#james POV

[wearingaberetinparis]

I need more James POV! Like wdym you broke up with your girlfriend for Lily?? I need to know how long he has been in love with her

To be fair, that was a bit of an exaggeration on a jealous ex-boyfriend's behalf. He did not break up for her. Was the timing of the breakup convenient because she had just broken up with her boyfriend? Sure! But he and Delia Greengrass - who was objectively very beautiful - just weren't a good match. And, yes, he had - for a very long time, ever since she moved in two years prior - admired her from afar. This is what Sirius meant when he called Lily James' dream girl, because she was and is. Anyway, because you need a little more of a James POV - which I get, because I love him too - here you go! This takes place the second Lily has left his flat after their first sexual encounter in Chapter 1.

The door fell shut behind her, and he pressed his forehead against it, unable to contain his grin. “Holy shit,” he murmured. “Holy fucking shit.” He all but staggered backward, hands now flying to his hair. He couldn’t stop the laughter from bubbling up inside him, from spilling from his mouth. “Never in a hundred years…” He was a man changed. He knew now what his neighbour tasted like, what she sounded like, how she felt – and it was bloody fucking divine. She was. “Lily Evans,” he let the her name fall from his lips, his tongue embracing every syllable as if it were absolutely precious to him. He made it back to his living room, let himself fall back onto the sofa, his face buried in the pillows that had held her head in place the night before as he had ever so slowly peeled her underwear from her ankles. His face between her thighs, his tongue between her folds. How could anything ever top that feeling? The knowledge that the sounds she was making had all been inspired by him? And then the way she had made him feel. Fuck, she was so hot. He was obsessed – utterly, completely besotted. How was he supposed to go about his day like normal when all he wanted was to bury himself inside her again? To feel his lips against his own? To inspire those little mewls and gasps that had nearly made him come far more quickly than he had wanted? He rolled onto his back, stared up at the ceiling, hoped that this was only the start.

[iwriteasfotini]

During Thursday’s Potions lesson, James was focused on getting his shrinking solution correct, as Slughorn hinted it would be the one he used for the end of year exam. He barely looked up when Regulus passed by his and Sirius’ workstation, and didn’t notice him deposit a small square of parchment near Sirius’ hand. 

Sirius didn’t miss it however. After the lesson he pulled the other boys round in a shadowy alcove on their way to Muggle Studies. 

“Look at this,” he showed them the parchment. 

In a beautiful script it read: Astronomy tower, midnight, come alone.

“Regulus?” Remus asked. 

Handwriting that elegant could only belong to a member of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. 

Sirius nodded. 

“I’m coming with you,” said James. 

“It says —” Remus began. 

But Sirius cut him off. “We’ll go under the cloak. Should be a piece of cake.”

>>><<<

From Chapter XX - Atop the Astronomy Tower

[lolathestoryteller]

Until the end, i’ll stay by your side (May 22 prompt; Undercover) @jilymicrofics

“Hold on,” James raises his hand, effectively stopping Harry from further explaining this, admittedly quite brilliant, yet ridiculous plan to the entire Order of the Phoenix. “You want to just stride into Hogwarts, where Voldemort’s men—”

“Don’t say his name!” Arthur Weasley interrupts sharply, and James sighs, raising his hands apologetically.

“Dad.” Harry says, drawing James’s attention back to him — his son.

His son whom he has not seen in months. Now sat before him, as though he hadn’t ran off to search for Horcruxes without ever telling them.

“This is our only chance. We have to do it tonight. Aberforth will send you all through the secret passageway right into the room of requirement and then—“

“Us?” Lily asks, her eyes set on their son as well, though her fingers squeeze his under the table with a painful amount of force. “What about you?”

Harry looks to Ron, then Hermione, before meeting her eyes. “We’ll go ahead, undercover. There’s…still a hidden Horcrux somewhere inside the castle.” he explains, though James can already feel Lily’s disapproval radiating off of her before she even speaks.

“No.” she replies, and it isn’t a suggestion.

Though, Harry seems to either not notice, or he doesn’t care. “Yes.” he insists, his green eyes filled with a fire so familiar, James would only have to look to his left, to Lily, to see it reflected. “Mum, I have to find it.”

“We’ll come with you.” she replies in a heartbeat, and James can only nod along fervently.

Harry looks like he would love to grant them their request, but James already knows they can’t. It’s something Harry and his mates have to do by themselves. It kills him that he cannot find that bloody Horcrux himself…anything so Harry wouldn’t have to.

“Alright,” he concedes, looking at Harry intently. “We’ll meet you in the great hall, just like you planned.”

“James—“ Lily looks to him in appall, but he takes her hands both in his to hush her.

“Lil, he’s right. We’ve got to let them do it. They’ve been looking for these Horcruxes for months…and…the castle will be full with his people. They need us for distraction.” he says calmly, despite the worry eating at his insides.

She looks like she’s about to cry, or scream, and he understands— never would he have imagined them sending Harry off into Voldemort’s lair by himself…but Harry isn’t a little boy anymore. “Lily, let him go.” he whispers, only for her to hear.

She blinks against the subtle, yet stubborn glimmer of tears, bravely swallowing them until, at last, she gives in. “Alright,” she resides, her voice not as convincing as he’d hoped— for Harry’s sake— though, who could blame her?

“But,” she turns back to look at their son, reaching across the table to take his hand into hers. “Promise to meet us in the great hall.”

Harry smiles ever so slightly, despite how utterly exhausted he must be. “I promise.”

“And if anything goes wrong—“

“Mum,” he interrupts Lily’s ramble with a shake of his head. “It’ll be fine.”

James wraps an arm around Lily’s shoulders, letting her fall against his side as they both stare at their grown up boy. “We’ll wait for you there, yeah?” he asks, taking Harry’s other hand into his.

Harry looks back at them with a raw, unbreakable determination. “I won’t let him win.” he promises— James doesn’t know how his son could make such a promise, when his enemy is so powerful, yet…something about the way Harry says it makes him believe it too.

“When…he comes…” Harry barely whispers, his hand now cold in James’s. “You’ll stay with me?”

It doesn’t take either of them even a second to answer;

“Until the end.” James replies, squeezing Harry’s fingers.

“Always.” Lily promises.

[wildflowersandvibranium]

Plums & Pancakes

Pairing: Dad!Husband!Bucky Barnes x Mom!Wife!Reader

Summary: A quiet life wasn’t something Bucky Barnes ever imagined for himself , not after everything he’d endured. But then a blur of flying fruit and a love he never saw coming changed everything.

Word Count: 2.2k ish

Warning/Tags: TOOTH ROOTING FLUFF! literally nothing but sweet cuteness comfort and loveee oh and did i mention fluff! maybe borderline suggestive but not really?

A/N: okay guys dad bucky is my favorite thing to write everrrr so if you love it too lmk and ill write up some more for ya! hes a cutie pie in thissss anyways see ya on the next one bbys

Bucky Barnes never believed the universe would be kind to him.

Not after the fall or Hydra. Not after the years he couldn’t even remember his own name. And not after the blip.

But sometimes , every once in a while—he was reminded that maybe… just maybe… he’d been wrong.

The biggest reminder , funny enough , came in the form of flying fruit.

It had been a warm September day , the kind that hinted at fall without the full commitment. 

The annual farmer’s market in upstate New York was crowded but now overbearing. 

Bucky had been reaching for a small basket of plums—his favorite , a habit from a lifetime ago when living alone in Romania when a blur of motion smacked right into him.

And suddenly , the plums were on the ground. So were three apples, a carton of strawberries ,  an entire paper bag that had clearly been packed to the brim with freshly baked bread, soaps , and jars of something that smelled like lavender.

“ooghf–oh my god, I’m so sorry!” you’d said, immediately dropping to your knees beside the wreckage tyring to scramble and pick everything up. “I wasn’t looking , I didn’t mean to—are you okay?”

Bucky had just blinked. He didn’t think he’d ever seen someone move that fast while apologizing so much.

“I’m fine,” he’d managed, kneeling beside you. “Are you okay?”

You looked up at him then—cheeks flushed, strands of hair stuck to your forehead from the heat, hands full of squashed plums—and laughed. A soft, kind laugh that didn’t match the chaotic scene at all.

“Guess that’s what I get for trying to carry half the stand in one go,” you said, brushing your hands on your jeans. “I try to help my dad with his stall every week. Still haven’t learned to make two trips I guess.”

He didn’t know why, but Bucky had smiled.

Maybe it was your warmth.

Maybe it was how pretty you were , big eyes filled with wonder.

Maybe it was the fact that it had been a very long time since someone looked at him like he wasn’t dangerous.

“I could, uh… buy you a coffee to make up for the plum mess?” you’d offered after he helped pick everything up.

And Bucky—James Buchanan Barnes, former assassin, hundred-year-old man with too many ghosts was too nervous to trust his voice , so he nodded.

And man did that feel like a lifetime ago.

Because now… now Bucky Barnes was married.

To you.

And the two of you had built quite a life. Settling down into a simple cottage tucked into an open field. Where you two were raising your now four-year-old daughter named Winnie , after his ma , and just recently welcomed your five-month-old son , Grant.

The sun was barely peeking above the horizon when the cries started.

Bucky stirred first. It was a reflex now—like breathing , like how he would hold his breath when he reached for a gun back in the day. 

Only now, he reached for his son instead.

Grant was fussing in the bassinet next to their bed, squirming with his tiny fists clenched tight face angry and red.

“I got him, doll,” Bucky whispered to you, voice thick with sleep as he rubbed his eyes. “You rest a little longer.”

But just as he was lifting Grant into his arms cooing to the baby, another voice rang out from the hallway.

“Mommy!”

You groaned ,  face squished into the pillow. 

“Mommyyyy, I want pancakes!” Winnie’s voice was full of energy and chipper. “With chocolate chips!”

“I’ll make ’em,” Bucky offered, already patting Grant’s back as the baby calmed in his arms. “After I change him , the little guy seems to have a present for me.” Bucky's face crinkled when he stood with the stinky babe.

You chuckled into your pillow now , stretching before rolling out of bed. “I’ll get her dressed. She’s probably already got on her princess boots and nothing else.”

It was true.

Winnie had exactly three obsessions at the moment: chocolate chip pancakes, braids, and her sparkly light-up boots that clomped across the hardwood with the grace of a baby elephant.

You managed to wrangle her into an outfit—jean overalls  and a cream flowy , long-sleeved shirt—and sat her down on the stool in the bathroom.

She chattered the entire time as you sectioned her long brown hair into three even parts. Fingers twisting with precision as you yawned, still shaking off the sleeplessness from Grant's eventful evening.

“Daddy said we’re going to the park. Can we bring snacks? I wanna feed the ducks and geese again. I bet they missed me. Do you think they did? Do ducks like pancakes? Because if they do, I’ll share.”

“You’re a generous soul and yes i think they missed you.,” you told her laughing at her innocent toddler mind. You tied off the braid with a glittery purple band and she jumped into your lap happy with the result.

Meanwhile, in the nursery Bucky had Grant tucked against his chest in a soft wrap. His giant hands moved gently, adjusting the wrap with practiced ease.

“Hey,” he called out as he stepped out of the nursery, “how do we look?”

You turned and—oh.

God help you.

Your husband stood there barefoot, in downy gray sweatpants and a blue soft t-shirt. 

Your baby was swaddled against his chest, all chubby cheeks and content, little fingers curled into Bucky’s chest.

The silver chain of his dog tags glinted just beneath the collar of his shirt.

He smiled, soft and sleepy. “Too much?”

You just blinked. “You know what you’re doing to me.”

He chuckled.

And screw it if he didn’t do the lopsided smirk that made you weak back when you first met.

“I’m just trying to get our kids to the park in one piece,” he said innocently. “If I look good doing it, that’s on you for marrying me.”

He said smiling, leaning down to your face and kissing you full of his love.

“Ugh,” Winnie groaned dramatically. “You guys are always kissing and flirting.”

Bucky ruffled her hair. “Get used to it, peanut cause every day i fall more in love with your mama.”

The grocery run had been a blur of snack requests , impulse juice box purchases, and Bucky being stopped by a sweet older woman who insisted Grant looked “just like his daddy.”

 You had smiled politely while Bucky awkwardly thanked her, his face a little pink from the compliment, and then used the excuse of Grant needing to get home to escape.

But now it was time for your favorite part of the day.

The park.

A soft breeze drifted through the trees, the sun warm but not oppressive. 

Winnie ran ahead to the playground, her boots lighting up with every delighted stomp. Grant was now sound asleep against Bucky’s chest, full from his bottle he had between the store and here , his little mouth slack as he dozed in the wrap.

You settled onto the bench with a relieved sigh, one hand shading your eyes as you tracked Winnie’s every movement—up the ladder, across the bridge, back down the slide. 

Bucky dropped a kiss to your temple before walking off to toss a crumpled snack wrapper in the park bin. “Ill be right back just gonna throw this away” 

You looked down to see what he was holding and noticed the lack of his wedding band , tan lines still prominent but the metal was missing , probably forgotten after his shower you thought.

You were keeping your gaze still on Winnie as he walked away , when you heard a loud cackle.

You turned your head to the sound and saw a woman next to your husband.

Tall. Blonde. Designer sunglasses and a perfectly timed laugh.

She walked up closer to him, head tilted like she already knew how pretty she was.

You squinted. 

She was talking. And then laughing. Then her hand touched his chest.

His chest.

It wasn’t threatening, not really. But it wasn’t nothing.

You watched Bucky awkwardly smile , then nod , and finally excuse himself, walking back to you fast , his brows slightly furrowed.

“Well, that was strange,” he said as he sat beside you. “Why do people flirt like that in the middle of a public park? Like, thanks ma’am, but I’m holding my son right here.”

You smirked, turning your head toward him. “Well, women do love hot single dads.”

The look on his face was instant. 

His head snapped so fast you heard it crack.

“SINGLE??” he practically barked. It made Grant stir and whine at the disruptive sound ,  he immediately bounced gently, voice going soft again. “Sorry, buddy. You’re okay , I'm sorry.”

You shrugged, holding up his hand in front of his face. 

“Just saying. You’re out here ringless , looking like that , holding an adorable baby , how do you accept any girl not to jump on you?”

Bucky looked down at his hand like it had betrayed him. “Shit,” he muttered. “I took it off when I was washing the bottles  and didn’t put it back on. I knew I forgot something. I've felt off since we left. She probably thinks I’m trying to—God.”

You laughed, rubbing your hand along his thigh. “Relax. You didn’t do anything. And honestly? It was kind of fun watching someone else drool over you for a change .”

He gave you a pointed look.

 “Don’t say things like that when you know I’m going to spend the next hour trying to convince you you’re the only person I want to look at .”

You winked. “Convince away, Barnes…But the moment a woman's manicured claws touch either of my kids then we have a major problem and the winter soldier will be her last worry.” You said laying your head on his shoulder turning back to Winnie now picking flowers as you rubbed Grants back.

“Okay , okay easy there mama bear” He laughed through his nose.

Winnie went down first.

After a bubble bath with approximately twelve too many toys, two books, and a lullaby from both of you (because she claimed you both sang differently and she needed the duet), she finally dozed off.

Bucky had given her one last kiss on the forehead and whispered, “Sweet dreams, peanut,” before closing her door softly with a click.

Grant had been next—fed, changed, and now out cold in his crib with one arm over his head like a tiny drama king. He is his fathers son–

And now?

Now it was your turn.

You stood in front of your mirror, legs a little tired, back a little sore, but your heart full. 

You rubbed lotion on to your arms and shoulders slowly, the cool cream easing your muscles as the soft light of the bedroom cast everything in a dreamy golden hue.

Behind you, the bathroom door opened.

Bucky padded in barefoot, wearing those navy blue pajama pants you loved—low on his hips, soft from too many washes (thanks to lots of spit up) . His shirt was off, hair still damp from his shower. You caught him watching you in the mirror.

“You’re staring,” you said softly, smiling now brushing through your hair.

He didn’t answer right away. 

Instead, he walked to the bed and flopped down dramatically on his back with a groan. Like I said , father– like son.

“I’m exhausted,” he murmured, eyes closed. 

You laughed, turning around fully and crawling onto the bed beside him. 

You caressed his cheek , the pad of your thumb swiping his cheekbone and slowly moved to straddle his waist , your faces inches apart , when he suddenly held up his hand stopping your movement.

His wedding band back on and shining brightly.

“Sorry, doll face,” he drawled. “But I’m happily married.”

“Oh no. I was just about to ask for your number, too.”

He grinned, one of those rare, slow ones that started with the left side of his mouth and crept across. 

“You can have my number. But only if you kiss me first.”

You leaned in, planting a slow, warm kiss against his lips.

“Done deal,” you whispered.

He exhaled, threading his fingers through your hair as he kissed you again. Longer this time. Slower. A kiss that said thank you–

 I love you 

I love our kids

I love our life.

When you finally pulled away, he pressed his forehead to yours.

“I still don’t believe this is real, sometimes,” he admitted quietly. “You. The kids. The quiet. All of it. It doesn’t feel like something I should’ve gotten to have.”

You brushed your thumb along his jaw. “You deserve every second of this, Bucky Barnes. Every messy , swee t, sleepy , pancake-filled second.”

He tilted his head and kissed your wrist. “Even when I forget my ring and get flirted with by random women in the park?”

You rolled your eyes. “Especially then. Because I get to be the one you come home to and reminded how lucky me and the kids are to call you ours.”

And you did. Every night.

He wrapped his arms around you as you settled into bed under the plush duvet.

 His hand splayed protectively over your stomach as you both listened to the quiet of the house—the hum and crackle of the baby monitor, the faint whistle of the wind outside, the creak of the old floors as they settled.

It was all love.

Not the kind that was loud or dramatic. Not the kind shouted over chaos or with empty meaning. But the kind that was built quietly, with chocolate chips , baby wraps, and whispered lullabies.

And this?

This was the kind of love Bucky Barnes had only ever dreamed of.

-end

Comments , Reblogs , Likes and Requests are always loved!

(although if you liked this fic please consider reblogging so it can reach a wider audience)

They let me know that you are enjoying what I'm publishing and gives me motivation to write more and more! :33

[managone16]

James: Reg, no you can’t do that— Regulus: Shut up Potter, I— James: You can’t use such a small bag to fit all you books! Regulus: But it has— James: It’s not possible! It just won’t fit— Regulus: James, have you never fucking heard of extension charms? James: Yes but— James: Oh. James: You called me James. Oh my god, you- Regulus: Tell the whole fucking school, Potter. Go on, be louder. James: REGULUS BLACK CAL—*muffled sound* Regulus: Merlin, you are such a nuisance. James, kissing Regulus’ temple: Only for you, darling.  *Regulus rolls his eyes, hiding a profound blush*

[blanc-ci]

mcspirk server talked about how McCoy insults Spock as a roundabout way of affirming his “vulcaness” and now I can’t stop thinking about it

[raindragon-20]

surreal • word count: 266

@wolfstarmicrofic

It starts with James noticing the braids. Tiny, uneven plaits tucked behind Sirius’ ears or at the nape of his neck. Sloppy at first, rushed little things, barely holding.

But over time, they become neater. Tighter. More delicate. Like someone’s taking their time. Like someone cares. Small, intricate braids that seem to appear overnight, threaded through Sirius' thick dark hair like quiet secrets.

Then Lily notices. Then Marlene. And soon, everyone’s whispering about Sirius Black’s mysterious new girlfriend. Surely he’s not doing them himself?

Whenever someone asks, Sirius just shrugs, dreamy-eyed, and says, “Oh, just someone I fancy.”

James frowns.

Because if Sirius is in love with someone, that means Moony... gentle, quiet, hopelessly in love Moony... might be heartbroken. James has long suspected they’re in love with each other, just too stubborn to admit it.

So he worries. Until one evening, during exam week, he walks into the dorm...and stops.

Sirius is curled up in Remus’ lap on the window seat, bathed in gold from the setting sun. His hair is swept to one shoulder, a book open in his hands as he lazily quizzes Remus.

Remus hums answers as he gently braids a thin strand near the base of Sirius’ neck. He finishes with a gentle kiss just above it. Like it’s something he’s done a hundred times before. They both looked disgustingly happy.

It’s surreal. Like walking into a dream he didn’t realize he’d been hoping to see. His best friends happy.

They don’t even notice him. James just smiles, heart light.

Finally. He thinks. He closes the door without a word.

[rodolfoparras]

Four in the morning ( when you creep back into bed )

Pairing: Wolverine x Top Male Reader

Cw: 18+, fingering, anal sex, sub!wolverine, dom!male reader, fwb,

Thinking about Wolverine who’s always so impatient to wind down after a long day, calls you over to his place with someone else’s blood and guts still caked onto him.

He hasn’t even finished up the call when he’s stripping the clothes off of him, before pushing strong thighs up to his chest, spit slicked fingers working on loosening the tight ring of muscles, all while counting down how long it takes for you to get there, silently wondering if he should have someone else finish up the job instead.

By the time you arrive, he’s already driving three fingers up inside his tight wet hole, the muscles in his wrist flexing with how hard he’s going, angry red cock uselessly slapping against his stomach as he fucks himself down onto his fingers , all while frustrated noises roll off of his tongue because of course this isn’t enough to make him finish

The frustration only grows when he sees you standing motionless at the door, and he’s quick to tell you to hurry over and fuck him already, even huffing and puffing as he proceeds to turn over and present his ass for you because fuck does he have to do everything around here?

“come on come on come on” he rushes out, hand parting his cheeks to show you his hungry cunt, momentarily wondering if he should just tie you up and use you however he wants.

But just as the thought strikes his head he feels your cock brushing up against the furls of muscles, and a sigh of relief escaping his lips as you finally slide inside him.

Despite the amount of prep there’s a slight burn that comes with the stretch, muscles reflexively resistant as you sink further into him, but he happily welcomes it; toes curling, clawed nails threatening to poke hole in the sheets, as the pleasurable flames slowly but surely engulf him “mfp - ah fuck that’s it yes yes yes, took you ah took you long enough,”

He steadily takes you inch by inch till you’re buried to the hilt; ass flushed with your hips, pressed so close he can practically feel your heartbeat against his skin, even feels himself going lax in as if you’ve finally quenched the fire that’s burning inside of him.

“Couldn’t exactly teleport here now could I?”

Just as he’s about to retort with something sarcastic, you give an experimental roll of your hips cock head brushing up against the wall of nerves that knocks the wind out of him , desperately gasping for air when he demands “Fuck!, oh -oh need more come on, please!!”

“Easy there , going ah- to hurt yourself,” you splurt out , fingers digging into his hips as if to prevent yourself from ramming into the man.

Logan however couldn’t care less, uses his hips to push himself back down onto your length, body shuddering and groans escaping his lips as he starts fucking himself on your dick. “I’ll - ah - I’ll heal,”

That’s when he feels your fingers yank at his hair, pulling him back til his head is resting on your shoulder before driving up into him at a relentless pace, all while keeping a sturdy hand on his hip, turning and twisting his body as you please- as if he weighed nothing .

“This what you wanted huh?” You breathe into his ear while continuously slamming into his hungry cunt.

For a moment he’s unable to muster up a response, lost in the way you’re slamming your hips into him so hard it almost hurts, stretching his body in ways that makes him feel like he’s being split in half on your cock.

But the constant jabs to his prostate eventually coaxes the words right out of him “Yes! Yes! Yes! don’t stop fuck!” He gasps out feels himself already inching closer to his orgasm, and maybe he’d be embarrassed about it if he hadn’t been worked up for such a long time. All he can do now is keep a vice like grip on your cock fearing you’d be cruel enough to pull out when he’s so close to cumming

Fortunately for him you don’t do any of that, instead you continue ramming straight into him til the tension in his balls grow unbearable tight and he’s withering in your arms.

“Cum-cumming-“ is all he manages to blurt out, body tensing for a moment before spurting ropes of cum all over the mattress. “Mph fuck!” He cries out, , world blurring, ears ringing as he continues rides out his high in your arms.

Eventually he stops shaking in your embrace and upon catching his breath he’s hit with the smell of a coppery scent, one heavy eyelid prying open just to be met with the sight of his claws digging into your now bloody hands. A wave of panic rushes through him, and he’s quick to retract his claws before he goes to say something. But just as he’s about to speak you interrupt him “it’s okay”

He doesn’t say a word as he brings your hands to his lips, tongue slipping out and lapping up the bloody mess on your skin.

“Jesus Christ Logan,” you wince out, head dropping into the nook of his neck as he cleans you up, swears he can feel your cock twitching inside as he continues on with his task , his lips all bloody and smiling ear to ear when he says the words “Another round?”

[was-house-fruity]

Was House fruity this episode?

Season 6, episode 10: Wilson

Woke up Wilson by serenading him, told him he's all he has, and now they're moving into a new place together :)

Verdict: UNIRONICALLY SOULMATES

[smellroy]

James Fitzjames is many things to many people…but most importantly she is a terrifying cigarette mom.

[wearingaberetinparis]

Why did James not tell his friends about him and Lily at first? Is it because he assumed they knew he fancied her and didn’t want them to say anymore??

This is an excellent question. Please enjoy this tiny bit of James POV at the end of Chapter 3 for I Wake With Your Memory Over Me (What A Real Fuckin' Legacy). I hope it answers your question!

“So…” “Shut it.” “Hey,” Sirius held up his hands, his grin wide, “I’m just wondering how long this has been going on. That sure looked cozy in there.” “It would still have been if you hadn’t just barged into my flat,” he said through gritted teeth. “You could have called –” “We did,” Peter piped up, joining Sirius. “You didn’t pick up, though, so we thought you were fast asleep or something. We know you love some Greggs, though, so –” “Aww, mate,” Sirius said, slapping Peter on the shoulder, “I reckon we kind of ruined his morning.” Then, turning his head to look at James, crossing his arms in front of his chest: “Since when are you shagging your dream girl, ey? And why didn’t you tell me?” “Because of this exactly,” he groaned. “Because you’d give me away and call her my dream girl in front of her, and she just wants things to be casual.” “Casual?” Sirius wrinkled his nose. “Since when do you do casual?” “The plan is to not make this casual indefinitely. I am hoping to persuade her to go on a date with me. I’m taking things one step at a time, though. I can’t come on too strong, or I’ll ruin it entirely.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Fuck, I might have ruined it already, because she was pissed when she found out I hadn’t told you.” The look on Sirius’ face told him he disapproved. “I know what I’m doing, all right?” He thus said. “We’re cool. She calls us neighbours with benefits.” A burst of laughter escaped both his friends. “What the hell?” “That sounds fake, Prongs,” Sirius snorted. “Like you are in way over your head. You’ve fancied her from the moment she first moved in.” “You’re only proving my point, you know,” he grumbled. “I am not going to tell you anything else about this.” He shouldered his way past his friends. “Now, you better got me some sausage rolls, or I’m going to personally kick you all out of here.”

[iwriteasfotini]

Confession of a Jily kiss and Wolfstar angst...

“Absolutely not, I’m not marrying anyone. And I’m not doing any of this,” [Sirius] made a general sweeping hand gesture, “for a very long time.”

“Don’t you want to?” asked Peter. “I mean, I can’t help thinking about Fran sometimes.”

Sirius shook his head. “Not me. I don’t like thinking about girls.”

“Maybe you’re into blokes,” said Peter. 

“Pete!” James said. “That can be a very personal topic for some people.”

“Well, I’m only saying, he doesn’t have to snog a girl, he can snog a lad. Right, Remus?”

“Why are you singling me out?” Remus said in a high voice. 

“Because you’re the voice of reason.” Peter looked rather chastised.  

“Oh, right. Of course Sirius can snog whoever he wants. As can you, and James, and me.”

“I’m a ladies man,” Peter said. 

Sirius and Remus were looking very shifty by this point so James thought he would change the direction of the conversation.

“I kissed Evans. I mean she kissed me.”

Three people gave shouts of surprise and excitement. 

“When did this happen? Where did this happen?”

“How come you didn’t tell us!”

“Merlin, wow.”

“It was at the party after we played Slytherin, and . . . it didn’t mean anything, she made that very clear.”

“Just like that! Out of nowhere?” Sirius said. 

“I told her she was pretty, and she kissed me. But she said she couldn’t give me a chance because of Snivellus. What her hang up on that muppet is, I have no idea.”

“I have no idea what your hang up on Snape is,” said Remus. 

“Snivellus has had it out for me since our very first day at Hogwarts. Everyone knows that,” James said, waving in an offhand way. 

“And he’s a Slytherin, which means he hates muggle-borns, and he’s friends with my own muggle-hating brother, just more affirmation of his smarminess. What more do you need to know?”

>>><<<

From Chapter XIII - The Body on the Landing

[queer-benoit-blanc]

New hire in oncology at Princeton Plainsboro, going through orientation: So, in that situation, I'd go and find Dr Wilson?

Veteran employee: Yes. First try his office. If he's not there, try diagnostics.

New hire: Diagnostics?

Veteran employee: If he's not there, ask one of the diagnostics doctors where Dr House is, and go to him.

New hire: Why would Dr Wilson be in diagnostics or with Dr House? What's that got to do with oncology?

Veteran employee, realising they've become desensitised to the Hilson nonsense and that the outside world is not like this: Oh god you don't know yet.

[wildflowersandvibranium]

Little Lady - Oneshot

Pairing: Dad!Bucky Barnes x Mom!Reader

Summary: A quiet afternoon turns chaotic when Bucky tries to fix the kitchen sink with help from his daughter , only for a hilarious miscommunication through the window with his wife to turn into something unexpectedly tender.

Word count: 1.6K+

Content: nothing but fluff , slight but cute miscommunication , mentions of pregnancy , kissing / flirting (you and bucky)

a/n: ummmm so I just wrote chapter 11 for muscle memory and made myself cry , its the roughest and hardest chapter yet and now needs a trigger warning 😭 so heres this as i needed something to heal my sadness from writing ch. 11.

-

“Okay , Bug , go ahead and hand me the wrench. The little silver one , please.”

Rebecca squinted her blue eyes , her little tongue poking out in concentration as she dug through the open red toolbox beside her tiny feet. 

She wore her purple tutu over jeans—because she liked to be both princess fancy and ready for any emergencies; hint the jeans —and a green t-shirt with a smiling cartoon flower on it. Her wild curls were tucked under a sparkly headband with a crooked plastic tiara hot glued right on top.

“This one , Daddy?” She held up a tool she thought was right.

“Nope , that’s the pliers. Try again.” He peeked from under the sink.

She gave an exaggerated huff , rummaging through the box dramatically. Bucky chuckled from where he lay half-under the kitchen sink , the lower half of his torso sticking out like a mechanic rolled under a car on his back. 

His t-shirt was slightly damp now , his hands and arms slick with water , and his face was already dotted with smudges from the gunk hiding under the pipes. This job had not gone the way he planned.

“You okay down there?” Ladybug , as they affectionately called their daughter asked , squatting beside him  , peering upside down into his face.

The nickname was thought of when her mom was nine months pregnant with her and as she was outside watering her roses a small ladybug landed on the skin where her round belly poked out from under one of Bucky's flannels. And after that the name just stuck.

“Living the dream , sweetheart ,” Bucky deadpanned sarcastically. “Covered in sink crud and existential dread.”

“What’s ‘ex-etn-sescial….” She carried on stumbling over the hard to say word.

Bucky laughed , shaking his head. “Something Daddy gets when he thinks he can fix stuff in one hour. Gimme the wrench and I’ll explain it later.”

She passed the right one this time , smiling proudly when he gave her an approving nod.

“You know,” she began , watching him tighten the bolt , “Mommy’s outside with the flowers. You’re missing it.”

“I know ,” he groaned , making a loud thunk sound come from where he was working. “She escaped before the chaos began.”

Lady Bug tilted her head at him , chewing on her bottom lip. “When you were gone today at the store , I asked Mommy if you were a superhero or  a plumber.”

Bucky turned his head , raising an eyebrow at her. “What’d she say?”

“She said you were the only man she trusted to fix her sink and her heart.”

Bucky blinked , momentarily stunned at such deep words coming from such a tiny girl. “She said that?”

Lady Bug nodded , too young to understand how much that had just melted her dad and cracked his heart wide open. “And then she made the blush face. Like this—” She pulled her cheeks in together and fluttered her lashes dramatically mocking her mom.

“Oh my God ,” Bucky groaned , grinning like a lovestruck idiot. “Okay , Lady Bug , go get Daddy a towel before I start flooding the kitchen.”

“Aye aye , Daddy!” She scurried off down the hall , pink socks skidding on the wooden hardwood floor.

Bucky exhaled and began to wiggle out from under the cabinet , but the second he sat upright—crack—he slammed the top of his head directly into the underside of the sink.

“Shit—!”

He winced and pressed a palm to his head , eyes watering looking around making sure his daughter wasn't nearby to hear the curse he let slip. Through the pain , he noticed the kitchen faucet was finally cooperating—no longer leaking like a waterfall. But now he needed a towel more than ever. His shirt was  sopping wet , his head stung , and water was beginning to drip down into the baseboards from the leftover condensation.

Lady Bug hadn’t come back yet.

He glanced toward the window above the sink and saw you out in the yard , kneeling in the garden bed , arms buried in soil as you coaxed life from the dirt and earth. You wore a loose fitting tank top and Bucky’s old sweatpants , your hair up in a messy twist , and the sun kissed your skin in a way that made his mouth go dry. Then he saw your daughter outside with you. Spinning around chasing a butterfly. 

“Traitor” he whispered to himself letting out a breathy laugh.

You glanced up from the flower bed wiping sweat from your forehead and smiled when you saw him through the kitchen window.

Bucky raised his hand and mimed : washing his hands , scrubbing at the air, then held up two fingers , mouthing, “Two towels.”

You tilted your head at his gestures.

Then… waved.

He blinked. “No, no—” He repeated the gestures: fake-scrubbing , then a two-finger peace sign. Two towels.

You giggled and waved again , this time holding up a peace sign of your own.

He shook his head , smirking despite himself , then mouthed slowly, “TWO TOWELS.”

You pressed a hand to your heart. Then pointed at him and mouthed back, “I love you too.”

He stared through the glass in disbelief. “No—baby—” he said aloud , laughing now. “What is your mom doing?”

“Who’s doing what?” Lady Bug had returned from outside , holding two hand towels in triumph she grabbed from her way back inside. “I got light pink and yellow. The best colors.”

Bucky took the towels with a grateful sigh and pointed toward the window. “Your mom thinks I’m doing some kind of weird love confession out here throwing up peace signs.”

Lady Bug climbed up on the little stool beside the counter with the help from her dad and and peered out. “Aw she’s doing the heart hands!”

Sure enough , you were making a heart shape with your fingers , your grin wide as a summer sky sending air kisses to your two loves inside.

Bucky laughed , wiping his arms and shirt down with the towels trying to get dry. “She thinks I was doing a peace sign and mouthing ‘I love you.’ I mean , she’s not wrong…” He dragged out his words.

Lady Bug turned and looked up at him with wide eyes. “Wait , were you not telling Mommy you love her?”

“I mean , I always am , in general,” Bucky said , wringing out the towel, “but this time I just really needed her to throw me some dry cloth.”

Lady Bug stared at him very seriously. “You know what this means?”

“What?”

“You gotta go kiss her after this. Otherwise she’ll think you’re ignoring her love heart hands”

Bucky smirked. “Her, what now?”

“She did a love heart with her hands.” She got serious hands on her little hips staring at her father.

Bucky gave a mock salute. “Yes , ma’am. Operation Love Mommy is acknowledged.”

By the time he dried off fully , put the tools and box away , and triple-checked that the sink no longer sounded like it was coughing up a lung , Lady Bug had migrated outside to join you again—running barefoot through the grass and singing some made-up theme song.

Bucky stood in the doorway for a moment , arms crossed , just watching the two of you.

You looked up from your rows of lavender when you heard the screen door creak open with a squeal.

“Well hello there ,  handyman,” you teased, brushing your hands on your- his pants..

He wandered out , damp towel slung over his shoulder. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

“That I am , very very lucky ,” you grinned , standing popping ut your hip with a tease. 

He walked up and wrapped an arm around your wais t, pulling you in to him. “You know I wasn’t peace-signing a love message earlier , right?” 

“I figured that , eventually,” you smirked, “but the way your face was all serious? I thought you were trying to tell me , like, ‘Peace , woman. I’m dying under the sink but I love you.’”

Bucky burst out laughing and nuzzled his face in your neck to high the toothy smile he had plastered on his face. Leaving a few kisses there before pulling back.

“Did you at least get the towels?”

“Yes I did , your tiny sidekick saved the day.”

Lady Bug came skipping up just then at her mention , holding a slightly bent flower in each hand. “Mommy! Daddy! I made a bouquet for you!”

You knelt down to her height , smiling. “It’s beautiful , bug.”

“Mommy! Did you see I fixed the sink? It's all happy and not leaky anymore!” She squeaked giving a cheeky grin to her dad.

Bucky reached over , picked her up effortlessly , and cradled her upside down as she squealed in delight.

“Alright , bug,” he said , spinning her gently, “tell the truth. Who fixed the sink?”

“I supervised! That’s more important!”

You clapped slowly , mock-serious. “She’s not wrong.”

Bucky set her down as she ran off again in the filed and he leaned in close , lips brushing your ear.

“You really said that? About me fixing the sink and your heart?”

You blushed immediately. “That little lady talks too much.”

“She talks just enough,” he murmured , brushing dirt from your jaw. 

You turned to him , voice soft now. “I mean it,  you know. You’ve fixed and healed things in me I didn’t know were broken or bruised.”

He held your gaze for a long moment , blue eyes tender. “Same here , honey.”

Lady Bug appeared between you both , holding up her new bouquet of manly grass this time.

“Kiss Mommy!” she squealed looking up at you two like you hung the stars. 

You laughed , and Bucky didn’t hesitate.

He leaned in and kissed you sweet and slow—dirt-smudged , towel-draped , and barefoot on the lawn with your daughter cheering like she won the biggest prize at the fair.

When he finally  , reluctantly pulled back , you smiled up at him holding up two fingers and whispered, “Two kisses” He laughed again immediately cupping your face , kissing you again.

-end

Comments , Reblogs , Likes and Requests are always loved!

(although if you liked this fic please consider reblogging so it can reach a wider audience)

They let me know that you are enjoying what I'm publishing and gives me motivation to write more and more! :33

[maryluvsmcdonalds]

sirius: you know what? fuck him!

james: yeah, fuck him!

*the next morning*

sirius: why did you come back so late?

james: i was with reg.

sirius: i thought that was over with?

james: you said “fuck him” did you not?

sirius: i didn’t mean to actually fuck him!

james: well then you should’ve been more specific!

[uhlillie]

b.b. | i'll be watchin' you – i

bucky barnes x reader | pre-CA:CW, canon divergence

wc. 2133 | no major warnings, no use of y/n, 2nd person pov. reader is gender-neutral with little to no physical description (to the best of my ability). very bucky pov centric. the mildest of allusions of stalker shenanigans, but nothing overtly malicious.

summary | bucky barnes, in his journey to reintegrate into society following the events of CA:TWS, finds himself mildly infatuated with a stranger who mistakes him for a homeless man. you, the reader, inadvertently find yourself a new guardian angel.

a/n | first bucky fic ever after a bout of inspiration hit me upside the head (and after reading tons and tons of amazing fic on this site). honestly, it's pure unplanned word vomit that i've polished enough to post. my apologies for any inaccuracies, as i'm running on poor memory and shitty google inquiries. lmk if this is anything good or if i should just hang up the pen in shame. 🫶

masterlist. - next part.

Bucky feels lost.

New York is a labyrinth to the uninitiated, the streets a cypher one learns with practice. It comes easily to some and harder for others. But Bucky is neither new to nor unfamiliar with the city. He used to be one of them, one of the many people who confidently walk these streets, a local well-versed in time-saving shortcuts and hidden gems.

As he wanders around, however, Bucky feels like a stranger lagging behind the rest. The city, to him, is now half-familiar in a way one might struggle to remember a word on the tip of their tongue or like walking through the hazy recollection of a dream conceived the night prior. Many things have changed in the span of seventy-odd years and his memory—shoddy at best given all that he's been put through—naturally fails him.

Bucky's jaw ticks, steel-blue eyes scanning his surroundings from beneath the brim of his inconspicuous cap. (It works wonders as camouflage in a city with maybe half a million or more men dressed just as inconspicuously as him.) He honestly isn't sure what he's come here for, standing idly by a crosswalk opposite of a library.

The building itself is unassuming, with features typical of the era it comes from: old brick and stonework, weathered at the edges and bearing a history that's outlived all of its patrons. Its silhouette falls neatly into place within this corner of the city, among other buildings of similar size and make, and evokes a sense of familiarity within him. But this isn't Bucky's neighborhood from the long lost years of his youth. Far from it, really. His feet had just brought him to this area without much thought.

Part of it must be nostalgia, he figures, of mostly faded memories of him and a younger, skinnier Steve checking out books from a similar looking place on one of their days off from school. Or of quiet afternoons conjuring vivid images from the imaginative worlds of his favorite science fiction novels. It's in this way that the mere sight of the building, older than he is, brings a sense of comfort. He lowers the brim of his cap, contemplative as he regards this relic of the past, when someone—you—stop to look straight at him.

"Hey," you speak first, your eyes wide with curiosity, and Bucky almost wants to melt into the sidewalk. He had snuck out of the Avengers Tower earlier for some fresh air and could not risk being found by a civilian. Steve learning of his absence was one thing, but Stark would definitely have his head if—

His thoughts are cut off as you speak once more. "Are you okay?"

Do I look okay to you? Bucky snaps in his head, the tips of his ears turning red as you scan him from head to toe. In the back of his mind, he wonders if you have any sense of self-preservation.

Because who in their ever-loving right mind would stop and talk to a stranger—a six foot tall, beefy stranger dressed in layers with long sleeves pulled low in the sweltering heat of July and with his eyes obscured in the shade of a baseball cap. Nevermind the fact that his hands are hidden in his pockets, both clad in well worn leather gloves; his movements careful in order to conceal the gleaming titanium of his prosthetic arm. Bucky's entire demeanor screams strange and suspicious, a walking caution sign to all those wary of undisclosed danger.

He answers you anyway, gruff and avoidant. "I'm fine." Sweat beads at his brow as he maps out an escape route from this conversation.

You unfortunately, not having the sense to just leave things be, have the audacity to give him an incredulous look.

"You're not fine," you declare suddenly, rummaging through your bag. "It's hot out and you've got a thick jacket on—" Bucky's almost tempted to walk away, unsure if you are about to alert everyone in the immediate vicinity to his suspicious presence. "—and I figure you're probably overheating in all that. So, here."

Bucky's stoic expression nearly falters when you all but shove a twenty his way. He's awkward as he holds it, the bill half-crumpled in his hand.

"Get yourself a cool drink, okay?" you say, voice soft with what he thinks is misplaced concern. "Wouldn't want you to pass out in this heat."

Bucky knows that you know that the twenty is more than enough for a single drink and a generous amount of change but you fix Bucky with a look of intense sincerity that he can't find the words to object to. Nor does he think to mention the fact that he's actually being housed by a multi-millionaire and that he really doesn't need the money. So he pockets the cash, mumbling a reluctant 'thank you' as you beam at him.

There's not much in the way of pleasantries after that, with you bidding him farewell and wishing him a good day in a manner that compels him to stare after you as you walk off towards the library—the entire reason he had been lingering in this area in the first place. He watches as you ascend the steps leading up to the entrance and disappear behind the heavy glass doors.

It stirs something within him, he realizes later, the random act of charity thrusted upon him. For the kind stranger who seems blissfully unaware of danger, Bucky figures he should keep an eye out just in case.

The late afternoon sun hits the New York skyline at an angle, casting long shadows over its streets. It's still hot out, warmth radiating from cracked concrete and uneven asphault, the natural consequence of an urban jungle built with materials that sap up heat like a sponge. Coupled with the humidity, the air feels heavy and thick as it weighs everyone down with perspiration.

You are hit with what feels like the brunt of it the moment you step out onto the street, a metaphorical slap in the face after leaving the air-conditioned bubble of the public library at which you work.

Summers are a busier time at the library, what with school being out and people looking for cool spaces to 'chill' in, pun intended. The chance to connect with the local community makes it all worth it in your opinion, even as you're run ragged juggling clerical duties, incessant inquiries from patrons, and making sure the shelves are neat and organized.

It's with this thought in mind, as much as you love your job, that you're glad to be free of it for the evening, eager to return to the comfort of your apartment.

The route home is easy at least, learned through trial and error after getting lost many a time in the seemingly identical rows of brownstones lining narrow streets. A prickle of something gives you reason to pause, however, and you still in the middle of the sidewalk. Some passersby shoulder their way past you, mumbling annoyances at the sudden obstacle in their path, but you pay no mind to them. Instead, you identify the feeling as unease even though there is hardly anything out of place as far as you're aware.

It's probably nothing, you think, trying to ignore the chill that trickles down your spine.

It's still the same path you traverse everyday anyhow, from home to work and back again, but you figure it's a little wise to err on the side of caution, so that's what you do. You round each corner with apprehension, avoiding the darker shadows cast by each building you pass. The prickling feeling follows you still, even with every look over your shoulder and cautious glances into dim alleyways. The quiet of the neighborhood hardly helps with the paranoia either, the sound of your heartbeat loud in your chest with every step you take.

As you walk, you think back to earlier, to the strange man loitering across the street from the library. He'd seemed lost with a distant look in his eye as he stared down the building like it had done something to offend him. At first glance, you assumed he was a vagrant: he was wearing clothes that were worn and slightly unkempt, his hair long and his cheek dotted with stubble. He'd looked like he could use a drink, really, so you gave him the money without thinking twice. And despite looking a bit put off by your offer of cash, he'd accepted it without question.

Maybe it wasn't a smart idea to butt into the business of a nameless stranger, now that you really thought about it. The inkling feeling of being watched is proof enough of your mistake. You curse your lack of foresight, picking up the pace towards your apartment, and practically skip up the stone steps into the safety of your apartment building.

You take odd relief in the normally arduous climb up the stairwell towards your floor, happy to hide away in the organized clutter of your shoebox apartment. But as you prepare to go to bed, you can't help but notice a strange shadow hiding across the street from the corner of your eye.

But when you look again, it's seemingly disappeared.

Weird.

"JARVIS," Bucky calls out, sprawled out on the floor of his quarters in the Tower, a duvet draped over his lower half and a pillow wedged under his neck. Despite much persuasion to sleep on the bed, he opted for the floor instead. (The soft carpet is a mild upgrade compared to his previous living situation, all things considered.) "Can you run a background check for me?"

"Of course, Sergeant Barnes," JARVIS complies, the room falling silent soon after as the AI processes his request.

Bucky had returned without incident the evening prior through a well-hidden rear entrance, evading any line of questioning from Steve, Stark, or the others by holing himself up in his private quarters. JARVIS had supplied an alibi for him, an unlikely conspirator despite the distrust the AI's creator held towards him. It was oddly convenient and a quiet reassurance, especially when dealing with the annoyances of Steve's well-meaning interventions.

That was Bucky's biggest problem these days.

Following the fall of SHIELD and his subsequent apprehension by the rest of the Avengers, everything concerning Bucky was treated with an absurd amount of caution. Even Steve had taken to walking on eggshells around him, drawing a shaky boundary in an effort to "make his transition back into the world smoother," or whatever bullshit reason there was.

Sure, Bucky was the furthest thing from a stable person at the moment and, sure, it'd only take the utterance of his trigger words to undo all the progress he's made since escaping HYDRA's grasp, but it wasn't like he was made of glass, as if he'd shatter the moment he was touched wrong.

In fact, he was actually doing quite well for himself.

He self-regulates, following the same simple routine most days: wake up, eat, train, and sleep. He has hobbies; he has a laundry list of sci-fi and fantasy novels to catch up on, a fledgling collection of vinyls comprised of all the hits he'd missed following the War, and he people-watches whenever he gets the chance.

JARVIS breaks this line of thought, listing off a detailed summary of your description, occupation, and all other information in between: a library aide living alone, no immediate family nearby, and having moved to the area not too long after the Chitauri invasion that had terrorized the city.

Bucky listens on, eyes shut as he recalls his encounter with you. It was strange, being acknowledged by someone without ties to his past or the knowledge of his time as a living weapon. He clenches the fist of his left arm, the whirring of the inner mechanics just about audible in the quiet of his room. Would you have run if you saw this arm, cold steel and intimidation, in broad daylight? It would have been the most logical response, one he wouldn't fault you for if that had been the turn of events.

But as it stands now, Bucky remains a strange, nameless man to the public, an odd shadow skulking on street corners. He believes you would sooner write him off as an oddity, a curious encounter in a city chock full of them. Better that than any of the other alternatives, of eyes prying into affairs he's loath to unearth after years of brainwashing and torture.

Still, the small taste of "normalcy," even as unusual as it was, lingered on the forefront of his mind. And throughout the rest of his mundane daily routine, Bucky finds himself selfishly wanting more.

dividers by me | thank you for reading 🫶