#mission gone wrong

[valerietheno1pancakehater]

Mission with Jeff was shit. Boss is mad at us cuz Jeff lost the target and the target ran away,oh my fucking god!

[heldbybarnes]

Hi Kennedy. I had this... idea (angstyyyyy)?

Reader always had a crush on Bucky. So when he does not come back from a mission, and everyone thinks he might not make it, she is hit hard. And then, they received a body, and everyone is broken (Steve, Nat - everyone's alive okay) But Reader refuse to believe it. And they think it's the loss but she can see, differences, things (I am letting you decided what she has noticed), and she finally convinces Steve that she's not crazy. And Steve and Nat and Reader goes looking for Bucky (even if the others are against/think they're just not coping well) and finally they find him (once again choose whatever you want, and in what state they find him) And he says "you came for me?" And I am leaving you decide how she answers : kiss, words, admit her feelings right away or wait for him being better... Because she will, no more lost time, even if she believes her love is unrequited (same living to you how it ends).

Sorry it was so long and, as always, if it's not your thing, feel free to completely ignore.

emma what the actual fuck was this?!? who hurt you!

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The world seemed quieter after the news.

Steve’s voice had cracked when he told everyone what had happened — how the extraction had gone wrong, how they’d found no signal, no pulse, no trace. And when the body was brought in two days later, wrapped in a shroud and marked with his name… you’d felt the air leave your lungs completely.

The compound had fallen into a strange kind of mourning. Natasha barely spoke. Steve’s grief looked like silence and long runs that lasted until dawn. Sam tried to make everyone eat, but no one could look at the chair Bucky used to sit in without breaking.

But you didn’t cry. Not once.

You just stared at the body bag laid out in medical and said, quietly, that’s not him.

People thought it was shock at first. Then denial. Then grief so deep it had carved out your logic.

But you knew Bucky Barnes. You knew the way his metal arm was scarred along the seam, the faint crack in his canine tooth that made his smile crooked, the mole at his throat only visible when he tilted his head back to laugh. The man on that table didn’t have any of that. The stubble was too light. The scars didn’t match. The arm was newer, cleaner.

No one wanted to listen.

Until Steve caught you pacing the med bay one night, standing beside the body again, muttering to yourself as you traced the mismatch between the prosthetic’s panels.

“Steve,” you’d whispered, voice trembling. “Look at it. The serial numbers on the vibranium—Shuri’s mark isn’t there. She always engraves it. Always.”

He frowned. Looked closer. The silence stretched long enough that your pulse started to pound in your ears.

Finally, he exhaled. “You’re right.”

That was all it took.

They didn’t tell the others. Not yet. Natasha came along without question when Steve told her. She didn’t even pack a bag—just loaded a gun, gave you a look that said you better be right about this, and followed.

It took weeks of tracing leads across half the globe. Hydra remnants. Ghost programs. A rumor of a soldier dragged from wreckage in the Baltic. Every night, you sat by the fire and stared into the flames, whispering his name like it could call him home.

And then one night, it worked.

The tip led you to an abandoned outpost buried in snow, its walls lined with frost and silence. The three of you moved carefully, Steve and Nat ahead, you just behind—heart hammering like a drum.

You found him in the far corner of a concrete cell.

He was thinner. Paler. But the moment your flashlight caught the metal glint of his arm—the right arm, dented and dull—you knew.

“Bucky,” you breathed, before you even realized you’d spoken.

His head jerked up. Eyes wide. Blue. Wild.

For a moment, he didn’t seem real. And then Steve was unlocking the cell, hauling him upright, Nat checking his vitals, and you—frozen where you stood—were terrified to touch him in case he vanished.

It wasn’t until he looked at you that your body remembered how to move.

“You…” his voice rasped, barely more than a whisper. “You came for me?”

You could’ve lied. Could’ve said it was Steve’s idea, or that it was protocol. But the truth had burned behind your ribs for too long to hide anymore.

You stepped closer. “Of course I did.”

Something fragile cracked in his expression—like hope, long-buried and starved, trying to surface.

“You shouldn’t have,” he murmured, shaking his head weakly. “It was dangerous.”

“So is losing you.”

That made him freeze. You reached for him before he could pull away, cupping his face with shaking hands. His stubble scraped your palms. He was real, warm, alive.

“Don’t do that again,” you whispered, voice breaking. “Don’t make me bury someone who isn’t you.”

He let out a sound that was almost a laugh, almost a sob. His metal hand came up to cover yours, cold against your skin.

“I didn’t think anyone would come.”

“I always would,” you said. “Always.”

For a heartbeat, the world was just breath and pulse and the sound of wind outside the ruined walls.

Then, softly, he leaned forward.

The kiss was tentative at first, just a brush—an apology, a promise, a resurrection all in one. Then he pressed closer, desperate, trembling, clinging to you like he was afraid you’d vanish if he let go.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours. “Didn’t think I’d get another chance,” he whispered.

You smiled through tears. “Then don’t waste it.”

Back at the jet, Steve didn’t say anything when he saw you wrapped in Bucky’s arms, his head resting against your shoulder as he slept. Natasha just gave you a small, rare smile before taking first watch.

The hum of the engines filled the silence. The storm outside had broken, sunlight streaking through the clouds.

You ran your fingers through his hair, brushing away the dirt and dried blood, your heart full to bursting.

He was safe. He was home.

And this time, you wouldn’t lose him again.

[heldbybarnes]

Hum, hey!

So I was just scrolling through my playlist and there was this song (« En Apesanteur » by Calogero if you’re curious) and the music video has no chill?

Of course my brain was like « this is so Bucky coded » and can you imagine : Bucky and reader are on a mission, there are vibes between them but they are not together, they step in an elevator and suddenly Valentina tells them they have to distract the guards or something? And of course we all know that public displays of affection make people uncomfortable (wink wink) and so they start making out?

Like always, no pressure - I just had to get the idea out of my head! I hope that you had a great weekend and that you have a wonderful week. - 🌻

love it

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The elevator hums as it begins to climb, a low metallic groan echoing in the shaft. You can feel the heat of Bucky’s body beside you — too close, too still. You’re both breathing hard from the sprint through the basement corridors, adrenaline still lacing your veins.

He’s in all black tactical gear, jaw clenched, a lock of hair fallen out of place. You try not to look at the vein in his neck. Try not to notice how his gloved fingers twitch like he’s still holding his rifle.

“Two floors up,” you whisper. “Guard patrol hits every three minutes. If we time it—”

Your comm crackles to life. “Scratch that, kids,” Valentina’s voice cuts through, all smug amusement. “Elevator cameras just came online. And the guards? They’re watching.”

Bucky’s head snaps up. “What do you mean watching?”

“Oh, you know,” she says, sweet as poison. “Maybe they’re suspicious. Maybe they’re bored. Either way, they’re looking right at you two.” A beat, then: “You’ll need to… distract them.”

You frown. “How the hell are we supposed to—”

“I don’t know, darling. Get creative. Public displays of affection make people uncomfortable. Use that to your advantage.”

The comm goes silent.

You turn to Bucky, pulse hammering in your ears. “She’s joking. She has to be joking.”

He just stares at you for a long second, like he’s running through every possible scenario in his head — and none of them are good.

Then, quietly, he mutters, “She’s not joking.”

The elevator dings softly as it passes another floor. You can feel the tension stretch between you like a live wire.

“Okay,” you say, your voice pitching higher than you’d like. “We just need to make it believable, right? A quick kiss. Enough to—”

Bucky’s blue eyes lift to yours, slow and deliberate. He doesn’t move yet, but the air changes. Heavy. Charged. Like a storm caught in a metal box.

“Right,” he says, low and rough. “Just believable.”

And that’s all the warning you get.

He steps closer until your back hits the cold steel wall, one arm braced beside your head, his dog tags catching the low light. You swear you can feel the heat radiating through the fabric of his suit.

“Tell me to stop,” he says.

You don’t.

He dips his head, and then his mouth is on yours.

The kiss starts tentative — careful, testing — until the noise in your head fades into nothing but the scrape of his stubble and the taste of his breath. He exhales against your lips, something between a groan and a curse, and suddenly there’s nothing careful about it.

He kisses you like he’s been waiting years for an excuse. Hands sliding up your sides, metal fingers pressing into the seam of your suit, pinning you in place. The cool vibranium sends a shiver straight through you.

You grab at his vest, pulling him closer, and he makes a sound — deep in his chest, quiet but guttural — that vibrates against your lips. You don’t even realize the elevator’s still moving until the floor jolts beneath your feet.

You break for air, barely, your noses brushing. “Think they’re convinced yet?” you whisper, your voice wrecked.

He smirks. “You tell me, doll.”

You glance up at the security camera blinking in the corner. “Guess we should make sure.”

He huffs a laugh against your jaw, the sound dark and warm. “Roger that.”

Then his mouth is on your throat. Not gentle. Not for show. You arch against the wall, a breathless sound escaping before you can stop it.

“Bucky,” you whisper, but it sounds more like a warning than a word.

“Just keep playing along,” he murmurs, lips brushing your ear. “For the mission.”

Sure. The mission. That’s what this is.

By the time the elevator dings again, your lipstick’s probably smeared halfway across his mouth, your pulse is in your throat, and your brain has short-circuited somewhere around the third time he bit your bottom lip.

You shove at his chest, breathless. “We’re good. They’re distracted.”

He leans back just enough to look at you — pupils blown wide, chest rising hard under the gear. “You sure?”

“Positive,” you lie. “Doors are about to—”

The metal doors slide open with a ding.

Two guards stand there. Watching. One raises an eyebrow. The other clears his throat and mutters something about “taking the next one” before the doors shut again, leaving you and Bucky alone in the silence.

You blink.

He blinks.

Then, with the faintest twitch of his mouth: “Guess Val was right.”

You swat his arm. “Don’t. Say. A word.”

He raises both hands — one flesh, one metal — in mock surrender. “Didn’t say anything.”

“You were going to.”

“Maybe.”

The elevator lurches again as it starts to move upward, the hum of machinery the only sound between you. Your skin still tingles everywhere he touched you.

After a long moment, Bucky glances sideways, voice softer this time. “You okay?”

You swallow. “Yeah. Just… mission focus.”

He nods, slow, unreadable. “Right. Mission.”

You pretend not to notice how he adjusts his gear, how his knuckles flex like he’s still fighting the urge to reach for you again. You face forward, forcing your breathing to even out.

But then, just before the next ding, he murmurs, almost under his breath: “You kiss like that again, doll, and I’m not gonna be able to blame it on Val.”

By the time you step off the elevator, your head’s still spinning. You both keep your eyes forward as you move down the hall, pretending nothing happened.

You tap your comm. “Distraction successful. Moving to extraction point.”

Valentina’s laugh crackles through the line. “Oh, I know it was successful. Security feed’s been looping since that kiss, and Barnes—” she pauses, grinning through the static, “you might wanna wipe that lipstick before the next mission.”

You catch his reflection in a mirrored wall. Smudge of red on his cheek. And when your eyes meet, he doesn’t wipe it away.

He just grins. That small, infuriating, Bucky Barnes grin that says you started this.

And you realize, for the first time all mission, that you might actually be in trouble.

[urghblergh]

McSpirk Month 23: "Accidental Baby Acquisition"

@mcspirkevents

Ref I

Ref II

Ref III

Ref IV

[coolguyontheblock]

Girl your arm is missing

[toptearz]

[calcedon79]

YESSSSS!! sick and tired and all that :3 please

Awww, Jess. You're going straight to the good stuff. It's always a pleasure to put the idiotic blorbos through the salad spinner in all sorts of ways, isn't it? Okay, this is a snippet from a mission story during their Padawan days.

Yan's breathing quickened, as if he could feel the approaching storm despite his stupor. Not good. “Sleep, Doo,” the seer murmured softly, stroking his friend's forehead gently with his hand. “When you wake up, it'll be brighter again.”

“Pr'mise?”

“'I promise,” Sy whispered, swallowing. He tried to suppress his rising panic and let himself fall into the Force, seeking the touch of the cosmic energy field, the light of his friend. He concentrated on his presence, on his feverish restlessness. Tried to send a wave of reassurance through their connection that had existed since they had bitten each other in the crib during the awkward stage of teething.

Dooku's breathing became calmer. The last of the tension left his body and after a few moments he slipped back into a deep sleep.

Sifo released a shaky breath, completely overwhelmed by the situation. He didn't wipe the tears from his face.

No one saw them anyway.

[xnxthinglastsfxrever]

Mission Gone Wrong || Closed rp with @starredshield

It's been a couple of month that Natasha had been on a working assignment, was suppose to be two weeks but something else dragged a bit longer. After her work was done, all she wanted to do was to head over to her fianće's home and let him know that she is alive.

Now Natasha's can take a beating and doesn't mind the pain, she can just walk it out and that is exactly what she was doing. Forget about going to the medic upon arrival, she just waved them off and headed back to her locker to changed into new clean clothes and grab her keys. Heading to Steve's place, that's her her home and she needs some comforting tonight.

Twenty minutes later. The Russian parked her car in his driveway, turning off the engine as she got out of the vehicle, locking it after she shut the door, making her way up a few steps and unlocking the door.

"Steve?!" She called out as she shut the door behind her, taking off her leather jacket and dropping the keys in the bowl by the entry way. Hanging up jacket as she waited for his response. They have been only living together for six months, both are very neat and organized to with respect their space.