a8ofcrows

[a8ofcrows]

SEBASTIAN STAN as BUCKY BARNES THUNDERBOLTS*

[a8ofcrows]

I just found out my mom likes Bucky and I'm happy!

and she said when he smiles it's beautiful because we don't get to see him smile much, so of course I'm going to post smiling Bucky!

[a8ofcrows]

i found these.

a gift, if you will (ツ)_🎁

[a8ofcrows]

Daybreak. | Bucky Barnes

summary:

Steve Rogers was the only reason she made it out.

He became the family she never had-

closer than any family she may have ever had.

She owed him her life, but he never asked for anything. She would have done anything he needed from her.

Which is why she ended up with the world's most deadly assassin in her house, as a roommate...

*takes place a few months after ca :tws - present day mcu

- Prologue

   Rain was roaring outside the window.

It was the perfect weather for the worst day.

It seemed that today, even the earth was morning. Perhaps it was sorry for the way this story had ended.

"Steve Rogers was an incredible man and there will never be another like him."

      Her eyes closed against the tears starting to roll down her cheek. "I think I speak for everyone, when I say that the world would not be the same without Captain America." Steve had still been reduced to his super soldier identity even at his own funeral. She squeezed her eyes shut against the bullshit speech and let her mind drift to the drum of raindrops against the window. A hand squeezed her own, drawing her slowly back. The perfect weather for the worst day. She met his eyes, but the sadness behind them, and his smile did nothing to improve her mood.  She stroked her thumb across the dog tags that were always against her chest.  Black used to be her color, but now the thought of wearing another black dress sickened her and made her heart ache. Black was the color of death and destruction. The dress began to feel like cold arms wrapping around her- taunting her- reminding her of every face it had taken. What it had personally taken, and the  crumbling relationships and fallouts caused by loss.

    Sam Wilson stood to his feet, adorning the new suit. For a moment, nausea waved through her stomach. No one else could stand where he stood... The grip on her arm tightened gently, pulling back from her beginning spiral.

Steve chose him. She liked Sam.

But he was not Steve...

    "I was one of the lucky ones that knew him as Steve; not just Captain America. He wasn't just a good man, he was the best person you could meet. I will spend the rest of my days in this suit trying to live up to him and make him- and those closest to him-" Sam's eyes found the general location of her seat, "-proud. I am grateful for everyone that is here today, honoring America's first hero, and our best friend..." Sam paused, his eyes staying fixed on her, his expression asking how she could be here and not say any words. How she could show up, sit in the back, and not say a word to anyone she had been close to, fought with- nearly died with. "Steve Rogers died peacefully at his home. Something I'm sure he would have laughed at, given his track record of running into the gunfire and fray." This earned several chuckles throughout the room, though there were also several sobs.

America's hero, indeed.

    Most of these people didn't know the first thing about him. They hadn't known him. Those that had- that really knew him- and therefore knew her, she was shutting out. The doors to that life, those people, were closed. She couldn't bare the memories that came with the familiar faces. The wars, the deaths, the betrayal... And the abandonment.

   Not just her.

He left everyone.

Everything...

His life long best friend that needed him then, more than ever.

     Her anger turned into more tears and she quickly stood to her feet as people wishing condolences headed her way. The grip on her arm shifted gently to her ribs, lightly supporting her through the mass of people. The cool fingers against her raised goosebumps, despite the thickness of the dress's fabric. She kept her head low, eyes averted and avoiding the sad gazes and apologies of past colleagues and even friends.

Steve Rogers was dead.

But the Steve Rogers she knew was dead the day he decided to leave.

[a8ofcrows]

Anathema • Kaz Brekker

- TWENTY SIX

I sat in a corner of the Crow Club, a book propped against my knee, hand resting against a hot mug of coffee. Kaz had been bringing me a new book nearly every day and I was reading them nearly as fast as he was finding them. I occasionally glanced over the top of my book, eyeing the people taking up space in the Crow Club. Bouncers hovered past the tables, assuring no one was cheating or trying to pull anything. I sipped my coffee before letting myself once again get lost in my book. Old kingdoms, magic or pirates were my favorite to read about, though in all the books I had read, I never encountered a prince or hero as interesting of dazzling as Kaz. I would never tell him this, as he already thought too highly of himself. Besides, I had already turned down a King for him and I still received smug comments about it years later.

'Kaz Brekker's wife' had quickly became common knowledge and warnings spread rapidly through the Barrel. Kaz Brekker had an empire at twenty two, had expanded the Crow Club, rebranded the Emerald Palace to The Silver Six and still managed to pull the most successful and biggest heists and jobs. The Bastard of the Barrel had become a King and no one had dared get on his bad side since the run in with Rollins and the Dime Lions. I no longer needed escorts to walk the streets of the Barrel. I had been well enough respected enough as Kaz Brekker's second and co-founder of the Crows; now that I had publicly added the title of Kaz Brekker's wife to my resume, no one dared even look at me, or accidentally run into me...or get too close to me. I wasn't going to complain however; I didn't miss random Dregs stopping me to ask the whereabouts or current occupation of Kaz, and I especially did not miss the ogling eyes of men.

Kaz made his appearance a few moments later, shadowed by two of Dregs whose names I couldn't remember. He was mid conversation, cane held in his hand as he limped past the few people attempting to start a conversation. He shoved papers against the man to his left, eyes finding me as he spoke. Kaz had a way of finding me in any room instantly; as if his eyes were magnetic to me. I met his eyes briefly before ducking my eyes back to my book to not distract him. A tiny smirk twitched on his lips as his eyes met mine. He shooed the Dregs away and paused to impatiently address a pigeon that had managed to catch him. I hid a smirk as Kaz tried rushing the conversation along; he was likely missing Jesper always hanging about, watching the tables and dealing with the pigeons. Kaz pointed across the floor, muttered something and finally seemed to satiate the pigeon and send him away.

Kaz's eyes found me again, frustration and impatience vanishing from his face. He side stepped to avoid drunk and stumbling occupants, sending a glare at them as he finally reached me. I closed my book, smiling as he leaned into the chair beside me. He exhaled, wincing as he took his seat. "Long day?" Kaz sighed, setting his cane across his legs and letting his head rest against the back of the chair. He nodded, answering with a small grunt. "Well, you aren't covered in blood." I squeezed his hand and he opened his eyes to meet my expression. "Not that kind of business today." A playful expression crossed his face, "It was the boring kind." His eyes still sparkled with playfulness, but he still looked exhausted. I passed my mug of coffee towards him but he shook his head, "I'm fine, love," I raised an eyebrow, "Kaz Brekker, you look like you could fall asleep at this table." Kaz scoffed, still smirking gently, "I'm fine, darling." There was a hint of teasing in his voice but the nickname still sent my heart flipping. I ran a hand through his hair, sending a glance to make sure no one was watching, "You should go get some sleep." Kaz exhaled, closing his eyes against my touch, tired expression turning peaceful.

"Will you join me?" Tired expression was completely wiped away by a smug and suggestive smirk. I bit back a laugh, "I think you will probably manage to get more sleep without me." Kaz hummed, sticking out his lower lip pathetically, "Who said anything about sleeping?" I snorted this time, "Try seducing me again when you don't look like you've gone without sleep for a week." Kaz watched me with narrow eyes, "Is it taking all of your will power to say no to me?" I pushed his arm playfully, "Yes, my love, you know me so well..." I matched his playful expression, though really I would never say no to him any other time, but he truly did look like he was about to pass out from exhaustion. Kaz let out a tired sigh, standing up ungracefully, "Tomorrow?" He made the same pouting expression, eyes still holding a playful glint. "Goodnight, Kaz. I will be up soon."

I was almost done with my book.

"I will wait up." Kaz smirked and sent me a wink.

I gaped at him incredulously, shaking my head, "I've created a monster."

When I reached our shared room, Kaz was asleep on the bed. He had changed his pants but apparently given up on doing anything else. His cane was resting against the side of the bed, his clothes still neatly hung up despite his exhaustion. Kaz had a peaceful expression, an almost smile on his lips. He had slept better lately. The years of no sleep for days and functioning without full meals and running on pure stress and rage were passed. Mainly because I forced him to do all these things. As a wife I now had even more excuse to tell him what to do and make him take care of himself. I pulled the sheets up against his chin, obviously admiring his bare chest in the process. Wife rights. I pulled on one of his dress shirts, admiring that it fitted me more like a dress. It smelled like him, and even though he was asleep nearby, I still breathed it in. After washing my face and getting unready, I climbed in beside him and let myself drift off to sleep as I took in his heart stopping features.

[a8ofcrows]

People shipping Bucky and Walker have lost the plot

[a8ofcrows]

headcannons for my bucky fic:

• bucky lives on a farm while using it as a safe house right after the events of ca:tws

• he doesn’t like complete darkness because he worries one day it will swallow him whole

• having to deal with constant triggers

• falls for his best friend’s best friend (eventually)

• can’t sleep alone

• always scared to accidentally hurt someone

• scared to get close to someone, but even more scared of hurting her

• he doesn’t like complete darkness

• he used to love the snow, but now it reminds him of missions in russia

• becomes obsessed with her cooking, the way she makes him coffee and everything else about her

• he gets her a cat, reluctantly, for her nightmares but it ends up being his cat

• realizes he’s not the only one messed up with trauma

• seeing his dog tags around his girl’s

neck always brings him back

• *slightly* possessive

• extremely overprotective

• secretly a softy that just wants needs to be held

• secret marriage

- glcdcr on wattpad, if you are interested 👀

[a8ofcrows]

Thinking about him <3

[a8ofcrows]

let it happen

bucky barnes x reader

word count: 6.5k

"So that's all it takes, then? I kiss you one time and you get all possessive over me?"

warnings/tags: 18+ mdni, undercover husband!bucky x undercover wife!reader, avenger!reader, reader is afab and is described as shorter than bucky, no use of y/n, adult themes, mention of alcohol, nothing explicit but heavy kissing and suggestiveness! not super edited so i'll fix any errors later!

author's note: inspiration for this hit while listening to "miss possesive" by tate mcrae ♡ ahhh i haven't posted any fics since valentine's day! i know that isn't that long, but it has felt like a really long time to me. i went through a bit of a creative rut and struggled to get words out for a while, so i'm proud to have this finished.

follow @flowersforbuckyfics for updates 💖

“Explain to me again why we can’t pretend to be married?”

You sit perfectly still while Natasha places the strip lashes along your upper lash line. No matter how hard you try, you can never get them just right like she can. Your eyes are closed, but you can envision the amused look that is undoubtedly plastered across her face clearly.

“Ask Fury,” she chuckles. “Something about you and Barnes having good chemistry.”

You open your eyes, your lids feeling awkward and heavy with the fluffy lashes glued to them. To no surprise, she’s smirking down at you.

“That’s ridiculous.”

Sure, you and Bucky work well together, and the two of you have been close friends for some time now. And sure, you – and anyone with functioning eyes – can see how attractive Bucky is. This is a fact that you’re painfully aware of anytime you find yourself in the same general vicinity as him. But chemistry? Chemistry good enough to make a believable pair of newlyweds?

“You know, I think you might be the only agent that would complain about getting to pose as Bucky’s wife,” she hums, grabbing a dark colored lip liner and leaning down to begin outlining your lips. When you’d asked her for help, you only meant with the false eyelashes - but you can’t deny that having someone else do your makeup does seem to be calming your nerves a bit, so you let her continue. “As far as undercover husbands go, you could do a lot worse.”

“It’s not that posing as his wife sounds bad,” you huff. “It doesn’t sound bad at all. I’ve just.. never pretended to be married to someone for an operation before. I don’t know if I can fake something like that.”

Something like that being holding hands, dancing, embracing, gazing lovingly, maybe even kissing if it comes to that…

You’re not an actress. How are you supposed to do all of those things with one of the most attractive people you’ve ever seen and it not fuck with your head?

Not just attractive. Caring, and brave, and funny, and selfless too.

“So don’t,” Nat shrugs. “Let it be real. Just for the night.”

You scoff. You don’t blame her for the suggestion – she’s gone on countless undercover missions like this. This kind of thing comes effortlessly for someone like Natasha.

“Easier said than done,” you sigh. You don’t elaborate – you don’t need to. She gives you a look that tells you she knows exactly what you mean.

“So, where’s my ring?” You hold up your left hand, wiggling your bare fingers. “If I’m going to do this, I better get to wear a shiny rock on my finger for the evening.”

She purses her lips together in an attempt to hide a smirk.

“You’ll have to get that from your husband.”

••••••

After giving Bucky’s bedroom door a few soft knocks, you readjust the uncomfortable satin material that squeezes your curves for the dozenth time since you put it on less than half an hour ago.

The two of you should be well on your way to an estate located in the Upper East Side of Manhattan by now, but after waiting for Bucky in the common area of the compound for the last twenty minutes, your anxiety couldn’t handle waiting any longer, so you decided to go check on him.

“Bucky?” You call out when you he doesn’t answer the door after a moment. “We really need to head out, we’re gonna be late—”

The door swings open, revealing a disheveled and frustrated looking Bucky. Your eyes immediately go wide as you take in his appearance. You ignore the fact that he isn’t even dressed yet – still wearing a pair of black sweatpants and a white t-shirt – you’re more surprised with the state of his hair. Or rather, the lack thereof.

When you’d seen him demolishing a pile of breakfast taquitos just this morning, the ends of his hair had dusted the tops of his shoulders. Now, judging by the strands of brunet hair that litter his t-shirt and the electric hair trimmer that he clutches in his hand, it’s apparent that he’s in the process of attempting to give himself a haircut. Your eyes trail back to his face, noting that he’s clean-shaven for the first time in a few weeks.

“Fury suggested that I shave and get a hair cut to change up my appearance before we go undercover,” he explains. “Figured I’d do it myself since I used to cut my own hair back in the forties, but…” He trails off, seemingly avoiding looking you in the eye. “I can’t get the back of my head even.”

You give him a sympathetic smile, no longer caring that you’ll likely arrive to the party later than planned. This is probably his first real haircut in well over half a century. In the time that he’d been living at the compound, his hair had always been long enough to at least cover his ears.

“Want some help?” You offer. “I don’t have much experience cutting men’s hair, but you’ve already done most of the work for me.”

A large part of you expects him to tell you not to worry about it, so you’re surprised when after a brief second of hesitation, he opens his door the rest of the way and motions for you to come inside.

When you step through the doorway, it dawns on you that you’ve never been in his room before. In fact, you don’t think anyone has, other than Steve. You’ve seen glimpses of it from the hallway, but this is the first time that you’ve stepped inside.

Unsurprisingly, it’s pretty bare bones. A dresser, a nightstand with only a lamp on it, and a king sized bed that looks as if it has never even been slept in. You can’t help but notice that in the corner of the room, a singular pillow and a throw blanket lay on the floor. The implication that he’s been sleeping on the floor isn’t lost on you, but you say nothing as you silently follow him to his en-suite bathroom.

The bathroom shows further evidence of his haircut attempt. There’s dark strands from both his beard and head on the counter, as well the floor in front of the sink. The black suit that he’ll be wearing for the evening hangs on the door, waiting for him to put it on.

“How do you wanna do this?” Bucky asks you, hints of hesitation and embarrassment in his voice.

“Um..” You hesitate. You hadn’t thought of the logistics of it – he’s taller than you, so you need him to come down closer to your level. You look around, realizing that the only place for him to really sit is on the toilet. You close the lid, and motion for him to take a seat.

Once he’s in front of you, you’re able properly see the back of his head. You look at his hair from different angles, deciding exactly where it needs to be evened out.

“How bad is it?” Bucky sighs, handing you the trimmer over his shoulder.

“It’s not bad,” you assure him quickly. “Not bad at all. Just a couple hairs here and there need to be trimmed, and then everything will be even.”

His shoulders seem to relax at your words. You take the trimmers from him, turning them on the lowest setting and getting to work. It only takes a couple minutes – you were being honest when you told him that it wasn’t bad. Considering it’s his first time cutting his own hair since the 1940s, you can’t believe what a great job he did.

When you think you’re finished, you back away before inspecting him from the front, back, and each side.

You can’t deny that you think long hair suited him very well – you’d be lying if you were to say that you hadn’t been partial to it. But looking at him now, all freshly shaven and his hair the shortest that you’ve seen it since you met him, you feel as if you are looking at a picture of him straight out of 1944.

“What is it?” Bucky hums with an amused lilt. His voice snaps you out of your thoughts. You glance up, meeting his gaze in the reflection of the mirror in front of you. There’s a faint smirk on his face, as if he heard your thoughts. Your cheeks warm at the idea.

“Just looks really good. That’s all,” you shrug, playing it off. He’s the most handsome man you’ve ever seen in your fucking life is what you’re actually thinking, but you bite your tongue.

“You really think so?” He asks, standing to take a closer look in the mirror. “It’s been so long since I’ve had short hair. I barely recognize myself,” he sighs with a forced chuckle.

“I really think so, Bucky,” you assure him. “It’s a big change. Give it a few days. If you don’t like it, you can always grow it back out once the mission is over.”

Silence falls over you. He meets your gaze in the reflection of the mirror once again, an indecipherable expression on his face as he seems to truly take in your appearance for the first time since you knocked on his door. His eyes flicker from the dress that you already can’t wait to get out of and then up to your face that feels overly caked in makeup. You know that Natasha did a great job with applying it, but the boldness is out of your comfort zone and the way he’s looking at you certainly doesn’t help.

“Speaking of the mission,” he murmurs, breaking the silence after what feels like an eternity. He steps around you, his arm grazing against yours due to the limited amount of space in the small bathroom. He reaches into a pocket of the suit hanging on the door, retrieving a small, black velvet box.

“I suppose you’ll need this.”

He opens the box, revealing a large, sparkling marquise cut diamond with a gold band. He removes the ring from the box, pinching it between two of his flesh fingers before grabbing your left hand in his vibranium one. Your breath catches in your throat, the room suddenly feeling even smaller and a dozen degrees warmer as he slips the ring onto your finger.

It's just for the mission, the voice in your head reminds you. Nothing to stop breathing over. You take a breath, examining the ring up close once he drops your hand. He could’ve just handed you the box and let you put it on yourself, the voice contradicts itself.

“What do you think? Is it good enough for this evening?” He asks, his voice teasing.

“I think it’ll do,” you laugh. “I don’t even wanna think about how expensive it—”

Your watch vibrates. You glance down at the small screen at that same time that he looks at his own. It’s Sam – wondering where the hell the two of you are at.

“I’ll uh – I’ll leave you to get dressed,” you say with a nod towards his suit. Before he can say anything else, you exit the bathroom, closing the door behind you. You pause for a moment, massaging the thumb of your right hand over the goosebumps that the cool metal of his hand had caused when he held yours in his.

••••••

In your experience, undercover operations usually involve outdated Motel 6 rooms, a lot of gas station coffee and too much fast food.

From the moment that you saw the dress that you’d be wearing tonight – and the Rolls Royce that you and Bucky were given for the evening – you knew that you were out of your element. As if pretending to be married wasn’t intimidating enough, you also have to pretend to be millionaires – tech investor Henry Monroe and his wife, Cecelia.

If Bucky is as nervous as you are, he’s good at hiding it. He appears calm and collected in the driver’s seat beside you, whereas you’ve spent the duration of the drive to Manhattan picking at the cuticles of your freshly painted nails.

You glance at him from your peripheral every so often, which does little to settle your nerves. He looks damn good in his suit, and you can’t seem to stop your eyes from settling on the gold wedding band that adorns the ring finger of his left hand. Nanotechnology disguises the normally vibranium appendage as human flesh, preventing the metal from giving away his identity.

“There’s no need to be nervous,” Bucky tells you softly as he pulls up to the front of the estate, bringing the vehicle to a stop beside a valet driver. “Just remember, we have been on missions far more risky and complex than this before. We mingle, act a lot richer than we are, get the information that we need, and get the hell out.”

“I know,” you nod in agreement, and hope that it’s convincing. “The objective is simple. Lying is just… not really my thing. That’s all.”

He huffs a laugh before unbuckling and getting out of the car as the valet driver opens the door for him. Within seconds, Bucky walks to the passenger side and opens the door for you, offering you his hand. You accept, letting him help you out of the SUV.

“So convince yourself it’s true,” he shrugs, looping his arm through yours and leading you up the cobblestone steps to the entrance. “Anytime you need a reminder, just look at that ring on your finger. For the next few hours, I'm your husband. And you are my wife.”

You roll your eyes. “You sound just like Natasha.”

The first half hour after arriving is spent conversing with other guests – socialites, investors, and business moguls who you’ve never heard of and will likely never see again. Bucky introduces you to so many people that you lose count – the many faces pumped with excessive Botox and filler begin to all look the same after the first dozen.

He keeps an arm around you or a hand on you at all times. You know it’s not truly necessary, but you find it comforting and appreciate it nonetheless. You’re only mildly distracted by the musk of cologne and the feeling of his hand on the small of your back. You can always tell it’s his flesh hand by the warmth that it produces – his vibranium hand disguised by nano-tech just doesn’t radiate the same heat.

Both of you have small, discreet communication devices in your ears. Your instructions are to blend in and act as if you’re just any other guest at this party until your team taps into the security system and someone gives you the go ahead to sneak upstairs to the off-limits, private office of the owner of the estate – Carmine Vance, billionaire tech CEO who happens to be trafficking illegal arms. Once you’ve made it into his study, all you have to do is hack into his computer long enough to upload intel to a hard drive that is tucked inside Bucky’s coat pocket.

“See?” Bucky says lowly when the couple you two had been chatting with excuse themselves to get another drink from the full service bar catering the event. He loosens the hold he has around your waist, but doesn’t retract his arm entirely. “This isn’t too bad, yeah?”

“Not too bad,” you agree, taking a small sip of your own drink that you’d been nursing for the sake of keeping up appearances. “I mean, it helps that everyone here is too inebriated to notice or care about the fact that no one actually knows us. It also helps that you happen to be an incredible storyteller.”

You turn into him, your chest brushing against his. “The story you told about how we met at a ski resort and it was love at first sight. Did you think of that ahead of time or did you make that up on the spot?”

Bucky laughs. You think you see a hint of blush bloom on the apples of his cheeks, but you chalk it up to the room’s low lighting and the martini that you’ve been slowly sipping on for the last half hour.

“I came up with that in the moment,” he all but whispers, glancing around to make sure that no one is listening in on the conversation. “When I was being prepped for the mission, I was told that if I get asked questions about our history to draw inspiration from the truth and just.. embellish it. Of course, we didn’t meet at a ski resort, we met at the compound. I don’t know if you remember, but… it was snowing that day.”

You’re taken aback by his answer. He’s right – you hadn’t made the connection when he was telling the story, likely because you were too busy being impressed by his ability to lie so effortlessly, but he’s right. To say that it had been snowing when you met would be an understatement. It was nearly a damn blizzard, even by upstate New York standards. Wanda had practically begged you to come outside with her, convincing you only after promising to build the biggest snowman that you’d ever seen with the help of her powers.

When Steve pulled up to compound with Bucky in his passenger seat that afternoon, snow was still steadily pouring down. Looking at him now, you can still envision the amused look on his face when he saw the twelve foot tall snowman in the front yard of the compound.

“I remember,” you say, shaking your head when you realize you’re just staring at him. “Of course I rem—”

“We’re tapped into the security system,” Sam’s voice erupts from the communication device in your ear, startling you and cutting you off. “The second floor is empty right now. You two are clear to head up to Vance’s study.”

“Copy that,” Bucky murmurs.

“We’ll be watching so that we can give you a warning if you’re about to run into anyone. Otherwise, just pretend we're not here.”

The device clicks off a second later.

You and Bucky lock eyes for a split-second before he raises his hand and cups the side of your face. You’re momentarily taken by surprise, but quickly remind yourself that right now, he’s your husband. Right now, you can’t make it obvious that you’ve never experienced such an intimate gesture from him. Right now, you can’t let your micro-expressions give away just how brand new his touch feels.

“Just follow my lead, yeah?” He whispers. Before you can even nod in affirmation, he lowers his mouth to yours. It’s soft and short-lived, but you instinctively close your eyes and melt into it. It’s easy to forget that you’re surrounded by dozens of complete strangers, until he pulls away and breaks the kiss with a soft grin.

“Why don’t we get out of here?” He asks. His voice is still low, but loud enough to cause the couple standing a foot away from you to shoot their eyes in your direction.

That was his goal, you realize. If any guests happen to question the whereabouts of Mr. and Mrs. Monroe, at least one couple witnessed the two of you wander off to some less crowded part of the estate because you’re so in love and just can’t keep your hands to yourself.

“Please,” you giggle, mimicking the playful expression on his face.

He guides you through the throng of guests, keeping a hand on your lower back. You try to concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other in an futile attempt to steer your thoughts away from the feeling of his lips on yours.

The two of you navigate the less populated areas of the house in silence, relying on both Bucky’s keen hearing and Sam’s visual on the cameras to anticipate any security guards who might question what you’re up to. You’re not concerned about running into Vance himself – when you’d last seen him just minutes ago, he was downing his third shot of some kind of whiskey that is undoubtedly older than you and costs more than your car.

“We’re on the second floor,” you whisper as you turn down a long corridor with at least a dozen doors on each side. “Which room is his office?”

“Sixth door down on your left,” Sam answers back right away. “No one has been in or out since we gained access to the cameras, but that doesn’t mean no one will. Stay alert and get out as quick as you can.”

To no surprise, the door is locked. You breathe a sigh of relief when you see it’s a simple lock on the knob, nothing fancy about it. Dumbass.

Bucky, being the more mechanically inclined of you two, pulls a simple lock-picking kit out of his pocket and kneels down so that he is eye-level with the lock while you keep watch. “He must not be too concerned about anyone getting inside,” Bucky mumbles as the lock clicks open. “Because a determined seven year old with a paperclip could.”

You both step into the room, the door softly clicking shut behind you. It’s the most mundane, stereotypical looking office that you’ve ever seen – not at all like the extravagant ballroom the party is being held in or the lavish kitchen you’d passed on your way upstairs. No décor whatsoever, mostly empty shelves with a book or two here and there, and one large, L-shaped desk in the far corner of the room. On top of it sits a desktop computer, which is where you come in.

“The room was easy to break into,” you agree, taking a seat in front of the computer. “I doubt we’ll be able to say the same about this.”

“You’ve got this,” Bucky assures you, taking a seat beside you on the edge of the desk. He reaches inside the jacket of his suit, pulling out the hard drive and handing it to you. “There’s no one better at this than you, but let me know if I can be of any help.”

Your cheeks heat at the his compliment. You advert his stare, focusing on the screen in front of you instead. “Just sit there and look pretty,” you snort.

As soon as the screen turns on, you know you have your work cut out for you. Of course it isn’t a simple numerical passcode like Vance’s wedding anniversary or his only child’s birthday. That would make your job way too easy. You can’t even tell how many firewalls you’re going to have to bypass just to get into the damn thing –

“Uh, guys,” Sam’s panicked voice suddenly breaks the silence. You immediately cease typing, looking up at Bucky. “Three guards are storming up the stairs to the second floor right now. If I had to guess, I’d say they’re headed your way.”

“What?!” You whisper-shriek. “I’m not even into the system yet—”

“I know,” Sam interrupts. “It must have sent out some kind of alert when you powered the computer on. Do whatever you’ve gotta do to get out of there without causing a scene. We'll figure out another way to get the intel.”

“They’re almost here,” Bucky sighs, grabbing the hard drive back from you and shoving it inside his suit once more. “We’ve gotta play this off. I need you to trust me and go with what I’m about to do.”

“Of course I trust—”

“Stand up,” he commands. The authority in his voice leaves no room for hesitation. You do as he says, knowing security guards will likely be walking through the door any second now.

He all but lifts you onto the edge of the desk, causing you to let out a small yelp in surprise. Your dress hikes up just enough for him to ease between your thighs. The newfound close proximity – in addition to the knowledge that you’re about to be caught – has your heart beating a mile a minute.

“Now I need you to act like you’re really fucking into me,” he whispers, grasping your face in his hand and making you look him in the eye. “Think you can do that?”

You nod, your throat suddenly bone dry. “I am. I mean, I am your wife—”

He cuts you off by bringing his lips to yours for the second time this evening. Whereas the kiss in the ballroom was short and sweet, this one is fast and fervent. He wastes no time slipping his tongue past your lips, exploring your mouth as you pull him closer to you. You shove his jacket off of his shoulders – some tiny part of your brain is thinking rationally enough to know you need to make the scene look believable. He catches onto what you’re doing and copies your action, tugging the straps that sit atop of your shoulders down your arms so that your breasts threaten to spill over the neckline of the dress. His fingertips trail back up your arms, until his hands come to rest on either side of your neck. He tips your head back, allowing him to deepen the kiss –

“What the fuck is going on in here?”

You knew it was coming, but the loud, thick Russian accent startles you nonetheless. You and Bucky break apart and you quickly tug your dress straps back into place. Bucky feigns a few oh shit, shit, oh shits under his breath, while you immediately jump into a stream of apologies.

“This room is off limits to all guests,” a second guard booms, taking a step closer to the desk. “You shouldn’t even be on this floor. What are you trying to do with that computer?”

“Computer?” you ask innocently, glancing behind you as if it’s your first time seeing said computer. “Oh, I’m sorry. I must have accidentally turned it on when we were—”

“We were just looking for somewhere more private, that’s all,” Bucky interjects with an embarrassed laugh. “Just couldn’t wait to get my wife home. Can you blame me?” He gestures towards you.

The three guards exchange awkward, uncertain glances. They appear to be torn between believing your ruse as horny newlyweds, and throwing you off the second story balcony.

“We’re very sorry,” you apologize once more, racking your brain for a way out of this. “Henry here has been out of town for the last few weeks, and this is our first day back together. I’ve just been so, so lonely and really need—”

“Okay, okay,” the third guard speaks up for the first time. Visible discomfort is written across all three of their faces. “Just… get back downstairs. Don’t let us see you wandering this way again, or we won’t be as forgiving.”

“Of course,” Bucky nods, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you with him as he begins to exit the room. You adjust your dress that is still bunched uncomfortably high around your thighs, not looking back at the guards again as you thank them and apologize several more times.

“I thought you said you were a bad liar,” Bucky says with a breathy laugh after you’re far enough away from the guards.

“I said lying isn’t really my thing. I never said I was bad at it.”

You don’t exhale the sigh of relief you’d been holding in until your feet hit the stairs leading back down to the main floor.

“I think I need to flush my ears out after having to listen to the sound of you guys make out,” Sam’s voice rings in your ear. You grimace at the realization that he and God knows who else had been listening to the entire ordeal. Had you moaned? Whimpered? You had been so caught up in making it believable that you weren’t even sure.

And goddamn, it had been easy to get caught up in. It couldn’t have lasted longer than fifteen seconds start to finish, but the feeling of his lips moving in tandem with yours made it easy to forget that you were kissing for show. None of this is real, but for a few seconds, you could have convinced yourself otherwise.

“No one forced you to listen, pervert,” Bucky grumbles before reaching up to his ear to click the device off. You hear Sam begin protesting before you decide to follow suit.

“Well, that was a fucking bust,” you grumble under your breath. “This was pointless.”

Back on the main floor of the estate, the party looks exactly the same. Vance is still entertaining a group of his guests, and other couples still mingle amongst themselves. No one bats an eye at you and Bucky as you reenter the room.

“Let’s just be glad those security guards are bad at their jobs and believed us,” Bucky sighs. “We should probably go ahead and get out of here.”

An unmistakable wave of disappointment washes over you. You know that you should feel relieved. From the moment you’d been assigned this mission you could hardly wait to be back at the compound, in your pajamas, eating whatever you decide to treat yourself to from DoorDash in the comfort of your bed. But now that it’s actually time for your time as a couple to come to an end, you can’t help but wish that you could extend your time here just a little longer.

It's silly. Borderline stupid. But who knows if you’ll ever have the chance to kiss him again after you leave this building?

“Maybe we should wait a little while,” you say hesitantly. Bucky raises his brow, as surprised by your words as you are yourself. “If we leave now, it'll look suspicious. If we were really just innocently fooling around, we'd have no reason to get out of here so quickly. We don't wanna raise any more red flags.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, though there’s an edge of uncertainty in his voice. “That’s a fair point. We'll hang around long enough to have another drink. But then I want to get you away from these people.”

You agree, knowing that the sooner you get out of here, the better. But you made a fair point, you think – you hadn’t just been innocently fooling around, but if you had been, would you leave right away after getting caught? The guards hadn’t asked you to leave the premise. They had essentially given you a stern talking to with the order to get back downstairs and behave.

At least, that’s how you rationalize the decision to stay a little bit longer in your mind.

Since you’d already had a martini upon first arriving earlier, you decide that a second drink while you are technically still on the job wouldn’t be the wisest decision. So, Bucky goes to the bar to get you both Shirley Temples while you text the team’s group chat, letting them know that you and Bucky would be staying a little longer for the sake of keeping up appearances and that you’d let them know as soon as you’re on the way back to the compound.

After sending the message, you put your phone back in your clutch. You look up, searching for Bucky at the bar across the room. Beside him stands a woman with long blonde hair wearing a short, cherry red cocktail dress. Their backs are turned to you, so you can’t see their expressions or attempt to read their lips, but you can tell that she’s speaking to him. You’ve always prided yourself on being able to read people's body language – and right now, with the way that Bucky is awkwardly angled away from her while he taps his fingers against the bar top, you find it obvious that he’s uncomfortable.

At first, you can’t help but hold back a giggle. You’re sure she’s the wife of some business mogul who hasn’t paid an ounce of attention to her tonight because he’s more concerned with making connections and stroking his own ego – she’s likely just tipsy and bored. You can’t fault her for jumping at the opportunity to make conversation with someone as attractive as Bucky.

But then she places her hand on top of his with her long, French manicured nails and all of your logical thinking goes out the window. Your feet seem to move of their own accord, transporting you from your spot in the quiet corner of the room and across the crowded floor of the party towards the bar. You don’t even know what you’re going to say – hey, can you please not put your hands on my fake husband because it makes me irrationally fucking angry? Thanks. I like your shoes, by the way. Where’d you get them?

There’s an instantaneous expression of relief overcome Bucky’s face as he glances out of the corner of his eye and sees you storming towards him. You step into the small amount of space between where Bucky sits and she stands beside him, forcing her to back away a few inches in surprise.

“Ah, there she is,” Bucky smiles at you.

“Everything okay here?” You ask in a sickly sweet voice as you shoot her a venomous smile.

“Oh, yeah,” she answers quickly. Her face flushes beet red. “I was just—”

“Hitting on my husband? Funny how your hand was on his but you somehow didn’t notice the wedding band on his finger.”

She’s stares at you, eyes wide and mouth agape when the bartender walks up with her drink. You turn to Bucky, not wanting to cause any kind of scene. “I’d like to go home now, honey,” you say with a squeeze to his bicep.

“Of course, sweetheart,” he hums, an amused smile on his lips. He stands up from the barstool, forgetting all about the Shirley Temples that he was still waiting on.

“Have the night you deserve!” you call back to the woman as you practically drag Bucky away from the bar.

Once you’ve made it out of the busy party room and enter a practically dead corridor, you loosen your hold on his arm but don’t slow down. You know you’re allowing your emotions to get the best of you, and you don’t like it one bit. You’ve never considered yourself to be the jealous type, but now you’re suddenly fuming over a stranger simply touching the hand of your pretend husband? A man who you’ve never so much as kissed before tonight?

Screw hanging around for a while to not raise suspicions. You need to get the fuck out of here before you make yourself look even more foolish.

“Slow down,” Bucky laughs as he pulls you to a stop. He glances around to make sure there’s no one behind you before his gaze settles on you. It’s another one of those looks that makes you wonder if he can actually read your mind. For a brief moment, his eyes flicker down to your lips. “What happened to wanting to stick around long enough to play it off?”

“I changed my mind,” you shrug, feeling small under his intense stare. “Is that cool with you?”

“Changed your mind?” He asks in a tone that makes it obvious that he doesn’t believe you.

“Yep,” you retort, making sure to pop the p at the end. “I just wanna go get some food and go the fuck ho—”

You’re cut off by him suddenly backing you against the wall directly behind you, effectively pinning you between him and the wall. He rests a fist against the wall beside your head, his face just inches from yours as he peers down at you.

“Wanna know what I think?”

No, you don’t think you do.

You shake your head, not trusting yourself to speak. The smirk on his face tells you that he finds your lack of response amusing.

“I think,” he starts, bringing his other hand to your face. He cups your jawline in his palm, placing the pad of his thumb on the swell of your bottom lip. You have to consciously remind yourself to breathe. “That you got a little jealous when you saw blondie coming onto me.”

“And?” you whisper. “What if I did?”

If he’s surprised by your answer, he doesn’t let it show. You could cut the tension that hangs in the air with a knife.

"So that's all it takes, then? I kiss you one time and you get all possessive over me?"

He hardly gives you time to respond before he pulls you away from the wall, wraps an arm around your shoulders and begins to quickly maneuver the both of you further down the hallway.

“Bucky? Where are we go—?”

He comes to a stop in front of a door. He gives it one brief knock before barging in, pulling you inside with him. It's a bathroom – a really fucking fancy bathroom, but still, a bathroom. You’re acutely aware of the sound of the door clicking shut, followed by a lock turning.

“How'd you even know what this room was?” You scoff, leaning against the sink countertop.

“Lucky guess,” he breathes, closing in on you. “And you didn’t answer my question.”

So that’s all it takes, then? I kiss you one time and you get all possessive over me?

He looks down at you expectantly.

“You didn’t kiss me once,” you shrug. You reach for his tie, gently tugging on it so that he’s face level with you. “You kissed me twice. And unless you’re planning to go for number three, I’d really like to get the hell out of here.”

You might regret it when this mission is really and truly over. When you’re driving home in loaded silence or you’re back at the compound, trying to fall asleep while replaying tonight’s events over and over again in your head. When you wake up in the morning and wonder if you dreamed it all or when you have to sit across from him at breakfast and act like nothing happened.

He inches his face closer to yours, until the tip of his nose brushes against yours. You have to close your eyes to keep the room from spinning around you.

“And if I do that…” he murmurs, his breath fanning across your face. “Should I do it as Henry Monroe? Or as Bucky?”

You give his tie another sharp tug, bringing his mouth the rest of the way to yours for the third time that night.

You take your time, knowing that this kiss isn’t for show. It’s less rushed, less panicked. Your hands find the short tufts of his hair and his find your waist, both of you pulling the other as close as possible. Without any interruptions this time, you take your time, not pulling away until you’re both dizzy from lack of air.

“As Bucky. My Bucky.”

thanks so much for reading!! comments and reblogs are super appreciated 💖💖

other bucky fics -

higher than heaven - bucky's first time smoking since the 40s.

delirium - sex pollen trope

lacy - bucky doesn't remember lingerie having so much lace back in his day.

[a8ofcrows]

i’m back on my b.s.

buckybarnes super-obsession

[a8ofcrows]

When I look at you, I don’t see your mistakes

[a8ofcrows]

The Soldier and His Mission

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Reader

Word Count: 1K

Summary: When a trigger sends Bucky back into the grip of the Winter Soldier, he shadows you with an unyielding protectiveness that leaves the team on edge, though he doesn't harm anyone. After days of tension and careful steps, Bucky finally breaks through the icy barrier, returning to himself in a quiet, tender moment, finding solace in your presence.

You should’ve known something was wrong the moment Bucky went still.

One second, the mission was wrapping up—just another Hydra facility wiped off the map, just another set of goons taken down. The next, something triggered him. A phrase muttered in Russian over a radio, the faintest crackle of a long-dead handler’s voice. You saw the shift in his posture before he even turned around, the telltale tightening of his jaw, the blankness overtaking those usually warm blue eyes.

Bucky Barnes was gone.

The Winter Soldier stood in his place.

And yet—he didn’t hurt you.

Not when he turned to face the team, his body language bristling with danger. Not when Steve hesitated before stepping forward, his hands raised in a placating gesture. And certainly not when you cautiously called his name, your voice softer than the others.

Instead, the Soldier moved between you and everyone else.

A shield.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Back at the Tower, you thought the episode would pass. That maybe, after a few hours, after enough familiar sights and sounds, Bucky would shake it off like he always did.

But the Soldier wasn’t leaving. And he had decided you were his mission.

Not to eliminate.

To protect.

At first, it was just hovering. You moved—he followed. You sat—he stood at your back, ever watchful. The others gave him space, exchanging worried glances when they thought you weren’t looking. Steve was tense, obviously trying to figure out how to break through, while Tony was less patient about it.

“This is a problem,” Stark declared after the first few hours, arms crossed as he leaned against the counter. “I mean, I hate to be the one to say it, but we have a fully armed, brainwashed assassin in the Tower again, and we all know how that went last time.”

“He’s not attacking anyone,” Natasha pointed out.

“Yet,” Tony shot back.

You ignored the argument as best you could, focusing instead on cooking something for Bucky—something normal, something familiar, something that might ground him. His eyes tracked you the entire time.

Then you miscalculated the heat on the stove.

The oil in the pan hissed and spat, and a second later, you hissed too as a sharp sting bloomed across your palm. You barely had time to react before there was a sudden blur of motion.

Bucky was on you instantly.

His flesh hand gripped your wrist, his metal one hovering protectively over the stove, as if it had personally attacked you. His face was unreadable, but his grip was firm, his hold gentle as he examined the burn.

“I’m okay,” you assured him, but he wasn’t listening.

Instead, he took the cold pack you hadn’t even reached for yet and pressed it carefully to your palm, his jaw tight, his brows furrowed in focus. You exchanged a look with Steve over Bucky’s shoulder, and the Captain exhaled, something like relief flashing in his eyes.

He was still in there.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

The Soldier continued shadowing you for the next two days, much to Tony’s frustration. But as Natasha had pointed out—he wasn’t hurting anyone.

Unless they posed a threat to you.

That was something Steve learned firsthand during a sparring session. You had barely landed a hit before Bucky, watching from the sidelines, had moved. The next thing you knew, Steve was on his ass, blinking up at the ceiling, while Bucky stood between you like a human wall, eyes cold and calculating.

“For the record,” Steve grunted as he sat up, rubbing his ribs, “I was letting her win.”

Bucky wasn’t convinced.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

It wasn’t until you needed a medical checkup that things really came to a head.

“Barnes, I have to actually examine her,” Dr. Cho said patiently, eyeing where Bucky stood between you and the med bay’s equipment.

“No,” he replied flatly.

“Bucky—” you tried.

“The room is secure.”

“That’s not the—”

“She does not require assistance.”

“I do require assistance,” you corrected. “Because I burned my hand and twisted my shoulder thanks to a certain super soldier overreacting in the gym.”

Bucky didn’t move.

You exhaled slowly.

“Okay,” you said, shifting tactics. “Then stay.”

That got his attention.

“If you want to make sure nothing happens to me,” you reasoned, “then you can stay here. But you have to let the doctor check me out.”

His expression was unreadable for a long moment. Then, after what felt like an eternity—

“…Understood.”

Progress.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

When it finally broke, it wasn’t dramatic.

There was no grand trigger, no huge revelation.

Just a moment of quiet.

You had fallen asleep on the couch, exhaustion finally winning after two days of Bucky’s overprotective hovering. When you woke up, it was to warm hands gently brushing over your wrist—both flesh and metal, but softer this time, as if relearning the feeling of touching you.

And then you heard it—his breath hitching.

A tiny, barely-there sound, but one filled with something raw.

You blinked sleepily, looking up.

Bucky was staring at you. Not the Soldier. Bucky.

His face was pale, his jaw tight, his eyes wide—his real eyes.

“…Doll?” His voice cracked over the word, like it had been caught in his throat.

You smiled sleepily, shifting so your fingers curled around his. “Hey, Buck.”

His exhale was shaky. His shoulders sagged. And when you tugged him down to you, he didn’t resist.

He just buried his face in your neck and held on.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

“You scared the hell out of me, you know,” you murmured later, your fingers absentmindedly running through his hair as he rested against you.

“I know,” he admitted, voice rough.

“You threw Steve like a ragdoll.”

“…Yeah.”

“…Kind of hot, not gonna lie.”

A laugh. Quiet, but real.

And just like that, Bucky Barnes was back.

[a8ofcrows]

when i want fluff/angst fics and all i’m getting is smut

the struggle is real

[a8ofcrows]

If you're fifteen or older an still sleep with a stuffed animal please reblog this.

[a8ofcrows]

What books have you done this to?

Instagram / Shop

[a8ofcrows]

Anathema • Kaz Brekker

- twenty five

Kaz stepped behind Raven as her head was ducked into the sink, washing her face. He stroked a finger from her shoulder to her elbow, taking in the sight of her not fully dressed. The girl tensed, straightening herself to dry her face. She gazed back at him in the mirror, face falling when she noticed the blood from his nose and lip. "It's not mine this time," Kaz mumbled against her skin as he placed delicate kisses along her bare shoulder. Raven inhaled tightly, her eyes closing as her head fell back against Kaz's shoulder. Kaz smirked, noting this effective way to keep her from commenting on anything. He slid his bloodstained gloves off as he wrapped his arms around Raven. Mouth still gently pressed against her skin, he ran his hands under the water. Multitasking. Nothing was worth removing himself from her skin. Something that had caused so much panic and spiraling in the past was now his favorite place to be. Against her. In any way possible, in any possible moment.

     Raven turned, leaning back against the sink. Kaz leaned in, letting his hands hold him up against the sink. He took Raven in, feeling himself burning. "Have you got blood on my shoulder now?" Kaz hummed, "No, love, it's dry by now." Raven eyed him and Kaz straightened, holding his arms up in defense, "I promise it's not mine."

"Whose, then?" Raven ducked under Kaz's arm to reach for a clean cloth. She ran it under warm water and brought it up to his face. "You said it wasn't yours!" She gaped at him as she brought it away from his- still lightly bleeding nose. Kaz shrugged, "It was just one punch." "Kaz Brekker, who were you fighting?" Raven's scolding tone made Kaz smirk, not at all the appropriate reaction for what she was trying to convey.

"It wasn't much of a fight..."

Kaz snorted as Raven gave him a playful whack. "He got one hit in and I did not even kill him." Raven eyed him, eyebrow raised, "Well congratulations to him. What did he do?" Kaz backed Raven back against the sink and returned his hands to her hips, "He made a comment."

Raven leaned in closer, "A comment?" A slight smirk played on her lips and Kaz felt his heart jump, "A comment..." He placed another kiss against her collarbone, savoring her shaky exhale. "About you." Raven let her head fall back slightly, eyes closed, "So you hit him?" Kaz hummed, "He won't do it again now."  Raven placed a quick kiss against Kaz's lips and he groaned, wanting to pull her right back against him. Raven ducked under his arm again with a smirk, glancing back at him as she headed for their room again, "Next time don't let yourself get hit." Kaz let out a slow breath, pulling himself back together. "Yes, ma'am." He would never get used to her. And he certainly didn't ever want to.

[a8ofcrows]

Anathema • Kaz Brekker

- TWENTY FOUR

I eyed the cake that was sitting on the table, heart swelling. Nina was sat beside it, beaming, her finger swishing frosting off it to sample. Inej looked guilty in the corner, sitting beneath a banner that read 'CONGRATULATIONS' in bright, handwritten letters. "Oh for the love of..." Kaz mumbled something beside me, face red. I wasn't sure if he was embarrassed or angry, but I quite enjoyed the look on his face, regardless. He tucked his hands into his pockets, eyeing the guilty party across the room. "Why is the Crow Club closed....." Kaz's fist tightened around his cane, jaw clenched tightly. I shot him a look, wishing his priorities would shift for just a day. None of the staff were anywhere in sight and the lights were dimmed to prove they were closed.

   "I hate you for not telling me." Nina and Inej greeted me at the bottom of the stairs, Nina grabbing my hand and taking in the ring that I hadn't taken off. "Kaz Brekker, you-" Inej shook her head, "I can't believe-" Kaz stayed silent, shrugging in response. In his defense, we had hoped they would not find out at all. But it did feel quite good to have it be out there, to make it public knowledge that despite all odds, I belonged to Kaz Brekker and he let me. Nina was now cutting the cake, and I couldn't fight the smile that crept onto my face. "To the Mr. and Mrs. Dirtyhands." Jesper smirked at me above his glass, lifting it slightly in my direction. Kaz squeezed my hand behind his back, hidden from the others. A small smirk was on his lips, "Now that I do like the sound of." The gleam in his eyes had me questioning if the party was worth humoring our friends, or if we could just go back upstairs and get lost in each other again.

    Kaz took a seat, the brief tightness in his expression was the only tell of his remaining injuries. I sat beside him, ignoring the smirking and smug Jesper and Wylan. Inej sat across

from me, beside Nina. "I- We wanted to do this before heading our separate ways again." A foolish and naive part of me was sad they were leaving again, but they had created their own lives and started their own journeys. I would always miss them when they were absent. My best friends and the closest thing I would ever have to siblings. "We get why you didn't tell us." Nina raised an eyebrow, as if it was still a fact she would not forget, "But now that we know..." Kaz shot a glare to Jesper and Wylan at this, as Nina passed a slice of cake. It was delicious and I was willing to bet Nina had made it herself. Vanilla cake with cream frosting and berries cut in the shape of hearts. I worried Kaz may be sick with the sweetness and formality of it all, but for once he had not commented on someone else using the sacred fruit he kept in the back.

   "We thought you were going to die." Kaz choked on a mouthful of frosting, slamming his fork down on the table with a glare towards Wylan. Wylan paled, slouching down slightly, "Well, I... I was worried. We were all worried. She wouldn't wake up and-" "Wylan." Kaz eyed him darkly, and he stopped talking as Jesper nudged him in warning. "I'm- It's fine." I placed my hand over Kaz's gently, which was shaking slightly, curled tightly into a fist. He had thought he was going to lose me. I had always told myself he would do just fine without me, but now, seeing his reaction to just thinking about it... His hand settled against my leg, fist relaxing, but fingers tightening around my own. Saints, I loved him.

I couldn't bare the thought of not being here to calm his spiraling; not being able to pull him from the waves and save him from himself.

   Inej cleared her throat, eyes lifting from the berry she was pushing around with her fork. "The point is you're okay. Miraculously, you both pulled through despite the bloody-" She looked away, and I was sure she didn't want to relive how beat up we had been. I was positive the sight of broken and dying Kaz would have pushed me over the edge, had I been conscious. I drew my attention back to the cake and the gentle hand on my thigh. Kaz was watching me, eyes fixed on me as if looking away might make me vanish. Jesper stretched, draining his own drink, "Well. It's getting late. I suppose we ought to finish up so the Barrel can get on with their gambling and debauchery." Kaz shifted, eyes finally moving from my face, "Thank you." The room went silent, as if they had misheard him. "For this.... For..everything." For coming across oceans at the drop of a hat. Kaz looked down, but Inej reached across the table and squeezed his hand. He flinched, tired eyes coming up to meet her own, "Whenever you need me." Inej grabbed my own hand and I grinned. Saints I would miss her again.

    "You let me know if Kaz gets to be too much for you. There's always room on my ship." Inej smirked and I let myself laugh. Nina pulled me into a hug, "And if you ever want to visit Fjerda." Jesper snorted, "As if she wants to relive the Ice Court in any way." Wylan shuttered, shaking his head. "As if her husband will let her out of his sight." Kaz spoke up, eyeing the pair with a playful warning. My heart raced, despite how playful the statement was, I knew he was serious. The cake disappeared quickly, as well as a few more drinks. My cheeks felt hot, but my heart was heavy as I once again said my goodbyes to Nina and Inej. I was sure I would see them again, likely in better circumstances. Jesper hugged Nina a little too tightly, and placed a quick kiss against Inej's cheek, then the group headed off into the night together. Wylan pulled down the banner on the way out, muttering about hopefully needing it again.

   Kaz stood to his feet as Crow Club staff returned to their jobs, in preparation for opening again. The door opened and in rushed awaiting pigeons. I shifted in my seat, spinning my ring around my finger as I took in the start of a night in the Barrel. Laughter filled the room, chips being placed and tossed, cards shuffling. I was home again. The Barrel had been rid of its self proclaimed King and eagerly awaited a new rule.

   Kaz stood at the top of the stairs, watching over his subjects. The Barrel now belonged to a bastard, Dirtyhands, King of the crows.

And my husband.