#winter solder fanfiction

[sarahowritesostucky]

Happy Little Family

📖"Taking Back What's His"

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 6170

Tags: dark!Bucky, mafia/mob au, dubcon/noncon, a/b/o, threats and coercion, rape, forced pregnancy, forced domestic "bliss", yandere, kid fic

Summary: You thought you'd left behind the man who turned out to be more dangerous than you'd ever imagined. But one day he walks back into your life and reminds you that, come hell or high water, you're all going to be one happy. little. family.

This chapter: You try one last, desperate ploy to escape, but it doesn't exactly work out. And James hasn't come alone. The next time you wake up, you're a long way from home.

Nickname Dictionary: vorishka = "little thief" mamochka = "mommy/little mother" kotenok= "kitty/kitten" omegya = (made up) Russian spelling of omega omegechka = (made up) "little omega" krasotka = "Pretty(n.)/pretty one" pchelka = "little bee"

2. Taking Back What's His

(Wait! I haven't read part 1 yet!)

He says something to you, after. Words that might as well be in his native Russian, for how well you take them in. But they're soft, and reassuring—he’s pleased. His body weight moves off the bed.

When you finally open your eyes and blink up at the ceiling, it’s the softest baby pink all around the edges, like smoke curling into your vision. It’s nice, peaceful. Feels good-all-over in that way that painkillers do. You haven’t experienced it since the last time you had sex with an alpha.

Which James unfortunately seems to have figured out was with him, almost two years ago. 

“Oh, kotenok, You haven’t been fucking anybody.” 

You’re still in the afterglow, mind muzzy, all of your previous panic and fear blunted near to the point of erasure with how nice it feels to float, when you hear James’ pleased chuckle from where he’s getting dressed. He comes back and leans over you. “Hey Sweetheart. Feeling good?” 

You frown at him, though it takes a concerted effort to make any expression of displeasure. You want him to know you aren’t happy, that this state he’s fucked you into isn’t real. You want to slap that smug fucking look right off his face. All you manage to come up with is a pouty little “no" that makes James laugh.

“Come here.” He fixes your dress, then helps you up off the bed. He seems to be checking to make sure you’re steady on your feet before he lets you stand on your own. “You good?”

“M’fine.” He knows you too well, knows how intense it can be for you, how strongly you react to him. You avoid his knowing gaze. You’re not completely useless like this. You can still remember everything that’s going on, can still remember June. “Please,” you say again, trying to change the tone of your voice. “Let me give her to Hilde.”

James rolls his eyes. “Right, right. Your friend across the street.”

“Please James?” You look up at him, pink edges all around his face, so pretty. Goddamn him. “She’ll be safe there.”

Again, something passes through his eyes too quickly for you to identify. It might be annoyance. He sighs, and the look, whatever it was, is gone. “Sure thing, Doll. Babies need a lot of stuff. You might as well pack up what she needs.”

You nod tearfully, going to your closet to grab a bag. He follows close behind, sending a clear message that he’s not planning on letting you out of his sights while you do this. James isn’t stupid, you’ll give him that.

In the nursery, June is happy to see you and wants you to pick her up. You talk to her in a sweet, placating voice as you go around the room grabbing different things that she’ll need and stuffing them in the bag. At this point you know to be grateful for the haze. Even as it tapers off, it’s blunting the sorrow that you know would otherwise have you sobbing and your voice clogging with tears. This way at least, you’re able to keep June thinking everything is alright. This way she isn’t scared. 

It’s when you’re crouched beside the changing table, stuffing diapers into the bag with James behind you that you get the idea: Downstairs: the kitchen: in the drawer. Your gun.

You stop moving long enough that James notices. “What’re you doing? Come on.”

You stand back up. Yes. You have to do it. This is the only chance you have at getting out of this and not losing June. You lick your lips nervously before turning back around to face him. “I … have to get her bottles and stuff from downstairs,” you say, hoping that the lingering post-coital haze is enough to keep your true intentions off your face. Your eyes flick up to James, who’s squinting at your tits.

“Bottle?” He starts to smirk, and you glare at him.

“Yes. Asshole. I won’t exactly be around to feed her, now will I?” 

His face softens at that and he gives you an apologetic look. “Right. Well go on, then.” 

You move for the hallway, realize he’s not following you, and turn back in confusion. He’s beside the crib, holding his hand out for June to touch. Your heart leaps from your spot in the doorway. “What are you doing?”

He arches an eyebrow. “I’m waiting right here until you come back upstairs,” he says, his message clear. 

Your pulse picks up, but you force yourself to nod. You’re useless without that gun. You have to get to it. He narrows his eyes at you while June giggles and reaches for his wiggling fingers. “No games.”

“Yeah,” you whisper, and turn and head for the stairs. 

It’s pure torture to move at a casual speed, especially as your mind is clearing and the fearful emotions returning. In the downstairs hallway, you check once over your shoulder that James hasn’t followed you, then pick up your pace, hurrying into the kitchen and heading straight for the drawer where you keep the gun.

Your eyes tear up as you maneuver past the digital lock that you installed for nothing. June’s still crawling. She never even got old enough to toddle over here. You press the code into the keypad, cringing when it does its quiet little two-tone ‘beep’ at being unlocked. You wait, heart in your throat until you hear the mechanism moving, then rip open the drawer. 

Your heart stops and your brain freezes and all you can think is: No. No, no no— 

“Looking for this?” 

You whirl around, and there he is: standing on the other side of the kitchen, leaning against the sink as he holds your only weapon in his hands.

His face is relaxed, Goddamn him, as he pretends to ignore your horror and instead holds the gun up to flippantly inspect it. “I have to say, Doll, I’m impressed. I would’ve expected some puny girl gun. Ruger, Derringer. But this?” He turns the Skorpion in his hands, and chuckles softly when he sees the cartridge. “Jesus. You really wanted to blow a hole in somebody, didn’t you?” His eyes finally drag up to you, the hand he’s holding the gun with dropping down by his side as he starts walking over, slowly, step by step, eyes boring into you with a growing anger.

Oh shit. Dread curls in your gut but you’re frozen. Bolting now wouldn’t even get you to the staircase. He presses in close, pinning you against the countertop. He brings the gun up and nudges your jaw with it, leaning in and breathing in your face, “Did you really think I wouldn’t find it, vorishka?”[little thief]

He’s taunting you with your own failure, and you can’t stop the whimper that breaks from your throat at having your one and only plan foiled so pathetically easily. “James,” you plead, “I didn’t—”

“Shh sh sh. None of that, now.”  He’s speaking softly, sweetly, but he’s furious. He drags his lips over your cheek and the barrel of the gun you stole from him over the other. “So what was the plan? How were you going to kill me with my own gun? Pop upstairs and shoot up the nursery?”

“N-no.”

“Ah. Right. You’re smarter than that. You would’ve waited for me to come down and see what the fuck was taking you so long, or put it in the duffle and waited until we dropped the whelp off at the neighbors. Is that it?"

You sniffle and nod, angry at him for being such an all-knowing asshole. “You can’t hold that against me,” you say, trying to defend yourself.

He nods thoughtfully. “Hmm. Yes, I suppose you’re right. I can’t blame you for that.” Your shoulders start to relax, that is until he pulls back to glare at you and holds the gun to you again, this time pointing it right underneath your chin. He looks angrier than you’ve ever seen him. “But do you know what I can hold against you, Little thief?” Your face pinches in fear, sure that you’re about to be shot, and he digs the muzzle cruelly into your skin, forcing you to look at him. “The fact that that pup up there is ten months old, and I’ve never even fucking seen her.” 

Your eyes widen as you realize: he knows. You open your mouth to say something, anything, but he beats you to it.

“Did you really think I wouldn’t be able to tell she’s mine?” 

“James,”

“All this time!” he hisses, hurt lancing through his features. “You kept her from me! What gives you the right?” 

“I—I didn’t—”

He growls and pushes away from you, several steps back, glaring. “Nothing, is the answer you’re looking for. You had no right to do that.” 

You try to edge to the side, but freeze when he straightens his arm and points the gun right at you. “James, wait …”

He aims it at your face, but then lowers it for a center mass shot, which is what really convinces you you’re about to die. “Say goodbye, mamochka,” he says, with steely eyes and his finger curling over the trigger. 

It’s a submachine gun that fires in three shot bursts, or fully automatic. Either way, you know you’re about to be riddled with bullets, so you start to hyperventilate. It’s an embarrassing reaction, but at least you have the dignity of knowing what your last words on this earth would’ve been. “Don’t hurt her,” you gasp.

His eyes fill with rage and he pulls the trigger. 

… Nothing happens, but you’re bracing so hard that it takes you a full two or three seconds to realize it. Then, when you do realize it, and you see James standing there looking grim but completely unsurprised that you haven’t been shot, all of the breath rushes out of your lungs. You feel like you’re about to faint, which is apparently what he’s waiting for. 

He ejects the empty magazine, shaking his head in disbelief. “You really thought I’d do it, didn’t you?” He takes a step forward, but pauses when you flinch back. “What the hell have you convinced yourself that I am?” 

You step back again when he moves. “Don’t,” you whisper. “Don’t.”

“Don’t, don’t,” he whispers, mocking you. “Don’t what? Don’t take back what’s mine? The mother of my pup? A pup I didn’t get to see grow or come into this world?” Your breath hitches with emotion and he doesn’t miss it, the bastard. “Yeah,” he says darkly. “You robbed me of that. But I’ll get over it, don’t worry.”  He leers up and down your body in its flimsy sundress. “I’ll be putting another one in you real soon.”

You see red. Fury sweeps through you and stings your eyes, roars in your ears. You grab the nearest thing to you, which is the edge of the utensils crock on the counter. It spills over and your hand closes around the handle of the meat mallet. You cry out and swing at him, wanting to smash his smug fucking face to smithereens. 

“Woah-ho, easy there.” He laughs and takes a surprised step back, as though you’re nothing but a tantruming child. “Stop being so dramatic.”

You growl and lunge for him again, but cut off in a shriek as someone suddenly grabs you from behind. The meat mallet clatters to the floor as you’re hauled back against the hard body of another man. One big arm wraps around your middle, and the other holds a cloth up at your face, pressing it over your mouth. “Mmph!” you yell out, muffled, and get a huge inhale of chlorine-like smell into your lungs for your trouble. You hold your breath and thrash, but it’s less than useless. The person holding you is large and strong. When you try to headbutt him, it doesn't even clip his chin. You bring your hands up to try and claw at the hand holding the cloth over your mouth, but your nails meet metal instead of skin, and you gasp in another inhale of chemicals as you realize who it is. “Mmph!”  

James steps up close, smirking fondly as he watches you fighting the urge to inhale. Eventually he tuts and reaches up to cup your cheek. “Shhh, omegechka. Stop. Stop fighting now. It’s all over.” 

“Nngh!”

“Just take a deep breath and go to sleep. Everything’ll be alright, I promise. Just relax.” You whimper as you feel yourself running out of air, knowing that your body’s going to force you to draw breath in a second. James leans in and kisses your forehead tenderly. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he whispers, just as your vision starts to fade out, “or our daughter.”

The smell of professionally scented, circulating air hits you first, and then the taste of old pennies in your mouth. Then, a gradually increasing sense of awareness of your body in space and time. At first you think you're somewhere very bright, as colors and rainbows dance through your lashes, but the more you blink your eyes open, the more the brightness fades and your vision comes into focus.

And there he is: holding a crystal tumbler and looking like he's been waiting for you to come round. "Well hello there, Sleepyhead,” he says. “Welcome back." He takes a sip of whatever it is he’s drinking, the ice cubes clinking softly against the sides of the glass. He looks totally relaxed.

You sit up straighter in the seat where you’d been slumped, moving your tongue around inside of your dry mouth and trying to remember what happened. And then reality hits you in waves, each one more devastating than the last:

James—He found you. 

June—She's not there.

"How're you feeling? Thirsty?"

You blink, dazed, a few lingering specks still floating at the edges of your vision. You look around the room you’re in, clocking your surroundings. Windows, cabin—Shit. You're already on a plane. Pressure builds rapidly at the backs of your eyes as you fight not to cry, thinking of your baby girl left behind, never getting to see her again.

You didn’t even get to say goodbye. 

Bucky’s eyes sharpen on you when your stifled sob breaks out and you throw a hand over your mouth. "Steve,” he says, still watching you in concern. “Get her a bottle of water."

“Sure thing, boss.”

And then the worst realization of all: You look over and see the winter fucking soldier walking down the aisle, holding your baby.

They've got June.

Your eyes widen and you make a distressed little ‘meep’ of a sound. “Steve!” you blurt, and he turns to face you. He looks surprised that you’ve spoken directly to him. He’s not wearing his usual black mask, but he still looks huge and intimidating, and it’s like seeing a wild animal right next to your baby—dangerous, wrong. Your mouth works uselessly as you stare at his hands on June’s body: one supporting her head, and the metal one scooped under her butt. You see her back rise and fall steadily through her bumblebee onesie and you realize that she’s asleep. “I-is she okay?” you ask, heart in your throat. 

Steve’s eyes narrow at you, but he nods curtly. “She’s fine.” 

Across from you, James scoffs, drawing your attention back to him. “He’s going to put her down. There’s a crib in the back. She’ll be fine,” he says, when he sees you stiffen in protest. “You and I have some catching up to do, vorishka.”

“I thought we did that back in my bedroom,” you snap.

“You still want the water?” Steve asks.

“That’s okay.” Bucky keeps his eyes on you. “I’ll take care of her. You just stay back there with pchelka while she sleeps.” 

Steve nods, and you can’t help yourself. “Wait! Please. Please give her to me. Steve?” You sit forward with your arms outstretched, but can only watch helplessly as the other man obeys Bucky and ignores you, disappearing back into the next section of the plane. Bastard never did like you. 

“She’ll be fine,” Bucky assures you. “Just sit back and relax. We won’t be in the air for too long.”

You hate it, but you do sit back in the chair. James won’t hurt her. You know that. Especially now that you know he knows. You look around the cabin, taking in the wide, leather seats and gleaming wood finishes. There’s a couch, tv, a bar. A fucking electric fireplace. It's the sort of luxury you used to go starry-eyed over; incredibly rich men, fat or old or ugly, tripping all over themselves to spoil you.

… Only, James was never any of those things.

“This is your plane?” you ask, dragging your hand over the arm of your seat.

James smirks. “What? You thought I’d kidnap you and then fly commercial?” 

You purse your lips at his joke. “I guess not.” You relax back, trying to get your bearings. It is bad news that you’re already on a plane with him. You’ll be landing at his private airstrip at the Siberia compound, which gives you no middle ground to run. You bite your lip as your thoughts race and you try to think of anything you might be able to do once you get to—

“Stop it,” James says quietly, drawing your attention back to him. He’s giving you a stern look. “You barely got away before, and that was on your own. Now we’ve got our daughter. Anything you try will put her in unnecessary danger and you know that.” He shakes his head, some of that sadness from before creeping back into his eyes. “You’re not leaving me again, omegechka.”

“I’m not?” you echo, stuck in place by his stare, by the memories you share with him, and the fear you have of what he’s planning for your punishment. “What are you going to do?”

“I’m just taking back what’s mine, Sweetheart. You do realize that?” You fail to answer him and his gaze hardens just a little bit. “That’s okay. You’ll see it eventually. This isn’t a bad thing. If you had just stuck around a little longer instead of lying to me and running off, then you would’ve seen it before, and we wouldn’t have to be going through this right now.” He raises his drink to you in a little salute. “You, me, and pchelka? We’re going to be a family.”

You don’t refuse the water he gives you, or the drink that he mixes for you, after. If James wanted to keep you drugged up until reaching Siberia, he certainly could’ve done so without allowing you to wake up on the plane. You’re only conscious right now because he wants you to be. And because you know that, you don’t protest the drink he prepares for you over at the bar. To be honest, a stiff one actually sounds really good right about now.

“Thank you,” you murmur as he hands it over, still unmoored by this drastic shift in circumstances. A few hours ago you’d been safe in your cottage, then suddenly you weren’t. One minute you’re sure you’re about to get a bullet in the face from this man, and the next, he’s got you sipping thousand dollar vodka on his private jet, calmly explaining how he intends to keep you and force you into some twisted form of domestic bliss. 

“I had a whole renovation done for her,” he tells you. “Pchelka will have plenty of room to play and grow.”

You frown, hating the idea of your daughter growing up in that cold, Siberian fortress. You don’t care if he’s bought her an indoor waterslide and a herd of ponies. It’s no place for a child. “What does that mean?” you ask grumpily. “That word: chelk—? You keep using it. You can’t just rename my daughter.”

Hurt flashes in his eyes, but he wipes it away fast. “Pchelka means little bee. The outfit you put her in has bees on it.”

“Oh … Right.” You love that set. It’d been another gift at the shower, from Hilde.

“And she’s my daughter too,” James says tightly.

You gulp at the bitterness in his tone, at his eyes boring into you with reproach. It’s silly, but you do feel bad about hurting him in this one way, at least. “Her name is June,” you offer quietly.

His face draws tight with emotion that’s impossible for you to decipher. Mostly you just sense hurt coming off of him, tingeing his scent and making it into something mournful and awful. He stares at you for a long time. “You made me think you’d lost it,” he eventually whispers. “How could you do that to me?”

You shake your head. “I’m sorry.” 

“No you’re not. You’re just sorry that I found you.”

“I saw you kill people, James!” you cry. “I saw who you really are. I couldn’t stay. Not after that.”

His mouth ticks up at the corners. “Oh, Sweetheart. You’ve got no idea who I am, or what I’ve done for you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

His eyes gleam and he lifts his drink, tipping back the last of it. “Do you even remember where we met?” 

You frown. “Of course.” You’d met him on a yacht, off the coast of Greece. At a party you’d been paid to attend as one of a flock of similarly hired ‘pretty girls’. Five hundred bucks just to sit around and drink cocktails for a few hours and make whoever owned the yacht look like a successful playboy. James had taken one look at you and made it his mission to charm you off of that boat with him. And you’d fallen for it, hook line and sinker. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“You don’t know as much as you think you do,” he says disdainfully. “Don’t know how lucky you really are. I saved you.”

You scoff. “You’re no different from those boat guys. You think you’re so special, God’s gift to omegas, I get it.”

“No,” he grits. “You really don’t.”

“Don’t tell me what I don’t know! I know what I saw. All over the floor of your goddamn office. I slipped in it for Christ’s sake!”

“Right, right. The men you saw me kill,” he says, referencing the scene you’d walked in on just before you’d faked your miscarriage and fled. “You were eavesdropping outside the door, weren’t you, Little thief?”

You jut your chin out. “Yes. So what?” 

“You know, I’d always assumed you heard the entire conversation. Now I realize I was wrong.” 

“What?”

He laughs under his breath—at your expense, you suspect. “Who exactly do you think they were?”

“Your business associates. The same sort of underworld, black market scum as you. Only they didn't work for you. You screwed them over and they were there to collect what you owed them, and you murdered them instead.”

James scoffs and smiles angrily, sticking his tongue into his cheek as he looks away in frustration. "Figures," he mutters.

“What?” you snap. “You’re gonna deny it?”

“I’m not denying anything. But I killed them for you.”

“Oh please. Just stop it. Stop lying! I know what you do for work.” 

Granted, you'd been a little slow on the uptake back then, too enamored and swept up in the whirlwind romance with your first Alpha that you hadn’t ever stopped to wonder where his money came from, or where it was he jetted off to “on business” every few days. It’d taken a year for you to piece it together, to see the true magnitude of the enterprise he ran, and how dark it really was.

Sitting in front of you now, he doesn’t deny it, which only bolsters your disdain for him. “I don’t want that in my life,” you hiss. “Arms dealing, drugs, smuggling, mercenaries. And apparently human trafficking as well.”

His eyes flash. “They don’t call it that, you know. It’s called the ‘skin trade’.”

“I don’t care.”

He gets up to go pour himself another drink at the bar. “Right,” he snaps, like you’re an idiot. “You’re so fucking naïve, krasotka [pretty (n.)]. So convinced that I’m the devil. But you have no idea how much worse it could’ve been for you.”

“You threatened to sell your own daughter before you figured out she was yours!”

Refusing to be provoked, he returns to stand right in front of you, forcing you to look up at him towering over you. “I knew she was mine from the second I walked in that house,” he says, making your breath catch. 

“How?”

He smiles nastily and takes a sip from his drink, then sets it aside. He leans over you with his hands on the back of your seat, caging you in. You can smell the expensive alcohol on his breath as he gets in your face and tells you, “I put that baby in you, moya omegya. She’s a part of me. You think I wouldn’t be able to figure that out? Think an Alpha doesn’t know the scent of his own flesh and blood?”

You tense, fighting not to shrink away. “You’re making that up.”

He chuckles lowly and puts his face right next to yours, cheek to cheek, savoring your reaction. “Sweetheart,” he purrs, “I may not have forced a mating bite on you back then like I should have, but there are other ways to leave your mark on someone.” He dips in to kiss your neck, right over your unbitten glands. “I found you by your scent,” he whispers. “Sniffed you out.”

You shiver at his hot breath on your skin and the deadly soft tone of his voice. The way your body responds to him isn’t anything you can control, and he knows that, but it still makes you flush with embarrassment when he takes a deep inhale in the bend of your neck and hums with satisfaction when he smells the effect he’s had on you. “I wouldn’t have sold her anyway,” he tells you, pulling back and picking up his drink. “I want you to know that. I don’t participate in the skin trade.”

You swallow thickly, watching him watch you as he waits for you to react to him in some way. You don’t know why you believe him about this one thing, but you do. “But you’re aware of it,” you say. “You know it happens, and you don’t do anything to stop it.”

His jaw works in frustration. “I’ve interfered a time or two, when I could get away with it.”

“Well, aren't you a hero.”

“I didn’t say that,” he snaps. “I said I’ve done what little I could. These men make a lot of money dealing in omegas, and they don’t take kindly to being stolen from.”

“I can imagine.”

“No,” he mutters into his drink. “You really can’t.”

There’s something oddly bitter in his tone, like he's working hard not to tell you something. You bite your lip and watch him for a minute. “... How much?” you ask.

“What?” His eyes darken when he figures out what you’re asking. “No.”

“Tell me.”

“It depends,” he grits, glaring at you. "Now cut it out."

Sober, you might have; but half a vodka spritzer after nineteen months of no alcohol has you bolder than you usually would be. You look down at yourself, feigning flippancy. “Well what about me? How much would I go for?”

“Kotenok,” he warns lowly, growling when you continue to press him with a snotty little, 

“Come on, I thought you were such a dangerous criminal? You can’t even discuss a little human trafficking with the weak omega you just trafficked?” 

He probably knows you’re trying to antagonize him, but he still rises to the bait. He sits back and lets his eyes drag over your body in a way that makes your pulse pick up. “Well,” he drawls, “you just had a baby. So that’s less right there.” Your nostrils flare angrily and he gives you a look. “You’re the one who asked,” he reminds, waiting until you give him a nod to continue. He gives you another onceover, this time lingering in certain places longer, a softer look in his eyes for the softer parts of your body. He almost seems to get distracted. He catches himself overindulging and looks away, like it’s hurting him to consider you this way. “Most people want their omegas untouched,” he says quietly. “Especially if the buyer's alpha, which they usually are. It’s an instinctual thing for us. We’re very driven to possess. We don’t like to share.”

“Yeah, tell me about it,” you mutter.

His gaze snaps back to you, a painful amount of familiarity in his eyes. “You’dve been a couple million, back when we first met.”

Your eyes widen. You weren't expecting that. “But … I wasn’t even a virgin.”

He arches an eyebrow. “I said untouched, not virginal. Not in that way. Alpha buyers want unbonded and never bred, first and foremost.” He leers at you. “Not that there aren’t some who’ll pay a little extra to pop a girl’s cherry. But that’s not the main thing they’re looking for, when they buy.” 

You scowl. “Right. So I guess I’m damaged goods now."

“Oh no, mamochka,” he says seriously. “You’ve only gone up in value in my eyes. Though believe me when I say I’m more than happy to contribute to the depletion of your market value." He raises his glass to his lips, looking darkly pleased. “You’re not for sale, and you never will be. You’re mine.”

You're embarrassed to be the one to break eye contact first, but you can’t keep listening to him talk about how much he likes you and watching him look at you like you’re his most prized possession. With any other man you’d just be disgusted, but James has always had a knack for getting you flustered, and he knows it. There’s always been an inexplicable pull between the two of you, and he knows that, too. It’s the main reason why you've always refused his attempts to bond you. You're terrified of what it’ll be like after, since you already know how pathetically helpless you are around him without a bond.

“I have to go to the bathroom,” you mumble quietly. “Where is it?” 

“Just down there.” He nods in the direction behind you, opposite from where Steve had gone with June.

You press your lips together and get up without looking at him, but you can feel his eyes on you the entire time you’re walking away.

“Don’t take too long in there, kotenok,” he purrs from back in his seat. “Or I’ll have to come in after you.”

In the bathroom, you splash water on your face and lean against the sink, looking at the girl staring back at you in the mirror. You blink, and she blinks, but it feels like you’re looking at another person, someone you don’t know. She looks fragile. Tired, and dazed. June’s been sleeping through the night for months, but it’s been a hell of a day.

You scrutinize your reflection, smoothing your dress and tucking your hair behind your ears, thinking about how you have zero makeup on. Then you scoff at yourself for caring what you look like in front of him. You think about how much you’ve changed in the seventeen months since you ran away. Not just physically, but mentally. You’ve had to be so strong. For June, for yourself. It’s been awful, and lonely, and you’ve hated yourself for not being able to stop missing him. 

You sniffle and splash more water on your face, grumpily thinking that postpartum hormones are so much worse than the pregnancy ones. You grab the towel off the wall, but freeze when you bring it up to pat your face dry and get a smell of it.

Oh.

You whimper, unable to keep from pressing it harder to your mouth and nose and inhaling deeply. It’s James’ scent, and it smells so good. It smells like Safety and Love and Alpha. You hear the sound of your own, needy mewl and you gasp, yanking the towel away from your face and tossing it into the sink, trying to keep your shit together. You brace your hands on the counter and glare at your reflection to tell her to stop it, stop it, stop it, but all it takes is seeing your lower lip quiver, and soon your entire face is collapsing in long-repressed sadness. You turn away from the mirror with a pathetic noise, throat aching from the urge to keen. 

Why does this have to be happening?! You’ve tried so hard, for so long. To be strong for June, to get over him, to move on! You bury your face in your hands and choke on a wrenching sob. You know you have to be quiet, have to stop, have to pull yourself together before he—

A soft knock comes from outside the bathroom. “Doll?”

You whine and hastily search for a lock on the door, but there is none, and James hears your crying and pulls the door open. “Honey,” he mourns when he sees you. “What’s wrong?” 

You push past him, hurrying in the direction he isn’t blocking. “Leave me alone!” you cry, hating the blubbering in your voice that makes you sound just as weak as James thinks you are. You arrive in a perfectly made up bedroom with no point of egress other than the one you arrived through. You whine in distress, circle around helplessly, and then throw yourself onto the bed when he arrives at the doorway looking worried. “Leave me alone!” you cry, curling onto your side and pulling one of the pillows down to bury your face in. At least it isn’t suffused with James’ scent. You still cry though, unable to keep it in anymore now that you’ve started.

He tuts sadly from the doorway and comes into the room slowly. He stands there for a long minute, silent, before he sighs and his weight comes onto the bed. “Sweetheart,” he says.

“Just leave me alone,” you whine miserably. “Go away!”

“Shh sh sh.” He curls up behind you, arms around your waist and legs pushing in behind yours. He kisses your shoulder and hugs you, but it only makes you cry harder at how achingly familiar it is. “It’s okay,” he murmurs between kisses. He doesn’t try to get you to stop crying, or ask you what’s wrong. He seems to know exactly why you’re breaking down, and he simply devotes all his efforts to helping you calm down in your own time. “S’okay, s’okay. Everything’s gonna be okay,” he keeps saying, soothing you with a deep rumble in his chest. “I’ve got you, Sweetheart. I’ve got you now. It’s all gonna be okay. Shhh.”

At first, his placating makes you angry, but not enough to stop your crying, and once that tapers off from sobs to quiet, sniffling tears, you can’t seem to dredge up the anger anymore. It isn’t there. 

“You feeling a little better?” he asks kindly, gently tucking your hair behind your ear and then hugging you again.

You whine when you feel his lips against your neck. “I’m fine,” you rasp, voice coming out scratchy from all of the crying. You cringe and scrub your face into the pillow in embarrassment. “Just got a little sad.”

“Yeah,” he agrees quietly, giving you a supportive squeeze. “That’s okay.”

You hate how he says it, because it’s obvious that he knows why you were crying: Poor, sad little omega, bawling her eyes out over how much she’s missed her Alpha. He nuzzles into your neck, telling you it’s okay and that you’re allowed to cry. As much as you hate him being able to see into you so easily, you’re just grateful that he isn’t rubbing your face in it right now. The way he's holding you and comforting you feels good. You don’t fight to get away from him.

The two of you lie there together for what feels like a long time. Once you’ve stopped crying and are only giving the occasional sniffle for your runny nose, he goes back to running his hand over your side. It’s a gesture of comfort. He’s not groping you, but even still, you blush at the vulnerability of it. You find yourself glad that you’re facing away from him. 

The plane shifts noticeably, and James’ hand pauses on your hip. “Pilot said we’re landing soon,” he murmurs. “Should probably go and get pchelka up.”

You sniffle and fight off the urge of resurfacing tears at hearing him reference June. One day of knowing his daughter and already he’s got a nickname for her. You should be annoyed by that, but instead it just makes your heart squeeze with emotion. “Pchelka,” you whisper, trying out the word. 

“Yeah.” He hums happily and kisses your shoulder one last time. “Little bee. Come on. Let’s go.”

You don’t think about how it’s far too soon to have arrived at your destination, until you’re back in the main room of the cabin on the way to where Steve disappeared with June, earlier. You pause at the windows, peering out at the landscape. “This isn’t Russia,” you say, confused. The plane is definitely descending, but you’ve only been in the air for a few hours at most. “James?” you ask, as he comes up behind you and wraps his arms around your waist. Together, you both look out at the looming mountains and turquoise waters below. “Where are we?” you breathe.

James rests his chin on your shoulder and sighs happily. “Home,” he says. “We’re home.”

A.N.: See? Much less Rapey! Plenty more mega-dub con to come though, so don't you angst-lovers worry. Thanks for reading!💖Sarah

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[pleasantlycrazyworld]

So I saw that you're writing for Marvel now. I was thinking about jealousy. Specifically Bucky being ✨Jealous✨. Like the reader is just chatting away with someone about this guy she likes (bucky) but she knows he doesnt like her back (he soooo does) and (everyone else can see it too) so he gets hella jealous and finally just snaps. And kisses her like he is gonna die if he doesnt. The kind of kiss that makes you forget everything else in the world kiss.

Anywayyyyyyysssss

LYSM❤️ 

Author note: The "bad guy" of this story is named Luke so I'm sorry if you are Luke or you're friends with a Luke.

Triggers: Nothing? I think it's just fluff, a little of Bucky angst but nothing bad!

Bucky didn't mean to eavesdrop, he swears! All he wanted to do was get more tea!

But....when he heard your voice, your giggle, maybe just maybe he stayed hidden on purpose.

Who is making her giggle so much?? He wondered feeling emotions he hasn't felt in a while. Anger, confusion, insecure.

He overhears a few things that makes his ears ring.

"He's just so sweet you know? Like he is always trying to be there for me and he's so pretty! Like those eyes!" You playfully groan, "He's just perfect." Bucky stops listening after those few sentences passed your lips. Who is she talking about? Who is there for her, I thought I was that person... He goes back to his room with his empty mug and decides to spend the rest of the morning pouting in his room.

Bucky was dreading tonight.

Why the hell did he promise Sam that he would go to this party??? He knew you were going to be there, my god what if that "perfect" guy was going to be there with her? Is he going to have to deal with you be hanging all over this mystery guy? As his mind races with the idea of you being with someone else it begins to wander away with the idea of you. What will you being wearing? Will your hair be down or up? If it's down it usually means you were struggling more today than usual, does that "perfect" guy know that? "fucking doubt it" He grumbles as he walks out the door.

Sam is over this damn attitude Bucky has been giving out today. "What the hell is wrong with you tonight?" Sam asked fed up, "I know this isn't like your thing but you were improving on at least fixing your face when you're in a mood. I think if you glare at that guy anymore he will drop dead, go over and talk to her, get your girl or leave them be and fix your face." All he got in response was an eye roll.

Bucky had enough. Who the hell does this guy think he is! Your attention has been on this 'Luke' guy all night. Bucky hasn't been able to get you alone for at least a conversation for hours now and he was done. Finishing his drink he leaves the table and goes over to you, walking with a purpose. He doesn't notice the way your eyes light up and how a smile graces your face when you see him coming your way but he does notice how you seem to giggle and lean into Luke to whisper something to him and he certainly noticed Luke rubbing your arm before walking away.

"Bucky! I've been wanting to talk to you abo-" You get cut off by his lips pressing against yours with a passion. You gasps slightly, completely caught off guard. Sure people were saying Bucky was into you but you didn't really believe it. The two of you pull away slowly, wanting to stay in your own little world. Bucky smile softly, feeling a sense of relief from feeling you so close to him, but that was quickly overshadowed by a sense of fear washing over him. What if you weren't into him like that? What if he overstepped? What if he just ruined your relationship? What if Luke wanted to kick his ass now?...well I could totally take Luke.

"I-I um I know I didn't, I should've asked before kissing you but you don't understand how awful it has been watching you with that guy..." he trailed off feeling embarrassed by his previous actions. "I think I should probably just get going" he announced before he is stopped by your hands softly gracing his face. When he got the nerve to look back up at you it was his turn to gasp against your lips as you kiss him with a passion.

Who would've thought everyone was right when they said you guys were into each other. Bucky definitely wishes he listened sooner if it meant he got to feel your lips against his.

I hope you loved! I loved writing it! I'm finally getting back into the groove with writing so if you have any request I would love to try and write it for you! I do fluff, I'm trying my hand out in smut and angst too

[clacefe]

Tower of strength

Part Two

James "Bucky" Barnes x reader

Summary: Reader comforts Bucky after a mission went wrong.

Warnings: Angst, angst, and some more angst. This is just an angst fest.

The light flooding in from the space under your door was enough to wake you up. Then there were the footsteps, which sealed the deal; you wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep for a while. 

Being a light sleeper was both a blessing and a curse.

You slowly rubbed the sleep out of your eyes and threw the duvet off of you. If you weren’t going to sleep, you might as well find out why someone was out and about at –you looked at your phone– 3 in the morning.

You opened the door of the guest room in the Avengers tower as quietly as possible; you didn’t want to wake anyone else. The team needed their rest after a particularly tricky mission that you –fortunately– weren’t chosen to participate in. 

The reason that you were in the tower in the first place was that you wanted to support those that needed help; be it physical or mental. That was kind of your place in the team.

You saw someone sitting at the dining table, his silhouette bathed in yellow light from the lamp at his left; the only lamp that was lit.

You knew that it was Bucky from the light that reflected back into your eyes from his metal arm. You tried to approach him as silently as possible in order to not startle him but knew that it was useless. His keen hearing would’ve picked up your movement as soon as you left your bed.

“Go back to bed, y/n.”

His voice was raw, it sounded like he’d been crying prior to speaking. You ignored him and pulled out the chair next to him and sat on it.

You noticed the glass filled with amber liquid in front of Bucky and slid it away from him.

“Hey, I was drinking that!” he protested 

“That is not going to solve your problems, Buck.” In a softer voice, you continued, “But maybe I can.”

He looked at you for the first time that evening. His blue eyes were rimmed red and glossy with tears. The usual spark in his eyes had been extinguished. He looked like he was at his breaking point, to be honest.

“Oh, Buck,” you whispered and drew him into a hug.

The man grasped at you as if you were his lifeline. And maybe, in some ways, you were. 

Deep, slow sobs came from deep within him, and you pulled him even closer than before.

“Shhhh,” you shushed him while stroking his shoulder-length locks. He withdrew from the hug and looked at you as if you were his tower of strength.

“Now,” you said in a quiet voice, “what happened?”

He started picking at his nails. “I- I don’t know. One moment I was running along with Steve, and–” he started hiccuping again, refusing to look you in the eye.

“And what, Buck? What happened?” you said while lifting his chin with your finger, forcing him to look you in the eye.

“And the next I’m covered in blood.” He shook his head fervently, “I completely blacked out, y/n! I’m a danger to everyone here. I don’t even understand why they send me on missions with them while I could very easily just murder them out of the blue and not know anything about it until days later!”

You stared at the man, who was taking deep breaths in order to keep calm. It was no secret that Bucky still had issues with the Winter Soldier. They had him out of Hydra’s clutches physically, yes. But mentally? Their grip just seemed to be even tighter than when they rescued him.

“Move in with me,” you blurted out. 

“What?” he looked at you, the frown between his eyebrows deepening.

“I mean… Temporarily, but… I don’t want you to be alone right now… So move in with me, get away from all of the missions, the tower in general. I’ll be your company while you go through this, and maybe we’ll even find a solution for you.”

And just like that, the spark in his eyes returned.

[threemarvelousthots]

Steve Rogers x Reader

********************

Can a home be a person?

- Home is where you are loved wholly and unconditionally, without barriers, restrictions, judgments, or expectations.

He was home, his presence one that constantly enveloped you in warmth, comfort and peace. You wanted him, You wanted him to hold you in his arms one last time, to feel him kiss the skin of your cheeks, feel his hand hold yours as you walked aimlessly around town. To smell the scent of Mahogany and Amber as you danced, a dream you wished for every night.

********************

He leaned against the doorframe, the record player filling the room with a soft familiar tune, the windows open and blinds pulled to the side allowing the fresh breeze of the summer air filter throughout the room. The smell of cinnamon wafting from the kitchen signaling you had of course made your famous snickerdoodle cookies for dessert.

Your hips swayed slightly as you took each book off the shelf in front of you, surveying their quality, dusting off the shelves before placing them back in my particular order, as you hummed along to the music. Your mustard polka dot dress stood out perfectly against your hair that fell down your back in soft waves from having it pinned up during the day.

Moving on their own, his feet carried him closer to you, his hand softly moving to hold your waist, the warmth of his lips meeting the soft skin of your shoulder earning a content hum from low in your throat as you placed the book in your hand back in its rightful place.

His hand moved towards your arm, his fingers gliding towards yours softly the feeling of goosebumps forming on your skin beneath his fingers. Your eyes watched as his fingers intertwined with your own and he spun you around pulling your body to his chest, your hands still entwined.

“You get more and more beautiful every time I see you.“ He breathed, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead, the feeling of your eyes closing noticeable against his chin causing him to chuckle.

You melted in his arms as your bodies swayed intime with the music, your head laying against his chest and his resting gently on top of yours, his free hand moving slowly up and down your back. You had longed to have him here in your arms for as long as you could remember.

Your mind wandered, hypothetical situations dancing almost in time with your bodies. What could come of us, could one day we be dancing in this very room, the soft patter of little feet echo throughout the house? Or the click clack of a four legged friend.. or maybe both. The endless amount of possibilities for the two of us now becoming our reality.

It was finally just two.. You and Steve Rogers.

[archivingfanfiction]

Rivers and Roads

by AustinB

Steve is working undercover for Hydra when he gets an unexpected promotion.

To the Winter Soldier Project.

-

The annnnnngst. The hurt comforttttt. the domesticityyyyy. Sometimes there's nothin better than a shrinkyclinks fic.

[beefromanoff]

mcu fanfiction prompts

because i'm much better at daydreaming these things than actually writing them

BUT i could be convinced

one: female oc was created to be a weapon to find and hunt down the Winter Solder (would take place post CAWS at some point after he escapes) and follows her hunting him down, and of course being progressively deprogrammed from trying to kill him. obviously enemies to lovers.

two: in another part of the multiverse, Tony Stark is evil and got into human experimentation, similar to Hydra. one of his test subjects (female oc) escapes using the tessaract in his lab and arrives in our known timeline. desperate to avoid evil Tony from tracking her across universes and bringing her back, she connects with SHIELD for protection. eventually, Tony is enlisted to help because the only person smart enough to stop him, is him. complicated love story because Tony in one universe is her worst nightmare, but Tony in this universe... anyways definitely hurt/comfort and kind of dark?

three: teacher/student romance. the concept would be that every year, the original avengers scout and brings in a new recruit (human or mutant/enhanced) to be part of the training program. oc is scouted by Natasha and brought in to train, and then ends up getting cozy with one of the instructors. i was thinking Bucky, but this could be applied to any of them, really.

feel free to take and use any of these if you want them, it's all i can do to keep up with the one i have going now LOL. just tag me if you write one so i can enjoy xo

[allandoflimbo]

Ashens (Part 2)

Summary: She falls in love with Bucky Barnes from the moment she sees him. Bucky, still in love with a woman from his past, hates Y/N and plans to make her life miserable. To both their dismay, they are assigned together to go undercover into The Capitol for six months. There, they develop a heartbreaking friend with benefits agreement. Dystopian.

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Chapter Word Count: 4,020

Rating: M for Mature, E for explicit. Enemies to lovers trope, sharing a bed trope, friends with benefits trope, temporarily unrequited love, heavy angry sex, heavy on the angst, and very strong language.

Full Masterpage 

Year: 2019

Bucky didn’t like the pity as much as he didn’t like being alive.

Since the moment he stepped foot into the tower he had been nothing but looked down at like he was either scum or a pity party.

He didn’t like it.

He wasn’t a damaged puppy or a victim of abuse, as they all said.

He was a killer.

He was a terrible man who deserved to have died when he was young. That’s what he would’ve told you if you asked. But no one ever asked.

No one asked how he felt.

So he spent months the same way he was right now: alone with his thoughts.

He was in his room, a room with so much comfort that he thought it was hilarious that anyone felt he was deserving of it. He sat on the edge of his bed, his elbows were on each of his knees, and his hands ran through his hair as he stared at the floor.

His eyes closed tightly together as his chest grew tight.

His emotions were always all over the place. One second he didn’t feel deserving of life or love or redemption. But then the next he felt like he didn’t deserve to have been tortured or brainwashed.

He should have died - he should be dead. 

He shouldn’t have died, he should have been born in a different life where he could have lived his life to the full.

Steve was probably the only good thing that even came out of it. His best friend.

His throat tightens, as does his metal arm over his scalp.

It took a bit after he was taken in, for his mind to put things in piece by piece.

His memory came back little by little, and with each one, his psychological state only got worse.

People don’t know what it was like to witness the things he did.

He remembers the war, the Nazis, and Hydra.

He had been one of them. He remembers when The Holocaust happened; he remembers killing a family and a child, and he remembers the exact moment he pulled that trigger- killing JFK. He remembers it all. He remembers a different lifetime - not this.

Everything was different.

He felt robbed. Robbed of life, robbed of innocence.

But then today something happened that pushed him over the edge - finally.

He had been hanging out with Steve in the compound kitchen, Steve was showing him some throwbacks on Spotify to maybe try to shake him up with some good memories when a particular song by Ella Fitzgerald came on.

Bucky went ghostly pale. And then he saw her in his head.

He remembers his little apartment that was more like a room and his iron stove where he draped his jacket, revealing the suspenders over his tight white shirt.

He remembers looking over at her and their eyes meeting.

First, it was her image, then her voice, then her name, and then every single beautiful aching memory.

He remembers wanting to marry her.

Steve had gone silent the moment Bucky said her name, and by the look on his friend’s face, he knew that it hadn’t been a dream. She had been real. And he wanted to find her, he wanted to chase her down. He didn’t even care anymore that she was probably over one hundred years old by now, and most likely had already passed. He needed to find out about her.

Did she have a family?

Steve didn’t get in the way when Bucky asked Tony for help. Steve didn’t get in the way when Bucky found an article saying that she had died at just twenty-one years old by a gunshot to the brain, while he had been deployed.

And so he sat for eight hours straight, pulling on his hair and staring at the floor, feeling numb. He didn’t deserve this. But mostly, he was angry at himself for allowing Hydra to do what they did, even if he had no control over himself.

How could he have been so weak?

He remembers every curvature of her body and the sounds she had made. He remembers her kiss. She had been his baby, his innocent girl, and now decades later, just when he remembers their time together,  (a literal lifetime) he finds out she was dead. She was murdered.

He pulls tighter on his hair as he remembers every bad thing his metal arm has ever done. Every life it has taken. He knows he’s trash and there isn’t any going back to the boy he once was, the one that would always make a joke out of a situation. The one who always smiled and was happy.

Not anymore.

Because just when he thought there was a bright light, a slight chance of something good, it was taken away from him just like that.

And not by just any shooter - a Hydra agent. Something he was now a former of.

He might as well have pulled the trigger himself.

To make matters worst, the world was fighting a virus, something the earth’s mightiest heroes could do nothing about.

And so he vomited all over his room floor, between his feet, in utter disgust.

It didn’t take him too long to clean up, and not much longer. Afterward, he passed out on his bed, nightmare free.

Beacon Hill, MA

The little boy runs through the town in a hurry, hitting a middle-aged man on the arm, catching his attention. The little boy appears to be crying as he grips his hand to his chest.

A heavy fog engulfs the semi-busy street of Beacon Hill, its street lined by small coffee shops, a post office, and small boutiques.  More young couples and high school kids walk down the sidewalk. It’s your ordinary tight-knit community. A man kisses his wife on the steps of a furniture store. Some kids leave the local theatre in groups. People watch as the boy runs past them. Still panting, he turns the corner onto another street, which looks like an ally. The side street is empty, the fog appearing to become thicker in the air.  

The boy cries in pain, clutching his hand tighter to his body, stepping in puddles. The white wrap around his hand becomes soaked in red blood and it’s visible.  Clumsily, he tumbles onto the sidewalk, gasping for air. He turns onto his side as he screams, going into a fetal position.

His scream echoes out into the night.

Just a mile away, a fifty’s style diner is lit up by a blinking neon sign in bright red color: Pough’s Delight.

People sit around the semi-crowded restaurant, scattered about in different seats. A young couple sits by the window and a few older people sit on the stools lining the counter. Some talk among themselves happily, while other’s attention remains on the TV displayed in the corner.

A tv reporter speaks as an image of burning buildings, rioting, and people laying on the streets are shown. The bottom right of the screen reads Chicago.

“At this time, it is still hard to tell how and when help will arrive for all of us here in the US. Most of us trying to continue to live life as normally as possible. Chicago and most of the Midwest is finally seeing some of the same horrors we saw earlier last year in the middle east and France. The virus continues to spread farther east, people are trying to resort to their own means of protection. It is unknown when the presumed city of sanctuary, which they call The Capitol, will finally be open to the public, which is promised by the president, and it co-founders politicians Micheal and Beth Y/L/N. Until further notice, we warn that anyone that sees a sign of someone with the symptoms, to please report it to their local authorities and to stay safe. This includes—”

A brunette, late teens, in a white and red cheerleading outfit that reads BULLS, sits on one stool. She drinks a vanilla milkshake. A blonde boy, tall and pretty, wears a varsity jacket. He’s around her age and he’s sitting right next to her, his arm draped around her shoulder. Possessively.

Her eyes linger on the television,  and she looks afraid.

“You’ll keep me safe, right?” Despite her fear, she maintains a strong tone in her voice.

“If I don’t?” The boy asks, playfully. The girl smirks as her boyfriend nuzzles his face into her neck.

“Imma Hold it against you. Asshole.”

“They say it’s still too far from the east coast. It hasn’t even touched Pleasant Valley yet, and everyone’s secretly hoping it goes there and stays there -- in that hell hole.”

The girl chuckles.

“You’re just saying that because Emily Guinevere moved there last summer and you hold a grudge. Even so, when it gets here, I want to get the biggest penthouse they have behind that sanctuary wall they’re building. Imagine it. You and me, in a big bed, all day, all night; safe.” The boy picks at his straw with a snarl as the girl continues, dreamily.

“Pretty sure they already have that one saved for their weird daughter.” He says under his breath.

“I heard a rumor that the reason she still lives at home is because she went nuts and almost tried to stab her last boss and to avoid bad tabloid her parents insisted she just stayed home with them. Didn’t want to ruin their perfect reputation by risking her being seen walking out of some psycho house.”

You hear it all as you refill the white mug under the expresso machine. You briefly look down at your white top and blue apron, which had your name on it. You finish up the beverage with a snarl, sliding it across the counter to the older man who then nods you a thank you.

“It’s why she dropped out of college and can never get a job anywhere. Rumors at the Bulls says she used to eat her lunch in Mr. Ike’s classroom all through senior year. I don’t remember her much, I was a Freshman when she graduated. She’s lucky she’s a spoiled bitch with rich parents. They probably treat her like a princess. My bet is that she’ll be the last to die, without working a day in her life for it.”

Your grip tightens on the pocket of your apron and your head snaps up to look at the couple. You don’t realize your manager is standing off your left until she nudges you to get your attention.

“I need you to clear tables. I have to run out for a few minutes.” She tells you.

“Got it, Susan.”

She gives you a glare.

“Call me Mrs. Thompson or I’m sending you back to dishwashing duties.”

Susan leaves. You wipe down the counter, and it’s evident on your face how unpleasant you find your job. Yet, you continue to wipe, your eyes scanning around the diner until you’re once again met face to face with the local varsity couple.

You catch the end of the girl’s elbow with the wet towel. The girl gives you a dirty look.

“I’m sorry.” You say curtly.

The girl stares at you for a hard second before speaking up.

“That’s fine.”

You continue to wipe and your name tag is clearly visible to the girl. The girl’s face drops dramatically, her eyes drifting back to your face.

“You’re Y/N, Y/L/N.”

You smile.

“It’s fine. It’s not the first time I’ve been referenced to as a spoiled bitch in the third person. People see what they want to see.”

The girl gapes slightly.

“I didn’t — I don’t—”

You want to add something when the entrance to the diner opens wide.

The bells above the door ding obnoxiously.

You’re shocked to see none other than the guy you had been crushing on for the last two months. You couldn’t help it, he had a nice smile.

Your eyes linger longer than necessary on the attractive man. Your head snaps back to the girl who was still talking, but you couldn’t hear a thing.

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it.” You say, brushing her off.

You watch the man as you step away from the couple. Still in a daze.

The host grabs two menus and leads him and his friend to a table.

Will, your coworker, grabs your shoulder from behind playfully. You turn around only for a moment before going back to cleaning the counter. Will was funny and probably the only genuine friend you had.

He was in his early twenties, average height, brown hair, and matching brown eyes.

“You know, staring is rude.” He says.

“I wasn’t staring. I was gazing. Briefly.”

“It’s a pity. And you’ve only been nuts about him for the last few weeks, every single time he’s walked in here you look like you’ve seen a damn ghost.”

With an eye roll, You pick up your wet towel and walk towards the kitchen.

Will follows behind like a puppy.

“Shut up. I have tables to clean.” You say.

“Looks to me like you’d like to do way more than clean his table. If you know what I mean.”

You roll your eyes.

“Seriously, Will. Stop.”

“I don’t get why you don’t just say hi?” He smirks, standing in the door of the kitchen with arms crossed.

You toss the rag into the trash and walk past him and then grab a new clean one off the dish cart.

You make your way around the counter and to your first dirty table.

You hover in close proximity of cute-guy’s table, but not trying to make it too obvious. You pick up on his and his friend’s conversation. He’s giving his friend advice on ordering the pancakes.

The blueberry ones. You smile.

You’re finishing up the table when his arm hits his silverware off the side of the table. You bend down quickly and hand it over to him.

There’s a long pause as he takes it from you.

“Thanks.” He barely gives you a second glance. You clear your throat, a bit embarrassed.

“It fell. I’ll get you a new one.”

He nods at you, looking down at his menu. You, flustered, walk back towards the kitchen.

Will stands there, smirking. You want to punch it off his face.

“Nice, the old oops you dropped something move. Classic.”

“I swear to Lucifer, William if you don’t shut the -”

You’re abruptly cut off, as a loud commotion from near the register catches your attention and everyone else’s in the Diner.

You groan.

At the counter stands your mother; early fifties, in a tailored and expensive women’s suit, short blonde hair at her shoulders, makeup impeccable, and yelling at the hostess.

“Shit.” You say under your breath.

You toss the new wet towel and utensil in the kitchen sink and walk over to where the hostess stands. You could tell the poor girl was intimidated.

You take a deep breath when you approach the scene.

“Mom.”

Your mom’s shoulder’s relaxed drastically.

“Thank God, Y/N. I need you to come with me.”

“Mom, I’m working, I can’t just leave. Unlike you, I need this job.”

Your mother walks over to you and gives you a stern look. You knew that look, it scared you more when you were a child, but it still set you off the same way. She grabs your forearm tightly.

“You are coming with me. Now. Your dad’s already outside waiting.”

Your brows furrow together.

“Dad? What’s going on?” Your mom is reluctant for a moment. She goes from angry to afraid in a second. She looks around the restaurant and then back to you.

“In the car.”

“Mom-“

“Now.”

You look over your shoulder at Will. He looks at you sympathetically. A couple of the customers also watch, including the cute customer.

“Fine. Just let me put my apron back first.”

“No.”

You’re stunned. At lost for words and not in the mood to argue, you nod politely and follow your mother out the door. The door dings once more.

You arrive at the car - a black Tahoe. Your mother gets inside but you’re still outside, the car door open and waiting for you.

“Mom, please tell me what’s going on.”

“Get the hell in, now.” She says.

Your father sits in the driver’s seat, a light blue dress shirt hugging his shoulders, his right hand tightly around the steering wheel.

“Now!” He says, his tone louder than your mom's.

You swallow nervously and there are fresh tears in your eyes.

You get in and buckle up your seat belt. You meet your father’s troubled eyes in the rearview mirror.

“It’s here.” He says.

“What are you talking about?” You ask him, fearing you already knew what he was talking about.

“The Virus.” He answers.

Your mom doesn’t turn around when she speaks, “It’s here, they saw a boy running. But someone picked him up, we don’t know who yet. All we know is that it wasn’t enough time.”

“What do you mean, not enough time?” You ask.

“The Society, the wall that was supposed to build a safe place for everyone to live until there was a cure. The place half the country is expecting to be finished by now--it’s not.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning we have to get out of Boston. We need to move closer to The City, we need to finish our plan, so we can all be safe. We’re taking you there now.” Your dad explains.

“But I’m not ready, I’m not prepared, I don’t even have anything packed yet. You guys said it wouldn’t be here for months, even a year. If at all. Everyone said we were safe here. That The Capitol was just precautionary.”

“Yeah, well, we were all wrong.” He says.

Your hands start to shake and you are visibly shaken. You stare out the window of the car as your dad pulls out of the parking lot. You see a young woman kissing a young man outside of one of the theaters. Your gaze falters.

“Are we going to warn everyone?”

“We will. Not tonight, though.” Your dad says.

Your gaze snaps to your father’s in the mirror again.

“They need a chance, they need to prepare just as much as us.” You retaliate.

“Yes, but we don’t want chaos either. We need you safe first.”

Your life was always something that you tried not to take too seriously, or maybe you put so much effort into trying not to care that you ended up caring too much.

Your first car was a rusted little Jeep that had hundreds of recalls. It was so old it didn’t have aux feature so you would settle for any college alternative rock station. It was in that said car when you were waiting for the skies to finally open up into a downpour that the first drop of mention of the killer virus came on the radio. You remembered being afraid, but then it had also made sense. Your parent’s secrecy made sense, and they explained it all to you that night.

You understood their intentions for the wellbeing of the entire world, and it was something the media and your peers always misunderstood.

It’s why you had no genuine friends and why you had formed such a tough shell.

Screw them if they didn’t like you for who you were, or that they never even gave you a chance. That’s what you always told yourself, but you knew deep down that it hurt. You were like all of them - you liked binge-watching the best of the best tv shows; you were even part of a fandom. You loved music; you loved to sing, and you were an extroverted introvert. You had a sense of humor that always made yourself laugh.

On your eighteen birthday, you got a tattoo of a little cobra on the back of your neck. It had no meaning. You just got it for the sake of having it. Because that’s who you were.

You were carefree, and you loved too hard.

It’s why as soon as you and your parents got home just to pick up some things you had no business knowing, you quickly sneaked out to run to the drugstore down the street. You maintained cautiously. You wanted some snacks for the road, something for your mom and dad. You got your dad’s favorite - a Toblerone, and your mom’s: a bag of skittles.

You almost consider picking up the Avengers theme skittles, eyeing Captain America’s a second longer than was necessary.

But you had to stay focused. The surrounding people did not understand what was happening, but you did. It made you feel selfish.

You tucked the snacks into your bag and went around the house so no one could see you sneaked out. That was the plan until you saw your front door slightly ajar and an unfamiliar car parked out front.

You felt something deep in your stomach that you couldn’t place. You knew something wasn’t right.

Slowly, and afraid, you got closer to the door, being sure to make no noise as you did so. You were half expecting you would need to enter your house to find out what was going on, but you stumbled back slightly in shock when you realized you didn’t have to look very far.

The scene in front of you was out of a horror movie and you wanted to scream and tell the man to get away from your parents, but you knew better than that.

There they were on a chair, their hands tied behind their backs in and their feet tied together. They had a black blindfold over their eyes.

Your mom was sobbing, and your dad was deadly silent.

What shocked you the most was that it was the man from the diner, the cute one, and he had a gun pointed straight to your mother’s head.  

There was a skull with tentacles on his upper left chest that hadn’t been there before.

You knew that pin. Everyone did.

“Where is it?”

His voice was thick with demand and authority.

“I won’t tell you.” Your mother snarled through heavy tears.

“Where is the damn reserve? Your people won’t survive, anyway. We’ve had this under plans for years. It was always in the plan of Hydra to take over The Capitol and make it ours. We will be the survivors. Dirt and grime like you should fend for yourselves,” he shifted from feet to feet and turned the safety off. The click sent a shiver through everyone in that room, “Now tell me where it is?”

“No!” Your mom yelled and that must’ve struck a nerve in the man because in a blink of an eye he moved his hand just an inch over and shot your father straight through the head.

Tears were running down your face and you fell back. And then with another bang, your eyes went up to the sky and you started gasping for breath. You knew very well that that second shot was for your mother.

You quickly,  and as best as you could through heavy nerves and heavy breathing, backed away from the door and towards the side of the house, to get away from the man. You couldn’t let him see you. But he knew you had to be around somewhere.

He knew they had picked you up. He knew about you.

To the best of your abilities, you crawled yourself as far as you could closer to your neighbor’s house and into their own yard. You tried your best to ignore the pain you were feeling so you could save your own life.

You crawled under the bushes and made your way closer to the white siding of your neighbor’s home.

You had to ignore the agony you were in and the sharp sobs racking through your chest; you had to run.

Part 3

[soldierswar]

Melancholia-Chapter 6

A/N: So, I’ve been in a bit of a funk lately about my writing. I’m adding these newish characters, and beginning these new storylines that I’ve had in my head for years, and now I’m finally getting to the point to writing it, and letting you guys read it too, but now I’m starting to worry that maybe it’s just stupid, and nobody will care about it, or hate it? It’s making me kind of nervous and I wonder how much of it I’m actually going to end up ‘publishing’ on here. Has anybody else gone through this? How did you handle it? I’d love to hear from you. <3 

8 months ago

Ryan

Her hair was a tattered mess, and she looked as though she had been in tears for the entire night. And from what I could tell by the open, half-finished bottle of rum on the counter she had spent the whole night just as awake as was.

I knew that Emelia was going to say the truth that we had been denying ourselves for years. I just wasn’t sure that I was ready to hear it.

“We’re never going to find her.” She muttered. Her voice was defeated, and tired. She sat on the couch of the hotel room with her arms wrapped around her knees like a small child. Within all of the time since Scarlette disappeared, I had never seen her so broken. As time went on since the fall of Hydra, she grew more and more weary. As if every part of her circumstances weighed more and more on her each day, and she didn’t have the person she needed most by her side.

Emelia and I had stayed at each other’s side since the outward fall of Hydra. And we had been around as Hydra began to rebuild itself. Emelia herself being the daughter of Alexander Pierce was a prominent figure. But what Hydra saw was very different from the truth. She had been trying to figure out how to take it down from the inside. Unfortunately, despite all of the efforts, not even she could figure out how to do it. So, we were stuck in a limbo of reluctantly following orders in honest fear for our lives. In order to at least try to get away with not doing what they wanted, Emelia made up leads that only we could follow which would occupy us for months. These months weren’t actually doing work for Hydra, but it was time we used following any tiny lead we had in finding Scarlette. After years of doing this off and on, we were completely out of ideas.

Even though I knew the truth, Emelia speaking those words hit me like a freight train. I knew at that moment that I was a failure. I had failed to go through with what I had promised my dead best friend to do, and that was to make sure that the girl he loved from the first moment he saw her would be okay if anything happened to him. And I let him down the moment she disappeared. How was I even supposed to live with that along with the millions of other things I had to live with?

“’Melia-” I sighed.

“Don’t…” She interrupted, taking in a long, shaky breath.

“Do you know how long it took me to even face this? We can’t keep doing this.”

She turned away looking off into the distance of the hotel room.

“Besides. If she is alive, us looking for her could put her and us in danger.” She added.

I nodded. I knew that it was something she had to tell herself over and over again before coming to this conclusion. Granted, it wasn’t by any means a lie.

“I wasn’t trying to fight you on this.” I said, looking down.

She snapped her head back to me. I was generally the pretty optimistic one, so hearing me of all people talk about throwing in the towel was a shock to her.

After a long pause between the two of us, she finally broke the silence.

“What are we gonna do now?”

…

Present day

Scarlette

I sat alone in the immaculately white room for almost 15 minutes. 15 minutes of pure fear, anxiety, and contemplation of what was about to happen next. It felt as though acid was running through my veins, and my lungs were being stepped on by an elephant. Although, I should have been used to this by now.

           It had been almost 2 months since I had been taken away from my life in Oregon. My cover having been blown, along with the life that I had left behind some time ago with Hydra being brought out of the shadows. And now it was all coming back around to me detail by detail.

           Stark was going particularly hard on me. Every little detail about every little piece of information that I told followed with 80 different questions, and I had to answer all of them. It never occurred to me that no matter how much a million different memories haunted you on a daily basis, being constantly questioned and cross-examine on them made it 100 times worse.

           A full night’s sleep was a rare occasion. And when I did sleep, I’d wake up practically drenched in sweat completely out of breath. I could barely stomach the idea of food anymore, except for when James practically forced me to take a few bites throughout the day. I constantly tried to reassure him that I was okay, but I couldn’t ignore the worried stares that he tried so hard to hide if I so much as lifted my shirt up exposing my ribs and sharp hipbones.

           Both of us were under maximum security watch. Granted, it wasn’t as bad as it sounded. We had our own little rooms, kind of like a really small apartment, except under constant vocal surveillance in our rooms, and video surveillance outside of them. They tried really hard to keep James and I separated in our own separate rooms, but they eventually let up and let us stay together. They probably just figured that if we were plotting something, it would be easier to find out if we were almost never separated. Other than that, we were only allowed to interact with other people under max security. Not that we ever wanted to anyway.

           Suddenly, I hear the door open cautiously. My heart began to race at over 200mph, and I realized that I had been digging into my palms with my sharp nails so extensively that I was almost drawing blood at this point. After the previous day of practically getting screamed at, and having files practically thrown in my face I just wasn’t ready. No amount of whiskey in the world could get me prepared for more.

           “Well good afternoon, Tipsy.” Tony chimed sarcastically walking into the door.

           He referred to be as Tipsy every now and again after I was extemporaneously pulled into the interrogation room at 8pm, and I was almost too drunk to form coherent sentences. The new nickname was not an amiable one as he was famous for doing for people he loved. It was almost clear to me that every verbal attack on me was personal. And I was getting the feeling that it wasn’t exactly personal on me, but who I was attached too.

           I didn’t respond to the greeting, but slouched into my chair. He noted my deliberate response and shrugged.

           “Listen. I got a new person here, I’m evaluating him to see how he does in these types of scenarios. His clearance is at minimum security, and he’s almost done with the program, and we’re probably gonna keep him.”

           I simply blinked showing how uninterested I was with this.

           “What I’m saying is that he’s going to be the one talking with you today.”

           I tilted my head.

           “But I was really enjoying out little talks.” I replied innocently.

           “Oh look, she can speak in sentences again.”

           I rolled my eyes and sunk further into my chair. Encounters with Stark may have been mildly terrorizing at times, but I always tried my best to seem as cool and un-phased as possible.

           “Alright, come on in.” Tony called out towards the open door, dropping a stack of files on the table.

           I didn’t look in the direction of whoever was coming in. I just stayed as still as possible. I knew that if Tony was bringing someone else in, he wasn’t bringing in someone pleasant. Especially if it was another one of his ex-Hydra recruits.

           “Scarlette?”

           The voice was soft, and cautious. But it was familiar. I knew it. I knew him.

           I turned around, and just as I had suspected…

           “Ryan.”

…

           What was supposed to be another dreadful session of interrogating ended up being 2 hours of catching up. Hearing about how he had gotten out of Hydra and how this whole program was so good for him made me so happy for him. I was glad that it had all been working out for him for the past 6 months. He had tried to get Emelia to come along with him, but she was too afraid of what could happen and reluctantly stayed where she was. Just the sound of her name, and how close I was to being able to see her again felt like my heart was being twisted.

           “So…The girl that everyone is talking about that is with The Winter Soldier is you?”

           Ryan asked in complete disbelief.

           I nodded, noting for a moment that I was starting to blush.

           “Aren’t you supposed to be interrogating me on my plot to murder the president with my super soldier boyfriend, instead of my actual love life?”

           He chuckled.

           “Well, I don’t know what you did, or what you said but Stark is hell bent on finding something on you.”

           The mood shifted, bringing my mind back to all the issues at hand. I knew that I was automatically under extra scrutiny just because of who I was with.

           “Scarlette,” Ryan said in his big brother reassuring tone.

           “You’re gonna be okay.”

           I nodded up and down trying to believe him, but then started shaking my head lightly.

           “How can you be sure about that?” I replied.

           Suddenly the door swung open with a loud bang against the wall. I jumped, and turned my head to see what was up. It was Stark.

           “You!” he exclaimed, slamming a stack of papers and files in front of my face.

           “You said you didn’t lie about anything. That was bullshit!”

           I shook my head in complete confusion and disbelief, switching my sight from Ryan back to Tony. Even Ryan looked confused.

           “Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about. Unless you’re just trying to get all of your stories in order.”

           I was still completely speechless. I was scared, angry and frustrated. Nothing I could do or say was good enough, and I didn’t know what to do anymore.

           “Do I need to say it?” He sighed.

           “Say it.” I fired back with an angry tone.

           “Because I don’t even know what you’re even talking about anymore. What? Did I not clear with you what brand of socks I’m wearing today? That, sure maybe I wasn’t exactly 17 the first time I killed someone, but 17, 6 months and twenty something days old? What is it? What more do you want from me?”

           He sat down on the corner of the cold, metal table in front of me.

           “First of all,” He said in a hushed tone.

           “We found some files of yours that were incredibly hard to crack. But we got into them, and we went deep into them. So, is there anything you care to say now? Because I’ll just say it out loud now.”

           He paused, thinking that that would mean something to me. As if it should have.

           “Nothing? Okay. How about the fact that when you claimed to be in a two-week long coma after your little boyfriend died, there are 12 assassinations with evidence, and confirmation that they were all by you?”

           I stared blankly at him, completely unsure of how to react. Where was he getting all of this bullshit from?

           “Or the fact that you said you only worked with The Winter Soldier once during your time with Hydra? That was a lie, all I have to do is go back to exhibit A.”

           He still wasn’t getting anything from me.

           “Or…How about the fact that you withheld that Alexander Pierce is your father!”

 Tagged People: @a-heart-attack-ow @sexysamsungl @carryonmyswansong 

@fantasticimpaladoctor @letsgetfuckingsuperwholocked

[writemarvelousthings]

Home to you.

PAIRING: Reader x Bucky

WORD COUNT: 1.6K

WARNINGS: mentions of nudity, sexy times, exhaustion, and some good old protective Bucky.

Okay, so every since that What If episode and we got the glorious moment that was Bucky in the shower, I have been itching to write something to do with Bucky in the shower. So here we go I hope you all enjoy this little indulgent fic as much as I did writing it.

GIF NOT MINE

Your bones felt like led, dragging the rest of your body down with you. Exhaustion didn't even begin to describe how you were feeling. Your head hit the back of the headrest with a dull thud, the drone of the Quinjet engine slowly lulled you into a light doze. The mission was long, longer than anyone expected. You and the latest Avengers recruit Yelena, were sent to a remote part of Ukraine to shadow a suspected arms dealer. Not that spending time with Yelena wasn't fun when you weren't on stakeouts and narrowly avoiding being shot at the blonde Russian was entertaining, to say the least.

You didn't dare try and work out how much vodka you had consumed in the dingy little apartment Sam had sent you too. After almost two months of living like you were a vagabond you were finally on your way home, you could sense Yelena to your left. She looked as rundown as you felt. Blonde hair tumbling down her shoulders as she pressed her left hand to her side. Your extraction was less than smooth, not the best ending to your mission but you had your intel. The world was that little bit safer and you had someone very important to see, if you could keep your eyes open long enough that was.

Sudden jolting snapped you awake, instantly making you groan.

“Welcome home girls” You glared at Sam through one eye, not that you weren't grateful to be but somehow you knew the rough landing was his idea of a cruel joke.

“For someone who flys for a living you're terrible at landing,” Yelena grumbled equally perturbed by the abrupt wake-up call. Sam merely chortled as he started to shut the plane down.

“Yeah yeah I get it you're both tired and grumpy, go get some sleep. We’ll debrief in the morning after a cup of coffee...” he turns around to look at the two of you before continuing

“Or maybe two?” giving him a two-finger salute you peel yourself off the chair, standing up onto protesting knees you stumble down the ramp. You mutter something intelligent to Yelena who merely pats you on the shoulder slumping off to her quarters. You stop for a moment, realizing the walk you have in front of you to your shared rooms. Before you could contemplate the idea of just merely dropping to the floor and sleeping for the next fourteen hours a low chuckle makes you blink into the shadows on your left.

“Aren't you a sight for sore eyes” The man leans against the wall, all swagger, and bravado you had missed these past few months. His dark and gold arm glinted in the slowly setting sun behind you, his hair was longer again. A curtain of chestnut hair framing his striking features, his beard was darker and fuller than the last time you saw him. If you had seen him walking down on the street you’d have cursed the woman who was lucky enough to have snagged him. As luck would have it, that woman was you.

“Sore being the appropriate word in that sentence” you groaned shuffling over to him, Bucky merely grins. Pushing off from the walk he meets you in two long strides, gently enveloping you in his arms. You sign contently, your body despite the ache in your bones melts into his embrace. He tucks you into his chest with the gentleness not many see from the large brooding man, he presses a light kiss to the top of your head. It makes you want another one from him, lifting your face up to his to express what little energy you have to pucker your lips.

The silent request makes Bucky's chest rumble in amusement. Leaning down he presses his soft lips to yours, his beard tickles your face slightly causing you to hum happily. It wasn't a long kiss and you didn't have it in you to make it a passionate one either. But you couldn't help the feeling of your stomach flipping being in Bucky’s arms, you pulled back gently gazing up at him like a love-struck idiot. Which you suppose you were, you hadn't felt happiness like this in a long time. After a string of failed relationships, never feeling like you were good enough or lived up to their expectations you had finally found Bucky. It was an easy natural feeling that you hadn't felt in years, you finally felt like yourself again and your heart could burst.

“Missed you darlin'” the soft baritone or Bucky’s voice soothed you, caressed you in a way that no man could ever or would ever achieve in your lifetime.

“Missed you too stud” Bucky rolls his eyes slightly, kissing the tip of your nose then both your cheeks. Peppering your face with soft kisses that almost lull you back to sleep, you feel yourself slump slightly in his arms as he stoops to catch you.

“Whoa there, passing out on me already? And after the night I had planned for us too” you barely have the energy to open your eyes, never mind swat him for his slightly lewd remark.

“So tired” you managed to whimper into his chest, you felt yourself moving. Guided by Bucky towards your rooms.

“Come on then, let's get you cleaned up”

You thought cleaning up merely meant peeling off your mission suit and falling face-first into your king-size bed. It's what you had been fantasizing for over the last week, more than you had been fantasizing about being under Bucky… or on top. Or any position really. But it seemed like Bucky had other ideas and not ones that had you screaming his name at the end. Steam billowed from the shower as you slumped out of your boots, Bucky's nimble fingers made quick work of your suit and underwear. His eyes scanning your skin, the smattering of scrapes cuts and bruises were all superficial but to him you might as well have been cut open and bleeding all over the bathroom floor. From his position kneeling before you, you reached out to cup his cheek. Tilting his face to look up at you.

“I’m okay, promise” grey eyes searched yours, a satisfied nod was all you got in response before he rose up before you. Pulling his shirt off you were always stuck by Bucky’s strong beauty. Rippling muscles showing no sign of diminishing, his vibranium arm gleaming in the steam he was your own dark adonis. All yours for the rest of your life, just as you were his.

“C’mere baby” holding out his hand he leads you to the shower, gently helping you into the spray you turn back to watch him shimmy his jeans down. Despite the weariness in your bones, you knew once you had your sleep you'd have your fill of him in the morning. Another part of Bucky you were happy to say benefited from the serum.

“Eyes up here doll” your eyes snapped up to his as you stuck your tongue out, turning back to face the warm water. Groaning as the water washed over you, washing off the two months of grime. You groaned even more as Bucky’s warm body folded in behind you, his hands found home on your hips. Leaning back against him you both stand under the warm spray for a moment.

“I missed this while you were gone” Bucky murmurs into the skin of your shoulder, wrapping his arms around your waist.

“What showering?” you smirked slightly only to yelp in surprise as Bucky pinches the skin on your hip gently.

“Missed holding you smart ass” you giggled, turning around to face him. Pushing his hair back from his face you leaned up slightly to kiss him, slightly deeper than your reunited kiss. Holding a promise of what else you had missed about him too, you feel him stir against you slightly. A soft swipe of his tongue against your bottom lip causes you to open your mouth to him. Soft and gentle, gathering you into his arms more as the steam swirled around you as Bucky kissed you senselessly. After what seemed like a blissful eternity kissing the man you loved you both had to come up for air.

“Thought you were too tired for ‘that’ sort of a welcome home?” Bucky wagged his eyebrows slightly, his hands traveling down to cup your ass. Squeezing it making you bite your lip eyes fluttering.

“I am, but it doesn't mean I can’t kiss my boyfriend” you pressed a soft kiss to his lips wiggling out of his embrace to grab your favourite body wash.

“Now am I going to have to wash myself or are you gonna help me sarge?” raising an eyebrow you offer him the body wash, as he gently takes it from you smiling.

“Yes ma’am”

After helping wash each other, you eventually get your fantasy of falling into bed. Every inch of your skin was scrubbed and your hair washed with a gentle efficiency only Bucky could manage. You sighed happily into your pillow, the smell of your favourite softener mixed with Bucky's cologne made something inside you purr as Bucky slipped into bed behind you.

“No more long missions okay? I’ll clip Sam’s wings if he sends you away again” you hum at Bucky’s words, not having the strength or the heart to tell him that long missions were part of both your jobs, no doubt it will be his turn to be sent off to save the world while you shower alone waiting for him.

“M’kay” was all you managed to huff out, sleep calling to you. You felt a heavy arm curl around your waist pulling you back into Bucky’s chest.

“Goodnight baby” curling himself around you Bucky whispered into your ear as you smiled, coming home really was the best part of a long mission.

[crazycookiecrumbles]

Ok I can't get this image of NYCrealtor!bucky out of my head. Like you show up to one of his listings and he just first the entire time

Dream Apartment

Realtor!Bucky x Reader (Realtor AU)

Warnings: Nada

Trying to find a place to live in NYC was just an absolute nightmare. Everything was overpriced and thoroughly abused. I mean, who wanted to live in an apartment where the stove was from 1950, barely working, in a kitchen that had no windows or ventilation?

Which was also one foot away from the bedroom/living room, yet labeled as a one-bedroom apartment instead of what it really was: a studio apartment the size of a closet.

The search for a place of your own was exhausting and you were growing more and more desperate as your lease and living with your roommate came to an end. With a new job under your belt and your savings in hand, you were ready for a little upgrade for yourself. You'd take a studio, if you liked the neighborhood, the rent was doable, and the building was kept and clean, but you just couldn't find it.

Your roommate was also moving out to live with their partner, and they had used a realtor to secure their new place that they absolutely raved about. They gave you his business card, and before you knew it, he already had an appointment set up with you to show you a few places he thought you'd like.

However, you wanted to curse your friend. You didn't think the realtor was this pretty. Did they fail to mention this? The soft brown hair, the bright, mischievous eyes, and, oh, that smile. He was trouble wrapped up in a black Armani suit. The man spotted you almost immediately, pausing in his movements as he found his smile growing the longer he looked at you.

You were dead.

"Ah, Ms. L/N, nice to meet you. I'm James Barnes," he said as he reached out to shake your hand and look you over from head to toe, "But you can call me Bucky."

"Bucky?" You raised an eyebrow, "Interesting --"

"Comes from my middle name," he said as he opened the door to the lobby of the building. "I heard a lot about you from your roommate."

"Oh?"

"Yup, and I think I nailed it on the first try, actually," Bucky said as he gestured to the front desk, greeting the man with a smile and a nod. "Got a doorman here, lobby's clean. Two working elevators."

"Okay. So far not too shabby, Mr. Barnes," you remarked as you both entered the elevator.

Bucky leaned against the back wall, hands in pockets, a smirk on his face as he stared at you, "Yeah?"

"It's fine, but don't mark me off as impressed just yet."

"Uh-huh," Bucky chuckled as he stared at you, tongue running along his bottom lip. "Well, I can't wait to blow your mind."

Was that meant to mean more? Because, to you, that sounded awfully flirty. Just how did he want to blow your mind. Did he mean that solely for the apartment? Because that little tongue thing he had going on seemed awfully sexual. You know what, maybe you were just...overthinking this.

Yes, you were definitely overthinking it.

Entering the apartment, you went first as Bucky rattled off facts about it, "Back of the building, so it's quiet, but you'll still get your views here. Walls and floors are solid, so you shouldn't hear someone sneezing, but you'll likely hear, at most, maybe a murder."

"Interesting comparison," you remarked, "But helpful, actually."

"Thought so," Bucky waved his arm in front of him. "Living room, great space to entertain, and has this great island counter to divide the space from the kitchen."

"Oh, that stove looks new!"

"It was a complete reno for this unit. I know the building owner, so I can get a deal here and there and have first dibs on the units," Bucky explained as he walked down the hall with you. "Bathroom is right here, deep-soak tub and shower, a little small but the appliances are all-new, and here we have the bedroom. It should be plenty of space for you and your boyfriend."

"Oh," you snorted as you looked around the bedroom and peeked into a closet, "No boyfriend for me."

"Not yet at least, right?" Bucky suggested while you turned red. "So, do you like the closets? Spacious, right?"

You squeaked, "Uh-huh."

Bucky went over the rest of the space with you, but you couldn't help but realize that this guy actually was flirting with you the entire time. Little jokes here and there, the comments. Was this...for real?

Huh. Maybe you died on the train and never made it to the listing because this all seemed like a dream.

By the end of it, Bucky was standing by the front door and reaching into his suit pocket, "Now, I do have a few other clients to show around today, but -- "

"I want you," you blurted out, prompting this man to look up, eyes lighting up as he smiled at you. "I mean, the apartment. I want you to get me this apartment."

He smirked, "Okay. I'll need some paperwork from you, but why don't we discuss that tonight over dinner. Is 7:00 okay?"

"Uh-huh," you mumbled, watching him take out his business card, take your outstretched hand, and close your palm around it.

"Good. I know a great place not far from here if you like Italian."

"Who doesn't?" You laughed lightly. "I uh, wow. Okay. Yes. Definitely. I. I will just um, I will text -- or call, or --"

"Here," Bucky took your phone for you and programmed his number in. He stood there, smiling as he called your phone before hanging up. "I'll call you later. I'll pick you up, and we'll have dinner."

"Oh, you're going to call me and pick me up. You are, um, like, a real adult. Wow."

Bucky chuckled, head bowing a bit as he nodded to himself before looking up to you again, "I'm a little old-fashioned."

"Mhm, I bet," you nodded as you stared at him. "Well, I -- thank you, James -- Bucky -- Mr. Barnes. I um, okay, I will. I am fine. Totally fine. I'll see you later tonight."

He beamed, "It's a date."

[pleasantlycrazyworld]

Bucky forcing you to take a day off after he finds out you're overworked and you're aching from working

Authors note: I swear someone requested this! I don't remember who though 😭Anyways I hope you enjoy! I love writing for Bucky so please send in request!!

Bucky knew you were a very independent person, it's one of the many things he loves about you, but he is hating that part of you right now. He can tell you're tired, exhausted even and not only is it physically exhausted but it's emotionally and mentally too. Even though it is obvious you need a break you are refusing to miss a day of work. He's tried everything but you just won't allow yourself to relax.

Today was his final straw though. You came home last night with a limp, and when he asked what happened you tried to brush it off knowing he'd be concerned when he finds out you got hurt at work. "I'm fine Buck" he scoffs "doll you're clearly hurt please tell me what happened." You sigh and begin explain to him that it was a simple accident at work today.

After you're done explaining Bucky sighs "Okay well you're taking the day off tomorrow so you can rest and your body can relax and I will not take no for an answer Doll. If you don't call off I will for you." You nod knowing he means business.

The next morning you wake up naturally, no alarm clock goes off, the sun didn't shine in your eyes, it was amazing until you saw it was passed noon. You freaked out thinking you overslept until you remember Bucky had you call off for the day. You relax and get out of bed to make food and as soon as you get out of bed, Bucky comes into the room with food and nothing but his boxers on. "Get back into bed doll what are you doing out of bed anyway?" He tsks as he sits the plates on the nightstand.

You sit up to take a sneak peek at what he made and you nearly tear up when you see he made your favorite. "Buck you really don't have to do all this I'm okay" He just shakes his head in disagreement. "You are taking a day off, I am a servant for you today. Whatever you want I'll go get for you and whatever you want to do we will do" He reassures you by kissing your head and handing you the remote before sitting in bed next to you. "So what are we watching?" he asks as he begins to eat. As you turn on a movie you could feel yourself truly relax for the first time in a long time.

[thepokyone]

Sleeptalking

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Warnings: fluff, slight angst

Words: 626

A/N: Here's a fic requested by @team-heichou for a fluffy and slightly angsty Bucky-has-a-nightmare fic. I think it turned out adorably so I hope you like it!

Bucky didn't sleep soundly. For as long as you had known him, he never had. For a long time his sleeping habits never affected you; you felt sympathy for him and the bruise-like bags under his eyes, but he never spoke of his nightmares and you never asked. No matter how you cared for him, it wasn't your place.

Then, after months of tiptoeing around feelings that neither of you felt confident enough to voice, Bucky finally kissed you on his return from a particularly trying mission.

It was easy to be in a relationship with Bucky; you had each other's backs, each smoothing out the other's rough edges. It was you who was there for him after Steve left for good, stranding Bucky in the future to fend for himself. You couldn't remember Bucky ever holding your hand as tightly as he had that day.

You moved in with him that very week. He looked lost and often held you close like a lifeline. You would run your hand gently through his hair, letting him hold you for as long as he needed. There was no words exchanged between you during times like those, and none were needed. Bucky needed you, and you needed Bucky, and it was as simple as that.

The nightmares were the hardest to watch. He was never violent; more often than not, he didn't move at all in his sleep. Sometimes he would wake up screaming, entire body wracked with tremors. You would hold him then, murmuring reassurances and running a comforting hand across his chest and arms.

The ones where he would sleeptalk were worse. You were a light sleeper, so you were easily roused by his troubled dreams, but you hardly cared. Not when he was begging for HYDRA to spare your life, or Steve's, or Sam's, begging not to have his memories taken again, begging for the pain to stop.

It was one of those nightmares, the ones where he would speak as clearly as if he was awake, that woke you.

"Y/N," Bucky mumbled, rolling and reaching for you in his sleep. He pulled you close against his chest, still sound asleep, and murmured your name again. "Please don't take Y/N. I need her, please, no! Take me, not Y/N, please-"

"Bucky," you said softly, placing a hand on his cheek. "It's just a dream, baby, I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere."

Bucky jerked awake with a start, his eyes taking in as much of your face as he could in the dark. "Sweetheart," he said, his voice a soft sigh of relief. He pressed his lips to your forehead, where they brushed against your skin as his words came out in a tangled rush. "They took you, I couldn't do anything to stop them, it was like I was him again-"

"Shh, baby, it's okay. I know you would never let anything happen to me," you soothed, running your fingers through the soft strands of his hair. "I'm right here, I'm with you, I'm safe."

"I'm sorry I woke you, sweetheart," he mumbled as your hand dropped from his hair to brush away the stray tears that dripped down his face. "I should go sleep on the couch, then you could get a decent night's sleep."

"Nonsense, you're not going anywhere. I don’t care about sleep; I want you here, with me."

"But-"

"No buts," you said, pressing a kiss to his jaw. "I'd rather be in your arms than anywhere else."

"Since you insist," he said, his lips pulling into a smile you could only just see in the dark, "I suppose I have no choice."

You smiled too, tilting your head up to brush your lips against his. "No choice at all."

[agirlwhoisaphantom]

did you see the newest pic of sebby with the teddy bear? maybe you should write about that - Bucky goes on a mission and takes something with…just a thought….

💛

Author's Note: Yes, indeed I saw it. The moment I got this ask, I immediatly knew I needed to write it. Also I don't know the beginning is a tad bit spicy lol.

Warnings: Teasing and mention of the word daddy in a sexual way. But nothing happens the rest is just fluff lol.

Bucky hated going to missions that involved a couple of weeks. He would rather stay with his little ones instead of going on long dreading missions. There would be instances that he would fake being sick so that he wouldn't go. But, unfortunately, they caught that real quickly.

The moment he had Leo, he started to be more careful in missions. He played everything more 'safe' because he wanted to live another day to see Leo grow up. Not only that, if those missions involved you, Bucky took more care of you than himself. He hated going on missions that involved both of you.

As you were packing Bucky's bag to leave the night, you can feel Bucky leaning on the door frame staring at you. "What is it, Buck?" you chuckled as you were folding one of his shirts.

"Is it a crime looking at my wife?" he laughed as he continued to stare at you. You nodded your head, responding to what he just said.

Bucky wants up behind you and hugs your waist. Leaning a bit to place his chin on your shoulder. "What are you going to do about it then?" he places his hands on your waist, making you turn around.

You grab his tie pulling him in closer to you, pressing your lips against him. Pulling yourself away from him for a brief moment, "Are you sure you want to know?" getting on your tiptoes, "daddy." you whispered by his ear.

Pulling away from his embrace, he rapidly wraps his arms around you, pulling you close to him.

When he was about to push you on top of his clothes, he heard the door be swung open.

You and Bucky saw Leo holding Becca's hand. Leo was walking forwards. Meanwhile, Becca was walking behind him. Becca was holding her favorite teddy bear in the other hand while Leo was holding a very badly folded piece of paper.

"Dad, Becca, and I wanted to give you something before you left," Leo said in a soft, quiet voice.

Bucky walks up to both of them and kneels to be at eye level with both of them. "You didn't have to," he said, matching Leo's tone of voice.

Leo hands Bucky the piece of paper, opening the letter, it was in slopping writing it said, 'good luck, dad!!' and it had a big smiley face on the bottom. At the very top corner, in small crooked letters, it said 'bring us candy plesse'. That made Bucky chuckle but also made him a bit emotional. He didn't want to leave them. He wanted to stay with them and hold them, tell them their bed time stories.

Becca then hands him her teddy bear named 'bam-bam.' "Dadda, you better take care of Bam-Bam." Becca looked sad.

"Princess, if you don't want me to take him, it's okay." Bucky knitted his eyebrows together. He knew how much that bear meant to her.

Crossing her arms together, "no, take him, he is good luck. Bam- Bam will protect you. Like you protect me."

He grabbed both Leo and Becca and hugged both of them tightly. And they both returned that hug as well.

"If something happens to him. I will hunt you down" Becca gives him suspicious eyes and chuckles, but she was serious.

"I promise, Princess. Nothing is going to happen to him." Bucky chuckled, trying not to cry at the moment as he held both of them in his arms before he had to leave.

----------------------

In the middle of the mission, Peter sends you a text message with a photo attached.

Peter🕷✨: Hi, uh Mrs. Barnes or y/n please let me know which one to call you. I just wanted to let you know that This is Bucky right now.

[Attachment]

In that photo, Bucky was lying on the ground on his stomach. In front of him, there was Becca's teddy bear.

Peter🕷✨: I think he is going insane. He is talking to the bear, and apparently, his name is Bam-Bam.

The moment that you received that picture, you showed Becca. She squinted as she gave a suspicious look towards the screen "good." she whispered.

[avengerscompound]

Small Gods: Spring Thaw - 12

Spring Thaw:  A Bucky Barnes Fanfic

Spring Thaw Masterlist | More Small Gods PREVIOUS //

Buy me a ☕ Character Pairing:  Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Rating: E

Word Count:  1839

Warnings: smut (MF, oral sex, hand job, 69)

Synopsis: Bucky Barnes hates winter.  He always looks for the first signs of the ice thawing and new life growing.  When that desire for the end of winter brings to him the god of the spring thaw, he discovers a brand new reason to get through winter.

Chapter 12

The time that Bucky had with you felt particularly short this time.  Not because it was any less time than usual.  It was a particularly cold winter and the power that kept you here actually seemed to last longer than normal.  It was just that you were both so busy planning the wedding that each day seemed to fly by.  Even the long drives North were full of conversation as you talked about guests, and vows, and what colors you planned to wear.

The two of you stopped regularly to look at potential venues and had long discussions about menus and cake flavors.  Each conversation made Bucky feel lighter.  He was sure that the wedding plans were going to give him some level of anxiety when it was just him, but with you by his side, he couldn’t help but feel happy and excited.  He was going to experience a big life event, and he was going to do it with someone who loved him for who he was.  Not some idealized version of who he once was or who he might be.  But this him, with all the baggage and flaws he had.  This version of who he was that was hurt, but not broken.  A long way from perfect, but trying to be better.

By the time he’d gotten as far North as he could go with you before the magic no longer worked to hold you to the world, the two of you had decided on quite a few things.  You had a dress design with a tailor who also had your measurements and knew that you wouldn’t be able to return for the final touches for a year when there would only be a few weeks to finish it off.  They’d been fairly unsure about that, but paying in advance with a bonus had helped convince them.

You’d asked Sharon to be your bridesmaid.  You didn’t really know anyone else and while Sharon had been a little surprised she accepted for Bucky’s sake and agreed to work with the dressmaker to make sure both your dress and her bridesmaid’s dress turned out how you wanted.

You’d chosen pale blue and white as the main colors.  Bucky liked the idea - it both reflected the winter that was ending and spring that was just starting.  You’d also said you wanted lots of flowers, but you’d wanted the table settings and bouquets to be full of spring wildflowers.  The list of flowers you’d asked for including things like sweet peas, peony, cornflowers, delphinium, cosmos, anemone, and lisianthus, and you’d cut out pictures of different table settings and bouquets you’d like and stuck them in a book so that Bucky could take them to a florist.

The book also had a few cake designs you had liked that all had various blue and white floral decorations.  Some of which were real flowers, while others were made of delicate gum paste.  The two of you had ranked them in order of shared favorites, but Bucky was going to speak to bakers to see what they thought they could make that fit the theme and was unique to both of you.  You and Bucky had made stops all the way North at every bakery you saw and tried various cake flavors.  Bucky had loved trying the different flavors.  Cake had come a long way since he was a kid.  The fact that you’d lit up when you’d heard there were floral flavors added to the fact he was already excited for something outside of just a chocolate or yellow cake.  You’d chosen three flavors together and the idea was to have them on three different layers.  Lemon and lavender, chocolate and rose, and strawberry and elderflower.

You’d picked a venue, not just for the ceremony but also the reception.  Both would be at the falls, and even though the ceremony would be bitterly cold, Bucky loved the idea of having it where the two of you had first gone away together.

The thing that Bucky had enjoyed planning the most was the menu.  He was so into cooking and flavors and trying new recipes, and he loved going through different options for the different courses with you.

While the last week always carried with it that kind of melancholy of knowing you could disappear at any moment, he was also excited and hopeful of the year to come.

“Maybe you should take the ring,” you said, as the two of you lay in bed together.  He was still in that post-sex haze, his heart thrumming in his chest as he came down from his orgasm high.  You lay with your head on his chest, trailing your fingers down to his stomach.  You had that gorgeous sex messed look and still glistened with a sheen of sweat.  The ring in question sat glittering in the light from the fireplace that was still roaring opposite the bed.

“You don’t want to wear it?”  Bucky asked.  “Do you have a New Zealander - New Zealandish?  New Zealandite husband I don’t know about?”

“They mostly say Kiwi,” you giggled.  “And no.  I just… don’t always usually - appear - with the same things I disappeared with.  I’m worried it will be one of the things I lose.”

“Okay,” Bucky said, running his hand over yours.  “I’ll wear it with my dog tags.”

You smiled and nosed at his cheek and your hand moved up to his chest and curled around the chain that hung around his neck.  You tugged on it lightly and he leaned in and kissed you.  It was a slow and deep caress of his lips over yours and you hummed softly and grazed your teeth over his bottom lip.

When he pulled back he took your hand and lifted it to his lips.  He kissed your palm and each of your fingers, before pulling your ring finger into his mouth and slowly sucked it, pulling the ring off your finger with his lips.

You moaned and ground your hips against his thigh, your cunt still dripped with come, both his and yours, and it smeared on his leg as your rubbed against it.  “Fuck, Bucky,” you whimpered.

He chuckled and took the ring from his mouth.  “Doesn’t take much, huh?” He said.

You laughed and pushed him.  “You can talk.  You gave yourself a semi doing that.”

Bucky pushed himself up on his elbows and took off his dog tags.  “Yeah?  You wanna see what you can do about that?”

You grazed the back of your knuckles down his chest and over his stomach.  His muscles rippled under your gentle touch.  He groaned softly but kept his attention on the chain holding his dog tags, unclipping the joiner, and sliding the ring onto the chain.  By the time the chain was safely back around his neck, your hand was wrapped around his cock and you were slowly pumping your fist up and down.  He groaned and let his head fall back on the pillow as his cock hardened in your hand.

You kept your head resting on his chest and jerked him off as you slowly rolled your hips and ground against his thigh.  It was a lazy intimate foreplay that he loved in a whole different way to when it was hot and needy, or soft and romantic.

You pressed a kiss to his chest and swirled your tongue around his nipple, and he gasped and his cock jumped in your hand.  You sat up and spit on his cock, the wet letting your hand move more easily up and down.  “Dirty girl,” he groaned and bucked up into your hand.

You hummed and dropped your head down, taking his cock right down the back of your throat.  He gasped and jerked up under you, pushing his cock further down your throat.  You gagged and pulled back, but just enough to free your airway.

Bucky grabbed your thighs and dragged you over his chest so your pussy was right over his face.  He lapped greedily at your sex, his tongue swirling over it, exploring all your folds.  He could taste himself on you, the salty tartness of his come mixing with the musky taste of yours to make a strong and heady cocktail that made him moan needily and arch up under you.

You moaned around his cock and bobbed your head up and down, hollowing your cheeks and sucking each time you pulled back.

You each slowly brought each other to the edge.  Bucky thrust two of his fingers inside of you and pushed them against the soft spot inside you that always made you shudder and cry out.  The sounds you made as you sucked his cock sent soft vibrations through him, adding to the pleasure that was coiling through him.

You started grinding down on his face.  He knew you must be overstimulated and near the edge.  He sucked greedily on your clit and dragged his fingers over your g-spot again and again.  Your cunt began to spasm around his digits and your clit twitched in his mouth and with a loud cry you came on his face.  Your legs trembled and he kept going dragging your orgasm out.

“Stop, Bucky,” you panted.  “It’s too much.”

He stopped immediately and you climbed off him, taking a moment to catch your breath as you moved down between his legs.  “You can stop if you need to,” Bucky assured you.  “We don’t have to keep going.”

You shook your head.  “No, I want you to come too.”

You crouched between his legs and began bobbing your head up and down on his cock as you gazed up at him.  He tangled his hands in your hair as he watched you.  He relaxed and gave himself to the pleasure surging through him.  Your tongue flicked over his foreskin and into the slit of his cock and you massaged his balls.  They tightened and his cock began to throb in your mouth.  Bucky let his head fall back and with a low groan, he came, releasing into your mouth.

You moaned and swallowed it all before crawling back up and taking the position on his shoulder again.  He looked down at you, a sleepy contented feeling taking over him.  “You can sleep if you want to,” you said.  “You look so tired.”

“I want to stay up with you,” he complained.

“It might not happen tonight,” you giggled.  “Neither of us can just stay up for sixty hours, just in case.”

“Maybe I’ll close my eyes for a little while,” he said.  “Under duress.”

You kissed his jaw.  “If I do go, know I love you and I can’t wait to see you again.”

“I feel the same way.  I’ll speak to you soon, and when you’re back here, we’ll be getting married.”

You smiled and kissed him once again, settling back against his chest.  He drifted off with the comforting weight of your body on his, and optimism of the year to come.

// NEXT

[mrsbarnes107]

Secret of the Widow

———Masterlist———

Summary:The battle with Thanos left the world, and more directly the Avengers, with deep cracks within their hearts. Civilians had to adjust to five years lost, governments had to rebuild. And the hero's of our world had to come to terms with their loss, figuring out how to regroup and find the will to protect this healing civilization. And they were doing okay. That is, until Bucky Barnes and Sam Wilson bring back a sharp tounged woman with a lot of secrets to the tower.

(Set a year after Tony’s snap, by his orders the compound was rebuilt and used for the Avengers to have a home, obviously not all cannon compliant but is set after Wandavision and TFATWS)

Pairings: Bucky x OC

Warnings: language, violence, smut, death, fluff, angst, blood

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Part 8

Part 9

Part 10

Part 11

Ongoing

[softly-penned-valkyrie]

Chapters: 1/1

Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe, What If...? (TV 2021), Captain America (Movies)

Rating: Mature

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Peggy Carter/Natasha Romanov

Characters: Peggy Carter, Natasha Romanov (Marvel), Sam Wilson (Marvel)

Additional Tags: Oneshot, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Divergence - Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Only One Bed, Friends to Lovers, Flirting, Friendship / Flirting / Thinking of You Fest, Peggy Carter as Captain America, Episode: s01e01 What If... Captain Carter Were The First Avenger?, Nudity, Kissing, Undressing, Fluff, Implied Sexual Content

Summary:

On the run from a Hydra-infested S.H.I.E.L.D and shortly after the destruction of Zola's bunker, Peggy and Natasha find themselves hiding out for a night at Sam Wilson's place before roping him into their takedown of the organisation. While staying the night, finally getting the chance to rest and recharge, Peggy notices one rather stark thing about the guest bedroom - there's only one bed. Natasha notes something more - it's only a single.

Part of a small fic challenge/trade I did with @witlessficcer based on that picture of Hayley Atwell from Black Mirror (Be Right Back) and inspired by the flurry of art by @critter-of-habit - Enjoy!