kitty384

[kitty384]

Sink Duty

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes x Teen!Reader (Found Family | Platonic | Soft Dad!Stucky)

Summary: You were just trying to help with the dishes. You didn’t expect Bucky to lift you into the sink—or Steve to scold him while trying not to smile. But honestly? It felt like one of the best nights of your life.

Warnings: None! Just soft fluff, kitchen chaos, and found family warmth. Minor teasing, physical affection, protective dad energy, and safe silliness.

I didn’t mean to become part of dish duty.

It just sort of… happened.

We’d finished dinner—Bucky made pasta, Steve made the sauce, and I stirred something that may or may not have been edible, but they told me it was perfect anyway—and we were all still hovering in the kitchen, full and happy in that cozy post-meal kind of way.

Steve started rinsing the plates. Bucky was loading the dishwasher. I leaned against the counter sipping juice from a chipped mug I’d claimed as mine weeks ago.

And then Bucky turned around, narrowed his eyes at the pile of sudsy bowls, and looked right at me.

“You wanna help?”

I blinked. “I mean… yeah. But I don’t really know how.”

His grin turned mischievous. “Then it’s time you learned.”

“Bucky,” Steve warned, without even turning around. “Don’t you—”

Too late.

Bucky leaned down, wrapped his arm around my waist, and with absolutely no hesitation—

lifted me into the sink.

“Bucky!”

“I dried it first,” he said, laughing as he set me gently into the deep metal basin. “It’s warm! And safe! She’s fine.”

I stared down at my feet, now hovering a few inches off the floor in a pool of soapy water.

My legs were tangled with silverware.

My hands were half-submerged in a bowl I hadn’t seen coming.

Steve turned, dish towel in hand, and gave him the look.

“You can’t put her in the sink!”

“She said she wanted to help.”

“There’s a difference between handing her a sponge and turning her into a kitchen gnome!”

I couldn’t help it.

I laughed.

Actually laughed.

Because Steve looked scandalized and exasperated and amused all at once, and Bucky looked so proud of himself, and for a moment it didn’t matter that I’d never done dishes like this before or that my knees were probably going to cramp.

All that mattered was that they were here.

And they were mine.

Steve walked over and wiped some bubbles off my cheek with a gentle thumb.

“You okay, sweetheart?”

I nodded, still giggling. “I think I’m in too deep now.”

Bucky snorted. “Pun absolutely intended.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “If you encourage her, I swear—”

I flicked a bubble at him.

He gasped like I’d just betrayed the nation.

“You are out of control.”

“She’s got the Rogers sarcasm,” Bucky said proudly, leaning back against the counter like this had all gone exactly to plan.

“More like the Barnes chaos.”

“I contain my chaos, thank you very much.”

I dunked a sponge in the water and handed it to Steve with both hands.

He blinked at me.

“You want me to clean while you supervise?”

I nodded solemnly. “Sink gnome rules.”

Bucky nearly choked on his laughter.

Steve gave me another look, then tossed the towel over his shoulder and took the sponge anyway.

“That’s it,” he muttered. “I’m outnumbered.”

We stayed in the kitchen like that for a while—Steve rinsing, Bucky drying, me sitting in the sink occasionally splashing them both when they weren’t looking. The room felt alive. Lit with warm light and warmer laughter. Like the walls themselves were soaking up the sound of home.

They didn’t treat me like I was fragile.

They didn’t hover when I laughed too hard or froze up too fast.

They just… let me be here.

In the mess.

In the joy.

And I wasn’t scared to take up space.

Not anymore.

Eventually, the water got cold.

My hands were wrinkled.

My hair was damp from one too many flicked bubbles.

Steve reached out, wrapping a warm towel around my shoulders like I’d just come in from a storm.

“Alright, gnome,” he said, gently lifting me down with both hands. “Out of the sink. Before Bucky starts trying to teach you how to mop with your socks.”

“I think she could do it,” Bucky said, already reaching for the mop with a grin.

“Don’t encourage her.”

“Too late.”

When my feet touched the floor again, I didn’t expect the way it hit me.

That ache in my chest.

That soft, full feeling I only got with them.

Because I’d spent years being told I wasn’t part of anything.

That I was too broken.

Too dangerous.

Too wrong.

And now I was standing in a kitchen wrapped in a towel, dripping soap onto the floor while Steve Rogers wiped my cheek and Bucky Barnes offered me dessert because “I earned it.”

I was part of something.

I was part of them.

I sat on the counter while Bucky served ice cream into mismatched mugs.

Steve leaned against the fridge beside me.

His arm bumped mine.

I didn’t flinch.

Instead—I leaned back.

Just a little.

But he noticed.

And smiled.

“Thanks for helping with the dishes,” he said.

“Thanks for letting me.”

“You know you don’t have to do anything to be part of this, right?”

I looked down into my mug of ice cream.

Then back at him.

“I know. I just wanted to.”

Bucky placed a spoon into my hand and tapped my nose with the handle.

“And that’s why we’re keeping you.”

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[kitty384]

The Hoodie

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes x Teen!Reader (Found Family | Platonic | Soft Dad!Stucky)

Summary: After a rough day, Steve offers you one of his old sweatshirts to calm you down. You don’t mean to keep it—but it starts showing up every time you need comfort. Soon, neither of you questions it. It’s yours. It always has been.

Warnings: Implied anxiety, emotional regulation through comfort clothing, reader needing safe space, protective dads, soft found family healing, hoodie symbolism

It started because I couldn’t breathe.

The compound felt too loud. My skin felt too tight. The world felt too big and too small all at once.

I didn’t remember what triggered it.

Just that I ended up in the hallway, pressed against the wall, trying to remember how to pull air into my chest without it hurting.

Steve found me there.

He didn’t ask questions.

He didn’t touch me.

He just crouched beside me, quiet and steady.

“Do you want something to hold?”

I shook my head.

But he still left—and came back thirty seconds later with something soft and warm and Steve-shaped in his hands.

One of his old sweatshirts.

Faded navy. Too big. Frayed along the cuffs.

He didn’t say anything else. Just draped it gently across my lap and sat beside me until my breath found its rhythm again.

I didn’t mean to keep it.

Really.

But it stayed in my room that night.

And the next.

And then the next.

The first time I wore it, I was too tired to think.

I’d had a nightmare the night before and barely made it through training.

Everything in my body ached.

I reached for the hoodie like I’d done it a hundred times.

It was big enough to cover my hands and long enough to brush my thighs.

It smelled like clean cotton and old books and safety.

And the moment it touched my skin, the world quieted.

Just a little.

Steve saw me in it that morning.

I froze—toast halfway to my mouth.

But he just smiled, soft and warm, like it didn’t surprise him at all.

“Looks better on you,” he said, ruffling my hair before turning back to the coffee pot.

From that day on, it became… mine.

No one said it out loud.

But it lived folded on the edge of my bed.

Wrapped around my shoulders on bad days.

Worn backwards on the couch when I didn’t want to talk.

Sleeves always tucked into my fists.

Bucky started calling it “the armor.”

“Grab your armor, kid,” he’d say when I looked frayed around the edges. “Mission of the day is surviving.”

And I would.

Because I had the hoodie.

One night, after I’d fallen asleep on the couch, I woke up to find Bucky tucking it more securely around me.

He didn’t notice I was awake.

He just whispered, “You’re safe, doll. You’re safe,” like a lullaby he meant with his whole chest.

Sometimes I caught Steve looking at me when I wore it.

Like he was remembering something old and soft.

I asked him once where it came from.

He smiled without teeth.

“College. First one I ever bought for myself.”

“Why’d you give it to me?”

He looked me dead in the eyes and said, “Because you looked like you needed to be wrapped in something that already knew how to hold love.”

I didn’t know what to say.

So I just pulled the sleeves down over my hands and nodded.

I wore it on quiet mornings when the nightmares didn’t quite let go.

I wore it to my second therapy appointment and every one after that.

I wore it the first time I joined family movie night and fell asleep on Steve’s shoulder.

I wore it when I helped Bucky stir pancake batter and got flour all over the front.

He didn’t even pretend to be mad.

He just smiled and said, “Guess it’s really yours now.”

No one ever took it away.

No one ever asked for it back.

It was mine.

In the way that mattered.

Not because I bought it.

Not because I earned it.

But because someone looked at me once and said, You don’t have to do this alone.

And then handed me something to prove it.

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[kitty384]

Just Outside the Door

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes x Teen!Reader (Found Family | Platonic | Soft Dad!Stucky)

Summary: You’ve been through more than most people survive—and today, you finally agree to take the first step toward healing. Steve and Bucky don’t say much. They don’t push. They just walk you to the office, sit outside the whole time, and remind you with their silence: you don’t have to do this alone.

Warnings: Discussions of trauma recovery, mild anxiety, first therapy session, reader fear of vulnerability, gentle comfort, protective dads, implied past emotional neglect, implied PTSD, found family tenderness

I didn’t sleep the night before.

I just stared at the ceiling in my room, heart crawling in my chest, that tight ache behind my ribs growing heavier with every hour that passed.

It wasn’t the kind of fear I could name.

It wasn’t even fear of the therapist.

It was fear of me.

Fear of what might come out if someone asked me to speak out loud.

Fear that I’d sit down in that soft chair, in that soft room, and the moment someone said, “How are you really doing?”—

I’d break.

Steve didn’t say anything when I came down for breakfast that morning.

He just handed me a mug.

Warm tea.

No sugar, just the way I liked it.

Bucky passed me a slice of toast and smiled like he didn’t notice the way my hands were shaking.

And neither of them said a word about where we were going.

They let me bring it up when I was ready.

I didn’t.

Not even once.

But I still followed them when they got in the car.

Still put on the hoodie Steve left folded on my desk. Still slipped the comfort stone Bucky had given me into the pocket.

Still sat between them in the backseat like I couldn’t trust myself to face forward.

The clinic wasn’t far.

Fifteen minutes, maybe.

But it felt longer.

My palms were sweating by the time we pulled into the parking lot.

Steve turned off the car.

Bucky glanced back at me.

And both of them waited.

They didn’t say, Are you ready?

They didn’t say, Come on.

They just sat.

Silent.

Soft.

Until I opened the door and stepped out on my own.

The building was modern and quiet.

Pale blue walls. Big windows.

Nothing about it looked dangerous.

But my heart wouldn’t listen.

Every step felt like walking toward something I couldn’t name.

At the front desk, Steve gave my name.

They didn’t make me speak.

They didn’t ask me to explain.

The woman behind the counter smiled gently and handed me a clipboard.

I didn’t touch it.

Bucky took it for me.

Filled in every blank.

Checked every box.

“Just sign it when you’re ready,” he murmured, handing me the pen.

I scrawled my name in the corner like I was afraid it would catch fire.

The waiting room was almost empty.

Just one other person.

I sat down between them again.

Not because I needed to be protected.

But because I didn’t know how to feel normal without them.

When the door opened and my name was called, I felt my body freeze.

Steve leaned close, voice low and calm.

“You don’t have to say anything you don’t want to.”

Bucky rested a hand on my back.

“We’re right here.”

“I don’t—” My throat tightened. “What if I can’t do it?”

“You don’t have to do anything,” Steve said. “You just have to sit. That’s enough.”

I nodded.

Just once.

And stood.

My legs didn’t feel like they belonged to me.

But I walked through the door anyway.

The office was soft.

That was the only word I had for it.

Soft lighting. Soft chairs. Soft colors on the wall.

The woman inside—Dr. Morgan—didn’t stand. Didn’t reach out. Didn’t make me shake her hand.

She just gestured to the couch and said, “Wherever you’re comfortable.”

I sat down slowly.

Hands in my lap.

Eyes on the window.

“I’m not going to ask you to tell me your story,” she said after a while. “Not today.”

I didn’t answer.

But something in my chest shifted.

She smiled.

“Sometimes the hardest part is showing up.”

I didn’t cry.

But I wanted to.

We didn’t talk about everything.

We didn’t talk about much.

But I told her my name.

I told her that I didn’t sleep well.

I told her that sometimes I feel like I’m still stuck in a room with no doors.

And she didn’t try to fix it.

She just nodded.

Listened.

Let the silence sit when I needed it to.

When the session ended, I felt like I’d run a marathon.

My hands were sore from clenching.

My chest hurt from holding my breath.

But when I walked back into the waiting room—

They were still there.

Steve, looking up with eyes full of warmth.

Bucky, standing as soon as he saw me.

Like I was something they’d been waiting for.

Something worth waiting for.

They didn’t say, How did it go?

They didn’t ask, Did you cry?

They just stepped close.

And let me lean between them.

In the car, Bucky turned on the music without saying a word.

Steve passed me the hoodie I’d left behind.

And I held it in my lap the whole way home.

That night, I didn’t say anything at dinner.

But Steve reached across the table and tapped his knuckles gently against mine.

Bucky left a tiny white stone on my pillow.

And when I went to bed that night, I didn’t stare at the ceiling.

I closed my eyes.

And whispered, just once—

“They stayed.”

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[kitty384]

After the Nightmare

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes x Teen!Reader (Found Family | Platonic | Soft Dad!Stucky)

Summary: You’ve never gone to them after a nightmare before. But tonight, your chest aches and your hands shake—and when you slip into their room, too quiet to be brave, Steve and Bucky don’t say a word. They just open the covers and make space for you.

Warnings: Nightmare imagery (non-detailed), implied past trauma, touch-starved behavior, anxiety, safe physical comfort, reader crying, heavy emotions with gentle resolution, soft found family dynamic, 2k+ words

The dream didn’t start with fire.

It never did.

It always began in silence. Cold. Bright white walls and humming lights. Voices behind glass. The smell of sterile metal and restraint.

And then came the part you couldn’t breathe through.

The part where someone reached for you, and you couldn’t move.

Not fast enough.

Not loud enough.

Not enough.

You woke up choking on air.

Sheets tangled.

Sweat slick on the back of your neck.

Your chest a cave of something sharp and silent.

The compound was dark when you slipped into the hallway barefoot.

Your room felt too small. Too quiet.

You weren’t even sure where you were going at first.

Only that you didn’t want to be alone.

Not this time.

Not again.

You stood outside their door for what felt like forever.

Steve and Bucky had said it once. More than once.

“If you ever need us.”

“Any time, sweetheart.”

“Doors never locked.”

But you’d never tested it.

Not like this.

Not in the middle of the night when your hands were still shaking and your throat still burned.

Your fingers hovered over the doorknob.

Then turned.

It opened without a sound.

And you stepped inside.

They were both asleep.

Steve on the left, one arm tucked behind his head, blankets pushed halfway down.

Bucky curled toward him, loose and peaceful for once, a rare calm resting on his face.

You’d never seen them like this.

Never been this close while they were so unguarded.

They trusted you.

You knew that.

And that trust felt like something too fragile to touch.

But still… your feet carried you forward.

You didn’t mean to cry.

Not really.

But as you reached the side of the bed—stood there, unsure, silent—your body made the decision for you.

A tear hit your cheek before you even felt it fall.

Then another.

Then—

“Sweetheart?”

Steve’s voice was still thick with sleep.

But soft.

So soft.

Bucky blinked awake beside him.

Both of them sat up slowly, eyes adjusting to the dark.

You froze.

Hands at your sides.

Tears now falling freely down your face.

You couldn’t say it.

Couldn’t ask.

Didn’t know how.

But Bucky saw you.

And opened the blanket.

Just a little.

Just enough.

His voice was quiet. Not a question.

“C’mere.”

You moved before you could stop yourself.

Climbed in between them.

Shaking.

Tears soaking into the collar of Steve’s sleep shirt as you curled into his side.

Bucky wrapped around your back, his metal hand feather-light over your hip.

Neither of them spoke right away.

They didn’t ask what happened.

They didn’t tell you it was just a dream.

They just held you.

Like they were always meant to.

Like this space between them had been waiting for you all along

You didn’t mean to fall asleep again.

But eventually, the sobs softened.

Your fingers unclenched.

Your lungs started letting air in without the ache.

And sometime before dawn, tucked between their bodies and their warmth and their steady, heartbeat comfort—

You drifted off.

When you woke again, the room was still dim.

The world quieter.

Softer.

Steve’s arm was still around you, resting warm and steady across your ribs.

Bucky’s hand had found yours sometime in the night and never let go.

Neither of them moved.

They were both awake.

But they didn’t speak.

Just looked down at you with something too tender for words.

You opened your mouth to say I’m sorry.

But Steve shook his head.

“You don’t have to apologize, honey.”

Bucky squeezed your hand.

“You came to us. That’s all we’ve ever wanted.”

You looked between them.

Eyes blurry.

Voice small.

“I didn’t mean to cry.”

Steve smiled, brushing a thumb under your eye.

“You’re allowed to cry.”

Bucky added, “You’re allowed to do anything you need. This is your home now.”

You stayed there for a long time.

None of you in a rush to move.

Not even when the sun crept higher.

Not even when the compound started to stir.

Because this was the first time you’d gone to them on your own.

And the first time you realized… they’d always make room for you.

Even in the middle of the night.

Even if you couldn’t speak.

Even if all you could do was cry.

They’d never ask you to be anything more than themselves.

And this time, you believed them.

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[kitty384]

All Her Things

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes x Teen!Reader (Found Family | Platonic | Soft Dad Stucky)

Summary: They come home late and find you asleep in their bed, surrounded by all your comfort items. You never asked to be there. You didn’t leave a note. But they don’t say a word—they just climb in beside you and make it a home.

Warnings: Soft emotional comfort, implied trauma background, touch-starved reader, gentle found family moments, safe physical affection, nothing graphic

It was late.

Later than they meant to be.

The mission wasn’t long, but there’d been delays—debriefs, medical checks, a traffic jam outside the compound gates because someone (Tony) had reprogrammed the clearance system again.

By the time Steve and Bucky made it back upstairs, the hallways were quiet.

Lights dim.

Doors closed.

They’d assumed you were already asleep.

But when they opened the door to their bedroom—

They stopped.

And melted.

You were curled in the middle of the bed.

Dead asleep.

Surrounded by everything.

One of Steve’s hoodies bunched under your cheek.

A soft blanket Bucky had gifted you after a nightmare—crumpled over your legs.

A stuffed animal Sam had won for you at a street fair. Your notebook. A little drawing of the three of you in crayon.

And in your fist?

Steve’s dog tags.

Pressed to your chest like a shield.

You looked so small.

So still.

Like your body had finally relaxed enough to let go—but only here.

Only with this.

Only in the middle of their world.

Bucky exhaled softly.

His hand rose to his chest like something hurt.

Steve swallowed, trying to breathe around the warmth flooding his lungs.

“She brought everything,” Bucky whispered.

“She brought herself,” Steve said back. “That’s what matters.”

They didn’t speak after that.

Didn’t ask questions.

Didn’t try to move you.

They just… climbed in.

Steve to your left, careful not to dislodge the hoodie under your cheek.

Bucky to your right, tucking the blanket around your knees.

Neither of them turned on the light.

Neither of them said, Why our bed?

Because they already knew.

This was the safest place you had.

And they weren’t about to take it away from you.

Bucky curled a hand gently over your shoulder.

Steve laid his palm over your back.

You stirred only a little—just a soft, sleepy noise in your throat before tucking closer to Steve’s side.

Still holding the tags.

Still safe.

Still theirs.

They lay there in the dark, not sleeping yet.

Not needing to.

Just listening to you breathe.

And thinking:

She brought all her things.

But we’re the ones who are lucky.

Because she brought herself, too.

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[kitty384]

You Came Back

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes x Teen!Reader (Found Family | Platonic) Summary: You’ve never touched their dog tags before—never dared. But when you finally do, it’s instinct. A whisper tumbles out without permission, and it nearly brings your dads to their knees. Warnings: Heavy emotional themes, soft touch-starvation, trauma-related behaviors, found family tenderness, implied PTSD/childhood experimentation, safe touch, crying (happy tears), reader healing

I’d seen them a hundred times.

Hanging on the dresser knob in the corner of their room. Tucked under Steve’s pillow when he couldn’t sleep. Dangling from Bucky’s fingers when he thought no one was watching and his mind was far away.

Dog tags.

Their names stamped in cold metal.

Steve’s: bold and clean and quietly heroic.

Bucky’s: battered, scratched, just barely legible under the years.

I never touched them.

Not once.

Even when they left them out on purpose. Even when Bucky said casually, “They’re just tags, sweetheart, they don’t bite.”

Even when Steve winked and added, “Unless you want them to.”

I’d always smile at the joke. Pretend it didn’t twist something in my chest.

But I didn’t reach.

Because those tags meant something. Something I didn’t think I was allowed to hold.

Until today.

They were gone on a mission.

Just a short one.

They’d left that morning with soft promises and tighter hugs.

Bucky kissed the top of my head like he always did and said, “We’ll be back before dinner.”

Steve smiled with that all-warm, all-honey softness in his eyes and added, “Save us pancakes.”

I smiled too.

Because I trusted them now.

I believed them when they said they’d come back.

But old habits don’t die easy.

Even after love.

Even after safety.

I was cleaning the sheets when I saw them—left on the nightstand, like always.

The tags.

Worn. Silver. Familiar.

I froze.

Then sat down on the edge of the bed, slowly.

Hands curled into my lap.

I didn’t move for a long time.

But then—

Without meaning to, without even thinking—

I reached.

Fingers brushing the cool edge of the chain.

They clinked together gently.

Steve’s resting on top.

Bucky’s hanging low.

They were heavier than I expected.

But warm, somehow.

Not cold like I thought they’d be.

Maybe that was just them.

Maybe that was because they always made things warmer.

My thumb brushed the letters on Steve’s.

The metal scratched lightly beneath the pad of my finger.

Rogers, Steven G.

And something inside me cracked.

I pressed it to my chest, barely breathing.

And whispered, so soft it wasn’t even sound—

“You came back.”

I didn’t hear the door open.

I didn’t know they were standing there.

Not until I looked up—

—and saw them frozen in the doorway.

Both of them.

Still in mission gear. Dirt on their boots. A scrape on Steve’s cheek. Dust in Bucky’s hair.

And both of them looking at me like I’d just whispered something holy.

I panicked, of course.

Hands jerked back.

The tags clinked against each other as I let go like I’d been burned.

“I—I was just—”

But Bucky was already moving.

Crossed the room in two strides.

“Hey,” he said, crouching in front of me, voice barely a breath. “You’re okay. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Steve sat on the bed beside me.

Not touching.

But close enough.

“Were you scared we wouldn’t come back?”

I shook my head.

Then nodded.

Then whispered, “I didn’t want to be.”

Bucky’s hand rested over mine—metal and warm.

“We left them for you,” he said. “In case you needed something real to hold onto.”

I looked down at the tags.

Then up at them.

“I didn’t know if I could.”

Steve leaned in, his fingers brushing the back of my shoulder.

“You can always hold us. Even when we’re not here.”

I felt it then.

The weight of their gaze.

The weight of the tags.

And the truth in my chest.

“I missed you,” I whispered.

Steve pulled me into his arms.

Tight.

Safe.

Warm.

Bucky wrapped around me from behind.

And the dog tags stayed caught between us—pressing into my skin like a promise.

They came back.

And next time?

I wouldn’t be afraid to reach for them.

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[kitty384]

Masterlist

Welcome to my masterlist! I’ve done my best to keep everything organized for easy browsing. You’ll find a mix of one-shots and series here—lots of platonic Avengers, found family, and pregnancy-themed stories (I can’t lie, those are my favorite to write). I hope you enjoy reading them as much as I’ve loved writing them!

Request Here

Bucky

Pregnancy:

Sometimes I'm Still Scared The Quiet Between Heartbeats It's Not Just Us Anymore Sick Days and Soft Hands He Knew Before I Did It's Starting to Show Operation Talk Some Sense Into Your Best Friends It's Not Silly If It Helps

Dad Bucky

In His Arms, Everything's Safe This Is What Home Feel Like Does It Hurt? You're My Favorite Avenger (Steve) The Three Dads Club (Steve, Sam) You Can Always Come To Me

Light Angst/Fluff:

Slow Down, Sweetheart Are You Sure You're Okay? The Space Beneath The Day You Forgot Stay With Me

Loki

Pregnancy

There You Are A Morning Meant for Two (and a Half) Hush, Little Star When the Star Begin to Move Blood of a God You Should've Told Me When I Cannot Carry Myself It Wasn't Yours to Carry Where You Go, I Follow Let Me Carry It For You They Know You, All of You Even in Silence, I'm With You The Stars Are Ours Now

Dad Loki

Born of Frost and Fire Where It's Cool and Quiet Cool Hands, Quiet Heart Always Cool, Always Home

Fluff/Angst

We Still Come Home

Avengers Found Family

These are non-romantic, strictly platonic stories

Just in Case (Tony) One Voice at a Time (Sam, Steve, Bucky) Three-Strand Therapy (Bucky) Corners and Company (Bucky) Right Here (Tony, Pepper) Only When They're Close (Sam, Steve, Clint, Bucky, Tony) You Called Me What? (Tony) Too Loud (Thor, Same, Tony) Because It's Sam (Sam, Steve, Bucky) A Little at a Time (Sam, Steve, Avengers) Maximum Capacity 5 Idiots and Me (Sam, Clint, Bruce, Scott, Thor) She Deserves to Feel Safe (Sam, Tony, Clint, Nat)

Peter Parker

Fluff:

Caught in the Web

Stucky

Platonic Parent Stucky

You're Still Ours You Came Back All Her Things After the Nightmare Just Outside the Door The Hoodie Sink Duty Drive Learning Touch The First Time Quiet Space Sunday Night Plans One More Heartbeat This Is Fine Learn the Steps Warmth Like This The Softest Secret Only Love in the Room Rock Me Gently In My Arms, Always Close the Door. CLOSE THE DOOR You're Okay It Was Just Glass

[kitty384]

Hey ! Can you write one of those Fics where Loki finds out about the pregnancy and is ecstatic.

🌙✨Thanks for the request! This one made me smile the whole time I wrote it—hope you love soft, excited Loki as much as I do 💚

Title: The Stars Are Ours Now

Summary: Y/N has been keeping a secret, not out of fear—but out of reverence. When she finally tells Loki that he’s going to be a father, he doesn't just react with love… he reacts with awe, laughter, and a joy so bright it feels like magic. Because for Loki, this isn’t just about becoming a parent—it’s about becoming whole.

Warnings: Pregnancy reveal, softness, Loki being beyond ecstatic, gentle tears, implied trauma healing, established relationship, fluff, emotional intimacy, magic, found family, happy crying.

You didn’t plan on hiding it. Not really.

You just… wanted the moment to feel right. Because it wasn’t something you wanted to blurt out. It wasn’t something that deserved to be rushed or tangled up in casual timing.

This was Loki. And you were carrying his child.

That wasn’t news you gave over breakfast. It was news you gave with trembling hands, soft eyes, and the kind of breathless wonder that echoed the way he had changed your world.

It had been almost two weeks since you’d found out. The test was still tucked safely into a small carved box—one Loki had gifted you months ago, lined with velvet and tiny celestial runes.

You hadn't touched it. You’d barely even opened it since. As if looking too long might shatter the truth.

But you could feel it. The quiet shift. The warmth in your chest. The way your body felt… not like your own, but more important somehow. Sacred.

And tonight—tonight, he was coming home.

You sat on the edge of your shared bed, the small box in your lap, legs bouncing slightly despite your effort to appear calm.

The fireplace crackled low.

Outside the windows, the moon rose slow and full, like it knew something holy was about to happen.

You barely heard the sound of his magic on the air before the doors opened—before he swept into the room like dusk and gold and spring air.

“Darling,” he breathed, relief pouring from his voice as his eyes landed on you. “There you are.”

He was already smiling. Already shedding his cloak as he crossed to you. Already reaching, arms wrapping around your shoulders as he leaned down to kiss the crown of your head.

“I missed you more than I can begin to—” He stopped. Paused.

You hadn’t returned the hug.

Not out of fear.

But because your hands were still clutching the box.

He pulled back slightly, brow furrowing. “Are you alright?”

“I… have something for you.”

His eyes flickered with concern, then curiosity, and finally—calm affection.

He sat beside you. “What is it?”

You held it out with both hands. “Just… open it slowly, okay?”

He took it gently. Reverently, even. He always handled your gifts like they were sacred.

The lid opened.

His eyes dropped.

And time seemed to stop.

There was no explosion of expression.

No immediate reaction.

Just stillness.

A stillness so pure it made the room hold its breath.

The pregnancy test sat nestled inside, its two lines clear and unwavering.

Loki stared.

Not like a man in disbelief.

But like a man witnessing the divine.

“…Is this…?”

You nodded, your voice barely there. “Yes.”

Another long pause.

Then his hand came to his mouth, covering it.

Then his shoulders trembled—just once.

And a sound bubbled out of him that you’d never heard before.

A laugh.

Not loud or wild.

But weightless.

Joyful.

Disbelieving.

“Stars above…” he breathed, setting the box down with the utmost care. “We’re going to have a child.”

You blinked. “You’re not upset?”

“Upset?” His eyes snapped to yours—glassy, awestruck. “I’m ecstatic. I… I don’t have the words.”

You exhaled, the tension you didn’t realize you’d been holding spilling out in a rush.

Loki stood and immediately pulled you into his chest, lifting you off your feet like you were lighter than the moonlight pouring in.

“I didn’t know how to tell you,” you whispered into his shoulder. “I didn’t want to overwhelm you, or—”

“You are the only overwhelming thing I will ever welcome with open arms,” he murmured, pulling back to cup your cheeks. “You carry my child. You honor me with this.”

His voice cracked.

“I thought I would live a thousand years alone, believing myself too broken to ever hold something so whole. But this—this is everything I didn’t dare ask for.”

You both sank back onto the bed, hands tangled, foreheads pressed together.

Loki rested his hand gently over your belly, eyes wide with wonder.

“There’s a life in there,” he whispered.

You nodded, tearful.

“Our life.”

“I will guard them with all that I am,” he promised. “They will never know a moment without love.”

You smiled. “They’re going to have a dramatic, overprotective father, aren’t they?”

He smirked. “Dramatic? Perhaps. But I make no apology for protection.”

You leaned into him. “I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

Later that night, long after he’d finished pressing soft kisses to your skin and whispering secrets in Old Norse to your stomach, you found him standing near the balcony doors.

He was barefoot. Shirt half-unbuttoned. Hair loose around his shoulders.

And he was crying.

Quietly.

When you reached him, his arm immediately wrapped around you, drawing you into his side.

“I’m not sad,” he murmured. “I’m just… I never thought I’d be allowed this.”

You leaned your head on his chest, listening to the beat of his heart. Steady. Alive.

“You don’t have to earn happiness, Loki,” you whispered. “You just have to let yourself keep it.”

He kissed the top of your head.

“I intend to keep you. Both of you. For as long as the stars exist.”

Masterlist

Request

[kitty384]

Stay With Me

Summary: Y/N hides a serious injury during a mission, desperate not to slow Bucky down or be left behind. But as her vision blurs and her body gives out, she collapses at his side—and Bucky catches her just in time. Furious, heartbroken, and terrified, he carries her to medbay himself, whispering promises she doesn’t hear… yet.

Warnings: Injury, fainting/collapse, panic, Bucky being emotionally overwhelmed, protective/angry Bucky, guilt, soft medbay comfort, implied past trauma, hurt/comfort, angst with a warm resolution.

They’d barely cleared the final corridor when Bucky heard it.

Not the alarms still blaring behind them.

Not the pounding of boots as Sam and Natasha brought up the rear.

No—what Bucky heard was you.

The soft, sharp gasp that tore from your throat as your knees buckled and you went down hard against the concrete floor.

“Y/N!”

He was at your side in seconds, the rifle clattering to the ground as he dropped to his knees and caught you just before your head hit the floor.

Your face was pale.

Sweat dotted your brow.

And blood—so much blood—was seeping through the side of your tactical suit.

His heart stopped.

He hadn't even seen it happen.

“What—what the hell—why didn’t you say anything?” he choked out, hands shaking as they pressed over the wound. You flinched, just barely.

“I didn’t…” You were breathing fast, unfocused. “I didn’t want to… slow you down…”

Bucky swore, sharp and venomous, like he could spit the fear right out of his mouth.

“You’re bleeding out and you didn’t want to slow me down?! Are you kidding me, doll?!”

Sam’s voice crackled in his comm. “Extraction team’s outside. You guys close?”

Bucky didn’t answer. Couldn’t.

You whimpered, one hand weakly fisting the front of his suit.

“I just… wanted to finish the mission…”

“You are the mission,” Bucky snapped, pressing his forehead against yours for one brief, breathless second. “You’re the only goddamn thing I care about right now.”

The quinjet ride was a blur.

Bucky held you the entire time, arms locked around your body like he could will the blood to stay inside.

You drifted in and out of consciousness, head pressed to his chest, your breathing too shallow.

The moment the medbay doors opened, he carried you straight through them like his life depended on it.

Because it did.

It took everything in him to let the med team take you.

To step back, hands sticky with your blood, chest heaving, jaw clenched so tight it hurt.

Steve was at his side in a second.

“Buck—”

“Don’t.”

“She’s gonna be okay.”

“She better be,” Bucky ground out, voice raw. “Because I swear to God, if she—if she—”

He couldn’t say it.

Wouldn’t.

Hours passed.

Too many.

But eventually, Bruce emerged, surgical gloves off and face tired.

“She’s stable,” he said gently. “Lost a lot of blood, but she’s going to be fine.”

Bucky didn’t wait for permission.

He was in your room seconds later.

You were asleep—pale, hooked up to an IV, bandages wrapping your side.

But alive.

Breathing.

Still you.

He sat down in the chair beside your bed and just… stared.

For a long time.

Until your eyes fluttered open.

“…Buck?”

“Hey,” he whispered, brushing the hair off your forehead. “Hi, baby.”

You blinked slowly. “…Did we finish the mission?”

Bucky almost laughed—but it caught in his throat like glass.

“Yeah. We did. But you—Jesus, Y/N, you scared the hell out of me.”

Your eyes welled up. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” he said quickly. “Just—why didn’t you tell me? You collapsed in front of me and I had no idea you were hurt.”

“I didn’t want you to think I was weak.”

Bucky’s chest cracked open.

His hand found yours instantly, gripping it with everything he had.

“Y/N, look at me.”

You did.

Tired. Soft. Still scared.

“You are not weak. You’re the strongest damn person I know. But if you ever—ever—hide something like that from me again, I’m gonna lose my mind.”

“I didn’t want to be a liability,” you whispered.

“You’re not,” he said firmly. “You’re my partner. My girl. My heart. And I can’t protect you if I don’t know you’re hurt.”

You blinked, and a tear slipped down your cheek.

“I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“You’re everything to me,” Bucky whispered. “Don’t ever make me carry you into a medbay like that again. Just tell me. Please.”

You nodded, tears spilling now.

“I promise.”

Later, when you were curled against him in your recovery bed, one hand resting over your healing ribs, you whispered,

“You stayed with me the whole time?”

“All night,” he murmured, kissing your temple.

“I’m sorry you had to worry.”

He shook his head, voice thick.

“I’d rather worry a thousand times than lose you once.”

You didn’t hide anything from him after that. And Bucky never let you forget: You weren’t a burden. You were the reason he fought in the first place.

Masterlist

Request

[kitty384]

Even in Silence, I'm With You

Summary: The baby hasn’t moved. Not all day. And you haven’t said a word—not wanting to panic Loki, not trusting your own voice. But that quiet dread has taken root deep inside you. It’s only when Loki touches your bump and feels the same stillness that the illusion breaks. What follows is fear, magic, and the most fragile kind of hope. Because your child isn’t gone. They’re just waiting—for their father’s voice.

Content Warnings: pregnancy fear (baby not moving), emotional distress, mild panic, healing magic, resolution with movement, soft fluff after heaviness

You didn’t mean to keep it to yourself.

At first, it was just a few hours.

Then five.

Then seven.

No flutters. No rolls. No gentle nudges against your ribs.

Just silence.

Just… stillness.

You told yourself it was fine. Maybe they were tired. Maybe they’d changed positions. Maybe you were overthinking it. After all, everything was fine yesterday. Everything had been fine.

But as the sun began to set and shadows crept in, so did fear.

And you still didn’t say anything.

Not when Loki brought you tea.

Not when he curled behind you on the couch.

Not when he kissed your shoulder and asked softly, “How are my loves tonight?”

You smiled.

Nodded.

Lied.

It wasn’t until later—when you climbed into bed and adjusted the blankets over your bump—that he finally noticed.

He was brushing his fingers lightly over your belly, whispering in Old Norse, the way he always did before sleep.

And when there was no response, he paused.

Frowned.

“You’re quiet tonight,” he said softly, eyes on your stomach.

You froze.

Then, quietly, brokenly—

“They haven’t moved.”

His eyes snapped to yours.

You swallowed hard. “Not since I woke up. I didn’t want to… say anything. In case it was nothing.”

He was already reaching.

Already pulling the blankets down.

Already pressing his cool, steady hand over your skin.

And when he felt it—that same, hollow stillness—you saw the fear ripple across his face.

Raw. Real.

“Lie back,” he said gently, already moving. “Let me try something.”

Loki knelt beside the bed, both hands cradling your belly now.

His magic shimmered faintly beneath his palms, icy blue and gold.

Runes lit the air, ancient and protective.

You closed your eyes, clutching the sheets as tears slipped free.

“What if something’s wrong?” you whispered.

His voice cracked as he answered, “Then we will face it. Together.”

He began murmuring again—softer now, ancient words humming low in his chest like a heartbeat.

His magic sank deeper.

Searching.

Seeking.

Calling.

And then—

A flicker.

Like a whisper.

Then another.

Kick.

You gasped.

Loki froze.

Then smiled—small, stunned, eyes shining with unshed tears.

“They’re here,” he breathed. “They’re with us.”

You covered your mouth as your chest heaved.

The baby kicked again—stronger this time, like they’d been waiting to hear his voice.

And suddenly, it all came rushing out of you—the fear, the relief, the weight you hadn’t even known you were carrying.

You sobbed, and Loki was already holding you.

Cradling your bump from behind, kissing your cheek, whispering thank yous into your hair.

“They just needed me,” he murmured. “They needed us.”

You didn’t sleep right away that night.

You lay awake for hours, hands joined over your belly, waiting for every little movement.

And Loki never stopped touching you.

As if he could keep them safe through sheer will alone.

As if loving you both hard enough could hold the stars in place.

And maybe…

It could.

Masterlist

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[kitty384]

They Know You, All of You

Summary: You’ve tried everything—soothing baths, gentle music, tea, talking to your bump. But your baby won’t settle. They’re kicking, flipping, radiating restlessness from inside you. That is… until Loki steps in. Not as the prince. Not as the illusion. But as who he truly is. Jotun. Magic-born. And in that cold-blue stillness, your child finally sleeps.

Content Warnings: pregnancy discomfort, emotional vulnerability, identity acceptance, pure fluff and love

They’d been kicking for nearly an hour.

Not in that playful, look-how-alive-they-are way. Not the soft flutters that used to make you tear up in the middle of tea.

No.

These kicks were relentless.

Sharp.

Angry, almost.

Like your child was trying to claw their way into the world early, and you were the unfortunate battlefield.

You sat in bed, one hand cradling your bump, the other rubbing your forehead.

“I’ve tried everything,” you murmured. “Bath. Music. Talking. Bribery. Please, little one—just settle…”

Nothing.

Another roll, another punch to your ribcage.

Your back ached. Your belly pulsed like it was full of sparks. And beneath it all, there was… unrest.

Like something was missing.

You didn’t notice Loki standing in the doorway until he spoke.

“They’ve been like this all evening?”

You looked up, tired and defeated. “They won’t stop. I thought maybe it was the sugar from lunch but… it’s different. They’re not just moving—they’re upset.”

He crossed the room in a few strides, his hand already hovering over your belly.

The moment he touched you, you both felt it:

Magic.

Frantic, flickering, bouncing beneath your skin like a heartbeat in a snowstorm.

Loki blinked. “They’re pulsing magic.”

Your lips parted. “I—I didn’t know they could do that yet.”

“Neither did I.” His hand settled gently, palm wide, grounding the chaos. “But they’re reaching.”

“For what?”

He paused.

Then whispered, “For me.”

You watched him with wide eyes as something shifted behind them.

Soft.

Sad.

Understanding.

“They’re not looking for my voice,” he said. “Or even my presence.”

He looked at you.

“They want to feel who I truly am.”

You knew what he meant.

No illusions. No gold. No prince of Asgard mask.

Just Loki.

Jotun.

“You don’t have to—” you started, but he was already taking a step back.

Undoing the magic.

Letting go of the persona.

And before your eyes, he changed.

Skin deep blue.

Markings glowing soft and faint like veins of moonlight.

Eyes like frozen oceans.

Loki, as he truly was.

Your heart clenched.

Not because you feared him.

But because he still thought you might.

He stepped forward again, cautious.

You didn’t flinch.

You held your arms open.

And he knelt at your side.

The moment his Jotun palm touched your belly—

Stillness.

Like snowfall.

Like breath after crying.

Like a room exhaling.

The baby rolled once—softly—and then stopped.

You gasped. “Loki…”

“They know me,” he whispered. “Not the version I show the world. Me.”

His voice broke.

“They want me.”

You rested your hand on his cheek, cool and smooth beneath your touch.

“They already love you,” you whispered. “All of you. Even the parts you were taught to hide.”

He nodded, forehead pressed to your bump.

And in the silence that followed…

The baby kicked.

Once.

Gentle.

Like a thank you.

And then settled into sleep.

Masterlist

Request

[kitty384]

It's Not Silly If It Helps

Summary: I’m deep into my third trimester, sore, swollen, and miserable in all the usual ways—until Bucky sees a video online of a guy gently lifting his wife’s pregnant belly to ease her back pain. He gets that hopeful little glint in his eye and asks if I want to try it. I laugh at first… but when I say yes, and he lifts the weight for me? Everything changes. In those few moments, I feel lighter—in more ways than one.

Content Warnings: third-trimester pregnancy discomfort, gentle belly lifting, soft fluff, emotional comfort, non-sexual physical touch

I was on the couch, sprawled dramatically across three pillows and one of Bucky’s old sweatshirts like I was auditioning for the role of "Tiredest Woman Alive."

Spoiler: I was.

Eight and a half months pregnant, back sore, boobs sore, feet so swollen I was convinced they were about to grow toes of their own.

Every shift hurt.

Every breath was tight.

And my poor, sweet husband kept asking if I needed anything—while I growled and whined and fake-cried into my water bottle.

Until suddenly—

“Babe,” he said, from the recliner.

And there was a tone in his voice. One I recognized.

Curious. Tentative. That little “I saw something on the internet and want to try it” lilt.

I cracked one eye open. “Whatever it is, if it requires me getting up—no.”

He grinned, holding up his phone. “No no, you don’t have to move. I just saw this video, okay? This guy—his wife was like, super pregnant—like you are now—anyway, she was complaining about her back, and he just… lifted her belly.”

I blinked. “He what now?”

“Like—stood behind her, hands under her stomach, and gently lifted it up. Just enough to take the pressure off her back. Just for a little while. She looked like she ascended into heaven.”

I laughed. “Oh my god.”

“Wanna try it?” he said quickly. “Just for a minute. I mean, if it doesn’t feel good, we stop.”

I stared at him.

And for a second I wanted to roll my eyes, make a joke, wave him off.

But… my back did hurt. And he looked so hopeful.

“…Okay,” I said slowly. “But if this turns into one of those ‘babe, I accidentally made your contractions worse’ stories, I’m telling your mom.”

He was already standing. “Deal.”

He moved behind the couch, palms up like a nervous waiter approaching royalty.

“Alright,” he said, voice soft now. “I’m gonna slide my hands under… here.”

I nodded, shifting slightly so my bump was more accessible. “Do it slow.”

His warm fingers skimmed the underside of my belly, curling carefully until both palms were cradling the full weight of it.

“Okay,” he murmured. “Now just… breathe.”

And then he lifted.

Not far. Not hard.

Just enough.

Just enough to shift the pressure.

Just enough to relieve.

And suddenly—

“Oh my god,” I breathed.

“Is that good?” he asked, panicked.

“Yes,” I said, eyes wide. “Yes. Holy hell. Don’t stop. Ever.”

He let out a soft laugh. “You feel lighter?”

“I feel like you just removed a small planet from my spine.”

We stayed like that for a while.

Me, eyes closed, mouth slightly open in a dazed smile.

Bucky, carefully supporting our child with both arms, eyes flicking from me to my belly like he was holding a miracle.

Which, to be fair… he was.

“You okay?” I asked after a while.

He nodded, voice low. “I like holding them like this.”

My heart cracked a little.

“You always say it like you’re holding both of us.”

“I am.” His voice got rougher. “You don’t even know, do you?”

“Know what?”

He kissed the crown of my head.

“How beautiful you look like this. Not just pregnant. But strong. Carrying our baby. And still finding the energy to laugh at my dumb jokes.”

I blinked, suddenly watery-eyed.

“Well now I’m crying.”

He grinned. “You’re welcome.”

Eventually, his arms started to tire, and he lowered the weight back into my lap carefully—slow and gentle, like setting down something sacred.

I sighed the moment he let go.

Back pain returned.

Feet ached.

But my heart?

Still floating.

“Hey, Bucky?”

“Yeah?”

“Can we do that again tomorrow?”

He was already pulling a blanket over me. “Every day until they’re born, babe.”

Masterlist

Request

[kitty384]

Let Me Carry It for You

Summary: I’m nine months pregnant, and my body feels like it’s reaching its breaking point. Everything aches, my skin is stretched tight, and even breathing feels like a task. But when I break down—tired, sore, and hurting—Loki does the one thing no healer or spell ever thought to try: he lifts the weight of my belly in his hands… and lets me rest. Just for a while. And for those few moments, I remember what relief feels like.

Content Warnings: third-trimester pregnancy discomfort, back pain, hormonal overwhelm, loving physical touch, soft comfort, all fluf

I was exhausted.

The kind of exhausted that no nap could fix. Not the kind where you yawn and stretch and feel better after a cup of tea. No. This was bone-deep. Skin-stretched. Soul-tired.

I stood in front of the mirror, watching myself breathe—slow, careful, heavy.

Nine months.

That’s what they kept telling me. “You’re almost there.” “Any day now.” “You’re doing beautifully.”

And I wanted to scream.

Not because they were wrong.

But because even beautiful things can hurt.

My belly felt impossibly full—tight and low and impossibly heavy. My lower back screamed every time I shifted my weight. My thighs ached. My skin itched from the strain. And my body, bless it, had started giving up on sleep two weeks ago.

I ran a hand over the curve of my stomach, my fingers trembling just slightly.

The baby kicked low and hard, and I winced.

“I know,” I whispered. “You’re ready. Me too.”

Behind me, the chamber door opened with a soft creak.

I didn’t have to turn around to know who it was.

Loki always moved like shadows and silk. I’d know that presence anywhere.

His arms slid around my waist, hands resting gently under the swell of my bump.

He pressed a kiss to my shoulder.

I leaned back into him without a word.

“Love,” he murmured, his voice honey-smooth, “you’re standing like your bones are about to betray you.”

“They are,” I muttered.

Another kick. I hissed through my teeth.

Loki’s hands immediately moved, rubbing slow, wide circles across the top of my belly.

“Still cramped low?”

“Yeah. And sore. I feel like I’m carrying a moon.”

He hummed softly.

Then paused.

“May I try something?”

I blinked. “Anything.”

And before I could ask what he meant, he stepped in closer behind me.

Hands sliding lower.

Curving beneath the full weight of my bump.

And then—

He lifted.

Not far.

Just enough.

A soft shift of pressure.

A subtle upward hold—

And the relief was instant.

I gasped.

My back, which had felt like it was cracking in two, eased.

My ribs could expand again.

I could breathe.

“Holy shit,” I whispered, blinking hard. “What—how—why did no one tell me—”

Loki chuckled behind me, the sound rich and low in my ear.

“I thought… if it hurts to carry, perhaps I could carry it for you.”

I swallowed around a sudden lump in my throat.

It was such a simple thing.

But it cracked something wide open inside me.

Tears welled fast and unexpected.

“Don’t cry,” he murmured, kissing the back of my neck.

“I can’t help it,” I whispered. “It’s the first time I’ve felt relief in weeks.”

He kept holding.

Arms strong.

Palms wide.

His breath steady against my back.

And I just… stood there.

Letting him hold the weight.

Letting my body finally go slack.

Minutes passed. I don’t know how many. It could’ve been five. Could’ve been twenty. All I knew was I didn’t want him to stop.

“You’re magic,” I said quietly.

“You are,” he replied.

“Don’t argue with the pregnant woman.”

“I would never dream of it.”

Eventually, he shifted, just slightly, and I knew his arms were getting tired.

“Here,” he said gently, guiding me toward the edge of our bed. “Sit. Let me keep holding you.”

I lowered myself carefully, and he knelt in front of me.

Still holding.

Still lifting.

And as I looked down at him—knees on the floor, robe falling open, hair tied back, eyes full of nothing but love and concern—I broke again.

“You didn’t sign up for this,” I whispered, voice cracking.

He looked up.

Sharp. Soft. Absolutely unshakable.

“I signed up for you.”

Tears spilled freely down my cheeks.

“And you are carrying our child. If I could take the weight from you for good, I would. If I could ease the pain, the pressure, the fear—I would wrap my magic around you like armor.”

I reached for him.

Ran my fingers through his hair.

“Thank you.”

“You don’t need to thank me for loving you,” he said simply.

And in that moment, I believed him more than I believed anything else in the world.

The baby kicked again—lighter this time, less frantic.

I think they could feel it too.

The way I’d softened.

The way his hands held us steady.

The way his magic wrapped through the air like cool starlight.

Eventually, I leaned back into the pillows, Loki still holding the weight of my belly with one hand while the other traced lazy circles on my knee.

We didn’t speak.

We didn’t have to.

Because this—this was the kind of silence I could live inside forever.

A moment where I wasn’t just pregnant.

I was loved.

Held.

And finally, free.

Even just for a little while.

Masterlist

Request

[kitty384]

We Still Come Home

Summary: The argument is quiet but sharp. Neither of them raise their voices, but the hurt runs deep—words misunderstood, boundaries crossed. Y/N retreats into silence. Loki into frustration. But even when the sun sets and tension still lingers between them, they both follow the same unspoken rule: we share a bed, no matter what. So they do. And even in silence… they find their way back.

Content Warnings: marital tension (mild), emotional hurt, stubborn silence, pregnancy stress, fluff ending with physical closeness, comfort

The fight wasn’t dramatic.

No slammed doors.

No shouting.

Just the cold sharpness of two people loving each other deeply—and missing the mark.

It started with a comment.

A passing “You’ve been napping a lot lately,” said with casual concern.

But Y/N heard something else in it. Something sharper. Something like judgment.

“I’m tired,” she said quietly, hand protectively on her four-month bump. “Growing your heir, remember?”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“You don’t have to mean it for it to sting.”

Loki’s jaw clenched. “So I’m not allowed to worry about you now?”

“You’re allowed,” she said, voice cool, “but not everything needs fixing. Some days, I just exist. And that’s enough.”

He said nothing after that.

And she didn’t ask him to.

The silence stayed with them all evening.

She ate dinner in the sitting room.

He stayed in the library longer than usual.

When the fire dimmed and the palace quieted, they both moved through the routine like clockwork—cleaning up, dimming the candles, pulling on robes and folding down the covers.

But the silence between them never broke.

Still, when the lights were out…

They both climbed into the same bed.

Backs turned.

Shoulders stiff.

But together.

Because they had one rule.

We never go to sleep apart.

Loki lay facing the window.

His magic stirred uncomfortably beneath his skin, itching to be used, to reach for her, to undo the strange quiet pressing against his ribs.

He was angry.

But not at her.

At himself.

For making her feel like she needed to explain her rest.

For forgetting how hard she worked just to carry life every single day.

And now she was curled up on her side, only a breath away from him, and yet he felt like he’d never been farther.

Y/N blinked slowly into the dark.

She hated this kind of silence.

The kind that wasn’t peace—but pride.

Her body ached. Her emotions were high. She’d taken his concern the wrong way and snapped before thinking.

And now she wanted nothing more than to roll over, press her forehead to his shoulder, and whisper I’m sorry.

But she didn’t.

Not yet.

Because what if he didn’t answer?

What if he was more upset than she thought?

What if the silence wasn’t a pause—but a wall?

Then—

The bed shifted.

Slowly.

Loki’s hand reached out under the covers.

Fingers brushed her arm.

And then stilled.

Just resting there.

Not pulling.

Not demanding.

Just asking.

Y/N swallowed thickly.

And reached back.

Her hand slipped into his, shaky but sure.

They didn’t speak.

But both sighed like they’d finally come up for air.

He scooted closer.

She rolled toward him.

Their foreheads touched in the dark.

And Loki whispered:

“I never wanted to sleep angry.”

“You didn’t,” she whispered back.

“I just wanted to understand.”

“I just wanted to be allowed to rest.”

A pause.

Then—

“You should rest,” he said softly. “You deserve to rest. Every day. Forever, if that’s what this child demands of you.”

Her throat tightened.

“You weren’t wrong to worry,” she murmured. “I just heard it with tired ears.”

He pressed a kiss to her forehead.

“I’ll learn how to say things better.”

“I’ll learn how to let you in.”

Their joined hands rested gently over the bump between them.

The baby kicked once.

Then settled.

And so did they.

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[kitty384]

Where You Go, I Follow

Summary: A misunderstanding spirals into something louder than either of them intended. Loki says something sharp. Y/N says nothing at all. And then he leaves. But when the silence becomes too heavy for her to bear, she wanders deep into the palace gardens, needing air—needing peace. Loki returns ready to apologize, only to find their chambers empty. And suddenly, nothing matters but finding her.

Content Warnings: argument (mild), emotional distress, pregnancy-related overwhelm, momentary fear, soft fluffy ending, protective Loki

The fight started small.

A passing comment—harmless in his mind, but sharp in hers.

“You’ve been… distracted,” he said.

He meant it as concern.

She heard it as blame.

“I’m growing a person, Loki,” she’d snapped, hugging her arms around her middle. “Sorry if that makes me a little less sparkly than usual.”

He frowned, pacing the room. “You don’t have to be sharp with me.”

“And you don’t have to act like I’m fragile porcelain!”

“I never said that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

The words hung in the air like frost.

Too heavy. Too cold.

Her breathing picked up.

She turned away.

And he, heart pounding with words he didn’t mean, hissed—

“Maybe I should give you space.”

And then he was gone.

The door closed behind him with too much force.

And silence fell.

It lasted only minutes.

Maybe ten.

The room pulsed with the echo of the door, the stillness too loud, the baby shifting gently inside her like they, too, noticed something was off.

Y/N tried to breathe.

Tried to sit still.

But the air felt thick.

The bed too soft.

The walls too high.

Her emotions—already delicate, already stretched thin from the hormones and the weight of carrying this magic-child-of-two-realms—tipped into panic.

So she stood.

Tucked a robe around her shoulders.

And walked out the back terrace door.

Into the garden.

The palace grounds stretched wide under the moonlight.

Soft lights flickered along the stone paths.

The late-blooming starlight blossoms opened just enough to glow faintly blue.

She wandered deeper—past the marble statues, past the little fountain Loki had enchanted to sing softly with Asgardian lullabies.

Eventually, she found the old wooden bench by the ivy-covered archway.

She sat.

She meant to stay only for a few minutes.

Just until her chest stopped feeling tight.

Just until the baby stopped kicking so anxiously.

But the night was cool.

The garden was calm.

And her eyes drifted closed.

Loki returned to the chambers with a knot in his throat.

He had barely made it past the corridor before the regret hit like a wave.

She was pregnant.

Tired.

Overwhelmed.

And he—idiot that he was—had stormed out like a sulking child.

He’d meant to come back after ten minutes.

Apologize.

Kneel at her feet, press his lips to her belly, beg forgiveness for the sharpness in his tone.

But when he walked in…

The room was empty.

The bed untouched.

Her robe missing from its hook.

And his heart stopped.

“Y/N?” he called, louder than intended. “Darling?”

Nothing.

No note.

No trace of her magic lingering in the air.

He moved to the window. Looked down at the paths.

Nothing.

His breath hitched.

She wouldn't leave the palace—she wouldn’t go far—not like this. Not four months along, not while she was still catching her breath in this new life they were building together.

Unless she had to.

Unless she was hurting.

Unless he’d driven her far enough she couldn’t stand to be near him.

Loki didn’t waste another second.

He was out the door in a blink.

It didn’t take long for the enchantments tied to her aura to lead him through the garden paths.

Her essence was everywhere here—soft and flickering like candlelight, woven into the very ivy she’d planted, the air she’d kissed into existence with laughter and longing.

He passed through arches, past quiet blooms, until—

There.

Under the curved stone trellis.

On the old wooden bench.

Curled on her side, robe tucked around her, hand resting gently on her bump.

Asleep.

His breath caught.

And something in his chest cracked wide open.

He approached slowly, kneeling beside the bench.

The moon cast silver over her face, her lashes resting against her cheeks, her mouth slightly parted in sleep.

One hand was draped across her stomach.

The other tucked under her head like a child.

He pressed a trembling kiss to the back of her hand.

And whispered:

“I’m sorry.”

She stirred.

Eyes fluttered.

And when they opened—sleepy, dazed, blinking against the light—she whispered, “Loki?”

“I’m here.”

“You left…”

“I shouldn’t have.” He knelt lower, both hands now wrapped around hers. “I said the wrong thing. I heard the wrong thing. You were overwhelmed and instead of helping, I made you feel alone.”

Her eyes filled with tears.

“I didn’t mean to make you think you weren’t helping. I just—I couldn’t take the quiet. It felt like it would swallow me.”

His chest ached.

He gently pulled her forward, helping her sit up.

Then he sat beside her and pulled her into his arms.

The baby kicked softly between them.

Loki placed his hand there instantly.

“I thought I lost you,” he whispered.

“I thought I lost you.”

He kissed the crown of her head, then leaned into her shoulder and just breathed.

“Next time,” she whispered, “can we just fight with pillows and ice cream?”

He laughed—low and broken and sweet.

“Yes. No doors. No silence. Just you, me, and as much whipped cream as this realm allows.”

She smiled into his shoulder.

And let the quiet settle—for real this time.

Not cold.

Not empty.

Just peaceful.

In the only arms that ever felt like home.

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[kitty384]

Always Cool, Always Home

Summary: She’s sixteen now—sharp, powerful, beautiful. A quiet storm of magic and strength. But with adolescence comes chaos: emotional spikes, magical flares, and expectations too heavy for her shoulders. And when the palace grows too loud and the pressure becomes too much, she still runs to the one place where it all settles. His arms. His blue. Her father's calm. Her safe place. She might be growing up, but she’ll never outgrow him.

Content Warnings: emotional overstimulation (teen), implied anxiety/panic, magical flaring, soft parenting, Jotun shifting, comfort after overwhelm, tearful hug

The palace was too loud again.

Not in volume—though that, too—but in pressure.

Expectations. Glares. Prideful Asgardian voices speaking of legacy and power and who she should become. Council meetings she wasn’t allowed in but somehow was expected to understand. Magical control lessons that never quite went right because her power wasn’t shaped like anyone else’s.

She wasn’t Æsir.

She wasn’t Midgardian.

And even when she shifted blue—when her hands pulsed with cold light—people stared.

As if it meant something dangerous.

As if she was something dangerous.

Her vision blurred.

Her palms sparked.

The doors to the council hall slammed behind her as she walked out without a word.

And then she ran.

Y/N saw her pass by.

Just a flicker of a robe, the sharp turn of her daughter’s jaw, the way her hands were clenched too tightly at her sides.

She didn’t stop her.

Didn’t call out.

She just turned quietly and said, “She’s going to him.”

She found him in the observatory.

It was nearly empty—just the stars, the silence, and the swirling map of the Nine Realms hovering in quiet orbit above the marble floor.

Loki stood beneath it, hands clasped behind his back, head tilted slightly as he tracked the path of a comet.

He didn’t turn when the door opened.

Didn’t speak.

But his posture shifted.

And he said, softly—

“I felt you coming.”

Her lip quivered.

She was sixteen now.

She had grown tall, graceful, intimidating in the way her mother always was—quiet power, glowing beneath the surface.

But now?

She looked small.

Tears hovered at the edge of her lashes.

“I tried,” she whispered. “I really did.”

Loki turned slowly.

He didn’t ask what happened.

He didn’t need to.

He crossed the room, pulled her into his arms, and said the only thing that mattered:

“You don’t have to explain.”

She buried her face in his chest.

Her whole body was shaking.

Her magic flared once—bright and sharp, like a spike of frost up her spine—and she sobbed against him.

“Papa—” her voice cracked, “I—I can’t stop it.”

“You don’t have to stop it,” he said. “Let me carry it.”

And then he shifted.

Right there, in the quiet light of the cosmos.

Skin turned blue.

Eyes glowed crimson.

Cool and still and anchored.

Her shaking eased almost instantly.

Her arms wrapped tighter around his waist, cheek pressed to his chest.

And she sighed.

Not just a breath—but a full-body, spirit-sinking exhale.

“I needed this,” she whispered.

“I know.”

“You always know.”

They stayed like that for a long time.

Her head tucked under his chin.

His hand rubbing slow circles over her back.

The silence of space curling around them like a blanket.

Loki’s voice was low when he spoke again.

“I never expected you’d still want this,” he murmured. “Not when you grew. Not when you could control it yourself.”

She pulled back just enough to look up at him—eyes red, cheeks damp.

“I can control it,” she said. “But it still hurts.”

He nodded once.

“You’ve never said that before.”

She shrugged. “Everyone expects me to be powerful. Graceful. Strong. You know—your daughter.”

“You are my daughter.”

“And still… I just wanted you.”

Loki swallowed hard.

His hand came to her face, cupping her cheek, thumb brushing away the tear trailing down her temple.

“You will always have me. In any form you need.”

Her lips trembled.

“Even when I’m twenty?”

“Even when you’re five hundred.”

She smiled.

“Cool papa forever?”

“Cool papa forever.”

Y/N watched them from the doorway, arms folded over her chest, a soft ache blooming in her heart.

She didn’t disturb them.

Didn’t speak.

Just watched the two people she loved most in the world glow soft and blue under the stars—magic sparking in quiet harmony, like two lanterns made of frost and devotion.

And when her daughter pressed her forehead to Loki’s and whispered, “Thank you for being my quiet…”

Loki whispered back—

“Thank you for never outgrowing it.”

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[kitty384]

Cool Hands, Quiet Heart

Summary: She’s older now. A little taller, a little louder, a little more magic sparking off her fingertips—but when the world gets too bright, too loud, too much, their daughter still goes running straight to Loki. She doesn’t ask. She doesn’t need to. She just presses her little palms to his chest until he shifts into the blue she’s always called home.

Content Warnings: toddler overstimulation (gentle), soft magic comfort, sensory grounding, father-daughter bonding, emotional intimacy, fluff

She was two and a half now.

Talkative. Wild. Brilliant.

A flickering ball of chaos and charm with wide green eyes and a stubborn streak that matched both her parents exactly.

She sang at the top of her lungs. Danced in the hallways barefoot. Made flowers bloom and burst with her emotions. Glowed when she was happy. Sparked when she wasn’t.

But sometimes—

When too many people came too close…

When Asgard’s royal halls got too loud…

When all the sounds and colors stacked too high inside her little head—

She would start to shake.

Her breath would stutter.

Her magic would fizzle under her skin, and her bottom lip would wobble just before she ran.

And she always ran in the same direction.

It happened during a small garden gathering.

Nothing overwhelming.

Just a few nobles, a few friendly faces, and far too many scents and voices all layered over the soft harp music in the background.

Their daughter had been doing fine—running between the rose bushes, collecting petals, whispering secrets to the butterflies.

But Y/N caught the moment it changed.

She tripped—not hard, just enough for her hands to slap the stone path and the world to tilt.

Too many eyes turned toward her.

Too many voices called her name at once.

And her bottom lip quivered.

“Where’s Papa?” she whispered to no one.

And then she ran.

Loki didn’t even blink when she barreled into his legs moments later.

He was standing near the edge of the terrace, a quiet glass of wine in hand, robes hanging loose around his shoulders.

She latched onto his thigh with both arms and let out a little hiccup of panic.

He didn’t ask questions.

He set down the glass.

Bent slowly to one knee.

And held out both hands.

She climbed into his arms without a word and buried her flushed face into his chest.

“Too loud?” he asked softly.

She nodded.

“Do you want me to shift?”

She nodded again—faster this time, little fists curled against him.

And so he did.

Right there on the terrace, in the middle of royalty and rose petals, he shifted—skin glowing cool and blue, eyes softening to crimson, breath evening out like moonlight.

The second his skin changed, her breathing slowed.

She pressed her little hands to his collarbones and rested her forehead right against the base of his throat.

“Cold,” she whispered.

“Do you want me to warm up?”

“No,” she mumbled. “You’re perfect.”

Y/N watched from across the garden, one hand over her heart.

Frigga appeared at her side with a soft smile.

“She still goes to him, hm?”

“She always will,” Y/N said quietly. “It’s the only thing that settles her sometimes.”

Frigga nodded.

“She recognizes where she came from. The blue doesn’t scare her. It grounds her.”

Y/N wiped at her eyes.

“She calls it her cool place.”

Later that night, Loki lay on the lounge in the sitting room, still glowing faintly, daughter asleep across his chest like a little starfish.

Her cheek was pressed to his heart.

Tiny fingers twitching every now and then.

Y/N knelt beside them, brushing hair out of her little girl’s face.

“She was all tangled up today,” she whispered. “I think she tried so hard not to cry.”

“She didn’t have to,” Loki said, voice thick with emotion. “She has us.”

Y/N leaned in, rested her head on his shoulder.

“She has you.”

He looked down at the little girl sprawled over him and kissed the crown of her head.

“She’ll always have me. In any form she needs.”

And across her skin, a soft shimmer of blue flickered in reply.

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