#steve dies peacefully at the end of a long and happy life

[steddie-on]

Written for the @harringroveson-bingo square 'Depression Beard'. Summary:

After Eddie dies, Steve has a hard time of it. He turns to music to help him through his grief.

or

Steve and Eddie had only just expressed their feelings for each other when Eddie died. Steve writes a song about losing the love of his life and finds major success. Eddie's waiting for him at the end of it. Heed the tags!

[wheneverfeasible]

Because I’m terrible and the plots won’t leave me alone, I’ve now got an idea based on this post about a demon who feasts on pain and suffering being a medical practitioner for the chronically and terminally ill and the patients fully loving it. And then my brain rot had to say “make it Steddie” because I’ve lost all control of my life.

—

cw: terminal illness, minor and major character death (with a happy ending tho)

But imagine it. Eddie is a demon, a low ranking one at that originally. He gets a job at a medical facility for the chronically/terminally ill. Over time at the happy and consensual feasting he really does become one of the strongest demons because he’s constantly fed to the brim and he even has human worshippers, not that they’re traditional worshippers.

No, his followers are little old senior citizens who slip him butterscotch candies and other sweets they’re not supposed to have, which technically count as offerings. They thank him for his work, because he does actually take care of their bodies as well and even listens to their life stories, which count as praise and worship. They love and are devoted to him and they bring in their friends and family who are suffering too and Eddie’s accidental cult grows.

One day, things change. A young man, an anomaly in his youth, is brought in by parents who no longer wish to be burdened by their disabled son. Steve just shrugs it off and moves in with a smile, seemingly fine with being abandoned by his parents because he dared to be anything other than perfectly healthy.

He puts around the facility in his terry cloth robe and slippers on some days, others he dresses up in polos and slacks or even jeans when he’s feeling more casual, and always with a smile on his face. He makes those around him smile and laugh too, and his cheeks get pinched and he’s slipped candies too and he listens to others’ stories and he seems happy and content.

But Eddie feeds on his pain and suffering all the same, knows that behind that smile is a young boy who was told he probably wouldn’t live to see 30, who listens to the older folks knowing he would never get to live a life like that. Eddie knows that sometimes Steve cries himself to sleep at night.

Over time, Eddie and Steve grow closer. Steve hadn’t believed that Eddie was a demon at first, had thought it all just a joke, until one night Mr. Wozniak was laying in his bed, and Steve hadn’t meant to overhear, but he was passing by and the door was cracked open.

“Will I go to Hell now?” Mr. Wozniak was asking, but he seems peaceful all the same, like the thought wasn’t the terrifying ordeal so many people thought it was.

“No, sweetheart,” Eddie was saying, but his voice sounds a little off, huskier, like…like brimstone sat in his throat. “I’ve never claimed your soul. It’s still your own. Go find Irena. She’s been waiting for you for too long.”

Irena, Steve knew from speaking with Mr. Wozniak, was his young wife who had died decades earlier.

“Will I get to see you again?”

Eddie’s long fingers reach out, his nails long and sharp, dark in a way that was not nail polish. He lightly and gently strokes the papery skin of Mr. Wozniak’s cheek. “You will be at peace. You will find the afterlife is so much more than this Good-vs-Evil rhetoric so popular in this plane of existence. Go in peace, my child, and should you wish it, perhaps one day we might meet again.”

Mr. Wozniak smiles at that, and he closes his eyes with a softly whispered, “Irena, I’m coming…”

A moment later, he was gone.

Steve watches as Eddie seems to grow smaller, appear more normal, and though he knows he should be terrified, he isn’t. Instead he continues on his way, letting the knowledge of more percolate in his brain, though by the next morning when news of Mr. Wozniak’s passing spreads and Eddie assures everyone that he passed away peacefully and in no pain, Steve knows Eddie speaks the truth and he realizes that nothing has changed. Eddie is still Eddie.

They continue to grow closer. He spends more time with Eddie, lets Eddie in fully on how much he hurts, and tells the demon that he wished things had been different and that they could have met under better circumstances.

Eddie tells him that he never enjoyed the taste of regret. It was far too bitter.

They fall in love, encouraged by their friends in the facility new and old, who don’t seem to care that he is a mortal with a short life expectancy and Eddie is an immortal demon lord. What is all that in the face of true love?

And then it happens, and Steve is the one lying in bed, knowing his time has come. He smiles up at Eddie and decides not to regret any of it, not wanting their final moments to be flavored with bitterness.

“Stevie,” Eddie whispers mournfully, and he’s beautiful. It’s not his full true form, but his eyes are a dark blood red, his teeth elongated into sharp fangs, and his pale skin veined with reds and blacks. Horns curl out from his curly hair.

“You said once that I get to be with my loved ones after this,” Steve says, still smiling, and he reaches up to cup Eddie’s jaw with a weakened hand. Eddie nods against him, and Steve wonders if all demons can cry, or if it’s just his. “Then take my soul, darling. It already belongs to you.”

Eddie flinches back, like Steve knew he would, because souls are not little things. Eddie had explained before, after everything, that he didn’t even actually deal in souls, that that wasn’t the sort of demon he was. Steve had asked if he could, on a technicality, and Eddie had paused because saying yes, any demon could, but souls were priceless. When you gave one up to a demon, you gave up everything. You would be theirs until the end of days. Eddie had said he wasn’t that sort of demon.

“Baby, no,” Eddie breathes now, shaking his head gently enough not to dislodge Steve’s hand. “You would be—”

“Yours,” Steve interrupts. “But I already am. You already own my heart. I now willingly give you my soul. All you have to do is accept it.”

And Eddie protests, at first, because Steve is giving him complete control over him for eternity. Steve gives it freely with open arms, and in the end, Eddie can do nothing but accept it. He tells Steve that he doesn’t know if demons have souls or not, but his belongs to Steve just as assuredly as his own heart does.

Steve’s final mortal breath is gifted into Eddie’s crimson mouth, full of peace and love and the understanding that this thing between them will always beat eternal.

It turns out that, whether it was still unknown if all demons had souls, Eddie was the sort that does.

And it also turns out that, when you’re gifted a demon lord’s soul, you become a demon too.

Eddie’s cult ends soon after, disbanded into non-existence. In its place, however, rises a new one that worships not just one demon caretaker, but two as Eddie is soon joined by another with floppy brown hair and sparkling brown eyes that for once smiles without hidden pain. They take care of their charges, gently coax them into eternal rest when it’s their time, and together prove that true love is forever.

[steviewashere]

There's something so beautiful, so appealing, yet so sad about vampire Eddie Munson and normal dude Steve Harrington as a pairing. Cause like—

Just walk with me. Imagine Eddie turning into a vampire spawn, not Kas, just a normal fucking vampire spawn. A vampire spawn who exists by the normal rules of vampirism.

He can't go in the sun. He isn't invited into places unless otherwise told. He must stay in the dark, hidden away. And, the worst part of his new form—

Eddie Munson, the man who was supposed to die saving the people that mattered, is immortal.

He's immortal. He makes friends. He works alongside annoying coworkers. He lives with his wonderful uncle. He falls in love.

And slowly, over time, he watches as everybody around him ages. The finer wrinkles, the grey hairs, the knobby joints, and collapsing postures. Their fragile voices and softer bellies, as they grow accustomed and comfortable with life. Life after violence.

But Eddie gets older, sure. He turns twenty-five. And thirty. Fifty-five. Seventy. His hair remains a dark brown. Face forever twenty. Body as lithe and malleable as it was before the Upside Down. And yet, for all that he's sacrificed—

The biggest sacrifice is the people he eventually loses.

Uncle Wayne dies peacefully in his sleep. And Eddie's forty-four, Wayne would've been eighty-three. That's normal. That's a normal death. A normal age. Except that Eddie is still...twenty.

Dustin Henderson and the rest of his friends, Robin Buckley and Nancy Wheeler, Jonathan Byers, Argyle. They all die, too. They go grey and they gain soft bellies. They have crows feet. Grandchildren that look the exact same age as Eddie. They think that Eddie is a really young cousin, they think he's some lucrative relative.

The one that hurts the most, in the end, is the loss of one Steve Harrington. Who stole Eddie's heart. Red and raw between his hands. Kissed the tender outside with his beautiful, charismatic mouth. He was what sustained Eddie's dire cravings, blood and skin and tender moments. Steve shared many nights with Eddie in the dark, under the stars, in the glow of the moon. He shared interests, poked fun at Eddie, loved Eddie. He loved Eddie. And Eddie...God, he loved Steve.

Loved him so bad, that when Steve died, Eddie knew he lost himself, too. Because nobody will be as lovely and as young and as...and as lovely, as Steve Harrington. You don't grow to love a boy with golden skin, somebody who can go under the sun and bring home sunflowers. You don't grow to love the boy who knows your worst trauma and all your messy secrets. You don't just grow to love a boy. You come to love the man, the spirit, the hole that he leaves.

And Eddie Munson is immortal, cursed by his vampirism. He may have helped them defeat Vecna, he may have been able to aid his friends and his lover to their beautiful life-long end—seen them age and grow comfortable and happy. But, he assumes that the true sacrifice wasn't his death, it was his liveliness.

How is he supposed to continue on without the ones who know him best? So Eddie Munson is immortal.

You know what they say kills vampires. Does Eddie do it? Or does he reign himself to a million lifetimes of friendships and warm dinners, yet the loneliness at the mere fact that nothing can ever be replicated? Does he reign himself to a million lovers, hoping that in one instance, Steve will be the reincarnated body next to him in bed?

Or does he join the tender souls of his loved ones? Stake through the heart and a thousand new stories to tell.

[haileylnmt]

The Outsiders Death Headcanons + Shepards & Others

—————

As I said in my other post, this is my other version of the outsiders deaths including the Shepards, Angela, Evie, and maybe other if I can think of them

—————

Ponyboy Michael Curtis-52yrs

While the trauma of his two friends’ deaths always lingered in his subconscious he persevered moved away from Tulsa to start a family of his own and pursue the career of his dreams. However, that didn’t mean his smoking habits had stopped. He ended up passing too soon due to lung cancer.

Sodapop Patrick Curtis-21yrs

Got drafted to Vietnam for a couple years and actually returned home. He was never them same afterwards with PTSD always preventing him from living normally. He lived with Darry in the last few years of his life before getting into the medicine cabinet with a bottle of whiskey one afternoon when Darry was gone.

Darrel “Darry” Shayne Curtis-59yrs

Darry always went above and beyond for his friends, family and job. He did the absolute most and always over exerted himself. During a hot summer afternoon he had a stroke while insisting on finishing one final job

John “Johnny” Andrew Cade-16yrs

While saving the lives of children in a burning church fire, he sustained life threatening injuries. He later died in the hospital not regretting any of his choices- even if he wished to live a little longer.

Dallas “Dally” Tucker Winston-17yrs

The overall grief that struck him after losing the only person he truly loved was too much to bear. He pointed an unloaded gun at the police to entice them to fire at him. He died as a result of the shots he sustained.

Steve Jacob Randle-34yrs

He was finally able to escape his reputation as a greaser and was able to find himself in a position he found himself happy with. He became a mechanic for the United States Navy. His life was taken too soon during a freak accident.

Keith “Two-Bit” David Matthews-52yrs

He left Tulsa as a means to better himself. He began a family lived as happily as he could. Never truly giving up his taste for alcohol, kidney failure ending up taking his life.

Tim Shepard-22yrs

Never living down his title as a greaser or a gang leader, he always found himself in less than legal situations. Caught in the crossfire he sustained a bullet wound that ended up getting infected and took his life.

Carlos “Curly” Shepard-19yrs

Like his older brother, he never lived down his reputation. He developed a taste for drugs. A bad dealing caused a series of events that led to unsanitary handling of needles. That mistake cost his life

Angela Shepard-39yrs

Turning away from the greaser life, she found herself leaving her whole life in Tulsa behind- including her brothers. She moved up north, never settling down until one night when unexpected heart failure took her in her sleep.

OR——

73yrs

After leaving behind all she once knew, she started fresh and began a new life for herself outside of who she used to be. Old age took her peacefully in her sleep

Syliva-21yrs

She developed a love for alcohol and drugs after tragically losing her boyfriend. She ended up dying of a coke overdose alone in her room.

OR——

32yrs

After attempting to turn her life around, she married a man who she had hardly known. They got in a car accident which took her life.

Evie-54yrs

She stayed with Steve until his early demise. Despite the pain and grief she felt, she pushed on. A heart attack took her life.

—————

Are these any better(probably not) anyways I’m not really able to see these guys living a long healthy life considering what they did when they were young

[londonalozzy]

Stop Pretending (TFATWS)

Fandom: Marvel

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Genre: Romance, Angst

Summary: The reader thinks she's doing a stellar job of keeping her feelings for a certain soldier buried deep inside. Turns out, all it takes is an observant new friend to begin the unraveling of her most precious secret (Spoilers for TFATWS)

Masterlist

Word: Pretence

Definition: A way of acting that is intended to deceive people.

Example: Saying that he's just a friend when he's really the love of your life.

Your POV

Being caught in the midst of war is something that I, (Y/N) (Y/L/N)  know all too well. As a war vet, former shield agent, and now Avenger I'm used to being centered amongst conflict. When the fight begins within me though, a battle between what I want and what I think is right, how will I react? Will I listen to my heart, my head, or will the winner be chosen for me?

Delacroix, Louisiana.....

I love my sleep, always have, always will. It's not necessarily the comfort of the bed, the quiet or even the rest. It's the fact that I'm at peace when I sleep. My life has a tendency to fall apart when I'm awake, so anything that will put that off for as long as possible I savor.

I wish it were the same for a certain super soldier in my life. I look forward to going to bed, everything calms down then, and for most people it's the same. For Bucky however, it's when everything starts, the nightmares, the terrors, the seemingly unending darkness. If only I could take his pain away like he has with mine.

For the last few weeks, my life had, for want of a better word, been hectic. Hectic to say the least.

After the eventual defeat of Thanos and the loses we endured as a result, I thought naively that life might calm down a bit, that I'd have time to breathe, to live. How wrong I was.

It all began with John Walker being announced to the world as the new Captain America.

I was baking cookies with Morgan in the Stark family kitchen when it came over the radio. As that latest turn of events sunk in, my first thoughts were of Bucky, what that would do to him. Not even an hour later I had said my goodbyes and was on my way to help him get the shield back.

Since then even more had happened. We'd regrouped with Sam, busted Zemo out of prison which in turn ruffled the feathers of Ayo and the Dora Milaje. We came face to face with Morgenthou and the Flag Smashers, and finally witnessed the man who thought he could even compete with Steve, make himself judge, jury and most significantly executioner.

After that went around the world we knew we had to end it sooner rather than later. It couldn't get much worse than Captain America becoming a murderer. We got the shield back, which was a fight all in itself. Handed Zemo over to Ayo, to try and recompense for the distrust we'd instilled in the people who'd helped us so much. Then we travelled to stay with Sam and his family in Louisiana whilst we waited for Karli's next move.

This is where we found ourselves now, in the eye of it, the calm before the storm.

Waking up in the Wilson households guest room, I was greeted to the golden hue of the rising sun penetrating through the single glaze windows, and the melodic sounds of gulls on the hunt for their morning meal down by the docks.

Actually, no that's not right. What I could hear was most certainly not birds, and it was definitely not melodic. What were those boys doing?

Quickly and quietly I threw on the first clothes I could get my hands on and made my way downstairs towards the noise. What caught my attention when I discovered the source, was not the two youngest Wilson boys playing with our newly reacquired shield in the living room, but the super solider who was blissfully ignorant to it all, sleeping peacefully on the couch in front of them. I don't think I'd ever been so happy.

"Right you two, if you're determined to play Avengers all morning then I suggest you re-assemble in the back yard. You're gonna wake Bucky up," I whispered out in one breath, stepping between the boys, then placing my hands on their backs and tip toeing them towards the door.

"So what if we wake him up? It's gone 10am," Cass questioned in protest, pulling on his sneakers and jacket.

"Exactly! Which is why if you do as I say, I will make you the biggest plate of waffles for breakfast that you've ever seen."

The boys eyes lit up. "Can we have ice cream with it? Mum never lets us have ice cream for breakfast, and I'm sure there's a tub of Stark raving hazelnuts in the freezer," AJ clapped in muted excitement. "Oh, for God's sake.....Yes. You can have whatever you want if you get out of this house now and keep the noise down."

Once the boys were outside, I made my way over to the kitchen, stopping on the way to lean over my favourite senior citizen and make sure that he was still peaceful in his slumber. He'd never looked so relaxed, so at ease. It was a brand new Bucky I'd never seen before, a Bucky that had my heart pounding for him even more than it normally did. Not that he knew any of that.

Half an hour later and up to my elbows in waffle mix, I failed to notice my new friend and host Sarah making her way to my side at the counter, the huge smile on my face not going unnoticed. "What's got you grinning like the Cheshire cat, like I need to ask?"

"Bucky's sleeping. Isn't it amazing?" I spoke softly, bouncing up and down on my feet as I did so.

"And why is that?" She couldn't looked more confused if she tried.

"In all the years I've known him, I don't think I've ever woken up before he has. If his nightmares don't keep him awake all night, they normally have him up before the crack of dawn. I don't think I've ever seen him so still."

"Good answer," Sarah nodded in a hush, understanding why this meant so much to me, but not done yet with her morning interrogations, "Now on to my next question......"

"I'm already not liking the sound of this."

"Sleeping Beauty over there follows you around like a little puppy dog. He hangs on your every word, looks at you like you hung the stars or something. It's pretty obvious how crazy he is about you, so when are you gonna stop pretending that you're not head over heels in love with him?"

"I don't know what you're talking about Wilson," I smiled forcefully, making out like the waffle maker deserved my attention way more than the conversation I was being made to have.

This was all Sam's doing, without a shadow of a doubt. He'd tried to have this conversation with me on multiple occasions and I shut him down every time. He obviously hadn't given up like I thought he did, and decided to draft in his sister. He is seriously gonna regret it when I find him.

"Sure you know what I'm talking about. Sam sees it, I don't even know you that well and I see it. The only reason Bucky doesn't, is because he doesn't believe he could ever be that lucky. You're a smitten kitten." These Wilson's are all as annoying as each other.

Knowing I wasn't getting out of this one, I grabbed Sarah by the arm and pulled her right into the corner of the room, trying my best to keep this convo as private as possible. "Look, I'm not pretending.....I'm ignoring. There's a difference."

"Care to explain what that difference is?" Sarah spoke softly, but with a sarcastic air.

Turning to look over my shoulder at the subject of our conversation, making sure he was still safely in the land of nod, I decided to just be honest. Sarah was much like her brother. Once she wanted to get to the bottom of something she wasn't about to give up.

"I love Bucky, more than I've ever loved anyone...and that terrifies me," the rawness of finally being honest making my voice shake, and tears come to my eyes. "Nat was like my sister, and she's dead. Tony was the closest I've ever gotten to having a Dad...and he's dead too. Then there's Steve, Vision, God knows where Wanda is....Everyone I love, either leaves or dies. If I admit my feelings for Buck then I face the risk of losing him too."

"Do you have any idea how crazy you sound right now? He's not going to die because you love him (Y/N)."

Silent tears were falling now. I was revealing my deepest fears to a woman I'd only known a few days, and I'm not underplaying it when I say it was like a colossal weight off my chest, a release I didn't know I needed. "Believe me...I know, but I can't take that risk. I can't lose anyone else, especially not him."

"Let's just say for a second that you're right, that there is some higher power somewhere, set on destroying everyone you love. Do you really think ignoring your feelings is going to make them disappear?" I didn't know what to say to that. "Natasha and Stark died so that everyone could continue living, and (Y/N) you're not living as long as you keep this to yourself. They wouldn't want that for you."

"But what if I lose him?" I whispered with a choked sigh.

"Then at least he'll die knowing how you felt about him. After everything he's been through don't you think he deserves to know there's someone out there who loves him like you do?"

"Of course..."

Sarah's lips pulled upwards in a satisfied smirk, wrapping her arm around my shoulder and giving it a comforting squeeze, "then you owe it to yourself, and to him, to tell him the truth."

"Why do all you Wilson's have to be so clever?" I voiced in mock irritation, pushing her away from me and acting like I was annoyed she had gotten one up on me.

"I don't know," she thought aloud and with a cheeky grin, grabbing a plate to start piling on the long forgotten waffles, "I think it might be the sea air or something."

"Nah, it's in the genes," I chuckled quietly, grabbing my jacket and deciding it was time to get this conversation wrapped up. "I'll go find Sam and the boys for breakfast. Clear my head a little bit."

"You promise you're gonna tell him?" Sarah stopped me as I went to push the door open.

"I'll think about it."

3rd person POV

Once (Y/N) was out of ear shot, Sarah couldn't help but start jumping up and down in excitement, clapping her hands loudly as she did so. That went even better than she thought it would, and she was so proud of herself. Sarah Wilson could now add matchmaker to her resume.

"Coast is clear Barnes. You can open your eyes now."

(Y/N) had no idea what she had metaphorically walked into just minutes earlier, entering that very revealing conversation with her overly inquisitive host.

What drew Sarah to come down that morning was the sounds of both the front porch door opening and the smell of homemade waffles wafting up the stairs. As she entered the kitchen she was met with two sights. One being (Y/N), facing the counter and looking very smiley, the other being a wide awake super soldier who was just laying on the couch and staring at her, the sole object of his affection. Sarah could work with this.

Every time (Y/N) turned back in his direction, Bucky would close his eyes and pretend to be asleep again. He had never slept so soundly, so peacefully, thoughts of (Y/N) and his new friends filling his nightmare free dreams.

He'd initially woken to (Y/N) ushering the boys outside because she was afraid they would wake him up. He didn't want to disappoint her by proving her right. Besides, he liked just watching her move around the kitchen, completely unaware he was observing her the whole time. He had no idea about the conversation that was just about to happen.

After (Y/N) had left and Sarah had confirmed so, Bucky sat himself up, his body shaking with adrenaline and a look of complete shock fixed on his face. Had he definitely woken up, or had the whole thing been a part of his dream? Did (Y/N) seriously just admit that she was in love with him?

Bucky didn't know how to react, didn't know what to say as he looked up at a smug Sarah from his spot. All he'd ever wanted was for (Y/N) to feel the same way about him as he did about her. Now he knew that she did.

"You're welcome by the way."

[winterdrag0n]

Treasure - Part 14

Pairing: Bucky x Fem!Reader; Steve x Fem!Reader

Chapter Summary: Steve lost his parents but not their legacy and kindness, he's learning to be happy again. And his happiness includes your existence in his life.

Chapter Warning: None (some fluff and angst)

18+ Only! The series contains other trigger warnings such as mention of rape and unhealthy coping mecanism. Please DO NOT consume this content if you’re uncomfortable!

Word Count: 4.5K

[Treasure Masterlist]

XIV. Steve: Everything in my power

When Steve lost his Dad six month ago suddenly from an accident, he had a hard time accepting it. He was too angry, too tired, too overwhelmed to properly grieve. (How does someone grieve properly anyway?) Losing his Dad was his first experience of grievance. Sure, he lost his grandfather when he was nine years old, but his grandpa lived a long and wonderful life and his parents were there to go through it with him.

When Steve lost his Mom (she left peacefully in her sleep, people said she died of a broken heart and loneliness), somehow it was easier to accept. Being an only child, Steve had always doted on his Mom from the moment he was born, but the past three months were probably the closest he’d ever been with her, they had a lot of open and meaningful conversation.

Sarah Rogers told her son that life is a collection of moments, glued into one. And when the love of her life, Joseph died, the moments were frozen and they became memories. Her relationship with her husband didn’t end on the fateful day of the accident, her soul was still feeding from those memories, sometimes it was good memories, sometimes it was bad memories but all of them were part of the life they’d shared together.

It was the same funeral home, the same guests who came to express their condolences, the same pastor who did the service, the same black suit that Steve wore, the same cemetery. Sarah Rogers was buried beside the love of her life. But it was late spring, the sun was out and the flowers were blooming, it wasn’t snowing like when Steve buried his Dad. Steve was warm, not only from the weather, but from the feeling because he knew that his mother would no longer be cold alone at night, that six months was the longest she could tolerate sleeping without her husband by her side.

“Mom, how do you know Dad was the one?” Steve was sipping coffee one afternoon. His Mom sat beside him in the backyard.

“Hmm… That’s a deep one, Stevie.” Her mom smiled at him. “I need more than one cup of coffee for this kind of conversation.”

Steve chuckled, Sarah’s hand reached out to stroke her son’s messy blonde hair. “Is this about your break up?” As usual, Sarah Rogers read between the lines, especially when the lines came from her son.

“Well… I think I screwed up with her. And what if she’s the one. How do I know if she’s the one?”

“I think everyone deals with love and partnership differently, Stevie. What worked for me and your Dad may not work for you, so there is no really one secret recipe. But…”

“But…?”

“You can always try, right? You try and you fail and then you try again. Sometimes you stop trying and sometimes you don’t. With Joe, I just never stopped trying. We didn’t give up on each other, no matter how hard it was.” Sarah picked her cup from the table and sipped it slowly, she put it back and smiled fondly at Steve.

“I did everything in my power to make sure it worked. I think that was the line I crossed to know that he was the one,” Sarah said earnestly.

Steve stared admiringly at her, there was always softness in her eyes everytime she talked about his Dad. And Steve could only hope that he would have even just half of what their parents had.

“Y/N… if you think she’s the one, do everything in your power, Steve. If you still have this… longing, this wonder about what could’ve been, then it’s not over for you yet, you haven’t done everything.”

“I think she’s the one,” Steve said softly. “She has this freckle on her left cheek, and you see this, Mom?” He pointed to a tiny dot on his right cheek. “When we kissed, these two were perfectly aligned.” And he grinned childishly at his Mom.

“Steve… Steve?” Sam’s voice wakes him up from his daydreaming. “You okay, man?”

“Yeah, yeah, I was just— where were we?” Steve stammers.

“The house… I was telling you to speak to Nat’s mother about the house.” Sam looks worried. “You sure you’re okay, man? We can drive back home.”

Steve is inside Sam’s car, they’re driving from his parents’ house to the all-day-waffle place for lunch, they were picking up some documents earlier.

“No, no, Bucky’s already there, I texted him my order.” Steve smiles faintly.

“Did you order for me too?” Sam asks.

“Yeah, of course. Chicken waffle with extra butter and extra maple syrup.” Steve knows it by heart.

“Thanks, man. So anyway, Nat’s mother knows you and she was friends with your parents, she will be the perfect person to take care of the house. I mean, you don’t have to rent it out right away, you can just hire someone to keep it at check you know, maintenance and stuff. I bet she knows people who do that,” Sam continues, he takes a right turn to 18th street and swears at kids who jay-walked and he almost hit.

“Yeah, good idea. I’ll contact her later.” Steve takes mental notes.

Their orders are already spread on the table when Sam and Steve arrive. Bucky is already eating his waffles to the point his plate is almost empty. “I didn’t have breakfast, and I will order my second one,” He explains before anyone asks.

“Why didn’t you? I left you a peanut butter sandwich on the kitchen counter before I left this morning!” Steve flicks Bucky’s hand when he’s trying to steal his fries.

“No you didn’t. I saw no sandwich, nothing,” Bucky protests.

“Yeah, I did! It was on the counter.”

“No it wasn’t, there was no sandwich.”

“You are so goddamn blind, Bucky! You wasted my effort and time! I even toasted it with a panini press!” Steve continues to bicker with Bucky.

“God, Steve, I would eat it if there was actually a sandwich on that goddamn counter!”

“OH MY GOD, If I hear a word about fucking sandwhich one more time—“ Sam groans out of frustration. “When you told me Bucky is your childhood friend, I didn’t know you meant a goddamn literal child, who also turns you into a child too!” Sam throws off an I’m-too-old-for-this look.

“I’ll shove that sandwich to your mouth when we get home later,” Steve murmurs

“If there is a sandwich” Bucky says lowkey.

“Kill me.” Sam rolls his eyes.

❀☀☂☃

Steve is alone on Friday night, opening his fridge looking for the leftover guacamole while talking to Sam on the phone.

Bucky hasn’t been in New York for quite some time. He was taking leave and helping Steve with Sarah’s funeral service but then he only stayed for a couple of days afterwards. He went back to New Jersey again and hadn’t been home even for weekends.

Steve goes for a morning run with Sam most of the days and hangs out with him on weekends, but now that Sam has a new boyfriend (yes he broke up with his last girlfriend and started dating this guy from his gym), he cancels on Steve quite a number of times.

“What happened to bros before hoes, Wilson?” Steve says sarcastically over the phone when he bails on him again.

“First of all, you said that the term is sexist. Second of all, he’s also a bro, so he comes first.” Sam laughs at his own joke.

“Geez, good one, Wilson,” he snickers. “Have fun, man!”

Steve scrolls his contacts mindlessly, looking for someone to hang out with him and he decides to call Tony Stark.

“Hey there, Doctor Dolittle! To what do I owe this booty call?” Steve doesn’t expect less when he picks up the call. He regrets it already.

“Hey Tony, I assume you’re alive and well. You wanna hang out?” Steve goes straight to the point.

“Oooh I wish I could, Doc! But I made an unforgivable sin last week, almost borderline criminal actually, not that I’m admitting it, don’t quote me on this, anyway— so I’m making it up to Pepper now, attending a boring Gala dinner, talking to boring people about boring life events.” His background noise sounds interesting though, with jazz music and people cheering.

“Sure, no problem, Tony. I’ll see you around then.” Steve hangs up the phone. He’s about to call the next contact but then he decides to just stay home and call pizza delivery instead.

His phone rings, it’s a forwarded call from the Vet’s office. Steve picks it up and a familiar sound speaks to him from the other side. “Hey there, Dr. Rogers. This is Greta. Greta from downstairs. Y/N’s downstairs.”

“Oh, hi, Greta! How are you? How’s Jack?”

“Jack and I are good, Doc—“

“Oh please, Greta, I thought we’re way past that. You’ve fed me, so it’s only right to call me Steve.”

“Steve.” He can hear her smiling from one word only.

“Is there anything wrong? Can I help you?” Steve inquires.

“It’s Y/N. Is she okay? Are you with her?” Greta sounds worried.

“Huh?” Steve is puzzled.

“Jack called me just now, he said there had been a lot of crashing sounds from upstairs. I’m out of town right now, staying at my Niece’s. I’ve tried to call Y/N, but she never picked up. Jack has that hip problem so he can’t climb stairs, can you—“

“Yes, I can. Greta, thanks for calling me! I’ll go there and check on her right away.” Steve hangs up the phone after Greta thanks him.

The pizza guy is standing in front of the door when Steve opens it, he must’ve thought Steve is desperately waiting for the pizza from the peephole. Steve tips him, grabs the pizza and takes the lift to the basement carpark. He drives to her place with two boxes of pizza on the passenger’s seat.

He parks right in front of the duplex, leaves the pizza in his car and bolts upstairs. He bangs the door and calls her, “Y/N? Are you okay? Y/N?!”

A muffled sound comes from the house. “Steve?”

“Yeah, it’s me. Are you okay?”

“Geez!” A thud sound followed by “Ow!” and then the door opened. She shows up with an eyepatch. “Steve? What are you doing here?”

“What happened to your eye?” Steve points at her right eye.

“Some disease I can’t really spell. Uveee… Uviaa…”

“Uveitis?” Steve guesses.

“Yep, that one.”

“It’s not a disease, actually. That’s a condition and you need to get that checked thoroughly, it could relate to your immune system.” Steve nerds up.

“Aw, thanks for the free consultation, Doctor Rogers,” she says wryly.

“Did you get it checked?”

“Yes, where do you think I got my eyepatch from?” She sounds annoyed. “And they got my left eye checked too and now it’s dilated and I can’t see things.”

“It’s blurry, isn’t it? It should get better after 6 hours,” Steve explains again.

“Yeah, perfect timing, I’m so behind my deadline and Darcy will kill me,” she complains.

“Have you had your dinner?” Steve asks.

“I was warming up some soup but then it dropped because I thought I put it on the counter, but then apparently the counter moved! It’s a mess now,” she blames it on the counter.

“I have pizza. Can I come in?” Steve offers.

“My sight might be blurry Steve, but I’m not blind yet, where’s the pizza?” She squints her one good eye.

Steve chuckles. “It’s in the car. I’ll be back.” Then he runs downstairs to his car and grabs the pizza boxes. When he’s back upstairs, she has left the door open so Steve can come in. She’s right, the house is a mess. The soup splattered all over the kitchen and pieces of ceramic from the broken bowl scattered on the kitchen tiles. Steve sees some traces of blood so he approaches her, she’s perching on the chair’s armrest.

“You cut your left foot,” he says, crouching to check her feet.

“It’s just a small cut, it’s not a big deal.” She brushes it off.

“It will be if you don’t clean it up.” Steve looks up and frowns.

“Steve, I can’t see clearly, so your puppy eyes don’t work on me now.” She smiles. “But yeah, I’ll clean it up.” Then she’s limping to the bathroom.

“Do you need me to—“

“No, I’m good. I can do it.” She closes the bathroom door.

Steve cleans up the mess in the kitchen and washes some dirty dishes too. He opens the pizza boxes and thankfully the pizzas are still intact and warm. He takes a look around the kitchen, so familiar and cozy. He used to make a lot of coffee here in the morning and he would press his peanut butter sandwich with that panini press. His jaw stiffens when he sees the panini press, it’s still there, she never removes it. His stomach feels funny and a smile creeps onto his face, without him realizing it.

“Is it from 15th street?” She comes back with a plaster on her foot, pointing to the pizza.

“Yeah, I got it delivered to my house but then Greta called me about you.” Steve grabs a slice and hands it over to her. “Did you clean it with alcohol?”

“Yes, Doctor. I did. You taught me well.” She teases him, she sits on the stool, leaving the injured foot hanging. That’s when Steve sees the plaster open and blood drips.

“Geez, Y/n. It’s bleeding,” he says warily. “Here, let me—”

He grabs the kitchen towel and crouches by her foot, wrapping the towel to stop the bleeding. “Can you press your heel against the stool? Yes, like that. Ok, now wait here, let me get some bandages.”

Steve still remembers his way around her home. He opens the bathroom cabinet and the first aid kit that he left is still there. It was around the second month of dating when Steve realized she didn’t have a first aid kit and he brought one for her, thinking it would come handy.

“You were right. It’s important,” she comments when Steve is back with a bandage.

“Huh?” He looks up to her while crouching by her leg again, starting to remove the towel and wrap her foot with bandage.

“The first aid kit. Thanks, Steve. And for this too, for taking care of me.”

Steve stands up after the bandage is secured. One of his hands brushed her thigh and suddenly they’re so close to each other. Steve stares at her face for a while, oh how much he missed this face, and how much he wanted to touch it and kiss it.

She clears her throat and Steve steps back, asking, “Do you want a glass of water?”

“Yeah, that’d be great.” She smiles at him.

He opens the cabinet and takes out a glass, fills in with water from the jug and puts the glass on the island counter in front of her. It’s comforting for Steve to know that he still moves effortlessly in this kitchen, that things don’t change in this kitchen.

“Thanks,” she murmurs. “I’m sorry Greta made you come here.”

“No, no. I don’t mind. I was worried when she said about the noise,” Steve says sympathetically.

“I’m fine, Steve, just will be a little blurry for a while…” She chews the pizza. “And I’m sorry, Greta doesn’t know we’re, um, over.”

“Yeah, I figured,” Steve says. “When’s your next appointment?”

“Tomorrow, noon. I gotta do some blood tests, they didn’t have enough time today. They said this probably relates to autoimmune. And the eyedrop they gave me would make my eyes blurry for a while,” she explains.

“I’ll drive you,” Steve says firmly.

“Huh? What? No! Really, you don’t have to,” she says in a somewhat defensive manner.

“You need someone to go with you, you don’t have a clear view,” Steve argues.

“I’ll ask somebody.”

“Who?”

“I don’t know, Darcy…”

“Sure, call her.”

“I’ll call her tomorrow, she’s… partying now. It’s Friday night, Steve.” She makes excuses.

“And you think she’ll wake up before noon tomorrow?” Steve asks wryly.

“I have other friends,” she says sassily.

Steve snickers, “Come on, Y/n, I don’t mind, really. You’ve always been there for me, this is the least I can do, ok?” Steve smiles at her. “And I’m staying here tonight.”

“What?” She objects again.

“I’ll wait until you fall asleep and then I’ll leave. I’m not sleeping over.” He reiterates.

“I’m fine, Steve—“

“Yes, you’re fine. I trust you. I’m doing it for me, ok? Because I care about you and I’m worried. End of story.” Steve ends the argument.

She finally nods and stops arguing, then asks for another slice of pizza and eats quietly. Steve walks to the fridge to get some cold drinks and he sees a polaroid photo stuck on it with a magnet. It’s her and Bucky, they’re smiling. Bucky’s face is close to the camera, his hand is reaching out the camera, probably clicking the shutter. She was standing behind him, her hands up in the air and showing a wide grin, a beautiful mountain in the background.

“Great Smoky Mountain,” she says flatly.

Steve turns around, she must be noticing him staring at the photo. “Oh, you guys went camping?”

“Yeah.” There’s an apprehension in her voice. “It was his birthday, he said he loved camping.”

“He sure does. His Dad used to bring him camping.” Steve comments and then he smiles faintly. “Anyway… he’s been away for too long, his room gets dusty. This guy…” Steve shakes his head. “Tell him to come home more often.”

She smiles sarcastically. “We’re not really… talking.” Her voice is bitter. “I haven’t seen him since the funeral.”

Then it’s a pure silence, uneasy and uncomfortable stillness of air. Steve shifts his body awkwardly, his eyebrow furrows. She is just staring at her hands.

Steve really wants to ask why. He wants to know what happened in Great Smoky Mountain and why they are not speaking anymore. But he knows it's not his place anymore and it was the exact reason why they broke up. Steve didn’t respect her privacy.

“I’m sorry. I was childish back then, clouded with jealousy.” Instead he says something that he thinks will soothe her.

“I’ve already forgiven you, Steve. It wasn’t easy to stay mad at you,” she says earnestly.

Steve loves that moment. They’re just staring at each other, emotions open, conveying feelings that words can’t say, knowing for sure that they’re past any grudge or resentment. Their love and care towards each other are much bigger than those ugly feelings.

“What do you want to eat tomorrow?” Steve breaks the silence.

“I don’t have any cravings… and you don’t have to bring food for me.”

“What are you gonna do, Y/n? You’re gonna cook and burn this house?” Steve says wryly.

She scoffs, “I can order food, Steve. I’m still fully functional.”

“God, can’t you just let me help?”

“I don’t want to trouble you—“

“You don’t. It’s not a chore for me, ok? Come on. We’re way past this. You were taking care of my shits when I was a mess, when I lost my Dad… Why can’t I do the same when you need help?” Steve’s voice raises up.

She doesn’t respond to that. Steve’s voice softens. “It’s okay to be on the receiving end of help, Y/n. That’s when you say the word thank you.” She smiles, her brow raises, voice soft. “Okay, Steve… Thank you.”

“Now, please tell me you have ice,” he complains when he opens the freezer. She sounds apologetic because she doesn’t have any. They banter about the ice and how hot this summer starts to feel and Steve reminds her at some point of their conversation that it’s exactly a year ago, in the same heat of summer, they met and eventually fell in love. And he said that he’s been missing her. Steve and his honesty, too good for his own good.

❀☀☂☃

It’s eight thirty in the morning and Steve is already back at her house. He unlocks the mahogany door and loads some of the cooked food into her fridge. He left after she fell asleep in her room around eleven last night, and after he made sure there was no hazard on the way between her bed and bathroom. The spare key was still stored in the same drawer so Steve took that with him. He baked a big batch of lasagna until two in the morning and passed out on the bed right after.

There’s a thud in the bathroom. “Goddamnit!” she swears.

“Y/n? Are you okay?” Steve calls her.

“Yeah. I dropped my conditioner and it hit my toes!” she shouts back from the bathroom. Steve chuckles on the thought of that.

They have breakfast together (Steve made his famous peanut butter sandwich) and she makes a comment about how much he misses it. She also repeatedly thanks Steve for the lasagna, she can store that for a week, given if she’s not sick of eating the same thing again and again. “You know what, I’ll share some with Jack!” she says on second thought.

Steve drives them to the hospital and because they only need to take her blood, they send her to the nurse’s treatment room directly. “Please wait here for a while, somebody will call you by name,” one of the nurses explains to her. She thanks her and sits on the bench with Steve.

“Hey, thanks again for driving me here… and keeping me company,” she says with a controlled smile.

“You’ve said it like a thousand times already. You’re welcome.” Steve smiles back at her.

“I know, but still…”

“If the situation is reversed… If I’m the one that needs someone to drive me to hospital, would you volunteer?”

“Yeah, no doubt,” she says without hesitation.

“Now you understand?” Steve asks smugly.

“Okay, I get it, no need to be a smug,” she murmurs.

“Hey…” Steve calls her with a soothing tone.

“Yeah?”

“I haven’t really thanked you… for helping out on the funeral.” Steve smiles faintly.

“Come on, Steve. Don’t mention it. Anything for Sarah, really…” She strokes Steve’s hand gently.

“You know, my mom and I, we had a talk a couple of weeks before she passed… She told me that life is a collection of moments. And moments become memories and at the end of the day, memories are what we have to hold on to. Some memories, we hold on to dearly.”

“That’s wonderful.” Her voice is soft with affection.

“And I’m sorry… for being such an idiot. I should never force you to share any of your memories if you didn’t want to,” Steve says with a fond look.

“Steve, it’s okay. Water under the bridge, all right? We’re fine… we’re fine.” She smiles at him.

“I was such a child.” Steve refers to the day they broke up.

“Yeah, you were an ass,” she says. “But I understand where you were coming from. I really do. And Steve… I love that you’re child-like. You always see the good in people. That’s what I love about you.” She smiles at him. Steve can’t stop replaying the words love, it’s not in the past tense.

“And some memories… they’re so wonderful it’s better to share. Like the moments you had with your mom.” She tilts her head to him, his blue eyes catching her admiring gaze. “And Steve…”

“Yeah?”

“I found out about my birth parents. I see their photos. My memories were not illusions. They’re real.” Her voice is breaking, as if holding in the emotions.

“After they died in an accident, I was taken by the social services, somehow I fell into a private adoption service,” she continues. “There was this one photo of the four of us with a Christmas tree at the back and I looked so happy opening presents.”

“Four?”

“Oh, apparently I have an aunt. She’s my Dad’s sister. She lives in Indiana.”

“You met her?” Steve asks excitedly.

“No. Nick has the information. I haven’t contacted her. I don’t know if I’m ready.” She plays with the hem of her shirt.

“Hey… Take your time, ok? Just let me know if you need anything from me, or if I can help…”

She smiles at him gratefully. “What did I do to deserve you?”

“Well, I’m not always like this. I was an ass once, remember?” He snickers.

“Yeah, you grew up. And everyone grows up at a different pace. Some grow up very slowly,” she says sassily nodding to him.

“Oh, that's smug!” Steve comments. “I hope you don’t mind calling uber home.” Steve stands up, pretends to leave.

“No…” She pretends to wail, tugging Steve’s left arm. “I’m practically blind, you’re mean!”

Steve walks away. “Steve, are you kidding me?” she whines.

“‘I’m going to the restroom, Y/n. Geez, so clingy, aren’t you!” Steve taunts her and she bursts out laughing.

❀☀☂☃

The vet’s office is always busy in summer, but Steve made time to accompany her one more time for a check up in the hospital the following week, he insisted on coming with her, making excuses about dropping something for Dr. Cho.

The eye was better and the blood test came out normal, nothing critical at the moment but the Opthamologist warned her that episodes might recur, so he booked her an appointment for a check up in three months time. She was happy with it and she had a late lunch with Steve afterwards.

They over-ordered and shared all the food together, just like they used to do when they were a couple. She told Steve about some of the funny stories that Peter shared with her and Steve passionately shared about the cat he saved in last month’s surgery. At one point, Steve accidently called her by pet name, “Can you pass me ketchup, babe?” And for a second she didn’t even realize that, until both of them did and the air went still for a while but then they decided to act like nothing happened.

Steve wanted to tell her right there, right then, that he still loved her, that he had been feeling miserable being away from her, that he was thinking about her all the time, that any little things reminded him of her he thought he went nuts. And that he forgot how happy he could be just by sharing a meal and having conversation with her, just being with her.

But Steve didn’t. There’s something he needs to clear with his best friend first. So he texts Bucky something that he won’t say no to, “It’s my birthday next week. I want a present from you.” The reply comes in minutes.

Bucky: Anything for my best guy. Name it.

Steve: You.

Bucky: Ok, Steve, weird!

Steve: LOL. I want you to come home, buddy. Let’s just hang out, ok?

Bucky: Of course, pal.

[Previous Chapter] | [Next Chapter]

A/N: MERRY CHRISTMAS GUYS!!! <3 Hope all of you had amazing Christmas!

Just two more chapters to the multiple endings. I'm brewing the ending with the amazing @supercalifragilistic-elley Writing this series has been soooo fun! Please reblog and comment, and tell me who you're gonna choose? Bucky or Steve?

Taglist in the comment. :)

[donutloverxo]

A Royal Scandal 3

Modern Royal King!Steve au

(Image from Pinterest)

cowritten with @lizzygal​

Note - There will be no taglists for this. You can subscribe to the  ao3 story to receive updates!

Please note that my stories are not to be stolen or reposted on any other site. Reblogs are welcome. This blog and this story is 18+. Do not read, follow or interact if you are not 18+.

Summary - Modern ruler, His Majesty King Steven G Rogers, is on a quest to make his long term secret relationship the real thing. He is a man in love and wants his lover and partner to be his queen.

Warnings - Smut (m/f), dub con/non con, sex tape, scandals, mentions of past domestic abuse, soft dark Steve, possessive Steve, spanking, power imbalance, mentions of previous domestic abuse, somnophilia.

Pairing - King!Steve x reader

Word count - 7k

Story masterlist

Sometimes Steven forgot that you weren’t that much younger than him. He forgot about a lot of things when it was only the two of you. You did that to him. You made him forget things that everyone else reminded him of constantly, intentional and not.

Early that morning was no different.

Long before his alarm went off, Steve found himself on his side watching you sleep. Feeling in every way equal to you, like there was not this huge ocean of things that he did not have in common with you, opposed to what the two of you shared.

Obviously, he was the son of kings and tyrants while you were the daughter of immigrants and a blue-collar family. You’d grown up in a house full of love and kindness and acceptance, he had not. You’d ended your teenage years going to college and then travelling and ending up here, where you chose to stay and work and travel and live a life that Steve could only dream of, his own had never been his own and never would be.

You had dreams and hopes, little things like aspirations. He didn’t.

Steve’s life was dictated by things like duty and obligations, expectations. Yours was not.

Maybe that was why he’d been so drawn to you?

Compared to all the royals around Europe and titled individuals, politicians, even old families, none of them interested him even a fraction of the amount that you interested him. To Steve you were exotic. You were a fascinating creature who might as well have come from Mars.

He couldn’t even say what it was or why.

For so long it had felt right to be alone. Considering the blood of monsters ran through his veins, Steve had been uninterested in any sort of companionship more than a brief encounter at a private location.

For Christ’s sake, he refused to sleep in the bedroom that his father had slept in.

Upon assuming the throne, he’d selected to take up older quarters in an unused part of the palace living complex. As if to ensure he was as far away from the rooms that his father and grandfather and great-grandfather had slept. Choosing to sleep in a bed untainted by any of those men, stored from when his land was ruled by an emperor. Hoping with the hopes of a young king that it would save him from their madness.

Beside him, you slept so peacefully, trustingly.

Steve had never brought anyone into his private apartment. Nor had his bed seen any carnal action since it’d gone into storage. Until you. He’d simply never been so inclined.

A rough sound from the growth on his cheek rubbing against his pillow. A pleasant reminder of that night that felt so long ago, yet also like only yesterday.

He’d had a beard back then he remembered.

A full bushy one.

One that had made you laugh softly at, roll your eyes and still manage to pull off an acceptable bow when you greeted him that late night.

“They beat Canada then Your Majesty?” You had inquired with good nature, setting down a whole stack of papers and folders onto the very modern conference table in a big room that could fit two dozen, more if the people were standing.

He’d beamed.

Steve remembered he’d been in a particularly good mood that night. Even if he was working late on the education push into the outer regions of his kingdom. A good amount was still very rural, many simple villages that lived as they had fifty or more years ago. Many parts of his kingdom were still deeply rooted in the past.

“Indeed. Eleven to four.”

He was beaming. Beaming! You were pretty sure you could see molars. It made you shake your head and begin to sort out all your work into piles to go over. Not that you’d ever admit to secretly being caught up in the hype of the team being so close to gold at the Winter Olympics. “So then the beard stays?”

“You of all people,” he admonished, coming over to help you. Picking up the well-marked up maps you’d spent hours annotating.

Making you roll your eyes.

On he went though, obviously needing to drive home the seriousness of this matter. “The beard stays until we win gold. Next we play Norway. I don’t think it needs to be said that we cannot risk it.”

He was serious. Really serious. If that full glorious beard was any indication.

More focused on the organizing task yourself.

Sorting your work by region, pile by pile, each had taken much work and effort and negotiation, endless phone calls and trips and emails to each area to get them to work not only with you, but one another. It was like herding cats. It had taken you months to get this all sorted out for Steve to see. His ideas weren’t even ready to be implemented. This was just the pre-gaming, the leadup, the work in preparation. You weren’t even on Step One. You were on Step Zero.

“Now that I know, I’ll be sure to grow a beard next Winter Olympics.”

And then you were rewarded with a rich hearty laugh from your king.

Well not your king, as you weren’t a citizen of this country. But you still liked to think of him as your king.

Watching you sleep was something he’d never tire of. Never get enough of. It was a luxury that he didn’t realize he wanted day in out.

The ability to wake up with you tangled up in blankets. Curled back against his front. Hogging pillows as you did. Allowing Steve to run his fingers up and down your bare thigh, along the curves of your body. Letting him lean forward to press his lips to your shoulder and see the peaceful rest of your face in his slowly lightening bedroom. Every last inch of you here for him.

Hungry.

That was what it was, he was hungry for you. Like a big bear that woke from hibernation after a long winter. At times he felt such a way. Never having felt this way about anyone prior.

In his own time, he slipped his fingers down along the round of your ass underneath the flesh of your hip. Warm. Soft. Smooth. Neither of you had left the bed since the late night bath in his tub.

Further down Steve allowed his fingers to trail.

Memorizing every last second to get him through his day. From how you felt pressed against the front of him, how your back moved against his chest with every steady breath you took. The way your legs tangled in his buttery sheets with his own, how the soft cheeks of your bottom pressed against his alert groin.

Most definitely though, how your skin tasted and felt beneath his mouth. Smelling like yourself from all your favorite bath products kept in his bathroom.

You’d smelled so good that night too.

You always smelled good.

It was something that he had noticed but hadn’t given any real thought to.

It seemed to be a mix of perfume and body lotion or cream. Cause Steve found the flowery smell would linger after you walked by in the way that perfume did, infusing the air and making his brain scream out that you were near. But also, when you shook his hand, it always had that sweet fresh clean smell afterwards.

Now, whenever Steve smelled it, all he could think about was you.

Those smells danced around him. Making the late hour bearable. Making the fact that the offices were empty but for the two of you, when you both should have been home in bed, not matter.

“Ok…” you were talking to him, pointing out places on the massive map that was his nation. Arms crossed. Legs spread. Standing beside you as you informed him with tones that indicated your happiness, your displeasure as well as your utter irritation. “…so I managed to get in touch with every Education Department in all nine of your territories.”

Though you were not looking at him, Steve nodded, laser focused on this project he’d tasked you with months ago.

“All of the department heads are on board with your desired overhaul to completely modernize the entire system. Unfortunately, they told me that I had to call all the district heads for all forty-six provinces to get their agreed participation too.”

Your tone went from pleased with yourself then skeptical and then annoyed.

You turned your head to look at him. “Which is what I spent the last three months doing. It was something of a thing.”

Steve could only imagine.

He was quiet though so you could go on. More than pleased with how well you worked in this position. He’d originally been skeptical with your being a foreigner. How dedicated would you be to a job in a country that was not your own? One hundred percent as it turned out.

Your hands flattened out dramatically on the table. Outrage surged from you. “I’m still waiting on two appointees because their predecessors apparently died during harvest season and no one could be bothered to replace the position. I literally had to fly out to the outer reaches of civilization to find this out. Cause all the government offices are closed during harvest season, fyi. But they’re literally filling the positions now.”

Such was the challenge of having a large kingdom with one foot in the future and one in the past. Such things led to the difficultly of keeping a Chief of Staff.

Steve’s previous Chief of Staff had come highly recommended and lasted a little over a month.

Whether it was from a lack of dedication, the obvious frustrations of the job or maybe he simply had not wanted to jump on a plane and fly six hours then ride by car five hours to remote areas in order to complete his work. Steve could not be sure. All he knew for sure was he’d keep you as long as humanly possible.

In his eyes, you were a saint.

“What’s with the question mark?”

Making you look to see which question mark you’d marked on the map full of stickers and marks and tabs. Hours had been spent working on the damn thing.

Seeing which question mark in question made your nose scrunch. “Oh…them, they refuse to even answer my calls until they are allowed to take their traditional name for their province. Which is way above my pay grade. Someone else is going to have to deal with them. I tried.”

Ah, Steve nodded, that was far from surprising. The far outer regions were notoriously independent or rebellious, depending on your stance.

He would deal with them accordingly. Not how his father did, but in his own way.

Steve’s attention was drawn to two nearby provinces. Each had a frowny face sticker. Without asking, he merely pointed.

A noise of pure disgusted frustration came from deep in your throat. Making you stand and look to him, brandishing your hands in all directions. “I tried my best with them. I really did. Both of those provinces absolutely refuse to take part in anything if the other is involved. Apparently, they’re still salty at one another over something that happened in fourteen-seventy-three and refer to me as the foreign she-devil. So…good luck with them Your Majesty.”

Soundly you slept.

Comfortable. Safe. At peace.

Making him feel like a true man. A provider able to care for you, protect you, satisfy you. As if he were stripped down to what nature intended. Instead of what society had dictated for you both.

Reaching down to that heavenly place between the V in your thighs, Steve pushed his fingers further to find your softness slippery, your skin slick with viscous arousal. In pushing his finger up further, running it around the edge of your slit to where the gateway to your body was hidden, he found you heavily aroused. Coating his fingers with a thick fluid that promised you would be able to take him now. Oozing into the cervices between his fingers and smearing thickly down his palm and over the back of his hand.

Unable to help himself, he brought his hand out from between your legs in order to look at your arousal. Merely the sight made his balls clench in eager anticipation. Tasting the bodily excretions had his hips moving against yours on their own.

A noise came from you. Though you were far from waking. Always one to enjoy your sleep.

On his tongue you were heady, ripe. Tasting like sin. Steve licked his fingers. Eyes closed so he could savor the taste, how you clung to his tongue and were thick, like a burst of brandy swirling with his saliva.

Awakened now from his deep sleep. Ravenous like a beast of the forest. He pressed a lingering kiss to your shoulder. Making you mumble. Making you wiggle in your sleep, causing you to reach your arm out for a pillow to pull close. Hooking your leg up higher too. Becoming more comfortable in the bed in addition to opening yourself up more to your king. As if your body had connected to his on a level your mind was unaware and encouraged him to take you.

Down he peered. Strands of hair fell across his forehead at the harsh angle. A soft lightening of the sun through drapes he never closed last night allowed the sight of moisture. Folds of bare skin sheened up at him. Tempting him with that webbing of goo that promised him you were ready.

Taking himself in hand, he caught sight of your name curled over his side. Reminding him of your absolute possession over him. Sending his hand low to pull his foreskin back in order to feed this hunger of you that consumed him.

Your signature was all swoops and swirls.

Recognizable above anyone else’s writing he came across on a daily basis.

All over paper and on the maps. In little corners. Highlighted. In different color pens. On stickie notes. Written on napkins or on the back of random pieces of paper.

At the time, he’d had no idea how far gone he really was.

Not even when he watched you take note after note with a purple inked pen, your hand flowing across paper like a swimmer cutting through the water. Taking down his every word, every command.

A incredibly distinctive feeling of being full woke you up from your glorious sleep, in a very singular sort of way that could be from only one thing. Only one thing on earth felt like that when waking you up.

Pulling you out of a warm blissful sleep only to wake you with the exquisite feeling of being stretched open, pushed into, filled up. Making your fingers clench bedding or pillows or whatever they could grab.

A low breathy moan came from you in the time between you were woken and awake, your face burrowing in a pillow was followed by a soft profanity. Weight slowly covered you. Weight pinned you down to the bed a little at a time. Skin and sheets and soft dustings of hair rubbed against you.

Only when you had fully woken did you feel pubes brush against your cheeks. A light tap of scrotum bumped you too.

Long arms wrapped around you. Wet lips mouthed along the curve of your neck.

This was a far superior way to wake up. Compared to your apartment, in bed alone, to your neighbors loud shrilling alarm clock through your paper-thin wall.

Groaning out at the feel of His Majesty’s cock stuffed safely up in your secret garden. You found yourself whining at Steve at whatever time it was in the early morning. “…fuuuuck…what’d I say about doing that…” A swivel, nay, a swivel with a pop of his pelvis followed, making you see stars, gasp deeply as if you’d been stabbed in the lungs and then add on for God and Country. “…My King…shit, My King…oh shit, My King.”

Though it may have been said in jest, his tone was hot enough to scald. “If memory serves me correctly…” another deep push of thick hips shoved you forward into the pillows. “…you say, not in my ass unless I’m awake.”

Stars.

So many bright and colorful stars.

Mmm.

Yes, that was something you had told him on many occasions and it still held very true. If Steve was going to put anything in your ass, forget that thing he claimed was a dick, you needed to be fully awake so you could both physically and emotionally prepare yourself.

Nothing at all could have prepared you for the drastic turn your life was about to take that night.

Nothing.

Everything had been so normal. It was so regular. Like many a long night working late hours at the palace before. Hours had been spent going over all your hard work contacting each and every head in each education department per province, as well as per territory. In addition to the national department of education, preparing to prep them for what the king wanted.

Like any other late night, Steve helped you put all of your paperwork back in the correct order you had it in. Like every other time, he requested a palace car take you to your apartment. Granted the apartment you shared with your best friend was walking distance away. It was late and simply not safe and you found were touched that Steve would think about your well-being.

For a king, he wasn’t that bad. When it was the two of you anyway.

Looks aside, which he had in spades, he could be very funny in a sarcastic sort of way. He was very well read and intelligent, quick on his feet. Although people seemed to think of him a certain type of way based on his father and his own kingship at a young age, when he really was his own person.

You’d noticed he had a definite interest in the classical masters and had on rare occasion seen him sketch out something on a flight or during a less than stimulating event. He had an artistic ability that would never come to anything due to his role.

His strong sense of duty paired with a disgusting moral obligation pretty much guaranteed his life would be spent in service to his country. Period.

You could see why people thought he was hot. The man had been blessed by the genetic gods. Plus he was a king. Who didn’t grow up dreaming about being a princess? Or think about a literal Prince Charming from fairy tales?

Having now had the benefit of working in a real life palace. You knew the realities of that fantasy.

You had two pages of notes that could attest to the reality of your childhood Disney Princess movies.

Reality was always so different.

Not for the first time, you found yourself repeating yourself. “…and let me say one more time. Thank you so much for talking with my parents. I know it was only ten minutes, but, I know how busy you are and it just completely topped off their visit. My mother has been telling everyone about how she met the king. You even have my father cheering for the hockey team.”

A smile came over Steve’s face that was real.

It wasn’t one of his practiced smiles. It was an actual smile. You could tell because it reached his eyes.

“Well,” Steve answered you with a shrug, sounding genuinely pleased even if he also sounded tired and like he wanted nothing more than to go off to his living quarters in the palace and crash into bed, before he had to get up to start a new day. Helping you stack the last of your papers up. “Anything to convert a soul to hockey. Technically, it is his team too.” And because he could not help himself, Steve added on, “Even if his grandparents fled from here for a cushy life in the west.”

Up your hand flew to your chest.

Your jaw dropped in mock pain. “Ouch, Sir! That one was painful.”

His smile grew at your over-the-top reaction.

Still though, he dipped his head and you noticed there was a little blush on his cheeks above where that magnificent beard grew. Chagrined, he quickly followed up with, “I apologize. That was a cheap shot.”

In a physical sort of way that his people were known to interact, personal space be damned, Steve reached over to touch your arm apologetically. Not something he did frequently. Although he had done it a handful of times. The press of his mouth to your cheek was new. The little kiss was brand new. Steve’s lips were gentle on your skin. His beard tickled your face.

Never in your life had your heart pounded as violently in your chest as it did at that gesture. Quickly, your head turned. Though you did not move back or say anything. Instead, you found yourself staring at Steve. Looking into those pools of blue that were looking at you with the same amount of surprise that you felt. His lips were right there, right there.

Blood roared in your ears, your heart pounded faster and faster and faster.

He kissed you.

Did he really though?

Was it a kiss or was it a kiss?

For a moment in time, you leaned in. Leaned closer. Leaned till you almost touched him because that was what your body wanted to do. Until you remembered that Steve was a king. A KING. Remembering that made your head command your body to lean backwards a bit. Allowing you to see that he had leant in to meet you.

He’d leaned closer to kiss you.

What were you doing? What in the hell were you doing? You had no business doing this, no business at all messing around with Steve.

Fingers moved along your arm, tracing up the back of it softly. That simple touch made goosebumps break out over your skin. It made your breath hitch. Your hands began to shake so you grabbed the fabric of your skirt.

However, you made no move to step away from Steve. Nor did he make any sort of move to step away from you.

Another attempt at a kiss was not made.

Fingers touched your face instead. Steve was close enough to you that you felt his legs brush yours. You felt his breath against your face. Fingertips ran across the swell of your cheekbone, down over your lips, tracing the bridge of your nose in what felt like a desire to memorize your face.

Steve was gentle. His fingertips felt like feathers on your skin. He made you shake like a leaf in terror because you wanted him to touch you more. You wanted to be touched. You wanted to feel his hands on you and the soft glide of his thumb along the line of your jaw was painfully insufficient.

Without thinking, you reached up with your hands until you remembered that he was the king.

Were you allowed to touch the king? You weren’t sure. He was touching you and it was fabulous but were you allowed to do the same? You wanted to. You so deeply wanted to. You just were not sure what was allowed in this situation. It had not exactly been covered in the Royal Protocol Guidebook you had.

Then came Steve’s voice. Harsh. Gravelly. Desperate.

“Touch me. It’s ok. I want you to.”

For only a heartbeat or two you remained still, observing him, making sure. Only after that did you reach up with your hands to cover his wrists. Rub along the fabric of his button-up shirt. In doing so, you not only felt the strength in his well-muscled wrists, or how warm the silky fabric was, but, you could feel him tremble. He was shaking about as much as you were.

A rush of air surged from his lungs as if you had burnt him.

Curious, you turned your head so you could place a single kiss on the inside of his hand touching your face, right at the base of his thumb. In doing so, you ripped a noise from deep within him. A noise that was both pained while also infused with wanting.

“This is ok?”

“Yes,” he croaked out, as if he were terrified you would stop.

Never would you have ever imagined he would be so responsive. Almost touch starved it felt.

Sometimes, Steve still felt as if he were a little touch starved to you. Sometimes it felt like he’d gone his entire life without having that physical connection between two people. As complicated of a man as he was with as complicated of a life as he had, you at times forgot that he was still a human being with human being needs that were essential to thriving.

And it wasn’t like you were complaining.

Far from it.

Not after the orgasm you just had, not from on top of him either. Lounged across the front of him. Loose limbed. Languid down to your marrow. Peppering the damp skin of his neck with slow wet kisses and scrapes of teeth. Long drags of your tongue collected drops of salt that tasted of him. Lazily. Heart to heart. Stomach to stomach.

There really were worse ways to wake up.

Like, for instance, in your apartment taking cold showers cause the building’s water heater was ancient. That wasn’t fun at all and usually had you shivering and hurrying through an icy shower. Straight up not a good time.

This? This was soooo much better.

Feeling Steve’s long legs wrapped up in your own, paired with his softening member filling you by virtue of sheer size not letting himself just pop out…this was a much better way to wake up. Far superior in every way.

Not that you were willing to waste precious time like this luxuriating in post-coital bliss. No, no. A burning question was hot on your mind that kept popping up after last night. After all, you were a modern woman and this was a serious relationship. You had every right to ask this question at any time you wanted. Even now. As your boyfriend, the king, fondled your breasts in his hands with such intensity that you would have thought he’d just broken out of Alcatraz after a decade of no nookie. Not that you were in the least bit complaining. Not one bit.

“Am I going to have to quit my job?”

It was something of a concern.

You loved your job. You loved working with Steve. You loved your life as it was and a big part of you suspected becoming queen would mean big changes.

Not that you lifted your head from his neck, or ceased your trek down towards his collarbone. Trail of your kisses never slowing or stopping. No hint of any sort of disruption came. Not for a moment or two. Not till your ravenous boyfriend squeezed your breasts possessively. Thumbed your nipples and finally opened his eyes, as if it were the biggest chore on earth.

His voice was rough. His tone felt like hot gooey honey that just got everywhere. “No…not yet…”

Leading you to make a noise. A pop followed when your mouth left the dark spot you’d been sucking on nearly at his collarbone. What with your name already etched on him. What else could you leave in a display of ownership over him? “Nothing else to add My King?” For added emphasis, perhaps you gave you vaginal muscles a clench knowing what that did to him.

A grunt came from beneath you.

Wrapped up in yours, Steve’s legs clenched in response to what you did. White teeth sank into his upper lip and you absolutely thrived at the sight and feel of him arching up against you, shifting around beneath you at the way your body squeezed him.

Those hands left your breasts only to reach down, run over your waist as they had so many times before, leading you to grab them. Snatch then right up. Press them down into the mattress over Steve’s head. Since the man was far larger than you, this sent you leaning downwards and ever closer to his face. “Steve? I asked you a question.”

How easy it would have been for him to get free. Yet, he seemed content where he found himself. Still wedged within you. Warm in bed. Body a sea of a complex cocktail of chemicals after physically releasing into you. A far better way to wake up than alone in a massive bed. Or worse, to his mother jabbing at him to urgently tell him something that was not urgent at all.

Feeling your breasts press against his chest. Lightly brushing over his skin, your nipples little points that sparked a definite interest in his dick.

God did he want you to be his queen.

“Not yet,” Steve ground out, nearly close to being overwhelmed by you. Each and every word was enunciated to utter perfection, as if it took all of his concentration and effort to get them out. “I’ll have the palace leave your name out of the official statement today. We can go slow. Ease you into things…ease you out of your job…” and to reward him for such a thoughtful statement, you clenched around him once more.

However, it seemed, there was more and even though his eyes rolled up into his head at the feel of your core squeezing his not entirely soft organ, he pushed on with the determination of his ancestors. Grunting. Arching back into the bed as the pillows had all wound up on the floor. Perfect teeth clenched together. “M-my people…will…love you…too.”

So, it was entirely possible, that you were feeling all kinds of powerful watching him writhe beneath you. Knowing exactly what sort of repercussions this could have to your morning. Which was still progressing on time. It was entirely possible that you may have intentionally pushed your own pelvis against his to reseat yourself.

“Oh yeah? How can you be so sure? You saw what happened with those two over in England. And that prince isn’t even next in line to the throne.”

Perhaps it was the seriousness of the direction in which your conversation had taken, Steve remained beneath you. Taking no action, even though you could quite literally feel his dick grow more interested in what your hips were doing.

A panted out, “…fuck…” escaped from him, before he opened his eyes to look at you seriously, if not also a little heatedly. “Quit obsessing over them. The King of Jordan married for love. Queen Rania was a commoner. If you must, focus on them.”

Sudden movement found you falling off Steve and onto the bed, shoved onto your back and in a flash, he was on top of you again. Over you. Hovering. Though he’d escaped out of your body, you could feel the king’s most delicious semi, slick from your previous copulation, squish between you both.

Admitting on an exhale, “Forgot about them.”

“Everyone does.” He agreed, surveying down, taking in the sight of you. “My country appreciates you. They’re fond of you. You’re in all the papers and they’ve given you a nickname.”

And that. That. Nearly killed the mood.

It sent your eyebrows together dubiously so.

Everytime you were in the press it was when your skirt had been blown up on a windy day, or if you’d accidentally gotten food on your shirt. Or that time a baby goat pooped on your shoes. Or when you’d tripped and fallen off a dock into a lake. Who could forget that time you’d accidentally called the Prime Minister of Canada a ‘moose fucking cannibal’ when you’d still been getting the hang of the language, your first year on the job?

You’d been affectionately dubbed, ‘the King’s Foreign Devil’ and it had stuck.

Hell, you still got asked about your thoughts on the Canadian Prime Minister whenever a member of the press was around.

“Most the time, you have a higher approval rating than I do,” he added. Much to the consternation of Maria Hill in PR. “Trust me. There is nothing my country loves more than a hard-working loyal servant of the people who talks shit about western leaders.”

Mood totally killed, you seethed and not for the first time, “That was an accident! I was trying to call him Canada’s Disney Prince.”

***

The note had been hand delivered to the palace and was now crumbled into a ball in the Queen Mother’s bedroom as she stormed off, once more, that early morning in a fury of rose satin and silk. Her perfume clouded around her, drifting behind her, much like the wake of a boat cutting through the water.

Thick carpets silenced her heels. Doors opened for her as she neared them, allowing her to not need to slow her step even for a second. Not a single moment wasted as she made her way through the private living quarters of the palace.

Down hallways and around corners, over to the rooms that her grown son had selected as his own.

It would have been so much easier if he would have just taken the rooms that his father had lived in.

Although, with the horrific memories attached to those rooms, how could she blame him when he elected not to? She had her own private rooms. The dead kings rooms were locked up tight and still not used. Abandoned like so much he’d done, started and accomplished in his life.

Upon coming to her only child’s rooms, those doors were held open for her and on she pressed on. Sailing through his rooms, one after another, until she got closer to his bedroom and could hear his shower which was the direction she headed.

A brief glance was made at the mess that was his bed.

A roll of her eyes was followed by a shake of her head.

Some things males never grew out of it seemed.

“Steven!” She called out in warning, should he be in the bathroom about to come out in the nude. Which was the last thing she wanted to see.

Not only was his bed a mess but his clothes from yesterday were all over the floor.

She had every intention of telling him that he needed to straighten up this mess before the cleaning staff came in his room. The last thing she wanted was for them to think he was messy and then tell their families and friends when they went home that the king had a messy bedroom and word would get out that her son was a slob. Ugh. No. She’d make sure that he straightened up.

Speaking of the devil.

As his shower ran, Steve peered out of the bathroom with a wet head. A midnight blue towel was wrapped around his waist. A toothbrush was in his hand. To Sarah, it was very clear that her grown son had not shaved yet either.

Seeing him in such a state that morning along with his messy room and the fact the shower was going wasting water. It did not make her mood any more agreeable.

Though her son was taller than her and considerably more muscular, she never feared him.

She knew he would never hurt her like his father had so many times. Towards the end, Steve had even defended her from his father’s physical attacks. Those days. They had been dark. Horrible. Terrible. When she noticed that her husband had begun to carry a knife to protect himself from his son. Well. What was she supposed to do?

Attacking her was one thing. Being violent towards her was one thing. There were some things that she learned to tolerate. It was unescapable. Their son though. To take a knife to their son? Her son? Sarah would never allow such a thing.

She was queen at the time.

It was not so difficult to get the drug that she put in her husband’s evening nightcap. She’d used all of it. Thrown the vial away the next day when she went to rouse the king as she did every morning, only to find him dead in his chair. Fireplace having long gone out. Slumped down. Cold. The coroner had said it was a heart attack. Exactly as she’d been told the drug would work. He’d been buried with no one the wiser. Not even Steve.

“Yes mother?”

Sarah rolled her eyes. “You are not growing another beard. Last time you looked like some man that lives up in the mountains in a tiny shack.”

Just as her own father once did, Steve’s eyebrows rose in surprise and question.

No. That was not why she was here.

Sarah had a higher calling that morning and straightening her slim shoulders, she so informed him. “Hope and Janet are here in the city. They’ve come for a surprise visit and will arrive at the palace within the hour.”

Steve’s eyes narrowed at her in response to her information.

It was horrifying. It was outrageous. It was not what he wanted to hear that morning one bit. Not at all. Not one single bit.

Hope and Janet?

Those were two names he never wanted to hear with the additional words being, ‘on their way’. No. Just no.

All he could say that was remotely civil, after what the then Princess Hope van Dyne had done, came out in something of a tone. “I don’t want to see either of them. If you want to see them, that’s your choice. Keep them away from me.”

Considering what the now Duchess Hope had spewed to every reporter, journalist and whomever with a platform…Sarah was a little surprised that Steve was being so kind.

She’d expected a bit more of a reaction from her son.

Could she be holding a bigger grudge against her one-time closest friend’s daughter? After what had happened, Queen Janet van Dyne had become somewhat distant. Which was not surprising. Hope had not broken the engagement gracefully. Nor had she been anything less than opinionated afterwards.

“I suspect she is in trouble,” Sarah confessed. “Why else would they come here? Considering everything that Hope has said over the years.”

Steam continued to seep through the cracked door.

Sarah was about to say something about the shower. Steve was wasting a considerable amount of hot water. She herself was leading the Go Green Initiative in the country and as she stated constantly, it all began at home.

“Mother, don’t take this the wrong way, but, I wouldn’t shit in Hope’s mouth if she was starving.”

Ah.

Perhaps she’d been too quick to judge Steve’s current opinion on the wayward duchess?

Pondering his statement, Sarah found herself looking for any way to come back with a counter when she noticed that the shower turned off. Which was odd. Shower’s didn’t turn themselves off.

What was even more peculiar, Steve reached back behind himself to shut his bathroom door.

It clicked.

Like a light going off.

How could she not have noticed? How could it not have been obvious?

Blue eyes that were a little softer than her son’s narrowed. “You aren’t alone.”

Silence.

Quiet.

Her pink lips opened in surprised. A question hovered on her tongue.

“No mother.”

“But…”

“Mother,” he implored as only a son could. “Not now. She would not want the first time she officially meets you to be when you’re dressed for the day and she is not.”

And though her son’s words were true. They were right. They were exactly what she would have wanted him to say and because she had raised him well, she was even proud that he had made such a quick decision. It wasn’t fair.

Sarah wanted to find out who you were. She wanted to meet the woman that her son was involved with. Was that so wrong? Sarah wanted to meet the woman that her son was considering marrying. There was so much she wanted to say to you, so much to teach you, so much she wanted to learn about you. Perhaps her desperation showed because her son reached out to place a hand on her elbow.

“If you can chase Hope and Janet away, we could have lunch together. The three of us. If not, dinner? Or even tomorrow. I’m not doing anything with Hope under this roof. Not after she referred to our country as a third world plus hellhole full of war criminals and superstitious backwoods heathens.”

Ah, so he did remember.

Those words had been seared into her memory as well. Sometimes Sarah wondered, as Steve had never really given much indication that he cared one way or the other what Hope had said. It was only after she began to speak unflatteringly about their people that he grew irritated, much like herself.

Although, what irritated Sarah more, was the quiet that came from the royal house of van Dyne and Pym a few countries over. Never once had Janet spoke up. Never had Janet said anything about her daughters outrageous remarks or behavior. Nor had she apologized.

Knowing her son, Sarah knew that he would never court anyone who was not kind or compassionate. Steve would never pick a Hope as his queen.

Up came a hand that bore a lovely ring decorated with fresh water pearls from their own waters. “I’ll have them gone before lunch and then we will all sit down together so I can finally meet her.”

[captainsimagines]

traitor

Summary: It was only one night, no strings attached, just two friends working through their grief together. Steve went to live his life with Peggy and within two weeks of returning, he peacefully passed. Unimaginable things happen everyday, jokes have negative consequences, and protection doesn’t always protect from the possibility… the possibility of carrying a child. He would have stayed if he knew, everyone agrees with this, so why is the world calling Steve Rogers a traitor?

One-Shot (with a happy ending)

Pairing(s): Avengers x Fem Reader; brief Steve Rogers x Fem Reader

Warnings: Unexpected pregnancy; serious talks about abortion; brief mention of suicide (if you squint); mentions of Endgame deaths; strong language; minor descriptions of actual birth; ANGST but with a happy ending! This is purely fanfiction. 

Word Count: 6,600+

A/N: So, Olivia Rodrigo’s album just came out and dude, jfc every song is magical. like... wtf. This is essentially a ‘song fanfic’, but ehhhh not quite. The lyrics don’t match the fanfic lmao but the melody does??? idk this is a shit ton of angst, be warned. It was from a request I got a while back, so this is kind of a request fanfic. 

~

Up until the moment Steve pressed his soft lips to yours, you were certain you had never experienced such a wonderful sensation of magic. You had been witness to actual magic, to beings from other worlds, and yet Steve’s gentle touch was enough to erase any other image, to completely overpower your senses, a kind of magic that dug deep into the trenches of your heart and settled in its new home. 

No, you and Steve were not a couple. There were some flirty remarks over the years, some fantasies that lay dormant, but there was never the craving to actually act upon them. But when half the world disappeared and the remaining Avengers came up with a plan five years later, the loss of a teammate prompted the sudden push of two touch-starved individuals. The rest of the team had gone to sulk in their own corners of the compound, some hard at work at constructing the final piece to the puzzle, and you and Steve ventured off to the kitchen. Two cups of tea each, silent but heavy tears mixing in with the sugar and milk. 

You were the first to break, shoulders crumbling and knees rocking under your weight. You fell to the floor, sobs and hiccups forming into a full-blown attack, your hands scratching at your neck. Steve fell beside you, pulling you into his chest and rocking you back and forth. He cried too, the final words of his best friend ringing in his ears like a dreaded song on repeat. See you in a minute. See you in a minute. See you in a minute. 

Time was irrelevant, you had enough of counting time, estimating it, time-traveling through it. If you could sit there all night, all week, another five years huddled close to Steve Rogers, then so be it. 

‘I can’t believe she’s gone,’ you had sobbed. 

‘I can’t believe it either. I can’t,’ he had cried back. 

You had simply lifted your head and turned his face toward yours, searching his eyes for any hesitation before you had leaned in first. He had returned the intimate gesture almost immediately, gripping you tightly. Tears dripped in between your moving lips, sobs caught inside breathy moans, grips becoming tighter and tighter as each of you shared your first time together. No other partner up until that point had ever pulled such a pained but grateful cry from your throat, no other human being had ever made you feel so safe and peaceful. 

The final battle was over, you had lost yet another teammate, but the world had a chance to start over. And Steve had pulled you aside a few days before he returned the stones, letting you know that he wasn’t coming back the same man. He had been so scared of telling you, of possibly betraying you, but when your palms cupped his cheeks and you gave him a kiss on the lips with a soft whisper of ‘Be with her. Cherish her. Be happy. We’ll meet again’, his worries instantly shattered. He could only rapidly nod his head, grabbing your hands that were soaked in his tears, and kissing them until he said his final goodbyes. 

And he returned such a different man, but with a smile you had never quite seen before. Yes, he was older and you only had a few seconds to actually process that, but he was happy. He had been happy. He finally lived the life he deserved. 

Sitting in that pew two weeks later, both sad and happy tears streaming down your face, you felt at peace for the first time in a long time. You simply gripped Wanda’s hand as they carried the casket down the aisle, a sad melody drowning the church. 

`

The first round of sickness hit you the day of the funeral, but you obviously didn’t think much of it. It was the fits of sadness and grief, the hot coil in the middle of your stomach, you thought. It had to be. It wasn’t until your breakfast was regurgitated into your toilet only a few minutes after enjoying it that you were suddenly worried. 

You sneaked to some liquor store a subway ride away, careful of not leaving a trail. This was embarrassing, it was insane, it couldn’t possibly be real. You gave the cashier your money and ran to the stall provided, peeing on the stick the best you could before placing it on the dirty sink in the corner. You patted your hands on your thighs repeatedly, careful to not touch any other thing in a goddamn liquor store bathroom. 

‘Friday?’ your voice was so defeated, tears already stinging your eyes.

Your little bluetooth sprang to life, ‘Yes, Y/N?’

Your bottom lip was trembling wildly, hands now shaking. ‘Can you stay active with me while I read the results? I can’t… I can’t be alone right now.’

‘Yes, Y/N. Anything you need, I’m here.’ You sobbed openly, thanking her under your breath. ‘Are you sure you don’t want me to contact anybody else?’

‘I can’t face them. I can’t face them if it’s positive, Friday.’

‘Okay, it’s alright,’ her voice was so delicate, so quiet and reassuring. ‘Just keep talking to me, Y/N. I think the results should be ready now.’

You inched closer to the test. ‘I’m scared, Friday.’

‘I know,’ Friday sighed, ‘But you will get through this. No matter the result.’

Grabbing the small device from the sink, you swallowed so much saliva that it actually hurt. The plus sign was so clear, so evident in its visibility, and your ears only registered the loud cries escaping your painful lungs because Friday was practically yelling in your ear. 

‘Please, calm down Y/N! Your heart rate is too fast-” she was stuttering, an AI was stuttering. ‘I’m calling for help. You need someone to be here with you. I’m sorry.’

It took ten minutes. Ten minutes of banging outside the bathroom door from the cashier, ten minutes of blurry vision and a strep throat. Sam broke through the door as quickly as he could, eyes flying around the small bathroom until he saw you huddled in the corner, a pregnancy test clutched in your small hand. He crouched down beside you, hands extended but not exactly touching you, and eyes trying to lock with yours. 

‘Y/N, Y/N?’

Just the sound of his voice, the voice of someone who didn’t need this added pain in their lives, it was just too much. Another weight added to your shoulders. 

‘I don’t know why,’ you choked out, ‘I’m so sorry.’

Sam’s face contorted into a pained expression, eyes brimmed with salty tears. ‘What are you talking about? No one is blaming you for anything. You’re safe, I’m here.’

You shook your head violently, ‘I didn’t mean to.’

But as quickly as those words left your mouth, the pounding in your head had become too unbearable. You collapsed into Sam’s arms. 

`

You woke to a single doctor who was monitoring your vitals. She was just sitting beside your bed, clicking random buttons on the screen in front of her. You whimpered slightly, the bright lights temporarily blinding you. The doctor quickly stopped what she was doing and removed the tube from your nose, allowing you to breathe on your own. You ignored the weird scratch that caused, and asked her the question you needed to have answered by a true medical professional - not a liquor store device. 

She confirmed what you already knew. There were no ‘congratulations’ or even ‘I’m sorry’s’, just the fact that you were pregnant and it was very early on. There were still options for you, it was healthy so far, you were healthy so far- 

Wait, options? 

The team were all huddled outside, nerves all over the place. They didn’t know what was going on. Sam knew but it wasn’t his information to pass on. It wasn’t until Bucky’s angry demeanor actually turned violent, a hole forming through the hospital wall. You were all on a private floor, completely displaced from the reality down on other levels, so any freak-outs were only slightly justified. Slightly. 

‘Sam, you gotta tell us. I made a promise to Steve, Sam! I promised to take care of her!’

Bucky’s words gripped Sam’s heart in a metaphorical vice. ‘She’s gotta tell you guys, man. It’s not my place.’

You had curled in on yourself, the doctor’s words echoing louder and louder. 

‘Abortion is an option. At this rate, it would be quick and safe. I can promise you that. It’s your choice.’

You wanted to die. You wanted the world to swallow you up and bury you alive. You wanted to disappear. If you had died in the snap, this wouldn’t have happened. It wouldn’t have happened. 

The ride back to the compound was a quiet one, with Sam driving you and the radio on low volume. 

‘Are you going to tell them?’

You bit your lip, ‘The doctor said I had options.’

Sam’s breath hitched and he tried to mask it, but you had heard it. You felt guilty, disgusting, like you betrayed Steve and the rest of the team. They had just lost him, you had just lost him, and you were carrying his child. And if Steve would have known, he would have wanted it. He would have encouraged you to have it, he would have been so happy, he would have been such a great fa-

‘The choice is yours, Y/N.’ He glanced over at you, ‘Can you at least tell me who the father is?’

The wrecked sobs were like second nature now, choking you with their strength. ‘I’m so sorry!’

Sam pulled to the side of the road and quickly took off his seatbelt, sliding over in the connected front seats to pull you into his chest. ‘Shh, hey. We are not going to be mad at you. Everything’s going to be okay. It may not seem like it now but-’

‘Sam!’ you cried, clutching his shirt in a tight fist. ‘I swear it was an accident! Steve didn’t know! He didn’t know, I swear he didn’t know!’

Sam’s mouth dropped open, an almost embarrassing noise of surprise sounding from the depths of his soul. He ran his hands through your hair, eyes rapidly searching for a single viewpoint. But he couldn’t focus on any one thing, not when you were shuddering against him and apologizing nonstop. 

Steve didn’t know. 

`

The team had reacted in a similar manner. They so desperately wanted to wish you a congratulations, it was the norm for this kind of thing. Especially with such a rough few years - bringing life into this world could be considered an ultimate blessing. But this was Steve’s child, his baby, his only baby in this timeline. It was a part of him, something he had unknowingly left behind. 

The team took a few days. The pain of losing Natasha, of losing Steve, of losing Tony. The gift of life. It was just too much. 

And you found yourself in front of Wanda’s bedroom door, hands clutching your night robe closed and knees wobbly. She brought you tea, she laid underneath the covers with you, she spooned you until you stopped crying. 

‘We weren’t together.’

‘You weren’t?’

You sat up, muscles straining due to your thousandth crying session that week. ‘No, it was one time. It was a mutual thing. We just… felt safe. And we made love.’

Wanda shut her eyes briefly, only to open them for two parallel tears to slip. ‘That sounds beautiful.’

‘We used protection. It really was an accident.’

Wanda interrupted, ‘No, don’t try and justify yourself. It happened. It’s done.’

You whimpered, reaching out to grab her hands. ‘I feel so guilty for even talking to you. I don’t know how you did it. I’m so selfish to be pouring all this on you-’

‘Hey, hey,’ she whispered, ‘But I am the only one who can truly understand. I have lost more in my lifetime than anybody ever should. But I am going to help you get through this, Y/N.’

You pulled her into a hug, ‘I missed you so much. I’m so sorry, but I can’t do this.’

Wanda slowly pulled away, eyes cloudy and touch of red twinge flying in her irises. ‘Alright. I won’t leave your side. No matter what you decide.’

` 

The chair was cold, the room was cold, no matter how inviting the hospital tried to make this room. It was decorated in the most neutral colors, so delicate in its designs, pamphlets and books scattered on every available surface. It was made to make the pregnant person feel secure, to feel comfortable in the hands of their doctor, but it just made you sick. 

And when the doctor asked if you would like an ultrasound first, that it wasn’t actually necessary for you to view it, you found yourself saying yes. You were at six weeks, it would be there. Wanda clenched her eyes shut, because even if you were strong enough to do that, she wasn’t. But she was here to hold your hand. She would hold your hand no matter what. 

It was the size of a grain of rice. That fuzzy, white figure off a little to the right of your uterus was the size of a grain. A literal grain of rice. The monitor shifted and the doctor cleared their throat, the slimy device absentmindedly being circled around your lower abdomen. 

‘Oh my god,’ you whispered, eyes locked on the place the doctor had their finger. Wanda brought her hand up to her mouth and looked away. 

That’s when you heard it. 

The steady rhythm of a strong heartbeat. 

Your chest started heaving, tears staining your cheeks as you listened to the beautiful sound. 

‘I’m so sorry,’ the doctor mumbled, ready to pull the monitor’s plug to end the live video but you gripped their arm before they could. 

‘No, no!’ you yelped, the heartbeat still sounding, so early in its actual life that this was for sure Steve’s child. 

You turned to Wanda, face contorting into one of agonizing regret. ‘I can’t do this. I can’t do this to Steve.’

Wanda gulped and took in a ragged breath, ‘Y/N, Steve’s not here.’

‘No,’ you whined, head turning back to look at the monitor. The monitor with yours and Steve’s child on it. ‘This is the only real part of him we have left, right?’

Wanda opened her mouth but shut it again, unable to formulate a proper response. 

‘This is Steve’s child,’ you stated, sucking in a breath through your sobs. ‘This is my child.’

` 

The team was alerted of your decision the minute you walked into the common room. They had known what you left for, dread itching in their souls and morals twisting greedily, but they hadn’t stopped you. They couldn’t do that to you. 

‘Hi,’ you mumbled, placing your things on the counter. Everyone kept their heads down, lumps growing in their throats as each second passed. ‘I’m okay.’

Clint was the first one to speak. ‘Did everything go well? Did they hurt you?’

You smiled with your teeth for the first time in weeks, ‘No, they didn’t hurt me. They didn’t even touch me.’

For a few seconds, no one caught on to your words. But Bucky was the first to register them, to etch them deeply into his brain, to stand from his seat and walk to you cautiously. ‘You decided-?’

You smiled wide now, happy tears falling over your strained cheeks. ‘I’m having a baby.’

The team erupted, cries and cheers deafening you. Bucky stumbled over and hugged you close, arms wrapped over your shoulders and face buried in your neck. He had to bend his knees to keep that position. He weeped into your shoulder and thanked you repeatedly, his own body rumbling with broken sobs. You held him close, fingers digging into his shirt and the skin of his back. 

‘We promise, Y/N,’ Sam said off to the side, waiting for his turn to hug you. ‘We promise to take care of you and this baby.’

A few more long-awaited congratulations were shared. ‘Guess I’m on desk duty for the next nine months, huh?’

Bucky held you tighter. 

`

The first four months were certainly eventful. Wanda insisted on taking pictures of you every few weeks. She had you model with a nice tight shirt to show off your growing stomach, different props in your arms as the weeks passed on.  Flowers, sporting equipment, random Avengers inventions, signs that read the number of weeks you were at. You even did couple shoots, with your teammates posing behind you with their hands on your stomach and an equally bright smile.

She had them printed out and framed, the compound common rooms now littered with random photos of you and your growing child. It was like a timeline, a museum considering you would catch someone inspecting the photographs. This time it was Scott, casually eating his cereal and balancing it in his hand as he walked the hallway. He had this silly smile on his face the whole time, milk dripping from his bottom lip. In his photo, he was posed behind you with a giant smile, back arched and head thrown back while you were trying your best to arch your back as well. And then he saw you watching him, eyes falling from your face to your stomach, and that silly smile growing wider. 

Happy insisted on doing yoga with you every other morning, his chosen playlists actually Tony’s. Half expecting the songs to only emit the essence of rock and roll, you were surprised when the playlist only contained acoustics. Happy winked at you, ‘He was a man of taste, Y/N. He, too, had those sad driving songs.’

Peter was hesitant to visit at first. He was still mourning Tony, as you all were, and seeing everyone again was certainly a hard thing to do. But he managed, and the moment he saw you there, trying to balance a plastic bottle on your tiny stomach, he burst into a fit of giggles. 

‘Oh, oh! I almost got it!’ you encouraged yourself, stomach not yet protruded enough to quite get it. 

Peter rushed over and caught the bottle as it slipped, ‘You’ll get there. How do you feel?’

You grinned at the kid, ‘Like I’m pregnant.’

Peter chuckled, ‘I wouldn’t know, so.’

‘It’s weird,’ you admitted, turning back to your abandoned bowl of fruit. You popped a piece of pineapple in your mouth, ‘But I just remind myself that they’re gonna be an angel when they come out.’

‘All slimy and angelic.’

You swatted at Peter, ‘They’re healthy. That’s all that matters.’

Peter placed his hand on your stomach, half-expecting something to happen. ‘I can’t believe you’re having his baby.’

You bit your lip, willing yourself not to cry. Steve should be here experiencing this. ‘Me neither.’

`

The next month had come so quickly. Your friends - your family - made sure to keep you occupied. Whether it was to shop, to nap together, to eat together, to exercise together, anything, they were by your side. It was so overwhelming at times, but not wanting to scare anyone, you took time for yourself whenever you could. You’d settle in your room, in a nearby cafe, in Natasha’s room, and just sit and breathe. With one hand on your stomach, you couldn’t possibly fathom the luck on your side. It always tore your heart in two when you realized Steve would never meet his child, absolutely mutilated it. But the realization that this child was going to have such a massive family, your family, uncles and aunts who would die for the kid - that realization was sometimes too much. 

The thunder from outside startled everyone. The quiet night everyone was having was suddenly interrupted by the appearance of a certain god, hair now cut and beard trimmed, running into the common area. He was practically hyperventilating, his quick pace halting as he scanned the room. ‘Is it true?’

‘You got my message?’ Wanda asked, shutting off the water from the sink. 

‘I’m sorry, I was away. I just got the message and-’

Thor lay his eyes on you, your obvious stomach, and he started crying softly. ‘It’s true?’

You smiled at him, opening your arms for an embrace. But Thor fell to his knees in front of you, forehead resting on your stomach. ‘This is a miracle.’

‘It really is,’ you laughed, wiping away a few stray tears. ‘The condom broke.’

Laughter sounded almost instantly. 

Thor looked up at you, eyes red and eyebrows furrowed. ‘He didn’t know?’

You shook your head, ‘No, Steve didn’t know. I promise.’

Thor nodded, believing you. He stood slowly, encasing you in a tight squeeze. He hadn’t changed much since you last saw him, but he did seem to be drinking less. ‘After so much loss, the Heaven’s send us a gift from a beloved friend.’

`

Bucky seemed to be the happiest. Although he shared your beliefs that Steve should be here to experience this, to cherish this, to be the father he had deserved to be, Bucky couldn’t help but feel grateful that you decided to keep the baby. He knew he needed to stop relying on Steve to fix his mind, this he had to do on his own, but the bundle of joy inside of you just added to his undying love for his best friend. This was a piece of him, a true half of Steve’s heart that would soon be breathing air and opening its eyes. 

He was currently laying beside you, just woken up from a nap and lazily drawing circles over your clothed tummy. You were still asleep, deep breaths a little ragged since you were twisted slightly to your side. You had given up trying to sleep on your back nowadays. 

‘Hey there,’ Bucky whispered, a funny smile forming on his face because he can’t believe he’s talking to your literal stomach. ‘You know you’re a miracle, right?’

There was no response, obviously. But Bucky just positioned himself to lean on his elbow, temple resting in the palm of his hand. ‘We’re going to love you so much. Steve would have loved you so much.’

He placed his metal hand on your stomach, careful not to apply so much pressure. He was hesitant though, the metal hand now from Wakanda but still something he didn’t entirely trust. Still, he rubbed smooth circles on your side. ‘I already love you so much.’

Kick.

Bucky widened his eyes, a hitch in his breath. Was that real?

‘Did you just respond to me?’ Bucky asked, a little laugh escaping his lips. ‘Should I say it again?’

Nothing happened for a long while. He switched hands, rubbing a little deeper now. It was a free massage for you, anyway. 

Bucky bit his lip and looked up at your face, still peacefully dreaming. He leaned closer to your stomach and repeated his earlier confession. ‘I love you.’

Kick. 

Bucky shot up from his spot on the bed and covered his mouth, a loud laugh accidentally escaping and startling you awake. 

‘W-What?’

‘They kicked! They kicked!’

‘Seriously?’

Bucky was shooting through the stars, because even though it was a long shot, he felt like somehow Steve was telling him he loved him back. 

`

Sam’s leg bounced madly as he watched the doctor slick up the generator. You repeatedly tried to calm him, tell him that it would be quick and simple, and there was nothing to be worried about. 

You were six months now. Belly now protruding to the point where you could only see the tips of your toes when you glanced downward, and the baby was positioned farther into your back. If anything, you were having a giant freaking baby. He was a product of a super soldier. 

You remembered having that scary conversation with the doctors, your whole family beside you as they heard and relayed the information. 

‘Your baby is perfectly healthy. The serum isn’t affecting it. His lungs are forming less quickly than the other organs but there’s no serious worry.’

Bucky had literally cackled at that, confusing everyone in the room. ‘Steve and his shit lungs.’

But now you were finding out the sex. Only one person was allowed in the room this time, and Sam had literally begged you with his eyes to choose him. 

‘Are you two ready?’

You each nodded at the doctor, waiting for the monitor to spring to life. After a few seconds, the heartbeat was detected. You gripped Sam’s hand in yours, a quiet ‘thank god’ passing through his lips. 

Then the giant image of a literal baby appeared on the screen. It was so surreal. It resembled a quick sketch, like one Steve would have casually drew, and you couldn’t help but imagine him drawing that very image from memory. 

‘Y/N, I-’ Sam cleared his throat, smiling at you. 

‘Would you like to know the sex of the baby?’

‘Yes, please,’ you answered, gripping Sam’s hand harder. 

The doctor moved the generator a few times more, hitting the spacebar on the computer to capture the image. ‘Congratulations, you’re having a boy.’

You shuttered a tiny laugh as Sam flew out of his seat, arms extended upward for a moment before he brought his hands down to kiss them over and over. 

‘I’ll print this out for you,’ the doctor smiled, leaving you and Sam to celebrate. 

`

Everyone had gathered later that night to find out the news. You had printed enough copies for everyone who wanted one. Bets were placed, a multitude of gifts already mounted in online shopping carts. 

‘Don’t keep us waiting!’ Rhodey shouted, champagne bottle at the ready and propped up on his thigh for when you made your announcement. 

Sam was standing beside you, a massive grin plastered on his face. You rolled your eyes at him and urged him on, telling him that you were fine with him saying it. Sam didn’t need to be told twice. 

‘It’s a boy!’

Pop! Drinks were poured and hugs were shared, with even Friday coming over the monitor to congratulate you. 

Even in the midst of all the excitement, you felt a little empty. But you enjoyed your pre-baby shower, happy that everything was so unbelievably working out. 

It was midnight when you alerted Friday to call Happy to your room. You needed a ride. 

Happy was slightly irritated at being woken up, but once you told him where you were heading, he obliged. The ride was silent, comfortable, with Happy glancing at you once in a while to make sure you were okay. 

You walked across the grass slowly, hands resting on your stomach and just a little waddle in your walk. You flashed your phone light over the headstones even though the headstone you were looking for was in a secluded area. Happy trailed you, keeping a respectable distance. 

You stopped in front of the small building, the fence somewhat blocking your path. But there was no security around, and even if you were caught on camera, your face let everyone know who you were and your connection to Steve. You had no worries. 

You broke the lock easily and opened the door. It was almost entirely marble, a good deal of Steve’s actual aesthetic. So simple, not overly patriotic, and secluded. He had refused to be buried in Arlington. 

You sat on the bench provided, the three names in front of you standing out like they were begging to be read out loud. So you complied. 

‘Sarah,’ you muttered, smiling as the name rolled off your tongue. ‘Thank you for sending everyone a literal angel.’

You muttered his father’s name as well, but felt no personal connection to it. You spent at least ten minutes building up the courage to utter his name, to say his name in front of him again. He was buried right underneath your feet, his name the only thing for you to see. 

‘Steve,’ you sighed and rubbed your stomach. ‘Steve.’

You sobbed silently and watched as the tears fell on top of your resting hands. ‘I don’t regret it.’

You were met with silence. ‘I don’t regret any of it. God knows why he did this. But you lived your life, and I just can’t believe I have to bring life into this world without you here.’

‘It’s a boy, Steve. A lovely little boy.’

You brought your hand up to your mouth to bite the side of it, throat clenching. ‘Everyone is so happy. I am, too. I promise you.’

You lowered your hand back to your stomach. ‘I just wish that you could feel that happiness.’

The moonlight moved slightly, shining on his name brighter now. ‘He’ll know about you, don’t worry about that.’ You laughed. 

You didn’t want to keep Happy waiting. You stood from the bench slowly, feet sore. You walked closer to him, wishing you could easily bend down and give him a kiss. But you physically couldn’t right now, so you blew him one instead. ‘Thank you.’

`

Somehow the rumor got out that an Avenger was pregnant. And when Wanda was seen outside without a large stomach, all fingers were pointed at you. 

The news went ballistic, most positive and raving, while others pondered just who had gotten you pregnant. You had been seen with everyone in paparazzi photos, so no actual conclusion had been made. 

Until a picture of you at Steve’s gravesite was leaked. 

It was constant bombardment, timelines were stitched together, magazines and their headlines were having a field day. Rhodey had tried to cancel these news stories, to threaten lawsuits, but to no avail. The world was now cursing Steve’s name - ‘how dare he leave her while pregnant?’, ‘how could he leave her pregnant and for another woman?’, ‘did he even know?’

The team had done everything in their power to try and clear yours and Steve’s name, but no one was having it. Steve’s love story was now tarnished, with many calling him a traitor and a deadbeat. It was no use. 

You struggled to climb the stairs, inwardly cursing the staff for not installing a ramp instead. The flashes were blinding, the lights were hot, and the various microphones placed on the stand were comical. 

Everyone hushed, looks of sympathy and pity slapping you in the face. 

‘I know what you’re all thinking and what you’ve all been saying,’ you started, eyes wandering to the far corner of the room where your team were huddled. ‘But I need to clear a few things up.’

‘Steve didn’t know.’

The crowd erupted, questions flying at you like fast bullets. They were silenced after a few moments. ‘We shared a moment with each other before we brought everyone back. I didn’t know I was pregnant until after his funeral.’

The crowd murmured amongst each other. ‘He told me he was planning to stay in another timeline. To live his life. I encouraged him. He did not leave me alone and pregnant. He truly didn’t know.’

You finished, they didn’t deserve a deeper explanation. You ignored their calls for questions, some even trying to crowd you at the doors. But you pushed through them, cradling your stomach with a newfound sense of pride. 

`

It was time. 

You sat up in your bed and quickly wiped away the hard crusts from the corners of your eyes. You sat there for a few seconds before you felt another harsh twinge. ‘A-ah!’

You didn’t know why you paused, legs now thrown over the side of the bed. They felt like menstrual cramps, it could be false labor. You let out a heavy breath and pushed yourself up, legs wobbly. But the moment you did, it was like something snapped. Your legs were wet and a tiny puddle had started forming on the floor. 

‘Friday!’

The lights in your room turned on immediately, ‘Y/N, is it time?’

You moaned at the uncomfortable cramping, ‘Yeah, I think it is.’

‘I’m waking and alerting the team right now, Y/N. Sit back down, please.’

You listened to Friday, sitting at the edge of your bed for a few moments before you realized you had to pack a bag. You shuffled across your room and grabbed the duffel bag Scott had left for you a few days ago. You packed a pair of socks, sweats, underwear, vaseline and your toothbrush, hairbrush, and phone. You zipped your bag just in time for both Bucky and Sam to throw open your door, Sam struggling to put his shoes on and Bucky slipping on a jacket inside-out. 

‘Y/N, is it really time? Are you ready? Are you okay?’

You ignored the cramping in your back and laughed at them, ‘Yes! My water broke, I’m in pain, it’s time.’

With both Sam and Bucky at your sides, they held onto you as you all stumbled down the hallway. Thor was already waiting with the elevator open, the biggest smile on his aging face. 

‘Wanda and Bruce are preparing the room. Scott already called the doctor. Clint’s in route,’ Bucky reassured. The three men huddled into the elevator with you, all instructing you to breathe and to squeeze them if you needed to. 

But even though you were in pain, albeit not as extreme as it was going to inevitably get, you were so incredibly happy. They were all so loud, so chaotic, and you were as calm as a cucumber. 

The elevator dinged. ‘Good luck, Y/N,’ you heard Friday call after you. You pinched your eyes closed, the thought that Friday was ultimately a part of Tony’s consciousness - Tony was wishing you good luck. 

The pressure in your hips was starting to build and you didn’t know how long this would actually take. Some people had quick births, some people lay in labor for hours, some for a day. But it seemed like this was going to be pretty quick, because your next scream was completely involuntarily. 

Bucky winced, leading you to the bed Wanda had just lay sheets on. ‘You’re doing great, Y/N. Absolutely perfect.’

You laughed at Bucky and gripped his hand in silent thanks before slipping into the bed and trying to get comfortable. Before you could truly feel like you made it, like the first hard step was done, you sat up quickly. 

‘Wait, wait! Nat’s sweater! I was gonna wear Nat’s sweater!’

Thor was already out the door, ‘I’ll get it! Don’t worry!’

You smiled at the ceiling, beads of sweat now rolling down your forehead. ‘Oh, this hurts!’

It was an hour. Once you shimmied into Natasha’s purple knitted sweater, you lay there trying to control your breathing. Everyone had piled into the room one right after the other. The room was big enough, spacious enough for even Bruce to roam freely. Although you were in an immense amount of pain, you still focused on your team. 

Scott was on his third cup of coffee, sipping excitedly as he conversed with the others. Bruce was constantly checking your vitals and wanting everything the doctor was saying repeated. Wanda was beside you, a hand gripping yours and the other running ice chips along your lips. Bucky was on your other bedside wearing one of Steve’s sweatshirts because it still smelled like him. His logic was that if he was wearing something of Steve’s the first moment he held your baby, then the first thing he smelled would be the remnants of his father. 

And Thor was practically speechless, silent in his own little corner and feeling like the god’s really did bless everyone in this room after such turmoil.

Clint arrived with Peter trailing behind him just when the doctor instructed you sit up - you were at ten centimeters. 

‘You gotta push, Y/N! You gotta push when the doctor says push!’

You yelled until your lungs gave out, head almost rolling back but Sam held it in his palm. ‘C’mon, Y/N! You’re doing great!’

You usually had perfect pitch when you sang, never faltering when it was time to hit a high note. But your voice was cracking at the most unusual times, throat rubbed raw as you felt your hips splinter open. 

‘He’s crowning!’

Wanda traded places with Sam real quick, deciding that she wanted to see the baby when he was finally out. Bucky had a death grip on your hand, tears flowing freely and a smile to match Thor’s. 

‘Push, Y/N! Push!’

‘I’m-I’m! I’m sorry! I can’t!’

The doctor was working her hands around the head, trying to ease the baby out easier. ‘Trust me, Y/N. One more big push and the shoulders will be out. That’s the hardest part.’

The doctor’s words were starting to drown out, and your head lolled back again. You felt tiny smacks on your cheeks, ‘C’mon, Y/N. You can do this. Everyone believes in you. You’re so goddamn strong, Y/N!’

That was Bucky’s voice. Bucky. 

You opened your eyes, delirious for a second. ‘Steve?’

Bucky whimpered and nodded, bringing your hand up to his lips and pressing kisses all over. ‘He’s here. I feel him, Y/N. You can do this.’

And you could feel him. You could see your family but you could feel him. It was so light, like a gentle whisk across the cheek, a promise that this truly was a miracle. 

You screamed as you pushed under doctor’s orders, feeling numb and abused but satisfied. His shoulders slipped out and along with them came his arms and torso, legs and all ten toes. The doctor caught him quickly, lifting him up vertically to let you see him. He was already crying. 

‘He’s here!’

You sobbed and smiled widely, laughter rattling your chest as the team bombarded you with quick hugs. Sam remained at your side, his eyes motioning for Bucky to go see the baby. 

‘Who’s cutting the cord?’

You looked around the room but you knew. You answered the doctor’s question. ‘Bucky.’

Bucky was truly confused. Not because of your decision, but because he couldn’t possibly be worthy of this. His hands, those hands that had killed so many people involuntarily, had almost killed Steve, those hands were now gripping a pair of medical scissors to cut the symbolization of new life entering the world. He turned to you for permission one last time, before he gripped the cord in his hand and cut where the doctor pointed. 

His shoulders felt a million times lighter. Like he was set free all over again. 

They cleaned the baby up quickly and swaddled him. The doctor placed him in your arms, all warm and utterly safe, to look back up at you with the same blue eyes as his father. 

You sobbed happily, brushing your fingers delicately along his pink cheek. ‘Hi. Hi there.’

He was no longer crying, just staring up in pure astonishment at the various faces staring back at him. 

‘Y/N, he’s beautiful,’ Clint said, tissue already in hand. 

‘I can’t believe you’re here,’ you spoke softly. 

‘Do we have a name?’

It was like everyone said it in unison. ‘Steve.’

You snuggled into the bed and Natasha’s sweater, somewhat aware of the doctor still fixing you up down there. You would try feeding later, but for now your newborn needed to be passed around the group and be awed at. 

You carefully guided him to Bucky, holding his head gently in your palm. Bucky took him, arms instinctively curling in the correct position. Once Bucky had him in his arms, it was like everything that happened in the world was worth it. Absolutely everything. 

Bucky watched in fascination as the baby curled deeper in his chest, little fist clutching Steve’s sweatshirt. He took the sweetest little intake of air…

`

xxMoni

[stovetuna]

Oh! Oh! Your Tony-finally-accepts-Steve-Loves-him fic was so lovely. A+ 🥺

And the reverse-ish! The first time Steve realizes Tony doesn’t actually believe him when he says I love you and how Steve both reacts and comes to term with the situation (does he plan on talking about it? Love offensive with super romantic dates? Figure out that the solution to this problem a marathon not a sprint?)

aaaaaahhh I am gonna EXPIRE

can you imagine?? the moment I think about it my heart absolutely BREAKS in the best, most bittersweet way, because oh, Steve. you really thought the moment you kissed Tony the first time—you were sitting next to him on the living room sofa, a whole empty seat on either side of you because you were so unnecessarily close together, but then you were struck by the thought not close enough, and you were in the middle of listening to and watching Tony watch the Lost in Space reboot (so many science critiques you didn't understand a lick of but you are more than happy to play audience to the things Tony cares about, loudly) when you leaned forward and placed a lingering kiss on the corner of Tony's motormouth, which apparently was all the invitation Tony needed to crawl into your lap and press his warm, warm, warm lips to yours and kiss the breath out of you—he understood.

because it was so easy to go from best friends to romantic partners, and you had years of friendship between you to hearken back to. Plenty of moments when you thought you'd made it clear to Tony that you loved him, that you cared about him, that you admired and respected and yes, deep down (not that deep, really) were very much attracted to him.

you thought.

so when you kiss the first time, you think he knows. when you go on your first real date and play footsie all night under the table and hold hands the whole walk home, you think he knows. when, a few days later, he slides inside you, deep and hard and wet, and butterfly-kisses the tears from your eyes and tells you how beautiful you are as he fucks you, wailing, into the mattress, you know, down to your soul, to the basest atoms of your existence, that Tony loves you as much as you love him.

but something isn't right, because even as weeks, months go by, and you move into Tony's suite and fall asleep wrapped around him almost every night (except those when he's in another country, and the bed is almost as cold as the ice, or when he's consumed by some project in the workshop and loses track of time), and you tell each other "I love you" out loud multiple times, and say it without words in a million other ways, you get the feeling that Tony. doesn't. believe you?

you're baffled. genuinely, it doesn't make sense. you've loved each other for years. even when you fought, bloody and fierce and deeply, horrifically wrong, you loved each other. it wouldn't have hurt nearly as much—felt like a piece of you being ripped away, phantom pain aging you inwardly until every step in any direction that wasn't toward Tony was agony—if you didn't.

but even though Tony says it back, and he does, every time, even when you're yelling at each other after a battle goes "tits-up," thank you, Logan, he has this look in his eyes, and the only word you've been able to put to it is doubt.

at first you think it means Tony doubts you—your feelings, your intentions, yourself and all the baggage that entails—but that thought quickly passes. because you know he doesn't. you know, from experience, that Tony's worst thoughts and feelings very rarely have anything to do with anyone other than himself. which means Tony doubts himself. maybe even reality. not in a "you might be a Skrull" kind of way, but in a "this is too good to be true" kind of way.

and doesn't that just break your fucking heart.

for months you watch this doubt flicker like a guttering little flame in Tony's bright blue eyes, every time you say "I love you, Tony" with your voice. it's never there when you're brushing your teeth next to other in the morning, bumping hips and giggling like the children you never got to be; it's not there when you silently hand him his coffee and kiss him on the temple on his way out the door to a morning meeting, grousing on the phone even as he blows a kiss to you before the elevator doors close; it's not there when you sit down next to him after a battle, on the steps of some middle-of-nowhere courthouse that just got blown up by some no-name villain, taking unspeakable comfort in the radiating heat coming off the armor that kept Tony safe in combat, and without having to ask or say anything at all Tony takes the helmet off and you lean your foreheads together and just breathe each other's air, too relieved and too exhausted to kiss; it's not there when you make love to him, slowly, excruciatingly sweet, your hips rolling in a steady, undulating wave between Tony's long, golden thighs, his arms loose around your neck, his gorgeous voice gone raspy and quiet from screaming through two orgasms already, and you tell him to look at you as you come together one last time.

it's only when you say it. put words to it. make it real. that's when that banked ember of doubt flickers to life, and it feels like you have to start all over again. which isn't a hardship, per se. not at all, really. it's an honor and a privilege and an absolute pleasure to be a part of Tony's life like this. it's also frustrating, and infuriating, and dangerous, but that was always the case. the only difference is now, you can have make-up sex.

you fight about it first. it starts out in earnest, a forthright—if frighteningly vulnerable—conversation over dinner that turns into a shouting match to rival anything from the war that of course gets cut short by the Avengers alarm going off and having to Assemble before you can clear the air. he almost dies in the battle, short-circuited by an exceptionally advanced EMP that takes out the RT (and whoo, boy does that make you spiral, thinking back, to the moment you did that to Tony, almost killed him, and thinking those thoughts while you keep vigil at his bedside for days makes you wish harder than you ever have before in your life that you could drink yourself to death), and you're too relieved when he opens his eyes and the first word out of his mouth is your name, like he's the one who should be relieved, to bring it up again.

you love him. he loves you. it works. better than that, it's good. and eventually—quickly, even—you learn. you learn tell him in every which way you can think of, without words, how much you love him, and why. you text him pictures from your runs through Central Park (he makes the photo you sent him that spring, of the adolescent raccoon emerging from a hollowed-out tree, his lock screen for a week before he changes it back to a picture of you in bed drooling onto your pillow). you help him take off the armor when he's dead on his feet. you feed him. you train with him. you listen to him ramble on about bad movie science and cheer when Matt Damon mentions him in that Mars movie. (You literally cry laughing when Tony picks up the phone at the end of the movie and calls Matt Damon and tells him to text him next time, "I'll come pick you up, just stop getting lost in fucking space, asshole!")

you kiss his scarred fingers, with their fresh cuts and scrapes and bruises from working in the shop, with a reverence. you draw baths for him and don't join, even though it's one of your favorite things to do in the world, because you can just tell Tony is going through something and he needs the space to work it out for himself. you're always there to fish him out when the water gets cold, and by that time Tony's ready to tell you about whatever's eating him.

you call him every foul, dirty name in the book when you fuck him loudly against the wall and sob yourself hoarse when he makes love to you for what feels like hours, so slow and deep and steady you honestly lose track of how many times you come. you clean him up after and tuck him in. you kiss him on the forehead before you go on your morning run, every morning without fail (except for those when you're apart, and you still, even after almost two years, catch yourself mid-motion sometimes, about to kiss empty air—you text Tony about it and he laughs every time).

you learn to be patient. you learn to show more than you tell. because you realize that Tony was lied to his entire life, about so many things. Lied to his face about who he was, who he was going to be, who he never would be allowed to be. Told over and over again by liars and cheats and villains and friends and lovers and family that he wasn't worth the effort of loving. that he would never be loved for anything other than the black credit card in his wallet, the cars in his garage, the houses and the private jets and the clothes and the money and the things he invented—the things he made—that were supposed to help people but only ever ended up killing them.

money, and blood.

it's no wonder he doubts.

so you set yourself to the long and genuinely joyous (if at times frustrating) task of convincing Tony that not only do you love him, more than you've loved anything else in your life, ever will, but he is lovable. not worthy of love, not deserving, and he is those things, but inherently—he is a sweet, caring, kind, fierce, sexy, strong, dangerous, incredible, dorky, suave, fumbling genius of a man and he is loved for those things.

it takes time. good things always do.

you've had a little velvet box hidden away in your bottom bedside drawer for four months when Tony wakes up and sees you in bed with him, realizes you've been watching him sleep—so peacefully, the furrow between his brows erased, as you play with his slightly overgrown hair (you wish he'd keep it, but it's a hazard, in your line of work). you kiss him on the forehead and say good morning, sweetheart, because it is, even if it is pouring down rain outside.

maybe especially because it's raining outside. because here you are, high up among thick grey clouds that smother every inch of the city, so it's just you two, in this bed, together in your own little world, and you're watching that stubborn ember of doubt in Tony's eyes finally get washed away.

read part one

[vdlest]

No one, but you

Characters:

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary:

You, Sam, and Bucky went to Prague for a mission that has something to do with what they call the Flash Smashers, but Bucky is not his usual "game on" mode and you found out why. He's still grieving over Steve's disappearance and for not being able to apologize to Tony.

Warning:

Swearing

This is the third time that Bucky almost got shot by a gun. He has been not his usual self ever since you, him, and Sam landed in Prague for a mission.

So when you and Bucky were left in the safehouse that Sharon prepared for you, Bucky, and Sam, you grabbed the chance to pep talk him as both of you and Sam are starting to worry about him.

"Hey, Barnes," you just got out of the room you are staying in and you called him when you saw him in the kitchen drinking a bottle of beer.

"What's up, y/l/n?" he asked you back. He offered you a bottle of beer, which you accepted, that's gonna make it easier for both of you to talk, hoping he would confide to you.

You sat down on the stool beside him, "Sam went out to buy dinner?" you asked him and he just nodded, "Oh, God, don't tell me he's gonna get us Thai food again," you groaned.

"I won't tell you then," he answered, making you roll your eyes, which made him chuckle.

You and Bucky has always been casual and friendly to each other. Steve was the reason behind it. You met Bucky and got to know the good person he is because of Steve. So you somehow knew that Bucky's odd behavior in this mission have something to do with Steve.

"Can I ask you something?" you asked Bucky while the two of you are finishing the beer of bottle each of you are holding.

"What is it?"

You cleared your throat and prepare yourself from any kind of reaction you'll get from him once you finally asked him your question, "What is bothering you?" He looked at you and you saw how puzzled he was with your question, "I mean, ever since we got here in Prague, you've been so distracted. Today was the third time you almost got shot by a gun and that is very unlikely of you."

He shook his head and said he was fine, but you know he is not feeling the kind of feeling he is claiming to have.

You wanted to gave the conversation up, but you knew it would cost a lot more if you won't do something about Bucky's unusual behavior. You didn't want to risk anything, most especially your life and your friends'.

"Bucky, if there's something going on inside your mind," you used your free hand to touch his broad shoulder, "You can always tell anything to me."

He looked down and did not stare back at you.

You thought he won't answer you nor say anything, but after a few minutes of silence, he started talking once again. You were right about your hunch, he's having this kind of behavior because Steve.

"I feel like I didn't have much time to spend with him, I didn't had the chance to make it up to him for saving me and my ass from HYDRA and from my own mind. After half of the planet came back, we only had a short period of time before he chose what he had to do," he drank from his beer and slammed the bottle on the countertop afterwards. "We were supposed to be with each other until the end of the line. He did that to me, but I don't think I did."

"What?" you asked Bucky, making him stop from continuing with his sentence, "Of course you did. You were with him until the end, until the moment he chose to live his life in the way that will make him happy and content. You were there Bucky, and the fact that you supported him, that you didn't think twice of understanding him and his choice, you were with him until the end."

"Then why does it feel Steve and I didn't had enough time?" he asked you back immediately.

His question made you stop from thinking for a minute. Even if you wanted to search for an answer to his question, you still found yourself stammering.

He let go of the beer he was holding and faced your direction, "It wasn't the first time we lost each other. It's just that this time is much different from before, because this time, we will not really see each other anymore. For real." You felt his pain and regret in his words and you saw how much he wanted to have more time with Steve but he didn't have the chance to do so. "After I came back from the blip, voila! My pal decided to live his own life and I can't blame because he deserves it. He deserves to be happy, but it fucking hurts to lose him again! He was the only person who understood me, who made me feel that I am worth saving despite the mistakes I’ve done in the past. Fucking mistakes I did not intend to do or commit!"

It's no secret from you what kind of friendship they both share. Steve risked everything just to save Bucky when he was still the fist of HYDRA. He came across everyone, anyone, just to protect Bucky, even if it cost him his friendship with Tony.

"But I am not just feeling this way because of Steve. I did not have the fucking chance to apologize to Tony for the time that I killed his own parents!" Bucky threw the bottle against the wall, causing its shattered pieces to scatter all around the floor.

You almost jumped when he threw the bottle against the wall. You've never seen him this way, ever. You’ve seen him as the Winter Soldier before, but being furious as Bucky Barnes. Never. It’s a new sight for you, and you admit that you felt somehow nervous and afraid of him. However, you felt sorry for him as well. You have no idea how it feels like to be in his shoes right now, how hard it is for him to see Tony died and did not get the chance to apologize. 

He turned to you and you tried your best to hide the fear you’re feeling towards him. You didn’t want him to be offended or anything. 

But he still knew. 

Bucky scoffed while facing you, “You’re scared of me, aren’t you?” 

“Bucky, no,” you denied. 

He chuckled and shook his head, “There’s really only one person who can understand how I feel, and that person is gone, long gone. So stop trying to save me, ‘cause you won’t,” he walked past you and walked out the safehouse. 

For the first time, you were left stunned and speechless. It’s as if you were scolded by your teacher in preschool all over again. 

Bucky’s words pierced through you. You felt his pain. You felt that he’s afraid of what happens next to his life, knowing that Steve is not here anymore to be with him. He’s afraid that no one will care and look after him like Steve did before. He’s afraid that he won’t find anyone to make him feel he has a family. But you are now each other’s families and families look after one another. Right? 

● ● ●

“So he did not tell you where he’s goin’?” Sam asked you for the fifth time. 

Ten minutes after Bucky stormed off, Sam came back with your dinner. You told Sam about your conversation with Bucky and thought that it only made everything worse than ever. Both of you tried contacting Bucky, but you got no answer from him. 

“Sam, I told you, he did not. He just walked out on me,” you answered. It has been an hour since you and Sam are trying to contact Bucky. You are starting to worry about him, knowing that his gun and his other weapons are still in the safehouse. Well, he have his vibranium arm but it’s not enough reason for you to be okay with the fact that he’s nowhere to be found. 

You’ve had enough of just sitting around and waiting for him to come back, so you went inside your room and grabbed your jacket. 

“Where are you going?” Sam questioned when you came out of your room with your jacket on, “You gonna look for him?” he asked another question. 

You nodded, “Sam, he feels like he has no one anymore, knowing that Steve’s gone. He feels like he’s alone. So I will look for him and make him feel that we are here for him, that from this day on, we are his family. We are each other’s families,” you confidently said and grabbed your phone before you went out of the safehouse. 

By the time you went outside the safehouse, you did not know where to start, especially you’re in a foreign country. But you have to find him and take the risk. So you went on and on, you did not stop until you found him. 

● ● ●

You’ve checked all the possible places he could’ve gone through, but still no luck. So you ended up entering in the nearest bar in the safehouse. You did not think of checking this place a little earlier since you saw a lot of people inside, and knowing Bucky, he don’t want to be in crowded places. But you have no other choice but to give it a try this time. 

As you enter the bar, you inhaled the smell of smoke, beer, drugs, and even the smell of people making out. You feel like you’re gonna throw up or something but you fought it. You just have to look for Bucky and you can finally go back to the safehouse. 

You went to the bar area and a familiar built caught your eyes. 

He’s here. He’s there in the bar area, sulking in one of the stool and drinking. 

Despite the noise, the women trying to throw themselves into him, he’s just right there, sitting and looking in God knows what. He’s just quiet and peacefully drinking his beer. But one thing’s for sure, you saw sadness and loneliness in his eyes. 

“So you left me in the safehouse just to drink in this filthy place?” you asked him the moment you approached him. 

He looked into your direction and groaned when he saw you, “What the hell are you doing here?” he asked. 

You grabbed his phone and showed him the multiple calls and messages he has from you and Sam, “You were out of reach, so I decided to reach you. You’re welcome, by the way,” you sarcastically hit him. 

“You shouldn’t be here. It’s not safe here,” he stood up and grabbed something from his pocket. He must be paying for his drink. 

While you’re waiting for Bucky, someone attacked you from the back, lifting you from where you are standing. 

“Stop fighting, baby. We’re gonna have so much fun,” the drunk man said while trying to grope you, “Leave that retard and let me make you scream my name.” 

“Asshole!” you said while trying to use your elbow to fight him but your strength is not enough. 

“Hey!” Bucky yelled when he saw you being dragged away from him. 

Bucky run towards the man who’s trying to drag you away, when the man saw Bucky is about to attack him, he let go of you harshly, making you fell down on the floor. Your head hits the floor first making you dizzy. Your back hurts the moment you fell down on the floor. You’re trying to massage your back when you lost Bucky in your sight. You roamed your eyes around and saw him punching the guy who groped you on the floor, not so far away from you. 

And that’s the last thing you remembered before your sight went black. 

● ● ●

You slowly opened your eyes, feeling the pain in the back of your head and your spine. You roamed your eyes around and saw Bucky sleeping in the couch inside your room in the safehouse. You moved your eyes to the window and saw that the sun is already rising. 

With the long sleep you had, you gained your strength. You stood up and groaned when you felt a little bit of pain in the back of your head and your back itself. You realized that you’re still wearing the shirt and pants you were wearing yesterday upon seeing your reflection in the mirror. 

You walked towards the couch and saw how peaceful Bucky’s sleep is. You saw a very peaceful Bucky, far from the man you saw shouting and yelling yesterday. 

“My super soldier hearing can actually hear your breathing, you know?” he suddenly spoke while his eyes are closed. A few seconds after he spoke, his eyes opened, turning his head to you. 

“What happened last night?” you asked him innocently, ‘cause you know he’s gonna scold you for following him last night. 

“Oh, so you don’t remember anything because that asshole dropped you on the floor, making you hit your head first?” he asked while getting up from the couch. “Well, apparently, you followed me in the bar and someone tried to drag you away.” 

You knew everything that has happened, you just acted innocently so he would spare you from his sermon. 

“So, what did you do?” 

“I beat him up,” he answered casually. 

“And what happened to me?” you asked him because the las thing you remembered was he was beating the guy who groped you and your sight went black. 

Bucky stood up, standing a few inches away from you, “You lost your consciousness, so I had to carry you all the way from that bar to your bed. So you’re not the only person who have backache. I also have one too,” he massaged his shoulders and stretched. He must’ve get it from carrying you, “Why did you even follow me?” 

“Because you said I won’t understand you the way Steve does, that no one else can save you,” you looked into his eyes and that’s the first time you appreciate his beautiful and gorgeous blue eyes, “I wanted you to know that even if you’re a very complicated person, you’re very hard to read, I will understand you. And after you saved me last night, I realized I can do the same for you. Because in the long run that I’ve been staying here on Earth, no one actually did what you did to me last night. No one tried to saved me. No one but you.” 

He was just staring at you but you could feel that your words went to his head and that’s what you want to happen, you wanted him to feel that you’re here for him, that even though Steve is now gone, he can still have someone and that someone is you. 

“Why would you want to save me? Why would you want to be part of the things that has something to do with me?” he asked you. 

“Because we’re a family, Bucky. This is the only family I’ve got, so I will do everything in my power to make this family last,” you put your hand on his shoulder and gave it a squeeze as you give him a smile, “Just so you know, you have a family in us. You’re not alone. And I know it hurts to lose Steve, to not being able to apologize to Tony or to those people you’ve hurt, but it’s not too late to make it up to them in any way. I’m sure Tony would’ve wanted to reconcile with you too, but wherever he is, I know he will forgive you because he know that you have a good heart, that you’re not the winter soldier you think you were.” 

You waited for him to answer you, but he did not. Instead, you saw tears in his eyes and when it fell down, he immediately avoided your gaze. When he was about to turn his back on you, you grabbed his wrist and stopped him from doing so. 

“In families, they don’t hide anything,” you made him face you by wiping his tears away from his cheeks, “Remember what they told you in Wakanda. You’re free, so set yourself free from all of these.” 

You know it will take so long before he could finally confide everything to you, but you are willing to wait for that day. What’s important is you always make him feel that you’re always there for him. You’re his friend. You’re his family. So even if he try to push you away, you won’t go anywhere because you know he needs you and you need him too. 

-v.dl

[finitepeace]

fics i read this week:

 I read some bucky x natasha fics: 

Head Is Not My Home by taralkariel

Summary: The Black Widow is a legend. Legends aren't made cheap.

Shaken by the events of Civil War, Natasha Romanoff goes back to familiar ground to hide. To hide and remember how she became the Black Widow. How Natalia Romanova would do anything to save her father-figure. How she was one of 28 ballerinas with the Bolshoi - no, one of 28 Black Widow agents with the Red Room. How the only thing that made her feel human was a man with a metal arm.

(A story to show what really happened in the comics Red Room and how it could fit into the MCU)

19k words in 12 chapters, not rated (maybe T&up?), bucky nat up to IW, i think.  it’s not very dark themed <3,

tell me baby, do you recognize me? by xocean

Summary: "You're a liar." Natasha is shaking. "You're a heartless, lonely, lying murderer."

He doesn't even blink. "We both are."

The Winter Soldier's game is up, and Steve's not letting him go this time. Enter the only person who doesn't want a part in this shitfest: Natasha Romanov.

Or, as James Buchanan Barnes remembers her: Natalia Romanova.

63k words in 10 chapters (from 11), angst.

 and an IronDad x SpiderSon fic: 

This B.S. Better Be Worth It by losingmymindtonight 💙

Summary: Originally, Tony's plan had been to just surprise Peter with the fact that he would be on campus for a semester.

He’d never actually expected Peter to sign up for his class.

7k words in 4 chapters, tony acting like a dad (and awesome professor)

 as usual, the rest are Stony fics:  

American Dream by NobodysBloodyPrincess

Summary: Tony is trying, but try as he might he just can’t find the silver lining of this particular disaster.

After all, what happiness could possibly be derived from the knowledge that the perfect little girl in his arms is now motherless? What relief could be drawn, when his boyfriend of ten years, the love of his life really, is probably, currently, right at this moment in the arms of ‘Peggy’ his new fiancé?

13k words, no powers au, tony-centric, stevetony has broken up and tony adopts a kid, steve is depicted a bit insensitive (idk what the word, like unable to read the room?) here. 

Where Our Restless Monsters Sleep by Mizzy 💙

Summary: Years after Tony Stark saved the universe, the Avengers realize there’s a major problem: his body has gone missing. And he isn’t the only one. Fallen heroes all over the galaxy have had their graves pillaged.

An old foe is stealing the bodies of fallen warriors, but for what nefarious reason? There’s only one solution. To find out why it’s happening, Steve’s gotta die.

He probably shouldn’t be so eager to do that.

233k words in 12 chapters, post endgame resurrections (?), gladiator trope, lots of action scenes, and THERE’S MORGAN x STEVE INTERACTIONS!!!!! 

The Culling of the Stars by dirigibleplumbing

Summary: Tony dies saving Steve's life on the courthouse steps. Now Steve is left with the fallout of their Civil War, expected to take charge and preserve Tony's legacy. He doesn't know how he can do it alone—not when he can't stop thinking about Tony, or keep track of the days, or even feel.

9k words, comic book’s civil war not MCU’s, angst but gnidne yppah 

Together, Always by Sapphic_Futurist 💙

Summary: He swallows hard, a prickle of tears in his eyes because this is his husband.

This is Tony Stark and Steve’s husband, and Steve gets to have this. He gets to have this for the rest of his goddamn life.

30k words in 3 chapters, embodiment of stony’s “together” T_T, read the tags if you want to be spoiled lol if not then enjoy! (and I don’t regret not reading the tags tbh) 

And I'd Buy A Big House Where We Both Could Live by shinkonokokoro

Summary: Missing: Tony Stark, billionaire businessman, heir to Stark Industries, reward: none

Only Steve didn't know that when he picked up the waterlogged unconscious man from the bank of a river.

59k words in 29 chapters, non-power au, kid clint and peter as steve’s brothers

i stole the keys to this guy by kellifer_fic

Summary: Where it was Nick Fury's idea, but he didn't mean it like that

6k words, fake dating into real dating 

Home Is Where the Time Machine Is by Wordsplat 💙

Summary:Steve and Tony's daughter accidentally falls back in time, and learns that impossible time travel phone calls can and will be made just to ground you, big brothers are awful snitches, and parents used to date other people. The past blows.

23k words in 5 chapters, domestic, stony being married 

don't know why it took me so long to see by goodmorningbeloved (3799steps)

Summary: “Oh, watch this,” Natasha says, propping her chin against her knuckles and turning a sweet gaze on him. “Tony, what’s it like dating a superhero?”

Tony bristles in irritation. “We’re not dating,” he snaps. “Captain America probably thinks he can get into anyone’s pants just ‘cause he’s got a mask, costume, and reputation, but not me, buddy. That shield? Gotta be overcompensating for something.” He adds, a bit petulantly, “Oh, and all that blue? Definitely more Steve’s color than his.”

- In which Tony is a genius in all matters except recognizing his boyfriend past a mask.

11k words, tony being peacefully oblivious while the whole world isn’t. 

I Started a Joke by Naferty

Summary "Tony?"

"Who the hell is Tony?"

102k words in 11 chapters, tony is the winter soldier 

Take Two  by Wordsplat 💙

Summary: Steve loses his memory but he gets the feeling he's lost a lot more. Who exactly is Tony Stark to him and why won't he come out of the basement?

24k words, i just love it. 

Sunrise Over the End of the World by Sapphic_Futurist

Summary: When Dr. Strange arrives at an Accords Committee Meeting and warns of the coming of an alien megalomaniac set on destroying the world, the Rogues are pardoned and Tony finds himself exactly where he never wanted to be. Back at the Compound with Steve, who still can't take a hint and won't leave him alone.

--

In which Tony is broken and Steve finds redemption.

35k in 11 chapters, explicit, civil war fix-it up to infinity war 

Far Away And Long Ago by Ragdoll (Keshka) 💙

Summary: Steve steps into the past and discovers that hope held on a pedestal is as insubstantial as smoke. Then he sees Tony. And that's when things get complicated.

Full summary contained within.

18k in 4 chapters, mature, seems like abandoned WIP :( endgame fix-it au when steve returns the stones... 

Something More Than What They Are series by  Sapphic_Futurist

An exploration of love, denial and propensity for change.

38k in 4 works, explicit, Steve and Tony are married during the civil war madness but seems like their love is not enough to stop it from happening or reconciling T_T 

the marks you choose to leave behind by masterlokisev159

Summary: The Stane faction has been around for many years, long before Tony was bitten. And since he was forced, his life has been nothing short of misery and pain; a prison he will never escape. As a low member of the faction, his only hope at survival is to remain a loyal pet to Ezekiel. So when Ezekiel mentions the growing threat of the Avengers of the Undead, and the dreaded Captain, Tony is adamant to step up and do what he can. It’s also his last chance to see the outside world before he’s bonded to Whitney forever.

But what he finds instead is an unlikely companion with golden eyes. A strange werewolf by the name of Steve.

35k, general, vampire tony/werewolf steve, based on earth-666 

La La Love by Wordsplat

Summary: "To be perfectly clear, Tony always knew that Stephanie Rogers was the best thing that would ever happen to him."

4k words, teen up and audiences, female Steve, highschool au, awkward tony

Meet Your Heroes by Wordsplat

Summary:Tony gets rescued by a highly concerned, very handsy Captain America. This is confusing for a number of reasons.

4k words, identity porn AU, 

Hashtag Finally by Wordsplat 💙

Summary: Tony doesn't ever actually ask the Avengers to move into his house, steal his wifi, eat all his food, and become the best family he's ever known. They do it anyway.

15k, teen&up, domestic avengers a.k.a. tower life, hyperactive Clint lol, super cute, everyone are stony supporters

Thanks For the Memories by Wordsplat

Summary: When Tony is sent crashing-all too literally-into the 1940's by an alternate-universe Loki's spell, neither Tony nor Steve are prepared for the consequences.

9k words, time travel au, secret pining 

[mamabarnes]

Winifred’s Personal Timeline

See this post for a little context

1892: Winifred’s parents, Arthur and Maebh Jones, newly married, emigrate from Ireland, seeking a new life, and arrive in Ellis Island. They choose to settle in New York.

1893: Winifred’s elder brother James is born.

1897: Winifred is born on May 12th

1909: Winifred’s father Arthur is killed in a work accident. Her brother James leaves school to start work in order to help support the family. 

1911: A 14 year old Winifred meets 16 year old George Barnes for the first time.

1913: Winifred leaves school and starts to work at the laundry. George Barnes starts courting her.

1915: George Barnes asks Maebh Jones for her blessing in proposal of marriage to Winifred.

1916: Winifred Jones becomes Winifred Barnes. She and George marry at the end of Spring, shortly after Winifred’s 19th birthday.  At the end of summer, Winifred discovers she is pregnant. Her mother Maebh passes away from tuberculosis in the Winter.

1917: On March 10th, James Buchanan Barnes comes into the world, happy and healthy, and the apple of his mother’s eye. He is just under a month old when the US marches off to war, taking his father and uncle with it. Winifred is left to raise her son alone.

1918: In February, the Spanish flu begins to rage across the world. Winifred Barnes keeps her son close, and is relieved when it does not take him. In October, only a few weeks before the war ends, she receives a telegram to inform her that her brother will never come home. She grieves and the war ends, and her husband promises her that he will be home soon.

1919: It is November, eighteen months after she last saw him, that her husband finally comes home, finally gets to see his now walking and talking son. They hold each other close, and do not let go for over an hour.

1920: Rebecca Anne Barnes is born on June 23rd, three weeks early. She has her mother’s dark hair and her father’s eyes, and James promises to be the best big brother ever.

1922: Elizabeth Agnes Barnes is born on August 1st, screaming and kicking, after a difficult pregnancy. 

1923: Winifred meets Sarah Rogers for the first time. She has no idea then how much their families will intertwine, but she notes how James grins at the little Rogers boy, and how he grins back, and she thinks then that these two will be friends for a long time to come.

1924: Winifred falls pregnant again. After the last time, the pregnancy feels surprisingly easy. Her joy is shattered when her second son, Matthew William Barnes, is born stillborn on December 4th. She refuses to see anyone for three days.

1927: Grace Maria Barnes is born on January 30th, after a hard pregnancy and a complicated delivery. The youngest Barnes daughter would be labelled as mentally handicapped, and would very rarely speak.

1935: George Barnes drops dead at work. There is little confirmation as to the cause, although doctors suggest that it may be a long-term result of something which occurred during the war that affected his heart.

1936: Sarah Rogers dies, and Winifred mourns, both for the friend she has lost, and for the frail teenage boy who now faces life without a family. Winifred falls ill with pneumonia during the winter. It takes her two months to fully recover.

1941: America enters the war. Winifred lives in fear of what this may bring.

1943: Winifred’s heart breaks when her son brings home an all too familiar piece of paper. It takes all her strength to not break down in front of him, so afraid that this war will take her son. She says goodbye to him, and then she never sees him again. Shortly after, she sees Steve Rogers off to war as well. In her heart, she knows that either both will return, or neither. In the winter, she receives a telegram. Her boy is dead.

1944: Another telegram arrives and tells her that her boy is alive. She cries in relief and clutches it tight to her chest. She watches as another of her children leaves her. Rebecca wants to help, she is told, and off she goes to nurse the soldiers in Europe.

1945: Her boys are dead. Winifred weeps.

1946: Winifred watches Rebecca get married. She smiles, but in her heart she can’t help but think of those who should have been present. She thinks George would have liked William Proctor.

1947: Her first grandchild is born. Winifred Charlotte Proctor is the image of her grandmother.

1948: Elizabeth gets married. Winifred couldn’t be more proud. 

1949: Two grandchildren in one year. James Proctor and Michael Thompson are welcomed into the family.

1951: Molly Thompson comes into the world.

1952: Catherine Thompson brings the number of grandchildren to five for Winifred.

1954: Samuel and David Thompson, the last of her grandchildren, are born.

1960: Winifred suffers a nasty fall. Nonetheless, she still refuses to leave her home and move in with Rebecca.

1967: Winifred’s health begins to deteriorate. Grace moves in with Elizabeth, while Rebecca returns to live with and nurse her ailing mother.

1968: Winifred gets to meet her first great-grandchild. She will have nineteen in total, but George William Miller is the only one she ever meets.

1970: Winifred Barnes passes away peacefully in her sleep, three days before her 73rd birthday.

[cherryrogers]

when dusk falls {2}

DYING LIGHT

pairing: bucky barnes x reader | royal au

warnings: mentions of death, angst — reader is in her sad hours :/

summary: As you arrive in Hydra, you reluctantly begin to adjust to your new life.

a/n: i can’t express how excited i am to get into this story. i’m so impatient i was mad that this is only chapter 2 bc i want to get deep into the plot so bad :( for now, i offer you a part that should be titled ‘rambling about random story aspects that add nothing to the plot’..... enjoy !!

series masterlist

The journey from Taria was everything but pleasant.

As the carriage was pulled further and further away from your beloved palace, you made sure to consume every ounce of green expanse before you reached the land borders, refusing to let the gorgeous greenery of your home fade from your mind in years to come.

Brock nattered endlessly in his seat beside you, almost pressed against you in the small space. You didn’t hear a word of it, tuning out the unnerving rasp of his voice, only focusing on the vibrancy through the window.

Passing cosy villages, and brilliant gardens, and glimmering lakes, you concluded that Taria would be a hard place for anyone to forget, nevermind it’s own princess. You noticed the smiling faces and giggling children as you passed through the Roseleaf village, one of the larger residential areas on the east of the land. The carefully tended front gardens filled with an array of rainbow hues, the young couples walking hand in hand along the paved road, the little red robins flitting from tree to tree — you took it all in.

You were sitting in that carriage for Taria; its people, its nature, its values. Being sent away to a bitter nightmare of a land for the sake of your kingdom’s safety and happiness. Because that’s what a princess would do for her land. Protect it with her life.

The promise of its safety was the sole thing stopping you from breaking down into sobs next to Brock. There was no choice, there never would be between your freedom and your people.

The last bearable moment of your journey ended when the carriage reached the end of Taria, and the beginning of the Heartlen Ocean — the body of water that connected Taria and Hydra.

You’d been transferred onto a large sailing boat, one significantly bigger than the rowing boats scattered along the docks. In a tiny cabin below the main deck of the ship, you were escorted to and told to rest, as the voyage across the sea would be long and the waters would only be calm for another few hours. Of course, the seas around Hydra were vicious and rough, but you refused to sleep under their watch. You couldn’t if you wanted to. Every emotion under the sun was coursing through your veins; fear, anger, despair. Putting your mind at rest was impossible. It was as if they’d disregarded the fact they’d practically kidnapped you, and were complicit in the agreement that was forcing you into sudden marriage with the son of a cruel dictator.

You feared you’d never sleep peacefully again.

It took seven hours to arrive at Hydra. During that time, you’d remained under the deck, quiet as a mouse. Staring at the divots in the dark wood of the ship, knees tucked tightly to your chest, bare feet almost numb from the drop in temperature as you entered Hydra’s vicinity.

Thinking about Sharon, how adamant she was on getting you out of Taria before you could be taken. About Steve, who’d been burdened with the knowledge of the agreement and sworn to secrecy. About your parents, who entirely blamed themselves for the ordeal, even while having no other choice.

Perhaps if they’d sailed back a little earlier, noticed the signs of early labour quicker, or just not been so foolish as to seek help from the most selfish man on the planet, their daughter would be safe at home. Their princess. And she’d be free, happy.

But it was too late. It’d been too late from the moment their little rowing boat left the docks twenty years prior.

Seven hours, and you’d ended up in the bitter Kingdom of Hydra. Two soldiers escorted you off the boat, rushing you towards another black carriage identical to the one you’d been taken in at the palace. The sky had fallen significantly darker, a thick grey mist shielding the ground below from the sun’s warmth. Icy air bit at your skin, had your teeth chattering and lips numb the second you rose from below the ship’s deck.

Those around you remained unfazed, used to the freezing climate. To the dull skies and unsaturated expanse. Taria was to them what Hydra was to you — an entirely different reality.

Brock noticed you shivering in the carriage beside him, chuckling mockingly at your discomfort. Ignoring him, your eyes burned holes in the fabric of your dress in your lap. You didn’t want to let your gaze wander outside, seeing a cold, monotonous space rather than the colourful liveliness you adored back home.

Again, you passed through villages. Villages that were anything but reflections of those in Taria. The houses were much smaller, more compact than cozy. No quaint plants and shrubs complimenting the open front of the house, no bouncing children or chirping birds. Each house appeared identical, and not a soul was in sight. Likely huddling up in their homes, out of the cutting wind that’d soon transform into a bustling blizzard.

You caught sight of a figure in the window of the last home along the lane, only for a moment. A child, a boy. His high cheekbones and pin-straight nose stuck out to you. A frown played on his lips as he observed the carriage travel by, the same one he’d seen the day before, led by the same dark horses that sent shivers down his spine.

Cheering up the children back home seemed to be a gift you possessed. Not that they often weren’t baring toothy smiles, but when they wandered the palace garden and the markets with a solemn expression for whatever reason that day, it was instinct for you to lift their spirits. A box of red velvet cupcakes or some children’s books that’d been sitting in your library for years seemed to do the trick, and each and every time, it was heartwarming to watch the light reappear in their doe eyes.

Yet that boy, along with the thousands of other children living day-to-day under King Alexander’s rule — their happiness wasn’t something you could provide them with. Not when the man was stripping you of your own joy. When you were losing the light you were always eager to share with those who needed it.

If Taria was the planet’s garden, then Hydra was it’s graveyard. A place where dreams died before they could even begin to flourish. Where nobody desired to live, where too many people were forced into a meagre existence. And you were simply another soul Hydra had stolen for itself.

Another couple of hours passed again until the castle finally came into sight, only barely among the cloudiness of the night. The castle you’d only heard horror stories about, where too much blood had been shed and lives lost. And it was where you were going to live for the rest of your days. The thought alone put a deep frown on your lips.

You were exhausted. It’d been an early rise for you that morning; up and ready by eight o’clock, you took a trip to the markets before it was busy and stock was selling fast. You were to be back by nine for breakfast with your parents, but one of the merchants had been insisting you tried one of her cinnamon sugar pretzels, doused with golden syrup, which were usually sold out within hours of the stall opening. The sweet treat was delicious, you’d found, and you’d bought three more to bring back to Sharon and your parents.

A simple, lovely morning. And how quickly the day turned sour.

The urge to sleep was tugging at your eyelids, but you suppressed the need, nipping at your wrist to keep yourself awake. You’d have to succumb to sleep eventually, but you’d do it in the comfort of a bed far away from any soldiers, far away from Brock. Still, the thought of falling into such a vulnerable state, in the castle appearing more and more enormous as the carriage approached it, was indeed unnerving.

It looked like something out of a story book. Dark grey brick, looming towers with tall turrets atop them, an unnecessarily large gate guarding the inside — the image of a villain’s abode.

All underneath a shadow black sky, without a star in sight. No light, no hope. Only darkness.

The carriage continued along a winding, rubble path, it’s destination being the towering gate where six soldiers stood guard. With every yard you grew closer, your heart only pounded harder against your ribs. You’d truly fallen into a never ending nightmare; reaching the castle was only the beginning of it.

It was so cold. The thin dress and lack of any footing was certainly not helping your cause. As the carriage came to a final stop, your legs only barely allowed you to climb out of the transport without slipping to your knees. A soldier remained by your side, silent and still, while Brock ordered the remaining men to take the horses back to the stables.

Upon spying their commander, the soldiers stood guard ordered for the portcullis to be lifted, and soon an echoing clanging noise filled your ears.

While you weren’t eager to enter, the cold had already numbed your fingers and toes. You feared you’d fall ill if you were outside any longer, not that you imagined the inside of such a menacing castle would be any more comfortable.

“Inform the king of our arrival as soon as he wakes.” Brock called out to the lone soldier, who nodded curtly before marching away, into the darkness of the castle corridors.

Like a baby deer, you were left shivering in the cold, eyes wide and legs stiff. Brock took his sweet time striding over to you, before his lips curled into a condescending smile.

“Welcome home, Princess,” He teased, making a gesture towards the enigma of a building behind him. “Allow me to escort you to your chambers.”

With reluctance, you followed him into the castle, wincing at the clang of the gate beginning to shut again behind you.

The stone pavement of the castle was hard against the soles of your feet, as you paced quickly to keep up with Brock’s stalk. Lanterns scattered along the thick brick walls illuminated what would be the pitch black hall he walked you down, a faint smoky scent in the air.

For what felt like hours, you winded around corners and through halls, wondering if you’d ever make it to your chambers. Brock talked, asking silly, mocking questions that you didn’t waste your breath answering, arms crossed firmly over your chest.

Until he said something that made your blood boil a little hotter in your freezing body.

“I’m in shock of your compliance, Princess,” He smirked over his shoulder as he guided you up a dark staircase. “Already accepting the King’s plans for you?”

A scowl pulled at your lips. “I haven’t accepted anything. This isn’t compliance, this is me being here to protect my own.”

“Ah, she speaks!” Brock chuckled grimly, the sound bouncing off the walls of the narrow stairway. “Can she put a smile on, too?”

You ignored him. He laughed again, expecting it.

At the top of the stairs, a long corridor presented itself, identical to the hundred you’d already walked through. It was only at the very end of it that you finally stood still, eyes landing on an old wooden door, deep brown with no pattern etched into it. So plain, so dull — you’d never seen a castle so ancient with so little life.

“This room has been assigned to you until you and the prince are wed,” Brock spoke, pressing a rough hand to the door handle and pushing it open. “A maid will arrive when you wake to prepare you for the morning.”

“The morning?” You raised a brow.

“When you are to meet the king,” A grin tugged at his lips. “He is indeed eager to meet his future daughter-in-law.”

The feeling isn’t mutual, you thought, but kept it to yourself as you shuffled through the open door.

A singular lantern to your left enlightened the space before you.

Dreary like the rest of the castle, the room almost blended into the deep sky through the large window straight ahead of you. Translucent navy drapes hung from the chestnut bed frame, the singular bed topped with a sheet of similar colouring tucked into the corner of the room. A tall closet opposed it, likely filled with dresses that the maids had tailored to your size (however they learned that information). The hardwood flooring pressed into your feet; you already missed the soft crimson carpet that covered the expanse of your bedroom back home. There was a door off to the left, presumably leading into a small bathing room, and a long silver mirror on the other wall reflected its dark presence against the smoky grey brick.

And that was all. No books, no chestnut desk to sit at and swipe red on your lips or rose on your cheeks. Nothing to simply pass the time of waiting for a wedding you were utterly dreading.

Brock grinned a goodnight from the corridor, and you couldn’t even turn around before the echo of his boots filled the narrow, empty space.

A frown immediately pulled at your lips, as you gently closed the door behind you, the click of the lock prompting tears to form in the corners of your eyes.

As you tenderly removed your dress, hanging it up in the back of the wardrobe, you bit your lip to keep your emotions at bay. The braclets you’d slipped on at home remained on your wrist, a reminder of where you truly belonged. You played with them as you blew out the candle light, stealing the only spec of warmth from the room.

The nightdress you’d been given was thin, the creamy linen not doing much to shield you from the icy air that managed to nip at you in every corner of the castle. Sighing, you padded over to the bed, climbing under the fresh sheets, and that’s when the first tear fell. Burning hot as it trickled down your cool cheek.

That bitter night, you weren’t blessed with the pleasure of a long slumber. One salty tear turned into two, and two into many, many more.

And so, your most disconcerting nightmare began.

* * *

Dreams were deadly; you soon learned that after waking from your first night of sleep in the grand castle situated at the very bottom of Hydra’s land.

Perhaps a nightmare would’ve been easier on your mind. It certainly would’ve prepared you for the daunting reality you’d wake up to in a few mere hours. Because you dreamt that you were back in Taria. That Hydra’s soldiers didn’t step foot on your home land, that you’d finished that chapter of your enthralling novel, that Sharon returned to the library with a steaming cup of chamomile tea, and the two of you rested there for the remainder of the day. Uninterrupted, safe.

A soft but urgent knock on your bedroom door woke you from the sweet dream that morning, and upon recognising the drab setting you were in — still dark, the sun rays being rejected rudely by the thick heavy clouds encompassing the land — the harsh reality of your new life came flooding back.

Creaking quietly, the bedroom door opened ajar, an unfamiliar figure peeking through into the room. A woman, a girl even. She couldn’t have been older than eighteen. Her eyes widened as they drifted to the corner of the room, spying you still clutching the navy bed sheets to your chin.

“Forgive me, I didn't mean to wake you; I was told to come here at ten on the dot. My name is Wanda, I was happy to learn I’ve been assigned as your maid, Princess.”

Blinking, your vision became a little clearer. Clear enough to assess the girl frozen in her place in the doorway. Strawberry blonde hair cascaded down her back, pulled back loosely at her neck with a burgundy ribbon. As you propped yourself against the headboard of the bed, her doe eyes got impossibly wider. Brushing out the creases of her moss green skirt, she stood taller, pressing her lips into a thin line.

So nervous in your presence, she seemed. You wondered if the treatment she received from the royals of Hydra had something to do with it.

“It’s— It’s quite alright.” You swallowed, possibly more anxious than she was. If you weren’t so exhausted from the journey to the castle, you likely wouldn’t have slipped into a slumber so easily. That was after you’d sobbed until air could no longer be snatched from your lungs, and you drifted off with a sore throat and tear tracks staining your cheeks.

You’d fallen asleep between the same walls as one of the most ruthless kings to date, as well as an army of remorseless soldiers ready to comply with his every order. The thought made you shudder; that, and the sheets falling from your shoulders, exposing your skin to the cool room.

Wanda crinkled her brows, picking up on your discomfort. Slowly, as if not to cause you any more distress, she slipped between the open door and closed it behind her.

“I’ll run a hot bath for you, Your Highness. I’m afraid it’ll have to be quick; King Alexander would like you escorted to the throne room within the hour.”

You remained quiet. Still barely awake, still barely able to comprehend the situation you’d so quickly fallen into.

The maid clasped her hands in front of her, considering her next words carefully before offering the tip of her lips. “I understand that you only arrived here a mere several hours ago, Your Highness — I think a warm bath will only do you good, if I may say.”

It would have certainly been nice, considering the climate you’d been forced into abruptly. You’d picked up on some of Brock’s ramblings in the carriage the night before; he’d said something about a blizzard being on its way. Judging by the thick fog and the chill already bringing goosebumps to your skin, he was right. You weren’t looking forward to the process of adapting to the weather.

As soon you gave Wanda the faintest hint of a nod, the girl rushed towards the adjoining bathing room you had yet to familiarise yourself with, and soon enough the harsh streaming of water began to fully wake you for the morning.

Lavender swarmed your senses as you stepped into the small room, observing Wanda as she swirled oil into the warm water with a delicate hand. Throwing a smile over her shoulder, the maid shook off her hand before wiping it quickly on her skirt.

“I hand-picked the lavender and made the oil myself this morning. I’ll be honest, I’m not meant to leave the castle unless I’m ordered to do so, but with a storm brewing, I was eager to collect as many herbs and flowers as possible before my duties for the day started,” A soft chuckle left her lips, before she shook her head, a rosy tint pooling in her cheeks. “Forgive me, I— I haven’t served a lady in several years. I can’t imagine my rambling would amuse the men of the castle.”

If your mood hadn’t been so sour, perhaps you would have smiled at her excitement. The happiness others radiated you tended to absorb; no wonder every moment on Taria was an enjoyable one.

It astounded you how bubbly the strawberry blonde appeared. A delicate daisy in a daunting forest — she bloomed without sunlight. Of course, it could’ve been an act in front of the prince's bride-to-be, but there was a certain spark to her that felt genuine. Maybe it really was because of the presence of another woman.

King Alexander’s wife — the former queen of Hydra — had died almost a decade earlier. Being so young and out of the loop with politics and the states of other kingdoms, you hadn’t heard much about her at all. Even if you were older, you’d likely not hear anything more. If she ever engaged in politics, attended balls or kept in touch with other queens across the seas, she was very quiet in doing so. Queen Mara of Hydra — the only time you heard her name spoken was when she passed. As a child, when the severity of death and its impact on kingdoms was so foreign to you.

You assumed Wanda used to serve the late queen; perhaps she was more pleasant than her husband. For Wanda’s sake, you could only have hoped so.

“Thank you, Wanda.” You spoke, voice barely above a whisper. The maid wouldn’t have heard you if she was standing any further away.

But she did, and she curtsied in return. “Of course, Your Highness.”

The bath was nice, you’d admit. Like a warm hug after a long day. Except your day had barely started, and as soon as you were to step out of the heavenly hot water, you’d be pulling on a dress that wasn’t sewed by the dressmakers you’d known since childhood, making your way down to a throne room you were completely unfamiliar with, and meeting a king that you had no interest in ever crossing paths with.

And soon enough, that was where you were.

Stood in the centre of a cold room, face to face with a man you’d only heard terrible stories of.

Wanda had picked out a garnet red dress for the morning. You hadn’t owned many red dresses back on Taria, preferring cooler tones like emerald green and the royal blue attire you’d arrived in Hydra with. And that dress seemed to be the only one that actually fit, your new one pinching tight at the waist. Though when Wanda was only offering you compliments as she combed out your hair and polished your shoes, you weren’t about to complain.

It wasn’t the dress that was stealing the breath from your lungs, however. It was the monarch who sat proudly in his dark throne before you.

Four soldiers either side of the throne stared straight past you, as the king himself stared at you. Sandy blond hair laced with grey fell over his forehead, and he wore a solemn expression as he eyed the new arrival to his kingdom.

“Princess _____ of Taria,” Alexander spoke, the rasp in his voice bringing goosebumps to your skin. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet your acquaintance.”

You remained stoic, refusing to meet the eyes of a king who was more monster than man. As you looked to the right of the throne, you spied Brock among the soldiers too, observing you with interest.

The king soon realised that you were immensely uncomfortable; it wasn’t like he’d expected you to act any different.

He glanced over his shoulder, silently calling Brock over. The commander was at his side almost immediately. So cocky in front of you, and so obedient to the king — typical.

“Take the soldiers outside,” He ordered calmly, before leaning forward to murmur something inaudible to Brock, who nodded firmly, then making a swift exit with the ever-submissive soldiers behind him.

Soon enough, you and the king were left alone. The silence was deafening as you awaited his next words, both reluctantly and with anticipation.

The throne room was so large, so intimidating. Walls scattered with grand portraits of previous monarchs, small square windows barely letting any sunlight pour through; not to mention how your hands were almost numb. It was difficult not to miss the beaming sun in Taria, how it would seep through the curtains on a bright morning, how the warmth would dance across your skin and the light would reflect in your eyes.

It was almost as if Hydra completely blocked it out.

The king exhaled, clasping his hands in his lap as he leaned back in his seat. “If you have anything you would like to say, by all means, don’t keep quiet on my account.”

Considering him for a moment, you tightened your jaw. It was like he could sense the hundreds of questions swarming your mind. While you worried that he wouldn’t be so impressed with what you wanted to say to him, he couldn’t reprimand you for anything. Not when you were to marry his son. Anything you said wouldn’t matter once you left the room; he’d had your fate in his hands since the moment you were born.

Your eyes flit to his, tears burning at the back of them. “My parents were desperate for your help—”

“And I helped them.” He commented nonchalantly; his disinterest feeling like a slap to the face.

“You took advantage of them,” You corrected him, not appreciating the interruption. “They wouldn’t have accepted your deal if my mother’s life wasn’t at stake.”

Idly fiddling with the rings encircling his fingers, Alexander sighed. “Things have a certain way of falling into place, I believe. I’m not sure it’s a coincidence that your mother happened to go into labour on the same day that her and your father decided to sail across the Heartlen Ocean, stray further from Taria than they ever had before, leaving Hydra’s help as their own hope.”

“This was never meant to happen, I refuse to believe that.” You shook your head. Taria was the only place you’d ever belong. Only selfish men like the king had a true place in Hydra.

“You were born here, Princess. You took your first breath of air in this castle. It was inevitable that you would find your way back.”

“I am not here by choice,” You insisted, resisting the urge to yell, to scream about how much you hated the man in front of you for snatching your life away right before your eyes. “Hydra has allies, with kings and queens that would be more than glad to arrange a marriage between their daughters and your son, yet you chose Taria’s princess before I was even born — why?”

Hydra’s group of allies were certainly limited, but they weren’t the only kingdom that idealised a dictatorship and control over every aspect of their land. The king could have made strong connections with them, people who shared his mentality, his brutal methods. But he didn’t. He did the complete opposite, and that was extremely odd.

The king contemplated answering the question, he truly did. Words hanging from the tip of his tongue. But instead, he waved you off with a steady hand. “The answer to that will be clear in due time.”

You narrowed your eyes, about to protest, but you were soon interrupted by his booming voice unexpectedly.

“Bring in the Asset.”

His stare diverted, until it was focused on something behind you. Heavy footsteps clambered outside the room, along the echoey hall until they reached the doors of the throne room. They opened with an eerie creak, and upon throwing a look over your shoulder, your breath immediately hitched.

Three soldiers stood either side of, well, another soldier. But he wasn’t like them, not at all. His presence managed to freeze you in your stance, unable to fully turn around.

He was tall, a great deal taller than the other soldiers. Dark, untamed locks fell around his angular face, framing his sharp jaw and chiselled cheekbones. And he was so broad. The soldier attire almost looked more fitting on him, with his wide shoulders and muscular thighs. Protecting his shoulders were the same metal plates, with that same red star imprinted on the left side. A gasp almost escaped your lips when you noticed his arm, shimmering silver even in the dull light. The man, he couldn’t be another mere soldier. And he wasn’t — they called him the Asset.

For some reason, they wanted you to meet him.

With a proud expression, Brock met your eyes as he led the soldier in your direction, stopping only a foot away before he stepped to the side.

You swallowed, forcing your body to turn around, and you were met with perhaps the only splash of bright colour in the castle.

Azure blue eyes pierced into yours, making your palms clam and your knees weak. Unlike the other soldiers, he didn’t just stare past you; he stared through you, with eyes that were so blue yet so dim. His features remained blank, but even then his eyes burning into you made you feel small, almost too seen.

“I understand that you never took on a personal guard in Taria,” The king spoke from behind you. “I won’t be as foolish as your parents to leave you without one here.”

He gave a nod to Brock, who stepped towards you and the soldier, waving the other soldiers away with a hand. A grin tugged at his lips as he turned back to you. “The Asset is the best soldier we have. His only mission is to protect your life at all costs.”

Your brows pinched, and you just about managed to pull your eyes from the soldier’s to Brock’s. “Am I in such a state where I need a guard with that sole mission? Your best soldier, at that?”

“There are some cruel people living in Hydra, Princess. We wouldn’t want any of them getting their hands on you.” The man answered, practically smirked, knowing you’d already fallen into such hands.

But he was right, in a sense. Hydra’s royals weren’t exactly immune to danger. Rebellions were rare, but another one at any given time wasn’t an impossibility. Especially if the rebels believed your parents had chosen for you to marry into Hydra’s kingdom — you were fresh blood, and that made you an easy target for them.

If it wasn’t the rebels trying to hurt you, it’d be those that could simply for the fun of it. Because crime was so normalised there; everyone was constantly on edge, scared for their safety when night fell and silent shadows began to rome the unprotected villages. It was no way to live.

“He’ll be at your side at all times,” He continued. “Day and night; he’ll only rest when he must. Refer to him as ‘soldier’ and nothing else; he’s a guard, not your friend.”

You wouldn’t have expected anything else.

The king perked up from behind you, almost making you flinch. “Soldier, take the princess back to her chambers. A maid will arrive shortly with a meal for her.”

Huffing quietly, you glared over your shoulder. Apparently they weren’t stripping you of your freedom gradually, but completely all at once. Wonderful.

His expression remained nonchalant as he tipped his head at you. “I’m afraid my son is dealing with political affairs out of the kingdom today; he won’t be in attendance tonight. You’re to meet Isaac at breakfast tomorrow. I can assure you, he is looking forward to the pleasure of your company.”

If only you could say the same.

Your eyes turned back to the soldier, who had already spun around and was ready to comply with the king’s order. Soon enough, he was leading you out of the grand room, back to your sombre chambers.

The walk was silent; he wouldn’t talk to you, of course — it wasn’t in his job nature to do so. Even him, a tall, cold-eyed, man who was more muscle than anything else, was so obedient. Too obedient. So compliant that his expression never changed, he wouldn’t speak to you because he’d been strictly ordered not to, and his sole purpose was deemed to be the protection of your life. And he didn’t bat an eye. You wondered why. Why they were all soldiers first and humans not even second, but never at all.

You thought about the truth behind the soldier’s cold exterior for the rest of the dreary day.

Back in the throne room, seconds after he saw you wind around the corner into the dark corridor with your guard, Brock approached his king with a questioning crinkle in his brow.

“Your Highness, while I would never doubt your methods, I’m concerned that without a routine mind-wipe, we may begin to lose control over the Asset.”

Alexander considered his words. “Truthfully, I believe his brain has been tampered with enough to permanently erase his past from his mind. Alas, if he begins to show signs that his memory is recovering, you’ll know what to do.

As long as the princess doesn’t get any foolish ideas, the Asset shouldn’t pose a problem to us at all.”

[captainjimothycarter]

Prompt: Pregnant Peggy and Steve being insatiable with her

This was starting out to be light smut but then turned into this and I know this isn’t what you wanted??? but i have no regrets.

--

 “I don’t know if I liked it beforehand were you were afraid to touch me and my belly or not,” Peggy complains, but there’s no true vile or meaning to her voice. She could feel Steve’s smirk on the underside of her large belly.

 She’s officially grown too large for her shirts, the maternity ones Ana had made for her, forcing her to wear Steve’s shirts. Even then her belly was quite easily seen.

 This is what happens when you have twins with Captain America and the uncertainty of the serum and the progression of their kids. So far, the most Peggy has suffered was a bruised uterus and a bruised rib, though the latter could be argued that was from Steve picking her up from the tub.

 She gasped as she felt his soft nib along the underside of her belly, reaching around to gently swat at his hair.

 “Stop being crude,” she demanded, rolling her eyes. “You’re going to make me bruise.”

 “And who's going to see it down here beyond me or your doctor? You don’t have an appointment until Friday,” he pointed out, picking his head up so his stubbled face could lay on her stomach. “Besides, you love it.”

 She did. Peggy couldn’t deny that. She loved every single touch he granted her. She loved how tenderly he could hold her, his fingertips constantly rubbing her belly. She loved how he took care of her, compared to the horror stories she’s heard growing up of husbands having nothing to do with their wives or even their children after they were born.

 Steve was always that person, breaking rules and boundaries, no matter what his time in the future was like. He loved her and while it yes, did get annoying when he tried to do every little thing for her so she didn’t have to lift a finger, she was grateful that he was here after all.

 Her favorite parts of waking up were Steve gently rubbing her belly, listening to his soft words to their little ones about how much he loved them, how much their mother loved them, and how he was going to give them the best life possible. She knew about his mother and how she had died when he was just barely an adult, how his father was an abusive alcoholic after the first World War, how Steve did everything he could to ensure that his mother’s life was made easier despite his sickness. It boiled down to this very man laying across her belly and pressing soft kisses along with the stretch marks that will forever mirror her skin.

 Loving her, loving their family because he was so in love with her.

 “What are you doing?” Peggy giggled, her fingers threading through Steve’s hair. Her breaths were coming in small hitches as he rubbed his stubbled face along her belly, tenderly touching a spot here and there when it made her shift.

 “Giving you what you deserve.” He was purring and she knew that tone in his voice well by now. Shifting, Peggy sat up to look at him and Steve sat up on his own knees to look at her. He slowly crawled over her, hovering well over her belly before kissing her.

 “I love you,” he murmured in between heated kisses. “I love our little family. I love everything you’ve built here, that we’ve built together.”

 He was passionate if anything and damn did Peggy love it. He was obsessed with her body, tenderly caring for her. His favorite thing to do was to run a hot bath and gently shave her legs while she soaked. He always kept a heavy stock on her favorite foods, on her cravings, and never complained if she was hungry in the middle of the night.

 Steve’s passion and love for her was only ignited by the pregnancy and Peggy had no doubt in her mind as they fell back into the bed that Steve would do everything he could to make her happy.

 “Darling.”

 Peggy’s eyes closed and she found her breath coming in small pants, her heart racing as he moved his lips and stubble down her neck. He paid careful attention to that spot just below her ear that would drive her absolutely insane.

 “Hm? Something wrong.”

 “There will be if you don’t get me out of these clothes.”

 Steve laughed as he pulled away to admire his wife, wearing nothing but a pair of his boxers and one of his workout shirts. She didn’t hate her body, but he knew she disliked the fact she had outgrew her maternity clothes and couldn’t maintain her normal upkeep right off. They made it work with slightly larger dresses, belts, and his clothes but now that she was officially on bed rest and maternity leave, the need for clothes became obsolete.

 Gently sitting her up, Steve worked the shirt off of her frame and tossed it somewhere behind him. His shirt soon followed. His own breath hitched as her red nails ran down his torso, her fingernails catching his nipple and making his eyes close.

 “Are-are you sure?”

 It’s a question Steve always asks if she’s sure. If she’s sure she wants this, if she’s sure she’s not going to hurt or the children are going to be okay. If she’s sure.

 “I’ve never been more sure in my life,” Peggy said, a little annoyed. “You heard the doctor. Sex is actually good for the pregnancy, just go slow.”

 Slow was not what Peggy had intended, despite her words. Steve liked to take things literally when he wanted to. That’s why she found herself on edge, with him between her legs, unable to see him. His beard was rubbing the inside of her thighs raw.

 “What-Steven, don’t stop now.” She’s breathless, face flushed and panting when he pulls away from her. It takes her a second to the worry on his face.

 “Your water broke.” It’s clear, hard words that strike through her hard. They’ve prepared. There was a bag by the door. Mr. Jarvis was on-call to meet them at the hospital any day now.

 “Im-impossible, I would’ve felt it,” Peggy whispered. “I didn’t feel it.”

 “Well, I did.” The implication made her cheeks turn a shade of pink and she wasn’t some virgin doll, obviously. “We need to get to the hospital.”

 There was no arguing with Steve, no matter how many parenting books he’s read. He’s overly worried, overly cautious, and she’s surprised he’s even letting her walk out the door. He has to run back twice, once to get the bag and call Mr. Jarvis, then back again for the keys.

 That’s when the contractions hit, holding onto Steve’s hand the entire overly cautious drive. His hand alters between hers and her belly, trying to calm her down.

 “Remember what the nurse said, just breathe through it. We’re almost there, two more blocks.” Granted, maybe talking his pregnant wife down from what has to be the peak of pain was not a good idea.

 And given by a look thrown his way, it wasn’t.

 Thankfully, by the time they arrived, Mr. Jarvis and Ana were there with a nurse and doctor waiting for them. He could hear Jarvis explaining how he’d already made some calls to let others know and they’ll be here soon. All Steve could think about was Peggy and the pasty pale color of her skin, and how she didn’t look quite alright.

 --

 14 hours.

 14 long, miserable hours of Peggy in labor.

 14 hours of her alternating between cursing Steve’s existence or pushing.

 14 hours of screams, curses in many languages, including a few new ones, before new life was brought into the hospital room.

 14 hours of three…no four screams.

 One belonging to his beautiful, amazing wife Peggy.

 One to their infant son, Michael James Carter-Rogers.

 One to their other infant son, Chester Stevie Carter-Rogers.

 And one to their tiny, precious daughter that no one had guessed was even there, Sarah Elizabeth Carter- Rogers.

 “Triplets?” Steve breathed, staring down at the three, healthy bundles of joy in their own bassinettes. All quiet and cooing, his eyes falling to Sarah. She was small, impossibly small, no larger than he must’ve been, being born on the shorter end of the stick. He was afraid to touch her, afraid to even look at her and she might break, but soon as those eyes opened and they mirrored her mother’s, he knew she would be okay.

 She had her fighting spirit and his stubborn drive, given her cry was louder than her brothers’.

 They’d be okay.

 “Happy birthday, darlings,” Steve whispered, kissing each of their temples before looking to his sleeping wife, watching her face smooth out peacefully.

 He didn’t know much about the future [ironic, huh?], not when it involved his family, not the love of his life, but Steve knew one thing.

 He’d do anything and everything to protect them.

[diaryofabeautyfiend]

Small Time Witch (14)

Yours and Steve’s relationship was blissfully uncomplicated. You actually had a lot in common as far as movies and music you both enjoyed. You liked a lot of the same foods but he was also adventurous when it came to trying things. You loved all of his friends of course so it was never an issue when he wanted to hang out with them. You had your own relationships with each of them. It was especially a relief to Steve when you and Bucky bonded. He often found you two passed out on the couch surrounded by junk food wrappers. He secretly loved your relationship with Bucky.

It was a little contentious at first. He didn’t enjoy the fact that you wore the bracelet Loki gave you all the damn time. But he was gone so he got over it. Tony suggested he buy you something you wouldn’t take off. Being ever practical he bought you a watch for your birthday. The face of the watch was the same shade of blue as his eyes. This is very possibly the most expensive thing Steve had ever purchased. It was well worth it when your face lit up when you opened the box. You wore it every day.

You were a little jealous of his relationship with Sharon. She was his last link to Peggy. Of course you understood his reasoning for keeping her in his life. It didn’t mean she had to be invited to every event. He also wasn’t in charge of entertaining her either. Once you introduced her to Agent Gregory she was no longer an issue.

You fell into an easy routine where you worked and he worked. You ate dinner together. You went on dates. You spent time with friends. You were both very happy.

He said he loved you for the first time when he came home from a particularly long mission in Prague. The team got back very late and you were already asleep. Everyone was exhausted and retreated to their rooms. Steve’s room had a large window that bathed the entire place in silvery blue light. He normally had the blackout curtains drawn but you liked the windows open.

You had kicked off the blanket at some point leaving your body exposed to the moonlight. His heart melted when he saw you sleeping so peacefully. He noticed your wrist was also naked. The bracelet and a screwdriver were sitting on the bedside table. He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

He stripped down and crawled into bed. When you felt the mattress sag under his weight you rolled over to snuggle up to him. “Sorry I woke you.”

“S’okay, baby. Everyone make it back ok?”

“Yep. All good.” He rubbed your back and stared at your wrist. He didn’t want to bring it up. Taking it off had to be up to you. As long as you had it on there was always something in the air that he couldn’t quite figure out. Now that it was off it was like a fog was lifted. You felt more like his than ever before.

Without thinking he rolled you to your back and situated himself between your legs. “May I help you, Sir?” You smiled and ran your hands through his chest hair. He did not look like he was in a very playful mood. He bent down to kiss you. This one felt different than any other kiss. It was the kind of kiss that made your heart beat faster and your whole body feel warm.

“What was that?

“What do you mean?”

“That felt different.” He was quietly studying your face. He noticed every freckle every line every highlight and shadow. For the first time he realized your upper lip line was a little crooked and you had a faded scar on your forehead. He traced over it with his fingertip. Your eyes fluttered closed under his touch and your lips parted sightly.

“I love you” he whispered. His eyes were still roaming your face like he was seeing it for the first time.

“What did you say?” You were in shock.

“I said I love you.” You weren’t sure if you were physically capable of saying it back. He looked at you anticipating your words.

“I love you too.” He kissed you again. Each touch was gentle every movement felt new. Sex any other time was explosive but a means to and end for sure. The way he was touching you now was foreign to him. It felt special. He had never been with anyone like this before and will never be again.

⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

It was a few months since you last heard from Loki. He never said he would keep in touch. Somehow, it always felt like he was around. The only people you could talk to about this were Thor and Wanda.

Wanda felt like you just missed him and wearing the bracelet (which was basically a handcuff) kept him around. “I’m sure the spell wasn’t just to protect the metal from the elements. He wants you to be able to feel him. He is a wedge in your relationship with Steve. You have to take it off to break the bond.”

That was all very true. Thor was a bit more practical. “If he’s back on Asgard he is no doubt asking Heimdall to watch you. If he’s still here on Midgard he probably is always around. He’s a shapeshifter. Weird black cat following you home? Probably Loki. Gnarled tree outside of your window? Probably Loki. I’d be surprised if he didn’t glamour your make up mirror so that he could see you anytime you used it. If I know my brother he probably linked himself to that bracelet. Take it off and he’ll magically be gone.”

All of this was likely true as well. The bracelet started feeling heavy on your wrist. The longer Steve was away the more aware you were that it was hanging there. By the tenth night you were alone in your bed you decided to have a chat with Loki. You weren’t sure he could hear you. He said if you needed him he would know. So you spoke out loud feeling less than confident. “Lok, I don’t know if you can hear me but, I have to take this off for a little while. I miss you so much but I have to move on.”

You grabbed the screw driver and fit it into the groove where the little gold one would fit. At first it wouldn’t budge. You thought you might have to have Tony melt it off or at least try some bolt cutters. You sighed in frustration. “Come on, Lok. I have to. Please.” You weren’t sure whether you were talking to him or the bracelet. You tried it one more time and it worked. Like magic. You slipped it off and tenderly touched each emerald before you set it down.

As soon as Steve hit the door you knew. The air was different when he walked in. You felt different. When he said he loved you you wanted to cry. Steve would be only the third man you had ever really loved. You felt guilty for even feeling how you felt. You knew the two of you were alone now. You certainly didn’t mean to fall in love with him. Yet, you did. You said it back and meant every syllable.

🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙🌙

Loki searched high and low for a way to make you immortal. He found a few promising leads from a mystic in Niflheim that lead him to the elves in Alfheim. They gained immortality from the Yggdrasil. Speaking to one of the elders there Loki was asked to consider two possibilities.

“You can grant her immortality by binding her to your life force. A snippet of the Yggdrasil forged with part of yourself will let her live as you do. The problem with that is if either of you dies the other will follow. You are not impervious to death and neither is she. You also cannot force her to take the gift. She must choose to live forever. The alternative, dear boy, is to make yourself mortal.”

The thought made Loki queasy. “How do I do that?”

“There is a tree on Midgard called manzanilla de muerte. Apple of death. Highly poisonous for humans. For you, it makes you mortal. You just need a bit of the sap. Once ingested you will age as she does and die as she will.”

“Will I lose my abilities?”

“No. But you will be far more fragile. Do not make this decision lightly or in haste. Be sure that whatever you choose it is the right choice.” Loki took the snippet of tree and headed back to Asgard.

Yes, Heimdall was watching you. Loki did not always appreciate his honesty especially when you and Steve were in the throes of passion. On this day Heimdall said you looked perplexed. “She’s talking to you.”

“What does she say?” He listened closer.

“She’s taking off her bracelet.”

Loki felt like he was being kicked in the stomach. He wrapped his hand around the tiny screwdriver he wore around his neck. The spell he cast on the bracelet did keep you connected to him. He could feel your pulse your warmth. At times he smelled the spice of your perfume. When he removed the leather cord from around his neck he released you. “Heimdall I need to go to Midgard.”

“It doesn’t seem like she wants you there.”

“I’m not going to New York. I need to go to Florida. I’m looking for a tree.” Heimdall set him in a remote part of Florida. He had an idea where the tree was but before he could be on his way his phone rang.

“Mr. Laufeyson this is Alan. The house is ready. When can I hand over the keys?”

“I can be there in an hour if that’s alright.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll be here finishing a few things. Look forward to showing you around. She’s a beaut.”

Loki got to the tree and carefully collected its milky white sap in a vile. Soon after he was navigating his way through the woods near your new home.

The light hit the house just as you saw in your vision. Alan saw him and waved him over.

“Alan you exceeded my expectations” he said as he handed him a bag of cash. “It’s all there. You can count it.”

“All of your payments have been correct to the penny. No reason for me to mistrust you now. Come on. Have a look around. The gardener finished this morning. Everything is to your specifications. The decorator had a hard time finding the table but we got it.”

Loki marveled at the craftsmanship. Every nook and cranny was exactly how you wanted it. Four perfect bedrooms. The master was large but still felt very cozy. A shower and a large soaker tub set on gryphons feet. Soon the ivy would overtake the window casting the most interesting shadows. He imagined laying in the bath with you washing your hair belly heavy with his child. It took his breath away.

“Alan you are a master at your craft. I so appreciate your attention to detail. We’ll be in touch when we’re ready to expand.”

“Yes, sir. Looking forward to working with you again.” He handed Loki the keys and showed himself out.

Loki decided to stay in the house for a while. He stowed the Yggdrasil cutting in the herb cabinet he had built into the wall of the kitchen and the sap in another drawer. He spent the better part of the day warding the house. Had you been there it would have made for lighter work. No matter. It was done and you could feel safe. When he went to bed he took off the tiny screwdriver from around his neck and set it on the bedside table. He couldn’t feel you anymore.

The next morning, when the light was just right, he took a picture of the perfect cottage set in the glen. He went down to the drugstore and had the picture printed onto a postcard. Next he went to the locksmith where he had the ornate key to the front door fabricated. Last was the post office where he sent off the package and a copy of the deed. “Until we meet again, Pet” he said as he dropped it into the box. He went back home to have tea in the garden across from the empty chair where he hoped one day soon he would see you worrying over a book.

[themarveledwriter]

By the Light of the Moon~Part 2

Story Summery: Y/n is a vampire hasn’t told anyone about herself, her family, her history. She hasn’t even told her boyfriend. What happens when her secret is revealed in a violent manner.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Vampire!Reader

Words: 3.5k

Warnings: Angst, Sadness, Sorta asshole Steve (but his hearts in the right place), Cursing.

A/N: Here is the second part! Next part should be up soon! Not beta read.

She was gone. 

Just gone.

The window completely shattered, she didn’t even slow down. 

Everyone was stunned, Bucky wasn’t sure what to do. He knew he couldn’t go after her, she ran across the walkway and out the door before Bucky could even blink. 

Steve came out of it the fastest, “FRIDAY lock down the building.” This made me swing around to look at him, furious with what he was doing. 

“Are you still trying to stop her!? She doesn’t want to be here Steve! You pushed her to the edge and now she is gone!” Bucky says while walking towards Steve, shoving him with his last word. 

“Captain Rogers, Y/n is no longer in the building.” The AI says. 

Steve turned away from Bucky, “How did she get out?” 

“She exited from the roof.” Bucky was the one to talk this time, “What? How did she exit from the roof?” “She jumped.” Klaus said before the AI. Both Bucky and Steve turn around to Klaus, “What do you mean she jumped? This building is 93 stories!” Bucky said, panicked.

Klaus smirked, “She’s an original vampire. She could jump off a cliff and be fine, in fact she has.”

This confused Bucky, “Original vampire?”

Klaus tilted his head, and the smirk fell from his lips. “She really didn’t tell you anything did she?” Resulting in Bucky shaking his head. 

“Well, is there somewhere we can sit? It is a long story.”

Steve takes the lead on this, feeling more comfortable with having a purpose. “We can go to the common room. FRIDAY call the team down there.” Steve turns to Bucky, “I think this is something everyone should know.”

~

~

~

The entire team is already in the common room by the time Bucky, Steve and Klaus get down there. 

When the elevator doors open everyone stands up, Sam being the first to talk.

“Who is this? Where is Y/n?”

Steve goes to answer but Klaus talks first, “I’m Klaus Mikaelson, Y/n is my sister. She’s gone.”

This time it’s Natasha’s turn to talk, “What do you mean she’s gone?” She says, worried for her friend. 

Klaus steps forward, taking an empty chair, but no one else sits down. 

“Well? Go on, sit. It’s a rather long story and I doubt you’ll want to stand the whole time.” Everyone slowly takes their seats, Bucky sitting next to Sam who lays a comforting hand on his shoulder. Him and Bucky may have their differences but Sam can tell when his friend is hurting. 

“Alright, lets begin.” Klaus says with a smirk.

“So, as you all learned earlier, my sister is a vampire. What you didn’t know is that she is one of the first vampires in existence, along with me and our siblings. See, my mother was a witch, a powerful witch though not as powerful as her sister. My mother was barren, and made a deal with my Aunt Dahlia to be able to have children, she just had to give her first born to Dahlia. So she gave up my sister Freya and told her husband she had died from the plague. My mother had another child named Finn before they came to the New World in the 10th century when my mother was pregnant with my brother Elijah. They settled in a village where everyone was healthy and happy, we didn’t know that they were all werewolves till later, though we lived with them peacefully for years.”

 Klaus stops at this, taking a breath before continuing. “I was born next, but I was born out of an affair between my mother and another villager. I wouldn’t know that until after I became a vampire. Kol came next, and then Rebecka. Lastly my mother fell pregnant with twins, Henrik and Y/n.” 

Sam talks before Klaus can continue, “Y/n has a twin?”

Klaus looks down with a sad expression on his face.

“Not anymore… I was incredibly close to Henrik and Y/n, closer than to anyone else in my family. They were the youngest out of all of us and I was always more protective of them.” Klaus looks up at the group. “Henrik and Y/n were only 13 at this time… After we had discovered the people who lived around us became beasts on the night of a full moon, I became curious. I had planned to sneak out and watch them transform, which was forbidden, and when Henrik found out he wanted to come as well. Of course, Y/n being his twin came too. One of the wolves lost control, mauling Henrik. Y/n almost died as well, but was able to run from the wolf that was attacking her. Henrik died that night, from my ignorance and stupidity. It was also the night our mother decided to turn us into vampires.”

Now it was Bucky’s turn to speak up, “But Y/n doesn’t look like she is 13, how old was she when she turned?”

Klaus looked at him, “Our mother performed a ritual on all of us, including Y/n, to make us stronger. She wanted to protect us. My mother's witch friend Ayana refused to do the spell, but she did make it so that Y/n would continue to age until her 18th birthday.”

“The spell made us powerful. It made us fast, strong, it gave us fangs to rival the wolves, but it also turned nature against us. The sun burned us, the neighbors that had once welcomed us into their homes could now keep us out, the flowers at the base of the tree that was used in the spell burned us and prevented compulsion,” Klaus turns to Bucky. “That’s the ‘protection’ that Y/n mentioned earlier. Do you have a bracelet or necklace that she gave you?”

Bucky was already fidgeting with the necklace Y/n had given him for their one year anniversary. It was a habit he formed after she gave it to him. A pendant with his star on it, on the back engraved in her handwriting is “You are my hero”. She said it was to remind him that his arm didn’t make him a monster. 

“Yeah, this one.” Bucky says, not letting go of the necklace.

Klaus holds out his hand, “Can I see it?” 

Bucky is hesitant, but ultimately agrees. Standing up and handing the pendant to Klaus, who’s skin starts smoking the second it touches his skin. 

“Woah, what the hell?” Bucky says, taking back the necklace. 

Klaus smirks, “Like I said, vervain burns… The only thing that can kill us is a stake made from the tree that gave us life. The white oak… Like I said, werewolf venom won’t kill original vampires. I just had no desire for my sister to be in pain until it burned out of her system. I also haven’t seen her in years, I missed her.”

“When we became vampires, Y/n was the last to turn. She was so so young and killed the person that our parents used to complete the transition. She hated herself for so long after, and has always struggled with her bloodlust… When I killed my first human not long after my transition we learned that I was part werewolf. A hybrid, but my mother suppressed my wolf side. It was only recently that I was able to unlock it, which is why I can heal a werewolf bite. A normal vampire would die from a bite without my blood.”

Steve took this time to ask Klaus, “Y/n was drinking Bucky’s blood. Is he going to turn into a vampire?” This made Klaus chuckle, “No. You would have to die with vampire blood in your system and then drink human blood to complete the transition. But vampire blood also has healing qualities, if given to a human with a fatal injury they will heal within minutes.”

Klaus stood up, “I’m going to find my sisters storage unit, is there a room I can stay in tonight?”

Tony tells him where he can stay for the night, but when he turns to leave, Bucky runs after him. 

“Wait! Are we not going to look for Y/n?”

Klaus turns around, a small smile on his face. “It’s nice to know my sister has someone who cares so strongly for her, but looking for her right now is useless. If she doesn’t want to be found, she won’t be. I just hope what happened earlier doesn’t push her over the edge. She has gotten better at controlling her bloodlust but when she’s incredibly emotional she tends to struggle. We will know by morning.” This concerned Bucky. “What happens if she loses control?”

Klaus frowns at this, “Well, she will probably kill some people. That’ll cause her to have really bad guilt. If that happens I will need your help to make sure she doesn’t flip her switch.”

“What do you mean flip her switch?

“Oh I forgot about that. Vampires have this… ability. Our emotions are heightened, if the guilt or sadness gets too bad, we can turn off our humanity. It’s like this switch that we can flip. It’s incredibly hard to get someone who’s flipped their switch to turn it back on. We can’t let Y/n do that.”

That scares Bucky, “Has she done that before?”

Klaus nods, “She was the first one to do so… I feel like I should let her tell you the whole story but basically what happened was she accidentally killed someone she cared very much about. I believe that was why she was so scared when she fed from you. That person was her main form of sustenance but they were attacked by a hunter, she was severely weakened with vervain and he was seriously injured. She couldn’t control her bloodlust and he ended up dying.” This broke Bucky’s heart. He never wanted to see Y/n in pain. 

“She couldn’t take the pain and the guilt. It was killing her. She wanted to die but couldn’t find a way. She somehow found out she could turn it all off. It took me decades to get her to turn it back on. She left a string of bodies from New Orleans to Los Angeles. When she turned it back on she had all that guilt as well. Everytime she has turned it off it has always been worse when she turns it back on.

Bucky felt more comfortable now. It helped him to have orders, a mission. While Klaus isn’t technically in charge of him, he knew Y/n better than Bucky. Bucky could do what Klaus asked, or at least try. He wouldn’t lose Y/n.

“I am going to find Y/n’s storage unit. You wouldn’t happen to know where it is by any chance?” 

Bucky knew she had a storage unit near the tower, but he had never been to it. 

“I think it’s at Manhattan Mini Storage, it’s near Hell’s Kitchen.”

Klaus nods, “Alright, I’ll be back tonight.” 

He walks onto the elevator, leaving Bucky standing in the hallway.

~ ~ ~

Bucky was sitting in your room, it was almost bare because you have been slowly sneaking your stuff into Bucky’s room. 

But it still smells like you. 

He couldn’t believe he never noticed anything. Now that he knows he realizes there were many strange things that he always ignored. 

That ring you claimed you hated but would never take off. The time you lost it and refused to leave the tower, not even going into the common room. The fact you wouldn’t go into someone’s house before being invited in. You wouldn’t even go into Bucky’s room before he told you you could. 

He always thought it was because you didn’t want to spend that much time with him, that it was too personal. You had already been spending time with each other for a few weeks prior and he thought he had crossed a line. 

Apparently not. 

~Flashback~

Bucky had just arrived at the compound after his time in Wakanda. He was a lot more confident knowing the Soldier could no longer be triggered, but he still wouldn’t be the first to approach someone. 

Y/n watched him around the compound, fascinated by the other man out of time. Her and Steve had been friends for years, and she had helped him and Sam in Romania. 

When he arrived at the compound, she was one of the only people to truly try and make him feel welcome. No one was out right rude to him, but they weren’t exactly welcoming.  Only Steve, Y/n and Nat would ask him to join them for supper or training. 

But Y/n went above and beyond for him. 

She would leave food by his door when he didn’t eat with the team. She defended him when Tony would say something.

The thing he appreciated most was the time she helped him through a panic attack.

It was when he was on trial, there was no way he would be convicted with all the Avengers behind him, but it still took a toll on his mental state. 

People were able to find his files, and after the public found out how many people he killed a lot rallied against him. Calling for the death penalty.

Tony had a party after the trial was over. Inviting all the New York socialites and having Bucky as the “guest of honor” to prove that he was one of the good guys now. But all he could hear the entire night was people saying how they couldn’t believe Tony let the man who killed his parents on the team. A monster.

He was pushed close to the edge when a drunk man started asking him all these questions and accusing him of things he never did. 

He was pushed over the edge when he started talking about his family. Claiming his ma and sisters would hate him for the monster he became. He was hyperventilating and about to lash out. Looking around for Steve or someone who could help him. 

That’s when Y/n swooped in like a guardian angel. 

The media loved Y/n, she was always helping people. Visiting children's hospitals and helping the homeless. 

Which is why they didn’t care when she threw the man across the room. 

She walked right between Bucky and the drunk man, telling him to back off. Bucky couldn’t understand much of what she was saying, he was too busy trying to not shut down, but the last thing he heard was the man call him a monster before Y/n had shoved him so hard he flew across the room. 

She had always claimed she was a mutant. That was why she was so strong and fast, why she healed faster than him or Steve. 

Next thing he knew she was leading him out of the party, arms linked. 

He was gasping for breath at this point, not really noticing she was moving him until his back hit the couch. They were in a smaller common room at the tower, used as a sort of library. Bucky knew this was Y/n’s favorite room in the tower because there were days he wouldn't see her until she emerged from the library at midnight, walking into the kitchen wrapped in a fluffy blanket looking incredibly relaxed.

Not that he was looking for you. 

“-ucky. You are okay. Match my breathing okay? You are just fine.” You were pressing his hand to her chest, her hand on top of his. 

It's the first time they touched.

Well not the first time, they’ve trained together. Brushed shoulders in passing. 

But she was purposely touching him, comforting him. 

His breathing slowed down, and he was shocked when your arms were suddenly around his shoulders.

“I’m so so sorry he said those things to you.” 

Your voice sounded watery, which made him push on your shoulders to see your face. Which made you panic. 

“I-I’m so sorry Bucky. I know you don’t like to be touched. I should have asked before I hugged you. I was just so mad that he said those things to you!” You were aggressively wiping the tears from your face. “He had no right! He doesn’t know what you went through and the fact that he was accusing you of things you never even did! I’m so-” Bucky was smiling at this point. 

“Doll, you’re rambling.”

That shut you up really quick. 

A small smile slowly appeared on your face, confusing Bucky.

“Doll? You called me doll?”

“Uh… Yeah, I guess I did.” Your smile grew larger. “And don’t feel bad for hugging me.”

“Really?”

“Yeah I… I liked it.”

“Then why did you push me away?” Y/n says, tilting her head to one side. Making Bucky think of a confused puppy.

“I heard you crying doll. You should never cry over me.” At this she threw herself at him, wrapping her arms tightly around him, snuggling her face into his neck. “Everyone needs someone to cry over them sometimes.”

~End Flashback~

When Bucky came out of his mind, the sun was already rising. He quickly wiped away the tears that had fallen down his cheeks. 

He didn’t realize so much time had passed, and couldn’t help but wonder where Y/n was. 

Was she even in New York still?

Bucky laid back, grabbing one of Y/n’s pillows and hugging it to his body, breathing deeply. 

He was dozing off, comforted by the smell of you, when FRIDAY jolted him awake.

“Sergeant Barnes, Mr. Mikaelson is back and requesting your presence in the kitchen. The rest of the Avengers are already on their way.”

Bucky jumped up quickly, needing to know if Klaus found anything, when he your favorite of his hoodies in your closet. He quickly grabs it and throws it on, comforted by the fact it smelled like you. 

He made his way down to the kitchen as fast as he could, practically running once the elevator stopped.

When he made his way into the kitchen he noticed the rest of the Avengers were already there. Klaus was standing at the island with a canvas bag sitting in front of him. 

Steve was the first to speak, “Why’d you call us all down here? Have you heard anything?” 

Klaus looks at him, and then at Bucky. “I went to my sister’s storage unit. While I was there I got a call from my sister Freya-”

Natasha cuts him off. “I thought you said your mom gave her to your aunt in the 10th century?”

Klaus smirks, “You pay attention, nice. Incredibly long story short, my aunt discovered how to practically make herself and Freya immortal by sleeping for 100 years and then living and aging for only a year.”

“Anyway, Freya called me. She said that there were some ‘animal attacks’ on the outskirts of the town. I’m going there tonight, James is coming with me.” 

Klaus started gathering the bag, but Steve puts his hand over it, stopping him. 

“Bucky isn’t going anywhere with you, how do we know we can trust you.” Bucky was about to object, but Klaus started first. His face blank.

This is my sister!” Klaus says, getting angry as he said it. 

“I would not do anything to risk her. I agree, you don’t know me and have no clue if you can trust me, but I will help my sister no matter what. I need James to help me with that.”

“Why does Bucky need t-”

Steve is suddenly pushed against the wall, Klaus baring his fangs at him. 

“He may be the only one who can keep her from losing her humanity. He is coming with me.

Steve goes to object, but Bucky stops him. “Steve, that’s my girl. I am going with him.”

“Buck-”

“Stop. You are the one that pushed her over the edge. I will not lose her”

He turns back to Klaus, who looks overly smug.

“Is there anything you need before we go?”

Klaus nods at this, “I need a cooler, and you should pack for at least a week… Maybe longer. We will also need a car.” He says, looking at Tony.

Tony speaks for the first time, telling FRIDAY to ready a car and make sure it has a cooler in it. 

“Why do you need a cooler?”

Klaus walks back over to the canvas bag on the counter, unzipping it. 

“Well, I went and collected some things from Y/n’s storage unit. Let’s just say, it’s a tad perishable.”

With that he turns the bag over, ten blood bags spilling out.

“What the hell is that!?” Clint says, “Well, I know what they are… I’m in the medbay enough to know that, but why do you have them?”

Klaus looks at him, “Take a wild guess.”

He looks at Bucky, “She’s feeding on people, we need to get her back on blood bags as soon as possible. She may not be a ripper but she is in such an emotional state that we don’t need to risk her seriously hurting someone.” He finishes with a pointed look at Steve. 

“Sir, the car is prepped.”

Klaus looks at Bucky. 

“Go pack, we have a long drive ahead of us.”

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