Marvel Mcu - Blog Posts

2012, aka the year when two groups of superheroes were formed in order to defeat two of the most interesting and emo villains to ever walk the earth.

Here's a list of characters I love in fiction but hate in real life because some people are getting a little too serious

Tony Stark- MCU

Steve- Troll Hunters

Snotlout- How To Train Your Dragon

Greg House- House

James Potter- Harry Potter/Marauders

Matthew Murdock- Daredevil

Fitzwilliam Darcy- Pride and Prejudice

Tony Dinozzo- NCIS

There are probably more honestly. I love these characters and will defend them in an argument, but fiction does not equal reality

If you hate on Tony Stark or Iron Man you suck. You just suck. If it's constructive criticism of his character or his actions or morals that's different, but if you just hate him cause "he's selfish" or "he's not really a hero" or "he's the worst of the Avengers" then you suck. If not a hero, what is he? He didn't start off as a good guy, but he realizes what he did wrong and changes it, and he does it without completely changing who he is as a person.

Tony Stark may be selfish and an asshole, but that does not make him selfless. He literally sacrifices himself in Avengers, and its not because he thinks he can make it or because he wants attention. He just cares about everyone and the world. He has trust issues and he's worried about himself, but he's also so worried about everyone else. He cares so much for Pepper and Happy and all of the Avengers. He is just scared to express it because bad things tend to happen when he cares about people.

I understand the criticism of him in Civil War, mostly because of how he brings Peter in, but from his pov it's perfectly reasonable. He agrees to the Accords because he is full of guilt. He feels like if he and the other Avengers agree to it the world will be a safer and more just place. They'll have accountability. Honestly it makes perfect sense from a civilian point of view. I'm not saying it was the right call or that Steve was wrong, his pov was perfectly reasonable too, given his history. But then Steve left and took half of Tony's family with him. Then he sided with- for all Tony's seen- a terrorist and the very thing he's trying to stop. Then when Tony finally realizes he's in the wrong, he finds out that Bucky killed his parents (the fact that he was being controlled was irrelevant at that point) and Steve knew about it. Knew about it, talked to Tony several times, and didn't tell him. Tony reacted rashes, but he literally found out that his best friends best friend killed his parents.

The thing about Tony bringing Peter in and not telling him anything is totally reasonable. Peter was just a kid, I know Tony was desperate and that Peter was already fighting bad guys, but it was still a bad call. I do think that Peter was told more than what was shown in the movie, and that he would have agreed with Tony regardless.

Anyway, this was just a really long rant post because everyone hates on Tony or says that there was no way Civil War could be right on both sides. This is not an invitation to hate on Steve or anyone else. It's definitely understandable from both sides unless you Don't Want to see both sides.

My little sister just said this to me (what Bucky says) and it made me think of this 😂.

(End of Captain America: The Winter Soldier)

Steve: (says the line from the end of CA:TWS I can't remember that's along the lines of "then do it. Kill me bla bla bla"😅) because I'm with you till the end of the line pal.

Bucky: Nuuuu you mean too much to me to stab stab

made a meme about myself :D

I’m just…

they were so funny in ragnarok

continue random simping

Best avenger‼️

I need to be his controversialy young girlfriend 🏌🏻

babydoll ⋆.𐙚 ̊

cw: age gap

He feels like a creep. Plain and simple. Bucky knows that any woman would be considered “younger”, but you just take the cake. He momentarily feels how hot hell is when you delicately push his hair to the side, clipping in into place with pastel beret. The rest of it gathered into a cutesy scrunchie. “Okay, this one is for wrinkles.” You say, clambering onto his lap. His girl isn’t the most graceful.

The bottle makes him grimace, but the feel of your cute butt in his lap makes it tolerable. He has wrinkles older than you—yikes. “It smells.” He grumbles as he feels you rub skincare product into his skin. “It’s supposed to be lilies!” You say lightly patting his cheek. “This is stupid.” He deadpans, he wraps his arms around your middle when you loop your arms around his shoulders. “It’s not stupid, you’ll thank me someday mister.” You chide very seriously, yelping when he smacks your side. It’s not fair, when you pout like that he wants to kiss you senseless. “Don’t call me mister, ‘m not some stranger you little brat.” He grumbles, being particularly gentle as he slides his cool metal arm under your shirt, just over your tummy. “Sorry baby.” You croon, taking the moment to steal a kiss.

His mental crisis is not helped by the pet name. Baby? If anything you’re the baby here, he gives you a look, it makes you laugh. He finds you to be soothing. You’re a modern woman sure, but those little pj’s you have on with your hair all done up in rollers make him remember a simpler time. He’ll deal with the weird glances whenever you two walk down the street together. He’s not embarrassed anymore to pad over and ask you whatever slang word he’s picked up while people watching. Best of all, he’s finally stopped being stubborn about using his reading glasses to read your texts and see all the cute little selfies you send him.

You pat lotion into his skin, and smile at him. He kisses you, scratching you with stubble. It’s a welcomed itch. When you pull away and kiss the tip of his nose he can’t help but squeeze you. You make him want to smother you. It’s the same when you hear a kitten mew or a baby coo. He likes the feeling. He likes you.

a/n: its almost been an entire month LOL anyways… i think dating a woman under the age of 35 would send bucky into crisis mode and make him feel like a total scumbag (๑ᵔ⤙ᵔ๑)

credit to @aquazero for dividers

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!reader

---

Y/N sat on the rooftop, knees drawn up to her chest, a thick hoodie wrapped around her. The stars were faint, blurred by the city lights in the distance, but still visible if you looked hard enough. She liked it here—above everything, where the air was just a little colder and a little clearer. Where she could breathe.

She didn’t expect to hear footsteps. But she knew whose they were and her heart began to beat faster, her cheeks turning a slight shade of pink. 

“I figured I’d find you up here,” Bucky said, his voice low, carrying just enough to reach her without shattering the quiet.

She didn’t turn around right away. “Can’t sleep either?”

He chuckled, sitting beside her. “Do I ever?”

She glanced at him. He was in a black Henley, sleeves pushed up, metal arm glinting faintly under the moonlight. He looked tired—but softer. Like maybe he found a kind of peace in the stillness too.

“I like the quiet,” she said after a while. “When everything slows down.”

“Yeah.” His gaze followed hers, out toward the faint skyline. “Me too. It's easier to think.”

“To feel?” she asked, careful with the question.

Bucky looked at her then. Really looked. “Yeah,” he said, quieter. “That too.”

Silence settled again, but it wasn’t empty. It was warm. Safe.

“You don’t have to talk,” Y/N said, resting her head on her knees. “Not if it hurts. But if you ever do... I’ll be here.”

A breath left him—soft, like it took weight with it. Then, after a beat, he reached out and wrapped his metal hand gently around hers.

It was cool, careful, but steady.

“I know,” he said. “That’s why I’m here.”

“The news?” Y/N questioned. 

“Yea…I just can’t believe that Sam would give up Steve’s shield like that.”

Y/N was quiet for a moment. “Do you think maybe he’s just not ready?”

Bucky didn’t say anything, just continued to stare ahead. “I just- it makes me think that if Steve was wrong about Sam then maybe he was wrong about me.” 

Y/N turned her body towards Bucky. She reached out and grabbed ahold of his hand-the flesh one- and squeezed it. “Please don’t say that. I didn’t know Steve and don’t know Sam but I’m sure Steve knew what he was doing when he gave Sam that shield. He also was not wrong about you, Bucky. I’ve known you for a few months and you’ve been nothing but kind to me. I mean sure maybe you can be a little grumpy but you’ve never made me feel threatened or uncomfortable.” 

Bucky looked at Y/N. “Grumpy?”

Y/N chuckled and gave him a playful smack on his arm. “Only a little and only sometimes.” 

Bucky’s hand brushed gently against Y/N’s, the faintest touch sparking something quiet and familiar between them. Neither moved away. Instead, their hands lingered, fingertips grazing in a silent understanding—an unspoken comfort that had settled between them like second nature.

----

The last of the customers trickled out of the bar, their laughter fading into the night as the door clicked shut behind them. Y/N made her way to the front, fingers brushing against the slightly smudged glass as she flipped the sign to Closed, the quiet of the empty room settling around her like a soft exhale. It had been a long shift—steady, a little chaotic at times—but now all that remained was the comforting rhythm of cleanup before she could head home, curl up on the couch, lose herself in a feel-good movie, and dig into some well-earned takeout.

But just as she turned to grab a rag from behind the bar, the front door creaked open again. The bell gave a soft chime as it swung closed, and Y/N instinctively pivoted, ready to let the late straggler know they were done for the night.

The words caught in her throat.

A slow, surprised smile bloomed across her face when she saw who stood in the doorway.

Bucky stood just inside the doorway, his frame slightly hunched like he wasn’t sure he should be there, hands buried deep in the pockets of his hoodie. There was something uncertain in his eyes, the kind of vulnerability that made Y/N’s heart squeeze just a little.

“Hey,” she greeted softly, drying her hands on a towel. “How did you know where I worked?”

He gave a small shrug, the corners of his mouth twitching into something that almost resembled a smirk. “I have my ways.”

That earned a quiet laugh from her, but the silence that followed wasn’t awkward—it was weighted, familiar. He made his way over to the bar, pulled out a stool, and sat down with a quiet sigh, resting his arms on the counter. His fingers traced absent patterns on the worn wood, eyes downcast.

Y/N turned back to her cleaning, though her movements had slowed. She kept stealing glances at him, watching the way he sat so still, like he was trying to sort through a storm in his head. She wanted to ask if he was okay, the words right on the edge of her lips. But instead, she waited—giving him space, hoping he’d let her in on his own terms.

“I know that look,” Y/N said gently, glancing over at him as she wiped down the last bit of the counter. “Something’s bothering you. I can tell.”

Bucky shook his head almost too quickly, eyes darting away. “Nope. Nothing’s wrong.”

She didn’t push, just gave him a quiet, knowing look. “Alright. I’m almost done here, then we can head out.”

He gave a small nod, the kind that said he was grateful she wasn’t pressing him. Y/N tucked the last few bottles back into place, the clinking of glass the only sound between them. Then she bent to grab her bag from beneath the bar, slinging it over her shoulder with a tired but content sigh.

As they stepped outside, the night air wrapped around them—cool, crisp, and a little biting. She grinned, nudging him playfully. “So… did you really come all the way down here just to walk me home from work?”

Bucky’s lips twitched with a trace of a smile. “Maybe.”

A chill danced up her spine, and she shivered without meaning to. Bucky noticed immediately. Without a word, he tugged off his hoodie and held it out to her. She blinked in surprise, hesitated for a second, then took it. As she pulled it on, the sleeves hanging long over her hands, she caught the scent of him—clean soap, leather, and something warm that was just him. It made her chest ache in the sweetest way.

“I was thinking we could grab something to eat,” he said casually, running a hand through his hair like he was trying to play it cool. “Or… whatever you want.”

She looked up at him, eyes soft. “I was planning on takeout and a movie.”

He tilted his head. “Unless that sounds boring to you,” she added quickly.

His smile came easy this time—gentle, genuine, the kind that lit up his whole face. “That sounds perfect.”

-------

Y/N led the way down the quiet street to her favorite little pizza place, the one she always ended up craving after a long shift. The familiar scent of garlic and melted cheese hit her the second they stepped inside, instantly lifting her mood. She placed an order for her go-to pizza, the one she could eat a thousand times and never get tired of.

“Are you sure you don’t want your own?” she asked, glancing up at Bucky with a raised brow.

He just shook his head with a faint smile. “I’m good. I’ll have whatever you’re having.”

When the total popped up on the register, Y/N instinctively reached for her wallet—but Bucky was quicker. He slid his card across the counter without missing a beat.

“Hey—come on, I’ve got this,” she protested, nudging his arm.

He just gave her a look. Steady. “Next time.”

With the warm box of pizza in hand, Bucky carried it like it was something precious as they walked the short distance to their apartment building. Inside the elevator, the hum of machinery filled the space as he hit the button for her floor. The moment was quiet, but not awkward—just a soft kind of stillness that felt easy between them.

Once inside her apartment, Y/N headed to the kitchen, pulling out two mismatched plates from the cabinet and handing one to Bucky.

“I’ll be right back,” she said with a smile, before slipping down the hallway to her bedroom.

She changed quickly, trading her work clothes for a pair of well-worn leggings and her favorite oversized t-shirt. After a moment’s pause, she grabbed Bucky’s hoodie from where she’d left it earlier and slipped it back on—it still smelled like him, and the extra weight of it around her shoulders was oddly comforting.

When she padded back into the living room, Bucky was already seated on the couch, the pizza box resting on the coffee table in front of him. He sat back with his arms crossed, muscles stretching beneath the tight fabric of his t-shirt in a way that made Y/N pause in the doorway a second longer than she meant to.

She shook herself out of it and moved to the couch, settling a safe-but-not-too-far distance from him.

Grabbing the remote, she pulled up her favorite comfort show—one she’d seen a hundred times but never got tired of—and hit play. She reached for a slice, the warmth of the food matching the growing ease between them.

Bucky grabbed a piece too, and for a while, they sat side by side, the glow of the TV flickering across their faces, saying nothing at all.

But the silence was anything but empty—it was filled with the kind of quiet comfort that only comes from being with someone who feels like home.

As the night wore on and a few more episodes passed, Y/N realized—somehow, without even noticing when it happened—that she was sitting much closer to Bucky than she had been at the start. The gap between them had gradually disappeared, replaced by the easy lean of shared warmth. She knew he usually shied away from touch—but he hadn’t moved. He hadn’t flinched or pulled back. If anything, he seemed… settled.

The credits of the latest episode began to roll, the soft background music filling the quiet room.

“Thank you,” Bucky said, his voice low and almost hesitant.

Y/N turned her head to look at him, her brows drawn together gently. “For what?”

He gave a small shrug, blue eyes fixed on the screen like he couldn’t quite meet her gaze. “For letting me crash your night. I didn’t mean to interrupt anything.”

“You didn’t,” she said softly, her lips lifting into a smile. “I like hanging out with you, Bucky.”

And before she could overthink it, she reached down and slid her hand into his—his flesh one—her fingers curling gently around his. She gave a soft squeeze, grounding and sincere.

“You’re always welcome here,” she said. “Even if you don’t want to talk. We can just sit. Be. I’m okay with that.”

For a beat, he didn’t say anything. Then she felt his hand tighten around hers, not possessively, just… steady. Reassuring. And he didn’t let go.

The next episode began to play, the familiar theme music rising again, but neither of them really paid attention. They stayed just like that, fingers laced together, hearts quietly aligned in the shared silence—trying, and failing, to focus on the screen when all they could really feel was the presence of the other.

---

Y/N stirred slowly, her eyes fluttering open as the early morning light filtered softly through the curtains. For a moment, she blinked against the haze of sleep, her brain sluggishly trying to piece together where she was. The couch. Her living room. The remnants of the night before flickered back into focus like a warm dream.

What she hadn’t expected was the weight wrapped around her—the steady rise and fall of a chest beneath her cheek, the warmth of two strong arms encircling her.

Bucky.

Her head rested against his chest, where his heartbeat thudded in a calm, even rhythm. His breath was slow and steady, lips slightly parted in sleep, completely at peace in a way she rarely got to see. And somehow, over the course of the night, they’d both melted into one another, tangled up on her small couch like it was the most natural thing in the world.

She should’ve been surprised. But she wasn’t. Not really.

Y/N shifted slightly, her body stiff from sleeping in one position for too long. Carefully, she reached out, fingers brushing against his arm as she tried to slip out of his hold without waking him.

But before she could move more than an inch, Bucky’s arm tightened around her waist—gentle but firm. His other hand came up sleepily to rest at the small of her back, and without opening his eyes, he pulled her right back against him with a quiet, content sigh.

Y/N froze for a heartbeat, caught between amusement and something far softer, deeper. Her lips curled into a sleepy smile as she relaxed into him again, letting her eyes drift closed once more.

If this was how mornings with Bucky felt—quiet, safe, wrapped in warmth—she wouldn’t mind waking up like this a lot more often.

“Don’t move. I’m comfortable,” he murmured, his voice low and gravelly. 

Y/N let herself relax against him again, her cheek resting against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. The world outside didn’t exist—not the mission reports, not the news, not the ghosts that sometimes lingered in both their silences.

Just the two of them.

She felt Bucky shift slightly, just enough to rest his chin lightly on the top of her head. His hand—flesh and warm—brushed slow, absentminded strokes along her arm. It sent a tingle down her spine that had nothing to do with the cold.

“You’re warm,” he murmured sleepily.

She smiled against his shirt. “That’s because I’m wearing your hoodie.”

“Keep it,” he said, without hesitation.

Y/N tilted her head back slightly so she could look up at him. “You sure?”

His eyes met hers, blue and unguarded, still heavy with sleep but clear in a way that made her breath catch. “Yeah,” he said, softer. “Looks better on you anyway.”

That made her cheeks flush, and she quickly looked down to hide the smile pulling at her lips. His fingers brushed her jaw gently, coaxing her gaze back to his.

“You always do that,” he said, voice quiet.

“Do what?”

“Look away when I’m staring at you.”

“That’s because you stare,” she teased, her voice a little too breathless for her liking.

“I do,” he admitted. “And you never seem to notice how much I like it.”

She blinked. The teasing vanished from his voice—replaced by something quieter, deeper.

Her heartbeat stumbled.

“Bucky…” she started, unsure of what to say. But he was already leaning in, his hand moving up to cup her face with infinite care—like he was afraid she might flinch or vanish if he wasn’t gentle enough.

“I’m gonna kiss you now,” he murmured, eyes flicking from hers to her lips and back. “Unless you tell me not to.”

She didn’t say a word.

She couldn’t.

Instead, she nodded, just once—barely a breath of movement—and then he was kissing her.

Soft. Slow. Deliberate.

It wasn’t the kind of kiss that demanded or rushed. It was the kind that lingered, like he had all the time in the world. His lips moved against hers with a careful sort of reverence, like he couldn’t quite believe she was real. Her fingers curled into the front of his shirt, and she kissed him back just as softly, pouring into it every quiet moment they’d shared—every time he’d sat beside her in silence, every word he hadn’t needed to say.

When they finally pulled apart, their foreheads rested together, breath mingling.

“Well,” she whispered, her lips still tingling, “that was... worth staying up for.”

Bucky gave a small huff of laughter. “Yeah?” he said, brushing his thumb over her cheek. “Because I’ve been thinking about doing that for a long time.”

“You should’ve said something.”

“I think I just did,” he said, and this time, the smile that curved his lips was real—and a little smug.

Y/N shook her head, grinning as she nudged his chest playfully. “You’re lucky I like you, Barnes.”

“Yeah,” he said, pressing another feather-light kiss to the corner of her mouth. “I’m starting to figure that out.”

Can we talk about how no one seems to acknowledge in the mcu that Bucky took the serum unwillingly. That he was experimented on against his will and absolutely terrified of what it would do to him.

Yet you have John walker talking how much Bucky must enjoy it. At what price and what use when he’s to afraid to use that strength

Sam talking about how he should have taken it like him. When Bucky literally did not.

Even now the red guardian being all like oh the fancy stuff. As if it wasn’t a experiment that had high failure and Bucky was lucky enough to survive.

And even with all that, no one even sees he’s as much as a exceptional like Steve by not being corrupted by the serum.

And please marvel please let someone please acknowledge these two things and say it in the mcu because he deserves to hear them.

The winter soldier is such a snack ⭐️🦾

marvel avengers masterlist

bucky:

https://fangirldaydreamer.tumblr.com/post/677830860205178880/is-that-me-on-ur-lockscree

im looking for some sam wilson fics just for me to only see a bunch of bucky x reader or steve x reader with the sam wilson tags. WHER’S ALL THE SAM WILSON X READER FICS AT ????

set me free | sam wilson

summary: it is said that your skin will regenerate itself approximately every 27 days. although, that may be true... it's been two years. why doesn't it feel like it?

pairing(s): sam wilson x teen!black!reader [ minor natasha romanoff x teen!black!reader as well ]

warning(s): talks of sexual assault, panic attack

genre: angst, hurt/comfort words: 2,278

authors note: IF THE TOPIC OF SEXUAL ASSAULT IS TRIGGERING PLEASE DO NOT READ!!! the parts that are in italics are flashbacks to reader's nightmare. the flashback doesn't go into detail of the reader's SA, only Sam comforting them about the nightmare. this is a vent fic is based on my experience as a SA survivor. i use writing as a way of coping and stuff. it's free therapy. i've been sitting on this fic for over a year debating on if i wanted to post it and finally finished it. the ending is kinda rushed tho.

Two years ago, you died. Well, not physically. You were still breathing and everything. But that was when your innocence had retired. You never told anyone when it first happened. You were too scared of the consequences. And, by the time you hadn't, it seemed too late to speak up, in your opinion. There was nothing anyone could do now. He already ruined you. So, you just let it be.

Eventually, you learned from Sam and Natasha that your uncle was arrested for multiple charges of sexual assault. You were immediately overwhelmed with tears at the announcement, for you finally felt free. You began to laugh as well. The pair were quite confused as they watched you laugh and cry. A weight lifted off your shoulders that day as you finally could admit what he did to you. Sam suggested speaking up, but you were still very fearful of even being in the same room as him. It didn't matter that you'd be protected during the trials; the thought of it made you sick.

You still get nightmares from time to time. Sometimes, they were manageable. Other times, they were not. Last night, it seemed like luck was not on your side. You didn't get much sleep due to how bad this one was.

~~

It felt too real as if he was watching in the shadows of your room. FRIDAY alerted Sam due to the spike in your vitals. You'd awakened in a state of panic. You sat in a pool of sweat as your heart pounded in your head.

Sam busted through the door in a frenzy. He hadn't noticed his mistake until you frantically hurried out of bed toward the widow bites on the desk. You trembled in the corner of the room as you pointed the weapon toward him. Sam lifted his hands as he attempted to persuade you to put the weapon down. "It's okay. You aren't there anymore. You're safe," he assured. "You can drop it. It's okay." He stayed in that spot, repeating those phrases until you lowered the weapon.

Finally, the widow bites hit the ground. You drop down along with it. Slowly, Sam takes a couple of steps toward you. Knowing you were still startled, he squatted down to your level to make himself less of a threat. He kept some distance between you, instructing FRIDAY to turn on the lights. "You're safe. I'm here. It's okay." You quivered in fear. Although you saw Sam before you, you only heard your uncle's voice -- the monster who took advantage of you. Your mind was playing tricks on you. "Breathe with me, yeah? Ready? One, two, three, four…." You obeyed his instructions.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

Soon enough, your breathing went back to normal. Your sobs shift to hiccups and periodic sniffling. Sam waited for you to settle more before questioning, "Is it okay if I move closer?" He didn't want to set you off again.

You nod.

"Are you sure?" 

You swallowed. "Yes," you whispered with a croaky voice. 

Carefully, Sam scoots to sit beside you. He makes a point of keeping some space between you. You sit in silence for a while. He wants you to take control of the situation. He doesn't want you to feel pressured to talk. You recognized the silent act and appreciated him dearly.

"I… I thought I saw him." You glanced up at Sam; your voice was low, shaky. You pointed to the corner adjacent to you. "H-He was right there." Sam doesn't speak. He held out his hand as a silent invitation of reassurance. His eyes and the expression on his face held sympathy. You clutch his hand like your lifeline.

"He can't reach you anymore." Those five words caused a loud sob to escape. Sam pulled you onto his lap and nestled you as you let it all out. He couldn't prevent the tears from falling. Sam hated that this happened to you. No one deserves to feel manipulated and violated.

"God, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." 

You sat there for who knows how long. Waves of grief and pain danced throughout the room as both of you cried. Sam grieved with you as you wept over the loss of who you once were. Truthfully, he felt responsible for what happened to you. The man wished that he was there to protect you that night.

He hadn't noticed that you'd fallen asleep until he heard the sound of soft snores. Guessing that you wouldn't want to sleep in your bedroom for the rest of the night, Sam slowly maneuvered himself to carry you to his room instead. Sam spotted your teddy bear in his peripheral vision as he approached the door and grabbed it before walking down the corridors. Thankfully, he didn't have to worry about waking anyone else in the Compound because only You, Sam, and Natasha lived on this floor. As far as Sam knew, Natasha was still visiting her sister, Yelena, in Ohio.

Once he settled you in his bed, Sam made himself a makeshift bed on the floor at the end of the bed. Sam knew you'd end up scolding him in the morning for doing so, but he didn't care. He checked his phone for the time and noticed a message.

Message from Nat:

Hey. Friday alerted me that [Name] had a nightmare again. My flight isn't for another hour, but I'll be there before she wakes up. I know you've got them, so I'm not too worried. Update me tomorrow :)

Delivered at 2:35 a.m.

I finally got her back to bed. This one seemed much worse. I'll tell you more in the morning. Have a safe flight, Nat

Delivered at 3:56 a.m.

Sam checked up on you again before allowing himself to fall back asleep. "Sweet dreams, [Name]."

~~

As you wake up, the scent of lavender and pine trees greets you. From beneath you, you can hear Sam snoring. Usually, you'd scold him for the potential back pain he'd experience later. But you were too exhausted today to do so. Despite your body's protests, your brain determines you are better off continuing your education. Some of you believe that connecting with friends will lift your mood. So you try not to wake up Sam and sneak back to your room to prepare for the day.

You were better off staying at home. 

The school hours are a blur. You lack self-control. You are not present mentally. You've detached yourself from everything. You were tired of your peers and those who didn't know you well. You wrote your exhaustion off as pulling an all nighter, which wasn’t too much of a lie in your eyes. That was your explanation when confronted with your unusual behavior. Most people bought it. It took more sway from Peter, Ned, and Michelle. They stopped bothering you after you assured them you were okay, though you still occasionally felt some concern. When the day is done, you are overwhelmed by the amount of skin you would brush up against while walking through the hallways to your next destination. You're quick to pack your belongings and rush out of the building. You don't bother to say goodbye to your friends.

A black Corvette Stingray awaits you just outside the school's main entrance. "Hey, Solnishko," Natasha says as you enter the car. When you questioned Natasha one day during your training session, she explained that it meant "little sun." She described you as having a bright and fiery essence, similar to the sun. And you became her little sun from then on. However, her little sun isn't shining as bright as usual today.  

The term endearment makes you smile but doesn't reach your eyes. Natasha doesn't comment on your gloomy disposition.

"Hi," you reply. "How was your trip?" The upbeat tone you desire does not come through. As Natasha drives away, you concentrate on the blurry scenery outside the window. You cringe internally at your lack of enthusiasm. Even though small talk is the last thing you want to do right now, you last saw Natasha a while ago. You were missing her presence.

"It was great. Later, I'll fill you in on everything." Only a murmur is returned, so the redhead ends the conversation there. The only sound on the return trip home is the radio playing at a low volume.

Natasha knows that you're not yourself. Your body language reeks of detachment. She doesn't take offense to the lack of expression you offer her. Sam gave her the run-down of last night's events once you left for school. She sees herself in you, and it pains her. The same drained look in her eyes after the memory of the past that Natasha pleaded to any god who would listen to escape. She knows how it feels to have her body controlled in such a terrible way - Innocence that was snatched away without any consent. It upset her terribly, but the most she can do is comfort you in any way she can. 

Once you enter the Compound, she guides you to her room, knowing that you usually find solace in her bed compared to your own. "Do you want to talk about it?" You still stand at the edge of her bed, arms crossed against your chest as comfort. She sits with her back against the headboard, waiting for you to make a move yourself. She waits patiently for you as you ponder whether you want to relive the nightmare again. You crawl over to the opposite side of the bed and lie so your head rests in her lap. "You know, I was talking with Bruce the other day, and he told me our skin regenerates itself every 27 days," you say as she caresses your cheek. "It's been two years, Tasha; why can I still feel him?" Your voice cracks as the tears you've been fighting away resurface.

Natasha's throat runs dry at your words. She wants nothing more than to harm the man that hurt you. Of course, there isn't a time limit when it comes to healing from trauma, but she hates that this still affects you so profoundly to this day. "I don't know, Solnishko," she whispers. She's at a loss for words. She knows nothing she says will immediately take away the pain you experience. "I'm sorry I can't take the grief away, sweetheart. If I could, I'd do it in a heartbeat." 

"I know. But your presence is enough for me." You bask in each other's comfort for a while. "Is Sam still home?" 

"Yeah, did you want to see him?" she asks, and you nod in response. 

"Okay. Hey Friday?" she calls to the Artificial Intelligence. "Can you tell Sam to come to my room, please?"

"Of course, Ms. Romanoff," the AI replies after a beat.

After a few minutes, a knock sounds at her door. Granting the man entrance, Natasha gestures to the teen in her lap, who has their eyes closed. "Hi, honey," Sam greets them as he nears the edge of the bed. Slightly opening your eyes at the sound of his voice, you grin. "Hi, Sammy," you whisper. 

"How are you feeling now?" He asks you. Observing your face, he can see signs of exhaustion in your eyes. 

"Very drained," you admit. "But a little better now that both of you are here." As much as you love everyone on the team and have a strong connection with them, you've always been more connected to Sam and Natasha for some reason. And the two of them love you like their own. They both smile softly at that. 

"How about we all take a nap, yeah? And then we can go out for dinner later?" Natasha suggests, looking at Sam for his thoughts on the suggestion. 

He nods. "Sounds good to me. Is that okay with you?" He asks you for confirmation.

You nod in agreement. With a yawn from you, you all situate yourselves on Natasha's bed. Sam and Natasha lay on opposite ends, with you in the middle. They wait until your breath evens out before speaking quietly. "I might call the school tomorrow to excuse her. She needs a day for herself." Sam tells the redhead. 

"Yeah, she needs it. Maybe we could plan an outing with the team for her." She kisses your forehead, brushing your braids out of your face. "Or just with us, depending on how she's feeling in the morning." 

Sam nods at the idea and closes his eyes; Natasha follows suit. And for a while, it's quiet until he says, "You know, you'd make an incredible mother, Nat." The statement causes Natasha to open her eyes again and look at Sam. He knows the subject of motherhood is a touchy one, given her background, but he can't help but admit it. He honestly does believe his friend would be the best parent. "Thank you. You know, you wouldn't make too bad of a father yourself, Wilson. You already have the terrible dad jokes downpacked," she says with a light chuckle. 

He sucks his teeth. "They not that bad."

She smirked lazily as the jet lag from the mission caught up to her. "Everyone else begs to differ." 

"You think they'll be okay?" Sam asks as he stares at the sleeping teen between them. 

"They always do. They have us in their corner to guide them," she reminds him, and he nods in agreement. If you were anything like either of them, you wouldn't let this throw you off track forever. You always bounce back from whatever obstacles life throws at you. With that, they fall asleep with a heaviness in their hearts for you, but they know you'll be alright. 

~•••🌇•••~

Recommended with headphones….🎧

Goooood morning New York City! For the ones that wake up with the birds or feel the need to wake up late, Silver FM is the radio for you. It’s your lovely 6 o’ clock host, with the old music you know and love, like Tears for Fears!

“Everybody Wants To Rule The World” rolled in after that beautiful voice that Peter loves to tune in for every morning as he swings to The Daily Bugle. Silver FM, the one that you were the morning and noon host for, has collaborated with Bugle. And…ever since then, your presence never left Parker’s mind.

He sometimes wondered why was it called “Silver” radio. Maybe because of the old music it tuned in with? Like the 80s and 90s?

Who knows? He’ll know, if he finally speaks a word or two with you about it. It’ll create a subject, something, just to hear that voice speak to him. Seems like the radio station in his spider suit isn’t enough…..

~•••🌇•••~

A/N: HII!! Finally I’m alive. This is a little blabber, a tease to what I’m about to (possibly) create in here. This is a Tom Holland’s Spider-Man headcanon where he isn’t in high school, but as a photographer for The Daily Bugle. It’ll be up to how the story will evolve if the events of the MCU will coincide with this hc. Deciding if it’ll be reader insert or original character too !

WIP

It's going to be peggy x angie😏

The date was with Nat, she left lipstick on his lips after the kiss(es)🤭💋

My fanart of I Will Survive But I'll Never Recover

If it's not clear, then it's Steve (obviously) in the background, and in the foreground is a bullet hole in Bucky's head.☺

Mer bucky

(I just realized that it would be better to make him a mer-kraken... Hydra, you know...)

Watched the first season of Agent Carter. I'm in tears.😭

Just sad Peggy with a gun

Two versions because I couldn't decide which one is better.

I lost the original meme.

mess of colors. even I can't figure out what's happening here.

WIP Modern Bucky. He would be boxer, fr

I used Vi as a reference, obviously because she's a boxer, but I also think they're very similar in character. +they are both older siblings

By the way, I'll give him piercings and tattoos later😉