Let’s Also Talk About Sebastian’s Hands And The Fucking Veins On Them

First Lady {2} || Retribution MC AU

Biker!Steve Rogers x fem!reader

Summary: Your day takes a turn when you are kidnapped to blackmail Steve and the club into business. Warnings: 18+ only, nsfw, alcohol, pregnancy, reader injuries, kidnapping, canon-typical violence, guns, shooting. WC: 2678

Steve’s Masterlist || Retribution MC Masterlist || Part One || Part Two

The box of beers were freezing as they dug into your arms so you could carry them out of the fridge. You nearly dropped them with fright as you turned around after kicking the door closed to see Steve vaulting over the bartop. The box was gone in an instant and he gave you a disapproving look as he put them on the bench beside Cherry. 

“You know you shouldn’t be lifting anything in your condition.” Steve growled as he bent his knees to look you in the eyes. “No more lifting.”

Bucky frowned as he looked up from his phone. “I offered to do it but mama’s almost as stubborn as you.”

“I know.” Steve said with a heavy sigh, his huge hand coming to rest across the little bump jutting out from your belly. “I mean it, love, no more lifting.”

“Relax, big guy.” You smiled, placing your hand over his. “You keep stressing yourself out and you’ll be itching for a smoke, then I won’t be happy.”

The moment he felt his child kick against his hand he forgot everything and became enraptured with the miracle growing in your body. His smile split his face and the feeling of being complete lifted his spirits after spending hours in his office, once again trying to make ends meet and keep food on the table. 

“You’re gonna make me late.” You giggled as he pulled you into his arms so he could have just a few more moments with you before heading to the shop. 

“I already did that.” Steve teased low in your ear, laughing when you lightly slapped his butt. “Oh, I’m sorry, it’s not like everybody knows I knocked you up already.”

“You’re so romantic, it's a wonder you even got in my bed.” 

“I can tell you exactly how that happened.” 

“He’s bluffing.” Bucky said over the top of his phone that he was busy texting his girlfriend from. “He doesn’t even remember what he had for breakfast.”

“True.” Steve admitted as he turned to his VP. “Speaking of late, aren’t you meant to be out on a date?”

“I’m picking her up now, worry about your own love life.” He smirked before shrugging his kutte off and heading to the office to leave it for safekeeping. “Fucking feel naked without this. You know where we’ll be, give us a shout if you need me.”

“Go, enjoy your night.” You said with a wave. “They can look after themselves for a few hours.”

“Yeah. Right. And pigs fly.” Bucky snorted a laugh as he left, his Harley roaring to life before tearing out of the clubhouse parking lot.

“I’m going to head out too.” You said to Steve, pecking his lips quickly only to be pulled back so he could give you a proper kiss that left you wanting to stay. “I love you.”

“Love you too, mama. I’ll come by at midnight to help you close.”

It was almost closing time and you had been busy all evening with walk-in clients so you sent Hodge off since he had started before you. Locking the front door, you turned the music up as you began your clean down not realising someone had slipped in through the back. It was only as you polished the stainless steel bench that you saw a blurred reflection move behind you and you spun around, spraying the disinfectant in the stranger's face and kicked out your leg as hard as you could.

You didn’t stick around to see what happened to him but heard a crash and string of curse words as he toppled your equipment table. You rounded the corner to the staff only area and reached for your phone resting on your handbag, your fingers jamming the power button until it activated your emergency call to 911. 

“Shouldn't've done that sweetheart.” A man sighed as he stepped out of the shadows of the back door, a gun resting against his thigh. The stranger wore a sleek suit that screamed money and you slightly relaxed that it was too expensive for the FBI to wear, at least you weren’t getting arrested. “Happy?”

“Not exactly.” You muttered, seeming to amuse him as the man who you had kicked limped in from the studio.

“I’m fine.” Happy grunted as he grabbed your phone and smashed it on the ground. “The little bitch is gonna pay for that stunt though.”

You tried to dodge the hit but your baby bump left you off balance and the punch he sent your way slammed into your forehead instead of your nose. Stars blurred your vision as you swayed on your feet and you managed to stay upright until he grabbed you and dragged you outside to a waiting SUV.

The tyres squealed as Happy floored the gas and they hit the main road, merging with the Saturday night traffic that sprinkled the city streets. A familiar roar of a Road King passed you at an insane speed but with the tinted windows Steve wouldn’t have seen or heard you screaming from inside. 

“She’s giving me a headache now.” Tony complained as he scratched his cheek with the barrel of his gun. “Would you please shut up so I can think?”

“What do you need to think about?” You asked, wiping away some of your blood that trickled close to your eye. “How much you fucked up by taking the President of Retributions’ wife?”

“Just remember, I did ask nicely.” Tony said before he turned the gun and pistol-whipped you, the world quickly fading to black.

Steve paced the club like a wild animal, trapped as he waited impatiently for everyone to arrive. His eyes never left his phone, reassuring himself that the reason your location hadn’t moved was a good thing but fear knotted his stomach until he had to sit down or vomit. All he could see in his mind's eye was the mess that had been left in the studio, your phone smashed to pieces and the droplets of blood beside it. 

“Fuck!” He screamed as he threw the pen holder from his desk, the glass shattering against the wall and the pens clattering to the ground. 

The door behind him opened and he spun on his heels to face the intruder to his personal hellhole. 

“Woah.” Sam said gently as he raised his hands. “You gotta focus, man. You’ll get yourself killed if you go into this without your head.”

“I know.” Steve growled, anxiously rubbing his beard to the point it would probably start to wear away. “Give me a smoke.”

“No fucking way.” Sam stepped back. “Mama will kill me when we get her back.”

Looking at the phone once again, Steve sighed and pocketed the device before nodding to Sam. “Let’s ride.”

The gates rolled shut behind the entourage of bikers heading upstate to your location outside of Esopus, only a few members left behind to protect the club families in case there was another attempt at taking an old lady or their kids. The lights of the city soon faded away and all Steve could focus on was the glare of his headlight leading the way to you. 

Tony Stark was well known for being an arms dealer and he had been trying to get the MC to run his weapons along the East Coast but Steve knew doing that would put them even more on the FBI’s radar, something he wanted to avoid. It was more important than ever that he keep his nose clean and stick to the usual protection runs, ensuring he would be there for the arrival of his child and not behind bars. 

“Steve, you know who this property belongs to right?” Bucky asked from where he laid on the ground, one eye closed, the other looking down the scope of his rifle. 

“Unfortunately.” Steve sighed. “It’s not too late to back out, I can go in there on my own.”

“Fuck off,” his VP scoffed, “don’t insult me with that shit.”

Sam chuckled from where he was tucking magazines into his pockets and pulled back the bolt on his rifle. “We gonna do this or what?”

A small smile slipped onto Steve’s face despite the crushing fear that gripped his chest, he knew he could rely on his brothers to be by his side no matter how perilous the situation. With a nod he pulled the hood up from his coat to hide the blond of his hair and started to jog through the trees towards the Stark Compound, the rest of the club following close behind.

They reached the gate and, as their best marksman, Bucky took out the guard manning the security gate before Joaquin stepped in and made quick work of shutting down the outside cameras. 

“They are gonna notice we are here if they check the cameras, we better get moving.” Steve urged as he pushed down the rising adrenaline, now was not the time for his hands to start trembling and his heart to start racing. “On my count.”

Holding his hands up, Steve dropped a finger for each second that passed and the moment his fist was closed they broke ranks and fanned out across the yard. Bullets fired from a cargo bay door but they were quickly silenced by a well aimed shot from Sam and they continued their enclosing tactic around the building. 

You woke with a gasp and instinctively curled around your belly as gunshots rang out, trying your best to ignore the nausea rolling through your stomach and the way the room spun around you. 

“Get up.” Tony growled as he tugged you to your feet from the couch you had been laid on and pain lacerated your head. “It’s time for you to play your role perfectly, or I put a bullet into your baby first, then your brain.”

“There’s a shallow grave with your name on it.” You spat as he pulled you in front of his body and pressed the handgun to your head. 

“Your husband isn’t going to kill me.” Tony chuckled in your ear. “He needs me. Drop your weapons, Rogers!” Tony shouted out, nearly deafening you in the process, as he stepped out from the building. “I just want to talk.”

“This isn’t exactly picking up the phone is it!” Steve growled, his blood boiling as he saw the blood on your face. It was only the fact that the cargo dock doors opened and a small army strolled out with their weapons trained on the entire MC, outnumbering them 2:1.

“No, this is much more effective.” Tony laughed. “Now drop the weapons or your wife becomes a human casket.”

It took everything in you not to let the tears fall; you were tough, this was the life you signed up for and you told yourself you would not cry about it. Your body refused to listen the moment he moved the gun to your stomach and you trembled at the thought of losing the baby you had waited so long to have, silent tears turning the blood on your cheek pink. 

“Okay.” Steve rushed, dropping his rifle to the grass and looking along the line to his brothers, pleading with his eyes for them to follow suit.

“And your personal weapons too.” Tony huffed as their rifles clattered to the ground. 

Steve reached behind his back, drawing two handguns from the waist of his jeans and dropped them too, another dozen following from the others. 

“Good, now we can chat like civilised people.” Tony smiled, a breath of relief escaping your lips as he slipped his own weapon back into the shoulder holster, relying on his personal army to protect him. “Welcome to the future, gentlemen.”

With a shove, you stumbled forward and met Steve’s embrace, your hands tracing his face, neck and chest until you gripped his dog tags. The warm metal in your palm grounded you and you looked up into his shimmering eyes as he gently brushed away your tears before showing you with a kiss what he didn’t want to say in front of everyone - how afraid he was.

“You okay?” He asked as moved to feel the swell of your stomach. 

“We’re okay.” You reassured him, chuckling as your baby kicked. “Told you.”

“We don’t have all night.” Tony reminded everyone impatiently as he stood at the door to a large, glass lined meeting room. “Sooner we sort this out, the sooner you can get back to your rabbit burrow or wherever the hell you hole up in.”

“Wait out here where I can see you, okay?” Steve asked, raising your wedding ring to his lips and kissing the piece of jewellery that had led him to you. “I love you.”

You nodded and looked around at the armed men who had closed in even more. “Love you too.”

Bucky and Sam both paused as they walked past, giving you a quick kiss on the cheek before they followed Steve inside. The rest of the men, in one way or another, all expressed their relief that you were mostly unharmed and your heart swelled that you were a part of such a loving family. 

“I have a regular shipment of arms coming through the Port of New York but a new  client has recently tripled their orders.” Tony said as he sat at the head of the table, a suave man looking outcast by the beefy bikers that sat around him. “I need you and your men to ensure my deliveries make it to the buyer without a hitch.”

“You have your own army, why us?” Steve asked what everybody was thinking. 

“Why risk my own men when I have you?” He shrugged. “You’ll be compensated, something I’m sure you are in desperate need of, so don’t act like I’m forcing you.”

“That’s exactly what you did.” Steve growled as he slammed his fists against the table. 

Tony laughed and played with the button on his suit jacket. “You got me. I’ll pay you a lot of money to deliver my weapons and, in return, I won’t kill you and every single one of the people you care about. Does that work?”

You wondered what they were discussing as you watched Steve sag with defeat, his eyes darting to every member around the room. You watched each man nod their head and assumed they were casting a vote as Steve turned back to Tony and held out his hand. That must have been a signal as you saw all the men behind you relax their weapons, aiming at the floor instead, and Steve made his way back to you.

“Let’s get you home.”

The walk through the trees was quiet, none of his brothers in the mood for joking and you suppressed the urge to ask what they had voted on. Your fingers laced with Steve’s and his thumb kept rubbing over yours, a nervous habit of his when he was deep in thought. Leaning into his side, you tried to soothe him by rubbing his back but his guns made it almost impossible before you gave up. 

“Babe,” Steve stopped you from climbing on behind him, his voice almost a whisper. “I need you up front, please.”

You nodded and climbed onto his lap, straddling his thighs as you wrapped your arms around his waist and buried your face in his chest. It had been a long time since you rode like this and that had been when a rival club had very nearly shot you out when they sprayed the clubhouse with bullets. He had been so afraid of losing you he had made you hold him the entire ride home, he had needed to be able to look down and see the face he loved above all else. 

“I’m here, Stevie, we’re both here.” You promised as the engine came to life and he stole a final kiss before kicking up the stand and taking you back where you belonged.

Wait now I want a part 2 of Family First or just how everyone else would react or even how Bucky told them he needed help in the first place like how do you explain that????

I hope this gives you some closure 😊 We may come back to the family in the near future and see how they are getting on with public life.

main masterlist || bucky masterlist || part one || part two || prequel blurb

Family First [Behind the scenes story]

Warnings: 18+ only, nsfw, mentions of dead bodies WC: 1.9k

“Sir, I believe someone is trying to bypass my mainframe.” Friday announced as she interrupted the weekly team meeting. “Correction, they have bypassed my mainframe.”

Tony leapt up from his seat at the head of the table and to the control panel of the door, every electrical system was connected to Friday so he double tapped the screen to extend it to full sized. His fingers danced furiously over the screen trying to find what the hackers were after and found the bug in the personal files of his team.

“Shit.” Tony sighed. “Friday, I’m putting you to sleep until I can remove the bug.”

“Manual override complete, goodnight Mr Stark.”

“I need everyone to call your families, get them here ASAP.” Tony ordered as he tossed a basket onto the table. “Until Friday’s clear, don't use your cell phones, hand them over guys. We are going old school. Where did I put those flip phones? Frid-oh.”

“Why do we have to call our family?” Clint asked. “What were they after?”

Tony sighed and gripped the back of his chair as he stood behind it. “They stole the details of your next of kin.”

Bucky’s chair screeched as he stood up abruptly and he looked at his cell phone ringing in the middle of the basket. “I need to take that.”

The restraint in his voice wasn’t missed by some of the team but Tony just shook his head. “Can’t let you do that.”

“You don’t understand.” He growled and Steve stood up to place a calming hand over his shoulder.

“Just give us a minute.” He said as he pulled Bucky away from the table to talk quietly in the corner. “It’s y/n isn’t it, on the file. I thought it was me.”

“It was but she’s my wife, Steve.” Bucky sighed, his eyes flicking back to the phone that was lit up with another call. “And now I might have put her in danger. I need to answer that call.”

“Ok, how about I grab Sam and we go and pick up the girls together, get them somewhere safe.” Steve planned and clapped his best bud on the shoulder.

The plan was set but the second his phone rang with a ringtone, the phone number saved to override silent mode, he lost all thoughts of everything except saving you. Steve tried to block him from reaching the basket on the table but Bucky threw him to the floor and jumped across the table, grabbing the phone and putting it to his head instantly.

“Are you okay?” He rushed as he turned his back on everyone else but the silent room left most of the team able to hear you too.

“Bucky, someone’s here.” His gut clenched at the panic he could hear in your voice, how you sounded when you were being brave and putting on a smile when you were really holding back tears.

“I need you and Sarah to go down to the basement. Lock yourself inside and don’t come out for anyone but me, Steve or Sam.” He said as calmly as he could while he left the room, ignoring the stares he was getting from his team as he sprinted his way to the hangar.

“What’s going on baby?”

“Someone hacked us, they stole almost every piece of information on each of us.” He admitted as he lashed out punching his fist into the hangar wall beside him. “I’m so fucking sorry, I think they know about you, about Sarah.”

The line went silent for a moment and his hand trembled as he looked to make sure the call was still connected. “We are going to go treasure hunting downstairs ok sweetie.”

“That’s not daddy is it?” Sarah’s quiet voice was just picked up by the microphone and he almost crushed the phone as he heard his baby girl’s scream, swearing he would kill everyone that stepped foot in his house.

“Daddy’s coming, Sarah.” He promised as the line began to crackle, knowing they were almost in the basement where it was safe but no cell signal. “I love you both so much. I’m on my way.”

“We love - too.”

The screen of his phone cracked as his fist held it too tight waiting for the hangar doors to open and the rest of his team caught up except Steve who had stuck by his side.

“You have a family.” Natasha stated as she followed him through the narrow gap of the hangar door and towards the quinjet. “And Sam and Steve know.”

“Yes.” He growled and turned to see the others looking at him expectantly. “Can we not do this now?”

“On board, now.” Tony ordered as he pointed to the jet. “You can explain on the way.”

Everyone strapped into the seats except the super soldiers who stood at the top of the ramp, ready to dive out the second they were close enough.

“We need an address.” Natasha said as the quinjet was ready for take off.

Bucky strode over to the panel and entered his home address, set in the countryside where he foolishly thought it would be away from the drama and threat.

“Hmm, pictured you for the suburban Brooklyn type.” She commented as her and Clint piloted the jet towards the address. “Three minutes ETA.”

“Get talking.” Tony said as he crossed his arms.

“Leave it Tony, it can wait until after.” Steve asserted, his own arms crossing as tensions rose.

“I want to know who I am saving.” He countered.

“What does it matter, saving people is what we do.”

“She’s my wife, y/n, and Sarah’s our daughter.” Bucky confessed, not wanting another fight in the team over him. “We met in Bucharest.”

“When you were still Hydra. Is she Hydra? Is that why you kept her a secret?” Tony asked, stepping closer with every accusation and Steve just caught Bucky before he could attack.

“She’s not fucking Hydra!” Bucky growled as he pushed Steve away. “She has nothing to do with any of this, that is why I kept her and Sarah secret. I thought they would be safe.”

Bucky saw his house coming up ahead and hit the button to release the ramp. He had either explained enough that the team would help him or he was going in alone, but nothing was going to stop him getting to you. Steve stepped up beside him and watched the familiar land pass by beneath them.

“You don’t have to get in the middle of things again, I can handle Tony on my own.” Bucky said.

“I’m with you till the end of the line pal.”

“Need a lift?” Sam asked as he stepped up beside them and grabbed the back of their clothes. “Or do you want to face dive again?”

“Let’s go.” Steve nodded and the three of them jumped off the ramp.

“I have some bad news.” He murmured quietly as he ran his hand up and down your arm and kissed your forehead.

“You got blood on the carpet.” You tried to joke but your voice failed to hold any humour.

“That too.” He said, the ghost of a smile tipping up at your attempt. “There’s some more people I want you to meet.”

“Who else came with you?” You asked, worried about even more people knowing but grateful for their help nonetheless. You watched him chew his lip and knew it was bad before he even answered.

“Everyone.”

You took a deep breath and nodded as you realised there was no escaping this and maybe, just maybe, it might be a good thing. Your finger brushed over his cheek and cleared the speck of someone's blood that had landed there and you sighed as he captured your lips, all the fear and doubt evaporating with it.

“I don’t know what I would have done…” he whispered as he took in every beautiful feature he loved about you before doing the same to his daughter who had cried herself to sleep in his arms.

“You don’t have to think about it baby, you made it in time, you saved us.” You said softly as you cradled his face.

“Oh sorry.” Steve came to a halt as he saw the three of you curled up on the floor. “I just wanted to make sure you found them.”

“Can you take Sarah?” Bucky asked as he gently shifted his sleeping daughter.

Steve hooked his shield onto his back and lifted her up easily and you were grateful she was sleeping for this next part. You didn’t want her seeing the bodies that littered your house as you walked through, even you felt your stomach turning as you spotted the first one at the base of the stairs.

“Oh god.” You gasped as you saw his lifeless eyes and spun away, burying your face in Bucky’s chest.

“Close your eyes, doll.” He soothed as his hands gripped your hips and he picked you up, your legs wrapping around his waist as you screwed your eyes shut and focused on listening to his soft murmurs in your ear. “You can open them now.”

You blinked as the bright afternoon sun blinded you and it was hard to imagine that it could still be a beautiful day despite the horror that lay only yards away inside your house, the weather had no right to be so perfect. Your feet touched down on solid ground and you could see half a dozen shadows before you even turned in Bucky’s arms. You knew who each of them were, just because you were a secret in their lives, Bucky never kept anything secret when he got home. You had heard gossip and stories about every one of them and it felt like you should already be friends, but they didn’t know you.

“Hi.” You offered a small wave with your greeting and you looked at Steve with Sarah curled up in his arms. “Thank you for saving us.”

“It’s no problem.” Tony smiled and shrugged as Steve and Bucky looked at him, rolling his eyes as Bucky’s stare lingered longer. “What?”

“Ignore him, we do.” Nat grinned as she stepped forward and held her hand out to shake. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“You too. I’ve heard so much about you.”

She gave a little laugh as she let your hand drop. “Can say the same, but we will change that now, won’t we?”

You weren’t quite sure where you stood with her, the politeness came with an edge of passive aggressiveness. Thankfully Sam stepped in and pulled you into a hug.

“Forget her, she’s just upset that she was the last to find out.” Sam joked. “I’m glad you’re all okay.”

“Thanks to you.” You said as you looked around the group. “I would offer you something to eat but…I think we are going to be renovating.”

“You’re welcome to stay at the Compound in the meantime. There’s plenty of room. And, then you can tell us your real secret.” You frowned at Tony as he pulled his sunglasses out of his pocket and popped them on his face, feeling Bucky stiffen behind you. “How have you put up with Bucky all this time? No seriously, I need to know.”

“That’s something we all need to know.” Sam laughed and the tension disappeared so fast you thought you imagined it.

You bit your lip as you tried not to laugh. “I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.”

Prequel Blurb

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diamonds & pearls // anthony bridgerton x reader

summary: diamonds and pearls do not make up for the lack of love in your marriage

warnings: typical misogyny and sexism, anthony being kind of a dick. guilt ridden anthony, mentions of cheating, kinda angsty

masterlist

you knew exactly what your duty was as a woman. you completely understood that you needed to marry well and provide and heir. so when your father had arranged for you to marry the viscount bridgerton, you were more than willing.

yes, you were marrying a man you didn't really know, however, you could have been worse off. the bridgerton name was good and respectful. you had adored his family and they you. and the viscount himself was young and handsome. you very well could have done worse. and he was a kind man. you knew you could grow to love him.

or so you thought.

the viscount proved to make that task very difficult. he seldom left his office long enough to spend a significant amount of time with you. and when he did seem to have the time to spare, he didn't spend it with you. when he wasn't in his office, and not in the parlor spending time with his family, he was at the gentleman's club. and when he'd return, reeking of perfume, he'd set down a box on your nightstand and leave your chambers.

you were afraid to think of what the jewelry meant. and you were afraid to ask him. so instead, you'd walk downstairs wearing your new necklace or your new bracelet or new brooch and avoid the conversation entirely. greeting your husband in the drawing room during afternoon tea after spending the morning running your errands or maintaining the home while your husband was locked away in his study. everyone in the home knew exactly how your marriage with the viscount was. violet sighed every time she watched anthony walk out the door in the evenings while you sat alone in the drawing room. benedict and colin could hear him stumbling in half drunk. eloise noticing on the nights he stayed out particularly late, some new shiny thing found it's way into your jewelry box. francesca noticed that much unlike her parents, you two did not share a room. but luckily, the youngest children were none the wiser.

overtime, you grew more and more lonely. frequently finding yourself attempting to distract yourself with anything you could possibly think of. first, it was embroidery. it was one of the things you hadn't quite mastered. so you sat in the drawing room with lady bridgerton, her happy as ever to have someone to teach her embroidery skills to now that daphne had gone and eloise being far too disinterested in such things. you'd perfect your pianoforte skills. you'd read every book in the bridgerton library. and now, here you were, in the kitchens with the staff, spreading flour across the table and plopping dough atop it.

"my lady, you needn't do this. we have cooks." your lady maid pleaded.

"i know that. but a lady must have something to occupy her mind, should she not?"

she just sighs and allows you to continue kneading the dough in front of you. she was well aware what you were doing. everyone was. but they allowed you these freedoms in attempt to grant you some kind of mercy.

as you shaped the dough, you could hear lady bridgerton arguing with anthony as they both stomped down towards the kitchens.

"she is a lovely woman and i'm sure if you were to pull your head out of your-"

"mother! i will not have you telling me how to run my marriage."

"anthony, the fact that you think a marriage is something to run is not only heartbreaking, but disappointing." lady bridgerton says as they reach the bottom of the steps and emerge from the doorway into the kitchens.

you cleared your throat and they both turn to look at you.

"m-my lord, lady bridgerton." you stutter softly, bowing to your husband and mother in law.

"what're you doing?" anthony asks, looking down at your dirty hands.

"oh! um...baking. i've....taken up baking. bread. baking bread." you nod awkwardly.

"we have chefs for that."

"yes but i...i've always wanted to learn. and i've mastered my embroidery and the pianoforte. so i thought baking might be- i'm sorry. it's very improper of-"

"not at all, darling. i think it's wonderful." lady brigerton smiles, interrupting your nervous ramble.

"thank you" you smile, your shoulders relaxing slightly before you turn back to your shaped loaf.

lady brigerton makes her way back up the stairs and anthony attempted to follow, but his mother quickly pushed him back silently scolding her son. he steps back into the doorway, staring at his wife.

"how is it going? the baking?" anthony asks after awkwardly clearing his throat.

"well, i think." you nod, a tight smile on your lips as you glance up at him briefly before you turn your attention back to the dough you were placing into the pan.

you hand the pan to the chef to place in the oven and you walk over to anthony, pausing in front of him. you look up at him and his eyes catch yours, and for a moment you catch a glimpse of the love you could have had.

"y-yes?"

"the water basin, my lord. it's behind you."

"oh!" he exclaims, moving aside and watching as you washed off your hands.

he watches as you dry off your hands and is caught off guard by a sparkle on your ear.

"your new earrings suit you."

you pause momentarily before you hang the towel on the edge of the basin.

"thank you, my lord."

"you know, you don't need to call me-"

"yes i do." you quickly interrupt.

anthony's mouth stays agape fro a moment before he recomposes himself.

"i only mean that i am your husband and-"

"are you? i would've been none the wiser."

you walk past anthony as he stands there, taking in what you'd just said to him.

the rest of the day neither of you had attempted to talk about what was said. and as per usual, he'd gone out that night, and in the morning, a box was placed on your nightstand. you'd stared at the box the entire time you'd spent getting ready and there you were now, standing in front of it.

"my lady? is everything alright?" your maid asks.

you just nod your head, grabbing the box and opening it to see a small golden chain, a single pink pearl dangling off of it. the same pink pearl that matched the earrings you were wearing the day before. you slam the box shut and walk out of your chambers towards the dining room where breakfast had most likely already begun.

normally you'd never do something so bold, but you'd grown tired of this routine of his. of this routine that had now become your life. if your husband didn't want to speak to you or love you, that was fine. but you wouldn't accept these lukewarm apologies any longer.

you'd walked into the dining room and before anyone could say good morning, you'd placed the box beside anthony's plate, not even bothering to meet his eyes. and you'd taken your seat next to him, not bothering to look at anyone as they all stared at you and anthony and the box you'd returned to him. as you adjusted the napkin on your lap, and the chef placed a plate of food in front of you, you let out a quick breath.

"good morning." you smile, nodding your head at the family, who still sat staring at you and your husband.

"y/n-"

"oh, forgive me my lord, i've forgotten to mention that my dear friend lady amelia has requested to visit for tea. would that be alright?"

anthony just stares at you for a moment. you'd always accepted his gifts. it was his attempt at an apology, and wearing his gifts was your sign of forgiveness.

"yes, of course. this is...your home too."

"thank you" you smile, turning back to your food.

"sleep well, y/n?" benedict asks.

"wonderful, and you?" you smile.

"great. and this bread is beautiful. well done." he smiles.

"thank you, benedict. kind of you to say."

"seems she married the wrong brother." eloise mumbles, and violet gasps while colin kicks her underneath the table.

anthony's face turns red and he quickly excuses himself to his study, taking the box with him. you pause for a moment, but recompose yourself and continue on with breakfast.

these encounters went on for the next week or so. a box would find itself on your dresser, and you'd place it beside anthony's plate in the morning at breakfast, or on his desk in his study, or even sometimes the box would find itself on his dresser. after the 10th day of this, anthony had had enough.

he barged into the parlor where you were sitting with lady bridgerton, working on an embroidery.

"is there something wrong?" anthony asks, his breathing slightly erratic as he waves the box around in his hand.

everyone in the parlor pauses, looking at their agitated brother. violet was quick to usher the siblings out of the parlor to give the couple a moment of privacy.

"something wrong?" you scoff, shaking your head.

"yes, y/n. something wrong. everything was fine-"

"fine!? my lord, you never spared me a second glance. you spend all day in your study and all night somewhere else. and when you come home smelling like another woman-"

"i have never done such a thing. i am a man of honor and i honor the vow i made to you."

"ha! the same vows that claim you will love and cherish me? i am just short of being a stranger to you! a pair of earrings cannot excuse your absence. gold necklaces will never replace the loneliness i feel everyday in this house. diamonds and pearls do not make up for the lack of love in this marriage. and i've grown tired of pretending that they can." you cry, your emotions getting the best of you as tears begin streaming down your face.

anthony stood in front of you, feeling frozen and unsure of what to do as your breath hiccuped.

"i'm sorry." he breathes out.

you shake your head, quickly wiping the tears away.

"no, i'm sorry. you provide for me and that's all that should be expected of you." you begin walking out and anthony grabs your arm.

you look up at him and he scans your face. he thought you were beautiful even when you cried. he lets out a small sigh and his chest tightens at your confession. he hadn't truly realized how much his actions had affected you. he hadn't wanted to marry, and he hadn't wanted to fall in love. but he couldn't stand being cruel to you. regardless of anything else, you were kind and you were good. you deserved better than what he'd been doing. he pulls his handkerchief out and dabs your cheeks softly with his right hand, and holds you face gently with his left.

"i'm sorry. i'm going to do better. be better. if you'll let me."

you began to fill with hope. hope that he was telling the truth. and as you melted into his soft brown eyes, you knew that you were done for. even if he didn't fulfill his part, the thought had become enough. and you knew you'd forgive him over and over again.

"okay."

***

the next morning you'd awoken half expecting a box on your bedside table, but instead, a flower. you smiled as you twirled the flower between your fingers. you'd stared at it the entire time you'd gotten ready and you shook you head at your foolish joy over a single flower.

it began with little things. for example, one morning, you'd made it to the table before anthony had during breakfast. everyone had said their good mornings and as you looked down to place the napkin on your lap, you felt a pair of lips hit your cheek.

you jumped at the contact and looked over at your husband who was smiling at you.

"good morning, darling."

your cheeks reddened and you couldn't contain your smile.

"good morning"

then it graduated to afternoons he'd taken off spent on a picnic or on a promenade with his family. to trips away to aubrey hall together. eventually, he'd asked you to stay in his chambers, and you did.

and here you were, laying beside him, your bare shoulders exposed to the cold breeze coming in from the open window. his finger tracing the outline of your body as he nudged your nose with his own.

"we're expected for breakfast soon." you smile, and he shakes his head.

"they can wait. i'd like to spend some more time with my beautiful wife on this fine morning." he smiles, grabbing your waist and pulling you him closer.

"you know, there was a time when my idiot husband didn't spend any time with his beautiful wife." you teased before bringing him into a kiss.

"truly, a fool." he smiled.

"a fool feels too kind of a title."

he laughs before flipping you over so that he was hovering above you.

"your idiot husband promises to never let a day go by without letting you know just how much he loves you." he says softly against your lips.

you smile as he leans down and presses a soft kiss on your lips.

"well, my idiot husband should know that i'll love him even if he forgets one day."

"he never will."

taglist:

@luvr-bunnyy @inas-thing @glowstick-lesbian @anothersworld @fuck-goes-on @mrbillymontgomery

Fuck

Claws Out || Stucky

STUCKY x shapeshifter!reader

Summary: After Bucky saves you from hunters who kill your kind, or enslave them, he secretly helps bring you into the avengers fold - not knowing who can be trusted. Bucky is the one person you feel you can trust until you meet Steve.  Warnings: 18+ only, nsfw, blood, violence, death, sexual tension WC: 2.8k

main masterlist || bucky masterlist || steve masterlist || part 1 || part 2

You squirmed under the scrutiny of the people you had just met, their rigid formation seeming almost defensive against a new arrival to the team. You could feel the burning questions playing on their minds but not a single one asked you. They wondered who you were and why a civilian was suddenly an avenger but kept their mouths shut as Tony stated your short introduction. There wasn’t much information to give besides your name, only the key part that he seemed to enjoy skipping over.

“So what do you think her specialty is?” Nat asked Bucky as they walked to the gym together. “Canon fodder?”

“Leave her alone, you don’t know her.” Bucky stated coldly before veering off down a hall and away from the Black Widow.

“Don’t act like you didn’t think about it.” She called out before continuing on her way.

You watched the interaction with a heavy heart before quietly following Bucky’s footsteps to his room. The door was left open just a crack and you curled your paw into the gap and widened it enough to fit your feline form through. Bucky sat at the edge of his bed, watching you slink your way in and jump up beside him gracefully.

Keep reading

Oh yeah

You're getting married to your Tumblr pfp how fucked are u

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.

Y'all better have the same energy with may calamawy's acting when she shifted between Tawaret and layla like you did with oscar Isaac. SHE IS SO FUCKING AMAZING I AM IN LOVE.

george russell having a rookie beast and tiny verstappie in the form of kimi antonelli as his teammate for 2025 is the cosmic karma they talk about

The Super Soldier Who Loved Me

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Summary: Bucky is concerned that he’s not as romantic as the men in the period dramas that Reader loves.

A/N: This piece is purely self-indulgent and all I can say is that I need Sebastian Stan to be cast in a period drama so I can see him in a puffy shirt. Also Bucky being so soft for reader has my whole heart.

“Oh my god, Buck, this is it! This is my favourite bit!” You said excitedly, slapping his knee repeatedly.

Bucky chuckled at how cute you were before looking up at the screen to come face to face with someone he’d soon deem to be his rival: Anthony Bridgerton.

“And it is not far enough! Do you think that there is a corner of this earth that you could travel to far away enough, to free me from this torment? I am a gentleman. My father raised me to act with honour; but that honour is hanging by a thread that grows more precarious with every moment I spend in your presence.

You are the bane of my existence…

And the object of all my desires.”

Religiously, you recited the words with Anthony and then dramatically flopped your head into Bucky’s lap. Your boyfriend smiled at you throughout your Oscar-winning performance and began stroking your hair as your eyes were glued to the screen.

“Isn’t that just… ugh. It’s amazing. If I was Kate I’d have collapsed.” You reviewed, squeezing the remote and humming contentedly at Bucky brushing his fingers through your hair.

Bucky frowned, looking up at the screen again. In all seriousness, he hadn’t really been paying attention to Bridgerton. He had returned from a three week long mission in Mexico in the early hours of that morning. There was barely any time for sleep as he was too excited to see you. He had got into bed and cuddled into you, eager for you to wake up and see he was there. When you did eventually waken, you had pinned him down and pressed kisses all over his face. After ensuring he was unharmed and didn’t have any wounds you needed to tend to, you spent hours talking; catching up on what had happened on the mission and informing him of the latest gossip in the compound.

After the late night and lack of sleep, a lazy Sunday afternoon on the couch with his best girl as she watched her comfort show seemed perfect to Bucky. That was, until Anthony Bridgerton reminded him of his incompetence.

Bucky thought it was so endearing and adorable that you loved period dramas and romance. You were such a thoughtful and kind girlfriend. He’d never felt so loved, even back in the 40s when his family were still alive; even by Steve who had risked everything to save him. You had always been different; you were gentle and always knew exactly what to say. It meant that when you did melt at the words of men in your beloved period dramas, Bucky felt a twang of pain that he didn’t have the same vocabulary or eloquence.

When you had made him watch Jane Eyre, he’d clenched his jaw at Mr Rochester as though he was facing up to a Hydra agent when he said: “I have a strange feeling with regard to you, as if i had a string somewhere under my left ribs, tightly knotted to a similar string in you. and if you were to leave, i'm afraid that cord of communion would snap.”

Mr Darcy from Pride and Prejudice was not much better as he confessed his love with: “If your feelings are still what they were last April, tell me so at once. My affections and wishes have not changed, but one word from you will silence me forever. If, however, your feelings have changed, I will have to tell you: you have bewitched me, body and soul, and I love - I love - I love you.” This had Bucky staring at the screen in wide-eyed disbelief that someone could actually formulate those words in their head. Meanwhile, you were cuddled up to him on the verge of sobbing and saying “isn’t that beautiful?”

He had almost sympathised with Mr Knightley when he explained to Emma “maybe if I loved you less, I could talk about it more.” Bucky had related to that one as this is what he felt about you. Finally, one of these idyllic and charming men understood him.

That was until he remembered how you had squealed earlier in the film when Mr Knightley was so overcome with his love for Emma that he’d stripped himself of his jacket and threw himself on the floor in frustration. You had slapped Bucky’s chest at this point with a “how gorgeous is that scene?” Bucky had concluded based on that, Mr Knightley was not on his side.

He almost felt like he was wasting your time. Bucky was far from the romantic, puffy shirt wearing gentleman who had a gorgeous grasp on the English language that you loved so much.

Bucky looked down at you and tickled the back of your neck a little, wishing he could be better. You giggled and shuffled to reposition yourself on his lap, completely oblivious as to how nervous and insecure Bucky was feeling.

*

“Of course Y/N loves period dramas! She is dating a 106 year old!” Sam laughed hysterically. “The girl has a type, man.”

Bucky grimaced at Sam’s remark. “Yeah but I’m not like them. I love her so much but I don’t know how to say it the way they do.”

Sam shook his head and handed his friend a coffee. “Buck, no one does. We don’t speak Shakespeare nowadays.”

Bucky sipped his coffee thoughtfully, digesting what Sam’s words. Whilst Sam was right, Bucky couldn’t help shake the feeling that he wasn’t romantic enough for you. It had been plaguing his mind that week ever since you’d watched it on Sunday. You had left for a mission on Monday morning and his brain had been doing overtime trying to think of ways to improve his romance game.

“Anyway, I don’t think anyone actually did speak like that in those days. It’s a made up story, Buck. Just dig out your old war uniform and show her a good time that way.” Sam playfully winked and Bucky let out a bashful chuckle.

“I think she is more into the puffy shirts kinda thing.” Bucky responded, anxiously playing with his fingers. “Help me out, she comes back from her mission tonight and I want to surprise her with at least something.”

Before Sam could offer any suggestions, he was cut off by Peter, who had been sitting at the kitchen table with his face buried in a book and listening to music.

“I’m studying Shakespeare in English class right now! I can give you a sonnet to read to her.” Peter smiled, taking his headphones off. Sam and Bucky had assumed he wasn’t paying attention to their conversation but were pleasantly surprised to hear that he was.

Sam folded his arms and looked at Peter for a minute. “You know I think the little spider freak is right.”

“Spider-Man.” Peter corrected.

Bucky thought it over, looking between Sam and Peter. He wanted to show you that he could be romantic the way you needed him to be. Whilst the thought of reading out a Shakespeare sonnet made him feel extremely uncomfortable, the possibility of you reacting to him the way you did for your beloved characters was all the motivation he needed.

“Okay, fine. What have you got, kid?” Bucky asked eventually. Peter frantically looked through the papers on the table and landed on one that was decorated with highlighting, scribbling and notes.

Bucky reluctantly took the sonnet and read it over, knitting his eyebrows together in concentration.

“Look at that cyborg brain go. Taking in all that data?” Sam joked, slapping Bucky’s shoulder. “Remember when you read it out to her, you need to show that emotion and passion, that’s what she’ll want.”

“Yeah,” Bucky said with a frown. “Got it.”

*

Bucky smoothed down the puffy shirt he’d bought for the occasion with his vibranium hand. He wanted to dress the part while he read out the sonnet and give you the full experience you had no doubt dreamed of. However, he did think it wise to not share this part of the plan with Sam otherwise he’d never have heard the end of it. The shirt felt a little gratuitous but he was sure you would like it and that was all that mattered.

The super soldier was shaking with anxiety. He could go into dangerous missions stealthily and unfazed. But his nerves were getting the better of him now as he recited the sonnet once more under his breath. Desperately, he tried to inject some passion into his performance but he couldn’t relate to the words in front of him. They weren’t nearly as special enough for you. He cringed at the words but continued to try and memorise them nonetheless.

When you got back to the compound, you wasted no time in rushing upstairs to Bucky’s room. You opened the door, slung your duffel bag off your shoulder and started to remove your tactical jacket before freezing at the sight of Bucky in a puffy shirt. Perhaps you were tired from the mission or just jet lagged but you didn’t question his attire. Instead, you enjoyed the view of your tough super soldier boyfriend wearing one of those romantic and gorgeous shirts that clung to his broad shoulders perfectly.

“Baby, I have to say I have dreamed about you wearing one of those shirts but now I’ve seen it in person… wow.” You took him in for a second before hungrily stalking over and tugging at the shirt. “This was a lovely surprise to come home from a mission to.”

Bucky looked down at what you were doing and moved your hands away, chuckling at you.

“We can do that later, Doll. There’s something I want to say first.”

“Okay, I’m all ears.” It wasn’t until this point that you noticed he was nervous and holding paper in his hand. Bucky put his hands on your shoulders and manoeuvred you so that you were sitting on the edge of the bed and he was standing facing you.

You folded your arms and raised your eyebrow at him expectantly. Bucky inhaled deeply and stared down at the paper. Eventually, he scrunched the paper up and stuck it in the pocket of his trousers. You deserved better than someone else’s words. You deserved him to at least try and use his own.

“Okay, Doll, so the thing is, I know you love it in those period dramas when the hero-“

“I wouldn’t exactly call Anthony Bridgerton a hero, babe.”

“Well, okay, when the main guy makes this grand romantic gesture or speech to a woman. And all I can say is that I don’t know how to use flowery language or where to start with making big gestures. What I do know is that you’re my hero. You’re the best girlfriend I could ever have hoped for, you make me feel so loved and so safe. I love that you play with my hair when I’m anxious. I love that you take care of me when I have a panic attack or a nightmare. I love that you leave me little notes and that you give me gentle kisses all the time. I love you, Y/N. And I wish I was better with the pretty words or the expression of love but I just want you to know I’m trying to be better, for you. All I want to do is make you feel as happy and safe as you make me feel.”

The words replayed over and over in your head as you stared up at your boyfriend who was now shaking like a leaf after pouring his heart out. Yes, it didn’t have the same gallant polish as Anthony Bridgerton or Edward Rochester or Fitzwilliam Darcy; but you didn’t care. Despite what Bucky had thought, he’d actually done the big gesture he had deemed himself incapable of. He had taken something so dear and important to you and paid respect to it by wearing the shirt and trying to deliver a romantic speech to make you happy. It was perfect, truly perfect.

The gesture rendered you speechless which didn’t help Bucky’s nerves. He was quivering, waiting for your response until you got up from your spot and wrapped your arms round his neck, pulling him close. He concluded that this meant you were happy with his speech and started to feel secure again, slowly putting his hands on your waist to ground himself. He buried his head into your neck and pressed some light kisses to your soft skin.

“That was beautiful, Bucky, thank you.” You whispered and kissed the side of his head repeatedly. “You’re more of a romantic than you thought.”

“You think so?” He hummed against your neck, taking in your scent that he’d missed while you were away.

“I know so.” You asserted. “That was the most romantic thing anyone has ever done for me.”

Bucky couldn’t help but grin and feel proud of himself. He squeezed your waist and pulled you as close to him as humanly possible. You ran your fingers through his hair, massaging little circles in all the spots on his scalp that you knew brought him comfort. Both of you absorbed the moment, slightly swaying from side to side, exchanging I love you’s and other sweet nothings.

“Now,” you chuckled after a couple of minutes and grasped a handful of the material of the shirt at Bucky’s back. “As much as I love this on you, I want it off.”

Born In Flames || Chapter Seven, Part Two

Pairing: Bodyguard!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Being the daughter of a mafia boss was hard enough growing up. You got out and made a new life for yourself as a bartender only to be sucked in when your old man made a bad deal and he thinks you need protection. Enter Bucky Barnes, your new bodyguard and roommate.

Warnings: Minor character deaths, non-con (no explicit details, just mentions), blood, torment, slight disassociation, kidnapping

Word Count: Both chapters together are a bit over 5K

Authors Note: So this chapter got dark, and long. So it’s split up into two parts. I’m putting the same warnings on both parts as well, though the second part is slightly less dark but still heavy.

Born In Flames Masterlist

Part One

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Bucky was surprised the drive took so long, though he caught glimpses of signs as the headlights hit them. They were still in New York, but definitely not the city. He wondered if Pierce was taking some random route to ambush him, but with a gun to his head, it wouldn’t be a smart idea.

The roads turned into the woods and soon the car was slowly pulling up to a dimly lit cabin. Bucky saw all of the men posted outside and there was no doubt more inside.

“Get out,” Bucky said. They both left the car at the same time, the gun never leaving sight of Pierce. Once he rounded the car, he grabbed Pierce and used him as a shield while the men realized what was happening and approached with their own guns.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Bucky called out.

He didn’t see the man who had just finished taking a piss farther out in the trees, but he heard the soft crunch of twigs and dead leaves beneath his feet. Bucky pulled the gun away for one second and shot at the spot the sound came from.

It seemed his days in battle overseas really aided him. He hit his mark before returning to the men. He didn’t necessarily have a plan for the moment but he knew he had to act fast. Gripping Pierce even harder, Bucky started to shoot each of the men he saw. None of them fired back, knowing it would kill their boss before it ever hit Bucky. Four men down and one in the woods.

“I should say you’re a shitty boss for even leaving them outside in this cold,” Bucky muttered as snow started to fall. Pushing him towards the door, Bucky whispered “knock.”

Pierce did as he was told and before he knew it, Glen/Matthew opened the door.

He reached for his gun but Bucky shot him right between the eyes, though he added a couple more rounds for even betraying his job. Stanley shot up from beside you, your worn out body curled up. It was evident that something had just finished happening within the last hour. Your panties were off to the side and you looked as though you had struggled to shield yourself with the oversized shirt.

Bucky's eyes grew wide as he put two and two together, piecing it all in place. “You sick fuck!” He yelled, causing you to wake with a whimper of pain. You were dazed as Stanley’s body was shot even more, dropping in front of you.

Sitting up, you curled into the couch when you saw Pierce. But then Bucky’s face appeared from behind him and you froze.

“Bucky?” You whispered, your voice hoarse from all of the screaming.

“A whore like her mother,” Alexander scoffed, rolling his eyes.

Bucky quickly turned him around and shot him in the forehead. His body toppled backwards, hitting Stanley’s slightly. He couldn’t stop himself from emptying the rounds into all three of the bodies on the floor. The gun clicked, signaling they were all gone. Tossing the gun to the side, not having to worry about prints due to his gloves, he slowly stepped over the bodies and to you.

You shook, staring as the blood pouring out of the men. “Is this real?” You asked, wiping at your eyes. Your mind would play tricks on you, your dreams sometimes pleasant only to wake up still in the cabin.

Bucky knelt in front of you, gently taking your hands. He looked you over, disgusted at the way the men used you as a punching bag among other things. Pulling off his jacket, he slid it over your shoulders and cupped your face. You winced, your hands moving to rest on his forearms. You stared at him, gripping him as tightly as your weak hands could, hoping that this wasn’t a dream. You couldn’t bear to wake up from something that felt so real.

“I’m here, Angel. It’s real,” Bucky nodded. Glancing around, he furrowed his brow when he didn’t see any pants for you. “Where are your clothes?” He asked, frowning.

You shuddered and shook your head. “They took them away. I don’t…” you trailed off, knowing that they tossed them in the trash early on. They only ever gave you shirts and underwear, and you were “lucky” to even get those, according to Stanley.

Bucky swore under his breath. Grabbing the panties he did see, he slowly helped you into them and got you on your feet. Your knees wobbled, muscles not yet having found themselves. They never did after those times when you were used. Bucky helped you get your arms into the jacket and pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“I’m gonna get you home,” he said. Picking you up, he walked out of the house and got you into the passenger seat of Pierce’s car. Chances were that they wouldn’t have called it in and reported it stolen yet. After all, the owner was dead now.

Once he got you in, Bucky quickly rounded the car and got into the passenger seat. Setting the gps on his phone, he set it on the console and turned the heat up. He had felt your body and you were cold as ice.

Quickly he pulled out of the place and headed back towards the city while you curled up in the seat. “How did you find me?” You asked after a few minutes, facing him. Bucky reached out with his hand and you took it, leaning forward and holding it to your cheek. He was so, so warm and you needed the comfort.

“Forced Pierce to bring me there. We’ve been getting all of those videos and photos. When we got the one from today…” Bucky shook his head slightly and stared at the road. “I couldn’t sit by and watch as you were hurt. I was ready to kill anyone who stood in my way of finding you. I didn’t care if I was going to die, I just…I had to find you.”

You listened, pulling the hood up on Bucky’s jacket to hold the warmth in. He knew taking you to your place wasn’t the best option considering they knew where you lived, but you needed to be home. And without a boss, Pierce’s men didn’t have anyone to answer to.

“Michael and I have been trying to find anything about where you were. He’s been signing things over to Pierce just to get you back, but each time one thing was signed over, Pierce would add on another,” Bucky glanced over at you, how puffy and red your eyes were even in the darkness. “Angel…what did they do to you?”

You looked down, though you didn’t pull away. Admitting to what they did was the hardest thing and you never thought you would have to. You were sure that they were going to kill you. Turning the heat up as much as it could, you closed your eyes. “They…used me. Made me do things I didn’t want to. I can’t…” you shook your head as tears started to fall once more.

Bucky pulled the car over and put it in park before turning to you fully. “Shh. I’m sorry. They will never, ever hurt you again. I promise. I’m so sorry,” he whispered, pressing his forehead to yours. “I’m not leaving you again. Ever.”

You believed him, but you were still scared. Nodding slightly, you took a few deep breaths. He smelled of leather and whiskey, something you didn’t realize you missed until now. Pulling your head back, you looked into his eyes. “You saved me.”

Bucky brushed your tears away with a nod. “I did say I owed you for saving my life, didn’t I?”

You nodded, though a smile didn’t break through. You weren’t sure if you could smile again, but it would come back in time. “Take me home,” you whispered.

Bucky kissed your bruised cheek as gently as he could before pulling the car back onto the road.

Slowly you started to recognize places, knowing home wasn’t too far away. Bucky didn’t pull his hand from yours. He needed to make sure you were there and you needed him there.

The only time he pulled away was when he parked the car outside of Pierce’s house. He made sure no traces were left before leading you to the car he originally drove in with.

The less evidence, the better.

He got you home quickly after that, helping you up to your apartment. When he opened the door, you frowned. It was somewhat messy, though it wasn’t terrible. To-go containers sat on the counter as well as empty water bottles.

“Buck, what is this?” You asked, looking around. “I didn’t have any of this…”

Bucky rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ve um…been staying here. In case any of the men came looking for something or if you found your way back somehow.”

You looked at him with a sigh, moving to wrap your arms around him and burying your face into his chest. His wound was more or less healed, though you momentarily even forgot he was shot. “Stay.”

“As long as you want me to,” Bucky spoke against your hair. “Think you can take a shower?” He asked, knowing it would help you at least a little.

You pulled back slightly. “I think so,” you muttered. Bucky didn’t give you a chance to do it yourself. He led you to the bathroom and had you sit on the closed toilet seat while he started it up. You noticed that his hair had started to grow out as well as his beard, but not terribly long. It was more full rather than the scruff you had gotten used to. Various new items sat on the counter. A toothbrush, some mouthwash, and Bucky even put some of his own body wash and such in the shower. Bucky turned back to you and nodded gently.

“I’m going to be right outside, okay? Call out if you need me. I’ll bring back a towel,” he looked down at you and he now saw the fresh writing on your leg closer than before. Breathing out through his nose, he met your eyes.

You noticed it but nodded anyways, pulling him in for a tight hug, or as tight as you could manage. “Thank you,” you whispered before letting him go.

Bucky kissed your temple and stepped out, leaving the door just slightly ajar to hear you better if you needed his help. Slowly standing up, you peeled off the jacket, shirt, and underwear. You couldn’t bear to look into the mirror, afraid of what you might see. The showers you were allowed to take were short and cold, while this one felt nice and inviting. If this was a dream, it was the most realistic one. You began to wash your hair first, caked in grease and sweat. It took you two run throughs of shampoo and conditioner before you felt clean. Then came the body.

You used the favorite soap that hadn’t been touched in a while, lathering up and washing your skin as hard as you could. That’s when the tears started again. You knew it was your hands, but you got flashes of the men’s hands on you again. You sat down at the bottom of the tub and tried to do it slowly, shaking as your hand ran up your inner thigh. You froze, sobbing as you tossed the washcloth and hid your face against your hands.

Bucky had decided to clean up the trash he left, shoving it all into bags and setting it by the front door to take out later or tomorrow. He usually was a very clean man, never liking to see trash scattered around. He wasn’t even one to have a bunch of items in his place. He only went there lately to get clothes and such. Once he was done, he went into the hallway and grabbed a thick, fresh towel. Knocking on the door, he peeked his head in.

“Hey Angel? I brought you a towel,” he said softly, setting it on the counter. When you didn’t answer, he frowned deeply. “Y/N?”

“Thank..you…” you gasped between quiet sobs. Bucky sighed and walked in farther.

“Do you need anything?” He asked. He didn’t want to open the curtain considering you were naked and even though he had just seen more of you today than ever, he wasn’t going to be that guy.

You hesitated for a moment before answering. “Don’t go,” you spoke.

Bucky moved to sit on the toilet, elbows on his thighs and hands clasped together. “I’m right here, I promise.”

You sniffled and grabbed the washcloth to try washing yourself again. You had to. You had to get the feeling of all of it off of your skin. Biting your lip and squeezing your eyes shut, you quickened your pace and scrubbed your skin even more until it nearly burned. Bucky was right outside of the curtain, and you knew he would help you do just about anything, but you were strong, right? You had to do this yourself. Once you felt like you were about to make yourself bleed from all of the scrubbing, you slowly stood and rinsed yourself off once more before shutting the shower off. Peeking out from behind the curtain, you looked down at Bucky and reached your hand out towards the towel. He handed it to you and you wrapped yourself in it before pushing the curtain back fully.

Bucky kept his eyes on your face as he stood. “I know this isn’t what you want but…go sit in bed. I need to take care of the…cut,” he muttered. Neither of you wanted to talk about it, but you knew he just didn’t want it to get infected.

Nodding, you stepped out of the shower and headed to your room. He gathered the items he needed while you got dressed. Your room had been pretty much untouched, though he had no reason to even step foot inside. You pulled on a long sleeve and some shorts, knowing it would be better for him to get to the cuts. Crawling onto the bed, you sighed and tried to allow your heart to settle. You were home whether it was a dream or not. You leaned back against the pillows. Being in a bed felt so odd after six months on a couch or floor.

Bucky knocked on the door and you called out that he could come inside. He stepped in and closed the door behind him, one arm full of items. Gauze, wrap, antibacterial ointment, and he even grabbed a couple bottles of water and an apple.

“I thought you might be hungry. It’s not much but if they haven’t been feeding you, you’ll have to start small,” he muttered as he climbed onto the bed next to you.

Sitting up, you curled one leg beneath the extended wounded one, taking the apple as he handed it to you with a small thanks. He turned on the light on the nightstand to get a better look. “So you don’t need stitches, but this won’t feel good. Just remember to breathe, okay?” He asked. You nodded, taking a small bite of the apple.

Bucky proceeded to clean the wound, though you chewed on the apple to bite back the pain. You were thankful it was still somewhat fresh so it didn’t start to get infected. You had smaller cuts from when they hit you but not enough that would get gross. You focused on Bucky’s face, how his eyebrows knitted together as he focused. He had bags under his eyes and looked just about as tired as you.

“What did I miss?” You asked, needing a distraction. Bucky glanced over to your face before your pleading eyes told him you needed it.

Bucky sighed and looked back to your leg. “Well, Michael has pretty much put everyone through the ringer since he doesn’t trust anyone anymore. Glen had been loyal for years so it’s pretty warranted. Liz keeps giving me her pot cookies but I don’t do that stuff so I gave them to Michael. I guess he likes them, but don’t tell her I’m not eating them. I gave her the excuse that you were visiting family. Well…I gave everyone that excuse. I went to your job and told them how there was a family emergency so you would be out of work for a while. Your aunt was sick and you had to stay and look after her. Duff seemed pretty okay with it but I know he missed you. Michael…really tried to get you back. He was ready to do what Pierce asked and sign over the whole company. I know he’s been a bad father, but he does care about you,” Bucky’s words were softer at the end.

You kept chewing on the apple as you listened, your free hand resting on your stomach. You were happy that Bucky came up with lies so people didn’t worry, though you sighed when he mentioned Michael caring.

“Don’t tell him I’m home yet, okay? I just…need a night in here,” you mumbled, setting the half eaten apple on the nightstand as you groaned in pain when Bucky put the ointment on. He whispered a soft apology but continued. Taking a sip of water, he then applied a bandage and taped it down so it wouldn’t fall off too easily.

Setting the water down, Bucky gathered the items and headed out to put them away. You looked around, somewhat feeling like a stranger now in your own home. For the last six months, you had been put out and made to feel like you were nothing but a hole, a body to torment. Pulling the blanket over your legs, you curled up on your side and glanced at the clock. Five am. A time you used to go to sleep after work was finished. It made your heart hurt.

Bucky appeared in the doorway, chewing on his lip. “You should get some sleep,” he mumbled.

Looking over at him, you reached your hand out and motioned for him to come closer. Once he walked over and sat on the edge of the bed, you took his hand. “Stay with me, please?” You asked, not wanting to be alone. Sure, you hadn’t been alone in months, but you trusted Bucky.

Bucky's heart broke at how scared you looked. Nodding, he squeezed your hand. “Let me go get changed and I’ll be right back, Angel,” he said.

You nodded and let go as he got up, watching him walk out. That nickname was beginning to be your favorite in the world. Your brain drifted off as you waited, trying hard to stay away from the demons that were now going to plague your mind. You didn’t have nightmares much at the cabin, just because they would tire you out by slapping you awake and making sure you didn’t get any decent sleep. Hearing soft footsteps, Bucky walked in and shut the door, having done a check around the home before getting changed. He wore just black pajama pants and a tee. Shutting off the light, he crawled into bed on the other side of you and laid on his side. You turned towards him, the streetlight illuminating his face just enough.

“What’s going to happen now? With Michael and Pierce,” you spoke quietly as Bucky slowly pulled you in and wrapped one arm around your waist. The other slid beneath your pillow, his face just inches from yours. His touch was soft, afraid of breaking you farther.

“I’m not sure. It may be covered up, cleaned up with disappearances and bodies that weren’t found,” Bucky shrugged, which made something trigger in your mind.

“Bodies…Bucky, Pierce has bodies buried around that cabin. He mentioned it the day I was taken there. Who knows how many there are,” you muttered, your hand resting on his cheek as you brushed over his beard.

Bucky frowned and shook his head. “An issue for another day. C’mon, you need sleep,” he whispered, kissing the inside of your wrist. You watched him with soft eyes.

“Guard dog…” you muttered, leaning forward and pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. From there, you curled your body against his and tried desperately to relax against him.

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