Authors note/summary: I have not been on this account for several years, but I've recently been finally getting back into writing and wanted to get back on the site! I hope the Marvel fandom is still out there, feel free to send prompts or requests :)
No Such Thing as Easy Missions
1433 Words
...
Steve should know by now that there’s no such thing as an easy mission. Even though Fury swears this one should be simple, just an in-and-out hostage rescue situation, he should have known that there was a catch. There always seems to be. And right now, the catch is a room full of young girls handcuffed to their bedframes, and the stone-faced, silent redhead assassin to his right.
“Are these the hostages?” Tony asks, rather unhelpfully. The girls are silent, watching, waiting. They don’t seem to be able to understand them, but they don’t look afraid, even though four of the six avengers just burst through the locked door to their – what is this, a bedroom? There are probably thirty girls, the oldest no older than twelve or thirteen, each sitting up in their beds and watching the group attentively.
“теперь ты в безопасности.” You’re safe now. The girls all snap to attention at Natasha’s words, who has snapped out of barely hidden shock and starts to unhook the chains of the girl nearest her.
“Right, Russian. That makes sense.” Tony goes for the next row of beds, and Clint and Steve quickly follow suit.
Steve kneels next to the bed, where a little girl in ragged clothes watches him with eyes that seem much too old for her face. When he glances over his shoulder, Natasha is still working on the chains of the girls in the first row of beds. She’s always been hard to read, but Steve has tried his best over the years to learn her tells as well as her triggers, and right now they’re in a remote Red Room facility with no warning. She doesn’t look shaken, but he knows she must be, and as the group continues to release the girls from their beds, he keeps an eye on her. Clint follows her closely, putting a hand on her shoulder that she shrugs off, eyes dark and dull. They exchange a few words in low voices that Steve can’t make out, but he doesn’t try to eaves drop. Tony is also uncharacteristically quiet – something about the gravity of the situation seems to register with him, and Steve is grateful that Tony was able to pull himself together and stay on track.
After Natasha’s words in Russian, the girls all seem to flock to her with much more comfort than with her teammates – though Steve can’t say he’s surprised about it, seeing as Natasha is also the only woman in a room full of tall, foreign men. Natasha keeps reassuring the girls in soft Russian as they walk through the maze of hallways, destroyed by hammer blows and the footprints of a monster much bigger than a man (the wielders of both weapons who currently wait in the jet half a mile away).
“I called extraction, Hill’s got a jet for the hostages out front,” Tony supplies helpfully, and all Natasha does is give him a nod, her eyes not leaving the faces of the girls. She’s pale, and Steve notices her tighten her hands into fists to hide her shaking. Clint walks alongside her, keeping a subtle eye on her that doesn’t go unnoticed by Steve and Tony, who exchange a cautious glance.
The hostages load into the sleek black jet Hill has parked outside of the facility, marching diligently into the hanger. As Natasha turns away with the rest of the group, one of the girls tugs on her hand gently, and Natasha whirls around, kneeling to reach the girl’s level. She can’t be more than eight years old, and her hair is in dark knotted braids, her lips chapped. Steve watches Natasha whisper quietly to the girl, who gives Natasha a shy hug before following the rest of the group to the jet. Natasha stands there for a moment, watching the girl go, and the group stops with her, waiting.
“We good to go?” Tony asks carefully.
“Yep.” Natasha turns suddenly and brushes past them, heading for their jet. She’s walking so fast they can barely keep up with her.
“Clint --” Steve starts, but the archer cuts him off.
“I know. She’s…I know.”
When they reach the jet, Natasha’s already gone into the back compartment to change. Banner and Thor sit in the main bay, looking confused as the rest walk in.
“What happened?” Banner asks quietly, glancing behind him where Natasha disappeared to.
“Red Room,” Steve doesn’t need to elaborate. Banner winces.
“Ah. Fuck.”
“What do we do?” Tony, surprisingly thoughtful, turns to Clint for help.
“I’ll handle it. I’ll – she’ll be fine. Let’s fly.”
“Roger that,” Tony shrugs, offering a half-assed salute.
The jet takes off smoothly, the team waiting apprehensively for Natasha. She comes out a good ten minutes after takeoff, having changed into more comfortable clothes. She doesn’t look at the group, instead opting to pull a book out of her mission duffle and curl up in the corner away from them. There’s a heavy silence in the room, broken only by the crisp turning of pages as Natasha pointedly ignores the group. Her hands are shaking.
“Nat?” Tony asks, softly, tentatively. She doesn’t look up.
“What?”
“That was…was that the Red Room?” he tries. Her shoulders tense, the only sign that she’s even listening.
“Part of it,” is the only response she gives.
“Do you want –”
“This isn’t a press conference, Stark,” she snaps sharply, finally looking up and closing her book swiftly. “Yes, that’s how I was raised. Is that what you want to know?”
“No, I—”
“It’s no one’s business what my childhood was like. I’ve done my best to keep it under wraps, so of fucking course that’s where we get sent for extraction,” she swears, and alarmingly to both her and the team, her eyes burn with unshed tears. She stands on shaking legs, and Steve reaches out a hand and grabs her elbow to steady her. She wrenches out of his grasp, taking a few steps back.
“No one’s judging you,” Steve offers quietly, and she scoffs, but it’s much less controlled than her demeanor a few moments ago.
“Of course not, Super Soldier,” she laughs. It’s a barked, panicked sort of sound, and Clint turns around from the controls to see what’s happening. Thor’s on his feet now, looking uneasy, and Bruce has shrunk into a corner, trying to remain as out of the line of verbal fire as possible.
“Natasha, we –”
“Save it, Stark,” she barks. “You and your fancy supercomputer already know everything, or close enough.” Her voice is higher, and it cracks at the top, and Clint quickly flips the jet to autopilot to join them all in the back.
“Nat.” He’s firm, and she turns to face him. It’s then that he sees how truly rattled she was by the sight of all those little girls chained to their beds.
He knew, of course he knew – the nights that he caught her chaining herself to the bedframe so she could sleep, the times he held her as she screamed and writhed from nightmares, the tears he wiped off her face in the rarest moments of vulnerability. She’s panicking now, her pupils are pinpricks, her hands trembling, her face pale. She’s staring into his eyes and even though her demeanor is threatening rather than threatened, he knows how to read her better than anyone.
“Copilot with me,” he offers. She holds his gaze for a moment. Tony and Steve exchange a look, Thor shifting uneasily on his feet. There’s a moment where Clint thinks she might refuse him, throw her book at his head and run to the back of the jet, or pull one of her many knives out of the hidden pockets in her clothes, but she doesn’t. She just nods, once, and follows him up to the front of the plane.
She could sit in the copilot’s chair, but of course she doesn’t. She squeezes in with him into the main chair, sitting half on the chair, half on his lap, leaning subtly against his chest. He puts a hand on the back of her neck gently, offering a small squeeze of reassurance. He doesn’t say anything – he doesn’t have to. They listen to the sounds of Steve, Tony, and Thor settling into their seats again, and Clint ventures a careful look at the spy once more. Her eyes look straight ahead, blank and tired. She’ll be sleeping with the handcuffs again tonight, he knows it already, but they’ll work it out. They’ve figured it out before, they can do it again.
Prompt: A world class contract killer finds an envelope at his dead drop. Inside are $23.42 in short change and a letter handwritten by a 9-year old girl.
Type: Series
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x F!Reader's daughter (platonic obviously), Bucky Barnes x F!Reader
Genre: fluff, action, slight angst, might get smutty but idk yet
Warnings: Be prepared for some adult language! Nothing too crazy in this first part though, we're just getting started so that's my only warning for now.
Word count: 1.6k
Send me an ask to let me know if you wanna be added to/removed from the taglist!!
This post was Beta'd by @mariekoukie6661. Thanks a million!
A/N: Thought I'd throw my hand at a prompted fic! Hope you guys like it, I'll add a chapter directory and update as needed as the next parts are posted. So stay tuned 👀 Text dividers made by @firefly-graphics <3
Every morning is always the same when you're paid to kill. He'd been trying to be better about the whole actual killing part lately, but that didn't change his morning routine very much. He woke up to the sound of his alarm clock going off—yes, he still used one. If you asked for his reasoning, he'd tell you it's because it's less complicated and you can always count on it to work because it simply stayed plugged into the wall; in the event that the power went out? It had batteries for backup power, and you can't find that kind of peace of mind with just the alarms on your phone. He's still an old soul, sue him. He woke up at 6:45 am, on the dot, every morning without fail that way so it was rather effective.
After the blaring sound of his trusty alarm clock came the process of forcing himself out of bed and cleaning up for the day; shaving if necessary, freshening up, getting dressed, the works. This was generally when he'd change his appearance should the need arise, as well. But he didn't need to do that this morning and so he flicked the light to the bathroom off as he left the room when he was finished, heading out to his kitchen thereafter. The next step? Food. It was always 7 am sharp by the time he got done with his wakeup process, the only time that changed being when he added any extra steps in the bathroom. And breakfast was always simple: a cup of hot black coffee, sliced avocado, and bread toasted to perfection with an egg over medium to be dipped in. And it never failed to be a pleasant way to start his morning, usually followed closely after by a session of watching the morning news. He found it a good way to see what was going on in the area and across the country so he could plan accordingly.
If he didn't have a job, which by chance was the case today, he'd generally find any sort of quiet way to spend the rest of his morning; reading a book, cleaning up all his weapons, or a walk in the park if he felt like it. Today, he felt like it. And it was mostly peaceful, if you excluded the grating sound of car horns, tires squealing, and buses chuffing past. And of course, if you chose to ignore the rumbling from the subway, the people shouting either in their urgency to get to work or just simply because they were an ass, then it was really utterly plain and quiet to walk through Central Park. By this point Bucky had truly gotten used to it. He supposed in some ways it wasn't too much different from his home in the past. But that didn't mean he liked to spend too much time there anyway. So long as he got out and went back home just in time, he could skip the gradeschoolers and dog walkers that came around for the afternoon.
There had been nothing unusual about his day so far, and he liked that. He liked the rhythm of it all, and how it always went according to his carefully curated schedule. He began the process of unlocking his apartment door after making his way up to his floor, and pushed it open to take a step inside. Crunch.
What the helll...?
Bucky frowned as, seemingly, something sat under his boot and crinkled where he'd stepped, making the same sound again as he carefully pried his foot off. The poor, crisply folded, paper envelope that had earlier been slotted through his dead-drop, suffered a dirt-covered footprint but aside from that, it seemed harmless and intact as he picked it up to inspect it. A curious thing to find when you hardly get mail aside from the bills. What was even more curious was the contents within it, feeling a bit lumpy and—quite frankly—heavy for a letter-sized envelope. He closed the door behind himself with one hand, locking it once again out of habit while the other kept hold of the envelope. Moments later he flicked out a switchblade to slice it open revealing not only a handwritten letter but also $23.42.....Exactly. All in small change.
It was quite honestly the oddest thing he'd seen or received to date, and that was including the number of quite-literal backstabs he'd received, numerous other maiming injuries, and the odd encounters he’d had with a talking raccoon, tree, and robot...man…thing. To name a few. That was also including the number of odd jobs he'd been offered and peculiar payment methods he'd been given. Never had he come across such a specific payment with a letter that….upon further inspection….looked as though its penman couldn't be much older than 9 years old, at most.
'Dear mister,
My name is Rosie Jones. I am 9 yeers old. My mommy says you're vary good at helping people. Well, I need your help. Mommy also said you like to be paid for helping, so I broke my piggy bank open so you wood help us. Mommy doesn't know yet thoe, so please don't tell her.
My mommy dissuhpeered disappeered last night. She told me to hide and I did but now I can't find her and so I need your help mister becuz you're really good at finding people too, mommy said so. Please please help me find my mommy, I don't know what to do mister.
– Rosie'
"You've gotta be shitting me." He muttered to himself. The first question Bucky had, quite honestly, was how did this little girl even know who he was? Or where he lived? Not many people did, if any, truth be told. If they did? They were usually dead within minutes. It was one of many reasons that kept his renowned status intact. But here he was, sitting at his own table, with proof that some little girl knew both of those things. Frowning down at the paper and envelope of change, the assassin ran his hand back through his dark brown hair momentarily, processing what he'd just read. On one hand, it could be an elaborate trap. By all rights he had to assume it, considering the nature of the letter and the fact that a little girl of all people had written it. But on the other hand, there was a certain dedication there that he simply couldn't ignore. And some part of him couldn't help but at least look into it. So moments later, the man was pulling out his laptop and began searching for answers, anything that could give this little girl's story any sort of credit.
Much to his surprise? It checked out. Every last bit of it. There was a mother, connected to the Rosie Jones in question, who had gone missing under rather mysterious circumstances. "I'll be damned, mystery kiddo."
'Y/N Jones, aged 37, a single mother, was nowhere to be found the next morning after reports came in that a struggle and silenced gunshots were heard from the house that night.'
He probably could have gotten away with just keeping the money and letting it go. It was some little kid somewhere hoping for someone to hear her plea, he could get away with it. But it was that name…. he'd seen it before, he knew he had. In all fairness though, he really only remembered faces exceptionally well. Names didn't matter in the long run, names didn't tell him who he was shooting within a crowd of people. So why did it keep nagging at the back of his mind?...
Spoiler alert: he shouldn't have went digging. He should have just left it alone. But he had always been a curious mind and he was nothing if not thorough on top of that. Popping open the top to his bottle of whiskey, Bucky carefully poured out a favorable portion into a glass tumbler, before letting it down onto the counter as he heard an agreeable noise coming from his laptop to signal it had finished its task. Glancing over his shoulder, he sipped on his drink as he made his way back over to the table, having waited for what seemed like an hour to get the information he wanted. And the minute he looked at the screen was the very same minute he regretted it.
He knew that face.
He knew it like the back of his hand almost, he knew it the same way he knew the taste of bourbon or the sound of a .22 magnum. That was the face of Y/N Y/L/N and it was a face he had been trying to forget for years now. But most of all he knew it was a mistake to have even touched this with a ten-foot pole. Because now he had a target, he knew what the target looked like, and he had been paid in- well, maybe not-so-full, but in 9-year-old currency $23.42 was basically a million dollars considering it was all her savings.
In short?
He had to do it now.
He knew that. And it damn near made him groan at the prospect. Because this was going to be a long-ass job, and if he was going to ensure the rescue of that little girl's mother, then he needed to ensure that child's safety. The less leverage the 'enemy' had, the easier his job was. So as he sighed out, "Damnitall, this better be fuckin worth it kid," the hundred year old assassin finished off his drink and went about packing his things to take on a job that he never asked for, but knew damn well he was stuck with until it was over.
But at least if he had to go through with this, he was going to be damn sure he did it right, that was for sure.
Taglist: If you weren't tagged it's because I couldn't get it to tag you or I didn't know which account was yours – @aingealcethlenn @deaan @idabbleincrazy @impala-1979 @kadet-jb @myinconnelly2 @princessmisery666 @rosedemica @tvdspngirl314 @darsynia @buckys-zomdoll @cookingglitterfairy @emilyshurley @fictionalabyss @jotink78 @mariekoukie6661 @manawhaat @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @scarletwinchester84 @sorenmarie87 @until-theend-oftheline @starryeyes2000 @thing-you-do-with-that-thing @betweengalaxies2 @focusonspn
Drukkari headcanon: Makkari loves it when Druig reads to her
Word count: 1564
of all of the things that Makkari loves most dearly in this world, only two of them trump her love for reading: 1) Druig, and 2) when Druig reads to her. she discovered the latter one cold night, after she had a particularly bad nightmare.
they were all standing on the beach. they had beat their enemy, but they hadn’t won— Druig was gone. Makkari feels like a shell, her soul empty from the weight of the irreplaceable loss, yet heavy with guilt that she couldn’t save him. she wishes Ikaris had killed her too.
suddenly she feels a familiar heartbeat. at first she thinks she was imagining it. but then she feels it again, more clear this time. no… it couldn’t be. unless…
she turns around reluctantly. her knees nearly buckle at the sight of a familiar figure walking towards her. she can’t tell if he’s real or not, but she meets him halfway across the demolished beach. Druig— her Druig— was stood before her, seemingly fine sans a few scrapes and cuts on his face and a noticeable limp. but those injuries were minor and inconsequential compared to the fact that he was alive, alive for her. his eyes were still bright, his smile was still happy as ever at the sight of her.
she falls into his familiar arms that have come to feel like home. she burrows her head into the crook of his neck and cries, cries for the love they almost didn’t have. cries for the chance at a happy life that was almost taken from them. she squeezes Druig lightly as if he would fade away if she let him go. he strokes her hair slowly, and Makkari can feel him whispering words of reassurance into her ear. the soft murmur of his heartbeat eases her anxiety… he was there.
she forgets how long they’ve been stood like that but suddenly his body feels cold against her. she didn’t notice when his hand had stopped running through her hair and his soft voice had been silenced.
she pulls away and sees his skin gray and his eyes rolled back inside his head. his pale face was covered in dark red blood that oozed out of a deep gash across his forehead. his nose was bleeding and his lips were cut up. Makkari releases an inaudible scream, throwing his limp body away from her.
•
she jolted upright in bed, drenched in a thick blanket of cool sweat. hot flashes wash over her like waves in a vicious cycle, again and again, as she struggled to manage her breathing. she couldn’t control the stream of tears that escaped her eyes if she wanted to. when the warm tears met the curve of her lip on the way down her face, she was left with a bitter, salty taste in her mouth. her vision was blurred and she could feel her body shaking. she pressed her hands to her face, squeezing her eyes shut with her palms in attempt to rid her mind of the horrific images she had just seen.
Druig heard her hyperventilating next to him and immediately jolted awake. he was out of bed and on the other side of the room within seconds, kneeling on the ground in front of her side of the bed. he placed a careful hand on her knee, shaking her gently to get her attention.
“Makkari, look at me.” he said as he signed her name on her leg, hoping she would understand, hoping she felt the vibration of his voice and knew that he was there.
to Druig’s disappointment, this only made her cry harder, though, her hands shaking where they were pressed over her eyes. she brought her knees to her chest and dug her head in between them, hiding her face from his sight.
panic set in the pit of Druig’s stomach— panic because he wasn’t sure how to calm her down. he hadn’t ever seen her in this state before and he would have been lying if he said it didn’t absolutely terrify him.
he readjusted his position on the floor, shifting closer towards her.
“Makkari, you’re okay. just take a deep breath. try and control your breathing, my love.” he wasn’t sure how to help her. he didn’t know what to say or what to do. but, he knew that breathing helped him whenever he had a nightmare, and so hopefully, hopefully, it could help her too.
his hopes were crushed when she shook her head side to side frantically. she lifted her head slightly to look at him, but she was more looking through him.
“i can’t breathe.” she signed with shaking fingers, finally releasing her hands from her face. there were red marks around her eyes from where her palms were pressed, nails dug into her forehead. Druig’s heart broke at the sight of her resolve. he felt tears rise in his throat, but he quickly swallowed them down. he had to be in the moment with her, not breaking down himself. he knew she was counting on him to be strong for the both of them in that moment.
Druig furrowed his brow and moved every so slightly closer to her, careful as if not to scare or startle her. as painful as it was seeing her like this, as much as he just wanted to wrap his arms around her and never let her go, he knew better.
“no, you’re okay. i promise you’re okay. i’m here.” he gently places his hand on her chest, right near her heartbeat, hoping that the weight of his hand would ground her. “as long as i’m here, you can breathe. you’re okay. okay? i promise.” his voice became softer with each word he spoke. Makkari had never felt his voice this soft, ever. it surprised even Druig himself.
he continued to rub soothing circles around her back, whispering reassuring words to her. eventually, her crying died down, her shaking stopped, and her breathing evened out. eventually, she caught her breath and Druig saw her muscles relax as she started taking deep breaths.
“there you go, come back to me.” he encouraged as she regained her bearings. eventually she unfurled her legs and wiped her face with the back of her sleeve. slowly she released her hands from where she had them pressed over her face, and let them fall into her lap. Druig took this opportunity to hold her hands in his, rubbing random patterns over her soft, tear-stained knuckles.
after a few moments, or it could’ve been a few hours, Druig didn’t know, he didn’t care— Makkari gave him a nod that said ‘I’m okay now.’ Druig breathed a sigh of relief as Makkari’s eyes met his for the first time that night. he couldn’t control the smile that formed from his mouth from the sight of her. despite her pink, blotchy skin, red eyes swollen from crying, her messy hair, and her face drenched in soggy tears, she looked as mesmerizing as ever. she was, in that moment and always, his beautiful Makkari.
he placed a tender kiss on the back of her hand before rising to his feet, untangling their hands in the process. her skin there became cold from the missing connection of their entwined fingers. her curious eyes followed him across the room as he pulled something out from one of her dresser drawers. between the blurriness in her eyes from crying, and the dark of the night, she could hardly make out the object in his hands.
he returned to his usual spot on his side of the bed. that’s when she saw he was holding a book— her favourite one in particular, about the Chinese Shang dynasty. he stretched out his left arm, inviting her to cuddle. she took the invitation immediately, nuzzling her head into his warm chest. she used the familiar vibration patterns of his heartbeat to ground herself back into reality, back to the four walls of their shared bedroom, back to Druig’s safe arms.
he opened the book and started reading aloud, slowly. although she could not hear his voice, she understood him in different ways. she closed her eyes and let the soothing sound of the vibrations of his voice wash over her. his familiar voice was comforting, and lulled her back to sleep. for the rest of the night, she only saw good dreams.
•
since then, her nightmares were few and far between, thankfully. Makkari adored when Druig read for her. it was intimate and special. no one else’s voice vibrations were as familiar or comforting for her as Druig’s were. reading was one of her favourite things in the world. now it had become something that they could share, and that made her treasure the pastime even more.
but, for Druig, it was so simple. just read. he thought that was the least he could do for her. he’d do anything to make up for their lost time together. but if that’s what comforted her, then that’s what he’d do. if this small gesture was what she loved, he’d read to her forever.
the spark in his soul from even looking at her, that fluttering in the deepest part of his chest as he felt her fall asleep in his arms to him reading, was irreplaceable. he would read her anything.
“What’s this?” Steve asked, tilting the little blue heart-shaped tag in his hand so he could read the engraving.
This is how I die, Phil thought, frozen in place. Of embarrassment in front of Iron Man, Black Widow, and Captain America. And Hawkeye’s dog.
“Captain Catmerica,” Steve read out, a puzzled look on his face. His gaze jumped between Phil and the offending cat tag, and Phil didn’t have to look at Tony’s face to know it was filled with glee.
“I knew it,” Tony said, snatching the tag out of Steve’s hand.
“I didn’t name her that,” Phil said, his words weak even to his ears as he sunk down onto the couch.
S.S: Hello again! Another fic for you folks! This one was really based off myself and my persepectives for my future but I hope that you all like it.
Warnings: Slight panic attack, not much, mentions of children (is that a warning?) showering together but nothing sexual
Word Count: 1,636
MASTERLIST
---------------------------------
“Uncle Bucky!” Morgan’s sweet voice entered the room before she was in sight. The sound of her feet running against the linoleum of the compound echoed just as loudly.
I smiled at Bucky as he stood up to greet the little girl running towards him from the hallway, bracing himself for her hug.
“Hey there MiniMo. How's it going?” He asked as he knelt to her height watching her smile grow on her face as she bounced on her toes.
“Can we go to the park? Daddy said it was alright while he worked.” Morgan begged.
“You just got here Maguna. Take a chill pill.” Tony said as he finally showed up in the common room.
“But dad, it's so pretty outside!” She whined turning towards Tony.
“And it'll be just fine a little later too. You need breakfast first missy.” He smirked as he readjusted his sling. “Say Hi to Aunt Y/n/n too. She’s looking a little dejected.”
I smiled as Morgan enthusiastically waved at me with her toothy grin before turning back to Bucky.
Despite their differences, Tony and Bucky had created a peaceful relationship. Tony still had some precautions but after speculation he realized where he had been mistaken and had finally accepted Bucky’s profuse apologizes about Hydras doing. Though Tony was very protective over Morgan, especially after his snap, Morgan had been the one to really connect the two parties. She broke Bucky out of his shell even more, probably even helped him more than I had through Steves leaving.
Bucky was amazing with Morgan. He treated her as if she was his younger sister like in the 40’s with Becca. He had told me once that Morgan’s smile reminded him of her. Other than Tony he had become the most protective of the girl. It was adorable. He always offered to babysit if Tony and Pepper had business or just needed a night off and if there wasn't a mission that had to be done.
Tony pulled Morgan along to the kitchen and Bucky had rejoined me on the couch, watching me complete the sudoku puzzle I was working on. I could feel the nervous energy coming from him as if he wanted to say something.
“What’s on your mind Buck?” I asked, not looking away from my puzzle.
“Huh, oh. Just thinking that's all.”
“Want to indulge me? I can feel your anxiety radiating from you.” I teased him, turning to see his sweet face.
“Do you want kids?” he asked bluntly. My heart dropped to my stomach and the smile that was on my face had faded as soon as the words left his mouth. “I mean like after we get married or something. I know we've only been dating for like a year or so, but we've never talked about this.” he said his hands fiddling in his lap as he watched my reaction.
“I- uh. I- well ummm I-”
“Uncle Bucky! Lets go to the park! Please!! Daddy said it was alright now!” Morgan interrupted my flustered stuttering.
“Ok MiniMo. I'll be right there. Go put on your jacket.” He smiled as she skipped away back to the door. “I didn't mean to upset you. We can talk about it later. I’ll see you in a bit.” he said before kissing my head and following Morgan out the door.
I watched his retreating form with tears glazing my eyes. My vision shifted from the hallway to see Tony standing in the doorway of the kitchen, his arm crossed over his chest and a sympathetic look on his features.
“Need to talk about something? I don't have to be in the lab yet.” He offered, moving towards me.
“I- I- He’s gonna hate me.” I whispered.
“Why’s that?” he sat down next to me, his good arm slug around the back of the couch.
“He asked if I wanted kids, probably because he wants them but I don't. I can't. He’s gonna hate me.” I turned to Tony.
“Did he explicitly say that he wanted kids? That he wanted to start a family with you.”
“No but -”
“EH- stop. If he didnt straight up say he wanted kids then don't be so worried. He’s asking what you want in the future.” he said.
“But what if he wants a family. I can't give him that Tony. I can't give him what he had, what he might want.”
“And if he truly loves you it won't be a problem. He might want a family but there are other ways to have kids.”
“No Tony, you don't understand. I don't want to have children at all. I can't deal with the stress of raising someone. I don't want to have a child just to mess them up because I’m not mother material.”
“Pepper thought that for a while. She doubted her ability but now look, we've got this amazing daughter.”
“You're not listening to me. I'm not mother material. I'm a mercenary. Pepper is an executive Business woman. She knows what it's like to have a family, how a child should be raised. I have no idea what that's like. I didn't have that luxury, I wouldn't know where to start. She doubted herself for a moment in life, I on the other hand have known forever that I will never be good enough to be a mother, whether it was my own child or adopted. I'm not made for that life.” I argued, the pain settling in my chest.
“Come on Y/n/n, you can't seriously believe that.” Tony said.
“I 100% do. I was raised as a killer, not a lover. I don't nurture things. I manage to kill everything I touch in time.” I stated, “I'm gonna go shower. Good luck with your projects.” I said before walking out of the room.
----------
I closed the bedroom door behind me and tossed my sudoku book onto the unmade bed. I looked at the clock on the wall watching the hands move. I began pacing along the carpet lost in my thoughts. Bucky's face ingrained in my memory, the way his eyebrows were furrowed in concentration, the lines creased on his forehead, the way his eyes flitted to mine after he asked the question of curiosity swimming within and a hopeful gleam.
Of course he would want a family. He grew up with a sister and a loving mother. And Steve was practically his brother. Why wouldn't he want a daughter or a son of his own. He loves Morgan and he loves spending time with her so of course he's pictured himself with his own children one day.
I ran a hand over my face trying to wipe away the worry. I pulled my shirt over my head dropping it onto the floor with my sweatpants before walking into the bathroom. I turned the water to the hottest setting possible watching the room fill with steam almost immediately.
The water cascaded around me, trailing off my fingertips and dripping from my hair. The cool tile of the floor underneath my huddled form wasn't noticeable with the steaming water hitting my back. My arms were wrapped around my legs as I sat on the floor of the shower, my head leaning against the wall reimagining the look that Bucky had given me. It had morphed to a pained look, one of disgust, of hatred.
“Hey Y/n? Everything alright? Tony said you needed to talk to me.” Bucky's voice broke me from my trance. I heard the bathroom door open and close behind him. He knocked against the tinted glass door to the shower. “Can I join you?”
“If you want to.” I said quietly, pulling myself off the floor as he got undressed and stepped in. His hands wrapped around my waist.
“What's going on doll?” HIs deep voice whispered as he left kisses on my shoulder.
“Maybe we should break up.” I said quietly. His grip loosened a little and his kisses stopped.
“What are you talking about?”
“I just don't want to hold you back from something you want.” I said.
“Is this about what I asked earlier? Because I didn't mean that we had to have kids now. I know that our lives are still kinda hectic. We can wait. I don't mind.” he said, his hands turning me to face him.
“I can't have kids. Even if I could I don’t want kids. And you obviously want a family. I can't give you that. I can't give you what you had growing up. I can't give you a loving family like you want.” tears were freely streaming down my cheeks.
“We don't need kids to have a loving family. I have you. That's enough for me.” he reassured, his hands cupping my face.
“But you want kids. I see how you act with Morgan. You adore her.” I said.
“I do adore her, but that doesnt mean I want kids. I adore you much more than risking losing you over wanting children. I'm fine without kids. We can have a dog instead.”
“But- I-”
“Stop. Listen to me closely; I don't need children to have a family with you. It can just be me and you. I don’t care just as long as I’m sharing my future with you.” he said gently but stern. “Now come on, let’s get out and go play with Morgan, ok?”
I simply nodded and followed his lead out of the shower. He took my towel and dried me off gently, finishing by placing a kiss on my lips.
“I love you, you know that.” he smiled tilting my chin up to meet his gaze.
“I love you too. I'm sorry.”
“There's nothing to apologize for, doll. Nothing at all.” he said with another smile before crushing me in a hug.
-----------------------
S.S: Hope you like this! I saw a tiktok with Sebastian being amazing with kids and it was adorable but like at the same time I lowkey despise kids because they come from a special place in hell so this story came out. Anyways.... thanks fro reading!!
A/N: This was supposed to be part of a 5+1 in response to an ask prompt, but I’ve been stuck for...honestly I have no idea how long at this point, and I really want this one to see the light of day, so I’m posting it.
Summary: Peter is definitely out past his bedtime, but to be fair, babies are also definitely not supposed to be out in the dead of night...or in dark, spooky alleys.
It’s a slow night on patrol.
Peter is sitting atop a Subway, his legs hanging over the edge, and he’s just finished munching on a complimentary six-inch. He stands, stretches, and shoots his balled up trash in to the large silver can below him before hopping to the ground, opting to walk in the shadows instead of webbing so that his food can settle.
It’s very early in the morning (or late at night, depending on how you look at it); it’s low traffic hours, so for once, Peter is able to navigate his own city as Spider-Man with ease. Every once in a while, he passes a pair or a group of partygoers, slurred exclamations of “Spider-Bro!” and “Wow, Spider-Man!” making his cheeks burn with pride. He’s just fist-bumping an especially enthusiastic passerby when a new sound reaches his ears.
The cries of a baby definitely aren’t novel sounds to Peter, especially around bedtime in New York, but something about these cries are wrong, aside from the fact that it’s almost 1 in the morning. They seem raw, desperate, even.
Following his ears, Peter comes to the mouth of an alleyway. He listens for a moment more before slowly inching his way into the darkness.
“Hey, Karen,” Peter mumbles. “Do we have night vision?”
“Of course, Peter.”
Instantly, the small space is lit up in a strange, fluorescent green that Peter has seen on numerous ghost-hunting shows.
“Seriously? Green? I feel like I’m on ‘Ghost Hunters.’”
“I believe that was the intended effect. Mr. Stark was aware of your television preferences.”
Peter smiles a bit, but it melts when he realizes where the cries are coming from. Peter carefully steps toward a large dumpster and hoists himself up; a dark blue infant car seat sits on top of a pile of full black garbage bags. Peter quickly dives over the edge of the large bin and wades toward the source of the continuous cries until he’s able to lift the blanket draped over the handle; the smallest baby Peter has ever seen lays swaddled inside. The tiny human’s face is so wrinkly and pinched that even Peter can tell it’s the closest to a newborn you can get without being in a hospital. Peter feels his stomach turn over when reality sets in: someone probably abandoned this baby here. The night vision just picks up the tear tracks on the baby’s cheeks, and Peter’s heart clenches.
“Karen, can you scan the baby for injuries?”
“She appears to be unharmed, Peter, but her body temperature is low. Considering she is a newborn, I suggest skin-to-skin contact if possible.”
“Oh....” Peter considers for a moment. “I have my Midtown hoodie. It’s pretty thick.” He knows his backpack is webbed up behind the aforementioned Subway, about fifteen minutes away, but he knows he can’t leave the baby behind. “You said skin-to-skin, right, Karen?”
“Yes, Peter.”
“Okay, Babygirl, we’re gonna get you warm.” Peter hits the spider logo in the center of his suit, and it becomes lose all around him. He slips out of the top half of his uniform and reaches into the car seat; he carefully brings the squirming infant against his chest and grits his teeth when she cries louder at the movement and harsh cold. He holds the surprisingly light little body with one arm and then the other as he slips them back into his sleeves. He presses the little spider again, and the suit becomes form-fitting around them. “Hey, Karen, can you loosen the suit around Babygirl?”
Immediately, the pressure against his chest lessens, and he cradles the little one there, shivering at how cold she is against his warm skin.
“Can you put the heater on low, Karen? Don’t want to hurt her.”
His suit is instantly less warm than normal, and Peter hugs Babygirl close. She’s still crying, so he tries to bounce her a bit, like he’d seen on countless T.V. shows.
“She’s probably hungry, huh, Karen?”
“Most likely.”
“Mmmhmm...Is there like a shelter or something nearby?”
“May I suggest a hospital?”
Peter smacks his forehead. “Duh. Get me directions to the closest one with a 24 hour emergency room.”
“Done. Directions starting.”
Peter grabs the carrier and sets off under Karen’s direction. It’s an hour journey on foot, but Peter would rather not risk upsetting the baby more than has already been done.
As they’re walking, Peter tries to keep Babygirl as steady as possible, running a hand over her head over and over, cupping the infant to him as he silently pleads for her to calm down.
“Karen, what calms babies down?”
“Top results include: feeding.”
“Can’t do that.”
“Diaper changes.”
“Also can’t do that.”
“Pacifiers.”
“Didn’t see one.”
“Rocking.”
“Limited ability right now.”
“And singing.”
“If I do that, she’ll scream.” Peter snorts.
“Why is that, Peter?”
“Let’s just say I’m not the best singer.”
May may not be his biological aunt, but he definitely inherited his tone deafness from her by proxy.
“You don’t have to be. Just the sound of a voice can be comforting. Studies show that babies are calmed by hearing familiar voices talking, but singing has been shown to be even more effective.”
“What about humming?”
“Close enough.”
“Hmmm...this is weird, Karen, but I have ‘Bella Notte’ from Lady and the Tramp stuck in my head right now.”
“I can play that quietly for you, if you want.”
“That works.”
The opening accordion notes of the Disney classic play quietly around them, and Peter smiles. “I’ve always loved this song. There’s just something about it.”
“Are you going to sing along, Peter?”
“I already told you I’m awful, Karen.”
“You can still hum. The vibrations might be soothing for Babygirl.”
“I guess-hey, Bella. I’ll call her Bella. That’s nicer than Babygirl.”
“Bella is a nice name. It means ‘beautiful.’”
“I like it. Bella Notte...” Peter takes a deep breath and silently resigns himself to humming for Bella’s sake.
The baby has quieted down quite a bit by the time the hospital comes into view, and Peter has literally memorized “Bella Notte” as it plays for the 20th time.
The ER only has a few scattered patrons when they arrive, and thankfully, none of them really acknowledge the strange pair. “Karen, voice disguise.” Peter whispers as he crosses into the reception area.
“Uh, hi. I’m, uh-”
“Carrying a baby in your shirt?” The receptionist is terse but smiling just a bit as Peter fumbles with the carrier.
“Uh, yeah. I found her abandoned in an alley.”
“Oh, dear.” The woman clicks her tongue and picks up her phone. “Katie,” She sighs after a few moments. “Can you come to my desk please? An infant. Yup. Thank you.” She smiles softly at him this time. “One of our pediatric nurses is coming. There is a single bathroom back here if you you want to take her out...privately.”
“Oh, thank you so much.” Peter tentatively rounds the desk and nods when the receptionist, Patricia, her nametag says, lets him in the locked door.
In the privacy of the one-person restroom, Peter rips off his mask and sags against the wall, breathing deeply and unevenly as he tries to get his bearings. He can’t believe he walked all the way here with a tiny baby in his suit. He presses the logo and carefully extracts her, immediately bundling her in the blanket he’d found her under. He realizes in the light that she’s only wearing a dirty white onesie, and he feels tears spring to his eyes.
“Don’t worry, Bella.” Peter coos softly, his voice breaking as he really looks over her scrunched up face for the first time. “You’re safe now.”
Before he can think, he places a featherlight kiss on her little forehead, and his heart flutters. He clenches his eyes against the tears welling there as she whimpers in his arms, exhausted from crying for who knows how long. The boy stares at the baby for a few more moments before sighing deeply and pulling his mask back over his tired features.
Peter keeps the baby cradled to him with one arm and carries the car seat with the other; he carefully opens the bathroom door and inches out into the employee area behind the reception desk. A young woman with a brown ponytail and soft hazel eyes catches his gaze and gives him a small wave; she pushes off of the table she’s leaned against and meets him halfway.
“Hi, Spider-Man.” Her voice is like tinkling bells. “Pat says you have a visitor for me?”
“Yeah....I don’t know her name, so I’ve been calling her Bella.”
“That works for now.” Katie smiles and reaches out. “Mind if I take her off your hands?”
“Oh, yeah, of course.” Peter hesitates and looks down at Bella, his eyes filling again, and he feels himself blush. He looks back up at Katie but subconsciously pulls the baby closer.
“You can hug her good-bye if you want,” Katie offers softly, gently pulling the carrier from his arm. “I’ll be right out front with Pat when you’re ready.”
“Okay. Thank you, Katie.”
The young nurse smiles and leaves quietly.
Peter looks down at Bella, his view of her distorted through tears. “You’re gonna be okay now, Bella. Katie and Pat will take good care of you.” Peter swallows thickly and places her laterally against his chest, bouncing her gently to comfort both of them, if he’s honest. He squeezes her against him and brings his head to rest on top of hers. “This is so weird. I only met you like an hour ago, but...I love you so much, Bella.” Peter sighs and sniffs before straightening up; he continues slightly rocking Bella as he walks toward Katie and Pat, the former continually smiling at him as he hands the tiny bundle over.
“She’ll be okay. Thank you for bringing her to us.” Katie pats his shoulder and holds an arm out. Peter is taken aback for a second until he really looks at her, sees the lines in her face and bags under her eyes. She suddenly reminds him of May, the desire to help and love so evident in every part of her, and he steps into her embrace. Katie squeezes him lightly and rubs a hand over his back. Peter breathes shakily, and she squeezes again before pulling away. “You’ll both be okay,” Katie promises.
“Why...was she abandoned?”
Katie’s eyes turn down at the corners. “Any number of scenarios for why, but Pat told me you found her in an alley.”
“In...a dumpster.” Peter chokes out.
“Sadly, not the first time we’ve heard of that, but she’s definitely better off now that she’s here. Our social worker specializes in infant care, so she’ll find a good foster family for her.” Katie pats his back one more time before holding Bella close to her; she runs a finger over her forehead.
“She was so cold when I found her,” Peter whispers. “But I think I helped warm her.”
“I’d say so; she doesn’t feel too cold at all. You did good, Spider-Man.” Katie turns back toward the door he came through, and Peter holds it open for her. “You’re welcome to stay here until we’re done looking her over and getting her settled, if you want.”
“I...I want to...” Peter sighs and rubs his arm. “But I already said good-bye. I should go home. Someone is waiting for me. Plus, I trust you guys.”
“Well, thanks.” Pat laughs and rubs his arm. “This is what we do, baby. She’ll be just fine. You did good.”
Peter nods, puts a hand on Pat’s shoulder as he passes, and heads out of the emergency room before he can break down.
-
It’s after 3am when Peter finally climbs in his window. He shouldn’t be surprised to find May asleep on his bed, but his vision, physical and otherwise, is a little hazy thanks to his senses being on alert ever since he left the hospital. It wasn’t like the normal shriek of danger but a buzz at the base of his neck, like the area there has somehow fallen asleep.
Peter shakes his head when he finds himself still sitting on the windowsill. He crosses to May silently and gently rubs her shoulder. “May?”
May stirs and squints up at him; her eyes widen before she sighs and laughs, slightly delirious. “Oh, shit, Peter. I always forget about you under there.” She sits up and stretches. “Why didn’t you call me? Way past curfew.” She yawns into her hand.
Peter hits the spider logo and strips out of the suit, exhaustion flooding his bones and tears in his eyes at her comment. “I’m sorry, May. Crazy night.”
“Yeah?”
Peter slips into a t-shirt and sweatpants and turns to face his aunt.
May’s expression falls when she really sees Peter’s face.
“Oh, baby, what happened?”
Peter bites his lip and blinks, releasing a few of the tears he wouldn’t let fall in the hospital. “That’s exactly it. I...I found a baby.”
“Oh my god.” She’s across the room and hugging him before he can blink again. She pulls him back toward the bed and hugs him close as he begins trembling.
May hugs him against her cups the back of his head; she looks down at him and murmurs, “Why didn’t you call me? I could’ve helped you, sweetheart.”
“You’ve never had a baby, May.” Peter says between shuddering breaths. “And I was six when you got me.”
“Touché.” May brushes some bunched up hair form his forehead. “But I had cousins growing up. I know how to deal with babies.”
“I just....didn’t think to. I took care of her, though. Took her to an emergency room. I had it handled.”
“Good thinking, kiddo.”
“It was Karen’s idea.”
“Well good on Karen, then.”
Peter nods mutely, staring blankly at the floor.
May wipes the stray tears from his cheeks and just lets them sit in silence for a few minutes, letting Peter get himself together before a yawn shudders through her. They both laugh a bit, and May asks, “Good?”
Peter nods.
“Good.” May carefully detaches herself and picks up his bedside water glass. “I’ll fill this for you, then bed time.” She goes and returns swiftly, kissing him tenderly on the brow while whispering, “I’m so proud of you, sweetheart. The hero with a heart of gold.”
Peter’s smile is wobbly, but he forces it up for her.
When she leaves, he lays on top of his covers for a little while, staring at his ceiling. Even with his windows and doors closed and locked tight, Peter can’t seem to shake that buzz in his senses.
It’s a little after 5am when his eyes finally fall closed, though the threat was long gone.
Stories below him and hours before, a hooded figure had slipped off into the night, having been at the right place at the right time for his own gain.
