As long as any imagery used by the author is within Dumblr’s new guidelines, then no. If the post gets flagged by Dumblr, then all they would need to do is submit it for review. I’ll still add the fic[s] to the Playlist master list and read them.
Summary: Bucky realizes why something feels off after being rescued by Steve. Words: 713 Warnings: angst, fuck is used like 12 times in one dialogue so cussing A/N: I know today was scheduled for something else but this was literally the only thing I could focus on writing. So here is day two of ficmas with a names drabble! This is Bucky’s POV. Sorry this was posted on the third, I wrote this pretty last minute and the taglist for names alone has 50 people on it so took up a lot of time.
I was glad to be rescued, glad to see Steve again. Glad that everyone else was okay. I walked back into camp behind Steve, holding the gun in my hands. A brunette woman approached Steve, looking rather annoyed. And though I was glad. I was upset. Upset that Steve was now here. That he was here in Europe, not back in Brooklyn with Marjorie.
But something still didn’t feel right. Something still felt off, and I couldn’t shake it. Even though I didn’t know why, but I had a gut feeling that something was wrong with Marjorie, that she was in danger. I didn’t say anything, I was probably just being paranoid. Steve always said I was when it came to her.
That night, I tossed and turned through the night. The feeling still hadn’t gone away and I racked my brain trying to figure out why I thought she was in such danger.
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Steve itched to leave the briefing. It was impossible to concentrate, and for once, he thanked his lucky stars for his eidetic memory which gave him perfect recall as he could no more focus on Fury and his briefing then he could stop thinking about Lily.
He’d come on too strong. He knew it. Lily was hurting, and he’d been laying down innuendos and comments of an inappropriate nature. She didn’t need that from him. Not now. She needed comfort, support, and care — not grabby hands.
But she liked grabby hands. Steve tried hard to ignore the inner voice which reminded him of how genuine and uncertain she’d sounded permitting him to touch her wings; how hope and longing had filled her voice. But he’d wanted no misunderstandings and asked for clarification because he genuinely didn’t want to overstep her boundaries. Was touching a woman’s wings like grabbing her ass? How was he supposed to know without asking?
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