Latest Posts by twotablelamps - Page 2

friendly introductions – bucky barnes

summary: bucky unexpectedly shows up at your apartment, and he's brought a few people with him pairing: bucky barnes x fem!reader (ft. the thunderbolts*) word count: 3.4k tags: thunderbolts* shenanigans, spoilers here and there obvs, slight miscommunication, big happy dysfunctional family in the making, google translator was used for the russian words (sorry), kissing, little bit of angst and little bit of fluff notes: i just saw the movie yesterday and as soon as i got back home i decided to write this, which is loosely connected to this fic i posted recently. i just loved the thunderbolts* so much they mean the entire world to me right now. perhaps more fics are coming in the future because i have lots of ideas!!! as always, i hope you enjoy

please reblog and/or comment if you enjoy!

all masterlists | marvel masterlist | part 1 (not strictly necessary to read this one tho)

“Sorry for such short notice,” Bucky mutters as soon as you open the door for him and the rest of the entire group. You could tell he’s been having a pretty rough time just by looking at him. Hair messy, frowning more than usual, dirty clothing and a cut on his left cheek. The rest of the people he’s with don’t look any better. It wouldn’t take an expert to figure out they’ve been in some kind of combat and, most likely, they didn’t come on top. 

“It’s okay,” you quickly reassure him, leaving the door open until every single one of them were inside your apartment, closing it behind them. “Can I ask what happened?”

“We…uh, got our ass kicked, basically,” he replies, sounding quite exhausted. 

You take a second to look at the group. Unfamiliar faces of people you could only assume are in the superhero/villain/whatever business. There’s a blonde woman who immediately leans against one of the walls of your living room, trying to get some sort of rest after the fight. The other woman stays by the entrance and you can’t help but admire how cool her suit is. There’s algo a guy in a red suit and he looks absolutely huge and terrifying, but the smile he sends your way with the silly little wave he makes as you make eye contact gives you the impression that he might not be as intimidating as you initially thought.

And then, your eyes focus on the other person in the room.

“You,” is all you say, your voice sounding anything but welcoming.

Everyone turns to look at Walker, who offers you an awkward smile. “Yeah, hi.”

“You two know each other?” the blonde one asks.

“Unfortunately,” you reply, keeping your eyes on the guy at all times. You know enough about John Walker to be stupid enough to let him out of your sight. “Listen, I don’t know what just happened to you guys, but in case Bucky hasn’t warned you already, you can’t trust this piece of shit.”

Noticing you’re starting to get a little heated by his presence, Bucky wraps an arm around your waist from behind, just in case you decide to go over him and confront him for everything that has happened in the past. “It’s okay. He’s here to help.”

You turn to look at him like he just said the most absurd thing you’ve ever heard in your life, but he simply stares back at you with a serious expression, nodding as if to emphasize on his previous statement, trying to let you know you can actually trust the guy. When you turn back to look at Walker, he raises both hands in the air as a sign to further prove that he’s harmless.

“I’ll be keeping an eye out,” you warn him, pointing your finger at him. 

“That’s fair,” he nods.

“Whoa, she’s feisty!” you hear the excited voice of the guy in the red suit as he lets out a short chuckle. “I like her already!”

You feel Bucky’s grip around your waist tightening. “We’re just here to get some cover and figure out our next move.”

Suddenly remembering the fact that all these strangers are standing in various spots in your living room, you get away from Bucky to walk over to your couch. “Oh, so sorry! What a terrible host,” you attempt to joke a little in hopes of lightening the mood, quickly removing your laptop and various papers scattered across your couch. “Please, take a seat!”

None of them move at first, but they eventually accept the invitation and walk towards your couch to sit down. All except Walker, who decides to stay in the same spot he’s been since he entered your apartment. Not like you care, so you just let him stand there on his own.

A few awkward introductions later and you already know everyone. Alexei, Ava and Yelena. One a total stranger and the others slightly familiar to you due to them being related to Natasha. You couldn’t bring yourself to say her name out loud, though. If you struggle to think about her without bursting out crying, you can’t even imagine what it would be like for her dad and sister. Last thing you want is to cause them any discomfort.

“And how exactly do you know each other?” Yelena asks you and Bucky after you introduce yourself to them too.

“Former S.H.I.E.L.D. agent,” Bucky replies before you can say anything, and you can’t help but turn to look at him with a slightly confused expression. “We’ve been friends for a very long time.”

Friends. Sure. Whatever. If that’s what he wants to call it…

After what happened last time you were in D.C., Bucky was constantly making trips to New York to visit you. You’re not officially dating, but it’s established that you’re exclusive. Long distance isn’t ideal, but you’ve made it work so far. Probably the happiest months of your life. But now…you hear him introducing you as his friend. It’s not really a big deal. Technically you are friends? It shouldn’t affect you as much as it does, but…you’re internally fuming right now.

Still, you decide not to say anything regarding that. He’s always been quite a reserved person, so perhaps he didn’t feel comfortable enough to share that information with them just yet. “Can I get you anything to drink?” you decide to ask, looking at everyone else.

“We’re not-”

“I’m sure a glass of water won’t kill anybody,” you say, immediately cutting Bucky off.

There’s a brief silence before Ava speaks. “I’ll have a glass of water. Thank you.”

You look at Yelena as she shortly nods before you focus on Alexei. “Do you perhaps have something else other than water?”

“Dad,” Yelena warns him.

You ignore that short interaction. “Something like what?”

“Like vodka,” he replies simply, like it’s a normal request. Perhaps the russian accent and the fact that he does look like a walking Soviet propaganda adds context to it.

“Dad!” Yelena repeats herself, this time in a louder voice, before hiding her face in her hands. The scene of her getting embarrassed by her dad’s behavior is actually hilarious.

“Two glasses of water and one glass of vodka, got it.” Then it was time to acknowledge Walker again. Even when you deeply hate the guy, you still want to be polite. “Do you want anything?”

“Uh…just water,” he mutters, still unsure on how to really talk to you. It’s ironic how quiet he is right now, considering he had a hard time shutting his mouth when you first met him. “Thank you.”

You offer the group a smile before excusing yourself to go to your kitchen, leaving them momentarily alone. Bucky was about to speak, wanting to initiate a debate on what their plan is going to be to fight against someone as powerful and seemingly invincible as Sentry, but Yelena speaks before he does.

“Now, would you mind telling us how you really know each other?”

Bucky looks immediately confused. “What do you mean?”

“You know I was trained to be a spy since I was very little.”

“Surely you don’t say it enough,” Walker mutters, earning an unamused look from her.

“That must really bother you, Mr. I-was-in-the-military,” Ava chimes in, rolling her eyes.

Ignoring both of them, Yelena decides to continue. “I’m very good at reading people, Bucky. She almost wanted to punch you in the face when you said you two were friends, which let’s me know the comment upset her,” she says, tilting her head to the side. “Why is that?”

“Ah! That’s your lover!” Alexei comments with pleasant surprise.

“And you didn’t introduce her as your girlfriend?” Ava says shortly after, giving him a disapproving look. “No wonder she would want to punch you in the face.”

“Yeah, that’s not cool, man,” Walker agrees from his spot in the living room.

Alexei’s cheerfulness dries down, nodding. “I agree. It’s not very nice.”

Bucky scoffs, crossing his arms across his chest in a defensive manner. He couldn’t believe these people were judging him over something he thought was meaningless. It was just a way to keep his private life private. Why should they know he’s dating anybody? They’re not his friends to be sharing information like that with them. And it’s not like they’re ever going to see you again anyway. Why is this such a big deal?

“Whoever I date or don’t date it’s not your business,” he simply replies.

Ava scoffs this time. “Don’t bring us to your girlfriend’s flat then.”

“When did you guys became a thing?” Walker asks this time, looking like he's thinking back on it in hopes of remembering any indication that might've gave it away.

He pinches the bridge of his nose, getting more and more exasperated. “We barely got out of that fight against Valentina’s experiment and it’s a matter of time before we have to face him again. Why are we even talking about this?”

“Oh, Bucky,” Yelena shakes her head in a condescending manner. “You’re right, we do not care about your lovelife. Thinking about it makes me sick, actually. But she looked really hurt by what you said, so perhaps you should go talk to her and make things right.”

The other three agreed with Yelena almost immediately, and Bucky just stood there looking at them in disbelief because why are they giving him their input on his relationship? Why is Yelena giving him advice? Why are they getting involved in Bucky’s personal life?

But instead of arguing, he decides to listen to them and heads towards the kitchen. He walks in just in time to see you pouring Alexei an entire glass of vodka as he requested, the other three glasses of water already filled.

“Oh, good. You’re here,” you say nonchalantly, like what Yelena said about you wanting to punch him in the face was just something she misread in your body language. You surely don’t look like you're thinking about violence right now. “Could you help me with the drinks, please?”

Perhaps Yelena was wrong, but just in case she wasn’t, he decided to ask about it. “Are you okay?”

You let out a quick and confused chuckle as you store away the almost finished bottle of vodka. “Why would I not be okay? If you’re asking because you brought them here, I think they’re actually very nice…aside from Walker, of course.”

“No, I mean…the way I introduced you to them,” he says in a soft voice, walking closer to you. “I probably shouldn’t have said you were my friend.”

There’s a brief pause between you, until you’re eventually shrugging. “It’s fine.”

“Is it?” he insists, standing right before you as he grabs your hands in his. “Talk to me.”

You hesitate a little before eventually giving in. “I mean, you can’t expect me to be thrilled to hear you introduce me to a bunch of people as just your friend.”

Bucky sighs. Yelena was right. “I’m so sorry,” he says almost immediately, giving your hands a light squeeze. “I just met these people and I highly doubt we’ll keep in touch after this. I didn’t want to share that information with them. We’re not exactly…close like that,” he explains himself, looking genuinely sorry for what he said. “I should’ve considered how that would make you feel, or at least tried to explain why I did it as soon as I could. I didn’t mean to hurt you or downplay what we have.”

You can tell he’s genuinely sorry, understanding his reasoning behind it. Perhaps you forgot to put into perspective the fact that they’re just super people Bucky has been forced to work with. Not necessarily friends. “It’s okay, I understand.”

Bucky nods, but he still looks absolutely defeated. “I feel terrible,” he mutters. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

You let go of his hands, wrapping your arms around his neck instead. “It’s okay, babe,” you repeat, offering him a soft smile to let him know you forgive him. “I understand you didn’t feel comfortable sharing that with them.”

“I promise I won’t do it again.”

“You’re not obligated to disclose anything with anyone if you don’t feel like it,” you say, just to remind him to do whatever it feels right to him. “But I’m glad we had this conversation to hear each other’s perspective.”

He nods again, still uncertain. You lean in to give him a reassuring kiss before deciding to move away from him to get back to the living room with the rest. He hands the glasses of water to Walker and Yelena, while you hand the other glasses to Ava and Alexei.

The last one takes a big gulp of his glass, letting out a growl of approval. “Smirnoff! Not that Absolut der’mo!”

“I adore him,” you say to Bucky, letting out a quick chuckle as you watch the guy drink the entire glass of vodka in less than two seconds.

“It’ll pass, trust me,” he mutters back to you.

You gently hit his arm as a way of telling him to not be rude, immediately focusing on the cut on his cheek, dried blood around the wound. “I should clean that.”

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it.”

“I do worry, Bucky,” you insist, patting his shoulder before pointing to one of the two chairs at your small dinner table. “Take a seat. I’ll be right back.”

You excuse yourself to go find the first-aid kit to clean the wound on his face. By the time you get back, the group has already started discussing some sort of strategy regarding some ‘Sentry’ person you don’t know absolutely anything about. Perhaps you’ll ask Bucky to give you a proper update on what the hell this whole thing is all about next time you’re alone.

As obedient as ever, Bucky was already sitting on one of the chairs you previously pointed at before leaving, so you walked over to him to attend to his injury. Even if it was a small, almost insignificant little cut, you wanted to take care of him in any capacity you could.

You were gladly surprised when you feel one of his arms wrapping around you, keeping you close as you stand next to him cleaning the dry blood with a small cotton ball before disinfecting the area, finishing it off with a small bandage above the cut. 

The whole entire time you took care of Bucky’s wound, the group was talking about their strategy. Just listening to them was enough to figure out why Bucky didn’t think they’d stay in touch once it’s time to part ways. More than half of their interactions are more bickering than actual communication. They clash almost constantly and they don’t seem to agree on much. They’re quite honestly a complete mess. But still...even when it’s difficult to see how a group like this could work, they oddly do. There’s just something about them. Perhaps they’re the prime example of how opposites tend to work together perfectly. 

“Done,” you whisper to him, not warning to interrupt their conversation.

“Thanks, doll,” he whispers back, giving you a smile.

After a few more minutes of planning, it was finally time for them to get back out there in hopes to put an end to the threat that seems to loom over New York (and perhaps the entire world). You accompany them to the door, all of them saying their goodbyes to you.

“Thanks for letting us hide here,” Yelena says with a polite smile, offering her hand for a handshake as a way to further prove her gratitude. 

“Oh, it’s really nothing. I’m glad I was able to help out,” you reply, accepting her handshake. “And…you know, good luck. You probably don’t need it, obviously, but just in case…”

“You’re adorable,” Ava comments with a smirk, patting your shoulder as her way of saying goodbye.

Alexei doesn’t even say anything. He just straight up walks towards you and wraps his arms around you, lifting you off the ground as he gives you a tight hug. It certainly takes you by surprise, but you pat his back as a way of returning the hug, hearing how Yelena and Bucky are frantically telling him to put you down immediately.

The three of them are already outside your apartment and it’s time to face Walker. He just says a quick “thank you” before walking towards the others that wait for Bucky in the hallway, knowing you probably don’t even want to address him. For now, you decide not to say anything to him. If you do see each other again, perhaps then you’ll try to figure out if you can look past the awful things he has done.

Now Bucky is the one who stands before you and all you can do is hug him as tight as you possibly can, almost not wanting to let him go. You know he’ll be fine. You know he’ll come back to you. But still, you can’t ignore the knot forming at the pit of your stomach, anxiety and fear consuming you at the thought of something happening to him.

He senses how you feel, hugging you back just as tight. “Please be safe,” he whispers.

You break the hug, looking up at him. “I should be telling you that.”

The comment makes him smile softly because it sounds like you're reprimanding him for what he just said. Immediately after, he's placing a hand at the side of your face, gently stroking your cheek with his thumb. “I’ll be back before you know it, okay?”

“Okay,” you nod, still as anxious as you were before. The fact that you still don’t fully know what they’re up against makes your situation worse. If it’s anything remotely similar to an Avenger-like threat, you have plenty of reasons to be afraid. “Just…just take care, please.”

“I will,” he replies, giving you a kiss so sweet and gentle that it practically takes your breath away. He knows you’re worried like never before and he wants to make sure he’s able to give you as much reassurance as he possibly can.

After a few more seconds of him just looking back at you with a soft smile on his face, he moves back from you, knowing he has to leave already.

“Promise you’ll be back soon,” you blurt out as he’s leaving your apartment, still fighting the urge to just yank him back into the apartment to keep him from going back out there.

“I promise you I’ll be back, darling,” he says without any hesitation, knowing he’ll do anything he possibly can to keep his word.

Finally, he closes the door of your apartment, leaving you all alone in there as you try to calm yourself down until everything is back to normal again and he’s here with you. Until he’s back in the safety of the arms of the person he cares most about in this entire world.

You focus on the four empty glasses, the lingering presence of everyone, the trail of dirt their boots left on the floor, the chair Bucky was sitting on just seconds ago...you can only hope they stay safe. Meanwhile, you decide to clean up the living room as a way of distracting yourself.

On the other side of the door, Bucky is turning to look at the group, rolling his eyes when he sees all of them grinning and nodding their hands in approval after witnessing him being so lovey-dovey with you, discovering a sight of him they probably didn’t even know existed.

“Not a single word,” Bucky warns them, immediately walking in between them to get to the elevator.

“What? We can’t say you two looked disgustingly cute back there?” Yelena jokes as she follows after him.

"Who knew that was hiding beneath all that...grumpiness," Ava comments right after.

“I said not a single word,” he repeats, trying to act like he wasn’t feeling terribly embarrassed right now. Or like he didn't find the teasing slightly entertaining. Just slightly.

“I mean, you did look cute,” Walker agrees.

“So cute!” Yelena emphasizes.

Alexei wraps an arm around Bucky’s shoulders, much to his discomfort. “That was adorable. You, my friend, had the eyes of love looking at your zhenshchina!”

“And you had to make it weird,” Ava mutters after Alexei’s comment, just as the elevator doors are closing. translations: der'mo (shit), zhenshchina (woman). again, i apologize if the translation is wrong, i don't speak russian

His hair?! oh FUCK me ♥️

TT credit: estialvids

Whoever was in charge of Bucky deciding to take off his jacket needs to get a raise.

5 Times You Are Not Dating Bucky Barnes (and the one time you are) | Bucky Barnes x Reader | One shot - 2.6k words |

You're sick of saying it, Bucky is not your boyfriend, you are not dating you're just friends. Until...

Warnings: 18+ for some canon typical violence and for Sam and Joaquin being pains in the arse (affectionate). Friends to lovers vibes, idiots in love, dating but not dating.

Dividers by @firefly-graphics & @saradika-graphics

Masterlist | Bucky Barnes

1

Bucky Barnes is not your boyfriend.

At least once a day these words come out of your mouth in some form and it's becoming so frequent now that you're considering just recording yourself and playing it back on your phone.

Colleagues, partners in the field, friends.

Not a couple.

Not dating.

"Did you hear that, Wilson? She said —"

"Yeah, yeah, sure."

Sam rolled his eyes at Bucky, sighing dramatically in a way that only Sam is really allowed to get away with. Bucky hadn't taken his eyes from your laptop screen or the secure file you were scrolling through.

"Look awful close though."

You looked up this time, the top of your head brushing Bucky's cheek, his breath was warm against your own and the contrast between his exhale and the cold glass of the table gave you goosebumps.

"We're reviewing the data Joaquin sent us, what do you want us to do?" You snapped, scrolling to the next page of mind numbingly boring KPIs and MIs. Just your luck to get the management files and nothing juicy.

"Perhaps you could use the projector?" Sam clicked a button on the table and the details on your screen lit up the plain, white wall of the conference room.

Embarrassed heat flared up your spine and you shivered.

"Not very secure though, is it, Captain?" Bucky picked up the remote and switched the projector off, his eyes on the laptop screen.

The plastic of your chair squeaked as he tightened his hold on it, and the door slammed shut behind Sam.

2

You followed your nose from the cool darkness of the operations room to the open living area. Tedious as it was to be stationed in the middle of nowhere for recon, you couldn't fault the accommodation, it was almost like being on holiday, apart from the gruelling shifts staring at monitors every day.

Somewhere further along the corridor the sound of good-natured arguing grew louder, Bucky's voice rising above the others and warning them not to disturb you. There was a brief pause before you heard Sam and Joaquin start laughing and Bucky's heavy sigh.

"Morning," you gave a small sleepy smile to the assembled team. Joaquin smiled back, raising his coffee cup in greeting. Sam grinned and you knew instantly that there was something going on. "What now?" You sighed, sending both men in to fits of laughter.

Bucky handed you a cup of tea and bowl of yogurt and granola, a handful of blueberries and raspberries on top.

"Thanks, I'm starving." You bumped his hip as you wandered past to join your teammates at the kitchen island and earned yourself a rare smile.

"What've you got there?" Sam asked, peering into your bowl.

"Usual," you mumbled, sipping your tea. Perfect.

"Uh huh, the usual." He looked up at Bucky, whose face was slowly turning the same colour as the raspberries.

"Can I have some yoghurt, Bucky?" Joaquin asked, innocently.

"Nope." Bucky said, watching you take the first bite and allowing the corner of his mouth to turn up in a smile when yours did.

"Oh, did we run out?"

"Nope."

Bucky put the almost full pot back into the fridge, fixed his coffee and sat down too, shuffling his stool a little closer to you. His hair was still a little damp and you could smell the familiar scent of his shampoo, his bare arm bumping against yours as he took a sip of coffee.

Sam and Joaquin emptied out the last of their coffees into the sink and slunk away, whispering and laughing conspiratorially about "special treatment for girlfriends."

Bucky was, as usual, ignoring them and flipping through a week old newspaper and sipping his coffee. He caught you watching and gave you a mock glare, nothing like the hard stare he'd given Sam and Joaquín earlier.

Then he turned the pages slightly so you could see and you let your head rest on his shoulder, still sipping your tea.

3

"I'm sorry, okay, please stop giving me the cold shoulder." Sam followed after you as you picked your way back to the jet, trying to catch up so you could walk together.

"Absolutely not, I want to be angry for at least two more hours." You grouched, squeezing water from your tactical gear.

"C'mon, it's a little funny," Joaquin laughed, taking up space on your other side.

"Fuck off, Torres, if you had fish swimming in your tac suit you'd be mad too. "

Bucky met you at the cargo door, towel in hand and glaring at your team mates.

"Hell happened to you lot? And why are there fish in your suit?" He scanned you all quickly for serious damage, but it was just your ego that was bruised really.

"Someone, told me it was totally safe to cross this rickety fucking bridge back there," you scowled again.

It really wasn't Sam's fault, it looked perfectly safe or you wouldn't have started to cross, but it was clearly rigged to fall and that's exactly what you'd done, straight into the stagnant water below.

In their gear Sam and Joaquin had been fine. You, on the other hand, had been soaked from head to toe.

"Let's get you in something clean and dry," Bucky gently ushered you into the cool darkness of the jet, soothing your embarrassment with his own stories and wiping mud from the back of your neck as if it was an everyday occurrence.

"I don't think there's anything left in my locker after we got caught in that storm a few weeks back." Embarrassment made your skin itchy and your blood cold. You had spare underwear, maybe, at best.

"Don't worry," Bucky put his back to the door of the small bathroom while you stripped off your dirty clothes inside, "I've got something."

When you reappeared fifteen minutes later, cleaner, dryer, it was in a pair of Bucky's spare sweat pants and the black t-shirt he'd been wearing.

Joaquin raised his eyes but made the decision not to comment and incur your wrath any further.

Sam, on the other hand, chose to tease Bucky instead, their arguing bouncing around the jet while you tried to get comfy on the thin flight seats.

"Got your territory all marked then, Barnes?" He laughed, eyes darting between the two of you.

"Don't know what you're on about, Wilson." Bucky snapped back.

"She's in your clothes, couldn't find any spares? Nothing of mine of Joaquin's back there? You're getting more possessive." Sam shot you a look, "you need to tell him to fuck off."

"I'm good, Sam, thanks for your concern."

"Ahh so you are —"

"We're not dating!" You shouted in unison.

Which only made Sam and Joaquín laugh harder.

It was okay though, you were safe again now and, snuggling deeper into the body warmth of Bucky's t-shirt and definitely a lot less angry than you had been, you really felt safe too. How could you feel any other kind of way, when you could smell his body wash, when he had dried your face so carefully and helped you into your clean clothes.

He looked over at you, eyes still checking for injuries.

"You okay over there? Warm enough?" You nodded and he nodded back, smiling.

4

Joaquin woke with a jolt when the plane hit turbulence, there was a crick in his neck and a sore muscle in his back screaming for a soft bed and his favourite pillow. But no such luck, just an army evac in the dead of night.

Beside him Sam had spread out a blanket and his jacket on the floor, using his rucksack as a pillow and snoring soundly. He could always sleep anywhere, you all could, especially after the day you'd had.

Bucky had taken up a spot sat on the floor like Sam, but with his back to the thin benches, his pack holding up his head. In the gloom he could see Bucky's left arm rigidly holding his body up, elbow locked, because on the right you were leaning into him. His arm was around your shoulders and you'd curled your body into his, pressing into his side, face tucked into his neck and hand under his shirt.

The plane rattled again and Bucky blinked one eye open, his body still as he scanned around quickly before locking eyes with Joaquin.

"You two comfy?" Joaquin whispered and Bucky scowled back. He'd expected Bucky to push you away, but instead he tugged you closer.

Joaquin made a tiny heart shape with his fingers and then mimed kissing.

Bucky flicked up his middle finger and then closed his eyes.

5

"So, Playboy, got any plans tonight," Sam asked, scuffing Joaquin on the back of the head while you pulled your bag out of the gym lockers.

It'd been a long day and you couldn't wait to order a ridiculous amount of food, put your pyjamas on and forget the world existed.

"You know me, Sam. Keepin' my options open." The younger man grinned back.

"Lotta fingers in a lotta pies, have you Torres?" You snickered.

Bucky shut his locker with a slam. "Don't be crude," he grouched, but you saw the way he smiled when he rolled his eyes.

"Something like that," Joaquin shrugged.

"What about you man, hot date?" Joaquin asked,

"Nah," Sam turned away and Joaquin finished towelling his wet hair and started digging his clothes from his bag before wandering off for some privacy.

You slid your trainers back on, tucking your boots in your locker and wondering why they were both suddenly so interested in each other's dating life.

"Not even Leila," you needled, breaking the silence and poking him in the side.

"What's it got to do with you anyway? You seeing anyone tonight?"

"Nope, just me and some Chinese takeout tonight, maybe a little flirt with Netflix," Sam gave you a slightly sad look, but what did you care, it wasn't the only Friday night that would ever happen and you were exhausted.

"I was going to get noodles, do you want to come back to mine, we can split an order?" Bucky asked, fishing his keys from his gym bag and nodding his head towards the door.

"Ohh yes as long as we can get dumplings."

"Obviously we're getting dumplings."

"And maybe fried rice?"

"Rice and noodles?"

"You get one, I'll get the other, we'll split it."

"Fine."

"Shall I follow you —"

"Leave your car by the hanger, I'll drive you back in tomorrow."

"Perfect, let's grab a bottle of wine from the store on the way back."

Bucky groaned, holding the door open for you, "how many times have I said, the only acceptable drink with Chinese takeout is Tsingtao."

The door shut as Joaquin rounded the lockers again, a confused look on his face."Do they know it's Valentines Day?"

Sam laughed, "I don't think so but I can't wait to see their faces tomorrow when they figure it out."

+1

"I've got him, Bucky, you watch the trucks?" You put your sight back to your eye, shuffling your shoulders, settling lower into the ground, you breathed deeply as you prepared to take the shot.

"You'll give away your position, you're too close, fall back." Bucky's voice was surprisingly frantic in your ear.

"Quiet, please. I can do this."

"Leave her, Buck, she's got this."

"Cap's right, gotta have a little faith."

"It's too risky —"

You turned your comm off. You'd been watching this gang for weeks hoping to catch them in the act and you had the perfect chance.

Sam and Joaquin had been leading your infiltration of their den and everything had been going swimmingly — until their leader had walked out and thrown everything into chaos.

You caught the kickback from your rifle with practised ease, your aim perfect, the apparent leader of the group crumpled to the ground, bleeding from his now shattered kneecap. Nothing fatal, you wanted to see him on the stand as did the rest of the team.

You touched your ear piece again ready to gloat about your excellent hit but Bucky's panicked voice found you instead.

"Run, I'm coming but you've gotta run, go —go! Why aren't you going!"

You turned, surrounded by three armed guards, and did the only thing you could do. Fight back.

This wasn't the best time for close quarters combat, but you needed time to reach your handgun or your dagger or something.

Dodging around you gained enough time to slip a knife from your thigh holster.

"I've got it, Buck. Go to Sam."

"No you fucking haven't."

Your arm moved, swiping at your first assailant and leaving a splatter of blood behind. Still low you lurched for the second man's legs, jabbing upwards as he bent down to you. The blade pierced the top of his thigh and blood gushed out as you twisted your wrist and tugged.

"Don't kill anyone." Sam admonished.

But you were too focused to care. The third guard was huge, broad and carrying a knife to match. But it was the gun pointed at your temple that had your heart pounding.

"Put the gun down little lady, we don't want any more messes for you to clean up." The man leered forward, pressing the hot muzzle of the gun into your skin.

"Fuck off." You spat back.

He bent closer, sliding his dagger back into its holster, giving him a free hand to pinch your cheeks. "Such a dirty mouth, what will I do with you."

"She said, fuck off."

The man looked blank, turning his head to find Bucky towering over him gun pressed to his back.

"You okay?" He asked, glancing at you quickly.

"Fine."

"You're a lucky bastard today." Bucky pulled the trigger and you closed your eyes against the spray.

The man shouted, clutching at his shoulder where blood was pouring between his fingers, the wound wider at the front.

"How's that lucky, Bucky?" You chastised, brushing leaves and dirt from your tactical suit and grabbing your rifle.

"If you were hurt, I'd have shot him in the head." He answered, simply, and you felt yourself go hot all over at the thought of what he'd do for you.

Sam and Joaquin landed behind you and rushed forwards.

"We heard more shots, is everyone okay? — What the hell guys I said minimal damage." Sam groaned.

"Would've been easier if someone—" Bucky looked at you, "had left their comms on and run when I'd said."

You rolled your eyes, "I was fine, look." All three patrol guards lay bleeding on the ground.

"That guy had a gun to your head, you were not fine."

"I had him on the ropes." You smiled, but it wavered, you had been scared and your heart had been racing seeing Bucky sneak up on him. "Plus, I've got my knight in shining armour to shoot people for me." You grinned up at Bucky, blood painted on your uniforms and across your cheeks.

"Good thing too." Bucky threaded his fingers through your chest holster and tugged you forwards, pressing a deep kiss to your lips. You hummed happily and leant into him before he set you back down

"If you're done, Sam, can we go back to the jet? I've got bad guy blood all over me, yuck." You made a face and wiped your cheek with the back of your hand before strolling off with Bucky, rifles over your shoulders.

"Did they just—" Joaquin looked over at Sam.

"Yeah —"

"How long?"

"No idea."

As you rounded the corner Bucky took your hand again, tugging you closer and pressing a kiss to your head where the imprint of the gun still lingered.

"Does this finally mean I'm your boyfriend?"

"Because you shot someone for me?"

"Yeah."

"Yeah, sure." You smiled, resting your cheek on his shoulder.

pieces of me

See my full list of works here!

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 😈

'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 @huntedmusicgardenn @steaa90-blog

hi, girly girl ♡♡♡

i’m re-reading your grumpy!bucky x sunshine!reader series (bc of course i am) and i was wondering, if you’re taking requests, what your thoughts are about:

💭 something happening to sunshine!reader, during a mission or something else, and she’s emotional (maybe hurt) and frantically asking for bucky. cue extra-protective!grumpy!bucky.

k love u bye

hi, babe :))

it started out as thoughts and I worked it into a lil something something

love you more <3

You came? You called.

Pairing: Avenger! Bucky Barnes x Avenger! Fem! Reader (Grumpy x Sunshine)

Summary: The team’s brightest light shatters after a mission gone wrong, and only one person can put her back together.

Bucky Barnes :)

Word Count: Roughly 900 words 

Warnings: Fluff, hurt/comfort, mild injuries mentioned (barely), mentions of blood, overprotective and soft Bucky, physical and emotional distress, a lil bit of angst (but just a pinch)

Author’s Note: I don't know where I was going with this, but I tried :(

Navigation

Divider by: @strangergraphics

You’re not supposed to cry.

You're supposed to sparkle. 

You're supposed to laugh like you’ve never tasted bitterness, bounce off the walls like gravity never quite applied to you, and leave glitter bombs and rainbow cupcakes in your wake. 

You're the sunshine of the team, the chaos incarnate with fingers covered in icing from baking every other day, held together by too much energy and not enough fear.

But right now, you’re sobbing, shaking so hard it rattles your bones.

The safe house is too quiet. 

Too sterile. 

You hate the quiet.

Your world is made of giggles and explosions and yelling at Tony for calling you “a walking serotonin factory,” like it’s not the biggest compliment ever.

Steve’s kneeling next to you, his voice is soft, words calm and even, like a warm blanket. 

Nat’s crouched just behind him, her clothes smeared with blood that’s not hers. You know what that means. She already got them, the ones who hurt you.

But none of that matters.

You want him.

“Bucky,” you whisper softly, the name tumbling out between hiccups.

Steve tries to soothe you. “He’s coming, sunshine. He’s on his way.”

But that only makes it worse. It hurts, how badly you need him. The tight, aching space in your chest pulses with panic.

You try to push yourself off the couch even though your leg won't work right. The pain flares, sharp and hot, but not as bad as the panic clawing through your ribs. “I need him now. Please. I want Bucky.”

Your voice breaks, shatters into something raw and desperate.

Steve looks helpless. Even Captain America doesn’t know how to hold back the sun when it starts to implode.

Nat lays a hand on your shoulder. Her touch is light but firm. “He’s coming,” she says quietly. “He’s already ripping apart the walls to get to you.”

That sounds like him.

It helps, but not enough. 

The tears keep coming, stupid and hot, blurring everything. Your fingers grip the blanket around you, but it’s not what you want. 

You want metal and leather and the calloused hands that catch you midair when you launch off rooftops without a second thought. You want the gruff voice that mutters complaints when you bounce in front of him, bright and too close, but never pulls away.

You want Bucky.

And then he’s there.

Steve barely gets out of the way before Bucky’s next to you, metal hand cupping your cheek like you’re made of something too precious to break.

“There you are,” he breathes. “Sunshine, what did they do to you?”

Your hands reach out to grab him, clutching at his jacket, his shoulder, his neck, anything that’s him. 

You curl into him like a sunflower searching for sunlight, burying your face in his chest and gasping like you can’t breathe without him. 

He smells safe. 

Like home.

“I thought you weren’t coming,” you sob into him. “I was so scared. I thought…”

He’s already wrapping around you, his flesh hand holding the back of your head, metal arm tucking you into him, so close there’s no space between your body and his. “Shh. I’m here, baby. You’re safe now. I got you. Nobody’s touching you ever again.”

You nod, even as the tears soak through his shirt. His lips press to your temple, your cheek, the corner of your mouth. Like, if he kisses you enough, he can erase what happened.

“You’re late,” you whisper, your voice trembling and watery.

“I know, dollface,” he murmurs, his voice cracking at the edges. “I should’ve been faster.”

Steve clears his throat, somewhere behind you. “Maybe give her a second to breathe, Buck.”

“I am breathing,” you mutter into Bucky’s neck, your voice muffled but stubborn.

Bucky glares at Steve. “She wants me, she gets me. End of story.”

Nat smirks from the corner, arms crossed. “She was begging for you like the world was ending.”

“She’s my world,” Bucky shoots back without hesitation.

He tilts your chin up gently, and when your glassy eyes meet his, he winces. “Look at what they did to my baby,” he whispers. “Your face. Your leg...” He trails off, breathing hard, like he might go find the bastards and rip them apart again just for good measure.

“Nat already got them,” you say, sniffling, managing a tiny smile. “Bet she looked really cool doing it, too.”

“I wanted to be the one to end them,” he mutters darkly.

You tug on his sleeve. “You’re here now. That’s better, the best thing ever. Promise.”

He melts at that, just enough. His forehead presses to yours. “You scared me, you little menace.”

“I scare everyone,” you mumble, eyes drooping as the exhaustion catches up with you. “But you always come back.”

“Always, sunshine.” He kisses the tip of your nose, holding you like you’re breakable. “You’re my favorite chaos.”

You hum, smiling sleepily at him, and he has to look away so he doesn’t fold. “I like when you call me that.”

“I’d like it even more if you didn’t almost get yourself killed,” he mutters. “No more solo missions. No more running ahead without backup. No more playing bait.”

“But I’m good bait,” you protest, nuzzling into his chest.

“I don’t care. No more.” His voice is final. His grip is absolute. “You’re sticking with me.”

And maybe that sounds like a means of control to anyone else.

But you? You just smile.

Because you’re safe. 

Because he’s here.

Even the brightest light needs a shadow to guard it.

And Bucky Barnes is your favorite one.

Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed!

If you'd like to be added to my taglist

Much love x

- Maeve

Tags: @princess-lil-spidey @sapphirebarnes @mgchaser @sparklystarsandstrawberries @arcadia-smith @rnurse-kole @juliebluehufflepuff @sailorsenshiuranep @alexxavicry @ficcharsimp @winchestert101 @thatesqcrush @bamitzzsam @grubler @peaches1958 @helen-2003 @ickearmn @Kimmie113080 @Xgbtmdmx @buckysbunnie @Shower-me-with-roses @pigeonmama @civilbucky @piinksdoll @desimarie12 @sleepysongbirdsings @barnesb420 @Suffereroflife @pigeonmama @yes-ilovetowrite @shadowstar1072 @serenaivy

Playing It Cool

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Summary: Sam’s getting way too suspicious about your secret relationship with Bucky.

Word Count: 1.6k

Warnings: humor, fluff, secret dating, laundry room shenanigans, sam wilson being done

A/N: this can be read as a standalone even though it's part of a series called "You Said What". It 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, part 4, part 5, part 6 thanks for reading, i hope you like it :)

Sam didn’t sleep well.

It wasn’t the coffee. It wasn’t even the lingering PTSD from a week spent chasing Hydra remnants. No, this was different.

This was gut feeling. Instinct.

He was standing in the kitchen, hair wild, hoodie misaligned, and eyes like a war veteran who’d seen things and couldn’t unsee them. The clock blinked a smug 7:03 a.m. He poured black coffee like a man betrayed by the very concept of sleep.

That’s when he saw it.

Two mugs on the counter.

One had your initials. The other—a vintage WWII fighter plane sticker. It hadn’t been there last night. He knew, because he always did a final kitchen sweep before bed. Counters clean. Dishes put away. Mugs? Accounted for.

His eye twitched.

“…Barnes,” Sam whispered.

He crouched slowly, inspecting the mugs like they might start confessing their crimes.

Then the hallway creaked. Sam turned so fast he sloshed coffee onto his hoodie.

You entered the room, yawning dramatically, hoodie sleeves engulfing your hands.

“Morning,” you mumbled.

Sam squinted. “Is it? Is it really?”

You blinked. “…Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he said, with the exact tone of a man who was absolutely not fine. He walked to the table and pulled out a chair like it owed him money. “Sit.”

“Why?”

“Because I have questions.”

“I’m not under interrogation.”

“You are now.”

“…Sam.”

“Tell me what you were doing between 0500 and 0700 hours.”

“Sleeping.”

“Alone?”

You squinted. “What kind of creepy follow-up—?”

Sam narrowed his eyes like a raccoon about to steal a whole rotisserie chicken. “I knew it. There’s a cover-up.”

You grabbed a piece of toast and headed for the hallway. “There’s a cover-up on your brain, Wilson.”

“I’ve seen the signs,” Sam called after you. “The glances! The whispers! The ‘accidental’ brush of hands during mission briefings!”

“Maybe I’m just clumsy!” you yelled.

“And matching mugs?”

“That sticker was mine first!”

Before Sam could yell something, Bucky entered the room, with aexpression criminally smug. He looked like the kind of man who had just done something worth hiding.

“Morning,” Bucky said, voice low and gravelly. He moved to the coffee pot.

Sam’s eyes followed him like a hawk on its sixth espresso.

“You okay?” Bucky asked.

“I’m great,” Sam replied. “Y/N just left.”

“Cool.”

“Came in lookin’ real tired.”

“People get tired.”

“You look real tired.”

Bucky paused, looked Sam dead in the eye. “You implying something?”

Sam sipped his coffee. “I don’t know. You implying something?”

They stared each other down. The air crackled. Somewhere in the distance, a tumbleweed rolled by. A raven cawed.

“You need sleep,” Bucky muttered.

“I’ll sleep when the truth sleeps,” Sam snapped back.

Then Sam dramatically left the room—only to storm back in ten seconds later to grab a banana. He peeled it with authority and left again.

Later that morning, when Sam had finally left for a jog—or more accurately, a neighborhood reconnaissance mission—you found yourself back in the kitchen. You were putting away a dish, humming quietly to yourself, when a pair of warm arms slid around your waist.

You didn’t jump. You never did when it was him.

“Hey,” Bucky murmured against your neck, voice soft now, stripped of the earlier smugness he reserved for sparring with Sam. His lips brushed your skin like a secret.

“Hey yourself,” you whispered, leaning back into his chest. “You’re not worried Sam’s going to install surveillance cameras?”

“He probably already has.” You both laughed.

He rested his chin on your shoulder. “I left my mug out on purpose, you know.”

You turned your head to look at him, brow raised. “Seriously?”

Bucky shrugged, expression boyishly proud. “He’s been circling for weeks. Figured we’d give him a trail to follow. Let the man feel like he cracked the case.”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “You are so chaotic.”

He grinned. “You love it.”

You turned in his arms, resting your hands on his chest. “Yeah… I kinda do.”

He kissed you then. Slow. Sweet. Familiar. The kind of kiss that said, even with a super-spy roommate and questionable mugs, this? This is real.

Later that night you bumped into Sam, sitting on the couch. He was hunched forward, elbows on knees, staring ahead

“Where are you going?” he asked, voice low and suspicious, eyes narrowing like you’d just confessed to treason.

You froze. “Uh. Laundry?”

“Interesting,” he said, voice dripping with suspicion. “You know who else said they had laundry tonight?”

You blinked. “…Literally everyone who owns clothes?”

Sam didn’t smile. He leaned in, voice lowering like he was revealing national security secrets. “Barnes. Same night. Same floor. Same time.”

You paused just long enough to regret getting out of your room.

“It’s a laundry room, Sam,” you said flatly. “That’s how they work. People… use it.”

“Mmmhm,” he replied, writing something cryptic in his notebook. The pen squeaked aggressively against the page.

Just then, the door swung open—and in walked Bucky Barnes, freshly showered, damp hair swept back like a shampoo commercial, whistling something suspiciously upbeat.

 “Y/N. Wilson,” he greeted smoothly.

“Barnes,” Sam said, staring like he was trying to burn a hole through his soul with his eyes.

You smiled. Just a regular smile. Harmless. No romantic undertones. Just two coworkers… being cordial.

Totally.

 “You know... I was asking Y/N here,” Sam said, still squinting, “about her suspiciously coordinated laundry schedule.”

Bucky didn’t miss a beat. “Must be fate.”

You coughed, choking down a laugh.

Sam slammed his notebook shut with the kind of theatrical flair that screamed “I was born for this drama.”

“Enough. You think I’m not onto you. But I see things.”

Bucky raised a brow. “You seeing ghosts again?”

“I’m seeing clues, Barnes. Don’t play dumb. You two doing laundry together. The mugs. The vanishing act during last Tuesday’s debrief—twenty minutes. Both of you. Gone.”

You opened your mouth, searching for a reasonable explanation, but let’s be honest—this was Sam. There was no “reasonable” left. This man had turned your laundry schedule into a covert op.

You crossed your arms. “We went to get snacks.”

“Snacks,” Sam echoed flatly.

“Yes,” you said, trying to maintain dignity. “You know. Human food. Fuel. Chips. The sacred post-mission ritual.”

Sam’s expression didn’t change. “For twenty minutes.”

“There was a vending machine incident,” Bucky added smoothly, stepping closer, unbothered. “Y/N had a standoff with a bag of peanut M&Ms. It got intense.”

You rolled your eyes as Bucky leaned casually against the doorframe, looking way too smug for someone being accused of laundry-based espionage.

Sam was relentless. “You think this is a game? Because I’ve got spreadsheets. I’ve got charts. I have timestamps.”

“I’m flattered,” Bucky replied, folding his arms. “Didn’t realize I was your top case file.”

“You’re not,” Sam snapped. “You’re just the most suspicious.”

You shook your head, already backing toward the hallway. “Okay, well, I’m gonna go… do the thing. With the clothes. Like a normal human person.”

“Sure you are,” Sam muttered, squinting again like he was two seconds away from installing security cameras.

“Goodnight, Wilson,” Bucky said with a wink. And then—because of course—he followed you out.

“Hey!” Sam called. “This isn’t over!”

You didn’t turn around, but you did hear the sound of him furiously scribbling in that cursed notebook again.

You and Bucky sat side by side on top of the industrial dryer, the hum of the spinning machines filling the quiet room. A single overhead light flickered occasionally, casting a soft glow over the laundry baskets at your feet. The scent of fabric softener lingered in the warm air.

“He’s going to lose his mind,” you murmured, folding a hoodie with unnecessary precision.

“He already has,” Bucky said, smirking. “Tried to stick a tracker in my jacket this morning.”

You laughed, bumping your shoulder into his. “We should start leaving fake clues. Plant a puzzle piece under his pillow. Hang a tie in the garage.”

“I already put a sock in the fridge,” Bucky said casually, reaching over to pull a warm towel from the dryer.

You turned to look at him, mouth open in delight. “You didn’t.”

“I did. Red. Argyle. No explanation.”

You grinned, shaking your head. “I love you.”

Bucky chuckled, leaning in to kiss your temple. “I know.”

You went quiet for a beat, letting the rhythm of the machines and the safe warmth between you fill the space. His knee rested against yours. The scent of his cologne barely clung to the edge of his freshly laundered shirt.

He reached for your hand, twining his fingers through yours beneath the basket of still-warm socks. “He’s getting close, though. We are getting pretty obvious.”

“You wanna stop?” you asked, turning toward him.

He looked at you—really looked. And it was all soft eyes, steady presence, and a patience you hadn’t known you needed until him.

“Not a chance.”

Bucky smiled, warm and easy, and pressed his forehead lightly to yours.

“So,” you whispered, “what are we going to do when Sam actually proves something?”

“We deny everything.”

You laughed. “Even under interrogation?”

“Especially under interrogation.”

One day, he’d prove it.

But not today.

Meanwhile in the living room, Sam was writing in his notebook. On the top of the page:

CASE #110: They’re DEFINITELY Dating. And beneath it, scrawled in increasingly frantic handwriting:

shared laundry = suspicious

“Coincidentally” always sitting next to each other

Y/N smiled at him like he invented air.

Bucky smiled back.

FRIDAY pinged softly. “Sir, your blood pressure is elevated.”

“Because there’s a LIE in this house, Friday!”

War was still on.

But as long as you had Bucky Barnes looking at you like you were his whole world?

You were definitely still winning.

taglist: @svtbpbts @cupids-mf-arrow @whitewolfluvr @cece2608 @yehfitoormera @yesiamthatwierd@poodleofstardust @poodleofstardust @homeless-clown @kitasownworld @loversrocktvgirl2

A/N: it's me again, hi. just wanted to say a big thank you for all the comments and feedback i've been getting from all of you. never thought that a one-shot could turn into a series with already SEVEN PARTS. anyway, just thank you all again. i hope you're liking where this is going. see you next chapter <3

Sometimes I'll see the booktok girlies go crazy over a smutty scene or line and I'm like they would not be able to handle the stuff us tumblr/AO3 girlies write and read

Supermarket Scare

This idea is originally from @rosenclaws and I HAD to write it. (They actually did turn it into a fic which is here) I took the idea, changed a few things (Logan is boy dad in this one I fear), and idk I guess this is what came out of it lmfao

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Reader

Tropes: MILF reader <3

Warnings: None that I know of

Other tags: Logan who is GREAT with kids, but doesn’t know it, extra dramatic backstory that may not be legally accurate bc I said so

Background: You’re raising your adopted son, Arlo, on your own. Wade, Al, and Logan live down the hall from you.

Description: While shopping at the grocery store, you don’t realize that Arlo has let go of the shopping cart. When you look down to talk to him, you realize that he’s gone. Thank god for Wade’s new roommate.

    “Can we get some of those little donuts?” Arlo asked, his small hand gripping the shopping cart as you walked down the bread aisle. He knew the rule, if he wanted to walk instead of riding in the cart, he had to hold onto the cart.

    “Sure,” you hummed, “What kind? The chocolate ones or the white powdered ones?” You asked.

    “The white ones,” he decided. “They’re yummy.”

    “White ones it is,” you nodded, stopping the cart in front of the bread you needed. Turning away, you reached up and grabbed a loaf of bread. “You wanna pick out some cereal while we’re here too?” You asked, turning back to the cart, only to find that Arlo was gone. 

    Looking down the aisle, he was nowhere to be seen.

================

    Logan stood on one side of the aisle, observing the different kinds of granola bars. Why were there so many goddamn flavors anyway? His focus was drawn away from the boxes on the shelves when he felt a tug on his pants.

    Looking down, he saw a young boy with tears falling down his cheeks.

    “Uh,” Logan froze, not sure how to interact with a child. “Hi.”

    “I can’t find my mama,” the boy cried, his tears coming down harder.

    “What does she look like?” He asked, kneeling down so he was closer to the kid’s height.

    The boy only cried in response, clearly scared and missing his mom.

    “Alright,” he replied, looking around as he stood up and tried to decide what to do. “Let’s go to the front of the store. Then they can find your mom, okay?”

    The boy nodded, letting go of Logan’s pants to hold out both arms at the man. Grabby hands. How could anyone say no to that?

    Logan sighed, debating it in his head before leaning down and scooping the boy into his arms. As he walked to the front of the store, the boy’s tears slowed until they eventually came to a stop. The boy laid his head down on Logan’s shoulder while one of his hands held an iron grip on the front of Logan’s flannel.

    “Excuse me,” Logan spoke, walking up to the customer service desk.

    “How can I help you?” The woman at the desk asked.

    “He can’t find his mom,” Logan explained, nodding towards the boy in his arms.

    “Let me make an announcement,” the worker gave the boy a sympathetic smile. She picked up a phone from the counter, putting it up to her ear and hitting a few buttons on the keypad. “Attention shoppers, we have a lost little boy at the customer service desk. If he is your child, please come pick him up.” After the announcement was made, she hung the phone up.

    “Alright, kid,” Logan said. “Now you just gotta wait for your mom to come get you.”

    “I’m Cherie,” the worker spoke softly to the boy. “You wanna stay here with me while we wait on your mom?” She offered, holding out her hands.

    Logan moved to pull the child away from him and hand him to Cherie, but Arlo began to cry again. His grip on Logan’s flannel tightened.

    “C’mon kid, you gotta let go,” Logan encouraged.

    The boy cried harder, bawling as he tried to desperately stay in Logan’s arms.

    “It’s alright, angel,” Cherie hushed. Based on her tone, Logan could tell that this woman had certainly dealt with kids before. She was definitely a better person to watch the boy temporarily, but kids want what they want.

    “Okay, okay,” Logan relented, holding the boy close to his chest again. “I’ll stay, just stop crying. You don’t have to cry.” He looked to the worker, “I’ll stay with him ‘til his mom gets here.”

    Despite being secure in Logan’s arms again, the tears didn’t stop.

    “Shhh,” Logan attempted, gently swaying with the boy in his arms. He wasn’t sure what he was doing, but he’d seen mothers do it with their babies before.

    The tears just kept coming.

    Logan looked around, spotting a small display of stuffed animals. He reached out with one hand, grabbing the first one he could and holding it up in front of the boy.

    “Look at this,” he redirected the boy’s attention, shaking the toy slightly.

    Sniffling a few times, the boy in his arms slowly stopped crying. He used his free hand to grab the animal, pulling it to his chest.

    “Fox,” he said simply, looking at the orange and white stuffie in his arm. “I like foxes. Thanks.” His voice was barely more than a whisper.

    “Yeah, it’s a fox. You’re welcome,” Logan nodded, just happy that he had made the kid stop crying. With his free hand, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a few dollars. “For the fox,” he commented to the worker, who just smiled and nodded.

    Logan moved to sit down on a bench in the customer service area. As expected, the boy refused to move from his lap. So, there they sat. Logan, a mutant, and on his lap, a lost kid holding a stuffed fox. Quite the pair.

================

    “Oh thank god!” You exclaimed as you walked into the customer service area. “Arlo!”

    “Mama!” Arlo exclaimed from where he sat on a man’s lap.

    “Told you she’d be here,” the man said as he helped Arlo down from his lap. He looked familiar, but you were more concerned about Arlo.

    The moment his feet hit the ground, Arlo was running towards you with his arms reaching out.

    As he reached you, you dropped to one knee so you could wrap your arms around him. Your arms held him tightly to your chest.

    “Honey, I’m so glad you’re okay. I was so worried,” you breathed out, closing your now teary eyes as you held him.

    “I’m sorry,” he said softly, beginning to cry as you held him.

    “Hey, it’s alright, sweetheart,” you assured, pulling away enough so you could see each other’s faces. “You’re not in trouble. Just promise me you won’t run off like that ever again.”

    “I promise,” he nodded, leaning back in to cling to you.

    You slowly stood, picking Arlo up as you did so.

    “Thank you so much,” you spoke to the man that had been with Arlo, who was now standing. Now that you got a good look at him, you knew why you recognized him. “Wait, you’re Wade’s roommate, aren’t you?” You asked.

    Logan gives you a strange look, so you continue talking.

    “We live down the hall,” you explained. “Arlo loves talking Wade’s ear off whenever we run into each other.”

    “Probably because they’re on the same learning level,” Logan joked. He held out a hand for you to shake as he introduced himself. “Logan.”

    You supported Arlo on your hip as you took his hand in yours. As you shook his hand, you gave him your name in return.

    “And, of course, you’ve met Arlo,” you added, letting go of his (very warm, very large) hand and squeezing the boy in your arms for emphasis.

    “Arlo,” Logan smiled slightly at the boy. He hadn’t expected the little munchkin to grow on him so quickly, yet here he was.

    “I knew you,” Arlo stated.

    “You knew it was Logan?” You asked.

    “I knew he was Wade’s friend,” he smiled proudly. “The big guy with kitty ears,” he clarified, pointing to Logan’s hair and giggling.

    “Kitty ears?” Logan asked, raising a brow. “I’ve never gotten that before.”

    “I like them,” Arlo hummed happily. “They look like fox ears too,” he observed, holding up the stuffed fox with both hands.

    Logan let out a breathy chuckle, tucking his hands in his pockets. 

    “Thank you again,” you told Logan. “I really owe you big time,” you smiled. “It’s just me and Arlo, I don’t know what I would’ve done if something happened.”

    “No need,” Logan shook his head. Now that he’d learned it was just you and Arlo, he decided to try and flirt with you. “He’s a nice kid. And he’s got a very nice mom,” Logan gave you a small grin, which came across as more of a smirk.

    You aren’t sure how to react. It wasn’t like you had guys lining up to date you. Most of them didn’t want to flirt with a single mom. You weren’t even sure if he was flirting. What could you say? You were a little out of practice.

    “At least let me make you dinner,”  you offered. You tried not to sound too hopeful, but you were almost positive that you’d failed.

    “Pretty please,” Arlo chimed in, sticking out his bottom lip and giving Logan his most convincing puppy dog eyes.

    “Well when you put it like that,” Logan smiled, reaching a hand out to ruffle Arlo’s hair, which earned him a giggle. “I’d love to.”

    “If tomorrow night works for you, we don’t have anything going on,” you suggested.

    “Sure,” Logan nodded. “I’m free.”

    After deciding on a time, you caught a glance of your watch and realized you had to get Arlo to home to make dinner tonight.

    “We should get home, gotta finish shopping and get this little gremlin fed,” you chuckled. “Arlo, tell Logan goodbye.”

    “Bye!” Arlo gave Logan a big grin. “We can play when you come over tomorrow.”

    “Sounds fun,” Logan nodded, smiling at Arlo.

    “We’ll see you tomorrow,” you smiled. “And feel free to stop by anytime,” you added as you started to walk away.

================

    “Mama! There’s someone at the door! I bet it’s Logan,” Arlo exclaimed, running into the kitchen, where you were working on finishing dinner.

    “Okay, okay,” you chuckled, making sure nothing would burn as you wiped your hands off on a towel and headed to the door with Arlo. You checked the peephole, confirming that it was Logan, before opening the door.

    You and Logan didn’t have a chance to speak before Arlo was jumping up and down.

    “Logan!” He grinned, practically vibrating with excitement. He held both hands out for Logan.

    “Hey, bub,” Logan greeted, picking Arlo up into his arms with a small ‘woosh’ sound. He then turned his attention to you, smiling softly.

    “I’m just finishing up dinner,” you hummed, stepping aside and letting Logan in. You shut the door behind him as he toed off his shoes neatly next to the door.

    “Take your time,” Logan replied, not wanting you to feel pressured.

    “That means we can go play in the living room,” Arlo giggled. “Me and Fink were just playing in there.”

    “Fink?” Logan raised a brow. What the hell was a Fink?

    “Yeah,” he nodded. “The fox you got me. His name is Fink.”

    “Oh,” Logan chuckled softly. “We can go play with Fink before dinner as long as it’s alright with your mom.”

    “Please mama,” Arlo looked at you, giving you his brightest smile. “Can me and Logan go play while you cook?”

    “You can,” you laughed softly at Arlo’s excitement. “Play nice, okay?”

    “I will!” He promised, wriggling around until Logan put him down. He grabbed the man’s hand, tugging on it. “C’mon, c’mon, I wanna show you my toys.”

    You and Logan shared an amused look before Logan let Arlo drag him off to your living room.

================

    “Hey, you two, dinner’s rea-,” you stopped mid sentence as you walked into the living room. You hadn’t expected the scene in front of you.

    Logan sat on the floor with Arlo, who’s hair was now pulled up into two tufts on top of his head.

    “Look mama!” Arlo spoke proudly. “I asked Logan to make us match! Do we look cool?”

    “You look very cool, sweetheart,” you chuckled softly. “You’re both very handsome. But even cool guys have to eat dinner.”

    “Yeah, to be big and strong,” Arlo nodded, hopping up from the floor and rushing off to the table.

    Logan stood up from the floor, groaning softly.

    “Didn’t know you were a hairdresser,” you joked as he began following you to the table as well.

    “Well when he gives me those big puppy eyes, I can’t say no,” Logan defended.

    “You’ve got me there,” you chuckled softly. “You can go sit at the table, I’ll bring in dinner.”

================

    Dinner with Logan felt good. Domestic. Arlo yapped about his current favorite show while you and Logan chuckled. As much as you loved Arlo, you did want to talk to Logan without having every other sentence be about Nubs the pooba boy from a Star Wars show Arlo was obsessed with.

    “Alright, bud, it’s time to head to bed,” you hummed to Arlo. After dinner, the three of you had stayed at the table talking, and now it was time for him to get some sleep.

    “Do I have to?” Arlo frowned. “I wanna stay up and play with Logan some more.”

    “Listen to your mom,” Logan replied before you could. “If you go to bed now, we can play another time. Deal?”

    “Deal,” Arlo nodded, accepting Logan’s offer. He climbed out of his chair and walked off in the direction of his room.

    “If you wanna wait in the living room, I’ll be back out after I get him down,” you told Logan as you stood.

    Logan gave you a nod before you walked off after Arlo to help him get ready for bed.

    “I like Logan,” Arlo stated as you stepped into his room. “He’s fun.”

    You chuckled softly, getting into Arlo’s dresser to pull out a couple pairs of his favorite pajamas. One was yellow and covered in dinosaurs, while the other was light blue with green stripes.

    “Which pajamas do you wanna wear tonight?” You asked, holding up both pairs for him to pick from.

    “Dinosaurs!” He grinned.

    “Dinosaurs it is,” you nodded, putting the other pajamas back in the drawer for another night.

    Once Arlo was changed into his pajamas, you helped him brush his teeth. The two of you went back into his room so that he could lay down.

    “Wait!” Arlo gasped before he could climb into bed. “I have to go get Fink and tell Logan goodnight.”

    Of course he had to tell Logan goodnight. What had you been thinking?

================

    “Logan!” Arlo giggled as he ran into the living room. Logan was sitting on the couch as he waited for you to come back.

    “I thought you were going to bed,” Logan chuckled at Arlo’s energy.

    “Had to come get Fink,” Arlo answered, grabbing the stuffed fox from where he’d left it on a chair before dinner. “And I wanted to tell you goodnight,” he smiled, climbing on the couch next to Logan and wrapping his arms around the man to the best of his abilities.

    Logan was surprised, to say the least. It wasn’t exactly a regular occurrence for kids to come up and hug him. After a split second of shock, he wrapped both arms around Arlo and gave him a soft squeeze.

    “G’night,” he hummed before letting go of Arlo.

    “Goodnight,” Arlo grinned, planting a kiss on Logan’s cheek before hopping up and running back to his room where you were waiting on him.

    “You ready to go to sleep now?” You asked as he hopped up on the bed.

    “Yep!” He nodded, crawling under his blankets.

    As he got settled, you leaned over and flicked on his night light. Then, tucked him into bed, smiling as he wiggled around to get comfortable.

    “Do you think we can get ice cream with Logan and Wade one day?” Arlo asked hopefully.

    “We’ll see, sweetie,” you chuckled, leaning down to press a kiss to his forehead.

    “Goodnight, mama,” he smiled softly at you, “I love you.”

    “Night, bud. I love you,” you replied, standing from the bed and heading for the door. “Sleep tight,” you added, flicking the lightswitch and leaving his room, pulling the door closed as you did.

    Now that he was in bed, you made your way back to the living room.

    “He’s in bed,” you spoke as you entered the room. “He’ll be out in a few minutes. That kid can fall asleep anywhere,” you chuckled softly, plopping down on the couch next to Logan. You left a little bit of space between the two of you, not wanting to make things weird.

    “It must be nice,” Logan joked, an amused breath leaving his nose.

    “One time I found him asleep halfway through using the bathroom. He had his head leaned over against the toilet paper roll,” you laughed at the memory.

    “Jesus,” Logan laughed along with you. “He must keep you on your toes.”

    “You have no idea,” you chuckled, pulling one leg up onto the couch so you could face Logan as you talked. “He’s got enough energy for about a dozen kids. But when he’s out, he sleeps like the dead.”

    “He definitely has the energy,” Logan agreed. “But he seems like a good kid.”

    “He is,” you smiled proudly. “He’s a great kid. One of the sweetest kids I know. Maybe I just think that because I’m biased,” you joked.

    “I don’t think so,” Logan smiled. “He’s sweet. When he and I were playing earlier while you cooked, he was always offering to share whatever toy he had. Not a lot of kids are offering to share things.”

    “I try my best with him. I wasn’t sure if I was ready to be a mom, but then Arlo came along, and I dunno, it was just, it was right,” you spoke fondly.

    “It can’t be easy being a single mother,” Logan started, “You’re doin’ great. He’s lucky to have you.”

    “Thank you,” you said softly. Nobody had ever told you anything like that before. You weren’t really sure how to react. “I hadn’t really expected to be a single mom, but I don’t have any regrets. I adopted him when he was just a baby, but that’s a story for another time.”

    “I didn’t realize,” Logan replied. “He’s even luckier to have you than I thought, then.”

    You smiled at Logan, feeling so grateful that the mishap at the supermarket had happened. You enjoyed having him around.

=================

    “Tonight was nice,” you told Logan as you walked him to the door. It was getting late, and you had to be up the next morning.

    Logan put his shoes on while you opened the door.

    “I had a good time,” Logan smiled slightly at you as he stood.

    You both stepped into the hallway, and you pulled the door most of the way around behind you.

    “Thank you again, for yesterday,” you hummed, leaning against the wall next to your door.

    “No, thank you,” he replied, “For dinner. It’s not often I get a home cooked meal.”

    “Well, feel free to come by for more anytime,” you smiled up at him, “Even if it’s just chicken nuggets and mac n cheese, you’re more than welcome to join us.”

    Logan chuckled softly, nodding at your invitation.

    “I’d say that you two are welcome to drop by Wade and I’s place, but that is not fit for children,” he joked.

    You laughed, unable to help yourself. Joking with Logan felt so natural.

    “Well,” Logan spoke again. “I should get out of your hair, but I’ll see ya around, yeah?” He tried not to sound too hopeful.

    “Yeah, I’ll see you around,” you nodded in response.

     Logan hesitated for a fraction of a second before leaning in and placing a barely there kiss on your cheek.

    “I’d really like to see you again sometime. As a date,” he admitted. “I understand that dating is more difficult when you have a kid because you have to consider Arlo when you make decisions, but I’d like to see where this goes.” He couldn’t remember the last time he’d asked someone else, and all he could do was pray he wasn’t making a fool of himself.

    “I would love that, Logan,” you grinned. He was the first man to ever consider Arlo when it came to dating you. He seemed like the type of man to know that you had to put Arlo first. “Arlo is having a sleepover at my sister’s with his cousins this weekend. Maybe we could get dinner then? Just the two of us this time.”

    “That sounds great,” Logan nodded, trying and failing to fight off a smile. He felt like a goddamn blushing school boy. “I’ll come by at seven so we can go to dinner.”

    “Perfect,” you smiled. You leaned up, placing a quick peck on his lips. “I can’t wait.”

    Logan was shocked that you’d kissed him, but he certainly wasn’t complaining. He opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by a voice from inside your apartment.

    “Mama?” Arlo called out for you from his room. He must’ve had a nightmare or want a glass of water.

    “Duty calls,” you joked. “Goodnight Logan,” you hummed, stepping back into your apartment.

    “Night,” he replied, giving you a small nod as you shut the apartment door to go check on Arlo.

    After the door was shut, Logan realized he was smiling like an absolute idiot. He hadn’t been this excited for a date since…. He couldn’t actually remember.

    Turning on his heel, he headed down the hallway back to Wade’s. He couldn’t stop smiling.

    Walking into the apartment, he groaned as he saw Wade laying on the couch as if he had been waiting for Logan to get back.

    “Stop looking at me like that,” he huffed, shutting the door behind him.

    “Like what, peanut?” Wade shrugged. “I just wanna know how things went with the hot milf down the hall.”

    “Fuck off,” Logan rolled his eyes, dropping his keys on the entry table and walking off to go to bed.

    “I’ll take that as ‘It went great, Wade, you officially have a nephew now’. Is that about right?” He called after Logan.

    Logan ignored Wade, shaking his head. He had to admit, though, things had gone great with the hot milf down the hall. And it would only get better.

chill, Loki x GN!Reader

A/N: here to post a super duper quick oneshot in between my studying for finals. I couldn't resist this one, and it's very self indulgent as I deal with another bout of anxiety pains. Still, even if it's not particularly relatable to everyone, I hope it is still entertaining enough to be enjoyed <33 I hope to be back soon with more!

thank you to @cafekitsune for my usual choice of dividers! :)

(we don't get enough soft Loki smiles, okay? Loki's literally just a girl, this diva needs to smile more)

ALSO!!!

TW/CW: mentions to anxiety here!! Not a panic attack or anything, but reader is mentioned to be actively dealing with it and is dealing with anxiety related muscle tension

It was a loud thrum inside of you. You usually explained it as it being in your head, but you also felt it in the aches all over your body, your tense shoulders, in the feeling of your heart sitting heavy and uncomfortable in your chest. Every day felt like a new development. Some days, heat worked to ease the tension. Other days, it didn’t, and you had to sit there and let the uneasiness interweave itself with your being. Anxiety sucked.

For the past few days, you’d been dealing with really bad tension in the shoulders and neck. Whilst heat didn’t seem to be helping, ice was. So here you were, laying in bed on a weekend, an ice pack on the back of your neck easing the tension and the slight dizziness that came with it, your two worst companions lately.

“… What in the Norns?”

You  startle at the unexpected voice of your partner, Loki. The door to your bedroom was slightly open, and as he’d been walking by, he saw you lying on your stomach, ice pack on the back of your neck. You didn’t understand his offense.

“What is it?”

“What-” He scoffs. “What is it? Is that an ice pack, dearest?”

“Yes…? Are we cross with them at the moment?”

“Well, I might be amenable to that now.” He huffs, pointedly entering the bedroom and closing the door behind himself, as if to keep this entire conversation under wraps.

“What are you doing, my love?”

“… Icing my neck.” You say dumbly. You were clearly missing something. “I’m all tense again and anxious deep inside and it’s like churning upwards-” You cut your rambling off. Sometimes it felt like no one truly could understand what it was like. Especially because it was so different from person to person, too.

He sighs, moving to sit on the edge of your bed, a hand on your lower back. You can see his lip twitch briefly when you mention how tense you are, but he schools it, opting to be mature. For now.

“I am sorry you feel that way once again, my love.” He rubs your back gently. “But I am also deeply offended by your choice of tool this time around.”

You turn your head back around to look at him curiously, eyebrow raised.

He sighs dramatically, looking up to the ceiling briefly.

“You have chosen to use a measly packet of frozen, quickly melting, gelatinous mixture to ease your pains. Have you forgotten who you share your wonderful bed with every night?” He mirrors your raised eyebrow. A challenge.

Feeling particularly tired and drained, you can’t exactly figure out what he’s criticizing now.

“… You wanted me to use the bag of peas instead…? More surface are?”

He huffs indignantly.

“No. You have a wonderful, powerful, attractive, intelligent God in your bed, my darling.” He sits up higher as he talks, looking all proud. “What’s more, is that I am a Jotun. Or did your clever, delicious mind opt to forget that piece of information for today?”

As he talks, he leans over, pressing a gentle, fleeting kiss to your right shoulder blade.

“Loki… I know that. But this is a silly problem. Nothing too serious, and you always claim you’re ‘too busy’ to do stuff around the house.” You say gently, sighing with relief as you move the ice pack slightly to the left, letting it hit a new part of your neck.

He looks at the gel pack as if it has personally insulted his choice of Asgardian garb one too many times throughout his long life.

“My darling…” He croons, putting on that charming tone he likes to use when he wants to get out of something. Another kiss to your shoulder blade. “I don’t do things around the house because I am a God. And a Prince, if we must be specific. But you… I would do anything for you. What’s more, I love to do you.” He speaks slowly, the last bit evidently making him grin.

You huff, not dignifying him with a response to that salacious comment.

“That’s great, baby, but what are you offering here?”

“What am I offering? I am offering to be a mortal’s ‘ice pack’. You should be very, very honoured. Kneeling at my feet, even.” He murmurs.

“Maybe later.” You quip back dryly, turning back to rest your cheek against the pillow.

He makes an unhappy sound, and suddenly, the weight of the ice pack disappears from the back of your neck. Your hand reaches for it, trying to find it, when Loki’s suddenly finds yours.

“Do not fret, dearest. Your favourite little ice pillow is back in your freezing compartment.” He explains calmly, fingers interlacing with yours, his lips suddenly kissing your knuckles, too.

“It’s called a freezer, Loki.”

“Mm.” He hums noncommittally. “Do you still ache?”

“Yeah, but it’s not as bad.”

“Well, with the ice having abandoned you, I suppose I must rise to the challenge.” He sighs again, almost sadly, as if to express how difficult his life is.

As if he doesn’t lounge around your place like a cat every day.

“You’re the one who made the pack disappear, it’s literally your doing-”

“Shhh, shh, shh, shh.” He shushes you, petting your head like a mother would do to a fussy babe.

You feel almost offended enough to hit his chest or something. But he wouldn’t even care. In fact, he’d like it.

“Fret not, my dearest, sweetest love. You are in the hands of an expert masseur.”

“Lucky me. This won’t end in sex, though.” You warn him.

“Well… not before I’ve even started, no.” He agrees, chuckling softly at his wit.

Just as the back of your neck has started to go back to room temperature and you’ve eased your face back into the pillow, you jolt at the feeling of cold fingers on your neck.

There’s a snort from the (supposedly) very clever and sage God behind you.

“Oops… I forgot to warn you. My mistake.” He says with a tad of forced remorse.

He goes quiet for a bit, moving onto your shared bed in order to sit up against the headboard, letting his hand rest more comfortably and naturally onto your neck. There’s another brief fizz of magic, and then you hear him opening some book or other.

“You can rest now, my love.” He says tenderly, tone much more honest, now. “My hand shall stay there for as long as you need and bring you eternal relief. Unlike that ice pillow.” He mutters derisively.

“… Thank you.” Your answer comes softly, too.

He rubs a cold thumb over the back of your neck in response.

You both sit in quaint, comfortable silence for a while, the sound of book pages turning soothing you into near-sleep. As promised, his hand does not stray, move, or lift itself off your neck. Eventually, the cold of it even gets to be too much, and you move to reach for the blankets, intending to warm yourself up with them.

Loki’s side of the bed goes quiet, and his hand lifts off your neck. He tuts softly.

“What is it now, dearest? Are you cold, now?” He teases softly, leaning down to press a kiss to the cold skin of your neck. He could never resist.

“Mmhmm. Thank you for your services, babe, but I think that was enough for now.” You reply, still feeling a tad bit sleepy.

You pull the covers over yourself, and lay down with the intent of a nap. Your peace doesn’t last long at all, before Loki slides in beneath the covers with you, hands seeking you out and grasping at you. He attaches himself to you like a barnacle, and you can’t help your sleepy smile.

“I thought you were reading…?” You say lazily, words slow and tired.

“Well, yes, but I’ve read that story hundreds of times. It’s centuries old, darling. You are not.” He flirts, kissing your jaw.

“No, but you are.” You snort.

“I see how it is. I was going to offer you a massage, you know. One to warm you up, now that it’s clear just how sensitive you are to temperatures. Mortals… why was I even surprised?” He sighs. “That offer is certainly off the table now that you have called me old.”

He goes quiet again, and you nearly manage to fall back asleep. But of course, he goes back to talking all of a sudden.

“Might I remind you how very delightful I am as a bed partner, my love? Hm? Might I? We are formidable together. Truly. A true menace to your neighbors’ peace and respite. But yes… my mistake, of course. I am old.” He whispers into your ear, the quiet of it not at all enough to stifle his apparent offense.

“… Sorry.” You mumble back.

“Yes, well… I suppose that’ll do. I can’t expect mere mortals to be consistently eloquent, can I?” He murmurs, now focusing intently on kissing your neck, clearly deeming your half-assed apology satisfactory.

“You’re getting soft.” You tease. “You’re so easy to satiate nowadays.”

“Nonsense, dearest. On both counts.” He grins, biting your neck briefly.

The Secret Notes

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Summary: Bucky leaves little notes for you.

Word Count: 1.4k

Warnings: humor, fluff, secret dating, cute doodles

A/N: this can be read as a standalone even though it's part of a series called "You Said What". It 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, part 4, part 5. thanks for reading, i hope you like it :)

It all started one afternoon when you fell asleep on the couch, a book slipping from your hand. Bucky passed by and found you there, peaceful and unaware. Smiling to himself, he gently picked up the book and noticed the page you’d been reading.

With a quiet laugh, he scribbled a note on a scrap of paper:

“You stopped here. Heroine’s rule: naps first, saving the world later. - B”

He slid the note inside the book, marking the page, and placed it on the table beside you. As he left, he couldn’t help but smile at the idea of you finding it when you woke up.

The next day, you found the note in your book, and you couldn’t help but smile. It was silly, but it made your heart warm. You had to reply, of course.

Taking a fresh piece of paper, you wrote:

“A nap is a hero’s secret weapon, Bucky. Thanks for the reminder. If I do end up saving the world today, I’ll be sure to credit you. - Y/N”

You tucked the note inside his jacket pocket, hoping he’d get a good laugh when he found it. It felt so simple, so small, but the thought of sharing little moments like this with him made everything else seem a little brighter.

It wasn’t long before the notes became a daily exchange. They started off funny—sometimes quoting ridiculous lines from movies, or making playful jokes about the Avengers’ absurdly weird missions. You would find them in your locker, under your coffee mug, or tucked inside your boots. They never failed to make you smile.

Even now, after months together, he still took the time to leave you notes and little reminders.

After a particularly brutal mission, you found another note tucked into the pocket of your jacket. You nearly missed it in the rush to get ready for a debriefing. But when you unfolded it, you found it written on a torn piece of notebook paper, and a doodle of a sleeping cat at the bottom.

“You’re allowed to rest, you know. I’ll guard your coffee while you nap.”

You smiled before you could stop yourself, warmth blooming in your chest. It had been a rough couple of days—bruised ribs, no sleep. The note felt like a soft exhale in the middle of chaos.

Unfortunately, you weren’t the only one in the hallway.

“Whatcha got there?”

You spun around to see Sam squinting at the piece of paper now very obviously in your hand. And before you could shove it back into your pocket, the man had already snatched it like he was intercepting a rogue football.

“Sam, come on—”

He blinked and read it once. Then again. Then a third time.

 ““You’re allowed to rest, you know. I’ll guard your coffee while you nap”...and there’s a little cat at the bottom. Why is there a cat?! WHO DRAWS CATS?!”

You stared at him, trying very hard not to look like someone caught hiding a secret. “You done?”

“Oh, I’m so not done,” Sam said, holding the note like it was radioactive. “This is a nap-themed love letter, Y/N.”

You rolled your eyes. “It’s just a...friendly reminder.”

“With a doodle,” he said, as if that was damning evidence in a court of law. “Who writes you sweet notes about coffee and naps after a mission? That’s like—domestic.”

“Maybe I wrote it to myself,” you tried.

“You’re not a cat doodler. I know your vibe. You don’t doodle.”

You grabbed for the note. He dodged you.

“Sam—give it.”

“I will not. I’m onto something here.”

Just then, Bucky strolled around the corner with a cup of coffee in hand and a granola bar between his teeth, looking way too casual.

Sam froze.

You froze.

Bucky stopped mid-chew, immediately sensing the chaos in the air. “…Did I miss something?”

Sam, eyes narrowed like a detective in a sitcom, turned slowly toward him.

“Barnes.”

Bucky blinked. “Wilson.”

Sam raised the note like it was a badge. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about this, would you?”

Bucky looked at the paper. Then at you. Then back to Sam.

There was a half-second pause.

And then Bucky shrugged. “Cute cat.”

You choked on a laugh and immediately turned it into a cough.

Sam squinted. “That’s it? That’s all you’ve got? ‘Cute cat’?”

Bucky popped the last of the granola bar into his mouth, completely unfazed. “You’re getting worked up over a doodle.”

Sam pointed at both of you, eyes wide with dramatic betrayal. “Okay, I don’t know what is going on, but something is going on. I feel it in my soul.”

You patted him on the shoulder. “Maybe you just need a nap.”

“I—NO! No, you don’t get to use the nap line on me! That’s part of the conspiracy!”

Sam was already walking away. “I’ll guard your coffee, Wilson,” Bucky called over his shoulder, deadpan.

The hallway finally settled into silence after Sam’s echoing footsteps disappeared around the corner. You let out a small laugh, shaking your head in disbelief.

Bucky lingered beside you, coffee in hand. His eyes flicked toward you, and the smallest smile curved at the corner of his lips.

“So… cat doodles are suspicious now?”

You laughed under your breath. “Apparently. Next time, maybe draw a dragon or something. Keep him guessing.”

“Well,” he said, voice low and amused. “That could’ve gone worse.”

You glanced down at the note in your hand, then back at him. “I mean... he didn’t accuse you of writing love sonnets. So, yeah—definitely could’ve been worse.”

Bucky huffed a laugh, leaning casually against the wall. “Should I stop? The notes, I mean. I didn’t mean to... cause a scene.”

You looked up at him, warmth already blooming in your chest. “No. Don’t stop.”

His brow quirked slightly, curious. “No?”

“They’re one of the best parts of my day,” you said honestly, your voice soft. “They make the hard days easier, and the quiet ones feel full. I’d rather risk a hundred Sam-level interrogations than miss even one of them.”

A grin pulled at Bucky’s mouth, slow and sweet. “Yeah?”

You gave him a playful nudge. “Even if Sam tries to launch a full-scale investigation.”

Bucky let out a quiet laugh, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Let him. He doesn’t scare me.”

Then, softer, with that familiar gentleness he always saved just for you, he added, “I’ll keep leaving them, then. Every note, every doodle... they’re little pieces of me. And you’re the only one I want finding them.”

Your smile widened, heart fluttering in that helpless, happy kind of way.

“I guess that makes you my favorite mystery author,” you said lightly.

Bucky leaned in, his shoulder brushing yours. “Only for you, doll.”

You reached into your jacket pocket and pulled out a folded note—you’d planned to tuck it under his pillow later, but something made you decide to give it to him right now. You held it out to him, your smile a little shy.

He opened it slowly. Inside, your handwriting was a little messier than usual, but still clearly yours.

“You’ve got a way of making everything seem a little brighter, even when it’s a rough day. I’m lucky for it.”

Bucky looked up at you, lips parted just slightly. For a long second, he said nothing.

And then he stepped closer, closing the small space between you. His hand brushed yours, slow and warm, and he laced your fingers together.

“You’re gonna destroy me with these notes,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper.

You leaned into him, heart full and beating a little too fast. “Guess we’re even.”

Bucky pressed a kiss to your forehead—gentle, lingering, like a promise he never needed to say out loud. Then he tucked your note carefully into the inside pocket of his jacket, where all the best ones lived.

“Don’t tell Sam,” you whispered with a smile.

Meanwhile in the kitchen...

Sam sat at the table, muttering to himself with a pen tucked behind his ear and a spiral notebook open in front of him. On the top of the page in large, underlined letters:

Case #109: WHO THE HELL IS Y/N DATING???

Underneath it were four bullet points:

suspicious nap note

Bucky is too chill

cat doodle = code??

is Steve somehow involved???

This was war now.

And you and Bucky? You were winning.

taglist: @svtbpbts @cupids-mf-arrow @whitewolfluvr @cece2608 @yehfitoormera @yesiamthatwierd @poodleofstardust @poodleofstardust

talking in your sleep pt 2

Summary: You wake up 14 hours after your Melatonin-aided much needed sleep and face the aftermath of your confession to Loki. A confession you believed was a dream.

Pairing: Loki x Reader (friends to lovers)

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: implied smut, Loki being hot (not sure if this needs to be a warning but it's there), mild angst (?) [let me know if i missed anything!]

The first thing you noticed when you woke up was that it was dark outside. You'd slept the day away. Maybe even more. But you felt rested, fully energized, ready to go back to your office and face the behemoth that was the security system of the Ten Rings.

Just as you were about to stand up and head back to said office, you vaguely remembered Tony's words about not wanting to see you in your office for the next seven days. That was when you noticed the next thing. This wasn't your home. You didn't even remember leaving the tower. But you did remember bits and pieces of a conversation between Loki and Natasha arguing about whose room you would sleep in.

"FRIDAY?" you called out into the dark empty space. 

"Yes, Miss Y/L/N?" the AI answered. 

"Could you tell me what day it is, how long I've been asleep, and then turn the lights on at 50%?" 

"Certainly, Miss Y/L/N. It's Friday, the 16th, and you were asleep for fourteen hours. Turning on lights at 50% brightness." As light slowly filled the room, you took note of your surroundings. The neatly organized shelves, the helmets hung on the walls, the emerald green bedspread that was an almost exact match to the clothes you were wearing.

You groaned. "I'm in Loki's room?" 

"Indeed you are, Miss Y/L/N. And I've been instructed by Mister Laufeyson to tell you to meet him at the kitchen when you wake. Will that be all?" 

"Yes, FRIDAY, that will be all. Thank you." You took a look around the room, trying to remember anything more than fleeting moments of the last two hours before you fell asleep, to no avail. So you decided instead to follow FRIDAY's words and make your way down to the kitchen to meet Loki. 

Once you reached the bottom of the stairs, you noticed that the tower was strangely quiet for a Friday night. "Lo?" you called out into the quiet space, your voice echoing from the walls.

"In here, darling," you heard him call out. When you walked into the kitchen, you had to catch yourself at the sight of him wearing only a pair of green silk pajama bottoms, a match to the sheets upstairs. You willed your eyes not to roam, not to appreciate his literal godly form, to keep them trained on his face. Big mistake, because once he turned around and his eyes met yours, a devilish smirk crossed his features and his eyes roamed your form. "You are quite the beguiling sight in my colors, dear Y/N. I may have to tell Romanoff she's not getting those clothes back." 

"You plan on keeping them for yourself?" you quipped, trying your best not to let his gaze affect you. But then he set the plate in his hand down and made his way over to you, crowding your space. 

"You have your wits about you again. That's good," he said in a low almost whisper. "You should tell her you're keeping this for yourself." His tone was almost authoritative, as if he wasn't giving you room to protest. You suddenly get flashbacks of him declaring that you would stay with him while you slept in that same tone. Except this time there was a softness to his words, like he was trying to wrap you in them, in his presence. 

It's like he's seducing me, you thought to yourself. But there's no way; you're being delusional, Y/N. Of course you were. He didn't see you that way. He never would. 

You struggled to compose yourself. "I thought you had a thing against people wearing your colors." 

You felt your heartbeat at your fingertips as you watched him raise his hand and slid his finger under and along the strap of your camisole. "Perhaps under the correct circumstances, I would be willing to share." And then he looked at you through his lashes and you could've sworn your heart stopped beating altogether. 

The way you saw it, there were two options. Keep the flirty banter going and see how far he'd take it, or stop it where it stood and play it off like a joke between friends. You didn't trust yourself not to get hurt with the first choice. "Pssh," you chuckled. "You know for a second there, Lo, I could've sworn you were flirting." And you gently nudged his hand away and sat down on a stool  by the kitchen island. "Where is everybody, by the way?" 

"They went out to one of Stark's many clubs to intoxicate themselves on inferior ale and gyrate all over strangers they will cease to remember by morning. Maximoff left that out for you and told me to make sure you ate it once you woke up." 

"Why didn't you go with them?" 

"Nothing in that image fit my rendition of an enjoyable time, darling. And there are far more important things to attend to." 

"Such as?"

"Ensuring that someone I care for is taken care of after she endangered herself the way she did this week." There was no mischief in his eyes as he said the words, as he stared into yours, like he was trying to see into your soul. "Y/N, swear to me you'll never be that reckless again. When you nearly fell earlier…" He seemed to fight back his sentiment.

You placed your hand over his. "I promise," you said softly. "I just forgot--"

"You cannot afford to forget these things, Y/N." His voice sounded almost desperate. Then he took a deep breath. "I don't want to live in a world bereft of you a day sooner than I absolutely have to. I do not wish to even contemplate that world, do you understand?" You had no words, no witty comebacks, no jokes, nothing. All you could do was nod as he held on to your free hand, returning your nod as he raised your joint hands to his lips and pressed a kiss to your knuckles. He then let go and motioned to the plate of pasta in front of you. "Eat, darling." 

You did your best to focus the next several minutes solely on finishing your plate, rather than allowing your mind to wander in the direction of the smoldering shirtless god standing by the counter pretending to leaf through a book, when in reality he was watching your every movement. 

Once you were finally done he ceased his charade and walked over to place himself behind your seat. You visibly stilled as you felt him reach from behind you to slide your plate over to the side, and then proceeding to lean over and rest his chin on your shoulder. 

"What’s up?" You did your best to sound casual. He wasn’t ever like this with you. Whatever this was. So to have him behaving like this now? It was jarring, that was for sure. 

"Did you know you talked in your sleep, dear Y/N?" Your breathing hitched as you both felt and heard his words, what with him having his lips so dangerously close to your ear. The effects he and that absolutely sinful voice of his had on you felt like they were magnified. Tenfold. 

You took a deep, slow breath, trying to find your footing, finally taking notice of how he’d placed his hands on the marble top, effectively trapping you between him and the kitchen counter. You let out a half-hearted chuckle. "Nice try, Lo. I know I don't." You made a motion as if to step off your seat, but his next motions kept you right where you were, as you watched his his forearms flex ever so slightly and he stepped even closer to you and you felt his chest pressing against your upper back. It was clear the message he was trying to send across to you. Don't move an inch.

"That may be so," he started speaking again. He let go of the island and proceeded to sweep your hair over your shoulder with one hand and wrapped his other arm loosely around your waist. "But you say the most interesting things when you're under the influence of that medication, in the moments before you succumbed to its full effects." 

Your blood ran cold as you got flashbacks of the most wonderful dream. You were laying in bed, in Loki's arms, as he asked you if you were his. And you told him you were and that you were defenseless against his perfection, that you fell in love with him. Such a damn shame you don't feel the same way. 

"That wasn't a dream," you whispered, barely even able to breathe properly as you felt his nose tracing along the length of your exposed neck. "You know." You were doing your best to choke back the sob that threatened to escape you. 

"I do." 

"I'm sorry." Your voice was barely audible. Any louder and you were sure to be a sobbing mess in his arms.

"What ever for, darling?" His words came out so softly, so lovingly, with just a hint of longing. But surely you were imagining it. Right? "You've done nothing wrong."

"I don't know," you whispered, on the verge of hysterics. "I just feel like I should be apologizing for something." And then another flashback. A dream – no, a memory – of you pressing your lips to his neck right before everything went black. Your breath hitched. "I'm sorry I kissed you."

"Don't be, my precious girl," he crooned. "I quite enjoyed it. The feel of your soft, luscious lips on my skin. It was as if the universe stopped; I wanted it to. I wanted that fleeting moment to go on for eternity." What? "The only thing I did not enjoy was you succumbing to slumber before I could return the favor." Oh, you were sure you stopped breathing now. Was he really saying what you think he was saying? "No matter. You're awake now."

You went near frigid in his hold as you felt him press his lips softly to your skin, and he let out an audible exhale that felt as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. If you thought he would stop at one, you were adorably naive.

He proceeded to press kiss after kiss to your skin, each getting less chaste, more frantic. You began to question if you were still dreaming, but feeling the edges of the stool you gripped so tightly in your hands digging into your palms told you you most definitely were not. This was real. This was all real. 

"Relax, darling," he whispered into your skin before pressing an open-mouthed kiss to your neck. You could've sworn your heart stopped beating the moment you felt his tongue flick against your skin. His hold on you tightened so slightly as he moved his lips to your jaw. "You have nothing to fear. You've done nothing wrong, my little mortal." His lips moved closer to yours, stopping at the corner of your mouth and pressing a kiss there. "All you've done is the impossible." 

"Which is?" you breathed out, surprised there was any air in your lungs at all after receiving this kind of attention from him. You never thought he would; you often forbid yourself to even dream it. You wouldn't dare, because even in your dreams where you were undoubtedly the best version of yourself, even there you never saw yourself worthy of him.

"I won't tell you until you relax, dear Y/N," he teased, his lips moving against your skin, so tantalizingly close to your lips. "Let go of the breath you're holding and lean in to me." 

"I'll fall." 

"You won't. I'm here. You're safe with me. You always have been." That did you in and finally you slowly felt yourself loosening your grip on your seat, exhaling and doing exactly what he asked, leaning against him. "Good girl," he murmured, pressing another kiss to the corner of your mouth, gently tilting your head back to rest on his shoulder. "All you've done is love me. As I've loved you." 

Before you could respond, he captured your lips with his in a kiss that was heated but held such restraint, as if he was still testing the waters with you. Your heart felt like it was soaring as you started to wrap your head around what was happening, as if a fire was ignited in you that warmed your entire body. 

When he pulled away from you, you immediately felt the loss, craving his kiss once more. If you'd thought you were intoxicated by being in his presence before, you were downright drunk on it now. Addicted, even. "Oh, my love. My darling Y/N. It seems one taste of you and I've become insatiable." The feeling's mutual, you thought to yourself, unable to form words. There was that word again. Love. He turned you around in your seat so that you were facing him. "Look at me." You tilted your head up to look into his steel blue eyes, your breath hitching as you saw all the emotions swimming in them. "I want you to say it. Say the words that made me whole. I want to gaze upon your ethereal perfection as you say it. Please, Y/N." 

You took a breath, and the words spilled out of you, as if you couldn't say them fast enough. "I love you, Loki Laufeyson." 

You watched as the brightest smile lit up his face before he leaned in to kiss you again. "I love you, Y/N Y/L/N." He lifted you into his arms and you wrapped your legs around him, as if by instinct. Like you were meant to do this. Made for it, even. "The only damned shame is that we failed to tell each other sooner. I could have had you so much sooner." 

He began to walk you back up the stairs when the elevator doors dinged and opened to reveal Tony and the rest of the team coming back. He took one look at the two of you and blurted out, "I don't even wanna know. I'll see you the week after next, Y/N." 

"Keep the clothes, Y/N," Natasha hollered. "Suits you better anyway." 

You couldn't be bothered to respond, not like you could anyway. Your lips were otherwise occupied. So you gave a half-hearted thumbs up and waved goodbye at the team watching what was transpiring from the common area. 

"Well it's about goddamn time," you heard Wilson boom from the doors. "So who had money on tonight?" 

"I did," you heard Wanda answer him. "I told you all to never bet against me, but none of you listened. And now I'm rich. Should I silence Loki's room?" You didn't hear the response. You didn't care.

You faintly heard a door closing before you felt your back hit the silken sheets of his bed. "I must remember to thank Stark for giving you a week away from your duties," he murmured as he pressed kisses to your jaw and neck. "We have an abundance of lost time to make up for, my love." 

"Everyone knows exactly what's happening right now," you gasped out, your filter going completely out the window once again.

He pressed a kiss above your heart before looking up at you through his lashes. "Does that bother you? That they know?" 

A devious smirk graced your lips as you coyly shook your head. "Not really, no." 

A/N: Does this still count as fluff? I don't know anymore lol

Taglist: @lokisgoodgirl @lokischambermaid @imalovernotahater @redbluekjw @lucylaufeyson3 @thomase1 @springdandelixn @ficitve-sl0th @mochie85 @laliceee @xorpsbane @gigglingtigger @silverfire475 @cabingrlandrandomcrap @vickie5446

talking in your sleep pt 1

Summary: Loki returns from a recon mission to discover that you hadn't slept since he left. Four days ago. based on the prompt "I haven't slept in four days"

Pairing: Loki x Reader (friends to lovers)

Word Count: 3.1k

Warnings: accidental sleep deprivation, light cussing, mild angst (?), Tony's a bit of a dick [let me know if i missed anything!]

"Hey, Reindeer Games, quit blocking the door, will you? I get it, you want out of here already because you can't stand being around us. Trust me, the feeling's mutual. But standing at the door while the Quinjet's still landing won't change a damn thing."

"It will guarantee that I am the first one out these doors, Stark," Loki grumbled in response, not moving an inch from his position by the door. Stark wasn't entirely wrong; he truly didn't wish to be around the billionaire, or his oaf of a brother. But he wasn't entirely right, either; if he allowed himself a moment of honesty, he wanted out of the flying vessel so that he could see you again.

You'd started working for Stark shortly after the god had been sent back to Earth due to a deal made by Thor on his behalf with their father, the Allfather, that instead of wasting away in a cell in Asgard for a thousand years, Loki would be utilized as an asset by the Avengers along with his brother as recompense for his attack on New York. When you'd started working at the tower, you recognized him immediately because of how often the news bombarded you with his face in those few days as well as the weeks – the months, really – that followed.

Not that you were complaining, of course, it was a devastatingly handsome face.

He fully expected you to recoil the moment he saw the recognition in your eyes, but just as much as you could recognize his face immediately, you saw as well that he was not the same man--god, actually--that he was all those years ago when he led the Chitauri to wreak havoc in your home. So with all the confidence you could muster, you smiled at him just like you did the rest and said it was nice to meet him. And that started the two of you on your path to where you were now, friends. Close friends, to be certain, but despite the arguments that would be made by some that you were more.

You weren't more. He would surely know if you were.

"Leave my brother be, Stark. He does not simply wish to vacate this vessel because he's itching to be away from us. He also wishes to be reunited with our dear Lady Y/N." What was that mortal expression again? Even broken clocks were right twice a day? Yes. That was Loki's current sentiment towards his brother. Oftentimes he would read situations wrong, but this time he was dead on. 

"So what's the deal with you and her anyway, Rock of Ages? You hitting that?" 

Loki straightened his stance, as if ready to battle yet again, and faced his brother and Stark. "How dare you insinuate that I would ever harm so much as a hair on her head--"

"Brother, no, you misunderstand our genius friend." He scoffed at the words. "Friend" was not a word he would use to describe Stark. "He simply means to inquire if you're laying with Lady Y/N--"

"Don't be ridiculous, brother," he hissed. "I've simply grown accustomed to her company. And she's too intelligent to get involved with someone as nefarious as I." And too pure, he thought to himself. To make the misstep of courting her would only proceed to corrupt her untainted soul. 

"Oh I get it," Stark's words broke through his reverie. "He's in love." He didn't bother to even react to that observation. "Oh. Look at that. No snarky comeback? No 'you are all of you beneath me'? Are you actually--Oh my god Thor look at him he's seething!" 

"Stark, I implore you to desist." Thor's tone was now cautious. "Perhaps just leave him be for now." Unbeknownst to the god of mischief, his brother had observed how he behaved around you. How he treated you as if you were something precious, and on the occasions that he held you, it was as if you were a delicate petal that might wilt at his touch. Thor had his suspicions, but watching how his brother reacted to Stark's words cemented them into conclusions. His brother was in love with you, and he'd chosen the path that would risk nothing but guarantee that you stayed in his life. 

When the Quinjet landed and its doors opened, Loki let out a groaned "Finally" before striding through the Tower, down a path that was most certainly not to his chambers. Anyone who crossed his path knew to stay out of his way, what with the purposeful strides and the almost gleeful look on his face, there was no doubt he was on his way to you. 

It was only when he was just a few more steps away that he realized the sun had only began to break through the night clouds, not having fully risen. You weren't due to arrive at the Tower for another three hours.

So then why was he hearing movement coming from your office? At this hour? 

He closed the distance to your office and opened the door, half expecting staff to be doing their rounds. Instead he found you, furiously typing away at your computer as you always did, but looking more frazzled than usual.

"Y/N? Darling?" 

You jumped at the sound of his voice, not even registering a few moments ago that the door had opened. You turned your head and looked at the devastatingly handsome features of the god you were fortunate enough to call your friend. Even though every time you referred to him as such, a dull ache would make itself known in your heart. You wanted more. Of course you wanted more. You'd have to be a fool to look at him, to know him the way you did, and not want more. 

But you knew better. You knew your place. You were meek and unremarkable compared to the likes of a master assassin like Natasha, or a powerful witch like Wanda. You wouldn't even be able to defend yourself in a bar fight. Being his friend was all you'd ever get. And you had to be content with that.

I am content with that, you told yourself. Fooling absolutely no one.

"You're back already?" you blurted out, realizing you'd spent a few moments too long spaced out and staring, and hoping he didn't notice. 

"Already? Darling, I was gone for four days, I--hang on." He walked towards you, taking your hand and gently tugging you up to stand. And then he took a good hard look at you, as if trying to remember something. "Something feels amiss with you." 

"Y/N? You're way too early, even for you," Natasha's voice floated in to your office. She threw a quick glance Loki's way. "Welcome back, Laufeyson." Then she turned her attention back to you. "You're in the same clothes from Monday," she remarked, the concern beginning to lace through her voice as she observed the candy packets and coffee cups littered throughout your desk.

"Yeah. Because it's Monday," you answered, wondering why these two were acting so strange. 

"Sweetie, it's Friday. The guys left for a 4-day reconnaissance mission on Monday morning. They returned today. Have you…have you been in here the entire week?" 

Realization dawned on you as the words escaped your mouth. "I haven't slept for four days?" And then your knees buckled.

If it hadn't been for the reflexes of the god who wrapped his arm around you and held you upright, you would've for sure been on your ass on the floor right about now. "Sweetheart," he whispered into your ear, making you question if your heart picking up its pace was from the copious and questionable amounts of caffeine coursing through your bloodstream, or from his proximity to you. "Have you even eaten?" 

"Do those count?" You motioned to the empty snack packets on your desk, causing him to groan as he rested his head against your temple. 

"My darling human," he murmured, the rest of his words spoken too softly to be heard over the thundering of your heart. 

"Alright, Y/N? Sweetie? I'm gonna fix you something to eat. Something proper. And then you're gonna get some sleep. I'll tell Stark you're not reporting for work today. Now go take a shower. Can you walk on your own? Loki, let her stand." He let you go, his arms poised to catch you in case you were to stumble over again; you didn't. And you managed to make your way over to Natasha without tripping over your own feet, which gave her a bit of reassurance. "Okay. Grab a change of clothes from my closet, get yourself cleaned up. Then make your way back down here and eat something before you go to sleep, okay?" 

You nodded as you made your way upstairs. You briefly heard her tell Loki not to follow you, and then holler at Wanda to make sure you made it to her room alright, and the Sokovian met you at the top of the stairs. "Y/N, you look awful. What happened?" 

"I forgot to sleep." The look she gave you prompted you to say more. "For four days." 

She looked towards the common area, chuckling to herself. "No wonder your god looks completely beside himself." 

"He's not my god, Wanda, he's--we're--we're friends." In your compromised state, you could barely contain the hurt that laced your voice as you said the words. "Just friends." 

"But you love him," she prodded. "And I've seen the way he looks at you. That's not a look of friendship, dear one." 

"You're wrong, Wan." You may be sleep deprived, but you were adamant in your convictions. "He simply tolerates me a bit more than the rest of you, that's all. That's it and that's all." 

"If you say so, my friend," she murmured as you made it to Natasha's room. You walked straight towards the shower. "Any preference?" she called from Nat's closet.

"I just want my bits covered, Wan. I'll leave the rest to you." 

Fifteen minutes later you emerged from Nat's bathroom in a fluffy white towel, eyeing the emerald green silk camisole and shorts set that Wanda laid out for you. "Really?" You proceeded to eye her.

She shrugged in response. "Suits you. Makes you look regal." 

"I'm assuming you're not familiar with the concept of wearing certain colors in Asgardian culture, then?" At least your brain seemed like it was a bit sharper, thanks to the shower. 

"No, I am." The smirk on her face told you she'd been hanging around with Thor and Nat too much. "I'm not lying about the color making you look regal, Y/N. It really does. Regal and his." 

"I'm not his," you snapped, making yourself flinch. "I mean I am, but I'm not. I'm his but he doesn't know it. He doesn't care. We're friends. That's it--"

"--and that's all," she finished. "I get it, I get it. Now I'm pretty sure that despite our friendship, sharing panties is where we draw the line, so you'll have to go without." You shrugged, figuring as much, as Wanda turned around to let you change into the borrowed clothes.

She led you back to the stairs where Loki was waiting for you at the end. He threw a look towards Wanda when he caught sight of your outfit, and you were too caught up in making sure you didn't trip that you didn't catch her mouthing a "You're welcome" his way. When you reached the bottom of the steps, he wrapped his arm around you and led you to the kitchen island where Nat had a sandwich ready for you.

"You know I'm perfectly capable of walking, right? I managed just fine a while ago." You did your best to keep your tone light, almost joking. So that he hopefully couldn't see through you and see that you were fighting every urge to swoon and fawn over your current predicament. Just friends, just friends, you chanted over and over in your head.

"I prefer having my reassurances," he answered you simply as he lifted you onto a bar stool by the island. "You're far too precious to be compromised," he whispered as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head. 

"Eat," Nat ordered, placing a glass of water as you took a bite. You winced at the sound your stomach made as your body began to recognize that it was being fed real food and not something ultra-processed and sealed into a colorful wrapper. When you finished your sandwich, she took your hand and gave you a pill. "Melatonin. Drink. Then go to my room and rest. I'll be away the whole day anyway--"

"Nonsense, she's staying with me," Loki cut her off. "You've mentioned multiple times that you keep blades hidden throughout your chambers, some of which are very well within reach of anyone sleeping in your bed, Romanoff. She's safer with me." Your blood ran cold. Sleeping in the same bed as him? In your current state of dress? Yeah, that sounded like the worst idea. 

You opened your mouth to protest but the look on his face told you that wasn't any better of an idea. He seemed hellbent on personally making sure that you were nursed back to your normal state of mortality. He motioned to the pill in your hand. "Drink it, darling." You did as you were told. "Good girl." You fought every instinct you had in order not to show the effect those words had on you. His next words, though? You were completely gone. "Let's get you to bed." 

"You know, Jack Frost, if you wanted to get dear Y/N into bed with you, you could've just asked," you heard Tony quip as he walked into the kitchen. Then he took a look at you, your sullen face and your sunken eye bags. "What happened--"

"She didn't sleep for four days," Natasha answered. 

"I was trying to find a weak point in the security system of a group called the Ten Rings, you might be familiar with them, Tony, they were--" Your words got cut off as you felt the air leave your lungs, your feet leaving the floor as the dark-haired god scooped you up into his arms and carried you up the stairs and away from the conversation. "Hey!" 

"No more talk of work, little mortal. It will still be there when you wake. For now you have to rest."

"Take next week off, Y/N! I don't want to see you in that office of yours for the next seven days!" Tony hollered from his place in the kitchen. 

When you and the god were out of sight and earshot, Nat addressed Tony. "Isn't that a bit too much? I mean today and Monday? Yeah, I understand. But the whole week? What game are you playing, Tony?" 

"Laufeyson's," he answered the assassin. "I'm giving him game. Those two are idiots in love if I've ever seen it. And call it a gut feeling, but I think one of them's finally gonna confess. The week is more a gift to him than her." 

"Aww you're warming up to him." 

"You tell anyone and the next mission I send you on is with Barnes. Just Barnes."

You finally felt the effects of the medicine kicking in as you laid in the center of Loki's bed, listening to him reading you poetry with his silken voice. You didn't want to but you felt your eyelids falling, despite wanting to keep awake a little longer just so he'd keep reading to you. 

"Sleep, my darling," he chuckled as you let out a yawn. 

What possessed you to shuffle closer to him and rest your head on his chest – his bare chest, mind you – you would never know, but you'd blame it on the Melatonin. "Thank you for making sure I don't stab myself in Natasha's bed," you mumbled against his skin, unable to register that his heartbeat had gone erratic against your ear. 

He pressed a kiss to your hair. "Of course, my precious mortal. I'll always watch out for your safety, you can hold me to this promise." He ran his fingers lightly up and down your side, trying to help you get to sleep faster, so that he could allow himself to lose his feigned composure at the feel of your soft body against his. 

You wrapped your arm tighter around him and burrowed your face into the crook of his neck as you mumbled, "I knew there was a reason I fell in love with you." 

His hand stopped. His breath stopped. He could have sworn his heart stopped as the words left your slumbering mouth. "What did you say?" he all but choked out. 

He felt you shrug against him as you said, "Why the fuck not. It's just a dream anyway." His breath hitched as he awaited your words. "I fell for you. Head first. Absolutely stupid in love." If it hadn't been for the drowsy tone of your voice he could've sworn you were awake. Or perhaps he wished you were, so that he could look into your eyes as you said these words. "I know I shouldn't be. Ruin the friendship and all that. But you didn't exactly make it impossible. You're perfect. Annoyingly perfect. And I was defenseless." 

"Oh Y/N," he breathed out. "My dear heart. My darling, beautiful little human. Are you telling me you're mine?" 

"I'm yours," you murmured. "I've always been yours." You nuzzled more into the crook of his neck, whispering against his skin, "I love you, Loki Laufeyson." The tears escaped him at those words, rolling down his cheeks. "Such a damn shame you don't feel the same way." It was as if the world had stopped turning as he felt you press your lips to his neck, letting out a contented sigh, before you fully succumbed to sleep. He had to tell himself to remember to breathe as he felt your breaths even out, letting him know that you had finally surrendered your body to rest.

The god, on the other hand, didn't sleep a wink. He couldn't. Not when there was so much he wanted to say. Not when there was so much to plan. 

A/N: Yes there will be a part 2, I'm not leaving it here. I just had to cut myself off because I'm incapable of writing short stories ahhh

Part 2 is up and available HERE!

Taglist: @lokisgoodgirl @lokischambermaid @imalovernotahater @redbluekjw @lucylaufeyson3 @thomase1

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

You're So Loved (Happy Birthday, Sweetheart)

Pairing: Doctor!Strange x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: It's Y/n's birthday and Stephen prepares a special dinner

Word Count: 5k

Warnings: None, just fluff.

A/N: I'm so happy for finally being able to post a fic here. It wasn't a piece of cake, since I've been batling writer's block, but I am proud of the result. I Need to be honest and say that this hasn't been proofread, so any typos or grammar mistakes you see just pretend you didn't. Hope you guys enjoy it and have a nice read ;)

You never liked your birthday. For some reason, the date always contributed to intensifying your depressive episodes. For some reason, the beginning of April brought with it an air of melancholy that you attributed solely to the fact that it was the month of your birthday and the reason for this remained unknown. You were not exactly a happy person, but there were so many people in worse situations. Of course, thinking that way did not help.

However, since Stephen had entered your life, you could see a clear improvement in the matter. After you started living with him in the Sanctum, you spent three birthdays with him. The first one was melancholic and you asked him not to give you any presents or celebrations, the second one you had accepted that he would take you out to dinner and in the present year you had not objected at all to the idea of ​​Tony throwing a party at Stark Tower to celebrate your birthday, although as the date approached you wondered if it had been a good idea to give in so much. After all, you knew that things could get a little crazy and grand when you let Tony do whatever he wanted, but at the same time, the fact that he cared about you enough to do that with such affection warmed your heart.

With Stephen, however, you had no idea how you would celebrate or if you would celebrate at all. The big party would be on Saturday night and your actual birthday would be on Tuesday, and Tuesdays were complicated and tiring days at work. Stephen had mentioned dinner, but he had been so busy all week at Kamar Taj that you wondered if he had forgotten, and honestly, you wouldn't blame him if he had. Your birthday was never a topic of conversation between you because that was how you preferred it to be. Deep down, maybe you were afraid that he would question what the matter was, and you wouldn't know how to answer.

Anyway, Monday went by uneventfully and during the night you asked Stephen about his plans for the next day and he replied that he would probably be at Kamar Taj all day sorting out who knows what and you understood that he hadn't really thought of anything different for the occasion. It was better this way, you told yourself. There would be enough celebrating on Saturday. However, you couldn't help but feel a little sad, but in the morning you woke up, took a shower and had your coffee normally and didn't even bother to be disappointed that your boyfriend wasn't home. Stephen always woke up before you and always left the house before you woke up when he had to work. So, you simply grabbed your bag and left for work like any other Tuesday.

...

Stephen was feeling remorseful for not having waited for you to wake up to congratulate you first thing in the morning, but America had convinced him that their plan would be more successful if you thought he had forgotten what day it was. Stephen had a photographic memory, he tried to warn the teenager, he never forgot anything.

"Well, then she'll think you just didn't bother to say happy birthday to her," America had said, rolling her eyes. How that could be a good thing, he couldn't say, but since even Wong had gotten on board with this with unusual enthusiasm, Stephen had agreed to do as America suggested. He woke up in the morning, stroked your hair gently as he watched you sleep soundly for a second, and then left.

Tuesday was boring and tiring at Kamar Taj as usual. He trained the students as he had promised Wong he would, and then devoted himself to preparing for the next mission that he thankfully wouldn't have to participate in. Overall, it was a Tuesday like any other, except that it wasn't. Stephen couldn't stop thinking about you all day. It was like a movie playing in his head, making him remember your moments together.

He remembered perfectly the first kiss, the first time you made love, how you blushed beautifully when he called you sweetheart for the first time and just like that, he knew that would be your pet name. You completely transformed his life and suddenly he stopped being a bitter and resentful man with control issues and became your Stephen, a person he sometimes didn't even recognize, but whom he liked to be much more.

It was safe to say that even his relationship with the Avengers improved after you came into his life. You and Stark were great friends, Stephen had no choice but to live with the billionaire in a more friendly way and that wasn't a bad thing at all. Stephen liked having friends now, he even liked having America as his protégé and all of that was thanks to you. There wasn't much he could say to you that would express how much he loved you, but he tried and would continue to try every day. Especially today.

"Are you ready to go home yet?" America's voice echoed from the distance across the courtyard as he crossed the hall from the library to the dorms while she ran toward him.

He smiled and nodded. "We better go before it gets too late to make dinner." He replied, watching the girl approach. "I don't want her to get home before we've everything sorted out." America nodded.

"There'll be time, relax." And then she slapped her forehead with her hand. "The dress! I completely forgot! I need to go to the store to get it." Stephen shook his head in confusion. "I thought you and Wong had already picked it up yesterday."

She shook her head. "It wasn't her size. The saleswoman had to order it from another store. It arrived this afternoon. We need to go there to get it."

Stephen sighed. "I'll let Wong know we're on our way." When you use portals to get around, everything gets easier. Within 15 minutes, Stephen and America had gone to the store to get your present and were already back home. Without even planning it, they both took a shower and met in the kitchen where Wong was already waiting with all the ingredients already on the balcony.

"What took you so long?" He asked impatiently.

"I hope everything went well at the bakery." Stephen said without bothering to answer and Wong gestured to the refrigerator. When Stephen opened the fridge door, he saw exactly what he expected, a beautiful round cake with white frosting and colorful sprinkles that said "Happy Birthday, sweetheart." He just smiled and closed the door again.

"Did you remember to wrap her present?" Wong asked as if he doubted the answer and Stephen's ability to do it right.

"Yeah. And you? You still haven't told me what you bought for her."

"That's because it's none of your business. You'll see when it's time." He replied. "Now we better start cooking if we want this dinner to be ready on time."

Stephen agreed and simply followed Wong's orders, which were basically washing and chopping ingredients while the Sorcerer Supreme actually cooked. Stephen couldn't argue; he couldn't touch the food if he expected it to be edible.

...

You were starving when you left the office and were caught in a persistent rain. You even thought about stopping by the sandwich bar next door to get some sandwiches to take home, but laziness got the better of you and you ended up giving up. There was always the option of ordering pizza anyway.

It was almost 7pm and if there was any sun it would be setting. The days in April were starting to get longer at this time of the year and some flowers were starting to appear on the trees on Bleecker Street due to the arrival of spring. It was a beautiful time of year indeed and as you walked slowly down the street under your umbrella and saw the Sanctum as a fortress of love and security, you felt happy to be alive and to have that home to return to at the end of each day. When you finally walked through the door that opened by itself as always to let you in, you were greeted by a delicious smell of food that made your stomach growl. It was unusual, really. Unless Wong was home.

"Hi there!" You were welcomed by a baritone voice. "You took your time."

You left the umbrella dripping behind the door and put your bag on the sideboard before getting rid of your coat. "Long and boring day. I thought about buying sandwiches for dinner, but I decided against it." You answered turning to finally look at him and it was then that the feeling of warmth and love intensified even more. He was dressed in dark jeans and a purple shirt, his hair was carefully combed and his goatee perfectly drawn, which indicated that he had taken some time to make it that way.

"You look nice. Any plans for tonight I don't know about?" You asked without trying to be subtle and making him chuckle.

"I always look nice." He answered walking slowly towards you. "And the answer is yes and no, but I'm not going to explain it until you come upstairs with me. Something tells me you need a hot shower."

He finally reached you and touched your face gently before kissing your lips.

"Yes, please." That was all you said on his lips while letting out a little groan. "What a Tuesday!"

He chuckled softly taking your hand in his. "Mine wasn't a piece of cake either, but it's finally over." He nodded leading you upstairs.

After you had showered and spent some time on your post-shower skincare routine, you were ready to get dressed in your most worn and comfortable pajamas, but Stephen just tsked.

"You don't want Wong to see you like this." He warned and you remembered the delicious smell of food you smelled when you got home.

"Did he cook for us?" You asked excited at the idea of ​​eating a proper dinner instead of takeout. Stephen could say whatever he wanted, but you loved Wong's cooking. The Sorcerer Supreme really knew how to cook, in fact he cooked much better than you, but Stephen wasn't ready for that conversation.

Before he could answer, you grabbed a pair of denim shorts and a band t-shirt and got dressed.

"Actually, we cooked for you." Stephen finally confessed with a slight blush on his cheeks. "It all started with America's idea of ​​celebrating your birthday in a low-key way so you wouldn't get mad." He explained. “That was precisely her words”

You smiled from ear to ear. So he hadn't forgotten.

"It was also her idea for me to pretend I forgot it was your birthday today, and she'll probably be mad at me because I should take you downstairs before I tell you, but I couldn't bear to spend another minute of my day without saying it." Then he leaned in close, cupped your face between his shaking hands, and spoke sweetly, "Happy birthday, sweetheart." Before he could say anything else, you had your arms around his neck and pulled him abruptly into a kiss that started out casual and soon became intense and full of saliva and teeth.

"I really thought you forgot!" You confessed, letting out a relieved chuckle. "I don't know what got into me this year, but I spent the whole day thinking it was my birthday and that we should do something about it."

He pinched your cheek teasingly, "I happened to you."

You hummed, "Well, I can't refute that." You responded, pulling him back into your arms. lips in a kiss that lasted until you were interrupted by an incessant knocking on the door.

"Are you guys coming down or what?" America's voice sounded slightly irritated, which made you laugh softly.

"I think you better pretend to be surprised, or she'll kill me." Stephen whispered.

"We're going now." You replied.

When you went down to the dining room - you with the best surprised face you could muster - the table was set beautifully and the candlesticks, never used since you started attending the Sanctum, were lit with candles that seemed to give off a slightly musky scent, but that perfectly matched the delicious smell coming from the kitchen. Wong was finishing the last details and when he saw you, he opened a rare smile.

"Oh my... I can't believe you went to all that trouble!" You exclaimed sincerely.

"You didn't really think we forgot, did you?" He joked, coming towards you and, to your surprise, hugging you. You felt your cheeks turning slightly pink, but you surrendered to the hug, feeling your chest fill with joy and warmth.

"To be honest, I thought everyone had forgotten." You confessed when Wong stepped away and gently pulled out your chair for you to sit down. Stephen smiled ironically, as if he was surprised by his friend's gallantry and maybe even a little jealous, but he said nothing and just pulled out his own chair and sat next to you.

"I think I spent so much time asking people to ignore my birthday that I ended up being afraid that it had actually been ignored this year."

Wong smirked, pointing at all the food placed in front of you. "As you can see, it wasn't. We spent a lot of time thinking about each dish we would make, and we trust that Strange knows what he's talking about because he was the one who chose the menu saying that these are your favorite foods."

You smiled, looking at the food in front of you. Nothing matched, it was just a pile of your favorite foods and somehow you found it much more incredible than if it had been a perfectly prepared menu. There was a basket with fries and some sauces next to it. There was a dish with lasagna Bolognese and another with cannelloni in white sauce. They also roasted what looked like a pork leg and with it there was mashed potatoes, rice, salad and stroganoff. There was definitely enough food to serve about 20 people easily.

"Stephen and I helped Wong prepare everything." America said sitting down and smiling proudly. "Actually I was the one who thought of everything, all the good ideas. Stephen helped, of course. He thinks he knows you so much better than me just because you've known each other longer..."

"Four years longer than you, actually," he teased.

"As I was saying..." She started shooting daggers at him again. "I thought of the best things and even remembered the fries. But overall we didn't do much, Wong got us to do the meson place, the good stuff was on his hands."

"Years and years of practice," Wong said proudly, pulling out his own chair and sitting down as well. "Besides, I needed to make sure you two didn't burn anything."

America rolled her eyes at him and then turned her attention back to you. "Is everything how you like it?"

You smiled. "Of course it is. I just don't know if I'll be able to eat everything you guys prepared."

"Eat whatever you like best," Stephen suggested, taking your plate. "Can I serve you?"

You nodded, noticing that his hands weren't shaking and you knew he was using magic to keep them steady. God forbid he spilled anything that night. Not that you would care, but he would never forgive himself if he did. "What do you want, first?"

You thought for a minute. "I'll start with the fries and the stroganoff. They go together somehow. And to drink... as much as I appreciate the choice of a good wine..."

"She'll have a diet Coke with me." America finished and you winked at her.

Stephen rolled his eyes. "I spent a good fifteen minutes in the wine cellar choosing this wine."

"Well, I'm sure I'll enjoy it properly," Wong said, opening the bottle and pouring himself a full glass of the red wine. He raised the glass to his nose and inhaled deeply before taking a sip. "I really deserve this after the week I've had."

"It's only Tuesday." Stephen said, placing the plate back in front of you. He was clearly going to start serving America, but the teenager was in too much of a hurry to wait and began serving herself, putting a little bit of everything on her plate and carefully assembling a pyramid of food.

"You're going to get a stomachache." Stephen warned as he began to serve himself, but America just shrugged.

Wong helped himself too and soon you guys engaged in a heated conversation about which dish was the best and in the midst of all the silly talk, while eating and laughing like a family, you found yourself thinking that what made you want to celebrate your birthday was that you felt like you belonged to a real family now. Stephen, Wong and America were your family and there was nothing more incredible than spending time with them.

"Just a little bit" Stephen insisted, indicating that you try the roast pork, but you grimaced and refused.

"I feel like I'm going to explode if I eat any more." You confessed "I'm sure it will be good for dinner tomorrow. In fact, I thought we could save some for tomorrow's dinner and make some lunch boxes with the rest to send to the compound. What do you guys think?"

Wong nodded, wiping his lips and finishing what must have been his fourth or fifth glass of wine. "That's a great idea. The food is good, I'd hate for anything to go to waste."

"The lasagna will stay." Stephen demanded as he poured himself another piece of it. "This is extremely delicious."

You couldn't help but smile as you watched him eat. There must have been something about watching your man eat because you found it extremely cute and sexy.

"Okay, the lasagna will stay." You said, bringing your napkin up to his chin to wipe a drop of sauce off his goatee, which made him blush slightly.

...

Stephen smiled broadly as you listened to America explaining the feeling of entering the mirror dimension for the first time and you knew that he saw himself in each new discovery of hers, that as Wong had pointed out several times, he saw himself in America and he liked that. Stephen always told you that you had made him a better man, but you couldn't take all the credit for his growth as a person, America had a big part in that. It was after she arrived that he finally lost his fear of being loved and even though he didn't talk about it, you knew that America was a kind of replacement for the little sister he lost.

"Well, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to clear the table." Wong announced with a pompous gesture with his fingers and everything simply disappeared. You didn't even question the physics of it anymore, you were just grateful that their magic saved you from having to wash so many dishes.

"Is it time yet?" America asked impatiently and Stephen shook his head.

"What are you two up to?" You asked curiously and Stephen just laughed softly, standing up.

"Trust me, you'll like it. But first, I hope you have saved some place for the dessert." He said, making his own pompous gesture with his fingers and a beautiful cake materialized in front of you. It was round, full of colorful sprinkles and on it was the words "Happy birthday, sweetheart" with a single lit candle.

Before you could process the fact that this was the first birthday cake you had since you became an adult, Stephen, America and Wong started singing 'happy birthday to you' as out of tune as possible and before you knew it, you were crying, but you were also laughing and smiling, and it was undeniable that you were happy.

"Make a wish" America asked before you blew out the candle. "I wish..." You began, but were interrupted by Stephen.

"It needs to be a secret or it won't come true."

You nodded, closing your eyes and thinking about your wish with all your might, and then you blew out the candle.

You definitely shouldn't have eaten the second piece of cake, but it was so good that it was impossible to deny it, and besides, there would always be the next day to make up for the excess calories, right? America, on the other hand, didn't seem worried about the calories she had consumed, but thinking about the amount of strength training that Stephen and Wong were subjecting her to, added to the fact that she was a teenager in full physical development, you knew there was no real reason for her to worry about it, and so she devoured the fourth slice quickly before looking at Stephen with her pleading eyes.

"Come on, it's time." She almost begged impatiently. Wong smirked, finishing his own slice of cake.

"Well, I guess it really is time. We have to go back to Kamar Taj after all."

You had moved your chair away from the table enough so that you could sit sideways in it and rest your back against Stephen's chest who was sitting right behind you. The excess sugar and carbohydrates were starting to kick in and you felt slightly sleepy.

"What exactly are you guys up to?" You asked interestedly. Somehow you knew that whatever it was had to do with you. America smiled broadly at Stephen, but it was Wong who answered and with a simple gesture of his fingers, a large, old and heavy book appeared in the air and fell into your lap.

"Oh my god, what is this?" You asked sitting up straight and picking up the book and placing it on the table to look at it. It had a reddish leather cover and gold lettering that read "The magic and mystery of the New York Sanctum."

"It tells the story of the Sanctum, its mysteries, peculiarities, rooms and secret passages, as well as the great events that happened here." Wong said proudly. "Theoretically it should belong to the master of the Sanctum, but since we agreed that the one who really runs the house is you, I decided that you should keep it. It is a humble gift, but of extreme value and it is also a way of saying that you are part of our world."

You couldn't help but feel emotional with those words. Since the beginning, you always wanted to be accepted and welcomed by Wong and you indeed got what you wanted and much more. You had his friendship. "This is... I don't even know what this is..." You found yourself whispering as your fingers caressed the cover of the book because your voice refused to come out.

"A small demonstration of my affection for you, Y/n. Happy birthday and thanks for making Strange a lot less unpleasant." Wong said with a smile at you that turned into a teasing smirk.

"You can compliment her without offending me, you know?" Stephen complained to which Wong shrugged.

"Sure, but it wouldn't be the same."

"Okay, now it's my turn!" America said, butting in. "Remember when we went to the mall and you were eyeing that dress?"

You put your hand over your mouth in disbelief when America made a white box materialize in front of you on the table. "No!"

"Yes!" She answered so excitedly that it seemed like the gift was for her. "I didn't understand why you didn't buy it, but after Stephen told me that Tony was having a party to celebrate your birthday, I knew you had to go dressed in it."

"But it was too expensive! That's why I didn't buy it."

"Well, I had some savings saved up and know that neither Stephen nor Wong had to give a dime to it. It's all me." She said proudly.

You opened the box, removing the silk and finally looking at the beautiful pink dress inside. "Argh, I hate you, kid! Come here, give me a hug."

America's smile widened as she walked around the table and ran to hug you.

"You're my best friend, Y/n."

"Oh, and you're mine."

The two of you were interrupted by Stephen clearing his throat exaggeratedly. "I think it's my turn now."

America stuck her tongue out at him and returned to her seat.

"Well, what could it be?" You teased and he smirked. "I heard you like this particular band, so I thought you might like this..." He moved his fingers and a beautiful vinyl of the album X by Cigarettes After Sex appeared in his hand. He didn't bother to wrap it, but there was a small red bow around the object.

You took the vinyl from his hands in a not-so-delicate way and a soft squeal escaped your lips, such was your ecstasy. "Oh my... there were only 500 copies, how did you..."

"Turn it over to see the back." He instructed proudly and when you did so you almost fell out of your chair. In beautiful script written in silver permanent marker it said "To you, Y/n, with all my love, Greg."

Your jaw dropped and you stared at Stephen and then at the vinyl and then at Stephen again and then at the vinyl trying to believe that this was real. "How..."

"Too much coercion and threats." America said teasingly and Stephen glared at her.

"He likes the Avengers. I promised I'd get him an autograph from Captain America."

You couldn't help but laugh "You're kidding."

He shook his head "I swear. But tell me, did you like it?"

You wrapped the vinyl in an awkward tight hug "What do you think?"

Stephen smirked "I think I deserve a kiss." He said holding your face in his hands and pulling you to his lips.

"Ew." You heard America complain, but at that moment, you didn't care.

"I think that's our cue. Shall we go?!" You heard Wong say as they stood up.

...

"I still can't believe everything they did for me tonight." You said still amazed by the incredible night they had given you.

You and Stephen were lying on the couch in the living room and Wong and America had just left back to Kamar Taj. The TV was on, and you had put on a random horror movie to play, but it was safe to say that neither you nor Stephen were giving a damn about the seemingly bizarre scenes on the screen.

Your bodies were so close that you could feel the heat emanating through Stephen's comfortable clothes, your legs were comfortably intertwined, and your ear was glued to his chest so you could hear the soft beating of his heart and that was the most beautiful sound in the world to you.

"You deserve everything we did and even more." Stephen answered after a minute of silence. His arms were tightly around your body, and he caressed your arms absentmindedly. "You are so loved, Y/n. Not only by me, but by everyone around you. There is something about you that is impossible not to like."

You smiled to yourself hearing those words. They seemed so foreign to you. As someone who grew up with the feeling of rejection rooted within you, it was difficult to receive love or simply understand it as something positive. For a long time you were afraid to love or be loved for fear of losing it.

"Thank you for loving me." You said simply and Stephen kissed your forehead affectionately.

"It's not like it's something hard to do." He joked.

"I spent my whole life thinking the opposite. I always saw myself as someone unlovable. You, Wong, America, Tony and all my Avengers friends showed me that wasn't true and I'm very grateful for that." You confessed, raising your head to look at him.

Stephen was so beautiful. You would never get used to the beauty of those cheekbones and that jaw, much less the color of his eyes and that goatee. The combination of all the details took your breath away every time you looked at him the way you were looking at him now.

"I love it when you look at me like that." He said smirking as if he could read your mind.

"Like what?"

"Like I'm the most important person in your life."

You smile, resting your chin on his chest. "But you are. I love you, Doctor Stephen Strange."

He smiled broadly, cupping your cheek. "And I you." He paused to think for a moment and then asked, "Can I ask what your wish was?"

You had to force your mind out of the trance his gaze had put you in and only then did you realize what he was talking about. "I thought it had to be a secret."

"I won't tell anyone." He said, smirking and making your heart flutter.

"I wished that you would stay in my life forever. That nothing would ever take the three of you away from me." You finally confessed and his smirk gave way to a sweet, open smile.

"You are so loved, sweetheart. I'm sorry the world made you think otherwise, but we are here every day to change that, to make this stubborn, anxious little head of yours understand that you are special.”

"I always feel special when I'm with you."

"Thank goodness because you are. I love you and again, Happy birthday." He said pulling you to his lips and just like that all your doubts, anxiety and tiredness of the day disappeared.

Reblog please! Leave a comment if you liked it. Interact! I will love to read all of your comments and opinions. It inspires me to keep writing!

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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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Nap time with you

Joaquin Torres x girlfriend!reader

Summary: Joaquin’s girlfriend can fall asleep anywhere, and instead of questioning it, he starts napping with her. Before long, it becomes their favorite routine.

Word count: 1012

Notes: no Captain America: Brave New World spoilers :)

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

Joaquin Torres was used to high-energy situations. Missions, training, and keeping up with Sam Wilson meant he was always on the move. But nothing—nothing—could have prepared him for dating you.

Because somehow, despite all the chaos, you could fall asleep anywhere.

At first, he thought it was a one-time thing. The two of you had been hanging out at his place, watching a movie, when he felt your head slump against his shoulder. He glanced down, expecting you to be watching intently, but—nope. You were out cold.

“Hey,” he whispered, nudging you slightly. “Did you seriously just knock out?”

You let out a small sigh in response, nuzzling into his hoodie like it was the most comfortable pillow in the world. Joaquin blinked, staring at you, before laughing softly to himself.

Alright, maybe the movie was a little boring.

But then it kept happening.

You would doze off in the passenger seat of his car five minutes into a drive. You fell asleep on a rooftop once, mid-mission debrief, and nearly gave Sam a heart attack. You even curled up in a booth at a diner after breakfast, resting your head on your folded arms like it was the most natural thing to do.

Joaquin quickly realized: you could nap anywhere, anytime.

And, well… that was kind of adorable.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

One day, after a long week of missions, Joaquin found you sprawled across his couch, dead to the world. You had come over to hang out, but somewhere between waiting for him to get out of the shower and picking a movie, you had passed out completely.

Joaquin just stood there for a second, hands on his hips, watching the steady rise and fall of your breathing. He shook his head with a soft laugh.

“You’re unbelievable,” he murmured.

Then, without really thinking about it, he grabbed a blanket, tossed it over you, and instead of waking you up—he joined you.

He had meant to just sit beside you, but when he felt how warm you were, the exhaustion from the past week caught up with him fast. The next thing he knew, he was lying down too, pulling you against him, his face buried in your hair.

And damn, this was comfortable.

Joaquin had never really been a nap guy. He always felt like there was something to do, somewhere to be. But being curled up with you, listening to your soft breathing, feeling the steady rhythm of your heartbeat against his chest?

Yeah. He could get used to this.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

After that, it became a thing.

Joaquin stopped questioning it and just started joining you.

You crashed on the couch after training? He slid in beside you, pulling you close. You curled up in the Quinjet after a mission? He threw his jacket over both of you and knocked out too. You flopped onto his bed, stretching like a cat? Yeah, no, he was claiming his spot too.

“You know,” he said one afternoon as you both lay tangled together in his bed, “I think you’ve corrupted me.”

You blinked sleepily up at him. “Huh?”

“I never used to nap,” he admitted, running his fingers through your hair. “Now I’m out here dozing off at random times of the day because of you.”

You hummed, not at all guilty. “Not my fault you make a good nap buddy.”

Joaquin grinned. “Oh, nap buddy, huh? That’s all I am to you?”

“Mm.” You pretended to think about it. “And a pretty decent boyfriend, I guess.”

He let out a dramatic gasp. “Wow. So generous.”

You giggled, snuggling closer, your nose brushing against his collarbone. “Admit it—you love it.”

Joaquin sighed, kissing the top of your head. “Yeah. I really do.”

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

One evening, after a particularly long mission, Joaquin was the one who crashed first.

You found him sprawled across the couch, his arm draped over his face, still in his flight gear. His wings had been set aside, his boots lazily kicked off. He looked exhausted.

You should have woken him up, told him to change, maybe convinced him to eat something first.

Instead, you climbed right on top of him and curled up against his chest.

Joaquin made a small, sleepy noise of surprise but didn’t even open his eyes. His arms instinctively wrapped around you, pulling you closer, his hand resting against the small of your back.

“Mmm… stealing my move,” he mumbled.

“Shh,” you whispered, pressing a kiss to his jaw. “Nap first. Talk later.”

He chuckled sleepily. “See? Corrupted me.”

But he didn’t complain.

He just held you tighter and let himself drift off, safe and warm in your arms.

Light On

summary: when you reach out to joaquin waving the white flag, you realize how broken he's been.

pairing: touch starved!joaquin torres x ex!f!reader

contents: exes to lovers, food and alcohol mention, angst, canon typical trauma/trauma responses, get back together fic, kissing

wc: 1,988

an: i combined my idea for touched starved!joaquin with this request about yearning. sorry it took so long anon and i hope you like it <3

danny ramirez characters masterlist

He’s late to the housewarming. Not by much, but enough that he has to squeeze through a half-shut gate and slip past a crowd already buzzing with drinks and music. His shoulders still feel tight from the last mission—three cities, too many close calls, and not enough sleep. He almost didn’t come.

But when he saw your name at the top of the invite sent only to him, group chat, no passive-aggressive message he could say no to you. 

It read simple and gave him a glimmer of hope:

I hope you can come. it’s not a trap. peace offering. 

He doesn’t deserve the invite or your kindness, not after how he’d withdrawn so abruptly 8 months ago. He thought ending things before he could truly disappoint you or worse— scare you with one of his missions was the right thing to do. But now he can’t convince himself that this invite isn’t some sort of chance to at least make things right. Better.

Inside, the lights are warm, soft, glowing off glasses and muted green walls. There’s someone laughing in the kitchen, someone singing too loud on the patio. He catches a glimpse of you through the open door—perched on the porch bench, the setting sun’s rays on your cheeks, telling a story with your hands. 

Joaquin’s heart stutters.

 Just the sight of you makes him feel like it’s been an eternity. He hadn’t forgotten how beautiful you are but clearly he had let the weight of it slip away to protect himself. 

You look up, like you feel him before you even see him. And when your eyes meet, something in his chest aches. That’s all it takes for everything he’s been trying to outrun to come flooding back. 

How safe and understood he felt when the two of you did nothing but lay under the clouds. How warm his heart got at the sound of your laughter. How easy it was until he got into his head about being right for you. 

You smile at him. 

It’s not the same smile as before, but it’s not cold either. Cautious and familiar, but no less warm. Because you’re happy to see Joaquin, but now in the face of him you’re afraid everything you’ve worked for will come crumbling down. 

“Hey,” you say softly, walking inside from the deck toward him with a drink in hand. Your voice is light but not performative as you try to play it cool. “Llegaste.”

He nods. “Yeah. I couldn’t—yeah.”

You don’t hesitate. You step right up to him and wrap up your arms around his middle. It’s causal, natural and despite your past, you don’t even think about the possible impacts. 

The simplicity of it all hits him like a wave.

He stiffens for just a second, like he wasn’t expecting it. Like he’s forgotten what it feels like to be touched gently, without purpose or urgency. Or violence. Then his arms come up slowly, almost uncertainly, and he lets himself hold you—just enough so that it’s not awkward. Not enough for everything he wants.

One of your hands slides up his back once, rubbing tenderly. It’s a tiny gesture but he swears he could cry.

“Estas bien?” you ask, pulling back just enough to look at him.

He nods again, softer this time. “Ahora sí.”

You try not to show that his words affect you, simply giving him the best smile you can before untangling yourself from him. Gesturing for him to follow you, you make your way into the kitchen fishing out a beer and handing it to him. “Here.”

He takes it, fingers brushing yours, and his grip tightens on the bottle like it’s an anchor. “Thanks.”

Later, after a few brief hellos and introductions, you sit beside each other on the porch. He’s barely touched his beer but neither of you have noticed. 

There’s easy conversation on your part, starting with how you found the house and decided it was the one you wanted. You tell him about the chaos in the kitchen earlier tonight, a spilled pitcher of sangria. About the neighbor who brought way too many folding chairs.

He barely says anything, he simply listens. Listens like he’s afraid he’ll miss something if he blinks, like he’ll wake up from a dream. 

He watches the way your eyes crinkle when you laugh. The way your knee bounces when you’re excited. The way you don’t flinch being this close to him, how you lean closer. You aren’t afraid to touch him, a nudge of shoulders here, a brush of his knee there when you say something funny.

 It seems like it comes easy to you and god, has he  missed this.

“I miss this,” he says quietly, gaze fixed on the beer bottle in his hands. Then, after a breath: “I miss… you.”

There’s several beats of silence. He doesn’t have the heart to look up at you, to see the surprise on your face.

You look at him, cheeks warm, stomach twisting with anticipation. You hadn’t expected him to say something like that when he was the one that ended things the way he did. 

When you speak again your voice is quiet but firm. “Not here.”

Even then, you touch his knee—just a brush of your fingers—but it feels like a jolt. He follows you without thinking.

You lead him down the back steps, past string lights and potted herbs, to the edge of the backyard. There’s a small pond there, still and starting to glow under the emerging moon. 

You’re a ways away from everyone else. It feels like you're a world away, a veil falling between you and Joaquin and the world. Everything else is muffled, distorted. It’s just the two of you. 

You turn to face him, your eyes guarded. “I miss you too,” you say. “I never stopped wanting this. You were the one that…”

His chest tightens, but before he can reach for you, you add—gentle, but unwavering:

“But, I’m not doing that again. I’m not getting close just to watch you disappear when things get hard. If you want me—really want me—then you have to stay. You have to try.”

He swallows hard, the words sitting heavy between you.

You can see, nearly hear the gears turning in his head. There’s conflict, something soft and something so scared in his eyes as he lets your words sink in. You step forward then, and when your arms wrap around his shoulders, he goes completely still. There’s a breath he doesn’t take. A flicker of disbelief in his eyes. Like your touch might vanish if he moves too fast.

This time you notice.

“Què te pasa? Hmm, baby bird?” You ask tenderly and it breaks something open in him. 

Slowly, shakily, he lets go of the tension. He leans in—into you—and his arms finally wrap around your waist. His hold isn’t tight, but you can feel the starved urgency in his fingertips. 

His face presses into your shoulder, and the sound he makes is quiet, but wrecked. A broken exhale like it’s the first breath he’s taken in weeks.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, voice cracking. “I thought I was doing right by you. Letting you go. I didn’t want to hurt you.”

You hold him tighter, and his grip flinches like he’s not used to being held back.

“I know,” you say softly, your hand tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck. He shudders under your touch and your heart squeezes again. “I know, baby,” you assure him gently.

You brush your lips against his temple, and he tenses just slightly at the contact—like it overwhelms him. His breath hitches, grip tightening around your hips like he’s afraid to let go now that he’s here in your arms.

“Next time,” you murmur, fingers sliding further into his hair, “you just talk to me.”

He nods into you, arms wrapping so tight around you, holding on like this might all slip away.

You stay like that for a while. Wrapped up in each other, warm and quiet. Until the party noise fades into background hum and there’s only moonlight and the hush of the pond.

Eventually, you both sit in the grass, your shoulders brushing. He finally starts to talk to you, to tell you everything he’s endured. Why he pulled away and what plagues him now; months apart and they’re still the same thing.  

He talked about the missions. The pressure. The exhaustion.

About how he didn’t know the full effect of what it was doing to him until he stepped back into your orbit and felt seen again.

Your fingers drift over his hand as he speaks. When he falters, you gently trace one of the faint scars on his knuckles. He goes completely still at the contact—like even that touch is more kindness than he’s used to.

“You have to take better care of yourself,” you say with a half-smile, nudging him gently. “Or I’m calling Sam.”

That finally earns a real laugh—small, tired, but real.

“You wouldn’t.”

“Oh, I would,” you tease. “I’d guilt him into dragging your ass back here for a proper nap and a shower.”

He nudges your knee with his, smiling. You both fall quiet; it’s comfortable.The pond glows beside them. The world slows down.

And for the first time in a long time, he doesn’t feel like he’s on borrowed time.

He just feels… held. Seen and understood. Like he’s home, in a way that matters.

—

Later that night, after most of the guests have left and the house is dim and quiet, he helps you carry in the empty bottles and leftover snacks. The porch lights hum low behind them, and the kitchen smells faintly like lime and basil and whatever candle someone brought as a gift.

You’re both barefoot now, toes brushing the tile. He hands you the last bowl and leans against the counter like he doesn’t want to leave.

You sense it immediately, glancing over at him. “You okay?”

He nods. “Yeah. I just… don’t want this to end.”

A smile tugs at your mouth. You step closer, fingers brushing his wrist, and this time he leans into the touch like he needs it to breathe.

“So don’t let it,” you murmur. “Don’t push me away again.”

He swallows. “Would it be too fast if I said I want to see you tomorrow?”

You smile deepens. “Are you asking me on a date, Lieutenant?”

Joaquin grins, soft and sheepish. He finally looks like himself. “Yeah, I am.”

“Well then,” you say, stepping in and tilting your chin up, “you better kiss me goodnight properly.”

You don’t give him time to overthink it. You press your lips to his—soft and warm, lingering just enough to make his breath catch. He kisses you back like he’s still afraid he’ll mess this up, but you thread your fingers through his and holds him close.

When you pull back, he exhales shakily.

You tap your fingers lightly against his chest. “Pick me up at seven. And wear something that says ‘I’ve stopped being emotionally unavailable.’”

He throws his head back with laughter, then groans like that’s going to be a real task. “That narrows my wardrobe down to, like, one shirt.”

Gripping his shirt playfully, you pull him a little closer. “Then wear it.”

Somewhere between getting home and putting his phone on the charger, Joaquin sees the text from Sam. Seems you had followed up on your threat to tell Sam about tonight. 

Sam: I heard you finally stopped being stupid.

Joaquin stares at it for a second before the typing bubble pops up again.

Sam:Bout damn time. You owe me twenty bucks. And a six-pack.

He shakes his head, smiling down at the screen. His reply is simple:

Worth it.

And when he turns off the light and sinks into bed, his heart is full.

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The Catch

Pairing: Bucky x Reader, Platonic!Yelena

Summary: Bucky comes to the rescue when being Yelena's roommate makes things dangerous for you.

Word count: 4.9k

Warnings: attempted abduction. Mentions of alcohol. Bucky on a motorbike!

------------

“So what’s the catch?”

“What catch? There’s no catch.”

You raise an eyebrow at the blonde’s suspiciously nonchalant reply. “This apartment is huge. You’re only looking for one roommate, I haven’t seen a single rat or cockroach and the rent is way, way lower than anything else in the city. There has to be a catch.”

Yelena shrugs, “No catch. It’s not huge, and I’m only looking for one roommate because there are only two bedrooms.”

“And the rent is so low because…” you prompt.

She gives you a sly smile, “I can ask you for more if you like.”

“Come on, Yelena. Roommates should be honest with each other, right?”

The Russian rolls her eyes. “The rent is low because I pay most of it. I just need someone to cover the extra. And I want to make friends.”

You narrow your eyes. “No one wants friends that badly.”

“Okaaay,” she responds, before admitting in a rush, “I may be sort of an ex-spy-slash-assassin and some people are weird about that, but it’s totally safe, I’m a good guy, no bad guys will come here or anything, I’m just a normal person living a normal life.”

Your mouth drops open, “I’m sorry, what?!”

Yelena sighs, “It’s not a big deal. And I was brainwashed to do it, but that’s all gone now, it was chemicals, they’re neutralised, no problem.”

You stare at her in astonishment, blinking rapidly. “And - what do you do now?”

She mumbles something inaudible.

“Uhh…?” you hesitate.

“I sort of - work for the government,” Yelena admits.

“You know that sounds like you’re a spy, right?”

She frowns at you, “I’m not a spy.”

“But you couldn’t tell me if you were, right?”

She flings her arms up in frustration, “I don’t know the spy rules! I’m not a spy.”

“Any more,” you point out.

“Any more,” she confirms, “So do you want the room or not?”

You look around at by far the nicest apartment you’ve seen since in your weeks of searching. The thought of living somewhere that would easily pass a health code inspection, without dozens of roommates to fight over the bathroom with, and that wouldn’t mean a multi-hour commute to work is tempting enough to overlook almost anything.

Glancing at Yelena as you weigh up your options, you notice a shimmer of something beneath her defensive exterior. Maybe she really is lonely.

“You promise you won’t be, uh, bringing your work home with you?” You ask.

She brightens, nodding, “Yes, definitely not. All fun here.”

Sucking your teeth, and hoping you won’t regret this, you take a big breath before answering, “Okay, I’m in. I’ll take the room.”

Yelena squeals in delight and wraps you in an excited hug, “I’ll be the best roommate ever, you’ll see.”

—

Six months later and Yelena has more than lived up to her promise. Your shared apartment has become a serene respite from the busy chaos of work and city life, and she’s clearly delighted to have a new friend. Your own friends have warmly welcomed her into the group, and she’s often with you for nights out bar-hopping, or happily joins you in hosting movie nights for everyone.

Yelena’s also frequently away for days or weeks at a time on work trips that you’ve learnt not to ask about, and you enjoy having the time and space to yourself. Right now, she’s been away for four days, and you’re not expecting her back until early next week, so you decide to reward yourself for making it through to another Friday with take-out and wine. Pouring yourself a glass after ordering a pizza, you’re just about to take the first sip when there’s a knock at the door. Confused - the food couldn’t possibly have come that fast - you set down your drink and move to squint through the peephole.

Standing outside your front door is possibly the most attractive man you’ve ever seen. A mess of dark hair hangs above shadowed eyes that give way to high cheekbones, a perfectly straight nose, soft cupid’s bow lips and a razor-sharp jawline covered in thick stubble. His broad shoulders and clearly muscular arms are straining the leather of his jacket, and you’re momentarily hypnotised by the way the shirt underneath clings to his chest.

Taking a breath and letting your brain remind your body that this Adonis is a complete stranger, you slip the chain onto the door before opening it enough to peer through at him.

“Hi,” you say, wondering if he’s got the wrong door, and if so, what you can do to make it the right one.

His eyes flicker over what he can see of you before they meet yours, the blue shock of his searching gaze almost making you miss his low voice speaking your name like a question. You blink in confusion, “Do I know you? I think I’d remember if we’d met.”

“You don’t know me,” he confirms, trying to look past you into the apartment. “Are you alone?”

A finger of suspicion chills the playful heat inside you. “That’s a pretty creepy question to open with,” you tell him with a nervous laugh, hoping there’s an explanation that ends with him being completely non-threatening and asking you on a date.

His eyes meet yours again. “I work with Yelena. Someone got hold of her address, found out she lives with someone and is highly likely to be sending a team over to abduct you. You need to come with me. Now.”

“Ah - what?” You’re still more suspicious than panicked, “If that’s even true, how do I know you’re not the guy coming to abduct me?”

Can you blame the wine you almost drunk for the thought that you wouldn’t mind being abducted by this guy?

“Because if I was abducting you,” he growls, “this door would be in pieces and you would already be tied up in my car.”

You swallow, hard.

The man takes a deep breath as he glances around the corridor, trying to be patient. “Look, I’m Bucky. Yelena must have mentioned me?”

You shake your head, “No. She doesn’t really talk about work.”

Bucky grumbles something under his breath, “We might not have much time. Can you at least grab what you’ll need for an overnight while you decide if you’re going to trust me?”

If you’d met this guy in a bar you’d be more than happy to spend the night with him, but under these circumstances, you’re still suspicious. You narrow your eyes. “Fine.”

You actually have a go-bag prepared already - you weren’t going to be too cavalier about living with an ex-assassin/current probable spy - but as you shut the door on Bucky, you decide now’s a good time to call Yelena.

Ignoring his voice through the door saying that you could at least leave it open, you tug your bag out of the hall closet while you find her number. Yelena’s asked you to avoid calling her when she’s at work, but you can’t think of any other way to verify what Bucky’s telling you.

As it rings, you sling the bag over your shoulder and let your eyes drift to the floor of your open bedroom, where the glow of the city through the large window falls on the floor. Frowning, you notice a shadow blocking the lower corner and let out an exasperated sigh. Your neighbour seems to think the fire escape outside your apartment is a great place for him to store his overflowing junk, but Yelena seemed to have scared him off doing it for a while. As you're making a mental note to speak to him about it, the shadow moves. You freeze. Pigeons maybe? On top of the junk? You slowly step backwards, raking your mind to remember if you’d seen anything there earlier.

Just as the phone rings out, switching to Yelena’s generic voicemail message, there’s the unmistakable smash of breaking glass, followed by alarmingly fast, heavy footsteps. You spin around, but before you can even take a step, whoever’s come through the window grabs you from behind. You open your mouth, sucking in air to scream at the top of your lungs, but the attacker clamps a hand over your mouth and nose. You’re instantly choked as you try to breathe around a sweet-smelling piece of fabric, and as you struggle, you feel a sharp scratch on the side of your neck. Your thoughts go fuzzy, and even as you try to squirm out of the tight grasp, your body slackens. The violent cracking and splintering sounds coming from your doorway echo into the background, and darkness consumes you.

—

You surface slowly back to consciousness. There’s a roaring in your ears, and your body is heavy, unable to move, or even to open your eyes. You’re aware of a constant cold wind at your back and running through your fingers, hands buffeted by the air. Your face is pressed into something warm and firm, and something hard as metal is wrapped around you, holding you in place.

You remember being at your apartment. The window smashing, the footsteps, being grabbed - you force your body to move, eyes flying open, limbs flailing haphazardly and snapping your head up, only to bash into something hard.

“Shit!” Bucky’s expletive is audible over the engine noise as your sudden movement throws him off balance, making the bike he’s controlling with one hand swerve on the road. You realise all at once that the roaring sound was the motorbike, currently speeding down a dark highway. You’re facing backwards, basically in Bucky’s lap, both your legs thrown over his, his left arm holding you close to him.

The shock makes you cry out, but all that emerges through your still waking mouth is an addled groan, although your arms instinctively reach up to cling onto Bucky’s solid form.

His gravelly voice is close in your ear, “Hang on.”

The bike slows to a stop at the side of the road, and Bucky leans back to assess you.

“You okay?” He asks. The road is too shadowed for you to make out whether his frown is of concern or irritation.

“I don’t know,” you answer honestly, vocal chords just about working as you scramble to get off him. Your legs are still half asleep, and Bucky’s strong hand on your side is the only thing that stops you falling to the ground. He follows you off the bike much more gracefully, and helps you stand, one hand still on your waist, the other on your hip.

Your limbs are still shaky, and you feel like you have the beginnings of a hangover. “What happened?” You ask.

Bucky lets go of you. “The people who came to abduct you turned up. They drugged you, but I heard them breaking in and managed to stop them taking you. Now I’m bringing you to a safe house.”

“Oh,” you don’t know what to say to this, other than, “thank you.”

Bucky shrugs, “Don’t worry about it. There’s another hour before we get there, so we should get going.”

You nod. Despite still feeling too weak and dizzy to competently ride a bike even as a passenger, you’d rather recover inside in the warm than out by the side of the road.

Bucky’s eyes lingers on you, assessing, then he pulls out a bottle of water stored under the seat and wordlessly hands it over. You take it with another thanks and gratefully drink half in one go, suddenly thirsty. He simply nods when you hand it back, then straddles the bike.

After groggily admiring the flex of his leg muscles as he does so, you move to climb on behind him.

“No,” he says gently, stopping you and indicating that you should sit in front of him. “You might not be alert enough to keep hold of me, and I don’t want you falling off.”

You hesitate. “Can I at least face forward this time?”

A quick teasing grin tugs at the corner of Bucky’s mouth as he gestures to the space he’s left for you between his legs, “Lady’s choice.”

Rolling your eyes to hide the warmth blooming in you despite the strangeness of the situation, you climb in front of him as elegantly as possible. Although you try to keep some space between you, you can feel his warmth at your back as he leans forward, arms caging you as he grasps the handlebars.

His beard grazes your ear, his voice soothing it, “Just grab onto me if you need to,” he tells you.

You get no other warning before the bike takes off, his thick thighs pressing into yours as he raises his legs to the footrests.

—

An hour later, you’re struggling to keep your eyes open as the bike finally slows to a stop beside a wood cabin. The dense trees surrounding it would cast it in darkness even if it wasn’t the middle of the night, and the winding dirt track you’ve been following for the last 20 minutes makes it even more thoroughly hidden.

The stress of the day, lingering effects of the drug and gentle turns of the bike have lulled you into a half sleep, and you’d given up on staying alert long ago, leaning comfortably into Bucky’s solid chest, his strong arms keeping you in place. As you joltingly step off the bike, the absence of his warmth makes the chill breeze feel even colder.

His hand brushes your lower back as he passes you to the entrance of the safe house. Beside the clatter of him unlocking the door and the ticking of his motorbike cooling down, there’s no sound other than the breeze in the trees. You must be miles from anywhere.

Bucky disappears into the darkness of the cabin, and you follow, lingering at the door. The place is small - you’re standing in a living room-kitchen space that spans the width of the building, the door opposite revealing a shaded corridor that Bucky heads into, leading to what can’t be much more than a small bathroom and bedroom. After checking each room - which doesn’t take long - Bucky returns to the main space.

“It’s clear,” he tells you matter-of-factly, “Hasn’t been used in a while by the look of things, and I wouldn’t trust the bed in there, it’s more woodworm than wood.”

You nod and mumble a small, “Okay.” Now that you’re here, everything feels real and scary again. You were attacked, and drugged, and are now hiding out in a creaky cabin in the middle of nowhere, no one but Bucky and, you suppose, Yelena, knowing where you are. You don’t even have your phone with you.

While you’re thinking this, Bucky turns back into the corridor, leaving you in the main room again. Feeling even more awkward, you head to the kitchen area, trying to figure out how to make the best of things. You pull open wonkily attached cupboard doors, finding a few cans of soup and placing the least rusty ones on the counter top - you never did get that pizza. You’re contemplating the wisdom of even checking the use by dates when Bucky passes, his arms full of blankets and pillows which he drops on the couch.

“Bedding’s fine,” he gestures to it, not even looking at you before turning to kneel in front of the fireplace. Sooner than you expect, he stands again, a fire crackling into life in the grate.

“I’d keep the fire burning,” he tells you as he moves to the front door, “It’s the only heat in this place, and you don’t need to worry about the smoke, we weren’t followed and there’s no one else around for miles.”

Your heart sinks. You hadn’t even realised you’d hoped he’d stay until it’s clear he’s about to leave, but the thought of being left alone, here, after everything - it’s daunting.

“Oh. Sure, yeah.” You reply, before holding up a couple of the soup cans, “You don’t want to stay to eat something? It’s a long way back to the city, right?”

Bucky’s stare is carefully neutral as he takes in your questionable finds. He opens his mouth, but as his gaze slides to your face, he pauses. “Sure,” he says uncertainly, “Looks delicious.”

“You must be hungry then,” you joke, trying to hide your relief as you hunt for a can opener.

—

A little while later, the cabin’s feeling a bit more friendly. The smell of the surprisingly decent soup and warmth of the fire have spread through the space, and with your and Bucky’s bowls washed and left to dry by the sink, the place looks almost homey. Even so, apprehension pulses through you when you see him preparing to leave; his warm, steady presence is more of a comfort to you than it should be.

“You shouldn’t need to be here more than one night.” Bucky reassures you. “Two at most. Yelena will come get you when she’s back in the country.”

“Two nights?” Your voice cracks and you clear your throat, determined to come off as confident and unafraid in front of him, “I mean, that’s fine, I guess. I’m sure I can keep myself entertained.”

You shoot him a quick smile. But he can’t ignore the tension in your body language, your arms wrapped tightly around yourself despite the warmth. He’d intended to leave. The second he set foot in the cold, musty cabin it had reminded him of places he’d hidden out in on missions as the Winter Soldier. He’d meant to drop you off and leave as soon as he’d checked it was safe.

Then you’d turned to him with an old tin of soup and a shaky smile, and something tugged at him to stay. Probably he just felt sorry for you. And that urge to look after you, make you comfortable, that was just him wanting to do what was asked of him - nothing to do with the attraction he’d felt to the bold, suspicious person who’d opened the door to him earlier this evening. And if this basic cabin out in the forest was starting to feel more like home than his apartment back in Brooklyn, it was just because he still hadn’t decorated or got used to the modern city - not because sharing dinner with you had warmed him more than any fire ever could.

Jacket and boots on, Bucky hesitates. “Are you alright?”

You flash him another small smile that comes out halfway between the ease you’d intended and a grimace. “I’m fine,” your voice comes out squeaky and you try again. “I’m fine.” You say, a bit more confidently.

Bucky’s eyes don’t move from you, but his raised eyebrow suggests he doesn’t believe you.

Sighing, you admit more quietly, “I think I’m maybe in shock. All this is…a lot. I’ll be alright in a bit.”

Bucky nods and stomps out the door without another word.

You blink rapidly, jarred by his sudden departure, but instead of hearing the roar of his bike starting up, there’s a slam as he returns and shuts the door behind him.

“Here,” he holds out a candy bar to you.

You simply stare at him, dumbfounded.

“Sugar helps with shock,” he explains with a shrug. “And it counts as dessert. Since you made dinner.”

You can’t help the laugh that spills out as you thank him. “I didn’t expect this from you.” You add as you take the candy, looking up in time to see his throat bob as he swallows.

Sinking into the couch as you unwrap the chocolate, you hope Bucky will join you, and are startled when instead he squats down in front of you and places a hand either side of your legs, gripping the couch with both hands and tugging the whole thing – heavy old furniture and you – so you slide across the floor, closer to the fire. His smug grin is the only sign he’s noticed your mouth falling open in astonishment, as he drops down next to you. Right next you; his arm and leg brushing against yours.

“It’s better to stay warm,” is all he says by way of explanation, watching the dancing flames in front of you both.

“Thank you,” you repeat. After a moment you lean into him slightly, curious to see how he’ll react. As if by instinct, he lifts his arm to wrap it around you, pulling you firmly into his side.

You smile to yourself, and snap off a square of chocolate to pass to him. Your eyes meet as he takes it from you, and you let your gaze linger on his face, so close to yours. Bucky doesn’t turn away - watching you with an intensity that mirrors your own. A loud crackle from the fire is the only thing to snap your attention away, and you sit together in comfortable silence, your face warm as you let the candy melt in your mouth.

“Better?” Bucky asks.

“Much,” you answer. His solid warmth has calmed you, and you’re pretty sure it’s his proximity, rather than the fire’s, that’s making your blood pump hot through you. Your suspicion is confirmed when he removes his arm from around you and stands up, taking the candy wrapper from you and leaving a cold gust of absence.

“Lie down,” he instructs softly, gesturing to the blankets and pillows around you on the couch, “It’s late. You should get some sleep.”

He moves to the kitchen before you can reply, so you do as you’re told and lie down, burrowing into the blankets in the hopes of capturing his lingering warmth. You desperately want to ask him to stay, but you’re not sure how.

Eyes closed, you’re unaware of Bucky’s silent return. He watches you, feeling the tension slip from his shoulders at the soft sounds of your breath and the fire. He wants to stay - to comfort you, he tells himself, and make sure you’re safe. Nothing else, of course. But do you want that?

“Are you still cold?” he asks, his voice low.

You open your eyes to the sight of him looking down at you from the foot of the couch, his creased brow casting his eyes into shadow.

“I could be warmer,” you tell him.

The next sound you hear is the soft thud of Bucky’s boots hitting the floor as he toes them off, simultaneously shrugging out of his jacket. Leaning over you, his knee tucks into the space behind yours.

“Budge up,” he mutters, a gentle teasing edge dancing through his voice.

Slightly stunned - and delighted - you shuffle forward to the edge of the couch, letting him slot in behind you against the back cushions. Lifting the blankets, he presses against you, his right arm snaking around your body, holding you to him.

Realising you’ve been holding your breath as his body adjusts to yours, you let out a contented sigh. Sandwiched between the flickering heat of the fire and the warmth and security of Bucky’s firm body, you feel yourself finally relax. As the last remnants of tension and shock are eased out of you, you drift off to sleep, comfortable and safe in Bucky’s arms.

He’s slower to fall asleep. Bucky wants to hold still so you won’t wake, but your closeness is making him more aware of every part of his body.

He looks down at you fondly as you twist over mid-dream, grabbing a fistful of his shirt and pressing your face to his chest, inhaling deeply as you continue your steady sleep. Taking a long breath, Bucky tries to ignore it as the spark of a feeling he hasn’t felt for a very, very long time catches in his chest, the glowing ember of it warming him deeply as he relaxes into sleep.

—

The first fingers of dawn creeping through the flimsy curtains wakes Bucky the next morning. There’s a smile on his face and a gentle glow in his chest – he’s slept soundly through the night, and has the unfamiliar feeling of having woken from a good dream. Keeping his eyes closed to try and recapture the thoughts that were just now floating through his sleeping mind, he’s suddenly brought back to reality by movement in his arms – you, shifting as you wake up.

You awake with the same warm glow as Bucky, breathing deeply as consciousness trickles in, and inhaling a delicious scent – clean, woodsy and warmly spiced, something that smells both comforting and exciting. There’s soft fabric under your hand and you sigh contentedly as you nuzzle closer. It’s only when Bucky politely clears his throat, the sound reverberating through the chest you now realise you’re lying on, that the realisation of where you are comes back to you.

Jerking back as far as you can – which isn’t much, given the size of the couch and that Bucky’s arms are still encircling you – your eyes fly open and you freeze as you meet the supersoldier’s amused gaze.

“Morning,” he greets you with just a hint of a smirk, his gravelly voice making your stomach somersault.

“Morning,” you squeak back, inwardly cursing yourself for not being anything like as cool as he is. Knowing your normal morning state, your hair is probably a bird’s nest and you don’t want to think about the likelihood of there being drool on your face - or his chest.

But Bucky simply smiles back at you, his eyes dancing over your face. Half-stunned, you gaze back at him - his strong nose, his smooth cupid’s bow lips, his ice blue eyes - and a hot longing spreads through you. You know you’re currently in a strange cabin in the middle of nowhere, hiding out from mysterious enemies who want to hurt you - but right now that all feels very far away; much less important than the warm, muscular body pressed against yours.

A darkness in Bucky’s gaze makes you shiver in delight as you realise his thoughts are mirroring your own.

“Did you sleep well?” he asks, voice gruff but with the ghost of a smile, his arms still wrapped tight around you.

You raise an eyebrow, leaning back into him and angling your face up to his, “Very,” You answer softly, “You?”

“Very,” Bucky echoes, staring deep into your eyes for a moment before pulling you close, erasing the last space between you. His soft lips brush against yours, sending tingles racing through your body, and you press into him eagerly. His response is immediate, his mouth firm and giving, and you fist his shirt in your hands as you move closer, opening your mouth to his, and-

A loud, shrill alarm pierces the air and you yelp, both of you startled apart. You nearly fall off the couch at the noise, and Bucky bolts upright.

“It’s the proximity alarm,” he explains, jumping up and heading for his jacket where it’s hanging on the back of a chair. After pulling his phone from the pocket, his shoulders loosen as he visibly relaxes. “It’s friendly,” he says, turning back to where you’re half-lying, still tangled in blankets.

“Good,” you manage to respond, unconvincingly. You’re obviously glad there’s no threat, but the timing of this arrival could have been better.

A lopsided smile spreads across Bucky’s face, “You don’t sound too happy about that,” he teases, voice still rough.

You fail to hide a smile, wrinkling your nose, “I’m just…no good with guests before I’ve had coffee.”

His smile widening into a grin, Bucky nods. “I’ll put some on.”

You extricate yourself from the bedding as he heads to the kitchen area, and try pointlessly to brush the wrinkles from your clothes, hoping whoever’s coming to meet you can’t tell that your heart is still pounding, heat pulsing through you from the kiss. It might have been short, and unpleasantly interrupted, but it was the best kiss you’ve had in a very long time.

As you neatly fold the blankets, still warm from your and Bucky’s combined body heat, his clattering in the kitchen is drowned out by the sound of an engine outside, before the front door bursts open and Yelena strides into the cabin.

Before you can even open your mouth to greet her, she runs to you and wraps you in a fierce hug, “I’m so sorry!” She says into your shoulder before pulling back to look you over, checking for injuries. “I never thought you would get hurt because of me, you’re my best friend and I love you and I nearly got you kidnapped!”

“It’s okay,” you reassure her, returning the hug, “I’m fine, Bucky looked after me.”

Yelena glances over at Bucky who nods at you both before returning his attention to the coffee. Yelena slowly turns her head to look back at you, her eyes narrowing and a cat-like smile spreading across her face, “He looked after you, huh?” She drawls.

“Shut up,” you mutter, feeling your face warm, “not like that. Well, not - no, not like that.”

“Okay,” she answers with a grin, “What’s that saying about silver livings again?”

“Yelena,” you warn her, aware Bucky can hear you both.

She laughs again before the smile slides from her face. “I am really sorry though,”

“It’s not your fault,” you reassure her.

“But I put you in danger,” she insists with a pout, “and I told you I wouldn’t.”

“Coffee’s ready,” Bucky calls from the kitchen.

“Look, we can talk about it later,” you tell Yelena, moving to where Bucky’s pouring you a mug.

“Fine,” Yelena grumbles good-naturedly as she follows you, “But can we talk about whatever it is you did to get Barnes to make you coffee?”

You roll your eyes as she laughingly bumps your shoulder, neither of you noticing the openly affectionate look on Bucky’s face that he quickly moves to hide.

------------

Part 2 coming soon

Tags: @yesshewrites1

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.

It Was Just Like A Movie

Pairing: Actor!Joaquin Torres x Fem!Actress!Reader

Summary: You were each other’s Co-stars and bestest friends. But, you loved loved him. He loved loved you, as well. What was the problem? Everyone knew this except the two of you.

Warnings: Actors!AU, Best friends to Lovers, Cursing, Mentions of Stalking by fans, Talks about feet (not in a gross way!), small foot injury, Pining, So much Fluff, Slight Angst, Yearning, Drinking, These two are oblivious dumbasses, Kissing, heavily inspired by my babies tom and zendaya and their adorable interviews during no way home press tour . This one is really long. There will be a part two, hehe.

AN: i was rewatching all the tz interviews and i could only think about joaquin. enjoy. That Paris interview in this is word for word, bar for bar, taken from tom and z’s interview. So full credits to them. PS: assume the movie they are doing press for is something like We Live In Time.

If someone asked you, 'What's the best part of being an actor?' you would immediately respond with 'Getting to know Joaquin Torres'. You were forever grateful for getting cast in that Netflix show 3 years ago because that show introduced you to the silliest and prettiest sweetest boy in this whole world.

By the time the show was over, both of you were attached to the hip. Everyone would keep insisting that the two of you would end up together but to protect your friendship, you turned a blind eye to them. Worst part of it all were the fans. You loved them, truly. But the endless edits, messages and tweets that they would make about the two of you was something that always gave you goosebumps- out of fear or out of excitement, or maybe both. They even had a whole hashtag for your 'ship' name. It was terrifying. You did not want Joaquin to be weirded out and to distance himself from you, like it happens to some in the industry after the fans became more invasive.

It escalated when some fans would stalk you both and psychoanalyse your friendship. They would post sneaky pictures of you two hanging out and you freaked out over it every time. You were not expecting Joaquin to react with the same air of nonchalance. As if this wasn't making your heart fall down to your stomach. As if it wouldn't break you if he walked away. He was your rock, your family, in this fucked up industry. The two of you have been through everything together. Even your families were a big joint family at this point. So yeah, you were afraid of losing your best friend- your soulmate -over some stupid fan theories.

You chose to lock your feelings far away and told yourself to be normal around him. But how could you do that when he was so charming and so damn clingy? His day wasn't complete without giving you a thousand hugs and cuddles per day. Your stomach erupted in butterflies every single time. You swore that the hugs were longer and longer each day and they left you feeling giddy throughout the day.

He was a professional yapper so how could you be normal around him when he had to tell you every single detail from his day. If it wasn't in person, then it was over a call and if it wasn't over a call, then your phone would blow up with his texts and audio messages all day long. His talkative nature was a blessing for you because 1. you were an amazing listener and an introvert and 2. you loved listening to his smooth, slightly husky, low pitched voice. It was like music to your ears and you would never admit to his face that you loved being the only person he would tell all these details to. Even if your peers teased you every time they saw Joaquin was calling you, you would never miss his call.

How could you be normal around him when his beautiful eyes would look at you like you hung the moon and stars in the sky? It was probably the perpetual look of wonder in his eyes because he was so passionate about everything he did. But you swore he looked at you with a different twinkle in his eyes. Or maybe it was your poor heart's wishful thinking.

Another reason why you couldn't be normal around Joaquin Torres was his endless charm and sweet nature, especially towards you and especially during interviews. He was either a really smooth fucker or he was putting up a show for everyone because boy was he ten times more clingy and attentive in front of the cameras. He would flirt with you. It was almost like he wanted to give the fans some content to talk about. He would make a joke, lean closer to you or flirt with you and your entire face would be warm which you'd try to cover up with overly dramatic laughter.

You were sure of one thing, Joaquin Torres would be the cause of your death (biggest heartbreak) one day.

-

The two of you had been cast in a new romantic-drama and were currently on the press tour for the movie.

Currently, you were in Paris and the two of you were sitting in a room with a single seat in the middle and a screen in front of it. The seat was small. Like, your-thighs-would-be-touching-Joaquin's- small. You saw that and damn near fainted. You don't think you could handle sitting so close to him.

So, here you were, sitting extremely close to Joaquin, trying to focus on the questions appearing on the screen before you. You kept your hands in lap and tried to lean away from him. But he would have none of that and leaned even closer to you. You have never wanted to smack him in the head more than you did in this moment.

You swallowed the butterflies that had crawled up your throat and clenched your fists before reading out the question. "What do you have in common with your characters?", you read aloud and turned to face him.

He was wearing a lovely white collared shirt with diamond shaped lines on it, which framed his broad shoulders nicely, paired with black straight pants and his favorite golden necklace. His curls were gelled back to look perfectly quaffed. Oh yeah, did you mention that every time he wore jewelry you wanted to pull him closer by his necklace, grab his face and kiss him stupid? Yeah.

He looked at you and observed your face for a second before you broke off his stare. You looked so pretty, he thought.

"What do you have in common with your characters? Answer it!", you smiled at him and gestured at the screen with your hand.

Joaquin blinked before turning his attention back to the screen.

"Uh- he is- devilishly handsome-", he began while clapping his right fist against the palm of his left hand.

You let out a laugh and nudged him.

"He is incredibly brave, charming, charismatic!", he listed off with a smile in his voice.

"We're played by the same person-", you added in while giggling.

He continued his actions. "-we're played by the same person, funny!", he finished smugly. You laughed and nudged him with your shoulder.

Before you could say anything he continued, "Yours is- she's a weirdo-", he began counting off on his fingers and you burst out in giggles and leaned against him.

"She's a loser! She is...sassy!", he counted off in a teasing manner.

You chuckled and held his hands to stop him. "Shut up! Next question!"

What you didn't notice, was the way he looked at you when you laughed. Like there was nobody else in the room. Like his entire heart was pouring out of his eyes. Like he wanted to freeze time in this moment so that you could hold his hand a little longer.

-

Joaquin Torres never knew he needed a guardian angel. He thought he was doing just fine in his life. Then, he got cast in a Netflix show and he met you. The day that he met you, he was sure his heart was going to burst out of his chest. You were a shy thing, never speaking to anyone unless spoken to, respectful and oh so sweet. Always ready to help people out. And oh, you looked like an angel. Your eyes were always shining so bright- as if you held a thousand stars in them. You had the most breathtaking smile that made his lungs give out. He knew he was goner the moment you flashed him that smile.

It didn't take time for Joaquin to fall for you and for you to become his best friend. Although, every time you called him that, it felt like someone had stabbed him straight through the heart but he steadied himself and stomped on his feelings. Because he valued your presence in his life more than he valued his feelings for you. If you wanted to be his friend, then that's what he was going to be. A good friend, a loyal friend, as long as you wanted.

Joaquin thought you were his guardian angel because he liked himself better when he was with you and because you were there to hold him when nobody was. He learned to be kinder to himself and others because of you. You validated his feelings and lifted him up whenever he faced any failure. He wanted to be as graceful as you are. He was in love with your generosity, your advocacy for the right things and your ability to feel and express every emotion at the fullest. He could write novels and poems for and on you. He loved you. Completely.

The two of you were always attached by the hip. Hanging out after filming or hanging out at each other's houses was soon a part of your routines. He couldn't go without talking to you for even a day. It was his most favorite thing in the whole world because you were such a good listener. Always enthusiastic about his stories and lending him a shoulder to lean on. He knew he wasn't exactly subtle, either. Joaquin was naturally a clingy person. He loved people and he loved being close to his loved ones but he especially loved being clingy with you. The two of you fit like puzzle pieces and your body would automatically make space for him even if you weren't big on physical touch. Holding your hands, hugging you, cuddling you while he slept, leaning against you during interviews and the lingering hugs when you were separated for a long time. He wanted to hold you close and melt in your soft, loving arms forever. He didn't give a damn about anybody watching the two of you or your peers teasing you both.

He knew it was serious for him the day he brought you home to meet his mom, grandmother and sister. And it was the best decision he ever took in his life because they adored you like you were their own. Every time you were over at his house, the three of them would give Joaquin knowing looks but he told them not to think much about it because you didn't like him like that. To make matters worse, your family had basically adopted him and it made him dizzy at how domestic all of it looked like.

One day, you showed him what the fans had been talking about the two of you. You showed him the countless edits, tweets, texts and posts and he was shocked. Because as he was looking through those edits, he thought- was he always this obvious? And how could you not see that? But, he did it unknowingly because he was just that comfortable with you. It was making him overwhelmed. He could see that you were panicking. You had told him that you don't want this to ruin your friendship and he promised you that it wouldn't. His heart was in a million pieces but he couldn't bear to see you sad. So he did what he did best- act cool and unbothered about it. Every time he came across something on his social media accounts, he just ignored it. Acted like he didn't see any of it. Just to keep himself sane.

And then some fans started stalking the two of you every time you were together and that pissed him off. Joaquin wasn't one to get ticked off easily. But when it came to your safety, he was lethal. He saw the sneaky pictures some fans had taken of the two of you and his first thought was to protect you. So, he subtly appointed security that would take care of the both of you and kept checking on you every day. Joaquin continued to act coolly as if nothing happened only for your sake and because if he didn't, he was going to end up doing something embarrassing and drive you away from him. And he wasn't sure if his vulnerable heart could handle that. You were his guardian angel, he was better with you and intended to keep it that way forever.

-

The two of you were back in the States and you had an interview with IMDB today. You and Joaquin were wearing matching outfits. He was wearing a satin shirt that was dusky in colour with some dark brown pants. His hair was perfectly quaffed again and he was wearing that goddamn golden necklace, again. You were matching him in a cute dress with ruffles on the bottom, it was also dusky in color and had a colorful flower embroidery on the chest. You paired it with maroon heels and some golden half-hoop earrings with your hair styled in a barbie-like high ponytail.

The two of you had clicked loads of pictures before leaving for the interview and he had posted a selfie of you two on his Instagram story- you were pressing your cheeks to each other and cheesing at the camera. He had captioned it 'twinning with da bestie' and had tagged you in it.

Your cheeks were red and your heart was in pain at the same time. You didn't dare to open your Instagram the whole day.

"So, I saw the trailer and it really broke my heart. They're so sweet to each other. The two of you are best friends in real life, how was it like acting like a married couple and how did you prepare for the emotional scenes? Did it feel personal?", the interviewer asked the two of you.

You let out a deep sigh and Joaquin 'oof'ed.

"Wow, that's a pretty deep question..", Joaquin trailed off and chuckled weakly.

It was really difficult. Both of you knew how emotionally taxing it was to film this movie and you were glad that you had each other.

"Yeah, oh man, there were days where it felt like...i had no tears left to cry and there were days where my eyes were swollen from crying so much", you admitted.

Joaquin nodded in agreement.

"I remember requesting for a 15 minute break after this particularly rough scene. She was completely spent. Her face was red from crying, her throat was scratchy because we were shouting at each other, and her eyes were completely bloodshot. At one point i just stopped and took a pause because it was hurting me to watch her get so worked up. We almost never fight, and after a point, it felt like we were actually fighting, you know?", Joaquin explained.

You turned to look at him in awe. "Wait, I thought.. that was just a cut...I don't remember any of that...", you trailed off, surprised. You were truly out of it that day. All the screaming, crying, had gotten to you and you had just broken down mid scene. Watching Joaquin get so angry and raise his voice at you had hurt you for real. You thought a break was announced because the director asked for it. You had no idea Joaquin requested it for you? Your stomach felt like it was doing jumping jacks.

Joaquin turned to look at you fondly. "Yeah, you were so immersed into the scene, (nickname), that you didn't realise you were hyperventilating. I could see your hands shaking so I asked for a break and we helped you wind down. She was fucking brilliant in the scene, though", he brought his hand behind your chair to rub your shoulder blades gently and confessed to the interviewer.

Your breath hitched and your eyes filled with tears. He was so attentive and in tune with your emotions, it was painful. You gave him a grateful smile before clearing your throat and sniffled. "What the hell, you're ruining my make-up, 'Quino."

The interviewer smiled and extended a tissue box which Joaquin took in his hands and handed you a tissue. You thanked him softly and wiped your tears and he looked at you with concern. He leaned his head closer to you and whispered, "you okay?", his brown eyes blown wide and something else shining in them.

You looked at him with teary eyes and nodded your head yes. He flashed you a sweet smile and returned the tissue box before sitting up straight. "You see how difficult it was?!", he pointed at you.

All three of you chuckled at that.

"Honestly, I could do this because of him. He was there to catch me when i fell and he offered me support on my toughest days, like he's been doing always", you responded sincerely and patted Joaquin's back gently, "And to answer your question, yes, it definitely felt personal because the fights, the trauma shared by the two of them, was something we would unknowingly carry home. But, this guy would take me to eat ice-cream after filming and that was the highlight of my day", you finished while chuckling.

Joaquin let out a bashful laugh and shook his head. His back felt warm where your hand was still resting on it.

-

After the interview was over, the two of you sat in the van to go back to the hotel you were staying in. This was the last interview of this press tour and you were so glad that it was over, although you would miss working with Joaquin again.

You let out a long, tiring sigh. "Finally we're done for the day, I just wanna crash on my bed right now", you groaned while removing your heels and stretching your toes. Your toes were red and you could feel a shoe bite on the back of your heel.

Joaquin looked at your toes and winced. "You should've carried some flats, (nickname). You wanna stop by the medical store?"

"No, it's alright. I'll treat them at the hotel", you reassured him with a soft smile. He smiled back at you and leaned back in his seat.

You looked away to gently massage your feet and you missed the way Joaquin was looking at you.

He was observing the way your hair fell softly by your shoulders, your soft arms, the way your perfume smelled like something floral that was so addictive that he has to clench his hands together to stop leaning in and taking a sniff. Joaquin clenched his jaw tightly and looked out of the window.

You leaned back in your seat and thought back to his confession today.

“‘Quino?”

He quickly turned his head to look at you and hummed for you to continue.

“Thank you”, you confessed sincerely and gave him a warm smile. His face twisted in confusion. You chuckled quietly.

“For looking after me on set, thank you.”

His face broke out in a radiant smile and ducked his head.

“Oh, come on. That’s my job as your best friend. I’d do anything for you. You know that, right?”,he conceded and nudged you lightly.

You gave him a tentative smile. Your heart twisted painfully at the word ‘best friend’. “Yeah, I know. Right back at you.”

The two of continued to stare at each other intently before you cleared your throat.

Joaquin looked away, his cheeks dusted with pink, but you were too busy hiding your own warm cheeks to notice that.

“Uh- you’re coming to the wrap party, right?”

You made a face. This was the fifth wrap party you’ve had since you finished filming the movie. You were tired and you just wanted a vacation.

“No. Don’t make that face, (Name). You can’t ditch me like that!”, Joaquin chided you.

You rolled your eyes.

“Joaquin. This is the fifth party. What is so different about this one? I’m so tired please leave me alone”, you whined, dragging out the ‘e’.

He gaped at you. “Dude. You literally promised me that you were attending. I cancelled all my plans for you!”

“Oh, shut up. You’re the biggest social butterfly alive, you’ll be fine without me”, you waved him off.

A slight hurt look crossed his eyes. “Okay, no. That’s not true. And, it’s your party too! You’re literally the lead of the film.”

You side eyed him and ignored the ‘lead’ comment. “You always end up yapping to everyone in the room and I’m sitting in a corner with a drink clutched in my hands, waiting for you to come back. Hell no, I’m not going.”

His face softened. He knew you hated these parties and only attended for his sake. He felt bad that you felt neglected by him.

“Hey, no. I’m sorry. I’ll stick by you, I promise. Come with me?”, he widened his eyes and pouted at you. You don’t even think he was making that face knowingly.

“You’ll sit by me and inform me about wherever you’re going?”

He nodded.

“And you’ll let me leave the moment I tell you that I wanna go home?”

He nodded twice.

“And you won’t force me to dance?”

He made a face before begrudgingly nodding his head yes.

Joaquin loved dancing. And he loved dancing with you even more. But you only danced when the two of you were alone and he tried his best to get you on the dance floor with him.

You observed him for a second and his jutted out his bottom lip before taking your hand in both of his. You rolled your eyes. “Okay.”

Joaquin’s eyes widened. “Really?!”

You huffed out a laugh. “Yes, dumbass.”

He flashed you his gorgeous smile before holding your chin in his hand. He titled your face slightly and gave you a soft kiss on your cheek, before quickly pulling away.

You froze.

Did he just…kiss you?? Joaquin Torres kissed you. The man that you were stupidly in love with for the past 3 years…..just kissed you. And he was acting like nothing happened. What the fuck.

If you had the ability to listen to people’s heartbeats, you would’ve heard that Joaquin’s heart was beating so fast that you’d think he was going to pass out. Blood rushed to his face and his ears and he was so sure that his entire face was the same shade as a tomato.

You swallowed thickly and luckily you didn’t have to say anything further as the van approached your hotel.

You hastily put on your heels before clearing your throat. Unfortunately for your current situation, your rooms were on the same floor. So you had to wait for him and behave normally.

Joaquin turned to look at you with longing in his eyes. The two of you got out of the car and you stumbled a little because of your sore feet. Joaquin quickly stood next to you and steadied you with his hands on your shoulders. People were definitely going to talk but you were too distracted to think about all that right now.

“Careful. Here, I’ll help”, he offered you gently and helped you walk. You took a few steps further and let out a series of winces. It hurt. The skin of your heel was completely red and agitated.

Joaquin stopped immediately. “Alright, remove those and give ‘em to me”, he huffed out.

You quirked an eyebrow at him. “You’re joking? You’re gonna make me walk on this nasty concrete?”

He looked at you and raised his eyebrows. “Should I carry you, then?”, he sassed back.

You shot him an irritated look. As you were about to bend down to remove your heels, he dropped down to crouch by your feet and carefully, oh so gently, removed the right heel before slowly guiding your foot to… are those his shoes?

"Wait-Joaquin, what are you doing?! How are you going to wal-"

"Just shut up and wear them, babe." Babe?!

Before you could even have a reaction to that, he had slipped on his shoes on your feet and he stood up, holding both of your heels in one of his hands. You looked at him, standing next to you in his sock-clad feet, not caring about how many people would notice that. He wrapped an arm around your shoulders to help you walk and both of you went to the reception to collect your key cards.

Joaquin walked you to your room and patiently waited for you to unlock it. You scanned the key card and opened door. As soon as you entered your room, you removed his shoes while gesturing at him to wear them and took your heels back from him. Pressing his lips into a thin line, he wore his shoes and awkwardly stood outside the door, his hands deep in his pockets.

You cleared your throat and broke the silence. "Well, goodnight, Joaquin. I'll...see you at the party." A look of hurt flickered across his eyes but he blinked it away quickly and nodded his head.

“Okay. Night, (Name)”, he spoke quietly, as if his voice was stuck in his throat. You were so close, yet you were suddenly so far.

You gave him a half-smile before slowly closing the door.

Joaquin waited outside your door for while and felt a dull ache in his chest. He couldn’t believe that he had fucked up so bad. What was he thinking? Kissing you like that? And- calling you babe?! He shut his eyes in embarrassment and clenched his hand into a fist. His throat was choked up with unshed tears and it made him feel extremely uncomfortable so he rushed to his room and decided to sleep over it.

You, on the other hand, were confused between crying or laughing because not only had Joaquin kissed you on the cheek but he had called you babe? Maybe he was just being friendly. He was clingy after all. But...no it can't be. He can't be interested in you like that.

So, you decided on crying. Your chest hurt with longing. He was so close yet so far. And you weren't sure if you were ready to face him again tomorrow.

-

Next morning, you woke up feeling worse. You were anxious and restless and you were dreading going out of your room. So you called up your manager and told her that you'd be having your breakfast in your room today and that they should go ahead. She asked you what should they tell Joaquin and you paused. You were so close that both of your teams knew to keep you posted about each other when you were working together. You just told her that you will handle that on your own. And approximately fifteen minutes later, your phone lit up with text notifications.

Quino🦁: why are u not at breakfast?

You sighed before typing out a response that would convince him.

You: i just need to be alone for sometime

Quino🦁: are you okay? U want me to come over?

You: No..u know i need to wind down before going to a party...ill be fine dw 👍

Quino🦁: Ok.. Text me if u need anything, (Nickname)

You: yes i will, torres

Your phone pinged again and it was another text from Joaquin. He had sent a selfie of him holding up his plate in front of the camera and he was pouting into the camera with the caption 'miss u'. You let out a giggle. "So stupid..", you trailed off with a smile on your face. You responded with an 'aww' and smiled at the photo before remembering whatever happened the night before. You groaned and fell back into the pillows before getting up and finally starting your day. The party would start in the evening and before that you had to do a small photoshoot for a brand collaboration and this meant that thankfully, you were busy for the whole day before you had to face Joaquin again.

Joaquin couldn't help but feel uneasy throughout the day. This was the longest he’d gone without talking to you. From the moment he didn't see you at breakfast, he knew something was up but he also knew that you needed your space sometimes so he let you be. But then he overheard your manager talk about a photoshoot and his day just got worse. The two of you departed awkwardly last night and now he couldn't see you until the evening. He was starting to get antsy. Joaquin thought of shooting you a text but decided against it, not wanting to disturb you. So he waited until you would see him later this evening.

-

Finally, it was evening and it was time for the party. You were going to the party straight from your photoshoot so you did your make up and outfit at the set itself. You had decided to wear a cute, sleeveless red dress and the sleeves thinned at the back into straps, with a big light pink bow joining them at the waist, paired with light-pink box heels that wouldn't agitate your feet further. Your hair was sleeked back into a bun with a few strands of hair curled at the front, with minimal makeup.

In your rush, you had forgotten to text Joaquin and as you were about to leave the set, you collided with a body. You stumbled back before an arm shot out to catch you by your waist.

“Shit-‘Quino?”, you asked, your heart beating faster because of the scare of almost falling on the hard concrete and because it was Joaquin who had saved you from falling. “What are you doing here?”

Joaquin was too busy admiring you to answer your question. You looked so pretty. Like a doll. His mouth was open slightly as he carefully took in your features.

“Hello? Joaquin?”, you waved a hand in front of his face. He snapped out of his stupor and pulled you up carefully. He cleared his throat and ran a hand through his curls.

“Uh- you weren’t answering my texts…got a lil worried and thought I’d come over to check on you”, he admitted in a low voice and scratched the back of his head.

“Oh! I’m sorry, I was running late so I decided to get ready here at the set itself. Didn’t get a chance to check my phone”, you responded sheepishly.

It was then you finally got a good look at him. He was wearing a white tee inside a black jacket and he had paired it with some black pants. His hair was free of any product so his curls were more pronounced. And he was wearing his glasses. You loved it when he wore his glasses because they made him look even more prettier. He forgot them way too often for someone who couldn’t see without them.

“You’re finally wearing your glasses!”, you smiled at him and pointed a finger towards his glasses.

His face broke out in a smile.

“You know I can’t see properly at night. Forget about me though, you…you look like a Barbie, (Nickname)”, his voice took on a soft, velvety tone.

Your cheeks felt warm and you ducked your head.

“Shut up.”

“I’m serious! Be ready ‘cus you’re gonna get compliment after compliment the whooooole night!”

You shoved his shoulder and laughed. “Alright, that’s enough. We’re getting late, let’s move!”

Both of you were just glad that everything was normal in between you two now. The two of you sat in the car and left for the venue. The car ride was thankfully uneventful aa the two of you scrolled through your phones and shared memes. The car finally reached the venue and you got out of it with Joaquin’s help. He offered you his arm and you settled your hand in the crook of his arm.

The party had a small photo call with a carpet. One of the producers had thrown the party so there were at-least 20 paparazzis present and they were shouting and yelling at you two for a picture. You and Joaquin clicked a few pictures on the carpet and entered the venue.

The moment you entered the venue, you saw Sam Wilson- a mutual friend of you two and a fellow actor. He was especially fond of you and Joaquin- he was like your surrogate father. He had discovered Joaquin and that’s how you know each other. Over time, the three of you got so close that you had a fixed hang out at the end of every month/week. Sam spotted the two of you and came over to give you both a bear hug.

“My movie stars!”, Sam said gleefully and hugged you two tightly.

You giggled and hugged him back. “Hi, Sammy!”

“Hey, man”, Joaquin chuckled and patted Sam’s back.

Sam pulled back and narrowed his eyes at you two. “Y’all are late. The time was 4pm not 5pm. A whole hour late!”

Joaquin looked at you smugly and crossed his arms.

You flashed him a sheepish smile. “Uh- I was busy with a photoshoot so I was running a little late. Sorry!”

Sam squinted his eyes at you and let out a big laugh. “Ah, You’re forgiven. This is your party anyways. Come on, everyone’s waiting for you!” He wrapped his arms around your shoulders and dragged the two of you in the packed room. “And I’ve got a surprise for you”, Sam nudged you and diverted your attention towards the bar.

And the first person you spotted was- “Bucky!”, you took off towards him to give him a big hug.

James ‘Bucky’ Barnes was another fellow actor and Sam’s best friend (you lowkey believed they were in love with each other.) Sam randomly introduced the two of you to Bucky and you quickly became friends. He was one of the finest actors you'd ever seen onscreen but his off camera persona was like a complete 180 degrees. He connected with you more than Joaquin because he thought Joaquin was way too much for him. (you believed that he was actually fond of Joaquin but he loved to bully him for fun because Joaquin was intimidated by him.)

Bucky was a huge grump and found it difficult to be friends with people because of his social anxiety. How did him and Sam become friends? You have no idea. But it seemed like the only people he put up with were you and Sam. And he had a major case of the Resting Bitch Face so people were afraid to approach him. But once they got past his initial awkwardness and intense stares, he was really sweet and helpful. You absolutely loved talking to him and spending time with him, even though the two of you were completely different than the other. He was a little old fashioned but you loved taking interest in his stories and he adored you for that. He even jokingly called you his daughter once.

Bucky turned around and his face lit up. "Hi, doll", he replied happily and gathered you in his arms. His arms went around your back and he leaned his chin on top of your head.

You broke the hug and held him by the forearms. "How are you? I haven't seen you in three months!", you pouted.

Bucky let out a chuckle. "You were the busy one, Miss worldwide!"

You blushed and slapped his arm gently. "Shut up. It's so good to see you again, I missed you", you lowered your voice, "And I bet Sam did too", you winked at him.

He groaned loudly and lightly covered your face with his palm. "You're annoying as hell, you know that?"

You let out a gleeful laugh and tried to bite his hand. He yelped and took his hand away.

"Oh, and what about you, huh? Pining over your own best friend in front of the whole world?"

You paused and narrowed your eyes at him. "Shut up, James."

Bucky hummed sarcastically and leaned back against the bar counter. "You're telling me to shut up right now but you're gonna come back and cry to me about your silly little crush."

You ducked your head and frowned.

Bucky saw this nudged you gently.

“Hey, why don’t you just tell him?”

You whipped your head up and widened your eyes at him. “No way. Why would I ever tell him? It’s gonna ruin-”

“-your friendship, I know. But you’re the smartest person I know, doll. Are you sure he doesn’t love you back?”

You furrowed your eyebrows and opened and closed your mouth like a fish. There’s no way Joaquin returned your feelings, right? But…no. There’s just no way.

In the distance, Joaquin was watching the entire exchange with a longing and adoring look in his eyes. He didn't notice Sam look at him and shake his head in disbelief.

"Man, the whole room can see you drooling right now. Just tell her how you feel, Torres", Sam exasperated.

"W-what?", Joaquin sputtered. It's not like Sam didn't know about his feelings for you. But saying it out loud made Joaquin shudder.

Sam scoffed. "What? You think we don't see it? Everybody knows, man. And how do ya'll not see the way you look at each other?"

Joaquin froze and felt like his heart was going to burst out of his chest. "What do you mean?"

Sam let out a pitiful sigh. "Joaquin, she loves you. It's in her eyes. How did you not notice it?", he explained to Joaquin gently and clapped a hand on Joaquin's shoulder.

Joaquin's ears were ringing. He was going to faint. There's no way that you love him and he didn't notice. There's just no way that you love him.

"No...Sam, she doesn't-", Joaquin's voice cracked. His eyes were shining with unshed tears. He swallowed thickly to get rid of them and shook his head in disagreement.

Sam softened his eyes and gave him a gentle smile. "Man, she looks at you like you saved her life. The other day, she told me she carried a knee brace with her because your knee injury troubled you sometimes and in case you needed one if you forgot to bring yours. She carries extra snacks because you get hungry in between takes. Did you know she learned how to make caldo de pollo from your mom incase you were sick and away from home?"

Joaquin's eyes widened and he snapped his head to look at Sam. You learned his mom's recipe? Of his favourite dish? "What?", he whispered.

Sam smiled at him. "Yeah. You're an idiot, Torres. I could see that, the fans could see that, hell, I am sure your families saw it too. How did you not notice?"

Joaquin's mouth fell open and he turned his head to look at you. You were still chatting with Bucky, your face changing a million expressions per second and oh, you looked like an angel. His angel. His eyebrows furrowed and he looked back at Sam.

"I'm scared, Sam", he said in a meek and quiet voice.

Sam looked at him with sympathy. "I know. But, you gotta tell her someday. I promise you, she's waiting for you to make a move”, he squeezed Joaquin’s shoulder in encouragement.

Joaquin took a deep breath in and tried to keep his tears at bay. He was going to be a mess. And if you walked out, he was going to be an even bigger mess in front of everyone. He weakly nodded his head at Sam and made his way over to you. It’s now or never. And whatever happens, he’d try to hold onto you until he gave up his last breath.

Your back was facing him and Bucky was the first one to notice him approach you. Bucky nudged you and you turned around. Joaquin’s breath stilled. You looked so gorgeous in this lighting. His hands twitched with the want to hold you close.

Bucky cut through the tension first.

“Hi, Torres.”

Joaquin snapped his eyes over to Bucky and cleared his throat.

“H-Hi, Bucky. How are you?”, he held out a hand. Bucky shook his hand firmly and nodded at him, his ocean blue eyes cutting through his skin.

“Good. You did a good job in the movie. And I hope this one didn’t give you much trouble”, Bucky joked.

You punched him in his bicep. “Why don’t you shut up, Barnes. It’s bedtime for you anyways.”

Both of them laughed before Joaquin finally got the courage to speak up.

“Mind if I steal her for a minute?”

Bucky gave you a knowing look. “Yeah, of course. She’s all yours.”

Both of your cheeks tinged with pink.

Joaquin shoved his hands in his pockets and waited for you to join him. You gave a parting look to Bucky and walked away with Joaquin.

Sam joined Bucky at the bar counter and leaned back, watching the two of disappear into the crowd. Bucky leaned his head to the right. “You think it’s happening tonight?”

“Oh definitely”, Sam replied with confidence.

-

Joaquin’s heart was going to explode. His blood pressure must be high as fuck right now. He was this close to fainting. But he pushed that down and gently grabbed your hand in his to guide you through the crowd. Your hand was so soft, he was going to cry. It was getting too crowded and it was making him feel more cornered so he came up with an idea.

“Should we get outta here?”, he suddenly turned around and spoke in your ear.

Your eyes widened and you leaned in close to speak by his ear. “We just came here and you already wanna sneak out of our own party? Are you crazy?!”

He leaned back and gave you a smirk that screamed trouble. Joaquin Torres was the only person in this world who could make you sneak out and break rules. He guided you out of the venue and called for your car. He opened the door and helped you settled down before walking around the car and sitting by the steering wheel. He started the car and drove off before anybody else noticed the two of you.

“Joaquin! Where are we going?”, you asked him while giggling.

He chuckled and glanced at you before turning his attention back to the front. “Be patient, angel. You’ll find out soon.”

Your cheeks heated up. His voice turned so soft and delicate when he called you angel. You wanted to kick your feet and giggle like a little schoolgirl.

You decided to finally ask him. “This is the second time you’ve done that”, you asked him quietly.

Joaquin feigned confusion and furrowed his brows. “Done what?”

“You know what I’m talking about, Quino.”

“I don’t”, he shrugged.

You sighed and shook your head in disbelief. He was a pain in your ass.

You chose not to say anything further and looked out of the window, watching building pass by and that scene soon over took a trail of trees. He sneaked glances at you and worried his bottom lip out of nervousness. He parked the car in a parking lot and walked over to your side. He opened the door and offered you a hand to help you get out of the car.

As soon as you got out, he shrugged off his jacket and draped it over your bare shoulders. He grabbed your hand in his and walked you over to a nearby dock.

The dock was overlooking the skyline and it was lit up with dim lights which made it look even more peaceful. There was no rush today so you could freely walk without any disturbance. And you had reached the place perfectly on time because you could see the breathtaking sunset behind the skyline. That, combined with the gentle breeze and sound of the water immediately calmed you down.

“Whoa..”, you whispered in awe as you took in the vibrant shades of orange, blue and purple across the sky. Joaquin wasn’t interested in that sunset. His spectacled eyes were completely focused on you. He ran his eyes across your face which was illuminated beautifully by the sunset.

You could feel his stare on the side of your face. Your face heated up. “Stop staring at me like that, Jay.”

“Why?”

“Because.”

He turned you to face him and slowly dragged his fingers down your arm to intertwine your fingers with his. You looked down at your hands and shyly looked up in his eyes.

“Why are we here, Joaquin?”,you whispered.

His eyes turned shiny behind his glasses. The slight breeze tousled his curls, making him look boyish.

“I wanna tell you something. But you gotta promise me that you won’t freak out”, he murmured in a shaky voice.

Your face twisted in concern and you tightened your fingers around his. “What happened?”

You watched his adam’s apple bob up and down as he swallowed.

Joaquin took a deep breath in and decided to spill out everything that he had suppressed for the last 3 years.

“Angel, from the moment I saw you…you took my breath away. You came in with your shy, sweet personality and swept me off my feet. Then you smiled at for the first time, and I was a goner. I thought, I’m so lucky to be able to be in your orbit. But then, everytime I thought of telling you all this, you’d remind me that we’re best friends and I’d shut up”, he chuckled weakly.

Your eyes had widened and your vision was blurry because of the tears in your eyes.

“But, it’s been so hard, (nickname). Everytime I look at you I feel like my heart is going to explode. Because I can’t hold you for longer. Because you’re so close, yet so far. Because you were out of reach for me since I’m supposed to be your best friend. You were so worried about what everyone was saying about our closeness that I pushed my feelings back into the deepest part of my heart”, he paused to let out a shaky breath.

“I don’t know if I can be your best friend anymore. I don’t know how much longer can I pretend to be okay about all this. I wanna be yours. Completely. You’re the reason why I breathe. You’re the reason why I’m a better human today. You’re the reason why I wake up in the morning. You have no idea how scared I was these past few days because I thought I’d ruined everything. I don’t wanna lose you, angel. But I can’t pretend that I’m not in love with you anymore”, the tears that he was trying so hard to contain, finally flowed down his rosy cheeks.

You were fully frozen to your spot at this point. Was this really happening? You waited for 3 years to hear this from his mouth. Was he really standing here in front of you and confessing all this? Were you really that blind? You didn’t even realise that you were crying.

Joaquin’s face twisted in pain and concern. He released your hands to cup your cheeks and wiped your tears with his thumbs. “Please don’t cry, angel. You’re scaring me.”

You snapped out of your daze and whimpered. You brought up your shaky hands and held his wrists.

“Is this really happening, Quino?”, you whispered to him, your words warbled because of the sob you were trying to contain.

He sniffled and gave you a soft smile.

“I love, love, love you, angel.”

That was all it took for you to break out in a sob and tackle him in a hug. You hugged him by the neck tightly and his arms went around your waist to pull you close to him. He buried his face in your neck and you buried yours in his curls. Painful sobs left your throat and his tears were soaking the skin of your neck.

After a while you pulled apart and cupped his cheeks in your hands. His handsome face had turned red from all the crying and his glasses were smudged. You sniffled and carefully removed his glasses to fold them and put them in his jacket’s pocket. You brought your hands back to his face and brushed his curls away from his forehead. His eyes closed in content and his hands caressed your back gently.

“I’ve been wanting- begging to some higher power- to hear that for the last 3 years”, you confessed in a shaky voice.

His eyes widened. Sam was right.

You gave him a tiny smile. “I’ve been ridiculously in love with you for a really long time, Quino.”

His breath hitched. He was pretty sure his legs had turned into lead. There’s just no way he didn’t catch that. 3 years. Both of you were idiots.

“I was so afraid of telling you. I didn’t wanna lose you. You’re so sweet to me, it hurt. Because I couldn’t tell you that I loved you or kiss you stupid every-time you did something for me. You’re everything to me, Joaquin. Whatever I do, I do it for you. You’re the reason why I keep pushing, my personal sunshine”, you let out a shaky chuckle.

His eyes teared up again but he chuckled. “Both of us are idiots, you know that right?”

You giggled. “I know!”

His expression turned somber again. “I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. We missed so much time”, he whispered in an apologetic manner. You squished his cheeks in your hands and he brought you closer to his chest. Your lips were almost touching.

“Hey, no. We have all the time in the world. I’m just glad you told me. Otherwise I was bound to do something stupid like- grab you by your stupid necklaces and just kiss you”, you replied cheekily.

That brought out a genuine laugh from him.

“What? My neck-” you didn’t give him a chance to respond because you gently pulled him closer by his necklace and crashed your lips to his. You finally did it.

He let out a squeal before kissing you back and wrapping his arms around your waist tightly. Your lips fit against each other like they were meant to be. He pulled back to suck on your bottom lip before releasing it and kissing you whole on the mouth. You dragged your hand across his chest and buried it in the curls at the nape of his neck. He wasn’t that tall, but tall enough for you to go on your tip toes. Your noses were smushed against each other and you finally broke away for air.

Breathless and cheeks flushed, you leaned your forehead against his and closed your eyes. He ran a hand across your back and cupped your nape to bring you closer, your noses touching. Both of you wanted to crawl into each other’s skin.

You let out a breathy giggle and pressed kisses to his nose. “I love, love, love, you”, you gave his nose a kiss for every “love” and rubbed your nose against his.

He pulled back and stared at your radiant face before ducking his head to pepper kisses across your face. You squealed and fisted his t shirt in your hands. He kissed your forehead, your temples, your nose, your eyes, your cheeks, the corner of your mouth and finally placed a loving, gentle kiss on your lips with a beautiful sunset behind you.

“I love you. So much”, he murmured against your lips. You smiled against his lips.

You hummed and looked in his eyes with your arms around his neck. “It’s crazy that the fans were right.”

“Don’t remind me, I’m not happy with how they were treating you”, he growled.

You stared at him in amusement and rubbed his chest soothingly with a hand. “Calm down, Simba. We’ll get back to that later.”

He let out a content sigh and pulled away from you before asking you to go on your tippy toes. You went up and wrapped your arms around his neck again and his went around your waist before he pressed his cheek against yours and closed his eyes in contentment while swaying the two of you gently.

Your cheeks pulled up as your smiled adoringly and pressed yourself closer to him and watched the sunset.

You and Joaquin were meant to be and your life was turning out to be just like a movie.

-

AN: sorry this one was so fucking long!! But as I was writing this, I fell more and more in love with this idea. I love these two so bad and I will write a part two which will be based on their established relationship and on all the interviews that tom and zendaya have done during NWH press.

Please like and reblog!!!

hair

summary: bucky doesn't let anyone touch his hair. well... anyone except you. [written from the pov of Sam.]

warnings: fluff and more fluff. reader is described to have positive, sunny personality. NOT PROOFREAD.

"hey man, your hair is a little messy," Sam wasn't going to mess with Bucky's hair, he merely meant to correct it, but the way Bucky immediately halted his actions and gripped his wrists, Sam understood that Bucky Barnes was incredibly, incredibly protective of his hair.

that was when he realised never to touch it. or even think about touching it.

over the years, Sam has seen countless people try and tidy his unruly locks of hair, but Bucky has had the same reaction to all.

a swift grip on the wrist, a soft glare, and a small mutter of "don't touch my hair" was clockwork at this point.

so when you came along - you with your bright smiles and your cheerful nature - Sam often wondered why you put up with his grump of a friend.

don't get him wrong, he was incredibly happy to see him with you, blossoming out of his shell and all.

but it still puzzled him.

on a particularly slow morning, Sam had dropped in for a visit at the Barnes and (y/l/n) household. Alpine had greeted him like she always does - attention seeking attitude melting away into indifference once she got enough head scratches.

Bucky was still waking up from his sleep, moving around the kitchen with you in perfect sync, both of you preparing breakfast while Sam lounged on the island chair next to the kitchen.

he was busy on the phone, but when he looked up next, his jaw dropped and the phone fell from his grip to clatter on the counter.

there was Bucky Barnes, leaning next to you near the stove, as you brushed your hand in his hair and twisted it all around your fingers, letting him rest his head on your shoulders.

who the fuck is that, Sam wondered.

that can't be Bucky.

when Bucky, ever the skillful assassin, felt Sam's eyes on them, he turned to him with a questioning face.

"since when do you let people touch your hair?" San asked without missing a beat.

"I don't." he replied simply.

"but (y/n) was just now-"

"(y/n) is not people. she's different. special."

that shut Sam up. it was disgusting, really, how sweet Bucky was around you.

you cooed at him softly. "aww, thank you baby," and kissed him on his cheek.

"I need more coffee to deal with this disgusting cotton candy shit so early in the morning," Sam muttered under his breath.

thank you for reading! likes, reblogs, and comments are appreciated :)

I know the ending was quite abrupt but tbf I didn't have a very well planned out idea 😭 lmk what you think!

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.

Bittersweet Moments

[Peter Maximoff x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: Your best friend (if you’d even call him that), is an annoying piece of work 99% of the time. But that 1%? That 1% is pretty special.

WC: 1513

Category: Fluff, Irritated!Reader, Mentions of Migraines

My first Evan Peters fic? Lets go.

『••✎••』

Being friends with that white-haired speedster meant you never had a moment of quiet. The guy was just so fast that you never had a second to blink without him pulling a prank on you, which is why you were constantly on edge around him. You could never trust him.

But that didn't mean that he didn't have his moments.

You were on the floor, eyes shut, attempting to fade the raging migraine out. You made your room into a dark cave and had been there all day, and yet, the pain in your head only grew.

By the time you heard your door creak open, you already felt the presence and the air in the room shift. It was almost like a ghost was floating through the doorway.

"No." The voice was quiet, and the sound was barely audible.

The soft footsteps stopped, and you opened one eye, seeing the blurred white figure. Your vision was blurry, and everything was doubled, but you could make out the face.

"You locked me out." The tone wasn't accusatory or playful. It was a soft, concerned tone that made your chest squeeze.

You rolled your head back, trying to look up at him.

"Sorry," you croaked. "But I’m also not sorry. I needed the silence."

"Yeah, yeah," he said dismissively. He crouched down his hand landing on your arm. His skin was cold against yours. "I know you secretly look forward to our little hangouts."

"No, I don't," you grumbled. "And I especially don't right now."

"Can’t even handle my presence without getting whiplash? Man, I must be really awesome."

You could faintly make out his smug smirk, and it made you snort, only worsening your headache.

"Just..." You waved your hand at him. "Get out. Leave."

He, in fact, did not leave. Instead, he stood up and went over to your bed.

You watched him in confusion as he took off his shoes, and then, with a quick flash of light, he was beside you once again, a blanket suddenly wrapped around him.

"Wh-" You were cut off as the blanket was draped around you, and you found yourself pulled up from the ground.

Peter's arm slipped around your shoulders, and he led you over to the bed. He pulled back the covers, and you climbed in, still unsure of what was going on.

Once you were in bed, he pulled the covers back up, and before you could say anything, his headset was ripped from your dresser. He placed them over his ears and lay down beside you.

He looked at you and nodded his head, giving you a thumbs-up.

You just stared at him, completely confused, but his gaze was unwavering. You let out a sigh, deciding to just roll with it. You were too tired to deal with Peter's bullshit anyway.

You rested your head on the pillow and shut your eyes.

A few moments later, a tune started playing, the music filling your ears. Not the loud, classic rock he usually blasted, but a soothing acoustic.

"You’re a fan of the Beatles?" You asked, surprised. You fluttered your eyes only to see Peter's face correctly. He looked like he was in deep thought. And with the soothing music from his Walkman (that he obviously lent to you) and the quiet, you couldn't help but feel a small tug on your heart.

He shrugged. "It just felt like the right song for the mood."

"Meaning… me dying?"

"Oh, stop being dramatic," he rolled his eyes. "Your little brain is just confused from having a devilishly handsome man lay in bed with you."

"You do realize I’ve had this for days now, right?"

"Alright, so, a devilishly handsome man around you. Is that better?"

"I can’t believe I let you in here," you grumbled, closing your eyes once more.

"Don't lie," he said, a little louder than usual since the music was loud in your ears. "You know you like my company—that and my box of sweets."

What box of—

Your eyes opened, and you looked up, seeing him holding a box of chocolate-covered almonds. Your heart did a flip.

"Is this... " You reached for the box, and he handed it to you.

"They're the good stuff. None of that cheap candy crap."

"Wow, you eat something other than Twinkies? I'm impressed," you teased, taking a piece and popping it into your mouth.

"Hey, don't hate the Twinkies. You ever try them with ice cream? It's great. It's like cake, but it's not, ya know? They're just so squishy, but the flavor is there."

"Uh, ew?"

"What, are you some fancy girl? Too high class for my delicious desserts?"

"Yeah, that's exactly it," you laughed, shaking your head. You rested your head on the pillow again.

"Whatever," he chuckled. "Eat your expensive ass almonds. I had to pay actual money for those, and I'm pretty sure Hank's going to notice they're gone."

That made you sit up despite the pounding in your head. "You stole them?! Oh my god, what's wrong with you?!"

"What?" he looked at you innocently. So I stole a box of chocolates. Big deal. The guy's rich. He never notices when I swipe his food. He'll just assume he forgot to put them away or something."

"Ugh, you are such an ass."

"You say ass; I say awesome."

"No," you said, putting another almond into your mouth. "Ass."

"Alright, fine. But, hey, look, who’s still eating the stolen chocolates?"

"Yeah, well," you smirked, taking another one. " Technically, I didn’t steal it. You did. So I can have a clear conscience."

"Ah, I see," he grinned. "Well, in that case, have another. Grab as many as you want. My treat."

You stared at him. "Okay, who are you, and what did you do with Peter?"

"What?"

"This," you gestured towards him. "All of this. You're never nice."

"Well, when you've had a migraine that's lasted for three days, you kinda learn to have a little empathy for that person."

"Three days?" you said, shocked. "Wait, how did you know the exact amount of time?"

"Don’t let anyone tell you you’re just a pretty face… I’m an all-seeing god, remember? Nothing can get by me."

"Except when Apocalypse broke—"

"Okay! Okay, I don’t need to relive that, alright? Sheesh, you're worse than Raven."

You grinned, taking another almond.

"Thanks," you said sincerely.

"For what? Comparing you to the blue lady? Anytime."

"No," you rolled your eyes. "I mean, for not pulling a… well, you. I really do appreciate it."

"Does this mean you’re leaving the Batcave? If we're getting sappy, then I should probably head out. I don’t want to risk my rep."

"You and I both know you have no reputation."

"True," he smiled. But hey, a guy can dream, right?"

You laughed, shaking your head. You were about to lay back down when he spoke up again.

"Actually," he said, looking at the ceiling, "there is one thing I'm good at."

"What's that?"

He didn't say anything. He just stared at the ceiling.

"Pete?"

His head whipped around to you, and with the same speed, he was leaning over you, his face inches away from yours.

"Peter, what—"

He leaned forward and pressed his lips to your ear, and the comment you were about to say died in your throat.

"I can shut up."

The sound of his voice, so soft and low, sent shivers down your spine. He pulled away and gave you a quick smile.

"Just something to think about," he said, and you could see the red tint on his cheeks. He sat up and stood in front of you before you could say anything else.

"You can give the Walkman back whenever, so, uh, don't worry about it. Anyway, I gotta get going. You know, stuff to do and snacks to eat." He turned towards the door. "Anyway, feel better. Later."

And before you could comprehend what had just happened, he was gone just like the wind.

You sat in your bed, still feeling the phantom feeling of his breath on your ear.

And ironically, the pain in your head was starting to fade.

So, yes. Despite him being an annoying little shit, he did have his moments. Genuine, quiet, caring moments. And it always made you question whether or not he was secretly a clone.

You were still staring at the door, your mind running a mile a minute.

But then, as if he could read your thoughts, he peeked his head back into your room.

"Oh, and if you tell anyone about this, I'll tell everyone you're a huge Star Wars nerd."

He vanished, and a second later, he was back once more.

"Also, I definitely didn’t steal that Walkman from a certain someone, so, uh, have fun with the mixtape!"

With that, he was gone.

You rolled your eyes and laid back down, putting the headphones back on.

"Ass."

You will definitely be visiting the white-haired speedster tomorrow. He may have his moments, but that doesn't mean he doesn't deserve some good old-fashioned payback.

Small Circles

Summary : Bucky Barnes is still getting used to modern dating… and hates that you have to work with your exes.

Pairing : Bucky Barnes x vigilante!reader (she/her)  / ex!various MCU anti-heroes/vigilantes x ex!reader

Warnings/tags : jealous!Bucky. Bi!Reader Hurt/comfort. Injury, references to violence, sex references. Reader used to be an anti-hero, and also used to date a lot of anti heroes. Angst/Fluff!!!!

Word count : 7.7k

Note : Retroactive jealousy is very common, and I definitely struggled with it when I first started dating my partner. I don’t really see it solved healthily in fiction, so I thought I’d write about it. I just finished moving in, so I will resume my series writing soon! And please, if you’d like to be on the taglist, message me! It gets lost in the comments sometimes. Enjoy!

Bucky Barnes didn’t talk about his exes.

For one, they were from a time when women wore red lipstick like armour and wrote love letters to the men who might not make it back home. Two, in the 1940s, talking about past relationships was basically the equivalent to hanging your dirty laundry out in the street— and not just because most of them ended with him shipping out to war. Sex and feelings simply didn’t belong in polite company.

But here he was, in the 21st century, trying to navigate dating after missing eight decades of social evolution— trying to keep up with you. 

And god, he hadn’t stood a chance from the moment you first met.

You were the first person he met post-pardon that didn’t look at him like the sum of his past. Sam introduced you at a bar in D.C.—nothing fancy, just three tired veterans nursing drinks and pretending the world wasn’t still spinning out of control.

“She’s an old friend,” Sam said. “Used to serve with me in the air force. Then she went off grid and disappeared to be an antihero—”

“Vigilante,” you corrected, scoffing.

“Whatever,” Sam rolled his eyes, “But she’s retired now.”

“You’re prettier than the photos.” You gave Bucky a once-over. “Grumpier, too.”

He blinked, thrown off by how casual you were, and before he could respond, you leaned in and asked, “You always look like someone stole your puppy, or is that just for special occasions?”

Sam just laughed and walked off to grab another round, leaving Bucky staring at the woman who didn’t flinch when he said “Winter Soldier” like it was some contagious disease.

Instead, you talked and talked through the night. At one point, he was talking about his brainwashing, and you just leaned your elbow on the bar, eyes on his metal hand, and said, “I’ve done worse.”

It was the first time someone didn’t try to talk him out of his guilt. You didn’t say he was “more than his past.” 

You didn’t try to fix him. 

You just looked at him and recognised the survivor with blood under his nails and scars that never faded.

That night, he walked you home. It was supposed to be a formality, but you talked the whole way, about the desert missions you and Sam survived, about the ops you ran without orders, about why you quit the military, and the blurry line between heroes and people who did what had to be done.

“Why’d you retire?” he asked at your door.

“After the Blip, I helped the Avengers out. Did some good. Got tired of seeing my hands stained red, even when it was for the right reasons.” You shrugged.  “Figured if I couldn’t die, I might as well live. Got a nice place. Set up offshore accounts. Now I make pancakes and talk to my plants.”

He smiled. 

“What about you, Barnes?” You asked, leaning against the doorframe. “You ever get tired of the life?”

Fuck, he hadn’t flirted in decades. He wasn't even sure if he still knew how anymore. 

But with you, it was easy. It was awkward at first, sure, but you laughed every time he stumbled, and you never once made him feel like he was too broken to try.

He brought you flowers a week later. 

Tulips. 

He had said he read somewhere that they meant forgiveness. You didn’t ask who he was forgiving.

“I’m not afraid of your past,” you told him one night, sitting on the floor of your living room after Sam convinced him to take you out on a date. “Not when I’ve got one that would make priests faint.”

He looked at you then, and the walls he’d spent so many years building fell all at once, because you weren’t someone he had to hide from. 

You weren’t afraid of the blood on his hands, because you’d seen it on your own.

So you became a couple. 

Three years later, he still couldn’t believe how easily you loved him.

You were loud where he was quiet, open here he was closed— a perfect balance. 

You called his name like it wasn’t borrowed from another lifetime. And for the first time, he wasn’t just surviving— he was healing. 

He was planning a future. 

With you.

And then… Sam had to drag you back into the field.

That’s when everything started to unravel.

See, Sam had said it would be one mission.

"Just a quick assist," he told you, sliding a file across the table while Bucky sat beside you, arms crossed and already suspicious. "No big commitment. We just need someone who knows how to hit hard and get out clean. I know what you’re capable of,” Sam leaned back and crossed his arms, “And this has your style written all over it.”

“This isn’t just a mission,” You raised an eyebrow, flipping through the folder and studying the requirements. “This is a clusterfuck.”

“That’s why we need you,” Sam fogged. “Come on, for old times’ sake.”

You said yes. 

Later that night, Bucky looked at you like Sam had handed you a grenade. “You’re retired.”

You smiled sadly. “It’s just one job, Buck.”

And at the time, you meant it. 

You really did. 

You had an house together, the pancakes and the plants. 

You had Bucky. 

You had a life.

But then you got out there again—suited up, boots in the dirt, heart pounding like it used to—and it was like a switch was flipped in you.

Adrenaline was one hell of a drug.

You weren’t craving chaos or the violence. Not anymore. 

Unlike your antihero days, you didn’t kill this time. You’d made that choice before stepping onto the field. You weren’t going to be the person who solved problems with blood anymore.

But the mission lit something inside you all the same.

Perhaps it was control. Perhaps it was purpose. Or clarity. 

The world didn’t make much sense most of the time, but in the field, you knew exactly who you were.

So when you came back home after that mission—Bucky could already see it in your eyes.

“You’re going back,” he said flatly, watching you drop your gear in the hallway.

You shrugged, breathless, hair stuck to your forehead. “I mean… yeah. I missed it. But I’m not that person anymore, Buck. No killing. Just in and out. Recon only. You know the drill.”

Bucky didn’t answer. 

Because part of him was proud. You’d stepped back into that world on your terms.

But another part of him… was afraid of who you were behind the mask.

—

The first sign was Matt Murdock.

It was your and Bucky’s first mission together since you’d unretired. Sam had assigned a simple intel grab in Hell’s Kitchen. You needed a legal inside man, someone who knew the network by heart, and Sam had said, “You still got a contact in New York, right?”

That’s how you and Bucky ended up across the table from Matt in his firm, the three of you tucked into a room that smelled like paper and secrets.

From the moment you walked in, there was chemistry— it wasn’t active, nor was it inappropriate, but it was present. 

Bucky could see it in the way Matt tilted his head to the sound of your laugh, how your posture relaxed like muscle memory. It was subtle, but it was there.

“You told him,” he said with a small smile. He could hear it in Bucky’s heartbeat. “About my… other job.”

You glanced at Bucky, who was stiff beside you. “Yeah,” you said. 

Matt hummed. That told him more than it should. “You must be serious about him, then.”

You just nodded, infuriatingly calm and confident. “I am.”

Bucky didn’t say anything. He didn’t trust himself to, especially because Matt’s voice was too casual when he added, “We used to be a thing, her and I.”

It wasn’t a dig. It wasn’t even smug. But it was there. As far as Bucky was concerned, it was a punchline with no joke attached.

You shrugged as the meeting wrapped, grabbing your jacket. 

“His job and crime fighting? No time for me,” you whispered an explanation on your way out. 

But it was the way you said it— the lack of apology. It was the way you weren’t surprised your old flame was part of the mission. 

“You never told me he was your ex,” Bucky mumbled under his breath. 

“We never had to meet any of my exes in retirement,” you shrugged.

That night, Bucky lay awake in your bed, staring at the ceiling while your body curled toward his. 

But all he could think about was Matt fucking Murdock—Daredevil. Lawyer by day, masked vigilante by night. Another man who had kissed you, fought beside you, known you in a world Bucky still wasn’t sure he fully belonged in.

What the hell.

This was the first time you’d fought side by side. The first time he saw how natural you were when the mask slipped back on. And suddenly, Bucky was wondering if he was the only one still trying to catch up.

—

The conversation about Yelena came over coffee. 

It was one of those late mornings, with sunlight spilling through the window of your kitchen, his metal fingers on your knee. You were sitting close, like always, thighs touching under the table, his hoodie drowning your body in a sense of safety. 

Bucky was scrolling through contacts Sam had floated for upcoming intel work, casually tossing out names. “Yelena Belova might be a good person to reach out to for our next mission. She’s low-profile, knows how to stay off the radar.”

He didn’t even look up when he said it, but you froze, coffee cup hovering in the air, just long enough for him to notice.

“Well… yeah. I haven’t seen her since…”

His head tilted slightly. “Since what?”

He tried to keep his voice neutral. But it came out just a little too sharp, like it scraped on the way out.

You hesitated, a little sheepish. “Since Paris. There was a caper. Messy one. We got out clean, but… one thing led to another.”

Oh.

He knew you were bi, so that wasn’t a surprise. But he never expected that knowledge to ever come with knowing names, too. 

Another sip of coffee wouldn’t fix the knot in Bucky’s stomach, but he took one anyway. It gave him something to do besides look at you—at the woman he’d fallen in love with, who kissed him in the dark and said “I love you” every night.

He nodded pretending it was fine. Pretending it didn’t sting.

But it did. Because it was another name from the same small, bloodstained circle of vigilantes and morally gray heroes. 

He didn’t realise how many people you’d still work with were the same people you’d trusted with your body before you ever handed Bucky your heart.

You were experienced. Not in a shameful way, but you'd lived. You’d fought and fucked and fled and loved in all the places Bucky had never dared go. And now you were here—his—but he couldn’t stop that stupid thought in the back of his head:

Where do I even fit in the story?

You reached for his hand, your thumb brushing the metal knuckles like it was second nature. You leaned in, pressing a kiss to his temple, voice soft.

“She didn’t mean anything long-term,” you reassured him.

He wanted to believe that settled it. He wanted to lean into you, like he always did, but he froze—just for a moment. It was a childish, stupid insecurity rearing up where your warmth used to melt it down.

And Bucky hated that, even now, three years deep in love with you, he still sometimes felt like the last one to the party.

—

Then came London, and of course, Moon Knight.

It was supposed to be a clean extraction—intel swap, quick in and out. You and Bucky were working in sync like you'd done this a few times now. 

There were no hiccups, until he showed up.

You spotted him across the plaza first— casual clothes that you knew could turn into a divine suit any second, and a woman at his side. You froze instinctively, and Bucky felt it immediately.

The guy was weird in that charming, cryptic way, like he might shake your hand or break your nose, depending on what time of day it was. And you smiled at him. 

“London is always full of surprises,” you said as the man approached. You turned your attention to the two people now standing before you.

“Who am I talking to?” you asked, casual on the surface, but your eyes scanned him like they used to.

“Relax, it’s Marc.” The man gave a small, tired smile. “This is Layla.”

“Layla,” you repeated. “Nice to meet you.”

“We’re married,” Marc added.

“Good for you!” You beamed genuinely. “Seriously, never thought I’d see the day. This is my boyfriend. Bucky— Marc and I used to… date. A lifetime ago.”

Bucky gave a tight nod, hands in his pockets. “Of course you did,” he muttered under his breath.

Marc caught it. So did you. You shot Bucky a really? look, but Layla just laughed, clearly unfazed. She greeted you like she’d known about you already, because you were clearly another name Marc had mentioned.

“So… does he still talk to Khonshu in the bathroom?” you asked Layla with a crooked grin.

“All the time,” Layla said dryly. “Once, I came in to see the bathtub trashed. He said it was because of Khonshu. At least Tawaret isn’t that demanding.”

Bucky shifted uncomfortably. 

“Yeah, we weren’t all superheroes with government contracts,” Marc added, trying to joke, but there. “Some of us were just bleeding in alleyways hoping the gods were paying attention.”

Bucky wasn’t sure if that was a dig. He also wasn’t sure how to respond. Was there a polite way to talk to your girlfriend’s ex who serves a moon god and still too-casual wife who served the goddess of fertility?

You tried to smooth it over, looping your arm through Bucky’s. But he was still stuck on the fact that you had dated this man—this strange, fractured vigilante with too many voices and a ring on his finger now. You’d been part of his chaos once, too.

And that he hated that Layla was okay with it, hated that Layla was secure— because fuck, if it didn’t make him feel bad. That’s who he should be. 

He shouldn’t be bothered by any of this. But he couldn't help it, he was.

Bucky couldn’t help but feel like he was the only one trying to learn how to stand still while everyone else had already danced through the fire and survived.

He was old-fashioned. He didn’t know how to joke about weird missions with exes or that time you almost died in a tomb under the Nile.

You, on the other hand, just kept moving forward. 

And Bucky loved you—but in that moment, he felt like the odd one out in a room he hadn’t realised he was still learning to walk through.

—

Then Nebula arrived on earth, as she always did every couple of years. It was a routine visit.

She talked to Sam for a while to exchange intel, but after that… the lines between work and play got blurred.

Sam had dragged you and Bucky to a rooftop bar, insisting that even people with kill counts needed to let loose. Nebula was tagging along. She wasn’t the nightlife type, but she was making an effort to try Earth customs.

So, there you were, nursing a coke, while Bucky was ordering himself another drink. 

He was watching you across the room, laughing at something Sam had said when Nebula slid in next to you.

She said no greetings. No small talk. Just a hand on your thigh and a blunt, “Are we doing this again?”

Bucky could hear that, thanks to his enhanced hearing.

You choked slightly on your drink, startled but not shocked. You swatted her hand off gently, not unkind, but firm.

“I have a boyfriend now,” you said with a smile. You tipped your head toward Bucky’s direction. “Long-term.”

She blinked, entirely unaffected. “What’s that like?”

Bucky was across the room, eyes fixed on you. His knuckles were white around his glass.

Later, when you were alone again, Bucky asked, “You…  and her?”

You curled up beside him on the couch, his vibranium arm slung heavy over your shoulders. You kissed his jaw once, then the corner of his mouth. “It was during the Blip, when she went to Earth a lot more,” you said casually, “Long-distance didn’t work. It… happened a couple times. Nothing serious.”

Bucky didn’t answer right away.

Nothing serious.

The words sat in his gut like a stone.

That was what got him. Not that it happened. Not that you’d been with someone else. He knew—internally, logically—that he wasn’t your first. But that phrase stuck like a splinter under his skin.

Nothing serious.

You said it so easily. That sharing a bed, even briefly, didn’t matter as long as it wasn’t long-term.

But Bucky came from a different world. One where people didn’t talk about past lovers. Where something like a hand on a thigh meant you were hers.

And now here he was—three years in, in love with a woman who kissed him like he hung the moon and yet casually mentioned flings with alien assassins.

He didn’t say anything that night, but pulled you in closer and let you fall asleep on his chest.

But he stayed awake long after, staring at the ceiling.

You were his peace. 

But when it came to your past, he felt like a stranger in your house. 

—

That month after, you came home flushed with mission energy, shedding your jacket before the door had even shut.

“She’s still as annoying as ever,” you said, grinning. “Yelena. She hasn’t changed. Made me climb five flights of a condemned building instead of going around because it was ‘more fun.’ See, this is why it would have never worked out between us.”

You were buzzing— adrenaline and nostalgia glowing in you. Bucky didn’t match your energy.

He stood in the kitchen silently as he rinsed a mug. You didn’t notice at first. Or maybe you did, but you didn’t think anything of it until he set the mug down so hard, it cracked down the middle.

“You ever gonna tell me how many of these people you’ve actually slept with?”

You froze mid-step. “What?”

He turned, tense as a live wire. “Every time we go out in the field, you’ve got history with someone. Is there anyone we’ve worked with who hasn’t had a piece of you?”

Whoa. Where did this come from? 

“What the hell are you talking about?”

He didn’t back down. “I’m serious. Daredevil. Moon Knight. Nebula. Yelena. I can’t take two steps into a mission without watching someone look at you like they already know how you sound in bed.”

You blinked, stunned. “Is that what this is about? You’re jealous?”

“I’m not jealous,” he snapped. “I’m—”

“You are,” you cut in. “And possessive, apparently.”

He didn’t deny it. “I just— I can’t keep pretending like this doesn’t eat at me. I walk into a room with you and wonder who the hell knows you better than I do.”

You stared at him, chest rising and falling. “You never told me this bothered you.”

“Well, I didn’t know half this shit until the last few months!” he barked. “Because you’re so damn casual about it. ‘Oh yeah, we hooked up a few times,’ like it’s a joke—like it doesn’t mean anything.”

“Because it didn’t, Bucky!” you shouted back. “Because none of them were you. None of them lasted. You’re the only one I gave three years of my life to, and you’re standing here acting like I cheated on you with my past.”

He didn’t respond. 

And something inside you broke a little.

“I don’t know what you want me to do,” you said, smaller now. “Erase it? Lie? Pretend I lived like a nun until you came along?”

“I want to not feel like I’m sharing you with half the damn underground,” he looked down, teeth grinding.

You let out a bitter laugh. “Then maybe you should’ve picked someone from your own century.”

That landed like a slap. 

You shook your head. “We’ve got an early mission tomorrow. Get some rest.”

Without waiting for another word, you grabbed a pillow from the couch and walked down the hall.

You slept in the second bedroom that night.

You didn’t cry. But god, it hurt.

And Bucky sat awake in the kitchen for hours, guilt and resentment twisted in his chest like barbed wire, because he knew none of what he said was fair. 

But the feelings he felt were still real. And they were starting to rot.

—

In the morning, you two were so quiet still that every small sound felt amplified: the click of your knife sliding into your boot, the zip of your jacket, the dull thud of your holster being strapped across your chest.

Your movements were efficient, muscle memory from years of knowing how to armour up always kicking in.

Across the room, Bucky stood still, with his gear slung half-forgotten over his metal arm. His eyes were rimmed with red, dark bruises blooming underneath from a night without sleep, but he had a job to do, so he was awake anyway. 

“Y’know…” He finally said. “You didn’t have to sleep in the other room.”

You fastened the last strap on your thigh holster and glanced at him. “Didn’t feel like pretending we were okay.”

You saw it—the slight flinch in his muscles, the way he looked down like the floor might offer a better answer than anything in his own damn head.

“You think I don’t know we’re not okay?” he said, quieter this time. “You think I didn’t lay awake wishing I could take it back?”

“Then why’d you say it?” you snapped, finally turning to face him. 

Bucky’s mouth opened, then closed it immediately. He had no excuses.

“You didn’t ask. You never asked.” You shook your head, biting down the lump in your throat. “You just… threw it in my face like it was supposed to shame me. Like I was a toy being passed around!”

He stepped forward, desperate now. “I wasn’t trying to shame you, I— I was pissed, okay? I was stupid. I saw the way Matt looked at you, and then Nebula, and—Christ—Marc—”

“They were my exes, Bucky!” You raised your voice, “what do you want me to do? Never speak to them again? I would have no help in this line of work!”

“Doesn’t matter!” he snapped, frustration boiling over. “BecauseI feel like I’m just the guy keeping your seat warm.”

You stared at him, throat tight. “That’s what you think I’m doing? Killing time?”

“No,” he said, gentler now. “No. I know you love me. I know.” His voice cracked. “But I come from a time where no one talks about this kind of stuff. Where men didn’t have to wonder how many people their girl used to patch up in back alleys and kiss between fights.”

“Well guess what, Bucky,” you said, voice trembling. “I didn’t get the luxury of going to swing bars and holding hands on Coney Island. I got blood and war and figuring out how to survive without falling apart. I didn’t know I was going to make it past 25. And then you came along. You—you, James—you made me realise some things last. And now you're throwing it in my face because what? You didn’t like the guest list to my past?”

He looked like you’d shot him.

But there wasn’t time to let the silence fester again—your comms buzzed with an urgent ping from Sam.

The mission. 

You turned toward the door.

“Let’s just get through today,” you said, voice brittle. “We’ll figure the rest out after.”

You walked out first.

And this time, Bucky followed—not because he knew what to say, but because even after everything, he couldn’t stand not being by your side.

—

The op was supposed to be easy.

But nothing was easy when you were angry.

You and Bucky moved like soldiers, but not like partners—not like you usually did. 

You were out of sync, one heartbeat off, one glance too short. One command left unsaid because your pride wouldn’t let either of you speak first.

That got you ambushed.

Suddenly, you were ducking behind crumbling concrete, the walls of the building already groaning as a blast from beneath shook the foundations.

Gunfire rained down the stairwell.

Bucky shielded you without thinking, metal arm flashing as he tore through two men, fast and efficient—but not fast enough.

A stray bullet lodged  itself in you.

You screamed.

“Goddammit!” you hissed, hand pressing to your shoulder as blood spread fast. “Fucking—shit!”

Bucky was already beside you, crouched low, blue eyes wide and terrified. “You’re hit.”

“No shit, Sherlock.”

You leaned against the wall, blood soaking through your suit too fast, pooling in your glove as you applied pressure. Your vision blurred, but you forced yourself to stay upright. 

“We have to move,” you growled, pushing off the wall. “Extraction’s too far, comms are jammed.”

“Then tell me where to take you,” Bucky said, already moving to sling your arm over his shoulder. “You’re losing blood.”

You paused, teeth clenched so hard your jaw hurt. You did know someone in the vicinity. “You’re gonna hate this.”

“Tell me anyway.”

You guided him three blocks through the back alleys of the city, stumbling past broken windows, flickering lights, and blood left behind like breadcrumbs. You turned down a shadowed stairwell, and at the end of the corridor was a steel door. 

You raised your good hand and knocked: four slow, two fast.

A secret code. 

Bucky stiffened beside you. “You have a safehouse down here?”

“Not mine…” you mumbled under your breath. 

The door swung open, and there he was.

Frank Castle.

Bucky had heard about him— The Punisher.

He looked at you. Then at Bucky.

Then at your shoulder. “You’re bleeding.”

“I know,” you muttered through gritted teeth. “Let me in.”

Frank stepped aside immediately, grabbing you by the waist like it was second nature. Bucky’s hand was still on you. Neither man let go.

“Nice to see you, too,” Frank said with a worried frown.

Bucky followed, staring at Frank like he was a ghost come to life—except this ghost had callouses, bruises, and knew your name too well.

“You’ve got him on speed dial?” Bucky bit out.

You sank down on the battered couch as Frank pulled out a med kit and started cutting through your gear. “I said you’d hate it.”

Frank smirked without looking up. “Still dramatic, huh?”

“She’s bleeding,” Bucky growled, stepping in. “Maybe shut the fuck up and do something useful.”

“Relax, soldier.” Frank didn’t blink. “I’ve patched her up worse.”

Bucky's jaw twitched. "Worse?"

You groaned. “Please. Not now.”

But it was already too late— you could smell the testosterone and unfinished history. 

Frank’s hands were on you. Bucky’s heart was in his throat. He saw the way Frank looked at you— like he knew what your skin felt like already. 

“You two…” Bucky started, then stopped. His voice was dangerously low. “You fucked, didn’t you?”

Frank looked up. “We didn’t bake cookies.”

Bucky surged forward. “I swear to God—”

“Both of you!” you barked. “Enough!”

Frank didn’t flinch. He just scoffed under his breath and turned back to your shoulder, grabbing a syringe from the med kit and tearing open a pack of gauze with his teeth. 

“Didn’t realize you were dating the Winter Soldier,” Frank muttered, injecting the numbing agent into the skin around your wound. “Last time I saw you, you were with that blonde Widow chick. Got a thing for Russians now, pretty girl?”

Your eyes fluttered shut for a second. Pain, exhaustion, and frustration welled up inside. “Shut the fuck up, Frank.”

“I’m not Russian,” Bucky snapped before he could stop himself.

Frank glanced over his shoulder. “That’s not what I heard.”

Bucky stepped closer, chest heaving. “You want to test what I’ve got in common with the Red Room, Castle?”

“Easy,” Frank shook his head, “just sayin’. She always did have a type.”

That almost did it.

Bucky’s fists curled at his sides. His breath came faster. He saw red— and for a split second, he was ten seconds away from tearing Frank’s smug face off. 

But then… he heard your soft whimper. It was a hiss of pain. Your head tipped  back against the couch, eyes fluttering as the blood loss started to catch up. 

And suddenly, Bucky remembered why he was here. What really mattered.

You.

He was at your side in an instant, kneeling by the couch as Frank packed the wound and started stitching. You were grunting, your fingers twitching for something to hold.

Bucky took your hand.

You gripped him like he was the only thing tethering you to this world.

Frank worked without saying much after that. The tension between him and Bucky didn’t fade—it settled like a landmine they both agreed not to step on. For now.

“Got anything for the pain?” Bucky asked, looking toward the dingy kitchen.

Frank jerked his chin. “Cabinet over the fridge. Bottles labeled in red are painkillers. Other colors are mine.”

Bucky found what he needed. Got the pills into you with a cracked water bottle. He sat by your side while you slowly went limp under the weight of the drugs.

You passed out with your head in his hands. He brushed the hair from your face with a touch so gentle it made Frank’s heart ache.

—

An hour later, Bucky stood at the tiny sink in Frank’s dimly lit bathroom, water running red as he scrubbed blood from his hands. 

The cracked mirror above the sink showed him a version of himself he didn’t like: wild eyes, tired lines on his forehead, and blood smeared up to his wrists.

This was your blood.

He gritted his teeth, pressing his palms harder under the water like he could scrub away his sins, like he could rewind time just by cleaning fast enough.

You got shot because we weren’t focused. He thought to himself. Because I couldn’t shut my mouth. Because I couldn’t let go of the past. Because I just had to pick a fight.

He squeezed his eyes shut.

You had every right to have a past. You told him, over and over, that you chose him.

But it hadn’t been enough in the moment. 

And now…

Now you were unconscious on Frank Castle’s couch with stitches in your shoulder, and he was standing in a stranger’s bathroom washing away the evidence of his own failure.

He slammed the faucet off and leaned heavily on the sink, breathing hard. For a moment, he just stared at himself. The blood was gone, but the shame still clung to him like a second skin.

“Get a grip,” he said to his reflection.

He grabbed a towel and dried his hands.

Behind him, the door creaked open. He didn’t have to turn around to know it was Frank.

“You done crying in there, Barnes?”

Bucky met his own bloodshot eyes in the mirror and took a deep breath. When he stepped back out, Frank was already cracking open two beers— one slid across the counter toward him like a peace offering.

“Don’t drink on missions,” Bucky said, even though alcohol didn’t give him anything to work with. 

“We’re not on a mission anymore.” Frank shrugged.  “You’re in my house. She’s breathing. “Take the fuckin’ beer.”

Bucky hesitated, but still sat down.

He cracked it open and drank in silence.

Frank leaned back, arms crossed, smiling like he’d already written this whole scene in his head.

“So,” Frank said. “How’s that working out for you?”

Bucky shot him a sideways glare. “You mean her?”

Frank raised an eyebrow. “No, I meant your bloodstained fashion choices. Yeah, I mean her.”

Bucky drank again. “Fine.”

“That right?” Frank said, not buying it for a second. “Cuz she showed up bleeding out on my doorstep and you looked two seconds from throwing me through a wall.”

Bucky’s jaw tensed. “You didn’t exactly help.”

Frank’s grin widened. “What, calling you soldier? That’s what you are, ain’t it?”

Bucky didn’t answer. 

Both of them drank.

The air between them stayed hot, but not explosive. 

Frank looked toward the back room, where you were still out cold. The lines of his mouth softened slightly, the smirk dying in the corner of his mouth.

“She still talk in her sleep?”

Bucky glanced at him. “Sometimes.”

“Used to scare the shit out of me. She’d mumble names. Codes. Orders. She’d say something about Wilson or about how Riley’s in danger. Good ol’ air force PTSD,” Frank nodded, “One time she said my name and thrashed so hard I thought she was gonna kill me in her sleep.”

Bucky didn’t respond.

“She doesn’t talk.. about you,” Bucky said finally. His voice was low, eyes locked on the floor. “I didn’t even know you two…”

Frank shook his head. “Didn’t bake cookies,” he echoed.

“Yeah. Got it.”

They let another beat of silence fester.

“You loved her?” Bucky asked, even though he didn’t really want to know the answer.

“I did,” Frank took a sip, but didn’t look at him. “Still do. Not the same way, though.”

Bucky’s hand tightened around the bottle. “What the hell does that mean?”

Frank finally looked at him. No sarcasm now, just tired honesty.

“I don’t know if she told you about my… past. But after all that happened to me, I didn’t think I was capable of it again. I was half dead. Barely human. And then she showed up and saw through all the bullshit. And she stayed.”

Bucky was listening. Processing.

“She taught me how to feel again. Real shit. Not just rage. Not just grief.” Frank rubbed the back of his neck, like the memory itched. “She used to tell me I wasn’t broken, just dented. I believed her.”

“So what happened?”

Frank leaned back, eyes on the cracked ceiling.

“She fed my flame and I fed her violence. I knew if she kept me around, she’d forget what peace felt like. So I ended it.”

That made Bucky’s stomach twist. He hated how much of that felt familiar. 

Frank glanced toward the couch where you were still curled in sleep, bandages soaked but holding. “She deserves better than that.”

“She deserves someone who doesn’t get jealous of her past,” Bucky muttered.

“You and me both,” Frank chuckled under his breath. “I used to hate that I shared an ex with Red,” Frank admitted. Bucky could just assume he was talking about Daredevil. “But it’s a small world. Small circle. Vigilantes fuck around. You think we go home to nice houses and clean sheets?”

Bucky said nothing. Because now, you did. 

“How long you two been together?” Frank asked, casual.

Bucky didn’t answer right away. Just watched the light shift across the floor as the old ceiling fan spun overhead. Then, finally, “Three years.”

Frank’s eyebrows lifted. “Three?”

He let out a low whistle and took a sip. “Well, I’ll be damned. That’s like… eight decades in vigilante time.”

Bucky didn’t smile, but nodded once.

“Congratulations,” Frank tilted his beer toward him in a mock toast. “Longest relationship I ever seen her in. Not that I was taking notes or anything, but…” He grinned. “I knew all the flings. None of ‘em made it past a year. Most of them burned out around month ten.”

Bucky shifted, fist clenched, but not as harsh as before. “I’ve met a few of them. Or… worked with ‘em.”

Frank chuckled. “Bet that’s fun.”

“Not really.”

Frank scoffed. “Y’know,” he said, “you don’t gotta worry about me. Or any of the rest of us.”

Bucky looked at him sideways. “Yeah?”

Frank nodded toward the living room, where you were sleeping under a threadbare blanket, one leg hanging off the side of the couch.

“She wouldn’t be here if she didn’t love you. Still a bit of a dick when she’s mad, but who isn’t? She chose you. That woman’s got trust issues deeper than the fuckin’ ocean, but she lets you near her when she’s bleeding?” He shook his head. “That’s something, man.”

Bucky’s hand curled loosely around the bottle. “Doesn’t stop the way it feels sometimes. Like I’m… following ghosts.”

Frank leaned against the counter, arms folded, studying him. “You’re not a ghost to her.”

“Feels like I am.”

“Then stop acting like one.”

That hit a little deeper than Bucky expected. He looked away.

“You’re not me,” Frank said finally. “And that’s a good thing.”

Bucky blinked. Looked up.

Frank gestured between them. “You know what I gave her? Rage. Like I said, we fed each other’s worst instincts.” He took a breath. “You give her something I couldn’t: Peace.”

Bucky scoffed, a bitter little noise. “Peace? You should see the way we’ve been acting lately?”

Frank shrugged. “Fights happen. Especially with her.” He smirked. “But she came here because she trusted you to carry her when she couldn’t stand. That’s what counts.”

Bucky  took a sip of the beer, but didn’t really taste it. He still felt the heat of the moment in his chest.

Frank tilted his bottle toward him again. “You love her?”

“More than anything.”

“Then hold on to that.” Frank’s voice was sincere. “Cause’ if two broken people can get their shit together and still choose each other every damn day, that’s more than most people get.”

They sat in silence for a while, before eventually, Frank raised his bottle one more time. “To the girl who survived all of us.”

Bucky hesitated—then tapped his bottle gently against Frank’s.

“To the girl who made us feel human again,” he said.

They drank.

In the back of the room, you shifted in your sleep, muttered something under your breath, then went still again.

Frank leaned back. “Think she’s gonna be pissed when she finds out we bonded?”

Bucky found himself a smile— just a little. “Probably.”

—

The pain was dull when you woke up—  more like a memory than a wound, pulsing behind your bones in sync with your heartbeat. Your shoulder throbbed under tight bandages.

You cracked your eyes open, vision swimming in the dim light. The ceiling was warped and water-stained, familiar in the worst way, lit only by the flicker of a busted lamp somewhere in the room. The air smelled like old cigarette smoke, sweat, and gun oil.

You remembered where you were. Frank Castle’s safehouse.

You felt a body pressing against your side. 

Bucky.

He was crouched beside the couch, looking like he’d been glued to your side for hours— maybe longer. His hair was a mess, flattened in places from where he’d run his hands through it on repeat. 

“Hey,” he greeted, rough around the edges but laced with so much affection it you felt it more than you felt the wound. He leaned in and kissed your forehead, “You okay?”

Your lips twitched into a ghost of a smile. You tilted your head just enough to brush your mouth against his in return, your voice barely above a whisper. “Mmhmm.”

Behind you, someone cleared their throat.

You glanced past Bucky, and there was Frank— arms crossed, watching the two of you with a look that wasn’t quite judgment and wasn’t quite amusement either. 

It looked like... approval.

Bucky glanced over his shoulder, but shifted closer to you anyways. His hand brushed your hair back with the softest care, like you were the only thing in the world that mattered.

“We gotta go, yeah, doll?” he said. “Whenever you’re ready.”

You winced as you shifted upright, his hand already sliding under your good arm. You leaned into him without hesitation. 

“Yeah,” you exhaled, trying to shake the fog from your head. “Just... give me a sec.”

You rested your forehead against his shoulder for a moment, letting the world settle, then pushed yourself upright again. 

“Thanks, Frank,” you managed, voice rough but sincere. “For the whole... keeping me alive thing.”

His mouth curved upward at the corner. “Anytime, pretty girl.”

The words had barely left his mouth before Bucky’s voice cut through the room— “Don’t call her that.”

But.. there was a hint of playfulness in his voice.

Frank’s brow ticked up, amised. “Relax, soldier. It’s a nickname, not a ring.”

“She’s not yours to nickname.”

You let out a low groan, rubbing your hand over your face. “Jesus Christ. I almost died and you two are busy measuring dicks?”

Frank huffed a small laugh. “Still got that attitude, I see.”

Bucky glanced down at you, brushing your knuckles lightly with his thumb. “Good. Means you’re still alive.”

Frank pushed off the doorway, “She’ll outlive both of us at this rate.”

Bucky’s lips twitched, his hand never leaving yours. “That’s the plan.”

You leaned against him, blinking up at the two men, brow furrowing as the realisation finally hit. 

These weren’t snide remarks. This was… banter. 

They weren’t trying to kill each other.

“What the hell…” you mumbled. “You two friends now?”

Bucky looked down at you, shrugging. “Had a long night.”

Frank smirked from across the room, raising an eyebrow. “And a few beers.”

You stared between them, utterly baffled. “The fuck did I miss?”

—

The drive back was a quiet haze of streetlights. You slumped in the passenger seat, curled toward the window, your shoulder still aching beneath layers of gauze. 

When he pulled up to your shared home, Bucky came around to your side before you could even try to open the door. He lifted you again like you weighed nothing and carried you into the apartment without saying a word.

He laid you gently on the couch, brushing the hair from your face as you settled back into the cushions. His fingers lingered on your cheek, “I’ll get your painkillers,” he said.

You let your eyes follow him as he crossed to the kitchen, retrieved a glass of water, and returned with a small pill in his palm.

“Small dose,” he warned, crouching beside you again. “We’re spacing them out.”

You took it, swallowed, then leaned your head back and sighed. You tilted your head toward him.

“So… you and Frank buddies now?”

Bucky snorted softly, shaking his head. “I wouldn’t go that far.”

“But you talked.”

“Yeah,” He confirmed. “We talked.”

You raised a brow, mildly impressed. “And you didn’t smash each other’s face in?”

Bucky chuckled. “Came close.”

You let a beat of silence pass between you. 

Then you finally said, “I’m sorry.”

His eyes flicked back to you. 

“I should’ve seen how uncomfortable you were,” you admitted. “I… I just didn't think the exes would be a sore spot.”

“I’m sorry, too.” He reached up, brushing his thumb over your knuckles. “I let all that shit build up. That’s not on you.”

“Still… I could’ve talked to you about all of it before I got back into the field.” You swallowed. “I… I just didn’t want you to see me differently.”

“I do see you differently,” he said quietly.

Your stomach twisted.

“But not in a bad way,” he added quickly. “Your past… is just that. Frank helped me see that.”

You blinked fast, trying not to cry. “But it keeps finding me.”

“I know,” he said. 

You gave him a sad smile and a kiss on the corner of his mouth. “I’m not going anywhere, Bucky. You’re my now. You’re my future. You're it.”

His breath caught, and he looked at you like you’d just pulled him out of the deepest part of the ocean.

He leaned in and kissed you, slow and soft and sweet. It was the kind of kiss that tasted like forgiveness, because he was still learning what it meant to be loved out loud by someone so unfiltered, by someone with nothing to hide.

You stayed pressed againsthim for a long time, your hand in his hair, his forehead against yours.

Eventually, he pulled back and smiled faintly. 

He stood, walking toward the kitchen. “I’m making you hot chocolate.”

You blinked after him. “Are you serious?”

“You want marshmallows?”

“Obviously.”

He got up, and from the kitchen, you could hear Bucky moving around — the clink of the saucepan on the stove, the rustle of a cocoa tin being opened, the faint hiss of milk heating as he stirred. 

You sank deeper into the couch, letting the ache in your shoulder fade into the background.

Your eyes drifted half-shut, but then you heard it.

A ding from beside you on the couch.

You blinked, turning your head slightly, and there it was — Bucky’s phone lighting up on the cushion, his name glowing on the lock screen along with the preview of a new text.

Frank Castle.

Of course it was Frank.

Curiosity got the better of you, and your eyes skimmed the message: "If you wanna give your pretty girl a break and need someone who doesn’t pull his punches on a mission, give me a call, Barnes. And I’ll be there."

You smiled — part fond, part exasperated — and the warmth in your chest didn’t dim.

Before you could say anything, Bucky’s voice floated over from the kitchen, teasing, “You looking at my phone, doll?”

You glanced toward him, two mugs cradled in his hands as he walked towards you.

“Didn’t know you and Frank exchanged numbers,” You lifted your brows. “He says he’s offering his services.”

Bucky lowered himself onto the couch beside you, placing the mug carefully into your hand.

Bucky let out a quiet snort, shaking his head as he picked up the phone and read it for himself. His thumb hovered over the reply button, but he didn’t type anything right away.

“At least,” he muttered under his breath, “he’s now calling you my pretty girl.”

You leaned your head toward him, letting it rest against his shoulder.

“Damn right I am,” you mumbled fondly.

Damn right you are. 

–end.

General Bucky taglist:

@hotlinepanda @snflwr-vol6 @ruexj283 @2honeybees @read-just-cant

 @shanksstrawhat @mystictf @globetrotter28 @thebuckybarnesvault@average-vibe

@winchestert101 @mystictf @globetrotter28 @shanksstrawhat @scariusaquarius

@reckless007 @hextech-bros @daydreamgoddess14 @96jnie @pono-pura-vida

@buckyslove1917 @notsostrangerthing @flow33didontsmoke @qvynrand @blackbirdwitch22

@torntaltos @seventeen-x @ren-ni @iilsenewman @slayerofthevampire

@hiphip-horray @jbbucketlist @melotyy @ethereal-witch24 @samfunko

@lilteef @hi172826 @pklol @average-vibe @shanksstrawhat

@shower-me-with-roses @athenabarnes @scarwidow @thriving-n-jiving @dilfsaresohot

@helloxgoodbi @undf-stuff @sapphirebarnes @hzdhrtss @softhornymess

@samfunko @wh1sp @anonymousreader4d7 @mathcat345 @escapefromrealitylol

@imjusthere1161 @sleepysongbirdsings @fuckybarnes @yn-stories-are-my-life

@cjand10 @nerdreader @am-3-thyst

@goldengubs @maryevm @helen-2003 @maryssong23

Mine

Prompt idea by: @fightclubendingscene

Tag: @superwholockbooknerd526

Thanking for @fightclubendingscene inspired me to write this as my first BBC sherlock x reader ^^

Tag: Jealous Sherlock, feelings, female reader

-------------

The first time you worked with Sherlock at 221B Baker Street, you fell for him at first sight. His intelligence was captivating, his mind a fascinating labyrinth of insights and analyses that seemed almost otherworldly. You were struck by how quickly he could piece together clues, revealing connections that others would overlook. There was a stoicism about him, a cool detachment that often made you wonder if he was, in some ways, more machine than man.

Yet, deep down, you sensed there was more to him—a complexity of emotions that he kept hidden beneath his sharp exterior. The way he approached each case was both brilliant and bewildering, making it hard to reconcile the thought that he might lack feelings altogether. You knew he was no machine; there was something profoundly human beneath his enigmatic façade that drew you in and made your feelings race each time you witnessed his brilliance in action.

As time passes, your feelings for him deepen, evolving into something more profound and complex. You find yourself constantly grappling with the notion that Sherlock Holmes, famously devoted to his work and often emotionally detached from others, might not reciprocate those feelings.

However, some moments ignite hope within you. In those fleeting seconds when your eyes meet, an unspoken connection lingers in the air before you both inevitably look away, your cheeks flushing with a mix of confusion and longing.

Then there are the rare instances when Sherlock expresses his sentiments through actions rather than words—small gestures that, at first, seemed insignificant but now stand out in sharp relief. The way he remembers your favorite coffee or the specific foods you love speaks volumes about his attention to you. These thoughtful details, once overlooked, now fill you with a sense of warmth and possibility, suggesting that beneath his stoic exterior, there may indeed be more to him than meets the eye.

John mentioned that he had never seen Sherlock behave in such a way before. It’s interesting to note that he has known the detective far longer than you have, which makes his insight all the more significant. Encouragingly, John believes that one day, both you and Sherlock will have the courage to reveal your feelings for each other.

Although he often feels like a third wheel, acting as a somewhat reluctant wingman in his friends' romantic escapades, he remains optimistic.

Until that fateful day when Irene Adler appeared at Baker Street, you found yourself returning the apartment after a trip to the market, the scent of fresh produce mingling with the cool, crisp air of a late autumn afternoon. As you stepped through the door, her captivating presence immediately drew your attention. She looked up from her poised position near the fireplace, her expression transforming into a warm, gentle smile that held a hint of seduction.

You placed the bags of groceries on the kitchen table, the clatter of jars and the rustle of paper momentarily breaking the spell of her gaze. In the background, you could hear Sherlock Holmes pausing mid-experiment, the unmistakable sound of vials clinking together fading into silence as he became aware of your arrival.

The atmosphere in the room shifted, filled with unspoken tension, as the two of you—one the immensely logical detective and the other a woman of enigmatic charm—interacted in a space that felt charged with possibility.

"Well, she's quite the adorable one! I had no idea you brought such a charming woman with you," Irene purred playfully. She stood up gracefully, her eyes sparkling with mischief as she gently tugged you toward her, drawing you both into the warm glow of the fireplace. The flickering flames danced around you, casting a soft, golden light that made the moment feel even more intimate.

Her eyes flickered momentarily over your shoulders, where she caught sight of Sherlock Holmes. His jaw was set tightly, and his hands were clasped firmly behind his back. He moved his knuckles in small, restless circles, betraying the turmoil brewing beneath his composed exterior. It was clear that he was grappling with a mix of jealousy and confusion, particularly regarding Irene's audacity in pulling you toward her.

John burst into the room, his breath still quick from a brisk walk along Baker Street. He paused mid-step, momentarily immobilized by the scene playing out before him. His eyes darted from Sherlock to Irene and then back to Sherlock as if trying to piece together the unfolding drama.

"‘Aren’t you a pretty little thing?’ Irene chuckled softly, her eyes sparkling with interest as she leaned in closer. Her fingers brushed against your cheeks, the gentle caress sending a warm flutter through you. With a playful smile, she let her other hand rest on your chest, feeling the steady rhythm of your heart thundering beneath her touch.

At that moment, Sherlock unexpectedly tugged you closer, his firm grip pulling your back snugly against his chest. The suddenness of it caught John off guard, and he couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow at the sight. It was a rare display of possessiveness from Sherlock, a side of him that John had never witnessed before.

His sharp gaze was locked onto Irene, filled with an intensity that seemed to burn right through her as if he was silently staking a claim on what he believed to be his. The air was charged with tension, and you could feel the heat radiating from him, an unfamiliar blend of protectiveness and desire that left you both exhilarated and slightly breathless.

"That's quite enough for today, Irene," Sherlock said, his voice steady and calm, though a slight tremor. Irene, ever perceptive, couldn’t help but notice the way his Adam's apple bobbed as he spoke your name with a softness that seemed at odds with his internal struggle. "We have a case to attend to," he added, steering the conversation to business. "Is urgent."

"You don—" John starts yet Sherlock gave him a angry glare.

"Case?" Irene chuckled, she stepped closer, the playful tension in the air thickening. Suddenly, without warning, Sherlock wrapped his arms around you,it caught you off guard. You could feel the warmth of his embrace enveloping you, a stark contrast to Irene's playful challenge.

With a swift motion, she grabbed your wrist, gently yet insistently tugging you toward her, as if trying to reclaim your attention from Sherlock. It felt like a whimsical tug-of-war, both of them vying for your focus. "You don’t have a case today, Sherlock," Irene teased, a smirk on her lips, her tone light but daring. "You never said you have a case today."

"We have now," Sherlock said, his voice low and laced with tension as he clenched his jaw. He tightened his hold around you, pulling you closer to him, as he took a determined step back, forcing you to stumble slightly along with him. "Good day, Irene." he added, his tone firm and unyielding, as he slid his other arm securely beneath yours, guiding you toward the door with an unmistakable urgency.

As he led you away, his eyes flicked back to Irene, a storm of anger and jealousy swirling within their depths. The silent message was clear—he was claiming you as his own. Mine. The intensity of his gaze spoke volumes, a silent declaration that you belonged to him, and he would not easily let go. His footsteps echoed down the staircase, each thud resonating like the petulant stomp of a child denied.

In a nearby corner, John rubbed his weary face with both hands, disbelief etched across his features. He hadn't expected this turn of events at all. The way Sherlock tightened his hold on you, the possessive aura emanating from him, was unmistakable—he had finally revealed the passion that simmered just beneath the surface.

Studies is in "I'm gonna kill everyone / why are you breathing so loud" phase of the period and Stud isn't brave enough to face his girl, but still sends Alpine in this dangerous mission:

https://vm.tiktok.com/ZMr3SGjQq/

Oh, nonnie, Stud KNOWS it's a bad period when Smartie gets to that point. It's why you actually choose to remove yourself from the living room because you don't want to snap at him. If you snap at him, you might start crying because he has to breathe and it isn't his fault. Then you'll get upset because you're crying and wondering why your body is punishing you again, as if you forget that this happens every month. And then you get angry that it keeps happening every single month and-

Yeah, it's best to just go to your room.

Bucky can't let you suffer like that. He wants to help, but how does he do so without setting you off? Alpine, of course. Beautiful, smart, agile Alpine who can easily carry the little baggie that he put together.

"This is dangerous territory, Al," Bucky says, giving her a quick pet once she has the bag. "But you're a brave soldier and she needs this."

Alpine gets it. She wastes no time heading to your room and sneaking in after Bucky cracks the door open just enough for her to sneak in. She spots you curled up on the bed, almost looking like a cat yourself. You jolt when she jumps on the bed.

"Alpine, how the hell did..." You trail off as a little baggie is dropped in front of you, raising an eyebrow at it. "What's this?"

Alpine paws at the bag, encouraging you to open it. Inside is some aspirin to help you with any pain, some chocolate because you love it even when you aren't on your period, an eye mask for relaxing later, and a little note. A tear falls on the piece of paper as you read it.

"Sorry for breathing so loud. You just make me lose my breath. I love you."

You have to laugh. It's so adorable and so cheesy and so Stud. God, you really lucked out with him.

"Thanks," you whisper as Alpine rubs her head against you. "And thank you, mouth breather!" From the other side of the door you hear, "Mouth breather?!"

You giggle again as you wipe your eye. It feels good to laugh. "I love you, Stud!"

"Love you, too, Smartie. I'll order a pizza."

And when you two have dinner, you won't mind how loud he breathes because he's perfect.

Love and thanks! ❤️

I Spy With My Little Eye

Fandom: Marvel

Pairing: Joaquin Torres x F!Reader

Summary: Joaquin got you a little present for when he's away on missions for a longer time.

A/N: This is based off a tiktok I saw about a husband bothering his wife with the Ebo Bot while he's deployed

"...Joaquin, what is this exactly?" you look at the device inside the box.

Your boyfriend looks at you excitedly, "It's a little robot that I can use to communicate with you while I'm away on missions."

You pull it out along with instructions, "Honey, this is sweet and all, but our phones work just fine."

"But our phones don't roll around looking all cute like!" You watch as he downloads the required app and sets up the bot. Soon enough, the round, white and black bot is rolling around your living room floor. Joaquin controls it from his phone.

"See!" He then taps his phone again, "And I can talk to you through it like this!"

Honestly, you still didn't see the purpose of the bot, but it made Joaquin happy and it provides another form of communication with him while he's away.

"It does look pretty cute," you say, giving him a soft smile, which makes his own smile grow wider.

__________________

You're in the kitchen cooking dinner for yourself when you hear the rolling of wheels, "What's cookin', good lookin'?"

You chuckle and look down at your feet. The ebo bot is angled up at you as your boyfriend speaks through it, "Making soup?" Joaquin asks as he notes the pot in front of you.

"Close. I'm cooking stew."

"All of that for you?"

You roll your eyes, "No. I'll eat what I can and then I'll freeze the rest to eat for another time. Or if you want to eat it when you come back, all you have to do is heat it back up."

"Oooohh smart."

"Everything going okay?" you ask as you go back to cooking.

"Yup. Probably will be back in a day or two....can you pick me up and put me on the counter?"

You snort, "Really? Why?"

"So I can get a better look at your beautiful face, obviously." You hear the grin in his voice.

You roll your eyes again but you oblige. For the past few missions, Joaquin has used the ebo bot to talk to you, mess around, and be a little nuisance. You could tell he was enjoying it way too much.

"I hope Sam never gives you your own Red Wing. I can't imagine the nonsense you'd pull with something more advance," you smirk at the bot that rolls around the counter beside you.

"I've already asked and he refuses to give me one."

You laugh, "As he should! You're a menace with this little thing," you gesture to the bot with the wooden spoon in your hand.

"I'm just making sure you're not lonely when I'm away!"

"Baby, I love you, but we both know you're the clingier one between us."

You laugh as the bot turns around and rolls towards a corner, appearing as if Joaquin is pouting.

"Take it back."

"No, because it's true! And I didn't say it was a bad thing, Joaco!"

"No, no, no. It's fine. Screw me for being super duper in love with my beautiful and amazing girlfriend." he proceeds to roll towards the edge of the counter and you stop him.

"You're so dramatic," you say with a smirk as you pick up the bot and raise it to eye level.

"But you love me."

"Yes, I do. Very much," you kiss the bot and set it back on the counter, "Were you going to watch me eat dinner?"

"Nah. I'll let you go. I need to work on reports or Sam will get on me again."

You snicker, "Alright," you set the bot onto the floor, "Love you. Bye!"

"Love you! Byyyyyeeeeee!" he elongates the word as rolls all the way back to the dock, causing you to laugh to yourself.

home safe | joaquín torres x fem!reader

Pairing: Joaquín Torres x Fem!Reader Summary: Joaquín's friends call you to come and pick him up after a night out at the bar where he can't stop talking about you. Warnings: Mentions of drinking, being drunk and alcohol. Word Count: 1.5k A/N: I saw a TikTok where a golden retriever boyfriend got so excited when he saw his girlfriend turn up at the bar and my first thought was 'That's so Joaquín' so here this is 😂 Enjoy 💗

Making the most of a rare Friday night alone, you’re about to crack open a new tub of ice cream when your phone buzzes on the counter beside you. With a sigh, you set down the spoon you’d been planning on digging into the ice cream with, and pick up your phone to read the message.

You assume that it’s going to be from Joaquin. He’d gone out to attend the Bachelor Party of one of his best friends, leaving you home alone. He hated to go – he’d said at least twenty times that he wished you could come with him, but he understood that you needed time apart and that it was crucial to a healthy relationship to do things alone. But regardless, he always felt like something was missing when you weren’t there.

He’d also assured you that when he was ready to come home, he’d send you a text so that you could come and pick him up. He’d promised he wouldn’t stay too late, knowing that you would want to try and get a good night sleep as usual and he didn’t want you to have to go to bed without him. With Joaquin, you knew you could trust his word on that.

As you look at your phone, though, you’re surprised to see that the message isn’t from Joaquin, but from Eddie, one of his friends who was also attending the Bachelor Party.

Joaquin is ready when you are… seriously… save us…

You laugh a little as you read his message and quickly type out a reply. I’m almost tempted to leave you guys to deal with him for even longer. But I’ll head out shortly :) 

A little disappointed, you move to put the ice cream back in the freezer. It was going to have to wait until another night now. There’s only one reason why Eddie would be texting you – Joaquin had had too many drinks and was being his usual drunken self, somehow more extroverted than he already was. If anyone thought Joaquin couldn’t shut up when he was sober, then they’d never seen him drunk.

It doesn’t take you too long to get your things together and leave the house. You’ve changed out of your comfy clothes and put on something semi-presentable, knowing you’ll likely have to go inside the bar to bring your boyfriend out, and are in the car on your way towards the bar not long after. 

You send Eddie a text as you walk towards the bar. Whereabouts are you guys?

He surprisingly doesn’t take too long to reply. I’ll come to the front door and get you so you don’t get lost. It’s pretty packed in here. You’d probably hear us before you saw us.

You snort at his message, knowing it’s true, and head into the bar. Eddie is right – the bar is bustling, as expected for a Friday night. There are people everywhere, music pumping through the speakers and you wonder how anyone could have an enjoyable time here without wearing some pretty serious earplugs.

Someone calls out your name and you turn to see Eddie, standing not too far away from you. He beckons you over with a smile and then greets you with a quick hug. All of Joaquin’s friends love you and consider you as much of a friend to them as he is.

“Thanks for coming so fast,” Eddie says as the two of you start to walk back to where he’d come from. “Joaquin… he seriously has not shut up about you since we got here. You’d think that he was the one getting married instead of Mateo.”

You smile to yourself at the thought. “I mean, as far as I’m aware, we’re not,” you say, amused. “I’m sure that it’s just the alcohol though. You and I both know how he gets.”

Eddie laughs. “He hasn’t even had that much to drink compared to some of us.”

As you get closer towards the table where the rest of the group are, you can hear their laughter and loud voices just as Eddie had said. You hear Joaquin’s laugh and instantly smile as you finally lay eyes on him. His cheeks are a little flushed from the alcohol and the smile on his face sets butterflies off in your stomach. 

You can see when he spots you in the crowd just from the way his eyes light up. His jaw drops and then morphs into a grin that takes over his entire face. “Angel!” Joaquin’s voice is loud, impressively so. Despite the loud music, several people turn their heads to look at him.

Before you can even take one more step closer to him, Joaquin is up and away from the booth, running towards you and barrelling straight into you. He picks you up, spinning you around in a circle as you laugh. You’re pretty sure he’s never been happier to see you.

“Angel, what are you doing here?” He exclaims, setting you down on the ground again. 

You laugh, resting your arms over his shoulders. “I was requested to come and pick you up,” you say, meeting Eddie’s eyes. “Apparently my boyfriend couldn’t stop talking about me? And I’m pretty sure Mateo is the one who’s meant to be talking about his girlfriend all night instead of you, baby.”

Joaquin looks over his shoulder at his friends. “You guys called in reinforcement?” He says, pretending to be shocked as if he’s not extremely happy to see you. “Listen, Mateo has been talking plenty about his soon to be wife so I figured it was only fair I add in my share.”

Over at the booth, you hear Mateo snort. “I’ve heard you say your girl’s name so many more times than I’ve said mine, Joaquin,” he calls. “Thanks for coming to save us, by the way. We love spending time with your man but I think he loves you more.” His voice is amused.

“You’re so welcome,” you call back. 

Joaquin moves to stand beside you, but he still wraps an arm around your waist, becoming his touchy self again now that you’re here. You’re surprised to see that he isn’t actually as drunk as you had been expecting. Clearly, though, the few drinks he had consumed had made him insufferable enough to his friends.

“Are you guys kicking me out or something?” Joaquin says beside you, pouting a little as he looks over at his friends. “Man, I thought we were having a good night. It’s not even midnight yet!” 

Not that he’s disappointed at the fact that this means he can go home and spend the rest of the night curled up in bed with you… in fact, out of the two scenarios that one is definitely the better sounding one.

“Nah, bro,” Eddie shakes his head. “I’m heading out too, so are a few of us. I just got a text from my girl and she’s waiting for me in the car outside. I promised her I wouldn’t stay out too late. She finds it harder to sleep without me now that she’s pregnant, apparently.”

The simple confirmation that Joaquin isn’t the only one leaving is enough to perk his mood right back up. He leans in and presses a kiss to your cheek. “I’m just gonna go say bye to the guys and then we can go.” 

You nod, watching him as he heads over to say his goodbyes to everyone and send his well wishes to Mateo, since it’s the last time he’s going to see him before the wedding. It doesn’t take long, though, and soon enough he’s walking back over to you and taking your hand in his. All the boys yell their goodbyes to you as Joaquin leads you out of the bar.

Joaquin keeps hold of your hand while you leave the packed bar. He doesn’t let go even when you’re safely outside, happily trailing along behind you as you lead him over to where your car is parked.

“You know, when I saw you walk in tonight I was a little distracted,” Joaquin says as you stop beside the car and reach into your bag to get your keys out. “Mateo had just said somethin’ real funny and then I looked over and saw you and at first, I thought it couldn’t be you cause I knew you were at home. I just saw you and thought ‘Damn, that girl looks so much like my beautiful girlfriend.’”

“And then you realised it was me and basically jumped on me,” You chuckle, amused as you find the keys and unlock the car.

Joaquin places a hand on your hip. “Can you blame me for that, angel?”

You turn around and lean in to gently peck him on the lips. “I can’t,” you hum. “Now come on, it’s time to get you home and sober you up a bit.”

He smiles and leans in to open the car door for you. He might be a little drunk but he’s still a gentleman who can open the car door for his girlfriend. Once he’s inside, he rests a hand on your thigh as you pull away from the curb and head for home.

“Thanks for coming to get me, angel. Even if it kinda ruined your night alone.”

You glance over at him briefly to give him a reassuring smile. “Knowing that you’re coming home safe matters more to me than spending the rest of my night alone, baby.” 

Change of View

Loki Laufeyson x fem!Reader

Summary: Your friend drags you along to an Avengers event, which changes your life forever...

Warnings: thirst, Loki in a silk robe

Word Count: 2k

a/n: Happy Easter, guys! I know it's been a while, but... I truly hope you like this lil' gift I got for y'all... 🤗 I never forgot about Loki. I never could. I just don't have the inspiration for him at the moment, but if I do... Well... 😉

Masterlist °☆• Loki Masterlist

"Ugh," you sighed and rolled your eyes; crossing your arms over your chest. "I can't believe I let you drag me here, Sammy. This is-" "Abso-fucking-lutely awesome!" Your friend finished the sentence. She was beyond excited; literally buzzing and barely able to keep herself from whipping back and fro on her heels and toes. "I was gonna say boring and overrated, but okay. Whatever." Now it was Sammy's turn to roll her eyes. "Oh, come on, Y/N." The woman gripped your upper arm, "Don't be such a party pooper! Let's go!" and dragged you along; past several security checks and finally inside the walls of the Avengers compound.

Yes... The Avengers compound. A month ago, none other than Tony Stark had announced on television that there would be three days open house. They wanted to 'let people take a look behind closed doors'; showing them how superheroes worked. Sure, there had been taken several security precautions. Dozens of guards, several checks and a 'guest list'. Plus, the guests weren't allowed to access several parts of the building. Closed off areas.

Originally, you would've never even thought about setting a single food on said compound. You weren't much of 'superhero' fan. You had other interests. The Avengers certainly were none of them. But then Sammy came along and literally begged you to go with her - and who were you to not help a friend living her dream? So, you gave in - and here you were.

Did you regret agreeing on this? Probably...

"Oh my gosh! Look at this! Look at the sheer size of it!" Sammy gasped as she looked around the compound; completely stunned. "There's the Quinjet, ahhh!" You didn't even have the chance to answer something, before you got dragged along again.

After thoroughly exploring the outside and watching Stark fly around in his metal suit, your friend led you inside the tower - where you got welcomed by none other than Captain America himself... Steve Rogers. "He smiled at me, Y/N! Did you see that?! He smiled at me!" Your friend was close to hyperventilating. So close, that you had to be the one to drag her away this time, in order to help her control her breathing. "Yeah? He did?" Sammy nodded quickly; smiling almost deliriously. "Uh.Huh." "Well, lucky you," you said, then muttered under your breath: "I'm damn sure he smiled at everyone..."

It took you almost three hours to make your way through the whole tower. You spent at least half of the time in the huge training hall, though, watching the Avengers taking turns in training - or well, showing off their powers. First up were Natasha Romanoff, Clint Barton and Bruce Banner. Then the teams switched and Scott Laing, Peter Parker and Thor Odinson took over.

That was the moment Sammy lost it entirely. She had the biggest crush on Thor - something you didn't quite understand. But hey, you didn't have to, right?

The moment you saw him entering the 'arena', you physically and mentally prepared yourself to support your friend. "Oh. My. Gosh! Ohmygosh, ohmygosh, ohmygosh! Y/N! There's, there's-" She wasn't even able to finish her sentence before a loud happy squeal paved its way past her lips. You giggled and shook your head. Despite absolutely being bored here, you loved to see your friend that happy and locked in in fangirl mode.

"Need my hand to hold?" She didn't answer, instead just gripped your hand like a vice; eyes stuck on the god. "He's even more handsome in real life! Look at him, Y/N! Look at him!" You rolled your eyes, but smiled. "I am looking, Sam." "Isn't he the hottest man alive?" Weeeell... "For you, yes. For me... No." Sammy didn't even seem to register your words. Certainly not as Thor did this... lightning thing. From that moment on, she was lost - and it would take several business days to get her back. You were sure of it.

After the teams switched again and her beloved God of Thunder was 'replaced' by Bucky Barnes (who was more of your taste than Thor), you decided to keep on exploring and return later to the training area. Of course, in the hopes to see Thor again.

Now you were in a seemingly very quiet corner of the floor. Jess needed to pay the toilets a visit, while you waited outside. With your back comfortably leaned against the wall, you were on the phone; not bothering the few people who passed you by.

Until you heard a soft noise. You looked up, but quickly shook it off again; thinking that it only had been in your head.

Then you heard it again... Like... running water.

Slipping your phone back inside the pocket of your jeans, you looked around to check the area. There was nobody, but the noise could be heard again. Frowning, you wandered a bit around; trying to find out where it came from - until you stopped in front of another corridor, which was closed off with a big 'No trespassing' sign in front. Being too curious for your own good, you looked around again to check the area. Nobody was around, so you climbed over the streamer to enter the corridor.

Cautiously, you took step after step. There were quite a few rooms, but you didn't dare to open them. The noise which had lured you in had vanished as well. You didn't hear a damn thing. It was eerily quiet. With a sigh, you shrugged your shoulders and turned around to leave. Your eyes were still directed behind you; resulting in your body colliding against something - or rather someone.

A small yelp left your lips, and you stumbled backwards; landing on your ass. "Ouch," you mumbled; rubbing your shoulder. "Apologies. I did not expect you to run into me," a deep, velvety and kinda soothing voice suddenly spoke from above you. A hand appeared in your peripheral vision. Certainly bigger than your own with long fingers attached. It looked smooth and... skilled.

"Are you well?"

Your eyes snapped up - and suddenly you felt like falling again. Like anticipated, stood a man in front of you. Well, standing wasn't the right term... Rather towering. He was probably the embodiment of 'tall, dark and handsome'. Deep ocean blue eyes gazed down at you. His face was chiselled with a sharp jawline and cheekbones to die for. Pale, smoothly shaven skin contrasted to the long, black curls which framed his face. They were visibly freshly washed; wetting the emerald green robe he wore.

Was that silk?

Your eyes dropped; realising with sheer shock that he seemingly wasn't wearing something underneath. You had unobstructed view on his halfway exposed chest, the patch of dark hair between his pectorals and the beginning of his abs. Half of his - most likely - sixpack was visible. The knot tied in his bathrobe around his lower abdomen prevented you from getting to see more.

You swallowed hard. He was the most handsome man you had ever seen.

"Are you well?" He asked his previous question again, and this time, he managed to rip you out of your trance like state. "Uh, um," you stammered; trying to get your head straight and back on track again. "Yes, I, uh, think so." You cautiously took his offered hand; really getting to feel the smoothness of it.

You swallowed hard. Again.

"T-Thank you," you whispered and rubbed your shoulder again. Probably to distract yourself and cope with the sudden nervosity inside you. He gave you a soft nod.

"And who you might be, if I may ask? I believe I have never seen you here before." You blushed. "O-Oh, I'm just... I'm nobody, really..." The man standing opposite you crooked his head and raised an eyebrow. He wanted to speak up and say something, but you leapfrogged him. Only god knew why you had the sudden courage to do that. Perhaps it was the adrenaline pumping through your veins.

"Counterquestion. Who are you?"

Loki blinked, then chuckled. That is a first, the god thought.

"Well, who do you think I am, Miss...?" "Y/L/N." He smirked. "Miss Y/L/N." You fumbled with your fingers and shrugged your shoulders. "Dunno." "Take a guess, little mor- miss." Close.

You eyed him up and down once again; trying to not get too distracted this time - which was really difficult. "Um... You, uh, you look... regal. Kinda... official. Are you a business man? Or one of Mr. Stark's right-hand-men?"

The god chuckled; almost felt a bit offended by you thinking he's one of Tony's puppets. "Not even close, darling."

Your heart did a little flip at the pet name he used and your cheeks reddened even more.

"A security guard?"

The man opposite you shook his head; making his damp onyx curls sway. "Try again." "A SHIELD agent?" "Getting colder, Miss Y/L/N." You hummed; the gears in your brain turning quickly, but it had run out of possible answers. For now, at least.

"Running out of ideas already?" The man asked with a mischievous smirk on his lips. He was a sassy one. You could tell.

"Are you some kind of mob boss then?"

The stranger chuckled, "Your suggestions are getting dangerous, darling." and took a small step closer; crossing his hands behind his back. "It almost seems like you love yourself a dangerous man... Do you?"

Your jaw dropped. How could he be so mysterious, threatening and flirty at the same time? It fucked with your mind; almost send you into a frenzy.

"I-I, uh," you stammered and wanted to answer, but another voice cut through the air. This time a familiar one.

"Y/N?! What the hell are you doing here? This is- Ohmygod." Sammy stood at the end of the hallway, in front of the 'No trespassing' sign and the streamer with her gaze directed on the man beside you. Her eyes widened for a short moment. Then Sammy shook her head and quickly jumped over the streamer; stomping over to you. "Get your ass back over here! We're not allowed to he here! What were you thinking?!" She grabbed your arm, "I don't want to get kicked out because of you! Come on!" and dragged you away. She had ignored the barely dressed man, who had witnessed everything with a smug, amused smirk on his lips.

Until now.

"Apologies, your majesty," she said; addressing the tall, handsome stranger, while still dragging you along. "She, uh, she's difficult, and doesn't know what's going on here. Please forgive us the disturbance and please don't call the security. We're already going and you won't hear from us again," Sammy rambled, as if her life depended on it.

Your ears perked up at the first sentence which had left your friend's mouth, and it stuck there.

Majesty? Majesty???

Then it hit you. Like a truck in full swing. The ongoing conversation between your friend and the man fading into the background.

You may not possess a big knowledge of the Avengers and everything involving them, but you did hear of the Asgardian princes before. Princes. Plural. You just had always seen Thor on television or social media. Not his brother. Not the charming, mischievous and smart younger Odinson.

Now you did.

"H-Hold up. Majesty?!" You asked Sammy shocked; climbing after her over the streamer again. "Yes, majesty," hissed your friend - and your suspicions got confirmed. "Oh my gosh, was that-" "Prince Loki Odinson of Asgard, yes," she whisper-shouted to complete your sentence.

Your heart did another flip. You blinked; brain having a hard time to catch up on what just happened. You talked - no, you flirted with a prince. With one of the most popular Avengers. With the female heart throb. The amount of women who'd have murdered you to get into your place uncountable.

You swallowed hard and dared to look back inside the corridor - only to see Loki still standing there; watching the spectacle unfolding in front of his eyes. That mischievous, almost boyish smile was on his lips as he winked at you.

And suddenly, you felt like floating and fainting at the same time.

You wanted to go back to him, call for him - but the words got stuck in your throat; feet like anchored to the ground.

And then Sammy dragged you away.

The settling realisation that you most likely would never get this close to him again suddenly weighed heavier on your heart than you were ready to admit.

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