Chaos/Sirius/Cas/Kaz/AJ/CJ | 21 | He/Him | I write sometimes | This is my main account | Trying to post more of my own content, not as much reblogging but it's hard ;-;
I'm 21, I'm an occasional writer/author of fanfiction, I work a lot so I'm not on here as much, I cosplay, I draw, I do tattoos and more recently I read a LOT.
My current hyperfixations are:
The Marauders (CLEARLY)
Shadow And Bone
The Flash
Narnia
Ben Barnes
Marvel
The Batfam
Disney Parks
Bridgerton
Arcane
The Rookie
Maneskin
Pathfinder
Dungeons And Dragons
Minecraft
Astronomy
Skyrim
EPIC
Star Wars (please I thought we were done then I rewatched and I went oh OH, we aren't done, huh?)
Broadway in general. (Heathers and anything Lin-Manuel does 🙏)
ACOTAR
OUAT
Now You See Me
ATEEZ
Stray Kids
Jung Kook
Supernatural
Doctor Who
My Hero Academia
Attack On Titan
Assassination Classroom
Buddy Daddies
Haiden Henderson (Apparently)
Project Hail Mary
Red Rising
I have some other accounts (will probably be updated later):
@mozzafiato-earth9-angelrealm (or something like that, it won't let me tag it) which used to be my shifting acct
@siriuslyshiftstoomuch my actual shifting acct
@theg4yestst4r which is my Sirius black rp account
@th3m3ssrssyst3m (won't let me tag it again) my system's nonsense account
@scajart side blog for my random art because apparently I just make stuff in giant groups.
I have a Ben Barnes X Reader fic that I work on very rarely so it's still in progress 💀
I read so much you could call me Belle 💅
My A03 and Wattpad are both @th3s1x0fcr0ws
I love answering asks tbh so feel free to ask me anything 😌
I HAVE A PATREON AS OF 4/9/2025 IT'S @th3s1x0fcr0ws 😁 So if you'd like to support, I would absolutely love it if you did
Also a side note as I realized it wasn't on here though I'm incredibly vocal if you follow me.
Fuck JK Rowling. I may be a Harry Potter fan but I'll never support her as a human.
Fuck AI. All of it. Generative or not. Fuck all ai. It's actively harming a lot of people.
Block/Scroll and move on if you hate something. Seriously.
Can't agree with any of the above? Please leave 🙂↕️
pairing: bucky barnes x reader
summary: after his daughter, winnie, ripped the arm off her beloved stuffed doggy, bucky takes the day off to take care him, subsequently figuring some things out while doing so -
or, bucky sews up a new arm for his daughters favourite teddy . . .
warnings: fluff, dad!bucky, mom!reader, domestic fluff, some angst, written with congressman!bucky in mind, bucky wears glasses while working, bucky's daughter is called Winnie (win, pea, sweetheart, baby, babygirl...), Nat, Tony, Sam and Steve mentioned, aunt!nat and uncle!sam lol . . .
word count: 4k
a/n: wow a fluff thats crazy. im aware im not the best at these but i got this idea a week or so ago while going to work and it hasn't let me alone since so, i tried !
bucky m.list || masterlist || navigation
The plastic laundry basket rattles and creaks against your hip. Tapping your finger on the handle without a real rhythm, humming inquisitively and melodically, floorboards groaning under your feet as you pass down the hallway, and into the sun-warmed bedroom where stickers plastered yay high on the door, just below the painted calligraphy of dusty green you had tasked yourself on, even though you'd started waddling and huffing at every sprig of movement at the time. Winnie.
It's oddly quiet, not too unusual for a school day, but even so the padding of socked feet thumping around, excited squeals and giggles and tight little arms latched around your calf fill your days up so full and bright, the few hours of emptiness never fail to have you staring at the unmade bed and sigh with a smile.
Placing the basket down to your feet, you lean down to straighten the linens. Uncurling the stripes of red, tucking them in at the corners, folding at the pillows before starting on those next. Fluffing and placing them carefully to the wall, gathering her favourite blanket she'd pulled to the centre of the room for a late night reading session by the bonfire (her bedside lamp she had also moved) to drape across the foot of the bed.
Once done, straightening up only to stretch out the achy kinks in your muscles, you turn for the finishing touch. Dusty, Winnie's companion. The kind of teddy you must pry out of a child's hand — or at least try and swap it out with a similar weight like a Mission Impossible movie — but your little Win had a sixth sense for her darling dog. Matted fur from bone crushing (or pellet crushing, in Dusty's case) hugs, colour dulled from the years, and eyes wobbled from the thread. He may have been living up to his name, but he carries her love like no other.
But in recent days, you've noticed a difference in Dusty's appearance. His front left leg was simply… missing.
It wasn't hard to put two and two together. Your husband, brooding eyes and tired sighs, Bucky Barnes, had spent the good part of Winnie's first years acclimatising both Win, and himself, to his arm.
Holding her comfortably against his chest, in the crook of his right arm, as so his left — all shiny vibranium and gold veins — could pat and caress. Holding it up, wiggling his fingers while cooing Twinkle Twinkle Little Star just to see her chubby cheeks round out and gargle a laugh through a gummy smile. Bucky had even found himself soothing her by gently wiping the bridge of her nose with the smooth tip of his index finger, shushing down her cries, murmuring praises into the air, smiling softly as her eyes droop shut and soft croons from the back of her throat quieted into yawns, dribble on ironed work shirts and sweet, even breaths.
But Dusty and his three limbs were nowhere to be seen.
Not on the bedside table, or made as a suspicious lump underneath your neat origami of bed sheets. Not using the bunting hung from the corners as a makeshift swing set, or gathered around the lamp-made bonfire.
The laundry sat forgotten as your feet darted down the hall and down the flight of stairs, all to have been halted once you found yourself in the dining room. Your hair flew back as you caught yourself, hand holding the doorway.
Bucky sat at the table, button up shirt open at the collar, sleeves shoved to his elbow, hair the same colour as his daughters mussed back from fingers, and glasses slipping to the tip of his nose. Before you could fully appreciate the sight before you, you realised the scene. A sewing needle poked out the corner of his lip, held in place by his teeth, a large enough sheet of fabric, black with soft gold accents, laid out on the surface next to the project, cut in meticulous patterns, chalk lines fading off. And the main event was Dusty himself, and the appendage of dark cloth, sewn haphazardly with the kind of skill a boy on a mission would have, into a similar shape to the dog's right leg.
"Jesus," you exhale, holding your chest. "I thought you had work today?"
"I—Uh," He glances up at you over the top of his glasses where they perch low on the tip of his nose. Muffled by the needle in his mouth, he takes it out, leaning both elbows to the table, inhaling as if finding the correct answer. "I did. Have work."
You lean against the frame now. Arms crossed over your chest, smiling in amusement.
"But?"
"But," he imitates, looking back down at the work he's doing, holding the needle between two fingers and waving it slightly. "I have more pressing matters to attend to."
"Oh yeah?" You push off and walk your way over, sliding into the chair adjacent to his, leaning your chin on the palm of your hand. "More pressing than paperwork and board meetings? Pressing matters meaning Dusty?"
He laughs once, an exhales huff paired with an easy smile, but he keeps working. His phone was still open, propped up on a vase of cosmos and baby's breath, a paused video tutorial on sewing. You pretend not to have noticed, pretend like your heart didn't swell ten times the size in that one millisecond your eyes flittered.
"I—ah… I may have hold Win, while tucking her in last night, that I'd take Dusty to the 'hospital' today while she was at school," he shrugged, momentarily pausing to run a hand through his hair to keep it back, only for the strands to fall back over his face. "Was tired of finding stuffing on the floor."
"Tired of stuffing on the floor?"
"Mhm," he drags out, tight lipped, looping the needle through the two meeting points of the inside out fabric, pulling until slight resistance, before going again. "I also wanted to surprise her. Got up early to go out lookin' for some stuff, just to close up the hole, but I… saw the fabric, and… I mean, I understand why she—she'd take the arm off," he sighed again, looking back up at you over his glasses. When he sees you already smiling, he loosens up, smiling too, cheeks pinkening under the dusting from his beard.
"I think she'd like it."
"She'll love it, Buck," you reassure, reaching out to draw a knuckle over the back of his hand. "Didn't know you could sew, though."
The chair groans under his weight, stretching out, leaning back. "It's been a long, long time, sweetheart. Used to watch my momma when I had nothing better to do, sometimes she'd make me help her out until my fingers were all sore and poked raw, and, uh, you pick up some shit out in the field. Clothes get ripped, you know the gist," you do. He waves a dismissive hand. "Did have to remind myself though, but don't tell Winnie, I wanna look smart."
You giggle, easing up from the seat to make your way over. "You are smart, and Win already thinks the world of you,"
Leaning over, you drape your arms over his shoulders and rest your chin to his head, pausing the dismissive shake to your statement.
"It looks good. You're really good at this." You murmur into his hair with a kiss.
Bucky hums, pushing his glasses back up with a knuckle. "M'not."
"Hm, you are. And Winnie loves you, and I love you, and she's gonna love you more after this," you peck his head again.
"You know, everyday I think that theres no way I could love you more? You do all of these amazing things, you've done amazing things — things I can't even fathom — and yet you keep going above and beyond," before you could finish your words, Bucky tucks a piece of hair behind his ear, and you move. Legs walking, mind filing through memories, to the comfortable, organised mess of the living room.
When you come back, standing behind your husband, you clip the strands of hair that have been bothering him back with two tiny butterfly clips, one pink, the other green. He makes no protest, only smiling down at his work, already understanding and thankful when he heard the little snap.
You kiss his head again, in the space between the clips and stay there a little longer. Arms wrapping around his shoulders, massaging your thumbs into the muscle and to the base of his neck.
"You're amazing. I dunno how I could keep up."
He makes a noise, humorous, slightly dismissive. "You don't need to keep up. Don't need to do anything," leaning his head back to your chest, he sighs again. "I fell for you the way you are. Beautiful, talented, funny, witty in a way I have always been kinda jealous of, and so terrifying sometimes, even I get nervous at parent teacher conferences."
You scoff, running your hands down to drape across his chest.
"I'm not that scary—"
"Oh, you are," he leans to the side and kisses your forearm, lingering his lips for a few seconds, rubbing the soft skin and the coarse hairs of his beard across the inside of your arm, before pressing another kiss and mumbling into you. "I remember years ago when you ripped Tony a new one. Dunno what, somethin' about a mission being sent out too early bein' dangerous. God, I remember walkin' in and I don't think I blinked,"
A laugh rumbled through your chest, pushing at the back of Bucky's head. He pauses for a moment, holding up the black and gold cushioned paw in his left hand. The plates whir as if smiling at his work.
"That was when I knew I wanted to marry you."
"Sap," You press another kiss to his scalp, and another, then another. "If I'm remembering correctly, cause Tony just loves to piss me off, we weren't even together at that time."
Shaking his head, you can feel the apples of his cheeks fill with a smile. "Nope. Had it all planned out from there on out. Even Steve could tell I was whipped after we left the room."
You tut, straightening up. "And it took you like, what, three years to actually ask me out?"
Before he could retort, already stuttering on an answer, pushing his glasses atop his head, hands curled on the edge of the table. You walk with a bounce in your step back towards the doorway.
"Okay, you've got about an hour or so til pick up so, it might be best to get that leg on. Meanwhile, I've got laundry to do and dinner to start."
As your footsteps thump up the stairs, Bucky calls up to you.
"It was a year!"
"If you say so!" You shout back, already passing back into the colourful, warm mess of your daughter's bedroom to stifle through the little clothes on the floor.
After tossing a pink pyjama set, two pairs of dirt stained socks and a pair of cherry red jeans stained green at the knees, his voice calls out again.
"I love you!"
You giggle. Big and bright, staring down at the messy clothes of your child's, stained with inquisitive wonder and whimsy. Pens thrown on the ground next to an opened colouring book, handmade crochet blankets in a box by the bed, pre-loved books on the shelf, fairy lights and garlands draped across corners.
"I know!"
-
Amongst the crowd of parents waiting on their kids — hulking them up and on their hips, taking their little book bags out their tiny hands to help straighten their clothes — Bucky stayed leaning against the far wall.
The sun still dripped down through the clouds, leaving a cool enough breeze to ease off uncomfortable warmth. It nipped up his bare arms, still clad in his 'work' clothes, white shirt still slightly unbuttoned and sleeves still rolled up, and Dusty stayed tucked inside of the pocket in his pants, covered by his hands.
Kids laughed, squealed at times whenever their parent would pick them up or bounce them, maybe even swing them from between the two. He stayed indifferent, watching the double doors swing open to a new wave of tiny heads, watching the teachers he's come to trust (reluctantly) wave enthusiastically or high-five if the kid asked for such. He stifled a growing smile as one child missed twice.
It wasn't until the sound of quick footsteps pitter-pattered against the asphalt his attention turned and was completely swallowed by the small shooting star about to plummet straight into him.
Brown hair tied into two low braids waved behind her as her little body came running the wavering crowd. Adorned in patchwork dungarees, a stripy shirt and little red boots Nat had gotten her for her last birthday because 'kids can be badasses too'.
"Daddy!" She giggled as she ran, smile so wide it looked like it hurt.
Dropping down to one knee, he just about caught the little cannonball of energy as she leapt into his arms. Little hands around his neck, feet barely touching the ground. The force of her impact made Bucky topple back into the wall with a groan, laughing into her hair as they both squeezed.
"Hey, sweetheart," he greeted, muffled into the the crook of her shoulder, easing and patting the back of her head. "Geez, you've got a lot of energy, you had a good day?"
"Uh-huh! I found some caterpillars during recess, they were all fuzzy and climbing up a tree and I was their protector! Other kids kept tryin' to poke at them but me and some friends guarded them!"
"That's nice, Win." Bucky groaned as he pushed himself, and an energetic five year old, and her backpack up from the wall. Easing her to sit on his hip, she dangled her legs excitedly, grasping into the front of his shirt.
"And we got to play heads up seven up, but don't tell but I looked at their shoes whenever they got me so I won extra reading time, but i didn't do it all of the time! I only did it once in a while so I didn't look sus… suspi—shuss."
"It's 'suspicious', sweetpea, 'sus-pi-shush', and did Auntie Nat teach you that?"
Winnie shakes her head, still smiling, braids whipping to and fro. "Uncle Sam!"
His brows lower in defeat. "Of course he did."
Pebbles crunch beneath the soles of his dress shoes, bumping Winnie up higher on his side, she hums.
"Daddy?"
"Yeah, baby?"
"Is Dusty okay at the hospital?" She fiddles at the collar of his shirt, voice low as she asks.
"Oh, yeah. Hey, you just reminded me, I gotta… got a little surprise for you." he places her back to the ground, following her down to squat in front of her. Rummaging through his pocket, he kept one hand on her bicep to keep her close.
"A surprise?"
Once out, bucky holds out the old dog in his hands, elbows to his knees, cupping around his floppy torso carefully. At this angle, both Dusty and Bucky adorn the arms, and little Winnie watches bright-eyed as Bucky moved his fingers with a whir under Dusty's to greet with a little wave.
"You match!" She gasps before her dad could explain. "Daddy, you and Dusty match!"
He chuckles, "yeah, we do, don't we?" Holding the teddy up, he points out the new leg, nodding and playing along. "Took a little while, but he's good as new. Missed you terribly while you were out here — conning your way into more reading time," he murmurs under his breath as Winnie takes her companion from his hand to smother him in the tightest hug. "Wouldn't stop askin' for you after the procedure, he wanted to show you ASAP."
"He looks exactly just like you, daddy!"
He straightens up, taking her hand in his, making a slight face. "Well, I wouldn't say exactly just like me—"
"You both look so cool!" She exclaims, jumping in his hold excitedly, "Dusty has a cool arm like daddy now!"
His head knocks back in a soft flinch. Despite the slight tingle in his sinuses, the soft smile on his lips and the adoring look he glances down at his daughter, he doesn't cry — not yet, at least, he wont allow it. And while he wants to ask if she really means it, if his arm really is cool, if she did rip it off Dusty to be like him, if she really did love him, adore him, like you said she does; instead he keeps smiling and guiding her back to the car with his chest full of something akin to the cloudy, cotton feeling he got when he held her for the first time.
And he really did match Dusty.
"C'mon, Pea," he clears his throat, trying to hide the bundles of emotion, golden and honey thick in his chest. "Momma's probably wondering where we are."
With one last skip, she giggles, holding the dog up to her face. "Thank you for making him better, daddy."
Comically, his eyes twitch and his bottom lip just about juts out into a pout. Inhaling, exhaling, grounding himself — trying to, at least — he squeezes the little hand in his own once.
"Of course, baby."
And she squeezes back. Once around his hand, small yet mighty, and another around his heart.
-
"Momma!"
The door's barely open before the loud rapt of Winnie comes bounding over.
"In here!" You reply, voice echoing from the kitchen, stirring the pot one last time and easing the flame low on the stove.
"Ah-ah," Bucky tuts, clicking his fingers, whistling once, catching her just in the nick of time. "Shoes off and bag at the door, you know what momma's like."
With a dramatic groan — wonder where she gets that from — she copies Bucky. Toeing off her boots clumsily, before plopping her butt down on the floor to impatiently untangle the knots you had tied that morning, ultimately letting her dad pull them off her feet and place them neatly on the shoe rack.
As Bucky slipped off the last shoe, Winnie made a run for it.
"Momma!" She calls again. Bounding down the hallway, socked feet thumping off the floor. As he follows behind, Bucky wonders how such a small being can make so much noise.
"Hey, babygirl!" you beam, listening to the excited racket thud closer and closer, propping a lid on top of the pan.
A blow hits your legs, catching your breath as you laugh at her dramatics. Stroking the frizzy hairs down from her plaits.
"C'mere," you beckon, pulling her up for a hug, air constricting and tight as it might be, you reciprocate with wiggling from side to side and groaning with playful aggression. You believe you could photosynthesise on her giggles alone. "What did you get up to today, anything fun? Make friends? Change the world?"
"Look, look, look!"
Plastic beading rattles as she holds Dusty up in front of her for you to behold, pressing her little mouth to his head, copying the wave Dusty had greeted her with.
With a gasp, you wobble her happily. "Oh my goodness, Dusty's back!"
"His arm, momma, look at his arm!" She exclaims, kicking her legs happily.
"He had the best surgeon looking out for him, baby," glancing up at your husband's simper, you kiss her forehead. "Doesn't it look great?"
"It's amazing!"
Jumping her up a couple times on your hip, you hum. "Yeah? Did you thank daddy?"
Nodding her head with a beam, a smile bucky can only compare to yours with the way rooms seem to brighten when shown, she pulls her hands up for him to hold her next. "Thank you, daddy!"
"Yeah, yeah," he grunts, holding her without a complaint, "you said that fifteen times in the car already, Pea."
The room settles easily, with the quiet simmer of food bubbling and stove searing, birds whistling in the garden and traffic humming, it's familiar and easy, and it's home.
It isn't long until Winnie's restless little body squirms in Bucky's arms, and he sets her free with a quiet 'go on', sprinting back up to her room with a chorus of high pitched giggles.
Propping himself against the worksurface, arms crossed over his chest, head on the cabinets, Bucky sighs. It's a sigh of ease, contentment. The kind he would let out once the streets filled with the orange of lampposts, and he got home to find you, warm and sleepy, tucked in bed as he stripped himself of button ups and tailored suits, and swapped it out with a bare chest and sweatpants — the sigh would only come once his arms wrapped around you and his nose buried into your hair.
A smile creeps on your lips, moving to take a place next to him.
"You know, apparently she cheated at heads up seven up today. For extra reading time. But only did it enough times not to look 'suspicious'." He squints his eyes, following the word with quotation marks.
Sucking in a breath, you click your tongue against the backs of your teeth. "Ooh, don't tell me," you whisper, patting a finger on your chin in thought. "Nat?"
He shakes his head, tight lipped, "Sam."
"So we're crossing him off the babysitting list."
"Hm, I think he's doin' it on purpose," he hums, tipping his chin up, moving his hands down to find the small of your back. "Keep him on, he's doing the next gig."
Pulling you closer until you stand between his open legs. He holds your hips, rubbing small circles through your pants, holding eye contact.
"I meant what I said today." You murmur, keeping your eyes on his, holding authority. To which Bucky loses with great pleasure, sneaking glances to your lips.
"I know."
"You're amazing," you mumble again, basking in the tiny looks he holds to your mouth, how he licks his own lips and the soft, humming feeling of his thumbs making patterns, and his fingers changing position to subtly bring you closer.
"I mean it. Truly," You rest your hands on his shoulders, squeezing, careful around the soft tissue that bumps around his left. "I love you. We both do. So, so much."
Your eyes hold his, and this time he doesn't sneak away, and he doesn't try to hide with a bashful look or a glimpse at your lips, right there. Though his eyes redden at the edges, the whites of his eyes glisten off the stovetop light, and you can just about see your reflection pool inside of his pupils.
"I know." He replies, quieter than the last, and he finally leans the rest of the way and kisses you. Because it hits, not like a blow but a final blossom. He does know, and he thinks he has known this whole time. From the moment the nurse placed a whaling, sticky, tiny thing in his arms and his body tightened and loosened all at once, his lungs stuttering, and mouth instinctively formed the awkward whispers of 'you're alright, I got you, I know, it must be so cold'.
It's just only now, in the soft warmth of a kitchen, being used and not feeling like mere decoration with takeout in the fridge, the love of his life in front of him, pecking at his lips until laughter gets in the way and dinner sizzles from next to them. With a daughter, who loves to guard critters and create extravagant blanket forts, who reads to her bears and kisses them goodnight, one by one. Who ripped off her favourite teddy's left arm so he can be 'just exactly like daddy' — he's finally let himself realise just how adored he really is.
shane is literally a Boyfriend guys he’s stocking the cottage full of stuff he’d never eat bc they’re ilya’s favourite snacks and he’s driving his passenger princess around and carrying ilya’s bags and asking what he wants for dinner and waking him up in the middle of the night to be like ‘hey here’s how we can be together forever until we are old and wrinkly. do u agree yes or yes’
and even before that he’s constantly checking if his baby is okay and he’s sitting in that stairwell cuddling ilya’s jacket and he’s so desperate to hold ilya’s hand when he’s off his head on painkillers. he’s rereading old texts. he’s got his phone in his hand and he’s texting ilya when he’s literally just got off the ice after winning the cup again and that’s years before they’re even together. he’s inviting ilya to the cottage because he gets two weeks off a year and he wants to spend them both with his favourite person
he’s a loverboy! he’s spent so so long wanting to be able to connect with ilya like this and now he finally can! he was born to play hockey but also to be ilya’s boyfriend!
This is Luca Haas and no one can convince me otherwise 🙂↕️ Ilya sees this and immediately takes him shopping. “Shopping for what?” “Cool stuff, Shane, you wouldn’t understand. Come on, Haasy.”
headcanon that like his son, david hollander too can also stare at his partner with big doe eyes and get what he wants. it’s rare for ilya to see it but the first time he does he points aggressively and goes “YOU!!! is your fault i never win an argument!!!!” david just blinks while yuna nods solemnly and tells ilya that unfortunately shane learned from the best
listen. if your mutual suddenly starts referring to The Character with different pronouns, you must go along with it. that character is trans now. they’re right.
