⋆˚࿔ || minors do not interact— this is an 18+ space as i sometimes write nsfw content and some fics may contain strong themes
my ao3: fantasticfics
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📜~MASTERLIST ↴
I accept character requests within these fandoms! please send your requests in for any character I already do write for or characters you’d like me to write for!!
⋆˚࿔ || Stranger Things
EDDIE MUNSON
⋆˚࿔ || Marvel (MCU mainly, occasionally comic)
—>Avengers universe/Earth-616
LOKI LAUFEYSON
BUCKY BARNES
TONY STARK
STEVE ROGERS
—>X-Men universe/Earth-10005
LOGAN HOWLETT
⋆˚࿔ || Star Wars
DIN DJARIN
OBI-WAN KENOBI
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All writing belongs to me. DO NOT copy, repost, steal, or enter my work into generative AI. I do not support the usage of generative AI and have never and will never use it for any of my works.
summary: Years had passed since you helped the Winter Soldier, providing him with comfort and food after escaping Hydra. Whilst finding something to occupy himself with for the weekend, Bucky spots a familiar face, and it’s time for him to repay the favour.
warnings/tags: Fluff, themes of anxiety, not really any warning for this but let me know if i’m mistaken :)
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Bucky wasn’t too pleased about the current state of his life, but it was better than prison, and it was much better than Hydra. He didn’t want to share what kept him up at night, or be honest about his nightmares. He especially didn’t want to face the people he hurt whilst he was the Winter Soldier and tell them the truth about what happened to their brother or mother or son. He was happy leaving the past in the past, trying his best to forget about what he did all those years.
Bucky thought that therapy was making him worse— the nightmares were more frequent, he hadn’t slept in a bed in weeks— but everyone told him it was just ‘part of getting better’. He sure didn’t feel like he was getting better.
His therapist had suggested a routine to keep his mind from wandering to things that’d keep him up at night, and so far, it was the only thing that helped him.
Monday’s he’d do his laundry in his apartment block’s shared laundromat and clean his place. Tuesday’s he’d go on two walks— one just after he woke up to go grab a coffee from the one coffee shop who could make it how he liked it, another in the evening before he planned to try sleeping to wear himself out and hopefully get a good nights sleep. Wednesday’s he’d get lunch with Yori and occasionally chat to the girl who worked at the sushi place. Thursday’s he tried to catch up on media, just like Steve did. He’d sit and watch a movie or two, listen to an album and end up turning it off long before it finished, or sometimes pick up a book that claimed to be a ‘New York Times Best Seller’.
Friday’s were his least favourite because his therapist would always push him to talk through a traumatic memory and the session would run much longer, his therapist choosing to do it on Friday’s so that he ‘had the weekend to recover’, but every day was the weekend for Bucky. Saturday’s and Sunday’s he’d look for the odd job posted up on a community board to keep himself occupied.
This routine worked well for him. It was simple, reliable, and took hardly any effort to execute. Sure, his life was a little boring, but there’s only so much you can do when you’re not allowed to work.
However, recently, his therapist had given him the task to make amends to the people he’d hurt in life and forgive the ones who hurt him. At first, he made a sarcastic comment asking ‘How am I supposed to amend the dead? You want me to go see a shrink?’, but eventually agreed to do his best and follow the three rules that’d been set for him. Something about no violence, he can’t really remember.
Just like any other week, Saturday had rolled around and he could finally find some work to do. Usually Bucky got better sleep after helping people out with things they couldn’t figure out themselves. Maybe, in his mind, it cancelled out the horrible things he’d done under Hydra’s control. He really should’ve been crossing names off the list of people he needed to make things right with like his therapist had asked, but it could wait until Monday.
He knew it would be easier to find work online, but he still didn’t fully understand then internet and he wasn’t about to accidentally sign himself up for morning hot yoga again. His eyes scanned the bulletin board: ‘Plumber needed.’ and a phone number written underneath it— not his specialty, but he’d consider it. ‘Looking for a dog walker, two beagles. $15 for an hour walk.’ He took the tear-off strip with contact details on it for that one. ‘Just moved in, need help unpacking and assembling furniture. $60 for a day’s help. Apartment 310, call this number if interested.’
That did interest him.
He knew how to assemble furniture, and he could carry heavy items with just his metal arm. The apartment was just a few doors down from him, his being 304. Plus, sixty dollars in a day was more than he’d ever made from a day of helping out.
He opened his phone, typing in the digits listed on the flyer and let the number ring. Once. Twice.
“Hello?” You chimed, sounding a little out of breath. You were probably trying to move the furniture yourself and were obviously struggling.
“Hi, is this uhh-“ He’d already forgotten the apartment number, ”this the right number for apartment 310? I saw your flier, I’m happy to help…if you still need help.” Bucky offered. He hated speaking to new people over the phone, it made him awkward. Well, more awkward than he already was.
“Yes! I’d love your help. When are you free?” You asked, the smile on your face evident in your voice. Bucky couldn’t help but smile a little at your enthusiasm towards getting help.
“I’m free right now.” He offered.
“Oh, perfect. Come over whenever, I’m currently piecing together an Ikea shelf.” You laughed dryly, “See you soon!” Then you hung up.
Bucky stood in the stairwell for a minute or two, walking slowly back and forth from the elevator to the stairs. He hadn’t pressed the button yet; and it was only when someone walked past him he realised how strange he probably looked, but fear crowded his mind.
Once before, he’d done work like this for someone, and after they saw his left arm and realised who he used to be, he was kicked out immediately with no pay. He understood of course; sometimes he stared in the mirror and wished he could kick the Winter Soldier out of his home too. He didn’t want to make you feel unsafe or uncomfortable, assuming you were alone, which is why he hesitated to hit the elevator button.
Eventually, he did, of course. The walk to room 310 felt strange. For nearly five months, Bucky had only ever gone as far as 304, and never even knew there was a corner leading to 310— secluded. As he rounded the corner, for a second he wasn’t sure if his eyes were playing a trick on him. He knew you, or at least used to.
Everything was still the same about you— your hair maybe a little longer, or was it shorter now? He couldn’t tell. You looked happier, less exhausted than he remembered. Back then, you’d only just stopped working as an assassin, so he wasn’t surprised you seemed happier now.
Quietly, he called out your name, thinking you didn’t hear him and was about to call out to you again, but your head whipped around. Immediately, your brows furrowed, placing down the heavy box you were trying to move from the kitchen to what Bucky assumed you’d make the lounge. You stared at him for a moment, the expression on your face telling him you weren’t sure if you knew what you were seeing. Briefly, your gaze flicked to his left hand, and when you spotted the leather glove matched to the leather jacket, you knew what he was hiding.
“Bucky.” You sighed, a smile starting to creep across your face. For some reason, Bucky expected you to be mad at him. Sure, it’d been nearly ten years since he broke into your home, five for you if you’d been blipped, but he knew all too well about holding grudges. You treated him with kindness back then, he wasn’t sure why he expected any differently. “You… got a haircut.” You laughed.
Bucky smiled, only just reaching his eyes, in response. “Yeah. Court said I had to fix my life if I didn’t want to end up in jail for all the… Hydra stuff. Figured a haircut was a good place to start.” He explained, slipping his hands into his jacket pockets and walking into your apartment, dodging the boxes randomly strewn out.
“It suits you. Are you doing better? Stopped stalking people?” You asked, putting your hands on your hips as if you were an unimpressed teacher scolding a misbehaving kid, but you couldn’t fight the smile on your face.
Bucky huffed a laugh, “Yeah. Just… figuring out what to do with my life, I guess.” He shrugged.
“Well, you could start with assembling the shelf I’ve definitely butchered.” You offered, and Bucky gave a stern nod before wandering over to the shelf that had a tilt to it you weren’t sure was supposed to be there.
To you, Bucky had hardly changed. Of course, he was much less frightened to be in your apartment, but he was still just as talkative as he used to be— which meant maximum two sentences at a time. He seemed calmer now, too, like less was plaguing him. You were sure he was still struggling, judging by the way he was wearing a leather jacket whilst it was midday and hot out just to cover his arm, but he seemed like he’d gotten used to the memories now.
Whilst Bucky got to work, you told him all about your life and he told you about his— or rather, what he could remember of it. You explained how you even ended up working for Alloy in the first place, and Bucky explained why he was stalking you all those years ago. You told him about your new job, your old job, and your even older job, and he let you ask about the army and what he missed from the fourties’. You played your favourite albums for Bucky and he winced at some of the lyrics he heard, and in return he gave you some songs to listen to later on.
Amidst assembling furniture for you, Bucky occasionally moved the heavier boxes of things like: books you hadn’t read since you were thirteen but couldn’t bring yourself to get rid of, some kind of stone garden decor you spotted and liked despite not having a garden, and stacks of way too many pots and pans for someone who lived alone.
It was strange, being around you again. Of course, it was only one evening he really spent time with you before, but you were the first person to remind him what it was like to be treated like a person after being treated like an animal for so long. You weren’t someone he’d forgotten about, he just never expected to ever get the chance to really thank you.
“I never… thanked you properly before, did I?” He brought up, slowly standing from the floor he’d been sat on trying to figure out how the hell to piece together a bed frame with storage underneath.
You looked over at him, putting down the salt lamp that a friend had gifted you which you didn’t actually want but couldn’t bring yourself to sell or donate, “You don’t need to, Bucky. This is more than enough— I never would’ve gotten this all done today if it wasn’t for you.”
“You’re the reason I managed to stay alive, you know.” He continued, “I wore the clothes you gave me for months, I couldn’t really afford much else. Even after I got myself jeans and a new jacket, I still wore the henley. I probably would’ve gotten hypothermia from my clothes that night if you didn’t give me dry ones. Helping you out with your apartment is the least I could do.”
“I’m glad you’re still here. I wondered how you were all these years— if you were even alive.” You replied, wishing you could hug Bucky. You didn’t want to try and end up scaring him off, remembering how much he hated being touched all those years ago. “Why don’t you stay for dinner? For old times sake, I could make you pasta.”
Bucky agreed, sitting down on the couch he had earlier screwed the feet onto, looking around at the way everything was coming together. He’d probably come over again and help you out some more, but for now he was happy with how much the pair of you had managed to pull together in just one afternoon.
Eventually, you managed to figure out how the stove worked and cooked enough pasta for about five people, but at least now you wouldn’t have to make lunch or dinner the next day.
You and Bucky sat on the couch, letting the music you’d both long forgotten about quietly hum in the background. You hadn’t sorted out any stools for the bar in your crammed kitchen, so dinner would probably be eaten on the couch for a few weeks.
“Y’know, this could be a real career for you.” You spoke up, breaking the silence between you two.
“What could be?” His brows furrowed.
“Just... this.” You waved a hand around, gesturing at the apartment. Maybe you should get a job at a removal company. Or maybe there’s a job assembling furniture.” You explained.
“I build a shelf and attempt building a bed-frame and now I’m supposed to be a carpenter?” He asked rhetorically. Really, he found it endearing that you thought he was good enough at this to make a career out of it.
“Just throwing ideas into the wind here.” You shrugged, taking another mouthful of pasta.
“Maybe I’ll keep it in mind.” He smiled before going back to his food.
Bucky helped clear up after dinner, stalling for as long as he could by asking over and over again if you were sure you needed no more help tonight. The sun had set, and despite not wanting to leave, he knew he’d have to eventually.
He said goodbye and you thanked him for all the help, mentioning something about hopefully seeing him around. Just as he was about to shut the door behind him, you called out to him.
“Hey Bucky?” He hummed in response, reopening the door. “Do you maybe wanna grab a coffee sometime?”
He thought for a second before replying.
“Does Tuesday work?” He offered, and you gave a smile and nod.
⤷ ゛ After saving Steve from the lake, Bucky realised he didn’t have to return to Hydra— he could just run. When running was getting him nowhere, and he spots a familiar apartment, he figures breaking in and cleaning himself up wouldn’t do too much harm.
⋆˚࿔ || TWS!Stalker!Bucky Barnes x Ex-Assassin!GN!Reader
⤷ ゛w/c: 3k || part two
summary: After saving Steve from the lake, Bucky realised he didn’t have to return to Hydra— he could just run. When running was getting him nowhere, and he spots a familiar apartment, he figures breaking in and cleaning himself up wouldn’t do too much harm.
warnings/tags: hurt/comfort, light angst, descriptions of injuries (dislocated shoulder, wounds), mentions of a gun, traumatised Bucky, mentions of physical abuse, blood, stalking, no use of y/n
a/n: not proofread, sorry about any mistakes 😓
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Bucky had accepted a long time ago that he was a killer. He felt like the chemistry of his brain had been rewritten. He could walk down a street and assess the easiest way to kill everyone there. He didn’t want to, but it was who he was now, and after rescuing Steve and deciding to flee from Hydra, he didn’t know what to do with himself. He didn’t have to be a killer anymore, he was finally free… but the routine still stuck. Wake up (if he even slept to begin with), retrieve assignment, carry out assignment, return to Hydra for his memory to be wiped (which never fully worked), and repeat. He did this day in and day out for the seventy years of his life when he wasn’t frozen. Now that he didn’t have to, he felt lost.
He’d been wandering the streets for five hours now. It’d long gone dark, but New York was never really dark, was it? He knew how to find a shadow and hide in it, though. Hell, he practically was a shadow. However, it’s a little harder to keep your thoughts straight and focused on the task at hand (which was finding somewhere safe to rest for the night and hopefully not get hypothermia) when you’re soaking wet and injured like he was.
The summer air wasn’t cold, but it sure felt like it was to Bucky. Water seeped into every groove and dent in his metal arm, weighing his left shoulder down and definitely doing nothing to help with the pain simmering through his right one. He’d been injured many times before— shot, stabbed, strangled, even taken the force of a few grenades— but when he had no mission to distract himself from it, pain that usually would’ve been tolerable felt much worse.
His clothes felt too tight, his hair still damp despite the wind whisking through it, and his nose and face red from the cold. Though he was used to not getting much comfort nowadays, it still wasn’t pleasant. He desperately wished for a dry shirt or maybe some boots that didn’t squelch to magically fall from the sky, but his luck seemed to run short. That was until his eyes focused on a familiar apartment. Nearly every apartment block looked the same in New York. Same fire escape, same window size, same glowing light or pool of darkness coming from inside; but Bucky knew this one.
For nearly five months, before he was assigned to hunt down Steve Rogers, he was on a stalking mission. A stalking mission to kill you. When he’d first been given your file, he didn’t understand what the threat was. Everything about you seemed normal— just the kind of person you’d pass by on the street and never have a second thought about— but the deeper he dug, the more incorrect he seemed to be.
Before working as a barista, which you did now, you’d gotten your hands dirty. Almost as dirty as Bucky’s. You were hired by a man who went by the alias ‘Alloy’ who worked against the government, blending in and posing as a politician at important meetings to hear about secrets kept from the public in hopes of revealing them to society and exposing the corrupt system. He was a wolf in sheep’s clothing— or rather, something impure amongst the pure, if you could call politicians pure— therefore earning his alias ‘Alloy’.
You were his counterpart for seven years. He blended in with people, you blended in with surroundings. If Alloy felt a politician could potentially know about his plan to expose the government, you’d have to eliminate them— stage their death as a freak accident or unknown disease. Alloy’s work was undiscovered for years and he had managed to collect nearly every secret the government was dying to keep hidden. That was until he overheard something about Hydra. Hydra had ears everywhere within the government, and after a member of Hydra witnessing Alloy speaking with you in private about Hydra’s hidden work, they couldn’t have you running around and possibly jeopardising their plans. Therefore, you had to be killed.
You’d quit working with Alloy just close to a month ago now, and despite already stalking you for three weeks, Bucky thought the mission would forgotten about. But Hydra were persistent. If you knew about Hydra and weren’t with them, you were against them, and if you were against them, you were a threat.
So, that’s where the Winter Soldier came in. He’d have to stalk you for two months minimum, assess your movements and routine all without getting caught, and then stage your death just how you staged your own crimes. Alloy couldn’t know your death was a murder, or else he’d release the information knowing death was coming for him next, which is why Bucky was the man for the job. He’d hide out, almost every night, in an abandoned apartment across the street from yours. He knew you returned home at around six-thirty every night, cooked dinner at seven-thirty, and either returned to your bedroom to relax or watched TV on the couch until you dragged yourself to bed. Once a week, you’d pick up groceries and return later than six-thirty, but it wasn’t a factor that would hinder his mission.
As he stood on the sidewalk, adjacent to your apartment block, he focused on any movement inside. The main lights weren’t on and he couldn’t see any lamps or candles flickering— so you weren’t home. It was a Saturday, meaning you didn’t have work tomorrow, and could be back late. Your apartment was the only place he knew like the back of his hand, and as much as he didn’t want to invade (despite being set on killing you just a month ago) it was the only hope he had for not getting himself ill.
Quietly, he ascended the stairs. Four flights up, two doors down to the right. He’d have to pick the lock, but that’d never been an issue with him before. Three flights to go. He knew this was wrong; but morals weren’t exactly something he valued anymore. Two more. He reached into his jacket to find his pocketknife. It had other attatchments, one which he’d used to pick a door lock before. Last few steps. His hands didn’t feel as sturdy as they usually did, maybe it was the lurking thought that Hydra could be out on a manhunt looking for him or maybe just happy with leaving him to die. He wasn’t sure if he even could die anymore. Two doors down to the right.
His fingers trembled picking the lock, twisting the doorknob, and they continued to tremble as he let go. A week ago, he would’ve kicked the door in, destroyed the apartment looking for what he needed with no regard to the consequences, and left without looking back. If you were there, he would’ve shot you without a doubt, but now he wasn’t so sure. He wasn’t the brainwashed maniac he had been, and despite his memory being fuzzy and his senses not totally there, he was slowly becoming a man again— not just the machine they made him.
His heavy boots clunked against the floor, his footsteps as light as he could get them but the water still sloshing around in his shoes only made them heavier. He knew your bathroom was the door on the right, next to your bedroom but not an en suite. Carefully, he opened your bathroom door, eyes landing on a couple strewn out products he’d never seen before. Everything looked so different nowadays.
He sat himself down on the edge of your bathtub, feet in the bath. He couldn’t hear any sign of you returning home, so he risked unzipping and unlacing his shoes, pouring out the lake that had formed within them. He then tried to remove his jacket— that proving to be more of a struggle. The men at Hydra had purposely designed it so it was difficult to remove for whoever wore it. Buckles and zips and velcro all needing to be undone before you could even unzip the main jacket. Just as he stripped himself of the sopping piece of clothing, he heard a noise behind him.
“Are you here to kill me?” You asked, voice trembling. The man sat on the edge of your bathtub looked erratic, though his movements weren’t. He was slow, shaky even.
His bare torso was drenched in diluted blood, cuts along the flesh and a shoulder which looked dislocated. It was hard not to notice the metal arm. Scars lined the shoulder where it connected, the result of a tacky job done by people who didn’t know what they were doing. His hair looked uncut— not long because he wanted it to be— and a little damp, much like the rest of him.
“No.” He choked out, his voice too quiet for a man of his size. He turned his head, only slightly, and caught a glimpse of the gun in your hand aimed right at his head.
“Why are you here if not to kill me?” You questioned, “I saw you. It’s hard to stalk someone of your kind without getting caught, isn’t it?” Your arms began to lower the gun, your grip on it still tight but less guarded now.
Bucky just sat there silently for a moment, eyes boring into the way you were still hesitant to let the weapon go. He didn’t blame you. He probably looked like some kind of feral cat— plus, you knew he’d been stalking you. You had every right to be terrified of him right now, but you didn’t look anywhere as scared as he thought you would.
“I ran.” He whispered.
Your features softened, stepping a little closer to the stranger in your home. You didn’t want to immediately believe him and fall into a trap he’d set up, but he didn’t seem like the lying type. Maybe it was how distant his stare was or the way he cowered into the corner as soon as you stepped closer that made you believe him. “From who?”
“Hydra.” He mumbled, the name tasting like spoiled milk and blood in his mouth.
A soft gasp left you before you could stop it, “You’re the Winter Soldier.” It wasn’t a question. You could remember his face from the photos Alloy had shown you. They were blurry and in most of them he wore a mask, but despite that, there’s only so many men who have fully metal arms.
“I’m James Buchanan Barnes. Apparently.” He corrected despite not seeming so sure of himself.
“Captain America’s best friend? I thought he died?”
“He did. And then they made him into me. I’m not sure I’ve been James Buchanan Barnes since…” He sighed a shaky breath, completely avoiding your eyes, “I don’t remember my birthday.” His bottom lip trembled, eyes glossy and distant. He didn’t look at you when you sat down next to him, just kept staring straight ahead trying to ignore the way his vision had begun to blur. You could feel how cold his skin was despite being sat a just under a foot away from him.
“Do you want to use my shower? I can patch up some of your cuts once you’ve got all this grime off of you.” You offered, reaching out a hand to wipe a bit of dirt he must’ve picked up from the lake off of his shoulder, but he immediately recoiled from you. It took him a moment to consider it, but he eventually nodded, taking up the offer.
You helped him move his soggy clothes out of the bathtub before letting the shower run for a couple minutes to give it time to heat up. Bucky was stood with his back against the bathroom wall, still in wet combat pants, eyes glued to the floor as he watched your socked feet patter around the cramped bathroom, grabbing him soap and shampoo to use. When you told him the water was warm, he reached out to run his hand underneath it, the water instantly turning a murky brown and red. He hadn’t felt warm water in decades, and for the first time since 1941, he knew comfort.
You gave him privacy to shower, briefly running over to your neighbours place to see if he had any clothes you could borrow. You had to make up some poor excuse that your friend had ripped his shirt and cut himself, the blood dripping down to his bottoms. Somehow, he bought it, and let you “borrow” a red, long-sleeved henley, and some black joggers from a tracksuit set he’d lost the jumper to.
When you got back to your apartment, Bucky was sat back on the edge of the bathtub, wrapped in two towels— one around his shoulders and one around his waist. He didn’t look any less scared than he did when he first got there, but he looked a little more comfortable. His shoulder looked like it was back in place, but the cuts littering his upper torso still remained.
“Can I patch you up?” You asked, standing in the doorway in hopes of not crowding him too much. He looked like he wanted to say no but couldn’t, so reluctantly, he nodded.
You were very cautious with your movements, making sure to warn Bucky every time you were going to tape down the gauze. You weren’t scared of him, and he definitely wasn’t scared of you, but trauma isn’t something that disappears the minute things get a little better. He was used to the feel of a hand being too tight or too rough, not gentle. There were only a few cuts on him that truly worried you, so you figured you wouldn’t put him through the mental torment and just leave the rest to heal without bandages. Quietly, he thanked you, reaching for his old clothes which were still damp and drenched in his own blood.
“I got you some clothes. Dry ones.” You offered, his hand slowly falling back to his lap before he nodded again. A soft smile graced your face before you got up to grab the clothes you’d put down on the couch, coming back to Bucky now stood in the doorway. You nearly walked straight into him, too focused on getting the clothes to him as soon as fast as you could. You handed them over with another smile, and he just nodded— stern and simple.
After what felt like an eternity, he finally came out of the bathroom wearing the shirt and bottoms. The top seemed a little too big for him— but you were sure he’d fill it out after having a few real meals and some rest. He carried muscle, of course, but there was hardly any fat with it. You could guess that Hydra didn’t really care for his wellbeing, they just needed an effective weapon. The bottoms fit him well, not too tight around the waist and just long enough for his legs. For a minute or two, he just stood there awkwardly, probably waiting to be told what to do. It’d been a long time since he could make decisions for himself and he wasn’t sure if he was ready to yet. His freshly washed hair began to drip down onto his shoulders, and it was only when he shivered you noticed he wasn’t moving much.
“You want some food?”
His response was almost instant. “Please.” He finally met your eyes, the look in his pleading. He probably hadn’t eaten for days, so you wasted no time trying to muster up something out of the few groceries you had left. After what probably ended up being twenty minutes of cooking time, you had finally produced a meal for him to eat. Nothing fancy, just a bowl of penne pasta with whatever sauce you had stashed in a cupboard, but the look on his face was the most grateful you’d ever seen a man.
“Thank you.” He mumbled, trying not to scoff the food down too fast and seem impolite, but he broke into your home, so he wasn’t sure politeness was exactly the impression he gave off in the first place.
You had a million questions which you wanted to ask him, but considering he had probably just escaped the hellhole he’d been living in, it didn’t seem like the right time. Plus, the most you’d gotten out of him was the confession that he couldn’t even remember his own birthday. The man seemed like he just wanted to eat food that wasn’t cold or wet and to sleep on a surface that wasn’t concrete, but you did have one question.
“What should I call you? James?” You inquired, despite probably never having to use his name, but you’d rather make him feel like more of a person than leave him feeling like the monster he arrived here as. “Bucky.” He replied, stuffing another mountain of pasta into his mouth. You huffed a gentle laugh at his mannerisms, waiting to swallow his food before answering but continuing to fill his mouth with an ungodly amount of food. You could only imagine how hungry he must’ve been.
For a few minutes, you left him to grab a spare blanket or two from your bedroom and set them up on the couch, creating a makeshift bed for him. You also took a pillow from your bed, wanting to provide as much comfort as possible for him. When you came back, Bucky was staring at the couch, probably wondering if he was allowed to sit there or if he should just take the floor.
“You can sleep here tonight, or for however long you’d like. I assume you haven’t really got anywhere to go so… you’re welcome here for as long as you need.” You offered, and for the first time that night, you saw Bucky’s mouth quirk up at the corners as a subtle act of gratitude in a smile. However, despite your offer, you woke up the next morning to an empty couch, and folded blankets, partnered with a note left on the coffee table. It simply read:
some people will be like “I wonder why fanfic writers don’t share their works anymore😔” and then this is them when a writer is kind enough to share something they write — as a hobby, for their own enjoyment — with them for free.
some people really don’t realize how privileged they are that they get fanfics for free. imagine having access to something for free because someone is kind enough to share it with you… and then being rude, entitled and an ungrateful pos to that person who was kind enough to share their creation with you for free
“almost 1 year is a lil too much for me” fuck off. fanfic writers don’t owe you anything. one of my favorite fics was updated after 13 years, and what I did is that I thanked the author for choosing to continue the work, I didn’t act like a spoiled toddler by asking why they didn’t update sooner. and even if a writer chooses to abandon their fic permanently with no explanation, that is their choice, their hobby, their decision. they don’t owe your entitled ass anything.
you people let tiktok rot your brains to the point you see everything as content farm and engagement. not a piece of art created by the artist’s love and passion. it’s dystopian.
genuine writers getting wrongly accused of using ai because of witch hunt and proper grammar/structure in their works must be what being a woman in the 1600s who is wrongly accused of being a witch because she can read and is intelligent feels like
summary: Tony tends to let the liquor do the talking whilst he’s drunk— or (more fittingly) do the touching. However, Steve knows how to handle a drunk Tony Stark; Cap always comes to the rescue.
warnings/tags: fluff, avengers tower/gala, bisexual tony stark (dont come at me for this), awkward tension between reader & steve, kissing, tony gets touchy and you’re not too pleased about it
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Tony couldn’t help but throw a party. It wasn’t unusual to come back to the compound after a mission and the halls ended up being littered with men with too much money for their own good and women draped in very little fabric clinging to the arms of said men. It was common for a party, rare for a gala. Subtle difference, but galas included invitations; not just picking up every person Tony happened to walk past that day.
You’d gotten ready a few hours early, nerves coursing through you. During your short time in the Avengers compound, you’d only been to one of Tony’s parties, and you’d definitely never been to something as fancy as tonight. Tony had mentioned a few decorated businessmen and businesswomen being at the gala and that every Avenger should take it upon themselves to make a good impression on them.
However, in true Stark fashion, despite his own warning, Tony ended up tipsy within the first fifteen minutes. Tipsy quickly turned into drunk, and drunk turned into flirting with anyone in his sight— including you. Especially you.
“Hey sweets, I haven’t seen you-“ He pushes a finger to your chest abruptly, making you lose your footing for a second, “with a drink all night. You want my one?” Tony offers, pushing forward a glass of… something your way, shoving it into your palm.
“Tony-“ You tried to stop him, say how you didn’t feel like drinking tonight, but it was almost impossible to say no to Tony Stark.
“Shh shh,” He pressed a finger against your lips, your hand quickly wrapping around his wrist to remove it, “You know you wan’ a drink, come on. I seem to be the only guy around here actually having fun! You’re hot and young— God, you’re really hot. Almost as hot as me. Anyway.. My point is have some drink! Some.. Something to drink!”
You smiled politely, gazing around the room for an easy escape from this interaction, but Tony had clearly made it his mission to get as (physically) close as possible to you tonight. You took a step back, but his drunken self quickly sought after you, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you flush against him. Tony was a nice guy— he could even be charming at times— but whilst drunk, he was (to put it lightly) insufferable.
Once again, your vision darted from person to person, not a single eye caught yours. Until his did. Steve was stood against the bar, a girl chatting in his ear about how much of a fan she was and how relieved she felt when she’d heard he came out of the ice. As polite of a man Steve was, he wasn’t listening to a word she’d said. He’d give her the occasional nod of appreciation or hum to signal he was sort of listening, but his eyes were focused on the display in front of him. He could sense someone was in danger, uncomfortable, or simply in need of a way out— and he could sense it now.
The minute your eyes met his, and he took in that pleading look and sorry smile on your face, he was by your side.
“Hey Tony, there’s a whole group’a chicks over there screaming your name. Heard there’s some guys too.” Steve announced as he approached, Tony looking up at him with a drunken grin spread across his face.
“Are they as hot as this piece of work?” He pulled you closer, “Cause I don’t think so.” Tony slurred, clasping a hand onto Steve’s shoulder for support, his arm finally unwrapping from its vice-grip on your body. “Oo! You can come with me, sweets. Both of ‘ya”
“Tony, I think you’re plenty independent— you can go by yourself.”
“You’re.. You’re right Cap. Y’know, people call me dependant sometimes, but I think I’m the most independent person I know..” Tony began to blabber as Nat swooped in and put her arm around his shoulder to drag him away.
“You okay?” Steve asked, a genuinely worried expression gracing his face. His hand had gently reached out for yours, holding it with such a featherlight touch you hardly even noticed it was there. “Sorry about Tony. He gets a little… touchy when he’s had a few to drink. You know, in future you could just push him off. He’ll put on a show about how offended he is but it’s efficient.”
You laughed softly, “How’d you find that one out?”
“Trust me, I’ve been the damsel in distress before. Like I said, Tony gets touchy.” He smiled, something to ease the tension. You’d had a few conversations with Cap, and he’d been nothing but friendly to you. Every chat had been about work (missions, meetings, etc) so a gentle reminder that you two hardly knew each other settled in the air, making Steve’s hand drift away from yours. “You wanna get some air? I can always go get Nat if you want, I know you’re closer with her— or Sam? He’s-“
“No, no, I’ll go with you. I think I just wanna get out of here.” You let an awkward laugh escape you as Steve nodded stiffly.
You had to admit, Steve was handsome. Part of your nerves came from how little you know about him and how little he knew about you, but most of your nerves came from the way he treated you. He’d always hold doors open for you, asking you how you were before pestering you with another mission, and especially tonight— saving you from possibly the most uncomfortable encounter with a boss in your entire life. Even after saving you, he was cautious of your boundaries, letting go of your hand and keeping a safe distance between you two.
He began to walk towards the door, glancing behind himself when he realised you weren’t following. Your thoughts finally caught up with your body, walking a little faster to catch up. He strode towards the door, courteously apologising to people who tried to strike up conversation as he guided you to a more quiet place.
You ended up on a balcony overlooking the city skyline. It wasn’t exactly quiet, but you could never get true silence anywhere in New York.
Steve leant against the handrail, his hands clasped as he rested on his elbows. You stood beside him, arms crossed loosely over yourself. The pair of you looked down to the city, watching as cars lined up in traffic and
“Y’know… Tony wasn’t wrong. I don’t have to be drunk to admit you’re good looking.” Steve complimented, turning his gaze to you. A soft smile rested on his face— not flirting yet but testing the waters.
“There’s a lot of people who’d kill to hear those words from Captain America.”
“Well, you’re hearing ‘em from Steve Rogers.” He said, standing up straight and turning his body to you. You only gazed towards him, too nervous to hold his stare.
“I’m serious, you do realise that, right? As Tony put it, you’re a real catch.” He impersonated Tony terribly, pretending to slur his words as Tony had. It earned a laugh from you, your eyes meeting his again.
His gaze flicked to your lips— offering something more but not pushing your boundaries. Polite, as he always was. Part of you wanted to test it; see how long he’d keep up that sincere sweetness even while you pushed him.
You stepped a little closer, a hand reaching out to rest on his bicep. “You’re not too bad yourself.” You lowered your voice, your eyes locked onto his lips now, only briefly flicking up to gauge the want in his eyes. His hands still hovered, wanting so badly to grab ahold of you but needing you to say it first. “You can touch me— it’s alright. You’re too much of a gentleman sometimes, Steve.”
“It’s in my nature.” He whispered, your faces dangerously close. His hands finally settled on you, pulling your body flush to his. You could feel the heat radiating off of him, his face a little flushed from the proximity.
“Well if you’re such a gentleman then you know it’d only be right for you to make the first move.” You teased, pulling back a little to test his restraint.
It was only a few seconds before Steve had his lips on yours, one of his hands moving up to cradle the back of your head, the other staying firmly planted on your waist. The kiss was gentle despite the desire lurking within it. He pulled away sooner than you’d hoped, so naturally your lips chased his again.
This time, you ended up with your back pressed against the railing, his tongue slipping into your mouth. It wasn’t rushed, nor was it messy. He took his time as if he had all the time in the world, and made sure every swipe of his tongue was with military precision. Your hands pulled him closer— as close as he could be— with a finger hooking into his belt loop and the other still lightly resting on his bicep.
A soft noise escaped him, as his restraint was finally beginning to slip. “Darlin’..” He murmured against your lips, unable to hold back from being pulled into another kiss. “I’m not sure we should be doing this.”
“Why?” You huffed, pulling your face hardly an inch away from his.
“Well if anyone catches us-“ Steve began.
“Which someone has.” Natasha called out from the balcony’s sliding door. Her interruption startled you, and startled Steve too from the way his grip tightened. “Come on, love birds. Tony’s started ‘flip, sip, or strip’ with Sam and I’m not sure I can handle seeing them both naked without some emotional support.”
You looked back to Steve whose face was flushed even more red than it was when your hand had first laid on him. “I guess we should… go…” You smiled softly.
“Don’t worry, Darlin’, this won’t be the last time.”
“What— that someone catches us, or that you kiss me?”
“Very funny.” Steve took a step back, his hands not leaving you but an exaggerated, fake laugh leaving him; however, the smile on his face was real.
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A/N: this is my first time writing cap so I hope it’s not a horrific mischaracterisation 😥
summary: Tony tends to let the liquor do the talking whilst he’s drunk— or (more fittingly) do the touching. However, Steve knows how to handle a drunk Tony Stark; Cap always comes to the rescue.
warnings/tags: fluff, avengers tower/gala, bisexual tony stark (dont come at me for this), awkward tension between reader & steve, kissing, tony gets touchy and you’re not too pleased about it
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Tony couldn’t help but throw a party. It wasn’t unusual to come back to the compound after a mission and the halls ended up being littered with men with too much money for their own good and women draped in very little fabric clinging to the arms of said men. It was common for a party, rare for a gala. Subtle difference, but galas included invitations; not just picking up every person Tony happened to walk past that day.
You’d gotten ready a few hours early, nerves coursing through you. During your short time in the Avengers compound, you’d only been to one of Tony’s parties, and you’d definitely never been to something as fancy as tonight. Tony had mentioned a few decorated businessmen and businesswomen being at the gala and that every Avenger should take it upon themselves to make a good impression on them.
However, in true Stark fashion, despite his own warning, Tony ended up tipsy within the first fifteen minutes. Tipsy quickly turned into drunk, and drunk turned into flirting with anyone in his sight— including you. Especially you.
“Hey sweets, I haven’t seen you-“ He pushes a finger to your chest abruptly, making you lose your footing for a second, “with a drink all night. You want my one?” Tony offers, pushing forward a glass of… something your way, shoving it into your palm.
“Tony-“ You tried to stop him, say how you didn’t feel like drinking tonight, but it was almost impossible to say no to Tony Stark.
“Shh shh,” He pressed a finger against your lips, your hand quickly wrapping around his wrist to remove it, “You know you wan’ a drink, come on. I seem to be the only guy around here actually having fun! You’re hot and young— God, you’re really hot. Almost as hot as me. Anyway.. My point is have some drink! Some.. Something to drink!”
You smiled politely, gazing around the room for an easy escape from this interaction, but Tony had clearly made it his mission to get as (physically) close as possible to you tonight. You took a step back, but his drunken self quickly sought after you, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you flush against him. Tony was a nice guy— he could even be charming at times— but whilst drunk, he was (to put it lightly) insufferable.
Once again, your vision darted from person to person, not a single eye caught yours. Until his did. Steve was stood against the bar, a girl chatting in his ear about how much of a fan she was and how relieved she felt when she’d heard he came out of the ice. As polite of a man Steve was, he wasn’t listening to a word she’d said. He’d give her the occasional nod of appreciation or hum to signal he was sort of listening, but his eyes were focused on the display in front of him. He could sense someone was in danger, uncomfortable, or simply in need of a way out— and he could sense it now.
The minute your eyes met his, and he took in that pleading look and sorry smile on your face, he was by your side.
“Hey Tony, there’s a whole group’a chicks over there screaming your name. Heard there’s some guys too.” Steve announced as he approached, Tony looking up at him with a drunken grin spread across his face.
“Are they as hot as this piece of work?” He pulled you closer, “Cause I don’t think so.” Tony slurred, clasping a hand onto Steve’s shoulder for support, his arm finally unwrapping from its vice-grip on your body. “Oo! You can come with me, sweets. Both of ‘ya”
“Tony, I think you’re plenty independent— you can go by yourself.”
“You’re.. You’re right Cap. Y’know, people call me dependant sometimes, but I think I’m the most independent person I know..” Tony began to blabber as Nat swooped in and put her arm around his shoulder to drag him away.
“You okay?” Steve asked, a genuinely worried expression gracing his face. His hand had gently reached out for yours, holding it with such a featherlight touch you hardly even noticed it was there. “Sorry about Tony. He gets a little… touchy when he’s had a few to drink. You know, in future you could just push him off. He’ll put on a show about how offended he is but it’s efficient.”
You laughed softly, “How’d you find that one out?”
“Trust me, I’ve been the damsel in distress before. Like I said, Tony gets touchy.” He smiled, something to ease the tension. You’d had a few conversations with Cap, and he’d been nothing but friendly to you. Every chat had been about work (missions, meetings, etc) so a gentle reminder that you two hardly knew each other settled in the air, making Steve’s hand drift away from yours. “You wanna get some air? I can always go get Nat if you want, I know you’re closer with her— or Sam? He’s-“
“No, no, I’ll go with you. I think I just wanna get out of here.” You let an awkward laugh escape you as Steve nodded stiffly.
You had to admit, Steve was handsome. Part of your nerves came from how little you know about him and how little he knew about you, but most of your nerves came from the way he treated you. He’d always hold doors open for you, asking you how you were before pestering you with another mission, and especially tonight— saving you from possibly the most uncomfortable encounter with a boss in your entire life. Even after saving you, he was cautious of your boundaries, letting go of your hand and keeping a safe distance between you two.
He began to walk towards the door, glancing behind himself when he realised you weren’t following. Your thoughts finally caught up with your body, walking a little faster to catch up. He strode towards the door, courteously apologising to people who tried to strike up conversation as he guided you to a more quiet place.
You ended up on a balcony overlooking the city skyline. It wasn’t exactly quiet, but you could never get true silence anywhere in New York.
Steve leant against the handrail, his hands clasped as he rested on his elbows. You stood beside him, arms crossed loosely over yourself. The pair of you looked down to the city, watching as cars lined up in traffic and
“Y’know… Tony wasn’t wrong. I don’t have to be drunk to admit you’re good looking.” Steve complimented, turning his gaze to you. A soft smile rested on his face— not flirting yet but testing the waters.
“There’s a lot of people who’d kill to hear those words from Captain America.”
“Well, you’re hearing ‘em from Steve Rogers.” He said, standing up straight and turning his body to you. You only gazed towards him, too nervous to hold his stare.
“I’m serious, you do realise that, right? As Tony put it, you’re a real catch.” He impersonated Tony terribly, pretending to slur his words as Tony had. It earned a laugh from you, your eyes meeting his again.
His gaze flicked to your lips— offering something more but not pushing your boundaries. Polite, as he always was. Part of you wanted to test it; see how long he’d keep up that sincere sweetness even while you pushed him.
You stepped a little closer, a hand reaching out to rest on his bicep. “You’re not too bad yourself.” You lowered your voice, your eyes locked onto his lips now, only briefly flicking up to gauge the want in his eyes. His hands still hovered, wanting so badly to grab ahold of you but needing you to say it first. “You can touch me— it’s alright. You’re too much of a gentleman sometimes, Steve.”
“It’s in my nature.” He whispered, your faces dangerously close. His hands finally settled on you, pulling your body flush to his. You could feel the heat radiating off of him, his face a little flushed from the proximity.
“Well if you’re such a gentleman then you know it’d only be right for you to make the first move.” You teased, pulling back a little to test his restraint.
It was only a few seconds before Steve had his lips on yours, one of his hands moving up to cradle the back of your head, the other staying firmly planted on your waist. The kiss was gentle despite the desire lurking within it. He pulled away sooner than you’d hoped, so naturally your lips chased his again.
This time, you ended up with your back pressed against the railing, his tongue slipping into your mouth. It wasn’t rushed, nor was it messy. He took his time as if he had all the time in the world, and made sure every swipe of his tongue was with military precision. Your hands pulled him closer— as close as he could be— with a finger hooking into his belt loop and the other still lightly resting on his bicep.
A soft noise escaped him, as his restraint was finally beginning to slip. “Darlin’..” He murmured against your lips, unable to hold back from being pulled into another kiss. “I’m not sure we should be doing this.”
“Why?” You huffed, pulling your face hardly an inch away from his.
“Well if anyone catches us-“ Steve began.
“Which someone has.” Natasha called out from the balcony’s sliding door. Her interruption startled you, and startled Steve too from the way his grip tightened. “Come on, love birds. Tony’s started ‘flip, sip, or strip’ with Sam and I’m not sure I can handle seeing them both naked without some emotional support.”
You looked back to Steve whose face was flushed even more red than it was when your hand had first laid on him. “I guess we should… go…” You smiled softly.
“Don’t worry, Darlin’, this won’t be the last time.”
“What— that someone catches us, or that you kiss me?”
“Very funny.” Steve took a step back, his hands not leaving you but an exaggerated, fake laugh leaving him; however, the smile on his face was real.
——————⋆˚꩜｡——————
A/N: this is my first time writing cap so I hope it’s not a horrific mischaracterisation 😥
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