#making myself feel sick thinking about fixing sammy from the start. giving him the support system he deserved

[wannaeatramyeon]

Young!Samuel Seo with Young!Reader: Baby

G/N. Your family owning a convenience store AU: Leave Him Be | Dinner Guest | Doctors and Patients. Next - Dragons

Samuel is pissing you off.

You could have sworn he was shorter than you.

Or at least he was when you first met. You could have had a fun few months goading him for his height if you knew this was going to happen.

You glare at how much taller he is.

He smirks and calls you a shortass when you point it out. Then you stamp your feet, telling him it's unfair and he calls you a baby when you pout.

You're growing. By the day, your mother would complain, tutting when you need new trousers again. But Samuel is growing faster.

For a brief moment in time, you were the same height. Maybe it was just for a day you were at eye level. Then he started to tower over you.

He's no longer short or scruffy, underfed with unkempt hair and threadbare clothes. That's thanks to your parents, who have graciously taken this kid under their wing.

And as he grows taller, it instilled in him strength, and his fear of home and of his mother recedes.

He stays at yours later and later. Hanging out in the aisles turns to staying for dinner turns to sleepovers in your cramped living room above the store.

Lying side by side with pillows and duvets pulled from your bed and spares from the closet. Nights filled with conversations that lead to everywhere and nowhere. Playing on your game console, both fighting over who gets the better controller instead of the one with the sticky buttons and dodgy joystick. Watching TV and movies, full of violence and other content that you're both too young for.

When Samuel is around, your parents are lax. You both get spoiled more than ever.

When he leaves, checking in on his own home occasionally, it makes you want to cry. You bite your wobbly bottom lip as he calls you a baby again, then placates and tells you he'll be back tomorrow with a roll of the eyes and a huff of amusement.

You can't remember the time before Samuel was in your life, although it's only been a few short seasons, and you are starting to piece together the origins of his bruises and scars. Appearing less frequently now, but still appearing nevertheless.

Sometimes you worry about him never coming back.

.

.

"My dad is a gangster," Samuel wants to comment one night when you're lying together, in matching pyjama sets, watching some gangster on TV do something awful to the rival gang.

He doesn't though. He can't bring himself to say it.

It's something he now sprinkles into conversation with pride, demanding respect and reverence from his seniors and juniors and everything in between.

Yet he has never mentioned any of his home life to you, his lineage, and you never asked. You never treated him any different.

You're pure, innocent. A small piece of his life untainted.

He supposes he never needed to demand respect from you, even since the beginning. You already look at him with reverence, like he holds all the answers in the world.

Most of all though, Samuel doesn't want to demand anything more from you than you're willing to give. And you have already given him so much.

He watches you squeak at the screen and shield your eyes with a pillow. You never had a stomach for violence but like to pretend you're much braver than you are.

"Sammy!" you squeal at a particularly gory part, the camera panning over to a severed horse head. You shuffle onto his side of the makeshift floor bed and cling to his arm.

Normally, Samuel would wonder if his dad has ever done that. Ruthless and brutal, sending a message, a warning to his rival. Wonder how Gapryong became King, and how he himself can follow in those footsteps.

But with you, he doesn't wonder that at all. 

He doesn't think about the past or the future, just the here and now.

Samuel calls you a baby. Laughs, mean and taunting, at how squeamish you are. He inches closer anyway, making it easier for you to tuck yourself into his shoulder.

[spnxmarvel-fanfic]

Fairytale!Destiel AU : Chapter Seven

Supernatural or Marvel

Pairing: Dean Winchester/Castiel (Destiel)

Warnings: talking about the sexualities 

Words: 1695

Description: Some things become clearer for Dean

Important A/N: this is a very important chapter. not necessarily to the fic, but to everyone finding out who they are. please be aware that i have not and will not experience all the different sexualities and gender identities, and this is just my best interpretation of them. I have also talked with a few friends about how they feel as a *blank* to help, and their experience may be different to others. thank you and I hope you enjoy the chapter.

chapters one, two, three, four, five, six

ao3

“What?!” Dean jumped up from the log, a look of confusion on his face. “I thought you were gay!”

Castiel raised an eyebrow. “Well, when you put it that way…”

The two boys had been discussing an all-female band that had recently visited the kingdom, which Castiel had managed to sneak Dean a ticket too. Away from him, of course.

But Dean had mentioned how ’hot’ the lead singer was, and Castiel dreamily agreed.

“But, I thought I- if you’re straight then how do you-” Dean stumbled, taking a step back on instinct.

Shaking his head and chuckling to himself, Castiel patted the spot beside him again, asking him to sit down. He waited until Dean had hesitantly done so before talking.

“Less, gay, more Asexual Panromantic,” Castiel smiled sweetly. This was a big step for them really, because despite knowing about how much they loved each other, neither were exactly ready for any kind of relationship.

“I’m going to assume that you’re not gay either?” Castiel teased, wondering how much the hunter actually knew about his sexuality.

“Those are some mighty big words,” Dean laughed nervously. “Well, I’ve never called myself gay. I mean, I like girls. But then there’s you, Cas,”

Castiel took in a sharp breath.

“You could be Heteroflexible, or uh, Heterosexual Demiromantic? Or-”

“Whoah whoah whoah, I don’t understand any of that,” Dean recoiled slightly. He’d heard of Heterosexual, but the others?

“Bisexual” Castiel finished

“Bi- bi what?” Dean forgot about his past confusion. There was something about that word.

“If you’re bisexual, you like men and women. ‘Bi’, as in two” Castiel looked over at Dean’s face, sliding a bit closer to him.

“Oh,” Dean said quietly, trying to let it sink in. It has a name. “ So, that’s what you think I am?”

“Dean, no one can tell you what you are. Experiment with the names. Find what makes you feel comfortable. You don’t have to know now. You could even call yourself Queer, if you can’t find a comfortable label, or if you don’t want a label at all,” Castiel comforted Dean, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.

Dean took in a big gulp. “So is your dad uh, is he cool with all that? With your aces- uh, and pans?”

Chuckling, Castiel continued. “Oh yeah, he’s big on letting us be ourselves. To a degree, of course. Michael, who you’ve met, is actually genderfluid,” Castiel almost kept going, but he saw Dean’s confused face.

“Genderfluid is like… I can’t exactly do it justice explaining it, because I have never experienced it. It’s where someone sometimes feels comfortable in their body, being a girl for example, but other days they can’t stand their body, because that day they’re a boy. Then other days they might be both. Or neither,”

“That’s a thing?” Dean was struggling to get his father's words out of his head.

“Don’t be insensitive Dean.”

“I’m sorry, sorry,” Dean hung his head. Goddamn John and his-

“I’m sure it's okay, I guess this all new for you,” Castiel noticed his shame and quickly tried to fix his problem. And then he continued.

“Raphael, the third oldest, is transgender. He didn’t feel comfortable in the body he was born in, so he got some help from Chuck and my brothers to be a man. Chuck is bisexual as well actually,” Castiel added, nudging Dean.

“Bisexual,” Dean said, but his mind was far away. He was trying it out, seeing how it felt. “I’m- I’m Bi,”

“Like I said Dean, you don’t-”

“No!” Dean jumped up, from excitement this time. “No I mean- I mean it all makes sense now!” he turned to face Castiel, a look of pure joy across his face.

“Everything I’ve felt, all of these things and feelings that I’ve just dismissed, it all makes sense now. I- I can’t thank you enough, Cas,” Dean sat down again, sunbeams practically shining from his face, the happiest he’s been in years.

Looking at him with loving eyes, Castiel placed a hand on Dean’s hand, and his eyes widened in shock. Fearing that he was taking it too far, he went to take his hand away, but he found another hand on top of his. He looked up to see Dean giving Castiel the same look.

“Could you please explain what Asexual Panromantic means?” Dean shyly said in a small voice, earning another kind smile.

“Asexual means I don’t feel sexual attraction. I don’t want sex,” Castiel spoke a little nervously.

“What? No sex?” Dean tilted his head slightly, less accusing and more curious.

“Nope. I just don’t. If you wanted some, too bad,” Castiel forced a laugh out, trying to hide years of pain behind his eyes. Yes, he came from a supportive family. Doesn’t mean he understood it himself.

“I won’t force you to do anything you don’t want to,” Dean looked Castiel in the eyes, as serious as he could get, earning a nod and smile from the prince. “Now, tell me. You’re romantically attracted to kitchen appliances?”

“No,” Castiel laughed, shaking his head. “No. It means I could be romantically in love with anyone. Any gender, binary or non-binary,” he explained after letting himself cool down from laughing.

“But isn’t that-”

“Bisexual? Well, technically. Just because you’re Bi doesn’t mean you can’t love non-binary people. Some people feel more comfortable with the Pansexual label, rather than Bisexual,” Castiel could see this going over Dean’s head, but the boy was trying. That counted for everything.

“And non-binary is…” Dean trailed off, hoping Castiel would take the hint.

“People who don’t feel comfortable as a guy or a girl. They might be neither, both, or something completely different. There are also many cultures that don’t have just two genders, but that's a story for another day,” Castiel explained quickly. It was getting late, and he was tired. The constant worrying that his father would find out about everything was really getting to him. But once Castiel was eighteen, he and Dean would run off together. They’d already talked about it and agreed. The small steps they’d taken meant to world to them, and they never wanted to let it go.

Castiel hadn’t even realised they’d been silent for a few minutes, staring off at a small gap in the trees, when a shooting star flew by. Turning to Dean, he expected him to still be looking at the sky so he could say ‘make a wish’, but the hunter was already smiling at him.

“Cas, can I please kiss you?” Dean asked, and Castiel’s whole world stopped spinning. His breath hitched. His heart skipped a beat.

Unable to find words, he nods and watched as Dean bites his lip, staring as Castiel’s. Dean cupped Castiel’s head with one hand and leaned in. As they made connection, their eyes closed on instinct.

And it was every bit of perfect Castiel had hoped for. Dean’s lips, oh, his lips were so soft, were gentle with Castiel, and he was melting. Melting into the kiss and into Dean’s arms.

Both soon needed to break for air, and they rested their foreheads against one another. Castiel was suddenly conscious about his constantly chapped lips. But ultimately, the kiss was at the front of his mind.

“That was…” Castiel started, but Dean finished for him.

“Awesome,” Dean looked into Castiel’s eyes with a smile.

He smiled back at the hunter. At his hunter. And then they kissed again.

Dean walked into his house with the biggest grin on his face. As expected, his mother was in her room, most likely sewing. Grandpa Sam was snoozing in his chair, and Sam was- Sam? What was Sam doing at home? Sitting at the bench! There’s no way he’s getting away with lying about the biggest smile on his face ever.

“Dean! I’ve been waiting for you!”

“Uh, hiya Sammy,” Dean had stopped in his tracks, holding an empty hunting bag, failing at his attempts to mask his smile.

“What's got you beaming like a mini sun?” Sam teased, getting up from the bench, where he had been reading his book. “Also, why are you so late?”

“I could ask you why you’re so early,” Dean dropped his bag on the ground and held his arms out for a hug. Dean held his little brother tight.

“Not unless you tell me who put that massive grin on your face!” Sam argued.

SIghing, Dean walked to the bench and leaned on it, and Sam followed so he was facing his brother. “Whose home right now? Dad is-”

“Dad’s out like always. Why-”

“What would you say, Sammy, if I told you I was in love?” Dean spat out, cutting his brother off.

“Why would I care Dean? Like sure, that’s great. But-” Sam was getting a bit sick of the cutting off.

“With a guy,” Dean finished, searching his brother’s eyes for a reaction. A response. Anything.

Sam furrowed his brow for the shortest second, before turning nonchalant again. “So? Again. Do I care?” he sighed, rolling his eyes and grabbing his book again.

“You don’t mind me being…  you know, Bi?” Dean realised that he’d probably have to explain everything to Sam and-

“Again Dean, don’t care. I’m Bi too,” Sam answered, not looking up from his book as he took a spot on the couch. The older Winchester’s mouth went slack.

Due to the lack of comebacks, or any noise at all, Sam looked up to Dean and laughed. “Get over here! Are you going to tell me about this guy or not?”

Smiling as he regained muscle control to walk to Sam, Dean was trying to think of a way to explain the love of his life to his little brother, but it hit him.

Just start at the start, like all good fairy tales.

“Well…”

“Son, we need to talk,” Chuck said the minute Castiel stepped foot in the room. He had only just arrived back at his bedroom door when some of his father’s most trusted men came to escort him to the king’s chambers. A very rare event indeed.

Castiel gulped.

tags: @tardisheart134 @niteowlangel @asociopathandadoctor​ @waitwhyami​ @notfunnydean​  @leatherandapplepies​ @cross-roads-blues​ @astheryart @winchestered-since-1983 @sp0okyweek 

Send me a message in my ask box or PM’s if you want to get tagged

[waywardimpalawriter]

Sick

Sick

Summary: You’d always be waiting when he comes home from a mission this time, you’re not there, making Bucky worry.

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Character’s: Bucky, Reader, Steve, Natasha, Sam, Clint

Setting: not too far off future

Warnings: None just fluff

Word count: 3,209 (turned out longer than I thought it would)

Notes: Because I’ve been sick and feeling like crap for the last few days this little gem came to mind. Hope y’all enjoy. 

Tag list:

Permanent tags: @winters-buck @marvel-lucy @feelmyroarrrr @aquabrie @fandommaniacx @thetalesofmooseandsquirrel @angryschnauzer @supernaturallymarvellous

Marvel tags: @ek823 @creideamhgradochas @marvelfanfichq @sebbytrash

  Another sneeze, nose running so you had to reach for more tissues, stuffy head, Lord you were barely gonna last the afternoon if this kept up. Why’d you even come into work anyways? Not like things couldn’t have been taken care of in the comfort of your own apartment. But then it’d remind you of the reason you came in today in the first place. Loneliness, granted you weren’t totally alone. Nat, Clint and Sam stayed home from this last mission so company wasn’t the issues. No it’s who you want there more than anything else. To keep you warm, hold you close, kiss your forehead and tell you everything’s going to be okay.

Course the honeymoon stage should’ve worn off by now as Tony has said more than a few times over the past several months; given the fact you and Bucky have been together for going on three years. Though you can’t help it and only hoped Bucky felt the same. Thoughts are interrupted by another coughing fit that rattles your lungs and has you gasping for breath and the desk in front of you.

“Damn sweetheart you don’t sound so good,” Sam’s deep voice reaches your ears right as you blow your sore nose for what felt like the thousandth time today.

Glaring, before tossing the tissues out, “Thanks for the boost in confidence birdman, I’ll be sure to fix my makeup later.”

“That’s not what I meant Y/N,” rolling expressive chocolate eyes, Sam perches a hip on the end of your desk, arms crossed, while giving you the once over. “You look sick.”

“And he takes another shot,” groaning when two more sneezes land in the hastily grabbed tissues. “Insults gonna stop anytime soon Wilson?”

“Woman,” he all but growls, then chuckles seeing the half smirk on your lips, which turns into a frown at the next couching fit. “Seriously Y/N, you need to get home, meds, soup and sleep,” worry seeping into his tone.

“I’ll be fine Sam, promise,” soft groan leaving your lips as you sit up, sore muscle being pulled from coughing so much.

Shaking his head, “Not taking no for an answer sweetness. I won’t have that walking icicle you call a boyfriend rip me a new one for not taking care of you.”

“I can take care of myself Sam, you don’t have to worry about Bucky,” dizziness over takes your eyes momentarily, making you see double screens. Glancing up to see if he caught the action, which of course he had, you try to smile through it, “Just a few more…”

Standing, Sam takes your elbow helping you up through your protests, “Ain’t doing this because I’m scared of Rust bucket arm, I’m worried about you Y/N. I’ll take you to Cho then to bed.”

Gasping, knowing what he really means but can’t help ribbing your closest friend, “Really Sammy, I mean you’re handsome and all, any woman would be proud to have you in their bed, but I’m taken.”

His glare throws you into a fit of giggles that turns into coughing so hard you almost toss your half eaten lunch right on the marble flooring. “Would say it serves you right woman but I ain’t that cruel,” wrapping his arm around your waist, supporting you as you both walk, or in your case stumble towards the infirmary.

An hour later, after finding out that you’ve got a simple cold mixed with allergies and sinuses. Sam’s half dragging you up to the apartments, only pausing long enough in the kitchen to grab up a few requested items.

Wearily plopping down on the bar stool, head resting against the cold granite island top, a deep groan leaving your lips. “Woah what’s wrong with the walking dead there?” Natasha asked concern lacing her tone despite her words.

Giving her the middle finger salute as another coughing fit hits you, to which Sam half chuckles before a frown replaces answering, “She’s sick Nat.”

“Need a couple hundred gallons of Lysol and Bleach to clean the area don’t need Sicko’s germs,” Clint commented sticking his head in the fridge for water.

“I’ll remember that one Barton when you get sick and need help,” you groan sending him a frown while sliding off your stool, heading towards the elevator and the apartment you share with Bucky.

“You know I love ya babe,” he yells after you, getting a smack upside the back of his head from Nat.

“Show it next time Clinton, wouldn’t kill ya man,” shaking his head, Sam takes off after you your items in hand.

“Seriously Sam, go I don’t want you sick to. I’ll be fine really,” you’d plopped down in the couch blanket from the back wrapped around your body to keep the chill off. “Go I’ve got this okay.”

“You sure sweetness?” worry marring his features, dragging his brows down.

Nodding, “Yes I have what I need, the meds Dr. Cho gave me and my bed. I’ll sleep promise. Now go or you’ll need that Lysol bath Clint was bitchin’ about.”

“You know he’s just…”

Holding a hand up to stop him, then pointing towards the door, “I know, now shoo birdman.”

He holds out for a few moments longer, concerned about you, but knowing how stubborn you can be. Sam takes a few steps to your side, leans down and quickly kisses your fevered forehead. “If you need anything.”

“I’ll give a yell,” you croak out, voice already deeper from the cough and sore throat.

“Alright, get better Y/N,” looking back twice more before leaving. “FRIDAY,” calling out once he’s a few meters away from your door.

“Yes, Mr. Wilson?” smooth Irish lilting female voice asked.

“Could you alert me if there’s any drastic chance to Y/N?”

“Of course, I will monitor her vitals and keep you posted. Will there be anything else?”

“No, thank you FRIDAY,” another deep sigh leaves his lips. Knowing you’ll be fine but can’t help but worry anyway. You’d been a good friend, hell best even for so long he didn’t want to lose you.   

“She resting?” Natasha asked when Sam stepped back into the kitchen.

Nodding, “As best as she can, just not use to seeing her like this is all.”

“She’ll be fine Sam,” turning back towards the stove, uneasiness only showing in her tense posture.

************

Waking up around 4am, sweaty, eyes caked with sleep, body stiff from sleeping on the couch, you managed to drag your tired body to the bedroom. Stripping down, then into sweats, before slowly heading back into the living room spotting the small medicine bottle, you down two yucky pills with a big glass of water, before heading back to bed. Curling up, arms wrapped around Bucky’s pillow wishing you could breathe in his scent as tears of longing pool in your eyes and spill over. Being sick sucked, most of all when the one person you want there to hold you isn’t. Tears slowed, then stopped, body succumbing to the meds in your blood stream; you drift off into a hard sleep. 

Fingers, cool and metal touch your heated forehead brushing sweat dampen hair away, as soft kisses are laid across your skin. “That better not be you Wilson,” voice barely recognizable as its deep and gravelly from both sleep and soreness.

“Really doll?” for a second Bucky wonders but dismisses the idea in favor of worry as he’s kneeling beside your shared bed staring at your sleepy, pale form.

“James?” you manage to croak out as a coughing fit over takes you, eyes trying to focus on the man of your dreams being right in front of you.

“I’m here baby girl,” fingers running through your hair slowly feeling a shiver run through your body.

“Missed you handsome,” you try to smile then frown needing to push Bucky away, one hand on his should trying but your too weak. Doing little more than gaining a frown from the man himself, “You shouldn’t be here Bucky you’ll get sick.”

Chuckling, he raises from the crouched possession, shedding his jacket and tight black shirt in the process. Seeing the pout on your full kissable lips, “I’m not going far baby girl. I just got back for cryin out loud do you think I’d leave now?”

“But you’ll get sick,” a small whimper leaving your lips, making you curse yourself for being so weak while ill.

“Serum doll face, I’m not gonna catch your cold,” he turned towards the door nodding at Steve. “I’ve got her man, but is there any way I could get some soup in a few hours and more water?”

“Mama Rogers’s homemade chicken soup coming up,” nodding his sandy blonde head. “I’ll be back with water, and a few other items to keep her hydrated to. Take care of her Buck.”

“I plan on it punk,” grinning as Steve closes the door, Bucky turns back to see you dozing off. Hating to see you like this, he makes quick work on the rest of his clothing, leaving himself in boxer briefs.

Pulling the covers up, to slide into the warm bed, wrapping his arm around your waist to pull you back against his chest cradling you close, “Bucky?” you muttered turning, bleary eyes opening to look up at him.

“Still here Y/N and I’m not going anywhere so don’t say it,” using his bionic fingers to run through your hair slowly. The whirling of shifting plates barely heard but soothing to your ears as you snuggle into his arms.

“I hate being sick,” another pout on your lips as you can barely take in his scent, but the warmth of his arms and mire presents is enough to make your eyes start to droop.

“I know you do doll, I know,” he coos into your ear, pressing a few more soft kisses to your temple and cheek. “Rest now, you’ll feel better soon.”

Absentmindedly, you nod praying this wasn’t a dream that Bucky is truly here and not some fever induced figment of your imagination. Before you could figure out which, sleep drug you back under.

Meanwhile in the kitchen, “So this soup is special why?” Clint asked from his perch by the island munching on an apple.

“Kept my ass alive didn’t it and that’s saying something,” Steve answered from the pantry, coming back out with a mess of ingredients.   

“Language Steven,” Nat smirked pulling pots out to help. “So what’s in the soup?”

Glaring, though deciding to let the first part go, “None of your business Romanova,” dropping everything from his arms on the counter. “Mind moving your butt out of my way?”

Huffing, feeling useless to help you get better, arms crossed she leans her hip against the island, “Anything the rest of us can do?” 

“Gonna need bread,” he answered thinking for a moment.

“I know just the place to and she loved there chocolate chip cookies to,” Clint stated hooping off his stool. “Come on Nat you can go with me while Cap makes his super-secret chicken soup for the soul.”

Watching the pair take off, Steve chuckles setting to work on chopping, “Need help?”

Glancing up, “Always need a wing man.”

  ************

Yawning, stretching your tired body against a rock wall beside you, eyes glance over starting from where the sheet and blankets end at his waist up the long toned, hard expanse of hard abs and chest to meet a grinning and awake Bucky.

“What lustful thoughts are roaming through that beautiful sleepy mind of yours doll?” voice gravelly from napping but still sexy as hell.

Shaking your head, you just curl back against him placing a soft kiss to his collarbone, “I thought I’d been dreaming when I felt you last night.”

“No dream baby girl all real,” he didn’t have the heart to till you it  was this morning as his arms wrap tightly around your weak body, burgundy sheets and dark blue comforter encasing the two of you. “You had me worried when I came back and you weren’t waiting.”

Glancing up, you scooch till your level, warm palm against his slightly stubbled cheek, “I’m sorry Bucky, I didn’t…”

Placing a finger over your lips, “I know, it couldn’t be helped I’m just happy I got home when I did.” Puzzled Bucky cups the side of your face, thumb brushing the apple of your cheek. “My girl is stubborn when it comes to taking care of herself, so it’s good I’m home to do that for her.”

You want to punch him, but can’t find the strength to do so. Therefore you settle for pouting, “Don’t make fun of a sick person,” though his words warm a place in your heart, making you fall in love with this man all the more.

“Never dream of doing something like that doll,” he chuckles kissing your forehead again before starting to pull away and out of bed.

“Where you going?” making grabby hands to keep him from leaving.

Grinning he covers you back up with a wink, “Don’t move I’ll be back.”

Ten minutes later, new sheets and comforter dropped on the chair beside the closet, Bucky’s back with a smile on his lips as he by passes the bed and straight for the bathroom, getting the bath started on warming the water. He returns, pulling the covers from your body and lifting you into his arms, feeling your face bury in his neck, nose still sniffling.

“Gonna drown me Sarge?” trying to laugh but it just comes out into another coughing fit.

Siting you down on the counter, Bucky carefully runs his fingers through your knotted hair, leaning in for a quick sweet kiss. “Bath you is better baby girl.”

Stepping back to pull your top off, before helping you stand, ridding you of the sweat pants and panties to, all heading for the hamper, before picking you back up only to place you in the hot bath water. “You’re not joining me?” another pout on your lips that he kisses away.

“In due time love, now relax,” leaving to replace the bed sheets and comforter.

Your dozing when Bucky returns, stripping his boxer briefs off and helping you to sit up so he can slide in behind, intertwining your fingers he lets the water sooth the both of you before sitting to work on bathing you.

“I can do that myself James,” you groan, enjoying the feel of his fingers working the shampoo through your hair.

“True but I want to do this for you doll, your sick let me care of you,” he whispers in your ear.

Nodding, you let him work as time seems to slow down, the water always warm, helping to unclog your sinuses passages and breathe a little easier. Eucalyptus meeting your nose at last as a sigh leaves your lips.

Intimate, sweet and romantic, words that float to the surface of your tired mind. You’ve never known a man to do this, to take care and be so sweet to you that it has tears springing to your eyes. Ones that Bucky catches, brows dropping in concern and worry, “I love you.”

Confused but elated by your admission, “You’re crying because you love me? That can’t be a good thing doll.”

Chuckling, “Silly there happy tears, you make me happy James. You take care of me when you don’t have to.”

“No I don’t have to, but what kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn’t take care of my best girl,” he grins brushing his nose against yours, then his lips. “I love you to Y/N.”

Shriving as the water starts to turn cool, “I think we need to get out.”

“Agreed,” standing having rinsed the both of you off, Bucky got out first drying quickly towel wrapped around his lean waist. Your eyes having watched his every move, “Like what you see doll?”

Licking your dry lips, “Damn being sick,” you mutter starting to stand as well but Bucky doesn’t let you, as he grips your around the waist, lifting and setting you down on the counter again to dry you off.

“I feel the same way baby girl, but don’t worry once your better,” licking his lips, heat pooling in those swirling steal blue grey eyes, “We’ll make up for it in spades.”

Arms wrapping around his next to pull him close for warmth and need, “Promise?”

“Count on it doll face,” giving you a quick kiss before dressing you in panties, another pair of sweatpants and one of his Henley’s that he knows you love.

Taking the time to dry out his and your hair, before picking you back up and heading towards the living room. Catching the sight of lunch on a serving tray ready for the two of you, “What’s this?”

Smiling, placing you on the couch and taking the spot next to you, “Homemade soup from Steve, bread and cookies that Nat and Clint went and got, from bird brain a few of your favorite movies.”

Trying to pop him one but missing, “Don’t call him that Bucky.”

Laughing he leans over kissing your forehead, then dishing out the delicious smelling soup, “Damn punk still knows how to make the best soup,” eyes closing in bliss when the favors hit his tongue.

“Might have to marry that man,” moaning slightly, tummy growling with hunger.

Piece of bread ready to dip in as you look over at Bucky who’s scowling at you, “You wouldn’t?”

“Well he is sexy and can cook, Lord that’s a double threat,” your trying to hold in your laughter at the kicked puppy look on his face.

“You wound me doll.”

Placing firstly your bowl then his on the coffee table and with a lot of stumbling and a few coughs you finally make it into his lap, hands cradling his face. “You Sargent Barnes have nothing to worry about, there’s only one man I love.”

His face lights up, arms having wrapped around your waist to hold you close, “Really?” eager grin sliding in place.

“Yup Sam,” your declaration has him snorting, head resting against yours.

“If you weren’t sick baby…” his words cut off by your soft lips against his.

Nothing steamy just gentle presses, in different directions, you nip at his bottom lip before soothing it with the tip of your tongue. “I love only you James,” nuzzling your face in the crook of his neck, taking in the scent of his skin, warmth of his body, your own growing tired as you cough again. “Thank God for that serum I don’t know what I’d do without you,” you muttering feeling Bucky arrange you in his lap so the both of you can eat.

Watching you, making sure every drop is eaten before taking your bowl again, doling out your meds and getting the pair of you comfortable. You don’t make it through the first movie, curled up in his arms head resting on his chest, Bucky picks you back up and puts the two of you in bed.

“Sleep Y/N, feel better,” laying a sweet kiss to your lips, laying on his back with you curled up beside him, the both of you falling asleep holding each other.