Quadrabble #2 || B.b

Olly, Olly, Oxen Free {Hotch x daughter!reader}

Warnings: PLEASE, be advised of the SEVERE mentions of gun violence, murder, death, etc. This is a heavy piece, so please, please, please, do not put yourself at risk to read this, if you would like to know the plot without reading let me know and I will accommodate as best as I can!

This is set in “100″, so, daughter!reader is currently trapped with foyet in her childhood home. Alright, enjoy. 

“Y/N.”

You sprung from your place on the floor, watching your brother retreat past the living room, his feet happily climbing the old route he used to take in the childhood home he was raised in. You  doubted he forgot it so soon, even with his young age. This was the house they had made home. Over the last year, you would’ve done anything to be back in this house, surrounded by the memories of your past life. The life in which you weren’t forced into the witness protection program, abandoning all of your friends due to a serial killer hellbent on destroying your father’s life.

Your hand reached out, gently grabbing the cellphone extending from the hands of your mother’s.

“Dad.”

You forced herself to sound calm, composed. Sitting only ten feet from you was a man who had previously shoved a blade into your father’s abdomen just to prove a point. You figured seeming weak wasn’t particularly a good idea.

There was the hum of an engine, one that you knew well. When you was younger- much younger- you used to wait up for you father to come home from cases. Most nights you fell asleep before he came back, but on the rare occasion you actually made it past midnight, you could hear that very same hum of his government issued SUV pulling into the driveway, subsequently causing you to dart out of  bed to jump into his waiting arms. It never mattered to you that you would receive a scolding from your mother for not going to bed at a proper time, not when you would see the smile that grew on her father’s face when you accomplished your goal.

That smile, so rare and so blinding, hardly even captured in pictures. Your father was a tired man, a hardworking man, a dedicated father, but all of his good qualities had hardened into stone from the heat of his job and sometimes you feared that eventually, even you might not be able to crack that tough exterior. It seemed silly, sure, but your mother used to be able to find the chinks in his armor, used to make him laugh and smile and love and then one day she couldn’t and who was to say that it wouldn’t happen to you too?

“Y/N/N, I love you, you know that?” He used the nickname Jack had accidentally given you. When he was just learning to talk, the boy was unable to fully pronounce your name and you had been stuck with it ever since. You used to hate it- or, at least pretend to, but you could never yell at Jack. The boy was too good at absolutely melting you.

Your father’s voice, which was typically strong and gruff, came out a bit cracked. It filled you with a sinking feeling. If your father wasn’t composed then how the hell were you supposed to be?

The man who hoisted you on his shoulders every Fourth of July to see the fireworks better, or grabbed every spider that made you scream for your life. The man who taught you how to swing a baseball bat and then immediately yelled because you whacked him right in the knee. A fearless, strong, admittedly taciturn man that was making abundantly clear the ambiguity of your future.

You swallowed down that fear, you couldn’t afford to be afraid right now. Y/E/C  eyes looked up to your mother. She was still beside you, looking at her daughter as if trying to engrain every single facet of your face in her mind, burning the image of her daughter into her memory.

“I know, I love you too.” You didn’t know how you managed to keep your voice so even but to anyone listening it sounded like a normal conversation. She could almost imagine they were sitting at a dinner table (something they hadn’t done in a year because of the Witness Protection Program).

Pass the salt. She would’ve said.

“I need you to listen to me carefully, Bug.” If you hadn’t been so worried that you might die soon you might’ve found yourself scolding the man not to use that nickname anymore. After your friends had slept over in seventh grade and heard your father use it you were teased relentlessly, but now you didn’t mind it. You didn’t mind your father using a nickname you hated. You didn’t mind a lot of things now that you were facing death, serial killer breathing the same air as you and your mother, standing in your living room, staring at you with cold, calculating eyes.  

It’s funny how little things matter when death enters the picture.

“Remember when I taught you to drive?”

Your eyebrows furrowed, and you glanced to your mother, trying to keep your face void of emotion.

You hadn’t learned to drive. You had begged your father, of course, but he had said no. You remembered the fight that had ensued, his words loud just to overpower your teenaged protests. “There’s no use learning to drive when your mother’s here, sometimes me, and the metro, it’s useless. It would do you better to learn something more useful, like shooting a gun.”

Oh.

The sinking feeling returned in the pit of your stomach. Or maybe it just never left. Your eyes hardened with resolve over what you knew her father was asking you to do, and you nodded.

“Yeah.”

A tiny breath of air left your parted lips, and even with the confusion laced on her mother’s features and the amusement playing on Foyet’s, your mind cleared a bit.

Frontside. Trigger press. Follow through.

“I’m a terrible driver.” You murmured to her father. Your hand began to sweat at what he was asking of you. You recalled the shooting lessons. It had been a year or so ago, the man wanting you to be prepared for anything and then he had been shot and you hadn’t seen him since. Even with the little practice, you hadn’t been too bad, but this was nothing like the shooting range. This was pointing a gun at a killer and hoping to anything that was good and holy that you didn’t miss. Even so, who said you could get to the gun before Foyet got to you?

“You’re good enough.”

Good enough. You wanted to scream.

Foyet rose from his spot on the floor, and Haley stiffened in her place.

“I think that’s good enough, right, Y/N?” The way he moved, eyes trained onto you, alight with a kind of…mischief? Yes, mischief. Like an adolescent boy who just found his father’s stash of fireworks. His body moved like a predator. Refined, sophisticated, and calculated.

And, as he moved closer, you could smell him. He didn’t smell like you thought a killer would smell. Though, to be fair, you hadn’t ever given much thought to the scent of a killer. Maybe you thought that someone capable of such dirty, heinous crimes would smell as such. Like the rotten core would seep through their pores and become a putrid scent recognizable to those surrounding him. Instead, he smelt clean. Like laundry detergent and freshly washed hair. The hand that didn’t hold the gun reached up, taking a strand of your hair into his fingers and running it through them deftly.

“Don’t touch me.” You pushed him back on instinct and, not seeming to expect such force, the man was shoved back two steps. Rather than cocking the gun right then and there, Foyet looked at you with interest and then, he did something you didn’t expect. He smiled.

A laugh fell through his lips. It bubbled and boiled and hit your ears like nails on a chalkboard.

“Wow, you’ve got a feisty one, Aaron. I think she gets that from you, the old ball and chain over here is a bit of a whiner.” He chuckled to himself like he said the world’s funniest joke, and you glared.

“Leave them alone.” Your father may as well have been on mute because the killer paid no mind to his orders.

He breathed in a deep sigh, looking at you with those same bright, calculated eyes. Then, as if coming to a consensus, tilted his head. “How about this, how about you go hide, I’ll give you a head start, and then I’ll come find you.”

You could feel her mother bristle from beside you, quiet whimpers coming from her mouth. The hum of the engine played in the background, and the wind chimes on the front porch sang a tune with the breeze. “No.” You said firmly.

Foyet pouted, going to stand closer to the two. With each step he took closer to the two of you, it felt like a nail going into her coffin. You could see the twitch in his hands, as if itching to plunge a blade into your mother’s flesh, yet, you couldn’t just leave your mother. You couldn’t leave her to die.

“Ah, come on. You’re a teenager- a teenage girl, no less, aren’t you guys supposed to be fun?” His tone was teasing and coupled with his non-imposing figure, he shouldn’t have been able to chill you with his words but the way his eyes bored into yours they did.

You felt a hand on your elbow, a nudge and you glanced back to your mother. Haley was smaller than you, it had been that way for about a year or so now. You had hit a growth spurt once you entered high school, inheriting your father’s height, and it caused you to be a couple inches taller than your mother. Her eyes were filled with tears that were streaming down her face without care. You had seen her mother cry more than most daughters should.

Haley liked to cry at night, after putting her children to bed. She didn’t think about how often you stayed up, listening to the sobbing on the other side of the wall.

A hand cupped your face, and you leaned into the warmth. How many fights had you two gotten in over the past year? You had always been a daddy’s girl. He was never home, and it left your mother to be the ‘bad guy’ in most situations. And then, you all had been forced to pack up your lives and vanish. That year had been filled with nights of yelling at each other. Fights about small things. Like, your music playing too loud, or drinking too much coffee. And big stuff too. Like, you confronting your mother about having an affair.

Your relationship had been rocky. But, she was still your mother. She still reminded you to wear a coat when it was cold out, or washed your sheets when you felt sick. She made your favorite meals when you were sad, and bought  nail polish that she thought you would like. She was your mother, and you didn’t think you would ever be able to ignore that.

“Y/N, go.” Her words were stern, and it reminded you of a scolding. But your mother’s lips were tugging at the corners, and she was caressing your cheek so softly that you thought you would collapse right there. Your heart clenched at the sight of your mother.

Would this be the last time you saw her? The thought made you want to scream, cry, and punch something all at once.

For the first time that afternoon, you let your mask slip. Your eyes welled with tears, lip trembling. “Mom, no.” it came out shaky, and you didn’t have to turn around to see Foyet smiling at the way he could make an entire family fear for their lives in a mere couple of minutes. You could simply feel it.

Haley nodded, both her hands cupping your face now, scanning it over and over again. Your eyes, a fierceness to them that mimicked her own. A button nose that sat above rosy pink lips. On your chin, a small scar. You were an adventurous child. You hadn’t been afraid to climb the monkey bars despite being far too small for them and when you had fallen off, you had busted the skin open. Haley remembered being panicked, seeing you covered in blood, rushing you to the hospital, to find that you were calmer than she was. That’s how you always were. You were never scared. You were brave and fearless and kind and even if you played awful, punk alternative music that made Haley’s ears want to bleed, you were such a sweet girl with a big heart. The mother stood on her tiptoes, kissing your forehead.

You let your eyes flutter shut for a moment, trying to burn the memory of her mother’s lips on your forehead in your mind. And when you opened them again, you tried to burn the image of your mother as well. Even now, red eyed and sniffling, your mother was beautiful. Everyone always told you, you looked just like your mother. Haley used to have blonde hair. It had passed her shoulders and you used to beg her to play hair salon because of it. She had cut it after the divorce and you had a suspicion that it was because she craved change. Her cheekbones were high and sharp, just like yours. It made her skin pull taut when she smiled. Her nose was soft and dainty- something you had always been jealous of.

What if you never saw your mother smile again?

Haley was nodding, nodding and patting the girl’s cheek and it took you a moment to realize she was speaking once more. “Go, baby. I’ll be okay.”

No, you won’t. You wanted to say. You wanted to let your body fall into your mother’s arms and have the woman hold you like she did when you were a child. You wanted to feel your mother’s hands run through your hair and hear the woman sing you to sleep. You didn’t care how childish it seemed, you just wanted your mother.

Your shoulders shook and you fought to keep your emotions from consuming you.

“I- I love you.” It was a desperate attempt at closure but it did nothing to make you feel better. It only made your mother smile.

“I love you too.” Haley gave one final pat before a light shove and you felt numb. You couldn’t feel yourself hand the phone to your mother, nor could you feel your feet move in the desired direction. Everything in you felt like it was simultaneously being doused in cold water and burned in hot flames. Your mind kept screaming at you to go back. Turn around, grab your mother and hope for the best but you could hear Foyet talking with your mother now and she knew that your father had told you what to do next.

It was weird.

All the nights you had spent in that stupid witness protection program, closing your eyes imagining you were back in your childhood home. You would pretend you were back in your room, waiting for your father to come home. You would pretend your mother was putting Jack to sleep and you would pretend that everything was normal. Now you were back and everything was wrong.

Focus.

After teaching you how to properly use a gun, Aaron had told you where one could be found in cases of dire emergencies. Your feet stepped lightly, moving as swiftly as you could. The laces on your converse slapped against the sides of the shoes and you silently pulled open your father’s nightstand. It hadn’t been touched since you all had moved out.  It was normal upon first glance. A couple of papers, reading glasses, sleeping pills. You knew better.

You pulled at the string on the bottom, the false top giving in immediately and revealing the silver .38. You grabbed for it, cocking it as quietly as you could. The weapon was heavy, yet, familiar in your hand. You thought that in a time like this you would be more shaky, but all you could focus on was your mother’s quiet sobs from the living room a whole story down.

The sound gave you hope. If she could cry, then she was alive. You pushed on with that thought in mind, rounding the corner. Just before you could head back downstairs and possibly take down Foyet, you heard it.

Gunshots.

Your mother cried out the first time, but it was completely silent after the second two. Just the light thud of a body hitting the floor.

You bit down on your cheek to keep herself from screaming. The taste of blood followed soon after. Your hand rose to your mouth, attempting to muffle the cries that attempted to escape.

“Y/N!” A sing song-y voice called out. There was a thumping sound on the stairs and after a sickening moment, you realized it was the sound of your mother’s body hitting the wood. He was dragging her up the stairs, wanting to display her just how he liked. Your eyes burned and you let the tears fall down your cheeks without care. They dripped off your chin, falling onto your shirt. It was a band t-shirt. Your mother hated it, said that the swords were too violent, but she allowed you to wear it anyways.

You darted into the closest door- Jack’s old room- eye’s scanning your surroundings for a plan. Whatever Foyet was doing, you knew you didn’t have much time until he was coming after you.

“I just wanna play, Y/N. Come out, come out wherever you are.” He sang out. He must’ve taken your mother- your mother’s body, you corrected yourself bitterly- to your parents bedroom. With a chilling realization, you remembered you had been there only moments before. He was close to you.

Your eyes landed on the closet, overflowing with toys, even months after not being in use. Jack tended to get whatever he asked for- not that he was spoiled, he was just hard to say no to. It wasn’t difficult to squeeze into it, leaving the door open a crack. The gun sat in your hands ready and waiting.

You steadied the sound of your breathing.

How was you going to tell Jack about mom? Well that was a bit optimistic, now, wasn’t it? Presumptuous of you to think you would live through the next five minutes to be able to tell your little brother that our mother was dead, You thought bitterly.

“I think I’ll lay your body right next to your Mom. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? So you can be together?” He was in the hallway, and even with the barrier of Jack’s door and the closet door, the sound of his voice made you shiver. It was smooth, charming, even. If you hadn’t known he was a complete psychopath you wouldn’t have given the man much thought. You wouldn’t have thought him capable of doing the heinous acts he had done.

There was a creak, the door opening to the room and your arms rose slightly. Your eyes were peaking through the crack, your heart racing. You could see the man moving into the room, searching for his next prey- and that’s what he thought you were. Prey. He thought you were an easy target. Everyone did.

Everyone thought you were just some stupid kid. Some people said it outright and others just assumed. You could tell when you first met your father’s team, some of them had stereotyped you as well. They had asked her about school and about boys and gossip, because they assumed that was all you were capable of speaking about and then you had surprised them by mentioning books and Neo-noir films. You were accustomed to being underestimated. And you were betting your life that George Foyet was doing the same.

As soon as you saw the man move into the middle of the room, you sprung. The door flew open and before you could hesitate, you pulled the trigger. Pure shock could’ve been the reason, you were able to get out of the room. Or perhaps you had managed to shoot him in the head and end your family’s suffering once and for all. You weren’t sure because you were moving purely on instinct. Your feet carried you through the house, jumping over toys and broken chairs and bloodstains that weren’t there before.

“You bitch!”

Okay, so he was alive. He was chasing after you but you didn’t look back. You jumped into the linen closet, out of breath but not allowing yourself to pant as you wanted to. You could hear the slight groans of the man as he made his way through the house, though it was farther, as if he was walking in the wrong direction. You had slowed him down, that’s for sure. The gun in your hand felt warm, like a pat on the back, but the thought of your mother’s dead body lying somewhere in the house sat in the back of your mind.

Where was Jack? You thought briefly. You had to trust that he was safe. Trust and pray that whatever their dad had said to him had made sense. You hoped he couldn’t hear anything that was going on. That he didn’t hear the sound of your mother being murdered and you shooting the killer.

You  felt the towel shelf press into your back, but you didn’t dare move anymore. You were sure Foyet hadn’t died now. If anything, you might’ve made him more angry.

It smelled like fresh laundry in the small space and it reminded you of Sunday nights. Your father was usually home, cases typically being taken during the week and coming home Saturday nights. That’s why you liked Sundays so much. You liked waking up to the smell of pancakes while your father played a Beatles album. He would sing into a spatula and twirl your mother around the kitchen. And Haley would laugh and tell him to stop, but she never actually meant it. And, when he noticed you coming down the stairs, he would take you in his arms- no matter how big and tall you had gotten, he never stopped doing it. He would spin you around as well and when you was little you would dance on his feet, but when you were older, your bare feet would touch the cold hardwood floor.

Your mother would do crossword and pretend not to notice that your father was giving not-so-subtle hints every so often. Your father would have you catch him up on what you had been up to that week, and you would have to help Jack read through the comics because he didn’t really understand the jokes. Sundays were your favorite days because instead of being a separate family like they were every other day, they were all together and it felt normal.

You closed her eyes, trying to imagine it was Sunday.

A large clatter rang out, effectively snapping you from your thoughts. You could hear footsteps, fighting, yelling. It was hard to tell how long you waited in the closet, gun pressed to your chest. You could hear someone outside the door, light footsteps against hardwood.

The light on the bottom was obscured from a large shadow and you tried to prepare yourself. What would death feel like? Maybe you was selfish, or maybe you were a coward, but you didn’t want to know. You wanted to stomp your foot and say that it wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that your mother was dead. It wasn’t fair that you were about to die. The door was ripped open and you extended your arms, about to shoot blindly, when you saw who was before you.

“Woah, hey, Y/N. Y/N, look at me.”

You had stopped crying long ago, but your entire body was shaking. There was so much tension in your shoulders, it felt like somebody had tied you up entirely, slowly but surely squeezing the life out of you. You hadn’t realized it before, much too focused in getting as far away from the serial killer in your house as possible, but when you had shot Foyet, some of his blood had splattered onto you. You could see it now that the light was on it. It sat on your hands, partially dried and partially wet. And you could feel some of it on your cheeks.

You wondered what you looked like.

Derek stared at you. Your eyes were wild, darting between the gun in your hands and the gun in Derek’s. Your cheeks, flushed as they were, were painted lightly with splattered blood. The only evidence of previous tears were puffy eyes, but you hardly seemed weak right now. You seemed…feral.

“Y'N, it’s me. You’re safe. it’s me, it’s Derek. Put that gun down.” It was strange. It was like you could see his lips moving, you could see that he was speaking but you couldn’t hear the words. All you could hear was the sound of your mother’s body hitting the stairs one at a time.

Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

“He’s dead. Y/N, he’s dead.” The sound came back all at once. Everything came back all at once.

You could see people behind Derek. There were cops and medical examiners, flooding in and out of your childhood home. They all seemed to be moving toward the same place, all in the direction where you had fled. They were heading toward the body, you realized. The body of your dead mother. There was the faint sound of sirens, and there was chatter. You wanted to yell at them, scream for them to be quiet. And then you saw someone else.

Your father was coming toward you. He was covered in blood. Who’s blood was that? Was that your mother’s? Was that Foyet’s? Movement caught your eye.

JJ was holding someone in her arms, he looked confused, pointing at his sister, eyes alarmed at the weapon in her hands and the Jaraeu woman seemed to be trying to turn him away. He was asking for you.

'Y/N/N?’ He said.

Your shoulders dropped, the weapon falling into the Morgan man’s waiting hands. You stepped forward. Despite your sudden awareness, everything felt like it was in slow motion. The world was moving with resistance, and you opened her arms, almost crumpling in relief when Jack squirmed away from the blonde agent and ran into your waiting arms. You scooped him into your arms, sitting him on your hip.

“Y/N!” Despite all the chaos around you two, you let yourself focus on your brother. He seemed fine. Confused, surely. He had looped his arms around your neck but his eyes squinted at the blood on your cheeks that hadn’t been there before. His little eyebrows furrowed, and he reached one hand to poke your cheek. “Are you okay, Y/N?”

Jack loved you. Before you two were put into witness protection program, he didn’t see you all too much. You were so busy with school and hanging out with your friends, that you hadn’t even been home very often. Then, you didn’t have much of a choice.

You  liked showing Jack your music- the clean versions, of course. He would scrunch his nose at certain metal heavy bands, but you assumed he liked most of them just because you did. He liked to play cards with you, and have your draw him funny sketches. And when he would have bad dreams, you never hesitated to let him sleep with you.

You felt multiple sets of eyes on you, your father pulling you into a hug. They all pretended not to notice you flinch. You kept your eyes on Jack.

“I’m fine.” You took a hand, running it through the boy’s ruffled hair from hiding god knows where. He giggled at the action, and you let your hand rest on his cheek for a moment. Your mother was dead somewhere in this house, her body laid across the floor, slaughtered. You swallowed down the rising bile in your throat.

“Let’s get you checked out, yeah?”

since its mother's day, how about bucky barnes being extremely protective over his pregnant gf

Happy Mother’s Day to all the wonderful people in the maternal role, it is hard so you deserve to have a day to yourself! 

Bucky is always protective and doting but the moment he saw that test come back positive he went into overdrive.

You couldn't even have a drink of water unless it came from a sealed bottle and even then he tasted it first. You didn't understand the reasoning, yes he may have enemies but you doubted they would be sophisticated enough to poison the random bottle you had picked out from a dozen on the shelf.

Bucky watched hundreds of videos and took a cooking class just so that he could learn to make your favourite foods that you craved, ensuring it was cooked through properly so that it was perfectly safe for you and the child you were growing.

Even Sam was shocked when Bucky almost put him in a choke hold for running towards too fast but he was excited to be an uncle. Soon they were both overprotective.

You thought you would be happy to have some space to breathe when he was called away on a short mission but you soon missed his overbearing presence, calling him just to hear his panicked tone as he answered with ‘Is the baby coming?’ every time. 

One time you spotted someone following you while he was away and you suddenly thought all his fears were true so you called him in your own panic, he ended up admitting he had called in a few favours to have some protective detail keep an eye on you at a distance. 

He was also very proud that you had been able to spot them and it gave him some reassurance. He still had to sleep on the couch for a night. Not that he listened. The second you were asleep he snuck back in and talked quietly to his child, feeling the kicks in response with a smile. 

You left Bucky to build the nursery and he enlisted Sam and Joaquin’s technical help, installing more than just he baby monitor you bought. You went to offer them lunch and found wires hanging around the room where they were putting CCTV camera’s in, silent alarms and a heartbeat sensor beneath the cot mattress. 

say it with me yall,

SAM

WILSON

IS

CAPTAIN

AMERICA

Hello honey bunnies !!! I don’t know if you are comfortable writing it but I would really love to request some Mreader x Yelena I didn’t find any on Tumblr nor ao3🙃

Pairing: Yelena Belova x Male!reader

Warnings: character death mention, angst, mourning

Word count: 600

a/n: yes i made this angst i will do so whenever given the chance 👍

!-!-!-!-!-!

Opposing the classic stereotype, it didn't rain when Y/N and Yelena visited Nat's grave for the first time. In fact, it was as clear as a day could possibly get. Not a single cloud speckled the bright blue skies, and the gentle breeze was not too strong nor was it absent.

If not given the current circumstances, Y/N and Yelena would've taken advantage of the sunny day to go out for a run with their dog, Fanny, or gone out on a picnic date. But, of course, they could not.

The two walked, side-by-side and in silence up the path, treaded upon so many times it was clear to see and find in the somewhat tall grass. Y/N glanced at Yelena, fighting the sudden urge to grab ahold of her slightly trembling hand. She kept her gaze ahead, frown growing the closer they got to the two trees where her sister lay, tilted away from each other to form a 'V' shape.

Several other graves lay scattered around Nat's, but it was clear none had been as visited as hers. The grave, freshly embedded into the soil, was crowned by flowers and surrounded by more. A few teddy bears, candles, and pictures could be seen among it all, as well. Y/N's stomach clenched, and his gaze immediately snapped towards Yelena. Not to his surprise, she kept as straight a face as possible. Everything in her face, apart from a deep, pained frown, seemed emotionless.

They got to the grave and while Y/N sat down before it, Yelena crouched and got to tidying the clutter. Moving pictures and bouquets around, she revealed the words carved into the lower part of the stone.

Daughter - Sister - Avenger

Y/N's words got caught in his throat. If there had even been any, in the first place. So he watched wordlessly until she felt she was done and moved back to sit beside him.

Y/N searched for the right words, distantly wondering if he should even speak at all. Before he could decide, Yelena beat him to it.

"Two years," she said, voice wavering. She pressed her palm to the soil, eyebrows pinching in barely held-back anguish. "I had her back for two years."

Y/N sighed and finally decided to take her free hand into his own. She squeezed it tightly, head dipping. Definitely not for the first time, his pain for Yelena grew when he recalled she'd been blipped, taking from her five whole years to spend with her sister.

"Two years to make up for almost a lifetime," she said, frustration seeping into her tone. Her hand trembled in Y/N's.

"I know," he whispered, moving closer to her, shoulders pressed together. "I know."

"She didn't- She never got to retire. To live out the rest of her life without being an Avenger or worrying about saving the world or-" her voice gave out, and Y/N didn't need to see the tears building up in her eyes to know she was about to break.

He twisted around and pulled her against him. And although he was uncomfortable and his side was straining with the awkward position, he let her cling to him.

"I'm sorry," now it was Y/N's turn to tear up. It was so unfair. He could remember as if it were yesterday how thrilled Yelena had been after finding her sister again. And now she had lost her all over again. For good this time.

After a while, Yelena rested her head on his shoulder, gazing tiredly at the gravestone.

"She loved you so much, you know that, right?" Y/N murmured after pressing a gentle, long kiss on her temple.

"I know," she said. "I know."

---

a/n: fun fact i cried harder during the post-credit scene for this movie than i did watching marley and me 👍

Mob!Henry x Reader Mini-Series Masterlist (COMPLETED)

Plot:  The one where we get a sneak peek of different moments of the life of Henry Cavill, the head of the biggest and oldest mob in Europe. And the woman who owns his heart.

[A/N: This is not a chronological series. We are basically seeing glimpses (one shots) of what it’s like to be Henry’s little mobwife.]

Keep reading

How did I not hear about France banning hijabs? What’s going on?

long story short, there’s legislation in the process of being passed that would

ban girls under 18 from wearing any form of religious head covering in public, and although it’s obviously aimed at muslim women, it would also affect other faith groups that practice similar forms of modest dress

ban islamic swimwear in schools and public (there is already a modest swimwear ban in place at public beaches, this just extends it)

ban mothers wearing hijab from entering schools or participating in school field trips or extra curriculars

ban the slaughter of halal poultry - the cheapest and most easily accessible form of meat protein for the muslim community

extend school hijab bans to universities

prevent muslim women from choosing healthcare providers based on gender (which many muslim women prefer to do, since many exams require removal of clothing, etc)

ban muslim parents from homeschooling

force halal markets to sell pork and alcohol or face closure

ban foreign flags at weddings

Wildest Dreams.

Imagine it’s a couple days before your wedding and your friends start coming in for your last days of freedom. Only you start having second thoughts, old feelings crop up, and you end up having a breakdown.

Words: 5.1K Warnings: This happens to be an AU with no children and Liz is alive. If a character isn’t mentioned, I’m sorry. I had too many characters already.

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short king - b. barnes

pairings: bucky barnes x reader, sam wilson warnings: tiktok trend about: request! doing this tik tok trend on bucky barnes? But it's to him in person. ( gaslighting bf into thinking he's short. )

the weight of bucky’s head is sweet against your thighs, soft tufts of dark hair between the spaces of your fingers as you run them through. the cerulean of his irises is hidden behind fluttering eyelashes, his cheekbones pressed against your lap. he hums once in a while to voice how comfortable he is, lightly tightening the arm looped around your waist to pull himself closer.

the sound of the television is not enough to drown out the music from sam’s phone, constantly changing from the tiktoks he’s watching. bucky can barely hear any of it through the sound of your heart and the wonderful feeling of your love that makes his skin tingle.

sam’s chortle nearly snaps him out of the daze that made him begin to drift off to sleep, a quiet grunt slipping past his lips in disapproval. it disappears when he feels you giggle, fidgeting with a particularly silky strand. he pushes his face further into your thighs when sam turns up the volume on his tiktok and restarts the video.

after attempting to laugh quietly for two minutes, sam begins to guffaw, and bucky grumbles after a few seconds of it, reluctantly raising his head from your skin, “sam.”

sam shushes him, “i’m trying to hear.”

“if i can hear, you can hear,” bucky grumbles, sighing frustratedly when sam waves him off. “i’m going to the bathroom.” he’s already been forced out of his comfort, so he might as well.

kissing your thigh before getting up, bucky shoots sam a look before going to the elevator to his room, he never liked using the ones on the main floor.

“what’re you laughing at?” you ask sam when bucky is gone. sam snickers.

“there’s another tiktok thing going around where girls convince tall guys they’re short. it’s great.”

you tilt your head, nodding amusedly, “i can imagine that.”

sam’s eyes suddenly rise from his phone to you, a wide grin overtaking his face and a delighted laugh already bubbling in his throat, “you don’t have to.”

“what?”

“you should do that to bucky! how tall is he? eight-ten?”

“i don’t know, at least six feet?”

“i don’t care, you should do this to him,” sam encourages, thrusting his phone into your hands. you roll your eyes.

“bucky’s one-hundred-and-four, he isn’t going to freak out over me saying he’s short when i know he’s not.”

“who knows?” sam exclaims, “people can surprise you.”

“sam—”

“do it.”

pursing your lips, you settle your attention on the man, squinting, “you’re not leaving me alone until i do.” he shakes his head and you throw your hands up, “fine! but this will be very boring because he will just nod yes and then kiss me on the cheek.”

“nuh uh, this will hit a gross little part of him, you’ll see.”

“stop,” you laugh.

“stop what?” bucky asks when he enters the room again, sitting next to you and pressing a kiss to your head as he throws an arm over you.

“i just told y/n how tall you were,” sam cuts in, you cock your head at him.

bucky’s brows furrow as he looks back at you, “and you said stop?”

“height is just a number, bucky, don’t worry about it,” you assure smoothly with a light hand on his bicep. you wish sam wouldn’t look so impressed, this was your damn job.

“what?”

“i mean, i knew you were short, but i never—”

“short?” bucky interrupts, turning to you with inquisitive eyebrows.

“yeah, but it’s not like it’s something new,” you shrug comfortingly, “and it’s not a bad thing, honey.”

“i know, but i’m not.”

“oh,” you pout, “whatever you say, baby.”

bucky scoffs, “it’s not—y/n, i was tall before the serum and i’m taller now.”

you hum along, stroking his arm, “okay.”

“don’t—okay, do you think sam is short?”

you shake your head immediately, “no, no, sam’s tall, buck. what’re you talking about? you know you shouldn’t compare anyone, especially because of something so tiny like your height—oh, sorry.”

“i’m taller than he is!” bucky points out. you tilt your head at him, smiling softly.

“oh, honey, it’s all about perspective.”

“stop it! say that i’m tall.”

“okay,” you nod, “you’re very, very tall, honey,” you give in, pecking his nose. bucky groans.

“not like that,” he argues, letting his head fall against your shoulder, “this is bullying.”

“it’s okay,” you coo, yelping when you’re suddenly pulled up, one of bucky’s hands at his forehead.

“look,” he whines, “tall.”

at his insistence, you can’t help but laugh, tugging him closer to you, “yes, sweetheart, tall.”

“y/n, stop,” he drags, his chin above your head.

“it’s okay, you can be what the ladies call a short king,” you wink. he groans. sam laughs.

“bullying,” bucky insists, nuzzling his nose against your forehead.r

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.

This is so fucking good

Hey sweet Olivia 🥰 have you ever considered writing a Royal AU ? I love the idea of King Bucky and maybe maid or non Royal Reader ! Just thought that’s something you’d like ! Have a great day 💗

Sorry this took so long my lovely 💕

The Cost of Kindness || King!Bucky

Summary: An innocent interaction tears you from your reality and towards a marriage you didn't ask for or want. Warnings: 18+ only, soft!dark Bucky, fluff WC: 3.2k

Bucky’s Masterlist

“Excuse me, sir, you need to pay for that.” Your words were polite but your tone was cool as you caught the would-be thief's hand by the wrist. 

His face was mostly hidden by the cloak that wrapped around his shoulders, the hood only revealing a pair of oceanic eyes. The apple fell from his fingers and you caught it before it could land among the rest and bruise them, lowering the sale price even more. 

“The cost?” He asked quietly, a satiny voice that seemed too smooth for a man in a filthy, raggedy cloak filled with holes larger than your fist. 

His eyes fell to the fruit with longing and you felt sorry for him, looking over your shoulder to see your boss in a conversation with another market vendor. “A smile.”

He blinked slowly as he turned all his attention to you, his hood falling back a bit to reveal a pair of full, pink lips. “A smile?”

“You think it too much, sir?” You teased as you held the ruby red apple up.

“Hardly.” He chuckled, his lips curling into a smile that left your pulse racing and he leant in closer, his teeth biting into the apple in your hand. You were mesmerised by the way his jaw clenched with every chew until his adams apple bobbed with his swallow and you swallowed deeply in appreciation. “I would have been willing to part with a kiss.”

Your lips parted with a sharp intake of breath but before you could respond there was a commotion breaking out as soldiers entered the marketplace. A King’s guard marched towards your stall and you reeled back in fear as he raised his spear, only to stab it into the ground and salut. 

“Your Majesty,” the guard bowed, “it is the Queen Mother. She urgently requests your presence in the palace.”

The apple fell from your grasp, the pure flesh landing among the filth on the floor, much like the King entering the lowly marketplace. You fell to your knees in the mud and bowed your head as your eyes filled with fearful tears, begging for forgiveness and leniency for touching him - an act punishable by death. A warm finger curled beneath your chin and tipped your head back to see those bright eyes and you chided yourself for being so foolish. Eyes like that could belong to only one man, King James.

“Stand.” He beckoned as the pressure to your chin increased and you rose up as gracefully as you could.

“I’m sorry, your Majesty, I didn’t know it was you. Forgive me.” You whispered as the tears broke the line of your lashed defence, streaking over your cheeks to spill on his hand.

“You didn’t know it was me.” He nodded in agreement, his hand coming to rest on the silver and gold hilt of his sword. “Yet you were still offered your goods for a smile.”

“I did.” Your body trembled as you confessed and you closed your eyes while you waited for him to draw the sword and end your life with one fell swoop.

“Steven, bring the lady to the palace.”

You opened your eyes and saw the guard that had met the King look you over before nodding. A crowd was already gathering and you could hear their whispers spreading rumours as you took the guard's arm that he offered, wishing you could run in the opposite direction.

“He’s made a mistake, I’m no lady.” You pleaded with Steven as you watched the King shrug off his hooded cloak, revealing a fine suit beneath. “I’m just a farmer’s daughter.”

“Just stay calm, take a deep breath.” Steven said before you heard him whisper to himself. “They’re gonna eat you alive.”

You knew there was no point fighting but your pace slowed until Steven’s hold on you tightened and your sandals began to skid through the dirt. 

“Listen up, farmer’s daughter.” Steven growled beneath his helm as he turned his ice blue eyes down to you. “The King has given his order, now I am going to deliver you to the palace but it is up to you whether it is on your own two feet or not. I have no quarrels with tossing you over my shoulder if it makes my life easier.”

You sighed in defeat before grabbing your linen skirt and tugging it up so you could march faster towards Steven’s horse. The beast was huge and nothing like the old girl that slowly dragged the plough through the fields at home. This was a royal steed, purebred for strength and stamina in wars, and from the heavy stomping of his hoof he did not seem happy to have his rider replaced.

“Steady, Boulder.” Steven soothed his horse as he ran his palm along its neck before it reared back and snorted, steam exploded from his nostrils like the dragon on his crest.

“She’ll ride with me.” 

The King had seen the fear in your eyes as Boulder reared and he pulled the reins in your direction, leading his golden haired stallion towards you. You looked between both horses, their muscles rippling beneath shiny coats and standing at the same height. 

“I could walk.” You muttered as you looked to the distant palace. “I promise you, I won’t dally.”

“Nonsense. Now get on.” James ordered as he held his hand down for you. 

You looked at the leather riding glove and swallowed the lump in your throat as you placed your hand in his. His strength surprised you and you barely caught the small squeal that built as he pulled your feet off the ground and over the space he left in front of him.

“Wonderful.” You grumbled to yourself as you rearranged your tangled skirt layers and settled into the hard saddle. “This is just perfect.”

“More than you know.” James’ voice was barely more than a whisper before he cleared his throat and clicked his tongue to set his horse off at a trot. “You are going to hear things in the palace that should not be repeated. Do you understand?”

“I don’t understand.” You shook your head. “I did one good deed and now I am to be punished. No, your Majesty, I don’t understand anything.”

“You are not being punished.” James sighed, the sway of the horse’s walk rocking his lips closer to your ear. “And, please, when it is just us you can call me Bucky.”

You turned your head away with a scoff and watched the cherry blossoms opening as the sun rose higher over the land, warming the cool spring air. You would have thought the day perfect for a ride, if only you had a choice on where it was you were headed. 

The crunch of hooves of the gravel path began to grate on your nerves and your spine stiffened as the towers of the palace began to peek over the trees. You were so rigid that when you felt Bucky’s hands loosen the reins and come to rest on your knees you jerked and nearly fell off his horse. 

“Sorry, habit of riding alone.” He chuckled as his hands caught your waist and steadied you back in front of him. “You can hold the reins if you wish.”

You shook your head rapidly at the thought of trying to control such a beast and leant away from them as if the leather bands were a pair of vipers. The retreat pressed your back into Bucky’s chest and you felt his lips brush lightly over your neck, a gasp escaping your lungs at the electric shocks the touch sent down your body. 

“I’ll take that as a no then.” He chuckled quietly in your ear, goosebumps prickling over your skin as he once again gripped the reins and laid the fists over your skirt.

Every jostle shifted his hands and your heartbeat harder every time, a similar beat beginning to throb between your legs. 

“Bucky?” You asked, feeling his chest rumble with a deep hmmm in response. “If I am not being punished, why am I being taken to the palace?”

His chest rose and fell against your back as he pondered how to answer you until he could see no good outcome for any excuse he gave. “You’ll see.”

The dress you had been gifted was unlike anything you had ever worn before. The fine embroidery told a story with its delicate thread, roses and dragons, thorns and fire. The theme danced around the skirt while the corseted bodice left you feeling breathless but beautiful. 

You were desperate to find Bucky and get answers but every time you asked where the King was you were shushed and told to be patient. Patience was not your virtue and you struggled to sit still as the ladies surrounding you tried to arrange your hair that now smelt of rose water and patchouli. You had offered to do it yourself but quickly closed your mouth at the glare reflected in the mirror. 

“May I come in?” Bucky asked with a knock at the door.

“It’s your palace, your Majesty.” You replied as you rolled your eyes before you cried out in pain and saw the seamstress waving her needle at you in threat of another poke.

“Everything alright?” Bucky asked as he heard you and pushed the door open. “Oh, wow, you look absolutely stunning.”

Your eyes turned to the floor as you shied away from his heated gaze, your fingers tracing the golden thread of the dragon's head. “Thank you, your Majesty.”

He stepped closer to you and held his elbow out for you to take, your silk gloved hand coming to rest lightly on his forearm. “Did I mention how wonderful you look?”

“It’s the dress.” You mumbled as you followed his lead through the candlelit halls. “It’s very beautiful.” 

“It is, but so are you.”

You were sure the silver necklace that hung around your neck would melt from the heat you were producing but the ruby pendant remained set between the valley of your breasts. Unable to form a reply without confirming that he had your mind in a tizz, you remained silent and focused on walking in the heeled shoes that had been buckled to your feet. 

“I know I have been secretive about why you are here, and I am sorry for that.” Bucky said as he came to a stop outside a fair of formidable iron doors. “I am also sorry for what you are about to hear but I hope you will forgive me in time.”

The air froze in your lungs as the doors opened and you were led into the formal receiving room that was filled with royal advisors and the Queen Mother. Bucky’s mother rose to her feet as she saw her son, her eye’s barely giving you a cursory glance before she descended on the King.

“What is this I hear of you traipsing through the market like a peasant?” You struggled not to flinch at the icy tone of his mother and instead focused on the feel of Bucky’s muscles clenching in his forearm as his hand formed a strained fist. Looking up you saw his cheek ticking, the shadow of a beard sharpening his jawline as he suppressed his blatant anger. “I have spent the entire month convincing King Anthony to arrange a marriage with his daughter and on the day of her arrival you are nowhere to be seen.”

“You shouldn’t have troubled yourself needlessly.” Bucky stated. 

“Needlessly?” She scoffed. “You know the law, you need a Queen to produce an heir if you wish to remain on that throne your father died to put you on.”

Bucky’s free hand came to rest on yours, a small squeeze given as he squared off with his mother. “I need a wife, not a Queen.”

You tried to pull away as Winnifred turned her cold eyes on you but Bucky held your hand firm, his strength overpowering yours tenfold. She may have been shorter than you with her age but she still managed to look down her nose, scrutinising every part of you - even the depth of your soul seemingly. Other than the wide eyed, petrified look on your face there was no way of knowing you were one of the ‘peasants’ from the marketplace, you looked as adorned and pampered as the rest of the ladies in the room. 

Turning back to her son, you breathed a sigh of relief that her intense stare was no longer on you. “You would crown a nobody when you could have a princess?” 

“I would rather crown a kind nobody than have another frigid bitch living within these walls, mother.”

His fingers tightened on your arm as he felt you trying to pull away. The corset suddenly seemed too tight and you couldn’t draw the air needed into your lungs. 

“The poor woman is going to faint. She will never survive Court.” Winnifred laughed, turning her back on the King and walking back to her chair set aside from the pair of thrones centre to the room. “Tell me, darling, the treasury is waning - what dowry do you bring? What can you do to make this union profitable?”

You hadn’t known the country was in a dire financial state, in fact, from the lavish balls that were thrown each month behind the high palace walls you would have thought the opposite. Clearing your throat, Bucky looked at you with surprise as you stepped forward with a sudden fire in your belly. You didn’t want to marry the man you had just met, you didn’t want to be standing in the throne room of the palace, but since that was where you were you had a duty to your fellow lower class people to speak up.

“For starters, tax the rich.” You stated boldly, a chorus of scoffs and mocking laughter circling the room before the previous Queen held up her hand to silence them. 

“And when they revolt? How will you stop them from fighting?”

It was your turn to laugh as you shook your head incredulously. “I’m not sure how battles were fought back in your day, your highness, but I’ve never seen the rich or royal fight. You hide in the safety of your palaces while you send poor sons and fathers to their death.”

You turned to look around the room, glad to see at least a few ashamed faces unable to hold your stare until you face Bucky, that same smile he had given you in the market sending your heart racing. His arm curled around your waist and he nodded to his mother before guiding you back out of the room, his grin never wavering as the heavy doors closed behind you.

Pulling yourself from his touch you turned and poked your finger into his hard chest. “You smile at the idea of war?”

“Not in the slightest.” He smiled with a shake of his head. “There are very few people who would disagree with my mother. Ever since I saw you arguing with the forecourt master, I knew there was something special about you.”

Your feet stumbled as you remembered the argument the week prior. The price of hiring a market stall had increased twice in the last quarter and it was getting harder to sell products with the inflation - customers opting to travel further out of the city to where prices were cheaper. There had been an audience to the arguments but you hadn’t paid enough attention to the individuals to notice if there had been a cloaked figure among them. 

“Why have you been watching me?” You asked as you backed away from the King, the  hem of the long dress tripping you and nearly sending you falling into a tall candelabra.

Bucky surged forward and caught you around the waist, your breasts straining dangerously close to the top of the corset as he cradled your arched back and you threw your arms around his neck in case his strength failed. “Because I require a wife to keep my title, and I think you have the qualities needed in a Queen.”

“I’m not a royal.” 

“There is no written law that you have to be, trust me, I have read them all.” Bucky sighed, pulling you upright but keeping you in his arms. 

“How can I trust you? I don’t even know you. This morning I was ankle deep in mud selling fruit and now I’m,” you tugged at the dress, falling short on the word you wanted, “this. It isn’t me. I’m sorry but you should marry the Stark princess, your Majesty.”

“Forget the dress, just for a minute, forget the hair and the jewellery, even the palace.” Bucky begged, his eyes glowing bright in the midday sun that filtered through the windows of the hall. “You are brave, everyone in that room has witnessed it first hand. You understand business and commerce, albeit on a smaller scale than a whole country - but it’s really not that different. Most of all, you care about other people - even when there is no benefit to you. That is a rare sight to see and it was the moment I knew you were the one to rule at my side.”

“Bucky, stop.” His fingers tipped your head back and you could feel the warmth of his breath across your cheek, your body ready to betray your mind as he leant in, but you turned away at the last moment. “You claim to know my character but you have yet to ask the most basic information about me.”

“I’m not saying this will be easy, and I promise we will get to know each other with time.” He sighed. 

“So you don’t even want to know what my name is? My birthday? Where I live?”

“You think I didn’t find all this out before I arranged our wedding?” He chuckled. “I know everything about you, Y/N. That is why I know you are perfect for me.”

The room began to spin as his confession battered around in your brain. “I can’t marry you.”

“You can and you will.” Bucky promised as he cradled your cheek while you froze beneath his touch. “Your father has already accepted it, with more than fair share of remuneration I might add, so I suggest you do too - and quickly.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat and sagged in defeat, knowing your family needed the money as much as you needed your head to live, something that you were at risk of losing if you disrespected the King. “Fine.”

“I know this isn’t what you wanted, but we can learn to love each other.” He murmured gently as his thumb stroked your cheekbone. “You can’t deny the spark between us.”

You closed your eyes, the small shake of your head giving him hope as he wrapped his arms around you. There was no way to deny it, in his arms you could almost forget where you were as his scent drove you wild and his touch threatened to set your body on fire. Resting your head on his shoulder you hoped he was right, but only time would tell.

——

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