#marvelll

Bucky and Steve were an unusual pair of soulmates. They met when they were young children, which isn’t so uncommon, but it quickly became clear that the colors they could suddenly see when they first made contact with each other were wrong. Upon meeting one’s soulmate, one’s world turns from black and white to color, but for some reason, there were some colors that Bucky and Steve just couldn’t see. The whole first half of the visible light spectrum, from red through yellow, was invisible, making anything that contained those colors… off. It took them a little while to realize this, as they were so close to one another and their lives were so intertwined. But when Steve couldn’t see one of the main colors of his shield and uniform, one of the main colors on the flag he was meant to represent… that was weird. And Bucky couldn’t see the hue of the star emblazoned on his metal arm, or either of the colors of the Soviet flag under which he served as the Winter Soldier, which was honestly somewhat of a blessing. But nobody knew why until they joined the Avengers.

Everyone had been chatting and having a wonderful time at a party, when it suddenly became obvious to everyone that something about Steve’s vision was wrong. Bucky’s too. Neither of them could see the color of Thor’s cape, or Tony’s suits. They were definitely soulmates; when they had touched, color came into their lives. That is precisely what’s supposed to happen, but it didn’t happen quite right.

Bruce began to formulate a theory and asked Steve to stop by his lab later, when they were both sober. Bucky too if he wanted, but the former assassin was reticent. He rarely interacted with the others that weren’t Steve unless absolutely necessary.

So the next day, Steve went to Bruce’s lab, where he was orientating someone in deep maroon scrubs that to Steve appeared a dark gray. It happened to be you, Bruce’s new lab assistant.

Bruce explained his theory to Steve, that he couldn’t see the first half of the visible light spectrum because only some of his cones had been activated. What happened when people touched their soulmates for the first time was that the cones in their eyes became activated to perceive color, whereas before only the rods worked and could perceive shape, form, distance, etc. Bruce ran several vision tests, and his theory proved correct. What he still didn’t understand was why?

“It’s nothing to do with your eye. Everything about your eye function is normal.” Bruce was pacing the length of the lab, frustrated and intrigued by this challenge.

“If I may, Dr. Banner,” you spoke up. You had been dutifully filling out paperwork concerning your hiring in the corner the whole morning, and when you were done, you had sat and waited for instruction that never came. So you took this moment to interject. “Might my dissertation research help in this scenario?”

Bruce’s eyes widened in realization. “Yes! Yes, possibly. Please, draw some blood.”

You had written your masters dissertation on the existence of a string of genetic code that you called the soulmate gene. The gene coded to tell the eye when to activate the cones. The biology of soulmates fascinated you, especially since you hadn’t met yours yet. Your theories were groundbreaking, but you still hadn’t pinpointed what about contact with one’s soulmate managed to activate the gene. All your thesis did was transfer responsibility of the mystery from one part of the body to another; from the cones directly, as had been the prevailing theory, to the genetic sequence you discovered.

You could analyze DNA from any type of sample, but blood was the purest and least likely to break down under your equipment. So you began to pull out the materials to extract a few vials of Steve’s blood.

“I’m just fascinated by your case, Captain Rogers,” you said cheerfully as you slipped on your latex gloves. “Perhaps your situation will provide insight to my research.”

“Please, call me Steve,” he insisted warmly. “What’s your research on?”

You began to explain, partly as distraction for Steve from the pain of the needle and the extraction. As you told your story, he couldn’t help thinking that you were the most brilliant and well-spoken woman he had ever met. He found you absolutely beautiful too, with the voice of an angel. He blushed, admonishing himself for this line of thinking. He was gay, in a relationship with Bucky, and happily so.

When he and Bucky were kids, there was a pushback against gay soulmate couples. It was commonly accepted that those couples were all platonic soulmates, and all heterosexual soulmate pairs were romantic. This was simply not the case and never has been. There are platonic and romantic soulmate pairs of every combination, especially since gender isn’t binary. Steve and Bucky always danced around the sexual and romantic attraction as kids, publicly subscribing to the narrative that they were platonic soulmates and nothing more. But when they both found themselves in the 21st century in the United States, where gay marriage had very recently been legalized, they finally got to live the life they never dared to dream of as kids. One where they could touch each other and be together in every sense of the word.

Back in the day, it was easy for both Steve and Bucky to accept that they would each marry a woman and remain platonic soulmates forever. They were both attracted to women, after all. At least they thought they were. They were able to convince themselves that they weren’t attracted to men, and when they admitted their feelings to each other, they then convinced themselves the reverse— that they had only thought they were attracted to women due to compulsory heteronormativity and all that. But neither could help the nagging feeling that they really did find women quite… appealing.

“All done!” you chirped, and Steve was pulled out of his reverie. You placed the last vial in the holding rack, pulled the needle from Steve’s skin, wiped an alcohol swab over the injection site, and then covered it with an Iron Man band-aid. Steve couldn’t help but notice how gentle and pleasant your touch was, even through the latex gloves.

Behind you, Bruce was already setting to work putting the samples into the equipment and isolating the genetic sequence responsible for activating the cones. Bruce squinted at the screen. “How curious. You seem to have the sequence duplicated. One copy of the sequence has been activated, the other hasn’t.”

“Curious indeed…” you agreed, glancing over Bruce’s shoulder as you pulled your gloves off.

As Steve rolled down his sleeve and Bruce continued staring at the projection on the screen, you admonished yourself. “I’m sorry, Steve, I’ve been so rude! I’m Dr. Y/N Y/L/N. I know who you are, obviously.” You reached out your hand cordially, and he accepted it.

A trio of gasps echoed through the lab.

“Your scrubs!” Steve exclaimed. His eyes darted around the room. Everything was brighter, and nothing was in grayscale anymore. Except, of course, things that were actually black or white or gray.

“My scrubs!” you repeated his astonished exclamation in an equally astonished tone. “And your hair!” It seemed that while before, Steve and Bucky couldn’t see red, orange and yellow, you could now only see red, orange and yellow or variations thereupon. Most things, including Steve’s eyes, remained in shades of gray.

“The DNA!” Bruce shouted, pointing at the screen. You dashed over to see what he was looking at. “It changed! The second sequence got activated!”

Your face scrunched up in concentration that Steve found remarkably endearing. “Fascinating! The DNA was disconnected from the body and yet it still changed upon contact! What must that mean about its make-up?”

You and Bruce were focused on the screen, but Steve couldn’t tear his eyes away from you. He could finally see you in all your glory, in full technicolor, and that rendered you even more stunning than before in his view.

“So I have two soulmates?” Steve came up behind the pair of you scientists and placed his hand on your back. Even through your scrubs, a shiver ran down your spine at the contact and proximity.

“I guess so,” Bruce responded.

Steve looked down at you adoringly, then his brow furrowed as a thought came to him. “Can you see all the colors, Y/n?”

You shook your head. “Inverse to you, I think. I can only see the first half of the visible spectrum.”

Steve’s expression lit up as something clicked in his head. He grabbed your hand and pulled you towards the door, shouting, “Come on!”

You glanced back at Bruce apologetically, but he just chuckled and shrugged at you. “Guess you’re taking your lunch break a little early.”

Steve dragged you down the hall and up two flights of stairs. By the time you stopped in front of one of the doors on the residence floor, you were out of breath. “Steve, what’s going on?”

Instead of responding, he pounded furiously on the door and yelled, “Open up, punk!”

You heard lethargic groaning and the shuffling of slippers across hardwood. Bucky opened the door, clearly miffed at being disturbed in the middle of a nap and snapped, “What?” When he noticed you, he straightened up and tried to smooth down his hair a little, not quite sure why he should care about his appearance in front of this random, admittedly very pretty stranger, but absolutely, definitely caring.

You were too transfixed by the magnificent streaks of gold running down his left arm, the Wakandan prosthetic replacement for his original Hydra-issued limb. You reached out to trace the shimmering veins with your fingertips, absolutely hypnotized at the dazzling hue that was completely novel to you.

While Bucky would normally jerk away from physical contact with anyone but Steve, especially with his fake arm, he found himself leaning into your touch. While not his own skin and not containing any of his DNA, the arm was programmed with artificial nerve endings his brain couldn’t differentiate from real ones, and he shivered at your feather-light touches.

Steve was watching the interaction with pride blooming in his chest. How Bucky wasn’t shying away from you but was in fact relaxing in your presence, how the infectious curiosity he had already come to love in you was painting an expression on your face he could only describe as ethereal.

Bucky met the gaze of his best friend and lover with a million questions in his eyes. “Touch her,” Steve whispered, reaching for his partner’s right hand and placing it for him over your cheek.

You closed your eyes and hummed at the pleasant sensation that rippled through your being as his callused palm met your cheek. It was the same rush of euphoria through your veins as occurred when you shook Steve’s hand, only somehow even more… satisfying.

You heard a gasp above you, and Bucky’s deep voice murmuring, “Your hair…” His vibranium arm extracted itself from where your fingers were still grazing over his biceps and he ran his metal fingers through Steve’s golden locks.

You opened your eyes and gave a gasp yourself, reaching up to cradle Bucky’s stubbly cheek. “Your eyes…” They were a brilliant light blue dappled with the gray you were so used to painting your entire world. It had signified loneliness for so long, but rippling through the dazzling cerulean in Bucky’s irises, the gray took on a new meaning: completeness.

Bucky chuckled and leaned into your palm. “You think my eyes are pretty, try Stevie’s.” He spun you around, resting both hands on your hips. The cool of the metal on one side and the warmth of his skin on the other seeped through your thin scrubs deliciously.

Steve’s eyes were indeed glorious, equally to Bucky’s but no more so in your opinion. They were also bright blue, though slightly darker, and instead of streaks of gray, they were speckled with bits of green.

When you twisted your head to look back at Bucky, tears were spilling from his eyes but his smile was wide as he gazed in adoration at his boyfriend. “We found our missing piece,” he whispered.

Steve nodded, placing his hands over Bucky’s on your hips. “It’s us three now. Together.” Steve looked down at you with concern and worry tainting the beauty of his face. “If that’s what you want?”

Instead of answering, you reached up on your tippy toes to place a soft kiss on his lips, then turned to bestow the same honor upon Bucky. A blissful smile spread across each of their lips as you pulled away from them.

“I’m Y/n, by the way,” you directed at Bucky, giggling.

He blushed, realizing he was totally ready to get down on his knees and profess his undying love for you, but he hadn’t even considered asking your name.

“James. Bucky,” he responded.

You giggled again. “I know.”

Deciding to sleep with Bucky was easy. It just felt so right in that moment, with the way he was looking at you, and knowing he must have been saying sweet things about you to the hot chocolate man. Telling him was easy, too. You took an opening that presented itself. It was smooth and suave and a little bit sexy of you, if you do say so yourself.

The drive home was significantly less sexy and much more awkward. You were both nervous and excited by the prospect of finally seeing each other and touching each other, and all that nervous energy was compressed in the vehicle like air in a balloon— nowhere to go.

Bucky’s left leg was bouncing as he drove. You kept crossing and uncrossing your legs, acutely aware of your vag the whole time. Not aroused yet, just… aware. It was a weird feeling.

Bucky’s hand absent-mindedly made its way to your thigh and his thumb started rubbing back and forth, and you just stared at it. Then he stared at it until he had to tear his hand and his eyes away before you crashed.

All in all, not the most comfortable drive you’d taken together.

The walk into the building and wait for the elevator were equally uncomfy.

“Your room or mine?” Bucky finally asked as you both stepped into the lift.

“Ummm… yours I guess. If you don’t mind. Since I’ll be shut up in mine for so long,” you replied.

“Yeah, yeah, ‘course.” He hit the button for his floor, perhaps a little too hastily.

Bucky opened his door and ushered you inside. After closing the door, he stood behind you, twiddling his thumbs and not knowing what to do next. “So, um, welcome to my bedroom.”

You giggled at how awkward he was being, and how cute that was. “Yeah, Buck, I’ve been here before.”

“Right, right,” he mumbled.

You started to unzip the puffy coat you were wearing, all the layers entirely too much. At the sound of your zipper, Bucky practically pounced on you to help.

“Here let me…” He yanked the coat off your shoulders and draped it over a chair.

You had so many layers on that it took a while to get down to your long-sleeve turtle-neck and thermal leggings. Once finally there, Bucky knelt to help you peel your top off, peppering kisses to your stomach as he lifted the shirt higher until it was finally discarded onto the mountain of outerwear. He did the same as he pulled the leggings down, kissing your hip just above your panties and down the outside of your leg, little pecks that left goosebumps in their wake.

“This feels unfair,” you complained jokingly. You were down to your underwear and bra, while he still had on his flannel, shirt and jeans. Only his shoes had come off thus far.

Immediately he began to yank his flannel off, getting tangled in the sleeves in all his eagerness. You giggled at him, and it helped to alleviate some of the tension in the room. He pulled at the back of his shirt to whip it off, and you knew he was buff but hot damn. You reached out to run your fingers lightly over his middle, pressing into the thin layer of fat and skin and easily finding his defined abdominal muscles underneath. He closed his eyes and reveled in your touch, your fingertips causing tingles to erupt wherever you brushed them.

Still lovingly stroking his lower torso, you took a step in and pressed light kisses to his left pec and down his side, brushing your lips to his skin in feather-light touches just like he had done to you. Your lips traveled down then back up until they reached the junction where the flesh of his shoulder met his vibranium arm. The skin was puckered and angry, and it made your blood boil and your heart ache to think about how he got those scars. Bucky’s eyes flew open, and he misinterpreted your protective concern with discomfort, shoving his arm behind his back on instinct.

But you just looked up at him through your lashes, reached behind him to lace your fingers with his metal ones and drew his arm back to his side, all the while peppering delicate kisses to the marred skin of his shoulder.

When you began to draw your lips down onto the cool metal of his bicep, he cupped your cheek in his right hand and pulled your face up to meet his. You had to lean up on your tip-toes and hook the fingers of your free hand into his belt loop for balance.

This kiss was different than the ones you had shared at the ice rink. It was deeper, more passionate, but still infused with bounteous affection. He extracted his left hand from your grip to grasp the back of your neck and pull you closer to him, though there wasn’t much distance left to go. When you finally disconnected, severely breathless, Bucky took barely any break for air himself, latching his lips immediately onto the side of your neck.

Suddenly you were being lifted off the ground, and you yelped at the surprise. He placed you delicately down onto the bed and hovered over you a moment, just taking you in.

A smile spread across his face, and it triggered one to twitch your own lips wider. “What?” you asked with a giggle.

His grin grew broader. “I just can’t believe you’re so beautiful,” he replied. You couldn’t help but blush and turn your head to avoid his intense and loving gaze. He took advantage of the shift to trail more kisses on the exposed side of your neck, before murmuring into your collarbone, “And all mine.”

This caused you to stiffen beneath him, and the shift in mood was palpable. Bucky pulled away immediately. “What? What’s wrong?”

You looked him in the eye. “You know how I feel about being the possession of an alpha.”

Bucky rolled off of you and sat up against the headboard with a sigh. You followed. He took your hand and brought it into his lap, fiddling with your fingers absent-mindedly.

“We should talk about that. Because—especially in my rut—I’m going to call you ‘mine.’” You opened your mouth to object, but he looked up beseechingly and said, “Can I finish my whole thought and then you can respond?”

You closed your mouth and nodded.

“When I say you’re mine…” Bucky chewed his lip as he considered his next words carefully, but then they came spilling out of him like a faucet. “I’m yours too. Or at least, I want to be. And not just your alpha or your mate or your boyfriend or whatever. I want to be your… person. The person you go to for… protection, and comfort, and fun, and… because you’re excited to share something and just because you want company and…” He huffed out a breath, unsure how to continue. He could keep going down that path forever and never reach the end. He wanted to be your everything.

“You are,” you said softly. He looked at you hopefully. “You already are those things,” you repeated. “I just…”

Encouraged by your affirmations, Bucky turned to face you more, tucking one leg under himself to achieve the correct angle. “You have my heart, Y/n. You do. You have all of it.”

“I hope you saved some for Stevie,” you joked with a slight smirk, bumping his shoulder with yours.

He huffed out a short laugh. “It’s metaphorical, you goof,” he replied, his own smirk small but present before disappearing again to make way for his serious face. As he continued he spoke faster and faster, desperate to make his point before you shut him out. “And that’s just it, I guess. I don’t want to own you literally, which, if we mated, I would, legally, and I agree that’s stupid. And I’ll fight by your side the rest of our lives for you to not literally be my property. But I do want you to be… mine. My partner, my mate…my omega because you’re already all those other things. Those things I said. You’re my person, Y/n. And… I love you.”

You had tears in your eyes now, and the hand not being held firmly between Bucky’s was shaking at your side.

“I love you too,” you whispered.

The laugh he responded with was tearful and triumphant. He grabbed your other hand and brought them both to his lips before concluding, “Neither of us belongs to the other, no matter what we do. But we do belong together. We belong with each other.”

“It’s not about possession… it’s about belonging…” You spoke it aloud even as you realized it, in the selfsame moment.

“Exactly!” he exclaimed. He pulled you into his lap and gripped your face between his hands, stroking your cheekbones. “Exactly,” he repeated in a reverent whisper.

Bucky wasn’t Gollum, hiding you in a cave from the rest of the world and squealing, ‘My preciousssss.’ He was just a big softy, giving you a Valentine’s Day candy heart reading, ‘Be mine.’ It was as simple as that, and even though you let yourself get carried away in vehement rejection of all the societal bullshit sometimes, you wanted that too. That intimacy and that surety and that commitment.

You leaned in to kiss him on the lips, slowly and softly. “Make me yours then,” you whispered.

You felt his smile against your lips. He flipped you under him, making you squeal at the surprise shift.

“Gonna make you feel so good,” he murmured, kissing your jaw, your neck, your collarbone, down and down and down.

You arched up so he could unclip your bra and toss it somewhere behind him.

It was downright sinful the way he maintained perfect eye contact with his searing, crystalline blue eyes as he licked a delicate circle around your nipple. Only when he closed his lips around it did he finally let his eyes flutter shut and with a harsh suck let out a satisfied moan. He did the same with the other one, then began to move lower again. He knew he would lavish lots of attention on your breasts in the future, maybe even later tonight, but right now he was impatient to taste you.

Joy bloomed in his chest when he reminded himself that he had his entire life to play with your beautiful tits.

So down he went. He hooked his fingers into the waistband of your underwear and yanked it down your legs. You vaguely heard the sound of seam tearing in his haste, but you couldn’t possibly care less in that moment because Bucky was gawking at your pussy like it was the god damn Mona Lisa.

He glanced up at you and kissed the inside of your thigh. “You wanna know something?” he murmured, running his knuckles lightly and lazily along your lower lips. You could feel his warm breath on your core as you hummed a distracted affirmative. “As True Mates, we’re hyper sensitive to each other’s scent, right? But with my enhanced senses, I can also smell whenever you get…” He gave one teasing kitten lick to your clit through the fabric. “Excited to see me.”

“Really?” you breathed, not fully processing what he was saying, too lost in the way his right pointer finger was slowly circling your clit now.

“Mmhm,” he confirmed. “Nearly dropped a kettle bell on my foot this morning at how good you smelled.” He smirked up at you. “I could smell you ogling me work out, doll face.”

You blushed deeply and brought your hands up to cover your face. You had indeed been admiring him in the gym that morning, but who could blame you? After his run, he had shed his sweat-stained t-shirt and completed the rest of his exercise routine with all of his glorious muscles on display.

The stimulation of your clit ceased abruptly and you peeked through your hands to discover the cause, only to have them pulled away from your face entirely. Bucky was hovering over you again, frowning. “Don’t you ever hide from me, sweetheart.”

You bit your lip and nodded. You shouldn’t find it so attractive that he was giving you orders, but your body didn’t care about that kind of logic, and additional slick leaked out of you at his commanding tone of voice. True to his word, his nostrils flared at your surge of arousal and he couldn’t hold himself back anymore. He launched himself down, parting your thighs further for him to slot his face between, and dove into your core.

His first broad lick up your folds, with a tongue wide enough to encompass most of your cunt on its own, was such a foreign and pleasant sensation that you arched entirely off the bed with a gasp. He held you down by your hips and lapped again, moaning obscenely.

He pulled back just enough to murmur, “You taste so much better than you smell, darlin’,” before beginning to eat you out in earnest. His tongue flitted and fluttered over your clit with dizzying speed, and if it weren’t for his strong grip on your hips, you would be writhing around like someone possessed. He gave a strong, vacuum-like suck to your clit that made more wetness flow out of you, and he immediately probed his tongue deep into your entrance to taste your essence from the source. He moaned again, sending tantalizing vibrations through your core. His tongue was forceful and long as he fucked you with it.

He replaced his tongue with two thick fingers and brought his tongue back to your clit, randomly alternating his licks between soft and hard pressure, long strokes and little flicks, every once in a while wrapping his lips around and giving a suck. His fingers pumping in and out felt like heaven, and once he curved his fingers up and stroked your upper walls, you were done. You came apart with a scream.

After helping you through your high with loving strokes and gentle murmurs of how good you were for him, he crawled up your body, slotting himself between your legs.

As desperately as he wanted to be inside you, there was one more piece of business you needed to attend to first, as a couple. When he felt you were cognizant enough to answer, Bucky looked deep into your eyes and asked, “Do you want me to bite you now or when you’re on your heat, sweetheart?”

You were taken aback by the question. You hadn’t really thought about it. “Um…”

“It’s gotta be one, because if I don’t bite you now, I will bite you then. I won’t be able to stop myself,” he said.

You hesitated, and he brought your hand up to caress his own scent gland. “Remember what we said, sweetheart,” he whispered. “I’m yours as much as you are mine. I want you to bite me too.”

You smiled at that. It wasn’t uncommon for an omega to bite their alpha, but it wasn’t traditional either. It didn’t surprise you that Bucky was that modern, that committed to you, but it was nice to hear.

“If I bite you now,” he continued, “you’ll be cognizant of it. It’ll be our choice. But biologically, the bond would be stronger if it’s done on your heat.”

That was something you read somewhere, and it had troubled you. Bonds established when omegas and alphas are at their most vulnerable, their most animalistic, were somehow more potent than those made by people making rational decisions based on emotion and connection. The concept was concerning, but if you made the decision now, while you were aware and awake and sensible, then perhaps there was no harm in waiting for the opportunity to let the bond be as strong as it could possibly be.

So you smiled up at your alpha and murmured, “We can wait. I want to be as connected with you as possible.”

Lots of things had changed since the 1940s. Bucky would tend to say most things. The food had changed; it was better, less bland. Even the sheets had changed; they were softer. Why Steve would want to abandon all of the progress that had been made in society was beyond him. But he had no control over Steve’s actions; whatever made his best friend happy, he would support.

But the story has digressed. Lots of things had changed. But one thing he thought would remain constant was libraries. He used to love the library growing up. It was an excellent place to go to stay out of trouble, to stay out of his mother’s hair, to keep Steve out of trouble. Steve would sketch and he would read and since no one was allowed to talk, Steve couldn’t pick a fight with anyone. That’s always a plus. Here we go again with Steve. Bucky is constantly distracted by thoughts of Steve. Everything seems to remind him of him. And if it doesn’t remind him of something specific, then it’s something new, and he would get this urge to share with his best friend. And then his heart would break just a little more.

Libraries. He was thinking about libraries. Surely they must still be the same? Books haven’t changed all that much. Some are on tablet thingies now, but people still read physical books; he’s seen it. And they have to be housed somewhere and that’s what a library is for right? So he should expect something fairly similar to what he was used to growing up.

He should not have expected that, because what greets him as he walks through the doors is so totally different. There are stacks and stacks of books, but not nearly as many as he was expecting. There’s a whole bunch of computers. Damn, he was really hoping this could be his safe-haven away from those devil’s machines. And there are other big machines too.

He spins on his heels to just go right back out, but then he finally experiences something familiar. He hears a cheery voice singing out, “Can I help you with something?”

A grin actually spreads across his face subconsciously as he turns to face you. When he does, your eyes grow wide. “Oh my gosh, you’re Sergeant Barnes. An actual Avenger is in my library.”

Bucky lets out a dry chuckle, but he doesn’t know how to respond. So he asks, “Your library?” He cringes at how stupid the question is.

But your face lights up with pride and any regret that he had for asking that question instantly melts away. Beaming, you reply, “I was just promoted to Branch Librarian, so yes: my library. But I’m more than happy to share.” You wink.

“Well as the Branch Librarian I’m sure you have the expertise to answer this question: why have libraries changed so much since the 40s?”

Your face lights up again, and though the last two times have not been intentional, Bucky decides that if he gets the chance, he wants to get that expression out of you as often as possible.

“Oh, I’m not sure you want to get me started, Sergeant Barnes. That’s what I wrote my thesis on—progress vs stasis in libraries.”

“I’m very certain I do want to get you started. And please, call me Bucky.” He glances around nervously. “You haven’t shushed me yet…”

You let out of a soft giggle. “That’s a stereotype, Bucky.” You draw his name out, testing it. It feels nice in your mouth. “We’re in the foyer at the moment, there’s no need to keep our voices down. There are quiet and silent spaces in other parts of the library, but we’re safe to carry on a normal conversation here. As long as we don’t raise our voices at each other. Besides, shushing noises carry louder and farther than whispering or lowered voices, so they’re not the best way of keeping a library quiet anyway.”

“A librarian who is anti-shushing. Out of all the new things I’ve experienced, that is not something I expected to see.”

“Welcome to the twenty-first century, Serg-I mean, Bucky.” You smiled.

You gave him a tour around your library. Your enthusiasm about every little detail was infectious.

“A local artist painted this mural,” you explained excitedly when you entered the children’s section. One wall was painted with colorful famous storybook characters playing hide and seek in a set of bookcases. Bucky was pleased to see characters from his day as well: there was Winnie the Pooh and Dorothy from The Wizard of Oz. He couldn’t help but smile being surrounded by tiny chairs and tiny books and lots of color and toys and games. Some kids were playing on the computers that were on tiny desks with little child-sized bean bag chairs, but plenty were actually reading or coloring or engaging in activities he would have at their age. It was a sweet scene, and you beaming with pride over the whole thing made it that much sweeter.

Bucky made it a habit after that to visit you at your library. He read old favorites in a comfy couch in the corner from which he could see your circulation desk, where you chatted amiably with customers and visitors. On Sundays, he came to the book sales and tried something new. That was his challenge to himself. They weren’t totally new, up-to-the-minute or anything, but they were newer than 1945, and that was adventure enough for him. When he finished any book, he would chat with you about them. Whether you had read that particular book or not (though you usually had), your face always lit up brightly to discuss your favorite topic, with someone who was rapidly becoming your favorite visitor.

There would always be a Steve-shaped hole in his heart, but it got smaller and smaller as time went on. He didn’t have the space to dwell on things he couldn’t change, a person he would never understand. His heart was too full of other things. Other people. People like you.

Before you could make it out the door to go to the ice rink, Bucky fussed and fretted over you. He insisted you dress up in as many layers as possible, even though the rink was indoors and it was not that cold outside anyway. You changed into a long sleeve turtleneck (who even knew you owned a long sleeve turtleneck?), one of your sweatshirts, one of Bucky’s sweatshirts, a fleece, and a winter coat. On the bottom were tights, thermal leggings, then jeans, plus two pairs of fuzzy socks such that you were going to have to rent skates at least two sizes up from your actual shoe size, and you were wearing Pepper’s shoes just to get out of the house. Your hands were clad in gloves and then mittens. Ear muffs and then a hat were atop your head. And you were wrapped in one of Bucky’s scarves.

His sweatshirt and scarf were partly so that his scent might overwhelm your particularly potent pre-heat one a little bit, which seemed to be getting stronger by the minute. You could even smell it on yourself now.

As he tied the scarf around your neck, you informed him, “You know, you could just scent me.”

He froze. He hadn’t thought to ask if he could scent you, since you’d turned him down on numerous occasions in the past.

“Is that-would you be ok with that?” he asked, nervously fiddling with your scarf more than necessary.

You shrugged, and if anyone asked, your cheeks were getting red because you were overheating under all those layers. “Yeah, that’s fine with me.”

Bucky cleared his throat and with shaking hands unwrapped your scarf again. He pressed his body to yours, though he couldn’t get too close considering all the puffy layers. Even though you were bundled up like a marshmallow and actually starting to overheat, when he kissed your scent gland with just a bit of tongue, you felt chills go down your spine. Hastily, Bucky re-tied the scarf around your neck and took a step back before you could notice how fast his heart was racing.

“Do you want to be scented?” you asked, fiddling with your mittens.

“Sure,” he replied, a little breathlessly.

You leaned up on your tip-toes to reciprocate, and when you were done you quickly scurried out the door towards the car.

The ice rink was charming and thankfully not too crowded. You and Bucky were hand-in-hand as you glided in circles around the rink, and though you were separated by several layers, your hand tingled being held by his. When you tripped, Bucky’s strong arms caught you before you collided with the ice, and you could swear your heart stopped. You had a good-natured race around the track, laughing and zipping around, much to the dismay of some little old ladies who were just trudging along. Their curmudgeonly attitude of course only made you laugh harder. You knew Bucky had allowed you to win the friendly competition, but you gloated dramatically nonetheless.

About an hour in, Bucky could tell you were getting a little tired, and suggested you take a break. He helped guide you by the arm down onto a bench just off the ice.

“How about some cocoa to warm us up, hm?” Bucky suggested.

You were actually rather heated already from the activity, the layers, and the warmth radiating from Bucky’s eyes, but you nodded anyway. He smiled, squeezed your hand one last time, and began to retreat to the snack stand a few dozen feet behind the bench.

The second he was gone, the wolves descended.

A gaggle of alphas who couldn’t have been older than nineteen or twenty skidded to a stop just in front of your bench. You rolled your eyes.

“Hey sweet cheeks,” one jeered. “You smell divine. Here to pick up some help for your upcoming heat?”

“This’d be a really weird place to do that,” you answered. “If I were on a hunt like that, I might try a bar, where I’d be more likely to pick up an age appropriate option.”

Your snark didn’t deter them. The boys stepped off of the ice and started getting closer. You were a bit nervous, but you didn’t want to show it. Honestly, you were more nervous for their sake than your own, considering what Bucky might do to them if he found some punk kids hitting on his omega. It would probably cause a concussion to be tossed onto an ice rink.

“Thanks for the offer, boys, but I’ve already got an alpha. He’s the one with the metal arm waiting in the queue for cocoa.” You pointed behind you where Bucky was waiting on line at the snack stand. You knew he could hear every word with his enhanced hearing. “You know, the Avenger.”

You saw the boys’ eyes widen in recognition each in their turn, before one eventually cleared his throat and stepped back onto the ice. The others followed wordlessly. When they were all gone, you could finally take a deep, steadying breath. You glanced back at Bucky to find he had turned to face you. He tossed you a wink your way before turning his attention back to the snack bar. You smiled to yourself, relaxing back into the bench.

Over in the queue, Bucky turned away from you and allowed his face to break into an idiotic smile. You seemed to elicit that reaction in him a lot. This time, he was blown away by the fact that you referred to him as your alpha. It made his heart swell with pride, and hope, and pure, radiating happiness.

When he got to the front of the line, a cheery old man greeted him warmly, “Hi! Welcome to Cocoa Carl’s Hot Cocoa Stand. I’m Carl. We’ve just run out so it’ll be a few minutes while the new batch heats up. Sorry for the inconvenience.”

“No problem at all.” Bucky was in too good a mood to be impatient.  He simply leaned against the counter and hummed to himself good-naturedly.

“Might as well ring you up while we wait,” Carl said. “What’ll ya have?”

“Two hot chocolates, please,” Bucky replied, fishing his wallet out of his jeans pocket.

“On a date?” Carl asked as he set out the to-go cups.

“Yeah,” Bucky replied dreamily.

“This is a nice place for a date,” Carl commented. “Whipped cream?”

“On one of ‘em, please.” Bucky smiled again pulling the cash out. “My ‘mega’s got a sweet tooth.”

“I can see why they’d like you then.” Carl leaned down to a little mini fridge under the counter to retrieve a can of whipped topping. “You’ve got a sweet scent. Strong too.”

Bucky ran a hand down the back of his neck. “Yeah… pre-rut…”

Carl chuckled. “Been there.” He checked on the heating milk, and since it wasn’t hot enough yet, he wiped his hands on the towel tucked into his belt and turned back to his customer. “Tell me about your omega.”

“Oh geez,” Bucky’s grin was back and wider than ever. “She’s the best. Strong and thoughtful and smart and funny. She has this way of making you feel like you’re the only person in the world, you know? Caring as all heck. She’d cure the world of all its ills if she could. And so, so beautiful. I mean her eyes, wow. I could look into them all day.” Bucky sighed.

“She’s a lucky girl to have an alpha who cares for her so much, and brags about her so readily. And who brings her on such a nice date, and gets her a nice hot cup of cocoa.” The machine was finally ready, and Carl began dispensing the steamy beverage.

“Oh no,” Bucky insisted. “I’m the lucky one. Really. I don’t deserve her. I’d—I’d do anything for her.”

Carl was smiling a toothy, gummy grin as he handed the cups over. “You sound really in love,” he mused, winking at Bucky before turning his attention to the next customer in line.

Walking back to you with cocoa in hand, Bucky thought about what Cocoa Carl said. Was he in love with you? He supposed he should be, since you were his True Mate. But had it really happened that fast? The two of you hadn’t even kissed yet.

You accepted the cocoa with a grateful smile and an excited squeal and leaned up to peck him on the cheek. Just the brief contact of your lips on his stubble set his heart racing and he decided that yeah, Cocoa Carl was absolutely right.

After sipping your cocoa, you and Bucky did a few more circuits of the rink before deciding to head home. You returned your rented ice skates and passed by the snack stand on your way back to the car, arm in arm. The owner waved at you, and you both waved back with your free hands.

“You hold onto him,” Carl called out to you and you stopped walking to listen. “He’s one of the good ones. And he’s real sweet on ya.”

You giggled and Bucky’s cheeks tinged pink. “I will,” you assured the kind old man. “He’s one of the best ones, for sure. And it just so happens I’m sweet on him too.”

You looked up at Bucky adoringly and he couldn’t help the urge to lean down and kiss you on the lips. It was short and chaste but for one beautiful moment, time seemed to stand still.

When you pulled away, Bucky’s striking blue-gray eyes were gazing down at you with such adoration and softness you could have melted.

You smiled and murmured, “Take me home, Alpha.” Then you leaned up and whispered directly in his ear, “Take me to bed.”

A shiver ran down his spine at your words, and he looked at you with wide eyes. “You mean it, doll?”

You nodded, a glint in your eye. “Yeah, Buck, I mean it. Whether or not the universe meant for us to be together, I want to be with you. And I didn’t want to agree just to make you comfortable with helping me through my heat. I needed to want you before and during and after, and I do. I really do.”

You knew of alphas and omegas who were forced into arranged marriages due to their high status in prominent packs. But you never thought it would happen to you. You weren’t important enough; your father’s pack was too small and inconsequential. And yet, here you were, waiting outside your father’s office, ear pressed to the door, trying to hear the negotiations supposed to be happening inside.

Your father had been approached by none other than Steve Rogers, one of the most prominent alphas in the country—nay, the world. You heard months ago that he had approached a very important allied pack with an eye on the alpha’s daughter there, but within a week, that had fallen through and he had entered negotiations with another pack’s alpha’s niece. A week after that, rumor said he was all but set to take your second cousin’s best friend from a wealthy Chicago pack. If he was hitting the pavement at that rate, you figured he for sure would have found a mate by now.

At first you thought he was just being overly picky. That he would find one tiny flaw in an omega and throw her to the curb. But according to your second cousin, it wasn’t his pickiness but his romanticism that was getting in the way of striking an advantageous match. The first pack he went to, they’d gotten almost all the way. A ‘bargain’ had even been arranged (the word modern-day alphas preferred over ‘dowry’ or ‘bride-price,’ as if it somehow made the concept less offensive), but when Steve met the omega, he decided there was no spark. He almost married her anyway, but then his third-in-command, Sam Wilson, had found his True Mate in the pack that Steve’s fiance was from. That must have reinvigorated Steve’s belief in love, because he immediately dropped the match and had been on the hunt ever since.

Though if that were really the case, you were a little surprised you weren’t allowed in the negotiation room. If he was so keen on finding his True Mate, you’d think meeting the omega would be at the top of his priority list. And yet you had been told to wait in your room while the alphas convened.

You weren’t used to being ordered around that way, and you weren’t a stereotypically submissive, obedient omega. Maybe it was because your pack wasn’t important or your family wealthy enough, but you weren’t groomed for this type of thing, and you couldn’t stand the exclusivity of it. Not being allowed to know the details of your own potential engagement was infuriating.

You couldn’t hear anything through the thick oak door, and you almost growled from frustration. You held back though, not wanting to alert the alphas in the office to your presence. Clearly you needed to think of another tactic if you were going to make yourself privy to what was going on in that meeting.

Then an idea hit you. You sprinted back up into your room and carefully stripped yourself of your clothing—the fancy, professional outfit your mother had chosen for you just for the occasion. Then you carefully crept out your window and onto the roof, before shimmying down a drain pipe and landing nearly silently on the pristine lawn below. You were stark naked, but you were shielded by tall hedges and the curved shape of the house.

A moment later, you were no longer in human form. As a wolf, you trotted out of the courtyard and around back, to the window of your father’s office. With the utmost stealth, you attempted to get as close as you could to the window, straining your sensitive canine ears to try and pick up the conversation inside.

You were trying to focus all your energy on your hearing, but you couldn’t help that your nose picked up an extremely delicious aroma. It was an alpha’s scent, and it wasn’t your father’s, so it had to be Steve’s. Oaky and musky and extremely pleasant— you could get used to that scent.

You completely missed that a sleek white wolf had sidled its way over to you until its nose was practically in your fur and it growled low in its chest. You jumped nearly six feet in the air from surprise, and yelped embarrassingly loud.

Your yelping alerted the alphas inside the office, and your father threw open the window. But all he saw was your retreating figure as you scampered away, both mortified and terrified.

You went back to your room with every intention of staying there, as instructed, until you were retrieved. After barely a few minutes, though, your mother came and fetched you, though it wasn’t at the behest of the negotiating alphas. With a conspiratorial smirk, she led you wordlessly to the bathroom attached to the master bedroom she and your father shared. She had discovered that if you leaned your ear to the vent, you could hear the conversation in the office crystal clear.

You almost didn’t join her, ears still burning with shame from your earlier failed attempts at snooping, when you were obviously caught by Steve’s guard wolf. You hadn’t even smelled him coming. Which wasn’t that surprising, actually, considering that Steve’s alpha scent was overwhelming you and betas barely smelled like anything naturally.

You shook your head to clear it and leaned your ear against the vent, mimicking your mother. There was nothing but silence, permeated only by your father’s characteristic bored pen tapping. Then you heard an old-fashioned flip phone phone click shut. When a voice spoke up again, clearly Steve Rogers’ authoritative alpha bass, you were shocked by what he said.

“I am no longer interested in becoming engaged to your daughter.”

Your father spluttered indignantly, and you and your mother just stared at each other with confused expressions.

“Excuse me!” your father finally managed to say. “We just spent the entire afternoon in discussion, and you’re saying you won’t even meet her??”

You couldn’t see him, but from his even tone, you could only imagine that Steve’s face was cool as a cucumber. “My second-in-command had a run-in with her outside,” he explained. “It seems your daughter was trying to snoop on our negotiations.”

You bit your lip and closed your eyes, trying to swallow down your shame. Your own insatiable curiosity would be the reason you wouldn’t get to smell that delicious scent you had picked up for the rest of your life.

“The first thing I said when you came in here was that my daughter was not some sniveling, submissive omega who could stand this type of secrecy for long!” Your father was nearly shouting, and you felt your heart swell as his protectiveness. “And you accepted that!”

“You misunderstand me,” Steve said, still perfectly calm. “I did not lose interest because of her actions. My second-in-command has expressed interest due to her scent. I am backing off.”

Your father spluttered again, and you covered your mouth to suppress a gasp.

When your father regained his power of speech, you could tell he was shocked and just trying to power through it. “My daughter is the only child of a pack alpha! She is an omega, and there is no way that I am giving her away to some beta!”

You heard Steve chuckle. “I believe I said second-in-command, sir,” Steve clarified. “Bucky Barnes is no beta.”

You were so confused. If his second was also an alpha (a rare occurrence, and a sign that their pack was immensely powerful, which explained a lot about their prominent status), then whose scent did you pick up in the garden? You only smelled one alpha other than your father. Come to think of it, you couldn’t even remember smelling your father, which was odd, because you could usually pick his scent out of a crowd. If you were smelling Bucky and only Bucky when there were two other powerful alphas nearby, that could only mean one thing.