⋆˙ ♡ — wei || 20s || she/her || side-blog that mostly runs on queue ! (main: tang-wei)
GENERAL BLOG WARNINGS ! this blog contains graphic and explicit material! MDNI! you are responsible for your internet experience !
⋆˙ ♡ — currently obsessed with congressman bucky, and working on my multichapter congresswoman reader fic For the Record
⋆˙ ♡ — asks & requests are currently open - if you want to say something but don't know what to say - you can always tell me your favourite bucky era and i will give u my hot take ♡ i love yapping ♡
⋆˙ ♡ — big links navigation
˚₊ · »-→ about me & blog rules
hi!! get to know me & this blog (ask box / requests rules)
˚₊ · »-→ masterposts & writing stuff
tag navigation + master posts + writing archive
tip! open the read more ↓ for a short cut to everything i've written
⋆˙ ♡ — first time? try these if you like it spicy (favours owed ⋆ the suit problem ⋆ adrenaline high) & these if you like it sweet (appointments kept ♥︎ hot mic problems)
♡ LOVE, SALTY-TANG ♡
iloveu~
EVERYTHING I'VE EVER WRITTEN IN (MOSTLY) CHRONOLOGICAL ORDER
✿ Favours Owed - explicit - congressman barnes eats you out at a gala
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
✿ For the Record [WIP] - mature - congressman bucky barnes x congresswoman reader
Freshman Orientation
Cover Stories
The Summit
Lockdown
Manila, Jakarta, and Washington DC
The Cost of Doing It All
Trust, Apparently (Retreat I)
Panels and Proximity (Retreat II)
Sunlight Underground (Retreat III)
Combustion Threshold (Retreat IV)
Goodbye, Greenbrier (Retreat V)
The Usual, Reconsidered
Between Dates and Districts
Properly
✿ off the record [WIP] - teen and up - out-takes/crack/one-shots from the For the Record universe
Coffee Tap
Sick Day
The Suit Problem™
Bench Pressing a Hummer (for Charity)
Appointments Kept
Masquerade and Masked Charades
Hot Mic Problems
Riding Pillion
Aquarium Day
Snowed in, power out
✿ adrenaline high - explicit - sex on the harley
✿ in paradisum - teen and up, but angsty - On the cold snow field, Rostova shoots Vronksy (ie my take on a happy fix-it ending)
✿ that time my boss sent us to retrieve a tentacle specimen and how everything went horribly hornily wrong - explicit - thunderbolts reader and bucky tangle with a tentacle monster
✿ janurary jumble scribbles 2026 - check individual warnings - a collection of 300ish word random drabbles
“I’ve had bigger thrills leaning up against my dryer”
“Where the fuck is the fucking tuna?!”
You don’t see stars here, they’re just city lights
“You let me do this every time”
Women are meant to be loved, not to be understood
“Every sound you make is making this worse”
✿ on the subject of marriage - teen and up + bonus explicit smut - wedding hater groomsman bucky teams up with wedding obsessed main of honour reader to plan the romanrogers wedding
✿ happiness, presently - teen and up - late night talks with congressman barnes about workplace happiness
✿ body2body - explicit - personal trainer bucky and client reader on an empty gym floor
✿ the perfect pair - explicit - 40s bucky takes reader out on a not-date-beach-date and get stranded. oh no! there's just one bed! and boobs!
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
⤷ author’s note: @star-and-shield-monthly’s june challenge prompt: maritime AU. series masterlist to come! (was supposed to be a one-shot, ended up with 10k words just for the start... so we're gonna have a small mulit-chapter fic ... have the prelude first while i finish writing!)
+ more bucky from me
There was once a village by the sea, and the sea was a wicked neighbour.
In fair weather it gave fish enough for soup and silver enough for selling, and the children of the village ran barefoot upon the rocks and thought themselves beloved. But in foul weather the sea climbed the cliffs, beat upon the doors, and took whatever had been carelessly left too near its mouth. Nets, boats, dogs, drunkards, wedding rings, little shoes – the sea took all these things, and never once gave its thanks.
The village was called Starfall Bay, and in the oldest days, when the cliffs were still nameless and the first cottages had scarcely learned to fear the wind, a star fell out of the sky and struck the water beyond the reef.
Some said it was truly a star. Some said it was an angel cast down for loving the earth too well. Some said it was only a burning stone, and those people were considered dull company and were not invited to tell stories by the fire.
Whatever it was, it fell with such force that the night split open. The sea boiled white and fish leapt dead upon the shore. For seven days and seven nights the water beyond the reef shone silver, and all who stood upon the cliffs after dark heard music under the waves – not music made by pipe or fiddle or church bell, but something older, colder, and sweeter than any mortal throat ought to bear.
After that, the bay was never quiet again.
Now, beyond the village there stood three caves, and beyond the caves there lay a reef as black as a dead king’s crown. No boat that struck it came home whole. No man who swam too near it kept his name for long. And in the deepest water beneath that reef, where the fallen star was said to have gone dark at last, lived the Drowned Man.
He was not drowned, though that was what they called him.
He was not dead, though many wished he were.
Some said he had been a sailor once, taken under on the night the star fell and returned with silver in his blood. Some said he was the star’s own child, born of fire and salt, too bright for heaven and too lonely for earth. Some said he had never been human at all, but was made from storm-water, whale-bone, and the last breath of men lost in fog.
This much was agreed; he was beautiful, and that was the first danger.
His hair was black. His eyes were blue. His face was fair enough to make grief pause at the threshold and forget why it had come. From the waist up he looked like a man, though no man ever had such teeth, or such hands, or such a stillness when he watched from the water. From the waist down, said some, he was scaled silver and black, with a tail strong enough to break a mast and quick enough to vanish between one blink and the next. Others said he had legs when he wished for them, and that this was worse, for a monster one can recognise is less dangerous than a man one might pity.
But his voice was the worst of him.
When he sang, fish rose dead-bellied to the surface. When he sang, lamps burned blue. When he sang, wives woke and found their husbands standing at the door with bare feet and smiling faces.
“Where are you going?” cried the wives.
“Home,” said the husbands.
“You are home,” cried the wives.
But the husbands only smiled more sweetly and walked into the sea.
Sometimes the Drowned Man did not sing at all. Sometimes he called a name through the fog in a voice one loved and trusted. Sometimes he sounded like a child crying where no child could be. Sometimes he sounded like a man long buried, asking to be let in from the cold. Those who heard him turned their faces toward the water. If they were in boats, they loosened their hands from the oars. If they were on land, they stepped from the path. And if those who loved them seized their coats and begged them to stay, they only smiled and said they were going home.
So the people of Starfall Bay made rules, as people do when they cannot make safety.
Do not answer singing from the water.
Do not follow a voice in fog.
Do not go to the eastern caves alone.
If something in the tide calls you by name, plug your ears and run.
These rules were taught to every child before they were taught their letters.
For a while, the rules were enough. Boats went out and came back again. Children grew old and lovers kissed behind the dunes and returned with sand in their shoes instead of salt in their lungs. The Drowned Man was heard only on storm nights, or after funerals, or by liars.
Then came the black ship.
It had no flag and made no harbour. It came at dusk, when the sky was green and the gulls flew inland. Its hull was black. Its lamps burned an ugly colour in the mist. The men aboard wore coats without buttons and gloves though it was summer. They did not laugh. They did not sing. They brought iron hooks, iron cages, and nets weighted not with stone but with silver.
The harbourmaster asked their business.
“Fishing,” said the men from the black ship.
“For what?” asked the harbourmaster.
“For what belongs below,” they said.
That night, the sea thrashed like a beaten horse. The church bell rang without a hand to pull it. Every dog in the village hid beneath the floorboards. Babies screamed in their cradles. Mirrors turned black. And from the eastern caves came a song so sweet and terrible that all who heard it stuffed rags into their mouths for fear their souls would climb out and answer.
Some said the sea itself rose then, as though to defend what was its own. Some said lightning struck the reef so many times it shone like a crown of knives. Some said they saw, in the white mouth of the storm, a man with blue eyes and silver-dark scales, fighting nets, hooks, and chains. But no two witnesses agreed, and by morning all that remained certain was this:
The black ship was gone.
And so was the Drowned Man.
Then the village rejoiced, for people are often glad when a danger is taken, and slow to ask who has taken it.
They baked bread. They mended their nets and righted the overturned boats. They thanked God and the saints and the weather. They told their children the monster had been caught and carried away, and that the sea, having lost her wicked voice, would trouble them no more.
But that was foolish.
The sea had not lost her voice, the sea was only holding her breath.
Years passed. Children grew and the old people died. The story became smaller and uglier with every telling, for this is another habit of people -- when a frightening thing disappears, they make it more monstrous than it was, so they may feel wiser for having survived it.
The Drowned Man had eaten sailors.
The Drowned Man had kissed girls until their hearts stopped.
The Drowned Man had dragged children from their beds by singing through the keyholes.
Every winter gave him sharper teeth. Every grandmother gave him longer claws. By and by, no one remembered whether he had ever saved a drowning boy, or cut a net from a whale-calf, or wept when the black ship put silver through his flesh and iron around his wrist.
For people remember fear more so than pity.
But the sea, she does not forget.
On storm nights, when the tide rose high enough to lick the chapel steps, the water below the eastern caves shone with a pale, fallen light, as though the star beneath the reef had opened one sleeping eye. Locked doors rusted in their frames. Iron nails bled brown streaks down white wood. Fishermen woke from dreams of a man with blue eyes and a collar about his wrist, opening his mouth though no sound came out.
Then the grandmothers of Starfall Bay would draw the children close to the fire and say:
Do not trust a pretty face in the water.
Do not trust singing after dark.
Do not trust men who bring cages and call it fishing.
And if one day the sea gives back the Drowned Man, do not greet him with a knife.
For a monster may have teeth because he is wicked.
Or because the world first showed him its throat.
And if a star falls into the sea, child, remember this well: men will come with nets and call it theirs.
⤷ author’s note: @star-and-shield-monthly’s june challenge prompt: maritime AU. series masterlist to come! (was supposed to be a one-shot, ended up with 10k words just for the start... so we're gonna have a small mulit-chapter fic ... have the prelude first while i finish writing!)
+ more bucky from me
There was once a village by the sea, and the sea was a wicked neighbour.
In fair weather it gave fish enough for soup and silver enough for selling, and the children of the village ran barefoot upon the rocks and thought themselves beloved. But in foul weather the sea climbed the cliffs, beat upon the doors, and took whatever had been carelessly left too near its mouth. Nets, boats, dogs, drunkards, wedding rings, little shoes – the sea took all these things, and never once gave its thanks.
The village was called Starfall Bay, and in the oldest days, when the cliffs were still nameless and the first cottages had scarcely learned to fear the wind, a star fell out of the sky and struck the water beyond the reef.
Some said it was truly a star. Some said it was an angel cast down for loving the earth too well. Some said it was only a burning stone, and those people were considered dull company and were not invited to tell stories by the fire.
Whatever it was, it fell with such force that the night split open. The sea boiled white and fish leapt dead upon the shore. For seven days and seven nights the water beyond the reef shone silver, and all who stood upon the cliffs after dark heard music under the waves – not music made by pipe or fiddle or church bell, but something older, colder, and sweeter than any mortal throat ought to bear.
After that, the bay was never quiet again.
Now, beyond the village there stood three caves, and beyond the caves there lay a reef as black as a dead king’s crown. No boat that struck it came home whole. No man who swam too near it kept his name for long. And in the deepest water beneath that reef, where the fallen star was said to have gone dark at last, lived the Drowned Man.
He was not drowned, though that was what they called him.
He was not dead, though many wished he were.
Some said he had been a sailor once, taken under on the night the star fell and returned with silver in his blood. Some said he was the star’s own child, born of fire and salt, too bright for heaven and too lonely for earth. Some said he had never been human at all, but was made from storm-water, whale-bone, and the last breath of men lost in fog.
This much was agreed; he was beautiful, and that was the first danger.
His hair was black. His eyes were blue. His face was fair enough to make grief pause at the threshold and forget why it had come. From the waist up he looked like a man, though no man ever had such teeth, or such hands, or such a stillness when he watched from the water. From the waist down, said some, he was scaled silver and black, with a tail strong enough to break a mast and quick enough to vanish between one blink and the next. Others said he had legs when he wished for them, and that this was worse, for a monster one can recognise is less dangerous than a man one might pity.
But his voice was the worst of him.
When he sang, fish rose dead-bellied to the surface. When he sang, lamps burned blue. When he sang, wives woke and found their husbands standing at the door with bare feet and smiling faces.
“Where are you going?” cried the wives.
“Home,” said the husbands.
“You are home,” cried the wives.
But the husbands only smiled more sweetly and walked into the sea.
Sometimes the Drowned Man did not sing at all. Sometimes he called a name through the fog in a voice one loved and trusted. Sometimes he sounded like a child crying where no child could be. Sometimes he sounded like a man long buried, asking to be let in from the cold. Those who heard him turned their faces toward the water. If they were in boats, they loosened their hands from the oars. If they were on land, they stepped from the path. And if those who loved them seized their coats and begged them to stay, they only smiled and said they were going home.
So the people of Starfall Bay made rules, as people do when they cannot make safety.
Do not answer singing from the water.
Do not follow a voice in fog.
Do not go to the eastern caves alone.
If something in the tide calls you by name, plug your ears and run.
These rules were taught to every child before they were taught their letters.
For a while, the rules were enough. Boats went out and came back again. Children grew old and lovers kissed behind the dunes and returned with sand in their shoes instead of salt in their lungs. The Drowned Man was heard only on storm nights, or after funerals, or by liars.
Then came the black ship.
It had no flag and made no harbour. It came at dusk, when the sky was green and the gulls flew inland. Its hull was black. Its lamps burned an ugly colour in the mist. The men aboard wore coats without buttons and gloves though it was summer. They did not laugh. They did not sing. They brought iron hooks, iron cages, and nets weighted not with stone but with silver.
The harbourmaster asked their business.
“Fishing,” said the men from the black ship.
“For what?” asked the harbourmaster.
“For what belongs below,” they said.
That night, the sea thrashed like a beaten horse. The church bell rang without a hand to pull it. Every dog in the village hid beneath the floorboards. Babies screamed in their cradles. Mirrors turned black. And from the eastern caves came a song so sweet and terrible that all who heard it stuffed rags into their mouths for fear their souls would climb out and answer.
Some said the sea itself rose then, as though to defend what was its own. Some said lightning struck the reef so many times it shone like a crown of knives. Some said they saw, in the white mouth of the storm, a man with blue eyes and silver-dark scales, fighting nets, hooks, and chains. But no two witnesses agreed, and by morning all that remained certain was this:
The black ship was gone.
And so was the Drowned Man.
Then the village rejoiced, for people are often glad when a danger is taken, and slow to ask who has taken it.
They baked bread. They mended their nets and righted the overturned boats. They thanked God and the saints and the weather. They told their children the monster had been caught and carried away, and that the sea, having lost her wicked voice, would trouble them no more.
But that was foolish.
The sea had not lost her voice, the sea was only holding her breath.
Years passed. Children grew and the old people died. The story became smaller and uglier with every telling, for this is another habit of people -- when a frightening thing disappears, they make it more monstrous than it was, so they may feel wiser for having survived it.
The Drowned Man had eaten sailors.
The Drowned Man had kissed girls until their hearts stopped.
The Drowned Man had dragged children from their beds by singing through the keyholes.
Every winter gave him sharper teeth. Every grandmother gave him longer claws. By and by, no one remembered whether he had ever saved a drowning boy, or cut a net from a whale-calf, or wept when the black ship put silver through his flesh and iron around his wrist.
For people remember fear more so than pity.
But the sea, she does not forget.
On storm nights, when the tide rose high enough to lick the chapel steps, the water below the eastern caves shone with a pale, fallen light, as though the star beneath the reef had opened one sleeping eye. Locked doors rusted in their frames. Iron nails bled brown streaks down white wood. Fishermen woke from dreams of a man with blue eyes and a collar about his wrist, opening his mouth though no sound came out.
Then the grandmothers of Starfall Bay would draw the children close to the fire and say:
Do not trust a pretty face in the water.
Do not trust singing after dark.
Do not trust men who bring cages and call it fishing.
And if one day the sea gives back the Drowned Man, do not greet him with a knife.
For a monster may have teeth because he is wicked.
Or because the world first showed him its throat.
And if a star falls into the sea, child, remember this well: men will come with nets and call it theirs.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
⤷ author’s note: @star-and-shield-monthly’s june challenge prompt: maritime AU. series masterlist to come! (was supposed to be a one-shot, ended up with 10k words just for the start... so we're gonna have a small mulit-chapter fic ... have the prelude first while i finish writing!)
+ more bucky from me
There was once a village by the sea, and the sea was a wicked neighbour.
In fair weather it gave fish enough for soup and silver enough for selling, and the children of the village ran barefoot upon the rocks and thought themselves beloved. But in foul weather the sea climbed the cliffs, beat upon the doors, and took whatever had been carelessly left too near its mouth. Nets, boats, dogs, drunkards, wedding rings, little shoes – the sea took all these things, and never once gave its thanks.
The village was called Starfall Bay, and in the oldest days, when the cliffs were still nameless and the first cottages had scarcely learned to fear the wind, a star fell out of the sky and struck the water beyond the reef.
Some said it was truly a star. Some said it was an angel cast down for loving the earth too well. Some said it was only a burning stone, and those people were considered dull company and were not invited to tell stories by the fire.
Whatever it was, it fell with such force that the night split open. The sea boiled white and fish leapt dead upon the shore. For seven days and seven nights the water beyond the reef shone silver, and all who stood upon the cliffs after dark heard music under the waves – not music made by pipe or fiddle or church bell, but something older, colder, and sweeter than any mortal throat ought to bear.
After that, the bay was never quiet again.
Now, beyond the village there stood three caves, and beyond the caves there lay a reef as black as a dead king’s crown. No boat that struck it came home whole. No man who swam too near it kept his name for long. And in the deepest water beneath that reef, where the fallen star was said to have gone dark at last, lived the Drowned Man.
He was not drowned, though that was what they called him.
He was not dead, though many wished he were.
Some said he had been a sailor once, taken under on the night the star fell and returned with silver in his blood. Some said he was the star’s own child, born of fire and salt, too bright for heaven and too lonely for earth. Some said he had never been human at all, but was made from storm-water, whale-bone, and the last breath of men lost in fog.
This much was agreed; he was beautiful, and that was the first danger.
His hair was black. His eyes were blue. His face was fair enough to make grief pause at the threshold and forget why it had come. From the waist up he looked like a man, though no man ever had such teeth, or such hands, or such a stillness when he watched from the water. From the waist down, said some, he was scaled silver and black, with a tail strong enough to break a mast and quick enough to vanish between one blink and the next. Others said he had legs when he wished for them, and that this was worse, for a monster one can recognise is less dangerous than a man one might pity.
But his voice was the worst of him.
When he sang, fish rose dead-bellied to the surface. When he sang, lamps burned blue. When he sang, wives woke and found their husbands standing at the door with bare feet and smiling faces.
“Where are you going?” cried the wives.
“Home,” said the husbands.
“You are home,” cried the wives.
But the husbands only smiled more sweetly and walked into the sea.
Sometimes the Drowned Man did not sing at all. Sometimes he called a name through the fog in a voice one loved and trusted. Sometimes he sounded like a child crying where no child could be. Sometimes he sounded like a man long buried, asking to be let in from the cold. Those who heard him turned their faces toward the water. If they were in boats, they loosened their hands from the oars. If they were on land, they stepped from the path. And if those who loved them seized their coats and begged them to stay, they only smiled and said they were going home.
So the people of Starfall Bay made rules, as people do when they cannot make safety.
Do not answer singing from the water.
Do not follow a voice in fog.
Do not go to the eastern caves alone.
If something in the tide calls you by name, plug your ears and run.
These rules were taught to every child before they were taught their letters.
For a while, the rules were enough. Boats went out and came back again. Children grew old and lovers kissed behind the dunes and returned with sand in their shoes instead of salt in their lungs. The Drowned Man was heard only on storm nights, or after funerals, or by liars.
Then came the black ship.
It had no flag and made no harbour. It came at dusk, when the sky was green and the gulls flew inland. Its hull was black. Its lamps burned an ugly colour in the mist. The men aboard wore coats without buttons and gloves though it was summer. They did not laugh. They did not sing. They brought iron hooks, iron cages, and nets weighted not with stone but with silver.
The harbourmaster asked their business.
“Fishing,” said the men from the black ship.
“For what?” asked the harbourmaster.
“For what belongs below,” they said.
That night, the sea thrashed like a beaten horse. The church bell rang without a hand to pull it. Every dog in the village hid beneath the floorboards. Babies screamed in their cradles. Mirrors turned black. And from the eastern caves came a song so sweet and terrible that all who heard it stuffed rags into their mouths for fear their souls would climb out and answer.
Some said the sea itself rose then, as though to defend what was its own. Some said lightning struck the reef so many times it shone like a crown of knives. Some said they saw, in the white mouth of the storm, a man with blue eyes and silver-dark scales, fighting nets, hooks, and chains. But no two witnesses agreed, and by morning all that remained certain was this:
The black ship was gone.
And so was the Drowned Man.
Then the village rejoiced, for people are often glad when a danger is taken, and slow to ask who has taken it.
They baked bread. They mended their nets and righted the overturned boats. They thanked God and the saints and the weather. They told their children the monster had been caught and carried away, and that the sea, having lost her wicked voice, would trouble them no more.
But that was foolish.
The sea had not lost her voice, the sea was only holding her breath.
Years passed. Children grew and the old people died. The story became smaller and uglier with every telling, for this is another habit of people -- when a frightening thing disappears, they make it more monstrous than it was, so they may feel wiser for having survived it.
The Drowned Man had eaten sailors.
The Drowned Man had kissed girls until their hearts stopped.
The Drowned Man had dragged children from their beds by singing through the keyholes.
Every winter gave him sharper teeth. Every grandmother gave him longer claws. By and by, no one remembered whether he had ever saved a drowning boy, or cut a net from a whale-calf, or wept when the black ship put silver through his flesh and iron around his wrist.
For people remember fear more so than pity.
But the sea, she does not forget.
On storm nights, when the tide rose high enough to lick the chapel steps, the water below the eastern caves shone with a pale, fallen light, as though the star beneath the reef had opened one sleeping eye. Locked doors rusted in their frames. Iron nails bled brown streaks down white wood. Fishermen woke from dreams of a man with blue eyes and a collar about his wrist, opening his mouth though no sound came out.
Then the grandmothers of Starfall Bay would draw the children close to the fire and say:
Do not trust a pretty face in the water.
Do not trust singing after dark.
Do not trust men who bring cages and call it fishing.
And if one day the sea gives back the Drowned Man, do not greet him with a knife.
For a monster may have teeth because he is wicked.
Or because the world first showed him its throat.
And if a star falls into the sea, child, remember this well: men will come with nets and call it theirs.
Roommate!Bucky who just wants to get to know you better, more up close and personal. Is that too much to ask for—for a man to get to know his roommate better?
Roommate!Bucky who spills water down your white t-shirt. Is that his fault you weren't wearing a bra underneath? His fault he could see your tits through your now see through shirt? His fault he could see your deliciously hard nipples? No, it wasn't!
Roommate!Bucky who stares at your tits shamelessly, now only if he could touch them, lick them, bite them, squeeze th—
Roommate!Bucky who apologises. "Shoot--sorry, angel...didn't mean to." He absolutely did mean to. Who tells you, oh so concerned, to go take a shower. That you'll feel better once you're all nice and clean.
Roommate!Bucky who, once the water starts running, palms his bulge through his sweatpants. Who walks in your room—hand still on his cock, the image of the wet, transparent fabric clinging to your breasts still in his mind.
Roommate!Bucky who looks for your worn panties in the pile of clothes near your bed. The grey one with the black bows on it. The one he knew you were wearing because he saw them peeking out when you leaned down.
Roommate!Bucky who immediately brings them up to his face, breathing in your scent. Who licks a long stripe up the fabric, tasting whatever he could of your essence while getting rid of his sweatpants and boxers to free his throbbing cock.
Roommate!Bucky who falls down on your bed, panties held tight to his face as he starts stroking his cock; who's head falls back as he chokes on a moan, your soft pillows muffling any sounds that threatened to escape.
Roommate!Bucky who imagines his cock in between your breasts, how he'd play with your nipples— twist and pull at them as he'd thrust up and down.
Roommate!Bucky who knew, right when the water turned off that he had 10 minutes, give or take, before you came back. 10 minutes of you lathering up your soft body in those sweet lotions and oils, your hands caressing and massaging them in. Who wishes it was his hands instead.
Roommate!Bucky who stops stroking his cock, turns and looks at the little wooden nightstand. The nights he spent hearing your panting and whimpering over the consistent little buzz meant only one thing.
Roommate!Bucky who held the purple vibrator in his hands—comically small in his huge hands. Who grins, as if he's found a treasure, biting his lip as he brings it up to his mouth for a taste.
Roommate!Bucky who sucks on the blunt silicone end, tiny, gentle kitten licks. It touched your precious little clit, brought you orgasms—was soaked in your juices as you writhed and thrashed around on the bedsheets like a pathetic slut, and god...he just wanted a taste of it.
Roommate!Bucky who turns the toy on. A bzzzz bzzzz! filling the room. Who encloses it completely in his fist, feeling the vibrations travel through his body.
Roommate!Bucky who smirks at the thought of you getting off with something as small as this. Did you know just how fucking massive he is? Would you even be able to take all of him?
Roommate!Bucky who drags the buzzing vibrator across his chest, lingering on one nipple. Interesting...
Roommate!Bucky who keeps going, down and down and down till he reaches where his cock stands proud and leaking and blushing a shade so red it looked like it hurt. And it did. It hurt so fucking bad for him to not be inside of you.
Roommate!Bucky who presses the toy to his cockhead, his hips immediately jerking off the bed at the sudden, intense sensation.
"Fucking shi—"
Roommate!Bucky who does it gently this time, just a whisper of a touch, getting used to the strange feeling of the vibrations.
Roommate!Bucky who feels brave now. Slow, controlled circles teasing at his slit, each dribble of precum that leaks out making each pass easier than the last.
Roommate!Bucky who drags your vibrator up and down his cock, the waves travelling deep and reaching something he didn't even knew existed. He'd never felt anything like it before.
Roommate!Bucky who believes this is technically a pussy job. It rubbed at your pussy, and it's rubbing at his cock. A pussy job at it's finest.
Roommate!Bucky who cums so fucking hard at the thought of your pussy touching his cock. At the way the vibrations never seemed to stop hitting just right. At the way you were now almost done with your after shower-ly routines and about to enter the room in a minute and a half.
Roommate!Bucky who leaves the cum soaked vibrator underneath your pillow. A little extra lube never hurt anyone, right?
to celebrate captain america’s birthday, let's throw it back to soft summer days, backyard picnics, and golden hour love stories for the full month of july 🧺☀️
welcome to picnic blanket prompts—a low-pressure, fluff-forward mini writing collab inspired by everything you’d find scattered across a summer picnic blanket 🍉🍓🍋
so grab a spot and come write!
── 💫 HOW IT WORKS
each prompt is based after a picnic/summer item, and is paired with some themes & dialogue ideas—pick one (or more!) and create a fic, drabble, or blurb inspired by it OR take a spin at the wheels to let it decide for you!
── 💌 WHO CAN JOIN
anyone! all pairings, x readers, ships, platonic, oc etc. are welcome (marvel encouraged, but not required!)
── 🏷️ TAG YOUR WORK
#picnic blanket prompts
#cap's birthday collab
#a star spangled summer
(use any of these + tag me so i can read & rb!)
── 🗣️ FAQS
📅 do i have to post on a specific day?
nope! post anytime during the month of july (late entries are always welcome—we’re here for vibes, not deadlines)
🤍 does my work have to be just fluffy?
not at all! fluff, angst, bittersweet, smut—all are welcome just make sure you tag all 18+ content accordingly (NO DDDNE/dark/taboo themes) if you think your fic crosses this line, shoot me a dm!
📝 can i write more than one?
absolutely!! this collab doesn't have any hard limits on entries and has more than 50 prompts and dialogue lines to choose from so if inspiration hits again and again, let it rip!
☀️ what if i don’t finish in time?
you can still post it! this collab is meant to feel like summer, a little loose, a little slow, and always ongoing 🌻
🧺 can i combine prompts?
yes please—some of the best ideas come from mixing them
(think: 🍋 + 🚗 + 🎆 for all the sweet spots)
and now for the drumroll...
✨ THE PROMPTS, THEMES + THEIR MATCHING DIALOGUE
if you don't want to manually pick a prompt/dialogue take a look at these wheels and give 'em a spin! this makes it easier to mix and match but if you'd like the corresponding ones check below!
THEME + PROMPT WHEEL | DIALOGUE WHEEL
💤 FALLING ASLEEP ON THEM
unintentional closeness
→ realization / softness / caretaking
💤 "Have a nice nap?" / "I thought you were going to sleep forever." / "Shh, go back to sleep baby."
🌙 GOLDEN HOUR
that in between moment
→ realization scenes / soft almosts / quiet tension
🌙 “It’s weird… everything looks different right now. You do too.” / “If I say something, will it ruin this?” / “We should probably go. - Yeah… just—give me a second.”
🧺 PICNIC BASKET
something hidden inside
→ secrets revealed / gifts / unexpected confessions
🧺 “That wasn’t in there earlier. - “Yeah. I didn’t know how to give it to you.” / “You brought this… for me?” / “If I show you, you can’t pretend you didn’t see it.”
🪑SAVED SEAT
someone always leaves space for you
→ quiet devotion / unspoken care / to be loved is to be known
🪑 “You always sit there. - Only when you’re here.” / “Was this—saved? - “It usually is.” / “I didn’t think you’d come. - “I didn’t think you’d leave me a spot.”
🌌 FIREWORKS ENDING
silence after the noise
→ emotional comedown / realization / loneliness or peace
🌌 “It’s really quiet now.” / “I liked it better when I couldn’t hear myself think.” / “So… what happens after this?”
☀️ SUNBURN
caretaking + vulnerability
→ tending to someone / soft touches / quiet intimacy
☀️ “Hold still—you’re gonna make it worse.” / “You don’t have to take care of me like this. - I know.” / “Does it hurt? - Not as much as you hovering.”
🍴 "TRY MINE"
sharing food & sharing space
→ intimacy / trust / soft flirting
🍴 “Here—just take it. - “I could’ve asked. - You never do.” / “You always give me the better one.” / “Try it? For me?”
🪑 FOLD OUT CHAIRS
side by side conversations
→ late-night talks / emotional honesty
🪑 “Funny how it’s easier to say things when we’re not looking at each other.” / “We’ve never actually talked about this, have we?” / “If I say it now, I can’t take it back.”
🛏️ AFTERNOON NAP
lazy, quiet closeness
→ drifting in and out of sleep together / accidental cuddling
🛏️ “You’re still here. - “Wasn’t planning on moving.” / “Did I fall asleep on you? - “Yeah… didn’t mind.”/ “We should get up. -“In a minute.”
⏳ WAITING
for them to show up + change
→ doubt / hope / payoff reunion
⏳“You said you’d come back.” / “I almost stopped waiting. - “Almost?” / “You’re late. - “I know. I’m still here.”
🧃 JUICE BOX
playful, youthful energy
→ carefree chaos / laughter / childhood nostalgia
🧃 “You just sprayed that everywhere. - Worth it.” / “When did we start acting like kids again?” / “Don’t laugh—I’m serious. - “That’s the problem.”
🌾 TALL GRASS
half-hidden, tucked away
→ private conversations / secret kisses / hiding from others
🌾 “No one can see us out here.” / “We shouldn’t be hiding. - “Then why are we?” / “It feels different when it’s just us.”
🕶️ SUNGLASSES
seeing + not seeing
→ stolen glances / hiding feelings / perception vs reality
🕶️ “I can tell you’re staring. - You can’t even see my eyes.” / “You hide behind those a lot. - “Maybe I need to.” / “Take them off. - “Why?“ - So I know what you’re thinking.”
🧁 CUPCAKES
small celebrations
→ “it’s not a big deal” birthdays / quiet milestones / soft surprises
🧁 “It’s not a big deal. - “Then why’d you remember?” / “You got these for me? - “Don’t make it weird.” / “Make a wish. - “You already know what it is.”
🪵 WOODEN FENCE
leaning, waiting
→ watching from afar / longing / quiet observation
🪵 “You’ve been standing there a while.” / “I didn’t think you’d notice me.” / “You always look like you’re about to leave.”
🧂 POTATO CHIPS
light, messy, impossible to eat just one
→ casual closeness / reaching into the same bag / lingering touches
🧂 “You’re gonna finish the whole bag. - “Watch me.” / "My hand was already there. - “So was mine.” / “You don’t mind sharing? - Not with you.”
🎆 FIREWORKS
big emotions, louder than expected
→ confessions / overwhelm / emotional release
🎆 “I can’t hear you—what did you say?” / “I said I—” boom / “Fine. I’ll say it again.”
🍽️ PAPER PLATES
temporary but meaningful
→ fleeting moments that still matter / this won’t last, but it’s real
🍽️ “This is kind of temporary, isn’t it?” / “Does it matter if it is?” / “I think I’d still choose this.”
🔕 MISSED CALL
almost connection, the one that got away
→ timing issues / regret / what could’ve been
🔕 “I tried calling. - “I know.” / “Why didn’t you pick up? - “I didn’t know what to say.” / “You were supposed to be there.”
🍦MELTING ICE CREAM
time running out + fleeting moment
→ rushed confession / “before it’s too late” energy
🍦 “It’s gonna melt. - “Then say it faster.” / “We’re running out of time. - “Then don’t waste it.” / “Just—before it’s gone…”
💫 WATCHING THE STARS TOGETHER
sneaky love + soft touches
→ falling asleep together / naming the stars after each other / forced (welcomed) proximity
💫 “That one’s yours. - “You can’t just claim stars.” / “You’re closer than you think.” / “If we stay like this, I might fall asleep. - “Then stay.”
⛺ BONFIRE
warmth in the dark
→ storytelling / vulnerability / shared silence
⛺ “You don’t have to tell the whole story.” / “It’s easier in the dark.” / “I didn’t think anyone was listening. - “I always am.”
🌊 LATE NIGHT LAKE SWIM
daring love + hidden feelings
→ romantic tension / almost confessions
🌊 “It’s freezing. - “You jumped in first.” / “You look different out here.” / “If I say something stupid, blame the cold water.”
🍯 HONEY
slow, golden, lingering
→ drawn-out tension / soft touches that last too long
🍯 “You’re taking your time. - “I’m not in a hurry.” / “You always do that—linger.” / “Say it already. - “Not yet.”
🎇 FIRECRACKER
sudden, sharp reaction
→ arguments / impulsive confessions / tension snapping
🎇 “Why are you acting like this?” / “Because you won’t just say it!” / “Fine—then listen.”
📸 DISPOSABLE CAMERA
captured moments
→ memories / realizing feelings after the fact / almost too late
📸 “Don’t delete that. - “I wasn’t going to.” / “You kept all of these? - “Every single one.” / “That’s when it started, wasn’t it?”
🌧️ SUDDEN RAIN
plans interrupted
→ running for cover / laughter / forced closeness
🌧️ “Run! - “Where?”/ “You’re soaked." -“So are you.” / “We should’ve checked the weather.” - “I’m glad we didn’t.”
🌳 SHADED TREE
relief from the heat
→ safe space / emotional grounding / leaning on someone
🌳 “Come sit. You look like you need it.” / “It’s cooler here.” - “Stay, then.” / “You always find the quiet spots.”
🐜 ANTS
tiny annoyance crowding into a big moment
→ interrupted confession / forced proximity / comedic tension
🐜“Don’t move—there’s—” / “Why are you so close?” - “Because you won’t stop moving.” / “This is not how I pictured this going.”
🍓 STRAWBERRIES
soft, indulgent, a little romantic
→ feeding each other / quiet affection / yearning
🍓 “Here—try it like this.” / “You’re staring.” - “You make it hard not to.” / “You always give me the sweeter ones.”
✨ SPARKLERS
brief but bright
→ momentary romance / realization of feelings / magical moment
✨ “It won’t last long.” / “Then don’t waste it.” / “Look at you—you’re glowing.”
🎡 CARNIVAL NEARBY
distant music and lights
→ yearning / wanting something more / chasing a feeling
🎡 “We could go, you know.” - “Or we could stay.” / “You ever feel like you’re missing something?” / “I think this is enough.”
🍋 LEMONADE
something sour turning soft
→ enemies to lovers lite / misunderstandings / emotional resolution
🍋 “You don’t hate me that much, do you?” / “It gets better, I promise.” / "Flirting? Me? I wouldn't call it that."
💛 BEFORE THE SUN GOES DOWN
aware of fleeting happiness + trying to memorize the moment
→ noticing details / fear of losing it
💛 “You’re doing that thing again.” - “What thing?” - “Trying not to forget.” / “Say something so I remember this right.” / “I wish I could pause this.”
📦 LEFTOVERS
what’s left behind
→ memories / things unsaid / emotional residue
📦 “You can take this with you."/ “Feels weird packing it up." /“Not everything gets finished.”
☕ MORNING AFTER PICNIC
soft aftermath
→ quiet conversation / reflection / “we should do this again”
☕ “We should probably talk about yesterday.” / “Do you have to go?” / “Same time next week?”
🧻 NAPKINS
cleaning up a mess
→ vulnerability after something goes wrong / wiping tears / gentle care
🧻 “Hey—look at me.” / “It’s just a mess. We’ll fix it.” / “You don’t have to pretend you’re okay.”
🍉 WATERMELON
sticky fingers, shared bites, sweetness that lingers
→ first kisses / almost kisses / teasing intimacy
🍉 “You’ve got juice all over your hands.” / “Then help me clean it.” / “You missed a spot.”
🍞BRUSHING NON-EXISTENT CRUMBS OFF
crushing hard + scared to admit it
→ lingering touch / excuse for contact / care disguised as habit
🍞 “Hold still.” / “There’s nothing there.” - “I know.” / “You don’t have to find excuses.”
🌬️ SUMMER BREEZE
soft, barely there
→ almost touches / words left unsaid / quiet longing
🌬️ “Did you feel that?” / “You almost touched me.” / “Almost doesn’t count.”
🚗 IN THE TRUCK BED
open air, close proximity
→ stargazing / late-night talks / accidental intimacy
🚗 “There’s more space than I thought.” - “Not really.” / “You can lean if you want.” / “Don’t fall.” - “Then don’t move.”
🫙WATCHING THE FIREFLIES COME OUT
summer crush
→ not realizing how close the other is / brushing hands
🫙 “You’re closer than you were a second ago.” / “Don’t scare them off.” / “I wasn’t looking at the fireflies.”
💬 OVERHEARD CONVERSATION
something you weren’t supposed to hear
→ misunderstandings / accidental confessions
💬 “How long were you standing there?” / “Long enough.” / “You weren’t supposed to hear that.”
🏡 BACKYARD LIGHTS
soft glow at night
→ slow dancing / late-night confessions / lingering after everyone leaves
🏡 “Dance with me.” - “There’s no music.” - “There doesn’t have to be.” / “Stay until they turn off.” / “Just one more song.”
🎈WATER BALLOON FIGHT
chaotic love + messy aftermath
→ picking pieces from their hair / hanging up wet clothes / sharing a towel
🎈 “You started it!” - “You escalated it!” / “You’re soaked.” - “So are you.” / “Come here—hold still.”
🥗 PASTA SALAD
thrown together but somehow perfect
→ unlikely dynamics / found family / chaotic group settings
🥗 “This shouldn’t work, but it does.” / “Kind of like us.” / “Don’t say that like it’s a bad thing.”
🍒 CHERRIES
sweet with a hint of tension
→ playful teasing / “tie the stem” flirting / building tension
🍒 “You’re not actually going to try that, are you?” / “Watch me.” / “You’re unbelievable.”
🧺 PACKING THE PICNIC
preparation as love
→ doing things for someone before they even ask
🧺 “You already thought of everything.” / “I know what you like.” / “You didn’t have to do all this.” - “I wanted to.”
🌻 WILDFLOWERS
simple, soft, meaningful
→ “i saw this and thought of you” / gentle love
🌻 “These aren’t anything special.” - “They are to me.” / “You picked these?” - “I saw them and—yeah.” / “You think of me when you’re not here?”
🌅 LAST SUMMER TOGETHER
knowing it’s ending
→ goodbye energy / nostalgia / unresolved feelings
🌅 “Let’s not talk about what happens after.” / “Just this once, okay?” / “I’m going to miss this.”
🚶 WALKING AWAY
choosing distance
→ self-protection / heartbreak / growth
🚶 “Don’t follow me.” / “If I stay again, I won’t leave at all.” / “This isn’t me giving up.”
🎶 PORTABLE RADIO
music drifting through the air
→ dancing / memory-triggered moments / song-associated love
🎶 “You remember this song?” / “Don’t laugh—dance with me.” / “We used to—” - “I know.”
🥪 SANDWHICHES
carefully made, quietly thoughtful
→ acts of service / knowing someone’s preferences / domestic intimacy
🥪 “You cut the crusts off.” - “You hate them.” / “You remembered that?” / “I always do.”
🤝 “WE'RE JUST FRIENDS”
until it’s clearly not
→ blurred lines / tension / denial
🤝 “We’re not doing anything wrong.” / “Then why does it feel like we are?” / “Say it—we’re just friends.”
🧊 COOLER
what’s kept hidden
→ secrets / things unsaid / emotional walls
🧊 “What else are you keeping in there?” / “Stuff you’re not ready for.” / “You don’t have to hide it from me."
✨ anything else i should know?
just this: take your time, enjoy the process, and don’t overthink it
this collab is about capturing a feeling. something warm, fleeting, and worth holding onto 🌼
for any more questions/curiosities feel free to send a message my way so we can figure it out! thank you all so much and i can't wait to see what you guys write!
throwing a few tags out there, don't feel pressured into doing anything i just thought i would spread the word and make the blanket big enough for us all ✨
We’re so excited to officially open sign-ups for the first-ever Star and Shield Collective Writer’s Relay!
Writer’s Relay is a collaborative writing event where writers are matched into teams of three to create a shared story together. The stories should follow a 2+1 format.
For example: Two times she almost confessed + the one time he did.
For this event, you can write for any Anthony Mackie, Chris Evans, or Sebastian Stan characters.
Sign-up Now
Event Timeline
June 20: Sign-ups NOW OPEN
July 2: Sign-ups close at midnight (US ET)
After submitting your sign-up form, you should receive an acknowledgment email within 3 days. If you don’t receive one, please reach out to the mods so we can make sure your sign-up came through.
July 6: Inspiration Prompts posted
July 10: Matches go out
July 11 – July 18: Teams connect, brainstorm and plot
July 18: Send in your writing line-up and fic masterpost
July 19 – August 1: First sprint
August 2 – August 16: Second sprint
August 17 – August 31: Third sprint
You can find the full event details here but here’s a summary…
How It Works
Sign up and indicate your preferences.
We’ll match you with two other writers. Once teams are matched, you’ll have time to connect, pick your prompt, brainstorm, plot, and decide the order your team will write in.
Please let us know your writing line-up before the writing period begins.
Each team member will contribute one chapter, with a minimum of 1,000 words and a maximum of 5,000 words.
The relay will run in two-week writing sprints. The first writer in the line-up will have two weeks to write and post their chapter. Once their chapter is posted, the next writer will have two weeks from that posting date to write and post their part, and so on.
You may post before the end of your sprint if your chapter is ready. Your teammates are also welcome to keep chatting, plotting, and supporting each other throughout the writing period.
Extensions & Pinch Hits
Life happens, and we understand that.
You may request an extension as early as 4 days before the end of your sprint. Extensions can be granted for up to 7 days, but please communicate with the mods as early as possible.
If you need to drop out, that’s ok, but please let us know as soon as you can so we can arrange a pinch hit writer.
Please do not disappear or drop out without communicating with the mods. Writers who drop without notice will not be allowed to participate in the next Writer’s Relay or Star and Shield Collective events for one year. You’ll still be able to participate in monthly challenges.
If you are assigned as a pinch hit writer, you will have 2 weeks to write and post the part of the fic you’ve been assigned.
Please make sure you read our acceptable fanworks post before signing up.
We’re so excited to see the teams come together and watch these stories unfold.
Ready to join the relay?
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> Sign up here
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
There’s only one bed or Long-distance correspondence
Hurt/Comfort or Amnesia (idk why the amnesia trope pisses me off real good - maybe because it's a variant of the miscommunication trope?)
Fantasy AU or Modern AU
Mutual pining or Domestic bliss (a man who years is a man who earns)
Smut or Fluff (i like both, but if it came down to it, reading good fluff gives u a bigger adrenaline rush than good smut)
Canon-compliant or Fix-it
Reincarnation or Character death
One-shot or Multi-chapter
Kid fic or Road Trip fic (fuck them kids /jk)
Arranged marriage or Accidental marriage
High-school college Romance or Middle-aged Romance
Time travel or Isolated together (can i say time travel together?)
Neighbors or Roommates
Sci-fi AU or Magic AU (PACIFIC RIM AU)
Body swap or Genderbent
Angst or Crack (again, reading an insanely well-written crack fic gives me a high like nothing before)
Apocalyptic or Mundane (i love suffering)
Happy ending or Unhappy ending
And time to share the tag love! @indigo-jungle @elliestwoleftfingerss @maddiespasta @singulartoast + anyone else who wants to do this! just tag me BAHAHAHAHA
Well, it's been a full 24 hours and it looks like everyone's allergy meds have finally kicked in… maybe except for Bucky's. Poor guy. Regardless, it's time to reveal and reward two of our amazing anonymous authors!
It was right down to the (stuffed-up) nose but the votes have been counted, and it's time to say goodbye to:
@salty-tang author of Side Effects May Include
@buckets-and-trees author of Pickle Juice
Friends, your fics were delightful and sweet (and pickley). We love how you played with the prompt—not only this week, but in all the weeks previously. We cannot wait for you both to share your drabbles under your own names! But in the meantime, we've prepared your allergen-free Cryofreezes with plenty of tissues, never fear!
As for our remaining five authors, we'll see them next week with a new prompt! Have a great (and sneeze-free) weekend!
surprise! this was what I've been getting up to the last few weeks 🤭 honored to have made it this far - especially as a yapper who is allergic to a maximum word count HAHAHA
It's that time of week again! When seven stupendous authors all get together and.... and ...aaaaaaaaaCHOO.
Yeah, sorry, seasonal allergies, you know? Which is fantastic timing, because this week, our seven anonymous authors were tasked with the following prompt:
Bucky is (not) allergic.
(The not is optional.)
That's right, we have seven delicious drabbles under the cut, all depicting either an allergic Bucky--or a Bucky is very much not allergic.
Your task is to read all seven drabbles and vote on your TWO favorites. On Friday afternoon, the two authors of the drabbles with the fewest votes will be revealed and rewarded with their very own allergen-free Cryofreezes. The remaining five will be dosed with anti-histamines and go on to Round 6.
All seven drabbles are rated Teen or below, and we know you'll have a fantastic time reading them.
So grab a tissue box and start reading!
Drabble #1 - Documented condition
Rating: Teen
"You put me on your medical forms?" Sam scowled.
"Documented condition." Bucky shrugged
"I will destroy you."
"Symptom four: risk of death."
"I will end you—"
"Fascinating. Keep going."
"Steve!"
Steve looked up from his coffee. He'd been on this couch for eight minutes. He'd aged considerably.
"Bucky. Remove Sam from your allergy list."
"Medical records are confidential."
"I'll show you confidential—" Sam started.
"That doesn't mean anything," Steve said.
"It means something to me—"
"Barnes, I swear to God—"
"Symptom five," Bucky said serenely.
Steve put his coffee down. Stood up. Walked out.
They didn't notice for four minutes.
Drabble #2 - Faker
Rating: General Audiences
Bucky faked a cat allergy for years. “Cats make my eyes swell shut.” Convenient. Effective.
It started with Bucky piggybacking you during a rainstorm. He’d ducked into the alleyway behind your shared apartment. There was a tiny meow, then thunder.
“I hear something!”
On cue, a tiny meow.
You slid off Bucky, crouching down. Between two trash bins was a rain soaked white kitten.
“Bucky!”
“I’m allergic,” he lied.
“That’s what Benadryl’s for. Just for tonight.”
That night the kitten was asleep on Bucky. Months later, the kitten, now Alpine, lived her best life,, spoiled rotten.
Conveniently, the allergy vanished.
Drabble #3 – Side Effects May Include
Rating: General Audiences
At first, Sam thinks Bucky is allergic to your perfume.
A reasonable theory; every time you pass him in the hall, Bucky’s ears go red, his breathing catches, and he finds urgent reasons to leave.
Then Sam blames your lotion.
Then the plants on your desk.
“Serum does weird things,” he says, genuinely worried.
“Yes,” Natasha drawls. “Super soldiers have allergies too.”
Bucky glares. “I’m not allergic.”
You glance up from your mission report. “To what?”
Bucky opens his mouth.
Closes it.
Natasha smiles.
Sam, finally understanding, is delighted.
“Oh,” he grins. “It’s chronic.”
Bucky has to leave the room.
Drabble #4 – Cheap Soap
Rating: Teen
Vicious cursing followed Bucky out of the shower, towel slung low on his hips.
“Cheap soap,” he grumbled. “Feels like I rolled in poison ivy.”
Your gaze dropped before you could stop it, taking in his damp skin and the trail of water slipping down his stomach and you forgot yourself for a second.
“You’re naked,” you blurted out, not thinking.
Bucky frowned. “I’m itchy.”
That pulled your eyes higher. Angry red blotches spread across his skin, made worse by where his fingers scratched.
“Shit,” you breathed, already moving. “I’ll see if I’ve got chamomile or something. Stop touching it.”
Drabble #5 - Plan B
Rating: General Audiences
“Think of a new plan,” Bucky said, “I’m allergic.”
Sam was eavesdropping; he shouldn’t have jumped in. “Allergic? Do supersoldiers even have allergies?”
“I got the shitty Hydra serum,” Bucky explained. “Just my luck.”
Steve’s face was planted solidly on the table. “You’re not allergic,” he mumbled into the wood.
“Uhh…” Sam wondered what he had wandered into.
“Then explain the tightness in my chest whenever this dumb punk jumps out of a plane, no parachute.”
“You’ve done that, Barnes.”
“He’s what?” Steve’s head shot up, eyes wild.
“Looks like allergies are catching,” Bucky said evenly. “New plan?”
“New plan.”
Drabble #6 - Pickle Juice
Rating: General Audiences
“What kind of pickles come on the burger?” Bucky looked up at the waiter.
“Uh, standard? Dill.”
“No pickles, then,” Bucky stated. “I’m allergic to dill.”
“Oh,” Kevin responded, “I’ll be sure to tell the kitchen.”
You fixed Bucky with a look.
“What?” Bucky asked once Kevin left.
“You’re not allergic to anything, super soldier.”
Bucky’s expression didn’t change, but his ears turned pink. “If I say I’m allergic, they actually leave it off.”
You raised one eyebrow.
“I just… I hate them. Unless I’m particular, they throw them on anyway, then the whole burger’s contaminated with dill pickle flavor.”
Drabble #7 – Like a Liar
Rating: General Audiences
Bucky crossed his arms, his eyes narrowed as he looked down. A pair of eyes stared back at him, daring him to blink. He wasn’t about to lose that battle.
“I can’t take you home,” he said, watching the small creature tilt her head. “I’m allergic to cats.”
Yes, Bucky Barnes told a cat, who couldn’t verbally communicate, that he was allergic to her.
Like a liar.
He sighed when the feline brushed his leg with a purr. “I have to ask my girlfriend, who is also allergic to cats.”
Another lie.
And you’d love a new pet, right?
Right.
AH-CHOO. *sniff* Well, that about covers it for today! We hope you enjoyed the seven drabbles--now it's time to vote!
Please follow this link to the Google poll to choose your two favorite drabbles.
The authors of the two drabbles with the fewest votes will be announced Friday afternoon. See you then!
Writer’s relay is a collaborative writing game spanning over 7 weeks. You can write for any Anthony Mackie, Chris Evans, or Sebastian Stan characters.
Based on your preferences, you will be working in a team of three to write a story. This year the stories have to follow a 2+1 format.
For example - Two times she almost confessed + the one time he did.
You choose a prompt as a team. We will give you a set of prompts to choose from as well.
Timeline
June 20: Sign-ups open
July 2: Sign-ups close
July 6: Prompts Posted
July 10: Matches go out
July 11- July 18: Teams connect and plot
July 18: Send in your writing line-up, and fic masterpost
July 19- Aug 1: First sprint
Aug 2 - Aug 16: Second sprint
Aug 17 - Aug 31: Third sprint
Before sign-ups open, we encourage you to reblog and share this announcement :)
How it works
Sign up and indicate your preferences
We match you up with two other writers.
You will have one week to pick your prompt, brainstorm and plot, and choose the order in which your team will write.
Please let us know your writing line-up before the start of the writing period.
Each member of the team has to contribute a chapter with a minimum of 1000 words and a maximum of 5000.
The writing will go in 2 week sprints. The first person in the line-up will have 2 weeks to write and post their chapter. And then the next person goes, and so on.
You may post before the end of your 2 week sprint if you are ready. Then the next person will have 2 weeks from the day it was posted to write and post their part of the story.
You may continue to chat and work with your teammates during the writing period.
Please see acceptable fanworks guidelines for what is allowed.
Posting
You may post your story on Tumblr or AO3 (recommended)
If you choose to post on Tumblr, one of your team members must create a Masterpost with all your team members tagged as well as stubs for the chapter link before the start of the writing sprint.
If you post on AO3, please make a Tumblr post linking to the fic when the first chapter is posted.
Each chapter gets its own post and please tag us when it is posted along with the next person in your line-up to pass the “baton” to them..
Extensions and Pinch Hits
You may request for an extension as early as 4 days before the end of your sprint. You can get a maximum extension of 7 days. Please communicate this as early as you can.
Life happens and if you need to drop out, that’s totally fine. Please let us know as soon as you can so we can assign a pinch hit writer.
Please do not drop out without communicating with the mods. You will not be allowed to participate in the next writer’s relay or Star and Shield Collective events for a year. You can still participate in the monthly challenges.
If you are assigned as a pinch hit, you will have 2 weeks to write and post the part of fic you’re assigned.
Dividers by @uzmacchiato | About Star and Shield Collective
im seeing you on authors asks and it’s the most beautiful thing! who are your favorite authors?
im so so glad u asked anon!! here are some of my favorites ♡♡
@superbassbuck - i’ve honestly run out of things to say about pauline that she hasn’t already heard but omg her writing is just so good it’s crazy
@smorgaswhored - sammy is one of the sweetest people and most talented authors you will find on this app 🙂↕️🙂↕️ she must put something in her fics because they way they entrance me no matter what’s happening is insane
@pinksplace - i could reread all of pink’s fics hourly and never get tired of them they are just that good,, everyone needs to read stand up guy asap
@heldbybarnes - scrolling thru ken’s drabbles is the best entertainment ever seriously,,, no matter the prompt she just writes each one so well it’s insane and her fics are even better
@epiphanyrogers - all of maddie’s fics are so yummyy i cannot stress it enough,, all of her chris character fics have been extremely eye opening experiences for me
@sheriff-bodecker - stevie writes so insanely well no matter the character and admittedly, it was their writing that reawakened my lee bodecker phase and for that i’m eternally grateful
@salty-tang - wei is the sweetest and so are her fics!! if there was a saltytang fan club i would be the president,, everyone read for the record in its entirety right now
@metal-armed-muse - kiera puts out banger after banger after banger it’s actually crazy it should be illegal how good her fics are
@juniebjonesin - junie is my modern day shakespeare,, her hero for hire series jumped in front of a train for me and bought me groceries and paid my taxes and kissed me on the forehead i love it so much
this list is probably too long oopsie
everyone be more supportive and kinder to fic authors neow
MADDIE?!?!?!?!?! NO SHUT UP REVERSE UNO NO WAY UR THE SWEETEST ONE ?!?!?!?!? i dont have a fanclub cos i aint popular like that but absolutely you can be the president!!! I am endlessly grateful for all the comments and love you've shown my work and you have no idea how much it keeps me going!!!!!
I hope ur pillow is always cold and ur socks are always warm and you always have enough in your bank account and your grades are good and your plants are flourishing and you never get caught in a traffic jam-
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Welcome back to another fun-filled week at Writer in a Cryofreeze! We have nine nifty drabbles for you today, all written to the following prompt:
This Will Not Happen in Doomsday!
That's right, folks--take all the spoilers you may or may not have read about the upcoming Avengers movie and throw 'em out the window, because this week, it's about what WON'T happen!
Once again we have a split post today: eight amazing drabbles are rated General Audiences and can be found below the cut. One sexy explicit drabble has been posted on its own over here. Be sure to read as many drabbles as you are able and feel comfortable reading before voting.
YOUR JOB is to vote for up to TWO of your favorite drabbles. Voting will be open until about 4pm NY time on Friday afternoon. The two authors of the drabbles with the fewest votes will get their own shiny Cryofreeze, from which they can watch the premier of the movie when it's finally released!
Ready to read? FANTASTIC (four, that is)!!!
Thanks for reading!
Drabble #1 - Hope
Rating: General Audiences
The battle ended without fanfare. No portal in the sky, no impossible odds, no incursions. The multiverse was safe.
Weeks later Bucky was at an animal shelter, standing in front of a white kitten in the cage.
Retirement wasn’t what he’d expected. He imagined boredom, restlessness. His days became wonderfully ordinary: coffee, aimless walks, reading, sitting with Alpine on the balcony, watching the sunset.
He started imagining a different future: go back to school, reelection.
Perhaps, settle down, start a family.
It felt unbelievable. The universe had stopped asking from him or taking from him.
Bucky was allowed to live.
🚫
Drabble #2 - Shots Fired
Rating: General Audiences
"This is stupid!" Sam yelled, waving his gun in the air.
"The games the game." Bucky chuffed with a smirk.
"You're the one who suggested this." Yelena chuckled alongside Bucky.
"Yeah a nice normal game of Lazer tag. Not Lazer tag with the world's best assassin!" Sam continued.
"Look man," Joaquin huffed as he joined Sam's side, "Maybe we just call it quits, we've gone 5 rounds, we keep losing."
"No we go again." Sam replied sternly, pointing at Bucky with narrowed eyes, "You, left hand only."
"Fine by me." Bucky grinned before jogging back into the darkened zone laughing.
🚫
Drabble #3 – Do This All Day?
Rating: General Audiences
Sam laughed once humorless. “Trust? Don’t start with me on trust, Buck. I had to hear about your new team from the evening news.”
“That’s not what happened.” Bucky groaned
“No? ’Cause it sure as hell felt like it.” Sam's tone cold.
Bucky stepped closer, jaw tight. “They have information. Information that can help.”
Sam opened his mouth, anger ready.
Another voice beat him to it.
“You two gonna do this all day?”
Everything in Bucky locked up. He turned too fast, breath catching painfully.
Steve stood there, steady and impossible.
For one stunned second, Bucky only stared. Disbelieving.
“Steve?”
🚫
Drabble #4 - Doomsday, Declined
Rating: General Audiences
Bucky is trying, with effort, to understand a tax-credit rider. It’s not going well, but it is going privately, which seems important.
You’re halfway through explaining depreciation when his phone rings.
YELENA BELOVA
Decline.
Again.
Decline.
YELENA: Stop being dramatic. Is only maybe end of world.
Swipe.
SAM: don’t be like this.
His jaw shifts.
Swipe.
DEADPOOL: Winter grandpa, Kevin says assemble.
Swipe.
You lower the bill.
“James.”
“No.”
“Could be important.”
“It’s always important.” Bucky’s phone flips facedown. “I’ve appeared in every MCU phase. The other guy who managed that turned into a tree. Let me legislate in peace.”
🚫
Drabble #5 - Apocalypse Meow
Rating: General Audiences
Standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Steve, preparing to face the end of the world was familiar. Everything after that was not.
“That was anticlimactic,” Steve said.
“They can’t all be Thanos,” Bucky agreed.
“Hardly worth coming out of retirement. This happen a lot since I left?”
“Fury’s cat’s saved the day before, but it’s a first for Alpine.” After a beat, Bucky added defensively, “She’s still a kitten.”
Kitten or not, her purrs almost drowned out Doom’s booming admiration while he pet her rather than lay waste to the world.
“Come on, Steve. Fight’s back on if I can’t rescue my cat!”
🚫
Drabble #6 - Them
Rating: General Audiences
The ozone on his tongue was sharp and growing sharper by the second.
Something was wrong.
More than the battle chaos amidst the ruins of the Stark Expo grounds.
Bucky turned slowly, surveying his surroundings.
Then he saw them.
Each wore his face but not his history. One in a crisp, white uniform from some alternate century, a stillness to him like a wolf that knew every trick in the book and didn’t need to snarl. The other a grizzled wreck: gray at the temples, sleep deprivation tattooed under his eyes. Both sported the arm—his arm, that ugly, magnificent thing.
🚫
Drabble #7 – Tumblr to the Rescue
Rating: General Audiences
He was dying. Fine. He'd done it before.
Then the portal opened. Blue. Tumbling. Chaos shaped like small circular portraits of strangers, cats, anime characters, and— unsettlingly— him. Long hair. Short hair. One arm. Two. Smiling, something he didn't remember doing.
One handed him a juice box.
Bucky stared at it. Stared at himself, multiplied, in eras he couldn't fully account for.
"This," announced an icon of a small white blue-eyed cat, "will not happen in Doomsday."
He had no idea what that meant.
Something about the cat felt familiar. He couldn't place it.
He drank the juice box anyway.
🚫
Drabble #8 – Fix It
Rating: General Audiences
Bucky sheathed his knife when you walked in.
“Bucky,” you began softly. “What are you doing?”
“I’m gonna make the writers fix it.”
“Fix what exactly?”
“Everything,” he answered through his teeth. “Like Natasha dying.”
“Bucky…”
“And Steve’s ending.”
“Bucky.”
“And Sam and I being on the outs again.”
“Bucky!”
He paused to look at you.
“You can’t fix it,” you whispered. “You’re not supposed to be aware that you’re in a movie, and I shouldn’t even be here.”
He blinked, confused. “Then… what do I do?”
You smiled. “Leave it to the fanfiction writers. They’ll know what to do.”
🚫
That's all the General Audience drabbles for today!
Be sure to read the Explicit Drabble if you haven't already.
Otherwise, please head over to the voting poll to choose your two favorite drabbles.
Check back on Friday afternoon for the author reveal, and thanks for reading!
Welcome back to another fun-filled week at Writer in a Cryofreeze! We have nine nifty drabbles for you today, all written to the following prompt:
This Will Not Happen in Doomsday!
That's right, folks--take all the spoilers you may or may not have read about the upcoming Avengers movie and throw 'em out the window, because this week, it's about what WON'T happen!
Once again we have a split post today: one sexy explicit drabble is posted under the cut here, and eight amazing General Audience drabbles are located on the post at this link. Be sure to read as many drabbles as you are able and feel comfortable reading before voting.
Your task is to vote for up to TWO of your favorite drabbles. Voting will be open until about 4pm NY time on Friday afternoon. The two authors of the drabbles with the fewest votes will get their own shiny Cryofreeze, from which they can watch the premier of the movie when it's finally released!
Ready to read? FANTASTIC (four, that is)!!!
Ready for some sexy probably-won't-happen-in-Doomsday goodness? Here you go!!!
Drabble 9 - End of the World
Rating: Explicit
The world was ending. Again. Bucky didn’t care.
He’d booked the lakeside cabin to spend this weekend with you six months ago. The apocalypse could wait.
His phone kept buzzing.
Bucky dipped his head, tongue dragging slow and filthy through your soaked folds, sucking your clit until your back arched.
“Doomsday can wait until Monday. I’m busy," he murmured against your cunt, pushing two thick metal fingers inside you. You shattered with a cry.
Bucky lapped up every drop, drawing out your orgasm until you were sobbing. His belt clinked open.
“Good girl, now turn over, we’ve got all weekend.”
🚫
That's all the General Audience drabbles for today!
Be sure to read the General Audience Drabbles if you haven't already.
Otherwise, please head over to the voting poll to choose your two favorite drabbles.
Check back on Friday afternoon for the author reveal, and thanks for reading!
