be so good for Bucky whilst he eats his fill…In more ways than one.” His tone is honeyed, smooth and so sinfully deep that it allows you to momentarily forget that he is only using one of his arms to hold you in place, also the fact that he climbed through your window which was on the fourth floor. Then you feel something wet and cold lick down your neck before a sharp pain radiates through your shoulder, you wail in response; digging your nails into his hairy arm leaving bloody crescents as you drag them across Bucky’s skin praying that he will let you go.

Your head grows cloudy as he continues to suck, the wet lapping of his tongue against your skin and the sound akin to the slurping of a straw in an empty juice box overpowers the clattering of the rain outside. Uncomfortable heat spreads across your skin, leaving all your limbs tingling. Costively he lowers you to the floor, as he does the whole world feels like it’s tilting on its axis, the room around you is barely visible as your vision swims making your stomach do somersaults as you swallow down the urge to vomit. Your head is pressed sideways against the carpet and you rest on your elbows, knees bent with your ass in the air. The queasy feeling in you subsides and instead melts into a pleasurable throb in between your thighs.

Bucky’s teeth finally leave your neck, but he remains bent over you—his tongue swiping across your skin, collecting the excess blood that’s dripping from the punctures on your neck “God I knew I made the right choice. I could smell you from miles away, I followed the scent and it brought me here. This is the sweetest blood I’ve ever tasted, you’re like a heavenly nectar. My forbidden from the tree in Eden.” He growls, you feel him run his tongue across the holes last time; his head hovers over your neck, mouth open, hot puffs of air warming your skin. He pulls away. “I’ll stop for now, I still want you conscious whilst I fuck you and I need to savour your flavour.”

You slur out a jumbled ‘no’ and ‘fuck off’ in response, but he just titters condescendingly at the state of you; running his hands across your back in an exaggeratedly soothing motion. His hands slink round to your chest, squeezing your breasts before he tears your shirt down the middle in one harsh yank. You shift under him, unintentionally rubbing your ass into his bulge “Where’d all the fight go my frightened little bambi? Did it feel good having a vampire drain you of most of your blood?” Bucky withdraws himself from his position on top of you, removing his arm from the side of your head, instead opting to perch on his knees behind you. Planting both his hands on your hips and pulling you against him, grinding his clothed dick against you dampening pyjama shorts.

“Uhn- feels so good.” You keened into his touch, your previous hesitancy and fear becoming a distant memory, replaced by overwhelming lust that was corrupting your mind. His metal hand meanders down to the thin fabric tearing it and your panties easily, exposing your leaking slit to the cold air leaking in from the open window.

Bucky swiped two of his fingers down your creamy cunt, humming approvingly at the slick “Us vampires have a certain venom in our saliva, you’ll find that this is going to be the best pleasure that you’ve ever experienced. Rather sad, because it's going to be the last you ever feel.” He squeezed your clit between his fingers, toying with the button to hear you pathetic whines “Your pussy is practically drooling for me.” He roughly shoved two large, chilly fingers into you, pistoning them in and out—watching as you hole clenches around them trying to coax them back inside. He scissors his fingers twice before landing a slap on one of your ass cheeks, you yelp, your pussy clamps around his thick fingers. He repeats the action and you clench tighter “Naughty girl, getting turned on from me spanking your ass.” His tone playful and teasing. Bucky slips his fingers out and you whimper at the loss, the burn within you becoming unbearable, your ability to think coherently fading with each passing second—the only thought left behind was of him. Of Bucky and his cock that was going to split you open. You knew it was thick and long, you could feel it against your thigh as he finger fucked you. “Even your juices taste divine, Doll, you were made for me.” You hear him suck his fingers a bit more, before the brief sharp hiss of his jeans zipper being undone puts an end to your needy groaning. You feel the girthy wet tip of his cock circle your quivering hole, goosebumps litter your skin once again as both of his cold hands return to their position at your hips.

He plunges all of his length inside you at once, his thick length stretches you painfully around him.; you’re painfully aware of every inch and vein of his cock. Your toes curl as he continues to pound into you at a ferocious pace, not stopping once for you to adjust to his length. You let out a scream, biting your forearm as he angles his hips making you squeal. A ruthless smack meets your rear, you tighten around him; but even that doesn’t make him falter. His grip on your hips grows tighter, tight enough to break through the stifling pleasure and bring you back to your senses briefly; until another harsh thrust that bashes your cervix knocks you back into your pleasurable slurry—that has you sobbing with every rhythmic thrust. Orgasm builds in your lower gut, you were in sheer bliss as you came on his cock. It was the most mind numbing orgasm you’d ever experienced. Your legs give out below you, but his beefy arm keeps you up. He drapes himself back over you, his pace quickening, thrust becoming more erratic, hungrier as face lingered above your other shoulder. He licked the shell of your ear and pressed wet, hot open mouth kisses to the skin of your neck, the dusting of stubble on his jaw itching your skin; he grunted as his cock twitched inside you. Bucky rammed his hips into yours with one last powerful thrust, then he sank his fangs into your other shoulder.

The agony of the bite granted you a fleeting moment of clarity of what was happening. The fact that a strange man, a vampire, had climbed into your window and taken you against your will and was now sucking you dry of your blood. It all seemed like one convoluted dream, no, a nightmare. But these thoughts faded just as quickly as they flashed in your mind, instead they liquefied into a sea of nothingness. No thoughts, just feelings. A delightful, spine tingling, lip biting sensation that flooded your whole body, making you a pliable, moaning, dribbling mess below the vampire that was mauling your shoulder. You couldn’t feel the blood trickling down your chest or the barbaric way his teeth dug into every square inch of your neck and shoulder. You were on the brink of death and yet you put up no fight, you were revelling in the ecstasy that was muddling your brain. He was killing you so softly “You taste so good, best thing I’ve ever tasted. I’m so glad I followed your scent, Bambi.” Bucky pulled himself off your shoulder and slipped out of your tight heat, grabbing your arm and flipping you onto your back. His eyes stared down into yours; your pupils blown wide as you laid delirious mouth hanging open dumbly. He spat into your mouth; then glided his fingers over the blood running down your tit and shoved it into your mouth, wiping the blood on to your tongue “Swallow it, Pet, and be mine forever.”

You did as he said and reality grew clearer. You looked at him cluelessly “What?” You croaked, voice strained from screaming.

His cold hand stroked your face and he hushed you, a smile that did not reach his eyes contorting his features “I made you a Blood slave, Bambi, so I can feast on you forever. Forever and Always.”

Tag list: @alina02 @winterslove1917 @unabashed-lover-of-fictional-men @petesey @getwellsoontana @feyfantome @alexxavicry @ashenc-blog @floral-recs @renster05 @redbloodedgurl @teambarnes72 @shrekwreck @sweetwrathoflilith @cjand10 @flamefoxxrecs @addie5587483 @little-bunny0523 @tenpointsforbucky @sojuxxi @adoreyouusugar @teambarnes72 @wintasssoldier @gryffindorqueensworld @aerangi @itwillgetbetter

🩸 Steve Kemp x Reader Drabble 🩸

Pairing: Master!Steve Kemp x Bunny!Reader

Warnings: Steve is a warning in itself, marking/biting, cunnilingus, mentions of cannibalism , mentions of blood, Dom!Steve + Sub!reader

Nicknames: Bunny, Slut, Master

His hand gripped your thigh, a grip that could kill—and it had, he stroked the soft flesh pinching it when he got close to your already damp panties. You carded your cuffed hands through his silky locks, relishing in the sight below you. His hand slipped back down to your knees rubbing them decisively with his calloused palm. Two rubs each, slow and methodical as if he was feeling up a watermelon trying to pick the best one. Like you were food. You were food to him. You tried to push away the disturbing reality and focus on his sculpted jaw as nudged his slightly stubbly cheek against your inner thigh. He took in a deep inhale of your skin, before taking the sensitive flesh into his mouth; sucking it, running it through his teeth, playful nibbling. You had to swallow down the witty remark that sat on the top of your tongue, ‘didn't your parents ever tell you not to play with your food Stevie?’ You bit down on your lip suppressing a giggle. The pain of Steve chomping down on your thigh pulled you out of your gallow humour inner monologue “Ouch!” You yelped, tugging on his hair. He released the skin, blood trickled from his bite mark. He lapped at the trickling red, as if it was wine that had spilled on his hand whilst opening a bottle of wine.

“Focus, Bunny, I want you to watch everything I do to you. Even when I do this.” He bit down on the same thigh, this time closer to your dripping cunt. But he dug his teeth further in, at the same time his fingers pushed aside your panties. He ran his fingers through your hot, damp folds; pushing two digits into your needy cunt. He growled into your thigh, chewing on the bite mark like a rabid animal desecrating your corpse. The danger was so enticing. Pleasure and pain soon bleed into one another as his fingers attack the spongy spot inside you, curling his fingers to rub and tease it whilst he moves to your other thigh. The initial bite made you squeal, but as he tugged at flesh and added another finger the squeal of pain turned into moans of pleasure. You felt him rut his hips into your ankle, his clothed dick straining against jeans. His head lifted from your leg, he craned his neck back slightly to look at you. Your blood smeared on his saliva coated chin, his tongue jutted out of his mouth licking at as much of the blood as he could manage. He growled as he swallowed, his eyes almost rolling back into his skull “You taste so fucking good. Anytime I get a taste of you, even just a smell of you. I go feral.” He scissored his fingers inside you, thrusting them in and out of you “Cum. Cum on my fingers Bunny. Like the little pain slut you are. You like this, don’t you? Like me slowly devouring you.” Your grip on his hair tightened and your hips raised off the chair, you pushed yourself further down his fingers trying to match his pace. His thrusts stopped. “Tell me, Bunny, or I won’t let you cum.” He snarled, giving you an intense glare.

You whimpered “I love it! Love you devouring me, feel so good!” You practically screamed, you were so close. He slapped your clit with the tips of his fingers

“That’s my good little slut.” He cooed, resuming his ministrations. His head dipped down, he took your sensitive bud in his mouth. Running his teeth over the hood of your clit ever so gently as his tongue flicked at it. You choked on a moan, throwing your head back as you came on his face. He swallowed down every single drop of your juices hungrily, the salacious slurping sound piercing through your blissed out haze causing your cheeks to burn red. “Fuckkkk. I should bottle this shit up and sell it, so sweet. I can’t get enough.” He groaned, sliding his tongue inside your clenching hole trying to drink as much of you as he possibly could. When he had sucked you dry he rose to his feet, he stroked your face with his palm running his thumb across your lip “Open.” You oblige “Good little Bunny.” He praises before shoving all three of his fingers that had been inside you down your throat “clean my fingers, Bunny. We’re going to the bedroom, I’m not done with you yet.”

Tag list:

@alina02 @unabashed-lover-of-fictional-men @getwellsoontana @feyfantome @alexxavicry @ashenc-blog @floral-recs @flamefoxxrecs

Holometabolous metamorphosis 🦋

Part 2- Thanatosis 🦋

Holometabolous metamorphosis- Also called complete metamorphosis is a form of insect development that involves four stages of life: egg, larva, pupa (cocoon) and adult.

Dark!Mean!Mafia!Biker! Bucky x innocent!victim!Reader

Warnings: absolutely non con, dark!Bucky, mean!Bucky, Beefy!Bucky, innocent!reader, name calling, manipulation, abuse, bruises (not the kinky kind), dacryphilia, punching, slapping, mentions of blood, heavy angst, reader blames themselves (if you’re getting abused it not your fault), talk of death, allusions to suicide

Nicknames: whore, stupid, dumb

Read this at you own discretion. This is actually one of the darkest things I’ve ever written. I do have a continuation of it so if I finish it I’ll link it.

༻ 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐓𝐚𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐀𝐬𝐤𝐬 ༺

Surely I am dying. My head pounds as I hold the cover closer to me, hugging his pillow tighter as the rain clatters down, harsh like pebbles being thrown at a window, and the wind picks up outside, howling as gusts in all directions shake the trees. My ears prick at the sound of a branch scratching repeatedly at the window, the grating sound causes my brows to pinch together as I pull at the heavy covers, dragging them over my ear. The dark room is illuminated briefly by the blinding white of lightning. It allows me to see the dreary grey walls, lighter than the current sky which is a deep, dark never ending pit that allows for nothing to exist, the closet door is slightly ajar. It’s freezing, my teeth chatter, I ball my body up further, shrugging my shoulders till they reach the bottom of my ear and squeeze, tighter than I’ve ever squeezed before on the pillow. Bucky. The name flashes in my mind and more tears slip over my nose onto the pillow, I take a deep breath allowing his scent that still clings to the pillow to hijack my lungs- the smell of a warm bonfire, the leathery smell of his jacket, petrichor, musky magnolia wood and the oil from his motorbike. My thumb caresses the corner of the pillow and the knot in my throat grows painfully tighter, I bite on my lower lip keeping the sob that is trying to escape my chest inside. I let one of my hands drift to the impression of him that remains in my mattress, the outline of his bulky frame. It’s cold, colder than the bitter wind outside. I miss the days when the impression was filled by him, his feverish warmth and his solid, yet soft muscles. I miss the days when I could lean against his chest and hear the steady, strong rhythm of his heart. I miss the days when he’d run his calloused hands over my skin, under the covers, making the shape of stars, hearts or just random squiggles. I miss him so much, his soothing presence.

The room is illuminated again and I see blood on the pillow from my lip. I throw off the weighty covers, my naked body is kissed by the cold and my skin is pinched softly as it is littered with goosebumps. I throw my legs over the side of the bed, the floorboards groaning as I stumble out into the hallway. I cling desperately to the wall, trying my best to walk as a dull ache radiates through my calves and stinging throbs between my legs, sharp pains jab me as I shuffle like a newborn giraffe towards the glowing warm light of my bathroom. I push the door weakly and am faced with the mirror. Surely I am dying. I wish I was already dead, I want to sink to the floor. I glance over to the dead moths on the yellowed, flakey paint of my windowsill. I want to be a moth, I want the simple little life of a moth. I once thought being with him was freedom, but now I can see, true freedom is death and although I look like death, although I feel like death I am not yet dead.

The room is illuminated again and I see blood on the pillow from my lip. I throw off the weighty covers, my naked body is kissed by the cold and my skin is pinched softly as it is littered with goosebumps. I throw my legs over the side of the bed, the floorboards groaning as I stumble out into the hallway. I cling desperately to the wall, trying my best to walk as a dull ache radiates through my calves and stinging throbs between my legs, sharp pains jab me as I shuffle like a newborn giraffe towards the glowing warm light of my bathroom. I push the door weakly and am faced with the mirror. Surely I am dying. I wish I was already dead, I want to sink to the floor. I glance over to the dead moths on the yellowed, flakey paint of my windowsill. I want to be a moth, I want the simple little life of a moth. I once thought being with him was freedom, but now I can see, true freedom is death and although I look like death, although I feel like death I am not yet dead.

I run my shaking fingers over the bruise around my eye socket. Flowers of deep purples and black and sickly yellowish green buds climb along my cheek bone. I flinch away from my own touch “Stupid” I mutter to myself as I turn the handle of the tap, a metallic creak accompanies the sputter and cough of water as it forms a steady stream. I gather it in my cupped hands, relishing in the warmth, as warm as his skin. I crane my neck down and throw it at my face, rubbing at my stinging split lip with my pinky. I grab my face towel and dab my face dry, looking again in the mirror. Bruises, bushes of purple and black. Estranged petals adorn my waist from where he grabbed me harshly and held me down. A shudder runs down my spine as I feel the ghost of his hands digging into me, little bloody half moons accompany the bruises.

The sky hit its drum once again, I fell to my knees. My hands meeting the cold tiles, reddish brown stained the grout. I hadn’t cleaned it yet. I crawled straight to bed as soon as he left. I can hear his animalistic growls echo off the walls, growls as he plunged into me holding my legs open painfully wide, my hips threatening to come out of their sockets. He was like a man possessed, I’d never seen his eyes so dark and stormy before, wide and pregnant with malice ready to rain on me. I could smell the whiskey on him as he leaned down demanding I kissed him, I refused. That’s when he punched me and grabbed my jaw in a crushing grip, forcing me to kiss him— it was more than just whiskey; this time he was hammered— regardless of my sobs and incoherent pleading. I don’t know what I was pleading for. Maybe for him to stop, maybe for him to go harder, maybe for him to be kinder… I don’t know. Stupid brain, stupid idiot. ‘Stupid’ is what he called me. A ‘dumb whore’, a ‘hole to fuck’ as he snapped his hips chasing his release, unbothered if he pleased me or not. He slapped my face, his ring catching on my lip and tearing it open. He yanked my hair brutally from the root, one of his many rings scraping my scalp sending a white hot throb through my nerves. He demanded that I cry harder, the harder I cried the quicker this would go and the harder his dick would get is what he said. He was hard enough, as his thick cock tore through me slick with blood. Bucky had always been a loose cannon, but usually he directed it towards beating up men who owed him money or waging war on rival gangs. But today he wanted to take it out on me, all he wanted was sex but when I didn’t want to; he decided he was bored with me, my wings were ugly and tattered, but he wanted them, he wanted my freedom so he took it. He burnt my wings off. He raped me. He wouldn’t stop. I wish he just killed me with one of his prized knives. My winter soldier, my flame, my demise.

I hugged myself despite the pain, rocking back and forth on the tiled floor. He’s never coming back. I'm gonna die. I'm dying without him. I need him, he burns me so sweetly. Bucky Bucky Bucky. The chant of his name fills my head as I curl up on the floor like an abandoned animal, like the moth on my windowsill. Surely I am dying.

Part 2- Thanatosis

hi… jingle jingle.. jingle jingle… would anyone be interested in a fresh rp… i’m so obsessed with this movie and need to find someone to write it with!! i have such big muse for noa, hoping to find someone to write steve against her for me. i have all sorts of ideas pls let me throw them at you <3 i write on discord, 18+ interactions only please. like this post or feel free to dm me if you’re interested!

I can't believe just a random post make me love a ship...

How to impress your crush a guide by Bucky Barnes

1. Pay them a surprise visit and show them how strong you are

2. Bring them a gift

3. Show them that you can be handy

4. Help them with something that is important to them, without expecting anything in return

5.  After you help them, say that you are leaving and that you plan to spend the night in a hotel

6. They will ask you to stay

7. Your reward is a smile and a flirty joke

8. Genuine laughter from you,because they are hilarious

9. One night on their sofa is one step closer to their heart

10. Working as a team helps them see that you are someone that they can rely on during tough times

11. Exercising together is a good idea, you stay healthy and at the same time you can admire their beautiful physique

12. You did it, they are already completely crazy about you and they will not want to let you go

13. Mission accomplished, they are more than impressed with you, they are already as in love with you as you are with them.