FicsFromOtherWriters

When Steve woke the next morning, it was not to the familiar walls of his bedroom but to the living room. Jazz still drifted softly from the radio, and you were tucked against his side, fast asleep. At some point the two of you must have fallen asleep reading again.

He watched you for a few quiet minutes before gently tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. You murmured at the touch and instinctively snuggled closer. His heart gave a little flip. Smiling to himself, he pressed a kiss to your forehead.

Only then did he glance around the room. Both books had fallen to the floor. The curtains were still cracked open, letting the morning sunlight spill across the hardwood.

Steve could not help wishing this was how he always woke up. With you beside him. In the house that had somehow become home. And when he really let himself think about it, he realized he had been thinking about the future differently lately. Not just tomorrow or next week, but Christmas. Next spring. Twenty years from now.

He had never meant for it to happen. Somewhere along the way, he had stopped imagining a future. He had started imagining your future together. He wanted this—this quiet life, this little house, these ordinary mornings—with you. Permanently.

You stirred, drawing his attention back to you. Your eyes blinked open, and a soft blush colored your cheeks when you found him already watching. "Morning, soldier."

He smiled. "Morning, doll."

Leaning down, he kissed you gently. "Sleep okay?"

You nodded as you wrapped your arms around him. "Surprisingly well for sleeping on the couch." You looked up at him. "You?"

"Me too." He helped you sit up, lingering just long enough to give you another squeeze.

Something about the way he was looking at you made butterflies dance in your stomach. "You okay?"

Steve pushed a hand through his hair before kissing your forehead again, almost absentmindedly, like he simply could not help himself. "Yeah." He smiled softly. "Perfect, doll."

You searched his face for another moment. Finding nothing but sincerity, you finally nodded. "Well, then." You climbed to your feet with a small stretch. "We have breakfast to eat and laundry to do."

Steve stood and followed you toward the kitchen. "I'll start breakfast. You go freshen up, doll." He smiled knowingly. "I know it's bothering you."

Laughing, you shook your head and disappeared down the hall toward your bedroom. Steve watched you go. Yes. This was everything he wanted.

Over the next several days, Steve found himself paying attention to all the little things he had somehow begun to take for granted.

The way you hummed while hanging laundry before smiling when you caught him watching. The easy laughter you shared with Rosie over afternoon tea. The way your nose scrunched in concentration whenever a book managed to pull you completely into its pages. How you swayed around the kitchen while dinner cooked, dancing to music only you seemed to hear. Even when Mrs. Hodgkin stopped by to chat over the fence, he noticed it.

You looked different than you had when he first arrived. Lighter. The worry that had once settled permanently behind your eyes had eased. Your smile came easier now. Your laughter lingered longer. You looked…happy. And more than anything, Steve wanted to spend the rest of his life making sure you stayed that way.

After a week of thinking, Steve decided he needed to talk to someone. Howard—or any one of the Howling Commandos—would have gladly listened, but he needed someone who knew you. Which was how he found himself outside the steel factory where Rosie worked, hands shoved into his pockets as he idly kicked at loose rocks while he waited for the afternoon whistle.

Rosie spotted him the moment she stepped outside. "Steve?" She blinked. "What on earth are you doing here?"

He pushed away from the brick wall and smiled nervously. "Hey, Rosie. I…need some help with something."

She crossed her arms, tilting her head. "Did she finally burn dinner?"

Steve snorted. "No, I…" His ears immediately turned pink.

Rosie's eyes went wide. "…Oh my God."

Before he could say another word, she grabbed his arm and marched him toward the diner down the street. The waitress had barely shown them to a booth before Rosie ordered two coffees without even asking.

The second the mugs hit the table, she leaned forward, folded her hands together, and grinned. "Spill it, Rogers."

Steve fidgeted with the handle of his coffee mug. "I want to ask…" He rubbed the back of his neck. "Well…not to marry me. We already are. It's just…" He frowned, searching for the right words. "We never…"

"You never gave her a ring," Rosie finished gently. "Or said your vows."

He let out a long breath. "Exactly." His fingers traced the rim of his mug. "She didn't get the wedding she deserved." He looked up. "And I want to do it right."

Rosie pointed at him with a satisfied smile. "I knew you were one of the good ones."

He laughed quietly. "I need help, Rosie. I don't know how to do this."

She waved away his concern as she reached for her purse to pay for the coffee. "Of course you don't." Standing, she jerked her head toward the door. "But let's start with the obvious." "You need a ring." She grabbed his sleeve again." Come on. There's a jewelry store down the street."

Steve followed obediently, though he had absolutely no idea what kind of ring you would like. Hopefully Rosie did. They wandered through four different jewelry stores before Steve shook his head at another display.

Outside the fourth shop, Rosie planted her hands on her hips. "Okay, Mister Picky." She narrowed her eyes at him. "What exactly have you got in your head that's making every single one of these wrong?"

Steve opened his mouth, then closed it again. His eyes drifted toward the sky. Quietly, he admitted, "My mother had a ring."

Rosie waited.

"It wasn't extravagant." He smiled faintly. "It was simple. Elegant." His voice softened. "And whenever she'd smile down at it…" He looked back at Rosie. "…she was beautiful in her joy."

Rosie's expression melted. "Well…" she said softly. "That, we can work with." She squeezed his shoulder. "And for the record, that is incredibly sweet." She brightened again. "Come on." She hooked her arm through his. "We're going downtown. Better jewelers."

Three more stores later, Steve stopped so abruptly Rosie nearly walked into him. "There."

She followed his gaze to a simple solitaire ring resting in the display. After a long moment, she smiled. "Oh…"

When Steve glanced over, he found her suspiciously quiet. "You okay?"

She sniffed and quickly wiped at the corner of one eye. "I'm fine." She was not fooling anyone. "I'll go get the jeweler."

Steve spoke quietly with the man behind the counter while Rosie hovered nearby.

As the jeweler placed the ring into a black velvet box, Rosie smiled proudly. "He's the nicest man alive."

The jeweler chuckled. Steve ducked his head, unable to hide his own smile.

Once the purchase was finished, he carefully slipped the little box into his jacket pocket.

Outside, Rosie bumped his shoulder. "So…how are you going to do it?"

Steve scratched the back of his neck. "I'm not sure. I just know I want it to be more romantic than simply asking."

Rosie turned and began walking backward in front of him. "Okay." She pointed at him. "First question. Public or private?"

Steve rested a hand over the ring box in his pocket. "Private." A small smile spread across his face. "This is just for us."

Rosie nodded approvingly. "Good. Then at home." She started counting on her fingers. "Back porch. Candles. White Christmas lights. Flowers. A nice tablecloth."

Steve pulled a small notebook from his pocket and dutifully wrote each item down. He paused. "Why Christmas lights?"

Rosie gave him the flattest look imaginable. "Because they're pretty." Then she shrugged. "And they make everything fancier."

Steve considered that for a second before nodding. "Fair enough."

They stopped by a department store for candles and a tablecloth before finally making their way back outside.

As they reached the sidewalk, Steve looked over with a grateful smile. "Thanks, Rosie. I really appreciate the help." He glanced down at his notebook, checking off the supplies they had bought. "I'll get flowers from the florist near the house." Then he smiled to himself. "And I think I know who to ask about the Christmas lights."

Rosie laughed. "Perfect." She gave him a quick hug. "My job here is done." Then she pointed a finger at him. "But you have to tell me how it goes."

Steve laughed as he picked up the shopping bag. "I will."

Steve walked up to a house he never thought he would see again and knocked.

A crash sounded somewhere inside. Then another. Followed by what sounded suspiciously like someone swearing. A moment later the front door cracked open just enough for Howard to stick his head through.

He blinked at Steve. "Steve." His eyes narrowed. "What'd you do now?"

Holding up both hands, Steve shook his head. "Nothing."

Howard looked unconvinced.

Steve smiled. "I just need a favor."

Howard opened the door the rest of the way and motioned him inside. "What kind of favor?" He shut the door behind them. "The paperwork nearly killed me. If this is another identity crisis, I'm charging."

Steve laughed. "Thanks again for that."

Howard waved him off. "You're welcome. Now what?"

The two of them stopped in the front hall. Steve took a breath. "I need white Christmas lights."

Howard stared at him. "…Christmas lights."

Steve nodded. "White ones."

Howard's eyebrows climbed nearly to his hairline. "Are you…" He pointed accusingly at Steve. "…being mushy?"

Steve smirked. "Yes."

Howard looked delighted. "Oh, this I have to see."

Steve pointed a finger back at him. "And no."

Howard frowned.

Steve gave him a look. "You can't add fireworks."

Howard looked genuinely offended. "I wasn't going to."

Steve just looked at him.

Howard sighed dramatically. "…Fine. I was absolutely going to add fireworks."

Steve laughed. "I know."

Howard threw an arm around Steve's shoulders as they headed farther into the house. "Come on. I've got lights." A grin spread across his face. "And I've got exactly six terrible ideas you're going to say no to."

Hours later, Steve stood in the kitchen finishing your favorite chicken dish. After a long afternoon of errands, you wandered in to help out of habit. He immediately shook his head. "Nope."

You blinked. "I wasn't even touching anything."

"I know." He smiled. "But tonight you don't get to help." He gently turned you toward the back door. "Go sit outside."

You looked at him suspiciously.

He gently pushed you forward. "It's too nice an evening to stay indoors."

Laughing, you held up your hands in surrender. "Alright, soldier."

The moment you stepped onto the back porch, you stopped. The space looked completely different. Soft white lights twinkled beneath the eaves. A crisp black tablecloth covered the little table where the two of you usually drank tea. In the center sat a bouquet of lilies and roses. Two candles already flickered gently in the evening breeze. You were still staring when the back door opened again.

Steve stepped outside carrying dinner while slow jazz drifted through the screen door behind him. He smiled. "Take a seat, doll. I'll bring the wine."

Still speechless, you sat down. Your fingers reached almost absently toward one of the roses, pulling it closer to breathe in its sweet scent.

A moment later Steve returned carrying a bottle of chilled white wine nestled in a bucket of ice along with two glasses. He poured each of you a glass before finally taking his own seat across from you.

You watched him curiously. "Did I miss something?"

He smiled. "No." He sipped his wine. "I just thought we could have a date at home tonight. If you don't mind."

You reached across the table and covered his hand with yours. "Thank you, soldier." Your smile softened. "This is wonderful."

Steve turned his hand over, lacing his fingers with yours for just a moment before reluctantly letting go. "You're welcome, doll." He picked up his fork. "How was your day?"

You laughed. "Oh, glamorous as always."

He smiled. "I somehow doubt that."

"It wasn't." You took another sip of wine before remembering. "Oh! I ran into Mrs. Hodgkin."

Steve raised an eyebrow. "And?"

"She invited me to the ladies' brunch next week." You laughed. "I think I nearly fainted."

Steve chuckled. "She's really taken to you."

You nodded, taking your first bite. "It is a wonder."

Dinner slipped into easy conversation after that. Little stories. Small jokes. Comfortable silences. By the time the plates were empty and half the bottle of wine was gone, neither of you had noticed how late it had become.

Steve stood first. Then held out his hand. "Dance with me?"

You smiled as you slipped your hand into his. "I'd love to, soldier."

He drew you into his arms. Slowly the two of you swayed beneath the lights while jazz drifted out through the open back door. You rested your head against his shoulder. For a while neither of you spoke.

Then something caught your attention. His heartbeat. It was racing. You leaned back just enough to look at him. "You okay? You seem excited."

Steve smiled nervously. "I am." His voice was quieter now. "I wanted to ask you something."

You searched his face. "Okay. What is it?"

He swallowed. Stepping back just enough to look at you properly, he slipped his hands into his pockets. "We've spent a lot of time pretending."

You smiled. "We got pretty good at it."

He laughed softly. "Yeah." His smile faded into something gentler. "The funny thing is…the pretending became true."

Warmth crept into your cheeks. "This still doesn't sound like a question."

Steve took a slow breath. "Everyone thinks we got married in France."

You nodded. "They do."

"We signed papers."

Another nod.

"But…" His fingers closed around the little velvet box inside his pocket. "We never got to promise anything."

He pulled out the ring box. Opened it. "I want those promises." His voice almost cracked. "I want every one of them." He met your eyes. "Doll…will you say those vows with me?"

For a second you could not breathe. Your hands flew to your mouth as tears immediately filled your eyes. "Steve…"

He gently took your left hand into his. "You've given me a home." His thumb brushed across your knuckles. "You've given me a life." A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Will you let me spend the rest of it choosing you?"

The first tear slipped down your cheek. Then another. You nodded before you could even find your voice. "Yes." It came out as barely more than a whisper. "Yes."

Steve's own hands trembled as he slipped the ring onto your finger. For a long moment, neither of you spoke. You simply stared at the ring. Then back at him.

He leaned down and kissed you. Gentle. Certain. He brushed a few tears away with his thumb. "I love you."

You smiled through your tears before kissing him again. "I love you too."

He gathered you back into his arms. The two of you resumed your slow dance beneath the white lights. You looked down at the ring once more.

Steve noticed. "It looks a little like my mom's." He smiled almost shyly. "I hoped you'd like it."

You turned the ring in the candlelight. "It's beautiful." Then you looked back up at him. "So are the promises."

Steve smiled. Pulling you a little closer, he rested his cheek against your hair while the music carried on around you. For the first time since he walked through your front door, neither of you needed to pretend anymore.

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“At least I don’t look like a school girl.” Sam quips, still trying to swallow his laughter. Dean turns with a huff, punching Sam on the arm. “Still hit the same… so does that mean you always hit like a girl…or?”

“Be serious! I’ve gone full Lindsay Lohan early career over here and you just wanna stand around and laugh about it. You remember Reno, Sam… she’s gonna be even more pissed than she was then if she wakes up a man. You know her stance on the patriarchy. Doesn’t matter if it’s one she likes or not, I ain’t hanging around to deal with the backlash of her attitude on testosterone.”

“Really Dean, Freaky Friday?” 

But then Sam thinks it over, instinctively rubbing the scar on his left temple. Sure it may have been Dean’s fault, but yet again he would be found guilty by proxy. He shudders, earning a knowing nod of understanding from his brother.

“Fine. Leave her a note and we’ll head back to town to figure out what went wrong. Who did you piss off last night?” 

“She doesn’t mind harmless flirting, as long as nothing comes of it. She flirts as much as I do, it’s part of the business, Sammy.”

“I’m not worried about her…yet. I’m worried about the witch or some other kinda monster that you scorned last night with your puppy dog eyes and childhood trauma humor.”

“Man, I’m innocent! I can’t help it if I’m naturally charming. Jealousy is a terrible color on you.”

“Just hurry up, or I’m leaving you here and letting you figure it out yourself.”

“You wouldn’t betray your own brother!”

“You seem more like a sister now anyways.” 

It sets Sam to laughing again as Dean sneaks in to leave a note and steal a kiss. 

“I don’t know, it’s just weird to kiss yourself good morning, it goes against god.”

“Yeah, and we know first hand how weird he likes his stories.” Sam adds, parking the car outside the twenty four hour diner the three of you had visited last night.

“That’s what I’m saying here, I don’t know what kinda twisted freak finds joy in this.” Dean huffs as he climbs out of the car. 

“Your skirt’s stuck in your underwear, dude.” Sam sighs, turning away from the sight. 

“Man, don’t be a perv, this shit is already uncomfortable… I see now why she goes on and on about the inherent evilness of bras.”

“Did you have to wear a skirt though?” Sam asks, back still turned.

“My clothes didn’t fit…” 

“I didn’t even know she owned a skirt, she’s got a jean collection to rival yours.”

“Don’t worry about it, Sammy. I happen to like this skirt on her…uh, me…us? Come on, quit procrastinating, she’s gonna be up soon.”

Sam waits until Dean passes him, heels clacking on the pavement. “She owns heels?”

“Jealousy Sam, jealousy.”

They find a seat at the bar, the small space already packed with what appears to be every member of the community’s male senior citizen population despite the fact sunrise was still an hour away. Sam orders a vegetable omelet and Dean orders The Hog Heaven Deluxe, much to each other’s chagrin.

“Sure can put away a lot of meat for such a pretty thing.” Dean’s neighbor quips. It garners his I will kill you look, but it just makes the old man laugh, sweat jiggling down his forehead.

“Look man, I’m already having a shit day, why don’t you fuck off?” He tries, just wanting to be left alone with his bacon.

“And such language for such delicate lips.” Wrinkled hands reach out to touch his own.

“Ok, you’re asking for it. I’m gonna beat your ass.” Dean seethes as he hops off his stool, heels clicking on the linoleum. Instinctively he reaches for his gun, the soft swish of skirt bringing him back to his current reality.

“Pretty and feisty.” His tormentor says, looking through Dean to Sam. “She with you? Might want to get her some midol, seems like she’s on her period.”

“Ok, time for you to leave.” Sam says, standing up from his stool where he had been watching with a grin.

The stranger assesses Sam and nods, leaving a stack of ones before slinking out the front door.

“Shut it.” Dean warns as Sam turns with a smug grin.

“Ok, everyone that was here when we rolled through a bit ago is still here… all exhausted, but nothing seems to be out of the ordinary. I’m at a loss for this one. I’m afraid we may need the backup she can provide.” 

“No way, Sam. We gotta fix it before she wakes up.”

“Ok, let’s go over it again. What happened before you woke me up?”

“I told you, nothing. Woke up to go pee… pissed all over myself and the floor. Looked down to see what the problem was and found…boobies” A small grin spreads across his face despite himself. “And well, then I saw myself in bed and woke you up.”

“And last night?”

“We stopped at this diner a little after midnight, you were there, you bitched about our triple bacon burgers. I don’t even remember seeing a waitress because my eyes were burning so bad from the drive. Then I crashed in bed and woke up a beautiful bouncy baby girl.”

“And the case was a vamp, so that shouldn’t be related…” Sam muses, perplexed.

“It’s what I’m saying, it don’t make sense.”

“You know what we have to do, Dean.”

“I don’t wanna.” He whines, and it makes Sam chuckle, because it looks the same as when you do it.

“Ok, come on Polly Pocket, let’s go wake up a nightmare.” Sam sighs, leaving a tip before he stands.

“Fine, but you wake her up.”

“Why me?” Sam cries in shock.

“I’m literally just a girl, Sammy.”

“Get in the car or I swear to god.” Sam sighs, climbing into the passenger seat.

It’s a silent ride back to the motel, neither one wanting to discuss the fate that lies ahead of them. They arrive with no more information than they left with, no plan on how to handle the situation. Dean leaves Baby idling for a few confidence building minutes, before accepting his fate.

“Ok, here we go.” Dean sighs, checking his reflection in the mirror.

“Really, Dean? Now is the time to be concerned about appearances?”

“When you turn into a pretty girl we’ll discuss priorities, for now zip it.”

They sneak in, Sam first, Dean clicking behind him. They were hoping to get at least another few minutes to construct a plan before you awake. Their plan did not work out in their favor.

“Boys.” You say, seated in the shadows for dramatic affect. It works, because they both jump, and Dean slides between Sam and the wall.

“Listen, we… we tried to fix it, honest…but we couldn’t figure out what caused it.” Sam starts, spilling his words out one atop the other.

Their nervousness makes you smile, you love the fact that the winchesters fear you more than anything else.

“Come here, pretty girl.” You call, ignoring Sam. Dean whines, peeking from behind Sam with your own eyes, big and nervous. “Now.”

He obeys, confused a bit by the dynamic. Usually he has the control, but then you are him now, so why not. His mind is a confusion of emotions and it bleeds onto his face, well your face, and you get to watch him work out his next move in real time.

Sam picks up on the cards Dean is willing to play to stay in your good graces and makes an attempt to shift himself towards the door. However you catch it immediately, cutting off his movement with a glare and slow shake of your head.

“I don’t know what happened.” Dean whines, lowering himself down onto his knees. “I’m sorry.”

“How sorry?” You ask, grabbing him by his chin to lift his eyes to meet yours.

“I mean…” His mind processes what you usually do to him in order to get out of situations like this. But you are him now, at least his body, and he can’t help but frown at the thought of doing that to himself… intriguing, but wasn’t today was weird enough, but then again...

The look he wears cracks your reserve and sends you into a fit of laughter. 

“Ok, ok, get up off your knees. Sam peel yourself off the wall. We have work to do… seems like I may have fucked up the Latin last night when I was doing what I thought was some easy work.”

“I told you it wasn’t my fault, Sammy!” Dean yells, relieved, while attempting to jump up from the floor as he normally does. Instead his heels stick in the carpet and his ankles twists, leaving him in a pile on the floor.

“At least you’re pretty.” You say, stepping over him to hand a spell book to Sam.

“Can we maybe fix it tomorrow? Being a chick is kinda growing on me.” Dean asks from the floor. “ Sam, why don’t you go grab us lunch?”

“It’s literally six am, Dean.”

“ Have it your way. Leave or stay, I’m not paying for your therapy for what happens next.” Dean says, standing to grab you and pull you towards the bed.

“I’ll be back at noon.” Sam sighs, heading out the door with haste.

“Bring burgers.” Your voices call after him.

“Come on, pretty girl, let’s see what those lips do.” You manage to say with a mostly straight face.

He shivers. “Don’t say that…it’s just I thought this man at the diner was gonna eat me this morning.”

“I’d kill him.” It’s weird for Dean to hear his words with your ears, but he doesn’t mind it.

“Hey handsome.” He asks, climbing on the mattress and sinking down onto knees and ankles that don’t hurt. His voice seems even more timid since it’s yours. “You know that thing I… fuck, I mean you do…the one you.. I mean I really love?” Soft eyes peer up at you, small grin playing on his lips.

“Oh, that’s rich…that’s what you think I look and sound like when I’m asking for it?” You laugh, but you close the space between you two. It’s not everyday you’re presented with an opportunity like this so why waste it.

A tiny pout, true to him regardless of the body he’s in, appears and you lean in to kiss it away.

“Anything for you sweetheart.” You murmur against your own lips.

The End

The smell of a new book and fresh coffee always made you happy.

You were curled up in your favorite armchair, legs tucked under you, a hardcover open in your lap. Across the room, Bucky was sprawled on the couch, pretending to watch a baseball game but actually watching you. The way your eyes moved rapidly over the pages, the little smile that tugged at your lips when a line hit just right, the way you'd occasionally look up, mouth already opening to share something—he lived for that.

"Okay, so," you said, not even checking if he was listening, because he always was, "the protagonist just discovered that the mysterious letters she's been getting aren't from her dead husband. They're from the lighthouse keeper… who she's never met. And he's been in love with her for years, just watching her from across the cliffs."

Bucky's eyebrow lifted. "That's… romantic? Or terrifying?"

"Romantic," you said firmly, pointing a finger at him. "It's about longing, Bucky."

He chuckled. "If I sent you anonymous letters from across the cliffs, you'd call the cops."

"You'd never writ anonymous letters. Your handwriting is too distinctive. Very 1940's penmanship."

He grinned, stretching his arms over his head. "I'll take that as a compliment."

This was your routine. You read, you rambled, he listened and asked questions that proved he was paying attention, remembering characters' names and plot twists better than you did sometimes. And whenever he came home from a mission or a trip to the city, more often than not, he'd have a paper bag in his hand with a new book inside—something he spotted in a shop window, or that the cashier recommended, or that just "looked like one of your covers with the swirly letters".

So when a new book arrived in your life—not from Bucky, but from your friend Darcy, who slid it across the coffee shop table with a wicked grin—you weren't prepared.

"Trust me," Darcy said, tapping the cover. "It's dark romance, super popular. Very steamy. You'll thank me later."

You laughed it off, tucking the book into your bag. You read everything; how bad could it be?

Turns out, bad wasn't the word.

You understood why Darcy recommended you that book. The male lead was a sergeant in the middle of the war. He ran his command like he owned it, bent rules until they broke in his favor and never once apologized for either. The heroine called him sergeant, even when they were in bed.

You got five chapters in before your face caught fire. The book wasn't just spicy… it was a five-alarm blaze. The brooding, morally gray love interest had a very intense way of doing things. The filthy way he talked to the main character felt criminal to read in your own living room. Every other page seemed to hold a scene that made your heart hammer and your thighs press together. It was thrilling. It was also deeply, deeply embarrassing.

Your usual sticky note system wasn't equipped for this. Blue for sad? No. Pink for fluff? Absolutely not. Yellow for funny? Definitely not. You found yourself staring at your little rainbow of tabs, feeling a blush creep up your neck, before finally rummaging through your desk drawer for a forgotten pad of red sticky notes. Red, you decided, would be the new code. For scenes that made you feel hot all over. For lines you'd never ever read aloud.

You read smut, but this was a whole new level. It was different from the vanilla, corny sex you were so used to—even in real life.

That evening, when Bucky came in from his run, all sweat-damp hair and soft gray henley clinging to his shoulders, you slammed the book shut so fast you nearly cracked the spine.

"Hey, beautiful." He leaned down to kiss the top of your head. "What are you reading now? Another mystery novel?"

"Nothing!" you squeaked, stuffing the book between the couch cushions. "Just—a thing. For book club. It's so boring."

Bucky froze mid-straighten, his sharp blue eyes narrowing just a little. You never said a book was boring. You could find something to love about a magazine article, and you've never hidden one from him before. He catch the flash of vivid red before the book disappeared. He knew all your tabs, and he'd never seen red before. "That a new color?"

"No," you said, far too quickly. "It's.. just a different genre. Not really discussion material."

"You told me about that nonfiction book on medieval cat paintings for forty-five minutes."

"Well, that was fascinating."

"So is this one, I bet," he said, his voice going full teasing-mode. His eyes lingered on the edge of the cushion where a single red tab peeked out like a guilty secret. "Looks like it's got a lot of highlights. New category?"

You grabbed the cushion and hugged it to your chest, blocking his view. "No category, no highlights. Just a boring book."

"Uh-huh." He didn't push, just hummed and went to grab a glass of water, but that red tab was burned into his mind.

Over the next few days, he noticed a pattern. You'd be reading completely absorbed, a glass of wine on the nightstand and that book bristling with red tabs—until you heard his footsteps. Then it would slide under the blanket, or flip face-down, or get casually covered with your phone. Once, he walked in and you literally shoved it into the pillowcase.

"Smooth," he commented dryly, hiding a smile.

"I was… fluffing the pillows."

"Right, with a novel."

The breaking point came on a quiet Thursday evening.

You were taking a shower and Bucky came in to grab his charger and stopped dead.

There it was. The book. Sitting innocently on your nightstand, no longer hidden, just waiting. And it was stuffed with red sticky notes. They fanned out from the pages at every angle, a scarlet forest of tiny paper flags. He'd never seen a book of yours marked this heavily—not even your all-time favorites. Curiosity coiled in his stomach.

He knew he shouldn't. He really, truly knew.

But there was a brand new category he didn't understand, and you've been blushing for five days straight, and god forbid, he was only human.

With a guilty glance toward the bathroom door, where the sound of running water and your off-key humming filtered through, Bucky picked up the book. It fell open easily to one of the red tabbed pages, the spine already creased from being held there. The sticky note had a tiny, hastily-drawn flame sketched on it.

His eyes found the highlighted paragraph. The scene unfolded in stark, vivid detail. The sergeant had the heroine bent over the sturdy oak desk in his quarters, one large hand fisted in her hair to keep her chest pressed flush against the wood. She was gasping, completely at his mercy as he took control with slow, punishing thrusts.

"That's it," he growled against her ear, voice low and authoritative. "Take what your sergeant gives you. You don't get to come until I say so." She whimpered, fingers scrambling for purchase, but he only tightened his grip. "Say it. Tell me who owns this pretty little body right now." "You do, sergeant," she moaned, voice trembling with desperate pleasure.

Bucky's mouth went dry. His pulse kicked up hard. The two of you had always kept things gentle and loving—slow kisses, tender touches, vanilla nights that left you both smiling and wrapped around each other. He'd held back the rougher edges of himself, not wanting to overwhelm you. But this… this was what you've been blushing over for days? The realization sent a sharp jolt of heat through him, tangled with that quiet thread of guilt for snooping.

He closed the book carefully and set it back exactly as he found it, just as the shower turned off.

You stepped out a few minutes later in nothing but your favorite robe, hair damp and skin flushed from the hot water. The second you saw him sitting there—trying (and failing) to look casual—you knew something was off.

"Why do you look like the cat that ate the canary?" You asked, eyes narrowing even as a flush crept up your neck.

Bucky rubbed the back of his neck, a sheepish little smile breaking through. "Well… I wouldn't say the book is boring, sweetheart. I'm surprised you're into this… and you didn't tell me." He nodded toward the nightstand. "Sergeant, huh? Lots of red tabs on that one."

Your face ignited. "Bucky—"

He crossed the room slowly, stopping just in front of you. "Hey… If you want me to drop it, I will. But if you're into it… if you want me to give you what that book's been making you crave, I'm right here. You're okay with that gorgeous?"

Your heart hammered. The way he was looking at you sent liquid heat pooling low in your belly. "I… yeah. I'm okay with it."

"Good girl," he murmured, the praise sending a shiver down your spine. His fingers slipped through the belt of your robe, tugging it open with slow intent. The fabric slipped down your arms and pooled at your feet, leaving you bare in front of him. His gaze dragged over you, dark and hungry, before he cupped your chin and tilted your face up. "On your knees, sweetheart."

You sank down obediently, the carpet soft under you. Bucky stood tall, looking every bit the sergeant from those pages, gray Henley trenched across his broad chest. He thread his fingers into your damp hair, gripping firmly enough to send sparks across your scalp. "Open that pretty mouth for me, baby."

You parted your lips eagerly. Bucky freed himself from his sweats, already hard and heavy, and guided the tip along your tongue. "That's it… good girl. Keep your eyes here. Let me see you while you take me."

His grip in your hair tightened when you looked up at him and he began to move—shallow thrusts at first, then deeper, fucking your mouth with controlled power. The weight of him on your tongue, the way he hit the back of your throat, had you moaning around him. Every few strokes he held you there for a second, groaning low, before pulling back to let you breathe.

"Fuck, just like that. You look so good with my cock in your mouth." He gave a slightly rougher thrust, hair pulling taut, then eased off immediately, stroking your cheek. "Still okay?"

You nodded quickly, murmuring "Yes, Bucky" around him, the words muffled and eager, earning a soft pull of your hair.

"Tsk, tonight you should call me sergeant."

"Yes, sergeant," you corrected yourself, pressing your thighs together.

He kept one hand fisted in your hair, guiding you exactly how he wanted—never too rough, but dominant enough to make your core throb. When your jaw started to ache he finally pulled free, breathing hard, and lifted you onto the bed.

"On your back, legs open for me," he ordered.

You scrambled to obey. Bucky settled between your thighs,pushing them wide with his broad shoulders. The first slow lick up your soaked folds drew a broken moan from you. He didn't tease for long—he devoured you. Tongue plunging inside you, then circling your clit with firm, relentless strokes while two thick fingers curled deep. The wet sounds of his mouth were obscene.

He brought you right to the edge within minutes, sucking hard on your clit as your thighs started to shake.

"Not yet," he growled against you, pulling back just enough to deny your orgasm. He kissed your inner thigh, nipping softly, then dove back in. Twice more he edged you like that—building you higher each time, fingers pumping faster, tongue working you mercilessly—until you were whimpering, hips grinding desperately against his face.

"Please."

"Please, what?"

"Please, sergeant. I need to come."

Bucky hummed in approval and finally let you tip over. He sucked your clit between his lips and curled his fingers just right, holding you down as the orgasm tore through you. You came hard, crying out, thighs clamping around his head while he worked you through every pulse.

Before you could even catch your breath, he flipped you over onto your stomach and pulled your hips up, bending you over the edge of the bed. Your chest pressed into the mattress, ass raised high for him.

His palm cracked against your right cheek in a firm, stinging spank. "You've had me wondering what's got you so worked up for days." Another smack on the left side, then a soothing rub of his metal hand. "Turns out my sweet angel has a dark side."

He thrust into you in one deep stroke, burying himself to the hilt. The sudden fullness tore a sharp moan from your throat. Bucky set a hard rhythm—hips snapping forward, the sound of skin slapping skin loud in the room. One hand fisted in your hair again, tugging your head back to arch you perfectly while the other delivered occasional sharp spanks that made you clench tighter around him.

"So wet for me," he groaned, pounding into you deeper. "Taking everything I give you like the good girl you are."

He kept the pace relentless but checked in, leaning over you to growl against your ear. "Still good, baby?" You could only manage a desperate "Yes, sergeant, please—harder," which earned you a particularly deep thrust and another firm spank.

The way he filled and claimed you completely pushed you toward the edge again fast. Bucky felt it, snaked a hand underneath you to rub your clit, whispering his command right against your neck. "Come for me again. Now."

You shattered around him with a broken cry, pulsing hard. Bucky followed right after, slamming deep and grinding through his own release, groaning your name under his breath as he spilled inside you.

He stayed buried deep for a long moment, both of you panting. Then, the dominance melted away. He eased out carefully, turned you over, and pulled you into his arms, pressing soft kisses to your forehead, your cheeks and your lips.

"You okay, sweetheart?" He whispered, his voice was gentler now. His fingers were stroking soothing circles over the light marks he left on your hips and ass. "Wasn't too much?"

You shook your head, curling into his chest with a satisfied glowing smile. Bucky chuckled softly and held you tighter. "Next time you pick the scene, gorgeous. I want to hear every filthy detail you were too shy to tell me."

It wasn’t that Maekar didn’t love his uncle, he loved all the members of his family - except perhaps his long dead grandfather. To that end, he had a lot of sympathy for Brynden, he had heard a lot of stories about how his father had been treated, as well as his half siblings, treated like pieces on a cyvasse board to be moved and manipulated at will. Of course, Brynden had loved Maekar’s father, and had used his unfairly developed skills to become one of the most sought after investigators in all the seven kingdoms, but his life being pit against his siblings had hardened him. He was not an easy man to get along with, and he certainly wasn’t an easy man to ask something of, as Maekar was now discovering, 

“No, I don’t fucking know who her ex was, I already told you-”

“You told me as much as she told you - which is to say; fuck all,” Brynden sounded bored, his voice tinny on the other end of the phone. Fuck knows where he was now, but he wasn’t here in Kingslanding, Maekar was certain of that, “you couldn’t even keep her apartment as it was until I got there,”

Maekar ground his teeth, his free hand in a tightly closed fist that started to hurt. Your apartment had been emptied between one night and the next, like you were never even there to begin with. That had been two months ago. Maekar should leave your memory be, you clearly weren’t as invested in him as he had hoped, your relationship meaning nothing in the grand scheme of things… but those stuffed animals - such a foolish collection for a woman well past her first flush of youth - haunted him. He narrowed his eyes at Brynden’s words, imagining pushing him over. Just once.

“She didn’t empty that apartment, she couldn’t have done that herself, she had to have hired someone, so why haven’t you-”

“Yes, it was a moving company hired out of Honeyholt, by someone who came in from Oldtown,” again, Brynden sounded more bored by all of this than anyone had ever been bored before, “they paid by coin at least two weeks before your woman up and left. Strange really, considering her movements confirm she never left Kingslanding or contacted anyone who isn’t a grumpy Targaryen with separation anxiety,”

Maekar blinked, his fist uncurling and the rush of blood almost painful, “You-”

“Of course, nephew, you asked me to find your wayward neighbour, so I will,” there was a pause, and then a note of irritation entered Brynden’s voice that almost made Maekar smile, “it’s just taking me longer than I thought,” Maekar quietly thanked his uncle, and he huffed in exasperation, “Oh hush. You need to understand what I’m telling you, Maekar, yes? If she was a member of Oldtown, or married into it and attempted an escape, the fact that she is no longer free means that it will be almost impossible for her to get out again, and that’s if my hunch is correct. She could still have just left you, organised for her belongings to be donated to Oldtown in advance,”

“I don’t believe that, uncle. She was scared, she had been scared since the moment I met her, and she was just coming out of her shell, I was seeing what I think was the real her for the first time since-”

“I believe you. I’ve heard horror stories about what kind of ‘city’ Oldtown is,” Maekar could hear the derision in his uncle’s voice at the notion of Oldtown being considered a city, "religious extremism taken to an impossible further extreme, women used like cattle, it’s a city frozen in times long past, except it was all but created to be that way about two generations ago,”

“Can you find out if she has been taken there?” That was all Maekar cared about. If you had left because you wanted to, or if you had been kidnapped. If you were being held there against your will, then he would smash their gates open, like a hammer against an anvil. Maekar heard a low cracking sound, like knuckles being popped, and Brynden answered, 

“I have a lot of technology that is monitoring surveillance cameras. I have uploaded her picture so if she is spotted, I will be notified, and then I can be sure. I will say, the fact that she hasn’t appeared yet… well either she is in Oldtown, and they haven’t let her past the gates again, or…”

“She’s dead,” Maekar finished for him, dismissing the thought. You weren’t dead. You couldn’t be, “Which cameras are you monitoring? What if she’s travelled across the seas-”

“I’m monitoring all of them. Everywhere,”

“How?”

“With magic, boy, what do you think? Stop asking questions,” Sarcastic bastard. Another reason he didn’t always like his uncle. Maekar was in his fourth decade, he was far from a boy. “I have a plan, Maekar. I will know if she is there within the week,”

You feel his touch along your spine, his lips at your neck, so soft, so gentle. You're warm in his bed, safe and snuggled against his chest, his scent in your nose-

It's not quite right that scent, too clean, too-

He murmurs a question in your ear, your murmur an assent in return, rolling to your back, arms linked around his neck as he spreads your legs-

The eyes aren't purple, they're blue, too blue-

He touches you, softly, a butterfly's wings against you, and then he's pushing inside and-

You wake on a moan, tears springing into your eyes when you realise your half formed dream of Maekar wasn't exactly a dream. Ormund is on top of you, thrusting inside you with an idle patience that arches your back against the mattress in an insane type of unwanted pleasure. You don't scream or fight, however. There's no point. This is far from the first time since your unwilling return that you'd woken up to your husband taking you whilst you slept. 

The first time Ormund did this after bringing you back, he'd said it was because you were less likely to fight him, and pointed to the scratches on his chest that you'd given him the night before. You couldn’t fault his logic, even if you felt like all the fight had been removed from you weeks ago.

You hadn't set foot in sunlight since your return, your punishment for leaving your lawful and god's approved husband had been total isolation unless Ormund wanted you. Which he always did, no matter if you refused to give him the impression you wanted him back.

The worst part of these attentions of your husband was that he was always gentle. If you fought, he wouldn't pin you, or hurt you, instead he let you fight until you your efforts exhausted themselves, and then he would take care of you, giving you food and water, washing you… and then Ormund took what he wanted when you no longer had the heart to put up a fight.

You would never admit it, but the fact that Ormund was sensitive to smells, and forced you into the shower or bath after every single time was a blessing that you looked forward to. He was still an excellent lover, even if you hated him. Ormund liked the feel of you wet and warm and welcoming, and did everything in his power to make you so. It sickened you that your body betrayed you, as it was doing now, his thrusts building up in tempo, his lips at your neck, his fingers at your breasts-

Your own fingers weave into his hair and your legs wrap around his waist-

“Gods, fuck!” Ormund barked, pushing inside you on one last thrust, his seed warm as it pulsed into you. There was no true orgasm for you, but your body still shook, goosebumps covered your skin, and your breath short against his muscled shoulder. That warmth started trickling out of you, Ormund went soft too, slipping out, leaving you cold and in a puddle of his making.

Next came his kiss. Tender, sweet. Then to the shower, where he washed you thoroughly, and then you washed him at his request. He dried you afterwards, and offered you the creams and oils he wanted you to wear once that was done. You had to smell nice for him, or that would earn you another punishment, and you just did not have the strength for a fight.

Ormund chooses a dress for you, plain and simple and in green like everything else, and you quietly put it on before going to the small kitchen to prepare food for him, as expected of a good and loving wife. He came in as you were at the stove, placing a kiss against your neck, and sitting himself down at the table, a small smile on his face. You roll your eyes at the way he's clearly pleased with himself, but keep your back to him. You walk over to him minutes later with his plate of food, smile at his thanks, and stare down at your own small bowl of porridge. 

You were starving, but Ormund had once again taken control of what you ate, partly as your punishment and partly because that's just what he did. He takes a bite of his breakfast, humming at the taste and points his fork at your bowl, speaking around his food obnoxiously,

“Eat up, wife,” he swallows, “I think I can start letting you add fruit to that by tomorrow? Maybe even some honey,” he smiles brightly, and you force yourself to return it, eating the plain porridge methodically and without care for the taste. You no longer took pleasure in food, it was all for fuel now. Ormund finishes up, daintily pats his lips with a napkin, and takes your hand,

“I am going to be doing some work with my cousins today, so I want you to do your reading and prayers,”

Seeing as that was all you ever did now, the instruction was pointless. Ormund would come home and test you on what chapters he had left you, he wanted you to give into the great divinity of his seven gods, thinking that it would make you see sense and turn to him truly as your husband. It never would, of course, you were bored to tears reading all this nonsense day in and out, you missed your shows and books and films. And it wouldn't matter if The Mother herself appeared in front of you and pleaded on his behalf, you would never love Ormund again, no matter what.

He takes your hand, leading you to the back of the small home you share. Your muscles start to stiffen, as they do every day. Ormund notices and slows his steps, but he doesn't stop, taking you deeper into the home. It's darker back here, all natural light dimmed until you're in front of the door to your room. The room you're held in each day as Ormund works. It's tiny, dark, and with nothing but a small kneeling pad in front of the stand where your religious texts are kept.

There are cameras in each corner of the room that Ormund monitors, that you found out about after your first day in here where you'd torn the book to shreds and taken the kneeling pad and bashed holes into the walls trying to get out. Ormund had locked you in a lightless box for twenty four hours after that, and then forced you to pray for forgiveness. 

You had thought he'd left you to die, so your prayers had been almost genuine. You had fallen into his arms after that, your tears staining his shirt. 

Ormund takes your shoulders in his hands as he is about to leave,

“Be good. I will be back in the afternoon, I love you,” he waits for you to respond in kind, your voice is as toneless as you can make it, but you kiss him back when he leans in.

The sound of the key locking you in is final. Your life was like this now, so you turn to the pad, and kneel.

You can’t tell when the sun sets in your windowless box, but the time passes nonetheless. Your bones are aching when you hear the key in the lock, your body hurts as you move it, your stomach in particular screaming for food it won’t be allowed for some time yet. You taste blood in your mouth as you force yourself to not moan in pain, Ormund simply does not care if you hurt after praying, in fact he prefers it. He’s told you before that he thinks the gods move through you when you pray, and the pain is their way of telling you that they had been there. All this goes pointlessly through your head as the door creaks open, and it takes you too long to realise that Ormund has come home in a temper.

You slowly turn to face him, he’s shrouded in shadow in the door frame, like an evil spectre, you can just make out the glow of his blue eyes in the shadows that have gathered. You can sense the danger now, it’s like a smell around him, and not a pleasant one he would enjoy either. It’s like smoke and rot. Your knees tremble with the urge to run away, but there’s nowhere to go. Ormund stands as still and as frozen as marble, his eyes never leaving you. You bring your hands to your front, clasping them, and bow slightly, telling yourself to remain calm. You know you haven’t done anything to incur his wrath today, you studied the chapters judiciously, so you keep your voice as calm as possible when you speak to him, 

“Ormund? Are you well? How was your day today?” He looks you up and down, and his own voice is as calm as clear water, 

“Well, it seems that there has been a marriage in my family line, so I should celebrate. Come, wife, join me,” and with that, he turns and abandons the doorway, leaving you standing in the room alone. His footsteps are measured as they walk away, you hear them stop at the kitchen, and move after him. If Ormund wanted to hurt you, he took you to the bedroom. You join Ormund in the kitchen where he stands by the small table, his hands clasped behind his back and he’s turned away from you. You blink at his back for a moment, 

“Who got married?”

It was a stupid question, you knew it as soon as you said it. You knew the ceremonies that marriage entailed, you had been through them yourself. If a member of Ormund’s family had wedded, you would have known about the celebrations because you would have been dragged to them. So if someone had been wedded, and Ormund was angry-

“My dearest cousin, Alicent, she has seen fit to marry a- a man, named Cole or some such-”

“Ormund-”

“But, Alicent, beautiful as she is, has a brain perhaps even smaller than yours!” Ormund turns to you, a bright smile on his face that turns your blood cold, “She seems to think that your escape from your lord husband - me - means that it is perfectly acceptable to elope herself. For love, of all things,”

You vaguely remember Alicent from your time here before your own escape. She wasn’t too much younger than you, and had been married to a man much older than her, had borne him several children. You could only assume that the man had died if she had run off with someone else, and abandoned the children she had had with her husband. Ormund takes a step towards you, reaching out a hand, and cupping your face tenderly, 

“If love was all that mattered, there would be no such thing as marriage under the gods. We could do as we please, and the world would be chaos for it,”

You’re frozen before him, lips numb in fear, “I do love you, husband,” your voice trembles, your eyes darting across his face, still benignly smiling, still happy to look at, “that’s why I came back to you, why I accept my punishments, to prove my love,”

“Love. Yes,” his fingers tighten, his thumb at your chin, “my beautiful wife, who I love in spite of the uselessness of the emotion, in spite of the pointlessness in it when I get no benefit from it,”

“Ormund, please-”

“Well, Alicent will be brought home, but in the meantime,” he suddenly smiles that bright smile again, and leans forward to kiss you, “we will be the guardians of her youngest. Time to clean and prepare for Daeron, wife, it’s time you learned to be a mother after all,”

You stumble slightly when he pushes you away from him, watching as he turns away and strides out of the house. You fear for his cousin, a pit in your stomach. She only would’ve felt brave enough to leave because of your escape, and the fact that you’d been returned hadn’t stopped her from going. Oldtown’s power seemed to be waning.

You fall to your knees abruptly. Your husband held your life in his hands, and perhaps he would end it just to prove he could to the other women here. 

Ormund demands you roast the chicken he had brought home with him, so you cook it as beautifully as you can, his mood is pleasant as he eats, he talks easily about what plans he has for Daeron and how you can help with them - Alicent's three oldest children are still with their fathers family you're told. 

The amount Ormund serves you is barely enough to sate the hunger you feel, and you stare angrily at the food Ormund doesn't bother to eat himself, instead he throws it in a bag to feed the animals at the farm later. Once you're finished, Ormund takes your plate, bringing them to the sink to be washed. You offer to do it yourself even though your stomach starts to hurt, but he shakes his head,

“No, wife, allow me, such feminine tasks are humbling, and the gods know I must pray for some humbling,”

“Oh. Yes,” Maekar’s face suddenly flashes in your mind, the look in his eyes as he fed you dessert at the Dornish restaurant, “I ummm, I don't feel well, Ormund,”

“When Daeron comes to us, we must appear to be the most loving couple, a stable family for him to join, so your isolation will end, wife. Daeron will expect to go into Honeyholt regularly, and you will assist in chaperoning him with me as his guardian,”

“Of course,” the table in front of you starts to move, as if standing on water, or perhaps it was you on the waves, “Ormund, what is-”

“Obviously I can't let you into the world again without some assurances in place first,”

“What-”

“It will all be over soon, wife,”

You hear knocking at your front door as if from far away, but it doesn’t matter all that much to you when you see a Maester be let in, carrying a bag. You list to the side, but don't fall, because Ormund rushes over to grab you before you pass out.

You wake to sunlight, and the feeling of strong arms surrounding you. You blink at the glare of the sun, but your face still turns to it instinctively, like a plant starved for nourishment. It takes another few minutes before you realise you're cuddled against Ormund's chest in a seat in your garden, a blanket wrapped around you.

Then you notice a dull pain close to your armpit, and feel a small bandage,

“What-?”

“You won't escape me again, wife, I've made sure of it,” Ormund places a kiss against your forehead, “now we can be happy together, a family for truth, and I will never worry about you leaving me again,”

Your arm hurts when you move it, a hiss escaping, but Ormund takes your hand, presses a kiss to it,

“Forgive me, I had to do it. You will feel happier too now, you can be free again, walk in the world and bask in the sunlight, with the reassurance that you will never be lost again,”

A tear escapes when Ormund pulls up an app on his phone, showing a blinking light - you. His tracker was working perfectly.

Daeron is a pleasant boy, well mannered and polite when he meets with you and Ormund two days later. Your arm no longer hurts, but it is moving a little stiffly, however the boy is so gracious as he moves into the home you share with Ormund, you barely have to do or move anything with him around,

“You are taking me in, the least I can do it help you with the chores,”

Ormund purses his lips as he watches Daeron move his own things in, but holds his tongue. For several days afterwards you barely see the boy, or your husband as he takes him to and from school, and then out to pursue “hobbies fit for men”. Daeron had been raised in Oldtown, so he was quite used to their version of hobbies, which included guns and weapons training. 

A week after your tracker had been implanted, Ormund took you and Daeron into Honeyholt to go to the large grocery store there, and his hand remained on your thigh throughout the ride into the town, a quiet sign of possession that he wanted you to feel and for Daeron to see,

“You will likely have a woman soon, boy,” Ormund spoke into the awkward silence in the truck, ignoring the look you gave him, “you should take your stay with us as much as an education as anything you will learn in your schooling,”

“Ormund,” you pitch your voice low, Daeron had gone red at the mention of a woman, “he's barely into his teens, he has plenty of time to be thinking about women yet,”

Ormund keeps his smile on his face as he drives, but the hand on your thigh goes from a gentle hold to a painful grip. You grit your teeth as his fingertips go white against the dark green fabric of your dress. You can feel bruises forming, his grip doesn't relent,

“It's never too early to be thinking about women, my love,” a harder squeeze, a smile without warmth sent your way, “if the gods didn't want men to think about women, then they wouldn't have given me dreams of them when I was Daeron's age. Have you had the dreams as well, Daeron? There's no shame in this, I will give you all the advice you need should you want to act on your lusts,”

“Ormund!” You push his hand away, anger and disgust coursing through you and leaving you blind to the anger simmering in the air, “Leave the boy alone!” 

The look that Ormund levels at you makes the air in your throat catch, every last bit of fire in you - no matter how small it had truly been - went out. Daeron shrinks back in his seat in your peripheral vision, but you dare not look away from your husband. Ormund is the one to break the stare, but not before pasting another fake smile on his face before turning back to the road,

“My wife is right, I was crude just now, and I will be again tonight when you are asleep. Remind me to get you some ear plugs, Daeron, as my wife will need correcting on her behaviour,”

The grocery store comes into view, the truck in total silence when Ormund pulls into a space next to a sleek black car that you don't pay too close attention to. Your blood pounds in your ears as Ormund instructs Daeron to go in ahead and pick out what he would like to eat that night. Daeron hesitates, but leaves after a moment. The door closes, Daeron enters the shop, and you bolt for the door handle to get out to follow, but Ormund grabs you, and pins you back against the seat, his hand closing over your throat.

You freeze, terrified at the look in his eyes.

“A wife must not disagree with her lord husband, especially in public! You shamed me in front of my blood, I ought to put you over my knee right now,” he squeezes, a threat in that grip, but finally he lets you go, and you cough, “you don't know anything, you have no voice but the one I let you have when we are in our bedroom, do you understand me?”

“Y-yes, Ormund, I'm s-sorry, I-”

“Shut up,” He pulls away, and opens his car door, “stay at my side, and do not open your mouth for anything, you are my wife, and no one will ever accuse me of not having you under control,”

You don't see the man getting into the car parked next to you until it's too late, you step out of the truck, and he walks right into you, ignoring your apology and barely sparing you a glance before unlocking his clearly expensive car, getting in, and driving away. Ormund appears at your side, and you jump, flinching when he raises a hand at you, but all he does is take your upper arms in a soft grip,

“Did he hurt you just now?” All the righteous anger seems to have gone from him now, he looks at you with genuine concern, “I didn't even notice him leave the store,”

“I'm fine,” you reply cautiously, adjusting the jacket that you wore over your dress. It was too warm for all the layers, but showing your skin in public was forbidden of course, “it was my fault for not looking,” You try to think of the man as Ormund takes your hand and walks into the shop with you, he had seemed mostly unremarkable to you, his face hidden by the hood of the jumper he wore. He was perhaps paler than the average man, but-

“You were clumsy and stupid today, I think I was too generous in letting you out. You'll remain at home for the foreseeable future, and you will need to stay on your knees and pray to me for my forgiveness tonight, wife,”

Maekar answered the call from his uncle as soon as he saw the number,

“Yes? Did you find her, is she well, did she-”

“Yes, and no,” Brynden interrupted, speaking quickly as if he knew that Maekar was likely to speak over him, “she is married to, and kept by, the heir to Oldtown; Ormund Hightower. His great grandfather built Oldtown, and in recent years Ormund has fortified that place, turned it into its own community with their own laws,”

“I know, I've heard all about that, but is she-”

“Do not interrupt me, Maekar. My hunch made me follow Ormund which led me to your woman when he finally let her out and into the town to buy groceries. He… I am beyond certain that she is not with this man willingly, Maekar. You must be calm so that we can form a plan,”

So he was calm as Bryden told him how he'd seen Ormund choke you in his car, and how the tracker Brynden had put on your coat had had another signal interfere with it, which meant that you already had one,

“That cunt has put a tracker in her?!” Maekar almost threw his phone across the room,

“I think so, but I think we should be glad of this because I was able to find the interfering signal and track that one instead. Now I know exactly where she is, and I can help you map out a way to get her out,”

Maekar took a deep breath. The Hightower man did not know who he was dealing with. He had been in the army for many years, done things most normal humans would find horrific, the nightmares of which still haunted him - it was partly why Dyanna had left him eventually. Maekar never blamed her, he was a stubborn fool who thought he was stronger than his demons.

Over My Dead Body || Summary: you get into an argument with Frank Castle over becoming the Punisher

Seeing Ghosts || Summary: She tries to convince Frank that there's nothing he can do after the death of his family.

“Oh, um…” You glance down at your clothes beside the bath mat. You were just so eager to wash away the last few days, you hadn’t thought to put them up. “Right, er…”

“I won’t look. Scout’s honour.” A chuckle tremors through his baritone.

“Um. Yeah. It’s… okay.” You murmur.

You slide back the latch and pull the door open, just enough to reach through. Frank holds his hand in front of his eyes, his other jutting out with a clutched bundle of folded clothing. You clasp on and he lets go.

“Got it?” He drawls.

“Mmhm. Thank you.” You say.

“No problem, sugar.”

He draws back and grabs the door, sliding it shut himself. You turn back and look down at the clothes. A pair of sweatpants with a draw string and a tee shirt with a band on the front; Jefferson Airplane.

You dress and gather up your old clothes, damp from the floor and the lingering moisture. You step out into the trailer as Frank sits at the table. He closes up the notebook he writes in and stands.

“Oh, I– You don’t have to–”

“Nah, all good.” He brushes by you and marches to the bed, bending to pull open one of the draws built into the frame. He puts the notebook inside and shuts it. “Just putting some thoughts down ‘fore I forget.”

He stands and turns to you. You hug your clothing and rock.

“Here, we can put that out on the line. Let it dry in the sun. I gotta go down to the laundry sometime.” He says as he nears and gently coaxes away your clothing.

“Erm, okay. Thanks.”

“I’ll be right back.” He leaves you, the trailer shifting slightly with his movement.

You stand inside, uneasy, restless. You look down at your borrowed shirt and your chest twinges. You can’t make him do everything.

You shuffle to the screen door and push outward. You descend the steps one by one and edge along the front of the trailer. You peek back as Frank pins your shirt on the line attached to the shed. You stare for a moment as his hand flutters down the fabric strangely.

You shrug it off. You have to start doing things for yourself. That’s the whole problem with you.

You scurry across to stand in front of your grandma’s trailer. You exhale and make yourself go forward. You climb up to the top step. The door handle turns but it doesn’t open. You shake the door. It’s locked.

You sigh and knock instead. You lean in, turning your ear to the door, and listen. You try again and call out, “Gran. It’s me. I… I need to grab some stuff.”

No answer. You wiggle the handle again. Then the door swings open and you’re suddenly stumbling backwards. You flail from your grandma’s shove and stagger back, tipping over into the dirt at the bottom of the stairs.

“What d’you want, girlie? You run off and now you’re banging on my door. Waking me–”

“Hey!” Frank roars as his boots pound the ground. “You don’t touch her like that.”

Before you can even sit up, he hops past you onto the steps and charges at your grandma. She cries out as he blocks the door.

“Ah! You brute. What’re you gon’ do? Hit an old lady?”

“Protect her,” he snarls as he reaches up to grip the top of the door frame. “I’m not about to waste my energy on a bag of bones like you but you touch her again, and I might just forget myself.”

“Eeeee!” She wails. “You’re horrible. What she been tellin’ you, huh? She’s pathetic, can’t ya see? She’s usin’ you, dummy.”

“She just said she wants her things, so, you let her get ‘em,” he says calmly. “Or I’ll come in and get ‘em myself.”

“You will not!” She sneers.

“You gon’ stop me?” He growls.

She whimpers and tuts. “Oh, you… man. I told her, y’all are no good. Ain’t never any good things come from men.”

Frank sniffs and turns. He steps down and bends to pick you up by your shoulders. He puts you steady and uses his hand to dust the dirt out of your shirt.

“Y’okay?” He asks.

“Fine, I… I shouldn’t have–”

“It’s okay, sugar,” he keeps his voice low. “Go on and get your stuff.”

He moves around you and urges you to the stairs. Your grandma scowls and slowly recedes inside. You ascend and enter the grim trailer.

The bin you keep your clothes in is gone. And the small chest where you keep your tooth brush and soaps, and all your personal things. You don’t have much but what you did have is gone.

“Where’s… everything?” You squeak.

“You know, Linnette needs some stuff for that girl of hers. She’s gettin’ older. So I said she could come pick up the clutter.” Your grandma explains. “Girl, you wake me up like that, you might as well make me some coffee.”

“No, she won’t be,” Frank insists from the doorway.

“Boy, this is still my home. You get off my property!” Your grandma turns and snaps.

“Sure, Magda, once she gets her stuff.” He says calmly, leaning with arms crossed.

“It’s Madgaline, you damn dumb soldier,” she snarls. “I told ya, it’s gone. All trash anyway.”

“Gone?” You pout, almost breathless. “But that was mine. It was… all I had…” You go to the couch and search beneath in the little nook. It’s gone. “My locket…”

“It was all tarnished. Trash.” She scoffs.

Frank rumbles from the door. “You’re a goddamn witch, you know that?”

“You shut your mouth. It’s none of your business. What’s wrong with ya anyway? You take a bullet to your brain? She’s useless. You’re wasting your time. Or maybe, there’s something wrong with ya you can’t get a real woman.”

He doesn’t react. He looks at you. “Come on. We got better things to do.”

“Girl,” your grandma stomps across the trailer. “I want my damn coffee. Now.”

“Sugar,” Frank says calmly. “Got a lot to do.”

“I…” you look between them.

“You ain’t goin’ with him till I get my coffee.” She grabs onto your arm, her jagged nails digging in. You whine.

“Madgaline,” the way Frank’s tone sinks loosens her grip and makes both of you wince. “Touch her again and I’ll forget you’re just an old lady.”

Your grandma backs up, her face draining. She swallows.

“Fine…” She rasps. “Get the fuck out of here, girl.” She flicks her finger towards the door. “Good riddance.” She shakes her head and turns away. “I never wanted you no how. Just like your daddy didn’t.”

She goes to the counter and yanks the carafe from the machine. Your eyes sting and your throat clenches. You purse your lips and lower your chin, hiding the deep stab of her words. You cross the trailer as Frank watches quietly.

“I’m sorry, gran.” You gulp as he steps out of the door and you follow him out.

Strangely enough he was a gentle being, and his father didn't push him to be otherwise. He read books, spent time sitting in nature, and watched movies same as other normal human kids.

And the older he got, the more he gravitated towards romantic comedies, of all things.

The idea of love warmed his unusual soul; a person wanting to be around you and your affection, while returning it simply by you being yourself—it sounded like a dream. One he so desperately wanted to see become reality. Considering his nature though, he was doubtful it would ever happen for him.

After his father was captured and killed, Dan decided to go find his peace. Live out his days in calm quiet before a hunter eventually came to find him. It's the one thing he feels is guaranteed for him.

In a small town near Lebanon, he stops by a bar on the way to the next place he'd call home. It's there he spots a Sam and Dean Winchester by complete chance. Thankfully he's well hidden in the corner, and it shouldn't be too hard to make his escape.

But he can't help stay and watch them for a moment.

As Dean flirts with the pretty waitress who's eating it up, batting her eyes at every sentence and smiling so hard you think she'd won the lottery. It's not long before she's giving him her number, and Dan leaves quietly with an aching feeling in his chest.

Why can't he have something like that, but something meaningful?

Then he thinks, maybe he could...

If he takes a more charming form, moves to a small town, keeps his head down...just maybe he could have a loving life. So he goes for it, taking Dean's form and driving to wherever his car took him.

Two days later he ends up in a small town somewhere in South Dakota.

And he quickly realizes choosing Dean was the perfect choice. It was easy getting an apartment, even easier securing a job. He got settled in fairly quickly, and two months in he met you.

Kind and beautiful, he stumbled on his words the first time he actually spoke with you. Lucky for him you just found it endearing.

He tried not to dip into Dean's memories, his energy or his subconscious. It was bad enough he was lying about his appearance and true nature, the least he could do was give you his own real personality, even if it didn't really match his appearance.

And you were more than smitten with the kind, chronically anxious dork who happened to be the sweetest person you've ever met anyway. It didn't take long for you to start seeing each other romantically, for his wish to come true.

Dates and movie nights and meaningful conversations, things were so good with the two of you. He'd listen to you vent about your job, you'd give him a massage after his, you'd take turns cooking for each other and you loved a good carnival date.

You'd leave with a prize plushie every time.

A year in, for your anniversary, he gives you the most beautiful jacket—brown and leather and heavy in the most perfect of ways. Envelops you whole and it smells like him too, delicious and comforting all at once. You're not sure where he got it, he refused to tell. But you loved it all the same.

The next morning begins the same as all the other Sundays.

A slow start, followed by a classic egg, pancake and hash brown breakfast with your favorite cookies n' cream milkshake. Playful banter, quiet conversations and planning; a museum date next weekend maybe, a diner dinner tomorrow evening.

Even thinking about the future, like maybe getting a shared apartment or going on a trip together first (to test out living compatibility). He didn't end up leaving your place until well past noon.

You parted with a gentle kiss, saying goodbye at the door for ten extra minutes before he actually went out and on his way.

And that was the last time you saw him.

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The following months were some of the worst.

At first you waited, thinking maybe he got caught up in something he could later explain.

Then spring turned into summer. You started getting worried, asking around and eventually filing a report, hoping something would turn up.

Then summer became fall. You were given the devastating news that nobody with the name "Dan Stone" was found in any database. His old apartment had been emptied out, his car gone. They said he was probably a con artist of sorts. A wandering grifter maybe.

By winter you'd accepted that he wasn't coming back.

You just don't understand why. Depression seeped into your bones unwillingly, and you were finding it harder to participate in the things that once brought you joy.

You felt like Bella in New Moon, seriously.

Was any of it real? What kind of a scheme was he even running? The only thing you know he's taken is a hold of your emotions, but what could he possibly have gained from messing with you?

He just what, goes around enamoring women for the love of the game? For the sheer enjoyment? You can't fathom it.

The most gentle person you've come across, he wouldn't even hurt a fly. How could he do something so disingenuous, so evil?

It got to the point you had to change your scenery, packing what belongings mattered into your car and moving down to a random town in Kansas.

You don't think you could ever be the same person you once were, before him, but the only way out is through, and you took things one cautious step at a time from there on.

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After a long day of work, you head over to Sals Diner.

It was something you had a hard time shaking off, your previously shared Friday night tradition of diner dinners. After getting the rug swept out from right under you, and all the change that followed, it was the closest semblance of stability you had left.

You park where there's light, and where you can't be blocked in, putting on your favorite jacket for comfort and locking your car. You're walking towards the entrance when suddenly—you freeze.

Also walking towards the doors was Dan.

He was with another guy, seems like they're bickering. But he must sense your staring, turning and pausing at your unwavering gaze.

They start walking closer. "Uhh...miss? You alright?"

It sounds like him, but doesn't at the same time. It's tripping you out.

"Dan?"

He stops in front of you. "Um, Dean actually. Do I know you?"

You're still staring in shock, disbelief. "Are you messing with me?"

"No?" He seems genuinely confused. "Wait, is that my jacket?"

"Okay seriously this isn't funny, Dan." Your voice wavers, and he holds his hands up slightly.

"Woah hey alright look I don't know what you're referring to...but I'm not Dan, and that's my jacket. It's been missing for over a year now, how did you even get it?"

Sam thinks you're like two seconds away from passing out, so in true level headed fashion he intervenes. "Okay how about we all just...take a breath. We can talk inside? No strings, just...clarity."

After a pause, you both agree.

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Over the course of two hours and a few cups of coffee, the truth on all fronts has been uncovered, and you're not sure if maybe it was better to be kept in the dark.

Shapeshifters. Stolen identity. Shot down by hunters.

It only brought you more turmoil. Besides the fact you were having to get acquainted with the reality that monsters exist, it conflicted your emotions in a way that made your chest ache.

For so long you thought Dan played you, thought he was just a grimy guy who wasted your time and toyed with your emotions for fun. Now you're thinking maybe he really did love you, he just met the unfortunate fate most creatures of his nature do. But it also has you thinking why he would take Dean's identity basically, to pursue you?

Though...you're not sure he really did..

His appearance for sure. You had a hard time looking at him, opting to stare down your cup of coffee instead. His voice was a problem too, though Dan spoke at a higher register, and just a tad softer.

But their personalities were completely different, from what you could tell so far. Dean seems hardened in ways Dan never was. Where you now see exhaustion and the weight of the world behind the same beautiful green eyes, there was once light and tranquility.

It's all so conflicting. You feel a little sick.

They believe it must've been the shifter their hunter friend found impersonating Dean a while back, failing all the tests. He went quick, painless.

Still probably scared, you thought.

Did he think of you in those last moments?

And is it terrible of you to also feel bad for this guy who got his body stolen? All his thoughts and memories too...not knowing what was shared that he never wanted anyone to know about...It was done without his permission.

But you did love Dan, wholeheartedly. Not only for his looks but his heart and personality too. Which turns out was his, but could also have been partially Dean's? You would never know, couldn't exactly ask him anymore.

It's all making your head throb.

You've been staring silently into your mug for the last five minutes, eyes red rimmed and teary, nose slightly congested as they finish explaining. Your racing thoughts keep revving their engines, filling your head with unbearable noise.

Dean says something you can't make out, his voice affecting your system more than you'd like to admit. Your ears begin to ring, everything sounding slightly underwater.

You don't even realize you're nodding along out of nowhere, don't remember leaving a ten dollar bill on the table and standing from the booth. You sway slightly as you do, it's enough for them to notice.

You're walking out to your car with shaky steps, and they're calling after you, more things you can't understand as things get even more muffled.

Their voices are getting closer, meshing together, your vision blurring in and out of focus. You barley turn around and make eye contact with Dean for a second before you're slumping into his concerned hold.

Out like a light.

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The first thing you register is a low steady hum, like from an old ac unit.

As you regain your senses you realize you're on a bed, atop the covers with only your shoes taken off. Your head still aches a little but it's not as overbearing as it had gotten earlier before you passed out.

Low whispers are heard from across the room.

"It doesn't make any sense."

Dan. Or rather, Dean.

The other voice, Sam, sighs. "Look I mean, it's not the craziest story we've heard. And you see the picture yourself, she's not making it up."

The picture? Your wallet.

You carry a small picture in your wallet, of you and Dan. He's holding you from behind, your arm stretched out in front of you both. You're holding the camera up and smiling, mid laughter as he presses a kiss to your cheek. It was taken at a lake early summer—one of the sweetest memories you have with him.

They must've seen it if they were checking for an ID.

"Besides, you saw her, how shaken up she was since the moment she laid eyes on you. There's no acting that good, no faking that emotion—"

"I know." He sighs.

D-Dean. Not Dan. Lower register, hardened edges.

And as you slowly peel your eyes open, catching sight of him, you have to remind yourself a few more times.

"I'm not sayin' she's lying Sammy but I just—why. I mean I've never heard of a shifter doing something like this. And why impersonate me?"

His jaw clenches as he looks down for a moment.

"And why her? She's just a civilian, has nothing to do with us or hunting, there was no reason to hurt her."

"I don't think he did." Sam interrupts carefully. "Based on her reaction I genuinely think...he was good to her, cared about her. To some capacity at least."

Dean shakes his head softly. "That might be worse. It's easier to be mad than it is to be sad."

His brother didn't reply, agreeing.

You finally move, blinking a few times and trying to sit up. At your small wince, they turn to you immediately, heading over to attend to you. Dean hesitates at the last moment, looking at Sam.

They don't want to upset you further. So Dean stays back and lets Sam assist you no matter how much he wants to help.

He carefully assists you as you sit up against the headboard, bringing your legs close and hugging your knees to comfort yourself.

You're not really looking at Dean, merely glancing at him every few minutes. He understands, watching his brother speak softly to you.

"Would you like some water?"

You shake your head gently. "No, thank you."

Sam doesn't push. "Of course. How...are you feeling?"

You look at him, then glance at Dean again, and tears build in your eyes. You look away quickly, take a breath. It's shaky, you all notice.

"I can leave if you need me to.."

You look up at Dean, your eyes finally staying on him for longer than a millisecond. You shake your head no before looking down again, picking at a loose thread on your pants, trying to will away the wobbling of your bottom lip.

"It's not—" Your voice cracks. "It's not your fault. It's just a lot at once, y'know?"

You don't see the way he nods quietly, giving you the time you needed to gather your thoughts.

After a breath, you wipe at your eyes and sniffle before looking up again.

"I don't even know what I feel. Embarrassed? Sad? Angry? Disappointed? It's...a mess in my brain and a pain in my chest. But it's not your fault."

He sighs. "For what it's worth...I'm sorry you're going through this. And it's not, embarrassing to love someone. You couldn't have possibly known, don't be too hard on yourself."

You nod, tears building again in your eyes quickly. "I appreciate that." You respond quietly, and he doesn't want to upset you further, letting Sam take the reigns again.

"Is there anything we can do for you?"

"Where's my car?" Your voice is small, and a tad scratchy. Dean hands you a water bottle before he can help it as Sam answers.

"Right outside...we're at the motel near the diner. Didn't wanna make you uncomfortable and take you far from where you fainted."

You nod, thanking them both, taking a sip of water.

He hands you your keys along with a some medicine for your headache once you can stand longer than ten seconds without an issue, both brothers hesitant to let you go on your own. But you insist you're fine, honestly needing fresh air and space to process the whole situation.

"Sorry about your jacket, he gave it to me as a gift—"

"Don't worry about it, you can keep it." His voice has gone incredibly soft, the strange ache in his chest growing stronger at the thought of you leaving so soon. He doesn't understand it really, the strange sense of...protectiveness over you. As if it's partly his fault somehow, since the shifter impersonated him.

He can't shake that off.

"Thank you."

There isn't anything left to say after that really, and he doesn't want to add on to your stress by putting you on the spot to exchange numbers. He knows it would be more for his benefit to keep in contact than yours, you're still having a difficult time even looking at him.

So he has no choice but to let you go, walking you to your car, watching you wave to them before driving away.

He takes a deep breath once you're out of sight, that feeling intensifying throughout his body.

But for now, there wasn't much he could do. Brushing off Sam's are you okay and heading to the car while he checks out, ready to just go home.

Because he isn't okay, and he's not sure he would be for a long while.

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dean masterlist ᝰ. main masterlist

You waited for two weeks to inform him of the news. By that time, Helen Cho had already confirmed your pregnancy and had even learned the gender of the baby that grew inside you, despite you only being a little over nine weeks. It was early afternoon when the AI had announced the team’s arrival back home and you had scurried from the kitchen and ran to your bedroom to put decent clothes on before any of the men showed their faces. As you slipped into a pair of pants, you skidded out into the hallway as the elevator dinged, alerting you of the team’s presence.

“Y/N?” Tony’s voice was heard as bags were dropped to the ground. In a moment, AI’s were zooming through the air to collect the bags that the team dispensed and were zooming all over to drop them into their respective rooms.

“I was making cookies when I got the news.” You smiled as you hugged the team, kissing Bruce the moment you met up with him.

“Cookies?” Wanda asks, checking the time on her watch. “It’s barely past morning.”

“It’s a beautiful day!” you chuckled as you led the team to he kitchen where baking sheets littered the counter surface. 

“This is enough food to feed a goddamn army.” Natasha notes, quickly squinting her eyes in your direction. “Wait a minute.”

You face fell momentarily and instinctively, your hand fell to your stomach.

Bruce notices the movement as well as the others and he takes a step over to you, caressing your cheek. “Y/N, is there something I need to know?”

You nod and look at the others before your eyes meet Bruce’s brown. “I’m pregnant.”

“What?” Bruce blinks in wonder as he looks between your fake and your stomach before his hands find themselves on either side of your hips.

“About seven weeks now.” you smile as you look around the room at the team as smiles break on their faces.

Bucky woke up to the sound of his alarm, at precisely 5:30 in the morning. Slamming the clock quiet, he could feel movement beside him, accompanied with a small groan. He turned to his other side, facing her laying on her stomach, left arm splayed on the bed, her right one under the pillow. The very first rays of the morning sun crept through the window, and made the small heirloom diamonds gleam on her left hand.

It made Bucky smile. He’d finally had the courage to propose a year previously, which made their friends and family all exclaim that it finally happened. Unfortunately, the war came over the seas and Bucky enlisted and went to train for the winter in Wisconsin. They agreed to hold a wedding after Bucky would eventually come back from the frontlines, so that they could have a proper wedding. And Bucky would return. Of course he would.

The last month had been a bliss. She had finally caved and started to stay more and more at Bucky’s place instead of the Larimer. Of course, if you asked her or Bucky’s parents, she was dutiful and wouldn’t spend a night with her fiancée before the wedding. Of course she wouldn’t.

Bucky trailed his fingertips on her back, making her sigh. “’S so nice,” she mumbled into the pillow, which made him chuckle softly. He was trying to persuade her to wake up and spend the last moments with him until he had to leave to be shipped to England. 

It was only mere hours ago that they’d stumbled into Bucky’s small Brooklyn apartment, with the warm fuzz of alcohol running in their veins. They had decided to spend Bucky’s last night in New York by going to the Stark Expo with Steve. Bucky had somehow produced a date for Steve, which made her hit his chest playfully and only half-truthfully scold him, because Steve obviously didn’t want a set up date. The date got bored pretty quickly and bolted to join her friends by making you think she was going to the bathroom.

The night continued a bit further once they were in the apartment, resulting in their current naked state. The thought made Bucky trail his hand beneath the blanket that was resting on her waist, which resulted in a another mumble from the pillow.

“Bucky, no. ‘M tired. We just di’ tha’.” Bucky chuckled again, but trailed his hand back up and leaned down to kiss her between her shoulder blades.

“Wake up, darlin’. I have to be leaving soon,” he whispered to the back of her head. That made her sigh deeply and turn on her back, slowly, opening her eyes slightly to the sight of those blue eyes she loved so much. She raised her right hand to caress his cheek, Bucky leaning against her touch, trying to save the memory of it for the foreseeable future.

“Maybe we’ll see each other sooner than you think,” she half-whispered with a glint in her eyes, biting her lip.

Bucky sighed and slightly rolled his eyes, “Doll, no. We talked about this. Don’t enlist as a nurse,” he said with desperation in his voice. He didn’t want her to see the frontlines, the horror, the blood.

Unbeknownst to Bucky and her family, she had already secretly enlisted, and went on a training course in the Brooklyn hospital. Of course she had found different excuses for her absences, to which seemed to work with Bucky. She had always wanted to be a nurse, and now that the war started for their country too, she wanted to do her bit. There was a ticket waiting in her purse for her to be sent to England, a few days behind Bucky.

She only smiled and hummed at him as an answer, which didn’t convince Bucky. He loved her independency and her stubbornness, which also irritated him to his core sometimes. Bucky didn’t want to keep her from her dreams, but he also did not want to see her shot in France or Italy. 

He decided to drop the matter for now. He didn’t want to argue with their last moments together. Instead, he kissed her sweetly, before laying on his back in the white bedsheets and pulled her to lay her head on his chest — the extremely comfortable position, according to her.

“You know,” he started, playing with the ring on her hand that was curled around his right bicep. “I was planning on proposing way before I actually did,” he said, chuckling at the memory of him chickening out every time.

“What?? Really?? Why didn’t you?” She asked, smiling and looking up at him incredulously.

“Yeah,” he chuckled. “I chickened out every time. I was so scared you’d say no,” he confessed, a slight blush appearing on his cheeks.

She smiled more at that, and teased him, “Bucky, have you ever looked in the mirror? Why would I say no to those pretty blue eyes, hmm?” She reached up to brush the tip of her nose against his slightly stubbled cheek.

“Because you’re so amazing, a-and I’m .. me. I used to go on a lot of dates with a lot of women before you, you know,” he said, still a bit sheepishly.

“I know, Buck. Steve might’ve told me some of those dates,” she smirked up at him. It made him gasp in surprise and curse his best friend, emitting a loud laugh from the woman in his arms. Most of all, Bucky was feeling elated, happy, that she hadn’t been scared off by those stories of Steve’s.

When his laugh turned into a soft smile, Bucky looked into her eyes. He couldn’t fathom how he got this lucky. “Thank you,” he said softly.

Looking curiously at him, still a smile on her face, she furrowed her eyebrows just slightly to mark up her confusion, “For what?”

“For not dumping me when you heard about by dating history.”

“Dating women doesn’t automatically make you a bad person, Bucky. Maybe a ladies man, yes,” she smirked which made him him blush and chuckle in embarrassment, “but not a bad person. And now that I know you, I could never think you are or would be a bad person.”

She lifted her right hand from his chest to caress his cheek. “I love you, Bucky Barnes. And I can’t wait to marry you, so you better come back home,” she said, barely a whisper, before kissing him softly. He kissed her back, tangling his free left hand in her hair to bring her even closer.

He didn’t know and tried to hide his feelings from you and his brother. Every time you tried to get intimate, he found an excuse to not touch you. Nick even refused to kiss you to not betray his brother.

But this morning, he just couldn’t hold back any longer. You sweetly fell apart in his arms, and he admitted his sin.

His brother didn’t take Nick’s betrayal well. The confession led to a fight. The first one between the brothers since they were kids.

“How could you do this to me?” You step away when Bucky tries to reach out for you. “Don’t touch me.” You visibly shudder. “I believed he’s you. He made me believe it. I sleep with a man I don’t even know.”

Bucky winces as you start to cry. “Baby doll, I’m so fucking sorry. It never was in my plans that he touched you. I almost killed Nick for touching you.”

“Y/N, I’m not a stranger to you,” Nick sounds almost hurt. “We know each other almost as long as you know Bucky. We went to that junk market, and we had dinner at that awful restaurant you wanted to try. I let you cry into my chest when after you watched this ridiculous rom-com movie.”

“Yeah!” You shake your head. “Because I believed you are Bucky. I didn’t even know your name until tonight. When we had sex, you…you kinda…” You sniffle and look away. “I feel dirty and used.”

“Y/N,” Bucky steps toward you, but you step away. “I won’t hurt your, doll. God, I would kill myself before hurting you.”

“And yet, you let your brother take your place and—” you bite your tongue. “Even if I initiated what happened this morning, he should’ve stopped me. But no. He took advantage of me, and the fact that I didn’t know it wasn’t you.”

“His face doesn’t look like that because I went easy on him,” Bucky tries to calm you but it’s useless. Anytime he gets close to you, you step away and shake your head. “I broke his face, and more than one rib. I’m not done with him yet for what he did this morning. But it’s not completely his fault. I shouldn’t have asked him to keep an eye on you.”

“Exactly,” you point out. “You’re as guilty as he is. I ended up sleeping with a stranger because you let him into my life. Bucky, how can you say that you wanted to protect me from getting hurt, but you let your brother do this to me?”

“Baby, I—” Bucky sniffs as you start to cry again. “Please. I’ll do anything. Y/N, please don’t cry.”

“Colibri,” Nick slowly steps toward you. “Hi.” He softly says as you. “Please let us explain. We never wanted things to get so complicated. It’s my fault that I fell for you so easily.”

“You make it sound like you didn’t abuse me this morning,” you snap at Nick. “Yes, I asked you to join me in the showers, but I believed you are the man I love.”

“I am the man you love,” he raises his voice and regrets it in an instant. You flinch and take a step toward the door. “We spend as much time together as you spend with Bucky. I made you laugh, and giggle. You fell asleep in my arms. I won that ugly bear for you at the fair.”

“Nick, you’re not helpful,” Bucky tries to calm his aching heart. Nick is not wrong. You got to know his brother over the months you spent with him too. “We need to calm her first.”

“I’m trying to calm her,” Nick argues. “All you did was hit me, instead of respecting my feelings for Y/N.”

“Well, I see this is all about the two of you,” you sneer. “I’m not needed here any longer. Whatever is wrong with you, you should get your shit figured out. And please don’t do this to another woman.”

“Doll! Wait!” Bucky gasps as you leave the room and slam the door shut. He wants to run after you, wants to chase you and bring you into his arms but he knows, he cannot face you again before he and Nick settle their score…”

Five months later the dust settled. You left town that night, never looking back. It was hard to leave your job, home, and the town you learned to love.

But Bucky Barnes and his brother are dangerous men. Or so you heard. 

If you wanted to start a new life, far away from the men breaking your heart and betraying you, it was necessary to leave and never look back.

This is how you ended up in the sleepiest town you can imagine. 

It’s a nice one, with friendly people and not much crime. The perfect environment to start a new life, or at least get a break from your former life.

“Morning, Y/N,” Carol, the waitress at your favorite diner chirps as you sit down at the diner counter. Well, it’s the only diner in town, and the food is not too bad. “The usual.”

“You know me,” you wink at her and chuckle. “I’m a simple girl, and I love your breakfast.”

“How are the eggs?” Someone plops down on the diner stool to your right. “What can you recommend, Colibri?”

Your body goes stiff. “No…”

“Doll, is the bacon good at this diner?” Bucky plops down on the diner stool to your left. You’re trapped between the mobsters. Again.

“How’d you find me?” You sniff and look around the diner. “Why now?”

“We found you right after you left.” Nick shrugs. “Bucky decided it’s for the best to leave you alone and keep an eye on you.”

“You stalked me?” You glare at Bucky. “Seriously?”

“We kept you safe, doll. That’s a difference.”

“No. It’s not!”

“It is,” Nick winks at the waitress. “I’ll take the pancakes, eggs, and coffee. Black.”

“Like his soul,” you grunt. “Carol don’t give them anything. They won’t stay.”

“Miss, I’m having what she’s having,” Bucky says. He points at your plate, filled with all the things you wanted to eat this morning. Now you have lost your appetite.

“Why are you here?” You sigh and hide your face in the palms of your hands. “I told the last time we saw each other that I never want to see you again.”

“The last time we saw each other you sneaked out of the house and left in the dead of the night. That’s what happened.”

“Who asked you, imposer,” you glare at Nick. “I left because you both lied to me for months! I had sex with you.”

“I remember,” he dares to smirk. “You didn’t moan my brother’s name, Colibri. You called me your strong bear because I won the plushie at the fair for you. In that moment, you fucked me, not Bucky.”

“Nick don’t,” Bucky warns. “Y/N, we need to talk.” He looks around the diner. “Not here, though. Please give us a chance to explain why we cannot let you go.”

Part 3

He doesn’t even know how long he’s been sitting there. The parking lot outside the safehouse is empty. It always is. Even the world’s moved on without him.

His fingers twitch against the steering wheel, vibranium hand creaking from the pressure. There’s no mission, no handler, no cryo chamber this time. Just time. And space. And thoughts.

And thoughts.

God, the thoughts are the worst.

“There’s no hiding anymore, Barnes.”

“You should be dead.”

“People like you don’t get peace.”

“Why didn’t you stop them?”

“You killed them.”

He closes his eyes. The silence presses on his chest like a hand. He used to play music. Not because he liked it—but because it filled the noise. Blocked the memories. Plugged the leaks.

But now?

Now even noise hurts. It all hurts. Silence. Sound. Sleep. Waking.

And worst of all: remembering.

He digs his fingers into the torn leather seat, nostrils flaring. For a second, he wishes he was still theirs. At least then, he didn’t have to think. At least then, it wasn’t his fault. He didn’t have to remember names or faces or how much blood had dried under his nails.

Now he remembers everything.

And he doesn’t know what’s worse: the monster he was, or the man he’s supposed to be.

He glances at the mangled stereo again, as if it might suddenly start playing—give him an escape route. But there’s nothing left to hear.

Nothing left but the silence. The scream beneath it. The raw ache in his ribs that tells him he wants to live but doesn’t know how. The car feels like a coffin. And Bucky Barnes? He feels like a ghost trapped inside it.

His voice breaks when he speaks aloud, gravel and rust clinging to every word.

"Make it stop… please… just for a minute…"

But there's no one to answer.

No music. No redemption. No forgiveness.

Just silence.

"Things are coming along," he told you. "I called up some extra men first thing this morning. Clint and Scott are making the rounds, making sure we won't have security issues. We'll have it locked down well before everyone starts arriving."

You nodded, smiled. "Sounds good."

Luca hustled out with your breakfast, serving you fluffy eggs and fruit. You thanked him, grinning as he pulled out a chair next to Dyson. 

"What time is everyone getting here?" he asked Dyson.

"Four," Dyson told him. "That's the meeting time the boss set anyway."

Luca nodded, his gaze roaming to you. "What are you up to today, boss?" he asked.

Boss had you grinning. Plus, like Dyson, you could tell he was a little worried about how today would go from your perspective. You really appreciated that they noticed and cared.

"Nothing out of the ordinary," you told him after a moment. "I'm going to get in a little exercise, spend some time with Nat."

The two men exchanged a look and you had to laugh. "What are the two of you so worried about?" you asked. "Steve called a meeting today with the heads of the families to make sure everyone is on the same page. It's a good place to start. It'll put all the rumors to rest and Steve can start leading the families outright."

Luca's expression was bordering on comical. "I mean no disrespect but... You know you're not going to the meeting, right?"

That did have you laughing. "Yes, I'm aware."

"What's so funny?" Yelena's voice came from behind you as she walked into the dining room.

"These two making sure I'm okay with the meeting today," you explained. 

Nodding, Yelena made her way to the kitchen. You turned your attention back to the two older men across the table from you.

"Thank you for caring about me," you said, "but I'm fine with not being in that meeting. I promise."

"You are?" Dyson asked, skeptical.

"I am," you assured him. "Steve is letting me be part of the family business now. I don't need to be at the meeting."

Was that pride flashing in Dyson's eyes? He nodded as Yelena returned with her breakfast, taking a seat next to you.

"Any word on Barnes?" she asked.

Dyson blew out an exhale. "Someone is coming from the Barnes family," he said slowly. "I got an RSVP."

Luca scrubbed a hand over his face. "Could be sending Killmonger," he said.

"Barnes will be here himself," you said. It was just an instinct but you knew you were right. 

Setting his coffee mug on the table, Dyson's gaze met yours. "I think so too. He almost has to. Same reason as Steve. He has to show everyone he's still here."

"Male posturing," Yelena added and you chuckled. 

"Let's hope not," Dyson said. "Things are more than a little tense right now."

That had you thinking... "Do the other families know what Barnes pulled? I mean, do they know he tried to take Steve and his family down?"

"The Starks do," Luca said. "The Wilsons and Odinsons? I'm sure they're aware. They just tend to stay out of the drama unless it involves them."

"That's smart," Yelena added.

"Or they lack the muscle," you said.

Dyson nodded, indicating you were right. 

"If Barnes decides to try anything, we're ready right?" you had to ask.

"We are," Dyson told you. "But along that line of thinking, we need to think about where you're going to be during this meeting."

"Yes, we do," Yelena said. 

You understood. "I'm sure Nat, Yelena and I can find something to do. Where would we be safest?"

"Steve's study," Dyson said instantly. "We have a quick way to get you out if all hell breaks loose."

You made a mental note of that. "Just let me know when we need to be where."

"Do you think she'll be okay?" Nat asked for the third time in an hour.

You sighed. You didn't know the young woman who Hansen held prisoner. It was disconcerting that she looked like you. Even though you had nothing to do with it, you still felt a heavy sense of responsibility. You'd arranged for her to fly back home to her family, sent Barnes' money with her. The best thing you could do for her was to get her out of Boston and back to where she had a support network. You made sure she had a way to reach you in case she ever needed anything.

"Barnes wasn't kidding when he said he was giving her a generous gift," you said. "It's a lot of money. I know that in no way makes up for what she went through but... She was in college. I'm just hoping she can take that and make a fresh start somewhere else. Finish her education. I hope in time she's able to heal."

Yelena was quiet in her seat next to Nat, across Steve's desk from you. You understood why. Yelena had been the sick bastard's captive too. Since you'd known Yelena, Hansen was the only thing that scared her. You knew why your friend and personal protection dressed in the suits she wore. Yes, she was trying to be like any other soldier, to earn respect. But it made your heart sink to think about the physical scars she was hiding. Scars that Hansen branded her with.

If the bastard was alive, and you thought he was, he'd better pray he never crossed your path again. 

"What did doc have to say today?" Yelena asked Nat, changing the subject. "Everything is healing well?"

Nat smiled. "Everything is healing. But then, I didn't get shot so..."

You laughed at that. "That's just about the only thing the bastard didn't do to you."

"I'm glad he's gone," Nat said after a moment.

You exchanged a look with Yelena, both of you happy to hear that. You knew Clint was happy about her reaction to her abusive husband's death. While you understood why he took Banner out with Yelena's help, you knew he was worried about the impact of his actions on the woman he loved.

"I am too," you told her. "Now you can just be with Clint the way you always should have been."

Nat's deep sigh was the only sound in the quiet office. "I'm not the only one worried about today, am I?"

It was actually a relief that she addressed the elephant in the room.

"No," you admitted. "I don't like this any better than you do. But it has to be done."

"Why wouldn't Steve let you attend the meeting?" she asked.

"He never said I couldn't." That was the truth. "It was my decision to sit this out."

You couldn't tell which woman was more surprised. Yelena knew you were good with not going but she didn't know that. That had you smiling.

"It's not the right time," you told them. "It may never be the right time for anyone outside our family to know that I'm part of Steve's council. And if that's how it goes, I'm fine with that. I got what I wanted."

"It's more than what you wanted," Yelena pointed out. "It's where you need to be."

You appreciated her faith in you. Nat's smiled told you she agreed. You weren't worried about weighing in on situations as they arose to keep the family, all of you, safe. You knew you could help.

"I am a little nervous today," you told them, "because Barnes is coming."

"He RSVP'd?" Yelena asked.

You shook your head. "Not necessarily. Dyson said they indicated someone was coming but they didn't name Barnes. But he'll be here. He almost has to. He has to show everyone he's fit. Just like Steve does."

"After everything he did to this family," Nat said, "he gets to just waltz into our home for this meeting?"

You nodded. "He does. For now. And Steve has to be careful here. The other families have heard things. This is Steve's chance to set the record straight. To make sure everyone knows exactly what happened."

"And then what?" Nat's face was darkening in her rising anger. "We just go on like nothing happened?"

"No, then we gauge where the other families' allegiences lie," you explained. "Until we know that, we don't know how best to move forward."

"Tony Stark and Sam Wilson have been friends with my brother since high school," Nat said. "They better not even think about siding with Barnes on this. Not after everything he did."

Yelena nodded her agreenment.

"Steve doesn't think we have anything to worry about with the Starks or the Wilsons," you said. "The others? We'll see."

"What if the other families decide they don't have a problem with Barnes' bullshit?" Nat was really pissed about this.

"The only ones left are the Odinsons," Yelena pointed out.

You knew there was practically no chance of that happening but... 

"If that should happen, and I doubt it will, we'll deal with it," you told her. "Barnes will be dealt with. It's the how he's dealt with that we have to be careful with."

"Didn't we lose men over this shit?" Nat asked.

"So did Barnes," Yelena said. "Plus he lost Hansen and that's a big blow for him."

Nat wasn't done. You could tell the way she was staring you down. She was just trying to decide how to frame what she wanted to say.

"Aren't you afraid?" she asked you. "Of Barnes? You could have killed him at that little meeting in the park."

Yes, you were scared of Barnes. Very much so. But the only person you'd admitted that to was Yelena. Steve had overheard you but in your defense, you'd thought he was in a coma and couldn't hear you. You steeled yourself to answer her because you weren't going to let anyone else know just how worried about Barnes you were.

"Steve will keep me safe," you told her meaningfully. "He'll keep all of us safe. The day in the park? We intended to kill Barnes that day. If I hadn't panicked at the last moment..."

From the window behind Steve's desk, you could see the cars arriving. The screen of your phone showed it was 3:35 PM. The meeting would start soon.

"You did so well," Yelena picked it up from there. "You should have seen her, Nat. He had no idea who was she until she wanted him to know. I'm not sure I could have done that."

"Bullshit," you said, smiling. "You would have done a better job. And you had to deal with him because I froze."

"It's my job to protect you," Yelena reminded you. "Not the other way around."

A light tap at the door got your attention. Clint was stationed outside the office, neither him or Nat would allow otherwise. His gaze met yours and he crooked a finger at you.

Walking around the desk, you went to the door, walking out when Clint motioned you. Clint walked into the office and closed the door, leaving you in the quiet of the hallway with your husband. 

Smiling, you let him pull you into his arms. Steve was healing but he wasn't back to full strength yet. Still, he felt more solid and alive in your arms now. The blood red tie stood out against the polished silver suit he wore. The sent of his cologne, of him, invaded your senses, made you wish you could stay here a while. 

Easing back, your stretched up to kiss his mouth and Steve took you off guard. His kiss was searing, demanding. He took your breath away, his kiss seeking and lusty. You tasted the need of so many nights when you couldn't make love, when you didn't know if you'd lose him. Your own need was just as strong and you rotated your hips against him, feeling the heated hard ridge you were hoping for.

"Stop," he whispered against your lips. "You keep doing that and I'll fuck you right here in this hallway."

You grinned up at him. "How much time do we have?"

Steve smiled. "Don't tempt me."

"It's almost time," you told him. "You've got this."

"Yes, I do." Steve's entire demeanor backed up his words. "And once this meeting is over, we'll have a better idea of where we go from here."

"You'll tell me everything, right?"

"I promised, didn't I?" Steve brushed a kiss on your forehead, his gaze locking with yours. "Stay in the office with Belova and Nat. If Clint wants you to move, you do it with no question. You understand?"

"I do," you told him, trying to fight back your fear. Your entire world felt like it was balancing on a knife's edge and you just wanted it to be over. To move on.

Steve shook his head, chuckling. "I'm not used to you being so acquiescent. I could get used to this."

"Don't," you told him. "Because I'm not always going to be so easy to get along with."

"At least you're honest," Steve said. He stole one more kiss that had your heart hammering against his. Every part of you was in knots right now. From tension, fear, and lust. When he broke the kiss, his breath and yours came fast. "Let me get through this meeting... I need you so much right now."

Just as much as you needed him.

"Just make sure you're up to it," you said. "I want you too but I'm willing to wait if that's what's best for you."

"You are what's best for me," he said with feeling.

It was then you spotted a tiny spot of your lipstick, smudged on the collar of his pristine white shirt. "Shit," you muttered, reaching to see if you could get it off. 

Steve caught your hand. "Leave it," he said. "I want Barnes to see it."

You just wished more than anything that Barnes wasn't coming to your home. A sense of foreboding had you shivering.

"Go back in the office," Steve told you. "I love you."

"I love you too," you whispered.

Steve tapped on the office door and Clint came out the door in an instant, ushering you back into Steve's study to Nat and Yelena. Somehow, with their company, you made it through the next two hour while the meeting took place.

"They're all here, boss," Dyson said from behind him. 

Downing the rest of his Scotch, Steve set the empty glass on Luca's small kitchen table and blew out an exhale. It was time.

"Barnes is here?" he asked.

"Sure is," Dyson said. "Brought Killmonger and Zemo with him."

Turning to face his man, Steve prepared himself.

"You're going to handle this, you know?" Dyson said. 

"As long as I know she's safe, yeah, I am going to handle it."

"Nothing is going to happen to her," Dyson said meaningfully. "I promise you that."

Well, then...

Steve headed for the conference room, not stopping until he reached it. When he opened the door to let himself in, he saw his own men posted around the room, led by Scott who stood just behind the chair at the head of the table. His.

Steve's gaze met that of Tony Stark, then Sam. Thor Odinson watched him with cool blue eyes, his raven-haired brother Loki sitting by his side. They were the only unknowns in the room. Steve knew he had Tony and Sam's loyalty.

Then there was the man of the hour, Bucky Barnes himself, situated between the Odinsons and the Wilsons. Killmonger and Zemo stood behind his chair.  Barnes had no trouble meeting Steve's gaze but he was thinner than the last time he saw him, his pallor uncharacteristically pale. Belova and his wife had done a number on him. 

And Barnes would seek revenge. Steve would need to be a lot more vigilant in protecing his wife, his family. Everyone considered Hansen was out of the picture, but it would be unwise to forget about him. And Killmonger had always been the one he respected most. He was quiet, calculating, and deadly efficient.

"Gentlemen, thank you for coming," Steve said to the room. Taking his time, he took his seat. 

It didn't feel the same sitting there now. He'd only held one other such meeting as head of the families. That day he'd been excited, eager to take over, to rule. He'd been naive.

Things were different now. Yes, he'd sat on the throne, won the wife and her heritage. And he'd almost lost all of it because of arrogance. As he took in the heads of the other four familes, one by one, he knew he'd never take this position for granted again. Now he could feel the weight of all the responsibilities that came with it. Steve wanted to make his father proud. Her father proud. 

Mostly, he wanted to keep pride in his wife's eyes. The way she'd looked at him in the hallway. She believed in him. She loved him. And there was nothing he wouldn't do for her.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Dyson standing behind him. Yeah, he didn't want to let him down either. Dyson was his right hand, yes. But he was a father to him. He was a father to her. 

He had no intention of failing Dyson either.

"What's on the agenda today?" Tony asked with his characteristic smirk.

"I'm just going to be direct," Steve began. "There has been some dissension in our ranks."

"Dissension?" Thor asked.

Steve nodded. "Since I took the leadership of our five families, my family has been attacked numerous times." He caught Barnes' gaze and held it as he continued. "Barton was shot, Lloyd Hansen brought goons to my house in an attempt to kidnap my wife, my wife and my sister have suffered considerable injuries, and all the while my leadership has been called into question."

On that last, Barnes grinned. But before he could speak, Steve absolutely could not let anyone steal the floor from him at this meeting, Steve cut him off.

"All of it stops today," Steve said slowly, dragging out each word.

Loki grinned from his seat, his gaze sweeping around the room. "This is going to be fun."

His brother Thor looked skeptical. "Word on the street is that Banner is the one who shot Barton. Barton was having the man's wife, right under his nose. He dealt with his wife. None of these personal items have any place in this meeting."

"Dealt with his wife? My sister?" Steve kept his demeanor nonchalant but on this inside he was fuming. "That's what I thought too until I learned Banner had been talking with Barnes about business without my knowledge. My own consigliere. See, Barnes' consigliere is about to retire. Banner was under the impression that if he helped Barnes bring my family down, he'd be serving the Barnes family as their new consigliere. That changes things."

Thor's gaze cut to Barnes who now wore his poker face. Still, he looked unrepentent.

"No one has seen Banner," Thor pointed out. "Has that been dealt with? If what you say is true, that's quite a betrayal."

There it was. A subtle challenge to his leadership, but a challenge nonetheless.

"Banner has been dealt with," Steve said. "Barton found him hiding in Stark's turf... Why was he hiding there? Why wasn't he under your protection, Barnes?"

The pure anger in Barnes' steely blue eyes told Steve he was hitting his mark. When he remained silent, Steve continued.

"I allowed Barton to deal with Banner how he wanted. And anyone else who ever tries to deal with my sister? That man will  meet the same fate. Is that in any way unclear?"

A low murmur across the table. Tony wasn't doing even trying to hide his enjoyment of the meeting so far.

"You had proof of Barnes' traitorous actions before you made these decisions?" Thor asked, not letting it go. "I'm sure you realize these are serious allegations."

"Do I owe you or anyone a fucking explanation?" Steve shot back, pissed.

"Yeah, you do," Barnes chimed in. "Because the evidence suggests you're not managing your own turf all that well, boss." He put an ugly emphasis on the word "Boss." "You've taken hits to businesses you're supposed to be protecting. People who depend on you are losing business, people are getting hurt."

Smiling at the reminder, Steve sighed. "People getting hurt. Like the murder and rape your men committed in that shop on my turf? Like the girl you allowed Hansen to kidnap from a donut shop in my territory? She got hurt. He kept her for days."

"I didn't give him that order," Barnes said cooly.

"Doesn't matter," Stave said. "He still acted under your authority."

Barnes was now staring him down and Steve silently willed him to say something else. Say it. Tell them you were poisoned by my wife's guard. See how much respect you get for that sloppy shit.

"Anything else?" Steve dared him.

Cold silence.

"I get that you're still raw I took the lead," Steve told him, rising from his chair. "That's why you promised Banner a position at your side that I don't think you ever meant to give him. It's also why you turned Loguidice against me, got him to give you inside intel. You got him killed by Hansen."

"That was on Hansen." Barnes couldn't produce much color in his anger, likely from the poison, but his face darkened enough for Steve to see that he was really getting to him. "He knifed me, betrayed orders."

Like my wife's guard knifed you? A woman?

"You all know why, right?" Steve walked around the table even though Dyson had advised him against it. But he liked to pace when he talked. "Hansen and Neal took Dyson which I think was your plan. Right? They were supposed to draw me out, finish me off."

Thor listened intently to the exchange, not as amused as his brother seemed. No, he was dead serious and Steve had him on the hook.

"Hansen decided to lure my wife out instead," Steve told them. "Shot Loguidice in the face. What did you promise Neal for turning on me anyway?"

Barnes' smile didn't reach his eyes. "I didn't have to promise either of them much at all."

"The point is," Steve went on, "that you couldn't even control Hansen. Your own man. And you think you'd make a better leader of these families than me?"

Barnes was out of his chair, ready to lunge at Steve. Killmonger struggled to hold onto him. 

Steve chuckled, watching the scene he'd created. Around the table, Tony and Sam watched passively, the Odinsons were attentive. Dyson looked proud and that was everything to him in that moment.

"Are you really the one leading your family, Rogers?" Barnes yelled. "Because all the nasty little presents you sent me just didn't seem like your style."

"What are you implying?" Thor asked him.

"Word has it Rogers got shot that day," Barnes said to the room. "After that, I got some none-to-subtle reminders of the bad blood between us. But they weren't his style at all. I think he got shot and he's struggling. I think Mrs. Rogers had a hand in this."

Tony's gaze moved from Barnes to Steve, almost comical interest so plain on his face.

"You're so fascinated with my wife, aren't you?" Steve said. "Why don't you tell them all of it?"

Tell them that you were bested by a woman and let's be done with it.

"Wait," Loki said with an artificial calm that didn't match the sheer glee in his eyes at the scene he was witnessing."Not to be indelicate, but isn't Mrs. Rogers your half-sister, Barnes?"

If looks could kill, Loki would have been dead on the floor. Steve had a hard time not laughing at that.

"She's not my anything," Barnes hissed, still struggling in Killmonger's hold. "She's an evil fucking bitch that you'll regret marrying one day, Rogers! I'd watch my back if I were you! Remember what her mother did to my family?"

"I thought she was a ballerina," Tony chimed in. "Huh."

Loki laughed out loud as Barnes managed to shake off his man's hold and charged at Steve. Scott and another of Steve's men caught him first. That didn't stop Steve from approaching, getting up in his enemy's face.

"You got shot, didn't you?" Barnes demanded.

"If I got shot," Steve said, "why are you the one who looks physically weak right now? Something you want to tell us?"

Steve could have shamed him there. He could have told the entire room what really happened to Barnes. But considering what Barnes had just shouted to the room about his wife, it was best to draw no more attention to her.

"I'm the head of these families, Barnes," Steve said in a calmer tone. "I won't tolerate any other challenges to this position."

The warning was clear, the room quiet now. Shoving Scott to the side, Killmonger took Barnes' arm to take control of the situation. Barnes' had broken out in a sweat, his face unnaturally pale and he was struggling to breathe.

"We understand," Killmonger said to Steve, struggling to keep his boss up because he looked ready to pass out. 

Steve tipped his head towards the conference room door, giving his consent for Killmonger to get him out of there. Zemo, looking more than a little alarmed, followed them out.

The tone of the meeting was much calmer with their departure, tension thick in the air. Even Thor had nothing else to say as Steve went over his plans for the families moving forward. When the meeting dismissed, Steve lingered until it was only him and Dyson, Scott and another soldier outside the door.

"You made the statement," Dyson told him. "That means if Barnes so much as breathes wrong, you know what you have to do."

Steve nodded. He would have to take Barnes and his family out, ensuring nothing was left.

"I wouldn't have said it if I didn't mean it," Steve told him.

Dyson nodded. "Still, it was a good meeting. It set the right tone."

Steve nodded but inside, he was elated. Dyson approved of the way the meeting was handled, how he dealt with Barnes. It was a new start, it was everything.

He couldn't wait to tell you about it.

When Yelena didn't answer your question, you glanced her way. 

She was looking out the window. "The meeting couldn't be over yet," she said.

Was someone leaving?

Getting up, you walked to the window. Your first instinct was stand back and not make it obvious you were watching.

But wasn't this your house? You could stand in the window if you wanted to.

So you did. And sure enough, one sleek black luxury sedan was moving in the circular drive. It startled you when it stopped in line-of-sight from your window. The rear passenger window powered down and Buck Barnes was staring out that window in your direction. At you.

After a moment, the car started moving and the window went back up. You shivered at what the simple gesture meant for your future. The meeting only started fifteen minutes ago. That wasn't a good sign. At least no one else seemed to be leaving.

I'll get you!

 Bucky Barnes' threat ran through your mind as you watched his car drive away.

A/N: There's a marathon smut scene coming next and it was either shorten it and tack it onto this chapter or make it a chapter on its own so... Very soon. Thank you!

Not that he knew you. That was the cruel logic of it all. To Sergeant James Barnes, you were nobody. Nothing but a nurse he'd been introduced to twice, and forgotten both times. A face in a crowd of pretty faces, but by no means the prettiest.

You had stopped being able to feel your own face somewhere around the third song, no longer pretending to smile.

"You gonna dance, or you gonna be a wallflower all night?"

You turned. One of the girls— Doris, or maybe it it was Lilian, you weren't paying attention— was smiling at you with the social grace that women in this time seemed to possess effortlessly. They belonged in a way you never would. You gave her something that was probably a smile.

"I'm alright watching."

"Watching him, you mean." She followed your gaze to where Bucky stood in his dress uniform, left arm braced against a pillar as he leaned down to murmur something into the ear of a redhead who laughed like he'd hung the moon. "Half the room's watching him. Don't feel bad, sweets. He's real generous with the old charm."

Generous! You laughed to yourself, that was certainly one word for it.

You'd been in 1943 for eleven days. Eleven days since the machine in your lab had done whatever it was that it did. There had been a surge of power, a blinding flash of light and the smell of ozone that still hadn't left your nostrils. You had woken up staring at a strange sky, in an alley between two buildings you didn't recognize.

Eleven days later, you had talked your way into a nursing post with the competence that only came with training from a program that wouldn't exist for another sixty years.

The first time you had seen him, you hadn't been able to move. You almost walked past without a backward glance. The thing that had gotten your attention wasn't how he looked, it was his voice. It hadn't changed. What had changed was how freely he laughed

It was all you could think of as you lay on a narrow rented bed and stared up at the ceiling, thinking: He's here. He's alive and whole and here, and he has no idea who I am.

You'd thought seeing this version of him would be a comfort.

You'd been so stupid.

So there you were, contemplating your existence, a woman out of your own time. And you realized that the thing nobody told you about time travel was that it was mostly waiting.

You had managed to track down a physicist— a nervous, but brilliant scientist who was well ahead of his time and happened to work for Stark Industries and liked to carry out experiments in his basement.

When you'd described the machine, he had gone very pale and very quiet and then become very interested. He offered to help you. He thought it would take weeks. He speculated a great many things, and every one of them required you to stay close to the war effort, close to the base, close— by fate or by accident— to Bucky-freaking-Barnes.

You should have quit, but you needed the money and a place to stay. So you saw him. Constantly. At the mess, in the corridors, at these godforsaken dances the other nurses dragged you to. And every time, the same knife went in.

Because Bucky Barnes flirted with everyone.

You watched him do it like a case study you had a vested interest in. I'm a way, you did.

He flirted with Lilian and Doris and Elizabeth, with Marian and Margaret and even Sandy. He flirted with the girl who sold cigarettes and the middle-aged woman who ran your boarding house who flushed like a school girl every time he tipped his cap.

He flirted with the same energy that other mean breathed— unconsciously, effortlessly and with enthusiasm. With the whole world except you.

With you he was polite. God, the politeness was utterly devastating. Every 'ma'am.' Every 'miss.' Every nod.

Once— and only once— he caught you looking at him for too long across the mess hall and you had noticed a flicker on his face. It wasn't interest, no you knew his expressions well enough, it was something closer to confusion. Almost as though he couldn't quite figure out why this particular nurse kept staring at him like she was drowning.

You'd looked away so fast you'd spilled your coffee.

So here's the thing you could quite wrap your head around. It was the splinter which kept digging it's way deeper. He was still Bucky. Before the fall. Before seventy years of ice and torture. Before his free will had been ripped away. It was still him. The same kind man you loved.

And his man had looked at you and felt nothing.

"You look like you're thinking too hard," Lillian said. "Never a good idea at a dance."

"Sorry." You forced a smile and made yourself relax. "Long shift," you lied with a shrug.

She patted your arm sympathetically and drifted off in the direction of a corporal who had been eyeing her from across the hall. And then you were alone. Again. Listening to Bucky laughing at something across the room, his eyes crinkled and nose scrunched. You had to close your eyes.

In the present, you told yourself, he loves you.

But did he?

This thought was the poison of the past, the reason the past eleven days had hollowed you out and given you reason to doubt. Because you'd met your Bucky broken. You'd met him after— after the Soldier, after the torture, after the long slow work he had done to put himself back together, with therapy and effort and the kind of hard-won stillness that made his rare smiles feel earned. Your Bucky was quiet. He was careful. He loved you the way a man loves the shore after a shipwreck— grateful, fierce, like something he'd been afraid to hope for.

When you thought back, this stillness had always felt like the depth in your relationship. That his quiet devotion was the shape of a man who had survived far too much to be careless with his heart. That when he reached for you in the dark, when he said your name with reverence, when he told you that he loved you, it was the truest thing in him.

Only now you'd seen the before.

Now you'd seen who he was when the world hadn't broken him yet.

And that man— that carefree, radiant, flirtatious man— he wouldn't have looked at you twice. That man had a type, and you were watching him charm her across the dance floor right now, and it most decidedly wasn't you. It was never you.

So what did that make what you had back home?

It was the ugly thought. The one that had been circling your brain in different iterations for the last eleven days.

He's with you because you were there.

Because you'd been kind to him at the worst point of his life.

Because you were willing, and steady, and you'd stayed when staying was hard.

Because a drowning man doesn't check whether the hand pulling him up is the one he'd have chosen.

He grabs what's offered.

You were what was offered. Convenient. Present. Undemanding.

Not chosen. Settled.

You believed it completely, while standing in that dance hall. It sank deep into your bones, like the weight of something you'd always half-known and finally let yourself see.

"You're that nurse."

You startled so badly at his voice that you knocked your purse off the table. Bucky was standing in front of you— right in front of you, close enough that you could smell the pomade and the wool of his uniform. And he was looking at you with that faint, puzzled crease between his brows. He bent down and retrieved your purse without a second thought.

"I— yeah. Sorry. Yes. I'm a nurse."

Brilliant. Very cool. Totally nailed that response. You mentally face palmed yourself.

"You keep looking at me." He said it plainly, without judgement. "All week. At the mess, and now here." He paused, studying your face. "Do I know you? From somewhere? I feel like I oughta, and it's drivin' me half crazy tryna figure it out."

You don't know me yet, was the thought didn't say. You won't know me for another eighty years.

"No," you managed in a flat tone. "You don't know me."

He studied you. And for one horrible, hopeful second you let yourself imagine that something would spark between you. That he would recognize something buried deep inside himself, the one who would one day become the man you loved. That he'd feel it, the way you felt it. The impossible gravity that existed between you.

He didn't. You watched him not feel it. He just gave you a small, courteous, sorry-can't-place-you smile and the last shred of hope shattered in it chest.

"Well," he said. "You alright? You look a little—" he gestured vaguely at all of you, "—pale. Rough night on the ward?"

You laughed dismally. "Something like that."

"You want some air? You look like you want some air."

And there it was. Not attraction. Kindness. The reflexive decency of a good man toward a woman who looked unwell. He'd have offered the same to Doris or Evelyn, to the redhead or the blonde, to anyone really. You knew it, and you took it anyway, because you were weak and you loved him and this was the closest he'd stood to you in eleven days.

Outside, the night was cold and wet and smelled of the harbor. Bucky lit a cigarette, offered you one, seemed unsurprised when you shook your head. For a while neither of you said anything.

"You got somebody?" he asked finally, and your heart lurched dangerously. "Back home, I mean. You got that look. Like half of you is somewhere else."

You laughed and it came out wrecked.

"Yeah," you said. "I've got somebody."

"He treat you right?"

He loves me like a man loves the thing that saved him, you thought. And I don't know anymore if that's the same as loving me for me.

"I don't know," you said honestly. "I used to think so. Now I'm not sure he'd have picked me. If things had been different. If he'd had… options. I think maybe I was just… the one who was there."

Bucky was quiet a moment. When you looked at him he was frowning— not the usual puzzled frown, it was something more thoughtful.

"That's a helluva thing to carry," he said. "You wanna know what I think?"

He looked at you, barely waiting for you to answer before he continued.

"I flirt with every dame in that room. You've seen me, don't pretend you haven't." He gave you a rueful half-smile. "It's easy. Don't cost me a thing. You smile, they smile, everybody has a nice night, nobody gets hurt. It's—" he searched for the right word, "—it's cheap. You understand? It's the cheapest thing I got."

You stared at him.

"You know what's not cheap?" he went on, looking out into the night. "The stuff that costs you something— and that's not the girl you charm across a dance hall. That's the one you'd still want around when there's nothing charming left in you. When you're scared, or sick, or done things you can't take back."

He exhaled smoke. "A fella who's had it easy, he'll flirt with anybody. Don't mean anything. But a fella who's been through the wringer, and he still reaches for one particular person—" he shrugged, "—seems to me that's the only kind that counts. The rest's just… noise."

You couldn't breathe.

He didn't know how deeply what he'd said had resonated with you. He couldn't have. He was just a kind man being kind to a sad woman outside a dance hall, offering the accidental wisdom of someone who'd one day live every word of it. But he'd reached across eighty years and removed the splinter from your heart.

A fella who's been through the wringer, and he still reaches for one particular person.

That was your Bucky. Not a drowning man grabbing for the nearest hand. A man who had been through the absolute worst the world could do. A man who had every reason to be closed and cold and careful with the little warmth he had left. And instead who spent it, deliberately, expensively, on you.

Not because you were convenient. Because when everything cheap had been burned out of him, you were what remained. You were the thing that counted.

The flirtation you'd been grieving wasn't the love you knew. It never had been. It was the noise. And your Bucky had gone silent with everyone else in the world and still turned, in the dark, toward you.

"Thank you," you whispered.

Bucky looked faintly bewildered. "For what? I didn't do anything."

"You'd be surprised," you said, tears slipping down your cheeks before laughing at the way he was hastily patting his pockets for a handkerchief with the flustered gallantry of a man way out of his depth

And for the first time in eleven days the ache in your chest had somewhere to go.

The scientist sent for you nine days later. You had pulled yourself away from the pub, one last glance at the Sergeant before you scurried away under the cover of darkness.

The machine hummed and the basement reeked of ozone. Suddenly your heart was pounding and you were looking back at the strange world you were leaving. At the war that hadn't broken him fully yet. At the still charming boy who would become, through unspeakable years, the quiet man who loved you.

I'm coming home baby, you told him, across the space-time continuum. I finally understand what I'm coming home to.

With that vow, you stepped into the light.

When you opened your eyes it was day and you were back in your lab, surrounded by your things and there— there was already someone crossing the room toward you at a dead run. Someone with a metal arm and a face raw with grief and terror that lasted twenty days. Someone who caught you and held you like the shore holds the shipwreck.

"You're back," Bucky said into your hair, over and over, wrecked and reaching only for you. "You're back, you're back, you're back."

"I'm back," you said. "I know exactly where I am."

You set your back to the door as Natasha, Wanda and Bucky made their way back down the path. You wanted to peek, see if they looked back, if Bucky had loitered but you couldn't. You slid to the floor and sat there until your ass was numb and your nose told you they'd long gone.

What had you done? Telling Natasha to share your life story with Steve like that? You pull at your presentations but they all seem as numb as you do.

The night gets darker and as your annoyance with yourself grows, you head upstairs using your magic to lock the doors and to summon Fiona's wine. You gulp it down and then throw yourself onto the bed, still fully dressed, with the alcohol sending you to sleep almost immediately.

You dream of Agatha. Her words to you during the fight. She's in your ear, her whispers venomous.

You still have that sickening need to be wanted but no one ever wants you Omega and nobody ever will. See, you’re weak and you know Omega, you know that I’m right. They’ll never want you, not truly. Their pack will never accept you. Your second chance isn’t coming.

She's chased off by a golden wolf. When he trots back into your dreams, he nuzzles into you and guards you like you're something precious.

Alpha?

You wake with a jump, hot, sweaty and still in yesterday's clothes. There's a pull of the witch wound. It takes you a minute but when it pulls again, you know it's Fiona. You roll your eyes when you hear your phone buzzing from somewhere in the house. You put out your hand palm up and summon it to come to you, your head feeling too much like cottonwool to move.

There's half a dozen calls missed calls from Frank.

Shit, you think when you realise you never called him back.

A message from Fiona.

Stop wallowing in self pity and pull yourself together.

You call Frank back and put it on speaker as you start to change the bedsheets that are damp from your sweat. He answers before the first ring has even finished.

"I'm pissed."

"I know Frankie, I'm sorry."

"I asked you to call me back. I was worried."

"I'm sorry Frankie, Natasha brought wine and we got talking."

"You remember I warned you about her, at how manipulative she can be?"

"I know, but I might have used it to my favour."

"Go on."

"I told her everything and asked her to tell Steve."

"Baby."

"Please don't start with a lecture Frank."

"I'm not." He told you, leading you to huff in response. "I swear baby I'm not, but do you think you should have told him yourself?"

"I can't." You tell him, swallowing hard. "I've been thinking about it since I met him. I just can't Frank."

Hearing the emotion in your voice, Frank doesn't push further. He asks what you've told Natasha and her reaction, and he feels reassured that she gave you her word before agreeing, and that she struggled not to howl, clearly showing her concern, upset and connection to you.

"So you're just meant to wait around to see if he shows?"

"Pretty much."

"Look Y/N, I know I've said this already but I'm going to say it again. We may not have always seen eye to eye but he's one of the good ones, and I meant what I said. If he does reject you or he doesn't show tonight, you call me. I'll come get you."

"Thank you Frankie."

You say your goodbyes, and when you hang up you're met with another message from Fiona.

Clean yourself up and getting your preening done, Nan says you look like shit and might have a visitor later.

Tell her to knock it off. I know she means well, but she doesn't need to spy on me. I'm fine.

Of course you are.

You know they're right and even though it's annoying to admit it, you let out a huff, open a window to let in some fresh air and have an everything shower. You're still annoyed that you've admitted they were right by your actions when you pull on your clothes. You opt for a pair of leggings and an oversized sweater. You practically feel your omega and white wolf huff and roll their eyes at you.

Will alpha like this outfit when he comes to see us?

"We're going to see Storm and the baby, not Alpha." You say aloud.

You grab you bag and decide to take your car over your broom. As you lock the door you pick up Clint's scent and see him jog up the path that you've seen them all coming and going from.

"Hey." He calls out to you. "Everything okay?"

"Hi Clint." He pauses at the cottage gate and you see his hand hesitate as to open it or not. "I'm not going to throw you back over the fence if you come through the gate Clint."

He smiles and comes through.

"Where are you headed?" He asks.

"Somewhere to get Storm and the pack some sweet treats and then over to see them."

He nods and you see him glance into your car.

"I'm not leaving if that's what your worried about."

He smiles and shakes his head.

"Your intuitions damn good, I'll give you that." You let out a huff of laughter in response. "Do you want one of us to come with you?"

"No, I'm good, and I'm not sure Logan would be a fan of an outsider tailing after me when I'm there to see his mate and their new baby."

Clint nods in understanding. He asks to give you his number in case you need anything and you hand him your phone. He lets you know he's added Laura's too and you make small talk before you leave and head into town.

A little later when you wander up the path of the X Pack's house. Storm has lowered the shield, but you feel an enchantment by Jean over the doors and windows. Even though you're godmother to their child and a seasoned guest, you knock. Scott swings the door open quickly.

"Good morning Luna Rogers."

"Don't start Summers."

There's movement at the top of the grand looking stairs and you hear Jean's firm voice.

"Beta. Do I need to remind you of our conversation?"

"No, of course not." He replies, before shutting the door and shuffling away.

Jean nudges her head for you to head upstairs.

"What was that all about?" You ask when you reach her.

"He's been trying to find out what's going on between you and Rogers."

"There's nothing going on." You reply.

"Isn't there?" Storm asks appearing in the doorway to their bedroom, with her son in her arms.

"it's complicated."

You follow her into the room and exchange the baby in her arms for your bags of baked goods and spend the next ten minutes cooing and talking to the baby.

"Y/N," Jean starts to tell you, "you know we don't have any issue with you bring with Rogers don't you?" You shrug in reply. "If we did, we wouldn't have been okay with you staying in their compound."

"But Logan and Steve, after the woods...." You reply, before Jean cuts you off.

"That's behind us." She tells you.

When you glance at Storm she shrugs. As she bites another piece of cake, her mouth half full she turns to Jean.

"You should tell her about Scott and Barnes." She tells her.

"What about Scott and Barnes?" You reply quickly.

"Oh that woke you up." Storm smirks.

"Scott's been pushing Bucky, trying to find out what's been going on. Accused him of keeping things from us, like with the rogues and Pietro."

"I thought you said that was behind you."

"Scott's being Scott. He's being the Beta and you know he's trying to get arise out of you all. Stir the pot, he's always been the same, and if I'm honest we have all wondered. The rest of us are being respectful and waiting for you to tell us."

"So you're okay with him causing issues with my possible pack and upsetting my beta? There's nothing to tell, we've barely spoken and I've not even really seen him since the day you had the baby. I've spoken to Natasha. It's in her hands now."

"What do you mean?" Storm asks between bites.

"I've told her everything."

"Everything?" She asks, sitting up a little straighter.

"Everything. If he wants to see me, to be with me and he doesn't want to reject me, he's apparently going to come tonight for supper, and if he wants to reject me...."

"He won't do that." Jean interrupts you firmly. Your eyes meet and you see how serious she is.

"Well, we'll see."

"What are you wearing?" Storm says looking you up and down.

"Excuse me?"

"Please tell me you aren't wearing that for supper?" She says pointing between your leggings and hoodie. Jean tries and fails to hold in a smile.

You spend the next few hours with them and the pack, eating lunch out in the garden and getting as many possible cuddles from your godson as possible. At some point Storm starts to play with your hair and it's not until you see one of the other omegas is passing her hairspray that you realise she's been fixing your hair. She passes you a mirror and you see she's fixed it into a sexy messy bun, with strands that frame your face. It's not often that you think you look pretty but you feel a rush of confidence as your reflection looks back at you, and your omega flicks her tail smugly.

Alpha can see where to mark us with our hair up.

When you get back to the cottage Storm's words play on your mind, and you root through your clean laundry looking for an item of clothing that when you'd last wore it, Frank had been forced to distract Billy, so you could change out of it and stop him bothering you.

As you pulled it on, you remembered why. A black lycra jumpsuit that hugged you in all the right places. The way it lifted and ruched around your ass has caused Elektra to slap it hard as you'd passed by. Frank wasn't happy about that either.

Alphas like this your white wolf told you, as your omega started to roll around on the floor as you took in your appearance in the mirror. Even though you felt okay with how you looked, a reminder the scars on your back as you turned to appraise yourself led to you pulling on a soft slouchy cardigan.

As the clock grows nearer to seven, you begin to pace and Agatha's words from your dream move through your mind. Before they have chance to take a hold of you there's a warm pull through the witch wound. It's full of love, so much so that it brings tears to your eyes.

A flurry of scents suddenly wash up your nose. You turn and look at the clock on the wall.

6.50pm.

One scent stands out over them all.

Your alpha's.

NEXT PART

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TAGLIST

Before We Part || Summary: Steve admits he cheated on you with someone close to you.

A Broken Soldier (1/2) || Summary: After Steve breaks up with you, you find more comfort in his best friend Bucky Barnes one lonely night,

Caught Up || Summary: Steve knows someone’s after you.

CheaterCheaterBestFriendEater || Summary: After you’d gotten drunk with Tony one night when Steve was away on a mission, you never expected to be heartbroken in the morning.

Daddy's Pissed || Summary: Steve comes home from work happy until he receives a phone call from work. [Mafia AU]

Didn't Mean To || Summary: you accidentally hurt Steve. You freak out and wonder if you've killed him when he recovers and comforts you in the aftermath.

Divorce Papers || Summary: being the wife of a playboy millionaire boy toy wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.

Drinkin’ Problem || Summary: Steve gets as drunk as he’s able after the loss of you.

Empire Ashes || Summary: the pair of you watch as his empire burns to the ground, vowing to destroy the enemy. [Mafia au]

Flames in Love || Summary: Thanos knows exactly how to destroy you.

Go Little Rockstar || Summary: you were not having a good day. At All.

Grave Mistake || Summary: You tell Steve you’re in love with him…. It doesn’t go as you’d hoped.

Not a Love Song || Summary: Not all love stories have a happy ending.

Not Meant To See This || Summary: The team begins to worry when they notice you get more quiet.

Not My Baby Ever || Summary: You tell Steve you’re pregnant and what should have been a happy moment for the pair of you, well…

One Last Time || Summary: he promises one last mission. And it breaks you.

One Night Stand || Summary: you avoid Steve after having a one night stand with him.

Returning Kisses || Summary: After months of sleepless nights spent listening to Steve bring home strangers from bars and clubs, you’ve nearly given up hope of ever confessing your feelings for him. You’ve been his friend for years, secretly in love, but too afraid to speak. Living with him has only made the ache worse

Sleepover Troubles || Summary: Steve’s still having nightmares over the death of his daughter

Treasure in Friendship || Summary: pirates aren’t always about stealing and corruption. Right? [Teenage!Male!reader, pirate!Steve]

Unannounced || Summary: when steve learns that Tony and his gang of misfits is after you, he moves you into his home. [mafia au]

Unappreciated || Summary: Steve leaves you after a long tiring relationship had gone to the gutter.

The Weeping Star || Summary: You meet the famous Superstar, Steve Rogers. And found out some things you never expected. [Celebrity!Steve Rogers]