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Married with Benefits (Part 4)

Summary: In order to not pay out-of-state tuition, you ask your friend, Steve Rogers, to marry you. Things, as always, never go as planned. (College AU)

Word Count: 875

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

A/N: This is one of my favorite fics, because it’s been so easy for me to write. Enjoy it, guys!

Originally posted by oursisthefvry


“This looks nice,” said Steve, grabbing a hideous, vomit-green dress from the rack.

You grimaced. “You hate me.”

He belted out a laugh. “It’s not that bad.”

“It’s a vomit-green, makes me wanna throw up.”

Steve shrugged and put it back before continuing to help you shuffle through the available dresses. Finally, you settled on three options, two that you had chosen and one that Steve had pointed out to you and you had agreed with his pick.

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These are Marvels new cartoons? Maybe they saved a ton of money not shading and having crappy backgrounds

Pulse Part 11

Part 10

Genre: Fluffiest it’s gotten thus far (which probs doesn’t say much)
Words: 2,164
Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Reader
Warnings: Injuries
Summary: Soulmate AU in which one’s heartbeat becomes perfectly in sync with their soulmate’s once they meet.

Originally posted by coldrainy


One week. That was how long you had been held in the hospital before you had finally been able to go home- well, to Bucky’s home.

Thanks to the excessive amount of painkillers that had been pushed into your system, you had slept a lot, which had made the beginning of the week go much quicker than you had expected. It was a blessing, being able to clock out while the nurses had changed your dressings and checked your vitals.

Bucky had been in the same spot you had last seen him in when you had woken up on the fourth day since admission. In fact, he had been in the same spot everyday, even waiting in that chair as the nurses had taken you to an adjacent bathroom and given you a bath. It was weird to have had him stay there- not that you hadn’t liked his presence. You had just been waiting for his fiancée to barge in at any moment and question who the hell you were and why her future husband was tending to your every word and need.

You didn’t even think Bucky knew the answer to the last one.

He had acted like the two of you were different people. He had treated you how it would be expected to treat your soulmate, the love of your life. When you had shivered in your sleep, he had brought the blankets up around you instead of letting them rest by your waist. When you had showed the slightest sign of being in pain, he had immediately called to a nurse about the possibility of more painkillers. When you had gotten bored, Bucky had told you stories, or had propped his phone up for the two of you to watch a rented movie off of the little screen. When Wanda had come in to look at the progress in your injuries, he had held your hand the whole time, letting you squeeze it in moments of poking and prodding. He must have gone to shower and eat whenever you had drifted off, because it seemed as if he had been there every moment until you had been released.

After Wanda had helped you get dressed out of your hospital gown, Natasha having been kind enough to drop off some of your clothes, Bucky had helped you walk to a nearby wheelchair (hospital’s release policy) and stopped to go over your healing regimen once more with nurse Wanda. Then you had felt him behind you and the wheelchair start being pushed toward the parking lot.

Once you had gotten in the car and had watched as Bucky hopped into the driver’s side, you had realized that you were slightly nervous to be in a car again. The collision had been one of the most traumatizing things that had ever happened to you.

You had barely noticed when Bucky had reached over and buckled you up.

And then you had gotten on the road. Bucky had driven slow for you, maybe even below the speed limit, and you were sure he would never know how much that had actually meant to you. You had gotten to his house not long after that, parking on the street. Bucky had helped you out of the car, keeping his hand on your lower back as he supported you toward the sidewalk. You had gripped his shoulder with your right arm as you both had climbed the steps to his front door. And then you were inside.

You were in a place that was the closest thing you could call home at the moment, and the first step into the beautiful home made you grateful you were done with the one week in the same room smelling of antiseptic. One week, and now you were stuck with Bucky for one more.

He led you over to the closest sofa and helped you sit down gently, sitting back on his knees to take off your shoes. “Be careful with your side.”

You didn’t answer, instead using your energy to suppress rolling your eyes at his statement. You didn’t think you both could be any more careful.

“Do you want some water?” He spoke again, leaving you sitting on the leather as he walked into the kitchen.

“Sure.” Your voice was quiet, no doubt from how uncomfortable you were starting to become. This was his house; this was his fiancée’s house.

You could hear ice clink into a glass from the other room and then the faucet running. Then Bucky appeared, sitting down on the other side of the couch you were sitting on and handing you your glass.

“So, what do you want to do? I’ve got some movies we can watch or if you just want to relax, I have a lot of books- I could read to you if it would hurt your head with your concussion-”

“Bucky.” You cut him off. “I think I just want to shower and go to bed.”

One good thing about antibiotics and painkillers: you can blame your excessive sleeping on them.

“Oh,” his accepting voice overcompensated for the disappointment he tried (and failed) to hide. “Of course, you’re probably exhausted.”

You forced a smile to him, one that felt more like a grimace, and started to scoot toward the edge of the couch. Bucky was up on his feet in an instant, leaning down with a strong hand on your back and another holding your right hand to stabilize your balance.

He walked you to the bathroom, pausing only once the both of you have stepped inside to watch as you stepped out from his hold and turned to look at him expectantly.

He looked nervous- actually, he looked more than nervous. He looked terrified. You lifted your arms a little. “As much as I wish anyone else could help me at this moment, I don’t have much of an option, so come on.”

He swallowed hard, his movements hesitant as he reached out to help you out of the shirt you were in. He went for the buttons first, your wrist unable to bend to that angle in the bright cast it was being held tight in. His fingers were slow, and he was treating the shirt with as much delicacy as he was treating you with. The two of you were standing extremely close, and you had to force yourself to keep your eyes on his solid chest so you wouldn’t make eye contact in such a vulnerable moment.

Once the shirt was unbuttoned, he helped move it down your arms, carefully sliding it from around your cast, and tossed it to the floor without a second glance. No words were exchanged as he immediately looked at you, reaching for the band of your leggings. And the way he was looking at you- Oh, God, you wished you were dressed sexier. But you had just gotten out of the hospital and with limited options as to what wouldn’t irritate your injuries, you were out of luck.

You held onto his shoulder with your right hand as he slid the leggings down your legs and helped you step out of them. And then he was at his full height again, looking down into your eyes and searching. For what, you didn’t know, but you knew it was easy to get lost in his eyes, and it was exactly what you were doing. The blue of them pulled at the heart deep in your chest, acting as a string connecting the two of you together. You could feel the strain as your heart tried to get closer to him. You involuntarily moved toward him.

His fingers trailed along your sides, gently skimming the skin there before they rested with his thumbs against your ribs, lightly circling the harsh bruising that marked you. You held your breath.

His right hand rose and moved a piece of hair behind your ear. “You can’t get your cast wet.”

Your mouth felt dry as you scrambled to reply. “I know.”

Your right hand still rested on his shoulder. His right hand returned to it’s soothing place at your side. “Do you want me to help wash your hair? If not, you can kick me out right now.”

He was so beautiful, you didn’t think you had the strength while in his arms like this to kick him out. “You can help.”

His tired eyes skimmed your face once more, an action that made your knees weak, before he took a step back. He helped you into the tub in your sports bra and underwear, lowering you down slowly until you were able to sit comfortably. You jolted when the water turned on, cold before it turned warmer, and you caught Bucky chuckling at the reaction.

Your cast rested over the edge of the tub as Bucky filled a large cup with the hot water, slowly pouring it over your hair and making sure it all got wet. He followed the action with some shampoo, gently rubbing the soap into your hair without adding any pain to the already bruised area underneath.

“Does your head hurt at all?”

You shook your head, your eyes drooping at the relaxing feeling of someone else washing your hair.

“You promise? You have to be careful with your concussion.” You nod again, your eyes fluttering open as he rinsed your hair out. “Don’t fall asleep on me.”

“But I’m tired,” you whined.

“I know, I know.” He couldn’t fight his smile as he reached for the bar of soap. “Arms up and then we can get you to bed.”

You did as told, reaching up as he ran the soap over what your cast didn’t cover, your chest, and your abdomen, circling around any wounds as to not rub and irritate them, but letting the water mix with the soap as it ran over them to clean. Once you were all rinsed off, Bucky offered his hands to you, taking your right one in his, and supporting you as you stepped from the tub.

He wrapped a towel around you and used another to partially dry your hair. All the while making sure your cast stayed completely dry.

“I’ll go grab you some of your clothes to change into and your toothbrush and stuff. I’ll be right outside the door when you’re done.” He set the toothpaste out on the countertop, returning back only a minute later with your things, and then he was shutting the door.

It took longer than it should have to get completely ready for bed, and you blamed your cast for that. But once you were dressed, clean, and too tired to take another step, you headed out of the bathroom. Bucky was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, and waiting for you. Once you emerged, he took you to a bedroom at the end of the hall. 

It was big, and mostly neutral colored. The walls were a very light gray, paired with a white bedspread that covered a king sized bed. The floors were wooden, as was one of the walls on the other side of the room that had been converted into a bookshelf. There was a television on top of a dresser in front of the bed, but you looked almost completely past it, instead focusing on how soft the bedding actually looked.

“We have an extra room, but we haven’t actually gotten a bed for it yet. This house is newly bought…”

We.

Him and Samantha.

You nodded, not wanting to dwell on that while you had the opportunity to sleep right in front of you. He led you to the bed, pulling back the blankets and helping you get inside, before covering you back up. He looked like he wanted to say something as he stood over you, playing with your hair while he thought, but all he ended up with was: “ll wake you up when it’s time for more painkillers. Night, Fighter.”

And then he was leaving, flicking the light off as he went. He left the door cracked open so he could hear if you needed anything, but the room was otherwise silent and dark, with the exception of the patter of raindrops on the window.

You couldn’t see much in the room now, but it wouldn’t matter anyway, because the only image your brain was processing was the conflict you had seen many times in Bucky’s eyes just since you had gotten “home.”

It was almost impossible to know his thought process, so instead of torturing yourself with it, you accepted the kindness you were going to get from him, and forced yourself not to get your hopes up.

It was hard not to, though, as you fell asleep on what you knew was his side of the bed, surrounded in the smell of him. He wasn’t wrong in what he had told you at the hospital; you felt safe there.


this isn’t proofread so i’m sorry if it doesn’t flow or there are grammar errors or whatever

i might need to cut off my tag list soon hahaha

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