𝐊𝐢𝐬𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐲

Pairing-Loki x F!Reader

Summary-When you get a small cut on your hand Loki insists it’s “a mortal weakness.” And that you should be more careful.

Tags-Minor injury,Fluff,Tension,Soft Loki,Caring Loki,Wounded reader

Word count-557

You're in the kitchen casually chopping up an apple with your speaker, The rhythm of the music has you humming along, your movements smooth and relaxed as you go about preparing a snack.

The music is there, but you're not really paying attention to it you're just enjoying the moment, maybe tapping your foot here and there, the familiarity of the song making you feel comfortable.

Everyone in the tower had left earlier to go grocery shopping, which with them it'd take about more than a few hours you woke up late anyway so you didn't bother going the grocery store trips were always chaotic and way to long for you anyway.

As you slice the apple, you shift your grip on the knife, not thinking much of it. In a split second, the blade catches your finger, and you flinch, immediately pulling it back.

"Shit!" you winced as your face turns into a frown, your finger stinging with the sudden sharpness of the cut.

You stick your finger in your mouth to try to numb the pain, but just as you're about to move on, you hear Loki's voice from behind you, cool and sarcastic.

"Why are we screaming?" he asks, amusement lacing his tone. Startled, you pull your finger out of your mouth and turn to face him. "I thought I was alone," you say, a little embarrassed, your heart racing from the surprise of him sneaking up on you.

Your finger starts stinging again and you put it back in your mouth attempting to soothe the pain. "Fuck."

Loki raises an eyebrow, his eyes scanning you for a moment. "Sweetheart, get your finger out of your mouth. You're not two, and you're definitely not alone." His voice is light, almost teasing, but there's a glimmer of something else in his gaze.

You chuckle softly, embarrassed but trying to play it off. "My finger..." you whine, your finger still throbs a little, but you're trying to ignore it.

Loki steps closer, his eyes narrowing as he watches you. "Let me see it," he says, reaching for your hand before you can protest. He gently takes your injured finger in his, inspecting it carefully.

"I can take care of myself," you mumble, trying to pull your hand back, but Loki holds firm. "By running it under water?" he replies, a slight smirk tugging at his lips.

You flush realizing he's right. "Fine." you mutter, your eyes avoiding his as he grabs the first aid kit from the counter. Loki doesn't waste time cleaning the cut with practiced precision, before carefully applying a bandage.

He steps back, looking at his work. "There. Be careful next time." His gaze lingers on you for a moment longer, the atmosphere between you two shifting. You both stand there, quiet for a moment, before you finally break the silence with a shy smile.

"Thanks," you say, your heart skipping a beat as you meet his eyes. Loki doesn't say anything right away. He just takes a step closer, his hand brushing against your waist.

Slowly, his lips find yours in a soft, lingering kiss. It's a simple gesture, but it feels like it says everything that neither of you has quite put into words yet.

"Mortals and their weaknesses." He mutters walking away leaving you to ponder with your own thoughts.

𝐒𝐞𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐬

Pairing-Bucky Barnes x Drunk F!Reader

Summary-Inspired by the lyrics of Video Games by Lana Del Rey. “He holds me in his big arms, drunk, and I am seeing stars.”

Tags-Fluff,Drunk reader,Protective Bucky Barnes,Soft Bucky Barnes,Caretaking,Established Relationship,Friends with benefits,at a bar,Caring Bucky Barnes

Word count-2.9k

A/n- TWO IN ONE DAY?!? IM HUSTLING (making this one cause the other one wasn’t really long)

The night had started with a simple plan.

Everyone needed a break. You and the team had been cooped up in the Tower for too long, tension running high from endless missions and late night debriefs. So, for once, you all agreed on the same thing, a night out.

The decision had been quick, no fancy restaurants or quiet lounges. A club was the obvious choice, a place where you could all drown out the stress with pounding music and flashing lights.

No mission talk, no strategy planning, just a night to let loose. You were just as eager as the rest, excitement buzzing in your chest as you got ready.

Dressed for the occasion, you'd picked out something that made you feel confident something that hugged your figure just right, the black fabric smooth against your skin.

Natasha had taken it upon herself to do your makeup, her skilled hands steady as she swiped a brush across your cheekbone. "Hold still," she murmured, eyes narrowed in concentration as she perfected the sharp wing of your eyeliner.

She was always precise, making sure every detail was flawless. In the background, Wanda was multitasking, her magic flickering through the room as she shuffled through songs, the volume rising and falling with each new track.

She was halfway into her outfit, hopping on one foot as she pulled on her heels, grinning as she caught your reflection in the mirror. "You're gonna turn heads tonight," she teased, adjusting the straps of her dress before spinning back toward her phone.

She shot you a knowing glance through the mirror, her grin widening. "Especially Bucky's," she teased, her tone dripping with amusement.

Natasha leaned back, tilting her head as she admired her work. "There," she said, satisfied. "Perfect."

You glanced at yourself in the mirror, turning your head slightly to take in the sharp liner, the flawless blend of colors, the way everything came together just right.

A pleased smile tugged at your lips before you turned back to Wanda. "Bucky is a friend, Wanda."

"With benefits," Natasha added smoothly, arms crossing over her chest. "Nope, just a friend," you murmured under your breath, giving her a pointed look. But you knew better than that. You and Bucky just hadn't put a label on it yet.

There was something unspoken between you and Bucky, a line you both danced around but never fully crossed. He was there when you needed him steady, unwavering, always within reach. And you were the same for him.

Late night conversations that stretched until dawn, lingering touches that never quite felt accidental, the way he always pulled you just a little closer than necessary.

It wasn't just friendship, but it wasn't something either of you had defined, either. Maybe you were both too stubborn. Maybe you were both too scared. But whatever it was, it existed in that space between, waiting for one of you to acknowledge it.

ʚ・ ୨୧・ ɞ

The club was alive with energy, the bass thrumming through the floor, neon lights casting shifting colors over the crowd. The air was thick with the scent of alcohol and perfume, laughter and conversation blending into the music.

You were already a few drinks in, the warmth spreading through your limbs as you moved through the sea of people. You all had claimed a booth near the back, drinks scattered across the table, everyone unwinding in their own way.

Clint and Tony were at the bar, both arguing with the bartender over some ridiculous question, their voices rising in exaggerated disbelief. Clint was leaning over the counter, shaking his head dramatically as he laughed.

Attempting to get the bartender to admit that the cocktail they ordered was just 'too complicated for a regular guy to understand.' Tony, on the other hand, was insisting that the bartender wasn't making the right choice of adorn for his drink, which had clearly left Clint irritated but still amused.

Thor, Bruce, and Steve were huddled around a chess table in the corner of the club, engrossed in a match with a few older guys who were getting increasingly frustrated with their moves. Thor, loud and boisterous, kept insisting his pieces were better than the opponents.

Bruce was quietly analyzing every move with a small, knowing smile. Steve, ever the patient one, was carefully strategizing, giving his opponents a fair challenge while keeping the conversation going about the history of chess. The older guys were having trouble keeping up.

The unmistakable beat of "Champagne Coast" began to pulse through the club, and in an instant, Natasha grabbed two shots from the table, downing hers in a quick motion. She passed one to you and Wanda, who eagerly followed suit, the burn of the alcohol creeping down your throats.

"It's our song!" Natasha screamed over the thumping bass, her eyes wide with excitement. Without waiting for any kind of response, she yanked you both by the arms, pulling you toward the dance floor.

The alcohol hit faster now, the warmth spreading through your limbs, giving everything a hazy, electric feeling. You couldn't help but laugh as Natasha's infectious energy took over, her body moving effortlessly to the rhythm as you tried to catch up.

Wanda was right beside you, her smile matching Natasha's enthusiasm. Together, the three of you became a whirlwind of movement, swaying and bouncing to the beat.

You could barely focus on anything else except the music, the flashing lights, and the rush of joy that came with being completely lost in the moment.

The alcohol continued through your veins faster than expected, the warmth beginning to spread from your stomach out to your limbs again making everything feel just a little bit lighter, a little bit fuzzier.

Your steps became a bit less steady, but the rhythm of the music carried you, and you couldn't help but laugh at how carefree you felt.

The world around you blurred, the flashing lights bouncing off your skin, creating an almost dreamlike atmosphere. Natasha twirled you around with ease, and you stumbled slightly, your vision doing a quick spin before you regained your balance.

It didn't matter. Nothing mattered right now but the music, the laughter, and the way Natasha and Wanda's energy seemed to feed into yours.

Lost in the energy of the night, you couldn't shake the feeling of someone watching you. It was a subtle thing at first, just the faintest prickling sensation on the back of your neck.

But then, you caught it Bucky's gaze, locked on you from across the room. He was sitting at the booth with a cup of whiskey in his hand, his eyes dark and focused, following your every move.

There was a hunger in his stare, something that made the hairs on your arms stand up. His expression was unreadable, but the intensity of his gaze was undeniable. It was like he couldn't look away, even as he took a slow sip of his drink.

You felt a shiver run through you, the alcohol in your system making you more aware of his presence than usual.

The song eventually came to an end, the last beat echoing in your chest as the energy on the dance floor started to end.

Natasha, still full of excitement, tugged at your arm with a grin. "Come on, let's get more shots!" she called, practically dragging you and Wanda toward the bar.

You stumbled slightly, the alcohol already buzzing in your veins, and followed her to the stools where the three of you could catch your breath.

The club was louder now, the chatter of the crowd mixing with the heavy bass, but it didn't matter. The only thing you were focused on was the next round of shots, and the rush they'd bring.

You sat down on one of the barstools, your legs feeling just a little too wobbly as you steadied yourself, trying to shake off the slight dizziness.

Wanda slid onto the stool beside you, while Natasha quickly flagged down the bartender for more drinks, her voice carrying over the noise of the club. The three of you leaned in, laughing and joking.

As the bartender set down the new shots in front of you, you couldn't help but grin, the alcohol making everything seem funnier than it probably was.

After finishing your shot, you slumped slightly against the counter, your head spinning, but not in a bad way. The club around you felt like it was spinning too, a whirlwind of lights and music. You tilted your head, staring off into the distance for a second, and then suddenly, a thought popped into your head.

"You know, I think Bucky might actually be a human sized puppy," you said loudly, your words coming out more sluggish than you realized. "Like one of those big fluffy ones that sits in your lap but has no idea how strong his legs are."

Wanda and Natasha exchanged a glance, both bursting out into laughter as they processed what you'd just said. You continued, blissfully unaware pointing at Bucky across the room.

"Like, he's probably the type to—uh—like, be all quiet and brooding until you scratch behind his ears," you added with a goofy smile, completely convinced of your brilliance.

Natasha snorted, shaking her head. "I don't know if Bucky's ever been compared to a puppy, but you're onto something." You grinned, nodding sagely as if you had unlocked a great truth. "Right?! Like—he's just all—silent and then BAM here's my big soft side!'"

Wanda laughed so hard, she nearly spilled her drink. "You've had enough shots for tonight, haven't you?" You waved her off with a big, sloppy grin. "Noooo—I'm just—I'm just right."

You gave them both a confident thumbs up, then took another shot like it was going to make everything even out.

ʚ・ ୨୧・ ɞ

You didn't know how you ended up on the table, but there you were, swaying to the beat with a carefree smile plastered on your face. The lights from the club spun around you, flashing like a strobe as the music pulsed in your chest.

You could hear the laughter from your Nat and Wanda, the sounds of phones clicking and flashes going off as everyone recorded your own little dance party.

You sat down on one of the barstools, your legs feeling just a little too wobbly as you steadied yourself, trying to shake off the slight dizziness.

The laughter filled the air, everyone enjoying the ridiculousness of it all. Everyone was laughing except for Bucky. His eyes locked onto you from across the room, his jaw slightly clenched as he made his way toward you.

He was heading over with a determined stride, and you couldn't shake the feeling that his gaze had shifted from amusement to something else.

"Here comes the fun police," Natasha teased, tugging at your skirt to get your attention. You groaned, suddenly aware of how tipsy and carefree you were.

You quickly turned the other way, hoping Bucky would just walk away and leave you to your antics. You knew he wouldn't approve, but in that moment, you didn't care. You were having fun, and nothing else mattered.

"Maybe if I pretend I don't see him, he'll go away," you mumbled to Natasha, your words slurring slightly.

As you continued to sway, you heard the shuffle of footsteps growing closer. The next thing you knew, Bucky had shifted around to the other side of the table, standing right in front of you now. His eyes locked onto yours. The intensity of his stare making your stomach flip.

"Having fun?" he asked, his voice low but amused, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips. You nodded, grinning widely, the alcohol making everything feel lighter, easier.

"You gonna join me?" you asked, your words a little slurred but full of mischief. The idea of him joining you on the table made you giggle, but you could tell by the way his gaze sharpened that he wasn't so sure about your dumb idea.

As you continued to sway to the music, your foot caught awkwardly on the edge of the table, and for a split second, it felt like you were about to lose your balance.

But you managed to catch yourself just in time, your hands shooting out to steady yourself. Bucky, watching intently, didn't seem as relieved as you. His expression shifted to one of concern.

"Get off the table," he said firmly, his voice laced with a protective tone. His eyes never left you, his body still tense as if ready to step in if needed.

You shook your head with a grin, still not willing to give up the fun just yet. "Nope," you replied, swaying slightly but standing firm. "I'm having fun."

Bucky's expression hardened, his patience clearly running thin. "Get off the table," he repeated, voice now tinged with authority.

Your eyes narrow as you still face him, your grin still in place despite the tipsy fuzziness clouding your thoughts. "No, you're not my dad," you shot back with a playful, drunken slur. "And you certainly aren't my boyfriend."

Bucky's expression dropped, the playful tension in his face melting into something more brooding and moody. His jaw tightened, eyes flickering with something deeper something unreadable, but it was enough to make you pause, even in your tipsy state.

"Fine," he muttered, voice darker now, with a finality that left no room for debate. Before you could react, Bucky stepped forward, his hand gripping your waist with surprising firmness. Without any more words, he threw you effortlessly over his shoulder.

"Bucky, what the hell?" you snapped, your voice sharp despite the fuzziness in your head. "Why are you doing this? Why can't I just have fun?"

You could feel the tension in your body, your frustration rising. "I'm fine, Bucky. I'm not falling off the table, let me have some fun!" you argued, struggling a little against his hold, but the alcohol in your system made it harder than you expected.

Bucky didn't falter, his grip on you unyielding as he moved with purpose. "You almost fell off the table." he stated voice calm but firm. "You're drunk and you need to eat before you go to bed. This isn't fun anymore; it's dangerous."

You seethed, not used to being treated like this. But there was no way around it Bucky wasn't backing down. He was right, but that didn't make it any easier to accept.

Bucky nodded at Tony, a silent gesture that made Tony give him a small, knowing look. Bucky didn't need to say anything more. He was taking you back to the tower, and that was final.

As he started walking toward the car, you couldn't help but feel a strange mix of emotions. The alcohol in your system made everything feel hazy and distant, but at the same time, everything felt lighter.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. "The sky is spinning," you said, your words slurring slightly as you gazed up at the night sky. "Look at the stars Bucky. They're so beautiful tonight." Your voice was soft.

Bucky didn't say anything, but you could feel his arm tighten around your waist, you couldn't help but let your gaze drop to his arm, the muscles flexing under his shirt with every step.

You blinked a couple of times, trying to focus. Everything seemed so much more vivid now, even though you were dizzy from the alcohol.

"Bucky..." you murmured, your voice drifting as you reached up to run your fingers over his bicep, the muscle firm and unyielding beneath your touch. "Damn, your huge." Your fingers squeezed gently, fascinated by the strength in his arm. "Is this like all from training?"

Bucky's body tensed a little at your touch, but he didn't pull away. He just gave a soft, amused sigh. "Yeah all from training." he said, though there was a faint edge to his voice that almost sounded like he was trying to hide the amusement in his tone.

You nodded, still mesmerized by the strength you could feel just under the surface of his skin. "No way—I need to start training," you said dreamily, giving his arm one last squeeze before your eyes drifted to the stars again, but then it shifted to Bucky again, his solid frame holding you securely.

You felt a sudden wave of affection, the alcohol making everything seem warmer, more intimate. "I feel like a princess," you whispered, your voice soft and sincere. "You should hold me like this all the time." You let out a content sigh, nuzzling into his chest a little as you relaxed in his hold.

Bucky looked down at you, his expression unreadable for a moment before his lips quirked slightly. "You're drunk," he said, his tone gentle but firm.

You shook your head, your eyes locking onto his with surprising seriousness for someone in your state. "No," you murmured, your voice steady, "I mean it. I really mean it."

Bucky's expression softened, a small, knowing smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. His eyes met yours with a hint of amusement, though his grip on you remained steady.

"Well, in that case," he said, his voice low and slightly teasing, "let me know when you need holding." His words, though light, felt oddly sincere as he continued to carry you back to the car.

As Bucky continued walking, his pace steady and focused, you couldn't shake the thought in your head. The alcohol still had its grip on you, but something in the air felt different, more intense. You looked up at him, swaying slightly in his arms, and your voice, soft and unsure, broke the silence.

"Bucky, can I have a kiss?" you asked, your words slow, a little slurred but full of a quiet longing. Bucky faltered for a moment, his brows furrowing as he looked down at you. "Take it back," he muttered, shaking his head. "You're drunk."

You frowned slightly, your lips pouting a little, but then you gathered your thoughts, looking at him with determination. "But my feelings the ones I'm feeling now for you, aren't confused."

Bucky's gaze softened, and for a moment, he seemed to struggle with the pull between his protective instincts and whatever else was flickering behind his eyes.

But before he could respond, you'd reached the car. Bucky opened the passenger side door, carefully placing you in the seat and buckling you up with the utmost care.

When he finished, he gave you a quick peck on the lips. It was soft, a fleeting brush of his lips against yours. You immediately smiled, a satisfied look on your face, but then you couldn't resist.

"One more," you murmured, a playful glint in your eyes. Bucky chuckled, the sound light but full of warmth. He leaned in again, pressing another kiss to your lips, this one lingering a little longer. But you weren't done yet.

"One more," you insisted, your voice teasing.

This time, Bucky laughed outright, his chest rumbling with the sound. "You're relentless," he teased, shaking his head. But he gave in, leaning in once more for a final kiss. When he pulled back, he smiled down at you, his eyes twinkling with a mix of amusement and something deeper.

"Alright, alright," he said, his voice warm and soft, "One more. You happy now?" You smiled contentedly, leaning back in the seat as the car's engine roared to life, the night feeling a little more magical than it had just moments before.

𝐃𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞

Pairing-Steve Rogers x F!Reader

Summary-You and Steve got into a fight before he left on a mission. You never got the chance to make things right. Now, he’s finally back, bruised, exhausted, and standing at your bedroom door at 2 AM, looking at you like you’re the only thing keeping him together.

Tags-Light angst,wounded steve rogers,soft steve rogers,comfort,fluff,happy ending,argument,harsh words

Word count-2.8k

The moment Steve stepped into the living room, something felt off. You were already standing there, waiting, eyes red and a knot of anxiety settling deep in your stomach.

"Steve," you said, your voice quiet but firm. "What is this? Another last minute mission?" He didn't respond right away. Instead, he just stared at the floor, like he couldn't meet your eyes.

His uniform was on, bag slung over his shoulder, and the weight of the entire situation crashed down on you. You knew this was coming, but it didn't make it any easier.

"You're really going to leave, just like this? After everything that's happened?" you asked, your voice shaking, a mix of frustration and hurt seeping through.

He finally looked up, and his face was hard, guarded. "I don't have a choice, Y/n," he said quietly. "It's a direct order. I have to go."

His words were cold, clipped, like a wall had gone up between you two, another one. "Well, I don't care about your orders, Steve." you snapped, your anger flaring. "I care about us." The words came out harsher than you meant, but you couldn't hold back anymore.

"You always leave. Every single time you walk out that door, you say it's for the mission, for the world. But what about me? When do I get to be more important?"

His jaw clenched at the accusation, and you could see the guilt flash across his face for just a second before it was replaced by anger.

"You think I want to leave you? You think I want to hurt you like this?" His voice rose, the tension crackling in the air between you. "I don't get to pick when I leave or how long I'm gone, y/n. You know that better than anyone!"

"Then what do you expect me to do, huh? Just sit here and wait? For you to come back, broken and distant, like last time? Because every time you leave, it gets harder. And I don't know if I can keep doing this," you shouted, the tears threatening to spill all over again, your heart racing in your chest.

"I'm doing the best I can!" he shot back, his fists clenched. "I'm trying to keep people alive. I'm trying to make sure we have a world to come back to. But you don't get it, y/n."

You scoffed bitterly, stepping back. "You don't get it either, Steve. You don't get how much this hurts. How much it hurts to watch you leave and never know if you're coming back. I love you, but I can't keep living in the shadows of your damn missions. I can't be second to everything else in your life."

His eyes softened, but it was too late. The words were already out, hanging in the air, thick and suffocating. You pressed your hands to your face, trying to stop the tears. "I just—I'm always waiting for you. And I don't think I can keep doing this. I don't know if I can wait for someone who keeps leaving me."

He looked like you'd just slapped him, and for a moment, there was silence between you two. It was deafening, like all the words you both wanted to say were stuck somewhere deep down inside.

"y/n," Steve finally whispered, voice raw, defeated. "I never wanted this. I never wanted to hurt you. I just—I don't know how to be everything for you. I can't just stop being Captain America, and I can't stop being the person I am. You knew what you were getting into when we started this—when we started us."

You shook your head, struggling to keep yourself composed. "I didn't know it would feel like this. I didn't know it would feel like you were slipping away from me every time you fucking leave."

There was another long silence. His chest heaved as if he had a million things to say but couldn't find the words. You could see it in his eyes. He was torn. He wanted to stay. But he couldn't.

Then the sound of his phone ringing cut through the tension like a knife. His face hardened, and he glanced at the screen. "I have to take this," he muttered.

"No," you whispered, your voice breaking.

The phone rang again, and Steve hesitated. His expression softened, but the decision had already been made. His hands were shaking as he swiped to answer. "Yeah, I'm ready," he said, his voice cold, unfeeling. It felt like everything was falling apart. You stood there, trying not to fall apart yourself.

"Steve, please," you begged, the tears spilling freely now. "Please don't go, I cant-" your voice cracked and broke.

He closed his eyes for a moment, his heart breaking as he stood in the doorway, caught between duty and love. Then, without another word, he walked over to you and gently, almost reverently, took your hand.

"Y/n, I'm sorry," he said, voice low and broken. "But I have to go. Can I—can I make you a promise?" You looked at him through tear filled eyes, your heart hammering in your chest, and shook your head, not wanting to hear it.

"Don't make promises you can't keep, Steve. Don't promise me anything. You'll just leave again—and I'll be here, waiting, hoping."

He took a deep breath, his thumb gently brushing over the back of your hand as he pressed his pinky finger into yours. "I swear to you, I'll come back, y/n. I'll come back."

You shook your head, your breath catching in your throat. "Steve please stay."

But Steve's lips were already brushing against your knuckles. "I'll come back," he repeated softly, his voice firm yet filled with regret. "I promise."

And with that, he walked out of the apartment, leaving you standing alone, broken and trembling. The door closed softly behind him, and for the first time in what felt like forever, all you could do was wait in the silence.

The sound of the door clicking shut echoed through the apartment, the finality of it making your heart sink. You stood frozen for a moment, staring at the spot where Steve had just been, as if you were hoping he'd suddenly come back, that somehow this whole mess would reverse itself.

But it didn't. He was gone, and all that remained was the emptiness that he'd left behind. The silence felt unbearable. Your fists clenched at your sides, and before you knew it, your anger started to rise, hot and suffocating.

"I hate it here..." you muttered under your breath, your chest tightening with frustration. You needed to do something. Anything. He wasn't the only one who could walk away.

You marched to your room, hands shaking as you threw open the closet doors. Clothes flew out, landing in a heap at your feet, and before you knew it, you were yanking things off hangers, stuffing them into a bag.

The anger only seemed to fuel you, pushing the hurt deeper and deeper inside. You couldn't do this anymore. You couldn't keep living in the shadow of his missions, never knowing if he was going to come back, always waiting for him to leave again.

You shoved your favorite jacket into the bag, your mind racing. How could  you stay here? The thought kept repeating in your head, but no matter how much you tried to force it, you couldn't shake the truth.

Steve was a part of you. He was everything you'd ever known. Every time he came back, you were there, waiting. And every time he left, you swore it would be the last.

You knew it wasn't healthy. You knew it. But you also knew that the life you'd built with Steve, your life wasn't something you could just throw away, no matter how much it hurt.

With every item you packed, you felt a small piece of you slipping away. And yet, you couldn't stop. You didn't know where you were going. You didn't even know if you were going to leave, but in that moment, all you could feel was the need to run.

You can't be here anymore, you thought, desperation clouding your thoughts, you can't keep doing this.

But the moment your suitcase was halfway full, your chest suddenly constricted. The anger, the hurt, it all came crashing down, and the walls you'd put up—those walls you had carefully constructed, crumbled to dust.

You sat down on the bed, your head spinning. You had thought leaving would give you control, that it would be a way to protect yourself from the pain, but it only made everything worse.

Your vision blurred with tears, your breath hitching as your chest felt like it was being torn in two. Your hand fumbled at the zipper of the suitcase, your fingers suddenly numb.

You wanted to stop. You wanted to make everything go away, but Steve, Steve was all you knew.

Your heart ached as memories of him flooded your mind, the quiet moments in the kitchen when he'd make you coffee, the way he would hold you at night when you'd fall asleep in his big arms, the way he'd smile when he saw you after a mission, tired but always somehow happy to see you. Those little things, the things that made him Steve were now memories that you weren't sure you could live without.

Tears fell freely now, hot and unrelenting, soaking into your clothes as you clutched the edge of your suitcase, feeling like the weight of it was too much to bear. Your breath came in ragged gasps, and you couldn't tell if it was from the anger, the sadness, or the hopelessness that seemed to surround you.

You can't leave, y/n. You can't. Not without him. Not like this.

You crumbled, your body shaking as you lied on the bed. The suitcase, half packed, lay beside you, abandoned as you gave in to the pain. Your chest heaved as the tears came harder, faster. Steve was your world.

He always had been. The thought of not having him in your life, of walking away from everything you had with him, felt like a part of you was being ripped out, a piece of your soul being torn away.

You buried your face in your hands, gasping for air as you cried. It wasn't fair. It wasn't fair that he could leave like that, that you had to deal with the consequences of his missions while he was out there, saving the world.

And yet, you knew you could never truly leave him. Not like this. And just like that, the anger, the fight, everything you'd felt moments ago faded into a deep, overwhelming sorrow.

You were stuck. Stuck between loving him more than you ever thought possible and hating him for leaving you over and over again. As you lay there, curled up in your bed, the pain seemed to consume you whole.

You didn't know what to do. You didn't know if you could fix this. The only thing you knew was that Steve had become the very air you breathed, and the thought of him never coming back felt like it was going to suffocate you.

ʚ・ ୨୧・ ɞ

2am

It's the middle of the night when Steve stumbles into the apartment, his steps unsteady, his body barely holding up under the weight of exhaustion and pain.

The mission had been one of the hardest he'd ever been on, nothing like the usual chaos, no. This one had pushed him to his limits.

Blood stains the side of his uniform, his skin bruised and torn in places he doesn't even remember. His left arm hangs at an awkward angle, the cut on his side still seeping through the cloth of his tactical gear.

Every movement is a struggle, each breath shallow as his ribs ache in protest. The weight of the pain feels like it might swallow him whole, but he pushes forward.

His focus is on one thing, you.

He can barely stand as he stumbles toward the bedroom door. He's been longing to see you, to explain, to make things right. But the tension of the fight before he left still lingers in his chest, a tight knot he hasn't been able to undo.

He knows he messed up. He knows he should've said more, should've tried harder to make amends. But now, all he can think about is the look on your face when he left hurt, angry, confused. And how he left it unresolved. How it's been haunting him ever since.

Pushing the door open, he's greeted by the sight of you, lying peacefully in bed. The soft rise and fall of your chest as you sleep, the way the moonlight catches in your hair, it's enough to break him.

He wants to reach out to you, to crawl into bed beside you and just hold you, but the sight of the suitcase stops him in his tracks.

His heart sinks.

Your suitcase is halfway packed, the clothes spilling out like you were about to leave, like you couldn't wait to get away from him. The realization hits him like a physical blow. You were going to leave.

He staggers forward, barely able to keep his footing, the exhaustion threatening to overtake him. He hovers by the bed, his eyes fixed on you, on the mess of clothes, and the crushing weight of regret

You stir in your sleep, the soft shuffle of movement beside you pulling you from your rest. Your eyes flutter open slowly, adjusting to the dim light of the room. The first thing you see is him, Steve standing there by the bed, his body tense, barely holding itself up.

Your heart skips a beat, and before your mind can fully catch up with the reality of what's happening, you sit up, your eyes scanning him frantically.

The bruises, the blood, the way he's barely standing, he's hurt, badly. Without thinking, you slide out of bed and step toward him. Your arms wrap around him gently, pulling him into a soft, hesitant hug.

The warmth of his body, the familiar scent of him, it feels like a balm on your wounds too. "You should've known I was never gonna leave," you whisper against his chest, the words thick with emotion.

He exhales shakily, his lips brushing against your hair. His arms come around you, pulling you closer, and he presses a soft kiss to your lips light, tender, full of an unspoken apology. It's not enough to erase the tension between you, but it's a start.

His lips linger against yours for a moment longer, then he pulls back slightly, meeting your gaze. His eyes are tired, but there's relief there, too like he didn't realize how badly he needed to hear those words from you.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, his voice barely above a breath. His face is etched with exhaustion and regret, but there's love there too.

You give him a soft nod, then gently guide him to sit on the edge of the bed. Your hands tremble slightly as you begin to help him remove his gear, carefully unfastening the straps on his uniform, revealing the wounds he's been hiding.

The sight of his bloodied skin makes your stomach churn, but you push the panic down, focusing on helping him.

You run your fingers over the cuts, your touch as gentle as you can manage, trying to clean his wounds without causing him any more pain. "I love you Steve." You murmur, your voice thick with emotion as you press a cloth to one of the deeper cuts on his side.

His hand reaches up to rest on yours, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in comfort. "Do you now?" he teases, though it's clear from his tone that the guilt weighs heavily on him. "I love you too y/n stop worrying my beautiful girl."

You look up at him, meeting his gaze as you finish treating his wounds. "I'm not going anywhere, Steve. Not now, not ever."

His lips curl into a small smile, though it's tinged with sorrow. He nods, you finish bandaging his side. For now, it's just the two of you, in this moment, no more fighting, no more running away. Only the quiet comfort of each other's presence.

Steve's hand gently pulls you down onto him, guiding you so you're now straddling his hips. He winces slightly, the motion causing his injuries to flare up, but he doesn’t seem to care.

He chuckles, despite the pain, his breath ragged. "Guess I'm not as invincible as I thought," he murmurs with a teasing smile, though the strain in his voice is obvious.

You laugh softly, your fingers trailing up the side of his face, brushing a stray piece of hair from his forehead. His eyes flutter shut, a sigh escaping his lips. The humor between you both dies away, and a different kind of silence fills the air tension, but not the kind that keeps you apart.

His hand slips behind your back, pulling you closer as his lips find yours. It's not urgent, not frantic, but soft, lingering, a slow meeting of lips as if both of you are savoring this moment.

His touch is tender, his other hand resting gently on the back of your neck, urging you to stay close. You let yourself sink into him, the warmth of his body against yours making everything else disappear.

His lips move against yours, the kiss deepening as the world outside fades away, leaving just the two of you in this moment, this fragile space between past hurts and the promise of healing.

𝐔𝐧𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐧

Pairing-Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Summary-Bucky refuses to let himself get close to you, constantly keeping his distance. But one night, after a nightmare, he finds himself knocking on your door, seeking comfort in the last place he ever expected

Tags-comfort,soft bucky,nightmares,fear,happy ending,emotional support,a tad bit angst

Word count-1.3k

Bucky is a man of few words and even fewer connections. He's been through too much, seen too much, to ever fully open up to anyone. He keeps everyone at arm's length, too afraid to get close and risk the pain of loss or rejection.

You though? Your different. For some reason, Bucky finds it hard to push you away. You're the only person who's been able to break through the walls he's built around himself. Maybe it's your strength, your quiet patience, or the way you've never forced him to talk about his past.

The recent shower had left you feeling relaxed, your skin warm and soft as you stepped out. The air in your room was cool, but the gentle, golden light from your bedside lamp made the space feel cozy and inviting.

You slipped into your white lace set delicate and simple, the fabric clinging softly to your skin. The matching tank top and underwear hugged you in all the right ways, the lace a faint whisper against your body.

As you moved toward your bed, the faint scent of vanilla clung to your skin, mixing with the lingering steam from the shower.

It was subtle, one of your favorite things. You sat down on the edge of the bed and opened the book that you had been reading earlier.

The room felt warm, peaceful, the soft glow from the lamp casting shadows against the walls as you settled in, the pages of your book rustling quietly as you began to read.

The words on the page blurred after a while, your eyelids growing heavy with the comfort of the stillness surrounding you. 

ʚ・ ୨୧・ ɞ

3am

Somewhere around the middle of the night a faint knock at the door pierced through the stillness. It was a sound so out of place in that came of the night, and it startled you awake, your body jerking slightly as you blinked, groggy and confused.

For a moment, your mind was too foggy to register the source of the noise. You groaned softly, irritated at being woken up so suddenly.

Still, the knock came again, louder this time, urgent. You threw the covers off in a hurry, the cool air of the room hitting your warm skin as you stumbled out of bed.

You quickly crossed the room, your feet barely making a sound against the floor. You were ready to snap at whoever had the audacity to disturb your peaceful sleep, but as you opened the door, your words faltered.

Standing in front of you was Bucky. His usually composed face was anything but. His eyes were red rimmed, glistening with tears, his breath coming in short, uneven gasps.

His hands were trembling at his sides, and his entire body seemed to be coiled with tension, as if he were holding himself together by sheer force of will.

It was the last thing you expected, and your irritation melted into concern as you took in the sight of him.

"Bucky?" You whispered, your voice thick with sleep and confusion. "What—" He immediately cut off your questions with a cracked voice, "I need—" His voice cracked, and for a moment, he seemed at a loss for words, like he was fighting something deep inside.

He wiped at his face, trying to steady himself, but his hands trembled. "I need you," he finally whispered, his voice shaky with a mix of exhaustion and something deeper, more raw.

Your heart tightened at the sight of him, this was not the Bucky you were used to. The stoic, guarded man who always kept his distance this was someone else entirely.

Without thinking, you moved closer to him, your arms wrapping around his trembling form in a tight hug. Bucky flinched at first, but then he melted into your embrace, his body shaking violently.

His sobs were muffled against your shoulder, the sound raw and desperate, like a dam that had finally broken.

You held him for a few moments longer, your heart breaking for the pain he was in, before gently pulling him away, your hand still on his back. "Come on," you murmured softly, leading him toward your bed.

You didn't know what else to do, but you couldn't stand seeing him in this state, vulnerable and hurting. Bucky followed you wordlessly, his feet dragging as if he were already exhausted. Without hesitation, he lowered himself onto your bed, curling up in a position that felt familiar to him.

His head resting gently between your thighs, his body still trembling. It was as if, in this moment, it was the only place he could find solace.

Your heart pounded a bit, your fingers running through his dark damp hair, the coolness of the room in stark contrast to the heat from his skin. His breathing was shallow at first, but as you continued to soothe him, the tension in his body slowly began to fade.

"Do you want to talk about it?" you asked quietly, your voice soft but steady, careful not to push him. Bucky's response was a small, barely perceptible nod, his face pressed against your thighs, his eyes closed.

"Okay," you said gently, your fingers still weaving through his hair. "And if it gets too much, you can stop. You don't have to do this if you're not ready."

Bucky shifted slightly, his hand coming up to grip the fabric of your blanket as he tried to find his words. After a moment, he spoke, his voice quiet and hoarse, the weight of his nightmare still lingering in his tone.

"I was back in that place," he started, his voice shaking as he spoke. "Hydra. They were all around me, the experiments, the people they hurt, And I couldn't stop it. I was just—just standing there, watching them hurt people, and I couldn't move. I couldn't save them."

His breath hitched. "And then... and then I saw you. But I couldn't reach you, you were so far away, and I couldn't protect you." He paused, the memory still haunting him. His grip on the blanket tightened, his breathing quickening again.

"It felt so real," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "Like I was back there again, and I couldn't do anything."

Your heart ached for him as you gently rubbed his back, trying to offer him the comfort he so desperately needed. "You're safe now, Bucky," you whispered.

"None of that is real anymore. You're with me, and I won't let anything happen to you. I promise." Bucky didn't respond, but his grip on the blanket loosened just a bit, his body relaxing slightly against you.

You continued to play with his hair, giving him the space to process, the quiet room around you both offering a sense of calm.

Without warning, you felt a soft, warm kiss on the inside of your thigh. It was gentle, almost like a sigh, as if Bucky were trying to express gratitude in the only way he could.

His lips lingered there for a moment, a delicate, tender touch that sent a shiver through you not from any discomfort, but from the quiet intimacy of it all.

Bucky pulled away slightly, sitting up just enough to look at you. His eyes drifted over your form, catching the soft glow of the lamp reflecting off your matching white lace tank top and underwear. A small, breathy chuckle escaped him as he gazed at you.

"This is what you wear to bed?" he asked, a smirk tugging at his lips. The sound of his amusement made your stomach twist, and suddenly, you became hyper aware of the way you were dressed.

You crossed your arms over your chest instinctively, a rush of self consciousness flooding through you.

"Are you laughing at me?" you asked, a tinge of insecurity creeping into your voice. Bucky immediately noticed the shift in your mood. He shifted closer to you, his eyes softening.

"No, y/n, I'm not laughing at you." His voice was sincere, his smile turning into something warmer. "You look beautiful."

𝐁𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐏𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐭

Summary: You’ve been stuck in a draining relationship with a man who couldn’t care less about you, constantly parading his attention to other women in front of you. Tonight, you’re at a bar, feeling more invisible than ever. But then, Wanda Maximoff enters the picture.

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x F!Reader

Notes: Haii!! You people can find me on wattpad also and tt (@maevebarnes)

Word count: 2463

You met him in college just a few years ago, but it felt like a lifetime ago now. Back then, he was charming. The kind of guy who would buy you a drink, whisper compliments and make you laugh until you forgot about all your worries.

He had this way about him, like he could light up a room with just a smile. He was everything you thought you wanted: confident, outgoing, and always up for a good time.

At first, things were great. Late night drives, laughing over pizza, the shared excitement of spontaneous trips. But somewhere along the way, things changed. Slowly at first, then all at once.

It started with small things how he'd ignore your texts or show up late without any explanation. Then, there were the comments. Subtle digs at your appearance, your choices, your friends. And soon, he was out every night, and you were left at home, wondering where it all went wrong.

The tipping point came when you tried to have a serious conversation about it. You were sitting together, dinner half eaten, the silence between you heavy.

He looked at you like you were an inconvenience, like you were wasting his time. "You're just being dramatic, y/n me and her were friends." he said, waving it off like your feelings didn't matter. "Can't you just be cool about things for once?"

That was the moment you realized it was never going to be the same. But you stayed. Maybe it was out of comfort, maybe it was out of hope. The idea that things could go back to how they were, that he'd snap out of whatever this was.

But the truth was, he wasn't the person you thought he was. He was someone selfish, inconsiderate, and now it was just painfully obvious.

And tonight, you were once again at the bar with him hoping that maybe, just maybe, things would be different.

ʚ・ ୨୧・ ɞ

The music thudded in your ears as you sat next to him, nursing your drink, trying not to look at the way he was chatting up yet another girl across the room. She was laughing too loud, leaning in just a bit too close.

You could feel the burn in your chest, that familiar ache that told you he was slipping further away. But it didn't seem to matter to him. You could tell he was drunk by the way he was slurring his words, the way his body swayed slightly with each laugh.

Yet, that didn't stop him from practically ignoring you in favor of the girl. You wondered if he even realized you were still sitting beside him. The next thing you knew, his lips were on hers, hungrily, passionately.

You could see the alcohol on their breath as they kissed like they were the only two people in the world. You didn't want to be that person, the jealous, angry girlfriend but how could you not? How could you sit there while he made out with someone else, right in front of you?

A sick feeling twisted in your stomach as you stood up, pushing your chair back sharply. His eyes didn't even leave the girl's lips when he finally glanced your way. "You alright, babe?" he asked casually, not a hint of remorse in his voice.

"Are you serious?" You were already shaking with rage, the words barely able to leave your mouth fast enough. "You're sitting here making out with another girl and you think I'm 'alright'? Are you that pathetic?"

He frowned, trying to pull away from the girl as he caught your eye. "Come on, don't be like that. Join us. It'll be fun. Don't you want to? You've been so uptight lately."

"No," you shouted, the words coming out harsh, raw. "I've had enough of this. Enough of you, enough of this whole thing. You're disgusting."

You turned on your heel and stormed out of the bar, the cool night air hitting your face like a slap. You stood outside, taking a deep breath, trying to fight back the tears that threatened to spill. It wasn't the first time, but it felt like the final straw.

You barely noticed the quiet figure stepping into view, until her voice cut through the chaos in your mind. "You're starting to get really hard to track."

You jumped, startled, whipping your head around to find none other than Wanda Maximoff standing in front of you. "Are you stalking me?" You blurted out, wiping your eyes quickly, still shaken.

"You're starting to get really hard to track."

Wanda had been showing up for you in ways that felt almost like fate, always just when you needed her. It started small bringing over a bottle of wine when you were having one of those nights where everything felt too heavy to carry on your own.

You'd spent hours talking to her, pouring out your frustrations about everything from your relationship to your lack of self-worth, and Wanda never once judged. She just listened, offering comfort and the occasional joke to ease your mind.

There were other times, too. When he was out with his friends, treating you like an afterthought, Wanda showed up at your door with take out and a simple smile. She could always tell when something was wrong, even if you didn't say it out loud. She'd just find a way to be there.

Whether it was dropping by to check on you after a long day or leaving a sweet note with a small token of comfort on your desk at work, Wanda had this way of showing you she cared without making it feel like a burden.

It was as if she knew exactly when the weight of everything would get too much for you to handle on your own. Now, here she was, in front of you again, this time at the bar when everything had finally hit its breaking point.

Wanda raised an eyebrow, an amused smile tugging at the corner of her lips. "Not stalking, just...keeping an eye out. I've been following your energy for a while now."

You sniffled, unsure whether to laugh or cry, but Wanda didn't seem to mind. She stepped closer, her presence a steadying force.

"What's going on, Y/N?" she asked, her voice soft yet commanding, like she could feel the weight on your shoulders. You laughed bitterly, shaking your head. "It's nothing. Just...my life's a mess."

She stood there for a moment, her gaze piercing, but gentle. "It doesn't seem like nothing." She sighed, crossing her arms. "That guy in there doesn't deserve you."

The words hit you like a ton of bricks, and suddenly, the tears you'd been holding back came crashing forward. "I don't even know why I'm still with him," you admitted, wiping your eyes. "I thought things would get better, but they never do. He doesn't even care about me."

Wanda's eyes softened, her expression tender. "You deserve someone who sees you. Someone who values you for who you are." You let out a shaky breath, feeling the weight of everything you'd been holding inside slowly begin to lift.

"You deserve better than that asshole, you know that, right?" Wanda's voice was firm, but kind. You swallowed, looking up at her with teary eyes. "Do you really think so?"

Wanda took a small step forward, closing the distance between you. She reached out, her hand warm against yours. "I know so," she whispered.

There was a brief pause, one that seemed to stretch forever, before Wanda asked, "Can I take you to dinner?" You crossed your arms, trying to play it cool despite the butterflies in your stomach. "Dinner? Are you sure you want to waste your time with me?"

Wanda smirked, her eyes twinkling with amusement. "I think you're worth it." Your heart fluttered in your chest as she intertwined her fingers with yours.

Her hand felt right, grounding. You looked up at her, and for the first time in a long while, you felt seen. Wanda leaned in, her lips brushing against your cheek in a soft, fleeting kiss.

It wasn't anything grand just the kind of moment that told you, in that instant, that maybe, just maybe, things could be different now.

ʚ・ ୨୧・ ɞ

The restaurant was warm, a stark contrast to the chill of the night outside. Wanda's hand was wrapped around yours, her grip steady, reassuring. She hadn't let go since she pulled you away from that nightmare of a bar, away from him, and honestly, you didn't want her to.

As the host led you both to a booth tucked into a quiet corner, Wanda glanced at you, her thumb brushing against your skin. "You okay?" she asked softly.

You let out a breath you hadn't realized you were holding. "Yeah," you murmured, sliding into your seat. "I think I will be." Wanda gave a small smile, as if she already knew that.

The moment the menus were in front of you, she spoke again. "Order whatever you want. My treat." You arched a brow. "Trying to impress me, Maximoff?"

She smirked. "Is it working?"

You huffed out a small laugh, shaking your head, but there was no denying the warmth in your chest. It was strange just hours ago, you had been stuck in a toxic loop, watching the man who was supposed to love you betray you right in front of your eyes

And now? You were here, with Wanda, feeling lighter than you had in a long time. Once the orders were placed, a comfortable silence settled between you. Wanda was watching you again, but not in a way that made you feel self conscious.

No, her gaze was soft, thoughtful, like she was trying to memorize every detail of you in this moment. "You really have been there for me, haven't you?" you mused aloud, tracing the rim of your glass with your finger.

Wanda tilted her head slightly. "Of course I have." You glanced up at her. "Even before tonight when things started getting bad, you just...showed up. With wine, with comfort, with hugs when I didn't even realize I needed them."

Wanda's expression softened. "I hated seeing you with him." You swallowed. "Why didn't you say anything?"

She exhaled, shaking her head. "Because I knew you weren't ready to hear it. You had to see it for yourself." Your fingers curled against the table. "I was so stupid to stay as long as I did."

Wanda reached across the table, gently prying your hand open so she could tangle her fingers with yours again. "No," she said firmly. "You loved him. You wanted to believe he could change. That's not stupid." You let out a shaky breath, squeezing her hand.

Wanda watched you for a moment before she spoke again, her voice quieter this time. "You deserve better than that asshole. You know that, right?" You nodded slowly. "Yeah. I think I'm finally starting to believe that."

A small, knowing smile tugged at her lips. "Good." She hesitated for a beat before continuing. "Can I take you to dinner again? A real date this time?"

Your brows lifted slightly. "So, what's this, then?" Wanda smirked. "An escape." She squeezed your hand. "But I want more than that. I want you."

Your breath hitched slightly. For a second, all you could do was stare at her. The sincerity in her voice, the quiet intensity in her eyes it was overwhelming in the best way.

You swallowed, letting a slow smile form on your lips. Then, in a playful challenge, you crossed your arms. "You gonna wine and dine me properly, Maximoff?"

Wanda laughed, eyes crinkling at the corners. "Absolutely." She leaned in then, and before you could overthink it, you met her halfway.

The kiss was soft, warm, lingering nothing like the desperate, sloppy kisses you'd endured before. This was intentional, like she wanted you to know exactly how much she meant it. When she pulled back, her smirk returned. "So? Is that a yes?"

"Yes."

Wanda's thumb brushed lightly against the back of your hand as she leaned back in her seat, a satisfied smile playing at her lips.

The warmth of the restaurant, the soft hum of conversations around you, the way Wanda looked at you like she actually saw you it all made you feel something you hadn't felt in a long time. Safe.

You sighed, a small, almost disbelieving smile tugging at your lips. "You know, I haven't felt this... relaxed in forever." Wanda tilted her head. "Not even as a kid?"

You let out a quiet laugh, shaking your head. "No, I was a menace as a kid. I think I stressed everyone out." Wanda smirked, amused. "Oh? Do tell."

You exhaled, thinking for a moment before the memory surfaced, clear as day. "Okay, so when I was, like, seven, I had this brilliant idea to run away." Wanda's brows lifted. "Run away?"

"Mhm. And not for a good reason either. I wasn't being neglected or mistreated or anything I just wanted to see how far I could get before someone noticed." Wanda snorted. "That sounds exactly like something you'd do."

You rolled your eyes playfully. "So, I packed my little backpack with the essentials Teddy Grahams, a juice box, and my favorite stuffed animal. And I left so dramatically, slamming the front door and everything. I thought I was so slick."

Wanda bit her lip, trying to hold back laughter. "How far did you get?" You sighed, shaking your head. "I made it four houses down before I got hungry and turned back."

Wanda burst into laughter, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "You couldn't even make it to the end of the block?"

"Nope," you admitted, grinning. "And when I got back, my mom didn't even realize I was gone. She was just like, "Oh, you were outside? Okay, dinner's almost ready." Wanda wiped a tear of laughter from the corner of her eye, still laughing. "That's adorable."

You shrugged. "I like to think of it as character development. Now, if I ever run away, I'll at least bring two juice boxes." Wanda shook her head, still grinning. "Noted."

The laughter settled into something softer, a comfortable silence stretching between you. Wanda was still smiling, her gaze lingering on you like she was memorizing every little detail the way your eyes lit up when you laughed, the way you gestured when you spoke.

"You really are something else," she murmured, voice fond. You felt warmth spread through your chest, and for once, it wasn't followed by doubt or second-guessing. For the first time in a long time, you actually felt wanted.

Rain and Thunder

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word count: 1226

Summary: Gloomy days have never been your thing..but you have Bucky!

(My first fic here😔)

The first crack of thunder rattled the windows, and you flinched before you could stop yourself. The rain lashed against the glass in sheets, the wind howling through the city streets below.

You clenched your jaw, forcing yourself to focus on the warmth of the blanket wrapped around you, the dim glow of the bedside lamp. It was just a storm. It would pass.

Another rumble shook the sky, and your breath hitched. You curled your fingers into the fabric of Bucky’s shirt, his shirt, the one you’d stolen from his drawer hours ago.

“Y/n? Angel?”

His voice was soft, groggy from sleep. You turned slightly, catching sight of him sitting up on his elbows, hair mussed, eyes heavy with exhaustion. He squinted at you through the dim light, but the second another clap of thunder rolled through, he was awake fully awake.

Bucky didn’t say anything at first. He just watched you, his gaze dipping to the way your fingers twisted in the hem of his shirt, the way your shoulders curled inward like you were trying to make yourself smaller.

“You’re scared,” he murmured. Not a question..just fact. You exhaled sharply, turning your head toward the window. “It’s just a storm.”

Bucky sat up, the bed dipping under his weight. “That’s not what I asked.” You sighed, running a hand through your hair. You hated this. Hated how storms made you feel like a kid again, like you were powerless. It was embarrassing.

“You don’t have to hide it from me,” Bucky said softly. The mattress shifted, and then he was there, wrapping an arm around your waist, pulling you into him.

You resisted at first, stiff in his hold, but when the next burst of thunder echoed through the room, you gave in. You pressed your face into his chest, inhaling the familiar scent of him metal, pine, something uniquely Bucky.

“I hate storms,” you admitted, voice muffled against his skin. “I know.” His fingers brushed up and down your spine, slow and steady, grounding. “I’ve noticed.”

You pulled back slightly, just enough to look at him. “You have?”

Bucky gave you a small, lopsided smile. “’Course I have. You get quiet when it rains. Stiff when it thunders. And you always..” he gently tugged at the fabric of his shirt still clutched in your hand “grab onto something. Usually me.”

Your face warmed. “I didn’t think you’d noticed.” Bucky huffed a quiet laugh. “Doll, I notice everything about you.”

Another rumble vibrated through the room, and instinctively, you clung to him again. He didn’t tease you for it, didn’t make you feel weak. He just held you tighter, his flesh hand sliding under the hem of his shirt to rest against the bare skin of your back, his touch warm and soothing.

“You’re safe,” he murmured against your hair. “It’s just noise. Just a storm. I won’t let it touch you.”

You exhaled slowly, focusing on the steady rise and fall of his chest, the sound of his heartbeat under your ear.

With Bucky holding you like this, whispering soft reassurances against your temple, the storm didn’t seem so scary anymore.

Bucky’s fingers traced slow, absentminded patterns against your back, the warmth of his palm keeping you grounded.

The thunder had eased for now, rumbling somewhere in the distance, but the rain still fell steadily against the windows. You could hear it dripping off the balcony outside, a steady rhythm that matched the quiet rise and fall of Bucky’s breathing.

“You’re still tense,” he murmured. You sighed. “I’m trying.” Bucky kisses your forehead gently. “I know.” His voice was low, gentle. “Just relax, angel. I’ve got you.”

You buried your face deeper into his chest, focusing on the feeling of him the steady beat of his heart, the way he smelled like cedarwood and something inherently Bucky.

His vibranium fingers slid up, tangling loosely in your hair, massaging lightly at your scalp. The tension in your shoulders started to melt, little by little.

For a while, neither of you spoke. You just listened to the storm together, wrapped up in each other. Then, softly, Bucky broke the silence.

“What was the worst storm you ever got stuck in?” You huffed a quiet laugh against his chest. “You really wanna talk about storms right now?”

“Figured maybe if we talk about it, it won’t seem so bad,” he said, fingers still toying with strands of your hair. “So?”

You thought about it, lips pressing together. “I was twelve. Visiting my aunt in this tiny town in the middle of nowhere. There was this huge storm power went out, trees fell, roads flooded. I swear, I thought I was gonna die.” Bucky let out a low chuckle. “Twelve year old you was probably being dramatic.” Bucky said obviously being sarcastic.

“I was not! It was terrifying,” you insisted. “I had to sleep with a flashlight under my pillow for weeks after that.” His chest rumbled with laughter. “That’s cute.”

You smacked his arm lightly, tilting your head up to glare at him. “I was scared half to death.” Bucky smirked. “but the way you handle things..it’s one of the many things I love about you.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, lips pressing into a thin line. “I will literally get up and leave.”

Bucky tightened his grip around you instantly, pulling you closer. “No, you won’t,” he said smoothly, his breath warm against your temple. “You like me too much.”

You scoffed. “Debatable.”

“Liar.” His fingers danced idly across your back again, slow and soothing, and you felt yourself relax even more. His touch always had a way of grounding you, whether you liked to admit it or not.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The storm outside had settled into a steady rhythm, a quiet hum that felt less terrifying when you were curled up against him.

Then, he murmured, “You know, I kinda like storms.” You pulled back just enough to look at him like he’d lost his mind. “Of course, you do.”

Maybe the thunder was less scary with him aren’t so bad after all.