Welcome to the June Dialogue & Trope Challenge! (Also my first time ever doing one so forgive me if there's any mistakes)
Each day includes two prompts:
✦ A line of dialogue
✦ A trope
The dialogue and trope won't always seem like they fit together—and that's intentional! The fun is figuring out how to connect them. Maybe the dialogue is spoken by the hero. Maybe it's the villain. Maybe it's a memory, a lie, a prophecy, or something else entirely.
Interpret the prompts however you like:
✦ Any fandom or original characters
✦ Any genre
✦ Any length
✦ Any rating (just tag appropriately)
✦ Mix and match genres, tropes, and settings
If you participate, feel free to tag your work with #JuneDialogueTropeChallenge (long I know) so everyone can find and share each other's creations.
Happy writing!
Text version:
June 1: "Go ahead. Underestimate me." | Found Family
June 2: "Don't make me regret saving you." | Kidnapping
June 3: "I thought you were dead." | Fake Dating
June 4: "Open the door." | Soulmates
June 5: "You weren't supposed to hear that." | Friends to Lovers
June 6: "Whose blood is that?" | Love Confession
June 7: "You lied to me." | Apocalypse
June 8: "You should've left me there." | Sacrifice
June 9: "You're late." | Possession
June 10: "I heard you screaming." | Rivals
June 11: "Take my hand." | Betrayal
June 12: "I wasn't supposed to survive." | Alternate Universe
June 13: "Why are you looking at me like that?" | Chosen One
June 14: "How long have you known?" | Monster Hunt
June 15: "Trust me." | Doppelgänger
June 16: "You shouldn't be here." | Reunion
June 17: "I can explain." | Ghosts
June 18: "Who did this to you?" | Time Loop
June 19: "That's impossible." | Character Study
June 20: "Don't touch me." | Prophecy
June 21: "I never stopped looking." | Forbidden Magic
June 22: "You promised." | Enemies to Lovers
June 23: "I remember your voice." | Reunion
June 24: "What aren't you telling me?" | Soulmates
June 25: "They're lying." | Redemption Arc
June 26: "Wait. You're alive?" | Secret Society
June 27: "You left me." | Vigilante
June 28: "It's not safe after dark." | Haunted House
June 29: "Look at me." | Deal With The Devil
June 30: "You came back." | Murder Mystery
The prompt list is HERE! Two prompts for each day! You can use both or just one for each of the days.
Below are the alternate prompts, which can be used in place of any of the daily prompts:
Additional info, including a link to the Ao3 Collection and a text-based version of the prompt list, are below the read more. Happy writing!
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
As a reminder, the rules are posted here! They're also on the Ao3 Collection. Participants are free to cross-post with as many other events as they'd like; if it suits the prompt, you're good to go!
For the purposes of this challenge, we are taking "drabble" literally - your entries must be exactly 100 words.
JUNE'S THEMES:
June 1st to 7th: New Teammates
Tell us about how the team handles a new member, whether your team be the X-Men, Agents of SHIELD, Avengers, Thunderbolts*, Guardians of the Galaxy, Dora Milaje, or any others!
June 8th to 14th: Relaxing
How does your favourite character relax? How do your OCs or Reader relax? This could be a picnic by the river, a day out on the lake, a day of shopping, reading, movies, etc.
June 15th to 21st: Firsts
This can be the first time your character does karaoke, the first time they go swimming, the first mission with the Avengers, the first day of school - whatever you like, as long as it's a first for your character and it fits in the rules above.
June 21st to 30th: AUs
Coffeeshop AUs, Soulmates AUs, College AUs, Vampire AUs - give us 100 words of an AU for your character(s).
There are badges for those who participate and those who complete the challenge.
DATES:
The first challenge begins 1st June 2026.
The last day to submit your challenges or masterlists will be 10th July 2026.
RULES:
Sign up on the attached form
Must follow the blog & tag us when you post or in your masterlists
When you complete the challenge, please tag us in your masterlist
Must interact with other people's drabbles, be it reblogs and/or comments
We're here for the community, not the drama. If you don't have something nice to say, keep it to yourself. Conversely, when we receive comments for the drabble challenge, let's assume positive intent :)
Along the same lines, be respectful to your fellow creators and commenters.
No NSFW fics with minors. No bestiality. No minor/adult romantic relationships.
Donation requests are prohibited in posts and asks. We cannot validate the legitimacy of every request.
No links to ko-fi, patreon, or anywhere you may be trying to profit off fanfiction. It isn't legal to do so, and we don't want to be caught in that fight.
Ensure all fics are correctly labelled and tagged. Any fics that don't put a content label on NSFW content or any fics that are incorrectly tagged will not be reblogged or added to any current or future collections.
We encourage OC and Reader fic on this blog! In fact, we love it! But please ensure that you're not cross tagging the two as it may risk alienating potential readers looking for one or the other.
Also, please ensure to include Marvel in any OC or Reader fics in some way - that is the overall theme of the challenge :)
You must complete as many drabbles as there are days in the month, but you do not have to complete one every day. As long as you have the correct total by the end of the challenge, that's fine!
If you sign up but don't manage to complete the challenge, tag us anyway! We'll have a list of fics of participants that we'll be happy to add you to!
OTHER STUFF:
This will be the first iteration of the Drabble Challenge - there will be a second in November (the most popular option in the poll!).
Hopefully this will let us iron out any kinks in the process.
You can combine your entries with other events so long as they permit it.
Our sister pages @marvel-oc-hub (June Pride Event) and @sam-a-palooza (Spring Shipping Weeks) both permit you to combine events.
If you run another page that permits combining events, please drop it in the reblogs or comments and we'll compile a list here!
It's officially May, which means it's almost time to start thinking about this year's challenge! Sign-ups are not open just yet, but will be up soon, so participants are welcome to start spreading the word.
What is AU Roulette?
A casual fic-writing challenge encouraging fanfic authors to play around with different types of alternate universe stories, which will be randomly assigned to each participant regardless of the fandom they sign up with.
How does it work?
Writers will be able to sign up from May 10th-31st with a fandom of their choice. At the start of June, each participant will be assigned three AUs from a masterlist using a random number generator. Each author will then have the choice of completing the challenge one, two, or all three of the AUs. Any fic exceeding a 500-word minimum will be considered a completion, so long as it employs the AU premise. Fics can then be posted at any point during the month of June.
What kind of AUs will be included in the challenge?
AU Roulette focuses largely on popular, staple AU types with broad applicability to any fandom or relationship type. For example, a possible result might be something like a Time Travel AU (encompassing all the possible subsets, such as fix-it time travel, time loops, or other tropes under the same umbrella), but more restrictive AU types like a Soulmate AU that make assumptions about the author’s interpretation of character relationships in canon have been intentionally kept off the AU masterlist. The official list of AUs will be shared midway through the sign-up period, with 36 different prompts on the list.
What if I get an AU type that doesn’t work for the canon I chose?
Limited re-rolls will be allowed on a case-by-case basis. But you are also encouraged to be as creative as you want with your interpretation of your assigned AUs, which may help with making them fit! The goal of this challenge is to encourage weird, creative fanfic, not to have every author who rolls the same result write the same types of stories. If you were to get a Coffee Shop AU, for example, there is no requirement that the coffee shop in question be a real-world 21st-century Earth Starbucks. In fact, deviating from the mold is highly encouraged.
How do I sign up?
Watch this space! The official sign-up link will be posted on this blog on May 10th. In the meantime, feel free to share this post to let people know the details of this year's challenge.
Content Warnings: slight mention of blood/bodily injury, past references to Captain America: The Winter Soldier,
A note from Demi: Since today marks the end of the @teamcap10 anniversary event, this is my last official post. I’ll probably post my other works later, just because. Anyway, since this is my last official post, at least it’s with my Kayla/Bucky ficlet, which I was excited to work on just because I love this pairing so much. Anyway, hope ya’ll enjoy!
The Berlin safehouse was quiet once Sam and Steve left. Kayla led Bucky to the small bathroom, grabbing the first aid kit from under the sink.
Bucky sat on the edge of the tub, elbows braced on his knees, head bowed slightly. Blood from the cut near his hairline had long since dried, caking in the dark brown locks.
He hasn’t said much since he woke up, save for some information about what the fake psychiatrist wanted from him, the information about more Winter Soldiers at an old HYDRA base in Siberia.
He hadn’t even looked at Kayla directly. But that was mostly because every time he even glanced at her, he remembered the words she said to him on the bank of the Potomac rivier, “You don’t have to be what they made you.”
The soft exhale snapped Bucky from his thoughts, glancing up just enough to see her standing in front of him, first aid kit in hand.
“I was gonna clean the blood from the cut on your forehead, if that’s alright?” She asked, her normal raspy voice soft and steady as she took another step forward, her knees bumping his.
Bucky didn’t say anything, just gave a small nod. His eyes lowered to her side, making out the outline of the large gauze bandage he knew was covering the healing scratches from T’Challa’s claws. The wound she sustained shielding him from the Wakandan monarch.
He felt Kayla’s fingers under his chin, tilting his head up so she could see the cut on his forehead better.
“Looks like it healed.” She noted, taking the damp cloth and dabbing at the dried blood. “Just gonna clean up the blood.”
Bucky swallowed the lump in his throat, watching her as she cleaned the wound. The sunlight filtering through the glass window made her hair glow against her fair skin, even catching tiny flakes of green in her hazel eyes.
“You usually do this?” he asked after a few minutes.
“What?” Kayla chuckled, “Patch people up?”
“Trust them enough to get this close.”
Kayla’s lips curled into a smile as she cleaned away the last remnants of blood on his temple, “When it’s someone I have a good feeling about, then yes.”
“And you have a good feeling about me?” Bucky asked, not believing she could see any good in him, the man who was once called The Fist of HYDRA. “I killed your dad. Tried to kill you.”
“Actually, you didn’t. Nick Fury is very much alive.” Kayla corrected, putting the first aid kit back under the sink. “And yet, even with HYDRA’s orders in your head, you still couldn’t kill me. You even saved me…twice.”
She turned on her heels and walked into the small living room, grabbing a plastic bag from beside the couch, setting it on the old wood table.
“…Where’d you get that?” Bucky asked, his voice rough when he saw the backpack on the table.
“I took from the CIA building.” Kayla answered nonchalantly, sliding the bag across the table. “Since you wouldn’t leave your apartment in Bucharest without it, I figured it must be important to you.”
She watched as Bucky held the bag tight, as if he was testing to make sure it was real. His throat bobbed as he swallowed, slowly unzipping the backpack. The contents were something no would bat an eye at; A few notebooks, some folded up pages from files, a black cloth bag closed with drawstrings.
“You’ve had enough taken from you.” Kayla spoke again after a few minutes of silence, stepping up beside him. “I wasn’t gonna let a bunch of spineless government suits take anything else.“
Bucky looked down at her, seeing the same thing in her eyes he’s seen in the past when their path’s crossed; like she saw something beneath the cold exterior of the Winter Soldier. And now, he saw something else; a sense of understanding.
“I know you barely know me, outside of my SHIELD dossier, anyway.” Kayla shrugged, brushing her bangs aside. “But you can trust me, Bucky.” Without thinking about it, she placed her hand on his arm, her eyes still on him.
Bucky tensed for a split second, not used to any sort of gentleness, not like how Kayla was being with him in that moment. This was the same former SHIELD agent who charged headfirst into battle against him, twice, and showed no fear whatsoever. Even after he’d shot her on the Helicarrier, she still helped free him when he was trapped under debris. Even bleeding out on the bank of the Potomac River, she still held onto his tactical vest and told him he didn’t have to be what HYDRA made him.
All Kayla had seen personally of Bucky was the Winter Soldier, only knowing about his past from old SHIELD files. She’d seen the worst of him and still looked at him like he mattered.
Bucky held her gaze, still aware of her hand on his sleeve.
Warm. Steady. Grounding.
And he believed he could trust her.
“…You didn’t have to grab the bag,” he spoke after another few minutes of silence.
Kayla gently squeezed his arm, her thumb softly caressing the sleeve of his red Henley. “Yeah, I did.” She replied. “After everything HYDRA took from you, you deserve to keep something that’s yours.”
Her hand moved down his arm to cover his hand, her thumb caressing the warm skin. “You’re not the Winter Soldier anymore. And you’ll never have to be again.”
And Bucky believed her. This former SHIELD agent turned rogue Avenger, who somehow understood him in a way that no one else could.
Demi’s note: So sorry this was posted late, it’s been saved in my notes but real life has gotten in the way and I forgot to post. Anyway, here’s my next little fic let for @teamcap10 anniversary event, featuring Natasha and my OC Kayla. Disclaimer, I did use Google Translate for the Russian dialogue so it might not be 100% accurate.
The rubble of the Air Traffic Control Tower crashes to the ground, barricading the hanger bay. From the shadows just on the other side, Kayla emerges with Steve and Bucky, all three unharmed.
The paleness of her skin is more evident now, especially against the contrast of her black suit. The sounds of the fight echo in her ears, the constant use of her powers taking their toll. Every jump through shadow. Every strain of power.
But Kayla pushed it down; the dizziness, the trembles in her muscles, even her shortness of breath, because that was how she was trained.
The Quinjet was just a few feet ahead of them. But, there was someone waiting for them. Natasha stood in front of the Quinjet, her stance calm yet prepared. No weapons drawn. Just…there. Waiting.
Kayla let out an exhale, her shoulders rising and falling once. Her fingers flexed around the hilt of her modified Chitauri staff as she stepped forward, putting herself between Natasha and Bucky.
Natasha’s gaze flickered over her former mentee. The tension in her stance. The slight ashiness to her skin. The exhaustion she was pushing down. Even the beads of sweat forming at her temple.
Still keeping her eyes on her former mentor, Kayla tilted her head in Steve’s direction, “Go.” She told him, her tone sharp despite her fatigue. “I’ll be right behind you.”
Knowing there was no use arguing, Steve and Bucky ran for the Quinjet, Kayla moving to keep herself between them and Natasha. “YA ne khochu s toboy drat'sya. No budu, yesli pridotsya.” (I don’t want to fight you. But I will if I must.)
Kayla kept her voice calm, her stance firm yet ready to engage in a fight should it come to it.
“Ty srazhayesh'sya za togo, v kogo verish'. A eto znachit, chto ty uzhe pobedil.” (You're fighting for someone you believe in. Means you've already won.) Natasha’s tone was soft and sincere. “YA ne vstanu u tebya na puti..” (I won't stand in your way.)
The sound of shifting rubble caught both their attention, their heads whipping in the direction of the sound. T’Challa stood a mere few feet away, already breaking into a run towards the Quinjet. Natasha glanced back at Kayla, who was already preparing to fight back, before shooting T’Challa with a blast from her wrist mounted taser.
“Go!” She ordered, firing another taser strike.
Kayla spun on her heels and darted up the ramp, inputting the code to close the hatch. “Spasibo, sestra.” (Thank you, sister.)
Natasha’s lips curled into a small smile. “Beregi sebya, sestronka. YA tebya lyublyu.” (Be safe, little sister. I love you.)
The Quinjet roared to life as Steve used the weapons turret to carve away a portion of the hanger entrance so they could fly out. Kayla braced herself against the bulkhead, the jet taking off and leaving Leipzig in their rearview.
Natasha stood in the same place, watching the Quinjet disappear into the clouds. “Compromise,” she murmured under her breath. Whether it was for herself, or for Kayla and Steve, wasn’t entirely clear.
An old, beige van drove up and parked a few spaces down, Clint and Wanda stepping out from the front. Kayla leaned against the trunk of her VW Sedan, smiling at her former mentor and teammate
“How’s our other recruit?” Steve asked Clint as they shook hands.
Clint shrugged his shoulders, pulling open the van’s panel door. “Had to put a little coffee in him, but, he should be good to go.”
The man in the back seat jolted awake when the door’s hinges slammed. “What timezone is this?” He groaned under his breath, rubbing his eyes as he stumbled out.
When Scott’s eyes landed on Steve, he let out a shocked laugh. “Captain America,” he gasped, stepping forward and shaking Steve’s hand with both of his. “It's an honor. Wow! This is awesome!”
Kayla chuckled to herself, seeing the awestruck look in his eyes. She tilted her head slightly, studying him. Scott Lang, whistle-blower. Ex-con. Tech background. And no formal combat training worth mentioning.
“You sure he’s up for this Sam?” She asked, glancing in at Sam beside her.
“He may be a bit green, but he’s got skills.” Sam answered, meeting her eyes briefly.
Scott let out a nervous chuckle when he saw Sam over Steve’s shoulder, “Hey, man, good to see you. Look, what happened last…”
“It was a great audition, but it'll never happen again.” Sam cut him off.
Scott’s eyes drifted from Sam to Kayla, and he had to force his jaw to stay closed. “Wow. Kayla Fury. Shadow.” He rubbed the back of his neck, nervously. “You’re…a lot prettier in person. Not that you’re not pretty in the pictures….” He let out another nervous laugh, his hand twitching like he didn’t know if he should extend it for a handshake or keep it glued to his side.
He stuck his hand out anyway. “Scott. Lang. uh…Ant-Man.”
Kayla glanced at his hand for half a second, long enough to make Scott question the action, before taking it with a firm grip. “Nice to meet you, Scott.” She studied him for a moment, seeing no bravado or ego. Just some nerves and something else she could only describe as earnestness. “Hawkeye fill you in on what we're up against?”
“Umm…something about some…psycho-assassins?” Scott shrugged his shoulders.
“We're outside the law on this one.” Steve told him. “So, if you come with us, you're a wanted man.”
“Yeah, well, what else is new?” Scott gave a nod, like that fact didn’t really bother him.
“Just keep up, Lang.” Kayla told him, grabbing the black duffle bag that Clint held out to her. “Follow our plan. And try not to get stepped on.” She flashed him a smirk before climbing into the back of the van to change into her suit.
Needing space to yourself, because you don’t want anyone else seeing you break down and crumble in on yourself.
2 —
Wanting a shoulder to cry on and a shirt to sob into, while being held in a comforting hug; with no questions asked, because you know you wouldn’t be able to handle any questions right now. No, not without feeling even worse and not without sobs racking throughout your whole body even more than it is now.
3 —
Being asked if you’re okay and that's enough for the dam to break; for the tears you’ve held back for so long to burst, for you to cry until you’re exhausted and your head feels like static by the end of it.
4 —
“Please stay?” Character A asks quietly, voice barely above a whisper; fingers gripping onto Character B’s shirt. “I don’t want to be alone right now.”
5 —
Being on the end of comforting someone who’s grieving, and not knowing what to do so you hold them tighter than usual; letting them know you’re there for them.
6 —
Recognising that everyone deals with grief differently, and that some people want distractions, while others want quiet comfort, while some want complete isolation before they’re ready to talk. So, you learn to adapt, wanting to be there for the ones you care about in any you can.
7 —
Feeling hopeless because you don’t know how to show up for them except in ways you think is helpful, and even then, you don’t think you’re doing enough. You know their feelings are ultimately not your responsibility, but you still want to be there for them to make them feel better.
8 —
“If you need to talk, I’m here. If you need a shoulder to cry on, I’m here for that, too. But if you need space, I get that, too. Whatever makes things easier for you right now.”
9 —
Holding space for them in the way they need it, and not demanding more than they can give right now.
10 —
“I want to be there for you in any way I can. But I also know you may not know how you want me to be there for you, so I’m happy to just… sit here with you in quiet, if that’s what you want.”
Kayla stared at her laptop screen, drumming her nails on her desk. Her mind still reeled from the team’s latest mission in Lagos, and the tragedy that occurred.
The cursor blinked at the end of her mission report summary. Kayla let out a low groan, pinching the bridge of her nose, racking her brain on how she was going to translate everything that happened into her report, without making it look like she was burying the tragedy that happened or defending it.
Avengers team deployed following confirmed intel on Rumlow’s location.
Engagement occurred in a densely populated urban area. Civilian presence high.
Target identified and intercepted.
Civilian casualties occurred during escalation.
Primary objective compromised.
TARGET ENGAGEMENT:
Rumlow initiated contact at approximately 1100 hours. Combat was immediate.
Target demonstrated enhanced durability, tactical awareness, and familiarity with S.H.I.E.L.D. combat patterns.
Captain Rogers engaged Rumlow. I provided support and containment.
Target attempted verbal engagement. Irrelevant to mission objectives.
Kayla dragged her hand over her face, taking a swig of coffee from the tumbler on her desk, the SHIELD logo long since faded.
Rumlow’s words still echoed in her mind;
“Your pal, your buddy, your Bucky.”
“He remembered you. He got all weepy about it. Till they put his brain back in a blender.”
Kayla clenched her fist so tight that she dig crescent shaped indents into her palm. She knew Rumlow was always crass. But how he talked about Bucky like that, like he wasn’t even a person, that made Kayla’s blood boil in a way that she was willing to kill Rumlow right there.
“You son of a bitch!” Kayla cursed through gritted teeth, her hand flexing into a claw-like shape.
The shadows beneath Rumlow shot up like spikes, turning into solid binds that held him in his kneeling position, keeping his arms outstretched and head bent slightly upward.
“You think that’s funny?” She scoffed, the shadow around Rumlow’s neck tightening with her anger. “You don’t know anything about him, so shut your damn mouth!”
COMBAT NOTES:
- Target utilized explosive devices and close-quarters combat.
- Structural damage escalated rapidly.
- Civilian evacuation efforts were ongoing during engagement.
- Target fought Captain Rogers and myself with the intent to kill.
Engagement required increased force to neutralize target.
INCIDENTE ESCALATION:
Target initiated suicide detonation.
Wanda intervened and redirected the explosion, which resulted in catastrophic structural damage to adjacent building.
Civilian casualties confirmed.
Kayla leaned back in her chair, going back to the explosion in Lagos. How Wanda quickly acted when Rumlow engaged his bomb vest, while her and Steve just stood there after he mentioned Bucky’s name.
Kayla ran her fingers through her hair, glancing out her window. The night sky twinkled with thousands of stars. She took another gulp of coffee, forcing herself back to her report.
PSYCHOLOGICAL NOTE:
Target behavior consistent with extremist loyalty patterns observed in HYDRA operatives. Fixation on destabilization over survival.
CONCLUSION:
Mission outcome: Partial failure.
Biological agent secured. Rumlow and his accomplices neutralized.
Civilian casualties remain the primary point of failure.
Post-HYDRA threat networks remain active and highly adaptive.
Kayla stared at her completed report, exhaling a heavy sigh as she submitted it. “There isn’t much we can do about it now.” She muttered to herself, walking over to her bed and plopping down, her hands coming up to cover her face. She ran them over her skin and hair, blinking away the moisture in her eyes.
She didn’t know what upset her more; the casualties of the mission because she froze at the mention of Bucky’s name, or the fact that it hit her harder than it should have. Either way, innocent people were killed, and that was something she would have to live with.
Original Character(s): Kayla Fury (main), Katerina Stark (minor)
Prompt: Accords
Setting: Avengers Compound
Content Warnings: Sokovia Accords discussions, allusions/mentions of SHIELD & HYDRA,
A note from Demi: Sorry this was posted a day late, but here is my first entry for the @teamcap10 Captain America: Civil War anniversary event. I hope everyone enjoys my take on the prompts, featuring my MCU Original Character and member of Team Cap, Kayla J. Fury (face claim is actress Sophia Bush).
The lounge was full of overlapping voices discussing the Accords. Some of the team were for them, while others were firmly against them.
Kayla Fury sat perched on the couch’s armrest, the Accords open on her lap as she read every page, her own stance becoming clearer with each paragraph she read. Her boot remained propped against the edge of the coffee table, her mahogany hair falling over one shoulder.
Page after page of clauses, restrictions, oversight committees dressed up as accountability. All cleanly written. Clinical. Careful in a way that made Kayla’s jaw tighten. She slammed the document shut, tossing it onto the table and rubbing her eyes. Sam’s and Rhodey’s voices overlapped as they argued over the Accords.
Kayla cast a sideways glance at Steve, who was already reading through the document again, and even with his neutral expression, she could tell his stance on the matter too. Benefit of the pair being partners for years.
Vision cleared his throat, getting everyone’s attention. “In the eight years since Mr. Stark announced himself as Iron Man, the number of known enhanced persons has grown exponentially.” He pointed out. “And during the same period, the number of potentially world-ending events has risen at a commensurate rate.”
Kayla rubbed her temples, “So basically, Vis, you’re saying it’s all our fault.” She sighed heavily, resting her elbows on her knees.
“I'm saying there may be a causality.” Vision corrected. “Our very strength invites challenge. Challenge incites conflict. And conflict breeds catastrophe. Therefore, oversight is not an idea that can be dismissed out of hand.”
“Boom.” Rhodey crossed his arms and nodded.
From her space on the couch, Katerina Stark glanced in Rhodey’s direction and arched her brow. Beside her, still perched on the armrest, Kayla rolled her eyes.
Across from them, Tony laid on his back on a smaller lounger. “You’re being awfully quiet dad.” Kat called her father out.
“It's because he's already made up his mind.” Steve concluded.
“Boy, you know me so well.” Tony groaned, getting to his feet. “There's no decision-making process here. We need to be put in check.” He folded his arms across his chest, leaning against the kitchen counter. “If we can't accept limitations, if we're boundary-less, we're no better than the bad guys.”
Steve let out a sigh. “Tony, someone dies on your watch, you don't give up.”
Tony quirked his brow. “Who said we're giving up?”
“We are if we're not taking responsibility for our actions. This document just shifts the blame.”
“I'm sorry. Steve. That is dangerously arrogant.” Rhodey pointed out.
“No, Steve’s right.” Kayla agreed, clasping her hands in her lap.
Katerina looked up at her best friend, “You can’t be serious. Kay, this the United Nations we're talking about, here. It's not the World Security Council, it's not SHIELD, not HYDRA.”
“So? It’s still a panel run by people with agendas, and agendas always change.” Kayla jumped to her feet, brushing her hair back from her face, trying to keep her composure. “Sure, this panel will start out above board. But there will always be that one person who will abuse their position and use us to do something that benefits them. All under the guise of the greater good. We will be nothing more than pawns to them.”
Kayla took a deep breath and exhaled, but Steve caught the barely discernible quiver of her lower lip. He stood up and placed a hand on her shoulder, grounding her from the spiral he knew her mind was in.
The room was silent for a moment before Tony spoke up, “If we don't do this now, it's gonna be done to us later. That's the fact.”
Kayla scoffed, “Well then, have fun being a lap dog to the United Nations. Count me out.” She spun on her heels, leaving the lounge.
She made it as far as the dormitory hallway before Steve caught up with her. “I don’t know if I can do this anymore Steve.” Kayla admitted, her voice low, her back still to him. “If an oversight panel is where this is headed…”
“I know.” Steve said softly, leaning against the wall opposite Kayla. “You’ve already made up your mind.”
Kayla turned to face him, her hands braced on her hips, nodding her head. “Yeah. I’m not gonna be an asset to anyone. Even if it means leaving behind everything I know…everything I am.” She leaned back against the wall, crossing her arms, her eyes glancing down at her boots.
“I understand exactly where you’re coming from, Kay.” Steve kept his eyes on her. “And that’s why I can’t sign them either.”
Kayla met Steve’s eyes, the corner of her lips curling up in a ghost of a smile. The silence settled between them. Something familiar, an unspoken understanding.
“Whatever happens.” Steve sighed, “we stick to what we believe in. That’s who we are.”
Kayla’s fingers flexed against her sleeve. “Yeah.” She agreed with a nod.
Our 10-year celebration of Team Cap and Captain America: Civil War kicks off very soon on April 26th! We are so excited to share this event with you. Ahead of the event, here's a quick guide for posting your creations.
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Is your OC trained in combat? Were they trained by an Avenger or someone else, or are they self taught? Are they a professional, a novice, or do they have zero skill whatsoever? Is your OC the type to be in the thick of a fight, or do they prefer to avoid conflict if they can?
(You can answer these prompts either in the tags, in the main body of the post, or even write a fanfic based on the prompt if you wish!)
Pairing: Frontiersman!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader
Tags: Western AU. Shotgun Wedding. Strangers to Lovers. Slight Angst. Comfort. Domestic Fluff. Slow Burn. Smut.
Warnings: Reader has Heterochromia. Loss of Virginity. Period-Typical Gender Roles and Expectations.
Summary: She came to White Creek for a teaching position that didn't exist. He needed a wife but never expected to find one like this.
Word Count: 6k
Previous Chapter - Masterlist
He crossed the distance between them in two strides, his hands coming up to frame her face as he kissed her. Deep and thorough and claiming, like he had all the time in the world and intended to use it.
His tongue slid against hers, tasting her, and she felt her body respond despite the nervousness. Felt herself lean into him, her hands coming up to grip his shoulders.
This was happening.
He guided her backward until her legs hit the edge of the mattress, and he broke the kiss just long enough to murmur against her lips, "Lie down."
She did, sinking back onto the quilt, and the coolness of the fabric against her overheated skin made her shiver.
Her heart was pounding so hard she was sure he could hear it.
He stood there for a moment, just looking at her, and she saw his throat work as he swallowed. Then he hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his drawers and pushed them down.
She'd seen him before. Had touched him, learned what made him groan and shudder and come undone in her hand.
But this was different.
This was knowing what came next.
He was hard. Fully hard. And she felt a flutter of something between nerves and anticipation as her eyes traced his length.
He climbed onto the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight, and settled between her legs. His hands pushed her thighs wider -gently, but with clear intent- and then his weight was braced on one forearm beside her head.
Close. So close she could see the firelight reflected in his eyes, could count his eyelashes if she wanted to.
Could feel the heat of his… manhood, against her inner thigh.
"If you feel discomfort," he said, his voice low and serious, "you tell me. Don't keep it to yourself."
She hesitated.
Her mother's voice echoed in her head, the brief, cold explanation. It will hurt, but don't make a fuss. Men don't like fussing.
He must have seen something in her face, because his expression changed.
"You understand?" he said, firmer now. Almost a command. "You feel somethin’ wrong, you tell me."
She managed to nod.
"Say it."
Her throat felt tight. "If I need you to stop, I'll tell you."
Something in his expression eased, and he leaned down to press a kiss to her forehead. Then her mouth, softer this time.
"Good girl," he murmured against her lips. "Now breathe, sweetheart."
His hand slid down her body, between her breasts, over her stomach, lower still. His fingers found her, sliding through the wetness there, and she gasped at the sudden contact.
"Still wet for me," he said quietly, almost to himself. "That's good. That's gonna help."
He circled that bundle of nerves between her legs with his thumb -just a few slow passes- and she felt her hips shift involuntarily, her body already conditioned to respond to that touch.
Then his finger slid inside her.
Just one. Familiar. Something her body knew. He worked it slowly, curling and stroking, and she felt some of the tension in her shoulders ease. Then he added a second finger, stretching her slightly, and she tensed again.
"Relax," he murmured, his mouth moving to her neck, pressing kisses along the column of her throat. "Just gettin’ you ready. Ain’t wanna hurt you more than necessary."
His fingers moved inside her, slow and deliberate, while his thumb stayed on the nub above her entrance. The dual sensation made her breathing quicken, made heat start to pool low in her belly despite her nerves.
After a moment, when her breathing had evened out slightly, when she'd stopped tensing every time his fingers moved, he withdrew them.
His free hand moved between them, and she felt him wrap it around himself.
She couldn't see from this angle, but she felt it when he dragged the head of his member through her folds. Slow. Deliberate. Coating himself in her wetness.
The blunt pressure against her entrance made her tense all over again.
"Look at me," he said quietly.
She did. Met his eyes. Saw the hunger there, but also something else. Care. Intent. Focus.
"Now you're gonna be my wife proper," he said, his voice rough but steady.
She nodded, her throat too tight for words.
This was it. The final step. The consummation that would make their marriage real in every sense.
"Breathe," he reminded her.
She tried. Drew in a shaky breath. Let it out.
Then he started to push in.
Slowly. So slowly.
And…
It burned.
Not pleasurably. Not the building heat she was used to from his fingers, his mouth.
Just a sharp, foreign pressure that felt wrong. Too much. Too big.
Her body wanted to reject it, to tense up and push him out. Her hands flew to his shoulders, her nails digging in instinctively.
He stopped immediately. Didn't push further. Just held still, barely inside her, giving her time to adjust.
"Bucky-" Her voice came out thin.
"I know, sweet girl," he said quietly, his forehead resting against hers. "I know it hurts."
She could feel him trembling slightly with the effort of holding still. Could feel the tension in his shoulders under her hands.
"We can stop," he continued, his voice strained. "But if we try again tomorrow, or next week, it'll hurt just the same. Has to happen at some point."
She knew that. Had known that.
Had known this was coming since the moment she'd said "I do" in the church two months ago.
She nodded, trying to breathe through the burn.
"You're doin’ so good," he murmured, pressing a kiss to her temple. Then her cheek. Then the corner of her mouth. "So good for me. Just breathe. This is gonna hurt," he added quietly, his forehead against hers again. "Just for a second. But if I go slow here, it'll hurt longer. You understand?"
“Y-yes”
"Breathe in," he said.
She did.
"Now out."
And as she exhaled, he pushed through in one firm thrust.
The pain was sharp and immediate. A tearing, burning sensation that made her cry out. Her nails raked down his shoulders, leaving marks she'd feel guilty about later, but right now all she could process was the sudden, overwhelming hurt.
He didn't pull back. Didn't stop.
Just stayed buried deep inside her, holding completely still as her body seized around him.
"It's done, sweetheart," he said quietly, his voice strained but steady. "Worst part's over.
She couldn't speak. Could barely breathe.
Just lay there beneath him, trying to process the sharp, tearing pain that was already starting to fade, but in its wake was a deep, burning ache. And the overwhelming sensation of being filled. Stretched.
Her body struggled to accommodate something it had never held before.
"I know," he murmured, and she realized tears had leaked from the corners of her eyes when he kissed them. "I promise it's gonna feel good later. Just needs time."
She nodded, the movement jerky, not trusting her voice.
He stayed perfectly still above her, buried deep inside her, his muscles tense with the effort of not moving, giving her body time to adjust.
"That's my girl," he murmured, pressing his forehead to hers. "Just like that. You're doin’ so good."
Slowly- so slowly- the sharp edge of pain started to dull.
She became aware of other things. The weight of his body above her. The heat of his skin against hers. The way his breath came harsh and uneven against her neck.
The way he was trembling with the effort of holding still for her.
"Bucky," she whispered.
"Yeah?" His voice was rough.
"I'm... I'm okay."
It wasn't entirely true. But she could breathe now. Could think past the initial shock. Could feel something beyond just the pain.
His hand slid to cradle her head. "You sure?"
She nodded.
"Okay," he said quietly. "Okay. Just... tell me if it gets worse. Promise me."
"I promise."
He pressed a kiss to her forehead. Then her temple, slow and sweet and careful.
After what felt like an eternity but was probably only a minute or two, she felt him shift slightly above her.
His breathing had gone ragged. Harsh. She could feel the tension in his entire body, the way his muscles were locked with the effort of staying still.
He'd been so patient. So careful.
"I need to-" he started, his voice rough and strained. "I'm gonna move now."
She nodded, bracing herself, her hands tightening on his shoulders.
"Tell me if it's too much," he said. Then, quieter, almost like a plea, "But I need to move, sweetheart. I can't- I need-"
"It's okay," she managed, her voice thin. "I know."
He pressed his forehead against the side of her throat, exhaled shakily, and then pulled back.
Slowly. Just an inch, maybe two.
The drag of him against her inner walls made her wince. It wasn't the sharp pain of before, but a dull, burning ache that made her want to tense up even though she knew that would make it worse.
He pushed back in -slow, controlled- and she felt her nails dig into his shoulders.
"Shh," he murmured. "You're alright. Just breathe."
He set a cadence. Slow, careful thrusts that were clearly meant to let her adjust rather than chase his own pleasure.
But she could see the strain in his face. The tightness in his jaw. The way a muscle jumped in his neck with each measured movement.
He was holding back. For her.
"That's it," he said quietly, his voice still controlled but rougher now. "That's good. You're doin’ so good for me."
The praise settled somewhere warm in her chest, even as her body struggled to accommodate him.
He kept moving. Slow. Steady. His hips rolled in a careful rhythm that was clearly taking every ounce of his self-control to maintain. And gradually -so gradually she almost didn't notice- the sharp edge of pain started to dull further.
Still uncomfortable. Still a stretch that made her acutely aware of every inch of him. But it was bearable. Her body was learning, adjusting.
His hand slid up her side -a slow, deliberate caress- and cupped her breast.
The touch made her gasp, not from pain but from surprise.
His thumb brushed over her nipple, and sensation sparked through her body, familiar and welcome after the unfamiliar burning below.
"There," he murmured, his voice dropping lower. "Focus on that."
He did it again, rolling her nipple between his thumb and finger while his hips kept that slow, steady rhythm.
And she felt it, a flash of something that wasn't pain. Wasn't discomfort.
Something warm. Almost pleasant.
"Good girl," he said, and there was satisfaction in his voice now.
His rhythm stuttered slightly. Just a fraction. Like his control had slipped for a moment before he caught it.
She felt him thrust a little harder -once- and then he seemed to force himself back to that careful, measured pace.
But his breathing was getting harsher. His movements less smooth.
"So tight," he muttered, almost to himself. "Christ, you're so tight around me."
The words sent an unexpected flutter through her belly.
He'd never talked like this before, during the times they'd touched each other in the dark.
Was this... was this part of it? Part of what happened?
"Takin’ me so well," he continued, his voice rough and low. "My sweet girl. My wife."
My wife.
The possessiveness in his tone made something clench deep inside her. Made her hyperaware of exactly what was happening, that he was inside her, claiming his right as a husband, making her his in the most fundamental way possible.
His hand tightened on her breast, and his rhythm faltered again.
She felt him drive in harder this time -deeper- and a sound escaped her lips. Not quite pain, not quite pleasure. Something between.
"Sorry," he gritted out. "Tryin’ to- tryin’ to go slow- "
But his control was fraying. She could feel it. Could see it in the way his jaw clenched, the way his eyes had gone dark and unfocused.
"You feel so-" He thrust again, harder still, and groaned. "So good."
His hand left her breast and slid down between them.
She felt his thumb find that sensitive bundle of nerves he'd learned so well over the past two months and press down in a slow circle.
The sensation cut through the discomfort like light through fog.
She gasped, her hips jerking involuntarily, and heard him make a rough sound of approval.
"That's it," he said, his thumb moving in deliberate circles while his hips kept moving. "Feel that? Feel how good it can be?"
And she could. Beneath the ache, beneath the burning stretch, there was pleasure building.
"Gonna make you feel good," he muttered, more to himself than to her. "Gonna make my wife feel good while I- while I-"
His rhythm was breaking down. Getting faster. Less controlled.
His thumb worked her clit with more pressure, and she felt her body respond despite everything. Felt heat pooling, felt that familiar tightening that meant she was getting close to-
"Mine," he said roughly, and thrust harder. "You're my wife. Mine to- to fill-"
The words should have scandalized her. Should have made her gasp.
Instead, they sent a spike of heat straight between her thighs.
"Bucky-" His name came out breathy.
"Say it," he demanded, his voice harsh now, his hips snapping forward with less and less restraint. "Say you're mine. Made to fit me."
She felt herself clench again at the words, flustered and aroused in equal measure. He was losing it. She could feel it in the way his movements had gone erratic, the way his whole body had gone taut.
"Gonna put a baby in you," he muttered, his voice wrecked.
His thumb pressed hard against her clit, and she cried out as pleasure spiked through her. Not an orgasm, not quite, but close enough that her body clenched around him.
And that was it.
His control shattered completely.
"Fuck-" The word tore out of him -rough, desperate- and he drove into her hard. Once. Twice. Three times.
No more careful restraint. No more measured thrusts.
Just need. Raw and overwhelming.
She felt him swell inside her, and then he was coming with a low, broken groan, his hips jerking as he spilled deep inside her in a hot rush.
He collapsed slightly, catching himself on his forearms so he didn't crush her, his breathing ragged and harsh against her neck.
For a long moment, neither of them moved.
Just lay there, connected, both trying to catch their breath.
She could feel his heart pounding against her chest, or maybe that was her own heart, she couldn't tell anymore. With his weight on top, she could feel the heat of his body, the way he was still buried inside her.
Still part of her.
After a moment, he shifted slightly, bracing more of his weight on his forearms, and lifted his head to look at her.
His pupils were blown wide, dark, and unfocused. His cheeks were flushed, color high across his cheekbones in a way she'd never seen before. His hair was disheveled from her hands, and his breathing was still ragged.
He looked... undone.
"You alright?" he asked, his voice hoarse.
She nodded, not trusting her voice.
His hand came up to brush her hair back from her face, his touch gentle despite the roughness of his breathing.
"Did so good," he murmured. "So good for me, sweetheart."
She felt him start to soften inside her, and when he finally did withdraw, he did it slowly. Carefully. The slide made her wince.
He settled back on his knees between her spread thighs, and she felt the immediate loss of his body heat. The cool air hit her sweat-dampened skin, raising goosebumps.
But then she felt something else. Something warm and wet sliding between her thighs.
His spend leaking out of her, she realized with a jolt of mortification. Her legs started to close instinctively, wanting to hide, but his hands caught her knees and held them apart.
Gently. Firmly.
Her hands flew to cover her face as heat flooded her cheeks.
She felt exposed. Obscene. She needed to-
"Not yet," he said, his voice still rough but with an edge of something else now.
Satisfaction, maybe.
She kept her hands over her face, unable to look at him. Unable to face whatever expression he was wearing while he looked at… at that.
"Sweetheart," he said, and there was amusement in his voice now. "Look at me."
She shook her head, her face burning.
"No?" She heard the smile in his voice. "Shy now? After everythin’ we just did?"
"Bucky, please-" Her voice came out muffled behind her hands.
"Please what?" His thumbs traced small circles on the inside of her knees. "You're givin’ me such a view right now. Hate to waste it."
"Bucky!" She wanted to die. Wanted to sink through the mattress and disappear.
She heard him chuckle- low and warm- and then felt the bed shift as he moved.
A moment later, she heard his footsteps crossing the cabin -the soft thud of bare feet on wooden floor- then the sound of water being poured.
She finally lowered her hands from her face, just enough to peek through her fingers.
He was at the washbasin, his back to her, still completely naked.
The firelight played across the muscles of his shoulders, the breadth of his back, highlighting old scars she'd traced with her fingers countless times. And there, standing out in faint red lines against his skin, were the marks her nails had left.
She heard the wet sound of fabric being wrung out and realized he was dampening a cloth.
Then he turned back toward the bed, and she immediately tried to sit up, close her legs, but he was there before she could move, one hand settling on her knee.
Keeping her open.
Keeping her exposed.
"Stay," he said simply.
"I can- I should-" She could do this herself. Should do this herself. It wasn't proper-
But he shook his head, already settling back between her thighs with the damp cloth in hand.
"Let me," he said, and there was something in his voice that made it not quite a request.
She lay back against the pillow, her whole body burning with embarrassment as he began to clean her.
The cloth was warm against her oversensitized skin. His touch was gentle as he wiped away the evidence of what they'd done.
His spend. Her blood.
The proof of her virginity, now gone.
It should have been mortifying.
It was mortifying.
But his touch was so matter-of-fact, so unashamed, that some of her embarrassment began to fade into something else.
Intimacy, maybe. The kind that came from letting someone tend to you like this. From being vulnerable and having that vulnerability treated with care.
When the cloth passed over a particularly tender spot, she winced involuntarily.
He paused immediately, his eyes flicking up to her face.
"Hurt?"
"A little," she admitted, her voice small.
His expression softened, and he gentled his touch even more, barely any pressure at all as he finished cleaning her.
When he was done, he set the cloth aside and looked at her, his hand still resting warm on her thigh.
"I'll leave you be for a few days," he said quietly. "Let you heal up."
She felt a confusing mix of relief and something else. Disappointment, maybe? Which was absurd, given that the idea of doing that again right now made her want to wince.
"And next time," he continued, his thumb tracing a small circle on her thigh, "it ain’t gonna hurt like that. I promise."
She searched his face, looking for certainty she wasn't sure he could have.
"How do you know?"
His mouth quirked slightly. "Can't say from personal experience," he admitted. "But that's what I've heard. First time's the worst. Gets easier after."
----
He watched her process that information, saw the way her eyes searched his face like she was looking for certainty he didn't have to give.
He'd tried to be careful. Had gone slower than his body had wanted, had prepared her as best he knew how.
But he'd still hurt her.
Had heard her cry out. Had felt her nails rake down his back. Had seen tears slip from the corners of her eyes.
And he'd kept going anyway, because he had to. That's what men did, what husbands did.
But he felt guilty anyway.
"Get under the covers," he said, standing from the bed. "You'll get cold."
She nodded and shifted, wincing slightly as she moved, and he felt that guilt twist tighter.
He turned away before she could see it on his face and crossed to the washbasin, dampening the cloth again, wringing it, and began wiping his thighs, his cock.
There was blood on him. Not much, but enough.
Proof that she'd been untouched until tonight. That he'd been the first. The only.
And, beneath the guilt and the concern about having hurt her… he couldn't help the satisfaction that came with it.
No one before him. No one else would ever know her this way.
He rinsed the cloth, wrung it out, and hung it to dry. Then he crossed back to the bed.
She'd already burrowed under the quilts, turned on her side, facing away from him. He could see the curve of her shoulder, the way her hair spilled across the pillow.
He climbed in beside her, and the mattress dipped under his weight.
Immediately, he felt her start to shift, beginning to turn toward him out of politeness, probably.
"Hey," he said quietly, his hand settling on her hip to still her. "You more comfortable like this?"
She paused. "Yes," she admitted after a moment, her voice soft.
"Then stay." He shifted closer, fitting himself against her back, his arm coming around her waist. "This is how we'll sleep."
She didn't protest. Just let him pull her in, let him curl around her like he could shield her from everything beyond these four walls.
He pressed his face into her hair, breathing her in, then brushed his nose against the curve of her neck.
"Good night, sweet girl," he murmured against her skin.
Then, quieter, like a benediction:
"My wife."
----
She sat at the table with her second cup of coffee, the cabin quiet now that Bucky had left for work, letting the warmth seep into her palms as she stared at the table's wooden surface.
Heat flooded her face as the memory hit her with startling clarity, sitting on this exact spot, Bucky kneeling between her thighs, his mouth on her while she gripped the edge and tried not to fall apart.
We eat here, she'd said.
And I'm about to, he'd replied.
She set her cup down with a slightly unsteady hand, her face still burning.
It wasn't as if she'd been so sheltered that she didn't know people had relations outside of bedrooms. There were stories, whispered scandals about couples caught in barns, in carriages, behind locked parlor doors.
But the kitchen table. Where they ate breakfast every morning.
That hadn't been something she'd imagined.
She wondered if this sort of thing happened in proper households, or maybe Bucky was just... different. A little blasphemous, perhaps.
Though even as the thought crossed her mind, she couldn't quite bring herself to be scandalized by it. Because if she was being honest with herself, truly honest, she couldn't deny that she'd do it again.
All of it.
She took another sip of coffee, trying to focus on the mundane tasks that awaited her today. Laundry. Mending. The usual chores.
But her mind kept circling back.
She'd fulfilled her obligation as a wife. Finally. Properly.
And it had been... nothing like what her mother had described: He'll get on top of you and put his... thing inside you. You stay on your back, let him do, and it will be over quickly.
But last night hadn't been quick. Hadn't been something she'd simply endured while staring at the ceiling.
And Bucky-
Her face heated again, this time for an entirely different reason.
Bucky, who was always so direct with her but respectful, had said things when he was inside her, when he was close to finishing.
Mine to fill.
Gonna spend inside you.
She pressed her hands to her cheeks, feeling the heat of her skin.
Those words, crude and explicit and nothing like what a husband should say to his wife, shouldn't have affected her the way they had.
Shouldn't affect her now, sitting alone at the kitchen table hours later.
But they did.
She couldn't stop thinking about it. About his weight pressing her into the mattress. The heat of his skin against hers. The way his voice had gone rough and raw when he'd lost control.
And beneath the embarrassment, beneath the shock of hearing such words from her husband's mouth, there was something else.
Curiosity.
He'd said it wouldn't hurt like that again. That it would get easier.
She knew how good his fingers felt inside her. The stretch, the curl, the way he could find spots that made her see stars. And last night, even through the pain, she'd felt the difference. The fullness. The way he filled her completely in a way his fingers never could.
If it didn't hurt next time, if her body didn't seize up in pain the way it had…
It would feel better.
So much better.
Her face burned hotter.
She set her cup down and stood abruptly, needing to move. Needing to do something with her hands before her thoughts spiraled any further.
Laundry. She had laundry to do.
And she absolutely, resolutely, was not going to think about her husband anymore this morning.
At least, she was going to try.
----
The axe bit into the wood with a satisfying thunk, and Bucky pulled it free, reset his stance, and swung again.
Thunk.
Again.
Thunk.
The rhythm should have been automatic by now, muscle memory built over two years of doing this exact thing, six days a week, dawn to dusk. Except today, his mind wasn't on the work.
It was back in the cabin. On last night.
He swung again, and the blade landed slightly off-center. Not enough to matter, but enough that Miller, working near him, glanced up.
"You alright over there, Barnes?"
"Fine," Bucky said, resetting his grip.
Miller raised an eyebrow but didn't push it. Just went back to stripping bark with his drawknife, the scraping filling the silence between axe blows.
Bucky tried to focus, to think about the angle of the cut, the grain of the wood, whether this section would split clean or need wedging. But his brain had other ideas.
He kept seeing her face.
The way she'd looked up at him when he'd first pushed inside her, eyes wide and startled, like her body hadn't been ready for the reality of it, even though she'd known it was coming.
The way her hands had flown to his shoulders, nails digging in hard enough to leave marks he could still feel under his shirt.
The sound she'd made, small and pained and trying so damn hard not to make a fuss about it.
He'd hated that sound. Hated that he'd caused it, even though there was no way around it. No secret trick that would've made it painless. First times hurt. That's just how it was.
But knowing that didn't make it easier to hear her cry out. Didn't make it easier to feel her tense up around him like her body was trying to reject what he was doing.
Thunk.
The axe sank deep, and he had to wrench it free with more force than necessary.
Miller looked up again. "You sure you're alright?"
"Yeah," Bucky said, not meeting his eyes. "Just didn't sleep much."
It wasn't a lie.
He'd lain awake for a long time after, listening to her breathing even out into sleep, wondering if she was sore. If he'd been too rough at the end when his control had finally snapped, and he'd lost himself in her completely.
He shook his head sharply and focused on the log in front of him. Work. He needed to focus on the work.
----
Except he couldn't.
Because underneath the guilt and the worry that he'd hurt her more than necessary, there was something else.
She was his now. Fully. Completely. No ambiguity left. No waiting, no careful restraint. He'd claimed her the way a husband was meant to claim his wife, and she'd lain beneath him and taken what he gave her, even when it hurt.
Even when he'd lost control at the end and said things he probably shouldn't have said.
Mine to fill.
Gonna spend inside you.
Gonna put a baby in you.
His hands tightened on the axe handle. Christ, he'd said that last part out loud. He remembered it now, clear as day.
Remembered the words tearing out of him when he'd been too far gone to think, too close to finishing to care about propriety or what she might think.
And instead of showing surprise or scruples, she just clenched around him -tight and hot and perfect- and he'd buried himself deep and spent inside her like he'd been wanting to do for two months.
The memory alone made his body start to react in a way that was absolutely not appropriate for the middle of a workday. He shifted his stance, adjusting himself discreetly in his pants, and focused very hard on the next swing.
Thunk.
"Barnes."
He looked up. Davidson was standing a few feet away, hands on his hips, looking at him with a mix of amusement and exasperation.
"You just split that log three times," the man said. "It's done. Move on to the next one."
Bucky looked down. Sure enough, the log in front of him was already split clean through, the two halves lying on either side of the chopping block. He had no memory of finishing it.
"Right," he muttered, stepping back.
Davidson's mouth twitched. "Rough night?"
"Somethin’ like that."
"Uh-huh." Davidson's grin widened. "Well, try to keep your head attached today, yeah? Don't need you losing a foot because you're too busy daydreaming."
Bucky shot him a look, but there was no real heat in it, because he wasn't wrong. He was distracted. Badly.
And it wasn't just the memories of last night.
For two years, he'd come home to an empty cabin. Cold. Silent. Nothing waiting for him except whatever scraps he could throw together for dinner and a bed that was too big for one person.
Now? Now he came home to her. To the smell of something cooking when he walked through the door at the end of the day. To a bed that was warm because she was in it.
To a wife who let him touch her. Who responded when he kissed her. Who'd let him inside her body last night and would -God willing- let him do it again. And again. And again. Because that's what marriage was. That's what husbands and wives did.
The thought sent another wave of heat to his groin, and he had to stop and take a breath before he embarrassed himself in front of the entire crew.
He moved to the next log, setting up the cut, trying to get his head back in the game.
But his mind was already racing ahead.
Tonight, when he got home, she'd be there. She'd probably have dinner ready. Would move around the cabin in that way she did now, like she belonged there, because she did.
And after dinner...
He'd told her he'd leave her alone for a few days, give her time to heal. And he would.
He wasn't some rutting animal who couldn't control himself. But Christ, the idea of waiting even a few days felt impossible now that he'd had her once.
His jaw clenched.
Three days. Maybe four-
"Barnes!"
Miller's voice cut through his thoughts, sharp and urgent. Bucky's head snapped up just in time to realize his next swing was aimed wrong, too close to his own leg, the blade already descending. He jerked back instinctively, and the axe bit into the chopping block inches from where his boot had been.
Miller was staring at him, eyes wide. "Jesus. You trying to chop your foot off?"
"No," Bucky said, his heart pounding. "Just... wasn't payin’ attention."
"Oh really." Miller shook his head. "What the hell's got into you today?"
Bucky bent to reset the log, avoiding Miller's eyes.
He couldn't exactly say, I can't stop thinking about my wife. About being inside her. About doing it again.
That wasn't the kind of thing a decent man shared with his coworkers. Even if it was the truth.
"Just tired," he said instead.
Miller snorted. "Yeah. I bet you are."
----
By lunch, he had nearly taken his own thumb off with a slipped blade, tripped over a root he should've seen coming, and earned himself a lecture from the foreman about keeping his head in the game.
He sat on a stump during the break, eating the lunch she'd packed for him, and tried to get his thoughts in order.
This was ridiculous. He was a grown man. He'd had women before. This shouldn't be affecting him like some green kid who'd just gotten his first taste.
But it was different with her, because she wasn't just some woman. And he'd spent two months wanting her, two months holding himself back, two months being careful and patient and waiting for the right time.
And now that he'd finally had her... now he wanted her again.
Wanted to come home tonight and pull her into his arms and kiss her until she made those little sounds in the back of her throat.
Wanted to get her out of that dress and feel her skin against his.
Wanted to be inside her again. To make her feel what he'd started to show her last night, that it could be good for her too.
Wanted to hear her gasp his name the way she did when his mouth was on her.
Wanted to feel her clench around him because she was close, not because she was hurting.
Wanted-
"Barnes, you gonna eat that or just stare at it?"
He blinked. Davidson was standing in front of him, grinning.
"You've been holding that same piece of pie for five minutes without taking a bite," the man said. "Either eat it or put it down before you drop it."
Bucky looked down at his hand. Sure enough, he'd been holding a piece of pie halfway to his mouth, completely frozen.
"Christ," he muttered, shoving it into his mouth. Davidson laughed and walked away, shaking his head.
----
The rest of the day dragged.
Every swing of the axe felt like it took twice as long as usual. Every log felt heavier. Every minute stretched out like an hour.
He kept catching himself glancing at the sky, trying to gauge how much daylight was left, trying to calculate how much longer until he could go home. Until he could see her again.
It was pathetic. He knew it was pathetic, but he couldn't help it.
By the time the foreman finally called it for the day, Bucky was already moving, grabbing his coat, his lunch pail, heading for the trail before anyone else had even started packing up.
"Someone's in a hurry," Miller called after him, laughing.
Bucky didn't respond. Just kept walking. Because yeah, he was in a hurry.
He had a wife waiting at home.
And he'd been thinking about her all damn day.
Next Chapter
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Your OC is forced to experience a realistic vision that plays on their darkest fears (maybe it's from Wanda, maybe it's from someone else). What does this look like? Are they able to break through this deception easily enough, or do they get overwhelmed and struggle to escape?
(You can answer these prompts either in the tags, in the main body of the post, or even write a fanfic based on the prompt if you wish!)
60 questions that can be made into an OC ask game, or you can just fill everything out yourself to get to know your character a little better :)
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[1] What first impression do they typically make? Are they likeable from the get go, or take time to grow on people?
[2] How does their social personality differ from how they act when they’re alone?
[3] What emotion is the hardest for them to deal with?
[4] How physically and emotionally affectionate they are?
[5] Are they good at keeping secrets?
[6] How direct are they in conversations, do they speak in hints and riddles or bluntly say what they think?
[7] Are they a good liar, and what would they probably lie about?
[8] How open they are about their true feelings, both positive and negative?
[9] What is their love language?
[10] How quickly do they fall for someone?
[11] What are small things that make them happy?
[12] How high is their self-esteem?
[13] What kind of sense of humor do they have, if any?
[14] What does it take to make them laugh, and what does their laugh sound like?
[15] How do they act around people they don't like?
[16] Do they easily rely on others to help them out, or prefer doing everything themselves?
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[17] What is their biggest struggle that no one around them is able to understand or believe?
[18] Do they ever have to hide their identity and for what reason?
[19] If they could change one thing about their past, what would they change?
[20] When they’re sad or upset, do they need company or some time alone?
[21] When they’re sick, would they want others to visit and take care of them, or they would rather prefer not to be seen at not their best?
[22] Do they have nightmares, and if yes, when did they start and what are they usually about?
[23] What was the worst, the darkest period of their life that they have been through?
[24] How hard it is for them to not allow their emotions to cloud their judgement?
[25] Do they have fears and phobias, and if they do, do they usually keep it to themselves or talk about it openly?
[26] Do they have any physical or mental ilness, how do they handle it and how open they are about it?
[27] Do they have any scars, how did they get them and how do they feel about them?
[28] What is something that they will never be able to forgive?
[29] How do they deal with loss, stress and anger?
[30] What are their most healthy and most unhealthy coping mechanisms?
[31] How hard it is for them to own up to their mistakes and wrongdoings?
[32] Is there something they've done in the past that they deeply regret till this day?
[33] What are one of their fondest and most treasured memories?
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[34] Do they have vices they don't want others to know about?
[35] Do they like their own appearance, and what do they do, if anything, to alter it in any way?
[36] Do they own items that have sentimental value?
[37] How would they spend a lazy day when they have nothing specific to do?
[38] What do they usually do or where do they go when they need to feel comfortable and safe?
[39] What are their sleeping habits and favorite sleeping position, either alone and with someone?
[40] How picky they are with food, do they have specific dietary requirements based on their health or culture?
[41] What’s their usual morning routine?
[42] What is their idea of a perfect friendly hangout and/or romantic date?
[43] Do they enjoy flirting or being flirted with?
[44] On a party, where would you find them?
[45] For an event, would they dress like they typically do, or go all out?
[46] Would they rather dress to look attractive or to feel comfortable, and what would they never wear?
[47] Do they drink alcohol, and if they do, how much and how often?
[48] Are they, or were they at some point in their life, a part of any subculture?
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[49] Do they possess any unexpected skill or knowledge that surprises others, and otherwise, what is something anyone would assume they know or can do, but in fact they don’t?
[50] What are they really good and really bad at?
[51] How good are they with money?
[52] Do they speak any other languages aside from their own?
[53] Do they like to sing and how confident they are with their singing?
[54] Do they like giving gifts, and how good are they at picking good gifts?
[55] How long does it take for them to make a new place feel like home, and what do they need for it?
[56] How would they react to hearing a dirty joke?
[57] What was the most stupid or dangerous thing they have ever done?
[58] In the situation where they had to choose, would they rather stay loyal to their morals or to people they love?
[59] What would they want to be remembered for?
[60] If they were to commit a crime, what kind of crime would it most likely be?
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some of these question were written myself, some are the courtesy of my friend, and some were brought from my questionnaires in my old fandom. if you use them, please reblog or link back to this post
