I Know For A Fact That When I’m Gonna Finish All Of The Fics That You Wrote I’m Gonna Cry !

Fucking hell this is so good !!! Imma die it’s so fucking good

Hello to my favorite writer!!!

I saw that you had time so how about some mafia bucky with like a badass reader and like people are more afraid of her than bucky

And maybe like instead of reader being in danger and bucky coming to protect you can make that bucky is in danger and the reader saves him 🙃

Love you !! 

Ok I love you so much right now, you are seriously fuelling my Mafia!Bucky addiction! I hope you enjoy this as much as I did!

Lioness || Mafia!Bucky

Warnings: 18+ only, nsfw, blood, violence, murder, smut. (in that order too lmao) this badass reader got real violent in the middle there oops someone woke up and chose violence today WC: 3116

Two men stood arguing in the shadows, watching the man tied to the chair hang limp and unconscious. The Don turned to his Capo and grabbed the lapels of his shirt as he saw the ‘gift’ he had been brought. “What the fuck is this?”

“What you asked for?”

Throwing the smaller man aside, the boss strode out of the dark and slapped the man until he woke. Grabbing his hair, he tipped his head back and turned it to the capo so he could see the crystal blue eyes. “I asked you for the head of his mob, you brought me the Dona's bitch.”

“You fucked up.” Bucky laughed despite his split lip that reopened with his smile. “My girl’s going to take pleasure draining the life out of every single one of you cocksuckers.”

Bucky’s head rocked sideways at the backhand he received and the rival Don’s jewel encrusted rings sliced his cheek. A pained groan escaped his bloody lips but that was the only satisfaction he gave them at his suffering as his fingers pressed the crown of his watch, the movement hidden having by his hands tied behind his back. It was only a matter of time until you arrived.

“We need to move out.” The Don ordered his men. “Call everyone, tell them to get to the casa sicura.”

“It's one woman.” The Capo frowned as he watched his boss’s face pale. “What threat could she possibly be?”

“You obviously don’t know how a lion's pride works, do you? You look at a lion and think he is fierce but the truth is without his lioness he would starve. The lioness hunts, the lioness protects. He is merely there to fuck and please her.”

“Give me some good news.” You snapped as you shrugged your jacket from your shoulders and tossed it over the back of your office chair.

“The tracker in his watch has just come online but it's deep in Little Italy.” Steve, your 2nd in command, updated you as he typed on his laptop.

You dropped into your chair and mindlessly twirled your butterfly knife as you wondered what the Don was up to. He had never been brave enough to outright start a war with you, there had to be something else going on. It didn’t matter, there was nothing to ponder, Bucky had been taken and you would stop at nothing to get him back. Slipping the knife back into your pocket, you opened the cupboards that lined your office and saw the arsenal of weapons waiting for you.

“You’re not seriously just going to go in there are you?” Steve gawked as you pulled on a custom bulletproof vest that doubled as a holster that could fit four handguns plus magazines.

“You’re not seriously just going to let them kill your bestfriend and your boss are you?” You shot back without looking as you checked the magazines were full before shoving them into place and grabbing a rappelling rope.

“Of course not, but you’re indispensable unlike the rest of us.”

Steve joined you and began to arm himself while you monitored your husband's movements, the red blip making its way through Brooklyn. “They’re on the move. Time to go.”

“Woah, we should wait for reinforcements-”

You cut Steve off with a glare and he gulped his suggestion down before following you out of your office and down to the garage. You looked over the array of keys and chose the Rolls-Royce Cullinan since it was the fastest of the armour plated vehicles you had collected. You didn’t bother looking back to make sure Steve was still with you, he either kept up or got left behind, it made no difference to you.

“I can’t believe you have a fucking shield.” You rolled your eyes as he slipped into the passenger seat and dropped it at his feet.

“Better than getting shot.”

The roar of the engine as you hit the accelerator drowned out the degrading insult you muttered and you flew out into the traffic with little regard for anyone else on the street. Red lights, stop signs, angry horns. They all went unnoticed as you raced across the city, weaving in and out of cars so you could get to Bucky as fast as possible. You couldn’t imagine your Italian rivals being gentle on him and the thought of anyone hurting Bucky sent fire igniting in your veins.

Your knuckles gripped the wheel tighter and Steve watched as your jaw clenched. “He’s gonna be fine. I know he’s soft for you but that jerk is still a tough son of a bitch.”

“If they have hurt him, I swear to god the streets will run red with their blood.” You said as you took the break in traffic to look at Steve. “It will be fucking biblical.”

The car fell silent as Steve avoided looking your way. You knew he couldn’t understand your bloodlust, very few people could. It was a man's world and the men only seemed to understand strength through violence. To be a part of their world you had to be more violent, more deadly, so they would see you as an equal. It turned out you did more than just become an equal, your reputation became the whispers of nightmares and rivals began to fear you more than Bucky.

Bucky was the only one who accepted you and loved you for who you were. He never once tried to rein you in like the others or grew jealous of the power your name held, he thrived on it. It was why you would do anything to keep him safe, even if it meant being hopelessly outnumbered in enemy territory. He would do the same for you.

“Park down that alley on the right and we will have to go the rest of the way on foot.” Steve said as Bucky dot stayed stationary inside the industrial building.

You parked in the shadows and shut the engine off, turning to Steve before he could climb out. “I need you to stay here.”

“No way, he’s my best friend!”

“And he’s my husband!” You hissed. “I need you to have the car ready for a quick get away. Don’t make me pull rank here, Rogers.”

He didn’t look happy but he didn’t argue which was the best you could hope for as you tossed him the key and opened the door. “Give me five minutes then move round the block to the front. Unless they have RPGs you should be safe with whatever they fire at you.”

“Should be?” He muttered. “That’s reassuring.”

Your lips tipped up into a smirk at his sarcasm and you stepped out of the, turning back and hitting him with your own. “Guess you could always hide under your shield.”

You quietly closed the door and disappeared up the rusted fire escape, making your way over the rooftops instead of the busier streets below. Spotting an armed guard up ahead, you hid behind a water tower and drew your knife from your pocket. You would have plenty of time to use your guns but for now you didn’t want to announce your arrival.

The steps of the guard grew closer and you heard him humming a tune as he approached, your men would never be so stupid as to do that because it made it too simple to pinpoint when they would be in reaching distance. Your hand flew out, swiping the blade across his throat before he could even react and you grabbed his shirt to pull him away from the view of anyone else, his quiet gurgles stifling the song he had sung.

You froze as you heard another man calling out, assuming he was looking for his deceased amico. You waited ready as before, back pressed to the water tower and knife waiting for its next victim. This time your target was alert for something amiss and his steps were quieter, the sounds eaten by the noise of the city below. You spotted his gun first, peeking around the corner and you blocked the turning body with your forearm before slicing his wrist, the gun clattering to the rooftop as his tendons were rendered useless.

His scream erupted faster than your hand could bury the blade in his throat and you knew your stealth positioning was ruined. Grabbing the rope from where it hung over your back, you tied it around the two men and hooked it into the special clip on your vest. There was no time to second guess your plan as you heard the echoing sound of more than one pair of boots on the metal stairwell of the fire escape. Running across the roof, you ducked as gunshots sounded and leapt over the edge.

The rope burnt your palms as it ran through your fists and you hoped the bodies above stayed where they were before you clenched your grip and came to a jarring stop, your arc stopping before gravity pulled you back towards the building. The stunned face of the Don standing in front of the wide glass pane was almost comical but there was no time to laugh before your feet crashed through. Shards of glass tore at your clothes but you rolled to a stop relatively unscathed and drew two guns as you rose to your feet.

“Kill her!” The Don screamed as he rose from where he had fallen and shuffled his way to the stairs. “Kill the fucking bitch!”

You couldn’t believe this man dared give his soldiers orders but didn’t stay to see them through, he was not worthy of being their leader. Thankfully there weren't many of the soldiers in the room with you, most of his men must have been sent up to the roof and hadn’t made their way back down yet. Three well aimed shots dealt with them but one had managed to hit you before they died leaving your breath winded from where the bullet struck you in the vest.

Chasing after the Don you took the stairs two at a time, putting down everyone that got in your way, and you looked at your watch - 4 minutes and 38 seconds had passed. Finally, you reached the ground floor of the old warehouse and found the Don standing near the exit. Roofing iron lined the walls of the large commercial space and in the centre was your husband, slumped in a chair with slow streams of blood running down his handsome face. Your hand stilled as you looked at the weapon aimed at his head and the smirk on the Don’s face.

“Not so brave now are you, leonessa.” He spat. “Let me go, call this blood feud off and you can have him.”

You could hear the men from the rooftop coming down the last flight of stairs and knew you would be trapped on both sides any moment, you were running out of options and Bucky was starting to stir awake. If you could just see his eyes one more time before you died you would be happy. Suddenly the throaty rev of an engine pulled your attention away from the soldiers about to descend on you and towards the wall that was crumpling under the front of your Rolls-Royce, right beside the Don.

You dropped to your knees as you saw Steve’s window had the barrel of an AK-47 hanging out of it and he opened fire at the capos and soldiers, parking himself between them and Bucky. Your ears were ringing from loud gunshots but you couldn’t cover them as you needed your arms to crawl across the concrete and towards the Don who was pulling himself from the mess Steve’s entrance had made.

“Where do you think you are going?” You hissed as you grabbed his ankle and twisted the already broken limb, revelling in his scream. “This is what you wanted.”

“Please, it was a mistake.” He begged.

“You bet your ass it was a mistake.” You chuckled as your fingers curled around your knife. “One you are going to pay for with your life.”

You were bored of his tears and pleas, your ears already hurting and a headache forming. He was lucky, any other time you might have taken him with you and elongated his torture to appease the anxiety and stress he put you through but you just wanted to get Bucky out of there. You didn’t even take the time to watch his blood pool across the concrete or the colour drain from his face, you were already on your feet and wiping the blood off your knife before pocketing it and limping around your car to Bucky.

“There’s my girl.” Bucky sighed with a smile that cracked the blood that had dried on his cheeks. “Knew you would come for me.”

“Always.” You kissed his cheek gently as you reached behind him and sliced through the ropes that bound him, checking over the burn marks they left behind before helping him from the chair. Steve was already opening the door for you as you supported Bucky and got him settled on the backseat, turning your attention to your 2IC. “That wasn’t the plan.”

“I had to improvise.” He shrugged. “You were right about the armour though.”

“I’m right about most things. Now, get us home and have Dr Banner meet us there.”

You joined Bucky in the back seat and he took your hand as soon as you were in his reach, the familiar calluses settling the adrenaline that had been flooding your system since you heard he had been ambushed. Now that you weren’t high on hormones you were starting to feel the aches and pains of the many small injuries that littered your body.

“You’re bleeding.” Bucky said softly as he pulled the collar of your shirt away to see one of the cuts from breaking through the window.

“So are you.” You reminded as you leant into his touch.

“They barely touched me, doll.” He chuckled. “They were too scared of you to do any real damage.”

His fingers opened the buckles on your vest and pulled the thick layer away, not missing the wince as you moved so he could pull it off completely. Lifting your shirt up he saw the bruise that was already blooming across your ribcage and shook his head, softly placing your shirt back down before Steve looked back in the rearview. He felt terrible that you got hurt for him but knew that it went both ways and if the roles were reversed he would have done the exact same thing, just maybe not with the finesse you had.

“What am I going to do with you, babygirl?” He asked quietly as he kissed his way along your jawline.

“I can think of a few things.” You sighed as his shadow of a beard tickled your skin and your need for him spread faster than the goosebumps over your body.

Your fingers reached out for the control panel on the centre console and the blacked out glass began to rise, creating a barrier between Steve in the front and the back with you and Bucky. You could feel Bucky's smirk against your throat as his hand rose up your thighs in time with the window. Some jazz music began to play and you rolled your eyes at the poor taste both Steve and Bucky shared but you were grateful to have the sound overpower your moans as Bucky’s hands massaged your thighs.

“You get me so fucking hard when you I see you play with that knife.” Bucky teased you with his words and his fingers that were slowly opening your pants. “Seeing the fire in your eyes.”

“Yeah, like this baby?” You pulled the blade from your pocket, catching it with a twirl before running it down his shirt on the blunt side. “Should I just cut your clothes off so there’s nothing stopping me from having you this instant?”

His chest shuddered as a moan expelled on his breath and you watched his tented pants twitch as he enjoyed your teasing. Taking his belt you slipped the knife under the leather and sliced through it before dropping it to the car floor and pulling his pants down his legs. There was no patience left in you, you had to feel him. It was almost more reassuring than just seeing him alive, you wanted to feel his body under yours, his thick cock filling your pussy.

You kicked your own pants off and his hands guided you over his lap, his fingers teasing your entrance and feeling your folds already slick with arousal. He seemed to have as much patience as you did as he pulled you down to spear you with his blunt head, your heads tipping forward as you moaned together. You were careful of the cuts on his face, lacing your fingers in his hair instead and you gently kissed the corner of his lip that was split.

“You take more security now on.” You ordered as you rolled your hips over him.

“Mhmm, anything you want.” He agreed, knowing that you would stop if he tried to argue.

“I’m serious, Bucky. I can’t live in a world without you in it.”

His hands cupped your cheeks and he leant back so he could look you in the eyes, his blue irises blown with lust but still clear as the summer sky. “You won’t have to. Wherever we go, it's together. Hear me?”

You nodded and wrapped your arms around his neck, needing to feel every inch of him, needing to have as much of his touch as you could possibly get in the confined space. If your kiss hurt he didn’t show it but you could taste the metallic tang of blood on his lips as your tongue danced with his.

“I love you.”

You panted as your head tipped back, the assault of his tongue on your collarbone sending you head spinning before his thumb slipped between your thighs and added to the ecstasy. Everything felt warm, like the comfort of coming home to a roaring fire on a cold winter’s night and you felt the warmth of his breath on your skin as he replied, tipping you over the edge and into bliss.

“I love you too, doll.”

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This is absolutely perfect !! I need a part 2 god

Moon Struck

Summary: Steven asks you out, Marc falls in love.

"“Cheers,” Steven chirps quietly, ignoring Marc. He knows he has a goofy smile on his face, he knows that he’s just staring at you.

But you’re smiling back and Marc is strangely quiet now, a glow of happiness lingers there. Steven has a suspicion that he’s happy too, basking in the fact that you said yes."

Pairing: Steven Grant x Reader, Marc Spector x Reader

Word Count: ~8.3k

Warnings: mostly fluff, canon-typical violence, threats of violence, angst mostly from Marc because he's just like that

A/N: My first moon knight fic! Please, please, please let me know what you think!

“Steven!”

Steven ignores the shout of his headmate as he hurries through the museum. 

He’s late, and he so hated making you wait for him. He had promised you long ago a personal tour of the museum. One you had insisted for months he eventually give you, when he had time. 

His heels drag, Marc putting on the brakes as he fronts for just a moment. 

Steven nearly drops the travel cup of tea he’s carrying, briefly tripping over his own feet and drawing the attention of several nearby people listening to a museum tour guide. 

“Sorry!” He gives an awkward wave before continuing on. 

“Would you stop that, Marc!” He glances at his reflection in the display case he’s passing. “You’re making us late.”

“I’m making you late. I didn’t agree to this.” Marc’s shoulders are tense, the line of his brows drawn together. 

Steven wonders if he’s wearing the same expression and briefly passes a hand over his face. He doesn’t want to be scowling when-

He bursts through a doorway, into the Egyptian exhibition, and spots you waiting exactly where you said you would be. 

A shy smile tugs at his mouth, and he tries straightening his shirt collar and running a hand through his unruly curls. He knows it's useless, that his shirts are perpetually wrinkled and his hair nearly always a mess. 

Marc has gone sullenly silent, and he knows he’s watching you too. 

Marc, for reasons Steven cannot begin to parse out, does not like you. 

Or, he pretends not to. 

Again, for reasons unknown. 

Which is entirely bonkers, because you are the most brilliant person Steven has ever met. 

He fidgets with the sleeve of his shirt, which is worried and frayed at the edges from his nervous fingers. 

Despite rushing moments earlier, he’s now anxious about how to actually approach you. 

You were his friend, he should have no problem with walking over and saying hello. 

Steven shifts from foot to foot as people swim around him in the doorway. He’s acutely aware that he’s stood in everyone’s way, the cup of tea in his hand going cold. 

The other thing he’s been promising you for months, a proper cup of tea. 

“Good,” Marc says, reflected in another display case, hands on his hips, chin lifted, “you see how stupid this is. Let’s go home.” 

But it isn’t stupid. 

It’s not stupid to want this. 

It’s not stupid to want you. 

Steven swallows, watching you move to read another plaque. 

As you read, your shoulders droop and then you dig in the bag slung over your shoulder. You glance at your phone when you find it, before tucking it away again. 

Then, you glance at your wristwatch, like it might tell you a different time than your phone had. 

You sigh and move toward the exit. 

Which is Steven’s cue to call your name, loudly. 

So loudly in fact that people turn to look at him. 

Brilliant. Already making a fool of myself. 

“Which is why we should just go home-,” Marc starts, but Steven ignores him. 

Marc, the absolute worry wart, thought you would break his heart. 

You’re smiling at him, a hand lifted in greeting as he approaches you. He would like to think you look relieved, happy to see him. 

But you’re like the sun, and probably look at everyone that way. 

He nearly stumbles into you, hastily handing you the cup of tea, wrapping your fingers around the cooling paper cup, his fingers laced over yours. 

“I was meant to bring you a proper cup and here I am with cold tea.” 

“Hardly very polite of you,” you tease. “Late to meet someone and with a cold cup of tea.” You smile and tsk under your breath. 

Steven fidgets and releases your hand on the cup, fingers nervously tangling together in front of his chest instead. “I’m really so very sorry. I’m always running late. I-I meant to be early today-,”

“Oh, my God,” Marc mutters. 

You lie a hand against Steven’s arm, stilling the nervous fluttering of his hands. “I was teasing you. It’s alright. I do expect an extra long tour though.”

Steven nods, staring at the shape of your eyes, the flutter of your lashes, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. 

You’re quite close to him, his head bent over yours, and he thinks he can see all the shades hidden in your eyes. 

“You look like a love-struck moron,” he catches the reflection of Marc behind your head, arms crossed over his chest, brows still pulled together in that irritated line. “Stop staring at her like that.” 

But he notices that Marc is staring at you too, looking at the back of your head, like he could see to the marrow of you, and your intentions, if he just looked hard enough. 

But there’s a dip in his voice that makes Steven think he might be just a tiny bit jealous. 

Steven shakes his head, trying to ignore Marc’s acid comments. 

“Of course,” he says, glancing down at your hands, the cup held between them. “Would you try it, please?”

Steven had been shocked to find out you were a coffee drinker only, that you had never really tasted tea, at least not a proper cup. 

“I’ve had iced tea,” you had offered weakly, only for Steven to wrinkle his nose. 

“Cold tea? Why would anyone enjoy that?”

Now, he’s brought you a cup of cold tea anyways, and it was tea that wasn’t even meant to be cold. 

You smile at him, lifting the cup as you brightly say, “Cheers!” in your best impression of his accent. 

It’s quite terrible, and makes him laugh.

You take a sip, a considering look pulling over your features. 

“It’s really better when it's hot,” Steven says, awaiting your verdict like it really mattered, like it was incredibly important that you liked the cup of tea he had brought you.

You tilt your head to the side and nod, “It's still warm.” You take another sip, which Steven takes as a good sign. Marc is watching you too, and Steven knows that Marc thinks he isn’t noticing the intense attention he gives you. “I like it. Did you put something else in it?”

Honey. 

He had put honey in despite his better judgment, because he noticed the way you absolutely hammered your coffee with sugar packets. 

“Honey,” he murmurs softly as you look into his eyes with a bemused smile on your face. “Just a bit. Figured you might like it better that way.” 

“Can’t say I’m a convert. Coffee will always have my heart,” you say. “But it is very good.” 

Steven is glad, so glad, you like it. 

Maybe it makes him unreasonably happy. 

“Cheers,” he says, still watching you carefully, smiling, his face very near to yours. He can see the fluttering of your lashes, feel the ghost of your breath. 

You don’t seem to mind the closeness. 

Marc rolls his eyes, and Steven puts a hand on your arm to pull you away from the reflection. 

So he doesn’t have to think about his annoyed alter. 

He tries not to be too upset with Marc, with his brooding protective streak. But he does wish that he’d lighten up just a bit. 

Steven’s heart is soft, it was going to be broken no matter what happened in their life. He was okay with that, especially if it meant spending time with you. 

But that was a hard pill for Marc to swallow.

His habit of shielding Steven was still a hard one to break, even now they were working together. 

“Where would you like to start?” Steven asks you, something like pride filling his veins as he watches you continue to sip at the cup of earl gray. 

“You’re the expert,” you say, looping your arm through his. “You tell me where we should start. Although, I’m very interested in Taweret, after the stories you’ve told me.” 

“Oh, she’s bloody amazin’,” Steven says, watching the quirk of your lips as he takes your duffle bag from you, slinging it over his own shoulder, conscious of Marc’s silence at the back of his mind. “‘Course we can start with her.” 

Steven leads you, the pressure of your fingers against his arm welcome, a warmth spreading up from his belly to land at the back of his mouth. 

It makes his heart ache and his fingers tremble. 

The feeling is strange and welcome. 

He likes you. 

Quite a lot, actually. 

Which was why he hoped today was the day he finally managed to ask you out, the reason Marc tried so desperately to make them late. 

He had met you before he knew about Marc, before their grand Egyptian adventure and Khonshu. 

When he first met you some months ago, you were wandering the halls of the museum, a duffle bag much like the one you have today slung over your shoulder, your head tilted to the side as you examined an exhibit. 

Steven was meant to have been helping Donna move gift shop inventory when he spotted you, brows furrowed as you read a plaque. It was the way you stood that caught his attention, with your toes pointed out and heels together. 

He couldn’t have looked away if he tried, and so he wasn’t surprised when he ran into someone and dropped the box of inventory, stuffed goddesses and cheap replicas of the pyramids spilling across the floor right to the tips of your toes. 

People weren’t exactly nice to Steven. 

He didn’t have any friends, his co-workers overlooked him, forgot him, or were rude to him. He had his mother, of course, but things always seemed to keep them from speaking directly.

He knows the truth now, about his and Marc’s mother, about Marc. 

Still, that day, as the man he bumped into gave him a dirty glare as he turned away, you had stooped down next to him and helped him tuck the merch back into the box. 

You had been kind to him, friendly as no one else was. 

Your hand had touched his and it had been like those moments in all the cheesy rom-coms he didn’t remember watching. He had looked up into your eyes, realizing he was still apologizing repeatedly out loud.

“Hey,” you had said, before tilting your head to the side and glancing down, “It’s okay. Do you need some help?”

No one offered Steven help, not with anything, even when he asked for it. 

And so he swallowed and nodded even though you, as a patron of the museum, should not have helped him. He should have refused your gentle help.  

But you’d helped him until Donna came along and shooed you away. 

He’d thought that he’d never see you again, but you visited the museum all the time, at least once a week. 

He found out that you’d recently moved to London, that you were a staunch coffee only person, that you were a dancer, that your childhood dream had been to be an archeologist before your talent for dance had destroyed that hope. 

You were more interested in Greek and Roman mythology, but quickly became fascinated with Egypt, and Steven had been delighted, weirdly, bizarrely proud that he had put you onto it. 

That you read the books he recommended, that you listened to the music he told you about. That you listened to him without interrupting, or sighing, or checking the time. 

Well, those things were only an incredible bonus. 

You made his throat close up some nights when he lay trying not to fall asleep, because you were the first friend he can remember having besides Gus or his mother. 

Steven was lonely, but you made his world a little less so. 

Now he has Marc, who’s more than enough company some days, a friend that never left him. 

He’d been worried, upon coming back to London, that you wouldn’t be there, that he had dreamed you up and you were never real in the first place. 

He’d been excited to let Marc see you through his own eyes, though Marc claimed with indifference that he remembered you, that he already knew you through Steven and didn’t need to meet you properly. 

Steven had a suspicion that the disinterest was feigned, that he cared too, to know if you were still in London. 

Steven didn’t work at the museum anymore, and so it had taken a week of hanging around the place to finally catch you there one day after a rehearsal. 

To his utter horror, you had been visibly upset with him. Though he had missed you and worried after you, he never imagined that you would do the same for him. “I thought you just - I thought maybe something horrible happened. You just disappeared and they said you were fired? I thought you disappeared and didn’t bother saying goodbye. Steven what happened-,” 

You had demanded his phone number, so you could always reach him. 

It was amazing really, that you had never had it before. 

Steven was just grateful you were still around, still coming by the museum.

Most worryingly though, Marc had not been impressed with you. Or pretended not to be. Though he tried to hide it, Steven always had a keen sense of how Marc really felt, and Marc cared more than he ever let on. 

Now, though, he feels the gentle pressure of your fingers against his arm and thanks whatever god that might be listening, that you were still around, a person that rolled with the punches life dealt. 

Against the advice of his alter, who had almost seemed nervous, Steven had told you everything about what happened in Egypt, about Khonshu and Marc and Layla and Ammit and everything in between. 

“Don’t do it,” Marc had snarled. “She’s gonna think you’re nuts. She’s going to-. 

Marc hadn’t finished his thought. 

Whatever ridicule and judgement he had anticipated, you hadn’t fallen to his expectations. 

You had listened and somehow understood. 

“So,” you ask now as Steven leads you through the museum, “How is Marc?”

“Being a bit of a knobhead at the moment, to be honest,” Steven says, watching the smile that tugs at your mouth. 

“Oh. Khonshu related or..?”

Steven’s always honest with you, and so he doesn’t lie now. “Wasn’t too keen on my meeting you today, actually.” 

You nod as Steven leads you past an exhibit, into an adjoining room, past a miniature construction of the Pyramids of Giza. “Marc doesn’t exactly like me, does he?”

Steven waits for the snort from Marc, for a derisive comment. But nothing comes. 

The silence is more telling than anything. 

“No, he’s just a bit-,” Steven stops, wiggles his fingers, not really sure how to explain exactly how Marc was. 

You smile weakly at him, “We don’t have to talk about it, Steven. I know he’s very protective. In any case, I’m glad you like me. And I really care for you. I hope Marc knows that, at least.”

Marc remains stubbornly silent. 

Steven gives you the tour of the museum he always dreamed of giving when he worked there. You listen to him attentively, you ask him questions, and for the remainder of the day, Marc is quiet, though Steven knows he’s present, listening in instead of walling himself off. 

Mostly Marc leaves Steven be, when he’s with you. He can’t be mad at the happiness you bring, though he tries to protect the system in his own way. Steven knows it's why he’s so surly though he wishes he’d give you a chance. 

Marc claims that one of them needs to be clear headed, rational, when you inevitably break their heart. 

So, he’s surprised, when you’re leaving the museum near closing and asking Steven about what brand of tea he would recommend so you can start making it at home, Marc’s voice echoes in the back of his head. “Ask her out. You said you were going to today.”

Steven glances down, at the watery refraction of Marc staring up at him from a dirty puddle on the front steps of the museum. 

Marc says, surprisingly gentle, “You’re happy with her. Ask.” It's only  slightly demanding in tone. Steven suppresses the urge to roll his eyes. 

But his alter is right. 

So, Steven stumbles to a halt nearly knocking you into the puddle. 

And asks. 

“Wondering if maybe you’d come out on a date with me?”

You blink, your hand on his arm where you’d caught your balance, his fingers around your other wrist.

You just stare at him, your lips parting in surprise. 

Fear wells up into the back of his throat when you don’t immediately answer and he starts to stutter out an apology. “Sorry, sorry, don’t know what’s come over me just then. Just a bit taken with you, I suppose.” Steven swallows, feels the words pressing at the inside of his lips, nervous chatter threatening to break free. “You’re quite beautiful and very kind - bit inevitable that I’d have a crush on you, innit?” 

You blink again, stunned, like you can’t believe what you’re hearing. “You have a crush on…me?” 

“Yes, no - well, yes, I do but -,” It’s not just a crush. Crush seems like a silly little word for the feelings you make flop around inside him. Squiggly, fuzzy feelings. 

“Shut up, Steven, give her a chance to reply.” Marc snaps at him, like he’s just as afraid that Steven will mess this up. 

He takes a steadying breath, reminding himself that you were truly very kind, and that if you said no, it would not be the end of all he held dear. “Yes, I quite like you. You’re kind and beautiful and smart. What’s not to like?”

“Nice job.”

And for once, Marc doesn’t sound sarcastic. 

His helpfulness is strange for someone who had been so against the notion mere hours ago. 

Steven bites down the rest of the words swimming in his mouth, telling himself that Marc is right about this thing. He needs to let you reply. 

“I, um, yeah,” you smile, almost like you’re unsure if he really just asked you, “yes. I’d like to go on a date.”

Steven stares at you, not sure he heard right. “Really?”

“Really.” 

“Jesus.”

“Cheers,” Steven chirps quietly, ignoring Marc. He knows he has a goofy smile on his face, he knows that he’s just staring at you. 

But you’re smiling back and Marc is strangely quiet now, a glow of happiness lingers there. Steven has a suspicion that he’s happy too, basking in the fact that you said yes.

Oh. Oh. 

Maybe Marc likes you too.

He was just shit at showing it, saying it.

Maybe that’s why he’s so concerned about the breaking of Steven’s heart, because it might break his too. 

“Oh,” you say, suddenly digging in your bag, still hanging on Steven’s shoulder. He shifts so you can better reach. “I got this for Gus the Second. I forgot to mention it earlier, although now is such a stupid time to be giving it to you,” you say, dipping your fingers into a pocket and bringing out a tiny replica of the Great Sphinx. “Sorry if he already has this one.”

You seem flustered with yourself, like you’re ruining a moment, when all your gift makes him want to do is kiss you. 

He flustered you too, apparently.

You got his fish a gift.  

Steven takes the replica from you gently, sliding his thumb along the surface. “Oh, he’ll absolutely love it.” He pauses, “You said yes, yeah? To a date? With me?”

Something about it doesn’t compute. Maybe you’ve confused him with someone else. 

“Yeah,” you say. “Did you have something in mind, Steven?”

“Er-,” he hadn’t thought that far ahead, but his name on your lips is like a balm. Everything would be okay. 

“Just dinner, Steven,” Marc says. “Doesn’t have to be elaborate.” 

Steven doesn’t dare look down at the puddle. Doesn’t want to see the smirk on Marc’s face that he can hear in his voice.  

“Dinner?” He hesitates. “Tomorrow sound good, yeah?”

“Yes,” and when he looks at you, you’re smiling. Like this was something good. Something you’ve been waiting for. “7 o’clock?”

“Brilliant.”

He tilts his head toward you, just to be a bit closer to you. 

It’s still a surprise when you lean up and kiss him gingerly, your lips soft and lingering. 

When you pull away, his heart is dancing and you are glowing. 

~

Marc is hesitant to speak to you, though he would never admit it to a soul. 

Steven probably knows, but he would never say so. 

He’s content to watch you through the eyes of his alter. You are Steven’s girl after all. 

Made of sunshine and steeped in warmth. 

You are not his. 

But Marc worries about you almost non-stop. He thinks about you constantly. He tells himself it's because Steven would break if something happened to you. 

But he knows. He knows when you laugh at something Steven says, he knows when you show up at the flat soaked to the bone from a downpour but smiling. He knows when you break in a new pair of ballet shoes against the hardwood floor of the flat. 

“You need to teach her self-defense,” He tells Steven when Marc is the one fronting.

“I’m not going to do that, Marc. She’s been safe before we met her, she’s safe now.” 

Yeah, only now you know about Moon Knight and Khonshu and everything. You know everything. 

Yet you never mention it, never ask. 

Occasionally, you will inexplicably leave a note for Marc, stuck against the glass of Gus the Second and Gus the Second’s Friend’s tank. 

Marc can’t make himself understand it, the way you leave little notes, ask Steven about what kinds of food he likes, ask how he’s doing.

Today’s note said - 

There’s a performance today. I know Steven has come to plenty, but I would love to see you there. 

You sign it with your name and a little heart. 

“She knows you care about her, Marc,” Steven says from the reflection in the tank, Gus and Friend behind his head. “She knows you follow her home when she works late.” 

“Only because you told her,” he snaps. “She didn’t need to know that.” 

Steven only gives a long suffering sigh. 

You know, you know that he follows your route home each night, to make sure you got there safe. And so you had taken up the inexplicable habit of talking to him as you walked. There was no way for you to know if he heard you, when he followed in the ceremonial armor on the buildings above you.

Still, you do it each night without fail. 

Marc, if he’s honest with himself, does not deserve to know you. Does not deserve the notes, the home cooked meals in tupperware left in the fridge with his name written in sharpie on the side of the box, does not deserve your late night chatter and one sided conversations. 

“She’s trying really hard. It hurts her feelings that you won’t even say hello to her. She isn’t expecting you to feel about her the same way I do.” 

Marc doesn’t respond, unsticking your note from the fishtank instead, folding it and tucking it inside his jacket pocket. 

He knows that it hurts your feelings. He sees it in your eyes every time you ask Steven about him, every time he refuses to meet you, even though he knows you, remembers you through Steven’s eyes from before Steven had been aware of him, back when he struggled to maintain Steven’s ignorance of the truth of his situation. 

You don’t know him though, so he’s not sure why it matters to you. 

But he catches Steven’s exasperated expression in the mirror by the door and he knows. 

It matters to you, because it matters to Steven. 

Not because you care about Marc. 

But because he is Steven’s best friend. 

And that is the problem. 

Because he wants you to care about him. 

“So you’ll follow her but you won’t just say hello? Marc, you could just introduce yourself and walk her home, yeah? Instead of stalking after her like a deranged bird?” 

Marc ignores him, ceremonial suit slipping over his skin, mask covering his face.

“Nope. This is much easier.” 

Steven only sighs again. 

~

“I just wonder if I’m any good for you,” you admit to Steven one rainy summer evening. You are propped in the window with a book, Steven on the couch with an open text. 

The air is warm enough that you leave the window open, the sound of rain and traffic drifting through the flat. 

Steven turns to you, taking the glasses perched on the end of his nose off. He frowns at you, brows pulling together over the round brown eyes you’ve come to love. 

He closes the book he had been pouring over. “What d’ya mean, love?”

“Just that,” you pause, trying to gather your thoughts. “I just know Marc is rather protective. And maybe if he doesn’t-,” You swallow, “Maybe I’m not really any good for you.”

Steven holds his arms out to you, and you readily cross the room to fit yourself in his arms, head tucked neatly beneath his chin. “You certainly are good for me. Too good for me.” You feel his chin against your forehead, gently drifting back and forth. “Don’t pay Marc any mind.” 

“Does he hate me?” You pull back to look in his eyes.

“Now, who could hate you?” 

You press a hand to the back of Steven’s neck, fingers trailing up to thread through his hair. He readily leans his forehead against yours, his warm breath ghosting over your lips. 

You feel Steven tilt his head up a bit, and you know he’s watching the mirror, communicating with his alter who wanted nothing to do with you. 

“Could you tell him I don’t want anything from him? That I’d just like to introduce myself? He’s your best friend and I’d just like to say hello.” 

“He hears you,” Steven says. “Just being a bit of a pain in the arse as usual.” 

You suppress a laugh and tilt your head back to meet Steven’s eyes, cradling his jaw between your palms, sweeping your thumb over the thin scar above his brow. “He should know I’m not pressuring him, just that I would very much like to meet him, if he felt inclined.” Steven opens his mouth when you continue, “And that he’s become rather poor at hiding the past few weeks.”

“What?” 

“Just have noticed a certain caped individual on my walks home the last few weeks.” 

Steven’s mouth quirks, his eyes sliding to the mirror again. “He says you have a rather keen eye.” 

“Not so. It’s very hard not to notice sometimes.” As you speak Steven’s brows pull together and he frowns. “What's he saying?”

Steven glances back to you, his nose nearly touching yours. “Nothing you should worry your pretty head about,” he says, reaching up to cradle the back of your head, his lips finding yours, soft as the touch of a feather. “He can tell you himself if he bloody well pleases.” 

You feel slightly reassured as Steven kisses you, tilts you back against the couch cushions and slots himself against you, fingers running shakily up your side against your sweater. You dip your hands under his shirt, laughing quietly when he jumps at the sensation of your fingers against his scarred ribs. 

You feel better, at least, knowing that Steven wants you to meet Marc. 

You wonder what holds him back, what holds him back from even a hello. 

But Steven is kissing you and it becomes rather hard to concentrate. 

~ You talk to Marc on your way home from the theatre each night. 

You know he can hear you, walking on the rooftops above the streets you traverse each night. 

It makes you feel safe, knowing that he’s there, knowing that he cares enough to make sure you got home. 

You tell him about your day, quietly talking to yourself, drawing some curious stares but not too many. If these were the only interactions he would allow then you would make the most of them. 

You think you’ve seen Marc before. That he’d come into the museum once so that Steven wouldn’t miss work. His brows had been knitted tightly together, eyes narrower, mouth a hard frown. 

He hadn’t spoken to you that day, while Steven always made sure to, always. 

It’s raining when you leave the theater this night, your duffle bag slung across your shoulders, hood pulled up over your head as you race down the back steps, eager to get home, to make a cup of the calming tea Steven had gotten you and sleep. 

Your feet and ankles are sore and you felt like a good cry was in order. 

You don’t look up as the rain pounds down, sure that your guarding protector would be there as he always was. You just didn’t have the energy to greet him this night. 

Although you left rehearsal early, Marc always had a way of knowing when you left, of always being there. He was reliable, steady, even if he mostly avoided you. 

Tonight though, you wish you could go home and call Steven, though you know he won’t pick up, not until morning. Steven was who you called when you needed to cry, when you needed comfort. 

Steven was soft, in a way no one else you’ve ever known has been. 

You love dance, but the toll it took on your mental health some days made you wonder if it was at all worth it. 

Your thighs burn and your ankles ache, and you remember the way you were out of step and how the choreographer had sighed. The sound worse than disappointment and closer to condemnation. Maybe you aren't good enough to hack it in this particular dance company, and not for the first time, you think about going home.

The rain continues, drenching you to the bone. It pounds against the pavement beneath your feet, so loudly you don’t hear the footsteps trailing after you. 

You duck down an alleyway, a shortcut you don’t normally take because you’d rather take the longer way around and chatter at Marc. 

But you can’t be bothered tonight. You don’t even look up. 

If you had, you’d have known he wasn’t there, and then maybe you’d have stayed in the safety of the theater for just a bit longer, waited until he showed himself. 

One moment you’re hurrying along, the next a hand is pressed to the back of your neck, shoving you into the brick wall of the alley. 

You open your mouth to scream but a knife presses to the skin of your throat. It digs in just a little as the pressure at the back of your neck disappears and your bag is ripped off your shoulder. 

“Search that for me, yeah?” A male voice says before he leans into you, pressing your body into the wall with the heaviness of his own. 

You hear your things being ripped out of the bag, your dance garments and tights. Extra shoes. Ballet slippers. A bag of toiletries. 

“Search her, then. She ain’t got anything in here.”

Hands dig into you, rough and careless. But you don’t have anything on you, not even your wallet or phone, you know they’ll find nothing and then what?

What will be left for them to take? 

The knife divots into your skin, you feel the warmth of your own blood trail down your neck. 

Surreptitiously, you tilt your head up. Maybe Marc really has hated you all this time, and he’s about to let you be killed in this dirty alley. 

But there’s no one watching you, and you have to wonder for a moment if anyone ever had been there, as the unknown hand gropes through your pockets and then pats down the sides of your thighs. 

You wonder if you should fight. 

Was it better to let whatever was about to happen, happen? Or to try to fight? To at least be able to flee? 

You decide to fight when a figure appears in the corner of your vision. 

One that the two men behind you apparently do not notice. 

The knife disappears from your neck and your head is smashed into the brick instead. 

Your vision dances, Khonshu apparently only visible to you. 

“Do not worry, little bug. My Moon Knight is on his way.”

The skeletal bird you’re staring at can only be Khonshu or a terrible hallucination. 

If he’s a hallucination, does that mean they already stabbed you and you’re bleeding to death? 

“You are not hallucinating,” comes the booming voice of the god of the night sky. “Follow my instruction.” 

Khonshu, who you have no choice but to trust as your assailants argue about whether to kill you, tilts his head.

You are told to drive your right foot directly back, then twist and punch as hard as you can. 

“Then run,” is the last piece of advice before the blasted bird disappears. 

You have no choice but to follow the advice, and hope Marc or Steven really are nearby. 

When you drive your foot back, it connects with a knee. A strangled cry goes up as you twist and blindly punch. Your fist lands on something meaty, sending a shockwave up your arm. Bone cracks. 

You flee the second the hands leave your body, and you think for just a moment that you’ll get away, that you’ll make it to the deserted but well lit street at the other end of the alley. 

But fingers hook into the hood of your jacket which had fallen back off your head. You’re jerked off your feet, clotheslined jacket knocking the breath out of your lungs. 

Still you manage to scream as you fall, palms scraping against the pavement, the knee of your jeans ripping open. 

You roll, acting on pure instinct, driving your leg up into the gut of the man that falls on top of you to square a punch into your ribs. 

“You little bitch-,” 

You whip out a hand and claw his face, his friend stooping to cover your mouth as the knife appears again, shining metal gleaming by the curve of your cheek.

But something - someone - else has appeared. 

Indeed, Khonshu’s Moon Knight is stalking down the alleyway behind them. 

It gives you the determination to shove the man on top of you with all your strength, kneeing him between the legs as you go, the knife slices at your cheek as the man behind you says, “Oy! Stop struggling and-,” 

You never find out what else you should do as the other man’s weight disappears and a fluttering white cape engulfs you. 

You get to your feet shakily and when you look up, it's to meet the blinding white gaze of Marc Spector. His arm is around your waist, the cape like a blanketed cocoon against you. 

“Go to the street. I’ll come to you.” His voice is American and gruff and unexpected. 

“Marc-,” 

But he lets go of you, spins you and pushes you gently in the direction of the street.

You go, rainwater sluicing against your skin. You hear bones snap, the sound of flesh against flesh but you don’t turn or stop until you reach the street. Cars trundle by, a few pedestrians are walking further up the road. No one pays you any mind, the callousness of strangers shocking and not shocking in equal measure. 

The contrast to your fight in the alley is startling, and you feel the burn of tears at the backs of your eyes, the fingers of pressure on your throat as you hold them back.

You don’t hear anything from the alley now, but a few minutes of shivering in the rain later Marc appears, your ruined bag over his shoulder.  

He crowds close to you without a word, lifting your chin with a curled finger beneath your chin. The fabric of the suit is gauzy and warm against your skin, not damp despite the rain. He peers into your eyes, focus shifting to your cheek and then neck, before he takes your hands in both of his, and examines the broken skin of your palms. 

He makes a noise of discontent as he examines you. 

He holds your fingers so tenderly you wonder if he realizes who you are. 

“Marc?” You ask gently. “Are you okay?” 

His head snaps up but he doesn’t answer, just stares at you with that furious white gaze. 

“Could I see your face at least?” 

He hesitates, but only for a moment, before the wispy material covering his face slides away. The humidity and rain make his curls unruly, a lock of hair sticks to the sweaty skin of his forehead.

It’s Steven, and very clearly not Steven. 

You swallow, and touch his cheek. “Are you okay?” You ask again. 

You regret touching him immediately. It’s likely not something he wants from you. 

Steven would have leaned into your palm, but Marc goes still confirming your worry, his brows pulling together, eyes narrower than Steven’s rounded gaze.

You drop your hand, and Marc’s gaze follows your hand. 

Instead of answering, Marc asks, “Do you have a first aid kit at your place or do we need to go to Steven’s?” 

“I have one,” you say softly.

Marc is so very close to you, his head bent over yours. His skin is damp and glowing, eyes such a deep umber that you feel like getting lost in them. His breath falls against your lips.

You inhale sharply at the closeness, breathing in the smoky jasmine and lavender scent that lingers around him, the tang of copper just beneath. Steven smelled like tea and cotton and you wonder briefly if the fragrance is thanks to the suit. 

But then he nods, all business, the rest of the suit sliding away as he pulls away and nudges you in the direction of your flat, not taking the shortcut through the alley, of course. 

“Did you kill them?” 

Marc stiffens, responding gruffly, “No. Just some broken bones.” 

You watch his jaw clench before you carefully reach out and tangle your fingers with his again. He probably thought you thought the worst of him, that he was a cold blooded killer. “I wouldn’t have mourned if you did.” His eyes snap to yours, surprised at the brutality in your shaky voice. “Thank you for coming.” 

“Where’d you learn to fight like that?” 

You smile, the movement making the cut on your cheek weep blood, “I received instructions from a rather strange looking bird.”

“Khonshu,” Marc mutters. “Bastard.” 

You hum, and feel the bizarre sensation of Marc Spector sliding his thumb gently across the back of your hand.

Once in your flat, Marc seats you at one of the two chairs at your tiny kitchen table in your tiny place’s kitchen. 

He kneels in front of you, even though he could take the other chair, and carefully tilts your chin up, dabbing gently at the cut on your neck, then your cheek.

“Did you hear me all those nights? When I spoke to you?” 

Marc nods, turning to grab an antiseptic ointment and a roll of gauze. “Yeah, I heard you.” 

“Why haven’t you-,” you bite your tongue. “Never mind. You don’t have to tell me. Or, talk to me. I’ve been telling myself that ever since Steven told me the truth. You’re just very important to Steven, of course I would like to meet you.” 

Marc goes still for a moment, deep brown eyes meeting yours. “Yeah, makes sense.” He finishes with your cheek and gently brushes his thumb over the column of your throat. 

You tell yourself he’s checking the bandage. 

But your heart beats wildly in your chest. 

“You’ll tell Khonshu thank you? From me? Suppose he did actually give me some helpful advice-,”

“No,” Marc suddenly says, intense in his fierceness, the set of his features grim. “Not when its his fault, my-my fault, our fucking fault you were alone in the first place-,” 

“Hey,” you take his hands and feel them shaking in yours. “It's not. It’s not anyone’s fault. It’s just something that happened. And I’m glad you were around.” You grip his fingers and don’t let him pull away until the tremors subside. “Are you alright?”

He clears his throat, suspiciously glassy eyes not meeting yours, and then goes about cleaning your bruised palms and your cut knuckles. 

Marc sighs abruptly, not answering you, and turns to look into the shining reflection of your floor length mirror. “Steven says he’s proud of you.” He looks away and continues wrapping your hands, “He also won’t let me forget that I haven’t asked you if you’re okay.” 

You open your mouth to reply when Marc bites out brusquely, “Are you okay?” 

You smile, imagining the irritation in Steven’s voice, Bloody hell, Marc! Telling her I’m bothering you about asking her if she’s okay and actually asking her is not the same thing!

“I’ll tell you if I’m alright, if you tell me if you are.” 

Marc snorts, “I can tell by looking at you.” His head twitches toward the mirror again and you know Steven must be annoying him about invisible injuries. You wait for a moment while they seem to have a silent conversation. 

You stop Marc’s hands when he moves to look at your knee instead of answering. “Just a simple yes or no. Nothing more.” 

He looks up at you, brows still tight over his eyes, expression stony, frowning at you so intensely you have to wonder what he sees when he looks at you. “Yes.” 

“Brilliant,” you smile. 

“Yes or no?” He asks you. 

You brace a hand on his shoulder, pushing yourself up, “Yes. I am okay. Does Steven know?”

“He hears you,” his grim gaze drifts back to the mirror. “Sit back down, I’m not done with you.” 

You pat his chest gently when he stands too, close and towering, what should be intimidating. “Yes, you are,” you return firmly. “I’m going to make some tea. Do you drink tea, or is that a Steven thing?”

“Coffee, if you have it.”

You can’t help but smile. 

“We need to wrap your knee though,” he doesn’t let the injury go. “It might get infected.”

You glance down at the scrape, then at the worried frown on Marc’s face. “Shall I change first? That way I don’t just tear the bandage anyways taking these wet jeans off.” 

Marc eyes your wet clothes, the way you shiver, head tilting to the side, like he’s listening. 

He concedes with a nod. 

~

Marc watches you make a cup of tea for yourself and hesitate at the coffeemaker. 

He thinks for a moment that you hesitate because you’re realizing that if you start the pot, you won’t only have to wait for it to brew but for Marc to drink it. 

But when you turn, you only frown at him and ask, “Are you quite sure about the coffee? You won’t sleep. I have more than enough chamomile tea-,” 

“Coffee is fine.” 

You dip your head and turn back to the pot. 

Steven sighs, “You can let her take care of you too, Marc.” 

Marc ignores Steven, refuses to meet his gaze in the shining reflection of your toaster. 

He feels the bone-deep weariness creep up on him, crash over his shoulders, as you set a cup of coffee in front of him a few quiet minutes later. 

“Steven pokes fun at me for my sugar habit. But this is a judgment free zone so don’t be afraid to tell me how you take it.” 

Marc glances into the cup, black coffee staring back up at him. 

“Sugar and milk,” he says and watches you smile, the gauze wrapped around your neck making his skin prickle. 

He should have killed those men for daring to lie a hand on you. He glances at your wet duffle bag, dejectedly lying in a heap in the corner of the kitchen. “Sorry about your stuff.” 

“It’s just things,” you say, wincing as you sit down across from him, setting down a carton of milk and bowl of sugar with a spoon.

He tips his head to the side to glance at your scraped knee under the table, the wince not matching the injury. Had he missed something? Though he supposes you’re probably sore after being thrown to the ground. 

“It’s not that,” you say, tucking your legs beneath you on the chair. “I was sore anyways. I’m always sore from dance. I have a high pain tolerance from all the years of training. Tonight wasn’t actually the worst night of my life.” 

Before he can respond, his heart sinking with your words, you continue. “That’s a neat trick though,” you fling your arms out and then around in an imitation of how he’d circled the cape around you. “Handy.” 

“It’s bulletproof. Most of the time,” he says, spooning sugar into his coffee, then a dash of milk. 

“Very handy, then.” You watch him for a moment before your fingers tangle anxiously together. “You know, I really am okay. Please don’t feel like you need to stay.”

“Marc,” Steven says, “She thinks you hate her. Open up to her just a bit, yeah?” 

“I don’t hate you,” Marc says, ignoring the exasperated goan from Steven at his blunt response. “I don’t. And I’ll stay, for a while at least. You hit your head,” he reaches out and touches the bruise forming at your temple. He should have cut off their hands for that, broken each finger, twisted the ligaments out. “You might have a concussion,” he keeps his voice as level as he can.  

You nod and swallow, “Is Steven okay? I haven’t worried him too badly, have I?” 

Marc briefly closes his eyes, hearing all over again the screams of his headmate when Khonshu told them you were in danger. The force of his worry had almost forced Marc into the backseat, but he knew he was better suited to handle whatever was happening to you. 

That he could steal himself and deal. With this, he could deal, after all the years Steven had protected Marc from himself, from memories better forgotten. 

If something had happened to you…

“He’s okay,” Marc eventually answers, opening his eyes to find you watching him worriedly. “He was very worried about you.” 

“He knows I’m okay now?”

Marc sees Steven nodding at the back of your head sympathetically. “Yeah.” He licks his lips, takes a sip of the coffee, “I can…I can bring him out if you’d rather be with him.” 

You tilt your head to the side, like you’re considering it. “It’s okay. Not that I don’t want to see Steven, I do. I just…feel very safe at the moment. Maybe something to do with the cape.” You look away and take a sip of your tea. 

Steven is smirking in the toaster’s reflection, smug in a way that grinds at Marc’s nerves. 

The pair of you make no sense to Marc. 

“You into the cape, huh?”

“Oh, only a little. I wonder if your god would give me one.” Your eyes are sparkling, you’re teasing him and it makes his chest hurt in a pleasant way. 

But there was an idea Marc could get behind. Not that Khonshu would ever acquiesce. 

When you finish your tea, Marc shuffles you to the couch, prepared to watch over you for the night. 

You lie down, your legs tucked behind his back when he sits at the end of the sofa, like he’s familiar to you. And he supposes in a way he is, that you spend almost every evening together, despite his silence, and that you know the body he lives in. 

Marc flicks through the various streaming services on your TV, resting his other hand on your knee when you won’t stop squirming. 

“Hey,” he says, thumbing at your knee but not looking at you. “I know you’re okay now. But you might not be in a couple days, when the shock wears off. Takes time sometimes for something like that to catch up to you.” He squeezes your calf. “Let us know if that happens.” 

“Are you - both of you? Either of you?” 

His heart sinks just a little. “Yeah. Either. Both.” 

“Aw, Marc, I knew you liked her! I knew it!” Steven’s hands are folded over his heart, eyes wide and round. “Go on and kiss her!”

He will not be doing that. Knows that you wouldn’t welcome that. 

Instead he massages the flesh of your leg, and says, “Heat can help with muscle soreness. Do you have a heat pack somewhere?”

You turn on your back and put your feet in his lap, “Maybe. I’m okay like this for now.” You pull a blanket off the back of the sofa and drape it over both of you. 

He cups a hand around your socked ankle and says, “Don’t fall asleep.” He traces the delicate knob of bone beneath his touch. 

“Don’t think I could if I tried.” You go quiet for a moment, then say, “For the record, thank you. I’m really glad you’re staying with me.” 

The feeling that wells up in his chest almost chokes him. Marc can only nod, and even Steven stays silent for once at the wave of emotion that crashes through them both.

Chaotic

relationships: steven grant x avenger!witch!reader, future marc spector x reader, jake lockley x reader [gender neutral]

word count: 2.3k

summary: When you move to London you aren't expecting to fall in love. You also aren't expecting an Egyptian god who kind of sounds like Darth Vader to crash your date but that's just your life apparently.

warnings: reader assaults khonshu with bread, enemies to friends w/ khonshu, big bird is kinda rude to steven but u put him in place

a/n: reader uses chaos magic and is also psychic, f/c = favorite color, steven/marc/jake are moon knight but lets pretends the whole harrow/armpit drama hasn't happened yet, can you tell that my biggest writing influence is rick riordan?

masterlist | moodboard

Before you even met Steven, you felt him. 

That sounds odd but your abilities make you constantly aware of others, which can be a lot. Especially in such a bustling city like London. Of course you didn’t read his mind or anything. It’s a common misconception that telepaths just love to read minds but that’s not true. You only use it on enemies for information, if you just went around listening to people's inner thoughts you’d probably drive yourself mad. People are weird. 

All that being said, you decided to go to the London museum, thinking it would be quiet and relaxing. A nice little escape. You didn’t think how overwhelming it would be to be surrounded by history, invading your senses with centuries of stories. Mostly fucked up stories because colonialism. After years of studying magic your mind is like a fortress, but that didn’t stop the artifacts from banging on your mental door. You’re incredibly grateful that you’re able to control your visions now. You do not want to see all this shit first hand.

You manage to stumble into the gift shop, one hand rubbing your temple in an attempt to ward off the coming headache. You sense some kind of power, something looming and ancient. You wonder if it’s from the Egyptian wing you just walked through but this feels more… recent. It’s an odd sensation that isn’t helping your overwhelmed mind at all.

“Are you alright?” A gentle voice acts. Apparently you aren’t doing great at hiding your discomfort. You look up to meet the deepest brown eyes you’ve ever seen, framed with dark eye bags. He's absolutely beautiful. Like a sleep deprived male model. Before you can answer you find yourself stumbling, dots swimming in your vision. He quickly leaves the counter to grasp your arm with large, gentle hands.

His touch burns through your designer coat (a parting gift from Tony Stark) but not in a bad way. His energy is unique. Fractured but whole. Chaotic but wholesome. “I’m fine, just a dizzy spell.” You mumble, trying not to lean into his body. Would it be manipulative if you pretended to faint so he would catch you? No, you’re better than that.

“You sure? Maybe you should sit down. I could get you a drink, or a snack.”

You should tell him that you’re fine but for some reason, you can’t bring yourself to pull away. He’s just so genuine. And look at that hair! Would it be weird to touch it? You suppress the urge, managing a polite response, “that sounds nice, but I wouldn’t want to get you in trouble. I think I just need some fresh air.”

“Don’t worry, my boss is always telling me to be more helpful with customers. Lets get you outside, yeah?”

You grin, lidded eyes flicking to his name tag, “thank you, Steven. That’s very kind of you.”

He flashes the sweetest smile you’ve ever witnessed, making you even more light headed. He keeps his grasp on your arm as he leads you to the exit. You can already feel your mind clearing thanks to the distance between you and the artifacts. Once you’re safely leaning against the wall Steven speaks up, “I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere."

Within a minute he’s back by your side. He presents you a bag of scarab gummies, “here you are.” He pauses for a moment before adding, "I don’t know why we sell these, they weren’t eating stuff like that in Ancient Egypt, were they?

“Thank you.” You smile, finding his rambling adorable. You try not to reaxt when you take the candy from him and his calloused fingers brush your own. “I’m also realizing I never introduced myself, I’m Y/N.”

“Nice to meet you, Y/N. That’s a pretty name.”

Before you can stop yourself you mutter under your breath, “you’re prettier.” You watch in horror as he tenses up, ears burning red. “I-I think you’re pretty too. Beautiful, more like it,” he fumbles. Suddenly the gummies are out of your hand, you look down to see them floating above your palms, surrounded by a F/C glow. You quickly snatch them in your hands. Luckily Steven is too busy staring at his shoes in embarrassment to notice.

You clear your throat nervously, catching his attention. “So, do you like working here?” Really? That’s the best you could come up with. You mentally facepalm. He nods enthusiastically. “Oh yeah, I love history. It would be nice to be a tour guide though. Maybe one day, right?”

You hum in response, shoving some gummies in your mouth before you can ask any other dumb questions. “Do you, um, like your job?” He asks politely.

You pause. So he really doesn’t recgonize you. Not that you consider yourself famous but ever since you joined the Avengers on a few missions you found yourself thrust in the public eye. You meet a lot of fans but people also tend to be… wary of you. Apparently being one of the most powerful magic users on Earth makes them uneasy.

“I work… in security.” That’s technically not a lie. “It can be stressful but I get to travel a lot so that’s fun.”

“Have you ever been to Egypt?”

The childlike excitement in his voice is absolutely adorable. “A few times, yeah. What about you?”

“No, I wish. I’d love to go someday.” He sighs wistfully. “Enough about me though, are you feeling any better.”

His concern makes your heart flutter. “Much.” You grin, shuffling your bag on your shoulder to look for your wallet. “How much were the gummies?”

“They were only a few pounds, don’t worry about it.”

Thoughtful, gorgeous, and polite? You’re convinced Steven was written by a woman. You bite your lip in a way you hope looks flirty. “Well I need to pay you back somehow. What about lunch?”

He freezes, looking at you incredulously. “Are you… asking me out?” Any confidence you had starts to shatter. “I’m trying,” you mumble embarrassed. He shakes his head vehmently, “no, I didn’t mean it like that, I’m just surprised! I mean, you’re so beautiful!”

You smile so big your cheeks hurt. “I think you’re beautiful too, Steven.”

His tan cheeks flame. “Thank you.”

“Can I have your number?”

He nods so quickly he reminds you of a bobblehead. You pull out your phone and type in his digits as he tells them to you. “I left my phone in the gift shop but I’ll text you as soon I get inside,” he promises, rocking on the balls of his feet. You grin as you send him a message.

“Stevie!”

A loud, feminine voice makes you both flinch. An aggravated woman pokes her head out the door, popping her chewing gum far too loudly for your liking. “What are you doing out- wait. Are you Y/N L/N?”

Steven looks at you in confusion as you nod with a charming smile. You can tell that she’s Steven’s superior and decide to help him out. “I am. What’s your name, hon?”

“Donna! I’m a big fan. It was so mental when you closed that portal to hell in New Jersey!”

Steven’s eyes become impossibly wider. “Yeah, that was a difficult one.” You reminisce fondly. “Would you like a picture?”

She nods excitedly, pulling out her phone. You take a selfie, trying not to chuckle at her excited gasp when you sling an arm around here. You try to ignore Steven’s bewildered gaze. Hopefully what you’re about to do will make up for your little fib.

“You know Steven here has been very helpful,” you muse after she clicks the photo. She looks at you surprised. You can already tell she doesn’t particularly like the man. “Really?”

You nod with an affirmative hum. “I bet he’s your best tour guide, isn’t he?”

“Oh, he actually works in the giftshop.”

You feign shock. “Really? I was hoping he could give me a private tour sometime,” you pout sadly. Donna hurries to comfort you, “oh, he can do that! I’ve been meaning to promote him anways!”

“That’s great!” You grin, turning your attention back to a very confused brunet. “I’ve gotta go but I’ll be looking forward to seeing you, Steven,” you purr, lightly squeezing his (suprisingly muscular) bicep. He nods dumbly watching you walk down the steps.

“Oi, what were you doing with a bloody superhero?” Donna asks him incredulously, the jealousy clear in her voice.

“Planning a date.” He breathes out softly, still wondering if the interaction was just a dream.

____

It’s the day of your date and Steven is ecsatic. Marc and Jake are not. They agree you’re beautiful but are very against the idea of going out with an Avenger, saying it will get in the way of their ‘business’ with Khonshu. But Steven is tired of letting that bloody pigeon influence his life so he ignores all of them, puts on his favorite jumper, and goes to the closest florist shop. And that’s how he finds himself standing infront of you with a boquet of sunflowers.

“These are just beautiful!” You gush, pressing a kiss againt his cheek as you take them. He flushes adorably. You do a quick scan around the park to make sure no one is looking before conjuring a vase with water. Did you do it just to show off? Yes. Yes you did.

You place the flowers in the middle of the picnic blanket. “Now we have a centerpiece,” you hum happily, grabbing the wicker basket you brought. He sits across from you, watching in awe as you pull a variety of noodles, dumplings, rice, and tofu dishes out. Like clowns coming out of a little car.

“Try this,” you offer, handing him one of the containers. “And don’t worry, it’s all vegan.”

He opens it to reveal ball shaped food he recognizes as dim sum. He uses the provided chopsticks to pop one into his mouth, moaning at the combination of steamed vegetables and rich seasoning.

“This is amazing!” You grin in response, working on your own fruit and tofu skewer. “That’s because it’s the real deal. I went on a little trip to Hong Kong this morning.”

He pauses mid bite, resembling a confused chipmunk. You snicker. “I can teleport, remember?” You point at his empty cup, feeling it with juice. “Maybe on our next date I can take you to Egypt?”

He inhales the dimsum in shock, choking loudly. You use your powers to pull the food out of Steven’s throat, looking at him in concern. He quickly swallows the drink you made him.

“Are you ok?”

“Yeah, aces. Just got a bit too excited.”

“You’re adorable, Steven.”

As the date goes on you open up to each other. He tells you about his DID which you could somewhat sense already. His mind felt different but you couldn’t put a finger on it. You tell him about how you struggled to control your powers and accept yourself. You used to feel like a weapon but you learnt that weapons aren’t always a bad thing, they can be used to protect others. Instead of a nuclear bomb you started seeing yourself as a shield.

For once Steven doesn’t feel like an outsider. He wants to tell you about Moon Knight. He knows you won’t judge him. Just as he begans to build up the courage a booming, gravelly voice rattles in his head.

“Don’t tell her anything, worm!”

You both flinch. A shiver runs through you as your hair stands on end. All your instincts are telling you to get ready for a fight. That sense of ancient power you felt in the museum is back tenfold. “Did you hear that?” You ask Steven.

He looks at you in complete shock. “What?”

“Can the witch hear me?”

“Okay, where is that Darth Vader voice coming from?” You groan, eyes glowing F/C. Your powers mean you’re always aware of your surroundings, you don’t like this sudden uncertainty. Especially not when Steven is at risk.

Suddenly a large mummified being with a bird skull appears behind your date. Because this is what your life has come to apparently. “Can you see me, witch?” Without saying anything you use your abilities to send a roll flying, hitting him square in the beak. He flinches back in surprise. Steven watches on, not knowing if he should laugh or shake in fear. Maybe both.

“Does that answer your question?” You ask sassily. “You’re some kind of deity right? I’m getting Egyptian vibes,” you muse outloud. Despite having no real facial features he manages to look unimpressed. “I thought you had magic, yet you can’t figure out who I am, little one?"

You squint at him for a moment, reaching out your consciousness. “Khonshu? I think I’ll call you cashew.”

“You will not!” He bellows. Poor Steven flinches at the volume but you just purse your lips. “It’s not fun being called stupid nicknames, is it?”

He pauses, tilting his skeletal head at you. “Excuse me?”

“You called Steven a worm. That was very rude,” you huff protectively. “You should really treat your avatar better.”

“You know about avatars?”

“Magic, babe,” you tease, wiggling your fingers as sparks dance between them. “I want to be in Steven's life, and his alter’s if they’ll have me. We’ll be spending time together so we might as well get along, don’t you agree?”

The god nods reluctantly. “I suppose.”

“Good,” you beam up at him. “But if you ever disrespect Steven again we will have words,” you promise in a sickly sweet voice.

Steven looks at you in absolute awe. ‘I changed my mind. I like her,’ Marc speaks in his head. ‘That was fucking hot,’ Jake adds on helpfully. For once the system agrees on something.

____

taglist: @jallerentrags @huitzilinthebudgie3 @wintergirlsoilder2 @dreamerkim @jupitersmoon167 @n1ght5h4d3-24 @darkened-writer @sunipostsstuff @bex-tk1 @musicconversedance @nemtodd-barnes1923 @thegotfangirl @your-frenly-emo-rat @dadstarkblacksoul @certifiedhunter @tagakalat @galactic-galabee @yoongiwithglasses @theyaremorethanjustfictional @booksandbenbarnes @faefanatic @ness-is-vanillabean @lovesickollie @kemisuu @missdragon-1 @ristare @jck-r @brekkers-desigirl

if ur name is highlighted i couldn't tag u :(

a/n #2: i've never had such a long taglist! thank you for giving my work so much love before i even posted it🥹

Sebastian Stan/Bucky Barnes Masterlist

Sebastian Stan

Stand Alones:

Play Pretend

Sharing is Caring (also on my Ashton masterlist)

Numbers

Bucky Barnes

Stand Alones:

Tranquil Waters

(Don’t) Leave Me in the Dark

Think of Me

Happiness in Misery

Dinner Games

Multi Parts:

The Falcon and the Newlyweds

I Think I Like You 

‘Til The End of the Line 

Episode 1

Episode 2

Episode 3

Episode 4

Episode 5

Episode 6

Stucky

All Too Well

Lover of Mine

Bucky x Male Stark!Reader

Phantom Pain

Mosaic Broken Hearts

The Curious Case of a Small Kitten

Wrath of an American Soldier

An Avengers Halloween

Fuck it’s 8 am and I am now devastated by Tony’s death all over again 😭

I love you but I kinda hate you at the same time 😭

3)When B was alive, A and B had casual rituals that they would follow without a fault; A would bring B coffee in the morning and leave it on their bedside table, B would make A a sandwich at lunchtime, A would drop a towel into B’s room at 6 because they know that B always showers at 6:30, and so on. After B dies, A can’t help but unconsciously keep doing the rituals.

With Loki or Tony....

Thank you so much! This one is for the one and only Tony Stark <3 sorry, Pepper - you don't exist in this fic.

Warnings: grief, crying, panic attack WC: 1.4k

|| Main Masterlist ||

Chronic insomnia, self diagnosed of course, left you the sole occupant of the avengers compound throughout the night. Sure, people came and went but you were the only one who roamed the empty halls looking for something to keep you mind occupied. Sleep had been elusive before Tony died but now it was slipperier Rocket in the armoury, there was no chance of catching it.

By 6am the sleep deprivation left you teetering on the edge of reality and imagination, the moment of bliss where you could forget everything you lost. As the sun began its torturous climb over the horizon you would make your way back to the top floor, taking the stairs so you wouldn’t have to make polite conversation with the agents already up for the day. Your calves burned from the climb but you made it to the penthouse and stopped to take in the breathtaking panorama of the place you had called home since meeting Tony.

You put the kettle on and let your eyes burn as they stared into the sun, waiting for the water to boil. Your fingers curled into the handles of two mugs on reflex and they fell smashing to the floor as you realised your mistake. The ceramic shattered against the tiled floor and you jumped as the sound broke through your sleepy haze.

“Is everything alright Miss Y/l/n?” Edith asked, the kitchen lights turning on with her programming.

“I’m fine, Edith.” You sighed, leaving the room in search of a broom to clean up your mess.

“Mr Stark said fine means freaked out, insecure, neurotic and emotional. Are you sure you are fine Miss Y/l/n.”

“I know what Tony said, don’t remind me what he said.” You all but growled. “I had years with him, I heard every word, every promise, every fucking lie!”

“Miss Y/l/n, your heart rate is becoming dangerously high.” Edith said, a holographic screen projecting your vital signs as the world began to tilt.

Your breathing was rapid and your head light as the spikes on the monitor reflected the panic attack that was physically manifesting all the pain you kept in your head. Your hands reached for the countertop as you could no longer hold yourself upright and Edith's voice faded as you slipped to the floor, sleep finally within your reach.

“Hey, you, yeah you sweetcheeks.” Tony whistled and you scrunched your nose up in distaste as you pointed to yourself.

“Pretty sure that’s a lawsuit, Mr Stark.” You said as you ignored your current task and strode over to him.

“Wouldn’t be my first.” He muttered under his breath. “What’s your name then darling?”

“I guess that’s an improvement.” You sighed. “It’s y/n.”

“Y/n.” He pursed his lips as he tested the sound on them, deciding if he liked it or not, probably already planning to pay you to change it if he didn’t. “Y/n…I like it, it suits you. Now, on your knees.”

“Mr Stark!” You gasped and raised your hand, fist closing and ready to wallop some manners into him when he burst out laughing.

“Please, call me Tony.” He chuckled and rolled out from under his hot rod he was working on. “I need a third hand to hold this part in place.”

Your lips fell open with a nervous laugh as you misread him, except you were sure he had known exactly how his words sounded. He was known to be the biggest flirt in California if not the US. Kneeling down beside him, you did as asked and held the part while he fixed it into place.

“Alright, now what?” You asked as you waited for him to give you another instruction.

“Lunch in New York, Dinner in New Orleans and the rest of our lives wherever you desire.”

You woke up alone in the oversized bed Tony had insisted on and you had to fight the immediate pain in your chest, even now you still expected to wake up and find Tony next to you. Even when Tony had been in it with you the majority of the bed went unused, Tony was always a little spoon, curling up at the edge of his side before reaching for your hand so he could pull you against his back and lace his fingers in yours. Few people would have ever known him the way you did or get to see the softer side that liked to snuggle under the sheets, it was something he only felt comfortable enough to do with you.

“Edith, how did I get here?” You asked as you sat up and kicked the blankets back, finding the sun almost reaching high noon.

“I, um, hope you don’t mind.” Peter said from the doorway, scratching his neck nervously. “Edith called me, I didn’t think you would want to go to the hospital.”

You sighed and ran a hand over your face, trying to chase away the memories that had tortured you in your sleep, leaving you even more exhausted. “Edith should have called an adult, you’ve got enough on your plate, you shouldn’t have to see that.”

“Sorry, Miss Y/l/n.” Edith apologised.

“I get it, I miss him too.” Peter visibly slumped as he looked at the portrait of you and Tony hanging on the wall.

“I still set the table for two.” You laughed but it was strangled and turned to a cry as you pulled your knees up to your chest. “Sorry, sorry.”

“If I do something I shouldn't, I expect to just see him standing there, looking down at me over his sunglasses.” Peter sniffed. “It was like losing my dad all over again.”

It wasn’t to say you thought your pain was the worst but you had forgotten that there were a whole lot of other people missing Tony in their own way. You were mourning your fiance, Peter was mourning his father figure, Rhodey was mourning his best friend. No pain was worse than the other, it was all just pain and you finally realised what Tony would have wanted for you.

For the first time since his death, getting out of the bed did feel like a mountain to climb. You crossed the room and let Peter break down in your arms, he was a boy who was forced to carry more weight than any teenager should. When his tears slowed, you led him to the kitchen and found the mess cleaned up before you sat him at the island and filled a pot with milk. You curled your fingers into two handles and placed them on the bench, brewing hot chocolate like you had always imagined doing with the children you had dreamt of one day having with Tony.

The clock struck noon and you realised you hadn’t even thought about looking at the door, the expectation of Tony walking in from his lab to have lunch with you. You were in charge of drinks and he would make the sandwiches, just another thing you hadn’t had since he passed. You missed lunch more often than not, lost in the daydream and waiting for him to make them, something that would never happen again. It was time to start making new habits.

Placing one mug in front of Peter, you opened the fridge and looked at the contents. “You hungry, kid?”

His eyes seemed to mist the nickname you unconsciously picked up from Tony and he shook his head. “I’m fine, y/n.”

You chuckled as you saw through his lie and offered a smile as you grabbed the ingredients for a decent sandwich. “You know what Tony said that means right?”

Peter shook his head again and you began to tell him the story, one of many memories you could impart on the kid. This was what Tony would have wanted, his family to remember his life not his death.

Born In Flames || Chapter Six

Pairing: Bodyguard!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Being the daughter of a mafia boss was hard enough growing up. You got out and made a new life for yourself as a bartender only to be sucked in when your old man made a bad deal and he thinks you need protection. Enter Bucky Barnes, your new bodyguard and roommate.

Warnings: Blood, broken nose, kidnapping, guns

Word Count: 3,011

Authors Note: Three chapters so close together? Whaaaat? Have fun, babes. If you want to be included in the tag list, send a message or ask otherwise it will be ignored.

Born In Flames Masterlist

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You knew what sitting in the hospital alone meant.

It meant you were vulnerable.

It meant Pierce’s men could find and take you.

But you couldn’t just leave Bucky to wake up alone.

The bullet thankfully didn’t cause any organ failure, but he did have surgery to get the piece of metal out from his chest. All while you sat in the waiting room, curled up in a chair and hyper aware of your surroundings. For the past week, you didn’t have to watch for yourself. Bucky had made sure to do it all and now you were realizing just how much you had become dependent on him.

It was about an hour into waiting when you saw Michael appear with one of his other men. The two of you didn’t speak, just gave nods and sat in silence.

A couple hours later, a woman came out to talk to you about the surgery and how it went well, but he wouldn’t be able to do any strenuous activity for a while. You asked to see him, stopping Michael from being the first one to go in. Bucky didn’t need to deal with work right now, he needed a friend.

A friend who was almost killed protecting you.

Quietly you stepped inside to see Bucky’s sleeping frame in the bed, little beeps coming from the monitor. It pained you to see him like this, but it was a risk that came with being in the mafia. The last time you had been in a hospital, it was to watch your mother on her final days.

If only you had known then.

Pulling a chair up to the bed, you sat down and reached out to take Bucky’s flesh hand. He was still, probably hopped up on pain meds. You didn’t mind, you were just glad he was alive.

Hearing a knock, you assumed it was a nurse and called for them to come in. It was the man who came with Michael.

“Boss went home. I’ll be sitting out here. He paid them off so you can stay past visiting hours,” he spoke. Glen, if you remembered correctly.

You nodded and quietly thanked him before the door closed again.

“I’m so sorry, Bucky,” you whispered, resting your head on the bed as you held his hand.

No television, no music, just the sounds of the monitors and activity on the other side of the door.

You ended up falling asleep like that, fingers laced with his. What did wake you was soft grunting from the man in front of you. Leaning up, you caressed his arm and sighed.

“Shh, it’s okay. You’re okay,” you sighed. You couldn’t imagine how much pain he was in.

“Y/N…” Bucky’s eyes slowly started to open, wincing at the bright light overhead before his eyes adjusted.

“Yeah, it’s me,” you stood, hip leaning against the bed as you looked down at him.

“What…happened…” he mumbled.

Letting go of his hand, you grabbed the little styrofoam cup filled with water and put the straw to his lips as you answered.

“More shooting. A bullet got lodged in your chest but they got it out. It broke a rib but that’s about the extent of it,” you said, pulling the cup away after Bucky got a good sip.

“How did we end up here?” He asked. His voice was hoarse but just slightly better. His chest ached like no pain he ever had before.

You set the cup down and bit your lip. “I uh…drove us away. Called Michael and met up with him. Not sure if they got the guys that were shooting at us. I was more worried about you,” you admitted.

Bucky raised an eyebrow, trying to shift in the bed but a grumble of pain left his lips.

“No, no, stop it. Don’t move,” you frowned.

Bucky huffed and laid back, taking a moment before speaking again. “You drove us away? But I was driving…”

“I may have driven from the passenger seat. Or well, the console really. Had to keep pressure on your wound, kick your big legs out of the way so I could reach the pedals, and steered. It looks like being a getaway driver is a skill I never knew I had,” you shrugged.

Bucky reached out slightly and brushed his fingers over yours that sat on the bed. “Are we sure you need protection anymore?” He gave a hint of a tired smile.

“Probably not. But…I do like the company,” you tilted your head, glancing down at your hand with his. “I’m sorry you got shot because of me.”

Bucky shook his head slightly. “I didn’t. I got shot doing my job. It just so happened that my job is you.”

You sighed and pulled your hand away, taking a seat on the chair. Right. A job. That’s what you were.

So why did it hurt so much to hear? Why did you want more?

Bucky could see the disappointment in your eyes and he closed his for a moment. “I didn’t mean…”

“I know. Don’t worry about it. Just focus on getting better, okay?” You said quietly, glancing over to him.

Both of you were silent for a few moments before Bucky spoke up again. “You know, I like the company too. It’s not everyday I can show this thing to someone and not have them be afraid of it,” Bucky said as his metal arm lifted, the gold shining in the overhead light.

“It’s not scary though. It’s just an arm and I don’t really plan on being on the opposite end of it when it comes to killing,” you shrugged.

Bucky reached his flesh hand out, realizing he missed your touch. Giving in, you rested your hand in his. You hated how much you liked it, but then again so did he.

“You’re more than just a job. It’s not everyday I can take someone to that diner. And I don’t let just anyone hide against me after nightmares. I don’t know, I just…” he took a couple of breaths, the pain in his chest radiating through him. “I’ve been on bodyguard jobs before but this is entirely different. You’re different. You don’t let anyone tell you what you want and you stick up for yourself. Most people wouldn’t even go so far as to raise their voice to Michael and you went in there and screamed. Others would have too much fear but not you. You know, I think I owe you for saving my life,” he watched your eyes as he spoke.

You met his eyes and squeezed his hand. “Bucky…I don’t know what this means. I don’t…I don’t do this type of thing.” Bucky furrowed his brow in confusion and you continued. “This,” holding up your hand in his. “Going to breakfast and needing someone to hold me during those nightmares. I don’t know how to feel because…truth be told I’ve started to like you. And honestly, I was scared when you were shot. I didn’t want to lose you. I didn’t want to have to find another guard dog or move your stuff out of my little office-“

“You call that an office?” Bucky slightly chuckled, trying not to agitate his wound.

You rolled your eyes and glared for a moment. “You know what I mean. I just…I don’t want to lose you to more gunshots. And I know it’s inevitable because that’s what this business is. That’s what the point of it is. Killing, money, fights. I want to leave it all, leave this state and go far, far away…but I don’t want to leave you,” you admitted.

Bucky listened, surprised at your change in mood. When he first met you, you were ready to kick him out of the door and to sleep in the hallway of the apartment building. Now, you were confessing feelings? Tugging on your hand to silently tell you to move closer, you stood and leaned against the bed.

“I don’t want to lose you either, angel,” Bucky spoke. That was a first. The little nickname. Reaching up with his metal hand, he took your chin and pulled you down into a gentle yet long kiss. You froze when his lips pressed against yours, but soon you melted into it. You didn’t want to pull away but the knock and gentle opening of the door made you. It was a nurse coming in to check on him, surprised that he was awake so soon. She asked him the usual questions about how he felt, completely ignoring the kiss you two had just shared. All while his hand stayed clasped around yours.

You yawned just as she made her way out after jotting down a couple things on his chart, closing the door behind her.

“You need to get home and sleep,” Bucky sighed.

“No,” you shook your head. “They said I could stay as long as I want. And I don’t want to go back there.”

Bucky eyed you for a moment before trying to shift again.

“Buck, I told you-“

“Here,” Bucky patted the bed beside him. It was his left side, where the wires wouldn’t get caught around you from the monitor.

You tilted your head before slowly moving around to the other side. Being as gentle as ever, you crawled beside him. Adjusting the blanket over both of you, you rested your head against his shoulder. Surprisingly the metal arm wasn’t uncomfortable as he used what little strength he had to pull you close. Pressing a kiss to your hair, your hand rested on his bare stomach and you sighed.

This wasn’t how you expected anything to go, but even now you felt more protected than you ever had.

You fell asleep against him fairly quickly, not even waking when the nurses came in to check on Bucky. They did suggest that you move, but Bucky warned them not to wake you. They weren’t about to try fighting him on it.

A few hours into your rest, Bucky had dozed off as well with his head leaning against yours. The door slowly clicked open and in walked not a nurse, not a doctor, not even Michael.

Alexander Pierce stood at the foot of the bed, hands in his pockets as the bodyguard from outside of Buckys’s door stood on the side of the bed. Pierce kicked the end of the bed, rattling both you and Bucky awake.

Slowly your eyes opened, yawning until you froze at the sight of the men. Bucky looked around and his own eyes grew wide.

“Pierce.”

“Barnes.”

Both of the men stared at each other for a moment longer before Alexander turned his attention to you. “Y/N, long time, no see. Looks like we have some catching up to do. Get up.”

“You won’t touch her-“ Bucky started to say but a gun was pushed against his temple.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you. You were lucky to get away with just a few scrapes. Don’t test me. You, get up. You’re coming with us,” Alexander stated once more.

You looked at Bucky with fear but you knew the only option was to go or die. “Just…don’t hurt him,” you said as you got up, looking at Glen. So there was another rat. You momentarily wondered how many were in Michael’s business but you didn’t have time to think about it.

“Y/N, don’t,” Bucky whispered as you got off the bed.

“It’s okay,” you nodded, though you looked anything but.

“How sweet. Now what you’re going to do is walk out with us and act as if nothing is wrong. You try to run, you’ll get shot. You try to get help, shot. Even look at someone, shot. Keep your head down and make it out alive. And then maybe we’ll keep your boyfriend alive too,” Pierce said. You didn’t bother correcting him, too scared to say anything more. He gave Glen a nod and the man hit Bucky over the head a couple of times with the butt of the gun, knocking him out.

You whimpered slightly, a hand covering your mouth. Pierce pushed you towards the door and now you knew you had to play it cool. Swallowing hard, you walked between both men all while trying to find a way out of this. Bucky couldn’t call for help yet. The nurses didn’t know anything about the mafia business, only that they were paid to keep their mouths shut about who was in the room.

Glen paid close attention to you as you just stared down at the floor in front of you. The one time you wished Michael was around, but when were you ever that lucky? The men led you outside to a black Rolls Royce, pushing you into the back. A driver took off the second the door was closed. Your hands were bound behind your back.

This was how you were going to die.

“Are you going to kill me like you did mom?” You asked, teetering on terror and anger.

Pierce chuckled and crossed his arms. “So you figured it out, huh? I was wondering if you would ever know. And I’m not quite sure how I’m going to kill you yet. May have my men cut off parts of you and send them back to Michael. After all, he can put your back together that way. Or maybe I’ll make sure he never finds you.”

“So you are going to kill me. Why? What did I ever do to you?” You glared.

“Your whore of a mother left me for Michael of all people. You know, we’re still legally married. I never signed the divorce papers she sent me. But I feel as though you deserve the same treatment. Slow, painful death. You were never really my daughter, not after you kept calling Michael ‘dad’. Do you know how much that hurts? I could have given you the best life! But instead I’m left with nothing and now I’ll make sure Michael has nothing left either,” Pierce spoke as the car turned. Where were they taking you?

“You’re pathetic,” you said, spitting right in his face.

Pierce wiped his face before leaning his arm up and elbowing you straight in the face. A sick crunch came from your nose, making you scream in pain. Glen grabbed a bandana and wrapped it around your mouth to keep you quiet.

“You got blood on my Armani,” Pierce grumbled, looking at the sleeve. “You’ll never see anyone ever again. I can promise that.”

You whimpered against the cloth in your mouth, blood slipping down your skin. Tears formed in your eyes as you silently pleaded to whatever gods or even to the universe that they got you out of this.

After an hour and a half of driving, the car pulled up to a building. It looked like a cabin in the middle of the woods. No immediate traffic, no neighbors for at least a couple of miles. Glen dragged you out of the car and pushed you forward as you followed Pierce inside. It looked like a little two bedroom place, as if a hunting cabin used during those few months. Or a safehouse. Probably a safehouse.

“I used to love coming here with my grandfather as a child. It was beautiful during the summers. I was hoping to pass it along to my children, but it seems like that won’t be an option. Now, I suggest you get comfortable. And don’t think about escaping. Every window, every door, they’re all sealed shut. Only way in and out is that door,” Pierce pointed to the one you three just walked through. “And you won’t be able to get within two feet of it.”

Just then, Glen leaned down and strapped an ankle monitor to your leg. “Try to leave and it sounds off. Try to take it off and it sounds off.”

You muffled words against the bandana, and Pierce gave Glen a nod as he stood. Taking the bandana away, you frowned. “Why don’t you just kill me now and get it over with?”

“Because I want to see how much you mean to Michael. I’m sure he will do anything to keep you alive, he just doesn’t know that you won’t be at the end of it all,” Pierce said before backhanding you, sending you stumbling. Glen pulled out a phone just as you looked back, blood still caked on your face from your broken nose. “Perfect. Matthew, I’ll send more men within a couple hours,” he said as he passed by you.

So Glen wasn’t even really a Glen at all.

Nodding, Glen pushed you to the couch. He sent the photo he took to Pierce and followed him out of the door for a moment.

The two spoke in hushed tones as you gently felt your nose. You knew you needed to put it back into place. You had done it once before in high school when your friend fell down the stairs, but could you do it to yourself? You took a few deep breaths and winced before cracking it back into place with a yelp. Glen, Matthew, whatever his name was, looked in to see you cradling your face.

“Make sure she doesn’t leave or else I’ll have you buried out back here as well,” Pierce said, not realizing you managed to hear that little bit.

He buried bodies around here? Great, you were surrounded by corpses. Pierce left and the asshole walked back in, closing and locking the door.

All while you were trying to figure out what to do next, the nurses alerted Michael about Bucky’s knocked out condition. Quickly he rushed to the hospital and found both Glen and you missing. Bucky had woken up just moments before, telling him everything that happened with Pierce.

Bucky felt disgusted with himself all while Michael felt the same. They didn’t keep you safe.

Now they just had to find you.

Tag list: @crownstealer @borikenlove @bitchassbucky @babyboibucky @buckybarneschokeme @buckys-blue-eyes @vanillanaps @bibbidibobbidibucky @spicynudlesoup @bemine-bucky @suchababie @kaaabiii @rebekahdawkins @sebsbrokentoe @marvel-3407 @acmbooksandfilm @stucky-my-ship @boofy1998 @valsworldofcreativity @yaszx @21st-century-daydreamer @doll1917 @luxeavenger @hallecarey1 @booktease21 @supernatural-love14 @bookstan0618

God I LOVE YOU SO MUCH !

You cannot imagine how this mad me happy from the moment I started reading I had a smile on my face !! It feels so good to read something that I can relate to a 100% !

(Also I’m sorry for reading it so late I had a busy day but I was so exited when I saw the notification)

I cannot explain how grateful I am for this ! THANK YOUUU

It was perfect 🤩

Heeey babeee !! I wanted to ask something but only if you are comfortable writing about it

Bucky with Muslim reader and like him kinda learning about it because you know the 40’s and like maybe him being confused at first and like with time he learns about it and start doing things for the reader to make it easy on her

(Idk if this ask makes sens I’m kinda scared to send it because when I ask for Muslim reader people just ignore me )

Since it’s almost Ramadan I have based it around this ❤️ Thank you for entrusting me with this, I hope you enjoy it xx No warnings just sweet Bucky and fluffiness!

Ramadan with Bucky

The kitchen was busier than usual, then again most days were busier than usual with half the population suddenly reappearing. There were twice as many hungry mouths to feed and yet the volunteer numbers had dropped off to take care of their own families who had returned. Not one to complain, you worked twice as fast to dish up plates of food for the people desperate for what could possibly be the only meal they had that day.

“Heads up, your boyfriend’s here.” Your friend nudged you as she nodded her head to the door.

You looked up and smiled as Bucky made his way through the crowd, a few of the veterans stopping him to shake hands until he reached the table you were set up at. He pulled on a pair of gloves and squeezed through the other volunteers, asking to swap places until he was next to you and in charge of putting a bread roll on each plate that went by. You hadn’t been sure he would actually come when you first invited him but a year later he was still there every week, albeit when hero duty called.

The day Bucky moved into the building you had been living in was the day everything changed for you. His company seemed to make everything better no matter how rough your day was, even before you got to talking just a smile across the hall could make all the difference. It had taken him weeks to summon the courage and talk to you until one day when you both arrived at the building door at the same time.

“I hope it’s not too forward of me but do you want to go to lunch?” He asked nervously. “With me, um, obviously.”

You had chuckled as he tipped his head back and whispered ‘seriously, Bucky” to himself before you shook your head. “I would love to but I can’t right now, it’s Ramadan.”

His eyebrows pinched together at the unfamiliar word and he fidgeted with his house keys. “Uh, yeah it’s no worries. I get it.”

“You have no idea, do you?”

He shook his head with a shy smile. “I have no idea, but I would love to hear you tell me about it.”

That was a year ago and Bucky had come so far.

“Ramadan mubarak.”

His greeting warmed your heart and you felt your neck heating up under your hijab as you returned the greeting. “Has Sam been giving you lessons?”

“He tried but apparently I’m not very good at listening to him. At least that's what I think he said.”

His lopsided grin left you disarmed and it wasn’t until your friend nudged you that you remembered what you were doing and handed another plate of food over with an apology.

“I was thinking, you should invite your family over for iftar.” You nearly dropped the plate you were holding at his suggestion. “It’s closer to the mosque from our place anyway.”

“Are you sure?” You asked between handing over plates. “I don’t want you to feel pressured.”

“I’m sure, doll. It’s your religion, a part of who you are. Plus, I think it’s time I met your family. Unless you don’t want me to.”

“Of course I do.” You assured him with a smile. “I’d really like that.”

You were exhausted as you walked up the many flights of steps to your apartment, the first week of fasting leaving you tired at the end of the day. Thankfully Bucky was with you, carrying your bags and promising you that you were almost at the top as he helped you with his arm around your back. He took your keys and unlocked the door, getting you settled on the couch while he hung your bag behind the door.

“Get some rest, doll.” Bucky said as he pressed his lips to your forehead. “I’ll see you later.”

He draped the blanket from the back of your couch over your body as you nestled into the cushions to have a rest before it was time for iftar. You could still remember his confusion last year when you had explained Ramadan. He had grown up during the Great Depression and found it difficult to understand why you would fast when he had first hand felt the hunger pains of a home empty of food. After listening to your explanation and asking a few questions of his own, he had understood and wanted to help make the month long celebration easier for you.

“I forgot to say,” Bucky’s voice startled you as the door opened and you hadn’t expected him to come back to your apartment until sunset so you had removed your hijab, “I went to the market earlier. Oh, sorry!”

He spun around, facing his own apartment door as you pulled the blanket over your head to protect your modesty with a squeak and you repinned the material in place, checking your hair was all tucked away before lowering the blanket.

“I should have knocked, shit, I’m sorry.” He dropped his head.

“It was an accident.” You gave him a small smile so he would relax a bit and nodded to the bag in his hand as you stood up. “What’s that?”

“Oh, yeah I went to the market and got you some fresh dates.” He said holding it up. “I figure like most things they have to be better when they are fresh.”

“Thank you, Bucky.” You said as your voice threatened to break at the sweet thought. “I invited my parents over tonight, I hope you don’t mind, they sounded really excited. My father wanted to know if you would come with us to the mosque after dinner.”

“I don’t think I would be welcome in any holy place.” His lips pulled into a sad smile. “The things I did as the Winter Soldier…”

“If any one does evil or wrongs his own soul but afterwards seeks God’s forgiveness, he will find God Oft-forgiving, Most Merciful.” You recited as you took his metal hand in his. “You are welcome but only come if you are comfortable. There are lots of people who come and observe during Ramadan, you wouldn’t be alone.”

“Wouldn’t I be with you?” He frowned, he always walked you there and waited outside but what went on inside the mosque was still something of a mystery to him.

“Women have a separate space for prayer.”

“So you father was-”

“Wanting to spend time with you.” You grinned. “That’s a good thing.”

“Ok.” He nodded, his back straightening as his resolve set in. “I can do this, it’ll be good.”

“You’ve got this.” You said with a squeeze to his hand. “I’m sure you’ve met plenty of women's parents in your 107 years.”

“Never, actually.” He laughed as he pulled you into a hug. “In my day we only met parents if we were serious or thinking about proposing.”

“I’m glad you think this is serious.”

“I’ve never been so serious in my life.” He admitted softly. “Imagine if Steve could see me now. He would love you, but probably think you are too kind for my surliness.”

“You’re not surly, ok, not so much anymore.” You said as you stifled a yawn.

“Get some rest, I won’t distract you anymore.” He said as he released you from the hug.

“I’ll see you later, right?” You asked as he opened your door. “When mom and dad get here?”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

━━━━━━♡♥♡━━━━━━

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.

If the Punisher is brought into the MCU and he’s not played by Jon Bernthal, then I don’t want it.

Also this mood board is so hot I couldn’t concentrate while reading the fist paragraphs of two minds one body

Fuck now I have no reason to be exited on Saturday 🥹😢

Enamored [47] - The End

A.N: And the last chapter❤ I cannot thank you enough for your wonderful support throughout the story my loves, ILYSM ❤ And as always, thank you @theskytraveler for helping me with the chapter and the story❤

Summary: Everyone finds their home, sooner or later.

Warnings: Regency era society and social rules, mentions of sex, some gender specific language and terms, mentions of pregnancy.

Word Count: 5700

Series Masterlist

The morning of the ball was nothing if not complete chaos.

It felt as if nothing would be completely ready by the time for the ball to start, even though you had basically stayed up until dawn to make sure you hadn’t overlooked anything. You barely had any time to eat or sit down during the day and instead spent the whole time either in the ballroom or in the yard but now that you were looking at the result—

It looked absolutely amazing.

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