Wildest Dreams.

🥺

👉🏻👈🏻

Hands That Heal - Ch.5

Bucky Barnes x mechanic!fem!reader

Chapter Summary:  Things finally get heated with you and Bucky, once you help him overcome his insecurities. Chapter Warning: 18+ only, smut, oral (f), fluff Word count: 2138

Series Warnings: 18+ only, canon-typical violence, swearing, fluff, misogyny/degrading comments from some men, smut.

Chapters: 1 || 2 || 3 || 4 || 5 || 6 || 7 coming soon

RECAP: “And where am I meant to fit?” You asked as you put your hand on your cocked hip.

He shuffled back and opened his arm out, giving you the space needed to lay in front of him. You didn’t waste any time filling the space and your head rested on his warm arm while his metal one curled over your waist. There was no way you were going to be able to focus on the movie as you felt the tips of his fingertips teasingly caressing the soft skin of your belly where your shirt had shifted and slowly inch their way down. 

“Bucky?” You asked with a breathy voice you barely recognised and his fingers froze where they were. “Please, don’t stop.”

━━━━━━♡♥♡━━━━━━

Keep reading

Hello honey bunnies !!! I don’t know if you are comfortable writing it but I would really love to request some Mreader x Yelena I didn’t find any on Tumblr nor ao3🙃

Pairing: Yelena Belova x Male!reader

Warnings: character death mention, angst, mourning

Word count: 600

a/n: yes i made this angst i will do so whenever given the chance 👍

!-!-!-!-!-!

Opposing the classic stereotype, it didn't rain when Y/N and Yelena visited Nat's grave for the first time. In fact, it was as clear as a day could possibly get. Not a single cloud speckled the bright blue skies, and the gentle breeze was not too strong nor was it absent.

If not given the current circumstances, Y/N and Yelena would've taken advantage of the sunny day to go out for a run with their dog, Fanny, or gone out on a picnic date. But, of course, they could not.

The two walked, side-by-side and in silence up the path, treaded upon so many times it was clear to see and find in the somewhat tall grass. Y/N glanced at Yelena, fighting the sudden urge to grab ahold of her slightly trembling hand. She kept her gaze ahead, frown growing the closer they got to the two trees where her sister lay, tilted away from each other to form a 'V' shape.

Several other graves lay scattered around Nat's, but it was clear none had been as visited as hers. The grave, freshly embedded into the soil, was crowned by flowers and surrounded by more. A few teddy bears, candles, and pictures could be seen among it all, as well. Y/N's stomach clenched, and his gaze immediately snapped towards Yelena. Not to his surprise, she kept as straight a face as possible. Everything in her face, apart from a deep, pained frown, seemed emotionless.

They got to the grave and while Y/N sat down before it, Yelena crouched and got to tidying the clutter. Moving pictures and bouquets around, she revealed the words carved into the lower part of the stone.

Daughter - Sister - Avenger

Y/N's words got caught in his throat. If there had even been any, in the first place. So he watched wordlessly until she felt she was done and moved back to sit beside him.

Y/N searched for the right words, distantly wondering if he should even speak at all. Before he could decide, Yelena beat him to it.

"Two years," she said, voice wavering. She pressed her palm to the soil, eyebrows pinching in barely held-back anguish. "I had her back for two years."

Y/N sighed and finally decided to take her free hand into his own. She squeezed it tightly, head dipping. Definitely not for the first time, his pain for Yelena grew when he recalled she'd been blipped, taking from her five whole years to spend with her sister.

"Two years to make up for almost a lifetime," she said, frustration seeping into her tone. Her hand trembled in Y/N's.

"I know," he whispered, moving closer to her, shoulders pressed together. "I know."

"She didn't- She never got to retire. To live out the rest of her life without being an Avenger or worrying about saving the world or-" her voice gave out, and Y/N didn't need to see the tears building up in her eyes to know she was about to break.

He twisted around and pulled her against him. And although he was uncomfortable and his side was straining with the awkward position, he let her cling to him.

"I'm sorry," now it was Y/N's turn to tear up. It was so unfair. He could remember as if it were yesterday how thrilled Yelena had been after finding her sister again. And now she had lost her all over again. For good this time.

After a while, Yelena rested her head on his shoulder, gazing tiredly at the gravestone.

"She loved you so much, you know that, right?" Y/N murmured after pressing a gentle, long kiss on her temple.

"I know," she said. "I know."

---

a/n: fun fact i cried harder during the post-credit scene for this movie than i did watching marley and me 👍

Sebastian Stan/Bucky Barnes Masterlist

Sebastian Stan

Stand Alones:

Play Pretend

Sharing is Caring (also on my Ashton masterlist)

Numbers

Bucky Barnes

Stand Alones:

Tranquil Waters

(Don’t) Leave Me in the Dark

Think of Me

Happiness in Misery

Dinner Games

Multi Parts:

The Falcon and the Newlyweds

I Think I Like You 

‘Til The End of the Line 

Episode 1

Episode 2

Episode 3

Episode 4

Episode 5

Episode 6

Stucky

All Too Well

Lover of Mine

Bucky x Male Stark!Reader

Phantom Pain

Mosaic Broken Hearts

The Curious Case of a Small Kitten

Wrath of an American Soldier

An Avengers Halloween

Oh this is going to be perfect

Wingman {1} || Retribution MC AU

Sam Wilson x Air Force!fem!reader

Summary: You and Joaquin served together, starting as his wingman, but the long overdue reunion doesn't go quite to plan. Warnings: 18+ only, reader PTSD, violence, blood, panic attack WC: 2.6k

Sam's Masterlist || Retribution MC Masterlist || Part 1 ||

It had been years since you last saw Torres, back when he was discharged from the Air Force, but you spotted your wingman the moment you stepped out of the terminal at JFK. His boyish smile stood out, as much as his leather kutte, among the business people strutting through the airport with determination. He also couldn’t help holding up a piece of cardboard with a picture of a fire drawn so badly it could have been a five year old’s artwork.

“Look at you, trading one uniform for the next.” You smirked as you dropped your bag to hug him.

“This is freedom baby, no uniform here.” He grinned, grabbing your back and chucking it over his shoulder before frowning. “Where’s the rest of your stuff?”

“I travel light.” You shrugged. “A few changes of clothes do me just fine.”

Joaquin seemed unconvinced but let it go and led the way out of the airport to a beautiful Harley that was parked illegally. “Still a daredevil?”

You grinned as you looked at the beast. “Hell yeah, you gotta promise to go fast.”

“You know me, I don’t do anything slow.”

“That’s not what that RIO, Chantelle, said, second tour wasn’t it?” You teased, earning a friendly punch to the shoulder.

“Please don’t mention that in front of my brothers, I’ll never hear the end of it.” He begged as he swung his leg over the bike and patted the leather seat behind him. “We have a party to get to.”

You could see the attraction to spending your days riding a motorbike, it equally gave you a sense of freedom but also a thrill knowing it was only the rider's skill that kept you upright through the hard and fast turns. You had served with Joaquin so you knew you could trust him with your life but it was one thing to say it and another to put it to the test. 

“Where’s this party?” You shouted over the throaty growl of the engine and the wind.

“Clubhouse.” He shouted back, chopping down a gear as he slowed down and turned into what could have been an old roadside tavern decades ago. “Welcome to Retribution.”

Joaquin kicked the stand out after parking next to a line up of bikes and grabbed your rucksack from the saddle bag before you could. Classic rock spilled out of the open doors and you were taken back to the days off you spent in the desert, cold beers, steaks on the bbq and a boombox playing cassette tapes that had been hoarded since the Fall of Saigon. 

“Hey, you okay?” Joaquin frowned as he saw you frozen beside his ride.

You were jolted back to the present by a hand on your shoulder and you tensed up to stop your reflex reaction of dropping the person who had touched you. “Sorry, must be the jetlag. So this is your new family?”

Your question did its job and distracted him from probing into your reaction as a bright smile lit up his face. “Yeah, most of the guys served too so it’s just like the old days.”

“Just slightly illegal.” You joked but his smile dropped and he sighed.

“It's easier to stomach than the legal shit we did over there…”

“Don’t remind me.” You muttered before doing what you do best and deflecting. “Is there a bar here or what? What kind of hospitality is this Wacky?”

He chuckled at his old callsign and nodded his head to the door with an affectionate wink. “Come on, you’ll need some hard liquor to deal with this lot.”

You were only halfway across the crowded space when a sharp slap burned across the back of your jeans. Almost as if there was a built in radar that detected fights, the entire crowd turned and the music cut off as you took a deep breath. Joaquin had dropped your bag on the closest table and narrowed his eyes at the man behind you, not knowing the mistake he had just made. 

“Take that shit elsewhere.” A man ordered as he stepped into the ring of space that had appeared around the offender, the flash on his chest reading Sergeant at Arms. “We treat women with respect ‘round here.”

“Thanks, boss.” You said as you turned to face the guy who stared at his red palm like it was the one who betrayed him. “But I don’t need you to fight my battles.”

“Blaze…” Joaquin stepped closer as he saw your fist clench but it was too late.

You smashed your fist into his face and felt the crunch of his septum breaking from the force before you raised your leg and kicked him square in the chest. The man stumbled backwards into a table and crashed it to the ground with a pained groan, Joaquin rushing in to catch you around the waist before you could get in for another shot.

“So this is Blaze, huh?” The Sergeant at Arms laughed as he held his hand out for you. “I’m Sam Wilson, welcome to our clubhouse.”

You couldn’t help grinning back and you broke Joaquin’s hold to shake his hand. “Y/n Y/l/n.”

“You know, ya boy here failed to mention the Blaze he spoke so highly of was a fine looking woman.”

“He’s been known to do that. Is that gonna be a problem, Wilson?” You cocked an eyebrow but his smile only grew and your stomach clenched at the sight.

“Hell naw, we love pretty ladies ‘round here.” A chorus of agreements echoed around the room before the music was restarted and Sam stepped in beside you, his body so close but not touching and the heat his lips warming your neck. “What are you drinking, sugar?”

His warm brown eyes caught the light and you spotted flecks of amber swirling around his irises, it was almost unfair that he had such pretty eyes and thick eyelashes surrounding them. He watched with fascination as you stared at him, your eyes seeming to search for his soul as he waited patiently for an answer. He didn’t mind, he was enjoying the view. 

“Something strong.” You finally answered before biting your lip. “Wacky’s watching isn’t he?”

“Oh, yeah, he’s totally planning on giving me a big brother speech as soon as I step away.”

You rolled your eyes playfully as you patted his hard, broad chest beneath the leather kutte. “Goodluck, he’s got this routine locked down.”

You slipped into the crowd and grabbed your bag from the table as Joaquin made a beeline towards Sam. You loved how protected he was over you, there was so much good in his heart that you let him have his moment and went to get a drink. 

“I’m not gonna hurt her.” Sam said before Joaquin even opened his mouth.

“Not intentionally.” 

“What the hell’s that supposed to mean?” Sam crossed his arms, offended by the notion. 

“Blaze has been through some stuff alright, she’s…fragile.” 

Sam looked at the broken table where the man had been dragged out from and scoffed. “Doesn’t look that way to me.”

“That’s just her default defense mechanism, that’s Blaze - the hot headed soldier.” Joaquin tried to explain but he sighed as he couldn’t find the right words. 

“I get it bro.” Sam clapped him on the back and started making his way towards the bar. “We all put up a wall to survive over there.”

Joaquin watched Sam approach your bar stool and waited for the inevitable elbow to be thrown but you didn’t even flinch when he dropped his arm over your shoulder and reached over to grab a glass. You were so often trapped in that head of yours that if anyone startled you or snuck up behind you, you dropped them to the floor before even realising who it was. He couldn’t blame you for it, even after four years he still had nightmares - he could only imagine how much harder it was for you.

You were savouring the whiskey on ice, taking little sips as you listened to Sam boast about his club. You would have thought he was cocky but from the scars he was showing off he proved that he could back up his tales. It only made them more impressive and brought out the competitive spirit that tended to get you in trouble.

“An IED went off outside a school we were helping rebuild.” You pulled the waistband of your jeans down slightly to reveal your hip and Sam winced at the puckered scar tissue that disappeared below the denim. “It was packed with shrapnel.”

He reached out and gently traced his thumb over the scar, scorching heat trailing his touch. “How far does it go?”

Maybe if you had drunk more of the whiskey you would have jumped at the opening and let him take you to one of the rooms out back. As it was, you really were starting to feel the jetlag seeping in and with his devilish charm he would probably disarm you until you had laid all your secrets bare - he just had that trusting sense about him. “Maybe one day you’ll find out.”

You finished the now watery whiskey and placed the glass on the bar top before slipping from the stool in search of Joaquin. He was easy to find once you heard his laugh, the sound bringing back memories of the good times before it went bad.

The taste of whiskey, scent of smoke and the heat inside the clubhouse threw you back to a humid tent a few miles west of Kabul. It was supposed to be a time to relax before the next projects were assigned so you cut loose, drank too much and forgot for a moment that you were thousands of miles from home. Insurgents hadn’t known it was your time off, they hadn’t cared that you were a part of the mission trying to help rebuild infrastructure.

You could still hear their bullets ripping through the tent, see the glint of their machetes and they hacked their way in to find survivors of your team.

Light reflected off something beside you and ducked for fear of the blade burying itself in your neck. Your heart hammered in your chest as you heard the screams of your team calling for backup that would never arrive in time.

“Blaze!” Wacky called out and you reached blinding, still feeling the cold blood of your teammates running down your face as you hid beneath their bodies like a coward. “Let me through.”

“Hey sugar,” Sam’s velvet voice broke through the sound of your heart echoing through your head, “whatever that pretty head has taken you, you’re not there anymore.”

Your vision was hyper focused and you couldn’t tear your eyes away from the boots you wore, military standard issue steel cap boots. They weren’t the same boots that you had worn that day, these soles weren’t soiled with the blood that had seeped into the dirt.

“Here.” Sam said as he took your hand and placed it on his chest. “No uniform.”

You watched your fingers run over the smooth leather and the thumping in your head was replaced with thoughts of the steady beating under your palm.

“What was that?” Joaquin asked, concern dripping from the question as he knelt beside you.

You were ashamed that you had let the past bleed into your present and you were especially sorry that you had knocked over a bartender who had been collecting empties on a steel tray.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have come here.” You muttered as you pulled your hand back and rose to your feet. “You’ve got a good family here Torres, I don't want to mess it up.”

“You won’t.” He said as he reached for your arm, catching himself as he saw you reel back. “Please, stay.”

You backed away to the door with your bag on your shoulder and your eyes darting around to make sure no one could attack. You knew in your heart they wouldn’t but your mind was your worst enemy most days. You had hoped that wouldn’t be the case once you were out of the war zone but ghosts had a way of following you.

“She’s got PTSD.” Sam said to Joaquin as they watched you leave.

“Yeah.” He sighed, rubbing his forehead roughly. “I tried to get her to talk to someone but she’s stubborn, she won’t listen to me.”

“She listened to me.” Sam pointed out. “Let me go talk to her.”

“I know you mean well Sam, and no offence, but I don’t want you getting involved if you can’t see it through. You just met her.”

“I know what she’s going through. I think I can help her.”

“But what if you can’t?” He snapped. “Are you gonna abandon her too, like everyone else has?”

Sam clicked his teeth and started making his way after you. “Thought you knew me better than that.”

Heavy boots quickly caught up to you and you cast a short glance over your shoulder, stumbling as you realised it was Sam. You took a second look, expecting to find Joaquin behind him but there wasn’t anyone else along the dimly lit street. Stopping under one of the few streetlights, you turned and waited for Sam to close the distance with long, purposeful strides.

“How’s Joaquin?” You asked, seeing the confusion on his expressive face. “I assumed you had to beat him into submission to get out the door.”

“You two know each other pretty well.”

You could hear the suspicion in his tone, something you heard a lot in past relationships and you were beyond the point of caring if you came across as rude. “He’s my best friend. I would take a bullet for him and I would put a bullet in someone for him. End of story. If that’s gonna be a problem for you then turn around and march that nice ass back to the clubhouse.”

His lips parted with a laughing smile and he buried his hands in his jeans as he leant against the lamppost. “I knew you had been checking out my ass.” 

“That’s all you got out of that?” You chuckled, tipping your head back to see the sky full of stars. 

“The only thing that matters to me.” He said as he sobered up. “And you can’t wander these streets all night so how about you crash at mine tonight.”

“What’s the catch?” You asked as you tightened your grip on your backpack.

“No catch.” He promised. “But if you’re up for it tomorrow, I have some people I’d like you to meet.”

You pursed your lips in consideration but knew you didn’t have a lot of options aside from going back and finding Joaquin but you weren’t ready to face him again just yet. Nodding tentatively, you let him take the bag off your shoulder and slip his hand into yours. 

“It’s a nice night for a walk.” He commented as he started heading further away from the clubhouse. “I only live down the block.”

“Thank you for all this.” You mumbled as you tried to ignore the comforting warmth of his hand radiating up your arm. 

He pulled you to a stop and waited silently until you had the courage to look up from your shoes. “It’s no problem, really. You’re like family to Joaquin, and we take care of our own.”

This is absolutely perfect !! I need a part 2 god

Moon Struck

Summary: Steven asks you out, Marc falls in love.

"“Cheers,” Steven chirps quietly, ignoring Marc. He knows he has a goofy smile on his face, he knows that he’s just staring at you.

But you’re smiling back and Marc is strangely quiet now, a glow of happiness lingers there. Steven has a suspicion that he’s happy too, basking in the fact that you said yes."

Pairing: Steven Grant x Reader, Marc Spector x Reader

Word Count: ~8.3k

Warnings: mostly fluff, canon-typical violence, threats of violence, angst mostly from Marc because he's just like that

A/N: My first moon knight fic! Please, please, please let me know what you think!

“Steven!”

Steven ignores the shout of his headmate as he hurries through the museum. 

He’s late, and he so hated making you wait for him. He had promised you long ago a personal tour of the museum. One you had insisted for months he eventually give you, when he had time. 

His heels drag, Marc putting on the brakes as he fronts for just a moment. 

Steven nearly drops the travel cup of tea he’s carrying, briefly tripping over his own feet and drawing the attention of several nearby people listening to a museum tour guide. 

“Sorry!” He gives an awkward wave before continuing on. 

“Would you stop that, Marc!” He glances at his reflection in the display case he’s passing. “You’re making us late.”

“I’m making you late. I didn’t agree to this.” Marc’s shoulders are tense, the line of his brows drawn together. 

Steven wonders if he’s wearing the same expression and briefly passes a hand over his face. He doesn’t want to be scowling when-

He bursts through a doorway, into the Egyptian exhibition, and spots you waiting exactly where you said you would be. 

A shy smile tugs at his mouth, and he tries straightening his shirt collar and running a hand through his unruly curls. He knows it's useless, that his shirts are perpetually wrinkled and his hair nearly always a mess. 

Marc has gone sullenly silent, and he knows he’s watching you too. 

Marc, for reasons Steven cannot begin to parse out, does not like you. 

Or, he pretends not to. 

Again, for reasons unknown. 

Which is entirely bonkers, because you are the most brilliant person Steven has ever met. 

He fidgets with the sleeve of his shirt, which is worried and frayed at the edges from his nervous fingers. 

Despite rushing moments earlier, he’s now anxious about how to actually approach you. 

You were his friend, he should have no problem with walking over and saying hello. 

Steven shifts from foot to foot as people swim around him in the doorway. He’s acutely aware that he’s stood in everyone’s way, the cup of tea in his hand going cold. 

The other thing he’s been promising you for months, a proper cup of tea. 

“Good,” Marc says, reflected in another display case, hands on his hips, chin lifted, “you see how stupid this is. Let’s go home.” 

But it isn’t stupid. 

It’s not stupid to want this. 

It’s not stupid to want you. 

Steven swallows, watching you move to read another plaque. 

As you read, your shoulders droop and then you dig in the bag slung over your shoulder. You glance at your phone when you find it, before tucking it away again. 

Then, you glance at your wristwatch, like it might tell you a different time than your phone had. 

You sigh and move toward the exit. 

Which is Steven’s cue to call your name, loudly. 

So loudly in fact that people turn to look at him. 

Brilliant. Already making a fool of myself. 

“Which is why we should just go home-,” Marc starts, but Steven ignores him. 

Marc, the absolute worry wart, thought you would break his heart. 

You’re smiling at him, a hand lifted in greeting as he approaches you. He would like to think you look relieved, happy to see him. 

But you’re like the sun, and probably look at everyone that way. 

He nearly stumbles into you, hastily handing you the cup of tea, wrapping your fingers around the cooling paper cup, his fingers laced over yours. 

“I was meant to bring you a proper cup and here I am with cold tea.” 

“Hardly very polite of you,” you tease. “Late to meet someone and with a cold cup of tea.” You smile and tsk under your breath. 

Steven fidgets and releases your hand on the cup, fingers nervously tangling together in front of his chest instead. “I’m really so very sorry. I’m always running late. I-I meant to be early today-,”

“Oh, my God,” Marc mutters. 

You lie a hand against Steven’s arm, stilling the nervous fluttering of his hands. “I was teasing you. It’s alright. I do expect an extra long tour though.”

Steven nods, staring at the shape of your eyes, the flutter of your lashes, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. 

You’re quite close to him, his head bent over yours, and he thinks he can see all the shades hidden in your eyes. 

“You look like a love-struck moron,” he catches the reflection of Marc behind your head, arms crossed over his chest, brows still pulled together in that irritated line. “Stop staring at her like that.” 

But he notices that Marc is staring at you too, looking at the back of your head, like he could see to the marrow of you, and your intentions, if he just looked hard enough. 

But there’s a dip in his voice that makes Steven think he might be just a tiny bit jealous. 

Steven shakes his head, trying to ignore Marc’s acid comments. 

“Of course,” he says, glancing down at your hands, the cup held between them. “Would you try it, please?”

Steven had been shocked to find out you were a coffee drinker only, that you had never really tasted tea, at least not a proper cup. 

“I’ve had iced tea,” you had offered weakly, only for Steven to wrinkle his nose. 

“Cold tea? Why would anyone enjoy that?”

Now, he’s brought you a cup of cold tea anyways, and it was tea that wasn’t even meant to be cold. 

You smile at him, lifting the cup as you brightly say, “Cheers!” in your best impression of his accent. 

It’s quite terrible, and makes him laugh.

You take a sip, a considering look pulling over your features. 

“It’s really better when it's hot,” Steven says, awaiting your verdict like it really mattered, like it was incredibly important that you liked the cup of tea he had brought you.

You tilt your head to the side and nod, “It's still warm.” You take another sip, which Steven takes as a good sign. Marc is watching you too, and Steven knows that Marc thinks he isn’t noticing the intense attention he gives you. “I like it. Did you put something else in it?”

Honey. 

He had put honey in despite his better judgment, because he noticed the way you absolutely hammered your coffee with sugar packets. 

“Honey,” he murmurs softly as you look into his eyes with a bemused smile on your face. “Just a bit. Figured you might like it better that way.” 

“Can’t say I’m a convert. Coffee will always have my heart,” you say. “But it is very good.” 

Steven is glad, so glad, you like it. 

Maybe it makes him unreasonably happy. 

“Cheers,” he says, still watching you carefully, smiling, his face very near to yours. He can see the fluttering of your lashes, feel the ghost of your breath. 

You don’t seem to mind the closeness. 

Marc rolls his eyes, and Steven puts a hand on your arm to pull you away from the reflection. 

So he doesn’t have to think about his annoyed alter. 

He tries not to be too upset with Marc, with his brooding protective streak. But he does wish that he’d lighten up just a bit. 

Steven’s heart is soft, it was going to be broken no matter what happened in their life. He was okay with that, especially if it meant spending time with you. 

But that was a hard pill for Marc to swallow.

His habit of shielding Steven was still a hard one to break, even now they were working together. 

“Where would you like to start?” Steven asks you, something like pride filling his veins as he watches you continue to sip at the cup of earl gray. 

“You’re the expert,” you say, looping your arm through his. “You tell me where we should start. Although, I’m very interested in Taweret, after the stories you’ve told me.” 

“Oh, she’s bloody amazin’,” Steven says, watching the quirk of your lips as he takes your duffle bag from you, slinging it over his own shoulder, conscious of Marc’s silence at the back of his mind. “‘Course we can start with her.” 

Steven leads you, the pressure of your fingers against his arm welcome, a warmth spreading up from his belly to land at the back of his mouth. 

It makes his heart ache and his fingers tremble. 

The feeling is strange and welcome. 

He likes you. 

Quite a lot, actually. 

Which was why he hoped today was the day he finally managed to ask you out, the reason Marc tried so desperately to make them late. 

He had met you before he knew about Marc, before their grand Egyptian adventure and Khonshu. 

When he first met you some months ago, you were wandering the halls of the museum, a duffle bag much like the one you have today slung over your shoulder, your head tilted to the side as you examined an exhibit. 

Steven was meant to have been helping Donna move gift shop inventory when he spotted you, brows furrowed as you read a plaque. It was the way you stood that caught his attention, with your toes pointed out and heels together. 

He couldn’t have looked away if he tried, and so he wasn’t surprised when he ran into someone and dropped the box of inventory, stuffed goddesses and cheap replicas of the pyramids spilling across the floor right to the tips of your toes. 

People weren’t exactly nice to Steven. 

He didn’t have any friends, his co-workers overlooked him, forgot him, or were rude to him. He had his mother, of course, but things always seemed to keep them from speaking directly.

He knows the truth now, about his and Marc’s mother, about Marc. 

Still, that day, as the man he bumped into gave him a dirty glare as he turned away, you had stooped down next to him and helped him tuck the merch back into the box. 

You had been kind to him, friendly as no one else was. 

Your hand had touched his and it had been like those moments in all the cheesy rom-coms he didn’t remember watching. He had looked up into your eyes, realizing he was still apologizing repeatedly out loud.

“Hey,” you had said, before tilting your head to the side and glancing down, “It’s okay. Do you need some help?”

No one offered Steven help, not with anything, even when he asked for it. 

And so he swallowed and nodded even though you, as a patron of the museum, should not have helped him. He should have refused your gentle help.  

But you’d helped him until Donna came along and shooed you away. 

He’d thought that he’d never see you again, but you visited the museum all the time, at least once a week. 

He found out that you’d recently moved to London, that you were a staunch coffee only person, that you were a dancer, that your childhood dream had been to be an archeologist before your talent for dance had destroyed that hope. 

You were more interested in Greek and Roman mythology, but quickly became fascinated with Egypt, and Steven had been delighted, weirdly, bizarrely proud that he had put you onto it. 

That you read the books he recommended, that you listened to the music he told you about. That you listened to him without interrupting, or sighing, or checking the time. 

Well, those things were only an incredible bonus. 

You made his throat close up some nights when he lay trying not to fall asleep, because you were the first friend he can remember having besides Gus or his mother. 

Steven was lonely, but you made his world a little less so. 

Now he has Marc, who’s more than enough company some days, a friend that never left him. 

He’d been worried, upon coming back to London, that you wouldn’t be there, that he had dreamed you up and you were never real in the first place. 

He’d been excited to let Marc see you through his own eyes, though Marc claimed with indifference that he remembered you, that he already knew you through Steven and didn’t need to meet you properly. 

Steven had a suspicion that the disinterest was feigned, that he cared too, to know if you were still in London. 

Steven didn’t work at the museum anymore, and so it had taken a week of hanging around the place to finally catch you there one day after a rehearsal. 

To his utter horror, you had been visibly upset with him. Though he had missed you and worried after you, he never imagined that you would do the same for him. “I thought you just - I thought maybe something horrible happened. You just disappeared and they said you were fired? I thought you disappeared and didn’t bother saying goodbye. Steven what happened-,” 

You had demanded his phone number, so you could always reach him. 

It was amazing really, that you had never had it before. 

Steven was just grateful you were still around, still coming by the museum.

Most worryingly though, Marc had not been impressed with you. Or pretended not to be. Though he tried to hide it, Steven always had a keen sense of how Marc really felt, and Marc cared more than he ever let on. 

Now, though, he feels the gentle pressure of your fingers against his arm and thanks whatever god that might be listening, that you were still around, a person that rolled with the punches life dealt. 

Against the advice of his alter, who had almost seemed nervous, Steven had told you everything about what happened in Egypt, about Khonshu and Marc and Layla and Ammit and everything in between. 

“Don’t do it,” Marc had snarled. “She’s gonna think you’re nuts. She’s going to-. 

Marc hadn’t finished his thought. 

Whatever ridicule and judgement he had anticipated, you hadn’t fallen to his expectations. 

You had listened and somehow understood. 

“So,” you ask now as Steven leads you through the museum, “How is Marc?”

“Being a bit of a knobhead at the moment, to be honest,” Steven says, watching the smile that tugs at your mouth. 

“Oh. Khonshu related or..?”

Steven’s always honest with you, and so he doesn’t lie now. “Wasn’t too keen on my meeting you today, actually.” 

You nod as Steven leads you past an exhibit, into an adjoining room, past a miniature construction of the Pyramids of Giza. “Marc doesn’t exactly like me, does he?”

Steven waits for the snort from Marc, for a derisive comment. But nothing comes. 

The silence is more telling than anything. 

“No, he’s just a bit-,” Steven stops, wiggles his fingers, not really sure how to explain exactly how Marc was. 

You smile weakly at him, “We don’t have to talk about it, Steven. I know he’s very protective. In any case, I’m glad you like me. And I really care for you. I hope Marc knows that, at least.”

Marc remains stubbornly silent. 

Steven gives you the tour of the museum he always dreamed of giving when he worked there. You listen to him attentively, you ask him questions, and for the remainder of the day, Marc is quiet, though Steven knows he’s present, listening in instead of walling himself off. 

Mostly Marc leaves Steven be, when he’s with you. He can’t be mad at the happiness you bring, though he tries to protect the system in his own way. Steven knows it's why he’s so surly though he wishes he’d give you a chance. 

Marc claims that one of them needs to be clear headed, rational, when you inevitably break their heart. 

So, he’s surprised, when you’re leaving the museum near closing and asking Steven about what brand of tea he would recommend so you can start making it at home, Marc’s voice echoes in the back of his head. “Ask her out. You said you were going to today.”

Steven glances down, at the watery refraction of Marc staring up at him from a dirty puddle on the front steps of the museum. 

Marc says, surprisingly gentle, “You’re happy with her. Ask.” It's only  slightly demanding in tone. Steven suppresses the urge to roll his eyes. 

But his alter is right. 

So, Steven stumbles to a halt nearly knocking you into the puddle. 

And asks. 

“Wondering if maybe you’d come out on a date with me?”

You blink, your hand on his arm where you’d caught your balance, his fingers around your other wrist.

You just stare at him, your lips parting in surprise. 

Fear wells up into the back of his throat when you don’t immediately answer and he starts to stutter out an apology. “Sorry, sorry, don’t know what’s come over me just then. Just a bit taken with you, I suppose.” Steven swallows, feels the words pressing at the inside of his lips, nervous chatter threatening to break free. “You’re quite beautiful and very kind - bit inevitable that I’d have a crush on you, innit?” 

You blink again, stunned, like you can’t believe what you’re hearing. “You have a crush on…me?” 

“Yes, no - well, yes, I do but -,” It’s not just a crush. Crush seems like a silly little word for the feelings you make flop around inside him. Squiggly, fuzzy feelings. 

“Shut up, Steven, give her a chance to reply.” Marc snaps at him, like he’s just as afraid that Steven will mess this up. 

He takes a steadying breath, reminding himself that you were truly very kind, and that if you said no, it would not be the end of all he held dear. “Yes, I quite like you. You’re kind and beautiful and smart. What’s not to like?”

“Nice job.”

And for once, Marc doesn’t sound sarcastic. 

His helpfulness is strange for someone who had been so against the notion mere hours ago. 

Steven bites down the rest of the words swimming in his mouth, telling himself that Marc is right about this thing. He needs to let you reply. 

“I, um, yeah,” you smile, almost like you’re unsure if he really just asked you, “yes. I’d like to go on a date.”

Steven stares at you, not sure he heard right. “Really?”

“Really.” 

“Jesus.”

“Cheers,” Steven chirps quietly, ignoring Marc. He knows he has a goofy smile on his face, he knows that he’s just staring at you. 

But you’re smiling back and Marc is strangely quiet now, a glow of happiness lingers there. Steven has a suspicion that he’s happy too, basking in the fact that you said yes.

Oh. Oh. 

Maybe Marc likes you too.

He was just shit at showing it, saying it.

Maybe that’s why he’s so concerned about the breaking of Steven’s heart, because it might break his too. 

“Oh,” you say, suddenly digging in your bag, still hanging on Steven’s shoulder. He shifts so you can better reach. “I got this for Gus the Second. I forgot to mention it earlier, although now is such a stupid time to be giving it to you,” you say, dipping your fingers into a pocket and bringing out a tiny replica of the Great Sphinx. “Sorry if he already has this one.”

You seem flustered with yourself, like you’re ruining a moment, when all your gift makes him want to do is kiss you. 

He flustered you too, apparently.

You got his fish a gift.  

Steven takes the replica from you gently, sliding his thumb along the surface. “Oh, he’ll absolutely love it.” He pauses, “You said yes, yeah? To a date? With me?”

Something about it doesn’t compute. Maybe you’ve confused him with someone else. 

“Yeah,” you say. “Did you have something in mind, Steven?”

“Er-,” he hadn’t thought that far ahead, but his name on your lips is like a balm. Everything would be okay. 

“Just dinner, Steven,” Marc says. “Doesn’t have to be elaborate.” 

Steven doesn’t dare look down at the puddle. Doesn’t want to see the smirk on Marc’s face that he can hear in his voice.  

“Dinner?” He hesitates. “Tomorrow sound good, yeah?”

“Yes,” and when he looks at you, you’re smiling. Like this was something good. Something you’ve been waiting for. “7 o’clock?”

“Brilliant.”

He tilts his head toward you, just to be a bit closer to you. 

It’s still a surprise when you lean up and kiss him gingerly, your lips soft and lingering. 

When you pull away, his heart is dancing and you are glowing. 

~

Marc is hesitant to speak to you, though he would never admit it to a soul. 

Steven probably knows, but he would never say so. 

He’s content to watch you through the eyes of his alter. You are Steven’s girl after all. 

Made of sunshine and steeped in warmth. 

You are not his. 

But Marc worries about you almost non-stop. He thinks about you constantly. He tells himself it's because Steven would break if something happened to you. 

But he knows. He knows when you laugh at something Steven says, he knows when you show up at the flat soaked to the bone from a downpour but smiling. He knows when you break in a new pair of ballet shoes against the hardwood floor of the flat. 

“You need to teach her self-defense,” He tells Steven when Marc is the one fronting.

“I’m not going to do that, Marc. She’s been safe before we met her, she’s safe now.” 

Yeah, only now you know about Moon Knight and Khonshu and everything. You know everything. 

Yet you never mention it, never ask. 

Occasionally, you will inexplicably leave a note for Marc, stuck against the glass of Gus the Second and Gus the Second’s Friend’s tank. 

Marc can’t make himself understand it, the way you leave little notes, ask Steven about what kinds of food he likes, ask how he’s doing.

Today’s note said - 

There’s a performance today. I know Steven has come to plenty, but I would love to see you there. 

You sign it with your name and a little heart. 

“She knows you care about her, Marc,” Steven says from the reflection in the tank, Gus and Friend behind his head. “She knows you follow her home when she works late.” 

“Only because you told her,” he snaps. “She didn’t need to know that.” 

Steven only gives a long suffering sigh. 

You know, you know that he follows your route home each night, to make sure you got there safe. And so you had taken up the inexplicable habit of talking to him as you walked. There was no way for you to know if he heard you, when he followed in the ceremonial armor on the buildings above you.

Still, you do it each night without fail. 

Marc, if he’s honest with himself, does not deserve to know you. Does not deserve the notes, the home cooked meals in tupperware left in the fridge with his name written in sharpie on the side of the box, does not deserve your late night chatter and one sided conversations. 

“She’s trying really hard. It hurts her feelings that you won’t even say hello to her. She isn’t expecting you to feel about her the same way I do.” 

Marc doesn’t respond, unsticking your note from the fishtank instead, folding it and tucking it inside his jacket pocket. 

He knows that it hurts your feelings. He sees it in your eyes every time you ask Steven about him, every time he refuses to meet you, even though he knows you, remembers you through Steven’s eyes from before Steven had been aware of him, back when he struggled to maintain Steven’s ignorance of the truth of his situation. 

You don’t know him though, so he’s not sure why it matters to you. 

But he catches Steven’s exasperated expression in the mirror by the door and he knows. 

It matters to you, because it matters to Steven. 

Not because you care about Marc. 

But because he is Steven’s best friend. 

And that is the problem. 

Because he wants you to care about him. 

“So you’ll follow her but you won’t just say hello? Marc, you could just introduce yourself and walk her home, yeah? Instead of stalking after her like a deranged bird?” 

Marc ignores him, ceremonial suit slipping over his skin, mask covering his face.

“Nope. This is much easier.” 

Steven only sighs again. 

~

“I just wonder if I’m any good for you,” you admit to Steven one rainy summer evening. You are propped in the window with a book, Steven on the couch with an open text. 

The air is warm enough that you leave the window open, the sound of rain and traffic drifting through the flat. 

Steven turns to you, taking the glasses perched on the end of his nose off. He frowns at you, brows pulling together over the round brown eyes you’ve come to love. 

He closes the book he had been pouring over. “What d’ya mean, love?”

“Just that,” you pause, trying to gather your thoughts. “I just know Marc is rather protective. And maybe if he doesn’t-,” You swallow, “Maybe I’m not really any good for you.”

Steven holds his arms out to you, and you readily cross the room to fit yourself in his arms, head tucked neatly beneath his chin. “You certainly are good for me. Too good for me.” You feel his chin against your forehead, gently drifting back and forth. “Don’t pay Marc any mind.” 

“Does he hate me?” You pull back to look in his eyes.

“Now, who could hate you?” 

You press a hand to the back of Steven’s neck, fingers trailing up to thread through his hair. He readily leans his forehead against yours, his warm breath ghosting over your lips. 

You feel Steven tilt his head up a bit, and you know he’s watching the mirror, communicating with his alter who wanted nothing to do with you. 

“Could you tell him I don’t want anything from him? That I’d just like to introduce myself? He’s your best friend and I’d just like to say hello.” 

“He hears you,” Steven says. “Just being a bit of a pain in the arse as usual.” 

You suppress a laugh and tilt your head back to meet Steven’s eyes, cradling his jaw between your palms, sweeping your thumb over the thin scar above his brow. “He should know I’m not pressuring him, just that I would very much like to meet him, if he felt inclined.” Steven opens his mouth when you continue, “And that he’s become rather poor at hiding the past few weeks.”

“What?” 

“Just have noticed a certain caped individual on my walks home the last few weeks.” 

Steven’s mouth quirks, his eyes sliding to the mirror again. “He says you have a rather keen eye.” 

“Not so. It’s very hard not to notice sometimes.” As you speak Steven’s brows pull together and he frowns. “What's he saying?”

Steven glances back to you, his nose nearly touching yours. “Nothing you should worry your pretty head about,” he says, reaching up to cradle the back of your head, his lips finding yours, soft as the touch of a feather. “He can tell you himself if he bloody well pleases.” 

You feel slightly reassured as Steven kisses you, tilts you back against the couch cushions and slots himself against you, fingers running shakily up your side against your sweater. You dip your hands under his shirt, laughing quietly when he jumps at the sensation of your fingers against his scarred ribs. 

You feel better, at least, knowing that Steven wants you to meet Marc. 

You wonder what holds him back, what holds him back from even a hello. 

But Steven is kissing you and it becomes rather hard to concentrate. 

~ You talk to Marc on your way home from the theatre each night. 

You know he can hear you, walking on the rooftops above the streets you traverse each night. 

It makes you feel safe, knowing that he’s there, knowing that he cares enough to make sure you got home. 

You tell him about your day, quietly talking to yourself, drawing some curious stares but not too many. If these were the only interactions he would allow then you would make the most of them. 

You think you’ve seen Marc before. That he’d come into the museum once so that Steven wouldn’t miss work. His brows had been knitted tightly together, eyes narrower, mouth a hard frown. 

He hadn’t spoken to you that day, while Steven always made sure to, always. 

It’s raining when you leave the theater this night, your duffle bag slung across your shoulders, hood pulled up over your head as you race down the back steps, eager to get home, to make a cup of the calming tea Steven had gotten you and sleep. 

Your feet and ankles are sore and you felt like a good cry was in order. 

You don’t look up as the rain pounds down, sure that your guarding protector would be there as he always was. You just didn’t have the energy to greet him this night. 

Although you left rehearsal early, Marc always had a way of knowing when you left, of always being there. He was reliable, steady, even if he mostly avoided you. 

Tonight though, you wish you could go home and call Steven, though you know he won’t pick up, not until morning. Steven was who you called when you needed to cry, when you needed comfort. 

Steven was soft, in a way no one else you’ve ever known has been. 

You love dance, but the toll it took on your mental health some days made you wonder if it was at all worth it. 

Your thighs burn and your ankles ache, and you remember the way you were out of step and how the choreographer had sighed. The sound worse than disappointment and closer to condemnation. Maybe you aren't good enough to hack it in this particular dance company, and not for the first time, you think about going home.

The rain continues, drenching you to the bone. It pounds against the pavement beneath your feet, so loudly you don’t hear the footsteps trailing after you. 

You duck down an alleyway, a shortcut you don’t normally take because you’d rather take the longer way around and chatter at Marc. 

But you can’t be bothered tonight. You don’t even look up. 

If you had, you’d have known he wasn’t there, and then maybe you’d have stayed in the safety of the theater for just a bit longer, waited until he showed himself. 

One moment you’re hurrying along, the next a hand is pressed to the back of your neck, shoving you into the brick wall of the alley. 

You open your mouth to scream but a knife presses to the skin of your throat. It digs in just a little as the pressure at the back of your neck disappears and your bag is ripped off your shoulder. 

“Search that for me, yeah?” A male voice says before he leans into you, pressing your body into the wall with the heaviness of his own. 

You hear your things being ripped out of the bag, your dance garments and tights. Extra shoes. Ballet slippers. A bag of toiletries. 

“Search her, then. She ain’t got anything in here.”

Hands dig into you, rough and careless. But you don’t have anything on you, not even your wallet or phone, you know they’ll find nothing and then what?

What will be left for them to take? 

The knife divots into your skin, you feel the warmth of your own blood trail down your neck. 

Surreptitiously, you tilt your head up. Maybe Marc really has hated you all this time, and he’s about to let you be killed in this dirty alley. 

But there’s no one watching you, and you have to wonder for a moment if anyone ever had been there, as the unknown hand gropes through your pockets and then pats down the sides of your thighs. 

You wonder if you should fight. 

Was it better to let whatever was about to happen, happen? Or to try to fight? To at least be able to flee? 

You decide to fight when a figure appears in the corner of your vision. 

One that the two men behind you apparently do not notice. 

The knife disappears from your neck and your head is smashed into the brick instead. 

Your vision dances, Khonshu apparently only visible to you. 

“Do not worry, little bug. My Moon Knight is on his way.”

The skeletal bird you’re staring at can only be Khonshu or a terrible hallucination. 

If he’s a hallucination, does that mean they already stabbed you and you’re bleeding to death? 

“You are not hallucinating,” comes the booming voice of the god of the night sky. “Follow my instruction.” 

Khonshu, who you have no choice but to trust as your assailants argue about whether to kill you, tilts his head.

You are told to drive your right foot directly back, then twist and punch as hard as you can. 

“Then run,” is the last piece of advice before the blasted bird disappears. 

You have no choice but to follow the advice, and hope Marc or Steven really are nearby. 

When you drive your foot back, it connects with a knee. A strangled cry goes up as you twist and blindly punch. Your fist lands on something meaty, sending a shockwave up your arm. Bone cracks. 

You flee the second the hands leave your body, and you think for just a moment that you’ll get away, that you’ll make it to the deserted but well lit street at the other end of the alley. 

But fingers hook into the hood of your jacket which had fallen back off your head. You’re jerked off your feet, clotheslined jacket knocking the breath out of your lungs. 

Still you manage to scream as you fall, palms scraping against the pavement, the knee of your jeans ripping open. 

You roll, acting on pure instinct, driving your leg up into the gut of the man that falls on top of you to square a punch into your ribs. 

“You little bitch-,” 

You whip out a hand and claw his face, his friend stooping to cover your mouth as the knife appears again, shining metal gleaming by the curve of your cheek.

But something - someone - else has appeared. 

Indeed, Khonshu’s Moon Knight is stalking down the alleyway behind them. 

It gives you the determination to shove the man on top of you with all your strength, kneeing him between the legs as you go, the knife slices at your cheek as the man behind you says, “Oy! Stop struggling and-,” 

You never find out what else you should do as the other man’s weight disappears and a fluttering white cape engulfs you. 

You get to your feet shakily and when you look up, it's to meet the blinding white gaze of Marc Spector. His arm is around your waist, the cape like a blanketed cocoon against you. 

“Go to the street. I’ll come to you.” His voice is American and gruff and unexpected. 

“Marc-,” 

But he lets go of you, spins you and pushes you gently in the direction of the street.

You go, rainwater sluicing against your skin. You hear bones snap, the sound of flesh against flesh but you don’t turn or stop until you reach the street. Cars trundle by, a few pedestrians are walking further up the road. No one pays you any mind, the callousness of strangers shocking and not shocking in equal measure. 

The contrast to your fight in the alley is startling, and you feel the burn of tears at the backs of your eyes, the fingers of pressure on your throat as you hold them back.

You don’t hear anything from the alley now, but a few minutes of shivering in the rain later Marc appears, your ruined bag over his shoulder.  

He crowds close to you without a word, lifting your chin with a curled finger beneath your chin. The fabric of the suit is gauzy and warm against your skin, not damp despite the rain. He peers into your eyes, focus shifting to your cheek and then neck, before he takes your hands in both of his, and examines the broken skin of your palms. 

He makes a noise of discontent as he examines you. 

He holds your fingers so tenderly you wonder if he realizes who you are. 

“Marc?” You ask gently. “Are you okay?” 

His head snaps up but he doesn’t answer, just stares at you with that furious white gaze. 

“Could I see your face at least?” 

He hesitates, but only for a moment, before the wispy material covering his face slides away. The humidity and rain make his curls unruly, a lock of hair sticks to the sweaty skin of his forehead.

It’s Steven, and very clearly not Steven. 

You swallow, and touch his cheek. “Are you okay?” You ask again. 

You regret touching him immediately. It’s likely not something he wants from you. 

Steven would have leaned into your palm, but Marc goes still confirming your worry, his brows pulling together, eyes narrower than Steven’s rounded gaze.

You drop your hand, and Marc’s gaze follows your hand. 

Instead of answering, Marc asks, “Do you have a first aid kit at your place or do we need to go to Steven’s?” 

“I have one,” you say softly.

Marc is so very close to you, his head bent over yours. His skin is damp and glowing, eyes such a deep umber that you feel like getting lost in them. His breath falls against your lips.

You inhale sharply at the closeness, breathing in the smoky jasmine and lavender scent that lingers around him, the tang of copper just beneath. Steven smelled like tea and cotton and you wonder briefly if the fragrance is thanks to the suit. 

But then he nods, all business, the rest of the suit sliding away as he pulls away and nudges you in the direction of your flat, not taking the shortcut through the alley, of course. 

“Did you kill them?” 

Marc stiffens, responding gruffly, “No. Just some broken bones.” 

You watch his jaw clench before you carefully reach out and tangle your fingers with his again. He probably thought you thought the worst of him, that he was a cold blooded killer. “I wouldn’t have mourned if you did.” His eyes snap to yours, surprised at the brutality in your shaky voice. “Thank you for coming.” 

“Where’d you learn to fight like that?” 

You smile, the movement making the cut on your cheek weep blood, “I received instructions from a rather strange looking bird.”

“Khonshu,” Marc mutters. “Bastard.” 

You hum, and feel the bizarre sensation of Marc Spector sliding his thumb gently across the back of your hand.

Once in your flat, Marc seats you at one of the two chairs at your tiny kitchen table in your tiny place’s kitchen. 

He kneels in front of you, even though he could take the other chair, and carefully tilts your chin up, dabbing gently at the cut on your neck, then your cheek.

“Did you hear me all those nights? When I spoke to you?” 

Marc nods, turning to grab an antiseptic ointment and a roll of gauze. “Yeah, I heard you.” 

“Why haven’t you-,” you bite your tongue. “Never mind. You don’t have to tell me. Or, talk to me. I’ve been telling myself that ever since Steven told me the truth. You’re just very important to Steven, of course I would like to meet you.” 

Marc goes still for a moment, deep brown eyes meeting yours. “Yeah, makes sense.” He finishes with your cheek and gently brushes his thumb over the column of your throat. 

You tell yourself he’s checking the bandage. 

But your heart beats wildly in your chest. 

“You’ll tell Khonshu thank you? From me? Suppose he did actually give me some helpful advice-,”

“No,” Marc suddenly says, intense in his fierceness, the set of his features grim. “Not when its his fault, my-my fault, our fucking fault you were alone in the first place-,” 

“Hey,” you take his hands and feel them shaking in yours. “It's not. It’s not anyone’s fault. It’s just something that happened. And I’m glad you were around.” You grip his fingers and don’t let him pull away until the tremors subside. “Are you alright?”

He clears his throat, suspiciously glassy eyes not meeting yours, and then goes about cleaning your bruised palms and your cut knuckles. 

Marc sighs abruptly, not answering you, and turns to look into the shining reflection of your floor length mirror. “Steven says he’s proud of you.” He looks away and continues wrapping your hands, “He also won’t let me forget that I haven’t asked you if you’re okay.” 

You open your mouth to reply when Marc bites out brusquely, “Are you okay?” 

You smile, imagining the irritation in Steven’s voice, Bloody hell, Marc! Telling her I’m bothering you about asking her if she’s okay and actually asking her is not the same thing!

“I’ll tell you if I’m alright, if you tell me if you are.” 

Marc snorts, “I can tell by looking at you.” His head twitches toward the mirror again and you know Steven must be annoying him about invisible injuries. You wait for a moment while they seem to have a silent conversation. 

You stop Marc’s hands when he moves to look at your knee instead of answering. “Just a simple yes or no. Nothing more.” 

He looks up at you, brows still tight over his eyes, expression stony, frowning at you so intensely you have to wonder what he sees when he looks at you. “Yes.” 

“Brilliant,” you smile. 

“Yes or no?” He asks you. 

You brace a hand on his shoulder, pushing yourself up, “Yes. I am okay. Does Steven know?”

“He hears you,” his grim gaze drifts back to the mirror. “Sit back down, I’m not done with you.” 

You pat his chest gently when he stands too, close and towering, what should be intimidating. “Yes, you are,” you return firmly. “I’m going to make some tea. Do you drink tea, or is that a Steven thing?”

“Coffee, if you have it.”

You can’t help but smile. 

“We need to wrap your knee though,” he doesn’t let the injury go. “It might get infected.”

You glance down at the scrape, then at the worried frown on Marc’s face. “Shall I change first? That way I don’t just tear the bandage anyways taking these wet jeans off.” 

Marc eyes your wet clothes, the way you shiver, head tilting to the side, like he’s listening. 

He concedes with a nod. 

~

Marc watches you make a cup of tea for yourself and hesitate at the coffeemaker. 

He thinks for a moment that you hesitate because you’re realizing that if you start the pot, you won’t only have to wait for it to brew but for Marc to drink it. 

But when you turn, you only frown at him and ask, “Are you quite sure about the coffee? You won’t sleep. I have more than enough chamomile tea-,” 

“Coffee is fine.” 

You dip your head and turn back to the pot. 

Steven sighs, “You can let her take care of you too, Marc.” 

Marc ignores Steven, refuses to meet his gaze in the shining reflection of your toaster. 

He feels the bone-deep weariness creep up on him, crash over his shoulders, as you set a cup of coffee in front of him a few quiet minutes later. 

“Steven pokes fun at me for my sugar habit. But this is a judgment free zone so don’t be afraid to tell me how you take it.” 

Marc glances into the cup, black coffee staring back up at him. 

“Sugar and milk,” he says and watches you smile, the gauze wrapped around your neck making his skin prickle. 

He should have killed those men for daring to lie a hand on you. He glances at your wet duffle bag, dejectedly lying in a heap in the corner of the kitchen. “Sorry about your stuff.” 

“It’s just things,” you say, wincing as you sit down across from him, setting down a carton of milk and bowl of sugar with a spoon.

He tips his head to the side to glance at your scraped knee under the table, the wince not matching the injury. Had he missed something? Though he supposes you’re probably sore after being thrown to the ground. 

“It’s not that,” you say, tucking your legs beneath you on the chair. “I was sore anyways. I’m always sore from dance. I have a high pain tolerance from all the years of training. Tonight wasn’t actually the worst night of my life.” 

Before he can respond, his heart sinking with your words, you continue. “That’s a neat trick though,” you fling your arms out and then around in an imitation of how he’d circled the cape around you. “Handy.” 

“It’s bulletproof. Most of the time,” he says, spooning sugar into his coffee, then a dash of milk. 

“Very handy, then.” You watch him for a moment before your fingers tangle anxiously together. “You know, I really am okay. Please don’t feel like you need to stay.”

“Marc,” Steven says, “She thinks you hate her. Open up to her just a bit, yeah?” 

“I don’t hate you,” Marc says, ignoring the exasperated goan from Steven at his blunt response. “I don’t. And I’ll stay, for a while at least. You hit your head,” he reaches out and touches the bruise forming at your temple. He should have cut off their hands for that, broken each finger, twisted the ligaments out. “You might have a concussion,” he keeps his voice as level as he can.  

You nod and swallow, “Is Steven okay? I haven’t worried him too badly, have I?” 

Marc briefly closes his eyes, hearing all over again the screams of his headmate when Khonshu told them you were in danger. The force of his worry had almost forced Marc into the backseat, but he knew he was better suited to handle whatever was happening to you. 

That he could steal himself and deal. With this, he could deal, after all the years Steven had protected Marc from himself, from memories better forgotten. 

If something had happened to you…

“He’s okay,” Marc eventually answers, opening his eyes to find you watching him worriedly. “He was very worried about you.” 

“He knows I’m okay now?”

Marc sees Steven nodding at the back of your head sympathetically. “Yeah.” He licks his lips, takes a sip of the coffee, “I can…I can bring him out if you’d rather be with him.” 

You tilt your head to the side, like you’re considering it. “It’s okay. Not that I don’t want to see Steven, I do. I just…feel very safe at the moment. Maybe something to do with the cape.” You look away and take a sip of your tea. 

Steven is smirking in the toaster’s reflection, smug in a way that grinds at Marc’s nerves. 

The pair of you make no sense to Marc. 

“You into the cape, huh?”

“Oh, only a little. I wonder if your god would give me one.” Your eyes are sparkling, you’re teasing him and it makes his chest hurt in a pleasant way. 

But there was an idea Marc could get behind. Not that Khonshu would ever acquiesce. 

When you finish your tea, Marc shuffles you to the couch, prepared to watch over you for the night. 

You lie down, your legs tucked behind his back when he sits at the end of the sofa, like he’s familiar to you. And he supposes in a way he is, that you spend almost every evening together, despite his silence, and that you know the body he lives in. 

Marc flicks through the various streaming services on your TV, resting his other hand on your knee when you won’t stop squirming. 

“Hey,” he says, thumbing at your knee but not looking at you. “I know you’re okay now. But you might not be in a couple days, when the shock wears off. Takes time sometimes for something like that to catch up to you.” He squeezes your calf. “Let us know if that happens.” 

“Are you - both of you? Either of you?” 

His heart sinks just a little. “Yeah. Either. Both.” 

“Aw, Marc, I knew you liked her! I knew it!” Steven’s hands are folded over his heart, eyes wide and round. “Go on and kiss her!”

He will not be doing that. Knows that you wouldn’t welcome that. 

Instead he massages the flesh of your leg, and says, “Heat can help with muscle soreness. Do you have a heat pack somewhere?”

You turn on your back and put your feet in his lap, “Maybe. I’m okay like this for now.” You pull a blanket off the back of the sofa and drape it over both of you. 

He cups a hand around your socked ankle and says, “Don’t fall asleep.” He traces the delicate knob of bone beneath his touch. 

“Don’t think I could if I tried.” You go quiet for a moment, then say, “For the record, thank you. I’m really glad you’re staying with me.” 

The feeling that wells up in his chest almost chokes him. Marc can only nod, and even Steven stays silent for once at the wave of emotion that crashes through them both.

I love your Instagram imagines so much! I have a concept with Nawal Sari (nawalsari on Instagram and Pinterest) where Reader is Harry’s best friend and the fans love her so much and she always interacts with them and stuff? No pressure though! 💕

i love love LOVE this request !!! i hope you enjoy, i had a blast making it !

you can send me ideas for ig blurbs here (and feel free to talk to me about anything)

masterlist | don’t forget to like and reblog please !!

liked by harrystyles, gemmastyles and 19,716 others

yourinstagram NIGHT ONE OF LOVE ON TOUR IM NOT READY

view all 156 comments

harryfan1 THE PRETTIESTTT

harryfan2 WILL YOU BE IN THE PIT TONIGHT?

↳ yourinstagram BET I WILL

jefezoff Stole the show already

↳ yourinstagram ikr fire harry and make me the front man of the tour

harrystyles 🙄🙄

↳ yourinstagram jealous because everybody likes me better, I KNOW

liked by pillowpersonpp, harrystyles and 25,670 others

yourinstagram HONTENT FOR MY HARRIES TO WARM UP FOR THE SHOW HERE’S AN UNSEEN

view all 394 comments

harryfan1 SHES THE BEST

harryfan2 SHES ALWAYS GIVING US CONTENT

harrystyles Stop leaking my stuff, plase.

↳ yourinstagram stfu and go get ready you have fans to please

↳ harryfan3 IM CRYING

liked by annetwist, pillowpersonpp and 20,867 others

yourinstagram ugh he can’t live without me

view all 245 comments

harryfan1 will you be there for the ny shows ??

↳ yourinstagram OF COURSE BESTIE

jefezoff Thing One and Thing Two 😂

↳ yourinstagram whatever you say cat in the hat

harrystyles You irk me

↳ yourinstagram NOT THE OLD MAN WORDS 😭

↳ harryfan2 i love them so much bye

liked by gemmastyles, pillowpersonpp and 21,430 others

yourinstagram IM BACKKK SEE YOU ALL IN THE CHERRY PIT TONIGHT

view all 169 comments

harryfan1 HOPE TO SEE YOU THERE

annetwist Have fun 😍

↳ yourinstagram love you mom

harryfan2 she travelled all the way from LA to be there tonight i’m going to cry

↳ yourinstagram shhh don’t say it out loud harry is going to think he’s special

↳ harrystyles Heyyyyyyyyy

↳ harryfan2 WHAT JUST HAPPENED

liked by mitchrowland, harrystyles and 22,509 others

yourinstagram even tho he annoys me most of the times, this dude has been my best friend for eleven years now and i just can’t imagine my life without him, and i’m beyond proud of him 🥺

in 24 hours i’m going to delete this caption and put that he’s a pest tho

view all 208 comments

harryfan1 CRYING

harryfan2 MY FAVORITE DUO

jefezoff 😂😂

harrystyles Aww, you’re cute xx

↳ yourinstagram you’re okay ig

harryfan4 i want what yn has

From Heartbreak To Happiness Masterlist

Bucky Barnes x fem!reader

Summary: Set after the Avengers bring everyone back from the Blip. AU in the fact Nat survives and Steve doesn’t leave. You once loved Steve but when he fell in love with another woman you had to learn how to move on. Enter Bucky. Loving him was easy and trust was built but life couldn't be perfect all the time and you had to face some hard truths before you find your happy ever after. Warnings: 18+ only, angst, smut, fluff, alcohol, pregnancy, injury, birth Word Count: 8.9k Status: COMPLETE

Part One: Closure ⨮ ➴ Steve has moved on but you need your closure.

Part Two: Absolution ⨮ ➴ Steve retires and you are invited to his ceremony.

Part Three: Resolution ⨮ ➴ Set 18 months before the ending of Absolution when lies are told and truths come out but will you and Bucky make it together and find a solution.

Part Four: Nirvana ⁂ ➴ Pregnancy, birth and a superhero down, will this be your best or worst day?

⁂ = smut † = death ⨮ =angst ꕥ = fluff

Fuck please God give me a bucky !! Or else imma be alone for the rest of my miserable virgin life 😭🥲

Hands That Heal - Ch.9

Bucky Barnes x mechanic!fem!reader

Chapter Summary: The road of recovery is only just beginning but you're not the only one who is feeling broken. Chapter Warning: 18+ only, smut, oral (f rec), unprotected sex, fluff Word count: 2007

Series Warnings: 18+ only, canon-typical violence, swearing, fluff, misogyny/degrading comments from some men, smut.

Main Masterlist || Bucky Masterlist || Hands That Heal Masterlist

RECAP: “He thought you killed Axel.” You whispered through the lump in your throat. “I wanted to.” “I know, but you didn’t.” You said as you blinked slower and slower, the promise of pain free sleep enticing you with its darkness and you were ready to give in. “You’re too good.”

━━━━━━♡♥♡━━━━━━

Pain radiated across your shoulder blade as you woke to the irritating sound of the hospital monitors beeping. A hand was already being placed gently on your lower back to stop you from moving and you managed to turn your head so you could see Bucky sitting beside your bed, guilt eating him alive.

“Hey Hercules.” You murmured through the groggy haze of morphine. “What’s the damage?”

He shook his head and leant forward in the chair so his forehead was resting on your hand, your fingers automatically reaching to run through his messy hair. “I should’ve been there to protect you. I’m so sorry, y/n.”

“You’re my boyfriend, not my bodyguard. It’s not your job to protect me.” You tried to reassure him but he was already withdrawing into himself. “I mean, if it was your job you would be fired so it’s kind of a good thing.”

His lips twitched at your twisted sense of humour and he finally looked you in the eyes. “You’re not funny.”

“Not even a little bit?” You smiled before trying to move closer and hissing at the pain that brought tears to your eyes. “Why does my thigh hurt so much?”

“The surgeon needed a skin graft for your shoulder, she took it from your thigh.” He answered as he pressed the button on the morphine drip and a whir of the machine had you forgetting the pain.

“Ugh, the scars are going to be horrible.” You slurred as the drugs took effect and your mind was like sludge. “You’re na gonna love me anymewww.”

“You loved me with all my scars, doll, I’ll love you with all yours.”

━━━━━━♡♥♡━━━━━━

It was your first day back at work after weeks recovering from the surgery and you were pleasantly surprised to find aside from the red scarring around the edge of the graff site, your shoulder blade looked almost normal. You had almost complete mobility but some movements stretched the skin taut and hurt but time, like with most things, would heal that. The patch on your inner thigh was another matter and you hated seeing the rectangle of mottled scarring when you took your clothes off.

“There she is!” Chip shouted from across the garage. “Welcome back.”

“I would say it’s good to be back but now I have to deal with you assholes again.” You teased as Bucky carried your toolbox in for you.

“Don’t hurt yourself alright.” Bucky said for the tenth time, wishing you had taken another week off. “Call me if you need me to pick you up early.”

“Sure thing, dad.” You rolled your eyes before giving him a kiss. “Stop worrying about me, don’t you have plans today?”

His lips curled into a smile as he nodded. “Speaking of, I should get going and meet up with Sam and Torres. Be good, don’t hurt yourself, I love you.”

“I love you too but if you tell me that one more time, I swear to god-”

“What? I love you?”

“No, the other thing.”

“Don’t hurt yourself.”

He laughed as you gently slapped his chest before he stole another kiss and left you to get to work. The cars hadn't stopped arriving just because you were out of commission and now you had a big back log of vehicles to fix.

“Where’s he heading off to?” Chip asked as Bucky gave you a wave as he pulled out, his grin still splitting his face.

“I don’t know, but it's the most I’ve seen him smile since I got home.”

Chip merely grunted and went back to his office, leaving you to work until the streets echoed with the sound of sirens. Dozens of cop cars raced down the block and everyone headed for the street to see what was going down and where. There wasn’t much to see as they turned down Michigan and you thought nothing of it until it was time for lunch.

“Holy shit, Dale, turn it up.” Chip barked from the tatty couch in the break room. “Jiminy, your boy’s on TV.”

You slipped out from under the car you were working on and went into the room to find the old CRT TV on full volume, Bucky and a whole lot of other bystanders watching the Sinner’s MC members getting thrown in the back of the cop cars you had seen earlier. The breaking news banner beneath the screen regaled the tale of a mountain of evidence against the club being anonymously sent to counterterrorism and it was as if he could feel you watching as he threw a wink to the camera before disappearing into the crowd.

“Jeeeesus.” Chip breathed out with relief, a small huff of a laugh to finish it off. “Good riddance to the lot of them. My babies can finally come home.”

You were still sitting in front of the tv watching the teams of police filling the clubhouse and emptying it of the mass of weapons, cash and drugs that had been hidden inside when you heard clapping outside. Peeking over the back of the couch you found Bucky looking for you and his eyes lit up when he found you, rushing into the staff room and closing the door behind him.

“How?” You asked dumbfounded as he crouched down in front of you and took your hands.

“I know a few people in low places and a few people in high places.” He smirked. “I just gave them both a bit of a nudge.”

“I can’t believe it. They’re really gone.”

“They’ve hurt a lot of people and there’s no shortage of evidence against them. They aren’t getting out for a very, very long time.”

“You did all this for me?”

“You’re my best girl, y/n, I’d do anything for you.”

You leant forward and captured his lips with a passion you hadn’t been able to muster since the attack. Your confidence had been at an all time low with the scars, then there had been the fear of another attack despite Bucky never leaving your side for one moment and there was the guilt he held for not getting to you in time. It had put you in a state of mind that left you drier than the sahara desert but it seemed the drought was over and desire was quickly pooling between your legs.

“Fuck…” Bucky groaned as his heightened senses noticed your arousal and he pulled away with almost obsidian eyes. “I just need a minute.”

“You need to take me home.”

His lip was caught between his teeth as he looked out the window and saw Chip and Dale arguing over something before interrupting. “I’m taking y/n home, it's all been a bit much excitement.”

Chip looked at you with concern before nodding, probably mistaking the wide eyes and mussed hair as stress. Bucky was already opening the car door and throwing your toolbox in the back before you had made it halfway across the floor and you couldn’t help giggling at his enthusiasm. A few weeks without sex now felt like a long time to you so you could only imagine how much worse it was for him, given how insatiable he was in bed.

There was no way you were even going to make it to the bedroom at the rate you were going and Bucky decided the couch was the best and closest thing to lay you on when you reached the top of the stairs. Your hands had been roaming his body since he sat in the driver's seat and you were lucky the windows were tinted as you unzipped his pants and stroked him through his boxers. His deep breathing and soft groans had filled the car and he had come to a rather hard stop when he parked in the garage.

It was only as you stood before him half naked and he was pulling your jeans down your legs that doubt crept back in. Your knees tried to pull together as he laid you back on the couch and began kissing his way down your body, but his own knee stopped you from shutting him out.

“You’re beautiful, y/n.” He reassured you between the kisses he was placing on your breasts. “So. Fucking. Beautiful. You hear me?”

You completely whimpered as his mouth finally reached you folds and…he went straight past, his teasing chuckled drifting up your body. Your hands were already reaching to pull him away as you felt his soft lips brush over the scars but he caught them and held them in his hands as his tongue swirled over the uneven surface. Your hands relaxed as warmth began to spread across your skin, the kisses and licks actually feeling really good over the tight skin and soon you were moaning.

Your moans spurred him into action and his tongue lashed between your folds, a hum of satisfaction as he tasted you like it was the first time all over again. Your head tipped back into the couch cushions as he teased your clit and let go of your hands so he could curl two fingers inside you, stretching you ready for him. Your walls were already fluttering around him as he sucked on your clit and rolled his fingers over your g-spot but he wanted to feel you come undone around his cock after so long without it.

“Do you remember what you told me?” He asked as he looked up at you, lazuli eyes captivating yours. “These scars make us who we are, they are proof of everything we have survived.”

“I remember.” You whispered, but giving advice was far easier than taking it.

He crawled up your body, the hard length of him resting on your hip as he shared your taste on his tongue. “I don’t care how many scars you get, I just need you to always survive.”

Your promise was lost in the gasp as he filled you, stretching you with a quick thrust of his hips and his mouth devouring yours, swallowing your needy cries as he let your body adjust around him.

“Fuck me, please, Bucky, I need you now.”

He finally rolled his hips as you begged him and his head tipped back with a growl at how good it felt to be buried inside you again. Sweet nonsense was tumbling from his lips and you had already been on the edge of bliss from his tongue, now you were feeling the coil in your belly tighten impossibly. Your keen cries joined Bucky’s moans as he pulled your leg higher and pushed himself deeper.

“Oh god, fuck, that feel’s so good.” You cried as your heels dug into his ass and you rolled your hips to meet his.

“I’m gonna cum, doll, you feel so fucking tight.”

His hand disappeared between you and his thumb pressed over your clit, your own hips riding you over his touch until the elastic band holding you together snapped. Your pussy clamped down on Bucky as your orgasm washed over you, the heat of it setting you alight from head to toe as your clit pulsed beneath his thumb and he grunted as he spent himself within your walls, the twitches of his cock setting off small aftershocks down your trembling legs.

You both lay entwined on the couch, Bucky still between your legs and his head on your chest as you twirled his growing hair in your fingers. You couldn’t imagine a more perfect moment than that. It had seemed like reaching this point was going to be impossible, that you were destined to remain broken and living in fear for the rest of your life. But Bucky had fixed it, he had fixed you.

You took Bucky’s hands in yours, lacing your fingers between his and kissed them. He thought his hands were weapons, especially the vibranium one, he saw them as tools, hands that cause hurt. You saw them for what they truly were, hands that heal.

━━━━━━♡♥♡━━━━━━

Ahhhhh only one chapter to go!

Taglist || Taglist Join Form ||

@jessica11133 @nash-dara @buckyisperfect @itswanktime @slutforsexyseabass @sea040561 @gryffindorqueensworld @honeywithemoney @kenzieam @tsnelf7

I am not forgiving you fuck off !! I hate you 🖕🏻

(No I don’t but just pretend I do )

The Surrogate [pt.3]

Bucky Barnes x fem!reader

Summary: After months of peaceful living with Bucky he is called to arms as the fight with Thanos comes to Wakanda. Warnings: 18+ only, pregnancy, smut, labour, war WC: 3018 Set after Civil War, just before Infinity War and after End Game.

|| Main Masterlist || Drabbles Masterlist || Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4 ||

The hospital bed was shaking as Natasha’s nervousness left her leg bouncing and you looked to Clint to try calm her but he was too busy enjoying the rare sight. He was poised against the wall with one leg bent behind him as he scratched at the empty spot that was usually taken up by his ankle bracelet. Finally, the sonographer entered the room and Nat’s head shot up from where she had been watching your stomach move under her hand.

There was no waiting around or polite small talk as she squirted the gel onto your stomach, everyone in Wakanda knew the longer Nat or Clint stayed in their country the higher risk of getting caught. No one wanted to implicate the Wakandans so it was best to get the scan done quickly so everyone could disperse back across the globe. Everyone except you.

“Measurements look great, everything looks to be growing at the right rate.” Dr N’Yana smiled as she took a rare look away from the screen. “Were you wanting to know the gender?”

“Please!” Nat begged as she leant even closer. “We have a bet.”

“It’s a girl.” You and Clint both reaffirmed as Natasha shook her head.

“Everything points to a boy.” She argued once again.

“Old wives tales don’t count.” You laughed, as you looked back at Dr N’Yana. “Put her out of her misery please.”

“Sorry, Miss Romanoff, she is definitely a girl.”

Natasha didn’t look disappointed at all at losing the bet, she was too busy wiping the tears of joy that filled her eyes. It didn’t matter that you had been feeling her kicks for over a week or that you had seen her sonogram at 12 weeks, it all suddenly seemed real now. A tissue was waved in front of your face and you realised you were also crying, Clint handing the tissues out to both you and Nat as he grinned at the news.

“Congrats, Nat.” You sniffed after blowing your nose. “I knew from those kicks she was going to be a mini you.”

Her arms wrapped around your neck as she quietly thanked you once again. The three of you were family, she never had to thank you for anything and you reminded her that as you cleaned the slimy gel off your stomach and accepted her hand to help you sit up.

“Things are getting pretty rough out there right now. I don’t know when we can stop in again next but no matter what, you call me the moment you think she’s coming.” She said as you walked her out to the jet, a new stack of images tucked close to her chest in a zippered pocket. “I can’t believe how much you are glowing. What I can’t tell is if it’s the pregnancy or Bucky and that vitamin D.”

“Shh…” You hissed as you looked around the public area. “It’s not like that, we don’t do that.”

“Wait. Seriously?” She asked as she skidded to a halt.

“No, I…we do other stuff, just not that.”

“You do realise there's a thing called a mucus plug that stops anything from getting up there, if that’s what you are worried about.”

“Oh god, I can’t have this conversation with you, or anyone for that matter.”

Clint’s laugh reminded you he was following a few feet behind and your face burned with embarrassment. “You’re gonna need it when it’s time to get that baby out.” He laughed. “I remember Laura going feral when she hit her due date, couldn’t get enough.”

“You do realise I will have to look Laura in the eye once all of this is over?” You grimaced. “I don’t need to hear this. Would you look at the time? Your flight’s set to take off.”

“I’m the pilot. It takes off when I say it does.” Nat laughed at your expense before sighing. “But you’re right, we should be heading off. There’s only so long Laura can wear the ankle monitor and replicate this dweebs movements.”

You were getting better with their goodbyes but you still felt a pang of hurt every time they left and this was no different. You gave them both a hug before Clint pulled the three of you all together and kissed your forehead before heading to the jet with a wave. Nat lingered a moment longer to press her hand to your belly one last time and you remembered what you had thought earlier.

“Can you tell Steve that he’s wrong about Bucky and he should visit next time?”

You could tell she was curious to ask what you were talking about but Clint had started the engines and so she just nodded in agreement and made her way to the ramp before he left without her.

═══════☆═══════

18 weeks later

You were gently brushing Bucky’s hair as he slept beside you, the long strands almost curling from how often you twirled them around your fingers. You barely slept these days, the weight of your pregnancy leaving you uncomfortable and unable to find a position to sleep in. Instead you spent the early hours laying face to face, watching him sleep as a breeze fluttered the curtain at the front door.

“You should be resting.” He murmured with his sleepy, gravelly voice.

“You go back to sleep baby, no point in both of us being tired today and my back hurts.” You replied softly, hoping he would go back to sleep but instead he climbed over the double mattress he had upgraded to months ago and began rubbing your back.

You sighed as his hand worked its magic and the soft sounds filling the room quickly left his cock growing hard between your thighs. There would be no going back to sleep for either of you until you could alleviate the pulsing ache between your legs and he hummed happily as you lifted your leg over his hip. The massage was forgotten as his hips rolled behind you, pushing his head through your folds to find your core wet and needy for him.

“God, always so ready for me aren’t you, doll?” He moaned in your ear between kissing your neck.

“Please, I need you, Buck.” You pleaded as he kept teasing you with his hips.

He shifted slightly behind you, the angle changing and when he rolled his hips his cock pressed into your dripping cunt, slowly filling you until you couldn’t possibly take any more. A high keen expelled as he stretched you and his own moan sent shivers down your spine while his fingers tightened their hold on your hips. Your patience ran out as you chased the release he could give you and you pushed yourself back against him and rolled your own hips, riding his cock and taking your own pleasure.

“That’s it, y/n, fuck, take what you need from me.”

His hand slipped over your hip and teased your clit, circling and rolling it to elicit the mewls you couldn’t hold back. His strong legs pushed you wider when your legs threatened close with ecstasy and his thrusts grew even harder, fucking you into oblivion as your body began to tremble around him. His growl ruptured the fragments of your mind and sent you over the edge, pussy gripping his cock and trying to keep him deep inside. You even whimpered when he pulled out and you missed the full feeling before you felt the heated splatters of his cum painting your lower back.

You went to climb out of bed and get cleaned up but he pressed you back into the mattress with a kiss and got out himself. You watched his silhouette make its way around the room and he came back with a cool washcloth and gently cleaned the mess he had made. When he was finished you were finally feeling relaxed enough to attempt to sleep again and he climbed back in behind you, arm hanging over your hip and already falling asleep.

When you woke again the room was bright and Bucky was missing from the bed. Fresh fruit and a glass of water was set on the bedside with a net over the top and smiled at the sweet thought as you picked at a slice of pawpaw. It wasn’t until you heard voices outside that you stopped snacking and pulled a flowing dress over your body to go and see who was visiting.

“T’Challa, what brings you out here?” You asked with a smile that was harder than normal to produce, the ache in your back only increasing as you got out of bed.

“You should be resting still.” Bucky sighed as he saw the pain in your features.

“This affects her too, white wolf, she should know.” T’Challa said before turning his attention to you. “We have a war coming, New York has already been attacked and Tony is missing.”

Your hands flew to your mouth as you thought of your old team mate and you pressed a hand to your forehead as your body suddenly felt too hot. A sweat broke on your brow as you tried to stop the tears that were building until you noticed a case sitting on the wagon of hay Bucky was unloading.

“What is that?” You asked as you touched the black and gold metal plates of the prosthetic arm. “How long have you had this?”

“Shuri built it in case he ever came out of retirement.” T’Challa answered without actually answering and a spark of anger ignited in your belly.

“You mean you knowingly kept that locked away when he could have been using it.”

“Y/n, it’s fine. I didn’t need it.” Bucky said as he grabbed your chin and turned your head to look at his sincerity.

You took a deep breath and blamed your irritability on the lack of sleep before nodding and apologising to the King, only for speaking to him the way you did not for what you said. You still thought they should have given him the arm as soon as it was made.

“Steve’s jet will be here within the hour, I suggest you find your way to the palace too, y/n, it’s not going to be safe out here when the battle begins.”

With that T’Challa turned and left with his Dora Milaje and you watched Bucky pull his shirt over his head and begin unwrapping the cloth he used to hide his stump where his arm was. You guided the top of the arm to his shoulder and felt a magnetic pull when it was a few inches away, the arm locking into place with the help of a mechanism and he rolled his arm, getting a feel for the new addition.

“I like the new colour scheme.” You ran your fingers along the plates and found his eyes watching you touch him. “I wonder what features it has.”

“You’re insatiable.” He shook his head with a rueful smile, looking at the King’s jet taking off back to the heart of the city. “When this is over we will figure that out, for now I need to get you to the palace. No arguments.”

He led you back inside to sit on the bed while he unlocked a trunk that had been stuffed in the corner for as long as you had been there. You watched curiously as he pulled out duffel bags and you heard the familiar rattle of guns inside one but the other was silent. He opened that first, pulling out his Winter Soldier gear that you had seen him wear in Germany.

“Does it scare you?” You asked as he held the leather vest up and shook out the dust that had gathered. “Wearing that again and fighting?”

“No.” He opened the weapons bag and began slotting the knives into the holders on the vest before looking up at you. “I have a reason to fight now and people to protect.”

You rose from the bed with a groan and made your way over to where he was dressing, buckling the many clips that crossed over his broad chest. Your fingers brushed his aside and you clipped him up before resting your palms over his leather clad chest.

“You be careful out there.” You ordered sternly. “I need you to come home to me.”

He dropped his forehead to yours, his hair creating a curtain to your own little world. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Bucky, but promise me.”

“I promise, now let’s go.”

The quinjet was just landing as you arrived at the landing pad and Natasha was first off the ramp, hands reaching for your stomach that had exploded since she last visited. Not even the video calls could really do justice to the size of your bump and she was absolutely stunned as she cradled it.

“Your mommy’s here, baby girl.” You smiled as she started kicking wildly before groaning as she hit your bladder. “Great, excuse me while I go to the toilet, again.”

“Want me to come?” Bucky asked as you clenched your teeth at the strain.

“No, no. You haven’t seen Steve in years, I’ll be back in a minute.” You reassured him and pushed him towards Steve who was stepping off the ramp.

You hadn’t gotten far inside the palace doors when the pressure inside you shifted and a torrent of liquid ran down your legs. You still felt the need to go for a pee and swore at the realisation that your waters had indeed broken as you leant against the wall for support.

“Ayo, please go and retrieve Natasha and James.” You heard T’Challa order and looked up to find his concerned eyes taking in the scene.

“Sorry about the floor.” You muttered but he just laughed.

“It is the least of our worries today.” He said before the hurried footsteps of Nat and Bucky reached you. “Shuri has had a room prepared for her already. Bast bless you with a safe delivery.”

“Kid’s got a real problem with timing.” You tried to joke as Bucky’s new arm wrapped around your waist and supported you as they led the way to the medical wing high up the palace floors.

“Unknown aircraft entering the atmosphere.” An alarm alerted from the speakers in the elevator and your anxiety spiked at the thought of your friends out on the battlefield.

“What are you doing here?” Shuri asked as she looked up from the surgery she was performing on Vision. “Now is not the time to go into labour.”

“Tell that to her.” You groaned as the pain in your back radiated to the front. “She missed that memo.”

“On the bed over there.” Shuri nodded with her chin. “I’ll watch over her, they need all the help they can get down there.”

Your eyes widened at the thought of giving birth alone and you reached out, taking one of their hands. “Finish the bastards quickly and get back here.”

Natasha nodded rigidly before seeing the spacecrafts cast shadows over the city and bent over your stomach to whisper in her native tongue before kissing your forehead. “Stay safe.”

She disappeared from the room without looking back and you turned to Bucky. “What did she say?”

“Your momma will always be with you and she loves you.” He said after a moment's pause, wondering if he should tell you. “I know, I’ll keep an eye out for her.”

You smiled as he read your mind and pulled him closer by the buckles on his vest so you could kiss him. “Watch out for yourself too, don’t get all selfless and killed because I fucking love you, James. And I kinda need you if we want a baby of our own, remember?”

“Oh, I remember.” He smirked against your lips before pulling away. “I’ll be back before you know it. I love you.”

You watched his purposeful gait as he left the room and wondered how even posed for war with aliens he could look so sexy.

“You really thinking about another baby when you haven’t even given birth?” Shuri laughed. “Crazy.”

“It’s not too bad right now.”

═══════☆═══════

“Fuuuuuck!” You screamed as another contraction ripped through your abdomen. “Shuri!”

“Breathe, y/n, you are doing great.” She said from the other side of the room where she was still performing the surgery and muttering under her breath. “Yelling is not making me go any faster.”

“I heard that.”

“Sorry!”

You relaxed as the contraction eased off and lifted your head to see the chaos out the glass windows, instantly regretting your decision. Wanda had been helping take the pain away and ease your mind but she had been needed on the battlefield and you were left without any pain relief and the contractions were coming hard and fast. A crash at the door pulled you away from your worry and a body was thrown across the room.

“Y/n! Get to that room.” Shuri pointed to a door close by and you pulled yourself off the bed and shuffled as quickly as you could into the supply room.

You made it inside just before a hideous alien stepped in the main room and grappled with Shuri, the destruction only ending when Vis threw him and the alien out of the window to cascade down the palace wall. It was all too much, too much chaos, too much fighting, too much everything that you slid down the wall and curled up on the cool tile floor. There was nothing you could do except grit your teeth and cry as the contractions took your breath away and suffer alone.

Suddenly a wave of peace washed over you and the battle outside fell silent. Did that mean we won? You prayed that Bucky and Nat were safe, along with everyone else as a strange weightless feeling took over your body. Every nerve tingled oddly and you looked at your fingers as they began to crumble to dust that quickly spread across your skin.

“What the fu-“

Click here for next part.

Opinions aren’t permanent. It’s okay to change your opinion based on new information.