Why’s Is This Soo Fucking Cute. I Fucking Love This

@dilemmaontwolegs This! Is so funny to me 😭😭

This is so good fuck I love you for writing that kind of stuff

Claws Out {2} || Stucky

STUCKY x shifter!fem!reader

Summary: After a delicious morning spent with Steve and Bucky you have a much less relaxing afternoon training with the Avengers Warnings: 18+ only, nsfw, smut, oral (both), mentions of male/male penetration, unprotected sex, reader injuries WC: ~2860

A/N: please head over to my side-blog HERE where my fics will be reblogged as a library. I have too many people than can be tagged now so I will be stopping it in the next few days to give people time to hit Get Notifications from @dilemmaslibrary - thank you so much for your support xxx

bucky masterlist || steve masterlist || Part 1 || Part 2

“Why are the curtains open?” Bucky complained as the bright light flooded the room. “Steve…go find someone else to annoy.”

Steve chuckled as he sat on the love seat across the room, your soft purrs radiating from his lap that you sat on, enjoying gentle strokes he placed along your spine.

“You’re gonna waste the day away in that bed, Buck.” 

“Not my fault.” Bucky groaned as he pulled his pillow out from under his head and put it over his face to block out the light. “You two kept me up all night. Where’s my morning cuddle?”

You looked up at Steve, nudging his hand with your head before jumping off and padding across to the bed the three of you had woken up entangled in. Your paws had barely touched the sheet before Bucky curled his arm around you and you pulled you under the blankets, your eyes quickly adjusting to the darkness as you settled against his chest. 

You transformed in his arms and wrapped yours around his waist, your human need to capture his lips compelling the change without a thought. Running your hand across the planes of his chest, you felt his slow, steady breaths begin to change and the scent of his arousal permeated from his every pore. Your body was already moving on its own, your hips pressing closer as your tongue swiped across his plump bottom lip. 

“Thought you were tired.” Steve teased, his voice growing deeper as he caught a whiff of the delicious musk. 

“I was.” He said as he broke away from your kiss to trail his own down your neck, the sheets falling away as Steve appeared at your side. “Now I’m wide awake.”

You could feel just how awake he was as he draped his leg over yours and his hard length pressed along your thigh. You were still feeling the sweet ache at your core from your night sandwiched between them but it didn’t stop you from antagonising them further as you reached for the waistband on Steve’s sweatpants. His hand came to rest on yours and he looked like he was going to argue as he looked at the light bruises across your thighs, the  marks from their hips thrusting against your supple skin. 

“You didn’t hurt me.” You said gently as you eased the material down his hips and freed his erection so you could stroke him. “I love that you don’t hold back.”

When your lips kissed the tip of his cock all thoughts of his lazy Sunday were thrown to the wind and he knelt onto the bed, filling your mouth with a satisfied groan at the warmth enveloping him. One of his hands brushed your cheek tenderly and he looked to Bucky who had moved down the bed, nudging your legs wider as he settled between them. Your lips were still swollen from the pounding they had received last night and you moaned around Steve’s cock as Bucky soothed them with his tongue.

“She tastes like you.” Bucky grinned at Steve between the teasing swirls he circled around your clit.

Your back arched at the reminder of Steve filling you late last night with Bucky knelt behind him, watching you over his shoulder as he spilled into Steve. You had loved learning the new dynamics that Steve brought to the relationship and you liked to think they did too, becoming closer than ever - physically and emotionally.

Steve ran his fingers through Bucky’s hair and massaged his scalp as he guided your head up and down his length, tipping his head back at the feeling of your mouth and the sight of Bucky eating you out. “This is not what I had planned for this morning.”

You pulled away, sucking all the way to his tip before releasing it with a small pop, wrapping your fingers around his girth. “What did you have planned?”

“I thought we could have…” he breathing laboured as you tightened your fist and dipped your head down to capture the bead of precum at his slit, “breakfast together.”

“That’s what we are doing.” Bucky chuckled. “Eating in.”

“That’s not what I meant, jerk.” Steve tried to growl but it turned to a moan as you cupped his tight sack and rolled it in your palm. “Shit.”

You loved the rare moments Steve would indulge in a curse and it sent your core tightening around Bucky’s fingers, your orgasm within sight. The bed shifted and you immediately missed the feel of Bucky’s warm mouth on your throbbing pearl but he was quick to wrap your legs around his hips and thrust his cock in instead. Your cry echoed the room at the sudden fullness but the sound was cut off as Steve pulled your hand away and silenced you with a mouthful. 

Your eyes almost rolled into the back of your head and Bucky fucked you hard, his hand reached out for Steve’s throat and pulling him closer. Your head spun at the sight above you, Steve and Bucky’s tongues fighting for dominance as they both thrust their cocks into your holes. 

You felt Steve’s cock swell first as he broke away from the passionate kiss and cried out with his release, the salty sweet flavour filling your mouth as you swallowed every drop of the huge load. You were delirious as your men filled your senses and the coil in your belly snapped, sending your pussy clenching around Bucky and keen mewls escaping your mouth. The sight of your tongue cleaning Steve of the saliva and cum that coated his cock and your walls spasming around him set off Bucky, his guttural cry vibrating through you as his back stiffened and his cock pulsed. 

Steve kissed your head and disappeared as Bucky collapsed beside you, his arm tossed happlessly over his eyes as his chest shuddered. You giggled as he kept his eyes shut but blindly reached for you and pulled you into his arms as Steve returned with a towel around his hips and two washcloths in his hands. You shivered at his tender touch, gently cleaning you with one warm cloth before doing the same to Bucky. 

“I love you.” You purred, a lazy smile gracing your face as you heard their responses echoed back.

“Now did I hear something about breakfast?”

The corridor to the industrial sized communal kitchen seemed to narrow as Natasha's voice echoed along the otherwise silent path through the facility. You felt Bucky and Steve stiffen beside you a second before the redhead came out of the room with Tony, her distrust for you palpable. She quickly turned on her heel and headed away but at least Tony looked happy to see you.

“Ah good, there you are.” Tony smiled. “Change your plans, get everyone out to the assault course, it’s competition time.”

“No, not until we sit down with Nat.” Steve argued. “We’re a family, we’re not meant to be divided.”

“Trust me, run the assault course and you’ll kill two birds with one stone, or should I say one cat?” He pulled a pair of sunglasses from his pocket and slipped them over his nose with a smirk and clapped his hands. “Round up the gang.”

You looked around confused as everyone gathered on the back field, an assault course that was crazier than anything the army could ever think of having. Bucky and Steve looked equally confused as they found Sam, Scott, Peter, Wanda, Vision, Clint and Natasha beside them. You half expected Dr Banner to join the line up but it appeared he would be only observing with a clipboard.

“Right, it’s come to my attention that some people don’t trust me and my decision on who to bring to the team.” Tony said as he looked at Natasha. “It looks like we have to go old school and have a friendly competition so that you get to see I’m more than just a pretty face.”

Tony snapped his fingers at Dr Banner who squinted at the clipboard, forgetting to bring his glasses once again. “Uhh, Steve, Bucky, Y/N, Peter are up first, you can use all your super pow- wait, really?”

“Yes.” Tony nodded. “You can use your super strength, webs, all that jazz - first through the course wins.”

“C’mon Tone, that’s not fair.” Steve said, waving a hand at you.

“Rules are rules, we’re making an omelette today.”

“Yeah, yeah, break some eggs.” Steve muttered before looking at Bucky and whispering. “Just don’t let us come last.”

“Hell no, I’m not losing to spider-boy.”

You looked at the teenager rolling on the balls of his feet before looking back at the course and focusing on the obstacles you were going to be facing in mere moments. It all started with a 15 foot high wall with a landing before leading into a whole lot of posts that were jutting out of the ground. Each post was about 6 inches in diameter and required you to leap from one to another until you crossed the 50 yard span and reached the landing at the other side.

“On your marks.” Tony called out.

“$100 says she won’t make it past the wall.” Nat whispered loudly to Clint.

“Get set.” Tony growled in her direction. “Go!”

You pushed off and launched forward with Steve and Bucky at your side. A string of web shot through the air to a beam on the frame above the wall and Peter jumped as he pulled himself along the web to the top of the wall.

“Oh no you don’t.” Bucky grunted. “Queens is not winning this.”

The wall was fast approaching and you knew everyone would be watching you with intrigue since Steve and Bucky would use their super strength to jump and reach the platform. Preparing to reveal yourself you took a deep breath and let the change flow as you fell forwards, landing on four paws.

“Holy shit.” Sam gasped. “Anyone else seeing this?”

“What did Luis put in those brownies?” Scott mumbled as he shook his head and tried to clear the picture of a mountain lion now sprinting towards the obstacle course.

You pushed all your power and strength to your hind legs and leapt the span of the wall, your claws gripping the narrow landing to stop you clearing it completely. Although Peter had the head start there were no beams over this part of the course so he had to jump from post to post at regular human pace. Your coat began to change, spots breaking through the golden fur as your tail elongated at your more agile leopard form took over.

“Get him, baby girl.” Bucky cheered as you cleared each row of posts on the bounce and quickly leveled with Peter.

“What the hell, Mr Stark?” Peter squealed as he scrambled and nearly lost his footing. “Tell me this thing’s not real.”

“She’s real alright.” Tony laughed as he snacked on a twizzler. “That’s y/n.”

The Spider-Man swiveled his head back to you and you couldn’t help dropping your long tongue out the side of your mouth as you overtook him, Steve and Bucky laughing as they closed in on him too.

You reached the next landing with ease and found a narrow balancing beam that also rose at a steep angle, the drop to the ground below moving from a sprained ankle height to a broken leg height. It didn’t phase you though, not when you took Bucky’s favourite form of yours and shrunk to the size of a housecat. The beam was no longer narrow but wider than your body and you ran up it, your paws and claws giving you the traction needed for the incline.

“Guess that answers that.” Sam chuckled. “Wondered who brought the stray home. Oh, here comes wonder boy and his onesie.”

Because you were running towards what you could only describe as a turret, Peter had a higher anchor he could aim at and you pushed your little legs harder as a web shot overhead. You could feel the beam shudder with heavy stomps as Steve or Bucky started their run up it and you nearly bounced off with a hiss.

“Sorry!” Bucky yelled as he heard you, grateful you were nearly at the top.

“Ah, I guess we go that way?” Peter half asked as he reached the top at the same time as you, the other two quickly closing in again.

You looked over the lip and saw the ground was at least a 30 foot drop below and the next landing was about that distance away and halfway to the ground. Stepping away to the back edge of the landing you filled the space with your mountain lion form and calculated the force and angle you would need to clear the space and land square on the next platform.

Just as you were about to take the few steps forward to jump Peter punched his hand out and a web fired at a branch of the old white oak tree growing not far away. He leapt out before testing it and you watched with horror as the dead branch snapped and the teen began to fall, arms flailing.

You didn’t think, you didn’t calculate, you just leapt. You weren’t sure if Peter screamed because of the free fall or because there was a 120 pound big cat jumping at him with your teeth bared, but boy did he scream. Your sensitive ears ached as you reached him, your teeth grazing his skin slightly as you caught the strong material of his spider suit between them.

Your flank hit the edge of the shelf you had been aiming for but just came up short and the kid fell as your mouth opened with a painful roar. He tumbled safely across the landing as your claws buried in the wood trying to pull your body up but you were slipping further and further down.

“Hold on hun.” Steve called out behind you as he stood helpless beside Bucky. “Throw me.”

You weren’t going to die from the fall but you really didn’t want to lose the race, that was the hardest part to stomach when one of your claws broke and you fell to the ground. Your spine twisted, tail swiping as it helped you to turn and land feet down. Pain jolted up your legs and radiated up your body as you hit the ground and staggered a few steps before collapsing.

Warm hands ran along your fur, feeling for breaks as you whined quietly. Steve lifted your head gently and laid it on his lap as he sat beside you. “Talk to me, Buck.”

“I can’t feel any breaks. Can you change back for me, doll?”

You groaned as the pain shifted with you and your ankles and wrists both hurt to move, your lips pouting as you looked at your bloodied finger. “I broke a nail.”

Bucky laughed as he fell back on his butt, relieved that you were able to joke as Peter landed beside you, the rest of the team making their way over.

“Nice save.” Tony said to you as he nodded towards a very sheepish looking Peter.

“Yeah, uh, thank you y/n. That woulda sucked.” Peter said as he rubbed the red skin where your teeth had caught him but he wasn’t bleeding.

“Don’t mention it.” You winced. “Does this mean I lost?”

“Actually you won.” Tony grinned. “You touched all the platforms and made it back to the ground first.”

Bucky grinned back and held his fist up to Steve. “Brooklyn beats Queens, every time.”

“I guess I owe you an apology.” Natasha said as she held a hand out to you.

“For what?” You asked as accepted it, standing gingerly on your sore feet until Steve’s arm supported you around your waist.

“I really didn’t think you would be able to hold your own.” She admitted, tilting her head as she looked at you. “But you even managed to have the kids back too.”

“I must have missed the sorry in all that.” You teased as her lips curled up in a tight smile.

“Let’s not push it.” She chuckled and shook her head. “You should go get checked out, do we have a vet on staff?”

“Ha ha.” Tony rolled his eyes. “You two take her to the medbay. Romanoff, Wilson, Barton, Lang - you’re up.”

“Honestly, I’m fine.” You promised your boyfriends as they tried to get you to the medical wing. “Stop fussing, I just need to lay down and have cuddles.”

“C’mon Steve.” Bucky shrugged. “You saw her heal from Rumlows’s attack and you weren’t this worried.”

“I know,” he sighed, turning to look at you with his sad eyes, his hand gently cupping your cheek, “it’s just now I can’t risk losing you. I love you too much.”

“I love you too, but I promise I’m not going to die from this.” You reassured him as Bucky lifted you up to kiss him, your ankles too sore to try tiptoe and reach. “Now can we please go back to bed?”

—Last couple of tags—

@nash-dara @buckyisperfect @itswanktime @slutforsexyseabass @sea040561 @gryffindorqueensworld @honeywithemoney @kenzieam @tsnelf7 @jmeagin-blog @saranghaey @heavenly-rogers @bibibeauelle @wildcat116 @glxwingrxse @ymasen @thebuckybarnesvault @hoe-4-sebstan @tailsoflightning @avengershoney @hallecarey1 @tonystarksmutgarden @tripletstephaniescp @inlovewithbuckybarnes @kamaria-sweet-writes @youngr0se95 @scxrpioscult @ke05 @balekanemohafe @ladiesloveluxury @cjand10 @mogaruke @tenpointsforbucky @matchat3a @prk1990 @misshale21 @pono-pura-vida @buckyisguiltypleasure @thrxshsxbbxth @rachellovesloki @ashenc-blog @winterstorm311 @chaoticevilbakugo  @evanstanwhore @pandareesstuff @lonesomewitchking @missryerye @black-moon-bunny @thedemonpoxsongsstuff @sergntbarnes

short king - b. barnes

pairings: bucky barnes x reader, sam wilson warnings: tiktok trend about: request! doing this tik tok trend on bucky barnes? But it's to him in person. ( gaslighting bf into thinking he's short. )

the weight of bucky’s head is sweet against your thighs, soft tufts of dark hair between the spaces of your fingers as you run them through. the cerulean of his irises is hidden behind fluttering eyelashes, his cheekbones pressed against your lap. he hums once in a while to voice how comfortable he is, lightly tightening the arm looped around your waist to pull himself closer.

the sound of the television is not enough to drown out the music from sam’s phone, constantly changing from the tiktoks he’s watching. bucky can barely hear any of it through the sound of your heart and the wonderful feeling of your love that makes his skin tingle.

sam’s chortle nearly snaps him out of the daze that made him begin to drift off to sleep, a quiet grunt slipping past his lips in disapproval. it disappears when he feels you giggle, fidgeting with a particularly silky strand. he pushes his face further into your thighs when sam turns up the volume on his tiktok and restarts the video.

after attempting to laugh quietly for two minutes, sam begins to guffaw, and bucky grumbles after a few seconds of it, reluctantly raising his head from your skin, “sam.”

sam shushes him, “i’m trying to hear.”

“if i can hear, you can hear,” bucky grumbles, sighing frustratedly when sam waves him off. “i’m going to the bathroom.” he’s already been forced out of his comfort, so he might as well.

kissing your thigh before getting up, bucky shoots sam a look before going to the elevator to his room, he never liked using the ones on the main floor.

“what’re you laughing at?” you ask sam when bucky is gone. sam snickers.

“there’s another tiktok thing going around where girls convince tall guys they’re short. it’s great.”

you tilt your head, nodding amusedly, “i can imagine that.”

sam’s eyes suddenly rise from his phone to you, a wide grin overtaking his face and a delighted laugh already bubbling in his throat, “you don’t have to.”

“what?”

“you should do that to bucky! how tall is he? eight-ten?”

“i don’t know, at least six feet?”

“i don’t care, you should do this to him,” sam encourages, thrusting his phone into your hands. you roll your eyes.

“bucky’s one-hundred-and-four, he isn’t going to freak out over me saying he’s short when i know he’s not.”

“who knows?” sam exclaims, “people can surprise you.”

“sam—”

“do it.”

pursing your lips, you settle your attention on the man, squinting, “you’re not leaving me alone until i do.” he shakes his head and you throw your hands up, “fine! but this will be very boring because he will just nod yes and then kiss me on the cheek.”

“nuh uh, this will hit a gross little part of him, you’ll see.”

“stop,” you laugh.

“stop what?” bucky asks when he enters the room again, sitting next to you and pressing a kiss to your head as he throws an arm over you.

“i just told y/n how tall you were,” sam cuts in, you cock your head at him.

bucky’s brows furrow as he looks back at you, “and you said stop?”

“height is just a number, bucky, don’t worry about it,” you assure smoothly with a light hand on his bicep. you wish sam wouldn’t look so impressed, this was your damn job.

“what?”

“i mean, i knew you were short, but i never—”

“short?” bucky interrupts, turning to you with inquisitive eyebrows.

“yeah, but it’s not like it’s something new,” you shrug comfortingly, “and it’s not a bad thing, honey.”

“i know, but i’m not.”

“oh,” you pout, “whatever you say, baby.”

bucky scoffs, “it’s not—y/n, i was tall before the serum and i’m taller now.”

you hum along, stroking his arm, “okay.”

“don’t—okay, do you think sam is short?”

you shake your head immediately, “no, no, sam’s tall, buck. what’re you talking about? you know you shouldn’t compare anyone, especially because of something so tiny like your height—oh, sorry.”

“i’m taller than he is!” bucky points out. you tilt your head at him, smiling softly.

“oh, honey, it’s all about perspective.”

“stop it! say that i’m tall.”

“okay,” you nod, “you’re very, very tall, honey,” you give in, pecking his nose. bucky groans.

“not like that,” he argues, letting his head fall against your shoulder, “this is bullying.”

“it’s okay,” you coo, yelping when you’re suddenly pulled up, one of bucky’s hands at his forehead.

“look,” he whines, “tall.”

at his insistence, you can’t help but laugh, tugging him closer to you, “yes, sweetheart, tall.”

“y/n, stop,” he drags, his chin above your head.

“it’s okay, you can be what the ladies call a short king,” you wink. he groans. sam laughs.

“bullying,” bucky insists, nuzzling his nose against your forehead.r

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.

This is perfect!!!

A Touch of Comfort

You’ve always been the touchy-feely sorts with people you’re comfortable around. So when you’re told your touching could be making Bucky uncomfortable, you stop.

But here’s the thing.. Bucky didn’t want you to stop.

Words: 2.6K Author’s Note: This had been requested ages ago and I finally had a little spark of inspiration to write it. Sorry @avada-kedavra-bitch-187​ for making it seem like I ignored you.

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since its mother's day, how about bucky barnes being extremely protective over his pregnant gf

Happy Mother’s Day to all the wonderful people in the maternal role, it is hard so you deserve to have a day to yourself! 

Bucky is always protective and doting but the moment he saw that test come back positive he went into overdrive.

You couldn't even have a drink of water unless it came from a sealed bottle and even then he tasted it first. You didn't understand the reasoning, yes he may have enemies but you doubted they would be sophisticated enough to poison the random bottle you had picked out from a dozen on the shelf.

Bucky watched hundreds of videos and took a cooking class just so that he could learn to make your favourite foods that you craved, ensuring it was cooked through properly so that it was perfectly safe for you and the child you were growing.

Even Sam was shocked when Bucky almost put him in a choke hold for running towards too fast but he was excited to be an uncle. Soon they were both overprotective.

You thought you would be happy to have some space to breathe when he was called away on a short mission but you soon missed his overbearing presence, calling him just to hear his panicked tone as he answered with ‘Is the baby coming?’ every time. 

One time you spotted someone following you while he was away and you suddenly thought all his fears were true so you called him in your own panic, he ended up admitting he had called in a few favours to have some protective detail keep an eye on you at a distance. 

He was also very proud that you had been able to spot them and it gave him some reassurance. He still had to sleep on the couch for a night. Not that he listened. The second you were asleep he snuck back in and talked quietly to his child, feeling the kicks in response with a smile. 

You left Bucky to build the nursery and he enlisted Sam and Joaquin’s technical help, installing more than just he baby monitor you bought. You went to offer them lunch and found wires hanging around the room where they were putting CCTV camera’s in, silent alarms and a heartbeat sensor beneath the cot mattress. 

Fuck ! I’m definitely a slut for bucky

pretty boy

Bucky Barnes x Reader (Uni AU) 

Run-through: You first noticed him in the grocery store, while you were out shopping for food. Pretty blue eyes, gorgeous hair, tall and a soft look on his pretty face. For the first time ever, you actually had to stop and stare at a man for a few seconds. Then he started popping up everywhere - on campus, at the coffee shop you worked at, in the library - always with that same soft and longing stare. One day, you finally decided to make the first move and it ends up being one of the best things you’ve done in a long time

Themes: slight sub!bucky, smut, fluff, loss of virginity, explicit language, 

Oh fuck. Your eyes widened in realisation. That’s him! 

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Born In Flames || Chapter Three

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: Blood, mentions of guns, nightmare

Word Count: 2,526

Authors Note: This one is a little shorter but very progressive! I’m going to say this once more only. If you want to be on the tag list, send me a message or an ask. Otherwise it’s probably going to be ignored because I cannot keep up with notes sometimes.

Born In Flames Masterlist

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The drive home was quiet, aside from your quick breaths. You were curled up in the passenger seat, though you were slumped down a bit with tremors running through your nerves. Sure, you had close calls, but never that close.

Bucky drove both of you home, taking different roads just to make sure the two of you weren’t being followed. He kept glancing over to you every few minutes, quietly reminding you to breathe in deep and try to relax. You tried, you really tried. Little bits of glass from the windshield were beneath you and it was increasingly uncomfortable. Your car looked terrible. Bullet holes riddled the back and hit quite a bit in the trunk.

Once Bucky pulled up to your apartment, he got out as you slowly opened the door. There was slight ringing in your ears leftover from the guns. Walking to the back, Bucky opened the trunk and sighed. A bullet hit the milk, causing it to explode over everything.

“Head inside, I’ll bring these,” he said as you started to grab a few bags.

“Let me help,” your voice was barely a whisper, but he nodded gently. He didn’t want to fight with you. Sliding the rest of the bags onto his left arm with ease, he shut the trunk. Following you up, you made it to your door and unlocked it. Home.

Stepping into the kitchen, you set the bags down and brushed your hair behind your ear to get started putting everything away.

“Ow,” you gasped, pulling your hand away to find a bit of blood. “What the…”

Bucky set his bags down and furrowed his brow. Walking over, he took your chin gently and turned your head. A small stream of blood had begun from the top of your ear and down your neck. Because you were so lost in your thoughts and the wind from the open windows whipping your hair around, you didn’t feel the liquid. Not to mention the adrenaline being so high.

“C’mon,” Bucky said as he took your hand, leading you to the bathroom. Closing the lid to the toilet, he had you take a seat. “Any chance you can tie your hair back? Looks like you got nicked,” he said, handing you a hair tie he found while he searched your cabinet.

You took it and gently put your hair up. “There’s some gauze in the bottom shelf…and some neosporin,” you muttered. So you had been shot. It was small but the fear made it all too real now. You were being targeted and if Bucky hadn’t of been there, you would probably be dead.

Grabbing a washcloth and rinsing it in cold water, he sat down on the edge of the bathtub beside you. Gently he turned your head so he could see it better.

“I’m going to be as gentle as I can, okay?” He spoke, meeting your eyes. You glanced down to the washcloth in his hand, noticing the gloves were still on.

“You’re gonna ruin those,” you mumbled, looking back to him.

Bucky hesitated for a moment, trying to figure out if he should. Shaking his head, he leaned forward. “Just stay still.”

With the gloves on, Bucky started to clean out the wound. Just two inches over and your head would have been a blended shake on the steering wheel. Sure you were lucky, but would you really call this luck? He was gentle, but that didn’t stop the sting as he tried to clean the dried blood away. He even wiped it off from your neck, though there was no saving the collar of your tee.

Setting the washcloth down, he pulled off his right glove, the left hand holding the ointment. He dabbed a little bit on it, thankful the bullet only skimmed the outside. You would have a little scar but nothing too damaging. After, he was able to wrap a smaller bandaid over the shell of your ear to keep hair from getting inside.

You stayed quiet, though your facial reactions showed how much it did hurt. You’d much rather get new piercings five times over before ever doing that again.

Once he was done, Bucky checked your other ear and let his eyes gaze over your body. “Does anything else hurt?” He asked, pulling his hand away from your chin.

You shook your head. “I’m just…I’m okay,” you spoke, your hands fidgeting with each other. “Do you think this is how it’s going to be now? I have to watch over my shoulder everywhere I go? They know where I live. They know where I work. I don’t want to be shot at again,” you said, not able to hide the fear in your tone.

Bucky sighed. “That’s what I’m here for. That’s why I’m a guard dog,” he said, somewhat teasing about the name she gave him. “As long as I’m watching over you, they won’t be able to get close. I’ve been doing this for quite a while, even before I was brought into the mafia. It won’t always be this scary,” he tried to convince you, but it wasn’t that easy. You leaned forward and hid your face in your hands as Bucky frowned. “Listen, go lay down and try to relax. I’ll put everything away, okay?”

You nodded from behind your eyes. Bucky took it as a sign to leave and give you some space. Discarding the trash and tossing the washcloth in the hamper, he walked out and closed the door behind him.

It wasn’t two seconds later that he heard soft sobs. It broke Bucky’s heart. This wasn’t the life your mother wanted for you.

An hour later, after cleaning up and changing your clothes in your room, you emerged and walked out to the couch. Bucky sat in the chair, looking at his phone. You had heard him on a call about twenty minutes ago. Taking a seat, you curled up against the arm and wrapped the blanket around your legs. Your hair was pulled up higher into a bun and you looked comfortable. Well, as comfortable as you could be after a day like that.

“When do you work next?” Bucky asked as he broke the silence. You looked away from the television, away from Gordon Ramsey yelling at some cooks.

“Tomorrow night. I only get one day off a week,” you said softly. He could see how red your eyes were, a dead giveaway to your crying, but he didn’t say anything about it. “I would call in but we’re already understaffed as is,” you added. Work was going to be a lot harder knowing that people weren’t just outside taking surveillance photos anymore.

Bucky nodded quietly and looked back to the tv.

The rest of the night was fairly quiet, though you went back to your room and slept. The adrenaline wore off and your body decided to give in to the tired the shooting left you in. It had been a long, long time since you experienced any excitement like that.

You had one nightmare, one very scary nightmare involving the men who followed you in the store. Only Bucky wasn’t there with you. Running and running, the sound of bullets whizzing past your ears getting closer and closer. You woke up with heavy breaths and tears as the last bullet was hit in the back of your head.

Sleeping wasn’t an option now, you came to realize that. Laying back down in bed to catch your breath, you stared at the ceiling and wiped the tears from your eyes. Everytime you closed them, you saw the faces of the men, the glass on your seat, the guns.

Giving up, you left your room in just a pair of pajama shorts and a tee. It was about five am, a time you usually found yourself going to bed at. Perhaps you’d be able to get a quick nap in before work, but it was a long shot.

Leaving your room, you walked out to find Bucky standing shirtless in the kitchen, right in front of the coffee maker. He was pouring himself a cup but that’s not what held your attention.

Bucky’s left arm was black and gold, taking over the majority of his shoulder. It was hard to tell in the dim light of the kitchen bulb that needed to be replaced, but it looked as if there were scratches where the metal met the skin. He had a pair of dog tags around his neck, remnants of what he used to be.

Bucky turned around and nearly dropped his cup as he saw you. “Oh. Shit. Hey,” he muttered, running the back of his neck with his right hand. “I didn’t think you’d be up this early,” he said. Then he followed your eye line to his arm and he sighed. Setting the mug down, he started to walk towards you to get to his room.

“Wait,” you spoke, gently holding a hand up. “It’s okay. I just…I’ve never seen something like that. Is that…why you had to leave the army?” You asked, though you weren’t sure if it was okay to even mention it.

Bucky stopped in his tracks and sighed. Nodding, he held his palm up and made a fist before letting it loose. “I was trying to save one of my men and a bomb went off too close. He made it out but my arm didn’t,” he muttered. “I don’t show it because I know it makes people uncomfortable. Prosthetics always do. When I sleep, it’s the only time I can be free from those damn gloves and long sleeves.”

You stepped closer, though you didn’t touch. “I’m pretty sure you’re past prosthetics. This is basically a robot attached to you. It’s so advanced. How did you find something like this?” You asked, seeing how the plates shifted slightly as the arm moved.

“Your father has a few friends. It’s linked to my nerves and bones. I even get phantom itches in it,” Bucky watched your face, ready for any sign of disgust. He had been wearing long sleeves and gloves for years now, only ever taking them off when he had to torture someone for his boss. But he saw no disgust, only intrigue. “You can…touch it, if you want.”

You bit your lip and glanced up to his eyes for a second before looking back down. Softly your fingers came up and brushed along the forearm, tracing the gold lining in the middle of the black plates. They slid up to his hand, gently bending his fingers towards his palm before letting them free. Your other hand rested beneath it to hold it up.

“This is…really, really cool, Bucky,” you spoke, flipping his hand over to see the other side. “You shouldn’t hide it. It’s not something to be ashamed of, you know. But…” you let his hand down and looked up to him. “If it helps, you don’t have to hide it in here, okay? If you want to wear the gloves and long sleeves out there, then that’s okay. But I won’t judge it,” you gave him a soft nod.

Bucky stood there for a few seconds before giving a slight nod. He really didn’t expect anyone to think it was cool. He did at first, until he noticed others staring. And in a job like his, he couldn’t afford to stand out.

You walked around him and headed towards the coffee, really needing it now. Bucky turned and watched you walk, amazed by your open mindedness. Two days ago you didn’t want him around and now you were fine with him showing the most hated piece of himself.

You were really something else.

“So…why are you up so early?” Bucky cleared his throat and walked back over to grab his coffee that was starting to cool.

You frowned, though your back was to him, as you poured yourself a cup. “Just…sore. My ear was in pain,” you lied. It was only partially a lie. It ached, but so did your chest from crying and the stress.

“So it has nothing to do with the crying I heard twenty minutes ago?” He raised an eyebrow.

Your shoulders dropped and a sigh left your lips. “I…had a nightmare. Those guys kept shooting and it kept getting closer. Now I can’t even enjoy my favorite pastime of sleeping in,” you groaned as you took a sip of coffee and turned around. “If you heard me crying, why didn’t you come in?”

Bucky leaned against the counter and watched you. “The same reason I didn’t go back into the bathroom after I bandaged you up and heard you crying. Felt you didn’t want me around as a reminder and that you needed space. Plus if you were in real danger, I’m sure you would scream first,” he shrugged.

You leaned back against the counter and huffed. “I’m just…not used to this. The shooting and the near death experiences,” you stared at the coffee in your hands. “It’s not you, it’s the life. The mafia. I always felt different growing up because I always had to be watched. My mom knew I hated it. My dad didn’t care. I lost friends because of this. I can’t go hang out or have sleepovers. Birthday parties were just for my immediate family. Hell, I’m still mad he didn’t take me to Disneyland like he said he would when I was eleven,” you muttered which made Bucky smile slightly.

“You can still go, you know,” Bucky took a sip and you rolled your eyes.

“It’s no fun alone and I don’t think Miss Liz is up for it,” you shrugged. It was apparent you didn’t have friends outside of work.

Bucky was quiet for a few minutes, the only sound being the rain droplets hitting the window. As if your car didn’t deal with enough, now your seats would be soaked.

“After all of this is over, why don’t I take you to Disneyland?” Bucky asked, making you pause as you brought the cup to your lips.

“What?”

“You heard me. Why don’t I go with you? After all, I’m considering us friends since no one else has taken so kindly to my arm,” Bucky tilted his head.

You rolled your eyes, but the sincere look on his face told you he wasn’t joking. “Yeah…sure. But I’m not holding my breath. There is no after this is over in the mafia. There’s brief periods of quiet but it always gets bad again,” you frowned, finishing off your coffee.

Bucky knew you were right, but he had a bit of a plan. At least to make sure you had the chance to find your after in the mafia life.

“Fair enough,” Bucky nodded as you set your cup in the sink.

“I’m gonna try to go lay down again. If um…if you hear me crying again, just come wake me up, please,” you said softly, the end sounding like a whispered plea to save you from what may come from your mind.

“Okay,” Bucky gave another nod and watched as you walked back to bed.

You couldn’t find it in yourself to fall asleep again.

Tag list: @crownstealer @borikenlove @bitchassbucky @babyboibucky @buckybarneschokeme @buckys-blue-eyes @vanillanaps @bibbidibobbidibucky @spicynudlesoup @bemine-bucky @suchababie @rebekahdawkins @sebsbrokentoe @marvel-3407 @acmbooksandfilm @stucky-my-ship @boofy1998 @kaaabiii

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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This wonderful person right here writes good masterpieces.

And this is one of them !!!

Obscene Behaviour || b.b & s.w

Platonic relationship with Bucky Barnes, Sam Wilson and a new mom!reader

Summary: Your coffee date with your friends takes a turn when you slip your nip out to feed your newborn. Warnings: public breastfeeding (let's normalise it please), bullying WC: 624

|| Main Masterlist || Bucky Masterlist || Sam Masterlist ||

“Wow, look at you.” Sam gushed as he took a seat at the table you were waiting at. “You are absolutely glowing! How’s everything going?”

“Thanks, Sam.” You grinned as he gave you a kiss on the cheek and stole your newborn from your arms. “I’m still adjusting. It’s weird seeing you guys on the news and not being out there in the action.”

“You got something more important now.” He said, gently bouncing your baby boy in his arms and swapping to baby talk. “Isn’t that right, little Sammy?”

“His name is James.” Bucky argued as he arrived and gave you a hug before he took the third seat at your table.

“You’re both wrong.” You laughed as they began to argue with each other until you grabbed the birth certificate from your handbag and placed it between them. “His name is Steven Anthony Y/L/N.”

“No way.” Sam grinned. “That’s a big name to live up to, little man.”

“If anyone can, it'll be him.” Bucky smiled as he grabbed a chubby toe and tickled it. “You doing alright, mama?”

“Could do with a few more hours of sleep a night but I think we are doing pretty good.” You said before a yawn broke out at the mention of sleep.

“We can have him for a night if you need some rest.” Sam offered and Bucky’s head snapped to him with wide eyes.

“We can?”

“I’m not doing it alone.” Sam chuckled. “I’m not as brave as y/n.”

“You might find it a bit difficult, unless you can breastfeed?”

“Last time I checked…no.” Sam said with a shake of his head and looked at Bucky.

“Don’t look at me, these are pure muscle.” He said with a wave over his chest.

As if your infant understood the talk about breastfeeding, he began to cry and you took him back so you could open the discreet slip on your shirt, latching him on. Neither man bat an eyelid as you fed your bub but you could feel a pair of eyes on you and looked around to see a middle aged man staring at your chest. Bucky turned as he saw your eyebrows pinched and his own eyes hardened.

“Hey, you got a problem?”

The man jumped at Bucky’s harsh voice but he recovered quickly and looked down his nose at you. “Some of us are trying to eat here, not be subject to pornographic, obscene behaviour.”

“Pornogr- what the hell is wrong with you, man?” Sam asked seriously. “Some people are trying to eat, including her baby.”

“You don’t see us trying to stop you from stuffing your pie hole.”

You watched with amazement as they both ripped into the man who was turning redder by the second.

“I could see her nipple. It was offensive and distracting.” He gupped as more people were tuning into the conversation.

“I can see your cutlery, I don’t find that distracting.” Sam laughed. “It’s just a nipple, how about not sexualising it, then you shouldn't find it so distracting.”

Bucky pulled his shirt over his head and sat back in his chair as a few bystanders began to pull their phones out and Sam took his shirt off next.

“Oh my god, what are you two doing?” You laughed as they turned their seats around to face the man.

“Distracting him.” Sam smirked. “Look at all these pornographic nipples.”

Bucky smiled at one woman that looked just his type and pointed to his chest. “Is this offensive to you ma’am?”

“No, sir.” She giggled before turning to the man. “You should be ashamed of yourself, if you have the right to eat in a public place, so does this beautiful wee baby.”