kool aid man? no...no kool aid, man

20s the hermit, the frog, the rabbit, the snake. a bar?? they walk into

[eevee-of-eternity]

"You're doing so well, baby." Kyle's voice fills your ears as he holds your arms behind your back. He groans when he feels your body twitch.

"You like it when he licks you, baby?"

All you can do is whine, brain turned to mush with every swipe of Johnny's tongue. Hes been holding your lower half to his mouth for what feels like ages. Pulling away every time you're about to cum.

[ohangeleyes]

alright, i'll be the one to say it. ao3 and tumblr becoming "mainstream" did so much damage to the community and the writers. i have seen loads of videos and posts about:

1. people hating on writers and fics. writing is something we do for free and for fun. if you stumble upon a fanfic that isn't necessarily your cup of tea or you just don't like, scroll. dont read it. literally leave their page. you don't know if this could be the author's first work that they're so excited about, you dont know if the language they're writing in isn't their first language, you dont know that the writer could be a literal teen and loads of other reasons. fanfictions don't HAVE to be perfect. you write what you want to write because we do it for fun and enjoyment and we want to share that to the world. seriously, what is the wrong with that?..

2. x reader consumers getting WAY too entitled. the number of tiktoks i've seen that say "i run a strict program when it comes to reading fanfics." girl you aint running shit. this is FAN FICTION you're reading. F A N F I C T I O N. there is no denying that most fanfiction writes are beyond talented but just because you read one fanfic that exceeds your expectations doesn't give you the right to talk down on others that don't. people have their own personal writing style, their way of doing things and you talking shit on that isn't right.

at the end of the day, we are all humans, reading and writing is what we do and what we're meant to do. and for you to talk shit about a person WRITING is so insane. we are humans. not some robots that you can tell what to do so you can consume it.

i've seen so so many authors take down their fanfics and losing all motivation to write because of a hate comment. DONT LIKE DONT READ‼️

and to every author reading this, this community values your work and your contribution. we love u and, please, never let anyone's negative words have an effect on you.

[geezimjd]

Hey so for people who write smut can we like stop writing those little smut prompts that don't have actual characters attached to them at all and are just like a sex prompt, and tag 1500 different characters please, I don't want to search up a specific character x reader and to get a little prompt that does not match the character at all I'm tired of seeing that all the time when I search up an x reader fic, because that is all I see nowadays and like I would have much rather take one of those little prompts but it actually be based off the specific character that I'm looking for, because I see those all the time and what it ends up being is a little prompt that's pretty much just a fantasy to you because I can guarantee you a character like Sanji would not act like bakugo like a soft and sweet character that you tagged in here would not actually slap and hit you during sex but I can guarantee you they would act completely different but instead they were still tagged because that's a fantasy of theirs when it has nothing to do with the character at all and it's just a prompt that doesn't even match the character I would rather have a prompt that is about the character and about how they would be during sex because I like those little prompts sometimes but I don't like reading about a prompt for a character when the prompt doesn't even match the character, and like I know this is a bunch of complaining, but like still like what happened to the full length like smut fix that were like 50% plot and 50% smut or like even like I would even take 30% plot in 70% smut I'm tired of reading just literal sex prompts I'm tired of reading that sometimes I want actual plot to my smut please and I know that there's more people that actually want more of that so can we like please lock and I beg of you please.

[honey-witches]

Hey so fanfiction is what you make it, and the idea that "well this character wouldn't act like this because I SAID SO!" is just weird and off putting.

People are allowed to fantasize and enjoy a character outside of their original text in whatever way that means. To all the fic writers who do prompts and tag certain characters they think fits that prompt, keep it up! Its your joy, your mind, and nobody deserves to stomp on your creativity for the sake of their own.

To those who dont like it, scroll, block, move on with your day and stop being a dictator in writing.

[apjvff]

promise me you'll stay on this site for 10 more years okay?

[sufjansjoy]

next up! faggot shit bag of chips as laser manelli,

[sufjansjoy]

it’s my favorite image on the planet

[konigswaifu]

Simon Riley who is enamored by medieval history. Spending his leave taking the train to ruins across the UK. Sometimes he brings Johnny along if he knows the sight will be gorgeous. Excitedly waiting to see Johnny scribbling quick sketches in his little notebook.

He also doesn't mention to anyone, (other than Johnny) that he feels most at ease in the ruins. Claims they're the only thing that depicts how he feels inside. Crumbling, worn to the bones, but still standing.

Despite it all.

[gerardwayspostcocaineweightgain]

it’s actually wild how terrified of the general public most usamericans are. like you don’t realize it if you’re someone who mostly walks and takes transit and spends a lot of time in populous public spaces but then you talk to one of the thousands of people that seemingly never set foot in any public space besides a parking garage or a starbucks and you suddenly understand why it’s so easy for fascist rhetoric about the dangerous alien to take root. this country’s median voter pretty much never interacts with strangers who aren’t their coworkers or people they met on dating apps

[gerardwayspostcocaineweightgain]

saw a post on instagram that was literally someone citing statistics saying public transit is one of the safest travel options out there and the comments were literally just “ummmmm op this is so ableist and misogynistic of you :) don’t you know the average public transit user is a dangerous violent criminal who wants to set you on fire :)))”

[gerardwayspostcocaineweightgain]

it must be so terrifying and sad to go through life convinced if you set foot outside your car in public or interact with people outside your nuclear family you’ll instantly be raped and robbed by the Evil Poors no wonder so many of these people are reactionary tar pits

[gerardwayspostcocaineweightgain]

important points which I did not address but should be appended ☝️☝️☝️☝️

[gerardwayspostcocaineweightgain]

ITT:

- people giving their life story to explain why they have a special secret valid trauma reason to be a reactionary tar pit

- white true crime women assuming I don’t know what it’s like to fear rape

- fascists calling me a euroslave

- cybersmith, for some reason

[avokadyshka]

This is Brazil, baby! ☀️

I'm obsessed with this duo ⬇no text ⬇

[grunklebongrip]

When a fic doesn’t fit my head canons but it’s well-written

[signalfirefly]

#he wouldn't fucking say that but i'm getting kind of attached to the guy you invented who did say that

[geneeste]

@mrv3000 telling truths in the tags:

[baklavasudarajako]

Soap cant get a snack without his guard dog following him around LMAOOOOOOOOOOOO

[sofasoap]

Teddy Bear - 4

Pairing: John Price x F! Reader

Summary: Children says the darndest thing. But maybe that is the push both of you need.

Warning: M Theme. Slight crack, leading to angst talk. Canon, what canon? Not Beta read.

A/N: it's been a long time. I don't even know where this series is going now. I think the recent MW4 trailer really pushed me to write something again. @a-small-writer-in-a-big-world, This is for you, Aunty Bear.

John Price Masterlist

Masterlist

Children say the darndest things. 

Especially your niblings.

“Aunty Bear?”

“Yes?” 

“When are you and furry uncle going to make some babies?”

You nearly choked to death if it wasn’t for John slapping your back, making that lethal piece of pancake fly out from your mouth and bounce across the counter top.

The unexpected question popped up during the semi chaotic breakfast session, You trying to cook with two frying pan at the same time, the children fighting for who gets the next piece of pancake, while your sister yells at them trying to get the two under control, the dog running around under the feet of the Captain and your brother in law, trying to get their attention. 

“Wh… what??” you gasped for air, with tears streaming down your eyes and bewildered at your niece’s question. How does a little two year old ( “I am two and more!” Your niece would hold up her little fingers and claim.) even know where the baby comes from?

The two of you only gone on, let’s see, two dates together? Last night's encounter wouldn’t even count as a third date. 

He only kissed you for the first time about two hours ago. And now people want to know when the two of you are going to start procreating,contributing to the greater good of the society.

”Lizzy has been bugging us saying she wants a baby to play with…” Your nephew perked up, as he tried to chew through a mouthful of pancake. “ and mummy said…”

Mum said? What has your sister been saying to the children?

Sus. 

“Alright you two, finish your food and get ready to go out and walk the dog!!” your sister suddenly interrupted the conversation, flustering all of sudden. 

“Darl, I already..” “But mummy.. Daddy already walked the dog this morning…” your nephew and brother in law started, confused.

“Wait wait.. I want to see what he has to say.”  Waving your sister off, you turned towards your nephew, smiling sweetly at him, attempting to coax more information out of him.  “What did your mum say hmmm??”

”I said nothing to my child. Now stop interrogating him and let him finish his food!” Your sister interjected again,  quickly shovelling the food into the two children’s mouth before ushering the whole lot of them out of the kitchen. “Just leave the dishes in the sink, I'll clear them up later! Tada!” 

Ah. Definitely guilty. 

You really need to have a stern talk with your sister about sticking her nose in other people’s business. 

An awkward silence fell after the four of them left the room, leaving the two of you in the kitchen, you picking on the last bits of the pancake and him sipping on the tea, seemingly unbothered, until you noticed something.

Is that a tint of redness on his cheek?

”I .. um sorry.” You stammered. You feel like you keep embarrassing yourself in front of him every time. “My family is extremely nosy..always want to know what is going on.” 

“It’s ok. I’m used to it.” John shook his head, chuckling. “The boys do the same to me too.”

“They care about their father.” you half joked, and giggled when he gave you the look,dispelling the awkwardness. 

“They should use that energy to do their work instead of bugging me.” He huffed, but couldn't hide the fondness he has for his subordinate. He finished the last bit of his drink before taking the mug and your plate to the sink, ready to do the wash up. 

“Here. leave it. They can tidy it up later. You are not doing anything with that shoulder of yours.” You hurried to his side, bumping him away with your hip, not wanting him to strain his injury. You can feel John silently resist you for a bit with him pushing you back, starting a battle of sink dominance. Finally he relented, and sat back down, watching you throw all the dishes into the sink and wiping down the benchtop.

“I better leave soon. I am sorry for barging in the middle of night. I’m sure you have things planned for the day.” John apologised, getting ready to leave. But you stopped him as you wiped your hand dry. “I got nothing planned for the rest of the weekend. And I am sure you don’t either.” you replied, pointing at his shoulder. Well, at least you were hoping the military would give him some sort of medical leave with this situation. 

“What do you propose?” he mused. 

“John Price, would you like to go on a third date with me?”

The two of you decided to take a stroll down towards the park near your place. 

You lean against his arm, people watching,enjoying the rare chance of sun popping its head through after days of miserable weather. Nothing fancy. 

You feel him looping his arm around the waist, pulling you tight against him, when you shivered at the spring yet still chilly February wind.

“Cold?” he murmured, leading you out of the shaded area and into the warm sun.

“A bit better.” you smile, snuggling against him, feeling his chest vibrate as he hummed with satisfaction as you move your hand to intertwine your fingers with his.

This is nice. So peaceful. Just like a normal couple spending a normal weekend together.

But you couldn’t help thinking, where is this relationship heading? 

“What is going to happen from now on?” You mumbled, speaking your mind out aloud. 

“Whatever you decide to do. ” John whispered,looking down at you, caressing your thumb, throwing the question back at you.

Letting you make the decision, or is he too scared to answer the question himself?

To tell the truth, you aren’t sure what you really want. John is a nice man. A perfect gentleman in every aspect. Handsome, courteous, gets along with your family, a great cook, a nice furnace in bed. 

All the qualities for a great partner. 

But would he disappear on you again?

After last night, reality really struck at how much risk is involved with his job.

You can’t deny the fear that starts bubbling up at the thought of it.

There was something about this man that really attracted you.

Something that really touches the part in your heart that none of the men you've been with that has ever done. 

The answer is already in your heart. 

But you want to know what is in his mind.

“John. Why did you come last night?” why did he seek you out? You were someone that he only just started dating, nothing more. Why you?

“....I..” He started, but didn’t know how to continue.Two of you stopped in your tracks, and he moved himself to stand in front of you, leaning his head against yours. “During...and after…what had happened. All I could think of was coming back to you.” he confessed, trying to put his feelings into words. “From the first time we met, I know you were different.” 

Oh dear, why is he making this sound like a proposal? 

“I really like you, my teddy bear lady, ”He pulls you tight into his embrace. “You heal me. I feel I can relax, let my guard down around you. To be himself. He sighed as he moved himself to look you in the eyes. “I can’t guarantee you I could be around all the time. Nor can I say I’ll be here forever. But I would really like to give this a go. If you’ll have me.”

You blinked a few times, trying to process his words, before cupping his face, closing the gap to give him a kiss.

Stuff this. you thought. Never know until you give it a try.

You can feel John’s shoulder relax and sigh against your lip when he starts to return the gesture. 

“Mummy! Is Aunty Bear and Uncle Furry going to have babies now???” your niece yelled out aloud, spotting the two of you from far away, breaking the moment and attracting a few park goers attention towards the two of you. “.... Remind me to go somewhere that no one knows us for dates next time.” you groaned, opening John’s coat to hide yourself inside. That goddamn romantic moment is all gone. You should have known they would have come to the same spot to walk the dogs.

John laughed, wrapping his arm tight around you.

“Whatever you like, my love. Whatever you like.”

“If someone called Laswell or Nikolai ever shows up at the door asking for me, just say you know nothing.”

“Hah?” 

[jumbledletters]

tf141 x reader, civilian reader, comfort after missions, @fluffuary day 9: cuddles

Dating four soldiers at the same time has its perks, and its downsides. It‘s not easy being the civilian, the one that stays behind. But once they return? They come to find you; they come home.

John Price

Price doesn’t ask, he never does.

One moment you’re standing in the living room, arms folded, watching him pace like a caged bear still half-stuck in briefing mode and giving him the space he needs to wind down. The next, his hand is on your wrist, warm and sure, tugging you closer. “C’mere,” he murmurs, voice rough but gentle around the edges.

You barely have time to laugh before he sinks down to the couch and pulls you with him, settling back with a quiet grunt. He opens his arms and guides you into his chest like it’s the most natural thing in the world; like you belong there, because you do.

His heartbeat is strong beneath your ear. Steady and alive, reassuring you that he really is back.

Price exhales, long and deep, the tension draining from him the second your weight settles fully against him. One hand slides up to cradle the back of your head, fingers combing slowly through your hair. The other rubs broad, lazy circles into your back. His palm is warm through fabric.

“There we go,” he murmurs, more to himself than to you.

You feel him soften beneath you as his muscles unwind and the tension bleeds from him. His chin rests lightly atop your head, breath puffing against your hair.

“Didn’t realize how knackered I was,” he admits quietly. “Till I had you.”

You shift slightly, fitting yourself closer, and he hums in approval, tightening his hold just a fraction.

Sometimes, you leave behind your role as a lover and instead become a weighted blanket, an anchor, a reminder that there’s a world beyond commands and consequences.

He pets your hair slowly, methodically, like he’s counting you instead of sheep. Before long, his breathing evens out, content and grounded, holding you like you’re the safest thing he’s ever known.

Simon Riley

Simon doesn’t ease into it the way Price does. Before the door even slams closed behind him, he crashes into you.

You barely even manage a greeting before he has your wrapped up in his arms, pulling you flush against his chest. His weight follows immediatelyas he guides you backward until you’re half-seated, half-pinned beneath him on the couch.

His forehead presses into your shoulder. His arms lock tight around you. For a moment, he doesn’t speak.

He is still in most of his gear, poking you lightly. He must’ve skilled the shower, headed straight for you instead. A bad one then.

“It’s alright,” you whisper, one hand slipping up his back. “You’re home. You’re safe. I’ve got you.”

His grip tightens, so you keep going, soft and steady, murmuring affirmations you know by heart now. That he did good. That he made it back. That he doesn’t have to be Ghost here.

Gradually, his breathing slows. His weight settles fully into you, solid and warm and real.

“Can I check you?” you ask gently after a while.

There’s a pause, then a quiet, gravelly, “Yeah.”

He sits back just enough to tug his shirt over his head, muscles still tense but no longer coiled to spring. Your eyes linger on his torso, and he huffs out something almost like a laugh when he catches it.

“Focus,” he mutters, with rare softness creeping into his tone.

You smile and run careful hands over scars old and new, checking, soothing. Simon watches you the whole time, eyes soft in a way very few people ever get to see.

Once you‘re satisfied, he pulls you against him again, burying his face in your neck, and relaxes his muscles. Now, he can rest.

Kyle Garrick

Kyle practically crashes into you as though his strings were cut, every time.

A short burst of energy, a quick laugh, arms looping around your shoulders as he lifts you just enough to spin you once, folllowed by swaying and tired eyes as he cups your cheek.

“Okay,” he exhales. “Wow. Legs are gone.”

You narrow your eyes. Kyle has a tendency to neglect his own needs before and during tough missions, because he doesn't have an appetite. Well, he does eat. But not nearly enough, until he comes home to you. “Have you eaten?”

He opens his mouth, then closes it and grins sheepishly instead. “Define… eaten.”

You don’t even argue. You guide him to the couch, shove a snack into his hands, and watch him demolish it like his life depends on it. It kinda does. Another follows, then another.

Kyle’s chatter slows between bites. His shoulders ease and the spark dims into something softer, quieter.

The moment he finishes, he slides behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and pressing his chest to your back. His chin settles into the crook of your neck.

“Mm. That’s better,” he murmurs, voice already thick with sleep.

He nuzzles closer, nose brushing your skin, breathing you in and melting into the warmth. His grip tightens, before slowly easing as he drifts off. “Don' m've,” he slurs. “Y're p'rfect...”

Within minutes, he’s out cold, dead weight and warmth and soft breaths against your neck. You don’t move, and you won't until he wakes on his own.

Johnny MacTavish

Johnny is the most surprising of them all. He doesn't come crashing, he doesn't need your help to calm down. No, he worries. About you.

He comes in quiet and tired, with worn out eyes and a soft grin as he searches your face before even saying a word. When he pulls you into a hug, it’s a long and firm bear hug, swallowing you into his chest. He hums into the hug and he never pulls back until you do.

“You alright, bonnie?” he asks quietly and stares into your eyes. His fingers brush your cheek, then move over your head. “Be honest.”

You nod, and only then does he relax and pulls you back in, squeezing you tighter this time and resting his chin on your head.

“Not easy,” he says after a moment, voice gentler than his grin suggests. “Loving a bunch of idiots with a death wish.”

You snort, because he is right. He chuckles, rubbing your back. “But hey,” he adds lightly, “we’re very handsome idiots.”

You laugh, and he beams. Mission accomplished.

Johnny keeps the jokes coming, little comments meant to lift you rather than distract himself. No doubt, these missions are hard on him and the boys. But they're also hard on you; watching the men you love go off to possible death again and again.

And as long as they do, he will check in again and again, make sure you’re warm, comfortable, okay... And only then will he finally settle in beside you, pulling you against his chest and relax.

“Cuddles?” he asks, like it’s optional. It's not, escape has proven useless in the past.

So, you tuck yourself in, and he sighs contentedly with his arms snug around you.

“Worth it,” he murmurs. “Every bloody second.”

[punisherslittlegirl]

I absolutely love men that look like bears ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ.

꧁—————————————————————꧂

[call-me-kat-astrophe]

me: *scribbling away*

them: whatcha doing?

me: oh nothing just making a list so i don't forget

the list:

[thebookbutterfly]

his big brown eyes and astounding lack of morals have captivated me

[azaablue]

the best fanfiction you've ever read was written by a woman in her 40s before she made dinner for her kids. it was written by a teenager after school when they should've been studying for a history test. and a barista came up with the idea while they cleaned the espresso machine and busser fact-checked it on their break and the post-doc edited between writing grant proposals and the nurse apologized for typos in the notes after a long shift and behind every drabble and one-shot and multi-chapter fic there is a person with a wonderful and interesting and chaotic life and it is such a privilege that we get to be a part of it because they decided to do this thing we all share, for fun.

[hatosypascalbaby]

God bless the writers !!!!!

[heldbybarnes]

laser tag with bucky, the team, and reader...?

Love youuuuuuuu

-🩰

The worst part about agreeing to laser tag with the Avengers isn’t the neon vests or the fact that Sam will absolutely never let anyone forget a loss.

It’s that Bucky Barnes takes everything like it’s a covert op.

The place is dimly lit and smells faintly like carpet cleaner and adrenaline. Black lights flash over murals of alien planets and space marines that look vaguely like off-brand versions of you guys. Kids sprint past shrieking, plastic blasters clutched in sticky hands, and somewhere a fog machine wheezes dramatically.

You adjust the vest over your chest, glancing at the name glowing across your screen. “Starlight?” you deadpan. “Really?”

Nat smirks from where she’s tightening her straps. “You could’ve picked worse.”

Across the staging room, Bucky stands ramrod straight while a teenager explains the rules like he’s briefing a squad before deployment.

“No running,” the kid says for the third time.

Bucky nods once. “Copy.”

Steve leans over to you. “He’s been like this since we walked in.”

“Of course he has.”

The teams are split up—Sam, Nat, and you versus Steve, Bucky, and Wanda. The moment the doors slide open and the music kicks in, Bucky disappears into the maze of glowing walls like a ghost.

“You have got to be kidding me,” Sam mutters. “He’s flanking already.”

The arena pulses with blue and purple light. Fog drifts low over the floor. You barely take three steps before a red beam clips your vest.

“BUCKY!” you shout.

From somewhere above—because of course there are elevated platforms—his voice echoes back, amused and maddeningly calm. “Should’ve checked your corners, doll.”

You squint up at the grated catwalk where his silhouette is barely visible. He gives you a tiny, mocking salute before vanishing again.

“Oh, it’s on,” you mutter.

For the next five minutes, it’s chaos. Sam trash talks at full volume. Nat moves like a shadow, tagging Steve twice in rapid succession before melting into the maze. Wanda uses her powers just enough to “accidentally” misdirect people, claiming plausible deniability the whole time.

But Bucky?

Bucky is a menace.

You catch glimpses of him between glowing barriers—dark hair, metal arm glinting under black light, that focused crease between his brows. He moves like this is real. Tactical. Efficient. You watch him wait until Sam is distracted before stepping out, tagging him three times in quick succession, then disappearing again without a sound.

“Is he smiling?” you whisper to Nat.

She peeks around the corner. “Oh, he’s absolutely smiling.”

You finally manage to corner him near the center base. It’s narrow there, walls tight and blinking red. He steps out in front of you before you can pivot away, blocking your escape.

“Got you,” he murmurs.

You lift your blaster, but he’s faster. Three sharp beeps. Your vest vibrates and powers down.

He doesn’t step back.

Under the black lights, his eyes look impossibly blue. The edges of his mouth curve just slightly, like he’s proud of himself.

“This is unfair,” you say, breathless from sprinting.

“Is it?” he tilts his head. “You’ve tagged me twice.”

“By accident.”

“Still counts.”

The music pulses around you, loud and ridiculous, but in this narrow corridor it suddenly feels quieter. Closer.

He leans in just enough that his shoulder brushes yours. “You’re predictable,” he adds softly.

You scoff. “I am not.”

“You always go left when you panic.”

“I do not panic.”

“Just did.”

Your mouth opens to argue—then Sam barrels into the corridor, yelling something about revenge, and the moment shatters. Bucky slips past you smoothly, tagging Sam mid-sentence before vanishing again.

“You let him distract you!” Sam accuses.

“You’re loud!” you fire back.

When the round ends, Steve’s team wins by an embarrassing margin.

Sam demands a rematch immediately.

The second game is worse.

Because this time, Bucky decides to stick close to you.

At first you think it’s coincidence. You turn a corner—there he is. You duck behind a barrier—he’s suddenly at your shoulder. Every time someone lines you up for a shot, a red beam hits them first.

“You following me?” you hiss.

“Protecting my investment,” he replies coolly.

“I’m on the other team.”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t keep you from getting annihilated.”

“You’re literally annihilating me.”

He shrugs. “Collateral.”

You try to shake him, weaving through the maze, doubling back, even hiding behind a fake asteroid prop. He finds you every time.

At one point, he gently grabs the back of your vest and pulls you flat against the wall just as a volley of beams lights up the space where you were standing.

Your back presses to his chest. His metal arm braces beside your head. The scent of his cologne—clean, subtle—cuts through the fog machine haze.

“You’re welcome,” he murmurs near your ear.

Your pulse jumps. “You’re cheating.”

“I’m talented.”

“You’re insufferable.”

His laugh is quiet, warm against your skin. “You love it.”

You do not dignify that with a response.

Instead, you pivot, lift your blaster, and tag him square in the chest before darting away.

He stares at his blinking vest in disbelief.

“You little—”

You grin over your shoulder. “Should’ve checked your corners, Barnes.”

For the rest of the match, it becomes personal.

He hunts you with single-minded focus. You become equally determined not to be caught. You tag Steve twice. You and Nat coordinate an ambush on Wanda. Sam sacrifices himself dramatically so you can make a break for the base.

And then it’s just you and Bucky again.

Final seconds ticking down.

You circle each other in the center platform, lights flashing red like a countdown. He moves left. You mirror him. Both of you grinning now, competitive fire sparking in your eyes.

“Call a truce?” he offers lightly.

“Never.”

He lunges.

You both fire.

The scoreboard flashes.

Tie.

The buzzer sounds.

Outside the arena, everyone’s loud and sweaty and arguing over stats. Sam insists the machines were biased. Steve looks proud of everyone like this was a moral victory somehow. Nat is already planning next week’s rematch.

Bucky stands beside you, arms folded, shoulder brushing yours casually.

“Not bad,” he says.

“Not bad?” you gape. “I tied you.”

He glances down at you, eyes soft now, no battlefield edge left. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “You did.”

There’s something in the way he says it—like it matters more than laser tag.

Like you matter more than the game.

He nudges your hand with his fingers, subtle, almost shy. “Next time,” he adds, voice low enough only you can hear, “I won’t go easy on you.”

You snort. “You didn’t go easy on me.”

A small smile curves his mouth.

“Sure I did.”