▪︎Early Mornings {Loki Laufeyson X Fem!reader}

“Again?!” – Part 1

Tony Stark x Civilian!Reader

Synopsis: You spilled your drink on a stranger. Then you Googled him.

Warnings: [None I hope, pure fluff and kinda awkward situations] [foriegn reader you are not from the states in this <3] [fem reader]

w.c 1.8k

You’re gonna be late.

Not fashionably, not charmingly. Actually late.

You’d planned to be early. You needed to be early. Your first day at your first job since landing in the country—everything about it made your heart pound a little too fast. You’d practiced your introduction three times in the mirror this morning, brushed imaginary lint off your blazer until it pilled. You couldn’t afford to look like a mess. Not today. Not when you’re already nervous that every mistake you make will be noticed harder, judged faster, weighed heavier.

You don’t want to be the immigrant they talk about behind closed doors. You want to be invisible. Or better: impressive.

But no. Your subway stalled, your walking directions turned you in a circle, and now, to top it all off, your English is trying to abandon you under pressure.

You shove into the nearest café, praying the line is short. It’s not.

You order fast. “Matcha, cold, uh—ice. Please. Tall. I mean… medium?”

You’re not even sure what you just said, but the barista takes your card and you move to the pickup counter, clutching your phone with the directions still open. 9:12 a.m. You need to be in the building by 9:30. It's a ten-minute walk. You're cutting it close.

So when your name is called, you grab the cup too fast. Turn too sharply. And crash right into someone waiting behind you.

The drink goes flying.

The ice arcs like shrapnel. Matcha explodes across an expensive grey button-up, dripping down in streaks of soft green horror.

You freeze.

“Oh no,” you blurt, already lunging for napkins. “I didn’t—oh god, I didn’t see, I wasn’t—!”

The man takes a stunned step back, blinking down at himself. The drink has fully committed to soaking him. There's a single cube of ice clinging to his collarbone like a final insult.

You reach out helplessly with a napkin, then freeze halfway, not wanting to actually… touch him. Not now. Not like this.

“I’m sorry,” you say, too quickly. “I am late, I—first day, new job, I was not—my hand slipped, but I pay for shirt, I clean, please don’t—don’t be mad.”

Your words trip and tangle with your accent. You hate how it makes you sound so unsure.

To your shock, the man doesn’t yell. Doesn’t flinch. In fact, his mouth quirks upward like this is funny. Like this—you—are funny.

“Well,” he says, shaking out the front of his shirt like he does this sort of thing on the regular. “That’s one way to make a first impression.”

You flush. “Please don’t be angry. I don’t want to lose my job. I already… it’s already hard.”

His eyebrows tick upward. The grin softens.

“I’m not angry,” he says. “Trust me, I’ve had worse mornings.”

You frown. “You are… very calm.”

“Yeah, well. You look like you might actually cry,” he says, tilting his head. “Didn’t want to risk making you the one who ends up comforting me.”

You let out a helpless, mortified little noise and try to mop a bit of matcha off the counter. “This is so bad. I am so late now. I was trying to be professional.”

“Mm. How’s that going?”

You glare at him, but there’s no heat in it. “I will cry. Don’t test me.”

He laughs at that. It’s warm. Easy. The kind of laugh that makes you feel like you’ve already won something just by making it happen.

You glance at the barista, who’s biting her lip behind the counter, eyes darting between the two of you like she’s watching a scene from a romcom.

“Here,” she says finally, sliding a fresh matcha toward you. “No charge. And… maybe next time don’t drink and drive.”

“That is not funny,” you mutter, cheeks burning.

The man takes the extra napkins she offers and dabs at his shirt without much concern. You watch a splotch of green sink deeper into his lapel.

“I’ll live,” he says. “Though if I turn into the Hulk, I expect a formal apology.”

You furrow your brow. “That’s not how Hulk works.”

He pauses. Grins. “You’d be surprised how often I hear that.”

You don’t have time to ask what that means. Your phone buzzes in your hand: 9:17 a.m.

You curse under your breath and look up at him one last time, guilt gnawing at your stomach.

“I really am sorry,” you say again. “You were just… standing there. I wasn’t watching. It’s my fault.”

He shrugs, stuffing soggy napkins into a nearby trash bin. “You were in a rush. I get it. Maybe I should’ve worn green.”

You smile, despite yourself. “Thank you. For not yelling. Or suing.”

“Maybe I’ll save it for next time.”

“There will not be a next time.”

He just hums. Like he knows something you don’t.

And before you can ask his name—or offer yours—he waves a lazy hand and slips out the door, sunglasses already on, like this was all just another Tuesday.

You're left with your second drink, a ruined timeline, and a weird buzzing in your chest like the day just veered off script.

The second time you see him, your heart doesn’t race.

It stops.

You’re halfway out the same café—new drink clutched in hand, head down, feet steady—when someone steps aside to hold the door for you. You glance up.

It’s him.

No spilled drink this time. No crowd. Just him. Crisp charcoal suit, clean today. Casual expression. That same slightly lazy posture, like he has nowhere urgent to be despite the fact that he’s clearly the kind of man who always has somewhere important to be.

You freeze.

For a second, you consider backing away and pretending you forgot something. Or leaving the drink behind. Or vanishing.

But he speaks first.

“You made it to work alright, then?” he asks.

His voice is calm. Dry, but not mocking. Like it’s a question he genuinely wanted to ask, even if he didn’t expect to get the chance.

You nod once, too quickly. “Yes. I was… not too late.”

“That’s good,” he says. “Didn’t want to ruin your first day. That’d be a hell of a reputation to start with. ‘Green-shirt girl who cries and runs.’”

You don’t laugh. You barely even breathe. Not because you’re panicking—more because your body is trying to figure out what the right emotion is. Embarrassment? Suspicion? Wariness?

You settle on something closer to cautious politeness.

“I didn’t catch your name,” you say quietly, shifting your weight.

He reaches for his drink from the counter behind you, then glances back. “Tony.”

You nod. “Nice to meet you.”

“You too,” he says. And that’s it. He gives you a small nod, steps aside, and lets you walk past him like you’re strangers again.

You exit the café like a normal person. Even wave a little, because you’re trying to seem polite. Calm. Unbothered.

It works—until you get halfway down the block, and the name Tony sticks in your head like a splinter.

Tony.

Something about it itches at your memory. Not the name itself. Him. His tone. His face. The way people had been glancing at him inside the café. That weird moment when the barista caught your eye and gave you a look—like how does she not know who that is.

You walk faster.

You wait until you’re inside the breakroom at your new job, alone, your paper cup sweating in your hands, and then you unlock your phone. Open a browser. Type just Tony —then delete it, realizing how stupid that is.

You try again.

Tony suit glasses goatee.

You scroll. Nothing.

You bite your lip.

Then finally, you try what you should’ve started with:

Tony New York.

You were expecting some lawyer. A CEO. Maybe an author. Something mild.

What you get is headlines. Dozens. Articles. Photos. Entire pages of search results that feel like someone just grabbed the edges of your reality and tugged.

"Tony Stark Re-Emerges at Stark Industries Gala""IRON MAN Makes Surprise Statement on Midtown Innovation Project""Billionaire, Philanthropist, Superhero—and Now, Bachelor Again?"

You scroll. Scroll again. Then stop.

There’s a picture.

It’s him.

It’s him.

Wearing a different suit, yes—but the same face, same smirk, same stupidly expensive sunglasses perched in his hair.

Your chest feels tight. Not like fear. More like… the ground moved, and now you’re not sure where your feet are.

You remember holding a crumpled napkin out to him like a child.

You remember telling him you didn’t want to lose your job. That it was already hard.

You remember offering to pay for his shirt which was probably worth more than your years worth salary.

You lock your phone and stare at the wall for a full sixty seconds.

You walked away from Tony Stark like he was just some annoying guy in your way.

You wonder if this is the kind of story people laugh about at parties—"this one time, some foreign girl dumped matcha on Tony Stark and didn’t even recognize him."

You wonder if he's told anyone yet.

And across town—

Tony is lying on a sleek leather couch, changed into a new shirt, and grinning like a man who just had a religious experience.

He has no idea what your name is. No way to find you. And that is, frankly, unacceptable.

“You should’ve seen her, F.R.I.D.A.Y.,” he says, tossing a balled-up napkin into the trash across the room. “Didn’t know who I was. At all. Looked me dead in the face like I was just another guy.”

“Unthinkable,” the AI deadpans.

“And then the drink!” he says, raising his hands up up like it was a magical moment. “Most people notice me before running into me head on and making a mess.”

“She seemed… distressed.”

“She was honest,” Tony says, pointing. “You know how rare that is? No fawning. No social climbing. Just genuine gult. I haven’t seen that in years.”

“She did say she didn’t want to lose her job. Perhaps you should let her go.”

“Oh no. ” Tony leans back again, fingers steepled.

“What would you like me to do?”

Tony taps his temple. “Find her.”

F.R.I.D.A.Y. hums in a way that sounds suspiciously like disapproval. “You don’t even know her name.”

“She bought a matcha. Around 9:15 a.m. from that coffee shop on 43rd. Cross-check her transaction with security footage. Filter for panicked young women with very good hair and poor aim.”

“You’re really doing this?”

“Listen,” he says, folding his hands over his stomach. “You get doused in iced green sludge and walk away with a crush," He says the word mockingly childish "You ignore the universe. I’m not that guy.”

He doesn’t say it out loud, but he’s thinking it: She didn’t look at me like Iron Man. Or someone to suck up to. She looked at me like a mess...She was kinda right.. very right.

And he wants more of that.

To Be Continued…?

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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Interstate Love Song

Summary : Bucky tells the team he saw his Hydra days in The Void. You are the only one who knows him well enough to know he is lying.

Pairing : Bucky Barnes x reader (she/her) 

Warnings/tags : Thunderbolts* spoilers below the cut!!!!!!! Best friends to lovers. Fluff,  bit of angst, reader is mentioned to be an ex-cage fighter. Reader is part of the team. Cursing, Trauma. Implied sex. The title is inspired by the song of the same name by Stone Temple Pilots.

Requested by : anon (the ask is very spoiler-y so I have not answer that yet!)

Word count : 4.6k

Note : Please keep the post-thunderbolts* requests going! If you’d like to be on the taglist, message me! It gets lost in the comments sometimes. Enjoy!

Before the Blip, you were just another number in the system. You were just another fighter in a concrete box, thrown into illegal cage matches as entertainment of the rich and corrupt. 

You weren’t there by choice. 

You’d been taken young, trained to fight, to break and survive. 

You, like many that ended up in the ring, had no family. For as long as you could remember, the only love you knew of was crowds that screamed for blood.

When Thanos snapped his fingers, half your captors turned to dust.

The door was unlocked, and for the first time, no one came to stop you.

You ran.

You later spent the next few years working in the shadows: Bounty hunting, private contracts, smuggling. 

You had no real allegiances, just a reputation: you always got the job done. 

You’ve assisted Sharon Carter with her art smuggling, helped Xu Xialing train fighters in her more ethical, opt-in cage fighting endeavours, and ironically, some of the same people you used to fight besides turned to crime when the world lost structure, so you started hunting them for cash. 

Others had taken to more righteous but extreme causes—like the Flag Smashers. You tried to keep your distance until Sam Wilson showed up at a bar you get your bounties from and dropped a name you hadn’t heard in years. And then Bucky Barnes sat down beside him and said, “We could use someone like you. Sharon Carter gave you a pretty good reference.”

The mission was to track down an old cage mate of yours who was loyal to Karli Morgenthau.

So you took the job. Then the next. And the next.

Working with Sam was easy—he had a leader’s clarity. Getting to know Bucky, however, was a bit of a slow burn. He was distrusting at first, he had little words to say for strangers.

You didn’t push, but the more you went on these missions, the more you started noticing the way he always kept you in his eyeline, the way he started covering your flank, and the way he actually laughed at one of your dry jokes on a mission in Beirut.

Over time, it stopped being just a job. You started grabbing takeout with Sam and Bucky. You stuck around their shitty motel rooms talking about music and how weird the world felt now. Joaquin started joining in, too, and somewhere along the way, you became friends. 

By the sixth joint mission with Joaquin, you and Bucky had inside jokes. By the tenth, he was texting you first when he was lonely— not Sam. 

It wasn’t that he intended to spend less time with the new Cap and more with you— but when Joaquin became his de facto second-in-command, it made sense for Bucky to seek companionship in you. 

Then came the day he told you he was thinking about running for Congress. You blinked and laughed. He shrugged, saying something about “making amends on a bigger scale.” And when you stopped laughing long enough to realise he was serious, you listened. You offered advice, telling him he’d need to hire a security team to keep his campaigns safe.  

“That’s why I want you to oversee it,” he said that day.

“Are you kidding me?” you chuckled, sipping on your beer in the bar he had chosen to hang out in, “I’m not a fucking secret service agent.”

“Exactly,” he gave you that infuriatingly charming grin— the one you were sure would win him votes. “I don’t trust those people. I trust you.”

So that’s how you became head of security for his campaign. And it wasn’t just work. Those nights often ended in long conversations. Sometimes you’d find him on his balcony after an event, and you’d just sit with him. 

By the time the campaign was over, you began working private security gigs around D.C., your apartment only ten minutes from his. You both stopped pretending it was coincidence when he started showing up with food or you’d crash on his couch after staying out too late. Somewhere along the line, you’d become his closest friend.

After everything you’d both been through, it just made sense.

—

Post-void New York, 2027.

Bob had just quite literally been dragged out of a personal hell of his own making and nobody at the table came out unscathed. Not really. Not after that.

But at least you all were alive. And starving.

Especially after Val ambushed you with that press conference. 

The five of you had decided on the dingy pizza joint. It was a miracle the place was even open considering what had happened to the city, the old red-neon “PIZZA BY THE SLICE” sign buzzed overhead like it was short-circuiting from your collective trauma.

Yelena had chosen the booth closest to the back. She claimed it was strategic—"less visibility from the windows"—but Alexei knew she just liked to sit with her back to a wall. She had a slice of extra cheese, grease dripping down her fingers as she methodically peeled off the mushrooms.

Alexei was next to her, cutting his slice with a plastic knife and fork like it was a fine steak. “I’m civilized,” he announced when Bucky raised an eyebrow.

Ava was perched on the end of the booth, chewing through two slices stacked on top of each other, sauce smeared across one cheek. Her tactical suit. had one broken buckle that kept slipping open.

John sat across from them with his boots up on the chair next to him, leaning so far back in his seat it creaked like it was about to break. He had a half-empty cup of soda and two untouched slices in front of him.

You were tucked into the booth with Bucky beside you. He hadn’t said much. Neither had you. But you kept elbowing each other every few minutes, like some kind of private Morse code. He could tell you were spiraling; you could tell he was deflecting. Classic.

The pizza in front of you was a crime scene of pepperoni and pineapple, but it was food, and no one had eaten in hours. The last time you'd all stopped was... hell, who even knew? Between the vault and New York, you probably haven’t eaten in more than half a day. 

Bob sat at the far end of the table, happily munching through the single marinara in front of him.

You tore off a piece of Bucky’s crust (because he didn’t really like the burnt bits) and popped it into your mouth. “Okay,” you said, loud enough to cut through the clatter, “Void Talk. Let’s go. Everyone cough up your horror visions.”

Everyone around you let out a chorus of groans.

“Nope,” said John, around a mouthful of dough. “Absolutely not.”

You narrowed your eyes and smacked him upside the head — not hard, just enough to remind him who was in charge of emotional vulnerability tonight.

“Ow! What the hell!”

“Johnathan,” you said, sliding into your Serious Voice. Bucky turned toward you slightly, recognising the tone immediately. “We are a family now. Families communicate. Have you learned nothing from all this shared trauma?”

“I learned you’re annoying,” John almost snapped, rubbing his head. “Also, don’t call me that. You’re not my mom.”

“You wish I was your mom,” you shot back. “You’d actually be emotionally stable.”

“And get your horrible taste in pizza?” he snapped, but kept earring anyways. “No thanks.”

“Rude,” said Yelena, pointing at the pie with righteous indignation. “This is quality dollar-slice. Best in New York. Kate Bishop said so.”

“Oh, well if Kate Bishop said so,” Ava deadpanned, finally skewering an olive. “Let me just re-evaluate my whole palate.”

“She has good taste,” Alexei defended, somehow sipping from two sodas at once.

You laughed. For once, you felt warmth in your ribs. You felt Bucky’s elbow nudging yours again, this time a little more gently. He still hadn’t really spoken, but when you glanced his way, he gave you that half-smile, the one he reserved just for you.

“Come on, then,” you said, “Trauma-sharing time.”

Bob’s smile faltered, the small in his eyes dimming in his eyes a little. “I have a feeling you all saw me in there,” he said, though he aimed it mostly at Yelena.

She didn’t answer immediately. Just reached for another garlic knot and tore it in half with more force than necessary.

Ava smiled, softer than usual, then said, “No shit.”

Yelena exhaled through her nose, like it took effort just to stay seated. “Mine was Red Room,” she said with a shrug. “All of it. The smells. The punishments. Everything.”

Alexei’s hand tightened around his soda. The can crinkled slightly.

“I saw the day I sent you and Natasha away,” he said, with a deep breath. 

Yelena glanced at him, eyes still unreadable, but her mouth curved just a little. Forgiveness, maybe. Or just understanding.

Ava poked at the toppings “Pain. Again. Thought I was over it, but apparently my brain missed the memo.”

You looked over, met her eyes. She offered a crooked smile and nudged your ankle under the table. 

John cleared his throat, rough like gravel. “Lemar,” he said, knowing everyone could put two and two with just the name. “And… my kid. You know the rest.”

You reached over and bumped your shoulder against his. This time, he didn’t flinch. 

Then the attention turned, inevitably, to you. 

You rolled your shoulders, and looked down at your grease-stained napkin on the table like it was about to reveal the location to the fountain of youth. “Cage match. My opponent was new. Couldn’t have been more than fifteen.” You picked at the crust in your hand. “I didn’t have a choice, it was kill or be killed.”

You heard murmurs of understanding around the table— sympathy, but not pity. Even John, who had the emotional bandwidth of a concrete wall most days, sighed.

No one noticed how Bucky’s eyes darted to you. No one noticed how his shoulders went just a bit tighter. 

Then Bob turned, casual and curious.

“What about you?” he asked Bucky. “You saw something, right?”

For half a second. Bucky looked like he might actually answer.

His eyes met yours briefly.

He looked away too fast for you to read it clearly and stood up from the booth abruptly. “You know what? This was fun. I’m gonna go… clean up,” he said. “Or get ice cream. Probably both. Anyone want ice cream?”

You leaned back in your seat, arms crossed. “Oh, come on, Buck.”

He shot you a look — that subtle one that said not here, not now. The one that always left you guessing.

John snorted. “We know what you saw anyway.”

Bucky froze. “Do you?”

“Hydra, right? Gotta be.” John shrugged, still a little too smug. “It’s your Greatest Hits playlist.”

“Yeah,” he said, his pinky finger twitching as he looked away. “Sure. That’s all it was. Wouldn’t want to bore anyone.”

He grabbed his jacket, eyes flicking to you one last time. You watched him go and said nothing, for now.

The team went back to eating, like the moment had passed. Jokes began to be thrown around again. Slices were being grabbed left and right. 

But you didn’t move.

No one noticed how your smile faded into a worried frown.

No one noticed the twitch in Bucky’s human pinky as he stepped out.

But you did. You always did.

—

Later that night. 

Val spared no expense—meaning she booked seven rooms in a hotel that had more broken vending machines than working elevators. Still, after dragging the entirety of New York back from the void, even a spring-poked mattress felt like luxury.

Yelena had already claimed the room with the least stained carpet. Ava was currently phasing her hand through a vending machine to get free Hot Flamin’ Cheetos. John passed out with a half-eaten bag of pistachios in his lap somewhere in the lobby. Alexei was arguing with a front desk clerk about how he clearly deserved the king suite because of his "reputation."

Bob didn’t go to his room right away. You caught him sitting in the hallway for a while, back against the wall, head down like he was trying to recover. You passed him a granola bar without a word and walked away. 

That’s what he needed. 

Not pity. 

Just a constant reminder he wasn’t alone.

You and Bucky had been given rooms side by side. Which was always interesting. 

—

You unlocked your hotel room door with a dull click, the metal groaning like it hated being disturbed. 

You kicked off your boots—one landed upright, the other flopped on its side—and shrugged your jacket off with a sigh, letting it fall haphazardly over the armchair that should’ve been retired ten years ago.

The beige ceiling loomed above you as you stared up and nothing. You did your rounds. You showered, changed, and drank a bottle of water. 

Then you heard it.

The unmistakable thud from the hotel room next door. 

He was in.

You didn’t hesitate. 

Still wearing your pajamas— plaid pants and an oversized shirt—you slipped out into the hallway. 

You knocked, once, twice. 

He didn’t answer. “Bucky,” you called, your voice just above a whisper. “Open up.”

You heard nothing, but still waited. Then knocked again, harder this time. 

This time, the door cracked open.

Bucky was in his dark shirt, the fabric clinging to his shoulders, hair damp and curling slightly at the end. He was wearing a hoodie that was zipped only halfway, and his dog tags glinted faintly beneath the fabrics.

“Hey,” he greeted, his voice frayed.

You matched it with a small smile. “Hey.”

Bucky stepped aside, inviting you in.

The room was dim, washed in the amber glow of a single bedside lamp. You climbed onto his mattress, sitting cross-legged at the foot like you’d done a hundred times before. 

Bucky stayed by the window, staring out like the skyline might offer him answers to questions he didn’t even know how to ask. His hands were shoved into the pockets of his hoodie,

You picked up a pillow and lobbed it at his head.

It hit him squarely in the side of the neck, making him flinch.

He chuckled. “Seriously?”

“You were brooding too much again,” you said, already reaching for another. “I had to restore balance to the Force.”

He caught the second pillow mid-air, tossing it lightly back at you. “What balance?”

“I’m the charming one. You’re the grumpy one,” you grinned, “It's the dynamic. We have to maintain the ecosystem.”

He rolled his eyes— but the corner of his mouth lifted into a small smile that softened all of his sharp edges.

And then, for a second, it slipped—just a flicker. Something must’ve crossed in his mind, because you caught the furrow of his brows. 

“You okay?” you asked, your voice lower now.

He didn’t answer, but sank down beside you, the mattress dipping under his weight. His arm brushed yours, and he didn’t pull away.

“Just tired,” he said, though it sounded like something he’d practiced saying. 

You nudged your shoulder into his. “You know I didn’t buy what you said at the pizza place, right?”

Still, he didn’t look at you. But you saw it. That twitch of his pinky finger— his right hand. 

Yeah. You knew.

“Why not?” he asked, trying to sound casual and failing. 

“Because you’re lying,” you said gently, without sounding like an accusation. 

Bucky didn’t bother pretending he didn’t know what you meant. He just leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands hanging between them. He stared at the carpet like it might split open and offer an escape route underground. 

“I told you,” he said, the words slurred by exhaustion, as his finger uncontrollably moved again. “It was Hydra. Red and black nightmare sequence. All very on-brand.”

You just raised a brow. “Pinky twitch.”

“What?”

“It’s your tell. That’s how I know you’re lying.” You shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal. 

He groaned, dragging a hand down his face, fingers catching on stubble. “You are so fucking annoying.”

You smirked. “Says the guy who keeps inviting me in.”

“You showed up to my door in pajamas,” he said, half-laughing as he turned to face you. “And you just barged in.”

“I did not,” you insisted, shrugging, “and even if I did, you wouldn’t have stopped me.”

He shook his head but didn’t deny it. 

He let the silence fester in place before offering answers. “You really wanna know what I saw?”

You nodded.

He swallowed hard. You could see the muscles in his neck working. Still, he didn’t look at you.

“You remember that mission in Munich?” he asked.

You nodded slowly. It was a recon mission that went sideways. 

“You jumped in front of a bullet for me,” he said, like it still didn’t make sense to him. “You didn’t even hesitate.”

“I…” You furrowed your eyebrows. “I didn’t know you saw that.”

“I didn’t,” he said, shaking his head. “Not at the moment. I was behind you. All I saw was you hitting the ground.” Then he looked at you, his eyes were glassy, pupils blown wide, “That’s what I saw in the Void,” he said, voice shaking like a tightrope. “Over and over. I felt… useless. I– I… for a second. I thought I lost you..”

His hands clenched into fists on his knees and admitted, “I’ve never been more scared in my life.”

Your chest tightened. “That was your worst memory?” you whispered, almost in recognition. “Thinking I died?”

He flinched like the words had teeth and had sunk its fangs into his legs. “Don’t say it like that.”

“Why not?”

“Because it means something,” he said, voice breaking at the edge. “And I’m not supposed to—” He cut himself off with a ragged breath, dragging a hand through his hair like it might help. “God— well you know what? Since we’re on this, what about you?” he asked. “You were lying, too.”

You gasped, only a little. “Excuse me?”

He gave a sad smile. “You don’t think I know your tell?”

You squinted. “I don’t have a tell.”

“You do.” He insisted, shifting a little closer. “You look down when you lie. You did it earlier.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but all that came out was a strangled noise of offended denial. “That is not—”

“It is,” he said, interrupting you. “So. What did you actually see?”

You looked away, then back at him again.

Because he deserved that much.

Because you didn’t want to lie anymore, either.

“Do you remember,” you said carefully, “when you got stabbed on that mission in Rabat?”

Bucky nodded. He frowned, confused.

“Yeah,” he said slowly. “I remember. Back alley. Guy with the gold tooth. You iced him before I even hit the pavement. Why?”

You took a deep breath, trying to steady your voice.

“That’s what I saw,” you said, barely above a whisper. “You, bleeding on the ground.”

He froze.

“The story I told—about the kid in the ring,” you added, your voice more hoarse now, “was true. All of it. It just… wasn’t what I saw in the Void.”

The air between you thickened, like the seconds had turned to diamonds and trapped you both inside them.

“I remember thinking I was too late,” you continued, words spilling before you could second-guess them. “I remember thinking I couldn’t get you to safety in time.”

Bucky didn’t speak. He didn’t move.

Because now he knew you’d both seen different sides of the same coin in there.

Your worst memory wasn’t the ring. 

His wasn’t the Hydra orders.

Once, it might have been. But not anymore. 

The worst thing—for both of you—was thinking you had lost each other.

Not cages.

Not torture.

It was each other.

You exhaled, the edges of your eyes brimming with tears. He looked back at you like he was seeing you through an entirely different lens— like something had cracked open and the sunlight was finally getting in after a century of darkness. 

He studied you for a long time —eyes narrowed slightly, lips parted like he might speak but wasn’t sure if he should. 

Then he said it. 

Like he’d just thrown a grenade in the room.

“Are you in love with me?”

Your brain short-circuited. “What?”

“What,” he echoed flatly, like he hadn’t even processed the question himself, as if the words had slipped out of his mouth without permission.

You stared at him, wide-eyed, heart hammering in your throat like it wanted to escape. Heat warmed up your neck, your ears, your face. “Bucky—”

He leaned back slightly, like your flustered cheeks had just confirmed everything. “You are,” he said, eyebrows lifting in disbelief. “You are, aren’t you?”

“I am not,” you snapped to quickly. Without meaning to—you looked down. 

Fuck. 

“Oh my god,” Bucky breathed. “Your eyes—”

You scowled, half in horror, half in deflection. “You’re one to talk! Why was your worst memory thinking I died, huh?”

“Yours is too, dumbass! So what? ” he shot back, arms flaring in exasperation. “You want me to say it?”

“I don’t know!” you fired back, your voice rising. “Do you want to say it?”

Silence settled again. But this time, it wasn’t brittle—

“Fine,” he finally said, a lot quieter now. “I’ve been in love with you since that stupid night in Prague when you made me carry your three-foot-tall duffel bag full of grenades and gummy worms and said, ‘Trust me, it’s all essential.’”

Your voice came out barely audible, cracked around the edges. “Oh.”

But he wasn’t finished.

“And ever since then,” Bucky went on, “I’ve been more scared of the future than the past.”

Your breath hitched. “What does that even mean?”

He leaned in slightly, his eyes locked on yours, 

“It means,” he said, like it cost him something to admit it, “that my nightmares are less about Hydra and more about losing you.”

It hurt. God, it hurt, in the way truth always does. You could feel it echoing in your chest, splitting you down the middle— because you were friends, right? And just friends weren’t supposed to have these unbearable feelings. What was this going to do to your relationship?

Because everything had changed.

And now there was no going back.

His chest rose and fell with uneven breaths, like the confession had physically cost him stamina. 

And you— You couldn’t breathe.

“You…” The word barely made it out. “You’re in love with me?”

He swallowed the lump in his throat. “Yeah.”

You didn’t answer.

Your body stayed frozen, your mind reeling, spinning, flipping through every moment you could’ve known. Every time he’d looked at you like you were the only thing in a world that had never betrayed him. Every time you’d ignored what was right in front of you because it was safer to pretend it wasn’t real.

“But it’s okay,” Bucky whispered, eyes dipping to the floor once again. “I know I might be wrong about what you feel, so you don’t have to say anything. I know I’m—”

Enough.

Your hands grabbed the front of his shirt, fisting the fabric, clinging on to it and bringing him ever closer 

“Shut up,” you whispered.

His breath hitched in his throat like you’d just knocked the wind out of him.

“Just—don’t say anything,” you said, your voice trembling. “Because if you do, I’m going to say something I can’t unsay, and then we’ll ruin it, and I can’t—I can’t lose you, Bucky.”

His hands rose slowly, palms open. He cupped your face, fingertips brushing along your cheekbones.

“You’re not gonna lose me,” he promised. “You can’t.”

Your forehead stayed pressed against his. You could feel his breath against your lips.

So close.

“I’m in love with you too,” you breathed out

Bucky’s eyes fluttered closed, just for a second. You felt the tremor in his body ripple through yours.

“Say it again,” he whispered.

Your voice was barely steady. “I’m in love with you, dammit,” you laughed a little. “I’ve been in love with you since Sam sent us on that mission to that cramped motel with one bed and no hot water. Since you patched me up in Munich. Since before Munich. Since always.”

Fuck. 

He didn’t wait.

He kissed you.

Not carefully.

But like hellhounds that had been caged too long had finally broken loose.

It was desperate. It was breathless. Mouths crashing, bodies colliding like you’d done this in every dream you hadn’t dared speak of. His hands slid into your hair, holding you close like he was terrified you’d vanish. And yours gripped the back of his neck, pulling him in like you were afraid you’d wake up.

By the time you pulled apart, you weren’t sure whose heart was beating faster. But you stayed close—foreheads pressed, noses brushing, sharing oxygen.

For a long moment, you didn’t move.

Then Bucky’s hands slid down from your face, fingers tracing along your jaw, your neck, and your shoulders like he needed to relearn you. Like he needed to prove to himself this was real.

“You’re shivering,” he pointed out, brushing his thumb over the hollow of your throat. 

“I’m not cold,” you said, breathless.

He chuckled. “No. You’re not.”

His lips brushed yours again, slower this time, like a promise instead of a question. And when your mouth opened under his, when your hands slid beneath his hoodie and found bare skin, the heat roared to life like it had just been waiting for permission.

The kiss deepened—a little reckless, all tangled need and pent-up frustration. His hands found your waist, your hips, pulling you flush against him, and God—you’d felt his strength before, on missions, in training, but this was different. This was personal.

This was want.

“You always smell like gunpowder and cinnamon,” he muttered against your jaw, lips brushing the spot just below your ear.

“I just smell like gunpowder,” You laughed—half-dazed. “You smell like cinnamon.”

“Hmmm,” he said, trailing kisses down your neck, “whatever.”

You sighed, tilting your head to give him more space, your fingers tugging gently at the waistband of his sweatpants.

He groaned as his hands slid under your shirt, palm flat against your lower back. You gasped at the contact and he froze, just for a second.

“You okay?” he asked. “I don’t want to screw this up.”

You looked at him—his hair was mussed, lips swollen. He had a familiar crease between his brows that said he was afraid of wanting too much.

So you kissed it.

“We’ve survived everything else together," you whispered, "Don’t you think we can survive wanting each other, too?”

He backed you toward the headboard slowly, lips never leaving yours, hands exploring like he’d been dying to touch you for two years and finally had the courage. You fell back with a breathless laugh, legs tangling instinctively around his hips.

Bucky settled over you like he belonged there—which he did. Every inch of him was familiar and new all at once.

“Still in pajamas,” he complained, grinning against your collarbone.

“What, don’t like em’?”

“Never,” he said, mouth sliding lower, “but they’re in my way.”

You gasped as his fingers hooked in the waistband of your pants, his eyes locking on yours. You nodded as he peeled them off.

This wasn’t just chemistry. It wasn’t just lust.

This was two years of friendship, late-night missions, teasing over meals, arguments that always ended in laughter—this was trust.

This was love, finally allowed to want.

-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

@yesshewrites1 @thewiselionessss @sangsterizada @jaderabbitt

@hopeofwinter @nevereclipse @tellybearryyyy @buckybarneswife125

@buckybarneswife125 @wingstoyourdreams

'he would not fucking say that' maybe he would if he knew he was starring in his very own porn fic for the sole purpose of delighting some freaks on archive of our own dot org. maybe he'd play it up for the cameras. ever consider that

Extremely cracky but I am cackling at the thought of Thunderbolts endcredits(/Doomsday?) Bucky and pregnant reader hanging out with other heroes and the topic falls on everyone's hero suits and someone asks reader what she thinks of Bucky's new suit and she goes "Well, does this answer your question?" and points at her belly because he absolutey knocked her up when Bucky fucked her still wearing the fit.

If you want to make it smutty it can always include a flashback. 🤷‍♀️

in the suit?! | bucky barnes

Summary: ^^ Request

Warning: 18+ Minors DNI | Possible Thunderbolts* Spoilers | Smut | Detailed Open Door | Dirty Talk | Innuendos | Are we still saying John Walker as a warning? | Choking | Pregnant Reader | Mild Language | Alcohol Use | Suit Kink

Word Count: 965

A/N: I had a lot of fun writing this. And getting to stare at clips of Bucky in the suit as references. Thank you. Ps-Gif has nothing to do with the one shot, but fuck.

Everything: @hallecarey1 | @pattiemac1 | @uhmellamoanna | @scraftsku35 | @ozwriterchick | @sapphirebarnes | @rach2602 | @thetorturedbuckydepartment | @lanabuckybarnes

Present:

Your post-mission debrief had somehow turned into a party—beers around a bonfire, with s’mores. Yes, someone had brought s’mores. It was Bob. You half suspected that he’d googled ‘what do friends do for fun?’ on the way back to the tower.

You were sitting on a lawn chair, mocktail one hand, the other absently rested on your stomach—the baby bump very much obvious at this point. Behind you, Bucky stood with one hand on your shoulder and his vibranium hand wrapped around a beer while he looked like he wanted to re-enter the void any time anyone got too loud.

And naturally, Yelena got loud.

“Okay, here’s the real question,” she called out, waving her beer bottle around the team like a sword. “Which one of the ‘new’ Avengers has the best suit?” 

“That’s so subjective.” Ava groaned.

“Exactly my point,” Yelena replied. “Subjectively, it’s me.”

Puffing out his chest, Alexei snapped. “I will ignore this insult and remind you of this iconic design!” 

“You literally squeak when you move,” Walker said. 

“You squeak emotionally.” Ava scoffed, taking a swig of her own beer bottle.

Walker pointed toward Bob. “What about him? Dude’s got like, three different fits.”

Bob smiled politely, yet his hand visibly trembled. “Thanks… I’m molecularly unstable.” 

Then suddenly, all eyes turned to Bucky.

Including yours. 

How could they not? The matte black suit. The red star. The arms. 

After a beat of silence, someone—you think it was Ava—looked at you and said: “What do you think of Barnes’ new suit?” 

Bucky froze. His hand tightened against your shoulder. Slowly you lowered your mocktail, raising your brows toward Ava.

“Well, Miss Starr,” you gave your swollen stomach a gentle double tap. “Does this answer your question?” 

In surprise, Yelena dropped her beer into the grass. Alexei smiled, until the realisation flashed over his eyes and he clutched his chest like he’d been shot. Bob blinked rapidly in your direction, as though he was running a diagnostics. Walker let out a bark-laugh, quickly turning it into a full wheeze. 

“No. Nooo,” He shook his head, the laughter still ringing through your ears. “Are you saying—Wait—in the suit?!” 

You smirked, and shrugged your shoulders slightly. “Didn’t even take the glove off.” 

Bucky’s eyes widened. 

Three Months Ago:

The safe house door slammed behind you. You barely crossed the entryway before Bucky had you pressed against the wall. His breath was hot, his body humming with some leftover tension from the mission.

He was still in his New Avengers suit—matte black kevlar clinging to his body like a sin, his dog tags swung with every move, and his arm plates clicked together.

You barely had time to catch a breath before his mouth crashed into yours. 

“Are you going to keep the suit on?” you murmured between kisses, fingers tracing the lining of the red star embroidered into his right arm. 

His teeth pulled at your bottom lip. “Are you complaining?” 

You weren’t.

Instead, you desperately tugged on his belt.

He growled.

And before you knew it, your legs were around his waist, his arm braced under your thighs. His vibranium hand reached up to cup your cheek, trailing his lips over your jaw with a ragged breath.

“You’ve been staring at me in this thing all damn day,” he hissed against the shell of your ear. “Did you think I didn’t notice, babygirl?” 

“Maybe–Maybe I wanted you to.”

In response, he ground his hips against you—still dressed, but the feel of him had you clenching around nothing. Bucky didn’t rush. He never did. He made you feel it. He made you feel him. And every ridge of his suit, the inches of him still layered between you.

Finally, he freed himself, and you let out a sharp gasp at your underwear being shoved aside. “Don’t hold back, sergeant.” you breathed, fingers entwining in his hair, pulling the strands. 

And he didn’t.

With one hard thrust, he was buried to the hilt—dragging out a broken moan from the back of your throat. He was rough, relentless. His hips snapped into you, driving you like he was proving a point.

He let your name fall from his lips. 

The suit creaked with every movement, and his gloved right hand tightened around your thigh. His grip was bruising. His left hand found your throat—firm, grounding. Just enough to make your vision blur—not enough to lose control.

“You take me so good, baby,” he panted. “Fuck—you’re so tight, can feel you everywhere.”

Unable to form words, you gasped. High-pitched, wrecked whines of: ‘Harder—’. Pushing your chest out, you felt his dog tags swing between your breasts with every thrust.

Bucky’s fingers found your clit—still gloved, the textured leather moved over your skin toward the sensitive nub—rubbing tight, delicious circles. 

You screamed his name.

Your body shuddered against him, vision turning white at the edges as your orgasm washed over you. Bucky’s hips stuttered, groaning deep from his chest as he spilled into you. His forehead pressed to yours. 

He didn’t let you go.

Breathing hard, you clung to him.

Present:

“So, just to confirm,” Walker continued to laugh. “Bucky Barnes, the Winter freaking Soldier, turned into a thirst trap and you said ‘yes’ without any hesitation?”

“I said ‘harder’, actually,” you corrected, taking your mocktail straw between your lips.

Bucky muttered under his breath, looking up to the sky, up to the stars. “You tried to, at least.” 

Yelena collapsed into Ava’s shoulder. “I never want to see that suit again.” 

“I’ll be seeing it again, tonight,” you said sweetly, standing up to make your way toward the bathroom. Patting Bucky’s chest as you pass. “Pizza first, though. I’ll need the carbs.” 

Bob blinked. “Should–Should I get more s’mores?”

“Yes, Bob,” the New Avengers said in unison.

___

For Better or For Worse

pairing: Bucky Barnes x avenger!reader

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

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

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

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

Divorce.

These papers are meant to finalize your divorce.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I can change.”

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

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

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

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

“What did you do this time?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~~~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Bob?” Bucky retorts in disbelief.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wait, us?” Yelena retorts in uncertainty.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And that terrifies you.

~~~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Excuse me?”

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

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

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

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

~~~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Things fall apart pretty quickly after that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~~~

You wake up somewhere cold.

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

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

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

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

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

Your first kill under Hydra.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You finally made it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I want a divorce.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And you’re determined to do it together.

~~~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Just like you always have.

~~~

12 Months Later

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

~~~

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

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

“Well, I’ve got a shield too.”

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

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

“It’s a shitty shield.”

“A great shield, Bucky.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Together.”

am i cooked, chat? (04)

➳ bucky barnes x f!reader ➳ you found a new favorite no-face streamer, much to your bestfriend's (who is hopelessly inlove with you btw)  dismay. oh but the fact that the no-face streamer is also him is not relevant. am i cooked, chat? - masterlist a/n: started drafting it. had a breakdown. bon apetit.

Bot Besties

Fandom: Marvel (Actor AU)

Pairing: Joaquin Torres x F!Reader

Summary: Because he’ll be away for months to shoot a movie, Joaquin gets enabots for you and himself as a way to keep contact with each other through the distance.

A/N: I wanted to write another fic where Joaquin uses the enabot but slightly different lol

Joaquin Torres Masterlist

"I can't believe you!" you exclaim with a cackle as Joaquin reveals two enabots, "I was joking about getting those!"

"Well I wasn't! They're cool and we can use them when I'm away for filming!" He hands you your bot for you to unbox.

Together you both set your respective bots up with the app. The round bots zoom around your shared apartment while you and Joaquin both giggle like kids.

"This is so sick!" He exclaims, looking at his phone to see the view his bot has, "Hm. We need to clean under the couch more." He says spotting the dust and a few loose socks and cat toys.

Speaking of cat, your cat Luna watches from her cat tree. Her curious eyes follow the bots around.

"These are supposed to be used to watch your pets, so not only can I bother you, but also my little Lulu!"

Hearing her nickname, Luna jumps down from her cat tree, approaching Joaquin, however, she jumps when your enabot moves towards her.

"Aaaww Lulu! Did mommy scare you?" Joaquin gets off the couch and scoops the white cat into his arms, "This is why you love me more, huh?" he kisses her head and you roll your eyes.

"Two things: one, I didn't mean to scare her. Two, she's a literal traitor because she's my cat and yet she loves you more!"

"Can't help that we have a special bond, mamas," he kisses Luna's head and she rubs her head against his chin.

You can't be mad though, because you love how cute the two of them are together.

____________________

You're reading a book on the couch in the living room when you hear the sound of wheels against the wooden floors.

"Whatcha readin'?" you hear Joaquin's voice through the enabot.

You place your book on your lap and look down, "Apprentice to the Villain."

You show him the front of the book and he rolls a little closer to get a better look, "Didn't you start the first one like two days ago?"

You nod, "I finished it that same day and then immediately bought this second one."

He whistles, "Damn, babe. You read fast."

You shrug, "When it's something that really piques my interest, then yeah. Anyway, you just finish filming?"

"Yeah. We're on lunch right now, but I'm taking lunch in my trailer."

"What'd catering have today?"

"Taco truck for Taco Tuesday! Fucking delicious, baby. Wish you could try them."

You chuckle, "I'll take your word for it," you kick off the blanket you were snuggled in and begin to walk away.

In his little bot form, Joaquin follows you, "Where ya going?"

"To the bathroom. Don't follow me!"

"Why?!"

"It's weird!"

"No, it's not!"

"Go bother, Luna. I'll be quick!" you shut the door behind you and you hear a faint, "LULU, BABY! WHERE ARE YOOOUUU?!"

__________________________

While away for filming, Joaquin stayed at an AirBnB for the next few months. He also took your enabot with him so you can "keep and eye on him" while he's away.

You don't use yours as much as he does, but you still check in with him via enabot every other week or so.

"Pst, baby. Psssstttt...baby."

Joaquin smiles to himself as he turns around from the desk he's sat at, "Hi, mamas. Need something?"

"I'm boooooored. I finished all my work today, so I wanted to check in." Your little round bot rolls towards him and tilts up, "So whatcha doin'?"

"Just looking over the notes on my script," he lifts up the packet of paper.

"Booooring! Take a break."

He chuckles, "Mamas, I just took a break."

"Okay but you didn't take a break with me!" you roll the bot to his foot. You continuously bumping into his foot, "Take a break. Take a break. Take a breeeaaak!"

He laughs again, "Alright, alright." He stands from his desk and moves to the floor. You roll around him, "Weeeeeeee!!"

"Is this what it feels like when I bother you?"

You stop and move your bot up and down to simulate nodding, "Yes."

"You're so cute, baby," he boops the bot.

"Wait," you roll a little closer, "You cut your hair?!"

Joaquin's eyes widen, "Shit. I forgot to tell you! They wanted to cut my hair a bit for the role." He shakes his head to show its length, "How's it look?"

"Hm...," you roll back to look from a distance and roll closer again, "I mean...regardless, you're hot."

Joaquin throws his head back in laughter, "Thanks, baby. Love the honestly."

"What? Did you want me to say like 'no, I hate it. You look ugly.' Because I would be lying! You look hot no matter what and it's unfair!"

"You're so funny, babe."

You sigh, "Okay. I'll leave you to your work now."

"Alright. I'll call you later. Love you."

"I love you toooooooo!" you elongate the word as you roll back to the dock, leaving Joaquin chuckling as he goes back to work.

shall I? SHALL. I.

•·.·´`·.·•• You're Lying (and other things Sam won't stop saying) ••·.·´`·.·•

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x f!reader

Warnings/Tags: language, mild suggestiveness, comedy, romance, light-angst, found family, slow burn payoff, excessive teasing, established relationship, Sam being annoying

Trope: Everyone thinks you're not really dating. You are. No one believes you.

Word Count: 2.0K

Author Note: Guys this is just like my last one, this is to help me mentally prep for an AP exam tomorrow morning so if this is bad I am so sorry. But I hope you enjoy this nonetheless <3

Please do not copy or translate any of my works. Thank you!

You and Bucky were dating.

Like- really dating.

In the 'he's seen you at your absolute worst and still kisses your cheek like he doesn't look at you any differently' kind of way. The 'you keep an extra toothbrush at his place and he makes your coffee how you like it without asking' kind of way. The 'he pulls you into his lap during team movie nights and smiles against your shoulder, murmuring words into your ear like it's not the most dangerous thing he could do' kind of way.

And no one believed you.

Especially not Sam.

"Oh, come one," he said, flatly, as he walked in on you and Bucky curled up on the couch. "This again?"

You blinked. "We're watching Pretty Woman, Sam."

"You're spooning."

"We're affectionate."

"You're not even kissing! He's probably just cold. You know he runs cold. Like a cyborg space lizard or something."

Bucky growled. "Cyborg space-?!"

"Right," Sam interrupted. "Sure. Keep telling people you're dating. I'll be over here living in reality."

You buried your face into Bucky's neck. "I hate him," you mumbled.

"You love him," Bucky corrected with a sigh. "You just want him to validate our relationship."

"I want him to believe in our relationship. There's a difference."

Sam, in the kitchen, called out: "I don't!"

Bucky flipped him off without looking.

~~~~~

The problem wasn't that you and Bucky didn't act like a couple.

The problem was that you didn't act like a normal couple.

You didn't post mushy selfies. You didn't wear matching shirts. You didn't coo pet names across conference tables. You just... existed. Comfortable. Quietly in sync. The kind of romance that felt more like a heartbeat than a firework.

Too subtle for people like Sam Wilson, apparently.

"You didn't even kiss when you got back from that mission," Sam pointed out, a few weeks later. "She was gone for five days, man."

Bucky, polishing a knife, didn't look up. "I kissed her afterward. In private."

"See, that's the problem! You hide it. Makes it look fake."

"I'm sorry," you snapped. "I didn't realize our love life was for public broadcast. Want us to livestream the next one?"

Sam looked delighted. "That's a strong reaction. I hit a nerve. This is faker than Tony's allergy to gluten."

Tony called from down the hall: "It's real, you bastard!"

~~~~~

At first, it was funny.

Then it got exhausting.

You weren't insecure about your relationship- Bucky made sure of that, every day, in a dozen quiet ways. He cooked for you. Kissed your temple. Held your hand under tables. Brushed his thumb along your jaw like it was the most precious part of you.

But still. No one believed it.

Not Nat, who called it "convenient physical proximity."

No Clint, who claimed he'd never seen you kiss with tongue (as id that were a valid benchmark).

Not even Steve, who offered a gentle "Are you sure he's not just emotionally dependent on you?"

It all came to a head one night at a bar.

You'd just finished a mission and everyone was letting off steam. Sam leaned against the bar counter beside you, a shit-eating grin on his face.

"So," he started. "You and Barnes still 'dating'?"

You narrowed your eyes. "Yes."

"Hmm. Okay." He sipped his beer. "So if I leaned in and kissed you right now, he wouldn't deck me?"

You stared at him.

"Try it," Bucky said darkly from behind, voice like cracked gravel.

Sam smiled. "Still not proof."

Bucky grabbed your hand. "You want proof?"

"Bucky-" you warned.

"No, no. He wants a show. Let's give him one."

He yanked you flush against him, hand cupping your jaw, and kissed you.

Not a polite kiss. Not a we're-dating-I-swear kiss. A I-know-every-inch-of-your-mouth-and-I-love-you kiss. Hot. Possessive. Unapologetic.

You melted into it, clutched his shirt, kissed him back with something that sounded like a whimper because Jesus.

When he pulled away, Sam blinked. "...Okay. Damn."

"Believe us now?" Bucky raised a brow.

Sam blinked again. "Not really."

You grabbed a pretzel stick and stabbed it into the foam of Sam's beer. "I hope you step on RedWing."

~~~~~

Even after that, the teasing didn't stop.

Because of course it didn't.

"You probably practiced that," Sam said a few days later.

"What?"

"That kiss. You planned it. Just to throw me off."

Bucky rubbed his temples. "You are the most annoying man I've ever met."

"You're just mad I cracked the code."

"There is no code!"

You yanked open the fridge, pulled out a tub of frosting, and started eating it with a spoon. "I actually cannot live like this."

Sam pointed at the spoon. "See? No real girlfriend would let her boyfriend see that."

"Bucky bought me this frosting."

Bucky looked like he was about to get up and beat the shit out of Sam if he didn't start walking away.

~~~~~

Eventually, you gave up.

Let them believe what they wanted.

You and Bucky still kissed behind closed doors, curled together on the couch, whispered sleepy confessions after long days.

Until-

One night, you got sick.

Really sick. The kind of body-aching, fever-drenched flu that turned you into a grumpy, sniffling, corpse with a bag full of used tissues beside your bed.

And Bucky took care of everything.

He brought you soup. Rubbed your back. Helped you shower when you were too weak to stand. Brushed your hair out of your face. Slept beside you even when you told him not to.

Sam stopped by to check on you and walked in on Bucky holding your hand while you slept, forehead pressed to your wrist like he was praying.

He backed out slowly. Didn't say anything. Didn't tease. Didn't breathe.

The next morning, there was a small gift basket on your nightstand.

From Sam. With a card.

"Okay. You win. He loves you. I won't say another word. P.S. Please don't tell anyone I'm capable of this level of sincerity. I have a rep to protect."

~~~~~

You- of course- showed Bucky the card.

He smirked. "About damn time."

You kissed him with a smile.

And this time, no one questioned it.

~~~~~

The peace lasted exactly five days.

Five beautiful, uninterrupted days.

No teasing, no smug side-eyes, no Sam accusing you of being part of an elaborate CIA cover operation. Just you, Bucky, some early morning kisses over coffee, and one blessed evening where you somehow convinced him to slow dance in the kitchen to 40s music.

And then Sam broke into your new apartment. One you thought would give you full time peace compared to the Avengers compound.

(he claimed he "used the spare key." You knew he just picked the lock.)

"Morning, lovebirds," he smiled brightly, leaning against the doorframe like this wasn't the worst intrusion since Ross kissed someone else while he and Rachel were on a break.

You stared at him over Bucky's shoulder, still wrapped in his hoodie with sleep-mussed hair and a mug of tea between your palms. "It's 7:13 a.m."

"I brought bagels."

"And chaos."

Sam strolled in. "And relationship advice."

Bucky looked up from the couch, dead-eyed. "Why?"

"Because now that I know you two are the real deal, I gotta make sure you stay real."

You rubbed your temples. "We're not a gas leak, Sam."

"No, but you're both stubborn and weirdly avoidant and emotionally repressed, and frankly, I'm impressed it took me this long to be needed."

Bucky mumbled, "I'd rather be waterboarded."

Sam ignored him and slapped a notebook onto the table. "Step one: scheduled communication check-ins."

"Oh my god-"

~~~~~

You tried ignoring him.

Didn't work.

Because Sam became relentless. He started showing up with couple's quizzes. Brought you a deck of 'relationship conversation starters.' Installed an app on Bucky's phone called 'LoveTracker.'

("It's like Find My iPhone, but romantic," he said. Bucky installed it in twelve seconds.)

And worst of all- he documented everything.

"Bucky," he'd say mid-mission, "when was the last time you complimented her non-physically?"

You stared at him. "Non-physically?"

"Yeah. Like her intelligence. Or her moral compass. Or how she hasn't murdered me yet."

Bucky rolled his eyes. "I call her my girl every morning."

"That's possessive endearment, not a compliment."

"I tell her she's smarter than Tony."

~~~~~

Somewhere around Week 3 of Sam's Unsolicited Couples Therapy, something unexpected happened.

He stopped being annoying. (Okay, no. He was definitely still annoying.)

But... he also started being kind of helpful.

Like the night you and Bucky got into your first real fight.

It wasn't explosive. Just sharp. Quiet. Full of jagged silences.

You'd been on back-to-back missions, and Bucky had started pulling away. Fewer cuddles. More brooding. Less talking. You tried to be patient- God, you tried- but when he snapped at you for asking what was wrong, it all unraveled.

"I'm trying to help," you said, voice trembling.

"I didn't ask for it," he muttered.

The room froze. You didn't cry. You never cried in front of him. But that night, you shut your bedroom door behind you and curled up alone.

Bucky didn't come in. Not until morning.

But Sam came over first.

~~~~~

He found you on the balcony, hoodie pulled over your knees, cold tea forgotten beside you.

He didn't say anything at first. Just sat down next to you, offered a granola bar.

Then, quietly: "You know, when Sarah gets mad at me, I do this thing where I pretend I'm not scared I'll lose her. But I am. I always am."

You looked over. "You think Bucky's scared?"

Sam tilted his head. "That man loved you like it's gonna be taken away from him. Like he's holding something he thinks he shouldn't have. So yeah. He's scared."

You didn't cry. But you breathed. And it helped.

~~~~~

Bucky apologized that afternoon.

He stood in the doorway, fists clenched, breathing hard like it took everything in him to walk in.

"I'm sorry," he said. "For being a coward. For making you feel like you weren't wanted when you're the only thing I ever want."

You looked at him.

He stepped closer. "I never learned how to let myself be... this happy. It scared the hell out of me. But not as much as losing you."

You opened your arms, and he came apart in them.

That night, Bucky fell asleep with his hand on your heart.

And you whispered, "You're safe with me."

~~~~~

The next morning, Sam dropped off muffins.

"I told you you'd fight eventually," he said smugly.

You grabbed the muffins and shut the door in his face with a smile.

~~~~~

Over time, you adapted.

You didn't expect Sam to be a normal friend, he didn't know how to do that. But you did start to appreciate him as a part of your life. Your weird, overinvolved, chaotic platonic marriage therapist.

He became your sounding board. Your crisis texter. Your sarcastic but loyal brother figure who threatened anyone who looked at you funny and called Bucky 'lover boy' just to watch him twitch.

One night, you all sat around a campfire during a retreat mission. Quiet stars. Crickets. Steve snoring faintly in the background.

Sam looked over at you both.

"You know," he said, voice softer than usual, "you're actually really good together."

Bucky looked at him. "Took you long enough."

"Yeah, yeah. Shut up. But I mean it. You make him more human," he said to you. Then, to Bucky: "And you make her feel protected without caging her."

You blinked. Bucky squeezed your hand.

Sam threw a marshmallow at you both. "Don't get soft on me. I'll revoke my own compliment."

~~~~~

Months later...

You stood at the edge of a field after a joint mission, hair tousled, laughing with Bucky as he pressed a kiss to your forehead.

Sam walked past, muttering into comms. "She's in love, he's in denial, and I'm still unpaid for all their therapy."

You smiled to yourself.

You were real. You were loved. And you had the most chaotic friend group in the world.

Which honestly... was kind of perfect.