Hero Hardships Bingo (HHB for short) is a multi-fandom, low pressure bingo event talking about the highs and lows of being a superhero. FAQ | Rules | Prompts.
Hero Hardships Bingo: The Adventure Continues Directory
Welcome to Hero Hardships Bingo! This is a low pressure bingo event centered on creating content for series centered on heroes, villains, and the like, most notably from DC Comics and Marvel Comics. However, other fandoms and series are most welcome so long as these stories are about heroes.
Read more in the FAQ and take a glimpse at our Rules.
There is no timeline for this event. It will continue indefinitely.
Bruce showing up was just a cruel thing, Jason missed him more than words could express, hated Basil for taking his mate's appearance, hated the Joker for taking Bruce from Jason.
Deep down, Jason knew this one was actually Bruce, it didn't matter how much shape-shifting Basil did, he could never replicate Bruce's scent. It was like time hadn't passed, like nothing had changed, Bruce's scent of fresh dahlias, grass bathed in rain water, and cinnamon had Jason's heart hammering against his ribs uncontrollably. For the first time in two decades, Jason's instincts came alive, begging and crying for his alpha.
But he couldn't, if this was a trick, if this was fake, Jason couldn't take it.
Wordcount: 3,751
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Relationship: Jason Todd/Bruce Wayne
Tags: Comic: DC KO: Knightfight (2025) #2, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Omega Jason Todd, Alpha Bruce Wayne, Jason Todd is Batman, Bruce Wayne is Batman, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Older Jason Todd, Knotting, Cock Warming, Angst and Feels, Jason Todd Has Issues, Bruce Wayne Loves Jason Todd, Body Worship, Grief/Mourning, Jason Todd Loves Bruce Wayne, Jason Todd Cries During Sex, Goodbye Sex, Implied/Referenced Hysterectomy, Angst and Smut, Jason Todd Has a Vagina, hero hardships bingo
Prompt fills for @herohardshipsbingo "Guilty but not regretful", @ir0n-angel fluffuary2026 Day 19 "protective instincts", @februaryficletchallenge Day 6 "Friend" and "Fluff".
Title: can you find me?
Relationship: Dick Grayson & Original Character, Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson & Barbara Gordon
Fandom: Nightwing (Comics)
TWs: Kidnapping, Injuries
Summary:
Dick goes above and beyond to recover a kidnapped child, neglecting himself to protect him. Luckily, his dad shows up to help in the end.
“You’re bleeding,” he exclaimed, reaching to lay a tiny hand to his cheek. When he pulled away, it came back tainted red from a deep cut on Dick’s face that he hadn’t even registered. “You need a doctor!”
Dick couldn’t help the laugh he released. He was half worried about the danger they were in and half relieved that this kid hadn’t been severely traumatized by the mess he was currently caught up in.
“That’s the first thing I’ll do when we’re out of here, kid,” he joked, aiming for a light tone of voice.
Prompt fills for @herohardshipsbingo "Came back wrong", @ir0n-angel fluffuary2026 "found family", @februaryficletchallenge "Different first meeting".
Title: i knew you in another life
Relationship: Cassandra Cain & Bruce Wayne, Cassandra Cain & Stephanie Brown, Cassandra Cain & Barbara Gordon, Cassandra Cain & Duke Thomas
Fandom: Batgirl (Comics)
TWs: Mention of childhood trauma, memory loss
Summary:
Cass loses her memory after a run-in with a magician, remembering only her life before joining the Batfamily. In the aftermath, she has new first meetings with Duke, Babs, Steph, and Bruce, which slowly paint the picture of what her future looks like.
“What you said just now, ‘Stop’. That… That was the first word you ever learned to say out loud.”
“How do you know that?” She asked, furrowing her brow. [...]
“I was the one who taught it to you,” Barbara replied.
Prompt fills for @herohardshipsbingo "Refusing to lose hope on the hopeless" and @februaryficletchallenge "Amnesia".
Title: did you have to let it linger
Relationship: Minhkhoa Khan/Bruce Wayne
Fandom: Batman (Comics)
TWs: Drugging
Summary:
Bruce accidentally says too much to Khoa when he's hallucinating because of a drug. Khoa needs to fill him in on what happened when the drug erases his memory of that night. Bruce ends up saying too much again, but on purpose this time.
Khoa continued talking, eyes fixed on Bruce even though he couldn’t make himself stare back. “For me, there are two types of people in the world. Those who are mine and those who aren’t. That is how it is both when I’m awake and when I’m asleep.”
Bruce lifted his eyes. He crossed his arms over his chest as if he could protect his heart from Khoa’s next words. “And which type am I?”
Prompt Fills for @herohardshipsbingo "Resenting the legacy you're meant to live up to" and @casscainweek 2026 Days 1 "Friend" and 6 "Food".
Title: now I'm glad I get forever to see where you end
Relationship: Cassandra Cain & Stephanie Brown
Summary:
When Cass receives a gift from a shopkeeper she helped, it makes her reflect about her relationship with the civilians they save. Steph talks it out with her.
Finally, Cass said, “I don’t like it when they see me.”
“The civilians?” Steph asked, abandoning her food in favor of turning to face Cass.
“Yes.”
“Why not?”
“They get scared,” Cass replied simply. “I make them scared.”
Prompt fills for @selinakyleweekend "Protecting Innocents" and @herohardshipsbingo "Don't you dare pity me".
Title: If our love died, would that be the worst thing?
Relationship: Selina Kyle & Original Character
Fandom: Catwoman (Comics)
TWs: Domestic Violence, Abuse
Summary:
Selina helps a woman experiencing domestic violence.
Selina tried to keep the anger out of her voice when she spoke again, albeit with some struggle. “You can’t keep taking his scraps, honey. You do it long enough, you’re gonna start believing it’s all you deserve.”
Prompt fills for @herohardshipsbingo "Evil Version", and @februaryficletchallenge Day 14 "Never".
Title: babysitting
Relationship: Dick Grayson & Clark Kent
Fandom: Superman (Comics), Batman (Comics)
Summary:
Clark and Dick talk about being orphans while Clark babysits him.
Dick turned his eyes back to him and questioned, “Do you ever miss your parents?” [...]
“Sometimes,” Clark admitted. “I love the family I have now, but I still wish my first parents could have been here with me.”
Dick frowned, confused. “But if you had them, you wouldn’t be a Kent, would you?”
Some of you have asked, so here you go! Hero Hardships Bingo will not end this 2025, but continue indefinitely.
As it remains to be a low stakes event, feel free to create fan-works any from your received bingo cards any time you want.
For any new requests, if you do not receive your card within 7 days, feel free to send a message to the Tumblr account for us to create your bingo card.
Thank you for everyone's wonderful contributions this year! Here's to more content about our beloved heroes 💪
Prompt fill for @herohardshipsbingo 2025: “I didn’t ask for it.”
Fandom: DC COMICS
Character: Cassandra Cain
For this prompt, I could only think of Cass and her story. Despite never asking for it, she was raised to be a weapon and had to deal with all the trauma that entailed, which lead her to becoming a hero. Focusing more on her feelings of resentment and sadness as well as how she copes with them, I put together this playlist for her.
Tags: Angst, Eventual Fluff, Smut, Enemies To Lovers, Banter, Arguing, Steve is stressed, Mission Gone Wrong, Needles, Blood, Fighting, Guns, Love Potion, Captured By Hydra, Fuck or Die, Kissing, Biting, Scratching, Handjob, Blowjob, Cum Swallowing, Unprotected P in V Sex, Multiple Orgasms, Hair Pulling, Begging, Caught In The Act, Slight Possessive Bucky, Explicit Language
Word Count: Around 4000
Written For: @badthingshappenbingo @buckybarnesbingo @fandom-free-bingo @herohardshipsbingo @julybreakbingo @smutceptember2025
Squares/Prompts Filled: N5 - Love Potion/Love Spell for BTHB | Card Number B024: K5 - "It doesn't matter." for Bucky Barnes Bingo 2025 | Card B: B4 - Redemption for Fandom Free Bingo: Virtues and Vices Edition | G3 - Knowing You'll Regret It But Doing It Anyway for Hero Hardships Bingo | Card A: Fuck or Die for Post July Break Bingo 2025 | Day 18 - Hate for Smutceptember 2025
Dividers By: @/saradika-graphics
Steve’s jaw was tight as he glanced between the two of you, his hands braced on the conference table like a teacher preparing for two unruly students. The tension in the air was thick enough to choke on, and it only grew heavier every time your gaze landed on Bucky’s across the table.
You sat back in your chair, arms crossed, forcing your expression into something cool and unimpressed. But inside, you could feel the hum of irritation, and something hotter, that always came when Bucky was in the room.
His presence was infuriating. The way he leaned in his seat, all muscle and brooding scowl, looked like he’d rather be anywhere else. The way his metal fingers tapped absently against the table, a sharp rhythm that grated on your nerves. The way his eyes, blue, piercing, and unrelenting, slid over you like he was measuring your every flaw.
“You two need to cut the crap.” Steve’s voice snapped you out of your thoughts. His tone was stern, more Captain America than best friend, and that alone made your stomach twist. He only used that voice when he meant business. “This mission isn’t about either of you. It’s about the intel. Hydra’s resurfacing patterns are too precise to ignore. If we don’t intercept this drop, we could be looking at another mass attack.”
You sat forward, bracing your elbows on the table. “I understand the stakes, Steve.” Your voice was clipped, meant to show him that you could handle yourself.
“Oh, I bet you do,” Bucky muttered sarcastically.
Your head snapped toward him, eyes narrowing. “I’m sorry, were you speaking to me or just practicing your grumpy old man routine?”
His jaw flexed, the metal hand stilling against the table. “I don’t need a partner slowing me down.”
“You’d trip over your own ego if you went alone,” you shot back before you could stop yourself.
Steve’s sigh was heavy. He raked a hand over his face, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like “Why me?” He massaged his temples before continuing. “I’m serious. I don’t care if you hate each other’s guts. On this mission, you’ll move as one. Watch each other’s backs, cover each other, trust each other.” His gaze sharpened, pinning you both in place. “If you can’t do that, tell me now and I’ll find someone else.”
The thought of walking away, of letting Bucky win, burned hotter than your irritation with him. So you squared your shoulders and met Steve’s gaze. “I can do it.”
“Fine,” Bucky gritted out.
But when his eyes flicked to yours, just for a moment, you caught something in them. That same fire you’d seen flare up too many times before. The one that wasn’t all hate. The one that made your pulse quicken against your will.
Steve nodded, clearly satisfied, though the weight of his stare lingered. “Good. Because if either of you screws this up because you couldn’t get along, don’t bother coming back.”
Silence stretched after he left, the door clicking shut behind him.
Bucky leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest, his stare fixed on you like a challenge. “Guess we’re stuck together, doll.”
The nickname was a mocking drawl, meant to get under your skin, and it worked.
You stood, leaning over the table just enough to meet him eye to eye. “Don’t get in my way, Barnes.”
For a long moment, neither of you moved. Neither of you blinked. The heat between you crackled, sharp and dangerous, as if one spark could turn it into an inferno neither of you could control.
The door shut behind Steve, leaving you and Bucky alone in the conference room. The silence was suffocating, humming with everything unspoken. You didn’t move at first, just stared at the spot where Steve had been standing, his words echoing in your head.
If you can’t do this, I’ll find someone else.
You could’ve walked out. Could’ve told Steve that you refused. But the idea of letting him down, of seeing that look of disappointment in his eyes, was worse than the thought of being stuck with Bucky. Steve was your best friend, your anchor in all this chaos, and you owed him more than excuses.
Even if it meant spending the next seventy-two hours with the one man who made your blood boil.
You pushed off the table, gathering your notes with clipped movements. “Don’t think for a second I’m doing this for you,” you muttered, not bothering to look at Bucky.
“I’d be worried if you were,” he drawled back, voice low and infuriatingly calm. “I don’t need anyone babysitting me.”
That made you snap your head up, eyes narrowing. “Babysitting? Please, I wouldn't waste my time.”
His jaw ticked, but instead of firing back, he leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees. That stare, icy and unflinching, locked on yours, and for a split second your pulse betrayed you, kicking up in your throat.
“Careful, doll,” he said softly, like a warning, like a dare.
The word doll dripped with sarcasm, but it still landed heavy in your chest. You tore your gaze away, cursing yourself silently. This is a mistake. A huge mistake.
But Steve needed you. So you’d suck it up and survive. Even if every second with Bucky chipped away at your sanity.
The air was crisp, heavy with the bite of autumn. You adjusted your comms, crouched behind a row of shipping crates in the dimly lit warehouse district. Bucky was at your side, scanning the shadows, his jaw clenched in that perpetual scowl you were beginning to think was carved into his face.
You whispered, “We’re supposed to stay quiet. Better keep your steps light.”
“I could say the same about your mouth,” he shot back without missing a beat.
You rolled your eyes. “Charming as ever.”
“Do you ever shut up?”
“Do you ever smile?” you countered.
His head tilted, just enough that those glacial eyes cut toward you. It was infuriating, how sharp that look felt, as if he could strip you bare with nothing but his gaze. “Smiling’s not really my thing.”
“No kidding.”
The comms crackled with Steve’s voice, interrupting the moment. “Target package is en route. Intel should be in a briefcase, black with Hydra insignia. Retrieve and exfiltrate clean. Got it?”
“Copy,” you said quickly.
“Copy,” Bucky echoed, though his tone was half a growl.
The sound of footsteps reached you both, faint but distinct. A pair of Hydra agents came into view, one clutching the briefcase. You exchanged a glance, and for the first time, there was no banter. Just instinct.
You moved first, slipping from cover to flank them while Bucky circled wide. Timing had to be perfect. You waited, heart pounding, until you saw him make his move, slamming one agent against the crate with brutal efficiency. You lunged for the second, striking low, catching his wrist before he could fire. The struggle was quick, messy, but you had him down in seconds, your knee pressed hard into his chest.
Bucky appeared at your side, his metal hand closing over the briefcase. “Got it.”
“Good for you,” you panted, shoving your opponent unconscious. “Let’s go before-”
A gunshot rang out, echoing in the night. You ducked as bullets sparked against the crates, agents pouring in from the far end of the dock.
“Shit,” you hissed.
Bucky cursed under his breath, crouching beside you. “We’ve gotta move. Now.”
“No kidding, genius,” you snapped, firing back a few rounds. The heat of adrenaline surged through your veins, tangled with the burn of having him so close, his shoulder brushing yours as you fought side by side.
And despite yourself, despite every ounce of irritation, you realized something irritating.
You trusted him.
More than you wanted to admit.
When he shoved you down just before another spray of bullets carved through the air where your head had been, his weight pressed against you for a heartbeat too long. His breath was hot against your ear when he murmured, “Stay down, doll.”
You should’ve shoved him off. Should’ve snapped back.
But instead, you froze under him, your pulse hammering, not just from the gunfire, but from that damned nickname.
Both of you hesitated at the proximity, and it was a mistake. Something hard hit Bucky over the head and then yours making everything go black.
The last thing you remembered was the sting of smoke, the sharp crack of gunfire, and Bucky slumping on top of you as something slammed into the side of your skull.
When you came to, the world was heavy and cold. Your head pounded, your wrists ached from the restraints that had been cut loose, and the dim flicker of fluorescent light burned your eyes. Slowly, you sat up, realizing you were in a reinforced cell, concrete walls, steel bars thicker than your wrists, and a door that looked like it belonged in a bank vault.
And across the cell, Bucky stirred.
He sat hunched against the wall, his chest rising and falling in shallow, uneven breaths. His hand was pressed to his side, dark blood seeping through his shirt. Even in the dim light, you could see the way it spread, soaking the fabric.
“Barnes?” Your voice was hoarse, low.
His head lifted, eyes hazy but still sharp enough to pin you in place. “You okay?”
You blinked at him. “Me? You’re the one bleeding out.”
He gave a humorless huff, shifting with a grimace. “Should’ve closed up by now. Super soldier healing isn’t…working.”
Your gaze darted to his side, then to his neck, where an angry red mark stood out just above his collarbone. “They injected you.”
His eyes darkened, and he nodded once, jaw tight. “Something to block it...to slow me down.”
You looked around, desperate for anything, and then you spotted a table shoved against the far wall, cluttered with vials of liquid in varying colors. Red, green, yellow, violet…and one, glowing faintly in the harsh light, that was the exact blue of Bucky’s eyes.
He followed your stare, his voice rough. “They wouldn’t have left them here if they weren’t part of the test.” He grimaced, breath catching as he shifted against the wall. “You’re gonna have to pick one.”
Your head snapped toward him. “Pick? As in, just…guess?”
“You think I’ve got time for a lab report?” His tone was sharp, but you could hear the strain underneath. His lips were pale, sweat breaking along his temple. “If I bleed out, we’re both screwed.”
You hesitated, scanning the vials. Every instinct screamed that this was wrong, that this was exactly what Hydra wanted. A trap. A test. But watching him slump further, hand trembling as he tried to keep pressure on his wound, you felt your chest tighten.
“Damn it,” you whispered, crossing the cell. Your fingers hovered over the vials before finally closing around the blue one. Maybe it was instinct. Maybe it was the desperate thought that something that mirrored the color of his eyes couldn’t possibly mean harm.
You knelt in front of him, unscrewing the cap with shaking hands. “If this kills you, I swear I’ll-”
“Just give it to me,” he rasped.
You pressed the vial to his lips, and he drank without hesitation. The liquid slid down his throat, and for a moment, nothing happened.
Then his breath hitched. His eyes widened, pupils dilating until that icy blue was swallowed by black. His back arched against the wall, muscles tensing as though an electric current shot through him.
“Bucky?” Your voice cracked, panic surging.
He gasped, clutching at his side, only to find the wound closing, knitting together right before your eyes. Relief washed over you…until his hand dropped, curling into a fist against the floor, and a strangled groan tore from his chest.
“What’s happening?” you demanded.
His head tipped back against the wall, jaw tight, breath coming hard and uneven. When his gaze snapped to you again, there was something feral there, heat rolling off him in waves, his body thrumming with it.
“That wasn’t just a healing serum,” he ground out, voice low, guttural. “It’s doing something else.”
Your stomach dropped. “Like what?”
His eyes burned into yours, dark and hungry, and when he spoke, it was almost a growl.
“Like making me want you.”
The words landed between you like a live wire, sizzling with dangerous electricity. You froze, pulse skyrocketing, because even as fear twisted in your gut, another traitorous part of you, the part that had always responded to him despite the hate, answered like it was a siren's song.
The silence pressed in on you, suffocating. The hum of the overhead light buzzed in your ears as you paced the length of the cell, testing the bars again even though you knew it was pointless. Reinforced steel, anchored in concrete. Not even Bucky’s arm could budge it.
Focus, you told yourself. Find a way out before they come back.
But when you turned, your heart stuttered.
Bucky was slumped against the far wall, one hand braced at his side where the wound had been. Even though the serum healed him, he looked worse, his face pale, sweat beading along his brow, his chest heaving like he’d just run miles.
His metal fingers dug into the wall behind him, concrete dust crumbling under the pressure. His other hand twitched restlessly against his thigh. His legs shifted, drawing up, pressing down, like he couldn’t find a position that eased the ache.
Your cheeks heated when you honed in on the tent in his jeans. You froze, heat exploding across your cheeks. “Oh my god.”
His head jerked up, blue eyes bright, locking onto you. “Don’t-” His voice cracked, harsh. “Don’t look at me.”
You spun back toward the bars, heart slamming against your ribs. “I’m not looking!”
But your ears betrayed you. The sound of rough fabric shifting, the soft, broken grunt that tore from his throat, it was unmistakable. Against your will, your imagination painted the picture too vividly: Bucky, head tipped back, jaw clenched, his big hand wrapped around his cock in a desperate attempt to fight the serum’s effects.
“Shit,” he hissed under his breath..
You risked a glance and immediately wished you hadn’t. His metal hand fisted in the floor to keep himself grounded, the other gliding up and down his thick shaft. His chest heaved, sweat sliding down the curve of his throat, his teeth bared in frustration.
“It’s not working,” he ground out, voice so raw it almost didn’t sound like him. His eyes snapped to you, desperate, blazing. “I can’t...I can’t get rid of it.”
Your mouth went dry. “What do you mean?”
“I mean it’s not enough.” His voice dropped low, guttural, trembling with restraint. “I can’t fight this, doll. All I can think about is-” He cut himself off, but the way his gaze raked down your body said everything.
“Bucky…” you whispered, panic and something hotter tangling inside you.
He squeezed his eyes shut, head falling back against the wall. “Please.” The word tore out of him like a plea, raw and broken. “Please, I need you.”
The sound of it nearly took you to your knees. The man who could take on multiple Hydra agents, the man who never let anyone see a crack in his armor, was begging.
“Don’t...don’t do this,” you said weakly, your voice shaking. “You don’t mean it. It’s the serum talking.”
His hand slammed against the wall, concrete splintering under his palm. His eyes snapped open, wild, glassy with need. “It doesn’t matter. I can’t breathe without wanting you. It’s...” His breath hitched, sharp and pained. “It’s tearing me apart.”
You edged closer before you could stop yourself, the sight of him unraveling pulling you in like gravity. He was trembling, vibrating with the effort of restraint.
“Please,” he rasped again, softer now. His voice shook, but the sincerity in it gutted you. “I’ve never...never begged anyone before. But I’m begging you now. Help me.”
You stared at him, your pulse hammering so loud you swore he could hear it. Logic screamed at you to turn away, to resist, to let him burn through it on his own. But another part of you, the part that had always, always answered his fire with your own, was already leaning closer, already making the decision you knew you’d regret.
Your knees hit the floor in front of him. You swallowed hard, meeting those ocean-blue eyes that had gone dark and stormy with need.
“I’m going to regret this,” you whispered, more to yourself than him.
His lips parted, a shudder running through him as though your words were the only thing keeping him tethered. “Then regret it with me.”
Bucky was unraveling in front of you. “I can’t-” His voice broke, rough and splintered, and when his eyes lifted to yours, the blue there was fever-bright. “I can’t fight it. I need...” He swallowed, chest heaving. “God, I need you.”
For a moment, you almost convinced yourself you had misheard him. This was Bucky, your enemy, the man whose presence had always sparked your anger as much as it did your pulse. But the desperation etched into his face was something else entirely. It stripped him bare, carved through his steel like it was nothing.
You shook your head, pulse galloping. “You’re not yourself.”
“I am,” he insisted, the words nothing but a hoarse plea. “I know what I’m saying. I know who I’m saying it to. If you tell me no, I’ll stop. But...” His jaw clenched, the tremor in his body worsening. “Please. Don’t leave me like this.”
Bucky was many things, stubborn, arrogant, infuriating, but never weak, never vulnerable, never this. Something in your chest cracked wide open at the sight. You told yourself that letting him past your guard was a mistake you could never take back. But here, in the dark, with him looking at you as though you were the only thing that could save him, the word slipped from your lips before you could catch it.
“Okay,” you whispered.
Relief shuddered through him so sharply it nearly brought him to tears. “Thank you,” he breathed, as if the words themselves were a prayer.
You crossed the space between you, knees brushing the stone floor, and when your fingers worked at the stubborn line of his belt, his entire body went taut. You hated how your hands shook, hated the heat pooling low in your belly at the sight of his cock, thick and aching. The sound he made when you touched him, raw and broken, rooted itself deep inside you.
At first, you stroked him with a careful, tentative rhythm. His head fell back against the wall, lips parting around a ragged moan, and for a fleeting moment, you thought it might be enough. That maybe this fragile, dangerous intimacy could undo the serum’s cruel hold.
But then his breath began to stutter, his chest heaving harder, sweat dripping down the curve of his throat. His hips twitched helplessly beneath your hand, his whole body trembling with need.
Before you could talk yourself out of it, you leaned forward and replaced your hand with your mouth.
The taste of him hit you, and the sound he made when your lips slid down around him was animalistic. His metal fingers gripped the concrete so hard it cracked, but his flesh hand tangled in your hair with trembling restraint. You set the rhythm slow at first, then deeper, hollowing your cheeks and taking him further each time.
He broke apart under your mouth, unraveling with every pass of your tongue. His moans filled the cell, low and ragged, his hips fighting against the urge to thrust, his body bowing like a man brought to his knees. When he came, it was with your name on his lips, his body shuddering violently.
He slumped back against the wall, chest heaving, his hand falling away from your hair with a trembling gentleness that startled you.
You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, swallowing hard, daring to hope. “Better?” you asked softly.
His eyes opened, and the hunger there was worse than before.
“No,” he whispered, voice hoarse with desperation. “It isn’t enough. It’s coming back. Stronger. I-” He broke off with a low, desperate groan, shifting against the floor as if he were burning alive. Then his gaze caught yours, fever-bright and terrifying in its intensity. “If I don’t fuck you right now, I swear I'll fucking die.”
The words stole the breath from your lungs. You wanted to hate him, wanted to spit his need back in his face, but the way he looked at you like you were his salvation made your heart twist.
“Please,” he begged, the sound so unlike him you hardly recognized it. “I’ll be careful, but I need you. Right now.”
Your heart hammered, torn between every instinct to run and the unbearable pull that kept you rooted to the floor in front of him. He was the last man you should want. And yet, the word left your lips, soft and irrevocable.
“Yes.”
The moment you sank down onto him, the world seemed to tilt on its axis. He filled you in a way that made your body quake, the stretch almost unbearable, almost too much, and yet, it was perfect. The sharp sting melted into pleasure, and you let out a sound you hadn’t meant to, something soft and broken.
Bucky’s head thudded back against the wall, his lips parting on a groan so guttural it vibrated through you. His hand clamped to your waist, the metal one bracing hard against the floor.
“Fuck,” he rasped, eyes squeezed shut, breath ragged. “You’re…tighter than I ever...God, doll, I’m not gonna last if you keep squeezin' me...”
“Look at me,” you whispered, needing to see if it was really him in there, not just the serum’s hold.
His eyes opened, and the sight nearly unraveled you. Bright blue, pupils blown wide, mouth slack with need, and yet, it was him.
You moved first, rocking your hips, testing the feel of him sliding deeper. The sound he made, a low, broken groan that scraped out of his chest, set your pulse racing. You did it again, this time slower, and his fingers dug into your hips, trembling from restraint.
“You’re gonna kill me,” he breathed, forehead pressing to yours.
Your nails raked over his chest as you found your rhythm, lifting and dropping onto him, harder each time. The sound of your bodies meeting echoed in the tiny cell, slick and obscene, mixing with his curses and your gasps. He was big, stretching you with every thrust, but the ache only fueled the fire curling low in your belly.
“Faster,” he begged hoarsely, his voice fraying around the edges. “Please, doll. I can’t, I need it harder.”
You gave it to him. Your hips snapped, bouncing on him, taking him deep until your walls clenched around every inch of him. His head rolled back against the wall, jaw clenched, throat straining as he tried not to lose himself. His flesh hand left your hip, slid up your back, into your hair, gripping tight..
The angle shifted, his hips thrusting up to meet yours, and white-hot pleasure shot through you. You cried out, clawing at his shoulders. Each time he drove into you, you felt yourself unraveling further, building higher, the coil inside you pulling tighter and tighter.
“God, you feel so fuckin' good baby...” He broke off on a harsh moan, hips slamming up into you. “Tell me you feel it too.”
You should have lied, should have denied him the victory. But the truth ripped out of you on a gasp. “Yes, Bucky!”
His mouth was on yours then, desperate, consuming, his tongue sliding against yours as though he were trying to drink the sound of your pleasure. He kissed like he fought, rough, hungry, and relentless, and you melted into it, moaning into his mouth as you rode him harder.
The pressure in your belly snapped. You broke around him, walls clenching tight, your cry muffled against his lips. The orgasm tore through you in waves, shaking you, blinding you, your body milking him with every pulse.
The moment you clenched around him, he lost it. With a strangled groan, his hips bucked up, driving deep, and he spilled inside you in hot, pulsing waves. His arms wrapped tight around you, crushing you to him as though he could fuse the two of you together. He shuddered violently, cursing into your skin, every muscle in his body trembling with the force of his release.
You collapsed against him, panting, your cheek pressed to the damp line of his throat. His heart thundered beneath your palm, his chest rising and falling in ragged bursts. He was still hard inside you, his body refusing to let you go, as though even the serum itself was unwilling to release its grip.
For a long moment, there was silence, only the sound of your mingled breaths, the faint drip of water somewhere in the cell, the sharp thrum of your pulse in your ears.
You can feel it immediately, the serum hasn’t let him go. His body is taut beneath yours, every muscle straining, every breath shallow and ragged. His eyes snap open, wide and blazing, pupils still blown with need..
“Doll…” His voice is hoarse, cracked with desire, almost unrecognizable. “It’s…it’s not enough.”
Before you can even answer, he surges. His mouth finds yours, forceful, desperate, teeth grazing your lips in warning and hunger. You taste him, metallic and sharp. His flesh hand claws into your hair, anchoring you, while the metal one braces against your hip, pinning you against him.
“Bucky!,” you gasp, breathless, chest tight. “You’re not thinking straight-”
“I am thinking,” he growled against your neck, his forehead pressed to yours, hot breath ragged.
You swallow hard, trembling, heart racing, and then give yourself over.
He moves inside you again, and your knees buckle beneath the intensity. His groan, low and guttural, vibrates through your chest, sending shivers down your spine. The serum refuses to relent, driving him faster, harder, every motion rough and frantic.
You clutch at his shoulders, nails digging into his skin, body shivering, but he doesn’t stop. He can’t. His hips drive into yours with a feral rhythm that’s intoxicating. Every drag of his cock inside you sends sparks coursing through you, threatening to unravel every last bit of self-control.
The walls of the cell feel smaller, tighter, the stone pressing in as the sounds of your bodies collide echo off the damp concrete. His lips travel over your neck, jaw, and shoulder, biting and sucking, marking you with heat and need. Every moan that escapes him is a prayer, a demand, a confession, and you burn under it, helpless and aching.
You ride him, body trembling with the rhythm of him, until the coil inside you tightens unbearably. Your walls clench hard around him, and he cries out, hips jerking violently, spilling into you again with a fierce shudder.
For a breathless moment, the world narrows to just the two of you, heat, need, and the pulse of his cock inside you. And then, just as your muscles start to relax, just as he begins to taste relief, the serum flares again, sharper, hotter, more demanding than before.
Your body moves with his need, riding the surge of him again, clutching him as he grinds into you, the sound of your flesh meeting his filling the cell. He’s wild beneath you now, feral in a way that leaves your skin tingling, your mind dizzy. Every growl, every gasp, every rasped word is a thread tying you together in this impossible, intoxicating bond.
And then, Steve bursts in.
Your blood freezes. You press yourself against him instinctively, and for a heartbeat, Bucky snarls, wild-eyed, trying to shield you.
“Jesus Christ-” Steve freezes in the doorway, eyes wide, taking in the scene. You’re straddling Bucky, his chest slick with sweat, hair wild, both of you trembling and gasping. A whole strike team stands behind him, frozen in equal shock.
Your cheeks flare hot with shame. “Steve-” you gasp, voice choked, aware of just how exposed you are.
He clears his throat, shifts his stance, and mutters with that familiar, exasperated half-smile:
“It’s about damn time,” Steve mutters as he steps out into the hallway.
Bucky growls low in his throat, lips brushing your ear, voice rough and possessive. “You hear that, doll? Even he knows. You were meant to be mine.”
The words hit you like a lightning bolt. Humiliation and arousal spiral together, raw and unrelenting. But he doesn’t stop. His body is still trembling with the serum’s effects, still insisting, still burning, and the need in his eyes is impossible to ignore.
You clutch him tighter, hips moving, every nerve alight, knowing full well that Steve’s casual, teasing remark does nothing to diminish the fire between you.
After not drawing for weeks, my brain suddenly decided I needed to draw for this fic, so today was a learning experience just to draw a dungeon door. Here's my contribute for Steggy Week's Day 3: What If - @steggyfanevents
When Steve Rogers crashes through a portal and lands smack in the middle of Lady Margaret Carter's wedding to the world's most insufferable lord, he figures his day can't get any worse—until he's thrown in a dungeon and realizes the bride looks exactly like the love of his life he lost in his own world. Two days of rotting in a cell later, Peggy risks visiting him in the dead of night, but she can’t pass up the opportunity to learn why this stranger looks like the only other man to have her heart.
Now Steve's stuck with an impossible choice: tell her the truth about portal-hopping and watch her think he's insane, or keep pretending to be "Rogers Hood" while trying not to fall for a woman who's both exactly like and completely different from the Peggy he knew. She didn't choose this marriage, Thompson is a brute, and despite being strangers, Peggy can't shake the feeling that she knows this mysterious man.
Between corrupt lords, mounting debts, and the small matter of belonging to entirely different worlds, this might just be the messiest second chance at love in the multiverse.
A portal-hopping medieval AU about disrupted ceremonies, familiar strangers, and the courage to fight for what's right
2 days, 13 hours, 45 minutes - that's how long he's been locked in this cell, watching the shadows creep along the dungeon floor. He supposed he should be happy to have a window in order to tell how much time had passed but how long would his captors leave him to rot?
Steve tilted his head at the sound of footsteps echoing down the stone halls, trying to determine if they were a guard or someone trying to get a peek at their new prisoner. When the steps were clear with a purpose and not a guard, walking too lightly on their toes as to not be heard, curiosity overtook him.
Now, who would be sneaking about towards him?
The last two days had been a blur of confusion, having fallen through the portal and crashing into what was supposed to be a beautiful, outdoor wedding. He'd gotten a glimpse of a familiar face that caused his blood to run cold, trying to determine if this was some fevered dream or if this was real.
Maybe the portal had dropped him into a scene of his personal hell. Maybe he was forced to relive this hell until the gods got tired of this game and released him.
How could Peggy Carter be alive?
"You created quite the scene, stranger."
Her voice might as well had been a dagger in his chest. It felt surreal to hear her voice again, without it being tainted by the annoying small pitched noise or whirling noise of it having been recorded on some device or playing on a screen. He was thankful for those records, preserving the love of his life's work but nothing compared to hearing it in person.
Steve's head snapped up fast, unable to tear away his gaze from the woman who haunted his dreams. Peggy, a young Peggy without a hint of gray on her head or a wrinkle, with clear eyes and an amused smile on those full lips. She might as well had been /his/ Peggy placed in a cloak, everything about it was uncanny and in a way that felt like it was meant to torture him.
If this was his personal hell meant to torture him, then Steve couldn't resist just playing along. No matter how much he tried to deny it, he had missed the love of his life.
He studied her, really studied her in a manner that he hadn't been privileged to in a long time. She stood in the flickering torchlight, the black bags under her eyes appeared darker in this form of light. She was shrouded in a royal red cloak, the cloak pin that held it together was a tarnished metal of an animal's wing.
Nothing good could come from a visit in the middle of the night and wrapped in secrecy. Yet nothing else could've spoken more of Peggy's authenticity.
Steve found himself frozen in place, his lungs screaming for air. Too afraid to breathe, to move - not wanting to break this hallucination. It must be a hallucination, right? One brought on by grief, maybe a touch of head trauma too.
Read The Rest On AO3
Bingos under the cut
Peggy Carter - @fandombingo
Fearless - @multifandom-flash
Unimaginable Grief - @herohardshipsbingo
Free Space - @womenofmarvelbingo
tags: alternate universe - post tws, chaos, creature feature, dark fiction, gothic fantasy, non con body bod, paranormal romance, transformation, violence
They should have never gone on that fuckin’ mission, Bucky thinks as he tightly grips Steve’s hand. It’s ice cold but somehow it feels even colder than that. It’s as if Steve’s blood has been replaced with liquid nitrogen that seeps through his skin, causing wisps of smoke to evaporate off of him like dry ice.
-
Bucky's hands are frozen by the time he gets Steve out of the water. Tears blur his vision as he presses his lips to Steve's. They're too cold but he has to keep trying.
Bucky keeps it to himself when Steve starts coughing up black blood.
He tells no one that Steve's skin never gets warm again after.
bingo fills + event prompts
au challenge | horror au
@au-roulette | mystery
@avengers-assemble-bingo:
main event | bucky barnes
build-a-steve-party | bucky barnes, natasha romanoff, tony stark
@thebo3bingo | memory loss
@buckybarnesevents: hot bucky summer 25 | free week
@buckyboybingo | eldritch deity
@darkacademiabingo | canon divergence au
@darkspicyevanstan | first kiss
@dark-stucky: steve’s birthday bash 2025 | lethe in his veins
@deaddovekink: kinktober ‘23 | free day
@fandombingo: valentine trope flash | a fleeting kiss
@fandom-free-bingo:
fool | free space
gingerbread | fighting
half-baked | free space
madness | amnesia
medical | free space
wild | cold as ice
world book night | amnesia
@halcyonianlove | gothic horror au + july flower | j.a.r.v.i.s.
@halloweenhorrorbingo '24 | top secret russian underground
@herohardshipsbingo | amnesia
@hurtcomfort-bingo | freezing
@julybreakbingo '25 | canon divergence
marvel-smash-bingo | bucky barnes
@marvelousyahtzee | four of a kind: 1s column
au card | canon divergence
character card | steve rogers
simple starts card | quarrel
steve rogers card | shield
@multifandom-flash: superstition bingo | free space
@sebastianstanbingo | free space
@steverogersbingo | july adoptable: eldritch horror
@stuckybingo | spiders + time [july prompt]
@sweetspicybingo: beginnings | first kiss
@winterbreakadvent ‘24 | week 1: day 3 | being hunted
@wintershieldbingo | magic
@yearoftheotpevent | november: touch starved
read ch 1: ‘cuz once you said “don't worry” was when i started to worry
Peter pushes his nose right up against the glass, separating him and the Spiders. Staring wide-eyed, heart pounding with excitement, one of the spiders works on creating a brand-new web right in front of his eyes.
A soft hand grasped Peter’s shoulder, pulling him a few steps back. Before it moves to ruffle Peter’s hair instead. “Not too close, Bambino,” Tony says with a soft grin, “Bruce warned you that the spiders are skittish.”
Peter’s shoulders slump slightly, but he doesn’t argue with his dad. He obediently takes a full step backward and pushes his glass back into place with a routine nudge.
“Sorry, Dad,” Peter says honestly, looking up at the man with wide, innocent eyes.
***
When Peter gets bitten by one of Bruces radioactive spiders, the last thing he expects is superpowers. But as the story goes, hurt (and blood) follows. Alternate Universe Origin Story.
Fullfills the following prompts:
@badthingshappenbingo : Bloodied Knuckles
@herohardshipsbingo : Flying Solo
Tags: Angst, Fluff, Smut, Overworked Natasha, Punching Bag, Massages, Kissing, Fingering, Thigh Riding, Multiple Orgasms, Finger Sucking, Mommy Kink, The slightest hint of Dom Natasha, Feelings Revealed, Explicit Language
Word Count: Around 1100
Written For: @fandom-free-bingo @herohardshipsbingo @smutceptember2025 @sweetspicybingo
Squares/Prompts Filled: Card B: O1 - "Work your magic." for Fandom Free Bingo: Virtues and Vices Edition | B3 - Can't Take A Vacation for Hero Hardships Bingo | Day 5 - FxF for Smutceptember 2025 | G2 - Daddy/Mommy for Sweet and Spicy Kink Bingo
Dividers By: @/saradika-graphics
The gym smelled faintly of sweat, the air heavy with the dull thuds of fists against leather. You leaned against the doorway, watching Natasha drive punch after punch into the heavy bag, her movements sharp, precise, but relentless. She didn’t slow, didn’t stumble, just kept going, as if her body was powered by sheer willpower instead of human stamina.
It wasn’t new. She’d been like this for weeks, months, really. Every day she was either on a mission, in meetings, or in this gym breaking herself down just to build herself back up. Every time you tried to pull her away, even for an hour, she’d dismiss you with that iron-walled smile and a shake of her head.
But tonight, you couldn’t take it anymore.
“Nat,” you said softly, stepping into the room.
She didn’t acknowledge you, her fists flying, shoulders flexing with each strike.
“Natasha.” Louder this time.
Still nothing.
Frustration tightened your chest. You crossed the room and caught the swinging bag just as she threw another punch. She jerked back, startled, her eyes snapping up to yours, green and fierce even through her exhaustion.
“What the hell are you doing?” she demanded, chest heaving.
“Stopping you,” you shot back. “Because you’re going to destroy yourself if you keep this up.”
Her jaw set stubbornly. “I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not,” you said firmly, holding her gaze. “You haven’t taken a real break in months. You don’t eat enough, you barely sleep, and now you’re working yourself into the ground. You’re not a machine, Nat.”
She gave a humorless huff, yanking off her gloves. “I don’t need a vacation.”
“Yes, you do,” you said, stepping closer. You softened your voice, but not your conviction. “If you won’t take a week off, then start small. Right now. Let me help.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Help how?”
You hesitated only a beat before blurting, “A massage. Just sit down and let me take care of you for once.”
Natasha tilted her head, skeptical. But then, a faint smirk tugged at her lips. “A massage, hm? You offering your services now?”
Heat prickled your neck, but you stood tall. “Yes. Let me have five minutes to show you that it'll be okay if you just relax.”
For the first time in days, her expression softened, her smirk giving way to the ghost of a smile. “Alright,” she murmured. “Work your magic.”
Minutes later, she was stretched out on a padded bench in the corner of the gym, her tank top sticking to her skin, hair damp with sweat. You sat behind her, straddling her legs as your palms hovered over her shoulders for a moment, nerves threatening to choke you.
Then you pressed down.
Her body practically melted under your touch. Natasha let out a groan, low, throaty, unguarded, that sent heat shooting straight to your core.
“God,” she muttered, eyes slipping closed. “Where the hell did you learn to do this?”
You smiled faintly, kneading into the knots in her shoulders. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”
She chuckled, soft and tired, and leaned into your hands.
You worked carefully, moving from her shoulders down her back, finding tension tucked deep into her muscles and coaxing it loose. Every sigh, every small sound she made unraveled you a little more, your heart pounding harder.
You tried to keep your eyes on your hands, on the job, but you couldn’t stop yourself from looking. At the sheen of sweat on her neck. At the rise and fall of her chest. At the way she trusted you enough to be vulnerable here, in this moment.
It was torture. Because you’d been holding back for years.
And then she caught you.
Her eyes opened just as your gaze lingered too long, and she smirked faintly. “You’re staring,” she murmured.
You froze. “I-I wasn’t-”
Her smirk deepened, dangerous in its knowing. “How long?”
Your breath caught. “Natasha-”
Her voice dropped, silken steel. “How long have you had feelings for me?”
There was no point in lying. Not under her gaze. Not when she already knew. “Years,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.
For a moment, silence stretched. Her expression softened, unreadable, then she reached back, curling her fingers around yours. “You should’ve told me sooner,” she said.
The kiss burned through you, deep and claiming, as Natasha’s mouth moved against yours with a hunger you’d never dared to imagine. Her hand tangled in your hair, the other slipping to your waist, pulling you closer until you were straddling her thigh.
And then, she sat up and turned around, her beautiful eyes searching yours. She leaned in, slowly, her eyes fluttering closed. And then, her lips met yours.
You gasped when you realized where you were, the thick muscle of her leg pressing directly against the ache between your thighs. Heat flooded you instantly, and the sound you made, half whimper, half moan, made Natasha smirk against your lips.
“Mm,” she murmured, voice low, sultry. “Such a pretty sound.”
Her hands gripped your hips firmly, guiding you down against her. The friction was intoxicating, the rough fabric of her leggings dragging against your pussy as you rocked without meaning to.
“Nat-” you breathed, your voice breaking.
“Shh,” she whispered against your ear, her lips brushing your skin. “Don’t hold back. I’ve got you.”
You moved again, this time deliberately, grinding yourself against her thigh. The sensation was so much sharper, so much more overwhelming than anything your own hands had ever given you. Every roll of your hips made sparks of pleasure burst behind your eyes, made your breath catch in your throat.
Natasha kissed down your neck, her tongue flicking against the hollow of your throat before she bit lightly at your collarbone. “God, you look so pretty, baby,” she growled softly, tightening her grip on your hips to press you harder against her.
Your head fell back, a needy sound spilling from your lips as you rubbed against her with growing desperation. Your panties were already soaked, clinging to you, every drag of fabric against her thigh sending jolts straight through your core.
“You’re so wet for me,” Natasha whispered, her voice husky. Her hand slid up under your shirt, splaying across your back, grounding you even as you lost yourself. “Gonna cum for me, baby?”
You nodded, moaning louder, hips snapping faster against her. The fabric of her leggings rubbed perfectly against your clit, the pressure building unbearably, every nerve in your body focused on the slick, delicious friction.
Natasha kissed you hard again, swallowing your cries, her tongue stroking yours as she moved with you. “That’s my girl,” she breathed between kisses, her thigh flexing beneath you just to push you higher. “Show me, pretty girl...Cum for me.”
Her words broke something loose inside you. The tension that had been coiled so tight suddenly snapped, and you cried out into her mouth, your body trembling violently as waves of pleasure crashed through you.
Natasha held you firmly, guiding you through it, her lips and hands everywhere as she whispered, “That’s it, baby…ride it out…so perfect for me.”
Natasha’s arms held you steady as you trembled through the aftershocks, your cheek pressed against her shoulder, your breathing ragged. She gave you a moment, her lips brushing your temple, her hand rubbing slowly over your back. But then, her other hand slid lower, teasing along the curve of your ass before slipping between your thighs.
You jerked in surprise, a gasp tearing from your throat.
“Relax,” she whispered, her mouth brushing your ear, her voice velvet-dark. “Did you think I'd only give you one? Oh, sweetheart, you're getting at least two after that massage.”
Her fingers pressed against your soaked panties, stroking lightly over the damp fabric. You whimpered, your hips twitching toward her touch.
“God, you’re dripping,” Natasha growled softly, her tone both smug and hungry. She pressed her thumb against your clit through the thin material, rubbing slow, deliberate circles. “All this from my thigh? You’ve been starving for this, haven’t you?”
“Yes, Mommy,” you moaned before you could stop yourself, The realization hit you instantly, and your hands covered your face.
Natasha stilled only for a moment before her free hand reached up to gently pry yours away. “My pretty girl has a Mommy kink, does she? Is that what you need, baby? I can be that for you. You took care of me and helped me relax, so how can I say no?”
She slid her hand into your panties, finally touching you bare. The contact was electric, her fingers slick instantly as they slid through your heat, teasing, testing.
You cried out, clinging to her shoulders, your hips bucking helplessly.
“Mmm, so sensitive,” Natasha murmured, her breath hot against your neck. “I could play with you all night.”
She teased you at first, just stroking up and down, spreading your wetness, her touch maddeningly slow. Then, finally, she slid one finger inside you, curling it perfectly as her thumb returned to your clit.
The combination nearly sent you over the edge. You gasped, biting your lip, trying to stifle the moans spilling out of you, but Natasha wasn’t having it.
“Don’t hide those pretty sounds from me,” she ordered, her voice low and firm. She pumped her finger deeper, adding a second one, stretching you deliciously. “I want to hear every little noise you make for me.”
Your restraint shattered. You moaned openly, your hips rocking desperately into her hand, chasing every stroke. Natasha’s grin widened as she watched you, her gaze sharp, devouring.
“That’s it, sweetheart,” she purred, her fingers moving faster, her thumb never leaving your clit. “Fuck, you’re so tight around me. You’re going to cum all over my hand, aren’t you?”
“Mommy! Oh, God, yes,” you gasped, as the pressure built impossibly fast.
Natasha kissed you fiercely then, swallowing your cries as her fingers worked you mercilessly, her thumb circling harder, faster. The coil inside you snapped violently, and you came undone, screaming into her mouth as your cunt spasmed around her fingers.
She didn’t stop right away, fucking you through it, prolonging every wave until you were shaking in her arms, tears shining in your eyes from the intensity. Finally, she slowed, slipping her fingers free, and then lifting them to her lips.
Her eyes locked on yours as she sucked her fingers clean, groaning softly at the taste. “So sweet,” she murmured, her smirk wicked. “And all mine.”
For the first time in weeks, you finally got her to relax not just her body, but the hard edges of her mind. Her muscles were loose under your touch, her breath deep and steady as she held you in her lap..
Her kiss was softer this time, but just as consuming. “Told you I’d take care of you,” she murmured against your lips.
You smiled against her skin, pressing a kiss to her collarbone. “See?” you whispered. “Feels good to not overwork yourself, even though you just made me cum twice.”
Natasha hummed low in her throat, her fingers tracing idle patterns up and down your back. “You’re trouble,” she muttered, though her voice carried more affection than bite.
You pulled back just enough to see her face. Her hair stuck damply to her forehead, her cheeks flushed, her lips kiss-swollen. God, she was gorgeous. “I’m exactly what you need,” you teased softly, brushing your thumb across her jaw.
Her eyes flickered with amusement. “Oh, you think so?”
“I know so.” You kissed her again, slow this time, coaxing, letting her taste the truth on your lips. When you pulled away, you kept your forehead against hers. “Nat…you can’t keep going like you have been. You need a break, and I'm not talking about what we just did together. I mean a real one.”
Her brows drew together, that stubborn spark flickering in her eyes. “I can’t just disappear. There’s always another mission, another crisis-”
You cut her off with a gentle finger pressed to her lips. “The world won’t fall apart if Natasha Romanoff takes a week off. You’ve been carrying too much, for too long. You deserve rest, Nat. You deserve to feel human again.”
For a moment, she said nothing, just studied you with those unreadable green eyes. But you didn’t look away. You held her gaze, pouring all your love, all your concern into it.
Finally, she sighed, a small smile tugging at her lips. “You’re stubborn, you know that?”
You grinned. “Takes one to know one.”
She shook her head, amused despite herself. Then, with a mischievous tilt of her mouth, she said, “Fine. I’ll take a vacation.”
Your heart leapt. “Really?”
“Mm.” She leaned in, brushing her lips against yours again. “But only under one condition.”
Suspicion narrowed your eyes playfully. “What condition?”
Her smirk grew, wicked and soft all at once. “That I don’t have to leave my bed the entire time, and that you stay there with me.”
Heat curled low in your stomach, your body already sparking at the thought. “A whole week in bed with you?” you breathed.
She kissed you again, slow and deliberate, her hand slipping under your shirt to rest warm against your skin. “Mmhm. No missions, no alarms, no interruptions. Just you, me, and as many hours as we want to spend…enjoying each other.”
Your laugh was shaky, but also giddy. “That doesn’t sound like rest, Romanoff.”
Her teeth grazed your bottom lip before she pulled back, her smirk dangerous. “Oh, I'll rest. In between rounds.”
The promise in her tone made your pulse race. You wrapped your arms around her neck, kissing her again. “Deal,” you whispered against her lips.
Prompt fill for @herohardshipsbingo 2025: “Loved ones being used against you”, "Mind Control" and "Unable to ask for help".
Title: And, now, the weight of the world ain't that bad
Fandom: DC Comics
Characters: Bruce Wayne, Cassandra Cain, Dick Grayson, Tim Drake, Damian Wayne, Jason Todd
Relationship: Bruce Wayne & his children
Warnings: Hallucinations.
Summary:
When Bruce is exposed to a worsened batch of Fear Toxin, he's haunted by visions of his children and the ways he let them down. In the aftermarth, each of them share a moment with Bruce that might just show him a better path forward.
"He needed to see them all together like this—not just in the fragments of his imagination or in pieces of Damian’s art. No… He craved to lay his eyes on each of his children and know they were safe under his watch, even if only for tonight.
And, what seemed even more miraculous, that they were still there by his side, despite the countless ways he had let them down."
Tags: Angst, Fluff, Smut, Hiding Discomfort, Wound Care, Prosthetic Adjustment, Pining, Reader is distracted by Bucky’s Metal Arm, Sexual Tension, Kissing, Teasing, Clit Play, Choking, Breath Play, Dirty Talk, Unprotected P in V Sex, Dom Bucky Vibes, Cuddling, Explicit Language
Word Count: Around 3200
Written For: @buckybarnesbingo @fandombingo @herohardshipsbingo @julybreakbingo @smutceptember2025
Squares/Prompts Filled: Card Number B024: K3 - Kink: Dirty Talk for Bucky Barnes Bingo 2025 | O2 - Bucky Barnes for Fandom Bingo | B5 - Hiding Discomfort for Hero Hardships Bingo | Card C - Waking Up For A Midnight Snack And Bumping Into Each Other for Post July Break Bingo 2025 | Day 11 - Breath Play for Smutceptember 2025
Dividers By: @/saradika-graphics
The med bay in Avengers Tower was quiet, which for you meant paperwork. You were used to patching up scrapes from training, burns from Tony’s tinkering, or the occasional bullet wound when missions got messy. What you weren’t used to was the way your eyes always seemed to wander when he walked in.
James Buchanan Barnes.
Bucky had been around long enough now that most of the team felt comfortable with him, but you noticed little things others didn’t. The way his jaw tightened whenever someone’s gaze lingered on his arm. How he always shifted so the left side of his body was just out of reach. And the way, without fail, he’d dodge you whenever you offered to check the prosthetic.
He’d let you stitch his side once after a knife caught him, but when you so much as mentioned his arm, he’d shut down with a clipped, “I’m fine.”
Today, though, you caught something different.
You were sorting supplies when he came in, silent as ever, and sat on the edge of one of the med beds. You saw the tension in his face, the way he rolled his shoulder with a grimace he thought no one could see.
You set your clipboard down.
“Something wrong?”
His eyes flicked up, that sharp blue narrowing slightly. “No.”
But he didn’t move to leave.
You walked closer, crossing your arms. “You’re lying.”
His mouth twitched like he wanted to argue, but you reached out before he could retreat. Your fingers hovered over the seam where metal met scar tissue. He stiffened, but he didn’t pull away.
“Bucky,” you said softly, “you’ve been compensating for weeks. You don’t let me near it, and I know why, you think I’m scared of it.”
His gaze snapped to yours, defensive. “Aren’t you?”
You shook your head immediately. “No, I'm not.. I’m scared you’re in pain and won’t let me help.”
He blinked, caught off guard, his lips parting as though he didn’t know what to say.
“Please,” you murmured, “let me look?”
For a long moment he just stared, searching your face for any sign of fear or revulsion. When he didn’t find it, he exhaled slowly, like he was giving away something heavy. Wordlessly, he tugged off his Henley, the fabric catching for a second on the metal shoulder before falling away.
Your breath hitched, not at the arm itself, but at the raw skin where the metal met flesh. Angry red marks ringed the scar tissue, rubbed raw from friction. It looked agonizing.
“God, Bucky…” you whispered, reaching for gloves and antiseptic. “Why didn’t you say something?”
He shrugged, staring at the floor. “Didn’t want to make it your problem.”
You gathered supplies, your hands gentle as you touched the irritated skin. “You are my problem, Barnes. That’s literally my job description.”
He almost smiled at that, the corner of his mouth twitching.
You worked carefully, cleaning and soothing the inflamed tissue, applying a salve to ease the burn. He stayed quiet, only hissing once when you pressed too close. His flesh arm braced on the edge of the bed, fingers flexing every so often like he was grounding himself.
Finally, you looked up at him. “There. That should help. But you need adjustments at the base where it connects. It’s too tight, and that's causing friction. If you let me, I can make those adjustments regularly so it doesn’t get this bad again.”
He looked at you for a long moment, his metal fingers curling against his thigh. “You didn’t even flinch.”
You smiled softly. “Why would I? It’s part of you. And I like all of you, even the parts you think are scary.”
Something shifted in his expression, something raw and unguarded. His shoulders eased, and he let out a breath that sounded like relief.
“Thank you, doll,” he murmured, voice rough.
You gave his arm one last careful check before handing him his shirt. “Anytime, Bucky. You don’t have to hide from me.”
After that first night, things shifted, almost imperceptibly, but enough that you noticed.
Bucky didn’t exactly volunteer to come see you in the med bay, but whenever the shoulder started giving him trouble, he showed up instead of suffering in silence. The first time, he sat stiff as a board, muttering, “I can deal with the pain if you're busy, doll,” but the fact that he came at all felt like a victory.
You got used to the routine, cleaning the irritated skin, checking the connection, and making little tweaks to ease the weight distribution. His discomfort began to ease, and though he’d never admit it outright, you could tell by the way his shoulders didn’t sag quite so heavily after.
And in between the clinical touches and quiet concentration, something else grew.
“You know,” you said one afternoon, squinting at the socket as you tightened a screw, “I get the feeling you think I’m better at this than Stark.”
He let out a short laugh, shaking his head. “Don’t let him hear you say that. Man’s got an ego bigger than his tower.”
You grinned, nudging his flesh shoulder lightly. “So…you are admitting I’m better.”
He gave you a look, deadpan, but his lips twitched like he was holding back a smile. “Don’t push your luck, doll.”
Another day, as you leaned in close to examine the joint, your hair brushed his bare skin. He stiffened, not from pain, but from the simple contact. You pretended not to notice, though warmth crept up your neck when he muttered softly, almost under his breath, “Careful. You’ll spoil me.”
“Please,” you teased, “I’ve seen how you sulk when you don’t get your tune-up. You’re already spoiled.”
He chuckled then, the sound low and rough, sending a shiver through you that you hoped he didn’t catch.
The weeks slipped into an easy rhythm. You, perched on a stool with your tools, focused on the delicate balance of machine and man. Him, sitting still but never quite relaxed, until you distracted him with light chatter.
Sometimes you’d coax a story from his past, half of it deflected with dry humor, the other half glimpses of a man trying to stitch himself together.
And always, the harmless flirtation hung between you like static in the air. Never too much, never crossing a line. Just enough that when you caught him watching you with a ghost of a smile, your heart skipped a beat before you forced yourself back to business.
At the end of each session, he’d murmur a quiet, “Thanks, doll,” slipping his shirt back on. You’d nod, pretending not to care about the way his voice lingered in your head long after he left.
That night, sleep refused to come.
You rolled onto your side, then your stomach, then your back again, tangled in sheets that felt too warm no matter how many times you kicked them off. Closing your eyes only made it worse. Because every time you did, you saw him.
Bucky, sitting in the med bay with his shirt off. The way his voice got low when he called you doll. The little smiles he let slip when you teased him.
You groaned softly, pressing the heel of your hand to your forehead. God, get a grip. He was your patient. Your friend. You’d spent weeks convincing yourself the harmless flirting was just that, harmless. But the way your body reacted told a different story.
Your thighs pressed together under the blanket, seeking friction, a weak attempt at relief. Heat pooled in your stomach, and your breath hitched when you thought about the strength in that metal hand. About what it might feel like if he-
You bit your lip hard, cutting the thought off before it got away from you. But the ache didn’t go away. It only intensified.
“Damn it,” you muttered, finally shoving the covers aside. Padding barefoot down the hall, you told yourself a glass of water or a midnight snack would settle you down. Maybe something sweet. Anything to distract from the restless, burning energy under your skin.
The tower was quiet at this hour, shadows stretching across the kitchen counters. You opened the fridge, bathing the room in a pale glow, when a deep voice rumbled behind you.
“Couldn’t sleep either?”
You jumped, slamming the fridge door a little too quickly. “Jesus, Bucky-”
He was leaning against the doorframe, sweatpants hanging low on his hips, hair mussed like he’d just rolled out of bed. No shirt. The dim light caught the curve of muscle across his chest, and, of course, the gleam of vibranium.
Your mouth went dry.
“I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said softly, lips twitching like he wasn’t entirely sorry. “Just heard someone moving around.”
You folded your arms across your chest, trying for casual. “Yeah, well…couldn’t sleep. Figured a snack might help.”
He stepped into the room, slow and easy, like a predator who knew exactly how much space he took up. “Funny. I was thinkin’ the same thing.”
Your pulse skipped. The air thickened, charged with something you couldn’t quite name but felt in every inch of your skin.
You tried to distract yourself by opening a cabinet. “Any particular midnight craving?”
He smirked, leaning one hip against the counter, metal fingers drumming lightly on the surface. “Nothin’ in the cabinets.”
Your hand froze on the cabinet door. Heat shot straight through you at the way he said it, like he hadn’t meant to let it slip, but once it was out, he didn’t regret it either.
You turned slowly, meeting his eyes. Blue, sharp, and fixed on you like you were the only thing in the room worth looking at.
For a moment, neither of you moved. The hum of the fridge filled the silence, the only sound between your shallow breaths.
Then, he pushed off the counter, closing the space between you by a step. Just one, but it was enough to make your body tense with awareness.
“You’re not scared of me,” he said quietly, almost like he was reminding himself. His gaze flicked, just once, to the arm, then back to your face.
“No,” you whispered. Your throat felt tight, but your voice didn’t shake. “Not even a little.”
His jaw clenched, like he was fighting something inside himself. Want, fear, restraint, you couldn’t tell. But the air between you was electric, your heart pounding so loud you were sure he could hear it.
The space stretched thin until you swore you could feel the heat of him against your skin even though he hadn’t touched you.
Bucky took another step closer, and suddenly the glow of the fridge light reflected off his metal fingers. His broad chest was bare, hair messy, eyes stormy and unyielding, completely focused on you. Your back brushed the counter, cool marble biting into your skin through your thin sleep shirt.
“Not scared,” he murmured again, almost to himself, his flesh hand braced beside your hip now. His metal arm hovered just a breath away from you, like he wasn’t sure if you’d flinch.
You didn’t.
Instead, you tilted your chin up, pulse pounding.
“Never.”
In the next heartbeat, his mouth crashed to yours, hot, demanding, and starved. His hand caught your jaw, tilting you to exactly where he wanted, while the cool press of vibranium finally touched you, gripping your waist.
You gasped into him and he groaned, tongue sweeping to taste you like he’d been holding back for too long.
Your fingers fisted into his hair, dragging him down closer. The kiss turned messy, teeth clashing, lips swollen, his body pressing into yours until you could feel every hard line of him against your softer curves.
When he finally pulled back, both of you panting, his lips trailed to your ear. His voice was rough and filthy, a rasp that went straight to your core.
“Been drivin’ me fuckin’ crazy, doll. Walkin’ around in these little scrubs, smellin’ sweet, touchin’ me so gently...”
Your knees went weak. His metal arm held you firm, pinning you against the counter.
“Bucky…” you breathed, thighs squeezing together helplessly.
His lips curved into a dangerous smirk against your jaw. “Oh, princess,” he whispered, voice silky smooth. “Already rubbin’ those pretty thighs together for me?”
You whimpered, and his grip on your waist tightened.
“Thought I didn’t notice, huh? The way you look at my arm? The way your eyes linger when you think I’m not watchin’?” His metal fingers flexed against you, cool and unyielding, sliding just under the hem of your shirt to brush your bare skin. “Bet you’ve been lyin’ awake thinkin’ about what it’d feel like. About how hard I could make you cum with just this hand.”
Your head fell back against the cabinet, a broken sound leaving your throat. You squeezed your thighs tighter together, chasing friction, and he chuckled sinfully, dragging your bottom lip between his teeth before devouring your mouth again.
His tongue tangled with yours, while his flesh hand slipped down, gripping your thigh and dragging it up around his hip. The shift of your body against his left no space at all, his cock pressing thick and hot against you through thin layers of fabric.
You moaned, the sound swallowed into his kiss, and his filthy growl vibrated against your lips.
“My sweet little nurse, sittin’ here grindin’ on me like you’ve been starvin’ for it.”
Every word made you ache more, your body clenching with need. You couldn’t help the way you rocked forward, chasing the friction, squeezing your thighs again despite him already pinning you open.
Bucky broke from your mouth just long enough to drag his tongue down your throat, teeth grazing. “You feelin’ desperate, sweetheart? Can’t sleep ‘cause all you can think about is me fuckin’ you right here against this counter?”
His metal hand slid higher along your side, thumb grazing dangerously close to the underside of your breast.
Your answering whimper made him smirk against your skin, his lips brushing your collarbone. “Knew it,” he rasped, biting down lightly. “Knew you’d come undone for me the second I stopped playin’ nice.”
You dragged his mouth back to yours, kissing him hard. The taste of him consumed you, every filthy word etching itself into your skin as surely as his touch did.
The counter was cold against your back, but Bucky’s body was searing. His mouth was relentless, lips bruising, tongue claiming, teeth grazing your swollen bottom lip until you whimpered.
That sound had him pulling back just enough to look at you. His pupils were blown, blue nearly swallowed whole, his chest heaving.
“Fuck, princess…” His voice was wrecked, gravel dragging over silk. “You sound so fuckin’ sweet.”
You tried to beg for more, but he was already slipping his metal hand beneath your sleep shorts, the cool brush of vibranium skating up your inner thigh. You gasped, the contrast against your overheated skin making your head spin.
He smirked, slow and dark. “That’s right. Been dreamin’ about this, haven’t you? About me usin’ this arm to ruin you?”
You nodded, breathless, thighs parting instinctively. His fingers traced lazy patterns so close to where you burned for him, the teasing maddening.
“Please,” you whispered, voice breaking.
Bucky’s mouth curled in satisfaction. “That’s my girl. Beggin’ so pretty already.”
Finally, his thumb brushed your clit, the cool metal making you jolt, a sharp cry tumbling out before you could bite it back.
Instantly, his other hand was covering your mouth. “Shhh,” he rasped, leaning in so close his lips brushed your ear. “You tryin’ to wake up the whole damn tower?”
Your hips bucked against his hand anyway, desperate for more. He chuckled low. “Couldn’t keep quiet if you wanted to, huh? That’s alright, doll. I’ll take care of it.”
His vibranium fingers stroked you with cruel precision, circling, pressing, and dragging until your thighs were trembling. He kissed the side of your neck, tongue laving the skin before he bit gently. “So wet already. You're drenchin’ my fuckin’ hand and I’ve barely touched you. You’re gonna lose your mind when I finally get inside your pretty cunt, aren't you baby?”
You tried to hold back the moan, but it ripped free anyway.
Bucky growled against your skin, and suddenly his metal hand was gone from your clit, climbing up instead. Before you could protest, cool fingers wrapped lightly around your throat, controlled and steady. Enough pressure to control your breathing, but not enough to hurt you.
Your eyes went wide, breath stuttering, but the way your body clenched gave you away.
“Yeah,” he murmured, watching your reaction closely, his smirk feral. “That’s what you want, isn’t it? Me holdin’ you here, keepin’ you quiet while I fuck you right on this counter. You like it when I control every pretty sound comin’ outta your mouth.”
You couldn’t even answer. Your hips ground against him helplessly, chasing friction, your thighs clenching around his waist.
“Thought so,” he rasped.
He nearly tore your shorts as he dragged them down and tossed them aside. Then his sweats followed, his cock thick and heavy between you, leaking against your thigh. The sight alone nearly made you cum.
He didn’t waste time, lining himself up, catching your gaze as his vibranium fingers tightened just a little more around your throat. “Open those pretty legs for me, doll. Lemme ruin this sweet little pussy.”
When you obeyed, he pushed inside in one deep thrust. The stretch made you cry out, muffled by his grip, your nails digging into his shoulder blades.
“Fuck,” he groaned, forehead pressing to yours. “Tightest pussy I ever had.”
He pulled back and thrust again, harder this time, the spice rack and spices shaking under the force. Each movement had your body arching, pleasure sparking white-hot through you.
“Fuck, that's it...take it, doll. Take my cock.” His voice was filth and gravel, every word making you clench tighter around him.
When your sounds grew louder, his metal fingers flexed on your throat, just enough to steal some of your air, just enough to make your head spin and your body burn hotter. His eyes darkened at the sight of you, flushed, desperate, completely undone under his control.
“So fuckin’ beautiful,” he snarled, hips snapping harder now. “Such a good girl for me. You need me holdin’ you like this, remindin’ you who you belong to.”
Your vision blurred as he fucked you against the counter, pleasure building so sharp and fast it nearly stole your breath more than his hand did. You clawed at his back, whimpering brokenly, your body tightening around him with every thrust.
“C’mon, sweetheart,” he groaned, teeth grazing your jaw, his filthy words ragged in your ear. “Soak my cock. Cum with my hand around your throat. Show me how bad you wanted this.”
Your orgasm tore through you, white-hot and shattering, your cry was muffled by his mouth on yours and his grip on your throat. He fucked you through it, relentless, until a ragged groan ripped out of him, and he filled you to the brim.
He loosened his grip instantly, pulling you into his chest, his lips pressing against your hair as both of you gasped for breath. His vibranium hand slid down to cradle your jaw now, tender, the contrast almost dizzying.
“You’re a fuckin’ dream, doll,” he whispered against your temple. “And all mine.”
Bucky held you against him for a moment, his body still trembling with the last echoes of release. His lips pressed into your hair, lingering there like he couldn't quite let go of the moment.
Then, carefully, he eased back, brushing your cheek with the cool edge of his vibranium fingers. You shivered, and he smirked faintly, even as his touch was gentle.
“Sensitive?” he murmured, the teasing warmth in his voice a softer shade than before. His thumb stroked along your jaw, light enough to raise goosebumps. “Thought I broke you for a second there.”
You gave him a weak glare that melted quickly into a smile. “You almost did.”
“Almost, huh?” His metal fingers traced down the column of your throat where he’d held you before, not pressing, just featherlight. “Guess I’ll have to try harder next time.”
You swatted at his chest, making him chuckle. The sound was low, genuine, and it made your heart flip.
He reached over the counter one-handed and grabbed a glass, filling it at the sink. When he offered it to you, his metal hand steadied the glass while his flesh hand guided it toward your lips.
“Small sips, doll,” he said softly. “Don’t wanna drown you after all that.”
You drank obediently, watching him over the rim of the glass. His gaze never left your face, watching for the slightest sign of discomfort.
When you finished, he set the glass aside and leaned in, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. Then another, softer still, right at the corner of your jaw. And another, playful, on the tip of your nose.
You giggled, and he smiled against your skin. “There’s that laugh,” he whispered, brushing his lips over yours now in a kiss so sweet it made your chest ache. Slow, lingering, a world away from the filthy way he’d taken you minutes before.
When he pulled back, his expression was tender but determined. “You’re not goin’ back to your bed.”
Your brows rose. “Oh, I’m not?”
“Nope.” His metal fingers tapped lightly at your chin, then trailed down your throat again in that teasing way that made your breath catch. “You’re comin’ with me. My bed's bigger, warmer, and my Ma raised me to be a gentleman. Gotta make sure my girl sleeps good.”
You opened your mouth to argue, but he kissed you again, silencing any protest before it could form. When he pulled away, his forehead rested against yours, his voice rough with something unspoken.
“C’mon, doll. Let me take care of you.”
Bucky didn’t give you the chance to say otherwise. One moment you were still perched on the kitchen counter, flushed and shaky, the next he was scooping you up with ridiculous ease, your legs instinctively curling around his waist.
You made a small sound of protest. “Bucky-”
“Hush,” he said, kissing your temple as he carried you down the hall. “I'm not leavin’ you alone after that.”
You hid your face against his neck, breathing in the clean, faintly smoky scent of him, your heart hammering. His bare chest was warm under your cheek, the steady thud of his heart grounding you as the cool gleam of metal pressed against the back of your thigh.
He nudged open the door to his room with his foot, the dim light spilling across dark sheets and a surprisingly tidy space. Setting you down gently on the bed, he stripped away what little clothing you still wore until you were left in just your panties.
Then he climbed in behind you, curling his large frame around yours, spooning you. His flesh arm tucked under your head like a pillow, while the vibranium one slid around your waist, pulling you back against his chest.
The cool press of metal on your overheated skin made you shiver, but his lips at your shoulder soothed the reaction instantly.
“Better?” he murmured, kissing the slope of your neck.
“Mm.” You melted back into him, exhaustion tugging at you now that the fire of your need had been sated. “Much.”
He chuckled softly, the vibration rumbling against your spine. “Good girl.”
You felt his metal hand shift, sliding lower. The hard ridges and smooth plates traced over your ribs, your navel, until his palm rested flat against your bare stomach, just above the band of your panties. He didn’t push lower, didn’t take more. Just rested there, fingers splayed possessively, the weight of him both grounding and suggestive.
Your thighs pressed together instinctively, and he smirked against your skin.
His lips brushed your ear, his voice a sinful whisper. “You get some sleep tonight, and tomorrow…” His fingers flexed lightly, cool metal grazing the sensitive skin just above your clit. “Tomorrow I’ll make you scream for me properly.”
You whimpered, clenching your thighs tighter, and he chuckled darkly, kissing your temple again.
“Sleep now,” he soothed, the edge of command in his voice softened to velvet. “You’ll need your rest.”
And as his lips lingered against your hair, his body curled around you like a shield, and those metal fingers burned their promise into your skin, your breathing slowed. Against all odds, you drifted off, wanting, aching, but safe.
