#Falcon's Writing

[falconscales]

Hi!! Grian in the high school au thing finding out how he's a bird therian and also maybe his journey with it? - a bird therian

One parrot therian Grian for you

#otherkin #alterhuman #therian #hermitcraft #grian #falcon screeches #falcon's writing

[runawrites-blog]

Trust (Bucky Barnes x Reader)

Summary: You notice it during a quiet evening spent with Bucky and then it won't leave your head again. Bucky is afraid of touching you with his vibranium arm, going out of his way to avoid doing so. You take it upon yourself to try and show him that he doesn't have to worry that you're not afraid, and that you trust him completely. (Gender Neutral Reader) Word Count: 6,092 Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Mild Discussions of Past Traumatic Events, Mild Violence and Mentions of Fighting, No Y/N, Petnames (Doll, Love), Non-Graphic Smut Scene (To avoid it skip from "It was three days later" and continue at "You moved your hands", so skip the first paragraph there. Please do not read it and instead skip it if you are not 18+/ Skip it if you are a Minor) Crossposted on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/51380476

---

The first time you noticed it, was during a stormy night which you had spent curled up in your bed with Bucky, reading a book while he was lying by your side, his head on your chest and his right arm looped around your waist. Eventually, you decided to turn down for the night, and seeing as Bucky had not moved for the past hour or so, you were careful as you put your book down and turned off the light, assuming that he had fallen asleep. But as you gingerly shimmied down on the bed he looked up at you and you gave him an apologetic look, thinking you’d woken him up.

“Sorry, Bucky, I just wanted to lie down so we can turn in for the night.” You whispered, pressing a kiss to his head as you settled on your pillow. “I’m sorry I woke you up.”

“You didn’t, Sweetheart. I was about to drift off.”

“You could have if you were tired, Love. I wouldn’t have minded.” You soothed, lips moving down to his cheek. “Why didn’t you?”

“Better safe than sorry.” He sat up and you watched as he reached up to detach his vibranium arm before putting it down close to the bed and lying back down next to you. “Now we can finally settle down.”

His words made you still in your movements, a terrible suspicion dawning on you that painted a lot of his previous actions in a completely different light. Bucky usually preferred to hold your hand with his right one and always had you sit by that side. During intimate moments he never touched you with his left hand and solely used it for keeping his balance. Every time you shared a bed he detached his arm before settling down. You had always assumed that it was simply more comfortable to sleep without the metal arm weighing him down and had it not been for his words you would have continued to think so but now you knew that this was not the only reason.

Bucky was afraid of hurting you with his vibranium arm.

For a few seconds, you mulled over that suspicion, thinking about how to breech the subject, how to assure him that you trusted him not to hurt you, to talk about his fears. But you were at a loss and when Bucky turned halfway back onto his stomach, head settling on your shoulder and face buried at your neck as his right arm looped around your waist you decided to not speak up about it for now. Bucky was exhausted from a long day and you wanted to offer him the comfort and safety he needed. So you just wrapped your arms around him and buried your nose in his hair.

“Sleep well.” You whispered, pressing a kiss to his head. “I love you.”

“Love you, too.” Bucky mumbled back, voice soft as he held onto you tightly. “Sleep well, Sweetheart.”

“With you by my side, I always do.”

Against your skin, you could feel his mouth turn into a smile and despite your worries, you felt grateful that he was at the very least smiling and that he seemed comfortable. But his words still circled your head. Bucky was afraid of hurting you with his metal arm and he was actively going out of his way to keep it away from you. You wanted nothing more than to prove to him that his worries were unfounded but you didn’t know how to go about it -- and even if you did, you knew he wouldn’t believe you.

When the next morning rolled around, waking you with the rays of sun that gently fell in through the curtains and had long since chased the rain away, it only took your thoughts a few seconds to circle back to the previous night. A frown overtook your features as you once more thought about what to do but before you could come up with an idea a hand reached up to gently carass your cheek.

“What’s got you frowning first thing in the morning, Doll?”

You looked down at Bucky and gave him a soft smile. “Nothing important, don’t worry.”

“I wasn’t too heavy, was I? I keep telling you that if me sleeping halfway on top of you is too heavy you have to tell me so I can move.”

“No, that’s really not it, I swear.” You said, chuckling softly as you shook your head. “If anything I like having your weight on me. You’re like my personal weighted blanket.”

Bucky leaned up to kiss your cheek before he slowly sat up and you admired how his body stretched in the warm sunlight, outlining his features. For a moment you allowed yourself to smile at his domestic moment with your partner. But when he reached for his arm to reattach it to where it hooked into his shoulder all the concern from the previous night came back and once more you thought about what to do to ease his worries. You still knew that he would not believe you if you simply told him these things but perhaps it was worth a try to show him that you did not share his worries even in the slightest. So, you decided to make it your mission to prove this to Bucky.

---

You tried to show him that you were not scared of his arm just about half an hour later after you had gotten out of the shower and found him making breakfast in the kitchen. Since the two of you had a date at a current exhibition at the local museum planned for the day Bucky was preparing a quick breakfast, cutting some fruit up, and setting the table with all the things he knew you liked. He was currently cutting up an apple into slices when you entered, his back turned to the door, and you quietly made your way toward him before draping yourself across his back though you still made sure to make enough noise so that he would hear you approach and wouldn’t be startled.

“Thank you for preparing something to eat.” You whispered, pressing a kiss to his cheek before you moved around and embraced his left arm, leaning your head against the metallic shoulder of it. “What do you say? Should we bring lunch with us or should we try to find a place to eat while we’re out?”

Bucky froze a little as you leaned into his vibranium arm and quickly turned around, leaning against the counter, subtly but effectively turning the arm away from you with his right side now facing you. “I say we go find something while we’re out.”

“Are you looking forward to the exhibition?” You asked with a smile, trying to ignore his actions so as to not make him uncomfortable. “I know you’ve been very interested in space travel lately.”

“Can you blame me?” Bucky joked, returning your smile. “I recently learned about how much further we have come in terms of space travel in the last decades. It’s really amazing, I have to say.”

“I’m not blaming you at all. I’m really interested in it, too, and I think your interest in science is really charming.” With another small kiss on his cheek, you moved away to sit down at the table. “Your excitement about it is quite frankly adorable.”

“Adorable?” Bucky chuckled as he sat down opposite you. “I am far from adorable.”

“I’d beg to differ. When you smile in amazement at a piece in the museum or your eyes light up when you get to listen to someone’s stories of space travel you’re so sweet that I can barely handle it.”

“What can I say? I’ve always been interested in science, even back in the fourties.” Bucky smiled softly as he began to eat. “Steve and I would go to science fairs, exhibitions, and museums all the time.”

“Tell me more about that, please.”

---

You hoped the museum would give you more opportunities to show Bucky that you were not afraid of his vibranium arm, planning on trying to hold his left hand or onto his arm. Unfortunately, you found that you never got the right opportunity to hold onto his arm because you never stood in one spot long enough to cuddle up to him and you never had the chance to hold his left hand because he kept the guide to the exhibition clutched in that one. You resigned to try again later and simply enjoyed your date with your boyfriend, smiling at his excitement and interest, reading all the informational signs, and looking out for the things you had encountered on the few space missions you had been on.

“Can you believe we’ve been in one of these before in actual space?” Bucky asked as you made your way through the recreated interior of a space ship and you knew that he was referring to your latest mission where the two of you had set out on a spaceship to an old abandoned space station where you had been getting important documents from. “It’s amazing when you think of it.”

“What a coincidence. I had the exact same thought just a few seconds ago.” You grinned as you turned to him. “It always seems unbelievable to me.”

“I honestly find it hard to believe, too, but I have encountered many unbelievable things in the past few years.” Bucky mused with a small smile, looking back at you. “Want to continue on? The next room is a display of our galaxy.”

“Let’s go.”

The two of you entered the next room, a big hall that had holograms of all the planets in the known galaxy projected above the visitors who were able to circle the model of the sun placed in the middle of the exhibit on a metal walkway. You and Bucky walked on the metal walkway, looking at the display, stopping next to the hologram of Earth and looking up as the voiceover talked about the newly discovered planets in the galaxy. Gingerly you reached out to grab Bucky’s left hand, squeezing it with yours as you leaned into his side a little.

As soon as your fingers closed around his, Bucky pulled his hand back and rounded your body. You watched his movements with a small frown but you couldn’t help but smile softly as he held out his right hand to you, flexing his finger in invitation and you took his hand, holding it tightly as you once more leaned into his side, wanting nothing more than to be close to him. But Bucky seemed to have caught your frown because he sighed softly, keeping his eyes firmly on the exhibit as he spoke.

“Sorry, Sweetheart.” He whispered. “I’d rather you hold my flesh hand.”

“There’s nothing to apologise for.” You said softly, deciding against speaking up on his worries so as to not ruin the date for him. “I simply want you to be comfortable.”

Bucky was quiet for a few seconds before he changed the topic. “Do you like the exhibition? I think it’s really interesting to learn about all the ways space travel has changed and hear about the new planets we’ve made contact with.”

“It really is.” You agreed, going with his change in topic and offering him a playful smile. “And I enjoy seeing you so invested and excited about something. You can be such a nerd and I love it.”

“And you’re any better?” He teased right back, giving you a sly smirk. “You’ve read every informational sign there was to read.”

“I’ve never said I wasn’t just as big of a nerd.” You chuckled, leaning your head onto his shoulder. “That’s why we get along so well.”

Bucky smiled and pulled you into a gentle kiss, his right hand settling on the small of your back as he leaned into you. All you could do was reciprocate, your eyes fluttering shut just as his did. He pulled back all too soon but he kept his forehead leaning against yours as he sighed softly. “I love you so much.”

“I love you just as much.”

---

It was three days later that you noticed how big Bucky’s concerns were once more. He still took his arm off when you slept in bed with him and avoided having you hold his left hand every time but you really saw his fears when the two of you shared an intimate moment. You were in Bucky’s lap, his right hand on your hip, guiding your movements. His face was buried at your neck, nipping and kissing the flesh there as you held onto him. His hand tightened on your hip and the metal one clenched the headboard behind him.

You moved your hands from his shoulders, intending on trailing them down his body but as you took them off him you lost your balance and tipped backward. Bucky reacted quickly and brought his left hand around you to catch your fall, holding you up by your upper back, stopping his previous movements, and looking at you in worry. Tipping backwards so suddenly startled you and you gasped in surprise. And just as you did Bucky froze, eyes going wide in what you could only describe as horrified guilt as he pulled away his left hand, switching it with his right to pull you back into a sitting position.

When he was sure you wouldn’t lose your balance again he pulled back all together, gently coaxing you off him and physically withdrawing from you, face scrunching up in concern. You got to your knees, getting closer to him again, feeling worry rise in you at his actions. While you knew he held back from touching you with his metal arm this extreme of a reaction to accidentally touching you with it was concerning. But before you could speak he did.

“I am so sorry.”

“Sorry?”

“I am so sorry that I hurt you.” Bucky explained quickly, getting to his knees and placing his right hand on your shoulder to turn your upper body around so he could see your back. “All I could think of was not letting you fall. I didn’t think this through and I-- I caught you with the vibranium arm and-- and now I’ve hurt you.”

You were quick to get onto your knees and bring your hands to his shoulders, making him look at you. “Bucky, I’m fine, I swear. You didn’t hurt me at all, I promise.”

“But you gasped. It sounded like I hurt you when I caught you.”

“Bucky, you didn’t hurt me.” You assured him, looking at him in earnest. “I gasped because I was surprised at falling. If anything, you caught me and probably stopped me from actually getting hurt. You did not hurt me.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.” You assured him and leaned over to press a gentle kiss to his temple. “You could never hurt me.”

Bucky opened his mouth but then closed it again, deciding to remain quiet and instead simply drew you close to him, bringing his right arm up to hold you sightly. You had a suspicion about what he had been planning to say but you said nothing and simply wrapped your arms around him, climbing into his lap to cradle his head to your shoulder and Bucky took a deep breath before he spoke again.

“Can we simply cuddle tonight?”

“Of course, we can.”

“I’m sorry for ruining--”

“I’m not even going to let you finish that sentence.” You interrupted, keeping your voice gentle. “You haven’t ruined anything and you could never ruin anything by not wanting to sleep with me or needing to stop in the middle of sex. Do you understand?”

He nodded against your shoulder. “I understand.”

“How about we cuddle up under the blankets and simply watch a movie?”

“Depends.” Bucky drew back to give you a playful smile and that was enough to ease your worries a little bit. “Will there be popcorn?”

“Of course.”

---

Bucky’s terrified reaction to thinking he had accidentally hurt you didn’t leave your mind for days. You made sure to assure him that you felt absolutely safe with him and eventually he started to relax again. Your routine continued as usual until, after a small mission, Sam came over for a visit to celebrate everyone’s safe return. The three of you had eventually ended up watching a movie on your sofa after dinner -- one that Sam had suggested because Bucky hadn’t seen it, yet.

As the movie went on you inched closer to Bucky, wanting to be close to him after a rather hard mission. So while he was engrossed by the movie you reached out to lift his left arm up and put it around your shoulders. It took Bucky a few seconds to react and he moved his arm away from you, resting it on the back of the sofa before looking at you.

“Would you mind switching sides with Sam?” Bucky asked softly, a frown on his face as he looked at you. “Then I can hold you all evening, Doll.”

You looked at him for a second, worry overtaking you as you once more saw how worried he was about touching you with his vibranium arm. “I don’t mind staying on your left, Love.”

“Sweetheart, I’d be more comfortable if you moved to my right side.” Bucky explained quietly before turning to Sam. “You wouldn’t mind switching sides, right?”

Sam’s worried eyes locked with yours for a second before he looked back at Bucky. “Of course not.”

With that, he stood and the two of you switched sides, Sam on Bucky’s left now and you on his right. Bucky extended his right arm and you gave him a soft smile before leaning into him, embracing him as he pulled you close to his side. The three of you continued to watch the movie but all you could think about was how worried Bucky still was about touching you with his metal arm and wondering how you could prove to him that he didn’t have to be. When the move was over and Bucky left to put the dishes away you couldn’t help but speak to Sam about it, wanting to hear someone else’s thoughts on this whole situation.

“How do I help him with that?”

“With the dishes?”

“No.” You rolled your eyes a little, annoyed by him not immediately understanding the issue but also somewhat understanding the miscommunication. “I mean how do I help him with how scared he is to touch me with his metal arm? It seems like he’s scared to hurt me with it.”

Sam looked at the door to the kitchen before nodding. “Now that you say it he really seems a little concerned about it.”

“He is more than a little concerned, Sam.” You said, sounding more worried by the second. “He keeps me exclusively to his right side, he won’t touch me with his left hand and he panics whenever he accidentally does so.”

“Really?”

“Last week he caught me with his left arm and went into a downright panic, apologising for hurting me multiple times.” You recounted the event that was still present in your mind before sighing. “I really want to help him see that I am not afraid of him hurting me and that I trust him completely but I don’t know how. Do I just tell him? Do I show him? How do I show him?”

Sam thought for a few seconds before sighing softly. “I would continue doing what you’re already doing -- telling him you don’t mind him touching you with it, showing him that you trust him and just reassuring him when he overthinks.”

“You think that will be enough?”

“He’s made such great progress and you helped him with that. I can’t remember the last time he was so relaxed and smiling so much.” Sam reassured you with a soft smile. “You help him a lot.”

“I just worry about him.”

“I think that he’s spent so long thinking of his arm as nothing but a weapon -- even after he got the vibranium one -- that it will simply take him some time to realise that it’s not inherently dangerous.”

His words got you thinking for a few seconds before you nodded. “That actually makes a lot of sense.”

“Of course, you should respect it if he feels more comfortable not touching you with his left arm, but you could always simply talk to him. If you think bringing this up will help, then sit down with him, tell him that you feel absolutely safe with him, and reassure him.”

“Thank you, Sam.”

“Anytime.”

“What are you two talking about?” Bucky asked as he walked back into the room, chuckling a little as you and Sam turned around in perfect unison. “That synchronised head turn is pretty creepy, you know?”

“Should we stand at the end of a hallway like the twins in The Shining?”

Bucky gave you a questioning look. “I don’t think I’ve seen that movie before.”

“We could watch it right now.” Sam exclaimed before smiling a little as he came up with a quick excuse as to what you two had been talking about. “We were actually just wondering what movie to watch next.”

“Then let’s watch that movie.” Bucky said and sat back down, pulling you close to him. “It’s a horror movie, I assume from context, right? Won’t it scare you, Doll?”

You chuckled and kissed his cheek. “Horror movies don’t scare me. Besides, they are nothing compared to the bad guys we fight on a daily basis.”

“Will you get scared?” Sam grinned at Bucky, giving him a teasing look. “If you end up scared in your partner’s lap, I will laugh at you. I hope you know that.”

“I don’t get scared that easily.”

“We shall see.”

---

After your talk with Sam and deciding you should speak to Bucky about his fears, you waited for the right time to do so but when it never seemed like the appropriate moment, you sat down next to him on the bed one quiet evening. The slight drizzle outside had forced you to stay in that day and Bucky was reading on the bed when you came inside. He looked up from his book to give you a small smile but when he saw your serious expression he put it down and sat up properly.

“Love, what’s wrong?”

“Can I talk to you?”

“You can talk to me about literally anything.”

You nodded and sat down on the bed next to him. “I’m gonna say it straight out because I don’t want to beat around the bush and honestly, I’m unsure of how to approach this subject. I realised that you are worried or afraid to touch me with your vibranium arm and I need you to know that I am not scared of it or worried you’ll hurt me with it.”

Bucky looked at you for almost a full minute before he seemed to have concluded what to say. “Doll, I really appreciate you telling me that you’re not afraid of-- of my arm and that you’re speaking up on this because you worry about me but I-- I know how strong and destructive this arm is. It was built as a weapon.”

“But it no longer is. You use it to help people, to protect them. I just-- I mean, just on the last mission we were on you saved a whole elevator full of innocent civilians by holding it up until they could be evacuated.” You tried to reason. “I know it’s hard for you to believe and I understand that.”

“It’s hard to realise that. I know that I help innocent people and I know that what happened to me wasn’t my fault, trust me. After everything that happened, I’ve learned that.” Bucky said before sighing deeply, taking your hand into his right one. “But that doesn’t change the fact that objectively speaking the arm was designed to be a weapon, that it’s capable of terrible things and could hurt you even if I don’t want to.”

“Anyone is capable of hurting people, metal arm or not, James.”

“It was designed as a weapon.” Bucky repeated and you realised how mentally caught up he was on that fact. “A gun is still dangerous even if it’s not inherently bad.”

You were quiet for a second, gaze dropping to his vibranium arm. “The arm you have now wasn’t designed as a weapon, though. You got it in Wakanda, not at a Hydra base. The scientists there gave it to you because they trust you not to hurt anyone.”

“Yet they put in a mechanism that allowed them to detach it with the press of a button.” Bucky said, eyes dropping and tearing up just slightly. “And I don’t blame them for not trusting me completely.”

“I do.” You said in earnest, squeezing his hand with both of yours. “I trust you blindly, James. Please try to believe me that I trust you completely.”

Bucky looked up at that, teary eyes meeting yours before he pulled his hand away to wrap around your shoulders and pull you into a tight embrace, burying his face at your shoulder. You quickly hugged him back, bringing a hand up to cradle his head.

“Thank you, Love. Your trust means the world to me.” Bucky whispered into your shoulder, voice tight with emotions. “But I still know that the arm could potentially harm you and I mean-- I would feel better if I weren’t touching you with it.”

“That’s alright.” You said softly, holding him tightly. “Whatever you need is alright. I just noticed how scared you were and I wanted you to know that I trust you.”

“Thank you.”

---

A new mission coming along shoved all your remaining worries to the back of your mind. Now infiltrating a base of previous HYDRA agents to retrieve secret files was not an easy task but you and Bucky had encountered hurdles far bigger and together you had always managed to overcome them. It took a while but eventually, you two were rushing to your getaway car, dodging bullets from the former agents while you kept the files safely clutched against your chest.

Bucky threw open the car door and got inside while you slid across the hood of it to get to the passenger side. Once you were inside, he hit the gas and took off, tires screeching against the concrete and you gripped the back of the seat to keep yourself steady as he swerved around a building to get away from the abandoned warehouse the former agents had holed up in. As you buckled up he turned to you for a second.

“You okay, Doll? No injuries?”

“I’m fine. How about you?”

“Me, too. Let’s get out of here.”

But before you could there was a loud bang from underneath the car and before you knew what was happening the vehicle flipped over. Everything went by in a blur. The car landed on the roof and when you opened your eyes again you found yourself hanging upside down from your seat. Bucky unbuckled himself and was at your side in an instant, worry etched on his face.

“Are you alright?”

“Mostly fine. What happened?”

“I think they threw a bomb underneath the car. I know I did it once back under HYDRA’s control and the whole car flipped over like ours did.”

You were about to answer when a shot was fired at the car and pierced through the back window before the bullet lodged itself in the back of your seat’s fabric. Bucky pulled out his gun and you tried to free yourself from the seatbelt just to realise that its mechanism had been damaged in the crash, leaving you unable to unbuckle it. Anything you could have used to cut yourself free was out of reach and so was your gun. Panic rose in you as you turned to look out the window to find one of the agents approaching your getaway car with a rifle in their hand.

They aimed at your head and fired. Fully expecting to be hit you turned your head away, not able to move much due to the seat belt still holding you relatively in place. You knew that even if you moved your upper body, the agent would still be able to hit you if they just slightly readjusted their aim, so you closed your eyes in anticipation. Then suddenly a metallic clang echoed through the car and when you looked back toward the window you found your sight obstructed by Bucky’s vibranium arm.

He had blocked the bullet with it. He had saved your life.

Then he fired at the agent that had shot at you, sending them to the floor. Quickly, he used the vibranium arm to yank your seatbelt from where it was fastened to the car and free you. Once out from your confinement, you grabbed your gun and helped him shoot at the agents to take them out.

And soon enough, all of them were down just in time for your backup to arrive. Both of you were quickly helped into the other car and then you were off on your way, Bucky sitting next to you in the back of the SHIELD van. When the van had started driving off and you two knew you were safe, Bucky turned to you.

“Are you injured, Love? They didn’t hit you, did they?”

“No, they didn’t.” You said, taking his left hand into yours and before he could pull it back you shook your head, speaking up again. “You saved me. You say the arm was designed as a weapon but today it saved my life.”

Bucky looked at you for what felt like forever but was realistically not more than about a minute before his vibranium hand squeezed around yours, eliciting a small smile from you. He was slowly realising that his arm was more than a weapon and seeing that it had the potential to protect the ones he loved. You knew that holding your hand was a small step forward but it still meant moving in the right direction.

“Thank you for saving my life, James.”

“I would always save you. I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

---

A few hours later found you and Bucky at your place, reclining on your bed and watching a movie on your laptop. Bucky was still working off his list of things he had missed, the idea having been something he’d picked up from Steve a few years earlier, and this evening you two had decided to watch a movie that he had yet to see. The blanket was draped over the two of you and Bucky’s right hand was settled on your hip, thumb gently rubbing your skin. With the adrenaline of the mission wearing off, Bucky right next to you, and the sun setting outside you felt your eyelids growing heavy. The movements of your left hand that had been running up and down his right arm were faltering now and again. Your head kept drifting onto Bucky’s shoulder before you brought it back up to watch the movie.

But eventually, your exhaustion combined with his gentle ministrations made you drift off, head coming down to rest on his shoulder and body snuggling into his side. Had you not been so exhausted from the fight you would have noticed that your head had fallen onto Bucky’s left shoulder, left hand coming up to wrap around his biceps.

You were awoken a few minutes later by a loud noise coming from the television, immediately followed by Bucky quietly swearing and the volume being turned off. Blinking your eyes open, you turned your head to look up at him and he gave you an apologetic smile.

“Go back to sleep, Doll. I turned the volume down. You can rest.”

With another soft smile you snuggled back up to him, your cheek smushed against the cool vibranium of his left arm and your hand once more holding onto his biceps. It was a few seconds later that you realised you were holding onto his left arm and you tilted your head up to look at Bucky. When he saw your head turning he examined your face, taking in your thoughtful expression.

“What are you thinking about, Doll?”

“I’m leaning against your left arm.” You whispered, running a finger up the biceps of said arm. “Is this really alright for you? As I said, I’m not afraid of you hurting me and I trust you completely, but I know that you don’t really like touching me with it and I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable.”

“You were right, earlier in the van.” He said softly, eyes flicking to the window so he wouldn’t have to make eye contact. “Had it not been for my vibranium arm, you might not be here right now. And it made me think about all the things you’ve said about the arm beforehand.”

“How so?”

“The arm was meant to be a weapon, the one from Hydra most definitely, and even the one I got in Wakanda had the potential to be used as one. But you were right about it not being used as one anymore, or at least not outside of fighting bad guys.” Bucky concluded, eyes flickering to your face once before focusing back on the window. “It helped me save you and it helped me save many others before.”

“I’m glad you’re starting to see your arm as something other than a weapon.”

Bucky turned back to look at you before resting his cheek against your head. “It’s something that’s been ingrained in my brain for a long time, though, so please give me time, and don’t be upset if I’m ever withdrawing from you or afraid to touch you.”

“I would never be upset with you for that, James. Why would you even think that?”

“Because you always get so sad when I talk negatively about myself or the arm.”

“That’s not because I’m upset with you. I understand that it’s hard to see a part of yourself that others have misused as a weapon as anything but that. When you say things like that it makes me hurt for you.” You explained softly, bringing a hand up to cup the cheek that wasn’t smushed against your head. “And I know you don’t like people pitying you but that’s not what I’m doing. I love you and I hate seeing you in any sort of distress.”

“I’m doing much better now.” Bucky promised quietly. “I mean, I’m far from fine and I still have nightmares and fears and the like, but I’m so much better than I was before and I will get better in the future. So please don’t worry about me too much, Doll.”

“James, take one look at me and tell me that you think I’d be able to not worry about you.” You joked, earning a small laugh from him. “You know me too well for that.”

Smirking a little at your joke, Bucky reached out to turn the movie off and flicked the switch on the bedside lamp. “Still, please try not to be too concerned. You’re helping me an awful lot, I hope you know that.”

“And I hope you know that every step you take in your recovery, no matter how small it might seem, is something you can be proud of. I’m proud of you for how far you’ve come.” You closed your eyes then, cuddling up to him. “And I trust you with all my heart.”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me. That’s on you for being trustworthy.” You whispered. “But is it physically uncomfortable to keep the arm on while sleeping?”

“No, with the new one, it’s not. The old metal one was heavier and could get uncomfortable but this one is fine.” Bucky said with a smile before kissing your head as you snuggled closer to his side, your head moving to rest on the junction between his vibranium arm and his shoulder, allowing him to wrap his left arm around you. “Thank you for everything, Love. I love you so much.”

“Right back at you, Sweetheart. I love you just as much.”

#marvel #marvel cinematic universe #mcu #mcu x reader #marvel x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #fanfiction #writing #textpost #the falcon and the winter soldier #tfawts #sam wilson

[mysecretwindowuniverse]

Season 1 | Oswald + The Dons

#Gotham #oswald cobblepot #sal maroni #carmine falcone #season 1 #so much ink could be spilled about oswald's /fascinating/ dynamic with the dons #and this gifset definitely highlights a specific component of the interactions #unfortunately i haven't been able to properly articulate the jumble of thoughts in my head into something even remotely legible #if i'm ever able to translate thoughts-to-text i'll loop back and write it all out #gotham rewatch #my gifs #mine

[amhrosina]

oh god, i made more. i can’t stop. here’s more marvel textposts (seriously sos i can’t stop).

#seriously though #why are these addicting to make #i have an entire pinterest folder lmfao #also working on three different WIPs lmfao #i’m almost to the end of my contractual school year obligations and then i’ll be free to write smut for 9 entire weeks #less than two weeks left lmfao send help #frank castle #matt murdock #foggy nelson #fratt #bucky barnes #sam wilson #peter parker #mj #spider man #winter soldier #captain america #falcon #daredevil #punisher #marvel #nmcu #mcu #marvel text post #text posts #text post #amhrosina

[abarbaricyalp]

Give Me Toothaches Just From Kissing Me

"But March 10th was two weeks ago!" Time doesn't exist. Happy Birthday to Bucky Barnes

The first time Sam had gotten Bucky a birthday cake, it was a joke. It was 2016, just a few scant months before their whole operation went to hell in a handbasket, and Sam had texted Bucky without expectation of a reply. Just a picture of the view from his fancy hotel balcony in Monaco or something, with a fancy chocolate cake on the wide balcony ledge. He was in town for a military tech conference, so his morning jogging schedule had been interrupted. Eating a whole cake on his own over four days would totally be in the realm of possibility. 

An hour later, when Sam was more than half a bottle of wine down and two albums in on a 'crooners' playlist, a shadow peeled itself off of the wall and greeted him with a, "Hey, birdbrain."

Sam, perhaps, did not do any work towards proving that nickname stupid by flailing dramatically and knocking the cake with his forearm. With twin movements, they watched the cake sail to the ground seven stories below and explode into a shower of sugar and cream. Then they turned to look at each other. There were three beats of shocked silence and then they both burst into laughter together.

"That was a really good cake," Sam whined in between the laughter as he leaned into Bucky's space and Bucky wrapped an arm around his shoulders.

"Yeah, I could tell. You already had half."

"I didn't figure you were gonna actually show up," Sam pointed out.

"Why wouldn't I show up? You called."

"That hasn't stopped you before," Sam pointed out. He spent a few extra seconds staring at the mangled cake on the ground before he sat back on the balcony furniture. Bucky followed him down. He kept his arm around Sam until it was unfeasible, and then he let his hand fall to Sam's, fingers tangling together. Sam allowed it because it was his birthday, even though it was vastly out of the range of usual activities for them.

"Well, this time I was promised cake," he added after a few seconds of amiable quiet.

Sam looked over at him to discern if he was serious or not. The grin pulling at his usually severe mouth said all Sam needed to know. They burst into quiet giggles again.

“Good thing I got all the sweetness I need right here,” Bucky eventually conceded. He tucked a knuckle under Sam’s jaw and leaned in to kiss him beneath the moon and the lights and everything but a cake.

. . .

The second time Sam tried to give Bucky cake, it was a year later. It felt almost impossible that the world had slowed down around them long enough to justify an impromptu visit to Wakanda to check in on Bucky.

When their jet had touched down, Bucky was waiting for them with a wide smile that Sam had never really seen before. "Now, I know I told T'Challa not to do anything for my birthday, but he went a step further and got me everything I didn't want," he joked as he and Steve collided in a fierce hug, the kind of thing that always made Sam want to look away.

Then Bucky was extricating himself from Steve's hold so he could crowd around Sam instead, ducking his face down to Sam's neck as he squeezed his waist. If it was supposed to be a hug, it was like no hug Sam had ever had. He could get used to it though. After a few heartbeats shared between them, Sam pinched Bucky's hip and stepped back.

"Hey, old man," he greeted. Bucky grinned at him, boyish and a little smitten. It was a look Sam was more familiar with. "Happy birthday."

"Is that what this is about? You stop paying attention after 90," Bucky joked. For a split second, his fingers lingered over Sam's but he didn't take his hand--Sam didn't take Bucky's either--and he turned back to Steve to amble along together as they instantly fell into a conversation like they hadn't just been apart for the better part of half a year.

By the time they got around to dinner and a small party, Sam felt silly for bringing a dozen store bought cupcakes--hidden away in his room upstairs. The dinner had been more of a feast, despite Bucky's protestations, and the dessert spread that followed was unlike anything Sam had ever seen. No expensive wedding or VA event or Stark fundraiser held a candle to the cakes and cookies and sweet bars that were available. Sam ate more Wakandan desserts than he could name American desserts and each one was better than the last. Bucky, for all his talk of not wanting anything, had at least sampled every chocolate food on the table and gone back for full servings of most of them.

By the time they managed to crawl into Bucky's room--which branched off into Steve and Sam's rooms and connected bathrooms--all of them were groaning about stomach aches and sugar comas. Bucky crawled under his blankets, becoming nothing more than a groaning lump, and Steve settled along the bench at the end of the bed, laying back on it and resting a hand over his stomach, while burping and then apologizing every few minutes.

Sam ducked into his room while the others settled and grabbed the two bags from him and Steve, as well as the plastic carton of cupcakes. It was absolutely not going back with him at this point. His stomach hurt just looking at it.

Back in Bucky's room, he passed off the bounty. Bucky set aside the gift bags, but his eyes gleamed at the sight of more sweets.

"Come on, open the gifts," Sam jostled, sitting on the bed nearest where Bucky was sprawled.

"Nah, I'll look at them later," he said as he peeled the safety seal sticker away from the cupcakes.

"Oh, come on," Steve laughed. "You're still shy?"

"I'm not shy," Bucky snapped. "I'm civilized. Not everyone has to tear into their gifts as soon as they're within reach."

Sam snorted and tried to hide it from Steve.

"I do not do that," Steve objected, but not with much conviction. Actually, he wasn't that bad, Sam had to admit. But clearly Bucky had better stories than Sam.

“What are these?” Bucky asked instead of fighting a battle he knew he’d already won. He took the cupcakes and deftly opened the package without making a cacophonous sound, which meant he knew perfectly well what they were and clearly had had his share of them.

“I know they’re not anything special after that whole show,” Sam acknowledged, waving his hand in the general direction of the kitchens. “But these are packed so full of preservatives, you’ll be able to keep ‘em until his birthday,” he joked with a gesture towards Steve.

“Way to sell ‘em, Wilson,” Bucky chuckled. He was already halfway through one of the cupcakes and he held a blue one out to Steve. It was the middle of march, so most of the predesigned things were spring flavored. This set, blues and greens swirled around, was about as festive as Sam could find. “I love the frosting on these things,” he added around a mouthful of cupcake.

Steve shot Sam a knowing, slightly gloating look. He’d been the one to insist Bucky would enjoy these, no matter what else was going on with the day. Then he shoved the entire cupcake in his mouth just like Bucky because apparently manners hadn’t been invented yet back in the ‘40s. Sam shook his head at their antics, both of them trying to one up the other until almost the whole carton was gone.

Bucky reached over to snag a smear of frosting off of Steve’s cheek and sucked his knuckle into his mouth while Steve cried foul about uneven division of frosting.

“You two are gross,” Sam laughed and made sure his own face was devoid of any frosting before their turned their attention on him.

It didn’t work. By the time Bucky had turned his playful, teasing expression on Sam, his eyes had darkened just a little and one eyebrow rose in a challenge.

“No,” Sam warned, holding up the half of a cupcake still in his hand. “Whatever it is, no.”

But Bucky didn’t listen. He reached out to and shoved the cupcake against Sam’s cheek, frosting first, then pinned him back against the headboard with a broad hand across Sam’s shoulder and collarbone. Sam swallowed thickly, couldn’t help the way he went lax beneath Bucky’s weight as the other man settled across his thighs and leaned forward to lick a stipe of the icing off of Sam’s cheek.

“Stevie, you might wanna think about gettin’ to your own room,” Bucky warned without taking his dark, hungry stare off of Sam.

“Ah, come on. You two are gross,” Steve complained, but he did hustle out of the room pretty quickly. Took a cupcake for the road.

Sam tried to put some structure back in his bones, tried to posture up under Bucky’s hold. He reached up for the frosting, wiped most of it off of himself, and then smeared it across Bucky’s cheek, down to his mouth.

That mouth split into a grin before it was against Sam’s, lips parted, tongue hungry as he licked over Sam’s lips, chasing after the frosting he was depositing.

Sam had to admit: this may be better than the desserts downstairs.

. . .

The next time he actually got to sit still for Bucky’s birthday, it was a few lifetimes later. He had every intention of sleeping in just a little bit, skipping his run to get up before everyone else and make a cake, wake up the house to the smell of chocolate and buttercream, the way his mama used to always.

Instead, he slept in a lot a bit and woke up to the sound of nothing short of chaos in the kitchen. Sarah was out already, he surmised when he finally dragged himself upright and grabbed his phone from where it had fallen the night before to check the time. He and Bucky had gotten in late the night before, stuck in New York doing paperwork after some giant worm appeared out of a sinkhole in New Jersey. He had no idea how Bucky had the energy to get up, much less start making noise in the kitchen.

Groggily, maybe a little grumpily, he pulled on a hoodie and a pair of shorts that wouldn’t aggravate all of the scrapes he was covered in and went out to see what was happening.

Bucky did make it a point to clean up the kitchen any time he was near it. Especially after himself, but even when Sarah cooked. He insisted that she did the cooking, so he should do the cleaning. And somehow this reflected badly on Sam, as far as Sarah was concerned, which seemed unfair. Sam cleaned plenty.

The cleaning never seemed to justify the mess beforehand.

“What in the world is going on here?” Sam asked, leaning on the wide doorjamb that led into the kitchen.

Cass whirled around first, clutching a too large mixing bowl to his chest. “Nothing!” he exclaimed.

AJ, less practiced in the ways of subterfuge, said, “We’re making cupcakes! For Bucky,” he clarified

Bucky, who was remarkably clean for the amount of flour and egg otherwise splashed across the kitchen, grinned at Sam. “I didn’t ask, by the way. They brought it up. I dunno how you and Sarah say no to these little faces.”

AJ preened and gave another spin with the spatula, sent more frosting over the edge of his too-small bowl.

“You guys are working at a disadvantage, trynna listen to Bucky,” Sam said, coming into the kitchen. “I know you know how to use paper towels. Why does the kitchen look like this?”

Cass let out a little noise of guilt, but Bucky saved him from having to answer by producing a roll of paper towel from behind himself. “It’s probably supposed to be my job, but I’m a better taste tester.”

“Uncle Sam, is it true he can’t get salmonella ‘cause of the super soldier serum?” Cass asked.

“Can I have some?” AJ added.

Sam shot Bucky an unimpressed look, but he was nothing but cheeky smiles and not a shred of embarrassment. “I guess we’re gonna find out if it’s true or not,” he said. He snagged the paper towels from Bucky to begin wiping up at least the bits of cracked egg that lined every countertop. “Lucky it’s me in here and not your mama.”

Cass made the same kind of noise again as he searched for a place to put down his mixing bowl. It must be an oldest sibling gene, because Sam remembered Gideon making the exact same kind of sounds. Usually when Sam was about to do something like jump off the stair bannister.

“Mom’s out at the restaurant,” AJ said, unbothered. He was usually unbothered.

“Come here,” Sam said, gesturing more for AJ to make space than for him to actually move closer. “Bucky let you pick the wrong bowl, so you’ve gotta be careful,” he said, holding AJ’s hand as he held onto the spatula. “Go slow, like this.”

He looked up as AJ failed to do that, more frosting going flying, and caught Bucky’s eye. Bucky grinned again, soft and lovely in the mid-morning light coming through the kitchen window.

“A guy could get used to this view,” he said with a warm honey tone.

“A guy will not,” Sam said. “Get to actually cleaning.”

Bucky gave him the laziest of salutes and took the paper towels back.

By the time Sarah came home, with balloons and, hilariously, an ice cream cake, the kitchen was clean and they’d managed to make the best cupcakes Sam had ever had.

. . .

It took finding their own place, saving the world a few hundred times, a lot of missed events, and one perfect spring day for Sam to finally have a cake on the table on Bucky’s birthday. Handmade, from the same recipe he always got for his birthdays as a kid.

“Happy birthday, old man,” he said, kissing Bucky’s temple.

Bucky caught Sam’s hand against his shoulder, tugged him down to sprawl across Bucky’s lap. “Is that what all this is about?” Bucky teased, like he did almost every time Sam tried to do anything for his birthday, no matter how delayed the celebration was.

“Yeah, yeah,” Sam laughed. He dragged the cake closer and lit the handful of candles–he was not putting a hundred candles on a cake–before sitting back a little. “Make a wish before you keel over.”

Bucky laughed, bright and loud, and his arms tightened around Sam. “I haven’t had to wish for anything for a long time, Sammy.” And he kissed Sam without even trying to blow out the candles.

#sambucky #sam wilson #bucky barnes #captain america #sambucky fanfic #the falcon and the winter soldier #writing

[starwolf479]

Been gone a long time - Whoops... But I've been writing and drawing :D So here are some artworks for my WIP - [ERROR] [REDACTED] [Ȓ̛̤̖̐͟E̲̥̟̙͓̊̒́̌̂B̛̟͈̩̣̏̎̔O̯̩̖̖̿̍̓̋̆ͅOT͙̺̠̣́̅̏̍]

Poor Zane be going through it.. but what else is new lol (Sorry, Zane)

#ninjago #lego ninjago #ninjago zane #ninjago fanfiction #ninjago fanart #ao3 fanfic #current wip #art wip #writing wip #sorry zane #zane julien #Zane's falcon #ninjago decoded #[ERR] AU #[ERR] Ninjago fic

[ex0rin]

+bonus feral super soldiers:

#winterwalker #john walker #bucky barnes #wyatt russell #sebastian stan #tfatws #the falcon and the winter soldier #cara gifs #someone take photoshop away from me #i should be writing #john walker tag #bucky tag #ps: this is a pro walker tumblr i will fight #i wanted to slow them down more but then the fight looks especially bad and like they're not hitting each other at all

[solid-white]

What if the serum DOESN'T age super soldiers? So Steve just goes back in the past and 70+ years later he's sitting on the bench young as ever:

Sam: Steve? Is that you?

Bucky: You... didn't stay in the past?

Steve: Oh no, I did, but after 20 years I realised I was essentially immortal. Got bored real quick and pretty depressed when Peggy broke up with me because she didn't want to stay with someone who still looked young.

#marvel #mcu #marvel cinematic universe #marvel mcu #james bucky barnes #james bucky buchanan barnes #james barnes #james buchanan barnes #bucky barnes #bucky #winter soldier #sam wilson #falcon #captain america #steve rogers #steven grant rogers #steven rogers #writing prompt #prompt #fic prompt

[800db-cloud]

im sick but im thinking about captain falcon f-zero so idrc about that rn

#f-zero #f zero #fzero #captain falcon #era.png #HE’S IN MY HEAD RAAGGHH AGGHH GET HIM OUT. GET HIM OUTTTTT !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! #/very positive. very very very positive #‘you can’t write captain falcon as a himbo it doesnt match his chara-‘ EXTREMELY LOUD INCORRECT BUZZER SOUND #i’ll do what i want :3

[loganwritesprobably]

So I'm an Aphmau fan, yes hello - I watched MCD, Mod Mod World, Mystreet, the works alright.

I'm getting back into it, slowly but surely, and I'm working on a rewrite of Falcon Claw University via group roleplay! (If anyone is interested, DMs are open, it's 16+ on discord)

But.. do we actually know what anyone studied? Is it ever mentioned? I cannot find ANYTHING on the topic anywhere online, including the character wikis.

Did Jesson do an entire university season and just never mention what the characters study (major in)? Really?

Does anyone have any head canons? Cause personally I'm struggling - and I'd just love to hear them tbh!

#falcon claw university majors #writing #aphmau #aphverse #aphblr #aphmau rewrite #falcon claw university #mystreet #mystreet rewrite #fcu rewrite #fcu #headcanons #aphmau headcanons

[falconscales]

it would literally be so cool if you wrote anything ab endermankin xisuma and ex, maybe from ur highschool au? like, how they discovered about it, their experiences etc. you don't have to do it if you don't want to of course, but from dirty paws is one of my comfort fics and I would love to read more of it, especially being endermankin myself :]

Mcyt Alterhuman highschool au, Xisuma and Ex flavored <3

The au is also now part of a series!!

#otherkin #alterhuman #therian #endermankin #hermitblr #xisuma #evil xisuma #Falcon's writing #request #falcon answers #falcon screeches

[delicatebarness]

FATWS Bucky going full feral on John Walker when Agent!Reader gets hurt during the fight for the shield. 🤤🤤

i cant read your mind | prologue

#I’m just overthinking because I’m on a writing break #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky fanfic #bucky x female reader #james bucky barnes #falcon and the winter soldier #bucky fic #fatws #fatws bucky #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you

[strwbrrykss]

𝖔𝖛𝖊𝖗𝖘𝖙𝖎𝖒𝖚𝖑𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓 | 𝖇. 𝖇𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖊𝖘

{𝑴𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕} 𝑫𝒂𝒚 𝑺𝒊𝒙: Overstimulation 𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒆𝒓: TFATWS!Bucky Barnes 𝑾𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔: THIS IS AN 18+/MDNI EVENT, language, overstimulation (duh),use of pet names, Dom!Bucky, praise, if I missed anything lmk!

                                                       -/-/-

“Ah-ah, no touching Bunny. You know the rules,” he chided as you desperately threaded your fingers through his hair and chased what might be your third? Or fourth orgasm of the night. Bucky stopped what he was doing and looked up at you from between your thighs.

“But - please?” you whimpered and when he raised an eyebrow, that was all the warning you needed to raise your hands above your head and hold onto the headboard once more.

He continued to devour you like you might disappear at any given moment. your head spun with desire as you tried everything to keep your moans and whimpers as quiet as possible. The last thing you needed was another noise complaint from your neighbours.

“C’mon, Bunny you can be louder than that -” Bucky goaded as two fingers pushed and dipped at your aching cunt. The noises that pulled from your chest involuntarily echoed off the walls and filled the space of your bedroom.

“Buck, m’gonna - fuck I’m gonna cum -” you cried as he stroked that one spot over and over again until you saw stars.

“That’s it, darlin’, let everyone know who’s makin’ you feel this good.” You let go of the headboard and grabbed fistfuls of the sheets instead, letting your toes curl until you got cramp in your feet.

“Atta girl - but I’m not done with you yet.” Before your vision had even fully cleared, he had you sitting up, in his lap. His hands on your waist controlled every single movement. Each rise and fall of you against his cock, every last roll of your hips against him. And you let him without any resistance, having been reduced to a keening, whimpering mess with your face buried in the dip of his shoulder and your nails raking down his back.

Bucky’s now short-cropped hair left little for you to hold onto but you worked with what he gave you. And right now he was about to give you your next mind-blowing orgasm of the night. You’d been at it since he came home from an afternoon of meetings, conferences and training.

And he was certainly making up for not being at home for most of the day.

“One more, Bunny. Think you can manage that, hm?” he panted against your neck as his Vibranium arm kept you in place, his other hand dipped between the two of you to rub circles against your abused, over-sensitive clit.

“- Can’t! I can’t -”

“Yeah, you can,” he insisted and found that spot on your neck that turned you to putty against him. With a cry-turned-scream you clenched and fluttered around him as you hit your release at full force. Bucky lay you back amongst the pillows and ruffled sheets to chase his own high.

When the two of you were truly spent, you laid together for a few minutes, catching your breaths and regaining your senses. Bucky was the first to move, heading into the bathroom to retrieve a warm, damp wash cloth to clean you up, though his touch along your skin made you whimper and shy away.

“C’mon, sweetheart. M’not gonna do anything else, but you need cleaning up, hm?” In your afterglow, you agreed, completely wiped out from the exertions of the past few hours, no thanks to your super soldier boyfriend. But no matter how hard he pushed, you knew he’d look after you when it was all done with.

-/-/-

@wintersoldierbaby​

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x f!reader #the falcon and the winter soldier #tfatws!bucky x reader #james buchanan barnes #james buchanan barnes x reader #kinktober 2022 #day 6 #strwbrrykss writes

[margarethx]

I was genuinely surprised with the responses I've got on the first part of [THIS story]. It was such a random burst of motivation to write that I didn't even think it through and just posted whatever came out of my head. But I'm very glad that you liked it, since it's the first story I've showed to other people in like 4 years.

The working title will be "Assassinate them with Kindness", and I'll use that as a tag for later parts when I add them. It's also [available on Ao3] if you'd prefer to read it over there.

Enjoy <3

--- ----- --- ----- --- ----- --- ----- ---

The weird man does not go to Sam's group on Monday.

Which is not as big of a relief as Sam thought it would be.

Because if the man is not here... where is he? And why did he even ask if he could join the group? Was he just taunting Sam? Teasing him with the knowledge or Sam's schedule and whereabouts, but not revealing how and for what purpose did he get that information?

Sam briefly glances at his wrist, covered neatly by a long-sleeved shirt and a warm blazer. The day is way too hot for this type of clothing, but he refused to look at the bruises on his skin for more than two seconds after noticing them for the first time. He still feels the pain, but it's easier to make it fade into the background, if he pretends it isn't there at all.

In spite of his nervousness and constant worry, Sam leads his group like a true professional. Calm, collected, funny when needed. A shining example of an ex-soldier who has left most of their PTSD far behind by working hard to healthily rejoin society. Definitely not a person, who started carrying a gun in public again after singular weird encounter, and who constantly has to fight with himself to not look over his shoulder and check if there isn't anyone watching him from the shadowed backroom.

But the man was not there. The meeting went well. And all the people leaving the room with their polite "good bye's" and casual "see ya!'s" have no idea about the turmoil in his head.

"See you Thursday," Sam smiles pleasantly and grabs Tyler's hand with both palms, shaking it lightly, as a young vet stops by. "It's nice to see you again. It's been a while," he adds, hoping that his eyes convey genuine warmth.

Tyler is young - too young to deal with this sort of trauma. A typical example of a teenager pulled into a military machine by life circumstances, not because of any principled believes. He went to have a better chance at higher education afterwards. And he lost half of his right leg for it.

He is secretly Sam's favourite in the group, with his sense of humour and positive attitude. Though Sam is sure there is a lot of fears and sadness hidden behind all the jokes, because he acted the exact same way when he first sought out help after coming home. It was easy to see the reflection of younger Sam in Tyler's behaviour.

And it was also great to have someone in the group who could keep everyone's mood relatively light when topics were getting heavy, without making others feel as if their confessions were not treated seriously. It was, of course, Sam's job to control the atmosphere as best as he could , but on days like this - when he himself didn't feel stellar - it was a relief to not shoulder all the emotional weight of the meeting on his own.

"Is everything alright, Mr. Wilson?" Tyler asks, also shaking Sam's hands a little.

"It's Sam, we've talked about this," Sam smiles, deflecting by playing their classic game of arguing over formality levels of their relation. It's a bit worrying. To know that he can put on a mask and his vets might notice his distress anyway. But no one else said anything, so maybe he fooled the rest of them successfully?

"Apologies. Is everything alright, Mr. Sam Wilson?"

Tyler sends him a bright grin and Sam sighs. He doesn't have much energy left to argue or pretend. He did not sleep very well last week, to put it lightly.

"I'm alright," he finally replies without much conviction. "It's personal stuff, you don't need to worry about this. It should be resolved by the next meeting," he adds, hoping that this little lie will make his situation look like a solvable problem with the end in sight. Maybe if he believes in it hard enough it would even come true?

For now, it seems that Tyler buys the explanation and drops the topic. As they exchange goodbyes, he still glances at Sam with a slight frown, but he doesn't push. It'd be unusual if he did. As much as Sam loves working with these people and helping them, they're not that close. His vets don't get involved in his personal life.

...They don't know where he lives, for example...

Sam shakes his head to stop himself from thinking and gathers the papers on his desk with a bit more energy than the task requires. He needs to get out of here. The conference room he uses is relatively big, but the walls seem to get closer and closer, the ceiling pressing down on him.

He exits the building, taking long steps, and avoiding everyone's eyes. Fortunately, most people he passes don't know him, so he's not stopped for any conversations about his last weekend and all the fun his co-workers had while he sat on his guestroom floor surrounded by unhealthy snacks, and wondering if it's reasonable to invest his meager savings in an upgraded security system.

It's embarrassing, when he thinks back to those three days. It shouldn't be that big of a deal.

But something about that man... About his eyes. About the bruises he left.

Sam really tried to not look at them too closely to avoid spiraling again, but he's pretty sure his skin almost broke in some places, as if pinched too hard. The only reason he didn't notice it right away was probably the sheer rush of adrenaline that flooded him in that moment and dulled the pain.

Once he's outside, Sam leans on a nearby wall, out of everyone's sight, unsure of what to do next. Even though he spent the last weekend hidden in his home, the place did not feel safe. All he could focus on were unusual noises or the headlights of random cars passing by, casting uneven shadows on his walls. At some point he was sure one specific shadow looked like a person, but when he carefully peered outside, his garden was empty, with the exception of a small bat the flew in circles under the nearest lamppost, catching moths in peace.

Normally, he'd stay, watching the little guy and reminiscing about the time he too could fly at such speed, but it didn't feel safe, so he moved as far away from the window as possible.

All Sam wants right now is to get back to his bed and hide under the covers, go to sleep, and wake up to realize that the whole thing was just a dream.

His bag slips from his shoulder when he slumps against the wall and the strap catches on his wrist. He hisses in pain, reminded once more - as if he forgot, somehow - that his paranoia is actually justified and that his home is not some safe haven he'd like it to be. Because someone strong enough to nearly break his bones with a strong grip knows where he lives and could come back at any second.

If the guy was a real vet, why didn't he come to the meeting?

And again... if he's not here... Where is he?!

Sam readjusts his bag and straightens up. He cannot come home right now, but he needs to sleep somewhere. He could ask one of his new friends to take their couch for the night... but it's not Delacroix and his friendships here are not on the "sleepover" level yet. And if the man decides to look for him, Sam would drag the danger to someone else's home.

He's not that selfish.

Maybe he could find someone on a dating app and stay the night?

He shudders at the idea. It reeks of desperation even to his clouded brain. He would not do that to some random innocent person. And he would not do that to himself. He has enough dignity left.

The mere fact that he came up with a solution like that sobers him up a little bit. It sounds almost ridiculous and he's sure he would laugh about it one day... if he lives long enough to tell the story about his lowest point post-Afganistan.

What he needs to do is to go to a public space. A place with cameras, a nice crowd with enough eyes, to catch if something's wrong - but not crowded enough that a person would fade into the sea of faces and moving bodies.

With that in mind, Sam takes another deep breath to calm himself and marches towards the nearest bar he knows. The place is probably half-empty at this hour, but an evening wave of patrons should start trickling in pretty soon.

The inside of the establishment is a bit too dark for Sam's liking, but as he sits at the bar he feels some of the tension leave his body at last. Behind the bartender there is a freshly cleaned mirror, showing most of the tables, so Sam can keep an eye on the room while eating.

He's not in the mood for drinking - mostly to stay vigilant, not because he couldn't use a nice glass of whiskey right now - but the place offers some typical fast food options, so he picks them from the menu instead. He'll have to really push himself during the next training session to pay for the sugar and fat intake of the last four days, but he feels like he's earned the right to be indulgent for at least a while.

As he eats, Sam observes other patrons suspiciously, looking over his shoulder from time to time. At some point he's sure he feels someone's eyes on his back, but no one new entered the building in the last twenty minutes and the people on nearby tables seem preoccupied with their own thoughts and conversations, so he's sure it's just the paranoia.

It's starting to get dark outside and the bar fills with shadows before someone turns on a few extra laps. There are more people sitting around Sam now, some staring in silence into their drinks, others talking casually, or flirting with the bartender, as per usual.

The guy behind the bar seems cute. Probably a bit younger than Sam's typical partner, but still in his bracket. He accepts the compliments with a calm smile not cutting them off right away, but not doing much to encourage the attention. Sam gets a little lost for a second, observing the man's hands as he prepares the drinks, almost hypnotized by the movents.

Suddenly, one of the patrons - one that's been sitting by the bar before Sam even came in - drops her wallet in a clumsy attempt to pay the bill. She smiles awkwardly at the bartender, who simply grabs the wallet for her from the floor, clearly used to similar shenanigans.

As the guy leans forward, a curtain of thin braids covers his face for a brief second and he glances somewhere in Sam's general direction from between them before standing up.

Sam freezes.

The man looks basically nothing alike the guy who stood at his doorstep last week, but something about that look causes the memories to flood Sam once again. He feels dizzy and the comfortable atmosphere of the bar becomes overwhelming and stuffy in a blink of an eye.

He nearly jumps out of his chair and makes a beeline to the bathroom. He's not sure why. He just needs to... Wash his face maybe. Look into the mirror and have a stern talk with his brain. Something. Anything! To finally calm down.

As he walks towards the bathrooms, he notices some man sitting in a booth he previously didn't see. He's dressed pretty formally, phone in hands, and an annoyed grimace on his face. He looks more like a person currently working than someone who just went for drinks to wind down after work.

His eyes meet Sam's which sends a cold shiver down his spine. For whatever reason, this man - looking like a banker or low-lever politician, which is a common sight in DC - scares Sam just as much as the creepy stranger haunting his thoughts.

He breaks the eye contact and darts towards the bathrooms even faster, nearly colliding with someone who exits the door.

There are three other people in the bathroom, two of which wash their hands and fix their hair in front of the mirror. Neither of them look particularly suspicious, but Sam keeps an eye on them anyway, walking towards the stalls and locking himself in one of them.

He sits there for less then two second before he realizes that he's made himself more vulnerable by isolating himself from the crowd, but he's really not sure what to do next. The brief moment of fear after seeing the bartender with hair hanging over his face seems silly in retrospect. He could've just ignored the panic, push the discomfort down, and go back to the main room. But the man in suit sitting in a secluded booth?

That was actually worrying. Because he didn't just look generally annoyed or angry. He seemed to be specifically mad at Sam. Which would be concerning with any other influential White guy, but in this particular instance Sam feels like there's more to it.

He hears another person enter the bathroom, interrupting his thoughts. Two of the people washing their hands leave. Someone else comes in. Sam keeps track of everyone inside and at some point he's pretty sure he's the only person still sitting here, so he quietly exits the stall.

Just as he expected, the bathroom is empty. It's a bit weird, all things considered. It's a Monday afternoon, sure, but this place is not alive just on the weekends and in the night, when students party. There should be a constant rotation of people going in and out at any point.

But the room is silent as Sam stands there, wondering what to do next.

He's pretty sure he hears some water running on the other side of the wall and muffled laughs, seemingly coming from a group of women washing their hands and talking in an adjacent room.

Sam's familiar with all the overdone jokes about girls visiting the bathroom way more often than guys or about them going there in hordes. And, stereotypical or not, there is some truth to those... but Sam's pretty sure it should not be this disproportional.

The man's bathroom has been empty for over five minutes. Which is way too long, considering the size of the crowd.

A motion activated light loudly going off in one of the stalls makes it even more clear that Sam's suspiciously alone in here.

He washes his hands just to do something when, finally, the door to the main part of the bar opens. A wave of sound - clinking glasses, loud conversations, a ringtone - fill the empty space until the door closes again, cutting the noise off.

Sam exhales with relief and moves to dry his hands.

Then he notices him.

The man from his porch, now standing behind him, staring straight at Sam in the mirror.

He looks even bigger now, taller, and more broad at the shoulders, his hair still covering the face like a greasy veil. His eyes pin Sam in place like a wild animal who's fight or flight instincts fired so many contradicting impulses in its brain that it ended up just freezing.

In any other situation Sam would feel vindicated. He was right! He was not safe, he was observed, and someone is going after him - for whatever reason.

He can take that useless sense of satisfaction and bring it straight to his grave.

The man doesn't move. He just looks at Sam or through him, maybe. As if he's mentally not here. Maybe his soul has also left his body, like Sam assumes his own did right now?

It's just like that day at his home. Awkward, tense silence and creepy staring. Sam feels the hairs on his arm stand up like a coordinated unit. His heart beats so fast and loud that it must echo on the bathroom's walls. If Sam's ears were not filled with ringing, he'd probably be more sure about that.

The man blinks, just once.

And something in Sam just... breaks.

When he'll think about it later he'll have no idea why he did it. But he simply turns off the water and turns towards the guy in one smooth motion.

"Oh, I know you" he says, tone casual.

The man frowns this time, still looking directly at Sam. One of his hands is hidden inside or his unzipped jacket and it twitches a little. Whatever he's holding there probably isn't a bouquet or a dove, he'll produce out of nowhere and present to Sam like a magician.

"Fancy meeting you here," he adds, like it's a normal conversation. Like they're friends from work or as if the man was his favourite cashier at a local store. "In the bar, I mean. Not in the bathroom," he jokes.

The man's face does a weird thing. It's difficult to tell what kind of emotion he wanted to convey, but he seems confused. Does he even recognize Sam? Maybe he's really not as mentally present this time?

The water drips from Sam's hands to the tiled floor - tiny rivulets running down his fingers. It's quiet again, just as before, until one of the other motion activated lights goes off in the stalls. Then the next one right after it. Click. Click.

The guy flinches twice, his hand moving under the jacket's lapels.

"Can I help you with something?" Sam asks finally. At this point it feels like his mouth is operating on its own, entirely independent on his brain. He's also there, but not really.

Maybe he's already died and hasn't realized?

"You didn't go to my meeting today." Why does he keep talking?! "Do you plan to join this Thursday?"

By some miracle, this question seems to work. The guy's eyes dart around nervously and he shivers as the last of the lights in the stalls section goes off. The room is dimly lit by now only by the small lights over the sinks. And Sam cannot ignore that they're still, somehow, alone in here.

"I'm sorry I didn't come today," the man says and he sounds sincere, though monotone. "There were too many people in there."

"Well, it's a group meeting," Sam smiles. "The people are kind of a given."

He feels like he's body is operating on a pure survival mode. It reminds him of his time in the military, in a way; of the time, where he had to put one hundred percent of his focus on staying alive and keeping other's from dying, too, but couldn't actually think about it. Because there were bullets flying by, and his hands were sticky with someone's blood, and there was a wound to stitch, and a person screaming. If he registered all of that in full, he'd just collapse on the ground, overwhelmed and paralyzed by fear. So it was easier to just switch his brain off and let the instincts and years of training take the wheel.

"If you're worried about confessing in front of others, it's okay." He keeps talking and the man's stare becomes even more intense. His eyes seem very blue, even in the poor lighting, which Sam didn't truly notice before. They look cold, but not because of the colour. More like there's not enough life in them. "There's no pressure to tell your story right away. Some people in my group love talking. Other's just sit and listen. If no one's up to talk, I take over and give a little speech," Sam grins.

And he somehow knows that if he looked into the mirror to his left, his smile would look genuine.

"I don't like talking," the man says eventually.

"I figured," is Sam's reply. "Like I said, I won't push you to say shit."

It's probably not the most professional way of phrasing it, but he's not at work and, frankly, he's about to be murdered, so it's not like they'll reprimand him for inappropriate language.

"Also," he continues, "I can give you a number to one of my colleagues who does one on one therapy sessions. That way you could..."

"No."

"...avoid groups," he finishes awkwardly. " Fair enough."

"Do you do it? The therapy? One on one, no people?"

Sam doesn't. And he'd probably lie about it, even if he did.

"Not these days. I already have a ton of work with groups. If you want to see me, specifically, you know where to find me."

Clearly.

"I do," the man confirms like it's not the creepiest thing Sam's heard in his entire life.

"Well, I have to go now," Sam tries, hoping that if he sneaks out of the bathroom fast enough this whole nightmare will finally end. If the guy's here to kill him, he's doing a pretty bad job right now, so maybe Sam could just... walk away from the situation. Surely, he won't get stabbed in the back in the middle of a bar? Right?

The guy's face contorts in a painful way and he finally removes his hand from under the jacket. Sam tenses, but the gloved palm is empty. At the same time, the guy sways a little on his feet and grabs the wet counter with both hands.

Before Sam has time to process what's happening, he's already next to the guy, holding his elbow carefully and looking straight into his eyes. The pupils are dilated and then suddenly small like a poppy seed, changing in a matter of milliseconds. Sam's never seen anything like it.

"Are you alright?" he asks unnecessarily, trying to keep the man from falling face-first into the sink.

They look at each other and the man seems panicked, more than anything. The unwashed strands of brown hair hang over his eyes, but this time Sam's too worried about him to let himself spiral again at the now familiar sight.

The counter makes a strained noise and a small crack appears on the surface. Sam imagines his own bones turning into dust under such grip and his wrist pulses with pain he felt in the background for the last few days.

"Are you okay?" he asks again, sounding more urgent this time. He doesn't even care at this point if the man's here to kill him. Sam's a paramedic first, and if someone's fighting for their life nearby, he'll always drop everything to make things better. Even if his body might end up in trashcan behind the bar for the effort.

The man blinks, licks his lips, and takes a ragged breath. There's a weird grey cast to his face now and he didn't even look that healthy to begin with.

"I have to go," he whispers finally and stands up. His forehead shines with sweat and his pupils are wide again. "Thank you," he adds quieter and walks away unnaturally fast.

He's there. And then he's not. The door closes so quietly behind him, that Sam doesn't even register the sound.

Sam sits down, not caring about the wet and disgusting floor and stares at the opposite wall in silence. In the women's bathroom someone laughs out loud and a sharp sound of the shattering glass reaches him from the bar.

It almost feels like he's lost his hearing for a while and it suddenly returns to him. As if he's been under water and came break to the surface once more.

He also tastes blood on his tongue and realizes he must have bitten it at some point without realizing. The unpleasant sting of a cut is what finally helps him to come back to himself. He cannot stay in this place a second longer.

He washes his hands again so they stop feeling as clammy and touches his face with them too. The cold water helps a lot, but his own eyes look wild in the mirror.

As he exits the bathrooms, he looks over the crowd that gathered inside since he fled the bar. Just as before, most people don't even look in his direction and he realizes that the man in a suit who stared at him earlier is gone as well.

Then, he turns around to close the door and suddenly he's faced with a bright yellow sign that warns: "Under Maintenance" in bold, black letters. An official looking printout below adds: "DO NOT ENTER".

None of those signs have been there before.

All Sam can do at this point is grip his bag, lower his head, and exit the bar as fast as possible. If he is getting strangled or stabbed today, he at least wants for it to happen in his home.

--- ----- --- ----- --- ----- --- ----- ---

Shoutout to tumblr for glitching a making me feel like I've lost over 700 words of a draft <3 That mini heart-attack was very necessary.

Btw, funny thing about this chapter is that I've basically spent the entire time thinking that I'm doing too much. Like... I keep pushing Sam deeper and deeper into this spiral, but nothing really happened to him. It's not a big deal, calm down, man.

But then I have to remind myself that if some suspicious looking man knocked on my door, told me that he got my address from a person I don't know, asked me where I worked, and grabbed my arm so hard it nearly broke... I would simply perish on the spot from the stress xD Or I'd spent the rest of my life paranoid, even if nothing more happened.

So I think Sam should be allowed to have a 4-day almost panic attack, as a treat.

#sambucky #sam wilson #bucky barnes #winterfalcon #the falcon #winter soldier #captain america #ca:tws #onlysambucky #assassinate them with kindness #ATWK #my writing

[abarbaricyalp]

Strawberries and Cigarettes (always taste like you)

Title from Troye Sivan

Bucky smoked like a chimney. It didn't matter how many times Sam said they'd figured out it was bad for you. Mostly because Bucky had a super soldier serum that made him think he was invincible. Sam had sat next to him on a Brooklyn balcony one night that they both couldn't sleep and watched Bucky go through an entire carton without coming up for air. He always had a cigarette behind his ear, waiting to be lit. A lighter in his pocket, even during missions. It wasn't like it was to help with anxiety or whatever. The dude was jumpy and jittery even while he was smoking. And Sam had never really seen him jonesing for a smoke break, but he took one every chance he got.

He'd asked Bucky to stop smoking around him because Sam didn't have a super soldier serum to save his lungs, which Bucky was slightly gracious about. Gracious up until the point that Sam slunk over because the smell of the smoke and Bucky's shampoo and his leather jacket was addictive, and then he was all smirks and silent 'I-told-you-so's. It at least put him in the habit of asking before he lit up. It really didn't help that he looked like a modern Marlborough man ad come to life. He was desperately alluring and sexy when he smoked. It was woefully unfair that such a foul hobby was so damn hot.

(Oddly enough, the grace came back on the rare nights that Sam sat beside him and wordlessly held out his hand for a cigarette too.)

Sam didn't condone the habit, but he didn't exactly hide Bucky's cartons from him or give him an ultimatum either. Hell, Bucky's smokes were usually on his grocery list when he knew the guy was going to be around.

"Hey, have you noticed if Buck's low on cigarettes?" Sam asked Sarah while she compiled her own list to send him with.

She turned to look at him with raised eyebrows. "Bucky doesn't smoke," she said. "I've never seen him even hold a cigarette."

Sam frowned and thought before making an answer. After four decades, he'd found it was best not to argue with Sarah about something that may have an objective truth to it. He rarely beat her at this game.

True, he had woken up a few weeks ago, last time Bucky had been around, with the glaring thought that Bucky smelled good next to him. Not like smoke, but a clean, fresh smell. He'd chalked it up to him showering the evening before and not getting up throughout the night. And true that Bucky had a fidget in Louisiana that Sam never noticed anywhere else, where he flipped the cap of his lighter continuously or tumbled the lighter through his fingers. But he never actually lit anything with it. And true, he didn't smoke on the boat. And true, he'd never asked Sam where the cheapest cigs around were (a constant hunt in New York).

Bucky didn't smoke down here, Sam realized with a start. And he never smelled like smoke because he had a whole new wardrobe in Sam's house. Sarah had never seen him smoke.

Sam made for the backdoor, grocery list discarded. Sarah called after him, but he didn't quite catch it--something about the zucchini she needed him to remember and also lollipops--and he went out back.

Judging from the way Bucky had an arm around Cass's center, and AJ was rolling on the ground with laughter, and the swing set was still rocking up and down as Bucky held Cass still, Sam had a feeling he'd interrupted an attempt at swinging the swing all the way around the top of the set. Bucky looked much guiltier than either child, but it was Cass who insisted, "We weren't doing anything!"

Sam leveled a stare at him, but he knew these boys were forged under Sarah's gaze and nothing Sam had in his arsenal was going to be half as effective.

"Why don't you two head inside?" Bucky suggested, still looking guilty. "Your Uncle Sam and I were just about to head into town."

The boys grumbled their objections, but it only took them a few steps before they were jostling each other and starting a game of tag that would absolutely get them in trouble inside. Once the door was shut, Sam looked to Bucky again.

"No one was going to get hurt," he insisted sheepishly, wrapping the chain of the swing around one arm to lean his weight against it.

"Can I have a cigarette?" Sam asked without preamble.

Bucky's got-caught frown turned into a confused one. On muscle memory, but with no conviction, he patted his front pocket with his other hand. "I don't have any on me," he admitted with a shrug.

"Why not?" Sam asked.

Bucky flushed prettily, looking away from Sam in embarrassment. "I didn't wanna do it in front of your nephews. Didn't wanna be a bad example. And, when we were staying here, I didn't want to make Sarah's home smell terrible. You know how that smell is. Lingers."

It was more forethought than anyone had put into anything for Sam in a long, long time. Sam hadn't even thought about Bucky smoking around the boys. Bucky didn't usually smoke in front of other people, unless someone was passing by the alley he had stepped into, so Sam hadn't been worried about it. Bucky had never even seen the boys before he'd shown up on his own down here, new clothes, no cigarettes.

"You chew on lollipops instead," he realized as the fondness in his chest bloomed even further out. "I thought you just did that to give the kids an excuse to have some too."

Bucky scuffed his sneaker in the dirt under the swing. "Keeps me distracted enough."

"Buck, you spend so much time down here. More time than you don't. You must hardly smoke anymore."

Bucky's shoulders came up to his ears. It didn't hide the blush on them. "It's worth it. Guess I might've been looking for a good reason to stop."

Sam thought about all the movie moments he'd caught Bucky smoking--the moonlit balcony, a sunset after a fight, digging through files half naked in bed. All those moments he'd had an overwhelming teenage desire to pull Bucky to him and kiss the smoke out of his mouth. But they were all easily overshadowed by images of Bucky acting as a jungle gym for kids, or reading to Cass and AJ before bed, or helping with science experiments and baking days, or swinging Cass all the way around the swing set, ready to catch him if he fell.

Sam crossed the distance between them, pulling Bucky's face to him between the swing chains to kiss him deeply. He tasted like strawberry lollipops. "I like this look better," he decided.

He felt Bucky smile against his lips. "Well maybe you can help keep my mouth busy," he suggested before kissing Sam again.

Yeah, this was definitely better.

Don't smoke, kids.

Bucky absolutely has an old engraved lighter from the war

#sambucky #bucky barnes #sam wilson #captain america #sambucky fanfic #the falcon and the winter soldier #writing

[ijustreblogstuff-i-like]

Need a fluffy fic where P accidentally crushes you while cuddling because there’s no way that dude doesn’t weigh like 300 pounds with all the puppet parts and legion arm he has 💀

#lies of p #like if he weighed any less he’d probably go flying from that one attack the King of Puppets does #and the Falcon eyes legion arm would probably send him flying too #I’d write one myself but then I remembered idk how to