shakysif

[shakysif]

STOP BECAUSE I LOVED THIS.

I love reading fanfics like this way to much please write more guys im begging. This literally had me screaming, twirling my hair and kicking my feet😭💕

“That’s Not Me… Is It?” ~Oneshot

Summery: Bucky accidentally stumbles onto your secret Tumblr—filled with fanfiction about him.From soft tropes to unholy smut, he dives headfirst into the world of fics, fluff, and feelings.Now you’re writing stories together… and maybe living one, too.

Characters: Bucky Barnes x f!reader

||Main Masterlist|| ||Oneshot Masterlist||

||Part 2: softvibraniumdaydreams||

The night had started so peacefully.

You’d had the rare luxury of an empty common room at the Avengers compound, a warm blanket over your legs, and a mug of peppermint tea steaming gently at your side. The lights were dimmed low. Outside, New York traffic whispered beyond the windows. The tower was asleep.

And so was your dignity.

Your fingers hovered over your laptop’s touchpad, scrolling down a page littered with pink fonts, emojis, and hearts. Tumblr.

But not just Tumblr.

Your blog. Your secret, sacred space. A fanfic archive so shamelessly devoted to one James Buchanan Barnes, you were surprised it didn’t explode every time he entered the room.

Your eyes trailed the text you’d been reading — a new fic from your favorite writer, updated only an hour ago. Your cheeks heated as your brain processed the paragraph:

“He growled, metal fingers curling around your wrist like it was the most delicate thing in the world — dangerous, yes, but reverent. Possessive. Like he’d tear the world apart just to protect what was his.”

You choked lightly on your tea.

“Jesus,” you whispered, adjusting your blanket. “Who writes this stuff?”

A beat.

You bookmarked it.

Instantly.

You were mid-way through a scene involving Bucky in a henley and nothing else when your stomach gave an ill-timed grumble. You paused. The craving hit like a freight train: popcorn. Chocolate. Something salty and sweet to match the spicy chaos on screen.

“Screw it,” you muttered, pausing the scroll.

You set the laptop gently on the coffee table — still glowing, still open to the very sentence where fictional Bucky was threatening to ruin the reader against a fridge — and padded barefoot into the kitchen.

You didn’t hear the footsteps in the hall.

Didn’t hear the water droplets hitting the floor from a damp towel.

Didn’t hear the soft intake of breath as a certain ex-assassin entered the room.

But he saw everything.

⸻

Bucky Barnes had only been looking for water.

Fresh out of the shower, his hair damp and sticking to his temples, he was still towel-draped and low-energy when he stepped into the common area — expecting it to be empty. He planned to grab a drink, maybe sneak back to his room without interacting with anyone.

What he didn’t expect was the open laptop glowing like a beacon of doom.

Curious, he stepped closer.

At first, he thought it was some kind of classified document. A mission report maybe. The layout was unfamiliar. A little… glittery.

Pink font?

He squinted.

There were hearts in the sidebar. Tags. Gifs of himself shirtless.

And then he saw the title:

“Touch Me and Die (or Don’t): A Bucky Barnes x Reader Smutty Slowburn”

Bucky froze.

“…What the hell is Tumblr?”

The site had a comment section. Notes. Hundreds of little usernames like wintersdaddy89 and metalarmforyou reblogging the post with keysmashes and emojis.

He frowned and scrolled.

“He moved with lethal grace, metal hand clamping down on your thigh as he whispered, ‘You belong to me.’”

“…Oh hell no,” he muttered.

He blinked, face growing steadily redder as the next sentence described something involving whipped cream and the kitchen counter. His name was in it. HIS NAME.

He scrolled back to the top.

soft!Bucky | angst!bucky | daddy!bucky | yandere!bucky | one bed trope | SMUT

“WHAT THE FUCK IS A YANDERE—?”

“Hey, Buck, I—OH MY GOD!”

The popcorn bowl in your hands launched itself into the air like a missile. Kernels rained down over the rug in a sad cascade of snack death.

You looked from the screen to Bucky’s wide-eyed stare. He was clutching your laptop like it had just insulted his mother.

“…What is this?” he asked, voice pitched halfway between horror and betrayal.

Your soul departed your body.

“Nope,” you said, lunging forward. “Give it!”

He dodged you with the grace of a man who once assassinated heads of state. “Y/N,” he said, holding the laptop above his head. “Are these—stories? About me?”

You froze mid-lunge. “…I can explain.”

“Please do.”

“They’re… fanfictions.”

He blinked. “Which is…?”

You sighed and sat down, burying your face in your hands. “Made-up stories. People write them about characters. Sometimes real people. It’s a thing.”

Bucky stared at the screen again.

“Do I actually growl this much?”

“Oh my god,” you groaned. “I didn’t think you’d see it.”

He sat down beside you, laptop still in his lap. His expression was unreadable.

“So you do read this stuff?”

You mumbled, “Sometimes.”

He nodded slowly.

“…Alright,” he said. “Educate me.”

You blinked. “What?”

He leaned back on the couch, scrolling slowly. “We’re reading them together now.”

—

An hour later, Bucky Barnes was deep into his seventh trope.

He’d read fluff.

He’d read angst.

He’d been a florist, a mechanic, a single father with a child named Muffin, and at least three different versions of himself with memory loss and deep emotional trauma.

And now, apparently, he was in a story where you died in his arms.

“He held her close, trembling, whispering promises he’d never get to keep. Her blood stained his hands. Again.”

You sniffled. “That one gets me every time.”

He looked shaken. “Why do they keep killing you?”

“I dunno. Feels poetic?”

“It feels like a gut punch.”

He kept scrolling.

“Oh god. Here’s another one with a baby.”

He sighed, reading aloud:

“Bucky held little Muffin to his chest, whispering, ‘You have her eyes, you know.’”

“…This is the third Muffin.”

“Don’t question it,” you whispered. “Just let it happen.”

He read the soulmate one next. The one where he sees color the moment he meets you. You had to pause halfway because he stopped breathing at the sunrise scene.

And then came the dark!Bucky tag.

He clicked with a gleam in his eye.

“This one says I kidnap you.”

“That’s a popular trope,” you said weakly. “Dubcon is… a thing.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You read that?”

You turned bright red. “Not often!”

“…You bookmarked it.”

“BETRAYED BY THE NOTES COUNT.”

—

You should’ve known better.

Really. Truly. Deep down, some part of your soul knew the second Bucky Barnes sat beside you with your Tumblr blog open, it was only a matter of time before he stumbled into… the abyss.

And stumble, he did.

One misclick. That’s all it took.

You were busy defending Muffin’s existence when Bucky’s finger landed — fatefully, tragically — on a fic tagged simply:

soft dom!bucky | smut | praise kink | ‘gonna ruin you’ energy

A pause.

You blinked.

He blinked.

“…What is this?” he asked cautiously, eyes scanning the screen. “Why is it tagged NSFW?”

You choked. “It’s… not for—uh—well, it’s for adults.”

He started reading.

“‘His voice dipped low, gravel against silk, as he leaned in close—’”

He blinked again.

“‘—his metal fingers tightening around your throat with possessive hunger—’”

You lunged. “YOU DON’T HAVE TO READ THAT—”

“No,” he said, like a man on a mission. “I need to know what people think I do with my fingers.”

You slapped your hand over your face.

The silence that followed was broken only by scrolling.

A beat.

Two.

Then:

“…Am I biting someone’s thigh?”

You squeaked. “It’s fiction! It’s not real! That’s artistic license!”

“Artistic—?” He turned red. So, so red. “I say that in this?!”

He pointed at the screen.

“‘Gonna ruin you for anyone else, sweetheart.’”

You nodded meekly. “That one’s pretty popular.”

He slowly turned his head toward you.

“…Have you read this one?”

“…No.” (You had.) “Okay, yes.” (Multiple times.) “Don’t judge me, okay?!”

His mouth opened. Then closed.

Then—his hand lifted. And he hurled a couch pillow straight at your face.

You burst into laughter so loud it echoed.

—

Somehow, it was now 2 a.m.

You and Bucky were draped over the couch like two feral creatures surviving on popcorn, emotional trauma, and fanfiction-induced whiplash.

The laptop was balanced between you.

You’d read every trope imaginable.

Amnesia Bucky? ✔️

Fake dating Bucky? ✔️

Accidental baby acquisition? ✔️

Soulmates, reincarnation, enemies-to-lovers? ✔️✔️✔️

One bed? You nearly passed out.

Bucky had started keeping score.

“Okay,” he said, finishing another fic. “That’s nine times I’ve died, three Muffins, and two bathtub confessions.”

You wiped a tear. “You forgot the cowboy AU.”

He groaned. “I blacked that one out.”

“No, you lassoed me with a flannel and said, ‘You’re mine, darlin’.’ I remember it vividly.”

His face fell into his hands. “Why is Tumblr allowed.”

⸻

You leaned back, stretching your arms with a yawn, when Bucky suddenly stilled.

“…Wait.”

You turned. “What?”

He clicked.

Another tab. Another fic.

You peered over.

And there it was.

A new fic, different author, different tags.

But the pairing?

Sam Wilson x Reader

Bucky blinked.

He gasped. “SAM HAS FANFIC?!”

Y/n clicked faster.

The fic started sweet. You were a new recruit. Sam was your guide. There were coffee shop scenes. Shared smiles. Mutual pining.

Then—fireworks on a rooftop.

“And this time, he finally stayed.”

The two of you squealed.

Like children.

Like banshees.

Bucky grabbed a pillow and shouted into it. You kicked your legs like it was 2009 and this was One Direction.

Which is exactly when Sam walked in.

The water bottle crinkled in Sam’s hand as he stopped in the doorway.

He stared.

You and Bucky were tangled up under a blanket, laptop glowing between you, eyes misty with emotion.

“…Are you crying over fanfiction?”

Bucky looked up, wild-eyed. “No.”

You sniffled. “Yes.”

Sam slowly took a sip of water.

Then—deadpan:

“You guys are so weird.”

He turned and walked out.

Neither of you could stop laughing for ten minutes.

—

It started subtle.

Bucky’s phone usage increased. He was asking more questions.

“Hey, what’s a ‘slowburn’?”

“Why do I keep dying in the ‘hurt/comfort’ tag?”

“Do people really like the ‘knife kink’ thing or are they just messing with me?”

Then came the moment you found him sitting in the compound kitchen — coffee untouched — staring intently at his phone.

“What are you doing?” you asked.

He looked up.

Paused.

Then flipped the screen toward you.

Tumblr.

A blank blog page.

Username: @softvibraniumdaydreams

Bio: “Not a writer. Just a man who needs closure.”

Header: A low-res photo of a cat holding a knife.

Icon: Your Bitmoji. He’d clearly stolen it.

“…You made a blog?” you asked.

He shrugged. “Had ideas.”

You leaned over, scrolling through his first posts.

• Post #1: “Why do people keep giving me a tragic backstory? I already have one.”

• Post #2: 450-word drabble about holding hands in silence after a mission

• Post #3: “Stop killing my fictional girlfriends 2k25.”

You grinned. “You’re one of us now.”

He smirked, that familiar glint in his eye. “God help me.”

—

Three days later, he posted it.

“First fic is live. Be kind.”

You clicked on the link.

It was… beautiful. Quiet. Poetic.

Set after the war. The reader couldn’t sleep. Bucky made tea. He held her hand. They didn’t kiss. They just sat — their shadows stretching across the floor as dawn began to rise.

“He didn’t say ‘I love you,’ but it echoed anyway, loud in the silence between their palms.”

You stared at the screen.

Breathed out.

And then reblogged it.

Your comment:

“Sorry (not sorry) for making you read smut at 1 a.m. 💕 Let’s write one where you get a happy ending.”

Minutes later, he tagged you in a new post:

Collab coming soon:

Bucky finally gets the girl. And this time, no one dies. 💌

-to be continued

[shakysif]

OMG YES PLEASE I WOULD LOVE THIS😭

Can someone write Bucky x reader where reader has an accent (Spanish like me hehe) and Bucky can’t understand her sometimes but he finds it adorable because she’s bilingual and trying so hard to express herself in English?

[shakysif]

Saturdays.

Summary: You and Bucky are best friends who spend all of your Saturday’s together. Bucky came to your place with a goal in mind: making you admit your feelings for him.

Warnings: Alcohol/Drinking games/shots of Sake. You also might need to make an appointment with your dentist because the fluff in this could possibly give you cavities.

The light knock on your door let you know Bucky had finally arrived. It was your typical Saturday evening hangout. Bucky would show up with alcohol of some kind because you frankly knew nothing about liquor, and you would either make or order the two of you food. You would likely watch a shitty movie that you’d pretty much talk over the whole time, and Bucky would look at you completely enamored by your beauty and nod during the important parts.

“Hey, you” his entire face lit up as you opened the door to greet him. His eyes quickly scanned your comfy outfit, loose leggings, a thin sweater detailed with lace, and fuzzy socks he had gotten you for Christmas last year. A light chuckle escaped him as he took you in.

Bucky was holding a giant brown bag full of alcohol, but you still eyed him up and down. He was always in the same variation of outfit: boots, tight jeans, a T-shirt, and a jacket of some sort. Today, he opted for a brown leather jacket that he definitely bought from a local vintage shop.

“Hi chicken!” You greeted him enthusiastically as you stepped aside for him to walk into your place. The smell of your sweet smelling perfume practically sucker punched him in the heightened senses, not that he was complaining.

“That damn nickname” he pretended to hate it, but he didn’t hide it well, the corner of his eyes wrinkling and the slight smirk he wore gave him away every time.

“You refuse to let me call you Buck Buck goose! So I compromised!” You snorted, trying to stand taller to peek inside the bag at what he brought.

“Ah! No! Not yet” he playfully slapped your hand away, lifting the bag higher above you so you couldn’t sneak a peek.

“What’s for dinner little one? It smells good!”

You were shorter than him, and Bucky always made it a habit to point it out. He knew it made you flustered, picking up on the way your heart loudly thumped quicker in your chest, he never told you he could hear it but he felt like somehow you knew.

“I made tacos! I figured you’d want your favorite after your long week! I barely heard from you so I know it was hectic.” You didn’t say it to make him feel guilty but it did, Bucky felt like you physically punched him in the gut. His expression changed as he set the brown paper bag down on your kitchen table.

“Did you miss me or something?” He teased, only slightly hoping you’d admit it for once. Instead, you handed him a plate to serve himself, giving him a playful forced smile and showing all your teeth.

Once the two of you got your dinner plates ready, Bucky brought the brown bag over to the couch. He had a mischievous grin that you were already slightly nervous about as you clicked through streaming services for something to put on as background noise.

“I got some of your usual favorites because I’m not completely insane” he chuckled as you watched him pull familiar things out of the bag and put them on the coffee table in front of you.

“Debatable” you teased nudging him with your elbow as he playfully scowled at you.

“I mean, I am willingly eating your cooking so that’s a fair assessment.” He was quick-witted, something you really admired about him.

“James Buchanan Barnes! Take that back!” You fauxed offense, metaphorically clutching your pearls as he chuckled and took two bottles of sake out of the bag.

“Full government name? Really? You know damn well I’d lick those pans clean in there if you left the room for long enough” he pointed to the kitchen and it made you giggle, your eyes hardly leaving him before you turned your attention back to the sake bottles.

“I’ve heard sake is really good but also really strong” You picked up the bottle to read it but it was in Japanese, so you put it back down.

“Scared huh?” Bucky blushed, knowing just how to push your buttons as you clicked your tongue at him.

“I was thinking we could play a drinking game tonight.”

You narrowed your eyes at him as you took another bite of your taco, “I’m listening?”

Bucky would’ve usually hated seeing anyone talk with their mouth full but you were an exception. “Truth or drink,” he said overly confident which surprised you, You instantly wondered where Bucky had even heard about this game.

“Yelena and Bob taught me about it. Basically if you don’t want to answer you drink instead.” It was as if he read your mind and was answering the question you didn’t ask aloud.

“Oh! It’s probably how Yelena gets Bob to loosen up” You giggled, standing to get you and Bucky a shot glass from your kitchen cabinet.

“You think so?” He avoided your eye contact, hoping you weren’t catching on. “I say we take one to loosen up and then go from there” he said and you nodded before he opened the pink bottle of sake first pouring the two of you a shot.

Bucky took his shot without so much of a grimace but you felt the burn intensify in your throat immediately and coughed once it went down and got yourself a chaser from the fridge, bringing Bucky one too.

“No question is off limits.” He narrowed his eyes at you, it was clear he suggested this for a reason but you were happy to oblige.

“I’ll go first then- why do you want to play this game?” You giggled, maintaining eye contact with him as you leaned back on the couch, sitting with your legs crossed.

A nervous laugh escaped him, as he sat back on the couch Bucky was usually pretty calm and collected around you but the way you were looking through him right now made him forget how to breathe.

“Drink up then Barney boy” You handed him a shot knowing he wouldn’t answer, as he quickly threw it back.

“Why don’t you ever admit that you miss me?” He wasn’t originally going to ask such an upfront question right away but he had a strong feeling you weren’t going to play fair.

You thought about answering for a brief moment before you drank, coughing again after you swallowed.

“So that’s how this is going to go?” He scooted closer to you, watching your eyes get watery.

“This sake is so strong and kind of nasty” you coughed wiping your mouth with your sweater sleeve.

“I guess we should start being honest then” he smiled and you rolled your eyes playfully gearing up for your next question.

“Okay when we first met, what was your first impression of me?”

Bucky looked up at the ceiling, chuckling to himself as he placed the shot glass down. “Honestly? I thought you were really soft and nice and I didn’t expect us to hit it off as well as we did.”

“Why?” You were curious as to why he mentioned the last part, you knew he didn’t think much of himself which hurt you deep down.

“Soft and nice is not how anyone would describe me” he laughed, a genuine laugh that made your couch tremble slightly.

“Maybe? But that’s because they don’t really know you” you nervously bit your cheek wondering if that was a tad too flirty.

Bucky had been your best friend for about a year now and you were terrified of losing him.

“Okay, how would you describe me? Especially to someone who has never met me.” He picked up the sake bottle ready to pour, and only assuming you’d avoid the question.

“No put that down, I’ll answer this one” You stood up from the couch, to face him as he stayed sitting, his blue eyes piercing through you.

“Close your eyes, or just don’t look at me!”

“Close my eyes?” He laughed in disbelief at your dramatics.

“Yeah, they’re just very beautiful and super distracting” you teased and Bucky knew you were a lightweight when it came to drinking but he started to feel guilty for suggesting the game wondering if you were only complimenting him because of the liquor.

“Wait, you think my eyes are beautiful?” He mumbled and you hadn’t heard him over the nerves you felt gripping every bone in your body.

“I’d ideally describe you as close to perfect but I know you’d absolutely hate that.”

You were right, he’d hate that.

“I’d say Bucky is the kind of person who makes every day seem a little less heavy and dull. He’s the guy everyone can always depend on and despite being through the worst hell anyone could ever fucking imagine he is still kind, giving, loving and the greatest person I’ve ever met.” Your lips started to tremble and your eyes were tightly closed as you stood in front of your coffee table swaying back and forth nervously.

“You’d say that about me? To a stranger?” He felt like his heart had grown three sizes in the last minute. He never knew you felt that way about him.

“Of course, I talk about you all the time actually” You didn’t know why you said it but it felt right although your cheeks grew warm with embarrassment.

“Y/N, Why haven’t we dated?” The words crawled out of his mouth like an ache he couldn’t stop.

Your eyes shot open and he was staring at you directly, You noticed his fingers twitching as they sat in his lap.

“It’s my turn to ask a question” you swallowed dryly, your throat felt sandy and hoarse suddenly. Bucky only nodded in response, wondering what you’d ask next.

“So, why haven’t we dated?” You repeated the question back at him, making the room feel more at ease.

“You’re the only person who makes me feel human and I was afraid that if I misread the signs that I’d make things weird between us and I didn’t want to lose you” he stood up, walking over to where you stood.

“You didn’t misread anything, there’s a reason I spend all my Saturdays with you. You’re the best part of my week, my day, my life actually.” You wrapped your arms around his torso, looking up at him with loving, pleading eyes.

“Is this really happening? How drunk are you?” He teased as he held you, but there was a faint seriousness to his tone now that you had opened the floodgates of emotions.

“I’m not drunk! I don’t even think I’m tipsy, I just took the opportunity while I had it.” You admitted which made him chuckle before he easily picked you up and wrapped your legs around him.

“Would it be alright if I kissed you now?”

“You can kiss me forever” you leaned in, wrapping your arms around his neck, rubbing your fingers through the hair on the nape of his neck.

[shakysif]

IM CRYING I LOVED THIS SO MUCH

Winter's Child

Summary: Bucky Barnes x fe!Reader -> You and your daughter live across the hall from Bucky. However, one night when your daughter won't settle, you turn to him for help.

Disclaimer: A lot of fluff, angst, hurt/comfort vibes. This is also a long fic. Bucky is not a step-dad but a dad who steps up. Brief mentions of abandonment, heavy on the Found Family, cute fluffy date moments between Reader and Bucky. Yelena and Kate being a duo, slight swearing. Not fully proof read.

You were at your wits end. At least, you thought you were until a handwritten letter slipped under your door at nine am on the dot a week ago. 

A noise complaint. 

You were a single, new mom of one. And instead of helping, three of your neighbours – two of whom had children of their own – decided to file a noise complaint against you. 

First, it was sleepless nights with a newborn. Then it was three weeks of convincing male doctors that your baby was, in fact, sick and it wasn’t you just being dramatic. And now…it was teething. 

You’d barely had a minute to yourself in several months. Family helped you where they could, but one night was all they would do in terms of babysitting. 

You had five piles of laundry that either needed washing, drying, folding or putting away. Your apartment was over-run with household chores that needed doing, you felt like you were on auto-pilot as you moved through your home. 

And every time you’d just get your baby to sleep, someone upstairs decided that it was time for yet another rearrangement of furniture because it didn’t fit the ‘movement’ of his vibe. 

“What?” You were practically crying yourself. “What is it? I’ve tried everything. Please, just tell me what to do. Please.”

Nothing was working. You didn’t want another noise complaint in fear of someone suggesting you should move out. It took years for you to find a safe place that was within walking distance of a good school. 

Obviously, you’d planned the whole ‘having a baby’ thing happening differently than being single and alone the whole time. But it was the quiet moments, the moments where your baby laughed and smiled that made your heart lighten a little. 

But at two am, exhausted and desperate – that was not one of those moments. 

You’d never know why – you could only ever guess - but an idea popped into your head. And you could only pray it would work. 

Bucky had just closed his front door when someone knocked on it. It was hurried and for a moment, he felt for his side-arm. 

But when the knock was followed by a baby’s cry, he lowered his hand. By the time he opened the door, he was greeted with you - his neighbour. 

“I’m so sorry, I really really am-”

You looked like Hell. Bucky had been on a ten day mission in Serbia and had the crap kicked out of him twice – and somehow you looked worse. 

“But she won’t stop crying and I don’t know what to do. I don’t want another noise complaint or to be kicked out. I know this is really rude and I am sorry but, please. Is there-”

Bucky stepped forward and scooped the baby from your arms for a moment. He held her up, letting her little legs dangle in the air for a moment whilst he checked her over. 

It was like he’d performed some kind of miracle. 

Your baby had stopped crying. 

Bucky could see you in the corner of his eye. It looked like a weight had been lifted off your shoulders, only to come crashing back down. 

“How do you do that?”

Bucky shrugged with a small smile as he cradled your baby in his arms. “I had kid sisters growing up. Ma was always run off her feet.”

“I’m really sorry about this, Bucky.”

He just shook his head. “Don’t be. You said you got a noise complaint?”

You nodded, leaning against the wall beside his door. “A week ago. Someone slipped it under my door. I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to sign it, I’ve not exactly been a quiet neighbour these last few months.”

Bucky shook his head. “You’re doing your best. Ignore the noise complaint. If you get any more, give them to me, I’ll get it sorted.”

“No, you don’t-”

“If they’d bothered to help, then someone might be able to say they're just in their complaint. But they haven’t. So nothing is right about it. Want me to put her down?”

You nodded. “Yeah, I’ll show you.”

As Bucky walked inside your apartment, cradling your sleeping daughter in his arms, you couldn’t help but feel guilty. You were her mom. You should be able to do it without having to knock on your neighbour’s door in the middle of the night. 

And you knew it wasn’t the first time he’d helped you, either. 

At six months pregnant when she was kicking you like she was about to be the next World’s Greatest Football player, you had to pause outside your door, leaving your grocery bags on the floor for a moment. 

Bucky had just left his apartment when he saw you. In your small exchange, which most of your conversations were, you helped him press his hand to your stomach. 

It was one big kick. 

“Kid, you’ve gotta be nice to your mom,” Bucky had warned. 

The kicks stopped. 

Bucky had also helped when your baby was five months old. You were carrying her on your hip whilst balancing the baby bag and two bags of groceries. Bucky had just, again, left his apartment when he asked if you needed any help. 

“Can you hold her for a second?”

Bucky took her without question and the soft babbles had turned into quiet solitude as she laid her head on his shoulder. Bucky also took one of the grocery bags from you as you searched for your door key. 

Once you’d thrown everything inside the door, you took your baby back who, within the space of sixty seconds, had grown rather attached to your neighbour. 

Which was also clear in the way her little fists held onto his shirt as he carefully lowered her into her crib. 

“I’m really sorry about this.”

Bucky shook his head. “Don’t be. I’m happy to help.”

If Bucky was being honest, he was more than happy to help. When he’d first moved in, a lot of the tenants in the building had avoided him. A few even complained about him living there considering he was an ex-assassin. And he couldn’t blame them. He still blamed himself sometimes. 

But you were one of the few that didn’t treat him like that. You treated him like he was just an average human living across the hall from you. So, helping you and your daughter where you asked him to – it gave him another sense of normalcy. 

Something he found to be very rare in his line of work. 

“You know, if you ever need help, all you have to do is ask.” Bucky told you as you walked him to the door. 

You shook your head. “I already feel bad asking you to help me get her to sleep.”

Bucky turned on his heel and looked at you. “You don’t have to feel bad about that. You’re a mom trying to do it all. You’re allowed to ask for help, Y/n.”

That still didn’t stop the guilt, though. 

You’d opted to have the baby on your own. There had been other options, but they just simply were options you didn’t want to take. You’d chosen to do it on your own, which meant continuing to do it on your own. 

“Thank you, Bucky. For everything you’ve done so far.”

You bid him goodnight, feeling the continuing guilt settle in your stomach but gratitude wash over your home. Your baby was fast asleep, and for the first time in months, you got a full night’s sleep. 

When you woke up, you checked on your daughter to find her still fast asleep. So, you took the time you had to finish cleaning your apartment. 

You were folding the third pile of clean laundry when someone knocked on your door. When you answered it, you stalled for a moment. 

“Bucky, what are you-”

“I know you’re not gonna ask unless you’re out of options, so I’m giving you an option to take,” he told you. “When you need help, or need a break, call me.” 

He handed you a post-it note with his phone number on. 

“Bucky, I can’t-”

“Yes, you can. And I want you to.” Bucky pressed. “You’re one of the few people outside of my job that treats me like a person. And, just because you’re a mom, doesn’t mean you should constantly be treated like one. You’re a person, too, Y/n. You deserve the help.”

You were completely shocked. Bucky was…an Avenger. He was someone who helped save the world, twice. But he was offering to help you and your baby. 

You lowered the post-it note. “Would you have any idea how to fix a kitchen cupboard?”

Bucky smiled, feeling a wave of relief wash over him that you were actually asking. 

He nodded, “Let me get my tools.”

Your brows furrowed. “You have tools?”

He laughed, “I have tools.”

What you thought was just going to be an afternoon turned into two years of frequent help – even when you never asked – and a growing friendship. 

The routine of helping you and your daughter also helped Bucky. It helped ground him after a tough mission. One that, if he went home alone, would be playing over in his mind until the nightmares all mixed into one. 

Even the team noticed the change in Bucky. He seemed lighter, happier and calmer. But the only one who knew the truth behind the change was Sam. Mainly because he’d seen the photo on Bucky’s desk at work. 

A picture of himself, you and a toddler who was holding the camera. 

“You should invite them over for dinner,” Sam told him one afternoon. 

“You think so?”

Sam nodded, taking the beer from Bucky. “Yeah, why not? She’s been your neighbour for years. I know you’ve had a crush on her, for like, ever.”

“I don’t have a crush-”

“You’ve got a crush.” Sam told him. “And, it’s about time we meet your future wife.”

“Sam.”

Sam just laughed. “Oh, come on, man. You know I’m right. I’ve seen the way you look at your phone when she calls you. I’ve also seen the look on your face when you find out it’s her daughter wanting to update you about her day. What a two year old has going on in her life, other than apple sauce packets, is beyond me.”

“She went on her first playdate and helped someone make friends. It was a big day for her.”

“Ha, see! Buck – accept it or deny it, they’re your family. Which makes them ours, too.”

Bucky sighed. “I’ll ask, but if she says no-”

“Then we’ll let it slide.”

Bucky pulled his phone from his pocket. “And you’ll make sure Kate doesn’t stalk her online.”

Sam held up his hands. “You have my word.”

Thankfully for everyone involved, you agreed. A week later, you were unbuckling your daughter from her car seat whilst she tried to scramble away and towards the crowd of Avengers who were laughing and chatting over a barbeque. 

That was when a small pair of lungs squealed at the top of their voice, “Bucky!”

Your daughter was running, ignoring your call of being careful before she fell, towards her favourite person. And you had to admit, aside from your daughter, he was yours, too. 

You watched as Bucky stopped his conversation with Sam Wilson and turned to jog towards your daughter. By the time they reached each other, Bucky lifted her into the air as she squealed with more happiness. 

“Hey, firecracker. How was pre-school?”

“Good!”

Resting her on his arm, Bucky talked to her and waited for you to reach him. “Really? You gonna tell me about it?”

You smiled, “Only if you want your ears to fall off.”

Bucky chuckled. “Didn’t need them anyway.” 

You stopped just short of him and he led the way over to the table that was still being set up. “Come on, I’ll introduce you to everybody.”

You’d had anxiety for a week over agreeing to the BBQ. What would they think? Would they hate you? Would it be awkward? 

But after twenty minutes, everything felt…normal. You helped a very chatting Kate Bishop and a calmer Laura Bishop set the table for the multitude of Avengers and kids that were attending the BBQ. 

People hugged, laughed, asked as many questions as they could – most of them coming from your daughter who, despite attaching herself to Bucky for most of the day, wanted to know everything she could about everyone she was with. 

And they answered every one of her questions. 

By the time the stars were peeking out behind the few clouds that remained in the sky, your daughter waddled her way over to you from where Kate had let her back onto her feet, and you picked her up. 

As you finished your conversation with Natasha, you started packing away what you could with a sleeping child on your shoulder when Tony appeared. 

“Why don’t you stay? You should stay. We’ve got plenty of room and the roads can be dangerous, really, at night. You should stay.”

You tried to shake your head, but Natasha stood. “Just say yes before he says he found a fault with your car.”

“That’s a generous offer, Mr Stark-”

“Tony, please. And don’t sweat it. Come on, I’ll show you.”

You don’t remember agreeing but somewhere between Tony showing you inside to the compound and a sudden new message alert that a scan of your car had resulted in a few, rather dangerous faults being found, you were putting your daughter to be at the Avengers Compound. 

And then you were being led back into the living area where everyone was sitting around the coffee table talking. And the only available spot left was right beside Bucky. 

He sat you beside him with ease. Too much ease to be normal between friends. Not that you were complaining. There was safety with Bucky, in a way you couldn’t describe. 

Of course, when you felt his fingers trace up and down your arm lightly, you felt your cheeks heat. But you still felt safe. Not so nervous where you felt like running in the opposite direction, but nervous enough to enjoy being with him. 

And after an hour or so, Yelena walked back inside with a little hand holding onto her finger. 

“Someone wanted to join the party,” Yelena said as she led your daughter over to you where she climbed into yours, and technically, Bucky’s lap. 

Bucky smoothed down the back of her hair as she rubbed her eyes. 

“Don’t you want to go to sleep, honey?”

She shook her head, and pouted. “No. Not without you and Bucky.”

Bucky smiled softly, “C’mere, kiddo.”

Leaning over, your daughter settled herself between you and Bucky before leaning her head against his side. 

“Okay, that is way too cute,” Kate said as she pulled out her phone and snapped a few pictures. 

As conversations started up again, your daughter fell into a deep sleep against Bucky. Something you almost did yourself until you managed to gain enough energy to lift yourself from the sofa and carry your child back to bed. 

Bucky followed you, his palm warm on your lower back as he led you down the dimly lit hallways.

However, by the time you woke up in the morning and went to check on your daughter, you found her bed empty. But just as the anxiety that you tried to keep calm spiked in your chest, a voice spoke inside the room. 

“Your daughter is currently interrogating Mr Wilson on his preference of breakfast cereal.”

You relaxed a little. “Of course, she is.”

You were slow to round the corner into the kitchen, wanting to watch your daughter for a few moments. Bucky was right in her nickname; firecracker. She was like some kind of professional quizzer. 

It amazed you some days, at how head-strong she was for such a young age. But you wouldn’t change her for the world. 

Slowly, you lean against the kitchen counter beside your daughter, listening to her explain to Sam about how cheerios were better than eggs, Sam softly arguing back. 

Little did you know, her arguing with Sam would become a frequent image in your own home. 

It seemed, for as much as your daughter had fallen in love with the Avengers, they had fallen in love with her and each one of her questions. You started to see Sam at Bucky’s apartment more often, Yelena and Kate would show up at the park when you’d take your daughter out for the day, your daughter’s preschool also started to get a little more funding here and there throughout her school year. 

And on the days where Bucky would offer to pick her up from school when your work ran over, they would turn into sleepover nights at the Compound since you couldn’t pry your daughter from their arms no matter how hard you tried. 

Eventually, you started to feel like family to them. They loved your daughter like one of their own, and she loved them right back. If anyone at school said that Captain America was less cool than Iron Man, or that Kate wasn’t the better Hawkeye or that anyone on the team wasn’t as cool as your daughter thought they were; she would defend them to her last breath. 

But the one she defended most passionately was Bucky. How he wasn’t scary but actually really kind and funny, even if he was grumpy sometimes. And how his metal arm was like having a normal one – he could still feel everything the same. Almost. 

She even drew him in all of her pictures when it came to her art class. Which, one day, turned into a list of questions which she just so happened to ask out loud one morning when Bucky had just made her breakfast. 

“Are you like my dad?”

Everyone in the kitchen stopped what they were doing to look at your daughter. But her gaze was focused on her breakfast and the picture she’d made at school the day before. 

“Why do you ask, honey?” You asked her softly, leaning down beside her. 

“Because Jeremy said I couldn’t have a ‘Bucky’. I had a mommy, so I needed a daddy, too.”

You felt your heart sink a little in your chest. “Honey…” 

You didn’t quite know what to say. Her biological dad hadn’t been in the picture since he’d seen the positive pregnancy test on your bathroom counter. 

“Jeremy was wrong.”

“He was?” 

You nodded. “Yeah. Look around you, baby girl. I know you don’t exactly have a daddy, but you do have people that love you.”

That was when your daughter looked around to the other people in the kitchen for reassurance. They all agreed that Jeremy was wrong. 

“Truth is, honey, maybe not everyone has a daddy, but not everyone has a ‘Bucky’ either.”

Steve smiled, “And that makes you extra special, kid.”

Your daughter smiled  before turning around in her stool and hopping down before walking over to Bucky who picked her up instantly. 

She hugged him around his neck. “I love you.”

Bucky was on the edge of tears. “Love you, too, firecracker.”

Later that night, Bucky put her to bed whilst you finished up in the kitchen. You’d offered to make dinner but since half of them got called out on a mission and Bucky was already being used as a human pillow for your four year old, Kate took his place on the mission. 

So, you’d packed the dinner into different take-away containers and stocked them into the fridge and freezer, along with a couple of post-it notes on how long to reheat. 

You were wiping down the counters when Bucky walked back inside. 

“She okay?”

“Out like a light,” Bucky smiled. “Mind if I ask you something?”

You nodded. “Always.”

“Earlier…when she asked me…what happened to her dad?”

You stopped cleaning for a moment before you took a breath. 

Bucky had lived across the hall from you for a while, even before you were pregnant. But he’d never seen someone in your life long enough to consider they would be your partner. 

“We’d been dating for a couple months, but since he lived closer to my workplace, I stayed at his house more often than he did mine. His house was also closer to his work, so it meant we could spend longer together in bed. Pretty sure it was one of those mornings when I got caught…” You took your time, and Bucky let you. 

If you had told him you didn’t want to talk about it, he would have backed off and waited. You didn’t have to tell him anything, but he was glad you were. 

“But, as we hit the three month mark, I started getting a weird feeling. More than I ever have before. Woman’s intuition told me he wasn’t exactly staying loyal. But it felt like more than that, so…I took a test. The minute he saw the two lines he told me he was seeing someone else and that he didn’t want to know about me or the baby, ever. I’ve never heard from him since.”

Bucky couldn’t feel his blood boil. First, a guy who was with you…he let you go. He strayed, cheated and let you go. And then, he abandoned you when you would have needed him the most, and finally…he didn’t even want to meet you or your little firecracker. 

“Well, that’s technically a lie. I heard from some cheap-shot lawyer of his after I sent him some pictures of his daughter’s birth. Just one of her in a hospital onesie and a little hat that one of the nurses had knitted for her. She was so little,” you smiled as you thought back to those first moments where you held her and heard her cry. 

“What did the lawyer say?”

“That he was giving up all parental rights. He wanted to make sure, as far as the law knew, he didn’t have a daughter.”

“He’s…something I would say if there wasn’t a four year old sleeping down the hallway.”

You chuckled. It was nice to know someone was just as angry, if not more so, at the thought of someone not wanting to know your daughter. 

“I guess I was kind of lucky in a way, though.”

Bucky looked up at you from the counter. 

“If he did want to know her, she might not have had you. I might not have…I probably would have moved closer, for the baby’s sake.”

Bucky let the breath go from his lungs. “God, I can’t imagine not having you both in my life.”

You smiled, “Luckily, you don’t have to. We’re both lucky to have you, Bucky. And I’m glad we do.”

Bucky smiled back at you, his heart rate increasing just that little bit more. He managed to look away before you caught the flush in his cheeks. 

A few months later, you were at home finishing up your third load of washing for the week when someone knocked at your door. 

“Kate? Yelena?”

Kate’s expression held nothing but relief as she turned around and faced the door when you answered. “Oh, thank god.”

“What’s going on?” You asked them as they walked into your home. Yelena was carrying several different garment bags whilst Kate carried two more and dragged a small make-up trolly behind her. 

“We need your help.”

“What on earth for?”

You closed the door, balancing the laundry basket on your hip as they turned around to face you. 

“We need you to attend Pepper’s gala tonight.”

“What- Why?”

Kate looked at Yelena who nodded. 

“Because you do.”

“Girls, I’m gonna need a better explanation than that.”

Yelena rolled her eyes as she dropped the bags onto the sofa. “God, you’re such a mom.”

“Yelena.”

Yelena just fixed her hair. “We need you to be someone’s date.”

“Can I ask who this someone is?”

“It’s-”

“No.” Yelena cut Kate off. “You can’t know because it’s a surprise. So, enough questions. Give me that.” 

Yelena took the laundry basket from you and pushed you along down the hallway. Meanwhile, she pulled out the worn hair tie from your hair. 

“Yeah, you need to get washed first. Use your fancy stuff.”

“Yelena-”

“Go, now. Please.”

You gave a small huff as you got into the bathroom. “Fine. But only because you said please.”

Yelena smiled before she shut the door. “Thank you.”

By the time you’d finished your everything shower, along with the fancier shampoo you tended to save for dates and nights out – a shampoo that’s only use was before parent-teacher meetings, or any place you had to look like you hadn’t been up half the night reading parenting books. 

You were rushed into your guest bedroom where Yelena sat you down at the vanity desk. Meanwhile, Kate was lying with your daughter on the bed, looking through different eyeshadow colours, naming them all. 

“Katie knows a lot of colours, momma.”

Kate smiled. “I really do. Hey, you know what this one is called?”

Your daughter shook her head. 

“Aquamarine.”

“Aq…aquaamarr-”

“Aquamarine,” Kate repeated a little slower and your daughter copied. 

An hour and many more unanswered questions later, Yelena had finished your hair whilst Kate was helping you apply your make-up. 

You had been planning a quiet night in. More than likely, it would have ended with you watching the last half an hour of a Disney movie alone whilst your daughter snored herself to sleep on the sofa. 

“Okay, dress time.”

Kate stood and opened up each garment bag. “Which one?” She asked your daughter. 

“Don’t I get to pick?”

“You don’t know the plan, momma.” Your almost five year old, told you. 

“There’s a plan?”

Kate shrugged. “There’s always a plan.”

It took a total of seven minutes and a game of ‘left or right’ to decide on your dress. A floor length gown with a high slit up one leg. There was a soft shimmer to the fabric like you’d been spritzed with body glitter beforehand.  

All three girls gasped as you stepped out from behind your dressing divider. 

“Wow, momma,” your daughter seemed mesmerised. “You look beautiful like the stars.”

You smiled, “Thank you, babygirl.” Then you turned to the two elders. “Will you answer my questions now?”

They smiled, like they knew something you didn’t. But before you could get your answers, someone knocked on the door. 

“I’ll get it!” Your daughter sprung from the bed, quickly followed by Yelena. 

“You really do look beautiful, Y/n.”

You smiled. “Kate, what’s going on?”

She just smiled back. “You’ll see.”

As you tightened your shoes a little, you heard your daughter call out for you. 

“You can come out now, momma!”

And as you did, it was like your breath had been taken from you. 

By your door, Bucky was standing wearing a tux. You’d always known he was handsome, but there was just something about a man in a tux…

You felt yourself smile as you walked closer. “I thought you were away-”

“I know, I was. But…I managed to finish early. You look…” Bucky was lost for words. Or maybe he had too many. 

Stunning, gorgeous, beautiful, breathtaking…

“She looks beautiful like stars,” your daughter jumped in. And he had to agree. 

“You’re right, firecracker. You look beautiful like stars.”

You blushed and smiled. “Thank you.”

Then Yelena jumped in. “Right, off you go.”

“What?”

“Don’t worry,” she pushed you both towards the door as Kate opened it. “We’ll make sure the little firecracker gets to bed before you’re home. She’ll be safe. She’s with two avengers.”

You knew that was true. But, you also knew there was a chance they wouldn’t be safe. Yelena was a trained spy, but Kate? Kate would crack under the pressure of your little girl's thousand and ten questions questionnaire. 

Before you knew it, you were being waltzed inside of the venue that had been rented out by Pepper’s company for the charity gala. All the while, holding onto Bucky’s hand and arm. 

“This is a lot of people,” you whispered to him. 

“We only have to show our faces for an hour. Two max. Then we can ditch.”

“Wouldn’t have taken you for a ditcher,” you told him, a little surprise in your voice. 

He chuckled. “No. Ma would have killed me for skipping school, not that I ever did. I actually enjoyed it. It was fun when Steve wasn’t getting his ass kicked. But, for things like this? It’s not my favourite thing in the world.”

You shrugged. You couldn’t blame him. It was lovely; getting ready, witnessing Bucky in a tux for the first time, feeling a little less guilty about leaving your daughter for the night. But there were a lot of people. People who you didn’t know. And you doubted Bucky knew, either. 

“But it’s better having you here with me.”

You whipped your gaze away from the crystal chandeliers, to your date. You covered the butterflies in your stomach with a soft smile. 

Before you could say anything, someone called your name. And then Bucky’s. 

It was Pepper. 

She introduced you both to different people before she was called away by someone else. 

Although it was a lot, it was easier having Bucky by your side. It was rare his hand ever left yours. At one point, his fingers had intertwined with yours and there was no way you were going to cut that off. 

By the second turn of the venue, looking at the items that were going to be auctioned off for charity, you and Bucky tried to sneak away from the crowd for a while. Only, you were caught in a conversation with a couple who – despite their fortune and education – didn’t know when to end a conversation. 

Half way through their very boring conversation, a thought passed through your head. Bucky could have fucked you right there and then, and they still would have carried on the conversation. 

But you pushed that thought away as quickly as it came. Although, it did try to resurface every ten minutes, when Bucky’s other hand would warm your lower back, your other hip or, briefly, the top of the slit in your dress. 

“We really should be going.”

You and Bucky managed to escape. But only for ten minutes. Because the couple were coming back. 

“Shit,” you swore under your breath. But Bucky beat you to it. “Fuck-”

You were pulled down a small corridor that led to the back of another room filled with  items up for auction, before being pulled into the smaller, darkened alcove in the wall. 

The couple passed you both right by, without being noticed. 

In the confined space, you and Bucky stayed as quiet as you could. Your hands were on his chest, letting you know that you weren’t alone with the rapid heartbeat in your ears. Though, his was a little calmer than your own. 

His own hands remained fixed on your hips, holding you steady on your feet. For a split second, he shifted and his knee brushed your inner thigh. 

You bit your lip and closed your eyes. 

Then you felt his hands lightly trace up your body. Your breath hitched. 

“Is everything okay?” Bucky asked you, his voice in a soft whisper by the shell of your ear. 

You nodded and answered quietly. “It’s fine.”

With Bucky’s gaze on you, you started to realise just how small the alcove was. The scent of his cologne was intricately lodging itself into your mind – any time you’d smell that scent, you’d been pulled right back into the alcove. 

Then, with a breathy chuckle, he smiled. “Want to get out of here?”

No. 

“Think the coast is clear?”

Please don’t be.

Bucky peered around the corner before he turned back and nodded. 

“Let’s go.”

Let’s stay. 

With Bucky’s hand in yours, he swiftly got you both out of the venue unnoticed. It wasn’t until you were half way down the block, and Bucky was laying his jacket over your shoulders, that you realised you’d forgotten your coat. 

“But, you’ll get cold.”

Bucky just smiled. “I’ve got the serum. I can’t get cold, doll.”

“Really?”

“Really,” he assured you. 

And for a while, you both just talked. About the night, about the couple that couldn’t seem to take a hint and the fact Bucky had come back early. 

And then he asked you to dance.

“There’s no music.”

“We don’t need music. Come on.”

The street was completely empty. A couple of street lamps lit the way, and every once in a while, a taxi would drive down the main road ahead. But other than that, it was just you and Bucky. 

“Is this what you used to do?” You asked him after a few moments. “Take a girl out, ask her to dance under the streetlights with you. Bet you were a real heartbreaker.”

Bucky chuckled softly. “Maybe. Just a little. But if this was a date, I would have done this-” Bucky softly dipped you in his arms. “By now.”

He was slow to bring you back to your feet, your forehead against his, your lungs in need of some air despite already being outside. 

His palm burned a little on your back. You just wished it would make a permanent mark. 

“Does that make this a date now?”

“I don’t know. I’d like it to be,” he admitted to you, honestly. “If I asked you on one, officially, would you say yes?”

“I wouldn’t want to lose you, Bucky.”

“I promise you won’t. If it goes badly, we can laugh about it later. Just, say yes?”

It took you a short moment, but you nodded. “Okay. Yes.”

Bucky walked you back home. And by the time you opened up your door, you walked in to find Kate, Yelena and your daughter all fast asleep on the sofa, the bright colours of the Disney Princess film flashing across their faces. 

“Do you want to get her out of the tangle?” You asked Bucky. “I would but I’m afraid to get a fist to my face.”

Bucky chuckled, softly closing the door as he nodded. Even he knew how it was when trying to wake Kate up. She was a fighter until she opened her eyes and realised who was trying to get her up. 

Bucky got your daughter out with ease and carried her to bed, leaving you to deal with the two sleeping Avengers. 

Meanwhile, down the hall as he laid her in her bed, she woke up briefly. 

“Did you ask her?”

Bucky brushed the baby hairs that had fallen from the braids in her hair. He smiled, “Yeah, I did.”

“Did she say yes?”

He nodded. “She said yes.”

She gave a tired cheer before he kissed her head and tucked her in. “Get some sleep, kiddo.”

The moment she rolled over, she was snoring. And just as Bucky passed the guest bedroom, he could hear two more sets of snoring coming from inside. 

You crept out of the room and softly clicked the door shut. From there, you and Bucky took your time walking back to the front door. 

“About this date-”

“We don’t have to rush anything,” he told you. “If you don’t feel comfortable-”

You smiled. “I was just gonna ask if you’re free on Sunday.”

Bucky was a little surprised but smiled. “I’m free on Sunday. I’ll pick you up at ten?”

It was definitely the earliest date you’d been on. 

“There’s a place I want to show you.”

You nodded, “Okay.”

After picking you up on his motorcycle, Bucky drove an hour out of the city to a small town. The entire main street was taken over by a farmer’s market. There were smaller stalls with different homemade items. 

You and Bucky ended up picking up a few things for a make-shift picnic in the park before he took you to the local watering hole where a live band was playing and people’s shoes were scuffing the wooden floor from dancing. 

“How did you find this place?”

“Barton told me about it.” Bucky told you. “Him and Laura passed through it once before, so I decided to come and check it out. I’ve wanted to show you ever since, but each time I came to tell you, something came up at work so I wouldn’t have been here to show you.”

“But now you are.”

“Now I am,” he told you before he took your hand. “Come with me.”

“Where are we going?”

“We’re dancing.”

It was a small two-step, nothing major. But for you, it felt like everything. Being in his arms again – you knew there would never be another place where you would feel this safe. Feeling his hand in yours, seeing the blush creep up on his cheeks each time you looked at him. 

Slowly, the rest of the room disappeared. The music from the band became nothing more than background noise and the only person you could see was Bucky. 

And when you closed your eyes, and felt his lips against yours, the only thing you could feel was him. 

The light breeze that wafted past the barn doors disappeared, the air of apple pie and ice cold lemonade disappeared from your skin.

The only thing that soaked its way into your bones was the feeling of him. His hand in yours, his other at your opposite hip, holding you flush against him, his belt buckle making a small impression behind the fabric of your outfit. 

It was more than you ever dreamt of. 

The Talk came two weeks later. The one that neither you and Bucky had mentioned, but had to be done. Because it wasn’t just both of you in the relationship, if you were going to continue. 

Your daughter was involved, too. 

“She loves you, Bucky.”

“And I’ll never want to see her hurt, either,” he finished. “I never want to hurt either of you, ever.”

“I know.”

“So, we take it slow,” he offered. “But I think we should involve her, too. You come as a package deal, and I don’t want to ignore that.”

You gave him a small smile. There had been plenty of one-stop dates who had ignored that fact, plenty who had wanted you to come as a single package. 

Bucky was the first. 

So, a few weeks later, when a knock came to your door, your daughter beat you to the door and opened it to find Bucky. 

“Bucky!” 

Your daughter ran for his legs and wrapped her arms around them before she let go and he bent down. 

“Why are you here?”

Bucky looked from your daughter, up to you with a half cocked smile. “I’m here to give you these.”

Behind his back, Bucky pulled out two bouquets of flowers. One was a little bigger than the second. 

He presented the smaller bunch to your daughter before he stood to his full height and handed you the bigger section. 

“And these are for you.”

“Thank you.”

Bucky crouched back down to your daughter. “And I was hoping that you and your mom would want to come with me for the day.”

“Where?”

“It’s a surprise.”

“Okay!” Your daughter turned around and ran back inside. 

“Careful, honey. Put your flowers in the kitchen, I’ll put them in some water!”

“Okay!” She yelled back before going to her bedroom to get her shoes. 

With the coast clear, Bucky leaned in and pressed three light kisses to your lips. 

“You didn’t have to do this, you know.”

“I know, but I wanted to.”

Bucky closed the door as he entered and you walked into your kitchen to run the tap for some water. 

“So, where are we going?”

He smiled. “It’s a surprise.”

“From me, too?”

He nodded. 

Two minutes later, your daughter came running back down the hall. Bucky managed to scoop her up before she tripped down the small step. 

“Got my shoes!”

“Firecracker?”

“Yes?”

“Your shoes are on the wrong feet, honey,” he told her. She looked down, very confused. 

Bucky popped her on the kitchen island before offering to fix them. Swinging her feet, she nodded. 

As you placed the flowers inside of a vase, finding a smaller one for your daughter’s; you watched as Bucky taught her a trick to always remember her left and right before he reached into one of the cupboard draws and pulled out a small sheet of stickers. 

“When the star touches, then you know they’re on the right feet.”

“So cool.”

A little under an hour later, your daughter was on Bucky’s shoulders, looking with amazement at all the artifacts in the museum. You could see her little brain working overtime to find out all the answers to every question she had, knowing she was going to be telling Kate and Yelena all about it in a few days time. 

After lunch and the second half of the tour, you heard your daughter gasp before she took your hand and dragged you down the hall. 

Secretly having been holding Bucky’s hand, you pulled him with you. 

“Slow down, honey. Where are we going?”

“Come on, you gotta see! Come on!”

By the time you both found yourself in the exhibit room, you looked around and realised why she had seemed so excited. 

The entire thing was dedicated to Captain America. 

“Look, momma. It’s Steve!”

You picked your daughter up and carried her over. “That’s right, honey.”

“Look, Bucky. It’s you.”

Bucky smiled. “That’s me.”

“Why is it not got colours?”

Bucky chuckled. “Because it’s from the 1940s.”

Your daughter watched, puzzled, as a small clip of Bucky and Steve laughing played on the big screen. 

“That’s over 90 years ago.”

“Wow, that’s old.”

You and Bucky chuckled lightly, just before your daughter wiggled her way out of your arms. The moment her feet were planted on the floor, she ran over to the small window where people were standing on the scale. 

The picture didn’t even move. 

“Come here, firecracker.” Bucky scooped your daughter up in his arms and planted himself on the scale. The picture changed and you watched as your daughter looked at herself in uniform. 

However, for a glimpse, you caught Bucky’s face in the reflection. 

You’d seen plenty of pictures, news segments, documentaries and home videos of Bucky both in and out of uniform, back in the 40s. But there was just something in that moment that it hit you- 

Bucky had lived that life. He’d seen that world. If you had met him on the streets of Brooklyn over ninety years ago, you would have been watching him getting shipped out to England. 

“Okay, where to next?”

“Hmm, over there! Come on, momma!”

The little voice, filled to the brim with excitement, broke you out of your trance long enough for you to follow after them. 

However, hours later; long after Bucky had carried your daughter from her car seat and up the steps and into your apartment. You surprised him. 

He was in your kitchen, waiting for the kettle to boil as you got dressed into your home clothes. But, when you returned and he felt his heart light up at seeing you as you, he was shocked. 

You hugged him. 

He held back the laugh in his chest. “What’s this for?”

“Just because,” you told him. 

Then you kissed him. 

“And that?”

“That was because I love you.”

Bucky faulted for a moment. He didn’t want to come off too excited in case he’d heard wrong. 

“You love me?”

You nodded. “I love you. I’m in love with you. I have been for a long time, but seeing you today…it just hit me. And I wanted to tell you.”

Then he smiled, keeping his hands on your hips as he pulled you closer. “I’m glad, because I’m in love with you, too.”

A smile broke onto your face before it was kissed away by him, his hands pulling you flush against his body. 

It had taken years for you to realise, and even longer to work up the courage to tell him. 

Who knew all it took was a family trip to the museum? 

Thankfully, those family trips started to become more frequent. As did the solo and family dates you, Bucky and your daughter went on. 

But, for Bucky, nothing beat the date night you and he had after the parent-teacher meeting you both attended just a little under a year of dating. 

It was in that meeting that the teacher gushed over how far your daughter had come in the last year, how incredible her artwork was and how they were looking at moving her up a couple of reading grades. 

Although Bucky wasn’t there to create your daughter, or there to cut the cord. She was like him in so many ways, it was scary. 

The pouting face when she was tired, the overly cute aggressive face she gave when she was getting competitive. And then there was her love for school. Steve had shown you some of Bucky’s old school reports. 

Your daughter was starting to get the same. 

Maybe Bucky wasn’t your daughter’s father by birth, but he was her dad in every way that counted. He dried the tears, cleaned the grazed knees, carried her sleeping frame to bed. 

And after that parent-teacher meeting, it was going to become official. 

He had proposed and you said yes. 

And when your daughter had found out the next morning when you and Bucky went to pick her up from the compound, where Sam and Yelena had been put on babysitting duty, she cried. 

“Can I call you my daddy now?”

Through your own happy tears, you watched Bucky’s own fall. He was hugging your daughter just as tight as she was holding onto him. 

“I’d love nothing more, firecracker.”

[shakysif]

Omg.. I loved this way too much...

Hair Pulling (Bucky Barnes)

Description: Bucky liked it when she pulled his hair during a fight.

Warning: Hair Pulling, Hand Job

Word Count: 1,051

Request: HELLOOO i luv your recent fics!! Could i request a fic with bucky and hairpulling? congressman/post credit scene bucky!!

Ever since the first time they fought and she pulled on his hair, he knew that he discovered a new kink. She was trying to kill him and didn’t even mean it to come off like that but it did and now he sat across from her in the new avengers tower thinking about it over and over again.

She definitely thought that Bucky was hot, I mean who wouldn’t? He was very quiet around her and if he did talk to her, he stuttered. It never made sense to her, they all tried to kill each other and yet everything was fine but maybe he took it to heart.

He didn’t but why else would he act like that? “How’d the mission go?” She asked, looking at him. He didn’t even make eye contact as he answered, “Good.” She nodded and took a sip of her wine. The others scattered about after dinner, leaving these two at the dinner table. “You know why Val never assigns us on missions together?” She asked him.

He did know why, he begged her not to without explanation but he wasn’t gonna say that. “Not sure.” He took a sip of his drink and she sighed. It’s been months and he has yet to come out of this shell that he has around her. “I’m sorry about trying to kill you.” She said and for the first time he looked at her.

“What?” He asked, not understanding why that was being brought up. “I take it that’s why you don’t talk to me.” Oh how he wished it was that simple. “I don’t avoid you.” He lied, they both knew it. She let out a sarcastic laugh, “Sure.” She got up with her plate and wine glass, walking past him. He felt ashamed that he couldn’t just admit it to her and that he acted that way. He had to say something to her, it was eating at him.

She washed her dish, unlike everyone else and placed that and her fork back where they go. As she washed her wine glass, Bucky nearly scared her, “It’s something you did while trying to kill me.” He says and she nearly jumps out of her skin. She turned to him, wide eyes at first until questioning him.

He opened his mouth at least 4 times before getting it out, “You pulled my hair.” She wanted to laugh but bit her lip. “I pulled your hair so you’re avoiding me?” Now it just sounded ridiculous and he sighed. He ran his hand through his hair and he could still feel the yanks she gave him. “I’m sorry I touched your precious locks.” She joked, not taking this seriously.

“It’s not about that.” He said and she was more confused than ever. “Then what?” His face went red and he felt embarrassed, he hadn’t even said it yet. She stared at him, waiting for the reason, wondering what the hell it could be. “I like it.” He admitted and her jaw dropped. He liked her pulling his hair while trying to kill him? She was in shock and didn’t know what to say. She just stared at him, for what seemed like hours until he started to walk away.

She quickly set the wine glass down and walked over to him, grabbing his hair and pulling it. Bucky was surprised by this and gasped, it sounded pathetic but hot. “Where do you think you’re going?” She asked him, still having his hair in her hand. “You like this don’t you?” She teased, not giving him time to respond. He nodded, not being able to form words without making noises that weren’t deemed appropriate for the kitchen.

“Yeah, I know you do.” She coos and her other hand moves to his front, feeling his built body through the tight black shirt he wore. His breathing picked up as she felt him up and down, memorizing the way he felt. She tugged a bit on his hair and he let out a little moan, “Awww that’s cute.” She teased as her hand moved to his shorts that he was wearing. She could feel his hard dick through them, begging for attention.

“This hard just from me pulling your hair?” She teased and he couldn’t speak, couldn’t think with her hands on him like this. He bit his lip as he felt her hand ghost over his bulge before she stuck her hand in his shorts. Her hand was soft and felt good on him, it nearly made him moan but he kept it down. He gripped the counter hard as her hand touched his bare cock, lightly running her nails over it.

“It feels so nice.” She whispered and wrapped her hand around him. He sucked in a breath and threw his head back even more, “Fuck.” He whispered. She started to move her hand along his dick, feeling how girthy and thick he was. He was big and maybe that was the serum or maybe he just had a big dick, either way she loved it. She picked up the pace causing him to groan, her hand in his hair gripped more firmly, she was right against his back.

She was shorter than him so she really couldn’t see what was going on but the noises he let out was good enough. He was putty in her hands, loving the way her hands felt. She felt him twitch against her palm and she laughed, “You’re already close?” She teased and he bit a “fuck you” out.

He’s never been more turned on in his life and he didn’t care that he was already close. “Cum for me Bucky.” She said and he didn’t need to be told twice. She gave his hair a final yank and he came with a whine. His eyes nearly rolled as he came all in his shorts.

She milked him with her hand, getting every last drop out. She pulled her hand out of his shorts and let go of his hair while he caught his breath. She smirked and licked his cum off her hand. “Damn.” She breathed out and went back to washing the wine glass, leaving him to go deal with his problem. Things would definitely change between them now.

[shakysif]

[shakysif]

I need a Thunderbolts* Breakfast club au so bad.

We even got the perfect stand in for vice principal Vernon

[shakysif]

[shakysif]

This series was just so amazing.😭🤍

It had me checking everyday to see if there was a new chapter, I'm kinda sad it's the end but then again It's an amazing ending and I loved it so much. Them not looking for revenge was one of my favorite parts to it made them see more human and healing, and also Alpine I loved her so much. I loved every chapter of this so much I am definitely reading more of your work in the future you're amazing.🩷

˗ˏˋ ★ Little Dove ★ ˎˊ˗

winter soldier x empath!reader

summary: Hydra sends you — a broken empath — into the Winter Soldier’s cell to keep him calm. You’re supposed to soften him. Control him. But instead, something starts to unravel. In both of you.

word count: 7849

WARNINGS: 18+ explicit content, MDNI— disclaimer: contains dark themes. read at your own discretion! angst, slowburn, captivity, tortures, hydra, violence, sa (mentioned), brainwashing, non-consensual experimentation, hurt/comfort, trauma, smut.

Chapter 9 (Final) | Previous Chapter

The door clicks shut. It’s such a small sound. Barely more than a whisper of wood and metal. But it echoes in the silence like a gunshot.

You don’t move. Not for a long time.

Just stand there, in the middle of the room, in the hollow space where he had been — where he was — and stare at the door like maybe if you look hard enough, it’ll open again. Like maybe you imagined the whole thing. Like maybe he didn’t just leave.

Again.

Your hands are still trembling. You press them to your stomach like you’re trying to hold yourself together, like you can keep the ache from spreading. But it’s already crawling up your throat, tight and hot and bitter.

You sink down to the floor slowly, tears falling down your face.

Gone.

Gone, again.

A ragged breath breaks out of you. Then another. Then another.

And then the sob hits.

Ugly and broken and helpless, like something inside you finally cracked wide open. You press your knuckles to your mouth to keep the sound in, but it still slips through. You can’t stop it.

You waited.

You survived.

You believed.

And he still left.

Maybe he was right. Maybe you are better off without him.

But that doesn’t make it hurt less.

You curl in on yourself on the floor, knees to your chest, shaking like a storm lives under your skin. You don’t know how long you sit there. Minutes. Hours. The light fades behind the curtains and you don’t notice.

You’ve spent so long hoping for him.

And now?

Now you’re just empty.

And alone… again.

———

The apartment is dark.

He didn’t bother turning the lights on when he got back. Just dropped his keys somewhere, let the door shut behind him, and stood there in the silence, heart pounding like he’d just come back from war.

Maybe he had.

James sits on the edge of his bed, elbows on his knees, hands covering his face like they might hold the world still if he presses hard enough.

They don’t.

His chest is tight. Too tight. Like he can’t breathe right, like something cracked in him back there and now he’s trying to keep all the pieces from spilling out.

Alpine pads in from the hallway, soft and quiet as always. She jumps onto the bed, curls up next to him like she knows. He reaches out, touches her fur gently — more habit than thought.

But his hands are shaking.

He hasn’t stopped shaking since he left her.

The worst part? He thought it was the right thing. He wanted it to be the right thing.

He told himself he was doing it for her. That she deserved more. That maybe she’d find peace without him — because he’s never been good at peace. Never been anything but a knife, a shadow, a ghost trying to learn how to be human again.

And her? She’s the only reason he ever even tried.

James exhales a ragged breath, dragging his palms down his face. His eyes are burning. They’ve been burning for hours. He’d cried in the damn alleyway outside her building, fists clenched in his coat like it was the only thing keeping him from turning back around. Then he went to a bar and drank until it became dark outside.

He thought walking away would be mercy.

But it feels like punishment.

Her face won’t leave his mind. The way her voice cracked when she whispered his name. The way she looked up at him like he was still worth something, even after everything.

Even after what she’d done.

Even after what he’d done.

God, he still loves her.

He never stopped.

And seeing her again — touching her, holding her, hearing her say she still loves him — it didn’t make things easier. It made it worse.

Because it made it real.

It made him remember all over again what it was like to have her. To lose her. And now? He walked away a second time, thinking maybe this time it wouldn’t destroy them both.

His fingers curl in his hair, tugging hard enough to sting. His elbows dig into his knees. He leans forward like he’s trying to collapse in on himself, like if he can just make himself small enough, the guilt won’t find him.

But it always does.

It sits heavy in his chest. Sinks into his bones. Makes it hard to think, hard to breathe.

He keeps seeing her face.

Not just today — but all of it. Back then. In the cell. In the dark. The way she used to smile like it cost her something. The way her hands used to shake when she reached for him anyway. The way she used to whisper his name like it meant more than anything else in the world.

He had been hers.

And she had been his.

And now…

He covers his face again, and the first sound that breaks out of him is a breath that shatters on the way up.

Then another.

Then a sob. Quiet. Gutted.

Then another.

And then he’s crying, really crying — not like earlier, not the quiet grief in her arms. This is messy. This is raw. This is James Barnes alone in a dark apartment, breaking into pieces with no one there to catch them.

Because he let her go.

Because he walked away.

“God,” he chokes out, hoarse. “What have I done?” He says it to the dark. To the silence. To himself. „What the hell did I do?”

His shoulders shake with it. He bends forward until his forehead nearly touches the floor, arms around his head like he’s trying to keep himself from falling apart. But it’s too late for that.

He’s already fallen.

He thought he was doing the right thing.

His breathing still stutters, raw in the quiet.

Tears still streak down his face.

But something shifts.

It’s quiet at first. Small. A flicker under the chest-crushing weight of guilt — but it grows.

Because beneath all the grief, all the fear, there’s something else rising up.

No.

He shakes his head, slow at first, then harder. “No.”

He wipes at his face roughly, his jaw clenching. His throat burns, but his hands curl into fists like he’s fighting for something again — for her.

“I can’t—” His voice cracks, breaks in the middle, but he pushes through it. “I can’t end it like that.”

Not after everything they survived. Not after what she said. Not after the look in her eyes when she whispered his name like it still meant hope.

“I can’t lose her,” he breathes.

And this time, it’s not grief. It’s resolve.

He’s already moving — stumbling to his feet, swiping his keys from the counter, grabbing his jacket on the way to the door. The pain in his chest is still there, but so is the need. The need to get to her. To make it right. To try.

The door slams behind him.

The cold air hits his face like a slap, but it grounds him. He swings his leg over the motorcycle, fists clenching the handles and the engine roars to life.

———

You’re still crying.

Not the kind of crying that wracks your body, not anymore. That part already passed — hours ago, maybe. You’re not even sure what time it is.

Now, the tears just fall.

Silent. Endless. Soaking the pillow clutched to your chest.

Your eyes are swollen, your cheeks burn, and your heart feels like something rotted inside it. Like it gave out. Like he took it with him when he left — again.

You barely hear the knock. It’s soft. Hesitant. Just once.

Your brow furrows through the haze. You sit up slowly, disoriented, blinking against the salt stinging your vision. Your limbs feel too heavy, like gravity’s winning tonight. But somehow, you move. One foot in front of the other.

You cross the room, open the door and freeze.

He’s standing there.

James.

Still breathing hard like he ran the whole way. His hair is windswept, his eyes bloodshot, and something in his face looks like it’s shattering from the inside out.

You don’t speak.

Neither does he.

There’s only one heartbeat between you.

And then his hands are in your hair, and his mouth crashes into yours like he’s been dying for it since the second he left.

It’s not careful.

It’s desperate.

It’s wet from tears — yours, his, you don’t even know — and you gasp into it, grabbing his jacket like it’s the only thing keeping you standing. Your back hits the door frame, but you barely feel it. All you feel is him.

James. Real. Here.

His lips part just long enough to breathe against your mouth. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs, and it breaks you open all over again.

You kiss him like you’re drowning. Like if you stop, he’ll vanish again.

But he doesn’t. He holds you tighter and he kisses you like he finally understands — this is home. This is what he couldn’t walk away from.

His lips are still on yours when you pull him inside.

The door closes behind him, but the rest of the world might as well not exist.

It’s just him.

Just you.

Your hands are in his hair, pulling him closer like you’ll fall apart if there’s even an inch between you. And James — he follows, helpless against it, like gravity pulled him here and you’re the only thing keeping him from collapsing.

His breath hitches as your fingers slide down his neck, along the curve of his spine. He trembles like he’s trying not to break.

“I thought I lost you,” you whisper against his mouth. “Again.”

“You didn’t,” he breathes, voice cracking. “God, Dove. I tried—I thought it was better. I thought we’d both be better off but I can’t—I can’t—”

You kiss him before he can finish the sentence.

It’s messier this time. Softer. Like you’re pouring every second of pain and hope and loneliness into him. Like you’re asking him to stay without saying the words.

He answers with his hands.

Sliding under your shirt. Touching you like he’s afraid you’ll fade if he lets go. Like he’s still trying to memorize the feel of your skin in case it’s taken from him again.

You take off his jacket, he takes off your shirt, then unclips your bra, unzips your pants — it’s not rushed but desperate. Fumbling. Hands shaking. Mouths parted only long enough to breathe the other in.

James doesn’t waste any time. He lifts you up and holds in his arms, still kissing as he takes you to your bedroom.

When he lays you back on the bed, it’s not lust that flickers in his eyes.

It’s devotion.

Like you’re something sacred.

His fingers trail along your sides, slow and reverent, as if he’s afraid he’ll hurt you. You reach up, cup his jaw, and whisper his name like it’s the only thing you still believe in.

“I never stopped loving you,” you say.

And his heart breaks all over again.

His mouth finds yours, but it’s not hurried. He kisses you like a confession. Like he’s sorry. Like he’s home.

You feel it in the way his hands move — slow, shaking, almost afraid to touch too much, like you might slip through his fingers if he isn’t careful. But you don’t pull away. You don’t let him hesitate.

You guide one of his hands to your bare waist, press it there like you’re telling him: I’m here. I’m real. You’re allowed.

He exhales — something between a sob and a moan — and then he’s kissing down your neck, your collarbone, his breath hot and uneven. Every inch he touches feels like a prayer, like he’s begging for forgiveness without words.

His hands splay across your stomach, your ribs, as if relearning the shape of you. He’s quiet, reverent, eyes flicking up now and then like he can’t believe this is happening. That you’re happening.

Your fingers tug at the hem of his shirt. He lets you pull it over his head, and you trace the scars across his chest, across his shoulder. The metal arm gleams faintly in the low light — but he doesn’t flinch from your touch. Not this time.

You kiss the center of his chest, right over his heart.

And James stills.

Like maybe that’s the moment that breaks him.

“Dove…” he whispers, barely audible. His voice catches. “I don’t deserve you.”

You shake your head, hands cupping his face, bringing him back to you. “Yes, you do,” you whisper. “You always did.”

His eyes fall closed. His forehead leans into yours. And for a second, neither of you speak. You just breathe — wrapped in each other, warm and bare and breaking open.

Then he moves again.

Gentler this time.

His mouth finds your breast, slow and soft, lips parting over your skin with reverence. His tongue circles your nipple, teasing, and your back arches at the sensation — not because it’s rough, but because it’s him. Because it’s James. And you’ve waited so long to be touched like this.

He moves lower, kissing along your ribs, your stomach, every press of his mouth a silent vow.

You tug him back up to you before he can get too far.

“I need you,” you whisper, voice breaking. “Please, James. I just—I need to feel you.”

His hand cradles your cheek. “You have me.”

The words settle into you like warmth. Like truth. Like everything you’d been aching to believe for years.

Then his hand drifts lower.

He doesn’t rush. His fingers trail down your side, tracing the curve of your hip, the dip of your thigh, until they hook gently under the waistband of your panties. He pauses—eyes flicking up to meet yours, asking silently.

You nod, breath caught in your throat.

He slides them down slowly, reverently, like unwrapping something fragile. His metal hand grazes your skin—cool, steady, grounding. And when he sees all of you, bare and open beneath him, his breath stutters.

“God, Dove…” he whispers, like he’s never seen anything so beautiful.

You reach for him, your fingers curling in the back of his neck, grounding him as much as he’s grounding you. But he doesn’t move up—he shifts lower instead, settling between your legs, spreading you open with gentle, trembling hands.

And then he touches you.

Soft at first. Featherlight strokes that make you gasp, your hips twitching under his touch. His fingers slide through your slick, slow and reverent, as if he’s trying to memorize the way you feel. His mouth parts slightly, eyes locked on you, like he’s watching something sacred unravel.

„You’re so beautiful.” he murmurs, almost to himself.

A blush blooms on your skin, but you don’t look away. You don’t hide.

His thumb brushes your clit—barely a whisper of pressure—but your breath hitches like he’s stolen it from your lungs. He watches your reaction like it’s everything he’s ever needed, like your pleasure is the only thing that matters.

His fingers circle, gentle but unrelenting, and the tension builds slow and steady in your stomach. You arch into him, whispering his name like a prayer.

“James…”

He kisses the inside of your thigh, his stubble dragging just enough to make you shiver. “I’ve missed you,” he says into your skin.

His fingers slip inside you — one first, then a second, thick and sure, curling just right. You gasp, hands tangling in the sheets. He moves slow but deep, coaxing sounds from you like he’s learning a language he once forgot.

Tears sting your eyes, but not from pain. From everything — from the years lost, from the way he touches you like he still can’t believe this is real. From the love in his eyes, full and raw and aching.

And when his thumb finds your clit again — when he strokes in that perfect rhythm, fingers deep and deliberate — you can barely hold on.

“Come for me,” he whispers. “Please, Dove. Let me feel you.”

And you do.

With his name on your lips and his hand inside you, you come apart — not just from pleasure, but from release, from everything you’ve carried alone for too long.

And James is there, grounding you through every wave of it, holding you like he never plans to let go.

You’re still shaking from your release when he leans over you again, mouth brushing yours, his hand never leaving your body. You kiss him — slow, open-mouthed, tasting the way he trembles against you.

“I love you,” you whisper, breathless. “I never stopped.”

His forehead presses to yours, eyes shut like he’s holding in everything. “I love you too,” he exhales like it breaks him. „So damn much.”

Then he shifts back. You watch his hands fumble at his belt — breath shaky, movements stiff — like he’s still not convinced this is real. But it is. He’s here. And when he finally shoves his pants and briefs down and off, your breath catches.

He’s hard, flushed, the tip already glistening.

But more than that — he’s vulnerable.

He kneels between your legs, eyes dragging up your body, and for a moment he just looks at you. His hand wraps around himself, stroking slowly, like he needs to steady himself, to make sure he doesn’t fall apart before he even gets to touch you.

“You’re sure?” he asks, voice hoarse.

You reach for him, fingers slipping into his hair as you pull him down over you again. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

That’s all he needs. He lines himself up, one hand guiding himself to your entrance, and you feel the thick press of him nudging against your folds. You gasp — the sensation too much, too good, too real. He pushes in slowly, inch by inch, until he’s fully buried inside you, and you both break at the feeling.

“Fuck—” he chokes, his forehead falling to your shoulder, breath ragged. “You feel—God, Dove, I forgot what it was like to feel anything.”

You wrap your legs around him, holding him in, grounding him. “Then feel me. I’m right here.”

And he does.

He moves inside you with a pace that’s slow but deep, every thrust deliberate — like he’s trying to carve himself into you, into your memory, into every place he’d been ripped from. His hips roll, hitting that spot inside you again and again, and you moan his name like it’s the only word that matters.

His mouth finds your neck, your jaw, your lips. Kissing everywhere. Hands roaming like he can’t decide whether to hold your waist or your hips or your face — like he wants to hold all of you at once.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers into your skin, voice cracking. “For leaving. For doubting this. For every fucking second I didn’t come back to you.”

“Shh,” you breathe, cupping his face. “You’re here now. That’s all I ever wanted.”

And it’s true.

Every thrust is forgiveness. Every kiss, a confession. There’s nothing hurried, nothing performative — just the sound of your breath mingled with his, the quiet slap of skin, the creak of the mattress beneath your desperation.

You tighten around him and his rhythm stutters — jaw clenching, body trembling as he buries himself deeper, slower, like he’s trying to make it last.

“I’m close,” you gasp. “James—please—”

“I’ve got you,” he breathes. „Come for me, baby.”

You do.

This time it’s even stronger — your body pulling him deeper, your nails digging into his back, your voice lost in the wave of sensation crashing through you. He groans, broken and raw, and follows you over the edge, hips stuttering, coming inside you with a shudder that shakes through every part of him.

And then he just holds you. Still inside you. Still breathing like he’s never felt this alive.

His head drops to your chest, and your fingers thread into his hair, both of you clinging like the world might take this away again.

For a long time, there’s only the sound of breathing.

His, still a little uneven.

Yours, trying not to crack.

You can feel his heartbeat against your chest — fast and unsteady, like he hasn’t quite landed yet. Like he’s still holding on for dear life. His arms are around your waist, your thighs still wrapped around his hips, your bodies pressed together like they’ve finally come home.

Neither of you speak.

Not yet.

He doesn’t pull out right away. Maybe he’s scared it’ll make it real — that it’ll break the spell, that it’ll mean goodbye all over again. So instead, he holds you tighter. Hides his face against your collarbone like he can’t bear to be seen.

You card your fingers through his damp hair, slow and gentle. His shoulders relax — just a little — like your touch is the only thing anchoring him to the world.

Eventually, he shifts. Slips out of you with a quiet gasp and a kiss pressed to your shoulder, your chest, your ribs — like he’s trying to apologize without words.

You help guide him under the covers, both of you bare, limbs tangled beneath the sheets. It’s clumsy. Tender. Like neither of you are sure if you’re allowed to rest — but you do. Together.

His hand finds yours between your bodies. Your fingers interlace automatically, and he holds on like he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

You turn to face him in the dark.

His eyes are open. Red-rimmed. Tired.

But soft.

So, so soft.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he whispers, voice like cracked glass. “I thought walking away would save us both.”

You stroke your thumb over his cheek. “You’re allowed to be scared.”

His jaw clenches. “I was a coward.”

“No,” you say, firm but quiet. “You were lost. So was I. But I never stopped waiting for you.”

His breath hitches.

You lean in, press a kiss to the corner of his mouth, then his brow. “You came back.”

“I almost didn’t,” he murmurs, pulling you closer. “God, Dove… I almost let you go.”

You shake your head, tears burning again. “But you didn’t.”

He kisses you again — soft this time. No heat, no desperation. Just lips pressed gently to yours like a promise.

Then his forehead rests against yours, both of you curled together in the dark.

There’s nothing left to prove. No words left to chase. But he speaks anyway, voice low in the hush between you.

“Is that really your name now?”

You shift your head where it rests on his chest. “What?”

“Dove,” James says, his fingers absently tracing patterns on your spine. “You kept it.”

You pause. Then nod, barely. “Yeah.”

He’s quiet for a moment. Then, even softer: “I gave you that name.”

“I know,” you whisper.

His hand stills, resting warm against your skin. You lift your head just enough to meet his gaze.

“It was the only thing I had,” you say. “Back then, when everything else was taken. When I didn’t even know who I was.”

His expression crumples, guilt flickering behind his eyes. “I shouldn’t have—”

“No,” you cut in, gently. “Don’t. That name was the first thing that felt kind. You called me Dove when no one else saw me as anything more than a tool. You gave me something soft when all I knew was pain.”

His throat works around a lump. “I didn’t think you’d keep it.”

You smile faintly. “It didn’t feel like it belonged to them. It felt like… you. Like a part of you I carried with me.”

He closes his eyes, jaw clenched, and for a moment you think he might cry again.

“I never remembered who I was,” you say softly. “Not really. Sometimes I think there’s something just out of reach, but it never comes.”

His eyes open, full of that quiet, aching sorrow.

“So I made a choice,” you continue. “To be someone new. To start with the one thing that felt real. You called me Dove, so that’s who I became.”

He reaches up, hand cradling your cheek with infinite care.

“You have no idea what that means to me,” he says, voice breaking.

You lean into his touch, eyes closing. “I think I do.”

He draws you in again, kissing you slowly, like he’s memorizing your name all over again — not just the word, but the meaning of it. The you that was born from it.

When he pulls back, he rests his forehead against yours.

“I didn’t just name you,” he murmurs. “You saved me too.” His fingers comb gently through your hair, like he’s afraid to stop touching you. Like the moment might vanish if he lets it.

You shift slightly, head still on his chest. “What now?”

His breath catches. Not because he doesn’t have thoughts — but because for once, he’s allowed to have them.

“I don’t know,” he admits, voice low. “I never let myself think past surviving.”

You nod slowly, eyes tracing the lines of his chest, the rise and fall of breath beneath your hand. “Same.”

He presses a kiss to your temple. “But I want to.”

That makes your heart clench, just a little. Hope always hurts a bit, even when it’s finally real.

“You want… what?” you ask, barely above a whisper.

He swallows, gaze heavy with emotion as it finds yours. “You.”

The word lands soft and certain between you, no longer a question.

“I want to be with you,” he says. “Not in secret. Not in pieces. I want real mornings. Real choices. I want a future.”

Tears well again before you can stop them, but this time it’s not grief. It’s relief. It’s finally.

“I don’t have much,” you say. “I don’t even have a name besides the one you gave me. No history. No family. Just… this apartment. A few books. Some clothes that don’t really fit.”

James cups your face like it’s the only answer that matters.

“You have me.”

A small, wet laugh escapes you, and you lean into his touch. “I’ve been alone for so long.”

“Not anymore,” he murmurs.

You fall quiet again, your fingers toying with the dog tag still hanging around his neck. “So… we start over?”

He nods. “Together this time.”

You exhale slowly, something tight inside your chest finally loosening.

It won’t be easy. You both know that. You still wake screaming some nights. He still has shadows under his skin that may never fully fade. But this — this is the first step forward.

“You’re staying tonight,” you say. “Right?”

He smiles, tired and full of something that looks a lot like peace. “You’re not getting rid of me.”

You curl closer. His arms pull tighter around you.

And this time, when your eyes finally flutter shut, it’s not because you’re hiding from the world.

It’s because — for the first time in years — you feel safe.

———

The morning light filters in soft and golden, slipping through the curtains like it’s trying not to wake you.

But you’re already awake. Your eyes open slow. The sheets are warm. Your limbs ache in that sweet, used-up way, like your body remembers what your mind still can’t quite believe. You turn your head and he’s there.

James.

Asleep beside you, his face slack with peace you’ve never seen on him before. One arm draped loosely across your waist, like even in sleep he can’t bear to let you go.

You don’t move.

You barely breathe.

You just watch him, like if you blink too hard he’ll disappear.

Your fingers twitch, then slowly lift to brush a strand of hair from his face. His lashes flutter, just slightly, but he doesn’t wake. And still — still, your heart stumbles in your chest like it doesn’t understand this. Like it never dared to hope for a moment this soft.

He came back.

He chose you.

You’re so caught in the fragile stillness of it that you don’t even realize your thumb is stroking over the scar at his cheek until his eyes crack open.

Sleepy.

Disoriented.

Beautiful.

“…Dove?” His voice is hoarse, low, like he forgot how to use it.

You nod slowly, lips parting, but no words come.

He stares at you a second longer, as if he’s trying to tell if this is a dream.

Then he exhales, brokenly. His hand tightens around your waist. “You’re still here.”

“So are you,” you whisper.

He nods, but his brow tenses — vulnerable in a way he rarely lets himself be. “I thought maybe I imagined it.”

“I did too.”

You’re quiet after that. Just lying there, looking at each other, hearts so full they don’t know how to carry it.

He shifts closer, pressing his forehead to yours. You feel his breath on your lips.

“I didn’t sleep this well in years,” he murmurs. “I didn’t think I ever would again.”

You almost cry right there.

Instead, you reach for him, your fingers threading through his.

“I keep thinking… if I move too fast, you’ll vanish.”

“I won’t,” he says, steady now. “I’m not going anywhere.”

His fingers lace with yours beneath the sheets, warm and solid.

You’re close enough to feel the quiet rhythm of his breathing, to see the faint lines by his eyes and the stubble on his jaw — so familiar now it aches. The kind of closeness you used to only dream about. The kind you thought you’d never have again.

His lips brush yours. Barely a kiss at first. Just a ghost of contact. A question.

You answer it by leaning in, pressing your mouth to his with a softness that trembles at the edges. Like you’re still afraid to ask for too much.

James makes a low sound in his throat, like it’s breaking him open.

He kisses you again, deeper this time, but still unhurried. Still tender. His hand cups your jaw like he’s scared to hold you any other way. Like you’re something fragile he’s still learning how to touch.

You breathe into him, every inch of your body leaning toward the warmth of his.

This isn’t the kind of kiss that tries to ignite anything — not yet. It’s the kind that stays. The kind that rebuilds.

When he pulls back, his lips hover just above yours, and his eyes are so close you can’t look away.

“I missed this,” he whispers.

You smile, a little sad, a little awed. „Me too.”

His thumb strokes your cheek, and he kisses you once more. Softer than ever.

Like he’s sealing something between you.

„I love you,” he murmurs against your skin. “And I’m not leaving you again.”

———

It’s later in the day, the sunlight mellow and golden, and you’re sitting on the back of James’s motorcycle , your arms wrapped around his middle, still unsure why you’re going anywhere at all. He didn’t say much just „I have something to do.” Then held your face in his hands and asked softly, “Come with me?” like it wasn’t even a question.

Now here you are, pulling up in front of a modest little brownstone tucked away in Brooklyn. Still a little dazed from the ride. From everything.

He parks the motorcycle and helps you off, holding your hand without thinking twice. And when he unlocks the front door, he pauses — just long enough to glance at you with something nervous in his expression. Almost sheepish.

You raise an eyebrow. “What?”

“You’ll see.”

He pushes open the door.

You step inside with him — and immediately hear it.

A soft meow, low and unimpressed.

And then a blur of white fur bounds into the hallway, tail high, expression pure royalty.

You blink. “Is that—?”

“Alpine,” James says, already crouching down to greet her. His whole face softens as he runs a hand along her back. “Hey, girl. I know, I know. I’m late.”

The cat chirrups, then glances at you.

Suspicious. Curious.

“…You have a cat?” you whisper, stunned.

He looks up at you, rubbing behind Alpine’s ears with that quiet gentleness that’s so him. “Yeah. Didn’t exactly plan it. She picked me.”

You laugh, still in awe. “You… have a cat.”

James stands, brushing fur from his jeans. “What, you thought I just brooded all day and sharpened knives in the dark?”

You shrug, grinning. “A little.”

Alpine pads over to you cautiously, sniffs at your hand, and then — to James’s astonishment — immediately headbutts your leg before curling around your feet.

Your eyes widen. “Oh my God.”

“She likes no one,” James says, almost betrayed.

You crouch down to pet her, your voice going soft. “Hi, pretty girl. You’re just as stubborn as your dad, huh?”

James makes a strangled noise behind you.

You glance back at him, smirking. “What? Too soon?”

He’s watching you with the most ridiculous look — half flustered, half awe-struck. And when you stand, Alpine now purring at your ankles, he closes the distance between you again and kisses your temple.

“She really does like you,” he murmurs.

You smile into his chest, heart full. “Guess she has good taste.”

You wander deeper into the apartment while James refills Alpine’s food bowl in the kitchen, his quiet voice murmuring to her like she’s a person.

You try not to stare — at him, or at the home he’s built. But it’s hard not to.

Because… it’s warm here.

Not just physically, but in all the little details: worn books stacked near the couch, a throw blanket bunched at the corner like someone actually uses it. Framed photos tucked beside a dusty record player. Some are old black-and-white war buddies. One is with Sam, laughing.

You run your fingers along the edge of a bookshelf, like touching proof that it’s real.

“Hey,” James calls softly behind you. You turn — and before you can even answer—

Thump.

Alpine launches herself from the arm of the couch directly into your chest.

“Alpine—Jesus,” James groans, jogging over too late.

But you’re already laughing — a soft, startled sound — as the cat climbs up your shoulder like she owns you now. Her purring is loud, smug.

“I think she’s adopted you,” James mutters, trying and failing to peel her off gently. “She’s never like this with anyone else.”

“I’m flattered,” you say, voice light but your throat still tight from before.

He watches you for a moment, his hands lingering uselessly in the air like he’s not sure what to do now that she’s claimed you.

Then his mouth lifts — a small, quiet smile.

“Is this what you had to do?” you ask, tilting your head as Alpine climbs higher up your shoulder like a determined mountain goat. “Come back to feed your cat?”

You’re giggling before you finish the sentence — and the sound surprises even you. It feels young. Unburdened.

He rubs the back of his neck, sheepish. “She gets cranky if I’m late.”

“You risked our entire emotional breakdown for dinner time?”

“I panicked,” he admits, eyes crinkling. “She’s the only living creature I’ve been consistently responsible for in months.”

Alpine lets out a pointed meow, like she agrees.

You laugh again, softer now, as your fingers sink into her fur.

James moves closer, gently brushing your hair from your face so he can really look at you.

“Glad you came with me,” he murmurs.

Your eyes meet his. “Me too.”

The weight of everything still lingers between you — but it’s gentler now. Worn in, like something familiar instead of unbearable.

He lifts a hand, scratches behind Alpine’s ears where she’s settled smugly against your collarbone. You can feel his knuckles brush your skin.

You lean into the touch like it’s gravity.

“I never pictured this,” you say quietly. “Not really.”

He nods. “Me neither.”

———

It’s been a week.

It still feels fragile sometimes.

Waking up beside him. Knowing he’s real. That you’re not dreaming it — not locked in some Hydra simulation built to make you break.

But every morning, you open your eyes and there he is.

Still here.

Still James.

You hadn’t talked about what came next — not really. But neither of you let go, either. You stayed at his apartment that whole week. Slept in his bed, stole his clothes, fell asleep with Alpine wedged between your knees.

And now?

Now he’s waiting by the door, in a jacket that looks just slightly too nice for errands, with a nervous tilt to his shoulders and a small bouquet clutched awkwardly in one hand.

“Okay,” he says, clearing his throat. “Don’t laugh.”

You blink at him, halfway through pulling on your boots. “Why would I—?”

“I just thought… maybe we should go on a date.” He glances down at the flowers like they might scold him. “A real one. Like we never got to.”

Your breath catches.

It’s such a small thing.

But it feels enormous.

You stare at him for a beat too long, and the nerves in his face deepen. “We don’t have to. I just thought—”

“I’d love to.”

His head lifts.

You smile, stepping closer to take the flowers from him — tiny wildflowers, half-wilted from being clutched too tight. You press your nose to them anyway, holding his gaze.

“Thank you,” you whisper.

He doesn’t say anything — just brushes his knuckles across your cheek, eyes holding something that feels like reverence. And then he takes your hand again, gently, like asking.

You nod and he leads you out the door.

The restaurant is nothing fancy. Not five stars. Not white linen or candles or anything out of a movie.

But the lights are low, the food is warm, and there’s a booth in the corner where no one looks twice at a man with scars and a girl who still flinches when silverware clinks too loud.

You talk over dinner — not about Hydra or memories or survival.

You talk about dumb things.

About the worst fake names you ever used. About the weirdest thing James ever ate in hiding. About Alpine’s dramatic distaste for store-bought kibble and your terrible attempts at cooking.

He laughs. You laugh.

It’s not perfect. Sometimes the pauses are long. But the world doesn’t end. And that’s something.

Afterward, he takes you walking.

The night is cool, quiet, the kind that wraps around your shoulders like a soft coat. You hold his hand, and he rubs his thumb gently along your knuckles — like a grounding rhythm, just for you.

You don’t know how long you walk. Could be minutes. Could be hours. But eventually, the silence stretches too long, and you’re thinking of that name again — the one that haunts the edges of your healing.

You glance up at him.

“Do you ever think about it?” you ask quietly.

James looks over, brow drawing in.

You clarify, voice barely audible now. “About Kern. Revenge. Ending it.”

His eyes darken — not with anger, but something older. Something heavy.

He doesn’t answer right away.

You stop walking, fingers still locked with his. The wind rustles the leaves overhead. Somewhere in the distance, a car passes.

“I think about it all the time,” he says, finally. Voice low. Honest. “I think about what he did to you. What he did to me. To both of us. And I want—” He swallows. “I want to make sure he never touches anyone again.”

Your breath catches.

“I don’t know if that makes me a bad person,” he murmurs. “But yeah. I think about it.”

You nod, heart tight in your chest.

“Me too,” you say.

There’s no judgment between you. No shame.

Just a truth you both carry.

His fingers tighten around yours.

“But I also think… I don’t want to lose myself in it,” he adds, quieter now. “Not again. Not when I just got you back.”

You don’t say anything.

Not right away.

Your eyes are somewhere distant — not the horizon, not the sky, but further. Darker. And James sees it. That glint beneath the softness you wear like armor. That quiet burn that never went out.

His brow furrows.

“Dove…”

You blink, coming back to the moment. But it’s too late. He already saw.

“How long have you been thinking about it?” he asks gently. Not accusing — just trying to understand. His hand cups your elbow, grounding you.

You hesitate.

And then, truthfully — “Since they took me away from you.”

The words hit like a bruise, and his jaw clenches before he exhales slowly.

“I used to dream about it,” you say, softer now. “When they locked me up. When they ran their tests. When they put me in front of you like I was a weapon, like I was nothing.” You look down at your joined hands. “Sometimes it’s the only thing that kept me breathing. The thought of them bleeding.”

There’s no venom in your voice.

Just that calm, terrifying clarity of someone who’s endured too much. Of someone who’s survived, but never stopped counting the names.

James is quiet. His thumb brushes your wrist.

“I don’t want you to lose yourself either,” you whisper. “But I don’t know how to let it go.”

“I know,” he says. “Believe me, I know.”

And then — like he can’t help it — he pulls you into his arms again. Holds you tighter. Not to stop you. Not to fix it. Just to remind you that you’re here. You’re not alone.

“I’m not asking you to forget,” he murmurs into your hair. “Or to forgive. I just want to make sure you don’t burn yourself down with him.”

You close your eyes.

“No… I don’t want to either,” you whisper.

Wrapped in each other, the city humming soft and low in the background. A breeze drifts past, stirring your hair, but neither of you moves.

And then, quietly, James asks, “If you ever saw him again… what would you do?”

You pause. Not because you don’t know the answer — but because you do.

“I don’t think I could stop myself,” you admit. “Not after everything.”

James nods slowly. He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t try to talk you down.

“I used to want him dead too,” he says. “Still do, sometimes.”

Your breath catches. You pull back just enough to look at him.

“But then I think… if I kill him, what changes? Does it bring back the time he stole from us? Does it make what he did to you any less monstrous?” He shakes his head. “All I know is that if I ever see him again, I want to look him in the eye. I want him to know I remember. And that I’m free.”

You swallow.

“And if that’s not enough?”

James meets your gaze evenly. “Then I’ll stand beside you. No matter what happens.”

Your heart twists.

Because he means it.

Not just the words — the weight of them. He’s not offering revenge. He’s offering loyalty. Standing beside you, even if it costs him something.

Your hand slips into his. “I don’t want to be ruled by it,” you whisper. “I just… I want to stop feeling like he still owns a part of me.”

James lifts your joined hands and presses his lips to your knuckles. “He doesn’t,” he says softly. “Not anymore.”

You breathe in, slow and shaky.

The lights of the city blur a little in your eyes, and this time it’s not just grief behind them.

It’s the start of something else.

Maybe peace. Maybe the beginning of it.

———

Months Later

The sun filters in through half-drawn curtains. Morning light, slow and golden, brushing against a pair of bare feet tangled in blankets.

You shift slightly under the covers, blinking awake to the sound of soft purring near your head.

Alpine’s curled against your pillow again, her tail flicking idly, and when you murmur a sleepy protest, she only meows louder — like she knows she’s won.

You smile.

And then a familiar voice, groggy and warm: “She kick you off the bed again?”

James.

You turn your head.

He’s already half-awake, arm flung lazily over your waist, hair a mess. His voice is rough with sleep, but there’s a tenderness in it that still makes your chest ache in the best way.

“She thinks this is her apartment,” you murmur.

“She’s not wrong.”

You snort. “Rude.”

He leans in, presses a kiss to your temple, and mumbles, “You two are my whole world, so either way…”

You kiss him back before he can finish. It’s slow, unhurried. Familiar now.

And that’s what makes it feel like a miracle.

Because this life — this peace — it wasn’t promised. You both clawed your way here. Through blood, through grief, through memory.

You get up together a little while later. Make breakfast. Burn the toast because he gets distracted kissing your shoulder. Laugh about it.

Later, you both walk down the street to the tiny used bookstore on the corner. James lingers too long in the history section. You find a battered paperback someone scribbled poetry into the margins of, and he buys it for you without question.

When you get home, Alpine’s waiting by the door like she missed you.

The windows are open. Music plays softly in the background. There’s a photo on the mantle now — one Sam took, of you both mid-laugh on the fire escape, coffee mugs in hand.

You catch James watching you later that night. Just watching.

You tilt your head. “What?”

He shakes his head slowly. “Nothing. Just… I didn’t know it could feel like this.”

“Like what?”

His eyes soften. “Like home.”

You walk over. Wrap your arms around him.

“It is,” you whisper. “It is home.”

And when he holds you there, warm and safe and quiet, you know:

You never have to survive alone again.

Not anymore.

Not ever.

The End.

Sigh. Oh, wow. I don’t really know what to say but this is the end. I want to thank everyone who stayed in this journey with me, all the comments and reblogs motivated me so much, like really — you have no idea.

I hope the smut and the amount of Alpine fluff will make up for the last chapters and you won’t hate me anymore 😭🫶 (i also needed this myself)

and yeah. that would be it. I actually cried when writing last two scenes, i got so attached to them so maybe i’ll write some oneshot of them one day… maybe.

i feel like this is the ending they both deserved, without offing kern or going after revenge — no, that wouldn’t be them, they’re better than that. I believe they both will continue fighting what’s left of Hydra alongside Avengers, in more human way. (Also feel like If James didn’t come back to her in this chapter she would decide to fuck everything and get her revenge on kern cause there is nothing to lose now. But he did. So yeah.)

well yeah…. they got their happy ever after. finally. After everything they went through — the torture, the conditioning, the heartbreak, the near-losses — they earned this quiet ending. No more needles in cold cells, no more fighting to be remembered or to stay whole. Just soft mornings, bookstore walks, and a cat who thinks she owns the place. I’ll miss them. But I’m so, so glad they got their peace.

if you have any questions feel free to ask! either in comments or my inbox which is open.

once again, thank you so much. xx

tags (tysm for all the love and support, If you asked to be tagged and I didn’t tag you it means I couldn’t for some reason 💔): @tfamidoingwithmylife @stell404 @shakysif @unicornqueen05 @carolinianmermaid @zoroforlife @beforemdnight @nicksolemnlyswears @mistalli @blazeflays @storystorktwo @its-in-the-woods @blv3rd @starkglory @diabolicaldinosaur @elisha-chloe @miyababbby @cats-chaotic-mind @brooklynadoresdior @madsmikkelsonlvr101 @ifuckwithyouanyday @taqmari @syupakingcowbaby @iamthatonefangirl @schlattslonghairytoes @bloodmocha

[shakysif]

[shakysif]

Okay this was so fun to read loved it😭🤍

Movie (Debate) Night

☆Warnings: uh nothing

☆Content: Fluff, Corny stuff, Slightly Suggestive, Playful bickering, Established relationship, Movie talk, blah blah blah other stuff

☆Character: Peter Quill/Star-Lord

★A/N: This is fully an excuse to be an annoying cinephile about my favorite era of movies bc quill talks about the 80s💔 i also finally proofread but if i missed something idk ignore it

“Absolutely not, we’re not watching that again” You toss the tape gently onto your shared couch. it’s forty five minutes into the movie night that peter suggested yet you both can’t decide due to your different taste in movies.

“What about..” you trail off looking through the taps all set up nicely on your shelf. you don't know why you agreed to an 80s themed movie night, anything eighty's related just sparks a constant back and forth between you two.. but you can't say no to him

“Howard the duck is hilarious come on.” He whines from the other side of the room skimming through what you consider his shelf of movies.

You only scoff pulling out one of your favorites and spinning in your heels “If you want funny we can watch the iconic Bill and Ted's Excellent Adventure” he rolls his eyes at you and waves you off as he returns to his movie search and begins humming.

The back and forth only started after you remembered exactly why you two can't do eighty's movie nights, last time you agreed to an eighty's themed movie night you two ended up in a debate over which 'Beverly Hills Cop' movie was better. The whole situation ended with your friends deciding to leave midway and you both agreeing on a movie almost two hours later.

You glared at him from you spot next to the shelf holding your tape, he holds the tape you previously disregard onto the couch. The look on his face distracts you briefly before you hand finds it's way to your hip as you raise a brow at him.

“Peter, i hate to break it to you but compared to bill and ted it's flaming trash, this is where comedy peaked.” You can’t help but to tease him for his pick, you introduced him to the stupid movie the first night he stayed with you on earth since he never saw it as a kid. you knew he would enjoy the movie but even imagining the sound of his laughter or the stupid grin that sits on his face couldn't convince you to watch that now.

He ignores your words and begins to make those few steps towards the VCR, you immediately take those same steps but at a quicker pace. you now stand in front of him with your arms out blocking the VCR from his reach “I refuse to allow that garbage into my VCR tonight, choose something else.”

He shakes his head walking back to the shelf placing the tape back in it's spot, he rolls his eyes with a smug grin as you stare at him with a raised brow “Fine, if we can’t watch Howard i refuse to watch that.” He nods towards your tape and you only give a fake gasp.

“You can pretend to Howard the Duck is good all you want, but Bill and Ted are forever better!” You playfully give him the finger earning a laugh as you turn back towards the shelf, you tilt your head as peter comes up behind you leaning over your shoulder blocking some of the light. In the few seconds of silence he leans over pulling another tape from his spot, You glance at his next pick and can’t help but to roll your eyes ‘Once Bitten’.

He grabs a few more and so do you, he moves from behind you and sits in the carpet laying his new picks out. You balance your picks in one hand turning to face him, he looks up at you with admiration twirling in his eyes and you can’t help but return the look as you sit in front of him laying out your picks. You know what game he's playing here and you won't allow him to win.

“That look won’t work on me.” You almost mumble with your attention focused on the movies, you lay them out nicely and glance across at his noticing you grabbed a bit more then he did. He's distracted by you though, watching the joy you have talking about movies and going back and forth with him over his (bad) movie picks. "Yeah sure" He says leaning over and grabbing the abandoned bowl of chips from the table.

He looks over your picks and you look over his in a somewhat silence due to his (loud) chewing. "Elimination time." He nods stuffing his face, used to his behavior you shift your attention back to the movies in front of you.

He looks over yours quickly and with his non-chip crumb covered hand he grabs 'The Lost Boys' An annoyed noise leaves you as he snickers "I picked a classic for you and you've toss it aside." You send a glare his way quickly grabbing 'The Karate Kid' He gasps as if he's hurt pushing the chips away, you give him a stupid grin as you set it aside.

"If i can't have my Lost Boys you can't have Karate Kid." He send a glare back to you.. You've declared war and who knows how long you'll both debate this time.

-----------

You both stand in a pile of scattered tapes.. going back and forth. It's been more then an hour and it only grows darker outside as it grows later and later, "We're not watching Weird Science! I let you choose that last week and you fell asleep!" Stepping around the tapes with ease you search for something better than his last few choices, stepping next to a small pile you bend over picking two from the floor.

"Now these are better choices" Holding up two tapes in front of you a smug grin lays on your lips, Peter only rolls his eyes after reading the titles 'The Purple Rose of Cairo' and 'Valley Girl'.. romance movies. "You have lost it if you think I'm going to watch those tonight." He crosses his arms over his chest, he looks good slightly riled up from the silly debate and you can't help but allow your eyes to wonder over his arms as he unknowingly puts them on display for you.

He clears his throat pulling you from the developing daydream, rolling your eyes trying to play it off you toss the movie's to the couch "We're never going to watch a movie if you don't just give in to my amazing choices" You say mimicking his stance, he laugh bending down and picking up one of your previous picks "You tried to get me to watch Sleepaway Camp I'm not giving into your choices."

You bite your bottom lips at his words, he got you there, but everyone has their favorite bad slasher movie and you weren't going to allow your boyfriend to disrespect your choices. Walking through the tapes you almost yank the tape out his hand stopping in front of him, you stand looking up at him as you hold the tape giving him a playful glare "That is a classic in this household! Do not disrespect Sleepaway Camp!"

Peter takes your moment of passion over your favorites to snake an arm around your waist pulling you closer, the gap between your bodies now closed leaving only a few inches between your faces. Even with the closeness you continue your rant about the movie before his assumed free hand slides in your face holding another tape with a grin on his lips. "Middle ground"

'Ghostbusters', it's a popular classic. Almost everyone enjoys it, but you absolutely love that movie and he knows that. You gently toss the tape in your hand to the pile of pillows on the floor, you run your hands up his chest before wrapping them around his neck "Why go back and forth with me if you were going to suggest one of my favorites?" You can't help but to roll your eyes as his grin grows before he even speaks

"I like getting you all riled up" He moves the movie from the small space between you as he wraps his other arm around your waist causing the tape to graze your ass, your fingers play with the soft curls on his neck smiling at him "Yeah of course you do." He closes the space between you connecting your lips.

The kiss is soft and full of what can only be considered love, your hands find themselves in his hair gently tangling your fingers through it as you pull away from him. You match the silly grin on his face as you glance at his swollen lips, you move one hand down to cup his cheek as you peck his lips before quickly moving your hand to his chest pushing him back a bit. "Put the movie in Peter."

He groans throwing his head back a bit as his arms tighten around you waist while you laugh at his dramatic behavior, you pat his chest gently so he finally meets your gaze once more "Give me one more" You shake your head before turning it away "Not until you put the movie in! i still have to clean up this mess" He groans in reply leaning towards you, you begin to laugh noticing his puckered lips as you lean back in his grip trying to get away.

"Gross let go" Laughing softly you move your hands to hold his shoulder as you lean further back, you glance behind you seeing a small pile of tapes. "Peter i'm gunna fall just let go!" Your laughter fills the room and peter can't help but smile sliding his hands down, you look at him confused before his arms hook behind your thighs lifting you into the air. A yelp slips from your lips as he tosses you over his shoulder.

He taps the back of your thigh as he begins walking through the tapes "Stay still" Complying with his words you lay over his shoulder with your arms crossed, a few steps into the short walk your gaze slides down to his ass. A small grin finds it's way to your face as you uncross your arms, you raise your hand and then allow it to come crashing down on his left cheek.

"Ow!" He stumbles but is able to collect himself and you before you fall, you were already bursting with laughter causing your body to vibrate in his hold.

Eventually he puts the movie in and you two clean up the tapes, putting everything back into their respected spots you excuse yourself to make some more popcorn since he ate the whole bowl already. He drapes himself over you as you watch the TV from the kitchen waiting for the popcorn, his arms are lazily wrapped around your waist and his chin is propped on your shoulder while your hand runs up and down his arm.

He started to sway you both gently as he grew more focused on the movie then popcorn he came in to steal, you move in his hold turning around causing him to stop and stand up straight. Cupping his face a small smile finds it's way to both of your faces "If Drax could see you now" He groan loudly as he moves his hands to the small of your back "Bite the big one" You gasp dramatically putting your hands to your chest "You'd miss me to much" He opens his mouth to reply but the loud beeping of the microwave interrupts him.

You take this moment to peck his lips before you slip out his hold to grab the popcorn, opening the microwave you pull out the bag before turning towards the counter where you left the bowl. Shaking the bag as he shuffles across the floor towards you once again draping his body over you "Go watch the movie I'll be right there" he lets out some kinda hum into your neck he begins to kiss down to your shoulder, his arms snake around your waist pulling your body closer.

A shiver runs through your body as you open the popcorn bag, you let out a soft hum as he finds the sweet spot on your neck dumping the popcorn into the bowl "We're missing ghostbusters" you mutter picking up the bowl, his hand reaches up pushing the bowl back onto the counter before he removes your hand and turns you to face him.

He has that stupid grin on his face as his hands slide down your back before stopping to cup your ass, you roll your eyes moving your hand to cup his cheek before connecting your lips to his.

You've given him the green light and he pushes into the kiss, he slides his hands lower before he lifts you onto the counter sliding the popcorn bowl aside. he slides between your legs and runs his hands down your thighs squeezing softly as he pulls you closer, the kiss has become more heated as the movie plays long forgotten in the background.

Peter's hands begin to wonder up your sides slowly as your shirt lays abandoned on the kitchen floor, he pulls away leaving you panting as he kisses along your collarbone massaging your sides gently. he leave small bite marks as he reaches your chest, he finally takes a second to catch his breath he can't help but to take you in as you lean against the cabinets.

You raise a brow as he wipes his swollen lips letting your eyes find his, before you can place the emotion in his eyes he's pulling you towards him with ease. Now off the counter and over his shoulder once again you begin your protests "oh come on-" he cuts you off with a slap to your ass.

You don't have to look at him knowing he's grinning like a fool "Payback" you scoff while you adjust your position on his shoulder, crossing your arms you watch the kitchen disappear from few as he turns the corner. "Whatever you know you liked it."

————————————————————————

can’t believe i wrote a fanfic about starlord what year is it??

welp pls reblog lol i’m trying to write/post more even if it’s butt BUT I HOPE Y’ALL LIKE IT

[shakysif]

the category is men with a slutty waist

[shakysif]

Dating Loki Would Include…..

• He flirts like it’s a weapon—sharp smile, silver tongue, every word tailored to make you flustered.

  But when you call him beautiful? He gets quiet. Almost shy. Like he doesn’t believe it yet.

• You’re the only one allowed to see him undone—crown off, hair loose, voice low. When he’s with you, he’s just Loki.

• He gifts you enchanted trinkets: a ring that glows when you’re in danger, a pendant that warms with your heartbeat, a mirror that always reflects your true self.

• You find out he leaves glamoured illusions of himself to follow you when you travel alone—not out of control, but out of protection.

  “You think I’d let you walk Midgard alone without a shadow watching your back?”

• When he’s thinking deeply, he braids his fingers into yours absentmindedly. You’ve become his grounding spell.

• Arguments are… intense. Words like daggers. But apologies are poetry. He will kneel, kiss your palm, and whisper,

  “You are the only soul I kneel for willingly. I’m sorry, my storm.”

• Midnight conversations often spiral into things he’s never told anyone:

  how the stars whispered to him as a child, how Asgard never quite felt like home, how you do.

• He keeps a journal. You find it once—full of sketches of your eyes, notes about your laugh, a spell for keeping your dreams sweet.

• When you fall asleep beside him, he traces constellations on your skin with his fingertips. And sometimes he says,

  “Even if the Nine Realms fall, I would still choose you.”

[shakysif]

GINNY AND GEORGIA SEASON 3 IN 5 DAYS WOOOOOOOOHOOOOOOOOO

[shakysif]

Real

How I feel asking for a Pt 2 😔

[shakysif]

thunderbolts trip to the mall (for "team enrichment" or whatever alexei said)

- bob asks if they can go to build a bear after leaving every store they enter. eventually, they tell john to just take him and meet them back in the food court

- yelena picks out outfits for ava to try on and makes her give them a little fashion show after everything she tries

- yelena holds onto everyones wallets (in her vest pockets) because bob left his at macys one time and they had to scour the entire mall to find it again

- john and ava threaten to push each other off the escalator every time they go near it

- spencers is yelena'a favorite store cause she thinks all the lewd gag gifts are hilarious. they become a whole lot *less* hilarious, though, after alexei starts loudly announcing to the entire store why exactly he finds each thing funny. they dont take him back there after that.

- ava's favorite part of the whole mall is the auntie annes. shes almost bob-level persistent that they *need* to go to auntie annes

- alexei falls for the ridiculously priced mall kiosks that sell phone cases and stupid gag gift shirts, every time. "but theyre telling me that buying five ear pods is a better deal than buying one!"

- theyre all banned from claires. i wont be elaborating.

[shakysif]

Get me to Paris asap