"There's a difference only you can make."

Rosabella (Rosie) | ✝️ | female | early 20’s | new to certain fandoms | reposter mostly | may write/publish occasionally | fem!reader only | fluffy/light angst only | visit pinned post for my masterlist & acc rules | Have a blessed day!😁

[lost-girly-014]

My Masterlist :)

Introduction/Acc Rules/Characters

I do not give my consent for my content to be stolen, translated or given to help improve any form of Artifical Intelligence (AI).

With all that being said, happy reading!

MCU

Not Alone in the World - Peter Parker x Spider Mutant Batsis Reader (Upcoming)

DC Comics

hugs with the Batfamily (can be read platonically; 1st post. probably bad)

PJO

Jason Grace dating hcs

Percy Jackson dating hcs

[count-pudding]

local madman found snuggling some pigeon

@merthurmicrofic bingo: pigeon

[ilovolderman]

Borrowed Fairy Tales

pairing: bucky barnes x reader summary: You take a last-minute princess job at Morgan Stark’s birthday party expecting easy money and screaming children. You do not expect a grumpy Beast ruining your life with soft looks. word count: 6.4k warnings: fluff, mutual pining, awkward flirting, fairy tale references, mild language, bucky barnes being reluctantly soft. a/n: not me showing up after months away from this website with the most random idea i’ve ever had. i hope you guys like it :)

“You know,” Sam Wilson says casually from the passenger seat, “most people hear the words free food and say thank you.”

From the backseat, Bucky Barnes stares out the window with the expression of a man being transported directly to his execution.

“I did say thank you,” he mutters.

“No, you grunted.”

“That was a polite grunt.”

Sam snorts.

Beside him, Steve Rogers keeps both hands on the wheel, suspiciously calm for someone participating in what is very clearly an ambush.

The city lights streak across the windows while traffic crawls forward.

Bucky should’ve stayed home.

He had a system at home.

A good system.

Coffee. Silence. Alpine curled beside him on the couch like a tiny judgmental loaf of bread. Maybe a movie he wouldn’t pay attention to. Minimal human interaction.

Peace.

Instead, Sam showed up at his apartment an hour ago carrying cupcakes and bad intentions.

“You can’t stay inside that apartment forever with Alpine,” Sam says now, like he’s continuing an old argument. “That cat is starting to absorb your personality.”

“She likes me.”

“She bites everyone else.”

“That sounds like a them problem.”

Steve hides a smile.

Bucky leans his head back against the seat with a groan. “Why am I even needed at this thing?”

“It’s Morgan’s birthday,” Steve says.

Sam grins. “Family event. It will be good for you.”

Bucky flips him off without looking.

The car goes quiet for a minute.

Not awkward quiet. Just familiar.

The kind built over years of near-death experiences and too many shared memories.

Outside, the city slowly shifts into larger houses, quieter streets, cleaner sidewalks.

Rich people territory.

Bucky already hates it.

“You could try having fun,” Steve says eventually.

Bucky stares at him like he personally insulted his ancestors.

“Why are you saying that like it’s easy?”

Steve glances at him briefly. “Because staying miserable on purpose gets exhausting after a while.”

That lands harder than Bucky wants it to. He crosses his arms, glaring out the window again while they pull through the massive Stark gates.

Lights glow across the property ahead, warm against the dark evening sky.

Music drifts faintly through the air.

Too many people.

Too much noise.

He already wants to leave.

Sam unbuckles first and points at him before he can move. “And no disappearing after ten minutes.”

“I never do that.”

“You vanished through a bathroom window last time.”

“It was efficient.”

“You’re impossible.”

Bucky pushes the car door open. “Yet here you are. Voluntarily spending time with me.”

Sam throws an arm around his shoulders immediately, dragging him toward the house despite his complaints.

“That’s because underneath all the grumpy murder grandpa stuff,” Sam says, “you secretly love us.”

“I could bench press you into traffic.”

“But you won’t.”

Bucky doesn’t answer.

Mostly because Steve opens the front doors right then—

And somewhere inside the house, faint and warm and distant, he hears someone singing.

— 15 minutes earlier —

The dressing room is chaos.

Cheap rhinestones scattered across the counter. Someone in the hallway yelling about balloons. Someone else asking where the cake table went.

And Dylan is pacing.

“No, no, no,” he mutters, tugging at the ridiculous blue Beast jacket stretched across his shoulders. “I can’t do this.”

You pause halfway through putting on your gloves. “Dylan—”

“I’m serious.” He points toward the door like the answer is waiting outside. “Do you know whose house this is?”

“Yes,” you say carefully.

“It’s the Starks.”

You stare at him through the mirror. “Tony Stark is literally paying us to sing to children, not dismantle a bomb.”

“That’s worse.”

You snort despite yourself, adjusting the off-the-shoulder yellow gown. It’s prettier than you expected when the agency shoved the costume bag into your arms this morning. Layers of gold satin spill around your feet, catching the light every time you move.

For one stupid second, you almost feel like Belle.

Dylan doesn’t.

“I think I’m gonna throw up.”

“You’re not gonna throw up.”

“What if the Avengers are there?”

You stop.

Okay. Fair point.

The knot in your stomach tightens instantly.

You need this job. Rent is due in four days, your audition last week went nowhere, and the commercial you filmed still hasn’t paid you. Which means you absolutely cannot afford to panic now.

So you grab Dylan by the shoulders.

“Listen to me,” you say firmly. “You need to calm down. Do you know how much we’re getting paid for this?”

“Yes, but—”

“And if you ruin this for me, I will personally feed you to the Hulk.”

That earns a weak laugh.

“Pretty sure he’s off-world,” Dylan mutters.

“Then I’ll wait.”

Another laugh. Better this time.

You smooth nonexistent wrinkles from his jacket. “We go in there, smile, sing, wave at rich children, and leave with enough money to survive another month. That’s it.”

A knock hits the door before he can answer.

“Princess Belle? They’re ready for you.”

Your stomach flips.

Dylan immediately pales again.

You squeeze his arm once before stepping away. “Breathe.”

Then you lift your chin, paste on a princess smile, and walk out.

The Stark house looks less like a house and more like a museum designed by someone with unlimited money and zero restraint.

Everything gleams.

Soft golden lights wrap around the enormous backyard. Staff members move through the crowd carrying trays of tiny desserts that probably cost more than your electric bill. Children run across the lawn wearing paper crowns and superhero masks.

And near the center of it all—

“Mama! Belle’s here!”

Morgan Stark barrels toward you at full speed.

You barely have time to crouch before she crashes into your arms, giggling wildly.

“Oh my gosh,” you say in your best princess voice, warm and bright. “Princess Morgan! I’ve heard so much about you.”

Her gasp is immediate. “Really?”

“Of course. The castle talks about little else.”

She beams.

And just like that, the nerves disappear.

Because this part—you know this part.

You know how to soften your voice until children lean closer to hear you. You know how to make wonder feel real. You know how to turn exhaustion into magic for two hours at a time.

Morgan takes your hand immediately and drags you toward the other kids.

“Belle, can you sing?”

“Can you dance?”

“Where’s Beast?”

“Oh, he’ll join us later,” you say smoothly, praying Dylan survives the next ten minutes. “But for now…” You straighten dramatically. “Who would like to hear a story?”

A chorus of screams answers you.

Then you start singing.

And the entire party quiets.

Not because you’re loud.

Because you’re good.

Your voice carries softly through the backyard while the kids sit cross-legged around you, completely enchanted. You smile at each of them like they matter individually. Like this isn’t just another exhausting gig at the end of a long week.

Across the lawn, Bucky looks up almost by accident.

And immediately regrets it.

Because now he’s looking at you.

Fairy lights glow softly above your head while children crowd around your skirts, completely enchanted by every word that leaves your mouth. You laugh at something one of them says, bright and easy and real enough that it reaches him even from across the yard.

And for one strange second—

You don’t look like someone pretending to be a princess.

You look like one.

Then your eyes lift suddenly.

Find his across the crowd.

Bucky expects the usual reaction instantly.

The hesitation. The recognition. That brief flicker people always get when they realize who he is.

Instead, your expression softens.

Just slightly.

Like seeing him standing there alone somehow matters to you more than it should.

And the smile you give him—

God.

It’s small.

Almost shy.

But warm enough that he actually feels it.

Like sunlight slipping through something cracked open.

You hold his gaze for one tiny, suspended second longer than necessary before turning back to the children beside you.

But now your heartbeat feels different too.

Because there was something unexpectedly gentle in the way he looked at you.

Bucky watches Morgan stare at you like you hung the damn moon.

Watches you stay perfectly in character when another kid spills juice on the hem of your dress.

You don’t even flinch.

“Accidents happen,” you tell the horrified child gently. “Even in castles.”

Something in his chest shifts unpleasantly.

Or pleasantly.

He hasn’t decided yet.

Because normally, people trying too hard to be sweet annoys him.

But you kneel to talk to the children at eye level. You remember every single name they tell you. When Morgan grabs your hand during the story, you squeeze back automatically without breaking character once.

None of it feels fake.

Which is exactly the problem.

Bucky exhales slowly through his nose, already irritated with himself.

You’re midway through teaching Morgan and three other children how to properly curtsy when your phone starts vibrating inside the hidden pocket sewn into your dress.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

Your stomach drops instantly.

Because only one person would call you repeatedly during a job.

“Princess Belle,” Morgan says seriously, tugging your glove, “Amelia says princesses aren’t allowed to eat chicken nuggets.”

You crouch slightly. “Amelia has clearly never met a princess after a long day.”

Morgan gasps. “You eat nuggets?”

“In alarming quantities.”

The children dissolve into laughter.

Your phone buzzes again.

Definitely Dylan.

“Excuse me one moment,” you say gently. “The castle may be under attack.”

Morgan grabs your skirt dramatically. “By who?”

You glance at the phone screen.

Dylan: I THINK IM DYING

“…the French.”

You slip away before the kids can ask further questions.

The second you push through the side doors into the hallway, you answer.

“What happened?”

“I threw up.”

You stop walking. “What?”

“I told you I was gonna throw up.”

“Oh my God.”

“Also,” he says weakly, “I think I have a fever.”

You press your fingers to your forehead.

Of course he does.

Of course this happens at Tony Stark’s house.

“Can you still come out for the photos at least?”

A miserable pause.

“…if I move too fast I think I’ll see God.”

“Great.”

“I’m so sorry.”

And the worst part?

He genuinely sounds devastated.

You sigh, leaning against the wall. “It’s okay. Stay in the dressing room. Drink water. Don’t die before I get paid.”

“That’s fair.”

You hang up.

Then immediately turn and nearly collide with Pepper Potts.

“Oh!” she says. “There you are. Morgan’s asking for—” She stops instantly. “What’s wrong?”

You try to smile professionally.

It must fail horribly.

“The Beast actor is sick.”

Pepper blinks once.

“Oh no.”

“Yeah.”

“He can’t come out at all?”

“He’s currently fighting for his life in the dressing room bathroom.”

Pepper’s face cycles rapidly through concern, stress, and the specific exhaustion only rich parents hosting children’s parties can achieve.

Because unfortunately, the timing is terrible.

Kids are already gathering near the photo backdrop.

Morgan keeps asking when Beast is coming.

And somewhere nearby, you hear Tony Stark loudly saying, “I can absolutely do it.”

Pepper turns sharply. “No.”

From the other room: “Why not? I have range.”

“You have an ego.”

“I can roar.”

“You have to greet people.”

“I can greet people as Beast.”

Pepper pinches the bridge of her nose.

You almost laugh despite yourself.

Then another voice joins in.

“…Tony’s right, though.”

You glance toward the doorway and nearly choke on your own heartbeat.

Because standing there casually like this is a completely normal Tuesday are two actual Avengers.

Captain America himself stands beside a man you recognize from the News. Sam Wilson.

You suddenly become intensely aware that you’re dressed as a Disney princess while holding a phone that still has Dylan: I THINK IM DYING on the screen.

This cannot be your life.

Sam leans against the doorway easily, looking far too entertained by the situation already.

But it’s the man beside him that catches your attention.

The same man from earlier.

The one who looked at you across the backyard like he’d forgotten, for a second, where he was.

Dark hair. Tall. Broad shoulders filling out a black Henley. Arms crossed tightly over his chest like he already wants no part in whatever conversation this is.

And yet somehow, standing this close to him now, you still feel that strange little pull from earlier.

Unlike the others, he isn’t smiling. If anything, he looks like he’d rather walk directly back out the door.

Sam’s eyes flick briefly toward you before landing on Pepper.

“All due respect,” he says, “I think we found a better option.”

Bucky narrows his eyes immediately, like he already knows where this is going.

Steve nods slowly, already betraying him. “Actually…”

Pepper looks between them hopefully. “Wait.”

Sam grins.

“Oh, this is perfect.”

Bucky straightens immediately. “Absolutely not.”

“You’re tall,” Sam says helpfully.

“So is Steve.”

Almost on cue, Morgan’s voice suddenly rings through the backyard.

“UNCLE AMERICA!”

Steve barely has time to react before a tiny blur in pink slams into his legs.

“There he is,” Bucky mutters.

Morgan grabs Steve’s hand immediately. “Come see my castle!”

And Steve actually lets himself get dragged away.

“You’re abandoning me?” Bucky calls after him.

Steve only throws him an apologetic smile over his shoulder before disappearing outside with Morgan.

Bucky looks deeply betrayed.

Sam looks delighted.

“You were saying?” Sam asks.

Bucky glares at him. “I hope your wings fall off.”

Pepper is visibly trying not to laugh now.

Meanwhile, you’re standing there clutching your phone like your entire career is collapsing in front of you.

“I really don’t want to cause trouble,” you say quickly. “I can just explain to Morgan that Beast got delayed—”

“Morgan’s seven,” Pepper says softly. “She’s been talking about this dance all week.”

Guilt hits instantly.

Bucky notices.

And unfortunately for him, Sam notices Bucky noticing.

Which means it’s over.

“Buck,” Sam says, suddenly far too smug, “you wouldn’t even have to talk much.”

“No.”

“You’d just stand there looking grumpy.”

“No.”

“You already do that recreationally.”

 “Why don’t you do it?” Bucky shoots back immediately.

Sam places a hand dramatically over his chest. “Because I’m beautiful in a completely different genre.”

“I’m gonna kill you.”

“See? Beast energy.”

Bucky looks at you then.

Really looks at you for the first time up close.

The gold dress.

The nervous expression you’re trying to hide.

The way your hands twist together for half a second before you force yourself still again.

You look exhausted.

But somehow you’re still worried about disappointing a little girl.

And that annoying feeling in his chest returns.

Stronger this time.

Pepper steps closer carefully. “Bucky,” she says softly, “could you help us out? Just for a little while.”

He exhales slowly.

Looks toward the backyard where Morgan’s laughter drifts through the open doors.

Then back at you.

“…I hate all of you,” he mutters.

Sam lights up instantly. “That’s not a no.”

“It should be.”

Pepper smiles hopefully. “Bucky?”

He closes his eyes briefly like a man accepting his fate.

“…fine.”

The room goes silent.

You blink. “Wait. Really?”

Bucky points at you immediately. “This doesn’t leave this house.”

Sam nearly folds in half laughing.

And ten minutes later, you’re backstage beside a very grumpy Beast while trying to adjust the dark blue coat around his shoulders.

The costume department clearly did not account for super soldiers.

The fabric pulls tight across his chest every time he moves.

Bucky notices you staring immediately.

You step closer carefully, adjusting the fur near the collar.

“I’m sorry if the costume’s too tight,” you murmur. “The actor who usually plays Beast is… significantly less built.”

Bucky huffs quietly.

“That’s one way to say it.”

Up close, he’s unfairly intimidating.

Dark blue fabric stretched over muscle. Gloves hiding the metal hand completely.

Even the ridiculous Beast mask somehow makes him look dangerous.

Which feels deeply unfair for a Disney prince.

“You know,” you say gently while fixing one of the gold buttons, “you really don’t have to do this.”

Bucky looks down at you.

Then toward the backyard where Morgan’s excited voice carries faintly through the doors.

“…yeah,” he says quietly.

A pause.

“I kinda do.”

Before either of you can say anything else, the dressing room door swings open and Morgan storms in dramatically.

“BEAST!”

The little girl launches herself directly at Bucky.

Every muscle in his body visibly locks.

You almost panic for him.

But then, carefully, awkwardly, he catches her before she can crash face-first into the costume.

Morgan gasps, completely enchanted. “You’re so tall.”

Bucky looks at you, and somehow you know that beneath the mask, he looks completely helpless.

You grin. “That’s Beast.”

Morgan grabs his gloved hand immediately. “Belle said you were late because of a curse.”

Bucky looks down at her.

“…yeah,” he says after a second. “Traffic curse.”

You snort so suddenly you choke on air.

Morgan is already dragging him toward the doors with alarming strength for a seven-year-old.

You smooth your dress quickly before following after them, trying to slip back into character.

But it’s harder now for some reason.

Because this doesn’t feel like part of the performance anymore.

You barely know him.

You know he looks permanently annoyed at the world. You know children somehow trust him instantly despite the terrifying resting expression.

And you know he agreed to wear a giant Beast costume for a little girl he clearly adores.

Which is doing unfortunate things to your brain.

The backyard erupts the second Morgan reappears with him.

“BEAST!”

Children swarm immediately.

Bucky freezes.

Again.

You quickly step beside him before the poor man fully short-circuits.

“Oh dear,” you say brightly in Belle’s voice, slipping naturally into the scene. “The Beast seems overwhelmed.”

“I wonder why,” he mutters under his breath.

You hide another smile.

The next twenty minutes become complete chaos.

Children asking Bucky impossible questions.

“Do you live in the castle?”

“Can you roar?”

“Why are your hands so big?”

One tiny girl stares at him suspiciously before asking, “Are you hairy everywhere?”

You nearly inhale your own tongue trying not to laugh.

Bucky looks ready to walk directly into the ocean.

But somehow he stays.

He does the photos.

Lets kids hold his hands.

Even growls once after Morgan begs him to.

The children lose their minds.

Across the yard, Sam is recording the whole thing while Steve laughs so hard he has to sit down.

You catch Pepper wiping tears from her eyes at one point.

Probably from laughing.

Probably.

Then the music changes.

Soft piano drifting through the speakers.

Your stomach drops instantly.

The dance scene.

Morgan gasps dramatically. “NOW!”

Bucky goes still beside you.

“No.”

“Oh yes,” you say, smiling at him through clenched teeth.

“I don’t dance.”

“You’re literally a prince.”

“I’m literally not.”

Morgan grabs both your hands and shoves them together before either of you can react.

And suddenly—

Oh.

Your gloved hand lands against his.

His hand settles carefully at your waist.

The other wraps around your fingers.

You feel him hesitate.

Not because he doesn’t know how to dance.

Because he’s trying not to hurt you.

The realization hits instantly.

“It’s okay,” you say softly before thinking better of it.

His gaze flicks down to yours through the mask.

The world around you keeps moving, kids laughing, phones taking pictures, Sam yelling something obnoxious in the background, but for one strange second, it narrows into just this.

The warmth of his hand.

The carefulness in the way he’s holding you.

The fact that he smells faintly like coffee under all the costume fabric.

“You trust people too easy,” he says quietly.

You blink.

“That’s a weird thing to say during a Disney dance.”

“You didn’t answer.”

You should probably make a joke.

Instead, your eyes catch briefly on his gloved fingers resting against your waist.

Gentle despite the strength behind them.

Then Morgan yells, “KISS HER!”

Both of you jump apart instantly.

“Nope,” Bucky says immediately.

“Absolutely not,” you add at the exact same time.

The music softens around you, warm piano drifting through the backyard while fairy lights glow overhead.

Bucky Barnes keeps one hand at your waist, the other holding yours carefully as he guides you through the slow steps.

Too carefully.

Like he’s afraid to press too hard.

Like he’s constantly aware of himself.

His hand tightens at your waist without warning, pulling you just a little closer each time. Close enough that you can feel the heat of him even through the heavy costume layers. And whenever he leans down to hear you over the music, a shiver runs all the way down your spine.

The music softens around you, warm piano drifting through the backyard while fairy lights glow overhead.

You glance up at him just as he looks down at your feet.

“…am I doin’ this right?” he asks quietly.

His voice comes out rough and muffled beneath the Beast mask, low enough that you almost don’t hear it over the music.

The question catches you completely off guard.

Because he sounds genuinely unsure.

You blink once. “You know how to dance.”

“That wasn’t the question.”

Something warm twists painfully in your chest.

His grip tightens slightly at your waist.

“Don’t wanna mess this up.”

You smile softly. “You know, most princes are a little more confident during the ballroom scene.”

“Yeah, well.” He exhales quietly. “Pretty sure this prince skipped rehearsal.”

That pulls a laugh out of you.

Bucky’s gaze lifts at the sound immediately.

Not to the children.

Not to the crowd.

Just you.

And for one strange second, the dance stops feeling like part of the performance at all.

Then, quieter this time:

“…seriously, though,” he murmurs, thumb shifting faintly against your waist, “I’m not crushin’ your feet, am I?”

Your heartbeat stumbles embarrassingly hard.

“No,” you whisper. “You’re perfect.”

This is getting dangerous. Because somewhere between the dancing and the quiet way he keeps looking at you, this stopped feeling like part of the job.

You clear your throat quickly and pull back just enough to look over his shoulder.

“Morgan!” you call brightly.

Across the dance floor, Morgan gasps dramatically like she’s been summoned by destiny itself.

“Princess Morgan,” you say sweetly, already stepping away from Bucky before your brain completely melts, “I believe the Beast owes you a dance.”

Morgan screams.

Actually screams.

Bucky looks at you immediately.

You give him your most innocent Belle smile.

His eyes narrow under the mask. “You’re ditching me.”

“I would never.”

“You literally are right now.”

Morgan crashes into him before he can argue further, grabbing both his hands excitedly.

“C’MON BEAST!”

Bucky looks at you one last time over her head.

“You’re trouble,” he says flatly.

Your pulse jumps embarrassingly hard.

Before you can answer, Morgan drags him away into the crowd of children demanding another dance.

The second he’s gone, you exhale.

Hard.

Then across the dance floor, Morgan spins dramatically beneath Bucky’s arm while he awkwardly tries to keep up without stepping on tiny children.

And despite the giant Beast costume and permanent grumpy expression he’s laughing.

You watch him crouch slightly when she talks so he can hear her better through the music. Watch him steady her automatically every time she nearly trips over her dress. Watch one huge gloved hand settle carefully at her back while she spins herself dizzy.

The Beast mask should make him look ridiculous.

Instead, somehow, it only makes the contrast worse.

Big and intimidating and visibly dangerous even under layers of fake fur—

Yet impossibly gentle with her.

Your chest tightens unexpectedly.

“Well,” a voice says beside you, “you’re lookin’ at him exactly the same way the kids are.”

You nearly jump.

Sam Wilson grins knowingly as he reaches for a cupcake from the dessert table.

“I am not.”

“Hm.”

“I don’t even know him.”

“That’s never stopped anybody before.”

You glare at him.

He grins wider.

Somehow, hours later, Morgan Stark still has enough energy to power a small country.

“Belle,” she says for what must be the twentieth time that night, “are you gonna stay forever?”

You smile tiredly, smoothing a hand over her hair. “I don’t think your dad has enough snacks for that.”

Tony points from across the yard. “I absolutely do.”

Pepper immediately says, “No, we don’t.”

Morgan giggles.

And beside her, the Beast exhales dramatically before lowering himself onto one knee with the exhaustion of a war veteran returning from battle.

“I’m old,” he mutters.

You laugh softly. “You danced with children for two hours.”

“I fought in actual wars that were easier than this.”

“You’re doing amazing, sweetie,” Sam calls from somewhere behind him.

The Beast lifts a gloved hand without looking and flips him off.

Morgan gasps.

You gasp louder. “Beast!”

Sam nearly collapses laughing.

“Sorry,” the Beast says flatly. “The curse slipped.”

Morgan thinks this is the funniest thing she’s ever heard in her life.

Honestly?

You do too.

A little later, Pepper gently steals Morgan away, leaving you alone beside the Beast for the first time all evening.

And suddenly the silence feels… different.

Not awkward exactly.

Just noticeable.

You become very aware of the night air against your skin. Of the weight of the wig pinned to your head. Of him sitting beside you with the Beast mask pushed up, revealing his face.

Which turns out to be a mistake.

Because he’s unfairly handsome.

You look away immediately.

“So,” you say, mostly to stop your brain from malfunctioning, “thanks again for saving my job tonight.”

He huffs quietly beside you. “Wasn’t for your job.”

Your eyes flick back to him.

“Morgan?”

“Morgan,” he confirms.

A beat passes.

Then, quieter:

“…you too, I guess.”

Your heart does something deeply irritating.

The corners of his mouth twitch slightly like he regrets admitting it already.

You smile before you can stop yourself.

“Careful,” you murmur. “You’re almost being nice to me.”

“That’s the mask.”

“Oh, right. Of course.”

“The fur changes a man.”

That earns another laugh out of you.

And again, that look crosses his face.

That brief pause like he wasn’t expecting the sound but likes it anyway.

You notice it this time.

From across the yard, Steve walks by carrying three children at once somehow.

“You surviving?” he asks.

The Beast sighs. “Barely.”

Steve grins, eyes flicking briefly between the two of you.

You suddenly get the horrible feeling everyone here knows each other too well.

Including whatever this weird thing currently happening between you and the grumpy fake prince is.

“So,” you say carefully after Steve leaves, “do you always volunteer for emergency Disney prince duty?”

He snorts softly.

“First time.”

“You seemed pretty experienced.”

“I wasn’t.”

“You handled the kids well.”

For a second, he doesn’t answer.

His gaze drifts toward Morgan laughing beside Pepper near the cake table.

Then he shrugs slightly.

“They’re easier than adults.”

You blink.

“…that’s actually the most concerning thing anyone’s said to me tonight.”

That finally gets a real smile out of him. Small. Crooked. Gone almost instantly.

But you saw it.

And unfortunately for your sanity, now you want to see it again.

“Cake!” Morgan announces like a war cry.

The children erupt instantly.

You barely have time to laugh before Morgan grabs both your hand and the Beast’s clawed one at the same time.

“C’mon!”

Bucky visibly braces himself.

Morgan leads you directly toward a tiny plastic table surrounded by miniature pink chairs.

Bucky stops walking immediately.

“No.”

Morgan gasps. “What?”

“I can’t fit in that.”

“You have to sit with Belle!”

Children nearby immediately begin chanting:

“BEAST! BEAST! BEAST!”

Bucky looks personally betrayed by every child present.

You press your lips together hard, trying not to laugh while lowering yourself carefully into one of the tiny chairs.

The skirt of your dress spills around you in soft yellow satin.

Across from you, Bucky stares at the chair like it insulted his family.

“You’re doing great,” you tell him helpfully.

“I hate you.”

“That’s not very princely.”

“That’s because I’m not a prince.”

Morgan points dramatically at the seat.

Bucky sighs like a man moments from death.

Then lowers himself carefully into the tiny chair.

The plastic creaks ominously.

Every child at the table gasps.

You fully choke on a laugh.

Bucky turns toward you slowly through the Beast mask.

Morgan shoves paper plates toward both of you proudly while Pepper begins passing out cake.

And honestly?

It’s cute.

Ridiculously cute.

Children talking over each other excitedly. Frosting everywhere. Morgan sitting between you and Bucky like she personally arranged a royal wedding.

Then Morgan accidentally gets blue frosting across her own cheek.

“Oh no!” she gasps.

You laugh softly, grabbing a napkin. “Hold still, princess.”

While you wipe frosting from Morgan’s face, you completely miss the tiny streak of blue icing that ended up on your own cheek.

Bucky notices immediately.

And unfortunately—

Now he can’t stop looking at it.

You’re talking to Morgan about castles or books or something, but he’s not listening anymore.

Because there’s frosting on your face, near the corner of your mouth.

And somehow that feels more distracting than the dress.

Than the dancing.

Than literally anything else tonight.

“You got somethin’ there,” he says suddenly.

You blink. “What?”

He gestures vaguely toward his own cheek with one giant clawed glove.

“…there.”

You try wiping it away blindly.

“Did I get it?”

“No.”

“Great.”

Bucky stares at the stupid oversized Beast gloves for a second like he’s reconsidering every decision that led him here tonight.

Then, carefully, he reaches across the tiny table.

His claw brushes softly against your cheek.

Warm despite the gloves.

You stop breathing entirely.

He tries wiping the frosting away—

Except the giant fake claw only smears it worse across your skin.

You stare at him.

He stares at the disaster he just created.

Then, very flatly:

“…I made it worse.”

From somewhere behind him, you hear Sam make a noise suspiciously close to choking.

Your laugh slips out before you can stop it.

Soft at first.

Then brighter.

“It’s okay,” you manage between laughs. “You tried.”

And before you can think better of it, you lean forward slightly.

“There,” you murmur.

Your fingers brush gently against the corner of his mouth, wiping away a streak of blue frosting Morgan must’ve gotten on him earlier.

The second you touch him—

He freezes.

Completely.

Your smile falters just slightly.

Because suddenly you’re very aware of how quiet he got.

How still.

How carefully he’s looking at you now.

Like your hand against his face means something bigger than it should.

Morgan looks between both of you while happily shoving cake into her mouth.

“…you guys are weird.”

Sam immediately loses his mind laughing somewhere behind the table.

And Bucky?

Bucky can’t even argue with her.

The party finally begins to quiet down sometime after cake.

Children are asleep on couches inside the house. Half-deflated balloons drift lazily across the backyard. Someone turned the music low enough that it blends into the warm night air instead of filling it.

And Morgan Stark is fully asleep in Bucky Barnes’s arms.

It happens slowly.

One minute she’s still talking sleepily about whether Belle and Beast would survive a zombie apocalypse and the next, her head slips against his shoulder mid-sentence.

Out cold.

You smile before you can stop yourself.

Bucky looks down at her carefully, adjusting his hold automatically so she settles more comfortably against his chest.

The Beast gloves are gone now.

The mask too.

And without them, he somehow looks softer and more dangerous at the same time.

Dark hair messy from wearing the costume all night. Sleeves pushed up slightly. Tired eyes watching Morgan with this quiet kind of patience that makes something ache in your chest.

Pepper appears beside you with the expression of a woman who’s one minor inconvenience away from sleeping for three days.

“Oh no,” she whispers fondly. “She’s done.”

Bucky huffs quietly. “Yeah.”

Pepper reaches for Morgan carefully. “I’ll take her upstairs.”

For a second, Morgan stirs slightly against him.

Then tiny fingers grab weakly at the front of his shirt.

“No,” she mumbles sleepily. “Beast stays.”

Your heart actually hurts.

Bucky goes very still.

Pepper looks dangerously close to emotional already.

And after a tiny pause, Bucky murmurs:

“Alright. I’m stayin’.”

Morgan settles instantly.

You swear Pepper might love him a little for that.

Eventually, between the three of you, Morgan is successfully transferred upstairs without waking again.

And then—

The silence.

Just you and him standing alone beneath strings of warm lights while the last few party guests drift out through the gates.

The yellow skirts of your dress brush softly against your legs every time the wind moves.

Bucky looks at you for a second too long.

Then looks away.

Then back again.

“You know,” he says quietly, voice rougher now without the mask muffling it, “that dress is kinda unfair.”

Your breath catches embarrassingly fast.

Because he says it like it slipped out accidentally.

Like he didn’t mean to say it aloud.

Heat crawls up your neck immediately.

So naturally, you deflect.

“Good thing the costume covered your face then.”

A tiny smile pulls at the corner of his mouth.

Then his gaze shifts briefly past you.

Toward the tables scattered across the backyard.

Most of the candles have burned low by now. Half-empty glasses abandoned beside crumpled napkins. Flower centerpieces beginning to droop after hours in the heat.

And right in the middle of one arrangement there is a single rose.

Bucky tilts his head slightly. “Thought Belle was supposed to have a rose.”

You blink, caught off guard by the comment.

Then laugh softly. “You know the story?”

He gives you a look.

“Steve made me watch animated movies for cultural rehabilitation.”

A laugh slips out of you instantly. “That cannot be a real sentence.”

“It absolutely is.”

“You poor thing.”

“I survived.”

“Barely.”

You laugh again.

One large hand closes around the stem of a red rose tucked between candles and gold ribbon.

And without ceremony he pulls it free.

You stare as he turns back toward you, holding it out casually like this isn’t doing very dangerous things to your heartbeat. You shake your head, smiling as you take the rose carefully from his hand.

His fingers brush yours for half a second.

Warm.

Gentle.

And somehow that tiny touch feels worse than the dancing did.

 “You just stole from Tony Stark,” you murmur.

“He’ll survive.”

“You’re a criminal.”

“I’ve been told.”

And for one soft, dangerous second the fairy tale feels a little too real.

And suddenly the air feels too warm.

The fairy lights above you blur softly while your heartbeat pounds hard enough to be embarrassing.

Because there’s something very unfair about the way he looks at you now.

Not like Belle.

Not like part of the performance.

Like you.

And the worst part?

You think maybe he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it.

A nervous laugh escapes you quietly. “You flirt a lot for someone who looked physically offended to be here earlier.”

“I was physically offended.”

“You’re doing better now.”

“That’s debatable.”

You smile.

His eyes drop briefly to your mouth.

And there it is.

That terrible, dangerous pause.

The kind that changes things.

Your heartbeat stumbles.

One more inch and—

Bucky steps back first.

Like the thought alone startled him. He glances toward the house, jaw tightening once when he realizes he doesn’t know how to do this anymore.

Doesn’t know how to stand in soft light with a beautiful girl dressed like a princess smiling at him like he’s someone safe to be around.

Not after everything.

Not when she still looks at him with warmth instead of caution.

Someone like you should probably meet someone normal.

Someone uncomplicated.

Not a man who spent half the evening hiding behind a Beast mask because it somehow felt easier than being himself.

And maybe that’s why, after a long pause, he just says quietly:

“You should get home. It’s late.”

The words hit harder than they should.

But you still smile softly. “Yeah. Probably.”

Neither of you move right away.

Then finally, you step back.

“Goodnight,” you say gently.

Bucky nods once.

“Goodnight, sweetheart.”

The nickname lands directly in your chest.

And then you leave.

Just like that.

No number exchanged.

No big moment.

Bucky watches until your taillights disappear through the gates.

And something in his chest feels suddenly, violently empty.

“…you are the dumbest man alive.”

Bucky closes his eyes immediately.

Of course Sam Wilson is still here.

“I don’t wanna hear it.”

“You didn’t even ask for her number!”

Bucky drags a hand down his face tiredly. “Sam.”

“No, seriously,” Sam says, horrified. “What was your plan here? Just suffer forever?”

Bucky glares at him. “I’m serious.”

“And I’m devastated for you.”

“I don’t—” He exhales sharply. “She’s sweet.”

Sam blinks once.

“…that’s your argument?”

“She deserves someone normal.”

“None of us are normal.”

“That’s different.”

Sam opens his mouth—

Then pauses suddenly.

His eyes drop toward the patio floor near Bucky’s boots.

“…hold on.”

Bucky frowns. “What.”

Sam points dramatically.

And there, half-hidden beneath one of the chairs, sits a pair of gold heels.

Tiny.

Definitely not his.

Bucky stares at them for a second.

Then something in his expression shifts almost immediately.

Because he remembers you wincing every few steps near the end of the party. Remembers you carrying the shoes in one hand while walking barefoot through the grass. Remembers the yellow dress brushing around your ankles while fairy lights reflected softly against your skin.

A quiet laugh escapes him before he can stop it.

Sam looks deeply offended by the existence of this emotion.

“Oh my God,” he says. “I thought she was Belle, not Cinderella.”

Bucky shoots him a look while bending to pick up the heels carefully.

They’re ridiculously delicate in his hands.

Sam watches the whole thing with growing horror.

“You are gone,” he says.

Bucky ignores him, thumb brushing absently over the gold strap.

Then, before he can think too hard about why he’s doing it, he glances toward the gates one last time.

Like maybe you’ll magically come running back for them.

Sam stares at him for a long moment.

Then slowly reaches into his pocket.

Bucky narrows his eyes immediately. “What’s that.”

Without answering, Sam holds out a small business card.

The princess company logo printed across the front.

Bucky looks at it.

Then at Sam.

Then back at the card.

“…you stole this?”

“I networked.”

“That’s not what networking is.”

Sam grins.

And after a long, dangerous pause—

Bucky takes the card anyway.

[lost-girly-014]

Not Sam fighting for his life in the background🤣.

This was such an adorable fic!

[andromaex]

okay but we need to TALK about how Merlin just casually gives merlin the most insane, compounding trauma and then expects him to go back to polishing boots like nothing happened

like. this is a BOY.

this is a teenager who shows up in camelot and within approximately five minutes is told by Gaius: “hey so you have world-ending levels of power :) also if anyone finds out you will be executed :) have fun!”

and then Kilgharrah is like: “your destiny is everything. your feelings are irrelevant.”

???????

so now we have merlin:

cannot tell anyone who he is

cannot be fully known by anyone

cannot even react honestly to the things happening to him

and THEN

Will dies protecting merlin’s secret → merlin learns: people die if they know me

Freya dies in his arms right after he allows himself to love someone → merlin learns: if i love someone, they die

Balinor (his father!!) dies basically immediately → merlin learns: i don’t get to keep family

Lancelot sacrifices himself → merlin learns: good people die for me

Gwaine is tortured and dies → merlin learns: i can’t save everyone, even when i try

and then. THEN.

Arthur Pendragon dies.

after YEARS of merlin:

saving his life in secret

sacrificing everything

shaping his entire existence around this ONE destiny

and what does merlin get?

arthur finding out the truth for like five minutes and then dying in his arms.

ARE YOU KIDDING ME.

and the show just— ends.

no processing. no support system. no “hey maybe this boy has severe survivor’s guilt and complex trauma”

because merlin can’t even GRIEVE properly.

he can’t tell anyone:

why will died

who freya was to him

that balinor was his father

what lancelot actually did

how many times he saved arthur

so all of that grief just sits there. unspoken. unacknowledged. unresolved.

like imagine carrying:

the weight of destiny

the responsibility for a kingdom

the knowledge that your loved ones died for or because of you

and the fact that the ONE person it was all for is gone anyway

[lost-girly-014]

SOBBING. FOREVER IN DENIAL

[tadashisgirl]

Playing Fairy Tale With a Stranger (TadashixReader)

I don’t know why but I LOVED writing this.

•-•

"Oh my goodness, you look so beautiful!" Honey Lemon declared as she barged into your room. You smiled at your best friend.

"Thanks, Honey." You turned back to the mirror and surveyed your ruby gown again. The bodice was simple and showed off your beautiful frame. The sleeves fell just off your shoulders, and the skirt flared out into a beautiful bell shape. The layers of your skirt hid your silver shoes. Your hair was pinned up into an elegant up do. A silver and black mask hid your face.

Honey was in a golden ball gown with small sequins on the bodice. Her gown also had straps that hung off her shoulders and was floor length. Her domed skirt was decorated with ribbons and bows. Part of hair flowed down her back in elegant curls, while the other half was up in a bun. A pink mask complimented her look.

"C'mon, we're gonna be late. Wasabi is waiting in the car," Go Go ushered as she stepped into your room. She had been forced to wear a dress to the annual SFIT masquerade tonight, an event created to force all of you away from your textbooks and into a social group. Go Go's dress was black with layers of ribbons on the skirt. Her dress had thin spaghetti straps and a modest bodice. Her hair was styled the same way as usual, with a silver pin in it. Her heeled boots were hidden beneath her dress. Her mask was a deep shade of purple.

You grabbed your purse and led your friends to the front door. "Oh, I'm so excited! I can't wait! (Y/N), you'd better dance with someone!" Honey eagerly said as you three walked out the front door. You flinched and shrugged.

"I don't know, Honey. We'll see," you replied. Go Go gave a half smile to you.

"Hey, just have fun," she replied. You swallowed hard and nodded. You walked down to the curb to see Wasabi's car waiting. Hiro was standing outside the car, leaning on the side. He was dressed in a tux with a red bow tie. His mask was a shimmering shade of red, almost matching your dress. He smiled widely when he saw you. Wasabi and Fred were also waiting by the car in green and blue bow ties and masks respectively. Hiro walked over and gave you a hug.

"You look so beautiful. Tadashi would love your dress," Hiro said with a sad smile. You smiled back and fought your tears.

"Thank you, Hiro," you said with a laugh. It had been a year since your boyfriend, Tadashi, had run into the fire and died a tragic death. You'd spent many months grieving his loss, and had helped Hiro and his team bring down Callaghan around ten months ago. You missed him more than anything.

You climbed into the car beside Hiro and Honey Lemon. Wasabi drove the six of you to the dance, which was held in the new event hall on campus. The car ride was energetic. Fred was chatty, especially with Honey Lemon. Hiro nudged your shoulder and gave a smile. You squeezed his hand. "You can do this, sis," he whispered to you. You nodded and smiled. Your boyfriend's younger brother had become your brother too. He usually went as far as to tell others he had a sister, something that had made marrying Tadashi that much more realistic in the future.

"We're here!" Honey Lemon squealed. You all climbed back out of the car. Honey Lemon grabbed Fred and eagerly pulled him toward the building. Hiro offered you his arm and you gratefully took it, happy to have a friend who understood it all.

The two of you followed Go Go and Wasabi inside. The hall was done up with blue and white balloons and silver banners and ribbons. The only light provided was from tons of strings of lights hung from the ceiling. The room was almost unrecognizable at this point.

Hiro was never a huge dancer, but did offer you a slow dance part of the way through the night. You accepted and danced for one song, but you both decided that standing by the food table was better.

"I don't understand why we have to go through this," Hiro muttered to you. "Tadashi used to go on and on about this masquerade ball they held every year. He used to talk about how great the food was and how beautiful the ball gowns were and how well the room had been decorated. Not to argue with him, but I'm not overly impressed."

"They're okay," you replied. You and Tadashi had gotten together right after the ball two years ago, and with the two of you out of town last year for the ball, you'd never been his date to the glamorous event. It sort of disappointed you.

"He never did dance," Hiro continued. You turned to him.

"What do you mean?"

"Tadashi. He used to tell me to save the first dance for someone special. You're special to me, so my first dance was with you. He didn't dance because he wanted to make his first dance special." You nodded and looked down at your glass of punch. "I miss him too," Hiro muttered as he looked at your frown. You managed a small smile and nodded.

"I think I'm going to get some fresh air for a bit. In the mean time, go have some fun," you teased and nudged his shoulder. You had noticed him eyeing a pretty blonde girl from across the room. His cheeks reddened and he nodded.

You stepped outside the doors to the rose garden in the back. There was a fountain in the middle of the garden with a few stone benches around it. The agriculture department had planted regular roses and color-mutated roses in the back, all different colors and so beautiful. There were patches of green roses, blue roses, purple roses, yellow roses, white roses, and tons of shades of pink and red roses. You smiled at the delicate flowers and took a deep breath. They even smelt like real roses...

You stood in front of the grand fountain and stared into the water. A single tear slid down your cheek. You wiped it quickly away and looked into your reflection. You looked beautiful, but you didn't feel beautiful. You felt like a mess.

"Miss?" You quickly wiped the other tear away and turned to see a man standing behind you. He was a bit taller than you were and wore a white button up shirt. His black suit jacket framed his shoulders and arms, defining his form, and he wore black slacks. His red bow tie sat comfortably around his neck. His mask was an impressive mix of silver and red. You looked down at your feet. He was rather cute. "Are you alright?"

"Oh, I'm fine," you said. He stepped closer to you.

"You don't look okay. What seems to be the trouble?" His voice was smooth and velvety. You found it relaxing your nerves.

"It's nothing to worry about, I assure you," you said with a small fake smile. The music from inside slowly drifted outside. The man looked toward the building before looking back at you.

"Well, if I can't solve the beautiful girl's problems, maybe a dance will?" He extended his hand to you. You felt it would be rude to turn him down and there was something about him, something that was drawing you to him. You took the stranger's hand and he pulled you closer. His hand landed on your waist and your hand rested on his shoulder. Hand in hand, he danced gracefully with you around the garden and the beautiful patches of roses. It all felt like a fairytale. "Where's your date? Surely you haven't come alone tonight."

"It's rather complicated," you answered.

"How so? If you don't mind my asking."

"Do you remember the student that went here about a year ago? His name was Tadashi Hamada," you began.

"I'm assuming he's the one who Tadashi Hamada Hall is dedicated to," the stranger said. "I didn't know him but I obviously recognize the name."

"He is- was, my boyfriend. I love him more than anything still, it's just been hard for me to move on."

"I see. I'm sorry for your loss," the stranger comforted as he spun you.

"Thank you. To be honest, you're the first real guy I've even danced with all night, let alone talked to," you said as you focused on his enticing eyes.

"What about that other guy?" You titled your head until you remembered Hiro.

"Oh! Hiro! He's Tadashi's younger brother. Ever since Tadashi...passed, I've been trying to look after him. I think that's what Tadashi would've wanted. He's kind of my little brother, too," you clarified. You were starting to feel comfortable with the stranger, even though you didn't know his name.

"Ah. Well then I'm honored," the man said with a smile. "Tell me. A beautiful girl like you must have a beautiful name. What is it?"

"Are you always this flirtatious?" you asked with a small smile and a light blush.

"Only to women who catch my eye like you do. I have an eye for diamonds in the rough, and you are definitely one," the stranger said as he spun you again. The music carried on inside. You laughed.

"It's (Y/N). (Y/N) (L/N)," you said with a graceful smile. "What's yours?"

"Do you trust me?" You hesitated as the two of you swayed back and forth now.

"I do," you answered.

"Take off your mask for me?" the stranger asked. Your hands slipped away from him. You undid the ribbon behind your head and carefully took your mask off. You set it down on the edge of the fountain. You looked back into the man's eyes and smiled. He stepped forward and placed a hand on your cheek. "You haven't changed one bit," he said with a nurturing smile. The comment threw you off.

"I just took my mask off. It's not that much of a change." He threw his head back in rich laughter. "Will you tell me your name?" you asked, desperate to know the stranger's identity. He stood with his arms crossed and a sly smile. You slowly reached up and untied the ribbon behind his head, and he let you do so calmly. When you took his mask off and met his warm brown eyes, your heart stopped. He gave you a charming smirk.

"Hello, beautiful," his familiar warm voice said. You dropped his mask in surprise and swallowed hard.

"T-Tadashi?" And there you were, standing in front of your boyfriend who had been proclaimed dead over a year ago. You had once again danced with your boyfriend, held onto him, whispered flirtatious comments to him all over again. "Oh, I get it. I'm dreaming," you finally concluded. The fairytale garden? The beautiful gown? Tadashi Hamada? Figments of your imagination.

"No, this is real," he said as he reached out and grabbed your hand.

"You said that in my last dream, too," you said as fresh, silent tears streamed down your cheeks. He tipped your face up and shook his head.

"No, I'm here. I was lost, so very lost. Callaghan pushed me out of sight. He threatened my family, my friends, you…"

"Callaghan is in prison," you interrupted, still confused.

"I know. I found out a few months ago. Callaghan kept me in an apartment on the outskirts of town. Once I found out, I had to find a way back to you. I had to stay in hiding until I was sure he didn’t have any kind of partner that could hurt you. God, I never forgot you, and how beautiful you are…" Tadashi trailed off as he caressed your cheek. A tear escaped his eye as he smiled. He dipped down and kissed you with the passion you had so dearly missed. Your eyes slipped closed as your hands hung onto his collar for support. Tadashi's hand supported the small of your back while his other hand rested on your cheek. You felt weak in your knees as he dipped you back slightly. When he gave you oxygen, you stared back into his chocolate eyes. "You were gone so long…" you breathed out.

"The explosion was rough. I was running to a window when I realized what was going to happen. The blast threw me through the glass and onto the grass outside. Callaghan found me and didn’t want word of his survival to get out."

"Do you know how much I needed you? How much Hiro needed you?" you asked as your voice rose.

"To be honest, I was afraid. I was afraid you wouldn't love me anymore. I was afraid Hiro would fear the scars and burns I have now," Tadashi said as he hung his head in shame.

"Tadashi. I cried for months over you. There still is this gaping hole in my heart because I lost you. I stopped eating, I stopped caring, and the professors pitied me. Nothing had a point anymore. And Hiro? Hiro didn't leave his room for weeks. Please come home. I still love you more than anything," you whispered to him. His arms tightened around your waist. The school's clock tower chimed midnight, indicating the end of the ball. You held onto Tadashi for dear life. "Please don't let go."

"Never, princess. You're mine forever now. I promise," Tadashi said as he kissed the top of your head. Over Tadashi's shoulder, you could see Hiro coming down the steps and into the garden to tell you they were leaving.

"Alright mister, that's my sister you're hanging onto, so you'd better let go or I swear…" Hiro trailed off as he came down the steps and marched over. Tadashi smiled down at you before turning to see his little brother. Hiro stopped instantly. You looped your arm through Tadashi's as Hiro stared up at Tadashi. "It can't be..."

"I hope you've been staying out of trouble," Tadashi said with that charming smile. Hiro laughed and rushed forward, throwing his arms around his older brother.

"You're here! You're really here! You're alive!" Hiro yelled out happily. Tadashi hugged his brother back with his free arm as you placed your free arm around Hiro. "I missed you so much! Oh my God, I love you guys so freakin' much," Hiro said gleefully. You had to laugh. It wasn't often Hiro showed public displays of his affection, but this was extremely special. "I have so much to tell you! About school, about the café, about Baymax- (Y/N) and I are superheroes now!"

"You're what?" Tadashi asked with laughter. He looked over at you.

"We've got a lot to fill you in on."

"I can't wait to hear all about it," Tadashi said as he gave you a quick peck. Normally Hiro would complain, but he didn't care at this point. Tadashi was there. He was okay. Everything was going to be okay. Tadashi took your hand and wrapped his other arm around Hiro's shoulders.

The three of you walked toward the parking lot, unable to wait to start the next chapter of your lives together as a family.

[heldbybarnes]

Ok ok ok what if Bucky and reader are getting married and it’s their wedding day and reader is getting ready with her bridesmaids. But she gets so nervous and overstimulated that she’s on the verge of a panic attack, so she ignores tradition and goes searching for the one thing she knows will help: Bucky. And he’s so sweet and comforting and she’s perfect the second she’s with him. And maybe they just say fuck it and hang out together until it’s time for the ceremony and then she walks down the aisle to him and it’s perfect because she’s not stressed anymore! Hope this makes sense!

The morning of your wedding smells like hairspray and champagne and nerves.

Your bridesmaids are everywhere—curling irons hissing, dresses rustling, someone laughing too loudly, someone else hunting for a missing earring. Music plays from a speaker in the corner. It’s joyful. It’s chaotic. It’s everything a wedding morning is supposed to be.

And it’s too much.

You’re perched in front of the vanity while someone dabs shimmer onto your eyelids. Another friend is adjusting the delicate straps of your dress. The lace is beautiful. The room is beautiful. Everyone keeps telling you that you’re glowing.

Your chest feels like it’s shrinking.

“Breathe,” you whisper to yourself, but the air won’t go all the way in.

You love Bucky. You want to marry him. There’s no doubt, no cold feet, nothing like that. But the room is loud and warm and bright and full of expectations. Cameras flash. Questions get thrown at you.

Are you excited? Are you nervous? Can you believe this is finally happening?

Your pulse spikes.

Someone sprays perfume too close to your face and suddenly it’s like the walls tilt. The music is too sharp. The laughter too loud. Your dress feels heavy.

“I just need a second,” you murmur, but no one really hears.

Your maid of honor notices the way your fingers tremble. “Hey,” she says gently, stepping closer. “You okay?”

You nod too fast. “Yeah. I’m fine. Just… a lot.”

It’s a lot.

You swallow hard and try to focus on the mirror. You’re supposed to feel like a princess. Instead, your throat tightens and your eyes sting.

You know what would fix this.

Not a breathing exercise. Not a glass of water.

Him.

Before you can overthink it, you stand.

“Wait—where are you going?” someone asks.

“I’ll be right back,” you say, already lifting your skirt to move faster. “I just… I need Bucky.”

There’s a chorus of scandalized gasps.

“You can’t see him!” “It’s bad luck!” “Tradition—!”

“Tradition can wait,” you say, voice wobbling but firm. “I need my fiancé.”

And then you’re out the door.

--

Bucky is in another room down the hall with Steve and Sam when you barge in.

He’s mid-sentence, jacket half-buttoned, when the door swings open.

His eyes snap to you.

Everything else disappears.

You look breathtaking. Your dress flows around you like something out of a dream. Your hair falls perfectly around your shoulders. But your eyes—

Your eyes are wide. Shiny.

“Hey,” he says immediately, already crossing the room.

Sam and Steve exchange a look and quietly excuse themselves without a word.

The door clicks shut behind them.

“Doll?” Bucky reaches you in three strides, hands hovering at your waist like he’s afraid to wrinkle the fabric. “What’s wrong?”

The second you see his face up close, something inside you cracks.

“It’s too much,” you whisper. “It’s just—everyone’s talking and the music and the cameras and I know it’s supposed to be perfect but I can’t breathe and I—”

He doesn’t let you spiral.

His hands settle gently at your waist, grounding, warm.

“Hey. Hey. Look at me.”

You do.

His thumb brushes softly along your cheek.

“You’re okay,” he says, voice low and steady. “You’re safe. It’s just us right now.”

You inhale, shaky.

He nods encouragingly. “That’s it. Just me and you. No music. No people. Just us.”

You focus on the way his thumb moves slowly over your skin. The familiar weight of his hands. The faint scent of his cologne.

Your pulse starts to slow.

“I didn’t mean to ruin the whole ‘don’t see each other before the ceremony’ thing,” you mumble, embarrassed.

He huffs a quiet laugh, pressing his forehead to yours.

“Sweetheart,” he murmurs, “I don’t care about bad luck. I care about you.”

Your breath evens out.

He leans back just enough to look at you fully. His expression softens in awe.

“You look…” He swallows. “You look like the rest of my life.”

Your throat tightens—but in a good way this time.

“I was fine until it got loud,” you admit. “And then I just needed you.”

“You always got me,” he says instantly.

The room feels calm now. Quiet. Like the world has shrunk down to the two of you.

You rest your forehead against his chest, careful of the suit. His arms come around you carefully, protective but mindful of your dress.

He sways you slightly.

“Want to stay?” he asks gently. “We can just hide out in here until it’s time.”

You let out a breathy laugh. “We’re really just throwing tradition in the trash today, huh?”

He shrugs. “Tradition didn’t go through HYDRA brainwashing. Tradition doesn’t know what it’s like to need the person you love to breathe.”

You smile at that.

“Okay,” you whisper. “Let’s hide.”

---

You sit together on the edge of the couch. Your skirt spills over his knee. He holds your hand like it’s something sacred.

He tells you dumb jokes. You fix his tie because it’s slightly crooked. He kisses your knuckles softly, careful not to smudge anything.

At one point he leans in close and whispers, “If you wanted, we could just run. Vegas. Elvis impersonator. I’d marry you in jeans.”

You grin. “We already paid for the venue, Barnes.”

“Right. Fine. Guess we’ll do it the fancy way.”

But you stay together.

And by the time someone knocks on the door to say it’s time, your nerves have melted into something warm and steady.

---

When the music starts and the doors open, you’re not shaking anymore.

You’re not overwhelmed.

You’re just walking toward him.

Bucky’s standing at the end of the aisle, eyes already glassy. The moment he sees you, his breath leaves him completely.

He knows.

He knows you came to him earlier. He knows you chose him over superstition, over tradition, over everything.

You reach him calm. Smiling. Certain.

When he takes your hands, he squeezes them once.

“You okay?” he whispers.

“Perfect,” you whisper back.

And you are.

Because it was never about the flowers. Or the music. Or the traditions.

It was always about him.

And he’s right there.

Waiting.

[zynhttyd]

TOOTHLESS KNOWS BEST

pairings « hiccup haddock x gn! reader »

✎ When you help nurse Toothless back to health after an unexpected illness, the Night Fury grows protective of you. Hiccup is surprised by the dragon’s sudden attachment—and even more surprised when Toothless starts shadowing your every move and nudging you toward his rider.

【warnings; none, second hand embarrassment if you care enough.】

They say dragons were once fearsome beasts, horrifying beings of terror who reveled in the suffering of vikings. With their hooked fangs, which set them apart from the common order of nature, breaking the harmony of the world. They would sink their jagged teeth into the skin and gnaw upon the bones of unsuspecting men, dragging their broken bodies to nests forged in the heart of molten rocks built in the high sky. 

These creatures, capable of soaring across the heavens with wings that defied reason—vast and powerful—could span the heavens, forcefully ruled the skies with an iron grip, a terror unmatched by any other force. Berk, the beast of the archipelago, stood as a testament to the fragility of peace amidst a history of unyielding strife. A land carved by scars, scarred by the ceaseless struggle between its people and the creatures they dubbed “monsters.” told this story that had echoed for seven long generations, a tale of ceaseless strife and bitter hatred.

But it took seven generations. Seven long generations of struggle, sacrifice, and transformation for Berk to heal. The land had changed for the better—No longer did the people cower beneath the shadow of these mighty creatures. 

A misunderstood child who knew no war was the reason to hit them with the realization that dragons weren’t vicious beasts whose sole purpose in life was to spread fear, but a gentle creature who were curious just as the people. They had learned, through years of conflict and understanding, to bend the essence of their deepest fears into something stronger—a bond forged in the crucible of mutual respect. Where there was once hatred, there now stood the beginnings of trust. 

The villagers, who once spent sleepless nights bolting their doors and sharpening their weapons in anticipation of the next raid, now spent their days working alongside the very creatures that had once been their enemies, now companions in the sky, and partners in the pursuit of new horizons. 

While the majority of the villagers had forged unbreakable bonds with their dragons, they wore their titles with pride—Riders, they were called, as though it were a crown, you stood apart. You were not one of them, you never will. You were not one who yearned the heights or the thrill of the wind in your hair as you perched atop a Nadder’s sharp-spined back or to cut through the depths of the sea with a sleek Tidal-class dragon beneath your orders. Your feet remained firmly planted on the ground—and truth be told, you didn’t mind.

It wasn’t just your fear of heights, though that certainly played a part. The idea of being thousands of feet in the air with only leathery wings and blind faith keeping you aloft made your stomach churn. While others saw dragons as mounts, instruments of power and glory to be ridden into the heavens. You became attuned to their every movement, their subtle shifts and nuanced gestures. 

Over time, you learned how to read them — the way their wings twitched when they were agitated or how they softly curled their tails when they felt safe. You understood that a dragon’s body spoke volumes, even when they couldn’t. Noticing the shift in their posture, how their eyes softened when they trusted you, or how their breath would quicken if something was amiss.

You preferred to nurse them, to soothe their wounds with a gentle touch, offering comfort where others might only offer a quick, dismissive pat. Others would offer praise with the calloused palms of their hands, clapping a dragon’s back after a triumphant hunt, their actions rough like the bark of an old tree—kind in their own way but lacking the softness that true care requires.

That was the way you had always handled things in old Berk. Thankfully, no dragon has yet to be injured on the new island.

Then Toothless fell ill.

"[Name]! Oh, thank Thor’s maidens you're here," Hiccup called out to you, his voice strained, a clear edge of panic curling the words. His eyes flicked back and forth, darting between you and the frantic Night Fury pacing erratically across the room. Toothless' wings twitched uncontrollably, the delicate membranes brushing against shelves, knocking over bottles made of stone and glass, the contents spilling in chaotic arcs across the floor. Toothless’s eyes were wide, pupils tiny pinpricks of frantic energy. His mouth snapped open and shut, his sharp teeth glinting as if trying to convey something that couldn’t be expressed. 

You’d seen Toothless angry, playful, even fearful before, but this was something else entirely. This was distress. What could have made such a strong dragon like the Night Fury become so distressed? What could he convey with his actions and movement that left no process of communicating plainly? 

You’re bound to make a promise to figure out why Toothless was like this and help him if you could.

You turned, wiping your hands against the fabric of your cotton-sewn tunic, the remnants of purple crushed herbs leaving faint streaks on the cloth. The scent of the mixture still lingered on your fingertips, bitter and sharp, along with the sweet scent of wet flowers that hung in the unfinished hooked wooden roof. 

As you looked up, your gaze met Hiccup’s. He was standing in the doorway, looking like a newborn yak with an amputee—his breathing labored as though he had just run a great distance of a race. Hiccup’s hair appeared matted and his eyes looked restless as they were doubtful. His chest was rising and sinking almost melodically. His face was pale, and his eyes were just as wide as his dragon’s, filled with that mix of concern and urgency you’d seen only in moments of true danger.

"Toothless?" You called softly, taking a careful step forward while trying to be calm, taking hold despite the growing worry in the pit of your stomach after seeing the dragon’s current state. He was scared. Toothless, although startled by your almost fretful tone, did not pay attention to you and continued with his line of thought oblivious to your attempt to soothe him down the situation. His ears flattened back at the sound of your voice, but his movements didn’t slow. In fact, he seemed more erratic now, each step heavier than the last, each twitch more desperate than what came before.

“What happe–”

His words tumbled out in a rushed whisper. "I-I don't know what's happening. One minute, he was fine, and the next... this." Hiccup gestured helplessly toward Toothless, who continued to pace, his wings stiffening and shaking. Toothless growled lowly, his body tense and rigid as he backed into a corner, his breathing uneven and labored. Every attempt to approach him resulted in a defensive response—his ears folded back, tail lashing sharply, and a clear warning in his posture that he felt threatened despite the familiar presence of his two trusted people.

Hiccup took a quick step toward you, avoiding Toothless in case it was to ensure that he remained calm, dragging a hand through his unkempt hair, his fingers gripping at the strands as he exhaled sharply,  

“Something is wrong. He’s been like this for nearly an hour now,” the young Viking explained, his tone quieter but no less urgent than before. “It started after he accidentally swallowed a yellow eel. He fell ill almost immediately—developed a high fever, I think, then he became noticeably weak, and…” Hiccup’s body was taut, every muscle in him was bracing for the worst. His eyes darted to Toothless, but his dragon refused to meet his gaze, his pupils slit, with his body sinking lower to the ground, curling into himself, trying to make himself smaller in the face of whatever pain was coursing through him. 

Toothless’s breathing was shallow, his sides heaving slightly as he fought to stay still, to hide the tremors that racked his frame. Hiccup took a cautious step forward, but Toothless flinched at the movement, lowering his head as if to shield himself. “He refuses to let anyone near him. Not even me,” Hiccup finished, the last words a quiet confession that only deepened the worry on his face. 

“Won’t even let me close,” Hiccup whispered, his hand hovering just over Toothless’ back but never touching.

“Please, [Name], help him.” 

His voice was flat, but his expression said more than words could. He didn’t fidget, didn’t avert his gaze. You nodded once, not out of reassurance but acknowledgment, and moved past him. His red tunic smelled faintly of iron and damp leather, his sleeve brushing yours like paper worn thin.

Toothless was lying near the hearth, his body tense. His wings were pulled in close. His claws scraped lightly against the floor, his movements uneven and sluggish. His head remained low, eyes dull, unfocused. There was no protest, no attempt to move away.

You crouched beside him and opened your satchel. The supplies were still warm from being near the fire—clean cloths, crushed herbs, a sealed vial. Your fingers moved without hesitation, but your eyes scanned every detail of Toothless’s condition. His breathing was irregular. His tail had a slight swish, and the skin around his jaw looked strained. Whatever had happened to him, it was already spreading.

“I’ll do what I can,” you said.

You didn’t wait for thanks. There was no time.

The fire had burned low, its glow reduced to a warm shimmer beneath the stones, casting gentle light over the room’s stillness. You knelt beside Toothless, your hands steady as they hovered near his flank, gauging the subtle rise and fall of his breathing. The fever that had held him in its grip for so long had finally broken during the night, and now, for the first time in what felt like hours stretched into days, there was calm in the air.

He started to blink slowly. His head turned slightly toward you, his nostrils flaring with a soft, measured breath. His tail, which had remained curled protectively around his body during the worst of his illness, loosened and stretched faintly across the wooden floor. His throat rumbled with a sound so quiet you almost missed it—a low, cautious greeting, like a voice forgotten, then remembered.

You inhaled deeply, feeling the tension ease from your shoulders all at once

“He’s responding,” you said quietly, almost to yourself.

Across the room, Hiccup sat in a slump against the wall, his body slack from the exhaustion of too many sleepless hours. The blanket draped haphazardly over his legs had slipped to one side, revealing a tunic stained with soot and worry. His head, tilted at an uncomfortable angle, rested against the beam behind him. Even in sleep, his brows twitched with unease, his jaw faintly clenched—seeming as if he didn’t quite trust peace to last.

Toothless raised his weight, testing the strength in his limbs. He paused once, winced slightly, then adjusted his stance. The tremors that had racked his body earlier were gone, replaced by deliberate, if cautious, movement. His wings stretched, not in full flight, but enough to show that he could. It wasn’t strength, not yet—but it was progress. More than you had dared hope for yesterday.

Then, with surprising care, he began to walk. Each step was certainly slow, the soft pads of his feet brushing against the floor with faint thumps. He crossed the room without hesitation, his eyes never leaving the boy in the corner. When he reached him, Toothless lowered his head, pressing his snout gently against Hiccup’s arm. A quiet, purposeful sound left his throat—not loud, not demanding, but enough.

Hiccup stirred. His eyes opened blearily, and for a second, he looked confused, as if his mind hadn’t yet caught up to what was happening. Then his gaze focused on the dragon in front of him, and everything else fell away.

“You’re awake,” he said, voice hoarse and raw. He leaned forward, one hand lifting to rest on Toothless’s head, the contact hesitant at first, then grounding.

Toothless nudged him again, a bit firmer, with a breath that seemed almost like a sigh.

You let them have their moment.

It started the moment you stepped outside.

You didn’t say anything at first—you assumed Toothless was just being clingy, the way most dragons acted after being healed. A little spoiled, maybe. Like a puppy demanding belly rubs and scratches behind the ears. You’d seen it plenty of times before.

But then he didn’t just nudge at your hand for attention.

He got closer. Much closer.

Without a sound, Toothless lowered himself until his head was resting across your lap, the full weight of his trust pressing gently into you. His tail, smooth and sinuous, coiled loosely around your leathered boots—not in a possessive way, but as if anchoring himself to you. Like he didn’t want to drift too far, even at rest.

Your hand didn’t stop moving. You continued to pat his head, your palm caressing from the ridge of his nose to the top of his forehead in slow, steady passes. The texture of his scales came to be familiar with your touch now—cool and sleek like river stones warmed just slightly by the sun. You could feel the subtle rise and fall of his breath beneath your touch, each exhale a quiet puff of warmth against your clothes.

Hiccup had been watching from just behind, peeking curiously over your shoulder, his brow furrowed as he eyed his dragon with a mix of confusion and suspicion. He knew Toothless better than anyone—of that, there was no doubt. They were best friends, bonded for life, closer than brothers. He could read the Night Fury like a book, from the flick of his ear fins to the way his pupils shifted in size. But right now? Hiccup didn’t have a clue what was going through his dragon’s mind.

Toothless was being clingy—uncharacteristically so. That kind of affection, that gentle insistence to be close, was usually reserved for Hiccup alone. Or, on rare occasions, when Toothless decided he wanted someone’s food and pulled out that ridiculous, wide-eyed look he’d perfected over the years.

He didn’t offer his head to rest across laps like some tame house cat. And he especially didn’t wrap his tail around someone unless he absolutely meant it.

Hiccup hovered just behind your shoulder, shifting his weight with an almost imperceptible unease. His posture suggested casual interest, but there was a tension in the way his hands fidgeted near the leather harness, as if he needed something—anything—to justify standing that close. He leaned slightly over, his voice low and deliberately nonchalant.

“He’s, uh… made himself very comfortable,” he remarked, casually, though his tone betrayed a hint of something else, pretending a study of the saddle straps that he himself had fastened not even an hour earlier—though his eyes never once flicked to the gear. 

You didn’t answer right away. Your hand remained where it had been for the past few minutes, gliding in slow, absent circles across the midnight scales stretched over Toothless’s brow.

“He was restless earlier,” you murmured, eyes still on the sleek silhouette resting across your legs. “I think exhaustion finally caught up with him.”

Hiccup exhaled through his nose—a quiet, incredulous sound, the kind he often made when something didn’t quite add up. “Tired, huh?” he echoed, one eyebrow arched as he crossed his arms. “Right. Because Toothless is known for voluntarily laying down and offering his head like some… overgrown feline.”

“He’s been... different since he got better,” he said eventually. “Clingy, I guess. But only with you.” 

As if prompted by the remark, Toothless flicked one ear back lazily and released a deep, sonorous sigh—a low rumble that vibrated warmly against your legs. Then he adjusted his weight just slightly, curling tighter around your boots in a gesture so deliberate it might have been smug.

“You know,” Hiccup continued, now frowning slightly, “he only gets like this when I’m injured… or if there’s leftover fish and he’s trying to butter me up.”

You said nothing—only smiled faintly, the pads of your fingers tracing along the ridges where scale met bone. The rumble of the dragon’s throat deepened—a smug, vibrating hum that practically radiated satisfaction.

There was a pause.

And then, perhaps against his better judgment, Hiccup added under his breath, “Honestly, if I didn’t know better, I’d say he was flirting.”

That definitely caught your attention. You turned your head slowly, casting a glance over your shoulder with one brow arched so high it might’ve escaped orbit. Every line of your expression—your knitted brow, the sharp squint of your eyes, the downward curve of your mouth—broadcasts a very clear and unfiltered what the actual hell without needing to say a word.

Hiccup’s eyes widened, his brain seemed to catch up with his mouth a second too late.

“With you! I mean—not you—like, not literally!” Hiccup stammered, his words tripping over each other in a spectacular, crashing spiral of embarrassment, not knowing how to stop, he just continued. “Thors! Dragons don’t flirt. That’s not—I mean, I don’t think that’s how it works. I just meant—”  He stopped himself again, grimacing and raking a hand through his already-messy hair, as though hoping sheer friction could erase the mortifying sentence from reality. “I meant dragons don’t flirt! At least—I don’t think they do. Not in any, you know, intentional way. Not that you’re—ugh, never mind. Just forget I said anything.” He was done for. Absolutely cooked. And you? You just sat there, rigid as a stone sculpture, your entire expression locked in a state of horrified disbelief—lips drawn in a taut line, eyes slightly widened, your entire face twisted into that exact look you reserve for the unfortunate occasions whenever Gobber absentmindedly scratches his ass mid-conversation in front of you.

“Oh, by Odin’s beard. I sounded insane just now, didn’t I?” yes, yes you did. You wanted to say.

There was a loud snort.

Toothless lifted his head just enough to crack one luminous green eye open, as if to gloat. If a dragon could sport a smug grin, almost as if he were fully aware of the awkward tension hanging in the air and relishing every moment of it. Toothless was wearing it now—his posture relaxed, almost lazily victorious, as if he knew something the rest of you didn’t. It was a quiet, undeniable triumph. Then, with the most deliberate motion imaginable, the dragon raised his head just enough to nudge your arm... right into Hiccup’s thigh.

Your hand collided with him before you could stop it—fingers landing just above his knee. His leg jerked slightly. You froze.

He froze.

Even Toothless stopped moving, watching you both with an intensity that would’ve been terrifying if it weren’t so smug.

“I—he—what is wrong with you?” Hiccup half-whispered to his dragon, voice strained.

Toothless gave a tiny, airy chirp and nosed your hand again, this time with more force, like a toddler shoving two dolls together hoping they’d kiss.

“Well, if he is flirting,” you said, eyes glinting with amusement, “I’d say he’s got excellent taste.”

Hiccup let out a strangled noise, somewhere between a scoff and a nervous laugh, quickly raising his hand to shield his reddening face. “Please,” he muttered, voice nearly cracking in desperation, “I’m begging you. Don’t encourage him.”

A soft chuckle rumbled in your chest, the sound barely escaping as you continued to run your fingers along the smooth curve of Toothless’s jaw.

“Relax, Chief,” you teased lightly, your tone as calm as ever, well, nervous also, “I think your dragon just likes being pampered.”

“You know what,” he muttered, his hands already pulling toward the saddle straps, “I think his saddles make him itchy. I should change it.”

It continued after

New Berk lay quiet in the late afternoon, blanketed in the mellow hush that followed a long day’s labor. The skies were stained in hues of peach and gold, the sun dipping low behind the ridge, its last light brushing the rooftops with amber fire. Down by the dragon stables, you were crouched beside a weather-worn harness, your fingers working the frayed leather with practiced precision. The air smelled faintly of salt and dragon musk.

Toothless sat only a few feet away, his wings partially tucked, tail curled lazily around his paws—but his eyes never left you. That deep, verdant gaze tracked your every movement with a focus that was… unusually intent. For a moment, you swore he was studying you, like you were the dragon and he the expert.

The silence was broken by the familiar rustle of boots—well, boot, and the clink of a prosthetic leg against gravel. “Got the saddle gear you wanted—oh, hey, looks like someone started without me,” Hiccup called out

You offered a small smile. “Just got started. Figured I’d prep the straps while I waited.”

You glanced up as he jogged toward you, the dying light of the sun catching the mess of buckles and saddle slung over his shoulder. His tunic, stained with smudges of charcoal, bore the marks of the day’s labor. A grease-streaked cloth hung loosely from one shoulder, and smears of oil lined the edge of his jaw like war paint, a testament to the effort he’d put in.

“Gobber had the replacement buckles hidden under a crate labeled ‘Definitely Not Dragon Parts.’ I didn’t ask,” he added, crouching beside you with a huff of exertion.

Toothless twitched an ear.

Hiccup began to kneel down beside you—but before he could get comfortable, Toothless leaned in. It wasn’t aggressive. Just a firm, intended nudge with his snout to Hiccup’s side.

Which, unfortunately, was all it took.

With a muffled yelp and a sudden lurch of limbs, Hiccup lost his balance. In one swift, ungraceful motion, he toppled sideways—right into you. The unexpected impact sent you crashing backward, your back hitting the earth with a startled gasp. The air whooshed from your lungs as you were flattened to the ground, Hiccup landing awkwardly above you, his hands splayed in the dirt beside your shoulders as if trying to catch himself, but failing miserably.

You both froze.

For a moment, neither of you moved. Just the sound of the wind and Toothless’s faint chuckle broke the stunned silence. You lay there, staring up at him. Hiccup, his face flushed and eyes wide with embarrassment, shifted slightly, trying to regain his balance, but his awkward position only seemed to deepen the comedic nature of the situation.

“I—I swear that wasn’t me—he bumped me, I swear!” Hiccup stammered, his voice cracking under the strain of sheer mortification. His entire face flushed a vibrant crimson as if the embarrassment alone might send his ears into flames.

Toothless, meanwhile, let out a low, throaty trill—undeniably smug—before flopping onto his side with a soft fwump. He stretched his wings in a manner that could only be described as exaggerated satisfaction, purring contentedly like a mischievous feline who had just knocked over a vase and couldn’t be prouder of the chaos he’d wrought.

You laughed softly. “I think he’s trying to herd you.”

“Toothless,” Hiccup groaned, glancing at his dragon. “Stop it, I’m not a sheep!” He lifted himself just enough to look at Toothless, who was now shamelessly lounging in the grass, with an utterly smug look on his face.

Toothless chirped again—this time with what could only be interpreted as sure you’re not—and used the tip of his tail to slide a small stitched pouch directly between the two of you. The sewing kit skidded to a perfect stop at your knees, like he’d been practicing the maneuver all day.

“Yeah, he’s a real genius,” Hiccup grumbled as he shifted, trying to right himself. But the moment his hand pushed into the grass to grab the harness—wham. Toothless’s tail snapped out in a swift arc, tapping the small of Hiccup’s back.

And, just like that, Hiccup tumbled again. This time, he didn’t just lose his balance—he fully sprawled on top of you. His weight came crashing down with a perfect lack of coordination, and just like that, the last shred of dignity between you both evaporated in a heap of tangled limbs and groans.

Now it wasn’t just awkward—it was catastrophic. His face was far too close, hovering a few humiliating inches from yours. Everything else seemed to vanish. Your noses almost touched, and the proximity sent a rush of warmth through your chest that you didn’t quite know how to process. His hair, soft and surprisingly warm, brushed your cheek as he scrambled to push himself up, but instead of finding balance, he only succeeded in awkwardly elbowing you in the ribs.

The jolt of the impact made you wince, but the real sting came from the overwhelming closeness, the sheer absurdity of the situation, and the fact that neither of you could move without causing yet another small disaster. It was like the universe had conspired to take every shred of composure you both had left and toss it out the window.

Silence.

Well, except for the unmistakable sound of Toothless making a pleased little gurgle behind you, followed by the soft sound of him flopping dramatically onto his side like he’d just orchestrated the greatest comedic performance Berk had ever seen.

“I—I didn’t mean to—I mean he—Toothless—I swear he—” Hiccup stammered, his voice tripping over itself like a cart on cobblestones. He scrambled to push himself up, flinching every time his elbow threatened to jab your side again. His face was flushed a mortified crimson, a shade that clashed violently with the soot smudges across his cheek.

Hiccup looked like he wanted the earth to open up and swallow him whole. His wide eyes flicked to the ground, then back to you. You lay there, stunned, still half-flattened against the grass, your brain desperately trying to reboot from the shock of having Berk’s most awkward chief sprawled on top of you like a felled pine.

“I believe you,” you finally breathed, your voice catching somewhere between a laugh and a wheeze.

Hiccup’s face turned even redder, if that was even possible. “I—I’ll just… get up now. Slowly.”

“I swear,” Hiccup muttered, finally offering you a hand as he tried to extricate himself with the last scraps of his morality, “I’m usually much better at not falling on people.”

[lost-girly-014]

Toothless = best wingman ever.

[heliads]

Hello im so glad it’s open. Hiccup x reader when the reader is afraid of dragon and she is a Viking that try to not to be vulnerable and strong but hiccup could see right trough her. Sort of enemy to lovers (reader mostly) and the end Toothlees love her.

Thank you 🙏 😍🥰🥰

'we'll be brave together' - hiccup haddock

masterlist

Hiccup is returning from a wild dragon ride through the clouds when he realizes that he might finally know the secret of the bravest Viking Berk has ever seen.

It’s not like he’s the first one who’s tried to parse out the details of Y/N L/N. There’s hardly a soul in the village who hasn’t. Y/N has been the strongest of the strong, the fastest of the fast, ever since she started training. Everyone their age either wants to be her or beat her, and neither option is remotely reasonable.

Hiccup is no stranger to Y/N’s reputation. How could he not? She started training to fight dragons a year early, purely because it was so obvious she would be an asset to Berk that the elders couldn’t wait to put her out there. She’s been saving lives since she was small. Hiccup wouldn’t be surprised if her first words as a child were a rallying call to arms.

Courage inspires courage, but it’s impossible to see someone that naturally good at everything without trying to find some chink in the armor, a way, no matter how miniscule, to prove that they’re still human. Still like you. But no matter how hard people search, Y/N still seems relentlessly, impossibly perfect. Sure, she has her off days, just like anyone else, but she’s so good that it doesn’t even seem to matter. There has to be something off, but no one else can figure it out.

Except Hiccup, maybe. Probably not, but maybe. Hiccup’s no stranger to the maybes of the world. He’s proven quite a lot of them in his time. Maybe Hiccup, skinny, clumsy Hiccup, could manage to do well in the dragon fighting classes. Maybe he could save Berk from threats. Maybe he could do a decent job of governing a tumultuous group of Vikings on one of the most inhabitable rocks known to man. And maybe, just maybe, he could find the loophole in Y/N L/N’s otherwise flawless streak of victories.

Hiccup only gets the idea when he’s touching down from another dizzying flight. No matter how many times he and Toothless take to the skies, it never gets old. Somehow, each and every time Hiccup and his dragon leave the world behind, chase the stars, shoot the breeze, it feels like Hiccup’s very first time up in the air. The majesty never leaves him.

And so Hiccup was very reluctantly starting to plan out his landing when he saw Y/N below him. Ax in hand, she was probably coming back from yet another round in the training grounds, and judging by the cocky grin on her face, she’d probably been very triumphant yet again. She had a victorious bounce to her step, and as she headed back to her house, it seemed as if nothing could happen to break the young woman’s stride.

Nothing, that is, until Toothless swooped in low from the side, casting his shadow upon the ground where Y/N walked. She had done her best to hide it, but Hiccup had seen it– an uncontrollable flinch, a quick jerk of her head towards the sky to assess the threat, and then, so foreign to him that Hiccup almost wondered if he had mistook another girl for Y/N, a spark of fear in her eyes.

Fear. In Y/N L/N. It made no sense. Hiccup has never known Y/N to be afraid. Not even when facing off against Vikings twice her height. It’s as if the word has simply never entered her vocabulary. Yet the memory of Y/N’s reaction to the arrival of Toothless is burned into Hiccup’s memory as if by a brand. Yes, there’s no doubt about it. Y/N was afraid.

This should mean nothing at all. Berk, although recently accustomed to think of dragons in friendlier terms, has been an enemy of the scaly fliers for as long as Hiccup can remember. A recent change in their mindset would not substantially change their long term memory, which firmly cements dragons as a dangerous enemy. Of course anyone would flinch upon seeing a dragon suddenly emerge from the clouds, especially a Night Fury.

But Y/N isn’t just anyone. Now that he comes to think of it, Y/N has been rather separate from the rest of Berk regarding her reaction to dragons descending upon the village. She has yet to adopt a dragon, claiming that she’d rather prove her skill as a Viking by herself instead of needing to depend on a dragon to do the work for her. And back before Hiccup even crossed paths with Toothless at all, he has memories of Y/N during her dragon training days, how she used to completely lock down her emotions, facing the dragons when required but never so much as looking at them unless she absolutely had to do so.

It couldn’t be, yet it is. The more Hiccup thinks about it, the more he’s certain it’s true. Y/N is afraid of dragons. Not just Hiccup’s dragon, all dragons. Hiccup feels a sudden rush of sympathy for the woman. Although she’s as proud and brave as any, being around the thing she fears the most day in and day out must be taking a toll on her spirits.

And so, although it’s probably a terrible decision, Hiccup makes up his mind to help her as best he can. They’ve never really been friends, in fact, quite the opposite; Y/N was in accordance with the typical Berk mindset that Hiccup was a nuisance since he didn’t quite think like the rest of the Vikings, and they’ve clashed over that ever since. However, Hiccup remembers quite painfully what it was like to fear what everyone else seemed to embrace, and it’s a nasty feeling. Y/N doesn’t deserve to suffer through that, even if their relationship hasn’t always been the sunniest.

True to form, Y/N is glaring at him from the moment she opens her door to find Hiccup smiling awkwardly at her from the front step. “What do you want?” She asks crossly, making it obvious that she has far better things to do than entertain him.

Hiccup grins weakly. “I think I can help you.”

Y/N raises a dubious brow, taking an obvious glance over Hiccup. “You do? With what, philosophy?”

Hiccup forces a chuckle. “Maybe some other time. No, I’m talking about your, ah, dragon problem.”

If there was any doubt in Hiccup’s mind that Y/N was really afraid of dragons, it is completely erased from the moment he brings up the subject. Immediately, her entire expression ices over, but even as her glare sharpens in value, he spots something bright behind her mask, something like fear. She really doesn’t want anyone figuring out, does she?

Y/N glances around quickly to make sure no one could have possibly overheard, then quickly jerks her chin towards the inside of her house. “Fine. Come in.”

Inwardly, Hiccup cheers. He wasn’t entirely certain that she wouldn’t do something drastic to protect her secret, like stab him in the back or shove him into the sea. He still runs the risk of being poisoned, but he figures he’s safe from that so long as he doesn’t eat or drink anything while he’s here.

Once they’re both sitting opposite each other across her wooden table, Y/N fixes him with a steely gaze. “Start talking. How did you know that I–”

Her voice trails off, but Hiccup can guess she’s talking about her fear of dragons. “I only figured it out recently, honest. I had no idea until just now. No one would guess.”

“Yeah, I try to keep it that way,” Y/N remarks dryly. “But you could tell?”

“You don’t like Toothless,” Hiccup explains. “And yeah, he is a Night Fury, and that takes a little while to get over, but most people in the village consider him an ally by now.”

“Except me,” Y/N supplies, glancing towards the table.

“Yeah,” Hiccup agrees. “Except you. Plus, the hesitance to get a dragon of your own.”

“No Viking should accept a dragon unless they can defend themselves!” Y/N argues. “Otherwise, you’ll leave yourself stranded in case something happens. It would be a monumentally stupid risk to take.”

“I feel like that’s a really targeted comment,” Hiccup complains, “but yeah, even with that argument, it made sense once I connected the dots. You’re afraid of dragons.”

Y/N’s eyes narrow. “Did you just come here to hold that over me? What is this, blackmail?”

Not a fan of the way she’s eyeing the carving knife near her place at the table, Hiccup hastily raises his hands, feigning surrender. “Hey. Hey. No blackmail. That wouldn’t be very, uh, Viking of me. Where’s the strength in that? And you know I’m all about strength. And courage. Lots of courage. In fact, that’s why I came here today. I want to help you get over your fear.”

Y/N looks at him doubtfully, but at least she’s stopped inching her hand towards the carving knife. “You want to help me.”

“Yeah,” Hiccup replies earnestly, “I do. It’s better for all of us if we don’t have to feel like we’re hiding things. So? Will you let me help you?”

Y/N stares at him for a long time. At last, she jerks her head up and down in a sharp nod and says, “I will.”

Hiccup claps his hands together excitedly before pushing away from the table. “Perfect. I already have a first lesson in mind.”

Y/N looks substantially less inclined to trust him when she realizes that her first lesson involves getting to know Toothless on a far more personal level. “I thought we were going to ease into this. Like talking about it or something.”

Hiccup shakes his head. They’re both walking through the forest, crunching leaves and stepping over fallen boughs on their way to meet up with the Night Fury. “Not a chance. You don’t gain anything from talking. Besides, I figured you’re the kind of person who likes action over sitting around.”

“I do when it doesn’t involve dragons,” Y/N mutters from somewhere behind him.

Hiccup just grins. “You’ll like Toothless if you give him a chance, honestly.”

They emerge into a clearing. Toothless is curled up in the center, soaking in the sunlight. Immediately, Y/N freezes behind him. Now that she doesn’t have to try and hide from him, Hiccup can see firsthand how bad her fear truly is. Y/N’s eyes are wide, and her breath seems caught in her throat. She seems unable to move a single step.

Hiccup comes back to her side. “Do you trust me?” He asks plainly.

“I think,” she whispers back, her eyes still firmly fixed on the resting dragon in front of her.

“That’s fine,” Hiccup tells her. “At least believe me when I say there’s absolutely no chance that I’d let you get hurt. It would look awful if a chieftain’s son got his best fighter killed by his own dragon, wouldn’t it? You know it’s my responsibility to lead Berk, do you really think I’d risk my popularity by getting you murdered?”

“I trust that,” she admits, and lets Hiccup lead her further into the clearing, until she’s right in front of the dragon.

Sensing visitors, Toothless pokes his head up, exhaling a soft snort from his nose. Y/N flinches back from the movement, but to her credit, she doesn’t try to run.

“This is Y/N,” Hiccup tells Toothless. “You two are going to get to know each other, alright?”

Toothless regards Y/N with faint curiosity. Hiccup reaches out and presses a quiet hand to the dragon’s snout. “Now it’s your turn, alright?” He tells Y/N.

Y/N shakes her head quietly. “There’s no way I’m touching the dragon.”

“He’s not going to hurt you,” Hiccup promises. “Come on, we’ll do it together.”

He takes his hand away from Toothless’ snout and presses his palm against the top of Y/N’s hand. Slowly, carefully, he moves their hands together until they’re both resting against Toothless’ snout. Y/N breathes out once, a great sigh, but doesn’t move. Carefully, Hiccup takes his hand away, and then it’s just Y/N and the dragon. Toothless leans slightly forward into the touch. Hiccup waits for something to happen, for Y/N to flinch away again or give in to her fear, but instead, a shaky smile crosses her face.

“He’s nice,” she says.

Hiccup pulls a face. “He’s only trying to impress you.”

Even his feigned irritation can’t last for long. At the sight of the quiet joy on Y/N’s face, Hiccup can’t help but smile as well.

“What’s my next lesson?” Y/N asks.

“Flying,” Hiccup says. “Do you feel ready for that?”

Y/N glances back towards him, a cross look on her face. “I’m a Viking. I’m ready for anything.”

She laughs, though, and so does he. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

Hiccup climbs onto Toothless, then extends a hand to help Y/N up as well. Toothless, to his credit, is quite gentle when going airborne, although Y/N still holds tight onto Hiccup just in case. He’s not sure that he minds, though. She doesn’t, either, because she keeps holding onto him, even after the flying turns smooth, even after the colors around them flit from saturation to saturation, as clouds frost their vision and the air grows cold from height.

“I’ve changed my mind,” Y/N announces as they soar over the sea. “Nothing about this is scary. I can’t believe I waited this long to figure that out.”

“It grows on you, doesn’t it?” Hiccup remarks. “All of a sudden, it’s the only thing you want to do.”

“Yeah,” Y/N says. “Exactly like that.”

When he looks back at her, Y/N’s expression is soft and sweet. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen her like this, unafraid to be vulnerable, to let her real self shine through. 

“Thanks for helping me,” she says quietly.

“Any time,” Hiccup promises, and he realizes he means it.

She smiles. “You have to be careful, I might take you up on that offer.”

Hiccup meets her gaze, and finds nothing but happiness there. “I’m looking forward to it.”

Below them, the waves surge, and the birds swoop. They fly on forever.

requested by @hope92100, i hope you enjoy!

disney tag list: @avadakadabra93, @blondsauduun, @lovesanimals0000, @mayfieldss, @eclliipsed, @faerieroyal, @goldfish4403

[foolinafable]

thanks to tuffnut

Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III x Fem!Reader Synopsis: four of the many times hiccup was oblivious to the fact he was in love with you and the time he finally realised.  Word Count: 1.5K Tags: 4+1 fic, Fluff, Hiccups pov Note: started this ages ago and only just got inspired enough to finish it.

1. Searching for you in a crowd 

Hiccup would never admit it, even now that he is respected as the heir to the hairy hooligan tribe and his father is proud of him. That he still feels like an outsider. 

Maybe it’s because they see him as this dragon master and while he might be if he’s to listen to anything Fishlegs says- he feels like they don’t see anything else- he is still just the chief’s son, the future of the tribe or their saviour if any of his work on the edge was talked about. He was never just Hiccup to them, even to his friends they see him as this omnipotent being rather than just a teen like them- capable of making mistakes.

He suggests that this is why he prefers to have time alone- just him, toothless the ocean beneath them and the wind carrying them elsewhere, where he can be anything. 

Annoyingly, this is not something he can do now: walking into the great hall at dinner time. He can already feel the beginnings of a headache wracking his brain as he imagines the awkward conversations he is going to have with villagers about his work on the edge as of late or the nagging of his father and Gobber to come back to Berk so he can learn the ways of chiefdom- something he is unsure that he even wants.

Entering the great hall after a large exhale, Hiccup looks around, searching for something lips pursing when he can’t find it immediately. It is only when he walks closer to where his father is sat, calling out pleasantries to those who greet him on the way that his eyes lock onto your figure, listening intently to what Ruffnut and Tuffnut are saying. Following the movements of their arms with your eyes as they spoke animatedly about who knows what. Hiccup finds a small smile appear on his face at the sight of you, only looking away when his father claps a hand behind his back making him aware of his surroundings, turning towards his father struggling to listen to whatever issue his father needs resolving around Berk this time, his thoughts still surrounding his best friend, knowing that as long as you are here he can be himself, just Hiccup. As that was always more than enough for you and that idea alone makes him feel less like an outsider.

2. Missing you when apart

He was starting to regret saying you couldn’t come with him. Not that he doesn’t enjoy Astrid and (sometimes) Snotlout’s company, but it clearly isn’t the same. While he usually enjoys scouting missions as they are a peaceful opposition to the dangerous missions they have had as of late, you typically come with him. 

But he knows that you cannot leave the edge defenceless and Astrid was complaining about not getting out with Stormfly enough- so it all made sense logically for Astrid to come instead and for you to stay on land, protecting the dragon eye lenses the group had hidden.

He couldn’t trust anyone more which is why he was confused as to why he felt so anxious. Even Toothless could notice the angst radiating off his rider, making a noise of questioning at Hiccup when he was quieter than normal, not even going over the route the group were scouting- something he usually did a hundred times until the group got annoyed at him. Not even playfully joking with Snotlout about who was the better cousin until Astrid would make a comment that would set Snotlout off arguing with her.

Instead, the three riders sat in somewhat awkward silence with Astrid and Snotlout starting at each other trying to gauge if the other knew what was wrong with the boy and who was going to ask him as seemingly neither wanted to as usually you would look after Hiccup when he got like this but you were back on the edge and honestly Astrid was wishing she didn’t kick up such a fuss about her and Stormfly’s lack of action as even being bored back on the edge was better than being sat in this haunting silence.

It was only upon returning to the edge that the two saw his mood pick up, he nearly crashed Toothless into the ground at the speed he dismounted causing the other two to look around in panic until they saw him running towards you and then it all made sense. The two snickering slightly as they realised that he was only in a foul mood because you weren't around.  

3. You looking after him when he gets sick

“It was only a matter of time” you muttered to him as you bundled him up in his blankets and he knew that you were right, you had been telling him for weeks to wear some warmer clothes during his flights with Toothless and his lack of listening has left him bedridden with a horrible cold, head pounding, nose blocked and red cheeks. He could only imagine the state of him somehow shaking and sweating all at the same time. He would’ve replied with something teasing if his throat didn’t feel so scratchy so he simply settled for a huff which made you laugh quietly in return. 

“Okay, I will stop being mean, but only if you get some sleep” you reasoned with the boy as he whined at the idea thinking of everything he had to today 

“I will get Astrid and Fishlegs to take your jobs for the day- can't have you getting any sicker what would your Father say?” you continued and at these words, the boy stopped fussing, the exhaustion finally catching up to him. 

“Have a good sleep Hiccup, I will be here when you wake up,” you muttered as he dozed off.

 For some reason, Hiccup couldn’t understand those words made him feel so much better.  

4. When his dad mentions you

Small talk with his father even after all this time was still somewhat awkward, like the feeling of your skin being too big for your bones. But, it was much better than it used to be or at least Hiccup usually believed it was. Still, today he would give anything to be anywhere but sit with his dad in their family home as he couldn’t stop going on about you and possibly betrothals something Hiccup knew would annoy you.

“I heard a lot of the boys around here want to ask for her hand, so maybe you should get a move on” Stoick spoke trying to hint at the boy's clear feelings for you

“I- what?” Hiccup asked confused, when had he ever shown interest in that?

“Oh it's nothing” Stoick tried to cover his tracks feeling Hiccups in annoyance at his words ‘you two just remind me of myself and a special someone when I was younger” 

“What are you and Gobber? I’m sure she will be very flattered by those words Dad” Hiccup laughed before quickly taking his leave before his father could sprout out any more nonsense. 

“Me and your mother” Stoick muttered but Hiccup was already gone, probably halfway back to the edge due to how fast he bolted out the door.  

5. The realisation

Watching you interact with Toothless was one of Hiccup's favourite things to do. Seeing his dragon take a shine to you just as much as he does makes a warmth spread all over his body in a comforting way. 

“Hiccup, my brother! What’s happening?” Tuffnut called out as he made his way towards the boy Hiccup quickly looked away from you for some reason embarrassed to be nearly caught by the boy, his cheeks red and hot

“Not- not a lot” Hiccup tried to smile but it came off uneasy much like his words. To his luck, Tuffnut didn't seem to notice instead looking at where Hiccup had his eyes trained just moments before before looking back at the boy 

“Don’t worry I see” Tuffnut nodded in understanding causing Hiccup to become confused 

“See what?” he questioned the peculiar boy 

“You were finally building up the courage to ask her out!” Tuffnut declared “I mean it’s about time everyone knows you have the biggest crush on her! Don’t let me stop you, in fact, I wasn't even here!” the boy quickly ran off as Hiccup's thoughts whirled around his brain about what on earth was Tuffnut on about he didn’t have a crush on you. No way. I mean sure you are the first person he looks for in a crowd of people, he gets irritable when you aren't with him on missions, you are the only one he would want looking after him and his father loves you but that doesn't mean he likes you right- your his best friend he couldn't possibly- could he? 

Then it hit Hiccup, he did have the biggest crush on his best friend, more than a crush really. He was irrevocably in love with you and to make matters worse Tuffnut knew before he did.  

[tealovingdreamer]

soft hands | j. grace

in which. . . upon your observation of the callouses on jason’s hands, you offered to put lotion on them. he, of course, let's you do as you wished.

✎ᝰ. letter from jj . . . the first repost! ive taken way too much time on contemplating whether to repost my works one by one or all at once, and so finally i decided on the former hehe. if you've read this before, welcome back! and if you haven't, i hope you enjoy🫶🏻

Cocooned in the warm confines of your bedroom, Jason and you, his beautiful lover, were curled up in the soft sheets of your bed, with his back leaned against the headboard, and you, laid comfortably against his broad chest, your cheek smushed in the way he could only describe as adorable.

Soft was the smile on his scarred lips as he glanced down at you, one hand perched around your waist while the other was in your hold.

Shifting his gaze back towards your face, his smile widened just a bit as he caught onto the little crease between your brows as you stared down at his hand, much like you were inspecting it, contemplation written in your eyes. “What is it?” he asked, quiet enough to not break the peaceful atmosphere.

It wasn’t the first time he’d caught you staring at his hands intently, thoughtfully. Be it during sparring, during breakfast at the Mess Hall, back when you were still at Camp Jupiter, even now, he’d always caught you staring, and each time, you’d have the same expression on your face.

Thoughtful, contemplative.

Your reply was a mere hum, at first, gaze still onto his calloused hand. Just as he thought that would be your only response, you continued, “Can I put lotion on your hands?” a ghost of a cheeky smile crossed your lips, matching with the hopeful glint in your eyes.

He blinked.

Oh, so that’s why.

A disbelieving laugh bubbled up from his chest as he held you even tighter, an adoring look shining in his electric blue irises. Shaking his head, he pressed a soft kiss to your temple.

As he pulled back, with his wide smile visible, your own lips stretched into a wide—albeit slightly confused judging by the arching of your brows— smile, a soft laugh spilling from your lips, joining his own. “What?” you tilted your head, chuckling.

Gods, if he could paint the heavenly sight before his eyes…

“No- it’s just-” he shook his head again, shoulders still shaking from his laughter, “I’ve always wondered why you’ve always stared at my hands so intently,” his hand that was in your hold lifted to cup your jaw, his thumb caressing your jawline. “I didn’t know that was the reason.”

You hummed, turning your head ever so slightly to brush a soft kiss to the inside of his palm. “I mean, I’ve thought about it for a while, ‘cause your hands have callouses on them, and that they tend to hurt when your hands are dry,” you confessed, “so I’ve been wanting to ask you, but I didn’t know if you’d want the smell of my lotions on your hands.”

His eyes softened then, his laughs subduing. I’m dead, he thought internally, eyes still locked onto yours, I've died and went to Elysium. And this woman is an angel.

After a moment of just staring at one another in silence, and him still very much baffled, he realized that you were still looking into his eyes, a silent question glinting in your beautiful gaze.

Snapping himself out of his stupor, he forced his mind to turn back to the present, “Of course you can, sweetheart.” he told you, “You could if you want,”

Truth be told, he would jump into the depths of the Tartarus itself for you if you asked him to, if it meant that he’d get to see that sweet, radiant smile of yours for the rest of his days.

The feeling of victory that he felt from his countless accomplishments from before could never compare to the one he felt now. Seeing the wide grin that stretched your lips, the way your eyes crinkled with your brightened features. The way you glowed like the sun.

It was everything to him.

“Okay,” you sat up excitedly, though his arms slipped around your waist to keep you on his lap. You reached for the lotion you kept on the nightstand. Clearing your throat, you put your other hand out, “May I see your hands, kind sir?” you questioned, your tone flared dramatically.

He couldn’t keep the amused smile on his lips, nor the adoration in his eyes away if he tried.

Going along with your theatrics, he removed his arms from your waist and gingerly placed one of his hands in yours, “Here you go, my love.” he replied with what he hoped was the same flare you used.

He found his eyes lingering on your face and expressions rather than your joined hands.

Not at the way you held his hand so gently as you pumped a few blob of lotion—that smelled faintly of vanilla, he noted— onto the back of his palm and began to spread them around the dried skin.

At you. Just you.

More specifically, at the little furrow in between your brows as you rubbed the lotion into his hands with concentration. At the way your bottom lip was trapped between your teeth. At your eyes that were narrowed just slightly.

You repeated the same treatment on his other hand. “There.” you finally said, placing the bottle of lotion back to its previous spot on the nightstand. And with that, you shuffled around to lay on his chest like you had before, his arms instinctively slipping around your waist, a relaxed sigh falling from your lips.

He pressed another kiss to your forehead, “Thank you, sweetheart,” he whispered, his cheeks blooming with colour when you lifted your head and pressed your lips to his softly in response before you curled yourself further into his embrace.

© TEALOVINGDREAMER . . . i do not consent my works to be copied, plagiarised, translated, or be fed into any form of ai media.

[lost-girly-014]

💕💕💕

[huiyi07]

right I actually don't think we as a fandom talk about the percy jackson official arts from readriordan.com enough! these are only a few of my fave ones

[lost-girly-014]

Cannot agree more. I love this art!

[deletedscenegirl-deactivated202]

What if Hiccup gets annoyed that reader is reading fanfic and has a crush on the Draco Malfoy character and he doesn’t understand the hype or something along those lines. Not like a cross over. But Hiccup doesn’t understand why reader would like someone w daddy issues. Only for Snotlout to later call out the fact that Hiccup could be Draco if he was rich and came from a bad, megarich family.

OH MY GOSH I LOVE THIS

laughing fits.

“in which Hiccup loses all patience, you refuse to pause your fanfic obsession, and everyone realizes just how impossible it is to keep him from blushing.”

🛡 hiccup x reader · chaos · he’s not annoyed you’re laughing 🔥 fanfic marathons · playful teasing · accidental confessions

It had been three days straight. Three. Days.

You’d been practically welded to your phone, thumb swiping like it had a mind of its own, eyes bright, sparkling, laughing and gasping in a solo audience that the rest of the room couldn’t possibly understand. Around you, the world — mugs half-filled with ale, scattered papers, the general clutter of whatever had passed for a normal evening — had evaporated, leaving only the vivid, chaotic universe of Draco Malfoy as you saw him through glowing pixels.

Hiccup, normally patient almost to a fault, had started to fray at the edges. The soft, warm patience he carried like a shield had begun to thin, fraying in uneven patches. The kind of small exasperations that normally rolled off him now clung, curling under his ribs and tightening the smooth lines of his face.

“Do you have to read that now?” His voice carried the peculiar mixture of disbelief and comic exasperation you knew all too well. He leaned forward over his half-forgotten mug, fingers drumming on the table. The ale in it had gone cold hours ago, a thin film forming across the top, but he hadn’t noticed — or, perhaps, he hadn’t cared.

You barely lifted your gaze, eyes glued to the unfolding drama on the screen. “Now? Hiccup, it’s the best part. Draco’s about to—”

“No, no, not that,” he interrupted, waving his hands like you could physically shoo your phone into oblivion. “I mean… I just don’t get it. Why would you like him?”

You blinked, one eyebrow arching so sharply it nearly grazed your hairline. “Excuse me?”

“You know…” he leaned forward, elbows pressed to the scarred wood of the table, voice tight with a mixture of disbelief and near-panic, “Draco Malfoy. Rich. Moody. Terrible family issues — literally a daddy problem, brooding constantly. Why would anyone — anyone — think that’s attractive?”

You laughed, the sound spilling across the room like sunlight through half-closed shutters. “Hiccup, it’s fiction! And—” You paused, letting a wicked grin creep over your face, “—it’s complicated. You just… don’t understand the appeal.”

“I don’t understand!” He threw his hands up, scattering a napkin or two. “Why would someone write paragraphs about someone with daddy issues? Why would anyone read it and —” He gestured wildly at you, at the phone, at the screen, as though waving harder would summon clarity. “—like him? It’s absurd!”

You smirked, tilting the phone just enough for the light to glint in your eyes, the smallest spark of mischief dancing there. “Maybe you’re just not seeing the… charm.”

And then, as if scripted for maximum irritation, Snotlout appeared. Leaning against the doorway with all the casual arrogance he carried like a coat, arms crossed, grin stretching far too wide, he looked every inch the instigator.

“Hiccup, mate… if you were born rich, had a slightly tragic family, and looked that good, you’d be Draco. Easy. Don’t act like you wouldn’t have your fan club lining up too.”

Hiccup choked. Or at least he tried to. Cheeks flaring, he sputtered through a rough approximation of indignation. “I would not! And even if I—” He shot Snotlout a glare, as if the boy’s smug grin were a weapon capable of inflicting permanent damage, “—even if that were true, I wouldn’t brood for no reason! That’s not heroic, that’s melodramatic!”

Ruffnut and Tuffnut, as if on cue, leapt into the fray from behind a precarious stack of crates. Perfectly chaotic timing.

“Yeah, Hiccup,” Tuffnut drawled, lips twitching, “you could totally be Draco. All you’d need is a fancy robe and a silver toothpick or something.”

“Or a slightly tragic childhood,” Ruffnut added, attempting to sound serious, though her shoulders shook with barely-contained laughter. “And maybe a lot more money than you’ve got. And—”

“Yeah, yeah,” Tuffnut cut her off with a dramatic elbow, “Broody rich guy. Face it, Hiccup. You’re basically fanfic material waiting to happen.”

Hiccup groaned, burying his face in his hands. The sound was melodramatic, sure, but there was desperation there, too, like he could will the conversation — and your obsession — into nonexistence if he tried hard enough.

You laughed outright, setting your phone under your chin as a shield, still grinning. “See? That’s exactly why I like Draco. Someone has to appreciate his… ridiculousness.”

“And someone has to appreciate mine!” Hiccup muttered through his fingers, glare half-hearted, lips twitching despite himself.

Snotlout clapped, sharp and triumphant, like he’d sealed some universal truth. “Finally! Hiccup’s got a blush! Admit it, mate — deep down, you do get the hype.”

Hiccup groaned again, lower this time, but you caught the slight twitch of his lips, the heat crawling up his ears. You leaned back in your chair, victorious, returning to your scrolling, letting him stew in quiet flustered glory.

From the corner of the room, Snotlout and the twins exchanged glances that were half mischief, half satisfaction — the kind of camaraderie only chaos-makers understand.

And somewhere in the middle of it all, Hiccup realized — not for the first time, not for the last — that no matter how much he protested, he would never entirely escape being pulled into your world. Even if that world was a swirling, ridiculous, fanfic-fueled storm.

And maybe, he thought — though he’d never admit it aloud — he didn’t want to.

[romanoffshouse]

Bucky, stuck in a cell with Yelena and Bob:

Bucky: Listen, I'm not claustrophobic, but you're going to have to move.

Bob: What does claustrophobic mean?

Yelena: That he's scared of Santa Claus.

Bucky: No it–

Yelena: Ho, ho, ho!

Bob, panicking: Stop it Yelena, you're scaring him!

[eiriss-deactivated20260327]

✦ What to want.ᐟ PERCY JACKSON

summary: Percy is your knight, he thinks of you more than dearly, do you think of him as much as he does?

word count: 2.2k ﹙request﹚

The kingdom slept under a veil of silver moonlight, but Percy Jackson did not.

Knights were expected to rest between dawn drills and night patrols, yet he found sleep impossible these days; ever since the princess had started looking at him in a way no princess should ever look at a knight. Ever since she had discovered he looked back.

He swung his sword through the empty training yard, each arc slicing through the humid darkness, each impact against the post ringing louder than it should. Sweat clung to his temples. His muscles already burned from earlier drills, but that pain was easier to bear than the hollow ache spreading through his chest whenever he remembered the way you had smiled at him that very morning.

Not a royal smile and neither a polite one.

He gripped the hilt tighter and forced that thought away. You were untouchable; crowned, cherished, and promised to the future of the kingdom. And he was a knight sworn to protect you, not to want you.

He told himself he was avoiding you for the right reasons. That stepping back was the only way to keep his oath. That if he just kept his distance, the fire he felt whenever you looked at him would burn itself out but it only grew stronger.

Every day it became harder to ignore the way your voice softened when you spoke his name, or the way you watched him with a careful, searching intensity.

And God helps him, he was already broken.

He’d been broken since the night you’d touched his hand in the corridor and he’d felt something inside him ignite so intensely he thought he’d burn from the inside out.

That was why he trained so late, why he pushed himself until his shoulders screamed and his lungs ached. Pain was simple. Duty was simple. A knight’s vow was simple.

You were not.

He swung his sword again, the blade slicing the night air, catching faint moonlight along its edge. Another blow. Then another. Sweat slid down the back of his neck and soaked into the collar of his tunic beneath the armor. He exhaled, ragged, and dropped the sword tip to the ground to steady himself.

That was when he heard the soft pad of footsteps. Not armored so not a soldier. They were light, barely audible.

His pulse stuttered before he even turned.

You stood at the edge of the courtyard, wrapped in a loose cloak that brushed the stone. The hood was down, your hair lit silver by the moon. You looked like something pulled out of dream or myth— something made to tempt, not to be protected from afar.

Percy’s heart slammed into his ribs, so hard it hurt.

“Princess.” The word tore from him before he could temper it. He stepped closer without thinking and then immediately forced himself still. “What are you doing out of your chambers at this hour?”

You held his eyes, unafraid, unashamed, almost determined. “I was looking for you.”

He felt the impact of those five words like a physical thing. His fingers curled against the leather of his gloves, nails biting through.

“That isn’t wise,” he said quietly. “If anyone saw—”

“No one did.” You stepped closer. “Everyone else is asleep.”

“Not everyone,” he said. His voice was low, strained. “I’m awake.”

“Exactly.”

The simple truth of it nearly undid him.

You approached until the distance between you was small enough that he caught the faint scent of jasmine from your hair. It softened him, made something inside him weaken dangerously. And when you tilted your chin up to look at him, the vulnerability in your eyes nearly tore him apart.

“You’ve been avoiding me.”

He opened his mouth, an instinctive lie perched on his tongue but the look on your face stopped him. You weren’t accusing him; you were asking. You were worried.

“Princess—”

“Don’t call me that.” Your voice cracked. “Not when you’re looking at me like that.”

“I’m your knight,” he said, though the words were hoarse. “I have to call you that.”

“You didn’t use to sound like it hurt to say it.”

Percy inhaled sharply. He hadn’t realized he did. And you stepped closer, the hem of your cloak brushing his boot.

“Did I do something wrong?” you asked softly. “Is that why you won’t even look at me anymore?”

His jaw clenched, something inside him twisting painfully.

“No,” he said immediately. “You didn’t do anything wrong. You couldn’t.”

“Then why—”

“Because I can’t, agh,” He dragged a hand through his hair, suddenly too aware of how close you were, how easily someone could look out a window and see everything. “I can’t keep pretending that I don’t—”

He didn’t finish. He couldn’t. He felt the words rising, dangerous and reckless, and forced them back.

“You can’t keep pretending you don’t want me.” He froze when you sighed that out.

Your eyes searched his, and when he didn’t deny it you stepped into his space until there was almost no space left at all.

“Percy,” you whispered, “please look at me.”

And he did.

You lifted your hand slowly, giving him every chance to pull away but he didn’t. Your fingers brushed his jaw, warm against his cold skin thanks to the sweat. He swore he felt the earth tilt beneath his boots.

“Tell me I’m wrong,” you murmured. “Tell me you don’t feel what I feel.”

His lips parted, but no sound came.

“Tell me you don’t think about me,” you continued, voice trembling. “Tell me you don’t want me to touch you.”

Percy swallowed hard enough to be heard.

“Princess,” he rasped, “I—”

“Tell me,” you whispered.

He shut his eyes. “I can’t.”

Your breath caught in a quiet way. The hand on his cheek slid down his neck, your thumb brushing the edge of his sweating neck and armor strap. His pulse leapt beneath your fingers.

“Percy,” you said again, softer this time, like a plea, like a secret, “I want your attention.”

He shuddered.

“You have it,” he whispered into your skin.

Your lips parted slightly. “Then why won’t you..”

He knew what you were going to say. He felt the end of that sentence like a brand on his skin.

Why won’t you hold me?

Why won’t you touch me?

Why won’t you kiss me?

The answer was simple and brutal and lodged like a blade in his ribs.

“Because they’ll kill me,” he whispered.

You stilled.

“I don’t mean banishment. I don’t mean exile. I mean execution. Public. If anyone even suspects that I’ve touched you or that I’ve wanted you…”

His voice broke. “I can’t risk that. I can’t risk you seeing that.”

Your hand fell slightly, but not away. You didn’t recoil. You didn’t grow cold. Instead, you pulled close until your cloak brushed his armor, until your body aligned with his, until he could feel you press through metal.

“And what about me?” you whispered. “What about the risk I take every time I look at you?”

He opened his eyes. You were too close. This was too real.

“Princess—”

You rose onto your toes and kissed him.

It wasn’t a full kiss, it was just a soft press of your mouth to the corner of his lips, barely there, a whisper of a touch more felt than seen. It was hesitant, trembling, as though you expected him to recoil.

But he just made a small, broken sound he didn’t recognize.

Your hand slid back to his cheek, fingers threading into his hairline. You moved slowly, giving him every opportunity to step away.

When your lips brushed his again— this time intentional, this time unmistakably a kiss— Percy finally inhaled.

His hand shot up to your hand over his cheek and waist, fingers gripping the fabric of your cloak, pulling you into him. You gasped softly, your hands fisting in the collar of his tunic.

It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t soft. It was raw, aching, terrified, starved. His lips parted yours, his breath unsteady, his hand coming up to cradle the back of your head as if protecting you from the view of the world. He felt everything— the warmth of your breath, the softness of your skin, the trembling of your fingers against his throat.

You kissed him back like you’d been waiting for this as long as he had.

And when he felt his tongue looking for yours he finally tore away, it wasn’t far. His forehead pressed to yours, his breath shaking against your lips.

“This is wrong,” he murmured, the words barely coherent. “Gods, this is so wrong.”

Your hands slid down to his chest, resting over his armor. “Then why does it feel like the only thing that’s ever been right?”

He shut his eyes tightly.

“Because you love me,” he whispered before he could stop himself. “but this is not what you need,” he added, voice barely audible.

“Percy,” you murmured, your fingers brushing, then curling gently around his wrist, “what if we ran away?”

It was as if the idea was a petal you placed into his palm.

Percy’s first instinct was disbelief. A startled, breathless laugh escaped him before he could stop it, half-nervous, half-hopeful in the cruelest way.

“Run away?” he repeated, turning toward you with a crooked, unsure smile. “Princess, you do realize I can’t even get past the castle gates without three different captains asking why I’m out after dark.”

He expected you to smile too. An eye roll or even a soft laugh, but you didn’t flinch.

You stared at him with that impossible sincerity, the kind that always made his stomach drop and his pulse jump.

“Why not?” you asked quietly.

His smile faltered, then fell away entirely. He felt it like a horse rearing beneath him, like a ship hitting a sudden, unseen drop in the current.

“You’re serious.” It wasn’t a question.

You didn’t look away. Didn’t soften your expression with excuses or lightness. “I am.”

Percy’s breath left him in one stunned exhale.

The idea: running away with you; was too beautiful to be real. Too dangerous to be spoken aloud like you were doing right now. And too tempting to even survive.

He ran a hand through his hair, the leather of his gauntlet brushing against dark curls, pacing a step back because he suddenly couldn’t think with you so near.

He turned fully toward you, shadows cutting sharp lines across his face.

“Running away isn’t romantic,” he said softly but firm. “It’s running all your life. It’s looking over your shoulder every time you hear hooves on the road. It’s sleeping with your boots on. It’s hiding your face from travelers and pretending you’re no one important.”

He stepped closer without meaning to, drawn to you by something he didn’t have the strength to fight.

“You would lose everything.” His eyes roamed your face.

“Your family. Your crown. Your inheritance. Every treaty, every alliance your kingdom depends on—they would all shatter. Your disappearance could start a war.” Your throat bobbed, but you didn’t break.

“And me?” Percy whispered. “They wouldn’t stop searching for you. Not ever. I’d be hunted like an animal.” Then, softer, he kept going. “…and you deserve better than a life spent hiding from the consequences of loving me.”

Your lips parted not in shock, but in heartbreak.

And Percy could see the moment your resolve crystallized.

“Let them hunt?” you murmured.

“You can’t mean that.”

“I mean every word always,” you said, stepping toward him until your chest brushed his armor once again. “I would rather build an uncertain life with you than a perfect life without you.”

His hands trembled as they rose to your arms, fingers curling around your sleeves, he wishes not to be using his gauntlets right now.

“Don’t say things like that,” he begged, voice barely audible. “Not when I want to believe them. When it would be easy to say yes. Not when—”

You kissed him.

You didn’t wait for permission. Didn’t wait for him to finish listing all the dangers and terrors and rational reasons to stay apart.

You rose onto your toes and pressed your mouth to his with all the gentle, burning defiance he had fallen in love with.

The world reeled.

Percy made a broken sound once again, one hand flying to the back of your neck, the other gripping your waist. He kissed you back like he’d been holding his breath for weeks and you were the only air he knew. Your lips moved with aching tenderness, with longing sharp enough to bruise, with a pull that made the ground feel unsteady beneath him.

And when you finally pulled away, the space between you felt electric, trembling, fragile. Your foreheads touched for a few seconds.

“Just for a little more,” you whispered, brushing your thumb against his jaw. “Let’s pretend the world isn’t waiting to tear us apart, okay?”

Percy closed his eyes.

And in the flickering darkness of the corridor, with your hands on his skin and your heartbeat pressing warm against his armor, he did the one thing he had been terrified to do since the moment he first realized he loved you.

He let himself believe in having you.

˖° 𖹭 @eiriss 09.12.25

knight! Percy Jackson pt.1 ,, pt.2 ,, pt.3

masterlist. // percy jackson works.

[lost-girly-014]

“and you deserve better than a life spent hiding from the consequences of loving me.”

This line and fic ughhh😫😭❤️

[danysdaughter]

✧˖° Movie Night

pairing | post!thunderbolts!bucky x wife!reader

word count | 3.9k words

summary | it’s just another chaotic night in the barnes household—one movie, four kids, and zero peace

tags | FLUFF, dad!bucky barnes, domestic bucky, established relationship, crack fic, bucky is so tired, but he’s so soft, pregnant!reader, no smut this time, just a man drowning in children, mentions of past trauma (very light, blink-and-you-miss-it), bucky barnes didn’t survive hydra for this but actually he did, fluff cleanse

a/n | i was watching 101 dalmatians and got soft thinking about bucky with a litter of puppies and a bowl of popcorn he’s not allowed to eat in peace. that’s it. that’s the fic. hope it makes your heart hurt a little in the good way.

likes, comments and reblogs are much appreciated ✨✨

ᴍᴀsᴛᴇʀʟɪsᴛ

divider by @uzmacchiato

“Jamie, move outta the way, pal. Can’t see a damn thing.”

The kid didn’t even look back, just waved a hand like he was shooing a fly. “I can see just fine, Dad.”

“That’s not the problem,” Bucky muttered, leaning forward slightly on the couch, voice calm but that edge of tired dad already creeping in.

Jamie, of course, didn’t move an inch. He was sitting cross-legged on the floor, directly in front of the TV, the bright light flashing over his face. The movie on-screen exploded into gunfire and shouting—the kind of film Bucky probably shouldn’t have let them watch, but it had been a long day and, well… it kept them quiet. Sort of.

Grace, sitting tucked into Bucky’s side, didn’t let it slide. “Daddy said move, Jamie,” she snapped, voice sharp for someone half his size. “You’re in the way.”

Jamie shot her a look over his shoulder. “Then move your eyes,” he said, deadpan, before turning back to the screen.

“Jamie,” she warned.

“Gracie,” he mimicked.

Bucky bit down a snort and shook his head. He probably should’ve been more firm about it, but after the week they’d had—homework meltdowns, Becca’s fever, the twins nearly setting the kitchen towels on fire—he was too tired to pick another battle.

Meanwhile, Stevie was half on Bucky, half on the couch, a small body molded to his side like a koala. His chubby fingers were glistening with butter as he alternated between feeding Bucky a piece of popcorn and shoving one into his own mouth.

“Stevie,” Bucky said between bites, “you know you don’t have to feed me every time, right?”

Stevie nodded solemnly. “I know. But I like sharin’.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. You like popcorn too much. You’ll be sad if I eat it all.”

That got him. Bucky leaned down and pressed a kiss to the top of the boy’s head, whispering something you couldn’t catch over the sound of the movie. It didn’t matter. Stevie giggled and went right back to it, determined to keep his dad’s snack ratio even.

On the far end of the couch, Becca was curled against you, droopy-eyed and pacifier in mouth, fighting sleep she’d clearly already lost. You smoothed a hand over her curls, listening to the rise and fall of noise around you.

It was loud, a little chaotic, the movie roaring through the speakers, the kids all talking over it, but somehow it was the most peaceful kind of noise.

Bucky sighed through his nose, leaning back into the couch cushions. “Alright, Jamie. Last warning. Move it, or I’m turning the TV off.”

That got Jamie’s attention—barely. He scooted an inch to the left, just enough to technically comply. Bucky shot him a look that said you think you’re funny, and Jamie grinned without looking away from the screen.

Grace huffed and leaned harder against her dad’s side, muttering something under her breath that made Bucky fight a smile.

And then somewhere between Grace’s scolding and Jamie’s latest “you can’t make me,” Bucky found himself zoning out. He wasn’t really watching the movie anymore. His eyes were on the screen, sure, but his mind was somewhere else—stuck on the same question that hit him every once in a while.

How the hell did he end up here?

It wasn’t a bad thought, just a confused one. A how-did-this-happen kind of thing. It still felt impossible most days—the idea that this was his life now.

There were years where he couldn’t trust his own reflection, couldn’t sit still without thinking someone would come for him. Before Hydra. Hydra. After Hydra. Whole decades where he’d been somebody’s weapon, and the rest just… trying to learn how to be a person again.

And now here he was—in sweatpants, on a couch, with four kids.

Jamie still blocking the TV. Grace playing self-appointed hall monitor. Stevie butter-fingered and happy. Becca half-asleep on your lap. The kind of domestic chaos that would’ve sounded like a fantasy if anyone told him this would be his future.

He did work occasionally—missions for the New Avengers every few weeks, nothing too heavy. Enough to keep his edge sharp. But most days were like this: home, noisy, lived-in. Normal. And that normal still caught him off guard sometimes.

Bucky let out a quiet breath and looked over. You were leaned back into the couch, eyes half-lidded from the movie, Becca’s small body sprawled across you. His gaze lingered just below—where her tiny body rested against the faint swell of your stomach.

His lips twitching upward. Five, he thought. You’ve gotta be kidding me.

And yet, somehow, it made sense. The man who once thought he’d never deserve a life like this—now sitting in the middle of one he built.

He glanced back up and couldn't help but huff. Becca was trying her best to fight sleep.

She was curled against your chest, soft and warm, her little legs twitching every now and then like she was dreaming mid-blink. Her pacifier bobbed lazily in her mouth, each suck slowing with every passing minute. You ran your hand gently over her back, murmuring half-coherent things—not really words, just soft sounds and shushing tones—the same way you’d done since she was a newborn.

Her head kept drooping further down your chest, mouth slipping open as she got comfortable in the curve of your boobs like they were custom-made pillows.

“She’s losing the fight,” Bucky said quietly, voice just barely over the sound of the movie.

You gave a sleepy little smile and nodded, not taking your eyes off Becca. “She’s got about two minutes left in her.”

But before the moment could stay soft, Jamie’s voice cut across the room—loud, excited, fully invested.

“Whoa! Did you see that? He just punched that guy through a wall!”

You glanced up. Jamie was practically vibrating, still planted in front of the TV like a human traffic cone. He bounced on his knees and jabbed a finger toward the screen.

“If I was that guy? I’d rip the villain’s head off. Then I’d cut out his tongue. Then I’d kick him in the—”

“James Samuel.”

Your voice snapped out sharper than you meant, but not wrong. Jamie froze mid-sentence and turned halfway toward you, sheepish and blink-blinking.

“Where’d you learn to talk like that?” you asked, squinting at him.

He blinked once more, twice, then slowly turned his head toward his father for backup.

Your gaze followed.

Bucky was very suddenly interested in the popcorn bowl, scooping up a handful with all the intensity of a man performing a delicate operation. He didn’t look up, didn’t move, didn’t breathe.

You stared at him. “Seriously?”

“I didn’t teach him that,” he muttered, picking out a kernel and pretending like he didn’t hear anything else. “He’s got an imagination.”

You kept staring. He still didn’t look up. Grace looked at the two of you from beneath his arm and mumbled something about how she never says stuff like that. Stevie, still focused on popcorn, shoved another piece toward Bucky’s mouth.

The movie kept going, gunshots and dramatic music swelling through the room like surround sound, but none of the kids flinched. Not even Becca, who’d gone still against your chest now, her pacifier barely hanging on. You brushed a curl from her forehead and rocked her gently side to side, more out of instinct than need.

And then, of course—

Jamie again.

“He should cut his eyeballs out next,” he muttered, half under his breath but clearly hoping someone would hear. “Then burn his fingers so he can’t hold a gun—”

Jamie paused mid-rant and looked over his shoulder

You didn’t even say anything this time. Just slowly turned your head, eyebrows raised, eyes trained on him.

He cleared his throat. “…Or like, maybe just arrest him or whatever.”

“Mmhm.”

Jamie turned back around, posture a little smaller

On Bucky's left, Grace tugged gently on the sleeve of his shirt. “Daddy?”

“Yeah, honey?”

She pointed at the screen, frowning thoughtfully as one character betrayed another. “Is he the bad guy now? Or just doing a bad thing?”

Bucky blinked. “Uh.”

“I mean… he’s helping the bad guy but he used to be friends with the good guy. So does that make him bad? Or just confused?”

Bucky opened his mouth, then closed it.

“I think maybe he thinks he’s doing the right thing,” Grace added, looking up at him, eyes round and patient, like she expected an actual answer. “But he’s still hurting people. So…” she trailed off. “I dunno.”

Stevie shoved another fistful of popcorn toward Bucky’s mouth. Bucky leaned back to dodge it, swiped a few kernels before they fell on his lap, and chewed slowly while his brain scrambled for a response.

“I think…” he started, swallowing, “…sometimes people do the wrong thing because they think it’s the only option they’ve got. Doesn’t mean they’re evil. Just… lost.”

Grace nodded. “Like when you used to work for the mean people?”

His jaw ticked for half a second, but he kept his face neutral. “Sorta like that,” he said softly.

Stevie pressed popcorn to his mouth again. “Eat,” he demanded, like Bucky was one of his toys.

Bucky huffed and took the offering, chewing like it gave him something to do with his hands. Grace leaned into his arm again, thoughtful, quiet. The kind of quiet that meant she was still turning it over in her head.

The room stayed still for a grand total of ninety seconds. Maybe less.

Then—

“Whoa, did you see that?” Jamie sat up straighter, practically vibrating. “That guy is so cool. He just broke through, like, three walls. With his shoulder.”

Grace didn’t even look up. “Dad could do that.”

Jamie made a noise—half-laugh, half-snort. “No he couldn’t.”

“Yeah, he could,” she shot back, immediate, like it wasn’t even up for debate.

“No way. That guy’s huge.” Jamie pointed to the screen with both hands now, trying to gesture the scale of muscle and destruction. “He’s probably, like, twenty feet tall. And he’s got laser arms or something.”

“Dad has a metal arm.”

“So? This guy has two laser arms. And he probably lifts cars. I bet he’s stronger than Dad.”

That was enough to pull Grace’s eyes up. She turned to look directly at her twin like he’d just cursed at the dinner table. “Nobody is stronger than Dad,” she said flatly. “Not even Uncle Sam.”

“Cap’s his friend, Gracie. He wouldn’t fight him.”

“Well, if he did, Dad would win.”

Jamie scoffed. “No he wouldn’t. This guy—” he gestured to the TV again, “—this guy would totally win. He’s got the muscles. And the sunglasses.”

Grace folded her arms like she was presenting evidence in court. “Daddy used to fight bad guys before he was even a dad. He was in, like, a hundred wars or something. He told me.”

Bucky was silent through the whole thing, not out of modesty—no, he was enjoying it a little too much. There was that smug, quiet grin creeping onto his face. The kind he got when he won a bet or found something you thought you'd lost.

You looked over from your spot with Becca still dozing on your chest, raised a brow. “You proud of yourself?”

He shrugged, totally unbothered. “Didn’t say anything.”

Grace folded her arms like she was preparing to cross-examine him in court. “Dad used to be in the Avengers. He fought aliens. He has a robot arm. And he used to work for the bad guys but now he doesn’t—which makes him stronger and smarter because he had to learn not to be bad anymore.”

Jamie blinked. “That’s not the same.”

“Yes it is,” Grace snapped. “And he’s bigger.”

Jamie shrugged like that didn’t count. “Still think the guy on TV could beat him.”

Bucky sat there, arms draped across the back of the couch like a king on his throne, watching his own children argue about his strength like it was a matter of national security.

You didn’t even have to look at him to know he was enjoying every second of it. His smug silence was answer enough, “Don’t let it go to your head.”

Too late. He was already sinking deeper into the cushions.

“I mean,” he said eventually, casual as anything, “that guy does fly. Might give me a run for my money.”

“Nope,” Grace said without looking at him, eyes back on the screen. “You’d win. He fights like he’s pretending.”

Bucky smirked, leaned over to kiss the top of her head. “Thanks, sweetheart.”

Stevie, still preoccupied with the popcorn bowl, chimed in around a mouthful, “Daddy wins. He lets me eat two popsicles if I say he’s the best.”

“Hey, don’t sell me out,” Bucky muttered, chuckling as Stevie tried to stuff another handful into his mouth… and failed.

One second, Stevie was happily alternating handfuls of popcorn between his own mouth and Bucky’s. The next, he looked down at the popcorn bowl in his lap like it had personally offended him.

His small brows furrowed, his chubby fingers sifting through the last few unpopped kernels like maybe—just maybe—one more buttery piece had magically appeared while he wasn’t looking.

It hadn’t.

He looked up at you, round eyes wide, cheeks still sticky with salt. “Mommy,” he said seriously. “The popcorn’s all done.”

You glanced over from your spot, Becca still snoozing with her head warm and heavy on your chest. “Yeah, baby,” you said, “because you ate it all.”

“I did?” he blinked again, puzzled.

Then he turned his face to you, all hopeful eyes and buttery cheeks.

“Can we have some more?” he asked, sweet as anything. No mischief, no angle—just a sincere, hopeful question like he really thought bedtime rules were negotiable.

You shook your head gently. “That was your bedtime snack, remember?”

He didn’t pout—not in a dramatic, stompy way. Just let out this small, deeply disappointed sigh, like the world had gently let him down. Then he turned to his backup option.

“Daddy?”

Bucky already knew what was coming. He was looking at the TV, pretending to still care about the movie. But he glanced down when Stevie tugged at the sleeve of his shirt, eyes wide and hopeful.

“Can we have more popcorn, please?”

Bucky sighed. He was weak for those eyes—always had been. Big and doe eyed, blinking up at him like Stevie didn’t even know he was asking for something. Just stating a fact. The popcorn’s gone. Fix it.

Stevie was just built like that. Soft face. Soft belly. Always one snack away from asking for another.

But Bucky cleared his throat and shook his head. “No, bud. That’s it for tonight.”

Stevie didn’t whine. Didn’t argue. He just blinked, real slow, like maybe he hadn’t heard right. Like surely that wasn’t a final answer.

“But…” he started, voice small, “…I’m hungry.”

Bucky huffed a quiet laugh through his nose. “Yeah? You were hungry when the movie started. You crushed half the bowl by yourself.”

“But I’m still hungry,” Stevie said, frowning harder now. “My tummy said.”

Bucky cracked a smile but held firm. “Your tummy says that after every dinner, and three snacks.”

Stevie nodded, entirely unbothered. “It talks a lot.”

“Bet it does,” Bucky muttered.

He shifted on the couch, resting his head back for a second like he was gathering strength. “No more popcorn,” he said again—firm this time, dad voice activated.

Stevie just looked at him. Big eyes. Hands clasped in his lap. Like a starving cartoon orphan.

“Okay,” he said quietly. But the sigh he let out afterward felt like he’d been personally wronged by the entire house.

Bucky reached over and ruffled his hair, already half-laughing. “I’ll make you pancakes in the morning.”

“With the whipped cream?” Stevie perked up instantly.

“Yeah, yeah,” Bucky said. “With the whipped cream.”

“Can I have some now?”

“No.”

Another sigh.

Becca shifted against you with a soft grunt, her little legs twitching as she adjusted. You glanced down, gently brushing a thumb over her warm cheek. Her pacifier fell out and landed in your lap with a wet little thup.

You pressed a kiss to the top of her hair and looked up. “Alright,” you murmured, voice low but firm. “That’s enough excitement for one night. Time for bed.”

Jamie groaned like you’d just announced the end of summer. “But it’s not even done—”

“It’s the credits, bud,” Bucky pointed out, already reaching for the remote.

“They just started,” Jamie argued weakly.

You stood up slowly, careful not to jostle Becca too much, and she gave a soft hum of protest but didn’t wake. “I’m putting her down before she wakes herself up crying,” you said over your shoulder. “You handle the rest.”

Bucky looked at the remaining three with a kind of mild dread. “Alright, let’s go, up we—”

“I can’t walk,” Jamie cut in, flopping sideways onto the carpet like a body hitting the floor in a war film.

“Me either,” Grace added, climbing into a dramatic slump against Bucky’s leg. “My feet are too tired.”

Stevie was already halfway in Bucky’s lap, arms stretched up in a silent, obvious request.

Bucky blinked. “Are you all kidding me right now?”

Jamie flopped harder onto the rug.

“My body just isn't listening to my brain,” Grace added helpfully.

“I’m still hungry,” Stevie said again, as if it was a medical emergency.

Bucky stared at the three of them—all suddenly limp, lazy, arms up like tiny royalty waiting for their chauffeur.

You didn’t even flinch. “Good luck,” you said, heading slowly toward the hallway with Becca, who was now fully snoring against your chest. “You created them.”

Bucky scratched the back of his neck, looking down at the pile of children he somehow had to transport.

“Okay,” he said, thinking it out loud. “Let’s think this through.”

He turned to Stevie first. “You go on the shoulders.”

Stevie’s arms shot up immediately, all giddy. “Yay.”

He crouched down so Stevie could climb up, the little boy giggling the whole way like this was the best part of his night.

“Alright,” Bucky muttered, already regretting this, “who’s next.”

Grace tugged at his hand. “Me. I’m smallest.”

“No you’re not,” Jamie argued, already stepping closer. “You’re taller than me by a quarter inch.”

“She’s going in the arm,” Bucky said, already swinging Grace up and onto his hip like he’d done it a hundred times—because he had. She immediately curled into his side like a barnacle.

Jamie looked offended. “So what about me?”

“You’re walkin’.”

“My legs are broken, remember?”

Bucky exhaled like this was war strategy. “You go in the other arm,” he finally decided, crouching down just enough for Jamie to scramble up. “But only because this is faster than arguing.”

He straightened up with a groan, now carrying three whole kids—Stevie wobbling on his shoulders, Grace hanging off his left arm, Jamie slung on the right like a sack of potatoes.

“I’m gonna need a chiropractor,” Bucky muttered as he staggered toward the hallway.

“You’re strong, you can do it!” Jamie encouraged, hanging off his vibranium arm

“You said that guy on TV was stronger than me.”

“I’m allowed to change my mind.”

The kids’ bedroom looked like something out of three different catalogs at once.

On one end, Grace’s side was carefully curated—pink canopy, fluffy throw pillows lined up like guards, a rotating selection of stuffed animals chosen daily based on mood. Everything matched. She insisted on that. Her bookshelf was alphabetized. Her slippers had their own spot.

Jamie and Stevie’s bunk bed took up the other half—Jamie claimed the top bunk, naturally, and had slowly filled it with drawings, action figures, and enough tape to hang a hundred paper airplanes. He slept like he thought he was Spider-Man: upside down, sideways, occasionally half-falling off the edge. Stevie’s lower bunk was a different story—a small padded kingdom of teddy bears, soft blankets, and one suspiciously ragged elephant with a missing eye.

He'd initially been sharing with Becca, but she was a fussy sleeper—always tossing, always whining at 2am until she ended up in your bed anyway. Eventually, she got the room all to herself, and Stevie migrated to the bunk with his brother.

Bucky moved slowly through the room, voice low and hands busy—pulling back sheets, fluffing pillows, handing out water cups. It was a routine. The kind that changed every couple of months, depending on who was scared of what that week.

Grace was already tucked in, but not done.

“Can you fix the corner?” she asked, pointing to her blanket. “It’s crooked. I don’t like when it bunches.”

Bucky leaned down and smoothed it out like she asked. “Better?”

She nodded, then pointed to her nightstand. “Can you turn the star light on? Not the moon one. That one flickers.”

He flicked the correct switch. The star light glowed softly.

Grace settled deeper into her pillows, satisfied. “Okay.”

Bucky leaned over, kissed her forehead. “Sleep tight, Gracie.”

“’Night, Daddy.”

Bucky smiled and stepped back.

On the other side of the room, the bunk bed was a whole different story.

Jamie had already scrambled to the top bunk and was now dangling halfway off it, one hand on the guardrail, the other pretending to shoot webs.

“I’m Spider-Man,” he announced, “but like, cooler.”

“You’re gonna break your arm,” Bucky said automatically, not even looking up as he helped Stevie into the lower bunk.

“No I won’t. I have Spidey senses.”

“Yeah, well. Spidey better stay in bed.”

“I’m not tired,” he announced, staring upside down at Bucky.

“You said your legs didn’t work five minutes ago,” Bucky replied, crossing his arms.

“They got better.”

“Eyes still work?”

“Yep.”

“Shame,” Bucky muttered, pushing Jamie to lay flat on his back. “Let’s try and rest ’em anyway.”

Jamie groaned, and pulled the blanket over his face. “You don’t understand me, father.”

“Correct.”

Bucky turned back to Stevie, still sitting up on his bunk. The bears were arranged like a crowd around him, each one in its usual spot—Stevie never said it out loud, but Bucky had figured it out by now. You didn’t mess with the bear formation.

“You good, buddy?”

Stevie nodded, rubbing at his eyes. “M’fine.”

“You want the elephant or the dog tonight?”

Stevie held up the elephant. “Dumbo.”

Bucky crouched down to tuck the blanket around his sides, not too tight, just how he liked it. He fixed the collar on his pajama shirt, kissed his forehead, and made sure the cup of water on his nightstand had the straw turned the right way.

“Sleep tight,” Bucky whispered.

Stevie reached up and grabbed the edge of Bucky’s sleeve with chubby fingers. “You’ll check on us, yeah?”

Bucky glanced down at him. Nodded once. “Every night.”

Stevie let go. Laid back. Clutched Dumbo close.

He smiled quietly to himself, shut off the big light, and pulled the door halfway closed—not all the way. They still got nervous with it fully shut.

“G’night,” he whispered, mostly to himself now.

A pause.

“…I’m still hungry, daddy,” came Stevie’s voice from the dark.

Bucky sighed as he made his way to the kitchen.

a/n | lowkey which family dynamic do you guys prefer. this one? or Barnes Family Circus inspired by this scene:

Bucky Barnes Taglist:

@xamapolax @gilwm @shereadzzz @princeescalus @onlyheretowastetime @Madlyinlovewithmattmurdockk @holycastoroli @s-sh-ne @Finnickodairslut @macbaetwo @xoxoloverb @ashpeace888 @bethjs-2005 @theewiselionessss @bythecloset @rougettq @herejustforbuckybarnes @deedzreads @novaslov @luminousvenomvagrant @sgtjbbhasmyheart @avivarougestan @shoutingcardinal @shellsbae00 @sired4urmama @aoi-targaryen @winchestert101 @n3ptoonz @jeongiegram @fckmebarnes @excusememrbarnes @thealloveru2 @avgdestitute @millercontracting @ellierosed18 @buckmybarnes @lilac13 @fayeatheart @c3liaaaaa @ozwriterchick

[lost-girly-014]

Here me out but, Sabrina Carpenter’s When Did You Get Hot with Hiccup Haddock the III😁

[mehwmidklpce-deactivated2026031]

Hi, there! I’m not sure if you’re taking requests, but if you are, would you please write a fluffy fem!reader one shot with Ethan Nakamura? I don’t care what it’s about, I just need to read something with our favorite son of Nemesis. He’s so underrated😭

Have a blessed day☺️

yesyesyesyes!! I loveeee our favorite son of Nemesis so so much!!

You had just been sitting on your bed in your cabin, keeping yourself busy reading when the door opened.

You didn't bother looking up, already knew who it was, just kept reading like you usually did.

Shuffling sounds could be heard, probably Ethan taking off his shoes before fully entering.

He always did that. Said 'it's an Asian habit to do so in an Asian household'. You'd responded with 'this is a Greek camp's cabin, no Asian household' at which he'd shot back with 'But it will be once we get married'.

That shut you up.

Anyway, that memory got interrupted by the feel of your matress dipping under the weight of another person crawling onto your bed.

Then you felt hands on your legs and a head in your lap.

"Long day?" You asked, left hand automaticaly moving into his raven black hair, eyes still on your pages.

"Mhm." He hummed. "Missed you."

"Missed you too, my love."

"Just wanted to be with you all day." Ethan continued. "They put me up for sword practice, which I was fine with, cause I love that."

You nodded, listening as your eyes scanned the words on your paper.

"But at 2 they made me pair up with Connor. And I was fine with it, we both grew up in cabin 11, I know how to deal with him, we're basically 4-lifers or whatever they call it, but then Leo joined and everything turned chaotic."

A hum left your lips, encouring him to continue.

"And then." He paused, as if it physically hurt to say the words out loud.

"Then what, my love?"

"Then they tried to touch my katanas."

A loud gasp escaped you, book slamming shut.

"Your katanas??"

"Yes!"

"No way! It took me months to even get a finger on those precious things!"

"Exactly! Those katanas are only allowed to be touched by me and my lady. No one else."

You shook your head. "Gods. The audacity."

Ethan nodded, then nuzzled his head into your lap again. "Never getting over that. Should ask Nemesis revenge or something."

Your fingers started massaging his scalp. "Mhm. Maybe rest first and get revenge tomorrow."

"Don't wanna." The Japanese boy muttered. "Closing this eye when you close yours."

"Just lemme finish this chapter, then we'll sleep."

The boy nodded. So you kept reading, which went well for the following three chapters until you felt kisses moving up your thighs.

"Ethan."

"Just kissing. Clothed. Nothing else. Continue reading, 恋人."

So you did, until you felt his kisses moving upwards. "Missed you so much." He sighed against you.

You looked down just when he reached to point of being face to face with your troath.

He looked up. You smiled. Then he pecked your lips. "You done?"

"Ehh.."

But he didn't care. Without breaking eyecontact he closer your book for you.

"You're done."

Then he pulled you down with him, wrapping his arms around you.

"I hate you."

"You love me."

"Unfortunately."

Fortunately.

𝐈𝐌𝐌𝐈 𝐍𝐄𝐄𝐃𝐒 𝐓𝐎 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐏 𝐓𝐀𝐋𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆: this could've been so much better if I didn't make this in front of my mother (didn't see me writing she's sitting on the other side of the table but she's onto me..)