Your 13th Corner

Events of "The Falcon and the Winter Soldier": • No, we don't need her • • Long time no see, James • • short gif imagine • • To him, your actions meant far more than you realized • • short gif imagine • • short gif imagine • • Why were you so desperate to save him? • • And you kiss surprisingly well. I thought you’d forgotten how to be a Casanova • • Not every HYDRA agent was Steve Rogers’ favorite •

Events of "Thunderbolts": • You don't read the package? Jesus, Barnes! • • Gotcha, Congressman • • He's a former HYDRA agent. Just like you • • BOB • • Call anytime, Congressman. Always happy to help • • Will you give me your card? No • • Whoa, why so out of breath? Sprinting to pick up? • • I refuse to believe kissing me is your final wish, Y/N. • • Your therapist was right about you • • This is how all our ‘dates’ used to end • • So no, James. You won’t get what you’re waiting for • • short gif imagine •

You're a Chaos Witch, and Shuri has asked for your help to dig deeper into the code buried in Bucky’s mind: (working through the plot) • piece 1 • • piece 2 •

Other headcanons: • headcanon • ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Headcanons. Sebastian Stan Various headcanons and AU, long-form fanfics. • How you ended up on your knees in front of him — a mystery •

Things couldn’t get worse for the Avengers. The government is on the verge of slapping a spiked collar on Earth’s mightiest heroes. No surprise that freedom-loving Steve Rogers didn’t take kindly to it. He bit the most important hand, and now Tony Stark and the others have even more problems.

You, true to your nickname, planned to stay in the shadows, waiting to see who’d come out on top and back the winning side. Old habits die hard.

But the situation turned against you. That damned Zemo latched onto you like a tick, hunting for the most dangerous book of the century. Of course, you found a way to profit from it.

“I’ll tell you where it is, but you’ll have to get your hands dirty,” you said. To your surprise, Zemo agreed without hesitation.

You suspected things might escalate, but you didn’t expect them to go this far. That wannabe baron managed to awaken the Winter Soldier, and now you had to step in.

Everything was falling apart, so slipping into S.H.I.E.L.D. was a piece of cake. Barnes had already trashed half the floor by the time you reached the building.

Your eyes met for a split second, and he didn’t attack. Pure shock crossed your face. Turns out, no matter who or how the Winter Soldier is “activated,” he always sees you as an ally. Unbelievable luck. But you were there to make sure he wasn’t caught—or at least, caught by the right people.

Slipping back into the cold-blooded killer mindset wasn’t hard. Dealing with the aftermath was tougher. Still, you made sure no one died… at his hands.

“Yeah, being a good girl isn’t easy,” you chuckled, knocking out another S.H.I.E.L.D. soldier.

“To the roof. There’s a chopper,” you told Barnes, and after a nod, you turned to face the enemies, striking a pose.

Rogers didn’t keep you waiting long.

“Y/N, that’s enough,” he began, piercing you with his intense blue eyes. “You’ve done enough.”

“Oh, Steve,” you smirked, pulling a throwing knife from its sheath. “I thought after a hundred years you’d drop that silly habit of yours. Face it, you’re a lousy savior.”

“I’ll keep trying as many times as it takes,” he said. You shook your head and hurled the knife at Captain America.

Then another, and another. Rogers closed the distance between you, grabbing you by the waist and lifting you off the ground.

“Why are you doing this?” You kicked him in the stomach, and he let go, dropping to one knee. “Bucky’s suffered enough from HYDRA. So have you.”

“True,” you glanced over Rogers’ shoulder and threw a knife into the neck of a S.H.I.E.L.D. soldier sneaking up on Steve. Cap looked at you, confused, furrowing his brow. “What, you just gonna stare at me?”

He nodded and ran past you to the roof, chasing Barnes. You exhaled, closing your eyes. Yeah, being good—it scratches at your ribs.

. . .

Rogers and Wilson managed to grab Bucky. Lucky for you. You didn’t hold out hope for a “friendly relationship” with the Winter Soldier—there was a good chance he’d spill everything. And then you’d never see the sun again. Not every ex-HYDRA agent is Captain America’s favorite.

“I’m guessing you’ve known her a long time,” Steve said, striking a dad pose, addressing the subdued James.

“Where is she?” Bucky asked, genuinely wanting to know (gif).

“I thought you’d tell me, since she was so desperate to protect you,” Rogers stepped closer.

“It’s me,” Bucky swallowed, exhaling heavily. “I was protecting her. I don’t know why.”

“She killed so many without blinking. She doesn’t need your protection.”

“Whether she wanted it or not, Y/N is part of HYDRA. When Zemo woke the Winter Soldier in me, instincts kicked in.”

“She let me catch you, Bucky. She’s got her own motives, and I’d like to know what they are so she doesn’t kill anyone else.”

James shook his head.

“They didn’t call her Shadow for nothing, Steve,” Bucky looked into his old friend’s eyes. “We won’t find her until she decides we’re useful to her.”

James leaned back, his head heavy, closing his eyes. You’re a fox. But letting Steve catch him means you’re taking small steps toward redemption. Sure, you’ll always have your own motives, and Bucky can’t dig through his broken mind to find his true feelings for you. But he knows you’ll show up soon. If HYDRA’s nearing its end, you’ll want to be one of the ones to land the final blow.

. . .

Meanwhile, in Siberia.

“Ugh, I hate this place,” you said, adjusting your protective goggles. “I hope Zemo kept his promise.”

The mission was in motion. You hadn’t been exposed yet, which was a relief—but time was ticking. At villain auctions, the lots vanished faster than hotcakes. Miss the moment, and the whole country could go up in flames.

“Where the hell are you? It’s already started,” Sam hissed through the comms, pacing the second-floor balcony and scanning the glammed-up crowd of criminals.

“You know how it goes,” you replied, barely keeping up with Bucky in your towering heels. “Lots of cozy corners in this place.”

“Enough clowning around,” Bucky muttered, still gripping your hand tightly. You smirked and stopped. “What?”

“You can let go now, dear husband.” He blinked, pulling his hand back like he’d just realized he’d been holding yours the whole time. “I’ll go first. Say hi to some old friends.”

“Why am I not surprised,” he said as you stepped away. “No funny business, alright?”

You grinned.

“I’ll take that as ‘be careful, my love,’” you winked, swaying your hips toward the hall filled with chairs. Bucky rolled his eyes but clenched his jaw, watching your every move.

“What’s going on between you two?”

“What? Nothing’s going on,” Bucky snapped, brows furrowed. Sam chuckled, watching his friend’s eyes dart around. “Whose side are you even on?”

“I don’t vote.”

“What was the name of that CIA girl? Katherine? Kami?”

“Focus on the mission,” you laughed, remembering Sam’s awkward attempt to flirt with her over coffee. And he thought he could tease Bucky without consequences? Oh no, that was your job.

“Long time no see, Peter,” you purred to the handsome man seated in the front row. “Last I recall, you said you hated shopping.”

“Y/N, what a surprise,” he stood, eyes trailing over your curves. “You look stunning, as always.”

The arms dealer slid an arm around your waist, pulling you closer. Your relationship had always been strictly professional, but he’d long wanted to cross that line. Not your taste. You preferred the “good boys.”

You played along, brushing imaginary dust off his shoulder with a smile. You needed him—he was the only one with enough money to buy the lot half the continent was chasing.

Oh, here we go. Bucky stepped out from behind a column, heading straight toward you(gif). You glanced at him, slightly confused. Was he playing the jealous husband now? Hot.

“Having fun without me?” Peter’s eyes flicked to Bucky, and he immediately dropped his hand from your waist, catching the possessive glare Barnes shot your way.

“What kind of soap opera is this?” Sam muttered. He needed popcorn. This wasn’t something he saw every day.

“Peter, meet my husband—James,” you leaned into Bucky, and he instantly wrapped an arm around your waist, hand sliding down to your thigh.

“Husband?” Peter raised a brow, chuckling. “Looks like I missed my chance.”

“Yeah. Looks like it,” Alpha male showdown, anyone? “We should go.”

“Nice seeing you, Peter,” you smiled, letting Bucky lead you away, his grip firm on your hand.

“Looks like you’re enjoying this even more than I am,” Bucky murmured, pressing you against a column, shielding you from prying eyes, his metal arm braced beside your head.

“Your friends sit pretty high up,” he whispered, his breath hot against your cheek. “Bet he’s not the only arms dealer on your list.”

You smirked, tugging him closer by the lapel of his jacket. Your noses bumped. James narrowed his eyes, jaw tight.

“When you’re fighting for your life, you make all kinds of acquaintances,” you said, eyes drifting to his lips, fingers tracing the sharp line of his jaw. “Not every HYDRA agent was Steve Rogers’ favorite.”

Your gaze dimmed, and Bucky tensed, studying your face. You pressed your lips together, leaning your head back against the column.

“Got it?” Sam’s voice buzzed in your ear. You raised Peter’s phone in the air with a smile.

The corners of James’ mouth twitched into the faintest smile.

“If you’d tried back then,” Bucky said, eyes locked on yours, “Things might’ve been different.”

You rolled your eyes fondly, looping your arms around his neck.

“Yeah, but there’s one thing Steve would never forgive me for,” you said, brushing your thumb over his brow, lips tight.

“And what?”

“That in a hundred long years, I couldn’t save his best friend,” your voice dropped to a whisper, and the teasing vanished.

Bucky’s grip on your waist tightened, keeping you close.

“But you tried, didn’t you?”

You bit the inside of your cheek, blinking fast. Nope. He wasn’t dragging out tearful-Y/N for this conversation.

“It’s time,” you said, turning your head away. Bucky shook his head softly and stepped back. You strode toward Sam, who was supposed to copy the data from Peter's phone.

Bucky watched you for a few more seconds.

You did try, didn’t you?

Headcanon: You're a Chaos Witch, and Shuri has asked for your help to dig deeper into the code buried in Bucky’s mind. Previous piece

“Come on, go,” Shuri nudged you as you walked down the corridor of her lab.

“What? Are you insane? Why do I need to be present for the defrosting?” You were practically dragging your boots across the tile, resisting every step. Tiny but fierce, Shuri shoved you toward the room where they were about to “turn off the fridge.”

“You’ll be stuck with him for a couple of months. Maybe longer.”

“He’s not a baby chick, and I’m not his mommy who needs to be the first thing he sees!” Shuri laughed, and you stopped, staring at your friend. “What?”

“How do you imagine this going? He jumps out and gallops off like a newborn foal?” …Yeah. That’s exactly how you imagined it, and Shuri read it on your face, laughing again. “He’s a frozen chicken, Y/N. Steaks don’t run out of the freezer.”

You shook your head, amazed at how far your metaphors had spiraled.

“Well, he’s not a regular… steak, Shuri. He’s a former assassin from the world’s most brutal organization. He might run.”

Shuri squinted at you.

“Don’t worry. I won’t let him hurt you, sis,” the princess tugged your hand, and you gave in, suppressing the tremor rising in your chest.

Of course you were scared. You weren’t Agatha Harkness or the Scarlet Witch. Sure, you were over a century old and could do… things. But no one ever taught you how to deal with a deranged killer. What were you supposed to do—brew him chamomile tea?

“If he doesn’t wake up, then why drag me here?”

“We’re scared too, friend,” Shuri stopped smiling as you entered the chamber. “Go on. Wave your hands over him, sing a lullaby in Latin, or whatever it is you witches do to ‘read’ people.”

“Usually, people just tell me everything themselves,” you whispered, stepping up to the transparent cryo chamber. “How much time do I have?”

“Ten minutes,” replied the assistant fiddling with the nearby console. “We’ve already started the process.”

“Enough for a first impression,” you murmured, studying Bucky Barnes’ peaceful face.

The Winter Soldier, huh? It was hard to believe that this undeniably beautiful man had killed so many and made the world fear him. What secrets were buried in that mind, darkened by torture and violence?

You closed your eyes and placed your palm against the cold glass. A few months, huh? Let’s hope this mission doesn’t stretch into years…

“God, who stitched this dress? My ass itches from all these glitter,” you muttered, spinning in front of the mirror and tugging at the floor-length gown. Emerald suited you, sure—but the gold glitter felt like it was carved into every exposed inch of skin. And how exactly were you supposed to fight in this disaster?

“Quit powdering your nose, princess. Your date’s already in position,” Sam’s voice crackled through the earpiece, and you smirked, giving yourself one last glance. “Just don’t fluster him too much. You know he’s sensitive.”

“This is the shared channel, right?” you chuckled, heading down the corridor toward the grand hall.

“Unfortunately,” came Barnes’ velvet reply. “Did you armor up under that dress or what?”

“Oh, you’ll love it, darling,” you emphasized the last word, weaving through the crowd of extravagantly dressed villains ready to drop obscene amounts of money at the auction.

“Don’t call me that,” Barnes muttered, standing by a table, scanning the room like only he could.

“Forgot our cover, fiancé?” you teased, grinning wide. Riling him up was a guilty pleasure—especially here, in a setting that made him visibly uncomfortable. Your jabs came naturally.

“Hard to forget,” James spotted you emerging from behind a column, and despite himself, stared. Yes, you are a real bitch, but you have looks, you can't take that away. Like a fox slipping into character, you moved as if you’d been married for years.

He rolled his eyes as you approached, placing your hands on the lapels of his jacket. You flashed a dazzling smile, catching the attention of nearby onlookers who were clearly intrigued.

“If you keep dodging your own wife, they’ll put a bullet in our heads,” you whispered, locking eyes with Bucky. He shifted, stepping closer(gif 1). Whoa. Even your knee buckled a little. “Well, well. Didn’t know you had that in you.”

A brilliant idea sparked in your mind. Dangerous, maybe. But worth it.

You closed the distance and kissed him, feeling his grip tighten around your waist. The metal hand traced every rib like it was memorizing them. Ouch. He kissed back, cupping your face, licking the lip you’d just bitten(gif 2). His expression—“what was that?”—and the raised brow made you grin even wider, just as Sam’s stunned noises crackled in your ear. To everyone else, you were either a real couple… or terrifyingly good actors.

“Hope this’ll be a long, eventful evening,” you whispered, licking your lips. “And you kiss surprisingly well. I thought you’d forgotten how to be a Casanova.”

“As soon as we’re done, I will kill you,” he murmured, eyes burning with such affection that even you almost believed the whole “married couple” act(gif 3). He brushed your cheek with his thumb, took your hand, and led you forward.

“Even that turns me on, husband,” you said, following him without resistance.

Oh, Sam. I hope you recorded all of that on Redwing. Because you could replay that moment forever.

Headcanon: You're a Chaos witch, and Shuri has asked for your help to dig deeper into the code buried in Bucky’s mind.

“Shuri, I’m not…” You were clearly backing off. It wasn’t the task your friend expected of you that scared you, nor the Winter Soldier with a scrambled brain. It was the fear of what else you might pull from his fractured soul.

“Y/N. I’m not asking you to finish the job. You know how I feel about… magic.”

“Yes, I know. And that's why I don't understand why you're asking for such a thing,” you crossed your arms, giving the Wakanda princess a pointed look. With her brilliant mind, she never gave much weight to magic — that’s just how she was.

“He needs help. And it’s not even about the code. It’s about socialization,” she flared up.

“So you want me to be his, what, babysitter?” Shuri gave you puppy eyes and shrugged. You growled softly, eyes half-closed.

“I have to go. We're taking him out of the cryo chamber in two days, so you have time to weigh everything,” she squeezed your hand before leaving, her gaze steady. “I just don’t want you wasting your potential on fortune-telling for lovesick girls and old ladies searching for long-dead cats.”

“Go already, know-it-all,” you nudged her playfully, sipping your sharp black tea.

The Winter Soldier, huh?

If you have any requests or suggestions, the button up top should be active (I’m still new here and figuring things out).

Once again, huge thanks for all the likes, reblogs, and love!

Headcanon.

She’s a pink disaster. Loud, dazzling, and always too much—everywhere, all the time.

She bursts into the office like a whirlwind, trailing a flood of gossip and a cloud of sickly-sweet perfume.

What the hell is she even doing in the gray, gloomy halls of Congress? It’s like she was hired as punishment—for everyone who’s ever been too grumpy or too serious.

Now Barnes’ office constantly smells like strawberries and vanilla latte, and his dull gray folders are buried under mountains of neon sticky notes with rainbow scribbles.

Now he enters his private office with caution, bracing himself for the visual assault of her outfits—ruffles, patterns, colors that defy logic and taste, changing daily.

Now every workday feels like a trial by pink.

"What was I thinking when I hired her as my assistant?"

And now there are two paths: the young, wide-eyed student — or the same-age peer who “gets” the professor because they’re only a few years apart.

WHAT DO I CHOOSE?!

The smoldering glances of forbidden desire that Seb throws at the “green” Y/N? Or the quiet reflections on life, soft dates, pasta at grown-up Y/N’s place, and a kiss that carries their gentle smiles?

I WANT IT ALL, GOD HELP ME!

Pairing: Sebastian Stan | Y\N Summary: headcanon, Sebastian Stan as the older brother's friend. Your peaceful morning toast—buttery, sugary, perfect—was interrupted by the thunderous stomping of your older brother. He still hadn’t learned how to walk down stairs like a normal person, practically launching himself over the last few steps like they were optional. When he was younger, your mom got tired of dragging him to the ER. One doctor even joked that in his next life, he wouldn’t have legs—since he clearly didn’t know how to use them in this one.

“Eating your bland bread again, tipster?” he teased, ruffling your hair as he flew toward the fridge. Hunched over the lower shelves, he started hunting for the soda you’d hidden for yourself. You groaned in protest, standing up with the toast still between your teeth.

“When are you gonna start hiding it somewhere else? It’s been what, five years? You always stash it behind the asparagus.”

“When are you gonna start buying your own?” you grumbled, swatting at his chest. But thanks to the height difference, you couldn’t even reach his forearm. Still, surrender wasn’t in your vocabulary. “And you call yourself my brother?”

“Ugh, Y/N! You’re gonna get butter all over me!” he said, taking a few greedy gulps from the can before finally giving in and handing you your lemon soda. “Flea.”

“So why are you even up this early? You got fired,” said, curling back into chair, legs tucked under you, munching happily on toast. He grimaced, leaning his hips against the counter.

“Thanks for the reminder, bug,” he stretched with a groan. “I’ve got a meeting today. Seb’s back in town.”

“Seb?” you raised a brow, sipping your soda.

“Sebastian. Friend from high school. He was living in Amsterdam, but now he’s back at our alma mater,” your brother scratched his head, watching you chew like a chipmunk. “Said he might hook me up with a job.”

You licked your lips, eyeing him thoughtfully.

“That the bully who always dragged you into messes?” He hummed in agreement, scrolling through his phone. “JJ, are you sure this job…”

“What? Not dangerous? Legal?” he smirked, dropping into the chair across from you. “Look, sis, we’re kinda screwed if you haven’t noticed. We barely scraped together your college tuition, and we still have to pay rent this month. And your part-time job at the bar…”

“What about my part-time job?”

He winced, biting his lip.

“Not exactly thrilled about it. That place attracts some sketchy people, and I worry about your ass every damn shift,” he tapped your nose with a bent finger, and you rolled your eyes.

“I work day shifts. They pay less because all the ‘sketchy people’—who, by the way, leave massive tips—only show up after ten o'clock,” you stood and stretched. “I’m not fifteen anymore. Not even eighteen. You don’t have to freak out over every little thing.”

He chuckled.

“Yeah, but you still look like you’re eleven,” you smacked the back of his head and immediately pulled him into a hug, pressing his face to your chest. He wrapped one arm around you in return.

“Promise me that you won't get into any trouble and I won't have to save you.” he murmured, leaning into you.

“I promise.” . . .

“Two more beers, beauty,” winked a regular, and you smiled, nodding as you weaved between tables with practiced ease.

The bar was quiet today. Hardly any strangers, which wasn’t surprising. Small town—everyone knew everyone since diapers. Your boss had gone to school with your parents and happily offered you the waitress job. You were managing fine, mostly. But trouble wasn’t rare. You’d cleaned up broken furniture more than once, called ambulances for drunk guys who couldn’t make it home. Your coworker Cassie, who worked nights, always wore long sleeves and kept her hair down. You weren’t stupid. Understood. Didn’t ask. You already knew what happened when drunk, foolish men got too bold.

“Hey, sweetheart! Got a number for me?” Speak of the devil. Cassie flopped behind the bar, scooping up a handful of salted peanuts without looking.

“God, it's so quiet here during the day. It's like someone died.”

You smirked, popping open two bottles.

“Maybe someone did. How would I know what goes on after midnight?”

“I saw the hottest guy, girl. I swear, everything in me just lit up,” she wiggled her brows, scanning the room. “Never seen him around before. Must be new in town. Jesus, I’d ride that stallion into the sunset.”

You rolled your eyes and stepped out from behind the bar.

“I’m honestly shocked you haven’t done it yet,” you said, stopping beside your gorgeous friend and giving her figure a playful once-over. “With assets like that, babe.”

Cassie rolled her eyes, dropping onto a spinning barstool.

“I’ve been flaunting everything I’ve got and he didn’t even glance my way,” she pouted dramatically. “Maybe he’s gay?”

You rolled your eyes again and headed toward the table that still needed its drinks. A new guy in town? Maybe your coworker had run into your brother’s old friend? Handsome one? You didn’t exactly remember bloody noses and split lips being all that attractive. Then again, how old was he now? Twenty-seven or so? Maybe the job he was offering your brother wasn’t as dangerous as you’d imagined.

Your thoughts were interrupted by a phone call.

Y\N: “What?” JJ: “Hey, sis! Remember I told you about Sebastian this morning?” Y\N: “No. I’m a goldfish.” JJ: “Smartass. Anyway, he’s got some housing issues. Mind if he crashes with us for a week or two?” You nearly choked on air. What was that supposed to mean? Y\N: “Jay, what’s going on?” JJ: “Come on, don’t be grumpy. You know how dead the housing market is in this town. He’ll take the parents’ room—it’s empty anyway.” You clicked your tongue, completely unsure what those two were scheming. But your soft side… was too soft.

Y\N: “Fine. But as soon as he finds a place…” JJ: “Yeah, yeah, he’s out. Got it. Thanks, you’re the best, snotface.”

You hung up, biting your lip. Nothing bad would happen… right? Just one more chaotic roommate. No big deal. ...

You got home late. Thankfully, no one bothered you on the way. And no, your older brother didn’t need to know that sometimes things like that happen. Because sometimes. You’re a pretty girl working at a well-known bar. Slipping home unnoticed isn’t always an option. The “admirers” aren’t exactly a problem. Sure, they can be pushy, say things that sting — but that’s just alcohol loosening their tongues. At least, that’s what you told yourself. Your faith in decent people still lived somewhere in your heart.

“I’m home!” you called out by habit, dropping the heavy grocery bag to the floor and kicking off your worn-out sneakers. No spare cash for trendy things right now — what can you do.

Suddenly, a whiff of men’s cologne hit your nose, and you froze, breathing it in again.

Right. You had a new “houseguest.” You slowed your pace, peeling off your track jacket. Slipping into pink slippers, you squared your shoulders and picked up the bag. You were quiet by nature. Even working as a waitress, meeting new people made you anxious. You hadn’t quite unlearned the habit of worrying what others thought of you. Always trying to make a good impression. Some kind of “good girl” syndrome.

But just as you turned the corner, you nearly collided with a solid male chest. Stepped back, lifting your gaze in surprise. The man leaned one muscular shoulder against the doorframe, eyes trailing over you slowly, deliberately. You gripped the plastic bag tighter.

“Hey,” he said. Low, slightly raspy — like he’d just woken up. His face was unreadable. No friendly smile. Not even a twitch at the corner of his mouth.

“Hey,” you echoed, matching his tone, afraid to look anywhere below those icy blue eyes. You wanted to take in the stranger properly, but his aura practically pinned you to the floor. You shivered. “Sebastian, right?”

“Do you always carry heavy bags alone?” You looked away, flustered. He reached out silently, asking for the bag. You handed it over, and again his gaze swept from your shoes to your hair. Was something wrong? Were the tight jeans and stretched-out sweater really that bad a fashion choice?

“Where’s J?” You followed him into the kitchen, allowing yourself a quick glance at his build. Yeah, he had way more muscle than your scrawny older brother. And that black tank top clung to him in all the right ways — every movement of those arms was visible.

“Passed out,” he said, leaning his hips against the counter, eyes back on you. What was with that stare? You didn’t know where to put yourself, but groceries weren’t going to unpack themselves.

“At ten p.m.? That’s not like him,” you said, approaching the table and pulling things from the bag. “Sorry, I didn’t know what you eat, so I grabbed a little of everything.”

Yep. The good girl in you was screaming for approval and praise. You were developing a kink for it at this point. Sure, he could feed himself. You didn’t have to think about dinner at all. But manners told you to welcome the guest properly — even if you weren’t thrilled about it.

“We already ate,” his velvet voice came from behind you, hitting your eardrums a little too hard. You felt like a rabbit caught in headlights — his presence was overwhelming. “Little bug”

You spun around, brows furrowed in irritation. Oh. The corners of his mouth lifted in a faint smirk. He liked your reaction.

“And I see you two had a good time, since my brother’s completely knocked out,” you shot back with a sharp smile, arms crossed. You needed some kind of shield against his intensity.

“Just celebrating my arrival. Don’t pout,” he said like you’d known each other for years. Even his tone threw you off balance.

“Amazing how you’re still standing,” you muttered, turning away in frustration as the groceries started spilling from the bag like they were to blame for everything.

“I’ve got a fast metabolism,” he said, pushing off the counter and stepping toward you. You froze, feeling his breath on your neck.

Suddenly, he curled a strand of your hair around his finger, sending chills down your spine all the way to your lower back. You turned your head, catching him staring at your hair thoughtfully.

“It’s grown,” he said quietly, eyes locking onto yours. “And you’ve grown up too, little bug.”

He backed away towards the exit, without breaking eye contact with you, and slipped out—giving one last slow glance from head to toe.

You closed your eyes, exhaled. Licked your dry lips and dropped into a chair.

Headcanon. Sebastian is like the older brother’s grown-up, handsome, dangerously sexy friend—the kind who always stirs that strange, magnetic sense of danger deep inside you.

He’s the older brother’s friend. The one who walks in like he owns the room—tall, sharp-jawed, with that slow, deliberate confidence that makes your pulse skip. Sebastian. Too grown-up. Too handsome. Too dangerous. And every time he looks your way, it feels like standing on the edge of something thrilling and reckless.

You’re not supposed to stare. Not supposed to notice how his voice drops when he talks to you. Not supposed to feel that heat when he leans in just a little too close to grab his coffee mug from the counter you’re leaning on.

“You always this quiet?” he asks, voice low, teasing. You shrug, trying to play it cool. But your fingers tighten around the glass in your hand.

He smirks. Like he knows exactly what he’s doing. Like he’s done this before—with girls who should know better.

And maybe you do. But that doesn’t stop your heart from racing when he brushes past you, fingers grazing your wrist like an accident that wasn’t one.

It happens late one night.

Everyone’s gone. The house is quiet. You’re in the kitchen again, barefoot, wearing a hoodie that’s definitely not yours. Sebastian walks in, hair tousled, shirt clinging to his chest in all the wrong ways. He stops when he sees you. Doesn’t say a word. Just leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching you like you’re something he’s not supposed to want—but does anyway.

“You always steal people’s clothes?” he asks, voice low, teasing. You glance down at the hoodie, then back up at him. “Only when they smell good.”

He chuckles, slow and deep. Then steps closer. Too close.

“You know this is a bad idea, right?” he murmurs. You nod. “Terrible.”

But neither of you moves away.

His fingers brush your jaw. Yours curl into the fabric of his shirt. And when he finally kisses you, it’s not soft. It’s hungry. Like he’s been holding back for years.

“Three broken ribs, a dislocated shoulder. Two minor knife wounds and a whole lot of bruises,” the doctor announced, adjusting your IV drip. “See? I told you I’m fine,” you said, and James turned his thoughtful gaze toward you (gif). You tilted your head. “What?” “Well, I’m off. My job here is done,” the man in the white coat disappeared behind the door, and you sank into the pillows, eyes fluttering shut. “Enough,” you opened one eye, immediately catching the man’s stare. “If you’ve got something to say—say it. If not, go and stop burning holes in me with those ice daggers.” Barnes shook his head, licking his lips. “Why did you jump in front?” “Let me remind you that you only have one arm made of vibranium, not your entire body, James,” you winced. Even the smallest movement made every bruise scream. “Oh, or were you hoping to catch a bullet in the gut? Sorry for ruining your plans.” “You don’t even have one metal arm,” he leaned back in the chair, legs spread. You smirked. “Still, I’m over a hundred and breathing,” James shook his head, eyes dropping to the floor.

He was confused. Couldn’t understand why the hell you’d literally shield him with your body, not caring if you died. You were the villain. A thorn in his side. A rusted echo of the dark past he was trying to forget. Sure, you’d worked side by side for decades, but HYDRA was long dead. No one was going to “punish” you for failing to protect their weapon. Hell, you’d always been the one looking out for your own skin. So why the hell did you..

“James,” you said softly. “You don't have to think so deeply about it. I didn’t die, after all.” “Yeah, you didn’t,” he looked at you with such intensity that you couldn’t help but stare back. “But you could’ve.” “So what?” you shrugged. “The only ones who’d miss me are my aquarium fish. And I seriously doubt they’re capable of that emotion.” You smiled faintly, playing with the edge of the blanket.

“Get some sleep,” Barnes stood up, heading for the door. But he paused at the threshold, looking back at you. “Thank you.” “Sure. I’ll send you the bill later, big guy,” you smiled, and as the door closed behind him, you let your head fall back against the pillow, eyes drifting shut.

Unbelievable. You really almost died. What pushed you to such recklessness? Why were you so desperate to save him?

In moments like this, they feel like a married couple who just can’t seem to figure out their shared life. And his whole vibe? It pushes me into a headcanon where they still haven’t fully worked out the logistics of living together—but Bucky’s already settled into the relationship fluff, like a grumpy housecat. He and Y/N sit in the kitchen, arguing over who was supposed to do the dishes, take out the trash, who earns more, and whose apartment they’re technically living in.

But beneath all the grumbling lies something so powerful, no one even dares to challenge it.

“Pain in the ass—that’s what she is,” he mutters, slipping his jacket over your shoulders. He was the first to notice you were shivering.

“Oh, screw you,” you snap, slamming the door behind you. Bucky walks into the kitchen, gazing softly at the breakfast you made—his favorite—and the coffee that smells just right.

“He did what?” he explodes when he sees your downcast face after meeting with some puffed-up businessman.

“Jerk,” you whisper into his broad chest as he wraps you in a firm hug, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

Yeah, neither of you is easy. You bite and hiss at each other like a cat and dog. But if one of you is hurting, the other will move heaven and earth to protect. Both of you—former HYDRA pawns, with terrible pasts and even worse tempers. But you’ve come to realize (even if it took you forever) that you can’t live without each other. That you love so fiercely, you’d die for it.

It all started back during the filming of "Civil War". At first, it was just jokes, silly glances, and coffee breaks. Then your characters started sharing more and more scenes, and that strange pull between you two became harder to ignore.

“Hey! Wanna run that scene one more time?” “Aren’t you cold? Here, take my jacket.” “What’s not working for you? I’ll help.”

Little by little, you crossed the line where innocent thoughts stopped showing up. But work is work—and for a few years, you had to “forget” each other again, filming your own separate projects.

Then came "The Falcon and the Winter Soldier". Oh God, the tension between you two was unreal. But you were both public figures, and neither of you wanted to hand the press a story. At least not yet—not when you still didn’t know what you were feeling.

And then.. oops. Your trailer’s wiring shorted out. He offered a friendly shoulder, and suddenly you were sitting in his lap, hungrily kissing his lips while he gripped your thighs, smiling into the kiss.

When your temporary housing was fixed, you sweetly invited him over to “celebrate.” How you ended up on your knees in front of him — a mystery.

After the show’s success, you had to smile politely for the paparazzi. Smile at him just enough for the cameras to catch the tip of the iceberg. You two were masterful at pretending.

What? Of course he offered to drive you home after the premiere. Only… he had to take you to his place instead. He’d completely forgotten to ask for your address. Spoiler: neither of you got much sleep.

And once "Thunderbolts" filming began, it was obvious to everyone. He didn’t miss a single chance to corner you in tight spaces, begging for soft little kisses. You shared a trailer. The one skill you had to master? Clenching your teeth when things got too good. Other people, after all, were used to sleeping at night—not… well, never mind.