The Avengers Character Shots

For Better or For Worse

pairing: Bucky Barnes x avenger!reader

warnings: MAJOR SPOILERS, angst, themes of trauma, mentions of violence, mentions of pregnancy, eventual fluff, bucky and reader working out their marriage problems

notes: so i actually first started working on this piece a month before the movie came out and wasn’t able to complete it until i actually saw the film. there will be some inaccuracies since it’s purely based off memory but i hope you guys enjoy!

summary: You want a divorce, but Bucky needs your help for one last mission. Luckily, marriage is all about compromise

The court issued papers fill Bucky with unease as the two of you sit at the dining table in silence. Neither of you has said a word since you presented the documents to him when he returned from his office, and his gaze has been glued to the petition for a painfully long amount of time. The legal jargon doesn’t catch his attention, but one word has stuck out from the rest and branded itself at the forefront of his mind.

Divorce.

These papers are meant to finalize your divorce.

“I just need your signature,” you prompt him quietly after taking a nervous swallow. You try to remain poised, but Bucky knows you well enough to detect your anxious tells- the way your leg bounces nervously under the table while your right hand absently tries to fidget with a ring that isn’t there. He sighs and allows himself to sink back further into his chair while he attempts to organize the amalgamation of thoughts swirling in his mind.

“This is what you really want?” Bucky asks gently, tone devoid of judgement or resentment and instead filled with quiet defeat.

“Are you kidding? I don’t want this at all,” you insist miserably, unable to stop yourself from reaching for his hand across the table. “I love you, Bucky. More than anything. But we haven’t been on the same page in years.”

“Of course we’re on the same page,” he stresses incredulously as if it’s ridiculous to believe otherwise. “We love each other, we’ll do whatever it takes to keep each other safe, we’re a team.”

A disappointed frown takes hold of your features as you carefully pull your hand away. Your eyes are full of sorrow and grief for your failing marriage, and Bucky doesn’t understand why his words have garnered such a reaction from you. He asked you to be his wife out of love and complete adoration for the woman who had risked everything to help him become the man he is today. Wasn’t that enough?

“When we got married, you promised me we’d retire and start our lives somewhere quiet away from all the danger. We’d do the whole white picket fence thing and grow old together, maybe start a family now that all the super hero stuff was behind us. But then Sam needed our help, and I didn’t mind suiting up again for a friend.“

“Of course you didn’t,” Bucky affirms with a faint smile, heart nearly bursting with pride at the mere thought of your selflessness. Steve had once said your compassionate heart could melt even the toughest of soldiers, and Bucky had been no exception when first meeting you.

“I thought that would be our final send off, but then came Valentina, then your congressional campaign, and now the impeachment. It never ends, Bucky,” you say emphatically, exhaustion and defeat present in your tone. Quieter now, you let your eyes fall back to the documents and swallow back your tears before continuing, “I’m starting to realize now that there never will be a house with a white picket fence.”

“Y/n, come on,” Bucky pleads earnestly, “of course there will be. Just give me some time-“

“That’s what you always say,” you point out with a smile that fails to reach your eyes. Your husband is desperate to change your mind, the panic evident in his features as he scrambles to make things right before it’s too late.

“I can change.”

“If you can honestly look me in the eyes and promise me your days of fighting are over, I’ll shred the papers myself.”

A heavy silence follows your words, and you sit expectantly as you wait for him to make a move. Bucky’s eyes wander to every corner of the room, analyze every speck of dust that lands on the table, but they’re never once able to look into your own. You know you have your answer, and Bucky knows there is no changing your mind now.

“I’ll still help you find evidence for Valentina’s impeachment,” you assure him numbly, your fingers absently fidgeting with the buttons on your shirt. “I’ll help you organize your argument and figure out the next step, but you’re on your own after that.”

“About that…” Bucky utters guiltily, looking at you like a dog caught with its tail between its legs. Your brows furrow slightly in confusion before your shoulders slump in disappointment. You know what’s coming, and you know you’re not going to like it.

“What did you do this time?”

“The evidence I’m looking for, it’s not a paper trail or the location to some facility. It’s… people,” Bucky admits with a wince, sinking further back into his chair when he notes the frustration evident in your features.

“Oh my god, Bucky!” You exclaim in exasperation. “What do you mean it’s people?!”

Bucky hates seeing you angry, especially when your anger is directed towards him, but he desperately tries to extinguish the flames before they can get worse.

“Valentina sent people to cover her tracks- contract agents.”

“And who are the agents?” you press him, annoyance clear in your tone. He winces, clearly not looking forward to admiting the truth to you.

“John Walker, Ava Star, and Yelena Belova… But y/n, I swear to you, I had no idea about her involvement when I asked for your help taking Valentina down,” Bucky insists honestly in response to the ire clear on your features, hoping you’ll understand his point of view. Of course he didn’t mean to disrespect your wishes, but it had all happened so fast he hadn’t been given an opportunity to right it.

“Natasha was my best friend, and I promised if anything happened to her I’d keep an eye on Yelena in her place,” you remind him indignantly with an irritated huff. Bucky lets his head hang in shame. “You realize you’re asking me to go back on my word by going after her, right?”

“I know… and I’m sorry. But this is important. The fate of the world could be at stake.”

“It always is,” you mutter testily. Bucky sighs.

“Look, just… before I become a divorced middle aged man, can you just go on this one last mission with me? Think of it as a final send off,” Bucky coaxes with a nervous smile. “And when all is said and done I’ll sign the papers.”

You pull your lips back into a thin line as you stare down the man sitting across from you. You’re not exactly pleased with this entire situation, but a part of you knows you’d feel horrible turning your back on him when he needed you most. Despite your impending divorce, you still loved Bucky with your entire being, and you always would have his best interests at heart no matter the case.

“You’ve gotta be shitting me,” you curse under your breath, more directed at yourself than at Bucky. “I know I’m going to hate myself for this, but I’ll help you.”

The relief that washes over Bucky’s face is almost rewarding, but you try not to let yourself get too caught up in the fantasy. You still aren’t an Avenger, and going on a life threatening mission isn’t going to magically fix the problems in your marriage. You’re simply doing this as a favor to the man you love, and you’re adamant about not letting yourself fall in too deep.

You only hope Bucky keeps good on his promise to you because he can’t afford to break any more.

~~~

You carefully pull the zipper of your suit closed before taking a step back to catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. Despite years of inactivity, it still fits you like a second skin, and you hate it. The last time you’d suited up had been to stop the Flag Smashers, and when it was over you swore to yourself you’d never put it on again. You’d shoved it towards the very back of your closet hoping to forget it existed, and yet here you stood being haunted by your past in spite of how hard you’d worked to separate yourself from your life as an Avenger.

“You look good,” Bucky compliments from behind you, figure leaning against the doorway with his arms crossed over his chest as he takes in the sight of you. He desperately wants to cross the room and pull you against him, hold you by the hips and pour all of his gratitude for your help into a kiss, but he refrains. He doesn’t want to cross any boundaries, but he isn’t exactly sure how to act around his soon-to-be ex-wife. The air is awkward with uncertainty and tense with your anger at having been dragged into this mess, but neither of you dare make note of it.

“I look like an Avenger,” you mutter dryly before pushing past him in search of your boots. “Now tell me again what the plan is.”

“Thanks to Valentina’s assistant I have their location. There’s an abandoned mechanic shop along the way, and you’re going to wait for me there while I bring them in. All I need you to do is help me keep them in line and present the evidence at the hearing.”

“Doing all the dirty work?” You muse with a raised brow. “How noble of you.”

“I know you don’t want to be here, so I’m trying to keep you out of the action as much as possible,” Bucky avows with a sigh, making a move to reach out for your hand only to quickly pull it back. If you notice his slip up you say nothing of it, only holding his gaze as he continues, “I can’t promise this won’t go sideways because it very well could, but I’ll have your back just like I always do.”

Your hard exterior softens at his confession, and you find your eyes quickly darting to the floor to avoid his burning stare. Your heart tightens in your chest with despair as you’re reminded of the fact that despite your impending divorce, you love him with your entire being. Bucky has been by your side for years, and you’re terrified of what life will be like without him as your partner, but you keep reminding yourself that it’s for the best. There isn’t a future there anymore, and you’re tired of living a life of fighting. You’re no longer compatible, and the sooner you accept it the better off you’ll be.

“You should go,” you urge, abruptly ending the tender moment he’d created. “If what Mel says is true about them escaping then they probably already have a target on their heads. You need to get to them first.”

Nodding in understanding, Bucky bids you goodbye by placing an awkward hand on your shoulder. It isn’t very subtle by any means, but the gesture has you cracking the smallest of smiles at the man. “I’ll see you in a bit.”

“Be careful, James,” you say quietly, a hint of vulnerability shining through your tone. Despite the front you out on, your eyes always give you away. Bucky can note the worry in them, the love you hold for the man you married all those years ago. He knows it’s naive of him to think a woman who’s always been so strong willed would ever change her mind after it’s already been made up, but he really hopes he won’t have to sign those papers when you finally get home.

“Always am for you,” he replies with a faint smile, unable to stop himself from gently brushing his knuckles against your jaw the way he knows you like. Your eyes flutter shut almost on instinct form the contact, and in spite of your better judgement you find yourself missing the feel of his touch when he pulls away and leaves you to your own devices.

As planned, you drive yourself to the mechanic shop and sit in wait for Bucky to return with the agents. You’re restless trying to find ways to keep yourself busy in his absence- stretching, unloading and reloading your gun, scrolling through the latest news articles regarding Valentina’s impeachment. You appreciate Bucky’s want to respect your wishes as much as he can in the situation you find yourselves in, but you feel useless not being part of the action. The quiet leaves you with nothing but your thoughts, and all you can focus on is your broken relationship.

Where had it gone wrong? When was the moment it finally occurred to you that you weren’t happy? Were you making a mistake?

Your agonizing rumination is interrupted by the sound of the front doors slamming open. You quickly rise from your place on the work bench and watch as the disheveled group is ushered in by your husband. Hands bound and defeat clear on their faces, you think it’s safe to say the rest of this mission should be easy enough.

“It cannot be,” a voice utters in awe, prompting you to turn your inquisitive gaze towards the man with the unkempt beard and red suit. “It is y/n Barnes! The Avenger!”

You shift awkwardly at the feeling of all eyes now focused on you and offer a meager wave of your fingers in response to the man. Bucky simply rolls his eyes and forces the group to sit before reinforcing their restraints so they can’t escape. You find your gaze subtly shifting to the blonde woman seated a few feet across from you, chest tightening at her mere presence. You don’t know her personally, but you’d heard endless stories about her from Natasha when she was still alive. She’s different from what you pictured, but there’s no doubt in your mind that this is Yelena.

“Y/n, great to see you again,” John greets with an airy grin despite currently being bound with a metal rod. You hold back a laugh when Bucky forcefully tightens the restraints in annoyance at hearing the man attempt to start a friendly rapport with you. It’s clear your husband still isn’t a fan of Walker, not that you blame him considering what you’d been through with the man.

“Wish I could say the same,” you hum with a subtle shrug. “I’m just here to help clean up Bucky’s mess.”

“And what mess would that be?” Ava prompts with a grunt after Bucky tests her restraints.

“Whatever mess I need to make to prove Valentina’s guilty,” Bucky answers for you. “You guys are the evidence, so you’re going to march into that impeachment hearing with me and tell the board everything you know.”

“No, no, see, we don’t work for Valentina anymore,” Yelena interjects despite Bucky’s skeptical glare. “We actually are working together to take her down.”

“And I’m supposed to believe that?” Bucky scoffs.

“She’s telling the truth, Bucky,” John interjects, and while the Winter Soldier doesn’t seem interested in what they have to say, you are.

“What’s really going on then?” You ask, inquisitive gaze meeting Yelena’s frenzied blue eyes.

“Valentina was going to incinerate us, but then we met Bob and escaped.”

“Bob?” Bucky retorts in disbelief.

“Yes, Bob! We thought he was just some weird guy, but it turns out he can fly which would have been good to know when we were stuck in that elevator and-“

“Okay, okay, enough. You can say whatever you want but it’s not going to work.”

“Bucky,” you call gently, his features immediately softening at the sound of his name falling from your lips. You shift closer to the man and lower your voice to a hushed whisper before speaking, “I don’t think they’re lying.”

“What? Of course they are!” He scoffs indignantly, prompting you to roll your eyes in response. “You expect me to believe a story about some guy named Bob?”

“I expect you to be impartial. Isn’t that kind of your thing, Mr. Congressman?” You rebuff sarcastically much to the man’s chagrin. “The least you can do is hear them out.”

“I think you should listen to her,” Alexei pipes innocently, only serving to agitate the man further. However, before he can offer a rebuttal the sound of his phone ringing interrupts your conversation. You watch your husband shoot him a warning glance before answering the call.

“Hey,” another voice calls, prompting you to shift your focus onto Yelena. “Are you really an Avenger?”

“Retired,” you correct her with a faint smile.

“But you were one,” she insists, “and if you were then… you knew my sister.”

You feel your chest tighten immediately at the mention of Natasha, the air around you suddenly becoming thick with tension as all eyes land on you. You shift uncomfortably on your feet and cross your arms defensively over your chest before offering a single nod of acknowledgement to her statement. By the look on her face you know she wants to ask you more, but your conversation is interrupted by the sound of Bucky’s exasperated voice.

“Valentina was working on something called Project Sentry?” He retorts, catching the attention of your hostages. “A guy named Bob?”

“Yes, Bob!” All four exclaim indignantly at finally being proven right. You hold back a laugh and instead give him a pointed look as he finally hangs up his phone and sighs.

“Alright, change of plans. I’m going to stop Valentina, and you guys are coming with me.”

“Wait, us?” Yelena retorts in uncertainty.

“Yeah, you,” Bucky replies with a raised brow. “Why? You got some place to be?”

“Bucky,” you interject pointedly, grabbing onto his arm and pulling him aside to create some semblance of privacy from the others. “What the hell are you doing? You said we were just gathering evidence, not risking our lives fighting against some super powered experiment.”

“That was before I learned she’d created a literal human weapon,” he rebuttals with an exasperated wave of his hands. “I told you things might get messy, but we can handle it. We always have.”

“You seem to forget that I don’t want to handle it,” you remind him pointedly. “I’m here because I care about you, because I love you too much to leave you hanging, but this isn’t my life anymore.”

“You think it doesn’t kill me to ask for your help?” Bucky prompts gently, unable to help himself from fervently taking your hands in his own. “You think throwing you into a dangerous mission at the last second isn’t gnawing at my entire conscious right now? I know what’s at stake here, and I know you don’t owe me anything, but we have to do this. You know we do.”

You pull your lips into a thin line and shift your gaze to the ground as you contemplate his words. You’d told him you were done with fighting, even decided to end your marriage because of it, but you knew he had a point. You couldn’t exactly retire if the world was left in ruins, and you also knew you wouldn’t be able to live with yourself if something happened to Bucky because you chose to bail on him instead of seeing your final mission together through.

The feel of his hand gently squeezing your own brings you out of your thoughts and back to the present. You allow him to gently lift your chin with his metal hand so that he can meet your eyes, causing your heart to leap in your chest at the intimate gesture. You haven’t been this close to him since you professed your desire to end the marriage, but the man still has a way of softening your hard exterior with ease.

“You know I would never let anything happen to you,” he utters softly, “so I need you to trust me.”

Your lips pull into a slight pout as you fight within yourself to resist melting into his touch. You shouldn’t still be this attached to a man you’re about to divorce, but you love him, and that’s what makes this is all so complicated.

Finally, you let out a sigh and solemnly reply, “I trust you, and I’m going to help you see this through to the end because no matter what we’re partners.”

“Partners,” Bucky repeats fondly, chest swelling with pride at the notion. You may no longer be husband and wife, but at its core your relationship is one of teamwork and trust. Retired Avenger or not, you’ll always be there for Bucky when he needs you.

Because in spite of the legal documents sitting on your coffee table back at home, you still love him with your entire being.

And that terrifies you.

~~~

You feel the ground jostle beneath you as Bucky drives over another pothole. You’re not exactly the most comfortable stuck in the loading bed of the truck the team decided to steal, but Alexei had been so excited to ride shotgun with the Winter Soldier that you didn’t have it in you to protest. Besides, it was something you’d have to start getting used to now since ending your marriage also meant ending your passenger seat privileges.

Yelena, John, and Ava proudly boast their weaponry, but you’re too lost in thought to register any part of their conversation. Bucky had been vague when revealing the details of where Valentina’s Watchtower was located, and you knew him well enough to figure out when he was hiding something from you. You had no idea what secret he was keeping, but you had a feeling you weren’t going to like what was waiting for you at the end of this drive.

You feel a nudge against your boot and look up to find the three now staring at you expectantly. You blink in surprise before asking, “Were you saying something?”

“Are you really Bucky’s wife like John says?” Ava prompts with intrigue.

“I… technically still am, yes,” you reply with a careful nod, fingers already beginning to search for your missing ring on instinct.

“What do you mean by that?” John questions with furrowed brows. You shoot him a glare and awkwardly shift in your seat, not exactly thrilled at your personal life being put on the spot by people you’ve only known for a few hours.

“We’re getting a divorce,” you state bluntly in an attempt to simply rip the bandage right off. The man looks stunned, and the air has now suddenly become thick with awkward tension.

“Did not see that coming,” he breathes out remorsefully, clearly regretting having asked in the first place. “How could you be getting a divorce? The last time I saw you two you couldn’t spend more than five seconds away from each other.”

“It’s complicated, and no offense but I’m not about to get into my marriage problems with a truck full of strangers,” you snark defensively. He raises his hands in surrender and says nothing more, but your mood has effectively been ruined.

“I have a question,” Yelena pipes up with an innocent raise of her hand. “If you say you’re retired, then why are you helping us?”

“Because I can’t exactly retire if Valentina blows the world up with her bullshit,” you explain with a harsh exhale. Then, features softening, you utter, “and I couldn’t live with myself if I let innocent people get hurt because I chose not to help them.”

“God, you sound like an Avenger,” Ava scoffs in detestation, “so selfless and kind. How’d someone like you become the Winter Soldier’s wife?”

You smile faintly at the question, chest filling with warmth as your mind drifts back to all those years ago when you’d first met Bucky. Despite how things are now, you don’t think you’d change any of it.

You had just worked your way up to becoming an agent for S.H.I.E.L.D. when Pierce pulled you aside for a ‘special’ assignment. Too naive to question why he’d want to trust a rookie with an important job, you followed orders and went to the designated coordinates full of excitement for your first job. You had no idea he was setting you up to run into the Winter Soldier so he could see your potential firsthand. You barely survived the fight, and Bucky probably would have killed you if they hadn’t called it off, but Pierce decided then that you would be his new pet project. You were sworn to secrecy after being threatened with your life, and you didn’t dare try to resist.

You trained mercilessly under the watchful guidance of the Winter Soldier, pushed to your breaking point nearly every day until you were deemed ready to join him on missions. You became his shadow, following his every move and making it your own. Eventually, you were trusted to tend to him after assignments as well- cleaning his wounds, calming him into submission, tending to whatever need he had. In a strange sort of way you were partners, and he came to respect you as an individual instead of viewing you as a subordinate. You became close, too close for Pierce’s liking, and the man decided you no longer fit into his plans.

Bucky had been ordered to kill you the next time you were sent on an assignment together, but the plan was thankfully intercepted by the arrival of Captain America and Black Widow. The entire operation had blown up thanks to their efforts, and you were freed, but your companion was nowhere to be found. The Avengers took you in as their own, and in that time you struggled to accept that the man you’d grown so close to had left you behind.

Your paths crossed once more in the wake of the Sokovia Accords, and though your reunion had initially been uncomfortably awkward, you soon were able to fall back into your old routine. Your partnership became friendship, and when you chose to stay behind with him in Wakanda it evolved into a relationship of unwavering love and support. You helped each other work through what Hydra had put you through, understood each other in a way no one else did, and promised to be by one another’s side for the rest of time.

The trio is captivated by your story, and you find yourself falling quiet as you realize such a promise can no longer be kept. Your marriage is ending, and eventually you’ll go back to being strangers once more. You sniffle, awkwardly clearing your throat as you realize you’d become more vulnerable than you intended to be with the group. Their solemn gazes burn your skin in a way that’s suffocating, and you wish they’d just move on from the topic already.

“I know it’s not my place,” John begins, filling you with trepidation and unease, “but it sounds like you’re making a mistake.”

“Excuse me?”

“Look, I don’t know the full story, but it’s obvious you still love him. You shouldn’t give up so easily-“

“You know what, John? You’re right,” you retort bitterly, tone dripping with sarcasm, “it’s not your place. In fact, you’re the last person I’d take marriage advice from, so why don’t we just keep our opinions to ourselves.”

The man’s features fall at your harsh comment, and while you’d normally feel remorse for snapping at someone so quickly all you feel is anger at yourself. You know his words hold some truth to them; you still love Bucky, and you want nothing more than to stay married, but neither of you can seem to reach an agreement that suits both of your needs. He can’t live a life of inaction, and you can’t give up on the picket fence dream, so what the hell are you supposed to do?

The rest of the truck ride is quiet, and no one dares to ask anymore questions about your marriage.

~~~

You understand now why Bucky seemed to be so avoidant about disclosing the location of Valentina’s new base. How was he supposed to tell you that the new building she’d acquired was the one you once called home?

Your entire body feels on edge as you squeeze into the elevator and watch the doors close as you begin to move towards the top floor. It’s been years since you stepped foot in this building, but you still know every turn and corner like the back of your hand. Memories of the past haunt you like ghosts, causing your chest to ache with nostalgia and longing for a time that had long since passed. Your days as a fresh faced recruit had been so simple and safe; you hadn’t experienced real tragedy yet, and you were protected in the little bubble you lived in as an Avenger. Everything had changed so quickly, and you still found yourself struggling to pick up the pieces.

“Hey,” Bucky’s voice whispers gently, hand coming to rest comfortingly on the small of your back, “you okay?”

“I don’t know,” you answer truthfully. You feel like you’re in a daze, and you’re not sure how you’re supposed to handle being thrusted back to your past. “I never thought I’d come back here.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before,” he murmurs sincerely. “I know I should have, but I thought it might overwhelm you.”

Too lost in anxious thought, you absently reach for his hand just as you’ve done numerous times in the past and hold on tightly to ground yourself. Though he’s surprised by the action, he’s able to respond by giving your hand a gentle squeeze back.

“I’m here,” he promises you. You swallow thickly and give him a small nod, bracing yourself as the elevator doors finally open to the top floor.

Your hand never leaves Bucky’s as you cautiously step forward and begin to scan the room. You can see that Valentina has taken the liberty of redesigning the place, but the layout is still identical. You can almost see yourself sitting on the couch watching Tony attempt to lift Thor’s hammer, having a talk with Steve on the balcony after a rough day of training, lounging at the bar counter begging Natasha to show you how to make her signature cocktail.

Some of your happiest memories are permanently embedded in this building, but that all fades away at the sight of Valentina pouring herself a glass of champagne right where you pictured Natasha to be.

“Took you guys long enough,” she jests coyly before making her way around the island counter. “What do you think? This place certainly wasn’t cheap, but I think it’ll do just fine. God, can you imagine the glorious battles that took place in this very room? I know you can, y/n.”

You tense at her observation and feel your lips curl into an irritated scowl at her blatant disrespect. It takes everything in you not to lunge at the woman, and if not for Bucky still tightly grasping your hand you’d be in the midst of throwing a right hook.

“This ends today,” Bucky warns her lowly as your group begins to surround the woman. Each and every one of you has a bone to pick with her, and you’re eager to finally bring her to justice and get this whole thing over with.

“Congressman Barnes, wow,” she greets with feigned surprise. “You know, I never really thought you’d have a promising political career, but less than half a term? Yikes.”

You take a step towards her only for Bucky to pull you back, causing the woman to let out an amused huff through her nose. Her smug demeanor and careless need to insult your husband has you fuming, but that’s exactly what she wants. Valentina knows how to get under someone’s skin, and you fair no better to her mind games than anyone else.

“Mrs. Barnes,” she greets cordially with an air of false sweetness, “I can still call you that, right? Congratulations on the impending divorce. I gotta say, I like you much better as an Avenger than a housewife.”

“Retired Avenger,” you correct her through gritted teeth. “This suit’s coming off as soon as we kick your ass.”

“You know, I never understood why you two were together, but I’m starting to see it now.”

“We’re taking you in, Val,” John interrupts only for the woman to chuckle in response.

“I don’t think so, junior varsity Captain America.”

He immediately reaches for his gun, and though you’re interested to see where this will go Bucky is quick to interject and have the blond stand down. She hums, clearly unthreatened, and turns her attention to the other two women in the room.

“Oh, nice to see you, Ava. Yelena,” she pauses while looking the Widow up and down, “you look awful. Are you sure you’re really ready for that public facing role you asked me about.”

“Eat shit, Valentina,” Yelena says bluntly before taking a menacing step towards her. “Where’s Bob?”

Despite being clearly outnumbered, Valentina remains calm and sure of herself as she takes another drink from her glass of champagne. “Look at you, you all are so adorable. Just think, I send you down there to kill each other, and instead you make nice and form a team.”

The circle around her grows tighter, and you watch on edge as Bucky takes a step towards the woman with his hand aiming for her throat. However, an invisible force prevents him from moving any closer, prompting your group to look between each other unsurely.

“Oh, I’m not alone,” she explains apologetically before glancing towards the stairs. It’s then that a new face enters the room, and you watch with uncertainty as a blond man in a golden suit slowly makes his descent down the stairway.

“Bob?” Yelena calls skeptically. After everything you’d heard from the group, the man before you is certainly the last person you’d ever expect to be the Bob they’d discussed.

“His name is Sentry,” Valentina corrects, “and he’s my get out of jail free card. Once I bring him to the impeachment trial they’re sure to let me keep my job. In fact, I’ll be able to protect the American people in the way I see fit.“

“That’s never going to work,” you argue indignantly. “They’d have to be crazy to give you full control.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way,” Valentina coos mockingly before turning to Bob. “Sentry, these people are criminals and a danger to the American public. I need you to dispose of them for me.”

You carefully rest your hand on the handle of your gun, watching intently as the man looks from your group to Valentina. You have no idea what he’s capable of or how this fight is going to turn out, but you’re ready to do whatever it takes to make sure you get to go home after all is said and done.

“I don’t want to,” Bob says uncomfortably, “they’re not a threat to me so why should I have to fight them? I don’t want to hurt anybody.”

Despite his hesitance to complete Valentina’s request and Yelena’s insistence for the group to back off, a fight soon breaks out between Sentry and your team with Alexei being the first to throw a punch. You assume that with the numbers on your side you’ll be able to defeat him with ease, but you couldn’t be more wrong. The hero is essentially indestructible, and every punch you throw or bullet you fire doesn’t so much as leave a scratch.

You barely manage to miss getting toppled over by Ava after she’s thrown across the room, rolling out of the way and landing next to Bucky who looks rightfully frazzled. You can tell he hadn’t been expecting this either, but the fact that you’re currently on the same page brings you little comfort.

“I have a plan,” you pant breathlessly while picking yourself up off the floor. “You distract him from the front and I’ll creep up from behind.”

“You really think that’s going to work?” He breathes, watching as you pull your knife from your thigh holster.

“Only one way to find out,” you reply with an easygoing shrug despite the dread that’s pooling in your stomach at the thought of this going wrong. While you’d initially joined this mission due to the fact that you couldn’t retire if the world was in danger, you’re starting to realize now that you can’t retire if you’re dead either. You just hope this works.

Bucky gives you a single nod before sprinting full speed at Bob, allowing you a window of opportunity to creep up behind him. You grip the handle of your knife tightly in your hand before lunging forward and driving the blade into his neck, but to your horror the impact causes the metal to crumple in on itself. Your knife falls to the floor with a deafening clatter, and suddenly Sentry’s focus is on you as his hardened gaze closes in on your terrified face.

His hand shoots out before you can react, fingers closing around your throat as he slowly lifts you off the ground. Your hands desperately claw at his arm while your feet try to kick him away, but he doesn’t even budge. His gaze is cold and unfeeling, as if your pathetic gasps for air are but a mere nuisance to him. You can feel the world fading around you as he tightens his grip, and you can’t help but to think how poetic it would be for you to die here in the tower.

“Let her go!” Bucky growls before pulling out his gun and relentlessly firing at the superhuman. He’s panicking. He can see the fight slowly starting to die within you, but he’s not about to let you be taken from him so easily.

“Fine,” Sentry utters unpityingly before carelessly throwing your body across the room like a rag doll. You slam into the wall behind the bar counter, bottles of liquor shattering from the impact and digging into your skin as you drop to the ground in a heap of broken glass. Bucky’s eyes widen in panic before turning sharp with unbridled rage. His chest is tight with an anger he hasn’t felt since his time as the Winter Soldier, and all he can see is red as he pulls off his jacket and tosses it to the side.

Your entire body feels like it’s on fire, a sharp pain shooting up your spine as someone rushes over and picks you up out of the glass. The room feels like it’s spinning and your vision is so spotty you barely register Alexei looking down at you with worry as he carries you over to the others. You reach back with a groan for Bucky, but the Red Guardian shushes you in what he hopes is a comforting manner before handing you over to John.

As you feel yourself finally starting to come to, the first thing your gaze focuses on is the sight of Sentry catching a punch Bucky has thrown with his metal arm. You watch in dismay as he slowly twists the appendage before ripping it straight off and hitting your husband upside the head. You cry out in horror as his body slides across the floor in front of you, and despite the way your own body screams in pain you forcefully drag yourself over to him. He’s barely conscious, a bruise already forming on his cheek, but the gentle touch of your hands on his face has his eyes fluttering open to meet your worried gaze.

“Y/n?” He groans, prompting you to let out a sigh of relief.

“Hey, I’m here, honey,” you assure him in a trembling voice, “I’m here.”

It’s clear there’s no winning the battle against Sentry, so your team quickly scrambles to their feet and makes a dash towards the elevator. Alexei helps you carry Bucky inside while Ava makes sure to grab hold of his discarded arm, and with a rapid push of the control panel the doors are sliding shut and sending you back to the ground floor.

Things fall apart pretty quickly after that.

Your entire team disperses despite Alexei’s insistence you stay together as the newly proclaimed Thunderbolts. Only you and Bucky are left standing in front of the tower as you try to figure out the next move, though you’re not exactly in a rush to throw yourself back into the ring with Sentry. Your body aches beyond relief and a dull throbbing sensation has settled in the back of your skull, and you’re barely able to keep yourself upright as you lean back against the building.

“It’s a good thing I never plan to wear this again,” you retort sarcastically while carefully pulling shards of glass from your suit.

“Are you okay?” Bucky asks solemnly, hands gently cradling your face to get a good look at you. Thankfully your skin only sports minor cuts and scrapes that will heal over time, but this doesn’t alleviate the guilt he feels in the pit of his stomach. You’re here because of him, because he’d begged you to come in a last ditch effort to save your marriage, and as a result you’d almost been killed.

As if reading his thoughts, you gently reach up to grasp onto his wrists to ground him and pull him out of his ruminative thoughts. “Hey, I’m alright. I’ve been through worse.”

“That doesn’t make it any better,” he murmurs repentantly before carefully pulling you closer to press a kiss to your forehead. You hum appreciatively at the gesture, having missed the feeling of lips against your skin and the tenderness of his touch. It’s getting harder and harder to resist falling back into old habits, but that seems to be the least of your worries now. “I thought I lost you.”

“So did I,” you admit disquietingly, troubled gaze meeting his own worried one.

“What the hell are we doing, y/n?” Bucky utters gently, the softness of his tone harshly contrasting his words.

“Attempting to save the world?” You answer unsurely only for him to shake his head.

“I mean about us, about our marriage. He almost killed you, and the thought of losing you forever terrified me,” he professes earnestly. “We were lucky enough to get out of there alive, but I never want to feel that way again. I can’t just let you walk out of my life when this is all over.”

“James, we’ve talked about this,” you beg him desperately, throat beginning to tighten with the amalgamation of emotions you hold back. “It’s just not going to work. I love you more than anything, but I want to start a family. I want something stable.”

“You’re not even willing to try?” He pleads despite the clear defeat on his features. You bite the inside of your cheek to keep yourself from crying and turn away so you don’t have to meet his gaze.

“I can’t talk about this right now,” you shudder while blinking back tears. “It’s all too much, I just-“

You’re interrupted mid sentence as the ground beneath you begins to rumble. Distant screams fill the air and Bucky quickly pulls you into his side as he scans the area for any signs of danger. Your eyes trail towards the skyline above you and you freeze, body becoming rigid as you grab onto Bucky’s arm to get his attention.

A dark shadow hovers above you, chaos surrounding him as he stares you down. Panic floods the streets of New York, and despite the excruciating pain you feel you’re quick to jump into action and assist civilians in evading falling debris and runaway cars.

It seems now you’ll just have to wait until later to discuss the future of your marriage.

~~~

You wake up somewhere cold.

You have no idea where you are, but the last thing you remember is following Yelena into the void in hopes of finding her alive. You’re alone, and your surroundings are unfamiliar as you slowly pick yourself up off the ground and begin to aimlessly wander around. Gravel crunches under your feet as you walk, the darkness slowly fading into light as you begin to hear a cluster of voices.

A door stands before you, cracked open slightly enough for light to seep through and beckon you inside. You slowly push it open and step over the threshold to find yourself in an abandoned warehouse. Across the way from you stands the silhouette of a man, his figure menacing as he hovers over a woman. Her hands tremble with the weight of the gun she holds, her heavy breathing and quiet sobs filling the air as she points the weapon towards the man bound to a chair in front of her.

“Pull the trigger,” the man utters in Russian, the familiarity of it filling your stomach with unease. A sense of dejavú washes over you, and as you come closer to the scene you start to realize that you do know where you are.

“I can’t,” she snivels, flinching as his hands come to rest upon her own and steady her grip.

“You must,” the man coaxes her, and after an agonizing pause of silence a gunshot rings through the air. You gasp, stumbling back in shock at being faced with a memory you thought had long since been pushed to the back of your mind and forgotten.

Your first kill under Hydra.

The sound causes both figures to turn, and you feel sick to your stomach as you meet the gazes of the Winter Soldier and your younger self. His eyes harden, his approach menacing as he begins to step towards you, and you quickly sprint back to the door in a desperate attempt to escape his clutches.

You slam it behind you just before he can grab you, falling back against the wood with a heaving chest as you try to catch your breath and steady yourself. Your eyes squeeze themselves shut in an effort to keep the rising tears at bay, and when you open them again you discover your surroundings have changed once more.

You’re in the training room of Avengers tower, and you’re met with the sight of yourself angrily swinging your fists against a punching bag. Your knuckles are raw and bloody from the force you use, but you remain relentless. You keep going, even as the sobs begin to wrack your body and your momentum begins to slow.

You frown, slowly walking up behind your other self and resting a comforting hand on her back. She seems to falter before collapsing against the bag and breaking down into an ugly crying fit. The sound echoes throughout the room and fills you with unease, but you continue to run soothing circles into her skin to calm her down.

“Why did he leave me?” She sobs, prompting a chill to go down your spine. You remember this point in your life, the aftermath of Pierce and the collapse of Shield. Bucky had disappeared, and though you were grateful to the Avengers for taking you in as one of their own, you couldn’t understand why he hadn’t come back for you. You knew you meant something to him, you had to after all the time you’d spent together and the fact that he’d defied his orders to kill you. You’d never felt more alone, and all you wanted was your James.

“He thought you’d be better off without him in your life,” you assure her even though she doesn’t seem to hear you. “He did it to protect you because he loves you. You’ll see him again.”

The memory resets, and soon she’s back to assaulting the punching bag with all of her pent up anger. You leave her to grieve and make your way out of the room. No matter where you go, the pattern is the same; each place holds a defining moment in your life, some more painful than others, but all of them force you to confront your past.

You’re still no closer to finding Yelena or the rest of your group, and you’re starting to become frustrated. None of this makes any sense, and you feel like a rat aimlessly running through a maze. At one point you become so fed up you break through a mirror in an attempt to land somewhere else, and you end up falling face first onto a patch of dirt. The sunlight is jarring after being stuck inside for so long, and you raise your hand to shield your face so you can survey your new surroundings.

Slowly getting back up onto your feet, you quickly put the pieces together and come to realize you’ve landed back in Wakanda. You think you’re alone at first, but as you turn around you come face to face with a pair of blue eyes. Your heart stops at the sight of him and you falter, unsure whether or not to reach out for him.

“Steve?” Your voice calls, but it isn’t your lips that his name falls out of. You quickly whip around to see yourself limping forward with a deep gash in your side that you desperately press your hand against. Your hair is shorter, features younger, and suit different from the one you wear now, but these details allow you to quickly determine what point of your life you find yourself at now.

“What happened? Where’s Bucky?” Your past self questions uneasily as she scan the area for any sign of the man. Steve looks away guilty, refusing to meet her gaze as he thinks of something to say. “Steve?”

“He’s…” the Captain starts to speak, unable to finish his sentence. Her face falls while her hand immediately rises to hover over her mouth in shock. Tears immediately well in her eyes as she slowly shakes her head in disbelief, suffocating anguish clawing at her throat as she struggles to breathe.

“No… No, he’s not. You’re lying!” She yells aggrievedly while forcing her aching body to walk towards the man. “Where’s is he?! What did you do?!”

“I couldn’t do anything to stop it,” Steve murmurs gently, eyes pleading as he begs you to understand. “He’s gone. I’m sorry, y/n.”

“You’re lying!” She screams, body finally giving out from the overexertion as she collapses onto her knees. Natasha quickly rushes over and helps your past self back onto her feet, allowing you to lean against her for support as you sob. “He’s not- he can’t be!”

You take a shuddering breath and turn away from the scene, overcome with emotion at reliving your grief and heartache. You thought you’d lost Bucky forever, and in that moment you felt your entire world had ended. He’d been taken from you, and you’d be forced to spend the next five years attempting to pick up the pieces and move on. You’ll forever regret lashing out at Steve so harshly, for taking out your anger on a man that had watched his best friend disappear into dust. He was hurting too, and you wish you could take it back.

You can’t be here anymore. It’s all becoming too much, and despite the fact that you’re starting to lose hope of ever being reunited with the others you know you have to keep trying. You push through the brush and shrubbery of the Wakandan fields in search of a way out, and after fighting tooth and nail to escape you end up stumbling into your apartment.

You feel disoriented and confused at being in your own living room, and for a moment you think you might have somehow managed to escape the Void and found your way home. Everything looks as it should, and nothing is left out of place. You take this moment to let your guard down and rest by taking a seat on the couch, allowing your aching head to fall back against the cushions while you gather your thoughts. You’re emotionally drained, and you don’t think you can keep this up for much longer. Would it be so bad to just give up and accept your fate?

“You finally made it.”

You jump at the sound of another voice in the room with you and look up to see Bucky standing over you with a weary smile. You jump onto your feet immediately and throw yourself into his arms for a hug. He catches you with ease, holding you tightly against him as if you’ll disappear otherwise.

“Bucky, oh my god!” You exclaim before pulling away to cup his face in your hands and look him over. “Is it really you?”

“It’s me, sweetheart,” he assures you before leaning down to press a kiss to the crown of your head.

“How did you find me here? These rooms are supposed to be my own memories.”

“That’s the thing,” he sighs solemnly before casting a glance towards the hallway, “this is my memory too.”

You look up at him with uncertainty and confusion, but before you can question him the front door swings open. You watch as past versions of Bucky and yourself walk into the apartment, both clearly exhausted from whatever public event they’d just attended. You kick off your heels by the door and set your purse on the counter while Bucky shrugs off his suit jacket.

“I think it went well tonight,” he notes with a smile before walking past you to get himself a glass of water. You stand in silence at the island table with your head hung low and hands planted firmly on the counter as you try to gather your thoughts.

“James,” you call gently, unable to meet his questioning gaze, “we need to talk.”

“What’s wrong?” He asks with a puzzled frown, clearly taken back by your sudden change in demeanor. You’d been all smiles the entire evening, so he wasn’t expecting such a drastic switch in tone.

“I can’t do this anymore,” you say in a trembling voice, finally lifting your head to look him in the eyes. Silent tears streak down your face and Bucky feels his chest tighten at the sight.

“Can’t do what anymore? What’s going on, y/n?”

“This!” You exclaim in frustration while gesturing to yourself. “The parties, the public appearances. You promised me when we got married we’d stay out of the spotlight, but not once have we ever been able to have a moment of peace just between the two of us.”

“Hey, come on, of course we have,” he tries to soothe you by gently resting a hand on your arm, but you’re quick to pull away from his touch.

“All the plans we make just keep getting pushed aside for something else. I wanted a house, but we got the apartment to stay in the city in case Sam needed us. I wanted to retire, and yet every time there’s a fight we’re there. I wanted to start a family-“

“We can still do all of those things,” he insists desperately only for you to shake your head in quiet defeat. “I love you, y/n.”

“I love you, James,” you sniffle with a watery smile that temporarily alleviates his anxieties, “but it’s clear to me that we both want different things for ourselves.”

“What are you saying?” He presses you, voice low and apprehensive as he waits for you to speak with bated breath.

“I want a divorce.”

You turn away from the scene in shame as it resets, leaving you and Bucky alone once more in the apartment. Neither of you dares to speak at first, the air thick with tension and discomfort. You don’t even know what to say.

“Hard to believe that was only a month ago,” he jokes humorlessly in an attempt to break the silence.

“I don’t want to end our marriage,” you profess remorsefully. “I just relived every moment we were pulled apart and it was hell. I can’t live without you, but I don’t know how to handle all of this.”

“No one says marriage is easy,” he reminds you, gently resting his hand upon your cheek. “And I definitely haven’t made it easy for you.”

“I just got so tired of fighting,” your murmur faintly, eyes beginning to well with tears. “I want to give it all up, but how can I? I could have said no to you when you asked me to join you on this trip, I could have gone home instead of coming with you to fight Sentry, but I wouldn’t have been able to forgive myself if something happened to you because I wasn’t there. Being an Avenger is all I know, and I hate that.”

“Hey, come on, you’re so much more than an Avenger,” Bucky coos sweetly while using his thumb to wipe away some of the tears that had fallen. “You’re strong, you’re brave, not to mention you have the patience of a Saint, and I would know considering how much Sam and I have tested it in the past.”

That gets a quiet laugh out of you, and Bucky’s heart swells with pride at being able to get you to smile. He’s missed sharing moments like this with you, tender moments where you keep each other from falling apart. He doesn’t want to lose that.

“What do we do? I want a life that doesn’t revolve around being a world saving hero, and you want to continue to help make the world a better place, so where do we go from here?”

Bucky falters for a moment as he contemplates his answer. You don’t think there is a right answer, and you fear that he might come to that realization. Instead, carefully grasps your chin between his thumb and forefinger to tilt your head upward.

“We compromise,” he answers with furrowed brows, as if surprised at himself for not coming up with it sooner. “That’s what a good relationship is built on, isn’t it? We can have both.”

“How do we do that?” You prompt him, obvious uncertainty present on your features.

“It’s not going to be easy, but it isn’t impossible,” he assures you with a firm nod. “We can have the house and the family, and when the world needs us to suit up we will. We just have to find a balance.”

He makes it sound much simpler than it will be in practice, and though there’s a part of you that fears it’ll never work, there’s also a part of you that will regret it forever if you don’t at least try. Bucky has become a permanent fixture in your life, and you never want to face a point in your life where he isn’t by your side. You’ve been through more hardships than most married couples have, endured awful traumas and challenges, but each time you’ve managed to persevere together.

“Okay,” you breathe with finality, “let’s compromise.”

It feels like a weight has been lifted off of his shoulders when you express your want to continue fighting for your marriage. This entire time Bucky has been dreading going home and facing the divorce papers that sit waiting on your coffee table back at the apartment, but he can now rest assured knowing those files will never be fulfilled.

He wraps his arms around you once more and pulls you in for a searing kiss. Your hands find purchase on his shoulders immediately, mouth moving in tandem with his own as you pour all of your love and heartache into your shared embrace. You’ve missed this more than anything, and now that you’re back in his arms again everything feels like it’s finally starting to fall back into place. You know you still have a job to do, but you’re more determined now than ever to save Yelena and get the hell out of the Void.

And you’re determined to do it together.

~~~

You fall back onto the hard asphalt with a groan, your limbs entangled with Bucky and Ava who lay beside you.

Despite all odds, you’d managed to help Bob overcome the Void and return yourselves and everyone else back to the real world. You were free from the nightmares of your past and safe on normal ground. You only wish he could remember everything you’d all just endured together as a team.

You look across the way to spot an apprehensive Valentina waiting for your group. Your shoulders tense in aggravation as the woman immediately begins to spew excuses for her wrongdoings, and you join the others in approaching her with a vengance. You can’t wait to bring her in and get her thrown into jail like you’d originally planned, and when all is said and done you’ll finally be able to go home with your husband.

“Now guys, let’s just talk,” she pleads anxiously before disappearing behind a green tarp. You quickly step through before you can lose her, but you soon regret it as you’re immediately bombarded by roaring applause and the flashing bulbs of cameras. You raise a hand to shield your face from the commotion and grab onto Bucky’s arm to steady yourself.

“What the hell is going on?” You groan in annoyance at being ambushed by an entire swarm of journalists. You don’t exactly look or feel camera ready right now, and the stunt only serves to agitate you further.

“How about another round of applause for our heroes!” Valentina boasts into her makeshift podium. “It is because of their selfless bravery that we are all standing here.”

Despite your disdain for the woman, you have to give her credit- she certainly knows how to put on a show. Your group mates exchange looks of uncertainty as she spews her bullshit speech to the eager reporters, unsure of what her angle is and what she’s about to rope you into.

“Today, the citizens of the United States needed protection, and thanks to my hard work, they got it. Ladies and gentlemen, meet the New Avengers.”

The crowd of spectators break out into joyous cheers of excitement and deafening applause, but none of it registers in your mind as you focus on the words that have just left the woman’s mouth. You’re stunned and unnerved at her declaration, but your stomach quickly grows heavy with anger. You feel like the name of your original team has been tarnished, and you’re fuming at the fact that she’d roped you into this without a second thought. This was not how you ever pictured your return, and you’re at a complete loss of words.

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” you snarl through gritted teeth, knowing that if looks could kill Valentina would be dead right now. “New Avengers? I am an Avenger.”

“I thought you were retired,” John murmurs under his breath, only fueling your anger further.

“Hold on,” Bucky assuages you, hand coming to gently rest upon your back. “I have an idea that could make this all work in our favor. Do you trust me?”

While your mind is still reeling at being thrusted into the spotlight again with a new team, your nerves begin to dwindle as you meet Bucky’s eyes. His features are sincere and understanding, and though there isn’t a single part of you that trusts Valentina, you trust Bucky with your life.

You give him a single nod before returning your gaze to the crowd. A swarm of journalists stand eagerly waiting to hear your input, dying to know what your plans for the team are as the only original Avenger. Bucky’s hand on your back keeps you calm, and you know that whatever happens next you’ll be able to handle it together.

Just like you always have.

~~~

12 Months Later

While you’d initially been resistant to joining the New Avengers under Valentina’s guidance, you have to admit that things have definitely seemed to turn out in your favor.

Yelena had made it clear to the woman that it was her who worked for you guys and not the other way around. You owned her, and if she wanted to stay out of prison then she had to meet your every demand. She especially needed you onboard considering your status as an original Avenger was the only thing that gave the team credibility, and that made it easier for you and Bucky to implement specific stipulations in your contracts.

You bought a house on the outskirts of the city where you could enjoy paid leave whenever you both saw fit, and under no circumstances was anyone to bother you during your time off. This was the compromise you and Bucky had made to ensure your marriage stayed strong. You could retreat to your quiet slice of normalcy and strengthen your relationship while still taking part in missions and saving lives. You’d finally found a balance for your individual needs, and divorce was now far from ever being on your mind.

Along with the house and paid leave, you and Bucky had also finally been able to achieve a milestone you’d wanted for years in your marriage.

“Watch your step,” he cautions, his metal arm resting on the small of your back while the other clasps your hand in his own as he helps you down the stairs.

“Relax, James,” you wave him off, “just because I gained a little weight doesn’t mean I can’t walk on my own.”

“I’m sorry, I just want to make sure nothing happens to you or the baby,” he confesses remorsefully while delicately resting his hand upon your growing stomach.

While the tower was being renovated for your team’s arrival, you and Bucky retreated to your new home to enjoy some well deserved rest. You settled in and made the place your own, and once your move in was complete Bucky took advantage of the fact that he had you all to himself free of disruptions. Thus, it was a surprise to neither of you that you eventually became pregnant. Though you were nervous about what this would mean for you both now that you were Avengers again, Bucky assured you he would do everything in his power to take care of you and your little one.

In the meantime, you did your best to stay out of the action and work behind the scenes to avoid any injuries that could threaten the health of you or the baby. You gathered intel, conducted surveillance, created strategies for missions, and piloted the jets for assignments requiring travel. You were still an active member of the team, and you took on your role as leader well. It made sense to everyone that you take the title considering your veteran status, and you had no trouble getting everyone to fall in line when needed. Your new little family was growing, and you found yourself at peace falling back into old routines.

“It’s about time you show up, we’re starving,” John calls to you both as you finally make it down the stairs and head towards the dining room where everyone is gathered.

“I’m the one eating for two here,” you remind him with a pointed look before taking your seat at the table. “What’s for dinner?”

“Special stew made by Alexei!” The Red Guardian boasts proudly while setting a bowl down in front of you. “Very good for you and little baby Avenger.”

“Thank you, Alexei,” you smile, waiting for him to turn his back before pushing the bowl towards Bucky for him to inspect. Alexei has a habit of making food that doesn’t exactly sit well with your stomach, so your husband has taken the liberty of taste testing all of his dishes for you.

“Have you thought any more about the names we’ve suggested?” Yelena prompts from her seat beside you.

“Yes, I have, and no, I’m not naming them little Yelena or Alexis.”

“What?” She exclaims with a pout, clearly taking offense to your answer. “What are you talking about? Those are great names.”

“Don’t listen to her, they are awful,” Ava agrees before digging into her stew.

“Do you have a name yet?” John prompts with intrigue. Ever since you’d announced your pregnancy he’d made it a habit to live vicariously through you and Bucky considering he hadn’t been present for his own wife and child.

You exchange a knowing look with Bucky and urge him to answer for you, smiling faintly at the proud look on your husband’s face as he thinks about the arrival of your future daughter.

“Brooklyn,” he states fondly to the surprise of your teammates. The name is an homage to the city he and Steve called home, and you couldn’t think of anything more perfect when he’d suggested it to you. Brooklyn Barnes would be arriving in four months, and you eagerly counted down the days until you could hold her in your arms.

“It’s not as good as Yelena but… not bad,” the blonde admits with a purse of her lips.

Dinner is a loud affair as always, but you enjoy spending time with the people you’ve come to call friends. Once your meal is finished, the group follows Bucky to the training room for drills while you stay behind with Bob and wash the leftover dishes. He’s still a bit reserved, but your inaction in the field has allowed you to spend more time with the man and help him open up to you. You enjoy the contrast his quiet nature brings to your chaotic surroundings.

You retire early for the night and choose to wait in your quarters for Bucky to return from training. Strangely enough, you’d been assigned the exact same room you once called your own during your time in Avengers Tower. At that point in your life you’d been alone and depressed, stranded with a group of what was essentially strangers while you waited for some sign of Bucky’s return. Now, you found yourself happily waiting for your husband to finish his workout with your hands lovingly rested on your stomach.

The doors to the room slide open to reveal a freshly showered Bucky, and he’s quick to immediately pull you into his arms as he joins you in bed.

“How’d it go?” You ask him while pressing a kiss to his shoulder.

“Better than usual. I think they’ll be ready for this week’s mission.”

“I have full faith in your leadership abilities,” you confidently assure him.

“Well, that would make you the only one,” he jests dryly before pressing his lips to your forehead. “Sam’s still ignoring my calls.”

Your features morph into a frown at the mention of your friend. He’d been rightfully upset when he found out what you both were up to, and despite Bucky’s attempts to explain your actions Sam wanted none of it. He iced you both out, and though the news of the baby had gotten him to soften up the slightest bit towards you, he still made it a point to cut contact with Bucky.

“He just needs some time,” you assure him empathetically. “This isn’t your first fight and it probably won’t be your last, but you guys will be okay. I’m sure of it.”

“I just want us to have a better life. I want you to be happy, and I want to make sure Brooklyn will be safe even if that means having to work under Valentina and the government.”

“She will be,” you promise him with a fond look in your eyes, “because she has us, and she has an entire team of people that care about her even if they try to say otherwise.”

Bucky can’t help the careful smile that plays upon his lips at your reassurances. You always have a way of alleviating his worries and calming his nerves. Your marriage was stronger now because of the decisions he’d made to get you here, and he just had to hope Sam would be able to understand that. The safety of his wife and new baby was all that mattered to him now, and he’d do whatever it took to protect you both.

“I’m the luckiest man in the world, you know that?” Bucky coos before pulling you in for a tender kiss that you eagerly accept.

Come what may, you have complete faith that you’ll be okay. No matter the challenge, no matter the danger, you and Bucky have always managed to overcome any obstacle you’ve faced together. The future is never promised, but you know you’ll make it to the other side as long as you have each other.

For better or for worse, you’re Avengers now, but nothing will ever come between you as husband and wife.

~~~

“But we are the Avengers. The government said so,” Yelena protests fruitlessly as you make your way to the debrief room. “How does Sam Wilson not understand that?”

“Well, he does have the shield,” Bucky points out.

“Well, I’ve got a shield too.”

“Yeah, a shield that’s still bent like a taco,” you scoff in annoyance.

“It’s a great shield!” John insists defensively.

“It’s a shitty shield.”

“A great shield, Bucky.”

“Okay, well, if he puts together a team and calls them the Avengers, then who are the real Avengers?” Yelena insists.

“Probably the ones with Captain America on their team,” you sigh despondently, grateful to have finally reached the couch. You slowly sink down onto the cushions with Bucky’s help and lean back in an attempt to alleviate the weight on your spine. The Watchtower certainly wasn’t designed with pregnant women in mind, especially not women who were eight months pregnant, but you were managing. You technically should be home with Bucky enjoying the start of your maternity leave, but an atmospheric disturbance had halted all of your plans and forced you to call an emergency meeting.

“Well, that’s the question the internet has been asking, and judging by the very nasty memes that I’ve read they don’t think that it’s us,” John says while kicking his feet up on the coffee table.

“That’s not fair, we have an original Avenger on our side,” the blonde woman attests. “That means we are just as good as any team led by Captain America. Weren’t you going to talk to him, Bucky?”

“I already did,” your husband professes solemnly, guilt present in his features. “It went poorly.”

His relationship with Sam hadn’t gotten any better. If anything, the conversation had only seemed to make things worse. You felt for Bucky, but no matter what you said or did Sam was adamant in standing firm against the choices you’d made. He’d wished you well on your upcoming baby, but he made it clear that he wanted no part of the New Avengers or Valentina.

“You know he’s filed for copyright of the name,” Yelena informs your group incredulously as she finally ceases her pacing and joins you on the couch. “We’re losing credibility.”

“In which we had very little to begin with,” Ava notes with a wave of her hand. “All we have is an ‘Old Avenger’ to keep us afloat, and now she’s about to leave.”

“I can only carry you guys on my back for so long,” you retort in annoyance while defensively resting your hands on your stomach. “And for your information, just because I’ve been around longer than you all does not mean I’m an ‘Old Avenger.’”

“Yeah, you’re ‘Pregnant Avenger’ now,” John quips, earning himself a warning glare from Bucky.

“And now there’s a huge space crisis and no one’s telling us about it.”

You feel your nerves worsen at the mention of the incoming threat. The world has been off balance in a recent change of events, and though you don’t know what exactly it is, you know a threat is coming. You only have one month left until Brooklyn is born, but it seems you won’t be able to spend your last month of pregnancy at home like you’d initially hoped. Bucky tries to refrain from overwhelming you to keep your mind at ease, but he can only hide so much from you.

As Yelena speaks into her control pad to request a full threat analysis, Alexei proudly walks into the room with a new ensemble that has everyone’s heads turning in bewilderment.

“Hello, team,” he greets while boasting his new suit. “I heard about Sam Wilson. He’s dumb litigious man, but I am smart. I’m smart man, and I have smart solve.”

You watch in bemusement as he gestures to the logo on his new jumpsuit and sounds out the new spelling change of ‘Avengerz.’

“Avengers with a ‘Z.’ There is no copyright.”

“No,” Yelena immediately protests, clearly not up to entertaining her father’s antics.

“Nonsense. This suit, it is soft like baby seal. I have one for you, and you,” he says while looking from Yelena to Bucky. “Avengerz suits for everyone! I even got one for little Alexis.”

“Alexei, we’ve been over this,” you remind him gently, “her name isn’t Alexis.”

“There is still time to change mind,” he reminds you with a dismissive wave of his hand.

You let out a quiet laugh of disbelief and sneak a glance at your husband who very clearly seems fed up with this entire debacle. You should have already been on your way to the cottage by now, and instead you were here mindlessly bickering over issues that seemed trivial when compared to your upcoming due date.

“Satellite image populating,” your computer generated assistant announces while producing a visual on the screen. “Extra dimensional ship entering atmosphere.”

“Extra dimensional? What does that mean?” Alexei murmurs as your group moves closer to the screen.

“It means it’s not from here,” you answer absently, nervously grasping onto Bucky’s bicep as you get a closer look at the ship. A blue number four is etched into the side of the strange looking ship, and you watch as it grows closer to landing on earth.

“It’s a cool ship,” John notes with a meager shrug, trying to alleviate some of the tension in the room.

“So much for maternity leave,” you sigh in a weak attempt to make a joke. Bucky shifts his tense gaze towards you before slowly lowering it to your protruding stomach, his mind reeling with all of the potential dangers you could soon be facing.

Sensing his panic, you carefully take hold of his hand in your own and tightly intertwine your fingers together to bring him back to the present. Your touch grounds him, reminds him that as of now you and Brooklyn are safe beside him, and he thanks you by wordlessly giving your hand a squeeze.

You have no idea what is to come or how your team will fare in the face of this new adversity, but you know that you’ll overcome whatever you need to in order to protect your new family.

“No matter what happens, we stay together,” you tell him firmly with no room for argument. You expect him to fight you on it, to insist you go home and keep yourself far away from the danger, but instead, he raises your hand to his lips and presses a kiss to your knuckles before offering you a single nod that melts away all of your trepidations.

“Together.”

yeah I write 100 word analysis posts about my favourite fictional guy. yeah I ship him with another man from his franchise. yeah I have 1k edits of him in a tiktok folder and read x reader fanfiction about him. we exist.

Oka soo I dare to send in a Bucky imagine <3 Maybe one where you're dating but you're not an avenger, so you sometimes feel not good enough for him even though he always makes you feel special and he loves you more than anything. One time while he's at a mission, you're back at the compound waiting for him, but then also Sharon comes up to you being a bitch again and makes you feel even more unwanted and leave before Bucky returns. Later then he's happily waiting to see you, but frowns when he finds out you're not there. So he calls you, asking you to come over and you reluctantly agree. As you finally confront him with your doubts he immediately tries getting this thought out of you and gives you also his dog tags to prove he's yours forever and it's all cute then and also some soft smut where he tells you how much he loves you ? ♥️

Here we go! Here's our boy making everything better when the doubts creep in and we can shut it down on your own. Title: Yours to Keep

Pairing: Avenger!Bucky Barnes x SHIELD Analyst!Female Reader

Summary: You feel like your not enough, and when Sharon gets in your head it makes it so much worse. But to Bucky you’re the reason to make it home.

Word Count: 3.3k

Warnings:  / Explicit Content /18+, Minors DNI, Insecurity, emotional manipulation (from Sharon because she's a mean girl), soft possessiveness, smut, unprotected sex, established relationship, oral (f- receviving), praise, dog tag kink, Angst with Fluff, Romance.

A/N: Something softer for everyone this weekend. Thank you for the ask @wintersoldierchronicles

The compound was quiet. Too quiet. The kind of quiet that seeped into your skin and clung to you like static. You sat curled into one of the deep leather chairs in the lounge, knees tucked beneath you, a tablet in your lap. The screen glowed softly, lines of mission data scrolling as you half-heartedly skimmed them, reading intel you’d collected yourself over the past few days. Every enemy movement tracked. Every building layout mapped. Every communication protocol updated and tested.

All to help keep the Avengers safe. To keep him safe.

You should’ve felt accomplished. Proud. Instead, you felt like a ghost in your own home.

No one had said anything, not directly. But they didn’t have to. The looks, the nods you didn’t get in the hallway, the way everyone seemed to talk around you instead of to you. It all added up. They were Avengers. Legends. Gods. And you were… what? Just the analyst who happened to be dating one of them. An ordinary woman in love with an extraordinary man.

And somehow, no matter how often Bucky looked at you like you hung the stars in the sky, the thought kept crawling back up your throat like bile: You’re not good enough for him.

You bit the inside of your cheek and tried to focus, tried to chase away the fog settling over your mind. But it was no use. The feeling had been a quiet whisper in the dark for months now, and lately… it was starting to scream.

You had seen the way people looked at Bucky- like he was a living monument to strength and survival. A relic of history wrapped in modern muscle and trauma, wearing his past like armour. People admired him. Revered him. And yet, he came home to you. You, who shuffled files and ran analyses. Who flinched when the training team sparred too close to your desk. Who once got winded jogging down the corridor when your badge lanyard snagged on a doorknob.

What could he possibly see in you that someone like Sharon, like Natasha, couldn’t offer in a more fitting package?

Footsteps echoed lightly down the corridor, the sharp click of designer boots hitting the polished floor like a countdown. You didn’t even need to lift your eyes. That cadence was familiar, the kind that always made your stomach twist with a mixture of dread and forced politeness.

Then came the voice. Smooth. Sweet. Laced with superiority.

“Still here?” Sharon Carter stepped into view, her tone dipped in passive-aggressive honey. She was perfectly made-up, of course, with not a single hair out of place, her sleek suit hugging her figure in all the ways that made people notice when she walked into a room.

She looked you up and down like you were something out of place, something small, insignificant. “Thought they kept the admin staff in the basement.”

It was a joke, probably. One of those faux-friendly jabs that everyone was supposed to laugh at. Except she wasn’t smiling. Not really.

You fought to keep your expression neutral, fingers tightening slightly around the tablet in your lap. You weren’t going to let her see how deep that cut went, not when she was already poised to twist the knife.

You gave her a polite nod, trying not to let your discomfort show. “Just going over the post-mission data. They’re due back in an hour.”

"Must be hard. Being with someone like Bucky." Sharon's smile was the kind that never quite reached her eyes.

“What do you mean?” You stiffened, your fingers tightening slightly around the edge of the tablet.

She stepped closer, arms folded casually like this was just idle chatter.

"I mean- he’s one of us. Field-ready. Weapon-trained. A living legend. And you… well, you make great coffee."

You swallowed hard. "I do more than-"

"I know," she said quickly, with that same dismissive tilt of her head. "You’re smart. Very behind-the-scenes. Essential in your own way, I suppose. But let’s be honest…Bucky’s built for war. He needs someone who understands that. Who can keep up. Who can be more than just a comfort waiting at home."

Your heart pounded painfully in your chest, each word driving in like a nail. It was everything you'd feared, laid out in someone else’s voice. Someone who was supposed to be on your side.

"He probably misses someone who can actually stand beside him out there," Sharon added with a shrug. "You know… someone who belongs."

The tablet in your hands blurred as tears threatened. You blinked hard and forced yourself to breathe through your nose.

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Because if you opened your mouth, you weren’t sure whether you’d scream or sob.

So you just stood, quickly and quietly, and walked away- shoulders stiff, throat tight, eyes stinging. You had to get out of there before someone saw you fall apart.

You left the compound entirely, slipping out the back entrance and taking the long way home. Your mind ran in circles the whole walk. What if Sharon was right? What if everyone had just been too polite to say it out loud? What if the only reason Bucky was with you was because you were safe? Easy? A soft landing after years of running and pain?

~#~#~#~#~#~

Bucky came back two hours later, bruised and sweaty but grinning. The mission had been long, much longer than expected. But successful at least. He was covered in dirt and grime, dried blood flecked across one temple, the strap of his weapons bag cutting into his shoulder. His muscles ached, and the adrenaline had long since worn off, but one thing kept him upright, kept him moving: you. The thought of you waiting at the compound, probably curled up with your tablet and a warm drink, maybe looking up every time the door slid open- yeah, that thought had gotten him through worse days than this.

He slung his weapons bag over one shoulder, still covered in dirt and dust from the mission, and scanned the lounge immediately.

“Hey, Sam,” he called. “She around?”

Sam looked up from his protein bar, brow furrowing slightly. “She left a while ago. Didn’t say much. Looked kinda off, though.”

Bucky’s shoulders stiffened. “Off how?”

Sam stood, tossing the wrapper aside. “I dunno, man. Quiet. Real quiet. Didn’t even look me in the eye. Thought maybe she was just tired, but now…” He trailed off, reading the worry blooming on Bucky’s face.

“You think something happened?” Bucky asked.

Sam gave a slow nod. “Could be nothing. But you know her better than anyone. If it’s not nothing- you’ll fix it.”

Bucky’s heart dropped. Something was wrong. You always met him after missions. Always.

Without another word, he turned and pulled his phone out of his pocket, hand still a little bloodied. ~#~#~#~#~#~

You pulled your car over to the side of the road, the quiet hum of the engine the only sound breaking through your spiralling thoughts. You hadn’t made it home. It felt too far. Too final. The space inside your car was tight, suffocating, but it was still safer than walking through the front door like nothing was wrong.

The phone vibrated in your hand again, lighting up with his name.

You stared down at the caller ID like it was a bomb about to go off. You didn’t answer right away. How could you? How could you speak to him when all you wanted to do was disappear?

You were a coward. That much was clear. Running off like that, not even saying goodbye. You should’ve stayed. Faced it. Faced her. But the words Sharon had said... they hadn’t been new. They were just the same cruel thoughts you’d had about yourself, dressed up in someone else’s voice.

You weren’t right for someone like Bucky.

You were just an analyst. A desk jockey. A tagalong to the world of gods and heroes.

And he was... everything.

He was strength and legend and pain and hope, all wrapped up in that scarred, steady way he looked at you like you were worth the whole damn universe. And you? You couldn’t even look yourself in the mirror right now.

The phone buzzed again.

Guilt stabbed through your chest.

He’d just come off a mission. He was probably still aching, tired, maybe even hurt—and here you were, making it all about you. Selfish. So unlike him. He always made you feel like the only girl in the room. One look from him and the world melted away.

You swallowed hard, blinking back the sting in your eyes, and finally picked up.

“Hey,” you said, voice too quiet.

“Doll, where are you?” he asked, voice already softening. “You okay?”

“I’m fine. Just… needed some air.”

There was a pause.

“You lying to me, sweetheart?” he said gently.

You closed your eyes. He knew you.

“No.”

Another pause. “Come back to the compound. Please. I need to see you. You're scaring me.”

Your chest cracked open. He sounded so… real. So Bucky. You found yourself nodding, even though he couldn’t see it.

“Okay,” you whispered.

~#~#~#~#~#~

He was already waiting by the elevator when you arrived, walking slow, tense loops with his hands clenched into fists at his sides. His jaw was tight, lips pressed into a thin line, the lines around his eyes carved deeper than usual. Every few seconds, his gaze darted toward the entrance, like he couldn’t help but check again, hoping- needing- you to appear.

The moment his eyes landed on you, he stopped dead. Everything in him just stilled. Relief hit him like a wave, shoulders dropping, hands unclenching—but his expression didn’t ease completely. No, his eyes stayed cautious, flickering across your face like he was afraid one wrong move might send you running. Like you were something breakable he didn’t dare press too hard.

He didn’t speak. Just opened his arms.

You tried to fake a smile, to smooth the cracks in your mask. But it was shaky, barely there, and he saw right through it. You saw the flicker of sadness in his eyes at the attempt.

You stepped into his embrace slowly, almost shyly, as if uncertain you still deserved it. The moment your body met his, the dam inside you cracked.

You buried your face in his chest, exhaling like you’d been holding your breath since you left the compound.

“Hey,” he murmured into your hair, voice rough with emotion. “There’s my girl.”

You clung to him, fingers twisting in his shirt like you were afraid he’d vanish, afraid this was all a dream that would dissolve when you let go.

“Do you wanna tell me what’s going on?” he asked eventually, drawing back just enough to look into your face. His thumb brushed the corner of your mouth, like he wanted to catch the remnants of that broken smile.

You looked up at him, eyes glassy and aching. “You’re Bucky Barnes. You’re an Avenger. A war hero. And I… I sit at a desk.”

“Stop,” he said instantly, thumb now tracing your cheekbone like he could wipe the pain away.

“I don’t fight aliens. I don’t have powers. I’m just… support staff.” Your voice wavered, trembling like your heart might break in two right there in front of him. “Sharon said you’d get bored of me. That you’ll want someone who can stand beside you in the field.”

His jaw tensed like he’d been struck. A flicker of something dark and cold passed through his expression, steel sharp and silent. His entire body went still.

“She said what?” he asked, voice low and dangerous, but even as the fury gathered behind his eyes, he didn’t let it take hold. He inhaled slowly, grounding himself. Because right now, you were what mattered.

You looked down, ashamed. “Doesn’t matter. She’s not wrong.”

There was a pause. Not long. Just the space of a heartbeat and then the weight of metal settled into your palm with a soft metallic clink.

“Look at me,” he said, voice low but unwavering.

You looked up, surprised by the intensity in his gaze.

“You see these?”

You nodded.

“These?” he said again, his voice thick with meaning as the tags clinked quietly between you. “These don’t just mean soldier. They mean survivor. They mean second chances. They mean you, okay? I don’t give these to anyone. I want you to have them.”

You stared at them, too stunned to speak, too overwhelmed to breathe. They were warm from his skin. Heavy with meaning.

He cupped your face gently, both hands trembling slightly now.

“You’re not support staff. You’re the person I come home to. My person. You keep me grounded. You’re the one thing that’s real.”

Your lips trembled, voice caught in your throat. “Bucky…”

He leaned down, voice husky and sure. “Put them on. Right now.”

You slipped the dog tags around your neck, hands shaking, heart pounding so loud you could hear it in your ears.

“There,” he said, eyes gleaming- not with pride, but with something softer. Fierce, unyielding love. “Now everyone knows. You’re mine. Forever.”

~#~#~#~#~#~

In the hallway, without a word, he scooped you up into his arms. Not rushed. Just worshipful, like you were something sacred he’d been aching to hold all day. You wrapped your arms around his neck, face tucked into the crook of his shoulder as he carried you, his footsteps steady and full of purpose, all the way to his room. Every step was careful, intentional, his hold firm but gentle, like he wanted to shield you from everything that had hurt you today.

He kissed your forehead as he laid you back on the bed, then your cheeks, your jaw, each press of his lips like a vow.

“So beautiful… so smart…” he murmured with each kiss. “Couldn’t do any of this without you.”

His soft kisses pressing into your cheeks, the corners of your mouth. 

“You’re everything to me,” he said, pulling your shirt over your head. “Every breath, every second.”

His mouth moved to your collarbone, your chest, trailing down your stomach , while his hand eased you out of your pants. 

“You think I don’t need you?” he said between kisses, each one a soft promise against your skin. “Baby, I fall apart without you.”

His mouth moved lower, worshipful and unhurried, kissing every inch of you like he was reacquainting himself with something sacred. By the time his tongue slid between your thighs, you were already trembling.

He groaned when you gasped, the sound low and reverent. Not just desire but devotion. His tongue moved with slow, deliberate precision, savouring every soft, slick response he pulled from you. He licked a long, teasing stripe up your centre, then circled your clit with a maddening tenderness, his hands gripping your thighs just firm enough to keep you open and trembling beneath him.

He moaned into you, like the taste of you was salvation, like he’d starved for this and finally had permission to feast. One hand slid up your stomach, grounding you as your hips bucked gently, chasing every press of his mouth.

“So sweet,” he murmured against you, voice thick with love, his lips brushing your most sensitive skin. “Taste like heaven. My heaven.”

He didn’t stop. Not yet. Not when you were trembling so perfectly for him. His tongue moved in slow circles, each pass deliberate and precise, coaxing you higher with gentle persistence. His grip on your thighs tightened slightly as your breath caught, his mouth parting you with reverence.

He flicked his tongue softly, then flattened it, letting the heat of him soak into every nerve ending, every gasp. He alternated pressure and pace, reading every twitch of your body like scripture. When he sucked your clit into his mouth and moaned, the vibration made your entire body arch into him.

“You’re not allowed to think you’re not wanted,” he rasped between strokes, his voice wrecked with affection and need. “Not when I love you.”

You cupped his face as he kissed up your body again, pausing to nuzzle the dog tags now lying warm between your breasts. “You feel like home,” you whispered, eyes glassy, voice raw with truth.

When he finally pressed inside you, it wasn’t fast or greedy. It was achingly slow, like he was trying to carve a place for himself inside you, not just in body but deeper. He let out a low, unsteady breath as he sank in, his forehead dropping to yours, his hand tightening around yours like he couldn’t bear to let go.

He didn’t thrust. Not right away. He stayed there for a beat, deep and still, forehead resting against yours as his breath caught in his throat. His hand stayed tangled in yours, his vibranium one anchored at your hip, grounding you both. “I need this,” he whispered. “Need you. Like this. Just us. You make everything quiet.” Bucky needed you to feel every inch, every part of him that belonged to you.

And then he moved like a tide rolling in to soothe what had been broken, to wash away everything that hurt. His hips rolled back with unhurried grace, then pressed forward again in a smooth, reverent stroke, making sure to drag himself along your velvet walls with each motion, slow and devastatingly deep. The way he filled you, the way he moved inside you. Like he was writing his name into your soul with every breathless thrust, imprinting himself where no one else had ever reached. Every motion was a promise: that he was here, that he was yours, that you were loved in the most complete, carnal, and emotional sense of the word.

Every slow push and pull was deliberate, reverent, the kind of lovemaking that felt like a conversation without words. He kissed your cheek, your jaw, your temple, murmuring softly between each breath.

“I love you,” he whispered, voice cracking as you trembled beneath him. “So damn much it hurts. You make me feel like a man. You see me.”

You cupped his cheek, tears sliding down your temples. “You see me.”

He let out a soft, shaky breath and kissed you again, Bucky pouring everything he had into it.

His rhythm stayed slow but insistent, hips pressing into yours with aching tenderness, like he wanted to be memorized, like he never wanted to be forgotten. The friction, the closeness, the way he looked at you like you were the only thing that had ever made him feel whole—it all built into something consuming, something soft and sacred.

When you came, your soft cries muffled into the curve of his neck, he held you tighter, like anchoring himself to you, like if he let go, the whole world would tilt. He whispered your name over and over again like a prayer, like a lifeline, like a vow, following close behind you with a quiet, broken groan into your skin.

And you knew, in that moment, that this wasn’t just sex.

It was coming home.

~#~#~#~#~#~

Afterward, he wrapped the blanket around you both, tucking you into his chest like he was trying to shield you from the rest of the world. His metal fingers traced soft, soothing circles against your spine, grounding you in the silence that settled warmly between you.

“You ever doubt your place again,” he murmured, lips pressed to your hair, voice rough with sleep and sincerity, “I want you to remember tonight. Remember how I touched you. How I looked at you. Remember this.”

You nodded against his chest, overwhelmed, your cheek pressed to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. Your fingers curled around the dog tags still resting over your heart, the weight of them a quiet promise.

“I’m yours,” you whispered, the words small but certain.

He smiled, eyes closed as his arm tightened around you, pulling you impossibly closer.

“You always were,” he said, so softly it was nearly a breath, but you felt it more than heard it, like a vow etched beneath your skin.

make the reader teaching bucky to play minecraft :)))

Minecraft » Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier

Pairings: Best Friend/Thunderbolts!Bucky Barnes x Best Friend!Female Reader

Summary: You teach Bucky how to play Minecraft.

Warnings: none except Fluff

A/N: Thank you for the request, nonnie🩵

Written on my phone. My apologies for any mistakes.

Header made by @buckyys-babydoll / divider made by me

GIF IS NOT MINE! Gif credit goes to the creator.

“Thanks for taking me to the gala. I had a great time.” You say as you and Bucky walked inside of his apartment.

“I should be thanking you for being my date.” Bucky says flirtatiously.

“Anytime, Buck.” You smiled, kissing his cheek.

Bucky said you could spend the night before the gala so you grabbed your bag and changed in his bedroom. You grabbed your Nintendo Switch to play Minecraft and went to the kitchen where Bucky was reading a packet.

“I ordered food from that restaurant that has those chili cheese fries you like.” Bucky says, handing you a paper bag of food.

“You’re the best.” You smiled.

“What’s that thing?” Bucky asks, referring to your Nintendo Switch.

“It’s a Nintendo Switch. You can play video games on it.” You tell him. “Wanna play on it with me?” You asked.

“Maybe after I read this stupid packet.” He says.

“You might want to clean your arm and shirt before you do that.” You say, referring to the chili sauce on his vibranium arm and his white button up shirt.

Bucky looks down to see chili sauce on his vibranium arm and white button up shirt. He made a grumbling noise before taking his button up shirt off and tossed it on the other side of the kitchen counter and detached his vibranium arm and put it in the dishwasher.

“Did you just put your vibranium arm in the dish washer?” You asked with a giggle.

“Yea.” He says. “How else would it get clean?” He asks.

You shrugged and giggled.

“I’ll pretreat your shirt if you want.” You suggested.

“That would be nice. Thank you, doll.” Bucky smiles.

“You’re welcome, Buck.” You smiled back.

You put your Nintendo Switch down on the kitchen counter and grabbed his shirt. You went to the laundry and pretreated his shirt before going back to the kitchen to eat and play Minecraft on your Nintendo Switch.

———

“Finally.” Bucky sighs. “I’m done reading that packet.” He says.

“Do you want to learn how to play Minecraft?” You asked.

“Sure.” He says.

Bucky put his vibranium arm back on before sitting down next to you at the table. You put your Nintendo Switch in his hands.

“What am I supposed to do?” He asks.

“You just build stuff. That’s what I do.” You say.

“How?” He asks.

“Click on this button.” You say.

Bucky clicked on the button you pointed at. He clicked on it and a block appeared on the screen for him.

“Keep doing that in anyway you want.” You say.

“Why does it look like that?” Bucky asks.

“That’s how the game was designed.” You say.

“It’s weird, but fun.” He says.

“It is fun.” You agreed.

“Do you have any other games for this thing?” He curiously asks.

“Yes. Would you like to play a different game?” You asked.

“Yes please.” He answers.

You got more games out of your bag and let Bucky choose which game he wants to play next. You spend the rest of the night teaching Bucky how to play the games on your Nintendo Switch.

“The old man is learning.” You say with a grin.

“What did I say about the old jokes, doll face?” Bucky asks, playfully narrowing his eyes at you.

“Not to say them.” You giggled. “You really think that’s gonna stop me from calling you old?” You say.

“You lost your gaming privileges for the rest of the night.” He jokingly says.

“You can’t do that!” You playfully whined.

“I just did.” He grins.

-Bucky’s Doll

one look and they'll know

See my full list of works here!

Summary: You go to work on the set of Thor Ragnarok one day and you're greeted with the sight of one Tom Hiddleston on his knees and your coworkers whispering about how he perfected his posture.

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x Reader

Word Count: 3.7k

Warning/s: implied smut (there's like 2 paragraphs that talks about it), mentions of BDSM terms, talks about throat grabbing, cussing, and a potentially Domme!Reader that doesn't know her power [if i missed anything let me know!]

Working as a set designer on a movie set meant that every day could either be agonizingly monotonous, or no two days would ever be the same. There was this one TV episode you worked on where majority of the project took place in an interrogation room, so there was next to nothing for you to do besides making sure that continuity errors were minimized or even completely avoided.

This project…was not agonizingly monotonous. By some stroke of luck, you'd landed a gig as a set designer for Thor: Ragnarok, and now you were working on sets that would be walked on by the likes of Chris Hemsworth, Anthony Hopkins, and--fucking Christ on a crutch--Tom Hiddleston.

When you decided to leave your day job of weekly software patches and bug fixes and the ever droning minutiae of daily updates that really gave you nothing except migraines and a bad habit of stress-eating for a chance at a career in the entertainment industry, did you ever think it would lead you here? Absolutely not. Truthfully, you were content with the interrogation rooms, but this? This was a pipe dream.

"Ah. Morning, Y/N," you heard the moment you stepped on set from Taika, currently dressed in a skin-tight spandex gray CGI suit with a giant Korg head harnessed atop his shoulders. "We sourced enough sugar glass bottles for Tessa to throw in Tom's general direction today, yeah?" 

"Well I got five dozen so…we should be good," you shot back with a chuckle. You knew full well what the cast and crew got up to when sugar glass was involved. Mostly smashing it on each other's heads and making some great takes for the blooper reel.

"Awesome. I'll see you there." With a wave you started walking toward your fellow set designers, currently glancing and giggling at one of the Sakaar sets.

"Alright, what's got your panties wet this time?" you called out to your coworkers. 

Bryan, a lanky guy slightly taller than you motioned toward the set. "Look at Hiddlebum." 

"I'd really rather not, you know that I trip on air the second I even glance in his direction," you shot back. "I can't keep my dignity around that man, let alone my sanity. Don't tell me to look at him." 

"He's not gonna look back," Denise, a curvy redhead and one of your closer friends on set, commented in a sing song tone. "Trust me, boss, you're gonna wanna look." 

With a huff, you glanced toward the set and you could wear that your heart turned to solid lead and then jumped out of your chest and straight to the ground. Lord have mercy, you were not ready for the image of Tom in his dark blue-green leather getup, wrapped in gold chains, on his fucking knees, back perfectly straight, and head tilted down to the floor.

The sound that came out of your mouth did not sound ladylike. Hell, it didn't even sound human. 

"Do you think he's--?" Denise started.

"Ohh he definitely is, I mean look at that posture! You don't get there from looking up one picture, you get there from practice and meticulous correction. This man's a sub."

"Sorry, a what?" You were now officially, thoroughly, confused.

"Submissive," Bryan explained to you. "It's a whole thing that needs a 6-hour crash course and a 40+ slide Powerpoint presentation, but for your immediate knowledge, madam, it means he likes being ordered around in the bedroom." 

"So what? Like strip? Slowly? Walk over to me, come to momma type shit?” 

"I'm shocked how quickly you got the vibe, boss," Denise quipped. "Bry, what if she's a domme?"

"A what??" you nearly shrieked. "You think I'm the one who says 'strip slowly and sit down like a good boy and don't move a muscle while I ride you'?" You took a breath to calm yourself. "You're fucking insane, the lot of you."

"Again, you got the vibes, boss. The more you joke about it the more I'm convinced that it's in your DNA."

You let out a frustrated exhale. "Alright you two knuckleheads, look at me." Your voice dropped half an octave and became fuller as you said the last bit, using a tone you hadn't taken out ever since you resigned from the testosterone-laden world of software development. 

"Yes, goddess?" Your blood froze over as you heard the soft spoken words. There was no way it was…No. 

Right?

You looked at Bryan and Denise, both with matching expressions of wide-eyed scandalous amusement on their faces, as they shifted their gaze back and forth between you and Tom. Slowly you moved your gaze back to the set, your breath catching in your throat in an ugly inhuman sound as you saw the steel-blue eyes that haunted your filthiest, wettest, most vivid fantasies…staring straight at you. 

"I-I-I uhm…" you stammered, your voice returning to your normal tone, losing your footing despite being completely stationary. "I was talking to these knuckleheads, s-sorry Tom." You took a steadying breath. "As you were." You mentally smacked yourself as your 'programmer BossLady' voice came out again, your eyes widening in complete shock as he wordlessly followed your instructions and resumed to look down at the floor. 

"Confirmed," Bryan stage whispered to you and Denise. "He's a sub, and we've been silently submitting to Y/N all this time. I mean…Madam." You groaned at his words. 

"You two," you hissed at them. "Let me fucking tell you, I am the farthest thing from a madam. Or a goddess or whatever it was that he called me." You inwardly shuddered at the memory, although if you were being honest it wasn't from shock or disgust. It was from arousal. "My life is unbelievably, annoyingly, dreadfully…vanilla."

Denise giggled. "But you know the jargon? Uh huh. Sure, boss."

You rolled your eyes at her. "Bitch please, I read Fifty Shades. The smut. The toe-curling filth found in the wonder that is Kindle Unlimited. The fanfiction written about that fine-ass man on his knees over there," you whispered the last part in a hiss. "But I digress. The point is that my brain may be filthy, and it may be filled with very vivid fantasies of that very same man on his knees right now, but real life Y/N? Yeah. No."

"Maybe no man ever rose to the challenge," Bryan teased. "You think Hiddlebum would?" 

"That's not a direction my brain ever wants to go unless I'm already in bed, in my birthday suit, legs spread, with a toy in my hand," you shot back without missing a beat. "As for no man ever rising to the challenge?" You leaned in close to their ears. "I can't even get a guy to go down on me because every guy I ever dated or even just fucked said they never do it with anyone because it tastes weird. And don't get me started on the ones that practically bolt out of my hotel room naked when I ask them to put a hand on my throat."

"Maybe you're just talking to the wrong boys, Y/N." You turned around to see that Chris had joined your conversation with a smug look on his face. "You have to start talking to men. Perhaps then your luck will turn."

"Didn't your mother ever tell you it's rude to eavesdrop on conversations that don't have shit to do with you, Hemsy?" you shot back with an amused smile. You couldn't ever really be mad at the guy who resembled a walking talking 6'4 teddy bear. It was physically impossible. "Good morning."

"Good morning, indeed," he chuckled, turning his attention to the Sakaaran set. "Beautiful posture there, Tom! Absolutely exquisite," he hollered, causing the British man to let out several chuckles.

"Ehehehehe, sod off, Chris." He looked up from his position, most likely intending to glare at Chris, but instead his eyes met yours, and you felt this inexplicable pull towards him. No. Wait. Back up a bit. You felt as if there was this inexplicable force pulling him towards you. You tilted your head the slightest bit, as if questioning him and his tethering gaze, your eyes once again widening in total shock as he responded with turning his head towards the floor in a bow once again.

"Erm…what the fuck was that?" Chris asked, poking your shoulder repeatedly. "It's like you broke him, tiny terror." 

"Me?? Broke him??" you hissed as you turned around to glare at the towering Australian. "I'm the one who's fifty shades of fucking confused here!" 

"You may be, but I've never seen him fold for a woman like that in the entire time I've known him. With a tilt of your head, no less. No wonder your people call you 'madam'. Maybe I should call you that--"

"Don't even fucking think about it, Hemsworth." Your tone from earlier had returned, the one you tried to keep locked away since you gave your resignation letter to your final day job two years ago. A tone you'd once been confused as to why it could cause all those bravado-filled middle-aged men to fold and actually listen to you, well now you had an inkling. 

The tone was domineering. It allowed no room for counter-arguments; perhaps you were right about the words that you were uttering, but also perhaps you weren't, but your tone didn't demand their subservience, it just took. And while it worked in conference rooms and face offs with no less than senior management of the client companies you'd dealt with, never once did you think to use it in the bedroom.

You never realized it was an option.

"Where's Taika?" you asked after taking a few deep breaths to recenter your brain. This was gonna be one of those days, the type that you'd never forget even when you were an octogenarian and you'd  have trouble remembering if you've even eaten for the day. "I have to tell him we can't have the scene set up like this." 

"Why not, lil mayhem?" You turned and once again saw the ridiculous gray CGI spandex that Taika was decked out in, but thankfully now without the gigantic Korg head so at least you were no longer confused where you should be staring. 

"Because people are gonna take one look at him and they're gonna know," you explained, pointing towards the set at the kneeling Loki. 

The director looked at you, clearly confused. "Know what?" 

"Ohh this will be delicious," Denise all but moaned. "Watch this," she told Taika as she turned back to you. "Tell him to straighten his back." 

"This feels like I'm exploiting him somehow, you do it." 

"He's not gonna listen to me, I don't have the voice," she teased back, and then sighed. "The sooner you convince Taika, the sooner we can fix the scene." 

"Ugh, fine. Taika? Look at Tom." You took another breath, finding that voice once again in no time. "Straighten your back." Once again, your breath caught in your throat with a hideous sound as you watched him wordlessly follow your instructions. "That's what I mean," you addressed Taika once more. "People take one look at that scene, see his posture and--"

"Apologies, goddess." 

It felt like your spine had been replaced with pure ice as you watched Taika's jaw go slack, heard Chris choking on air in the background, and your two fellow set designers and friends start giggling once more as soon as the soft-spoken words were uttered from the mouth of one Thomas William Hiddleston.

"What did you call me??" 

"Ohh I think we know what he called you. Goddess," Taika taunted. "Right then, we need to get this man off his knees," he said, turning to the crew and giving them instructions to reset the scene.

"So what? We're gonna have him stand now?" one of the assistant producers sneered. "Way to take us out of the moment, Y/L/N. Fucking buzzkill," she muttered.

"I'm not telling you to make him stand, I'm just telling you to get him off his knees," you countered. "It's not my fault that your comprehension's lacking." 

The assistant started to make a motion towards you as if you bitch slap you, but the director stood in her way. "Don't even think about it. That's a one way ticket to Tom's shit list if you lay a hand on her," he threatened, and you watched as the AP looked over to the corner of the set with wide eyes. When you followed her gaze, your eyes widened as well at the sight of Tom with a borderline murderous look in his eyes. 

"Don't," he said simply. The AP backed off, muttering something about favoritism that you couldn't quite catch. 

"Alright then, lil mayhem, this is your idea. Run the show." You stared at Taika with incredulity. "You're the one who wants him off his knees? You get him off his knees. Call the shots."

You scrambled for ideas. "A chair?"

"Sorry, madam, we got nothing in props that could even look like it belongs in Sakaar. And I already know what you're gonna say, the Sakaaran standards are literally on the floor but still. A proper looking dining table chair will not fit the vibe." 

You glared at Bryan. "Then get me a cement block, a wooden platform. A fucking concrete slab. Anything, just get this man off his knees." You turned back to face Taika. "Legally, who can I yell at here without an HR violation?"

"Just those two." He pointed at your set designers. "You are their superior after all." 

You turned back to the dawdling set designers, staring at the scene laid out before them with amused looks on their faces. "Find me something." They kept staring. "NOW!!" They ran off to props like headless chickens, making both Chris and Taika break out in chuckles.

"Remind me to never get on your bad side, tiny terror," the giant Australian told you before proceeding to pat you on the head like a ferocious and yet annoyingly fluffy guard dog. "Hey Tom you can get off your knees now, you kinky little shit!" he hollered, chuckling. After a few moments he started again. "Ah, shit, Y/N be a dear? Seems he won't listen to anyone but you when he's like this." 

You groaned. "For fuck's sake," you murmured before taking another deep breath, slipping into your natural voice once more. "Stand up." The next moments felt like a sucker punch to your entire system as he once again followed your instructions, afterward stealing a glance at your direction with the softest look in his eyes and a sweet smile that left you completely breathless.

What was he up to? Why was he acting like this?

Fifteen minutes later, Bryan and Denise came rushing back in with a platform box painted a distressed teal setting it down on the ground near the now standing Tom.

The next 13 hours of the day were comparatively less eventful than the start of your day. Rearranging sets, reviewing shots for possible continuity errors that you were sure Twitter would crucify you all for if they caught wind of it, and the occasional bitchy stare down with that PA from earlier this morning who tried to smack you for daring to mock her comprehension skills.

"Let's call it for the day, everybody!" Taika hollered from his director chair, now thankfully wearing more normal clothes and not that spandex CGI suit. "I'll see you in twelve hours. Get some sleep, don't go out drinking because if you come to set tomorrow hung over I will have your head." Everyone murmured their assent as they moved about, wrapping up their tasks for the day, and he turned to you. "Lil mayhem, try to get some tonight. I'm saying this as a friend. You're wound up." 

"Honestly, T, it's just the whole 'she's a domme' thing from earlier. Really threw me in for a loop. I should be fine after some sleep," you reassured him, making sure to pick up a copy of tomorrow's call sheet to do some prep work before you eventually succumb to the sweet lonely embrace of solitary slumber in your hotel room. "Go, T. I can lock up tonight. FaceTime your kids, tell them you love them, read them a bedtime story. I'm sure they miss their dad." 

He took a few moments before giving you an exaggerated sigh and tossing you the keys. "You drive a hard bargain, Y/L/N." He walked over to you, ruffling your hair. "You're the best." 

"I know I know. Go. I'll do a quick sweep, make sure nobody gets locked in here for the night and we get here with someone banging on the door screaming 'let me out let me out'." You grabbed the clipboard containing a checklist of the areas you were to double check on before locking up and proceeded to glance over each area of the set. 

Just as you were wrapping up your check of the cast trailers, a voice in the relative darkness startled you. "Miss Y/L/N." You straightened your posture and started fumbling in your pocket for something, anything to defend yourself with. Then you remembered the keys, so you quickly started threading each key in between your fingers, when you felt two large hands gently grasp your shoulders. "Shh shh, it's alright. It's just me. You're safe."

You let out the heaving breath you were holding, recognizing the voice immediately. "Tom," you breathed out, the fear leaving your body, but the tension remaining. "Fucking hell I was about to stab you." You felt your spine go frigid as you felt him pressing tender kisses to the top of your head as his hand traveled down your arm to deftly remove the keys from between your fingers. 

"I didn't mean to startle you," he whispered into your hair, his hand once again traveling up your arm and resumed its place on your shoulder. "I simply wanted to ensure you were safe. I didn't see you come out of the studio." He moved his head to press a kiss to your temple. "I apologize, goddess."

There was that name again, stealing all the breath from your lungs and making you question so much about you. About him. But mostly it made you question…"Why do you keep calling me that?" 

His hand traveled up to lightly grasp your chin, urging you to turn your head and look up at him. "Because that's what I call you," he answered simply, bringing his face much closer to yours. Once he was close enough that you could feel his breath on your lips, he whispered, "When I dream of you." 

Instead of saying anything, you opted to bring your hand up to the back of his neck, threading your fingers through his short dark blond curls and gently pulling him down towards you, touching your lips to his briefly in a tentative, fleeting kiss. This led to him quickly turning you to face him, lifting you by the backs of your thighs, and backing you into the side of the nearest trailer. 

When he had you securely trapped between him and the trailer, he brought his hand up to cup your face, while the other roamed from your thigh and up the side of your body. Your breath hitched in your throat as you felt his thumb lightly graze the side of your breast. 

Just as he was about to lean in to kiss you, you breathed out, "Wait." He stopped immediately, his eyes quickly becoming apologetic. "I-I don't know…" you stammered, trying to find your words, but quickly realizing that the most honest words you had at the moment were, "I don't know how to be what you want. I don't know anything--" 

A smile of relief began to spread across his face. "It's alright." He pressed a quick kiss to your lips, as if to reassure you. "I simply want you, Y/N. As you are." A soft kiss to your cheek, then your jaw. "I want to make you happy." A kiss to the skin below your ear, before placing his hand lightly around your throat, sending a thrill throughout your entire body, and then whispering, "I want to satisfy you." 

"And what do you get out of this?" you breathed out. "Seems to me I'm the only one benefiting from this, that's not right." 

"Me? That's easy," he murmured against your skin as he rolled his hips into yours, causing you to let out an obscene moan that echoed through the dark empty halls of the studio. "I get you." 

This was an unusual morning. Unusual in the sense that this time, you were not woken up by the scandalous sound of your alarm, rather you'd awoken in this blissful, sated state. Your mind raced through the memories from last night, how you'd practically raced to your hotel room hand in hand with Tom after you'd locked up in the studio. 

The almost reverent way he stripped you of your clothing, pausing to press kisses to every new area of skin exposed to him, how he already had you a writhing mess before he even took off your panties. How he brought you and pushed you well past the point of complete ecstasy with his fingers and his mouth multiple times before he even made love to you.

Repeatedly.

You bit your lip as the memories came at you in vivid detail, pushing yourself off of your bed to get ready for the day ahead. Before you could even begin to inch yourself out of the bed, an arm tightened around your waist, pulling your naked body against a broad, toned, equally naked form. 

A smile found its way to your face with no effort at all as you placed your hand over the arm wrapped around you, your fingertips tracing the length of the forearm, causing him to stir and press his body even closer to yours. A hybrid between a giggle and a moan escaped your lips as he pressed a kiss to your shoulder, his hum of satisfaction vibrating throughout your body. 

He moved his kisses across your shoulder, pausing for a good few moments on the juncture of your shoulder and your neck before moving up to your ear and whispering in the most delicious sleep-laden voice, "Good morning, goddess." 

A/N: Please don't crucify me for the non-smutty implied smut, I am babie. But the idea refused to leave my head so I had to write it.

This insanity was based off of this post because I'm gonna be honest, my brain went places when I saw those pictures. AND THE GIF

Here's a bonus gif for those who read until the end:

Taglist: @lokisgoodgirl @lokischambermaid @imalovernotahater @mygfloki @lucylaufeyson3 @thomase1 @springdandelixn @fictive-sl0th @mochie85 @laliceee @xorpsbane @gigglingtigger @silverfire475 @cabingrlandrandomcrap @vickie5446 @salempoe @lokixryss @sinsandguilt @lokidbadguy @alexakeyloveloki @glitterylokislut @arch-venus25 @freefrommars @littlemortals @cakesandtom @girl-of-multi-fandoms @mischief2sarawr @thedistractedagglomeration @five-miles-over @goblingirlsarah @peaches1958 @huntress-artemiss @lilibet261 @iobsessoverfictionalmen @holymultiplefandomsbatman @lovingchoices14 @avoliax @devilsadvocactus @purplegrrl27 @lokiprompts @sititran @imherefortomhiddleston @ladyjames78 @stupidthoughtsinwriting

Me when the fam has size difference

Friday Night

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Summary: You end up sitting next to Bucky in a casual team dinner.

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: humor, fluff, secret dating, flirting, light language, water war (because who can resist a splash battle?)

A/N: this is part 4 of "You Said What?", just some fluff in a universe where you and Bucky secretly date. It can be read on its own and doesn't necessarily follow a specific order, but if you want to check out the other parts, here they are: part 1, part 2, part 3. im loving writing about these two so thanks for reading, i hope you like it :)

It’s one of those rare nights at the compound, no missions, no briefings, no surprise alien invasions. Just a Friday. Just dinner. And, somehow, Steve decided it’d be nice if the whole team ate together like one big weird family.

The long table is already half full when you show up a few minutes late, sliding into the only empty seat left, next to Bucky, obviously by coincidence. Totally random. Totally not planned. Totally a miracle.

“Hey,” you murmur, your knee bumping his under the table. You don’t move it.

“Hey,” he says back, low and warm, like it’s just for you. His knee nudges yours in return, the tiniest pressure that somehow makes your chest feel full.

Dinner is loud. Sam’s in the middle of a dramatic story involving a rooftop and a rogue pizza slice, gesturing so wildly he nearly knocks over his drink twice. Wanda is laughing so hard she’s wheezing. Clint and Natasha are arguing about spice levels in the curry. Tony ordered five different desserts “just in case,” and even Vision looks mildly amused.

It’s chaotic. It’s weirdly cozy. And it’s perfect.

Meanwhile, Bucky quietly slides the breadbasket your way before you even ask. Passes you a napkin when you drop yours. Leans over and murmurs a dumb joke under his breath just to make you laugh. And when you both reach for the same dish, your fingers brush—and linger. Neither of you moves.

You glance at him. He’s already looking at you like you’re the best thing he’s seen all night.

“Stop looking at me like that,” you whisper, biting your lip.

“Like what?” he asks, faking innocence.

“Like you’re thinking about kissing me at a table full of Avengers.”

He leans in, voice low. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

Your breath catches. You blink, trying not to let it show. “Bold of you to assume I wouldn’t kick you under this table.”

“I’d still kiss you.”

“You’re impossible.”

He smirks. “Yeah. But I’m your problem.”

You’re in the middle of pretending to care about Steve and Nat’s back-and-forth on training strategies when your phone buzzes in your lap.

[bucky]: come to the kitchen. 5 mins. say you forgot the hot sauce.

You bite your lip to keep from grinning. He sees it and smiles with just one side of his mouth.

A few minutes later, you slide your chair back, muttering something about needing Sriracha. No one blinks. They're all too busy arguing over which dessert to try first.

You slip into the kitchen.

And there he is. Leaning against the counter, arms crossed, eyes already on you. Like he wasn’t just sitting beside you five minutes ago.

“I’m starting to think I’m more addicted to seeing you than caffeine,” he says, that soft smile tugging at his lips.

You walk right into his arms. He smells like clean laundry and something you can’t place—something that’s just him.

“I don’t think that’s a bad thing.”

“Tell that to Sam,” he mutters. “He said I’ve been grumpy all week. I was just missing this.”

His fingers brush your cheek, his thumb grazing the curve of your jaw. You lean up and kiss him—quick, soft, sweet. The kind of kiss that says I wish we had more time.

And then you steal another.

And another.

He groans, resting his forehead against yours. “Okay. One more, and then I’m walking back in there like nothing happened.”

You smirk. “You have lipstick on your mouth.”

“Dammit.”

When you both return, the table’s still buzzing, still full of warmth and noise and people who feel like home. Bucky catches your eye as you pass him the dessert like it’s nothing.

But you know. And he knows. And your heart is doing somersaults when Bucky leans in again.

“You’ve got whipped cream on your lip.”

You freeze. Glance at him, wary. “Do I?”

He nods solemnly and you wipe your mouth with a napkin. “Better?”

He tilts his head, eyes sparkling. “Not really. Might need to check later.”

You kick him under the table.

Dinner winds down slowly, plates are half-empty, dessert is more whipped cream than anything else, and everyone’s full in that way that makes you too lazy to move.

Tony’s talking about building a pizza oven on the roof. Clint is inexplicably napping in his chair. Wanda’s stealing bites off Sam’s plate while pretending not to. And you?

Your face hurts from smiling, your stomach’s full, but you still offer to clean up.

“I’ll do the dishes,” you say, already sliding your chair back.

A second later, Bucky glances your way. “I’ll help.”

“Seriously?” Sam teases. “Since when do you volunteer?”

“Since now,” Bucky says coolly, already following you into the kitchen.

You roll your eyes, but your heart is racing.

The kitchen is quieter than the dining room, where the others are still laughing, picking at desserts, arguing over who cheated in charades last week. In here, it’s just you, the soft clink of dishes, and Bucky—close behind you.

You roll up your sleeves and start running the water, pretending your hands aren’t slightly shaking. “You don’t actually have to help, you know.”

“I know,” he says, leaning a hip against the counter beside you. “But I want to.”

You glance at him sidelong. “You hate doing dishes.”

He shrugs. “I’ve done worse.”

You snort, handing him a dish towel. The two of you fall into a rhythm quiet, easy. You wash, he dries. Occasionally your arms brush, and each time it’s like a tiny electric pulse zips up your spine. You tell yourself not to overthink it. You fail.

“You were quiet at dinner,” you say, scrubbing at a particularly stubborn bit of lasagna like it personally offended you. “Well. Except for all the flirting.”

Bucky doesn’t answer right away. When he does, his voice is low. “I like watching everyone like that. Laughing. Being...normal.” He pauses. “I like watching you.”

You freeze, dish half-submerged in sudsy water. Slowly, you turn to look at him. “That supposed to be smooth?”

He grins, shameless. “Did it work?”

You don’t answer. You can’t. Because he’s looking at you again—that way he does, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you, and worse, that he means every bit of it. Your heart is somewhere in your throat.

“Bucky,” you say, unsure what comes next.

But then he sets the dish towel down. Steps a little closer. And when you don’t move he reaches up and brushes a wet strand of hair from your cheek.

“You gonna kick me under the sink,” he murmurs, “or are you finally gonna let me kiss you?”

Your breath catches. “There are at least three Avengers in earshot.”

“Then I’ll be quick.”

And he is. But somehow it still feels slow, like the whole world holds its breath for you, just for this. It’s not desperate. It’s not showy. It’s just real. When he pulls back, you blink up at him, dazed. “You call that quick?”

He grins, a little smug. “Told you I’ve done worse.”

You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling too. “You missed a spot,” you say, tossing him a still-dripping plate.

He catches it one-handed, totally unfazed. “You’re lucky I like you.”

You bump your hip into his, reaching for a fresh towel. “I tolerate it.”

There’s a beat of silence before he adds, “You know, I kinda like this.”

“The dishes?”

“No. This.” He gestures between you. “You. Me. Elbow-deep in soap. Feels… nice.”

You reach over and flick a bubble at him.

He blinks, deadpan. “Did you just—”

You do it again, giggling. He retaliates by flicking water at your face. You shriek. He laughs.

“What, you can handle HYDRA but not a splash of water?” he teases.

You grab the sprayer.

“Don’t you dare.”

“I dare.”

There’s a short-lived, extremely wet battle that ends with Bucky shielding himself with a dish towel and you both breathless from laughter, leaning against the counter like you’ve run a marathon.

“I think we’re officially banned from post-dinner cleanup now,” you say, still giggling.

“Worth it.”

There’s a pause. He looks at you, hair a little damp, cheeks pink from laughing. And then he leans in again, just because he can. Just because you’re both still smiling.

When he pulls back, he murmurs, “Think we can sneak off to dry off somewhere quieter?”

You grin. “Only if you promise not to start a water war in the hallway.”

“No promises.” But you link your pinky with his anyway.

And that’s when it happens. A very deliberate throat-clear from the doorway. You both freeze like guilty teenagers. Natasha’s leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, one brow raised like she’s watching a soap opera. “You two done playing splashy-splash, or should I get you floaties?”

Bucky groans softly, his head thudding against the cabinet door behind him. You try to hide behind the dish towel. It doesn’t work.

Natasha steps further into the room, clearly savoring this. “Didn’t know dishwashing came with a swim option.”

“We were just—” you start.

“—cleaning,” Bucky finishes, not even trying to sound convincing.

“Mhm,” Natasha hums, giving you both the kind of look that could peel paint. “You know, for two people trying so hard to look casual, you’re not very good at it.”

Before you can respond, there’s a loud clink from the doorway. Steve steps in, completely unbothered. Holding a slice of pie on a plate like it’s the most important thing in the world.

 “Is everything okay here?”

Natasha raises an eyebrow but doesn’t say anything more. Instead, she shoots you one last look, a knowing glint in her eye. “Alright, alright. Carry on with your... dishes.” She turns, heading toward the door, but not before adding with a teasing smile, “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

Steve watches her leave, clearly lost in his pie-induced bliss. “What’s her deal?”

You and Bucky exchange an amused look before Bucky mutters, “You really don’t want to know.”

Steve shrugs. “Yeah, probably not.”

And just like that, the moment passes. Natasha's suspicion lingers in the air for only a second longer before Steve’s back to his pie, you’re back to drying dishes, and Bucky’s smile is a little too smug for anyone’s good.

the final Lady Sharpe part 8: a new beginning

Series Masterlist See my full list of works here!

Part of the 500 Follower Celebration Requested by: @ellooo0ooo

Summary: Thomas arrives at your apartment in the city in a last ditch attempt to stop you from leaving him

Pairing: Thomas Sharpe x Reader

Word Count: 3.3k

Warning/s: 18+ | smut (minors & pearl clutchers, get out, i won't ask again); unprotected p in v; oral (f receiving); a bit of body worship; mention of scars; a bit of a striptease; multiple orgasms [let me know if i missed anything!]

Things to be aware of: Thomas & Reader are married

Dick-tionary: smut starts at "I want you bared to me" and ends at the chapter divider

What on Earth is he doing here? you thought to yourself, practically dragging your feet down the hall as you made your way to your husband, at least for the next few minutes.

"This seemed the most likely place I'd find you," Thomas said, making his way over to you in a few large strides, meeting you halfway. "I need to speak with you."

He was probably so eager to sign the documents he couldn't even wait for me to get back to the manor, the unpleasant thought reared its ugly head, tauntingly echoing in your mind so loudly it felt as if it was pulsing in your ears. "Of--Of course," you told him, painting on a strained smile as you motioned your head to your door. "Let's go inside. We can talk there."

Your heart jumped to your throat when he reached for your hand, threading your fingers together before leading you down the hallway. You did your best to steady your hand as you unlocked your door and walked into the regrettably dusty space, making a note to change your sheets before going off to Allerdale Hall a final time to fetch your belongings.

The air felt too thick to draw in to your lungs, watching as he awkwardly walked over to the fireplace and worked to bring some warmth into what would be your home once again. You took this time to take the documents out of your satchel, placing them on your work desk to wait for him.

Once he got the fire going, he stood to his full height, smoothing his hands over his coat before walking back to you, circling your waist loosely with his arms. "You truly are so breathtaking in firelight, darling," he whispered, before leaning in to press a soft kiss to your forehead.

The gesture had you fighting back tears, wanting more than anything to just throw the documents in the bin, to change your mind. To tell him that you'd fallen in love with him.

It's because I love him that I shouldn't be selfish, you repeated to yourself your words from the cemetery just less than an hour ago. He deserves to have his life back.

And that settled it. You had to push on.

You cleared your throat, offering him an awkward tight-lipped smile before jerking your head toward the desk. "As promised," you mustered the words, voice strained as your smile threatened to falter. "A deal is--"

"I can't," he blurted out, lightly grasping your arms, as if he's trying to keep you from  backing away any more than you already had. "I can't sign without saying my piece. Please, darling just…hear what I have to say and if you're less than receptive then I will do as you wish. I will sign."

"Thomas, this isn't about what--"

"I love you!" he said the words in a rush, practically shouting them. Your heart nearly soared from hearing the words. He took a breath, running his hands down your arms to take your hands in his. "I've fallen in love with you, Y/N Sharpe. The last thing I want in this world is for you to leave me. But I don't want for you to return to Allerdale Hall with me, either.

"I want us to find a new home. Here, in the city. We'll have the manor demolished and in its place, a mining facility for the clay and only that. It would take time, but we could start small, owning and managing the business together, as partners. It doesn't need to be lavish, and with the machines we have now, it doesn't need to be supervised as closely as I once did.

"And living here would have you close to the Scotland Yard station. It would be easier for you to return to work, whenever you wish to return to work. We could build a new life together, far away from any horrid memories and vengeful spirits. We would be safe, and…" he trailed off, framing your face with his large hands, stroking your cheeks with his thumbs. "And I could be with you. The freedom I have now, the freedom you quite literally fought and  bled to grant me, it only means something if I get to spend it with you. So please, darling, my love, I don't want to have to sign--"

His words stopped abruptly in a heartbreaking sound when he glanced upon the top paper, seeing your name and signature in that picturesque cursive that once fascinated him. Now it lay there, almost menacingly, as if taunting him that he'd just made a fool of himself.

"Thomas--"

"It seems I've placed myself in a rather erm…humiliating position, I'm terribly sorry," he trembled, eyes already filling with tears as he reached for one of the pens on your desk. "I shall sign and see myself out."

Seeing the nib of your pen start to descend onto the paper took you quickly out of your shock, knocking the pen out of his hand. "You didn't…you didn't humiliate yourself," you told him. "I signed back at the station because I knew…that if I had to do it with you in the room with me, I'd beg for you to stop me.

"This isn't what I want, I didn't want to sign those papers, I just thought…" You struggled to form words, sobs threatening to wrack through your body. "I thought this was what you wanted at the end of all this. I'm sorry, Thomas, I didn't know." You took a step closer to him, placing your hands on his arms and taking a deep breath before you finally let the words out. "I love you. Seeing you sign those papers…it would tear me apart."

You didn't realize you were holding your breath until you felt him loosely wrap his arms around your waist once more, pulling you closer. "Darling, choose your next words carefully," he said shakily. "Because if you say yes, I fear you may never be able to rid yourself of me. Are you mine?"

"Yes! Yes yes, I'm yours." Your words stumbled out of your mouth clumsily; you couldn't say them fast enough.

Your husband softly laid his forehead against yours, taking the moment in before taking a step back, his gaze a touch darker as he looked upon you. His love. His wife. His. "In that case, my love, there is one small matter left to attend to," he said, grasping those dreadful documents in his hand and marching over to the fireplace.

"Thomas!" you gasped, your mouth agape as you watched him toss the documents straight into the fire, the flames growing larger for a few short moments and casting a light on him that had your stomach a-flutter. A feeling that grew more and more intense with every stride he took towards you, and finally made you feel as if you were flying when he pressed his body against you, holding you so close to him you could feel his heartbeat through all the layers of clothing separating you.

"Mine," he growled, placing a hand behind your neck before laying his lips on yours in a kiss so fevered it made your knees buckle. Had he not been holding you so tightly you might have melted to the floor.

You let out a squeal against his lips when he hoisted you up to sit on your desk, hands roaming and grasping at your legs through the layers of your skirt, moving up until he reached the buttons of your collar piece. Nimble fingers made quick work to undo them all and haphazardly toss the flimsy piece of fabric to the ground. All the air left your lungs as his mouth latched on to the newly exposed skin, kissing and nipping at your neck, turning you into a squirming mess.

He pulled away, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath, your stomach fluttering away violently once you saw how flustered your husband looked. The wanton nature of his actions just seconds earlier was a stark contrast to the now almost sheepish look on his face, a question clearly playing at the tip of his tongue.

"My darling wife," he said softly, fingers now tracing delicately along the subtle designs of your dress. "I wish to lay with you." There was a moment of hesitation before his eyes met yours, silently pleading before the words left his lips. "May I?"

That guilt that weighed down heavily on your heart all those prior times that you denied him this request finally lifted as you gave him a smile, nodding your head.

He placed a tender kiss to your lips before taking a step back, giving your hips a quick squeeze before starting to move towards the bed. "Stay right there, darling," he ordered you softly before shrugging off his overcoat, opening the windows, and stripping the sheets off your bed. He shook the dusty sheets aggressively in the direction of the open window, carefully placing it back atop the bed before doing the same with your pillows.

It presented to you the perfect opportunity to appreciate the scene before you, painting a rather enticing picture of what your life in both the near and distant future would look like. It nearly stole all you breath away seeing how well Thomas fit into this space, into your life.

Not only as if he belonged, but also as if he finally filled the void that you had actively ignored about the place you called home for the longest time. The void in your life.

Sure, you had been content back then, going about your routine and moving to your own timetable. But there were times. Times when you would lie in bed in your lonesome, wishing there was someone in your life that you could share your days and nights with.

And now here he was.

Thomas turned back, looking at you with hungry, desirous darkened eyes as he untucked his large billowing shirt from his trousers and whipping the garment over his head. Your hands moved to the laces of your dress behind your back, all too eagerly wanting to match his state of undress.

You'd both already waited far too long for this.

Thomas seemed determined to turn you into a weakened puddle of a woman as he pressed his lips to yours again, placing your arms to rest atop his shoulders so that he could deftly undo the laces himself. Only when he had fully unlaced the top most layer of your dresses did he give you a gentle tug by your waist, bringing you to your feet and helping you work the sleeves off of your arms so the heavier garments could fall to the floor.

He held your hands as you stepped out of the pooled fabric before tentatively feeling along your curves that were now only shrouded with the flimsy fabric of your underdress. The both of you had face-splitting grins on your faces, eyes hungrily roaming what had already been exposed to you.

You tentatively stepped toward the bed, your brows furrowing together when your husband didn't move with you, instead placing a kiss to your forehead before walking back to the window. You could feel the traitorous pooling of your arousal between your legs watching him close the windows shut with a resounding click before drawing the curtains closed, worsened even more when he turned back to face you and you could see the darkly lustful intent in his devastatingly handsome features.

"Any prying eyes would have squirmed where they stood if they are to witness what I intend to do to you, my love," he rasped. He reached for your underdress, the fabric bunching in his large hands as he slowly brought the fabric up your body. "I want you bared to me."

Your heart thundered violently in your chest as he carefully pulled the flimsy garment over your head, his breath audibly catching in his throat when he once again saw the scars that were scattered along your chest and stomach. When he pressed his finger tips to the raised skin, you trembled under his touch, even more so when he leaned down to press his lips to one of them.

"My wife," he said in a shuddering breath, warming your skin before he kissed another scar. "My strong, beautiful wife." He kissed his way back up to your lips, sighing in contentment as your lips moved against his in near perfect synchronization as he carefully undid your hair, pins falling to the hardwood floor with a resounding tinkling sound.

Thomas guided you to lie flat on the mattress as he kissed you; the sight of him hovering over you, a few wavy tendrils of his hair drooping down and framing his empyrean features, had your heart beating wildly in your chest. He then proceeded to press his lips to your neck, lightly tracing across your collarbone to the base of your throat before traveling further down.

You let out a shuddering sigh of his name, the sound turning into a wanton moan when your husband captured your nipple between his lips, his teeth delicately grazing on the pebbled skin.

"Oh my love, you feel divine," he sighed, placing a hot, open-mouthed kiss to the swell of your breast before descending further. His hands greedily roamed your body, a devious smirk playing at his lips when they grasped your thighs and he sank to his knees. "And I remember quite fondly that you taste exquisite, too."

You shuddered under his lustful gaze, clenching around nothing as he looked upon your entrance undoubtedly glistening in the low light of the bedroom and licked his lips. "Thomas!" you shrieked his name as he leaned forward and gave your slit a long, languorous lick before closing his lips over your clit.

"Like the rarest exotic honey the world has to offer," he murmured against your skin. "And you're all mine now." He placed another kiss upon the throbbing bundle of nerves. "My Y/N." Kiss. "My wife." Kiss. "My love." Kiss.

He reached up and threaded his fingers through yours, clasping your hands together as he devoured you. Like a desert-stranded man lapping furiously at an oasis. He whimpered and moaned as your thighs began to shake on either side of his head. You could feel him thrusting into the air, seeking any form of friction.

It didn't take long for him to bring you to the brink of climax, your thighs tensing around his head being his sign to latch his lips onto your clit and start rapidly fluttering his tongue on the swollen nub. You came with a scream. "Oh God yes…Oh…My…Husband!"

He wrapped his hands around your thighs, holding you open for him as you rode out your release on his tongue. And he greedily lapped up every wave of your release with languid strokes of his tongue.

Once your legs had stopped shaking, he lifted them gently off his shoulders, standing back up to his full height. His lustful gaze pinned you to the bed, your husband a vision of sin as the firelight brought out the definition of his muscles. You would never forget how the flickering light of the flames danced across his torso as he moved and pushed the fabric down from his hips, baring himself before you, for as long as you lived.

Your breath caught in your throat once his trousers fell to his feet and his achingly hard cock sprang free. He braced himself on his hands, hovering over you and leaning back down to press his lips to your navel and began to ascend. Once more he had you a writhing and wanton mess beneath him once he took his time laving his tongue over your nipples before working his way to the base of your throat, nipping and sucking at the skin so much you were sure there would be a mark there tomorrow in the shape of his mouth.

He let out a shuddering breath against your skin once the tip of his length touched your slick entrance, the bedroom filling with your joint whimpers and moans as he started to inch his way inside. "Y-You feel perfect," he whispered into your neck, a deliciously desperate moan slipping out of him once he was fully sheathed inside you.

He set a slow, steady pace, his lips never leaving yours as he moved his hips, groaning and sighing contentedly into your mouth every time his hips were flush with yours.

The feel of his fingers starting to rub slow, tight circles on your clit sent you right at the edge of your next climax, whimpering his name as your fingers dug into his broad shoulders.

"That's it, my love. My darling wife," he panted, his breath hot on your skin before he pressed a kiss to the same spot. "Let go. I want to feel you come undone all over me."

It felt like you were engulfed in fire as the pleasure overpowered you once more, this time alongside your husband, his hips jerking into you as he spilled his seed into you. His arms gave out from under him and he collapsed atop of you, pressing his lips to your neck and chest as you both fought to catch your breath.

"I love you," you sighed contentedly as you pushed his hair back from his face, pressing a tender kiss to his temple. "My husband."

When you awoke in your old apartment's bedroom the next morning, the morning light washing over the simple yet cozy living space, you were alone. Had it been any other day, any other scenario with any other lover, you would have thought that Thomas had stepped out, not only out of your apartment, but out of your life.

And if it weren't for the slight throbbing ache between your legs, you might have even wondered if what had transpired last night was simply a figment of your imagination.

But the small note on your nightstand quickly extinguished any of those irrational fears.

My darling wife, I couldn't bring myself to wake you. You look so peaceful when you sleep, like a tired angel. I shall not be gone long, I've only gone out to fetch us some breakfast. Please don't leave the bed, I wish to kiss you good morning. Love, Thomas.

It wasn't long before the door to your apartment opened, and your husband walked into the bedroom with a breathtaking smile on his face once he'd seen that you followed his request. He placed the bags he was holding down on your desk before shrugging off his overcoat and making his way over to the bed. "Have I kept you waiting long, my love?" he asked you, his voice soft as he leaned in close, your lips nearly touching.

Your smile mirrored his as you shook your head. "I've only just woken up." You let out a soft, contented sigh against his lips once he closed the remaining distance and kissed you softly. "Good morning, husband."

"I wish to spoil you with breakfast in bed," he rasped, tracing along your bottom lip with his thumb. "And then perhaps we could take a stroll in the afternoon?"

"The afternoon?" you queried with a giggle. "What happened to the rest of the morning?"

"Well I was thinking we could spend that time…" he trailed off before pressing another kiss to your lips. "Right here?"

You felt a fluttering in your stomach at the implication of his words, the rest of your body already well on its way to warming up to the salacious suggestion. "Aren't you a bit overdressed for that, my darling husband?"

He gave you a smirk before standing up straight, hands already unbuttoning his waistcoat. "Easily remedied, my love."

A/N: I can't believe it…it's finally done! I went on a bit of a reading kick these last few weeks so writing took a bit of a backseat, and I can't lie it's probably gonna happen again but I'll see what I can do about actually putting this brain in balance mode to some degree 😅 But that is officially another request finished for the 500 follower celebration, and the next one's gonna be…an angsty Jonathan Pine story so I gotta get in my feelings for that one.

Now as for this story…there is actually an extra chapter that I wanna work on…for a smut event that I'm planning for later on in the year. Hopefully. I don't know yet what my schedule's gonna look like even a week from now.

But I'm off to read some more, write some more…and hopefully do some more of my lil crafty hobbies since my brain's getting dem zoomies again 🫡

'everything' taglist: @simplyholl @loopsisloops @imalovernotahater @coldnique @loz-3 @huntress-artemiss @salempoe @athalialaufeyson @lokiprompts @kats72 @kikster606 @asgards-princess-of-mischief @lokixryss @thomase1 @mischief2sarawr @lovingchoices14 @lunarnights95 @goblingirlsarah @iamlokisgloriouspurpose @creationsbyme @maple-seed @mjsthrillernp @ladyofthestayingpower @sititran @glitterylokislut @ozymdias @fictive-sl0th  @lokidbadguy @mochie85 @silverfire475 @joyful-enchantress @elizabethmidnight2017 @holdmytesseract @smolvenger @gigglingtiggerv2 @lokidokieokie @superficialdomina @kmc1989 @november-rayne @goddessofwonderland @buttercupcookies-blog @peaky-marvel @lokiified @dryyoursaltyoceantears @herdetectivetheorist @alexakeyloveloki @lulubelle814 @jaidenhawke @km-ffluv

Return to You || Aragorn

Summary: Request - he reader and aragorn are in an established relationship before he leaves with the fellowship, and shortly after he's gone she finds out that she's pregnant. obviously she can't tell aragorn since she doesn't know where he is to send a letter or otherwise a message of some kind... Read Rest Here

A/N: Wow, I really love this one. It took me a while but I think it turned out really well. Let me know what you think :)

Pairing: Aragorn x Female Reader

Word Count: 6.1k +

TW: War, talks of war, pregnancy, general LOTR

The fire crackled low in the hearth casting long, flickering shadows across the small space you and Strider had called home. It wasn’t much. Just a small cottage nestled in the rolling hills not too far from the village of Bree. The warmth of the fire did little to chase away the chill creeping into your bones. It wasn’t from the cold, no, but instead from the unspoken truth that lingers between you.

He’s leaving.

You knew the time was coming. You felt it in your bones. The way Middle Earth got darker through every day. And Strider was important in warding off whatever the hell was taking over your home. You knew that much by how often Gandalf had visited. You never asked how bad. He never told you the details other than you knew he’d be called to the front lines soon enough. And apparently that day was today.

Strider sat beside you. His rough, calloused fingers trailing along the back of your hand as if memorizing every ridge and line. He does that often, touching you like he’s afraid you’ll slip through his fingers if he lets go. Tonight, though there’s something different in his touch. A quiet desperation, a silent plea. Neither of you had spoken in a while. There’s nothing left to say that hasn’t already been whispered in the dark, murmured against skin, carved into the sacred spaces between your heartbeats.

Gandalf’s call had finally come. The war is no longer a distant shadow on the horizon. It’s here, looming over the world, threatening to tear everything apart. And Strider, the man you love, the man whose name is laced with destiny, cannot turn away.

“I would stay if I could,” he murmured at last breaking the heavy silence. His thumb brushes against your knuckles, lingering, like he’s afraid to let go. Because he is. “You know that, don’t you?” His eyes were pleading.

You swallow the ache rising in your throat and nod. “Of course, I know.”

His breath shuddered as he shifted closer, resting his forehead against yours. “Gandalf needs me.” His voice is low, rough with regret. “The world needs me.”

Your fingers tighten around his. “I know. Trust me… I know. But what of me? What am I to do?” The words slip out before you can stop them, raw and aching. You hadn’t meant to say it. Hadn’t meant to let the fear show.

Strider exhales sharply, pulling back just enough to meet your gaze. There’s something in his expression that steals the air from your lungs, something tender and fierce all at once. “You must stay hidden. You are my world,” he says softly. “And I will return to you no matter what it takes.”

Tears prick at your eyes, but you force yourself to smile. “You’re lucky I’m good at hiding. And that I’m patient.”

A low, breathless chuckle escapes him before he cups your face in his hands. His thumb brushing along your cheek as if to chase away the sorrow settling there. His lips find yours in a kiss that is both a promise and a plea, slow and lingering, desperate, and aching. You pour every unspoken word into it, every prayer, every ounce of love you have for him. When he finally pulled away his forehead rests against yours once more. “I will come back to you,” he vows. “I will always come back to you. No matter how long it takes.”

And in the morning as you stand at the edge of the village watching him disappear into the rising sun you clung to those words like a lifeline. Because no matter how far he goes, no matter how long you have to wait, you know one thing with absolute certainty. He will always find his way back to you.

The days stretch long and quiet in his absence. The mornings are the hardest, waking to an empty bed and reaching for the warmth of him only to find cold sheets and silence. You find yourself lingering in doorways staring out toward the horizon as if you might catch a glimpse of him in the distance riding home to you. But he is gone so far beyond your reach swallowed by the road that calls him ever forward.

At first you distract yourself with routine. Chores, errands, tending to the home you built together. You keep busy because you must. Because if you stop the ache in your chest becomes unbearable. But not long after he leaves something feels different. At first it was subtle. A wave of dizziness when you stood too quickly. A lingering nausea in the mornings that you chalk up to restless sleep. You tried brushing it off but not long after the fatigue creeps in. An exhaustion that weighs heavier than heartache alone. You press on though, pushing through until the realization becomes impossible to ignore.

The healer didn’t t need long to confirm what you already suspected. Her hands are gentle as they press against your abdomen with a knowing smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “You are with child.” She said softly with a saddened smile. She knew, the whole village knew, that the baby’s father was long off fighting for the preservation of Middle Earth. The words crash over you like a wave, sweeping your breath away. For a long moment you can only stare trying to process what she’s just said. A child. Strider’s child.

Your hands tremble as they settle over your stomach as if expecting to feel something different beneath your fingertips. A life, small and fragile, growing within you. A piece of him left behind. Joy, fear, and uncertainty twist together in your chest, tangling into something impossible to untangle. You should be happy, shouldn’t you? And you are, in some quiet, awestruck way. But beneath that joy, fear lingers. A fear of what the future holds. Of what may come. Because Strider is not here. And there is no way to tell him.

You think of sending a letter, of finding a messenger, but you have no idea where he is. He could be anywhere beyond the mountains, lost in the wilds, deep in the heart of danger. You could write a thousand letters and never know if one would reach him. So, you had to wait.

The weeks pass and the weight of your secret grows heavier. Your body begins to change. The once loose fabric of your dresses stretching tighter over your stomach. You stand before the mirror some mornings pressing your hands against your belly whispering words only the child can hear. Your love. Your father will return to us. He will.

But as time drags on the world darkens. Rumors trickle in from travelers, whispers of war and death and an enemy who grows stronger by the day. Villages burned, men slaughtered, hope slipping through the cracks like sand in an hourglass. And with every passing day, your fear deepens. What if he does not return? What if he never knows? What if this child, his baby, enters the world without ever knowing the sound of his father’s voice?

You press your hands against your stomach, blinking back the tears that threaten to spill. “I will wait for you,” you whisper into the quiet. Even if the waiting breaks you.

The world feels too quiet without him. Without the steady warmth of his presence. Without the way he would murmur soft words in the dark when he thought you were asleep. Without the way his fingers would brush over yours in quiet moment promising things he never said aloud.

Now, there is only the crackle of the dying fire and the steady whisper of wind against the wooden walls. You lay awake most nights staring at the ceiling one hand resting over the growing curve of your stomach. The weight of the secret you carry grows heavier with each passing day. With each reminder that you are alone.

Fear lurks in the corners of your mind. Not just for yourself, but for him. Where is he? Is he safe? Does he think of you as often as you think of him? You don’t know. And it’s the not knowing that threatens to break you.

Then, one morning, the nausea hits harder than before. You barely make it outside in time, bracing yourself against the railing as your body trembles with the force of it. When the sickness passes you lean back against the post, breathless and exhausted. The sun is barely cresting over the horizon casting a golden glow across the fields and for a moment you let yourself pretend that Strider is still here. That he will step through the doorway and press a hand to your back, murmuring reassurances in that steady, quiet voice of his.

But he is not here. And he will not be, not for a long time. You press a hand to your stomach, feeling the faintest flutter beneath your palm. A life. His life. A part of him, still here, still with you. The thought steels your resolve. You cannot continue waiting in silence hoping for answers that may never come. Strider once spoke of Rivendell, of Lord Elrond’s wisdom, of the sanctuary it provided. If anyone knew where he was it would be him. If anyone could offer guidance it would be him.

And so, before doubt can creep in you pull yourself upright and move inside settling at the worn wooden desk in the corner of the room. The parchment feels fragile beneath your fingertips as you dip the quill into ink, hesitating only for a breath before pressing the tip to the page. You do not know how to begin. But you begin anyway.

To Lord Elrond of Rivendell,

My name is Y/N, and I write to you not as a stranger, but as the one Strider left behind. Or as you know him, Aragorn.

I do not send this letter lightly, nor do I wish to burden you with matters that may seem small in the face of the darkness that looms over Middle Earth. But I have nowhere else to turn.

Aragorn spoke of you often, with the deepest respect. He once told me that if I were ever in need I might look to Rivendell for guidance. Now, I find myself in need of both guidance and news of him.

I do not know where he is. I do not know if he is safe, or if he will return. And I do not know if this letter will reach you in time. But I pray that it does because I am carrying his child.

I had no way of telling him before he left. I do not even know if I will ever have the chance. But I had to try. If there is any way to get word to him. If there is any hope that you might know where he is… please, I beg of you, let me know.

If nothing else, I ask for your wisdom. The world is changing, growing darker with each passing day and I fear for the safety of this child.

I will wait for your word.

You let the ink dry then fold the letter carefully sealing it before pressing it into the hands of a trusted traveler. “Take this to Rivendell,” you whisper. “Please.”

The waiting is unbearable. Days turn into weeks. Each one stretching longer than the last. Your body changes with the passing time. A growing reminder of the life that will arrive whether Strider returns or not. You knew of his true lineage as Aragorn. He told you a long time ago but insisted on Strider. So, you’d always called him by what he wished.

Then, at last, a rider arrives at your doorstep, clad in elven robes. He does not speak at first but only presses a letter into your trembling hands. His expression solemn. Your heart pounds against your ribs as you break the seal, fingers tightening around the parchment as your eyes scan the elegant script.

Your letter reached me, but alas, not in time.

Aragorn has already departed from Rivendell. He travels now with the Fellowship, and I cannot say when or if he will return. He walks a path of great peril. His fate, like that of all free peoples, hangs in the balance.

I grieve that you must bear this burden alone. No lady should have to face such uncertainty without the comfort of her beloved by her side. And so, I offer you this: Come to Rivendell. You and the child will find sanctuary here. You will not be alone.

If you wish it come to Rivendell with the messenger who handed you this letter.

Elrond of Rivendell

Your vision blurred as you lower the letter, emotions warring within you. Relief that your words had not gone unheard, sorrow that your Strider is still lost to you, and an overwhelming sense of gratitude for the kindness offered in Elrond’s reply.

You press a hand to your stomach, exhaling a slow, steady breath. Strider may be gone. He may never know of the child you carry. But you will do whatever it takes to protect this life. To ensure that your child is safe even if it means leaving everything behind.

When the messenger asks what you will do, you lift your chin, heart heavy but resolute. “I will travel to Rivendell with you.”

The journey to Rivendell is long, stretching over days or weeks that bleed together in exhaustion and quiet reflection. You leave behind the familiar comforts of home. The place where Strider last stood before you and trade them for the uncertainty of the road ahead. The elves who guide you are patient, their presence a steady reassurance, but the solitude you carry remains unshaken. The nights now had become the hardest when the world is still and there is nothing but your own thoughts to keep you company. You wonder where he is, if he is safe, if he is looking at the same stars you are.

By the time you reach Rivendell you are nearly at the end of this pregnancy. But you did have time to admire the elven lands. Rivendell is as beautiful as Strider had described. Untouched by war and time. A sanctuary wrapped in cascading waterfalls and golden trees. The very air feels different here, lighter, ancient, like a whisper of something beyond mortal comprehension. But for all its beauty it is not home. The ache in your chest does not fade nor does the silence in the space beside you. The absence of the man you love stretching wider with each passing day. The elves welcome you graciously, offering kindness without expectation, but their presence only reminds you that you are alone in a place meant for those with elven blood. You do not belong here.

At first you keep to yourself uncertain of what role you hold in this sanctuary. You spend the days walking through the stone corridors, the terraces that overlook the valley, your hands always finding their place over the growing curve of your stomach. The life inside you is the only tether you have to Strider now. The last piece of him you can hold onto when everything else is uncertain. You whisper to your baby, pressing soft words against your skin, hoping that somehow they can feel the love you already bear for them.

Elrond watches over you though you do not understand why at first. You know of his history with Strider. Of the weight he placed upon him for years, the expectations of a lineage long denied but never forgotten. There is an unspoken wariness when you first meet him. A quiet hesitation as you wonder if he sees you as a complication in Striders grand destiny. But Elrond never speaks of such things, nor does he treat you with anything less than patience and wisdom. He does not pry, does not press when he sees the lingering sorrow in your eyes. Instead, he offers quiet companionship. A presence steady enough to remind you that you do not have to bear this alone.

He is there on the mornings when the sickness leaves you pale and shaking, offering herbal remedies to ease the discomfort. He places books in your hands when the nights stretch too long knowing that distraction is sometimes the only way to keep the mind from spiraling. When you struggle beneath the weight of uncertainty he does not speak empty reassurances but instead reminds you of your own strength, of the resilience that has carried you this far.

"You are strong," he tells you one evening. His voice calm but firm. "Even when you do not feel it you are strong. And you will endure." You nod though you do not entirely believe it. Strength feels fleeting these days. A thing that wavers beneath the weight of the unknown. Some nights, you dream of Strider. Of his hands on yours, of the way he looked at you like you were the only thing in the world worth fighting for. You wake with tears on your cheeks more often than not, and though Elrond never mentions it you know he sees. He does not press but his presence lingers just long enough to remind you that you are not truly alone.

Time moves forward even as you feel frozen in place. Your body changes wholly. Your baby growing stronger with each passing day. You begin to feel the child’s movements, soft at first, then stronger. Small kicks, reminders that you are not just waiting for Strider but for the baby who will need you no matter what happens in the world beyond Rivendell. You let yourself imagine what it would be like if Strider were here. If his hand could rest over your stomach the way yours does. If he could see the life you created together. The thought brings equal parts joy and sorrow because you do not know if he will ever return to see it.

And then, on a night bathed in silver moonlight, the first sharp pain lances through you.

It begins slowly. A dull ache that you try to dismiss as exhaustion but as the hours stretch on the pain intensifies. You clutch the edge of the bed, breathing through it, but when the next wave comes, you know. It is time.

The next hours pass in a blur of whispered voices and steady hands. Of soft reassurances in Elvish and the warmth of a hand pressed against yours when the pain becomes unbearable. The room swims in and out of focus, exhaustion threatening to pull you under, but you fight against it, gripping onto the knowledge that soon, so soon, you will meet you baby.

And then after what feels like an eternity, the weight of it all breaks. A sharp cry fills the room, piercing through the exhaustion, the haze of pain and uncertainty. The sound crashes over you, and everything else fades into nothing. “A boy.” You hear in your haze.

Your son.

Elrond lifts him carefully. His expression unreadable for a moment before he steps closer, placing the small, wriggling body into your waiting arms. The moment his weight settles against you, the world stills.

He is perfect.

Your breath hitches as you take him in. Your hands shaking as you press your fingers against his impossibly soft skin. Dark hair, still damp from birth, clings to his forehead. And when his eyes flutter open, they are deep and grey, piercing in a way that makes your heart stop.

Strider.

It’s almost too much, the ache in your chest swelling until it feels unbearable. He is not here. He should be here. He should be the one holding his son. The one whispering reassurances. The one tracing the tiny fingers curled against your chest.

Tears spill over before you can stop them, dropping onto your son’s forehead as you press a trembling kiss there, inhaling the scent of him, of new life, of something so fragile yet so incredibly strong. You hold him closer, whispering words against his skin, words meant for him but also for Strider. For the man who does not yet know the love waiting for him here.

"You are loved," you whisper. Your voice thick with emotion. "You are so, so loved."

Even if Strider never returns. Even if the world takes him from you before he can ever know, this child will never have to doubt the depth of the love he was born into. Because Strider is here. Not in body, not yet, but in this life, in this perfect, tiny boy who carries his strength.

And so, you hold your son close, rocking him gently as his cries soften into small breaths against your chest. You do not know what the future holds but in this moment you do not need to.

Because no matter what happens next you will keep your promise. You will wait for Strider. And when he returns, if he returns, you will place his son in his arms, and he will know. He will know that even through all the darkness something bright and beautiful was waiting for him to come home.

The days in Rivendell are quiet, your son growing stronger with each passing week. He is your anchor. The only thing tethering you to the present when your thoughts so often drift to the past. To Strider, to the uncertainty of his fate. You wake in the night sometimes clutching your child close wondering if somewhere across the world Strider is still fighting if he is still alive. You have no idea how long it had been since he left your home. A year maybe? Elrond confirms it had been nearly that amount of time.

Then, one morning, the world shifts. The halls of Rivendell buzz with murmurs. Excitement threading through voices that have remained steady and somber for so long. The news arrives that Sauron was defeated. The war is over.

You clutch your son tighter as the words sink in. Middle Earth is free. The darkness that once threatened to consume everything has been vanquished. Hope fills the valley, but you are afraid to let it settle in your heart. You do not ask the one question burning inside you, not yet, not until you hear Elrond’s voice, quiet but certain, as he delivers the final truth.

Aragorn lives. Your Strider is alive. Alive.

The breath left your lungs in a sharp, shuddering gasp, your knees nearly giving out beneath you. Relief washed over you so violently that it leaves you dizzy. The weight of months of fear, of not knowing, crashing down all at once. He is alive. He is alive. He is coming back. Coming home!

But Elrond’s next words halt your thoughts in their tracks.

“He is to be crowned King of Gondor.”

The statement rings in your ears, sending a different kind of tremor through you. The war is over. Strider is not just alive. He is victorious. He is stepping into the destiny he was always meant for, the one that has lingered over him like a shadow for as long as you have known him. He is no longer just the man who held you close and promised to return. He is to be king. King of Gondor.

Your heart clenches with a different fear taking root in your chest. What if everything has changed? What if he has changed? You had always known that this day would come. That Strider was never meant to remain in the wilds forever. But now, standing here with your son in your arms, the reality of it is suffocating.

Would he still want you? Would he still want this life that was built in his absence, a child he did not know existed? Or would his new station, his new responsibilities, demand something else entirely?

You press a trembling kiss to your son’s forehead, inhaling the scent of him, grounding yourself. You should be celebrating, rejoicing in the knowledge that the man you love is alive. And yet, all you can do is stare down at the small boy in your arms, the one who carries Striders features so clearly, and wonder. Will he still choose us?

The journey to Minas Tirith stretches endlessly before you. Every step closer filling you with both anticipation and fear. You clutch your son tightly pressing a soft kiss to his dark hair, inhaling the sweet, warm scent of him as if it will steady the rapid beating of your heart. You had spent so many nights fearing this moment would never come. That Strider would never return. Now, the truth is almost too much to bear. He is alive, he has won, and he is waiting for you. Or so you hope. But what if he is no longer your Strider? What if he is now Aragorn alone?

The towering gates of Minas Tirith rise ahead after a month of travel. The banners of Gondor snapping in the wind. The city is alive with the hum of celebration. The people reveling in their freedom, in their new king. But you are blind to it all. Your world has shrunk to the only thing that matters. The man waiting at the top of those white stone steps.

And then you see him.

Strider stands at the entrance of the citadel clothed in the robes of a king, a silver circlet resting upon his brow. But none of it matters. Not the title. Not the crown. He could be standing in rags, and he would still be him. His grey eyes find yours and everything stops.

For a moment he does not move. Does not breathe as if the sight of you has struck him so deeply he cannot comprehend it. His gaze flickers from your face to the child in your arms and then back to you, something breaking, something raw and unguarded slipping through the carefully placed armor he has worn for so long.

And then he moves. Not with the controlled grace of a king. Not with the measured composure of a man who has carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. No, he runs. He runs to you. To your son. To his home.

His legs nearly buckle as he reaches you. His breath coming in sharp, uneven gasps as if he has forgotten how to breathe altogether. He stops just short. His entire body trembling. His hands reaching out but not quite touching as if he is afraid that if he does you might vanish like a cruel dream.

His voice when it comes is hoarse, cracked with emotion. “You…” His breath shudders. “You’re real?”

Tears blur your vision as you nod, your arms tightening around your son. “I’m here.”

Strider, Aragorn, exhales sharply and before you can take another breath he drops to his knees before you. A strangled sound escapes him as he presses his hands to your skirts. His forehead resting against your legs in a gesture so utterly broken that it sends a fresh wave of tears spilling down your cheeks. His fingers grip the fabric of your cloak as if anchoring himself to you, his shoulders shaking under the weight of emotions too strong to contain.

“You waited for me,” he whispers, the words a prayer, a reverence, a confession. His lips press against the fabric covering your knee, then your thigh, then lower, worshiping the very ground you stand on. “I thought—I feared—” His breath is ragged as he shakes his head, pressing another kiss against your legs before tilting his head back to look up at you, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears.

Then, his gaze drops widens as he sees him. The baby in your arms. Not so much a newborn anymore but not a toddler yet. The small, sleeping boy nestled in your arms, so peaceful, so unaware of the storm his father is weathering before him. Striders entire body goes still. His hands slowly releasing their grip on your skirts. His breath catches, his fingers trembling as he hesitantly reaches forward, stopping just short of touching the child.

He looks up at you. His expression unraveling into something utterly undone. “Is he…” His voice fails him, cracking beneath the weight of the question.

You nod, your own voice barely a whisper. “He is yours, Strider.”

Something inside him broke. A choked, breathless sob escapes him as he lifts shaking hands. His fingers barely grazing the soft blanket wrapped around his son before he pulls back afraid that he is unworthy of touching something so pure. “I didn’t know…” His voice fractures again and he looks back up at you with desperation in his eyes. “I didn’t know.”

“I know,” you whisper before shifting closer, pressing the bundle into his waiting arms. “But you do now.” The moment his son was in his arms Strider let out a sound so raw, so full of everything that he has held back for so long that it steals the air right from your lungs.

His hands, scarred and calloused from war, cradle the small boy with infinite tenderness. His thumb brushes along his son’s cheek memorizing every inch of him. The curve of his tiny nose, the soft wisps of dark hair, the way his fingers twitch in sleep.

Strider swallowed hard, tears slipping down his face as he presses his forehead against his son’s. “You are so beautiful,” he whispers. His voice trembling. “You are…” His breath shudders. “You are mine. The Prince of Gondor”

The boy stirs then, blinking up at him with eyes that mirror his own. Grey and stormy, deep as the rivers that run through the land. The first glimpse of recognition dawns in those tiny features, and Strider let out a soft, broken laugh. His grip tightening ever so slightly knowing will never let go. Your heart feels like it might truly shatter as you witness your son and his father meeting for the first time.

He looks back up at you then with the tears now spilling freely down his face. “What is his name?”

You hesitate. “I never truly named him,” you admit. Your voice thick with emotion. “I only ever called him Aragorn.”

Something unreadable flickers across his face. Then, suddenly, he laughs. A soft, breathless sound, full of wonder, full of disbelief. He looks down at his son with a teary smile tugging at his lips. “Then he has a name worthy of him.” He presses a reverent kiss to his son’s forehead before shifting his gaze back to you. And then before you can say anything else he reached for you, wrapping his arm around your waist, pulling you into his embrace.

“I love you,” he murmurs as his lips pressed against your temple, your cheek, your lips. “I have always loved you.” His grip tightens as if he cannot bear to let go. “No war, no kingdom, nothing could ever change that.”

Tears rolled down your face as you clutch at him, pressing your forehead against his. “I was so afraid,” you whisper. “That you wouldn’t want us. That…”

Strider silences you with another kiss, deep and lingering, full of every promise he has ever made, full of everything he cannot put into words. When he pulls away his voice is fierce, unshaken. “Never,” he vows. “Never doubt that you are my heart. That he is my greatest joy.” He looks down at his son again, his fingers tracing gentle patterns over the boy’s tiny hands. “You waited for me,” he murmurs before pressing another kiss to his son’s head. “And now, I swear to you both, I will never leave again.” A quiet sob escapes you and you lean into him. Letting him hold both of you as if he can shield you from every sorrow you have ever known. You had waited. And now, finally you were home.

The White City gleams beneath the golden afternoon sun. Its towers stretching high into the heavens, banners of Gondor rippling in the wind. The throne room, once a place of war councils and endless worries, now holds something far greater. It holds peace, love, and a king who rules not just with wisdom but with a heart full of devotion.

And at the center of it all, Aragorn sits upon his throne, not just as the ruler of Gondor, but as a father, a husband, a man who has found his way back to the life he never dared to dream for himself.

His son sits in his lap with tiny fingers clutching at the silver detailing of his robes, wide grey eyes staring up at his father in open adoration. The boy is a mirror of him, with dark curls and a regal air that already hints at the leader he will one day become. Though for now he is simply his father’s son, wrapped in the safety of arms that would never let him go.

The court watches with quiet amusement as the toddler shifts in Aragorn’s hold whispering something in that sweet, curious voice of his. Without hesitation, the King of Gondor leans down, his expression softening completely as he murmurs a response, pressing a kiss to the boy’s forehead before turning back to the matters of the realm.

And standing at his side, watching the scene unfold, is you. You rest a hand over the gentle swell of your stomach, your heart full with the life growing inside you. Your second child, a symbol of everything that had once felt so uncertain, now made real in the warmth of your husband’s love. Your fingers trace over the fabric of your gown feeling the faintest flutter of movement beneath your touch. A quiet reminder that soon, your family would grow even more.

Aragorn’s eyes find yours, his gaze lingering, full of a love that still leaves you breathless, even now. His lips curve into a soft, knowing smile, and without a word, he shifts, adjusting his son in his arms before extending a hand toward you. You step forward, placing your hand in his, feeling the familiar warmth of his touch, the strength in his fingers as he intertwines them with yours. He lifts your joined hands pressing a kiss to the back of yours, reverence in every movement.

“My Queen,” he murmurs. His voice thick with affection. The title spoken not as a formality, but as something sacred.

Your breath falters for a moment, and though you have been by his side for months now, the weight of it still fills you with awe. He does not say it as if it is an obligation. He does not say it as if it is a role you were forced to accept. He says it like a man who has chosen you in every lifetime, in every battle, in every moment since the first time he laid eyes on you.

The small boy in his arms reaches for you then, his chubby fingers patting against your growing belly, a bright, innocent giggle spilling from his lips as if he already knows that soon he will have a sibling to protect. Aragorn chuckles, shifting the child slightly so you can press a kiss to his soft curls. Your fingers brushing against Aragorn’s in the process. His hand tightens over yours, his thumb sweeping gently across your knuckles, grounding you in the warmth of him.

There had been so much fear once. So much uncertainty. But now, there is only this. Him, your son, your growing family, the home you have built together within the walls of a kingdom that now thrives under his reign.

“You are happy?” he asks softly. His voice a quiet caress against your skin.

You smile, leaning in until your lips brush against his ear. Your voice warm with all the love you have ever held for him. “I have everything I’ve ever wanted.”

Aragorn exhales. His forehead pressing lightly against yours, the soft weight of your son nestled between you both. “Then I have fulfilled my greatest duty,” he murmurs, a quiet promise only for you to hear.

You close your eyes, letting the moment settle around you, letting yourself breathe in the scent of him, the warmth of your son, the peace that now fills your life. You had waited. You had hoped. You had loved him even when the world tried to tear you apart. And now, standing at his side, with his hand in yours and his child in your arms, you know.

He had always, always, been coming home to you. He would always return to you.

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pieces of me

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Part of the 500 Follower Celebration Requested by: Anonymous

Summary: While staying over at Loki's place, you get woken up with violently painful period cramps, having you apologizing to him in a panic when your mind starts flashing back to a night almost exactly like this from a previous relationship

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Word Count: 2.8k

Warning/s: blood; Reader going through her period; mentions of a previously abusive relationship; language (nope not sorry, Rogers) [let me know if i missed anything!]

Things to be aware of: start of steamy moments at the end; precious green flag bf Loki hours

The timer went off with four beeps, and you turned down the brightness of your laptop, rubbing your eyes as you leaned back on the seat of the couch. You groaned into the dark quiet of the living room, stretching your arms and letting your eyes rest for a few minutes before you had to go back in and work on the post-mission report again.

"Darling, what did I tell you about working in such a horrendous position?" You barely had time to react to the sound of Loki's voice, or the gentle yet admonishing tone of his voice, before he scooped you up in his arms and cradled you against him as he sat on the couch.

"You should come to bed," he told you, a soft chuckle escaping him when you instantly relaxed in his hold. He pressed a kiss to the top of your head. "Your mission report can wait until the morning, little mortal, you need your rest."

"'M fine…" you mumbled your protest, words muffled when you nuzzled your face into the crook of the god's neck. "M'almost done…just fifteen more minutes."

He let out a long sigh before tilting your chin up to face him, placing a soft kiss to your lips before moving you off of his lap and reaching for your timer, setting another fifteen minutes to it. "Alright, Y/N. But after this I'm taking you to bed." The way your eyes lit up had him breaking out into an amused grin, reaching over to hold your hand and kiss your knuckles. "To sleep, darling. I prefer you awake and alert when it comes to our lovemaking."

Your boyfriend sat quietly next to you as you resumed work on the report, waiting patiently for the four beeps to go off again. Unfortunately there were still a few fields left to fill out right as the timer went off. He wrapped his hand around yours, placing your laptop down on the coffee table before easily scooping you up in his arms again, this time carrying you to his bedroom.

"You know…I can just go back to my place," you offered. "I know this wasn't exactly what you had in mind when I said I'd sleep over for the night so maybe I can come by tomorrow--?"

"Do you truly think that that is all I want you for, precious mortal?" He sat you down on the edge of his bed before crouching down, his face now level with yours. "I cherish any time I get to spend with you, regardless of what we do." He held the side of your face, weaving his fingers through your hair before closing the distance and capturing your lips in a tender kiss. "Lay down, my darling. Tonight I am more than content simply holding you while we sleep."

Sleep took you as soon as he settled down on the bed beside you and he laid on his side to drape his arm over you. It honestly surprised you how quickly you could drift off ever since you and Loki started seeing each other. Back when you were single you practically slept with one eye open, always ready to spring into action, a fully loaded gun in your nightstand, just in case someone ever made the mistake of going into your apartment and trying something with you.

And it wasn't any better in your previous relationship. Spending the night with your ex mostly consisted of making sure you slept at the very edge of the bed to make sure that his arm didn't accidentally land on you while he flailed about. God help you if it did, it was an hour long tirade about how you "messed up his sleep experience for the night", and he outright demanded that you would "make it up to him" by giving him head.

That was what had you feeling so…foreign in this new relationship with the Asgardian. When he asked you earlier tonight if you wanted to stay with him after coming back from a mission that separated you from each other for the last week, you immediately assumed that it meant part of the night would have been spent naked in bed and most definitely not sleeping.

Not like you would have complained, of course. To say the sex was otherworldly was an understatement.

So having him prioritizing your rest, holding you close at the center of the bed while still wearing the lounge set he laid out for you when you entered his apartment nearly ten hours ago, was entirely uncharted territory. In just a few short months, the god had crafted a blissful little bubble for you that had you so thoroughly and stupidly content. That had you feeling so…safe.

If only the figurative needle that burst that bubble hadn't come tonight in the form of a sharp ache in your lower stomach that had you waking up with a violent start. You lurched away from Loki, clutching your abdomen in pain and pressing your face into the mattress to muffle your groans.

No no no, you thought to yourself in a panic, recognizing the violent clenching as period cramps. This wasn't supposed to be for another week.

The sound of your boyfriend mumbling your name had you scrambling out of bed, mortification and dread flooding you when soft warm light washed over the room and you saw the tiny patch of blood on the mattress. "Darling, what's happened? What's wrong?" He followed your gaze to the spot on the bed. "Oh, my dear heart…"

"I-I'm sorry," you stammered, already reaching for the sheets and starting to work them off of the mattress. "I'll--I'll get the spot out and get these back to you." The words started to spill out from you, as if you couldn't get them out fast enough. "I'm so sorry Loki please don't be mad--"

The feel of his hand gently wrapping around your arm had you jumping to stand up straight and turn to face him. But instead of the ire you'd braced yourself for when your eyes met his, instead you found concern. Tenderness, even. "You will do no such thing, darling," he told you, his tone the gentlest you'd ever heard from him. "You will stay right here and I'll be back in a moment."

When he guided you to sit back down on the bed, you began to protest. "But the blood--"

"Is just blood," he insisted, pressing a kiss between your brows. "Nothing we need worry about." He sat you down on the bed, lightly touching your chin before he disappeared from the bedroom in a flash of green.

Barely two minutes later he returned. In one hand was a change of clothes from your closet. In the other was the little acrylic basket you kept in your bathroom cupboard decorated with shark stickers. He set the clothes down on top of his dresser and held his hand out towards you to take.

He led you to his bathroom, placing the basket on the countertop. "Get yourself cleaned and sorted, darling. I'll take care of the bedsheets," he told you before pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

"You really don't need to I'll be done in a few minutes--"

The frantic tone in your voice stopped him from closing the door. "Y/N, what paltry excuse of a partner would I be if I didn't do what I could to alleviate what stresses your body is forced to suffer?"

Loki's response, especially the sincerity that came through with every word, had you floored. He said it like it was the simplest, most basic thing in the world. Like it didn't even need a modicum of common sense to come to that conclusion.

And yet your history was more than enough proof that the answer to his question would have been 'the kind that I've always had'. He must have seen the words forming all from the glazed over look in your eyes as you thought back on former boyfriends, and he let out a sigh, crossing the distance between you again and framing your face in his large hands.

"Darling, I may not completely understand Midgardian anatomy quite yet, an issue I will see to it that I remedy after tonight. But this? Ensuring that you need not add to the stress that you must already bear? This I can do. How could I allow myself to simply sit back and not offer my aid where it could benefit the woman I love?"

Both of you froze, stunned silent, at the words that came from the god. Love. It was a word you didn't dare to use even in the solace of your own thoughts. Sure, the last few months that you'd been with him were nothing short of a wonderful dream that you wish you'd never wake up from. Of course you loved him. Even before your first date, you already had it bad for him.

"You love me?" you blurted out, your words barely louder than a whisper.

"I do," he sighed, pressing his lips to yours in a tender kiss. "I have for a long while, my darling." He ghosted his lips up the bridge of your nose before pressing another kiss between your brows. "Get yourself cleaned," he repeated, murmuring the words into your skin. "I'll have tea waiting for you when you finish."

Once you were clean and you'd changed into the clothes Loki brought over for you, you stepped out of the bathroom, your heart warming at the sight of the god having placed a tray with a tea set on the storage bench in front of the bed. He shifted he way he sat at the edge of the bed, stretching his arm out toward you to invite you to sit on his thigh.

"Do you feel better, sweetheart?" He wrapped his arm around you, securing you against him as his hand worked its way under the hem of your shirt, thumb softly stroking at your skin. You only nodded your response before leaning over and giving him a kiss. He hummed contentedly against your lips, playfully nipping at your bottom lip before he pulled away. "What was that for?"

"I love you, too," you told him. "I realized while I was in the shower that I didn't say the words back. Like an idiot. But I do…love you. I don't think I even remember a time that I wasn't--"

He quieted the rest of your words when he pulled you into another kiss, weaving his fingers through your hair and holding you in place. "My precious little mortal," he sighed against your lips before he stole another kiss. "Why did you think I would be angry with you over something so…paltry?" You shifted to move off of his thigh, which made him hold you tighter. "You need not hide from me, my love. I need you to know this."

"It's just…" Your voice grew faint as you tried to find the right starting point to even start telling the god about the scars that had stayed with you from the ghosts of your past relationships. "I don't know how to even start finding the words," you said lamely, picking at the stitching of the hem of your top. "But maybe…maybe I can show you."

Loki's eyes widened as you placed your hand over his and brought it up to touch your temple. "Are you certain?" he asked, breathless.

"Of course," you said softly, giving him a tiny smile. "I trust you, Mischief."

You rested your forehead against his, bracing your hands on his shoulders as the memories flooded your mind, nearly knocking the wind out of you. All of the times that your last boyfriend before him mistreated you, neglected your needs and only called you over to stay the night when he wanted sex.

The time when you woke up on a night just like tonight, with painful cramps that came a week early because of the stresses of passing your SHIELD exams that were a part of your final assessment to be taken on to the Avengers team. You'd left a small patch of blood on his sheets and he had an absolute meltdown.

Even just the memory of his words had you flinching in Loki's arms.

Dammit those sheets were a graduation gift from my mom, you dumb bitch. You better clean that up and it better be fucking spotless.

Baby I'm sorry, it's just you know how important anything from my Mama is to me. I mean how would you feel if I just went and pissed on those journals your dad gave you for Christmas last year? What do you mean of course it's the same thing. But that's not what's important, pookie bear. What's important is making it up to me. I mean, you did disrupt my sleep experience.

"I've seen enough, darling," Loki snarled pulling away from you, pure fury in his eyes upon seeing that bringing those memories so vividly to the surface had made your cheeks wet with tears. "I should have his head for his abhorrent mistreatment of you."

You gave the god a half-hearted shrug. "He's someone else's problem now, thank fuck."

"He should not be anyone's problem."

"We can't just get rid of him, he's a civilian," you grumbled, already hating that you had to argue against his sentiment even though you actually agreed with him on a fundamental level. "He's not worth the legalities that we'd be facing. Trust me, I've considered it. From setting his house on fire to hacking his car to drive off a cliff. He's not worth facing the consequences."

Loki pursed his lips, wrapping his arms around you a bit tighter. "I suppose you're right, my love." He pressed a kiss to your forehead. "Then the only course of action now is taking care of you. Putting those awful memories far in the back of your mind."

He guided you to lay back down on his bed, holding you against him with your back to his chest. He splayed his hand across your lower stomach and used his seiðr to warm the area, relieving your cramps.

It didn't take long before you relaxed against one another, sleep once again sinking its hooks into you.

The next few days felt like something out of a dream, the raven-haired Asgardian going above and beyond, ensuring that you were well taken care of and that you weren't doing anything that could cause you additional undue stress. If he so much as saw you stumble or touch your head while you walked, he scooped you up in his arms and brought you back to his apartment, telling you to rest for an hour. You made a throwaway joke when he laid you down for a nap, calling him "Doctor Loki" right as you fell asleep.

On the fourth day of your period, usually the last day if you were to rely on your history, you got a text from the god telling you to meet him in his apartment for a "routine check-up". It seemed he caught on to your joke and wanted to play along.

However the last thing you expected was to walk into his bedroom and be greeted with the sight of him dressed in only dark slacks and a white doctor's coat, his eyes framed by a pair of angular square glasses. He smirked as his eyes raked over your figure, standing to his full height before making his way to you. "Hello, darling."

"What's all this, Mischief?"

"Well, the symptoms of your…condition seem to have abated," he answered, fighting back the playful smile that threatened to stretch across his face. "Aside from those pesky little headaches that seem to plague you every now and again. Luckily I have a quick and…rather enjoyable remedy for this."

He took your hand in his and started to guide you toward the bathroom.

"And what exactly is this treatment you have in mind?"

"Easy, my love," he said, casually shrugging off the white doctor coat, putting his well-defined chest and abs on display before pulling you into his arms with a gentle tug. He traced a finger down the bridge of your nose before tilting your chin up so he could lay his lips on yours, the kiss quickly becoming more and more heated with each brush of his lips. "Pleasure." With a wave of his hand your clothes and his disappeared in a flash of green and he led you into the shower. "Sweet, decadent, overwhelming pleasure."

A/N: Another request from the 500 follower celebration done! I had such a cozy lil time writing this kind of Loki where he just takes care of his bb and just makes sure that she feels safe and loved 🥹💖

I've got another 4-day weekend ahead of me starting tomorrow and hopefully I can use this time to knock out some stories from both my neverending Tumblr and non-Tumblr TBRs, getting some stories either properly planned out or actually written out, and just overall being productive 🫡

Already working on the next request from the 500 follower celebration list and…it's a Hiddles x Reader story that involves a mango ride 😈

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