Dyed Hair Disaster

This is how I see this particular Bucky

i’m back hehe :) how about a bit of friends to lovers with reader and bucky admitting their feelings to each other and growing into their relationship all while the team watches them fall deeper by the day? in a fluffy and soft mood tonight

Sorry it took so long, I spent so long trying to think of a scene for this to take place that I caused myself a writers block.

Not Enough || Bucky

Warnings: 18+ only, nsfw, kissing and touching, sexual tension and themes WC: 1.8k

main masterlist || bucky masterlist

“I feel stupid.” You groaned as you tugged at your costume.

“I think it’s cute.” Bucky smirked and bopped you on your nose that was painted pink.

You wrinkled it up both in irritation at him and the costume he chose. The leotard rode up in all the worst places and the fishnet stockings were the cheap kind that dug into your skin rather than stretching over it. Whoever at the costume shop helped him pick the playboy bunny get-up should be forced to endure it as long as you did.

“You think it’s cute because you chose it. I mean look, you can see my ass.”

“I know, it’s great.” He nodded as he licked lips.

“Everyone is going to see my ass. Oh, maybe I’ll wag my little tail and finally get to bring a bed buddy home.” You pointed out and suddenly the costume was his enemy.

“Strip now.” He ordered without a hint of humour in his tone.

“Uh-uh, you chose this Bucky. And I am going to wear the shit out of it.”

Ever since Wanda let slip that Bucky liked you more than just friends, you had been trying to get him to admit it, because the truth was you were desperately, hopelessly, head over heels for him. Unfortunately, aside from a few moments like this, he never showed any sign of liking you as anything but his friend. Picking up your clutch from the table, you began to make your way to the door only for Bucky’s body to block it.

“Please, y/n.” He begged. “Here, at least wear this.”

He pulled his cape off his shoulders and draped it over yours, the hem of it almost touching the floor. It literally covered you from head to toe and you placed your hand on your hip as he tied the bow at your neck.

“Why do you care so much if people see my assets huh?” You asked with a bit of attitude. “Do you have something to confess?”

He winced as he bit his lip, something that wouldn’t hurt him any other day but the porcelain vampire teeth he wore pierced his lip. “Wha-what, no.”

Your eyebrows shot up at his scoff and your hand rose to your lips as you realised Wanda was right. He was totally lying to you and he should’ve known better.

“James Buchanan Barnes, you did not just lie to your best friend!” You gasped and turned away so he couldn’t see your smile growing. “How could you?”

Your shoulders trembled as you stifled your giddy laugh but he heard the soft sounds and thought they were tears. “I’m sorry, doll, I didn’t mean to make you cry. Don’t cry.”

“I thought we promised to tell each other everything.” You reminded him.

“What do you want me to say, doll?” He asked quietly in your ear, his chest pressed against your back as his arms wrapped around your waist. “That I’ll be jealous of anyone who gets to feel you wrapped around them? That I’ll be fucking jealous because I want you all to myself? If I say that then we can’t be friends anymore.”

“Why not?” You asked barely above a whisper.

“Because it will never be enough.”

You turned in his arms and wrapped your arms around his neck, something you had done plenty of times before but this was the first time there was an air of insecurity around both of you. “I want you to say all those things.”

His blue eyes widened and the sharp points of his teeth peeked through as a small smile tipped up his lips. “Yeah? You want to hear how jealous I get when I see guys checking you out?”

“I really do.” You nodded as you drew your bottom lip between your teeth.

“It takes every ounce of my control not to throw you over my shoulder and lock you in my room.” He said, fire igniting in his eyes at the thought. “Keep you all to myself.”

A soft moan escaped your lips at the thought and you tugged the short hair that your fingers were running through. All thought of consequence was gone as you pulled his head towards yours and he put up no resistance. His kiss started soft as he brushed his lips against yours but soon he groaned at the taste and pulled you in deeper until you pulled away with a hiss.

“Ouch.” You chuckled as you touched your lip that had been pierced by the teeth he wore. “Those are dangerous.”

His fingers were already reaching to pull them off but you stopped him. “We still have to go to Tony’s birthday party, remember?”

“Fuck.” He groaned and pressed his palm to his jeans. “You live to torture me.”

You turned around as you removed the cape and wiggled the fluffy bunnies tail, looking over your shoulder innocently. “This is torture? Oh dear, just wait until we get downstairs.”

His eyes were still fixed firmly on your ass that was moving away from him and you made it out the door before his brain caught up. Your laugh echoed the halls as you raced away to the elevator and you smashed at the button as his footsteps caught up.

“You’re gonna pay for that later, doll.” He promised as the door opened you he stepped in before it closed.

His body trapped you in the corner and you were surrounded by his endless reflections in the mirrored walls. Your chest was hammering with anticipation and the rise and fall of your breasts pushed up by the costume left him breathless. He was careful of his teeth as he placed kisses along your neck, lightly grazing the sharp points over your racing pulse and you combed your fingers through his hair with a heady moan. “I can’t wait.”

The doors suddenly opened to the floor of the party and you caught Wanda and half of the crowd watching you and Bucky untangle yourselves.

“I don’t like this.” Tony said as he pointed between the two of you. “This is my party and I don’t like sharing the spotlight.”

You sighed as you heard the laugh in his voice before he threw his arm around you and pulled you away from Bucky. “So why was I the last to find out about this? Love the costume by the way, it reminds me of my favourite decade.”

“Thank Bucky, he chose it.” You snickered as you looked around and found him brooding in the corner as he watched you walk away from him. “Wow Pepper looks amazing, wait, is that someone hitting on her?”

Tony’s head shot around looking for his girlfriend and you slipped out from under his arm as he left in search of her. Shaking your head you made your way to Bucky, stopping only at the bar and ordering his favourite drink before continuing. A few men tried to talk to you but you only had eyes for one and ducked out of the others paths.

“What’s Baby doing in the corner?” You teased as you held his glass out to him.

He chuckled as he took the peace offering and tried to take a drink. He couldn’t quite get his lips around it because of the vampire teeth and a drop of scotch clung to his full bottom lip. Unable to resist, you rose up on your toes, tongue rolling across the droplet and gathering it as you shared the taste of it on his tongue.

“People are staring.” He murmured against your lips as his hands pulled your hips closer to him.

“Let them stare.” You replied before taking his hand in yours and pulling away. “I want to dance.”

You weren’t sure why so many people were staring, most of them had seen the two of you dancing plenty of times before, then you realised you weren’t just dancing. You were drowning in the endless blue of his eyes, you were reliving every moment that led to this. You were remembering the many nights like this that led to Bucky carrying your drunk self to bed, or leaving painkillers and water on your bedside for when you woke. You were remembering all the times he had fed you or brought your gifts just because he thought they would make you smile and how every time you told him you loved him.

This wasn’t just dancing. This was the moment you realised you were falling in love.

You could hear their whispers and if you could then Bucky definitely could. Looking across the table you found his smirk growing as the gossip spread around the common room. His fingers traced over your wrist as your hand rested on the table top, his other hand stabbing food onto his fork before offering you a taste. It still surprised you that he could cook, you were sure he was secretly ordering the food and just putting it on plates but then you had spent an hour watching him shirtless in the kitchen, making the dish from scratch. Both the cook and the food were mouthwatering.

“I’m starting to think you like the attention.” You teased after finishing your mouthful.

“I can’t say I don’t enjoy the chaos it's caused.” He chuckled. “But there’s only one person whose attention I want.”

“Keep being all smooth like that and we won’t be going anywhere today.” You said as you stood and took the empty plate to the sink, stealing a kiss as you did. “But that is probably your plan. Are you scared?”

“Am I scared?” He scoffed.

“He’s petrified.” Wanda called out from the table her and Vision were sitting at.

“It’s not everyday I meet someone’s family for the first time.” He defended himself.

“Someone’s?” You cocked your eyebrow and he rolled his eyes.

“You know what I mean, my girlfriend's family.” He reiterated. “But I’m not scared.”

“Oh baby,” you sighed as you took a seat on his lap and tucked his hair behind his ears, “what have I said about lying to me…what am I going to do with you?”

“Please don’t ask him that again.” Wanda groaned as she tossed the rest of her half eaten bagel back on the plate and caught Vision’s confused face. “I’ll show you later.”

The couple left together and you just had to know what had left the Scarlet Witch with scarlet cheeks. The cocky look on Bucky’s face let you know it was something that would leave your legs trembling and you squirmed on his lap at the thought. His laugh teased your neck and he gently lifted you off his lap until you were standing beside him pouting. He rose from his chair after and kissed the pout away before draping his arm over your shoulder.

“I would love to show you, doll, but I have some very important people to meet. We should get going.”

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Foock offf you scared the living shit out of meeee I hate you right now !!!!

Update 5 min later : I do in fact not hate you I love you very much I’m sorry it was all the emotions speaking…

please Please PLEASE give us more street racer Bucky. You’ve got me absolutely hooked and I would soak up anything you give me about them - even if it’s just them getting a coffee together. Your writing is so gorgeous 💕

You might regret it, I'm in a hurting kinda mood ❤️‍🩹

Run These Streets {3} || Street Racer!Bucky

Warnings: 18+ only, nsfw, medical terms, car crash, injury, fluff, angst WC: 1.4k

Bucky Masterlist || Part One || Part Two || Part Three

This was your very worst nightmare and it was unfolding right before your eyes. The acrid scent of burning steel and the sharp burn of smoke in your lungs, choking you with every breath. A part of you was grateful it wasn’t Bucky’s car on fire as you heard the other driver screaming for help that you couldn’t give, you had to get to Bucky. The 70’s muscle car hadn’t crumpled like the late model Subaru that had crashed into him, shunting him towards a concrete barrier before flipping onto its top. 

“Bucky!” You screamed as you dropped to your stomach, glass snagging at your skin as you crawled through the passenger window. Bucky’s hands were slack against the roof as he hung suspended from his seat, the harness keeping a secure hold on him as you inched through the tight space and saw the trickle of blood running down his face. “Baby, I need you to talk to me, open your eyes, anything dammit!”

“Give her girlfriend status and suddenly she’s all bossy.” Bucky chuckled before groaning. “Where’s the kid?”

“Don’t worry about him, he damn near killed you.” You growled. “What hurts?”

“What doesn’t?” He groaned, wiggling his fingers through his racing gloves and sighing with relief. “I need you to unbuckle me, doll.”

“Shouldn’t we wait for the EMT? You might have a spinal injury.” Even through the blood and grimace you could see his eyebrow quirk up. “What? I saw it on Grey's Anatomy.”

“I’m fine. I’ll brace myself, I just need you to hit the release before the fire hits the kid’s NOS bottle.”

“Shit.” You cursed before nodding and reaching up to the buckle where the four points of the harness met. “3, 2, 1.”

The belts fell away and Bucky grunted as his full weight fell onto his already aching arms. Backing up, you reversed your way out the window with Bucky slowly trailing you, his nose wrinkling as he tried to hide the pain he was in. 

“Here, lean on me.” You ordered as he struggled to pull himself to his feet. His arm draped over your shoulder and you curled yours around his waist, trying to be tender as you took some of his weight. “Steve!”

Steve sprinted over from where he had been on the phone to 911 and laughed with shock as he found his best friend upright and alive. “You’re a fucking jerk, scaring me like that. Fuck. Let’s get you checked out, EMT’s will be here shortly.”

“Seriously? EMT’s bring cops you punk.” Bucky growled as he punched Steve in the arm before groaning and clutching his stomach. “I can’t get caught again.”

“Don’t worry about that right now.” You said as you reached down and pulled Bucky’s shirt up, gasping at the bruise that painted his stomach a sickly purple shade. “Steve, how soon did you say until they get here?”

Steve’s face paled as he saw the bruise spreading before his eyes, reaching his ribs just as Bucky’s breathing began to change. “Buck? Talk to me pal, take a deep breath.”

“Help! Somebody help!” You screamed to the crowd as Bucky started to collapse in your arms. 

Steve caught him before you could drop him and laid him gently on the grass verge beside the street as a woman stepped out from the crowd. “I might be able to help. I’m not a doctor but I did some medic training when I was enlisted.”

Her eyes darted to the dog tags hanging from Bucky’s neck and you tucked them back into his shirt, knowing how precious they were to him. “Sorry, I just didn’t realise he was a vet.”

“He’s not, they were his fathers. Can you help him?” Your hands trembled as you held Bucky’s with one and brushed his messy hair back with the other, careful not to touch the cuts on his face.

“I’ll try.” She sighed before pulling his shirt further up his body, tapping her fingers over the bruising as Bucky drifted in and out of consciousness. “He’s got internal bleeding, best guess is a ruptured spleen, and a collapsed lung.”

Your entire body sobbed with the cry that broke free, the thought of losing him seeming to short circuit your brain as you knelt at his side. “You can’t die, not now, not ever - you hear me. I need you baby. Please, do something.”

“I need a needle or something sterile and hollow to fit between his ribs.” She said as he reached into her handbag and pulled out a bottle of hand sanitiser. 

Steve was already racing into the crowd asking for supplies anyone might have and returned quickly with a syringe still in the sterile packaging. “Don’t even ask.”

You knew there were plenty of drugs that circulated the sport and its supporters, the thin grey line between illegal racing soon merging with other illegal activities, so it was no surprise Steve got a needle from one of them. You were just grateful he found one that hadn’t been used. 

“Are you sure you know what you are doing?” You asked as she felt between his ribs and smeared hand sanitiser over his skin.

“No, but do you have any other choice?” She said as she held the needle over his chest. “Your boyfriend’s not breathing and I don’t hear any sirens yet.”

“Ok, do it.” You murmured as you held his hand tighter and pressed your lips to his cheek. “I love you.”

A small hiss of air pulled you away from watching Bucky’s light blue lips and you flinched at the sight of the needle stabbed into his chest. You were squeezing his fingers so tight you didn’t feel them twitch and you nearly jumped out of his skin as he gasped a ragged breath in. 

“Oh, thank god.” You sagged with relief before hearing the sirens echo along the road. “You’re gonna be alright baby.”

“Told you.” He rasped, his breaths still shaky and shallow. “M fine.”

“Tough bastard.” Steve exhaled, his own sense of relief taking over as he hugged the woman who had saved his best friend's life. “Thank you, anything you need, dinner, movies? I’m there, my shout.”

You rolled your eyes and smiled as Steve somehow managed to snag a date from Bucky’s disaster, he would be proud. “How about we get Bucky to the hospital first? Then you can start planning how many children you’re gonna have.”

You were exhausted but unable to sleep as you waited in the uncomfortable waiting room chairs at the hospital. Steve had tried to get you to rest, rolling up his jumper for you to use as a pillow but it hadn’t worked. Now he sat beside you, mouth hanging open as he snored lightly, the chair next to him filled by the woman who had saved Bucky’s life. Her head had fallen onto Steve’s shoulder and you couldn’t help taking a photo so you could remind him of the day he met his future wife. 

Suddenly, the doors to the operating rooms opened and a surgeon came out with a yawn. “Family of Barnes?”

“That's us!” You said as you elbowed Steve and stood up. “Can we see him?”

“Soon, he’s just going to the recovery room now.” The doctor said with a nod. “We had to remove his spleen and part of his liver that was damaged but I should think he will make a full recovery.”

Dawn was just breaking over the city when you were finally allowed in his room, his length leaving his toes hanging from the end of the bed. Cuts and bruises covered his face but he was still as handsome as ever as you took the seat beside him and held his hand. 

“You really scared me, Bucky.” You confessed to the quiet room filled only with the beats of his heart on the machine. “You’re not allowed to leave me, ever.”

His fingers twitched in your grasp and the heart monitor jumped as he woke from the sedation, blue eyes unfocused as they looked around the room and landed on you. “Who are you?”

Your throat constricted and fear gripped your chest as his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Then a flicker of something else passed behind his eyes you had loved since you first saw them, something…mischievous.

“James Buchanen Barnes, if you are fucking with me right now, I swear to god…”

“C’mere, doll.” His laughter warmed your soul as he pulled your hand closer and kissed your knuckles. “I could never forget you.”

Hello please reblog this if you’re okay with people sending you random asks to get to know you better

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.

The Surrogate Masterlist

Bucky Barnes x fem!reader

Series Summary: Natasha, Clint and you have been inseparable since you joined Shield all those years ago. When Natasha mentions how much she wanted to be a mother you make it your mission to give her that opportunity. The hysterectomy in Widow training left her unable to carry a child but her ovaries remained. Using her egg, and a sperm donation from Clint, you carry the child and have to deal with all that comes with it - mostly a very protective mother. But, just because you are the surrogate for Natasha’s baby but that doesn’t mean you can’t find love for yourself. Canon timeline and deaths. Series Warnings: 18+ only, pregnancy, birth, infinity war, death, fluff, smut Word Count: 11k Status: COMPLETE Set after Civil War, just before Infinity War and after End Game.

Part One ꕥ ➴ Natasha and the team leave you behind in Wakanda for your safety so you have to find a way to pass the time, like visiting Steve's friend, Bucky.

Part Two ⁂ ꕥ ➴ Your regular visits to Bucky have you growing closer but you hold back from letting yourself feel anything more than friendship until a visit from Nat changes that.

Part Three ⁂ ➴ After months of peaceful living with Bucky he is called to arms as the fight with Thanos comes to Wakanda.

Part Four † ➴ Upon your return from the Blip you find out the true cost of the war and the sacrifices that were made to bring everyone back.

⁂ = smut † = death ⨮ =angst. ꕥ = fluff

Being ignored by people because I request Muslim Y/N is my favorite thing on earth (note the sarcasm)

How heavy is Bucky’s new arm???

so last time I was drawing Bucky I had some thoughts and they turned into research and this info sheet - somehow… y’all better find this useful or uhm… interesting…? please?

Don’t @ me if the math is incredibly wrong

(long Image description under the cut)

Keep reading

Well this was fucking hot

I’m sorry to hear about your interrupted morning 😩 if you’re looking for requests, I absolutely adore your stucky x reader fics and your smut is just *chefs kiss* 👀

Thank you so much Katie! So this is how I wish my morning went...I am so happy to share it with you too <3

Morning Sex || Stucky

Warnings: 18+ only, NSFW, double penetration, cream pie, pure filth and nothing else WC: ~850

main masterlist || bucky masterlist

Your body was overheated but you couldn’t move. It felt as if you were trapped between two man-sized lumps of hot coal and if it wasn’t for Bucky’s vibranium arm giving you some reprieve you would have surely melted. You couldn't wait for winter to return and enjoy their need to pin you between their bodies but these summer nights were far too hot for it.

Your squirming woke Bucky first, his arm tightening slightly around your waist and pulling your back closer to his chest as his gravelly voice whispered in your ear. “It’s too early, doll, go back to sleep.”

Sensing your body had moved away from his, Steve shuffled closer and now you were even hotter than before. In a last ditch attempt to cool down you hooked your leg over Steve’s hip and tried to reach out with your foot for the cool air at the edge of the blanket. Steve sighed as he felt your naked body pressing against his and his cock woke up before he did.

“Good morning, angel.” He murmured as his hands roamed up your thigh to rest next to Bucky’s arm across your hip.

The heat burning through your body was now for an entirely different reason and you felt Steve’s hips moving as his blunt head teased between your legs. A soft moan filled the air and you felt Bucky’s cock growing hard behind you at the sound, their tips meeting together at your pussy lips.

“Good morning indeed.” You purred as you rolled your hips, your slick folds teasing over both their cocks and they moaned as your moisture rolled down their shafts.

You knew Bucky was tired and he had only arrived home from his mission a few hours ago but his body betrayed his need for sleep with a stronger need for your body. It was an almost unspoken rule that had come about and you gasped as his head pushed through your folds first and he kissed your neck as he came to a stop deep inside you. Steve lifted your leg higher and you were lucky he had stretched you nice and good last night or you could not have taken them both this morning.

“Breathe, babygirl, you take us both so well.” Steve encouraged as his head breached your entrance and he slowly pumped his hips so each time his cock slipped in a little more.

“Oh fuck.” You moaned as your eyes shut and your walls struggled to fit both of their thick shafts.

Bucky’s fingers teased your nipples as he held you still against him and let Steve fuck into you. You could tell when Steve’s cock hit his just right as Bucky’s breath would hit your neck as he exhaled deeply and his chest would shudder behind you. “Feels so good, god. This is why I came home.”

His voice was still laden with sleep but the deep tone all quiet in your ear left your pussy clenching and both of your men moaned as you tightened around them. Steve was spurred into action as he revelled in how both you and Bucky responded to him, he pushed your legs wider as he shoved his leg between yours and he hooked his heel over Bucky’s thigh. Using Bucky as an anchor he slammed himself into you, knocking the breath from your lungs as your nails raked down his back in ecstasy.

“Oh god, yes, I’m so fucking full…I’m gonna-” You gasped as Bucky sucked hard on your neck and Steve stole your cries with a kiss.

Steve could hardly move as your pussy clamped around them and your legs trembled. Your body threatened to pull away from them as your pleasure mounted but Bucky’s arm tightened its hold and kept you firmly in place as he let your body milk him, Steve’s satisfied moans joining him as their cocks pulsed against each other and they filled you to the brim with their cum.

Your pussy ached so good as Steve gently pulled himself out and collapsed on his back, his chest puffing, and your lips pouted as Bucky followed him, leaving you empty. Warmth leaked out of your swollen cunt and you caught Steve’s proud smile as he watched their cum running over your leg, the heady smell of sex filled the air. He couldn’t resist pulling you into his arms at the sight of you, looking so sexy and satiated.

Bucky’s hand slipped from your hip as you curled into Steve’s side and you looked back wondering why he hadn’t followed but found his eyes closed and lips parted, a soft snore escaping. He must have been tired to miss out on post bliss snuggles but you let him be and just watched Steve’s contented face relax before your eyes.

“Shower or bath?” Steve offered as he drew invisible pictures across your back.

Bucky always joined you for baths and you didn’t want him to miss out because he needed his rest. “Shower. We can bathe together later.”

Steve’s eyes flickered to his friend and his lips tipped up as the thought. “Good idea, angel.”

taglist join form

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hiya love!!

a bucky x reader idea i think you’d pull off with your amazing writing 😘

i thought of it in 2 different au’s, one more regency type and one that’s mafia/mob (personally leaning more towards mafia). the reader is currently in an arranged marriage with a husband who has gambled all their money away and now is in debt with the wrong people (aka buck).

the twist in this is that bucky and the winter solider are a split personality and often switch between the two. winter deals with the more gory and dirty work of leading the mafia and bucky deals with the parts such as mingling, the business deals, etc. winter is willing to forgive the husbands debt in exchange for the reader. reader pretty much hates her husband and while she’s scared to meet the head of the mafia and essentially become his property, she slowly learns about bucky and winter and grows to love them both and gets treated as the queen she deserves.

Thank you nonnie! This is such a cool idea and was so fun to write ❤️ I hope you enjoy it!

Two Minds, One Body || Mafia!Bucky

Warnings: 18+ only, smut, mafia typical threat of violence, could be considered dark! to start with since it's technically kidnapping and then technically cheating WC: 4.4k ... I got carried away

Main Masterlist || Bucky Masterlist ||

You stared blankly at the cashier wondering if this was some sort of sick joke. “Try it again, something is obviously wrong with your system.”

“I’m sorry ma’am, your card has been declined.” She said as she handed the card back. “Insufficient funds.”

You could feel the judgement radiating off the people in the line behind you and your face flushed with embarrassment, this had never happened before. Swiping the card from her fingers you stormed out of the grocery store and already had your phone to your ear.

Your heart stilled as the bank manager repeated what the previous person had already told you, but you still couldn’t believe it. You wouldn’t normally be so rude but your life was crumbling apart and you just didn’t have the capacity to be polite at that moment. With shaking hands you hung up and pounded your fist into the steering wheel with a scream.

“Hey Siri, call Asshole.”

“Calling Asshole.”

You buckled your seatbelt across you as the dial tone filled the speakers in the car and you were merging with traffic as the call connected to your husbands phone.

“How the fuck could you go and do that!” You screamed as he answered.

“Look, it’s fine, I’m sorting it out.”

“It’s fine?” You laughed humorlessly. “I couldn’t buy our damn groceries! That’s not fine! If my parents knew-”

“You’re parents don’t give a fuck about you. Shit, they couldn’t get rid of you fast enough. Who do you think arranged this marriage?” He sneered. “Look, I’ve got to go, I’m a bit busy to deal with your shit too. Just don’t go home if you like living, not until I get this guy's money back.”

Your car slammed to a stop as four blacked out SUVs closed in around you and panic gripped your throat. Traffic honked their horns as the road was blocked but they soon fell silent as the doors opened and men piled out. The last one that stepped out held himself differently from the rest and he leisurely buttoned his suit jacket as if the city ran on his schedule.

“Who else’s money did you piss away?” You whispered only to find the call had been disconnected and you felt the blood draining from your face.

You couldn’t move as your car idled and the man stalked his way towards you, eyes hidden by the designer sunglasses he wore. He looked like he was better suited to walking a runway than the dirty streets of New York but there he was making his way closer to you, the flash of a gun peeking from his hip with every step until he came to a stop beside your door. His knuckles rapped on your window and you trembled as you wondered whether you could just not open the door, maybe you would wake up from this nightmare any second.

“This will go a lot smoother if you just open the door, doll.” He said as he pulled his sunglasses off and pierced you with his ice blue eyes.

Your fingers turned the key and the engine fell silent before you slipped them between your knuckles. You tried to gather every ounce of courage you had as you unlocked the door and he pulled it open, his other hand offered out to you. You brushed it aside and stepped out yourself, ignoring the smirk he held when he saw your keys like a spiked knuckle duster in your fist.

“You have more guts than that poor excuse of a man you married.” He said with a Brooklyn accent.

“A slug has more guts than him.” You fired back.

His laugh was echoed by his guards but he was the one that held you captive and his smile disarmed you. You hadn’t expected the infamous New York mob boss to be so charming, or young for that matter. Most you had seen in the news were old men, well past their prime.

His hand unfurled your fist and took your keys, tossing them to one of his men before his hand came to rest on your lower back, guiding you to his Lincoln. “Let’s go for a ride.”

“That’s not a question is it?”

His lips tipped up as he looked down at you and he shook his head. “No, you have no choice in what happens from here.”

The charm was gone in an instant and the chilling dread seeped back in your bones as he held his door open for you, hand urging you to move with the promise he had the strength to throw you inside if you didn’t move. Stepping up into the luxury SUV left his hand sliding down over your ass and you swore you heard him inhale sharply before his touch was gone.

“Where to, Mr Barnes?”

His eyes flicked to yours before he looked back to the rearview mirror his driver was facing and waiting for an answer. “Home.”

You watched the driver's eyebrows pinch together but he didn't say anything as he pulled away from the street, letting the traffic resume behind him.

“You should put your seatbelt on, doll.” Mr Barnes said as he looked over your body.

“At this point I don’t see what difference it makes.” You sighed, resigned to your fate. “I’m not stupid, I have heard the stories about you Mr Barnes. I figure I am dead either way.”

He sighed and reached over your body, his rich cologne filling your senses as he grabbed your belt and buckled it in. “You can call me Bucky.”

“I could call you a lot of things.” You whispered under your breath as you turned to watch the busy streets go by, slowly finding the city giving way to the more open landscape of Upstate New York. “You know, if you are planning on using me to get your money back it won’t work.”

“And why is that?” Bucky asked curiously, having watched you the entire length of the journey.

“He doesn’t care about me.” You broke away from where you had been watching his reflection in your window and looked him dead in the eye. “He is probably glad to see me gone.”

His eyes stared into yours, almost inhumanly still as they tried to draw the thoughts straight from your head. “You actually believe that.”

“Our parents arranged our marriage, it wasn’t something we, well I, had any choice in.” You turned back to the window, unable to hold his intense stare any longer and silence fell back over the car as you wondered where the Eastern European lilt suddenly came from.

The convoy of cars pulled up at an impressive set of gates and it was the only way you could see where you were heading as the rest was hidden by high brick walls that surrounded the property. The driveway seemed impossibly long as it snaked through a woodland that seemed straight out of A. A. Milne's stories and you found your breath misting up the window as you leant in to have a closer look.

You looked back at Bucky to see if he was as enamoured by the view as you were but he was busy typing away on his phone, probably desensitised to the sight since it was his home. You were caught watching him and the way he bit his lip as he concentrated on whatever message or email he was composing that you missed the first impression of seeing his home come into view.

“I thought you were enjoying the scenery.” He murmured without looking up from his phone and you startled as you spun your head to turn away only to find the car coming to a stop outside the grand home.

“Holy shit.” You whispered at the sight. “I imagined you would be taking me to a damp warehouse with chains hanging from the rafters.”

He barked a laugh as he pocketed his phone. “I can always arrange that for you, kukolka.”

You weren’t imagining the change in his accent this time and you were still left sitting in the car confused when he made it to your side and opened the door. “I have business to take care of. Get out.”

You hit the red button on the buckle and scrambled out of the car at the sharp tone, looking around the empty pathway and deciding whether you should make an attempt to run or not.

“The closest neighbour is 32 miles in that direction.” Bucky said as he pointed to the west. “The dogs would track you before you even got halfway there, that is if the guards on perimeter duty didn’t shoot you first.”

You swallowed at the thought and let the idea of running fall into the recesses of your mind. “Why did you bring me here?”

His eyes seemed to darken as he chewed that lip of his once again. “I don’t know.”

He turned on his heel and made his way up the stone steps, a snap of his fingers urging you to catch up and you eyed the rolling green pasture once more before following him. You nearly lost him as he turned down a hall but his voice called your name and you turned the corner to find him in a large open kitchen that was almost bigger than your house.

“Drink?” He asked as he opened a cabinet lined with spirits.

“Why not.” You shrugged and took a seat in front of him. “How much does he owe you?”

Bucky placed a cocktail in front of you, not even asking what you preferred but somehow getting it right. “10.”

“Thousand?”

“Million.”

You choked on your drink at the thought of trying to pay it back. “Why the hell would you loan someone $10 million!”

He shrugged. “Because I can.”

You emptied your drink in two gulps and slid the glass back to him, begging him to refill it as you dropped your head to the cool marble countertop. “What a business model.”

“It’s money laundering, doll, sometimes we lose.”

“Boohoo, you lost some money.” You mocked as the alcohol hit your empty stomach. “I’m the one probably going to lose my life because of it.”

“Not many people would dare mock me, kukolka.” He said as he rounded the island and spun your bar stool around to cage you between it and his body. “Are you fearless or stupid?”

“It would be stupid to be fearless.” His lips tipped up at your wise words and he decided you definitely were not stupid but you certainly were brave as you leant in closer so your lips were almost touching his skin. “You can launder money digitally without losing.”

“And how would you do that?”

“If I tell you, there’s no reason to keep me alive.” You said as you leant back and grabbed your drink, taking a sip as he tried to determine if you were lying or not.

“I can think of a few reasons to keep you alive, kukolka.”

The lick of his lips sent your heart racing and for the first time it wasn’t in fear. Your legs tried to close to give you some friction but you found Bucky had stepped between them and he smirked as he felt them twitch against his thighs.

“Bucky?” You asked breathlessly, placing your glass down with a trembling hand.

“Call me Winter.”

Your head tipped to the side as you saw the shade of blue darker than before. The frown lines disappeared as the colder personality came to the surface. It made sense now, Bucky was the charming businessman, Winter was anything but. Still, the passive face and the cold eyes set something alight within you and you couldn’t deny the fact it was something you had imagined you would have with your husband but it never came.

“Winter.” You tasted his name on your tongue, enjoying the way his eyes followed your lips as they moved.

The moment hung as he stared at your lips and you could hardly breathe as you waited for him to make his choice and much to your disappointment he stepped back, his eyes fading back to the paler blue.

“How many people know?” You asked as he ran a hand through his dark hair and refilled his glass.

“No one.” He growled, emptying the drink in one breath and throwing the glass to shatter against the wall. “Fuck!”

He grabbed your arm and you had to almost run to keep up with his pace as he climbed the staircase and led you down another hall. He reached into his pocket as he stopped outside a door and unlocked it, pushing it open and shoving you inside before closing it. The sound of the lock echoed around the huge silent room and you sighed as you leant back against the door, the small bump on the other side letting you know he was mirroring your pose.

“Your secret is safe with me, Bucky.” You said since you were sure he was listening. “I have no one to tell even if I wanted to anyway.”

His footsteps retreated down the hall and you were left to explore the room you had been confined to.

═══════☆═══════

The door creaked open and a slither of light illuminated your dark room before the door closed once again, his barely audible footsteps padding across the room to where you lay. You hadn’t been able to bring yourself to climb into the enormous bed for fear of it swallowing you whole and getting lost in the mountain of pillows, opting to curl up on the loveseat instead. It didn't matter, you couldn’t get to sleep anyway.

“You should be asleep, kukolka, it’s late.” Winter murmured as he snaked his arms under you and carried you to the bed.

“I’m in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by armed men that I don’t know or trust.” You replied with a stifled yawn. “I can’t sleep.”

“No one here will hurt you, I promise.” He said as he laid you down on the soft sheets and climbed in beside you. “I’ll make sure of that.”

“What about Bucky?” You asked quietly as you rolled on your side to face him.

“He doesn’t want you harmed.”

“That’s not the same thing.”

Winter had been coming to your room every night since you arrived here and sometimes he would even use your bathroom to wash away the blood that caught under his nails. You never asked him about it and he never offered but you knew he was who the stories were about, the mob boss who was ruthless and cutthroat, it was Winter. For some reason he never scared you as he sat quietly in the corner of your room, watching you sleep only to disappear before you woke. This was the first night he joined you in your bed.

“How long am I going to be kept here?” You asked as you watched his chest slowly rise and fall while he stared at the dark chandelier. “He’s never going to be able to pay back the $10 million he owes, if that’s what you are waiting for.”

“I know.” His hair fell over his face as he turned to face you and you brushed it back so you could see his eyes even in the low light, they somehow glowed.

“So what, I am just your prisoner here until you get bored of me.”

His eyes hardened and his hand reached out to cup your cheek, the slight pressure ensuring you couldn’t look away even if you wanted. “You think of this as your prison?”

You sighed and shook your head, in all honesty it was more like living at a luxury resort. You were catered for by an amazing chef, spent your days beside the pool with a book from the vast library and occasionally had a visit from Winter or Bucky. Everyone else left you alone, barely even making eye contact with you as they roamed the mansion with their rifles hanging from their shoulders. That was the only thing that left you ill at ease.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.” You said as your cheek warmed under his touch. “I just miss reality, I miss going out. Don’t get me wrong, the clothes you bought me are lovely but…”

You looked at the closet that was full of designer clothes that had arrived the day after you had, they were expensive and pretty but there was nothing comfortable. You thought you had offended Winter when he rose from your bed and left the room, his absence making it even darker than before, and you wanted to follow with an apology. With a heavy sigh you fell back into the pillows and threw one over your head.

It wasn’t until the pillow was ripped away that you found Winter standing over you with a pair of grey sweatpants and a plain white t-shirt in his hands. “I want you to be comfortable here.”

You sat up and took the clothes with a smile. “Thank you, Win.”

“Win?”

“You don’t like it? I figured you have your nickname for me, I should have one for you.”

“I’ve never had a nickname before.” He said as his head tilted slightly to the side, his tell when he was confused, much like Bucky’s frown lines.

“Well, now you do. Close your eyes.”

He didn’t follow your order but you weren’t surprised. There was no one that could give Winter or Bucky an order, they would only do something if they wanted to. Grabbing the silk hem of the Victoria’s Secret nightgown you had been given you pulled it over your head and replaced it with Winter’s shirt. The cotton was soft and it held a hint of his scent as well as the fresh linen scent the housekeepers used doing the laundry.

“Are you going to come back in?” You asked as he stayed frozen beside your bed, jaw ticking as he clenched it.

“Probably not a good idea.”

Your fingers played with the edge of the shirt that barely covered your thighs, the hint of your lace panties peeking out the bottom with every little movement as desire pooled in your core. “Please.”

The word had barely left your lips before he captured them with his own. You fell back into the pillows with a sigh as he pushed you back to graze his teeth down your neck.

“I can’t be gentle, kukolka, I just need to feel you.” Winter growled low in your ear.

“I don’t want you to be gentle.” You moaned as his fingers brushed your panties aside and slipped between your slick folds. “I want you to fuck me.”

You gasped as he ripped the material away and pushed a second finger in curling them up as he palmed over your clit, soft moans escaping your parted lips. Your hands worked through the first two buttons before your patience ran out and you tore his shirt open, the white buttons getting lost among the sheets. The soft moonlight gave you just enough light to see the defined muscles that shaped his body and you dragged your nails down the hard planes as he tensed beneath your touch.

“Sorry about your shirt.”

Your hand dipped beneath his pants and his breath hissed as your fingers wrapped around his hard length, a moan quickly following. “No you’re not.”

Your touch was failing as his fingers brought you closer to bliss and you instead tried to focus on freeing him from his pants, the expensive material finally falling away and he crawled onto the bed. His fingers never let up as he knelt between your legs, and he sat back on his heels as nudged your legs wider to watch his effect on you. His eyes were almost black as he watched his fingers disappearing into your core and you pushed your shirt up to your neck to massage your breasts, teasing him as you teased yourself.

“Fuck, kukolka, I have to take you.” He moaned as you pinched and rolled your nipples, his fingers disappearing a second before his head split your folds and buried himself inside you.

Your head tipped back with a cry at the sudden fullness and your fingers clawed at his chest for some purchase. His body echoed yours, head falling back and back arching so he pushed even deeper within you, stretching you with a delicious burn that left you wanting more. You barely had time to adjust to his size before he was slamming his hips against yours and pushing your knees to your chest.

“Yesyesyes.” You cried as your cunt clenched around him, teetering on the edge of bliss. “Oh god, please don’t stop, Win.”

“Fuck, you feel so good wrapped around me.” He groaned as you tightened under his touch, his thumb slipping between you to press against your bundle of nerves.

You were so far gone that his thumb pushed you over the edge, your head spinning as your body was thrown to the clouds to drift weightlessly as he rode through your orgasm. A growl of pure masculinity tore from his throat as your pussy gripped him and you felt the warmth of his cum fill you but still he didn’t stop. He let your knees fall away so he could get closer to you, pressing his chest to yours and tracing your jaw with his soft lips. Your fingers laced in his hair and your tongue danced with his as he slowed his furious pace to longer, slower strokes that almost left you empty before he filled you again.

When he pulled away his eyes were no longer dark and he pressed his forehead to yours as his hand pulled your leg higher up his. The new angle sent a fresh wave of heat in your belly and you moaned against his cheek as you rolled your hips up to his.

“Oh god, Bucky, I’m gonna cum again.” You panted as your eyes screwed shut at the mounting pleasure.

“Hmm, wanna feel you cum all over my cock, doll.”

His mouth ate the moans that attempted to fill the air and you could no longer tell where your body ended and his began. You were merely a single writhing entity working towards mutual bliss and when his mouth found the sweet spot along your neck the elastic band in your core snapped. Your legs trembled harder than the beat of your heart and your eyes rolled back in your head as your back arched off the bed with a cry.

“Fuck, that’s it, doll.” He praised as his elbows caged you between them and he looked down the length of your body, watched his cock being swallowed by your dripping cunt. “You take it all so well. Gonna fill you up real good.”

You could barely comprehend the meaning behind his words, just the way he spoke kept sending waves of aftershocks down your legs until his hips snapped forward and he stayed buried, shooting more hot ropes of cum inside you with a deeply satisfied moan. He collapsed against your chest, keeping most of his weight on his elbows so he didn’t hurt you but still laying close enough that you could feel each other's racing hearts.

“You look good in my clothes.” He murmured as he rolled to the side and pulled your shirt back down. “Might have to burn everything else.”

“You would too.” You chuckled and rolled into his open arms with a sigh. “Seems a waste to just have them hanging there but it’s not like I have anywhere to wear them.”

His eyes were blinking slowly as his fingers drew circles across your hip. “I wanna take you out. We could go somewhere nice, just the two of us, once I deal with your husband.”

The mention of that asshole had you rolling out of the bed and walking to the bathroom, you did not want to think of him after the best sex in years. You didn’t even wait for the water to heat fully before pulling his shirt over your head and stepping under the tepid spray. It didn’t take long for another body to join you and you looked over your shoulder to find which Barnes it was you were with.

“Winter wants you for himself, he’s ready to wipe the debt if your husband agrees to an annulment.” Bucky said as he wrapped his arms around your waist.

“And what about you?”

“There’s something about you, how you see us, it’s something we have never had before.” He murmured softly as he tipped your head to the side and kissed your neck. “No one dares talk to us like you do, doll, it’s infuriating, and hot as fuck. I want more. I want you too.”

You had resigned yourself to the fact you would spend your life trapped in a miserable marriage but here was this miracle offering you a way out. You could only imagine the dangers that came with getting in bed with a mob boss but it wasn’t too long ago that you had come face to face with the scariest man in New York and now you were sleeping with him. It had worked out pretty well in your eyes so you turned in his arms and wrapped your arms around his neck.

“I want you too, both of you.”

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