This Is Perfect!!!

This is perfect!!!

A Touch of Comfort

You’ve always been the touchy-feely sorts with people you’re comfortable around. So when you’re told your touching could be making Bucky uncomfortable, you stop.

But here’s the thing.. Bucky didn’t want you to stop.

Words: 2.6K Author’s Note: This had been requested ages ago and I finally had a little spark of inspiration to write it. Sorry @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 for making it seem like I ignored you.

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Deserve

Summary: Marc never stays with you after he fucks you. You are better left in the hands of Steven. This time, he doesn't leave you.

Pairing: Marc Spector x Reader (implied Steven Grant x Reader)

Word Count: ~4k

Warnings: smut, some references to rough sex, angst (with a happy ending) - don't let me fool you this is just touch starved marc struggling with being loved

A/N: im fine im just really out here with nothing else to do but think about moon knight

Marc was an intense person.

He was like the patter of rain against the roof, against an open window pane. He was like the shock and flash of lightning during a storm.

The grim set of his mouth and shoulders, the unending weight of the world that made his brows dip into that hard line. Marc felt more than he let on, was affected by things people said and did, let the blows rain like ash against his skin and said nothing.

You had learned long ago that Marc did not welcome comfort, that he felt it was something he did not deserve to receive. Soft, shaded mornings were for his alter. Everything squishy and warm, hazed in the breathy glow of a sunrise, was for you and Steven, not him.

Maybe it wasn’t that Marc didn’t welcome comfort.

He craved it, wanted it, longed for it.

And he should not long for it, want it, crave it.

He’d told you as much, over and over, the weight of your gentle hands against his skin like burning embers.

He wanted it. He so badly wanted to sink into that flame, but he was worried it would burn him alive, melt him down into something unrecognizable.

It was only when something went particularly badly that he allowed some comfort.

He loves you, this you know.

You see it in the heaviness of his stare, in the intensity of his worry, in the way he hugged you, held your hand, worried after you like you had not survived for years on your own.

But if you ever dared to hold his hand, hug him, drag your fingers down the length of his spine, it was too much for him. These were things he could offer you, but that you should not give him in return. These were not things he deserved, these were things better reserved to his alter, who was deserving of everything he was not.

Marc is intense.

He’s hard and wild and something close to broken some days, when reality drifts in and out of focus, when the world is best left in the hands of Steven.

There’s always a beating heart of anxiety behind everything he does, that this time he will not be enough, that this time he will not be fast enough, that this time the universe would get the last laugh again.

So when Marc fucks you, he is intense, he is like the weight of the all consuming world poured out. Salt water in wounds.

You don’t mind.

The times he’s gentle with you, you get the sense that he’s mourning, like the act is grief, something lost that he’s stealing back from the gods. Something that is temporary and definitely not for him.

This night, he had come to you like the storm he bred inside him, the hatred of self and fear of a future he could not control, of a tentative reality of things only he could see.

Marc was rough with you.

His fingers in your mouth, his hand hard against your cunt, against your ass. He had buried himself inside you, set a punishing pace. When his mouth was on yours, his kiss had been more like an effort to consume you. When his hand wrapped around your throat, his eyes had snapped to the mirror, and you had known Steven had been cautioning him, that you were in fact breakable, no matter what you said, that he should be careful of you.

But you’d covered his hand with your own and tightened his fingers, eyes fluttering closed as you lost yourself in whatever bit of himself he would give you.

A last stuttering breath passes your lips, eyes screwed closed, pleasure lighting up the insides of your veins, molten, like a river of fire that never ends.

You clutch the sheets beneath your fingers and turn your face into a pillow as the last waves of your orgasam shutter through you. You bite off the moan that bubbles to the back of your throat when you feel Marc shift inside you, so full it's almost painful.

Your thighs tremble, the insistent pressure of Marc’s hand against the back of your neck keeping you in place. His other hand kneads the flesh of your hip, and you know a bruise has already formed there.

Marc pulls back, and thrusts into you one last time, a pleasant satisfied ache beginning between your legs.

The firm fingers at your waist finally let you drop your hips to the mattress.

You feel weightless and warm, content, like you’re floating through a cloud. Marc presses a kiss to the space between your shoulder blades, before the heavy bulk of his body surrounds yours.

Disappointment darts through you in a brief little flash, because this is Marc’s parting gift to you always.

The kiss between your shoulders, the all consuming fire of the warmth of him against you, before he hands the reigns to Steven.

Marc never stays with you, after. The kiss against your spine is all you get from him. Whether because he can’t be bothered with taking care of you or because he feels he doesn’t deserve to, you aren’t sure.

Steven is always there though, to kiss you back to life, to smile at you, make love to you so slowly and sweetly it was like a dream you never wanted to wake up from.

His fingers slide up your arms, massaging as he goes, until he reaches your clenched hands, gently uncurling them from the fabric of the sheets until he can twist his fingers with yours.

You feel him squeeze carefully, his nose dipping to the crook of your neck.

A stillness falls over you both, silence, peace, creating a warm little bubble.

You don’t mind his weight against you, it settles the frantic beating of your heart, drenches you in warmth.

Normally, Steven would say something to you when he fronted, a kiss against your cheek and a softly spoken hello, love.

Today, he’s silent, arms tight and grounding around you.

But it's Steven, you know it must be.

Because Marc never stays.

You turn your head, nuzzling your nose against his arm, feeling his damp skin against your cheek. You want to open your eyes, reach up and touch the little black curl of hair you know must be stuck to his forehead at that moment.

You’re content to stay like that with him, content to feel the gentle drift of his nose along the curve of your jaw. So you keep your eyes closed and let your mushy, sex-addled brain drift, as lips press along your jaw, behind the curve of your ear.

And you’re happy to stay in the gentle warmth being offered to you, the glow of being loved so well.

But then, he does something inexplicable.

Steven pulls away from you.

He gets up.

And he leaves.

An empty feeling that you don’t like crawls up from the pit of your belly. A feeling that’s suspiciously like abandonment, that you know is not grounded in reality.

Steven never left the bed, not without saying something to you first, not before checking in with you to ask what you needed or wanted. Especially not when Marc had been so rough with you.

It was a routine that was being broken, a sacred step you didn’t know needed spoken out loud.

You swallow thickly, peeling your eyes open.

You don’t like the dirty, used feeling that’s overwhelming you, like you did not matter.

Pushing yourself up is a monumental task, the ache of your bones like the grinding of cinder blocks against your flesh. You glance over your shoulder at the door.

Then there’s a clatter from the bathroom and the door swings open, Steven emerging in only a pair of briefs. He still doesn’t say anything as he approaches and encourages you with gentle hands to roll over, the brief warmth of a washcloth between your legs.

Which is odd.

Because Steven would normally lie with you and talk with you, until you were coherent again, until you were secure enough for him to move away without feeling the sting of abandonment.

Steven also talked almost non-stop to you, never without something to say.

Normally, you would throw on a shirt and play cards in bed, watch something on your laptop. Sometimes, Steven would just hold you and talk. Sometimes, he would make love to you again.

But none of that happened until you were ready.

Steven still doesn’t speak to you as he climbs back into bed, handing you Marc’s discarded shirt, which he gingerly helps you sit up and slip on.

Steven’s head twitches toward the mirror, and you watch him watch his reflection for a moment. You frown, wondering what Marc could be saying to him. Marc, who always and without fail disappeared and walled himself off from both of you.

And then it dawns on you.

In your post-orgasm haze, and without the sound of his voice, you hadn’t noticed the signs that this was very clearly Marc still fronting, not Steven.

Marc never stayed with you, never.

Your throat is tight when he doesn’t say anything, his head is still swiveled toward the mirror, brows drawing tighter together with each passing minute.

“Hey,” you clear your throat, “c’mere.”

You snuggle down and hold out your arms.

You half expect him to huff out an exasperated breath and lay back but avoid your touch.

But he doesn’t.

He curls into your arms, nudging his nose into the hollow at the base of your throat. He cradles you close, inhaling gently.

But to your utter surprise, he lets you smooth your hands over his shoulders, through his unruly curls. The motion of it soothes you, comforts you.

You glance toward the mirror and wish that you could see Steven there too, so you could ask what was going on in Marc’s head, why he was pretending to be Steven.

“You okay?” You say as he lets you run a hand down his face, over the ridge of scar above his brow.

It takes Marc a long time to respond, buried in your skin as he is, breathing you in, tracing rough hands along your hips and over your thighs, massaging where he knows you must be sore.

You kiss the top of his head, blearily giving him all the love he was usually too prickly to receive.

He nods against you, so you slip hands down his back, over his hair. You aren’t sure why he’s pretending, but you find you don’t mind. It’s the kind of love you always want to shower Marc with but that he rarely allows.

You want to ask him why, why he didn’t let Steven front. But you worry he might think you’re asking to see Steven, that you don’t want him there with you.

Emotionally, Marc was a fortress, impenetrable and soldily quiet. Things simmered down in his gut, pushed away and down down down, until they overwhelmed him, until they burst to the surface in a violent torrent.

Most often, it was when someone he loved was in danger, when the past became something he could no longer stare down, when the things he avoided were impossible to ignore.

And you’re terribly afraid that if you say anything now, he’ll clam up, shut down, pull away from you, leave the flat and take your heart with him.

Gently, you slide down, until you’re eyelevel with him, one hand against his neck, thumb tracing the line of his jaw carefully.

You feel Marc’s hands go to the small of your back, big hands gingerly tugging you closer, until your nose is touching his, until you share the same air.

And you can hardly believe that the man who had smacked your pussy, held you down and fucked you until you felt like you couldn’t breathe, whispered filthy things in your ear that you can hardly remember, that your brain fuzzes out when you think about too much - is now holding you so gently you may as well be made of delicate glass, is now allowing you to stroke your hands through his hair, pet his broad shoulders. His eyes are closed, trust you didn’t think Marc possessed pouring over you in waves.

You know why.

You know why he’s doing this.

Marc would rather accept love in the guise of his alter than ever believe he was worthy of it himself.

You think about the hatred that lives inside Marc, about the self-hatred that loomed always at the back of his mind. The hatred that ran so deep, that he felt so potently, that even his alter had thought the worst of him at first.

Killer, mercenary, cold-blooded.

Things that Marc accepted into the folds of who he was without question.

Marc never let you hold him like this, and so you do so for as long as you can bear, tilting your chin into his so you can kiss him softly, feeling the slow drift of his hands down your sides to the curve of your ass, over the bruised skin of your hips and thighs. He hooks his fingers behind your knee and tugs your leg over his hip.

You finger a curl at the back of his neck, the glow of brown skin molten in the low light of the flat.

You swallow and hope that you don’t drive him away, but you can’t stand it any longer - his thinking that this is softness you would only grace Steven with.

“Marc,” you whisper. “I know it's you.”

Even the way they hold you is different. Of course, you can always tell. You did not need their voices to tell you who was fronting.

Marc’s eyes flash open and you’re surprised to see fear there.

You hold fast to him, though he doesn’t try to pull away. You raise a questioning brow and resume your gentle ministrations, trying to show him without words that you did not treat him carefully because you thought he was Steven.

“How’d you know?”

You shake your head and press your thumb against the center of his chin, “I can always tell. It’s not something you can really hide.”

He tries to tug his face away from your hand but you don’t let him, stubbornly making him look into your eyes.

“Baby,” you say, “You know that you are just as deserving-,”

“Don’t,” he says sharply. “Don’t do that.”

“But you are, Marc. I always want to do this but you always leave me,” you stoke a hand through his hair. “I know Steven has talked to you about it, too. Told you that you don’t have to go.”

Marc is stiff against you and you consider for a moment letting him go.

But you don’t.

You hold on, and murmur, “It’s okay to want this. It’s okay.” You keep feathering your hand through his hair, your touch as gentle as you can make it. “I love you, you know.” You touch the gold chain around his neck and finally glance away from his eyes, staring at the hollow of his throat instead as you say, “You don’t always have to have your walls up. I’m not - I won’t -,” you stop and consider your next words. “I love you exactly as you are.”

There’s a long moment of silence after that, one in which your heart beats painfully fast and you wait for Marc to push you away.

But it doesn’t come, his body slowly relaxes against yours again, your fingers continuing their careful press against his skin.

His head tips toward the mirror on the wall, and he nods after a few long minutes, carefully plucking up one of your hands, to kiss each of your fingers, the flat of your palm, and then to curl them closed again, hold your hand against his chest.

You can feel the steady thrum of his heart, and Marc doesn’t look at you when he says. “I want it too.”

You wait a moment but he doesn’t say more.

“I’m happy to give it to you, Marc.”

“You - you give too much as it is.” He pauses for a long moment, before pushing you onto your back, hovering over you, his eyes darting over your face.

And you’re amazed, wondering, at the love struck expression he wears, like you were the pinnacle of a universe that barely made sense, that was barely held together.

“Steven deserves this,” he nods down at you. “He’s never-,”

You hear the unspoken words - that is why Steven was born after all, to be all the things Marc thought he wasn’t, to shield himself.

“Stop it. Marc, you are not your past. You are not bad. You carry around the weight of the world and these sins you think are yours alone. They aren’t.” You tip your head up to nudge your nose against his, Marc’s hands pinning both of yours to the space beside your shoulders.

Marc is looking at you in that intense way of his, brows furrowed, mouth tilted in that overly-serious line.

“And what if I don’t think I deserve it, huh? To get you like this?”

“Don’t listen to you, then. Listen to me.” You hitch your knees up to frame his hips, holding him against you, levering pressure into the backs of his thighs until he drops down fully against you. “You deserve it. More than most.”

You know everything he’s ever done is flashing through his mind. His brother’s death and his mother’s wrath. His time as a mercenary, his time in the military. The way he thinks he breaks and folds and isn’t strong enough, never strong enough, not enough. The mistake of Khonshu. The way he thinks he failed Layla and Steven, and that he will do it all over again.

“Hey,” you nudge his jaw again. “Quit that.”

Marc nods slowly, intense stare pinning you down. “I deserve it.” He says it like he expects you to disagree with him, to laugh.

“Yes,” you breathe. “I’ll remind you of that.” He releases your wrists, burying his nose in your neck, the breath he sucks in is shaky and wild, the drum beat of a storm he stored inside the stoic stone that surrounded his heart.

You cup a hand against the back of his neck, your other hand sliding down his side, tracing the violent scars that dot his ribs. Carefully, you slide his boxers down his thighs. Your touch is soft against him, your body already welcoming to him, and he slides into you with a quiet groan.

It’s not like making love with Steven, who was sillier and goofier than Marc would ever be.

It’s different to how Marc normally fucks you, when the mood strikes him to give it to you slow.

This time, it's sweet, it's like the smoky burn of incense, like the homecoming he’d been waiting for for years. Marc kisses you softly, groans into your mouth when he was normally quiet aside to talk to you, demand things from you.

You tighten your legs around him, encourage him to move slower, push deeper.

“Fuck,” he whispers against the delicate skin of your neck.

Sweat beads on his forehead, the glow of him against you like the sun. When you push the curls back from his forehead to look into his eyes, you catch something vulnerable in your heart, like the knife of everything Marc was storming into you.

“Fuck,” he murmurs again.

He ducks his head to kiss a path along your throat, where earlier his palm had circled the flesh.

You drag your nails along his back, rub a hand through his hair, rock the cradle of your hips along with his.

Marc reaches for one of your hands, kisses your fingers before guiding your hand to your cunt, “Sorry baby, I’m not gonna last. Need you to touch yourself for me.”

You’re only a little bit shocked, but you tip his chin up to kiss him. Marc normally had a stamina that could win awards.

Not now, it seemed. Not when you had given him permission to be slow and gentle and soft.

Your breath is squeezed from your lungs, the heavy drag of him inside you almost enough to make you come.

Marc doesn’t let you breathe, his mouth an insistent press against yours until you pull away with a gasp and you hear the sound of a quiet laugh against your throat, teeth digging into your jaw.

You come unexpectedly, hips jerking up to meet him as Marc gives a harder thrust, looping an arm beneath one of your knees to open you up more, to slide that much deeper.

The spot he hits within you makes your toes curl, makes it hard to catch a breath.

“I can destroy you like this too, huh?” Marc asks, grinding against you, hips swirling as you groan from the breathless pleasure darting up your spine.

“Don’t ruin this, Spector,” you huff, nipping at his jaw, only laughing a little.

“Keep touching yourself. I didn’t say to stop,” he answers.

Your eyes roll back when his tongue curls against the hollow of your throat. “I want you to come again,” his voice is a husky rasp in your ear.

You’re still wearing Marc’s shirt, but when he releases your leg to palm your breasts through the fabric, you regret ever letting him partially dress you.

“C’mon, baby,” he murmurs, “You’re so tense. Come for me again, hm? Come for me.” When he pinches your nipple and rolls it between his fingers, you do. White hot pleasure courses up your spine, makes your mind go blank. “Fuck, are you coming?”

“Yes,” you moan, “I’m coming for you.”

“For me,” he repeats. “For me.”

“Marc,” you whisper, pleasure making your vision go fuzzy, your exhausted body trembling. “Marc, I love you.”

His hand goes to your ass, angles your hips, before he thrusts so deep you see stars and he spills inside you.

You make sure to wrap your arms around his head, tightening your grip until he wiggles. “Can’t breathe, baby.” But you don’t want him to go anywhere, you don’t want the idea to even occur to him.

You loosen your grip but say, “Don’t leave.”

Marc’s jaw tightens, “Sorry about that.”

“S’ok. Just don’t go.”

“Not going anywhere tonight, honey.”

You nod, nuzzling your nose against his cheek when Marc takes your hand and brings it to his mouth, kissing your fingers and wrist, your forearm, the crease of your elbow.

“Stop that,” you grouse, a giggle at the tip of your tongue.

“I’m obsessed with you. I can’t.”

You do laugh then, and he rolls you onto your side. He slips free from you and you feel the emptiness immediately, but then Marc is kissing you again, insistent and demanding, and it's forgotten. His fingers dance up the column of your spine, tracing the delicate vertebrae of bone with soft fingers.

“Fuck, you’re so good,” he whispers. It's so rare to see him without that stoic facade, the burned in self-hatred, that your heart gives a painful thump.

You kiss his sweaty brow and think to remind him of something. “You’re so good, Marc. You deserve good things. You deserve kindness.”

He doesn’t answer and you know he’s fighting down that automatic response, so ingrained into him it was almost a part of his DNA.

“I deserve it,” he murmurs eventually and you figure it's as close as you’ll get to agreement.

Marc lets you hold him, and he doesn’t try to move once.

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tsnelf7

2 years ago

girls who learned all their vocab from books and are now constantly embarrassing themselves by pronouncing words slightly wrong in conversation

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tsnelf7

3 years ago

Breaking and Entering Masterlist

Bucky Barnes x fem!reader

Summary: You break into Bucky's apartment after being hired to steal his dog tags but something about the man draws you to him. Struggling with the guilt of taking his precious possession, you find yourself unable to complete the delivery of the item. Warnings: 18+ only, nsfw, lots of smut, illegal activities, bit of violence. Word Count: 8.6k Status: COMPLETE

Part One ⁂ ➴ You break into Bucky's apartment and decide your mission can wait until after you have some fun with him

Part Two ⁂ ➴ Fate has you and Bucky crossing paths and leads to a change of heart.

Part Three ⁂ ⨮ ➴ Nothing is easy and doing the right thing is downright hard but it's something you need to do.

⁂ = smut † = death ⨮ =angst ꕥ = fluff

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tsnelf7

3 years ago

Heeey i wanted to ask you if you could maybe do a Muslim male reader where maybe like they are on a case and hitch tells him to go talk with the victims family and they are like we are not gonna talk to a ter**orist and like the BAU team defending him and like comforting him (if you don’t feel comfortable writing about it don’t feel pressured please)

I am so sorry if this isn't good. I tried to make it as fluffy as possible. Please let me know if I did something wrong! Edited by @mystic-writes

"Mr. And Mrs. Hawthorne?" you ask as the door opens in front of you.

"Who're you?" Mr. Hawthorne asks, glaring at you.

You take out your badge and say, "My name is Agent [L/N]. I'm with the FBI. I'm here to ask you a few questions."

"The FBI is hiring terrorists now?" he asks and you freeze. "I don't want you here to blow up my house!"

He slams the door in your face, and you sigh. You pull out your phone and call Hotch, and after two rings he picks up.

"[L/N]," he says over the phone. "What did you find out?"

"They won't let me talk to them. Says I'm a terrorist and I'm going to blow up their house. Can you send Rossi over? Maybe he can help?" you ask and you hear a sigh on the other end of the line.

"Yeah. Sure. I'll send Prentiss as well," he says, and you nod though he can't see you. "Do you want to come back to the station?"

You shake your head. "No, I'm fine. It would just be nice to have some backup," you say, before saying goodbye to Hotch, and hanging up. You lean against the car you were given, a big black SUV, and you cross your arms over your chest, watching the house. After five minutes you see Mrs. Hawthorne peeking out the window every couple of seconds, staring right at you before hiding again, like she just got caught.

Finally, after only a couple more minutes, another black SUV pulls up and Rossi and Emily get out, walking over to you.

"We heard what happened," Rossi says, and Emily nods, walking over to you.

"Are you sure you want to be here?" she asks, and you nod.

"Yeah, I'm fine. You should just take the lead," you say, and Emily and Rossi both nod, and start walking towards the house.

–

"Hello, Mr. Hawthorne. It's good to see you again," you say as you sit down in front of him, placing a file on the metal table in the interrogation room.

"You can't hold me! I know my rights!" he yells, pulling against the handcuffs holding him to the table.

You shake your head. "You assaulted a federal officer and threatened to shoot me. You're already going to jail for who knows how long, so how about you tell me what I want and we can make a deal."

"I won't negotiate with terrorists!" he exclaims, jumping towards you, but the handcuffs keep him latched to the table.

You jump out of your seat and run out of the room, your breath coming in short gasps as you say, "I'm sorry. I can't do this."

You sit down on one of the chairs outside the interrogation room and put your head in your hands, hyperventilating, when you feel hands on your shoulders.

"Breathe. I need you to breathe for me," you hear JJ say.

You start taking deep breaths in when you feel more hands on you. Looking up, you see Spencer sitting next to you on the other side and you lean into him, breathing deeply as JJ rubs her hand up and down your back.

You see Emily and Rossi walk up, the former with a cup of something and the latter with a plastic bag of crackers, and Derek trailing behind, a sheepish smile on his face. You smile as your breathing starts to even and you reach out, taking what seems to be water from Emily and the crackers form Rossi, downing the cup in three gulps and stuffing a cracker into your mouth. You sigh through your nose as you chew, and watch as Hotch walks over, kneeling down in front of you.

"Are you okay?" he asks and you nod. "I had some words with Mr. Hawthorne. He has now assaulted two Federal Agents, which doesn't look good for him." You frown and Hotch rolls up his pant leg, revealing a bright red splotch on his shin that's probably going to turn into a bruise tomorrow. "Even if he isn't the unsub, we've been able to unearth some… disgusting things from this man's past, with help from Garcia."

You nod and smile, taking his hand as you swallow your cracker. "Thank you, Hotch," you say, before looking at all the faces around you, affectionately. "Thank you, all of you. I really appreciate it."

They all nod.

"Now, I would like to get back to this case and catch this bastard," you say and they all grin. "Also, it's not Mr. Hawthorne."

"How do you know?" Derek asks, massaging his knuckles. He probably punched Mr. Hawthorne and you're not sorry about that.

You smile. "Mr. Hawthorne is a racist, white supremacist. He would never kill white people."

They all nod, and JJ helps you up, and you all get back to work.

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tsnelf7

8 months ago

Coming into a fandom late

1,469K notes View Post

tsnelf7

3 years ago

Ugh I waaaant a buckyyy

i have a request if youre feeling up to it!! i love your writing and really appreciate your hard work.

I was thinking buck x reader, i def need some hurt/comfort in my life tbh. maybe a caretaker!reader who has a child she’s (or gn if you want) in charge of that runs into avengers and they all develop a relationship together? maybe reader is struggling financially or mentally and avengers + specifically bucky is able to help them with their situation? im not sure if this is something youre up to but if you are I’d really appreciate it! thanks again 🤗

Reader and Bucky are just two cute awkward people being cute and awkward together 😊

When Worlds Collide || Bucky

Warnings: 18+ only, panic attack, blood/injury, fluff WC: 3.2k

main masterlist || bucky masterlist

I Have A Request If Youre Feeling Up To It!! I Love Your Writing And Really Appreciate Your Hard Work.

“Lily, time to go.”

You waited at the front door as you slipped your shoes on and checked you had everything in your bag for your shift at the hospital. You checked the clock hanging from your chest pocket and saw the seconds counting down the grey zone of cutting it close to just plain late.

“Lily, we are going to be late.”

The hurried stomps of your half sister's feet bounded down the stairs and you looked at the six year old with narrow eyes. “Brushed your teeth?”

She nodded and you curled your finger to call her closer. “Say ahh.”

She exhaled and you screwed your face up at her morning breath before she laughed and ran back up the stairs to brush her teeth.

“Scrub them for two minutes, little gremlin!” You reminded her as you watched your clock and listened to the water in the sink to shut off.

This time she bounded down the stairs and swiped her backpack from your hands as she stepped out the door. She stopped as she reached the gate to see you locking the door and she had the cheek to tut at you with her hand on her hip. “Come in, y/n, you’re gonna make me late.”

You chased her out the gate and kicked away the stone that held it open before dodging the other people making their way to the busy bus stop at 7.30am on a Monday morning. You could see the bus already at the stop just past Lily’s school gates but you were still too far away and you knew you wouldn’t make it in time. The engine roared and smoke chugged from the exhaust as it blew past you and you dropped your head back as you cursed whoever had given you all the bad luck in the world.

You huffed with gritted teeth and looked back down from the sky and stepped right into the back of a man. You groaned as you dropped your bag and quickly knelt down to grab it as he did too, knocking your heads together before you fell back on your ass. “Fudgery duck!”

“Shit, sorry. Sorry, sorry.” He rushed as he grimaced at your sorry sight, your hand rubbing your forehead furiously as Lily laughed from the sidelines. “Did you say something?”

“She said fudgery duck, she says it when she really wants to say fuck but I’m around.”

“Thanks, Lily. Aren’t you late for school?” You groaned as you pulled yourself off the cold concrete, the man offering his gloved hand. “I think I’m okay, thank you, one concussion a day is my limit.”

Lily was waving back at you as she skipped inside the school gates and you took your time righting your scrubs and wiping the small stones from your butt. You plastered a smile on your face as you waved but the second she was out of sight it fell as you thought of how expensive a taxi to work would be. Things had been tight before you had a child in your care but now you were hanging on by a thread, every cent you made went on the bills and Lily.

“Are you alright?” The man asked as he thought you were about to cry. “Should I call an ambulance?”

“No!” You rushed, the mere thought of it almost bankrupting you. “I mean, no thanks, I’m fine. Sorry, I should have been watching where I was walking.”

He shrugged off your apology and the movement pulled his sleeve up past the end of his gloves, a glint of metal peeking out.

“You’re the Avenger, Bucky, right?” You asked as you began to remember why he looked familiar. “May I?”

He looked dubious but he held his hand out and you couldn’t resist getting a closer look. The metal wasn’t cold as you had expected but it wasn’t warm to touch either and you brushed his jacket sleeve up higher so you could see how the plates moved when you bent his fingers.

“Wow, this is amazing.” You shook your head in wonderment before thinking you had probably made him uncomfortable as he stared at you. “Sorry…”

He seemed to realise he was staring and looked away with his own apology. “Most people seem pretty freaked out by it, except this kid from Queens.”

“I see a lot of vets with limbs amputated at the VHA where I work, I wish we had this sort of technology.” You sighed and dropped his hand. “And I am late. It was nice meeting you.”

The crowds were thinning as the school bell rang and more buses arrived but none of them would be heading where you needed to go.

“Do you need a ride?” Bucky offered as he watched that forlorn look pass over your face again. “It's the least I can do for headbutting you.”

You normally wouldn’t accept a ride from a stranger but he was an avenger, that meant he had to be good surely, and you had been late so often you were on your last warning. With a small grateful nod he pointed to a parking lot across the street and you walked quietly alongside him.

“Thank you for doing this, you probably have way more important things to do than be my taxi.”

“Not really.” He shrugged. “This is much better than going to see my therapist. I mean…that sounds bad…I’m not crazy, just so you know, it’s just something we have to do for work.”

“Relax, I’m not judging.” You chuckled as he fidgeted with his car keys. “I’m sure saving the world is pretty traumatic, I think I would be more worried if you didn’t need therapy.”

He was transported back to his younger days when he saw the men return from World War I and wondered how different their lives would have been had they had therapy back in those days, they didn’t even have it for the soldiers who survived World War II.

“You’re probably right.” He muttered as he unlocked his car. “Where to?”

“James J. Peters.” You said as you took a seat in the extremely clean car. “Just head straight up Grand Concourse.”

“You were going to take the bus all the way across New York?” He frowned.

You shrugged as you turned your attention out the window and mumbled under your breath. “Beggars can’t be choosers.”

One word. Five letters. That was all it took to send your heart racing into despair and you could feel the panic rising as you pushed the doors open and ran back into the parking lot you had just left. Your beg slipped from your arm as you sat heavily on the curb wondering what you had done so wrong in a past life to repeatedly have shit dumped on you.

Fired. Fired. Fired.

You heard a car door close in the parking lot but you didn’t even have the strength to find somewhere private to cry as you didn’t know how you were going to put food on the table next week. You had taken Lily in because there was no one else, if you couldn’t feed her she would have to go into the foster system and that thought sent a loud sob escaping your chest. She was family and she got on your nerves most days but she was your little gremlin and you didn’t want to lose her.

“Come on, let’s get you out of here.”

You heard Bucky’s soft voice and let pull you up off the curb as you leant into his side and cried. “I don’t know what to do.”

“We will start with not sitting on the sidewalk for a third time.” He tried to make you smile as he opened the car door and put you on the passenger seat. “What happened?”

“I was late again.” You sighed as you hiccupped. “They f-fired me.”

He reached across you as he opened the centre console then the glove compartment. “There’s gotta be tissues somewhere…”

“Shouldn’t you know? Isn’t this your car?”

“It’s one of the communal ones from work.” He answered as he looked in the back and found a napkin someone had missed when it was cleaned. “I think this hasn’t been used.”

You snorted a laugh that turned to a cry as you accepted the white napkin that looked clean and blew your nose. “I can’t take it anymore. One fucking thing after another. I just can’t.”

Your rambling turned to panic as your mind returned to Lily and you could practically see the CPS agents knocking on your door to take her away. Your vision narrowed as you imagined them having to carry her out because your little gremlin had fight in her and if she didn’t want to go she would do everything she could to stay.

“Y/n, look at me.” Bucky called out and snapped his fingers in front of your face.

Your head turned but it felt like you were sitting at the back of a subway and watching the front of the train bend around the corner, it was a complete disconnection from what was in front of you.

“How old is Lily?”

You frowned as you watched his lips move, the sound reaching your ears moments later. “Six.”

“When’s her birthday?”

“May 29th.” You answered quicker this time as your brain caught up. “Why are you so nosy?”

His lips twitched as he sighed with relief. “You were having a panic attack. Guess therapy taught me something after all.”

You were surprised you had gone so long without a panic attack already, you knew it had been bound to happen and you were thankful that Bucky was able to spot it. You could feel he was surprised when you hugged him but after a moment he put his arm loosely around you too.

“Do you want me to give you a ride home or I was going to run some errands…we could keep each other company?” He offered as you let him free of the hug.

The thought of sitting alone at home with your thoughts sounded like a recipe for disaster but since you no longer had income you didn’t want to have to pay for a babysitter if you didn’t have to. “Lily finishes at 3, do you think we will be back by then?”

He looked at his watch and nodded before walking around the car and heading back to the east side of the city. Over the next four hours Bucky worked hard to keep you distracted and even bought you lunch, despite your best attempts to pay for your own food. Unfortunately it was time to face reality as he made the journey back to your neighbourhood and you sighed heavily at the weight that burdened your shoulders.

“Look, a smart woman like you is going to snap up a job no problem.” Bucky tried to reassure you as he came to a stop outside your house. “There must be plenty of places that need a nurse.”

“Yeah but they all have night shifts. I can’t leave Lily alone and I sure as hell can’t afford a night sitter.” You could feel yourself getting worked up about it all over again until Bucky’s gloved hand came to rest on yours with a squeeze.

“We’ll figure something out, alright.”

You didn’t want to sound ungrateful so you kept your mouth shut and just nodded, but you had no idea how he could help you, he barely knew you. “Do you want to come in for a coffee?”

He looked at the time and saw there was still half an hour before you had to pick up Lily so he turned the engine off and you unlocked the gate. He frowned as he passed the car sitting on cinder blocks in your driveway, the wheels missing.

“They couldn’t have just stolen the whole car.” You commented as you found your house key. “At least then the insurance would’ve paid out.”

You were already in the kitchen by the time Bucky entered the house and you called out to him so he knew where to find you.

“I just wanted to apologise for taking up your whole day.” You said as you leant against the countertop. “I’ve probably put you off helping someone ever again.”

His smile was genuine as he shook his head. “It’s about the most normal day I have had in years.”

“You and I have very different ideas on what a normal day is.” You laughed. “Bingeing terrible tv, blasting music and cleaning the house, that's normal.”

His nose wrinkled your idea of a normal day and you grabbed the remote for the stereo, hitting play on the last CD that was still in it. It was one your mom’s from the 80’s and you laughed at the unimpressed face Bucky had for the techno tune.

“Note to self - he doesn’t like the 80’s.” You teased as you hit stop and poured the coffee that was ready. “I’ll sell you on them, just give me some time.”

You were just walking home after taking Lily to school when you noticed a large truck pulling in front of your drive. You were about to tell them to move when the door opened and Bucky jumped out of the driver's seat.

“Uh, what’s going on?” You frowned as he waved you over and opened the back door. “What are you doing?”

“About the only thing he is good at.” A man said behind you and you spun around to see Captain America smirking. “Heavy lifting.”

“Sam, this is y/n, y/n this is Sam.” Bucky introduced as he pulled a pallet of tyres and rims out of the back of the truck.

“It’s nice to meet you.” Sam grinned as he held out his hand. “He hasn’t shut up since he came home last night.”

Your ears burned at his words but you couldn’t dwell on it too long before a quiet woman joined you, her eyes darting around everyone like they were assessing you before she smiled.

“You must be y/n, I’m Wanda.”

Her hand was warm as you shook hers and it reminded you of holding your mom’s hand as you crossed the street as a child. Shaking the odd feeling off, you looked down at your yoga pants and baggy shirt, thankful you had even changed out of your pyjamas before leaving the house. “I, um, wasn’t expecting anyone.”

“Don’t worry about it, why don’t we go inside and relax while the boys get your car fixed,” she suggested and you found your feet leading the way, “have a little girl talk.”

“Is that your power? Making me feel comfortable?” You asked as you sat beside her on the couch.

“Gosh, no.” She laughed and held her hand up so you could see it glow with a red mist. “This happens when I use my power.”

“It’s pretty.”

“It’s also deadly.” She sighed and dropped her hand.

Your eyes drifted out to the window where Bucky was lifting your car off the blocks and Sam was putting the wheels on, your voice a wistful whisper. “The two often go hand in hand.”

“So, you and Bucky?”

You put your herbal tea down on the coffee table with a scoff. “Not very smooth, Wanda. I only met him yesterday and we literally butted heads.”

“Well you must have knocked some sense into him, I don’t think I’ve seen him smile so much.”

A proud smile graced your lips at the thought of him smiling, he had been so kind to you yesterday in a way no one else had. Suddenly a cry of pain rang out and you leapt from the couch to run outside and saw Sam clutching his hand, blood running down his forearm.

“Bucky, can you go to the kitchen and get the first aid kit from under the sink?” You asked and he took off, jumping clear over the steps instead of climbing them while you helped keep pressure on the gash across his arm and led him inside.

“Damn tyre iron slipped.” He groaned as he sucked the air through his teeth.

“Please don’t sue me.” You half joked, but he had been injured on your property.

“Ha!” He laughed, making you relax. “Maybe I should sue Cyborg for being a pain in my ass.”

“Who's holding the first aid kit huh, punk?” Bucky asked as he stood in the doorway, holding it just out of reach.

“Are they always like this?” You asked Wanda as they bickered like siblings.

“Always.” She laughed before looking at Bucky. “He’s going to bleed on her couch if you don’t hand it over.”

He quickly crossed the room and placed the bag on the coffee table where you opened it and pulled on a pair of gloves first. You pulled Sam’s hand away and saw it was still bleeding but replaced his hand with a quikclot bandage.

“You’re going to need a few stitches.” You grimaced. “How’s your pain tolerance?”

“Does Bucky sized count?” He shot back with a wry smile.

“I can stitch it here or there’s an emergency room a few blocks away.” You said before the two men could start another argument.

“Here’s fine. I’ll be fine.” He said as he gritted his teeth.

“All done.” You promised as you tied off the last stitch and covered the wound up.

“Took it like a champ.” Bucky chuckled.

Sam cleared his throat and wiped his eyes with the collar of his shirt. “I just got some dust in my eye man.”

You tidied up the mess of bloody gauze and other supplies you had used before packing away the first aid kit. “I think that’s enough surprises for one day.”

“I actually have one more.” Bucky said as he tipped his head towards the kitchen and you followed him through. “I had a talk with Mrs Stark and there’s a nurse's position available in the medic bay, she’ll want to see your qualifications but if you send her the details, the job is yours.”

“What?” You asked dumbly as your mouth fell open. “You did this?”

He suddenly looked unsure of himself and scratched at his neck. “No, I mean, yes. Should I not have?”

You were absolutely stunned by everything he had done for you. You threw your arms around his waist and felt tears of joy fill your eyes and thanked him over and over.

“I know it's a bit far to travel by bus so I thought it would be easier if we got your car running for you.”

“Wait, you didn’t hurt Sam as an audition of some sort?” You pulled back to look at his aghast face.

“I mean I sometimes imagine it but…”

“I heard that.” Sam laughed.

“Ok, good. Not that you imagine it obviously, you should probably mention that to your therapist.” You joked before sobering. “Thank you, Bucky, you have no idea what this means to me.”

“You can tell me about over lunch, at work, on Monday.”

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tsnelf7

3 years ago

From Heartbreak To Happiness Masterlist

Bucky Barnes x fem!reader

Summary: Set after the Avengers bring everyone back from the Blip. AU in the fact Nat survives and Steve doesn’t leave. You once loved Steve but when he fell in love with another woman you had to learn how to move on. Enter Bucky. Loving him was easy and trust was built but life couldn't be perfect all the time and you had to face some hard truths before you find your happy ever after. Warnings: 18+ only, angst, smut, fluff, alcohol, pregnancy, injury, birth Word Count: 8.9k Status: COMPLETE

Part One: Closure ⨮ ➴ Steve has moved on but you need your closure.

Part Two: Absolution ⨮ ➴ Steve retires and you are invited to his ceremony.

Part Three: Resolution ⨮ ➴ Set 18 months before the ending of Absolution when lies are told and truths come out but will you and Bucky make it together and find a solution.

Part Four: Nirvana ⁂ ➴ Pregnancy, birth and a superhero down, will this be your best or worst day?

⁂ = smut † = death ⨮ =angst ꕥ = fluff

197 notes View Post

tsnelf7

3 years ago

I am in desperate need of a bucky

Run These Streets || Bucky

streetracer!Bucky x fem!reader

Summary: You are Bucky’s spotter, the person he puts his trust in while he’s out on the streets racing. When tragedy nearly strikes you can’t hold back you feelings any longer. Warnings: 18+ only, nsfw, illegal races, car crash, fluff, friends to lovers, implied smut WC: 2.3k

The streets were lined with cars ready for the Friday night races and they did not disappoint. There were the showy cars, they looked great on the outside but had a stock engine under the hood. There were the rich daddy cars, they were top of the line sports cars driven by toddlers. Then there were the street rats, they could take any beat up car and make magic. Gasoline ran through their veins and they lived for three minutes they spent burning rubber through their city streets.

“Here’s trouble.”

“I’m trouble?” You laughed as your smile grew, Bucky grinning back as he leant against his front bumper. “Just remind me, where was it I picked you up from last weekend? It was this big building, lots of police, bars on the doors…”

“Yeah, yeah, smart ass.” He smirked, oblivious to the bolt of lightning it sent straight to your core. “You gonna come give me a hug or not?”

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